Four score and sixteen bars ago, Byeongkwan exhausted his last brain cell. It had valiantly hung on despite the abuse - weeks of stress, minimal sleep, and a diet that would make his personal trainer weep. The real final straw was chugging some questionable neon chartreuse energy drink he picked up at a convenience store. On the bright side, he could now definitively identify the color chartreuse. Knowledge is power.
Anyway.
He stumbled into the MZSD dorm at... some time. Could've been midnight, could've been next Tuesday. He hadn't a clue. His phone was dead, and his apple watch had been missing for a solid month. He wasn't exactly winning at life. His songwriting, though? Killing it. Right now, though? Right now, the only thing commanding his attention was his stomach which growled with the kind of intensity that made him wonder if it was auditioning for the group. He figured he should probably feed it before it started to create its own choreography -
He stealthily made his way to the kitchen ( read: attempted to wake up the entire building in one fell swoop ). He banged into corners, rattled every single object that could rattle, and - of course - dropped a pot lid that made an aggressive clang that echoed down the hall. Still, Byeongkwan ducked his head into a cupboard in search of something vaguely edible...
Byeongkwan hobbles over to Parker, curled over onto himself with a hand pressed to his lower back. "Sunbae... Sunbae..." he wheezes in a strained voice. "When's our bus get here?" he asks, peering over at the idol as he readjusts his ( you know it, lensless ) reading glasses. What bus you may ask? "To... To the retirement home? I'm so... tired," he sighs, resting an arm against the wall with a huff. What the old team lacked in youth, they'd make up for in comedy.
He decides to drop the act long enough to listen to the staff members go over the rules of the next challenge. Relay drawing? This was almost going to be too easy. "Don't worry dude, I'm practically an artist," he reassures Parker, the first person who'd be recreating his drawing in line, with a cheeky grin. "In fact, it's kind of like my special talent, you know? I'm thinkin'... Everyone knows about idol-actors, but what about idol-artists? Wouldn't it be cool to do some live demos on stage - " He's silenced by the appearance of another staff member holding a notepad, preparing to kick off the first round. He shoots Parker a pair of finger guns and a wink. "Let's show these kids how its done, yeah?"
...Champ? Byeongkwan blinks at the title with a tilt of his head. Isn't that some old horse movie? He shrugs and gets to work on his sketch, throwing together a quick drawing to relay to the others. It almost looked like a horse. If you tilt your head a little... Maybe squint. Maybe stand upside down.
fatima aamer bilal, from i mother it the absence of her, iii. i am not a person that can be loved for a very long time excerpt from moony moonless sky. ( full post in source ).
Byeongkwan intends to spend what would be his last few months of training ( still such a strange concept to wrap his mind around ), enjoying what was left of his semi-freedom. Sure, the trainee schedule had always been somewhat rigorous. But he liked being in control of his schedule after hours and making time for what really mattered -
The bench.
The Legacy gym has always been his safe haven in his times of need. Whenever the coaches were giving him a hard time, the barbell rack was there. When his evaluation feedback left him weak in the knees, he could always fall back on leg day and double up on reps. On those rare occasions when he found himself being chased down by existential dread, he could easily outrun it with a few sprint intervals on the treadmill. It truly was his home away from home. And Jino - honorary member of the unofficial gymbro club - seemed to share in his dedication to the sweat.
"Ayo," he greets the actor with a mischievous grin, his gym towel locked and loaded for a swift snap at the other's bicep. "You're late, dude!" Never mind the time on the wall clock or the fact that his gym bud actually happened to be there right on schedule. Early is on time, on time is late, and late means you're not on your grind ( hashtag gainz, hashtag beast mode, hashtag 100 emoji ). "I almost didn't think I'd have an audience for my.... jokes"
Another gym goer just so happens to stroll by - a rather pretty one at that - paying absolutely no attention to the slack jawed trainee gawking at her from across the room.
"Hey, hey - See that girl over there? She's the one I was telling you about last week." Byeongkwan turns back to face Jino, gesturing with a flicker of his gaze to one side, signaling him to discretely look over his shoulder. "I'm gonna ask her out." While he usually followed a foolproof ( heavy on the fool ) system when it came to approaching women - building rapport, observing cues, timing the ask - time was of the essence. Who knows when he'd get another chance to openly ask a girl out once he debuts?
"Wait - Have you met her before? I think she just signed to Agency too... Maybe you could, you know... Introduce us?" He adds with a wiggle of his brows.
They were expensive. Bland. But they were his father's favorite, and for once that's something that mattered.
Something had come over him this year. Something that made him hop out of bed, shower, and put on clothes that not only passed the tried and true sniff test - but were freshly washed. Pressed ( Yes, everyone is shocked that he not only owns an iron but knows how to use one properly ). He even put on that tie his mother got him for his birthday one year. Sure, it was one of his father's old hand-me-downs. But it was good quality. Some brand he couldn't pronounce. Everyone at the company wears them, he was told. That counted for something.
Maybe she thought if he wore it long enough he'd finally get a job that required one. A uniform of a real profession. One that actually paid well. One they could brag about to all their friends at after work gatherings, company parties, award ceremonies... Unfortunately that was and never would be the case. But hey, if he was going to continue to be such a burden ( financial or otherwise ), the least he could do was make sure he didn't visit empty handed. So, pears.
His third attempt at entering the door's passcode has his thumb puncturing a hole through the plastic protecting the case of fruit, cursing under his breath as he fishes his phone out of the back pocket of his slacks. He imagined his father was still spending most of the holiday holed up in his home office, while his mother ignored the grumbling in the hall from the couch, glass of wine in hand.
He tries her cell first, brows furrowing when she doesn't answer on the second ring ( one ring to cover her shock at the sight of his contact name, the second to ponder whether she was willing to answer or not ). His tries his father's personal phone next, his relief outweighing the confusion at the sound of his mother's voice. 'Your father's on a conference call, what is it?'
"You didn't answer."
'My phone is charging.'
"Right... I'm outside."
'Outside?'
"Yeah. Code's not working. You changed it again?"
His mother's quiet swear mimics his own and he's certain she's pinching the bridge of her nose. 'Your grandfather. He made two visits last month. That's your father's doing.'
"He knows he's just going to guess it again, right? What's the point... Oh, did you give him my gift? The jersey? His birthday was last w - "
'That's what that was for? It's probably in your room with the rest of the boxes. We haven't had time to sort out everything just yet... But, can you come another time? We're not home right now.'
No, shi - "I know. I was just - I thought that - ...I can come back later. When will you be - ?"
'We're at the airport, Byeongkwan.'
"Airport?" he repeats, quirking a brow as he turns to lean against the doorframe. "I didn't know you went on a trip... Well, I have three days off, I can just come back tomorrow if you need a day to unp -"
'No. We just got to the airport. We're leaving in an hour. For the expansion? Don't you remember? We're going to be in Prague for two weeks.'
"What? Prague? Like... Like Europe?! Why - But it's Ch - " They don't care. He knows they don't care. He shouldn't have cared either.
'...We didn't think you'd be coming home.'
"I didn't either."
A placid silence settles between them. His mother doesn't know what else to say, but she never does. And Byeongkwan doesn't want to start a fight. He doesn't want to hear how he's so inconsiderate for forgetting such an important milestone for his father - again. How he should've called weeks ago to congratulate him on the promotion that got him his fancy trip in the first place. 'Ah, he's coming back now. I'll ask for the code and y -'
"Enjoy your trip."
He was sitting on the ground now, watching his phone slide across the hall to rest against against a neighbor's door. He could hear the family inside. If he remembered correctly there were four that resided there. Mom, dad, older brother, younger brother. The eldest wanted to be a rapper like him. Used to think he was cool. He wonders how they were spending the holiday. He wonders if their father liked pears, too.
He tears into the package, destroys the decorative wrapping, and takes a bite of one. Expensive. Bland. And a little brown on one side.
He never understood his father's fascination with pears.
Byeongkwan was never one for grand gestures. The idea of putting forth so much effort, time… and well effort all at the risk of a rejection - not that rejection was something that he would ever be worried about - seemed rather silly. Why bother when you could just send a simple “prom?” text. Yet, here he was tasked with recruiting enough guys willing to embarrass themselves “help out” with one of his teammate's promposals.
He takes to the main campus path, jogging in place and occasionally glancing at the watch on his wrist. Any minute now. He’s up earlier than he would like, this time of morning usually reserved for walks of indifference ( shame isn’t really his thing, you know? ) and sleeping through The Art of Problem Solving, but if had any hopes of catching - “Sanghyun! Hey! Wait up!”
He takes off and joins in at his friend's pace, greeting him with a two finger salute. “Morning. Hey, remember - “ he picks up speed, just enough to put some distance between them in a backwards jog. “Remember that one time I did that thing for you and you told me I was a lifesaver and that you owed me one?” Never happened, but memory is fickle. “Well, today I kinda need that one.”
Sprawled out on the floor of a quiet practice room with a lyric sheet in hand, there’s only one thing on Byeongkwan’s mind: "You think Seo Youngjae-nim ever blinks or is his face just stuck like that?" To say he was a little distracted would be an understatement. In truth, he’d reached his threshold of ‘intense focus’ somewhere around the clock striking midnight. Fortunately, there were no pumpkins in sight, just a bored trainee with an empty stomach.
He starts tapping out a drum beat on the floor with his pen to the the tempo of Before the Dawn ( the song had been such a central part of his life for the past week he’s sure the beat was permanently ingrained in his psyche ). He glances up at the clock then back over at his practice partner for the night, clearing his throat. When the other doesn't immediately look up, Byeongkwan lets out a deep sigh. Still nothing. He looks over at him through his brows and coughs, gaze flittering between the his notes and Baekhyun who had to have been just ignoring him at this point.
“Hey,” he finally speaks again, sliding his pen across the floor with enough force to send it ricocheting off Baekhyun’s leg and rolling back to his palm like a boomerang. “It's been hours... Let's call it. Food run?”
"Step into my office," Byeongkwan pulls open the door to the empty practice room with a flourish, extending an arm to welcome Hana in. It's one of the older music rooms, no keypad access or sound system to be found. He prefers it to competing with the other trainees to reserve the updated practice rooms everyone seemed to be vying for. Besides, he'd already made himself a home there with beanbag chair he'd borrowed from the lounge and a secret snack stash for his songwriting sessions.
"I didn't get a chance to clean up... You can move whatever," he shrugs his gym bag off his shoulder and onto the floor near the door, making his way over to the baby grand piano positioned in the furthest corner of the room.
"Have you played at all before?" he asks as he gathers up a few notebooks and crumbled sheets of paper from the bench, before taking a seat. "It's been a while since I've given anyone lessons - for free," he emphasizes with a raised eyebrow. "Consider yourself lucky, I'm not cheap."
He rests his fingers along the keys and begins to warm up with a few scales. "I could bore you with the basics, or we could start with something simple -" The scale morphs into a nursery rhyme reminiscent of his old gigs playing for children's parties between auditions ( minus the whole clown get up, but he's repressed that part of the memory ). "- Or I could throw you off the deep end." The nursery rhyme blends into moonlight sonata and then into some improvisation. He never passes up an opportunity to show off, wrapping up his mini performance with a glissando. "Up to you."
