CP&BC

Chapter 8: Burn Noodles, Free Coffee.

No. No. No. NO!

He wasn't feeling guilty for yelling at her. He was right! He had all the right to be mad. Who wouldn't feel offended after being taken as someone's fool? Ignorance doesn't make it better. It makes it worse! Here he was trying to be a decent human being, and it turns out she was just suffering from the consequences of her irresponsibility. Why should he feel bad about yelling at her then?

'She never said she was sick, though. You just assumed that.'

The voice in his head said. It had the same tone and frequency as Jisoo's, lucky him. He grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling it as he groaned. He buffed and stood up. There was no point in overthinking this. He was better off if he started to clean.

But, she hadn't come back.

'Whatever! She can drown in the sink for all I care,' He thought while stomping towards the curtains.

But he stopped.

'But, if she dies, that means I'll have to clean alone' The thought alone terrified him. It sent shivers down his spine as he looked at the curtains, fearing what awaited him behind. Turning around on his heels, he faced directly towards the direction in which she had left, tempting to take a few steps down and go check.

But he didn't.

Instead, he began to circle the stage, observing the lights, speakers, and cables spread around. In his opinion, these people were asking for an accident, stages were meant to be cleared out after every rehearsal, or show. Tidying up cables, making sure they weren't tangled, it was basic.

He began to pick up the things on stage, moving them out of the way to avoid any serious trouble. He came across a microphone laying on top of one of the speakers.

His hand itched to grab it. Muscle memory acting on its own, fingers interlining in the right position, so the weight of the microphone was neither too heavy nor too light. His wrist twirled, as if inspecting a glass of wine, his eyes softened at the instrument. Once again, muscle memory acted, bringing the tool up, at the right height. He had done this numerous times, yet the corners of his mouth twitched, forming a soft curve. His mouth, too, twitched and opened, against his will, yet obeying a long-buried desire.

The first thing Miyeon noticed once coming out of the bathroom was the silence that had been broken. Her ears swiveled towards the sound. Instinctively, her body was drawn towards it, too. It was a low humming, a strange melody, conveying emotions that she was unfamiliar with. The humming became audible words, the words formed sentences, and the sentences developed into a song. Her feet stopped at her command, as her eyes opened wide, her mouth agape.

Junseo had closed his eyes, now both hands held the microphone firmly as if letting go meant releasing a part of his being. The lyrics had formed while the tune of the humming had made a climax in his well-trained ears. Finding the right pitch, and his mind playing a pleasant harmony, the song was born out of nothing. The final sentence came out in a breath of air, before he gasped in surprise, opening his eyes, finding himself staring at a black theater wall. He gasped again, as a sudden realization hit him. He turned around, fear encrypted in his eyes. The silhouette of the person he least wanted to see was lurking in, covered by the shadows of the theater. She, too, seemed to hesitate to step forward and completely reveal herself, even if it was a fact that now both were aware of each other's presence. Giving a final step, she emerged out, eyes full of wonder, expression filled with nothing but awe.

"The microphone was on." She said, closing her mouth, locking eyes with him.

"Yeah, it was on." He replied, breathing evenly, calmly. His eyes not obeying him, and not breaking contact. His lips parted, and he licked them before gulping down saliva. Finally, he averted his gaze.