Night Kiss

by E. T. Malinowski

  “You can’t make music all the time, Ki-tae.” Jin-woo smiled as he turned to face him.

  “I’ve always heard music in my head,” Ki-tae said quietly. “It helped me… escape when I desperately needed to. It kept me sane when everything around me was conspiring to rip my mind apart. I… have no other outlet.”

  Jin-woo felt the tightness in his throat. Those words, said so softly, tore at him. Ki-tae had given him yet another peek into a deeper part of himself, and Jin-woo felt humbled. He could see how affected Ki-tae was by his own words. His whole presence seemed contained, as if he were curling in on himself, a way to protect himself. Jin-woo didn’t know what to say. Perhaps there weren’t any words that could be said.

  He walked over to Ki-tae and cupped his cheek. When Ki-tae looked at him, Jin-woo kissed him gently, sweetly, and then pulled back, smiling.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “Because you just confided in me, even if you didn’t realize it,” Jin-woo said. “You’re beginning to trust me, be comfortable with me knowing these things about you. It makes me feel… honored, that I’m special to you, and that makes me happy because you’re already very special to me, Ki-tae.”

  Before Ki-tae could respond, Jin-woo put his fingers against his lips. He shook his head. He didn’t want Ki-tae to say the words because he did. He wanted Ki-tae to say them when he was ready to say them, because then Jin-woo would know they were real. It would take time, and it would take him being very patient. Ki-tae had lived centuries with keeping secrets, and he needed to continue, but Jin-woo hoped they would get to the point where Ki-tae wouldn’t keep anything from him, where Ki-tae would feel he could confide in him as he did with his brothers.

  Ki-tae pulled his hand down. “I can’t give you those kinds of words, Jin-woo, not now.”

  “I know,” Jin-woo said. “I just wanted you to know how I feel.”

  “Can you be patient with me?” Ki-tae asked. “Some men don’t want to wait. If they say the words, they expect to hear them back.”

  “I’m not some men.” Jin-woo shrugged. “Now we have to finish getting dressed, or we really are going to be late.”

  “There you go, being responsible again.” Ki-tae sighed, but he was smiling, and Jin-woo knew the mood had passed.

  When they arrived at the office, Hyun-jo was waiting for them. He bowed to them, which still seemed odd to Jin-woo. Clearly Hyun-jo was of a higher station in the office, and older, so why did he continue to bow to Jin-woo? It didn’t make sense to him, but he hadn’t gotten up the nerve to ask about it.

  Given the conversations they’d had about Soon-joon’s PA, Jin-woo took a moment to study him. Hyun-jo had very fine, almost feminine features. His nose was long and straight, thin. His cheekbones were high and delicately curved, much like the bow shape of his lips. His eyes were almost perfectly almond-shaped, with long, dark lashes. Today he wore a light gray pinstriped suit and matching vest that emphasized the lean lines of his body, not being an overly muscular man. He had paired the suit with a black silk shirt and matching tie. A black silk handkerchief peeked out from his breast pocket. Hyun-jo was always sharply dressed.

  “You keep staring at him like that, and I’m going to get jealous,” Ki-tae whispered in his ear, jerking Jin-woo’s attention to him. He blushed and turned to Hyun-jo, mumbling his apologies.

  “There is no need, Jin-woo dongsaeng,” Hyun-jo said, his voice low and sweet-sounding, almost lyrical.

  “It was rude of me,” Jin-woo persisted.

  “If you insist,” Hyun-jo said with a small smile.

  “Usually you and Soon-joon-nim are ensconced in some meeting or other, Hyun-jo-nim,” Ki-tae said with a smile, although Jin-woo noticed he moved closer. “What brings you here to meet us?”

  “Shin-bai hubae has asked that I look into the matter of security footage from the incident at Jin-woo dongsaeng’s apartment. I require some information from Jin-woo dongsaeng before I proceed.” Hyun-jo turned to look at him. “Shin-bai hubae informed me the management company has not been forthcoming with the information needed to continue our investigation. Is your building a secure one?”

  “Not like Ki-tae’s building. The front door is open, but then there’s an interior door people have to be buzzed through. There’s a button where you can call the maintenance staff or the landlord if it’s a delivery or something. After that, you have to have a key to the apartments,” Jin-woo said.

  “Key? The building does not have an electronic system?” Hyun-jo asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I asked about that,” Jin-woo said. “The landlord said he liked keys.”

  “Is there a front desk?”

  “No,” Jin-woo said.

  “There is a security guard, surely? Most apartment neighborhoods have them,” Hyun-jo said.

  “If there is, I’ve never seen him,” Jin-woo said with a shrug. “Its an older building and I don’t think the company is really interested in upgrading it. It’s relatively close to the university, but not within walking distance. It’s not the most secure building, I know, but it was the first one I liked that my aunt didn’t outright refuse. She doesn’t approve of the dormitories or officetels near the university itself.”

  “Has she been notified of this situation?” Hyun-jo asked.

  “To say my aunt and I do not get along would be an incredible understatement,” Jin-woo said. “I haven’t told her about any of this.”

  “So once through the interior door, no one marks the coming and going of nontenants?” Hyun-jo asked.

  “No, I guess not,” Jin-woo said. “There’s a camera in the main lobby, and I think there’s one on each floor. I don’t know if there are any in the stairwells.”

  “Other than yourself, who has keys to your apartment?”

  “Min-su-ya and Jong-in-a each have a set. Then there’s the landlord and the maintenance staff. Well, they have the master key to all the locks in the building. Only Min-su-ya and Jong-in-a have copies specifically to my place.”

  “What are you thinking, Hyun-jo-nim? These questions have a purpose,” Ki-tae said.

  “Yes, they do,” Hyun-jo said. “The landlord and the maintenance staff have, as you said, a copy of all the keys, more than likely on one master key ring. Unless the individual in question knew exactly which keys belonged to Jin-woo dongsaeng’s apartment, they would have to match them to the door, which would require them to be in the hallway for an extended time, and other residents might also take notice. Either the landlord or the maintenance staff would notice the absence of their keys…. Therefore it stands to reason they are not the source of the copies. This means whoever made copies did so from either Min-su dongsaeng’s, Jong-in dongsaeng’s, or Jin-woo dongsaeng’s set. Because there is a smaller number of keys to go through, it would not take as much time, and the theft of the keys may not even be noticed.”

  “Who would go to all that trouble?” Jin-woo asked.

  “Someone who is obsessed,” Hyun-jo said quietly. “However, this is only a theory. I will know more once I am able to obtain the security footage.”

  “Why didn’t Shin-bai hyung ask any of these questions?” Ki-tae said.

  “Shin-bai hubae does not present theories until he is in full possession of the facts and the evidence. Old habits die hard.” Hyun-jo gave another small smile. “You asked me the question. I answered it only because you are… you. Had the question been presented by someone else, my answer would have been quite different.”

  “Do you need anything else from me?” Jin-woo asked, watching the exchange between them. He decided Hyun-jo was just as scary as Soon-joon-nim. The look in his eyes spoke of a keen and cunning intelligence, and that was just plain frightening, especially when he gave that small, mysterious smile.

  “No, Jin-woo dongsaeng. Thank you very much for your time.” Hyun-jo bowed and then headed toward the elevators. When he turned around and saw Jin-woo watching him, Hyun-jo did something completely out of character. He winked and smi
led, and it looked as if he flashed fang. Then the doors closed, and Jin-woo wasn’t sure if he saw what he thought he saw.

  “That man is scary,” Jin-woo said, turning to Ki-tae.

  “You have no idea,” Ki-tae said. “Want to see him terrifying? Threaten Abeoji in his presence.”

  “No, thanks. I choose life,” Jin-woo said, making Ki-tae throw his head back and laugh.

  He placed a quick, hot kiss on Jin-woo’s lips and then headed back downstairs to meet Shin-bai and the security detail escorting him to his appointments that day. Ever since the second attempt on his life, Ki-tae did not attend any off-site PR events without at least four bodyguards, and Shin-bai rarely excluded himself from those details.

  Jin-woo watched him go… well, watched a part of him. Ki-tae had to have the finest ass ever made.

  “Caught you staring!” Min-su said, pouncing on him. Jin-woo jumped and then smacked her arm.

  “Dammit, woman,” he snarled. “Don’t do that!”

  “Why not? It’s so much fun to watch you react.” She grinned.

  “What has you in such a good mood this morning?” Jin-woo grumbled.

  “I had a wonderful dinner with Cheongul last night, and this morning, Cheong-bo seonbae said we are making excellent progress on both videos. Since Jong-in-a finished the mixes the other day, Cho-ree seonbae sent them to Hyung-jun seonbae. We get to start really putting this together today.”

  “Have you gotten a chance to work on your song for part two?” he asked as they walked to their desks.

  “Yes, I’ve got the bare bones of it right now. I’m working on lunches and breaks,” she said. “What about you?”

  “I had to start all over again. I had several options, but they got shredded, the bastards,” Jin-woo grumbled. “I worked hard on those, and it was a pain in the ass because I’m so used to focusing on Ki-tae’s vocal style that switching to Cheongul hyung’s and HanYin hyung’s is a bit difficult. I have a couple of ideas, but nothing that I would even call bare bones at this point.”

  “I’m sorry, Jin-woo-ya. I didn’t mean to remind you of that,” she said as she tucked her arm through his.

  “It’s not as if I wasn’t thinking about it anyway.” Jin-woo shrugged. “Hyun-jo seonbae is heading over to my building, now. Apparently everyone thinks he’ll be able to get the company to comply, and I’m inclined to agree. There’s something both charming and frightening about him, something cunning and… dangerous.”

  “There’s something about his scent, I don’t know. It kind of reminds me of Jong-in-a. Anyway, we don’t have a lot of time left before the songs are due. What are you going to do?” she asked as they entered the meeting room.

  “I’m going to work on it every chance I get. I don’t have a choice. I have to have a fully produced song within two weeks. Even that’s still generous, but I’m having such a hard time coming up with an idea. I’ll think of something. Whether it’s any good will remain to be seen.”

  Once Cheong-bo and Hyung-jun arrived, their morning meeting began. As much as he was looking forward to working on the video, Jin-woo was still concerned about the song. He hadn’t come up with anything decent since his originals were trashed, and that bothered him. Everything sounded canned, and that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted something people would tap their foot to without even thinking about, something they could relate to, something to make them feel. He had yet to find the words to do that. Shaking his head, Jin-woo brought his attention back to the meeting. There was still a lot of work to do before the release date. There was a knock on the door as Cheong-bo paused. It opened, and Soon-joon-nim stepped into the room. He smiled at everyone and took the seat at the head of the table.

  “How is everyone today?” he asked. “I’m sorry to interrupt your meeting, but I have an announcement to make.”

  “What is it, Soon-joon-nim?” Hyung-jun asked. “Does it have something to do with the videos?”

  “In a way, yes,” Soon-joon said. “Bam Kiseu is scheduled to begin working on their next album soon. They’ve been home about a month now, and the fans are itching for a live performance. In two weeks Hyun-jo hubae and I will be at Jeonjin University for the second part of the BLE scholarship program. I was originally going to have the boys as judges, but as much as I know they will be professional and unbiased, many people will not think so, considering their exposure to Jin-woo dongsaeng, Min-su dongsaeng, and Jong-in dongsaeng. There is a good chance someone will protest should one of your songs win the scholarship.”

  “Does that mean we can’t put forth our songs?” Min-su asked.

  “No. You are part of the class, and it would be wrong to penalize you because you were talented enough to win the first part of it,” Soon-joon said. “I am planning for eventualities.”

  “It makes sense,” Cheong-bo said. “Most people don’t know Bam Kiseu the way we do, so they have no way of knowing how Ki-tae dongsaeng will tell you if something’s crap straight to your face, no holds barred. He does it to HanYin dongsaeng and Cheongul dongsaeng all the time. He’s usually right, and they realize that after they’ve calmed down.”

  “Won’t they claim bias anyway?” Jin-woo said.

  “If they do, it will be from the safety of their computer chairs,” Soon-joon said. “And we have a contingency for that. It is one of the reasons I chose Hyun-jo hubae. His duties do not often expose him to the production staff. He mostly deals with the business end of things, managing my calendar, dealing with venues, marketing, public relations. However, his dual degree in business management and music theory and composition make him an excellent judge.”

  “And we’re okay with that. I’ll be honest, Soon-joon-nim, Hyun-jo seonbae is… intimidating, for all he’s a soft-spoken man,” Cheong-bo said.

  “And that is what makes him so effective.” Soon-joon smiled.

  “How does this relate to the videos?” Hyung-jun asked.

  “Before they go into the studio to begin work on their next album, HanYin dongsaeng thought it might be a nice offering to the fans to have a local performance, a sort of flashback concert where they perform mainly their older songs, the ones that made people fall in love with them. He suggested releasing the performance version the day before the concert and then debuting the regular at the concert itself. Cheongul dongsaeng suggested they could perform the winning song as well, a little bit of new with the old.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Min-su said. “A lot of fans like going to concerts to hear the new songs, but they get really hyped when they can hear some of their old favorites too. The songs that made us fans to begin with, we still listen to them, even when there’s new stuff. It just all gets added to the mix.”

  “I’m glad you think so, Min-su dongsaeng. The boys have requested that you, Jin-woo dongsaeng, and Jong-in dongsaeng perform ‘Crossing Time’ with them.”

  “What?” The word was out before Jin-woo could stop it.

  “Cheongul dongsaeng figured since you three were forced to learn the choreography alongside them and came up with the concept to begin with, it was only right for you to be onstage with them,” Soon-joon said. “All three of them were very adamant about it.”

  “I… I am very honored by the offer,” Jin-woo said quietly, feeling the tightness in his chest at the very idea of singing in front of an audience. “However, that is not possible for me. If you’ll excuse me, please.”

  Jin-woo got up and walked out of the room. He walked as fast as he could to the men’s room and locked himself in one of the stalls. While there always seemed to be reminders in the form of hospital bills, Jin-woo tried not to think about his parents. The memories were bittersweet and painful. They had loved each other very much, but his mother’s family had not approved of his father, especially his aunt. She had refused to speak to his mother for years because of their marriage, and she was still a bitter old woman to this day.

  Fortunately his grandparents had not cut his mother out of their lives completely, even warmed
up to his father toward the end of their years, and that allowed them to live comfortably, if not in the way his mother was raised. Yet they were happy. Singing had been their thing. They met when his father was performing in the park near his mother’s home. A humble street busker with a voice to make the angels cry, that was how his mother always described his father.

  Jin-woo wiped at his cheek, brushing away the wetness. During the summer months, they would sit in the park as a family and sing to the passersby. What money they collected was then distributed among the other performers who were not as well-off as they were.

  That day was still so clear in his mind. It was just like any other summer day, bright and beautiful. They had just finished listening to the other performers and putting money in their baskets. Together, nine-year-old Jin-woo and his mom skipped ahead, singing one of the many songs they loved. His father came behind them, playing his acoustic guitar, the case slung across his back. Jin-woo and his mother turned, teasing him about how slow he was, calling him “lazy turtle,” plodding along and taking forever.

  Jin-woo couldn’t stop the memory, He tried to push it away, but it wouldn’t leave. He covered his face with his hands, but he could still see his father’s eyes widen, see him burst into a run, dropping his guitar, and the way it splintered upon the ground. He looked up, saw his mother turn her head to look behind them just before she placed her hand in the middle of his chest and shoved, sending him tumbling into the ditch. Screams, screeching brakes, the dull thud of bodies hitting the ground, tumbling over and over, the nauseating sound of tires bumping over something—someone—and the sound of shattered glass. He slammed his hands over his ears, not realizing the screaming was him until strong arms yanked him forward. He struggled, striking out until finally Soon-joon’s voice registered, its tone low, soft, soothing. Jin-woo collapsed, the tears streaming down his face.

  He was floating in a daze of swirling numbness. Jin-woo had no sense of his surroundings. Then the movement stopped. He could hear voices, but he couldn’t make them out. It was too much effort to try. He let the darkness take him, take away the pain, the memories, the feeling of horrified helplessness. The images flashed through his mind, so fast they blurred together, his parents, Ki-tae, cars and trucks and blood, so much blood, his father’s staring eyes, and then Jin-woo accepted the offer of sweet oblivion.