Chapter 10: I Hate Boston

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 "I found the key next to your things this morning. You forgot to put it back. You also forgot to turn off the computer completely before leaving. You had brought along your own drive and logged into it. I could see from the cameras that you were working on a song."

He places his arms on his knees, leaning closer to me, and raising a brow.

"What were you working on?" he says, his done playful, but I can tell he's still very serious.

I wait for a bit, the whole room having gone silent. Nobody's saying anything, tapping on anything, just listening to our conversation, waiting for me to respond.

"I'm sorry, first of all," I apologize, trying my best to push out the words, but my voice still cracks. I take a few gulps of the tea, sighing contently at the taste.

"I'll go grab the USB and... show you," I say, getting up from my seat.

I luckily have multiple USB's, one for each group so I don't mix them up, and one for my own songs.

I started writing my own songs a bit back, but I've never really thought about releasing them. I'm sure people would be able to recognize my voice, and I'm sort of scared that the guys will be able to tell that I'm AURA and not Sun. 

I go into my bag, grabbing the drive with "Shit" written on it. Didn't want anyone listening to it. I grab my computer, plugging it in while walking into the living room. All the guys have gathered around the coffee table, sitting on the couch, the lounge chairs, waiting for me to play them the song.

I connect the computer to the speakers in the living room, the song having too great of a bassline to only listen to it on the shitty computer speakers.

As the song fills the room, I can feel the weight of all their eyes on me, even though I'm not facing them. 

I walk over towards the kitchen, not wanting to see their reactions. I stir the ingredients Seonghwa's laid out, trying to focus on something–anything–that will distract me from the small sounds they release. The huffs, sighs, hums. 

The deep bass reverberates through the walls, the melody of "I Hate Boston" weaving through the air, and I feel the familiar twinge of vulnerability I always get when someone listens to my music.

The room is still silent as my voice cuts through the speakers. The way I sing the verses, the way my words layer over the rhythm, it all feels more personal now that they know. I try to ground myself, stirring the pot with more fervor than necessary.

A few of the guys are nodding along with the beat, eyes closed, seemingly lost in the music. But it's Hongjoong's expression that catches me off guard. His brows are knitted together in concentration, his lips slightly parted like he's trying to piece something together.

As the song transitions towards its climax, the soft piano and vocals gradually give way to a heavier sound. The drums start to build, each beat echoing through the room with more intensity, and the smooth rhythm that had lulled them into a sense of calm begins to shift. It's subtle at first, but then the electric guitar kicks in–loud, raw, and full of grit.

The change in the room is almost immediate.

I look over at them.

Mingi's eyes snap open as the harder, rock-like edge takes over. His lips curl into an approving grin, and he nods his head to the beat, clearly loving the heavier vibe. "Okay, now this is what I'm talking about," he says, leaning back into the couch with a satisfied smirk.

San, who had been sitting back casually, now leans forward, elbows on his knees, completely locked into the music. His eyes flash with excitement as the electric guitar riffs pour through the speakers. "Damn, didn't expect that," he murmurs, clearly impressed. There's a spark in his gaze, one that tells me he's into the energy, the shift from soft to intense.

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