UNIVERSE / BTS.

47: my dream still remains / 2seok

MY DREAM
STILL REMAINS
( part 1 )

WORD COUNT 2.2K
OVERVIEW they're two different worlds, sun and moon, yet somehow they collide. ( 90s grunge au / TW: gay slurs, wh*re slur )

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CALLOUSED FINGERS GRIP AT A cup covered in sweat like the atmosphere around him, bitten lips hitting cold glass, ice clinking. the club is hot, busy, too full, like his head is with his dangerous thoughts, burning liquor running down his throat in the one place he feels safe. surrounded by pulsing music and people far too drunk to care, the alcohol is meant to make him forget or care less of past mistakes.

it doesn't. jung hoseok's mind is troubled, hazed with the molly he'd stolen from wonho, addled with the deep golden bourbon he's been pouring down his throat for the past half hour. the club is not his kind of place, full of glittery young souls– not that he isn't one of those, usually– whose eyes are full of happiness, however fake or drug aided.

he is too sad for this atmosphere, but it's the only place he can truly feel safe, surrounded by people who are like him; america is full of gays like him, and he is accepted better than back in his native land. these sort of places are banned in korea, yet california is full of them. changbin had dragged the band to one on their first tour stop, insisting that it'd be fun, even if one half of the band were straight. poor wonho; he'd accidentally hit on three lesbians, and brian had gotten unknowingly chatted up by a tall handsome stranger. hoseok would usually laugh at this, but his mood is dampened by stiffening memories of earlier that day.

"wanna 'nuther, rockstar?" the bartender asks, in thick accented english. hoseok nods and accepts the glass of bourbon; he appreciates not being recognised in atmospheres like this, his grunge rocker appearance just looking like the modern fashions. base line, his band, is popular, but not popular enough that random strangers will recognise him in gay bars, because no one would think that jung hoseok, super hot, drool worthy, babe magnet bass player, is gay, although his lyrics hint at it. no one suspects until it's right in their face.

hoseok chuckles bitterly at that thought, purple streaked bangs falling in his eyes, but he tips his head back and swallows the bourbon again, tapping his black painted nails on the glass and closing his eyes. fuck. yesterday it was like his life was golden; his band was on tour in america. fucking us-of-a, he had been buzzing onstage, fingers strumming bass strings at rapid paces. he had been so fucking happy. but of course, nothing perfect can last; not if hoseok's dad had a say in it.

today was the day that hoseok always dreads. it's a day that has his heart hurrying, and he usually just locks himself away with her favourite records and photographs of her. keeping her alive. but none of that bought his mum back, after all. he called his father every year on that day– practically the only time they'd talk– for a heart-to-heart about hoseok's mother. hoseok, after ten years, had finally begun to accept the fact that his mum was gone, and that she had been proud of him when he was thirteen and had only just picked up a bass. he had it in his mind that she would still be proud.

"hey, dad," hoseok breathed into the clunky mobile phone, shaky. his room on the tour bus– a tour bus, base line were so big they had a tour bus with a room for each member, could you believe– smelt like cinnamon candles and incense. classic rock and roll. hoseok's box full of memories of his mother was spilled out on his bed as they moved through california roads, and he held a photo of him and his mum when he was seven in his hands.

"hoseok-ah," hoseok's father spoke huskily, and hoseok tried not to gulp when he realised that he was drunk. it was powerfully evident, almost like hoseok could smell the stale stench. "where the fuck are you? you should be here at her grave with me. bastard."