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It is a tradition for the first word to be said by the mother. Baby cradled in her arms, she would call them “son” or “daughter”, repeating until the words birthed on their skin.
Jeonghan’s parents loved him very much. When he was born, his eomma pressed her lips against the top of his head and whispered his name so reverently, the hanja flourished like fine calligraphy, smaller than a fingernail. Thin elegant strokes painted themselves on the crown of Jeonghan’s head and the midwife had smiled, saying “He’s going to grow up beautiful.”
The style of the strokes changed as he aged. Sharper with the “Yoon Jeonghan” yelled out at roll call, darker with the “Yoon Jeonghan “ gritted by his father when he came home late, thinner with the “Yoon Jeonghan” sighed by his sister when he cancelled on her again.
He is 22 when Seventeen’s Angel Yoon Jeonghan appears, curling like a hand around his neck, just below the collar.
In kindergarten they are taught not to ask about anyone else’s words. It is only polite after all. For every lovely and cute there is an equal number of stupid and useless. If you’re a teacher, it’s an awkward moment when a child runs up with their hand outstretched and the word is horrible and ugly and nothing that should be said to a 5 year old that still viewed the world with glittering eyes.
In high school Jeonghan is on the rooftop with a love letter in one hand. The girl’s face is hidden by her fringe and her friends are hidden by the air conditioning tanks. She is talking and talking and the Internet had taught Jeonghan to smile and nod and listen. As she speaks, the pretty on his arm becomes a little darker and charming stings like a fresh tattoo.
Jeonghan thanks her as kindly as he can but even so, when he goes to the bathroom the day after, he sees asshole-stuck-up-selfish-cold in tight emotionless print on the inside of his thigh.
When he walks into the classroom, he feels the whispers.
You see, there is only one rule about the words. You can’t predict which words will appear, or know where they will turn up or how they look. They don’t even need to be true.
Words don’t appear unless you mean what you said.
Celebrities are proud of having many words on their skin. It’s part of the job after all, to be talked about.
Kim Jaejoong had a chest full of adjectives. In 2009 at the Tokyo Dome Concert he had ripped off a white shirt and shown the world what it looked like to be an idol.
When he flexed, the words rippled across his skin like a thousand stories, a thousand points of pride. Popular was painted on his bicep, and handsome was a bold headline on his chest, so massive there could not be any doubt as to its sincerity. There are praises strung on his abdomen, (irresistable-talented-amazing) and his waist was almost inked black with overlapping letters.
There’s a picture of this moment, Jaejoong’s frame lit by stadium lights, his back a dictionary in love. It made the newspapers and Jeonghan had cut it out, left it pressed in his exercise book. He didn’t know how to sing or dance, but at that moment, he had wanted, wanted.
Soonyoung has hardworking in block letters on his forearm, and Jihoon has the same on his knuckles. Jeonghan stares at it when they shake hands and he bows a little deeper, talks a little softer.
Seokmin and Seungkwan already has full, developed voices that doesn’t quiver when they dance. Jun and Ming Ming do the splits when they stretch. Jisoo plays the guitar and Seungcheol has been a trainee longer than all of them. Jeonghan has never practiced singing or dancing in his life.
It had felt so odd being the second oldest but so obviously the least talented in this stunning, cohesive group.
Everyone had smiled when they saw him, promised to look after him and wished him the best. But every day Jeonghan twists himself in front of the mirror, scouring his body for new words like useless or lazy or lucky.
Those words don’t appear but pretty becomes a little larger. He grows his hair out and then they debut and by Mansae, the word wraps around his entire arm.
”Pretty”, the fans giggle.
“Pretty”, the stylist coos as they straighten his hair.
“You’re so pretty,” Seungcheol says, calloused hands cupping his cheek. He smells like soju but his eyes are clear and Jeonghan laughs, bright like bells and tight like a learned habit.
“They like it when you say that,” the noona taps her clipboard, “When you call Jeonghan pretty.”
“Okay,” Seungcheol doesn’t look at him. In their early years Seungcheol’s ears always heated up when he was embarrassed about fanservice. Right now, they’re already pinkish and Jeonghan is caught between amusement and mortification.
“Keep complimenting each other, show that you’re close.”
“Okay.”
“You’re doing well, just pay attention to what they scream at and do more of it.”
“Yes noona.”
“Seungcheol, you can go, I’ve got a couple more things to go over with Jeonghan.”
“Yes, thank you.” Seungcheol bows and exits and Jeonghan is left fidgeting in his seat.
“We’ve decided on a concept for you, to draw in fans and also to help differentiate the members. We decided that you should be the flower boy of the group — like Ren you know?”
Jeonghan swallows and nods.
“It worked really well for Nu’Est and you’ll fit the androgynous look well. So from now on, we want you to start growing out your hair and being aware of how you’re interacting with the group and how you look on camera. Think SS501’s Hyunjoon, Super Junior’s Heechul,” she hands him a piece of paper, “We had a look at the 17TV footage from the past two weeks and made a list of suggestions to help you grow into the concept. You’re not in charge of reactions, so don’t be excessive, it doesn’t look good when you laugh loudly. Try to be refined and don’t do body gags, leave those to Seungkwan or Soonyoung.”
Looking down at the paper, Jeonghan reads a few more — No eye rolls or side eyes, don’t complain about being tired, don’t pull away when members hug you. Stop sighing. Stop slouching. Stop mumbling.
“Since you’re also a hyung, you need to show that you’re caring and considerate about all the members. Especially Chan, the fans expect that. I know you’re not close with ever member yet but don’t let it show, make them think we’re a family. Seungcheol’s the leader but we want you to be a mother that pulls the team together.”
Jeonghan winces but then quickly covers it behind a cough.
“Hug everyone more, do some skinship when the cameras are on. Don’t think about yourself, think about how it looks.”
She taps the page again, “I don’t mean to be blunt, but you know we can’t sell your singing or dancing. Working on this is important.”
They’ve finished another grueling day of practice, finishing well after midnight. Most of them have left, Mingyu first, then Hansol and Samuel. Soonyoung has escaped to the closest 7-Eleven to sneak in snacks and the rest have collapsed in bundles of limbs against the wall.
Jeonghan was changing a shirt and found Risk on his ribcage, new and small but dark and obvious against the pale skin of his chest. He stares at it for a moment, arms frozen in place, mind whirring through the possibilities. He must’ve stood still for too long because his eyes meet Jisoo’s in the mirror. Jeonghan hurriedly whips a fresh shirt on and decides to keep practising.
The evaluators smile, “You’ve been working hard Jeonghan, well done.”
Jeonghan looks down and bites back the smile, “Thank you.” Reassurance settles, heavy and warm. He can breathe easier.
That night he’s woken up by a sharpness on his chest. He bolts up, grabs his phone, and then below Risk —
Weak point
Complacent
Not ready
He can’t sleep that night, thinking, thinking.
It becomes easier once the behaviour becomes forced into a habit. A chain of reactions that Jeonghan pushes himself to learn.
Every time he walks into a room he scans for a camera. If it’s recording then Jeonghan shifts gears.
Back straight, smile blinding, hand on the nearest body.
He bites down every sigh and wince when the PDs motion for more fanservice, and dutifully executes all the planned gags, the hair flicks, the flying kisses and Dino whose baby are you. He thinks about the angle of his jaw and how big his nostrils look when he breathes loudly.
He makes it to debut, lip-syncing to Seungkwan’s voice. He doesn’t ask for any more lines.
They’re in the waiting room for Inkigayo when Jeonghan sees a naver article about their debut. It’s well researched, referencing After School and Nu’Est, and it delves into industry terminology like promotional strategy and marketing concept. There’s praise of their choreography, how synchronised they all were (how they will be known as the kings of synchronisation, how they’ve made their weakness a strength), and there’s praise of their stage, the youthful energy of their acting. They praise Seungkwan’s high notes and Minghao’s acrobatics and then —
”We understand Pledis had many accomplished trainees that have been ready to debut for a long time, but we wonder if pushing the large boy group concept is worth it. On stage, the talent discreptency is obvious and it makes their performance jarring to watch.”
And then further down, into the comments.
Ahhh, the one with long hair. He’s the visual right?
At least lipsync better lol
He’s a “vocal” because he can’t do anything else.
They only gave him one line keke
They go on and on, unending.
Jeonghan drops his phone, shaking, wonders if the other members else reads these comments, if anyone from the company reads it and thinks I told you so, if Seungcheol, the one who has trained the longest, reads it and thinks —
The words come more frequently after that, becoming a permanent itch. During practice he tries to ignore it, tries to focus on Chan’s encouragements, Soonyoung’s directions. For every Good work there is untalented stewing in black ink beneath his shirt.
This marking and unmarking of words, ebbing and flowing even in the most private of moments. It becomes something he has to get used to, something he has to fall asleep to. Some nights he feels like a stranger in his own skin, staring open-eyed at the ceiling as faraway conversations make themselves known. He’s never been an easy sleeper. Every time he feels the prickle, he thinks about what new phrase now marks his skin.
He steps into the studio just as Seokmin is finishing up. Jihoon sounds stern.
“Seokmin you don’t have to do those notes lives. You can pre-record some. MRs and LMRs exist for a reason.”
“It’s fine hyung,” Seokmin’s fingers creases the hem of his shirt, “I’m main vocal and our fans … have expectations for us. I can’t disappoint them.”
Jeonghan swallows. He lets his thoughts rear for a moment, his own deficiencies, doubts, and disasters. The angry part of him that wants to seethe in envy and the brittle parts that want to never sing again. He takes a deep breath. He is Seventeen’s Yoon Jeonghan.
“Seokminnie, uri Jihoon~” He bounces in. When both their faces brighten, the responding smile comes a little easier to Jeonghan.
A few months after debut, words started to appear in other languages. They came up in brief flashes, tiny strokes that would flare like a sunburn before fading. If it was English, they would try and figure it out themselves, pressing the letters one by one as they enunciated each syllable. If it was Chinese, they would rush to Jun for a translation (because he’s pliant no matter how much you pester him, unlike Minghao).
Sometimes the words will stay. Jisoo has Gentleman in at least 4 languages, Seungkwan has funny, and when Seungcheol discovered his Seventeen’s Leader S.Coups he had burst out of the bathroom, jeans half-off and shirtless. He had run into Jisoo and Jisoo had grabbed Jeonghan and here they were in the corridor scanning his body like modern art. Seungcheol’s shoulder blade sparkles with words, there’s reliable on the left and strong on the right and Jeonghan swallows down his jealousy like medicine. Seungcheol is looking at him, so young and believing and expectant.
“You deserve it,” Jeonghan says and watches Seungcheol’s face light up like a script. Jeonghan opens his arms and Seungcheol is automatically there, eyelashes brushing the crook of his neck with his breath. “Well done,” Jeonghan says to the space in front of them.
Seungcheol is at heart, a maknae.
Someone who would play cute to get what he wanted, who is used to being plied with affection until he is full and sated. Someone who always leans in, clinging onto the closest warm body. A stray hand on Jeonghan’s waist, on his shoulder, curling around his neck, so natural it seems Seungcheol does it unconsciously. Someone who always thinks the best of everyone around him, who believes in goodwill and kind souls and angels.
Being a leader doesn’t come easy to him, and Seungcheol has carried the word like Atlas has carried the world. Hiding his frustration, listening to others, those are actions he had to work at because it was so against his nature.
Professionally, this softer side of Seungcheol stays down, bolted away by Seventeen’s Leader S.Coups. In front of the team, he becomes someone who takes to all the complaints and whining, someone who is slow to anger and quick to listen.
Jeonghan notices.
Notices when the meetings with the company get long and harsh. How Seungcheol keeps a copy of the contract next to his bed and a written note of issues that should be raised. Healthier meals, more rest time, nicer cars. Jeonghan notices the cycle of dark circles and thick concealer, the way Seungcheol’s shoulders relax and tense.
So if some nights, Jeonghan lets Seungcheol climb into his bed and cling onto his waist, that’s a secret between them.
If, the cameras are off and Seungcheol stumbles towards him, if Jeonghan lets Seungcheol indulge in his warmth, he doesn’t think about what it could mean. He’s doing this to keep Seungcheol functioning, because Seungcheol keeps them together.
Seungcheol doesn’t have a single bad word on his body. Every character is honourable and worthy of being shown off. There’s 5 centimetres of friend on his fingers and handsome runs across his abs like a stream. Jeonghan smooths his fingers over the taut skin and he’s not sure if he should feel jealous or reverent, carrying these shameful words and touching someone so honestly pure.
If one day Seungcheol’s kiss misses his cheek, Jeonghan swallows his guilt and allows it.
Their bathroom doors are always kept unlocked. It became normal to use the toilet while someone is brushing their teeth, or to slide into a shower that was already occupied. They’ve seen everything of each other.
Jeonghan tries to go first, to be showered and dressed by the time Jun or Seokmin comes in to brush their teeth or cleanse their face. After all, there are words that he wants to keep locked away, just in case they understand where that word comes from, agree with it, and have word grow deeper towards his bones.
He’s brushing his teeth when Seokmin is showering and he is unusually quiet, the type of loud silence that shows he’s mulling over something dark and deprecating. Jeonghan watches him for a second, the slouched shoulders and the glazed expression. He’s tired too but they have an early morning recording and if Seokmin cries all night, his voice will suffer.
“Seokmin, you got a new word,” Jeonghan says eventually, trying to sound surprised.
“Really?” Seokmin spins around in his spot, spraying water. He’s got an elbow twisted behind his head and one leg on the toilet seat.
Jeonghan laughs, watches him struggle for an indulgent second then pulls him towards the mirror. Jeonghan maneuvers him into place and taps at the heavenly inked into his side.
The two of them look at it in silence.
“Oh,” Seokmin whispers finally.
“Yeah,” Jeonghan agrees.
Seokmin reaches out to brush against the text, “Really?”
“Wow,” Jeonghan smiles, “Heavenly. That’s new. I don’t think anyone else has that. You’re heavenly Seokminnie.”
“Hyuuung. It’s too much. I’m not — I’m nowhere — ”
“Someone thinks so. I think so.”
Seokmin flushes.
“It’s your voice,” Jeonghan coos, “Smooth, warm, strong. When you sing, it brings people happiness but also serenity.”
Seokmin is looking down, quiet, so Jeonghan bends, brushing Seokmin’s hair back, “Don’t you think so?”
Seokmin shakes his head.
“Hm?”
“I’m not always singing at my best, and sometimes I don’t adjust my mic correctly so the volume is too loud, and then — Seokmin gulps, “Hyung.”
“I’m listening,“ Jeonghan draws him in, places Seokmin’s head on his shoulder.
“Then when I think too much about the dance I forget about my expressions, and it’s silly and all wrong and boring, and then yesterday I was so tired I couldn’t control my breathing so everyone heard it over the melody.” Seokmin shakes, “And last week when I did the high note my voice cracked.”
“I noticed,” Jeonghan teases, and Seokmin tears up, “Oh Seokminnie.”
“I make so many mistakes.”
“We all do.”
“I shouldn’t be. I thought I practiced enough.”
“You did though.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“If I was good enough this wouldn’t happen.”
“No, no, no,” Jeonghan strokes Seokmin’s hair, “You’re more than good enough. Sometimes it just happens. When they don’t give us enough water, or if the air conditioning is on too high, or if the belt they give you is too tight. Some things are out of your control.”
Seokmin sniffs.
“And you’re doing your best and we’re so glad to have you. I’m glad to have you,” Jeonghan pats his back, “And doing the high notes is a big responsibility. Not everyone can do it right? There’s no way I can do it, my voice will crack all the time. Or — imagine this. Mingyu doing the high note.”
Seokmin snorts.
“Mingyu, who drops microphones, who wakes up 5 minutes before the broadcast. Mingyu being lifted up by Coups.” Jeonghan mock-sings in a low tone, “Baby you are my angel~”
“Stop it hyung,” Seokmin says, but he doesn’t really mean it because Jeonghan can feel the smile against his skin.
“Think about this Seokminnie, you wouldn’t be making mistakes if you weren’t putting yourself out there to do the difficult stuff” Jeonghan reaches for Seokmin’s back, touching where he remembers the words to be, “You’re hardworking,” Tap., “diligent,” Tap, “and clever.” Tap.”And people notice.”
Seokmin pushes forward and rushes Jeonghan into a tight hug. They spend a few moments until Seokmin’s breathing comes slower, softer.
“Thank you, I’m glad we have you hyung.”
“Me?”
“Because you’re our angel.”
“That’s corny.”
Pouting, Seokmin hugs harder, “I mean it.”
Jeonghan laughs softly, “I try to be.”
He runs into Seungcheol outside, lingering next to the door.
Seungcheol doesn’t say anything, but he spins Jeonghan by his waist, catches his wrist and presses him into the wall. His lips are on Jeonghan’s neck and he’s mouthing something against his pulse.
“Cheollie,” Jeonghan hisses. He thinks of Seokmin right behind them, Jun in the kitchen and Mingyu sleeping on the floor.
Not easing his grip, Seungcheol looks up with a smile, “I’m so thankful I have you.” He ducks back down and mouths against Jeonghan’s skin, “Seventeen’s Angel.”
“I try to be,” Jeonghan repeats, “I try to be.”
“You are,” Seungcheol looks up and his eyes are so full of overflowing adoration Jeonghan’s heart winces and he looks away.
And then it becomes a thing. While Seungcheol is in charge of all the correspondence with the company, Jeonghan is the one that communicates with the younger members. His door is open and sometimes it’s Seokmin who tumbles in at midnight after a recording session, or a quiet Minghao with his shoulders and lips tight. Sometimes he needs to go out and find Jihoon or Soonyoung who treats the word Success like a blood contract.
And then Jeonghan would gather them into his arms like lost sheep, holding them tight, stroking their hair and whispering word after word until their hearts are a little lighter.
And then they will come back when they need him, back to the warmth of someone who they trust will always be sincere.
Somehow it is sincere. Even though Jeonghan feels like a fraud when he speaks, an actor whose script has already been written — it’s sincere. Even when he’s annoyed, he can look at Chan and think of the sessions when they practiced until sunrise, or Hansol writing song after song until Bumzu finally accepts a few lines. Even on tired days, Jeonghan can scrape out the happiness from the bottom of his heart so that it’s heard in his voice. He’s willing to sit there and repeat words like hardworking and diligent and clever until his dongsaengs feel it on their skin.
Thank you for supporting us~
“Ah I’m already full on our Carat’s love~”
“Happiness is whenever I’m with the members.”
And it’s true, it has to be true even if Jeonghan thinks about it in advance and says it ten, a hundred times. Somehow Jeonghan can push past the debilitating self-doubt and imposter syndrome and land in a place that’s cotton candy soft. Because they will know if he doesn’t mean it. It’s the moment when he looks into a fan’s eyes and say, “You’re precious to me”, watching them gasp as they touch their neck, or their wrist, or their heart, surprised at the physical manifestation of his sincerity. And then they will take a picture and post it on twitter to share with the world as proof. Let them talk about me.
He chases that kind of attention. The raw power of a small action that can cause a whole stadium to scream. He lets Seungcheol hold him by his hair and he lets Seungcheol bite his shoulder because the rising voices and the furious clicking of shutters, that means something to him. The first time he stood on stage, facing the modest crowd of adoring fans who watched their every move, Jeonghan understood. He will never dance as powerfully as Soonyoung and Chan, or sing as powerfully and Seokmin or Seungkwan
If he looks at them and smiles with all his heart, they will love him.
If he shaped his personality to fill the persona that have been bestowed, they will love him.
If he is perfect, they will love him.
Their popularity explodes in 2016 with Aju Nice. All of a sudden they are getting new words on them every day, in more and more languages. Seungkwan has given up on keeping track, but Jeonghan does, just to repeat it back to them when they forget.
Most of the time it’s worth repeating, something like talented or inspiration or hope.
But sometimes the words are awkward and unwanted. Mingyu once had Daddy appear on his armpit the day before an MV filming and some poor intern had to sew on a sleeve to hide it.
When Seokmin started doing body gags on variety shows, embarrassing had shown up in jagged letters behind his ear, like someone had cut it into his skin. Seungkwan sits behind him every morning, dabbing concealer until it is gone.
Jeonghan gets them too. In the quiet of the bathroom he glances over the old and touches the new. There’s feminine in cursive script along the side of his neck, something he can only see in full if he arches. He had heard the stylists debating about whether they should hide it or show it off, if it would be too controversial if they marketed a male idol like this.
There’s sexy on his ankle, just below the bone. Actually half of the members have it now, and it became something they would laugh about. Jisoo would call Soonyoung an idiot but then Soonyoung would flick his wrist and show off the words on his arm.
And then there’s the word on his lower back, where his spine dips. A word no one knows is there. The reason why he tucks all his shirts in, says no to the crop top or the sheer fabrics.
Fuckable.
That word, it would flicker every once in a while, just when he forgot it was there. The first time he saw it, a shiver shot up his spine, leaving his limbs cold.
He supposes it was inevitable, with the way they were meant to look, the way they — he — Yoon Jeonghan was marketed. They’ve told him from early on that fans would talk, that people could say anything about them because they were public figures and sitting ducks to be sniped at but this, this —
Jeonghan had wanted to scream, to run to the bathroom and scrub his skin raw until the words peeled off.
(They would never)
To hold his clothes tightly to himself and look at everyone who watched him in the eye as if to ask
Did you think this.
But what terrified him most of all was the possibility that it was said by someone he knew.
When they come together it’s always quick and quiet. In the dark and underneath the covers where no one can see them and nothing can be seen. Seungcheol likes to mark him. He bites at Jeonghan’s collarbone like he’s trying to leave a lasting impression, but he also whispers words against his stomach and it makes Jeonghan’s gut twist in guilt because every word that Seungcheol says appears on his skin. And Jeonghan feels like a scam.
Because underneath the shirt that he always keeps on (just in case Wonwoo walks in) there are a dozen ugly words he does not want anyone to see. The ones from high school and training are still there, but debut has added more. Boring - privileged - ungrateful.
He catches Seungcheol mouthing against his back and he twists around.
“Shhh, shhh,” Jeonghan tries to sound light, “You better not be adding any more words.”
Seungcheol chuckles, “Nothing that hasn’t been said before.” Then he dips his head down and the heat on Jeonghan’s body is twofold. First, where Seungcheol’s lips touch, then second, where the words are because oh, Seungcheol is sincere when he says —
Mine
Jeonghan’s fingers grabble at the sheets, throwing his head back across Seungcheol’s shoulder. Yours, he tries to say, but the sound chokes in his throat and nothing comes out.
For Jeonghan’s birthday fans trend #1004AngelJeonghanDay on naver and twitter. It’s endearing and Jeonghan takes a screenshot and croons about it on vlive. He’s in the middle of talking when it happens, hot ink scratching lines around his throat. The chat explodes and the heart count shoots up.
Leaning forward and squinting, Jeonghan sees the spreading darkness amongst the pixels and it takes a few moments to process the mirror image. And then he sees it —
Seventeen’s Angel Yoon Jeonghan. On his neck. As he watches, the lines beyond thicker, bolder, larger until it is curling all the way around the circumference of his neck.
The live is still ongoing. He can hear the pings and the messages coming in. Explanations. Apparently a group of fans had gathered together and chanted, “Happy birthday Seventeen’s Angel Yoon Jeonghan.”
And now everyone is saying it.
It’s true you’re our angel
We are so happy to have you.
I can get through my day because of you .
Fondness bursts in his heart and he pinches himself out of his shock. He blinks, takes a breath and remembers how to look like an idol again. The eye-smile and head tilt that they like.
“I am also Carat’s Angel,” He grins, stretching his neck to show off the words, chooses an angle he knows makes him look good. “I can’t believe this…. I’m so grateful to have felt your sincere words. Thank you.”
Management milks it. Cuts his hair short, gives him shirts with wide necklines and even tells the cameraman to circle around him during his line in Don’t Wanna Cry. They give him the center position for the bridge and his solo photoshoot has him against a white wall, chin up and dark text stark against his pale skin, foundation three shades lighter then it should be.
It makes the headlines because although words on idols were common, video footage of words forming was rare. It becomes a common interview question, ”What did it feel like”, ”Can you show us? and ”What does angel mean, exactly?”. And Jeonghan recites the answers he’s practised before, once, ten times. It’s normally impolite to ask about other people’s words, but idols, as always, are treated a little differently.
Monsta X crowds him in the corridor after their performance, enabled by an eager Soonyoung. Minhyuk is thumbing at the words on his neck and Hyungwon is pulling at his collar for a better look.
“Wow,” Minhyuk says, “That’s a thick one.”
“We saw the video,” Hyungwon adds, “The moment when it appeared, that was cool.”
Jeonghan beams, “Thanks.”
Wonho grimaces, “Management’s pestering us to get nicer words in nicer places. But it’s not like we can control it.”
“Wonho is getting Hyungwon to whisper World’s No. 1 Sexy Man against his bicep.”
Soonyoung’s eyes flashes like he’s been struck by a revelation. Hyungwon makes a face as Jeonghan laughs, “Did it work?”
“No because Hyungwon is as insincere as it gets.”
Hyungwon rolls his eyes, “Do you expect me to have passionate feelings about your bicep?”
“Of course,” Wonho flexes.
Everyone is quiet for a moment to appreciate the sheer size of the bulging mass.
“Anyway,” Minhyuk blinks, “Getting words to appear isn’t as easy as it looks. For something like Jeonghan’s, I think it requires a lot of conviction.”
Wonho chips in, “You should be proud to have fans who care so much about you.”
“Yeah,” Jeonghan hums —
“Oh,” Hyungwon giggles, “What’s this?”
Shownu lets loose a low whistle, “Holy shiiiiit.”
“What?”
Hyungwon’s hands are sprayed across Jeonghan’s nape, his collar loosened and opened. Everyone shuffles around to take a look. Soonyoung gasps.
“There’s a word here, don’t you know?”
It’s in a position that Jeonghan can’t see, no matter how much he twists. “What does it say?”
Wonho takes a photo with his phone.
Oh.
On the back of Jeonghan’s neck, a few vertebrae under his collar, is the word:
Mine.
And in another universe he could’ve laughed it off as another fan-assigned word but right now, the bold, weighted characters are surrounded by a ring of fresh bite marks, his skin scraped red and blue.
“Jeonghan-ssi,” a stern voice carries over. Jeonghan’s head shoots up, meeting their manager’s eyes. They’re in the corridor still. There’s a girl group getting wired up a few meters away and backstage staff is bustling all around them. A make-up artist glances over at their little huddle and Shownu spins Jeonghan around while wrenching down his shirt.
“Let’s head back,” Jeonghan says, jerking down in to a bow, “See you around.”
Their manager doesn’t say anything, but Jeonghan can feel Soonyoung buzzing next to him. When they re-enter the waiting room, Jeonghan avoids looking at Seungcheol.
Any anger Jeonghan felt fizzled the second Seungcheol kissed him, messy and hot and open mouthed. There’s thirty minutes before their recording starts and they’ve crashed themselves into a toilet store.
Seungcheol bites his neck and Jeonghan feels wanted.
“Don’t,” Jeonghan hisses with as much venom as he could gather, “People will see. The fansites will catch it.”
“Let them,” Seungcheol pouts against his skin, lapping the bite mark with his tongue, “We’ll say it’s one of your games with Jisoo.”
“Don’t be silly,” Jeonghan slaps him on the shoulder, “We don’t want people to suspect anything.”
But maybe was already too late.
Even though it’s June, Jeonghan wears turtlenecks until the marks fade. And then when he goes back to t-shirts, Wonwoo tugs down the collar in curiosity. Jun gives him a cringey wink and Jisoo just lifts an elegant eyebrow. Hyelim, their choreographer, subtly tries to look down his back when he does floor choreography and Jeonghan glares at Soonyoung.
“Jeonghan, a word.”
It’s their Vice President. Seungcheol spends a lot of time in his office but Jeonghan rarely goes no matter how often Kim Yeongsoo tells him the doors open. The elevator ride up is stiflingly quiet and when Jeonghan walks through the office, he can feel the hairs on his neck prickle as the staff turn to glance at him.
“Please, take a seat,” Mr Kim closes the door behind him, “Something to drink?”
“It’s fine, thanks for asking.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m doing well.”
“The schedules haven’t been too bad?”
“We have a lot of opportunities to rest,” Jeonghan replies politely.
“I hear you’re going to dance in your solo song?”
“Yes, Chan has been kind enough to choreograph.”
“I look forward to seeing it.” Kim Yeongsoo peers at him and Jeonghan sits up, tightening his hands into fists under the table.
He sighs, “I see you already have a sense of what I’m going to talk to you about. I’ve been hearing rumours lately and … how do I say this…”
Shuffling his feet, Jeonghan bites his lip and tries not to look away in guilt.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to confirm or deny anything, your private life is your own. The stuff I heard is barely credible,” the Vice President scratches his neck, “I understand that as an idol, you already have to sacrifice a lot so you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
Jeonghan sucks in a breath.
“Thankfully, the rumours have just between staff and it hasn’t leaked out. But still, as someone whose career depends on their public image, rumours in the wrong hands can ruin you.”
He continues. “You’re the second eldest and you’ve shown that we can trust you to look after the team. You’ve debuted for a couple of years now and … I’m not saying you’ve grown complacent but… I hope you remember that Seventeen can stand on the stage because of the hard work put in by many people. Not only your managers and the stylists which you see everyday,” Mr Kim looks beyond the glass walls of the cubicle, “But also the staff here. They organise your promotion schedules, negotiate new opportunities and plan your comeback concepts. It’s a lot of work but it’s also work that can be undone. You never know when there are cameras on you, or fans watching. A moment of carelessness can have drastic consequences.”
Jeonghan stays silent.
“Out of respect for you guys, we don’t have a no-dating policy. We trust you. I hope that you, out of respect for us and your fans…”
“I understand,” Jeonghan bows, “I’m sorry to be bringing you any trouble.”
“It’s fine,’ Mr Kim smiles, waving a hand, “This is to protect you as well. Your fans can easily turn into your worst enemies.”
It became a trend in 2009. Fans would get together and chant words until it appeared on their idol’s skin. It wasn’t always positive. Anti-fans could do the same. Jay Park and Tablo, Suzy and UEE.
In 2013 f(x) saesangs made w h o r e appear on Sulli’s forehead, leading to her withdrawal from promotional activities.
In 2014 Super Junior’s Sungmin got married.
Deceiving Sungmin
In 2015, Tao left EXO.
Traitor-line.
And in 2016, Jeonghan got Seventeen’s Angel Yoon Jeonghan. If he thinks about it, if the cards had fallen another way, it could have easily been something else around his neck.
It’s 4am, there’s 30 minutes for 13 showers and when Jeonghan walks in for his turn, Seungcheol is jacking off.
“Um — “
Jeonghan takes a moment for his brain to come up with an excuse before he says fuck it.
“We have to be quick,” he says when he drops on his knees.
“Yeah yeah, god —“ Seungcheol moans, threading his fingers through Jeonghan’s hair. Jeonghan keens at the contact.
When they’re done, Seungcheol is thumbing the words around Jeonghan’s neck, sweeping a large palm across his collar bone and under his shirt. “Take it off, you’re drenched.”
“It’s fine. Later.”
“You’re changing anyway,” Seungcheol moves his hand again and Jeonghan pushes it away.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Seungcheol levels him a heavy, searching look that Jeonghan shrinks under.
“I just realised,” Seungcheol enunciates slowly, “I’ve never seen all your words.”
Jeonghan flinches, “No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Is it bad?” Seungcheol furrows his brows, “Oh Jeonghan.”
“Don’t,” Jeonghan snaps. He’s tired now, too tired to be the Yoon Jeonghan that management’s training him to be, the Jeonghan that Seungcheol likes, now crumbling at the edges with one word from Seungcheol.
“Trust me,” Seungcheol says, honest and open and kind and believing in everything Jeonghan could not give away.
I want to, Jeonghan wants to say. “I hear someone outside,” he says instead, scrambling away.
Two albums in and management wants Jeonghan to start writing.
Watching Jihoon right now, there’s a fifty-fifty that he’s in a forgiving mood.
“Aiiiiiish, that’s too difficult,” Jeonghan whines, draping himself over the back of Jihoon’s chair.
“Too bad hyung,” Jihoon clucks back, curt. Oops not today. He doesn’t even look away from the screen, clicking away at different samples. A short melody plays, then gets aborted with a tap.
Jeonghan ventures again. “I can’t.”
“Hansol did it when he was 16.”
“It won’t be good.”
“Then keep writing until you get something good. Everyone else is doing this.”
“What do I write even about?”
Jihoon shrugs, “Anything, love?”
Jeonghan laughs, “It’s all we write about, but none of us has been in a relationship.”
Freezing for a moment, Jihoon slowly turns his head and stares at Jeonghan. The look he gives is indiscernable — disbelieving, questioning, scathing. His eyes bore into Jeonghan so deeply Jeonghan almost comments to break the silence, but then Jihoon is spinning back around, patting the fat stack of handwritten notes on his desk, “Ask the others if you need help hyung. Good luck.”
“There’s a hyung I know,” Jun says as he’s frying bread. He’s holding the spatula with one hand and the other is scratching his buttocks. “He wrote a song from the perspective of his dog.”
“Okay.”
“It was really touching.”
“Okay Jun.”
“Do you want me to play it for you?” Jun takes the hand that was down his pants and reaches for his phone.
Jeonghan backs away, “It’s fine, I think I get it.”
Sunday morning and Jeonghan pounces on Jisoo when he’s washing his face. “How do you write lyrics.”
Jisoo doesn’t even blink, like it’s a perfectly normal question to start a day on. “Is this for Jihoon.”
“Yes.”
“Hah, I’ve already done mine.”
“What? How? When, gimme gimme,” Jeonghan sidles up to Jisoo, bumping his shoulder, “Just write another one.”
Jisoo slabs a dob of snail essence onto Jeonghan’s nose, “Do it yourself you bum. It’s supposed to be from the heart.”
Scrunching his nose, Jeonghan huffs, “How am I supposed to write about love if I’ve never been in love?”
“Never?” Jisoo stops what he’s doing, “I thought — .”
“What?”
Jisoo is squinting at him in a way that’s oddly familiar. Kind of like how Jihoon looked at him.
“What,” Jeonghan repeats.
‘What then.” Jisoo side eyes him, “Is that thing you got with Seungcheol.”
Jeonghan splutters, almost says nothing but suddenly three different visions of a judgmental Jisoo fly across his mind. He runs through friends-with-benefits, on-off platonic experimentation, but the words collapse on his tongue. Anything half-hearted will get pierced through with how well Jisoo knows him. How do you know he wants to ask, but then, of course Jisoo knows.
“I don’t know”, Jeonghan sighs instead, “It’s not love.”
“What is it then?” Jisoo scoots closer, their hips touching, “You’re pretty close. In a way no one else is.”
“I — “ Jeonghan frowns, “It can’t be love. We’re just co-workers.”
Jisoo blinks, “Is that how you see him?”
“It’s too early for this, Jisoo, I just need some lyric writing ideas.”
“He likes you, you know?”
Jeonghan looks away, curls upon himself, “He shouldn’t.”
“Is this because we’re idols? The whole, we belong-to-the-fans package. Because as Myungho says, that’s bulls —”
“No it’s — “ Jeonghan interrupts before Jisoo swears. Jeonghan shakes his head, scrambles for the words, “Kinda, but also, there’s more to it.”
“Hey, hey, take it easy,” Jisoo says softly, “Tell me about it.”
“I honestly don’t know. I try not to think about it. Why are we having this conversation during your morning cleansing routine.”
“Okay let's reschedule,” Jisoo bends down and splashes cold water against his face, “Hm. How about the 5 minutes when we’re walking from the van to the waiting room? I’m afraid I’m all booked out otherwise.”
Jeonghan twists a piece of Jisoo’s arm until he yelps, flicking tap water to escape. Laughing, Jeonghan flicks back and then it escalates into an all out water battle, only terminated when Jihoon shuffles in to brush his teeth. Jeonghan almost sighs in relief.
“Not even a first love?” Jisoo asks, when they’re in the van eating kimchi fried rice.
“Joshuji,” Jeonghan whines, “I can’t be writing at 24 what Hansol wrote at 16. We’ve graduated that concept already.”
“Never ever?”
“What is love,” Jeonghan sings, then grimaces, “Damn I could’ve done that concept.”
“I’m not letting you escape,” Jisoo whacks him with his elbow, “But why don’t you talk to Hansol about the lyric writing.”
“Maybe I will, since you’re so unhelpful.”
“Did someone sing Twice?” Seungkwan yells from the back. “Manager-nim! Play Twice!”
“There are different kinds of love. You don’t have to write about,” Hansol gestures above his head, “the big kind of love.”
“The Big Kind of Love,” Jeonghan repeats, “I see.”
“Like, it doesn’t have to be Wow or Oomph.”
“Um.”
“Okay, so like, not old-couple-married or chinese-ballad-epic or fairy-tale-eric-nam-perfect,” Hansol explains.
“I think I understand,” Jeonghan doesn’t really, “But I still don’t know how to start writing.”
“What I mean to say is, you experience small bits of love already that you can use,” scratching the back of his neck, Vernon all of a sudden looks wiser than his years. ”You can write about emotions you feel with people you like to be around.”
“But that’s not, romantic love,” Jeonghan furrows. He feels like a disciple. “I don’t think that’s enough to write on.”
“Hyung, I think they’re all love in their own way. Small feelings can be powerful too. Like when you go home and you see your mum and your heart goes soft? Or when someone hugs you at just the right time without being asked? Or a memory that makes you smile whenever you think about it”
“Ah.”
“Is there someone you admire or respect?”
Jeonghan thinks of Seungcheol. The way he leads them all, carries the burden of Seventeen. When he raps on stage, his presence can fill stadiums. If he looks into a camera, no one can look away.
“You can think about that feeling and try to express it in words. And then you think of metaphors that you can describe the feeling through — oceans, flowers, sandwiches, fire trucks, rockets — “
“Okay you can stop there,” Jeonghan stands up, “I’ve got an idea. Thanks.”
Jeonghan can hear “I love you” from two hundred people in a day and ten thousand people all at once. He’s said the words himself so many times that it does not feel like anything. It’s strange, when they train to you love and be loved, how a word changes to become sound only.
What he feels with Seungcheol can never be captured by an “I love you.” It is not the right phrase to say, not the accurate classification for that amalgamation of situations and emotions they found themselves in.
Looking at Seungcheol feels like he’s standing at a cliff edge and all he can do is look over that precipice and imagine falling.
He can’t help but smile when Seungcheol does aegyo without meaning to — when Mingyu’s about to hit him or when the staff is being too strict. If Seungcheol slumps into his seat it’s only natural for Jeonghan to walk an extra corridor to buy vitamin water. Seeing Seungcheol walk out of the Vice President’s office with his head down — Jeonghan wants to take him into bed, ruffle his hair and kiss the crown of his head until the frown fades and a smile rises.
In those moments, Jeonghan could never bear the privilege of saying “I love you.”
People who say “I love you” includes girlfriends and boyfriends exchanging sweet nothings on social media. His mother and father who said it in front of their parents and all their friends with the grandeur of a traditional ceremony. People include idols to their fans and idols to each other. An honest, public, unshameful kind of love worthy of being declared
Jeonghan thinks about loving Seungcheol, and about being loved back. He shudders. It fills him with nausea and trepidation. He thinks about holding hands on the street and immediately tabloids headlines flash. Thinks about kissing Seungcheol and his mind whips back to the Vice-President’s office. Thinks about what the fans would say if, if, if —
The words on his skin itches and Jeonghan closes his eyes, focusing on the formation of letters and characters until he feels like he’s watching a piece of paper and not his own body.
Perhaps, perhaps what he feels towards Seungcheol could be love. But it is a kind of love that can only form inside of him, for himself only. A flower in a dark room that will disappear in the light.
Jeonghan presents his solo song for staff evaluation.
Seungkwan hollers during the chorus and Seokmin copies his hip thrusts.
Chan looks proud.
Seungcheol looks dark, smoldering, contemplative.
When the first set of concerts are finished the entire team gathered in one lounge room and pulled up half a dozen boxes of alcohol.
If someone were to press them, it would be less of a celebration and more of a reason to get shitfaced drunk. Bottles were opened eagerly and behaviour accelerated into the wild and loose territory. Mingyu is wearing Wonwoo’s boxers and Wonwoo is wearing Minghao’s night gown. Every time they stands up there is a distressing amount of leg. Seokmin is between the sofa and the wall.
Chan is still warily sober but Soonyoung is onto him, dragging him into games and complaining loudly when he drinks too little. Jun is the oldest in that circle but he’s the one dutifully topping up drinks. Jeonghan’s not sure if it’s out of sincerity or maleficence — it’s always hard to tell with Jun. They’re currently playing 3-6-9 and Jeonghan contemplates his chances of groping Chan and successfully blaming it on Soonyoung.
Well, his chances are good only if he is able to extricate himself from the mass clinging to his side.
“Yah, Choi Seungcheol.”
Seungcheol snuggles a little closer, slings his leg over Jeonghan’s torso and breathes a heavy waft of soju into Jeonghan’s cheek. He’s permanently affectionate but even more so with a little tipple of alcohol.
“Call me Cheollie,” Jeonghan can hear the pout in his voice.
“Yah Cheollie.”
Seungcheol breathes in and Jeonghan feels the air move. “You’re so pretty.”
Jeonghan snorts, “Thank you.”
“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol pauses and his voice drops, “I can’t stop looking at you.”
Jeonghan freezes, then slowly turns his head to face Seungcheol. They’re nose to nose.
“You’re so pretty.”
Across the room, Chan laughs. Soonyoung is growling and Jun is on the floor writhing. Seokmin is between the sofa and the wall. Wonwoo is wearing Myungho’s night gown. Mingyu is wearing Wonwoo’s boxers. Seungcheol’s hands are cupping his cheek. Jeonghan’s arm is burning. He doesn’t need to look down to know which word it is.
Jeonghan decides to laugh, bright like bells and tight like a learned habit. He butts their heads together like they would at a fansign. “Thank you, I know.”
“I mean it. Jeonghan, you’re the prettiest person I know.”
“Seungcheol, I heard you the first time.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“I do Cheollie.”
Seongcheol’s eyebrows furrows together, eyes looking at something past Jeonghan, mouth quiet. Jeonghan can read him, read how his mind is whirring and somewhere in Jeonghan’s gut, a knife twists and a deep foreboding drops. He should say something before —
All of a sudden Seungcheol stands up, “We’re out of alcohol,” he announces to the room.
No one responds. The level of noise doesn’t even waver.
“We’re going to get alcohol,” he announces again. Then he turns back to Jeonghan, “Come on.”
Seungcheol grabs two puffer jackets and both of them don’t wear their shoes properly, heels bare and pink. When the front door closes, all the sound sinks like an anchor and the two of them is enveloped in a thick silence. It seems as if the party has been muffled into another world.
Seungcheol straightens up and sticks his hands in his pockets. His eyes are clear, his gait is straight and yeah, Jeonghan remembers that it takes Seungcheol more than a couple bottles to even feel tipsy. Jeonghan wants to spin around and walk back inside. It feels like he’s walking into a future he can’t take back, lips glued close by trepidation.
There’s a GS25 downstairs and Seungcheol walks right past the refrigerators to ask the staff for two boxes. The worker that serves them has friendly on his thumb. Jeonghan’s fingers are pale and empty.
Seungcheol dumps the boxes on the metal table outside. He hands Jeonghan a can of Cass and sits down. Jeonghan contemplates standing up and walking back home.
Both of them snap open the can, Jeonghan watching Seungcheol, Seungcheol looking away. He’s backlit by fluorescence and his eyes are clear in the darkness. When he snaps his eyes back, Jeonghan leans out.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Seungcheol cracks his neck, “Hah… just… give me a moment.”
Jeonghan doesn’t reply, just watches him as he takes another swig from the beer. Somebody exits the convenience store and the familiar chime rings behind them, falling into the space in the silence.
Seungcheol breathes out, “It’s a new year and there’s something I want to say to you.”
Jeonghan bites his lip, looking down.
“It’s…” Seungcheol taps the can against the table, “I — , last year — , when you —. Oh this is harder than I expected.”
“Do you have to,” Jeonghan blurts out, the same time Seungcheol says —
“Jeonghan, I — “ Seungcheol blinks, “What?”
“Now — this,” Jeonghan gestures between them, “Do you have to say it?”
“Huh — ? What do you think I’m going to say?”
“I know what you’re going to say Seungcheol. I’ve seen — I, I noticed.”
“What do you think —, no nevermind, Jeonghan. Just hear me out —”
“God, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan looks around, putting down his beer. “No.”
“Jeonghan, over the last year you’ve really been there for me when I needed you, —“
“Shh, shh,” Jeonghan spins his head around wildly, looking for anyone who could hear.
“I’ve noticed how much you’ve done for the team and how you look after others, look after me — “
“Shut up!” Jeonghan’s hands move from the table to his thigh. His arm is still tingling and his body has a thousand more words that could light up tonight, “Sorry,” He says, softer. “I mean, this is serious. Once it’s out you can’t take it back.”
“I won’t,” Seungcheol leans forward, “I don’t want to. I am serious.”
“You don’t know what this means Seungcheol. We have so much to lose. Seungcheol, we — ” Jeonghan motions between them, around them, “We’ve built so much, this will d… We can’t.”
“We won’t lose any of this. I trust you.”
“You trust, me? You don’t know me.”
“Jeonghan what are you talking about. I know you, we’ve been working together for six years.”
Jeonghan bites back a laugh when Seungcheol says working. Jeonghan closes his eyes, exhales once, twice. He sees a high school in the afternoon and there’s ten ways this could end. “Do you have to?” He whispers, “I know what you’re going to say.”
“I have to,” Seungcheol sticks his chin up, “I need to let it out before it destroys me. I’ve felt like this for a while —”
“What if I told you my answer will be no.”
Seungcheol drops his beer. It doesn’t have far to fall but it clangs against the table anyway, and both of them jump. Seungcheol looks at it for a few seconds. Jeonghan watches, watches his eyebrows, his eyelashes, the stillness of his shoulder. Seungcheol squeezes his eyes shut and for a moment something wetly shimmers but then it’s gone, vanished away before Jeonghan could look too closely.
“What? I thought — Jeonghan — ,” Seungcheol pauses, “I thought….”
“I’ve thought about this for a while too. We should end… whatever we’re doing. It’s not fair to either of us.” The chair scrapes back as Jeonghan stands up. Seungcheol gapes up at him. It doesn’t feel like he’s in control of his body, like he’s watching himself move while his mind is screaming to sit down. Like he’s letting a different version of Jeonghan take over, like he himself has disassociated away. “I’m sorry Cheol.” The words are as cold as he feels, it leave his mouth as heavy as lead.
“Why?”
Jeonghan closes his eyes, “It’s for the best.” He takes a step back.
“What? Wait Jeonghan, fuck.” Seungcheol’s chair also scrapes back as he jumps out and it’s even louder than the clang of the beer can. They’re grappling now, hands on wrists and eyes on his face, “I thought — I didn’t think —, no, I didn’t think you’ll react like this.”
“I told you, you don’t know me,” Jeonghan seethes. He feels vile, feels like a train wreck and wildfire, ready to lash out, “And you don’t know what I want.”
“I thought you wanted… “ Seungcheol furrows his brows, blinks, then looks up, eyes wide and earnest, “Your solo song, Jeonghan.”
Jeonghan reels, “What about it?”
“You were thinking of me, when you wrote it. Right?”
“No,” Jeonghan whips his hand back, but Seungcheol’s grip is strong and the motion only brings him closer, into Jeonghan’s space.
“It’s about me.”
“It’s not, Seungcheol, stop this.”
“Explain this then,” Seungcheol throws off his puffer jacket which is already ridiculous because its the middle of winter but then he grabs the hem of his shirt and twists it over his head and now Seungcheol is standing there, in front of the white glow of the convenience store, shirtless in sub-zero.
“Seungcheol!” Jeonghan hisses, but then he jerks. He sees the Seventeen’s Leader S.Coups first because it has grown to be absolutely massive but then his eyes are drawn to the neat block of text just below his ribcage.
you bloom inside of me
His breath freezes in his lungs. His knees buckle and he drops into his seat.
“The whole song, Jeonghan.” Seungcheol walks closer, “It continues, to my hip, down my thigh. I felt every line.”
“I didn’t think — I didn’t mean —”
“Words don’t appear unless you mean it.” Seungcheol is earnest, eyes wide and wet and looking at Jeonghan like he’s the only face in the universe. He doesn’t deserve this measure of unconditional adoration, from a boy who fallen for an angel that only exists on the stage, for the camera, for the attention. The Jeonghan that is currently shivering in a plastic chair is a fraud of the real thing, untalented and unkind and unworthy.
“It’s not what you think,” Jeonghan rasps, barely a whisper.
“Then talk to me Jeonghan, what are you feeling.”
I don’t want to - I can’t - I don’t know how.
Jeonghan wrenches his hand out of Seungcheol’s grip. He knows he’s being immature but his heart is racing and all he knows is the rising fear and the drowning terror.
It’s going to take him nothing to just sit and listen to Seungcheol for a few more seconds, to smile and nod —
To smile and nod and listen.
High school in the afternoon, rooftop confession, air conditioner, bathroom cubicle and whispers in the classroom —
A practice room, a fansign, a stage. Back straight, smile on.
The words tumble out like split water, “Thank you Seungcheol, but I don’t want us to change.” The expression comes easily to him, rising like it does, day to day, “I’ve thought about it before and it won’t work out. I’m not looking for a relationship right now, and my career is not something I want to risk.”
Seungcheol staggers back like he’s been shocked, “Is this what you want?”
Jeonghan pulls his shoulders back, “Yes.”
“I … I can respect that,” Seungcheol whispers. “But please, can you —” he presses his hand against his torso, right where the lyrics are, “Tell me what this means. I want to understand.”
Jeonghan sucks in his breath and the ice-cold air bites into his throat.
“Please, trust me,” Seungcheol pleads.
He spins around and walks away, back to the dorm.
He’s only taken a couple of steps when he hears it.
“You’re cruel, Jeonghan.”
It burns. Flares from his back to the tips of his ears. He’s not sure if it’s the beer or the shame or the force of a new word imprinting itself on him.
It takes all his willpower not to start running.
When Jeonghan showers that evening, after putting Seokmin to bed and sweeping the floor clear of glass, he reads it on his thigh. He scrubs and he scrubs until the skin is red and raw but the text is still there, as sharp as a brand.
Jeonghan checks-in the next day because that is what respectful, adult co-workers do so that personal issues do not impact their professional duties. Seungcheol’s reply is polite and like that, the conversation is swept aside so swiftly not even Jisoo picks up on the bump.
They don’t meet up for a month after that. It’s easy to, when you’re being shuttled from airport to airport, hotel room to hotel room. Jeonghan leaves straight after concerts, rooms only with Seokmin and goes for long walks with a mask on. Seungcheol respects his boundaries because of course he would.
On broadcasts it’s easy to fall into the personalities they have made for themselves. Seventeen’s Leader S.Coups and Seventeen’s Angel Yoon Jeonghan.
If he ever finds himself missing Seungcheol, all he needs to do is sit next to him on a fansign and lean it. When the cameras shutter like rainfall and the screams come in, it’s easy not to think about what Seungcheol wants. To only think about what the fans want. It’s easy to let Seungcheol touch him then, to let himself be dragged in by his hip, to be kissed through paper and to be told he’s loved in front of a thousand people.
With makeup on and his hair blow-dried, he can turn to Seungcheol while the cameras are rolling, lips quirked and one shoulder up just to go, “Hyung saranghaeyo,”, then laugh at the inevitable way Seungcheol looks away. He’s not sure if he should mean it. If he could.
It’s easy to feel like that’s enough.
Even if Jeonghan sleeps alone now and Seungcheol ignores him after broadcasts. If they only talk when they’re working and the hours are being counted towards their contracts.
When he’s on stage and the lights are on him, it’s easy to forget hotel-room-loneliness and plane-transit-exhaustion. It’s easy to slip back into being Seventeen’s Angel and let everything plaguing plain Jeonghan dissolve away, forget about difficult choices and focus on the music and the thrill when he dances in sync with twelve other bodies. It’s easy to repeat to himself, this is worth it.
“It’ll be nice, as a way to thank the fans,” Hyelim-ssi says, fingers scattering over the piles of papers on the desk, “Show off their words on your skin. Like saying, ‘I’m yours.’”
Management is changing the setlist for the Japan Dome Tour. It is only fitting, to match the grandness of the stage, to mark the occasion as special. Everyone goes on lockdown until they have new solo songs and new choreographies.
The stylists give him a sheer shirt with sleeves that drapes like gossamer curtains. His neck is bare and all the words on his torso are visible. Most of them anyway, he had begged a make-up noona to hide some.
When Jeonghan rises into the stage, the screams are deafening. Like an all-encompassing thunderstorm that shudders into him from all directions, roaring into his bones and pushing every thought out of him. He feels the wind from the vents sweeping through his hair and the heat off the lights onto his cheek.
Immediately, his body starts burning. The pulse of pretty on his chest is stronger than the beating of his own heart, beautiful is throbbing on his thigh and sexy is clutching his ankle like a snare trap. Jeonghan twirls his fingers into the sky, the chiffon falls, and his arm is a myriad of letters and characters inking themselves into his skin. His back arches as the melody envelopes the stadium and with every chant, Seventeen’s Angel Yoon Jeonghan slithers around his throat. He feels it when he sings.
He cannot be the child who cried into his teacher’s thigh, or the teenager who locked himself in the bathroom for first period. He cannot be the Jeonghan who disappointed his parents and his sister or the Jeonghan who slouches and sighs and side-eyes his bandmates.
This is who he is, Seventeen’s Angel Yoon Jeonghan, Carat’s Angel Yoon Jeonghan. Beloved, cherished, perfect.
How many people in the world have seen this view? Sang and danced in front of this personal galaxy of lights, the entire universe screaming his name. To have his voice amplified across the arena and his body on a dozen screens, how can anything else in life compare?
Jeonghan twirls and in the shadows he sees Seungcheol rising onto the stage, hair waxed and swept, eyelashes thick and lips red — and when their eyes meet everything falls away.
The choreography possesses him, limbs moving on their own from practice and deliriously, Jeonghan realises how he must look against this backdrop of stars. Jeonghan knows Seungcheol sees the pretty on his shoulder, bold as headline. He knows he has a chest full of adjectives like charming and beautiful and a waist inked black with praise. Seungcheol had said all of these words to him, and more.
Jeonghan’s entire frame is lit by the stadium lights, glowing like an exhibition. He spins around again and he knows that through the chiffon, his entire back could have been a dictionary in love —
Kim Jaejoong was on this same stage in 2009. His picture pressed into Jeonghan’s exercise book back at home, pressed inside his mind when he applied to Pledis Entertainment and committed to this career.
Jeonghan sweeps his sleeves in an arc above him, watches the purple lights filter through the material. He wonders if Jaejoong also had concealer on his body, to hide words like cruel.
Jaejoong’s gone now. DBSK is gone now. It’s 2020 and Woojin’s gone and Wonho’s gone. Pristin and After School and Orange Caramel is gone. One day Seventeen will be gone too, and with it, Seventeen’s Angel Yoon Jeonghan.
The music is softening and Jeonghan runs across the stage into the final chorus, sleeves unfurling like wings behind him. He’s dashing across to Seungcheol but suddenly, the stage feels too large, like a wide expanse of open water that cannot be crossed, ready to drown him. The screams grow louder, words claw around his neck and now, they feel like a weight, dragging him down.
Did Jaejoong feel like this, aching as the last note rang through his earphones and his body burned with the force of ten thousand voices branding their words onto his skin. When he was singing here, did he know that he would never stand in Tokyo Dome again?
He’s in front of Seungcheol now and Jeonghan drops to his knees. The music has stopped, and it is just his voice, thin and pleading, clutching on to the final lyrics before there is silence forever.
“Please wait for me.”
The lights snaps shut, the warmth leaves immediately and Jeonghan is so cold he shivers. He can barely hear the fans over the PD yelling instructions into his ear. He can’t hear the music anymore. He can’t feel his fingers and he can’t feel his legs but he can feel the foundation clogging his cheeks, his hair sticking to his face, and his sweat slicking down his spine.
Seungcheol’s music starts, and Jeonghan’s body burns anew.