Chapter Text
It starts like this: on the last day of the semester, Soobin happens to finish his music composition final at the same time as another kid in his class, Huening Kai. They know each other somewhat—their university’s not huge, and Kai is kind of vaguely famous for being part of the one good indie-rock band on campus.
“TXT,” Kai explains as they walk out together. “It stands for Tomorrow X Together. We’re actually pretty good. We leave next week for a summer tour,” he adds smugly.
“Really?” Soobin says absentmindedly. The more pressing issue right now is his next final, for his required chemistry class, which he has exactly two hours and thirteen minutes more to cram for. And anyway, he and Kai are not friends, per say. It's more like there’s probably only a dozen other students minoring in music at their small school—probably only a dozen other Asian kids, in fact. Soobin makes it a point to be nice to everybody, even if he thinks that Kai talks just a little bit more than he’s used to. “Alone?”
“We’re opening for Seori, the North American leg of her tour. I don’t know if you know—”
“Oh, I know,” Soobin says. Finally his interest is genuinely piqued. “I love Seori.”
Kai grins, pleased. “Anyway, the guy who plays rhythm guitar with us, broke his arm literally last night. Lee Heeseung, I don’t know if you know—”
“I know,” Soobin repeats. Wearily, now. He digs in his backpack for his chemistry notes.
“And we’re gonna need to replace him like, immediately. I remember you said in your class introduction that you play guitar…”
Soobin pauses at the door to the building, bewildered. “Acoustic, not electric. I— I’m not any good.”
“None of our songs are that hard to learn,” Kai starts encouragingly. “You’d just have to come to one of our practices this week or something, and if everybody likes you the spot’s yours. And we’re all Korean, so it’d be perfect if you joined, cause there’s like no other Korean guys at any of our schools who’d be willing to play in a band all summer. But you, you’re perfect. I thought all the songs you presented for class were really great.”
“I have another exam in a little bit,” Soobin interrupts politely, but forcibly. “I also have stage fright and a summer gig at the library that pays really well. Thanks, but sorry.”
“But—”
“Good luck finding someone,” Soobin adds.
And that should be that, except Huening Kai has a disappointed face that kind of reminds him of a kicked puppy. He also has Soobin’s phone number from the class directory and a strangely apt talent for pestering Soobin with text messages on the hour. As for Soobin, well, he’s a little curious.
***
It’s also possible that it starts like this: Soobin’s first thought when he shows up to TXT’s practice the next day is that he’s in the presence of a star. Maybe stars, plural.
The four of them make the little garage set up feel like Wembley Stadium. There’s the bassist and lead guitarist, who both play these intricate melodies so easily and perfectly that Soobin’s instantly impressed and jealous at once. Kai’s behind them, playing the drums in a way that surprises Soobin at first until he realizes just how practiced he is, each drumstick more an extension of his hands than an instrument itself. The guy in front has no instrument, but he’s got the kind of voice and stage presence that mean he doesn’t really need one. Dark hair, dark painted nails, a smile that says I know you’re watching me and I want you to. Soobin can’t look away.
His second thought is that Kai lied. These guys are better than “pretty good.”
Kai bounds over with his drumsticks still in hand the minute they’re done. “What’d you think?”
“Wow,” Soobin replies, a little stupidly. But they’re good, actually good. Not in a good-for-a-student-band way, or even an up-and-coming way. More in a way that makes you think next. Next Nirvana, next Green Day, next Arctic Monkeys. In a way that makes you positive they’re gonna be huge one day. Soobin can’t quite see where he fits into this equation. He’s not next. He’s just. Soobin.
Kai beams. “Cool, right? We only have our EP out so far, and then we’re gonna add in some cover songs as part of our set, and we’re working on a single featuring Seori right now.”
“Wow,” Soobin repeats. It’s all music that he would actually listen to, and if they sound as good recorded as they do live…
“It’s just that we kind of suck without another guitar.” This comment comes from the lead guitarist, who has made his way from the makeshift stage to the lone seat where Soobin was watching from. Up close, he’s a little shorter than expected. “I’m Taehyun.”
They shake hands. “Soobin. Your vocals were really great.”
“I taught him everything he knows,” jokes another boy as he joins them, the bassist with shaggy long hair. “Beomgyu."
“Hi,” Soobin says. “I thought you guys sounded fine without the guitar, though.”
“It’s just that we like to play everything live,” Beomgyu says, “And Yeonjun wrote all of our songs to include the two guitar parts.”
“We all write, but Yeonjun the most,” Taehyun clarifies.
“Yeonjun’s good at everything,” Kai tacks on. “Literally everything—except guitar.”
Yeonjun himself joins them then. He’s no less awe-inspiring up close, and he doesn’t introduce himself to Soobin, because he doesn’t need an introduction. “Kai says you play?”
***
Maybe it starts like this: Taehyun offers him one of his electric guitars with an encouraging smile while the other guys lean against the garage wall murmuring to themselves. “It’s not perfectly tuned, but…”
Soobin shakes his head. “It’s fine, thanks.”
He does his best to ignore the rest of them as Taehyun walks over to stand beside the group anyway. Beomgyu looks bored, Yeonjun’s gaze is piercing, and Kai looks almost as anxious as Soobin himself probably does.
He focuses on the sheet music Taehyun handed him. The guitar feels lighter, different from the acoustic ones he’d practiced with since he was a kid, but not alien. The song is not particularly difficult to play either. Soobin stumbles a little over the hook and first verse, but by the chorus, the feeling of playing comes to him again naturally. His fingers find their home on the strings.
He’s barely played the last chord when Yeonjun speaks up. “You’re good.”
The other guys nod in agreement and Soobin lets out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding.
Kai gives a little clap. “I told you!”
And there’s this, the immediate, impossible-to-ignore feeling that every one's say in this band is important, valuable, necessary to whatever group dynamic that makes them sound, look, feel, so fucking good as they perform. But there’s also this, that Choi Yeonjun is quietly, but undeniably at the helm. They defer to him.
“But… ”
Soobin’s breath catches.
“A little stiff. Lacking passion, rawness, all that shit.”
More nods.
From anyone else that would be an insult, but Yeonjun appraises Soobin very seriously, head tilted. “Where’d you learn to play?”
Soobin clears his throat. He’s reminded, unkindly, of the most embarrassing moments in his life—standing in an ass-cheeks-out gown in the pediatrician's office, auditioning for the 9th-grade talent show. Naked. Humiliated. “Um. Guitar? I taught myself, I guess.”
Yeonjun narrows his eyes, like that wasn’t the answer he was looking for.
“I’m trained classically in cello, though,” Soobin admits. “12 years.”
“Ahh,” Yeonjun says, like this explains everything.
More nods.
“Try to be more… you,” Beomgyu offers. “You’re good, but it’s better to be different than it is to be good, you know what I mean?”
“No one knows George Harrison,” Taehyun chimes in, “But everybody remembers when Pete Townshend broke his guitar on stage.”
Kai winces. “Maybe just start by learning the setlist?”
The four of them turn towards Yeonjun. In retrospect, Soobin will think of this moment as an important one, maybe the most important moment he’s ever had in all his life. The five of them in this cramped little garage, a day after school has ended, a week before tour starts. There’s a bead of sweat going down Soobin’s nape, from the early summer heat, or Yeonjun’s calculating stare, or both.
In the end, it really starts like this: Choi Yeonjun looks at Soobin and says, “Come to practice tomorrow.”