The Truth That Lies (WangXian Modern AU)

02

I'm the moth and you're my flame. I'll fly to you even if I get burned.

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Wei Ying

Visiting the studio has always been exciting and emotionally draining at the same time.

It felt like meeting an old friend to whom soon you'll have to say goodbye. The familiarity is nice, recalling memories is nice. But the farewell takes a good proportion out of the cheerfulness, the mixture of emotions is . . . weird.

Since I came for a quick stop, I park my car on the other side of the road. I get down, freezing with the temperature drop of the coming winter.

When I looked around, something makes me feel cautious as if someone was watching me.

I push my hands into my pockets and take quick steps across the road, taking shallow breaths to avoid the sharp pain in my nose. I rush through the glass double doors; the warmth in the reception was welcoming. I deeply inhale; finally, a warm breath. The uneasiness was gone. Maybe it was my imagination after all.

I greet the receptionist and I proceed further into the studio.

As soon as I open the soundproof door of the control room, a bass tune falls into my ear. I didn't have to look to know that Wen Ning was crucially staring at the computer screen behind the console as if he was going to blow holes through it. Of course, he doesn't notice me coming in.

"Staring doesn't make the hearing better, you know?" I comment and he almost jumps out of his seat startled by the sudden presence.

"You scared me." He stammers, massaging his chest with his hand.

I chuckle at the reaction. "What are you mixing?"

"A bass backup I recorded today," Ning says. "It's not blending with the kick."

"Let me see."

He complies, letting me listen to the track. "Hmm. Try a high pass filter on the kick."

It takes him a while to try it, and I take a seat on the couch at the back of the room till he's done.

Our former band broke up a few months after my graduation when our drummer and the vocalist decided to leave the country, leaving Ning and I and our pages of bass-electric duet compositions with no clear purpose. By that time, my passion was slowly disappearing, and Cheng was begging me to accept my position at Jiang Corp; I realized that I should do it for him.

But for some reason, I wanted to build this studio. So I saved for it.

By the time I was done with the work, Ning was a broke college dropout. Qing wanted to take him in at the club, but he always had a dream for music, so I offered him a job to manage the studio. Then, helped him form another band with a few clients who came here.

Ning plays the track again and smiles at the outcome. "Yeah. That's nice," he says. "Thanks."

"Anytime. That trick comes out handy." I reply. "Where are the others? Aren't you guys supposed to practice today?" I ask.

"No. We rescheduled it to tomorrow." He says. "Is it okay, Mr. Wei?"

"It's Xian, goddamnit! Just what the hell happened to you?"

After offering the job, Ning, who grew up with me through most of my childhood, started treating me like some kind of a master. Even after years, I still haven't been able to make him call me Xian. Well, at least, Mr. Wei is much better than 'Master'.