#captain beagle

The first time he came to Beijing with the M members Luhan showed them a dingy little bar he knew about. He had friends who would go there and perform to a crowd of people that couldn’t care less if you had talent or not, they weren’t there to be entertained. They were lonely, empty and hollow and cold, wanting nothing more than to find something to fill them up even if it were just for an hour. The bar ran on a trust system where you kept track of your own drinks and paid when you were ready to go, and it worked. Because this was all they had, the only place that welcomed strangers and kept them strangers between meaningless hook ups and and exchanges of prescription bottles. None of the others really took to the place, even Luhan wasn’t wild about it, but Jongdae fell in love. He loved the anonymity even if you were a regular. He loved the atmosphere, secluded yet united in a common feeling of desperation and loss and protection. He felt creative there, almost like he was meant to be there. He never found another place like it when they returned to Korea and it became another keychain weighing in on his heart, something he can look at while waiting to cross the street and wish that maybe if he’s lucky he can go back.

It was located in one of the skinny streets packed with cheap family owned restaurants and convenience stores where no one but one or two locals tended to be at a time. There was no sign to point it out, but there was always a tired looking man standing out front stubbing out cigarettes and lighting new ones. Jongdae wondered if he ever left that spot since last he was here, or if he was a fixture here forever going through his endless supply of nicotine that likely made up his bloodstream. 

It was as it always had been. A soft whisper filled the empty spaces of the room, a woman idly playing on the mini slot machine at the end of the bar, and two people who probably forget the other exists except for the nights they walk through the doors of the bar were busy leaving the taste of each other’s mouth coated on their tongue. Jongdae didn’t need the sunglasses sitting snugly on the bridge of his nose, but it was a comforting extra precaution in case anyone were to recognize him on the street and followed him into the home away from home. A boy looking younger than him was sitting at the dusty piano at the front, singing something about stillness and the need for a hectic life so he didn’t have to face it. Jongdae settled at one of the tables closest to the wall, a clear green bottle in hand. The bartender didn’t even glace at him after opening the bottle and handing it over. It was nice not having eyes on him all the time. The kid continued with his fear of stillness, of being alone, of having to face the thoughts that bounced around his head and screamed for attention when he had nothing he needed to do. And Jongdae understood. He understood the fear of stillness, of absolutely silence that magnified the negativity held snugly in the back of his mind that he knew wasn’t important but still carried around because he always had. 

He let the sounds seep under his skin, settle in the marrow of his bones again and comfort him like it was where it was meant to be. The drink was dry over his tongue and the flavor clung to his throat. Tomorrow was the last concert, then they have a month without such a hectic schedule, and part of him was afraid. He was afraid of waking up to nothing, to feeling nothing, to letting the negativity slip out and kiss over his skin and leave burns behind. He was afraid of becoming like the patrons of the bar; empty. Alone. Desperate for some sort of validation to their existence. 

A body slipped in the seat next to him, holding a green bottle of his own, black hair peeking out from the hat on his head. He nodded slowly along to the musician’s song before turning and tapping his bottle to Jongdae’s. The tink of the glass echoed loudly, but aroused zero attention to them.

"Happy birthday, man."

"Why are you not at the hotel?" Luhan sat back in the chair, swinging a leg over the other so his ankle rested over his knee. 

"I grabbed dinner with a friend after your mini celebration. Suho woke up to use the bathroom and noticed you were gone and freaked so he texted me to come find you. Wasn’t much of a search." Jongdae let out a humored huff of air and took another swig of his beer. He watched the condensation collect at his fingers.

"I’m impressed," Luhan continued. "I didn’t think you would find your way here alone. You barely know Beijing." Jongdae shrugged.

"You just don’t forget some things, I guess." Luhan nodded, turning his body to face him. 

"Wouldn’t it be nice to go somewhere new though?" it was Jongdae’s turn to nod. "Just for the fuck of it. Go to Boston and taste the seafood there, Tao would love that. Go to Australia and learn to surf." Luhan frowned. "If only you didn’t have to use airplanes." Jongdae’s chuckled as Luhan grumbled about giant metal death tubes being a more accurate name. They grew silent, focus back on the kid singing, this time about home. About his family and friends and being away from them. Familiarity creeped back into his chest. Luhan lightly slapped at his forearm, lifting himself from the seat.

"Why don’t we head back? I’d hate to give Junnie a bigger reason to scold us, I didn’t even tell him I found you yet." Jongdae stood and walked over to the bar, threw enough money for both him and Luhan, and trailed back to the door. He took one last turn to the kid at the front, all cheekbones and square jaw. They locked eyes for a moment and shared a smile, the corners of his mouth upturned and eyes hopeful and excited and nervous.