Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

there is nothing better in this world than chemistry. the subject, the science of reactions, and the invisible thread that sparks and snaps between people. the way an oaky scent is made without its wood, and the reason why snow melts under your touch but not on your windshield when you’re running late for work. chemistry is everything. and seungkwan couldn’t quite see how that is so. 

to seungkwan, who was disappearing behind his organic chemistry textbooks day after day, there existed only one goal in college: survive. survive the lectures, the assignments, and the borderline radioactive cafeteria food. maybe thrive a little, too—but mostly survive. 

what he didn’t note down as a goal was his senior, dokyeom, bursting into his dorm room one evening like the world was ending.

seungkwan was seeing dokyeom for the first time in three weeks because of his midterm exams. dokyeom was a third year physics major (and also seungkwan’s emergency contact #2, number one being his roommate, mingyu) that could miraculously never be found complaining about the subject, even when his entire class dreaded it. he could also never be found studying despite the straight a’s he bragged about to their small circle of friends. seungkwan is sure he will get scammed within the next five years from the way he believes everything everyone tells him, like jeonghan’s “fine, i’ll stay.” when jeonghan decided to shift out of their shared apartment, as in when he had packed his stuff into boxes and had the movers’ truck waiting downstairs. dokyeom had hidden under tables and made humming noises to ‘condition’ jeonghan into being scared of living alone. it never worked but dokyeom got the boost he needed to bother seungkwan for every minor inconvenience in his life, now that jeonghan was living three oceans away from him (that is, the very next alley).

“seungkwan!” dokyeom’s voice was enough to have the entire building waking up. “we have to save the college!”

seungkwan didn’t even peek out of the coop he formed out of his peach-print blanket. he muttered in his raspy voice—from the sleep or the insurmountable amount of caffeine that goes into him, who knows?—“what did you do this time?”

“haw! does it always have to be my fault?” dokyeom huffed, throwing himself dramatically onto seungkwan’s bed. “i didn’t do anything—yet. but listen! the student council is holding auditions to form a band to represent our college at the inter-university fest!”

dokyeom’s eyes sparkled at seungkwan as if he were a lollipop. seungkwan slowly propped his head out, a mole risking out from its bill. he didn’t anticipate anything but let’s see where this goes. “and you thought of me because…?”

“because you’re a drumming prodigy!” dokyeom said, sitting up with more sparks in his eyes, they were always firework-ing. “and i’m going to be the guitarist and main vocalist! i already have a name for us—kissjoy. like the opposite of killjoy. you get it? isn’t it cool? like, music you can be happy and kiss your homies to.”

“the opposite of what? you just need an excuse to kiss us!”

this is ridiculous.

“we do not go there. you’re not seeing the vision, seungkwan. we need a drummer!”

seungkwan groaned, rolling in his tight-wrapped blanket from side to side like a dejected kid at hamleys. “you need a drummer and i have midterms coming. i have labs. i have a life, dokyeom.”

“do you, though?”

yeah, right. eight-to-four classes were the only thing seungkwan's scheduler was looking forward to. seungkwan grabbed a pillow and launched it at dokyeom’s head, missing it by seventy million yards. as much as seungkwan is swooned over for being voluptuous with ball games, his aim is ass. 

“okay, okay, hear me out!” dokyeom ducked the follow-up pillow, his grin unfazed. “i already have a keyboardist in mind and chan could take the b—”

wait, what was that again? seungkwan’s mood soured instantly. “chan? as in lee chan? the theatre guy that eats banana bread with ketchup? that chan?”

dokyeom blinked innocently. “you know him?”

seungkwan has now popped up. he is a popcorn. he moderately wishes to be in a bucket with other popcorns and the glaze of golden flowing butter. and maybe some flaky salt. but not caramel. he hates caramel and he hates lee chan and he just doesn’t agree to the idea of being in the same bucket as lee chan “yes, i know him. and dokyeom, i love you but, i’m not doing this. there’s this… history i have with him and i just don’t—”

“okay, wow,” dokyeom tailed seungkwan as he got up from his bed and walked towards the bathroom, laughing nervously. “history is perfect! the best bands have some tension.”

“no.” seungkwan crossed his arms. “stop being so loud, you’ll wake mingyu up. and find someone else.”

“they aren’t you!” dokyeom wailed, collapsing onto the floor. “seungkwan, please. the auditions are in three days. if we don’t try, the college might end up represented by those guys who only play acoustic covers of sad breakup songs. acoustic breakup songs, seungkwan!”

seungkwan’s resolve cracked just a little. he hated seeing dokyeom look upset just as much as the pity cries of breakup songs. in fact, there’s a lot in this world that seungkwan hates. including, for instance, chan.

when seungkwan first met lee chan, he was the same height as him, had boba eyes and a big head that knew nothing. seungkwan didn’t really mind his presence around him through the first few weeks of high school. all until they were paired chemistry lab partners and their paths started meddling more than seungkwan would enjoy. that’s where it started—the on and off rivalry that drained seungkwan. 

it wasn’t even about academics, seungkwan knew something was off about chan when he first noticed the smirk on his face—that creepy lingering smirk that never left him. he was smirking when he heated his potassium nitrate over the bunsen and he was smirking when the teacher gave out their answer sheets. he was simpering and giggling and being all smug about god-knows-what all the time. all. the. fucking. time. there’s no known reason as to why seungkwan was always looking at him to be knowing this, though. what we do have a reason for was seungkwan’s growing curiosity around chan. the more he knew about him, the more annoyed he felt and it all snowballed from there into this strong desire to always stay twenty thoughts away from chan.

“i’ll think about it,” he muttered.

dokyeom shot up, grinning from ear to ear. “i knew you’d say yes!”

“that’s not—”

“fifth floor music room at six,” dokyeom called as he sprinted out the door.

seungkwan sighed, burying his face in his hands. surviving college, it seemed, was about to get a lot harder.

♡

seungkwan was beginning to think he might actually die in this room. 

he was still in the lab redoing his titration for the fourth time when dokyeom called his phone and, in a scratching nasal voice, started blaring like an alarm. seungkwan was fifteen minutes late for the band’s first meet-up and even the professors would’ve let that much slide. he rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye and walked out, taking his lab coat off as he paced down the stairs of the academic block. when he entered the other building, the “elevator under maintenance” sign gave him a cute, welcoming hug. after the five-floor staircase sprint, when seungkwan was finally in the practice room, the first thing his eyes fell on was lee chan. 

he was not even in seungkwan’s regular field of vision. in fact, there was a full-sized cello, pile of lab discards and broken furniture that should be sidetracking his eyes, but they found him anyhow. chan sat at a far corner to the right of the stage, staring at a bass guitar like it might sprout legs and run away from him. his grip on the neck, even from a distance, seemed relaxed but genuine. his left hand—or was it right?—rested on the back of the bass, the other casually tuning it like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

he really is here, seungkwan thought to himself. he told himself to be angry, sort of deranged when he gets around chan. he had to be expressive and the better one. yes, he's gotta be the best in the room. 

“i’d rather make soap than be here,” seungkwan muttered under his breath. 

chan, who had been humming as he adjusted the bass strings, finally looked up. his smirk was still the same and so infuriatingly perfect . “nice to see you too, seungkwan. it’s been what—three years since we last had a ‘friendly’ encounter? i was beginning to miss you.”

“you bet,” seungkwan grumbled, constructing the urge to hurl a drumstick at the back of chan’s head. he instead focused his gaze on the ivory fret marks. chan’s bass was more interesting than his conniving attempts to get back at seungkwan. 

“i’m sure you didn’t,” chan grinned, his fingers plucking at seungkwan’s neuronal network, strings in a haphazard of an oddly unruly melody. seungkwan is a guitar pick. “you probably missed my musical abilities, right? i know i would if i were you.” was seungkwan angled and chipped to the correct degree? if chan played the bass with seungkwan, would they automatically create an acoustic breakup song? no. they never broke up. they just surfed on the other’s nerves until high tide ate them up. 

it was tormenting enough to be put against chan all the time, why does he have to be working with him now? 

for chan, his passion goes a long way. he studies for a test the last day and bags the perfect score. he stands in a room and suddenly is friends with everyone there. when seungkwan decides that he likes to dance, chan has to steal that from him and turn it into his career. seungkwan is on a date with his first girlfriend but said date is in the crowd of chan’s street performance.

chan. chan. chan.

seungkwan, on the other hand, can’t have anything. he can’t even decide what he is right now—maybe the Boney M poster on the wall behind dokyeom would be peaceful. oh right, dokyeom…

dokyeom, who had been blissfully setting up his guitar without a care in the world, looked up and sighed in exasperation. “alright, alright, are we done with the laser beams here? we’re trying to be a band, guys! that means,” he paused dramatically, raising a finger as if he had unlocked some great secret, “good vibes only. and, seungkwan-chan, if you keep throwing daggers at each other, we’re gonna end up sounding like clanking metal.”

dokyeom was right. seungkwan isn’t here to prove himself, at least not to chan. he’s here to indulge in his friend’s harmless wish to be on the stage with something worthwhile. he is here to be of help to dokyeom, not a challenge to chan. 

seungkwan ignored chan’s lingering gaze on him and unfurled the cloth that hid his drum set. it looked just as he had left it nine months ago, after his freshie performance that earned him 27 confessions and a weekful of anonymous pink camellia deliveries. he smiled at the recollection and tapped on the snare before grabbing himself a stool.

the next few minutes at the practice room were a holy ride through the nine layers of hell.

dokyeom was already hopping around, strumming his guitar in the air for his very own jarring solo. “jun, are you ready to bring the magic? the audience needs to feel the vibe. on the count of three! 3, 2—”

“that’s not how you count,” was seungkwan’s first attempt (read:cry) to keep sane.

jun looked around perplexed and threw a disoriented array of fingers onto the keys, his keyboard screeching in tortured minors and orphan notes.

before seungkwan could stop him, jun’s fingers found composure and waltz-ed across the keys, creating a melody that sounded like something out of a ravenous fairytale. it was so out of place in this cluttered, dusty room that seungkwan almost laughed. he could already feel a headache coming on.

“dude, you sound like you’re summoning a dragon,” seungkwan said, half-amused, half-annoyed, as the high-pitched notes swirled in the air like an eccentric windchime. seungkwan clapped like a kid watching dolphins ballet.

dokyeom activated his inner cheerleader. he nodded enthusiastically. “exactly! a dragon of good vibes!” 

seungkwan rolled his eyes. “right. a dragon of good vibes. what’s next? a unicorn playing the tambourine?”

seungkwan shall forever regret saying this. mid-sentence, his eyes followed dokyeom who practically threw his guitar on the stray couch in the middle of the room and ran toward a forlorn grey box that had something round and white dying to fall out of it. he gripped onto the thing’s blue handle and raised it above him like it was the excalibur.

seungkwan pressed his palms tightly against his ears and narrowed his eyes to focus. in dokyeom’s hand was a sogo.

“are we ready?” dokyeom chimed in, completely serious.

“i… i’m not even going to ask.” seungkwan surrendered his eardrums to the will of nature and grabbed his drumsticks with determination, mentally preparing himself to survive this practice session without throwing his cymbals at anyone.

he tightened his grip and struck the drumhead. the coherent rhythm pulsed through the room, the air freezing everyone, seungkwan included, at their spot as the sound waves travelled with it. his hands moved on their own. treble and trough, in and out. the air vibrated around him and he slightly, almost mistakenly, stole a glance at chan before striking his last beats.

seungkwan finally inhaled. the room was left silent after him, the only thing that remained was chan’s unwavering eyes on him. he seemed to bring his hands up to clap, but instead cupped them around his mouth and cheered. the other two followed. seungkwan could feel himself loosen up, the vessels all dilating a little to give space to the thought of his hands having their own brain. 

dokyeom flashed a satisfactory smile at him, a sign that he understood what seungkwan wants.

“okay,” dokyeom said, clapping his hands together like a toddler trying to organize a group project. “this is the jam we need. everyone follow my lead. let’s make some music!”

seungkwan shot a side-eye at chan. “you’re sure you can follow?”

chan was already strumming his old friend. “oh, i’m sure. you, on the other hand, need to stop overthinking everything and just feel the music. try it, seungkwan.”

“feel the music?” seungkwan hissed under his breath, barely able to keep his tone civil. “i’m feeling something, alright. and it’s not good.”

chan’s smirk didn’t fade. “that’s because you’re too uptight, boo. just trust the groove,” his tone exaggerated, “the way our lord taemin hath devised.”

seungkwan could feel the vein in his temple throbbing. this was exactly why he hated this guy. chan was the kind of person who had an answer for everything, even when it made absolutely no sense. he got a mouth for free at birth and he had to use it all the time.

but somehow—somehow—when chan hit the strings, it was like the room came alive. seungkwan recognised the patterns to be of billie jeans. his little kick-and-snare session was nothing compared to this. the bassline wasn’t just a simple beat; it had this smooth groove to it, like he was riding the rhythm, every note flowing right out of his heart like a secret to the strings.

seungkwan felt his grip on the drumsticks tighten. he hated that it sounded so good.

“i’m not losing to you,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

chan caught his gaze, and for a brief moment, something passed between them—something that wasn’t just a testament to their lifelong animosity, but a challenge. he raised an eyebrow. “let’s see what you’ve got, seungkwan.”

that was all it took.

the clash between the bass and drums began—loud, messy, but undeniably robust. seungkwan drummed like his life depended on it. the rhythm pounded in his chest and translated onto the membranes. the floor below him shook, there was a crack in one of the tiles. he wasn’t going to let chan take this from him. he refused.

as much as seungkwan hated chan’s guts, he loved that he always played the perfect rival. chan was matching his energy with every pluck of the bass. it wasn’t a fight for dominance, it was a fight for the music. for the soul of it. the sounds blended into a chaotic beauty of tension.

jun was the first to break the spell, his fingers slamming onto the keys like he’d just discovered fire. “yes! this is it! this is the vibe i’ve been talking about!”

dokyeom, who had been spinning around like a hyperactive tornado, stopped mid-spin, his grin threatening to split his face in two. “oh, this is it! this is so it! we are unstoppable! i’m writing the band name on the door now. ‘kissjoy’ is here!”

seungkwan stopped drumming for a second to catch his breath, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. chan was still standing there, smug as ever, but there was something in his eyes. a little spark of… respect?

seungkwan wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to ask. not now, not ever.

instead, he flicked his sticks in chan’s direction. “alright, lee chan. i admit you’ve got some chops. but this battle isn’t over. not by a long shot.”

chan winked back. “can’t wait for more, boo.”

seungkwan wasn’t sure whether to roll his eyes or punch him in the arm. so, he just did both.

and threw his drumsticks at him.

wow, this was going to be fun.

Chapter Text

the second day of practice, dokyeom pulled a no-show. no phone calls or texts or valid signs of him being alive. he had probably dropped the idea of leading a band under the immense dejection his physics major brought onto him. seungkwan still tried ringing him up.

“no use calling him. he's asleep,” jeonghan said as he slid down next to seungkwan at the table, a lone bowl of soup on his tray. apparently, dokyeom just wrote his thermodynamics mid-term and his next move was to get inhaled by his bed. for twenty-one hours straight. 

“isn’t that almost, like, coma?” hansol remarked, seated opposite to jeonghan. hansol was your average chill guy in the psych major. the only guy there, if you will. on the rarest of days, hansol would be planted like a single tree in the hall of unanimous females who were on their phone all day and wore acubi. on a normal day though, you would find him bunking class to go pet cats at his little secret spot. that’s also where he first met seungkwan.

behind the humanities building on that lone wednesday, time had seemed to slow down by the second. hansol rounded the corner, already hearing the familiar purrs and meows that made this narrow hideaway his favorite spot. the patch of sunlit grass was dotted with lounging cats, sprawled out like they owned the place—and honestly, they kind of did.

he crouched down, hand outstretched toward a striped tabby who blinked at him lazily before leaning into the touch. “you’re spoiled, you know that?” he murmured, scratching behind the cat’s ears.

“talking to cats again?” a voice from somewhere in the golden haze made him jump.

startled, hansol straightened, scanning the small clearing. just a little to the left, nestled among the furries, was seungkwan. he was stretched out on the grass, face tilted toward the sun like he was one of them. a ginger cat curled up at his feet, and another was napping against his side.

“what are you doing here?” hansol asked, but his tone was more amused than accusatory.

“basking,” seungkwan said simply, cracking one eye open. 

“you skipped class to bask with cats?” hansol chuckled, stepping closer.

seungkwan snorted, “i prefer calling it a strategic mental health break. and besides, my time is better invested here than in biochemistry.” the kittens near his feet were starting to cover him up, crowding at every curve his body fell into. a little one sat on his chest, eyes glistening for seungkwan’s attention, only to brush away his attempt to caress it.

hansol couldn’t argue with seungkwan. he plopped down on the grass next to him, careful not to disturb the cats. one of them—a tiny black kitten—immediately clambered into his lap. “fair point,” he said, stroking the kitten. “they’re good company.”

“better than most humans,” seungkwan replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

for a moment, neither of them had spoken. the sunlight warming their faces and the soft purrs filling the silence were strangely familiar. an unexplainable peace wrapped around them. an understanding of how beautiful it was to be stagnant.

“i didn’t know you came here,” hansol eventually muttered.

“maybe I was keeping a secret.” seungkwan turned his head, squinting at him. “maybe it can be ours to keep now.”

hansol smiled, leaning back on his hands. “deal.”

hansol’s spoon clanked against his bowl of stew. “you guys are starting a band without me? makes me sad, ” he spoke up monotonously, voice muffled by the rice in his mouth. seungkwan saw him stir and stir and stir the stew, without eating it. he kept on nibbling on the plain white rice. a few incomprehensible words later, hansol’s rice bowl had five grains of rice astray like sand on an old beach slipper. seungkwan lightly patted his head like hansol was his upset kid.

“i wish i had the time to join you all. i miss hanging out with seokmin,” jeonghan shifted in his white coat. “these clinical postings got the better of me. but seungkwan, why don’t you add chan to our groupchat? it’ll be fun.”

seungkwan’s hand bringing his tofu wrap close to his mouth stopped mid-air. he narrowed his eyes at jeonghan trying to identify which demon had possessed him today.

“he isn’t fun.”

“add him.”

“i don’t have a reason to.”

“the more the merrier. imagine the vibe at my next house party.”

“chan at a party is a sight rarer than a snow leopard photobombing you—”

“added,” hansol interjected, his phone held up into jeonghan’s face. seungkwan shrieked at him. jeonghan clapped him on the back and got up, pretending to answer a call from the pediatric intern asking him to be present at the obstetrics ward in five. seungkwan sneered at hansol and went back to eating. everyone is so annoying but for one, no disoriented band rehearsals today.

—

our groupies left us

kwantified: dokyeom coma

kwantified: no rehearsals today

junnie.moon: noooo :((

feat.chan: we need backup pls meet me near exit 4

kwantified: junnie :( if you want we can chill somewhere

junnie.moon: aw thanks please get me ramen :))

kwantified: i will :D

feat.chan: ???

seungkwan didn’t initially plan for his mood of the day to be petty towards chan. in fact, he totally let go of the idea of having to see him today, because that idea ceased existing the very moment dokyeom was missing in action. but yeah, he definitely is being petty. only because he has better things to do like save jun from this campus devoid of neoguri ramen.

and how could seungkwan refuse? jun has been nothing but nice to everyone. this one time when seungkwan forgot to bring his lab coat, jun gave him his own and got scolded by his professor for negligence. he was practically the person that set alarms for the sun to rise every morning—ironic enough to his family name being moon. and honestly, seungkwan deserved some normal indulgence every once in a while.

he picked his bag up and headed down to the convenience store. 

the store was unusually lifeless without the constant chitter of students bunking lectures for a hangout. exam season was getting the better of them and yet seungkwan was out here, a whole leg submerged into the depths of purgatory, trying to do just whatever for his friends. he walked right in, plugging his wired earphones in to mute out the depressing store music. he initially claimed that having to charge his phone and his bluetooth buds annoyed the living sockets out of him, but he had actually bought them when he recognized the aesthetic nonchalance they imparted to a person. the person in question being hansol, whose personality seungkwan so wanted to steal.

seungkwan meticulously scanned the ramen aisle, swaying lighting to ‘i’m so hot’ by wonder girls, when that voice interrupted yubin’s swing-smooth rap. tangy, the voice stung the back of his palate, piercing through his eardrum and striking at his last few braincells. like a lemonade too sour for any amount of sugar to mask it. sundried orange zest soaked in gooseberry concentrate. seungkwan isn’t at all fond of gooseberries. they have no business being healthy. they spiritually concern him. why does a berry have to smell sweet but taste of a 480 volt shock? just thinking of its taste gave him goosebumps. did they derive goosebumps from gooseberry? is seungkwan a gooseberry?

“seungkwan, are you serious right now?”

seungkwan sighed heavily as he pulled at the wire, not bothering to turn around. “why are you here, chan? no, wait. how are you here?”

“please don’t tell me wait,” chan said as his annoying little index finger pointed at a board outside that said ‘exit 4’. seungkwan’s fingers pressed hard against his temples. how could he have been so careless to walk right into this guy? chan was stepping closer to him, invading seungkwan’s peripheral vision with an exasperated look. seungkwan continued to consciously avoid him.

“jun can wait for his ramen. if we want this band to succeed, we need to do something. the auditions are in two days.”

“junnie hyung asked nicely.” seungkwan picked up the cup noodle of jun’s choice that he recalled from this one seniors’ survey they did for the socialising course. “unlike you, mister pissypants, who barged in here like I owe you something.”

chan groaned, running a hand through his hair. seungkwan groaned in return. he knew this man never gives up. it was almost amusing to him to have chan clearly broadcast that it’s not hard for him to be a good sport about this situation, that the idea of begging seungkwan around doesn’t bother him one bit, and that, unlike someone, he’s not tempted to set himself on fire to get out of this. he just wants to do something for a band that’s called ‘kissjoy’ because its creator and leader is homiesexual (and an amazing person). and so, maybe for dokyeom’s sake too, seungkwan gives in. “fine. i’ll hear your great plan of success and you will help me study for my midterms?”

“just so you’re aware, i don’t know shit about chemistry.”

“deal or not?”

“ugh. deal.” seungkwan shook hands with chan, finally looking away from the rows of ramen into chan’s eyes. oh, how he loved having the upper hand against this boy. he handed the ramen to chan like he was his assistant. “go grab peach gummies for sir junhui.”

an hour later, with jun’s supplies stuffed into seungkwan’s little pink backpack, he and chan finally stood outside jihoon’s dorm room. jihoon, who was a third year music major and could practically talk to every instrument their college had the funds to provide him. jihoon, who was the conflicted president of the dance club and best friends with chan’s favourite senior, soonyoung.

if there is one person in this campus that stood a chance against choi seungcheol (who is also jeonghan’s boyfriend which makes it even more difficult to defeat him in any aspect ever), then that is lee jihoon with his herculean built and the ability to hypnotise mortals by his ways of strings and percussions. and everything in between. like clarinets. the only thing that stops him from going feral and taking over the world is the universe factory—his music studio that he leaves only if he has a certain kwon soonyoung hanging onto his back like a clingy ghost, eating his brains out just to make him accompany him to the dance club.

which, by the way, also means that jihoon doesn’t have a single thing that he isn’t marvelous at. even his handwriting is gorgeous. seungkwan knows because he had asked jihoon to help him with quantum mechanics once in first semester. since then, everytime jeonghan hung out with jihoon, seungkwan just sneakily tagged along just to be able to absorb his awesomeness from two people away. 

“are you sure he lives here?” seungkwan asked for the third time, arms crossed as he glared into the see-through glass door separating them from a purple abyss.

chan ignored him as he knocked, “just let me handle this.”

seungkwan eyed him. letting chan ‘handle this’ was the flop-band equivalent of letting your pet goldfish cook ramen for you. it just didn’t make sense. “i bet fifty bucks he’ll slam the door in your face.”

“he was the one that composed that song for the cultural fest last year. you liked it, didn’t you?”

“that doesn’t mean i want him in the band,” seungkwan hissed. “he’s literally the god of music, you hear me? god! what makes you think he’ll care about our stupid band?”

“we’re awesome.” chan shrugged and paused for seungkwan’s input but before seungkwan could retort with a clear argument, the door creaked open. seungkwan jumped to hide behind chan, crouching sheepishly.

jihoon stood there, blinking blearily, a half-empty can of coke in hand and toes peeking out of his white slippers, in flesh. he looked exactly like someone who’d been dragged out of his natural habitat by two overzealous undergrads.

“what do you want?” he asked flatly, his tone screaming that any answer would disappoint him.

“jihoon hyung, hi!” chan started, leaning casually against the doorframe as though they were best friends. seungkwan stumbled into sight and stood up straight, pretending to fix his t-shirt. “we need your help. our mixed-department music band—you’ve probably heard of us—needs a lead vocalist to save us, and your name came up immediately.”

jihoon stared at him for a solid five seconds before turning to seungkwan. “is this guy serious?”

“nah, just seriously delusional,” 

chan wasn’t giving up. he pulled out his salesman voice and continued, “hyung, think about it—your music, our talent. our chemistry is like double hydrogen and oxygen. we could make something incredible together.”

“water.” jihoon’s gaze shifted to seungkwan. “you’re in this thing too?”

“unfortunately,” seungkwan replied, earning a sharp elbow from chan.

jihoon sighed, clearly debating whether another word in this conversation should be preferred over the creaking swivel chair and pile of incomplete melodies that waited for him inside. “loved your version of ‘hope’. i can trust you, seungkwan, but is this worth my time?”

seungkwan opened his mouth in awe of the first half of jihoon’s statement, leaving the later half for chan to ‘handle’. 

“he’s on the drums! if you join us, i’ll buy you a month’s supply of coke zero,” chan blurted desperately.

jihoon paused.

“two months.”

“done.” jihoon threw a hand forward and shook chan’s. 

“but i’ll need to see you all in the wild,” he told them. chan just bobbleheaded at jihoon.

seungkwan threw his hands in the air. “this can’t be real."

chan smiled and patted seungkwan’s back like they had just secured a life insurance client. although, ‘they’ doesn’t exist here. team effort and stuff like that is for friends. not for... what chan and he are. seungkwan flinched at chan's hand that still was on his shoulder and turned to jihoon to exchange contacts. he almost couldn’t believe he—okay, chan—got the lee jihoon on the team with the mere bribe of aspartame-loaded carbonated drinks. maybe chemistry is something.

he dropped a text for everyone to gather for practice and, although he won’t admit it, smiled to himself.

up at the fifth floor, jihoon sat on a foldable chair in the exact middle of the practice room, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie and a sleek pair of glasses resting on his nose. he looked around the room, seemingly absorbing every crack and cobweb that ornamented it. the air smelled faintly of detergent and desperation. a tangled mess of cables sprawled across the linoleum floor of the cramped practice room as if marking territory. 

chan stood at a corner of the stage, listening to seungkwan rant about the girl that keeps on stealing his stationery even though he religiously marks proxy attendance for her almost every day. 

as chan nodded at every second word seungkwan uttered, jihoon glanced at him, frowning. "did anyone else hear that?"

chan raised an eyebrow. "hear what?"

jihoon held up a finger to his mouth, signaling silence. from behind the door came a muffled sound—an off-key hum, accompanied by the faint strum of a guitar.

seungkwan blinked. "could be junnie? he had a surprise test, though."

"jun’s not off-key," chan pointed out, stepping closer to the door. "whoever that is... they're awful."

jihoon was more than interested. he slowly rose from the chair, skipping towards the entrance, and shoved the door open. the other two followed.

there, sprawled at the head of the staircase (with a guitar that clearly didn’t belong to him) was dokyeom. his head rested on the railings at an angle that looked uncomfortable, his eyes half-closed as he lazily strummed a random set of chords.

"dokyeom?" seungkwan's voice cracked slightly from the sheer absurdity of the scene. "what the hell is this? were you not dead sleeping."

dokyeom blinked slowly, as if processing the question. "oh. hey, guys." he grinned, still strumming. "kissjoy needed me."

"who needed you?" jihoon repeated, incredulous. "that’s what your band is called?!"

"AHHH?!" dokyeom sat up, placing the guitar on the set of stairs below him. he hadn’t caught a glance of jihoon who was standing opposite his back all this time. but when he finally did, he was so glad he hadn’t hit his bed that afternoon.

everyone knew about it. even the centipede creeping by jihoon’s foot knew about it. everyone, but jihoon, knew about the way dokyeom turned and jittered and behaved around jihoon. 

dokyeom was a freshie when he first met jihoon. soonyoung, his senior by a year, had been raving about an lee jihoon who had joined the dance club and had had soonyoung dumbfounded by his agile musicality and fluid isolations. dokyeom had no idea what those meant but he was too curious to not start following soonyoung to their random play sessions. it wasn’t intentional at first, plain curiosity. how could someone make the human embodiment of hyperactivity gush like a proud fan? but when he finally saw jihoon in action, everything in him tilted just slightly off-axis. 

jihoon wasn’t particularly tall or striking at first glance, but there was something magnetic about the way he carried himself. he didn’t have the fierce centrifugation that soonyoung carried but his gravity was enough to pull your attention against your will. sharp, purposeful, and somehow larger than life, even him tapping his pen against a clipboard was an event. and when he danced? he seemed to draw energy out of the very air around him. he was liquid electricity.

admiration, inspiration, adoration—call it what you will, but dokyeom couldn’t see him like just another friend of his. his ears would stand at end whenever someone even barely mentioned his name, he would run to the restroom if jihoon were to come to meet soonyoung somewhere, and he skipped his walks to the grocery store with jeonghan if jihoon had planned to join them on the way. he couldn’t look at him the same as he looked at everyone and everything else. so, he stopped looking at him at all.

until, of course, right now as he tapered over dokyeom who was carelessly un-handling a guitar after having played it worse than a kid out of the womb. he wished he could eat cement.

“hey, jihoon hyung,” he called, trying to sound casual as if his feet weren’t clearly losing circulation. oh, so that’s what it was—short circuit. the fuse has gone out. disaster management. evacuate, evacuate, evacuate.

when his brain was finally functioning, he was already in the room with the boys, hands clutching the mic. jihoon stood near the door, one hand loosely gripping the neck of his guitar case and the other balancing a half-empty can of coke zero. his gaze swept across the room, taking in the mismatched chairs, the dented amp in the corner, and the four expectant faces looking up to him. the set-up was already perfect and the group started with a riff.

a few stray notes were exchanged before a steady rhythm began to emerge, each of them falling into place like parts of a slightly dysfunctional machine.

jihoon closed his eyes, bobbing his head to the melody when he caught on something more. beneath the mismatched banter, there was a seamless exchange between seungkwan and chan, a fight for dominance reproduced as snaking excellence. their instruments seemed to talk to each other, weaving intricate layers that the others instinctively followed. what had started as a simple bridge had turned into something exhilirating, almost theatrical. seungkwan layered in dynamic drum fills while chan countered with increasingly intricate bass lines, neither willing to back down.

jihoon sat back, letting it play out, his hands still on the strings as he studied them. “pause. you two,” he said, cutting through the noise.

seungkwan blinked, his drumsticks hovering mid-air. “me?”

jihoon gave a nod. “do that again.”

“do what again?” chan exchanged a confused look with seungkwan.

“the progression,” he continued, “—that was the most alive the song has sounded so far. you guys are making band music like it’s a competition, but at least it’s interesting.”

chan scoffed. he had that smile that plants itself on his face seconds before he is about to get on seungkwan’s nerves. running a hand through his hair, he said, “well, seungkwan does have a habit of turning everything into a competition.”

seungkwan turned sharply, eyes narrowing. "excuse me?"

"oh, you know," chan continued, leaning on his bass, voice laced with disdain. he dragged a foot over the other. "who plays better, who sings better, who breathes better—"

"don’t be ridiculous. I’m not competing with you over anything," seungkwan snapped.

"could’ve fooled me."

seungkwan gaped at him, incredulous. “you are unbelievable.” seungkwan was stepping towards chan, who seemed just about as immovable as the stone statues at jeju. seungkwan saw red. his grip on his drumsticks tightened until his knuckles were white but chan at the other end looked unbothered. it only made seungkwan want to get to him even more.

“you’re actually the worst,” seungkwan decided, another step forward, his voice dripping with fury. “you can’t go five minutes without acting like you’re better than me, can you?”

chan exhaled sharply through his nose, tilting his head in mock amusement. “oh, i’m the one who thinks i’m better? that’s rich, coming from the guy who loses his mind every time I so much as exist near him. you were internally hitting your head on the wall when you saw me here the first day.”

seungkwan let out a sharp laugh. bitter. humorless. “right, of course it’s not you who tries to one-up me. never you sitting there acting all smug when dokyeom compliments you. you never give me that stupid look like you’re waiting for me to mess up so you can swoop in and prove you’re the better musician.”

seungkwan’s finger was firm on chan’s chest. with every word leaving his head, it only digged deeper into his flesh. “maybe i wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so obsessed with proving yourself all the damn time,” chan spat out. “newsflash, seungkwan! you’re not the only one in this band.”

seungkwan’s face twisted, something sharp and wounded flashing in his eyes. the air surrounding him was scorching, burning his ears and his feet and the hand that shot out to grab a fistful of chan’s collar, tugging him close enough for their breaths to clash. “say that again,” he hissed.

chan’s smirk dropped. his fingers twitched, wrapping around seungkwan’s wrist, but he didn’t push seungkwan off. instead, he just stared at him, jaw tight and muscles tensed, waiting for seungkwan to punch him in the face. that was just when a hand slithered between them, pushing them apart.

“enough, you boys.” jihoon’s voice was even, but his eyes were rough like a stone. seungkwan’s grip faltered, and he shoved chan back roughly before stepping away, chest heaving. chan straightened his collar, eyes still locked onto seungkwan’s like he had something left to say but wasn’t sure if he wanted to say it first.

jihoon exhaled, rubbing his temples. if they had to actually perform as a band, this can’t be happening. he scanned the linoleum flooring under his feet for a second before loosening up. “stupid kids,” he muttered. then, looking at them both with the exhaustion of a man who had just climbed the gongryang ridge, he said, “if you’re so determined to fight, do it on paper. write the damn lyrics together. build some chemistry, i’m not wasting all this potential on some high school beef.”

seungkwan and chan snapped their heads toward him at the same time, equally appalled. “what?”

“yeah,” he leaned back in his chair, sipping his coke as if that was the final word. “i’d say ‘good luck,’ but honestly, i don’t think even luck can save you two from yourselves.”

before either could protest, the door slammed open, and the sound of rapid footsteps echoed down the hallway. the building manager stormed in, face red and voice booming. “who plugged in the amp without checking the sockets? you nearly short-circuited the entire floor!”

the tension snapped. within the blink of an eye, everything was hastily unplugged and everyone was out of the door before he yelled another word at them.

as they practically glided down the stairs and spilled onto the street, seungkwan ran a hand through his hair, groaning. “great. what now?”

jun was still half-folded, hands on his knees and catching his breath. chan was running a hand over his back. 

“i don’t like the vibe there,” jihoon said in between pants.

dokyeom was slowly gathering braincells from every corner of his cranium and putting them to work. “huh?”

“that practice room. it’s so… unoriginal. congested. we shouldn’t be practicing there in the first place.”

dokyeom was a puppy under spell. he nodded without giving it a thought and stood up.

“you’re so right! honestly, i never liked the practice room myself. seungkwan knows the exact place for the perfect jam. right, boo?” he turned to seungkwan for damage control.

seungkwan’s eyes flickered between dokyeom and jihoon, then he looked at chan’s mouth that manufactured nonsense in bulks. 

“yeah, seungkwan’s apartment is,” chan spoke on cue, “free tonight.”

“but my roomie has exams—”

“mingyu’s just got over today. i don’t think he’ll mind,” jun added.

chan beamed, “awesome. we can discuss in his room, then practice on the rooftop.” 

it was a nice save. minus that chan doesn’t know shit about seungkwan’s place and that the landlady hasn’t allowed him access to the rooftop for any group activities after jeonghan blacked out drunk and almost fell off the corner.

after three failed excuses, the band was crammed into seungkwan’s living room. pink light flowed in through the windows as evening took over, and the boys just kept on looking at each other’s faces. books, snack wrappers, and dokyeom’s singular sock, resulting from him removing his shoes mid-walk before crashing onto mingyu’s bean bag, were scattered around the space. the band played an impromptu inspired by the hospital playlist soundtrack on garageband (in a constant clash of fingers and screens) and and jihoon couldn’t help but agree that they are, in fact, good at this. they decided to call the practice off for today.

“alright, i have two announcements” dokyeom’s voice was oddly high-pitched. “one, the auditions are postponed by a week.” his hands were clasped tightly together like that one aunty at the next-door fruit shop as he stared at jihoon, who sat calmly in the lone armchair like a king surveying his loyal subjects. “and two, i almost forgot to do this. lee jihoon, welcome to kissjoy! our amazing, dynamic, absolutely revolutionary band—”

“i want to change the name.” jihoon’s tone was flat, his words sharp like the pencils poking out of seungkwan’s mug on the side table.

the room fell into a stunned silence, interrupted only by jun coughing into his sleeve to muffle a laugh.

“change the name?” seungkwan repeated, his voice climbing several octaves in disbelief. “you’ve been here for five minutes! you can’t just—”

“kissjoy sounds like a middle school pop group that plays at birthday parties,” jihoon interrupted, unbothered. his dark eyes scanned the group. “it doesn’t fit whatever concept chan told me back at the dorm.”

all eyes turned to chan who tried to sport an explanatory smile but failed. “i just told him that we were endorsing youth.”

“it’s lowkey embarrassing,” jihoon deadpanned.

chan was now slouching against the wall. his smirk was almost imperceptible, but seungkwan caught it. “he’s got a point.”

“whose side are you on,” seungkwan snapped, glaring at him.

chan just shrugged in response. he made the signature face that annoyed seungkwan so much, his arteries were threatening to burst open.

before seungkwan could retort, dokyeom jumped in, waving his hands frantically. “okay, okay! let’s not fight. we’re a team now. let’s hear jihoon out.”

dokyeom turned to jihoon, his expression earnest and a little too eager. “what would you suggest?”

jihoon leaned back in his chair, the picture of calm confidence. “something that actually screams youth—college, fun, a sense of being carefree and yet so vehemently daring. something with bite. something that doesn’t make me sound like I’m on a karaoke night flyer.”

another silence followed, though this one felt heavier. jihoon’s gaze sharpened, scanning the group again. he had expected pushback, but he had also expected some modicum of sense.

“think of it, when do you feel the most young, what surrounds you, what is it that engulfs you into the sheer exuberance of life?” jihoon had picked up a pen that he pointed at nothing in particular. his words hung in the air for a while, before dokyeom added.

“friends. being with you all is going to be my best memory from college. we do crazy things and find ourselves bearing crazier consequences but i will only laugh about it five years from now.”

“yeah. youth president moment is totally that one time you had your final exam the next day but jeonghan got us tickets for this hideous b-grade movie,” seungkwan shifted towards jihoon, a smile growing up his eyes. “it was a sunday afternoon, dokyeom was crying about the syllabus on my couch and i got a call from jeonghan. he said that we’re going to busan. i said that we’re not. he told me to get dokyeom ready and that our bus was leaving in 30 minutes. we got there, rode the bus and got off at this random stop in the middle of the highway. jeonghan was sure that they had a theatre there somewhere. we walked around the place for twenty minutes and finally this burger-shaped building popped up on the way and guess what? it was a multiplex,” he snickered, looking at dokyeom who hid his face with his long fingers.

“the theatre was dead empty so we jumped and ran around and stole some popcorn seasoning. we didn’t give two shits about the movie. it was awesome. we ordered pizzas at midnight, boarded the last bus from there and got back 2 hours before dokyeom hyung’s exam started.”

“and i happened to ace it,” dokyeom grinned.

chan was listening intently, his chin propped up on a hand. he raised his head with a pop. “cold beer!”

“cold beer?” seungkwan repeated slowly, like the words physically pained him. “what does that even mean?”

“refreshing and intoxicating. like friendships.”

jihoon titled his head, getting up to walk to where chan stood. “i’m surprised but it actually fits.”

jun perked up, nodding thoughtfully. “he’s got a point. nothing says camaraderie like beer.”

“thank you,” chan said, inclining his head slightly.

seungkwan was repulsed. his memories were sweet and beer is definitely nothing up that lane. it gives you torturing hangovers and makes you skip college and puke on people’s perfectly ironed shirts. he can’t be in a band named after alcohol. alcohol destroys families and causes global warming. he turned to dokyeom, expecting backup, but froze. dokyeom’s face was a mixture of awe and fascination, his gaze fixed on jihoon like he’d hung the moon.

“dokyeom,” seungkwan hissed, elbowing him. “say something!”

“something,” dokyeom murmured, before shaking himself. “oh! uh, I mean—yeah, cold beer! great name. very cool. super… cold.”

chan choked on a laugh, quickly covering it with a cough. seungkwan shot him an eye, looking like he was on the verge of combusting, but he eventually swallowed it down. he decided to sit with it for a second until he found chan plopping down on the couch next to him.

“why do you hate it so much,” he started, voice soft against the hyungs that did their own settling.

“hate what?” seungkwan stared at the beautifully plain, white wall in front of him.

“cold beer. it’s a decent name. don’t you like the feeling of being tipsy and senseless with your gang?”

seungkwan cringed at the facebook vocabulary, then bit his bottom lip, giving it a thought. sitting here right next to chan, his mind was muffled with the voices that were already filling the room and then some more with his own childish judgements. cold beer might have sounded… cooler than what he had expected chan to cook up. he looked down at his fingers playing with each other and nodded. 

“i like it, i think.” 

chan’s face changed color, a sudden glow crept up to this forehead and he sprang up. “about earlier today, i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have said all that about you.” 

“it’s okay.”

“aren’t you supposed to say sorry back? you looked like you were moments away from snapping my neck.” 

seungkwan tittered, more a sigh than a laugh. “lee chan, i’m sorry for acting the way that i did. won’t happen again if you promise to stop being an asshole.” they shared a tired laugh when seungkwan faintly heard the doorbell ring and looked at chan. 

“i’ll get it for you,” chan’s face grew with a smile like a well-loved plant that just got its morning sip of water. he passed a salute to seungkwan and marched from between dokyeom and the scattered pile of wrappers to get to the door. when he opened it, a wet mingyu waited in front of him.

from the way he stood in the doorway of the shared flat, arms crossed and hair damp, water dripping from his oversized hoodie, mingyu didn’t fairly seem thrilled. his hoodie clung to him like an extension of his mood and he tried to conceal a single shiver with his muted snickering. 

as he put his shoes off and stepped into the living room, his eyes searched for seungkwan. chan shabbily tailed him to the couch.

“i had just cleaned before leaving,” mingyu pouted, dragging a hand down his face. his eyes darted over the crowd in his apartment, a can rolling towards him from under the coffee table. “you owe me for this, kwan.”

“you’re a saint,” seungkwan clasped both of mingyu’s hands and stood up, walking him away from everyone. “and you’re also pathetically drenched. what happened?”

mingyu’s frown softened. “i was jogging in the park and saw this little puppy. we had five full seconds of eye contact, it was only right to go pet it, which i did. but they suddenly turned on the sprinklers.”

seungkwan scoffed, patting his head. he produced a towel from somewhere behind him (is this guy a mage?) and gave it to mingyu who shuffled toward the kitchen, mumbling about vacuuming later.

from where seungkwan stood, the flat looked way more cozy and welcoming. the mismatched furniture and a suspiciously tilted coffee table made him giggle to himself. the bean bag underwent extreme insult as dokyeom freefall-ed onto it, and jihoon stood at a corner, pointing and laughing with his teeth out at dokyeom’s stunts.

“i like this place,” jun announced as he passed by him, immediately spotting the potted plants by the window. he crouched next to them, inspecting their leaves as if they were friends since diaper days.

seungkwan folded his arms and let the weight of his body lean onto the doorframe of his room. jun gave him his last sour stick as he passed by him once again. seungkwan has midterms in two weeks. he’s working in a band with chan out of all the 8.8 billion people on this planet and he is reminded that saturn’s rings are very cute. he sees as dokyeom asks jihoon about the things that inspire him. when jihoon replies with ‘life’ and dokyeom repeats it like it’s the most profound thing he has heard, seungkwan smacks his own forehead and shakes his head. dokyeom thinks he is so smooth, and seungkwan finds that adorable. he then spots chan going from where he was saving a vase, from slipping and shattering into a gazillion bugfuls, to jihoon where he was now sitting on a chair in front of dokyeom, whispering something into his ear. jihoon nodded in response and did some animated movements with his hands. and now chan was walking towards seungkwan. why?

“i’ve mailed you a song. we should write the lyrics to this.”

seungkwan pulled his phone out. 

[1 unread mail from [email protected]]

he made a mental note to tease chan later about the mail address and made a few clicks here and there, before bringing the edge of his phone close to his ears. he listened to the first few seconds and turned to chan.

“wow, no. what do you think i am, kim jonghyun? gd? i can’t just pull lyrics out of my ass,” seungkwan squinted at him, one hand resting on his hip.

“not just lyrics, anything works. a hook, a line, a concept, even a youtube video to catch things off. we’ve got all night and another week to work on this.”

“i’m not really delighted with this pairing and i also have exams coming up.”

“you’re a genius, you’ll be fine. also, remember i said i’ll help you with exams?”

“you also said that you suck at my subject, what is wrong with your memory? goldfishing much?” seungkwan dropped onto the floor, crossing his legs and playing with the hem of his blue shirt. chan followed suit, sliding down across from him, eyes not leaving seungkwan’s face.

“let’s try this. we don’t put each other on the edge and genuinely get this over with. if i get more lines done, you’ll be my slave for a day. what could go wrong?”

“everything. everything could go wrong. and why do i have to be your slave? what do i get for getting more lines done?” seungkwan’s arms were back over his chest, eyes activated with laserbeams.

“anything,” chan said firmly as he threw a hand out for seungkwan to shake, only for it to be slapped away.

Chapter Text

seungkwan had spent the last thirty minutes pretending he didn’t care, writing lines that probably read like a sixth grader’s diary if you squinted. his thoughts anyways kept spiraling past the lyrics, past the tension, past the way chan’s sleeves were rolled up just enough to show the veins on his forearms.

if someone had told seungkwan that songwriting would involve watching chan build a pyramid out of mini erasers while humming the wrong chord progression under his breath, he would've chosen dental surgery as a creative outlet instead. at least that came with anesthesia. this, though? this was dry eyes and existential despair in his shared living room, where the only thing colder than the tiles under his socks was the look chan had given him when he edited his verse for the fifth time. 

“too dramatic,” chan had said, which was laughable, because coming from someone who once wrote an entire poem comparing heartbreak to a thunderstorm in a rice field, that criticism felt less like constructive feedback and more like a personal attack.

seungkwan shifted positions for the fifth time, folding his legs under him and tugging at the edge of the kotatsu blanket with far more aggression than necessary. jihoon had left hours ago, leaving behind a pointed glance that screamed, ‘get it done or die trying,’ and honestly, dying trying was beginning to sound easier. chan, on the other hand, was now chewing on the cap of a pen while staring into the void, either deep in thought or halfway to napping with his eyes open. there was no way to tell. 

seungkwan had tried ignoring him. then insulting him. then ignoring him while insulting him. none of it worked. chan had sort of a thing about him, a way of taking everything seungkwan said and flipping it around: like they were in a constant game of verbal table tennis where seungkwan was using a spatula and chan had rigged his paddle to shoot confetti. 

it was exhausting. and kind of mesmerizing. in a deeply annoying, wildly inconvenient, possibly soul-crushing kind of way.

making chan stop whatever he is doing to get down on his knees and declare seungkwan entering any room with a ‘wow, seungkwan hyung, you look absolutely stunning today’ no matter what the situation, for a whole week, sounded bland at the most. it could've been more fun if this were an easy bet and the chances of seungkwan winning were at least as high as mingyu. in the current time frame though, they didn’t seem much higher than the chances of seungkwan turning to an armadillo and rolling out of this situation. also, if he put more thought into the lyrics than looking for ways to humiliate chan, maybe his chances of winning could reach a decent yoon jeonghan high. so he sat up, the rubber back of a pencil firmly pressed between his lips, and started to spit out whatever he could pick from the seven things he knew outside of rosenmund’s reaction and mariah carey.

“what if it starts with a fight,” he mumbled eventually, voice just loud enough to interrupt the silence but not loud enough to sound like he was seriously offering something. “like, not a fight fight. just the aftermath. two people not talking. tension in a car.” 

seungkwan didn’t look up. didn’t want to see chan’s expression just yet. he expected a scoff, a smirk, some sarcastic quip about how original that was. but chan only said, after a beat, “that’s not bad.” which, coming from him, was a standing ovation. 

seungkwan glanced sideways, caught the way chan’s eyes were trained not on him but the page between them like it might burst into flames. and maybe that was the first moment something in his chest moved. just a fraction. just enough to make room.

chan didn't respond right away. he tapped the page with the tip of his pen. one, two, three. a quiet rhythm that might’ve been in time with the beat of whatever song was playing in his head. it was never clear with him. chan’s thoughts didn’t walk in straight lines; they ricocheted like pinballs, bouncing from lyric to chord to memory with no warning. but somehow, they landed in the right place. most of the time. it made seungkwan feel like he was building a house out of alphabet soup while chan was casually constructing a skyline. unfair. and a little bit impressive. not that he'd ever say it out loud.

“so, car fight,” chan finally said, chewing the inside of his cheek like he was unsure if he was allowed to agree. “we could use that. like, say, the song starts there. passenger seat. rain. radio’s too loud.” his voice went lower, smoother.

“they’re not speaking. and it’s not even a breakup. just… something hanging in the air. like both of them know it’s over, but they’re still hoping someone will say the right thing to reverse it.”

seungkwan hated how fast his mind filled in the gaps. hated that he could already hear the melody, feel the weight of the silence between verses. 

worst of all was the tiny buzz of agreement in his chest. because it was good. it was smart. seungkwan had nothing to add except the embarrassment of how he could suddenly picture chan in the driver’s seat, jaw clenched, one hand on the wheel and one on his thigh—

seungkwan heard a thunk. he slapped the notebook shut with a thud that made chan flinch. “fine,” he said sharply. “we can use it. whatever. but i’m not writing a verse where someone cries in the rain, okay? we’re not filming a drama.”

“i mean,” chan replied, far too casually, “depends on what kind of rain. could be summer rain, could be dramatic for no reason rain. that’s something you’d like.”

“excuse me?” another thunk filled his ears. it was blaring loud this time. he should just dismantle his insides.

“come on, seungkwan. you have main character weather energy.”

seungkwan stared at him. “i don’t know what that means but i’ll take it as an insult.”

“you should,” chan said, grinning. it was infuriating how he always said something ridiculous and then leaned back like he hadn’t just thrown a grenade into the room. “anyway. i wrote something earlier. wanna see?”

“no.”

chan slid the paper over anyway.

seungkwan resisted for a full five seconds. then he read it. it wasn’t perfect. the rhyme scheme stuttered in the middle and one metaphor was a little too ambiguous. but the core of it, it was solid. and worse, it was vulnerable. not in a cringe way. in the way that made seungkwan wonder who chan had been thinking about when he wrote it. if that person had ever known.

he set the paper down, a little too carefully.

“why do you even care?” he asked, voice quieter than he meant, his black ball pen pointing at the air between them. “about us doing this together.”

chan didn’t look up, just shrugged. “jihoon hyung said we should. and you are actually bearable when you’re not being a drama queen.”

seungkwan made a noise that sounded like a scoff but felt like the floor shifting. he didn’t respond. just picked up his pencil and started editing the verse.

chan didn’t say anything else.

the silence had stretched long enough to feel productive, when the thud came again. from outside seungkwan, this time.

and another.

it wasn’t loud. and seungkwan was a patient person. when he was asleep, or dead. 

he pressed the eraser end of his pencil against his temple and didn’t look up. a sharp clatter followed. then a muffled yelp. that did it.

“MINGYU,” he shouted, already regretting his life choices. “COME OUT HERE. WHAT IS HAPPENING IN THERE. ARE YOU FIGHTING THE MICROWAVE?”

there was a long pause. a suspiciously long pause.

and then: “we’re fine! everything’s fine!”

a second later, jun peeked out from behind the wall separating the hall from the kitchen, face dusted in flour and uncertainty. behind him trailed mingyu, carrying a too-proud grin and a plate of weirdly glossy mochi, at least one of which looked like it had been personally stepped on by ill-fate.

“okay, before you yell,” mingyu said, walking in like this was a perfectly normal situation and not the aftermath of a b-list food war, “we made mango mochi. it’s really good. jun had a method, i had a vision. there were casualties.”

“there was flour in the blender,” jun added solemnly.

“i panicked.” 

seungkwan stared at them. then at the mochi. then at the powdery ghost trail they were leaving across the floor. he looked up at the ceiling, considered his life, and said nothing.

chan, unhelpfully, was already reaching for a piece. “wait, this is actually decent.”

“you’re a decent idiot,” seungkwan muttered, snatching the plate and setting it between them like a peace offering that had been dragged through a war.

somehow, they all ended up on the floor. mingyu cross-legged with flour still clinging to his hoodie. jun splayed out like a lounging prince. chan leaned forward, chin on his knees, looking too pleased with himself. seungkwan was defeated, tired, pencil still behind his ear, doing his best not to let the warm sugar cloud his judgment.

“so what are we doing?” mingyu asked through a mouthful. “besides pretending not to be in love with each other.”

seungkwan threw a pillow at his head. “we’re writing lyrics, you stain on civilization.”

“i thought you said you didn’t want a rain breakup,” jun added, licking mochi off his finger. “but this looks like it’s headed in a crying-while-wearing-a-raincoat direction.”

“it’s not,” seungkwan explained. “the vibe we are going for is complicated. atmospheric.”

“kdrama ost number 6,” chan murmured.

“shut up,” seungkwan hissed.

“actually,” jun said, too thoughtfully, “what if you didn’t start with the breakup at all? what if it started with one person noticing the other was pulling away? like, tiny stuff. phone calls getting shorter, texts left on read. build it up from there.”

seungkwan blinked.

mingyu nodded, stealing another mochi. “yeah. then, like, the rain car fight is the peak moment. that way it doesn’t feel too emo all at once.”

for a full moment, seungkwan didn’t know what to say because this was a good fucking idea. annoyingly good. and it was coming from mingyu whose eyebrows had flour in them.

“are you guys writing this song or am i,” he muttered, shoving his notebook toward the middle. but he was already scribbling out the intro line.

chan, again, didn’t say anything. just sat back with the smallest twitch of a smile, chewing slowly and watching the mess they’d made gather shape.

the sugar from last night must’ve finally kicked into seungkwan when he cracked an eye open. the fabric under him was wet with drool and when he tried to wipe his face with the back of his hand, his wrist went limp. mingyu was sprawled across the floor, one foot under the coffee table and one hand clutching an empty paper towel roll like a sword. jun was half-body on the couch, the other half on a chair dragged close to it. the plate of mochi was rising and falling with his chest. someone (probably chan) had left the lyrics drafts open on the floor, smeared slightly where someone (definitely mingyu) had stepped all over them.

seungkwan blinked again. the sugar made his nervous system troubleshoot. his neck hurt. his leg was asleep. he had an organic chem lecture at 8.

he shot up like the floor had electrocuted him.

“oh my god, i have lab in twenty minutes.”

in a flurry of limbs and curses, mingyu shifted on the floor and jun rolled off the couch. chan walked in from the hallway rubbing at his face with the back of his sleeve, bleary and crumpled but still somehow in his shoes.

“i set an alarm,” he mumbled.

“for whom?” seungkwan hissed, hopping on one foot as he stuffed the other into his sneakers. “our versions that aren’t dying right now?”

they sprang out the door together, leaving mingyu and jun to make their own survival decisions. chan handed seungkwan his totebag that he had digged out from behind the couch. seungkwan clutched onto it like a lifeline.

“jihoon hyung texted me in the morning. said he wants to hear progress. i think we’ll have to meet after class.”

seungkwan groaned. “he can wait until my soul reattaches to my body.”

“that’s a you problem,” he straightened the collar of his shirt and glanced at the college gate. “studio, your place and campus. three potential locations, where are we ending up?”

“i’ll let you know. you go that way,” he pointed in the direction of the back entrance. he tugged at his totebag like a secret agent carrying papers mapping the country’s defense transactions. “do not make me be seen with you in the campus.”

“your loss,” chan said, pretending to flip his hair. “some people beg to be seen with me.”

seungkwan scoffed. when they parted ways at the junction, seungkwan pretended not to look back. he didn't need to know, right? chan usually does whatever he says. which is... wow, why would he do what seungkwan says?