Her fingertips smoothed the collar of the black crewneck out, squishing the cotton fabric as her hands found their way behind his neck. Running them upwards on his nape to gently grip the short hair at the back of his head, Jia sighed softly, "Can't you just stay?" She knew too well, that Himchan couldn't stay in the fixer-upper apartment nor did he want to stay for that matter. It's not that Himchan didn't like the dirty walled, almost empty apartment room, him and his girlfriend shared - although he would much rather have a more nicer, bigger apartment - it's just what lie outside it, was much more ... exciting. Out the building, down the 2 blocks, down stairs that led to a subway terminal, and then waaaaaaaaaaay uptown, was where Himchan wanted to be (and was going to be in just a few minutes); The Underground. The Underground was the place where all the real rappers start out and come out, spittin' rhymes like it was nobody's business, against each other for large amounts of money. It's where Himchan found the soul in his souless body, his passion, his career, his happiness, his love.  

With a soft chuckle, mixed with a pitful sigh, Himchan pecked the top of Jia's head. She closed her eyes gently as he did, pouting subtly. "I'm sorry," his voice soothing Jia's ears as it's low raspiness sent the slightest shivers down her smooth and silky back, "You know I can't stay away from that place ... Our place .. it's my home boo. Without it, where would I be? Hm? In highschool being bored with my life? Nope. Besides, I have a match today remember?" Himchan wasn't as nervous as he was focused on winning the match and moving up in the "Rankings" as the locals called it. At the end of the year, there is a competetion between the best of the best  Underground rappers in each city, competeting for the prize - 1 million won. But only the best of the best rappers can go, so, in choosing the best of the best, is to move up in the Rankings in your own city. Himchan's ranking was: Amateur Underground Rapper - which didn't cut it. He had to be, "The Best Underground Rapper in Seoul City". It was crazy, but he wanted it so badly.

Clearly, there was no sense in trying to make him stay and goof around with her for just a few more minutes, so with a sweet peck on his chin and then another on his neck, Jia offered her boyfriend a smile before patting his chest with her hands that were once playing with his hair. Leaving Himchan to compose himself in front of the mirror that hung in front of the door, Jia walked back to their bedroom that looked into the doorway. She took a seat at the edge of the bed, watching Himchan comb down his hair with his nimble fingers, at the same time mouthing the rap verse from his favourite song; Secret 2. Jia's head tilted to the side ever so slightly, resting it against her shoulder that supported her as she leaned back. Be careful Channie..., she thought warmly. 

"Hey Channie?" 

He was just about to walk out the door, placing earbuds into his ears, choosing a "pump up" song from the Iphone he held tightly in his hand. "Nae?" His eyebrow was quirked into an arch, looking over his shoulder with his lips parted. The Underground was "calling" Himchan's name as he waited for Jia to say the last minute thought that was supposedly "important" to hear. The balls of his feet bounced slightly as time went on, even though Himchan was only there for two seconds. "You better win. Myungie needs some diapers."

Himchan gave a firm nod at Jia before closing the door softly, not wanting to wake his little boy up. As he let out a sharp exhale, he began running down the apartment's stairwell. Finally, he was out. 

▼△▼

The train ride was brutal - like it always has been. Homeless people sleeping on the seats, drooling and grumbling in their sleep, the wheel making that loud and annoying click each time the Conductor stopped at the terminal, lights flickering once in awhile, making it extremely scary when you're in the tunnel and one of the hobo's just looks extra sketchy (like they're about to pull out a machete knife or somthing), and just the overall smell in the Subway was horrid. It reeked of the smell of and sweaty, dirty, gym socks. One time, Himchan took the train back home - like he always did since that was the only mode of transportation he could offord - and it was so bad that Jia thought he was smoking weed at the Underground (the place was known for that sort of thing also; it was a club, 8 mile rap battle ground, drug trafficking, place). It took him full 5 hours to convince his very thick-headed girlfriend that he would never have done such a thing and that the reason why he smelled like that was because the train cart was just extra "stanky" that day. Jia finally gave in after doing a full on check - up on his vital signs and making him take 500 showers that night. That was 2 years ago, Himchan was 18. 

Himchan pulled the grey slouch beanie back with his palm, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position; legs spread and elbows resting on his knees, his torso hunched over. The loud base boomed from his earphones to his ear drums, making it's addiction towards Himchan's head before finally stopping in his mouth. From there the verse just flowed from Himchan's mouth:

A hyung wanbyeok ju uija. 
Neowa nae saenggak ui chai. 
Harusari I work so hard. 
Jjajeun eobseo neul jeulginikka. 
Boyeo julge neomu manha rapi mojalra. 
Bbalrina reul jabeo nuga derigo gogalra. 
Rap city , swag city . 
A B S A L yeah, we gettin’ rich. 

The beat intensified as i11evn rapped faster and raspier, making Himchan's hands more frantic as he matched the lyrics, adding a snarl or two here in there; giving the song the "Tats-C" touch. His hands made a doubling over motion as he spit the words onto the ground with passion, his heart pounding against his chest; the loud base spreading across his whole body. As verse two came along, Himchan just went off on his own lyrics:

Rap city , rap rap city . 
Rap Mike Jackson, this Billie Jean. 
I’m the man iller not Philippines. 
Flow like Tyga by no Vietnamese. 
John Cena, you can’t see me. 
I’m a ghost, CCTV. 
Girl’s Generation, my genies. 
I don’t got wishes, you wish me. 
Absalute you know what it means. 
Triple V’s Veni Vedi Vici. 

It was like this for about the whole train ride as Himchan slayed song after song with a touch of Tats-C verses. When he finally got to his destination, he was just radiating with confidence on his rap skills. He thought to himself, Damn, I feel sorry for the person I'm going up against tonight... looks like they're going to have a taste of some Tats-C magic. He snickered at his little joke in his head as got out of the filthy train and fought his way through a sea of people who were trying to get to the more cleaner carts available.

Himchan jogged up the stairs happily, the fresh air hitting his cheekbones while he grinned uncontrollably. A gentlemen about the same age watched Himchan walk up the steps, grinning rather curiously behind his back as to why he was so cheerful. It was almost, if very, amusing to him to see the young faced man grin so widely - Himchan looked like a complete goofball. Contemplating also on what Himchan wore was also very funny to him because, his outfit screamed "intimidating, hard core gangster guy" but his face said, "Hi, I'm an angel", it was just so conflicting to him. A bump startled the gentlemen as he was staring at the now empty staircase, making him shake his head once before running into the "stanky" train cart - the only one empty. I wonder who he is ....

▼△▼

This was it, home. Home was what gave life a meaning to Himchan, Home was where Himchan caught his first taste of freedom, Home was where Himchan learned "If you want something, you have to fight for it", Home was where Himchan became somebody's Superman, Home was where Himchan no longer became Himchan but Tats-C. The sight was all too familiar and so reassuring to Himchan; hot girls grinding against guys and vice versa, drinks in the air, loud music played and remixed by dj's, low lights, concrete walls, and rappers on-stage battling it out with the illest raps they've got from the top of their heads. Himchan watched intensly, his chin held between the joint of his arched pointer finger and thumb. Nodding his head to the beat, he started to listen to the 1st rapper's verse:

Seems like I wouldn’t know right?
I already know everything, your true feelings
The light that you worked so hard for
Is covered by my shadow, inferiority complex explodes

Just say that you’re envious, I’ll give you a pat
If Zico is the leader then you just play the follower role
If you don’t like it then be an extra, it’s a Feel that digests well
I’m reggae hair, predator, you’re alien

Himchan soon realized that this wasn't a battle, but a collaboration and that it was Zico up there! Zico was and still is a very famous Underground rapper. He started rapping at 13 year old and has stopped non-stop - he's Himchan's idol. Representing Seoul 3 times, Zico has won the rap competetion more than once and with much right to have done so. He just had that aura that Himchan wished he had - like many other rappers. As Zico bowed in sync with his partner, the MC swaggered onto the semi-circle stage, surrounded by people.

"Ayyy! The legend is back ... and now he's gone," the crowd, including Zico, laughed, "Well, that's enough of the legends. Let's look at some amateurs following The Great Zico's footsteps and represent Seoul this year. Next up, we'll have last night's winner - Truth - verse a regular comer to the Underground. I've known this kid since he was runnin' roun' Seoul in diapers, askin' pretty ladies for some action - Meet Tats-C!" The MC cheered, queing the crowd to follow.

Game time! Himchan walked onto the stage with a playful smirk on is face, taking the mic from the MC. The previous winner checking his mic with the Dj. Himchan's heart was pounding in his heart as he stared off into the crowd with a fake calm expression. He wanted to leave, run off the stage, and just never do it again; get on stage - even though he's done it for most of his life. Each performance was more nerve racking than the next and each time Himchan slayed his opponents with his sharp cusses and rhymes, winning him the money to pay off that month's bill and for food. 

A clump formed into his throat; the opponents microphone was finally ready. Himchan stuck a hand down into his shirt to grab a cold chained locket containing a picture of his little boy; Myungdae. "Appa's going to win nae? Then we'll be living in paradise," he whispered softly away from the mic. He gave it a quick peck before tucking it back under his crew neck. The beat started with a sharp scratch of the discs - classic signal to start the math (kind of like a bell in a boxing match).

The MC stood in the middle of the stage, belting to the crowd, "LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLEEEEE!"

Game on, Himchan.

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author's note:

how'd ya like it? :) haha, remember to comment and upvote and subscribe! thank you so much for reading. - cheeji