present tense
"We're going to debut soon," Seyong says one day. Junkyu doesn't think it's quite that simple, and if 'debut' really is the right word.
present tense
“We’re going to debut soon,” Seyong says one day, out of the blue during lunch and Junkyu stops chewing because Seyong is doing that thing with his arms again, waving them excitedly and it’s making Jinsuk smile.
Junkyu likes it when Jinsuk smiles.
“What are you talking about,” Gunwoo says, poking at his raspberry jelly. “We’re not ready yet.”
He hears a We’ll never be ready in there somewhere and doesn’t disagree. He wonders if they can hear it too.
But Seyong, Seyong sighs too loudly and they’re attracting too much attention because people are starting to stare and Insoo hushes them and Seyong continues talking, but softer. “We’re almost ready to leave this place,” he says. “They can’t keep us here forever.”
Jinsuk’s smile falls and Junkyu moves the rice around on his plate. He’s not even halfway through it yet and he can already feel his heart starting to palpitate in his chest, pulsing so loudly he’s pretty sure soon Insoo will nudge him hard enough to bruise.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Insoo says brightly and Jinsuk’s arm accidentally (accidentally?) brushes up against Junkyu and the skin under his wrist is still uneven and Junkyu is still never hungry enough. They’re all still not good enough for the world and no, definitely not tomorrow.
Junkyu remembers the first time he met Jinsuk: the boy with hair in his eyes and his parents with their red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks and the silence that seemed to envelop him whole.
“Hi,” Junkyu says because that’s what the polite thing to say to someone who is your new roommate. They have their names written on stickers on their clothes because there’s a lot of them here, too many of them, and the boy with the name Jinsuk flops onto the bed next to his own and it’s only minutes and minutes later that he breathes out a Hello.
He’s one of the quiet ones, at least, Junkyu thinks. Not like Seyong or Insoo.
Jinsuk props himself up on the bed and stares at him with tired eyes. “What do you do here?”
“They prepare us for the public,” he says. At least, that’s what Seyong has been drilling into his head since they’ve become friends and that’s the standard answer he gives himself whenever he has questions about this place.
“Why are you here?”
Junkyu opens his mouth to reply even though he doesn’t know what to say or how to verbalize it in words when the door clicks open and the lady pokes her head in and smiles at them. He’s never been good with words.
“It’s five o’clock,” she says and Junkyu pushes himself off the bed. Five o’clock is a good time - five o’clock is when he’s the lightest because it’s been five hours since lunch and there is one and a half to dinner. Five o’clock is also the only time when his breath doesn’t stay stuck in his chest as the numbers on the scale blink back at him.
“Nice to meet you,” he says and from the way Jinsuk carefully keeps his palms pressed to his knees, Junkyu has a rough idea why he’s here.
Seyong is really loud but everyone likes him. The staff, the patie-(trainees, Seyong hisses and Gunwoo sighs before correcting himself); everyone. He is loud to the point it’s inappropriate sometimes but Seyong says he can’t help himself, that it’s part of his charm.
It is, though, and Junkyu envies him for the carefree way he can do everything: dance and speak and sweet-talk the pharmacist for an extra painkiller.
But Gunwoo is the one who has been here the longest time and Junkyu honestly doesn’t think Gunwoo wants to leave. He likes the way the collar of shirt is pressed a certain way and his nametag is always stuck to the left side of his shirt, perfectly in the middle of the standard pocket on all their shirts. He always sits in front of Seyong during meals and next to Insoo during group therapy. He’s meticulous and calm and Junkyu likes him for being a calming constant in this place.
Insoo is harder to read, because sometimes he’ll be talking loudly with Seyong, so loudly the staff threaten to sedate him and Seyong laughs and tells him they’d never do it. He’s right - they never do but they don’t need to, because Insoo lapses into moments and becomes quieter than both Gunwoo and Jinsuk combined. He will stare out the window and mouth the words to a song Seyong says he practiced every day before coming here. It’s just additional practice so that when they debut, Seyong continues, it's like he never stopped practicing.
Junkyu used to be the youngest, before Jinsuk arrived and at first, they couldn’t tell what was wrong with him.
“You’re just awkward,” Insoo says, matter-of-factly, “you don’t need to be here for that.”
Junkyu sucks in a breath of air because that hurt but Gunwoo tells him later that Insoo doesn’t mean it, not in that way. He means it in a good way. He does tell them one day, when they’re at dinner and Junkyu sweeps his plate of food to the floor even though he knows this is breach of Rule Number One.
“I like dumplings,” he replies when the staff says This is your last warning, Junkyu, as the lady sets down another plate of food in front of him. It is identical to the mess on the floor: a heap of rice and meat and vegetables and Junkyu has to avert his eyes because the itch burning beneath his skin is spreading.
Even Seyong is quiet this time. “But rice is nice,” he says softly and Junkyu shrugs.
“I only like dumplings. And that’s on good days.”
“Oh. Oh,” Insoo says slowly and Junkyu smiles a tight, bitter smile as he forces himself to take the first mouthful.
Thrice a week, they have an hour where they can pursue personal skills. Junkyu takes this as an opportunity to play the guitar because no matter how tuneless he is, no one ever tells him off. Seyong dances and Insoo gets a ballet teacher to do pirouettes with him and Gunwoo watches them and calls his skill, The art of observation.
Jinsuk paints.
Jinsuk hardly ever talks but he paints pictures that take even the staffs’ breaths away and Junkyu thinks that if he could paint like that, he wouldn’t need words either.
“You’re really good,” Junkyu says the first time he sees Jinsuk paint and Jinsuk smiles at the canvas.
“I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“At school?”
Jinsuk nods. “And at home, in the bus, when my parents fight, when I’m in the shower.”
He flicks a spot of red at the corner of a building and Junkyu sees the raised marks on the underside of his arm and he raises his eyes to meet Jinsuk’s eyes.
“Just different canvases,” he shrugs and Junkyu can only blink.
Junkyu wakes up today to Jinsuk staring at him. He turns away quickly, murmuring a soft, “Sorry,” but Junkyu rubs the sleep from his eyes and shakes his head.
“Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Can’t sleep.”
“Why?”
“I want to get out of here.”
“Home?”
At that, Jinsuk shakes his head so quickly it startles Junkyu. “No, not home. They never stop fighting.”
“Oh,” Junkyu says.
“I want to go somewhere else. With you. And the hyungs.”
Junkyu smiles because sometimes, he forgets that Jinsuk is only sixteen. “Maybe tomorrow,” he says and Jinsuk eyes him apprehensively and he leans over to touche a palm to Jinsuk’s face. “No, I really mean it.”
The crease in between Jinsuk’s brow disappears. Jinsuk’s skin is cool under his fingertips and he gives Junkyu a half-nod.
Junkyu smiles and for the briefest interval, he stops thinking in serving sizes or the number of ribs he can feel through his skin in the shower.
But Jinsuk turns away to crawl back under the blanket and the moment recedes. Junkyu settles back into his bed and finally understands why Seyong lies so often and why tomorrows are always only a few hours away but never seem to arrive.
present tense
“We’re going to debut soon,” Seyong says one day, out of the blue during lunch and Junkyu stops chewing because Seyong is doing that thing with his arms again, waving them excitedly and it’s making Jinsuk smile.
Junkyu likes it when Jinsuk smiles.
“What are you talking about,” Gunwoo says, poking at his raspberry jelly. “We’re not ready yet.”
He hears a We’ll never be ready in there somewhere and doesn’t disagree. He wonders if they can hear it too.
But Seyong, Seyong sighs too loudly and they’re attracting too much attention because people are starting to stare and Insoo hushes them and Seyong continues talking, but softer. “We’re almost ready to leave this place,” he says. “They can’t keep us here forever.”
Jinsuk’s smile falls and Junkyu moves the rice around on his plate. He’s not even halfway through it yet and he can already feel his heart starting to palpitate in his chest, pulsing so loudly he’s pretty sure soon Insoo will nudge him hard enough to bruise.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Insoo says brightly and Jinsuk’s arm accidentally (accidentally?) brushes up against Junkyu and the skin under his wrist is still uneven and Junkyu is still never hungry enough. They’re all still not good enough for the world and no, definitely not tomorrow.
Junkyu remembers the first time he met Jinsuk: the boy with hair in his eyes and his parents with their red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks and the silence that seemed to envelop him whole.
“Hi,” Junkyu says because that’s what the polite thing to say to someone who is your new roommate. They have their names written on stickers on their clothes because there’s a lot of them here, too many of them, and the boy with the name Jinsuk flops onto the bed next to his own and it’s only minutes and minutes later that he breathes out a Hello.
He’s one of the quiet ones, at least, Junkyu thinks. Not like Seyong or Insoo.
Jinsuk props himself up on the bed and stares at him with tired eyes. “What do you do here?”
“They prepare us for the public,” he says. At least, that’s what Seyong has been drilling into his head since they’ve become friends and that’s the standard answer he gives himself whenever he has questions about this place.
“Why are you here?”
Junkyu opens his mouth to reply even though he doesn’t know what to say or how to verbalize it in words when the door clicks open and the lady pokes her head in and smiles at them. He’s never been good with words.
“It’s five o’clock,” she says and Junkyu pushes himself off the bed. Five o’clock is a good time - five o’clock is when he’s the lightest because it’s been five hours since lunch and there is one and a half to dinner. Five o’clock is also the only time when his breath doesn’t stay stuck in his chest as the numbers on the scale blink back at him.
“Nice to meet you,” he says and from the way Jinsuk carefully keeps his palms pressed to his knees, Junkyu has a rough idea why he’s here.
Seyong is really loud but everyone likes him. The staff, the patie-(trainees, Seyong hisses and Gunwoo sighs before correcting himself); everyone. He is loud to the point it’s inappropriate sometimes but Seyong says he can’t help himself, that it’s part of his charm.
It is, though, and Junkyu envies him for the carefree way he can do everything: dance and speak and sweet-talk the pharmacist for an extra painkiller.
But Gunwoo is the one who has been here the longest time and Junkyu honestly doesn’t think Gunwoo wants to leave. He likes the way the collar of shirt is pressed a certain way and his nametag is always stuck to the left side of his shirt, perfectly in the middle of the standard pocket on all their shirts. He always sits in front of Seyong during meals and next to Insoo during group therapy. He’s meticulous and calm and Junkyu likes him for being a calming constant in this place.
Insoo is harder to read, because sometimes he’ll be talking loudly with Seyong, so loudly the staff threaten to sedate him and Seyong laughs and tells him they’d never do it. He’s right - they never do but they don’t need to, because Insoo lapses into moments and becomes quieter than both Gunwoo and Jinsuk combined. He will stare out the window and mouth the words to a song Seyong says he practiced every day before coming here. It’s just additional practice so that when they debut, Seyong continues, it's like he never stopped practicing.
Junkyu used to be the youngest, before Jinsuk arrived and at first, they couldn’t tell what was wrong with him.
“You’re just awkward,” Insoo says, matter-of-factly, “you don’t need to be here for that.”
Junkyu sucks in a breath of air because that hurt but Gunwoo tells him later that Insoo doesn’t mean it, not in that way. He means it in a good way. He does tell them one day, when they’re at dinner and Junkyu sweeps his plate of food to the floor even though he knows this is breach of Rule Number One.
“I like dumplings,” he replies when the staff says This is your last warning, Junkyu, as the lady sets down another plate of food in front of him. It is identical to the mess on the floor: a heap of rice and meat and vegetables and Junkyu has to avert his eyes because the itch burning beneath his skin is spreading.
Even Seyong is quiet this time. “But rice is nice,” he says softly and Junkyu shrugs.
“I only like dumplings. And that’s on good days.”
“Oh. Oh,” Insoo says slowly and Junkyu smiles a tight, bitter smile as he forces himself to take the first mouthful.
Thrice a week, they have an hour where they can pursue personal skills. Junkyu takes this as an opportunity to play the guitar because no matter how tuneless he is, no one ever tells him off. Seyong dances and Insoo gets a ballet teacher to do pirouettes with him and Gunwoo watches them and calls his skill, The art of observation.
Jinsuk paints.
Jinsuk hardly ever talks but he paints pictures that take even the staffs’ breaths away and Junkyu thinks that if he could paint like that, he wouldn’t need words either.
“You’re really good,” Junkyu says the first time he sees Jinsuk paint and Jinsuk smiles at the canvas.
“I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“At school?”
Jinsuk nods. “And at home, in the bus, when my parents fight, when I’m in the shower.”
He flicks a spot of red at the corner of a building and Junkyu sees the raised marks on the underside of his arm and he raises his eyes to meet Jinsuk’s eyes.
“Just different canvases,” he shrugs and Junkyu can only blink.
Junkyu wakes up today to Jinsuk staring at him. He turns away quickly, murmuring a soft, “Sorry,” but Junkyu rubs the sleep from his eyes and shakes his head.
“Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Can’t sleep.”
“Why?”
“I want to get out of here.”
“Home?”
At that, Jinsuk shakes his head so quickly it startles Junkyu. “No, not home. They never stop fighting.”
“Oh,” Junkyu says.
“I want to go somewhere else. With you. And the hyungs.”
Junkyu smiles because sometimes, he forgets that Jinsuk is only sixteen. “Maybe tomorrow,” he says and Jinsuk eyes him apprehensively and he leans over to touche a palm to Jinsuk’s face. “No, I really mean it.”
The crease in between Jinsuk’s brow disappears. Jinsuk’s skin is cool under his fingertips and he gives Junkyu a half-nod.
Junkyu smiles and for the briefest interval, he stops thinking in serving sizes or the number of ribs he can feel through his skin in the shower.
But Jinsuk turns away to crawl back under the blanket and the moment recedes. Junkyu settles back into his bed and finally understands why Seyong lies so often and why tomorrows are always only a few hours away but never seem to arrive.