Daehyun hated playing rock, paper, scissors. The game, he decided, was rigged.

Moreover, it was a stupid way of making decisions and should in no way be counted for in an important situation; such as the one pertaining a certain student and his brightest future in music.

(Why did Jongup have to be so stubborn; Daehyun only wanted to help.)

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him about it?” Daehyun huffed, stretching out on the sofa with a loud groan. He was supposed to be elsewhere – in the practice rooms for one, practicing – yet had decided instead to situate himself in the studio after following Junhong in that morning. The boy had arrived earlier than his usual afternoon entrance to clean up the studio before Sungwon arrived, and Daehyun was being an absolute bother. “You’re his best friend, aren’t you?”

The boy blinked at him, pausing what he was doing to flutter his wide eyes in double its normal speed. It was a stupid habit he did – that, admittedly, was adorable on most days. “Well I can’t now, can I?” His voice had an edge to it: irritation, Daehyun read. “You made that stupid bet and Jonguppie made me promise I’d shut up about it too.” Dropping the large trash bag he’d been dragging around, the giant – as Daehyun would often comment – crossed his arms. Sass.

Daehyun rolled his eyes.

“That was your fault for making that promise with him. I only bet on me shutting up about it.” And Junhong had to be an idiot, agreeing to the terms of a match he himself had claimed could not be won. “You didn’t have to agree to anything.” The way Daehyun saw it, it was still partly – if not fully – Junhong’s own fault he could not bring up the topic anymore to the boy (and that made a big dent in their plans if no one could talk to Jongup about the wonders of celebrity life).

“He’s my friend!” Junhong’s arm shot up. When Daehyun raised a brow, giving no otherwise reaction, he waved it wildly, as if that would help clarify anything. “I kind of have to see him around? I’m not going to have him giving me those eyes every time we meet! It’s scary, alright? Jonguppie can be really scary sometimes!”

Again, the artist rolled his eyes. Jongup was not scary.

(Plus, it was not Daehyun who had to deal with the look anyway.

And that was what Junhong got for being a traitor.)

“Not my problem.”

Junhong scowled – disrespectful, Daehyun thought, scowling back – and had opened his mouth to say something else, when Sungwon entered the room, blinking curiously at the two. “I see you two are.. bonding?”

“Daehyun hyung is being a sore loser!”

“I am not!”

Sungwon swiped his hand over his face, shaking his head. “Hi, great to see you guys again. Yeah, I slept well. Coffee? Nah, I’m good, thanks for asking.” Answering unasked questions, the man swirled his chair around and took his seat, turning afterwards to face the singer. “Don’t you have songs to practice and vocals to warm up?”

(They were tag teaming him. It certainly was not in the slightest bit fair.)

Daehyun stood up, pausing to stick a finger in Junhong’s direction. “Ask him again.”

“I can’t just break the promise!”

All of this would have been so much easier if Junhong just listened to him for once.

It was stupid.

Why had Daehyun not gone with scissors? Scissors were plenty manly enough; and it would have won against Jongup’s stupid paper.

Daehyun scoffed.

Stupid luck; stupid probability.

The night was chilly – like his mood – when Daehyun had decided to call it a day – almost morning, he had noted, tapping at the flashing digits on his cell phone.

Convincing Junhong to try and bother Jongup a little more – or at least to subtly drop hints without actually saying anything – had resulted unsuccessful and Daehyun’s mood had easily dropped with the temperatures outside. He hoped Junhong caught a cold (but not too bad of one – he wasn’t that mean).
As a cheer up method, Daehyun had decided tonight to be one of the rare nights – mornings – he would allow himself to indulge in alcohol. He would sleep in and possibly piss someone off, but call it a late arrived rebellion; he had to show someone his dissatisfaction, even if it meant involving his poor manager – maybe then, they would try and do something about recruiting Jongup into their thing.

It was a small bar that he stopped at, one with lights dim enough that no one would notice who he was unless they stood up close and personal. Many celebrities – unbeknownst to the public – visited and Daehyun too had been introduced to it by Sungwon as celebration when ONEVOICES had gotten their first win on a major broadcast station music program.

“Something strong,” he mumbled, rolling his wrist as he slid in the booth by the tender.

“Rough night?”

Daehyun grunted.

The bartender and he had known each other for a good number of years now; he knew the expressions Daehyun wore on the nights of celebration and the mask he ripped apart on less appealing occasions.

(Not that it took a genius to read the loud emotions Daehyun wore on his sleeves.)

“Rough life,” Daehyun all but groaned back, dropping his head onto the hard table. “Why do people have to be unnecessarily stubborn, hyung?”

He got back a laugh as a drink – “Vieux Carre. Sip, Daehyun, don’t inhale.” – was slid over the table and into his hand. “I could ask the same thing.”

He hummed in agreement, pausing and shooting a nasty look to the older man who had broke out in a fit of restrained chuckles. “Wait, you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” He did not get a reply, but the way the man turned around with pressed lips and the edges of his lips dancing gave the singer an answer regardless. He stuck out his tongue. Childish, but it was not as if anyone was watching anyways.

Daehyun sipped as instructed on his drink, swirling himself around in his chair to watch the crowd. He had always enjoyed people watching and would often have done so on the days his fans gathered for his shows, peering out of cracked windows with a widened grin. It was a pity he could no longer sit by the window seat of cafes and watch the people pass by as he had done prior to his debut. People, he mused, were interesting.

A crowd of men stood by the pool table in the further corner, hitting balls (and each other, every so often, when a particularly nice shot was made) around in a fashion Daehyun never really understood.

(Sungwon had tried to teach him only to be met with little success. Daehyun was a singer and entertainer, it seemed, nothing else more.)

He let his eyes follow the game without particularly understanding and had decided a while after his drink was cleared that it was time to leave, when a loud noise broke out from the second pool table by the first. He blinked.

A man – large was an understatement to describe him, surely he was shorter than Junhong, but definitely thrice as wide – stood angrily spitting over a smaller boy. “You cheated me!”

“No, you’re just a who can’t play.”

Even in the dark, Daehyun could see that anymore egging on in the hands of the boy – from whatever it was that had managed to piss of the giant – would not end in good results. Not that this seemed to stop him.

(Did he have a death wish?)

“No, no.” When Daehyun stood – was he really going to try and stop them? –, a hand shot out to grasp at his shoulder. “Don’t. That’s not someone you want to mess with. I’ll go call security.”

Daehyun watched as the bartender slid out from behind the counters and then back to the center of the fight. People had separated to give the two space – or perhaps they were running away so that they would not be involved – and the view had become more clear to see.

“I’ll smash your pretty little face in.”

“As if you can even hit me, your aim ing .”

That’s when Daehyun rose, sliding in between the kid – really, was he even legal? – and the muscle man, holding up his hands in failing defense. What in the world was he doing? “Not a good idea,” he laughed breathily, widening his eyes innocently. “The security’s coming and, uh, punching him really isn’t gonna look good, right?”

“He couldn’t hit me even if he wanted!”

Daehyun groaned. Could the kid not take a hint? Daehyun was trying to save his sorry .

(Why was he even trying?)

The man grunted, obviously not too pleased. If there had been any thoughts to spare the kid – the cheat – they seemed to have evaporated with the mocking hiss from behind Daehyun’s back.

A fist was raised and Daehyun braced himself for the hit.

(What would he tell his company?

Oh yeah, I had a hero moment while I was at the bar. Bad idea, cause the guy I was trying to save is an absolute dip- and got me punched instead. No biggie.

Yes biggie was more like it.)

The strike never came, however, and by the time Daehyun had peeled his eyes back open, the security had taken a hold of the angered man, giving Daehyun a chance to slip out of the crowd with the strange kid’s wrist in his hand. (Kid had thin wrists.)

“What the hell were you even thinking?” He was stuck between disbelief, annoyance, and a sort of awe at his bravery – or was it stupidity? “You would have been pancake.”

The boy rolled his eyes, loudly scoffing. “Maybe that had been the plan.”

Daehyun scowled. He smelled alcohol – and a lot of it. Just how much had the kid even been drinking?

“How old are you?”

“None-of-your-business years old.”

Sassy.

Daehyun blinked, a slight taken back at the snappy retort. When he failed to give a proper response, the boy rolled his shoulder, stomping past the celebrity to the bar, reaching in his pant pocket and forcing onto the table a wad of cash. Well, he was certainly a rich kid.

“Hey! I’m not done with you!”

The boy ignored him. He pointed wildly at a bottle on the wall and was eventually handed the item with a lasting look of concern from the female tender that took his order. He ignored the shot glass that was handed to him. Instead, he took it straight, tipping the bottle over and taking the contents – like a pro, Daehyun would have compared, if it had not been so stupid.

“Hey – hey!” He stole the drink, checking with a frown that nearly half the bottle – and a good percentage of that on rather than in him – had already been emptied. Daehyun frowned. “Do you have a death wish?”

The look he got back was more serious than Daehyun would have preferred.

“None’ya.”

The speech, not so much.

“What?”

“None ‘ya bee’s wax! Now g’imme!”

The kid made a grab for the drink, taking Daehyun’s shoulder and stretching over him for the bottle the singer held up. He breathed and Daehyun could smell the hard liquor.

“Whoa, no, you’re drunk.” He pushed the boy off, shoving him back into his seat.

Surprisingly, he obeyed.

“Not drunk enough.” This time, his tone sounded almost sober. Daehyun almost believed him.

“Wanna.. I’unno, talk about it? It’ll probably do better than getting wasted?”

The kid seemed to consider it. Then he reached again for the drink. “I need it.”

Daehyun sighed. “Sip.”

“Sip,” the kid agreed.

It was with that reluctance that Daehyun handed the kid back the bottle, watching with dissatisfaction as the bottle was tipped back. He let him go; the kid seemed to having a worse night than Daehyun was.

(Though, if Daehyun had to argue, his was increasingly worsening by the second.)

“So, y’want to talk?”

When the bottle came down, the boy – honestly, he needed to stop calling him that – grinned stupidly back, sticking a finger on Daehyun’s nose. “Waait,” he slurred. By Gods, he was really drunk now. “You’re mister big-shot celebrity, aren’t you!”

A face closed up on him, and Daehyun shushed the stranger, pushing him back again . “Quiet, quiet.”

“Oh-,” a giggle, “whoops. Sorry big-shot.” Daehyun placed a hand over the drunk’s mouth, ripping it away again when his palm was . “So you’re like, a big..” eyes squinted and words were lost. “Ha!” A sharp bark – Daehyun jumped. “My head’s all fuzzy. I always up with big heads like you. Ain’t that funny?”

It was not, not really, but the boy seemed to find it so. He laughed, tipping his head back reaching out to grasp at Daehyun when he nearly fell out of the seat.
It was not funny – not really – but the kid’s laugh was contagious.

“You have a really, really y eyeball.”

Daehyun laughed. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

(Maybe it was not as bad as he thought it was.)

“’M ‘ame’s Youngjae.”

Daehyun hummed, hitching the boy – Youngjae – further up his back so he would not fall off – and possibly crack his head open. This certainly had not been a part of Daehyun’s plans to do, when he had decided on calling it a day to drown in alcohol. He himself was not fully sober.

“Daehyun,” he breathed back, laughing. Was it really a good idea to give away his name like this?

(It was not as if he had done anything bad. In fact, he had saved Youngjae’s life tonight. Surely, Youngjae would not go off passing weird news to reporters when the alcohol worked its way out of his system.)

“Now where do you live?”

There was no response; at least, not a coherent one.

Daehyun groaned. Twisting his neck, he rocked the boy against his back, bumping his shoulder into Youngjae’s cheek. “Hey, wake up.” Youngjae would not budge. He cursed. “I should have just let you get beat up back there.”