[b1a4] le fiabe della felicità ; 동화같은 이야기; jinyoung/gongchan; r; [2/2]
Part 1
l’estate ; 여름
Jinyoung gets an offer for a shoot in June. It’s from Billabong, a pretty well known foreign beach clothing and swimwear company from what he’s gathered, and they want him as a model for their Korean catalogue.
He rejects the offer.
“Are you insane?” his friend from creative directing -- Sunwoo -- asks when he finds out. “This is a pretty big offer man, if you don’t take it now they’ll find a replacement in no time. You know how competitive this industry is.”
“So let them,” Jinyoung murmurs, avoiding Sunwoo’s eyes. “I’m not comfortable with swimwear.”
Sunwoo eyes him sceptically. “Okay man, if you’re sure, but I’d get comfortable with it if I were you.”
Billabong finds a replacement, easily. There are many models to choose from -- ones who are willing to bare skin for the shoot.
Jinyoung goes out that Thursday and looks for a part time job at the cafés around Gangnam. He’d stopped his part time work after he had started getting steady modelling jobs, but this has shaken him. Dongwoo would probably let him stay at the apartment, even without the full rent, but Jinyoung remembers back to when he’d almost had no money for his room at the goshiwon, and he feels insecurity rising up all over again.
Jinyoung stops in front of a café and stares at the ‘staff wanted’ sign despondently.
He curses at himself.
He would've been comfortable with it -- if only he didn't have those scars. If only he hadn't found such a destructive way to handle his failure to find a modelling agency, to book jobs, if only he had channeled that panic, self-loathing, that need to control his life into another form -- if only he had some fucking control.
He knew he was selling his body. He knew better than to cut himself anywhere, because a single scar could ruin an aspiring model’s career, but he’d rationalised: as long as it wasn’t somewhere stupidly obvious like on the wrists or arms, no one would see it, and it would be alright. Thighs you could hide with boxer briefs.
So he'd cradled the blade in his hands, and run it over the surface of his upper thigh, and it had felt so good. No pain, just clear-headedness and a rush of power, like he was in control, finally getting the punishment he deserved. He’d deluded himself into believing that he could get away with it.
So much for that.
“Hyung, are you okay?” Chanshik asks at dinner. It’s Kimchi Ramyeon, the only thing Chanshik knows how to make, and something Jinyoung wouldn’t normally touch, but he’s past caring today.
“I’m fine,” he says, as he slurps down the noodles. Chanshik raises an eyebrow.
“But hyung, you never eat Ramyeon. Something’s wrong, can’t you tell me?”
Jinyoung chews slowly, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’m just tired.”
Chanshik looks at him, unconvinced. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I found a part time job at a café today,” Jinyoung says, trying to change the topic.
Chanshik frowns. “Aren’t you a bit busy for that? I thought you had that Billabong shoot.”
Jinyoung flinches. He hadn't told Chanshik about it.
“I had to reject that photoshoot, it’s no big deal.”
“You told me never to reject anything though,” Chanshik mumbles, and slurps down his soup. “You say it was hard to get booked.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I did, but you know,” Jinyoung sighs and pushes the bowl away from him. “Sometimes you don’t feel comfortable with certain things. I don’t do swimwear.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind seeing hyung in swimwear,” Chanshik grins cheekily, and Jinyoung smiles weakly back. “The girls would go crazy.”
Jinyoung eyes Chanshik sceptically, and sees a red tinge spreading on his cheeks. His fringe sits messily on his forehead, and his eyes crease at the edges from an embarrassed smile. Jinyoung’s gaze travels to Chanshik’s lips. They’re stained with chilli from the Ramyeon.
“I’m going to my room,” Jinyoung murmurs, getting up from his seat. “You’ve got food on your mouth, by the way.”
Chanshik brings his hand up to wipe it away, and stacks Jinyoung’s unfinished bowl of noodles into his empty one. “Okay. Go rest, hyung, I’ll clean up.”
Both Jinyoung and Chanshik are cast for a fall clothing shoot for Vogue Girl. The thing is, Chanshik’s in group A, and Jinyoung’s in group B, and Jinyoung knows that B stands for backup.
“Good luck,” Jinyoung says to Chanshik as the stylists start wrapping a mauve and peach scarf around his neck. He grins back as they secure a matching beanie to his head with bobby pins. Chanshik doesn’t react anymore when he’s being dressed, Jinyoung notices.
Another thing dawns on him; how much Chanshik changes when the camera’s on him.
He’s not the Chanshik that Jinyoung usually knows, lounging around on the sofa eating chocolate coated coffee beans and flicking through the TV, or bugging Jinyoung for help on a particularly difficult maths problem late at night. He’s the model Gong Chanshik.
He gazes at the camera and there’s an aura surrounding him, imposing and impossibly graceful, and in that moment, Jinyoung understands. He could try and try for years, but the the sharpness and depth of Chanshik’s gaze is something that he would never be able to emulate. Chanshik makes the clothes come alive; he matches the mood of the shoot, and he’s captivating. Jinyoung feels a twinge of jealousy.
When Chanshik finishes the shoot and bounds towards him, all smiles, a wave of guilt floods him. He’d forgotten how poisonous jealousy could be. This is Chanshik, not some guy from DCM Academy who he has to compete with. This is Chanshik, who sends him text messages with hearts littered all over them.
This is Chanshik, the boy who likes him, and who he might just like back. A lot.
Then one day, when Chanshik comes back from school, he doesn’t greet Jinyoung with his usual bright smile. His head’s lowered as he kicks off his shoes, and Jinyoung frowns from where he’s lounging on the sofa.
“Chanshik? What’s wrong?”
Chanshik looks up and plasters a smile on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Nothing,” he answers, but there’s a quiver in his voice. Jinyoung sighs and gets off the sofa.
“Come on, you can tell me,” he coaxes. He tries to turn Chanshik around but he just shies away, and Jinyoung drops his hands. Chanshik shies away.
“It’s really nothing, I’m just...a bit tired. Don’t worry, hyung,” he mumbles, and makes for his room. Jinyoung bites his lip, standing in front of the closed door, hand resting on the knob.
Jinyoung hates it when people pry, so he doesn’t want to do it to Chanshik. Maybe it would be better to give Chanshik a bit of space, just to let him sort whatever it might be out on his own -- but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel a painful tightening in his chest at his uselessness.
He pauses, and lets his hand drop down.
Jinyoung knocks gently on Chanshik’s door at dinnertime, and murmurs that his food’s going to get cold, but Chanshik doesn’t open the door, not even for his favourite sweet and sour pork. For the first time in a while, the living room is quiet, the television the only noise.
“The food’s in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Jinyoung says through the door when he’s about to go to sleep. “Goodnight, Chanshik.”
Jinyoung misses his alarm, gets dressed in five minutes, and just before he has to run off to his shift at the café, he opens the fridge to grab something to eat.
The sweet and sour pork’s exactly where he left it last night.
When he gets back from his eight-hour shift, feet and back aching, he finds Chanshik lying on the rug, reading manhwa. It’s like yesterday never happened.
“Hey,” he says, and Chanshik looks up and smiles at him.
“Hey hyung,” he says, voice overly cheery. “How was your day?”
Jinyoung narrows his eyes. Something’s still off.
“Yeah, good,” he says. He takes off his shoes and crouches down in front of Chanshik.
“Channie...do you want to talk about yesterday? What happened?”
Chanshik’s smile fades for a split second, and then it’s back, like it had never left his face.
“What do you mean, hyung?”
Jinyoung sighs. “You seemed...pretty upset. Do you want to talk about it?”
Chanshik shakes his head. “I’m fine, hyung. I’m sorry about yesterday. I was just tired. School, you know?”
Jinyoung nods. He’s not convinced, but it’s been a long day and he knows how overwhelming it can get juggling school and modelling. He decides to drop the subject.
“Okay. Okay, if you’re sure. Should we have dinner?”
“I’ve eaten already, hyung, don’t worry,” Chanshik replies, flipping a page of his manhwa. His voice is nonchalant.
“Oh.” Jinyoung frowns. “What did you have?”
“Just yesterday’s leftovers.”
The bathroom smells much too strongly of sweet and sour pork.
For the whole of next week, and the week after, Jinyoung hears the same sound of the front door creaking open and closed at six in the morning. Chanshik hides his footsteps well, but he can’t hide the dirty sneakers by the front door, or the sweaty t-shirts in the laundry basket.
The problem isn’t that though. Exercise is fine, Jinyoung has no problem with that alone -- the problem is that Chanshik overdoes it. Their schedules don’t always match up since Chanshik sometimes has photoshoots until late at night, and Jinyoung’s busy with the café. During the meals they do share, Chanshik progressively eats less and less. Jinyoung watches as Chanshik wraps beansprouts into his lettuce wrap, leaving the meat untouched, or only peels at the seaweed of his sushi.
Jinyoung knows the signs all too well.
He remembers a kid who lived next door to him at the goshiwon. Lee Junghwan, a second year high school student aspiring to be a singer, the only person who had bothered to greet Jinyoung on the day he moved in -- Junghwan had deteriorated faster than anyone had thought possible. Jinyoung still remembers how Junghwan’s plump face had slimmed and sunken in, gradually but surely, until all he could see was bruised skin and a razor sharp jawline.
Jinyoung doesn’t know what to do. In an industry all about appearances, this is inevitable, but all the same it’s never hit so close to home, and he’s never been at such a loss.
He feels so useless.
“Do you remember Junghwan?”
Dongwoo swivels around in his chair, rolls of film in his hand. “Yeah, I do, why?”
Jinyoung sighs. “I was just wondering how he’s doing.”
Dongwoo looks at him curiously. He sets down the film and wheels over to where Jinyoung’s sitting on the settee. “Jinyoung, it’s been a year since you’ve last talked about him. Did something happen?”
Jinyoung looks down. “Nothing much, it’s just....” He sighs again. “It’s Chanshik.”
Dongwoo nods slowly. “Mhm. What about him?”
“He’s not eating properly.”
“You don’t eat properly either,” Dongwoo chides, before frowning. “That’s worrying. Have you talked to him?”
Jinyoung shakes his head. “I’ve tried to bring it up, but he always tells me he’s fine, and then he tries to change the subject. I...” he bites his lip. “I feel guilty. I remember telling him off for not watching his diet before.”
Dongwoo sighs. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, you were just giving him advice. You couldn’t have known this would happen.”
“Yeah, but,” Jinyoung says, then groans in frustration. “I don’t know. It feels like he’s purposely distancing himself from me.”
Dongwoo purses his lips.
“Look, Jinyoung, here’s what I think. Chanshik’s young, he’s living away from his family, and he’s probably finding it hard to adjust. What he really needs right now is someone to be there for him. And you know, modelling’s not a very nice industry -- something probably happened to trigger this.” Dongwoo looks pointedly at Jinyoung. “You should try find out.”
Jinyoung grimaces. Dongwoo’s right.
Dongwoo lowers his voice. “I’d talk to him, but I don’t know him well enough. I think this is something you’ll have to help him with.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jinyoung groans and buries his head in his hands. “But I’m so scared I’ll say the wrong thing and...”
He sighs. He’s unsure of where he’s going. “Sorry. I’m just frustrated.”
Dongwoo narrows his eyes at Jinyoung.
“Actually, I’ve been wanting to ask this for a while but... you like Chanshik, don’t you?”
Jinyoung twitches. “What makes you say that?”
Dongwoo laughs. “I know you too well. You’ve never worried about someone this much before. And he seems to like you too,” Dongwoo muses.
“Yeah, enough to kiss me,” Jinyoung mumbles.
Dongwoo’s eyebrows furrow. “Hold up, he kissed you? When?”
Jinyoung bites his lip. “No, it’s probably nothing, he was just drunk...and he doesn’t even remember. At least, he hasn’t said anything.”
“And you haven’t talked about it?”
Jinyoung shakes his head.
There’s a beat of silence, then Dongwoo sighs and puts a hand on Jinyoung’s shoulder.
“Jinyoung, I think you have to sort this out -- both things. Just...talk to Chanshik when you get home tonight, okay? Properly.”
Jinyoung breathes. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dongwoo.”
“Chanshik, I think we should talk.”
“About what, hyung?” Chanshik’s eyes are fixed on the TV. It’s playing some inane family comedy. Jinyoung sighs.
“Please don’t do this to yourself, Chanshik, you have to eat properly.”
Chanshik keeps watching the TV. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, hyung. I eat.”
“But you’re not eating enough. I’m worried about you.”
“Didn’t you tell me to watch my diet? That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Chanshik’s speaking in that matter-of-fact tone. Jinyoung grits his teeth.
“Yes, yes I did, but.” He gulps. “But that’s different. I might’ve told you to stop ordering iced mochas and eating ramyeon late at night, but I didn’t mean for you to start skipping meals and picking at your food like this. This is...unhealthy.”
Chanshik lets out a bark of laughter. “We’re models, hyung. We’re supposed to be different.”
Jinyoung stares at Chanshik’s back, and feels something twist in his chest. This is not right. This isn’t Chanshik, not the curious, enthusiastic, happy Chanshik he knows, who complains about DCM’s training. This Chanshik sounds jaded, tired, resigned.
“Chanshik, what happened? Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing, hyung.”
“Why can’t you be honest with me? I just want to help.”
“Then how about you, hyung,” Chanshik says softly. “Are you being honest with me?”
The canned laughter from the TV rings around the room. Jinyoung grabs the remote from the table, and turns the TV off. Chanshik doesn’t move from his place on the rug. He’s still staring at the blank screen.
Jinyoung grits his teeth and sits down in front of Chanshik. “I’ve always been honest with you.”
“No, hyung, no you haven’t -- you always tell me “nothing’s wrong” when things are obviously wrong. Like that day when you got a job at the café. You wouldn’t even tell me what happened.”
“That’s completely different, Chanshik.” Jinyoung sighs, “I--Listen, I’m your hyung. I’m not meant to make you worry.”
“And I am?” Chanshik’s looks up at him. His eyes are accusing and glazed over with tears. It’s the first time in weeks that Chanshik’s looked Jinyoung in the eyes, and Jinyoung notes with horror that Chanshik’s eyebags are taking on a purple tinge. His cheeks are painfully hollow.
Jinyoung falls silent.
“I don’t want to be a burden anymore, hyung. You helped a complete beginner like me with modelling, then found me somewhere to live, and I was stupid enough to think that you liked me and--”
“Wait, wait,” Jinyoung cuts him off. “Wait. Firstly, you’re not a burden. And secondly,” his heart thumps in his chest, “how do you know I don’t like you?”
“You pushed me away that night, didn’t you.” Chanshik looks down. “I remember everything, okay? I was hoping you’d bring it up but...” He bites his lip. “But the next day I was trying to see if you’d say something, but you told me nothing happened, so I thought you wanted me to forget about it.”
A lump rises in Jinyoung’s throat. He had pushed Chanshik away, but that was because he wasn’t sure how to handle Chanshik’s confession, was scared about how their relationship would change. He’s a bit more confident now.
He likes Chanshik. Likes likes Chanshik. It pains him to see Chanshik hurting himself this way.
He thinks he finally understands how Dongwoo felt a year ago with him.
“I said that night that you’d regret it,” Jinyoung murmurs. “Kissing me. Do you?”
Chanshik looks down. “No. I don’t.”
“Well, I do. I regret pushing you away. I--I like you too, Chanshik. A lot.” Jinyoung hangs his head. “So if you care about me, please tell me what happened.”
There’s a moment of silence. Jinyoung closes his eyes, and feels his heart thump erratically. Then, there are warm fingers on his cheek, and he raises his head to see Chanshik looking at him. Chanshik’s lips are curled into a small smile.
“Okay, I'll tell you. I’ll tell you, hyung -- but I want to hear your story too.”
Jinyoung nods. It’s a compromise he’s willing to make.
(It had started with a model from Chanshik’s DCM Academy class.
Lee Sungyeol. He’d been training under DCM for a little under a year, and was jealous of Chanshik booking so many jobs. Somehow, he’d found out Chanshik’s phone number, and had sent him a string of disturbing text messages.
fat. ugly. look in the mirror, you pig. you're the fattest of us all.
Chanshik had tried to ignore them, but after that, he’d walk past reflective surfaces -- mirrors, glass -- and try and suck in his stomach. He’d look through the magazine racks, pick out the pictures of the thin models and stare at them in envy. He’d think about how nice it would be if he had those hollow cheeks, those defined cheekbones, and feel shame roll over him as he pulled at the flab on his chin, his thighs, his stomach.
The other problem had been the agency. DCM had drilled the caloric content of every kind of food into their models’ heads. They’d also conducted a public weighing after class, the last one of the season. Chanshik had stepped on the scales and watched as the big red digits went up and up and up and -- five kilos too many.
He had stepped off, feeling the eyes of every single person in the room on him, and he had never felt so fat in his life.
That had been the final straw.)
Jinyoung tells his story from the start, and shows Chanshik his scars. Besides Dongwoo, Chanshik's the only one who's seen them.
Chanshik recoils at first, eyes wide with shock, before he reaches out a hand to trace them with the tips of his fingers. Jinyoung flinches.
“Does it hurt?” Chansik asks, and Jinyoung shakes his head.
The next thing he knows, Chanshik’s lips are grazing over his upper thigh, breath warm on his skin. A shiver runs down his spine.
“What are you doing?” Jinyoung asks, heart racing. Chanshik looks up at him.
“Kissing it better.”
Jinyoung gulps as Chanshik trails his mouth over the inside of his thigh, then Chanshik’s hands are under Jinyoung’s shirt, hoisting it up over his head. Chanshik’s lips travel up Jinyoung’s stomach, chest, neck and Jinyoung can feel the heat radiating from Chanshik’s body. Chanshik’s mouth is hot against his.
Jinyoung’s grabs at Chanshik’s t-shirt, and slides a hand up his back.
Jinyoung’s heart wrenches.
He can feel Chanshik’s ribs, ridges, jutting out from under the skin, and his hands run over the length of Chanshik’s spine, travel to his sharp elbows, and takes Chanshik’s bony hands in his. Jinyoung’s too scared to hold Chanshik any tighter, too scared to pin him down onto the mattress like he wants to, just in case he breaks.
It's Jinyoung's first time being this gentle. It's what Chanshik deserves.
Chanshik gets a call from DCM two days later. It’s a last minute offer to model for Resurrection at Seoul Fashion Week. His measurements are similar to those of a model who had just been pulled out--
“What happened to him?” Chanshik asks, curious.
The lady over the phone doesn’t elaborate, just tells him to come in for a fitting and briefing.
Jinyoung calls Sunwoo. Creative directing should know what happened -- they’re the ones who work in collaboration with the fashion designers, after all, and Jinyoung’s pretty sure Sunwoo mentioned something about Resurrection last month.
Jinyoung falls quiet when he hears what Sunwoo says.
The model Chanshik’s replacing is Lee Sungyeol. Sungyeol was found in his apartment last night, and he wasn’t breathing. Doctors said he slipped into a hypoglycemic coma -- severely low blood sugar from not eating meant his body couldn’t function anymore -- and that it would be difficult for him to fully recover.
“Like I said, they’ll find a replacement in no time. It’s a dog eat dog world.”
Chanshik’s sitting on the sofa. He’d been listening in on the extension.
He’s shaking.
“Eat,” Jinyoung says gently, placing a plate of apples in front of Chanshik.
He eats.
l’autunno ; 가을
Seoul Fashion Week is held every year in October, and only the best upcoming designers in Korea are selected for the main show. Chanshik doesn’t actually realise how big a deal being chosen to model for Resurrection is until Jinyoung explains.
Print modelling is very different to runway modelling. Print models are only ever featured in magazines, and they’re low on the fashion food chain. The runway is where people want to be.
Jinyoung could never be a runway model.
Chanshik’s 182cm tall -- just above the bare minumum -- but Jinyoung’s only 178cm, and those two missing centimetres makes all the difference in the world.
But he’s not bitter about it, not when it’s Chanshik. A year ago, he might’ve watched his taller peers from the agency practise walking down the red masking tape line and yearned to be in that training class, burning with envy while watching them glide down the runway at Fashion Week. Now, he’s just happy for Chanshik.
He’s not bitter, or jealous, or resentful. He’s happy. Proud. Relieved.
It feels good.
Jinyoung finds himself working at the café more than he visits DCM to book modelling jobs. He’s not sure if it’s his latest experience with Chanshik, but he just doesn’t feel the same way about modelling anymore. It's been kind of hectic too, taking Chanshik to the specialist for his treatments, monitoring his diet and making sure he doesn't relapse. Plus, there’s a lot less stress involved with making coffee, and Jinyoung could use a bit of downtime.
Chanshik misses an entire fortnight of school for extra runway training and rehearsals. When he gets home at night, he only has the energy to greet Jinyoung, shower and fall into bed. Jinyoung makes sure Chanshik eats dinner every night, and breakfast every morning, but that’s all he can really do.
“Hyung, hyung, watch,” Chanshik says one morning, when Jinyoung’s cutting fruits for breakfast. He takes two cans of tuna from the cupboard, and stacks them on his head. Jinyoung raises an eyebrow.
Chanshik walks all the way to the end of the living room, cans wobbling precariously, but they topple down onto the floor halfway through his return trip. Chanshik looks at them sadly.
“They were supposed to stay on my head,” he mourns. “The instructor told me to practise every day at home.”
Jinyoung laughs. “Don’t destroy all our tuna cans, those are for eating, you know.”
“It’s okay, I am getting better at this. Maybe one of these days I’ll be able to balance a plate...”
Chanshik exchanges the dented tuna cans for a plate of fruit, and Jinyoung groans.
October 21st draws closer and closer, and then, without warning, it’s here.
Jinyoung’s almost asleep when he hears his door creak open, and soft footsteps across his floor. His blanket’s lifted, and then there’s a warm body next to him.
It’s Chanshik.
“What’s wrong?” Jinyoung mumbles, rubbing his eyes. Chanshik curls into Jinyoung.
“I’m cold. I can’t sleep.”
Jinyoung shifts in his bed so he’s facing Chanshik. He rests his hand on Chanshik’s cheek, then slings am arm around his body and pulls him in, yawning.
“Better? Go to sleep.”
There’s silence, and Jinyoung can feel Chanshik’s steady breathing on his chest and he’s falling asleep again until-- “Hyung?”
“Mm?”
“What if I trip and fall on my face?”
Jinyoung’s lips twitch into a smile. He wraps his arms tighter around Chanshik. So Chanshik was getting last-minute nerves.
“You won’t.”
“What if my clothes fall off? It’s happened to people before.”
“Shh, stop it. You’ll be fine.”
“Hyung?”
“Mm?”
“What if--ngh!”
Jinyoung shuts Chanshik up with a sleepy kiss.
Good luck today, Channie, I'll be watching ^^
thanks hyung ヽ(´▽`)/ i'm nervous ;_;
You'll be great. Fighting!
“Are you texting Chanshik?” Dongwoo peers over Jinyoung’s shoulder, and he snaps his phone shut. “Aw. I wanted to see.”
Jinyoung stares as Dongwoo walks around and sits down in the seat next to him.
“Aren’t you meant to be taking photos?”
Dongwoo mock salutes Jinyoung and picks up his camera.
Jinyoung looks over the crowd. He can see the photographers crowded up the sides of the runway for the perfect shot, the buyers mingling in the background, the idols who get front row seats for media coverage, and he can even spot a distinctive group of teenage girls near the front -- tall, well dressed, immaculate makeup -- who he can tell are aspiring models. They’re looking at the runway, eyes full of longing, and Jinyoung wants to tell them that the suffering is not worth it.
The house lights fade.
When Chanshik comes on, Jinyoung doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until Dongwoo jabs him in the side and tells him to breathe. Chanshik’s dressed in a sleeveless black shirt, black vest, and cargo-style pants, hair styled upwards.
There’s no sign of the beginner, all awkward angles and shy laughter, anywhere. It’s only been eight months, but Chanshik’s grown so much.
“He’s really good,” Dongwoo whispers to him, and Jinyoung feels a wave of pride wash over him.
“Yeah, he is.”
Resurrection’s new collection is well received by critics. They praise the designer Lee Juyoung for portraying an authentic rock and roll vibe, for the attitude and freedom represented in her designs, and for the simplicity of her colour palette. The chairman of New York Fashion Week invites Juyoung to showcase her Spring/Summer collection in New York in February, along with the original Korean models.
It’s an opportunity to walk on an internationally recognised runway.
“I’m gonna miss Seoul,” Chanshik says, but Jinyoung sees a flicker of excitement in his eyes, and knows that he’s anticipating the bright lights and foreign tongue.
“It’s only two months. Remember to dress warmly. And make sure you eat.”
An announcement blares through the speakers of the airport, calling for the 8:43 Incheon to New York passengers to check in. Jinyoung smiles. “You better go.”
“I’ll call you, hyung!” Chanshik grins, and then he’s lost in the crowd.
il tempo passa... ; 시간이 지나가면...
But it’s more than two months.
DCM asks Chanshik to base himself in New York -- permanently, if he could.
New York Fashion Week had been immensely successful for the models in Resurrection; Chanshik’s been booked for two more collections. There are more opportunities in the Big Apple; after all, everyone in New York lives and breathes fashion. If Chanshik wants to become a serious model, it'd be stupid not to take the chance.
Chanshik calls Jinyoung to tell him the news. It’s ironic, really. Chanshik had never truly wanted to become a model, but in the end, he’d gone further than anyone.
“I’m sorry, hyung,” he says. “I guess I won’t be coming back soon.”
“It’s okay,” Jinyoung says. “It’s New York -- you’d be crazy to give it up. Good luck, Channie.”
“I’ll call you later. I miss you,” Chanshik says, and the line goes dead.
Jinyoung’s not really okay. For the first week after Chanshik left, Jinyoung had sometimes knocked on the door to Chanshik’s room at dinnertime, purely out of habit, and then remembered than he was in a different country. He missed Chanshik’s texts, missed his smiling face and laughter, his clingy hugs. Chanshik did call, every day at first, then every two days, then days became a week, two weeks, and then he didn’t call for an entire month.
The next time Chanshik calls, he’s so tired that he falls asleep at the phone. Jinyoung tells him it’s okay, he’s busy, that he doesn’t need to feel obliged to call if he’s so tired, good luck with his new campaign, and he hangs up with a heavy heart.
Dongwoo was right. Long distance relationships never work -- but then again, they had never really been together.
Jinyoung enrols in university, in a Fashion and Design course. It’s about time he thinks of the future: modelling doesn’t last forever, and university keeps his mind off other things.
Dongwoo finally finishes his project. It’s put on exhibition at the Seoul Photo Festival, and they celebrate his accomplishment with the usual chicken and soju. Everything’s as normal, except after two bottles of soju, Jinyoung can’t help but feel that there’s someone else who should be here with him.
Jinyoung picks up a magazine one day, and sees Chanshik in a two-page spread. He's surrounded by foreign models, and Jinyoung notices with a twist to the gut that the little date on the magazine cover already reads July.
It’s funny how fast time flies.
l’inverno ii ; 겨울 II
There are sprinkles of snow in Jinyoung’s hair when he steps into the university café. He’s reviewing his design portfolio when he sees the shadow of someone’s head at the top of the page. He looks up.
It’s Chanshik.
“You have snow in your hair, hyung,” he says, grinning, and Jinyoung stares back. His heart races in his chest.
“Chanshik. I thought you were still in New York?”
Chanshik smiles. “Yeah, I was until yesterday.”
Jinyoung closes his portfolio and sets it on the table. He blinks. What the hell was Chanshik doing back in Seoul? Why hadn’t he called him? How the-- “Wait, how--how’d you find me?”
“Dongwoo hyung told me.” Chanshik pulls out a seat and sits down opposite Jinyoung.
There’s a moment of silence.
“Are you...back for good?”
Chanshik tugs at the strap of his bag. “Yeah. New York was too much for me. I mean, I don’t really know English and I,” Chanshik bites his lip, “I guess I jumped into it too fast.”
Jinyoung doesn’t know what to say. He looks down at his portfolio, sliding his fingers down the edges of the pages. Chanshik sighs.
“Wait,” he murmurs. “I have something for you.”
Jinyoung looks on curiously as Chanshik rummages around his bag and fishes out an apple. The skin is perfect except for a single brown bruise discolouring the red, and he runs his thumb over it before placing it into Jinyoung’s hands. Jinyoung raises his eyebrows.
“An apple?”
“I passed by a market on the way here, and...” he laughs sheepishly. “I don’t know. I thought of our first photoshoot together. Two years ago. Remember?” Chanshik grins, and Jinyoung laughs quietly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, of course.”
Chanshik sighs, and purses his lips.
“Look, I know I haven’t been good at keeping in touch--”
“I understand, models are busy.”
“No, but, hyung, listen, I stuffed up. I got so busy, and then i couldn’t keep up the phone calls and...I stopped calling for six months, but...” Chanshik’s gaze falters, and he hangs his head. “Do you still have that spare room?”
Jinyoung looks at him, understanding dawning on his face. His heart heaps into his throat, and he’s got a suspicion about what Chanshik’s going to say next, but all the same, he wants a confirmation.
“What are you...?”
Chanshik takes a deep breath.
“Hyung, what I’m asking is...can we start again?”
Jinyoung looks into Chanshik’s eyes.
They’re a year older, a year wiser, and in some ways, different people, but then Chansik looks back at him, all wide eyes and uncertainty, Jinyoung sees the boy he went through so much with, and warmth spreads in Jinyoung’s chest. It’s good to have him back.
He smiles.
“Yeah. Yeah, let’s start again.”
There are no fairytales in the world of fashion. There are also no glass slippers, or poisoned apples -- actually, apples are what saves them.
Jinyoung definitely wouldn’t call it a fairytale. Neither of them are princesses, or fair maidens, or knights in shining armour, but when Chanshik crawls into his bed at night and hugs his back to sleep, Jinyoung thinks he might’ve gotten his happy ending.
l’estate ; 여름
Jinyoung gets an offer for a shoot in June. It’s from Billabong, a pretty well known foreign beach clothing and swimwear company from what he’s gathered, and they want him as a model for their Korean catalogue.
He rejects the offer.
“Are you insane?” his friend from creative directing -- Sunwoo -- asks when he finds out. “This is a pretty big offer man, if you don’t take it now they’ll find a replacement in no time. You know how competitive this industry is.”
“So let them,” Jinyoung murmurs, avoiding Sunwoo’s eyes. “I’m not comfortable with swimwear.”
Sunwoo eyes him sceptically. “Okay man, if you’re sure, but I’d get comfortable with it if I were you.”
Billabong finds a replacement, easily. There are many models to choose from -- ones who are willing to bare skin for the shoot.
Jinyoung goes out that Thursday and looks for a part time job at the cafés around Gangnam. He’d stopped his part time work after he had started getting steady modelling jobs, but this has shaken him. Dongwoo would probably let him stay at the apartment, even without the full rent, but Jinyoung remembers back to when he’d almost had no money for his room at the goshiwon, and he feels insecurity rising up all over again.
Jinyoung stops in front of a café and stares at the ‘staff wanted’ sign despondently.
He curses at himself.
He would've been comfortable with it -- if only he didn't have those scars. If only he hadn't found such a destructive way to handle his failure to find a modelling agency, to book jobs, if only he had channeled that panic, self-loathing, that need to control his life into another form -- if only he had some fucking control.
He knew he was selling his body. He knew better than to cut himself anywhere, because a single scar could ruin an aspiring model’s career, but he’d rationalised: as long as it wasn’t somewhere stupidly obvious like on the wrists or arms, no one would see it, and it would be alright. Thighs you could hide with boxer briefs.
So he'd cradled the blade in his hands, and run it over the surface of his upper thigh, and it had felt so good. No pain, just clear-headedness and a rush of power, like he was in control, finally getting the punishment he deserved. He’d deluded himself into believing that he could get away with it.
So much for that.
“Hyung, are you okay?” Chanshik asks at dinner. It’s Kimchi Ramyeon, the only thing Chanshik knows how to make, and something Jinyoung wouldn’t normally touch, but he’s past caring today.
“I’m fine,” he says, as he slurps down the noodles. Chanshik raises an eyebrow.
“But hyung, you never eat Ramyeon. Something’s wrong, can’t you tell me?”
Jinyoung chews slowly, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’m just tired.”
Chanshik looks at him, unconvinced. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I found a part time job at a café today,” Jinyoung says, trying to change the topic.
Chanshik frowns. “Aren’t you a bit busy for that? I thought you had that Billabong shoot.”
Jinyoung flinches. He hadn't told Chanshik about it.
“I had to reject that photoshoot, it’s no big deal.”
“You told me never to reject anything though,” Chanshik mumbles, and slurps down his soup. “You say it was hard to get booked.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I did, but you know,” Jinyoung sighs and pushes the bowl away from him. “Sometimes you don’t feel comfortable with certain things. I don’t do swimwear.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind seeing hyung in swimwear,” Chanshik grins cheekily, and Jinyoung smiles weakly back. “The girls would go crazy.”
Jinyoung eyes Chanshik sceptically, and sees a red tinge spreading on his cheeks. His fringe sits messily on his forehead, and his eyes crease at the edges from an embarrassed smile. Jinyoung’s gaze travels to Chanshik’s lips. They’re stained with chilli from the Ramyeon.
“I’m going to my room,” Jinyoung murmurs, getting up from his seat. “You’ve got food on your mouth, by the way.”
Chanshik brings his hand up to wipe it away, and stacks Jinyoung’s unfinished bowl of noodles into his empty one. “Okay. Go rest, hyung, I’ll clean up.”
Both Jinyoung and Chanshik are cast for a fall clothing shoot for Vogue Girl. The thing is, Chanshik’s in group A, and Jinyoung’s in group B, and Jinyoung knows that B stands for backup.
“Good luck,” Jinyoung says to Chanshik as the stylists start wrapping a mauve and peach scarf around his neck. He grins back as they secure a matching beanie to his head with bobby pins. Chanshik doesn’t react anymore when he’s being dressed, Jinyoung notices.
Another thing dawns on him; how much Chanshik changes when the camera’s on him.
He’s not the Chanshik that Jinyoung usually knows, lounging around on the sofa eating chocolate coated coffee beans and flicking through the TV, or bugging Jinyoung for help on a particularly difficult maths problem late at night. He’s the model Gong Chanshik.
He gazes at the camera and there’s an aura surrounding him, imposing and impossibly graceful, and in that moment, Jinyoung understands. He could try and try for years, but the the sharpness and depth of Chanshik’s gaze is something that he would never be able to emulate. Chanshik makes the clothes come alive; he matches the mood of the shoot, and he’s captivating. Jinyoung feels a twinge of jealousy.
When Chanshik finishes the shoot and bounds towards him, all smiles, a wave of guilt floods him. He’d forgotten how poisonous jealousy could be. This is Chanshik, not some guy from DCM Academy who he has to compete with. This is Chanshik, who sends him text messages with hearts littered all over them.
This is Chanshik, the boy who likes him, and who he might just like back. A lot.
Then one day, when Chanshik comes back from school, he doesn’t greet Jinyoung with his usual bright smile. His head’s lowered as he kicks off his shoes, and Jinyoung frowns from where he’s lounging on the sofa.
“Chanshik? What’s wrong?”
Chanshik looks up and plasters a smile on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Nothing,” he answers, but there’s a quiver in his voice. Jinyoung sighs and gets off the sofa.
“Come on, you can tell me,” he coaxes. He tries to turn Chanshik around but he just shies away, and Jinyoung drops his hands. Chanshik shies away.
“It’s really nothing, I’m just...a bit tired. Don’t worry, hyung,” he mumbles, and makes for his room. Jinyoung bites his lip, standing in front of the closed door, hand resting on the knob.
Jinyoung hates it when people pry, so he doesn’t want to do it to Chanshik. Maybe it would be better to give Chanshik a bit of space, just to let him sort whatever it might be out on his own -- but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel a painful tightening in his chest at his uselessness.
He pauses, and lets his hand drop down.
Jinyoung knocks gently on Chanshik’s door at dinnertime, and murmurs that his food’s going to get cold, but Chanshik doesn’t open the door, not even for his favourite sweet and sour pork. For the first time in a while, the living room is quiet, the television the only noise.
“The food’s in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Jinyoung says through the door when he’s about to go to sleep. “Goodnight, Chanshik.”
Jinyoung misses his alarm, gets dressed in five minutes, and just before he has to run off to his shift at the café, he opens the fridge to grab something to eat.
The sweet and sour pork’s exactly where he left it last night.
When he gets back from his eight-hour shift, feet and back aching, he finds Chanshik lying on the rug, reading manhwa. It’s like yesterday never happened.
“Hey,” he says, and Chanshik looks up and smiles at him.
“Hey hyung,” he says, voice overly cheery. “How was your day?”
Jinyoung narrows his eyes. Something’s still off.
“Yeah, good,” he says. He takes off his shoes and crouches down in front of Chanshik.
“Channie...do you want to talk about yesterday? What happened?”
Chanshik’s smile fades for a split second, and then it’s back, like it had never left his face.
“What do you mean, hyung?”
Jinyoung sighs. “You seemed...pretty upset. Do you want to talk about it?”
Chanshik shakes his head. “I’m fine, hyung. I’m sorry about yesterday. I was just tired. School, you know?”
Jinyoung nods. He’s not convinced, but it’s been a long day and he knows how overwhelming it can get juggling school and modelling. He decides to drop the subject.
“Okay. Okay, if you’re sure. Should we have dinner?”
“I’ve eaten already, hyung, don’t worry,” Chanshik replies, flipping a page of his manhwa. His voice is nonchalant.
“Oh.” Jinyoung frowns. “What did you have?”
“Just yesterday’s leftovers.”
The bathroom smells much too strongly of sweet and sour pork.
For the whole of next week, and the week after, Jinyoung hears the same sound of the front door creaking open and closed at six in the morning. Chanshik hides his footsteps well, but he can’t hide the dirty sneakers by the front door, or the sweaty t-shirts in the laundry basket.
The problem isn’t that though. Exercise is fine, Jinyoung has no problem with that alone -- the problem is that Chanshik overdoes it. Their schedules don’t always match up since Chanshik sometimes has photoshoots until late at night, and Jinyoung’s busy with the café. During the meals they do share, Chanshik progressively eats less and less. Jinyoung watches as Chanshik wraps beansprouts into his lettuce wrap, leaving the meat untouched, or only peels at the seaweed of his sushi.
Jinyoung knows the signs all too well.
He remembers a kid who lived next door to him at the goshiwon. Lee Junghwan, a second year high school student aspiring to be a singer, the only person who had bothered to greet Jinyoung on the day he moved in -- Junghwan had deteriorated faster than anyone had thought possible. Jinyoung still remembers how Junghwan’s plump face had slimmed and sunken in, gradually but surely, until all he could see was bruised skin and a razor sharp jawline.
Jinyoung doesn’t know what to do. In an industry all about appearances, this is inevitable, but all the same it’s never hit so close to home, and he’s never been at such a loss.
He feels so useless.
“Do you remember Junghwan?”
Dongwoo swivels around in his chair, rolls of film in his hand. “Yeah, I do, why?”
Jinyoung sighs. “I was just wondering how he’s doing.”
Dongwoo looks at him curiously. He sets down the film and wheels over to where Jinyoung’s sitting on the settee. “Jinyoung, it’s been a year since you’ve last talked about him. Did something happen?”
Jinyoung looks down. “Nothing much, it’s just....” He sighs again. “It’s Chanshik.”
Dongwoo nods slowly. “Mhm. What about him?”
“He’s not eating properly.”
“You don’t eat properly either,” Dongwoo chides, before frowning. “That’s worrying. Have you talked to him?”
Jinyoung shakes his head. “I’ve tried to bring it up, but he always tells me he’s fine, and then he tries to change the subject. I...” he bites his lip. “I feel guilty. I remember telling him off for not watching his diet before.”
Dongwoo sighs. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, you were just giving him advice. You couldn’t have known this would happen.”
“Yeah, but,” Jinyoung says, then groans in frustration. “I don’t know. It feels like he’s purposely distancing himself from me.”
Dongwoo purses his lips.
“Look, Jinyoung, here’s what I think. Chanshik’s young, he’s living away from his family, and he’s probably finding it hard to adjust. What he really needs right now is someone to be there for him. And you know, modelling’s not a very nice industry -- something probably happened to trigger this.” Dongwoo looks pointedly at Jinyoung. “You should try find out.”
Jinyoung grimaces. Dongwoo’s right.
Dongwoo lowers his voice. “I’d talk to him, but I don’t know him well enough. I think this is something you’ll have to help him with.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jinyoung groans and buries his head in his hands. “But I’m so scared I’ll say the wrong thing and...”
He sighs. He’s unsure of where he’s going. “Sorry. I’m just frustrated.”
Dongwoo narrows his eyes at Jinyoung.
“Actually, I’ve been wanting to ask this for a while but... you like Chanshik, don’t you?”
Jinyoung twitches. “What makes you say that?”
Dongwoo laughs. “I know you too well. You’ve never worried about someone this much before. And he seems to like you too,” Dongwoo muses.
“Yeah, enough to kiss me,” Jinyoung mumbles.
Dongwoo’s eyebrows furrow. “Hold up, he kissed you? When?”
Jinyoung bites his lip. “No, it’s probably nothing, he was just drunk...and he doesn’t even remember. At least, he hasn’t said anything.”
“And you haven’t talked about it?”
Jinyoung shakes his head.
There’s a beat of silence, then Dongwoo sighs and puts a hand on Jinyoung’s shoulder.
“Jinyoung, I think you have to sort this out -- both things. Just...talk to Chanshik when you get home tonight, okay? Properly.”
Jinyoung breathes. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dongwoo.”
“Chanshik, I think we should talk.”
“About what, hyung?” Chanshik’s eyes are fixed on the TV. It’s playing some inane family comedy. Jinyoung sighs.
“Please don’t do this to yourself, Chanshik, you have to eat properly.”
Chanshik keeps watching the TV. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, hyung. I eat.”
“But you’re not eating enough. I’m worried about you.”
“Didn’t you tell me to watch my diet? That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Chanshik’s speaking in that matter-of-fact tone. Jinyoung grits his teeth.
“Yes, yes I did, but.” He gulps. “But that’s different. I might’ve told you to stop ordering iced mochas and eating ramyeon late at night, but I didn’t mean for you to start skipping meals and picking at your food like this. This is...unhealthy.”
Chanshik lets out a bark of laughter. “We’re models, hyung. We’re supposed to be different.”
Jinyoung stares at Chanshik’s back, and feels something twist in his chest. This is not right. This isn’t Chanshik, not the curious, enthusiastic, happy Chanshik he knows, who complains about DCM’s training. This Chanshik sounds jaded, tired, resigned.
“Chanshik, what happened? Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing, hyung.”
“Why can’t you be honest with me? I just want to help.”
“Then how about you, hyung,” Chanshik says softly. “Are you being honest with me?”
The canned laughter from the TV rings around the room. Jinyoung grabs the remote from the table, and turns the TV off. Chanshik doesn’t move from his place on the rug. He’s still staring at the blank screen.
Jinyoung grits his teeth and sits down in front of Chanshik. “I’ve always been honest with you.”
“No, hyung, no you haven’t -- you always tell me “nothing’s wrong” when things are obviously wrong. Like that day when you got a job at the café. You wouldn’t even tell me what happened.”
“That’s completely different, Chanshik.” Jinyoung sighs, “I--Listen, I’m your hyung. I’m not meant to make you worry.”
“And I am?” Chanshik’s looks up at him. His eyes are accusing and glazed over with tears. It’s the first time in weeks that Chanshik’s looked Jinyoung in the eyes, and Jinyoung notes with horror that Chanshik’s eyebags are taking on a purple tinge. His cheeks are painfully hollow.
Jinyoung falls silent.
“I don’t want to be a burden anymore, hyung. You helped a complete beginner like me with modelling, then found me somewhere to live, and I was stupid enough to think that you liked me and--”
“Wait, wait,” Jinyoung cuts him off. “Wait. Firstly, you’re not a burden. And secondly,” his heart thumps in his chest, “how do you know I don’t like you?”
“You pushed me away that night, didn’t you.” Chanshik looks down. “I remember everything, okay? I was hoping you’d bring it up but...” He bites his lip. “But the next day I was trying to see if you’d say something, but you told me nothing happened, so I thought you wanted me to forget about it.”
A lump rises in Jinyoung’s throat. He had pushed Chanshik away, but that was because he wasn’t sure how to handle Chanshik’s confession, was scared about how their relationship would change. He’s a bit more confident now.
He likes Chanshik. Likes likes Chanshik. It pains him to see Chanshik hurting himself this way.
He thinks he finally understands how Dongwoo felt a year ago with him.
“I said that night that you’d regret it,” Jinyoung murmurs. “Kissing me. Do you?”
Chanshik looks down. “No. I don’t.”
“Well, I do. I regret pushing you away. I--I like you too, Chanshik. A lot.” Jinyoung hangs his head. “So if you care about me, please tell me what happened.”
There’s a moment of silence. Jinyoung closes his eyes, and feels his heart thump erratically. Then, there are warm fingers on his cheek, and he raises his head to see Chanshik looking at him. Chanshik’s lips are curled into a small smile.
“Okay, I'll tell you. I’ll tell you, hyung -- but I want to hear your story too.”
Jinyoung nods. It’s a compromise he’s willing to make.
(It had started with a model from Chanshik’s DCM Academy class.
Lee Sungyeol. He’d been training under DCM for a little under a year, and was jealous of Chanshik booking so many jobs. Somehow, he’d found out Chanshik’s phone number, and had sent him a string of disturbing text messages.
fat. ugly. look in the mirror, you pig. you're the fattest of us all.
Chanshik had tried to ignore them, but after that, he’d walk past reflective surfaces -- mirrors, glass -- and try and suck in his stomach. He’d look through the magazine racks, pick out the pictures of the thin models and stare at them in envy. He’d think about how nice it would be if he had those hollow cheeks, those defined cheekbones, and feel shame roll over him as he pulled at the flab on his chin, his thighs, his stomach.
The other problem had been the agency. DCM had drilled the caloric content of every kind of food into their models’ heads. They’d also conducted a public weighing after class, the last one of the season. Chanshik had stepped on the scales and watched as the big red digits went up and up and up and -- five kilos too many.
He had stepped off, feeling the eyes of every single person in the room on him, and he had never felt so fat in his life.
That had been the final straw.)
Jinyoung tells his story from the start, and shows Chanshik his scars. Besides Dongwoo, Chanshik's the only one who's seen them.
Chanshik recoils at first, eyes wide with shock, before he reaches out a hand to trace them with the tips of his fingers. Jinyoung flinches.
“Does it hurt?” Chansik asks, and Jinyoung shakes his head.
The next thing he knows, Chanshik’s lips are grazing over his upper thigh, breath warm on his skin. A shiver runs down his spine.
“What are you doing?” Jinyoung asks, heart racing. Chanshik looks up at him.
“Kissing it better.”
Jinyoung gulps as Chanshik trails his mouth over the inside of his thigh, then Chanshik’s hands are under Jinyoung’s shirt, hoisting it up over his head. Chanshik’s lips travel up Jinyoung’s stomach, chest, neck and Jinyoung can feel the heat radiating from Chanshik’s body. Chanshik’s mouth is hot against his.
Jinyoung’s grabs at Chanshik’s t-shirt, and slides a hand up his back.
Jinyoung’s heart wrenches.
He can feel Chanshik’s ribs, ridges, jutting out from under the skin, and his hands run over the length of Chanshik’s spine, travel to his sharp elbows, and takes Chanshik’s bony hands in his. Jinyoung’s too scared to hold Chanshik any tighter, too scared to pin him down onto the mattress like he wants to, just in case he breaks.
It's Jinyoung's first time being this gentle. It's what Chanshik deserves.
Chanshik gets a call from DCM two days later. It’s a last minute offer to model for Resurrection at Seoul Fashion Week. His measurements are similar to those of a model who had just been pulled out--
“What happened to him?” Chanshik asks, curious.
The lady over the phone doesn’t elaborate, just tells him to come in for a fitting and briefing.
Jinyoung calls Sunwoo. Creative directing should know what happened -- they’re the ones who work in collaboration with the fashion designers, after all, and Jinyoung’s pretty sure Sunwoo mentioned something about Resurrection last month.
Jinyoung falls quiet when he hears what Sunwoo says.
The model Chanshik’s replacing is Lee Sungyeol. Sungyeol was found in his apartment last night, and he wasn’t breathing. Doctors said he slipped into a hypoglycemic coma -- severely low blood sugar from not eating meant his body couldn’t function anymore -- and that it would be difficult for him to fully recover.
“Like I said, they’ll find a replacement in no time. It’s a dog eat dog world.”
Chanshik’s sitting on the sofa. He’d been listening in on the extension.
He’s shaking.
“Eat,” Jinyoung says gently, placing a plate of apples in front of Chanshik.
He eats.
l’autunno ; 가을
Seoul Fashion Week is held every year in October, and only the best upcoming designers in Korea are selected for the main show. Chanshik doesn’t actually realise how big a deal being chosen to model for Resurrection is until Jinyoung explains.
Print modelling is very different to runway modelling. Print models are only ever featured in magazines, and they’re low on the fashion food chain. The runway is where people want to be.
Jinyoung could never be a runway model.
Chanshik’s 182cm tall -- just above the bare minumum -- but Jinyoung’s only 178cm, and those two missing centimetres makes all the difference in the world.
But he’s not bitter about it, not when it’s Chanshik. A year ago, he might’ve watched his taller peers from the agency practise walking down the red masking tape line and yearned to be in that training class, burning with envy while watching them glide down the runway at Fashion Week. Now, he’s just happy for Chanshik.
He’s not bitter, or jealous, or resentful. He’s happy. Proud. Relieved.
It feels good.
Jinyoung finds himself working at the café more than he visits DCM to book modelling jobs. He’s not sure if it’s his latest experience with Chanshik, but he just doesn’t feel the same way about modelling anymore. It's been kind of hectic too, taking Chanshik to the specialist for his treatments, monitoring his diet and making sure he doesn't relapse. Plus, there’s a lot less stress involved with making coffee, and Jinyoung could use a bit of downtime.
Chanshik misses an entire fortnight of school for extra runway training and rehearsals. When he gets home at night, he only has the energy to greet Jinyoung, shower and fall into bed. Jinyoung makes sure Chanshik eats dinner every night, and breakfast every morning, but that’s all he can really do.
“Hyung, hyung, watch,” Chanshik says one morning, when Jinyoung’s cutting fruits for breakfast. He takes two cans of tuna from the cupboard, and stacks them on his head. Jinyoung raises an eyebrow.
Chanshik walks all the way to the end of the living room, cans wobbling precariously, but they topple down onto the floor halfway through his return trip. Chanshik looks at them sadly.
“They were supposed to stay on my head,” he mourns. “The instructor told me to practise every day at home.”
Jinyoung laughs. “Don’t destroy all our tuna cans, those are for eating, you know.”
“It’s okay, I am getting better at this. Maybe one of these days I’ll be able to balance a plate...”
Chanshik exchanges the dented tuna cans for a plate of fruit, and Jinyoung groans.
October 21st draws closer and closer, and then, without warning, it’s here.
Jinyoung’s almost asleep when he hears his door creak open, and soft footsteps across his floor. His blanket’s lifted, and then there’s a warm body next to him.
It’s Chanshik.
“What’s wrong?” Jinyoung mumbles, rubbing his eyes. Chanshik curls into Jinyoung.
“I’m cold. I can’t sleep.”
Jinyoung shifts in his bed so he’s facing Chanshik. He rests his hand on Chanshik’s cheek, then slings am arm around his body and pulls him in, yawning.
“Better? Go to sleep.”
There’s silence, and Jinyoung can feel Chanshik’s steady breathing on his chest and he’s falling asleep again until-- “Hyung?”
“Mm?”
“What if I trip and fall on my face?”
Jinyoung’s lips twitch into a smile. He wraps his arms tighter around Chanshik. So Chanshik was getting last-minute nerves.
“You won’t.”
“What if my clothes fall off? It’s happened to people before.”
“Shh, stop it. You’ll be fine.”
“Hyung?”
“Mm?”
“What if--ngh!”
Jinyoung shuts Chanshik up with a sleepy kiss.
Good luck today, Channie, I'll be watching ^^
thanks hyung ヽ(´▽`)/ i'm nervous ;_;
You'll be great. Fighting!
“Are you texting Chanshik?” Dongwoo peers over Jinyoung’s shoulder, and he snaps his phone shut. “Aw. I wanted to see.”
Jinyoung stares as Dongwoo walks around and sits down in the seat next to him.
“Aren’t you meant to be taking photos?”
Dongwoo mock salutes Jinyoung and picks up his camera.
Jinyoung looks over the crowd. He can see the photographers crowded up the sides of the runway for the perfect shot, the buyers mingling in the background, the idols who get front row seats for media coverage, and he can even spot a distinctive group of teenage girls near the front -- tall, well dressed, immaculate makeup -- who he can tell are aspiring models. They’re looking at the runway, eyes full of longing, and Jinyoung wants to tell them that the suffering is not worth it.
The house lights fade.
When Chanshik comes on, Jinyoung doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until Dongwoo jabs him in the side and tells him to breathe. Chanshik’s dressed in a sleeveless black shirt, black vest, and cargo-style pants, hair styled upwards.
There’s no sign of the beginner, all awkward angles and shy laughter, anywhere. It’s only been eight months, but Chanshik’s grown so much.
“He’s really good,” Dongwoo whispers to him, and Jinyoung feels a wave of pride wash over him.
“Yeah, he is.”
Resurrection’s new collection is well received by critics. They praise the designer Lee Juyoung for portraying an authentic rock and roll vibe, for the attitude and freedom represented in her designs, and for the simplicity of her colour palette. The chairman of New York Fashion Week invites Juyoung to showcase her Spring/Summer collection in New York in February, along with the original Korean models.
It’s an opportunity to walk on an internationally recognised runway.
“I’m gonna miss Seoul,” Chanshik says, but Jinyoung sees a flicker of excitement in his eyes, and knows that he’s anticipating the bright lights and foreign tongue.
“It’s only two months. Remember to dress warmly. And make sure you eat.”
An announcement blares through the speakers of the airport, calling for the 8:43 Incheon to New York passengers to check in. Jinyoung smiles. “You better go.”
“I’ll call you, hyung!” Chanshik grins, and then he’s lost in the crowd.
il tempo passa... ; 시간이 지나가면...
But it’s more than two months.
DCM asks Chanshik to base himself in New York -- permanently, if he could.
New York Fashion Week had been immensely successful for the models in Resurrection; Chanshik’s been booked for two more collections. There are more opportunities in the Big Apple; after all, everyone in New York lives and breathes fashion. If Chanshik wants to become a serious model, it'd be stupid not to take the chance.
Chanshik calls Jinyoung to tell him the news. It’s ironic, really. Chanshik had never truly wanted to become a model, but in the end, he’d gone further than anyone.
“I’m sorry, hyung,” he says. “I guess I won’t be coming back soon.”
“It’s okay,” Jinyoung says. “It’s New York -- you’d be crazy to give it up. Good luck, Channie.”
“I’ll call you later. I miss you,” Chanshik says, and the line goes dead.
Jinyoung’s not really okay. For the first week after Chanshik left, Jinyoung had sometimes knocked on the door to Chanshik’s room at dinnertime, purely out of habit, and then remembered than he was in a different country. He missed Chanshik’s texts, missed his smiling face and laughter, his clingy hugs. Chanshik did call, every day at first, then every two days, then days became a week, two weeks, and then he didn’t call for an entire month.
The next time Chanshik calls, he’s so tired that he falls asleep at the phone. Jinyoung tells him it’s okay, he’s busy, that he doesn’t need to feel obliged to call if he’s so tired, good luck with his new campaign, and he hangs up with a heavy heart.
Dongwoo was right. Long distance relationships never work -- but then again, they had never really been together.
Jinyoung enrols in university, in a Fashion and Design course. It’s about time he thinks of the future: modelling doesn’t last forever, and university keeps his mind off other things.
Dongwoo finally finishes his project. It’s put on exhibition at the Seoul Photo Festival, and they celebrate his accomplishment with the usual chicken and soju. Everything’s as normal, except after two bottles of soju, Jinyoung can’t help but feel that there’s someone else who should be here with him.
Jinyoung picks up a magazine one day, and sees Chanshik in a two-page spread. He's surrounded by foreign models, and Jinyoung notices with a twist to the gut that the little date on the magazine cover already reads July.
It’s funny how fast time flies.
l’inverno ii ; 겨울 II
There are sprinkles of snow in Jinyoung’s hair when he steps into the university café. He’s reviewing his design portfolio when he sees the shadow of someone’s head at the top of the page. He looks up.
It’s Chanshik.
“You have snow in your hair, hyung,” he says, grinning, and Jinyoung stares back. His heart races in his chest.
“Chanshik. I thought you were still in New York?”
Chanshik smiles. “Yeah, I was until yesterday.”
Jinyoung closes his portfolio and sets it on the table. He blinks. What the hell was Chanshik doing back in Seoul? Why hadn’t he called him? How the-- “Wait, how--how’d you find me?”
“Dongwoo hyung told me.” Chanshik pulls out a seat and sits down opposite Jinyoung.
There’s a moment of silence.
“Are you...back for good?”
Chanshik tugs at the strap of his bag. “Yeah. New York was too much for me. I mean, I don’t really know English and I,” Chanshik bites his lip, “I guess I jumped into it too fast.”
Jinyoung doesn’t know what to say. He looks down at his portfolio, sliding his fingers down the edges of the pages. Chanshik sighs.
“Wait,” he murmurs. “I have something for you.”
Jinyoung looks on curiously as Chanshik rummages around his bag and fishes out an apple. The skin is perfect except for a single brown bruise discolouring the red, and he runs his thumb over it before placing it into Jinyoung’s hands. Jinyoung raises his eyebrows.
“An apple?”
“I passed by a market on the way here, and...” he laughs sheepishly. “I don’t know. I thought of our first photoshoot together. Two years ago. Remember?” Chanshik grins, and Jinyoung laughs quietly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, of course.”
Chanshik sighs, and purses his lips.
“Look, I know I haven’t been good at keeping in touch--”
“I understand, models are busy.”
“No, but, hyung, listen, I stuffed up. I got so busy, and then i couldn’t keep up the phone calls and...I stopped calling for six months, but...” Chanshik’s gaze falters, and he hangs his head. “Do you still have that spare room?”
Jinyoung looks at him, understanding dawning on his face. His heart heaps into his throat, and he’s got a suspicion about what Chanshik’s going to say next, but all the same, he wants a confirmation.
“What are you...?”
Chanshik takes a deep breath.
“Hyung, what I’m asking is...can we start again?”
Jinyoung looks into Chanshik’s eyes.
They’re a year older, a year wiser, and in some ways, different people, but then Chansik looks back at him, all wide eyes and uncertainty, Jinyoung sees the boy he went through so much with, and warmth spreads in Jinyoung’s chest. It’s good to have him back.
He smiles.
“Yeah. Yeah, let’s start again.”
There are no fairytales in the world of fashion. There are also no glass slippers, or poisoned apples -- actually, apples are what saves them.
Jinyoung definitely wouldn’t call it a fairytale. Neither of them are princesses, or fair maidens, or knights in shining armour, but when Chanshik crawls into his bed at night and hugs his back to sleep, Jinyoung thinks he might’ve gotten his happy ending.