Staying over on a Friday afternoon at the studio had never been a part of Daehyun’s definition of fun. He surely had more to do than to laze around on the well-worn black sofa in the back end of the room. He had people looking for him; people to see and places to be.

He groaned, twisting again – the tenth or so time in the past hour –, taking odd comfort in the noises the couch cried in his shifting of weight.

“Remind me why you’re here again?”

Jung Daehyun had never been one for patience. Even as a kid, with how financially unstable his family had been, he had always gotten what he had wanted the moment his grubby hands shot out in longing.

So waiting for Junhong – Zi – to come over after class had been like waiting for paint to dry.

(Much comparable to watching meat cook and being unable to touch it until the red turned to a more delectable brown.)

Given a distraction from the wait, Daehyun perked eagerly to the attention, grin stretching at the much craved attention. He scooted closer toward the sofa’s arm to make space for the elder man, shrinking himself small. “Because I just wanted to keep my dearest hyung company.” He cooed, the curling smile stretching whiskers and making his smile the more cat-like. “Heard it can get lonely and all alone without a girlfriend to share the space with.”

Sungwon did not seem to buy into the obvious excuse, rolling his eyes at the innocent façade. “You’re here for Junhong and his friend, aren’t you?”

“Bingo.” He snapped his finger, stealing the older man’s coffee for a much needed sip.

It had taken a while, but bothering the younger apprentice for the character behind the mystery voice had proven more fruitful than hindering the producer. Junhong had caved easily to the trick questions and soft pleas – though, Daehyun would admit to having taken the situation a little further than he would have preferred to. Daehyun had simply thrown out the prospect of a dinner and the poor college student had taken the bait like fish to a lure (a ridiculously expensive lure, but that certainly was not the point).

The producer rolled his eyes, snatching his coffee back from Daehyun only to find his cup empty. He sighed. “Don’t scare him. He’s actually a good kid.”

Daehyun gasped, faking hurt. “You say that as if lil’ Zi and I’m not.” But when Sungwon’s eyes grew narrow, he laughed, waving off the worry. “Don’t worry, I promise; I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“And that’s what I was afraid of.”

The singer’s mouth opened to argue, to question the accusation in the music writer’s tone, but before he could start, a storm of lanky limbs and colors bound into him, jabbering on in an incoherent speed.

Just like always, Daehyun noted, right on time.

(Junhong had trouble remembering that not everyone could follow his speed.)

“Whoa, Zi, slow down!”

Taking boney shoulders between fingers, Daehyun shook the young composer, a confused frown decorating his color as he tried to make sense of the flooding words.

(Sungwon snickered – sounding something like a distinct, “karma” – from behind, slipping away from the duo to return to the safety of his cushioned seat to watch.)

“Zi, stop!”

On command, the boy paused, his mouth clamping shut mid-word as if to a magic spell. “Now, talk.” Daehyun continued once after a moment’s pause, “slowly this time, Zi.”

Junhong nodded, taking a breath in, and then out, before picking up where he had paused; in a lagging speed to his previous burst. “So Jongup is waiting outside.”

“Jongup?”

Junhong squeaked, slapping his hand over his mouth. “Oops.”

Daehyun grinned. (It was a good thing Junhong was dumb.) “I can pretend I didn’t hear that.” The look on the boy’s face was ever so grateful. (From his peripheral vision, Daehyun could see Sungwon slap a hand over his face, a soft groan escaping in the situation.) He urged the younger boy to continue.
“Well, yeah. He is waiting outside, but..,” an anxious chew, “he doesn’t know you’re here.” The sentence sped to the end, squeaking a pitch as the student in his bottom lip. It sounded more to a question than the statement it ought to have been. “I mean, I meant to tell him, but I just forgot and didn’t really get a chance to bring it up on the way here; I swear it wasn’t intentional!” And then a shy smile, innocent, “but he won’t mind, Jongup’s cool.”

That name again.

Daehyun blinked, shrugging and lightly waving off the anxious boy, who sighed in visible relief. Junhong had always been easy to read with his ever sufficient loud expressions and brightest of colors.

“Cool, let’s go then. Jonguppie’s waiting upstairs for us.”

Daehyun let Junhong bound off excitedly first and a beat after, faced the disappointed raise of brows from Sungwon. “What?”

“You’re taking advantage of him.”

No; Daehyun preferred to think of it as.. making full use of his given opportunities and doing two poor college students a solid. He grinned, wearing an innocent pout. “I’m just buying them dinner.”

Sungwon sighed, obviously with more to say, but not enough words to say them. “Fine; now get out.”

And Jongup was anything but what Daehyun had expected when he had imagined up a face to the voice from the recording. He had pictured a small, rounded face with soft lips; full cheeks and wide doe eyes that would shine brightly.

Jongup was not any of that.

Just outside the studio, curled tight in his jacket and looking small next to Junhong’s ridiculous height, was he. He had a head of shaggy black hair that fell lazily untamed over his eyes, lined slits with the dull spark that reflected the street light just a step afar.

(Without it happening, Daehyun could swear he could already hear what the contractors would have said to the boy: “Have you ever considered plastic surgery?”)

He was yet rough; undefined.

In Daehyun’s gape, Junhong sooner caught sight of the older man by the top of the basement stairs watching on. He grinned, stretching an arm overhead to beckon him over. “We’re here, hyung!” It sent those slanted eyes searching him out.

Beside a dulled spark of recognition, there seemed not to be a larger reaction.

Daehyun pulled on a smile, raising his own arm to a wave as he made his way over to the two boys. “Hi,” he hummed, sticking a hand out for Jongup to take. “I’m Daehyun.” But you should know that already.

Jongup had taken his hand to reply, but was cut off by Junhong, who began an excited ramble in attempt to explain the situation he had most unfortunately left the other two parties out on. “And I wasn’t sure if ya’d be alright with me tellin’ him y’er name, Jongup; so I just decided to bring ya’ over instead.” He smiled, wide and proud.

(It was a good thing, again, that Junhong was stupid.)

The mentioned boy blinked, a brow perked up in Junhong’s direction (after all, his name, Daehyun’s supposed objective to the meeting, had already been revealed).

“I’m Jongup,” he eventually began after a length of pause, pulling his fingers from their limp lock with the singer’s, “but Junhong probably already spilled it once or twice.”

(Actually, Daehyun corrected mentally, it had been thrice.)

And then he smiled.

(Jongup should, Daehyun thought, smile more often.)

It was all teeth and lips, the act squeezing his eyes to a tighter line than it had been. It was a mix of all the colors Daehyun would have picked to trace Junhong with in a concentrated splash: yellows, reds, blues and all the colors in between.

He drew in a breath.

“Have you ever wanted to be a singer?”

And the colors, the smile, was gone. As quick as they had come, they dimmed and withdrew, splashing out like a switch had just been flicked. Jongup frowned, his eyes narrowing in company to his now pressed lips. Daehyun blinked, pressing together his lips.

“No,” was his soft worded response and his back became Daehyun’s reward for courage.

Had he said something wrong?

As their steps turned toward the diner, Jongup leading the crew, Junhong easily fell in step to the eldest boy, a childish innocence splayed in his apology. “He’s not usually this scratchy.” Not usually, just unusually more to Daehyun.

The artist smiled a fake one, offering a shrug and ushering Junhong forward to chase after his friend before he disappeared around the corner. It was alright; though unfamiliar with word of refusal, Daehyun neither so easily gave up.

(Jongup did not know just how stubborn Daehyun could be.)

His hands jammed into his windbreaker pockets, Daehyun watched Junhong catch pace to the shorter boy, bumping shoulders with a loud bark of laughter. Tension slipped from Jongup’s shoulders, Junhong lamely tossing a likely joke that made Jongup snort loudly, audible even to Daehyun who stood a fair distance afar.

He watched as Junhong grinned brightly, a stray glance, wide and anticipating, hitting Daehyun curiously.

He grinned.

(And Junhong was his partner in crime.

Jongup had not a clue what was in store.)