#andlinked

‘Baby,’ Jeonghan’s arms were up now, reaching towards your busy figure, rag in hand, rustling the dust off of the bookshelves. 

‘Hannie.' Upon hearing the sternness decorating his favourite nickname, he flopped further into the cushions lazily.

Today was spring cleaning day — time to refresh the apartment for the warmth of the summer, the long days and humid nights, busy schedules and sticky bodies. 

To be completely fair to your sulky boyfriend, he had done some jobs. He’d sifted through heinous amounts of PR packages, emptied his side of your shared wardrobe ready for summer clothes, and he even scrubbed at the entire bathroom. 

But not without his very distracting and very regressive habits, a routine of procrastination masked as affection — relentless moaning that he needed a kiss after every single job and after four rounds of glum noises from your boyfriend, you’d oblige. Then, rather greedily, might you add, he’d urge for a hug.

This is where you always went wrong, helplessly yielding to his glistening eyes and upturned smile, which only allowed Jeonghan to rapidly sweep you up in an all-consuming movement that trapped your body in an enamouring embrace. 

Under any other circumstances, you’d enjoy every moment of your boyfriend’s clinginess, especially when it was so rare. But the cuddles and kisses had stretched a house clean that should’ve taken a day into a three-day extravaganza.

Therefore, to end his tempting wrath, he had been banished to the sofa until you’d ticked off dusting from the ever-growing list.

The quiet hum of a Red Velvet song wafted through the TV as your boyfriend supervised your cleaning, huffing and puffing dramatically with each swipe of the cloth against the wood. 

‘You don’t love me, right?’ There was a rustle of softened padding, and you could only assume Jeonghan had thrown his body down onto the sofa in a big, dramatic motion. 

‘I love you very much, Hannie,’ You replied, refusing to face your boyfriend, as you used every piece of willpower you harboured to withhold from folding to your extra sulky, extra cute and extra dramatic boyfriend. 

With a big swipe, dust flew into the air, dancing up your nostrils and tickling small sneezes from you. 

‘Baby,’ Jeonghan stood, his voice lacking the sullen tone and instead, concern penetrating through the words — but you raised your hand, still sneezing a colony of dust out of your system as you signalled for him to pause. 

‘I’m okay!’ You urged, shaking your head and turning towards Jeonghan, who cocked an eyebrow at you. Even as you rapidly blinked dust from your eyes and fanned it pathetically away from you, it was still riveting your nostrils.

‘Let me help you, baby,’ He said, but you shook your head vigorously. ‘Please?’ 

‘No no, you’ll distract me more,’ You told him, recovery from the sneeze attack allowing you to catch your breath for a moment. 

Only a very minuscule part of Jeonghan actually had the intention to help; really, he was bored of being confined to the sofa and yearned for any excuse to get your undivided attention.

‘I won’t, I promise.’ He lied pathetically, and there was even a peek of a smile quirking on the corner of his lips that you saw straight through. 

‘I can read you like a book, Yoon.’ You popped your hip, sharply eyeing him as his expression was twisted into a mixture of feigned offence and cockiness. ‘Verbal support from over there.’ 

‘God, I love it when you call me by my surname,’ he said, falling back onto the sofa in a manspread, head falling onto the back cushions as if it were hung in pleasure. 

The sight of your boyfriend forced you to blink — his figure almost erotic when he sat like that, neck exposed, shoulder-length dark hair framing his defined cheekbones, thighs toned, tanned and open.

‘It’ll be your surname soon.’ He muttered, his eyes watching you closely as blush crawled up your face and you snapped your body back towards the dusty, neglected bookshelf. 

‘Shut it, Yoon.’ You replied, and the cocky smirk that infiltrated his features could practically be heard in his small, hearty laugh. 

Staying true to your wish, Jeonghan remained glued to the sofa, keeping his whining to a minimum as he curated a playlist of songs for you to clean to. 

‘Honey, how long until it’s sofa time?’ He asked, and it was timid, with no hint of teasing or sulking, just pure sweetness that caresses your heartstrings. 

‘Last shelf, baby.’ You answered, clambering onto a wooden chair to reach the absolute top of the bookshelves. 

If you turned around, you knew Jeonghan would be watching every movement with a disapproving look, shaking his head at the varnished wooden chair and tutting at your very slippery but very comfortable fluffy socks. 

And he really pondered: should he abide by your strict rules for him to remain on the sofa, confined like a puppy in a cage, or should he be a good boyfriend and ensure that if you slipped, the ground would not find you — his arms would.

Like an answer to his internal conflict, the pad of your foot slid an inch unexpectedly, making you grip the bookshelf in an attempt to steady yourself, but like it was his calling, Jeonghan had already shot across the room, strong fingers holding your waist for stability.

‘Sweetheart, you’re a liability.’ Jeonghan rasped, and his big espresso-brown eyes stared up at you, glazed over with something that landed between adoration and satisfaction. 

‘You were supposed to stay on the sofa.’ You pouted, reaching the furthest corner. Jeonghan followed your movements skilfully, not allowing his hands to leave your waist for a split-second. 

‘I’d be a bad boyfriend if I let you slip.’ Jeonghan said, and you couldn’t argue with that. With a small hum, you nodded, leaning onto the ball of one foot and stretching as far as you possibly could. 

Silently, Jeonghan allowed you to finish, the victory line so close he could practically already feel your hands wrapping around him. Lightly smoothing the pads of his fingertips over your waist, tracing the curve of your spine as it twisted with your movement, he sighed contentedly. 

‘Voila!’ You spun, almost toppling off the chair in the process as Jeonghan smoothly slid his arms around your thighs, sweeping you up in one movement, which had a high-pitched squeal escaping your mouth. ‘Hannie!’ 

‘About time.’ His chocolatey orbs levelled with yours, and he smiled with cocky satisfaction before dipping to plant a sweet kiss on your lips. 

As always, his lips are warm and plush against yours, kissing with rehearsed expertise that only comes from years of kissing the same person. 

It’s blissful how much his lips spark sweet endorphins to pump through you, dragging your fingers through his long hair as he begins to pepper small kisses all over your face.

‘Baby,’ you giggled at the tickle of his lips as he manoeuvred your bodies to the sofa, his kisses not halting until every inch of skin had been showered in affection, loud hearty laughs sprouting from your throat with each skin of his mouth against you. 

Landing on his lap, Jeonghan cocooned your body into his with a hook of his chin on your shoulder, flattening his palms against the dips of your hips as he just feels you, feels the warm skin beneath him, feels the weight of your body on his lap, feels the tickle of your hair as it wisps by his nose. 

‘Mmmm.’ A sound of contentment rumbled in his throat as he breathed you in, fluttering his eyelids shut in pure fulfilment, the feeling of your muscles relaxing underneath him like the cherry on top. 

‘Let’s watch a movie,’ You mumbled into his hair, voice dipping to a tired husk that only Jeonghan’s arms can coax out of you. 

The effect your boyfriend had on you was head-spinning, his touch melting every rational part of your brain and morphing it into 

‘Okay baby, my choice.’ Your boyfriend agreed with a cheeky remark, running his fingers through the curled ends of your hair, the sensation stirring goosebumps along your skin. 

At his statement, you nudge him lightly with your fingertip, poking his side in that way that made him squirm and almost buck you off of him. 

‘Yah!’ He whined, gripping the spot you’d burrowed your finger into like he was cradling a bullet wound and not a brief poke. 

With an awful attempt at concealing your cheeky look, tongue poking at the inside of your cheek as you met his wounded expression, a giggle threatened to erupt from you. 

Your boyfriend looked too cute with a pout on his face, pink lips jutted out to display a pathetic pout, cheeks puffed out like he was threatening a strong exhale, gentle eyes big and doe in their fixed stare. 

‘You are so adorable,’ you told him with a smile, your heart practically racing up your throat. ‘Maybe I should poke you more.’ 

Wiggling your slender fingers toward him, his expression sharpened like it was calculating exactly how to escape this situation —  would he chuck you off, sprinting into the hallway, or would he attempt to poke you first? 

Instead, in a flurry of unpredictable movement, he’d flipped you onto your back, skin meeting the plush of the cushions as he pinned you underneath him. 

For a second, your eyes flicker downwards, raking along his body temptingly slow; however, before you can tug his lips down to yours, his hands are on you. 

But it’s not pleasure that blooms, it’s chaos. Because Jeonghan was tickling you — finding that spot above your hip that forced almost violent squirms out of you, his legs on either side of your thighs subjecting you to his wrath. 

Uncontrollable laughter leapt out of you in a muddled mess, body desperately attempting to escape his skilful fingers, yet he’s stronger, a wide grin bunching his cheeks and turning his eyes into joyful crescents as he succeeded in his mischief. 

‘Jeonghan!’ You shouted, but the name is twisted into a half-laugh, half-exclamation that gets swallowed by a desperate inhale. ‘Baby! Please!’

For a split second, he halts, looking down at you. From an outsider's point of view, the scene was almost erotic: boyfriend straddling you, his hands trailing your body and you, breathless and panting, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

But the illusion was shattered with his words. ‘My choice of film or more tickles.’ 

‘This feels like blackmail, Mr Yoon.’ You raised an eyebrow at the man above you, reaching for his wrists as if it would stop his tickles. 

‘Maybe it is Mrs Yoon.’ He flirted overzealously, wiggling his eyebrows at the prospective title. 

‘Now this feels like emotional manipulation, get off.’ Rolling your eyes playfully, he slid off of you and carefully pulled you into him, planting a tender kiss on the top of your head.

The rest of your lives could be spent on this sofa, lounging amongst one another without a second thought, in a tangle of limbs and sweet touches. There was no other place you felt so content apart from in Jeonghan’s arms, lazing together on a spring day. 

‘I love you.’ You muttered against his shoulder, cheek pressed into the curve as your eyes followed his choice of film. 

Silently, he peppered a light kiss onto your parting, ‘I love you.’ 

THE PLANE SHUDDERED vigorously as its wheels screeched against the newfound tarmac below, and Vernon peered out of the small cabin window, the vast blue of the Pacific replaced by the expanse of rural America – swarms of urban bliss with hues of greens and browns, a harsh difference from the modern surroundings he was so used to in Korea. 

The hyperpop that had been pumping through his headphones subsided as anxiety rose upwards through his throat. Nine years since this end of the bible belt had seen Vernon, nine years of playing concerts around the world and having his life on show for everyone. But, to put it plainly, performing at the Tokyo Dome didn’t compare to the intense anxiety blossoming within his chest.

Small Town America. There was nothing like it, his earliest memories were all tinted with Americana. The aircraft halted smoothly, a soft ding! ripping Vernon from his nervous trance as the seatbelt signs flicked off. Hastily, he tore his eyes away from the vastness of the outside, the shrubbery an uncomfortable reminder that he had begrudgingly returned to what he deemed the worst place on earth. 

This was going to be one hell of a trip. Alone and so far from his best friends, all of whom had to convince him for hours that it would be good to see his family after so long. Thousands of miles away from his small comforts, his familiar novelties, from the men who were his lifeline. 

Vernon felt pure, horrific dread.

‘They must miss you, Sol,’ Seungkwan began, Vernon presenting his most vacant expression to try and avoid the uncomfortable feeling crawling up his spine. 

‘It’s far to go,’ Vernon leaned on his hand, looking out over the nighttime darkness of Seoul. His eyes traced the blinking red lights decorating the skyscrapers as the three member’s gazes weighed heavily on him, excuses rife in his racing mind. He was ready to spout any volume of justification as to get himself out of his grating conversation – if you could even call it that. It felt more like a ‘stern talking-to.’ 

Seungkwan had rallied Seungcheol and Joshua to convince Vernon to visit home. Just once. Recently, it seemed there wasn’t a day that Vernon didn’t mumble a brief recitation of a childhood story or a yearning for his mother’s food once again. However, it was unknown to his friends that Vernon yearned, almost painfully, for home, yet refused to let himself travel so far away. 

The fear of what he left behind was all-consuming. Avoidance had rendered Vernon a villain of his own imagination, visualising the town throwing rotten tomatoes at him as he stood on a plinth, overcome with embarrassment and regret – his mother in the front row, staring with distaste, his father beside her, refusing to look at his son who had packed up and left ten years ago.  

‘Hansol,’ Seungcheol was using his leader tone, laced with sincerity and authority, ‘it’s important to go back to where you came from.’ The youngest met his elders’ eyes, a slight softness bleeding through the concerned stare. Vernon’s face seemed to harden as his members watched him closely, all trying to unpick his blank expression.

The hot, dry air hit Vernon like a brick as the air conditioning of the airport slipped from around him, the baking heat beginning to cook him alive. Even the air smelt different here, like petrol, smoke and dust, the roaring of the highway intruding on the music blasting through his headphones. 

Vernon had toured in America, been to the big cities and stadiums, and basked in his Americaness. He had shown his best friends vast landmarks and indulged in various American delicacies with them, however, he faltered when people asked about his southern small town, the place where everyone knew everyone, where your secrets were the next piece of gossip and success came at the price of leaving everything behind. 

Maybe it was a sense of guilt clawing up his throat, or absolute dread at the sight of his mother standing a few feet away from him, beaming widely at her son with an eager wave that made Vernon’s head begin to spin. A sharp inhale, an uncomfortable cough, and he plastered a shit-eating grin on his face, for his mom’s sake, not his. 

‘Mom!’ He said, letting his suitcase go to consume his mother in a tight hug. The lavender scent she’d worn all of Vernon’s life wafted through his nostrils, nostalgia crashing into him. 

‘Oh, Hansol.’ She pulled away with a tight hand on his arm, as if he’d slip away back into the airport and not return again. With a tender touch, she cradled his jaw, letting her thumb run over her son’s cheek — a touch so light, it was like she was afraid he’d dissolve into the soil if she was too rough. 

As she stared at her adult son, here in the flesh and not a vision on the TV or a dot on a stage in a huge arena, her eyes became glassy, tears welling up as if it was painful to see her son back home after such a long time. 

The guilt riveted Vernon’s soul, his heart heavy as he watched his mother begin to fall apart on a dirty sidewalk, the screech of brakes, the roar of engines and the buzz of paving under tyres a mismatched soundtrack to the moment. Vernon felt as if he was eating himself alive, his chest physically aching at the sight of his teary-eyed mom. 

‘Hey, hey.’ He attempted to comfort her, bringing her significantly smaller frame into his arms. ‘Don’t cry, I’m here now.’ 

Great comfort, Vernon. Yeah, you’re here now, but where have you been for the last 10 years? 

The sense of doubt upon his every decision made him rife with guilt; even as his mother collected herself, nodding at Vernon’s attempt at comfort, he couldn’t shake the gnawing thought that he’d abandoned this place — abandoned his parents, with not even a quick glance back. 

The highway felt daunting as his mother drove steadily down it, small talk sparking between them. The flatness of the sprawling fields made Vernon feel confined, for miles, there was only browns, greens and the never-ending stretch of road the car sped down smoothly. 

There was so much to say, so much to see, and so many apologies owed. And they weighed in the air, heavy on the shoulders of Vernon as he discreetly peeked at his mom, who, despite the wide smile decorating her lips, still had a reserved tightness on her face that her son could see clearly. 

‘Your dad is at home,’ she started, beginning to veer off the highway, the roads feeling like a clunky dream as recognition dripped hefty nostalgia into Vernon. There was so much swirling in his brain that he struggled to distinguish quite how he felt to be here. ‘And the whole family is coming tonight!’ 

Anxious. Maybe terrified. That’s exactly how he felt as those words left his mom’s mouth. That racing in his heart returning and sending tension through his senses, he was completely on edge. 

But this trip across the Pacific was to rectify these relationships — so he didn’t just feel like a famous cousin, the one who no one really knew anything about whilst simultaneously knowing every detail of his life. 

A sigh threatened to escape his lips, and he replied to his mom, ‘Great, it’ll be nice to see them.’

ᯓ‎♪ “ LOOK BACK and watch the engine blow, through the darkness and the dripping snow ”

Formalities, forced smiles, hugs, ‘How are yous?’ and ‘We’re so proud of you!’ and more formalities. Cups of tea, handshakes, pats on the back, questions - ‘When are your group going to play here?’ ‘Why don’t you visit us more?’ ‘Have you got a girlfriend?’ More hugs, ‘Big smile, Hansol!’ pictures, flash! ‘I’ve told all my friends you’re famous.’ 

The patio door swung shut behind Vernon aggressively, his breath running away from him as he leaned over the wooden railing, his shoulders rising rapidly as he attempted to steady his breath. The chatter from inside pierced his ears, the hum of the traditional Korean tracks jabbing at him, and he let his body slump onto the folding chair, positioned to view the suburban street stretching ahead. 

Was he sweating, or crying? Vernon wasn't sure; he could just feel liquid trickle down his cheek as his gaze became hypnotised by the flickering street lamp. Breaths were evening out slowly, the racing in his heart subsiding gradually. Vernon couldn’t go back in there; in fact, he refused. Tearing his gaze away from the flickering glow, he rapidly decided to text his mother.

[20:53] Sol: Important call with my company, will be back in a few hours

With that, he shot out of the plastic chair, a loud creak emitting into the silent street, and let his legs lead the way, sliding his headphones in and allowing the music to drift him away. 

This town was like a vein in his arm, he knew every street, the alleys, the lampost of which he crashed his first bike into and the tree in which he had his first kiss under, only 12 years old. A giggly, shy, nervous boy, Vernon had kissed his girlfriend of six days on the cheek and then ran away, a huge smile dancing on his reddened face. 

Vernon was never one to call his friends when he felt down; they were always just there, in the next room or the rehearsal studio, they read him almost instantly in those minutes when he was more muted than usual, when his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

However, this distance felt unbearable, a month away from everyone. Glancing down at his phone, he hovered over Seungkwan’s contact, the green call button so appealing. 

What would he say? I’ve been here 8 hours, and I need to come home? I can’t face all these people I wrongfully left behind? I can’t get rid of the looming anxiety that this fuck town gives me? 

‘Sol!’ Seungkwan’s cheerful voice rang through the phone. ‘How is it? How are you?’ There was loud commotion behind Seungkwan’s voice, chairs screeching and various levels of chatter, panging Vernon’s heart a little harder.

‘Hey,’ Vernon replied, trying to force an air of normality into his voice, ‘it’s yeah, it’s..’ 

‘Vernon?’ Seungkwan could hear the hesitation in his best friend’s voice, concern immediately bleeding through him. ‘Are you okay?’ 

‘I,’ Vernon dug through his brain to find the right words. ‘Yeah, I’m okay…I just.’ 

Seungkwan was listening intently, allowing Vernon to process his words as they were spoken. 

‘I don’t know if I can be here for a month.’ Vernon settled on a simplification, not ready to admit the moral defeat that faced him when he looked into his family’s small suburban home. 

‘Ah,’ Seungkwan sighed, a shuffle sounded through the speaker, and after a second, the background noise faded away. Seungkwan worried that he was receiving this call so soon. ‘Do you want to tell me why?’ 

Vernon appreciated Seungkwan a million times over, never one to press or push him; everything came out in his own time and always to a kind and compassionate face. However, right now, he couldn’t let the words slip out of his mouth — the reality would settle, and he wasn’t ready to accept that. 

‘It’s just not home anymore,’ Vernon admitted, watching water run dirt and grime down a drain, a shrivelled leaf being carried away with it.

The house became a distant glow of light as Vernon turned the corner without hesitation, the playground that he deemed unconquerable at eight years old resting quietly to his right. The bright paint on the climbing frames had succumbed to rust, no longer possessing the vibrant aura that Vernon vividly recalled. The depressing deterioration had almost stopped him in his tracks, the exhausted park striking pitiful sympathy in his heart.

‘Oh, Sol,’ Seungkwan sighed with sadness for his best friend, ‘a month, okay? We’ve had tours longer than that. And you can always come back sooner, we’re not going anywhere ever.’ 

Vernon hummed at this, his words slightly reassuring but not quite convincing. The distant noise of the town centre approached as he held his phone to his ear. 

‘Sol?’ Seungkwan questioned, the sudden silence further worrying him. 

‘Hey, sorry.’ Vernon focused once more. ‘I’ll text you.’ 

‘Don’t be afraid to call anytime,’ Kwan said, his indirect way of saying, I love you. 

The surprisingly settling quietness of the suburbs began to die down as the commotion of the town centre distracted Vernon — his feet leading him towards the busy stretch, desperate for a drink, a cigarette or even live music. Anything all-consuming and distracting, something that could be so completely separate from the looming anxiety attack which was home. 

Cars began to buzz past, the dreary atmosphere seemingly picking up as he neared the main stretch, dive bars and convenience stores shining contrasting lights onto the dirty sidewalks. There was electricity in the air, like the town was waking itself up for the night ahead. 

Voices, heavy and southern, chattered loudly as bodies swarmed outside bars. Not one of them batted an eyelid at Vernon, who struggled to walk to the shops without disruption in Seoul. 

This is what he missed. What he yearned for, the American upbringing: going to the bar with your friends in your hometown, not having to worry about who knows you and if they’re going to watch your every movement. 

With temptation, Vernon looked towards a particular dive bar, slowing his pace slightly as his brain considered entering. However, the commotion down the road made his head turn. From a distance, he could spot a crowd of people, their chatter loud and attracting. 

A vivid billboard was blaring above, and it took Vernon getting closer for him to realise it was the biggest venue in the town, one he dreamed of playing as a trainee. All shabby chic, ‘in the old town way,’ this venue had been here for decades, and it had infiltrated Vernon with a drilling sense of nostalgia. 

The hordes of people were dressed in casual clothes, sipping beers and smoking cigarettes. An unspoken atmosphere of excitement fluttered through the light breeze as people prepared themselves for the shared experience of listening to live music together. 

Vernon unintentionally wore a look of longing as he saw friends laugh loudly and wholeheartedly together, others jumping in either excitement or drunkenness — Vernon wasn’t sure he could tell the difference. 

Taking a long look at the main stretch of road, the hustle and bustle of his hometown, Vernon considered his options. A, stay here and listen to live music, B, go back to that dark and quiet dive bar or C, go home and face the artificial smiles again. 

Yeah, A. 

Joining the queue, Vernon was prepared to cough up whatever they wanted for a ticket. Considering the long queue, he wondered if it would be a lot. It was almost foreign to him to be queuing for a concert — in Korea, he got passes into any music he wanted to see, a private viewing area and an almost guaranteed hangout with whichever artist he was seeing. 

But here. Here, he was just another punter; no one could give a fuck about who he is or how famous he is. In fact, if anything, he preferred it like this, being just like anyone else here. Lapping in the normality, Vernon took this time to watch the people around him, their American accents strong and prevalent as they giggled, shouted and laughed together. 

After a short while, the line moved slowly, Vernon reluctantly producing $22 for admission as he entered the venue. The room must’ve only been big enough for around 600 people; however, it was just as he remembered it from childhood. Sticky floors, battered walls and a low hum of music swirling around the space. It felt intimate compared to the thousands of blurry faces he saw when he performed; it was almost cosy, and for the first time since his plane's wheels hit American soil, Vernon felt a slight wave of relief, stress evaporating off his shoulders. 

People crowded, drinks in hand, chatter abundant and roaring. The stage was set up like any band, a drum kit dead centre, with a microphone stand directly in front of it. He could see pedal boards resting below the three microphone stands across the stage, but was too far away to properly examine them.  

Vernon quite honestly had no clue what he was in for, withholding from googling the line-up and allowing sweet, sweet anticipation to overtake his body. From his place at the side of the room, Vernon could really people-watch. He absentmindedly stared at the couple in front of him, an arm wrapped tightly around a shorter woman’s waist as she and her partner laughed lightly together. He stared at the sound technician as he fiddled with various settings on his desk; he even attempted to stare at the pedal boards, trying to decipher what they were from a distance.

Everything felt so foreign, so new and exhilarating. A playlist played over the speakers, a mix of country and rock pumping into the already growing atmosphere. 

As he adjusted his jacket, the warmth beginning to seep through him, the lights dimmed, and the faint tune faded. The crowd began to hoot, anticipation almost at its breaking point. A few figures appeared from the wings, throwing small smiles and shy waves at the crowd as the people, all dressed rather alternatively, approached their respective instruments, the centre-stage microphone and guitar left untouched. 

The drums began to hit lightly, the bass following in a repetitive thumping pattern, a lead guitar beginning to screech in varying lengths as the song built up momentum, the instruments becoming louder and louder. Another figure appeared, long hair flowing in the dark purple stage lights as the crowd roared, the mystery figure taking up the empty spot and slinging the electric guitar over her shoulder. 

Not yet addressing the crowd, the figure began to tap various pedals with her boot as the music grew and grew, louder and tighter than before. The silhouette at the centre joined in, her guitar creating a gritty and repetitive strumming — contributing to the knife-edge the song was dancing on, the tempo picking up as the figure turned away from the crowd briefly. A jerk of a head resembling a solid nod was thrown by the darkened frame to each of her bandmates before she rapidly spun, the song reaching its breaking point as she screamed into the microphone, the lights illuminating you in a strobe fashion.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. It’s — you? 

Vernon just blinked, his mouth slackened with shock. You? Like, you — the girl whom he used to sit next to every day in homeroom. The girl who always had your hair neatly tucked away in plaits. The girl who would always offer a sweet smile and a healthy conversation to Vernon; you were always so timid, your voice always hushed, and your circle very small. 

But Vernon couldn’t quite believe his eyes right now. This was you, confidently playing and singing to your own music. Thriving and bathing in the stage lights, your face was more filled than the thirteen-year-old face Vernon remembers yet; your cheekbones were still there, ever present. The music was heavy, a fusion of what seemed to be country and heavy rock, perfectly experimental, it made Vernon want to write.

This is not what he expected. 

Your hair flowed as you rocked lightly, singing passionately, your voice flipping almost flawlessly as the song came to an end. 

‘Hey,’ you smiled into the microphone, your face glowing with a healthy shine. The crowd whistled and cheered as you began to tune your guitar. ‘It’s so nice to be back here, again.’ You joked. 

Yeah. That’s definitely you, given your voice was slightly deeper than the teenage version Vernon remembered, but your smile, wide and gummy, was the spitting image of the one he had memorised. 

‘We love our hometown, and we love playing here.’ 

‘We love it too!’ A punter shouted, making you and the entire band laugh lightly. Cheekily, you blew a kiss in the direction of the voice and began strumming again. 

Vernon was utterly mesmerised, this girl that he regarded with softness and warmth was owning the stage like it had been her home all of her life. Your music was nothing like he expected, country-style tracks that bled into heavy, overdriven rock tracks. A couple of acoustic tracks contrasted the distorted sound you’d built up. 

At one point, you played a fun and groovy country-style song that had you dancing with your guitarist without missing a riff, the pair of you only splitting apart to harmonise. 

Vernon’'s heart raced, he was in a trance with the woman you’ve become. So confident and talented, effortlessly singing and playing like it was second nature to you. 

‘This is townies! Goodnight!’ You said, a wide and earnest smile on your face. 

Finishing the set with a track that had the crowd ecstatic, people throwing their beers, moshing, jumping and dancing around. The song told the story of townspeople who never left — these beings becoming known as townies, and you sang the stories of teenage drunkenness and high school romance, all these things he yearned for. Vernon couldn’t help but feel drawn to the song because it was everything he was not; he wanted that reality. 

It was witty yet sincere; it made Vernon believe that perhaps you teetered on the edge of everything as well. Maybe you up and left just like him, to only return when necessary or instead, you lived out the life he selfishly dreamed of, the dive bars, the graduations, swimming in the creek. 

As the song ended, the guitar ringing out and echoing across the room, you spat a quick ‘thank you,’ leaving your guitar buzzing on the stage and walking off. 

Vernon felt frozen in his spot, watching the stage where you just were, only the hum of your electric guitar and the dim stage lights left in your wake.

The crowd began to file out around him, yet he remained unmoving, processing slowly what he had just seen. Not in a million years could he have imagined that this was what was waiting for him. What he’d been missing whilst residing so far away. 

‘Excuse me, sir, you need to leave.’ A tap on the shoulder from a grouchy security guard forced Vernon to shake himself out of his trance, taking one last glance at where your figure had played so mesmerisingly fifteen minutes ago and then following the crowd out onto the busy street. 

He felt like he was in a daze as he exited the venue, people gathering and buzzing as adrenaline poured out of the crowd. The street had gotten busier, and the atmosphere more and more electric as Vernon let himself cool off in the tepid summer night. 

Clouds of smoke exhaled from the crowd, and Vernon thought, fuck it, and retreated to the closest convenience store, apprehensively handing over a twenty-dollar bill and exiting with a pack tucked tightly in his back pocket. 

The night air had a bite to it, and it made the smooth cigarette roll off the boy’s tongue with ease and into the atmosphere as Vernon slouched against a brick wall, his mind floating away as he reminisced about the performance. 

Your voice was so gritty yet irresistibly smooth, riffing and flipping on certain parts before you launched into melodic screams, your flushed face radiating confidence and beauty. 

‘Have you got a lighter?’ 

Vernon’s head snapped up from his dead stare at his trainers, breath held in his throat as his eyes caught yours. Like, really caught yours. Like, you are in front of him right now, a sweet smile on your face, your long hair in a messy braid as if the sweat from the show made it unbearable, and a cigarette waiting patiently between your lips. 

‘Holy shit dude!’ You burst into a wider smile as your eyes took in the boy who had left all those years ago. ‘Vernon, right?’

The boy cracked a warm smile, stretching his arm out to hand you a lighter. A part of him felt his insides churning, yet he couldn’t muster the energy to think about it as your figure stood before him. 

‘We shared a desk in middle school.’ He spoke, a tender grin revealing itself. 

‘Yes! Yes, we did!’ You laughed openly with such quirky grace, and Vernon felt himself mentally cursing his years of idol etiquette training. ‘Wow, it’s so nice to see you! How’s things, how’s Korea?’ 

He was shocked you even knew he left for Korea, feeling profoundly invisible from the world outside of the one he’d built in his head. 

‘It’s good, yeah! Great!’ He forced himself to speak as you looked up at him, the identical cigarette you smoked lingering by your mouth. With a shyness that only protruded in a minuscule voice crack, he mustered the compliment that sat on the tip of his tongue. ‘You were really good up there!’ 

Now it was your turn to feel embarrassment crawl up your spine, which was unusual. People around the country regularly shower you in compliments post-show; however, this one felt different. It felt truly sincere. 

‘Thank you!’ You laughed with a forced politeness, ‘It was nothing too special, same old.’ 

‘But it was great.’ He offered, and you nodded as if to accept the compliment. 

‘What are you doing back? I haven’t seen you for - I don’t know-‘ 

A booming shout of your name halts the conversation as a figure appears around a corner, Vernon recognising it as your drummer. ‘Let’s fucking go! To the Tavern!’ His voice slurred, forcing a small giggle out of you, rapidly stamping out the end of the cigarette. 

‘Looks like I’m off.’ You extended your hand out to return his lighter; your eyes met, and there was a sincere sweetness between you. A part of Vernon’s heart sank, you’d ignited unexpected excitement within him, and he didn’t want you to go — you were an enigma, a package that Vernon wanted to rip the paper off of. ‘Unless you want to join us?’ 

Your ruby lips quirked a kind smile, the type that made your cheeks raise cutely, but the memory of him ditching his family stung in the back of his head; Imagining their happy faces twisting into distant looks of disappointment. ‘Oh, maybe!’ 

‘Well, hopefully see you there!’ You replied, walking backwards back to the commotion, radiating excitement before disappearing around the corner. 

For the second time in an hour, Vernon just stared at the space where your body was. The corner was absent of your dark hair as the sound of your friends fizzled into the distance, his brain hot-wiring at these unexpected emotions that came surging through him. 

[11:36] Mom: Hansol, where are you?

[11:37] Mom: Your aunties and uncles have left and you didn’t say goodbye. 

With a heavy sigh, Vernon pushed himself off the brick wall, his body reluctant to return home before giving the corner one last longing glance.

ᯓ‎♪ “ CHANGE like the wind, like water, like skin ”

After a tense scolding, Vernon padded up the stairs and beelined to his childhood bedroom. The walls were still an ugly shade of boyish dark blue, decorated with Pokémon posters, toys on shelves, comics stacked up — it made Vernon shiver; he felt like a ghost in this room. 

Clicking the door shut, he let his body go limp the moment it hit the mattress. The piece of comfort creaked loudly with his weight, forcing Vernon to squeeze his eyes shut at the irritating sound. 

He stared at the ceiling, the faint glow from the orange street lamp illuminating the plaster in ragged stripes. Everything was so silent; there was no distant chatter of his members, no buzz of music being played too loud in someone’s headphones, no feet tapping lightly against polished floorboards. 

A part of him felt pathetic, this house practically wrung out happy memories from his childhood, yet it was seemingly frozen in time. People had grown, explored, spread their wings and allowed age to pass through them, but Vernon’s parents couldn't relinquish their childish attitude towards their son. Their desire to contain him, as if he was a fleeting teenager again, was twisting the longing for home into something bitter. However, It’s not like he can blame them, he left so prematurely, not sparing a glance over his shoulder as he disappeared through airport security, an ambitious smile on his face and a head full of avid ideas to tend to. 

The tick of the clock seemed to echo his heartbeat, and his brain trailed back to you — your voice, your bright eyes, the way your hair flowed behind you. Whittling his phone out of his pocket, Vernon apprehensively opened Instagram, the search bar practically blaring in his face. 

He shouldn’t. He was never one to stalk. Or seek people out. 

But before he knew it, his fingers were flying, tapping your name into the search, your profile popping up at the top of the search, a small blue tick next to your handle. 

You were way more of a big deal than he thought. 113k followers? 

As his body moved faster than his brain, he began to scroll through photos of you on stage, in a studio, in a bedroom with instruments all around you — it looked like you belonged within music. Other photos taken off of tour buses, pieces of art you’d made, your bandmates posing stupidly. It was like the most perfect organic Instagram page he’d ever seen. 

It weirdly made him feel vulnerable, he loved his life. He loved his members, he loved performing, he was always proud of everything he’d done — but there was a longing for the life he could’ve lived.

He followed you without hesitation, if he wasn’t going to see you again, he might as well see your face on his feed. Continuing his scrolling, he felt sleep pulling him under with ease, your face fresh in his mind.

The next day was cloudy. And not in a cool, thunderstorm, relieve people from the baking heat way. In a way where the whiteness of the sky was unrelenting, the sun somehow still beating down as if it wasn’t hidden away. The air practically felt thick with heat, and Vernon woke up like a bucket of tepid water had been poured all over him — except it was his sweat, the duvet sticking to him in all the worst ways. 

He leant up, reaching over the bundle of covers to push open the window, the buzz of cicadas infiltrating his ears instantly as he attempted to feel any cooler air. 

Internally, Vernon debated whether going downstairs and facing his parents' disappointed faces would be worse than baking in his bedroom. 

With a large sigh, he stripped his damp tank top off and let his body flop backwards, blindly reaching for his phone to pass the time. 

A few messages, a rant from Seungkwan about how boring life was without him, a reminder to check on his farm and an Instagram notification. 

@girlinthatband followed you back!

Vernon’s eyes could’ve bulged out of his head. The memories of his sleepy late-night Instagram stalk and his hazy confidence in following you trickled back in. But he didn’t feel embarrassment, for some reason, excitement pulsed through him. Maybe this shit-hot day won’t be so bad after all?

A few days passed painfully slowly, Vernon feeling reduced to a teenager in these four walls. The tension still hung every time he went to the kitchen, despite Vernon’s apologies being sincere and very often. 

The tight-lipped smiles his parents gave him held something heavier, a signal of more things left unsaid. Explanations, apologies, discussions – all bubbling below the surface, softly simmering at a torturous pace. Vernon could feel the disappointment penetrating through their faux joy, the hesitation in their actions forcing him to believe all those fears he had were coming true in front of his eyes. But he couldn't face them, not right now. He wasn't ready to admit bashful defeat. 

As Vernon leant back on his squeaky office chair, the seat slightly too small for his adult frame, he squinted his eyes at the producing software he had opened, replaying a verse idea for a hyperpop song he was in the midst of creating. 

It pulsed chaotically in his headphones, the song feeling scatty and slightly fractured and on instinct, he shook off the headphones, the song reduced to a tinny sound as he took a deep breath. 

He’d hit a wall.

At times like this, he’d call one of his members into his room to listen — sometimes he’d pull himself into Jihoon's studio and force him to play the song out of the booming speakers. And Jihoon would give a grumpy sound of agreement, secretly loving when Vernon appeared, a new idea practically jumping out of his laptop. But here, there was no one with a keen listening ear, no one ready to tell him exactly what the song needed. 

For the first time in a while, Vernon felt lonely. The muggy weather felt almost suffocating as the sun fought the clouds to break through. This should be easy, like slotting a coin into a slot, but how can he fit into a hole that is no longer shaped for him anymore?

With a husky sigh, Vernon pushed himself away from the desk and towards his discarded phone on the bed. The screen glowed as he began his absentminded doomscrolling then, a small notification popped up, making Hansol freeze — a mixture of surprise and pure teenage excitement. 

[16:43]@girlinthatband: hey vernon! a few of my friends and i are heading to the tavern later if you’re still in town and want to come along! 

It was strange seeing your name pop up so casually in his notifications — the invitation making a grin appear on his face for what felt like the first time in days. Maybe he was going slightly stir crazy, but you felt a bit like a saviour, offering respite from the strain of his parents constant heavy gaze. 

[17:28] @vernonline: I’ll be there. What time?

ᯓ‎♪ “ MOTHER weep the year I'm missing, all our time can't be given back ”

The pulse of life flowing through the town centre seemed to have subdued on this weeknight – the 9-5 folk tucked up in bed, resting for their intensive workdays tomorrow. Leaving only those who dared to be fur-tongued in the rush-hour traffic and everyone else who didn’t work quite so conventionally. 

As Vernon strolled through the midst of the hushed atmosphere, he let himself feel the nerves that jolted through him. At least ten times over, he thought of things to say and what answers he’d stutter out to any awkward questions. 

The small bar began to creep into view, and Vernon absentmindedly brushed invisible dirt off of his white t-shirt, adjusting his snapback to ensure it wasn’t crooked. The place was barely a full-length storefront, the windows hugged tightly by two conjoined buildings. Low light illuminated the interior, a heavy wooden door behind a horde of smokers squeaking loudly as a couple exited onto the pavement. 

Vernon tilted his chin up to observe the aged sign, the shamrock green paintwork chipping in one corner – weathered and battered. He squinted faintly, trying to make out your figure through the condensation-clad window, checking his watch to ensure he wouldn’t be the first person here. 

Letting a hefty exhale leave his lips, he pushed the wooden door open, the shrilling creak instantly drowned out by the light hum of a country track. Vernon realised everything creaked here – like everything needed to cry out in a mixture of ageing and pain. The beating of burning summers and the frostbite of icy winters rapturing not just the sprawling fields but the infrastructure. Even some of the locals looked like they could creak, Vernon thought – maybe his bones would begin to ring after spending a month here.

Inside, the tavern was like a shrine to all things Americana – a huge American flag strung above the bar, a vintage neon Budweiser sign flickering momentarily, the walls covered from skirting board to cornice in frames, old beer mats, metal number plates, the sheer volume of memorabilia overwhelming. A long and dark wooden bar hugged the wall, regulars perched on stools having casual conversations. Vernon was slightly amazed, the environment was so refreshing compared to the bars he’d visit in Korea. 

As he peered around the room, his vision zeroed in on long dark hair as it flowed with movement, the lack of light practically making your hair appear as if it swallowed all its texture. Your head hung in a vivid expression of joy, your laugh penetrating his ears as you swung on your chair. 

It dawned on him that he was a complete outsider, infiltrating your evening with his unfamiliar presence. But before he could cower and let his self-doubt best him, your head turned – soft and curious eyes meeting his, and your arm rose with ease, boasting an excitement-fuelled inviting wave. 

‘Vernon!’ You cheer, shifting up to give him your chair as you scooch into a mismatched stool next to him. ‘Hey!’ 

Your warmth practically fills Vernon with a resigned bliss, the type that bubbles below the skin and simmers the firing anxiety residing in his chest. 

‘Hey!’ He replied, flashing a sincere grin at you. A dark orange shirt with a logo for a band he didn't recognise covered your frame, a pair of dark wash shorts exposing the tattoos dancing on your legs, a pair of boots snug against your feet as you swung them underneath the table. 

‘Guys, this is Vernon, we went to middle school together,’ you introduced him to the three other men sitting at the table, leisurely nursing pints between their hands. 

‘That’s Minghao.’ You pointed to a slimmer man, a mousy blonde mullet tickling his shoulders. His face was decorated in freckles that accentuated his high cheekbones, dark eyes piercing Vernon as Minghao nodded to the boy, a tight-lipped smile on his lips. ‘He’s the bassist in the band.’ 

A blurry memory of his slender figure on stage left flashes through Vernon’s memory, Minghao awkwardly showing a mix between a salute and a wave, exposing his tattoo-dotted arms, intricate fine-line drawings adorning the skin. 

‘God, be anymore awkward,’ A platinum blonde man interrupts, lightly slapping Minghao’s shoulder. 

‘This is Soonyoung.’ You spoke, Soonyoung had a pair of sunglasses, pushing his light hair away from his face, his soft eyes meeting Vernon’s with a large dimpled grin accompanying. Vernon recalls seeing you prance and swing with him on stage, both of you harmonising and then stepping back to attempt a country dance together. 

‘Nice to meet you, Vernon!’ He said cheerfully, a wide smile on his face. 

‘And last but not least, this is Mingyu.’ You finished, the tall and broad man by your side smiling like a puppy dog at your words. He was strikingly handsome, jet-black hair fluffing his forehead as he smiled kindly at Vernon. ‘Drummer.’ 

The three men welcomed Vernon easily, the table sliding into conversation like there was no new presence at the table. At some point, you’d ordered a lager for Vernon, the group discussing everything and anything under the sun. It felt natural – conversation flowed as if he had been friends with you all for life. 

‘Hey, so, how come we’ve never seen you around?’ Soonyoung asked curiously, taking a sip out of his straw, the dark vodka and coke zipping up and into his mouth. The music hummed with prominence, a guitar track flowing through the bar – in the corner of Vernon’s vision, he saw your knee bobbing along to the tune.

‘Ah,’ Vernon rubbed his neck, ‘I moved to Korea when I was thirteen.’ You smiled at him, nodding eagerly for him to continue. 

‘Wow!’ Mingyu spoke in shock, Soonyoung’s mouth now curved into an ‘O’ shape. 

‘This is actually the first time I’ve been back,’ He admitted gingerly, taking a gulp of his beer.

‘Ah, so that explains it!’ Soonyoung exclaimed, ‘I thought I knew everyone.’ 

There was a threatening potential for the conversation to develop into an uncomfortable discussion, one that delved deeper than Vernon ever intended, and he felt the anxiety slowly clawing its way up his throat, his gaze becoming erratic as he avoided everyone's eyes. However, you reached over to pat his leg lightly, his eyes following your supportive gaze. How you knew he was almost shaken with nerves was beyond him, but the sincere smile you gave him grounded him almost instantly.

‘What do you do in Korea?’ Minghao asked, sliding a cigarette into his mouth. 

The question – the one that could make everyone at the table, with the exception of you, grimace and silently judge. He hesitated, trying to form the words that he couldn’t quite find. 

‘He’s a musician,’ you said, urging him with quiet contentment, ‘Remember that song Soonyoung used to want us to cover, Clap?’

‘Oh fuck yeah, I love that song.’ Soonyoung replied, unaware that the artist was sitting directly opposite with a flushed look on his face. 

‘Voila!’ You exclaimed, holding your arms up as if the table should behold Vernon. 

‘Haha, shut up!’ Soonyoung retorted, a deadpan look on his face. He scanned your scowl, your eyes wide as you urged your guitarist to not embarrass himself. ‘No fucking way.’ 

‘That’s fucking cool, dude.’ Mingyu said, pleasantly surprised at the unassuming man. Vernon shrugged it off, trying to cool the flush on his neck with a long sip from his beer. The conversation sparked into music-related chatter, inspirations, favourite artists, producing set-ups, and Vernon felt himself relax once again. 

‘Oh A.G. Cook, how could we not mention him,’ You moaned. Minghao had been scrolling through a playlist your band used for inspiration and sharing tracks with Vernon. ‘Just amazing, I wish I could be in his brain.’ 

‘I love A.G Cook,’ Vernon said, shocked that you know the producer that he closely admires. Your smile is so wide and so cute, he swore his heart may have skipped a beat or two. 

‘Really?’ You replied, eyes wide. The three boys had shimmied their way out to the smoking area, leaving just you and Vernon at the sticky wooden table. Crowds of empty glasses dotted across the wood, trails of water in their wake as you absentmindedly stacked them to one side. 

‘Come on, 7G is a masterpiece!’ He exclaimed, leaning back on the wooden chair, slotting his arms behind his head as he thought about the album. 

‘Vernon, you’re full of surprises.’ You admitted, sipping your beer and looking over the rim at him. Vernon didn't miss the way your eyes traced his biceps, his cheeks heating at the subtle ogle you were giving him. ‘So what are your plans whilst you’re here?’ 

‘I’m not really sure,’ he thought, imagining going back to his parents' house, sitting in his room for another month. How bland. ‘Maybe explore some places I’ve forgotten.’ 

You nodded, crossing your legs on the small stool and leaning a hand onto Mingyu’s abandoned chair. ‘The weather is nice tomorrow, want a tour guide?’ 

Vernon couldn’t have nodded more eagerly, his eyes practically widening in satisfying shock. ‘That would be really great.’ He attempted to play off his enthusiasm, crossing his arms over his chest. 

‘You still live under that big oak tree?’ You questioned, a quirk on your lips. Both of you remembered tenderly cycling home together with a bundle of other kids after school, shouting and swerving through the suburbs with childhood arrogance. 

‘Yeah,’ he breathed. Your gazes have been hooked on each other, creating something unsaid – Was it Vernon’s teenage-like crush imagining the flirtatiousness in your stare? 

‘3pm sound good?’ You reached out your hand, urging him to shake it in agreement.

‘Sounds perfect.’ Your face lit up in a sweet smile, one that penetrated through him and made butterflies flutter in a frenzy inside him. Without realisation, his face broke into a shy grin as he took your hand in his, the jolt of electricity travelling through his body as your soft hand met his slightly clammy one and you shook his hand with an unfaltering grip.

ᯓ‎♪ “ DID you think we'd make it? Can't budge the water down the drain ”

As promised, you showed up in your pickup truck at 3pm the next day. Waiting patiently outside the suburban home that was borderline identical to almost every house in this town.

The aged oak that hung over the abode looked just as it did all those years ago, and you couldn’t help but appreciate how gorgeous it was — noticing the way the sun flickered through its rattling leaves and how it seemed like it was protecting the small building. You vividly remember the tree being so big and daunting when you were a teenager, its spindly arms casting all manner of shadows across the road; yet now, it seemed to stand shyly, shading the house with calm ease.

Humming along to the cassette in your car, you eyed the front door, noticing the well-kept herbs in the planters dotted along the porch. The sort of herbs that, even from a distance, you could spot as glowing and thriving, and you couldn’t help but appreciate the evident love that had cherished their growth. 

Meanwhile, Vernon was struggling to choose an outfit to wear, not accounting for the harsh southern heat when packing. He could hear the distant clash of his mother in the kitchen, the drawers rattling exactly how they did ten years ago. 

Excitement was pooled with offsetting nerves within him, anticipation for spending an afternoon with you stirring unexpected emotions that deeply rattled Vernon, the reflection of himself not seeming quite right. He didn’t know what to wear, he didn't know where you were taking him, he didn't know what he needed – he was just trusting you. 

The clock on his bedroom wall ticked as the seconds became minutes, and he eventually begrudgingly tugged a cardigan on over a vest top and strolled downstairs, an anxiousness settling upon him as he spotted your car through the window. 

‘Bye mom, I’ll be back later!’ He offered, side-hugging his mum awkwardly and speeding out of the front door. Vernon knew she was staring through the blinds, her light eyes judging heavily as he strolled towards you. 

Like the perfect picture of peace, your legs were hanging out of the window, cap covering your face as you lay still across the three seats, body paralysed in the sound of a soft indie rock song. Vernon almost didn’t want to disrupt you, an air of tranquillity swimming around you, however, he approached, lifting his hand to rest on your leg. 

Immediately, you looked up, a sweet smile on your face that mirrored the one Vernon had dancing across his features. 

‘Hey,’ he breathed out, carefully appreciating your colourful sundress, layered over a pair of baggy shorts, the cap now perched on top of your head as you suddenly leaned up, faces now inches apart. 

Vernon could get used to this, being close enough to see the wisps of your fringe you’d shoved back into hair clips off your face, to notice the faint birthmark below your left eye and to smell that honeysuckle scent you carried.

‘Ready for an afternoon of fun?’ You kept the proximity to his face as you asked the question with a sarcastic tone. 

Vernon quirked a small smile, ‘as ready as I’ll ever be.’ 

With that, you manoeuvred your legs out of the open window and swung the truck door open, beckoning Vernon to get in – he hadn’t realised his hand rested on your leg for as long as it had until you shook it off in your skilful twist. 

The inside of your truck was exactly as Vernon imagined: an aged interior, with a Virgin Mary hanging from the mirror – Various blankets draped across the chairs and a pair of sandals kicked off next to the pedals. The stereo continued to play a light tune of guitar-based music as you pulled away from the Chwe residence.

‘There are loads of tapes in there,’ you said, motioning faintly to the glove box, ‘judge me all you want, choose one for the drive.’ 

‘Where are we going?’ Vernon questioned, opening the compartment above his legs to reveal a mass of tapes that came tumbling out. 

‘Fuck, sorry,’ you giggled, and Vernon felt his heart flutter. ‘Not a lot of organisation in this truck.’ 

Vernon peered at you, the blur of vivid green trees making your dark hair stand out as it rustled in the wind.

Filtering through your abundance of tapes, a majority of them fell within the heavy rock, psychedelic and country genres. However, at the back of the small compartment were a few pop albums, tucked away like they’d not been touched in a long time. 

‘Oh hell yeah,’ Vernon said, holding the pale case cover of how im feeling now by Charli xcx in his hand, looking closely at the track list. 

At his celebratory utterance, you peeled your eyes off the road and looked at him. Something in your heart tightened upon seeing the wide smile on his face, his dark hair rustled by the wind. 

‘Dimples,’ you said aloud, without even realising. Pure shock and humiliation consumed you, and you snapped your eyes back to the road, glueing them to the traffic ahead. 

‘What?’ Vernon turned to look at you, faintly gripping the tape. 

‘You have dimples,’ you forced out, hands holding the steering wheel particularly tight. ‘They’re cute.’

At this, Vernon felt as if his heart was skipping, his cheeks almost instantly turning pink. He dared to meet your brief glance, and those dimples were ever present, almost taunting you with their presence as he grinned shyly. 

‘Thank you,’ he said, fiddling with the case in his hands. 

‘Right,’ you rapidly changed the subject, a weak attempt to kill the awkward silence that not even the wind blowing through the truck could fix. You hastily took one hand off the wheel to eject the current tape and toss it onto the seat. ‘Do the honours.’ 

The boxy and harsh beginning of Charli xcx’s album bled through the speakers, making you smirk, mentally approving of his rogue choice. 

‘This album is her best,’ he said, beginning to nod along to the inconsistent beat, a sign of him knowing the album inside out. 

‘It feels so nostalgic,’ you said, turning it up as the bass rumbled in the car. ‘Like I’m in high school again.’ 

Vernon peeked at you driving, the expanse of southern America not as outstanding when you were in his eye line. ‘This is what I imagined high school sounding like.’ 

It dawned on him that you had the high school experience that he yearned for, not the practice rooms until early hours or the horrific dieting that still haunts him. 

You laughed lightly, letting your gaze slide to Vernon as he sat slightly rigidly before, turning back to the road above. ‘I promise you, high school sounded nothing like this.’ 

Vernon scrunched his face in playfulness, watching the central reservation line disappear under your truck. ‘So, no coming-of-age vibe?’ 

At this, you turned to Vernon with tenderness, ‘Oh, sweetheart, I wish.’ 

You hadn’t realised quite how young Vernon was when he left, suddenly just gone from your class, the seat filled by someone else almost instantaneously – and you’d never comprehended how much you missed the presence of your nerdy desk mate until he materialised last week, the younger version of Vernon always presenting snacks to you under the desk, or sliding messily written notes into your arm. 

‘Did you always want to be a K-pop idol?’ You questioned. 

‘I guess,’ Vernon shrugged, keeping his eyes on the vast corn field you drove past. ‘I love music and always have, and at that age I was just desperate to explore, discover where I’m from.’

The sincerity in his tone felt heavy on your shoulders, and you couldn’t quite figure out how he felt about America. It seemed like he’d never been here before, yet you grew up with him, shared a desk all those years ago. 

‘Was it difficult?’ you asked, ‘leaving?’ 

No. Coming back is worse. Vernon could’ve shouted that into the miles of fields around, telling each woodland creature about the guilt he’s forced himself to carry. 

‘Not then,’ he spoke slowly and quietly, and you listened closely. ‘It feels more difficult as I’ve gotten older.’ 

You nodded, ‘Well, I think you’re pretty fucking brave.’ A smile broke through Vernon’s stone-faced facade as you eyed him quickly. ‘Plus, I enjoy your music.’ 

Vernon almost choked; the music he made with his members was so distant from the country rock music you made. Real sincere surprise overtook him — he wasn’t embarrassed, never, but he was just shocked. With an attempt at playful finesse, he continued, ‘Enough to cover it?’

Your lips crackle into a smile, your head shaking to deflect the mischievous dig. ‘It never got past Soonyoung’s dream setlist.’ 

A moment of silence settled, the purr of the engine a quiet soother over the vicious wind.

However, the brief quiet was disrupted by a sarcastic jest. ‘Come on,’ you said, ‘You were quite the town news when you released your first album, plus, who didn’t have aju nice playing daily all those years ago?’ 

You remembered it distinctly, the confusion when discovering the song your mum and you would dance around the living room to was sung by the shy Korean boy who used to be glued to his DS in the playground. 

Before he could even object, you began to rap along to his part in the song, an instant heat invading his cheeks. 

‘I have to apologise, though, I haven’t listened to much K-pop in quite a while,’ you continued as if you hadn’t just charmed Vernon with your (his) American-Korean rap. 

‘I’m just shocked you even know it,’ he said, disbelief bleeding through each word. You smiled at him cheekily and hummed along to Forever, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Do you remember the river?’ 

The distant echo of joyful screams, the squelch of mud between the toes and flashes of tying tight knots onto trees to make rope swings flooded into his mind, splashing into the running river with bravery only children possessed. 

‘How could I forget?’ he replied, ‘searched for hours for a branch sturdy enough for a swing.’ 

Those memories seemed so fond yet nostalgic, playing wizards in the woods by the creek, building houses out of sticks and making potions from mud, leaves and whatever else. 

‘Well, I know it’s predictable to say I know a spot,’ you said, turning onto a dirt road, ‘but I know a spot.’ You exaggerated. 

‘I’m trusting you,’ Vernon replied, appreciating the fields that stretched for miles, yellows, greens and browns dominating the landscape. Distantly, huge metal silos pierced through the trees, and daunting electricity pylons seemed to drape across the landscape. 

A rickety-looking chapel approached to the right, the wood slackening and rotting in its isolation. Despite the structure's evident deterioration, the spire stood tall and piercing, reaching its dark point into the bright blue sky. Any sign of forced entry had been haphazardly boarded over with pieces of plywood, and as the truck passed, Vernon squinted to attempt to get a clearer look. 

‘Creepy, right?’ You asked, the dust awakening from beneath the wheels, dispersing the vision of the chapel in the wing mirror into a cloudy blur. 

‘I forget that that stuff,’ He hesitated, ‘is, like, common here.’ 

‘You’re on the bible belt,’ You joked, wavering your voice to a deeper tone, dripping with sarcasm.  ‘Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and you shall be saved and whatnot.’ 

Vernon smiled, shaking his head, ‘I never see that type of stuff in Korea.’ 

‘Welcome back to the Deep South, Mr Chwe.’ Your tongue poked your cheek as you focused your eyes on the approaching tree line.  ‘Might want to hold on.’ With a stiff crank of the gears, the truck was swallowed in sweet shade, allowing fierce release from the beating rays of sun. 

The truck bumped and rocked as you persisted down the road, clouds of dust waking with the wheels, your face screwed into unmistakable concentration. Vernon trusted you, but good god, each violent bump made him question how much trust he put in you. 

He remembered this feeling, like being strapped into a rollercoaster in the back seat of his parents’ car, driving down unmade dirt roads to get to the best picnic spots. 

After an almost ten-minute, concerningly rocky drive through the woods, you pulled the car under the shade of two colossal oak trees. 

Swinging the truck door open, you hopped out, and Vernon followed your lead. Taking a moment to really appreciate the way the breeze kissed his skin, light and refreshing in the dry air, the smell of countryside infiltrating him and the sound of nothing but nature and you. 

Snapped out of his outdoors-induced trance, he glanced at you, now opening the back of your truck and slinging a rucksack over your shoulder and grabbing the neck of an acoustic guitar. 

‘Let me take something,’ he offered shyly, holding his arm out. Standing on the crusty rock and dirt, Vernon really noticed the height difference between you. Not a lot. But enough that you had to lightly tilt your head up to look at him. Cute. 

‘I mean,’ you shrugged, slamming the back shut, ‘if you insist.’ 

With a rucksack slung over his shoulder and a blanket rolled under his arm, he watched you lean through your open window, almost hanging over it and grab your sunglasses. 

‘Shall we?’ you questioned, a wide smile on your face as you looked at the boy. 

Vernon looked awkward as he nodded. But for some reason, you decided it suited him. The slight hesitation in his movement, the baited expression he wore and the withheld conversations you actually found charming. Despite him being a big celebrity, you could see his younger self so strongly within him, and it piqued your interest completely — In a town where everyone had either grown into complete American nothingness or instead became some of the coolest people you’ve ever met, it’s refreshing to see something different. However, you think Vernon is becoming the latter. 

‘Let’s do it,’ he replied, his cheeks dusted pink from the unintentional stare you laid upon him. 

After a ten-minute walk down a dusty path, overgrown with shrubbery and jagged with rocks peaking out, the faint trickle of water became louder and louder until the tree line broke onto a small grassy clearing. The water meandered lightly, glistening in the late afternoon sun, and a tall willow tree bent over the clearing, providing much-needed shade across half of it; its wispy arms swayed in the light breeze. 

‘That was a lot choppier when I was a kid, I swear.’ Vernon grinned, looking at the river as it ebbed and flowed downstream. 

You chuckled, and Vernon wondered why it made his heart skip. ‘I don’t know about that one, Vernon.’ 

‘No,’ He bantered, ‘It definitely was, I used to fight for my life to get to the bank!'

A shy smile played on both of your lips, the memory of diving headfirst into the river was so similar, it could’ve been the same one. 

Without a word, you slid the blanket out of Vernon’s arm, laying it between the sun and shade before plopping down on it. 

Vernon peeked out of the corner of his eye as he watched you bask in the sun, your pale skin glowing in the sunlight, your head slacking backwards as you really took it in. 

‘Joining me?’ You said, head not moving an inch – Vernon realised he had been planted in place for the last few minutes and quickly turned. 

He settled with a slight stiffness beside you, opting for the shadiest spot on the worn blanket, allowing himself to let out a relieved sigh at the coolness the tree brought. 

This was tranquil. The sounds of home, nature rustling and cascading around him, the childhood river glistening in front of him, the grass bright and soft under his hand. He let himself really feel it. Feel the breeze as it tickles his cheeks, feel the ground solidly beneath him, and he especially feels the weight of your gaze as you turn your head to look at him. 

‘This is the best, right?’ you asked, an honest smile on your face.

‘It’s,’ Vernon breathed, ‘perfect.’ 

After close to an hour of sunlight and small talk, you shot up. ‘Fancy a dip? For old times’ sake?’ 

Vernon scanned your expression, not an inch of humour - you were dead serious. 

‘No pressure,’ you smiled, ‘But it’s fucking hot, so I’m going.’ Before he could even muster a reply, you kicked off your shorts and shimmied out of your summer dress, leaving you in a small black bikini you’d worn under your clothes. 

Vernon tried to look respectfully, really. He looked up to the leaves above him, to the red of the blanket below him, even to the lingering tree line, but he kept catching glimpses of your curves, the way your hips swayed as you approached the water, your hair almost tickling the dips in your back. 

He couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t explain why he was so entranced, he’d slept with plenty of girls, seen models scantily clad and even had one serious relationship before, yet no girls had ever made his heart jump the way it was right now. Maybe it was that you were an embodiment of all the best parts of home, maybe it was that you showered him with unconditional and undeserved kindness, or maybe it was because he’d never met someone like you before, and that made you oh so appealing to him.

Before Vernon could slip into a trance, your figure dove effortlessly off the bank and landed with a loud splash in the river. The water flowed lightly today, not choppy or harsh like Vernon swears it once was. 

Under the bubbling surface, you let the coldness of the water act as a faux reset, calming your heart, which seemed to be racing whilst conversing with your childhood friend who sat on the grassy plain behind you. As you break the surface, you thank the gods for dumb luck and newfound confidence that you even managed to talk to Vernon as much as you had. 

As you let a loud sigh out, Vernon watched your figure float effortlessly on the water, like you’d become one with the liquid. 

After a peaceful few minutes, the water and wind the only sounds to be heard, he felt small drips of water coat the front of his shirt and face, slightly relieving the unforgiving summer heat. 

Gingerly, you were grinning at him, hand still in attack as you held in a laugh. ‘God, is it raining?’ 

‘Oh, I’m so going to get you.’ Vernon replied.

Fuck it. 

Springing up, he reached behind him and pulled his shirt up in one swift movement before starting a light jog towards the water and jumping in as hard as he possibly could muster. 

A huge splash coated your already soggy figure as he jumped in a metre from you, giggles bursting through you as you readied your defences against the impending water fight. 

As soon as he arose, it was war. You were more drenched than you could imagine, artificial waves created by Vernon’s big hands dominating you in a game that you had regretfully started.

Normally, you were the reigning water fight champion. Hours and hours spent in this river with your friends, causing mischief and soaking each other. However, the glimpses of Vernon’s toned figure through the sprays of water were rendering your strategies completely useless – your brain was practically mush at the sight of Vernon’s shirtless figure, his expression radiating complete joy and determination. Through your harsh blinks, you were mesmerised by his cheeky smile, the grin reaching his eyes as sweet laughs poured from his mouth.

‘Vernon!’ You laughed, his own chuckles mirroring yours. 

You were fucked. You couldn’t even attempt to get him back, so, like a coward, you retreated quickly, turning to swim against the current away from him.

‘Not so fast!’ He objected, swimming after you, making you release a noise that was somewhere between a giggle and a screech. Before you could even make it to the bank, Vernon’s arms had wrapped tightly around your legs. The river was shallow enough here that it only reached his waist, and in one skilful movement, you were over his shoulder, his arm securely around the back of your knees.

‘Vernon!’ You tried to object in an authoritative tone, to no avail – the air wafting against your exposed legs and up your spine, threatening a shiver. However, as you let your neck slacken, you came face to face with his strong back, his arms flexing literal centimetres from your face. 

With a sharp shake of the head, you ripped your face away from his defined body, deciding to taunt Vernon into putting you down through various unsportsmanlike tactics, poking his side, tickling his armpits – anything. 

‘You started this!’ He smiled through his words, the touch of your skin against his shoulder, your hands gripping his back, making his skin heat instantaneously.

He wondered what they’d feel like against his back in a different circumstance. 

Vernon shook the thought off, letting the water flowing between his legs ground him. 

‘Admit I win,’ Vernon said cheekily, beginning to shrug his shoulders in an attempt to threaten to drop you. 

‘Never!’ You replied with defiance, grateful that Vernon can’t see your reddened cheeks. 

‘Well..’ Vernon slowly turned back to the deeper part of the river. 

‘I will never admit defeat!’ You continued, the smile on your face evident in your words. 

‘That’s too bad.’ Vernon then submerged you both with a small jump, fits of giggles erupting from both of you.

Wet hair dripping down your back, you sat quietly on the bank, Vernon next to you, inching slightly closer to your body than before. You’d slung your sundress on, your bikini drying rapidly in the early evening sunlight. The heat never seemed to subside here; it was beating at you by day and choking you by night. 

Vernon comfortably leaned on his hands beside you, his shirt back on his body as he stole glances at you. The air was filled with light strumming as you lay with the acoustic guitar across you. 

‘What’s your favourite song to play?’ He asked sheepishly, desperate to hear your liquid honey voice again.

‘God,’ you exhaled, thinking hard. ‘I never play alone anymore.’ Silence followed as your brows knit together in thought, Vernon flicking his gaze from your eyes to your fingers absentmindedly plucking. ‘But if I did, probably Pick Up That Knife.’ 

Vernon racked his brain to remember the melody of the song you were referencing. Hesitantly, he asked, ‘Can you play it for me?’ 

Silence. With suspicion, you hung your head to one side, your brows creasing even deeper together, inspecting the boy in front of you. ‘Really?’ You smiled with distrust — somehow, your confidence never bled as far as playing solo, especially in front of a single person. 

‘Yeah,’ He replied, an earnest and innocent smile on his lips, as if to say, go on, please.

‘Sure,’ you replied, Vernon desperately trying to hide his very wide smile. ‘Only if you play after.’ 

‘Yah, ' he said, looking up at the trees above him. An outsider would never guess that the pair of you are professional musicians, performing to hundreds of people every time either of you is on stage. Yet, you were both so bashful in this moment. ‘Fine. Deal.’ 

With that, you began to strum the guitar, the pretty melody floating around him like pollen in the springtime, invading his senses. With the absence of your band, he really appreciated how delicate your voice was, singing lyrics he couldn’t possibly write even if he tried. 

He was in a trance, your side profile practically glowing in the late sun. Your hair had dried in frizzy curls that came tumbling down your back, your chipped red nails picking and plucking the guitar strings effortlessly and the silky smooth sound of your voice as you sang. 

‘And this is when I’d scream,’ You said, a slightly embarrassed tint to your cheeks as you continued to play under Vernon’s intense gaze. 

And then the song ended, and you stopped. Vernon was unmoving as he just stared at your figure. 

‘Not great then?’ You remarked sarcastically, avoiding his eyes. This was the first time Vernon had truly seen you embarrassed, so confident and secure regularly, that he realised it was unnatural for you to be in a state of nervousness.

‘No, I mean,’ Vernon was flustered and failed to hide it. Painfully so. ‘It was great, you’re really…’ 

You smiled with a slight furrow of the brow as the man struggled to put his words together. 

‘You’re really amazing.’ He breathed out shyly, avoiding your eyes desperately. 

At that, you were sure you turned an even more embarrassing shade of red, looking towards the guitar resting across your lap. Quickly, you shoved the guitar at him, ‘Your turn!’

Slightly flustered, Vernon held the guitar in his hands, familiarising himself with the dark wooden curves of the instrument and tuning it by ear to the right notes for his song. 

‘This is called Black Eye,’ He started, strumming my lightly before you can reply. ‘I’ve actually never played it to anyone acoustically.’ 

‘Blessed to be hearing it,’ you smiled, leaning back on the palms of your hands, bathing in the music and sunlight. Your eyes never left him, tracing his soft features as his eyebrows sank in concentration. 

The song was Green Day-inspired, fun and cheeky. It was so Vernon — you were surprised he didn’t shout, I fucking wrote this! However, you didn’t expect his voice to be so smooth and sweet, dancing over the lyrics intricately as he sang. 

His fingers strummed strongly, your eyes tracing from his face, down his shoulder, along his pronounced biceps, down his strengthened forearms and to his long fingers. 

Suddenly, it felt very hot.

As the song ended, you smiled widely, clapping with genuine appreciation. ‘No wonder you’re a famous idol.’ 

Vernon let out a laugh, forcing himself to catch your eyes, which were focused on him in a way he’d never seen. 

‘That was really good by the way,’ you said shyly, ‘I was kind of hoping for Pretty U though…’ 

The humour in your tone made a surge of joy ride through him, and he jokingly shoved your arm. 

‘Does she love me-,’ You started. 

‘Enough,’ He exaggerated before putting the guitar down. 

For the next hour, the pair of you continued to play songs together, your own, covers, even writing small, delicate melodies together. The pair of you were entangled in each other’s creativity, and only when the cicadas began to ring did you realise the sun was setting. 

The blue sky had now faded into hues of red and orange, clouds dancing across the colours lightly. The light illuminated Vernon like an angel, and you felt a slight panic overtake your senses. You could not let yourself fall for him; he’s him. A famous idol, living oceans away. Yet, when he looked so soft-faced in this light, your heart reassured you that maybe one day you could fall for him.

Shaking off the abnormal thoughts, you peeked at him once more. ‘Shall we make a move? That road can be a bit of a pain in the dark.’ 

Vernon was enjoying your company so much that he hadn't thought once about the hours you’d both spent here, the sun sinking below the horizon. ‘Yeah, yeah, of course.’ 

With a comfortable silence, you both packed up, bidding goodbye to the grassy plain and rushing river and heading back to the truck. 

Approaching the vehicle, you leaned over to place the guitar in the trunk, the strings reverberating with the movement as you yawned widely, turning around. 

Immediately, you were met with Vernon's chest as he reached over you to place the blanket back. With a slight stumble, you look up at the boy, the world seeming to slow as his dark velvet eyes met yours, an element of shock dancing in them. 

Cicadas chirped around the pair of you as Vernon felt himself be glued to your glance, your eyes wide in his closeness. The boy realised he could get used to being so close to you, in fact, a part of him wanted you to always be this close to him. Everything seemed to slow, the rustling of the tree subduing as your eyes stayed trained onto each other – there was something about the look that was tender and full, the exhaustion of the sun not infiltrating his gaze as he let himself trace your features, hindering when he inspected your lips. They were a ruby shade that tinged pink in the sunlight, they looked plump and very kissable. Vernon apprehensively dragged his eyes up to yours and flickered back down to those ruby red lips. 

‘I am so beat,’ you yawned, awkwardly shuffling out of his proximity with rapidness, and Vernon stepped back with startling urgency. Your vulnerable look vanished into the breeze as you swung yourself into the truck, slapping the side twice, signalling him to hurry up.

As soon as Vernon hopped up into the van, you were completely normal with him — not flushed anymore, no red tinge on your cheeks, just chatting as if your lips didn’t just practically torture him. 

You urged him with jokiness to choose another tape as you began to drive, bumping and giggling, and Vernon wondered if maybe he dreamed the feeling of you pressed against his chest. The ghost of your body so close puzzled him all the way home, it puzzled him when he was regretfully saying goodbye to you, it puzzled him as he stepped into an icy shower.

Once his sheets found him, you danced around his mind like a ballerina performing an adage, with deliberate slowness, your curves and expressions on display for him to consume. A smile found its way to his lips, and he pulled his hands down his face to soothe the heightened beating of his heart. 

[23:34] @girlinthatband: it was so nice to hang out today, see you again before you go?

Any attempt to soothe himself was useless. A nervous excitement pulsed through him, surging up his throat as he caught his lip between his teeth. 

Really, it was immature to let himself feel something for you, no matter what it was, there was no plausible way it could work. You were happy here, a star shining amongst a dark galaxy, and he was just a planet, rotating his way back and forth – being pulled hundreds of miles from here in a month's time. The lives you both led were both similar and so contrasting, yet, as you floated through his brain, he could imagine being by your side, you curled closely in his arm, nodding along to an indie-rock song you’d claim is the best song ever – and Vernon would laugh at your predictability, kissing your head as you hummed along.

ᯓ‎♪ “ I WILL go wherever you want me, long haul flights to stupid new countries ”

As the days stretched on, somehow you’d materialised into a fully-qualified tour guide. Dragging Vernon to backstreet antique shops, to sit on creaking Victorian furniture and ogle taxidermied animal heads together or lugging him to basement record shops, to dig deep through dusty twelve-inch discs hip to hip, and emerge with the most treasured vinyl you could discover. 

Vernon had seen the interior of your truck more than the back of his eyelids at this point, the passenger seat in your boxy cab was comfier than the bed in his childhood bedroom. During one escapade to a late-night thrift store, you’d even convinced Vernon to let you buy him a few tapes to live in your car. 

‘No, no.’ Vernon laughed, pushing the bills back into your hand as you hung your head sideways. ‘I’ll pay, and you can keep them, you know, for when I'm gone.’ Vernon imitated being a ghost, producing a ghoulish sound at the end of his sentence as he wiggled his fingers at you. 

‘God, you’re morbid.’ You joked as he continued to move close to your eyes. ‘But, really,’ you paused to grab his hands, looking up at him with a gleaming gaze. ‘I insist.’ 

And that’s how you ended up with an Adrienne Lenker tune slipping through your speakers every time you turned the key in the ignition. 

Even as Vernon stood at the second family gathering of his excursion, chopping vegetables alongside his mother and aunt, the shy smile wouldn't leave his lips. The blissful memory of your giggle in an empty store or the vision of your hair dancing in the wind during a late-night drive pumped instant endorphins through him. 

It was a strange type of intoxication that Vernon had never experienced before, the rush in his head when he’d spot your silhouette waiting against your truck, the leap in his heart when your name would pop up on his phone – his entire body was warming to your presence, and little by little, he welcomed it. 

[13:11] @girlinthatband: hope family gathering isn’t too bad :P 

[13:13] @girlinthatband: listen to this song when you’re not busy being son of the year 

[13:13] @girlinthatband: 🎵whatever you wanna by annabelle dinda 

Vernon grinned at his phone, subtly sliding it back into his pocket before turning to a gaggle of cousins and diving into their conversation.

On a rather humid and sunny Wednesday, Vernon pulled himself out of the stuffy house. Even with the warm humming sensation that you caused within him, there was a tidal pool stirring quietly deep down. 

Inside, there were hands pulling him two ways, soft palms that touched him calmly, each brush filled with anticipation and excitement. But the other hands were rough and calloused, tugging him into the depths of head-spinning anxiety. As he stood at the top of his stairs, nervously raising himself onto his tiptoes, he could feel those careless hands pulling at him. 

It had been two and a half weeks of his parents’ forced smiles and polite nods. Minimal conversation and biting expressions, their resentment hidden beneath their tongues and their remarks tidied away into cupboards and swept into dustpans. 

So when he hit a wall again, the producing software glaring in his face with a taunting glow, he decided he needed a change of scenery. Backpack slung over his shoulder, he braved the descent downstairs, creeping with teenage-like slyness as if his parents would scold him for leaving the house. 

Successfully slipping out of the door unchecked, Vernon quickly made way to town — spotting the first café and sliding in with a small jingle of the bell. 

The hole-in-the-wall style abode was cosy, people littered on various seats, nursing steaming beverages. As Vernon sipped an obnoxiously over-iced Americano, he struggled to comprehend how anyone could possibly ingest hot drinks in this stuffy weather.

Headphones snug against his ears, he reopened the software with a heavy breath, ready to start anew if he so called for it. 

However, surprisingly, the hours sped by as the music consumed him, beats congregating and melodies materialising – it sparked sweet satisfaction. People moved around him, but he took no notice, he was submerged in the beat, inspiration trickling out of him. 

A figure appeared over the top of his screen, plopping into the squeaking chair opposite him. Vernon ripped his eyes away from the software to eye the stranger who’d intruded on his steady workflow.

There was that charming air around you, the dark hair pulled messily into two plaits covered by a cap with a mocking slogan on it, pale complexity shining against the sun-kissed tan everyone else possessed, excited grin on your plush ruby lips. And like a figure of Vernon’s imagination, you’d materialised in front of him.

‘Hey!’ Vernon spoke, shock in his voice. His heart skipped at your sudden appearance, and he couldn’t help but feel his mouth begin to beam at you.

‘I’ve been waving at you for at least two minutes.’ You complained, an artificial annoyance in your tone that wrung dry when he shook his head. 

‘Sorry! I was super concentrated.’ He replied, placing his headphones down quietly and looking at you — Even with the thin sheen of heat dusting your cheeks, Vernon thought you looked incredible. 

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ you wiggled your eyebrows with an amused tone, ‘What’s got you concentrating so hard?’  

With curiosity, you leaned forward, and Vernon didn't hesitate to twist his computer to show you his screen. 

‘Ah.’ You said with an understanding nod.

‘It’s actually only just started to go well.’ He admitted, the coffee machine whirring lightly behind him. ‘I just felt so blocked?’ 

In front of Vernon, your expression is strangely comforting. It looked like you were fully immersed in him, your ears only listening to his words, a warmth to your features that sprouted reassurance through him. 

‘That’s the best fucking feeling ever, ' you sighed, leaning on your palm and looking at Vernon with soft eyes. ‘Want a second pair of ears?’ 

‘Please.’ He said, battling the pressure within that blossomed from his apprehension to share his own music — It was ironic, really, knowing he’d produced countless tracks that had millions of streams, yet, you listening to his music made him feel wildly vulnerable. 

The headphones sit on your head slightly lopsidedly, but your eyes shine as you inspect the programme, scrolling through the layers and brushing over levels. 

Vernon sat almost rigidly, scanning your face in an attempt to predict your thoughts. He wished he could read your expression, but it stayed dead still, unreadable and unmoving. The playback line didn’t sprint across the program like normal, it felt like it dragged across the sound waves with hesitation.

Three excruciating minutes pass and you place the headphones down on the table. ‘What the fuck, man?’ You spoke, shock permeating through you. ‘That’s so good.’ 

Instantly, you jumped into exclamations and passionate compliments, spiralling about the various samples and showering kind words on different parts. 

Time slipped past you both as the music engulfed every conversation, small pointers given and valuable opinions shared, both of you listening keenly to one another, allowing yourselves to share even the most embarrassing opinions. 

As the café closed its doors, a barista politely ushered you both towards the front door, the pair of you still tangled in conversations, sharing personal picks and arguing passionately about different genres. The two of you clicked like two opposite sides of a magnet, hopelessly perfect for each other. 

High above, the sun shrank below the horizon, painting a golden glow onto everything that moved in its path. Including you, as you sat comfortably on a swing beside him, hand lightly gripping the chain as you swayed backwards and forwards – the conversation had paused, and serene silence had fallen between you. 

Vernon couldn’t help but feel shifting deja-vu as he rocked alongside you, the motion-induced breeze brushing his cheeks delicately as he closed his eyes and basked in the late evening sun. This park – rusting metal, peeling paint and squeaking joints was the epitome of Vernon’s childhood nostalgia, the surfaces left untouched for years, the maintenance seemingly halted around the time he left. 

‘Hey Vern?’ You broke the quiet to look at him. 

‘Yeah?’ He replied, letting his trainers drag against the dry wood chips. 

‘I’m really happy you came back.’ You told him, a subtle smile ghosting your lips. 

Vernon's heart thumps selfishly within him, his vision focused on his shoes as he attempted to hide the heat crawling up his neck. In this moment, Vernon knew he was too far gone; there was no hiding or running that could escape this feeling. The feeling of his stomach fluttering every time you met his eyes, the feeling of his heart swelling when you smiled at him, the feeling of his face crinkling every time you spoke. 

He was fucked.

‘Me too.’ He admitted gingerly, finally turning to face you.

There was an unspoken look. One that screamed just let it happen Vernon, your lips were plump and insanely kissable, the loaded look in your eyes almost inviting him in. The way your hand was so grabable, so ready to be held and felt – all that stood between him and euphoria was twenty centimetres. 

‘Make sure you come back when you’re not too busy mansae-ing or whatever it is you do across the pond.’ You joked, pushing on your heels to propel yourself forward. 

‘Hey!’ he smiled, ‘I’m not gone yet, stop speaking like I’m leaving!’ 

‘I know,’ You state simply, ‘Just reminding you.’ A cheeky grin sits on your mouth as you sway in the aftermath of your pushing. 

‘You’re stuck with me for another thirteen days.’ He returned to you, now joining you in swinging himself harshly back and forth. 

The hinges squeaked obnoxiously, the shrill ring echoing through the quietened streets as the moon appeared in the darkening sky. As Vernon’s vision blurred with the momentum, his head battled his heart, the rational thought of his life millions of miles away – the image he upheld, the expectations he carried, the pressure he had to amount to. Yet, the heart-racing thought of how it would feel to press his lips to yours, to smell your perfume on his pillows or to feel your skin flush against his was unyielding within him.

The sun set long before Vernon shuffled through the front door, beelining for his bedroom instantaneously. The heat felt like it was sticking to him as thoughts of you swirled around his mind smoothly, your charm whittling into every crease of his brain. The elongated distance his parents stood at didn’t concern him when you’d waltzed into his life like a ballerina, pirouetting through him. 

[23:06] @vernonline: thank you so much for helping me today, i really enjoyed hanging out with you :) 

The faucet splashed viciously as Vernon twisted it, droplets splattering his stomach as he cursed silently. You’d taken residency within him, your face distracting him with every passing thought – Vernon was almost spooked at how effortlessly you’d burrowed your way into his mind, and he allowed the memory of your sweet laugh to soothe the anxiety that threatened to brew within him. 

[23:27] @girlinthatband: anytime! lmk when you’re free to hang out next

[23:30] @girlinthatband: i also always enjoy hanging out with you :) <3

ᯓ‎♪ “ CAN YOU read my mind, I've been watching you ”

Across the dusty plains and sprawling highways, towering wooden crucifixes were impaled into hillsides. Huge, daunting crosses weathered and tarnished, hidden down dirt tracks and standing immensely over miles of agriculture. These crooked wooden symbols were a part of Southern America that had slipped Vernon’s mind. The relentless signposts coining ‘Christ is coming, have you confessed?’ and ‘If you died today, where would you spend eternity?’

As his mother's car sped down the interstate highway, Vernon imagined spending eternity here. Stuck like a pylon at the side of a beaten road, huffing dry dirt and carrying the weight of heavy sun rays, his skin splintering with each sunrise. Allowing the cars to race past without a second glance, always there – unnoticed, resting under relentless heat and depending on the crackling earth to keep him upright. But maybe if he spent his eternity here, once in a while your dark brown truck would whisk past. The sound of the wheels slapping and the engine panting masked by an overzealous rock cassette rumbling out of the open windows – and in the two seconds it took for you to pass by, Vernon would see your dark hair violently wisp in the wind, your face glowing as lyrics fly out of you. The effortless flip in your voice, jumping you from one vocal register to another, would reach his ears and then he’d allow eternity to swallow him up once again. 

The chilling blast of air conditioning knocked Vernon back to the dark interior of the car. His mother, with a polite grin, gripped the steering wheel. There was an air of relief swarming his mother, her chin tall as she watched the road closely, a small victory to have her son beside her. 

It seemed the lifespan of a grudge was two long, slow weeks in the Chwe household, and Vernon was grateful for his parents to resume as expected, with smiles and warm discussions. However, to avoid the unnecessary tension arising again, Vernon eagerly agreed to shop with his mother, too afraid any apprehension might spark another fire that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to put out. But as the car travelled down the highway in the midday sun, he couldn’t help but wonder if he regretted agreeing to the field trip his mom was apparently taking him on. 

Did you know that in a hundred-kilometre radius there is one asian supermarket? – Because Vernon sure didn’t. It was news to him when the roads stretched out into long open masses and not tiny, car-ridden passages. Slopes and bumps decorated in varying hues of greens and browns lengthening in front of him, all volumes of Evangelical Protestantism cropping up every half-a-kilometre. Old abandoned chapels piercing through evergreens with their sharp spires metres above, billboards climbing tall to spew bible verses to the masses, crucifixes remaining wary distances away from the road – casting watchful gazes afar. 

As the car slowed, the department store slid into view. ‘You travel this far every time?’

Vernon’s mother nodded timidly, pulling the keys of the ignition and slipping out of the car, Vernon following quietly. To fulfil the good son role, Vernon chattered lightly, pushed the cart without a complaint and reached for anything his mother struggled to get. A part of him was thoroughly enjoying this; the errand felt so mundane, the act of just being able to shop around without the weight of public attention whilst absentmindedly conversing with his mom healed a young part of him he wasn’t aware was sabotaged. 

Cool air floated around him, applying relief to his humid frame. In front, his mother closely examined varying jars, tipping her glasses forward as she squinted at labels and prices, muttering under her breath. However, the subtle stillness of the grocery shopping was disrupted by a hearty laugh booming over the aisles, as the rattle of a cart distracted him from counting how many spring onions were stacked amongst the items. 

Gliding down the aisle with a happy grin, you came into sight. Lively talk was sprouting and buzzing between you and who Vernon can only presume is your own mother, her eyes in crescents, like the perfect replica of yours. 

With a nonchalant lean, you pushed the cart, your mother close to your side as you nattered amongst one another, both of your expressions ridden with joy — like scanning the aisles was the most exhilarating activity in the world.

Vernon’s heart pounded as your joyful face continued chatting animatedly, hands flying off the cart rapidly to accentuate your words, your mother laughing lightly and rubbing your arm. He knew you were always authentically yourself, always smiling and extending niceties, but this version of you felt more organic than the girl who swung on her chair at the bar. 

Before Vernon could decide whether to wave, greet you or simply look away, those soft eyes you possessed met him prematurely, twisting from your blissful expression into one of pleasant surprise. 

‘Vernon’ You exclaimed, and he could’ve melted, his name sounded just right sliding off your tongue. 

At your bellow, Vernon’s face cracked a smile, his mother snapping her head to the sound and leaning back to eye you. 

‘Hey!’ He said, stepping away from the cart to approach you. A grey tank top covered your frame, a graphic printed onto the centre that Vernon consciously tried not to make out, baggy cargo shorts hanging low on your hips as you smiled widely at him. 

‘Vernon, meet my mother.’ You introduced the two politely, and your gaze flickered from Vernon to the figure approaching his side. 

‘Mrs Chwe!’ Your mother says, recognition flickering through her eyes. 

‘Mrs ____!’ Vernon’s mother replied, smiling widely and hugging your mother. The two women burst into animated conversation, talking informally to one another with passion – their dialect thick and hurried.

Both you and Vernon stood rigidly with hung mouths, watching the older women converse like old friends – which Vernon realised they probably are. 

‘I guess they know each other…’ You said, your head hung in a questioning expression, foot propped up against the under basket as you slouched against the cart. 

Beside you, Vernon mirrored your tilted head, also squinting at his mother. The bewilderment didn't leave his face as the two began to walk ahead together. Forcing a shrug from his shoulders, ‘Yeah, I guess so.’ 

Still paused, Vernon finally turned his face to meet your side profile. The long dark locks he was so used to seeing clouding your face had been pulled back into a singular plait, stray hairs tickling your jaw and neck. The hair tucked behind your ears drew attention to your soft jawline that Vernon had somehow missed in all your time spent together. 

Without a glance, you shake your head quickly, as if you were shimmying his gaze off of your face and turn to him, that wide grin you always wore shining straight at him. 

‘Anyway, hello, hi!’ You stepped away from your cart to throw your arms up, engulfing Vernon in a warm hug. In panic, he let his arms come to your waist, feeling you in his arms, even for a brief couple of seconds, was strangely natural to him. ‘Your mom drag you shopping as well?’ 

‘Yes ma’am.’ He replied as you fell into step beside each other, slowly pushing the carts forward in tandem. Vernon realised how teenage this felt, to be following your parents around the store, slouching behind whilst your mothers conversed – it was all oddly comforting.

‘I can’t believe we travelled an hour to get here.’ Vernon muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. In the corner of his eye, he watched a grin crack on your face as you looked down at the contents of your cart. 

‘Count yourself lucky this is your first time making the trek.’ You joked, swinging your head towards him. ‘She makes me do this almost every week, god forbid I go on tour.’ 

‘I kinda like it,’ Vernon admitted with an honest shrug, continuing to glide alongside you. ‘See the landscapes, go shopping with my mom, it all feels…’

Vernon paused as he thought, the normality of the excursion providing a sense of comfort he didn’t think he could explain. Especially not in the middle of an aisle in this supermarket. But as he turned to you, a slight furrow in his brows, you’ve got silent encouragement etched in your expression, your patience stretched infinitely as if you could wait for eternity for him to finish talking.

‘Mundane.’ Vernon finished, hyperaware that he was completely exposing how detached he was from this reality, the reality you lived, the reality his mother lived, the reality everyone he used to know lived. 

Deep inside Vernon, there was fear that mongered in anticipation of your reaction, worry penetrating him as he revealed his blatant disconnect with a life he’s come to yearn for. He couldn’t help but presume the worst in this moment, that maybe you’d scoff at him and walk away, or worse, you’d become silently resigned and begin to resent him. 

‘And that’s the beauty of it, right?’ You smiled at him, a beam that was really and truly sincere, and if he wasn’t enraptured by how gorgeous he thought you looked, he would’ve noticed those ruthless anxieties evaporate into thin air – as if you were the remedy he needed. 

Simultaneously, you both halted in the empty aisle, looking closely at each other; Vernon’s lips had too quirked up into a shy grin as he looked down at you. That reassuring gaze you possessed rested on his face as you met his eyes, softness following your waterline and curving up your eyelashes. 

Vernon felt like his heart was going to burst just looking at you. 

The feeling of you standing slightly too close to Vernon made him feel overwhelmed with need. The racing heart, the sticky palms – he felt like he was standing by your truck all over again, contemplating whether or not to just kiss you. 

‘Yah! There you both are!’ 

Abruptly, you both fumbled away, snapping your heads to Vernon’s mother's shrill call, scampering towards her without sparing a glance for each other, the heat of the moment still residing on Vernon’s skin. 

‘Your mom was just telling me you’re going to record in New Orleans, how exciting!’ Vernon’s mother had opened the conversation, placing items into her cart as your own mother stood with an elated expression. 

New Orleans? Vernon can’t recall you mentioning it at all. Not that he would or should know, but somewhere inside of him, the thought of you disappearing off after only just reconnecting made him sour, an undeniable pang returning to his chest. 

‘Yeah!’ You nodded, ‘Only for a few days, but I’m really looking forward to it.’ The politeness in your voice made it feel pruned and shaped especially for this conversation. However, the delight in your eyes as you spoke to his mother ignited something within Vernon that he wasn’t sure he could identify.

‘That’s amazing!’ She gushed, raising her eyebrows. ‘It’s just so impressive how talented you both are.’ 

Awkward laughs forced their way out of both yours and Vernon’s throats, stepping side to side to ease the uncomfortable feeling resting on both of your shoulders. Either both of your mothers were painfully oblivious, or they enjoyed seeing you both squirm like children, embarrassed on behalf of their moving mouths.

‘Thank you!’ You said graciously, absentmindedly tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. ‘We’ve finished most of the recording, we’re just doing some final touches.’ 

‘That’s brilliant! New Orleans is so lovely at this time of year.’ Vernon’s mom smiled. ‘When are you going? I’ll have to send your mom some restaurant recommendations for you!’ 

‘In two days.’ You replied with a grin, a shade of politeness in your voice that was new to Vernon. ‘We're only there for a few days to do all the finishing touches.’

‘Oh darling, why don’t you take Vernon with you?’ Your mom spoke.

Vernon froze, muscles rigid and eyes wide. Yeah, they must be horrifically oblivious. 

‘No, no I couldn’t.’ 

‘I’d love to!’ 

Oh…oh? Vernon looked at you, trying to piece together whether your answer was just a formality or if that was actual sincerity. But your eyes shared that kindness and willingness that practically says Fuck it, I’m all in.

‘That would be so lovely!’ Vernon's mother exclaimed, smiling graciously at your mom. ‘I know you’ve been bored out of your mind.’

Vernon's brain felt like it had been muddled, actions, signals and emotions tangling into a tight mess inside him. The furrow threatening to dance his brow was resisted harshly as he tried to decipher his mother. What did she want him to do? Would she really be content for him to go? It seemed like all he was reading were mixed messages – the wrath of a silent treatment that had ended just a few hours ago like a mere memory in the wake of this keen woman, who was encouraging Vernon to slip away.

And you – thrown in the middle like a stick in a flowing river. Allowing whatever lapped at you to lead the way. This time, it was Vernon, being thrusted into your downstream flow, and you seemed to be letting him dance on your trail.

‘Are you sure?’ Vernon blinked, watching your face for an answer, not yours or his mother's. Only yours. 

‘Absolutely,’ you reassured him, that same sweet smile on your lips that he’d spent hours tracing in his mind.

ᯓ‎♪ “ AND THOUGH you know what is implied when your room is free, you're feeling lucky ”

It was another day of relentless heat, the southern sun refusing to relieve its citizens of its harsh reign. Birds chirped happily in the towering trees, wings occasionally fluttering and shuddering unsuspecting branches with their movement. The distant hum of an indie rock song rang quietly out of Vernon’s laptop as he combed through his bags, checking for all he’d need for his brief trip to the deeper south.  

Everything had happened very rapidly. From your mother's blissful meet-up to the flirting in aisle six to your mother inviting him to your trip, it seemed the higher beings aligning your fate had their undivided attention on Vernon and you. 

The familiar sound of your horn rang through the open window, and Vernon felt the excitement rise in his chest. Rapidly zipping his duffel bag up, he slung it over one shoulder and bid a hearty goodbye to his parents – who decided to stand on the porch and wave you both off. 

Casually, you leant against the side of your shiny brown pick-up, a flowy blouse and denim shorts dancing on your body as you waved happily to Vernon’s eager parents. The feeling inside him was fit to burst as you stepped towards his approaching figure, ready to engulf him in another of your renowned hugs. 

‘Ready to hit the road, Mr?’ You questioned with a quirk to your lips, your voice tickling his ear before you pulled away and attempted to swipe his bag off him. 

‘Yes, ma'am.’ He shook his head in dismissal at your attempt and placed it into the open trunk. 

‘Drive safe!’ Vernon’s mother called, waving you off joyously as the engine kick-started, the small rumbling drowning out his parents' valedictions. 

‘Ready for eight hours of open road and rock music?’ You joked, adopting a heavy southern accent as the car wound out of the suburban road, houses becoming blurs through the open windows. 

‘Hell yeah.’ He agreed.

‘Your choice of tape.’ You nudged, keeping your eyes glued to the intersection in front.

‘You’re the driver, your choice.’ Vernon argued, opening the glovebox with a click and rifling through it. 

‘Nuh-uh, trust me, once your choice is done, I am absolutely choosing.’ You responded, pushing your sunglasses up your nose as your gaze flickered from the road to Vernon. 

The boy shook his head, an act of disbelief, and began to dig through the tapes – Vernon knew every tape you had, he’d burrowed through your glovebox too many times now, yet he let them clink beneath his fingertips as he chose. 

Without faltering, he placed an MJ Lenderman tape into the player and pressed play, a twangy guitar floating through the cab as you let out a large sigh. 

‘What an amazing pick.’ The music seemed to let your neck slacken as your eyes watched the road down the bridge of your nose, letting the track slither through you. Vernon kept a smile on his cheeks, the sight of your relaxed posture and satisfied expression making him feel somewhat appeased.

‘So, where are the rest of the band?’ He asked curiously. 

‘Taking Mingyu’s van.’ You responded, ‘I’m grateful to not be in that stuffy death trap. I love Gyu like a brother, but holy fuck, he cannot drive.’ Vernon laughed lightly, listening to you intently.

‘Normally, we all pile into his van and try to fit as much of our kit in as possible.’ You explained, ‘but god forbid you hit a pothole.’ 

You exploded into an animated story of Mingyu driving, perhaps recklessly, and causing the van to dip into a pothole – The impact shuddered the van so harshly that a box of handmade merch plummeted off a haphazardly stacked pile of kit and straight onto Minghao’s head. 

‘Hao insisted he had a concussion! He refused to speak to Gyu for three days!’ There was laughter all over your words as you spoke, a gorgeous, toothy grin on your lips. 

‘Did he have a concussion?’ Vernon questioned naively. 

‘Fuck no!’ You said with that same shit-eating grin. ‘When we asked if we should cancel the show, Hao almost hit us.’ 

Conversations sparked from that, Vernon retelling stories of his members and their antics across the sea, you swapping equally embarrassing tales of your bandmates. Vernon’s heart sings to talk fondly of the boys that became his found family, and it screams louder as you curiously ask about them.

Hours whizz by, fields evolving from vivid greens to warm, dusty yellows as the truck travels further south. Those same soaring billboards sprouted in regular intervals, the religious memorabilia scattered across beautiful landscapes like lost property – crucifixes in bustling fields of corn, chapel spires puncturing bright blue skies, church adverts on vehicle bumpers. 

As you stopped for a beverage break – purchasing Vernon an abomination of a slushy that you insisted he had to drink – you stood side by side, head tilted at a bold letter signpost. 

‘A free thinker is Satan’s Slave,’ You spoke almost phonetically, as if the words didn’t make sense aloud. 

‘A very bold statement.’ Vernon said from beside you, lifting the liquid sugar to his lips and sipping slowly. 

‘No, no,’ You said sarcastically. ‘You must consult with god before you dare sip that slushy.’ 

A cheeky grin appeared on Vernon’s face as he poked his tongue through his canines, removing the slushy from his mouth and shaking his head. Next to him, you looked at his drink with an amused expression, raising your eyebrows before moving back towards the truck.

In all of Vernon’s years travelling the globe, he’d never set foot in New Orleans. The daunting highway dissolved into industrial masses before subduing into busy Creole townhouse-clad streets, the road narrowing as you slowed the truck, tapping along to a Malcom Todd song.

‘Welcome to New Orleans!’ You said with a smile, leaning forward with excitement in your eyes. ‘The best city on planet Earth.’ 

‘Whoa,’ Vernon was taken by the wide variety of colour on every street corner, warm hues painted slickly on buildings, healthy greenery sprawling up lampposts and breaking the paving to reach upwards. 

Truly, Vernon had never realised how monotone Seoul could be at times — the practice room walls so devoid of colour that maybe it was depressing to spend days in there on end. 

‘It’s so nice here,’ He muttered, letting his arm hang out into the rays and feeling the gentle breeze through his fingertips. Beside him, you stifled a small laugh, which had Vernon’s head snapping to look at you at almost record speed. ‘What?’ 

‘You’re so nonchalant.’ You said, biting your lip to prevent a giggle from slipping out. 

‘You know what.’ Vernon began, a fake expression of offence on his face as he spoke. ‘That’s actually not the first time I’ve been told that.’

‘It’s not a bad thing!’ You attempted to explain, laughing lightly, a sound that sounded like sweet music to his ears — he couldn’t even fake annoyance at you. 

‘I like being a bit mysterious.’ He shrugged, in the most exasperatingly nonchalant manner, making you squint at him before shaking your head and turning to the road ahead. 

Heat gathered on his cheeks when he felt your gaze resting on his face, his heart practically skipping as you settled your concentration back on the traffic. 

‘Maybe I should try being a bit more nonchalant.’ You jabbed, sliding a cigarette into your lips as you masterfully shifted onto a quieter road. 

Vernon can’t even imagine you being nonchalant. Every inch of you bubbled, your presence drawing attention alone, your laugh so contagious that it would be considered a huge travesty if you were to feign nonchalance even for a minute. 

In front, a broad-shouldered figure turned towards the truck – the distant silhouette performing an obnoxious wave straight towards you both. An excited squeal left your mouth as you muttered, ‘There he is.’ 

As the truck neared, Mingyu’s face was revealed, his hand steadily holding a drum case as he refused to falter in his greeting. Expertly, you parked behind his van, hopping out to jump into his arms eagerly.

Softly swinging the truck door open, Vernon stretched his leg out as if he was testing the waters of this unknown place before diving straight in. The air was definitely thicker here, hotter even, the sun beating down on the tight street viciously, so hot it prickled the hair on the back of his neck as he manoeuvred to join you and Mingyu. 

‘Holy shit, I missed this place.’ You said, looking up with stark appreciation at the towering building. 

The unassuming four-floor structure was nestled tightly amongst balcony-clad French-style townhouses. Painted in a deep yellow, the French-Caribbean fusion-style architecture had tall, sprawling windows, each decorated in dark wooden shutters. Wrought-iron balconies hung over every floor, shading the street from the stinging sun. 

‘It’s just the best place on earth.’ Mingyu agreed, leaning his head onto yours before turning to Vernon. The drummer’s limbs tangled around him, pulling him into a sweaty hug. ‘Hey! Vernon! So excited you’re here!’ 

From afar, Vernon could see you smiling at Mingyu’s outright affection, the taller man a bundle of limbs as he slung his arm around Sol’s shoulder, guiding him inside. 

‘Enjoy your tour!’ You shouted as Mingyu steered Vernon inside the bright house, your voice quietening as the doorway approached.

The townhouse was breathtaking, and Vernon had to stop himself from rubbing his eyes out of disbelief. Below him, burnt orange terracotta tiles stretched across the floor, a dark wooden staircase snatching his attention as it sprawled upwards, various books, sculptures and deliberate trinkets littering the polished wood. The walls that weren’t dominated by climbing plants and abstract art were painted an array of diverse colours – brick reds mingled with bottle greens and dijon yellows kissed midnight blues. In every empty space, a healthy array of plants grew in all directions, trailing down the curved bannisters and hanging from hooks in the ceilings, natural light pouring in from skylights that trapped glowing rays into the hallway area. 

‘Pretty fucking cool, right?’ Mingyu spoke with a smile, swerving Vernon through a curled wooden doorway to reveal a seating area, slits of light slipping through the closed shutters. Yet, an open door let a cool breeze through, the glow of daylight drawing his attention away from the chaise lounges and the reclaimed oak furnishings. 

‘Oh dude, wait until you see this. It’s a fucking dream.’ Mingyu pulled Vernon through the beckoning doorway, an idyllic courtyard creeping into view. Gorgeous evergreen oaks sprawled above, twisting and digging into the building, leaves fluttering in the wind, making sunbeams glitter across the dark red brick paving. Vivid shrubs and sprouting flowers swarmed the space, the intimate courtyard tightly hugged by four towering walls that allowed sunlight to only bleed in from above. 

Sitting with his head slackened under a shaded oak, Soonyoung hummed a quiet tune, his face in a restful expression as he sang to himself. There was an air of tranquillity in his relaxed position, and Vernon was almost afraid to make a noise in fear of disrupting his perfectly still peace. 

‘Hey Moron! There’s more shit to unload!’ From a different doorway that Vernon hadn’t even noticed, you materialised, ripping the peace to shreds instantaneously as you drilled into the once restful guitarist, who now looked like a startled animal as he leaned up abruptly. 

‘Stupid fuck.’ Mingyu laughed, rubbing Soonyoung's shoulder before lightly pushing him away.

Although bewildered, Soonyoung cracked a smile at Vernon, ‘Hey dude.’ The sleepy man clasped Vernon’s hand, pulling him in for what can only be described as a ‘bro’ hug, before disappearing through the doorway you were standing in. 

‘This place is crazy.’ Vernon said, shock permeating his body as he listened to birds chirp playfully above. 

‘Oh dude,’ Mingyu clapped him on the back, ‘It only gets crazier.’

The building was a maze of bedrooms, studios and curious third spaces. Each room more unique and intriguing than the next. Mingyu took his time showing Vernon the studios, messing with expensive guitars and switching a variety of knobs and then dragging him onto creaking balconies that possessed views that stretched miles across the city's skyline. 

Mingyu opened the door to another bedroom — the room adorned with matching cold terracotta flooring that was masked in deep red bohemian rugs, a plush bed centring the room as it faced a set of slim doors, open widely as they ushered a soft breeze into the bedroom. 

‘Oh yeah,’ Mingyu continued to yap, telling a long-winded recollection of a drunken hike up the stairs, the main focus being you. ‘And she was on her hands and fucking knees! She wouldn’t let us carry her!’ 

‘Oi!’ 

Sliding out of an adjacent doorway, you appeared, a strict furrow on your brow as you eyed Mingyu. 

‘I thought we promised to keep that between us!’ You pushed Mingyu lightly, shaking your head in disbelief before apologising to Vernon. ‘Whatever he’s told you is all a lie.’ 

‘Even the Kahlua shooters at the student bar?’ Vernon joked with raised eyebrows, your jaw instantly dropping in shock as you slapped Mingyu's chest, embarrassment penetrating through you. 

‘I’m going to fucking kill you.’ You said, plucking Mingyu’s cap off of his head and sprinting off with it. 

The lanky man laughed loudly, following your footsteps with ease. ‘Kahlua shooter! DUI scooter!’ Mingyu sang along to a mocking MJ Lenderman song, the lyrics making a scream sound down the halls. 

Vernon took this chance to settle his bag in the corner of the bedroom, the distant sound of yours and Mingyu’s tussle muffled as he let himself fall back onto the plush bed, the smooth sheets soft against his body. Silence soon settled throughout the house, and the pull of sleep tugged harshly at him.

Faint chattering forced Vernon to stir, his limbs stiff from his unconventional napping position, the cap still on his head as he shook himself awake. The room had darkened significantly, only the warm glow from the courtyard floors below illuminating the space through the open balcony doors.

The unplanned nap had spanned hours and Vernon felt immensely guilty as he scurried to change – splashing cold water on his face before tugging a hoodie over himself. 

Downstairs, five bodies gathered in the courtyard, leaning on wired chairs lightened by low stringing bulbs that emitted a warm glow across the confined space. The greenery felt like it hugged the circle as Vernon emerged from the doorway, recognising Minghao strumming lightly as Soonyoung and you sang lightly, an identical acoustic being played between your arms.

‘It falls apart, we all work to do.’ Soonyoung took the lead, your voice blending in subtly behind his. ‘It gets dark, we all got work to do.’

It was one thing to watch you perform on stage, but in this intimate space it felt like the world had shrunk and contorted to just be shaped around you and your band. Minghao plucked the strings effortlessly, his eyes flickering between his bandmates with precision, Mingyu bashing his knee to keep the tempo as Soonyoung and you looked at each other, ensuring to keep your voices dancing around the perfect line. 

With a nod from Soonyoung, you begin to sing alongside him, ‘She’s leaving you.’ 

The song repeated, the separate lyrics blending perfectly together as you strummed along to Minghao, his head turning as he silently urged you to stop playing, the end of the song nearing and Soonyoung’s voice quietened – leaving just you to repeat the last two lines in an almost haunting manner.

‘She’s leaving you.’ 

Vernon’s heart thumped as he relished in the sound of your voice, its tone moulded for the three boys you made music with. Vernon believed that maybe this was a platonic soulmate situation; the four of you were like an unstoppable force when you performed. 

Like the music exiting your bodies was second-nature, you bursted into a fit of giggles – A smile cracked on Minghao’s face as he leaned forward to tap your knee excitedly. 

‘Holy shit! That’s so good!’ Soonyoung exclaimed, high-fiving Mingyu with a thrilled expression on both of their faces. Another figure sat in the circle, Vernon too enamoured by your sweet voice to even notice the man who was wedged between Mingyu and you. 

A sixth sense awoke as your eyes met Vernon’s across the garden, face softening as you spotted him. 

‘Vern!’ You beamed, springing up to greet him, causing a shy smile to play on his lips, the expression only widening as you slung your arm around his shoulders.

‘Sorry for conking out, I don’t know what came over me.’ He said to the circle as you ushered him to sit in your spot, you taking up seating on the floor. Whether it was deliberate, Vernon wasn’t sure, but you leaned onto Vernon’s leg, letting your hand brush his calf. 

‘Oh dude, don’t sweat it, Hao was asleep for hours.’ Soonyoung spoke, catching a lighter from across the chairs to light the cigarette in his mouth. 

‘Vernon, meet Chan,’ You spoke. Sat leaning haphazardly on one of the flimsy chairs was a shorter man, his hair jet black and styled into a tousled mullet. His warm and fox-like eyes focused on Vernon, and his defined cheekbones were revealed as he smiled. ‘He’s our producer.’ 

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Chan spoke lightly, nodding at you. 

‘This is his house,’ You explained, squeezing Vernon’s leg as a silent apology for springing everything on him at once. The warmth of your hand against his skin made him tingle, and he looked down to meet your big eyes, doe and wide as you looked at him. 

‘Thank you so much for letting me stay, this place is beautiful.’ Vernon said politely as Chan lit a cigarette, returning the pleasantries. 

The conversation rumbled on, talks of the schedule, what songs needed adjusting, which instruments demanded to be re-recorded, things that required tweaking – but Vernon couldn't quite concentrate on any of the words leaving anyone's lips, his brain hot-wired due to the feeling of your back against his leg, your arm now resting above his kneecap as you sat comfortably. 

There was something so domestic and familiar about how you leaned into him that had his mind doing spirals, your skin raising goosebumps on his with just a simple touch – it was insanity. The feeling of your hand gripping his knee lightly, nails occasionally brushing his skin when you laughed and palm squeezing when people recounted humiliating stories. 

‘Vernon will have good input too,’ Mingyu spoke, drawing Vernon’s attention away from the sight of your hand resting on him and to the beefy drummer. 

‘I agree, it’ll be good to get a fresh set of ears listening to the tracks.’ Minghao contributed, nodding solidly at Vernon, who just smiled willingly – unaware of any topic of conversation being passed around.

In depth conversations about melodies and guitar layering continued, and you turned to Vernon, looking up at him with sweet eyes, fatigue melting into your look as you rested your cheek on his knee.

‘You tired?’ He questioned – the vision in front of him was like a dream come true, the way you relaxed into him instantly making his heart yearn, almost painfully, for more.

‘Mhm,’ You hummed back, closing your eyes momentarily before looking back up at him. ‘I can’t wait for you to hear the tracks tomorrow.’ 

Vernon sharply resisted the urge to run his fingers through your hair, the waves flowing down with messy perfection, a few rogue strands tickling your nose as you breathed. 

‘I can’t wait to hear them.’ He replied, a small smile on his features. ‘You should sleep, it’s late, and you’ve driven for hours.’ 

Reluctantly, you agreed, nodding your head slowly as sleepiness plagued you. ‘Goodnight, family,’ you muttered, ‘don’t give him too harsh an initiation, we have an album to finish.’ 

With that, you lazily patted Vernon’s cheek, your touch lingering for an almost unnoticeable second too long before you disappeared through the doorway, not pausing to look back. 

At this point, Vernon didn’t know if it was all in his head, the elongated touches, the jettisoned pet names, the prolonged glances. Perhaps he was grossly misconstruing your kindness, his own personal feelings making your actions seem motivated. Or maybe, there was a chance that your heart raced for him too. Maybe you had waited eagerly for him to return from his impromptu nap, checking the time and bobbing your leg in anticipation. Was it possible that you felt the sparks that ignited every time his skin met yours? 

The boys swung back into conversation, inviting Vernon eagerly to join in with their jokes and encouraging him to tell them more about his life across the sea. Even with the shyness he held in his throat, there was something comfortable about being around these boys that let Vernon convince himself he didn’t have to worry. 

The hours trailed on, laughs and handshakes shared amongst them, Vernon engaged in deep talks with Chan before a big yawn unknowingly took him over, the night bleeding on above them. 

‘We should call it a night.’ Minghao said, glancing at his watch and grimacing. 

‘You’re so lame, dude.’ Soonyoung protested, sipping the end of his beer and leaning back. 

‘We have to be in the studio in four hours,’ Minghao reminded him, raising his eyebrows with a shake of the head. 

‘Come on Soon, we’ll go out properly on the last night.’ Mingyu convinced the guitarist, standing as if to silently urge Soonyoung to shift out of the chair. Vernon too stood, bidding a quiet goodnight to the boys and trudging through the echoey house to his bedroom.

The building seemed to feel endless at this late time, hallways stretching into dimly lit social spaces and rooms engulfed in darkness. There was a settling type of quiet that was unfamiliar to Vernon, the reassuring feeling of having so many bodies a room away completely foreign in this big townhouse. 

When Vernon's head hit the pillow, the faint smell of detergent wafting up his nose, all he could think of was you. His brain was riddled by the way you stayed so close to him, the sensation of your hand on his leg, the tingling along his spine when you looked into his eyes. He was confused – but he welcomed it, he welcomed the excitement he felt when he saw you and eagerly anticipated the butterflies that brewed when you spoke with one another.