♔ Long Live the Car Crash Hearts ♔ [PART ONE]
Title: Long Live the Car Crash Hearts
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Baeksoo, side!Xiuhun
Genre: Angst, Band!AU
Summary:Baekhyun looks back and wonders just where everything went wrong. Or alternatively, Kyungsoo sings the words Baekhyun only dreams of speaking aloud.
A/N: Written for exoquartus
TRACK ONE: The Bird and the Worm - The Used
There’s a road to fame, and everyone gets blinded by the headlights, eventually. Baekhyun’s mind is full of pretty analogies; bright lights and oncoming traffic, anticipation before impact. They’re just words at this point, lacking melody and syncopation, for all songs are just poems until they’re given a tune.
Baekhyun is disappointingly mediocre when it comes to writing music, the notes he strums on his bass guitar the careful creation of Kyungsoo and Chanyeol’s hivemind. He’s the lyricist, baring his soul to the world through self-deprecation and sarcasm, his clever wit and way with language hailing praise from critics and fans alike.
His previous work is nothing compared to the songs he writes now, each one a lyrical masterpiece; Baekhyun tells short stories to a 4/4 time signature. He spends his days with a pen in one hand, joint in the other, crafting words for an album he'll never make, for a band that will never play again.
They call it a Hiatus, but everyone in the industry knows a prolonged break is a polite way of saying that the creative spark has fizzled out, that patience has worn thin and they’re sick of being at each other’s throats.
Jongdae has his record label to focus on, scouring local shows for fresh talent. Chanyeol is dealing with a very public breakup; his ex-girlfriend taking to social media with scorn and contempt as she drags his name through the mud. Kyungsoo’s solo album is set for release, and Baekhyun has no idea what it’s going to be like. His lyrics have never made the final cut where the group is concerned, composition only hailed when Chanyeol is in the wings to make suggestions and fix mistakes. Baekhyun himself has faded away into obscurity, radio silence from his end meaning friends and fans have forgotten him quicker than he could have ever imagined.
It’s the end of an era, a group of has-been flames extinguished under the limelight. Baekhyun continues to write songs that people will never hear because it’s all he knows how to do.
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TRACK TWO: This Could be Anywhere in the World - Alexisonfire
The official origin story starts a few chapters in, limelight skipping over Baekhyun’s struggles, leaving his troubled past shrouded in the darkness where it belongs.
Four childhood friends who made a band, then made it big is a blanket statement that skips the ever important early days of the group-- lies built on foundations of sand, an easy way to forget their rotting roots.
Officially, their story begins with the addition of frontman Do Kyungsoo. In reality, Baekhyun’s dreams of fame and fortune start in a shitty apartment in the bad part of town, on a mouldy mattress he shares with Chanyeol.
Plagued by big dreams and bigger debt, their meager earnings are spent on amps, strings and effects pedals, microphones and guitars.
Even Chanyeol, who is lucky enough to own a complete set up for his drum kit, still eyes custom steel toms and snares with longing eyes-- as the sole person who takes inspiration from Metallica’s St. Anger album, he aches to mix a more industrial sound with the post-hardcore genre favoured by their local scene.
Baekhyun sings unclean vocals for a metalcore band whose talents are mediocre at best, unpolished at worst; the majority of their fan base stemming from Baekhyun’s looks rather than musical ability. In hindsight, Baekhyun’s former band made noise for the sake of noise, disjointed rhythm and an absence of melody, an unsuccessful attempt to musically recreate the festering of teenage angst.
Chanyeol poaches him from the group once Baekhyun’s vocals begin to deteriorate. After ignoring the signs and symptoms for all too long, his habit of not warming up before shows and lack of vocal training causes irreparable damage to his vocal chords. Too broke to afford proper medical attention, Baekhyun resigns himself to a lifetime of singing backup.
“Let's shake things up,” With this phrase alone, Chanyeol begins to turn the wheels in motion, beginning a musical revolution that changes the world. Only he doesn't know it, sat on his old, mouldy mattress, fiddling with a pair of drumsticks so chipped that one solid hit will shatter them, “Why don't we do something different, something that hasn't been done before?”
Every musician speaks of similar dreams, to start their own subgenre, to inspire and dominate and find eternal fame as the frontrunner to a musical revolution. But the resolve in Chanyeol’s eyes as he holds up Green Day’s Dookie in one hand and Avenged Sevenfold’s City of Evil in the other instills a small shred of hope in Baekhyun; if anyone can change the world, it's Chanyeol. For a brief moment, he's honoured that Chanyeol wants to take him along for the ride.
“Imagine a fusion between metal and punk,” Chanyeol says excitedly, colliding the plastic CD cases with a clicking noise that reverberates through the apartment. Even though he's away from his kit, Chanyeol still manages to create a solid beat; something he'd tap away onto his snare with a bob of his head, “But like, a little softer. Maybe some synth in there too.”
“Metal-punk-pop,” Baekhyun says in disbelief, shaking his head. It’s a crazy idea, but somehow he thinks that if anyone can make it work, it's Chanyeol, “What a combo.”
“But, like, think about it,” Chanyeol all but throws the CD cases away, lunging at Baekhyun and fisting the front of his shirt with contagious enthusiasm, “Technical but upbeat, heavy enough for the underground but catchy enough to break mainstream.”
“We need a tenor.” Thoughts and plans rush through Baekhyun’s head, books of lyrics he couldn’t use for previous bands; his best work left collecting dust on a shelf. “I’ve got some stuff written that might work, but it’s a higher range.”
“I’ve already got Jongdae in on guitar,” Chanyeol says. Baekhyun raises an eyebrow in mirth. Kim Jongdae plays lead guitar for a reasonably popular thrash metal band and is widely named the best guitarist in the scene. He’s thrash to the core, from his appalling fashion sense and greasy hair to his obsession with everything to do with the 1980’s. “Maybe he knows someone?”
“Hasn’t he got a set of pipes on him?” He plays with the tear in his jeans thoughtfully, rolling torn denim between his fingertips. If Chanyeol’s dream catches on, maybe he’ll be able to afford clothes torn as a fashion statement, rather than cheap clothes he can’t afford to replace.
“He wants to focus on playing,” Chanyeol wiggles his fingers in a poorly executed air guitar, attempting to replicate the speed in which Jongdae’s fingers fly across the fretboard. “But maybe he knows someone?”
“None of Jongdae’s friends have the kind of voice I’m looking for.” Baekhyun frowns. His lyrics will suit a smooth voice, powerful and captivating. Trained but still a little rough around the edges, an unattainable dream voice.
But Baekhyun is fueled by unattainable dreams, idealistic expectations further encouraged by Chanyeol’s almost child-like optimism. Even Jongdae has unwavering faith in their as-yet unnamed project; Baekhyun soon realises there’s more to the guitarist than his cargo shorts and facial tattoos suggest. He’s an absolute breath of fresh air, quavers and time signatures run through his veins like blood; a man so unbelievably dedicated to music that Baekhyun often sits in awe of his passion.
They almost give up hope on finding a vocalist; Baekhyun and Jongdae are too critical, and Chanyeol isn’t willing to trust just anyone with his dream. But fate is a mysterious thing, and their brush with destiny is awfully lacklustre; half drunk and defeated, Baekhyun trips over Jongdae’s feet as the familiar tune of Green Day’s Why Do You Want Him? rings out into the night air.
A kid sits on the sidewalk a little further down the road, the guitar in his hand covered in stickers bearing the logos of bands and skate brands, so much so that the original polished wood of the instrument is only visible towards the join of the neck. If wasn’t such an inconvenience, Baekhyun assumes the kid would have sticker bombed along the frets, too.
“It’s rare for people to know Green Day’s old stuff,” It’s Chanyeol who speaks, his usual friendly demeanor amplified by the beer he’s drunk. The kid looks at him with a raised eyebrow. He’s too good for this part of town, Baekhyun can tell. His jeans are artfully ripped, his button up neat and pressed. The bomber jacket around his slim shoulders bears a brand Baekhyun could only dream of affording. A middle class kid trying to be edgy by spending his time in the bad part of the city, before going home to his nice house in the suburbs. “Most people only know Time of Your Life.”
“It’s a good song, but I feel the rest of the Nimrod album is overshadowed by it,” The kid says with a drawl, voice deeper than his face suggests, the row of spiked piercings along his bottom lip glinting under the street light, “You can’t beat Dookie, though.”
Chanyeol nudges Baekhyun in the side. He too shares an affinity for Green Day’s Dookie album.
“You sing?” Baekhyun asks, trying to look disinterested. Chanyeol and Jongdae both look at him curiously, his intentions transparent.
“Yeah.” The kid says nothing more, positioning his fingers along the frets of his guitar. A familiar bassline echoes from the instrument, and Baekhyun is already quietly impressed that he’s playing the notes and melodies on an acoustic guitar.
She is Baekhyun’s favourite Green Day song, an ode to an unlovable, troubled girl sung with Billie Joe’s lingering teenage angst and husky tones.
The kid sounds nothing like Billie Joe, he’s too soulful and trained against the frontman’s raw, neo-punk dulcet. But his smooth timbre washes over Baekhyun in waves, Chanyeol taps the rhythm of the track’s drums against his thigh and Jongdae stands with his eyes closed in full appreciation of the music.
“We’re starting a band,” Chanyeol interrupts his playing halfway through the second verse, cutting through the lyrics with his booming voice, “Wanna sing for us?”
“Sure.” He shrugs, as if their little venture was just something fun to ease the boredom of being a nineteen-year-old with no future ahead of him, and not something potentially life changing.
He joins the band after a thirty-second audition, cementing their lineup and throwing the rest of the group into a giddy fit of excitement.
It’s not until two weeks later, at their first official practice, that they finally learn his name.
Kyungsoo.
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TRACK THREE: What a Catch Donnie - Fall Out Boy
Walking down memory lane is a dangerous endeavour, filled with potholes and obstacles and recollections from the past that only serve to reopen former wounds. Baekhyun jots notes onto coffee stained note paper; headlights and trucks, potholes and twisting roads.
His lyrics are words from a scorned lover, a lifetime of bad relationships and one night stands the necessary fuel for chart-topping hits. Baekhyun’s obsession with his art once caused him to purposely seek toxic and emotionally damaging relationships-- dating girls he’d tempted away from their boyfriends, junkies who stole his belongings in order to fund their next fix, groupies who would carve his name into their arm after the second time they fucked.
The most prominent theme to his lyrics is the fact that he’s a pathological liar, pretending that former relationships meant more to him than the inspiration for a song. It’s one of the many things he’s done that formed the beginnings of fissures and cracks within the group, self-destructive and unpredictable behavior a cause of constant stress to the other members, their manager, their label. It was only a matter of time until it all came crashing down.
For all intents and purposes, Baekhyun is an awful human being, but he’s stuck in a spiral of self-loathing and ego that he just can’t find the heart to end.
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TRACK FOUR: All I Want - A Day To Remember
Their first show is a sellout. Jongdae, Chanyeol and Baekhyun are relatively big names within the local scene, so their promises of a new sound with fresh talent has been met with incredible curiosity. No EP, nothing formally recorded and a band name chosen on a whim, they take to the stage.
“I see some fans of the guys former bands out there.” Kyungsoo addressed the crowd, it’s small, all things considering, but for a new group, playing for a group of two hundred for their debut show is a pretty big deal. “You’re gonna hate us.”
The crowd laugh, immediately smitten with the newcomer and his baby face. “Anyway, we’re Alvin Kersh.”
They named their band randomly, during a band meeting at Kyungsoo’s house that turned into an X-Files marathon halfway through. It turns out that Kyungsoo is as lower class as the rest of them, mattress as mouldy as Baekhyun and Chanyeol’s, the branded clothing on his back resulting from light fingers and borderline kleptomaniac tendencies.
Kyungsoo is captivating on stage, his dark hair glowing red under the lights, the microphone in his hand triggering a transformation from apathetic teenager to charismatic front man. He’s ethereal, and Baekhyun can’t will himself to look away throughout the entire show, fingers running on muscle memory alone.
As the screams for an encore fill the small venue, Jongdae and Chanyeol pull each other into an embrace; overjoyed, in disbelief. Encore calls for a local band are uncommon, usually reserved for headliners as an act of politeness. Alvin Kersh is a new group, with no EP, no merch no solid fanbase. Alvin Kersh is a local band who receives an encore call at their first show.
“This is it!” Chanyeol yells over the roar of the crowd, jumping up and down excitedly, almost tripping on a power cord as the rest of them re-strap their guitars across their shoulders, “We’re gonna be big, I know it!”
Baekhyun’s head is void of his dreams and filled with thoughts of Kyungsoo; everything he’s ever dreamed of seems within reach, but all he notices is the way the veins in Kyungsoo’s throat bulge as he sings.
This is the first warning sign.
Baekhyun ignores it.
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TRACK FIVE: Platypus (I Hate You) - Green Day
Platinum frames line the flatteringly taupe coloured walls, the sharp edges and cool tones make the display seem clinical and unfriendly. As each Alvin Kersh album reaches a new milestone of sales, Baekhyun displays the plaque on his living room wall, a testament to his skill as a musician, the fruits of years of hard labour coming to fruition.
They mean nothing to him now, at least, when he was younger he was happy; although broke and seemingly without a future, he still found reasons to smile. Fame turned his soul to ash, he exhales the remnants with every breath he takes. Some days he wakes up, hoping to God everything was all a dream, wishing for the damp smell of decay and sweat to fill his lungs, the sound of Chanyeol snoring on the mattress next to him serving as an unwanted alarm clock.
He was supposed to change the world, and he has, Baekhyun supposes. They did it, all of them, setting out to create a new subgenre and succeeding; new generations of musicians replicating their sound, hailing them as an influence.
The birth of a subgenre results in the death of musicians, and Alvin Kersh are the first casualties; hollow husks of men bearing the brunt of expectation and responsibility. Jongdae turned to prescription medication, Chanyeol to sex. Baekhyun covered himself in tattoos, the pain of the needle his own brand of self-harm, drowning his bottles in an ocean of hard liquor. And Kyungsoo, who seemingly holds no vices, just turned in on himself, becoming a social recluse-- quiet, antisocial, a ghost who only exists to sing.
They hate each other.
Years of tension explode in the worst of ways, their own stubbornness sparks to the flame of conflict, the permanent hiatus a messy combination of unresolved issues and clashing personalities. Baekhyun has a book full of songs dedicated to his bandmates, vulgar, messy and far from eloquent. They’re the kind of song Jongdae would love to write music for, his thrash roots the perfect foundation for a grittier sound; but they lay forgotten on a shelf with Baekhyun’s other songbooks, lyrics penned in dedication to a band that will never play them.
Resolving issues won’t help at all, for good music is rarely made by happy people. Baekhyun keeps his unopened bottles of antidepressants hidden in his sock drawer, a reminder of what he’s become and a perfect analogy for how he deals with his problems. Hiding away from the world, he tries to forget his problems, his bandmates even exist.
Because Baekhyun pens songs with ink dipped in misery.
Happiness has never been his thing, anyway.
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TRACK SIX: Story of a Lonely Guy - Blink 182
The decision is made to rent an apartment together in a slightly nicer part of town. It’s still no mansion, but at least they get their own beds with new mattresses that, while still cheap and uncomfortable, aren’t tinted green and detrimental to everyone’s health.
Alvin Kersh find themselves signed to a record label-- a good one at that, one that's catapulted numerous bands into the limelight-- with a manager to boot.
Everything about Luhan is deceptive; he hides his silver tongue behind kind smiles, the tattoo on his chest has enough gore and mutilated corpses to moonlight as Cannibal Corpse album cover, yet it rarely sees the light of day. Pretty boy Luhan isn't rock and roll, he's brutally metal, and his presence and guidance is nothing but a positive influence.
“You’re good, but you need a thing,” Luhan says, tapping a rhythm onto their thrifted table with his pointer fingers, “Like, a gimmick.”
Jongdae scrunches his nose distastefully. Ever the musical purist, he thinks music should be about music, with cheap videos and simple stages. The idea that this new sound they've created calls for more flashy dramatics hasn't quite sunk in.
“I've heard about this new thing that's gaining popularity,” Chanyeol speaks quietly for the first time in his life, he sinks into the cushions of their old, lumpy couch, shielding himself with a cushion. Whatever he's come up with is probably an awful idea, and Baekhyun suspects he fears violent retribution from one, or all of them. “Girls are probably gonna be our major fanbase, yeah?”
“I don't like where this is going.” Jongdae trails off. Both Baekhyun and Luhan shush him, motioning for Chanyeol to continue.
“And uh-- they tend to like it when bands are a little…” He hides his head behind the cushion, “Gay?”
“No.” Jongdae protests immediately, “There's no way I'm doing that.”
“It doesn't have to be all of us!” Chanyeol.comically scrambles to explain himself, eyes wide and hands flailing, “And we don't have to fuck onstage or whatever… just touch each other a bit?”
“If you're gonna queerbait, you've got to go all out.” Luhan seems awfully accepting of the idea awfully quickly, as if he's already decided to put Chanyeol’s plan into motion, “Who wants to kiss who?”
“I trusted you,” Jongdae whispers to Chanyeol, throwing his own cushion at the drummer and missing spectacularly, “When you said you had a new idea for a band, I didn't know making out with dudes was part of the fine print.”
“As we are all aware,” Baekhyun decides to cut Jongdae off before he begins to ramble, “I am more than okay with making out with dudes.”
“I was not aware of that.” Luhan says with an affronted glare.
‘Nor was I.” Kyungsoo, still new within the group and lacking Luhan’s skills as a social chameleon, he mainly sits quietly in group discussions, preferring one on one conversations than the all out commotion they call a band meeting. He speaks quietly, and rarely without being spoken to first.
Baekhyun is quite surprised, his bisexuality is no secret in their local scene, his outburst at a show with his former band causing a commotion as homophobes tried to boo him off the stage. With his middle finger pointed directly at the crowd, Baekhyun had screamed insults back at the small group of angry men, watching as his more fanatical followers caused an all out brawl.
Baekhyun has never seen more blood in his life, and no one has commented negatively on his sexuality, since.
“While none of you are up to my usual standards,” He continues. Jongdae seems to be both offended and relieved by Baekhyun’s admission. He tries to gauge Kyungsoo’s reaction, but the vocalist’s face reveals nothing; for some reason, his acceptance means a lot to Baekhyun, for reasons he can't, or won't attempt to fathom. “But I'm willing to take one for the team.”
“Good!” Luhan clasps his hands together in a manner reminiscent of Mr. Burns of The Simpsons fame, evil plans brewing underneath his artfully arranged bed head. “If you're out, it'll just make it seem real.”
“It's gotta be Kyungsoo or Jongdae,” Chanyeol says sheepishly, ignoring the guitarist’s outraged cries, “I can barely breathe and play at the same time. There's no way I can do it.”
“You fucker!” Jongdae cries, “Suggesting the idea and then bailing on it.”
“I'll do it.” Kyungsoo says, voice louder than usual. He wears the same bored expression Baekhyun saw on his face that day on the sidewalk. His heart beats loudly in his chest, palpitations almost painful, another warning sign for Baekhyun to ignore. “We can do it during our new song. You know that bit where there's a breakdown before Jongdae’s solo?”
“That’s perfect.” Luhan replies, “Like, it’s like you guys wrote the song with this exact scenario in mind.”
“I wrote the breakdown so that Kyungsoo could tell the crowd to kill each other during ‘Dae’s solo.” Chanyeol shrugs, “But this works too.”
Baekhyun meets Kyungsoo’s eyes, they’re unreadable, as always. His gaze flickers towards the vocalist’s lips, pretty and pink, spiked piercings lining the full lower lip. He wonders if they’ll hurt, digging into the skin as they kiss.
He hates how much he wants to find out.
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TRACK SEVEN: Reverse This Curse - Escape The Fate
Baekhyun starts to write songs for nameless faces, but they all end up about Kyungsoo anyway. Somewhere along the line, Baekhyun decided to give up all pretenses and dedicate every word to the man who sings them all.
Self-depreciating love songs, stories of a man too broken to be loved. Witty quips and thinly veiled pessimism, Baekhyun lies through his teeth when he claims not to know who his songs are about. Some are more obvious than others, Kyungsoo’s eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he reads over the lyrics Baekhyun hands him; surely he can read between the lines, catch sight of notes hastily scribbled out in the margins of lined paper.
A book full of songs for Kyungsoo lies between the others on his shelf, gathering dust with the rest of Baekhyun’s unheard lyrics. It’s older than the rest of them, bought the day after their first show, pages filling gradually over the years as Baekhyun’s feelings grow. These songs are raw, unashamedly passionate, words he can never speak aloud.
Kyungsoo stole Baekhyun’s heart when they were only teenagers, taking it between his fingers and crushing it, leaving Baekhyun a broken mess, unable to love or be loved in return.
Because after everything that’s happened, the pain of Kyungsoo’s piercings digging into his skin hurts far less than not being able to kiss him at all.
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TRACK EIGHT: Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off- Panic! At The Discoe
Kyungsoo sings Baekhyun’s lyrics like he's the one who lived them; spits tales of lying and debauchery, of finding love for a night as he gyrates slim hips again the shocking red of his guitar.
They're picking up in popularity, selling out decent sized venues, their debut EP charting low, but charting none the less. It’s almost terrifying the way their influence spreads; Baekhyun signs autographs in convenience stores at three o'clock in the morning, approached shyly by girls wearing his band’s name across their shirts.
He doesn't fuck all of them, but he fucks enough-- sucking hickies into their skin and leaving without a trace before the sun rises.
Sometimes he writes about them, his nameless muses fueling a lifetime of albums. Baekhyun’s lyric book is his version of notches in bedposts.
But sex with groupies can never compare to the way Kyungsoo kisses. Baekhyun’s fingers dance over the familiar chords, his body eager and ready. Kyungsoo kisses like he wants to devour, wreck and dominate, licking into Baekhyun’s mouth hot and filthy. The girls scream, almost to the point where their music is drowned out by the sound.
It fades into the background, Baekhyun’s focus lies in the way Kyungsoo sucks on his tongue, the push of spiked metal piercings into his bottom lip, the breathy groans he breathes into Kyungsoo’s eager mouth.
Kissing Kyungsoo is thirty seconds of heaven that condemns him to a lifetime of hell, the slick pressing of lips that has the muse for ten thousand songs running through Baekhyun’s head.
Their lives are almost stereotypically rock and roll, Baekhyun sleeps on sweat stained pillows in rundown motels, a welcome luxury for his perpetual hangover. On the road it's beer for breakfast, lunch and dinner; it's hard to tell where one days drunkenness ends and the next days begins--- but even the most severe headache is dulled by the feeling of a dream reaching actualization.
As their fame grows, so does their demand. A national tour playing in decent sized venues, a few international shows to test the waters. It’s not the sold out, worldwide stadium tour they've dreamed of, but it's a stepping stone on their journey to success.
“Dibs.” Baekhyun points the neck of his beer bottle towards a pretty girl wearing the most recent design of their band shirts. Keeping with the X-Files theme, it's a UFO with their band logo caught in its tractor beam. Baekhyun is quite fond of the design, but his ego isn't yet big enough to wear one himself.
Kyungsoo and Chanyeol grunt in acknowledgement, choosing instead to keep in conversation with Minseok, their drum tech. Yet another piece of stolen talent, Minseok played drums for Jongdae’s old thrash band, before deciding to work with them behind the scenes as his former group collapsed.
As much as Baekhyun enjoys his company, he's much more interested in finding out what tall, blonde and perky’s black fingernails feel like as they rake across his shoulder blades.
Groupies are easy enough to seduce; they're hand picked by the security guards, pretty girls they find in the crowd who are extended personal invitations to the after party. There's a high chance that they'll have the opportunity to sleep with one of the band members, or at the very least, one of the techies, so most (if not all) of them down right jump at the chance for free alcohol and a free pass into their pants.
Baekhyun has her panting into his mouth within minutes, pushed up against the wall in a discreet corner of the bar. She's so eager, wet and dripping against his exploring fingers, unphased by their audience as Baekhyun pushes one, two fingers into her, smirking into the skin of her neck as he makes her tremble.
“I’m gonna go grab a condom from my friend,” She says, licking into his mouth and clenching around his fingers between words. “You wait right here.”
Her skirt is still bunched up as she walks away, and Baekhyun tilts his head to try and get a proper look. There's no way he'll take her back to the hotel, not when there's locked stalls in the men's bathroom that will do just nicely.
Jongdae has evidently made use of the facilities, Baekhyun notices, as his bandmate swaggers from the bathroom, smug I just fucked a groupie look clear on his face, with a pretty brunette following afterwards, still licking at her lips.
The groupie disappears and Baekhyun loses interest, there are plenty of girls in the bar who would give anything to wrap their pretty lips around his cock, and who is he to deny them? Another girl, just as tall, blonde and perky as her predecessor follows Baekhyun to the bathroom with a drunken stumble, manicured fingers fumbling with his belt before the door even swings closed.
Judging by the high pitched whines, one of his bandmates has a similar idea. It’s Kyungsoo, no doubt about it, they've lived together long enough that Baekhyun can recognize the sounds he makes while getting off, having walked in on all of his bandmates during sex at least once.
Baekhyun ignores the stab of jealousy in his chest, pretends that the reason he decides to fuck tall, blonde and perky 2.0 over the sink rather than in a stall is because he’s too horny to wait, not because he wants to see Kyungsoo’s reaction.
The stall door swings open, and Baekhyun snaps his hips harder, intent to put on a show, licking his lips as he catches the reflection of Kyungsoo stuffing his softening cock back into his pants.
Baekhyun’s having sex with someone else, but his mind is on Kyungsoo; mind filled with images of his bandmate bending him over the sink, the feeling of Kyungsoo’s piercings digging into his neck, what that slick, hot mouth would feel like around his cock.
Kyungsoo doesn't leave.
Not even as the first tall, blonde and perky girl slinks from the stall and back out into the party, Kyungsoo leans against the dirty, graffiti’d wall of the men's bathroom and watches Baekhyun as he fucks his second choice groupie.
The girl doesn't even notice his presence, eyes shut and hands gripping tight around porcelain, blissed out as Baekhyun fucks her harder under Kyungsoo’s scrutinizing gaze.
Baekhyun comes into the condom, eyes fluttering closed at the intensity of his orgasm, the image of Kyungsoo; pants still unzipped, and hair mussed, pierced lip drawn between teeth burns itself underneath his eyelids.
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TRACK NINE: Your Nickle Aint Worth My Dime - Sleeping With Sirens
The rules of dibs stop applying once meaningless sex only gives way to emptiness. Filling the void with beer, the four of them begin to compete over women, trying to steal nightly conquests out from under each other’s noses. It’s far more satisfying, the chase a little harder, the satisfaction of winning their pathetic little game much greater than empty orgasams.
For some reason, Kyungsoo only ever chases the girls Baekhyun picks for the night, luring them away with words of sugar coated filth, finding a secluded corner or empty stall to take the prize from Baekhyun.
Each and every time, Baekhyun follows. He stands, propped against the dirty bathroom wall, arms folded across his chest as he watches. Sometimes, the girls ask him to join in, requests for Kyungsoo to kiss Baekhyun the way they do on stage.
“Sorry,” Kyungsoo says, barely acknowledging Baekhyun, “But that’s just for show.”
It stings. So much so that Baekhyun gives up on girls all together, adding a bottle of lube to the stash of condoms in his pocket and setting his sights on any boy at their afterparty who looks mildly interested.
Soon, Baekhyun is the one being bent over porcelain sinks and in bathroom stalls by nameless men who make him feel used and dirty, but fill the void in his heart for those few precious moments.
It’s a short lived victory. Baekhyun watches as Kyungsoo sinks to his knees; it’s strange, he never knew the singer held any sort of interest in men, but the cock in his mouth slides into his throat without resistance, and Baekhyun can tell that it’s not the first time those pretty, pierced lips have been on the giving end of a blowjob. His technique seems exquisite, and Baekhyun aches, hard in his pants, willing to give anything for the opportunity to experience the wet heat of Kyungsoo’s mouth.
On the surface, it seems like they don’t get along, two rivals in constant battle, always attempting to undermine and outperform the other. Alcohol fuels their competitive nature, their inhibitions dropped as they play mind games with innocent hearts.
But at the end of it all, Kyungsoo goes home with him. Baekhyun relishes in the small victories, stolen moments just before dawn where they curl into each other's sides, talking about anything and everything.
“My mother was very religious, she hated tattoos.” Kyungsoo’s finger runs along the anchor on Baekhyun’s forearm, still fresh and itching, the gentle touch soothes the ache in his skin but ignites the ache in his heart, “So we compromised.”
It’s rare for Kyungsoo to give rather than take, personal information is precious and heavily guarded, Baekhyun relishes in the rare moment where Kyungsoo’s walls drop, bathed in the light of early dawn.
Saint Cecilia, the patron saint of music is inked onto the singer’s throat. Saint Christopher, the patron saint of travel, along his left shoulder blade. All Kyungsoo’s tattoos are religious in nature, handpicked by his late mother, signs and symbols and people to guard Kyungsoo as he makes his way through life.
His sole act of rebellion is the Leviticus 19:28 written in pretty cursive along his lower back.
“It's the verse forbidding tattoos.” Kyungsoo explains with a laugh. His genuine smile is stunning, rarer than even the most precious of gems, and Baekhyun clenches his fist to curb the urge to kiss it. They're not on stage, and the moment is far too serious, intimate.
But Baekhyun longs none the less, pressing his lips against the ink of Kyungsoo’s throat with crumbling resolve. Baekhyun wants to kiss Kyungsoo whenever he wants, show his adoration in moments when they're not hidden away like this, watching the sunrise through cracks in hotel room curtains.
Baekhyun has a head full of unfinished love songs he wants to whisper in Kyungsoo’s ear, a lullaby to ease his often restless sleep.
Kyungsoo has stopped stealing from stores but steals hearts instead, and Baekhyun loves him like he will love no other.
But there's no place for love in a life like theirs, careers built on agony and misery, and falling for Kyungsoo will be his downfall.
------
TRACK TEN: Psychosocial - Slipknot
“Hey.” Luhan sounds tired, and he probably is. The low-quality speakers only amplify the exhaustion evident in the manager's tone. Years of looking after Alvin Kersh and later, producing albums for Jongdae's record label, have aged him drastically; premature grey hairs hidden by a bottle of blonde hair dye.
“What did I do this time?” Luhan is one of only two people that contacts him on the regular, claiming concern. His phone calls usually stem from complaints-- mostly Jongdae’s-- and the manager has to deal with him because no one else wants to.
“You know what you did.” Baekhyun’s done a lot of things to a lot of people, some he’s proud of and others he's not. Luhan is being vague on purpose, trying to lay bait that Baekhyun refuses to take.
“I don't know why I'm always the villain,” He sighs into the receiver, pinching his forehead in annoyance. “Why doesn't someone apologise to me, for once?”
There's no innocent party in their conflict, and some words sting more than others. Friends, the people closest to you know how to hit where it hurts, and Baekhyun still bears the scars from the knives lodged in his back.
“I'm babysitting a group of immature man-children,” It’s obvious that Baekhyun’s struck a nerve, for Luhan’s anger is as rare as Kyungsoo's smile. “Fuck this. You deal with your issues yourselves.”
“We tried that,” Baekhyun points out with a lazy drawl, echoes of past arguments still ringing in his ears, “Didn’t work out so well.”
“I quit.” Luhan replies, his stern tone something so unfamiliar to Baekhyun, that it takes a moment for him to register the manager’s words, “I’m out. Find a new manager.”
Baekhyun wants to point out that they're on an almost permanent hiatus, and that there's no band to manage, not anymore.
His phone beeps, Luhan hanging up before Baekhyun can offer any kind of rebuttal. Setting the device on his kitchen counter, Baekhyun occupies his hands with a bottle of Jack instead.
------
TRACK ELEVEN: Loki - Pull Tiger Tail
“I can hear the critics now,” Chanyeol says, waving his hand through the air; the universal sign of a headline. “Alvin Kersh’s third album brings a return to their heavier roots, offering a more mature sound to match the more mature lyrics.”
“Chanyeol, no.” Baekhyun groans. He knows exactly where his friend is going with this, and he throws a pile of lyric sheets at him in preemptive retaliation. They flutter to the ground uselessly, missing their mark.
“Lyricist and bass guitarist, Byun Baekhyun has shifted away from writing songs about fucking groupies, choosing instead to write whiny love songs for the group's lead singer.” Chanyeol laughs so hard the guitar in his lap almost slips and falls to the floor. He saves it last minute, mirth still evident on his features.
“They’re not love songs for Kyungsoo, they're just love songs in general.” Baekhyun huffs, collecting the fallen sheets from the floor, “There's nothing in here about Kyungsoo at all.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Chanyeol is obnoxious at best, he strums a chord on his acoustic with a grin, still giddy from schadenfreude. “Honestly, I thought they'd be a little more emo. Especially considering the whole girlfriend thing.”
They've never met Kyungsoo’s girlfriend, who, from Luhan’s reports, is as pretty and as small as he is. They look good together, apparently, the picture perfect couple in love. Kyungsoo has asked Baekhyun to keep his distance from both of them; his new girl doesn't like the way Baekhyun and Kyungsoo kiss on stage, so they stop. He doesn't like the way they used to steal each other's one night stands, begging Baekhyun to let him have happiness, just this once.
Jongdae and Chanyeol hold confidence in Baekhyun that he doesn't deserve. If given the opportunity, he'd steal Kyungsoo’s girlfriend in the blink of an eye, his misplaced sense of possession and jealousy aches to ruin their relationship.
If Baekhyun can't have Kyungsoo, then no one can.
“I wrote them before they started---” Baekhyun cuts his sentence short, but he's given himself away, but his secret should be safe with Chanyeol. They've been friends for longer than either of them can remember, an iron strong loyalty that will never die.
Sometimes it feels like Chanyeol knows Baekhyun better than he knows himself.
“Hey,” Chanyeol’s hands are a comforting weight on his shoulders, the large palms dwarfing his form, Baekhyun feels almost safe, protected, “If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here.”
“Talk about what?” Baekhyun replies, stubborn to the end, he won’t admit to his feelings aloud, not again.
“The fact that Kyungsoo’s dating someone who’s not you?” Chanyeol says, squeezing his hands around the bones in Baekhyun’s shoulders, “Or the fact that unrequited love sucks?”
It doesn’t just suck; unrequited love is an exquisite form of agony. Baekhyun rips the feelings from his chest and presses it into lined paper, penning words that turn his anguish into art. It’s his best work yet, and the music Chanyeol writes for the piece accompany it perfectly. Neither Jongdae nor Kyungsoo are allowed input on the track; the meaning, the story, the song as a whole is one big secret between Baekhyun and Chanyeol alone.
It’s odd, how people can find happiness from the torment of others.
The song is their biggest break, with copies of their album flying from the shelves, their songs finding airtime on commercial radio stations and new hordes of fans that come in droves.
They’ve made it, soaring to new heights on the wings of Baekhyun’s suffering.
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TRACK TWELVE: Ex’s and Oh’s - Atreyu
Jack Daniels is the closest thing Baekhyun has to a friend at this point, the clink of the bottle as it hits the rim of his glass the only noise in an empty apartment.
Once, the walls of his home were filled with noise and excitement; Chanyeol and Jongdae holding impromptu jam sessions on Baekhyun’s expensive couches. Luhan lamenting over the cute session pianist who works for their label. Kyungsoo, who arrives in the early hours of the morning, climbing into bed with Baekhyun and caressing the increasing amount of tattoos etched into Baekhyun’s skin.
His house is empty, now, and the silence is deafening. Years of performing in front of speakers has deteriorated Baekhyun’s hearing, the extent of the damage rivalling that of his throat. His version of silence is a never ending, maddening ringing in his ears, further exacerbated by the lack of potential distraction.
The bottle of Jack hits the side of his glass with a loud ping, the loud frequency irritating his tinnitus and causing Baekhyun to flinch, spilling the liquor across the benchtop.
With a sigh, Baekhyun makes the decision to forgo the glass entirely, taking gulps of liquor straight from the bottle.
-------
TRACK THIRTEEN: Dirty Little Secret - The All-American Rejects
The first royalty cheque Baekhyun receives goes straight towards the downpayment on his first house, a moderately sized apartment in the good part of town, the kind of place he used to dream about living in when he was younger.
He has no idea what the others do with their money, and quite frankly he doesn’t care. Their communication slows as their popularity booms, too enraptured by their new, famous friends to care about the people from their past. Chanyeol, especially, glows under the limelight. Apparently he plays the drums with enough charisma to warrant the interest of Park Sooyoung, a pretty young pop star with a glittering smile and an affinity for pastels.
Publicly, she announces her interest in the drummer, and Chanyeol is apparently smitten; changing his phone wallpaper from a selfie of the band --a rare photo showcasing Kyungsoo’s stunning smile-- to one of her recent vogue spreads. The Chanyeol that Baekhyun once knew would never have considered a bubblegum pop princess for a potential partner, the exposure to the popular music industry skewing his views.
Chanyeol fucks Sooyoung over the sink of the men’s bathroom like a groupie, Baekhyun only knows because he walks in on them; the media calls Chanyeol a bad boy with a heart of gold and poor Sooyoung falls into his trap. Baekhyun expects him to chew her up and spit her out, leaving the girl cold and lonely as he slips out of her bed and out into the night. He never expects, not in a million years, for Park Chanyeol to actually go steady with a pastel princess, who doesn’t even have her ears pierced, because she finds piercings to be too vulgar.
Baekhyun never expects to sleep with Kyungsoo’s girlfriend, either, but that’s just the way things go when you live life in the fast lane; everything escalates at such incredible speeds that Baekhyun can hardly keep up (though, he’s not sure if it’s fame or the handful of MDMA/Speed combo pills that he swallows with a shot of Tequila that makes the world spin on its axis.)
He honestly doesn’t mean to, but suddenly there’s a girl on his lap, sucking on his tongue. He should stop when she starts to whisper in his ear, telling him she’s been asking Kyungsoo for a threesome for months, that Kyungsoo doesn’t want to share her with Baekhyun. He should shift his finger from where it drags along her slick folds, but he doesn’t; he pushes one, two digits inside her, swallowing her groans.
He really shouldn’t push her up against the flimsy wall of the bathroom stall, but he does anyway. She tells him that he was her first choice, not Kyungsoo, and something swells inside Baekhyun’s chest; he's finally won, he's taken something precious from Kyungsoo, the perfect revenge for stealing his heart.
Guilt hits hard in the afterglow, he watches her slink back to Kyungsoo’s side, pressing a kiss to his mouth like Baekhyun’s cock wasn't there not minutes prior.
“I saw that,” Chanyeol seemingly materializes from the darkness, eyes heavy and judgmental as Baekhyun finishes zipping his jeans-- they're torn, for fashion this time, and not from overwear. Just like he's always dreamed. “That's pretty fucking low.”
“I could say the same about you.” There's a hickey on Chanyeol’s neck that wasn't there before, his girlfriend on tour and not able to attend whatever party they're at. All the events mix together into one big blur, but Baekhyun knows Sooyoung is in Tokyo, her instagram feed filled with ramen stands and selfies outside of Tokyo Tower.
“It's not the same,” Chanyeol says, rubbing at the offending mark like the friction will remove it from his skin, “I didn't cheat on someone I care about.”
Baekhyun doesn't know who Chanyeol is anymore, the boy he remembers snoring away on a mouldy mattress would never speak like this, never play with people's emotions so nonchalantly.
“I don't care about her.” Baekhyun sneers, his disgust evident in his voice. He's not sure if he's disgusted by Chanyeol, or himself, if he's brutally honest. “I don't care about groupies.”
“I was talking about Kyungsoo, you dick.” Chanyeol hisses, pushing Baekhyun into the wall. This isn't Baekhyun’s friend, it's a stranger in his skin, Chanyeol is Baekhyun’s best friend, his rock his entire support network. Chanyeol would never do this--- “What would he say if he found out?”
“Well, I'm not gonna tell him.” Baekhyun sounds more confident than he feels, threat evident in his voice. Both of them have secrets, now, and if one spills, so does the other. “Are you?”
Chanyeol lets go of Baekhyun, defeated. Sleeping with your bandmate’s girl is the kind of drama to cause splits, and everyone’s enjoying their fame too much to risk it. Chanyeol will never tell Kyungsoo anything, and he'll fabricate an alibi for Baekhyun if the girl ever decides to reveal the truth.
Jongdae fucks a stripper that night, the pictures she takes the morning after hitting the internet and going viral. The commotion and scandal silences whatever whispers spreading about Baekhyun and Chanyeol; he hates himself for it, but he's more than willing to let Jongdae take the brunt of scrutiny, his mistakes covering Baekhyun’s own.
Kyungsoo and his girlfriend break up a few months later, their relationship growing stale, losing its spark. Her night with Baekhyun probably has something to do with it, but Kyungsoo remains none the wiser.
Even after everything, Baekhyun never bothers to learn her name.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Baeksoo, side!Xiuhun
Genre: Angst, Band!AU
Summary:Baekhyun looks back and wonders just where everything went wrong. Or alternatively, Kyungsoo sings the words Baekhyun only dreams of speaking aloud.
A/N: Written for exoquartus
TRACK ONE: The Bird and the Worm - The Used
There’s a road to fame, and everyone gets blinded by the headlights, eventually. Baekhyun’s mind is full of pretty analogies; bright lights and oncoming traffic, anticipation before impact. They’re just words at this point, lacking melody and syncopation, for all songs are just poems until they’re given a tune.
Baekhyun is disappointingly mediocre when it comes to writing music, the notes he strums on his bass guitar the careful creation of Kyungsoo and Chanyeol’s hivemind. He’s the lyricist, baring his soul to the world through self-deprecation and sarcasm, his clever wit and way with language hailing praise from critics and fans alike.
His previous work is nothing compared to the songs he writes now, each one a lyrical masterpiece; Baekhyun tells short stories to a 4/4 time signature. He spends his days with a pen in one hand, joint in the other, crafting words for an album he'll never make, for a band that will never play again.
They call it a Hiatus, but everyone in the industry knows a prolonged break is a polite way of saying that the creative spark has fizzled out, that patience has worn thin and they’re sick of being at each other’s throats.
Jongdae has his record label to focus on, scouring local shows for fresh talent. Chanyeol is dealing with a very public breakup; his ex-girlfriend taking to social media with scorn and contempt as she drags his name through the mud. Kyungsoo’s solo album is set for release, and Baekhyun has no idea what it’s going to be like. His lyrics have never made the final cut where the group is concerned, composition only hailed when Chanyeol is in the wings to make suggestions and fix mistakes. Baekhyun himself has faded away into obscurity, radio silence from his end meaning friends and fans have forgotten him quicker than he could have ever imagined.
It’s the end of an era, a group of has-been flames extinguished under the limelight. Baekhyun continues to write songs that people will never hear because it’s all he knows how to do.
----
TRACK TWO: This Could be Anywhere in the World - Alexisonfire
The official origin story starts a few chapters in, limelight skipping over Baekhyun’s struggles, leaving his troubled past shrouded in the darkness where it belongs.
Four childhood friends who made a band, then made it big is a blanket statement that skips the ever important early days of the group-- lies built on foundations of sand, an easy way to forget their rotting roots.
Officially, their story begins with the addition of frontman Do Kyungsoo. In reality, Baekhyun’s dreams of fame and fortune start in a shitty apartment in the bad part of town, on a mouldy mattress he shares with Chanyeol.
Plagued by big dreams and bigger debt, their meager earnings are spent on amps, strings and effects pedals, microphones and guitars.
Even Chanyeol, who is lucky enough to own a complete set up for his drum kit, still eyes custom steel toms and snares with longing eyes-- as the sole person who takes inspiration from Metallica’s St. Anger album, he aches to mix a more industrial sound with the post-hardcore genre favoured by their local scene.
Baekhyun sings unclean vocals for a metalcore band whose talents are mediocre at best, unpolished at worst; the majority of their fan base stemming from Baekhyun’s looks rather than musical ability. In hindsight, Baekhyun’s former band made noise for the sake of noise, disjointed rhythm and an absence of melody, an unsuccessful attempt to musically recreate the festering of teenage angst.
Chanyeol poaches him from the group once Baekhyun’s vocals begin to deteriorate. After ignoring the signs and symptoms for all too long, his habit of not warming up before shows and lack of vocal training causes irreparable damage to his vocal chords. Too broke to afford proper medical attention, Baekhyun resigns himself to a lifetime of singing backup.
“Let's shake things up,” With this phrase alone, Chanyeol begins to turn the wheels in motion, beginning a musical revolution that changes the world. Only he doesn't know it, sat on his old, mouldy mattress, fiddling with a pair of drumsticks so chipped that one solid hit will shatter them, “Why don't we do something different, something that hasn't been done before?”
Every musician speaks of similar dreams, to start their own subgenre, to inspire and dominate and find eternal fame as the frontrunner to a musical revolution. But the resolve in Chanyeol’s eyes as he holds up Green Day’s Dookie in one hand and Avenged Sevenfold’s City of Evil in the other instills a small shred of hope in Baekhyun; if anyone can change the world, it's Chanyeol. For a brief moment, he's honoured that Chanyeol wants to take him along for the ride.
“Imagine a fusion between metal and punk,” Chanyeol says excitedly, colliding the plastic CD cases with a clicking noise that reverberates through the apartment. Even though he's away from his kit, Chanyeol still manages to create a solid beat; something he'd tap away onto his snare with a bob of his head, “But like, a little softer. Maybe some synth in there too.”
“Metal-punk-pop,” Baekhyun says in disbelief, shaking his head. It’s a crazy idea, but somehow he thinks that if anyone can make it work, it's Chanyeol, “What a combo.”
“But, like, think about it,” Chanyeol all but throws the CD cases away, lunging at Baekhyun and fisting the front of his shirt with contagious enthusiasm, “Technical but upbeat, heavy enough for the underground but catchy enough to break mainstream.”
“We need a tenor.” Thoughts and plans rush through Baekhyun’s head, books of lyrics he couldn’t use for previous bands; his best work left collecting dust on a shelf. “I’ve got some stuff written that might work, but it’s a higher range.”
“I’ve already got Jongdae in on guitar,” Chanyeol says. Baekhyun raises an eyebrow in mirth. Kim Jongdae plays lead guitar for a reasonably popular thrash metal band and is widely named the best guitarist in the scene. He’s thrash to the core, from his appalling fashion sense and greasy hair to his obsession with everything to do with the 1980’s. “Maybe he knows someone?”
“Hasn’t he got a set of pipes on him?” He plays with the tear in his jeans thoughtfully, rolling torn denim between his fingertips. If Chanyeol’s dream catches on, maybe he’ll be able to afford clothes torn as a fashion statement, rather than cheap clothes he can’t afford to replace.
“He wants to focus on playing,” Chanyeol wiggles his fingers in a poorly executed air guitar, attempting to replicate the speed in which Jongdae’s fingers fly across the fretboard. “But maybe he knows someone?”
“None of Jongdae’s friends have the kind of voice I’m looking for.” Baekhyun frowns. His lyrics will suit a smooth voice, powerful and captivating. Trained but still a little rough around the edges, an unattainable dream voice.
But Baekhyun is fueled by unattainable dreams, idealistic expectations further encouraged by Chanyeol’s almost child-like optimism. Even Jongdae has unwavering faith in their as-yet unnamed project; Baekhyun soon realises there’s more to the guitarist than his cargo shorts and facial tattoos suggest. He’s an absolute breath of fresh air, quavers and time signatures run through his veins like blood; a man so unbelievably dedicated to music that Baekhyun often sits in awe of his passion.
They almost give up hope on finding a vocalist; Baekhyun and Jongdae are too critical, and Chanyeol isn’t willing to trust just anyone with his dream. But fate is a mysterious thing, and their brush with destiny is awfully lacklustre; half drunk and defeated, Baekhyun trips over Jongdae’s feet as the familiar tune of Green Day’s Why Do You Want Him? rings out into the night air.
A kid sits on the sidewalk a little further down the road, the guitar in his hand covered in stickers bearing the logos of bands and skate brands, so much so that the original polished wood of the instrument is only visible towards the join of the neck. If wasn’t such an inconvenience, Baekhyun assumes the kid would have sticker bombed along the frets, too.
“It’s rare for people to know Green Day’s old stuff,” It’s Chanyeol who speaks, his usual friendly demeanor amplified by the beer he’s drunk. The kid looks at him with a raised eyebrow. He’s too good for this part of town, Baekhyun can tell. His jeans are artfully ripped, his button up neat and pressed. The bomber jacket around his slim shoulders bears a brand Baekhyun could only dream of affording. A middle class kid trying to be edgy by spending his time in the bad part of the city, before going home to his nice house in the suburbs. “Most people only know Time of Your Life.”
“It’s a good song, but I feel the rest of the Nimrod album is overshadowed by it,” The kid says with a drawl, voice deeper than his face suggests, the row of spiked piercings along his bottom lip glinting under the street light, “You can’t beat Dookie, though.”
Chanyeol nudges Baekhyun in the side. He too shares an affinity for Green Day’s Dookie album.
“You sing?” Baekhyun asks, trying to look disinterested. Chanyeol and Jongdae both look at him curiously, his intentions transparent.
“Yeah.” The kid says nothing more, positioning his fingers along the frets of his guitar. A familiar bassline echoes from the instrument, and Baekhyun is already quietly impressed that he’s playing the notes and melodies on an acoustic guitar.
She is Baekhyun’s favourite Green Day song, an ode to an unlovable, troubled girl sung with Billie Joe’s lingering teenage angst and husky tones.
The kid sounds nothing like Billie Joe, he’s too soulful and trained against the frontman’s raw, neo-punk dulcet. But his smooth timbre washes over Baekhyun in waves, Chanyeol taps the rhythm of the track’s drums against his thigh and Jongdae stands with his eyes closed in full appreciation of the music.
“We’re starting a band,” Chanyeol interrupts his playing halfway through the second verse, cutting through the lyrics with his booming voice, “Wanna sing for us?”
“Sure.” He shrugs, as if their little venture was just something fun to ease the boredom of being a nineteen-year-old with no future ahead of him, and not something potentially life changing.
He joins the band after a thirty-second audition, cementing their lineup and throwing the rest of the group into a giddy fit of excitement.
It’s not until two weeks later, at their first official practice, that they finally learn his name.
Kyungsoo.
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TRACK THREE: What a Catch Donnie - Fall Out Boy
Walking down memory lane is a dangerous endeavour, filled with potholes and obstacles and recollections from the past that only serve to reopen former wounds. Baekhyun jots notes onto coffee stained note paper; headlights and trucks, potholes and twisting roads.
His lyrics are words from a scorned lover, a lifetime of bad relationships and one night stands the necessary fuel for chart-topping hits. Baekhyun’s obsession with his art once caused him to purposely seek toxic and emotionally damaging relationships-- dating girls he’d tempted away from their boyfriends, junkies who stole his belongings in order to fund their next fix, groupies who would carve his name into their arm after the second time they fucked.
The most prominent theme to his lyrics is the fact that he’s a pathological liar, pretending that former relationships meant more to him than the inspiration for a song. It’s one of the many things he’s done that formed the beginnings of fissures and cracks within the group, self-destructive and unpredictable behavior a cause of constant stress to the other members, their manager, their label. It was only a matter of time until it all came crashing down.
For all intents and purposes, Baekhyun is an awful human being, but he’s stuck in a spiral of self-loathing and ego that he just can’t find the heart to end.
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TRACK FOUR: All I Want - A Day To Remember
Their first show is a sellout. Jongdae, Chanyeol and Baekhyun are relatively big names within the local scene, so their promises of a new sound with fresh talent has been met with incredible curiosity. No EP, nothing formally recorded and a band name chosen on a whim, they take to the stage.
“I see some fans of the guys former bands out there.” Kyungsoo addressed the crowd, it’s small, all things considering, but for a new group, playing for a group of two hundred for their debut show is a pretty big deal. “You’re gonna hate us.”
The crowd laugh, immediately smitten with the newcomer and his baby face. “Anyway, we’re Alvin Kersh.”
They named their band randomly, during a band meeting at Kyungsoo’s house that turned into an X-Files marathon halfway through. It turns out that Kyungsoo is as lower class as the rest of them, mattress as mouldy as Baekhyun and Chanyeol’s, the branded clothing on his back resulting from light fingers and borderline kleptomaniac tendencies.
Kyungsoo is captivating on stage, his dark hair glowing red under the lights, the microphone in his hand triggering a transformation from apathetic teenager to charismatic front man. He’s ethereal, and Baekhyun can’t will himself to look away throughout the entire show, fingers running on muscle memory alone.
As the screams for an encore fill the small venue, Jongdae and Chanyeol pull each other into an embrace; overjoyed, in disbelief. Encore calls for a local band are uncommon, usually reserved for headliners as an act of politeness. Alvin Kersh is a new group, with no EP, no merch no solid fanbase. Alvin Kersh is a local band who receives an encore call at their first show.
“This is it!” Chanyeol yells over the roar of the crowd, jumping up and down excitedly, almost tripping on a power cord as the rest of them re-strap their guitars across their shoulders, “We’re gonna be big, I know it!”
Baekhyun’s head is void of his dreams and filled with thoughts of Kyungsoo; everything he’s ever dreamed of seems within reach, but all he notices is the way the veins in Kyungsoo’s throat bulge as he sings.
This is the first warning sign.
Baekhyun ignores it.
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TRACK FIVE: Platypus (I Hate You) - Green Day
Platinum frames line the flatteringly taupe coloured walls, the sharp edges and cool tones make the display seem clinical and unfriendly. As each Alvin Kersh album reaches a new milestone of sales, Baekhyun displays the plaque on his living room wall, a testament to his skill as a musician, the fruits of years of hard labour coming to fruition.
They mean nothing to him now, at least, when he was younger he was happy; although broke and seemingly without a future, he still found reasons to smile. Fame turned his soul to ash, he exhales the remnants with every breath he takes. Some days he wakes up, hoping to God everything was all a dream, wishing for the damp smell of decay and sweat to fill his lungs, the sound of Chanyeol snoring on the mattress next to him serving as an unwanted alarm clock.
He was supposed to change the world, and he has, Baekhyun supposes. They did it, all of them, setting out to create a new subgenre and succeeding; new generations of musicians replicating their sound, hailing them as an influence.
The birth of a subgenre results in the death of musicians, and Alvin Kersh are the first casualties; hollow husks of men bearing the brunt of expectation and responsibility. Jongdae turned to prescription medication, Chanyeol to sex. Baekhyun covered himself in tattoos, the pain of the needle his own brand of self-harm, drowning his bottles in an ocean of hard liquor. And Kyungsoo, who seemingly holds no vices, just turned in on himself, becoming a social recluse-- quiet, antisocial, a ghost who only exists to sing.
They hate each other.
Years of tension explode in the worst of ways, their own stubbornness sparks to the flame of conflict, the permanent hiatus a messy combination of unresolved issues and clashing personalities. Baekhyun has a book full of songs dedicated to his bandmates, vulgar, messy and far from eloquent. They’re the kind of song Jongdae would love to write music for, his thrash roots the perfect foundation for a grittier sound; but they lay forgotten on a shelf with Baekhyun’s other songbooks, lyrics penned in dedication to a band that will never play them.
Resolving issues won’t help at all, for good music is rarely made by happy people. Baekhyun keeps his unopened bottles of antidepressants hidden in his sock drawer, a reminder of what he’s become and a perfect analogy for how he deals with his problems. Hiding away from the world, he tries to forget his problems, his bandmates even exist.
Because Baekhyun pens songs with ink dipped in misery.
Happiness has never been his thing, anyway.
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TRACK SIX: Story of a Lonely Guy - Blink 182
The decision is made to rent an apartment together in a slightly nicer part of town. It’s still no mansion, but at least they get their own beds with new mattresses that, while still cheap and uncomfortable, aren’t tinted green and detrimental to everyone’s health.
Alvin Kersh find themselves signed to a record label-- a good one at that, one that's catapulted numerous bands into the limelight-- with a manager to boot.
Everything about Luhan is deceptive; he hides his silver tongue behind kind smiles, the tattoo on his chest has enough gore and mutilated corpses to moonlight as Cannibal Corpse album cover, yet it rarely sees the light of day. Pretty boy Luhan isn't rock and roll, he's brutally metal, and his presence and guidance is nothing but a positive influence.
“You’re good, but you need a thing,” Luhan says, tapping a rhythm onto their thrifted table with his pointer fingers, “Like, a gimmick.”
Jongdae scrunches his nose distastefully. Ever the musical purist, he thinks music should be about music, with cheap videos and simple stages. The idea that this new sound they've created calls for more flashy dramatics hasn't quite sunk in.
“I've heard about this new thing that's gaining popularity,” Chanyeol speaks quietly for the first time in his life, he sinks into the cushions of their old, lumpy couch, shielding himself with a cushion. Whatever he's come up with is probably an awful idea, and Baekhyun suspects he fears violent retribution from one, or all of them. “Girls are probably gonna be our major fanbase, yeah?”
“I don't like where this is going.” Jongdae trails off. Both Baekhyun and Luhan shush him, motioning for Chanyeol to continue.
“And uh-- they tend to like it when bands are a little…” He hides his head behind the cushion, “Gay?”
“No.” Jongdae protests immediately, “There's no way I'm doing that.”
“It doesn't have to be all of us!” Chanyeol.comically scrambles to explain himself, eyes wide and hands flailing, “And we don't have to fuck onstage or whatever… just touch each other a bit?”
“If you're gonna queerbait, you've got to go all out.” Luhan seems awfully accepting of the idea awfully quickly, as if he's already decided to put Chanyeol’s plan into motion, “Who wants to kiss who?”
“I trusted you,” Jongdae whispers to Chanyeol, throwing his own cushion at the drummer and missing spectacularly, “When you said you had a new idea for a band, I didn't know making out with dudes was part of the fine print.”
“As we are all aware,” Baekhyun decides to cut Jongdae off before he begins to ramble, “I am more than okay with making out with dudes.”
“I was not aware of that.” Luhan says with an affronted glare.
‘Nor was I.” Kyungsoo, still new within the group and lacking Luhan’s skills as a social chameleon, he mainly sits quietly in group discussions, preferring one on one conversations than the all out commotion they call a band meeting. He speaks quietly, and rarely without being spoken to first.
Baekhyun is quite surprised, his bisexuality is no secret in their local scene, his outburst at a show with his former band causing a commotion as homophobes tried to boo him off the stage. With his middle finger pointed directly at the crowd, Baekhyun had screamed insults back at the small group of angry men, watching as his more fanatical followers caused an all out brawl.
Baekhyun has never seen more blood in his life, and no one has commented negatively on his sexuality, since.
“While none of you are up to my usual standards,” He continues. Jongdae seems to be both offended and relieved by Baekhyun’s admission. He tries to gauge Kyungsoo’s reaction, but the vocalist’s face reveals nothing; for some reason, his acceptance means a lot to Baekhyun, for reasons he can't, or won't attempt to fathom. “But I'm willing to take one for the team.”
“Good!” Luhan clasps his hands together in a manner reminiscent of Mr. Burns of The Simpsons fame, evil plans brewing underneath his artfully arranged bed head. “If you're out, it'll just make it seem real.”
“It's gotta be Kyungsoo or Jongdae,” Chanyeol says sheepishly, ignoring the guitarist’s outraged cries, “I can barely breathe and play at the same time. There's no way I can do it.”
“You fucker!” Jongdae cries, “Suggesting the idea and then bailing on it.”
“I'll do it.” Kyungsoo says, voice louder than usual. He wears the same bored expression Baekhyun saw on his face that day on the sidewalk. His heart beats loudly in his chest, palpitations almost painful, another warning sign for Baekhyun to ignore. “We can do it during our new song. You know that bit where there's a breakdown before Jongdae’s solo?”
“That’s perfect.” Luhan replies, “Like, it’s like you guys wrote the song with this exact scenario in mind.”
“I wrote the breakdown so that Kyungsoo could tell the crowd to kill each other during ‘Dae’s solo.” Chanyeol shrugs, “But this works too.”
Baekhyun meets Kyungsoo’s eyes, they’re unreadable, as always. His gaze flickers towards the vocalist’s lips, pretty and pink, spiked piercings lining the full lower lip. He wonders if they’ll hurt, digging into the skin as they kiss.
He hates how much he wants to find out.
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TRACK SEVEN: Reverse This Curse - Escape The Fate
Baekhyun starts to write songs for nameless faces, but they all end up about Kyungsoo anyway. Somewhere along the line, Baekhyun decided to give up all pretenses and dedicate every word to the man who sings them all.
Self-depreciating love songs, stories of a man too broken to be loved. Witty quips and thinly veiled pessimism, Baekhyun lies through his teeth when he claims not to know who his songs are about. Some are more obvious than others, Kyungsoo’s eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he reads over the lyrics Baekhyun hands him; surely he can read between the lines, catch sight of notes hastily scribbled out in the margins of lined paper.
A book full of songs for Kyungsoo lies between the others on his shelf, gathering dust with the rest of Baekhyun’s unheard lyrics. It’s older than the rest of them, bought the day after their first show, pages filling gradually over the years as Baekhyun’s feelings grow. These songs are raw, unashamedly passionate, words he can never speak aloud.
Kyungsoo stole Baekhyun’s heart when they were only teenagers, taking it between his fingers and crushing it, leaving Baekhyun a broken mess, unable to love or be loved in return.
Because after everything that’s happened, the pain of Kyungsoo’s piercings digging into his skin hurts far less than not being able to kiss him at all.
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TRACK EIGHT: Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off- Panic! At The Discoe
Kyungsoo sings Baekhyun’s lyrics like he's the one who lived them; spits tales of lying and debauchery, of finding love for a night as he gyrates slim hips again the shocking red of his guitar.
They're picking up in popularity, selling out decent sized venues, their debut EP charting low, but charting none the less. It’s almost terrifying the way their influence spreads; Baekhyun signs autographs in convenience stores at three o'clock in the morning, approached shyly by girls wearing his band’s name across their shirts.
He doesn't fuck all of them, but he fucks enough-- sucking hickies into their skin and leaving without a trace before the sun rises.
Sometimes he writes about them, his nameless muses fueling a lifetime of albums. Baekhyun’s lyric book is his version of notches in bedposts.
But sex with groupies can never compare to the way Kyungsoo kisses. Baekhyun’s fingers dance over the familiar chords, his body eager and ready. Kyungsoo kisses like he wants to devour, wreck and dominate, licking into Baekhyun’s mouth hot and filthy. The girls scream, almost to the point where their music is drowned out by the sound.
It fades into the background, Baekhyun’s focus lies in the way Kyungsoo sucks on his tongue, the push of spiked metal piercings into his bottom lip, the breathy groans he breathes into Kyungsoo’s eager mouth.
Kissing Kyungsoo is thirty seconds of heaven that condemns him to a lifetime of hell, the slick pressing of lips that has the muse for ten thousand songs running through Baekhyun’s head.
Their lives are almost stereotypically rock and roll, Baekhyun sleeps on sweat stained pillows in rundown motels, a welcome luxury for his perpetual hangover. On the road it's beer for breakfast, lunch and dinner; it's hard to tell where one days drunkenness ends and the next days begins--- but even the most severe headache is dulled by the feeling of a dream reaching actualization.
As their fame grows, so does their demand. A national tour playing in decent sized venues, a few international shows to test the waters. It’s not the sold out, worldwide stadium tour they've dreamed of, but it's a stepping stone on their journey to success.
“Dibs.” Baekhyun points the neck of his beer bottle towards a pretty girl wearing the most recent design of their band shirts. Keeping with the X-Files theme, it's a UFO with their band logo caught in its tractor beam. Baekhyun is quite fond of the design, but his ego isn't yet big enough to wear one himself.
Kyungsoo and Chanyeol grunt in acknowledgement, choosing instead to keep in conversation with Minseok, their drum tech. Yet another piece of stolen talent, Minseok played drums for Jongdae’s old thrash band, before deciding to work with them behind the scenes as his former group collapsed.
As much as Baekhyun enjoys his company, he's much more interested in finding out what tall, blonde and perky’s black fingernails feel like as they rake across his shoulder blades.
Groupies are easy enough to seduce; they're hand picked by the security guards, pretty girls they find in the crowd who are extended personal invitations to the after party. There's a high chance that they'll have the opportunity to sleep with one of the band members, or at the very least, one of the techies, so most (if not all) of them down right jump at the chance for free alcohol and a free pass into their pants.
Baekhyun has her panting into his mouth within minutes, pushed up against the wall in a discreet corner of the bar. She's so eager, wet and dripping against his exploring fingers, unphased by their audience as Baekhyun pushes one, two fingers into her, smirking into the skin of her neck as he makes her tremble.
“I’m gonna go grab a condom from my friend,” She says, licking into his mouth and clenching around his fingers between words. “You wait right here.”
Her skirt is still bunched up as she walks away, and Baekhyun tilts his head to try and get a proper look. There's no way he'll take her back to the hotel, not when there's locked stalls in the men's bathroom that will do just nicely.
Jongdae has evidently made use of the facilities, Baekhyun notices, as his bandmate swaggers from the bathroom, smug I just fucked a groupie look clear on his face, with a pretty brunette following afterwards, still licking at her lips.
The groupie disappears and Baekhyun loses interest, there are plenty of girls in the bar who would give anything to wrap their pretty lips around his cock, and who is he to deny them? Another girl, just as tall, blonde and perky as her predecessor follows Baekhyun to the bathroom with a drunken stumble, manicured fingers fumbling with his belt before the door even swings closed.
Judging by the high pitched whines, one of his bandmates has a similar idea. It’s Kyungsoo, no doubt about it, they've lived together long enough that Baekhyun can recognize the sounds he makes while getting off, having walked in on all of his bandmates during sex at least once.
Baekhyun ignores the stab of jealousy in his chest, pretends that the reason he decides to fuck tall, blonde and perky 2.0 over the sink rather than in a stall is because he’s too horny to wait, not because he wants to see Kyungsoo’s reaction.
The stall door swings open, and Baekhyun snaps his hips harder, intent to put on a show, licking his lips as he catches the reflection of Kyungsoo stuffing his softening cock back into his pants.
Baekhyun’s having sex with someone else, but his mind is on Kyungsoo; mind filled with images of his bandmate bending him over the sink, the feeling of Kyungsoo’s piercings digging into his neck, what that slick, hot mouth would feel like around his cock.
Kyungsoo doesn't leave.
Not even as the first tall, blonde and perky girl slinks from the stall and back out into the party, Kyungsoo leans against the dirty, graffiti’d wall of the men's bathroom and watches Baekhyun as he fucks his second choice groupie.
The girl doesn't even notice his presence, eyes shut and hands gripping tight around porcelain, blissed out as Baekhyun fucks her harder under Kyungsoo’s scrutinizing gaze.
Baekhyun comes into the condom, eyes fluttering closed at the intensity of his orgasm, the image of Kyungsoo; pants still unzipped, and hair mussed, pierced lip drawn between teeth burns itself underneath his eyelids.
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TRACK NINE: Your Nickle Aint Worth My Dime - Sleeping With Sirens
The rules of dibs stop applying once meaningless sex only gives way to emptiness. Filling the void with beer, the four of them begin to compete over women, trying to steal nightly conquests out from under each other’s noses. It’s far more satisfying, the chase a little harder, the satisfaction of winning their pathetic little game much greater than empty orgasams.
For some reason, Kyungsoo only ever chases the girls Baekhyun picks for the night, luring them away with words of sugar coated filth, finding a secluded corner or empty stall to take the prize from Baekhyun.
Each and every time, Baekhyun follows. He stands, propped against the dirty bathroom wall, arms folded across his chest as he watches. Sometimes, the girls ask him to join in, requests for Kyungsoo to kiss Baekhyun the way they do on stage.
“Sorry,” Kyungsoo says, barely acknowledging Baekhyun, “But that’s just for show.”
It stings. So much so that Baekhyun gives up on girls all together, adding a bottle of lube to the stash of condoms in his pocket and setting his sights on any boy at their afterparty who looks mildly interested.
Soon, Baekhyun is the one being bent over porcelain sinks and in bathroom stalls by nameless men who make him feel used and dirty, but fill the void in his heart for those few precious moments.
It’s a short lived victory. Baekhyun watches as Kyungsoo sinks to his knees; it’s strange, he never knew the singer held any sort of interest in men, but the cock in his mouth slides into his throat without resistance, and Baekhyun can tell that it’s not the first time those pretty, pierced lips have been on the giving end of a blowjob. His technique seems exquisite, and Baekhyun aches, hard in his pants, willing to give anything for the opportunity to experience the wet heat of Kyungsoo’s mouth.
On the surface, it seems like they don’t get along, two rivals in constant battle, always attempting to undermine and outperform the other. Alcohol fuels their competitive nature, their inhibitions dropped as they play mind games with innocent hearts.
But at the end of it all, Kyungsoo goes home with him. Baekhyun relishes in the small victories, stolen moments just before dawn where they curl into each other's sides, talking about anything and everything.
“My mother was very religious, she hated tattoos.” Kyungsoo’s finger runs along the anchor on Baekhyun’s forearm, still fresh and itching, the gentle touch soothes the ache in his skin but ignites the ache in his heart, “So we compromised.”
It’s rare for Kyungsoo to give rather than take, personal information is precious and heavily guarded, Baekhyun relishes in the rare moment where Kyungsoo’s walls drop, bathed in the light of early dawn.
Saint Cecilia, the patron saint of music is inked onto the singer’s throat. Saint Christopher, the patron saint of travel, along his left shoulder blade. All Kyungsoo’s tattoos are religious in nature, handpicked by his late mother, signs and symbols and people to guard Kyungsoo as he makes his way through life.
His sole act of rebellion is the Leviticus 19:28 written in pretty cursive along his lower back.
“It's the verse forbidding tattoos.” Kyungsoo explains with a laugh. His genuine smile is stunning, rarer than even the most precious of gems, and Baekhyun clenches his fist to curb the urge to kiss it. They're not on stage, and the moment is far too serious, intimate.
But Baekhyun longs none the less, pressing his lips against the ink of Kyungsoo’s throat with crumbling resolve. Baekhyun wants to kiss Kyungsoo whenever he wants, show his adoration in moments when they're not hidden away like this, watching the sunrise through cracks in hotel room curtains.
Baekhyun has a head full of unfinished love songs he wants to whisper in Kyungsoo’s ear, a lullaby to ease his often restless sleep.
Kyungsoo has stopped stealing from stores but steals hearts instead, and Baekhyun loves him like he will love no other.
But there's no place for love in a life like theirs, careers built on agony and misery, and falling for Kyungsoo will be his downfall.
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TRACK TEN: Psychosocial - Slipknot
“Hey.” Luhan sounds tired, and he probably is. The low-quality speakers only amplify the exhaustion evident in the manager's tone. Years of looking after Alvin Kersh and later, producing albums for Jongdae's record label, have aged him drastically; premature grey hairs hidden by a bottle of blonde hair dye.
“What did I do this time?” Luhan is one of only two people that contacts him on the regular, claiming concern. His phone calls usually stem from complaints-- mostly Jongdae’s-- and the manager has to deal with him because no one else wants to.
“You know what you did.” Baekhyun’s done a lot of things to a lot of people, some he’s proud of and others he's not. Luhan is being vague on purpose, trying to lay bait that Baekhyun refuses to take.
“I don't know why I'm always the villain,” He sighs into the receiver, pinching his forehead in annoyance. “Why doesn't someone apologise to me, for once?”
There's no innocent party in their conflict, and some words sting more than others. Friends, the people closest to you know how to hit where it hurts, and Baekhyun still bears the scars from the knives lodged in his back.
“I'm babysitting a group of immature man-children,” It’s obvious that Baekhyun’s struck a nerve, for Luhan’s anger is as rare as Kyungsoo's smile. “Fuck this. You deal with your issues yourselves.”
“We tried that,” Baekhyun points out with a lazy drawl, echoes of past arguments still ringing in his ears, “Didn’t work out so well.”
“I quit.” Luhan replies, his stern tone something so unfamiliar to Baekhyun, that it takes a moment for him to register the manager’s words, “I’m out. Find a new manager.”
Baekhyun wants to point out that they're on an almost permanent hiatus, and that there's no band to manage, not anymore.
His phone beeps, Luhan hanging up before Baekhyun can offer any kind of rebuttal. Setting the device on his kitchen counter, Baekhyun occupies his hands with a bottle of Jack instead.
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TRACK ELEVEN: Loki - Pull Tiger Tail
“I can hear the critics now,” Chanyeol says, waving his hand through the air; the universal sign of a headline. “Alvin Kersh’s third album brings a return to their heavier roots, offering a more mature sound to match the more mature lyrics.”
“Chanyeol, no.” Baekhyun groans. He knows exactly where his friend is going with this, and he throws a pile of lyric sheets at him in preemptive retaliation. They flutter to the ground uselessly, missing their mark.
“Lyricist and bass guitarist, Byun Baekhyun has shifted away from writing songs about fucking groupies, choosing instead to write whiny love songs for the group's lead singer.” Chanyeol laughs so hard the guitar in his lap almost slips and falls to the floor. He saves it last minute, mirth still evident on his features.
“They’re not love songs for Kyungsoo, they're just love songs in general.” Baekhyun huffs, collecting the fallen sheets from the floor, “There's nothing in here about Kyungsoo at all.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Chanyeol is obnoxious at best, he strums a chord on his acoustic with a grin, still giddy from schadenfreude. “Honestly, I thought they'd be a little more emo. Especially considering the whole girlfriend thing.”
They've never met Kyungsoo’s girlfriend, who, from Luhan’s reports, is as pretty and as small as he is. They look good together, apparently, the picture perfect couple in love. Kyungsoo has asked Baekhyun to keep his distance from both of them; his new girl doesn't like the way Baekhyun and Kyungsoo kiss on stage, so they stop. He doesn't like the way they used to steal each other's one night stands, begging Baekhyun to let him have happiness, just this once.
Jongdae and Chanyeol hold confidence in Baekhyun that he doesn't deserve. If given the opportunity, he'd steal Kyungsoo’s girlfriend in the blink of an eye, his misplaced sense of possession and jealousy aches to ruin their relationship.
If Baekhyun can't have Kyungsoo, then no one can.
“I wrote them before they started---” Baekhyun cuts his sentence short, but he's given himself away, but his secret should be safe with Chanyeol. They've been friends for longer than either of them can remember, an iron strong loyalty that will never die.
Sometimes it feels like Chanyeol knows Baekhyun better than he knows himself.
“Hey,” Chanyeol’s hands are a comforting weight on his shoulders, the large palms dwarfing his form, Baekhyun feels almost safe, protected, “If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here.”
“Talk about what?” Baekhyun replies, stubborn to the end, he won’t admit to his feelings aloud, not again.
“The fact that Kyungsoo’s dating someone who’s not you?” Chanyeol says, squeezing his hands around the bones in Baekhyun’s shoulders, “Or the fact that unrequited love sucks?”
It doesn’t just suck; unrequited love is an exquisite form of agony. Baekhyun rips the feelings from his chest and presses it into lined paper, penning words that turn his anguish into art. It’s his best work yet, and the music Chanyeol writes for the piece accompany it perfectly. Neither Jongdae nor Kyungsoo are allowed input on the track; the meaning, the story, the song as a whole is one big secret between Baekhyun and Chanyeol alone.
It’s odd, how people can find happiness from the torment of others.
The song is their biggest break, with copies of their album flying from the shelves, their songs finding airtime on commercial radio stations and new hordes of fans that come in droves.
They’ve made it, soaring to new heights on the wings of Baekhyun’s suffering.
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TRACK TWELVE: Ex’s and Oh’s - Atreyu
Jack Daniels is the closest thing Baekhyun has to a friend at this point, the clink of the bottle as it hits the rim of his glass the only noise in an empty apartment.
Once, the walls of his home were filled with noise and excitement; Chanyeol and Jongdae holding impromptu jam sessions on Baekhyun’s expensive couches. Luhan lamenting over the cute session pianist who works for their label. Kyungsoo, who arrives in the early hours of the morning, climbing into bed with Baekhyun and caressing the increasing amount of tattoos etched into Baekhyun’s skin.
His house is empty, now, and the silence is deafening. Years of performing in front of speakers has deteriorated Baekhyun’s hearing, the extent of the damage rivalling that of his throat. His version of silence is a never ending, maddening ringing in his ears, further exacerbated by the lack of potential distraction.
The bottle of Jack hits the side of his glass with a loud ping, the loud frequency irritating his tinnitus and causing Baekhyun to flinch, spilling the liquor across the benchtop.
With a sigh, Baekhyun makes the decision to forgo the glass entirely, taking gulps of liquor straight from the bottle.
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TRACK THIRTEEN: Dirty Little Secret - The All-American Rejects
The first royalty cheque Baekhyun receives goes straight towards the downpayment on his first house, a moderately sized apartment in the good part of town, the kind of place he used to dream about living in when he was younger.
He has no idea what the others do with their money, and quite frankly he doesn’t care. Their communication slows as their popularity booms, too enraptured by their new, famous friends to care about the people from their past. Chanyeol, especially, glows under the limelight. Apparently he plays the drums with enough charisma to warrant the interest of Park Sooyoung, a pretty young pop star with a glittering smile and an affinity for pastels.
Publicly, she announces her interest in the drummer, and Chanyeol is apparently smitten; changing his phone wallpaper from a selfie of the band --a rare photo showcasing Kyungsoo’s stunning smile-- to one of her recent vogue spreads. The Chanyeol that Baekhyun once knew would never have considered a bubblegum pop princess for a potential partner, the exposure to the popular music industry skewing his views.
Chanyeol fucks Sooyoung over the sink of the men’s bathroom like a groupie, Baekhyun only knows because he walks in on them; the media calls Chanyeol a bad boy with a heart of gold and poor Sooyoung falls into his trap. Baekhyun expects him to chew her up and spit her out, leaving the girl cold and lonely as he slips out of her bed and out into the night. He never expects, not in a million years, for Park Chanyeol to actually go steady with a pastel princess, who doesn’t even have her ears pierced, because she finds piercings to be too vulgar.
Baekhyun never expects to sleep with Kyungsoo’s girlfriend, either, but that’s just the way things go when you live life in the fast lane; everything escalates at such incredible speeds that Baekhyun can hardly keep up (though, he’s not sure if it’s fame or the handful of MDMA/Speed combo pills that he swallows with a shot of Tequila that makes the world spin on its axis.)
He honestly doesn’t mean to, but suddenly there’s a girl on his lap, sucking on his tongue. He should stop when she starts to whisper in his ear, telling him she’s been asking Kyungsoo for a threesome for months, that Kyungsoo doesn’t want to share her with Baekhyun. He should shift his finger from where it drags along her slick folds, but he doesn’t; he pushes one, two digits inside her, swallowing her groans.
He really shouldn’t push her up against the flimsy wall of the bathroom stall, but he does anyway. She tells him that he was her first choice, not Kyungsoo, and something swells inside Baekhyun’s chest; he's finally won, he's taken something precious from Kyungsoo, the perfect revenge for stealing his heart.
Guilt hits hard in the afterglow, he watches her slink back to Kyungsoo’s side, pressing a kiss to his mouth like Baekhyun’s cock wasn't there not minutes prior.
“I saw that,” Chanyeol seemingly materializes from the darkness, eyes heavy and judgmental as Baekhyun finishes zipping his jeans-- they're torn, for fashion this time, and not from overwear. Just like he's always dreamed. “That's pretty fucking low.”
“I could say the same about you.” There's a hickey on Chanyeol’s neck that wasn't there before, his girlfriend on tour and not able to attend whatever party they're at. All the events mix together into one big blur, but Baekhyun knows Sooyoung is in Tokyo, her instagram feed filled with ramen stands and selfies outside of Tokyo Tower.
“It's not the same,” Chanyeol says, rubbing at the offending mark like the friction will remove it from his skin, “I didn't cheat on someone I care about.”
Baekhyun doesn't know who Chanyeol is anymore, the boy he remembers snoring away on a mouldy mattress would never speak like this, never play with people's emotions so nonchalantly.
“I don't care about her.” Baekhyun sneers, his disgust evident in his voice. He's not sure if he's disgusted by Chanyeol, or himself, if he's brutally honest. “I don't care about groupies.”
“I was talking about Kyungsoo, you dick.” Chanyeol hisses, pushing Baekhyun into the wall. This isn't Baekhyun’s friend, it's a stranger in his skin, Chanyeol is Baekhyun’s best friend, his rock his entire support network. Chanyeol would never do this--- “What would he say if he found out?”
“Well, I'm not gonna tell him.” Baekhyun sounds more confident than he feels, threat evident in his voice. Both of them have secrets, now, and if one spills, so does the other. “Are you?”
Chanyeol lets go of Baekhyun, defeated. Sleeping with your bandmate’s girl is the kind of drama to cause splits, and everyone’s enjoying their fame too much to risk it. Chanyeol will never tell Kyungsoo anything, and he'll fabricate an alibi for Baekhyun if the girl ever decides to reveal the truth.
Jongdae fucks a stripper that night, the pictures she takes the morning after hitting the internet and going viral. The commotion and scandal silences whatever whispers spreading about Baekhyun and Chanyeol; he hates himself for it, but he's more than willing to let Jongdae take the brunt of scrutiny, his mistakes covering Baekhyun’s own.
Kyungsoo and his girlfriend break up a few months later, their relationship growing stale, losing its spark. Her night with Baekhyun probably has something to do with it, but Kyungsoo remains none the wiser.
Even after everything, Baekhyun never bothers to learn her name.