record store blues - showhyung
Hyungwon remembers the times when he was younger, where he'd sneak into the garage when his mother wasn't home and sift through all his father's old vinyls. There were crates upon crates, packed up tight with records of varying genres. There were varying years, varying artists--anything that you could possibly think of Hyungwon could find if he tried hard enough.
It was a never ending collection, kept in the garage ever since his father passed away.
Now, his dad had passed a while ago--when Hyungwon had turned six to be exact. It was hard on both his mother and himself, but at least Hyungwon had the veil of youth over his eyes. He didnât understand how serious of a situation it was until he was older, when his mother became increasingly depressed and seemingly lost in her own mind, but at the time Hyungwon just didnât understand what it was. He didnât understand what death truly meant and adjusted rather differently than she did. Even though it hurt him, Hyungwon tries to keep an optimistic look on his face.
Initially, she'd check in on him, ask how he was doing and how he was feeling. Hyungwon always curled himself on the leather recliner in the living room, missing his father but never being outwardly sad--watching his favorite cartoon in the exact spot that he would see his father sit every morning and ask himself why his dad wasnât coming home. He masks the pain so that his mother wonât worry about him. Â Gradually, it got less and less often that his mother would check up on him, not that she didnât care--it was just that she couldnât keep ripping her wounds open like that. Eventually, every trace of his father moves to the garage--the topic of Papa Chae being buried in the spare room along with his motherâs feelings about the subject.
There was a point in time where even mentioning his name wasnât allowed, which could explain why every single one of his belongings stood in the spare room untouched. From shampoo, to clothing, to the very same recliner that Hyungwon had found himself curling into years before, Hyungwon had to pretend that it all disappeared--and it did if he didnât open the wooden door that led to the spare room.
He knows now that his mother wouldnât get rid of a single thing in that spare room. No matter how much it hurt, she wouldnât give any of it up and it was easier to pack it away where she didnât have to look at it directly and be reminded of what used to be.
He found himself in front of that old wooden door, staring at it like it was a constant looming threat. âDonât go in there,â his mother tells him sternly, every afternoon before she headed off to work, âDonât go in there, Hyungwon.â Sheâll kiss him on the forehead and head right out of the door, waving at him before she got in her car and drove to work.
He was never allowed to open the door, but it was always so very tempting to do so.
One day, when his curiosity got the better of him--and he was feeling rather rebellious--he opens the door. Twelve years old and his mother had gone to work, twelve years old and alone in the house with a burning itch that he needs to scratch. Normally, heâd lock himself in his motherâs room while she was out and watch cartoons. He enjoyed the feeling of soft pillows on his back and the opportunity to watch TV in bed, all while keeping himself safer than watching TV in the living room where a large window would be broadcasting to strangers and robbers Iâm alone in this house, come get me. He didnât understand why he thought it was safer, no--he just let things happen the way they normally happened and never questioned it.
On the day he called Hyungwon Liberation Day, he waited for the sound of the carâs engine roaring to life and peeks out of the blinds subtly until she drives away, and makes his escape to the spare room. There was no apprehension, no hesitation or fear as his tiny hand wraps around the doorknob and twists it open. There was no pausing when he went through the doorframe and stepped forward. There were boxes piled up to the ceiling with old stuff and Hyungwon saw the armchair he used to curl  himself into.
He knows that he canât, and shouldnât, pull a lot of stuff out at once; he only had a limited amount of time and he had to put everything back the way he found them--he knew that for a fact. His eyes scanned over everything, processed that this was his fatherâs entire life packed in cardboard boxes and hung on hangers. Everything that made his father unique, everything that made him who he was--itâs all here, all in the spare room with the old wooden door, and Hyungwon couldâve seen it all way earlier if he had gone into the room earlier.
Everything was hidden away in the dark, collecting dust, when Hyungwon was far more interested in what was in here than the stuff he had outside.
Hyungwon slowly made his way over to the armchair, running his hands along the headrest. He thought about sitting right in the center of the chair, but something else grabbed his attention. On the adjacent wall he saw something that caught his eye.
The records. The records were in plastic crates and there were almost as many of those crates as there were boxes. He wasnât quite sure how he missed them when he walked in.
He picks the crate with the smallest amount of records in them--the easiest one to drag to the center where he was sitting, criss cross applesauce. He takes each individual one out of the crate, staring at the cover art--turning them over to look at the list of the songs and when they were released. It looks like his father had over two hundred of them, varying in genre from psychedelic to metal, and Hyungwon was in awe. He took out another crate, the one labeled American Imports , and sifts through those as well. Looking at it all made him feel like he knew more about his father, made him feel more in touch with him than he ever had since he lost him.
He wonders if heâll ever get to listen to them.
Heâs just finished going through the third crate, reaching for the forth, when he hears the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. He hastily packed everything away, hiding a few in his baggy hoodie, and left it exactly how he found it--even though, now that he thought about it, his mother would probably not ever notice considering she never comes into the room after packing it all up.
As quickly as he can, he rushes out of the spare room and dashes across the house to where heâs expected to be, but not before hiding the records under his bed.
He seizes every opportunity to sneak back in after that. It turns out that the Leeâs have a record player that he can use and, every time he went to see Jooheon, heâd bring two or three in his bag with him. When he turned seventeen, he finally had enough money to buy his own and bought it, sneaking it into the house with Jooheon and Changkyunâs help.
Even when his mother saw the sleek black player and a record holder right beside it, she let him keep it--but it was still a secret that the vinyls that were encased in the record holder were his dadâs.
And it wasnât the music on its own that he enjoyed, because if he wanted to listen to Motley Crue, Shin Joong Hyun, and Kim Jungmi he could easily find the songs online and download them to his phone whenever he felt like listening to them. In fact, that would probably be easier so that his mother wouldnât beat him for taking the vinyls out of the spare room, but that wasnât he found joy in.
He loves the rhythmic tick tick tick of a vinyl fresh out of music on one side, before he flips it over and listens to whatever songs are on the back of it. It was different. It made him feel like he was going back in time.
The best thing, however, was the closeness it brought him to his father.
His father obviously had a great passion for music, and had a passion for collecting if the over two hundred vinyls in great condition were anything to go by. Hyungwon felt like he was getting a legacy passed down to him and took it into his hands graciously. It was his job to take care of the records now and, in a way, he felt like he was making his father proud.
Hyungwon felt like, at the time, he was learning more about his father than he had when he was alive. He was learning more through the music than he ever would by asking his mother, who still thought the subject was a little too raw to talk about even almost fourteen years after it happened. He wonders if heâd ever talk to his mom about his dad, but doesnât think it would happen.
She didnât seem ready. It wasnât something Hyungwon wants to force her to talk about if she wasnât ready to do so.
Hyungwon gets better at sneaking around, turning the volume down to a near whisper--just enough to hear it quietly from the confines of the four walls of his room. It was only for off days, when he was feeling sad or lost; when he was particularly worn out; if the memory of losing his dad was too hard to handle and he needed something to remember him by other than the sadness and tragedy of his death. At first, the vinyls were played every third week of the month like  He plays vinyls from the box labeled Favorites on his fatherâs birthday, feeling enveloped by the consolation of the music. Â
He figures that his mom hasnât caught him on the bad days, why would she even care about the good days? And that began MusicGate: where Hyungwon barely spent time apart from the stereo in his small room, listening almost entirely to vinyls that didnât belong to him and trying to connect with his father through the only thing he left behind before being taken from his son and wife.
He didnât know how far he was going to get before his mother caught on--before she throws all his records and his vinyl player into the spare room and locks it up with a key, angry with him for even thinking about taking the vinyls that belonged to his father out of the spare room--but Hyungwon takes all he can while heâs allowed.
And the obsession with music grows when heâs twenty, as he bikes almost forty five minutes from his house to a record shop that was in need of employees.
Changkyun tips him off about the job, making it fact that his older brotherâs record shop needs a new employee and that he could put in a good word for him. He wasnât below begging for a job, especially since he frequents the shop so much that Changkyunâs brother knows when heâll show up down to the second, but he applies calmly and as level-headedly as he could considering he knew he was going to get paid minimum wage.
The opportunity was perfect, really.
And of course, it leads back into the now; into the three years later, where Hyungwon is still employed at that old record store with the door as red as a firetruckâs paint job. He still loves the job. Every single day of it, even if some old men that come in here get on his goddamn nerves--they come in with their leather jackets and sunglasses indoors and look at Hyungwon, immediately assuming that he knew jack shit about âtheirâ kind of music and that he was only working here because it was convenient for him to do so.
If Hyungwon was going to work anywhere out of convenience, he wouldnât be working at a store that takes forty-five minutes to bike to. He couldâve gotten a job at the grocery store five minutes from his house if he was looking to gain the pleasure of convenience, or had gotten his higher education and a job that paid well. As much as he adores the shop, the pay was garbage and it took a long time to get here.
It was pretty satisfying when those decrepit old men tested Hyungwonâs knowledge on eighties rock music and he absolutely destroyed them. He answers all  the questions with ease and revels in the fact that--no, he wasnât just some pretty boy working in a record shop--he knew what he was talking about and was qualified to be here. It never fails to trigger a certain kind of smugness from deep within him as he proves one of them wrong. Although, he canât complain much about the know-it-alls. At least theyâre not the hipsters, who donât even come into the store to buy anything--only to take their aesthetic polaroid pictures and leave.
That was beyond frustrating.
He expects the two guys who just walked in to be like that. Both their backs are turned towards him, and when the bell dings, Hyungwon greets a half assed, âWelcome to Im Records, if you need help finding anything let me know,â because if they werenât going to appreciate the place, why did he have to give a hundred percent?
The taller of the two, tanned in a leather jacket and--wait, was that a Weezer t-shirt? Hyungwon fucked with Weezer hardcore--black skinny jeans waves a polite wave at him, bowing his head slightly while his friend, pink hair with a solid black t-shirt and combat boots, saunters over to the music magazines and flips through them.
Hyungwon isnât trying to be nosy, but with how loud the pink haired guy is itâs hard not to be.
The two guys are walking around the store for a couple more minutes, clearly with no clue on what they were doing or where to look for stuff and Hyungwon tries his best not to focus on the tall, dark, and brooding one. Hyungwon tries not to focus on how sharp his jawline is, or how Heâs not trying to be classified as a creep who flirts with customers, but heâs still looking at the two mindlessly strolling through the store.
Thatâs when Hyungwon decides to go and help. Itâs his job after all.
The two are in the CD section, both their backs are turned away from him. He idles for just a second, hands clasped behind his back as he sways back and forth on his feet. He doesnât know what heâs going to say to that attractive stranger and his friend, but heâs gonna try and help, so Hyungwon clears his throat. Hyungwon can feel his face heat up as he maintains eye contact. So, Hyungwon quickly averts his eyes. âSo, a CD?â Hyungwon looks at the tallerâs friend, hoping that heâll give an answer so Hyungwon can do his job, but the pink haired guy stares at the taller one.
Hyungwon has no choice but to do the same.
"A CD would be best," the stranger says and it doesnât take long before Hyungwon grins yet again.
âOkay.â Hyungwon maneuvers around the pair to get to the CD section. It doesnât really take that long to see that there isnât a copy of the  CD in question. Hyungwon makes sure to check in the boxes underneath the table, just in case he finds it, but to no avail. âUh, it doesnât look like we have it right now. I can check in the back if youâd like.â Â
The taller of the two opens his mouth, but the other responds with a quick, âYes, please thank you so much,â and Hyungwon felt like the grin was too wide, the words too abruptly spoken. Hyungwon saunters off to the back storage room and sits in there for a few minutes.
Why was this stranger so attractive? It just wasnât fair. Â
Hyungwon is walking down the aisle, empty hands shoved in his pockets and head bowes--watching his shoes hit the ground with every step he took closer to the tall guy and his pink haired friend who he still didnât know the names of. He could hear their whispering even after he rummages through spare CD crates underneath the CD table, coming up short and not trying to look so sad over not being able to find everything. He hears a harsh, âJust fucking get it over with, dumbassâ, and a response that surprises him.
âKihyun, are you insane? Look at him, thereâs no way-â the guy says.
"Hyunwoo, stop being so dense! He's into you, believe me." Hyungwon stops, leaning against the shelves that are just tall enough to shield him, and grins proudly to himself. This isnât spying, no--this is just...passing by a conversation thatâs about him that is subtly reaching his ears.
Thatâs all he was doing, it wasnât to gage whether or not he had a shot at all.
He appears in the next aisle, like he hadnât been listening in on their conversation, and he sees them shoving each other. Â Hyunwoo hisses a hasty, âfuck offâ, right before they notice he was even there. Hyunwoo stands straight when he spots Hyungwon.
âUm,â Hyungwon says, âWe donât have any in the back either.â
 âOh-uh, itâs okay,â the stranger says, âWe can probably find it online or somet--â
âYouâre killing me, Hyunwoo,â his friend--Kihyun--butts in, jabbing his friend in the side. âDo you, by chance, know when youâll have more in stock?â
Hyungwon canât stop his eyes from squinting, shifting back and forth between the two. He wants to know the game because he wants to play too. Is this Hyunwoo guy interested? Is he not? Why is he annoyed with this Kihyun guy?
What the heck is going on?
If you ask Hyungwon what he thought about Hyunwoo, heâd say that Hyunwoo was beyond attractive. He looks like heâs built like a god, and that leather jacket and skinny jean combo is doing nothing but making him ooze sex appeal all over the damn store. If youâd ask Hyungwon what he thought about Kihyun, heâs inclined to say that heâs rather fond of him now. Kihyunâs bossy, but for Hyunwooâs sake.
â I donât, but.â Hyungwon crosses his arms across his chest. âI can pull some strings and get something within the week.â
âDid you hear that, Nu? Heâs going to pull some strings.â The blond is loud and ardent, but thereâs clear amusement laced in his tone when he grabs Hyunwooâs shoulder and gives him a little shake. âIâm sorry, what did you say your name was again?â
"Hyungwon." He holds out his hand for a handshake, seeing the shorter man's eyes that smile at him.
"Hyungwon, hm. Well, I'm Kihyun." The pink haired guy motions to himself. "This is Hyunwoo." He jabs a finger into the taller of the two's chest jokingly, and Hyunwoo glares at him for a few seconds.
âPleasure to meet you Kihyun.â He shakes Kihyunâs hand, smiling at him. âHyunwoo.â Okay, so he may have focused on the latter longer than the former, and it was rather dumb of him to think he could brush it under the rug when Hyunwooâs friend is right beside him and has already been trying to set them up--subtlety was never something Hyungwon was particularly good at--so when his eyes dart back to Kihyunâs, thereâs a knowing glint in the pink hairedâs irises that make Hyungwon wish he were wearing his turtleneck so he could hide some of his blushing face. âUh, Iâm just gonna go--â Hyungwon gestures to the front counter, âOver here.â
The register comforts him since he was too embarrassed to even offer more help due to how stunning Hyunwoo was. He doesnât turn back to his copy of Alternative Press, instead he decides to put his feet up on the chair beside his own and read an actual book. Pachinko by Min Jin Lee.
Itâs one of his favorites, one that normally does a good job on distracting him from all the outside noise--only, today, itâs not really distracting him. Heâs reading the words, but not absorbing anything--opting to think about Hyunwoo instead of the meaning of the book heâs read close to a million times already.
Heâs trying, but the only thing that is running through his mind is lips, cheekbones, and striking brown eyes. That and sculpted chests and abs that make Hyungwon want to scream.
He doesnât crush on customers usually, doesnât pine over them, doesnât let them invade his every thought until he canât think of anything else.
Theyâre strangers. It hasnât even been an hour since he met the two and theyâre already taking over his life. They're looking for a CD, not love, and Hyungwon is disappointed in himself as his eyes follow the tall guy with the Weezer tshirt and skinny leather pants.
Get a grip, Â Hyungwon thinks. One, he knows for a fact that heâs being dramatic and two, heâs being creepy. He's disappointed in himself, and adjusts himself so he can be comfortable reading and totally not checking out the hot guy walking the store-- no, that's definitely not what Hyungwon was doing. No way. Â
Minutes pass, Hyungwon is still starting like a creep from  behind the pages of his book, and he hopes that the ethereal being that walked the grounds wouldn't make eye contract-- which he does, and with how hard Hyungwon jerks his head back here swears he got whiplash.
Honestly, itâs unfortunate that Hyungwon always underestimates the rate at which he moves and--in an attempt to not make himself look like such a goddamn fool--swivels around so fast he canât stop himself from knocking into a shelf behind him. Thankfully, it was the musical autobiographies section heâd just run into, but there was a loud crash and absolutely no way nobody heard it.
âFucking hell,â Hyungwon mutterrs to himself, picking up all the books he just dropped on the ground. He looks at the softbound cover of I, Tina and wonders how he was going to face Hyunwoo after that. The guy is gonna think heâs a Grade A klutz or something.
Speaking of Hyunwoo, there he is right now--approaching the checkout area with a CD in his hand. He assumes Kihyun has already left, since it was just Hyunwoo at the checkout desk, grabs the CD, and hopes that Hyunwoo didn't see him knock over a whole bunch of things.
âDid you find everything alright today?â Hyungwon wants to punch himself. Although it is safer to pretend everything was normal and Hyunwoo was some regular boring ole customer, now heâs gonna be labeled a boring klutz.
âHyungwon,â the elder cuts him off, and Hyungwon is grateful for it because heâs already made a fool of himself--he doesnât understand why the universe lets him speak without a brain to mouth filter and move his limbs around without thought.
âAre you doing anything tonight?â Hyunwoo asks, scratching the back of his neck.
âNo.â Hyungwonâs heart is casually beating a hundred miles a second, but ignore him as the scene plays out, shall we?
Hyunwoo looks pleased with his answer. He nods at Hyungwon, âMe neither.â
âDoyouwanttodosomethingtogethethen?â Hyungwon spits out.
There was his lack of a brain to mouth filter.
âWhat?â Hyunwoo replies, and the earth should just swallow Hyungwon whole at this point. âYou spoke so fast, I didnât catch what you said.â
âI said.â Hyungwon clears his throat and takes a deep breath, speaking a lot slower than the first time. âDo you want to do something together, then?â
