Chapter Text
The day after his arrival in Seoul, Baekhyun goes by himself to the cinema. The movie he sees is nothing remarkable, the plot thin, the production questionable, the title something generic that he probably won’t even remember in a few years—but with the tightening grip over the film industry these days, that isn’t surprising. Companies have just been churning out crappy film after crappy film, desperate to meet the production quota, hoping to be granted the permission to show those big-budget blockbusters from the west.
Besides him, there’s only a couple other people in this big, empty theater. And from the looks of this discount action flick that’s made even more pathetic by its lack of an audience, he can see why. With line after line of cringey dialogue that makes him almost laugh during what he thinks are supposed to be serious moments, he begins to wonder if a kid wrote the screenplay. Baekhyun knows this must be nothing compared to the riveting, sensational art of American Hollywood that he’s heard so much about. For a while now, he’s wanted to watch just one of those films with his own eyes.
But there are only so few days a year that those foreign films are screened, and each time one of those days arrives, it seems like Baekhyun loses the opportunity to catch it before he even knew it existed. He always takes it with complacence, convincing himself that he’ll go next time, that it’s bound to happen, any day now. Yet the more he tells himself there will be another chance, the more time that passes, and subsequently, the more he begins to feel that he’s waited too long, built his expectations to be larger than the confines of reality.
This pendulum that swings to and fro between blind anticipation and the fear of disappointment is something Baekhyun hangs onto, more often than he realizes. Growing up, he has had a lot of things withheld from him, be it people or experiences, and was left to imagine. Imagine, envision, and dream. He dreams of having all of the answers, of a life where he doesn’t have to reinvent himself.
And the thing that he dreams of the most, in an imaginary world where he is nothing less than a king, is a family. It’s a dream that’s withered as he’s grown older into a somewhat jaded adolescent, but has never fully died.
Miraculously in the spring of 1974, right as the flame of this desire has diminished to a dim glow and as Baekhyun begins to give up hope, he finds what he’s been looking for. And while it’s not perfect, nor is it anything like he’s expected it to be, he is nowhere near disappointed.
⋯
With how big the Bae household is, Baekhyun at first thought he was taken in to fill in some of the empty space. That perhaps he was wanted here to help make the long days feel less lonely, the quiet halls more lively. But with the way his aunt regards him with little more than tolerance, he sees that, once again, his staying here was most likely a choice met with reluctance, or made simply out of moral obligation.
“Baekhyun,” Joohyun says over her shoulder, directing a sweet smile towards Baekhyun. “Do you want a fried egg?”
Baekhyun looks up from his breakfast, before giving a small shake of his head. “That’s alright, Joohyun-noona.” He casts his gaze across the house, as if to make sure Joohyun’s mother isn’t within hearing range. “I know it’s expensive.”
Joohyun clicks her tongue as she walks over to the table with her frying pan in hand, before sliding a crackling fried egg into Baekhyun’s bowl. “You better not say that in front of my mom, she’ll think you’re insulting us.”
Baekhyun knows. He bows his head a little, reservedly. “Thank you.”
“You’re so stiff. This is your home now, you know.” Joohyun gives a wry little smile, before taking a seat across the glass tabletop from Baekhyun. Her face then lights up with an idea. “If money’s your concern, why don’t you repay me with a song on the piano? I heard you’re really good.”
The question strikes Baekhyun a surprise, and he tears his eyes off of the way the yolk spills yellow onto his rice after piercing it with his chopsticks. He blinks at Joohyun, before uttering, “Now?”
“No, silly,” Joohyun laughs, leaning back in her chair, “eat first.” Baekhyun slowly nods, picking his chopsticks back up and making sure to eat quickly and not keep her waiting. They don’t talk much for the duration of breakfast, with Joohyun asking rudimentary questions that Baekhyun is able to answer with three words or less, until Baekhyun finishes and stands up from his chair.
“Do you still want me to play?” Baekhyun asks, to which Joohyun beams. Instead of replying in words, she nods and gestures over to the upright piano sitting in the corner of the parlor, and Baekhyun obediently shuffles over.
Before he opens the lid, he glides his fingertips across its glossy finish, as if to introduce himself to the instrument to his touch. He would only admit to Joohyun years later that he was overwhelmingly relieved by her request. He’s wanted to play this piano the moment he had moved in but restrained himself, not wanting to be rude, touching something that wasn’t his.
Lifting up the lid reveals an expanse of black and white keys that stare back up at Baekhyun, an at first brooding stare that slowly becomes kinder, more welcoming, when he sits down at the bench. He pushes down on each one of the pedals, before gingerly raising his hands to ever so lightly, place his fingertips on B flat, F, and C.
Breathe in. Lean forward. Breathe Out.
Play.
The sound of descending notes on a minor scale fill the room, and resonate across the hardwood floors. Baekhyun soon finds the one good thing about the near silence in this house, and it’s the way that the sound of the piano shines light on every forgotten corner, between the floorboards, through the stale air. Through this sound, Baekhyun feels, for the first time since he’s stepped off the noisy Gyeongbu rails and into this overcrowded, even noisier metropolis, at peace.
By the time he finishes, he’s almost forgotten that Joohyun has been listening intently, being brought back to earth by the sound of her clapping from behind him. He shifts his position on the bench to see her smiling brightly. She’s a beautiful woman, Baekhyun thinks to himself, although this isn’t a new discovery. He’s been wondering for the past week, how much of her sweetness is attributed to her looks, what feelings she could possibly feel below her exterior. How much of her kindness towards him is just a mere formality.
“That was beautiful, Baekhyun,” Joohyun praises, making Baekhyun smile and shake his head, modestly. “Was that Chopin?”
“Yeah.” Baekhyun pauses to look back at the piano almost wistfully. “You like piano music, Joohyun-noona?”
“Oh, I stopped playing ages ago,” says Joohyun with a dismissive wave of her hand. “When I was younger than you. And even then, I was nowhere near as good as you are.”
Baekhyun is about to reply, when he hears someone coming down the stairs, followed by footsteps into the living room. As an automatic reaction, he shuts the lid back over the keyboard and stands up.
“Baekhyun, shouldn’t you be getting ready to go to school?” His aunt says it more as a statement rather than a question, peering over at him from the entryway, then over to his dishes left on the table from breakfast. “And playing piano before you clean up after yourself, too. Joohyun is a resident here, not a servant.”
“Mom, don’t be like that,” Joohyun says good-naturedly before Baekhyun can apologize, “I asked him to play for me. Doesn’t he play beautifully?” Joohyun turns to Baekhyun, “Thank you. And you can play it whenever you want, okay? Don't be shy.”
Feeling like he’s earned a privilege he doesn’t quite deserve yet, Baekhyun glances over to his aunt, who eventually closes her eyes before heading into the kitchen, giving her silent approval. He can’t help but break into a smile.
After helping Joohyun clear the table, he grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder before he gives a polite bow towards Joohyun and his aunt. “I’ll be on my way.”
“Have a good day,” Joohyun calls, tucking the loose strands that have fallen out of her ponytail behind her ears. “You’ve taken the bus already, right? The school’s a little past the movie theater.”
“Oh, okay,” Baekhyun says in lack of anything better, unnaccustomed to how involved Joohyun is being. But it’s not a bad thing, and he gives her a smile, which prompts her to smile back. “Thanks. Have a nice day, Noona.”
Everything in Seoul is packed, Baekhyun thinks. The bus is crammed full of people, from businessmen to students, with not an inch of space around Baekhyun that isn’t occupied by a body. When he looks outside the windows, all the houses, apartments, and stores are bunched tightly together in blocks of concrete that look like they’re about to spill over the sidewalks that act as their boundary. Even the sky is full of clotheslines and wires, looking like a trap for poor birds in the way that a spider’s web traps flies. Baekhyun, too, feels trapped when he looks at it.
When he gets to his school, it’s not much different; while it’s still early and students aren’t in a rush to get to their classrooms quite yet, the school yard is teeming with teenagers chattering amongst themselves. Amongst the talk, however, there is a sound that begins to stick out to Baekhyun, an incessant tapping that taunts his ears. He glances to his right where the noise is coming from, and sees a boy sitting at the edge of a planter, legs crossed so his right ankle rests on his left thigh. The boy holds two pencils, one in each hand, that he’s beating against the side of his tattered shoe.
But upon listening for a few seconds more, Baekhyun sees that beating doesn’t seem to be the right word. There’s a strange method to it, a rhythm, prominent enough that he can tell its existence is not just a coincidence. It’s in this moment that the boy looks up, an innocent, unassuming look on his face, and he and Baekhyun meet eyes. Baekhyun immediately tears his gaze off of the boy and his musical pencils and keeps walking, feigning ignorance.
He forgets about that boy almost as quickly as he acknowledged his presence, and goes through the rest of his day without obstacles. For once he’s grateful for the fact that everything is so crowded in Seoul, including his public school. His new beginnings at new schools have usually been in the countryside, in tiny villages where everyone knew everyone else, where an unfamiliar face stuck out as if it were something alien. But here, he blends in. And he thinks he can grow used to it.
On his way home, he gets off a few stops early so he can look at the marquee hanging above the movie theater. He scans the board for any American blockbusters, but as usual, there’s nothing—as has been the trend, for as long as he can remember. With increasing censorship and the stagnant quality of the films being released domestically, people would rather stay home and watch the T.V. With a small sigh, Baekhyun deems it a lost cause.
However, the day doesn’t end with disappointment, not quite yet. At the edge of the road, sit a few run-down buildings, all connected by a faded veranda. Settled between the laundromat and the bakery, right outside a railway line, is a music shop.
Saddled under a washed-out, mint-colored canopy that reads ‘Chungmuro Music,’ Baekhyun’s attention is immediately grabbed.
Instantly, he recalls Joohyun’s words from this morning, granting him permission to play the piano whenever he wants. Even before the joy of remembering it settles in, he’s walking inside the shop with an assertiveness to his step, a small bell hanging over the door frame ringing to announce his arrival. The first thing he sees, beyond shelves of records and music books, is the young clerk standing behind the counter with a kind look on his face.
“Welcome,” the shopkeeper says with a sweet smile that reminds Baekhyun of Joohyun’s. That pure, saccharine sort of smile. Baekhyun greets him back with a nod, before migrating towards the shelves of piano sheet music.
He finds a book of Chopin’s Nocturnes, flipping through the pages and staring hard at the score. Holding the booklet in one hand, he maneuvers the fingers on the other, trying to incorporate the notes on the page into his muscle memory. He has no pocket money to buy anything, so for the time being, this would have to do.
It’s mainly empty in the shop, save for a few people who are looking at records and others who are fooling around with the instruments on display. Baekhyun goes off into his own little world, his eyes about to burn a hole into the pages when all of a sudden, there’s an interruption.
The door swings open, the bell chimes, followed by a shout of, “Hey, Junmyeon!”
It’s an enthusiastic voice that booms through the originally quiet store, so Baekhyun naturally looks up. And he’s taken aback to see that it’s none other than the boy he saw on the schoolyard this morning, who was drumming on his dirty trainers with his pencils.
The man running the store chirps back, “Hello, Chanyeol!”
The boy who’s apparently named Chanyeol begins taking off his bag, looking around the store. “Slow day, today?” He pauses when his eyes land on Baekhyun, who realizes that, for some reason, he’s still staring back. “Hey, don’t you go to my school?”
As if this kid could be talking to anyone else, Baekhyun glances around him. When he looks back forward about a second later, Chanyeol is already much closer, trudging towards him with wide strides of long legs. Soon Chanyeol is right up in Baekhyun’s face, all messy dark hair and big, curious eyes. He grins wide, tilts his head. “You do! Suji, right?”
“Yeah, I do,” Baekhyun replies, closing the book he was studying and holding it by his side. He holds out a hand, “I’m Byun Baekhyun.”
“Park Chanyeol!” Chanyeol heartily claps his hand into Baekhyun’s and shakes generously, so generously that Baekhyun almost feels like he’s being yanked around. Without letting go of Baekhyun’s hand, Chanyeol asks, “Do you come here, often? I’ve never seen you.”
“Nope, this is my first time.” Baekhyun is about to explain that he was just here to look at sheet music, but Chanyeol is already one step ahead of him, taking notice of the book in his other hand.
“Wait, you play piano?” Chanyeol’s eyes are even wider now.
"That I do," Baekhyun nods. Chanyeol grins a grin so wide that Baekhyun almost feels the urge to measure how long it stretches.
"You any good?"
"Uhh," Baekhyun stalls, unsure of how to really respond to that. He gives a haphazard shrug, "I'm okay, I guess."
Everything after that is a blur: one moment, Baekhyun is still standing upright, having a conversation like a normal person—the next, Chanyeol is actually yanking him, straight to the back of the shop. Baekhyun bewilderedly looks around as Chanyeol clumsily pulls him beyond the counter where the shopkeeper is still standing, still smiling, as if this is normal. He isn’t even able to say his goodbyes to his little haven before Chanyeol is busting open a door that looks very off-limits, and all but throwing Baekhyun inside.
What greets Baekhyun is a dimly lit storage room, and before he can even process it, Chanyeol continues to drag him down a small staircase while gleefully declaring, “You’re coming with me!”
"Yeah, it looks like it!" Baekhyun can only say back as he's forcefully pulled along, almost scared for his life, at this point.
After their shoes pound down the stairs and they burst through the door that waits at the bottom at breakneck speed, Chanyeol finally lets go of Baekhyun’s arm, signaling to Baekhyun that, wherever their destination was, they’ve arrived. He’s already needing a moment to recover his balance from the abruptness of it all, but the journey here proves to be only the beginning as an onslaught of words and gestures soon fly past his eyes.
“Kyungsoo, Jongdae!” Chanyeol calls. Baekhyun looks around, and is painted surprised by what he sees. It’s what looks like another storage room, but instead of inventory it's almost completely cleared out, save for a drumset and a double bass in one corner, a piano in another, and two other boys, sitting on a sofa that sits on the far edge of the room. They look up, their expressions going from curious, to perplexed, to suspicious at the sight of Baekhyun.
One of the guys stands up, quirking up an eyebrow, skeptically. He looks Baekhyun up and down, and Baekhyun subtly does the same. He’s the only one in the room that’s not in a high school uniform, which makes Baekhyun assume he’s a little older. “Who’s this, Chanyeol, friend from school? We told you, you can’t just bring anyone down here.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Chanyeol says, “I brought him here to cover the piano!”
“Him?” The same guy snorts, taking out the pencil that was tucked behind his ear and pointing it at Baekhyun, “What makes him qualified to play with us?” His mouth curls into a cat-like smile, and Baekhyun can’t help but feel a bit provoked by the challenge.
The other boy in the room stands as well, and walks towards Baekhyun with a placid expression on his face. He’s not as readable, and Baekhyun can only stand there, suspended in time as he lets himself be studied. Finally, the boy pushes his thick-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, before pointing out, “That music you have, it’s classical, isn’t it?”
“For real? Then he doesn’t belong with us.” The impish-looking boy crosses his arms before proudly stating, “It’s jazz only, here.”
“But Jongdae,” Chanyeol pokes out his lower lip, thoughtfully, “we’ve needed a replacement ever since Junmyeon got busy.”
The boy with the glasses places a hand on his chin, before deliberating, “It is empty without a pianist.”
“I'll play the piano.”
“If it’s not the sax, you can't play for shit, Jongdae.”
“Hey.”
This whole exchange happens with Baekhyun right there to witness it, unsure of how to jump in, or if he even should. Part of him wants to tell the catty one that, frankly, he’s not interested in jazz to begin with. But the other part somewhat wants to see this through, so he opts to just listen with a furrow in his brow as the other three go into a rushed debate.
As if four wasn’t enough of a crowd in this tiny room, Baekhyun suddenly hears the faint noise of someone else coming down the steps.
“What’s it so noisy in here, for?”
Everyone is effectively hushed, and Baekhyun peers through the open door and up the staircase to see another young man, heading towards them. He also is not in a uniform, his clothes nondescript save for a black strap across his torso that, upon closer inspection, Baekhyun realizes is suspending a trumpet case off his shoulder. Once the newcomer is on ground level, he directs a quizzical look towards Baekhyun, his eyes sharp and lively. “This the new boy that Junmyeon mentioned on my way in?”
Chanyeol nods, “Yup, thought we could take him for a little test run. Baekhyun’s a pianist.”
“Classical pianist,” the one called Jongdae pipes up in clarification. Baekhyun’s automatic reaction is to give him an incredulous look.
“I see.” The newcomer sets down his case, before giving Baekhyun a welcoming little smile, something that Baekhyun feels like he could use, right now. “Baekhyun, is it? I’m Minseok. Have you played for a while?”
“Since I can remember,” Baekhyun replies. Minseok’s smile grows, becoming crooked so that it’s wider on his right side, and Baekhyun finds himself fixated on it.
“Take a seat.” Minseok gestures towards the piano bench, and when Baekhyun obeys, he walks across the room to a bookshelf in the corner. He crouches down, rubbing his chin and humming in contemplation, before finally pulling out a tattered book. He thumbs through the pages as he rejoins the group, eventually seeming to find something that satisfies him before holding the book out to Baekhyun.
“Jazz is a bit different than classical. Want to take a look at this?” Minseok asks. Baekhyun looks down at the page Minseok pulled for him, holding a song entitled “Caravan.” The others are studying him study it, Baekhyun realizes when he can sense them all hovering over him, crowding his space. “It doesn’t have to be exact, just as long as you got the chords. Look doable?”
“Don’t you think Caravan’s too hard for him,” Jongdae says, not really like a question but more like a statement of fact. It sort of grinds Baekhyun’s gears, and he finds himself speaking up before thinking.
“I can do it,” Baekhyun returns, making the boys around him look mildly surprised at the way he defends himself. Baekhyun isn’t dumb, he’s aware that too much pride can only result in him crashing and burning, and bites his cheek. “I, uh. I think. I know chords, and the scales in here look like they’re mostly mixolydian…”
It goes a bit quiet after that, and Baekhyun looks up to see all of them staring at him blankly. Finally, the silence is broken when Jongdae spouts, “The hell you just say?”
“None of us were trained like that,” Minseok says with a laugh, shaking his head. He’s now unclasping his case, opening it to reveal a beautiful Jean Paul trumpet, the brass glinting in the dingy lighting of the ceiling lamps. As he pushes on the mouthpiece to assemble the trumpet, the others seem to sort of disperse and undergo their own preparations, like Minseok has given a silent command. “All of us here know what we know either from Junmyeon’s old man, or from long nights of listening to records.”
“Self-taught?” Baekhyun murmurs to himself, feeling himself grow even more skeptical of whether or not this is worth his time. He watches Kyungsoo slide the contrabass into upright position, Chanyeol plop down into his seat at the drumset, and Jongdae strap on a saxophone that’s been lying on the sofa.
Right in front of Baekhyun, they get into position, the horns being blown into with quick bursts of air, a pedal tapping into the bass drum in earthy thumps and the strings of the bass being given a few rudimentary plucks, before Minseok looks up to once more flash that lopsided little smirk at Baekhyun.
“Hop in whenever,” Minseok says. Baekhyun’s eyes widen at the suddenness of it all, and is about to say something in protest or to stall, when Chanyeol raises his arms, one stick in each hand with mismatching grips, and smashes them down on his kit to set fire to a rampant solo.
It makes Baekhyun jump a little, and reflexively want to cover his ears from the thunder of the drums that soon fill the tiny studio rather deafeningly. Initially making a small face at the sheer volume, his disdain soon melts away in time, along with his perceived harshness of the drums. Soon the bassist joins in, giving the noise more definition, more shape, even moreso when flanked by the trumpet and the sax.
In tandem, the four of them crescendo until reaching a small plateau together, the sound shaking Baekhyun to his core in a way that's equal parts unorthodox, and oh-so satisfying. It’s a sort of chaos that sticks to the walls of his mind, making a wave of heat wash over his chest and leaving a sweet tang on the underside of his tongue. Mesmerized—perhaps that's the only word that can describe his state, right now.
“Now, Mozart!” Jongdae suddenly calls at him in the split second he takes his mouth off of his reed, waking Baekhyun up from his stupor. Baekhyun catches a glimpse of Minseok, the corner of his mouth upturning the slightest bit in between blaring notes on the trumpet, before his body suddenly goes into autopilot. He scoots over to be seated properly at the piano, propping up the music Minseok gave him onto the stand and rigidly positioning his hands.
His fingers grow stiff at the foreignness of playing with others, as Baekhyun grows acutely aware of the fact that throughout his life, he’s only ever played by himself. And for the first time, he feels like that might not have been a good thing; he used to think that it couldn’t be that different. Now, he realizes that it’s completely different. Once he finally works up the nerve to press down on the keys, it releases a whole other onslaught of Firsts—the first time he isn’t able to hear himself over the lawless melodies of others, the first time he doesn’t know where to look, the first time he feels like this.
What exactly this is, is what Baekhyun tries to put his finger on for the next few minutes, but is never really able to. There’s no time, anyway, not now. He struggles to keep up with the dissonant clusters of notes and the augmentations that stray from the order he’s accustomed to, only able to hit sporadic chords in an attempt to not get left behind by the others. He wonders to himself, why play jazz when it gets his heart so riled up and anxious, to the point he’s hanging on the edge of his seat, until he realizes that, perhaps, that is why.
The entirety of the song is a montage of clumsy syncopations and the roar of cymbals, bass, trumpet and saxophone reverberating in his eardrums. He doesn’t know exactly when his jitteriness ended and a small bout of confidence seemingly took over—all he knows is that, by the end of it, as five voices argue good-naturedly for the last say in this tiny box of a room, he feels like he’s somehow lost himself. And when he was found again, there was something about him inexpressibly and ineffably changed.
“Well, what do you know,” Jongdae whistles after the final note that Baekhyun feels daring enough to add a trill to. “Not half bad.”
“A little rough around the edges,” Kyungsoo says with a nod, “but good.” Chanyeol is beaming at Baekhyun from his drumset, and Baekhyun feels all too validated by the praise of a bunch of strangers.
“For a first time, it was pretty impressive,” Minseok approves. He lowers his trumpet to his waist, and tilts his head at Baekhyun in a cute little manner that Baekhyun thinks kinda matches the rest of him. Baekhyun’s feeling of outward satisfaction has now deepened into something like mellow elation, like he can float, and Minseok can apparently tell. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself, too.”
“Oh,” Baekhyun says, not having thought about what he may have looked like. But he finds he doesn’t care, frankly, and breaks into a grin of his own. “Yeah. I was.”
“I’m glad.” Minseok gives a quick wink, before announcing, “If you’ll excuse us for a second, the four of us have to take a vote.”
Baekhyun returns to his more familiar feeling of bemusement when the four boys make a small huddle in the center of the room, only to break apart mere seconds later. It’s incredibly anticlimactic, in a comical, stupid sort of way that has Baekhyun holding in a huff of his breath.
“Welcome to our quartet,” Jongdae trills. “Or, our quintet, now. I’m Kim Jongdae—the front man,” he flourishes, “singer and saxophone extraordinaire.”
“Uh-huh,” Baekhyun muses, seeing how a couple of the others roll their eyes at the title. He’s grateful to finally have some formal introductions, though, and tries to engrain this moment, this feeling and these faces into his memory. Because he feels like it’s all important.
“Do Kyungsoo. Bassist,” Kyungsoo adds, short and sweet, and to the point.
“Park Chanyeol! I’m on drums!” Chanyeol chitters.
“Kim Minseok,” Minseok finishes as a formality as he takes a seat on the couch. He jokingly holds up his instrument like an afterthought, “Trumpet. It’s up to you, but you’re free to come here and jam with us, whenever you want.”
It’s the second time today that Baekhyun is receiving an offer for something that he’s been secretly wanting to hear, yet this feels completely different. He’s being thrust into this clearly well-oiled machine out of the blue, and while he knows it’s smarter to say something more cautious, like he’ll see if he has the time, or that he’ll think about it, these words don’t find their way out of his mouth. Instead he finds himself breaking into a small chuckle at both how serendipitous this is, and at the clang of their jazz session that’s still clinging to his thoughts and almost making him feel dizzy, delirious.
“So, what’s your name again?” Jongdae asks. Baekhyun smiles.
“I’m Baekhyun, Byun Baekhyun,” he says over the race of his heartbeat, catching Minseok’s unclouded stare with his own. “I guess I’m on piano.”
The other four pick their instruments back up and do a small tune of victory at Baekhyun’s acceptance, and Baekhyun finds himself laughing genuinely.
He decides to head home shortly after, to start his homework and to not keep his caretakers waiting. Before he opens the door to trudge back up those stairs, Minseok approaches him one more time.
“You can relax. We don’t bite,” Minseok teases. Then, on a slightly more serious note, “And take care of your fingers. You play beautifully.”
The last bit is said in a low, almost whisper, as is Baekhyun’s demure reply of, “I will.”
For the rest of that day and even into the late hours of the night as Baekhyun lies awake in bed, there’s only one thing he can think of. It’s not just the feeling of unknowing at what exactly he’s gotten himself into, or the curiosity about these four boys and whatever miracle brought them together—it’s mainly the rumble of the music those four played, that remains painted in exuberant golds and reds all over his wan mind.
⋯
Starting after that day, Baekhyun begins to frequent the music store to join the group for casual jazz sessions. Being with them admittedly takes a bit of getting used to, things don't always go quite smoothly, yet there’s something about this peculiar little group that always convinces him to come back for the next meet-up.
“Stop,” Jongdae starts one evening when Baekhyun comes down into the cellar, holding up a hand. “What do you got, there, Mozart?”
Baekhyun is reluctant because he already knows what’s coming. He had shown up early today in the hopes that he’d be the first one here, and that he'd be able to practice out of some of the classical books Junmyeon had in stock. But unfortunately he found Jongdae had beaten him here, having already been warming up with hollow puffs of air into his sax. With a pang of regret, Baekhyun holds out a small stack of sonatas that Jongdae takes and inspects for a few seconds, before he gives them back and commands, “Leave ‘em outside.”
“But—”
“Outside!” Jongdae orders, and Baekhyun groans.
The guys don’t play anything but jazz, and that’s a rule. But the time Baekhyun spends in this store isn’t all devoted to playing—in fact, arguably more time is spent with the boys talking loudly amongst themselves, sitting around the record player and eating snacks. They drop honorifics with each other despite being a mixture of ages, they aren’t afraid to get crass and speak their minds. Baekhyun can only guess this comes from years of being together.
One day, after hours of all four of them breathing down Baekhyun's neck as he learns a few songs and lecturing to him about the fundamentals of jazz, he quietly practices by himself on the piano as the rest take a break. Like they're the ones who have been doing the work, he amusedly thinks to himself. His fingers ache from wearing himself down to the bone, both here and at his aunt’s house, and his temples are beginning to ring from the incessant clicking of Chanyeol’s sticks and the amount of times they’ve all shouted at Baekhyun to play with more feeling. With more swing, as they say.
Delicately working out the melody of the new song he's learnt with one hand, he makes sure to be quiet enough to not be a nuisance while the others are talking to each other. He’s content with listening in on their conversations, not wanting to make things awkward, when Minseok calls, “Baekhyun, what are you doing? Get over here.”
Baekhyun looks up, his eyebrows raising to see that they’re all waiting for him at their little resting area, an extra foldable chair pulled up next to Minseok. Undeniably pleased by the gesture, he gets up from his seat in favor of the one being provided for him.
“So,” Kyungsoo says, placing a glass of water in front of Baekhyun, “is there any jazz you’re already familiar with?”
“Not really. Oh, I know Sinatra,” Baekhyun replies, taking notice of how several of them are wearing an ambiguous expression. “...You know, uh, Fly Me To The Mo—”
“We know,” Chanyeol pipes up, “everyone knows! He doesn’t count, he’s overrated.”
The rest nod in agreement, and Baekhyun suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, excuse me. Then, no, I don’t.”
“No Miles Davis? Coltrane?” Chanyeol and everyone else begin listing a bunch of foreign names that might as well go in through one of Baekhyun's ears and out the other. “Armstrong?”
"Everything you've said means literally nothing to me," Baekhyun says, amused when he gets the reaction he knew he would get—which is Chanyeol gasping like Baekhyun just said something absolutely filthy about his mother.
“I guess we can’t blame you,” Jongdae relents after Baekhyun shakes his head for the nth time, shrugging his shoulders before letting out a dramatic sigh. “All people care about anymore is rock and roll.”
“Even when the government’s been banning it faster than they can play their fancy guitars,” Kyungsoo clips. “But, jazz has been dying for a long time, even before all these rules happened.”
Baekhyun’s about to say he isn’t sure if jazz ever even lived, at least in the lifetime of anyone currently sitting here, before deciding to spare their hearts. Instead he asks, “Why do you guys even play?”
“Am I hearing things, or are you judging us?” Minseok chuckles, glancing at Baekhyun curiously.
"I've been judging you, thanks so much for noticing," Baekhyun retorts, earning a wider smirk from Minseok.
“Well, why do you play, with us?”
Baekhyun pauses mid-sip of water, and realizes that he’s never really thought about it. He knows there’s something about his choosing to come here every other day, play some notes that lay neatly on paper but slanted and oblique in the air, and talk bullshit with these guys for a few hours until it's time to go home, that probably means that in some way, he enjoys it. But for now he settles on answering with, “I mean, I was just roped into this, but what else am I gonna do with my day, I guess. And I’ve never been the biggest fan of rock, anyway.” He pauses, thinks about his cousin's asshole of a boyfriend who always seemed to pull up to the house playing his Pink Floyd tapes while Baekhyun was coming home from school, just in time to shout some insult disguised as a greeting at him. Or, just the insult outright. Before he not so gracefully finishes with, “Fuck that noise, man.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Jongdae says, and they all jokingly raise their water glasses. Baekhyun bites back a grin.
⁂
There are days when not everyone can make it, and those are the days when the basement that normally feels overly cramped, no longer feels full enough. When Friday rolls around, Baekhyun walks into the store to see Chanyeol and Kyungsoo hanging around the counter and talking to Junmyeon, who greets Baekhyun warmly as always.
“Are Minseok and Jongdae not coming, today?” Baekhyun asks. He’s since learned that they all lead rather separate lives outside of their time together in the store. Kyungsoo is his year but enrolled at a private academy, Minseok is a college student at SNU who’s helping to pay off his fees with a part-time job, while Jongdae went straight to work after graduating high school. And with Chanyeol being a year below Baekhyun and a frequent ditcher of independent study, they, too, hardly cross each other’s paths during their daily lives. As Chanyeol and Kyungsoo shake their heads, Baekhyun thinks to himself that he’ll have to hear the story of how everyone met, one day.
“Jongdae’s busy with his job,” Kyungsoo replies. Baekhyun nods.
“Minseok, too?” he asks, not really noticing that he feels a little disappointed. Or maybe he does, but the way in which he automatically chooses to ignore it almost makes it seem like he hasn't noticed it at all. Since the beginning, there’s been something about Minseok that makes Baekhyun feel comfortable, at ease. At first he thought he could be intimidating, with his cool attitude and his older age, or the fact that he’s the one that everyone seems to silently respect him as the leader. But Baekhyun's since then grown to see that there's something telling, something expository in the way Minseok plays, the way he tenderly holds his trumpet with his lax posture, closing his eyes as he makes his instrument sing. The way that, no matter how lively and fiery his song, Minseok’s sound emits an aching chill that unfolds in Baekhyun’s chest. It makes Baekhyun feel, oddly, like Minseok has already breeched over any walls of hesitation or reservedness between them through his choice to allow Baekhyun to hear him play.
Minseok doesn't talk as much as the others. Maybe Baekhyun feels like he's gotten to know more of what he knows about Minseok, which isn't much for now, from his melodies rather than from his words. And maybe there's something about that, that Baekhyun is irrevocably intrigued by.
These thoughts get pushed to the back of his mind, however, when Chanyeol, Kyungsoo and Junmyeon all grow a slightly strained expression that they all share. “What?”
“He’s,” Junmyeon begins when Kyungsoo and Chanyeol look to him for an answer. “You know.” Junmyeon seems to peer around the shop to make sure there aren’t any customers too closeby, before he makes a motion with his fist, raising it into the air a few times, effectively breaking through Baekhyun’s confusion.
“Minseok protests?” Baekhyun gapes, and the other three immediately shush him. He sheepishly falls into a whisper, “Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Yeah. But it’s not like he doesn’t know that,” Kyungsoo shrugs. “We don’t try to stop him.” He then pauses. “I wouldn’t tell your parents that you’re friends with a student activist.”
“Oh, right.” Baekhyun just goes along with it. “Yeah, don’t worry about that.” The three don’t really seem to particularly like talking about it, so Baekhyun drops it.
He spends some of the evening practicing with Kyungsoo and Chanyeol, and while it’s still lively and enjoyable on their own, Baekhyun can’t help but feel like it’s incomplete without the brass. So he spends most of his time sitting with Chanyeol and Kyungsoo in the basement, who play their favorite jazz records for him and drill the names of all the Greats into Baekhyun’s head.
“Jongdae dreams of being a star, one day. The next Charlie Parker,” Chanyeol says, spinning one of his drumsticks around on his fingertips. “But not before I’m the next Max Roach.”
“Max Roach made sure to get his Bachelor’s degree,” Kyungsoo says pointedly, making Chanyeol wrinkle his nose.
“School was never my thing, you know that, Kyungsoo!” Chanyeol dismisses, before smiling boastfully. “Besides, who cares about school when you’re going to be the best drummer in the world?”
“Chanyeol thinks the world is much smaller than it is,” Kyungsoo says to Baekhyun. “To him it’s Gyeonggi-do, then America. Not even all of America—New York. That’s it.” Baekhyun laughs as Chanyeol whines more at Kyungsoo, who eventually submits, “Yeah, yeah, you’re going to be the best.”
“Does Minseok have a dream like that?” Baekhyun asks. He’s still thinking about Minseok, what he could be doing right now. He’s only heard or read about the student protests that have grown violent, crushed by the riot police. Now more than ever, he’d like to believe that those stories weren’t true.
“Minseok’s got too many dreams,” Kyungsoo sighs. “If there’s anyone who could make a career out of music, we all thought it was him. He’s talented, he’s smart—he goes to university on a scholarship. But, I think he’s got too many other things on his mind.”
“Other things,” Baekhyun repeats, wondering if this has anything to do with what Minseok’s up to, currently.
“He’s too busy worrying about the future of this country to think about his own.” Kyungsoo kisses his teeth. “We always say that one of these days, he’ll follow his hero’s footsteps and burn out.”
“Ah!” Chanyeol seems to remember something, digging through the box of everyone’s favorite records. “That’s who we forgot: Minseok’s hero!”
Chanyeol pulls a thin, tattered sleeve out from the stack, clearly many years old, and hands it to Baekhyun. “Chet Baker. Minseok’s first and last love.”
“Once Minseok starts talking about him, he doesn’t stop,” Kyungsoo says. “Like a teenage girl with a crush. At least, before Chet got hooked on heroin and got himself jailed.”
“Oh,” Baekhyun knits his brows together. “That's what you meant by burning out? You sure have faith in Minseok.”
“Heh, we’re just kidding. Minseok’s got more sense than that,” Kyungsoo reassures with a smile.
“Yeah, Minseok likes playin' dumb sometimes, but he’s one of the coolest, no, the coolest guy we know,” Chanyeol choruses. “Smart, girls love ‘im, and none of us can out-play him. He’s a genius.”
“Cute,” Baekhyun comments, finding himself smiling as he gets an idea of how much Chanyeol and Kyungsoo look up to their senior. Chanyeol nods without hesitation, while Kyungsoo huffs.
⁂
“You guys can go ahead. I’m going to practice a little longer,” Baekhyun says when the other two start packing it in.
“What a dedicated pupil you are,” Kyungsoo says, to which Baekhyun rolls his eyes right about to the back of his head.
“Train well, young grasshopper,” Chanyeol adds, and the two of them share a shit-eating grin before heading out. With Chanyeol and Kyungsoo gone, Baekhyun waits a second as if to truly make sure he's alone, before he puts on the Chet Baker record and listens. He goes back and forth between listening with a wrinkle in his brow, lifting the needle off the disc and scuffing to the corner of the room to try to play what he hears on the piano, fiddling with the cartridge on that dusty old record player about a million times for no other reason other than the fact that he feels it would bode well for him to learn some of Minseok’s favorite songs.
Why he’s putting in the extra time to think about Minseok, he attributes to admiration. Minseok, who welcomed him. Minseok, who plays around with him, yet takes care of him. Minseok, who—
In the middle of listening and drifting further and further away into his thoughts, Baekhyun suddenly hears the muffled taps of someone taking slow steps down the stairway, before the door to the basement swings open.
“Hey, I know that song,” says a voice, and even before seeing him, Baekhyun knows who that silvery tone belongs to. He looks up, smiling to see Minseok in front of him. “You’re a fan of Chet?”
“No, but I heard you are,” Baekhyun replies, getting up from the couch one last time and walking over to the piano. He doesn’t take notice of the way he’s grinning at Minseok, thanks to both their immediate exchange and the mere fact that he feels happy to see him. “Thought I’d try learning something new.”
“Happy Little Sunbeam?” Minseok reads a title off of the track listings on the record cover. When he speaks in English, his register goes a little lower, the hills of his voice that normally bounces delightfully from high to mid-ranges elongate while his syllables grow more careful and slow. Baekhyun likes the sound of it, but he thinks he likes the way Minseok’s looking at him, more. “Is that you?”
“Me?” Baekhyun laughs. “I'm no sunbeam.”
“I beg to differ,” is Minseok’s quirky reply. "You look like one." Baekhyun tilts his head.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He doesn’t really get an answer, just an ambiguous little smile from Minseok coupled by an equally ambiguous little shrug. Baekhyun feels his lips purse, and somehow, the room feels smaller. When he can only look down at the keyboard, unsure of what to say, Minseok clicks his tongue and lifts the needle off of the record player. It scratches into a silence, making Baekhyun’s thoughts all the more louder.
Things immediately return to normalcy when Minseok asks, “Do you want to play a little tune with me?”
“Just us?” Baekhyun looks up.
“I mean, yeah, if you're down to go one on one with me.”
“What’s this, a fist fight?” Baekhyun scoffs.
"Yes, that's exactly what this is, now put 'em up," Minseok snips, dropping a sheet of music onto the piano’s rack before placing a hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder. “Look a little alive, yeah? Jazz is all about confidence.”
“Wow, that's what, Life Lesson Number Nineteen that jazz magically teaches,” Baekhyun says with a roll of his eyes, making Minseok laugh.
“It’s a panacea, it fixes everything. Come on,” Minseok urges, taking his trumpet out of its case. He wiggles his brows, suggestively. “I know you want to impress me.”
Baekhyun immediately swallows his lips, feeling like a criminal who’s been caught in the act. He knows Minseok doesn’t mean it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. And it seems to grow truer and truer with every minute Baekhyun spends around Minseok.
Instead of taking it lying down though, he exhales through his nose, before cheekily declaring, “Maybe it’s you who’s trying to impress me.”
“Oh?” Minseok already looks impressed. “So you do have some spunk in you. Why don't you take twenty minutes, learn the charts.”
Baekhyun rolls up his sleeves, glancing at the sheet of paper that reads “Take The A Train,” studying it before flashing Minseok a quick grin. “Don’t underestimate me. Give me ten.”
True to his promise, it only takes Baekhyun a few tries over ten minutes to practically master the short little tune, but somehow the next hour is spent playing it over and over with Minseok, adding their own little twists and turns, laughing at each other’s successful and failed endeavors. Baekhyun gets so lost sneaking glances at Minseok that he makes stupid mistakes, which makes Minseok cockily ask, “Can’t keep your eyes off of me?” while shimmying up to the piano on beat—which then makes Baekhyun laugh so hard that he screws up, even more. And if he's being honest, he doesn't care. It’s not perfect, nowhere near touching it. But that’s what gives it its charm.
“And that’s Take the A Train. You know, I already had high expectations for you,” Minseok starts when they finally finish what they promised for the fourth time would be the last run, having gone into the late hours. His lips have grown a flushed pink from all the playing, his smile tired yet still so full of life and vigor, “but you’ve truly impressed me tonight, Sunbeam.”
The little nickname makes Baekhyun appropriately break out into a bright smile. When he catches a glimpse of his reflection on the lamp that sits on top of the piano, he begins to understand what Minseok meant, before. He can see and feel the balls of his cheeks and the corners of his eyes scrunch up in that way Minseok tends to make him do, and he’s in no position to complain.
“Thanks. You’re not half bad, yourself,” he quips, and Minseok squints at him. "Mission accomplished, I guess."
"So you did want to impress me?" It's said more as a statement than a question. Baekhyun scratches his neck.
"I mean, yeah, I think it's pretty obvious." It's said more as a question than a statement. He watches as Minseok heaves a sigh through his smile and fans himself, winded after going such a long time blowing into the trumpet and barely coming up for air throughout. When Minseok empties his spit valve onto the floor, Baekhyun, who’s feeling a bit daring, decides to tease him. “Gross, dude.”
“Oh, don't be a brat,” Minseok huffs.
“Brat, me? I thought I was your sunbeam,” Baekhyun says back. That seems to ignite something of a spark in Minseok’s eyes. Baekhyun has no idea that his eyes look about the same.
⋯
Baekhyun’s repertoire grows leaps and bounds in a matter of a few weeks. The more he learns, the louder he plays. The louder he plays, the more he begins to leave his shell when he's around Minseok and the others. And so the bigger his fondness grows for this strange genre of music that he used to discount as a bunch of noise.
Moanin’. Cantaloupe Island. Lullaby Of Birdland. Stop Time. Take The A Train. An array of songs from the upbeat to the more mellow, constantly replay in his mind at any given moment of the day. During his classes, at home—all he wants to do is play jazz.
“So this is the kind of music you play with your friends, Baekhyun?” Joohyun asks as Baekhyun finishes practicing the same few bars of improvisation, over and over, growing mildly frustrated with his repeated mistakes and the chords that he just can't get to clash in the right way.
“Yeah. It’s jazz,” Baekhyun replies, before he grows a little sheepish. “It probably doesn’t sound like much, right now, but…”
Before he can finish, Joohyun says, “I like it!” Her eyes widen and she waves a hand, “Don’t get me wrong, the music you played before is lovely, too. But you always played such sad-sounding songs...this is more lively. You seem more lively, too.”
Baekhyun hasn’t thought about the music he used to play in a while, and he realizes that Joohyun has a point. He grew up liking songs that made people's heart ache, because that's what he was taught was beautiful. It was like an outlet for him, but now, it’s a whole other world. He smiles at how strange this sudden change must have been, and nods. “You know, I think you’re right. I wish you could hear the others though, they can really bring the house down.”
At that point there’s a knock at the door, and Baekhyun thinks to himself, Speak of the devil. He shuffles off of the piano bench and says, “That’s for me. I’ll see you later, Joohyun-noona.”
When he opens the front door, he’s greeted by Chanyeol, Kyungsoo and Jongdae, all dressed in their Sunday mass clothes and holding paper bags full of groceries.
Instead of greeting Baekhyun with something simple like hi, Jongdae spouts, “Goddamn, Baekhyun, if I knew you were this loaded I would have had you do the shopping for us.”
“Nice to see you too,” Baekhyun replies, unsure if he should mention that the house and money isn’t his. But he doesn’t have to say anything at all, because his friends’ attentions are all immediately grabbed by something else. Baekhyun raises a brow when Chanyeol grows noticeably distracted by something inside the house, with Kyungsoo soon following suit, then Jongdae. He turns around and, upon seeing that they were staring at Joohyun who is waving sweetly at them, he nearly rolls his eyes.
“Joohyun-noona,” Baekhyun says, opening the door wider and stepping aside. “These are my friends. Jongdae, Kyungsoo, and Chanyeol.”
“Hi, Noona!” Chanyeol bubbles, casting an arm around to wave as if she wasn’t ten steps away. Kyungsoo bows nearly 90 degrees as he shyly mutters a barely unintelligible greeting, while Jongdae noticeably makes his voice deeper as he says, “We’ll take care of Baekhyun, today.”
Baekhyun physically cannot stop himself from rolling his eyes this time, and all but pushes them out of the doorway the second Joohyun finishes greeting them back. When they’re out on the driveway, he cynically thinks to himself that boys are such dogs.
“Is Joohyun-noona your sister?” Chanyeol asks in a moony tone as they start the walk over to the music store. “She’s so pretty.”
“Yeah,” Jongdae says in agreement, making Kyungsoo snort.
“I don’t think your girlfriend will be happy to hear you were drooling over Baekhyun’s sister.”
“No, no, no,” Jongdae immediately denies, shaking his head. “Dahye is the most beautiful girl as far as I’m concerned, but that doesn’t mean I can’t acknowledge the prettiness of other girls.” He then swats Kyungsoo, “And you’re one to talk, your ears got pink, back there!”
“Fellas, if you’re done,” Baekhyun cuts in, beginning to grow uncomfortable. “No, she's not my sister. I guess she’s more like my cousin.”
“You guess?” Kyungsoo glances at Baekhyun, who shrugs.
“It’s so far removed, I don’t think we’re blood-related. But I guess it’s close enough, and I call her mom my aunt,” Baekhyun explains. The other three look confused, then more confused.
“How come you’re living with them?” Chanyeol asks. Baekhyun struggles to find an answer that wouldn't tire him to explain.
“Because,” he starts after a bit of deliberation, shrugging like the situation is hardly uncasual, “it just happened this way.”
It goes comfortably quiet after that, until Jongdae makes a hard turn from the subject with some story about something that happened at church.
⁂
Junmyeon needs the store’s basement, so the plan for today is to head upwards—literally. Above the music store sits Jongdae’s apartment, a tiny place for a tiny family, just Jongdae, his mother, and his little brother.
When Jongdae lets them in, Baekhyun is pleased to see that Minseok’s already inside, laying across the floor and watching the television.
“Honey, we’re home,” Jongdae says sardonically. Minseok makes a noise of acknowledgement in response. “My mom already headed out?”
“Yeah, and I took Jongin to his friend’s house.” Minseok sits up as the others take their seats around him. Baekhyun looks at the grainy image on the T.V., where Minseok’s been watching the news.
“Do you ever watch anything other than the news?” Chanyeol makes a face, scooting up to the television to change the channel.
“Some people like to know what’s going on in the world,” Minseok replies.
“Like this is the whole truth,” Jongdae gripes as he gestures towards the screen. He nudges Minseok’s shoulder, “this is just what the President wants us to see. Even whatever they’re telling us about Vietnam is probably just coated in fifteen layers of anti-commie bullshit.”
“Great,” Kyungsoo scoffs, “a revolutionary and a conspiracy theorist, among us.”
Baekhyun just listens to them bicker, seated between Minseok and Jongdae with his knees to his chest. At last, Chanyeol groans, bored by talk of politics, and changes the channel. They spend the afternoon watching Gukteo Manri on Jongdae's small, grainy screen. Baekhyun misses most of the important plot developments because, as if the scratchy audio isn't enough of an obstacle, not even five minutes can pass without somebody talking over the dialogue.
“What time period is this, again?” Chanyeol asks unintelligibly through his mouthful of choco pie, crinkling the foil wrapper loudly as he finishes.
“Goryeo,” Kyungsoo answers lowly, not taking his eyes off of the screen.
“Hah?” Crumbs fly out of Chanyeol's mouth.
“Goryeo, Three Kingdoms,” Kyungsoo says, louder this time.
Chanyeol smacks his lips, “Ohh, okay.”
“Aish!” Jongdae screeches frustratedly, slamming his hands on the floor—and Baekhyun’s thigh—repeatedly, “You guys talk too damn loud, I didn’t hear the twist!”
“Wh—I'm Baekhyun, why are you hitting me!” Baekhyun shouts, leaning back into Minseok in an attempt to get away from Jongdae.
“Nice to meet you, Baekhyun, and Chanyeol’s too far away!” Jongdae yells back with a sneer. The program ends there, and Minseok lets out a tired sigh before eventually smiling down at Baekhyun, who’s still pressed into him. Baekhyun averts his gaze, his cheeks growing warmer when he can feel Minseok’s breathing against his ear, making the hairs on the back of his neck raise.
It's suddenly warm in Jongdae's living room, he thinks absently to himself. He imagines an old-timey news reporter saying Heat wave in Seoul, over and over again to distract himself from the deeper concern he starts to feel. It's then that Minseok drapes an arm around Baekhyun's shoulders to keep him close, and Baekhyun swallows almost audibly. Temperatures have risen to an all-time high, the city's fucking melting. More as it develops.
They turn off the T.V. after that, and opt to talk while still seated on the floor. With no instruments and no record player, only their stories to pass around, Baekhyun learns the most about them than he probably ever has in a single sitting.
“I grew up with Jongdae and Junmyeon,” Minseok explains when Baekhyun asks how they all came together. He rubs his chin as he recalls, “Junmyeon’s father owned the shop, he and his friends taught us how to play, let us use his record player and his instruments. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo didn’t walk in until, was it ‘68?”
“Yeup,” Chanyeol confirms with a bob of his head, aimlessly tapping out rhythms on his thigh with his palms. “We didn’t even plan on it, we were just passing by and thought we’d look around. But Junmyeon’s pop really knew how to sell, we ended up talking for an hour about the record he was playing.”
“Where’s Junmyeon’s dad, now?” Baekhyun asks. “I’ve never seen him.” Jongdae gives a light sigh.
“He passed away, few years ago. Junmyeon dropped out of school, to run the shop.”
“Oh,” Baekhyun fumbles with his words, not knowing what to say. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s alright. Junmyeon's alright,” Jongdae says. He then nods towards Kyungsoo. “But you’d be interested to know, our bassist here really didn’t want to join, in the beginning.”
“Join what, you and Minseok blowing your brains out together in that dirty cellar?” Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. He leans forward to look at Baekhyun, “keep in mind that they weren’t half as good as we are, now. You wouldn’t have wanted to join, either.”
“Come on, Kyungsoo,” Minseok teases, lightly grinding a knuckle into Kyungsoo’s temple. “You love us.”
“Sometimes.”
“Besides, that’s not why you didn’t want to join, you didn’t want to join because of your terrible stage fright. Remember our first performance, when you bawled like a—” Jongdae’s cut off when Kyungsoo pelts a chip at him.
“You want to talk about crying? How about when you wanted to get Dahye to notice you, so you started growing your hair out like a hippie,” Kyungsoo jabs, and Jongdae grows indignant.
“That’s not true!”
“There are pictures, of you and Chanyeol with those ridiculous manes. You two are lucky you didn’t wind up in jail!”
“Is it true?” Baekhyun asks Minseok, who he deems the most reliable source. Minseok nods, and they both begin to crack up.
“Kyungsoo wouldn’t stop hounding them about how they’d get arrested, but they thought they looked so cool that they refused to cut their hair. So one day, when they fell asleep down at the store after practice, Kyungsoo clipped them nearly bald.” Minseok recounts the whole story in a whisper into Baekhyun’s ear, and it ends with Baekhyun falling apart at the seams with laughter. “When they woke up, Jongdae actually cried, screaming my hair, my beautiful hair!”
“Was it beautiful?” Baekhyun asks despite already knowing the answer. Minseok grins.
“Nope, it was just awful. Besides, I don’t think either of them would last behind bars, even overnight. While he had that hair, Jongdae tried to act tough and be all, screw authority! But he’d take off at the speed of light just at the sight of a cop.”
“God, stop,” Baekhyun crows through his laughter, “or else I’m going to cry.”
“Maybe it’s initiation,” Minseok says, equally amused.
“Wanna hear about the time I cried?” Chanyeol asks, when Jongdae and Kyungsoo brush him off.
“You always cry, Chanyeol, it’s nothing new when you do it,” Jongdae says, making Chanyeol pout.
“Only for noble reasons!”
“You cry when your ramyun’s too hot,” Kyungsoo deadpans, and Baekhyun fears his stomach will hurt if he laughs any more.
“So, what made you cry?” Baekhyun asks Minseok, intrigued. “If tears are initiation.” But the others are listening in by now, and are all shaking their heads.
“Minseok’s never cried in front of anyone, not once,” is Chanyeol’s guarantee. “He’s a wall.”
“Emotionally constipated,” Kyungsoo corrects him.
“My soul cries, everyday,” Minseok drawls, placing a hand on his chest. “For you all, and Junmyeon, my classmates and Chet Baker. Tears shed by the heart are much more meaningful than from the eyes.”
“Thanks, Confucius.”
“Wow, I’m so touched I could throw up.”
“Did you really just say that? What did that even mean?”
"Forget I even asked."
At some point during their rollercoaster of a conversation, the focus turns to Baekhyun when Kyungsoo says, “We’re talking so much about ourselves, but you’ve barely told us anything about you, Baekhyun.”
It comes unexpectedly, and Baekhyun, who was plenty entertained listening to the others’ stories, finds himself at a loss. His mind flashes through any experiences he’s had with the few friends he's made in his past schools, but there’s nothing he can think to share. Nothing that quite matches this mood, this feeling that these four create that he just wants to be a part of.
“I don’t really have any stories,” Baekhyun finally says plainly, suddenly feeling awkward in his own skin. He absently counts the stripes on the futon draped underneath the coffee table. “Nothing worth telling.”
“What, you never had friends?” Jongdae retorts. Baekhyun shrugs.
“I’ve had ‘em. Just didn’t do much with them.”
“Well,” Minseok says, patting Baekhyun on the thigh. “That’s okay. Chances are, you’ll make a lot of stories, here.”
Baekhyun’s mouth forms the faintest of smiles at that, the feeling from before gradually returning to him. He gingerly nods, telling both the guys, and himself, “Yeah.”
Minseok’s hand is dangerously close to Baekhyun’s, their fingers nearly touching. Baekhyun doesn’t move his hand away, and he can’t ignore the fact that Minseok doesn’t, either.
⋯
Baekhyun jogs down the now familiar plaza past the railroad crossing after school, saying a quick hello to Junmyeon before heading to the cellar, humming a tune to himself. He’s pleased to see that everyone’s there today, and it must show on his face because Kyungsoo greets him with, “Somebody is having a good day.”
“Well, it’s about to get better. Ready for your first performance?” Minseok asks. Baekhyun’s expression immediately drops, and the guys laugh at the puzzled look on his face.
“C’mon, you thought we’d never look to the stage?” Jongdae says, looking even more full of zeal than usual.
“Stage? Where?” Baekhyun asks, taken aback. “Like...a festival?”
“Calm down, tiger,” laughs Minseok, shaking his head. “Just a casual gig. My college friend part-times at the Itaewon Radio Pub, and sometimes he’s able to hook us up with a slot there.”
“It’s the first job we’ve had in months!” Chanyeol crows, “Baek, you gotta come!”
Baekhyun thinks about it, wondering if he’s ready. He’s mostly able to keep up with everyone at this point, but he never dreamed that he’d ever have to perform. Minseok seems to sense his hesitance, because he claps a hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder and massages it.
“It’ll be fun, we have time to prepare. And it isn’t the same without a piano,” Minseok says, genuinely. “On the days you don’t show up, nothing sounds right, anymore.”
“Oh, you're making me blush.” Despite the sarcasm laced in his voice, Baekhyun is no doubt pleased when the others nod in agreement. Finally, with a grin, he says, “Alright—just 'cause Minseok’s begging me.”
“Just sit your ass down and learn your charts,” Minseok scoffs, never once letting Baekhyun forget his place as the new boy. He passes by the piano, pressing down on Baekhyun’s head and ruffling his hair. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, rookie.”
For the rest of that week leading up to the performance, they dedicate all their time together to practicing relentlessly. They all argue over which songs they should play, take about a million votes, and complain about how they weren’t allotted enough time to show off everything they want to. Baekhyun finds himself more and more involved, more and more riled up by the things that rile the others up, feeding into their uproarious sessions rather than fading into the background like he once did, many weeks ago.
Before he knows it, the evening of the gig arrives. He doesn’t tell his aunt where he’s going as he heads out of the house that night, only that he’s going to see his friends. She looks at him for a few seconds longer than he feels she normally does, but doesn’t question his nice clothes. Just tells him, "Be safe. It can be dangerous at night."
That alone makes Baekhyun pause, before he gives an affirmative nod. "I will. Thanks."
He had left the house feeling as confident as he had the whole week leading up to tonight, but his nerves seem to swell up over the course of the commute downtown. He tries to blame the butterflies in his stomach to the hum and shake of the bus as it billows down the streets, but is soon void of an excuse once he's reached his stop.
“Baek!” Baekhyun looks up to see Minseok at the front entrance of the pub, a cigarette between his fingers. It’s a warm night, and coupled with the growing anticipation, Baekhyun begins to worry he’ll sweat through his shirt. He mentally tries to calm himself down as he walks up to Minseok, masking his jitteriness with a smile that Minseok returns. “You’re here. We go in through the side.”
After following Minseok into an alleyway that leads them to an entryway backstage, it all suddenly catches up with Baekhyun, who irrationally begins to regret his choice of coming here. Chanyeol, Jongdae, and Kyungsoo are already setting up on the small platform of a stage—luckily not needing any more help because Baekhyun, who can feel his spirit already leaving his body, is sure he'd be useless in this state. What brings him back to earth is Minseok tugging him by the arm.
“Baekhyun,” Minseok says, making Baekhyun turn to face him. He’s greeted with the sight of a smiling Minseok that at least temporarily eases his nerves, alongside a young man Baekhyun hasn't seen, before. “This is my friend from university, Zhang Yixing. He hooked us up with the gig.”
“Oh,” Baekhyun unconsciously scrunches the fabric of his slacks into his sweaty hand before he sticks it out to Yixing. “I’m Baekhyun, Minseok’s piano player.”
Yixing laughs at that, shaking Baekhyun’s hand. A dimple forms on his cheek when he laughs, deepens as he says, “His piano player, what are you doing to these poor dudes, Minseok?” His voice has the faintest accent, which Baekhyun realizes makes sense, given his name.
“It’s not like that,” Minseok swears, squinting at Baekhyun. “We have good feelings for each other.” He teasingly bumps his elbow into Baekhyun’s side, before beginning to step outside, once more. “I’m gonna go finish my smoke. You can test out the piano if you want, Baekhyun.”
Baekhyun is left with Yixing after that, and, greatly needing a way to prolong walking out onto that stage, he decides to ask, “So, how did you and Minseok meet?”
“I’m a journalism student in Minseok’s class,” Yixing explains, “and I help publish the school paper. Minseok is very involved with that, in his own ways.” Baekhyun immediately wonders if Yixing means Minseok is involved in an underground press, spreading his and others' radical political opinions. Fantastic, he thinks to himself. Another thing Minseok's doing that could possibly get him expelled. Or worse.
“Ah, I see,” Baekhyun says slowly. “So are you also an activist?”
“Hm? Oh, no,” Yixing says with a chuckle, holding up his hands. “Not with my blood. Being Chinese doesn’t mix well with provoking the Korean government.”
“Right,” Baekhyun notes, a little embarrassed that he didn’t think about that. Yixing nods.
“Yeah. Probably don't have Minseok's articulation, either. Back in our first year, he was just passing by when he was asked to share his perspective at a rally—and boy, was he a natural.” Yixing smiles, “He’s modest, but he knows how to get things done.”
Baekhyun looks over to the doorway, where he sees Minseok’s silhouette, darkened by the night and giving way to a thin stream of smoke that rises and withers into the air. His shoulders look broad and his posture upright as ever, but when Baekhyun can’t see his face, when it seems like the only time he's even somewhat close to being able to read Minseok's thoughts are when a trumpet is in his hands, he can only wonder if there’s a limit to that resilience that everyone admires, so much.
When he pokes his head out to let Minseok know it’s almost time to get onstage, he catches a glimpse of Minseok screwing shut what looks like a prescription bottle. Automatically interested, Baekhyun sneaks up behind him.
“Popping pills before a performance?” Baekhyun asks teasingly, making Minseok almost jump a little, in surprise.
“Scared me,” Minseok laughs, before he shakes his head. “Don’t go sounding the alarms, it’s just a lil’ something to calm the nerves.”
“I can use something like that,” Baekhyun says, only half-joking about it. To his unspoken disappointment, Minseok just smirks.
“Sorry, it’s not for sunbeams.” With that he runs his fingers gently across Baekhyun’s scalp to tousle his hair that Baekhyun had worked so hard on getting to look performance-worthy earlier, before jerking his thumb towards the inside. “Ready to boogie?” He flashes that infectious grin, and Baekhyun doesn’t have much choice other than to return it as he smooths his bangs back into place.
“As I’ll ever be.”
⁂
Despite his confident facade, the truth was, and still is, that Baekhyun might as well be sweating bullets. As he sits rigidly at the piano bench, he can’t bring himself to look at the audience. He knows he’s probably being dramatic, the bar isn’t even particularly big or spacious, so it isn’t like there’s a huge crowd. But when Baekhyun has only ever done piano recitals for handfuls of parents and students who were all there out of obligation rather than for entertainment purposes, the environment he’s in now is like a full house concert in comparison.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jongdae announces into his microphone, ever so classily, “we’re pleased to be back. We’re the Chungmuro Jazz Group. We put together a set that we think you guys will be a fan of, so please sit back, and enjoy the music!”
The audience gives a polite clap, and Baekhyun promptly places his fingers accordingly on the black and white keys, his heart feeling like it’s trying to climb up into his throat. He hears Chanyeol click his sticks together to count them off, and—
Baekhyun starts early.
People often say that it’s better for something to go horribly wrong in the beginning, because it means everything that comes after will go smoothly. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth—even after he presses onto the keys a beat early and generates peculiar glances from Chanyeol, Kyungsoo, Jongdae, and probably members of the audience, Baekhyun does not find his balance. He fumbles messily through his solo parts, stops and restarts in the middle of his improvisations, and seems to exclusively be hitting keys that produce all the wrong sounds in the wrong places.
By the end of the first part of their set, Baekhyun feels like he could pass out. He hears the audience go into applause, but to Baekhyun, it’s all empty praise. Frustrated, overwhelmed, and relentlessly beating himself up on the inside, he forlornly reaches the conclusion that he just wasn’t ready, yet. That’s when Minseok walks across the stage towards him during the transition, and bends over to be eye-level with Baekhyun.
"Hey. You good?" Minseok asks, not an ounce of hostility nor disappointment in his voice. Just genuine care.
“I’m sorry,” Baekhyun whispers, ashamed and barely able to look Minseok in the eye. But Minseok’s expression holds nothing but understanding, and he smiles gently. Then, right then and there, he takes Baekhyun’s hands in his own.
“It’s okay. You just need to relax, Baek,” Minseok whispers. “You’re trying too hard to be picture perfect, but that’s not what this is. You just need to let yourself go with the flow.” Miraculously, Minseok’s voice is the soothing agent that gets Baekhyun’s shoulders to loosen, his breathing to even out. While he’s still upset, he feels nowhere near as hopeless as he did, a minute ago. And while that isn’t saying much, he appreciates it all the same. “Ready?”
“...Mm’yeah. I think so.” Baekhyun tries to manage a smile, and a look comes over Minseok’s face, like he’s just been struck by an idea. Baekhyun feels Minseok squeeze onto his hands, pumping that warm comfort through his veins as a parting gift, before, all too soon, he lets go.
Minseok then walks up to the microphone, and says into it, “We’re going to show you all a fun little number next. This one’s called Take The A Train, I think you’ll all dig it.”
That wasn’t in their plans. Baekhyun’s eyes grow about two sizes when he processes it, and he whips his head up to see Minseok motioning for a confused-looking Jongdae, Kyungsoo, and Chanyeol to sit this one out. Baekhyun’s heart that had successfully found its way into his throat now pivots and drops all the way to his stomach, and he swears he can feel the impact of it colliding into his gut.
Minseok glances at him to shoot him an encouraging little smirk, to which Baekhyun mouths, “No, no, NO,” over and over again, eyes so wide they could pop out of his head. But to no avail.
He changes his mind. Minseok is awful, he's the worst, he's pure evil and Baekhyun hates him. He watches in terror as Minseok lifts his trumpet to his lips, and left with no other option, Baekhyun reluctantly gets his fingers into position as well. He tries to put himself back into that night he and Minseok spent alone in the basement, the way they conversed through their instruments, the way everything had become a game. The way Baekhyun was just fully submerged in Minseok’s mirth.
In that split second before he and Minseok begin to play in perfect sync, Baekhyun finds it. And he never loses it, all the way through his and Minseok’s charming little duet, up until Baekhyun finishes with a trickle of notes on the piano’s upper register that playfully argue with the low bop of Minseok’s trumpet. When the audience breaks out into applause once more, this time one that resounds in Baekhyun’s ears like the sweetest reward, Baekhyun looks up to catch Minseok flashing that wide gummy grin and mouthing to him, “You did it.”
And Baekhyun soaks it up, finally thinking to himself that, perhaps, he can get used to this. Now, and even many years later, this single instance is what Baekhyun considers the most gratifying moment of his life.
⁂
“Gah, what was that!” Jongdae shrieks as all five of them walk back home together, afterwards. “That’s not what we rehearsed!”
“Baekhyun’s been here for what, a month, and he’s already Minseok’s favorite,” Chanyeol whines, poking Baekhyun in the back incessantly with his drumsticks. “He’s never performed a duet with me.”
“I was just fixing a bit of stage fright,” Minseok says nonchalantly. He looks back at Baekhyun, and winks. With the way Baekhyun’s smiling, he feels like his face might freeze this way. But it’d all be worth it.
“Just fixing a bit of stage fright,” Jongdae slurs mockingly, before tossing his hands up. “Next time you two decide to go solo, tell us beforehand!”
“Chill out, the people liked it,” Kyungsoo says. He turns towards Baekhyun, and nods his head. “You did good. You shouldn’t be so nervous, next time.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t nearly as bad as Kyungsoo’s first—” Chanyeol is cut off when Kyungsoo shoves him off the sidewalk. They reach the bus stop on the corner of the street, where Minseok lets out a breath.
“Well, I hope you had a good experience,” Minseok tells Baekhyun. “I gotta get back to my dorm. Give your fingers a break, tonight.”
“My fingers are fine. I'm no wimp, not after what you put me through, tonight,” Baekhyun shudders. "It's always, take care of your fingers, Baekhyun. Don't you care about the rest of me too, Minseok?" He bites his tongue between his teeth as he grins. Minseok shoots Baekhyun a wily look that conveys the words he doesn’t need to say, raises a hand to give Baekhyun a playful little push on his chest, and starts to go on his way.
"Goodnight."
"See ya." With a grin, Baekhyun shoe-horns in, “Don’t be late tomorrow!”
Minseok whisks around as he walks, an incredulous look on his face. “Who do you think I am? Who do you think you are?”
Baekhyun laughs a boisterous laugh, and casts his arm in the air to wave Minseok goodbye. He watches Minseok go, before squeezing his cold, numb hands together. Not only as a massage after a night of banging them against the keys despite the front he's just put up, but to try and replicate the feeling of Minseok holding onto them.
⋯
One would think that Baekhyun could use a break after all the excitement, but the morning after his first performance as a member of the quintet, he rushes over to Junmyeon’s shop and briskly stomps down the stairs, more eager than ever for what feels like a new chapter. When he’s greeted by all four of his bandmates seated around the record player in silence, it’s nothing new. It’s only when he hears a strangely familiar tune drifting out as the record spins on its platter, that Baekhyun suspiciously quirks up an eyebrow.
Fill my heart with song, let me sing forever more… You are all I long for, all I worship, and adore—
“Chanyeol, are you jamming to Sinatra?” Baekhyun asks, incredulously. Chanyeol, who was bouncing casually to the beat of the song, immediately freezes in place at Baekhyun’s question. He has the expression of someone who’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and Baekhyun suppresses a snort. “I thought you all said he’s overrated.”
“Well...” Chanyeol’s words get caught up in his throat, before he points across the coffee table, “Minseok’s tapping his foot.” He effectively deflects the attention to Minseok, who stiffens in his chair at the sound of his name, arms crossed.
“Kyungsoo’s nodding his head,” Minseok points out, and Kyungsoo frowns at the accusation before tossing his head towards Jongdae.
“Jongdae’s got that look on his face,” Kyungsoo says.
They all are now looking at Jongdae, who indeed has his brows furrowed and his lips pressed together in focus. It looks like a frown, but Baekhyun’s come to learn that it really just means he's deeply enjoying something.
After a short moment of silence, Jongdae finally tosses his arms up as Sinatra’s voice climaxes with the fanfare of the big band, and harangues, “It’s good, okay!”
Baekhyun throws his head back to let out a hearty laugh, already tossing his bag aside and pulling his designated, flimsy foldable chair up to the table to join them.
It’s going to be another good day, he thinks.