Holy Smokes! || JeongChan

Mallets Are In Fact Weapons

I've come to the conclusion that I will fake my death to avoid going to practice today.

At least that's my plan until my mom shoved me out of the car in front of the band room.

With a heavy sigh, I trudge into Monday's 3 hour percussion practice.

Coming in, our set up is already in place, drumline making its way out to the football stadium in a line.

And on his way out, Chan's eyes basically assault my own.

This makes me shiver, my right shoulder jerking.

But I'll choose to ignore it!

"What was that?" Chenle asks, appearing behind me.

The surprise sends my neck into a frenzy, hums and squeaks sneaking out my throat.

"Sorry, Jeongin!"

"You dumb freshman!" I joke, laughing with him.

"But for real, Chan looked like he was either gonna kill you or eat your ass!"

"Oh shut up- hm! It's weird. I'll explain la-later." I promise, shaking my head and squeezing my eyes.

Indoor practice goes well the first hour and a half, but soon enough we have to move out to the stadium to practice with drumline.

After rolling out my marimba into its spot on the field, our section leader Eric announces that our instructor won't be here today, so we're being left to review our music on our own.

I decide to take the extra set up time to reorganize my stick bag.

As I toss different mallets into different sections, I hear the rumble of the bleachers, letting me know that drumline was coming out onto the field. But of course, I have to instinctively look up. I wave at the other bass players, but lower my hand once I see Chan, only for my arm to jerk back up and wring my hand out.

He looks confused, but nonetheless agitated. But when it wears off, he scoffs and picks up his pace onto the field.

I roll my eyes, letting a "cunt" and "holy smokes" out, the rest of front ensemble being used to it.

But I guess it wasn't as quiet as I thought it was— from behind me I hear Chan's voice raise and imitate a whiny "holy smokes!"

I turn my head and glare, not even sure how to react.

The rest of the bass players turn to look at our interaction, not used to seeing us talk.

"What?" He taunts, "who even says that? Holy smokes? Ha!" He throws his head back.

"Who the fuck puts a senior dude on bass 3? Can't handle anything else?" I take on his sassy attitude.

His eyes darken as I let this out, and I gulp, resulting in several neck jerks, and I begin to choke.
"Ho-holy—"

"Holy fucking smokes!" He yells.

That's when I snap.

I turn my body, my head complacent, to grab the hardest rock mallet I have, and swinging it over the back row of front ensemble and straight into Chan's face.

Before I can think about what I did, his drum and harness are thrown off and his bass sticks are flying towards me, one hitting my collarbone while the other barely skins my head.

As I collect myself from the rebound, Chan's already made his way to the front row, arms out to tackle me— which is exactly what he does.

My head bounces off the Astro turf— thank god it's grass is still new and plush.

Looking up, his nose grazes mine.

What the hell!?

I widen my eyes, a small squeak coming out. But the longer I look, the less I understand his rage towards me— for it's not the emotion I see in his eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, Chan is pulled up off of me, though I don't know by who. And soon enough, I'm thrown into the percussion room indoors along with Chan.

"And don't come out until you've made up!" I hear justin order through the door.

I stand up, looking out the door— shit. It's locked from the outside.

I whine and put my hands on my cheeks, turning back to chan who swings his legs as he sits in his bass slot in the wall.

"Well, well, look who got in trouble. Goody goody Jeongin of the front ensemble! Ha! Who knew xylophone players could be so violent?" He laughs.

"It's a marimba" I mumble, luckily no tics escaping other than some excessive blinking.

"Come on! Enough with the weirdness, god! Why do you do that?" He rolls his eyes, and I can feel my heart pound in my chest from the pure ignorance of Chan.

"I have Tourette's, asshole- hm!" I look up at him.

His eyes are widened, mouth slightly agape.

Huh. He almost looks like he wants to apolo—

"Holy shit!" His body falls back into the bass rack, his laugher echoing off the small walls.

"No fucking way!" He adds through his giggles.

It doesn't take me long to find the nearest tomtom drum, and slam it into his stomach.

And before he could do anything back, I've already run out of the room.

What have I gotten myself into?