METRONOME. － k.hs + s.hs

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Curiousity had it that soft R&B tunes poured from his headphones one silent night, when his desk lamp was the only source of light in his glum room, and his parents were watching television on the floor below.

It started with one song and then another, alternating between live covers and recorded originals, and it became a drug, entrancing, the velvety voice of this man he had not heard of until that brief article he had come across by sheer chance.

Hyoseob didn't know for how long he had stayed strewn upon his bed, ears brimming with music and eyes dazedly watching the bleak ceiling above him, his head firmly placed and sunken into his pillow as he occassionally bobbed it to the beat of the songs.

Initially, he had no clue what to expect, and then he regretted not discovering this artist sooner.

Imagine all the scenery he could have witnessed through bus windows while listening to this voice, imagine the streets he could have walked along and faces he could have seen, with such a soundtrack to his life playing in the background.

Hyoseob became Kim Haesol's － which he discovered to be Zion.T's real name － fan, and such an addition increased his desire to meet him, to have him judge his music so far and give his opinion.

It was then that Hyoseob decided he was going to definitely come into contact with this musician, who abruptly appeared so much further away, as if from a world of his own, one which Hyoseob was incapable of reaching.

And yet, the latter stored an unbridled flame of determination within his chest, and with such a determination he had managed to attend one of Zion.T's appearances a little over a month later.

It was at another bar, perhaps more lounge-like in setting, with a low stage in one corner adorned with sets of instruments, and lined with miniscule spotlights directed at the microphone stand at the centre. The location was scarcely full, with lingering customers at stools and booths, mumbling amongst themselves while Hyoseob constantly fidgeted in his seat, sipping at his beer and often stealing glances at the still unoccupied stage.

He had seen that the man he came to idolize would be performing for some time there that night, and so he had settled on finally witnessing his talent with his own senses, but he hadn't expected it to be as nerve-wrecking as it turned out to be. Hyoseob had arrived far too early, and thus had to wait while his anticipation continued to simmer within him. Every now and again, he'd slide a hand into his pocket and feel the flimsy, plastic case of the CD he had put some of his songs on, inhale a shuddered breath and stare back down into his drink.

Time ticked on and in a blink, the establishment was crowded, bustling with chatter and shuffling movements as people gathered before the stage, awaiting the artists who'd be appearing that night.

Initially, the performances felt as if they were dragging on for an eternity when they finally commenced, his heart beating ferociously against his ribs all throughout, and his palms as sweaty as they had been on his first date as a teen.

However, it was when the lights fully dimmed, the crowd fell utterly silent as if controlled by a power outside of their own, that Hyoseob's heartbeat truly became erratic. Cheers suddenly resounded within his mind but his sight was unfocused, hazy, strained on the numerous heads in front of him until drifting up to see a tall, slender figure struck by the timid light of a single bulb.

Hyoseob swallowed thickly, eyes blinking in a desperate attempt to clear his vision, and then witnessed as the man nonchalantly adjusted the microphone with his thin fingers, a couple of bulky rings glinting around three of them, head low as if there were no eager gathering of spectators waiting for him to begin at all.

The man radiated a sense of confidence without being arrogant, and when the first note was struck and floated in the air, everyone stock still and with bathed breath, Hyoseob melted into the sound of his idol's voice wafting into the silence like a whisper of wind, delicate and caressing, gradually growing in volume but maintaining its nature.

Hyoseob was utterly enraptured. He had no clue of how that journalist had been able to not simply spew words of complete praise in their article, because that was all he wished to do.

Haesol was in wide-legged trousers that stopped neatly at his ankles, a lengthy and a handful of sizes too big coat hanging over a saturated, maroon turtleneck sweater, with strongly tinted, squared sunglasses set on his nose and a fedora fitted over his dyed hair.

He couldn't help but think that the man was the embodiment of everything suave and cool, distinct and unique like his voice, and a feeling akin to that of a somersault occurred in his stomach.

Unlike the others, Zion.T's performance was over too soon, much to Hyoseob's displeasure, and he had been so transfixed by the entire experience that it nearly slipped his mind what he had originally gone there to do.

It seemed Haesol didn't plan on staying much longer, as he bid his goodnight into the microphone and gave a dip of his head prior to stepping off the stage, falling into the already re-awakening crowd.

Hyoseob panicked, beginning to struggle to see even the man's hat over the people that separated them, and began weaving his way through the sea of bodies.

"Kim Haesol!"

He didn't react to his name being called, but perhaps he hadn't heard the younger's exclamation over the ruckus of the bar.

"Zion.T! Over here! Please, wait!" Hyoseob tried again, but to no avail, the singer kept walking, his back shrinking further away and eventually out the back door until he was no longer visible.

Hyoseob was panting by the time he succeeded in breaking out of the suffocating mass of humans, though it was far too late, for while his gaze snapped in all directions, glancing the white lit street up and down, he saw no signs of the man and he knew he had lost him to the night.

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