Sungjong made time slow down for Woohyun. There were so many minutes in a day and even more seconds, and Woohyun was the type of guy who didnât like to change gears, or at least it seemed so.. He was an energizer bunny, the type to whip through the day with his huge presence and enormous personality, yet he was elusive as a shadow but only because he moved so fast. He went from one schedule to the next, his life as a television personality making him jump straight out of the hot seat on a gaming show into that of a radio co-host, only to topple out of the sometimes unstable spinning chair into a briefing for an upcoming CF in which he had to promote the new import of Australian Granny Smith apples into an organic food chain that had recently popped up all over Seoul, and then after that he would be whisked away to go on a variety show where he was expected to copy the cookâs tonkatsu to a reasonable standard unless he wanted to be dunked in a vat of chocolate yoghurt. Woohyun had barely enough time between each thing to properly enjoy a meal but his management team always made sure to either go to the drive-thru (when it wasnât during rush hour of course â he didnât want to be late to a fitting for the clothes he was going to wear in a sitcom heâd successfully been recruited into as the second male lead) or have something for him to eat while he was driven around. Theyâd even taken to giving him piping hot insulated cups of instant noodles now, which were a hell of an upgrade from the snack bars he used to get, and that was what he gulped down now when the van pulled up outside the large warehouse inside which had been refurbished for a very intricate photo-shoot.
Sungjong was, of course, one of the stylistâs assistant. Whether he was at the bottom of the pecking order or the top, Woohyun couldnât tell but he wasnât allowed the time for an assessment, though he always made a note to remember names. It was what made him so likeable, because he remembered which of the staff had children, what their names were, and how old they were too. He had a brilliant memory and it was stored full of information like this. His initial gaze upon the boy had been brief, but for a moment everything around Woohyun slowed down like they did in the movies, but then he was slapped out of the three second trance when his manager shoved a script at him while someone measured the width of his shoulders.
âOh, whatâs this?â he feigned the usual zeal he had when he approached everything and his manager explained what his mess of highlighting meant, the papers a tangle of pink, yellow and blue strikes. Out of the corner of his eye though, Woohyun kept a small percentage of his attention put aside for watching Sungjong â that was his name, he knew, because the boy had sported a nametag taped to the breast pocket of the stiff pastel-purple shirt he was wearing â and wondering how anybody on Earth could look so untouched and unaffected by the flurry of life around him.
âAlright, you got the first paragraph memorized?â â no âŠÂ ââget into the make-up chair, itâs your turn now that the girlâs done,â
The sheets were whisked away before Woohyun could correct his manager, and even if he had, he knew his words would fall on deaf ears. So he just followed the woman who had grasped his elbow with crushing force and plopped himself into the chair, the naked bulbs around the mirror illuminating every possible patch of skin. He searched Sungjong out in the mirrors â this was the only time he could really sit back and do nothing, because that was what he was expected to do â but he couldnât find that flash of pastel purple anywhere. With a sigh, Woohyun felt, not for the first time in his life, a surge of disappointment with a truckload of exhaustion. He closed his eyes as the brush was fluffed around here and there and then he slipped into the tailored khaki jacket with a faux-fur collar, letting the stylists adjust it. Sungjong was speaking with the man behind the camera, and Woohyun noted that he didnât speak very animatedly, his face giving away nothing at all. Someone patted his bottom and he didnât even jump, doing as he was told and going to the elaborate set-up of armchairs, a large rug and the head of a moose all cob-webbed to visual perfection. Sungjong didnât so much as glance at him when he passed, even if Woohyun was the centre of the attention to everyone else in all his good looks and added charisma. But while the female model that was to accompany Woohyun was still getting ready, Sungjong did finally step towards him with a bunch of sketches in his hands and Woohyun couldnât help but stare. The boy was as fair as porcelain doll, though he bet his managerâs newly installed sauna that Sungjong had heard that a million times already. But again, all the noises faded away from Woohyunâs ears and the whole world just began moving at a snailâs pace when Sungjong flipped a few sheets over (which Woohyun had identified as being sketches of clothes) and even before he opened his mouth to speak the sound of his voice was the only thing Woohyun heard, and the sight of him was the only thing in Woohyunâs eyes. It was like the edges of his vision blurred and he was only focussed on Sungjong like he was a camera, and when their eyes finally met Woohyun didnât feel the electricity he had anticipated, rather, it went straight to his knees and he suddenly felt weak and uncomfortable.
Did it hurt? Woohyun wanted so badly to ask, and the thought of him cracking the oldest line in the book of pick-ups brought a broad grin to his face that sent his eyes crinkling. He guessed from the expression on Sungjongâs face that it didnât make any sense to the other boy, and rightfully so, but Woohyun hoped it didnât put him off. Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?
âThese are rough sketches of the poses youâre more or less expected to do,â Sungjong said, handing him a sheet that had nine squares drawn on. Woohyun had worked with this team of photographers once and they had always done this, like they were filming a CF. Woohyun didnât know Sungjong was part of the production team, but maybe he was a jack of all trades and passed between the styling, photographing, designing and planning teams as regularly as anything. âPersonally I donât think they bring out the clothes as much as you can do it naturally as a well-seasoned model but whatever, Iâm not the boss,â he said it with a hint of exasperation, like he was constantly making ideas and never having them heard. It was almost like Woohyunâs situation, where he always tried to say something, like his ankle was throbbing or how right now he was sure there as a pin digging into the skin of his lower back, but people always ignored him because either he or they were in a rush, and more often than not it was the former. Actually, Woohyun arched his back against the sensation as he looked at the sketches and before Sungjong could walk away â the boy was already turning, making everyone else within Woohyunâs vision move faster already â he grabbed his elbow.
âU-um,â Woohyun felt his heart grow when Sungjong looked at him again and everyone started in slow motion once more. âI think thereâs a pin in my back â could you take a look?â
Sungjong eyed him cautiously but didnât say anything, and when he moved to where Woohyun indicated to take a look, Woohyun noted how the head photographer seemed to be fixing his lens in a sluggish manner and he opened his mouth to bark orders, but no sound came out, like he was on mute almost. The usual blare that would usually assault Woohyunâs ears as he moved away from Sungjong after the boy announced he was done, the yell as the photography team called everyone to alert, it all sounded like he was submerged, under water, but the more distance Woohyun put between he and Sungjong, the louder it got, like he was resurfacing, and when Sungjong stepped off the set everything went back to the pace that always swept Woohyun up and put water in his lungs so nobody could hear him because he was drowned out by the sound of the crashing waves and his manager shouting at him to hurry up and get in the van.
***
The next time Woohyun saw Sungjong was three weeks later. A week didnât already go by without Woohyun having about two to five photo-shoots and this one was no different, with him already in his third on a Wednesday. Each time following the time-distorting meeting with Sungjong, Woohyun had hoped heâd be there by coincidence that the sitcom had used the same styling team for their promotional posters or something, but halfway through the second week Woohyun had lost all hope. He didnât dwell on it much after that because he didnât have the time or energy to anymore, and while he was sure getting a hold of Sungjongâs number (or at least Sungjongâs bossâ number) wouldnât be hard for somebody like him, he knew poking around would only get people interested in what exactly he had in mind. After that photo-shoot was done, heâd changed back into his normal clothes and was out before he could catch a final glance of Sungjong, who heâd just seen to be busy folding things into a cardboard box.
This time, by coincidence, he was doing the same thing. He was unpacking a box and was wearing a pair of shorts that fit him just right, with a snow-white belt threaded through the loops. He looked as flawless as he did the other day, though a little tired, but it was masked well behind an expression of indifference. When he looked at Woohyun, the older boy couldnât tell if Sungjong could recognize him from last time, though once the thought passed he realized it was a stupid thought because he was so famous it would be hard to forget that he had worked with Nam Woohyun.
But still, Sungjong probably worked with a lot of celebrities of his calibre. And the way Sungjong held the shirt up to Woohyun suggested he didnât really remember their last encounter at all because he didnât ask him how he was today, or make any of the small talk that people like him usually did. It made Woohyun grateful for the fact that he was left to concentrate entirely on Sungjong without having to scrabble for coherent answers, but he also wanted to hear the sound of that melodic voice, even if it was monotone all the time because Sungjong was obviously unconcerned with the rush-here-rush-there atmosphere that always followed Woohyun.
âWhat am I doing today?â Woohyun managed to half-squeak after a while, the sheer proximity of Sungjong a little suffocating. His presence made Woohyun feel once more like he was in a snow globe alone with the skinny boy, the curve of the glass protecting them from the water that was muffling everyone else beyond them. âAny sketches for me, or do I have to do my own thing?â
âItâs very genericâŠ,â Sungjong answered after a while. He patted the exaggerated shoulders of Woohyunâs electric blue blazer and looked at him straight in the eyes, and whether it was because of the warm yellow lighting or because of the rose-tinted lenses Woohyun saw Sungjong through, Woohyun did not know, but his eyes were an irresistibly gorgeous shade of chocolate, the very same as the hot dark chocolate Woohyun had had to sip in the most exaggerated way in his advertisement for the new chocolate house that had opened two streets down from his agency. Like the drink, it was hot, intense, and it was entrancing, but unlike it, Woohyun couldnât pull himself away even if the first taste was overpoweringly sweet and bitter. He was so engrossed he could barely hear Sungjong finish his sentence, and when he registered that Sungjong had stopped speaking, he snapped back to attention and tried not to look like heâd been in a daze.
âI see,â Woohyun gave a generic response because he hadnât really been listening, and there was a shout from outside because someone was late, and they would be delayed a further half hour until Park-someone made it through the mid-afternoon rush of traffic. There was a collective sigh and then it all was sucked out of Woohyunâs world again, and thatâs when Woohyun realized he and Sungjong were alone in the tiny change room. There was a dresser, a rack of clothes and the door was closed. When had it ever been closed? Just vaguely Woohyun could hear people dragging chairs about to sit down, cracking open fresh bottles of water and passing kimbap around. He figured since nobody was batting the door down trying to find him that he could do the same and he went to hoist himself up onto the dresser, back to the mirror and rest his feet on the chair in front. He was trying to get away from Sungjong so he didnât lose himself completely, but Sungjong didnât leave. Woohyun took his phone out and scrolled through it as Sungjong flipped through a look-book, going to double-check the clothes on the rack. The small display of the time in the left hand corner of his phone said a minute had passed and Woohyun exhaled slowly because this had to be the first time in a long time that he had completely relaxed like this. Even if he was in a cold-ish room with Sungjong, a boy who sent his mind off-kilter, everything felt great for Woohyun.
But then without another word, Sungjong spun away and he seemed to be heading for the door, that small gesture alone already shredding the filter away from Woohyunâs ears so that he could hear people loudly joking around and laughing quite clearly as if he was right outside among them and Woohyun knew he had to do something. Ask for his number at least, but he was rooted to the spot and before he knew it Sungjong had disappeared, closing the door behind him.
For once in his life, Woohyun had nothing for an hour following that photo-shoot and he rushed back to the change room to get out of his clothes before Sungjong could leave. He had cursed himself inside the entire time for not being able to get off his ass, and as soon as Sungjong had left the half hour went by like it had only been five minutes. That mere thought alone, that his life would fly by and he would not see Sungjong any more, perhaps for three weeks, perhaps more, perhaps never again, it made Woohyun voluntarily rush around for once in his life. For once the speed at which his heart raced as he made his way through the crowds looking for that one boy that made the hands on his watch stop in their tracks didnât make him want to scream and yell at the top of his lungs for freedom, for escape, because he needed this so badly. A door slammed shut outside the complex and Woohyunâs lungs became constricted, hoping it wasnât Sungjongâs team being driven away, but then he saw the person Sungjong had come along with, one of them anyway, and he happily realized he had a few more precious seconds, that was, if his life didnât sweep them away from him before he knew it. He considered asking her but he didnât want to bring attention to himself, but he realized he should take risks if he wanted to have someone in his life he really wanted, someone who made his nerves calm down yet pulse tear off at unprecedented speed, and he really shouldnât be thinking so much of what things would make him look like if he did them a certain way, that he should just shut up and go for it and ask her for Sungjongâs number if he couldnât find Sungjong and even if that failed, even if his mouth failed, he could probably tail her to Sungjong and hope his manager didnât pull him awaâ
âHey,â
Woohyun turned and his breath was taken away, pretty much literally, because Sungjong had that effect.
He made time slow down for Woohyun.
âYou left your phone on the dresser,â
Sungjong handed him the white device and Woohyun was still staring even when he took it back, muttering a thanks. He could only see Sungjong, even though there were a good thirty or so people in the room. The ruckus immediately fell silent and his ears reverberated with the sound of Sungjongâs voice, the wayward tufts of Sungjongâs hair, usually immaculate but looking stylishly messy today doing unimaginable things to Woohyunâs heart. He was really something.
âYou look very tired,â Sungjong commented. Someone spoke to the younger boy and he turned but her face was blurred â Woohyun couldnât see who it was, and he only heard Sungjongâs end of the conversation. But before he knew it, Sungjong was giving him another look, one that said he was leaving now, his body turning away â the noises began creeping in again, the sound of emptiness being sucked out only to be replaced by the low buzz of a dozen conversations, and Woohyun was about to reach out to hold him back but he was already gone.
âWOOHYUN! WHERE ARE YOU MAN? ITâS TIME TO GO NOW!â
And Woohyun was about to answer, wanting to tell his manager or whoever the hell it was to shut up because he wasnât done yet, but then his phone vibrated with an incoming message, and as he was being herded away outside by his managerâs hand clamped on his shoulder, Woohyun smiled and for once it wasnât for the camera.
One new message from: Lee Sungjong, it said. And as Woohyun read it over and over, the beating of his heart quietened from his ears, and when he looked up, ducking his head to get into the van, he could only just hear his managerâs personal assistant telling him that heâd just made himself the face of the famous range of therapeutic pillows all the middle-aged women were using these days.
