#kanghyun

on a wednesday afternoon, choi beomgyu stood in front of an old industrial building, looking up at a second-floor window.

faded soundproofing foam was plastered against the glass, and the intermittent sound of an electric guitar drifted out—someone was tuning up, playing what sounded like the intro to eva o's 'angel of death.' they stopped halfway through, followed by a burst of laughter and good-natured heckling.

beomgyu took a deep breath and pushed open the rusted iron door.

the stairwell smelled of old wood and dust; the walls were covered in band graffiti—some stickers, some marker scrawls, and a line painted in correction fluid: 'nocturne rehearsal room' accompanied by a crooked arrow. he followed the arrow up to the second floor. at the end of the hallway stood a door left slightly ajar.

beomgyu knocked twice.

the door was yanked open—martin was standing right there, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment; his eyes lit up, and he pulled beomgyu inside.

"you're the college student who wants us as his assignment right? yn hyung told us all about you!" martin’s voice was two octaves higher than it was on stage. he clapped beomgyu on the shoulder with enough force to make him stumble back half a step. "come on in, come on in—don't just stand there, have a seat; there's a stool over there—wait, no, that one's broken, take mine instead—"

"martin." a low voice came from the other side of the room. kanghyun was sitting behind the drum kit, drumsticks still in hand, speaking in a measured, unhurried tone: "give the guy a chance to breathe."

martin made an exaggerated 'zipping my lips' gesture.

beomgyu glanced around the space. it was larger than he’d imagined, with walls covered in soundproofing foam and posters—bauhaus, siouxsie and the banshees, the sisters of mercy, and a few others he didn't recognize. piled in the corner were speakers, cables, a cardboard box stuffed with snacks, and a black knit hat that someone had left behind.

gaon was squatting in the corner, tinkering with his pedalboard; he glanced up at beomgyu and gave a brief nod of greeting before going back to unscrewing and re-screwing an overdrive pedal.

as for yn—

yn was leaning against the wall, cradling a black fender bass. when he saw beomgyu walk in, the corners of his mouth twitched—a movement so subtle it was barely perceptible—but beomgyu caught it.

"you're here."

"yeah." beomgyu gripped the strap of his shoulder bag. "i'm here."

martin had settled back onto the sofa—though calling it a sofa was a stretch; it was actually an old upholstered couch with its original color long gone and half its springs likely broken. he patted the spot next to him, signaling for beomgyu to sit. beomgyu hesitated before sitting down, and sure enough, the sofa sank under his weight.

"so," martin said, clasping his hands over his knees as if conducting a formal interview, "remind me—what was your name again?"

"…beomgyu. choi beomgyu."

"beomgyu," martin repeated earnestly. "good name. alright, beomgyu—what exactly does this assignment entail? what are we supposed to do? strike poses? record audio? or…"

"martin." yn spoke up; his tone was even quieter than kanghyun’s had been earlier, yet martin actually fell silent, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

yn walked over from the wall, placed his bass on the stand, and pulled up another stool to sit opposite beomgyu. his movements were natural, as if that spot had always belonged to him.

"i filled the others in yesterday," yn said, tilting his chin toward the other three. "gave them the gist of it. you're… just here to observe our rehearsal and take some notes, right?"

beomgyu nodded and pulled a notebook and pen from his bag. he had actually brought a digital voice recorder, but for some reason, it felt too formal to take it out right now—maybe he’d save that for next time. "right, i won't disturb your rehearsal; i'll just sit to the side and watch, maybe jot a few things down. just carry on as usual…" he paused, then added, "…pretend i'm not here."

martin immediately chimed in, "that’s impossible—how could i just pretend we don't have audience?"

gaon finally finished setting up his effects pedals, walked over to the armchair next to martin, and sat down, crossing his legs. "he means he wants us to stop acting."

"i'm not acting!" martin thumped his chest. "i'm always genuine!"

kanghyun let out an ambiguous snort from behind the drum kit—something that clearly implied, "are you sure?" martin immediately turned to look at him. "what was that snort for—"

"alright." yn clapped his hands; the sound wasn't loud, but the room seemed to fall instantly silent, as if a mute button had been pressed. martin shut his mouth, gaon uncrossed his legs, and kanghyun twirled a drumstick in his hand.

beomgyu looked down and opened his notebook, the tip of his pen resting against the paper. he began to write.

yn stood up, walked to the center of the room, and glanced around at everyone.

"here’s the order for today. let's run through 'gallowdance' first; last time, the entry into the second chorus was late—martin, watch out for that." he made a cueing gesture in the air with his fingers. "then 'echoes of silence'—gaon, tweak the delay effect on the intro; it sounded a bit muddy last time. finally, we'll run through the new song twice."

martin sprang up from the sofa. "'echoes of silence'! that's my favourite—no, wait, i love them all—"

"you go off-key every time you sing the line 'i have waited an eternity'," gaon said deadpan.

"i do not!"

"you do." kanghyun calmly delivered the final blow from behind the drums. "you two…" martin clutched his chest, feigning injury. "yn, keep them in line…"

yn had already picked up his bass and was slinging the strap over his shoulder; he didn't even look up as he replied, "you did run off."

martin let out an exaggerated wail, and gaon and kanghyun laughed in unison. beomgyu looked down and jotted notes in his notebook.

then he looked up at yn, who was focused on his instrument.

yn plucked the strings a couple of times to check the tuning, frowned slightly, and turned the tuning peg half a rotation. his movements were intent; his fingertips danced along the fretboard with an almost instinctive proficiency.

beomgyu added another line to his notebook.

"alright, let's come in from the verse." yn looked up at martin. "stand in the center—don't turn your back on the drums."

martin obediently took his spot.

"gaon, step two paces to the left; the cable is long enough."

gaon shifted two steps to the left, guitar in hand.

"kanghyun…" yn began, but didn't finish.

"i know—keep the fills light in the second section, don't drown out the bass." kanghyun cut him off, his tone carrying that resigned air of, we've been playing together for years; do you really still need to tell me this?

the corner of yn's mouth quirked up. "then prove it."

kanghyun rolled his eyes, but beomgyu noticed he was smiling as he twirled his drumsticks. then yn counted off three beats—"one, two, three"—tapping out the rhythm with his foot; kanghyun’s drumsticks came down, gaon’s guitar cut in, and martin’s voice emerged, weaving through the bassline.

it was a song beomgyu couldn't name. dark and damp, like a flickering streetlight in a rain-slicked alley at midnight. martin’s vocal style transformed completely for this track—on stage, he was a boisterous performer, but now, with his eyes closed, his voice was low and restrained, every trailing note carrying just the right amount of vibrato.

beomgyu held his breath instinctively.

the guitar lines were like twisting vines, the drums like distant, rumbling thunder, while the bass—yn’s bass—served as the foundation of that dark alley, firmly anchoring every sound; it was understated, yet without it, everything would collapse.

as the section ended, martin opened his eyes and glanced back at kanghyun. "i didn't rush the tempo this time, did i?"

"you didn't," kanghyun acknowledged. "but you put too much force into the 'velvet tongue' line in the second verse—ease up a bit."

martin took an exaggerated deep breath and adjusted his stance. nearby, gaon was hunched over, tweaking his effects pedal.

yn walked over to gaon and bent down to look at his pedalboard. the two of them huddled close; yn pointed to a specific knob and said something in a voice too low for beomgyufankui to catch. gaon nodded, turned the knob a quarter-turn, and played the intro again—this time, the delay effect rippled out like water, sounding far clearer than before.

"much better." yn straightened up and gave gaon a casual pat on the shoulder.

gaon didn't say a word, but beomgyu noticed him tilt his head slightly toward yn—a gesture of trust that needed no language.

the rehearsal continued. beomgyu's pen scratched across the paper, pausing occasionally as he looked up to watch. he noticed that whenever martin ran into a snag, he would glance at yn first, as if asking, 'did i get that wrong?' yn might nod, shake his head, or simply raise an eyebrow, and martin would immediately adjust himself accordingly. that kind of rapport wasn't built overnight.

gaon and martin were on opposite sides of the room, yet they would banter right across the open space. after martin finished a verse, gaon would suddenly chime in with, "your pitch was actually okay on that line," prompting martin’s eyes to light up as he shot back, "hyung finally complimented me?"—only for gaon to immediately add, "but the next line was a mess." one would laugh while the other rolled their eyes, and kanghyun would shout from behind the drum kit, "here we go, here we go—stop chatting."

as for kanghyun—beomgyu noticed that during breaks, yn would walk over to the drum kit and lean against the rack; the two didn't say much. once, kanghyun handed yn a bottle of water; yn took a sip, and they shared a quiet, one-second glance. nothing was said, yet that sillence held a deep sense of familiarity.

beomgyu wrote a line on the paper, then crossed it out.

he wrote another. in the end, he left only one sentence.

during a break, martin finally couldn't resist leaning over to look at beomgyu’s notebook: "what are you writing—"

beomgyu instinctively snapped the notebook shut, and martin immediately stepped back, raising his hands: "sorry, sorry—i won't look—"

"it's nothing secret." beomgyu felt a bit sheepish himself as he opened the notebook again. "…just some random notes. the way you guys interact, the rehearsal flow, the atmosphere, that sort of thing."

martin peeked at the page and froze.

"…you wrote that my voice has more depth in the lower register than the high one?"

he looked up, wearing an expression that was a strange mix of pride and being deeply touched.

"this—this is the first time anyone’s ever written something like this about me—" he rubbed his nose. "gaon hyung, come look at this—"

"i'm not looking." gaon stayed where he was, squatting down to untangle some cables. "just take a look—"

"no."

"kanghyun—"

"rehearsal." kanghyun raised his drumsticks and tapped the snare twice. "break's over."

martin let out an exaggerated sigh but stepped back to the microphone. beomgyu noticed him puffing out his chest a little as he moved into position.

before the next song started, yn walked over to beomgyu. beomgyu looked up, and beomgyu handed him an unopened bottle of water.

"want some?"

beomgyu took it. "thanks."

beomgyu didn't leave immediately; instead, he stood beside beomgyu and watched the other three for a moment—martin was arguing with gaon about something, while kanghyun was adjusting the height of his cymbals. his gaze lingered on each of them for a second or two; his expression was neutral, yet the corners of his mouth held a faint, subtle curve.

"they're pretty noisy," yn said, without a hint of complaint in his tone.

beomgyu unscrewed the cap. "…how long have you guys been together?"

yn thought for a moment. "with this lineup? three years. but i've known martin the longest, when we were both young; gaon joined later, last year of highschool, and kanghyun hyung was the last to come on board." he paused. "we’ve had a few lineup changes, but this one…"

he stopped for a beat.

"…this one is just right."

just then, martin finally gave up arguing with gaon and shouted over to them, "yn hyung! come check out this chord—i think we should drop it half a step—"

he turned around. "no dropping it. last time we did, you couldn't hit the high notes."

"i can!"

"your voice cracked during the third verse last time."

"that was because i had a cold—"

"you say that every time."

gaon burst into laughter nearby, chuckling so hard he crouched down on the floor. even kanghyun grinned.

martin’s face flushed red, but he eventually muttered, "fine, fine, have it your way," and turned to check his lyric stand.

yn walked back to the center of the room, casually flicking the back of gaon’s head as he passed. gaon clutched his head and glared up at him, while yn wore a look of utter innocence. "you hit me."

"no, i didn't."

"you flicked me."

"i have no idea what you're talking about."

gaon stood up and raised his guitar as if to smash it over yn—though, of course, he didn't actually do it. the two of them glared at each other across the gap of the guitar, then burst out laughing in unison.

martin chimed in from the sidelines, "this is just a typical day for our band, beomgyu hyung, brawling and fighting—"

"shut up,"

"quiet,"

gaon and yn said in unison.

martin mimed being shot and collapsed back onto the sofa.

kanghyun, sitting calmly behind the drums, asked, "can you two finish this little act before the next song?"

"sure." yn walked back to his spot and picked up his bass. he glanced around the room, his gaze sliding from martin to gaon, then to kanghyun, before finally resting on beomgyu, who was sitting in the corner.

"from the top," yn started, "watch the tempo and take it slow."

the drumsticks came down.

the bassline unfurled like mist rising from the earth—slow, dark, and carrying a solemnity that felt almost ritualistic. martin’s voice blended in—a true, low croon this time—while gaon’s guitar wove a delicate web of sound over the top, and kanghyun’s drumming kept a steady, heartbeat-like rhythm.

beomgyu didn't put pen to paper.

he simply sat there, listening.

taglist: @jianurl @the0p

This is one of those pieces where you start out with a plan, then you crash and burn (hah) and then rethink everything before starting again.

I wanted to draw Hoon as a thank you for the comfort his voice has brought me throughout the past 5 years. Onewe was my first venture into Korean music, and will always be my first love. (I do hope to one day bring the original piece to life 💌)

This is also my first ever collab!! Big, big thanks to Ash for being a fab host and huge shoutout to the artists for showing so many beautiful interpretations of Icarus. It‘s been so much fun getting to collab with other Weve and watching all of the artworks come to life 🪽🌟

Go show them all some love!💌