FOR JINN

He thinks that maybe things should be the other way around. Maybe it should be himself, the big bad underground rapper, that hates pretty boy idols who found success so easily with their God-given genetics.

But no, Hyunjin would laugh if Changbin ever tried to call himself big or bad in any way. He’d laugh in that cruel, cruel way, the fake reaction laugh that Changbin sees every day on the televisions, the laugh that’s starting to break Changbin’s heart rather than melt it.

—

Changbin has never been ashamed of being gay. He’s not ashamed of finding Hyunjin attractive, because he knows it isn’t a fault to love beautiful things. It’s not a flaw, but if it were, it would be a sin that everybody in this god damn world must atone for.

It’s just that he’s ashamed of failure, and in this society, gay means failure. It’s the underground, though, so really nobody cares that he doesn’t change the pronouns in songs, that his lyrics always wax about “that person” or “that being” with never a specific description, except maybe strong hands and short hair that allude to the fact that he’ll never settle down and marry, at least not while he’s still under the jurisdiction of the South Korean government.

So, it wasn’t an issue until it was. Until he signed with a label so small and so tiny and insignificant he thought it would really make no difference except that he could use the studio equipment instead of filching off of his friends’ basements, and he’s sometimes going to go on TV per their request, but he’s still chugging along, making his own music, and things are working just fine. But then, one day, they ask him to go on this show. And he’s excited because as much as suffering underground is cool and respected, at the end of the day they all want exposure because exposure means more listeners and they’re here to get out their music.

Changbin asks, “What show?” and they tell him, it’s, no, oh god, no, it’s a rap survival show. And yeah, it’s Show Me the Money. They all know it, and they know it’s only for rookies with ambition or veterans who are arrogant enough to believe they can win the money one step in and one step out. But Changbin isn’t a fool. He’s no rookie but he sure as hell isn’t arrogant enough to think that he’ll get away unscathed, without being touched and manipulated by the production. There’s a reason he started out underground, and it’s not because his nose is too long and his chin a little too square.

But he’s signed the contract and a deal is a deal so he scoots onto a subway because the company is too small to provide transport to those who haven’t proven themselves yet and makes his way down to the auditions.

At the location, he signs up quietly, ducks his head moodily and mutters his name when a camera points his way and makes his way to the audition center. There are tons of people around, and while some are making friends, Changbin doesn’t bother. He’s here to make a name, not connections. The kid beside him seems to agree as he’s got his face wrapped up behind a mask and is standing as still as a statue. Looking out of the corner of his eye, Changbin sees that he’s chiseled like one, too, under that bucket hat and face mask with thick, charming brows and large but sharp eyes. They make eye contact and Changbin finds himself looking away first.

Soon, it’s their turn and when the judges come up to him, he shakes their hands, raps one of his older, classic verses, and wins a necklace without much excitement or drama. The cameras move on, rather quickly at that, and that's when Changbin picks up on the clues and realizes the guy next to him must be something special.

The contestant unhooks the mask, and the room seems to collectively take a breath because, like he said before, attraction to beauty is a collective flaw, not an individual one, and this man is nothing if not beautiful. Changbin figures that by the face and the fashion and the cameras, this guy has to be an idol or maybe even an actor, but he prays that he’s actually just an exceptionally good rapper and that’s why the cameras surround them.

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, he gives a rather good performance, above average compared to most of the crowd. There’s a half a second of hesitation on the judges part that nobody at the scene notices but that Changbin knows will be amplified ten times over in the editing rooms at Mnet before finally the judge steps forward and pulls the necklace over the contestant’s head.

As the cameras move away, on impulse Changbin moves forward to slap the kid’s back. “Hey, congratulations. That was a good verse,” he says, hand held out, palm open in an invitation.

There’s another moment of hesitation, this one just a little bit longer and more sincere than the judges before the guy grabs Changbin’s hand. “Thanks. I’m Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin.”

“Seo Changbin. I’ll see you around.”

It isn’t until later that Changbin remembers, or maybe he learns, that you can be an idol and good at rapping.

—

They move on to round two, and like the pull of a magnet, Changbin finds himself drawn close to Hyunjin’s side again. He’s not going to lie and pretend that he didn’t go home and look up pictures of Hyunjin right away, find out random facts like his blood type and what kind of flowers he would give a girl on a date, but he’s also not naive enough to think that the cameras won’t pick up on this one-sided relationship and turn it into something more.

The only thing is that it’ll have to wait until it gets to an editing room to see if it’ll be good or bad on Changbin’s part, since he’s done the calculations and seen how easily Hyunjin’s group gets first on Melon’s digital rankings, and knows that Mnet must have… let’s say “friendly relations” with Hyunjin’s company.

“Hey, good to see you again,” Changbin says, starting out neutral. “You nervous?” he asks, tone of voice neither friendly nor antagonizing.

Hyunjin looks at him, down at his name tag, then back up to his face. “Of course, but don’t tell,” he answers, a leisurely grin that says otherwise hooked up the right side of his face. Changbin notices then that the idol has a perfectly symmetrical face, except for that lopsided grin of his.

They don’t talk again after that, but after Hyunjin enters and exits the second round rooms with his necklace still hooked around his neck, he makes eye contact with Changbin and shakes the chain at him with that same grin still on his face.

When Changbin exists with a 3/4 pass, just a couple of seconds away from an all pass, he’s satisfied but not proud, and mostly just ready to go home. He doesn’t expect to find Hyunjin waiting for him on the other side of the door, fully having expected Hyunjin to have been rushed off to other schedules by this point.

“Still here?” Changbin asks, walking over to the wall that Hyunjin leans against. He fishes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and flips open the tab towards Hyunjin, “Want one?”

Hyunjin just shakes his head, pushing the pack away. “Those aren’t good for your lungs, you know. And it’s my day off.”

Changbin laughs, figuring that would have been the response anyway. “I know. I don’t smoke, I just keep it on hand for the seniors in the crowds I run in.” Folding the box away, he absentmindedly fingers the chain around his neck as he asks, “So, did your company force you here or are you trying to prove yourself as a rapper?”

Hyunjin hesitates, then seems to remember that they were both un-miced the minute they stepped out the doors and answers, “It was the company’s idea, but I saw it coming so I’m prepared.”

“Well,” Changbin says, pushing himself back upright. “I look forward to seeing what you’ve prepared.”

—

Later, as he watches himself on TV, he sees that all of his conversations with Hyunjin have aired, which essentially means that everything Changbin has said so far has made its way onto the air. At this point, some might say that Changbin did it on purpose, for the extra exposure, to wiggle his way into the hearts of Hwang Hyunjin’s fans, and if they poke and prod close enough to be suspicious that might be the answer he defaults to, but anybody that knows Changbin knows that at the end of the day, he falls fast and he falls hard for anybody with a charming enough smile.

—

“Why did you choose me?” Changbin asks as they prepare for their 1 vs. 1 mission. Changbin isn’t too upset. As Hyunjin had said before, he saw it coming so he’s prepared. And when he says he’s prepared, it means that he’s polished his best verses but knows that the favor leans towards the surprisingly good but pretty idol and not the new face without a name on the scene.

“I was supposed to.” The answer is straightforward and also expected.

Changbin nods, “Okay. Well, let’s give them a duet to remember.”

“Not a battle?”

“Not a battle.”

They head up on stage and perform to an Illionaire track, and Changbin is a little blindsided when they tie, meaning they’ll have to prepare another stage on the spot. He didn’t think they would be that evenly matched, or that their battle would need that much drama, but he moves on with the flow. Hyunjin, on the other hand, seems to have seen it coming a little more as he doesn’t even mutter verses under his breath looking for the right one to fit the new track.

He angles his head forward, indicating to Changbin that he can go first, and Changbin just spits what he can, and he knows it isn’t his best but he’s proud of what he made.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, gives his all, and Changbin can’t help wonder, what makes one put forth so much desperation into a two-minute performance?

Hyunjin wins easily, and Changbin gives the typical speech, “Go out there and win for my sake.”

Hyunjin just laughs and nods and unexpectedly pulls Changbin into a hug in front of the cameras. “I’ll see you around, hyung.”

So Changbin goes home, and maybe he’s got a blush on his cheeks and a new phone number in his pocket as he makes his way back on the subway.

—

Changbin keeps an eye on the rest of the survival show, up until the point that Hyunjin gets eliminated. He makes it farther than expected for an idol rapper, but then again, Changbin thinks that by now, he should really discard those stereotypes and look forward without discretion.

Once the show is over, Changbin texts Hyunjin, asking if he’s free to go out for lunch sometime, maybe.

He gets ignored.

It hurts at first, but then he forgets about it, except maybe he writes a few songs here and there, songs that he won’t publish on more than his personal Soundcloud, and occasionally when he’s on a variety show on the few chances that his company gets their together he’ll answer the question, “What’s your ideal type?” with no more answer than, “Pretty lips.”

Maybe half a year later, Changbin is drunk and sentimental, and still not over a stupid crush, so he sends a voice clip of himself singing one of those private songs, and it gets left on read. After that, he gathers his together and focuses on his career moving forward.

His songs climb up the chart, grazing into the top 100, and then the top 50. His sentimental songs seem to fare better publicly than his typical, stronger, more political raps, so he leaves those as b-side tracks for studio albums and changes some pronouns and hair lengths, describes delicate hands instead of sturdy ones, and releases singles left and right. He’s no longer SpearB the underground child rapper, he’s Seo Changbin, sentimental chart killer and he’s making a name for himself, dusting the rust off of his singing voice.

His old, underground friends joke that he’s a sellout, and he laughs because it’s true, but it doesn’t stop them from asking for a feature on a track, or even the other way, to feature in one of his tracks.

He’s finding success and he’s satisfied and content and peaceful, but he’s not happy. Maybe that’s why he’s so quick to pick up the phone when a name and a number that he’s long forgotten flashes across the screen. Or maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t actually forgotten, and he signed away his pride when he signed his name on a renewal contract and chose this path.

He doesn’t tell his friends because he knows they’ll say to look at the context of his success and he doesn’t tell his company managers because he knows they’ll say that he’s on the rise and he doesn’t have time to frolic around town with B-list celebrity idols, and he doesn’t tell his family because he doesn’t need them to look at him with another pinched smile as they throw more money at his career in hopes that he’ll remember to keep their company name out of the papers.

Instead, he keeps his mouth shut but lips pliant as he makes midnight dashes to dimly lit restaurants and dark studio practice rooms, chasing love like he’s a child again, because as much as he loves music, music is an expression of his feelings, and he can’t make music if he doesn’t feel more.

And so, somedays he hurries home from a gig in Hongdae to an apartment in Apgujeong because home isn’t the place he has the keys to; home is where the heart is.

He flicks on the lights of a dark living room, toes off his shoes and sinks down into the couch, up against a warm body. “How have you been, Hyunjin, my prince?”

—

It’s been a year now, and Changbin is still too giddy and surprised that it’s lasted this long at all. People in the industry who care enough to know, know, and those that don’t, don’t bat an eyelash as they name each other as close friends, kindle a bromance and pat each other’s butts jokingly, because what reason would they have to suspect?

There isn’t much reason to worry, at least, none that Changbin knows of. What he doesn’t account for, however, is spite.

One morning, he goes to bed with Hyunjin wrapped in his arms, and when he wakes up, the apartment is empty of any trace of the boy, except Changbin’s phone that has blown up with messages and links to articles that out him as gay, old transcripts of his Soundcloud mixtapes that have descriptions of short hair, sweat and cologne over analyzed until they drip with red pen, compilations of any touches, any contact he’s had with other male celebrities over the past few years.

His company issues a statement of denial, and then a hiatus.

Hyunjin falls into a scandal of his own a week later, one that his company doesn’t deny. Golden boy Hwang Hyunjin is carefully meeting rookie actress Min Hyunah, and they hope they haven’t disappointed their fans but look forward to the future.

Changbin enlists in the military a month later.

—

When he gets out, it’s cold and it’s raining. His boots scuff into the ground as he walks forward, and he decides to take the train, and then the subway. It’s been a while since he’s taken public transport, and he realizes in this moment how much his arrogance must have grown in the past few years that boosted his career.

He gets off at his stop but doesn’t bother to take the escalator up, instead plopping down onto a bench as he opens his phone and thumbs through his contacts. One by one, he presses delete, going through the list and cutting out the people he doesn’t need, the people he doesn’t want anymore.

Thirty minutes later finds him frozen in the same spot, approaching Hwang at the end of the alphabet, and even as he knows that it’s the right step, it takes too much effort. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being a crush, a flirt, infatuation, and it developed into something bigger, something more. Dependence, a muse, a need.

Leaning back, he takes a deep breath, taking in the musk of the underground and realizes that maybe this is where he belongs, lost in the middle of a crowd that doesn’t bother to give him a second glance. Over to the side, a violinist plays a sorrowful melody for a few crumpled bills, and it brings Changbin back to the days when he was still ambitious and greedy and young, rapping about his parents, rapping about school, rapping about society. Back when he didn’t change pronouns, and when he wasn’t ashamed of being gay, just of not succeeding.

He deletes the contact and stands up, opening the recording app as he nears the violinist. He drops in whatever change he has in his pocket, smiles at the performer, and walks back to his apartment through the rain.

—

It’s dark, just as he expected, but when he flicks on the light, there’s a figure sitting on his couch, as if he belongs there. Maybe that’s what breaks him, that sense of belonging. Changbin isn’t sure what it is, but before he knows it he’s screaming and shouting, pointing at the door wide open behind him as he yells, “Get out! Get out of my house, right now!”

He doesn’t care that his neighbors peek out from behind their doors, he doesn’t care that he’s dripping water all over the floor. But he hates the part of him that finds himself caring that the figure left without even a fight.

And most of all, he hates the part of him that wishes he could turn back time to before he deleted his contacts, so that there would still be some way to reach out and beg, “Come back.”

Instead, he goes back to the only thing he knows. He sheds his wet clothes, dries off, and then sits at his kitchen table with a pen and some paper. Back to his roots.

He works all night, and then stays up the next three more nights, breaking only for the shortest naps and just enough food that he can focus again on his work.

Finally, at dawn on the fourth day, he opens his computer and logs into his old Soundcloud account.

SpearB has published a new track: how have you been, my prince

Perhaps, to be continued...

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