never close our eyes ; part two
Title: Never Close Our Eyes (part two)
Pairing: Yongguk/Himchan
Rating: R
W/C: 4.6k
Warnings: Violence and mentions of blood (nothing extreme), eventual character death (not BAP)
Summary: Dystopian AU | All music has been outlawed, except for approved performances by the Ministry's Orchestra. A small clandestine movement aims to share music with the world. Invited to join by a friend, apathetic Kim Himchan, one of the Ministry's Orchestra's favorite violinists, meets the resistance's leader and is swept into a reality that flips his world upside down.
Part One
The sound of musicians trying to tune their instruments and bustling crew members is the first thing that greets him when he gets to the music hall the next morning. Hana is, once again, sitting on top of his desk. She doesn’t call out to him, though; instead she watches him wearily, her lip between her teeth.
“I clearly forgive you,” he says when he reaches her. “So stop worrying.”
“Oh, thank god!” She jumps off the desk and practically tackles him into a hug. “I was such a bitch, and I regretted that as soon as I said it. You know, I was thinking and-”
“Hana.” He stumbles backwards at the force of her hug. “I get the point. You can let go any time n-”
“I’m going to quit,” she says, ignoring him. “At the end of the year.”
Himchan pushes her away from him and stares down at her, his hands on her arms and his eyes wide. “Quit? The orchestra?”
She nods, smiling.
“Hana... you can’t.” His grip on her arms tighten. “No one’s ever quit before.”
“So it can’t hurt to try, right?” She steps backwards, out of his grip. “When I left my family six years ago, this isn’t quite what I imagined, you know? And I think, maybe, I should go back to them. Fix things. Isn’t that what you’ve always said I should do?”
She’s misinterpreted his words. He wants them to make up, yeah, but not like this. No one has just up and left the symphony, and that’s because it’s nearly impossible. The orchestra is for life. The Ministry decides when you join and when you retire. The Minister wouldn’t allow it to happen any other way. Jieun wouldn’t allow it to happen any other way.
There are a thousand thoughts flying through his head, none of which are the sort of reaction Hana is hoping for. It’s a risky decision, and he doesn’t want to think about what will happen when she goes through with it. And then... on the off chance that Hana is allowed to leave, what would Himchan do?
There’s no one else in the orchestra that he’s as close to as Hana. There are a few other musicians that aren’t completely dull, but he wouldn’t consider them good friends by any means. Besides those he exchanges pleasantries with and the obligatory ass kissing that he has to do to get through his daily life, he talks to no one else. Hana has been the only thing that made coming here, to work, somewhat bearable. He’s not sure what he’d do without her.
“Just don’t tell Daehyun. Please? I want to surprise him when I leave.” She looks hopeful, her eyes in little half-moon shapes.
“Of course, Hana,” he says quietly. Then, with more enthusiasm: “Of course. Your secret’s safe with me!” He pretends to swipe his lips with a key, and he hopes the light hearted gesture is enough to cover just how wary the idea makes him feel.
He’s in the middle of imaging just how grueling life in the Ministry would be without Hana at his side when the loud chime of a gong sounds. He looks toward the front of the room, where Jieun stands, mallet in hand.
“Listen up,” she calls out, and the occupants of the room do just that. “As most of you know, our next concert is scheduled for Sunday night.”
Himchan stopped paying attention to concert dates ages ago. The symphony performs virtually every night - because honestly, they’re a bit past the point of actually needing practice sessions, and have been for a very long time - and to Himchan, these concerts are nothing special. The only difference is that they’ll have an audience, made up of people and cameramen, for a change.
“Minister Jeon plans to attend this time.” A faint murmur goes through the room at that. “As an apology for not being able to make any of our shows these past few months, she’ll be hosting a gala at her residence tomorrow night.”
Himchan sighs. Hana shoots him a warning look, but Jieun is too far away to have heard him. He’s never been the biggest fan of Ministry social events, and on top of that, the Minister's estate is not his favorite places in the world.
It’s large, extravagant, and on most occasions, empty. It hasn’t been fully lived in since the previous Minister - Minister Jeon’s father - passed away. Minister Jeon spends the majority of her time in her office at the Ministry, making her estate’s only real purpose entertaining. It’s the picture perfect example of the avarice that fills Skyline Town. A home worth millions, made out of only the finest materials, is nearly abandoned, while there are residents in the Slums who have to scrounge up whatever they can to keep living.
“We’ll be implementing a new policy for parties from this point on. If any of you plan on bringing a date, please see me after this so I can take down their names.” She smiles, and there’s something about her expression that’s unsettling.
“That’s weird, don’t you think?” Hana mumbles. nudging him with her elbow. “They’ve never done that before.”
Himchan agrees, but he tries not to think too much on it. The Ministry has - and always will have - a peculiar way of conducting its business.
“Now then,” Jieun says with a slight nod. “Let’s get practice started, shall we?”
Saturday night approaches far too quickly for Himchan’s liking. Before he knows it, he’s in the backseat of a black cab, with the towering mass of Minister Jeon’s home in front of him. It’s clean, white, and enclosed by a large, wrought iron gate. Seated on either side of the gate are two intricately carved lions. They stand watch over every car that drives past, the perfect mixture of regal and threatening.
The statues are nothing new to Himchan; he’s been here countless times before. The increased security detail, however, is something new. There’s a man on either side of the gate, standing underneath the lions, and more men are stationed along the perimeter of the lawn. Jeon Hyosung has never been stingy on security, but the manpower seems doubled tonight. The observation makes everything click. Something seemed off when Jieun had announced that they needed the names of all plus-ones, but now Himchan understands: Hyosung wanted background checks done.
Hyosung is worried about something.
He slides out of the cab, thanking the driver as he does so. He uses the short walk to the double front doors to smooth out his suit and straighten out his tie. “Good evening, Mr. Kim.” A rather burly security guard nods at him as he draws near. “Enjoy your evening.”
He’s not so sure he’ll enjoy the party, but he knows he won’t hate tonight. These events, while boring, are comfortable. He’s been trained in the art of schmucking it up since he was young, and it comes to him with ease now. If he didn’t have his friendships with Daehyun and Hana to supply him with healthy doses of reality, there’s a small chance that Himchan would still be swept up in the glimmer of the fast life. The years - no matter how few he has lived - have made him jaded beyond compare, and he no longer derives enjoyment out of fine parties with aristocrats. He views these sorts of things as nothing more than a part of his job - and it is a rather taxing part of his work, too. Faking it will never be a problem for Himchan, but tolerating some of the statements that come out of the guests’ mouths always will be.
He pushes the doors open and enters the main entertaining room of the house. Around him affluent men and women, clad in fine dresses and suits, stand in small groups or pairs, caught up in conversation. There’s faint music playing from speakers built into the ceiling, and he recognizes it as a piece he recorded years ago. A servant passes by him and offers him a glass of champagne, and he gratefully accepts. It feels crisp and dry against his tongue, and he smiles a little to himself. Alcohol always did take just the right amount of edge off.
Jieun and Hyosung stand in one corner of the room, and the Minister gestures him over with a wave of her hand when she catches his eye. He takes quick strides toward them, until the duo is right in front of him.
“My my,” Hyonsung smiles, letting her eyes sweep over him, in the appreciative yet polite sort of way that socialites do. “Don’t you look sharp tonight?”
“When do I not?” He grins. “You both look lovely tonight,” he compliments, nodding at both of the women before him. This, this meaningless flattery is exactly what Himchan’s strong suit is. “It’s been awhile Hyosung. How have you been?”
“Oh, you know,” she says, waving her hand. “I’ve been incredibly busy,” she says, punctuating her statement with an melodramatic sigh. “Though I’m sure Jieun has been keeping you equally as occupied, which, unfortunately brings me to something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“What is it?” he asks, genuinely intrigued now.
“The Minister and I would like to ask a favor of you, Himchan. We’d like you to do a short benefit concert in the Slums.” Jieun replies. Both of them look at him expectantly.
He knits his eyebrows together. “Why?”
Hyosung grimaces, like she expected him to be curious, but didn’t want him to be. “Jieun, if you’ll excuse us,” she says. “I’d like to speak to Himchan about this somewhere a little more private.”
“Of course,” she says, nodding her head. “I’ll see you at tomorrow night’s concert, Himchan.”
When Jieun turns her back on them, Hyosung grabs his arm roughly and guides them towards a door, which he recognizes as the entrance to the private wing of her home. She pulls him into the study and shuts the door behind them. “People are getting restless, Himchan,” she says as she sits down on top of the desk at the front of the room, her legs crossed. “People are getting a lot more upfront about their distaste for the Ministry.”
“Those sort of things are always said,” Himchan says, frowning. “There’s never any stock to them.”
Hyosung shakes her head. “It’s different this time. I’ve been hearing talk about a rebellion.”
That startles him. He thinks of Yongguk and his underground organization. There’s no way she can know about it, is there? “Like I said,” he continues, running his hand along one of the many bookshelves “The people will always talk, but they’ll never act.”
“Yes, well,” Hyosung taps the desk, her nails making the most irritating clack sound. “I want to be sure that they continue to never act, and that’s where you come in. You’re rather well received by the public. Do this free concert, raise their spirits, and talk nicely about me while you’re there. It’s quite simple, really.”
“What?” he asks, taking a step back from the bookshelf to face her. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I don’t see what there is to joke about.” She shrugs.
“I’m spokesman for the orchestra, Hyosung. Not the Ministry. ” His voice raises slightly, and he knows he’s crossing into dangerous territory by questioning her judgement. In the moment though, he doesn’t really care; he will not allow himself to be reduced to doing a publicity stunt for the woman.
“Might I remind you that the Orchestra is an extension of the Ministry?” She hops off the desk and walks towards him, her stilettos clanking with each step. “I’m the leader of this country and you will do what I ask.”
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, not at all meaning the apology. “Just... wouldn’t renovations to the Slums better help win the people’s favor instead?”
Hyosung laughs, shrill and loud, and Himchan barely manages to suppress a wince. “You can be rather funny sometimes, did you know that? You really think I’d waste my money and time on the filth of this city?” She takes a step forward, her face far too close for comfort. “I know you’re a little sentimental because of your daddy, but Himchan.” She places a hand at the back of his neck and trails the other down his chest. “The Slums aren’t your home anymore.” Her nails brush against his nape before pressing into his skin. A prickle of pain shoots through his neck. “It’d serve you damn well to remember who brought you out of that shithole, understand?”
Himchan pulls away from her abruptly. He wants to argue - because her father was Minister at the time, and Hyosung, who was just a girl at the time, had nothing to do with his rather forceful removal from the Slums - but he knows it won’t get him anywhere. He’s already on thin ice at the moment, and if he wants to avoid some sort of punishment, then he needs to play along. “Right,” he says, jaw tight and fists clenched. In a small attempt to calm himself, he counts to five in his head and unclasps his fists. They fall limply at his side. “Forgive me for stepping out of line, Minister.”
She steps backwards, a grin spread across her face. “I’m glad we’ve been able to come to an understanding, Himchan.”
Himchan slams his fist into the wall of his bedroom. The impact burns, but he barely notices. He stumbles backwards onto his bed, his reddening hand tucked against his chest. It throbs, but compared to the anger he feels at the moment, it’s nothing.
Tonight’s episode had been a rather special incident; while he’s known Hyosung for years, he’s never fulfilled any direct orders for her before. Still, it’s yet another example of how he’s been manipulated over the years. He’s so fucking tired of people parading him around as their personal puppet, and he’ll be damned if he puts up with it any longer.
The last thing he remembers before falling into a fitful night’s sleep is Yongguk’s voice.
“What’s it like being the Ministry’s bitch?”
Sunday night’s concert opens with Himchan playing a solo piece on his violin. As he plays, he stares out at the audience that fills the amphitheater, and they stare back, their faces blank and expressionless. Everyone sitting in the audience is done up to the nines, because apparently the Orchestra’s weekly performances are the end-all-be-all of social events. The crowd is comprised of mostly Skyline Town residents, though some of the wealthier inhabitants of Midtown are there as well. Not a single soul from the Slums is in the audience. The tickets for these concerts cost more than most of them will make in a month.
Himchan plays through his set with his hands on autopilot. He’s played these songs so many times that he no longer needs to think about them - he functions purely on muscle memory. For the life of him, Himchan can not understand what about watching the Orchestra play is appealing. They play the same songs every night. It’s a ridiculous, mindless sort of entertainment that the public eats up, no matter how redundant it gets.
And that is exactly what the Ministry wants. There’s a very specific reason why there are absolutely no lyrics to accompany the music they play: it makes people think. By eliminating creativity, the Ministry also lessens the risk of having freethinkers. It’s for this reason that the concerts are broadcast on home televisions and megascreens spread throughout the city.
The Ministry cares about one thing, and one thing only: control. And that, he supposes, is why Hyosung refuses to clean up the Slums. It’s not their favor she’s after, but their complacency. All she needs is to keep them satisfied enough to be unaware of what goes on around them. The caste system has been in place for generations, and, in general, the residents of the Slums don’t question it anymore. The rare attention paid to them in the form of Himchan’s concert will be enough of a change to keep them content. Or, at least by Hyosung’s logic, it will be.
When Himchan finishes his song, the audience claps politely. It’s nothing like the cheering Yongguk got from the crowd when he performed at the club. Himchan’s audience is poised and proper, their moves tightly controlled. No one shouts their appreciation at him like they did for Yongguk. He vaguely wonders what it’d be like to be on the receiving end of that sort of adoration. He walks towards the front of the stage, where a microphone is stationed and smiles directly into the camera. “Thank you all for coming out,” he says to the crowd when their applause fans out. “I speak on the behalf of the entire Orchestra when I say that I hope you all enjoy yourselves tonight.”
As he stares out at the blank faces in front of him, he wonders if they’re even capable of such a thing.
Himchan is incredibly grateful when Monday night rolls around. He and Daehyun leave for the rebel club together, taking an old, long forgotten road out of Midtown. Once again, Himchan is assaulted by loud music and flashing lights. While it had been rather overwhelming the first couple of times, now, in a weird sort of way, Himchan finds it therapeutic. It’s like there’s a whole new world down here, where he can, momentarily, forget about the stresses of life.
“I’m gonna try to find Youngjae,” Daehyun says to him. “You’ll be alright if I leave you by yourself, right?”
“I’m not a kid,” he says, laughing. “I’m actually older than you, you know.” Himchan rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine, go find your lover boy.”
Daehyun ducks out pretty quickly after that, yelling a weak “shut up, asshole,” over the music. Himchan is left standing near entrance of the club. He studies his surroundings - the walls are covered in layers of various pamphlets and flyers, and underneath that, graffiti - in hopes of finding someone, anyone familiar. It’s a silly thing and he knows it; besides Daehyun and Youngjae, none of his friends are from outside of the Ministry. He sees Junhong and Jongup in the corner, speaking. Going over there is definitely out. While Jongup had seemed fairly indifferent to him, Junhong blatantly unappreciated his presence. Left with no other choice, Himchan ends up at the bar, nursing a drink.
“You need to learn how to make friends,” Yongguk says, sliding onto the stool next to him. “You look pretty sad drinking alone.”
Himchan snorts. “You know, I do pretty well charming a room full of high society snobs. But in a room full of people who hate my guts? Not so much.”
“Cheer up,” Yongguk says, patting him on the shoulder. “Not all of us hate your guts.” He gestures at the bartender, and Jay brings Yongguk a drink and Himchan a refill. “I mean, I wouldn’t be buying you a drink if I did.”
“But,” Himchan starts to say as he accepts the drink. “You’re the only one in here with a pretty valid reason to dislike me. I was kind of an asshole to you.”
Yongguk waves his hand dismissively. “If you’re about to apologize for it, don’t worry about it.”
Himchan stares back at Yongguk for a moment. “I wasn’t going to say sorry,” he says slowly. “You were a bit of a dick too, after all.”
“Hey now.” Yongguk chuckles. “We have a truce, don’t we? There’s no insulting each other in a truce.”
Himchan allows himself to smile back at the other man. It’s surprising how natural this banter with Yongguk feels. He lets Yongguk talk him into have another drink, and then another, and before he knows it, he’s drunker than he’s been in a very, very long time. He’s certainly no stranger to alcohol, but he’s used to to taking slow and controlled sips of champagne at Ministry run events. Of course he and Daehyun had nights where they got plastered beyond belief, but the last time that had happened was ages ago.
Himchan, as it turns out, falls onto the talkative side of the drunk spectrum. He and Yongguk talk about a whole lot of nothing, before their conversation, predictably, lands on the Ministry. “I think Hyosung might know about this place,” Himchan says, spinning an empty glass on the bar top. “Er, well, I don’t think she knows about here specifically.” The word specifically comes out as an incoherent mess of consonants and vowels that Himchan can barely understand himself. “But she does have eyes everywhere, alright, and she’s wicked paranoid about a rebellion happening.”
“Whoa, hold on a minute,” Yongguk says, staring back at him, wide-eyed. “Hyosung? You’re on a first name basis with the Minister?”
“Well yeah,” he says, nodding his head rather vigorously. “It’s not like we’re buddies or anything, because she’s a little too psychotic for friends.” The glass he’s spinning topples over onto it’s side. It nearly rolls right off the the counter and to the floor, but Yongguk reaches out and saves the day. “Whoa,” Himchan says, looking from the glass in Yongguk’s hand to his face. “You have some serious cat like reflexes, man.”
Yongguk ignores the comment. “Knowing the Minister is good,” he says, nodding. “You’d be able to give us intel on her.” Yongguk talking so seriously is really killing his buzz. He glances to the countertop in front of Yongguk, where only two glasses are in front of him. He’s not really sure how he hadn’t noticed that Yongguk had stopped drinking long before he did. “It’s really great, actually,” Yongguk repeats.
“No,” Himchan says, shaking his head.
“No what?” Yongguk asks, his eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m so tired,” Himchan says with a grand sigh, “of people expecting me to do them favors.” His shoulders slump forward, and he reaches a hand up to rub at his forehead. “I can’t tell Hyosung no, but you,” he straightens up a bit to jab a finger at Yongguk’s chest. “You,” he enunciates the word with a hard poke to Yongguk’s sternum, “I can say no to. So no, ‘m not becoming your spy.”
Yongguk grabs his wrist, pushes it away from his chest, and guides it back down to the bar top. “Sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he actually means it. “I wasn’t trying to force you into doing something you didn’t want to. I didn’t even think about how you-” His sentence stops abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.
All this apologizing, Himchan decides, just won’t do. “S’okay,” he nods. “I know you didn’t suggest it with any bad intentions.”
“Do you?” Yongguk raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Is that because you ‘have me so figured out’?” While his tone is mocking, it’s also light, and a large, gummy grin is spread across his face.
Himchan laughs. “Y’know,” he slurs, “you’re not so bad. I kinda like you. ”
Yongguk snorts. “Yeah? Well I’m glad then.” He slides off the barstool, and Himchan looks up at him, confused. “It’s late,” he supplies. “And you’re fucking hammered. I’m going to go find Daehyun so he can bring you home.”
He watches Yongguk’s back fade into the mass of moving bodies. “It’s weird,” a voice says, and Himchan turns around to see Jay, the bartender looking down at him. “Seeing you completely wasted isn’t really something I ever thought I’d see in my life. Does this mean I’m going to have to start thinking about you as an actual human being?”
The rational part of Himchan’s brain - which is very, very small at the moment - knows that he’s being sarcastic, but something about his question strikes a chord. A sick feeling wells up in his stomach, and then he’s doubled over in a fit of dry heaves. His body calms down after a moment. The heaves stutter into smalls coughs, and then nothing.
The sick feeling still remains.
Himchan didn’t think last night through very well, and he pays for his impulsiveness the next morning. His alarm goes off at seven because he has to be at the the concert hall for eight. He awakes with a start and fucking massive headache. He stumbles out of bed against his will and ends up tripping over his shoes, because apparently Daehyun thought right in front of his bed was the ideal place to put them. Dumbass.
Showering only makes him feel mildly better, and it’s a miracle that he manages to dress himself and get out the door without incident. Despite his best efforts, he gets to work fifteen minutes late. Everyone is already busy prepping their instruments when he arrives.
Sunhwa is the first person to greet him when he arrives. “Hey Himchan!” she says brightly, and when he winces, she does a double take. “You alright?” she asks. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m just a bit sick,” he says, shrugging. “I’ll be fine.”
Sunhwa raises her eyebrows. “Just a bit sick? Himchan, you’re wearing sunglasses. Indoors.” He knows he looks ridiculous, but what else can he do? The concert hall is incredibly well lit, and he’s not so sure that he can handle it so early in the morning.
From her spot at the front of the room, Jieun spots him. She makes her way towards him, her strides long and quick. “You’re late,” she says, and her voice makes him inwardly cringe. She surveys his appearance, and okay, maybe he doesn’t look the most put together today. His blazer is wrinkled, and he had grabbed the first pair of jeans he could find when he woke up. She frowns at his sunglasses. “Are you,” she starts to say, reaching to pull his sunglasses off, “hungover?”
He squints as the light around him intensifies, and the crease in Jieun’s brow deepens. “You are,” she says, her tone disapproving. From the corner of his eye he can see Sunhwa retreating back to her desk, and Hana watching him from across the room, a concerned look on her face. “That’s rather unbecoming.” She folds the sunglasses and sticks them in the pocket of his blazer. “Remember that your actions are a representation of the orchestra.”
He sighs. “I know Jieun. It won’t happen again.” It’s a bit unbelievable that he actually has to apologize for getting drunk. If he were a normal, irrelevant twenty-two year old in Midtown, this wouldn’t even be an issue.
“So long as you didn’t make an ass of yourself,” she sighs. Himchan mentally rolls his eyes; it doesn’t make a difference how he behaves at the resistance’s headquarters. “And as long as your playing isn’t impaired today, you’re fine.” He’s a little groggy and tired, and his head hurts like hell, but years of playing has allowed him to memorize every song so perfectly that he’s not even sure that it’s possible for him to make a mistake.
It’s odd how important Jieun makes these practices out to be. Missing just one would not bring about the end of times. Though, he supposes, letting their lowly employees have more than a few days off just might. The Ministry likes to keep their workers as busy as possible, because free time is almost as dangerous as free thinkers.
“Anyways,” she continues on. “Your benefit concert will be next month. I’m glad you’ve agreed to do it, Himchan.”
She and he both know that he didn’t have any other option besides agreeing. He finds himself nodding and telling her that he, too, is glad, because in this city, agreeing is the only choice he’s allowed.
Part Three
Pairing: Yongguk/Himchan
Rating: R
W/C: 4.6k
Warnings: Violence and mentions of blood (nothing extreme), eventual character death (not BAP)
Summary: Dystopian AU | All music has been outlawed, except for approved performances by the Ministry's Orchestra. A small clandestine movement aims to share music with the world. Invited to join by a friend, apathetic Kim Himchan, one of the Ministry's Orchestra's favorite violinists, meets the resistance's leader and is swept into a reality that flips his world upside down.
Part One
The sound of musicians trying to tune their instruments and bustling crew members is the first thing that greets him when he gets to the music hall the next morning. Hana is, once again, sitting on top of his desk. She doesn’t call out to him, though; instead she watches him wearily, her lip between her teeth.
“I clearly forgive you,” he says when he reaches her. “So stop worrying.”
“Oh, thank god!” She jumps off the desk and practically tackles him into a hug. “I was such a bitch, and I regretted that as soon as I said it. You know, I was thinking and-”
“Hana.” He stumbles backwards at the force of her hug. “I get the point. You can let go any time n-”
“I’m going to quit,” she says, ignoring him. “At the end of the year.”
Himchan pushes her away from him and stares down at her, his hands on her arms and his eyes wide. “Quit? The orchestra?”
She nods, smiling.
“Hana... you can’t.” His grip on her arms tighten. “No one’s ever quit before.”
“So it can’t hurt to try, right?” She steps backwards, out of his grip. “When I left my family six years ago, this isn’t quite what I imagined, you know? And I think, maybe, I should go back to them. Fix things. Isn’t that what you’ve always said I should do?”
She’s misinterpreted his words. He wants them to make up, yeah, but not like this. No one has just up and left the symphony, and that’s because it’s nearly impossible. The orchestra is for life. The Ministry decides when you join and when you retire. The Minister wouldn’t allow it to happen any other way. Jieun wouldn’t allow it to happen any other way.
There are a thousand thoughts flying through his head, none of which are the sort of reaction Hana is hoping for. It’s a risky decision, and he doesn’t want to think about what will happen when she goes through with it. And then... on the off chance that Hana is allowed to leave, what would Himchan do?
There’s no one else in the orchestra that he’s as close to as Hana. There are a few other musicians that aren’t completely dull, but he wouldn’t consider them good friends by any means. Besides those he exchanges pleasantries with and the obligatory ass kissing that he has to do to get through his daily life, he talks to no one else. Hana has been the only thing that made coming here, to work, somewhat bearable. He’s not sure what he’d do without her.
“Just don’t tell Daehyun. Please? I want to surprise him when I leave.” She looks hopeful, her eyes in little half-moon shapes.
“Of course, Hana,” he says quietly. Then, with more enthusiasm: “Of course. Your secret’s safe with me!” He pretends to swipe his lips with a key, and he hopes the light hearted gesture is enough to cover just how wary the idea makes him feel.
He’s in the middle of imaging just how grueling life in the Ministry would be without Hana at his side when the loud chime of a gong sounds. He looks toward the front of the room, where Jieun stands, mallet in hand.
“Listen up,” she calls out, and the occupants of the room do just that. “As most of you know, our next concert is scheduled for Sunday night.”
Himchan stopped paying attention to concert dates ages ago. The symphony performs virtually every night - because honestly, they’re a bit past the point of actually needing practice sessions, and have been for a very long time - and to Himchan, these concerts are nothing special. The only difference is that they’ll have an audience, made up of people and cameramen, for a change.
“Minister Jeon plans to attend this time.” A faint murmur goes through the room at that. “As an apology for not being able to make any of our shows these past few months, she’ll be hosting a gala at her residence tomorrow night.”
Himchan sighs. Hana shoots him a warning look, but Jieun is too far away to have heard him. He’s never been the biggest fan of Ministry social events, and on top of that, the Minister's estate is not his favorite places in the world.
It’s large, extravagant, and on most occasions, empty. It hasn’t been fully lived in since the previous Minister - Minister Jeon’s father - passed away. Minister Jeon spends the majority of her time in her office at the Ministry, making her estate’s only real purpose entertaining. It’s the picture perfect example of the avarice that fills Skyline Town. A home worth millions, made out of only the finest materials, is nearly abandoned, while there are residents in the Slums who have to scrounge up whatever they can to keep living.
“We’ll be implementing a new policy for parties from this point on. If any of you plan on bringing a date, please see me after this so I can take down their names.” She smiles, and there’s something about her expression that’s unsettling.
“That’s weird, don’t you think?” Hana mumbles. nudging him with her elbow. “They’ve never done that before.”
Himchan agrees, but he tries not to think too much on it. The Ministry has - and always will have - a peculiar way of conducting its business.
“Now then,” Jieun says with a slight nod. “Let’s get practice started, shall we?”
Saturday night approaches far too quickly for Himchan’s liking. Before he knows it, he’s in the backseat of a black cab, with the towering mass of Minister Jeon’s home in front of him. It’s clean, white, and enclosed by a large, wrought iron gate. Seated on either side of the gate are two intricately carved lions. They stand watch over every car that drives past, the perfect mixture of regal and threatening.
The statues are nothing new to Himchan; he’s been here countless times before. The increased security detail, however, is something new. There’s a man on either side of the gate, standing underneath the lions, and more men are stationed along the perimeter of the lawn. Jeon Hyosung has never been stingy on security, but the manpower seems doubled tonight. The observation makes everything click. Something seemed off when Jieun had announced that they needed the names of all plus-ones, but now Himchan understands: Hyosung wanted background checks done.
Hyosung is worried about something.
He slides out of the cab, thanking the driver as he does so. He uses the short walk to the double front doors to smooth out his suit and straighten out his tie. “Good evening, Mr. Kim.” A rather burly security guard nods at him as he draws near. “Enjoy your evening.”
He’s not so sure he’ll enjoy the party, but he knows he won’t hate tonight. These events, while boring, are comfortable. He’s been trained in the art of schmucking it up since he was young, and it comes to him with ease now. If he didn’t have his friendships with Daehyun and Hana to supply him with healthy doses of reality, there’s a small chance that Himchan would still be swept up in the glimmer of the fast life. The years - no matter how few he has lived - have made him jaded beyond compare, and he no longer derives enjoyment out of fine parties with aristocrats. He views these sorts of things as nothing more than a part of his job - and it is a rather taxing part of his work, too. Faking it will never be a problem for Himchan, but tolerating some of the statements that come out of the guests’ mouths always will be.
He pushes the doors open and enters the main entertaining room of the house. Around him affluent men and women, clad in fine dresses and suits, stand in small groups or pairs, caught up in conversation. There’s faint music playing from speakers built into the ceiling, and he recognizes it as a piece he recorded years ago. A servant passes by him and offers him a glass of champagne, and he gratefully accepts. It feels crisp and dry against his tongue, and he smiles a little to himself. Alcohol always did take just the right amount of edge off.
Jieun and Hyosung stand in one corner of the room, and the Minister gestures him over with a wave of her hand when she catches his eye. He takes quick strides toward them, until the duo is right in front of him.
“My my,” Hyonsung smiles, letting her eyes sweep over him, in the appreciative yet polite sort of way that socialites do. “Don’t you look sharp tonight?”
“When do I not?” He grins. “You both look lovely tonight,” he compliments, nodding at both of the women before him. This, this meaningless flattery is exactly what Himchan’s strong suit is. “It’s been awhile Hyosung. How have you been?”
“Oh, you know,” she says, waving her hand. “I’ve been incredibly busy,” she says, punctuating her statement with an melodramatic sigh. “Though I’m sure Jieun has been keeping you equally as occupied, which, unfortunately brings me to something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“What is it?” he asks, genuinely intrigued now.
“The Minister and I would like to ask a favor of you, Himchan. We’d like you to do a short benefit concert in the Slums.” Jieun replies. Both of them look at him expectantly.
He knits his eyebrows together. “Why?”
Hyosung grimaces, like she expected him to be curious, but didn’t want him to be. “Jieun, if you’ll excuse us,” she says. “I’d like to speak to Himchan about this somewhere a little more private.”
“Of course,” she says, nodding her head. “I’ll see you at tomorrow night’s concert, Himchan.”
When Jieun turns her back on them, Hyosung grabs his arm roughly and guides them towards a door, which he recognizes as the entrance to the private wing of her home. She pulls him into the study and shuts the door behind them. “People are getting restless, Himchan,” she says as she sits down on top of the desk at the front of the room, her legs crossed. “People are getting a lot more upfront about their distaste for the Ministry.”
“Those sort of things are always said,” Himchan says, frowning. “There’s never any stock to them.”
Hyosung shakes her head. “It’s different this time. I’ve been hearing talk about a rebellion.”
That startles him. He thinks of Yongguk and his underground organization. There’s no way she can know about it, is there? “Like I said,” he continues, running his hand along one of the many bookshelves “The people will always talk, but they’ll never act.”
“Yes, well,” Hyosung taps the desk, her nails making the most irritating clack sound. “I want to be sure that they continue to never act, and that’s where you come in. You’re rather well received by the public. Do this free concert, raise their spirits, and talk nicely about me while you’re there. It’s quite simple, really.”
“What?” he asks, taking a step back from the bookshelf to face her. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I don’t see what there is to joke about.” She shrugs.
“I’m spokesman for the orchestra, Hyosung. Not the Ministry. ” His voice raises slightly, and he knows he’s crossing into dangerous territory by questioning her judgement. In the moment though, he doesn’t really care; he will not allow himself to be reduced to doing a publicity stunt for the woman.
“Might I remind you that the Orchestra is an extension of the Ministry?” She hops off the desk and walks towards him, her stilettos clanking with each step. “I’m the leader of this country and you will do what I ask.”
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, not at all meaning the apology. “Just... wouldn’t renovations to the Slums better help win the people’s favor instead?”
Hyosung laughs, shrill and loud, and Himchan barely manages to suppress a wince. “You can be rather funny sometimes, did you know that? You really think I’d waste my money and time on the filth of this city?” She takes a step forward, her face far too close for comfort. “I know you’re a little sentimental because of your daddy, but Himchan.” She places a hand at the back of his neck and trails the other down his chest. “The Slums aren’t your home anymore.” Her nails brush against his nape before pressing into his skin. A prickle of pain shoots through his neck. “It’d serve you damn well to remember who brought you out of that shithole, understand?”
Himchan pulls away from her abruptly. He wants to argue - because her father was Minister at the time, and Hyosung, who was just a girl at the time, had nothing to do with his rather forceful removal from the Slums - but he knows it won’t get him anywhere. He’s already on thin ice at the moment, and if he wants to avoid some sort of punishment, then he needs to play along. “Right,” he says, jaw tight and fists clenched. In a small attempt to calm himself, he counts to five in his head and unclasps his fists. They fall limply at his side. “Forgive me for stepping out of line, Minister.”
She steps backwards, a grin spread across her face. “I’m glad we’ve been able to come to an understanding, Himchan.”
Himchan slams his fist into the wall of his bedroom. The impact burns, but he barely notices. He stumbles backwards onto his bed, his reddening hand tucked against his chest. It throbs, but compared to the anger he feels at the moment, it’s nothing.
Tonight’s episode had been a rather special incident; while he’s known Hyosung for years, he’s never fulfilled any direct orders for her before. Still, it’s yet another example of how he’s been manipulated over the years. He’s so fucking tired of people parading him around as their personal puppet, and he’ll be damned if he puts up with it any longer.
The last thing he remembers before falling into a fitful night’s sleep is Yongguk’s voice.
“What’s it like being the Ministry’s bitch?”
Sunday night’s concert opens with Himchan playing a solo piece on his violin. As he plays, he stares out at the audience that fills the amphitheater, and they stare back, their faces blank and expressionless. Everyone sitting in the audience is done up to the nines, because apparently the Orchestra’s weekly performances are the end-all-be-all of social events. The crowd is comprised of mostly Skyline Town residents, though some of the wealthier inhabitants of Midtown are there as well. Not a single soul from the Slums is in the audience. The tickets for these concerts cost more than most of them will make in a month.
Himchan plays through his set with his hands on autopilot. He’s played these songs so many times that he no longer needs to think about them - he functions purely on muscle memory. For the life of him, Himchan can not understand what about watching the Orchestra play is appealing. They play the same songs every night. It’s a ridiculous, mindless sort of entertainment that the public eats up, no matter how redundant it gets.
And that is exactly what the Ministry wants. There’s a very specific reason why there are absolutely no lyrics to accompany the music they play: it makes people think. By eliminating creativity, the Ministry also lessens the risk of having freethinkers. It’s for this reason that the concerts are broadcast on home televisions and megascreens spread throughout the city.
The Ministry cares about one thing, and one thing only: control. And that, he supposes, is why Hyosung refuses to clean up the Slums. It’s not their favor she’s after, but their complacency. All she needs is to keep them satisfied enough to be unaware of what goes on around them. The caste system has been in place for generations, and, in general, the residents of the Slums don’t question it anymore. The rare attention paid to them in the form of Himchan’s concert will be enough of a change to keep them content. Or, at least by Hyosung’s logic, it will be.
When Himchan finishes his song, the audience claps politely. It’s nothing like the cheering Yongguk got from the crowd when he performed at the club. Himchan’s audience is poised and proper, their moves tightly controlled. No one shouts their appreciation at him like they did for Yongguk. He vaguely wonders what it’d be like to be on the receiving end of that sort of adoration. He walks towards the front of the stage, where a microphone is stationed and smiles directly into the camera. “Thank you all for coming out,” he says to the crowd when their applause fans out. “I speak on the behalf of the entire Orchestra when I say that I hope you all enjoy yourselves tonight.”
As he stares out at the blank faces in front of him, he wonders if they’re even capable of such a thing.
Himchan is incredibly grateful when Monday night rolls around. He and Daehyun leave for the rebel club together, taking an old, long forgotten road out of Midtown. Once again, Himchan is assaulted by loud music and flashing lights. While it had been rather overwhelming the first couple of times, now, in a weird sort of way, Himchan finds it therapeutic. It’s like there’s a whole new world down here, where he can, momentarily, forget about the stresses of life.
“I’m gonna try to find Youngjae,” Daehyun says to him. “You’ll be alright if I leave you by yourself, right?”
“I’m not a kid,” he says, laughing. “I’m actually older than you, you know.” Himchan rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine, go find your lover boy.”
Daehyun ducks out pretty quickly after that, yelling a weak “shut up, asshole,” over the music. Himchan is left standing near entrance of the club. He studies his surroundings - the walls are covered in layers of various pamphlets and flyers, and underneath that, graffiti - in hopes of finding someone, anyone familiar. It’s a silly thing and he knows it; besides Daehyun and Youngjae, none of his friends are from outside of the Ministry. He sees Junhong and Jongup in the corner, speaking. Going over there is definitely out. While Jongup had seemed fairly indifferent to him, Junhong blatantly unappreciated his presence. Left with no other choice, Himchan ends up at the bar, nursing a drink.
“You need to learn how to make friends,” Yongguk says, sliding onto the stool next to him. “You look pretty sad drinking alone.”
Himchan snorts. “You know, I do pretty well charming a room full of high society snobs. But in a room full of people who hate my guts? Not so much.”
“Cheer up,” Yongguk says, patting him on the shoulder. “Not all of us hate your guts.” He gestures at the bartender, and Jay brings Yongguk a drink and Himchan a refill. “I mean, I wouldn’t be buying you a drink if I did.”
“But,” Himchan starts to say as he accepts the drink. “You’re the only one in here with a pretty valid reason to dislike me. I was kind of an asshole to you.”
Yongguk waves his hand dismissively. “If you’re about to apologize for it, don’t worry about it.”
Himchan stares back at Yongguk for a moment. “I wasn’t going to say sorry,” he says slowly. “You were a bit of a dick too, after all.”
“Hey now.” Yongguk chuckles. “We have a truce, don’t we? There’s no insulting each other in a truce.”
Himchan allows himself to smile back at the other man. It’s surprising how natural this banter with Yongguk feels. He lets Yongguk talk him into have another drink, and then another, and before he knows it, he’s drunker than he’s been in a very, very long time. He’s certainly no stranger to alcohol, but he’s used to to taking slow and controlled sips of champagne at Ministry run events. Of course he and Daehyun had nights where they got plastered beyond belief, but the last time that had happened was ages ago.
Himchan, as it turns out, falls onto the talkative side of the drunk spectrum. He and Yongguk talk about a whole lot of nothing, before their conversation, predictably, lands on the Ministry. “I think Hyosung might know about this place,” Himchan says, spinning an empty glass on the bar top. “Er, well, I don’t think she knows about here specifically.” The word specifically comes out as an incoherent mess of consonants and vowels that Himchan can barely understand himself. “But she does have eyes everywhere, alright, and she’s wicked paranoid about a rebellion happening.”
“Whoa, hold on a minute,” Yongguk says, staring back at him, wide-eyed. “Hyosung? You’re on a first name basis with the Minister?”
“Well yeah,” he says, nodding his head rather vigorously. “It’s not like we’re buddies or anything, because she’s a little too psychotic for friends.” The glass he’s spinning topples over onto it’s side. It nearly rolls right off the the counter and to the floor, but Yongguk reaches out and saves the day. “Whoa,” Himchan says, looking from the glass in Yongguk’s hand to his face. “You have some serious cat like reflexes, man.”
Yongguk ignores the comment. “Knowing the Minister is good,” he says, nodding. “You’d be able to give us intel on her.” Yongguk talking so seriously is really killing his buzz. He glances to the countertop in front of Yongguk, where only two glasses are in front of him. He’s not really sure how he hadn’t noticed that Yongguk had stopped drinking long before he did. “It’s really great, actually,” Yongguk repeats.
“No,” Himchan says, shaking his head.
“No what?” Yongguk asks, his eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m so tired,” Himchan says with a grand sigh, “of people expecting me to do them favors.” His shoulders slump forward, and he reaches a hand up to rub at his forehead. “I can’t tell Hyosung no, but you,” he straightens up a bit to jab a finger at Yongguk’s chest. “You,” he enunciates the word with a hard poke to Yongguk’s sternum, “I can say no to. So no, ‘m not becoming your spy.”
Yongguk grabs his wrist, pushes it away from his chest, and guides it back down to the bar top. “Sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he actually means it. “I wasn’t trying to force you into doing something you didn’t want to. I didn’t even think about how you-” His sentence stops abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.
All this apologizing, Himchan decides, just won’t do. “S’okay,” he nods. “I know you didn’t suggest it with any bad intentions.”
“Do you?” Yongguk raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Is that because you ‘have me so figured out’?” While his tone is mocking, it’s also light, and a large, gummy grin is spread across his face.
Himchan laughs. “Y’know,” he slurs, “you’re not so bad. I kinda like you. ”
Yongguk snorts. “Yeah? Well I’m glad then.” He slides off the barstool, and Himchan looks up at him, confused. “It’s late,” he supplies. “And you’re fucking hammered. I’m going to go find Daehyun so he can bring you home.”
He watches Yongguk’s back fade into the mass of moving bodies. “It’s weird,” a voice says, and Himchan turns around to see Jay, the bartender looking down at him. “Seeing you completely wasted isn’t really something I ever thought I’d see in my life. Does this mean I’m going to have to start thinking about you as an actual human being?”
The rational part of Himchan’s brain - which is very, very small at the moment - knows that he’s being sarcastic, but something about his question strikes a chord. A sick feeling wells up in his stomach, and then he’s doubled over in a fit of dry heaves. His body calms down after a moment. The heaves stutter into smalls coughs, and then nothing.
The sick feeling still remains.
Himchan didn’t think last night through very well, and he pays for his impulsiveness the next morning. His alarm goes off at seven because he has to be at the the concert hall for eight. He awakes with a start and fucking massive headache. He stumbles out of bed against his will and ends up tripping over his shoes, because apparently Daehyun thought right in front of his bed was the ideal place to put them. Dumbass.
Showering only makes him feel mildly better, and it’s a miracle that he manages to dress himself and get out the door without incident. Despite his best efforts, he gets to work fifteen minutes late. Everyone is already busy prepping their instruments when he arrives.
Sunhwa is the first person to greet him when he arrives. “Hey Himchan!” she says brightly, and when he winces, she does a double take. “You alright?” she asks. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m just a bit sick,” he says, shrugging. “I’ll be fine.”
Sunhwa raises her eyebrows. “Just a bit sick? Himchan, you’re wearing sunglasses. Indoors.” He knows he looks ridiculous, but what else can he do? The concert hall is incredibly well lit, and he’s not so sure that he can handle it so early in the morning.
From her spot at the front of the room, Jieun spots him. She makes her way towards him, her strides long and quick. “You’re late,” she says, and her voice makes him inwardly cringe. She surveys his appearance, and okay, maybe he doesn’t look the most put together today. His blazer is wrinkled, and he had grabbed the first pair of jeans he could find when he woke up. She frowns at his sunglasses. “Are you,” she starts to say, reaching to pull his sunglasses off, “hungover?”
He squints as the light around him intensifies, and the crease in Jieun’s brow deepens. “You are,” she says, her tone disapproving. From the corner of his eye he can see Sunhwa retreating back to her desk, and Hana watching him from across the room, a concerned look on her face. “That’s rather unbecoming.” She folds the sunglasses and sticks them in the pocket of his blazer. “Remember that your actions are a representation of the orchestra.”
He sighs. “I know Jieun. It won’t happen again.” It’s a bit unbelievable that he actually has to apologize for getting drunk. If he were a normal, irrelevant twenty-two year old in Midtown, this wouldn’t even be an issue.
“So long as you didn’t make an ass of yourself,” she sighs. Himchan mentally rolls his eyes; it doesn’t make a difference how he behaves at the resistance’s headquarters. “And as long as your playing isn’t impaired today, you’re fine.” He’s a little groggy and tired, and his head hurts like hell, but years of playing has allowed him to memorize every song so perfectly that he’s not even sure that it’s possible for him to make a mistake.
It’s odd how important Jieun makes these practices out to be. Missing just one would not bring about the end of times. Though, he supposes, letting their lowly employees have more than a few days off just might. The Ministry likes to keep their workers as busy as possible, because free time is almost as dangerous as free thinkers.
“Anyways,” she continues on. “Your benefit concert will be next month. I’m glad you’ve agreed to do it, Himchan.”
She and he both know that he didn’t have any other option besides agreeing. He finds himself nodding and telling her that he, too, is glad, because in this city, agreeing is the only choice he’s allowed.
Part Three