Chapter Text
Kibum is having a bit of an existential crisis.
It’s one of those moments where it's two am and almost completely silent outside, the moon out of sight from the window so the whole world is blanketed with the thick of night. When you lie in bed, forcing your eyes closed so that sleep comes to you, and it’s so close, except it’s just out of reach so your eyes snap open and ruin any progress you made.
Those nights when you’re exhausted, your body is sore, your mind even worse because you're balancing all your classes and projects and a grueling job search, but a tight pressure on your chest keeps you from sinking into the depths of your dreams.
You try listening to music, then white noise, then brown noise, and ocean sounds, but everything is scratching at your ears instead of soothing them. You stare at the popcorned ceiling above your head, listening to the soft ticks of the clock on your nightstand, but even that doesn’t calm you because your head is running at a hundred kilometers.
You think about how you’re graduating soon and you have nothing lined up after and you don’t know if you even want a job because there’s something terrifying about giving in to becoming a cog in corporate capitalism and is this all that there is to life anyways? You don’t remember the last time you felt real joy, so caught up in what’s next and the future, in a continuous sprint, that you don’t even remember how to stop to smell the roses. And when the tracks of the race are no longer painted out for you, as they’ve been your whole life, you start to think if you even want to compete anymore.
Alright. Maybe Kibum is having more than just a crisis.
He can feel the fatigue as an ache in the small of his back and the low yawn that rips out of him. He swings his legs off the bed and sits up, staring at the outline of his feet in the dark, illuminated by the light coming from under his bedroom door. With a sigh, he slides out of bed and shuffles out of his room into the kitchen.
Finding his roommate here in the odd hours of the night is a common occurrence. Jonghyun usually prefers working in his room, but for some reason when the hours grow late, Kibum can always find him in the kitchen, typing on his laptop alongside the hum of the refrigerator.
Tonight, not even a lamp is turned on as Jonghyun sits at their kitchen table, face lit white by his laptop screen, hunched over, brows etched together in concentration. He’s completely oblivious to Kibum watching him in the dark, even though his door creaked loudly when he opened it and Jonghyun's ears are devoid of headphones. But again, he’s a creative writing major, so he’s always a little in his head.
Kibum flicks the lights on. “You’re going to destroy your eyes.”
Jonghyun startles, a hand flying his chest. “You scared me.”
Kibum maneuvers around him to open the fridge, pulling out a carton of milk. “Why are you awake? It’s so late.”
“I want to finish this scene before I do. It’s been bothering me all day.” Besides his insomnia, the first draft of his novel is something else that keeps Jonghyun up for hours. He’s worked on the outline of it for months, bouncing ideas off Kibum for weeks on end, to a point where Kibum thinks he could write the book himself.
Kibum pours himself a glass of milk, sipping the cold liquid with the smack. It’s missing a cookie.
Jonghyun peers at him over his laptop screen. “I should be asking why you’re awake. You look like something is keeping you up.”
Kibum’s face must be showing some kind of an expression for Jonghyun to be reading him so easily—easier than usual because he’s already emotionally intelligent enough. And he’s the confrontational, emotional type that Kibum can’t avoid because they live together. So, he stalls, pretending to search through their cupboards for cookies that he knows they don’t have because Jonghyun forgot to buy groceries yesterday.
But eventually, he sighs and slides into the seat across from his roommate and lifts his feet into his lap.
“It’s stupid.”
“Your emotions aren’t stupid.”
Kibum rolls his eyes around his cup. Typical. “I know that. But it’s nothing important.”
Jonghyun sends him a look that tells him he’s being difficult. Kibum sighs again. “I was just thinking.” An encouraging hum sounds from the other side of the table. “What’s the point of it all? Life? Do we just live to work? Is that it?” He puts his glass down. “I mean, you know I don’t hate my major - marketing is fun. It’s cool, I like my classes and projects. But I can’t stop thinking about ‘what else’? What else am I meant to be doing? Wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep, then repeat for the next forty years?”
He scrubs a hand over his face, feeling his toner and serum still sticky on his skin. Jonghyun doesn’t say anything and Kibum stumbles to fill the silence with more words. “I mean, it’s nothing serious. Stupid.”
“It’s really not stupid,” Jonghyun repeats, a little more sternly this time. His fingers pause in their typing and he’s quiet for a few moments before he closes his computer. His hands are cold when they drop down to Kibum’s feet. “I think… there’s not much I, or anyone else can really say to comfort you.” He speaks slowly, like he’s really thinking his words through before speaking. Which is a skill Jonghyun has picked up on after being Kibum’s friend from all these years - it doesn’t take much of the wrong thing to say to upset him.
“The way our society is set up forces us to work like this our whole lives, just to stay alive and survive. And it’s draining, I don’t blame you for feeling so insignificant and powerless against it. Just a part of a machine.” Then he smiles a tiny, charming smile. “I think that’s why things like friends and hobbies are so important. To get that happiness and reminder of why we’re here.” He squeezes Kibum’s toes, sliding his fingers between them, tickling him. “You need a hobby.”
He says it simply, like that’s the solution to all of Kibum’s problems, fixed with just one line.
“I have hobbies,” he says petulantly.
Another squeeze. A challenging one. “Like? And going to a bar and getting wasted is not a hobby.”
“You’re making me sound like an alcoholic.”
“I’m serious, Bammie. You can start somewhere small, like joining a club at school!”
Kibum’s lips curl down in displeasure. “Join a club five months before I’m about to graduate?” Do they even accept students joining halfway through the school year anyways? And he’d rather do anything than be stuck in a room full of fresh-faced, youthful nineteen year olds when he’s almost in his mid-twenties, enlistment behind him already.
Jonghyun’s face suddenly lights up and he slaps his hand down on the table. Kibum winces. Too loud for this dead of night. “I have an idea. Do you know Dead Lift?”
Kibum almost scoffs. “I’m not going to the gym.” Hell no.
“No, the band, Dead Lift. You know the group with Shim Changmin? Cho Kyuhyun? Choi Minho? Park Chanyeol?”
Kibum wrinkles his nose as Jonghyun lists off the group of men that Kibum only vaguely knows about. He doesn’t quite remember how he knows them though.
Jonghyun leans forward, excitement written all over his face. “Do you remember that class I had with Minho back in first year?”
Oh, that’s how. And Kibum was looking over Jonghyun’s shoulder one day as he scrolled through his phone, the both of them pausing at a shirtless photo of Minho flexing into the mirror, the caption reading “chest and shoulder day” and a string of fire emojis.
So Dead Lift is a band with four gym bros—totally explains the terribly fitting name.
“We ended up talking about music back then and I got him to follow my singing page,” Jonghyun continues. “We didn’t really talk until a few days ago, he messaged me asking if I wanted to join Dead Lift for the next few months because their vocalist, Kyuhyun, got a last minute internship abroad and they have a competition coming up.”
Okay. Riveting information that Kibum didn’t ask for and has no idea why Jonghyun is telling him. But he’s intrigued enough to ask, “Did you agree?”
“Obviously, no. TA-ing takes up way too much of my time and I’d never be able to practice. But I did tell Minho that I’d let him know if I found someone who could help out.” Jonghyun is grinning and nodding, hands waving excitedly as if Kibum is supposed to know what comes next.
He only scratches his brow in confusion. “What does that have to do with me?”
“You can sub in! You’re a great singer and this is a perfect opportunity to get involved in something.”
Kibum laughs, first out of complete shock that Jonghyun would ever suggest he takes part in something he would never be caught dead doing. He doesn’t even listen to band music and hasn’t since maybe his emo phase in middle school. Then, second out of disbelief because he’s not even a real singer! He used to do theatre in high school and sure he’s featured in a video or two of Jonghyun’s but it was more to harmonize and sing the lower registers. Not actually singing. Plus, how embarrassing would it be for this Minho guy to be wanting someone of Jonghyun’s calibre and being left with Kibum’s amateur vocals?
His laughter dies out at the look on Jonghyun’s face. “Oh my god, you’re serious.”
“Bammie, look at it objectively—”
“—I’ve never done anything objectively.”
“—this is such a great chance for you to do something you like.”
Kibum groans. “Liking singing and being part of a band are two very different things. Plus, in what world would me getting between that group of guys not result in a hate crime?” He waves a manicured hand over his pink pajama set, the purple of his nails glinting against the light.
Jonghyun kicks his shin, his heel sharply hitting bone. “They’re nice guys, okay? You know I wouldn’t reply if they were bigots.”
“Ow, alright.” Kibum brings his feet back to himself, tucking them under himself. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, hyung. I’m just not qualified, there’s better options out there.”
The expression on Jonghyun softens out, his thick brows flattening in a way that means he recognizes another one of Kibum’s face and that it’s saying something his mouth can’t. “It’s worth a shot. I think you can do it.” He stands suddenly, unplugging his laptop’s charger. “You should try listening to their stuff - I’ll send you a link. And I will text Minho.”
A protest rises to Kibum’s lips but before he can say anything, Jonghyun disappears into his room.
🎸
Apparently, there’s very little time to waste and the whereabouts of this audition comes to him in the form of a text only two days later.
Jonghyunnie hyung
U dont have class right?
minho said they have practice today and u can swing by @ 4
Kibum is annoyed, not only because their conversation that night felt a bit like a fever dream and he doesn’t think it happened and doesn’t have to commit, but also because he received the text at one o’clock which gives him no time to prepare for it. He gets dressed in the most ‘alternative’ clothes he owns - distressed jorts, an oversized Nirvana shirt he thrifted (he’s never listened to them so hopefully no one asks) and chunky silver jewelry.
As he does so, he wonders why he’s even agreed to this. Not that he ever really agreed, but a small part of his brain is telling him to give it a go anyways. He has nothing to lose.
The address Jonghyun forwarded him is for Chanyeol’s parent’s house because the band practices in their garage, and it’s only a twenty minute bus ride away. That’s just enough time for Kibum to listen to their music as the bus lurches to a stop every block.
Dead Lift’s sound is a little diverse, there doesn’t seem to be a single genre that encompasses their music. Mostly indie and alternative rock, but some of their songs have undeniable pop and R&B elements that peek through with smooth vocals and a few upbeat tracks.
It’s not something Kibum has listened to in many years, he’s turned into a pop music lover, but it’s familiar and music he knows his younger self would thoroughly enjoy. Although the production is definitely amateur, it’s clear that these guys are talented.
Their main vocalist, Kyuhyun, is a seasoned singer, his voice clear and balanced. Almost immediately, Kibum has to fight the urge to hop off the bus and go home. He’s nowhere near as good as this guy.
Unfortunately, he gets to his designated stop before he can turn back around and follows the directions to the house. It’s a cushy neighbourhood, not one Kibum has ever been before, and noticeably quiet. Which is worrying because isn’t practicing in the garage bound to disturb their neighbours?
He pulls his headphones off and lets them dangle from his neck as he checks his appearance one last time through his phone camera. He looks fine. A little sweaty from the walk and the nerves, but fine. Maybe his complexion is also a little green. He rings the doorbell anyways.
It opens almost immediately, as if the man behind it was waiting for Kibum to show up. The first thing Kibum notes is how tall he is, tall and muscular. His black hair is cropped to his head, bangs short and styled down over his forehead - definitely… alternative.
“Hey! You must be Kibum, it’s nice to meet you,” the man says, opening the door wider for Kibum to enter. “I’m Changmin. I hope getting here wasn’t too bad, I know the house is a little hard to find the first time.”
“It wasn’t terrible,” Kibum says, unsure of what the correct answer is here because it was actually more than a little terrible to find and annoying to go so far off campus. He smiles. It’s wobbly and probably reads openly how much of a phony Kibum is.
Changmin leads him down the front corridor. “The others are super excited to meet you.” He pulls a heavy door open and Kibum’s heart leaps up when he steps inside the garage.
He’s not sure what he was really expecting. Perhaps a cold, cement floored garage, with tools hanging from the walls and some equipment tucked into the corner. Maybe a drum set, or a few chairs, like in those American movies he grew up watching. But nothing like what he steps into now.
The first thing he notices is that it's cozy, from the insulated walls and rugs on the floor. The walls are painted a funky pine green colour and free from electric tools - instead framed photos of musicians hang from them, bordered by polaroids of the members, posing and candid shots of them performing. The back of the garage is where the instruments are, a huge drum set, a microphone and music stands staggered in front of it, and two massive speakers cushioning it.
And just beside that is a couch, where two other men sit.
Changmin steps aside and points to the one twirling a drumstick in his hand. He’s baby faced, with big, round eyes, and shining cheeks - a face that doesn’t really match his burly shoulders and chest. “Kibum, this is Chanyeol. He plays the drums.” He gets a wave.
Then Changmin gestures at the other who gets to his feet. “And this is Minho, our guitarist.”
Being tall must be a requirement to get into this group because Minho too towers over Kibum as he approaches with an outstretched hand. He’s handsome - that classic type of handsome that ahjummas go crazy for, thick set brows, round doe eyes, and deep brown hair that curls up against his neck like a slightly overgrown mullet. Kibum takes his hand, it’s rough, littered with callouses, grip strong.
Minho smiles. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
Kibum found some time before leaving his house to search the members up, and although he could only find some private Instagram accounts, an abandoned Twitter, and half-finished LinkedIn profiles, it was enough to deduce that Changmin is a graduate student and a little older than the others. Chanyeol is the youngest and the most active online, in his second year, studying architecture or interior design (Kibum couldn’t figure out which one, but the design of the garage leads him to think it’s the latter). He thinks Minho is the same age as him since they enlisted at the same time—the only photos he could find of Minho were him in his Marine Corps uniform. Show off.
Changmin seems to lead the conversation, maybe as an unofficial leader, or because he’s the oldest. “So, have you listened to our music? Any thoughts?”
Kibum nods, wrapping his headphones around his phone. “It’s interesting. I don’t listen to a lot of rock but I like your sound.”
“Can you play any instruments?” Chanyeol asks from the couch, the sticks in his hand pausing. “Oh, and my mom cut some apples for us. Do you want some?” He points to a plate of peeled apple slices that sit on a table nearby.
“I’m alright, thank you for offering.” Chanyeol shrugs in response and takes a bite of one. “I only ever played the clarinet, but that was well over ten years ago.” He tenses. “Was that a requirement? Jonghyun-hyung didn’t mention that.”
Minho shakes his head. “It’s not. We just need a vocalist. Is there something you can sing for us?” He waves a hand. “Jonghyun-hyung said you were good and I trust him, but you know…” He trails off, a sheepish smile on his face.
Kibum clears his throat. “Yeah, I can.” This is what he came for anyways. “Anything specific?”
They share a look but when nobody says anything, Changmin pipes up, “Whatever you want. I’ll set up the mic for you.”
On the way here, Kibum had thought about what he could sing if they didn’t have a request. The first options to come to mind were some classic pop tracks—some early 2010s Britney Spears, or Gaga, ones that everyone knows and can sing along to. However, he didn’t think they would show his vocal abilities very well, so the second idea was a softer ballad. But he can’t pull that off without warming up properly and no instrumentals to supplement his voice. Plus, he hasn’t sung in a while, so the chances of that impressing anyone was low.
Back when Kibum first started university, he used to sing a lot more, for fun, featuring in Jonghyun’s videos when he was asked, or singing around his apartment as he did chores. But for some reason, between the naivety of being a first-year, his time in the military, and the wear and tear of the last three years, he didn’t sing any more than humming under his breath in the shower.
So, a vocal heavy, emotional piano ballad is off the table.
He settled on one of Jonghyun’s original pieces, since the band seemed to be aware and even fans of his music. It’s an R&B pop song he posted three years ago to his channel, singing along earnestly as his fingers strummed the melody on his acoustic guitar.
Changmin adjusts the microphone to be Kibum’s height - which he has to point out, is not short by any means but the other three are obnoxiously tall. The three of them are crowded on the couch, barely fitting on the loveseat, watching him with careful eyes. Kibum’s palms are damp as he holds the stand, first by the body, but it feels weird, so he moves one up to the microphone. Better.
He closes his eyes because it’s too awkward to be staring right at them as he sings. It doesn’t really help the thick tension clouding the room, still entirely awkward since there’s no backtrack, just a sensitive microphone that seems to be picking up on the wet noises his mouth is making. This is terrible. The whole thing. He’s going to go home and cuss Jonghyun out for putting him in this position of standing in some guy’s parent’s garage and being forced to sing as they watch.
He feels like a circus act.
He inhales, again, catching loudly on the microphone and being catapulted through the speakers into the silent room.
Then he starts singing. The first few words come out too loud, his mouth too close to the mic and he jolts from how loud it reverts in his ears, so he pulls a few inches back without stopping. He grips the microphone like a lifeline, his eyes squeezed so tightly shut that stars form behind them. But he doesn’t stop singing, letting the words flow easily from his mouth, lyrics he’s had memorized for years. His voice is a little scratchy from the lack of warm ups but he’s on tune, if not a tad nasally, his foot tapping to keep the beat
Kibum gets through the chorus and a bit of the second verse, before pulling away, letting his voice echo through the room. The room is bright when he dares to peel his eyes open. Minho is on his feet, eyes wide and bright, and he’s applauding loudly. There’s a little jump in his step.
Minho turns to Changmin. “I knew it! Hyung, he’s perfect.”
Kibum’s cheeks burn. He scratches the back of his neck, feeling shy as Changmin and Chanyeol join in on the applause. The praise feels good, unexpected and a total surprise, but it sends a rush of excitement through his stomach. Even though Kibum spent the larger part of the morning dreading and digging his heels into the ground about not wanting to do this, being able to simply sing makes him feel a tiny wisp of an emotion he hasn’t felt for a long time, although he can’t quite put a name to it.
“That was really good, hyung,” Chanyeol says. Kibum is a little surprised by how easily the younger slips into an informal tone, but Kibum isn’t a stickler for politeness anyways so he only bows his head in response.
Changmin claps him on the back, his hand warm and welcoming. “So, what do you say, Kibum. You want to join Dead Lift?”
🎸
You know those times when you start seeing someone everywhere as soon as you meet them? If you’d cross paths with them before, your eyes might have paused for a moment or maybe entirely glazed over them before they blended in with the rest of the crowd. But now that there’s a name to the face, you can’t stop seeing them constantly.
Which Kibum must admit, is not a difficult task considering he and the members of Dead Lift all go to the same school. But they start appearing everywhere, at the student center, the library near the cafeteria, the walkway park at the back of campus. He sees Minho a lot more than the others, probably because his major has something to do with science and he’s always hanging near the sciences building, which is right next to the business building. Kibum hasn’t asked what exactly he’s studying.
The first time they crossed paths, it was after Kibum’s three hour management lecture in which he spent the entirety of working on an essay for another class. As he cleaned the smudges off his glasses with the hem of his shirt, a blurry figure paused in front of him and he could make out the outline of a hand waving. He squinted, still cleaning his glasses, but didn’t pause in his step.
Only after he walked away with his frames sitting on the bridge of his nose, did he realize that the blurry figure oddly enough had the same toothy smile and fluffy brown hair as Choi Minho. Oh, shit, he was waving at Kibum.
The next time they crossed paths, Kibum made sure to send a small wave to the other so he didn’t think Kibum purposely ignored him. Even though that was something Kibum totally would do normally because he didn’t want to risk the chance that Minho would stop him and engage in small talk - something that Kibum abhors doing.
However, outside of campus, Kibum hasn’t run into Minho randomly. Until now.
An hour ago, Jonghyun had popped his head into Kibum’s room, asking if he wanted to study at a cafe together because he was in the mood for a coffee and sweet treat. Kibum was hesitant but folded when Jonghyun promised to buy him a drink. But it was midday which meant every coffee shop in a two kilometer radius would be packed with other students studying. Jonghyun searched on Naver and found another store a little further out that they could walk to instead.
But when they enter the quaint cafe, which is indeed empty, Kibum realizes he should’ve stayed home and turned down a free drink. Minho straightens up from where he’s wiping a table down, the customer service smile on his face morphing into one of genuine surprise.
“Hyung! And Kibum! What are you guys doing here?” he asks, throwing the towel over his shoulder. He smooths down the front of his apron, a pastel pink colour that matches the pink interior of the shop.
“Minho-yah, I didn’t know you worked here,” Jonghyun says excitedly, tossing an arm around Minho. They walk towards the register but Kibum lingers by the door for a moment longer. He hates running into people he knows - not his friends, or strangers, but those distant, yet close acquaintances that he has no choice but greet and talk to. And on top of that, he didn’t wash his hair last night and he’s breaking out on his chin, which means he looks terrible.
Minho slides in behind the counter with a charming grin. “It’s a little bit out of the way so there’s not a lot of students that come by. Are you guys going to study here?”
Jonghyun pats his laptop bag. “Yeah, I have a paper due in a few days. Bammie here was kind enough to provide some company.” He reaches out and tugs Kibum closer, stumbling forward with the sudden pull.
“That’s kind of you,” Minho comments, glancing over before pressing a few buttons on the register. “What can I get for you both?”
They put in an order of iced americanos and a few donuts from the display that Jonghyun wants to sample, taking a little bit of begging on his part for Kibum to try them too because he doesn’t want the whole thing. Just as Jonghyun pulls his wallet out to pay, Minho waves them away, insisting it’s on him.
“Hyung will buy you a meal soon,” Jonghyun promises, taking the tray of pastries from Minho. Kibum frowns.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
They settle into their seats in a booth near the back, and Kibum is a little stunned on how the two were acting so close. As far as he knows, they haven’t talked since their shared elective three years ago, but maybe they were on friendlier terms than Kibum thought. Definitely chummier than he and Minho.
And Kibum is no introvert, but he’s a little slow to warm up to strangers. Jonghyun always compares him to a bowl of ice on a cold day - doesn’t melt easily or quickly, but warm when he finally thaws.
He barely gets to open his laptop and connect to the internet when an americano appears in his view and someone slides into the booth beside him. The booth is large enough to comfortably hold three people, but Minho presses all the way inside until their legs and arms are smushed against each other. Kibum shifts uncomfortably, edging towards the wall. Does this guy have no understanding of personal space?
The other two talk about their classes and a school sport team and one of their acquaintances but Kibum isn’t interested at all so he tunes them out to open his word document and start working. It’s early enough in the semester that he doesn’t have many things due but he can already feel himself falling behind on lectures and tasks that he keeps pushing off day after day.
“You never mentioned your roommate before,” Minho says, pulling Kibum back into the conversation. “If I had known he was so good, I would’ve approached him directly instead of going through you.”
Kibum chokes on his drink, coughing and spluttering around the straw. They all know Jonghyun is much better than him but he can’t help but be flattered anyways. He hides behind his straw, not meeting Jonghyun’s ‘told you so’ eyes.
“I knew you guys would like him. He might not look it, but he totally matches the vibes of the music.”
Kibum kicks him across the booth. “Yah, what is that supposed to mean?”
Minho laughs, and it’s a full body laugh, he’s pushing and tugging at Kibum who he’s still too close to him in the booth. With remnants of laughter in his tone he says, “No, you’re right. He’s a perfect fit.”
Kibum takes another pointed sip of his drink, feeling his ears burn as Minho glances down at him. He’s a total fraud but he’s also not one to turn down a free compliment.
“Oh! I saw a poster this morning for the battle of the bands. When is it happening?”
“The final round live show is after the semester ends so just under four months, I guess. But we have to get through the first round, which is an online vote for a filmed performance,” Minho explains. “That voting closes in the first week of May, so,” he thinks, “two months?”
“Two months?” Kibum squeaks. And that’s just for voting, meaning they’ll be filming in a few weeks. “That’s not a lot of time.” He thought he would have a bit more time to practice and work on his vocals.
“It’s just enough. But you joined us at the right time.”
“Isn't online voting just a popularity contest? Is that fair?” Jonghyun’s brows thread together. He’s already two donuts deep, icing and sprinkles sticking to his fingers as he munches on them.
“Which is why we really have to make sure we’re promoting ourselves and spreading the word as much as possible. Actually, do you know the cafe near the gym?”
“The one that turns into a bar at night?”
“Yeah, Changmin-hyung’s been talking to the manager to fit us in right before the voting period closes. It might help get some traction.”
This is news to Kibum, of course, he’s totally out of the loop and nobody bothered to inform him of these plans. It only has been a few days since he joined the band but some heads up would’ve been nice.
Jonghyun gives him a thumbs up. “I’ll be sure to tell everyone the news, especially now that our Kibummie is a Dead Lift member.”
“Temporarily,” Kibum corrects with a pointed finger. “Only for a few months.”
Minho throws his arm over Kibum, somehow pulling them even closer together. His arm is heavy, thick around Kibum’s shoulders, the cuff of his uniform polo straining around his bicep. “Temporary or not, we’re going to make sure you enjoy every moment. So don’t worry.”
The bell above the door rings and another customer walks into the cafe. Minho apologizes to the two of them before sliding out of the booth to jog over to the register. Kibum watches him go, his eyes straying for perhaps a second too long on the wide expanse of his back and the way his black pants cling to his legs.
He centers himself in the booth, shaking away the feeling of the overly touchy guitarist.
“He’s nice, isn’t he?” Jonghyun says, finally opening his laptop to do some work. He reaches over to take a bite of another donut, sinking his teeth into the fried pastry and pulling away with a loud groan and cinnamon sugar coating his lips.
“I guess.”
“I told you not to worry. They’re all really sweet.” As Jonghyun speaks, sugar falls off his chin and into the cracks of his keyboard.
Kibum focuses his eyes back on his notes. The band is definitely something.
🎸
LIFT DEAD MEN 🤘🏻💪🏻
Maybe: Shim Changmin
hey all i added kibum in here :D
@ kibum i sent you the lyrics and some tracks to your email
No pressure if you cant memorize everything right now
but it would be great if you could start listening to everything soon ^^
Maybe: Park Chanyeol
ㅋㅋㅋㅋ
Yea no pressure i dont have most of them memorized either
And i wrote a lot of them
Maybe: Choi Minho
Thats cause you have the worst memory known to man
Maybe: Park Chanyeol
You think we don’t see u checking the lyrics off the sheet before we perform?
Maybe: Choi Minho
Yah you brat
Maybe: Shim Changmin
Anyways!
let me know if you have any questions kibum
🎸
Kibum rubs his eyes, sifting through print outs of song lyrics, one earbud in as he listens to one of them. He sits on the couch in Chanyeol’s garage, arriving early enough before practice starts to review some more. Chanyeol was the one to let him inside before running upstairs to grab something, except it’s been well over ten minutes and he has yet to reappear, so Kibum finds the confidence to sing along quietly.
He’s not too worried about memorizing the lyrics - he has a good memory and has been listening to their music while studying, so a lot of the melodies have already begun sticking to his brain. He definitely has favourites, those are the ones he finds himself humming in the shower or as he cooks.
Just as the chorus of the next song begins, the door opens and Minho walks in, a guitar case strapped to his back. He’s dressed in a muscle tee and gym shorts, a sweatband wrapped around his forehead—clearly coming straight from the gym, the sweat dried off but hair lightly matted to his head. When he spots Kibum on the couch, he beams and bounds over.
Immediately, Kibum can tell Minho is about to hug him or fist bump him or do something to touch him but Kibum sticks his hand out before he gets too close.
“You’re sweaty,” he says, lips curling up.
Minho drops his arms. “Oh, sorry,” he says with a sheepish laugh. He takes his guitar case off his back and sets it on the floor. “Didn’t have time to shower or else I’d be late.” With every movement, he sends a strong blast of freshly applied cologne wafting towards Kibum.
Kibum tucks his feet under him to give Minho room on the couch. With a click, the case opens and a guitar lies inside the plush casing. It’s pretty slim, the body of it black with a silver trim and white accents, on the head of it, the name Fender Stratocaster written across the wood. Kibum’s not familiar with guitars but it looks expensive, even with the wear and tear across it.
He watches as Minho pulls it out with comfortable ease that is telling of how many years he’s been playing. He lays it on his lap and takes another device out of his bag, clipping it to the headstock of the instrument.
He nods at the papers in Kibum’s hands. “Do you like any of them?”
Kibum blinks. “What?”
“The lyrics. Or the songs if you’ve listened too.”
Oh. “I have listened to some of them. I still have maybe eight left to go through I think.” Kibum shrugs. “But, if there’s some that you guys are planning on performing sooner at the show, I should prioritize those.”
Minho’ hands return to his guitar. He strums his fingers across the strings and a quiet note rings out. “That’s smart. I think those are the ones we’ll run through today - Changmin-hyung has the exact set list for the show. But for round one, we can only submit one so you have some time.”
A nod. Another note plays and he watches Minho adjust a peg at the head. Minho tunes his guitar, and Kibum traces over the last few lines of a song he’s been replaying a few times.
“Are these all original songs? I couldn’t figure it out.”
Minho presses his fingers on the strings to stop the noise. Oops. Kibum didn’t mean to interrupt Minho’s tuning, but he doesn’t seem too miffed “Do you think they are?”
“I’m not too sure - some do seem like it, but others…” Kibum trails off and holds up the paper at the top of his stack. “I really like this one; Sleepless Night. It’s a little tragic but very beautiful.”
Minho’s smile grows, curling up into his eyes. “Changmin-hyung and I wrote that one together.” His chin lifts imperceptibly, proudly.
Kibum’s brows rise. “Wow, I didn’t know you wrote too.” The guy didn’t look overly poetic, but that’s Kibum’s fault for judging just from first impressions.
“We all do.”
He looks back at the lyrics, words of yearning and remorse over a breakup, lines about begging and devotion and regret. And it’s probably not his place to be asking but he’s curious. “Bad break up?”
“Changmin-hyung, at the time. He doesn’t participate in writing as much as Chanyeollie. But when he does, he puts everything into it.”
Kibum’s thoughts of, ‘you must’ve also been heartbroken to write this with him’, aren’t voiced. Instead, “What else did you write?”
“More recently, Runway, Area, Don’t Let Me Go.”
Kibum is spared from telling Minho that he hasn’t listened to those yet by the door opening again to Changmin crowding into the garage, his guitar case nearly hitting the doorframe on his way in.
“Sorry for being late,” Changmin says, taking the case off his back. Just like Minho, Changmin follows the same routine of pulling the bass guitar out and tuning, moving just as smoothly and practiced. The bass is almost identical to Minho’s electric, but upon closer inspection, Kibum notices the neck is slightly longer and there’s fewer strings running down.
“I saw Taemin as I was leaving class and got caught up in a conversation. He said he was free on the 26th to film. Does that work for you guys?” Changmin asks.
Kibum checks the calendar app on his phone. He has class in the morning but he’s sure the shooting won’t coincide with his 8am lecture so he nods. Works for him. “Who's Taemin?”
“Oh, he’s Chanyeollie’s roommate’s boyfriend. He helped us film some of our videos before so we asked him for the battle too - he’s a photography major.”
Minho makes a noise like he’s come up with an idea. “Maybe we can also ask him for a bit of a photoshoot before that. Our social media needs some refreshing.” He gestures towards Kibum. “Luckily, we have someone in marketing to save us, right?”
Kibum raises a brow. “Unpaid?”
“You’re one of us now, aren’t you?” A pout is thrown back at him.
Changmin agrees easily. “That’s not a bad idea. I’ll text him.”
Chanyeol finally joins them, his head down as he looks at the notebook in his hands, reading intently off a page. They settle behind their respective instruments and Kibum gets familiar with the noises that surround him. The pop and sizzle of the speakers being plugged in, the ringing feedback echoing through the room being before caught by the insulated walls. Chanyeol drumming a beat quietly on the snare, the reverberating crash of the cymbal being hit.
Kibum sets his crumpled papers down on the stand and stares at the microphone in front of him, hesitating, like it’s a predator and he’s the prey, watching, waiting. It takes a long moment but he finds it in himself to wrap a hand around the stem, swallowing deep. He glances back at Changmin for guidance.
He gets a thumbs up in return. “We can start with Shadow . Give it a try, Kibum, and when you get lost, we’ll jump in.”
Chanyeol waits for a nod and then counts in, with three hits to his snare following his words. Immediately, sound fills the garage as Minho jumps in, the quick notes of the intro melting the real world into Kibum’s memory of the studio version. The song begins with the chorus, the lyrics a repetitive chant, which is a blissfully easy way for Kibum to transition into singing.
He doesn’t look down at his lyric sheet as he sings, his eyes closed and mind focused on his voice. That’s the part he’s worried about the most; not the words, or the energy, no, it’s his voice. He knows he can sing fine, decently, even. Theatre in highschool taught him a lot about projection and stability and breath control, and online tutorials were more than helpful to show him vibrato and transitioning smoothly between his head and chest voice. But still, he’s far from a real vocalist, and even further from a professional.
But something in him doesn’t want to disappoint.
It’s an odd, unassuming tug at his chest, one that kept him up last night to go over the songs one more time, to push his voice a little harder, to belt out another note even if he hasn’t warmed up properly for the range. It makes him want to try harder.
He stutters through the second verse, so focused on trying to reach a note and harmonize with Minho’s lower register that he forgets the melody of the pre-chorus and sings off-key. It startles him so much that he breathes out a surprised, “oh!” into the microphone and opens his eyes to dart to the correct line on the lyric page. Changmin jumps in with the next line, his voice smooth and crisp as they wrap around to fill in on the words.
Kibum can’t help but turn back, even as he falters in the lyrics, watching how Changmin sings and plays with his eyes closed, brows furrowed, fully immersed into the music. Like it’s second nature. And he’s really good. Both a singer and a bassist, keeping up with the high note of the pre-chorus despite the switching between chords that his fingers facilitate, adept at multitasking like it’s no big deal.
Kibum picks back up as the third chorus starts, hearing Minho join in as it transitions into the bridge with the strong thumps of Chanyeol hitting the bass drum. As the song builds and the bridge stretches out, long notes, that rise and rise, Kibum braces himself for the awaited high-note, trying to time his breathing to take a long enough one to last the belt, just like he practiced last night, except he forgets there’s an extra beat before he’s supposed to sing, and he takes a breath a bit too early, inhale interrupted when the beat comes in and a second-too-long stumble into the note. By the end of it, his lungs are empty and the note falls off clean, much sooner than the studio version.
He winces.
Minho is quick to fill the emptiness with one extra bar, his fingers running across the strings with an electric riff. Kibum finishes the song off strong, the final line tapering off, but his breathing is way too loud, chest rising and falling intensely, the breaths being caught louder than his voice.
The song ends.
He closes his eyes, lowering his head as he tries to catch his breath. His hands are still holding the microphone stand, gripping it tightly.
He peels his damp fingers off one at a time, letting them fall to his sides with a thump, his ring hitting the buckle of his pants with a metallic clang. His hands swing back and forth. Damn. That wasn’t good. He should’ve gone over the lyrics one more time and kept his eyes open as he sang, even if his voice can reach higher notes when they’re closed. He can’t have tunnel vision as he sings - he needs to multitask.
Something sharp jabs his ribs.
He looks over. Minho holds out a water bottle, the prickly plastic of the cap the culprit behind the sharpness digging through the thin fabric of Kibum’s shirt. He takes the bottle with a nod, too winded to speak and greedily chugs it down. It was only one song, just three and a half minutes, but for some reason his mouth is dry, his tongue trying to wick some moisture, and every breath feels like his throat is being shoved through a cheese grater.
He wasn’t even this worked up for the audition.
Changmin is the first to break the silence, clapping. “That was amazing, Kibum-ah. I’m surprised you got so many of the lyrics down already.”
Kibum doesn’t respond, not really - he’s thankful that Changmin is nice about it - they all are, but there’s no reason to lie about it. Not that he thinks Changmin is a liar, but he’s obviously softening the blow, kind words to comfort Kibum. And he’s sure disappointment is written across his own face, dissatisfaction and embarrassment sending his shoulders up to his ears.
Of course, he knew he wouldn’t have a flawless delivery, it’s his first real practice with them, and he’s not perfect. But he wanted to impress them, to prove that they made the right choice by letting him into this role.
He didn’t want them to regret him.
Changmin groans then, rubbing his stomach. “I’m starving, I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Is eomonim home?” He directs the question to Chanyeol. “I need to raid your fridge.”
Chanyeol steps out from behind the drums. “She’s in the garden. Come on.”
They disappear into the house, Changmin calling out, “Five minute break!” before the door closes behind them. Kibum pulls his sleeve over his hand and pats the little bits of sweat under his bangs. He sets the half empty water bottle down with a sigh.
“You’re doing really well,” Minho says suddenly. He’s twisting the tuning pegs of his guitar, but glances up to shoot a reassuring glance Kibum’s way.
“Yeah, right.” Kibum snorts.
Minho insists. “Trust me, it’s your first day. You’re just nervous.” He takes the strap of his guitar off, resting the instrument on the floor. “We’ve been doing this for three years, so we have a lot of synergy. Considering how well you already have it down, there’s no doubt you’ll get there soon.”
Kibum’s stomach flips and he looks away from those warm, brown eyes. He murmurs a soft ‘thank you’ and picks up his stack of lyric papers, deciding to read over his lines for the next song instead of saying something stupid.
🎸
LIFT DEAD MEN 🤘🏻💪🏻
chanyeol
So what are we wearing for this photoshoot
Changmin hyung
Jeans and a white shirt?
Should we be matching?
Choi Minho
Matching is easy.
chanyeol
my mom put my white shirt with the coloured ones and it turned pink :(
can we do another colour instead
Me
You guys do know you can coordinate without looking like triplets right
Choi Minho
Oh kibum! you’re into fashion right? Jonghyun hyung told me so
Me
I didn’t know u and him talked That much
Choi Minho
ㅋㅋㅋㅋ
Me
Anyways
we can do something denim since its outdoors
But since its gonna be an evening shoot maybe darker washes
like jeans, jackets, vests
But MAX one denim piece
This isn't country music
Changmin hyung
I have a jacket!
black pants and white shirt under
Me
Maybe...
Send a photo!
chanyeol
dibs on jeans
Is a muscle tee ok?
Me
Is this practice or a photoshoot?
chanyeol
:/
Choi Minho
Ignore him
he doesnt know anything about fashion.
chanyeol
and YOU do?
Me
everyone just send me a photo by tonight
And f or the love of god. pls do your hair and shave in the morning
Changmin hyung
you dont like my 5 oclock shadow?? :((
Me
Plz dont ask me stupid questions
🎸
Luckily, the sun is only beginning to set by the time Kibum arrives at the location of their photoshoot. It’s at the back of a local community center a few blocks away from the campus, sandwiched between a train station and an elementary school. Behind the center is an abstract architectural sculpture that Taemin suggested would look cool as a part of their photos, blue and orange metal beams chaotically jutting out in a way that almost looks like intertwined DNA strands. It’s nearing the end of March, so surrounding the park are cherry blossom trees that have just begun to bloom, the pink buds small but adding to a splash of colours against the grass.
The taxi pulls up to the curb and Kibum hands a bill over to the driver, just as his door is opened for him.
“How are you the last one to arrive when you live the closest?” Minho peeks in, the door wide open.
Kibum grabs his bag and steps out. “It takes a while to look this good.” True, but not really the reason he’s late. He was fully planning to bus here (and not spend 20,000 won on a cab) but he took much longer than he thought he would to decide what to wear. What he could wear. What was acceptable.
While the band doesn’t seem to be homophobic—Chanyeol has a gay roommate and Kibum trusts Jonghyun when he says they’re not bigots—there’s a big difference between being tolerant and being in a band with someone who pulls up with a smokey eye and lipstick. As he sifted through his closet, fingers brushing by mesh and silk, his thoughts strayed even further. What about the people voting? What if they had some prejudice about him and didn’t want to vote for Dead Lift because of it?
Ultimately, after forty minutes of trying on clothes then taking them off, he created a mountain on his bed, and decided on a denim vest and black skinny jeans with distressing at the knees that he knew would hug his legs. He couldn’t resist a necklace, just a thin band that sits at the base of his throat. And a little BB cream and concealer for the stress pimple on his chin. That’s it. He only wished his hair was blond instead of his natural black, like he had it dyed before he enlisted, but this would have to do.
Besides the fact that he looked like something from 2014 Tumblr, he knew he looked good.
In the middle of the pavement, the sculpture behind them, the other members have already set up a makeshift stage, drums assembled, a mic stand set down in front. There’s two other guys there that Kibum doesn’t recognize, one of them blonde and dressed in a ridiculously tight white tank top and jorts to his calves.
He waves at Kibum, grinning brightly. “Lee Taemin,” he introduces himself. He tugs the other man close and tucks his hand into his back pocket. “This is my boyfriend, Jongin.”
Jongin is visibly shyer, brown bangs falling over his eyes and wearing an adorably fluffy teddy bear printed sweater.
Kibum feels his shoulders relax. “Kibum.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you, hyung - can I call you hyung?” Taemin holds the camera hanging from his neck. He doesn’t wait for an answer and barrels ahead. “Have you ever been photographed before?”
Kibum thinks he smiles. “Not formally like this.” Maybe everyone here is just really friendly.
Jongin pipes in. “Don’t worry, Taemin is a pro.”
“Jonginnie here is in dance, so he knows a lot about stage makeup. I thought I’d bring him along to help if anyone needed a helping hand.” Taemin glances back at where Changmin is kneeling over his guitar case. “Changmin hyung was in desperate need of some brow gel.”
It’s only then as Minho joins their conversation that Kibum notices the black lining his eyes, the pink added to his cheeks, and the little bits of powder clinging to a dry patch.
Oh. He has makeup on.
Which makes sense because it’s a photoshoot and it’s completely normal for men to wear makeup for photoshoots since the camera washes colour out. A wave of embarrassment washes over Kibum - he was overthinking for nothing. No one here would have cared if he showed up the way he wanted to. He rubs his dry lips together, feeling slightly underdressed. He should have just swiped some blush across his cheeks and lined his eyes like he was aching to.
Stupid.
Jongin rustles through the fanny pack perched on his hip and pulls out a tube of lip gloss. Nudges Kibum. “Do you want some, hyung?” He sends Kibum a look, one of kindness and understanding, so sincere that his chest nearly caves in from how perceptive Jongin is.
Kibum smiles gratefully and takes it.
The first thing on the agenda are action shots, except since they’re on public property with no permit and it’s starting to get late, so they only pretend to perform and play a song. Minho and Changmin nod and strum their unplugged guitars and Chanyeol bangs his head and pretends to hit his drums like he’s having the time of his life. Kibum sings quietly, since he’s not that good of an actor, but acts like he has an audience in front of him.
Except he doesn’t think about it too much because the thought of an actual audience watching him sing, makes his face melt into an expression that doesn’t photograph well.
When the camera turns away from him, he lets himself observe the two boys, zooming around each other. He can tell they’ve been together for a long time in the way they work seamlessly, handing objects off, running in between shots to fix a strand of hair or an awkward pose. Their personalities seem to complement each other, Taemin a little mischievous as he pokes fun at everyone, Jongin just as playful, but a little sweeter.
For the next shots, Taemin has them stand in a staggered V-formation which has Kibum in the middle, front and center of the shots. Right away, he disagrees with the positioning.
“I don’t think…” he trails off, head whipping back to the other members. He shouldn’t be in the middle, he’s just temporary. These photos are forever, and he’s only a contract, part-time role.
“Taeminnie is right, Kibum-hyung. The vocalist is the face of the band, temporary or not,” Chanyeol says, punctuating the sentence with a flash of his dimples. He sends him two thumbs up. “And you look great so you have to be our representative face.”
Kibum pretends like he doesn’t feel the heat rushing to his ears and his cheeks and chest. Pretends like he didn’t hear it because he doesn’t do well with compliments.
All of them visibly struggle with posing now with no buffer and props, hands floundering in pockets, gazes shifting between the camera and off in the distance.
Taemin groans, glaring at them over the camera “Oh my god, you all are so awkward I can’t do this.” He peeks down into the viewfinder. “Changmin-hyung, please stop staring directly into the lens.”
“Shit, sorry,” Changmin says from the back as everyone bursts into giggles. “Don’t just pick on me though, I think Chanyeollie is stiffer than a piece of cardboard.”
Chanyeol shoves him. “My back hurts when I slouch.”
Taemin rolls his eyes. “Please bear with it, just for a few more minutes.” The camera flashes again. “Take some tips from Kibum-hyung, he’s the only one who looks natural here.”
Kibum blinks in surprise. He’s never been professionally photographed but he’s no stranger to posing in front of a camera - even if his friends are usually the ones behind it. But his pose is nothing crazy either, just a hand tucked into the pocket of his vest, hip popping out just a tad.
“Not a fair person to be compared to, he’s entirely too pretty,” Minho says casually.
He says it like it’s just another sentence, a random compliment that he didn’t put any second thought into and not like it’s something that completely turns Kibum onto his head. Pretty? Him? And does Minho mean he objectively thinks Kibum is pretty or because he subjectively thinks Kibum is pretty? And by pretty does he mean handsome, just as a regular observation? Or is it—
Kibum’s thoughts are cut off when Minho throws an arm over his shoulders, and he squawks, the sudden weight throwing him off balance and into Chanyeol, who also nearly falls over. “You-! What are you doing?”
“I think we should take some casual shots now, hm, Taemin-ah?” Minho straightens Kibum up and ruffles his hair. “Smile for the camera.”
Kibum can hear Changmin and Chanyeol’s laughter as he tries to throw Minho’s arm off him but he’s holding him so tight that it doesn’t budge. “You ruined my hair.” It comes out whiny.
A hand smoothes over the back of his head. “No, it’s good. Don’t worry.” He lowers his head, so they’re nearly in line. “Come in everyone, let’s take a cute picture like this.”
Kibum feels Chanyeol and Changmin surround him, pressing in close, arms thrown over one another, stifled giggles permeating the air.
“Oh, this is adorable.” Taemin turns the camera for a vertical shot, rotating the zoom ring on the lens. “Changmin-hyung, come closer and bend over. We need you guys to match Kibum-hyung’s height.”
“Hey!” Kibum protests but he’s drowned out by more laughter and the bright white flash from the camera. “I’m not that short.” And it’s true, but the other three tower over him and turn him into an armrest.
Minho’s cheek presses against his and he freezes, first from unease of being so close with someone he’s only met a few weeks ago, but then he feels Chanyeol on his other side, and Changmin’s hand on his back, and Kibum… relaxes. He lets himself sink into the tenderness, into the joy, the giggles.
And for the first time in longer than he’d like to admit, Kibum really smiles.