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For Your Entertainment | Chapter 3 | Closed for Sung-min

Hokori gets a little bit lost in the lyrics, and the acoustics of the room catch them, throwing them around from wall to wall and filling the auditorium with his voice. Showers were always spent singing, and so were his late night walks when he was really milking all he could out of breaking curfew, but his talents were lost to the vastness of space. Here, however, this was… this was him. A grand stage, tons of seats waiting to be filled, lights shining down on him… if it weren’t so quiet, he’d feel right at home. If he had to, however, he’d sing as loud as he could until his throat is raw, just to feel like himself again.

Then, the rapper walks in, and his song comes to a halt, his voice tapering off. He’s surprised- granted, pleasantly, and his eyes shine brightly. Sitting up and slipping himself off the edge of the stage, he approaches Sung-min, slightly put off by his body language. He looks… tense. Uncomfortable. Is he expecting the worst? It makes him wonder what the worst thing he could actually say right now is.

What he has to say very well could be the worst thing that Sung-min could hear right now. The rapper’s response could fill that same role for Hokori, and it’s why his words get caught in his throat, and he finds himself mimicking the other’s body language- tense, uncomfortable. The quietness of the room is starkly more noticeable than before, but he manages to break the silence, his voice cracking slightly.

“So, like… are we something?”

He waits. He tries to wait, rather. He can’t wait.

“Whatever you want us to be, I mean,” he spits out quickly, gesturing wildly with his hands. That classic impatience follows, and he tenses up, although this time it’s merely a fault of his own. “Look, I just, I wanna know what you think of me, alright? Sorry if this is like, too forward, or whatever, but I ain’t in the business of gettin’ my hopes up or, or, bein’ lead on, or whatever, and I’ll get over it in like, point five seconds if you ain’t about this life, but for me, meetin’ you was like, the only good thing comin’ out of all of this, and, I mean, maybe I wanna get to know you better, and I probably won’t get to, cause we’re all, we’re all dead, man-” he sucks in air sharply, reeling from his tangent, but he keeps going, anyway. “There’s, like, no hope, there really isn’t, with that drownin’, and the clock situation, I don’t know man, I just, I don’t know.” His fingers are threaded through his hair at this point, tension evident on his face: the widened eyes, the trembling lips. Still struggling to take in air, he keeps talking anyway, hellbent on getting it all out. “S-so, whatever happens, I’m just sayin’, I’m gonna be kickin’ myself from the grave if I don’t tell you all this, and I ain’t good at this feelings stuff, man, but I just… I gotta have a clear conscience, alright?”