Youth Dreams

Amid the movie productions and schedules and the by now almost unavoidable scandals, music is the thing he focusses on in order to keep sane -- in order to struggle against the strong current of negativity and tiredness that threatens to take him under.

Words scribbled on a piece of paper (metaphors of his life that become more and more cryptic as the final cut dawns;) a melody in his head; a beat in his veins.

It's hard, at first, but gradually it becomes second nature: gradually it starts feeling like it felt six years ago.

Jiyong and he walking the streets of Seoul, the August heat sweltering and humid. His t-shirt (slightly over-sized, not adjusted yet to the new body proportions) sticks to the sweaty skin on his arms and back. It makes him feel strangely claustrophobic, strangely aware of his own body.

Dr. Dre resonates from their shared mp3-player; their footsteps fall in line with the solid beat.

Jiyong makes gestures with his hands, Seunghyun laughs, Jiyong bumps him. The Han river is full of little boats: people leisurely spending their free day with family and the warm afternoon sun. Seunghyun thinks he'd like to swim, if it weren't for his clothes.

(And body.)

Jiyong would, probably, if given the idea.

"Let's get ice cream,” he prompts instead, and Jiyong complies, though not without some exasperated comments first (“one of these days you'll overdose on ice cream, hyung!”)

There's the cool taste of raspberry and chocolate, and Seunghyun's happy.

Jiyong and he seated at the kitchen table.

"This orange juice is too old,” Jiyong says after a sip, and winces.

"You're just too picky,” Seunghyun answers and then, because he can: “Mama's boy.”

Jiyong makes a face but doesn't reply.

"We need to be in dance practice in half an hour,” he says instead, looking at the clock on the wall.

"I know,” Seunghyun replies, and all right -- maybe there's pay-back in there after all.

Jiyong and he in the practice room, on any day or maybe hours after the orange juice incident.

"You need to practice more or you'll never memorise the steps,” Jiyong says flatly, echoing their dance coach, echoing everyone including himself, and Seunghyun frowns – sweaty, tired, strained – says, “I know.”

Leader GD is worse than all the others combined.

(How much of it is Jiyong? Seunghyun wants to know, wants to crack the code.)

Jiyong finishes drinking from his water bottle and Seunghyun boldly steps forward. “You know I practice harder than everyone here,” he begins, right up in his personal space, and Jiyong doesn't back down like Seunghyun knew he wouldn't, stares back unflinchingly though his eyes are getting big, bigger, biggest. “But you've never got anything save criticism.”

There's a slight snarl to his voice, more than he feels, because this isn't about anger or frustration, not really.

This is about the way Jiyong looks at him, looks at him only in these moments.

(This comes as close to cracking the code as it gets.)

They stare wordlessly and Seunghyun's feelings are simmering, his own uneven breathing the only sound in the room. Finally Jiyong swallows. Next, he averts his eyes – and after another heartbeat turns around. “Yeah, well, just don't complain, hyung,” he says and saunters out of the practice room.

Seunghyun watches him go. His skin still tingles.

Jiyong and he on his bed, taking pictures with a polaroid camera. The distance between them is an acceptable couple of centimeters, but occasionally their shoulders or feet brush. Seunghyun doesn't try to pay attention to it.

(It has happened thirteen times so far.)

Jiyong says they need to practice for their first photoshoot, in a voice that suggests humour but with a certain anxious undertone that tells him he's not the only one who's been laying awake at night. Fame is an unknown thing awaiting them in the near future and he prefers not to think about its intricacies too much.

When the shutter clicks, Seunghyun sticks out his tongue – causing Jiyong into hysteric giggles while simultaneously exclaiming he'll be the worst model ever if he doesn't change behaviour and this should be taken seriously.

Seunghyun keeps doing it, if only to see the sparkle in Jiyong's eyes.

Jiyong and he, having a smoke outside. It's not forbidden by management, but it's not exactly considered good behaviour either, so they confine their smoking sessions to the nights, when everyone else is sleeping or watching movies (they dutifully gigglesnort at the mention of Seungri).

It's a pleasant night, still and cool after the stickiness of the earlier hours. Jiyong mumbles something about being out of cigarettes again, darn it, and Seunghyun wordlessly offers him one. He accepts with a tilt of his mouth corner, a little secretive, as if there's more to the gesture than friendly cigarette sharing.

Seunghyun takes a drag from his own Marlboro and looks the other way.

Jiyong and he at some party. The music's so loud it vibrates in his chest. Jiyong's head bobs along to the beat and he's shouting some stuff, drink in hand, though Seunghyun can hear none of it.

Not important.

There's people pressing in on him and he doesn't like it, but there's Jiyong standing next to him, sweating from the heat, eyes riveted, and he thinks – he thinks –

He presses closer and whispers in his ear; not even sure what he's saying but the music's too loud in the first place and Jiyong smells like cologne and cigarette smoke and sweat, and his eyes close briefly at the touch.

Jiyong and he exchanging lyrics, hanging on the couch, bodies tired but mind surprisingly agile. There's a notebook in his hands with Jiyong's scribbles in it, some things crossed out, some things circled, and here and there there's his own handwriting too.

It gives him a strange thrill because he knows (thinks to know) that Jiyong does not allow that privilege to just anyone. He dwells on the feeling a little, but then Jiyong asks him something about what word would go well with that beat and suddenly he's immersed in the music, rapping words that come out of nowhere, Jiyong looking at him with wide eyes.

Jiyong and he in the van, pressed together at the backseat with the rest of the band around them. This has become routine by now: music from headphones, sleepy bodies pressed together, Seoul flashing by in ever-changing images.

Seunghyun wants to sleep like the rest of them, but he cannot help it when he pokes Jiyong's knee – again, and again, and again, until Jiyong's passive face stirs into a smile, eyes closed and head leaning against the window but still fully aware of Seunghyun's actions.

The entire twenty-minute car ride they keep silent and Jiyong's eyes stay closed despite the smile – asleep if it weren't for his light disturbances. It seems an unwritten rule they don't speak, even though Seunghyun isn't sure why.

(Once you start speaking, things change.)

Jiyong and he in the studio. The song's there, waiting for them to fill with their voices (their rap) and it gives Seunghyun an undisguised thrill. Maybe there's nerves too, but no, they've been over it, they got it.

Little Seunghyun, Daesung, Youngbae: they've all sung their parts. The leader will go last. Now it's his turn.

He takes place in the recording boot, sufficiently familiar yet still so odd. It will all wear off in a few weeks, he knows. The words come a little rough at first and he clears his throat because he knows it's there, he knows he can do it (can he?)

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jiyong. He's peering at the computer screen over the producer's shoulder, absorbed in the process already.

He looks up then and catches Seunghyun's eye. He gives him a small nod – and it's a standard gesture of encouragement but Seunghyun thinks 'we've been through all of this together' and there's the rest of the band too, but mostly there's Jiyong and recording tapes and dance practices and late night brainstorm sessions and shared cigarettes, notebooks, dreams --

He raps in one go.