UGH! / SOPE & VMIN.

EIGHT, MY BABY LIKES TO ROCK.

MY BABY LIKES TO ROCK.

     JEONGGUK HAS A CIGARETTE dangling from his lips and a pair of drumsticks in his hands as he and seokjin wait, like always, for hoseok to show up to practice. in the basement of menswear, with jeongguk's amps set up ( they're the main reason he's in the band, those amps ), seokjin's bass tuned and tears for fears playing from a cassette player, they're all set.

just missing the goddamn front man.

"that fucken' wanker," seokjin spits from his cranberry lips, all tight trousers and collarbone, ziggy stardust style, a button down hanging off his shoulders, tits on a disturbingly clear display. "i'm gonna end him. swear to god. i sing way fuckin' better than he does. bleedin' 'eck, maxxie could do his job, without the showing up late."

"yeah yeah," jeongguk quietly taps out a tune on his drum, bored and wishing he'd stayed in bed with the pretty girl he'd found at the party in bromley. she'd called herself fee and she was lovely — but jeongguk had scampered out of there, trouser-less and frantic for band practice at 9:00am. he's now in a pair of maxxie's lazy chavvy¹ trackkie bottoms², feeling like a bit of a twat ( as if that's big news ). seokjin picks up his bass, slings it around his shoulders, and turns off the tape player, a stormy expression on his perfect features.

"fuck it. le's go wit'out him." he strums the first chord of one of jeongguk's favourite songs to play, their cover of queen bitch, by the ever amazing bowie, and the strawberry head grins devilishly with his chipped tooth from a pub fight, beginning to keep the beat on his drums. seokjin riffs, stepping closer to the microphone, red lips morphing around the words.

"oh my heart's in the basement, my weekend's at an all time low..." his welsh accent adds something to it, a certain shebang that it just needs, and jeongguk nods along, biting his lip, but they both know they're missing hoseok's screeching lead, his nicotine rotted voice and his charisma. as much as they insult him, he's the cog that makes the band work — without him, they're good, but not as good.

seokjin's just starting up queen bitch when the door bursts open with a crash, bang, wallop and in stumbles a hoseok, in tight leather trousers and a 1982 glastonbury festival t-shirt, his purple speckled hair a complete mess and a wide grin on his face. "alright, you fags?" he says, and jeongguk swears he's actually sober. seokjin takes off his bass and stands with his hands on his hips, lips pursed.

"you're late, 'seok." he says, and hoseok rolls his eyes, grins.

"yeah, well, you big fat tranny, it don' matter, cause guess what? i've only gone an' written us a song!" hoseok throws his notebook at seokjin, who catches it so instinctively that jeongguk's almost shocked. seokjin flips through, and his eyes widen when he lands on presumably the new song.

"'my baby wants to rock and roll'?" seokjin says, reading through the lyrics, eyebrows raising. "holy— 'seok, you're fuckin' useful, man! gguk, 'ave a look at this, babe."

gguk crinkles his nose at the nickname distastefully, taking the notebook, but only after he stubs out his cig and replaces it with a fresh one. hoseok's handwriting isn't all that, but jeongguk makes sense of the scribbles, nodding his head as he reads over the words hoseok clearly wrote out quickly.

"when d'ya write this then?" he asks hoseok, tossing the notebook back over. hoseok shrugs, running a hand through his oil slick head.

"last night, when i got home — smoked some bangin' ganja and had a completely feckin' brilliant idea. there's an ace guitar solo in there for you, jin mate, would you adam-and-eve³ it?"

seokjin's eyes light up, grinning widely with cranberry lips. "fuckin' brilliant, jung! i could kiss you, you bloody amazing twat."

"don't think maxxie'd appreciate that, jin," jeongguk comments, tapping a tune on his drums as he looks at the chords scribbled above the lyrics, already figuring a beat out. his mind is buzzing with fast drum beats, wants it to have that punch that every good rock song has, with a killer drumline that only the true rock n roll renegades will notice, something to thrum in their veins and to stamp their feet to. the perfect riff. he looks up, eyes shining. "get your guitars, fags — i've got a beat."