(fic)
다시 만들어볼게 우리 이야기 끝나지 않게 아주 기나긴
(i’ll rewrite it again, our story will not end.)
dongwoo & woohyun | g
in japan, dongwoo buys woohyun’s christmas present from a tiny, cluttered shop tucked into an alley near their hotel. it’s a noh mask. sanded wood, hand-painted features. the woman behind the counter tries to explain it to him, but dongwoo’s japanese is mostly we’ll work hard and i’m hungry and thank you for coming to our concert and waiting in the cold, so he doesn’t understand.
later, he looks it up on the internet. he learns that noh performers perfected the art of tilting their head just so, and letting the light create expression on their masks. one mask could be a hundred expressions, depending on the performer. a hand pressed the forehead could mean crippling sadness. the head tilted just slightly to the side could mean joy. part of it depended on the audience, and their willingness to believe in something they knew was false, but mostly it depended on the player.
he repeats this all to woohyun when they’re back in korea. the mask looks small in woohyun’s hands. he studies it while dongwoo says things about “hinoki” and “conveying emotion” and “willful suspension of disbelief,” parroting the things he had read online.
“so anyway i just looked all that up yesterday, but it’s pretty cool, right?” he finishes.
woohyun is quiet for a minute. he doesn’t look at dongwoo, and doesn’t say a word. then he stands up and walks into his bedroom, the mask still held in his hands, and dongwoo feels like he’s missed an important part of the puzzle.
“it’s okay,” sunggyu tells him quietly. he has his arm wrapped around dongwoo’s shoulder, his hand pressed reassuringly into the space where dongwoo’s shoulder meets his neck.
“i don’t get it,” dongwoo says.
sunggyu nods. “i know,” he says. but he doesn’t explain.
it hasn’t always been this complicated.
when dongwoo and woohyun were trainees, they touched each other like it was the easiest thing they’d ever done. it was. they were best friends, back then. it was always woohyun’s arm over dongwoo’s shoulders, dongwoo’s hands around woohyun’s waist, their hands on each other’s knees. and at night, curling together under the blankets, whispering secrets to each other. laughing. knees locked between knees and arms around each other, laying like lovers because they could.
it was easy to do, because they were easy. and then they debuted, and jang dongwoo became rapper dongwoo and nam woohyun became main vocalist woohyun. and then things weren’t so easy anymore.
dongwoo finds woohyun in his room, stretched out on top of the blankets. he’s still wearing all his clothes. the mask is in his hands, and even though it’s dark, woohyun is looking at it with an intense quietness that dongwoo hasn’t seen in a long time.
“woohyun,” he says from the doorway. “i can’t do anything if you don’t tell me.”
what he means is, i can’t fix this if you don’t tell me what’s broken.
woohyun looks up at him. for a second his expression is blank. but then he smiles, cheerful, charming, the woohyun that melts even the iciest fans with thrown hearts and bbuing-bbuing aegyo. dongwoo thinks it’s a little silly that he’s smiling like this right now, when there aren’t any fans around. but then he’s never pretended to really understand woohyun. “tell you what?” woohyun says, leaning back on his hands. “sorry i walked out earlier. i don’t really know why i did that.”
“tell me what’s wrong,” dongwoo says. “why are you doing that?”
“doing what?”
“smiling like you do for the fans. you don’t have to impress me.”
as quickly as it had come, the smile fades, leaving woohyun’s expression blank and quiet. “sometimes i forget i know how to do anything else,” woohyun says. he shakes his head. “it’s okay. i’m fine. it’s just been a long day.”
that’s something else dongwoo has never understood: why woohyun likes to lie about things like that. why he lies to dongwoo at all. “no, you’re upset at me,” dongwoo says. he closes the door behind him and sits on the edge of sunggyu’s bed. “i know i seem like it but-i’m not dumb.”
“i didn’t say that.”
“stop lying to me,” dongwoo says. he looks at his palms, instead of at woohyun. it seems easier. “i’m not sunggyu hyung. i don’t know how to listen to all the things you aren’t saying.”
maybe that’s why things stopped being so easy. dongwoo doesn’t know how to navigate all the subtleties and tiny facets of the music business. sunggyu is good at it, for someone who didn’t want to be an idol. that’s probably why woohyun likes sunggyu better, now. sunggyu needs less explaining.
behind him, woohyun sighs. “don’t worry about it,” he says. “i’ll be fine. sorry i worried you, hyung.”
dongwoo wants to cry. almost does, actually. he bites his tongue hard to stop the heat of tears, and nods, still looking at his hands. “it’s okay,” he says. it’s not convincing, but it doesn’t have to be. woohyun accepts it anyway.
between second invasion and the encore, hoya and dongwoo go down to the riverside and sit on the grass. it was hoya’s idea. he called it “we got married,” but dongwoo thinks he probably means something else. everyone speaks in riddles these days.
“what’s going on with woohyun?” hoya asks.
they’ve exhausted their supply of conversation topics. other idols, their families, the other members, the weather. dongwoo doesn’t have anything left to say that he can use to dodge this. “i don’t know,” he says. shrugs. “probably nothing.”
it’s not probably nothing if hoya noticed, too.
“you guys haven’t been the same since christmas,” hoya says. he looks at dongwoo. he’s not smiling. dongwoo hates how perceptive hoya can be, sometimes. “is it still about your present?”
“yes.” dongwoo says.
“no,” dongwoo says. “it’s not about the present. it is kind of, a little, but i think it’s actually about something totally different than the present, but woohyun won’t tell me what it’s really about, so i don’t know.” he stops, looks at his palms. “he won’t tell me.”
from the corner of his eye he sees hoya nod. “huh,” hoya says. “you know how he gets sometimes. self-conscious.”
“what?” dongwoo doesn’t think of woohyun as self-conscious. “what do you mean?”
hoya lifts one shoulder. “they call him a plastic-dol on the internet. a faker. greasy. how the way he acts in front of the fans is just for show.” he glances over at dongwoo, tilts his head. “he lets it get to him sometimes.”
dongwoo gets it, then.
“oh,” he says, standing up abruptly. hoya looks up at him with one hand shading his eyes, blinking against the light. “i think i have to go. right now.”
hoya nods. “yeah, probably.” he smiles. “we can film we got married later.”
dongwoo bursts into sunggyu and woohyun’s room and almost shouts, “you idiot it wasn’t a metaphor.”
sunggyu looks up from his ipod. he looks at dongwoo, with his fingers white-knuckled on the doorframe, and then looks up at the bottom of woohyun’s bed. and then he gets out of bed, puts on his slippers, and closes the door behind him when he leaves. (dongwoo is thankful for sunggyu as a leader. sunggyu understands the things people don’t say.)
“what?” woohyun says. his expression says he thinks dongwoo is insane. he might be right. “what’s not a metaphor?”
“the stupid mask you idiot it’s not a metaphor. it’s just a mask. sometimes a present is just a present.”
realization dawns over woohyun’s face. he puts his headphones down. “oh,” he says.
“yeah.” dongwoo leans against the doorframe. he’s suddenly very tired, drained of the nervous energy that had gotten him home. “are you serious woohyun-ah do you really think i’d put that much thought into something like a gift? if i’m going to tell you i think you’re a loser i’ll just tell you to your face, not buy a noh mask and learn stuff about suspension of disbelief.”
woohyun laughs in the back of his throat. dongwoo recognizes that laugh: it means woohyun gets it. “sorry,” he says. this time, dongwoo thinks he’s apologizing for what needs to be apologized for. “i forgot you’re more straightforward than any of the rest of us.”
that’s it, that’s it. dongwoo doesn’t know how to dance around subjects, or sling insults hidden under compliments, or read between the lines. he just knows how to be himself. it’s always been enough, before.
“come up here,” woohyun says.
dongwoo thinks it might be enough now, too.
(i’ll rewrite it again, our story will not end.)
dongwoo & woohyun | g
in japan, dongwoo buys woohyun’s christmas present from a tiny, cluttered shop tucked into an alley near their hotel. it’s a noh mask. sanded wood, hand-painted features. the woman behind the counter tries to explain it to him, but dongwoo’s japanese is mostly we’ll work hard and i’m hungry and thank you for coming to our concert and waiting in the cold, so he doesn’t understand.
later, he looks it up on the internet. he learns that noh performers perfected the art of tilting their head just so, and letting the light create expression on their masks. one mask could be a hundred expressions, depending on the performer. a hand pressed the forehead could mean crippling sadness. the head tilted just slightly to the side could mean joy. part of it depended on the audience, and their willingness to believe in something they knew was false, but mostly it depended on the player.
he repeats this all to woohyun when they’re back in korea. the mask looks small in woohyun’s hands. he studies it while dongwoo says things about “hinoki” and “conveying emotion” and “willful suspension of disbelief,” parroting the things he had read online.
“so anyway i just looked all that up yesterday, but it’s pretty cool, right?” he finishes.
woohyun is quiet for a minute. he doesn’t look at dongwoo, and doesn’t say a word. then he stands up and walks into his bedroom, the mask still held in his hands, and dongwoo feels like he’s missed an important part of the puzzle.
“it’s okay,” sunggyu tells him quietly. he has his arm wrapped around dongwoo’s shoulder, his hand pressed reassuringly into the space where dongwoo’s shoulder meets his neck.
“i don’t get it,” dongwoo says.
sunggyu nods. “i know,” he says. but he doesn’t explain.
it hasn’t always been this complicated.
when dongwoo and woohyun were trainees, they touched each other like it was the easiest thing they’d ever done. it was. they were best friends, back then. it was always woohyun’s arm over dongwoo’s shoulders, dongwoo’s hands around woohyun’s waist, their hands on each other’s knees. and at night, curling together under the blankets, whispering secrets to each other. laughing. knees locked between knees and arms around each other, laying like lovers because they could.
it was easy to do, because they were easy. and then they debuted, and jang dongwoo became rapper dongwoo and nam woohyun became main vocalist woohyun. and then things weren’t so easy anymore.
dongwoo finds woohyun in his room, stretched out on top of the blankets. he’s still wearing all his clothes. the mask is in his hands, and even though it’s dark, woohyun is looking at it with an intense quietness that dongwoo hasn’t seen in a long time.
“woohyun,” he says from the doorway. “i can’t do anything if you don’t tell me.”
what he means is, i can’t fix this if you don’t tell me what’s broken.
woohyun looks up at him. for a second his expression is blank. but then he smiles, cheerful, charming, the woohyun that melts even the iciest fans with thrown hearts and bbuing-bbuing aegyo. dongwoo thinks it’s a little silly that he’s smiling like this right now, when there aren’t any fans around. but then he’s never pretended to really understand woohyun. “tell you what?” woohyun says, leaning back on his hands. “sorry i walked out earlier. i don’t really know why i did that.”
“tell me what’s wrong,” dongwoo says. “why are you doing that?”
“doing what?”
“smiling like you do for the fans. you don’t have to impress me.”
as quickly as it had come, the smile fades, leaving woohyun’s expression blank and quiet. “sometimes i forget i know how to do anything else,” woohyun says. he shakes his head. “it’s okay. i’m fine. it’s just been a long day.”
that’s something else dongwoo has never understood: why woohyun likes to lie about things like that. why he lies to dongwoo at all. “no, you’re upset at me,” dongwoo says. he closes the door behind him and sits on the edge of sunggyu’s bed. “i know i seem like it but-i’m not dumb.”
“i didn’t say that.”
“stop lying to me,” dongwoo says. he looks at his palms, instead of at woohyun. it seems easier. “i’m not sunggyu hyung. i don’t know how to listen to all the things you aren’t saying.”
maybe that’s why things stopped being so easy. dongwoo doesn’t know how to navigate all the subtleties and tiny facets of the music business. sunggyu is good at it, for someone who didn’t want to be an idol. that’s probably why woohyun likes sunggyu better, now. sunggyu needs less explaining.
behind him, woohyun sighs. “don’t worry about it,” he says. “i’ll be fine. sorry i worried you, hyung.”
dongwoo wants to cry. almost does, actually. he bites his tongue hard to stop the heat of tears, and nods, still looking at his hands. “it’s okay,” he says. it’s not convincing, but it doesn’t have to be. woohyun accepts it anyway.
between second invasion and the encore, hoya and dongwoo go down to the riverside and sit on the grass. it was hoya’s idea. he called it “we got married,” but dongwoo thinks he probably means something else. everyone speaks in riddles these days.
“what’s going on with woohyun?” hoya asks.
they’ve exhausted their supply of conversation topics. other idols, their families, the other members, the weather. dongwoo doesn’t have anything left to say that he can use to dodge this. “i don’t know,” he says. shrugs. “probably nothing.”
it’s not probably nothing if hoya noticed, too.
“you guys haven’t been the same since christmas,” hoya says. he looks at dongwoo. he’s not smiling. dongwoo hates how perceptive hoya can be, sometimes. “is it still about your present?”
“yes.” dongwoo says.
“no,” dongwoo says. “it’s not about the present. it is kind of, a little, but i think it’s actually about something totally different than the present, but woohyun won’t tell me what it’s really about, so i don’t know.” he stops, looks at his palms. “he won’t tell me.”
from the corner of his eye he sees hoya nod. “huh,” hoya says. “you know how he gets sometimes. self-conscious.”
“what?” dongwoo doesn’t think of woohyun as self-conscious. “what do you mean?”
hoya lifts one shoulder. “they call him a plastic-dol on the internet. a faker. greasy. how the way he acts in front of the fans is just for show.” he glances over at dongwoo, tilts his head. “he lets it get to him sometimes.”
dongwoo gets it, then.
“oh,” he says, standing up abruptly. hoya looks up at him with one hand shading his eyes, blinking against the light. “i think i have to go. right now.”
hoya nods. “yeah, probably.” he smiles. “we can film we got married later.”
dongwoo bursts into sunggyu and woohyun’s room and almost shouts, “you idiot it wasn’t a metaphor.”
sunggyu looks up from his ipod. he looks at dongwoo, with his fingers white-knuckled on the doorframe, and then looks up at the bottom of woohyun’s bed. and then he gets out of bed, puts on his slippers, and closes the door behind him when he leaves. (dongwoo is thankful for sunggyu as a leader. sunggyu understands the things people don’t say.)
“what?” woohyun says. his expression says he thinks dongwoo is insane. he might be right. “what’s not a metaphor?”
“the stupid mask you idiot it’s not a metaphor. it’s just a mask. sometimes a present is just a present.”
realization dawns over woohyun’s face. he puts his headphones down. “oh,” he says.
“yeah.” dongwoo leans against the doorframe. he’s suddenly very tired, drained of the nervous energy that had gotten him home. “are you serious woohyun-ah do you really think i’d put that much thought into something like a gift? if i’m going to tell you i think you’re a loser i’ll just tell you to your face, not buy a noh mask and learn stuff about suspension of disbelief.”
woohyun laughs in the back of his throat. dongwoo recognizes that laugh: it means woohyun gets it. “sorry,” he says. this time, dongwoo thinks he’s apologizing for what needs to be apologized for. “i forgot you’re more straightforward than any of the rest of us.”
that’s it, that’s it. dongwoo doesn’t know how to dance around subjects, or sling insults hidden under compliments, or read between the lines. he just knows how to be himself. it’s always been enough, before.
“come up here,” woohyun says.
dongwoo thinks it might be enough now, too.