Round 9: Angle of view
Title: Angle of View
Team: Canon
Rating:
Fandom: Beast
Pairing: Hyungseung/Kikwang
Summary: pre-debut. hyunseung and kikwang use photography (and each other) to cope with failure.
Author's Note: …collapses. this picture accurately describes this fic. Five different people helped me out immensely with this, and thank you so much ;___; I love you. Also extra thank-you to my team’s mod who is a benevolent goddess!
Prompt Used: Super Junior - No Other
It’s much easier to disappear in Seoul than to stand out. Hyunseung’s been fighting this his whole life, practicing for hours anywhere he could, singing for anyone who would listen. He was fourteen when someone finally did. He had whole studios to himself then, and for a while, Hyunseung felt invincible. That was a year ago.
It’s not like a lot of people watch the show, he tells himself. No one will recognize that he’s the guy that got kicked out of some group that hasn’t even debuted. No one sits on street corners and waits for former trainees to walk by. Failure, though, is all that occupies Hyunseung’s thoughts, and so that’s all that he sees in the strangers. The middle school students checking their phones are snapping pictures of him, the women crossing the street are looking him in the eyes and laughing at how lost he looks. Flop is etched on Hyunseung’s forehead for everyone to see.
For the first time in his life, he wants to disappear. So he slinks into a tiny restaurant and orders kimchi fried rice. When he’s done, he takes a picture of the empty plate on his phone and says, under his breath, this is another beginning. That Hyunseung doesn’t believe it isn’t really important.
--
He’s a backup dancer now. During the day, it’s a good thing, a part of his disappearing act, but at night, when he’s collapsing into bed, his dreams get the best of him. This is what he has now, but there’s still a part of him lingering, wanting more. He’s on stage, but no one’s looking at him; he doubts anyone but his parents even notice him. That’s good, isn’t it? No, it’s not. This isn’t what Hyunseung trained for, but it’s what’s good for him now, right?
Hyunseung flips over in bed, kicking his feet onto the ground. He’s not getting any sleep so he staggers to his sister’s room, where light is flowing out of the bottom of her door. She must be awake. He pushes the door open with a weary smile. “Do you have a camera?” he mumbles. He’ll take anything, really, to get his attention off of life.
She looks up and nods. “It’s on my desk, you can borrow it.”
The camera has pink stickers, pink like the gum Jiyong used to chew when he felt weight-conscious. Hyunseung hates the color, but it’s a nice, old Nikon and he takes it with a thankful smile. “Goodnight,” he says, and slinks back out to his bedroom.
The first picture he takes is of his window at sunrise. It comes out horribly.
--
Slowly, he gets better. He takes pictures of everything around him, and after a while he can start to call himself mediocre. Sometimes he takes a few different shots to satisfy himself, and sometimes, when he takes pictures of stoplights under a perfect blue sky, he can even call himself artistic. It’s just documenting his life, he tells himself, frowning at another ruined shot. He throws out more photos than he ends up keeping; this is Hyunseung’s problem, he can’t half-ass anything.
He graduates from high school and his days are a mix of drifting and dancing. He wanders through streets and takes pictures of mundane, everyday things, only remembering the sound of his voice when he asks people to move out of his shot. If he’s hungry, he’ll wander into a restaurant, averting his eyes from the workers and eating without a word. It takes strength to eat alone, he thinks to himself. He likes having the time alone, left to think and not worry about impressing everyone around him.
Even if he likes the food, Hyunseung never goes to the same restaurant twice. He doesn’t want things to get intimate.
--
He meets Yoseob for the first time backstage at a club gig. He’s got the commanding power, the presence Hyunseung doesn’t have, and maybe that’s the reason his eyes follow Yoseob the minute he enters the makeup room. Hyunseung isn’t so sure why Yoseob takes notice of him, though.
“Are you a trainee?” he asks, and Hyunseung hesitates before shaking his head, slowly. “Was,” he clarifies.
“Oh.” Hyunseung frowns, hoping Yoseob notices and doesn’t pry. “I’m sorry. I mean, unless it was your choice.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Mm.” Yoseob comes up behind him, putting a hand on Hyunseung’s shoulder. He flinches, but Yoseob doesn’t move. His smile, charming but (possibly) sincere, reflects in the mirror in front of them. “I’m kind of in a rough spot at the moment, too,” he says, “If it makes you feel better. I don’t know how much longer my company’s going to be around, and I’m not going anywhere here as it is. I’m keeping my eye out for opportunities, though. You wanna exchange numbers and I’ll text you anything I find? I’m Yoseob, by the way.”
He’s smooth. “I’m Hyunseung,” he says, and digs around in his duffel bag for his phone. “Here, um,” he says, handing it to Yoseob, “You can put your number in, I guess.”
Yoseob smiles. “You nervous?”
“A little, yeah.”
“Relax, they don’t look at guys like us,” he pats his back, chuckling bitterly for a moment. “At least, not yet.” He winks. Childish. “I think I’m up now, but I’ll text you, okay?” He drops Hyunseung’s phone on the makeup table, followed by another. “Put your number in while I’m gone.”
“Yeah, sure.” Hyunseung’s eyes follow him out the door, narrowing. Of all the dancers in their matching outfits, why did Yoseob pick him? There’s nothing special about him, not anymore, at least. And yet, from the minute he entered the room, Hyunseung had Yoseob’s undivided attention. Maybe he’s full of shit. Hyunseung sighs and picks up the stranger’s phone, wondering if anything will come of this.
The first five texts he gets from Yoseob are useless, telling him goodnight, asking if he’s doing shows next week, complaining about his job. The sixth comes at one in the morning, a few nights after they first met. So I’m going to an audition next week and I feel pretty good about it, he says. Wanna tag along?
Hyunseung hesitates, tossing his phone from hand to hand, and finally responds with a curt yes. Yoseob sends him the time and address, and for a minute he stares at his phone, shocked, and maybe even feels a tiny rush of excitement.
--
So Cube Entertainment’s some kind of JYP partner; Hyunseung doesn’t understand or remember the finer details Yoseob whispers to him as they wait. As far as he knows, they haven’t debuted anyone, and he hasn’t heard much-no, anything about them. Yoseob says that it’s better than being a backup dancer, and Hyunseung can’t argue with that.
When he finishes, the judges say they’ll call him within a few days if he’s in. He nods meekly and walks out of the audition room, stopping in the middle of the hall when he realizes Yoseob’s still waiting for him. “It’s late,” he says flatly, raising an eyebrow.
Yoseob nods. “I didn’t want to leave you here all alone,” he answers, and it’s only then that Hyunseung realizes they’re the only two left. If they’d been reversed, he probably wouldn’t have stayed for Yoseob. He gulps, guilty. “If you want, you can come to my place for dinner.” Hyunseung says nothing, and he adds, “My parents own a restaurant.”
A restaurant. Hyunseung blushes, wondering if he’s stumbled in there before. He doesn’t remember seeing anyone that looked like Yoseob, but Hyunseung doesn’t remember anyone’s face as it is. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says, and rushes out the door, to the subway station, before Yoseob can resist.
--
In the end, Hyunseung takes their offer. He could audition for more companies and weigh his options, but at this point, he doesn’t have the confidence. Yoseob gets in, too, and when he calls Hyunseung at one in the morning, shrieking, it seals the deal.
The day he confirms it with Cube, he goes out again with his sister’s camera. He takes the train downtown and works his way outward from there, taking pictures of sweeping murals and wide city streets. When he was younger, he equated success with tall buildings, so he points the camera above him and takes a few shots of the spires leaping at the sky. They come out all right, and he slips into a roadside café for a latte.
There’s another kid with a camera outside. He walks slower than Hyunseung does, stopping to talk to old ladies or peer in windows, Nikon in hand. Hyunseung’s eyes follow him as he takes each shot-the first of an ahjumma making kimbap, then a child blowing bubbles, then a pair of huge heart-shaped decals on the window of a stationery store across the street. He seems unimpressed with the last one, but then he drags the child over, having her stand underneath the two hearts and smile. Even from across the street Hyunseung can tell she’s missing some teeth, but somehow it’s still strangely wonderful. For a minute, he thinks it’s better than anything he’s done. The stranger, too, seems satisfied.
For a split second, he seems to sense Hyunseung’s stare, turning around to peer at the window of the coffee shop. Hyunseung hides behind his coffee cup, and the boy walks off, leaving his line of vision. He’s relieved at first, but then feels a strange twinge of disappointment. He throws out the cup, half-empty, and leaves.
--
He brings the camera to his first day of training. He’s not sure why-he’s been here before, and there’s nothing worth taking pictures of-but he grabs it impulsively as he’s running out the door. His bag is heavier, but he can live with it.
Cube, like YG, doesn’t have a lot of trainees-maybe even less, which is astounding to him. Yoseob waits for him at the door, grinning ear to ear when he walks through, and leads him in with a hand on his back. There’s five other boys there, some that look much younger than either of them.
Hyunseung picks up the choreography quickly-he hasn’t danced anything this difficult in a while, but he’s more than capable. Yoseob follows along well enough, but the other trainees don’t fare quite as well, tripping and panting. They break for ten minutes once they’ve learned two-thirds of the dance.
Hyunseung pulls his water bottle out of his duffel bag, and that’s when Yoseob sees the camera lying next to it. “Can I see that?” he asks, and Hyunseung pushes the bag over to him. Yoseob takes the camera out, inspecting it from all sides.
“It’s my sister’s,” Hyunseung clarifies. “She’s letting me share it with her.”
“It’s pretty nice,” Yoseob says, pointing it at Hyunseung. “Do you mind if I take a picture?”
“Um, actually-“ but it’s too late, and Yoseob’s already caught him mid-sentence. He grins. “This is going to come out great.”
Hyunseung frowns. “Or it’s going to be a waste of film.”
Yoseob shrugs, stuffing the camera back in Hyunseung’s bag. “If you think about it that way,” he says. “It’ll be candid.”
“Unprofessional, you mean.”
Yoseob laughs loudly at this. “You, Jang Hyunseung, are one of a kind.”
--
“Did you take those?”
Hyunseung feels his whole body jump before he looks up. The boy now standing at the foot of the table seems familiar, especially when he cracks an embarrassed smile, but Hyunseung can’t think of where he’s seen him. There’s nothing particularly abnormal about his hair or clothes, and Hyunseung frowns-maybe it’s not that he’s seen him before, but that he’s seen several people like him.
Then he spots the camera in his left hand, resting against his hip. Oh, he thinks, and then realizes the boy’s still looking at him, waiting.
“Yeah, I took these,” he says, covering the photos spread out on the table with his hand. “But please don’t look! They’re not very good.”
The boy puts his hand on the table, and Hyunseung finds his hand slinking to the side. He picks up one of the pictures, grinning. “This looks pretty good to me,” he says. “Better than mine for sure.”
“I’ve, um, seen you taking pictures before,” Hyunseung says, looking up at the boy. He doesn’t run off, so he takes it as a sign to continue. “You had this nice one, with this girl and these hearts-“ He doesn’t even know why he’s talking anymore. Part of him wants to look into the depths of his coffee cup, as if it’ll suck him in and keep his mouth shut.
The other boy doesn’t seem to mind, though. “Oh, that one,” he giggles. “That was my favorite.” He pulls out the chair at the end of the table. “Do you mind if I get some tea and sit down?”
Yes, I do, now go away is what Hyunseung probably should say, but it doesn’t reach his lips. He shakes his head instead, and suddenly there’s another Nikon across the table from him and a strange, smiley boy grinning at him from the line.
--
His name is Lee Kikwang and he’s a trainee, too, although he doesn’t mention where and Hyunseung doesn’t pry. He likes green tea and rice cakes and, as it so happens, dancing. He spends their whole conversation nursing a mug, and yet manages to do most of the talking. Hyunseung lets him, somewhere between fascinated and bewildered by his presence.
Kikwang doesn’t just talk about himself, though-he spends at least half of the conversation asking Hyunseung questions. He’s had long conversations with Yoseob, but even he isn’t as fervently curious as Kikwang is right now. He asks about everything from his family to his taste in shoes, and then waits for Hyunseung’s answer like it’ll solve all the world’s problems. “Um.” He stammers. “I like high tops, like the ones that kid across the street’s wearing.”
Kikwang nods slowly. “Those are nice,” he says, and then reaches into his bag. “Here,” he says, handing Hyunseung a photo, “I met this kid a few days ago that was drawing all over his white sneakers.”
“Huh.” It’s certainly interesting, if not to his taste; the shoes have friendly-looking monsters juxtaposed with frightening caricatures of cartoon icons. “Where do you find stuff like this?”
Kikwang shrugs. “I don’t know, I just look for it,” he says. “That’s the nice thing about photography, don’t you think? Anyone can do it, as long as they keep their eyes open.” He laughs awkwardly. “And if they have a camera.”
“Yeah,” Hyunseung nods, running a thumb over the photo. “I guess you’re right.”
Kikwang takes a few more photos out after this-a Kindergarten class blowing up balloons with their teacher in the park, a boy playing a keyboard on the side of the street, a finished puzzle on a café table. Hyunseung takes out the only photo he’d dare to show to strangers-a close-up of a vandalized stoplight. He blushes when Kikwang compliments him, nods when he asks to exchange numbers, but Hyunseung knows they’re too different and, realistically, they’ll never cross paths again.
This is when Hyunseung realizes he’s become too cynical.
--
He’s having a terrible day the second time he runs into Kikwang. He embarrassed himself in dance practice by tripping, spilled hot sauce on his sweatpants, and very nearly knocked a group of female trainees all within a few hours. He’s trying to calm down, take a few pictures of subway signs without people walking in front of them, and then Lee Kikwang, oblivious to his surroundings, walks in front of the sign and lets his jaw drop. “Hyunseung?”
His arms twitch and he ends up pressing the button without thinking. Kikwang jogs to Hyunseung’s side, and later, the photo will develop blurry and surreal. “Taking more pictures?” he says, smiling.
“Was,” he snaps. “You walked right into it.” Kikwang’s whole body stiffens, and Hyunseung regrets the sharpness in his voice.
“Don’t worry, it’ll come out great,” he says, forcing a smile. “The lighting is pretty nice in this spot, don’t you think?”
“It’s okay.”
Kikwang slumps, deflated. “There’s a…few more hours of sunlight,” he says quietly, as if he’s afraid of something, “So…do you want to walk around for a while?” Hyunseung nods lazily, and Kikwang pulls him down the street.
With the exception of Kikwang’s occasional mutterings, they’re mostly quiet, oftentimes meters apart looking for different subjects. Hyunseung picks metal flowerpots and boiling street food; Kikwang hovers around a court cakes stand, taking candids of the vendors and a group of giggling tourists before moving on to a woman trying on a wedding dress in a shop window. Hyunseung takes a break to sit down to answer a few texts from Yoseob, and Kikwang joins him when he’s done with the bride. “I realized something.”
Hyunseung doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hm?”
“You don’t take any pictures of people,” Kikwang says.
“Except you,” Hyunseung mutters bitterly. Kikwang either doesn’t hear it, or ignores it entirely.
“Why, though?” he asks, sitting down next to him. “There’s nothing wrong with people.”
Hyunseung shrugs. “They’re unreliable.” The real reason he’s not admitting, especially not to Kikwang.
“Isn’t that what makes people special?” Kikwang asks, and Hyunseung wants, very very much, for him to stop talking.
He frowns. “I’ve had enough of people being unpredictable without taking pictures of it. I’m trying to get rid of stress, not get more.”
“Hm?” Kikwang leans in. “Why would people stress you out?”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
He raises both eyebrows, as if this is the most shocking thing he’s ever heard. Hyunseung almost wants to take a picture of it, but then Kikwang forces a smile. Figures. “You know what, let’s get dinner,” he says, finally, standing up. “That place across from here looks like it’s got room.”
Hyunseung looks across the street and stiffens. “We can’t go there.”
“There’s plenty of tables,” Kikwang says, confused. “I can see them from here.”
“No,” he says flatly. “We can’t go, I’ve already been there.”
“You don’t go to restaurants twice?”
He shakes his head. “I uh…don’t like familiar places.”
“Huh.” Kikwang gives him a blank look. There’s a long pause where Hyunseung imagines cogs slowly turning in his head, dissecting his lie, and then Kikwang grabs his hand and pulls, hard. “I’m hungry.”
“There are plenty of restaurants over there,” Hyunseung says weakly, but Kikwang isn’t listening and his grip on Hyunseung’s wrist is tighter. Hyunseung pulls back for a moment, but then Kikwang gives him a perplexed, forlorn look and he lets it fall limp. He avoids looking at the various waitresses and ajummas as Kikwang picks a table in the back and sits down.
“So,” he says, looking at the menu mounted on the wall with a toothy grin. “I’m feeling kalbi.”
Hyunseung came here alone last time, of course; the waitress looked down at him with a questioning eye, deciding, ultimately, that he’d never finish an order of kalbi by himself and he could have beef stew instead. “Whatever.”
“Great!” Kikwang looks up, immediately making eye contact with an ajumma. “Can we get an order of kalbi over here?” She nods and smiles, and Kikwang reaches for the pair of metal cups on the table. “I’ll get us water,” he says quietly, and gets up.
“Uh, thanks.” Hyunseung runs his hands down his jeans and feels a rush of inexplicable guilt. His eyes follow Kikwang’s back as he walks to the water cooler, and something about his posture feels uneasy. Hyunseung frowns.
“It’s nice and cold,” Kikwang says when he comes back, setting the two cups down gingerly. “It’ll go well with the food, huh?”
“Hey.”
Kikwang winces. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.” Hyunseung sighs. “About being such a pain. I know this is probably really weird, but I have this thing where I…don’t like going to restaurants twice.”
Kikwang blinks. “You said that already.”
“Yeah, but…” he looks at the table, then at the wall behind Kikwang. “It’s more than that. I guess I’m scared that if I go more than once, people will start remembering me.”
Kikwang frowns. “Don't you want to be a singer?” Hyunseung nods. “You’ll need people to remember you, you know.”
“That’s different,” he says, rubbing his chopsticks between his fingers. “People in a crowd can’t talk to me. People here can.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
Another ajumma comes by with side dishes, and Kikwang thanks her with a smile running across his face. He reaches for a piece of kimchi, still looking at Hyunseung attentively. “I never know what to say to people,” Hyunseung says. “But you can’t just say nothing.”
“It’s not that hard.”
“In theory,” he says. “I’ve never been great with people. I’ve never had a lot of friends and after…that I guess it just got worse. I wanted to get away.”
Kikwang sets his chopsticks down. “After what?”
“Forget it,” Hyunseung reaches for a cucumber. “I don’t even know why I’m talking about this with you.” The ajumma comes back with the meat then, and for the first time in his life Hyunseung’s happy to see a stranger. He reaches for the scissors, for something to do instead of talk, but Kikwang beats him. Hyunseung eats another cucumber instead and avoids his eyes.
They don’t talk as the meat cooks. Kikwang takes a few pieces for himself when it’s done, but then he slides the rest of the pieces onto Hyunseung’s plate. “I don’t know what’s going on, but people aren’t as horrible as you think.” Hyunseung shakes his head, and he smiles. “Really.”
It doesn’t take them long to finish the whole plate. Kikwang starts talking about some American singer’s choreography (If nothing else, Hyunseung admires his ability to fill any silence), and then slaps some money on the table and says he’s going to be late for a dance practice. Hyunseung says nothing, but he has a sinking feeling there isn’t a dance practice at all.
--
“Do you have dinner plans tonight?”
Hyunseung looks up from his water bottle to find Yoseob smiling down at him, disgustingly sweaty. “Well, I-“
“Good.” Yoseob leans against the wall. “I’m going to my parents’ restaurant with a friend. You should come, you two would get along.”
“I have…” Hyunseung looks around the room for some kind of inspiration and fails. “A gynecologist appointment,” he finishes lamely.
Yoseob raises an eyebrow. “So you’re coming.”
“No, I said-“ It dawns on Hyunseung, slowly. He sighs. “Yeah, I am.”
Yoseob laughs. “You didn’t pay attention much in health class, did you?”
“Shut up.” Hyunseung sets his water bottle down, and Yoseob immediately snatches it away.
“It’ll be fun,” he says, winking. “Don’t worry about it. I told you, my parents are amazing cooks.” Hyunseung shrugs noncommittally, and the choreographer comes back to put them to work.
It turns out that Hyunseung doesn’t spend much time in Yoseob’s neighborhood, so he probably hasn’t been to his parents’ restaurant before. They’ve barely walked inside when his parents attack Yoseob with hugs, smiling politely at Hyunseung over his shoulders. He bows back and frowns when he realizes the restaurant is otherwise empty. Yoseob’s friend isn’t here yet.
Yoseob picks a table close to the front, and their parents sneak back into the kitchen to start cooking. Hyunseung finds himself looking out the window anxiously every few seconds. “You said someone else was coming, right?”
“Yeah.” Yoseob chuckles. “He tends to be late, so it’ll probably be another-“
“Yoseobie!”
Hyunseung looks up and freezes; the door closes behind a very enthusiastic looking Lee Kikwang.
“I’m sorry I’m so late, there was this really complicated move and I had to keep doing it until I had it down.” His eyes widen when he spots Hyunseung at the table. “You know Hyunseung?”
“We train together,” Yoseob pulls out a chair for Kikwang, patting his back when he sits down. “Wait, you know him?”
Kikwang nods and smiles. “We met when I was taking pictures between practice.”
“Oh god.” Yoseob turns to Hyunseung, face suddenly sullen and grave. “He wanted to take a picture of you, didn’t he.”
“No,” he answers, shrugging, “He just wanted to see my photos.”
“Consider yourself lucky,” Yoseob mumbles. “This kid? Paparazzi. His pictures aren’t even flattering.”
Kikwang pouts. “Hyunseung takes just as many pictures as me. He just doesn’t take any of people because he’s weird.”
“Oh right, you have a camera too.” Yoseob grins, eyes flickering from Hyunseung to Kikwang. “See? I said you’d get along. Hang on, I’m going to go tell my parents you’re here.”
Kikwang settles into his chair after Yoseob leaves, taking a sip of water. “I was thinking,” he says, “We should go to the river. It’s supposed to be sunny this weekend.”
Hyunseung looks up from his lap, brows furrowed. “You still want to be around me?”
“You are a bit grumpy,” Kikwang teases, “But really, I like having another person to take pictures with. Everyone else just thinks it’s a waste of time.” He pouts. “So, Saturday? Noon?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Great!” he says, nearly sending his silverware flying. “And Yoseob said I’d never find anyone to do this with me.”
“I said what?” Yoseob comes in from the kitchen, a platter of side dishes in his hand. “Geez, as soon as I leave you start gossiping about me.” he turns to Hyunseung and stage whispers, “Want some gossip about Kwangie? He’s a JYP trainee. He used to tell everyone, but now he’s obsessively secretive about it.”
Kikwang frowns. “I don’t want to show off.”
“If I was under JYP, I’d tell anyone who would listen,” Hyunseung says.
“I know,” Yoseob shakes his head dramatically. “Weird, isn’t he? And to think he’s our sunbae.”
Hyunseung nods. “But really,” he says, looking at Kikwang, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Kikwang glares at Yoseob, then turning to Hyunseung with a sigh. “I used to be embarrassingly obsessed with it,” he says. “But if you’re talented, you shouldn’t need a name to back you up.”
“It’d be nice to have one.”
“Of course,” he says. “But you don’t need it.”
The words echo in his mind on his way to the subway station, with Lies playing out of every other shop.
--
Hyunseung, naturally, is the first one to reach the riverside that weekend. He waits there for ten minutes, eyes fixated on the water, before Kikwang comes up behind him, poking his shoulder blades. “Ready to go?” he asks.
Hyunseung twitches and turns around. Kikwang waves obnoxiously in his face, wearing oversize glasses and a pink bowtie. “Are you?” Hyunseung says. “You’re late.”
“I ran into some dogs,” he says with a shrug. “It happens.”
“I see.”
“They were cute,” he says, frowning. “Get up, we’ve got lots of river to cover.”
The parks are bustling on a Saturday, and Kikwang finds himself overwhelmed with subjects. Hyunseung loses him several times, concentrating himself on the river and a few boats passing by. He likes the way the clean, white sails contrast with the water and the buildings behind them.
After he walks a mile he catches up with Kikwang, sitting on a bench in front of a group of swan-shaped boats. “Do you like these?” he asks.
Hyunseung shrugs. “They’re kind of cheesy.”
“They need some passengers.” Kikwang taps a finger against his chin, and then smirks at Hyunseung. “Go find a couple.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I’m already sitting down,” he pouts, “And besides, I need to make sure I have enough cash to pay for their ride.”
Hyunseung lights up. “Would that stop you?”
“Probably not.” Kikwang folds his arms. “You just don’t want to do it because you don’t want to talk to people.” Hyunseung can’t argue with that, so he says nothing, standing still. “Please?”
He sighs, finally, and turns around. There are no fewer people than when they arrived here an hour ago, and most of them are walking too fast for Hyunseung to catch up. A few reckless children whiz by on bikes, and he stands on the edge of the sidewalk, looking in. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s making excuses, but lets three couples pass by anyway.
The fourth pair is younger, probably in their first year of high school, and maybe that’s why Hyunseung approaches them instead. He gestures to Kikwang, who waves from the bench, and they agree almost immediately. Hyunseung stands at the dock with them at Kikwang’s insistence, pressing a few dollar bills into their hands. “Thanks,” he says sheepishly, just before they board. “My friend’s a little fixated on this.” They wave him off, and Hyunseung walks back to Kikwang, standing a few meters away at the edge. “Happy now?” he asks.
Kikwang doesn’t respond until he’s taken a picture of the boat. “Yeah,” he says, staring out at the river. “It’ll come out nice.”
They go back into the streets after that, looking for a late lunch. Kikwang lets Hyunseung pick the place, and he picks a pasta restaurant he hasn’t been inside. They get a few minutes to look over a pair of menu booklets, and then a waitress appears from the back. Kikwang gives her a warm smile. “We’re splitting a plate of fettucine alfredo,”
She raises an eyebrow. “Really?” she says, turning to Hyunseung. “And drinks?”
“Water,” Hyunseung blurts, looking at the table’s edge. “…Thanks.”
“Okay,” she says, “I’ll come back with that in a minute.” She folds up her notepad and leaves.
“Do strangers really unnerve you that much?”
Hyunseung looks up. “Hm?”
Kikwang gestures to the kitchen, where the waitress has disappeared. “She’s not going to eat you,” he says.
Hyunseung shrugs. “You should be used to this,” he says, “And it’s not just strangers, anyway.”
“I know.” Kikwang frowns. “But don’t you think things would be easier if you tried talking to people? I don’t like seeing you so…uncomfortable all the time.”
“Sure,” he says, “But then I’d have to talk.”
“So, small steps.” Kikwang nods firmly. “Try saying something to her when she comes back.”
“Like what?”
He grins lazily. “I don’t know,” he says, “You think of something.”
Hyunseung hates it when Kikwang goes from dopey to obliviously infuriating. He taps out a rhythm on the table nervously until he hears the clinking of glasses, freezing in his chair. The waitress sets down two identical glasses of water, and Kikwang gives Hyunseung an expectant look. “Thank you,” he says, and when it’s clearly not enough, “I…um…like your bracelet.”
“Really?” He nods stiffly. “Oh, it’s nothing special,” she says, her smile betraying her words. “The food should be out soon.”
Hyunseung buries his head in his hands as soon as she’s gone. “That was the most humiliating twenty seconds of my life,” he moans.
Kikwang giggles. “She thought you were good-looking,” he says, and then whispers, “Get her number.”
“No.” Hyunseung snaps, blushing. “You can’t make me do that.”
“Okay, fine.” Kikwang’s expression is unreadable, somewhere between dismay and possible contentment. “Hyunseungie?”
He raises an eyebrow at the pet name. “Yeah?”
He smiles. “You talked to her.”
Hyunseung nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I did.”
--
He sees Kikwang’s darkroom for the first time that night. It’s just a makeshift operation in his bathroom, but Hyunseung’s still impressed by the amount of stuff Kikwang’s been able to accumulate. A few kitchen dishes are sitting in the sink, a couple of photos hanging from a clothesline extending from the top of the shower to the towel rack. Kikwang takes the film out of his camera and gives Hyunseung a quizzical look. “You seem overwhelmed,” he says.
“I…” Hyunseung looks down at the floor. “I’ve never developed my own photos.”
“Oh.” He grins, taking Hyunseung’s camera. “Don’t worry, it’s pretty easy.”
He watches as Kikwang takes the film out of his camera, starting a process that Hyunseung doesn’t quite follow. “How long have you been doing this?” he asks.
“Only a few months,” he says with a shrug. “I’m lucky, I got a lot of this stuff as birthday presents.” Hyunseung feels suddenly aware of how much space he’s taking up, slinking towards the door, and Kikwang laughs. “There’s soda in the fridge, if you want some,” he says. “Just keep it away from…all this.”
“No, I’m okay,” he says. “I just feel a little useless.”
“It’s fine.” Kikwang waves his hand dismissively. “Let me finish this one and I’ll teach you. If you want, I mean.”
Hyunseung stares at the sink, where Kikwang’s slowly developing a photo. “Um…sure.”
“Really, it’s not that hard.”
Hyunseung inches closer until he’s looking over Kikwang’s shoulder. “That's what they all say,” he whispers.
Kikwang rolls his eyes. “Watch,” he says, and Hyunseung does, eyes following Kikwang’s hands through every step of the process. There’s something magical about watching the photos come alive on paper, and after he’s hung up two to dry Kikwang turns to Hyunseung. “You can do the next one,” he says, and Hyunseung feels his body clamp up.
“That’s a bad idea.”
“Try it,” Kikwang says. “Once.”
So Hyunseung does, with Kikwang occasionally grabbing his wrists and moving him in the right direction. The photo he develops won’t look quite as nice as the ones Kikwang did before, but he’ll get better, maybe, with time.
For now, he’s content with watching Kikwang carefully hang up the photos, beaming whenever one comes out just right.
--
Kikwang invites him back out a few days later, leading him, eventually, to a neighborhood a few subway stops away from Hyunseung’s apartment. Hyunseung loiters around a lonely shoe display for a while, taking close-up pictures of the material, until he realizes that Kikwang’s disappeared. He turns around to find him sitting on a bench, eyes closed in an overly dramatic display of agony. “It’s hot,” he whines. “We should go into a coffee shop or something.”
Hyunseung puts his camera down, shaking his head. “I don’t have any money.”
“Not even a thousand won?”
He pulls his wallet out of his pocket, shaking it for good measure. One lonely coin falls onto the sidewalk. “Yeah, I’m broke.”
“Well then I’ll-wait.” Kikwang stands up, looking up and down the street. “Isn’t your apartment around here? Or do you not go to the same apartment twice either?”
Hyunseung scowls. “Of course not.”
“Then let’s go,” he says, grabbing Hyunseung’s hand. “We can just get some water and come back.” Hyunseung plants his feet on the sidewalk, locking his knees, and Kikwang frowns. “Please?”
Hyunseung gives him a blank stare, and the frown deepens. “Fine,” he says, sighing. “Just don’t hit on my sister.”
Kikwang beams. “I won’t,” he promises, and walks towards the subway station.
The apartment is, thankfully, empty. Hyunseung leads Kikwang to the kitchen, taking two cups out from the cupboard and filling them with water. Kikwang takes a seat at the family’s kitchen table, sighing happily when he takes his first sip. He stays there for a few minutes, drinking quietly, and then looks up at Hyunseung. “Actually, it’s nice and cool in here.” He grins. “Do you have video games?”
Hyunseung blinks, looking down at his camera, resting in his hand. “Don’t you want to-“
“It’s too hot,” Kikwang says, shaking his head. “Let’s go out when we can actually breathe.” He finishes the cup in one last sip. “So, about the video games.”
“I have…” Hyunseung relents, pointing to the living room. “Halo 3.”
“That’s perfect.” Kikwang gets up and shuffles past Hyunseung, letting himself fall onto the couch. Hyunseung walks in behind him and finds the Xbox sitting under the television.
“Are you sure about this?” he says. “There’s a nice park a mile or so away-“
Kikwang smirks. “Are you scared I’ll beat you?”
This makes Hyunseung scowl. “No,” he says, and turns on the TV. “Not at all.” He hands Kikwang a controller, and he laughs, almost menacingly.
Kikwang beats him soundly for a good two hours. Hyunseung tells him he’s out of practice, but the truth is that Kikwang is strangely experienced. When Hyunseung finally surrenders, Kikwang laughs falling off the couch. Hyunseung feels bad until he looks over and whispers, “I told you.”
He has no idea how Kikwang lures him into playing one, two, ten more times over the next two weeks, but, then again, Hyunseung has no idea how he’s come to spend so much time with Kikwang.
He also doesn’t know how he, without fail, sneaks a photograph of the cheesiest thing they see each day into Hyunseung’s bag. He keeps them, though, atop his desk, not sure why his palms sweat when he looks at them.
--
He’s not sure quite why he tells Kikwang, or how the words even get out of his mouth. It happens when Kikwang invites (more accurately, begs) him to come along to a noraebang, and for some odd reason he decides to tag along. Kikwang spends most of the time singing old songs from the nineties, and an odd melancholy comes over Hyunseung when he picks one of 1TYM’s hits. He sits on the couch, flipping through the songbook, and then stares at the ceiling, lying on his back. When the song ends, Kikwang looks at him, confused. “You feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says, tossing the songbook back on the table. “It’s just…”
“Do you want to sing?”
“Not right now.” He sighs and starts. “Before I was in Cube, I was under YG. I used to live with Jiyo-G-Dragon, and we were supposed to debut as Big Bang with four other guys. We had this documentary on MTV, and then they decided six was too many, so…you can imagine who got kicked off. I was too shy, on and off stage. I could have improved, but being criticized so publicly…I shrunk away. I thought the whole city was laughing at me.”
“…Oh.” Kikwang walks over to Hyunseung’s end of the couch, sitting next to him. “It must be pretty horrible, seeing them everywhere.”
“I try to avoid thinking about it, now,” he says. “Or even talking about it. You’re the first person I’ve told.”
“I feel honored.” Kikwang laughs nervously. “I mean…I’m sorry. Really.”
“It’s okay,” he says, and pushes himself off the couch. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”
They sing Tell Me next, and it’s at once anticlimactic and strangely satisfying.
--
A few days later, they’re walking around in Myungdong when Kikwang stops in the middle of the road. He looks left, then right, and nods a few times at nothing in particular. “This should be good,” he says.
Hyunseung walked a little further, and he turns around, coming back. “You’re taking a picture?”
“No,” Kikwang says, and it’s then that he notices the digital camera in his hand. “I thought we could dance here.”
Hyunseung’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
“For practice?” Kikwang says, shrugging. “Why, you don’t want to?”
“Do you have speakers?” Hyunseung asks. Kikwang shakes his head. “Then what do you want to use?”
“Nothing,” he says, simply. “You don’t need music to dance.”
Hyunseung looks at the street in front of him, swallowing. He starts feeling the familiar performance nerves and clenches both his fists; there are worse things, he tells himself, that he could try to do. Maybe.
Kikwang walks to the middle of the street, finding a small clearing, and Hyunseung slowly follows him. Kikwang starts counting down with his fingers, and it occurs to Hyunseung that he’s never actually danced in front of him in any capacity.
There’s no one watching them when they start, and that makes it a little better. He’s never been great at freestyle, and part of him wants to stop everything he’s doing and start one of the choreographies he’s been practicing at Cube. He’s not thinking by the time people stop and stare, and takes him even longer to realize that Kikwang isn’t dancing anymore, now standing in front of the passersby with his camera covering his face. Kikwang gives him a thumbs-up, and Hyunseung, panting, goes on for another minute.
His eyes widen when he stops to the tune of faint applause. He retreats to a corner of the street, and Kikwang comes up behind him with a water bottle. “Why did you stop?” he asks.
“I…” Kikwang stops, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk. “I wanted to watch you. And I wanted to record it so you’d remember it.” He pulls out a bottle of water from his bag, handing it to Hyunseung. “You’re not too shy, and you’re definitely good enough. Want to see?”
“No,” he says, pushing the camera away. “I told you that stuff didn’t bother me anymore, you know.”
“Yeah.” Kikwang stuffs the camera back in his bag. “I wanted to make sure.”
Hyunseung takes a sip from the bottle, staring at Kikwang like he’s some kind of alien. “Why do you care?”
This makes him frown, and he turns away, fixing his gaze on the buildings across the street. “I’m your friend,” Kikwang says, and when Hyunseung doesn’t reply, he adds, weakly, “Aren’t I?”
Hyunseung’s never thought about what Kikwang is, at least, after he stopped being a stranger. He looks at their bags, sitting next to each other on the sidewalk, and realizes the last picture either of them took was of them, together, eating rice cakes on the subway. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, sitting down. “Thanks.”
Kikwang beams. “You’re welcome.”
--
Hyunseung looks over his shoulder. “Uh, Kikwang?”
“Yeah?”
He points at the front desk, where the bookstore manager is giving them a suspicious stare. “I think we’re going to get kicked out.”
Kikwang scoffs. “Don’t be silly,” he says. “We’re just taking pictures of the merchandise, we’re not stealing anything.” He crouches onto the floor with a sigh, rearranging the books on the shelf. “Do you think these look old enough?”
Hyunseung stares at the shelf; the books that Kikwang’s included are classics, but newer-looking editions. “Define old,” he says neutrally.
“Do they look like they’d smell?”
“…No.”
“Then they’re not old enough.” Kikwang frowns. “Maybe I can readjust the focus off the books and onto the shelf.”
“Yeah, that sounds-“
“Wait.” Kikwang runs a finger along the shelf. “Is it dusty enough?”
“It’s fine,” Hyunseung says, looking back at the desk. “Just hurry, he’s getting really suspicious of us.”
“Don’t worry, I’m taking it right now.” Kikwang leans in, squinting. “1, 2-“
“Excuse me.” The manager comes up behind them, and a shiver runs up Hyunseung’s spine. “What exactly are you doing?”
Kikwang beams up at the man. “Making art, sir.”
The man heaves a long, tired sigh. “Well.”
--
“I can’t believe that,” Kikwang whines. “I didn’t even get to finish the shot.”
Hyunseung stares into the depths of his smoothie. “You did completely mess up an entire bookshelf.”
“I was going to rearrange it!”
“Yes, well.” Hyunseung can’t stop himself from laughing. “Not everyone sees your artistic vision.”
“Hmph.” Kikwang takes out his camera again, pushing his smoothie to the middle of the table. “I’m ignoring you.”
Hyunseung raises an eyebrow. “Really.”
“Yes.” Hyunseung hears a few clicks, and then Kikwang moves the smoothie to the right. “Seriously,” he mutters to himself, “All I wanted to do was play around with focus.”
Hyunseung snickers. “I know.”
“I’ll just do it with our cups.” He smiles, leaning into the table. “This makes a better picture than the books, anyway.”
“You’re not ignoring me, Kikwang.”
He looks up, glaring. “Shut up, I am now.”
In the darkroom, Kikwang takes extra care of the photos, staring intently at each of them. When he’s hung all of them up on the clothesline, he goes into the kitchen to get a drink, leaving Hyunseung alone. It’s then that he gets his first good look at the pictures, and he realizes, suddenly, that they’re not of the smoothies at all-there’s four of Hyunseung from various angles, the backgrounds a blur of colors, and then one, at the end of the line, of a heart drawn on the table in red pen. Hyunseung feels nervous, suddenly, and for a split second he wonders.
“Did they come out all right?” Kikwang asks, grinning ear to ear, when he comes back in the room.
Hyunseung blushes. “Yeah, they’re fine,” he says, and then he starts to hope.
By the time he walks back to his apartment, he’s talked himself out of it. He takes a look at his desk, feeling his heart pound, and then falls onto his bed with an exasperated groan.
--
Hyunseung walks out of the recording room the next week with his phone buzzing from inside his bag. He lets it ring as he gets a water bottle from the vending machine, pulling it out after he takes a drink. Two missed calls the display says, both from Kikwang.
He leans against the wall and calls him back. Kikwang answers after the first ring. “Hyunseung?”
“You called?”
“Yeah.” Kikwang pauses, sighing. “You wanna take some pictures?”
Hyunseung thinks about it; he’s free until later that night, when he’s coming back to the studio with Yoseob and a few other trainees. “Sure,” he says, “When?”
“Now,” Kikwang says quickly, and then adds, “I mean, is that okay? If you meet me at the Gangnam station in ten minutes or so?” His voice is unusually shaky, but Hyunseung brushes it off.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” he says. “I just got out of vocal training.”
“Great, I’ll see you there,” Kikwang says, and hangs up abruptly. Hyunseung stares at his phone for a moment, wondering if he’s done something wrong, and stuffs it in his pocket.
For once, Kikwang isn’t late; when Hyunseung arrives, he looks like he’s been waiting for several minutes. He gives Hyunseung a fleeting smile and points across the street. “Let’s walk over there,” he says, and Hyunseung nods, following him to the stoplight.
It’s Kikwang that usually does most of the talking, but he’s eerily quiet, his camera sitting at his side. Hyunseung trails behind him, unsure if he should talk, and snaps a few pictures of cars going by to distract him.
When Kikwang stops, suddenly, he hasn’t even lifted his camera up. He points to a coffee shop on the second floor of the building in front of them. “Want to go inside?” he asks. Hyunseung nods noncommittally, and Kikwang makes his way to the stairs. Once they’re inside, he walks past the cashier to a table by the window and sits down.
“Something’s wrong,” Hyunseung says, setting his bag down in one of the armchairs. “Do you want a drink?”
“No.” Kikwang stretches out, looking up at him. “And nothing’s wrong.”
Hyunseung’s eyes narrow. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Then stop it.” He sits down. “You’re acting weird.”
“I’m not-“ Kikwang sighs. “Do you really want to know?”
Hyunseung glares at him. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.”
“I guess.” Kikwang looks down, then out the window, then up at Hyunseung, then down at the table again. “They’re moving me to Cube.” Hyunseung almost smiles until he sees the dejected look on Kikwang’s face. “It’ll be great to be with you guys, but I can’t help but feel like I’m being demoted.” He reaches into his bag, pulling out a few photos. “What did I do wrong? I mean, I put my all into every practice, I was never out of line…did Jinyoung-hyung not like me? He never seemed like he didn’t…do you think he found-“
“Calm down,” Hyunseung says, pushing his bag aside and sitting in the armchair. “Do you remember what you said to me, when we were with Yoseob?” Kikwang shakes his head, shuffling the photos between his hands. “You said that the company doesn’t matter, as long as you’re talented. Don’t you believe that?”
“Yeah,” he says, “But-“
“It was terrible leaving YG, too,” Hyunseung says. “But you’re getting another chance. It’s a smaller company, you’ll get better faster. You’ll debut faster. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Of course,” he says, “But what if he’s getting rid of me because I can’t debut?”
“I can tell you from experience,” he says with a frown, “That he would have just let you go.”
“I forgot, I’m sorry.” He leaves the photos flat on the table. “There’s something else, though.”
“Hm?”
It’s a long, heavy silence. Kikwang gives Hyunseung an uneasy look. “Has anyone ever let a trainee go because of…” he sets his head on the table. “Jesus, I can’t even say it.”
“Say what?”
“Here.” He slides one of the photos across the table. Hyunseung picks it up; it’s the photo he saw in the darkroom, the heart scribbled on the table. His pulse races. “You can walk out, right now, if you want to,” Kikwang whispers. “I won’t hold it against you.”
“What are you-“ Hyunseung shakes his head, putting the photo down. “I’m not like that. I don’t know if JYP is, but I’m not.” His hands are sweaty, and he runs them down his jeans. “If you wanted, we could try this. Slowly.”
Kikwang frowns. “People would-“
“That’s not their business,” he says. “Is this what you want?”
Kikwang looks down at the pictures still resting on the table. He says nothing as he picks them up, puts them back in his bag, and then reaches under the table for Hyunseung’s hand. “Yeah.”
--
There’s no fanfare on Kikwang’s first day at Cube. The coaches treat him as any other trainee, not bothering to introduce themselves before practice starts. Hyunseung doesn’t even get the chance to talk to him until their first break, and even then Kikwang spends most of it introducing himself to the other trainees. His eyes light up when he recognizes other JYP transplants, hugging them warmly, and Hyunseung eventually drifts back to Yoseob. He’s just relieved to see Kikwang being normal again.
When they’re given a lunch break, Hyunseung pulls him aside, slipping a picture into Kikwang’s hands for the first time. “Welcome to Cube,” he whispers, and turns around, blood rushing to his face, to head for the vending machine.
He leaves Kikwang alone in the practice room, but it takes him mere seconds to catch up to Hyunseung and wrap his arms around his waist. He hums contentedly into Hyunseung’s shoulder, holding the photo where only the two of them can see it.
It’s a wooden table, always have, always will etched in red pen on the top.
Poll Round 9: Angle of view
Team: Canon
Rating:
Fandom: Beast
Pairing: Hyungseung/Kikwang
Summary: pre-debut. hyunseung and kikwang use photography (and each other) to cope with failure.
Author's Note: …collapses. this picture accurately describes this fic. Five different people helped me out immensely with this, and thank you so much ;___; I love you. Also extra thank-you to my team’s mod who is a benevolent goddess!
Prompt Used: Super Junior - No Other
It’s much easier to disappear in Seoul than to stand out. Hyunseung’s been fighting this his whole life, practicing for hours anywhere he could, singing for anyone who would listen. He was fourteen when someone finally did. He had whole studios to himself then, and for a while, Hyunseung felt invincible. That was a year ago.
It’s not like a lot of people watch the show, he tells himself. No one will recognize that he’s the guy that got kicked out of some group that hasn’t even debuted. No one sits on street corners and waits for former trainees to walk by. Failure, though, is all that occupies Hyunseung’s thoughts, and so that’s all that he sees in the strangers. The middle school students checking their phones are snapping pictures of him, the women crossing the street are looking him in the eyes and laughing at how lost he looks. Flop is etched on Hyunseung’s forehead for everyone to see.
For the first time in his life, he wants to disappear. So he slinks into a tiny restaurant and orders kimchi fried rice. When he’s done, he takes a picture of the empty plate on his phone and says, under his breath, this is another beginning. That Hyunseung doesn’t believe it isn’t really important.
--
He’s a backup dancer now. During the day, it’s a good thing, a part of his disappearing act, but at night, when he’s collapsing into bed, his dreams get the best of him. This is what he has now, but there’s still a part of him lingering, wanting more. He’s on stage, but no one’s looking at him; he doubts anyone but his parents even notice him. That’s good, isn’t it? No, it’s not. This isn’t what Hyunseung trained for, but it’s what’s good for him now, right?
Hyunseung flips over in bed, kicking his feet onto the ground. He’s not getting any sleep so he staggers to his sister’s room, where light is flowing out of the bottom of her door. She must be awake. He pushes the door open with a weary smile. “Do you have a camera?” he mumbles. He’ll take anything, really, to get his attention off of life.
She looks up and nods. “It’s on my desk, you can borrow it.”
The camera has pink stickers, pink like the gum Jiyong used to chew when he felt weight-conscious. Hyunseung hates the color, but it’s a nice, old Nikon and he takes it with a thankful smile. “Goodnight,” he says, and slinks back out to his bedroom.
The first picture he takes is of his window at sunrise. It comes out horribly.
--
Slowly, he gets better. He takes pictures of everything around him, and after a while he can start to call himself mediocre. Sometimes he takes a few different shots to satisfy himself, and sometimes, when he takes pictures of stoplights under a perfect blue sky, he can even call himself artistic. It’s just documenting his life, he tells himself, frowning at another ruined shot. He throws out more photos than he ends up keeping; this is Hyunseung’s problem, he can’t half-ass anything.
He graduates from high school and his days are a mix of drifting and dancing. He wanders through streets and takes pictures of mundane, everyday things, only remembering the sound of his voice when he asks people to move out of his shot. If he’s hungry, he’ll wander into a restaurant, averting his eyes from the workers and eating without a word. It takes strength to eat alone, he thinks to himself. He likes having the time alone, left to think and not worry about impressing everyone around him.
Even if he likes the food, Hyunseung never goes to the same restaurant twice. He doesn’t want things to get intimate.
--
He meets Yoseob for the first time backstage at a club gig. He’s got the commanding power, the presence Hyunseung doesn’t have, and maybe that’s the reason his eyes follow Yoseob the minute he enters the makeup room. Hyunseung isn’t so sure why Yoseob takes notice of him, though.
“Are you a trainee?” he asks, and Hyunseung hesitates before shaking his head, slowly. “Was,” he clarifies.
“Oh.” Hyunseung frowns, hoping Yoseob notices and doesn’t pry. “I’m sorry. I mean, unless it was your choice.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Mm.” Yoseob comes up behind him, putting a hand on Hyunseung’s shoulder. He flinches, but Yoseob doesn’t move. His smile, charming but (possibly) sincere, reflects in the mirror in front of them. “I’m kind of in a rough spot at the moment, too,” he says, “If it makes you feel better. I don’t know how much longer my company’s going to be around, and I’m not going anywhere here as it is. I’m keeping my eye out for opportunities, though. You wanna exchange numbers and I’ll text you anything I find? I’m Yoseob, by the way.”
He’s smooth. “I’m Hyunseung,” he says, and digs around in his duffel bag for his phone. “Here, um,” he says, handing it to Yoseob, “You can put your number in, I guess.”
Yoseob smiles. “You nervous?”
“A little, yeah.”
“Relax, they don’t look at guys like us,” he pats his back, chuckling bitterly for a moment. “At least, not yet.” He winks. Childish. “I think I’m up now, but I’ll text you, okay?” He drops Hyunseung’s phone on the makeup table, followed by another. “Put your number in while I’m gone.”
“Yeah, sure.” Hyunseung’s eyes follow him out the door, narrowing. Of all the dancers in their matching outfits, why did Yoseob pick him? There’s nothing special about him, not anymore, at least. And yet, from the minute he entered the room, Hyunseung had Yoseob’s undivided attention. Maybe he’s full of shit. Hyunseung sighs and picks up the stranger’s phone, wondering if anything will come of this.
The first five texts he gets from Yoseob are useless, telling him goodnight, asking if he’s doing shows next week, complaining about his job. The sixth comes at one in the morning, a few nights after they first met. So I’m going to an audition next week and I feel pretty good about it, he says. Wanna tag along?
Hyunseung hesitates, tossing his phone from hand to hand, and finally responds with a curt yes. Yoseob sends him the time and address, and for a minute he stares at his phone, shocked, and maybe even feels a tiny rush of excitement.
--
So Cube Entertainment’s some kind of JYP partner; Hyunseung doesn’t understand or remember the finer details Yoseob whispers to him as they wait. As far as he knows, they haven’t debuted anyone, and he hasn’t heard much-no, anything about them. Yoseob says that it’s better than being a backup dancer, and Hyunseung can’t argue with that.
When he finishes, the judges say they’ll call him within a few days if he’s in. He nods meekly and walks out of the audition room, stopping in the middle of the hall when he realizes Yoseob’s still waiting for him. “It’s late,” he says flatly, raising an eyebrow.
Yoseob nods. “I didn’t want to leave you here all alone,” he answers, and it’s only then that Hyunseung realizes they’re the only two left. If they’d been reversed, he probably wouldn’t have stayed for Yoseob. He gulps, guilty. “If you want, you can come to my place for dinner.” Hyunseung says nothing, and he adds, “My parents own a restaurant.”
A restaurant. Hyunseung blushes, wondering if he’s stumbled in there before. He doesn’t remember seeing anyone that looked like Yoseob, but Hyunseung doesn’t remember anyone’s face as it is. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says, and rushes out the door, to the subway station, before Yoseob can resist.
--
In the end, Hyunseung takes their offer. He could audition for more companies and weigh his options, but at this point, he doesn’t have the confidence. Yoseob gets in, too, and when he calls Hyunseung at one in the morning, shrieking, it seals the deal.
The day he confirms it with Cube, he goes out again with his sister’s camera. He takes the train downtown and works his way outward from there, taking pictures of sweeping murals and wide city streets. When he was younger, he equated success with tall buildings, so he points the camera above him and takes a few shots of the spires leaping at the sky. They come out all right, and he slips into a roadside café for a latte.
There’s another kid with a camera outside. He walks slower than Hyunseung does, stopping to talk to old ladies or peer in windows, Nikon in hand. Hyunseung’s eyes follow him as he takes each shot-the first of an ahjumma making kimbap, then a child blowing bubbles, then a pair of huge heart-shaped decals on the window of a stationery store across the street. He seems unimpressed with the last one, but then he drags the child over, having her stand underneath the two hearts and smile. Even from across the street Hyunseung can tell she’s missing some teeth, but somehow it’s still strangely wonderful. For a minute, he thinks it’s better than anything he’s done. The stranger, too, seems satisfied.
For a split second, he seems to sense Hyunseung’s stare, turning around to peer at the window of the coffee shop. Hyunseung hides behind his coffee cup, and the boy walks off, leaving his line of vision. He’s relieved at first, but then feels a strange twinge of disappointment. He throws out the cup, half-empty, and leaves.
--
He brings the camera to his first day of training. He’s not sure why-he’s been here before, and there’s nothing worth taking pictures of-but he grabs it impulsively as he’s running out the door. His bag is heavier, but he can live with it.
Cube, like YG, doesn’t have a lot of trainees-maybe even less, which is astounding to him. Yoseob waits for him at the door, grinning ear to ear when he walks through, and leads him in with a hand on his back. There’s five other boys there, some that look much younger than either of them.
Hyunseung picks up the choreography quickly-he hasn’t danced anything this difficult in a while, but he’s more than capable. Yoseob follows along well enough, but the other trainees don’t fare quite as well, tripping and panting. They break for ten minutes once they’ve learned two-thirds of the dance.
Hyunseung pulls his water bottle out of his duffel bag, and that’s when Yoseob sees the camera lying next to it. “Can I see that?” he asks, and Hyunseung pushes the bag over to him. Yoseob takes the camera out, inspecting it from all sides.
“It’s my sister’s,” Hyunseung clarifies. “She’s letting me share it with her.”
“It’s pretty nice,” Yoseob says, pointing it at Hyunseung. “Do you mind if I take a picture?”
“Um, actually-“ but it’s too late, and Yoseob’s already caught him mid-sentence. He grins. “This is going to come out great.”
Hyunseung frowns. “Or it’s going to be a waste of film.”
Yoseob shrugs, stuffing the camera back in Hyunseung’s bag. “If you think about it that way,” he says. “It’ll be candid.”
“Unprofessional, you mean.”
Yoseob laughs loudly at this. “You, Jang Hyunseung, are one of a kind.”
--
“Did you take those?”
Hyunseung feels his whole body jump before he looks up. The boy now standing at the foot of the table seems familiar, especially when he cracks an embarrassed smile, but Hyunseung can’t think of where he’s seen him. There’s nothing particularly abnormal about his hair or clothes, and Hyunseung frowns-maybe it’s not that he’s seen him before, but that he’s seen several people like him.
Then he spots the camera in his left hand, resting against his hip. Oh, he thinks, and then realizes the boy’s still looking at him, waiting.
“Yeah, I took these,” he says, covering the photos spread out on the table with his hand. “But please don’t look! They’re not very good.”
The boy puts his hand on the table, and Hyunseung finds his hand slinking to the side. He picks up one of the pictures, grinning. “This looks pretty good to me,” he says. “Better than mine for sure.”
“I’ve, um, seen you taking pictures before,” Hyunseung says, looking up at the boy. He doesn’t run off, so he takes it as a sign to continue. “You had this nice one, with this girl and these hearts-“ He doesn’t even know why he’s talking anymore. Part of him wants to look into the depths of his coffee cup, as if it’ll suck him in and keep his mouth shut.
The other boy doesn’t seem to mind, though. “Oh, that one,” he giggles. “That was my favorite.” He pulls out the chair at the end of the table. “Do you mind if I get some tea and sit down?”
Yes, I do, now go away is what Hyunseung probably should say, but it doesn’t reach his lips. He shakes his head instead, and suddenly there’s another Nikon across the table from him and a strange, smiley boy grinning at him from the line.
--
His name is Lee Kikwang and he’s a trainee, too, although he doesn’t mention where and Hyunseung doesn’t pry. He likes green tea and rice cakes and, as it so happens, dancing. He spends their whole conversation nursing a mug, and yet manages to do most of the talking. Hyunseung lets him, somewhere between fascinated and bewildered by his presence.
Kikwang doesn’t just talk about himself, though-he spends at least half of the conversation asking Hyunseung questions. He’s had long conversations with Yoseob, but even he isn’t as fervently curious as Kikwang is right now. He asks about everything from his family to his taste in shoes, and then waits for Hyunseung’s answer like it’ll solve all the world’s problems. “Um.” He stammers. “I like high tops, like the ones that kid across the street’s wearing.”
Kikwang nods slowly. “Those are nice,” he says, and then reaches into his bag. “Here,” he says, handing Hyunseung a photo, “I met this kid a few days ago that was drawing all over his white sneakers.”
“Huh.” It’s certainly interesting, if not to his taste; the shoes have friendly-looking monsters juxtaposed with frightening caricatures of cartoon icons. “Where do you find stuff like this?”
Kikwang shrugs. “I don’t know, I just look for it,” he says. “That’s the nice thing about photography, don’t you think? Anyone can do it, as long as they keep their eyes open.” He laughs awkwardly. “And if they have a camera.”
“Yeah,” Hyunseung nods, running a thumb over the photo. “I guess you’re right.”
Kikwang takes a few more photos out after this-a Kindergarten class blowing up balloons with their teacher in the park, a boy playing a keyboard on the side of the street, a finished puzzle on a café table. Hyunseung takes out the only photo he’d dare to show to strangers-a close-up of a vandalized stoplight. He blushes when Kikwang compliments him, nods when he asks to exchange numbers, but Hyunseung knows they’re too different and, realistically, they’ll never cross paths again.
This is when Hyunseung realizes he’s become too cynical.
--
He’s having a terrible day the second time he runs into Kikwang. He embarrassed himself in dance practice by tripping, spilled hot sauce on his sweatpants, and very nearly knocked a group of female trainees all within a few hours. He’s trying to calm down, take a few pictures of subway signs without people walking in front of them, and then Lee Kikwang, oblivious to his surroundings, walks in front of the sign and lets his jaw drop. “Hyunseung?”
His arms twitch and he ends up pressing the button without thinking. Kikwang jogs to Hyunseung’s side, and later, the photo will develop blurry and surreal. “Taking more pictures?” he says, smiling.
“Was,” he snaps. “You walked right into it.” Kikwang’s whole body stiffens, and Hyunseung regrets the sharpness in his voice.
“Don’t worry, it’ll come out great,” he says, forcing a smile. “The lighting is pretty nice in this spot, don’t you think?”
“It’s okay.”
Kikwang slumps, deflated. “There’s a…few more hours of sunlight,” he says quietly, as if he’s afraid of something, “So…do you want to walk around for a while?” Hyunseung nods lazily, and Kikwang pulls him down the street.
With the exception of Kikwang’s occasional mutterings, they’re mostly quiet, oftentimes meters apart looking for different subjects. Hyunseung picks metal flowerpots and boiling street food; Kikwang hovers around a court cakes stand, taking candids of the vendors and a group of giggling tourists before moving on to a woman trying on a wedding dress in a shop window. Hyunseung takes a break to sit down to answer a few texts from Yoseob, and Kikwang joins him when he’s done with the bride. “I realized something.”
Hyunseung doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hm?”
“You don’t take any pictures of people,” Kikwang says.
“Except you,” Hyunseung mutters bitterly. Kikwang either doesn’t hear it, or ignores it entirely.
“Why, though?” he asks, sitting down next to him. “There’s nothing wrong with people.”
Hyunseung shrugs. “They’re unreliable.” The real reason he’s not admitting, especially not to Kikwang.
“Isn’t that what makes people special?” Kikwang asks, and Hyunseung wants, very very much, for him to stop talking.
He frowns. “I’ve had enough of people being unpredictable without taking pictures of it. I’m trying to get rid of stress, not get more.”
“Hm?” Kikwang leans in. “Why would people stress you out?”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
He raises both eyebrows, as if this is the most shocking thing he’s ever heard. Hyunseung almost wants to take a picture of it, but then Kikwang forces a smile. Figures. “You know what, let’s get dinner,” he says, finally, standing up. “That place across from here looks like it’s got room.”
Hyunseung looks across the street and stiffens. “We can’t go there.”
“There’s plenty of tables,” Kikwang says, confused. “I can see them from here.”
“No,” he says flatly. “We can’t go, I’ve already been there.”
“You don’t go to restaurants twice?”
He shakes his head. “I uh…don’t like familiar places.”
“Huh.” Kikwang gives him a blank look. There’s a long pause where Hyunseung imagines cogs slowly turning in his head, dissecting his lie, and then Kikwang grabs his hand and pulls, hard. “I’m hungry.”
“There are plenty of restaurants over there,” Hyunseung says weakly, but Kikwang isn’t listening and his grip on Hyunseung’s wrist is tighter. Hyunseung pulls back for a moment, but then Kikwang gives him a perplexed, forlorn look and he lets it fall limp. He avoids looking at the various waitresses and ajummas as Kikwang picks a table in the back and sits down.
“So,” he says, looking at the menu mounted on the wall with a toothy grin. “I’m feeling kalbi.”
Hyunseung came here alone last time, of course; the waitress looked down at him with a questioning eye, deciding, ultimately, that he’d never finish an order of kalbi by himself and he could have beef stew instead. “Whatever.”
“Great!” Kikwang looks up, immediately making eye contact with an ajumma. “Can we get an order of kalbi over here?” She nods and smiles, and Kikwang reaches for the pair of metal cups on the table. “I’ll get us water,” he says quietly, and gets up.
“Uh, thanks.” Hyunseung runs his hands down his jeans and feels a rush of inexplicable guilt. His eyes follow Kikwang’s back as he walks to the water cooler, and something about his posture feels uneasy. Hyunseung frowns.
“It’s nice and cold,” Kikwang says when he comes back, setting the two cups down gingerly. “It’ll go well with the food, huh?”
“Hey.”
Kikwang winces. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.” Hyunseung sighs. “About being such a pain. I know this is probably really weird, but I have this thing where I…don’t like going to restaurants twice.”
Kikwang blinks. “You said that already.”
“Yeah, but…” he looks at the table, then at the wall behind Kikwang. “It’s more than that. I guess I’m scared that if I go more than once, people will start remembering me.”
Kikwang frowns. “Don't you want to be a singer?” Hyunseung nods. “You’ll need people to remember you, you know.”
“That’s different,” he says, rubbing his chopsticks between his fingers. “People in a crowd can’t talk to me. People here can.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
Another ajumma comes by with side dishes, and Kikwang thanks her with a smile running across his face. He reaches for a piece of kimchi, still looking at Hyunseung attentively. “I never know what to say to people,” Hyunseung says. “But you can’t just say nothing.”
“It’s not that hard.”
“In theory,” he says. “I’ve never been great with people. I’ve never had a lot of friends and after…that I guess it just got worse. I wanted to get away.”
Kikwang sets his chopsticks down. “After what?”
“Forget it,” Hyunseung reaches for a cucumber. “I don’t even know why I’m talking about this with you.” The ajumma comes back with the meat then, and for the first time in his life Hyunseung’s happy to see a stranger. He reaches for the scissors, for something to do instead of talk, but Kikwang beats him. Hyunseung eats another cucumber instead and avoids his eyes.
They don’t talk as the meat cooks. Kikwang takes a few pieces for himself when it’s done, but then he slides the rest of the pieces onto Hyunseung’s plate. “I don’t know what’s going on, but people aren’t as horrible as you think.” Hyunseung shakes his head, and he smiles. “Really.”
It doesn’t take them long to finish the whole plate. Kikwang starts talking about some American singer’s choreography (If nothing else, Hyunseung admires his ability to fill any silence), and then slaps some money on the table and says he’s going to be late for a dance practice. Hyunseung says nothing, but he has a sinking feeling there isn’t a dance practice at all.
--
“Do you have dinner plans tonight?”
Hyunseung looks up from his water bottle to find Yoseob smiling down at him, disgustingly sweaty. “Well, I-“
“Good.” Yoseob leans against the wall. “I’m going to my parents’ restaurant with a friend. You should come, you two would get along.”
“I have…” Hyunseung looks around the room for some kind of inspiration and fails. “A gynecologist appointment,” he finishes lamely.
Yoseob raises an eyebrow. “So you’re coming.”
“No, I said-“ It dawns on Hyunseung, slowly. He sighs. “Yeah, I am.”
Yoseob laughs. “You didn’t pay attention much in health class, did you?”
“Shut up.” Hyunseung sets his water bottle down, and Yoseob immediately snatches it away.
“It’ll be fun,” he says, winking. “Don’t worry about it. I told you, my parents are amazing cooks.” Hyunseung shrugs noncommittally, and the choreographer comes back to put them to work.
It turns out that Hyunseung doesn’t spend much time in Yoseob’s neighborhood, so he probably hasn’t been to his parents’ restaurant before. They’ve barely walked inside when his parents attack Yoseob with hugs, smiling politely at Hyunseung over his shoulders. He bows back and frowns when he realizes the restaurant is otherwise empty. Yoseob’s friend isn’t here yet.
Yoseob picks a table close to the front, and their parents sneak back into the kitchen to start cooking. Hyunseung finds himself looking out the window anxiously every few seconds. “You said someone else was coming, right?”
“Yeah.” Yoseob chuckles. “He tends to be late, so it’ll probably be another-“
“Yoseobie!”
Hyunseung looks up and freezes; the door closes behind a very enthusiastic looking Lee Kikwang.
“I’m sorry I’m so late, there was this really complicated move and I had to keep doing it until I had it down.” His eyes widen when he spots Hyunseung at the table. “You know Hyunseung?”
“We train together,” Yoseob pulls out a chair for Kikwang, patting his back when he sits down. “Wait, you know him?”
Kikwang nods and smiles. “We met when I was taking pictures between practice.”
“Oh god.” Yoseob turns to Hyunseung, face suddenly sullen and grave. “He wanted to take a picture of you, didn’t he.”
“No,” he answers, shrugging, “He just wanted to see my photos.”
“Consider yourself lucky,” Yoseob mumbles. “This kid? Paparazzi. His pictures aren’t even flattering.”
Kikwang pouts. “Hyunseung takes just as many pictures as me. He just doesn’t take any of people because he’s weird.”
“Oh right, you have a camera too.” Yoseob grins, eyes flickering from Hyunseung to Kikwang. “See? I said you’d get along. Hang on, I’m going to go tell my parents you’re here.”
Kikwang settles into his chair after Yoseob leaves, taking a sip of water. “I was thinking,” he says, “We should go to the river. It’s supposed to be sunny this weekend.”
Hyunseung looks up from his lap, brows furrowed. “You still want to be around me?”
“You are a bit grumpy,” Kikwang teases, “But really, I like having another person to take pictures with. Everyone else just thinks it’s a waste of time.” He pouts. “So, Saturday? Noon?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Great!” he says, nearly sending his silverware flying. “And Yoseob said I’d never find anyone to do this with me.”
“I said what?” Yoseob comes in from the kitchen, a platter of side dishes in his hand. “Geez, as soon as I leave you start gossiping about me.” he turns to Hyunseung and stage whispers, “Want some gossip about Kwangie? He’s a JYP trainee. He used to tell everyone, but now he’s obsessively secretive about it.”
Kikwang frowns. “I don’t want to show off.”
“If I was under JYP, I’d tell anyone who would listen,” Hyunseung says.
“I know,” Yoseob shakes his head dramatically. “Weird, isn’t he? And to think he’s our sunbae.”
Hyunseung nods. “But really,” he says, looking at Kikwang, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Kikwang glares at Yoseob, then turning to Hyunseung with a sigh. “I used to be embarrassingly obsessed with it,” he says. “But if you’re talented, you shouldn’t need a name to back you up.”
“It’d be nice to have one.”
“Of course,” he says. “But you don’t need it.”
The words echo in his mind on his way to the subway station, with Lies playing out of every other shop.
--
Hyunseung, naturally, is the first one to reach the riverside that weekend. He waits there for ten minutes, eyes fixated on the water, before Kikwang comes up behind him, poking his shoulder blades. “Ready to go?” he asks.
Hyunseung twitches and turns around. Kikwang waves obnoxiously in his face, wearing oversize glasses and a pink bowtie. “Are you?” Hyunseung says. “You’re late.”
“I ran into some dogs,” he says with a shrug. “It happens.”
“I see.”
“They were cute,” he says, frowning. “Get up, we’ve got lots of river to cover.”
The parks are bustling on a Saturday, and Kikwang finds himself overwhelmed with subjects. Hyunseung loses him several times, concentrating himself on the river and a few boats passing by. He likes the way the clean, white sails contrast with the water and the buildings behind them.
After he walks a mile he catches up with Kikwang, sitting on a bench in front of a group of swan-shaped boats. “Do you like these?” he asks.
Hyunseung shrugs. “They’re kind of cheesy.”
“They need some passengers.” Kikwang taps a finger against his chin, and then smirks at Hyunseung. “Go find a couple.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I’m already sitting down,” he pouts, “And besides, I need to make sure I have enough cash to pay for their ride.”
Hyunseung lights up. “Would that stop you?”
“Probably not.” Kikwang folds his arms. “You just don’t want to do it because you don’t want to talk to people.” Hyunseung can’t argue with that, so he says nothing, standing still. “Please?”
He sighs, finally, and turns around. There are no fewer people than when they arrived here an hour ago, and most of them are walking too fast for Hyunseung to catch up. A few reckless children whiz by on bikes, and he stands on the edge of the sidewalk, looking in. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s making excuses, but lets three couples pass by anyway.
The fourth pair is younger, probably in their first year of high school, and maybe that’s why Hyunseung approaches them instead. He gestures to Kikwang, who waves from the bench, and they agree almost immediately. Hyunseung stands at the dock with them at Kikwang’s insistence, pressing a few dollar bills into their hands. “Thanks,” he says sheepishly, just before they board. “My friend’s a little fixated on this.” They wave him off, and Hyunseung walks back to Kikwang, standing a few meters away at the edge. “Happy now?” he asks.
Kikwang doesn’t respond until he’s taken a picture of the boat. “Yeah,” he says, staring out at the river. “It’ll come out nice.”
They go back into the streets after that, looking for a late lunch. Kikwang lets Hyunseung pick the place, and he picks a pasta restaurant he hasn’t been inside. They get a few minutes to look over a pair of menu booklets, and then a waitress appears from the back. Kikwang gives her a warm smile. “We’re splitting a plate of fettucine alfredo,”
She raises an eyebrow. “Really?” she says, turning to Hyunseung. “And drinks?”
“Water,” Hyunseung blurts, looking at the table’s edge. “…Thanks.”
“Okay,” she says, “I’ll come back with that in a minute.” She folds up her notepad and leaves.
“Do strangers really unnerve you that much?”
Hyunseung looks up. “Hm?”
Kikwang gestures to the kitchen, where the waitress has disappeared. “She’s not going to eat you,” he says.
Hyunseung shrugs. “You should be used to this,” he says, “And it’s not just strangers, anyway.”
“I know.” Kikwang frowns. “But don’t you think things would be easier if you tried talking to people? I don’t like seeing you so…uncomfortable all the time.”
“Sure,” he says, “But then I’d have to talk.”
“So, small steps.” Kikwang nods firmly. “Try saying something to her when she comes back.”
“Like what?”
He grins lazily. “I don’t know,” he says, “You think of something.”
Hyunseung hates it when Kikwang goes from dopey to obliviously infuriating. He taps out a rhythm on the table nervously until he hears the clinking of glasses, freezing in his chair. The waitress sets down two identical glasses of water, and Kikwang gives Hyunseung an expectant look. “Thank you,” he says, and when it’s clearly not enough, “I…um…like your bracelet.”
“Really?” He nods stiffly. “Oh, it’s nothing special,” she says, her smile betraying her words. “The food should be out soon.”
Hyunseung buries his head in his hands as soon as she’s gone. “That was the most humiliating twenty seconds of my life,” he moans.
Kikwang giggles. “She thought you were good-looking,” he says, and then whispers, “Get her number.”
“No.” Hyunseung snaps, blushing. “You can’t make me do that.”
“Okay, fine.” Kikwang’s expression is unreadable, somewhere between dismay and possible contentment. “Hyunseungie?”
He raises an eyebrow at the pet name. “Yeah?”
He smiles. “You talked to her.”
Hyunseung nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I did.”
--
He sees Kikwang’s darkroom for the first time that night. It’s just a makeshift operation in his bathroom, but Hyunseung’s still impressed by the amount of stuff Kikwang’s been able to accumulate. A few kitchen dishes are sitting in the sink, a couple of photos hanging from a clothesline extending from the top of the shower to the towel rack. Kikwang takes the film out of his camera and gives Hyunseung a quizzical look. “You seem overwhelmed,” he says.
“I…” Hyunseung looks down at the floor. “I’ve never developed my own photos.”
“Oh.” He grins, taking Hyunseung’s camera. “Don’t worry, it’s pretty easy.”
He watches as Kikwang takes the film out of his camera, starting a process that Hyunseung doesn’t quite follow. “How long have you been doing this?” he asks.
“Only a few months,” he says with a shrug. “I’m lucky, I got a lot of this stuff as birthday presents.” Hyunseung feels suddenly aware of how much space he’s taking up, slinking towards the door, and Kikwang laughs. “There’s soda in the fridge, if you want some,” he says. “Just keep it away from…all this.”
“No, I’m okay,” he says. “I just feel a little useless.”
“It’s fine.” Kikwang waves his hand dismissively. “Let me finish this one and I’ll teach you. If you want, I mean.”
Hyunseung stares at the sink, where Kikwang’s slowly developing a photo. “Um…sure.”
“Really, it’s not that hard.”
Hyunseung inches closer until he’s looking over Kikwang’s shoulder. “That's what they all say,” he whispers.
Kikwang rolls his eyes. “Watch,” he says, and Hyunseung does, eyes following Kikwang’s hands through every step of the process. There’s something magical about watching the photos come alive on paper, and after he’s hung up two to dry Kikwang turns to Hyunseung. “You can do the next one,” he says, and Hyunseung feels his body clamp up.
“That’s a bad idea.”
“Try it,” Kikwang says. “Once.”
So Hyunseung does, with Kikwang occasionally grabbing his wrists and moving him in the right direction. The photo he develops won’t look quite as nice as the ones Kikwang did before, but he’ll get better, maybe, with time.
For now, he’s content with watching Kikwang carefully hang up the photos, beaming whenever one comes out just right.
--
Kikwang invites him back out a few days later, leading him, eventually, to a neighborhood a few subway stops away from Hyunseung’s apartment. Hyunseung loiters around a lonely shoe display for a while, taking close-up pictures of the material, until he realizes that Kikwang’s disappeared. He turns around to find him sitting on a bench, eyes closed in an overly dramatic display of agony. “It’s hot,” he whines. “We should go into a coffee shop or something.”
Hyunseung puts his camera down, shaking his head. “I don’t have any money.”
“Not even a thousand won?”
He pulls his wallet out of his pocket, shaking it for good measure. One lonely coin falls onto the sidewalk. “Yeah, I’m broke.”
“Well then I’ll-wait.” Kikwang stands up, looking up and down the street. “Isn’t your apartment around here? Or do you not go to the same apartment twice either?”
Hyunseung scowls. “Of course not.”
“Then let’s go,” he says, grabbing Hyunseung’s hand. “We can just get some water and come back.” Hyunseung plants his feet on the sidewalk, locking his knees, and Kikwang frowns. “Please?”
Hyunseung gives him a blank stare, and the frown deepens. “Fine,” he says, sighing. “Just don’t hit on my sister.”
Kikwang beams. “I won’t,” he promises, and walks towards the subway station.
The apartment is, thankfully, empty. Hyunseung leads Kikwang to the kitchen, taking two cups out from the cupboard and filling them with water. Kikwang takes a seat at the family’s kitchen table, sighing happily when he takes his first sip. He stays there for a few minutes, drinking quietly, and then looks up at Hyunseung. “Actually, it’s nice and cool in here.” He grins. “Do you have video games?”
Hyunseung blinks, looking down at his camera, resting in his hand. “Don’t you want to-“
“It’s too hot,” Kikwang says, shaking his head. “Let’s go out when we can actually breathe.” He finishes the cup in one last sip. “So, about the video games.”
“I have…” Hyunseung relents, pointing to the living room. “Halo 3.”
“That’s perfect.” Kikwang gets up and shuffles past Hyunseung, letting himself fall onto the couch. Hyunseung walks in behind him and finds the Xbox sitting under the television.
“Are you sure about this?” he says. “There’s a nice park a mile or so away-“
Kikwang smirks. “Are you scared I’ll beat you?”
This makes Hyunseung scowl. “No,” he says, and turns on the TV. “Not at all.” He hands Kikwang a controller, and he laughs, almost menacingly.
Kikwang beats him soundly for a good two hours. Hyunseung tells him he’s out of practice, but the truth is that Kikwang is strangely experienced. When Hyunseung finally surrenders, Kikwang laughs falling off the couch. Hyunseung feels bad until he looks over and whispers, “I told you.”
He has no idea how Kikwang lures him into playing one, two, ten more times over the next two weeks, but, then again, Hyunseung has no idea how he’s come to spend so much time with Kikwang.
He also doesn’t know how he, without fail, sneaks a photograph of the cheesiest thing they see each day into Hyunseung’s bag. He keeps them, though, atop his desk, not sure why his palms sweat when he looks at them.
--
He’s not sure quite why he tells Kikwang, or how the words even get out of his mouth. It happens when Kikwang invites (more accurately, begs) him to come along to a noraebang, and for some odd reason he decides to tag along. Kikwang spends most of the time singing old songs from the nineties, and an odd melancholy comes over Hyunseung when he picks one of 1TYM’s hits. He sits on the couch, flipping through the songbook, and then stares at the ceiling, lying on his back. When the song ends, Kikwang looks at him, confused. “You feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says, tossing the songbook back on the table. “It’s just…”
“Do you want to sing?”
“Not right now.” He sighs and starts. “Before I was in Cube, I was under YG. I used to live with Jiyo-G-Dragon, and we were supposed to debut as Big Bang with four other guys. We had this documentary on MTV, and then they decided six was too many, so…you can imagine who got kicked off. I was too shy, on and off stage. I could have improved, but being criticized so publicly…I shrunk away. I thought the whole city was laughing at me.”
“…Oh.” Kikwang walks over to Hyunseung’s end of the couch, sitting next to him. “It must be pretty horrible, seeing them everywhere.”
“I try to avoid thinking about it, now,” he says. “Or even talking about it. You’re the first person I’ve told.”
“I feel honored.” Kikwang laughs nervously. “I mean…I’m sorry. Really.”
“It’s okay,” he says, and pushes himself off the couch. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”
They sing Tell Me next, and it’s at once anticlimactic and strangely satisfying.
--
A few days later, they’re walking around in Myungdong when Kikwang stops in the middle of the road. He looks left, then right, and nods a few times at nothing in particular. “This should be good,” he says.
Hyunseung walked a little further, and he turns around, coming back. “You’re taking a picture?”
“No,” Kikwang says, and it’s then that he notices the digital camera in his hand. “I thought we could dance here.”
Hyunseung’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
“For practice?” Kikwang says, shrugging. “Why, you don’t want to?”
“Do you have speakers?” Hyunseung asks. Kikwang shakes his head. “Then what do you want to use?”
“Nothing,” he says, simply. “You don’t need music to dance.”
Hyunseung looks at the street in front of him, swallowing. He starts feeling the familiar performance nerves and clenches both his fists; there are worse things, he tells himself, that he could try to do. Maybe.
Kikwang walks to the middle of the street, finding a small clearing, and Hyunseung slowly follows him. Kikwang starts counting down with his fingers, and it occurs to Hyunseung that he’s never actually danced in front of him in any capacity.
There’s no one watching them when they start, and that makes it a little better. He’s never been great at freestyle, and part of him wants to stop everything he’s doing and start one of the choreographies he’s been practicing at Cube. He’s not thinking by the time people stop and stare, and takes him even longer to realize that Kikwang isn’t dancing anymore, now standing in front of the passersby with his camera covering his face. Kikwang gives him a thumbs-up, and Hyunseung, panting, goes on for another minute.
His eyes widen when he stops to the tune of faint applause. He retreats to a corner of the street, and Kikwang comes up behind him with a water bottle. “Why did you stop?” he asks.
“I…” Kikwang stops, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk. “I wanted to watch you. And I wanted to record it so you’d remember it.” He pulls out a bottle of water from his bag, handing it to Hyunseung. “You’re not too shy, and you’re definitely good enough. Want to see?”
“No,” he says, pushing the camera away. “I told you that stuff didn’t bother me anymore, you know.”
“Yeah.” Kikwang stuffs the camera back in his bag. “I wanted to make sure.”
Hyunseung takes a sip from the bottle, staring at Kikwang like he’s some kind of alien. “Why do you care?”
This makes him frown, and he turns away, fixing his gaze on the buildings across the street. “I’m your friend,” Kikwang says, and when Hyunseung doesn’t reply, he adds, weakly, “Aren’t I?”
Hyunseung’s never thought about what Kikwang is, at least, after he stopped being a stranger. He looks at their bags, sitting next to each other on the sidewalk, and realizes the last picture either of them took was of them, together, eating rice cakes on the subway. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, sitting down. “Thanks.”
Kikwang beams. “You’re welcome.”
--
Hyunseung looks over his shoulder. “Uh, Kikwang?”
“Yeah?”
He points at the front desk, where the bookstore manager is giving them a suspicious stare. “I think we’re going to get kicked out.”
Kikwang scoffs. “Don’t be silly,” he says. “We’re just taking pictures of the merchandise, we’re not stealing anything.” He crouches onto the floor with a sigh, rearranging the books on the shelf. “Do you think these look old enough?”
Hyunseung stares at the shelf; the books that Kikwang’s included are classics, but newer-looking editions. “Define old,” he says neutrally.
“Do they look like they’d smell?”
“…No.”
“Then they’re not old enough.” Kikwang frowns. “Maybe I can readjust the focus off the books and onto the shelf.”
“Yeah, that sounds-“
“Wait.” Kikwang runs a finger along the shelf. “Is it dusty enough?”
“It’s fine,” Hyunseung says, looking back at the desk. “Just hurry, he’s getting really suspicious of us.”
“Don’t worry, I’m taking it right now.” Kikwang leans in, squinting. “1, 2-“
“Excuse me.” The manager comes up behind them, and a shiver runs up Hyunseung’s spine. “What exactly are you doing?”
Kikwang beams up at the man. “Making art, sir.”
The man heaves a long, tired sigh. “Well.”
--
“I can’t believe that,” Kikwang whines. “I didn’t even get to finish the shot.”
Hyunseung stares into the depths of his smoothie. “You did completely mess up an entire bookshelf.”
“I was going to rearrange it!”
“Yes, well.” Hyunseung can’t stop himself from laughing. “Not everyone sees your artistic vision.”
“Hmph.” Kikwang takes out his camera again, pushing his smoothie to the middle of the table. “I’m ignoring you.”
Hyunseung raises an eyebrow. “Really.”
“Yes.” Hyunseung hears a few clicks, and then Kikwang moves the smoothie to the right. “Seriously,” he mutters to himself, “All I wanted to do was play around with focus.”
Hyunseung snickers. “I know.”
“I’ll just do it with our cups.” He smiles, leaning into the table. “This makes a better picture than the books, anyway.”
“You’re not ignoring me, Kikwang.”
He looks up, glaring. “Shut up, I am now.”
In the darkroom, Kikwang takes extra care of the photos, staring intently at each of them. When he’s hung all of them up on the clothesline, he goes into the kitchen to get a drink, leaving Hyunseung alone. It’s then that he gets his first good look at the pictures, and he realizes, suddenly, that they’re not of the smoothies at all-there’s four of Hyunseung from various angles, the backgrounds a blur of colors, and then one, at the end of the line, of a heart drawn on the table in red pen. Hyunseung feels nervous, suddenly, and for a split second he wonders.
“Did they come out all right?” Kikwang asks, grinning ear to ear, when he comes back in the room.
Hyunseung blushes. “Yeah, they’re fine,” he says, and then he starts to hope.
By the time he walks back to his apartment, he’s talked himself out of it. He takes a look at his desk, feeling his heart pound, and then falls onto his bed with an exasperated groan.
--
Hyunseung walks out of the recording room the next week with his phone buzzing from inside his bag. He lets it ring as he gets a water bottle from the vending machine, pulling it out after he takes a drink. Two missed calls the display says, both from Kikwang.
He leans against the wall and calls him back. Kikwang answers after the first ring. “Hyunseung?”
“You called?”
“Yeah.” Kikwang pauses, sighing. “You wanna take some pictures?”
Hyunseung thinks about it; he’s free until later that night, when he’s coming back to the studio with Yoseob and a few other trainees. “Sure,” he says, “When?”
“Now,” Kikwang says quickly, and then adds, “I mean, is that okay? If you meet me at the Gangnam station in ten minutes or so?” His voice is unusually shaky, but Hyunseung brushes it off.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” he says. “I just got out of vocal training.”
“Great, I’ll see you there,” Kikwang says, and hangs up abruptly. Hyunseung stares at his phone for a moment, wondering if he’s done something wrong, and stuffs it in his pocket.
For once, Kikwang isn’t late; when Hyunseung arrives, he looks like he’s been waiting for several minutes. He gives Hyunseung a fleeting smile and points across the street. “Let’s walk over there,” he says, and Hyunseung nods, following him to the stoplight.
It’s Kikwang that usually does most of the talking, but he’s eerily quiet, his camera sitting at his side. Hyunseung trails behind him, unsure if he should talk, and snaps a few pictures of cars going by to distract him.
When Kikwang stops, suddenly, he hasn’t even lifted his camera up. He points to a coffee shop on the second floor of the building in front of them. “Want to go inside?” he asks. Hyunseung nods noncommittally, and Kikwang makes his way to the stairs. Once they’re inside, he walks past the cashier to a table by the window and sits down.
“Something’s wrong,” Hyunseung says, setting his bag down in one of the armchairs. “Do you want a drink?”
“No.” Kikwang stretches out, looking up at him. “And nothing’s wrong.”
Hyunseung’s eyes narrow. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Then stop it.” He sits down. “You’re acting weird.”
“I’m not-“ Kikwang sighs. “Do you really want to know?”
Hyunseung glares at him. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.”
“I guess.” Kikwang looks down, then out the window, then up at Hyunseung, then down at the table again. “They’re moving me to Cube.” Hyunseung almost smiles until he sees the dejected look on Kikwang’s face. “It’ll be great to be with you guys, but I can’t help but feel like I’m being demoted.” He reaches into his bag, pulling out a few photos. “What did I do wrong? I mean, I put my all into every practice, I was never out of line…did Jinyoung-hyung not like me? He never seemed like he didn’t…do you think he found-“
“Calm down,” Hyunseung says, pushing his bag aside and sitting in the armchair. “Do you remember what you said to me, when we were with Yoseob?” Kikwang shakes his head, shuffling the photos between his hands. “You said that the company doesn’t matter, as long as you’re talented. Don’t you believe that?”
“Yeah,” he says, “But-“
“It was terrible leaving YG, too,” Hyunseung says. “But you’re getting another chance. It’s a smaller company, you’ll get better faster. You’ll debut faster. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Of course,” he says, “But what if he’s getting rid of me because I can’t debut?”
“I can tell you from experience,” he says with a frown, “That he would have just let you go.”
“I forgot, I’m sorry.” He leaves the photos flat on the table. “There’s something else, though.”
“Hm?”
It’s a long, heavy silence. Kikwang gives Hyunseung an uneasy look. “Has anyone ever let a trainee go because of…” he sets his head on the table. “Jesus, I can’t even say it.”
“Say what?”
“Here.” He slides one of the photos across the table. Hyunseung picks it up; it’s the photo he saw in the darkroom, the heart scribbled on the table. His pulse races. “You can walk out, right now, if you want to,” Kikwang whispers. “I won’t hold it against you.”
“What are you-“ Hyunseung shakes his head, putting the photo down. “I’m not like that. I don’t know if JYP is, but I’m not.” His hands are sweaty, and he runs them down his jeans. “If you wanted, we could try this. Slowly.”
Kikwang frowns. “People would-“
“That’s not their business,” he says. “Is this what you want?”
Kikwang looks down at the pictures still resting on the table. He says nothing as he picks them up, puts them back in his bag, and then reaches under the table for Hyunseung’s hand. “Yeah.”
--
There’s no fanfare on Kikwang’s first day at Cube. The coaches treat him as any other trainee, not bothering to introduce themselves before practice starts. Hyunseung doesn’t even get the chance to talk to him until their first break, and even then Kikwang spends most of it introducing himself to the other trainees. His eyes light up when he recognizes other JYP transplants, hugging them warmly, and Hyunseung eventually drifts back to Yoseob. He’s just relieved to see Kikwang being normal again.
When they’re given a lunch break, Hyunseung pulls him aside, slipping a picture into Kikwang’s hands for the first time. “Welcome to Cube,” he whispers, and turns around, blood rushing to his face, to head for the vending machine.
He leaves Kikwang alone in the practice room, but it takes him mere seconds to catch up to Hyunseung and wrap his arms around his waist. He hums contentedly into Hyunseung’s shoulder, holding the photo where only the two of them can see it.
It’s a wooden table, always have, always will etched in red pen on the top.
Poll Round 9: Angle of view