Haechan's back story and y o u. 

The story leading up to an odyssey. 

Odyssey: a long and eventful or adventurous journey or experience. 

Yes, I've been very sentimental these days. Sorry!

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I wake to your likeness
But how come you're here
I wasn't found in delight
It's the call before it's far from over

- Odyssey, Talos

Haechan knew nothing of sadness and euphoria until he met you.

He didn’t take prayers seriously until he met you.

Haechan grew up in a conservative environment and he never really talked about how his life in Korea was like before his rise to fame as one of the two-man band called ‘Watermelon on a Sunny day’.

Korea to him was like a fever dream.

Haechan had met you when he was a young, fourteen-year-old boy who knew he had an amazing voice. The church he attended on a daily basis was a hotspot for politicians to come and give the church their charitable ‘services’. By that, Haechan knew deep down it was just for photos for the front page of Seoul National Post.

He didn’t mind. He was used to it, the male going up to the podium with his white robes on his shoulders. White because they symbolized purity and chastity. He was an impatient one but he waited until all the seats were filled and the starting note of the piano to be heard resonating through the walls.

The pastor of the church had stood up to say his welcoming speech, Haechan able to mimic him in his mind. Which family was it now? His church was becoming a business and Haechan knew that. His gaze skated over the people when he noticed that they weren’t all politicians. No, politicians stood up front. They wanted to be seen.

Your family stood by the corner, everyone dressed in their suit and tie. A few bodyguards could be seen guarding the entrance of the church and Haechan wondered why there was even a need for such thing. Then he saw you beside your sister. She was older and had her head low, your father and mother listening to the pastor with feigned interest.

Haechan remembered thinking to himself that you didn’t want to be there. Your white Sunday dress and hands clasped right in front of you. You seemed to be about his age—maybe a few years older, maybe younger. He couldn’t tell from where he stood.

As the speech ended, he knew it was his turn, Haechan beginning to sing a welcoming song for the people who stood before him. The moment he began to sing, you had raised your head and your eyes widened.

He would ask you in the far future why you looked that way and you would reply that you were surprised that such a powerful voice came out from such a young boy. He’d see you often but you wouldn’t talk to him in a courtyard full of people simply because you were in two different worlds.

Two different societies and two different lives to lead.

Now you… Oh, you. You were an oppressed one and weren’t blessed with the freedom you dreamed of. If you had even the slightest bit of ambition to take over the family company like your sister, you’d be okay with living the life your parents had paved for you. But you were never like that.

Going to church was simply part of their social agenda. They knew there would be important people there and they used it to their advantage while you were there for a ride.

You hated the prim white dresses you had to wear, the way you were monitored day and night so they could shape you into something they wanted you to be. You hated it all so when your fourteen-year-old-self met Lee Haechan, you noticed the bubbling emotion of happiness that he made you feel.

You had moved away from your parents. Looking over your shoulder, you decided to explore and ended up standing over a church well. You were looking down into the water when you heard a voice.

“If you throw a coin down and make a wish, it’ll come true,” he said to you and you turned to the sound to see him. He was the boy that sang the church hymns and you raveled at how his speaking voice and his singing voice were so similar. Every time he spoke, it was like melodies in the air and you wondered how he felt being so blessed with such a talent simply because you had none.

“Will it?” you asked, your voice soft and unsure. You knew of the beliefs of this well, you just weren’t a superstitious one… That was a lie, you tell yourself. You were superstitious. You read your horoscope on magazines that you stashed under your bed because your parents decided they weren’t good for your upbringing.

You refused to look into the mirror at 3 a.m. because it was witching hour and you thought that whistling at night would bring strange entities to your doorstep.

“It will,” he answered with confidence and you couldn’t help but smile, your hands going to your white dress just to realize that you didn’t have a coin with you. He seemed to notice that, the male feeling his own white robes before he lifted it up and you turned away to give him privacy.

He snickered. “I’m wearing jeans underneath,” he said to you and you peek back at him to see that he was wearing jeans underneath. You didn’t know what you believed they were wearing under those robes but you didn’t expect faded washed jeans and a tattered shirt.

“Your shirt is ripped,” you said to him and he lifted up an eyebrow at how you pointed it out.

“It’s comfortable,” he replied casually. If he was offended at you for pointing it out, he did not show it. He took out a coin from his jeans pocket and his robes went back to covering the clothes he hid underneath. “Here.”

“You’re just going to give it to me?” you asked and he frowned.

Haechan wondered why you were so uptight with your white bow and your hands gripping your dress. Why were you so afraid? Over a coin?

“Do you not want it?” he asked back and you took in his sun-kissed skin and golden-brown hair. “If you want it, you can have it.”

You did want it so you nodded slowly, Haechan breaking into a smile and walking towards you. You naturally stepped away to create distance between both of you when you looked towards the well.

“Here,” he said, giving you the coin. You reach out to take it and then without a single word, you threw it into the well. It flew and there was a small splash, Haechan looking at you with wide eyes. “Just like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t even think of what you want!” he exclaimed.

“I know what I want,” you answered, a hand going up to fiddle with the bow in your hair, loosening it.

Freedom, you thought.

I want freedom.

Haechan would meet you from time to time, smiles across the church courtyard like you both had a secret no one knew. Both of you never talked in the presence of adults and the most he ever did to communicate with you was when he had pointed down at his robes.

You tilted your head at him, Haechan prying the clothes away from his body and showing you that he was wearing pajamas underneath. He then lifted his fingers up to his lips. You giggled, lifting your hand up to cover your mouth like a good lady would do.

“This is my daughter. Say hello to Senator Jung,” your father said and you turned to him, curtsying just like you have been taught. “She’s fourteen. Going fifteen.”

“What a beautiful girl,” the senator praised. “My son is not here. I sent him over to New York to study university. Jaehyun’s eighteen.”

“I see. What is he studying?”

“Political Science,” the senator replied and you turned back to see if Haechan was around but he wasn’t. “But boys his age… Seems like he’s been partying instead of studying. He wants to become a model.”

A chuckle from your father. “He’s a man, he can do whatever he wants. He has the looks. When he comes back, I’d love to introduce my eldest daughter to him.”

“Of course. They’d get along,” Senator Jung said as he nodded. “I wish I had a younger son for your youngest but…”

“More families, more connections to make.” Your father waved a hand. You were still trying to find Haechan in the crowd, tensing up your toes when your father grabbed your arm, turning you away. “What are you doing?”

Like you were trained, you immediately told him that you were doing nothing. You then apologized even if you did not do anything wrong. You kept your eyes on the ground so you wouldn’t meet his. You hated how he spoke of marriage like it was an economical bargain.

Like he could sell you off to rich families simply because you were of his blood.

“Good. Go and bring tea for Professor Moon. He’s standing over there. Be nice and friendly, we may need him in the far future,” he instructed and you nodded, moving away from him and heading towards the table.

Coming to a halt, you freeze in front of all the tea cups. You had done this before and the hardest part was not serving the tea but choosing the right one.

People could be picky.

“Professor Moon doesn’t drink tea,” Haechan’s voice said from behind you. “He drinks coffee. His son drinks tea, though.”

You did not turn to look at him, scared that your father would be watching closely.

“His son?” you ask quietly and there was a hum, Haechan stopping beside you and reaching for the cinnamon bun. “What’s his son’s name?”

“Moon Tae-il, studying at SMU to specialize in talent acquisition and management. If that is important,” he said to you and you blink. It was important and you thanked him softly, Haechan giving you a grunt in response. You didn’t have to turn to know that the cinnamon bun had disappeared into his mouth.

You quickly made tea and headed towards the Moon family. Your father was already there and he motioned to Professor Moon but instead of giving it to the man of the house, you placed it in front of his son.

Moon Tae-il gave you a kind smile and he also seemed like he knew how to handle such social situations. He thanked you and your father gave a satisfied nod when he noticed that you gave importance to the son. He then flickered his eyes over to Professor Moon to signal you to serve him too.

You did, going back to make some coffee when an unfortunate accident happened and the coffee splashed all over your white dress. You gasped, the hot liquid staining your clothes and you winced, the feeling of panic settling in.

What would you do now?

You needed help and help came, Haechan noticing you from where he was at. He waved you over and glanced at your father who was watching you. You knew you’d get it when you reached home but you had to find a way to make sure you were present for the whole event. You had promised him.

Disappearing into the church, you followed Haechan. The church felt depressing now that there were no people and Haechan’s head popped up from behind the podium.

“My dress—”

“I know,” he said, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Come here.”

You did what he told you to and as you stepped up on stage, you saw that he was shifting through the church robes to find the size that fit you. When he did, he stood up and told you to lift your hands up.

As you did, he tugged it over your head and you felt the heaviness of the robes.

“It’s heavy,” you tell him and he nodded at your comment.

“It’s meant to make you feel safe.”

“Does it?”

“Not really,” he answered, shrugging. You wondered how he could sound so care-free, saying that in a church. You twirled in it, looking down to see that you looked exactly like one of the choir people. He was smiling, Haechan rubbing his hands together when you pause.

“You know, I don’t even know your name.”

“Does it matter?” he asked. “I’m just a church boy.”

“I want to know the name of the church boy,” you insisted and he sighed.

“Donghyuck,” he answered with his real name. “You?”

You tell him your name and he repeated it after you like he was testing how it sounded. You wanted him to say it again because it was a first, hearing your name in such a manner. Your name was only said when your father would yell at you for something you did wrong.

Or when your sister would demand something from you.

Or when your mother would tell you to pick up your weight as part of a prestigious family.

No one ever said your name like how Haechan had said it.

“Okay, Donghyuck,” you reply when the door of the church opened and you stepped away from him when you saw your father.

“How could you be so clumsy?” he demanded, looking over his shoulder before lowering his voice so others wouldn’t hear him. “Now you’ll be parading around in church robes and—”

His eyes fell onto Haechan who stood still by the podium and he cleared his throat. You apologized again, walking beside him. That ride home, your father asked who Haechan was.

“He’s the one who sings in the choir,” you answer from beside him in the backseat. Even if you both were in the same car, he had lowered down the barrier so there was a seat between you. Even the small things he did would remind you that he wanted distance between both of you.

In his eyes, you weren’t a daughter but a product of him procreating and you hated it.

“And you’ve been talking to him?” His voice was stern and you looked out the window.

“No, Father. He saw that coffee spilled on me and he wanted to help.”

Your father did not seem convinced and you knew you weren’t convincing. He kept his eyes on you like a hawk and you wouldn’t be surprised if your father would one day point out the shared glances between you and Haechan.

If he wasn’t convinced, it didn’t seem to faze him for the weeks to come. You would look forward to church every week because then you’d get to speak to Haechan. You both started a system. You retreating away for a while and entering the confession box.

The first time it happened, you sat in there and you heard a thud.

“Let’s do this,” someone murmured before sighing. “Tell me your sins.”

You knew that voice anywhere. “Donghyuck?” you ask, the person opposite of you letting out a surprised gasp.

He said your name and asked what you were doing there.

“I have to ask you,” you say to him and he laughed.

“Mr. Paster is doing business. I’ve come to take his place,” Haechan replied, wondering what kind of sins you had committed to enter the confession box. “Just for a while. I do this from time to time.”

“And he let you?”

“Eh,” Haechan mumbled under his breath. Of course, the pastor let him. He was his son. He wasn’t going to let you know that, considering that the whole church was a business to his father. His father had built a religious front for a business spot for socialites that made them look holy and pure. “Doesn’t matter who does it. It all goes to god, anyway.”

You ponder his words and nodded. “Um, my confession…”

Haechan tried not to sound eager to know. He expected something big, something juicy.

“I,” you began. “I’m here not to confess but to get some time alone.”

Haechan blinked. Damn, if that was your confession, you were a saint.

An absolute saint.

“Just that?”

“Well, it’s selfish,” you reasoned and he frowned. “Because I’m taking your time.”

“By all means,” he interrupted. “By all means, take up my time.”

“Well, um.” You cleared your throat. “And I lied to my mother about what I read about today.”

“What did you read?”

Throughout these sessions, Haechan would find out that you liked to read girl magazines. You were hesitant to tell him that. You told him that you liked to listen to music, too. Hiphop, to be exact. Rock was the second runner up genre you indulged your ears in. Then, much to his surprise, death rock.

“Death rock?” he asked incredulously. “Death rock? Wow. Isn’t it just screaming?”

“It’s not just screaming,” you tell him mildly, trying to explain at the fourth session of your confession box saga. “It’s… horror elements. Reminds me that there are other things to be scared of other than my family.”

“Ah…” Haechan’s voice trailed and he didn’t know what to say to that when his phone buzzed and you jumped. “That’s fifteen minutes. You have to leave or your father will ask.”

You didn’t have a phone of your own and you didn’t want to leave. That confession box was your safe space. You had a feeling of dread and you realized why you felt that way when you exited the confession box and saw your father standing right by the entrance.

It was like he knew.

You knew that he knew so as you reached him, your father checked his watch.

“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “Like all the other times you have disappeared. Exactly fifteen minutes.”

You didn’t realize it would be the last time you would see Haechan until you were in the car and your father told you that you wouldn’t be coming to church with him anymore. It did not dawn to you that you wouldn’t be able to tell him what had happened and for the first time that night, you had thrown a tantrum.

Fifteen-year-old you screamed as your father locked you in your bedroom.

“I knew he was a bad influence the moment I set eyes on him. Do you think I did not notice the way both of you looked at each other? You’re fifteen!” he roared from the opposite side of the door as you clawed at the wood.

The things he said that night were degrading and should have never come out of a father’s mouth.

You closed your ears and you continued to scream until you lost your voice, weeping in the corner of your isolated bedroom.

Unbeknownst to you, Haechan knew what had happened. His father had come up to him and demanded to know what he had been doing with you. Even if he said that there was only talking involved, his father did not believe him.

A slap across the face that had Haechan on the ground, yelling to his father that he was a fraud.

That he was using the place of God for personal transactions.

A settling feeling could be felt in both your hearts that night and Haechan remembered it well.

That was why he brought out a coin to the church wishing well and as he threw it in, it dropped into the water and he made a wish.

One, to see you again.

Two, for you to get your freedom.

Little did he know that you would be granted with both and it would leave him in complete, utter pain.

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University came and Lee Haechan went into business like every other student that had no passion. Or so, that was what he told himself and everyone around him. He had music to turn to and he loved singing but he was realistic—he wasn’t going to make a career out of it.

From Donghyuck, he became Haechan and he identified with a name that he had created for himself.

He had met a friend who he could call his best friend by the name of Mark Lee. They met at freshman orientation and Haechan remembered him by the side with him trying to remove the back of his name tag so he could stick it to his shirt.

Mark Lee was a music major and Haechan envied him for it. He showed it and told Mark every opportunity he got. The things I would do to study music, Mark. Mark would smile and shake his head.

“Music does not have to be learned, Donghyuck,” Mark said to him.

Haechan was a popular student back in SMU and he distanced himself away from his father and his shady church business. Haechan no longer wore church robes but leather jackets and ripped jeans. He saved up enough money to buy a ride and he adored it. He spent most of his time smoking, playing on the drums and heading home to review his papers one day before exams.

Haechan had always been very bright person and he passed his exams with flying colors. For subjects that he couldn’t get a hang of because he was busy playing around, he could cheat his way through. He was street smart when he needed to be and he found nothing wrong with that.

Haechan shared a dorm with Mark.

They both got along so well. Mark covered for Haechan smoking and Haechan helped Mark on his music projects. He enjoyed Mark’s projects more than his own.

One thing irked Haechan, however, and that was the fact that Mark Lee was an enigma to him. Haechan was very open to Mark on how he hated his family. How his father was a pastor—a fake one, he would say and that his mother had left when he was young.

He knew nothing of Mark Lee and all he knew was that his parents were overseas. Mark did not tell him which country and he could tell that Mark was uncomfortable so Haechan did not pry. He did pay attention to the hints; the way Mark would speak English to his parents. The fact that he had a brother who called him every night like clockwork.

Despite Mark’s sparkly eyes and friendly demeanor, he was a very private person.

Haechan was scrolling through his phone one day when another article popped up and Haechan sighed. Another article about Matthew Lee—he had just recently opened up an agency a month before Haechan was enrolled into SMU. Haechan enjoyed his music and he was Korean.

Another pride for his country, he guessed.

He was a Korean-born Canadian producer and he had shot to fame a few years ago from a demo he had created in his bedroom. He scrolled down and tilted his head at Matthew’s picture. Handsome man, Haechan found himself thinking.

“Matthew Lee just signed a dude named Johnny Suh,” Haechan called out to Mark who was in the bathroom. “Man, this guy is lucky. Johnny Suh just threw his CD to Matthew at a music festival. I wish I could do that.”

Mark exited out of the bathroom, rubbing his wet hair. “It is a dream, isn’t it? But his life isn’t just butterflies and daisies, Donghyuck. He has his moments, too.”

“How would you know, Minhyung?” Haechan asked, Mark shrugging.

Haechan would not think much about Mark’s response, talking about Matthew Lee as if he knew him personally. He would find out certain things about Mark, like how he was born in Canada but came to Korea to study music.

Or how his brother was the same age as Matthew Lee.

“How old is your brother again?” Haechan asked one day, typing down an essay for a subject called Consumer Behavior as Mark hung up the phone and came back into the room.

“Same age as that producer you like,” Mark replied.

Haechan found his calling one day but suppressed it. Mark had burst through their dorm room and asked Haechan for help. He forgot about his project—he had to produce a song and the professor had just reminded him that it was due in three days.

Forgetful Mark had three days to finish a song and Haechan took the matter into his own hands. In the end, they created a song together. They were used to this. They usually sung in talent shows together and busked in their free time.

The finished song made Haechan’s heart swell with happiness. Mark had put Haechan’s voice in and it was the first time Haechan had heard his voice in a recording.

He realized he enjoyed creating music but he told himself he had to get his business degree so he studied on.

One day in his first year of university life that he expected to go smoothly, Haechan was hit with the news that his father had disappeared f