Chapter Text
December— 1986
Growing up, Minho thought his mother was a witch.
Rumors had been circulating through town, back in ‘83 until now— rumors that spoke both highly and lowly of Minho’s mother. Kids could be awfully mean, especially in grade school, where no child knew better, even if they insisted otherwise.
And Minho was smart, but again, still young and easily impressionable. He could only listen to his classmates harass him about his mother until he hit a breaking point.
It only took a few months of teasing and prodding by his peers for Minho to inquire about the rumors. He had asked why he had both children and adults approaching him in public, cooing, taunting, and asking about the whereabouts of his mother. Why they said such things, called her the white witch, a spell-caster, a rock queen, an accumulation of words that meant things Minho didn’t understand at all.
He remembers his mother was in the kitchen when Minho asked her one afternoon. She wasn’t the slightest bit surprised that Minho would ask her such a thing. If anything, Minho swears she laughed at each question.
Minho learned many things throughout middle school. He learned that when kids called his mother a rock queen, they actually meant a queen of rock, and that just because people called her a witch, it didn’t make her one.
Because seventeen years ago, Minho’s mother took the country by storm with her music, carrying songs in her throat that hypnotized people into dances. You felt her music in every nerve of your body. It pupeteered you. It was like being drunk or possessed. The effect she had on people was startling.
Myeonghee Lee wore her beaded shawls and layered fabrics like a uniform and commanded the stage beneath her feet with her voice alone. The songs she’d written in her high school diary became the anthems of the famous folk-rock band that came to be known as Fox Trout, one that was best known for— well, none other than Myeonghee Lee herself. That, and all the songs she had written for the past two decades.
This wasn’t back in ‘83, when Minho was impressionable and clueless about what was happening in today’s culture. Minho, who is now in his last year of middle school and brooding like any other teenage boy, has to listen to his classmates harass him about the latest gossip surrounding his famous mother and her famous band.
On the last day of classes before winter break, Minho feels the palm of a stranger clasping around his shoulder after the last bell of the day rang before he could even begin to collect his things. He has yet to be freed from prying, faceless students.
“Hey, Minho— it’s Minho, right?” A boy Minho’s never seen before in his life questions. Minho’s already fishing out his belongings from the cubby under his desk when the boy continues. “My girlfriend wanted me to ask if you knew why Han left Fox Trout.”
“Do I look like I would know?”
Minho piles all his school work into his backpack in one go and swings his headphones over his ears. He stands from his desk to make his way out, not caring how rudely he shakes the other kid off him.
“Well,” the student sputters, still hot on Minho’s heels out the classroom doors. He wasn’t going to be shaken off that easily, it seems. “I mean. Everyone knows Mongie Lee writes those songs about him. I figured, you know. You being her kid and all, you’d know better what went down between them than anyone else—”
The painful blabbering has Minho turning around and getting right in the other person’s face. The audacity of some people. The least this idiot could do is say his mom’s name right.
They’re standing in the middle of the hallway now, uncaring of those they may be standing in the way of. Other students go around them just fine, scurrying out the exit like fish swimming downstream. Minho would like to join them an awful lot.
“Are you asking me to gossip about my fucking mom with you?” Minho bites, voice rasping as his patience now dries out.
Before the other student can respond, there’s a second, more familiar arm wrapping around Minho’s shoulders and tugging him away.
“Okay, Minho-ya, I think that’s enough socializing for the day,” he hears a voice say on his right.
Draped comfortably over him is none other than his younger cousin Hyunjin. His last class is on the other side of the school, yet he always manages to get to Minho the moment the last bell rings. He always appreciates Hyunjin in moments like these.
Hyunjin hooks his chin over Minho’s shoulder to glance at the student bothering Minho. “Oh, hey, Mike. It’s good to see you. Hope your mom doesn’t kick you out of the house for the holidays again.”
The student, Mike, blinks. Like he had no idea how Hyunjin knew that. “Who told you that—”
“Bye, have a nice winter break!”
Hyunjin ushers Minho down the hall and catapults them out the front doors. Immediately, the biting cold wind hits their faces, but Minho feels like he can breathe again. It isn’t until they’ve taken a few breaths of fresh air and distanced themselves from the chaos does Hyunjin huff.
“The audacity of some people.” Minho’s thoughts exactly. Hyunjin shoots him a slightly bewildered, but impressed stare. “Hyung, you really looked like you were about to punch that guy.”
At that, Minho feels himself flush. He winces as he recalls how ready he was to face off with a random student moments ago in his mom’s honor, and pinches the bridge of his nose as they walk. “God, I know. Sorry. It’s just been really bad lately.”
Hyunjin can’t blame him, clearly, in the way he just grimaces at all the things Minho didn’t say.
After being in a band alongside Minho’s mother for nearly two decades, Jisung’s father, Jeongsu Han, departed from Fox Trout as their lead guitarist earlier that year. And considering all the complicated relationships between everyone in the band, it’s still the biggest buzz in town, even six months after the news dropped. The biggest complication in question, though, is the past romance between Jisung’s father and Minho’s mother.
It influenced the sound that Fox Trout is known for to this day. It was what the band did: fall in love with each other, write about it, fall out of love with each other, and write about that, too. Although Jeongsu and his mother had been split up for a long while, their relationship appeared cordial. Everything was going fine until one day it suddenly wasn’t. And now, of all people, Minho, for some reason, can never hear the end of it.
It wasn’t even Minho’s mom that left the band; it was fucking Jisung’s dad, yet for some reason, Minho was the one still getting harassed about it by his peers on a day-to-day basis. Jisung even attended the same school as him! What kind of shit was that?
That, mixed with puberty coming in full swing, and Minho’s tendency to feel more protective of his mother more than usual, makes it’s safe to say he’s feeling more sensitive these days. Considering Minho shares a roof with Hyunjin and is close with Jisung as well, Hyunjin understood the exhaustion that came with it.
“I get it,” Hyunjin replies. “People just like to talk, that’s all. By the time everyone comes back from break, Mr. Han will be old news— no offense to Jisung.”
Minho can’t help but snicker. “I’d love to hear you say that to his face, by the way.”
Hyunjin points a finger at his face. “Don’t you dare! You know Jisung isn’t above biting people. He hasn’t grown out of that yet.”
“And I hope he never does, you big baby.”
Together, they cross the field before the school, crossing the lot while they look for a Buick Regal amongst the frenzy of cars in the pick-up zone.
“Speaking of,” Hyunjin starts. “Is Jisung still coming over tonight?”
“Yeah, but we’re not meeting up until way later.” Minho spots the familiar red shade of his dad’s car and starts pulling Hyunjin along. “Fox Trout is shooting some Holiday special, and my mom said we can watch from the studio downtown.”
“In this weather? Yuck. Have fun walking home.” It’s near the end of the year, meaning it’s beginning to snow more days of the week than not. Hyunjin, who enjoys sitting outside and before open windows, spring-born, could not be more miserable in the winter. “Uncle Doyoon and I are ordering Chinese food and watching the season finale of The Golden Girls.”
Minho couldn't care less about TV shows, and he certainly wasn't affected by the cold weather. Anything he did with Jisung made the day durable.
Jisung, his best friend since Minho was old enough to form a thought. Mousy, clever, who wears his crooked front teeth like a medallion, is two years younger and lives ten minutes away, would glue himself to Minho’s hip if he could. Not that he minds, clearly— he’d do the same.
Except Jisung wasn’t just some kid he grew up with; he happened to also be the son of Jeongsu Han, the previous lead guitarist of Fox Trout, and apparently the greatest accursed past love of Minho’s mother’s life.
Somehow, miraculously, their friendship survived it even though the romance had ended before either one of them was born— but sometimes it feels as though it hasn’t quite left yet.
Jeongsu Han never minds when Minho comes over to the house, but a season always comes when he feels he’s overstayed his welcome. And in turn, Minho’s mother is nothing but kind whenever Jisung comes around. But there have been times in the past (and Minho is certain there will be more in the future) where he catches his mother giving them both this look. He can never really comprehend what exactly overcomes her. Sometimes her gaze feels fond, and other times straight wretched. He wonders if Jisung has ever noticed it, too. If he has, the younger has never mentioned outwardly. Minho wonders if he ever will.
For as long as their families remain cordial, Minho and Jisung will continue being friends. They’ll keep hanging out, sleeping over in each other’s beds, and spending summers terrorizing downtown Concord for as long as fate allows it.
Well, that, and their curfew.
So no, Minho can’t say he envies Hyunjin watching some TV show finale with his dad tonight. He even goes as far as to tell him so when Minho hops in the passenger seat of his dad’s Buick.
“Wow,” Hyunjin scoffs from the backseat, buckling his seatbelt. “Uncle Doyoon, you’re just gonna sit there and let Minho shit on our show?”
Minho’s father, Doyoon, is sipping on an open mug of hot coffee when Minho and Hyunjin shuffle into the warm car. Minho can’t read the expression his dad is wearing behind his sunglasses as he pulls out of the pick-up area, but he can tell his dad is already formulating some theatric to tease Minho. These two always gang up on him.
To his amusement, however, Minho has the pleasure of watching his dad lean across the center console to smack Hyunjin upside the head.
“First of all, watch your damn mouth,” his dad scolds Hyunjin, who is too busy squawking to retaliate, before averting his sights on Minho. “Secondly, Minho-ya, I think if you watched a few episodes with us, you’d like it.”
Minho shrugs. “I don’t like sitcoms.”
“What? But gay people love The Golden Girls! God,” his dad shakes his head with a disappointed look. “Where did I go wrong with you?”
Having a gay dad is very strange.
From what Minho has gathered so far in life, having gay parents is mostly unheard of, nor respected, especially in a town like Concord. Maybe in Boston, there are more queer people. Minho thinks it’s even more strange only having one gay parent instead of two— leave it up to his mom to manage a drunk hook-up with a gay man in her twenties.
“Dad, I just don’t like TV! It has nothing to do with it being gay.” Minho can’t help but raise his voice defensively. This was definitely not something worth getting personally attacked over. “And I’m not gay.”
The brakes of the car slam to a halt, jolting all three people in the car forward. Minho feels Hyunjin nearly fly into the back of his seat. A blue car in the left lane swivels around them and honks at them as they speed past. The toddler in the backseat flips them off.
“You’re not?” Hyunjin sputters from the backseat.
Then, his dad squints at him. Doubtful. “...You’re not?”
What the hell kind of reaction is that? Minho feels himself unexpectedly flustered at the sudden fixated attention, and he can’t help but nervously pinch at one of his earlobes.
“Uh— I don’t know? I haven’t really given it any thought.” When he gets no response, Minho affords his dad a glance. “I’m literally fourteen. I’m literally thinking of more important things.”
Like puberty, and all the science homework he’s secretly behind on. The fact that Minho’s voice won’t stop cracking, and all the arguments he’s getting into with his parents over his tendency to take really long showers in the middle of the day. Minho thinks everyone should just mind their own business.
“Yeah, probably because he’s too busy thinking about Jisung,” Hyunjin jabs. “Oh, Jisung-ah~ You’re so cool when you catch lizards. Oh, Jisung-ah, your hands are so warm~”
Hyunjin starts cooing and making all these stupid noises to rile Minho up. Within seconds, Minho is unbuckling his seatbelt, leaning over the center console, and reaching towards the backseat to throttle him.
He only gets a few swats and pinches in before he feels his dad yank him backwards by the hood of his sweater. “Hey— knock it off, dipshits!”
In the heat of things, Minho catches his dad narrowly avoiding a car wreck in the name of dismantling a fight between two children.
Well. Hyunjin started it.
The car is quiet, save for the soft sound of The Bangles playing from the radio. No one says a word. Then, when Minho’s dad has made sure that no car accidents would be occurring on his watch, he spares both boys a tired look before mumbling, “God, divas. Both of you.”
⏾
It’s the first night of Christmas break, and the town square is just as busy as Minho had expected it to be.
Dinner time has rolled around, meaning there are restaurants on every corner inviting passersby on the street through their doors with the scent of a hot meal on a cold evening. The sun is setting, coating the square in a warm, orange hue, and there's a crunch of leaves breaking beneath everyone’s boot with each step.
If this were any other night, Minho would have fallen victim to one of their ploys. He wouldn’t have been alone, though. On most nights, he is with Jisung. And on the (rare) occasion he wasn’t, he spent his evenings hanging with Hyunjin. But Hyunjin is watching his stupid show at home, and Minho was out here fighting the winter cold alone.
He has about twenty minutes until his mother is set to record for the special, and Minho would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to see her. Fox Trout had been overtly busy, rearranging last-minute bookings for the air every second they weren’t in the studio, meaning Minho’s mom hadn’t been in town lately, let alone in Massachusetts. This is probably the first time Minho’s seen her since spring, and he’s over the moon about it.
Best of all, Jisung is meeting him there, where they’re going to watch Fox Trout perform in one of the studios at the only television centers in town. They’ll pick up snacks on their way home, where they plan on watching movies all night. Christmas break has only begun, and the world is their oyster.
There’s a skip to his step by the time he arrives before the towering television center, home to many cable network studios Minho sometimes catches at night. He can’t believe his mom is going to be joining them, and he’s got a front row seat to it. Being the offspring of a rockstar definitely does not make him a novice to the concept of fame; Minho can’t say he’s all too bothered by it. It’s moments like these, however, where he can’t help but feel a bit dazzled.
Hanging by the elevators, awaiting Minho’s arrival when Minho eventually enters the building, is none other than Jisung himself.
Minho’s heart pinches with something seeing his best friend after a long day— excitement.
Jisung is leaning against the wall, chewing on the stick of an eaten-down candy, when he spots Minho. In an instant, his body mimics the warmth Minho feels spreading inside him, as Jisung jumps up with an elated grin appearing on his face.
“Dude,” Jisung squeaks in a hushed excitement when Minho gets close. “I can’t believe Fox Trout is performing here. This is fucking huge.”
Minho snorts, clicking on the elevator button to go up. “You say that like they aren’t a Grammy-nominated band.”
Jisung gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes, pulling the lollipop stick out from his mouth. The chewed-up end of it is pink. “Obviously, but it’s just been a weird year, alright? I was worried my dad's leave was going to hurt them, but I’m glad it didn’t. That just means they still got it.”
If it were Minho’s mother leaving the band, he doesn’t know if he could speak so casually over such a sensitive topic to both their families. He can’t help but give Jisung an amused look, almost missing the elevator doors opening in front of them.
Jisung was an interesting kid. He was much more emotionally mature than a twelve-year-old boy typically is, but that was just one of his many charms. Never was he one to hold back if he had a thought he deemed worth sharing, no matter how blunt it may come out. But Minho has always liked that about him, and although his rambling may be at times odd, Minho will never not welcome it.
Minho steps into the elevator with Jisung right behind him. He presses the button to the floor where Fox Trout would be performing from soon. Lucky number five. “Of course they still got it, weirdo.”
When he turns to look at Jisung, he finds the boy already staring back. “Where were you after school today?” Jisung asks.
“Me? Where were you? I was where I always am. I had some kid heckling me about your dad before the bell even rang.”
“Oops.” Jisung’s face is really cute when he hunches his shoulders and gives Minho a mischievous look. “Did you beat him up?”
“Why would I fist fight anyone on your dad’s behalf?”
Jisung gives a dramatic, offended scoff. “Because that’s my flesh and blood! You’re supposed to defend my honor.”
“Your honor, maybe. I’m not fighting with Mike from science over Fox Trout gossip.”
They arrive on the fifth floor, and Minho skips out the doors before Jisung can retort.
The topic is long forgotten by the time they enter Studio D, a large, concrete-esque room a few doors down. Tonight’s production is already set up, while the few crew members in the area are too occupied with their own devices to pay any mind to the two kids infiltrating the studio. The open space is vast, save for the carpeted, dressed area where the camera is set up.
It’s a pre-recorded special, meaning it won’t air on television for another week or so, but the essence of the holiday spirit is displayed in the backdrop and color palette, with the instruments on standby mimicking the traditional shades of red and green for Christmas.
It’s enough to make a couple of small-town kids squawk where they stand in awe. Minho feels like he just stepped into the Hollywood studios. Jisung must feel the same, considering he’s practically bouncing in place as he takes it all in. Before filming, it’s not all that glamorous— but Minho knows as soon as his mother appears on screen, that will change. Speaking of.
Minho glances around the room. He spots crew members, the host that will seemingly be working with Fox Trout tonight, and some members of Fox Trout themself, but no sign of his mom.
“Do you see my mom anywhere?” Minho asks Jisung as the two walk deeper into the studio. Jisung’s eyes skim around the room, pupils so wide his squared glasses can barely contain them.
“I don’t,” he answers. “Maybe she’s still getting ready?”
Minho’s sights catch on a hallway in the far left corner. There’s probably a whole other world over there, which hopefully includes a room his mother’s occupying. Before he can beeline for it, however, there’s a heavy hand tugging on him, shaking his body in their grasp like he’s a doll.
“Minho! I thought your mom said you’d be stopping by!” When Minho is done being shaken up like a soda bottle, he meets the eyes of Fox Trout’s bassist and close family friend, Rodney. Minho feels his eyes bulge out of his head, considering he hasn’t seen any of the band since Jeongsu’s departure.
“Hi, Mr. Vee,” Jisung greets, still plastered to Minho’s side. “We came to watch you guys play.”
“Me and only me, right, boys? I’m the cool one.” Rodney playfully asks, shooting Minho a wink. That finally cracks Minho out of his trance, and he can give the older man a friendly smile.
“I thought people stopped being cool after they hit forty,” Jisung snickers, which instantly earns him a headlock.
“Looks like I need to teach you some manners, huh?” Rodney chuckles as he wrestles with Jisung. From afar, another member of Fox Trout approaches — probably the person Minho feels closest to after his mother. He sidesteps Jisung and Rodney’s antics in favor of approaching her.
“Hi, Auntie Carrie,” Minho greets shyly when the older woman wraps his smaller body into a tight, friendly hug.
Carrie Mitchell, the band’s accordion player, happily squeezes the life out of him. “Oh, Minho. You’ve gotten so big since I last saw you. Have you grown another foot?”
Minho shies under her gaze. “I don’t know, maybe,” he answers politely. “How have you been?”
“You know what, I’ve been doing pretty great,” Carrie answers with a nod. Crow's feet pinch at the outer corners of her eyes, and Minho feels the weight of how much time has passed since he’s seen everyone. “I was just telling your mother how it’s been so long since we’ve last seen you.”
“That’s not my fault,” Minho cheekily retorts. “You guys are the ones touring without me.”
Carrie hums and pats the top of Minho’s head affectionately. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Speaking of, um,” Minho blurts out. “Do you know where my mom is?”
With a smile, Carrie directs his attention with the wave of her finger towards the back corner hallway that Minho was eyeing moments ago. “She’s in one of the dressing rooms back there.”
Minho hurries towards the hallway as fast as he can without getting reprimanded after bidding his aunt a quiet thanks. The area is unlit, nothing but the lights from the open rooms giving him any sort of guide as he travels down the hall. A wind seemingly carries beneath his feet, brimming each step he takes towards one door with excitement.
It’s been too long since he last saw his mother. Minho wonders how she’ll be dressed tonight or how her hair is styled, if the months of stress post Jeongsu’s departure will show on her face, or if she’ll be too focused on tonight’s gig to worry. He wonders if she’ll try to pick him up and twirl him in her arms— Minho’s mother was a smaller woman, but that never stopped her from taking on challenges that were twice her size. She was always bold in that way, through life and through her music.
Behind the slightly cracked door, Minho hears the murmured voices of people conversing. He speculates it’s the rest of the band getting their final touch-ups, his mother included.
With eagerness surging through him, Minho swings open the door.
A lot more people were standing in the small dressing room than he had expected. There’s a commotion at one of the make-up tables, drowning out the sound of Minho attempting his grand entrance. The scent of hair products and cigarettes immediately assaults his senses, the dim lighting making it hard to pinpoint what exactly was happening.
Hidden behind the broad bodies of two men, he sees her— Minho’s mother, leaning over the counter, nose pressed against the surface. She pulls away laughing, dabbing something off her philtrum, before sensing a new pair of eyes on her from the doorway.
Whatever she wished to shield from Minho, it was already too late. Myeonghee Lee instinctively wipes at her nose, locking eyes with him. Minho watches her face fall, and he slams the door shut without thinking twice.
As soon as he is engulfed by the dark hallway, he takes a deep breath. His heart suddenly beats heavily against his chest to the point of hurting.
Things like this always come with living as a rockstar, but— he doesn’t know. There was a small part of him that thought that wouldn’t be the case with his mother.
Seeing her like that, Minho wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
The door swings back open, and someone slips into the dark hallway with him. It’s his mother. She’s dressed in her normal bohemian style, her long, dark hair is permed, paired with a red lip. She looks straight out of a magazine, dolled up and ready to sing.
“Hi, baby,” his mom greets, and she sounds winded. As if she ran a mile to see him instead of a few steps out the door. “Wasn’t sure if I was gonna see you tonight.”
Her tone is casual, as if Minho had just walked in on her reading in the living room and not doing a line of coke off the marble countertops. He wants to be upset, but he misses her more. It leaves him in an odd state of ambivalence. Here she is, standing before him, but Minho feels rooted to the floor.
This wasn’t how their reunion was supposed to go, but Minho doesn’t know what else he expected. The culture centering around the rock music world is not always a clean one. He was a fool to ever believe his mother was an exception to it.
“Yeah, you did,” Minho can’t help but bark. It disheartens him that these are the first words he’s telling his mother after months of being apart. No cheerful exclamation of her name, no jumping to embrace, just— this. “You invited me.”
Minho’s mother smiles sadly. “Yeah, I did. Didn’t I?” She tries to catch his gaze, but Minho finds himself stuck on one of the framed photos in the hall. It was a candid shot of the Sex Pistols, of their time in this exact studio a few years earlier.
“Minho.”
“What?”
He feels his mother’s hands come to either side of his face, tugging his attention back onto her. His growth spurt has been slow and steady, so he has only barely grown an inch in height over his mom. He misses the days when his head bumped against her hips.
“I promise I don't do this sort of thing often. Not anymore.” At the very acknowledgement of her drug use, Minho scowls. She frowns at that. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“It’s fine,” Minho mumbles, even though it was far from being fine.
She didn’t look convinced, but it didn't stop her from pulling Minho into a suffocating hug. He hates that he relaxes easily into it, but he thinks anyone would do the same if they fell face-first into what felt like a bed of roses. His mother’s cardigan is soft to the touch, her skin smells of vanilla and flowers, and Minho is brought back to the nights he was younger and would fall asleep in her lap. Her fingers running through his hair while they watched late-night cable, her clothes smelling sweet like home.
Minho thinks back to those memories, the time before he learned more about the world, and hugs his mother back just as tight.
“I’m serious,” his mother says quietly. “You shouldn’t have to see your mom doing stupid shit like that.”
When they pull away, the neighboring lights catch in her brown eyes. Minho watches as they begin to dilate, and he tries to ignore that ugly feeling bubbling up in his throat again.
“I just want you to be okay.”
His mother’s lips thin, and she pinches the apple of his cheek. “Oh, my Minho-ya. I’ll always be okay. I got you to take care of me, don’t I?” She says it like it’s a joke.
Minho doesn’t get the chance to respond before a sudden third-party intrudes on their bubble.
An older man appears, dressed in all black, a surveillance headset hanging around his neck and a clipboard in his hands.
“Myeonghee,” the man calls. “We’re ready to begin if you are.”
“Well, that’s my cue.” Minho’s mother grabs Minho's shoulders and squeezes them. “Listen, I’ll be caught up tonight and in the morning, but after that, I’m all yours for the week, yeah? How do you feel about getting breakfast for dinner at Lady’s tomorrow?”
Lady’s is a 24-hour diner near their neighborhood that their family used to eat at often when his mom wasn’t away at work. It’s been a long time since they’ve been able to comfortably go, and Minho feels himself get excited revisiting with his mom again.
The excitement, however, dulls by the time it rolls onto his tongue. All Minho can afford for her at the moment is a small smile. “Sure. Can Jisung come with us?”
“Of course he can, baby.” His mother smiles before finally stepping away from him to follow the crew member out of the hall. She pumps a curt fist in the air. “Wish me luck.”
A mix of words dies in his throat as his mother disappears around the corner, leaving Minho alone in the hall once more. It’s cold, even with his many layers coddling him, but it doesn’t quite bother him as much as the dazed look in his mother’s eyes did.
There’s a random, worn-down couch pressed against the back wall of the studio that Jisung occupies for both of them when Minho eventually returns.
It’s dark now in the main room. The recording light is moments away from switching on, but Minho is still able to make out Jisung in the dark. Even though there’s plenty of room for them both to sit on the couch, he still sits snug against Jisung’s side, fitting both their small bodies onto one cushion instead of two. He knows Jisung doesn’t mind it because they’re both used to it.
When their shoulders brush, Jisung shoots his eyes at Minho. The gold specks in his irises beam brightly in the cold room, and Minho feels something in his chest warm. It’s not enough to rid the hollow feeling his mother left, but it soothes the ache for now.
“Are you ready? Are you so ready?” Jisung’s lack of volume does little to mask his excitement. “Did your mom say what songs they’re doing?”
Though the warmth is gentle, Minho’s heart remains rattled.
Sparing a weak glance in Jisung’s direction, he exhales. “No.”
One word is all it takes to pull Jisung out of his happy mood. In an instant, he’s sagging in his seat in favor of getting a good look at Minho. Minho feels him drilling holes into the side of his head, but he can’t bring himself to look back.
“Hey,” he feels Jisung poke his thigh. “You good?”
Not that Minho had planned on giving a proper answer, but a stranger swivels before them before he can respond.
“Yo.” A random crew member comes to hush them. “If you kids can’t put a sock in it, then there’s the door.”
They weren’t even speaking that loud. Minho and Jisung exchange a secret, bewildered glance at each other as soon as the guy walks off, clearly thinking the same thing. Asshole.
Minho is quick to look away the second he hears the drums count Fox Trout into their opening song. He feels Jisung’s eyes on him for a few more seconds before eventually giving way to the performance.
For the Christmas special, Fox Trout starts with a rather intense version of one of their most popular songs compared to its normal folksy sound. It’s a lighter song, the tempo leaning on the more reserved side. Minho worries about what sort of show Fox Trout will be putting on tonight with their new guitarist. It’s some guy from California that Minho hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting yet, but he’s sure he’s decent enough.
Minho has heard this particular song over and over across the past decade. A song his mother had written about a character in a book she read long ago, now long misconstrued into another one of her love songs about Jisung’s father. It used to never be about him. Nowadays, however, with his mother’s growing resentment towards Jeongsu, Minho fears that more than just the times have changed. Seasons change, as does her grief.
The song starts tame, orchestrating its typical vigor, mimicking whatever tone Minho’s mother has set. But as the song ticks from one minute to two, then to four and to six, the energy shifts. Minho can feel it in the caverns of his chest, hot and heavy like a pot of boiling water about to spill over the studio.
Fox Trout plays hard and they play with passion, and the heat of the stage begins to fill the studio space. From the hot lights pooling onto the band to their body heat, Minho feels his own temperature rise just by watching them.
There’s a dark look in his mother’s gaze, in a literal sense, when she pushes her bangs out from her face. And it isn’t from her eyes being big in size, nor is it because of their natural dark brown color— it’s something else. She’s intense, outright possessed by her own melody.
Myeonghee Lee is here in the studio, putting on a show for the late-night broadcast, but at the same time, she isn’t here at all. Her mind exists in an entirely different plane. Still, she barrels through, strong and steady, haunting as she sings—
Dreams unwind
It’s still a state of mind
Take me like the wind, baby
Take me to the sky
The lyrics repeat themself, over and over. It makes Minho a little uncomfortable. It’s only then does he realize how much he’s begun to sweat beneath all his winter layers, from being pressed so close against Jisung, how much his head has started to spin from the million thoughts running through them. From seeing his mother doing coke in the backrooms, to the way his heart beats with Jisung so near.
Minho half-ponders if he’s going hysterical. He wonders if he’s the only one.
Curiously, Minho looks to his right to see if the younger looks as panicky as Minho feels.
But he doesn’t find a hint of discomfort. Jisung is thoroughly starstruck— Minho could read it on his face from a mile away. He’s on the edge of his seat, shoulders pulled back and sitting upright like there’s a string keeping him up. It’s like being under a spell watching his mother perform. This was just the sort of effect Myeonghee Lee had on the average soul, one that Minho understood better than most.
He can’t take his eyes off Jisung, the way his mouth is slightly agape, eyes shining, the way he barely blinks because that would mean he could miss something. Over and over like a mantra in the back, Minho listens to the rasp of his mother’s voice in the distance.
All the same
All the same
All the same
All the same
It was a bit horrifying, but so interesting, watching the many ways people could be possessed by music. But more than anything in that moment, as the song came to its crashing, chaotic end, Minho felt nothing but an obscure sense of dread in his stomach while watching Jisung.
The room soon erupts in applause, a few house lights turn back on, and Minho snaps out of it.
Fox Trout takes a step away from their instruments, covered in sweat and flushed from the face down. It’s smiles all around, from the musicians to the crew.
“There you have it!” The interviewer, a short man dressed in an expensive suit, steps into their frame, his stache pressed against his hand mic. “Fox Trout, everybody. And their leading lady, Myeonghee Lee— goddess of rock!”
A few whistles make their rounds around the room from the sparse crew members and TV executives in the room. Jisung is one of the many audience members still watching the band in awe, eagerly applauding them from the back.
“That was so cool,” Jisung murmurs in awe, more to himself than to Minho. Minho looks at him regardless and feels the weight of his heart pounding against his chest when their eyes connect. He’s beaming with excitement, and it feels for a moment, his earlier concern with Minho’s sudden mood drop had never existed.
“I want to put on a show like that, one day,” he says. His eyes darted back and forth between Minho and the stage. “I think I could do it if I put in the work. What do you think?”
Minho was too caught up in the gold specks of Jisung’s eyes to give an immediate answer, but he barely needed to give the question any thought. There’s only one possible answer.
“You can have anything you set your heart to, Sung-ie,” Minho says almost too quietly for Jisung to hear. “Music was made for you.”
It was the truth. Music was written in the stars for Jisung; it had been his fate since the day he was born. He didn’t need his father or anyone else to push it onto him. It had insisted upon itself.
And Minho— well. Minho didn’t have much outside of Concord, Massachusetts. He had school. He had Hyunjin, his father. Jisung.
His mother.
Even though she had said it to him earlier so lightly, she was right; Minho needed to look out for her. With it being such a dark period in her life, with Jeongsu leaving, and everything else that came with the job at an all-time high stress, Minho had to take care of her in any way he could.
Don’t get into any trouble, no unnecessary fights, and no talking back to his teacher. Be a good student and an even better son. Try not to give his dad a hard time while his mother’s away. Be in tune with his mom’s emotions in the times she is around, and be gentle with her heart.
Which also means in those fleeting moments, the ones where Minho’s words get jumbled in his mouth and his heart sometimes skips a beat when he’s around Jisung, has to be kept under wraps.
Minho isn’t entirely sure what these feelings mean, but he’s read enough books and heard enough stories to know the road he’s fated to go down. His mother gives Minho all the freedom in the world, so long as he doesn’t do anything to betray her trust or heart.
And giving in to the warm feeling he gets whenever he’s around the son of his mother’s greatest past love would be the deepest betrayal of all.
So when Jisung says nothing in return, only shoots Minho a small smile before returning his attention to Fox Trout, Minho swallows it down— his endearment for him.
It leaves his chest sore and his appetite soiled, but he does it out of love.