It was a day of late starts. By the time Sungjong finally managed to get to Myungsoo’s garage for practice, the sun was spitting orange afterglow light into the sky and everyone else had already been practicing for a full hour. 

Their band practice was always held at Myungsoo’s house, and it was where they kept the drum kit. (Sungjong’s mother refused to deal with the noise, and it would be safer from Sungjong’s brothers there anyway.)

The subdivision Sungjong and Myungsoo lived in, just blocks apart from each other, was one of the types of suburban neighborhoods that printed out houses like paperback books, every one with the same value, the same style. The cover was the same and the pages were the same on each copy, and with the houses, there was no difference or variation between them or the streets, aside from the kind of flower each road had been named after. Sungjong lived on 219 Azalea, Myungsoo on 431 Goldenrod, but the location of their bedrooms and the color of the paving stones on the driveways were identical.

Sungjong entered through the side door of the garage without a word, pulled off his blazer and sat himself down on his drum stool. His movements were light as if nothing had happened at all, but he was sure the expression on his face was livid. Myungsoo stopped strumming his guitar to instead watch Sungjong as he began spinning around on the stool angrily, and Dongwoo set his bass guitar down against the amplifier, taking a hesitant step forward.

“Hey. Uh, Sunggyu told me what happened-”

“I’m really sorry,” the man in question interjected, coiling the microphone cord around his fingers in anxiety. “I just didn’t want to mess up the rehearsal time, they need me to sing.”

Why, are the rest of us all mute? Sungjong thought bitterly. He took a moment to breathe deeply, trying to expel his anger as much as possible. It would get him nowhere; what was done was done.

“I get it, it’s fine,” he said once he’d exhaled, trying to smile and have it look genuine. He picked up his drumsticks, tapping distractedly on the drum pedal with his foot, and watched the other three exchange worried looks. 

So apparently not genuine enough.

“So… what happened?” Myungsoo was first to ask. “Did you get detention?”

Sungjong shrugged vaguely. 

“No,” he said. “I just have to tutor him for the entire rest of the semester.”

The looks of pure horror on the others’ faces would have usually amused Sungjong, but now he could feel nothing but his irritation. He wondered if they were upset on his behalf or because the situation could potentially jeopardize their band.

“They can’t do that,” Sunggyu cried. “They think you hit him so they make you spend extra time with him as a punishment?”

“I thought this was supposed to be a school for intellectuals,” Myungsoo snickered. Sungjong only shrugged again.

“Which one of them was it?” Dongwoo asked, coming to stand in front of the drum kit. He wasn’t present at the fight, and apparently nobody fully filled him in on the situation.

“The other drummer,” Sungjong replied. “Hoya.”

Dongwoo breathed in sharply through his teeth, and Sungjong turned to glare at him.

“What?” he snapped defiantly. “You don’t think I can handle him?”

“No,” Sunggyu placated, setting the mic back on its stand and stepping closer to the two. “It’s just that of all the ones to get stuck with, he’s the worst. The other two, they’re annoying but they’re harmless. He’s…”

Sungjong scoffed. “He’s what? Dangerous? Says the guy who hit him in the face and got me into this mess in the first place.”

“You got yourself into it,” Myungsoo barked. “Sticking your neck in where it shouldn’t be!”

Sunggyu huffed in exasperation, throwing his hands up.

“Guys, we really don’t have the time to argue like this. Sungjong, you have your work cut out for you, that’s all I was saying. I was only thinking about-“

“-About the band,” Sungjong cut off, eyes hard. 

Sunggyu only sighed. “I was thinking about you.” 

Sungjong looked at Sunggyu for a long while, trying to figure out what was meant by the teeth clamped around the older man’s lip, so convincingly earnest, but how he couldn’t hold Sungjong’s gaze for longer than a few seconds at a time. He could feel Myungsoo watching them both, probably seriously, though Myungsoo was always like that.

Eventually, Dongwoo coughed to break the tension. 

“This is all really entertaining but can we practice now, please? I don’t know how often we’ll be able to from now on, under these new circumstances.”

The others let out mutters of agreement, the guitarists going back to their instruments and Sungjong spinning back in the seat to face his kit. A thought came to him then, watching Sunggyu as he moved back into place by his mic stand. 

So the subject is just dropped now, is it? he wondered. He observed as Sunggyu fiddled with a switch on the mic, and frowned when it didn’t immediately turn on. You didn’t even offer to try and fix this or take responsibility for yourself. I guess that’s not what friends do around here.

Sungjong played especially well that afternoon, as he tended to do when he was angry. As it turned out, hitting things with sticks worked very well to release frustration. Sunggyu was blindly thrilled at the power that Sungjong put into his drumming. 

“Use that kind of force when we’re live, it’s perfect!” he exclaimed, grinning. He seemed to have already forgotten about their little setback.

Sungjong looked at Sunggyu, and he narrowed his eyes, coaxing a thin smile onto his lips.

Well, I think you’ve given me enough fury to last for quite a while, he thought. So yeah.

“I think I’ll be able to manage it.”

Sungjong took the long way home along the sidewalks, even though cutting through the park would find him at home in a matter of minutes. He needed time to himself, away from all people he knew, or ones he was about to know.

It must have been at least eight in the evening, though to Sungjong, who considered one in the morning to be an early night, this didn’t mean much. He knew he’d have to call Hoya eventually and set up the times that they would meet, but the last few hours of his freedom were too appealing to give up for the time being.

Sungjong’s phone buzzed in the pocket of his blazer, but he didn’t need to check it to know who it was. His mother always wanted him home by seven thirty on school nights, and now he was a half hour late. He didn’t quite feel like obeying any more rules tonight, however. 

At the end of the street where it split into a compass of pathways, he took an immediate left, fiddling with the knotted blue tie around his neck until it loosened, and bringing his hands up to undo the top few buttons of his white dress shirt. As he walked, he rolled up the sleeves of his blazer, not caring about how wrinkled it would become, nor about the pink slip he’d undoubtedly receive tomorrow as a result.

The street lamp posts got grungier with old flyers and leftover staples as he walked further and further away from his groomed home neighborhood. It was a good fifteen minute walk to the outskirts of the low city, where all the bars and clubs were, straight uphill on grime-ridden streets. When his scholarship application to the prep school had been approved, Sungjong’s mother had been determined to find a home as close to the school as possible. It just so happened to be close to the clubs as well. To Sungjong, it was a win-win.

His mother didn’t have to know about tonight. Myungsoo knew how to cover for Sungjong in case she ever called around. Listening to music, working on essays. His mother was always so trusting, and Myungsoo was always reliable.

Sungjong checked his pocket for his wallet, pulling it out and grabbing his fake ID from the slot in the back, hidden behind his cinema card. Stashing the wallet back in his pocket, he stopped in front of a closed camera repair shop near to his destination and checked himself in the reflection of the glass. Eyeliner always made him look older, and he usually gelled up his hair if he was going out. Right now, he looked like a seventeen year-old schoolboy, no matter how he tried to adjust his uniform.

He ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it up, bent down and tucked the ends of his pants into his boots, and jumped up and down a couple of times to try and expel as much anxiety as he could. Shaking out his arms, he continued on down the road.

The busiest club was always the best one, he’d decided once. Or, at least, it probably had the cheapest drinks. He got in line just as a crowd of mid-twenties women in short skirts followed up behind him, trying to ignore them when they looked him over and laughed. His heartbeat quickened, and he set his jaw, trying to look as serious as possible.

When the line dissipated, the bouncer glanced Sungjong up and down. 

“You are not serious,” he deadpanned. “Get lost.”

“I have ID,” Sungjong said cooly, pulling out the card and handing it over.

The bouncer looked at it for a mere second before laughing. 

“Thanks for the joke, kid, but I’m not going to tell you twice.”

Sungjong scowled and begrudgingly walked away from the venue. The bouncer turned back to his job, letting through people one by one. Sungjong wandered into the alleyway next to the building, going deep enough just so he could avoid being caught in the ray of light the street lamp cast onto the sidewalk.

He peered around the corner, quieting his breath as much as possible, and waited until his chance came. The longer the night went on, the heavier the line got, and eventually it was a good twenty people long. 

He knew this scene, though, all he had to do was be patient. As anticipated, he soon heard the sounds of a scuffle, and upon looking further he saw the bouncer holding back a pair of rather obnoxious young boys.

Sungjong couldn’t have asked for a more perfect diversion. Creeping up quietly behind the bouncer, he nodded with mock cheer at the looks of concern at the few people who noticed him as he slipped right past the rope like a shadow, hopping down the steps into the club and walking through the doors like it was his own house. 

Immersing himself into the fray of bodies, the smell of colognes and sweat filled his nose, more comforting to him than nostalgic smells of home were to other people. This was Sungjong’s favorite place to be, the club in particular didn’t really matter, they were all the same. No thinking required (at least not after the initial attempt to get in).

Sungjong stuck his ID back into his pocket and made his way over to the bar, moving to the side furthest away from the door in case the bouncer decided to stick his head in and snoop around. 

He got his wallet out and bought a cheap bottle of beer with his change, drinking part of it at the bar and then carrying it with him towards the dance floor. The club was one of the larger ones in the area, one he’d been to once or twice before with the others. 

On the top floor, the floor level with the entrance, stood mostly singles looking awkwardly out onto the dance floor, or people nursing their drinks. The second floor was where the heat was, the dancing and music, and Sungjong headed in its direction without any hesitation. 

The heavy turnout was strange for a Monday night, but Sungjong didn’t feel the need to question it. He let himself flow to the music, one head-pounding beat after another, so loud it felt like the bass had surged into the floor and was shaking up through Sungjong’s legs to vibrate in his chest.

He didn’t care about meeting anyone tonight, about requesting certain songs like he usually did. All he cared to do was exactly what he was already doing. To get a little bit lighter from the drinks - not enough to do anything to his head tomorrow morning, but enough to relax his mind - and to dance surrounded people he’d never seen before. To enjoy the anonymity.

He’d been at the club for barely fifteen minutes when the crowd thickened, and it began to be harder to move around. He wasn’t even halfway through his drink when he knocked into someone agonizingly familiar.

Hoya tripped over his feet trying to balance himself from the way he’d bumped his chest into Sungjong’s left shoulder, clutching onto a stranger to keep himself upright. He brushed himself off as the man shrugged him away uncomfortably, and Hoya grinned groggily, until his eyes focused and he realized just who he had smacked into.

Sungjong grimaced. 

“Oh, perfect. I’m trying to have a moment to wave goodbye to my freedom and I still manage to run into you.”

Hoya observed Sungjong’s face, then drifted his eyes down his body. Sungjong felt uncomfortable under Hoya’s stare despite himself. The other boy had changed clothes since school let out, no longer wearing his uniform but instead a t-shirt tucked into a pair of ripped teal jeans, his shoulders covered by a black biker jacket. His hair was styled up, and he had black makeup smeared on messily around his eyes.

“Well I’m not that thrilled to see you, either,” Hoya finally replied. When he spoke, Sungjong could smell alcohol on his breath, and it made him realize how close they were. “How did you even get in here? You look like a fetus.”

“That’s none of your concern,” Sungjong answered shortly. “But I guess since we’re both here, we might as well get the meeting details out of the way, so listen up. You meet with me every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday at five thirty. Weekends and Mondays are my days, you don’t bother me then. I’ll give you two hours and you are going to work, not , not argue, you hear me?”

Hoya’s eyes were glazed over, as if he tuned out after Sungjong said ‘listen up’. He blinked. “Fine, whatever. Where are we meeting?”

Sungjong frowned. “Somewhere private, I don’t want to be seen with you if I can help it. My house, I guess. And you are never to come up to me in public, got it?”

“Like I would ever do that anyway. But you can’t come up to me, either.”

“Fine.”

Sungjong watched Hoya sway uneasily on his feet for a second before proceeding.

“Are you going to be hungover tomorrow? You’re going to forget this whole interaction, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Hoya replied. “With any luck.”

Groaning, Sungjong stuffed his bottle of beer into Hoya’s hand to hold it - Hoya immediately stealing a deep swig  - and grabbed Hoya’s other arm, holding onto it with the very tips of his fingers as if the boy was diseased.

He found the little pen he kept in his pocket and flipped Hoya’s wrist over to expose the smooth skin of his underarm. He uncapped the pen with his teeth and pressed the tip to the skin near Hoya’s elbow.  

I have tutoring 

TUE WED FRI

 5:30 at 219 Azalea St

As an afterthought, he added,

Glory Box is .

“Wow, mature,” Hoya said, observing his new tattoo as soon as Sungjong relinquished his grip on Hoya’s arm, wiping his hand on his pants and sticking the cap back on the pen. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sungjong reiterated. “Don’t be a moron, remember your textbooks, and do me a favor and stick to your side of the club, okay?”

Hoya’s voice rung out as Sungjong started pushing back into the throng of people. 

“Don’t you want your beer back?”

Sungjong glanced back briefly, repugnant. 

“Keep it, I don’t know where your mouth has been.”

Hoya simply shrugged and took another sip, never one to contest a free drink.