Work Text:
Sunday’s chapstick flavor is piña colada. It’s hot outside.
A faded, capo-clad guitar strums in the background—the faint reverb of Sublime bouncing off the walls in a saffron-colored haze.
‘I don’t practice Santeria, I ain’t got no crystal ball...’
It isn’t the most ideal space of living. It’s tiny and haggard, perhaps abandoned. The windows are cloudy with grime, there’s a large crack running across the farthest end of the kitchen ceiling towards the living room, and it vaguely smells of an old-beer-with-some-piss concoction.
And, worst of all, it’s carpeted.
An ugly, 90s-esque dark blue carpet, with a few ominous-looking stains. Donghyuck hates carpet. Loathes the stuff.
He’d complained about it at least twenty times since they’d found the place, a variety of critiques that could be decently summed up into one combined grievance: “Just imagine all the perfect hardwood underneath,” he’d whine, “a complete waste!” Followed by a “makes me wanna tear the stuff up right now”, paired with a dash of scoffing and a scrunched-up nose.
‘I had a million dollars but I’d, I’d spend it all if I could find that Heina and that Sancho that she’s found…’
The strumming continues. Sunlight leaks through dusty panes, reflecting off the silver sparkle of someone’s discarded belt. It’s studded and metallic. Probably Jaehyun’s. He’s into those lately.
He also remembers how they had found this rundown apartment room, late last night in Miami heat. They were out of breath, Donghyuck in an erratic sort of giggle fit, fresh-dyed orange hair plastered against his forehead. His Docs are dirty with mud and Jaehyun’s guitar has suffered a scratch or two. Neon bright night lights, rum and coke in the air.
Donghyuck presses a finger to Jaehyun’s mouth when the deep rumble of voices pass by, a telltale glimmer in his eye. His ring is cold.
‘...I’d pop a cap in Sancho and I’d slap her down.’
They decide to venture out. Donghyuck has on sunglasses and a Miami Beach dog-tag draped around his neck, Jaehyun in a Cuban guayabera. Caribbean-trailerpark royalty. The bar is cramped and down a twist of alleys, citrusy luminescents and reeking Corona.
They’d spent the last 3 days holed up in the carpeted apartment, singing Reel Big Fish and eating too-tangy salsa. It feels good, an ocean breeze replacing their shitty AC, golden jewels and tanned-skin.
‘All I really want to know, I already know.
All I really want to say, I can’t define.”
It’s open-mic night. Donghyuck smiles with teeth, all charm and kohl-eyeliner. Carnivore boy.
‘It’s love that I need…’
So he tugs Jaehyun up and around, loops their arms together and hauls them up for next in line. A long-legged brunette strums an acoustic cover of Rhiannon, and the lights seem dimmer up near the makeshift stage. He presses a kiss between them while they wait, leather and lace, a hint of coconut. She tells the crowd that love’s a state of mind, and he asks, ‘ready?’
‘My soul will have to wait ‘till I get back and find Heina of my own, daddy’s gonna love one and all…’
They glow with makeshift halos. There’s only one mic stand so they have to share, Donghyuck leaned up on his toes and swiveling the piece around with a whimsical sort of carelessness. Jaehyun doesn’t bother steadying him, just laughs around a lyric and lets the fuzz of tequila shots envelop his head like cotton. Their mouths are too close, but the swirl of harmonies and vibratos remain unaffected. They sing about life, they sing about death. About destruction and bombs, the helpless and the Krut Brut Vintage champagne-consumers. Everyone stares, half-drunk—maybe entranced. A magic show.
‘...I feel the break, feel the beak, feel the break…’
It doesn’t take long for the cops to show up. The noise plays a big factor, and gingers always stick out like sore thumbs. Jaehyun has to yank Donghyuck away from the microphone, who has started to belt high and dramatic amongst the chaos, but he’s smiling bright when they find the backdoor. Their fingers chase each other into a messy interlock, bruised kisses and the shrill of combined laughter. Jaehyun takes a flower from a nearby market stand plastered with job ads and local posters, a hibiscus, and tucks it behind Donghyuck’s ear. It’s mid-July in Miami, keylime Bonnie and Clyde are on the prowl, and the night has only just begun.
‘...and I got to live it out.’
WANTED:
Lee Donghyuck (19) and Jung Yoonoh (22), pictured below. Last seen: Cocoa Beach, early June, together. Leaked national secrets during a live broadcast with a song called ‘Secret Rendezvous’. If you have any information concerning these people please contact your local authorities immediately. Rewards available.