#people of all different political leanings were singing their own songs and suddenly united singing our national anthem in unison

[galmiahthepigeon]

Massive protest in Buenos Aires against severe budget cuts for free public universities. People sing "And now you see, and now you see, those who don't jump voted for Milei".

[way-veee]

yan yu

rating: m

genre: romance, fluff, comedy, wayv being absolute crackheads

word count: 1.5k +

pairing: reader x wayv

pt. 6

“okay, sure, has the osaka part of the report been sent in yet? the editors need it by friday, also can you get me an estimated time for the cover photo and staff member list?” 

you roll your eyes as your manage asks you a multitude of questions  over the phone due to the change in arrival.

“yes i sent in the report yesterday and the cover photo will be taken on the last day. everything’s fine, don’t worry i got this.”

you hear her huff through your phone.

“okay that’s great. i read part of the preview you sent over last week and it seemed pretty good. keep up work like that and the report will be trending in no time.”

you nod into the phone.

“listen,“ you start, “ i was wondering. what would happen if maybe i covered wayv in a not so unrealistic light. what if i focused more on their struggles and issue with their company-”

“y/n” your manager snaps, definitely upset. “if you do that you’re fired. do you hear me? we don’t need our company getting shit on by sm or their fans because you wanted to have some political coverage to make you feel authentic or whatever. if i see anything like that i’ll fire you right on the spot. i swear to god.”

“okay i’ll take that as no. nice talking to you as always.”

“you too” she responds flatly.

she hangs up a second later and you pocket your phone, ready to go out.

you try to push probably being fired from your job out of your mind and enjoy the day.

wayv was at the studio again today, practicing their choreography and finishing lyrics. you wanted to get more coverage on the process for the report so you decided to go as well.

the boys left earlier in the morning than you, and not wanting to wake up at 6:30 to sit in a cold practice room, you had declined.

you go to the cafeteria and get a latte and bagel for your breakfast. you tuck the bagel in your purse for later and walk out the front exit of the building to get to the bus stop.

it was cold while waiting for the bus so you put on your hat to keep warm. the bus came fifteen minutes later and you gladly boarded, taking one of the only empty spots beside a girl that looked about your age. the bus took off with a jolt and you leaned back into your seat sipping your vanilla latte.

“hey i know you!”

you look over at the girl surprised, you didn’t think you knew her.

“you were in my vocal class senior year!”

you inspect the girls face more thoroughly. her sloped nose and clear skin jogged your memory. 

“ohhh i remember you! you’re nene, the one who sang adele for their final exam.”

(not very well if you recall correctly)

“ya! that’s me!” she responds cheerfully while looking you up and down “and you sang....”

“i didn’t.” you reply embarrassed, looking past her at the highway falling behind the bus window.

“riiight, that was when you ran out of the exam and threw up in front of the science classrooms!”

you nod desperately trying to forget when you were too nervous to perform and vomited in front of your classmates.

“then the principal came but you wanted to come back and-”

“how’s the singing going now?” you cut in, slightly annoyed.

“oh great!” she replies with perfect teeth and rosy lips.

“i’m still doing auditions but i have a feeling something big is coming my way. plus i’ve already achieved something better!”

“what’s that” you reply, losing interest in the pretty girl from high school that you remembered was also quite boring.

“i’m dating a celebrity!” she yells.

everybody on the bus slowly turns to look at us, mostly annoyed at us being loud. you shrink down wanting to disappear from this conversation.

“oh, that’s so cool...” you say not wanting anything more to do with this girl.

“do you wanna know who it was?”

“no that’s okay, you probably shouldn’t tell people anywa-”

“they were in nct 127!”

“what” you say a little too loudly.

“you heard me” she smirks definitely liking your shocked reaction.

she disinterestedly plays with a pink charm on her purse. she was going to make you ask to her to tell the rest of the story. you had to know a little bit more because wayv and nct 127 were both sub units. 

you hated girls like this.

“nene, can you please tell me a little more? if you can, i understand if you can’t but-”

“okay, it was like 5 months ago and i was at one of the recording studios downtown doing backup vocals for this really cool band called the rain and as i was going to get a snack they literally walked right past me.”

she retells the story so perfectly and without skipping a beat. you figured she was telling the truth. 

“and i totally make eye contact with taeyong. like eye contact” she emphasizes making big eyes at you while continuing.

“the recording manager said that they’d be on a break in 20 so i waited outside and when taeyong came out he says hi to me. and we talk for a little bit and he gives me his number! his actual phone number.”

“wow” you say trying to sound enthusiastic. maybe this was just a boring story and you shouldn’t have asked about it.

“so then a week later we set a date at the dorms... and you know” she says smiling cheekily at me. 

“he was super sweet too, he told me this funny story of when mark went on a date with a reporter because she kept writing bad articles about them and she totally thinks that he likes her and that they’re like dating or something. anyways, when i got there..”

your jaw dropped. it made sense now. why they were nice to you and became your friend so suddenly. 

god you were so dumb, 

why didn’t you think that the managers of wayv would also get the rough drafts of your report too. they definitely told the boys about what you had initially said.

it was apparent now that they were just using you so you’d write a positive report based off of friendship not truth.

“hey y/n?” nene says pinching your arm with her pointy nails. “oh...” she says while definitely trying to suppress her smile. “i forgot, aren’t you are reporter too?” she tilts her head looking at you bemusedly to see how you’d react.

“this is my stop” you say while gesturing to the red flashing light announcing the street that the dance studio is at.

“bye y/n!” nene screeches from inside the bus. “you know where to contact me!”

you wave meekly as the doors shut and the bus passes by you.

while walking to the studio your sadness of being deceived turns into anger and embarrassment. you hated celebrities and vocal majors and cold days and bagels. 

you walk into the building and find the room number you had written down on a piece of paper. you walk up two flights of stairs and down a large hallway with closed doors.

finally, you bust into their room to see them by the full length mirrors practicing formations.

they saw the pain and anger on your face and were frightened by how different you seemed.

“y/n, are you okay?” kun asks getting up off of the floor visibly concerned.

you knew that you shouldn’t do this here for so many different reasons. but you felt like you had too. wayv meant too much to you for it all to be fake.

“is this real.” you ask, staring at them and their confused expressions.

“y/n what do you mean-” kun starts

“is this real. is our friendship real?”

they look at you quizzically. why were you bringing this up now.

“yes, we’re friends now. remember we got past the whole hating eachother bit and banded together to make music and you were gonna write the article-”

you cut ten off sharply

“are you just being nice to me because of my job. because you want me to write something nice about you guys.”

they stay silent as you feverishly try to push back tears. the buzz of the room is so loud in your ears.

“i know this is dumb because we haven’t known eachother for long. but i thought that we were friends. i thought you guys- you superstars liked me for who i was. i- over this week i was really happy working and talking with you guys. i’m so stupid to think that you would actually like me.”

you started to get really nervous for speaking your thoughts to them in a rom-com fashion. you wanted to crawl into the floors and disappear.

everyone is quiet for a moment. thinking over what you said as you clutch the cold bagel in your purse trying not to cry.

“what about the song? do you think that was fake? or that we do that with every reporter?” lucas asks.

you look up at them.

“do you know what yan yu means?” yangyang asks

“of course” you reply. “ it means to speak”

“that’s going to be the name of our new title track.” he replies

you look at yangyang wanting him to explain.

winwin steps forward slightly looking at the ground.

“we called it yan yu because you allowed us to speak. because of all that you’ve done while you’ve been here. the thing we care about most isn’t the article, it’s having our own voices. we want to tell the world- through our music that we’re ready to be heard because we finally have something we can say that’s ours. this is all because of you, we can speak now because of you.”

you look into his eyes as they soften in the corners. you know that what winwin said is real because he never liked you enough in the first place to make up such a heartfelt lie. 

you start to melt a little as you continue to process the words.

“if we wanted you to write a positive article we would’ve just seduced you.” hendery says. “it’s easier and probably has faster results especially if there’s more of us-” 

you run and hug hendery before he finishes. you smile in his arms as he hugs you back. you pretend that you’re not crying but his shirt is probably wet now, so they’ll find out very soon.

 what they said was so sincere and nice. you were now convinced that what you had with the boys was real to them too.

all of your worries from early dissipate into the stale air above you. you felt someone hug you from behind only to feel lucas’s warm chest against your back. you smiled bigger as you felt the other members join your hug, feeling warmer and warmer each time a member joins.

a moment later when they were all silent you spoke, trying to not let your voice crack from your crying.

“you deserve to be heard. you guys have so many important things to say and a lot of music that needs to be listened to. i’m glad i could help you all become the fantastic artists you’ve always been.”

you feel the hug tighten around you and you swear your heart smiles within your chest. 

how were you ever going to phrase this in the report.

“no, xiaojuns arm is too far above lucas’s it looks weird.”

“are you sure that’s not what the video looks like?” ten questions walking over to inspect the boys formation.

“no shes right” he says moments later after glancing at the laptop screen.

he adjusts their arms and they slowly runs through the next steps as you try to compare them to the video they had given you on one of their laptops.

you stop them seconds later, “lucas coming down from the high kick you were behind by a few seconds and henderey you need to extend your leg more.”

they run the moves again as you enjoy your newfound power over the boys. they had been practicing a new intro choreo for their music bank performance for a little over two hours. 

you had agreed to help them because you thought it would be good to add how much hard work and dedication it took to just perform a two minute intro for your article. 

okay, another part of you also felt bad for barging into the practice room, accusing them of being fake friends and thinking that they were influencing you so you’d use the little power you did have to make them look good. maybe a little more of the second, but they didn’t need to know that.

“wait stop! did you guys change that cross formation there or was it in the second half.”

“um,” ten says while sweating and breathing vigorously from the nonstop motion. “we changed the triangle formation in the second half to the diagonal line. this is the cross formation.”

“okay, i wasn’t sure, i’ll mark it down. also lucas and yangyang you guys need to fix your levels on that cross because it looks unbalanced” you say while scribbling that down on the stage direction sheet.

“jeesh” xiaojun whispers to the boys, “she’s worse than our choreographer and that’s his actual job.”

the boys chuckle while glancing over at you as you wrote the note down.

“well we’ll be out of here faster and the performance will be good.” kun shrugs while trying to hold back how tired he really was.

lucas pokes kun’s shoulder with one of his long fingers and he goes tumbling down to the ground. the boys laugh hysterically.

“you won’t even be able to walk by the time we do have to perform!” lucas yells in his face while laughing at the tiny amount of pressure that had sent him tumbling to the ground.

“okay we’re gonna take it from the top one more time!” kun yells at you while trying to get up off the ground as the boys continue to laugh at him instead of helping him.

you nod and rewind the video. you had a few more notes but wasn’t sure if they could handle it today. kun seemed pretty tired so reluctantly you just pressed play and let the music run.

you watched the boys in such fascination at how fast and expertly their bodies moved. it was insane to you how some of them couldn’t even dance before becoming trainees but now were better than some professional dancers.

the boys were hard at work on this sunday afternoon. practicing the same painstaking motions over and over again until it morphed into art. to this day i will never understand how idols can turn such mundane actions into a performance piece worthy of national acclaim. for now i have only one solution, i believe there is something inside them that is extraordinary.

part 7 will be linked down here:)

[nevergiveupneverrun]

Bodyguard- Chapter Three “Meetings”

Hello, I hope you’re all doing great. Here is chapter three of my story Bodyguard.  I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 

- Richard, did you call back Maggie to clarify the practical questions about the room? Amelia’s eyebrows crease listening to Richard’s answer through the phone as I watch her through the inside rearview mirror of the taxi. Sitting, in front, in the passenger seat, I had the opportunity to monitor the surroundings on our way while keeping an eye on Amelia. - I know Richard, but they’re waiting for me, you know about this concert… Ok, I’ll let you do it, I count on you… See you later. I see her end the conversation and put her phone in the pocket of her leather jacket. But despite the last words she had addressed to his manager, her anxious look had not left her face. - We arrived, suddenly declare the driver to my left. I realize indeed that we are a tour destination… surprised at not being attentive enough to the journey we had traveled, visibly too focused on the singer. I take out a few bills from my jacket and give them to the driver with a slight smile. I then turn to Amelia, noting that she has placed her sunglasses on her face and she already has her guitar in her hand, ready to go out. - Wait for me to open… I leave the car, scan the surroundings for a few seconds, and finally open the door to Amelia. She gives me a smile before finally getting out the vehicle after a polite « Thanks Sir » addressed to the taxi driver. She stands on the side in front of me, installs her guitar on her back, and walks towards the building. I walk on the side with her, a hand propped against the guitar behind her back, to walk the few meters separating us from the entrance. I open the door and let her slip inside, as she instantly removes her sunglasses and enters with a secure step in this place that I discovered myself, for the first time. Realizing also that it was a first in the absolute for me because I had never set foot in a recording studio… the people I had protected in the past could have been part of the artistic environment but not in the music world.

I follow Amelia inside the corridors of the building, noting that this place is a familiar place for her given the ease with which she finds herself… as we walk along with several rooms and mysterious doors for me. She suddenly stops in front of a door on which I furtively read “Abbey Road room”, then turns the handle without hesitation and rushes into the room. - Hello, beauty! I go right behind Amelia and find a man getting up from the couch on the side of the room while another man in the front of the mixer turns on his chair to face us. The man on the couch walks up to Amelia and gives him two long kisses then looks at me suspiciously, staring at me from head to toe. - Hi Andrew… Hello, Cross, Amelia answers in front of me. The man at Amelia’s side still stares at me and I hold his gaze. - Andrew… stop your bad manners if you want… - Can I know who this penguin is? My eyes harden in a few seconds after this remark… This man allowed himself to make a remark on my appearance (black suit on white shirt) while he tackled a rather neglected look with a striped sweater and jeans visibly too big. - Andrew… you can relax for two minutes… I present you Owen Hunt and I will ask you to lower a tone because it will be by my side from now on… Owen, here is Andrew, my guitarist. - Nice to meet you, I reply, reaching out to this famous Andrew. - By your side? He looks at my hand without reacting. - I’m in charge of Amelia’s safety, nice to meet you… I repeat my polite method, a little more leaning while pointing to my hand again. He looks at my hand and finally accepts him and I shake his hand a little more firmly than I usually do. - And since when do you need someone to protect you? He asks in an almost condescending tone. - It’s an idea of Richard, Andrew… - And it’s Richard who chooses him? Because I do not see how this guy will be able to protect you. I sigh slightly before speaking again. - With a past of special units officer, mastery of five martial arts, probably better than you. Amelia laughs lightly by our side while putting a hand on the arm of her guitarist. - Andrew, you can stop your little game… we’re here to work. - Ha, finally sensible words, thank you, Amelia! We turn to the voice that has just risen in the room, realizing again that a fourth person was present. - Cross, I see you’re in shape… it’s nice because we have a lot of work… I would like that we can finalize a first acoustic version of “On your knees”… Andrew, you settle? I’ll meet you. The last look of this Andrew in my direction then it ends up passing on the order side of the room: in the studio part where a standing microphone was installed as well a guitar on this stand… - Cross, I want something sweet for this version, I’m counting on you to do wonders… Amelia gives a kiss to the sound engineer, removes her jacket, and joins her guitarist in the airlock. I move a few steps towards the mixer while Cross operates different buttons in front of him. I observe Amelia through the window: she blows a few words to Andrew then settles in front of the microphone and gets the headphones. - You work recently for Amelia, am I wrong? It takes me a few seconds to understand that the sound engineer is talking to me while he remains fixed to his control panel. - Yes, it’s very recent… - I hope you’re good… I don’t want anything to happen to this little woman… artist, simple and sincere like her, are so rare… and I know what I’m talking about, seeing that everyone I see here. I look at him in the corner, surprised bu this warming that he launches me. - Ok Cross, we’re going to go… you focus on Andrew and the melody, it will allow me to make the first pass and stall my voice, okay? Cross raised his thumb to Amelia and the first notes of a sweet melody resound in the room. And then after a few minutes, an angel voice joins these notes of guitars… and I remain captivated by realizing that this beautiful voice, which gives me instantly goosebumps is that of Amelia. I had already heard her humming but it has nothing to do with the effect of her voice at full strength, so she puts all her heart and her application for recording. I watch her sing her song, her eyes close, her hands propped up against the helmet while noticing the attentive and admiring look of her guitarist by his side. A look where I detect a particular spark, a spark that intrigues me. - We resume, please… it’s not okay… I realize that the song had just ended and it’s Amelia’s remark that suddenly makes me aware. - Andrew, you must be less jerky in the binding of chords, it did not flow enough for my taste on what you just did… Cross, for the voice, what do you think? I may have to go more gradually to the “without you”, right? - It was already very pretty Amelia, but actually, you can rise little by little on this part, and maybe try to finish just on whispers to mark the end of the song… - Okay, really great idea, let’s go back! Amelia in work mode, it was an experience to live in its own right: it was quite impressive to see her at work, to direct every detail, to take back every element that did not seem perfect… She knew what she wanted and she led things in a safe way or even a bit authoritarian. This is how it is chained three hours of hard work… for a simple piece. A discovery for me, to do all the work behind a song.

At the end of three hours, Amelia leaves her helmet, abandons the microphone, and joins us, Cross and myself while Andrew arranges his guitar. - You pass me the version on CD Cross, I’d like to listen to it at home. - No problem, my beautiful, it’s ready, I suspected you were going to ask me that, resumes Cross tending a CD to Amelia who hastens to slip into her bag. She puts on her leather jacket as Andrew returns to the room, his guitar in his hand. - Are you leaving Amelia right away? You don’t want us to take a little time to review some songs? I watch her guitarist and I feel an insistence that doesn’t seem to relate only to melodies to resume… as if he wanted to spend more time with her interpreter… - Andrew, I booked a taxi that must wait for us with Owen and I have to go home… we meet again for rehearsals anyway… Thank you for everything to both! Amelia greets her two accomplices and I open the door to leave the recording room. She passes before me in a breath, with her attitude always determined in her approach. - Are you sure you want to go right away? We can leave later if necessary… - No, we’ve already worked a good three hours… beyond that, I know that Andrew picks up quickly and that it’s often useless… Her remark intrigues me while her guitarist tried to propose her to continue the work session, but the singer seems apparently perfectly lucid about the abilities of her musician. She arrives at the entrance of the studio and I press the pace to pass her in front of. - Wait… let me go before. She stops without comment and I open the door, staying on the side, protecting her in part, keeping a hand against the guitar propped on her back. I directly see the taxi parked a few meters and directs Amelia towards the vehicle by pressing it with my left arm. Arrived in front of the car, I opened the door, letting her settle inside before sitting down for me in the passenger seat and giving Amelia’s address to the driver. The journey goes silently. Amelia observes the landscape through the window, an almost lost look on her face. I dare not break the silence, feel pensive and I remain focused on our journey to Madison Park.

In a little less than twenty minutes, I recognize the surroundings of Amelia’s house, despite the daylight gradually weakening. The driver drops us a few meters from the house, I thank him, noting that Amelia has her eyes closed, her head turned against her seat. I get out of the car and open the back door. I catch the guitar at the foot of Amelia and my gesture brings her back to her mind as she suddenly opens her eyes. - We have arrived… She smiles at me shyly then leaves the car by tightening her jacket. She then extends her hand to me as if to claim her favorite instrument. - You look tired, I’m taking it to you. - Thanks… She reaches the front steps of her house and opens her front door after taking a few seconds to get her hands on her keys. As she gets ready to open the door, I hold her hand and drag her behind me. - I enter the first… - It’s a new rule? - You’ll have to get used to it… I go back a few steps to the entrance… remain attentive for several seconds at the least suspicious noise that I can identify and I finally turn to Amelia who was waiting quietly on the front steps of the house. - You can come in… - You know, I’m still at home here I don’t really see what all these ways mean… - We are never too careful… and I take my work to heart… She hangs her jacket on the coat rack of her entrance and goes into the kitchen. I put down his guitar in the living room and climbed into the room reserved for me to leave my jacket. I also undo my tie and the first two buttons of my shirt to be more comfortable and join the kitchen. I discover Amelia face a glass of water, a tube of an effervescent tablet in hand: it deposits a pill that dissolves quickly in contact with water. - Are you okay? She raises her head, apparently surprised to see me in front of her. - Yeah, I just have a bad headache that has been installed since we left the studio. - You should rest, you have not stopped the day. - It would be a great idea, but I’m afraid this plan is difficult to follow. She engulfed a sip of the mixture that formed in the glass when suddenly, the ringing of her entry door sounded. - Impossible to follow… she resumes. - Are you waiting for someone? I go to the videophone in the entrance to discover the person who is announced: a young redhead with a large smile on his face. I turn to Amelia who joined me. - Do you know her? - Yes… it was completely out of my head but her text reminded me to order… it’s my best friend… - It’s her, are you sure? She looks at me and ends up smiling. - Yes Owen, I’m sure…I’ll be able to recognize her even without seeing her, just by ringing the bell. She walks toward the door and ends up opening it to actually reveal the young woman I had just discovered on the videophone screen, a purse and a suitcase completing the image. - Hello sweetie! The young redhead jumps Amelia’s neck and my ears are slightly tense to listen to the volume of these few words. I recognize this young woman realizing that I had already seen on photos in the house. One thing had intrigued me in the house of Amelia, it was the little photo dressing this place: maybe five in all out of the scene photos… and only three people were there: a man I had not met yet but who looked suspiciously like Amelia, Richard Webber, and this young woman. - Hi April… slowly, you’re going to choke me, Amelia answers weakly in the arms of her friend. - Sorry sweetie, but I’m so glad to see you… it’s been a while since I’m waiting for this day… and  I… The eyes of the young woman cross mine and she suddenly loses the use of speech… which is quite destabilizing given the speed she had just demonstrated in a few seconds. She stands out slightly from her friend and then observes me, looking at me from head to toe… with an amused, even intrigued look. - I did well to come to tell me… you forgot to tell me something, it looks like? - April… The young woman walks towards me. - Even more hot close-up… what a nice surprise to see that my best friend has finally ended this curses single life and a very nice way and more! - In fact… - Where did you meet? Are you a musician? Artist? Your face doesn’t tell me anything… and between us, a face like yours, I’ll remember - April, you allow me to explain to you two minutes! I feel almost embarrassed by the misunderstanding of Amelia’s friend… and uncomfortable listening to these remarks. - You don’t explain anything to me, sweetie. I would have done like you if I had seen his first, and  I don’t blame you for not having told me! - April! Amelia resumes a little louder. Her friend is watching me. - April? - Yes? finally responds to the young woman turning to Amelia. - I present to you, Owen Hunt… my bodyguard… - That’s what you call it? She replies laughing. - April, I’m not kidding, Owen was hired by Richard to protect me. - Wait, so it’s really your… bodyguard? - Yes… if you didn’t leave in your delusions alone, I could have explained it directly to you… - So, it’s not your boyfriend? Amelia sighs as April redirects her attention to me. - As Amelia told you, I’m responsible for her safety… I finish by clarifying. - Interesting… replies April looking at me with a sparkle in the eyes. - Excuse me April, with the preparation of the concerts, I have a little forgotten that you arrived… you remind me how long you wanted to stay? - A few days… but I can change my mind… obviously… April had a different personality than Amelia: extrovert at first. I felt that my presence seemed to amuse her. - I let you enjoy your reunion. Nice to meet you, April! - Not as much as me, she answers smiling. I turn around and walk away and commit myself to the stair to reach my lair upstairs while perceiving distinctly voices behind me, barely veiled. - My god, he’s hot… and he lives here, suddenly? You will remind me to thank Richard. - April, you will calm yourself… - Stop, tell me you did not notice… I don’t hear an answer from Amelia as I arrive near my room. I take my phone, slipped inside my jacket that I had deposited on my bed to discover two missed calls. I don’t hesitate to call him who tried twice to reach me, hearing him drop out at the end of the third ring. - Hi… thank you for calling back me: I have a job to offer you.

Thank you for reading 💛

[lxveille]

when the music’s right

hoshi x reader

word count: ~ 3300 a/n: uh, warnings for alcohol use and shameless PDA and for the fact I haven’t written fic in ages so... ? Here it is: 

Hoshi goes out with Jeonghan and Jun and develops an instant crush on a girl that can bring the dancefloor to life on a Thursday night.

Hoshi will swear in the morning that the DJ must have seen you too and turned up the music as soon as he did. In his defense, you were hard to miss.

They were out at a bar that had its lights low and an area clearly intended as a dancefloor. Evidently, it was still too early for anyone to be making good use of it. Jeonghan has already muttered something about how it was typical they’d go to a dead bar on one of the few times they actually get to go out properly overseas. Dead wasn’t a fair word to use. There were plenty of people there. They were all just content with standing along the walls or gathering around tables with their drinks.  

Then a song changes. After the first note, there’s a loud yelp from the other side of the bar that draws Soonyoung’s attention first. Suddenly there you are, on your feet and moving your shoulders to the beat. You’re facing the table you’d gotten up from so quickly, arms extended out to the girls still seated there as you try to coax them to dance. They’re shaking their heads, pointing at their drinks or just waving their hands at you. His immediate impression is that this is far from the first time you’ve acted this way.

You skip back a few steps further away from your crowd of friends, hips shifting to the rhythm as you settle into the new patch of empty floor. You throw your arms out towards the girls, furl fingers into your palms and pleadingly pull your hands up to your chest, swaying all the while. It’s enough to convince three of your crowd; they drag the stubborn two when they get up.

Six is hardly a bustling dancefloor. You don’t mind. Hoshi can tell from the grin he spots on your face as you spin around. It’s a fleeting moment and it’s the first time he gets to see you face-on, but he’s certain no person could fake the joy on your expression. He suspects you might prefer the floor like this. The way you use the space is fluid and nearly constant as you weave and bounce within your group of friends. In a full club, there’s hardly room for more than a shuffle or small jumps up and down. Here you can have much room as you need.

There’s nothing particularly difficult or impressive about your moves. But your energy seems to radiate out in the space around you, infecting your friends with grins and the impulse to mirror your playful gestures and simple footwork. Your sense of rhythm helps. He wonders if this is your favorite song because every beat and synth that pumps through the speakers seems to be reflected in the way you dance. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t fully invested.

For a moment all Hoshi can think of is how he wishes one of Seventeen’s songs would play next just so he could see what groove you’d find in it. Would the same beats that stuck out to him when he was choreographing strike you instinctively? Would you dance to it all?

Before he can get too down about that last thought, you’re pulling him back to the moment. In a tight-knit circle with the first two girls who joined you, there are six index fingers pointing insistently downwards. The three of you are bending knees and spines next, lowering yourselves towards the floor with mixed levels of ease. One of you -- it’s hard to tell which -- loses balance briefly. You save each other with arms quick around each other's waists. Without untangling, you get yourself back on two feet just to start bopping as one unit, shouting lyrics into the flashing lights overhead.

You’re facing him again. Your eyes are closed and your head tilted up just slightly towards the ceiling as you sing along. Your hair is abandoning any styling it’d ever had as you let it flow wildly in the air as you jump up and down.

The friend to your left breaks the chain and you open eyes. For a split second, Soonyoung makes eye contact with you. It’s far from steady, as you refuse to stop moving, but it catches him off guard nonetheless. He’s been caught; a small panic creeps up his neck and says you must know he’s been staring this whole time.

He tears his gaze away even though he already hates the thought of missing out on a single thing you’ll do. It turns out to be a mistake. Maybe you didn’t know he’d been watching you since you first got up, but Jun certainly had. Though at least he’d been polite enough to wait for Hoshi to stop before beginning to give him shit for it.

The song changes. Jeonghan rescues Soonyoung from the teasing with the suggestion of another drink. The short walk over to the bar is more difficult now than it was upon their arrival. Nothing fills up a floor like a group of pretty girls deciding it is, in fact, the right time to dance. Not that Hoshi had done a very good job of noticing anyone else who’d shuffled their way off the wall after you.

   Hoshi does his very best not to keep an eye out for you as they stand around waiting for the bartender to get around to them. It’s going pretty well until you’re right across from him, at the other end of the bar. You’re bouncing on your feet where you stand, leaning into your friend’s side as she waves down someone to take her order. He averts his eyes. First down to the polished wood of the bar reflecting each flash of strobes and every roving colored spotlight. Then it’s over to Jeonghan, asking whether he’s having fun for the sole purpose of trying to think of anything but the way all those fluttering lights would highlight your features and catch on the lovey frizz beginning to form on your ruffled hair.

   Jeonghan spoils the plan by answering instead with, “She’s looking at you.”

   Soonyoung wants to scold him that it’s not a funny joke. He doesn’t want to fall for it. But he glances your way despite this. Of course he does. And Hoshi’s heart thumps into double time when he finds your gaze unmistakably fixed on him.  As if you were trying to throw him off balance, you went ahead and smiled just before you’re handed a shot glass of something dark and amber.

Just as soon as he’d had your undivided attention it was gone. You were clinking glasses with your friend, tilting your head back as the liquor slipped effortlessly between your lips, and grasping her hand to lead her back out onto the floor as soon as your glasses were empty.

   Five songs go by before he spots you again. Three of which are top forty hits Hoshi can at least half sing the choruses of. They’d abandoned their table at last, even though dancing was only harder to do while trying not to spill drinks all over yourself. Still, it feels better to be on his feet. Jun seems happy to let go of his earlier teasing in favor of finally getting the chance to get his own pulse up. The songs they don’t recognize at least have good enough sounds to them that it doesn’t kill the vibe. It’s almost odd to dance without a thought for precision or synchronization with his friends. They spend so much time perfecting something so similar to this, but differences make this feel practically like a different art form altogether.

   Something akin to nostalgia washes over Soonyoung. He grins as he sets down his empty glass on the nearest tabletop. He turns back to Jeonghan and Jun, hands in the air for no purpose but the joy of it.

   You’ve nearly left his mind completely when a few shifting bodies on the dancefloor make way for him to spot a familiar outfit and head of hair rocking back and forth to the blaring music. He recognizes the girls dancing with you from earlier as added confirmation. Hoshi feels the bassline rumble through his whole body, soles of his feets and up through his chest when he comes to a momentary pause.

   Jun knocks lightly, intentionally, into his side and prompts him back into motion. Hoshi brushes shoulders with him in return, laughing over nothing at all.

He doesn’t see one of your friends grasping your shoulder, speaking something close into your ear and pointing in his direction. He doesn’t notice the first two times you look back over his shoulder at him.

The third time Hoshi does spot your obvious glance. This time, thank god, he manages not to be brought to a standstill by you. The upward pull of your lips grows, and he swears he sees a fluttering of your fingers that resembles a wave.

He smiles back before he can overthink it.

The next time he dared to look your way, you no longer have your back to him. You catch his gaze once again and make a small, coaxing gesture, not unlike the very first one he’d seen you using to get your friends out of their seats. You nod your head to the persistent drumbeat as you twirl yourself back around to your companions.

Hoshi doesn’t recognize the song that’s playing at all when you decide to turn around once more and dance your way towards him. But the beat is unrelenting and the singer sounds like she’s never been happier than with glistening electric keys and high-energy handclaps backing her. For at least tonight, it’s Hoshi’s favorite song ever.

Instinct makes him meet you halfway, perhaps just so he wouldn’t risk anyone else getting in the middle of your path to him. You dance facing each other, together only in the sense that you’re within arm's’ length of one another and making consistent, unbroken eye contact now. It’s lighthearted and uninhibited and unconcerned with whether anyone was looking on or what they might be thinking. You’re mouthing the lyrics at him and some silly little voice in the back of Soonyoung’s head hopes this is a love song.

He grins dumbly as you shimmy your shoulders, your hands gliding back and forth, palms up, in the space between your two bodies. It’s an invitation that Hoshi can’t resist accepting as the song swells into its chorus. His thumbs slip between your thumbs and forefingers, his fingers curling around to the back of your hands.

There’s no longer any denying that you’re dancing together, some amorphous mix of any kind partnered dance that Hoshi can think of. The electric song hardy suits a single one he can think of, better suited to the sort of solo grooving you’d been up to until now, but he’s too delighted to be concerned about that. It’s all much more playful than any kind of club dancing Soonyoung had witnessed before. He was glad for it; he wouldn’t have had the courage to grind with you even if that had been your approach.

He lets one of your hands loose and lifts the other to guide you into a twirl. Over all the noise of the bar, he hears your laughter as you follow his lead and spin under the arch of his arm. When you’re facing him again, you settle your freed hand onto his shoulder. The posture gives him permission to place his own hand on your waist, brushing against the bottom of your ribcage as he guides you just a few centimeters closer to him.

This is what dancing was created for, he thinks to himself as the two of you settle into a groove in your new position. You remain that way throughout the second verse, arms and hands intertwined in something that looks more professional than any other dancing happening in the venue. The instrumental starts leading into the chorus once again and he feels you bounce a bit in his hold like you’re about to burst with the excitement of getting back to the climax of the song.

So Hoshi lets you go and laughs himself as you erupt with even more energy, hands reaching out to nothing above you and your voice lifts to sing along properly. He mimics you, jumping in time with the bass and wishing he knew the words so he could shout them along with you.

The bridge goes by too quickly, the chorus back too soon and Hoshi lets a small bit of dread creep in that the end of the song will break whatever spell had fallen over the two of you. You’ll slip away and he’ll never even know your name.

No way, no way, no way, his thoughts chant. Even if a disappearance is inevitable, he has to know at least that much. He needs your name as a memento. Just that much would be enough. He could let you go in peace, without a single regret for all the time he wasted just watching when he could have been right here along with you, just so long as he had real, true way to call back the memory of this in the future.

As the song starts to vamp out, he leans into you and tries to ask as clearly as he can, “What’s your name?” You speak it loudly and he doesn’t catch it, frowning as the music begins to change. You lean in closer to say it again, more directly it into his ear this time. He pulls back so he can look at your face as he tries it out himself. You repeat it once again for confirmation. “I’m Soonyoung,” he introduces himself.

“Soonya-- ?” You don’t manage to catch it all as the music thumps on all around you.

“Hoshi,” he offers an alternative, hoping it might be easier to make out even with all the noise. You echo his stage name back to him and he nods, giving you a thumbs up.

“I like dancing with you, Hoshi,” you shout through the noise, smiling brightly and making his heart hiccup.  He can only nod enthusiastically in agreement and take your hand back into his, hoping you’ll agree it means you shouldn’t stop.

He loses track of how many songs tick by with you all around him and in his arms, never seeming to lose a step. But halfway through one of them you turn to him and ask, “do you want water?” It’s accompanied by a clarifying gesture, you miming taking a sip from a glass with one hand. He nods and follows you over to the bar, letting you deal with asking for two cups.

With your water carefully raised up above the bouncing shoulders of those still dancing, you lead with through the crowd out to a back terrasse he hadn’t even known the bar had. There’s a speaker in one corner, still playing the same songs as inside, but it’s quieter and more hospitable out here without as many sweaty bodies to raise the temperature.

You sit down on an empty wicker loveseat and he arranges himself beside you. There are sheens of sweat on both your bodies that are quickly evaporating in the cooler air as you both take some time to sip water and let your heartbeats settle as much as they will while still being beside one another.

There must still be adrenaline in his blood because he doesn’t feel nervous at all as the conversation begins.  He gets to clarify his name, and he likes the way your lips curl around its vowels. You start asking each other questions.  How old are you? Where are you from? What brings you to the city. He answers that with an ambiguous, “for work.” He doesn’t want to risk spoiling the mood by saying he’s danced in front of thousands after how simple and flawless his time with you had been.

“How long are you here?” you wonder, looking away from him for a moment as you set your water aside.

“Ah, not really long. We leave in a couple days,” he manages, tone turning apologetic for either the fact of it or his own difficulty finding the words.

“That’s too bad,” you tell him, giving him a smile he has trouble deciphering. There’s something bittersweet and almost embarrassed in its tilt, and Soonyoung can’t fathom why you’d suddenly strike him as almost shy.

“It’s bad?” he prompts for clarification.

“I was gonna give you my number.” You tap an index finger into the palm of your other hand as if dialing on a phone.

“Oh.” Hoshi’s fingers twitch to reach into his pocket and take out his phone. He pauses, refraining from doing just that as he looks down at his lap. Both of you are sitting angled towards each other, and there’s the tiniest space keeps your knees from touching. He looks back up at your expectant face. “I’ll come back.” Technically, he doesn’t know this for sure. He’d like to, though, for plenty of reasons. He’s eager to add you to the list.

You laugh softly, and he hears it clearly for the first time. It’s nice, soothing even though in this context he’s fairly certain it’s a sign you don’t quite believe him. “Can I be too honest?” You don’t afford him enough time to answer before you quickly carry on, “I’d still really like to kiss you tonight.”

It’s almost all a blur except for the word kiss. Soonyoung’s grip tightens just a fraction around the plastic cup in his hand as he shifts himself even more directly towards you, his knee pressing into yours. He can’t help himself but murmur a quiet compliment -- “you’re so pretty”-- as he lets himself cave to your request.

   He surprises himself with how quickly he changes from a light, barely there brushing of lips to something deeper and more desperate. He pulls away for the opportunity to set his water down by your cup, and then he’s back on you, this time with his hands coming up to cup your face. You shiver slightly from the cold condensation still on his fingertips as they graze your jawline. You follow his lead, arms slipping around his neck.

You tilt into each other, finding a rhythm with this intimacy just as quickly as with dancing. Hoshi wants to clamber on top of you right there and pull you as close as possible, but he hasn’t forgotten your surroundings. He satiates himself instead by letting one hand drag slowly down your side and groaning into the kiss.

A new beat comes in overhead and you break off from him. You look up at the speaker, your breath heavy and hot against his skin as he keeps close, fixated on your features. “I have to dance to this,” you tell him sweetly as your eyes lock with his once more.

He laughs and nudges his forehead against yours. “Let’s go.”

You lace your fingers with his and rush back inside with him. Neither of you knows where to find anyone you actually here with, but that thought is barely a blip on the radar. Soonyoung is all too content to be back on the floor with you. Your bodies are closer now than before; he doesn’t think of propriety as lets his hands find your hips to guide them into matching the movements of his own. You croon lyrics happily into his neck as the vocals come in on the track.

He’d be happy to spend all night in a cycle like this with you. Dancing until hearts are racing and taking cool down breaks to kiss until your lungs are desperate for air.

Soonyoung hopes if he kisses you just right, you’ll give him your number even if you’re convinced you’ll never see each other again. But he’ll worry about that later. At least until this song fades out, he’ll just soak in the elation of dancing here with you.

[excxt]

Scream Smart: Why Hardcore is More than Angry Immature Young People

When I first arrived at music school at the age of 18, I was afraid to tell people what kind of bands I listened to. It felt strange to tell a student body whose alumni included Quincy Jones, Kurt Rosenwinkel, and Howard Shore that I listened to hardcore. My first two semesters felt like a race to learn about the jazz, soul, and obscure indie art bands it seemed everyone else was idolizing, a world of music that had somehow slipped by me. I played Grant Green solos in my private guitar instruction and downloaded Eryka Badu albums. I gave the stuff a fair shake, and I ended up learning a lot. I went into school listening primarily to artists at whose shows a person could reasonably expect to be physically injured, but I came out listening to a little bit of everything. But somewhere in the middle of those four years I also learned to grow a spine and admit what it was that moved me. I went into my third semester guitar lesson and told the same teacher with whom I’d been studying jazz licks and BB King solos that I wanted to play punk music. I was shocked when his eyes lit up and he started making a list of albums for me: The Clash, The Police, U2. I showed him mewithoutYou records and we spent the next two semesters perfecting the power chord and my rhythm. For my final proficiency exams I played Pink Floyd solos. I was excited about my instrument again, and excited to have a teacher I could connect with. When people asked me about the kind of music I listened to, I started answering honestly- At The Drive-In, Converge, Jawbreaker, Refused, and Thursday. Suddenly people started responding differently (“FUCK YEAH AT THE DRIVE-IN”), and I found a whole new population that I didn’t think existed at Berklee. I still went to some shows alone (White Wives, Touche Amore) but others I went to with friends (Thrice, La Dispute, Deftones, Refused), and the more I publically shared my love of these bands, the better I felt.

Since graduating college, I’ve come across the same reaction when using that all-encompassing word; “hardcore” means many different things to people, and sometimes the associations are overgeneralized, misinformed, or simply inaccurate. For a long time when I said the words “punk” or “hardcore” to someone I could see their brains pulling up generic images of meatheads with tattoos screaming about how they hate their parents, or on the other end of the spectrum, kids with leopard print hair and raccoon eyes crying about how much they hate their parents. Loud angry music that was easy to make fun of and even easier to dismiss as teenage angst in an audible form. I’m not saying that the music isn’t frequently emotionally brutal; it is. I’m saying that the people behind it, the musicians, writers, promoters, listeners, fans, are much more than a collection of overdramatic lip pierced youths rebelling for the sake of rebellion. It’s a group of intelligent, passionate, frequently polite and well-spoken people of all ages and backgrounds who find kinship in the music and what it stands for. And what it stands for is another aspect that means different things to different people, even within the scene itself. For some, the music itself is enough. But for many others like myself, the records were what lured us in, but the movement behind them were what kept us.

Hardcore taught me to care. Its average participant rails against apathy by caring about something that needs to be actively cared for- hardcore is not self-sustaining. It will go away if there aren’t people pumping blood to it. It’s not a money maker, it’s not cool, and to many people does not appear to spread anything good or worthwhile into the world. It needs those who need it in return. From putting together shows and tours to self-releasing records and putting together 2,000 limited edition box sets by hand, hardcore was built and continues to run on human work ethic and passion. Gabriel Kuhn describes the DIY lifestyle in his book “Sober Living For the Revolution: Hardcore Punk, Straight Edge, and Radical Politics” as “a principle of independence and of retaining control over one’s work. [DIY] defines original hardcoe punk ethics and, to many, remains the decisive criterion for true hardcore punk; the most tangible aspects of hardcore punk’s DIY culture are self-run record labels, self-organized shows, self-made zines, and non-commercial social networks.” In other words, there are people working at major pop labels who don’t necessarily care about pop music. But no one who doesn’t care about hardcore will work at a hardcore label.

More than any other musical genre, it is a lifestyle, and as varied as the details of the lifestyle can be, it tends to center around being concerned and caring about something- the planet, politics, human and animal rights, the arts, the culture, and the people of hardcore in general. It is different that the relationship I believe people tend to have with other genres of music- pop/top 40, jazz, country, classical- because of its background in activism and alternative lifestyles. I learned about veganism from AFI, straight edge from Minor Threat, and everything from human rights to environmental preservation from Anti-Flag. Because of hardcore I wrote dozens of letters to world leaders as a participant in Amnesty International’s annual Write For Rights project. Because of hardcore I became a vegetarian for seven years. When people think of punk bands as nothing more than a gang of loud mohawked ne’er do wells, they miss the point. United Nations sounds like a rock band thrown into a blender with a handful of nails and a pint of acid, but their songs encourage listeners to become more aware of their government. MewithoutYou run their tour bus on vegetable oil they get leftover from restaurants. Thursday turned me on to Kurt Vonnegut, Cormac McCarthy, David Foster Wallace, and Charles Bukowski. Jake Bannon takes DIY to another level with Converge, Deathwish Inc., and the art he designs for his own band and others. Bands are known to mingle with fans after shows, spending hours discussing music and the scene. When crowds become too rowdy, bands stop playing and remind the crowd to take care of each other and pick each other up. The same people on the stage will be sleeping on the floor of someone in the audience after the show. The musicians are the listeners and the listeners are the musicians. It’s about giving and not taking. It requires work. It’s not for the elite, the privileged, the people who feel as though they are owed something from the world. It is a passion for change and galvanization that keeps hardcore running. The liner notes of Refused’s landmark album The Shape of Punk to Come puts it this way:

“The lack of stimulants within art, politics, and life lowers our standards, which is why we settle for talk shows and MTV. We are not stupid, but if we are treated like ingrates we will start to act like children. The lack of challenging forms of expression and thoughts of fire and self confidence gives us a hollow nature. So reclaim art, take back the fine culture for the people, the working people, the living people… Cause we have nothing to lose and therefore our expression will be the only honest one.”

The desire to make things better through better living, better thinking, and better treatment of others was what kept me enthralled with hardcore. These people are smart, their ideas are good and their music is beautiful.

So onto the music itself. To me, hardcore has widened to encompass many different sounding artists that all sprouted from a similar root. I don’t like to waste time tagging sub-genres because all the bands I listen to evoke the same feelings. I think of everything from Sunny Day Real Estate, Defeater, 7 Seconds, and Murder By Death to Earth Crisis, Moving Mountains. Frank Turner, and Joy Division. Like Israeli hardcore scene veteran Santiago Gomez says, “You could dress like a Jamaican hippie, help old ladies across the road, use non-conventional instruments, sing happy, harmonious songs, or play slower than a herd of snails travelling through peanut butter- and still be punk. Because, in a way, being punk is very much like being in love: there are no rules, no specifics, no rhyme nor reason and no real “definition” except a tautological concept of nearness and identification. And that’s the way we damn well like it.” Still, despite all the shapes and sizes a band can take, it does seem that the emotions conveyed in the great majority of punk/hardcore songs tend to lean heavily on anger, frustration, loss, and a sense of hopelessness. This could be why a lot of people turn away from it. Then what is it that makes some of us lean into it? People turn to hardcore as a haven, myself included. It taught me to look outside my own situation, despite how self-involved the music can seem sometimes. The point isn’t that “I hurt,” “I’m lost,” “I’m angry and I don’t know why,” but that there is a whole world of people out there feeling the same way, and to become involved with them is to somehow heal yourself. People listen to Touche Amore because when Jeremy Bolm shouts the simple lines “I’m losing sleep/I’m losing friends/I’ve got a love-hate-love/With the city I’m in,” they know what that loss and complication feels like. People who feel emotions as desperately as hardcore expresses them place their trust in it because it gives them assurance that they’re not crazy. They are depressed, anxious, confused, frustrated, and lost because they care, and hardcore offers them solace with the promise that there are others who care as well. It is why, as I get older and spend more time doing things that aren’t traditional punk pastimes- I do yoga, I juice raw vegetables, I’m learning to design my own knitting patterns- that I still feel as connected to hardcore as I ever have. I care enough to move to different cities until I find one I love, to switch jobs until I find one fulfilling, to learn and work hard and keep getting up, because hardcore taught me to. I still find it compelling, from Deafheaven’s sprawling black metal soundscapes to La Dispute’s literature-themed lyrical grace. I think there is a lot to be excited about in hardcore right now, as there always has been for those willing to look.

And like any good argument in favor of punk music, this one ends with Ian MacKaye. For the past thirty-five years he has chosen to stick with a scene that has both praised him and pigeonholed him. But his view of hardcore reaches far beyond the realms of any passerby that would quickly deem it immature or self-interested:

 “There was a certain period in my life when I was very angry, when I was really agonizing over things. It made me feel miserable, and I begin to question everything: What is the point of all this punk rock? What is the point of me singing? What am I trying to do? Eventually, I realized that the reason I was so angry was because I want people in the world to be well. And I realized that it was a worthwhile project to pursue in my lifetime… I guess that’s an illustration of putting into action a philosophy of Live as you desire the world to be. It doesn’t mean to be unaware and not to care. It means to love and to be well and to wish for others to be well too.”