ONE


As per usual, the city of New York is bustling with life. There is a never-ending stream of people; people chattering on their phones, people clumped together in tour groups, people lugging around briefcases symbolic of the pressure their job places on their shoulders. Silence is a foreign concept when voices are loud and the beeping of impatient taxi drivers is even louder, and the smells are confusing, the scent of sewerage trying to mix with the aroma of flowers outside show windows. Time doesn’t stop for anyone here.

Jaehyun sits at the top of a short staircase. There are concrete steps beneath him, cold and dirty, tainting his suit pants every time he so much as readjusts. People move in front of him constantly, like blurred colours splattered against the sidewalk, and behind him is one of the minor branches of The New York Times. Though it is not the main building, it is grand enough, with storeys that extend up into the clouds and windows that stretch randomly across all sides to let the sunlight in. Inside, it is no less spectacular.

It has been two months since Jaehyun was accepted as an intern for the major news company, and it has been a mere ten minutes since he received quite a shock. Like any other Tuesday, he had strolled through the front doors and avoided making eye contact with all those he passed. On his first day he had been instructed not to bother other employees – “Interns have no authority in an environment like this!” – and had since taken extreme steps to ensure such a command was obeyed. He had politely greeted his superiors, and expecting to commence work immediately, had begun to walk briskly to his desk in the corner. However, he had not made it to his designated spot before being summoned by his direct supervisor.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” Jaehyun had said nervously, unsure. Similar to a child about to receive a stern scolding, he had fiddled tirelessly with his fingers until his skin felt clammy and warm.

“Though the work you have been able to do so far has been minimal, it has also shown extreme promise. I have been considering offering you an official role here once you graduate, but I need to know you can handle more serious assignments. So, I want to send you out into the field. I want you to write a story for next Tuesday’s edition.”

After being thanked over and over by Jaehyun – whose smile had grown so unbelievably wide – the supervisor had continued, explaining the assignment in perfect detail and expressing his expectations. “Over the past few days there have been a series of illegal protests throughout the city. They have been unplanned and seemingly indiscriminate. On Sunday, it was a protest regarding animal rights. On Monday, it was a protest relating to recent police brutality incidents. And this morning, mere minutes before you arrived, we received word that there had been a protest at 6am showing support for the widespread amount of people who have lost their jobs this past week. Using this information as a reference, I want you to keep up to date with the protests through postings on social media and to visit the protest sites. If possible, photograph the people involved and interview those who are willing to speak with you. Gather as much material as you can, and write an article that will make me question why I hadn’t hired you earlier.”

Though Jaehyun is excited and grateful, he feels horribly dumbfounded by the dark void of anxiousness that is attempting to swallow him whole. He has been writing for many years – since the days he went by his real name Yoonoh, instead of his alias – and has had countless opportunities to gain experience in the field of journalism, yet all of his confidence is seeping out onto the pavement and hurriedly escaping his grasp. With slender, pale fingers, he reaches out towards the sun, pretending to snatch its power until a lanky figure obscures his view.

With his silky brown hair combed away from his face, and a permanent smirk tugging at his sweet pink lips, Doyoung curiously focuses his gaze on the aspiring journalist. Jaehyun looks dishevelled, with his auburn hair falling messily into glistening hazel eyes and clinging to tremendously smudged circular spectacles. His broad shoulders slouch and his full cheeks make him seem boyish, like a lost child amongst a constant flow of hasty businessmen. He seems so small and insignificant like this, but reality knows he is truthfully built wider and taller than Doyoung.

“You all right there, bud?” Doyoung asks. Like always, his tone possesses a slight tint of optimism and his eyes sparkle with kindness. His rabbit-like front teeth appear as his mouth slowly curves further upwards.

“I just got asked to write a story for next week’s edition,” Jaehyun responds lifelessly, head lolling into his open hands.

Doyoung’s eyebrows shoot up as he takes a seat, only after placing his jacket over the filthy step. “That’s fantastic! You’ve been waiting for a chance like this for as long as I can remember!”

“You’re right,” Jaehyun mutters, aggressively rubbing his eyelids, “but I don’t know where to start. Or where to end.”

“Well, start from the beginning, of course. The ending will come naturally once you’ve written everything else.”

Jaehyun chuckles softly. “That’s easy for you to say. You receive a high distinction in all of your assessments…you’re ranked first in the whole course! The person in second is behind you by a good thirty per cent.”

“That doesn’t mean that everything comes naturally for me. I worked hard to achieve those results, and I know you can top all of the work I’ve ever produced if you put in the same amount of effort,” Doyoung replies, cheerfully clapping his friend on the back, “just take it slow and don’t stress yourself out. Write everything you already know down and then do some research to fill in the blank spaces. If you stick to a plan, you’ll be fine.”

Now smiling, Jaehyun lets his head flop onto Doyoung’s shoulder. He closes his eyes and lets the sun’s wonderful rays soothe him into a light slumber. Doyoung does not budge until he has woken back up, even though it means losing his perfect attendance record.

Wispy purplish-white strands of hair poke out from beneath a thick blanket, its pattern reminiscent of the backside of a bumblebee, yellows and blacks striping back and forth. At the other end, wriggly toes and painfully calloused heels jut out, exposed to the gelid breeze pouring in through the room’s open window. Cigarette cartons litter the floorboards, strewn randomly amongst numerous other items; scrunched up pieces of paper, old, torn ballet shoes, Polaroid photographs with captions scrawled in permanent marker. There is a desk shoved up against the wall opposite the creaky bed. It sits on a slope – one of its legs has been snapped – and its entire surface is hidden, covered by posters and painted pieces of cardboard, mostly adorned with slogans exaggerating intolerance and injustice. And, pinned all over the walls to conceal the hideously peeling wallpaper, are ginormous prints of famous performers. Though the room is undoubtedly a mess, these images are breathtakingly beautiful, enough to inspire a particular young man to roll out of bed in the mornings.

Taeyong kicks the blanket off, displaying the flawless body of a dancer. He is not too sturdy, but somewhere in between lean and brawny, sitting at a weight that allows him to spin, bend and soar. His veins are prominent, stretching across his porcelain skin to add a wonderful kind of definition, and his arms are muscular, designed to effortlessly lift his partner. To match his gorgeous build is a handsomely featured face; an amazingly sharp jawline, high cheekbones, lips pink like cherry blossoms and eyes as warm and brown as melted chocolate, the irises constantly accentuated by inquisitiveness. He has been blessed with good looks, and he is all too aware.

The first thing he does after rolling out of bed is gaze languidly into the disproportionate mirror on the floor. Though the glass is cracked and there are countless fingerprints distorting the reflection, he manages a slight smirk as he gains glimpses of his face in each shattered segment. Unhurriedly, with his fingers parted marginally, he rakes his hair away from his forehead and makes the dark roots more prominent. Where most would attempt to conceal such obvious regrowth, he relishes his natural beauty and accepts each part of himself with complete and utter ease. He has learned to live with his physical flaws, though there are very few of them.

Ten – who has been nicknamed after a number purely because nobody can bother to perfect the pronunciation of his real name – bursts into the room, his usual eye-crinkles and shining smile virtually non-existent. Also absent is his optimistic attitude and buoyant nature, which have both been replaced by angrily burning irises and a tight, frustrated grimace. He blows a puff of air to shift his silky black strands away from his lengthy lashes, and takes a single loud step towards Taeyong, who stares up at him through drowsy eyes. “You’re walking on thin ice, my friend.”

“Huh?”

“Mrs Richardson is going to fail you if you show up to another one of her classes thirty minutes late,” Ten explains, carefully annunciating every word. Occasionally, he lets his scowl slip away and his regular smile battles to salvage its place. His eye twitches as he fights mentally against the desire to giggle.

Taeyong frowns, brownish eyebrows knitting together. “That was one time.”

“Three,” Ten snaps back immediately, pacing over to flop flaccidly onto the bed, “and I remember, because I have been lectured in your place every single time.”

“I really enjoy studying the anatomy of dance, and I’m beyond grateful for having been accepted into a school as prestigious as Juilliard, but there are more pressing matters than my attendance record. This world is dying and I have to save it.”

“I’m certain that the world will not stop spinning if you miss one protest to save your own grades.”

“Miss a protest? I am the protest,” Taeyong retorts, his lower lip jutting out to form a subtle pout. He snatches up a sign and turns it between his fingertips, reading the bold, vibrant print and admiring his artistic additions painted in the background. He is proud of such efforts, and he is not afraid to show it.

Ten rolls his eyes dramatically and fluffs a pillow. “Just don’t be stupid. I understand how much all of this means to you, but I also know how devastated you’d be if you lost the opportunity to graduate from such an esteemed school. You don’t have to sacrifice your passion for dancing to struggle against the world’s complications. You can do both, if you prioritise correctly.”

“If you see Richardson on your way out, tell her I’ll be at the next class.”

“Did you hear anything I just said or did the words go in one ear and flow straight out the other?” Ten questions. He wants to get himself comfortable amongst the soft cushions and warm blankets, but it is clear his presence is not wanted. So, with a groan, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and waits patiently for an answer.

“Yeah, sure.”

Ten sighs and shakes his head, even though no such actions are noticed. Taeyong’s attention is focussed solely on a notepad full of slogans, as he is already planning the next major event. He knows that Ten cares for him dearly – and he appreciates the constant concern – but his mind is elsewhere lately, and his heart is continuously calling for the thrill of making a change. He mutters a quiet “thank you” as Ten strolls out, just to remind his friend that his apprehensions and kindness have not gone by unacknowledged. In the near future he will express far sincerer gratitude, but just like Ten suggested, he is prioritising what is truly important; tomorrow’s protest, which will be the most spectacular one yet.

In times of stress or frustration, the tranquillity of the library is like medicine for Jaehyun. The silence has the ability to heal him, to the restlessness right out of his tense body, and the array of lively fictional characters lining each shelf ensure that he is never truly overwhelmed with loneliness. Pacing leisurely down each aisle has a soothing effect, the scent of new and old novels warming his heart and massaging his mind. Even the young man who works the library’s front desk every so often makes Jaehyun feel at complete ease.

“Is something worrying you?” Taeil asks, tugging out a chair. He is a few years older than Jaehyun and in spite of his cute appearance, is scholarly and full of extraordinarily sagacious advice. On quieter days, he gladly shares his guidance and steers Jaehyun down the correct paths.

Jaehyun smiles sweetly at the older man and cuts straight to the chase. “What kind of websites would people use to communicate about protests?”

“If this is in regards to the protests that have been happening around the city, I honestly doubt that you would be capable of uncovering any relevant conversations on websites open to the general public. The people who decide to stir up such events would use private chatrooms, and unless you are one of them, you will never have access to those chatrooms.”

When Jaehyun’s features darken, Taeil hurriedly continues speaking. “But, if you were to befriend one of the people in charge of these protests and gained their trust, you could find the information you’re looking for.”

“How do I befriend them when I don’t even know who they are?”

“In basic conversation with people, show your support for the protests and voice your encouragement as stridently as possible. Chances are that someone who knows something will overhear you and may even approach you,” Taeil suggests, cocking his head in thought, “and constantly check various sites like Facebook and Twitter. Witnesses of the protests will probably post updates and you’ll more easily be able to find the locations at which the protests are taking place. I’ll look more frequently as well, and will give you a call if I hear anything significant.”

“You’re so good to me,” Jaehyun says softly. His cheeks burn a bright red as Taeil ruffles his hair, gentle and affectionate as though they are brothers. Interactions such as these continuously restore his faith in humanity, and make his insides feel wonderfully warm.

Taeil gets to his feet. “Come visit more often, okay?”

Jaehyun nods eagerly and watches as the older male strolls back to the front desk, smiling politely at a potential customer. He is thankful to have met a person so clever and generous, and vows to drop by on a regular basis from now on, wanting nothing more than to let this friendship develop further.