moving day | Heeseung x Jay

twenty-eight

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"Ah." Kei stretches out his legs as he leans onto the back of his chair. "Victory is sweet."

It's after the game, and Jay, Kei, and Niki are sitting in a really fancy Korean-Japanese fusion restaurant. After doing interviews and fulfilling player duties, many of the Sounders have gone off to celebrate together.

Jay is not surprised that Niki and Kei hit it off like long-lost buds. It almost feels like he's third-wheeling with two childhood best friends, but it doesn't affect him too much since he's slouched over his third bottle of beer.

It's half-drunk, but Jay doesn't think he'll finish it since if he does, that would mean having to admit that he's drinking over Heeseung. He fidgets with his bracelet and tilts the capsule with the sand back and forth.

"I don't think I've ever seen you without that bracelet," Kei comments after he orders for the whole table. Niki's eyes cut to Jay's wrist, and Jay almost covers it with his arm. "You don't even take it off for games. Do you wear jewelry for luck?"

"No," Jay says, his mood souring. Tonight's victory felt like a false reward. He'd been hoping that his time and effort with the Sounders would pay off, and it did, but Jay isn't in the mood to celebrate his work right now.

"Cheer up, champ." Niki nudges his arm. "Coaching seems to be a great choice for you, career-wise. You must be proud of the team for today."

"Don't call me that," Jay snaps. Then he sees Niki's face and dials it back. Niki didn't do anything wrong, Jay thinks, don't be an asshole. "And, yea, it's a great profession. I'm glad we won. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry."

"It's all good." Niki leans back on his chair and tests its legs by leaning back. Niki and Jay have only had a few major arguments, but the ones they did were vital to figuring out what does and doesn't tick the other off. Niki can handle Jay's rare moods.

On the other hand, Kei can't and probably won't since they're coworkers in a technical sense, and it's not his responsibility to do so. "Jay," he says. "Glass half full or half empty."

Jay doesn't answer, only drumming his fingers on the table, tilting his head back, and letting himself zone out. Kei shrugs at the lack of answer and turns to Niki to talk about the question.

Perspective.

It's a very fickle thing and can be a game-changer for a lot of people. Jay thinks of clear water, a sailboat, and open skies. It's the closest thing to a distraction he can think of. He remembers the first time he learned to sail and how the wind had been awful that day. He'd been with his father, and he'd thought their last moment together would be in a panic, straining to hear each other over the shrieking of the wind. But everything calmed down after a while, and Jay's father had clapped him on the back and asked if he wanted fish and chips for dinner.

It always works out that way, doesn't it?

The storm passes, and life goes on.

That's just how it is.

The food comes—(spicy Korean fried chicken)—and the three men dig in. There had been an option for mild, medium, and high spice, and Kei had taken one look at the menu and decided that the heat wouldn't be that bad, so he ordered the highest spice level.

Long story short, he was wrong.

After six chicken wings, Jay's taste buds are numb. The only thing keeping him going is this thing called yum yum sauce that tastes something like mayonnaise.

Kei and Niki are still arguing about perspectives via the glass-half example, and Jay thinks amidst his self-made pity party that they're a couple of idiots who should just drink their beer instead of talking about a highly debated proverbial phrase.

Two out of the three men are in high spirits when they exit the restaurant, and the third man just wants to run so he can ignore the burn of his lips and the conflict on his gums. He is only tipsy, but he walks slowly and presses his heel deep into the sidewalk to avoid tipping over like a pendulum.

What's the saying? Bad things happen to good people? Jay figures that that's wrong since he is a coward, and this is probably what he deserves. He ran, and now he's stuck with the problem he created. It was stupid and unfair to Heeseung, and Jay would do anything to go back to that moment, plant his feet down, and not move until roots burrowed into the ground—so he couldn't leave his place without overcoming his fears of losing his best friend to something more than friendship.

Shame lounges on his spine and shoulders as Jay walks down a street with Kei and Niki. Niki is leading them somewhere—Jay has no idea where—and Kei is answering calls he missed during dinner. They'll have a big conference tomorrow to discuss their win, but right now it's late and, as Nicki Minaj says, the night is still young, and so are we.

Turns out the place Niki leads them to is a record store, and not just any record store but Amoeba Music—the world's largest independent record store.

Kei is the first to enter, very enthusiastic because he's not on the phone anymore, and then Niki follows with Jay bringing up the rear. Jay wants to buy a record because he'll probably regret not doing so later, but he expects to purchase something melancholic.

There are hundreds upon hundreds of records, and Jay roams the aisles with transfixed eyes.

It's beautiful, he thinks, the beauty of music. It fills up whatever is hollow with catchy melodies and lyrics that rhyme in a way that seems effortless.

"You like this place, don't you?" Niki asks quietly. He's looking through some Aerosmith records, and Jay looks at the overhead lights while thinking that yes, he does.

The gentle buzz from the beer he had from earlier is washing away with every step he takes down aisles filled to the brim with music—beatific and enlightening and shake-your-entire-universe incredible music. The more he walks, the calmer he feels, and the clearer his head gets.

As he strolls, Jay thinks about the question from earlier. Perspective may be a fickle thing, but it can be maneuvered and altered and molded into what best fits a person. It's particular and choosy but not sticky like a honeycomb.

It's the agave that's on crunchy granola in the morning, and the cinnamon in the apple pie you just made in the oven. It's warm, and it's comforting, and it's home if you just figure out the right kind.

At the end of their time at the store, Jay has come to terms with his answer to Kei's question: It's just a glass, and it's whatever you want it to be. It's theoretical, like the space conspiracies Heeseung is obsessed with and limitless like Heeseung's love for science that he spoke of on the phone and has displayed and embodied over the course of their lives so far.

It's broad and cascading like the rain Heeseung adores, and it's musical and spirited like the brass and percussion of storms that Heeseung admires because it's loud and bold and unafraid to be whatever or whoever it is. It's boundless, and quirky, and proud.

The plan to pick up something sad is tossed as Jay browses the pre-2000s section of the store. He finds an album called Love, Ella, by Ella Fitzgerald. Dream A Little Dream Of Me is the only track he knows, but that's the beauty of it. It's new and risky to buy something he's not familiar with—it not being 70s hits or Christmas music—but he looks forward to it because it means going out of his comfort zone and constantly learning.

Those are both things Jay aspires to do, and while he hopes that he'll love the record, there's already another love in another state that he needs to come home to because home is not just perspective itself but the people, events, and experiences that help someone shape it.

It's metamorphosis at its finest, and Jay is ready to break out of the cocoon into something fine and fearless and free.

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