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a/n um, so this might kind of suck. i tried, i couldn't salvage it. i'd still pet it though.
Taemin gingerly tilts his cousin’s bike to the left, the school’s west wall holding it up when he lets go. The thick music is still flowing out from behind the corner and his sneakers are quiet as he pads towards it. There’s a small basketball court, the markings on it scuffed and faded, with two sets of bleachers on either side. The net is missing but a stray basketball is lying trapped between a boy’s feet. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration and occasionally his hand lifts as if towards the boom box on the bench above his. But he never does touch it and the girl dances the length of the court uninterrupted.
She pushes her dreadlocks out of her face with a gloved hand and her baggy clothes are eating up half her movements but even then Taemin can tell she’s good. Her hips seem to have a life of their own as she picks out the second track of beats in the song, an unusual choice. Taemin’s eyes follow her rapt. The song splutters to an end a minute later, her limbs popping quickly to a few disk scratches before she drops to the ground, breaking into a grin as the few spectators clap.
The boy next to the boom box turns around to look at them and there is an abrupt silence. Taemin loses sight of his face and concentrates on his built. His thighs and calves are thick and his waist curiously small. The voice that carries over to him is deeper than he had anticipated.
“Alright, who’s going to tell me where Ri screwed up?”
Taemin counts the beats in his head (seven) of awkward silence. The girl has gotten back up, dusting the seat of her pants and narrowing her eyes around at the group behind the boy’s back.
“You’re not serious, Key,” a girl wearing a dress and a baseball cap groans. Her hair is cut short messily and her blonde streaks look like an at home job. When she shakes her head and leans forward to grip the boy’s shoulder several earrings catch the light all at once. “It was fine, it was good.”
“If it was good,” the boy snaps, shrugging her hand off and standing up. “If it was so good why, Ri, didn’t you dance the primary rhythm?” He jumps onto the court and walks towards the girl who is straining on the heels of her feet, shorter by a head. The tension between them grabs everyone’s attention and Taemin takes advantage of the moment to dart closer, lingering on the edges of the court.
“This style is for more evenly paced beats, I’ve told you before,” Ri replies and Taemin watches her shoulders flex and unflex. He takes a moment to admire them. Even beneath her jacket the movements of her muscles are lucid.
“And you can’t challenge the music, you can’t use it as an excuse, I’ve told you before,” Key says, his voice deeper than ever, almost thunderous on the bare concrete. “I’ve told all of you before.”
“I know, c’mon, you think I don’t know,” Ri says, shaking her head. She pulls a tie-dye handkerchief out of her pocket and mops her forehead before patting the taller boy on the shoulder and ambling to the bleachers. The slow deliberation of her walk visibly riles Key, Taemin can see it in the way his eyes follow Ri up the bleachers until she’s sitting next to the blonde girl.
“Show me how it’s done, Key,” she says, shielding her eyes once she’s settled. Her teeth flash impudent and white against her dark skin. Taemin thinks Key is on the verge of screaming but a second later laughter ripples over the asphalt and Taemin is surprised when it reaches him.
The group is lost in it, limbs flailing and helpless and Taemin is struck by a strong sense of guilt. He feels like he’s intruding, that suddenly it’s not a performance anymore, it’s five friends and he isn’t watching some movie. These are real people. He turns around quickly and makes for his bike. When his foot meets the pedal for the first push the music comes back on and rings in his ears long after he’s home.
➷
Taemin finds himself at the school’s abandoned basketball court on the next few afternoons, lurking in the shadows of the main building and watching these kids sweat it out. They dance religiously between three to five, until the sun licks the horizon before plunging into it. The girl with the blonde bob is in sweats on his fourth day of watching and she finally takes the court. She raps along to the music in a nasal tone while her feet hit the counts. Taemin thinks she doesn’t have the power of Ri and there’s some of Key in the way she dances.
Taemin has only seen Key dance once, two days ago, but it has been enough for him to tell Key is the best in this little group. His movements are sharp, almost unforgiving, and his choreography sensual. There’s a lilt to everything he does on the court which contrasts with how masculine he is when he isn’t dancing. It’s captivating.
Right now though he is nowhere to be seen. A tall boy with large eyes is helping Ri choreograph a new song. Something with a lot of fast-paced Korean Taemin doesn’t understand.
“So, you’re back.”
Taemin tears his eyes from the group with great unease. He recognizes that voice, it’s deep and almost hostile. Key is smirking when he turns around, leaning against the wall with arms folded and eyes lazy.
“What’re you doing here, kid? Don’t you have homework?”
Taemin resents it, the way Key is treating him but he’s seen Key at school when he was finalizing his transfer. Key’s two years elder to him and in Korea, which is here, which is now, he can talk to Taemin like that and Taemin can’t protest.
“Yeah,” he says simply in the end. “I am back.”
“Do you dance or do you just watch creepily?” Key asks, pushing off the wall with a smile and coming to stand next to him. Taemin’s a little taller than him.
“I dance,” Taemin answers unblinking, enjoying his slight advantage.
Key nods and Taemin jumps when he feels cool fingers slipping around his wrist. The glare of the sun envelops Key as he drags Taemin across the court and deposits him in the center. The tall kid and Ri clear off quickly, watching him curiously as Key makes a few quick signals with his fingers.
“Show time, kid,” Key announces, winking before prodding the boom box to life.
➷
“Oh, oh, oh, God, he’s a keeper,” Amber (the short-haired blonde as it would transpire) bumbles, bobbing on her toes and invading Taemin’s personal space. “He’s a keeper, oh, he’s a keeper, alright.”
Taemin rubs the back of his neck, shifting his weight and ignoring the pain shooting up his legs. It’s been four months since he’d danced like this, and his first time on tar. When he moves he can feel the way his jeans drag against the scrapes on his knees. Still it’s all easy to ignore in favor of the little twist of Kibum’s lips, the slight furrow in his pristine forehead.
“Key, seriously, he’s a kee-”
“I know, Amber, Jesus,” Key barks, cutting her short. He squints up at Taemin from his spot, boom box in the vicinity and the commander of every curious gaze after school hours. “He’s good, but will he work.” The words are mumbled, garbled by concentration as if spoken to himself.
“I will,” Taemin pipes up, anxious. The sweat is making his t-shirt stick to him and he tastes dust when he licks his lips and it’s nothing like dancing in a studio. It’s raw and remorseless, and any step he takes can erect a stage. This is the street. He feels like he could cartwheel circles around this town, there’s just so much energy in the air when these five people surround him.
There are no mirrors here, there’s no time to admire yourself. It’s all about keeping up with the music, racing it to the finish line and then collapsing in the mud. It’s about the exhilaration of an audience, of an appraising, unmoved gaze. This is Key’s world, his afternoon carnival where the sun is the spotlight and the bass is their master.
“I promise I will, as long as you want, I’ll practice,” he repeats, unconsciously reaching for Amber’s hand. Her fingers squeeze back and he lets out a deep breath. “Please, Key. I need this.”
Key doesn’t answer for a moment, reaching out under the bleacher and retrieving his battered navy backpack. He stands up, face inches from Taemin’s. His gaze is steady when he finally speaks, not a trace of a smile.
“Run him through, Minho.”
Amber and Ri descend upon him in a riotous hug and Taemin laughs, eyes watering from exhaustion and relief and the bright afternoon, dissolving the image of Key’s retreating back into his eyelids.
➷
“Kibum takes all this really seriously, you know. That’s Key’s real name,” Minho says in that slow, deliberate way of his. Taemin nods, listening so hard his ears feel perked. They cross the empty road with ease. This part of town is quiet, tucked away from the beach and the riotous market square. Minho lives three streets over from Taemin and, like Key had instructed, Minho is bringing him up to speed.
Taemin’s mind is still buzzing with pictures and the sting of his grazed elbows is amazing as he rings the doorbell. In his mind he can see a slightly younger Key, much like himself, whispering to his friends excitedly in class about his new idea. The teacher would pick his voice out with ease and reprimand him, tell him to pay attention. Key would wink once at Minho before turning around, clasping his hands and Minho would snigger at Key’s obvious insincerity. But Key would ignore it because Minho is a perfect candidate, he’s the darling of the track team and has impeccable stamina. He would need to tell Ri to borrow her sister’s boom box as well. They would all meet later that afternoon on the out-of-use basketball court and this is when Taemin’s mother opens the door with a small smile.
Taemin lets his bag drop on the porch and folds into her, sinking into her embrace. She smells of baby powder and jasmine water, of his childhood. Eventually he pulls back and gives her a worried look, noticing the tired lines under her eyes. He slings an arm over her shoulders after briefly dipping down to retrieve his bag.
“Umma,” he whispers, feeling his eyes crinkle in unison with hers.
“Where were you,” she says, gently slapping his forehead as they make their way down the hall to the kitchen. They separate and Taemin settles on the dining table as she brings him a glass of cold water. It goes down his parched throat with a rush and he finishes it in three big gulps before answering her.
“I made some friends.”
He can tell from the way she stills, back to him as her fingers rummage the cupboards, that she wasn’t expecting this. Taemin has always been a reserved, quiet sort of child and this is their first week back in her hometown.
When she turns around her smile is blinding.
“That’s great, Taemin-ah.”
➷
It happens on his first day as a student of the school, when his arms are sheathed in neat white and a tie loops decisively under his shirt collar. The crease of his trousers is perfect and Chansung, whose locker is next to Taemin’s, seems friendly enough.
“And then we have History with the new teacher, she’s Chinese but her Korean’s freakishly good,” Chansung rattles perplexed as he carefully shuts his locker. “Lunch is at 11.30 for our grade and the food is kind of good. But today is not pudding day. You must be used to pudding right?”
Taemin leans his head into his locker for a brief second, breathing deeply and coaching his smile back on his face.
“Actually I’m not too fussy about food,” he says, sliding a spare notebook into the empty locker and some extra pens. He would reorganize later when he actually knew what he was doing. “Mom made a lot of Korean food when we were there.”
“Right,” Chansung nods, touching his shoulder before steering them off to class. “And what was it like? In America? Is everyone blonde?”
His mouth is slightly open as he asks Taemin this and his eyes are rounded with inquisitiveness. It’s almost funny but he’s making Taemin feel like something to be examined and it makes him uncomfortable. His starched collar rubs against his Adam’s apple as he swallows down the irritation and responds with timely answers to each of Chansung’s questions. Like this the corridor is swallowed up by conversation, a sea of students swelling and ebbing around them.
Taemin is following Chansung up a crowded flight of stairs when he feels a soft pat on his butt.
Taemin’s words die off with a splutter and he whirls around, losing his balance for a second. He can feel Chansung’s puzzled stare on the back of his head but all he sees is the way Key smirks at him over his shoulder. The elder’s fingers crook in a momentary wave before the crowd swallows him up.
“Wow,” Chansung breathes into his face the moment Taemin turns around. “That was Kim Kibum, how do you know him? He’s like, senior year.”
“I met him a few days ago,” Taemin says, uncomfortable. He doesn’t like the renewed vigor with which Chansung is scanning him. He has enough of a reputation as the newly transferred kid - from America no less - without being some sort of clique limb. Perhaps he has transgressed some strict, unknown boundary; school’s have those. He knows from experience. “Why do you ask?”
“Well,” Chansung fumbles out excitedly as they take the remaining stairs. “He’s only like, one of the coolest kids at school. He gets away with everything, his grandmother’s a big name in the town. And he and his friends, well, they’re kind of snotty, they don’t talk to other people often.”
Taemin knows from Chansung’s tone that no matter how snotty he thinks Key and friends are he would drop everything in a heartbeat to be at the receiving end of that wave.
“But, hey, Taemin, don’t tell them I said that will you,” Chansung says suddenly, eyeing him with a hint of nervousness. “Since you seem to know them and everything.”
“Of course not, man.” Taemin smiles reassuringly as they stop outside the classroom. “We’re cool. Just do me a favor?”
“What is it?”
“I think I’ve answered every conceivable question about my fabulous, Yankee life, could you share them with the class so I don’t have to repeat them a dozen times a period?” Taemin says laughing as Chansung pushes open the door and the din of teenage antics wafts out.
➷
“Here’s our first day boy.” Minho smiles when Taemin’s skids into the court, tie pulled down and shoes dusted over. He takes a moment to catch his breath before sticking his tongue out at the elder. It is probably a risky move considering he’s only known Minho a day but something about Minho makes Taemin relax. Maybe it’s the slow, careful way he does everything or maybe it’s his large, friendly eyes. Minho punches his arm playfully as Taemin crosses him and it hurts like nothing new. Taemin feels like he’s known Minho for years.
Amber is engrossed with trying to snatch Yuu’s Walkman from him. Yuu, Taemin’s been told, is half-Korean and half-Japanese, something you can see in his dancing they say. He’s also somewhat of a prodigy at Taekwondo and keeps trying to pass it off as original choreography. Key apparently ends every practice by unfailingly threatening to choke him with his own brown belt.
Key seems to be pacified right now though, watching them with fond eyes. He has curious eyes. Taemin had noticed them the first day Key had approached him. They’re narrow and his cheeks ride up to cushion them when Key smiles. In a way they remind Taemin of a cat’s, unreadable and in that very fact, completely attractive.
“Earth to new kid,” Key yells and Taemin snaps to attention. A slight flush creeps up his neck when he realizes he had zoned out over the older boy’s face. “Pay some attention, puberty, we’re going to start changing your life soon.”
“I’m not that young,” Taemin protests half heartedly as Key begins circling him. His shirt is lying limp on a bleacher and the wind flutters inside his loose grey wifebeater. He is unusually pale for all the time he spends in the brunt of the afternoon.
“Pop your chest,” Key orders as he comes to standstill in front of Taemin. Taemin does as he’s told, a poor imitation he has taught himself in the confines of his room. His flush returns with a vengeance when Ri breaks into a laugh and even from here he can see the slight twitch of Yuu’s mouth.
“Wrong,” Key announces, gripping his shoulders. He looks up at Taemin through sparse, black lashes and shakes him once. “I know you’ve been trained in jazz for a while, I’ve been told. But this is different. This isn’t about technique, it’s about performance.”
Taemin nods, the hair already pasted to his forehead and unmoving even through his vigor.
“A correct chest pop,” Key says, dropping his hands and moving around to Taemin’s back. “It comes from your chest, not your shoulders. Do it again.”
Taemin repeats his movement and is barely done when Key’s hands come up to seize him again.
“Now try.”
Taemin is baffled and his face must show as much because Amber tells Key to stop harassing him and get on with it.
“That prat,” Key mutters darkly and Taemin giggles. Key turns him around so his back is to the others and instructs him primly.
“Watch.”
He executes a series of four, clean chest pops, the movement exploding out of his torso like rapid fire.
“You’re like… a machinegun,” Taemin whispers, unnerved. This close up Key’s even better than he had grasped. He’s really, really good.
“And you will be one too when I’m done with you,” Key says furtively. “Turn around again. Now, see this area between your shoulder blades. All the muscles my hand is touching, just those ones, try moving them. Yes, like that, but slowly. Get all of them into it. A pop isn’t about caving your shoulders in and then throwing your chest out. It has to come from the center, like it’s rippling out from your spine. Start slowly, take your time. You’ll be using muscles you didn’t even now have this much strength.”
Kibum’s fingertips ghost Taemin’s muscles for the next ten minutes and he responds in tandem, sharp and demanding of them. The invisible touches bid him forward like some sort of puppet and he follows Kibum’s hands as they clench and go limp in alternation.
“Alright, keep this up and you’ll get it,” Kibum says finally, hands dropping to his sides as he gestures Amber over. “She’ll help you with this, it’s popping 101. It’ll be a disgrace if you don’t get this much right, Americana, so work for it.”
Amber grabs him by the hand and scampers to the edge of the bleacher, ducking them under into the cool shade. Out on the court the song Minho and Ri are working on springs to life and Taemin can make out Key’s sharp voice counting them through it.
➷
When he gets home just short of sundown three days in a row his mother’s tone gets firm. It’s not like he doesn’t want to tell her, but long explanations make him lazy and before they moved here she never really worried herself about his spare time. In the end he settles for telling her he’s joined the school dance troupe.
“They must have worked on the arts program in the town I’m guessing,” she says, eyeing him for a reaction.
“They have,” Taemin replies, swallowing his rice quickly and offering what he hopes is a winning smile. “It’s actually quite comprehensive. And the teacher’s great.”
“Right.” She pushes the meat towards him with her wrist, a flicker of suspicion still in her eyes as she lets up. But Taemin knows it’s temporary, sooner or later he will have to tell her. He isn’t sure how she would react knowing it is so, well so unlike his past dancing. It isn’t refined or recognized, it’s grimy and unknown to Korea in the first place. It’ll be a bridge of some reckoning. For now he tucks into their early dinner, enjoying the whirring fan on his freshly showered back and appreciative of his russet fingers cradling the pristine family china.
➷
On Thursday his last lesson gets cancelled. The teacher has a conference to attend in Seoul and won’t be back all this week. A few kids from class whom he has befriended invite him to noraebang but he dodges it smoothly. He wouldn’t be back in time and he knows from experience Key’s penchant for making latecomers run multiple rounds of the court. He needs it to look like he’s gone home so he makes himself scarce, heading to the secluded haven of the bleachers early. When they are pulled into his view there is someone already there, a figure lying across one of them, one foot skimming the ground and an arm crossed over the eyes. He can tell it’s Key from the luxurious black hair, splaying on the white-washed wood in abundance and the distinctive sneakers. They’re doodled on with Magic Markers, everything from dollar signs to a squinty eyed Captain Planet.
“Hey,” he calls, crossing over. Key lifts his free arm in acknowledgement and Taemin flops down on the bench below his, rearranging his limbs until he’s comfortable. No one says anything for a few moments until Key rolls over onto his side and peers down at him.
“Hey,” he says and Taemin can smell the mint he’s delicately sucking on. “When I said be early if you can’t be on time, this isn’t exactly what I meant.”
Taemin laughs and waves the remark off.
“Class got cancelled. I thought I might as well come here, it’s nice. It’s quiet.”
“Like you,” Key says immediately.
“Maybe,” Taemin admits. He finds it difficult to hold Key’s gaze this close, the older boy looming over him unnervingly. He knows he’s blinking too much again, a childhood habit from when he isn’t sure of what to say. “Is that a bad thing?”
Key takes a moment or two of deliberation. Taemin catches a flash of pink as he rolls the mint over on his tongue.
“It’s a good thing,” he says, smiling. It’s his first smile directed at Taemin and its sincerity is new to him. Key’s teeth are pearly and he isn’t cheap with them, lips stretched broad across his face. “People who talk too much do nothing. We talk through our dance.”
Taemin nods, wincing when the soft skin of his ear chafes on the harsh wood. Key laughs and reaches out a hand to ruffle Taemin’s hair. Taemin congratulates himself on his idea of coming here. He feels like he’s managed to worm his way into Key’s good books. Even if he does get the distinct feeling that Key enjoys babying him it’s better than his clinical, teacher mode.
“You need a name, by the way.”
“I have a name,” Taemin says impishly. “And I quite like it.”
“Yeah,” Kibum says patiently, examining a stray cuticle. “But it’s not exactly a stage name. It isn’t the kind of name I’d like to hear announced before I come on. It’s too plain, it doesn’t tell anyone anything about me.”
Taemin tries to paint the picture Kibum is describing and fails miserably. But he thinks he sees Key’s point.
“What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know actually,” Key laughs and sits up, swinging his legs in a way that makes it imperative for Taemin to draw back. He stretches into a yawn and his eyes are swimming with moisture when they meet Taemin’s again. “But we’ll figure something out. I’m not sending you on stage for the next two weeks at least.”
Taemin blinks at a phenomenal pace as Key jumps from bench to bench and lands on the court, moving off. He scrambles to his feet and chases after him, his voice thick with wonder.
“I’ll get to go up on stage?!”
“Yes,” Key says over his shoulder. “I’ll explain. Let’s go stock up on drinks from the vending machine first, the others will be here soon.”
➷
“Well,” Taemin blurts. Key seems oblivious to the impatience gripping him as he takes his time, eyes roving every individual beverage carefully. He shushes Taemin before retrieving change from his pockets and thumbing it into the slot. Two minutes later they’re walking down the deserted corridor with three bottles of water and two packets of mixed fruit juice. As they push back into the open Key breaks his silence with a laugh.
“Well that was fun, watching you practically explode.”
Taemin tries to form a sentence but fails, and some garbled noise jets out his mouth. Key only laughs harder at that, cuffing an arm around Taemin’s neck and suddenly Taemin has a noseful of Key. He smells like lemons and cool water, a pleasant but strong tang. His neck prickles agreeably where Key is touching it and Taemin takes a deep breath.
“That tickles,” Key warns but continues to drag him along, the plastic bag of drinks noisy in Taemin’s hand. “Anyhow, here’s a secret for you, pubes. Every Friday the bars along the east edge of the beach have open stage nights. Each act gets fifteen minutes to show their stuff and sometimes, if they like what you do, they call you back on other days. We’ve had thirteen callbacks over the past year and we actually have a handful of fans. Or just regulars I guess.”
Taemin keeps his mouth pursed but in the places their skin is touching he can feel the dregs of adrenaline that keep Kibum’s veins so emerald. In America this wouldn’t be something to celebrate, kids there age are scouted into failure every day. But here in this deadbeat little town they’re probably revolutionary and why shouldn’t they enjoy it? Everything is context, his 7th grade English teacher used to say. Everything is just a time and a place.
And right now is Taemin being jostled along by Key, hearing the voices of their friends fanning out over the court as they come into view and smiling wide across the afternoon at them.
➷
“Hey,” Chansung whispers, leaning forward. The teacher hasn’t looked up from the essay she’s been narrating for the past fifteen minutes and Taemin turns around thinking this as green a go signal he’s going to get.
“What’s up?” he smiles. His class is actually a pretty friendly bunch, much smaller than his earlier ones and eager to help. Their fascination with him has worn off as the weeks go by but they seem to like him all the same and it relieves him. It allows him to slump in his chair and the August air is breezy.
“I saw you walking with Key this morning, you guys looked pretty friendly.”
Taemin feels the tension creep up his back and he sits a little straighter.
“We’re alright. He’s nice to me.”
“Yeah, about that,” Chansung begins, hesitation and determination battling out in his voice. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. What I mean is, I thought he was just interested in you because you were a transfer for America but since he’s stuck around I feel like I should warn you.”
“Warn me about what?” Taemin is thoroughly confused by now. Sure, Key is pretty closed off about most aspects of his life and he can be a real bitch sometimes but there’s nothing to suggest he’s dangerous in any way. “I won’t get angry, just tell me clearly.”
“Fine,” the other boy says with a heavy breath. “There are these rumors, about Key-sunbae, they’ve been there all along and he’s been with girls, a lot in fact, but they say he’s been with boys too. And by been they mean, like, you know.” Chansung finishes with some very incriminating hand gestures and a silence hangs between them.
Taemin can’t say he’s surprised; he never made any assumptions about the older boy. Never made or couldn’t make, he amends, because Key is difficult to pin down. He can be terrifying and he has shown up with bruised knuckles on more than one occasion but he is also fragile, in his own way, about his dreams, about his ability; always hitching the necks of his clothes up or fixing his hair as if there was some invisible presence he is trying to impress. And then there is his dancing, the way he moves his thighs and ass is-
“I didn’t mean to insult your friend,” Chansung squeaks suddenly. Taemin shakes his head, clearing it and reassuring Chansung that he isn’t offended before turning to face the right way again. He is a little surprised when the lunch bell manages to pick its way through the clutter in his mind.
➷
“He goes easy on you, you know,” Ri says darkly, making no effort to lower her voice so that Key stills for a second on the court, letting Yuu help him perfect the composition. “Probably because you’re young. You should see him around kids, he’s sickening.”
Key improvises the step Yuu has just demonstrated, neatly flipping Ri off within its footwork. Taemin is tempted to ask Ri about Chansung’s little monologue. It isn’t often the others offer information on Key. The group as a whole respects each other’s rights. It was important for teamwork, Taemin had been instructed. If you have something to say to someone, you grow a pair and you say it to them; you have something to ask, you grow another, and so on. The idea of having multiple balls is disturbing but Taemin likes to think he gets it.
Key might not like finding out Taemin has been going around asking about him so Taemin swallows the temptation and lets Ri take him through his part again. His limbs are looser now, fracturing better and jerking harder. He’s had to forget some of his jazz training; it isn’t about the lines anymore or the arch of your back. It’s about pure power. Everyone seems to exude confidence and it leaves them as quickly as it fills them. The most stark transformation is Minho’s. When the clear sweat glistens on his sharp cheekbones and his plump lips fill with blood, Minho’s good looks are startling. His eyes become leering and aggressive.
In fact, he is nothing like the shy, soft-spoken boy Taemin had introduced to his mother last weekend. That Minho had been increasingly well-mannered, noticing things about his house Taemin himself hadn’t. By the time he had left Taemin’s mother had been thoroughly taken, telling Taemin how she had heard about the nice Choi brothers around town and how he would do well to take after Minho. This weekend he was planning to introduce Yuu and Amber to her. He was taking it slow, phasing her into acceptance. Ri might be too much of a shock so he was saving her for a later day.
And to be honest Taemin had no idea how to introduce Key to his mother. This strange boy with his swathe of dark hair and level gaze who was responsible for every fresh day Taemin didn’t run away from this strange town. They keep him here, Taemin realizes, every breath Key pants out, every bead of sweat inching down his stark collarbones. Everything is because of this boy.
(And Taemin thinks he has to know.)
➷
Taemin’s first tryst with the open stage happens eleven days later. He begs Minho to frequent his house so he has an appropriate excuse for his mother once Friday rolls around. It isn’t strictly false; he would be sleeping over at Minho’s but just after their performance.
Key calls for rehearsals early in the days leading up to it. Since they have only fifteen minutes the sets would have to be tight and glitch-free. Yuu and Amber, then Ri and Minho and then all four. Key and Taemin would sit this one out. Taemin thinks it would probably be easier to have Key on stage next to you, engrossed and distracted, rather than having his eyes mapping your every move, waiting for you to slip up.
This thought repeats itself when Key halts Amber mid-routine the third time in a row and visibly works the anger out of his voice. He sounds tired when he sits back down and Amber goes through the rest of it silently. Taemin picks his way over, sitting down behind Key with his legs crossed so that his nose brushes Key’s spine. He winds two arms over Key’s waist. The older boy scratches Taemin’s forearm where it rests over his stomach before shaking him off.
“It’ll be fine,” Taemin whispers when Key turns to look at him.
“We won’t know that until it’s done,” he replies tersely.
Taemin falls asleep at some point, his worn jacket covering his face and the next thing he knows is someone is kneeing him the stomach. He yelps in pain, the jacket slipping off and tumbling to the ground.
“What the fuc-”
“C’mon, it’s time to go,” Key snaps. There’s a vein in his neck which is working overtime and he has pulled his slightly too long bangs back with a lycra hairband. Taemin gathers his things without protest and takes his place in tow. He can’t help squeezing Key’s hand as he overtakes him, a fleeting reunion of their fingers to ward off bad luck.
The air is thick with anticipation.
➷
They take the bus down to the waterfront market, and it’s a ten minute walk from the stop. They pass countless stores but everything is lost in the buzz in Taemin’s ears. It’s childish but he’s excited. In front of him he can see Minho’s back working, the way he is subtly recounting his movements within the confine of his walk and he can hear all of them humming the songs quietly into the night. Key is leading them down the sidewalk, shoulders rising and dipping. He looks like he’s prowling from where Taemin’s watching.
After two consecutive lefts and a right they reach Hyehwa Street. The third bar down it has them registered to perform at 9:45 and they slip into the alley beside it. The performers’ entry is from the back. Key greets the bouncer with boyish familiarity before turning to usher them all inside. They have half an hour before they go on, plenty of time to change. Taemin helps with the make up, slathering on foundation generously so their faces don’t shine on stage. Key instructs him on how to do the eyes, how to make them look discomfiting and smoldering. The best combination, he says, laughing as he rims Minho’s eyes with kohl. The effect is breathtaking and Taemin resists fidgeting when Minho looks him up and down jokingly.
Ri ties her hair up high, letting it pinch free into a tumbling river of brown, whipping it experimentally a few times. Yuu slicks his hair back and Amber leaves hers to be what it will. There’s no taming it, she had told Taemin ruefully a few days ago.
“We’re on in ten,” Key barks, poking his head into their dressing-closet with its two light bulbs and cracked mirror. “I’ve given him the tape, let’s hope the fucker doesn’t screw it up.”
Taemin gives everyone a critical once-over and deems them fit for the stage. Their clothes are loose in all the essential places and ripped in others for a dramatic effect. The splashes of silver amongst the black would catch better in the spotlight. It feels like only two minutes later that all four of them are gone, shooed into position by an anxious Key who is now dragging Taemin to their table. He doesn’t let go of Taemin’s hand even after they sit down, worrying his thumb against Taemin’s palm. Taemin can feel the grooves of Key’s skin sliding over his own.
“I can’t believe our start off cheer is, Go us!” Key says, his voice curiously devoid of emotion. “We really need to start naming things around here, baby.”
“Like you just named me baby?” Taemin feels his eyebrows disappear into his hair.
“Like I just did whatever I want to you because I can,” Key shrugs, a tiny smirk emerging on his face when suddenly the announcer is back on the modest bar stage. Taemin ignores it, clapping until his palms sting when their friends are handed the floor. They traipse out to scattered applause, take up their positions and wait.
The music shows up right on time.
➷
They change bars after the show is over. A celebration, Yuu demands, for their callback. The first of the session and he wasn’t settling for anything but the finest soju. Key laughs and leads them out, prouder this time. Taemin settles in beside him, a smug smile breaking out on his face over and over. When the last bar on the block comes into sight, with the strange blue light spilling from its windows and every inch of its old wood creaking under the intense bass, Taemin thinks of his mother sitting alone at home.
“Is this place alright for us?” he can’t help saying as he tugs Key’s sleeve. “For me.”
“We’re a small town but not a meddling one. As long as you don’t do anything stupid,” Key answers confidently. “Which I will make sure you don’t.”
A faceless arm swings the glass doors open to let them in. Taemin presses against Key as they cross the dance floor and make for one of the corner sofas. It’s his first time in a Korean club and it’s more strange than familiar.
“Soju,” Yuu and Ri say in unison while the others sit down, disappearing in the direction of the bar.
“Place is kind of intense, huh,” Key whispers in Taemin’s ear, hot and teasing. Taemin might have been inclined to be brave or dismissive if he had been used to so many people assaulting all his senses all at once. But he isn’t and he silently leans into Key. Key looks surprised for a second, everything he has known of Taemin made him feel the boy would scratch back. Still he doesn’t push it further and Taemin smiles gratefully when a reassuring hand curls over his shoulder.
Soju is nothing like the few beers or two shots of vodka Taemin has tried. It’s almost violent when he throws it down his throat, blazing down his body and suddenly everything is too hot. He dimly hears the cheers of his friends over his coughs, before his glass is back in his hand, replenished and thrilling.
Taemin doesn’t remember at what point Key’s fingers pinch his wrist and warn him to put his glass down without protest. His head feels heavy and his stomach churns unpleasantly every time he moves.
“Taeminnie is drunk,” Amber giggles from where she and Ri are a seat full of flailing limbs. Ri is in that obscenely short skirt she had changed into and Taemin knows Minho is watching the way the club’s lights are dancing on her bare thighs. When he pulls her up for a dance Taemin is anxious to release his own body and he turns to Key, biting his lip.
“Please,” he whines. “I haven’t danced all night.”
Staying upright is a challenge though and Taemin thinks he would fall if Key’s arms weren’t so tight around his waist.
“Once I came here in drag,” Key shouts over the music, grinning. He’s friendlier now that there’s alcohol in his system. “I got picked up too, it was hilarious.”
Taemin giggles helplessly into Key’s shirt. His mind is feeling reckless and he feels a pleasant, reassuring buzz he is sure will last forever. Key is willing to talk about himself tonight so Taemin can’t see why he shouldn’t press his lips over Key’s ear and just ask.
“Hyung,” he slurs. “Are you gay, hyung? Are you gay too?”
“Shut up, Min,” Key says, shaking his head and pushing Taemin off himself but Taemin has waited too long to find out to give up so easily. He fists his fingers in Key’s shirt and pulls him back, shivering. He feels eyes turn on them.
“Kibum, you can tell me,” he trills, rapidly dwindling into frustration. “Please tell me.”
“Shit, Taemin, you’re making a scene,” Key growls before prying him off and grabbing his forearm. Taemin is surprised to feel tears spilling down his cheeks as Key hauls him off the dance floor and heads for the back exit. He wrenches it open before pushing Taemin outside, following behind him and slamming the door shut. The music swallows up the angry sound.
“Fuck,” Key repeats, retrieving a cigarette and a lighter from his jeans. He lights up and takes a long drag, closing his eyes and breathing it out. The smoke curls grey in Taemin’s vision as his tears continue to blur the night. It becomes swirls of blue and yellow as the occasional car drives past, indifferent.
Something in him gives way and he slides down, feeling the brick wall scrape his back open through his thin t-shirt. He wipes his nose on his jeans, biting back a sob and when he looks up Key is peering at him worriedly.
“Taemin, come on, baby, don’t cry, it’s nothing to cry about,” he says softly, stroking the bridge of Taemin’s nose. His fingers smell of tobacco and something acidic. Taemin shakes them off, turning his head to the side and trying to quell the moisture in his eyes. They come back up, grip his chin and force him to look at Key who is crouched in front of him.
“Look, if I told you I was,” he breathes, frustration and sweat painting his features. “If I did, what would you want? What do you want to hear? I’m not gay, I’m bisexual. I look at Minho’s abs and I stare at Ri’s legs and I can’t pick, alright. And I’m pretty fucking reconciled to the idea of going to hell. I notice you too, I’m not blind, but shit if I would ever make a move on a kid like you, Taemin, I’m not an asshole. I would never fuck with you, I like you too much and you probably don’t even know what you’re saying, asking to be gay in a country like ours, this isn’t America anymore.”
Taemin doesn’t blink, he doesn’t tear his eyes from Key’s. He’s expecting something more after this confession, perhaps some sort of great bravery and folly. We’ve fallen this far so why can’t we fall all the way. It never comes. He concentrates on schooling the alcohol out of his limbs before he pushes Key out of the way and stands up again.
“It’s fine,” he rasps out. “Rejection runs in the family.”
The last word breaks, like his family had eight months ago, into little sobs and fresh tears and he ducks away, tucking his chin in and walking down the alley to hide his embarrassment. This wasn’t how he had wanted to have this conversation, he didn’t want to breakdown over everything two minutes after being rejected by Key. But shit if he didn’t feel like it, if his fingers weren’t trembling uncontrollably and he didn’t know where to go. Minho is still inside the club, with Ri probably, and Taemin has no where to go. He hiccups and covers his face with a palm, biting down on it to quiet himself. It doesn’t work and he bites down harder than he intended. Blood worms into his mouth, metallic, and he is too shocked to register Key’s hand on his arm, pulling him back.
He falls against Key wordlessly, exhausted and there is no more fight left in him. His feet somehow manage to cross the street, guided by Key and then he is lying down on a bench, palm aching and head cushioned.
“Taemin, I really am sorry,” Key whispers. His voice is tired and deeper than Taemin has ever heard it.
Taemin closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the feeling of cold fingers carding through his sweaty scalp. The tears slip down his face quieter and quieter, salty when they brush his lips. They die down eventually as Key’s hand comes forward to grip his.
“My dad left us,” he says finally. “Last year, he walked out on us and he went to her. We never even suspected there was someone else. That’s when I started dancing, that’s the only way I made it through. But my mom, she, you can’t imagine, Key, you and I can’t even begin to understand. She’s so brave, she’s everything to me, and yet, sometimes, even just thinking about what happened, I.”
When he opens his eyes Key is simply looking at him. His eyes catch every light around for miles and there is no pretense of sympathy. Key would never lie to him, never say he understands when he doesn’t. And this is all Taemin has wanted all along. For someone to admit that he wasn’t one of many children with a broken home, that others made it past it and so could he. To admit that he is Taemin, the only person who could know what it’s like to be him, the shy boy who had looked up to his father all his life and one day his world had fallen apart; he sees that tonight in the way Key’s lips fall open in realization.
Key’s hand squeezes his and the knot in his chest breaks open. He cries quietly into Key’s thigh, in dark, wet patches on his jeans. He cries until his eyes hurt and he can’t keep them open anymore. The waves break on the shore a few feet away and the alcohol tumbling in his veins pulls him to sleep.
➷
When he wakes up he’s alone. Key’s thick leather jacket is draped across his shoulders and the sky is choked with stars. They twinkle down at him even as the wind sneaks under his clothes and tickles him into shivers. Taemin sits up and slips into the jacket, drawing it closer. His eyes adjust to the dark and he casts a look back to the club. It is silent now, dark except for a single light in an upstairs window.
“You’re up,” a voice says from behind him and he turns around. Key smiles at him and pulls him off the bench, rubbing warmth into his arms. “I was just taking a walk. Come on.”
Taemin nods, stifling a yawn. He’s a little overwhelmed and he can feel a headache ebbing on but he follows Key down to the beach surefooted as a goat. The sand is cold and bright when he digs a toe in it experimentally.
“Sit,” Key says, patting the spot next to him. Taemin complies, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What did Minho tell you, on that first day, what did he say.”
Taemin takes a moment to find his voice and when he does it comes out small and weary against the thundering ocean.
“He said you want to go to Seoul and be a star.”
“Yes,” Key nods, his gaze trained on the horizon. “That’s exactly what I want, Taemin, I want to leave this town. I’m dying to leave. There is a boy, he came here last summer to stay with is aunt. We met in the grocery store and after that we met everyday. He wants to be a singer, he’s good enough to be one too. He lives in Seoul and sometimes he still calls me. Every time I feel like giving up, like everyone else might be right and I might be wrong, I think of him.”
“Do you love him?” Taemin asks instantly, churlish and beyond caring.
Key just laughs and tousles his hair.
“No, idiot. He is a strictly C-cup and above guy anyway. But I, I love the idea of him, the idea of people believing in me and wanting me to realize my dreams. I know I’m just 18 and it’s an incredible risk but I’ll die if I have to stay in this town. I know I will if I never even try.”
“So you’re telling me you won’t fuck me because you want to be a superstar?” Taemin deadpans. “That makes no fucking sense.”
“It isn’t about fucking you, and don’t you ever let it be just about that,” Key growls, turning to look at him. “I like you, you dance like a dream and look like a wet dream but the point is I’m not going to be around. And you have two more years here. You need someone who will be around for you, someone you can go around with, you’re only sixteen. I can be your friend, baby, I promise I’ll be the best to you.”
“I don’t want to be friends,” Taemin snaps, gripping Key’s arm and pushing him down into the sand. Key resists but Taemin ignores him, straddling him quickly. “Why can’t you get that?”
“You’re a brat,” Key says, going listless beneath him.
“Maybe so,” Taemin says, sliding down him an inch before falling forward. Their bodies align and he can’t help the little moan that escapes him when they do. He brushes his nose across the length of Key’s collarbone, the familiar scent assaulting him.
“I really, really like you. I think about you, I think about fucking you,” he admits as a hand comes up to the stroke the bone on his nape. “I think about you everywhere, while making breakfast, right before sleeping, I think about it until I can’t think about anything else. Until I’m so hard I can’t walk straight.”
“Gay sex is a terrible idea for dancers,” Key muses half-heartedly, meeting his gaze with soft eyes. “But I would let you.”
“Hyung,” Taemin groans and presses forward, a tiny bump so he can really feel the dig of Key’s hipbones. “Then let me. We have months, hyung, days and hours and whole minutes.”
The night collapses into silence where they’re fixed on each other.
“We do, don’t we?” Key asks finally and the words unfurl in Taemin’s ear like a promise, his deep breaths making their chests brush. “And then what?”
Taemin shrinks back a little, feeling the cold air fill the spaces between them and he misses Key already.
“Then you’ll go to Seoul, become a superstar, and come back to me because I’ll fuck you so hard and deep no one will ever touch you where I’ve touched you,” he says fiercely, cupping Key’s chin. “Because I was there when you started, because I was your first real love.”
Key’s eyes map his face in silence as the sand shifts beneath their weight. Taemin’s hand is trembling and he can’t breathe. He is laid out here for Key to overthrow and Taemin knows if it happens he probably won’t be able to get up again. He closes his eyes when he sees the older boy’s lips unpurse.
“Alright,” Key says simply. “Alright.”
➷
count 8697
a/n um, so this might kind of suck. i tried, i couldn't salvage it. i'd still pet it though.
Taemin gingerly tilts his cousin’s bike to the left, the school’s west wall holding it up when he lets go. The thick music is still flowing out from behind the corner and his sneakers are quiet as he pads towards it. There’s a small basketball court, the markings on it scuffed and faded, with two sets of bleachers on either side. The net is missing but a stray basketball is lying trapped between a boy’s feet. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration and occasionally his hand lifts as if towards the boom box on the bench above his. But he never does touch it and the girl dances the length of the court uninterrupted.
She pushes her dreadlocks out of her face with a gloved hand and her baggy clothes are eating up half her movements but even then Taemin can tell she’s good. Her hips seem to have a life of their own as she picks out the second track of beats in the song, an unusual choice. Taemin’s eyes follow her rapt. The song splutters to an end a minute later, her limbs popping quickly to a few disk scratches before she drops to the ground, breaking into a grin as the few spectators clap.
The boy next to the boom box turns around to look at them and there is an abrupt silence. Taemin loses sight of his face and concentrates on his built. His thighs and calves are thick and his waist curiously small. The voice that carries over to him is deeper than he had anticipated.
“Alright, who’s going to tell me where Ri screwed up?”
Taemin counts the beats in his head (seven) of awkward silence. The girl has gotten back up, dusting the seat of her pants and narrowing her eyes around at the group behind the boy’s back.
“You’re not serious, Key,” a girl wearing a dress and a baseball cap groans. Her hair is cut short messily and her blonde streaks look like an at home job. When she shakes her head and leans forward to grip the boy’s shoulder several earrings catch the light all at once. “It was fine, it was good.”
“If it was good,” the boy snaps, shrugging her hand off and standing up. “If it was so good why, Ri, didn’t you dance the primary rhythm?” He jumps onto the court and walks towards the girl who is straining on the heels of her feet, shorter by a head. The tension between them grabs everyone’s attention and Taemin takes advantage of the moment to dart closer, lingering on the edges of the court.
“This style is for more evenly paced beats, I’ve told you before,” Ri replies and Taemin watches her shoulders flex and unflex. He takes a moment to admire them. Even beneath her jacket the movements of her muscles are lucid.
“And you can’t challenge the music, you can’t use it as an excuse, I’ve told you before,” Key says, his voice deeper than ever, almost thunderous on the bare concrete. “I’ve told all of you before.”
“I know, c’mon, you think I don’t know,” Ri says, shaking her head. She pulls a tie-dye handkerchief out of her pocket and mops her forehead before patting the taller boy on the shoulder and ambling to the bleachers. The slow deliberation of her walk visibly riles Key, Taemin can see it in the way his eyes follow Ri up the bleachers until she’s sitting next to the blonde girl.
“Show me how it’s done, Key,” she says, shielding her eyes once she’s settled. Her teeth flash impudent and white against her dark skin. Taemin thinks Key is on the verge of screaming but a second later laughter ripples over the asphalt and Taemin is surprised when it reaches him.
The group is lost in it, limbs flailing and helpless and Taemin is struck by a strong sense of guilt. He feels like he’s intruding, that suddenly it’s not a performance anymore, it’s five friends and he isn’t watching some movie. These are real people. He turns around quickly and makes for his bike. When his foot meets the pedal for the first push the music comes back on and rings in his ears long after he’s home.
➷
Taemin finds himself at the school’s abandoned basketball court on the next few afternoons, lurking in the shadows of the main building and watching these kids sweat it out. They dance religiously between three to five, until the sun licks the horizon before plunging into it. The girl with the blonde bob is in sweats on his fourth day of watching and she finally takes the court. She raps along to the music in a nasal tone while her feet hit the counts. Taemin thinks she doesn’t have the power of Ri and there’s some of Key in the way she dances.
Taemin has only seen Key dance once, two days ago, but it has been enough for him to tell Key is the best in this little group. His movements are sharp, almost unforgiving, and his choreography sensual. There’s a lilt to everything he does on the court which contrasts with how masculine he is when he isn’t dancing. It’s captivating.
Right now though he is nowhere to be seen. A tall boy with large eyes is helping Ri choreograph a new song. Something with a lot of fast-paced Korean Taemin doesn’t understand.
“So, you’re back.”
Taemin tears his eyes from the group with great unease. He recognizes that voice, it’s deep and almost hostile. Key is smirking when he turns around, leaning against the wall with arms folded and eyes lazy.
“What’re you doing here, kid? Don’t you have homework?”
Taemin resents it, the way Key is treating him but he’s seen Key at school when he was finalizing his transfer. Key’s two years elder to him and in Korea, which is here, which is now, he can talk to Taemin like that and Taemin can’t protest.
“Yeah,” he says simply in the end. “I am back.”
“Do you dance or do you just watch creepily?” Key asks, pushing off the wall with a smile and coming to stand next to him. Taemin’s a little taller than him.
“I dance,” Taemin answers unblinking, enjoying his slight advantage.
Key nods and Taemin jumps when he feels cool fingers slipping around his wrist. The glare of the sun envelops Key as he drags Taemin across the court and deposits him in the center. The tall kid and Ri clear off quickly, watching him curiously as Key makes a few quick signals with his fingers.
“Show time, kid,” Key announces, winking before prodding the boom box to life.
➷
“Oh, oh, oh, God, he’s a keeper,” Amber (the short-haired blonde as it would transpire) bumbles, bobbing on her toes and invading Taemin’s personal space. “He’s a keeper, oh, he’s a keeper, alright.”
Taemin rubs the back of his neck, shifting his weight and ignoring the pain shooting up his legs. It’s been four months since he’d danced like this, and his first time on tar. When he moves he can feel the way his jeans drag against the scrapes on his knees. Still it’s all easy to ignore in favor of the little twist of Kibum’s lips, the slight furrow in his pristine forehead.
“Key, seriously, he’s a kee-”
“I know, Amber, Jesus,” Key barks, cutting her short. He squints up at Taemin from his spot, boom box in the vicinity and the commander of every curious gaze after school hours. “He’s good, but will he work.” The words are mumbled, garbled by concentration as if spoken to himself.
“I will,” Taemin pipes up, anxious. The sweat is making his t-shirt stick to him and he tastes dust when he licks his lips and it’s nothing like dancing in a studio. It’s raw and remorseless, and any step he takes can erect a stage. This is the street. He feels like he could cartwheel circles around this town, there’s just so much energy in the air when these five people surround him.
There are no mirrors here, there’s no time to admire yourself. It’s all about keeping up with the music, racing it to the finish line and then collapsing in the mud. It’s about the exhilaration of an audience, of an appraising, unmoved gaze. This is Key’s world, his afternoon carnival where the sun is the spotlight and the bass is their master.
“I promise I will, as long as you want, I’ll practice,” he repeats, unconsciously reaching for Amber’s hand. Her fingers squeeze back and he lets out a deep breath. “Please, Key. I need this.”
Key doesn’t answer for a moment, reaching out under the bleacher and retrieving his battered navy backpack. He stands up, face inches from Taemin’s. His gaze is steady when he finally speaks, not a trace of a smile.
“Run him through, Minho.”
Amber and Ri descend upon him in a riotous hug and Taemin laughs, eyes watering from exhaustion and relief and the bright afternoon, dissolving the image of Key’s retreating back into his eyelids.
➷
“Kibum takes all this really seriously, you know. That’s Key’s real name,” Minho says in that slow, deliberate way of his. Taemin nods, listening so hard his ears feel perked. They cross the empty road with ease. This part of town is quiet, tucked away from the beach and the riotous market square. Minho lives three streets over from Taemin and, like Key had instructed, Minho is bringing him up to speed.
Taemin’s mind is still buzzing with pictures and the sting of his grazed elbows is amazing as he rings the doorbell. In his mind he can see a slightly younger Key, much like himself, whispering to his friends excitedly in class about his new idea. The teacher would pick his voice out with ease and reprimand him, tell him to pay attention. Key would wink once at Minho before turning around, clasping his hands and Minho would snigger at Key’s obvious insincerity. But Key would ignore it because Minho is a perfect candidate, he’s the darling of the track team and has impeccable stamina. He would need to tell Ri to borrow her sister’s boom box as well. They would all meet later that afternoon on the out-of-use basketball court and this is when Taemin’s mother opens the door with a small smile.
Taemin lets his bag drop on the porch and folds into her, sinking into her embrace. She smells of baby powder and jasmine water, of his childhood. Eventually he pulls back and gives her a worried look, noticing the tired lines under her eyes. He slings an arm over her shoulders after briefly dipping down to retrieve his bag.
“Umma,” he whispers, feeling his eyes crinkle in unison with hers.
“Where were you,” she says, gently slapping his forehead as they make their way down the hall to the kitchen. They separate and Taemin settles on the dining table as she brings him a glass of cold water. It goes down his parched throat with a rush and he finishes it in three big gulps before answering her.
“I made some friends.”
He can tell from the way she stills, back to him as her fingers rummage the cupboards, that she wasn’t expecting this. Taemin has always been a reserved, quiet sort of child and this is their first week back in her hometown.
When she turns around her smile is blinding.
“That’s great, Taemin-ah.”
➷
It happens on his first day as a student of the school, when his arms are sheathed in neat white and a tie loops decisively under his shirt collar. The crease of his trousers is perfect and Chansung, whose locker is next to Taemin’s, seems friendly enough.
“And then we have History with the new teacher, she’s Chinese but her Korean’s freakishly good,” Chansung rattles perplexed as he carefully shuts his locker. “Lunch is at 11.30 for our grade and the food is kind of good. But today is not pudding day. You must be used to pudding right?”
Taemin leans his head into his locker for a brief second, breathing deeply and coaching his smile back on his face.
“Actually I’m not too fussy about food,” he says, sliding a spare notebook into the empty locker and some extra pens. He would reorganize later when he actually knew what he was doing. “Mom made a lot of Korean food when we were there.”
“Right,” Chansung nods, touching his shoulder before steering them off to class. “And what was it like? In America? Is everyone blonde?”
His mouth is slightly open as he asks Taemin this and his eyes are rounded with inquisitiveness. It’s almost funny but he’s making Taemin feel like something to be examined and it makes him uncomfortable. His starched collar rubs against his Adam’s apple as he swallows down the irritation and responds with timely answers to each of Chansung’s questions. Like this the corridor is swallowed up by conversation, a sea of students swelling and ebbing around them.
Taemin is following Chansung up a crowded flight of stairs when he feels a soft pat on his butt.
Taemin’s words die off with a splutter and he whirls around, losing his balance for a second. He can feel Chansung’s puzzled stare on the back of his head but all he sees is the way Key smirks at him over his shoulder. The elder’s fingers crook in a momentary wave before the crowd swallows him up.
“Wow,” Chansung breathes into his face the moment Taemin turns around. “That was Kim Kibum, how do you know him? He’s like, senior year.”
“I met him a few days ago,” Taemin says, uncomfortable. He doesn’t like the renewed vigor with which Chansung is scanning him. He has enough of a reputation as the newly transferred kid - from America no less - without being some sort of clique limb. Perhaps he has transgressed some strict, unknown boundary; school’s have those. He knows from experience. “Why do you ask?”
“Well,” Chansung fumbles out excitedly as they take the remaining stairs. “He’s only like, one of the coolest kids at school. He gets away with everything, his grandmother’s a big name in the town. And he and his friends, well, they’re kind of snotty, they don’t talk to other people often.”
Taemin knows from Chansung’s tone that no matter how snotty he thinks Key and friends are he would drop everything in a heartbeat to be at the receiving end of that wave.
“But, hey, Taemin, don’t tell them I said that will you,” Chansung says suddenly, eyeing him with a hint of nervousness. “Since you seem to know them and everything.”
“Of course not, man.” Taemin smiles reassuringly as they stop outside the classroom. “We’re cool. Just do me a favor?”
“What is it?”
“I think I’ve answered every conceivable question about my fabulous, Yankee life, could you share them with the class so I don’t have to repeat them a dozen times a period?” Taemin says laughing as Chansung pushes open the door and the din of teenage antics wafts out.
➷
“Here’s our first day boy.” Minho smiles when Taemin’s skids into the court, tie pulled down and shoes dusted over. He takes a moment to catch his breath before sticking his tongue out at the elder. It is probably a risky move considering he’s only known Minho a day but something about Minho makes Taemin relax. Maybe it’s the slow, careful way he does everything or maybe it’s his large, friendly eyes. Minho punches his arm playfully as Taemin crosses him and it hurts like nothing new. Taemin feels like he’s known Minho for years.
Amber is engrossed with trying to snatch Yuu’s Walkman from him. Yuu, Taemin’s been told, is half-Korean and half-Japanese, something you can see in his dancing they say. He’s also somewhat of a prodigy at Taekwondo and keeps trying to pass it off as original choreography. Key apparently ends every practice by unfailingly threatening to choke him with his own brown belt.
Key seems to be pacified right now though, watching them with fond eyes. He has curious eyes. Taemin had noticed them the first day Key had approached him. They’re narrow and his cheeks ride up to cushion them when Key smiles. In a way they remind Taemin of a cat’s, unreadable and in that very fact, completely attractive.
“Earth to new kid,” Key yells and Taemin snaps to attention. A slight flush creeps up his neck when he realizes he had zoned out over the older boy’s face. “Pay some attention, puberty, we’re going to start changing your life soon.”
“I’m not that young,” Taemin protests half heartedly as Key begins circling him. His shirt is lying limp on a bleacher and the wind flutters inside his loose grey wifebeater. He is unusually pale for all the time he spends in the brunt of the afternoon.
“Pop your chest,” Key orders as he comes to standstill in front of Taemin. Taemin does as he’s told, a poor imitation he has taught himself in the confines of his room. His flush returns with a vengeance when Ri breaks into a laugh and even from here he can see the slight twitch of Yuu’s mouth.
“Wrong,” Key announces, gripping his shoulders. He looks up at Taemin through sparse, black lashes and shakes him once. “I know you’ve been trained in jazz for a while, I’ve been told. But this is different. This isn’t about technique, it’s about performance.”
Taemin nods, the hair already pasted to his forehead and unmoving even through his vigor.
“A correct chest pop,” Key says, dropping his hands and moving around to Taemin’s back. “It comes from your chest, not your shoulders. Do it again.”
Taemin repeats his movement and is barely done when Key’s hands come up to seize him again.
“Now try.”
Taemin is baffled and his face must show as much because Amber tells Key to stop harassing him and get on with it.
“That prat,” Key mutters darkly and Taemin giggles. Key turns him around so his back is to the others and instructs him primly.
“Watch.”
He executes a series of four, clean chest pops, the movement exploding out of his torso like rapid fire.
“You’re like… a machinegun,” Taemin whispers, unnerved. This close up Key’s even better than he had grasped. He’s really, really good.
“And you will be one too when I’m done with you,” Key says furtively. “Turn around again. Now, see this area between your shoulder blades. All the muscles my hand is touching, just those ones, try moving them. Yes, like that, but slowly. Get all of them into it. A pop isn’t about caving your shoulders in and then throwing your chest out. It has to come from the center, like it’s rippling out from your spine. Start slowly, take your time. You’ll be using muscles you didn’t even now have this much strength.”
Kibum’s fingertips ghost Taemin’s muscles for the next ten minutes and he responds in tandem, sharp and demanding of them. The invisible touches bid him forward like some sort of puppet and he follows Kibum’s hands as they clench and go limp in alternation.
“Alright, keep this up and you’ll get it,” Kibum says finally, hands dropping to his sides as he gestures Amber over. “She’ll help you with this, it’s popping 101. It’ll be a disgrace if you don’t get this much right, Americana, so work for it.”
Amber grabs him by the hand and scampers to the edge of the bleacher, ducking them under into the cool shade. Out on the court the song Minho and Ri are working on springs to life and Taemin can make out Key’s sharp voice counting them through it.
➷
When he gets home just short of sundown three days in a row his mother’s tone gets firm. It’s not like he doesn’t want to tell her, but long explanations make him lazy and before they moved here she never really worried herself about his spare time. In the end he settles for telling her he’s joined the school dance troupe.
“They must have worked on the arts program in the town I’m guessing,” she says, eyeing him for a reaction.
“They have,” Taemin replies, swallowing his rice quickly and offering what he hopes is a winning smile. “It’s actually quite comprehensive. And the teacher’s great.”
“Right.” She pushes the meat towards him with her wrist, a flicker of suspicion still in her eyes as she lets up. But Taemin knows it’s temporary, sooner or later he will have to tell her. He isn’t sure how she would react knowing it is so, well so unlike his past dancing. It isn’t refined or recognized, it’s grimy and unknown to Korea in the first place. It’ll be a bridge of some reckoning. For now he tucks into their early dinner, enjoying the whirring fan on his freshly showered back and appreciative of his russet fingers cradling the pristine family china.
➷
On Thursday his last lesson gets cancelled. The teacher has a conference to attend in Seoul and won’t be back all this week. A few kids from class whom he has befriended invite him to noraebang but he dodges it smoothly. He wouldn’t be back in time and he knows from experience Key’s penchant for making latecomers run multiple rounds of the court. He needs it to look like he’s gone home so he makes himself scarce, heading to the secluded haven of the bleachers early. When they are pulled into his view there is someone already there, a figure lying across one of them, one foot skimming the ground and an arm crossed over the eyes. He can tell it’s Key from the luxurious black hair, splaying on the white-washed wood in abundance and the distinctive sneakers. They’re doodled on with Magic Markers, everything from dollar signs to a squinty eyed Captain Planet.
“Hey,” he calls, crossing over. Key lifts his free arm in acknowledgement and Taemin flops down on the bench below his, rearranging his limbs until he’s comfortable. No one says anything for a few moments until Key rolls over onto his side and peers down at him.
“Hey,” he says and Taemin can smell the mint he’s delicately sucking on. “When I said be early if you can’t be on time, this isn’t exactly what I meant.”
Taemin laughs and waves the remark off.
“Class got cancelled. I thought I might as well come here, it’s nice. It’s quiet.”
“Like you,” Key says immediately.
“Maybe,” Taemin admits. He finds it difficult to hold Key’s gaze this close, the older boy looming over him unnervingly. He knows he’s blinking too much again, a childhood habit from when he isn’t sure of what to say. “Is that a bad thing?”
Key takes a moment or two of deliberation. Taemin catches a flash of pink as he rolls the mint over on his tongue.
“It’s a good thing,” he says, smiling. It’s his first smile directed at Taemin and its sincerity is new to him. Key’s teeth are pearly and he isn’t cheap with them, lips stretched broad across his face. “People who talk too much do nothing. We talk through our dance.”
Taemin nods, wincing when the soft skin of his ear chafes on the harsh wood. Key laughs and reaches out a hand to ruffle Taemin’s hair. Taemin congratulates himself on his idea of coming here. He feels like he’s managed to worm his way into Key’s good books. Even if he does get the distinct feeling that Key enjoys babying him it’s better than his clinical, teacher mode.
“You need a name, by the way.”
“I have a name,” Taemin says impishly. “And I quite like it.”
“Yeah,” Kibum says patiently, examining a stray cuticle. “But it’s not exactly a stage name. It isn’t the kind of name I’d like to hear announced before I come on. It’s too plain, it doesn’t tell anyone anything about me.”
Taemin tries to paint the picture Kibum is describing and fails miserably. But he thinks he sees Key’s point.
“What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know actually,” Key laughs and sits up, swinging his legs in a way that makes it imperative for Taemin to draw back. He stretches into a yawn and his eyes are swimming with moisture when they meet Taemin’s again. “But we’ll figure something out. I’m not sending you on stage for the next two weeks at least.”
Taemin blinks at a phenomenal pace as Key jumps from bench to bench and lands on the court, moving off. He scrambles to his feet and chases after him, his voice thick with wonder.
“I’ll get to go up on stage?!”
“Yes,” Key says over his shoulder. “I’ll explain. Let’s go stock up on drinks from the vending machine first, the others will be here soon.”
➷
“Well,” Taemin blurts. Key seems oblivious to the impatience gripping him as he takes his time, eyes roving every individual beverage carefully. He shushes Taemin before retrieving change from his pockets and thumbing it into the slot. Two minutes later they’re walking down the deserted corridor with three bottles of water and two packets of mixed fruit juice. As they push back into the open Key breaks his silence with a laugh.
“Well that was fun, watching you practically explode.”
Taemin tries to form a sentence but fails, and some garbled noise jets out his mouth. Key only laughs harder at that, cuffing an arm around Taemin’s neck and suddenly Taemin has a noseful of Key. He smells like lemons and cool water, a pleasant but strong tang. His neck prickles agreeably where Key is touching it and Taemin takes a deep breath.
“That tickles,” Key warns but continues to drag him along, the plastic bag of drinks noisy in Taemin’s hand. “Anyhow, here’s a secret for you, pubes. Every Friday the bars along the east edge of the beach have open stage nights. Each act gets fifteen minutes to show their stuff and sometimes, if they like what you do, they call you back on other days. We’ve had thirteen callbacks over the past year and we actually have a handful of fans. Or just regulars I guess.”
Taemin keeps his mouth pursed but in the places their skin is touching he can feel the dregs of adrenaline that keep Kibum’s veins so emerald. In America this wouldn’t be something to celebrate, kids there age are scouted into failure every day. But here in this deadbeat little town they’re probably revolutionary and why shouldn’t they enjoy it? Everything is context, his 7th grade English teacher used to say. Everything is just a time and a place.
And right now is Taemin being jostled along by Key, hearing the voices of their friends fanning out over the court as they come into view and smiling wide across the afternoon at them.
➷
“Hey,” Chansung whispers, leaning forward. The teacher hasn’t looked up from the essay she’s been narrating for the past fifteen minutes and Taemin turns around thinking this as green a go signal he’s going to get.
“What’s up?” he smiles. His class is actually a pretty friendly bunch, much smaller than his earlier ones and eager to help. Their fascination with him has worn off as the weeks go by but they seem to like him all the same and it relieves him. It allows him to slump in his chair and the August air is breezy.
“I saw you walking with Key this morning, you guys looked pretty friendly.”
Taemin feels the tension creep up his back and he sits a little straighter.
“We’re alright. He’s nice to me.”
“Yeah, about that,” Chansung begins, hesitation and determination battling out in his voice. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. What I mean is, I thought he was just interested in you because you were a transfer for America but since he’s stuck around I feel like I should warn you.”
“Warn me about what?” Taemin is thoroughly confused by now. Sure, Key is pretty closed off about most aspects of his life and he can be a real bitch sometimes but there’s nothing to suggest he’s dangerous in any way. “I won’t get angry, just tell me clearly.”
“Fine,” the other boy says with a heavy breath. “There are these rumors, about Key-sunbae, they’ve been there all along and he’s been with girls, a lot in fact, but they say he’s been with boys too. And by been they mean, like, you know.” Chansung finishes with some very incriminating hand gestures and a silence hangs between them.
Taemin can’t say he’s surprised; he never made any assumptions about the older boy. Never made or couldn’t make, he amends, because Key is difficult to pin down. He can be terrifying and he has shown up with bruised knuckles on more than one occasion but he is also fragile, in his own way, about his dreams, about his ability; always hitching the necks of his clothes up or fixing his hair as if there was some invisible presence he is trying to impress. And then there is his dancing, the way he moves his thighs and ass is-
“I didn’t mean to insult your friend,” Chansung squeaks suddenly. Taemin shakes his head, clearing it and reassuring Chansung that he isn’t offended before turning to face the right way again. He is a little surprised when the lunch bell manages to pick its way through the clutter in his mind.
➷
“He goes easy on you, you know,” Ri says darkly, making no effort to lower her voice so that Key stills for a second on the court, letting Yuu help him perfect the composition. “Probably because you’re young. You should see him around kids, he’s sickening.”
Key improvises the step Yuu has just demonstrated, neatly flipping Ri off within its footwork. Taemin is tempted to ask Ri about Chansung’s little monologue. It isn’t often the others offer information on Key. The group as a whole respects each other’s rights. It was important for teamwork, Taemin had been instructed. If you have something to say to someone, you grow a pair and you say it to them; you have something to ask, you grow another, and so on. The idea of having multiple balls is disturbing but Taemin likes to think he gets it.
Key might not like finding out Taemin has been going around asking about him so Taemin swallows the temptation and lets Ri take him through his part again. His limbs are looser now, fracturing better and jerking harder. He’s had to forget some of his jazz training; it isn’t about the lines anymore or the arch of your back. It’s about pure power. Everyone seems to exude confidence and it leaves them as quickly as it fills them. The most stark transformation is Minho’s. When the clear sweat glistens on his sharp cheekbones and his plump lips fill with blood, Minho’s good looks are startling. His eyes become leering and aggressive.
In fact, he is nothing like the shy, soft-spoken boy Taemin had introduced to his mother last weekend. That Minho had been increasingly well-mannered, noticing things about his house Taemin himself hadn’t. By the time he had left Taemin’s mother had been thoroughly taken, telling Taemin how she had heard about the nice Choi brothers around town and how he would do well to take after Minho. This weekend he was planning to introduce Yuu and Amber to her. He was taking it slow, phasing her into acceptance. Ri might be too much of a shock so he was saving her for a later day.
And to be honest Taemin had no idea how to introduce Key to his mother. This strange boy with his swathe of dark hair and level gaze who was responsible for every fresh day Taemin didn’t run away from this strange town. They keep him here, Taemin realizes, every breath Key pants out, every bead of sweat inching down his stark collarbones. Everything is because of this boy.
(And Taemin thinks he has to know.)
➷
Taemin’s first tryst with the open stage happens eleven days later. He begs Minho to frequent his house so he has an appropriate excuse for his mother once Friday rolls around. It isn’t strictly false; he would be sleeping over at Minho’s but just after their performance.
Key calls for rehearsals early in the days leading up to it. Since they have only fifteen minutes the sets would have to be tight and glitch-free. Yuu and Amber, then Ri and Minho and then all four. Key and Taemin would sit this one out. Taemin thinks it would probably be easier to have Key on stage next to you, engrossed and distracted, rather than having his eyes mapping your every move, waiting for you to slip up.
This thought repeats itself when Key halts Amber mid-routine the third time in a row and visibly works the anger out of his voice. He sounds tired when he sits back down and Amber goes through the rest of it silently. Taemin picks his way over, sitting down behind Key with his legs crossed so that his nose brushes Key’s spine. He winds two arms over Key’s waist. The older boy scratches Taemin’s forearm where it rests over his stomach before shaking him off.
“It’ll be fine,” Taemin whispers when Key turns to look at him.
“We won’t know that until it’s done,” he replies tersely.
Taemin falls asleep at some point, his worn jacket covering his face and the next thing he knows is someone is kneeing him the stomach. He yelps in pain, the jacket slipping off and tumbling to the ground.
“What the fuc-”
“C’mon, it’s time to go,” Key snaps. There’s a vein in his neck which is working overtime and he has pulled his slightly too long bangs back with a lycra hairband. Taemin gathers his things without protest and takes his place in tow. He can’t help squeezing Key’s hand as he overtakes him, a fleeting reunion of their fingers to ward off bad luck.
The air is thick with anticipation.
➷
They take the bus down to the waterfront market, and it’s a ten minute walk from the stop. They pass countless stores but everything is lost in the buzz in Taemin’s ears. It’s childish but he’s excited. In front of him he can see Minho’s back working, the way he is subtly recounting his movements within the confine of his walk and he can hear all of them humming the songs quietly into the night. Key is leading them down the sidewalk, shoulders rising and dipping. He looks like he’s prowling from where Taemin’s watching.
After two consecutive lefts and a right they reach Hyehwa Street. The third bar down it has them registered to perform at 9:45 and they slip into the alley beside it. The performers’ entry is from the back. Key greets the bouncer with boyish familiarity before turning to usher them all inside. They have half an hour before they go on, plenty of time to change. Taemin helps with the make up, slathering on foundation generously so their faces don’t shine on stage. Key instructs him on how to do the eyes, how to make them look discomfiting and smoldering. The best combination, he says, laughing as he rims Minho’s eyes with kohl. The effect is breathtaking and Taemin resists fidgeting when Minho looks him up and down jokingly.
Ri ties her hair up high, letting it pinch free into a tumbling river of brown, whipping it experimentally a few times. Yuu slicks his hair back and Amber leaves hers to be what it will. There’s no taming it, she had told Taemin ruefully a few days ago.
“We’re on in ten,” Key barks, poking his head into their dressing-closet with its two light bulbs and cracked mirror. “I’ve given him the tape, let’s hope the fucker doesn’t screw it up.”
Taemin gives everyone a critical once-over and deems them fit for the stage. Their clothes are loose in all the essential places and ripped in others for a dramatic effect. The splashes of silver amongst the black would catch better in the spotlight. It feels like only two minutes later that all four of them are gone, shooed into position by an anxious Key who is now dragging Taemin to their table. He doesn’t let go of Taemin’s hand even after they sit down, worrying his thumb against Taemin’s palm. Taemin can feel the grooves of Key’s skin sliding over his own.
“I can’t believe our start off cheer is, Go us!” Key says, his voice curiously devoid of emotion. “We really need to start naming things around here, baby.”
“Like you just named me baby?” Taemin feels his eyebrows disappear into his hair.
“Like I just did whatever I want to you because I can,” Key shrugs, a tiny smirk emerging on his face when suddenly the announcer is back on the modest bar stage. Taemin ignores it, clapping until his palms sting when their friends are handed the floor. They traipse out to scattered applause, take up their positions and wait.
The music shows up right on time.
➷
They change bars after the show is over. A celebration, Yuu demands, for their callback. The first of the session and he wasn’t settling for anything but the finest soju. Key laughs and leads them out, prouder this time. Taemin settles in beside him, a smug smile breaking out on his face over and over. When the last bar on the block comes into sight, with the strange blue light spilling from its windows and every inch of its old wood creaking under the intense bass, Taemin thinks of his mother sitting alone at home.
“Is this place alright for us?” he can’t help saying as he tugs Key’s sleeve. “For me.”
“We’re a small town but not a meddling one. As long as you don’t do anything stupid,” Key answers confidently. “Which I will make sure you don’t.”
A faceless arm swings the glass doors open to let them in. Taemin presses against Key as they cross the dance floor and make for one of the corner sofas. It’s his first time in a Korean club and it’s more strange than familiar.
“Soju,” Yuu and Ri say in unison while the others sit down, disappearing in the direction of the bar.
“Place is kind of intense, huh,” Key whispers in Taemin’s ear, hot and teasing. Taemin might have been inclined to be brave or dismissive if he had been used to so many people assaulting all his senses all at once. But he isn’t and he silently leans into Key. Key looks surprised for a second, everything he has known of Taemin made him feel the boy would scratch back. Still he doesn’t push it further and Taemin smiles gratefully when a reassuring hand curls over his shoulder.
Soju is nothing like the few beers or two shots of vodka Taemin has tried. It’s almost violent when he throws it down his throat, blazing down his body and suddenly everything is too hot. He dimly hears the cheers of his friends over his coughs, before his glass is back in his hand, replenished and thrilling.
Taemin doesn’t remember at what point Key’s fingers pinch his wrist and warn him to put his glass down without protest. His head feels heavy and his stomach churns unpleasantly every time he moves.
“Taeminnie is drunk,” Amber giggles from where she and Ri are a seat full of flailing limbs. Ri is in that obscenely short skirt she had changed into and Taemin knows Minho is watching the way the club’s lights are dancing on her bare thighs. When he pulls her up for a dance Taemin is anxious to release his own body and he turns to Key, biting his lip.
“Please,” he whines. “I haven’t danced all night.”
Staying upright is a challenge though and Taemin thinks he would fall if Key’s arms weren’t so tight around his waist.
“Once I came here in drag,” Key shouts over the music, grinning. He’s friendlier now that there’s alcohol in his system. “I got picked up too, it was hilarious.”
Taemin giggles helplessly into Key’s shirt. His mind is feeling reckless and he feels a pleasant, reassuring buzz he is sure will last forever. Key is willing to talk about himself tonight so Taemin can’t see why he shouldn’t press his lips over Key’s ear and just ask.
“Hyung,” he slurs. “Are you gay, hyung? Are you gay too?”
“Shut up, Min,” Key says, shaking his head and pushing Taemin off himself but Taemin has waited too long to find out to give up so easily. He fists his fingers in Key’s shirt and pulls him back, shivering. He feels eyes turn on them.
“Kibum, you can tell me,” he trills, rapidly dwindling into frustration. “Please tell me.”
“Shit, Taemin, you’re making a scene,” Key growls before prying him off and grabbing his forearm. Taemin is surprised to feel tears spilling down his cheeks as Key hauls him off the dance floor and heads for the back exit. He wrenches it open before pushing Taemin outside, following behind him and slamming the door shut. The music swallows up the angry sound.
“Fuck,” Key repeats, retrieving a cigarette and a lighter from his jeans. He lights up and takes a long drag, closing his eyes and breathing it out. The smoke curls grey in Taemin’s vision as his tears continue to blur the night. It becomes swirls of blue and yellow as the occasional car drives past, indifferent.
Something in him gives way and he slides down, feeling the brick wall scrape his back open through his thin t-shirt. He wipes his nose on his jeans, biting back a sob and when he looks up Key is peering at him worriedly.
“Taemin, come on, baby, don’t cry, it’s nothing to cry about,” he says softly, stroking the bridge of Taemin’s nose. His fingers smell of tobacco and something acidic. Taemin shakes them off, turning his head to the side and trying to quell the moisture in his eyes. They come back up, grip his chin and force him to look at Key who is crouched in front of him.
“Look, if I told you I was,” he breathes, frustration and sweat painting his features. “If I did, what would you want? What do you want to hear? I’m not gay, I’m bisexual. I look at Minho’s abs and I stare at Ri’s legs and I can’t pick, alright. And I’m pretty fucking reconciled to the idea of going to hell. I notice you too, I’m not blind, but shit if I would ever make a move on a kid like you, Taemin, I’m not an asshole. I would never fuck with you, I like you too much and you probably don’t even know what you’re saying, asking to be gay in a country like ours, this isn’t America anymore.”
Taemin doesn’t blink, he doesn’t tear his eyes from Key’s. He’s expecting something more after this confession, perhaps some sort of great bravery and folly. We’ve fallen this far so why can’t we fall all the way. It never comes. He concentrates on schooling the alcohol out of his limbs before he pushes Key out of the way and stands up again.
“It’s fine,” he rasps out. “Rejection runs in the family.”
The last word breaks, like his family had eight months ago, into little sobs and fresh tears and he ducks away, tucking his chin in and walking down the alley to hide his embarrassment. This wasn’t how he had wanted to have this conversation, he didn’t want to breakdown over everything two minutes after being rejected by Key. But shit if he didn’t feel like it, if his fingers weren’t trembling uncontrollably and he didn’t know where to go. Minho is still inside the club, with Ri probably, and Taemin has no where to go. He hiccups and covers his face with a palm, biting down on it to quiet himself. It doesn’t work and he bites down harder than he intended. Blood worms into his mouth, metallic, and he is too shocked to register Key’s hand on his arm, pulling him back.
He falls against Key wordlessly, exhausted and there is no more fight left in him. His feet somehow manage to cross the street, guided by Key and then he is lying down on a bench, palm aching and head cushioned.
“Taemin, I really am sorry,” Key whispers. His voice is tired and deeper than Taemin has ever heard it.
Taemin closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the feeling of cold fingers carding through his sweaty scalp. The tears slip down his face quieter and quieter, salty when they brush his lips. They die down eventually as Key’s hand comes forward to grip his.
“My dad left us,” he says finally. “Last year, he walked out on us and he went to her. We never even suspected there was someone else. That’s when I started dancing, that’s the only way I made it through. But my mom, she, you can’t imagine, Key, you and I can’t even begin to understand. She’s so brave, she’s everything to me, and yet, sometimes, even just thinking about what happened, I.”
When he opens his eyes Key is simply looking at him. His eyes catch every light around for miles and there is no pretense of sympathy. Key would never lie to him, never say he understands when he doesn’t. And this is all Taemin has wanted all along. For someone to admit that he wasn’t one of many children with a broken home, that others made it past it and so could he. To admit that he is Taemin, the only person who could know what it’s like to be him, the shy boy who had looked up to his father all his life and one day his world had fallen apart; he sees that tonight in the way Key’s lips fall open in realization.
Key’s hand squeezes his and the knot in his chest breaks open. He cries quietly into Key’s thigh, in dark, wet patches on his jeans. He cries until his eyes hurt and he can’t keep them open anymore. The waves break on the shore a few feet away and the alcohol tumbling in his veins pulls him to sleep.
➷
When he wakes up he’s alone. Key’s thick leather jacket is draped across his shoulders and the sky is choked with stars. They twinkle down at him even as the wind sneaks under his clothes and tickles him into shivers. Taemin sits up and slips into the jacket, drawing it closer. His eyes adjust to the dark and he casts a look back to the club. It is silent now, dark except for a single light in an upstairs window.
“You’re up,” a voice says from behind him and he turns around. Key smiles at him and pulls him off the bench, rubbing warmth into his arms. “I was just taking a walk. Come on.”
Taemin nods, stifling a yawn. He’s a little overwhelmed and he can feel a headache ebbing on but he follows Key down to the beach surefooted as a goat. The sand is cold and bright when he digs a toe in it experimentally.
“Sit,” Key says, patting the spot next to him. Taemin complies, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What did Minho tell you, on that first day, what did he say.”
Taemin takes a moment to find his voice and when he does it comes out small and weary against the thundering ocean.
“He said you want to go to Seoul and be a star.”
“Yes,” Key nods, his gaze trained on the horizon. “That’s exactly what I want, Taemin, I want to leave this town. I’m dying to leave. There is a boy, he came here last summer to stay with is aunt. We met in the grocery store and after that we met everyday. He wants to be a singer, he’s good enough to be one too. He lives in Seoul and sometimes he still calls me. Every time I feel like giving up, like everyone else might be right and I might be wrong, I think of him.”
“Do you love him?” Taemin asks instantly, churlish and beyond caring.
Key just laughs and tousles his hair.
“No, idiot. He is a strictly C-cup and above guy anyway. But I, I love the idea of him, the idea of people believing in me and wanting me to realize my dreams. I know I’m just 18 and it’s an incredible risk but I’ll die if I have to stay in this town. I know I will if I never even try.”
“So you’re telling me you won’t fuck me because you want to be a superstar?” Taemin deadpans. “That makes no fucking sense.”
“It isn’t about fucking you, and don’t you ever let it be just about that,” Key growls, turning to look at him. “I like you, you dance like a dream and look like a wet dream but the point is I’m not going to be around. And you have two more years here. You need someone who will be around for you, someone you can go around with, you’re only sixteen. I can be your friend, baby, I promise I’ll be the best to you.”
“I don’t want to be friends,” Taemin snaps, gripping Key’s arm and pushing him down into the sand. Key resists but Taemin ignores him, straddling him quickly. “Why can’t you get that?”
“You’re a brat,” Key says, going listless beneath him.
“Maybe so,” Taemin says, sliding down him an inch before falling forward. Their bodies align and he can’t help the little moan that escapes him when they do. He brushes his nose across the length of Key’s collarbone, the familiar scent assaulting him.
“I really, really like you. I think about you, I think about fucking you,” he admits as a hand comes up to the stroke the bone on his nape. “I think about you everywhere, while making breakfast, right before sleeping, I think about it until I can’t think about anything else. Until I’m so hard I can’t walk straight.”
“Gay sex is a terrible idea for dancers,” Key muses half-heartedly, meeting his gaze with soft eyes. “But I would let you.”
“Hyung,” Taemin groans and presses forward, a tiny bump so he can really feel the dig of Key’s hipbones. “Then let me. We have months, hyung, days and hours and whole minutes.”
The night collapses into silence where they’re fixed on each other.
“We do, don’t we?” Key asks finally and the words unfurl in Taemin’s ear like a promise, his deep breaths making their chests brush. “And then what?”
Taemin shrinks back a little, feeling the cold air fill the spaces between them and he misses Key already.
“Then you’ll go to Seoul, become a superstar, and come back to me because I’ll fuck you so hard and deep no one will ever touch you where I’ve touched you,” he says fiercely, cupping Key’s chin. “Because I was there when you started, because I was your first real love.”
Key’s eyes map his face in silence as the sand shifts beneath their weight. Taemin’s hand is trembling and he can’t breathe. He is laid out here for Key to overthrow and Taemin knows if it happens he probably won’t be able to get up again. He closes his eyes when he sees the older boy’s lips unpurse.
“Alright,” Key says simply. “Alright.”
➷