#this feels like a spiderman meme to me when minseon and hwan tries to remember or recognize where they may have know of each other

[hwanhd]

it's crazy to think how nervous hwan feels, like this had been some big exam or evaluations for sponsors or the bigger managements. in fact, while he does not know what it feels to take an exam as he's been homeschooled his entire life and he treats every evaluation he's done with equal dedication and of importance, in a way, the music he presents to this strangers seems to hold more importance to him. perhaps if hwan had truly delve his intentions within, there is a need to impress. there's a need to woo the man whom he shares the room with, like the birds he sees doing those fancy dances on a mating call when he used to watch national geographic as a child.

he watches as the man before him pays full attention to his music, as none like had done before. which wasn't saying much as hwan rarely shares his music, even to his parents. he has shared them anonymously, or at least on the website that lets your share music but he goes by his english name there so it's not like anyone would know who he is. nevertheless, he still waits. it's as if the room had deafen alike those in horror movies where one awaits their death, except, he could hear the bass of his music over the headphones even when hwan isn't plugged to it. he supposed, his music comes easy to him, he's read the lines of his composition time to time over that even when he closes his eyes, he could hear them precisely like a ghost that stays in a haunted house, a land where it is it's treasure and where anyone who tries to lay hands or step into their land, would be haunted for life. in a sense, he is the house and the ghost is his music. anyone who dared to step in and stay however, would be haunted alike.

after what seems to be a while, he snaps away from his thoughts at the commentary given, and he sighs generously when his nervousness melts away from his system and when he sees the man smile. "of course, it's uh, you're the first really i've shown this too, or like in general to any of my music. i think that itself holds high honor- for me," hwan comments, nodding to his words.

if there is another sigh of relief that comes, hwan does his best holding it in. "i'm... i'm so thankful you thought of it like that-" hwan remarks his gratitude over the man's poised way of words. in fact, the way the latter carries his way with words reminds him of a certain profile he revisits on his soundcloud days. (thank god it didn't have one of those 'who and who has visited or seen your profile' notification, or god be damned over the embarrassing amount of times hwan has clicked on the producer's(?) profile.) in fact, if hwan thinks about it deeply without being overly fond yet appreciative over the remarks he's given, perhaps he could recognize the man's voice in the profile he clicks ever so generously of.

the greatest compliments hwan receives is being asked if he's a solo artist. to which he thinks, he's far from it. he's not prepared for it, and in his defense, he could point out more of his flaws than what he excels in. "oh no- i uh, i just like making music. just a random dude who writes and composes a lot during his free time," hwan comments and as humble as it sounds, he's far from cry. he's worked hard over the years of training sure, but hwan rather points out at his flaws. because to him, he would never feel good enough.

THE ACT OF SHARING IS — IN AND OF ITSELF — AN ACT OF VULNERABILITY. it's an attribute made all the more salient when considering the subjective and articulative nature of art, and minseon has never been one to take that lightly. he is not in the business of volunteering praise if he does not wholeheartedly believe it's due, and this has earned him a reputation among his peers for being... unexpectedly cold, a quality incongruous with the smiling front he dons for friendly acquaintances.

but the truth is this: that minseon's sincerity is the greatest kindness he can ever and will ever offer. so, for this benevolent stranger, he presses play, lets his eyes fall shut, and does not smile. he listens.

the track put forward is stripped in a way that delivers more than is immediately apparent. it demands attention in that regard, suggesting ferocity in a conflicting exhibition of restraint. one corner of minseon's lips quirks upward. when the song comes to a close, he remains still and silent, up until a gentle query invites him to speak. then, he cracks one eye open. "... well, shit." there's a playful lilt to his voice. "'s it really even matter what i think?"

nevertheless, he sinks into his seat and presses his cheek against the back of his chair, peering up at his companion obligingly. "... was delicious, actually. texture like velvet. rich. commanding." he searches for words. he's been chastised more than once for not expressing himself coherently. "... switch ups made me lose my mind; production's perfect for stage. think it should be published already." — and there's... something else he wants to disclose, but it's another thought he keeps close. the piece is entirely new to him, but listening to it feels..... familiar somehow, as if minseon were longing for something he never even knew was absent. he can't quite put his finger on it, but, for now, he pulls himself from that line of thought. "so, you wrote, arranged, and performed this on your own...... you're.. a solo artist, then?"