Chapter 1: Home Sweet... No
Chapter Text
Hwanwoong snuck down the alley like a ghost. Halfway through, a concrete stairway led down below the ground. He glanced around before bounding down the steps and withdrawing a screwdriver from his backpack. Some people have keys. Others have door codes. Hwanwoong had a screwdriver. Whatever. It worked. He held onto the doorknob on his side of the door. On the other side, it loosened as he turned the screws, finally falling onto the hard concrete floor with an echoing clatter. He pulled the door open, quickly reassembled the knob, and slipped inside, letting the door click shut behind him.
He turned on his phone’s flashlight, sweeping the beam around the cavernous, dark room. The sunrise wasn’t quite bleeding through the dusty little windows yet. His cheap yo, just a thin sleeping mat he’d brought along when he left Jeonju, took up a small space along the cement block wall. It was straightened up just like his mother had trained him when he lived with her. He made his bed every morning, starting at the age of four, and it extended into his adulthood, though he no longer had a bed.
Hwanwoong scanned around the room, thoroughly checking every corner and crack for mice and roaches… and worse. Satisfied that he was alone, Hwanwoong finally sat on his yo and covered his legs with the blanket. He was exhausted from work and he stretched out on his back, laying his head on the pillow and closing his eyes. Home sweet homeless.
He needed a shower. The nearby jjimjilbang was cheap. The staff were friendly, always treating him to boricha and bowl after bowl of sticky white rice. He brought his phone charger along. The battery was dead and he was eager to plug it into the wall and text his mother.
The water in the shower was nearly scalding hot, filling the stall with steam. A pleasant green tea scent engulfed him as he scrubbed his hair and face. Sandalwood took over when he moved on to a tiny bar of soap, just big enough to wash his body. He stepped out in clean sage green sauna clothes, hanging baggy from his small frame. They looked like hospital scrubs, but with the addition of a towel hat with Princess Leia-like buns on both sides of his head.
Hwanwoong sat cross-legged on a mat in the men’s communal room, shoved his charge cable into the wall, and checked his battery percentage. At 10%, his phone blinked back to life. His lock screen was a photo of the view from the front step of his mother’s house, all cobbled brick pavement with the roof of a temple peeking over the trees. He had a few missed texts from his mom and decided to take care of those first. He’d deal with his missed call from Youngjo after he talked to her.
Mommy (6:02 AM): You must be sleeping now, my hardworking baby. I love you.
Mommy (8:20 AM): Do you still like honey cakes? I bought a big bag of them from the honey cake halmeoni by the hanoks. I could send some to you if you’re homesick.
Mommy (11:30 AM): Please bring Youngjo home with you next time you visit. I still need to meet that boy.
Reading the words “honey cakes” made Hwanwoong’s stomach growl, though it was nearly impossible to hear over the crowd of chattering men. He wanted honey cakes from Jeonju, especially if the halmeoni his mother was talking about was the one he was thinking of. Hers were always perfectly soft, sweet, and just a little sticky.
One of the staff picked his way through the room with a tray. He set a bowl of rice and a cup of steaming boricha in front of Hwanwoong. “Kamsahamnida,” Hwanwoong mumbled, nodding.
Me (1:16 PM): Please send honey cakes. I need them. I am but skin and bones. Send a few extra so I can share with Youngjo.
Mommy (1:20 PM): Of course, baby! How’s Seoul?
Me (1:22 PM): Same as ever. My roommates are noisy. I’m having rice and tea.
Mommy (1:23 PM): Please eat more than that. Mommy worries about you.
Hwanwoong smiled, shoveling a spoonful of rice into his mouth. She worried, and that was why she didn’t know where he was living. He gave her Youngjo’s address when she wanted to send letters and gifts. It was better for her heart than knowing her son was squatting in the unused basement under a pocha.
Me (1:26 PM): I’m just not feeling well today. I’ll be fine. Love you!
Mommy (1:27 PM): Love you more, my baby.
Hwanwoong tapped on the missed call, his phone automatically connecting him to Youngjo. “Eung?” came the answer after three rings.
“Hi, Nyangie,” Hwanwoong purred. “Sorry I missed you. I was sleeping and then my phone was dead and now-”
“So you’re okay?” Youngjo breathed a long sigh of relief. “Thank God.”
“Mmm, I’m fine,” Hwanwoong confirmed, taking a sip of boricha. It was finally just cool enough to drink without burning his taste buds off. It tasted like sweet roasted barley. “My mom is sending a package to your place again but I don’t know when it’ll arrive. It’s honey cakes.”
“I can get you honey cakes at the market,” Youngjo laughed.
“You don’t understand,” Hwanwoong said. “These are real granny honey cakes from a real old granny in Jeonju. They’re my favorite.”
“Ah, I see.” Youngjo still had laughter in his tone, like he was amused by Hwanwoong. Something hissed and clanged in the background. “Ah-yah! Oh, steam is hot. Wow, that hurts.”
“Are you at work?” Hwanwoong asked. His heart pattered in his chest. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m at work, yeah. I just burned my hand on the steam from the espresso machine.” Hwanwoong could hear a faucet turning on. Youngjo was running his burn under cold water. “I think I got out of the way fast enough that I won’t sustain too much damage. Where are you?”
“At the jjimjilbang across from the pocha I live under.”
“I still don’t understand why you won’t just move in with Sunny and me.” Hwanwoong fell silent, nibbling at the rice in his spoon. “Peanut? I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to rely on anyone else, but it’s hard to be self-made in this city. And you came here with nothing.”
“I know,” Hwanwoong mumbled. “I’ll come over after I get off work tomorrow and sleep with you, okay?”
“All right. You know where to find the key. See you tomorrow.”
Hwanwoong’s job was easy. Clean the store, stock the shelves and toss anything that had expired, and man the cash register whenever there were late-night customers. He kept an eye on his watch as he mopped the floor. The triangular kimbap in the snack fridge would officially expire at 12:01 in the morning, but that didn’t make it inedible, and Hwanwoong was allowed to have as much expired kimbap as he wanted.
As soon as the clock turned over, Hwanwoong propped the mop up against the counter and skipped to the refrigerators at the back wall of the convenience store. He tossed all the expired kimbap into a basket and trotted back to the front of the store. They were wrapped tightly in plastic cling film, and he peeled it away from one that promised to be stuffed with rice, kimchi, pickled radish, and Spam, and bit into its grassy seaweed exterior.
Hwanwoong was on his tiptoes, stocking a shelf of ChocoPie, when one of the morning workers showed up for his 4 AM shift. He could just see a head of bright blue hair sticking up over the top of the aisle. He stuffed the last box into place and emerged, breaking down the shipping box as he walked. “Annyeong!” he sang, nodding at his cute dongsaeng. Giwook was small, though still taller than Hwanwoong, with squishy cheeks and uneven eyes. Giwook had been born with just one double-creased eyelid and it gave him a unique face. “Up late with Dongmyeong again?” Hwanwoong asked, winking.
“Yeah,” Giwook said with a yawn. “I swear he could text endlessly. Are you going straight home?”
“I’m going to Youngjo’s place.” Hwanwoong made his way behind the counter and watched Giwook count his till. “I should pick up some more treats for Sunny before I go. Maybe he’ll forgive me for stealing his spot in Youngjo’s bed. Hey, do you know how Dongju and Geon…”
“Hak,” Giwook said without glancing up from the bills he was counting.
“Geonhak! Yeah. Do you know how they’re doing? Every time I ask Dongju-yah, he turns all red and asks me if I want to die.”
“They’re fine.” Giwook closed the till and recorded the balance. “They seem to like each other a lot.”
“Good.”
With a small bag of soft, meaty-flavored dog treats in his lap, Hwanwoong rode the early bus to Hongdae. Youngjo’s rooftop apartment wasn’t far from the bus stop. It was about a three-block walk for the half-asleep convenience store clerk. He reached the building, climbed the metal stairs to the roof, and crunched his way across the gravel to Youngjo’s door.
The key was tucked under the mat and Hwanwoong retrieved it. It glided smoothly into the lock, which opened with a quiet click. Hwanwoong slipped his shoes off and padded across the small room in stocking feet, approaching the bed where Youngjo was passed out with Sunny beside him. Youngjo’s hand was wrapped in a white bandage, probably to keep the burn salve off his sheets while he slept.
Sunny, Youngjo’s fluffy little white dog, had curled into a ball and tucked his nose under his tail to sleep. Hwanwoong felt terrible about waking him, but he couldn’t get into bed if he didn’t. He gently stroked Sunny’s back. “Sunny,” he whispered. “Treats!” The dog perked up and barked. “Shh, hush! Don’t wake Youngjo!” He continued petting Sunny with one hand, pulling out a treat with the other. Sunny yearned forward, sniffing the air. “That’s right. It’s for you. I’ll put it on the floor, okay?” Hwanwoong dropped the treat and Sunny leapt off the bed to find it.
Hwanwoong undressed, stopping at his boxer briefs, and tucked himself beneath Youngjo’s comforter. The bed was warm with Youngjo’s body heat, softer than his yo in the basement, and the pillow beneath his head smelled like a mixture of freshly washed sheets and whatever shampoo Youngjo used.
The artist turned over, wrapping an arm around Hwanwoong’s waist and snuggling against him. “You know it’s rude to force puppies out of bed,” Youngjo mumbled, his deep morning voice rumbling against Hwanwoong’s shoulder.
“He can get back in the bed,” Hwanwoong argued. “I just didn’t want to lie down and squish him.”
Youngjo chuckled and kissed Hwanwoong’s cheek. “Go to sleep. I’ll make sure you’re fed if you come to the café after you wake up, okay?”
“Mmm,” Hwanwoong hummed, settling deeper into the bed. Sunny hopped onto the mattress, nestling himself in a spot by Hwanwoong’s hip, and curled up in a ball again. Why didn’t Hwanwoong just move in?
Chapter Text
Youngjo began with a smooth sweep of his pencil, impressing a curl on the cream-white paper of the sketchbook in his lap. With a few more dots and lines, that curl took on a resemblance to Sunny, snuggled close to Hwanwoong in the bed. He moved on, the pencil draping the creased blanket over a human form, a young man asleep on his side. Youngjo had to lift his hand off the page. The pressure was beginning to make his burn from the day before sting and it seemed to bite him all the way to the bone. He held up the sketchbook, comparing it against his subject.
Hwanwoong’s hair fell over his eyes in a way Youngjo wasn’t sure he could ever replicate, no matter how long he studied the intricacies of fine art. His eyes were closed, feather-soft eyelashes fanning his cheeks. His lips were parted and Youngjo glimpsed Hwanwoong’s straight white tiger teeth as the boy snored softly against the pillow. Youngjo set the sketchbook and pencil down next to his paint palette and moved around the room, picking up Hwanwoong’s discarded clothes and folding them in a pile. He had a job to get ready for, so he retreated to his apartment’s odd excuse for a bathroom and turned on the shower, tugging the light blue curtain shut and blocking himself off from view if Hwanwoong wandered into the kitchen for a drink or a snack.
The rooftop room was just that. A room. Beyond the front door, to the right as a person entered, was a kitchen space with a small stove, refrigerator, and a sink where he washed the dishes as well as brushed his teeth and cleansed his face. Past that, the sky blue curtain hid a toilet and a showerhead. There was one metal shelf on the wall to hold his shampoo and shower gel. Youngjo would have happily sold his soul for a bathtub and a real door.
If a person walked straight through his front door, their feet would carry them into his bedroom. It wasn’t particularly large. His bed fitted in the corner, squeezed in against the wall to make space for the easel and the small table of paints and pencils, charcoal sticks and pastels that he obsessed over daily. He had a dresser pushed against another wall, but most of his clothes were strewn across the floor. They were easier to find that way.
The bedroom was also big enough to accommodate the tripod, now folded up and resting against the side of the dresser, that he used to use for cam shows. They called him Ravn. It was decent money while it lasted. He supplemented his income from the café with whatever his viewers were willing to spare to watch him strip and jerk off, or fuck another guy or girl. That was part of Youngjo’s appeal; he could get it up for just about anybody. And Sunny was a smart dog. He knew when the camera was set up, it was time to go hide in the kitchen or under the bed.
When Hwanwoong tiptoed into Youngjo’s life, he decided he’d do anything to keep him there. So, although there wasn’t exactly much food in the fridge, Youngjo suspended his cam career. Keeping Hwanwoong comfortable was far more important than filling his own stomach.
The blond-haired boy, probably no taller than Youngjo’s sister, stood near the entrance and intently watched Sungwoo play his guitar. He looked like a high school student, but a high schooler would have been in class at that time of day, and he wore no school uniform. He made his way inside, settling at a table and plugging his phone into the outlet in the wall. Youngjo stepped out from behind the counter and approached, and the boy stared up at him with wide eyes. “Can I get you anything to eat or drink?” Youngjo asked, pulling a notepad and pen out of the pocket of his apron.
“I…” The boy hesitated, eyes darting around the room. “Look, the electricity is off at my place and I don’t have a lot of money right now. I really just need to charge my phone. Just let me hang out here for an hour or so. Please?”
“How old are you?” Youngjo slipped his notepad back in his pocket and looked the boy over. Up close, maybe he wasn’t as young as he thought.
“22. Like the Taylor Swift song.” The boy wiped the fingerprints off his phone screen with his sleeve. “Can I stay?”
“Would you prefer a latte or an americano?”
“I told you, I don’t have any money.” He looked up at Youngjo with pleading eyes. “I just want to call my mom.”
“It’s on me,” Youngjo said softly. “You have to look like a paying customer or my boss won’t be happy. So, latte? Or americano?”
“Latte,” the boy said. His gaze lowered and he seemed to relax. “Extra cream, if that’s okay.”
“I’ll bring that right over. Oh!” He spun around on his heels, facing the boy again. “Chocolate muffin, or apple cinnamon crumble muffin?”
Youngjo turned off the shower and headed back to his room dripping wet and naked. He stepped lightly so as not to wake Hwanwoong, dried off, and dressed himself. Before he left, Youngjo quickly scribbled a note and left it on his pillow for Hwanwoong to find when he woke.
Peanut,
I’m at work but you can call or text me if you need me. Please do me the favor of feeding my dog and putting fresh water in his water bowl when you get up. Let him outside to potty, and then come to the café so I can treat you.
-Nyangie
Youngjo was supposed to go to Hongik Daehakkyo, the university that gave the Hongdae neighborhood its name. He found work in the area and rented his rooftop room nearby. The neighborhood was alive. It inhaled creativity and exhaled art and music and dance. Youngjo loved everything about Hongdae, from the murals to the performance venues, and from the street food to the street musicians.
And then Seoul National University came calling.
While he couldn’t turn down such a prestigious school, he also couldn’t bear to leave Hongdae. Sure, it was a hassle, bussing from home to school and back. But for the most part, Youngjo was pleased with his arrangement.
Youngjo kissed Hwanwoong’s temple, then scratched Sunny behind the ears. One eye opened slowly and Sunny gave him a sleepy glance. “Look after Hwanwoong, okay?” Youngjo said, stroking the little dog’s head. “Keep him safe from intruders and dokkaebi. Remind him to feed you. Growl at him until he does it.” Sunny curled again, draping his long tail over his snout and closing his eyes. He let out a little doggy sigh. “Ah, big sigh. Dog life must be so hard.”
He stuck his feet in his sneakers and headed outside, locking the door as he left. He passed by the low table on the roof, thinking it was in need of a good scrubbing and a fresh coat of paint, and he wanted to cover it in art and really make it his own. Maybe he’d do that later. He could call over Geonhak or Yonghoon and see if they wanted to help. It might be cool to have his friends contribute their own style. Youngjo liked having reminders that he was cared for.
The metal stairs from the roof to the ground had no give. They clanked and clunked with every step, holding solid, and the impact felt like running across asphalt. His feet finally landed on solid concrete and he began his walk to the café. It took most of 15 minutes, assuming Youngjo managed not to get distracted by a piece of art that had popped up overnight or an early morning street performer.
That was why he always left the apartment early. This time, he found himself standing beside a bookstore with fresh graffiti on its wall. A stylized human face in neon pink, green, and purple stared back at him, graciously signed by its creator. Youngjo leaned back, regarding the piece the way some people did with fine art in a museum. His eyes traced each line, even following the paint that dripped down the wall and made it look like the face was melting. He pulled out his phone, snapped a photo of the face, and continued on his way.
Youngjo slipped into the café through the side door and went straight for the office, through an inconspicuous black door behind the counter. He clocked in for his shift and grabbed his apron, tying it tightly around himself. As one of the management team, he’d be opening the shop alone, but the schedule showed one of his baristas would be arriving a few hours later. He wiped down the counter and the espresso machine, then moved on to the few small tables that fit inside the café, straightening the chairs as he went, gradually making his way to the main entrance of the place. It was a heavy garage door. He crouched down and unlocked it, grabbed it by the handle, and heaved it upwards. The door opened smoothly with a loud, metallic rumble. Cool morning air poured in. It was humid and already beginning to warm up for the day.
The Rolling Hall sat diagonally across the street from the café, all cool gray with red signage. The place was legendary among musicians, from pop stars to jazz artists to underground rock bands. Its facade was narrow. If you weren’t specifically looking for it, Youngjo felt it was easy to overlook. The venue had posters up, promoting an upcoming show, but Youngjo couldn’t see who was playing or when from a distance. Perhaps he would take a stroll across the street when his barista arrived. Maybe he’d just ask Sungwoo whenever he showed up. If Sungwoo was coming. The guitarist came and went as he pleased, but the café staff were always happy to have him as a regular. He’d spend hours sipping coffee and playing music, drawing in customers and keeping Youngjo company when the place was empty.
There were bean bag chairs near the entrance to make the café look cozy, and Youngjo fluffed them up and positioned them to be visible, yet out of the way. They were awfully inviting, but Youngjo didn’t dare sink down into one. If a customer showed up, he couldn’t get up very quickly to serve them. It was almost like they ate people. The customers who sat in the bean bag chairs always stayed longer, either because they were comfortable or because they were trapped.
Two young women shyly approached, holding hands. They were white, probably tourists, and they half-bowed awkwardly. Youngjo smoothly returned the greeting. “Hi,” one of the women said in English. “Can you speak English?”
“I can speak enough English,” Youngjo said with a smile. “We are open. Come inside and tell me what you’d like to have.”
With a sigh of relief, the women followed Youngjo to the café counter. His day had officially begun.
Notes:
I work as a peer tutor at my college and I just worked with a super awesome student who totally made my day, so I had the energy to write up another chapter!
Chapter Text
Hwanwoong shuffled around the rooftop room, still half asleep. His head felt heavy and fuzzy and it was as though he operated on autopilot. He filled Sunny’s water dish with fresh water, then dumped enough kibbles in his food dish to cover the bottom. Sunny scratched at the front door. “I know, I know, Sun,” Hwanwoong said through a yawn. He opened the door and let the dog dash out onto the rooftop and over to his favorite pee spot. “Your piss is gonna leak into the building downstairs if you keep doing it in the same place every time.” Sunny squatted and made eye contact with Hwanwoong. “Hey, come on, man. I don’t stare at you while I take a crap.”
The café was bustling by the time Hwanwoong arrived for lunch. The guitarist he was used to seeing wasn’t around, but a virtuoso violinist had set up shop near the entrance and was drawing quite a crowd. The guy was a spectacle with short, fading blue hair and skinny limbs, dancing along to his own music. He wore big tortoiseshell glasses without lenses. Hwanwoong would have watched him for longer had Youngjo not called out for him. He felt himself smiling as the artist approached, untying his apron. “You have good timing,” Youngjo said. “I was about to take my lunch break. Do you want to eat here or go somewhere else?”
“I’m fine with eating here.” Hwanwoong shrugged and smiled. “What’s on the menu today?”
“There’s an eggs benedict sandwich.” Youngjo rolled his apron into a ball and held it in front of his stomach. “Sunja has been making them almost nonstop since she got here this morning. They’re pretty popular, so they must be good.”
“Sounds good,” Hwanwoong agreed. “I need to run home after lunch. You know, make sure everything is still there.” Youngjo nodded as he wrapped an arm around Hwanwoong’s shoulders and led the smaller boy to the counter to place their order. “I don’t know why, but I’ve been really paranoid lately. Like somebody’s going to catch me.”
“You can always pack up and move into my place.”
“Nyangie-”
“I know, I know.” Youngjo sighed. “You want coffee too? Sunja!” The girl behind the counter perked up at her name. “Two of the sandwich of the day and two vanilla lattes, whipped cream on one.”
Youngjo got a free meal at work every day. Hwanwoong often found himself feeling envious of his boyfriend. The café served hot, fresh food and smooth coffee. The convenience store, on the other hand, had premade triangle kimbap and canned drinks. If he wanted something hot, he could spend 800 won and get a cup of instant ramyeon with complimentary disposable chopsticks. For 1,500 won, Hwanwoong could fill a cup with weak black coffee, and he frequently did so, late at night under the sickly green glow of the fluorescent lights. The café’s coffee was strong, ethically sourced, and expertly crafted. The sunlight spilled in through the garage door, bathing the café and all its patrons in a warm glow. There was fresh air.
Youngjo was eating a proper meal for free. Hwanwoong had expired kimbap. They were not the same.
Youngjo tapped his card on the NFC reader, having to pay only for Hwanwoong’s meal and coffee, and the pair sat down at a table near the wall. “Do you have any leads yet?” Youngjo asked. Hwanwoong shook his head before picking up his sandwich and sinking his teeth into the toasted marble rye bread. “I know a guy in the multimedia department who’s making a film for a project. He really wants to get it entered into a festival. You won’t get paid, but if the film gets in, at least you’ll have your face out there.”
“I don’t really want to do a student film,” Hwanwoong said as he swallowed. He picked up his coffee to wash down the sandwich. “I know beggars can’t be choosers. I know I’m being picky. Look at my face, though. I’m so cute.”
“You’re so short,” Youngjo countered. “The leading man is never 168 centimeters tall.”
“I don’t need to be a lead,” Hwanwoong argued. “I can be a second lead. I can be a sidekick. I don’t fucking care. I’m a pile of wasted potential right now and I hate it.”
“I understand-”
“You really don’t.”
“Calm down, Peanut.” Youngjo reached for Hwanwoong’s hand. Hwanwoong took a deep breath, only then realizing how upset he was getting. “You know, there are modeling agencies posting ads on campus all the time. Usually all they’re looking for is new photographers, but I’ll keep an eye out for you. And let me know if you change your mind about the film so I can talk to my acquaintance about it.”
“Sure,” Hwanwoong breathed, taking Youngjo’s fingers and squeezing them. “I’ll do that. I thought about looking into an agency, you know. Maybe King Kong? Or I could try On The Hunt. They’re always scouting. But with my night job… I just don’t know if I’ll have the time to devote to everything an agency would want from me.”
Youngjo sipped his coffee, staring into Hwanwoong’s eyes and making the blond feel smaller than normal. “It’s not a bad idea,” he finally said. “At the very least, they’ll give you a safe place to live. They can probably work around your schedule. And once you start getting acting gigs, you won’t need that shitty overnight job anymore. You’ll have less time to spend with me, but I’ll feel a lot better knowing you’re sleeping somewhere safe and warm.”
“You think I should audition then?”
“I do,” Youngjo said. “And I’ll help. I have a nice camera.”
“Okay. I’ll think about it.” Hwanwoong took another sip of his coffee. “Thanks for feeding me.”
Hwanwoong unscrewed the doorknob and winced as it clattered on the cement floor on the other side of the door. If his paranoia was correct, he could be facing a nasty beatdown the moment he stepped inside.
The room was dim. Shafts of sunlight pierced the dirty windows, dust floating gracefully around the room. His yo was still set up along the wall. There was no one inside, and no sign that anyone had wandered in recently. Hwanwoong reattached the doorknob and shut the door.
“Eomma, I’ll be fine,” Hwanwoong promised, squeezing his mother’s shoulders extra tightly. “I’ll call you as soon as I reach Seoul. It can’t be too hard to find work when I get there.”
His mother pulled back, staring into his face, concern etching lines between her eyes. “If you have trouble, you come straight home, okay? Good luck out there, baby. I’ll be waiting to see you in a TV drama.” Hwanwoong smiled and nodded. He started for the bus stop, hitching his backpack higher as he walked. “Nothing too blue, Hwanwoongie!” his mother shouted at his back. “You’re too young for love scenes!”
Chuckling to himself, Hwanwoong waved his arm once in acknowledgement of his mother’s orders.
Hwanwoong fired up his laptop. The battery was below 50% and he thought he should have brought it along to the café to charge. He connected to the pub’s wifi, a weak signal just trickling through the floor above.
Hwanwoong felt like crying. He trudged down the street, dragging his backpack along. He couldn’t afford an apartment. He couldn’t even move into a residence for less than 250,000 won a month. 250,000 won for a bedroom the size of a closet and a cluster of shared bathroom and kitchen facilities, and that was for the dirtiest, shittiest place he could find. What a joke. Maybe his uncle was right when he’d advised Hwanwoong to work in Jeonju for a while and save up before moving. At this rate, he wasn’t sure he could make it in the capital.
A stray cat skittered across his path and darted down the alley beside an indoor pocha. Hwanwoong followed and crouched nearby. He held out his hand, clicking his tongue and cooing, “Goyangi… Come. Come to me.” The cat regarded him warily and bounded down a set of stairs, slinking through a door that was slightly ajar. Hwanwoong followed again, the door creaking as he pushed it open.
King Kong’s actors all looked so glamorous and experienced. And expensive. Hwanwoong checked the audition requirements. He needed headshots and measurements, a video no longer than 20 minutes, and proof of identification if he was called in to audition in person. They expected him to introduce himself, perform a monologue, and perform a short face-to-face scene, all in under 20 minutes. That would be easy enough with some practice. He could ask Youngjo to take his headshots or find a photographer at school who would do it.
The room the cat led him to was sparse and quiet with very little light. He stepped inside cautiously. “Y-yeoboseyo? Gonyang? Nyang nyang?” The cool, shady basement had no indoor access to the pub upstairs. He didn’t know why the door had been left ajar, or for how long. If he could manage to go undetected, it might be a decent place to set up while he saved enough to get a legitimate room.
He’d told his mom he’d be an actor or a model, and so far all he had to show for all his efforts in Seoul was this dirty basement. This little squatter’s hole. There truly was nothing to lose.
Notes:
Hopefully this is the end of my writing funk. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the new chapter!
Chapter 4: Art
Chapter Text
“Do you even wash yourself?” Youngjo admonished as he sat behind Hwanwoong in the jjimjilbang. He playfully slapped the blond boy’s back with the Italy towel before slipping his hand back inside it and scrubbing Hwanwoong’s skin furiously. “There’s so much dirt.”
“I live on a cement floor,” Hwanwoong reminded him. “Don’t scrub so hard, Nyangie. It hurts.”
Youngjo eased up. “Sorry. But you’re auditioning for talent agencies and you know it’s not all about what you can do; it’s about what you look like.”
“I know.” Hwanwoong sighed. “Should I lie and say I’m 180 centimeters? They might not even watch my video if I put my real height in my profile.”
Youngjo scrubbed the abrasive Italy towel against Hwanwoong’s lower back now, twisting his arm at an odd angle. Bits of dead skin and dirt rolled up and stuck to Hwanwoong’s back. “Maybe not,” he agreed, “but I don’t think you should lie about it. That’s the wrong course of action. They’ll find out you’re lying and then you still won’t get signed. Lean forward a little.”
“I can wash my own butt,” Hwanwoong insisted.
“I believe you,” Youngjo laughed. “I just want a better angle on your lower back. And then we can switch and you can scrub my back.” He nudged Hwanwoong’s shoulder and the smaller boy leaned forward. “Anyway, I think you’re blessed. You know how popular high school dramas are. You’ll probably be able to play a high school kid until you’re at least 30.”
“That would make my mother happy,” Hwanwoong chuckled. “She says I’m too young for love scenes.”
“Aww,” Youngjo cooed. “Then it’s best not to tell her what goes on at my place, isn’t it?”
Youngjo sat cross-legged on top of the low table on the roof. Hwanwoong was playing tug of war with Sunny, pulling the rope toy gently and surrendering so Sunny could chew it up. He reached over and grabbed the end of the toy again and the game started over. The phone in Youngjo’s hand rang several times before going to voicemail. Youngjo hung up, grumbled, and tried reconnecting. “Yah,” said a smooth voice on the other end. “You don’t just leave a damn message?”
“You’re right, Yonghoon, it is nice to hear from me,” Youngjo chimed. “I have a favor to ask.”
“I’m not sure I want to know,” Yonghoon teased, the hint of a smile in his voice. “Go ahead, then. Ask.”
“Can you take my boyfriend’s headshots so he can audition?” Youngjo’s heart felt like it stopped. There was silence on the other end of the line. He winced. “Hoon?”
“I took one photography class to fulfill a block of elective credits,” Yonghoon finally sighed.
“Yeah, and you were good at it,” Youngjo pointed out. “It’s just headshots. He’s really handsome. It’ll take an hour or two at the most. Hwanwoong is so photogenic.”
“You’re an artist. I build robots. Why don’t you take the photos?”
“I draw and paint. I don’t know anything about composition in physical space, but you do. And you know how to light a subject. I’ll get us access to a studio on campus for an afternoon. All you have to do is set it and shoot.”
“Mmm,” Yonghoon purred. Youngjo imagined him rubbing his chin and staring off into the distance the way he often did when they spoke. “Is he just trying out for one agency?”
“Two,” Youngjo said. “King Kong and On The Hunt.”
“Give me a few days to research both of them,” Yonghoon said. “If you’re getting headshots done, it’s best to play to an agency’s preferences. I’ll do my best to make the photos pander to the executives’ tastes.”
Youngjo perked up. “You mean you’ll do it?” he blurted, startling Hwanwoong, who craned his neck and stared at Youngjo with wide eyes. “You’re amazing, hyung. We can’t pay you but-” The line went dead. Youngjo stared at his phone. “He hung up on me when I said he wouldn’t get paid.”
Hwanwoong’s shoulders drooped. “So that’s it then?” he asked softly. Youngjo bit his lip and reached out to cup Hwanwoong’s cheek. “We just have no one to help with this?” His bottom lip began to quiver.
Youngjo’s phone rang. It was Yonghoon. He scowled, accepting the call. “What?” he snapped.
“Did I scare you?” Yonghoon laughed. “I was only trying to scare you. You can’t pay me but… I’m in. What are hyungs for anyway?”
“You crazy bastard,” Youngjo scolded. “You almost made Hwanwoong cry, I’ll have you know.”
“Tell him I’m sorry and let’s shoot on Thursday. I’ll send over some of my research when I’ve got it.”
He hung up before Youngjo had the chance to thank him. Youngjo leaned his body back, holding himself up with his hands on the table. “He was fucking with us, Peanut,” he muttered. “Yonghoon, the bastard, says he’ll shoot you on Thursday.”
Hwanwoong dropped Sunny’s rope toy and spun around, taking Youngjo’s face in his hands and surprising him. He moved so fast, Youngjo didn’t notice Hwanwoong’s lips pressing against his until the boy pulled back. Youngjo chased the kiss. He sat up, his arms locked around Hwanwoong’s waist, and held on tightly as he yearned his mouth towards Hwanwoong again. “Oh, now you want to kiss me back?” Hwanwoong teased, rubbing his nose on Youngjo’s.
“Mhmm,” Youngjo hummed, closing his eyes. “Do it again. Please?” He smiled as Hwanwoong’s fingers combed gently through his hair. He felt Hwanwoong’s soft breath on his lips before they were kissing again, a gentle, featherlight caress that would have made his knees weak had he been standing up. Hwanwoong still tasted like the ice cream they’d had after leaving the jjimjilbang.
“Nyangie,” Hwanwoong breathed as he pulled back again.
“Mmm?” Youngjo smiled at him.
“I’m gonna be an actor!” the blond squealed, breaking free and jumping up and down out of excitement. Sunny stood clear of the excited boy, watching him closely, his rope toy still hanging from his mouth.
“Maybe!” Youngjo added with a laugh. “Hopefully. Stop jumping or the people downstairs will complain.”
Hwanwoong obeyed, gliding back to the table and sitting down next to Youngjo. “Hopefully,” he agreed. “I know I can do it.”
Youngjo wrapped his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Me too,” he said.
Youngjo was working on a daunting piece of artwork that night. His canvas was a meter tall. It seemed to leer at him from its place on the easel. He lightly sketched the outline of a tree trunk along the left side, stretching it up to the top of the canvas where it burst into a canopy of branches. “Where’s my hoodie?” Hwanwoong asked from behind him. “Did I not bring one along this time?”
“You showed up in a t-shirt, baby,” Youngjo replied. He drew a line for the horizon slightly above the middle of the canvas. “Take one of mine if you’re worried about being cold tonight.”
“Thanks.”
Minutes passed. Youngjo had almost finished sketching the basic outline of the painting’s background when a pair of fingers walked their way up his spine. He smiled as he set his pencil down. “Yes, baby?”
“I wanted to hug you from behind but I was worried about fucking up your art,” Hwanwoong admitted. Youngjo turned around to face him. “I’m leaving for work.”
Youngjo wrapped his arms around Hwanwoong’s shoulders, pulling him against his chest. “Be careful,” he mumbled into Hwanwoong’s hair.
“I’m always careful,” Hwanwoong said. “Have fun with whatever you’re making.”
“It’s going to take several days,” Youngjo warned, releasing Hwanwoong. “When you come over again, be careful not to touch this canvas. It’ll be wet with oil paint.”
“I will not touch your wet painting,” Hwanwoong said. “I promise.” He rose up on his tiptoes and kissed Youngjo softly. “I’ll be going now. Don’t stay up too late.”
“Bye, Peanut.”
Youngjo watched Hwanwoong leave the rooftop room and descend down the metal stairs outside. He turned back to his canvas and eyed it, like a boxer sizing up his opponent before a match. He picked up his pencil and began to sketch a tiger prowling through the foreground.
Chapter Text
Hwanwoong peered over Youngjo’s shoulder, his chest pressing against the artist’s bare back. He rested his chin near the place where Youngjo’s neck and shoulder met and scanned the words on the computer screen. “Basically, it looks like Yonghoon discovered that King Kong prefers a more modern-traditional, classic aesthetic,” Youngjo explained. “Think monochrome color palettes and neutral makeup. On The Hunt seems to be more youthful and daring. We could put together a much bolder look for those photos.”
“I don’t have any classy clothes,” Hwanwoong mumbled, tipping his head forward and placing his lips on Youngjo’s shoulder to talk against his skin. “What do we do? I can’t borrow from you. I’d drown in your clothes.”
“I’ll figure something out,” Youngjo said. “I’ll take out a loan if I have to."
“Please, don’t do that,” Hwanwoong begged. “You already take care of me more than you should.”
“Mmm, speaking of taking care of you,” Youngjo began as he set his laptop on the floor beside the bed. He turned, wrapping one arm around Hwanwoong’s shoulders. “Do you want to go another round?”
“No,” Hwanwoong chuckled. “I think I’ve been thoroughly taken care of.”
How Youngjo got his hands on a few hundred thousand won in such a short period of time was a mystery. Hwanwoong knew his boyfriend hadn’t been doing any camshows lately. Or had he? Regardless of how he came by it, he had the money just in time to take Hwanwoong shopping for new clothes for the photoshoot.
For the most part, the Hongdae area tended not to be terribly expensive because of its high population of students. Youngjo led Hwanwoong by the hand, pulling him into a shop with inexpensive, classic styles on display. “It’s cheap,” he warned as they combed the racks. “Things might not fit exactly the way they should but if you pose just right, I don’t think it’ll show on camera.”
“Noted,” Hwanwoong said. A dark gray houndstooth blazer caught his eye and he took it off the rack by its hanger, holding it in front of himself. “How’s this?”
“I said monochrome, Peanut,” Youngjo sighed. “Monochrome doesn’t have to mean boring. We can do shades of red. You look incredible in red.”
Hwanwoong hung the blazer back where he found it. “Isn’t that too bold?” he worried. “I don’t want to jeopardize my chances. This is my whole future on the line.”
“Fine,” Youngjo sighed. “How about blue? That’s more classic without being blah-blah grayscale. Let’s try to do a pastel jacket with a darker blue underneath. It’s the opposite of what most people would go for, so it’ll be unique without being too daring. Typically, I think a lot of stylists would choose a dark jacket with a light shirt. Here.” He thrust a silky navy blue dress shirt into Hwanwoong’s hands. “Try this one. And let’s find a blazer in your size.”
Hwanwoong pinched the silky fabric between his fingers. It was soft and smooth, and very clearly fake. He ducked into one of the fitting rooms, locking the door behind him, and stripped off his t-shirt. The navy shirt felt soft and cold and slippery. Hwanwoong had a momentary image of holding a giant slug on his shoulders, cringed, and fastened the buttons. The torso of the shirt fit him a bit loosely, but not in a way that looked bad. The arms were precisely the right length, almost too narrow at the wrists, but he could still make it work.
“Heol,” Youngjo breathed when Hwanwoong stepped out. He had found a baby blue blazer that looked like it might fit well enough. “Classy! You’re a little bit too done-up though. Let’s unbutton you a bit. We want sexy.” He approached, hooking the blazer’s hanger on a rack, fingers reaching out for Hwanwoong’s buttons.
“You can’t just unbutton me in public!” Hwanwoong protested, clutching at the fabric and trying to stop Youngjo’s grabby hands. He failed, his chest half-exposed in seconds, the fabric of the shirt draping just a little looser than before.
“See? That’s perfect,” Youngjo said. He drew the store clerk’s attention and gestured towards Hwanwoong. “Does he look great?”
“Sure,” the woman said with a nod, her long ponytail swinging. “Looks incomplete though.”
Youngjo picked up the blazer and removed it from its hanger, thrusting it at Hwanwoong. Hwanwoong slipped it on over his shoulders. “Don’t do up any buttons,” Youngjo instructed. “Now?”
“That would look nice with white trousers,” the clerk said.
“Where can I find white trousers?” Youngjo asked. She led him to a rack near the wall.
The store clerk turned out to have excellent taste, as well as a talent for helping the boys save money. When Youngjo said they needed clothing for a photoshoot on a budget, she all but sprang into action, digging out shirts that would work with white trousers so they would only have to buy one pair of pants for both shoots. Hwanwoong left the store with just one big shopping bag containing the navy shirt and baby blue blazer, white trousers, and a bold yellow short-sleeved button-down covered in bright red poppies.
“We should get makeup too,” Youngjo said as they stepped out onto the sidewalk together. “You need something natural for the King Kong shots, but I think we can be a little more creative for On The Hunt.”
“Okay,” Hwanwoong said, hurrying along beside his boyfriend. “When you say, ‘creative’...”
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t clash with your clothes, Peanut,” Youngjo promised, leading the way into a cosmetics store.
Hwanwoong followed Youngjo across the university campus and into a building. Near the end of a long hallway, they found a room labeled with a sign reading Studio 14. The knob didn’t turn when Youngjo tried to open the door. He rolled his eyes. “He didn’t unlock it,” he mumbled, knocking at the wood.
Someone tall and handsome opened the door. The student had silky brown hair and soft eyes behind wire rimmed glasses. He wore them with a neck chain, but whether its purpose was function or fashion, Hwanwoong didn’t know. “I didn’t know it was still locked,” he said, stepping to the side to let Youngjo and Hwanwoong enter.
“It’s okay, hyung,” Youngjo said. “Peanut, this is Jin Yonghoon. He’s my friend and your photographer for the day.”
“I see,” Hwanwoong muttered, gazing up at Yonghoon. “I’m Yeo Hwanwoong.”
“You’re good looking,” Yonghoon commented. “I can definitely see you getting into an entertainment agency.” His eyes scanned down the length of Hwanwoong’s body, making the small cashier blush. “Do you need to change your clothes, or are you doing this in sweatpants?”
“I-I’ll change,” Hwanwoong stammered. Youngjo gave him a funny sideways glance that he pretended not to notice. “Should I do that in the bathroom or-”
“There’s a little alcove behind that curtain,” Yonghoon said, pointing at a curtain on the far wall of the studio. Hwanwoong walked toward it as casually as he could, trying to slow his pounding heart and cool the heat in his cheeks. He passed by big umbrella flashes on stands. The room was set with a plain white background and a glossy wooden stool. Hwanwoong slipped behind the curtain and into a tiny space, no bigger than a closet, with a full-length mirror and a metal bar that stretched across the wall to hang wardrobe items. He took his clothes out of the shopping bag, put them on hangers, and hung them on the bar.
“Hyungs,” Hwanwoong called, poking his head out from behind the curtain. Youngjo and Yonghoon both turned to look in his direction. “Are we doing King Kong first?”
“Are you doing King Kong first?” Yonghoon asked Youngjo.
“Yeah,” Youngjo said. “It’s easier to add more makeup than to take it away.” He turned to Hwanwoong. “Yes, Peanut, King Kong is first. Put on your blue outfit.”
Hwanwoong dipped back inside the little dressing room and nervously undressed. He pulled on the white trousers, leaving them unfastened to make it easier to tuck in his navy blue shirt, which he remembered not to button up all the way. He topped it all off with the baby blue blazer and stepped out of the dressing room.
“Wow,” Yonghoon said. “Look at that walk. He’s a natural model, even with his pants open.”
Hwanwoong stopped in his tracks and looked down. Sure enough, he had forgotten to actually fasten his pants. With beet-red cheeks, he quickly zipped his fly and buttoned the two buttons at the top. Youngjo snickered behind his hand, but Hwanwoong knew how hard the artist wanted to laugh.
“Okay, Peanut,” Youngjo said, still grinning. He snorted, then composed himself. “Sorry. Let’s do your makeup.”
Youngjo wasn’t a makeup artist, but it still turned out quite well. With some BB cream, narrow brown eyeliner across his upper lash line to help his eyes pop, a very light wash of peachy blush, and a matte nude lipstick, Hwanwoong looked just like himself, but better.
“Ready?” Yonghoon asked. He scanned Hwanwoong from head to toe again. “Go sit on the stool. Put yourself at a 45-degree angle, knees to your left, and turn just your head towards my camera. Go on.” Hwanwoong did as he was told. “No pressure right now. These are test shots so I can make sure I have all my settings just right. Just relax and-” The umbrella flashes flared to life with a loud pop! “Beautiful!” Yonghoon praised. He pressed a few buttons. “I’m almost there. One or two more of these. Bear with me.” When he was satisfied he said, “Hwanwoong-ssi, sit up straight and give me a smile. I know you can smile.” Hwanwoong’s lips curved upwards at the corners. “No, no,” Yonghoon said, wagging his finger. “A smile. Show me your teeth, little tiger.”
Hwanwoong smiled genuinely at that and Yonghoon snapped a few photos. He repositioned Hwanwoong several times - now face front and lean forward, now put your chin on your fist, now let’s get rid of the stool and have you stand up - all the while taking shot after shot and praising Hwanwoong for a job well done. “Look at me over your shoulder and-” The lights flashed three more times. “You can relax,” Yonghoon said. “Part one is over.”
Hwanwoong sighed, letting his arms drop. His new fake-silk shirt felt wet with sweat, but Yonghoon assured him it was invisible in the photos. Youngjo was peering over the eldest’s shoulder, looking closely at the new photos. “You look amazing, Peanut,” he said.
“Go get changed,” Yonghoon said, pointing to the dressing room again.
Hwanwoong returned next in the same white pants, but with the loud floral shirt this time. He made sure to fasten his pants this time. Youngjo dabbed the sweat from Hwanwoong’s temples and got busy with a makeup wipe, erasing the natural look he’d applied for the first photos. “I hope this works,” he mumbled, reapplying the BB cream from before and blending it down Hwanwoong’s throat. He pulled out a blush compact that Hwanwoong had insisted was way too orange, but which was purchased anyway because Youngjo liked it. Hwanwoong instinctively tensed up. “We have more makeup wipes if it doesn’t work out.” He loaded a brush and stared at the bristles, now covered in orange powder. “Oh, fuck.”
“Don’t start,” Hwanwoong said. “Just do what you’re going to do.”
Youngjo tapped some of the excess blush off the brush and brought it close to Hwanwoong’s face. “Okay,” he sighed. “Here goes nothing.”
When he was finished, Hwanwoong had a full face of makeup once again. Orange blush draped across both cheeks and over his nose, giving him a peachy, almost sunburnt glow. There was a touch of warm rosy highlight on his cheekbones and the tip of his nose, just enough to catch the light. Black mascara lengthened his eyelashes without competing with his cheeks. His lips were glossy and moist, like he’d spent the day making out with someone.
Yonghoon looked him over, tilting his head to the side and clicking his tongue. “You’re gonna make me recalibrate all my settings,” he said. “Fine, fine. You look hot though.”
“Hot?” Hwanwoong blurted.
“Mmm,” Yonghoon mumbled. “You really look like a model. It’s a shame you’re too short.” Hwanwoong’s face fell. “I mean, I don’t mean too short,” Yonghoon said, fiddling with his camera. “You’re cute. You’re like, fun size. I like it.” Hwanwoong was still pouting. “You’re not too short. Forget I said anything. Do me a favor. Go lie down on the floor. Let’s get interesting.”
Notes:
Look, I'd react the same way if Yonghoon was scanning me up and down.
Just saying.
This was supposed to be out on the 30th as my birthday gift to myself. I was lazy instead.
Chapter Text
“I’m gonna be off-camera,” Youngjo insisted as Hwanwoong tugged at his arm.
“But I’m nervous!” Hwanwoong protested.
“But they’re supposed to focus on you, not me. I’m not the one auditioning.” Youngjo gently slid his arm out of Hwanwoong’s grip and pointed at the stool in front of the white backdrop in the studio. “Go sit. Take a deep breath. Yonghoon-hyung will let us know when we can start.”
Hwanwoong’s shoulders dropped as he shuffled over to the stool. When he sat down, pouting, Youngjo had to stifle a giggle. He was just so cute. He’d changed back into the blue faux-silk shirt, but kept the bold makeup so his facial expressions would come across easily on-camera. He lifted his legs, perching his bare feet on a support rung on the stool, and wiggled his toes, still staring Youngjo down.
“Whenever you feel ready, just tell me,” Yonghoon said as he finished tightening the camera mount on the tripod. “I’ll hit the button and you can record. Go as many times as you need to. It’s not like I have anything to do today.” He shrugged and added under his breath, “Except that exam… And that essay.”
“Make sure you read your lines in the suckiest way possible,” Hwanwoong demanded. Youngjo smiled, amused. “I can’t have anyone thinking the guy prompting me is a better actor. I’m ready, Yonghoon-hyung.”
“Action!” Yonghoon called out as he pressed a button on the camera.
Youngjo watched Hwanwoong’s whole demeanor change. Gone were the nervous, wiggly toes. No more deep breathing and pouting. He glared head-on into Youngjo’s eyes. “You know I’ve never been one for melodrama,” he growled, beginning the scene.
“Stop!” Yonghoon blurted before Youngjo could spit out his line. “Look at the camera, not at the boyfriend, or they’ll call you an amateur. Try again.”
Hwanwoong stared into the camera lens. Youngjo glanced at Yonghoon, who was giving the aspiring actor a thumbs-up. “You know I’ve never been one for melodrama,” Hwanwoong repeated.
“Well, you sure have a knack for making girls like me cry,” Youngjo replied. He couldn’t contain his fit of giggles. “I’m sorry, Peanut! I’ll do better!”
Once the scene was filmed and Hwanwoong was satisfied with it, Youngjo sent him back into the alcove to change his clothes. He packed up everything they’d brought along. “Thanks again, hyung,” he said, zipping up his makeup bag. “We couldn’t have done it without you. Well, actually, we probably could have. It just wouldn’t turn out as good.”
Yonghoon snorted. “Thanks for making me feel special and indispensable, and then just ripping it away,” he cracked. He handed over the memory card from the camera. “You should just have to build a couple of folders of audition materials, zip them up, and email them. You know how to zip a folder, right?”
“Sure,” Youngjo said with a nod he hoped looked more comfortable than he felt.
With one more thank you, Hwanwoong and Youngjo departed, heading for Youngjo’s apartment again. Yonghoon had lent them the SD card from his camera after Youngjo promised to bring it back to campus that week. Youngjo had it in his pocket. It made him nervous every time he realized he couldn't feel the little microchip card pressing against his thigh, and he kept stuffing his hand into his pocket to make sure it was still there as they left SNU.
He and Hwanwoong occupied the very back seat on the bus, Youngjo still checking his pocket for the SD card every few minutes. “I don’t think you need to worry that much,” Hwanwoong said, resting his head wearily on Youngjo’s shoulder. He exhaled a heavy sounding sigh. “I’m so tired.”
“I imagine so,” Youngjo said, laying a hand on Hwanwoong’s knee. “You did great. There’s no way anyone could possibly turn you down.”
Youngjo squeezed Hwanwoong’s knee affectionately as the younger boy drifted in and out of sleep. He nudged him awake when the bus reached their stop and they walked hand-in-hand to the metal stairs that led up to Youngjo’s rooftop apartment.
The tiger picture had taken on more life over the preceding days. Youngjo had added some of the background colors, painting shades of green in short strokes with a brush that was dry but for the paint on its bristles. A pale blue sky peeked between the foliage in a few places. Youngjo passed by the canvas and flopped down on the bed, startling Sunny, who was curled up asleep on a pillow. The little dog growled and snapped his jaws. Then, seeing that it was only Youngjo, he calmed, hopping off the bed to get a drink from his bowl.
Youngjo pulled the SD card out of his pocket and stared at it like he’d found a shard of the Holy Grail. He sat up and slid it into the SD slot on his laptop. “You want to look at everything, Peanut?” he asked. “Peanut?”
Hwanwoong was transfixed on the canvas. Youngjo snapped his fingers and startled the boy out of his stupor. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I like watching your art come together, you know?” He sat at the foot of the bed. “I’m looking at all the new details and colors.”
“I was going to ask you if you think it’s missing something,” Youngjo said. He wasn’t looking at the painting. He was focused on copying files from the SD card onto his laptop. “I’m thinking of adding a baby, a little tiger cub, down by the adult tiger’s feet.”
“They don’t hunt with their babies though,” Hwanwoong argued. “Do they? This one looks like it’s hunting. I think they leave the babies home to keep them safe, right?” He crawled onto the bed and put his head down on a pillow. “This smells like Sunny.”
“He was napping on it when we came in. You didn’t notice?”
“I did not,” Hwanwoong confirmed.
Youngjo returned his attention to his laptop, clicking the icon to view the files in the folder he copied over from the SD card. “These are amazing,” he breathed. “Peanut, look at this one.” He pointed at the image on the screen. “You look so classy.” It was a full-body profile shot in the blue outfit. Hwanwoong was posed like he was walking, his blazer draped over one shoulder, chin tilted slightly upward to show off his perfectly straight jawline.
“That picture makes me look tall,” Hwanwoong said, rising up on his elbow and peering at the screen. “Show me the rest.”
“Yonghoon said we just have to organize these into zipped folders,” Youngjo said as he clicked through all the files and they paused to marvel at some of their favorites. “Do you know how to do that? Do I need an app?”
“It’s built into most computers, I think,” Hwanwoong said. “Gather the files we’re sending into folders and then compress the folders.”
Youngjo blinked. He passed the laptop to Hwanwoong. “You do it,” he said. “I can’t be responsible for ruining your chances if I can’t figure out how to zip a folder.
“Oh my God,” Hwanwoong sighed. He winked at Youngjo as he took over the computer. “You’re lucky you’re cute, ahjussi.”
“I’m not an ahjussi!” Youngjo protested.
“Ah, you’re right,” Hwanwoong agreed. “The title switches to ‘halabeoji’ after age 60.”
“I’m not a halabeoji!” Youngjo whined. Hwanwoong giggled as he navigated the computer.
“O-kay!” he squeaked. “Not something I need to send to talent agencies, but impressive nonetheless.”
Youngjo looked over at Hwanwoong. Even in the dim light, he could see a dusting of pink on the younger man’s cheeks. “What is it?” he asked, leaning over. “Did I copy over something that wasn’t part of your shoot?”
“It’s just… obviously it was part of a personal project for Yonghoon-hyung. Don’t worry about it.”
“Was it his dick?” Youngjo asked, casting a suspicious glance at Hwanwoong. “The way you’re acting is making me think it was his dick.”
“It was... “ Hwanwoong hesitated. “Yeah. He’s got a nice one though. Very, um, shapely.”
Youngjo snorted. “I know.”
Youngjo made kimchi ramyeon for dinner. It wasn’t much, but it was what he had, and he knew Hwanwoong didn’t care what he cooked anyway. He was about to carry the steaming pot outside to the table, and he called for Hwanwoong to join him. When his boyfriend didn’t respond or emerge, Youngjo took the food outside alone and set it on the table. He went back inside and peeked around the corner at his bed.
Hwanwoong had passed out, probably from the adrenaline crash. It had been a stressful, nerve-wracking day, after all. He lay on his back on the bed, one arm draped over his eyes. Sunny snoozed softly on Hwanwoong’s chest, curled up in a tight little ball. “Woong,” Youngjo cooed. “Woongie. Peanut.” Hwanwoong stirred and lifted his arm. One eye opened just slightly. “Dinner,” Youngjo said.
“Mmm,” Hwanwoong replied. “Feels like something’s pressing down on my chest.”
“That would be the dog,” Youngjo laughed. “Come on. Let’s get you fed.”
Notes:
Happy Binary Code Day! I didn't know what to name this chapter, so I decided to exercise my binary dork knowledge because, holy crap, binary code is one of the only things I'm actually good at and they released a mini album named after it!
A little note about why this took so. Effing. Long: I've had a remarkably busy semester. One of my regular computer science students came to me every day for tutoring and I didn't have time for anything else. And then I had three cumulative final exams, all of which I passed beautifully. I've secured an IT support internship for myself for the summer, but that will still afford me more time to write than my tutoring job ever did, and I'll get paid more. Win-win!
Thanks for being patient. Things are about to pick up here in Home Sweet Home, so keep your eyes peeled. That's a really gross expression. Okay. Subscribers, keep watching your email inbox. Non subscribers, subscribe. Okay? Okay. Love you.
Chapter Text
Dear Yeo Hwanwoong-nim,
We appreciate your submission. You have a lovely face for a modeling campaign and your acting skills, while clearly still developing, are already impressive.
However, we are not currently interested in signing a performer of your caliber. It’s nothing you’ve done wrong, so please, do not be discouraged. 화이팅!
Regretfully,
Lim In Soo
King Kong Entertainment
Hwanwoong stared at the words on the screen, one hand over his chest to keep his heart from pounding its way out. My caliber? He thought. Is that a jab at my size? With a shaking hand, he scooped a spoonful of rice from the bowl in front of him. A lump formed in his throat as he chewed and he willed away the tears. He didn’t want to cry in the middle of the jjimjilbang. People would look at him.
He shut his laptop and focused on his meal. Bits of glazed chicken glistened in the brightly lit common room and Hwanwoong took aim with his chopsticks. He pinched a sticky, almost perfectly square chunk and lifted it to his lips. Now that he was a regular, the staff was starting to give him freebies. “Service!” they’d chime cheerfully as they set a dish of chicken or pork on his tray.
Hwanwoong’s eyes swiveled, looking around at the bustling common room. The jjimjilbang’s uniform for men was a pleasant sage green and too baggy on most people. He’d cinched the waistband of the shorts as tight as they would go and they still inched down his hips when he stood up to shuffle around in white slippers. As he peered around the room, Hwanwoong realized no one was paying him any attention. It would be okay if he let a few of the tears fall. Not all of them, though. He’d wait until he was with Youngjo to go full-on gross sobbing, wiping snot on his arm and wailing. Hwanwoong’s chin dropped to his chest as a single tear ran down to the tip of his nose and hung there for dear life.
King Kong rejected him. Sure, they tried to soften the blow and even cheered for him to keep trying. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d done all that work and put himself through days of stress to be told they weren’t looking for a performer of his caliber, whatever that was supposed to mean. He grabbed his phone and shot off a Kakao message to Youngjo, simply telling him he’d been turned down. Then, he dug into his food once again. He had to finish his chicken before it got cold and soggy.
Youngjo set a fresh latte in front of Hwanwoong at the table in the corner of the café. He’d painted a pink heart on the foam. Hwanwoong smiled as Youngjo sat in the chair on the opposite side of the table. “Are you doing okay?” he asked for what felt like the hundredth time.
“I’ll be fine,” Hwanwoong said with a sigh. “But I think they called me short.”
Youngjo snorted. “What did they say to you?”
“They’re not looking for someone of my caliber. Caliber is size, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes,” Youngjo said. “But it can also mean the level of one’s ability. Maybe they’re just not looking for someone who’s still so green.”
“It’s not like modeling is hard,” Hwanwoong snapped. “You saw me do it all day in the studio with Yonghoon-hyung. And I’ve acted before. I’ve done stage productions. I’ve been in musicals. I can do it. They’re just being assholes.” Suddenly, the tears were back, prickling at Hwanwoong’s eyes. Youngjo put his hands on Hwanwoong’s arm across the table. “You don’t understand,” Hwanwoong whimpered. “You didn’t see the email. You don’t know.”
“Peanut,” Youngjo cooed. “You can’t take everything personally. In life, there will be some people who just don’t care to know you, and that’s okay. That’s just life. It’s not your fault you don’t fit into everybody’s molds. Maybe you’re a triangle trying to fit through a circular hole with King Kong. Maybe On The Hunt has a triangular hole for you. Have you heard from them yet?”
“No,” Hwanwoong sniffled. He swiped at his tears with his palm. “It’s weird. King Kong only took a couple of days to get back to me. I thought On The Hunt was a smaller company. Shouldn’t they have responded first?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” Youngjo mused. “Maybe King Kong is just rejecting everybody right now and you got their standard cut-and-paste response.”
“I don’t know,” Hwanwoong grumbled. He took a sip of his latte. It was sweeter than usual, with a bit of strawberry and something… floral? The flavor of espresso cut through just at the end, barely a whisper. “What did you make me?”
“It’s a thing we developed for the tourists mostly.” Youngjo sighed. “The name makes me cringe. We call it a hwaberry latte.” Hwanwoong’s lips curved into a smile. He giggled softly. “I knew you’d get a kick out of it. Do you like the taste?”
“It doesn’t taste like coffee,” Hwanwoong commented. “It’s good. I do like it.”
“You are a white girl from the United States, here on vacation with her best friends, hoping to catch a glimpse of BTS.” Youngjo rested his chin on his hand. Hwanwoong shot him a look. “Don’t argue with me. I’ve sold three of those today. You know who I made them for?”
“White American girls who like BTS?” Hwanwoong guessed. Youngjo snapped his fingers and nodded. Bingo. “Is Namjoon still the only one who knows any English?”
“I have no idea,” Youngjo drawled. “In any case, BTS don’t come here for their coffee. If they did, I’d probably quit. I don’t think I could handle my little coffee shop swarming with ARMY at all hours of the day and night.”
“Mmm,” Hwanwoong hummed, taking another sip. “What if I get really famous and my fans start hanging around?”
Youngjo seemed to think for a moment. He stood up from his seat. “That, I could handle,” he said, moving around behind Hwanwoong and placing his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders. He gave Hwanwoong’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I can do anything for you.”
Hwanwoong tightened his apron and grabbed the broom from its place against the wall. He blinked under the fluorescent lights of the convenience store. No matter how dark it got outside, the store was always the same brightness. If he wasn’t facing the windows, Hwanwoong couldn’t tell if it was midnight or noon.
He carried the broom around to the front of the counter and started sweeping. People tracked in dirt and little pebbles every time they stepped through the door. For the most part, the store spent the day getting dirty. Hwanwoong spent the night cleaning it up. He’d pause whatever he was doing if a customer showed up.
As always, he kept an eye on the clock, counting down the minutes until he got to eat free triangle kimbap. Living the dream. Maybe he’d bring some over to Youngjo’s place after his shift. It would only be expired for a few hours by the time his shift ended. And Youngjo was always sharing his food. It was only fair for Hwanwoong to treat now and then. Although, was he really treating Youngjo when he wasn’t even paying for the kimbap?
After he swept, Hwanwoong pulled forward all the products he could reach, making a mental note of what needed to be restocked. He dragged boxes out of the back room, slicing them open with a box cutter and loading up the shelves with their contents. The cutter slipped and caught his thumb, biting into his skin. “God fucking dammit!” Hwanwoong wailed as dark red blood welled up in the cut. The store was empty; he could curse all he wanted. He set the box cutter down and disappeared into the bathroom to rinse his hand. Swirls of pink flowed down the drain as Hwanwoong ran his thumb under cool water. “What kind of model has paper cuts on his hands, a gash in his thumb, and cardboard all over his clothes?” he mumbled to himself.
He wrapped his thumb in a paper towel and emerged from the bathroom, only to duck behind the counter in search of the first aid kit. Why is the bad luck all mine? Hwanwoong wondered as he sprayed antiseptic on his cut. It stung at first, dulling down to an uncomfortable warm feeling after a few seconds. He bandaged the wound, wrapping it up tightly. The blood hadn’t slowed and he wondered if he should call someone to take over his shift, just in case he needed stitches. He slipped a plastic glove over his hand before continuing to work. He didn’t want to handle anything with a bleeding thumb.
Dongju trudged in at 4 AM sharp. He glanced at Hwanwoong’s bandage. By then, there was a line of blood seeping through. “You okay?” the younger boy asked.
“Probably not,” Hwanwoong sighed. “Count me down quickly so I can leave? I might need to see a doctor about this. Don’t use the box cutter under the counter here. It’s contaminated. I left a note for our boss to sanitize it when he gets in.”
“Are you dizzy?”
“No.” Hwanwoong sighed again. “I’m tired and upset. Can you just take over already?”
Dongju stepped in front of Hwanwoong and opened the till. “Bad day?” he asked.
“You have no idea.” Hwanwoong slumped into the chair behind the counter. His back crackled as he bent forward. He’d forgotten to sit down for more than a few minutes that night. “If I need stitches, call it the icing on the shit cake. Hey, Ju-yah. Do me a favor.”
“Hmm?”
“I hid a few of the kimbap triangles that expired at midnight. They’re in the back of the fridge. Don’t move them or tell anyone they’re there. I’ll come back before I go to my boyfriend’s place and get them.”
Dongju pouted. “Sure. You’re eating expired kimbap?”
“It’s practically still fresh,” Hwanwoong said dismissively. “The expiration time is more of a suggestion.”
“Are you going to the hospital?”
Hwanwoong looked at his bandaged thumb again. “Yeah.”
“Should I add that to your note to Manager-nim?”
“It’s probably something we should tell him about,” Hwanwoong agreed.
“Please, go. You’re balanced. You can leave, hyung.”
“Have a good morning, Ju.”
Dongju gave him a sad look. “Just be safe.”
Notes:
Happy Planet Nine: ALTER EGO release day!!! AuRoRa is easily my top favorite, but A.I. also stole my heart.
As I said at the end of the latest Stardust chapter, I haven't been inactive because I don't love you guys or I'm bored with my stories. My laptop is not healthy. I'm working on it as much as I can in the few hours I have between getting off work and sleeping so I can get up for work again. (I make it sound like a miserable arrangement, but I am really enjoying my new job quite a lot. I took a laptop apart today to fix a rattly cooling fan!) Right now, I'm on my Chromebook. It's not the most ideal arrangement, but it's better than my barely responsive PC that had me panicking when I was working on Stardust because I constantly thought it was about to crash.
Anyway, thank you so, SO much for being patient. I'll have to write a really incredible oneshot or something soon, as a gift for sticking around while I struggled. I also have ideas for two more AUs, because of course I do. Y'all know I never finish anything before starting on something else. That would just be... well, sensible of me.
I hope you liked the new chapter!
Chapter Text
A few days later, Youngjo was holed up in the rooftop room, painting the day away. Whether he was at home or at work, it seemed he was always painting something. He loved it. It kept him limber. He blended the oils on the canvas, splashing a shadow over the tiger’s face as it prowled through the forest. It was really starting to look alive.
His own little tiger burst through the door. Hwanwoong wrinkled his nose at the smell of paint thinner, still strong even though the windows were open. Youngjo perked and turned to smile at his intruder. “Hi, Peanut,” he cooed.
“Fuck me,” Hwanwoong breathed.
“I… I’m sorry?” Youngjo spluttered.
“Fuck me,” Hwanwoong repeated as he flopped down on the mattress, startling Sunny out of his nap. He stripped his shirt off and threw it against the wall. “My shift was long and boring and just… fuck me. Remind me I’m alive. Every day is the same. I haven’t heard a word from On The Hunt. And those fucking morning shift kids are probably getting more dick than me.”
Youngjo snorted and turned his attention back to his painting. “You’re tired though,” he said. “You’re a hard worker. Get some rest while I work on this project. We can fuck later.”
“You’re no fun at all,” Hwanwoong accused, but it was muffled by the pillow he was nuzzling into.
“I can’t have you falling asleep under me, can I?” Youngjo teased. “Take a nap, little tiger. I’ll wake you later.” A wordless groan issued from the bed, followed by a long sigh. Youngjo snickered. He’s already asleep. Youngjo returned his full attention to his painting, resolving only to spend another hour or so on it before going to his lover.
An hour passed by in a blink, followed by another. Hwanwoong’s phone began buzzing on the bed. Youngjo tried to ignore it the way he ignored the smaller man’s soft little snores, but the vibration was insistent. He set his paintbrush down, smearing dark ochre paint on the side table next to the easel, and wiped his hands on his already paint-covered shorts. Hwanwoong was still passed out cold on the bed, so Youngjo picked up the phone and checked the caller ID.
It was a number not saved to Hwanwoong’s contacts, and Youngjo thought that somewhat odd. He swiped the little green telephone icon and brought the iPhone to his ear. “Yeoboseyo?” he said.
“Yeo Hwanwoong-ssi?” a woman’s voice lilted back to him through the speaker.
“No. This is his boyfriend.” Youngjo put extra emphasis on “boyfriend.” He wasn’t sure why some random woman was calling Hwanwoong’s phone, but he was pretty sure he didn’t appreciate it. “Can I help you?”
“Can you give your boyfriend the phone?” the woman asked. “I’d like to speak with him. Or, if he has an agent…”
“Who is this, exactly?”
“Kim Pilsoo. I work in talent engagement at On The Hunt Entertainment. We received Yeo Hwanwoong-ssi’s audition materials and wanted to reach out to him directly. May I please speak with Yeo Hwanwoong-ssi?”
Youngjo scrambled over the tousled blankets, landing his hand firmly on Hwanwoong’s shoulder. “Peanut,” he hissed as he shook the younger man. “Wake up! You need to take this call!”
“Is this a bad time?” Kim Pilsoo asked. “Shall I call back in a few hours?”
“No!” Youngjo nearly yelled. He composed himself. “No. No, I’ll get him for you. I will. Hwanwoong-ah!” He shook Hwanwoong’s shoulder harder. “Please, don’t hang up. He works overnights and sleeps like… something a few degrees past stone.”
Kim Pilsoo chuckled. “I can call back.”
“He’s almost awake,” Youngjo insisted. “I see his eyelids twitching. Stay on the line, Kim Pilsoo-ssi.”
Hwanwoong sucked in one deep breath as he turned over onto his back. His eyes opened just a crack. “Nyang?” he muttered.
“Wipe your drool and take your phone, baby,” Youngjo begged. He leaned down close to Hwanwoong’s ear and added in a whisper, “It’s the call you’ve been waiting for.”
That was enough to wake Hwanwoong. He shot upright and curled his legs into a criss-cross position as he snatched his phone out of Youngjo’s hand. “This is Yeo Hwanwoong,” he blurted. “Ah, thank you for calling me. Yes… Wow, really? I mean, I know… No, no, just you guys and King Kong… I-I um,” he hesitated. “I didn’t hear anything back from them at all, no… Tomorrow? Really? Where should I… In Gangnam? I see. Thank you. See you tomorrow!” He hung up and set the phone down on the bed, then flopped onto his back and sighed. “She wants to meet me at their new office in Gangnam tomorrow. What should I wear?”
Youngjo propped himself up on his left elbow, dragging his fingertips along Hwanwoong’s stomach. “Something nice and put-together,” he said as his fingers trailed up and down over Hwanwoong’s soft skin. “You could wear what you wore when we did your photoshoot.”
“I don’t want to repeat myself,” Hwanwoong mumbled. “You’re gonna get paint on your sheets from those shorts.”
“Is that a clever way of telling me to take my pants off?” Youngjo flirted.
“I mean, if you finally want to fuck me, yes.” Hwanwoong closed his eyes and shifted, scooting closer until Youngjo’s wandering fingers were grazing his nipple. “It can be celebratory sex.”
Youngjo bit his lip. “Do I always need a special reason to have sex with you?” he asked softly. Hwanwoong’s nipple had stiffened to a hard little peak under his touch. He pinched it gently between his thumb and index finger. Hwanwoong’s back arched but Youngjo wasn’t sure if he’d done it on purpose to entice him, or if it was an automatic response. Either way, Youngjo’s cock had begun to stir and harden.
“No,” Hwanwoong purred. “We can do it anytime. Wanna do it?” Hwanwoong’s heavily lidded eyes swiveled to meet Youngjo’s. The artist leaned forward and passionately, hungrily, kissed Hwanwoong’s soft lips.
“You never call it what it is,” he complained, pulling back slightly. He nipped at Hwanwoong’s bottom lip. “We don’t fuck, or do it. I think we make love.”
“Okay,” Hwanwoong whispered, his breath hot against Youngjo’s lips. “Then make love to me.”
Youngjo knelt behind Hwanwoong, his ears filled with the pounding of his heart and the slap of skin on skin as he thrusted. Hwanwoong’s ass, slick with lube, bounced off Youngjo’s hips as the smaller man wailed incessantly, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly Youngjo was sure he’d pull them off the bed.
On his hands and knees, Hwanwoong let his upper body drop, resting the side of his face on the mattress. His wordless whining was interspersed with streams of curse words and Youngjo’s name. Youngjo’s fingertips dug into Hwanwoong’s hips, leaving little dents where his nails bit into the skin. He folded over his boyfriend’s back, wrapping his arms around Hwanwoong’s tiny waist and hitting him deeper, over and over. Hwanwoong’s wailing quieted down and he was humming against the sheets, eyes brimming with tears. “Touch me,” he whimpered. “Please, Nyang. My cock… I can’t take it.”
Youngjo opened his mouth, sucking at the skin of Hwanwoong’s shoulder, as his right hand found the smaller man’s sizeable member, which tapped against Hwanwoong’s stomach with each of Youngjo’s hard thrusts. He wrapped his fist around it and gave a tug and the tears in Hwanwoong’s eyes spilled down his cheeks. Hwanwoong’s fingers let go of the sheets and scratched, scrabbling for a better grip as his precum leaked onto Youngjo’s hand and the bed. “Close?” Youngjo muttered, teeth grazing Hwanwoong’s skin.
“So close,” Hwanwoong barely breathed. His legs began to tremble beneath the two of them. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t stop,” Youngjo promised in a whisper, thrusting harder. He could feel his own climax building, rolling through his abdomen. “Come for me. Come on, Hwanwoong.”
When Hwanwoong came, his hole clenched around Youngjo’s cock in incredible waves that always sent Youngjo spiraling over the edge. This time was no different. Asshole tensing, cum spurting, Hwanwoong made a mess of himself when he came. Youngjo pushed as deep as he could inside Hwanwoong’s hole, cock throbbing through their shared orgasm. He stayed still, holding Hwanwoong against his chest as the tight muscles around his cock relaxed and he was able to gently pull out. Hwanwoong tipped over, curling up on his side on the mattress. The black bedding bore glossy new streaks. Hwanwoong had glazed it. “You made art,” Youngjo joked, pointing.
“Shut the hell up and bring tissues,” Hwanwoong whined. “Hurry. Before your cum starts pouring out of me. It’s such a gross feeling.”
Youngjo laughed, trailing his fingers up and down Hwanwoong’s side. “Silly. Love you.”
“Love you too. I’m going back to sleep.”
Notes:
Hwanwoong got a callback! Woo!
Chapter Text
“... And down this hall we have Legal and Accounting,” Kim Pilsoo rattled on as Hwanwoong hurriedly followed the clacking of her high heels on the hard floor. He was in a brand new office building in Gangnam-gu, the smell of fresh paint and new carpet dancing through his brain. “Now, if you’ll follow me this way, we have everything set up for an in-person audition.”
Hwanwoong’s shoes squeaked on the highly polished pure-white floor. He had opted for a pair of black dress pants that had remained wadded up in a ball in his bags since he got hired at the convenience store, and a short-sleeved red button-up shirt he’d stolen out of Youngjo’s closet while the artist ironed the wrinkles out of the black dress pants. He tucked the shirt in. It was just loose enough to look fashionable. Of course, what he didn’t have was a pair of dress shoes. The slightly grubby red Converse low-tops on his feet were good enough. Since they matched the shirt, it looked more like a quirky fashion choice than a lack of funds. At least, Hwanwoong hoped it looked like a fashion choice.
Kim Pilsoo paused outside a conference room door and spun around to face Hwanwoong. She placed her hands on his shoulders. The corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled at him. “Please, don’t be nervous,” she said softly. “You’re going to do great. Be yourself, Yeo Hwanwoong-ssi.”
Hwanwoong took a deep breath and nodded. Pilsoo gently combed her fingers through his hair, laying it flat. She straightened the collar and sleeves of his shirt. Giving his shoulder one more reassuring squeeze, she opened the door to the conference room.
Pilsoo sent him in, following close behind him and shutting the door with a dull click. The table and all but three chairs had been pushed against the wall of the conference room. Two of those chairs were occupied. There was a camera in the center of the room. “Gentlemen,” Pilsoo said, placing her hand on Hwanwoong’s back to encourage him to step further into the room. “This is Yeo Hwanwoong, who I hope will be our next star actor.”
Hwanwoong bowed and then men in the chairs stood to return his greeting. “My name is Lee Hwajoon,” said the taller of the two. He had broad shoulders. His face was still somewhat youthful, though he was graying at his temples. “I am an acting coach, as well as a fight choreographer. I used to be a stuntman.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hwanwoong said politely. He turned his gaze to the shorter man, someone only a few centimeters taller than himself, as Pilsoo left him to stand near the men.
“I’m Go Juhyeon,” the shorter man said. His belly stuck out a bit over the waistband of his pants. Hwanwoong guessed that he spent a lot of time behind a desk. It seemed for a moment like Go Juhyeon wouldn’t say anything else. He took a deep breath. “You’re shorter than I expected.”
“Which is perfectly fine,” Lee Hwajoon interjected. Go Juhyeon shot him a look and he lowered his gaze. “Sorry.”
“Hwanwoong-ssi,” Pilsoo said as she and the men took their seats. “It’s only a short interview and a screen test. Relax.”
Hwanwoong took a deep breath, letting the tension in his shoulders drop a little. “Right, then,” Go Juhyeon began. “Yeo Hwanwoong-ssi, where were you born?”
Hwanwoong plopped cross-legged on his yo in the mostly quiet basement. Footsteps thumped and creaked on the floor above his head as the pub prepared to open for the night. He was exhausted from his meeting at On The Hunt, although it seemed to have gone well. He had everyone in the palm of his hand.
Being charming was a lot of work though, and Hwanwoong tucked his feet under the blanket, settling in for a nap before work. He had enough time to sleep for three hours, so he set a timer on his phone and rested his head on his pillow. It was rapidly going flat. If they take me, he wondered, will I get an advance? I’d like to buy a new pillow. Hwanwoong’s eyes fluttered shut and he fell into a dreamless sleep.
The alarm on his phone was loud when it went off three hours later. He shut it off quickly, heart pounding, face suddenly cold with fear. If someone in the pub upstairs heard it, Hwanwoong was screwed. But no, it sounded like a busy night, with lots of shuffling feet and loud music. Even if someone heard his alarm, the odds of them being able to figure out where the sound had come from were slim. Right?
Right. Hwanwoong rubbed his eyes. He had an hour to get ready for work, and that included getting to the convenience store. He quickly combed his fingers through his hair, then sniffed the work shirt he had worn to bed. It was good enough for one more shift before he’d have to hit the laundromat.
Once dressed, Hwanwoong slipped out the door and closed it as quietly as he could. With his back to the steps, he didn’t notice the tall shadow in the alleyway. “Who’s there?” The shadow’s smooth voice nearly sent Hwanwoong into a panic. He spun around and pressed his back to the door, clutching his chest. He knew that voice. “Hwanwoong-ah?”
“Y-Yonghoon-hyung?” Hwanwoong squeaked. He took a few deep breaths. “Why are you here?”
“I bartend here now,” Yonghoon explained. “I was taking out the trash. Is this where you’ve been squatting?”
“I… Well yes.” Hwanwoong hung his head as he made his way up the steps. “It’s an empty basement. It seemed like a pretty okay place when I got here.”
“It’s probably not even insulated,” Yonghoon said, putting an arm around Hwanwoong’s shoulders as he reached the top of the steps. “You’ll freeze to death down there in a few months. I’m honestly shocked you haven’t suffocated in the sweltering heat. What are you even sleeping on?”
“I have a yo,” Hwanwoong said, barely louder than a whisper.
“Did you come here without knowing anyone in the city?” Yonghoon demanded. Hwanwoong nodded. “Why the fuck would you do that? At least if you had friends, you could couch surf until you had the funds for a residence hall or something.”
Hwanwoong shrugged Yonghoon’s arm off his shoulders. “I feel like you’re scolding me,” he mumbled. “I work tonight, hyung. I have to get to the convenience store. Even residence halls in Seoul want a lot of money every month. And I watched Hell Is Other People. I don’t want to live with murderers!”
“Murderers,” Yonghoon scoffed. “Let’s make a deal, Hwanwoong-ah. I won’t tell my boss you’re squatting here. In exchange, you have to shop for a different place to live. Promise me.”
“I promise,” Hwanwoong said.
“In the meantime, if you get too hot or it gets wet from the heavy rain down there, you can bring your yo to my place. I have three roommates but nobody will care as long as you don’t stay more than a week at a time. Wonpil and Dowoon are Korean. They understand how it is these days. Marcus is from Sydney. He’s weird. But you’re welcome at our house.”
“Uh. Sure, hyung.”
Hwanwoong spent part of his shift stocking shelves and cleaning. Most of the night, however, was spent perched on the stool behind the counter, looking at Seoul’s least expensive rental properties on his phone. The cheapest listings didn’t even have photos. He didn’t trust those ones. But if he was going to be an actor, maybe he really could afford to rent a place.
The door chimed. “Welcome in,” Hwanwoong mumbled, barely sparing a glance above his phone. He smiled. “Nyang!”
“Hi, Peanut!” Youngjo cooed. “So, not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but can you just point me to the Job’s tears tea?”
“Should be this way,” Hwanwoong said, hopping off the stool. He led Youngjo down an aisle of coffee and tea. “We have the instant kind with the nuts in it. Why do you need Job’s tears?”
“I haven’t been eating breakfast before work,” Youngjo said, taking a box off the shelf. “It takes too long. I’ll just drink my breakfast.”
“Do you need anything else?” Hwanwoong asked, shuffling along beside Youngjo on his way up to the counter. “Sunny treats? Or, um…” He reached for the first thing he could find, a bag of choco churro-flavored turtle chips. “These?”
Youngjo laughed. “Sure, Peanut. I’ll take a bag of chips. You goof.”
Hwanwoong rang up Youngjo’s purchase. Youngjo paid with his card. He looped the plastic shopping bag around his wrist and smiled. “I’ll see you after your shift, baby. Love you.”
Notes:
I just feel like mentioning "Shut Up 받고 Crazy Hot!" and how thoroughly that video killed me.
Was I initially surprised that they significantly changed the song from the way it used to be? Yes.
Did Geonhak's exposed tiddy cure me of that surprise? Also yes.
Chapter 10: Help Needed
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
For a few days, Hwanwoong was absent from Youngjo’s room. He made sure to text every day, but Youngjo still felt like a piece was missing from his life, some intrinsic, fundamental aspect of existence plucked out like a petal from a rose. It was the physical contact, he knew. Youngjo was becoming touch-starved and he hated it. He spent as much time softly dragging his fingers along his own skin as he did painting his oil tiger, smearing yellows and greens and browns down his throat and across the backs of his hands.
Youngjo went to the kitchen to wash his hands. In the mirror, he saw the stripes on his neck and sighed. He’d been painting for hours, meticulously perfecting the shadows and highlights that would truly bring his art to life. He was beginning to wonder if he’d ever finish the damn painting, or if it would become his unfinished masterpiece and he’d die someday of the fumes from the paint thinner, sprawled on the floor and surrounded by paintbrushes, with no one to touch him but himself and his dog.
Morbid thoughts. Weird, morbid thoughts. Youngjo needed a break and a meal. He opened the cupboard. He was running low on instant noodles. No point looking in the fridge. There was nothing but beer and soju. He wished Hwanwoong’s mother would send honey cakes again. If he went to the café, they might give him a free meal. He shook his head, pulled a bright red cup of Shin ramyeon out of the cupboard, and started boiling water in a kettle.
When the water was boiling, Youngjo poured it into the cup and taped the lid down, then brought it outside to eat at the table. Sunny happily trotted along behind, hoping for a taste of the spicy noodles, though he’d been told multiple times that spicy food was not for puppies. He pulled out his phone to set a cooking timer, then checked his bank account. His landlady had taken his rent for the month and his account looked as empty as his cupboard. I can’t even buy more noodles. Do I need a second job? When will I paint? His phone buzzed, a notification popping up at the top of the screen.
Peanut (2:37 PM): I miss you. 😢
Me (2:37 PM): Are you sure you haven’t been too busy to miss me?
Peanut (2:38 PM): Sorry. I have really good news though!
Peanut (2:38 PM): I’ll tell you when I get there!
Me (2:39 PM): When you get here? You mean you’re on your way?
Peanut (2:40 PM): Yeah, I’m on the bus. 10 minutes!
Youngjo thought about asking Hwanwoong to move in, though he didn’t really want to bring it up again. Hwanwoong was so sensitive about his living situation. But if Hwanwoong didn’t move into the rooftop room, Youngjo might have to squat in the pub’s basement with him.
Hwanwoong’s blond head poked up above the edge of the roof as he climbed the staircase. Youngjo slurped his mouthful of noodles and smiled. “Ooh, ramyeon!” Hwanwoong said as soon as his feet hit the rooftop. “Can I have a cup?”
Youngjo shook his head, depositing his chopsticks in his cup, and patted the space next to himself at the table. “Why don’t you tell me your good news, baby?” he asked as Hwanwoong sat beside him, folding his legs in a criss-cross.
“Oh, that,” Hwanwoong giggled. He pulled out his phone and opened the web browser, then held it out to Youngjo. “Bam!” The screen displayed On The Hunt’s homepage. Six beautiful headshots stared into Youngjo’s soul as he read.
ACQUISITION ANNOUNCEMENT:
We at On The Hunt Entertainment™ are excited to announce the addition of several acting trainees.
Kang Ji Soo
Lim Hwa Joon
Yeo Hwan Woong
Park Tae Woo
Park Jin Seong
Lee Kyeong Bok
Welcome to our company!
Please look forward to seeing these faces in upcoming projects!
Please support our trainees!
Youngjo gasped. “You got in!”
“I’m gonna be an actor!” Hwanwoong squealed at the top of his lungs. He tipped over on his back and let out a high-pitched giggle. “I did it. Me!”
“I’m so proud of you!” Youngjo enthused. He hesitated. “Do you get an advance?”
“Nope!” Hwanwoong squeaked, sitting up again. “But I get a stipend while I’m a trainee. It’s enough to keep me fed while I continue saving up to move into a legitimate property.”
“Move in here,” Youngjo said eagerly. “I could use a roommate. Even if you could just pay… 30 percent of the rent, that would be really helpful.” Hwanwoong lifted an eyebrow. “I’m broke, Hwanwoong-ah. I paid my rent today and I can’t buy food. I have two cups of noodles left.”
“I don’t want to,” Hwanwoong said. He chewed his lower lip. “I want a nice apartment away from Hongdae. It’s too busy around here. And I want a door on my bathroom. I don’t want to move in here. I know I didn’t bring much from Jeonju, but there’s no room in your room for my things.”
“Fuck,” Youngjo sighed, lifting the chopsticks out of his cup. “I don’t want to post an ad for a roommate. Would you be offended if I went back to streaming?”
“No,” Hwanwoong said. “I might even be willing to join you.” He winked.
Youngjo raised his eyebrows, his chopsticks pausing on their way to his mouth. The noodles slipped out of it and plopped into the cup. “You can’t,” he argued. “Not now. Not when you’re an acting trainee. You’ll have a scandal before you even get started.”
“Let me show you something,” Hwanwoong said. He covered his face with his hands. “See? You can’t see my face. You have no way of knowing who I am now. I could be anybody.” Hwanwoong yelped when Youngjo poked him in the side, tearing his hands away from his beet-red cheeks. “I’m just saying, there are ways around that.”
“I’ll think about letting you stream with me.”
“Nyang, I’ll wear a mask,” Hwanwoong insisted. “Nobody has to know it’s me.”
“I said I’m thinking about it, Hwanwoong-ah.”
"Okay.” Hwanwoong leaned back, supporting himself with his hands on the rooftop behind him. He looked thoughtful. Youngjo had an urge to sketch him in that pose. “Do you know anything about calligraphy?”
“I took it for half a year," Youngjo said, digging into his ramen again. “It’s part of my fine arts major.”
“Can you help me with it?” Youngjo raised an eyebrow at him. Hwanwoong let out a breathy laugh. “I want to write my name in hanja. I know how, but I want it to be pretty to look at. I think I want to incorporate it into my autograph.”
“You just started training and you already want to make up an autograph?” Youngjo laughed. “You’re so precious.”
“Yeah,” Hwanwoong sighed, a blush creeping over his cheeks. “I thought I could write my name in hangul and stylize it to sort of make a little picture out of it, but I’m not creative enough for that.”
“I can help you.”
Youngjo brought a notebook and pen out to the table on the roof. He opened to a random page and sighed. It was covered in lecture notes. He flipped through the notebook until he found a blank page, then placed the tip of the pen on the paper and quickly scrawled Hwanwoong’s name.
여환웅
He stared it down for a moment. Can I make an image out of this?
“My family name looks a little like a man holding a baseball bat,” Hwanwoong suggested.
“What are you gonna do with a baseball bat?” Youngjo grumbled. “You’re an actor, pabo.”
“Be nice!”
“Write your hanja the way you do it,” Youngjo instructed, handing over the pen. Hwanwoong took it and began to hesitantly draw the strokes of his name. "You’re being sloppy,” Youngjo complained. “Why are your lines so shaky?”
“Because I don’t do this very often,” Hwanwoong defended. “How many times do you think I had to write my name in hanja this year?”
“Fair enough,” Youngjo said with a shrug. “If you want to sign in hanja, I really think you should practice it until all your strokes are confident. You’ll develop your own style of writing the characters if you just get comfortable with them.”
“So, what?” Hwanwoong asked, his voice flat. “You think I should just write my name over and over until it sticks?”
“Yeah,” Youngjo said. “That’s exactly what I think you should do. Or, you know, you could try signing your name’s romanized form.”
“Can you do English cursive?” Hwanwoong asked, eyeing him. Youngjo nodded. He was pretty sure he could do it, mostly. Kind of. “Show me how.”
“Sure, Peanut.”
Notes:
I'm not dead! Yay!
Chapter 11: Underwater
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hwanwoong spent a few thousand won for a notebook and a felt-tipped pen before his shift at the convenience store that night. Whenever he wasn’t stocking or cleaning, he figured he’d have time to practice his signature. He was going back and forth between attempting English cursive and practicing his hanja, filling up page after page of the notebook in different sizes and styles. Whenever his eyes got tired from staring at the page, he got up and stocked the shelves or swept the floor.
It was a quiet night at the convenience store. It was so quiet, the door chime startled Hwanwoong and screwed up his penmanship. He lifted his chin, ready to give his usual greeting, when the customer blurted, “Jesus, it’s bright in here.” He stumbled, which Hwanwoong thought was probably an easy thing for someone with such long limbs to do.
“Are you okay?” Hwanwoong asked instead of greeting him.
“Yeah, I just,” the customer slurred, “need to find my feet again. Is it too late to eat ramyeon? Will you judge me? I don’t want a puffy face.”
“Go for it,” Hwanwoong said. “A little too much fun at the pocha, huh?”
“Maybe,” the customer agreed with a smile. “I work at a spa, right? Today was the bathhouse manager’s birthday and I work in the men’s bathhouse, so we all went out for some drinks and now I don’t know where I live. I should call my boyfriend.”
He wandered off towards the snack aisle, returning shortly with a spicy cheese-flavored variety of instant ramyeon and a box of Lotte custard buns. Hwanwoong rang his purchase. “Do you want help with this?” he asked as the customer tapped his card on the pay terminal. “I mean, the water is really hot.”
“No, sir! I will be okay. I will not burn myself.”
“Do you need me to get you a taxi?” Hwanwoong asked. “I have the taxi app on my phone. You don’t even have to stand outside and hail one. You just request a ride in the app and someone picks you up.”
“Amazing, the things they come up with these days,” the customer said as he lifted the lid on his ramyeon and started filling it with hot water from the dispenser. “My boyfriend’s roommate works here. And you’re here overnight so you must be the god.”
“Are you calling me handsome?” Hwanwoong stuttered, blushing.
“I’m calling you… Yongwang. Right?”
Hwanwoong deflated. “It’s Hwanwoong,” he corrected. “Yeo Hwanwoong.”
“I was close. I’m Lee Keonhee. I’m Giwookie’s roommate’s boyfriend. You know Giwookie?”
“I do,” Hwanwoong confirmed, keeping a close eye on Keonhee as he taped the lid of his ramyeon and carefully carried it to a table by the window.
“He’s so adorable.” Keonhee plopped ungracefully into the chair at the table and leaned with his head in his hands. “I just want to squish his little squishy squish cheeks.”
“Uh-huh,” Hwanwoong agreed, stifling a laugh. “So, about that taxi?”
“I don’t know where I live,” Keonhee repeated.
“Right. How about a jjimjilbang for the night?”
“I will remember where my house is,” Keonhee said. “I will. I promise, Yongwang.”
“Hwanwoong.”
“Mr. God.” Keonhee dug his phone out of his pocket and started typing. “My keyboard doesn’t work,” he complained. He put the phone to his ear and waited. Hwanwoong heard Keonhee’s half of the conversation. “Hi, Flower. I don’t know how to go home… But where is my apartment?... I see. Okay, I’ll get a taxi… Okay, I won’t drink so much next time. See you at work, my blossom.”
“You know where you live now?” Hwanwoong asked, leaning against the counter. He folded his arms over his chest and smirked, amused.
Keonhee slurped his noodles. “I do,” he confirmed. “I would like a taxi when I’m done eating. I have a big mouth, so it shouldn’t take very long.” Hwanwoong laughed, pulling up the taxi app on his phone. “You have a small face,” Keonhee observed. “You’re very pretty.”
“Thank you. There will be a taxi outside for you in about 20 minutes.”
“Yeah, there will.” Keonhee slurped again. “Because you… called them.”
“Sure.”
Before leaving work that morning, Hwanwoong checked his bank account balance on his phone. Seconds before the battery hit a critical level and his phone turned itself off, he decided he had enough money to pick up some food for Youngjo. He filled a shopping basket with cup ramyeon. It wasn’t the healthiest option, but he could afford it and he knew Youngjo would eat it. “A little hungry, hyung?” Dongju asked, scanning each cup and tossing them into Hwanwoong’s tote.
“Famished,” Hwanwoong said.
“I didn’t think you could eat anything like this as an actor,” Dongju commented. “Won’t it make your face all puffy?”
“It’s for Youngjo.”
“All of it?” Dongju let out a low whistle. “Does he eat anything other than ramyeon?”
“Yeah.” Hwanwoong hesitated. “But it’s cheap. And we don’t have much money right now.”
“Go get successful,” Dongju said, shoving the receipt into the bag. “Go become a leading man, like Ju Harin. Then, you can feed Youngjo expensive foods. And because I’ve been such a wonderful friend, you can treat me too, right?”
“Treat you to a kick in the butt,” Hwanwoong mumbled, then winked at the younger cashier. “See you, kid.” He looped the tote bag over his shoulder and walked out, waving as he left.
Hwanwoong would just have time to drop off the food at Youngjo’s and take a quick nap before he had to get to the On The Hunt building. He’d be meeting his manager for the first time and then going for some “practical training,” whatever that meant. He hopped the bus to Hongdae just as the sky began to cloud over, threatening to rain.
There was a free seat next to the window to his left, and Hwanwoong slid down into it, feeling like his bones weighed twice as much as they had at the beginning of his shift. He pulled out his phone to send Youngjo a message and pressed the power button a few times. He pressed it and held it in, and the low battery graphic showed up on the screen before it blinked out again. Fuck, I forgot it was dead. I’ll just surprise him.
Hwanwoong walked from the bus stop to the building where Youngjo’s rooftop apartment awaited him. He tried the doorknob but it was locked. That made sense. It was early in the morning. Youngjo was probably still asleep. Hwanwoong pulled the spare key out from under the mat and unlocked the door, slipping in quietly with his haul of cup ramyeon.
Youngjo was naked on the bed, his camera aimed in his direction, stroking himself and biting his lip. Hwanwoong paused to watch for a moment before filling Youngjo’s kitchen cupboard with ramyeon. He’d eaten the last of his own stock and the cupboard was totally bare. Hwanwoong was glad he made the decision to spend a little money on his boyfriend that morning. He tidied up in the kitchen a little while he waited for Youngjo to finish camming. He even considered doing Youngjo’s dishes, but worried that the running water would make too much noise while Youngjo worked.
The artist made a strangled whimpering sound when he came, and then said goodbye to his viewers. When Hwanwoong was sure Youngjo had finished disconnecting, he wandered into the main room. “Hey, Peanut,” Youngjo greeted him, wiping at his stomach with a tissue. His cock dangled between his legs, spent. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” Hwanwoong said with a smile, certain he was blushing. “It was hot. Why are you streaming so early in the morning though?”
“Westerners,” Youngjo said. “Asian guys, especially Korean guys, are hot now. I feel a little fetishized, but I made a lot of money.”
“Korean guys are hot?” Hwanwoong asked. Youngjo nodded. “So… you should let me stream with you sometime.”
“We can’t risk that,” Youngjo argued. “You’ll put your acting career in jeopardy before it even starts.”
“I can wear a mask,” Hwanwoong said. “Just like I said last time. I’ll get a mask.” Youngjo rolled his eyes and moved past Hwanwoong into the kitchen to discard his tissue. “I brought you cup ramyeon.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Youngjo said. “But thank you, baby. I’m going in the shower. I’m all sweaty and I came on myself. You can nap though, and I'll join you when I’m done.”
“I can only be here for a couple of hours,” Hwanwoong said, plopping down on the bed and stripping off his shirt. “I have to go in for training today.” Sunny emerged from his hiding spot under the bed and jumped up, nearly missing the mattress. His little hind legs scrambled to push him all the way up. Hwanwoong reached down and gave the pup a helping hand and Sunny curled up next to his hip.
“I’ll make it fast.”
Hwanwoong’s manager was a skittish young man named Lee Bin. “I’m new too,” he confided as they shook hands. Bin checked his clipboard. “We have a… uh… thing, coming up. A showcase? For the new talent. You’ll be doing a little modeling, a monolog, and collaborating with another new actor for a scene. You get to choose either a romantic scene or a fight and you’ll be trained accordingly. For today…” Bin paused for a while, deep in thought. “I don’t remember which room to take you to.”
“Oh, take your time,” Hwanwoong said. Can I have a different manager?
“Miss Kim will be there,” Bin said. “We can just wander around until we find her, and then we’ll pretend we knew where we were going all along.” He smiled without showing his teeth and rolled his eyes, letting out a nervous laugh. “Come on.”
Hwanwoong followed Bin through the building. There was a very nice fitness room that Kim Pilsoo had failed to show him on their tour. “Is this for the actors?” Hwanwoong asked as they poked their heads through the door.
“Yeah,” Bin replied. “But I don’t think anyone’s used it yet. It was just finished up yesterday.”
They moved on, peeking through windows and opening doors. They found a big storage closet that Hwanwoong guessed the custodial employees would prefer they steered clear of. Finally, Bin opened the correct door. “Welcome,” Kim Pilsoo said as they scurried in. “You’re late.”
“Sorry, Miss Kim,” Bin apologized, sounding surprisingly calm. “I was just showing Yeo Hwanwoong the thing.”
“Of course,” Pilsoo said. “The thing. Hwanwoong-ssi, please take your place in line with the rest of our new talent.”
Hwanwoong scanned the line. “Are we lined up by age?” he asked. “Or… don’t say height.”
“Alphabetically,” Pilsoo said. “By family name. Stand there, right between Taewoo and Kyeongbok.” Hwanwoong took his place, nodding at both of the taller boys beside him. They smiled and returned his silent greeting. “Now, where were we?”
“The showcase,” said a girl at the far end of the line. She was the only girl among them, Hwanwoong noticed.
“Right, Jisoo,” Pilsoo said. “Thank you. This showcase will take place in a month. It’s not much time to prepare, but if you work hard, you’ll do an amazing job showing the public that they should be excited for you all to make your official debuts. I need you to pair up for collaborative scenes. We had a junior writer draft several options.”
Hwanwoong glanced down the line at Jisoo. She was his height, with a slight build and a baby face. One of the other guys would pounce on her for a romantic scene, and Hwanwoong would find himself trapped in an action scene with someone bigger and stronger than himself. The only other names he knew by then were Taewoo and Kyeongbok. Both boys were over six feet tall. Taewoo’s jet black hair was cropped in a short undercut, the top styled in a fashionable curl that swooped up from his scalp, the ends barely tickling his forehead. Kyeongbok had shaggy brown hair that fell to the bottoms of his ears in thick waves. Hwanwoong couldn’t decide if the style was intentional or if he just hadn’t had a haircut in a while. Kyeongbok’s shoulders were broader than Taewoo’s, but Taewoo had more intimidating facial features, all narrow eyes and sharp angles.
When Pilsoo told them to commence pairing up, Hwanwoong watched exactly what he expected. One of the boys he didn’t know stepped up confidently and asked Jisoo to be his partner. She smiled and nodded and Hwanwoong sighed. There was a tap on his shoulder.
“Partners?” Kyeongbok asked sheepishly.
“Sure?” Hwanwoong replied. “Do you want to do an action scene or a romantic scene?”
Kyeongbok didn’t even hesitate. “Romantic,” he said.
“I - oh. I was joking,” Hwanwoong said, feeling his cheeks heat. “I thought for sure you’d pick action.”
“I say, let’s be unique,” Kyeongbok said with a smile. “Everyone will be expecting two boys to do an action scene, so let’s surprise them. If that’s okay with you, I mean.”
“Yeah, perfect,” Hwanwoong agreed.
By the time Hwanwoong and the other trainees left the building, it was pouring rain. He didn’t know how long it had been raining heavy sheets of water, but the gutters flowed like rivers. Between the door of the building and the sheltered bus stop, Hwanwoong got soaked.
The space at the bottom of the stairs at the pub was one big, deep puddle. Hwanwoong took the doorknob off, dreading what he would find inside the basement. He sloshed through the water, wetting the bottoms of his pant legs. His yo was underwater and his backpack was rapidly becoming wetter. Hwanwoong thought his heart stopped. He grabbed his backpack and dashed up the stairs and out of the alley, ducking inside the pub.
“Jin Yonghoon?” he blurted frantically when he reached the bar at the back of the room. The man behind the bar lifted an eyebrow at him. “He’s my friend. He works here. I need to see him. Is he in tonight?”
“He just got here,” the man said. “Give him a moment. How old are you?”
“Old enough,” Hwanwoong growled. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and slapped it down on the bar, opening it so the man could see his identification through the plastic window.
“Good. Soju? Beer? We have imports.”
“Jin. Yonghoon,” Hwanwoong repeated through gritted teeth. He was barely biting back tears.
“Fine. Sit there and wait for him.” The man walked away along the bar, heading in the direction of what Hwanwoong assumed were paying customers.
Minutes later, Yonghoon emerged from the back room, tying a black apron around his waist. “Yonghoon-hyung!” Hwanwoong hissed, beckoning him. Yonghoon approached.
“You look like a drowned rat, Hwanwoong,” Yonghoon said. “Are you okay?”
“Where…” Hwanwoong hesitated. “Where’s your place?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “The basement is flooded. My yo is history. I’d go stay with Youngjo but I just… don’t want to be in the way right now.”
“Let me text you the address,” Yonghoon said. “Get yourself a cab. It’s not that far, but it’s pouring out there. I’ll pay your fare.”
Hwanwoong couldn’t fight the tears anymore, stifling them in his sleeve in the hopes no one would notice as he pulled out his phone. It was still dead. He forgot to charge it. One big sob escaped his lips. “Hyung,” he whimpered. “My phone is dead.”
Yonghoon sighed. “I’ll write the address on a piece of paper then. And I’ll get you a cab. Dongmin-ssi,” he called, turning to the other bartender. “I’ll be right back. Small emergency. Won’t be more than a few minutes. I promise.”
The older bartender, Dongmin, nodded, and Yonghoon guided Hwanwoong to the door. “It’s okay,” he kept repeating, squeezing Hwanwoong’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be safe and dry at my place. I’ll text Wonpil so my roommates know you’re on your way. It’ll be okay. Charge your phone when you get there.” A taxi pulled up in front of the door. “Hey, there we go. Let’s get you all paid for, huh?”
Yonghoon brought Hwanwoong outside to the waiting taxi. “Barely 8 at night!” the driver commented with a bright smile as Hwanwoong slid into the backseat. “Lightweight?”
“No,” Yonghoon said. “Just… just not a good day. If I give you the address, can you tell me what the fare will cost?”
“I can’t take cash,” the driver said apologetically. “I’ll know generally how much it’ll be, but my terminal doesn’t accept payment until the ride is over.”
“Just take my card then,” Yonghoon said, thrusting his debit card into Hwanwoong’s hand. He shut the door and tapped twice on the roof of the taxi, then went back inside the pub.
The driver twisted around in his seat, peering at Hwanwoong with striking, narrow, nearly black eyes. He was surprisingly young for someone in his line of work. “Are you sober?” he asked. Hwanwoong nodded. “Good. I like when people don’t get sick in my taxi. You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really,” Hwanwoong said.
“You gonna cry?”
“Yeah,” Hwanwoong whispered. The driver passed a pack of tissues to him.
“What’s your name?”
“Yeo Hwanwoong.”
“Sorry to hear you’re having a rough time, Hwanwoong-ssi,” the driver said as he pulled away from the curb at last. “I’m Lee Seoho.”
Notes:
Is Seoho the only taxi driver in Seoul?
I graduated! Which means that I'm back, finally.
I hope everyone's having a great December. Stay healthy.
Chapter 12: The News
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Good morning!” Youngjo chimed at the tall man approaching his counter. “Yonghoonie-hyung! What a nice surprise. Iced Americano again? You’ll need to give me a moment. I haven’t turned on the espresso machine yet.”
“Not today, Youngjo,” Yonghoon replied.
Youngjo eyed him from behind the register. “Well… we’re offering a new drink starting today! Matcha hot chocolate. I tried it after close yesterday, with the other staff. I’m personally not a big fan. It tastes like grass-flavored hot chocolate to me. But most everyone else loved it. Let me whip one up for you.”
Yonghoon sighed and nodded. “Youngjo, I really came here to talk to you.”
“Mmm, I’m listening.” Youngjo poured cream into a cup and started frothing it.
“Listen,” Yonghoon began, leaning his elbows on the counter, “I know he wants to make his own way, and he asked me to keep quiet, but he’s your boyfriend and I think you deserve to know this. Hwanwoong is at my house.”
Youngjo felt the color drain from his face. He nearly dropped the cup. “Why?”
“The basement at the pub flooded last night. His yo is a total loss. Wonpil took care of him last night. Piri got him showered and dressed in dry clothes, did his laundry, and charged his phone. His computer was in his backpack. His backpack was on the floor. It got soaked and now the computer is dead.” Yonghoon stood up straight again. “Your place is tiny, and I get that. What is it you’re doing there that’s making him worry he’ll get in the way?”
“Hmm,” Youngjo grunted. He put all his energy into making the perfect cup of matcha hot chocolate for Yonghoon while he thought. Hwanwoong should have come to me last night. “I have a lot of paint all over. And my big canvas for my oil study.”
“How’s that going, by the way?” Yonghoon asked. “The tiger.”
“It’s great! It’s really coming along.” Youngjo hesitated. “And I’ve been camming again. Hwanwoong said he wanted to join me sometime, but he’s training to be an actor now. I can’t let him. He’ll ruin his reputation. Even if people find out he’s living with someone who’s streaming his own… acts… he’ll be ruined. What I do isn’t exactly legal here.”
“But everything is okay for the two of you? No fights?”
“No fights.” Youngjo made a design on the foam atop the matcha hot chocolate. It was a simple heart, but it turned out perfect. He handed the cup over to Yonghoon. “I’ll only charge you for it if you like it.”
Yonghoon took a sip and wrinkled his nose. “You’re right,” he said. “It really does taste like someone dumped grass into hot chocolate.”
“Do I owe you anything for taking Hwanwoong in for the night?” Youngjo asked. “I mean, he didn’t put you out or anything, did he?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Yonghoon said. He set the cup down on the counter and pushed it back in Youngjo’s direction. “He’s welcome to stay for up to two weeks. Any longer, and we’ll get in trouble with our landlord. You guys should talk about more permanent housing for him. I’m not drinking this.” Yonghoon yawned. “Can you make me my usual?”
“One iced Americano, extra ice, coming up.”
Youngjo dipped his fingers in the brownish-green paint he’d just mixed and brought them to the canvas. He thought using his fingers would give the moss on the trees a more natural appearance. He dabbed and smudged and decided… it needed more green. “This is stupid,” he mumbled, stippling a bright green over the darker shade. “All these months in this dumb little one-room… with no space for anything but my bed and my art.” He sighed, dunking his fingers in the bright green again and letting it drip slowly off the tips, watching it splash back into the pot of paint on the table. “No wonder he didn’t come to me.” There really isn’t enough room here for anyone other than me, no matter how much space I’ve tried to make.
Hwanwoong was probably at On The Hunt, training or practicing. Or whatever. Youngjo grabbed his phone anyway, careful to use the hand that wasn’t covered in oil paint. The phone rang several times before he was greeted by a cheerful feminine voice, informing him that the person he was trying to reach was unavailable and he could leave a message. “Yah, Peanut,” he said after the tone. “It’s me. I, um, was just wondering if you’d like to shop for apartments with me? It’s getting a little cramped here. Call me back, okay, baby? Love you.” Youngjo hung up and tossed the phone back on his bed. Should I have told him something else? Like how sorry I feel that his laptop is ruined?
Sunny barked, and for a second, Youngjo was worried his phone had bounced and hit the poor dog. When he turned to look at the bed again, Sunny was stretching, his tail high in the air. He made eye contact with Youngjo and hopped off the bed, trotting happily to the door, which he scratched. “I see,” Youngjo said, wiping his painted fingers on his shorts. “Let’s go outside and potty, huh?” He opened the door, and Sunny pranced out onto the roof, heading for his favorite corner.
It was just past 4 PM. The day was still hot, and the light breeze from the south wasn’t helping. At least it kept the air moving so the city didn’t feel as stuffy as it could have. Youngjo made his way to the edge of the roof and sat down, letting his legs dangle off the building as he watched the street below. The driver of a motorcycle carefully made their way down the somewhat narrow, crooked street, always keeping an eye out for pedestrians. Maybe I’ll walk to the bus stop, Youngjo thought as Sunny pranced over to bark at him again. It can’t be that hard to get to Yonghoon’s house.
Yonghoon’s roommate, Wonpil, reminded Youngjo of a terrier. He was small and wiry, with expressive eyes. “I’m sorry to tell you your boyfriend’s not here,” he said, leading Youngjo into the house. “Cute dog though. Don’t let Yonghoon-hyung see it. He’ll jump out a window or something.”
Youngjo cradled Sunny against his chest. “Well, I leave him home all the time. I thought it would be nice to bring him along for once. I call him Sunny.”
“Hi, Sunny!” Wonpil cooed, reaching out for the dog to sniff his fingers. “You must be a very good boy, coming all this way with your master.” He scratched behind Sunny’s ear. “Hwanwoong’s things are in the living room. Just about everything is a mess.” Wonpil turned and headed for the living room.
“Oh no,” Youngjo mumbled.
Wonpil picked up a Macbook from the low table in the living room. It had obvious signs of water damage. “Hwanwoong’s not the only one who got washed out last night,” he sighed. “It’s on the news, all the flash flooding. Lots of people in basements and half basements had their lives upended. Poor kid. He cried when we couldn’t get this thing to boot up.” He approached, holding out the laptop, and Youngjo could only stare at it. He looked at the milky blotches marring the formerly sleek silver paint job. Hwanwoong loved his laptop. “His clothes are all in the laundry,” Wonpil continued, taking the computer back to the table. “He borrowed mine for today. He’s at his agency, in case you’re wondering. When does he sleep?”
“Hmm?”
“Your boyfriend,” Wonpil said. “He’s training as an actor during the daytime and working overnight shifts at a convenience store. When does the kid sleep?”
“Mornings, usually,” Youngjo said. “He gets off at 4, sleeps until noon, and then he has the next several hours to do whatever he wants. What he wants is to become a star actor. Oh, except on days when he goes to the jjimjilbang after work. He’ll usually spend a couple hours there before coming… to my place.”
“You live with your parents?” Wonpil asked.
“No…” Youngjo said.
“Then why is he at my house?” Wonpil whined. “Not that I have anything against him. I don’t. He’s sweet. He’s very cute and very aware of it.”
“I live on a roof,” Youngjo blurted before Wonpil could keep talking. “My apartment is…” He glanced around. “It’s maybe about as big as your living room and kitchen combined. With the addition of a toilet and shower attached to the kitchen.” In the kitchen, separated by a curtain.
Wonpil blinked. “Got it. You don’t have room for him.”
“That’s what he tells me,” Youngjo grumbled. “I’ve been asking him to move in almost since the day we first kissed.” He chuckled. “He’s so stubborn.”
“That can be endearing, I guess. You’re welcome to hang around for a while.” Wonpil pointed into the kitchen. “There’s a lot of snacks and drinks in there. Help yourself. The other two are sitting their exams right now. I’m home ‘cause I don’t have mine until next week. I think Hwanwoong is coming back to change clothes before he goes to work tonight, so you’ll get to see everyone if you just stay here a while.”
“Sure,” Youngjo said with a nod. “Thanks, Wonpil-ssi.”
Notes:
I know, I always have a million excuses when my chapters take an eternity. This time, I've been busy looking for work and drawing fanart.
Whoops.
Chapter 13: Kissing
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I disagree!” Hwanwoong shouted, jabbing his finger into Kyeongbok’s shoulder like the acting coach had directed him. “Joonhee-hyung, I don’t think you want me to leave at all.” He softened his voice and his gaze, making strong eye contact with his acting partner.
Kyeongbok looked down at his feet. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “But don’t say it so loudly! People will think I’m… that way.”
“Are you not that way?” Hwanwoong reached up, his fingers brushing against Kyeongbok’s smooth cheek. “I’m that way. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”
“There’s not. It’s just… Sunghyun, my parents can never catch us. I’ll lose my inheritance.”
“They’ll never know,” Hwanwoong promised, leaning in, his eyelids fluttering shut.
“Cut!” Lee Jihye shouted. She clasped her hands together. “I am so in love with this performance. Are you ready to try a kiss?”
Hwanwoong sheepishly took a few steps back, feeling his cheeks heat. Kyeongbok rubbed at the back of his own neck, looking anywhere except at Hwanwoong. “I don’t think so,” Hwanwoong said. “Not today, anyway.”
Jihye looked disappointed. “Fine,” she sighed. “Be prepared to do it tomorrow though. You know you have to perform comfortably at the showcase. The sooner you get it together, the better.”
“Hey, I could do it!” Kyeongbok protested. “I’ll kiss Hwanwoong right now!”
“Let me get to know you first,” Hwanwoong said, chuckling sheepishly. A blush rose to his cheeks.
“Yeah, all right.” Kyeongbok backed up. “But, soon, right? I mean, I’m really determined to do well here. I need this. There’s nothing in the world I want more than a career as an actor.” There was a certain fire in his eyes that was too mesmerizing for Hwanwoong to look away from.
“You know what?” he began, feeling Kyeongbok’s fire ignite in his own belly. “Me too. Let’s go again, Kyeongbok-ssi.”
Jihye grinned. “Excellent, boys,” she praised. “Take it from Kyeongbok’s line before the kiss. And… action!”
Kyeongbok raked his fingers through his wavy hair. He inhaled. “Sunghyun, my parents can never catch us. I’ll lose my inheritance,” he said, immersed again in his character. Hwanwoong took half a second to marvel at how quickly Kyeongbok changed personas before delivering his line.
“They’ll never know,” he said as he leaned in, taking hold of Kyeongbok’s shirt in both fists and pulling the larger actor in. Their lips crashed together and it felt like static electricity. Hwanwoong pulled back quickly, bringing his fingers to his lips.
“Cut!” Jihye shouted. “Oh, you two are brilliant. Just brilliant!” She clasped her hands together, beaming at them, her eyes glittering with excitement as both actors blushed. What the hell was that? Hwanwoong thought to himself.
Hwanwoong was sleepily wiping the convenience store’s countertop at midnight when the door chimed. He ignored it. “Yah,” a male voice grunted. “I’m hungry. Please, tell me you guys aren’t out of triangle kimbap.”
“No, there’s some left,” Hwanwoong said through a yawn. “Oh, but it’s midnight.” He looked up, right into the eyes of his savior taxi driver, who evidently didn’t remember him. And what was his name anyway? Seho? Sehyoon? It was a weird one. “It expires at midnight. I can’t sell you any. I’m really sorry.”
“Ah, seriously,” the driver groaned, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I’m starving.”
Hwanwoong lowered his voice. “If you don’t mind it being a few minutes expired, I’ll just give it to you,” he said. “Think of it as a gesture of gratitude for getting me out of the rain.” He grabbed a plastic shopping bag.
“The rain?” Hwanwoong’s words seemed to dawn on him then. “Oh! Flood guy! Hey, are you staying someplace dry for now?”
“I am, thanks.” Hwanwoong emerged from behind the counter and led the way to the refrigerated section. “Grab as many as you like. They’ll just be thrown away anyway. Well, except the ones I eat. It’s one of the, uh, perks of being the overnight guy.”
“Perks,” the driver chuckled.
As he tossed kimbap triangles into the shopping bag, Hwanwoong wracked his brain, trying to remember the guy’s name to thank him properly. Lee… something. Lee… Sungjae. No. Lee… Shibal. “Spam?” he asked, holding up a triangle. Lee Spam?
“I love Spam,” the driver said with a nod. “Oh, but if you like it, don’t let me steal all of the Spam kimbap from you. In fact, that’s quite enough right there. I’ll just buy a Monster and get back to my job.”
Hwanwoong peered into the bag, counting. “Are you sure just six will be enough?” he asked. “I thought you were starving.”
“Don’t get sassy,” the driver laughed. “I’ll bet money I’m older than you. You should respect a hyung.” He carried his energy drink to the counter, following Hwanwoong again. “Those are really just for me to take?”
“Yeah,” Hwanwoong said, ringing up the can of Monster. “I told you, they’re expired. I literally can’t take money for them. But the energy drink will be 4,500 won, please.” The driver tapped his card at the pay terminal. “Do you want your receipt?”
“Nah, I’d just toss it anyway.” The driver took his energy drink and bag of kimbap and made for the door. “Thanks, kid. I hope you get a chance to rest after your shift.”
Just then, Hwanwoong remembered something from his time in the backseat of the driver’s taxi. Remembered him twisting around, asking if he was okay… his name. “Lee Seoho!” Hwanwoong blurted.
The driver stopped in his tracks. “Yeah?” he said, turning around and tilting his head quizzically like a puppy.
“Nothing, I just…” Hwanwoong hesitated. “I just remembered your name. Thanks again for helping me, Lee Seoho-ssi.”
“You kidding me?” Seoho smirked. “It’s why I work at night. Helping people is my favorite part of my job. Speaking of which, I’m off to help more drunk people get home.” He offered a little bow. “I’ll eat this kimbap deliciously. Thank you again.” Then, he was out the door and back to his taxi.
Hwanwoong stopped by Yonghoon’s house for a shower after work. He carried a bag of triangle kimbap along with him and taped a note to it before depositing it in the refrigerator for his savior hyungs:
Hyungs,
I brought this for you from work. I hope you don’t mind it being a few hours past expiration. It won’t hurt you, I promise. Trust me. I eat these all the time.
Hwanwoong
Notes:
Guess who's back, back again.
Rose is back. Finally.
*ahem* So... predictions?
Chapter 14: ArtBeans
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Hey, welcome in!” Youngjo chimed at a pair of boys as they confidently strode into his café and made their way to the counter. One of them, exceptionally tall with a shaggy hairstyle, rapped his fingertips on the countertop as he peered at the menu boards on the wall behind Youngjo. “If you’re not sure what you’d like, I can make a few recommendations. I’ve worked here for at least half of eternity by now. I should know what’s good.”
“Hmph,” the boy huffed.
“I want to hear your recommendations,” the other boy chimed in. Youngjo couldn’t help noticing they were both remarkably handsome. “I like my coffee strong, but not bitter.”
Youngjo smiled. “How about an iced Americano shaken with oat milk, a hint of lavender, and a shot of honey?” he suggested. “I promise, it only sounds like a weird combination.”
“It can’t be any good,” the boy laughed. “I’ll take it. Kyeongbok-ah.” He nudged the taller boy with his elbow. “What are you having?”
Youngjo turned his attention to the taller of the two customers, smiling expectantly at him. Just as he opened his mouth to make another suggestion, the boy called Kyeongbok blurted his order. “An iced brown sugar macchiato, as large as you can make it, with an extra shot of espresso and a squirt of caramel. And a chocolate chip muffin. Please.”
“He speaks,” Youngjo cracked. The boys paid and Youngjo started working on their order. “You can go sit down if you want. I’ll bring everything to you when it’s ready.”
Making coffee had become a process of muscle memory for Youngjo by that point, and he did everything with a casual flourish. It wasn’t overly show-offish, but it showed his customers that he knew what he was doing. He told one of the other baristas once, that if the person making your drink puts on a show while they do it, you know you’ll get something good. He made an effort to look cool as the pair found a table to sit at, performing a high pour with the oat milk and slamming the shaker shut before giving it a twirl and a brisk shake. His customers, however, were completely ignoring him. Youngjo liked to think people visited the café partially because of the attractive, personable staff, but these two were apparently the exception.
“My big brother used to bring me here when he was attending Hongdae,” the shorter of the pair said after they took their seats at a table near the counter. “I haven’t been here since he enlisted last year. It hasn’t really changed much. I don’t recognize this barista though. But I guess it makes sense that they’d go through a lot of employee changes, what with the way college students move around.”
“Hmph,” the taller grunted. “How is Taejoon-hyung doing in the Navy?”
“So far, so good, we think. So, tell me about your scene for the showcase. How’s that going? You partnered with Yeo Hwanwoong, right?”
Youngjo started intentionally eavesdropping at the mention of his boyfriend’s name. And it had to be his boyfriend. How many other guys in Seoul had such a unique name and a showcase they were practicing for? Youngjo had a feeling the number was remarkably small.
“It’s going fine,” the shaggy haired boy replied. “He’s a decent actor. Sometimes he overdoes it a little, so suspension of disbelief is a little hard. I feel like he probably didn’t act in school.”
“Maybe acting wasn’t in his plans back then. Not everyone spends 6 years in drama club like you and I.”
“I’m just saying, if it’s only an option and not a priority, why get into it at all? Save space for those of us who’ve been working our whole lives.”
Youngjo finished the drinks and pulled a soft chocolate chip muffin from its place in the bakery case. He cleared his throat. “I forgot to ask if you want your muffin warmed up,” he said.
“Don’t bother,” the taller customer said with a wave of his fingers. “However it comes is fine.”
Youngjo placed everything on a tray and carried it to the table, purposely mixing up the drinks. He knew who ordered which, but there was something about the way one customer was talking about Hwanwoong that pissed him off.
“I had the, um-” the shorter customer began to quietly correct him. “I ordered this one.” He calmly switched cups with his friend.
“Sorry about that,” Youngjo chuckled. “My bad. I guess I’m not passionate enough today. Being a barista is just a job, not a priority.”
Youngjo particularly loved paydays. He checked his bank balance on his phone as he left the café that afternoon, and it put an extra spring in his step. Between picking up extra hours at the café and streaming, he figured he could afford decent groceries this time. Maybe even a treat! He began to fantasize about a pocket-size watercolor kit he could take along to the park to sketch flowers and people. Then he thought of the time he tried to do a watercolor study of Hwanwoong and nothing turned out the way he wanted. He made it work, but it didn’t have the saturation he wanted, nor did it look like a confident piece of art.
If his academic advisor were present, he’d tell Youngjo that continuing to try to work with watercolors was the only way he could start making more satisfying pieces. He paused outside the door to his favorite art supply store, thinking. “It won’t be a splurge,” he said to himself as he pulled the door open and stepped inside.
The smell of paint greeted him, familiar and comforting, and he took a deep inhale. The clerk behind the counter was a girl he knew from his very earliest art classes at the university, but she had split off from him in their second year to focus on sculpture. Youngjo wondered if she even remembered him. She kept her nose in her novel as she said, “Welcome to ArtBeans. Have a look around and let me know if you have any questions.”
“The paint smell welcomed me more enthusiastically than you just did,” Youngjo said, teasing. The girl lowered her book slightly and peered at him from beneath her perfectly straight bangs. “You dyed your hair, I see. Orange looks good on you.”
“Kim…” she muttered, stuffing a bookmark between the pages of her novel. “Kim… Hwanho?”
“Close. Kim Youngjo.”
“Sue me,” she snorted. “I haven’t seen you since first year. What are you doing these days?”
“Making coffee and painting tigers,” Youngjo replied. He leaned against the counter. “You? It was Park Bomin, right?”
“Lee Bomin,” she corrected. “I’ve just been working here and keeping up with my classes. I’m starting on metal sculpture. I’ve already burned myself on hot steel, so, go me.”
“Ouch.” Youngjo winced. “Well, got anything here I can play with? I’m looking for a new medium myself. I like to keep things fresh.”
Bomin tapped her finger on her chin. Youngjo noticed it was wrapped up tightly in a bright blue bandage. She really had burned herself. “We got a line of body-safe paint,” she said. “You could dabble in working with human canvases. Find a big, buff man who’ll let you cover him in flowers and shards of broken glass and take a photo.”
“What’s the symbolism, Bomin-ssi?”
“Fragile masculinity.”
“Take me to these paints,” Youngjo commanded, pushing off from the counter.
“No,” Bomin laughed. “You’re a big boy. You can go by yourself. The display is on an endcap over that way.” She pointed. “Get some really soft brushes too. Your canvases will thank you for being gentle on them. Nobody wants an artist with rough brushes scratching their skin.”
“You know from experience?” Youngjo teased.
Bomin stared at him. “Buy some shit or get out.”
“Buying!” Youngjo raised his hands in surrender as he backed away from the counter. He headed off in the direction Bomin pointed, looking for her mysterious skin friendly paint.
Along the way, Youngjo picked up a new palette that caught his eye. Sure, the one he had at home was fine, but this one had more pots and a bigger mixing space. He ran his hand over some synthetic brushes that felt like silk on his skin, and picked up three sizes to try out: one quite wide and flat, one smaller and round, and one for fine detail work. When he finally reached the display Bomin mentioned, he was impressed by the vibrancy of the colors. “Bomin-ssi!” he called. “Do these paints mix well, or do I need to buy a lot of colors?”
“My boss used them and said they mix pretty well, but he’d also like me to make the biggest sale possible, so I’m going to recommend that you buy a lot,” she called back.
Youngjo threw his head back in a genuine laugh. He hadn’t spoken to Bomin much when they shared classes and had no idea she was so funny. “I’ll do my best,” he said, picking up the three primaries, as well as a black and a white. He carried everything back to the counter. “I’m ready to make my purchase.”
Bomin began scanning the supplies. “Who’s going to let you try this out on them?” she asked.
“I think I’ve got a guy,” Youngjo replied with a smirk. He watched his total increase with each item and swallowed hard. “He’ll probably enjoy it.”
“140,000 won, Youngjo-ssi,” Bomin said as she carefully wrapped his new brushes in craft paper. “You can use the card reader right here.”
“I wasn’t planning on splurging.” Youngjo chuckled nervously. “Good thing I don’t have any bills due this week, huh?”
“I hear that!” Bomin said. “God, rent sucks in Seoul, doesn’t it?” She handed Youngjo a bag with his purchases inside. “See you next time. Don’t be such a stranger, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Notes:
I bet everyone can see where this is going!
I have no excuse for my absence except that I've been sad. And drawing. My digital art is getting pretty good, and you can look it up on Instagram if you want. My art Insta is @jjajangart and I'm currently working on a portrait of Geonhak for his birthday.
Chapter 15: An Invisible Toast, to New Friends!
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hwanwoong nursed an iced latte in the cafeteria at On The Hunt headquarters. He yawned. Before he moved to Seoul, he used to get so much more sleep. And this coffee seemed… weaker than what Youngjo brewed at the garage café. He still wanted to go back to Yonghoon’s house and pass out while his roommates argued over the chores.
A shadow was cast over his table. “Mind if I sit?” Kyeongbok asked as Hwanwoong looked up at him. Hwanwoong tilted his head, indicating towards the adjacent chair, and Kyeongbok casually kicked it out from under the table and plopped down ungracefully, plunking a can of Red Bull down on the table. “I’m so tired,” he complained. “I got here at 6 this morning for dance lessons.” Hwanwoong glanced at him sideways. “They want to break into K-pop. I’m in the running for the first boy group from On The Hunt. Isn’t that cool? Are they giving you music training too?”
“Nobody’s said anything about it to me,” Hwanwoong mumbled. “I got… a few hours of sleep between leaving work this morning and coming here.”
“This morning? You work overnight?” Kyeongbok leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. “Is that why you have bags under your eyes?”
Hwanwoong frustratedly rubbed at his eyes, frowning. “I work at a 24-hour convenience store. I’m one of two overnighters. I’ve never even met the other guy.”
“Damn. Maybe they’re not training you for music out of pure mercy. Are you trying to work yourself to death?”
“No,” Hwanwoong snipped. “I’m trying to afford an apartment in this ridiculous city, but everything seems to cost either a million won or my firstborn son.”
“Family?”
“Jeonju.”
Kyeongbok leaned back sharply. “Damn. Girlfriend?”
Hwanwoong hesitated, visibly tensing up. “Boyfriend, actually. His apartment is too small. And it’s in Hongdae so it’s like, way out of the way for me.”
“Got it,” Kyeongbok sighed. He didn’t bat an eye at Hwanwoong’s confession, and Hwanwoong let his shoulders relax. “Sorry to tell you, but you won’t find an apartment in Gangnam anytime soon. Well, unless you land something huge like Ju Harin did. I heard Sunbae got cast for a Marvel film.”
“Good for him.” Hwanwoong sucked up his latte through his straw.
“No kidding,” Kyeongbok agreed. “Good for the company too. And, by extension, the rest of us.” Kyeongbok tipped his head back, slurping up the last drops of his Red Bull. “I’ll see you at the showcase rehearsal.” He walked away, leaving the empty can on the table.
Yet again, Hwanwoong found his lips tangled with Kyeongbok’s while their director gazed on, enamored. The more they practiced their scene, the more comfortable Hwanwoong became. He and Kyeongbok chatted between takes, working together to make the scene more believable. Hwanwoong took every suggestion and ran with it. “You should try your hardest not to look in the direction of the audience,” Kyeongbok said. “It breaks the fourth wall a little bit. We want people to feel like they’re watching as a fly on the wall, as though we’re not even aware of their presence. Peeking at the audience is a little amateurish.”
“Got it,” Hwanwoong said, nodding.
“So make sure you stare intensely at me, got it? Director-nim isn’t here. And during the showcase, the audience doesn’t exist.”
“Stare at you,” Hwanwoong confirmed.
“Straight in the eyes.” Kyeongbok pointed at the outer corners of his eyes. “Don’t look away.”
“Right. You won’t be… uncomfortable?”
“I’m an actor, Hwanwoong-ssi,” Kyeongbok said flatly. Hwanwoong thought he caught a bit of an eye-roll from his co-star. “I’ve been doing this forever. I was groomed for it. Just trust me.”
“I appreciate the help,” Hwanwoong said with a genuine smile. “It’s honestly my first time ever trying to be an actor.”
Kyeongbok opened his mouth slightly in surprise. “I never would have guessed. You’re so good, Woong! Is ‘Woong’ okay? Can I call you that?” Hwanwoong nodded again. “Cool. You’re doing great, Woong. We’re definitely going to be the best duo at the showcase.”
“Right, guys, let’s take it again from the beginning,” Director Lee Jihye called, clapping her hands together. “Hwanwoong-ssi, go tuck yourself away in the wings again. Kyeongbok-ssi, I want your feet on your initial marker, now. We’ll be bringing in the setpieces and the props in a few minutes, so this is the last time you’ll get to practice with zero risk.”
“You mean I get my bottle today?” Hwanwoong asked, poking his head out from behind the stage curtain. “That’s so exciting!”
“You get your rubber safety bottle today,” Director Lee said. “The bottle you use at the showcase will be made of breakaway glass, so it’ll still be safe and easy to shatter with very little force, but you’ll be using rubber today so we don’t have a mess to clean up.”
Hwanwoong’s shoulders drooped. He was looking forward to practicing the scene with the real prop. How was he supposed to know how hard to throw the bottle down if he didn’t get any hands-on experience?
When Director Lee was satisfied with Kyeongbok’s blocking position, she called for them to begin the scene. Hwanwoong watched from the wings, letting Kyeongbok have a moment to mime dressing himself in a jacket and grabbing his wallet and keys, and make his way to the center of the stage, opening and closing an invisible gate while he did so. With a quick shake of his head, Hwanwoong wrapped his hand around his invisible soju bottle and staggered into the scene. “Joonhee-hyung,” he called, slurring and stumbling. “Joonhee-hyung, I gotta talk to you. I’m glad you’re home. I got something to say.”
“Sunghyun-ah,” Kyeongbok sighed, gripping Hwanwoong’s shoulders. “You’re drunk? It’s barely noon.” He gave Hwanwoong a gentle shake.
“I’m not drunk,” Hwanwoong argued. “Look.” He held up his imaginary bottle. “It’s only half empty and I only drained one other one before this.” Before he could stop himself, he glanced at Director Lee, trying to gauge her reaction to his performance. Quickly, Hwanwoong corrected himself and stared deep into Kyeongbok’s inky eyes. His co-star pursed his lips as Hwanwoong continued. “I’m just a lightweight, you know? Just a… Just a lightweight, Joonhee-hyungie.”
Kyeongbok rolled his eyes. “I think you should go home, Sunghyun,” he said, his tone level, tinged with concern.
“No,” Hwanwoong protested with a wild laugh. He looked to the director again. She had both hands clasped beneath her chin as she watched them intently.
“Go. Home. Sunghyun,” Kyeongbok demanded. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Quit looking at Director-nim. You look unprofessional.”
“I’m not going!” Hwanwoong bellowed, refocusing on the scene. He shook himself free of Kyeongbok’s grip. “You have to hear me out first! You have to!” He slammed the imaginary soju bottle on the ground, supplying the broken glass sound effect himself, and Kyeongbok jumped as though startled. “Joonhee-hyung, I love you.”
“Sunghyun-ah,” Kyeongbok whimpered. “Sunghyun-ah… I… I want you to go home.”
“I disagree!” Hwanwoong shouted. He gave in to his drunken character, lolling his head to the side and widening his eyes. “Joonhee-hyung, I don’t think you want me to leave at all.”
“Cut!” Director Lee called. “Move off the stage, boys. Make room for the set dressers.”
They ran the scene what felt like dozens of times that day. Hwanwoong’s rubber soju bottle ricocheted off in a million directions. He laughed so hard the first time it happened, they had to reset the scene. “You’re unprofessional,” Kyeongbok reprimanded as Hwanwoong squeaked out one last giggle at the bouncy bottle.
“You’re just boring,” he teased. “Lighten up.” He retrieved the bottle and started heading back to his starting point in the wings. “Kyeongbok-ssi, we’re friends. It’s okay to laugh at things that are funny.” He raised his prop bottle. “Geonbae, new friend.”
Kyeongbok rolled his eyes before bonking his forehead against the bottle and letting out a chuckle. “Geonbae, Woong.”
“That’s the spirit!”
Notes:
I wasn't sure where to go with this chapter for like, weeks.
Anyway, thoughts? Predictions? How do we feel about Kyeongbok?
I love hearing from y'all, and I hope you're all doing well.
- Rose
Chapter 16: Streaming
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Youngjo gently affixed a cheap masquerade mask to Hwanwoong’s face. The actor, perched nude at the foot of Youngjo’s bed, giggled softly. “This feels like fetish content, Nyangie.”
“I mean, everyone has their thing,” Youngjo replied. “Maybe we’ll find a niche of people who are into body paint. Now, the mask isn’t pressing into your face in an uncomfortable way, right? It’s not pushing your nose in or anything?”
“I’m comfortable,” Hwanwoong said. “If anything, it might be too loose.”
“It better not be.” Youngjo fiddled with his camera on its tripod, trying to adjust settings without changing the camera’s aim. He started a livestream and padded back to his bed, softly laying one hand on the side of Hwanwoong’s throat and guiding him into a kiss. Hwanwoong clutched at the soft fabric of Youngjo’s fitted white t-shirt.
A towel had been draped over the bedspread and Youngjo instructed Hwanwoong to lie down on his back, stretched out as long as he could be. The camera could see Hwanwoong’s left side, so that’s where Youngjo would begin with his body paint. “This is my boyfriend,” he announced to the camera as he knelt between Hwanwoong’s legs on the towel. “Today, he’ll be playing the role of painting canvas. Hey, canvas?”
“Hmm?” Hwanwoong hummed.
“How do you want me to decorate you?” Hwanwoong shook his head. Right, I told you not to speak while the camera was on. “Let’s do an abstract piece, shall we?” He grabbed his primary colors and squeezed them out onto a small palette. One red blob, one blue blob, and one yellow blob of skin-safe body paints glistened in the moody lighting. Youngjo liked to keep it cozy, just bright enough for the camera to see.
He walked his fingers along Hwanwoong’s body, from his hip up to his collarbone, and the actor shivered, erection twitching. “Precious marble,” Youngjo muttered. “It almost seems a shame to paint on you.”
Youngjo dipped his fingers in blue paint, then red, letting them swirl but not blend. He started painting a grid of squares along Hwanwoong’s ribs. Hwanwoong squeaked at the cold feeling, but Youngjo shushed him. His left hand began teasing Hwanwoong’s cock, the thumb and index finger dragging as lightly as a ghost up and down along the shaft. He began filling in the squares with color, the pattern completely randomized. Satisfied, Youngjo wiped his fingers off on the towel and dipped into the paint again.
Over the grid, he began painting flowers. Peonies and camellia, and one single red rose, which Youngjo positioned on Hwanwoong’s hip, bloomed across the actor’s skin. He had to work quickly to blend the highlights and shadows. The body paint dried quickly, as he learned from his session with Geonhak.
Hwanwoong’s cock seemed to swell and harden further for him while he painted and played. Youngjo gave a teasing lick along the entire length and Hwanwoong squirmed. Youngjo moved back up to Hwanwoong’s chest and started painting again. In pure blue, he slathered on the phrase 사랑해, oriented vertically like it always was in classical poetry.
Youngjo set his paints aside, finally happy with his work, and cleaned his hand off again. He pulled his shirt off over his head and Hwanwoong automatically lifted his knees and spread his legs wide, eager for what was to come. Youngjo’s boxers dropped next, freeing his cock that had been tenting the fabric the whole time he painted. He reached for the small bottle of lube at his bedside and popped open the cap, squirting a generous blob into his hand, then reached between Hwanwoong’s legs to start prepping him.
Hwanwoong sighed as Youngjo gently pleasured him with his fingers. He was always gentle with Hwanwoong in the beginning, every time. The actor was particularly sensitive and usually quick to climax, but Youngjo liked to take his time. He’d learned the hard way once, when he was too aggressive and Hwanwoong promptly painted the duvet before Youngjo could even get his cock inside.
Youngjo knew Hwanwoong was ready when the actor silently pointed at the lube bottle, then gave a thumbs-up. Youngjo took his cue, added more lube to his hand, and coated his throbbing cock, giving a few strokes to tantalize his audience and his boyfriend. He lined up and slowly penetrated Hwanwoong, bringing their lips together at the same moment.
The ecstasy of sex always overtook Youngjo easily. He saw stars swimming in his vision as he thrusted, lost in pleasure. Then, remembering he had an obligation to put on a show, he lifted Hwanwoong’s legs, folding the small actor and pushing his knees up to his ears. Hwanwoong gasped and bit down on his lower lip, eyes narrowing as he stared into Youngjo’s face. “Do your best,” Youngjo begged in a whisper. Hwanwoong pointed at himself, then directly upwards. “You’re ascending?” The actor shook his head and rolled his eyes. He repeated the gesture. “You wanna get on top?” This time, Hwanwoong nodded.
It made sense. He’d have more control on top, so maybe he’d have an easier time delaying his orgasm for the livestream. “Let me put you in reverse cowboy and you can face the camera and show off the art, okay?” Youngjo breathed. Hwanwoong rolled his eyes again, grinning, and they changed position. The actor was careful. Youngjo held his hips. He wasn’t actually sure why he did that. It wasn’t like he was effectively keeping Hwanwoong steady.
Hwanwoong bounced on Youngjo’s pelvis, his painted skin and leaking cock on full display to the camera. He suddenly lifted his hand to his face, alarming Youngjo. The bow he’d tied at the back of Hwanwoong’s head came undone and the mask must have started to slide. Youngjo squeezed Hwanwoong’s hip and guided him, the actor now sinking all the way down on the artist’s cock. If the mask was loose, he figured finishing up quickly was a good course of action.
A long moan escaped Hwanwoong’s throat. With the hand that wasn’t holding the mask to his face, he gripped his cock and pleasured himself with abandon, as if the camera didn’t exist. Hwanwoong clenched around Youngjo when he came, and the sensation was simply too much for the artist, who followed over the edge almost immediately.
Hwanwoong only spent a few seconds collecting himself before he left the bed, still holding the mask against his face. Youngjo, dazed, ended the livestream. His gaze swiveled to the kitchen, where Hwanwoong was pouring two glasses of water from the filter pitcher in the fridge. He’d abandoned the mask on the kitchen counter. He padded back to the bed and handed one glass to Youngjo, who took it gratefully and downed half of his water in one go.
“How much did they see?” he asked once his throat wasn’t so parched.
Hwanwoong shook his head. “I don’t think anyone saw enough to identify me,” he said. “I grabbed it as soon as I felt it slipping.”
“I hope you’re right,” Youngjo said. “I don’t want to cost you your acting career.”
“It’ll be okay,” Hwanwoong insisted. “I’m going to wash this paint off.” He pointed at the word painted down his torso in vivid blue. “I love you too, Nyangie.” He spun around so gracefully it was almost a pirouette, and tiptoed away to the shower.
Notes:
Okay, here's the deal. This story has a few (3 or 4) chapters left until it's over. Kim Youngjo has left ONEUS and fallen off the face of the Earth, which is somewhat concerning. I have a question for you all.
Do you want to know how the rest of the story goes, or do you want me to abandon it where it is?
In either case, you deserve to know how much you mean to me.
I had quit writing a few years before opening my Ao3 account, believing no one cared about what I had to say or the stories I told. I made my account here primarily because I was feeling stuck and sad. I was creatively congested, having held onto so many stories and concepts for so long because I was certain nobody wanted to hear from me. I didn't expect anyone to read a single word I wrote, but here you are, making my whole damn day. And some of you have been reading my works from the very beginning, which absolutely floors me. Thank you for being here to cheer me on as I've rekindled one of my first and deepest loves. I can't wait for the day I get to announce the publishing of my first novel, to the people who've reminded me that I am a writer. I love you.
- with tears on my cheeks, Rose Yang
Chapter 17: Clamor
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hwanwoong sat on a sofa in the well-appointed green room, knees bouncing and hands trembling. He clutched his bottled water so hard, the plastic crinkled and made grating little popping sounds. He was dressed in distressed jeans and a loose white tank top with a baggy pastel pink cardigan. Not, in his opinion, the best wardrobe choice, but he had to go along with what the company wanted. Kyeongbok was in the chair for hair and makeup. He’d be done in a few more minutes, and then it would be Hwanwoong’s turn.
There was an audience out in the auditorium. Hwanwoong didn’t know how big it was, but he could hear people chatting and milling about. He wondered if they were still filing in and finding their seats. It was a crowd of investors, company executives, and members of the press. Other actors and trainees from On The Hunt were there to watch as well. Hwanwoong wanted to sneak out to the stage and take a peek, hoping that it would calm his nerves.
“Hey, that crackling noise is fucking annoying,” Kyeongbok said, emerging from the little alcove where the stylists worked on him. He looked like he was glowing. “Get in the chair. The sooner we’re ready, the sooner we can stop worrying about it.
“Right,” Hwanwoong sighed, setting his water down on a coffee table. He stood up, feeling like he weighed a thousand pounds. “Sorry, Kyeongbok-ssi.
“It’s okay. Take a deep breath. Don’t be so nervous. We’re going to do this just one last time and never have to worry about it again. Probably.” Kyeongbok looked thoughtful. “Actually, I have no idea how many showcases they’ll make us do. Just don’t worry about it. We’re good, Woong. We’re solid. Go get your makeup on.”
Hwanwoong didn’t know what compelled him to pull Kyeongbok into a hug, but he did it. The taller actor chuckled, patting him on the back. “I’m glad I found a friend like you here, Kyeongbok,” Hwanwoong said. “I was so afraid of doing everything on my own. And now that I have you, I don’t have to.” The hand on Hwanwoong’s back froze. “I hope we get to star in a drama together, even if I don’t get to be the lead.”
Kyeongbok sighed as Hwanwoong made his way past, heading to the stylists. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
Hwanwoong’s hair was fluffed up into a stylish ‘do, with little pieces falling down to frame his eyes, which were emphasized and made to appear bigger. The makeup artist applied a little red to Hwanwoong’s water line and his cheeks to give the appearance that he had quite a lot to drink. “One more thing,” the hairstylist said. She cringed. “I hate doing this to my hard work.” She planted her palm atop Hwanwoong’s head and rubbed, messing up his cute hairstyle. “Now you look drunk.” Hwanwoong couldn’t help but laugh.
“Hold still,” the makeup artist complained. “You were doing so well before.”
“Sorry,” Hwanwoong said, lowering his head in shame.
“Chin up! For God’s sake.” The makeup artist approached with a brush loaded with something shiny and red. “I’m almost done here.”
“Sorry, noona,” Hwanwoong said again, lifting his chin as she’d told him. She applied the shiny stuff to his lips and Hwanwoong thought they now looked a bit swollen. “Am I done?”
“You are done,” the hairstylist confirmed.
“Get out of our chair,” the makeup artist said, playfully kicking the base of the chair. “You’ll be great out there.”
“How was my ugly crying?” Hwanwoong asked, nudging Kyeongbok as they walked back to the green room to change back into street clothes. “Did I really seem like someone who’d just had his heart broken?”
Kyeongbok rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “You did a good job. We make a good team, Woong.” He rested his arm on Hwanwoong’s shoulder. “Introduce me to your boyfriend sometime, eh? Maybe we can go on a double date. I’ll bring my girlfriend.”
“Sounds good.”
They disappeared into separate stalls in the green room. Hwanwoong stripped off the costume he wore onstage. It was damp with nervous sweat. He threw on the light wash jeans and white button up shirt he’d been wearing before the showcase, topped up his outfit with a black baseball cap, and emerged.
Lee Bin, Hwanwoong’s manager, was waiting for him. “Come with me,” Bin said with a twinkle in his eye. “They want to talk to you. The press, I mean. They heard all about your rags to almost riches story and everyone is clamoring for the boy from Jeonju.”
“Bin-hyung!” Hwanwoong squealed as the manager grabbed him by the wrist. “What riches? I’m couch surfing right now.”
“Almost riches. The public loves a hardworking newcomer. They’ll be wrapped around your finger. You’ll have a television role in no time.”
“Oh,” Hwanwoong said. He pulled Bin back one more time. “What should I say?”
Bin looked thoughtful. “Talk about your family back home,” he said. “Tell them how you came here on your own with nothing but the clothes on your back, or whatever. Make sure you make OTH Entertainment sound like the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to you. Tell them how the company treats you like a son.”
Hwanwoong nodded and finally followed along as Bin dragged him out to meet the reporters. They turned a corner and Hwanwoong’s field of vision became scarred by flashing cameras. He blinked. “Yeo Hwanwoong!” the reporters began shouting. “Yeo Hwanwoong! Why did you join On The Hunt?”
“Uh,” Hwanwoong sputtered. “They took me in, practically off the streets,” he said, thinking quickly. “I arrived in Seoul with nothing but a backpack and a dream.”
“Have you seen your parents since you left home?” another reporter asked.
“No,” Hwanwoong sighed. “We talk on the phone and my mother sends me treats in the mail.”
“Aww,” the reporters chorused.
“Manager-nim, will OTH be releasing fan mail information for Yeo Hwanwoong before he debuts?” one short, pretty reporter asked.
“Yes,” Bin replied. “Mr. Yeo will be moving into a company dorm next week. Everything can be sent to Yeo Hwanwoong at On The Hunt Entertainment, care of Lee Bin.”
“Yeo Hwanwoong, everyone will want to know,” came a voice from the middle of the group. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Hwanwoong smiled. “No, of course not. I'm too busy.”
“What was it like being part of the only LGBT+ scene in the entire showcase? It was groundbreaking!” “Do your parents know you’re about to debut?” “What do you think will be your strengths on a variety show?” “Yeo Hwanwoong!” “YEO HWANWOONG!”
Notes:
What do you think?
I love this story so much.
Chapter 18: Move-in Day
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“This looks like a nice little place,” Youngjo commented, slipping his shoes off as he followed Hwanwoong and Lee Bin into Hwanwoong’s company dorm. The place was tiny, with a little common area comprising a space for eating and watching TV, a kitchenette, a bathroom, and two small bedrooms, one supplied with bunk beds and two writing desks. Youngjo didn’t get to see the other bedroom. It belonged to Bin.
“This is standard for On The Hunt,” Bin explained, leading them around the little dorm. “Hwanwoong will have a roommate, so it would be best for the two of you to meet outside of the dorm. Having them both share the same dorm makes it easy on me as their manager.”
“I see.” Youngjo inspected the kitchenette. The whole dorm looked like it had just been deep cleaned. He opened the mini fridge. “And there’s enough space for both of them? I mean, this won’t hold more than a can of Coke and maybe a container of leftover fried rice.”
Hwanwoong hiked his new backpack higher on his shoulders. “Nyang, it’s fine,” he soothed. “And it’s on a nice, high floor. I don’t need to worry about flooding this time.”
“Hwanwoong doesn’t have much,” Bin argued, “and Kyeongbok has been instructed to pack light. Though, he can be a little stubborn. I guess we’ll see if he actually follows instructions.”
Closing the door, Youngjo turned around to face his boyfriend and the young manager. “And he’ll just live here, train at the company building across the street, and…”
“And field scripts whenever we have them,” Bin finished for him. “Hwanwoong was incredibly popular at the company’s talent acquisition showcase. We’re working to get him a role as soon as possible, even if it’s just in a little web drama. Obviously, the hope is to get something better than that. Not that web dramas are bad! They’re just… cheap.”
“You’re talking about me like I’m not here,” Hwanwoong complained. “Really, Nyangie, I’ll be okay. Kyeongbok is my friend. We’ll get along great. I’ll go put my backpack in the bedroom and walk you out, okay?”
He disappeared past the sliding door and Youngjo regarded Bin from across the kitchenette, one eyebrow raised. “Take care of my boyfriend, or I’ll make life difficult,” he said.
“It’s already difficult,” Bin mumbled. He met Youngjo’s gaze. “How? You got a big, vicious dog?”
Youngjo scoffed. “Yeah,” he replied. “He’s like, almost 5 whole kilograms.” Bin looked surprised, then a grin split his features and he laughed, the sound coming from between his teeth. “I’m just worried about my Hwanwoong.”
“I understand,” Bin said. “Listen, we will never prevent him from contacting you or seeing you. Or prevent you from being with him. And we want his success as much as you do.”
“Good,” Youngjo replied. He didn’t know what else to say, if anything.
The keypad on the outside of the dorm’s door beeped a few times, finishing up with a jaunty little jingle. Another man, maybe a little younger than Youngjo, stepped inside and slipped out of his shoes. He carried a backpack and a large rolling luggage. “Bin-hyung,” he said as he abandoned his luggage at the doorway, “I’m here! Sorry I’m late.”
Youngjo froze. It was the asshole from the café, the one who was talking shit about his Hwanwoong! Hwanwoong’s showcase partner, who spoke so venomously about him with his friend that day, was going to share a dorm with him. Youngjo unconsciously gritted his teeth.
Bin greeted him warmly. “Kyeongbok! You can actually go ahead and take your things to the bedroom and unpack. Hwanwoong is already in the process of doing that. This is Youngjo, by the way,” he said, gesturing. “He’s Hwanwoong’s boyfriend.”
“Oh, yeah,” Kyeongbok said, squinting at Youngjo. “You look familiar. Have we met?”
“You came to my café once while I was working,” Youngjo said, trying to keep his tone neutral. “I think you had a friend with you.”
“Mmm. The too-nice barista. Hey.”
How old are you to speak to me in such a sassy tone? Youngjo wondered. He opened his mouth to give Kyeongbok a piece of his mind.
Hwanwoong emerged from the bedroom just in time to save his new roommate. “I’m done unpacking,” he announced. “Hyung, are you okay with me taking the top bunk?”
“We have bunk beds?” Kyeongbok asked, grinning. “I always wanted bunk beds. You can have the top bunk for this month if we can switch next month.”
“Deal!” Hwanwoong replied, matching Kyeongbok’s grin. They fist-bumped. Youngjo tried not to roll his eyes. “Nyangie, are you satisfied with the setup here?” Hwanwoong stared up at him adorably.
Youngjo smiled. “Yeah, this doesn’t look too bad,” he said. “Compared to where you were living, this is paradise.” He put his hands on Hwanwoong’s little shoulders. “Make sure you eat well. Don’t skip any meals. Be healthy. Visit me often.”
“I promise I will,” Hwanwoong said softly. He rose up on his tiptoes and gave Youngjo the kind of kiss that made his heart flutter.
They were suddenly startled by a phone camera shutter sound nearby. Youngjo looked quizzically at Kyeongbok, who was tugging at a piece of hair that fell artistically over his eyes, staring intently at his phone. “Hmm?” Kyeongbok mumbled. “Sorry, taking a selca. You guys carry on.”
“I’ll get out of your hair, I guess,” Youngjo said. He pointed at Bin. “Take good care of my little tiger.”
Bin bowed. “Yes, sir.”
Notes:
Rose is... alive!
I've been suffering from hella burnout. My bad. If you're still reading what I write, I'm incredibly thankful.
I'll be spending almost all of the month of July in Seoul this year, so if you're around there and you want to meet up, let me know! Also, if you want content directly from South Korea, it'll be on my Instagram account. I'm going for an intensive class, so I might even do "study with me" livestreams. We'll see what I have mental energy for.
The goal is to have my debut novel published by the end of 2024.
Thank you for reading! I love you~!
- Rose