#( FEAT / ZHOU RENYI )

[kianbe]

'CAUSE OF YOU 김기안 → 주런이

now that he doesn't have nicky to kill all of his free-time with, kian's been hard at work writing songs, and honestly speaking, it's been nice, healing almost, hanging out with his guitar even more than he was before. his coveted instrument is honestly his best friend, and he doesn't care if people think that that's odd of him to assert. it's been there for him during his darkest hours, and it always, always cracks his heart wide open whenever he's having a hard time expressing himself. he can't ever lie to his guitar, and he never would either.

after all, he's been told that the best music is written not only with raw emotion, but with immense truth, too. that's what makes it relatable enough to be felt, even by those whose hearts resemble stone.

tonight, he feels like he finally placed the finishing touches on a love song he's been working on, and after playing it through once or twice for himself, he knows he needs to seek out joomi for the final stamp of approval. if there's anyone he trusts with things like this, it's him.

this rapport between them started when kian was only in middle school, and it continues strongly into present day. whenever he finishes something, he rushes over to joomi for his thoughts like clockwork, and being that he knows joomi often stays late in a very specific studio-space, he charges toward it with intent; swinging the door open when he gets there.

"joomi!" he exclaims, then stops dead in his tracks. "o-oh... i'm sorry," he apologizes when he realizes he's interrupting someone else's work time. though, it seems strange to him. it's after hours, and normally, joomi is occupying this space come hell or high water. regardless, he bows toward the person in question, and when he stands up straight again, it dawns on him that he recognizes the person parallel to him.

brows furrowing, he takes a step closer to him, then grins; sheepish. "wait... you're ren, right?" hopefully it's not creepy that he knows this person's name. "i'm kian! i've heard a lot about you from joomi. he's like my brother." letting the door shut behind him, he leans his back against it; becoming more comfortable. "d'you know if he's around? i wanna play him a song i've been workin' on..."

pausing, he can't help but wonder if it's rude that he's not really acknowledging that ren is also a musician in his own right, and that, if anything, his opinions could be helpful, too. "if he's not here, maybe i can borrow your ears for a sec? i-if that's okay with you!"

[sarangbe]

BEAUTIFUL 염사랑 → 주런이

this has been a long time coming, and though he's tried checking in on ren by asking their mutual friends how he's doing, sarang doesn't know if he should trust their testimonies. it's not like he thinks they'd flat-out lie to him, but it wouldn't shock him if they were keeping the truth veiled to some capacity; both to protect their close pal, and to keep sarang from trying to interject during this rather tender time for him. all of that is perfectly understandable, but there's still a part of him that doesn't think that either of them have had proper closure.

after all, the last time he saw ren, he was packing up his belongings and fleeing from their home, right after sarang said things in a tone that he regrets so badly. he never wanted to lose his composure or cause irreparable damage, and he hates that that's what happened. he hates that he lost the level of grace that he's known for.

now, he's sitting on a bench near the exit of axis labels, and he knows that ren will show up soon to head wherever he's been staying lately. he always stays late, and though sarang used to get bothered by it at times, it's convenient right now. headquarters is quiet, the rest of the trainees have left, at least for the most part, and it'll make this initial encounter less stressful. the last thing he wants is for his ex to feel cornered by him, but he thinks this approach will work well for them. it's just the two of them, the moon, and the skyscrapers.

glancing up when he sees someone making a beeline for the exit, he recognizes ren's silhouette immediately, and wanting to catch him before he escapes into the night, sarang puts a skip in his step; ensuring that he reaches the door first. when he does, he turns and looks at ren, offering a shy smile. he can't help but notice that he appears tired, and sarang is sure that his own appearance is similar. sleep has been hard to come by lately, for both of them apparently.

"hey..." he breaks the silence, then purses his lips together. what he wants to do is wrap his arms around ren and hold him close, but he refrains. instead, he makes himself strong; erecting his posture. "will you... walk me home?" the question leaves him and he realizes that it may be inappropriate for him to be asking for a favor right now, so he's quick to elaborate. "i think it's time we talk... just you and me."

now, he waits with bated breath for ren's response; nervous.

[shoutabe]

STARSTRUCK 쇼우타 → 주런이

for some reason, life places him in predicaments where he's bound to look like an extreme loser, and every time it happens, shouta can't help but sigh; dejected. now, don't get him wrong, sharing the same space with someone that he considers himself a fan of is exciting. it's not everyday that a person casually encounters someone that they look up to, or admire, in some fashion, but the few times it's happened to him, he can't bring himself to remember what it's like to have a normal conversation; to greet someone without awkwardness or tension.

he's already a bit hopeless on his own with ordinary people, so adding more weight on top of an interaction always makes things worse.

despite knowing this about himself, though, shouta doesn't want to miss the opportunity to express his gratitude toward someone who not only entertains him, but moves him, too. as he keeps up with any and all idol survival shows, he's committed a lot of faces, and a lot of voices, to memory; choosing to follow these artists' careers until they eventually attain the success they're after, and go beyond that.

zhou renyi, or simply ren, as he was called on the first season of 'next gen', is someone he's chosen to become a bit invested in, and it turns out that the quaint cat café he chose to study at today is the one ren still works at occasionally. he managed to not freak out when he placed his order, and since he's been nose-deep in books for the last hour, he didn't notice that everyone else surrounding him has picked up and moved on with their day.

now, the only two people present, outside of the feline companions, are he and ren, and after making himself brave, he approaches the counter again; clearing his throat as he meets his senior's eyes.

"h-hi..." he croaks, clearing his throat. "i, uh... you... were on next gen, right?" asking this question allows him to collect himself a little more; stalling. "my name is shouta, and if you're who i think you are, i just wanted to say that i really enjoyed your performances." his face burns with a blush, but he tries shaking it away; laughing at himself. "your voice is really good... it made me cry a few times."

was that oversharing? he doesn't know, but all he can hope is that ren takes it as a compliment. well, and that ren doesn't tell him to buzz off. he knows what they say about meeting your idols...

[sarangbe]

I'LL COVER YOU 염사랑 → 저우런이

sarang knows that he should've stayed behind with the contestants to assuage them, but after witnessing his sweetheart's stress-fueled uproar, his first instinct was to follow him as he stormed out. there were no other thoughts or considerations in that moment; sarang knew he needed to be by ren's side. sure, he knows that cameras are everywhere, and he knows the two of them need to be careful, but in his list of priorities, ren, and alex, are at the very top of it; completely overtaking his life as a trainee. that, and well, he knows his boyfriend. sarang realizes that ren's outburst was an unfair response to give the others, he also knows that ren is going to full terrible about it later, and that's what he's worried about: the aftermath.

for now, they're stowed away someplace that the cameras can't really access—a restroom, so nowhere particularly fancy—and sarang's hands are kneading circles into ren's back—focusing the pressure of his palms in the dead-center of his lover's shoulder blades, hoping that he's helping relieve tension. "remember to breathe..." his voice is gentle, coaxing even, and he turns his head every few moments to ensure that no cameraman tries to interrupt their scene. anything is possible with these people, even invading privacy. if they think it'll make good tv, they'll try to capture it.

"you're going to be okay, i'm here for you," sarang coos, hoping that his more positive mindset isn't an annoyance. all he's trying to do is remind ren that, despite the pressure that's crushing him, he's here to help him carry the weight. they're a team, after all. not only in this leg of the competition, but in their real lives, as well. "is there something i can do to help you?" after this question, he refrains from asking any others. he doesn't want to overwhelm him anymore than he already is.

"breathe, baby... i'm right here. no one but me. you're safe."

[kianbe]

kian wasn't expecting ren to start playing along with him, but the addition of the keys filled the song out in a way that makes him curious about what other layers he can add in production to truly paint the picture he's trying to create. in his mind, each strum of the strings is a new brushstroke of colors added to this musical canvas, and the piano that supports the sound are splashes of completely different hues to help tie everything together; like velvet blues meeting cool silvers to create the imagery of a tranquil night sky.

this is why he loves a collaborative process. he loves when two points-of-view collide like this.

though, when ren finally speaks, kian isn't exactly sure how to take his comment. it causes him to tilt his head to one side, similar to how a dog does when it's curious. now, he doesn't want to disparage the company that signed him, especially since it's one that he auditioned for himself, and sure, there are moments where he wonders if his own creativity would've been better suited for studio delta, but he's still learned a lot during his time at lime entertainment. if anything, it's helped him become a more well-rounded performer.

"what makes you say that?" he asks, hoping that asking for further explanation isn't viewed as annoying. "lime may not allow me to write a ton of music all the time, but honestly, i'm okay with that... at least for the most part. what i write is mostly for me anyway, i don't really wanna sell my songs to anyone." with that, he shrugs; the impressive breadth of his shoulders accented by the movement. "i love that you jumped in, though! the keys really, really helped!"

kian beams, glad to know that, even if spoken somewhat negatively and seriously, that ren still seems to have enjoyed his song. "i like to write music, but above all, i know what's going to take me places is my voice. i think that's why i'm at lime. we focus more on sharpening singing and dancing than we do writing our own tunes." a sweet grin tugs at one corner of his mouth, and he gestures his head toward ren. "that's what you guys at studio delta are for!"

laughing, his posture becomes more languid in his seat; relaxed. "i won't lie though, i am curious to know what the creative process is when all of you put your heads together. you, joomi, jay... those sessions must be so cool. maybe someday i can sit in on one and observe?"

"yeah," he utters, once again useless outside of one-word affirmatives that pale in comparison to his visitor's chipper loquaciousness.

it's still a bit surreal, any time a stranger, or a newfound acquaintance, in this case, mentions his time on next gen. half the time, ren wishes he could forget it; half the time, he manages to. when he is accidentally (or deliberately, in some of his less forgiving training sessions) presented with clips of his own face in literal 4k, singing, dancing, laughing, crying, it feels like an out-of-body experience, as if he's watching someone else's extremely vulnerable dream-chasing unfold in high-definition pixels across his screen. how strange it is to know that there are hundreds, if not thousands, of utter strangers out there who know so much about him while he knows nothing about them. at least he can put a name and a face to this one.

ren stays quiet, keeping however appreciative or awkward he feels about kian's words of praise locked safely inside himself so as not to interrupt the young man's creative process.

the song tugs at something brittle, yet tense inside of him within the first few lines. it's a love song, because of course it is, a simple ballad likening a paramour to the very stars in the sky, sung by someone who would immortalize this admired person with their very own permanent map in the heavens. that tug turns into something a little larger, that lump lingering just behind his sternum starting to grow in mass and impede on the expansion of his lungs to breathe.

so, to escape this utter assault of emotion, he succumbs to his most primal urge, the one he is most familiar with: the urge to make music.

the chords of kian's song are melodic, but simple, and it's easy for ren to pick up their progressions after the first chorus, when he slips onto the padded stool in front of the nearby electric keyboard to add a lilting piano melody just behind kian's guitar. this is easier. this feels better. this is the best way to process anything, everything he knows.

"i think," he muses out loud, his thoughts happy to shift into music mode and out of anything else, "your talents are wasted at lime."

his fingers on one hand still dance silently over a few of the key paths he'd improvised moments before, fingertips just barely grazing mock ivory before he turns his full attention to his eager apprentice.

"sorry for just jumping in like that. i thought it could use some keys."

[kianbe]

there's a heaviness to ren that kian notices immediately; his fine-tuned sensitivities easily able to pick up on the gray clouds that block even the tiniest drop of sunshine from piercing through its murky veil. maybe it's because he's been stuck in the studio for hours on end, or maybe it's because he's trudging through trying times, or maybe it's a combination of both, but regardless of the cause, kian hopes that he can shift the air around them; fill it with melodies and chords in a way that plucks at ren's heartstrings in all of the best ways.

music has the power to do stuff like that anyway. he knows ren knows that, too.

when he's given the go-ahead to play, kian nods affirmatively; taking up one of the three empty seats in the studio, ensuring that his guitar is tuned appropriately before his feline gaze lands back on his senior. smiling, he licks over his lips and delicately bows his head, but not in an obvious way; it's subtle. "thank you for letting me play... not gonna lie, i'm excited to hear what you think," he admits, rolling his eyes at himself. "still, i want you to be honest if you think it needs work."

shrugging, he laughs to himself; embarrassed. "i actually remember seeing you on next gen. your voice always stood out to me. i watched for joomi, mostly, but i always looked forward to your performances, too. i, uh... i promise i'm not trying to butter you up or anything!" kian chirps, shaking his head. "i just thought you should know, i guess. anyway!" he exclaims, then takes a nice, deep breath; fingertips strumming the strings of his beloved six-string acoustic, the hum of it flooding his chest with warmth.

when it's time for him to sing, he launches into it heart-first; his vocals possessing a soulful quality that's rare to find in this industry. every note he utters is drenched in emotion, as he wavers between fluttering falsetto highs and chesty belts, giving life to the lyrics he wrote about someone he genuinely cares about above all. missing him has been difficult, but kian's glad that he's been able to better immerse himself into his art to better cope with the distance.

as the three-and-a-half minute piece comes to a close, he nods once more; pleased. hopefully ren is, too. "it's definitely fanciful, which is why i'd never bother lime entertainment with it, but... i don't know. what do you think?" with that, he leans back languidly in his chair; sights attentively locked on his senior. "remember, be honest!"

statistically, the longer he forces himself to sit in this seat plunking away nonsense into three monitors' worth of professional music production software, the more likely he is to, eventually, create something that doesn't sound like utterly contrived fake hip-pop bullshit. right? that's how that theory goes, isn't it? put a chimpanzee in front of a typewriter long enough, and eventually he'll write shakespeare or cure cancer or solve a few unsolvable quantum equations.

although, they never mentioned the chimpanzee being a pathetic, depressed, freshly-dumped virgo running on three red bulls, two prescription ssris, and one pipe-dream-hanging-on-by-half-a-thread.

alright, so maybe his music isn't going to cure cancer any time soon. at least his korean doesn't suck nearly half as bad as it used to.

he starts visibly at the sudden exclamation of a name that would only be more familiar if it were his own.

"jesus-" he utters just under his breath, tearing his over-ears from his head and turning his chair to face the zealous intruder.

he only vaguely recognizes the face that greets him, but somehow the enthusiastic glimmer in the other trainee's eye, and the way his shoulders reveal a posture not yet crippled by the overwhelming weight of creative failure, rejection, expectation, gives away the fact that this must be someone from lime (that, and the smoothly proportioned face ren isn't quite convinced is all genetic).

stop it, he scolds himself, it isn't his fault you're a disappointment. he does have to disappoint him, he realizes, as he speaks reality out loud.

"pretty sure he went home for the night."

to coddle jinyoung, probably. and though ren doesn't verbally mention as much, his feelings on the subject, bitter, annoyed, concerned, are written on the edges of his tone.

he is expecting the young man named kian to exeunt, when he learns that his rightful musical hero is absent, and he can't hide the surprise that colors his facial features when kian asks him to review the track instead. why would he ask ren? he doesn't know him, or if he's capable or qualified enough to judge something as important and vulnerable as a newly completed song. (what's that like, finishing a song that one's willing to share with someone else? ren can't remember.) is it just because he's here, and joomi isn't?

"uh," he hesitates; since when does lime encourage songwriting among their picture-perfect porcelain prospects? is this even allowed? what if kian realizes halfway through whatever critique session this becomes only to realize that contrary to popular belief and their cohesive creative processes that joomi and ren's musical tastes are actually vastly different? is ren mentally prepared for that bizarrely sensitive conversation?

"sure," is the answer, apparently. he wheels back to the computer and hastily closes his own works-in-progress, unplugs his phone from the room's aux before holding it out to his new collaborator for the evening, "go crazy."

[sarangbe]

it'd be all too easy to fall back into the pace they once walked; to try and forget that night; to make up for the loss of warmth by rekindling the fire that crackled between them. he just doesn't know if that's a good idea. it's fucked up that all that's left of them is a big pile of ash, that they have so much history that went up in flames, and now, they're standing mere centimeters away from one another like two strangers. not long ago, sarang would've wrapped his arms around ren's shoulders and crashed into him. a part of him still wants to, but he can't be selfish like that. he can't be cruel to ren, or to himself.

relationships change, and relationships change people. sarang knows this to be true. he just wishes the changes that occurred to them didn't turn them into hollowed-out husks, especially when they were once deliciously fragrant fruit; sweet, enriching, nourishing. there was no better form of sustenance to sarang than ren's love, even if the flavors of it weren't always to his preference.

sometimes he wonders if the flavors of his own love weren't always to ren's preferences, too.

either way, they escape the confines of their prison (from sarang's pov, at least) and begin their familiar journey through the night. it's quiet for awhile. the sounds of passing cars and idle conversations from passersby are their only symphony. it doesn't take sarang too long to break the silence, though. he's always been the chattier one.

"i don't hate you, ren." he means it. he knows that ren is probably blaming himself for everything, too, when he's not the only one that caused damage. "i'm sorry for the things i said in anger. none of that was productive... and i hate myself everyday for losing my cool on you." turning his head, sarang glances at ren; admiring how stunning he looks bathed in the the light of nightfall.

"i miss you..." the admission is near-whispered, but still audible enough to be heard.

"i think about you all the time."

isn't it funny, how the end of someone's world can feel like just that, while also feeling so utterly unimportant to the actual world? sometimes, ren feels as if everyone at axis knows about what ren ruined, about what he put himself through, about how he has treated a pair of people he loved, loves, loved. sometimes, he thinks every miserable drowning thought he has is being broadcasted across his forehead every time he makes eye contact with someone, stranger or friend alike. and then sometimes, it feels like the opposite, like he is suffocating, like he is gasping for air so loudly, flopping through his day like a fish abandoned on land, while the world carries on around him. nobody stops to throw him back into somewhere he can breathe, nobody pauses to make sure his pulse is still steady and unwavering. how is that possible? don't they know life as they know it is a lie?

he probably didn't eat enough today. he danced too hard and spent too many hours staring at tiny soundwaves and conjugated too many new verbs in korean and now he feels lightheaded, nauseous, like the lightest draft might push the contents of his stomach back up through his esophagus. he probably didn't sleep enough either.

how much he just wants to curl up somewhere and suffer in silence until he can pretend for a while that he doesn't exist until his senses numb long enough to pretend to be human for a while.

hey.

ren inhales, short and sudden, startled out of the deterioration of the hour by a face so familiar and so distant it hurts to look at. somehow, despite how tired sarang looks (it hurts ren; it's such an uncharacteristic state on him, and he did that to him, didn't he. didn't he?), he is still all pastel velvet and flickering candlelight, like some forlorn impressionist's pies de resistance. ren's stomach lurches.

"um," it flows through the vessels in his brain like molasses, the last conversation they had, the cutting words, the sight of alex disappearing through airport security, the burning heaviness of his limbs as he shoved his toothbrush and a few pairs of socks into his bag. he wants to say no, but he suddenly forgets the word in every language he's ever known.

"yeah, okay," is all he manages, flatly, exhausted, an obvious concession to his pathetic, malleable state of being, "sure."

[sarangbe]

the fact that they're seated on the floor of a public restroom has sarang feeling completely uncomfortable, but he braves the germs for ren. a part of him knows he'll be counting down the milliseconds until he can get home and take a shower, but for now, his fingers are combing through ren's hair; nails delicately scratching his scalp like usual. with how hard ren's brain works, sarang knows that it likely needs a massage; a vacation, even. he hopes that, even though they're not physically in an idyllic place right now, he can deliver the feeling of paradise to him, whatever that may be in his world-view.

leaning forward, he begins peppering kisses along his lover's face as he speaks; stamping affection into him in hopes that it helps counteract the anxiety that's settled in. if there's anything he's learned about ren over the last while, it's that he's rather tender; soft-hearted. on the surface, he seems so cool, and he handles all of his tasks, and his work, and his art-forms with such grace, but going deeper than that, all that can be found is a pillowy center; like marshmallow or bubblegum coated in a shell of hard candy.

"you don't have to apologize to me, my love," sarang assures him, slowly leaning his head upon ren's shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist. "i've got you..." in this moment, he begins to slow his own breathing down in hopes that ren will mirror him. it doesn't keep him from talking here and there, though. "you did get a little angry, and jaeyoung did respond a bit harshly to you, but i don't think it's anything that can't be fixed."

he sighs, tightening his grip on his boyfriend. "you're the best repairman i know, too. you know how to fix everything." his words are meaningful, but lighthearted; sweet. "i honestly think that once you both calm down, you'll talk things out and it'll be okay. it's a stressful, tense environment. it gets the better of us sometimes."

he regretted it immediately. the moment the words fell from his lips in a frighteningly and accidentally accurate impression of his ceo, unstoppable, uncontrollable, until it felt like he was watching himself berate the contestants he was meant to be mentoring from outside of his body, half of his consciousness floating somewhere near the ceiling until he came to and quickly fled the scene.

it was a moment of untapped vulnerability that he shouldn't have taken out on the people he was meant to be helping, and instead of being able to pretend it never happened, or to put what little pride he has aside and simply apologize, he will, he realizes now, be forced to relive the moment over and over, forever and ever, as long as he lived. it has been immortalized by every camera in the room, will likely be aired on next week's episode, cut from multiple zooms and angles, turned into clips and gifs, following him forever like some horror movie monster existing just inside his peripheral vision.

then he recalls his own bout of humiliation just a few days before, the looks in his ceo's eyes, the looming threat of his own contract's inevitable termination. if he fails here, everything that had just transpired may be the last anyone ever sees of him. and then he will be lost, with no dream, no future, no family...no visa. he will be shipped back to his home country where he no longer has next of kin willing to claim him, no professional network, all of his trusted friends across the world's biggest ocean.

is that why it feels like he's drowning, in this empty, drafty bathroom?

he wants to turn around and hold sarang, to embrace what little he has grounding him in reality, in here and now. but he can't move from where he's sat on the floor, back against the wall, elbows resting on his knees as he presses the heels of his hands into his forehead and tries to catch his breath.

he shakes his head, not quite an answer or a coherent response to anything sarang says in particular.

"i fucked up," he manages, shakily, not quite shedding tears, but with the threat of a sob lodged firmly in the back of his throat, "i shouldn't have- i don't know what happened. i just-"

"i ca-" his companion reminds him to breathe, as if that's the easiest thing in the world, and his head swims. it feels like he can't remember how.

"i'm sorry."