And I Blink in Sight of Your Blinding Light
chapter 2 - Lara fucking Raj
tw: mild violence, graphic descriptions of violence (broken nose)
By the eighth unanswered call from Mary, Sam was tempted to eat all the food out of spite.Â
He could turn around and go home, because he did tell Mary to wait for him downstairs. But if Mary was stuck in rehearsal with her ex Dumb Ryan in charge, she was already having a bad enough day. Plus, if theyâve been at it since this morning, the girls must also be pretty burnt out.Â
He could leave the food with the security guard downstairs. But his friend isnât on shift; the other guard is. Carl, the one who always asks for ID twice or frowns more than usual if Sam hasnât shaved his beard. Sam is too tired for that today.Â
And maybe he is too, since he hasnât tapped on his window to ask why Samâs been sitting in the car longer than their unwritten twenty-five-minute accord.Â
He calls a ninth time. He waits long enough that the container on top isnât warm anymore, the plastic lid fogged with tiny droplets. He rolls his eyes. âDie With a Smileâ starts playing on the radio for the fifth time, and he briefly thinks about staying in the car with the engine running.Â
Sam knows he should go up. He knows how exhausting it is to have assholes for coaches and schedules that are probably not fully legal. Mary has talked about the girls so much that he feels adjacently responsible enough. Theyâre hungry, tired, and, well, under the all-familiar pressure he knows too well. Fuck.Â
It would be nice to see Sophia again.Â
âScrew it,â he mutters to himself. He turns off the car and slams his door hard enough to make it clear to Carl that he is not in the mood for his bullshit. But Carl must really not care (not with Samâs very intimidating Cars Crocs, dobok loose at the waist, and plastic bags cutting into his arms) because he gets up from his deck to wait for Sam at the door.Â
âChoi,â he looks annoyed. Great. âDo you have a badge?âÂ
âDo you?âÂ
Carl just rolls his eyes and seems to decide to let it go. Sam eyes him warily as Carl calls for the elevator and waits awkwardly next to him.Â
âSecond floor, take the hallway to your left and the first door to the right.â Carl doesnât leave room for Sam to give a sarcastic comeback, just slides his badge over the pad and presses the button â2.âÂ
The elevator is glass. Everything in the building seems to be all glass, really. Call it Korean modernism or an eerie warning that youâre always being watched. Itâs enough to distract Sam until the elevator dings again and he thinks about it. Heâs already inside. Maybe he could share the food with Carl?Â
âDonât be stupid,â and heâs talking to himself again. Great.Â
He follows Carlâs instructions, and suddenly heâs frozen in front of the door that says âKATSEYEâS Rehearsal Room 1â because of course there are others. When was the last time he was in a studio? He can hear a piano running scales-- E Major, he thinks to himself-- and voices trying for a perfect harmony. He peeks his head in the window and tries to find Mary but only notices Sophia, who is standing near the piano, back straight and eyes tired.Â
She stops abruptly the second their eyes meet. He watches her lips go âOh my God, oh my God,â and Dumb Ryanâs hands stop on the piano, his dumb head turning to see him on the door. They probably roll their eyes at the same time.Â
Sophia opens the door for him, shrieks his name, and almost topples them both overâfood and everything. She wraps her arms around him, and he kind of forgets about his annoyance. He missed her.Â
As soon as she lets go of him, she punches his arm. Hard. âThatâs for not taking so long.â She punches his other arm before he can move. âAnd thatâs for not visiting me once.âÂ
âDamn, Sophie. I missed you too.âÂ
Sam places the bags on the nearest table, mostly to avoid Sophia's turns, and claps once, loud enough to shift the room. âGuys, this is Sam. My bestie since we were, like, twelve.âÂ
The girls turn toward him in near-unison, and for half a second it seems automatic, the way they smile and wave like itâs a fan meeting. The muscle memory of meeting strangers when youâre running on empty.Â
Sam recognizes that face. The fan-meeting face. He hates that he recognizes it.Â
Sam bows, and Sophia introduces them one by one, and itâs more remembering for Sam because Mary sometimes sleeps with their merch. Rants about every live the girls do and âCan you believe they saidâŠâ followed by something that would have had Sam grounded for a month. Thereâs posters too big to match the aesthetic of the penthouse so they just rest against random walls.Â
So, sure, he knows who Lara fucking Raj is.Â
But when Sophia says, âThis is Laraâ and uselessly points her out, itâs like Samâs seeing her for the first time. Because oh.Â
Thereâs no fireworks or butterflies or love at first sight. Itâs this sudden, violent absence of noise. Like someone finally reached into his skull and turned off the months-long static he wasnât even aware of.Â
Lara Raj looks tired. Like sheâs been doing runs and choreo since 9 a.m., retouched her makeup every other hour, and put on a smile because thereâs nowhere else sheâd rather be. Standing there like someone who knows they belong here.Â
The girls thank him for the food; he knows that. But he only smiles, bows suddenly remembering his manners when Lara says, âOh my God, itâs so nice to finally meet you. Mary talks about you all the time.âÂ
Mary? Right, Mary. His sister. What, sister? He nods once, because words are temporarily unavailable, and watches Lara start unpacking the food.
Manon is giving him a look, like sheâs trying to access his thoughts, which would be scary if he had any right now. Daniela smiles briefly before stuffing her mouth with a breadstick, Megan waves from where her face is way too close to the microwave --why is there a kitchen in the rehearsal room?-- and Yoonchae looks at him with bright eyes. She opens her mouth to speak when Dumb Ryanâs voice snaps him back to the room.Â
âAlright, thatâs enough.â Ryan claps once, like itâs supposed to mean much. âYou can eat after rehearsal. Letâs get back to work.âÂ
âRyan, itâs 5 p.m. Theyâve been here since this morning.âÂ
Ryan does that thing that has always annoyed Sam since the moment Mary introduced him as her boyfriend four months ago. That little breathy laugh at nothing, not even a full laughâjust huh through the nose. Like your presence is amusing enough. âChoi, you canât walk into my rehearsal and tell me how to run it.âÂ
âIâm not telling you what to do,â Sam says evenly. âIâm just saying, being humane canât hurt you that much?âÂ
Ryan turns to sit again, like thatâs that. âLetâs run again.âÂ
Sam watches the girls swallow before they managed to grab, eyes flickering to Sam and then Sophia. They get back to running harmonies like nothing happened, but Sam sees the way their eye flicker to the clock and the bags on the table.Â
He should leave, logically, he knows that. He should probably find where the hell Mary is. But Dumb Ryan gets on his nerves again. âNo, no--â his voice is sharp. âThat pitch is flat. Youâre pushing from your throat, Megan, come on.âÂ
Sam does the mature thing and leans close to Ryan, reading the sheet music with his head almost on Ryanâs shoulder. He hears one of the girls snort. âCan I help you?âÂ
âThatâs not a pitch issue,â Sam says. âItâs breath support. Maybe donât ask them to sustain without reset. Theyâre tired.âÂ
Really, Sam isnât usually like this. Heâs polite, mostly. Too Korean to be a brat. But Dumb Ryan always brought the worst of him, and heâs particularly not fond of people who justify a poor attitude with whatever made-up title they think gives them power.Â
âSam, please,â Ryan says, smile thin. âI didnât ask for a Broadway dropout to assist my sessions.âÂ
âThen maybe donât run your sessions like you want them to drop out too.âÂ
Sophia calls his name, raises an eyebrow heâs familiar with: behave.Â
Ryanâs nose flares, and he looks around to check whoâs witnessing his humiliation. Sam tightens the black belt around his waist, a thoughtless tug, muscle memory recall of technique. Maybe thatâs what sets Ryan off.Â
Some unconscious, animal thing. Posturing without meaning to.Â
Sam doesnât see the punch coming.Â
Itâs fast and sloppy-- all shoulder and ego. Sam briefly thinks about poor technique. Then thereâs the dull crack-- wet, like knuckles hitting cartilage instead of bone. Pressure caves his face inward, familiar and sharp, and everything is a mess of heat and tears and red.Â
Heâs taken enough kicks to the face to know better than to panic. Tastes like iron. Feels it warm against his upper lip, already dripping. He laughs onceâdisbelieving, mostly-- even as his eyes burn with tears.
If he were Ryan, and his hand probably wasnât broken, heâd swing again just for that.Â
Ryan swears loudly, clutching his hand.Â
Sophia is between them instantly, one hand on Samâs chest, the other trying to look at his nose. âJesusâSamââ
He lets her see because heâs ruined her day enough as it is. She tilts his head back and the blood falls on his mouth. He feels it when he grins at Ryan. âHey, you good?â
Dumb Ryan glares.Â
âBecause,â Sam adds lightly. âI think you broke your hand.âÂ
note: fun one to write, hope you like it!!
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