we're all just stupid clichés anyways
we're all just stupid clichés anyways
2,200 words | jongkey
Social-outcast Key meets football-captain Jonghyun in a music room. (Or alternately, an exercise in predictability.) As requested by artificiallilac
we're all just stupid clichés anyways
There’s nothing glamorous about SM Academy; the people are vapid and two-dimensional and so damn self-centered that it’s a wonder anyone talks to anyone else.
At least, that’s the case if you believe Key.
Key isn’t his real name but he doesn’t see the point of having a real name when everyone around him is so fake. There is probably more silicone roaming the hallways than moving down the assembly line of the average automotive plant. Environmentalists may complain about factories polluting the air now but they wouldn’t be focusing on the big businesses if they set foot in Key’s school; every breath you take is saturated with the stench of eau de parfum. And then there are the girls who wear too-tight clothes and guys who slip insoles into their shoes just to appear an inch taller.
Everything is fake, fake, fake and Key hates it.
It’s really a shame because SM Academy is an Arts school and Key is damn talented. And he tries - he tries to make a name for himself by being himself. But people take one look at his clothes, his hair, his anything and judge him. You’re trying too hard, they’ll tell him and the irony of it all isn’t lost on Key, so he laughs.
He laughs because this is like some divine comedy and one day, he’ll wake up and find that no, he isn’t actually the arse-headed lover of the Queen of the Faeries.
But for now, he sits at the back of the classroom and takes in all the information so he can leave this place with his diploma as soon as possible. The classes are fine; he stays out of the way of the other students and they give him the same courtesy.
He pretends that he’s not just a little lonely.
Key’s favourite place in the whole school is the recording studio. He likes to imagine what it’ll feel like to one day sing in a studio for a real record company. It’s also completely soundproof and removed from the people outside.
He finds it a little sad that he can relate better with the studio than he can with his peers.
But today, there is someone already in the studio because when Key opens the door, he is greeted by a smooth, dulcet tone. This is the first time Key has consciously thought that someone at the school, aside from himself, had a modicum of talent.
This is also the first time Key meets Jonghyun, celebrated captain of the school football team.
Before Key can excuse himself from the room, Jonghyun blurts out, “please don’t tell anyone that I’m here.”
Key manages a derisive look, “of course, the star forward of the football team can’t be caught dead in the recording studio outside of class time. It’s beneath you.”
Jonghyun’s tone becomes instantly indignant, “hey dude, chill. I just want some time alone. You know what it’s like, right?”
Actually, Key thinks, I don’t know what it’s like but out-loud he mocks, “poor little popular boy.”
“Hey, I don’t need to take this bullshit from a stranger,” informs Jonghyun shortly, “I have enough problems right now as is. So if you’ve got an issue with me, either spit it out or get out.”
Maybe it’s because time in the recording studio is sort of Key’s therapy time, maybe it’s because Jonghyun seems so comfortable in his own skin, maybe it’s because Key is jealous of the boy in front of him, but all the frustrations Key has bottled up since freshman year spills out.
“My problem with you, with this whole goddamn place, is that you’re all so fucking shallow. It’s all about how you look, what other people think of you; god-forbid if you’re ever different. You, all of you, are drones - mindless, sycophantic drones. You have no substance, no soul.”
Jonghyun is quiet for a moment, “it doesn’t seem like you tried very hard to look for anything beneath the surface.”
Key becomes inexplicably angry that Jonghyun doesn’t show any outward response, so he retorts snidely, “It’s so easy being you, isn’t it? People actually see you rather than judge you.”
Jonghyun’s jaw tightens, “you think you’ve got it all figured out. You accuse everyone here of being superficial and judgemental but have you ever gotten to know any single one of those people you have accused? What gives you the right to judge them?”
“You,” starts Key, eyes bright with fury.
In three long strides, Jonghyun is nose-to-nose with Key as he bites out, “no. You listen. You think it’s easy being me? You think people don’t judge me? Have you ever walked down the hall to have every single pair of eyes watching you, waiting for you to not-say the right thing, to not-date the right people, to not-be apparently flawless? You can fuck up and move on, but when I do it, my whole world fucking collapses. Yea, my life is so fucking easy,” and pushes past Key to leave the studio.
This is the first time anyone has left Key completely speechless.
Key goes back to the studio the next day, refusing to let the incident with Jonghyun deter him from his regular plans. He allows himself a moment of shock when he registers Jonghyun’s presence in the room then calmly brushes by him to grab a music stand. When it becomes clear that Key has no intention of leaving, Jonghyun heaves a sigh.
“Look,” he says nervously, “we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I said some things I shouldn’t have and though the sentiments still stand, it wasn’t my place to lash out at you. What I’m trying to say is, I’m planning to continue to use this room and I have a feeling that you’re going to be doing the same so, truce?”
Key really wants to ignore the peace offering but he also sees that Jonghyun is set on spending the indeterminate future in this recording studio. He imagines the stifling animosity permeating the room while he tries to sing and decides that, for the sake of his art, it’d be best if they were on civil terms.
“Fine,” Key replies shortly and begins a warm-up scale in C-major.
The arrangement works out fairly nicely but for one thing: Jonghyun’s constant need to engage Key in conversation. At first it was tolerable - they’d talk about music and Key would be pleasantly surprised that Jonghyun’s head was not filled solely with football-related thoughts - but then they start talking about friends - well, Jonghyun’s friends - and Key feels like they’re pushing boundaries past simple acquaintanceship.
When he brings this up with Jonghyun, Jonghyun laughs, “isn’t it natural to befriend someone with whom you spend an hour every day?”
Key glares at him as if he’s being deliberately obtuse, “you know what I mean. You don’t make friends with people like me.”
Jonghyun’s grin fades a little, “what? I don’t make friends with genuinely interesting people? That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”
“I mean you’re not supposed to be friends with losers like me.”
“But I’d like to be friends with you,” Jonghyun replies seriously, “is that okay?”
Key nods mutely and goes back to fiddling with his headphones.
Key spends an embarrassing amount of time mulling over this development, so much so that he misses how easy it is to be friends with Jonghyun. They still mostly talk about music and occasionally they’d give each other feedback on their respective vocal abilities. Every now and then, lowerclassmen - especially Minho, who plays defence on the football team - would join them, eager to earn Jonghyun’s favour; Key admits to doting on them though they’re in the same grade. He also loves the studio in a way he hasn’t before; the room has become a place where boys who were not born equals can create as equals.
However, being sheltered by the comfort of the studio has left Key largely forgetful of one fact: Jonghyun has a girlfriend. Sekyung is the type of girl all the other girls envy: pretty, talented, kind, and most importantly, popular. Key doesn’t subscribe to this petty jealousy but several months into studio time with Jonghyun, Key finds that he has to share Jonghyun’s time with Sekyung.
This reminds Key of the irksome fact that he doesn’t share well.
His dampened mood must have reflected in his singing because Jonghyun keeps shooting him worried glances just short of asking him if he were all right. He mostly ignores these looks but tries to wring the irritation out of his voice all the same. After two weeks of this tension, Jonghyun slaps down a hefty score in front of Key.
“Let’s sing a duet,” he says.
Key has only sung a handful of duets with Jonghyun but he remembers distinctly the wonderment as the two voices harmonize; it’s elation at its finest. It makes Key forget the tug at his heartstrings whenever Jonghyun has to leave the studio to meet his girlfriend because Sekyung and Jonghyun can have their time alone but she’ll never experience the feeling of pure inspiration that can only come from singing in harmony with a voice a brilliant as Jonghyun’s.
“Okay,” is Key’s only reply before he dives into the score.
As the weeks progress, the duet becomes something like Key’s magnum opus; it’s so good that Key doesn’t even mind sharing the glory of his greatest work with another person. Apparently, Jonghyun shares the same sentiments because he hands Key a program for next Friday night.
“Our names are listed as one of the acts,” Key looks at the pamphlet dumbly.
Jonghyun grins, “yea, I signed us up last week. Surprise.”
“This is a terrible surprise,” Key tells Jonghyun matter-of-factly, “what if I never wanted to perform this in front of an audience?”
“Lies,” says Jonghyun but his eyes are slightly doubtful, “wait, you do want to do this right?”
Key toys with the idea of letting Jonghyun sweat a little more, but decides to take pity on him in the end, “Of course. I’d be mad not to want this. What about you? What would your football buddies think?”
“I’d be a moron to give up an opportunity this amazing on behalf of social construct,” Jonghyun replies, easy but sure.
Key can’t help but mirror Jonghyun’s grin, “yea, you would be.”
Unfortunately, it seems that Jonghyun is a moron because that Monday, he trudges into the studio looking pathetically apologetic.
“I can’t make it to the show on Friday,” Jonghyun explains, “Sekyung is debuting in her first play that night.”
“What,” is all Key manages.
“I’ve been such a terrible boyfriend,” Jonghyun continues helplessly, “I wasn’t even there for her when she auditioned for this role. I really can’t miss her debut because our relationship right now is tenuous at best-”
Key tramps down the initial shock with unbridled anger and bites out, “and you’re scared she’ll dump you on your ass because then the whole world will see the great Jonghyun fall into disgrace. Whatever will happen to your social standing then? So yea, ditch me and go to her play or whatever because obviously you can’t have your relationship reduced to shambles lest it ruins your image.”
“No, you asshole,” Jonghyun snaps, “I can’t let the fucking relationship end because I love her.”
It takes all of Key’s willpower not to ask, and me? Don’t you love me?
After the blow-up on Monday, Key edits and practices the duet - now solo - with renewed determination. Despite the amount of effort he puts in, the director continues to express doubts about the piece’s viability as a solo.
“I can sing it alone,” Key insists, grabbing the sheet music from the coordinator, “I’ve tweaked some of the harmonies so it won’t require two people.”
When Key sings the song now, all he sees is a reflection of loss and betrayal rather than all-encompassing love. It fits him better but there’s something wanting that refuses to be overlooked.
When Key steps onstage on Friday, countless nameless, faceless eyes follow him, judging him; it feels like the days spent wandering the hallways, so terribly alone in a crowd. The sensation is so overwhelming that he is momentarily compelled to run off stage.
He might have, if not for a voice not his own singing the first bar of his (their) duet.
Key’s eyes, along with the eyes of everyone else in attendance, swerve to find a mildly-dishevelled but thoroughly confident Jonghyun - paused in song - looking intently, meaningfully at the stage. When nobody moves to break the unscheduled intermission, Jonghyun strides purposefully down the steps and hauls himself up next to Key on the stage.
Later, Jonghyun will tell Key about his great revelation: sometimes it’s not what you do, but what you want to do. Later, Key will understand that Jonghyun may love Sekyung but he loves Key too, if not more, if not better. Much later, they’ll be happy together, fingers entwined as they face the world. But now, they sing.
There may be nothing glamorous about SM Academy, but the way their voices carry through the auditorium is nothing short of glorious.
2,200 words | jongkey
Social-outcast Key meets football-captain Jonghyun in a music room. (Or alternately, an exercise in predictability.) As requested by artificiallilac
we're all just stupid clichés anyways
There’s nothing glamorous about SM Academy; the people are vapid and two-dimensional and so damn self-centered that it’s a wonder anyone talks to anyone else.
At least, that’s the case if you believe Key.
Key isn’t his real name but he doesn’t see the point of having a real name when everyone around him is so fake. There is probably more silicone roaming the hallways than moving down the assembly line of the average automotive plant. Environmentalists may complain about factories polluting the air now but they wouldn’t be focusing on the big businesses if they set foot in Key’s school; every breath you take is saturated with the stench of eau de parfum. And then there are the girls who wear too-tight clothes and guys who slip insoles into their shoes just to appear an inch taller.
Everything is fake, fake, fake and Key hates it.
It’s really a shame because SM Academy is an Arts school and Key is damn talented. And he tries - he tries to make a name for himself by being himself. But people take one look at his clothes, his hair, his anything and judge him. You’re trying too hard, they’ll tell him and the irony of it all isn’t lost on Key, so he laughs.
He laughs because this is like some divine comedy and one day, he’ll wake up and find that no, he isn’t actually the arse-headed lover of the Queen of the Faeries.
But for now, he sits at the back of the classroom and takes in all the information so he can leave this place with his diploma as soon as possible. The classes are fine; he stays out of the way of the other students and they give him the same courtesy.
He pretends that he’s not just a little lonely.
Key’s favourite place in the whole school is the recording studio. He likes to imagine what it’ll feel like to one day sing in a studio for a real record company. It’s also completely soundproof and removed from the people outside.
He finds it a little sad that he can relate better with the studio than he can with his peers.
But today, there is someone already in the studio because when Key opens the door, he is greeted by a smooth, dulcet tone. This is the first time Key has consciously thought that someone at the school, aside from himself, had a modicum of talent.
This is also the first time Key meets Jonghyun, celebrated captain of the school football team.
Before Key can excuse himself from the room, Jonghyun blurts out, “please don’t tell anyone that I’m here.”
Key manages a derisive look, “of course, the star forward of the football team can’t be caught dead in the recording studio outside of class time. It’s beneath you.”
Jonghyun’s tone becomes instantly indignant, “hey dude, chill. I just want some time alone. You know what it’s like, right?”
Actually, Key thinks, I don’t know what it’s like but out-loud he mocks, “poor little popular boy.”
“Hey, I don’t need to take this bullshit from a stranger,” informs Jonghyun shortly, “I have enough problems right now as is. So if you’ve got an issue with me, either spit it out or get out.”
Maybe it’s because time in the recording studio is sort of Key’s therapy time, maybe it’s because Jonghyun seems so comfortable in his own skin, maybe it’s because Key is jealous of the boy in front of him, but all the frustrations Key has bottled up since freshman year spills out.
“My problem with you, with this whole goddamn place, is that you’re all so fucking shallow. It’s all about how you look, what other people think of you; god-forbid if you’re ever different. You, all of you, are drones - mindless, sycophantic drones. You have no substance, no soul.”
Jonghyun is quiet for a moment, “it doesn’t seem like you tried very hard to look for anything beneath the surface.”
Key becomes inexplicably angry that Jonghyun doesn’t show any outward response, so he retorts snidely, “It’s so easy being you, isn’t it? People actually see you rather than judge you.”
Jonghyun’s jaw tightens, “you think you’ve got it all figured out. You accuse everyone here of being superficial and judgemental but have you ever gotten to know any single one of those people you have accused? What gives you the right to judge them?”
“You,” starts Key, eyes bright with fury.
In three long strides, Jonghyun is nose-to-nose with Key as he bites out, “no. You listen. You think it’s easy being me? You think people don’t judge me? Have you ever walked down the hall to have every single pair of eyes watching you, waiting for you to not-say the right thing, to not-date the right people, to not-be apparently flawless? You can fuck up and move on, but when I do it, my whole world fucking collapses. Yea, my life is so fucking easy,” and pushes past Key to leave the studio.
This is the first time anyone has left Key completely speechless.
Key goes back to the studio the next day, refusing to let the incident with Jonghyun deter him from his regular plans. He allows himself a moment of shock when he registers Jonghyun’s presence in the room then calmly brushes by him to grab a music stand. When it becomes clear that Key has no intention of leaving, Jonghyun heaves a sigh.
“Look,” he says nervously, “we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I said some things I shouldn’t have and though the sentiments still stand, it wasn’t my place to lash out at you. What I’m trying to say is, I’m planning to continue to use this room and I have a feeling that you’re going to be doing the same so, truce?”
Key really wants to ignore the peace offering but he also sees that Jonghyun is set on spending the indeterminate future in this recording studio. He imagines the stifling animosity permeating the room while he tries to sing and decides that, for the sake of his art, it’d be best if they were on civil terms.
“Fine,” Key replies shortly and begins a warm-up scale in C-major.
The arrangement works out fairly nicely but for one thing: Jonghyun’s constant need to engage Key in conversation. At first it was tolerable - they’d talk about music and Key would be pleasantly surprised that Jonghyun’s head was not filled solely with football-related thoughts - but then they start talking about friends - well, Jonghyun’s friends - and Key feels like they’re pushing boundaries past simple acquaintanceship.
When he brings this up with Jonghyun, Jonghyun laughs, “isn’t it natural to befriend someone with whom you spend an hour every day?”
Key glares at him as if he’s being deliberately obtuse, “you know what I mean. You don’t make friends with people like me.”
Jonghyun’s grin fades a little, “what? I don’t make friends with genuinely interesting people? That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”
“I mean you’re not supposed to be friends with losers like me.”
“But I’d like to be friends with you,” Jonghyun replies seriously, “is that okay?”
Key nods mutely and goes back to fiddling with his headphones.
Key spends an embarrassing amount of time mulling over this development, so much so that he misses how easy it is to be friends with Jonghyun. They still mostly talk about music and occasionally they’d give each other feedback on their respective vocal abilities. Every now and then, lowerclassmen - especially Minho, who plays defence on the football team - would join them, eager to earn Jonghyun’s favour; Key admits to doting on them though they’re in the same grade. He also loves the studio in a way he hasn’t before; the room has become a place where boys who were not born equals can create as equals.
However, being sheltered by the comfort of the studio has left Key largely forgetful of one fact: Jonghyun has a girlfriend. Sekyung is the type of girl all the other girls envy: pretty, talented, kind, and most importantly, popular. Key doesn’t subscribe to this petty jealousy but several months into studio time with Jonghyun, Key finds that he has to share Jonghyun’s time with Sekyung.
This reminds Key of the irksome fact that he doesn’t share well.
His dampened mood must have reflected in his singing because Jonghyun keeps shooting him worried glances just short of asking him if he were all right. He mostly ignores these looks but tries to wring the irritation out of his voice all the same. After two weeks of this tension, Jonghyun slaps down a hefty score in front of Key.
“Let’s sing a duet,” he says.
Key has only sung a handful of duets with Jonghyun but he remembers distinctly the wonderment as the two voices harmonize; it’s elation at its finest. It makes Key forget the tug at his heartstrings whenever Jonghyun has to leave the studio to meet his girlfriend because Sekyung and Jonghyun can have their time alone but she’ll never experience the feeling of pure inspiration that can only come from singing in harmony with a voice a brilliant as Jonghyun’s.
“Okay,” is Key’s only reply before he dives into the score.
As the weeks progress, the duet becomes something like Key’s magnum opus; it’s so good that Key doesn’t even mind sharing the glory of his greatest work with another person. Apparently, Jonghyun shares the same sentiments because he hands Key a program for next Friday night.
“Our names are listed as one of the acts,” Key looks at the pamphlet dumbly.
Jonghyun grins, “yea, I signed us up last week. Surprise.”
“This is a terrible surprise,” Key tells Jonghyun matter-of-factly, “what if I never wanted to perform this in front of an audience?”
“Lies,” says Jonghyun but his eyes are slightly doubtful, “wait, you do want to do this right?”
Key toys with the idea of letting Jonghyun sweat a little more, but decides to take pity on him in the end, “Of course. I’d be mad not to want this. What about you? What would your football buddies think?”
“I’d be a moron to give up an opportunity this amazing on behalf of social construct,” Jonghyun replies, easy but sure.
Key can’t help but mirror Jonghyun’s grin, “yea, you would be.”
Unfortunately, it seems that Jonghyun is a moron because that Monday, he trudges into the studio looking pathetically apologetic.
“I can’t make it to the show on Friday,” Jonghyun explains, “Sekyung is debuting in her first play that night.”
“What,” is all Key manages.
“I’ve been such a terrible boyfriend,” Jonghyun continues helplessly, “I wasn’t even there for her when she auditioned for this role. I really can’t miss her debut because our relationship right now is tenuous at best-”
Key tramps down the initial shock with unbridled anger and bites out, “and you’re scared she’ll dump you on your ass because then the whole world will see the great Jonghyun fall into disgrace. Whatever will happen to your social standing then? So yea, ditch me and go to her play or whatever because obviously you can’t have your relationship reduced to shambles lest it ruins your image.”
“No, you asshole,” Jonghyun snaps, “I can’t let the fucking relationship end because I love her.”
It takes all of Key’s willpower not to ask, and me? Don’t you love me?
After the blow-up on Monday, Key edits and practices the duet - now solo - with renewed determination. Despite the amount of effort he puts in, the director continues to express doubts about the piece’s viability as a solo.
“I can sing it alone,” Key insists, grabbing the sheet music from the coordinator, “I’ve tweaked some of the harmonies so it won’t require two people.”
When Key sings the song now, all he sees is a reflection of loss and betrayal rather than all-encompassing love. It fits him better but there’s something wanting that refuses to be overlooked.
When Key steps onstage on Friday, countless nameless, faceless eyes follow him, judging him; it feels like the days spent wandering the hallways, so terribly alone in a crowd. The sensation is so overwhelming that he is momentarily compelled to run off stage.
He might have, if not for a voice not his own singing the first bar of his (their) duet.
Key’s eyes, along with the eyes of everyone else in attendance, swerve to find a mildly-dishevelled but thoroughly confident Jonghyun - paused in song - looking intently, meaningfully at the stage. When nobody moves to break the unscheduled intermission, Jonghyun strides purposefully down the steps and hauls himself up next to Key on the stage.
Later, Jonghyun will tell Key about his great revelation: sometimes it’s not what you do, but what you want to do. Later, Key will understand that Jonghyun may love Sekyung but he loves Key too, if not more, if not better. Much later, they’ll be happy together, fingers entwined as they face the world. But now, they sing.
There may be nothing glamorous about SM Academy, but the way their voices carry through the auditorium is nothing short of glorious.