Han's and Why's《》

START

*clicks*

*static noises*

"Hi, uhh...

*breathes in the mic*

is this working?

*laughs*

I don't know why I'm embarrassed, uhmmm...

wait! wait... wait...

*something falls*

*inaudible noises*

*wheezes*

I'm sorry!!! I'm sorry!

This is both funny and .... fun? haha

I guess?

Oh my gosh

I'm wasting it

Holy shit

*laughing and dying*

I can't stop laughing.

uh ermm...

*brief pause*

haahhh- please don't leave yet.

just- just listen carefully.

I have a lot to say.''

The voice on the other side is muffled and flustered- like always- the tone of this certain voice radiates so much joy. It reaches and pentrates through the listener's ears. Gut-wrenching, Heartwrenching and No kidding, He's loud, obnoxious at some parts and loves to laugh on his own. With the lone listener being swayed at the mirth who can't help but let out soft chuckles joining in with the momentary happiness that belongs to them at some point in their history books. The one holding the device has chosen to take a breathe in and listen once more at how ridiculous the chaotic mess on the other side sounded.

The tape has just started playing and it already seemed like a one-man comedy show. It was all nothing but familiar to Chan.

How long has it been?

Since he heard that cheerful voice? He already had forgotten the sound of someone he used to know.

Well, not really, He still listens to the old songs they used to make. The old recordings still hidden in his audio bank. It's a part of him. He was the first. His very own love of his life in his teens.

"Well?

Let's play a game?

The rules are simple."

He continued to absorb the sounds through the earphones. The white noise, the drag of the other guy's hands on what seems to be a wooden table seemingly whete his recorder is. Something nostalgic about using a cassette player and to the voice the tape spits out. It's very Jisung, and his liking for retro vintage aesthetic and vibes. His voice doesn't come out clear joined in with little break ups once in a while, only audible enough to make up the sounds that's coming from the old device. It was a gleeful memory. What they had... was a lesson and he learned it the hard way. There absolutely no reason for Jisung to even contact him by now. Jisung is repuled by the idea of him, the last time they met. He was nothing but a brother after it has all veen said and done.

The tapes, however, brought him a momentary happiness, hearing again from his first love.

Sure, the tapes looked new and untouched but when he held it his hands but upon closer look before strappi g it inside the pkayer, it was already dusty- seemingly aged for the longest of times.

The fact that he has to listen to all of it, and has a box full of it excites him. The bunch of plastics sparked his curiousities of what the man he used to love has in store for him.

He loved Jisung.

His first man. He still loves him, It never goes away. Jisung has taken a piece of his heart, and his life with him. It was funng beecause Jisung's persuasion skills are still... How do he even say it? Incomparable to anyone? He thought dearly of the younger. Jisung has always been good with his words. His overall demeanor will make you focus on him, an eyecatcher, once he caught you on his hooks and heart-shaped smile. God. That's the end of it. He grapples you by the throat and covers you with thick honeyed sugar, so sweet, like an ambrosia not for mortals like him. He is brilliant in any way.

And Chan adores him. His lips thinning as he grins to himself. Searing with the spark he once thought that was long gone. Two decades tops.

There's truly something about Han Jisung- that he's almost like a magnet, he attracts you to him and It's a dangerous charm. The funny thing is, the man himself, is unaware of it.

An irresistable nature.

A wonder.

Or so he thinks.

Chan just laughed again at his train of thoughts.

"You can't back out on me.

okay?

pinky promise?

...

okay!"

He can't reject him this time, does he?

And it's decided just like that, he's already playing by his hands.

You never thought you'll see a man look so dashing and intimidating enough, in all leathers, doing a pinky promise on the thin air, pulling out multiple faces and reactions in split-seconds- started cackling then into flustered mess all in a span of a minute by himself on a park bench listening to the voice coming from the tape. The cold breeze eases in his pale skin. The shivers crawls into chiseled jaws and then to his spine.

It must be quite entertaining to not care about the weird glances he's earning from every passerby.

"See you at the finish line."

"Butterfly." Chan exhaled, finally. As if he was released from a chokehold. The voice was cut, ending in the silent whirring of the tape, He lets out another dry sigh, he needs it. The old cassette player opened slowly as he pushes the buttons, revealing the tape which is black, and small.

He carefully takes it out and flipped it to the other side revealing the masking tape plastered on it that has a handwritten word in black marker, the writing that he's not estranged with, he used to read the same font in every crooked lines, monitoring the lyrics and art, they used to write together.

"Start Line"

*clicks*

"Don't leave me and hear me out, please."