Night Kiss

by E. T. Malinowski

  “Once more we feel the intensity of our narrator’s emotions, the strength of his heart. The three voices harmonize, weaving a wall of sound that captures us, holds us there, showing us how determined our narrator is. The pace picks up once more, the frustration, the guilt of what he’s done in the past, of the things he needed to do to survive, making him wonder if his love will be returned.”

  I’ve done things I’m not proud of,

  Things I needed to survive,

  I walk in darkness, blinded by the light.

  I can’t go on without you.

  The years, they stretch on too far.

  I’m crossing time to find you,

  Wherever you are.

  “He’s not ready to give up, not yet.” Jong-in’s voice softened almost to a whisper. “He can’t go back to what he once was. He can’t let go of this love he’s found. He’ll travel as far as he needs to claim it. The tempo slows, the beat softens, the melody remains hopeful but cautious. It almost starts to fade away. That crescendo comes rushing at you, bursting into existence in another beat drop that carries into the last chorus. He will not give up. He will not return to solitude. He will have his love, even if he has to cross time forever.”

  Through the walls and through the chains,

  Through the ice and through the rain,

  You found your way into my heart,

  And now, I’m crossing time to find you.

  “Each section of this melody, of the underlying beats, the drops and the pacing, all convey the intensity of emotion, the whirlwind that is falling in love for the first time, of learning how painful and how sweet it can be. The baseline keeps the song strong, even as it rises and drops in tempo. The symphonic overtones and the strings keep this firmly in the ballad arena while making it a good song to dance to… unless your name happens to be Bak Jong-in of the two left feet!” The crowd laughed, and Jong-in took a bow amid loud applause. “Thank you. Cheong Jin-woo-ya will now present to you our conceptual designs for a music video of ‘Crossing Time.’”

  Jin-woo wanted to throw up, but he fought the urge and rose, perhaps a little shyly, from his seat. He moved to the center stage, standing to the right of the easel. He took a moment to close his eyes and calm his breathing. He could do this. He really could.

  “‘Crossing Time’ speaks of traveling far to be with a loved one. It speaks of years spent alone in protective exile, only to find no protection was needed. It speaks of doing the impossible in the pursuit of love. Or is it truly possible to cross time?” Jin-woo asked, tilting his head to give visual emphasis to his question. “That was the question we asked ourselves as we listened to the song. The idea took root as we acknowledged there is more to this world than what we can see with our own eyes.”

  Jin-woo pulled the first board off the easel, revealing a series of nine storyboard panels. They were projected on the screen behind him for those farther back. He could hear the “oohs” and the “ahs” and a few gasps and knew the heat in his face meant he was blushing. The panels depicted, in detail, three men in historic clothing, their hair flowing down their backs from the topknots. They studied and they played Yut Nori, a board game with dice, and performed moving meditations to improve their energy. Yet the horns upon their heads marked them as nonhumans. The last set of three blocks showed them sneering at human couples, dismissing them.

  “In our cultural mythology, there are many beings that are immortal, but surprisingly, few stories tell of them interacting with human beings in a positive way, let alone falling in love,” Jin-woo said. “One of the few that attract humans are the Chonggak Dokkaebi, the bachelor goblin. He is a being who lives many centuries, who watches mortals in their fumbling, and has decided we are most stupid when we love. He eschews love, seeing it as weakness.”

  Jin-woo removed the panel, so engrossed in his topic that he barely noticed the suddenly very attentive looks of four of his audience members. The second panel began with three blocks showing three women resting by a pond. One was reading while another played a gayageum, a string instrument, and the third did needlework.

  “Here we see three human women sitting by a pond. They are relaxing at their leisure. They love music and literature and crafts. They are quiet and serene, happy,” Jin-woo said. “They are simply going about their business, but it is their quiet beauty that captures the attentions of our dokkaebi, ensnaring them with little effort. They are fascinated by these women but have yet to figure out why.”

  Another panel, and Jin-woo continued, “But time cannot be stopped. It is ever moving forward, and soon it claims the three women. Our bachelors are heartbroken, having never spoken words of love to their maidens. They cannot understand the loss and resolve to find their loves again, even if they must travel across time.”

  Finally the last three panels were moved in slow succession. “The bachelors search for them across the ages, feeling the fluttering in their chests grow stronger and stronger each time they reconnect with their lost loves, until finally, in our time, they find them once more. Here they resolve to never be without their loves again.”

  Jin-woo set the panels aside and turned to face the audience, not really seeing them. He paused for a moment before speaking once more. “What are our memories but little leaps across time? We go back to moments where we were happy or sad, where we felt loss and pain, joy, and hope. Our concept for ‘Crossing Time’ is a journey both forward and back, traveling the memories of our bachelors as we go.”

  With a nod to Jong-in, Jin-woo stepped to the side as the screen switched from projecting the panels to a video. The first series was of historical sites in the local area. He sat down as Min-su took the dais.

  “Our bachelors are old. They have seen many things, but their pursuit of love begins in the past. This song tells a story, and its music video will be an extension of that. From ancient times to modern, we will watch them find love, wonder at it, pursue it, and finally win the ones they love,” Min-su said, a small smile gracing her almost cherubic features. “‘Crossing Time’ is its own hook, from the slow rise to the beat drops and final fade. Its video can do no less.”

  Jin-woo tried to listen to Min-su. Yet he kept getting distracted by the humming in his body. He couldn’t keep his leg from bouncing with the energy. He nibbled on his lower lip, trying to keep his eyes from straying to Ki-tae and failing. He found him in deep conversation with HanYin. Cheongul, on the other hand, was watching Min-su like a hawk. If Min-su noticed, she gave no sign. On second thought, this was Min-su. If she had noticed how intently Cheongul was focused on her, she would be freaking out.

  Jin-woo glanced at the clock. They were almost done. Once Min-su finished reviewing their projected production schedule, including filming, editing, and postproduction, they would hit the audience with their final visual, a concept trailer that had taken them the full three weeks to complete. Jin-woo could only pray it looked and sounded as good as they hoped. The applause brought him out of his reverie, and Jin-woo almost shot from his seat to join Min-su and Jong-in at center stage.

  “We hope you have enjoyed our presentation. It will come as no surprise that we are huge fans of Bam Kiseu and their music. We hope our efforts today have done your work justice. The final portion of our presentation is a concept trailer we created to give a more concrete idea of what we feel this video should be. Thank you.”

  They bowed and left the stage as Jong-in started the video. They walked up the center aisle, right past Ki-tae and the others, and took their seats several rows back. He saw Min-su blow out a slow breath and Jong-in rub the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses. Once they were finally able to get out the door, Jin-woo figured he was okay to pass out… again.

  Ki-tae

  KI-TAE WAS floored, absolutely floored by what he heard, and now by what he saw on the screen. He’d seen professional videos not half as good as the concept trailer playing in front of him. They done this in three weeks? It was, simply put, amazing.

  �
�Holy shit,” HanYin muttered. “They got it. They really got it.”

  “That they did,” Cheongul murmured.

  “Should we even bother discussing the others?” Ki-tae said with a chuckle. “Save for the video, you could hear a pin drop in this room.”

  “You know we have to do this professionally. We have to review all of them and discuss them with Soon-joon-nim and Seonsaengnim,” Cheongul said. “He will expect nothing less.”

  “That boy can sing,” HanYin murmured. “And he’s got the most delectable dimples.”

  Ki-tae looked at HanYin for several moments before his brother seemed to realize what he’d just said. The blush coloring HanYin’s cheeks was freaking adorable. “So that’s what it takes to get your attention: a great singing voice and dimples?”

  “Shut up,” HanYin muttered, looking away.

  Ki-tae decided to take it easy on his monkish sibling. He threw an arm around HanYin’s shoulders and pulled him into a side hug. Then he kissed his temple. HanYin poked him in the side, and they were good once more. They turned their attention back to the front of the room as Teacher Kim took to the dais. He waited for the noise to quiet down before he began speaking.

  “I would like to thank everyone for their efforts today. I know you all worked very hard on your presentations. I am proud of your efforts,” he began. “I would like to thank our honored guests, Bam Kiseu and Soon-joon-nim, for taking the time out of their busy schedules to provide us with this wonderful opportunity. The presentations are complete. The students will now have a short break while we deliberate on the many wonderful ideas we’ve seen today.”

  The students rose, but they certainly weren’t as energetic as they were earlier in the day. He bit back a groan as Jin-woo’s scent pretty much kicked him in the groin. Even those other two scents couldn’t distract him from Jin-woo. A small growl escaped, and his eyes locked on that sweet ass walking away from him. Cheongul’s hand on his arm was the only thing preventing him from tackling Jin-woo. It took several deep breaths after the door closed behind Jin-woo for Ki-tae to get control of himself. This was going to be hell. He followed HanYin and Cheongul when they rose and went to the dais. Jin-woo’s visuals were still on the easel. They stood before them.

  “He’s got talent,” Cheongul said.

  HanYin chuckled. “They actually look like us.”

  “Dokkaebi are usually pictured with long fangs,” Ki-tae said with a smirk. “Notice how he didn’t put those in there, just the horns.”

  “I’d say it says a lot about Jin-woo dongsaeng,” Cheongul said. “Maybe he can be trusted.”

  “Maybe,” Ki-tae agreed. “That doesn’t mean I want to be bound to him. He doesn’t even seem to feel it the way I do.”

  “I don’t know,” HanYin said. “Between the two of you, there are enough pheromones to knock out a Dragon.”

  “He has been dreaming of you every night for the last three weeks,” Cheongul pointed out. When Ki-tae gave him a look, he just shrugged. “What? Your room is next to mine, and you’re not quiet by any stretch of the imagination.”

  “Do you know the meaning of the word tact?” Ki-tae said.

  “Yes. I just choose not to bother with it.” Cheongul smirked at him.

  Ki-tae went to punch him in the arm, but Soon-joon clearing his throat stopped him. He glanced at his father and saw the raised eyebrow. With a sigh, Ki-tae lowered his hand, but the look he shot Cheongul promised retribution. Ki-tae moved out of Soon-joon’s way and leaned against the desk immediately next to the podium.

  “Soon-joon-nim?” Teacher Kim said with a smile. “I thought we might adjourn to one of the seminar rooms, stretch our legs a little, and have a change of scenery while we discuss the presentations.”

  “Of course. That is an excellent idea.”

  “I agree,” Cheongul said with a smile. “We’ve been here quite some time. It almost feels like dance practice… without the work!”

  They laughed. Ki-tae shoved Cheongul’s shoulder as they followed Teacher Kim and Soon-joon out the door. Cheongul shot him a wink. Ki-tae gave a soft “oomph” as HanYin pounced on his shoulders and wrapped his legs around Ki-tae’s waist like an overgrown spider monkey. He bounced HanYin-a a couple of times to adjust his weight on his back and then carried his brother down the hall. This wasn’t unusual for them. The three of them were very close, although some people took it the wrong way.

  Teacher Kim was right when he said the seminar rooms were too small for their needs. If they had tried to cram so many people in that one spot, things would have gotten super tense. There were certain scenarios where he and HanYin did not function well.

  Sung-yi brought them refreshments as they took their seats. Ki-tae opened one of the waters and downed half of it in one long gulp. He needed something to cool him off. Although he wasn’t sure water would ever do the trick, not when he knew Jin-woo was near.

  “Shall we begin?” Soon-joon asked, looking at each of them in turn.

  “Of course,” Teacher Kim said.

  The discussion went back and forth on each group until they reached group four of Class One. There was no way for Ki-tae to be nice about this one.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but they were awful,” Ki-tae said bluntly. Soon-joon winced a little. He’d apologize later.

  “How so?” Teacher Kim asked.

  “Ki-tae-ya and I wrote that song,” HanYin said. “It was as if they hadn’t even bothered to listen to it before putting their presentation together. They were so off the mark it was almost insulting.”

  “In addition, how could a video about the weather be remotely interesting unless one is a meteorologist?” Cheongul added. “Their visuals were subpar, and their presentation was poorly organized and sloppy.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve ever listened to the song, but it has absolutely nothing to do with the weather. From the very first verse, there is no way a person could mistake it for anything other than a song about… being intimate with someone,” Ki-tae said, changing the words he was going to use at the last minute.

  “I did feel as if they had no real interest in what they were doing,” Soon-joon said. “It was my impression that our style of music was not to their taste, and so their efforts were… lacking. This does not bode well for them in the entertainment industry. You don’t always get to choose what projects you work on. Sometimes you must complete assignments that aren’t to your taste, but you can’t let that affect your work. You must give 100 percent to every project you do. Otherwise you will soon find yourself without work. I would not want to work with them until they come to understand and accept that fact.”

  Teacher Kim smiled gently. “I had hoped this project would inspire them to put more effort into their work, but it seems I was wrong.”

  “It isn’t your fault,” Soon-joon said. “It is hard to find motivation for others. Honestly it is something they must find within themselves. The only thing you can do is give their creativity nurturing. They’re the ones that have to run with it.”

  “Those are wise words,” Teacher Kim said. “I will keep them in mind as I continue to teach.”

  “Group six of Class One,” Soon-joon said. When Cheongul groaned, he had a hard time suppressing his smile. “You have something to say, Cheongul dongsaeng?”

  “The circus. That is what I have to say,” Cheongul said calmly. “If ‘Master’ made them think of the circus, I don’t ever want to go to the ones they visit.”

  “Again we have a situation where they didn’t listen to the music. I mean really listen to it,” Ki-tae said. “That song speaks of the beast inside all of us: the beast of wrath, of anger and rage. It is about how it can control us, smashing our hopes when let loose from its cage. I didn’t see that in their concept at all.”

  “It appeared as if they didn’t prepare for the actual presentation. Their material was falling apart. They lost their thread and repeated things they had already said. I understand some people have a difficult time wit
h public speaking, but rehearsing can help to alleviate that,” HanYin explained.

  “Dedication shows in the willingness to prepare,” Soon-joon said. “The boys complain about dance practice, but they’re there for six hours every Tuesday and Thursday. On Mondays and Wednesdays, they have two hours of voice coaching and two hours of rehearsal. Then they have another two hours of dance practice in the evening. This is in addition to the many other engagements they have throughout the day. The only time these schedules change is when they record in the afternoon. Since the recording is the actual product, they rest in the mornings, so as not to strain their vocal cords and cause injury. Sometimes we must force them to leave the studio because they are working long after everyone else has hit the end of their stride. That is dedication.”

  “By the end of the day, we’re beat too,” Ki-tae said. “But we love what we do, so every ache and pain is worth it.”

  Teacher Kim nodded. Ki-tae liked the way he listened not only to Soon-joon, but to them as well. He jotted down notes on what they said and didn’t dismiss them out of turn as some people tended to do. They appeared young, but they weren’t, and it shocked people when they didn’t act as expected. Teacher Kim made Ki-tae, at least, feel as if he took them seriously and that their apparent age didn’t matter. They made it through the rest of the groups, reaching Jin-woo’s team last.

  “The Class Two groups were very good and I want to keep an eye on them as they continue their education, especially Group Three. That was Tae-ri dongsaeng, Hyung-ri dongsaeng, and Kwon-soo dongsaeng. They have a lot of potential, but this team,” Soon-joon said, tapping the packet with his finger. “They know what it means to work and to prepare. Everything was on point. They were organized and had their pacing down. Each section easily flowed from one to the next, and they clearly took their time.”