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merryfuture2025-01-03 04:02 pm
staygame) wrote in merryfuture2025-01-03 04:02 pm
Entry tags:
sing my crush: so lucky, you're the best (2024)
so lucky, you're the best (ao3 link, see original work for author's notes) | sing my crush, han baram/im hantae, mature, 1k words
tags: post-canon, slice of life, mild sexual content, no archive warnings apply
---
Six months later and some things have changed. For one, Hantae has a job. A real job, not just picking up bartending shifts and occasionally helping out at the boxing gym. ENO has assigned him to manage Chasing Wind and a rookie duo, a duo of fresh-faced girls that are dwarfed by Hantae's frame when he ushers them through the halls of the company. Between Hantae's job and Chasing Wind's calendar of gigs, they no longer need Hantae's mom to help out with rent every other month.
Chasing Wind is no overnight success, but Youngmi gets to quit her job and Jeongpal moves out of his parents' apartment. They have fans who leave supportive comments on their Instagram posts and show up consistently to their performances. They play a few university festivals, open for other bands. At their company's request, they start releasing covers on YouTube and one of Jeongpal's favorite singers reposts their cover on her Instagram with a supportive message; Jeongpal swears it's the best day of his life.
They perform Letter of Apology so many times that Baram starts daydreaming about never having to play it again.
And yeah, Baram has sex for the first time surrounded by the dreaded pink walls of Hantae's bedroom.
("I've never," Baram said earlier in the evening. He made a face. "You know."
"Me neither," Hantae said.
Baram sat up to look at him. "Really?"
"Well, I mean, we started living together after high school and then we were basically dating anyway, so."
"But we weren't dating," Baram said, elbowing Hantae. "I was the one suffering while my crush touched me all the time."
Hantae gave a puppy-ish pout. "Okay, okay. I didn't know better back then. But now we're dating, so you have to forgive me.")
It's good, better than Baram expects—Hantae is careful but enthusiastic, as noisy during sex as he is any other facet of his life. He makes Baram laugh and then he does something with his fingers that makes Baram's back arch off the bed, toes curling. The part of Baram that's still guarded, holding onto the fear of another disappointment, quiets down under Hantae's soft gaze. He couldn't write a love song that could accurately convey this, he thinks. He wouldn't want to, anyway—he'd rather keep it for himself.
Six months later and some things are still the same. To promote their new single, ENO arranges for a special performance at Panta Garage.
Baram trails his fingers along the familiar ridges of the worn leather couch in the backroom. It feels like returning to the beginning. Nearly two years ago, Youngmi had ambushed Baram when he came to pick up Hantae from work and said, "Hey, my part-timer says you can sing." This was the start of Chasing Wind, though it took them a few months to come up with the name.
In some way, it also feels like the beginning of Baram and Hantae. The first time Baram stood on a stage and Hantae shouted, beaming with pride, "I told you I would make you a singer!" His feelings for Hantae that only started taking real shape across all of those nights when Baram would look out into the crowd and spot Hantae watching him.
The stage door is cracked open and from the noise alone, Baram can tell that there are more people waiting for them than he's ever seen at the small bar.
"Wow," Youngmi says, peering out at the crowd. "It's weird to play here again. Am I the only one feeling sentimental?"
"I'm sure Baram is," Hantae says. He's standing by the doorway, in the middle of typing something out on his work phone. Im Hantae with a work phone. The same man with holes in all of his socks. "He's actually really sentimental. First snowfall together, 100 days together, first Valentine's day."
"What about a first breakup?" Baram says, affronted.
Hantae immediately pockets his phone and throws himself down on the couch next to Baram, his limbs tangling around Baram like some kind of apologetic octopus. "No, don't say that. I think it's cute!"
(Baram is sentimental, he knows it. A few months ago, he'd lost his left glove from the couple pair that Hantae gave him. He couldn't bring himself to replace them so he walked around with one bare hand. Hantae never said anything, but he made a point of sticking to Baram's left side when they walked together, clasping their hands together and tucking them both in his pocket. The glove turned up at the company lost-and-found a week later and Baram was relieved. For that week, the glove felt like a negative omen, but its safe return seemed to promise that they'd be able to overcome any obstacle together.)
"I know. Get off me, we're going on soon," Baram says.
"It is special, though," Jeongpal says, leaning into Youngmi and giving her hand a squeeze. "We made it further than I ever expected."
"And you still have further to go," Hantae says, and Baram knows Hantae believes it. No one else has ever had this much faith in him.
The bar manager pokes her head through the door. "You guys are on in three minutes, okay?"
Jeongpal adjusts the tilt of Youngmi's beret. Baram finishes off his bottle of water. With a minute to go, they perform the ritual that was born right here—chests out, heads raised, eyes forward, then hands in, shouting their chant as the lights in the bar dim.
When Baram steps out onto the stage, the crowd feels bigger than it sounded before. Or maybe it's that the size of the stage, which had seemed so unconquerable years ago, looks different now that Baram stands taller. Chasing Wind's brand of acoustic rock isn't known for hyping up a crowd, but Baram feels the cheers pulsing in his fingertips as they launch into their opening song. His voice is steady, echoed back by the fans singing along.
The set goes by fast. They almost always close with Letter of Apology, but for this show, it felt only right to switch things up.
"We're Chasing Wind, and this is our last song of the night," Baram announces into the mic. He doesn't have to look hard—no matter how big the stage or how dense the crowd, he's always able to pick out Hantae's gaze. "It's a song that means a lot to me. Second Wind."
tags: post-canon, slice of life, mild sexual content, no archive warnings apply
---
Six months later and some things have changed. For one, Hantae has a job. A real job, not just picking up bartending shifts and occasionally helping out at the boxing gym. ENO has assigned him to manage Chasing Wind and a rookie duo, a duo of fresh-faced girls that are dwarfed by Hantae's frame when he ushers them through the halls of the company. Between Hantae's job and Chasing Wind's calendar of gigs, they no longer need Hantae's mom to help out with rent every other month.
Chasing Wind is no overnight success, but Youngmi gets to quit her job and Jeongpal moves out of his parents' apartment. They have fans who leave supportive comments on their Instagram posts and show up consistently to their performances. They play a few university festivals, open for other bands. At their company's request, they start releasing covers on YouTube and one of Jeongpal's favorite singers reposts their cover on her Instagram with a supportive message; Jeongpal swears it's the best day of his life.
They perform Letter of Apology so many times that Baram starts daydreaming about never having to play it again.
And yeah, Baram has sex for the first time surrounded by the dreaded pink walls of Hantae's bedroom.
("I've never," Baram said earlier in the evening. He made a face. "You know."
"Me neither," Hantae said.
Baram sat up to look at him. "Really?"
"Well, I mean, we started living together after high school and then we were basically dating anyway, so."
"But we weren't dating," Baram said, elbowing Hantae. "I was the one suffering while my crush touched me all the time."
Hantae gave a puppy-ish pout. "Okay, okay. I didn't know better back then. But now we're dating, so you have to forgive me.")
It's good, better than Baram expects—Hantae is careful but enthusiastic, as noisy during sex as he is any other facet of his life. He makes Baram laugh and then he does something with his fingers that makes Baram's back arch off the bed, toes curling. The part of Baram that's still guarded, holding onto the fear of another disappointment, quiets down under Hantae's soft gaze. He couldn't write a love song that could accurately convey this, he thinks. He wouldn't want to, anyway—he'd rather keep it for himself.
Six months later and some things are still the same. To promote their new single, ENO arranges for a special performance at Panta Garage.
Baram trails his fingers along the familiar ridges of the worn leather couch in the backroom. It feels like returning to the beginning. Nearly two years ago, Youngmi had ambushed Baram when he came to pick up Hantae from work and said, "Hey, my part-timer says you can sing." This was the start of Chasing Wind, though it took them a few months to come up with the name.
In some way, it also feels like the beginning of Baram and Hantae. The first time Baram stood on a stage and Hantae shouted, beaming with pride, "I told you I would make you a singer!" His feelings for Hantae that only started taking real shape across all of those nights when Baram would look out into the crowd and spot Hantae watching him.
The stage door is cracked open and from the noise alone, Baram can tell that there are more people waiting for them than he's ever seen at the small bar.
"Wow," Youngmi says, peering out at the crowd. "It's weird to play here again. Am I the only one feeling sentimental?"
"I'm sure Baram is," Hantae says. He's standing by the doorway, in the middle of typing something out on his work phone. Im Hantae with a work phone. The same man with holes in all of his socks. "He's actually really sentimental. First snowfall together, 100 days together, first Valentine's day."
"What about a first breakup?" Baram says, affronted.
Hantae immediately pockets his phone and throws himself down on the couch next to Baram, his limbs tangling around Baram like some kind of apologetic octopus. "No, don't say that. I think it's cute!"
(Baram is sentimental, he knows it. A few months ago, he'd lost his left glove from the couple pair that Hantae gave him. He couldn't bring himself to replace them so he walked around with one bare hand. Hantae never said anything, but he made a point of sticking to Baram's left side when they walked together, clasping their hands together and tucking them both in his pocket. The glove turned up at the company lost-and-found a week later and Baram was relieved. For that week, the glove felt like a negative omen, but its safe return seemed to promise that they'd be able to overcome any obstacle together.)
"I know. Get off me, we're going on soon," Baram says.
"It is special, though," Jeongpal says, leaning into Youngmi and giving her hand a squeeze. "We made it further than I ever expected."
"And you still have further to go," Hantae says, and Baram knows Hantae believes it. No one else has ever had this much faith in him.
The bar manager pokes her head through the door. "You guys are on in three minutes, okay?"
Jeongpal adjusts the tilt of Youngmi's beret. Baram finishes off his bottle of water. With a minute to go, they perform the ritual that was born right here—chests out, heads raised, eyes forward, then hands in, shouting their chant as the lights in the bar dim.
When Baram steps out onto the stage, the crowd feels bigger than it sounded before. Or maybe it's that the size of the stage, which had seemed so unconquerable years ago, looks different now that Baram stands taller. Chasing Wind's brand of acoustic rock isn't known for hyping up a crowd, but Baram feels the cheers pulsing in his fingertips as they launch into their opening song. His voice is steady, echoed back by the fans singing along.
The set goes by fast. They almost always close with Letter of Apology, but for this show, it felt only right to switch things up.
"We're Chasing Wind, and this is our last song of the night," Baram announces into the mic. He doesn't have to look hard—no matter how big the stage or how dense the crowd, he's always able to pick out Hantae's gaze. "It's a song that means a lot to me. Second Wind."