Chapter 6

Han

When I walked into Trestle, the bar where I worked and the band practiced, I was nearly twenty minutes late. I wish I could say Rap Monster and J-Hope were pissed, but I didn’t think they had even noticed. J-Hope’s bass was forgotten as he looked through the various kinds of alcohol behind the bar. Rap Monster at least had his drumsticks tucked in his pocket as he played a game on his phone.

“Hey, guys! Sorry I’m late.”

J-Hope poured himself a bit of Maker’s Mark, and said, “It’s cool, Han.”

“Good. You know what else is cool? Not stealing from the place where we get to practice for free.”

I recapped the bottle of booze and returned it to the shelf. J-Hope shrugged, adjusted his tie, and downed the liquor in one gulp. I grabbed him by his black, skull-print bow tie, and pulled him toward where our instruments are set up. I pushed him toward the bass.

I slid a hand underneath Rap Monster’s chin and tilted his head up toward me. He let me, but he just raised the phone higher to keep his eyes on the game

“Come on babe, I know I’m late, but we only have until noon before Suga kicks us out.”

“Yeah, yeah, just hold on. I can’t stop running. If I look away, I’m going to die.”

Maybe I was still angry about how easily he bailed out on me earlier or maybe I was just a , but I snatched his phone out of his hand and held it behind me.

“HAN. COME ON!” He reached for the phone, but we both heard the sound of the game ending.

“God, Han, sometimes you can be a real .”

For a split second, Jungkook’s face popped into my head, but I pushed it away.

I said, “Yeah, well, you’re a most of the time. Deal with it.”

There was only a little heat in my words. I tucked his phone in his front pant pocket, and used that pocket to pull him toward me. His mouth was set in a thin line like he was angry, but that didn’t stop him from sliding his hands down my back to my . I didn’t elbow him this time. I kissed the underside of his jaw, and he stopped clenching his teeth so tightly. He kissed me, nipping my bottom lip a little too hard for it to be comfortable.

J-Hope said, “I liked it better when you guys weren’t molesting each other constantly.” J-Hope and I had been making music together since I moved to Seoul a few years ago. Besides me, he was the only member of Under the Bell Jar that hadn’t changed frequently.

What could I say? I had a thing for drummers.

“Can we get to playing now?” J-Hope asked, shooting glare at Rap Monster.

He couldn’t stand Rap Monster, but didn’t make much of a fuss because he didn’t figure the relationship would last. It would be nice if it did, though. Rap Monster was the best drummer we’d ever had.

I pulled back and went for my guitar.

“Okay, so this is the last chance we’ll get to rehearse all together before the show next week. We need to practice and nail down the order of our set list.”

We started with a cover of “A Better Son/ Daughter” by Rilo Kiley. 

I felt like I lived this song this morning. The intro started soft and small. My lips brushed the cold metal of the microphone and I felt like I was at home. 

It didn’t matter that we were in a grungy bar with no audience, or that I’d be back here tonight working until all hours of the morning, only to have to get up and pretend for my parents.

It didn’t matter that this morning my love life had taken a sharp left at complicated, straight into bizarre territory.

It didn’t even matter that I’d been carrying this band like a yoke around my neck for years with no money and no break in sight.

When I sang, none of it mattered.

I was not an emotional person. I hadn’t cried since I was thirteen. Not really. 

I made a promise to myself that when my life had been awash in tears that I wouldn’t be one of those people. 

That kind of person who would cry uncontrollably when something bad happened, but two days later be walking around like nothing had changed. 

Crying was for moments of such drastic pain that you had to let it out, had to shed the dead skin on your soul so that you could breathe. I still had my life, so I refuse to cry over stupid like boyfriends and parents. I was good at turning off the pain. 

The only time I let it out was when I sang.

When the strings on my guitar vibrated and notes rose from my lungs, I felt the good and the bad, the hope and the devastation. I felt it all.

Sometimes in the morning, I am petrified and can’t move 

Awake but cannot open my eyes.

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