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Gyuvin is somewhat of a fanboy. He prides himself in his devotion to his most cherished people, prideful in the way he so easily loves and doles it out like spores. One compliment here, a sincere and handwritten letter there, a small snack for his best friend on a bad exam day, and a kiss on the forehead for his little brother when he’s feeling down. He’s that type of person; a protector, a lover, a provider. His personality has been made up of all of those attributes and stayed golden until now.
He visibly sours as his thumb pulls down on his Twitter timeline. Nothing, absolutely nothing is going right. How could they do this to him? Gyuvin’s head hurts from the force of his eyebrows pulling together to the middle of his sight, staring down not-so stealthily at his phone underneath his desk. It’s been two entire days since Ricky Shen, the youngest member of Hot Shot, has made his solo debut. Two. Entire. Days. So much can happen in two days. In 48 hours entire kingdoms could collapse, in two days, the entire fleet of honey butter chips could go viral and sell out for months, and the cream king donut Gunwook likes could go practically extinct. Hell could freeze over! And Gyuvin is convinced it is as he refreshes his timeline once more and sees not a word about his beloved idol. Does nobody care?
Gyuvin slumps even further into the hard seat as he navigates back to Ricky’s fresh profile. He expands a picture of the blonde celebrity, enlarging close enough to see the perfected lash flick of his cat-like eyes. His chest swells with guilt. It’s not his job to care this much, but if he doesn’t then who will? It’s obvious that Ricky’s company has no intention of promoting the singer aside from what is mandatory, leaving it up to the boy to hard carry the rest. He’s only eighteen (as of last week, Gyuvin attended three cup sleeve events for his birthday at trendy cafes with pictures for proof), and Gyuvin knows he wouldn’t be able to do something so astronomical as what Ricky is doing without any help.
From what he’s gathered by watching the music video, FOX CALL should be an instant hit. The melody is catchy, the message is deep and touching, and Ricky’s voice hypnotizes even better than sirens do in the deep, dark sea. Yet, not one person has talked about it. He feels a headache oncoming when Jacob from three rows over starts to play a girl group through his phone, and it scratches through his eardrums, irritating him further. He barely notices Gunwook, best friend of twelve years and counting, using his desk as a makeshift lunch table, unloading his feast of pork stir-fry and fisted seaweed rice balls.
“D’you wanna switch today?” Gunwook asks.
“You can have it,” Gyuvin sighs, depleted of all energy a high schooler with a raging admiration boner could have. “I don’t have the appetite.”
The younger teen makes a happy noise in the back of his throat before claiming Gyuvin’s portion of sausages and marinated quail eggs, popping them into his mouth one after the other. He only catches onto Gyuvin’s sullen attitude when the boy starts to bite at the edge of his thumb, cutting through cuticle. “Ricky, again?”
“How’d you guess?” Gyuvin asks dryly, still occupied with his phone.
“From the looks of it, you’re about to jump out the window and set the company on fire,” Gunwook says around a mouthful of rice. “I know that face because Eunchae was the same way. She was always screaming about something.”
Gyuvin chuckles as he thinks about how the three of them used to huddle around a laptop to watch lives from various groups. Eunchae would always claim the middle spot to get the best view, but not without getting into horrible elbow fights with her brother first. But now, Eunchae has graduated into makeup and Instagram influencers. She’s moving on with her life and so has Gunwook, and Gyuvin is left burning with passion for his idol. At his age he should be thinking more about college, or his future like everyone else. When he swallows it feels like shame.
Another minute goes by when he feels a hand over his shoulder and his thumb clicks the sleep button on his iPhone, afraid of being caught but already knowing he has when Woojae’s laughter trills out. “You’re so pure,” he says, even though they all know he wants to say something more incriminating. “You still like idols? Who is she?”
“None of your business,” Gyuvin says as he hurriedly shoves his phone between his textbooks in the slot of his desk.
He doesn’t know what would be more embarrassing to admit. Being a die hard stan of a pretty girl, or being mesmerized by a breathtaking boy the same age as him. Either choice will solidify a tombstone over his school life, he’ll be the butt of everyone’s jokes for weeks. Really, he couldn’t care less about what they say about him. He hates bullying, and he hates people that look down on others for their interests, but he won’t be able to control his anger if they start to pick fun at Ricky. He’s doing more than all of them combined, he doesn’t deserve being ridiculed.
“Aw, don’t be like that,” Woojae whines before shaking Gyuvin by both his shoulders. They used to be close but after he bribed his way into the soccer team and shoved Gyuvin out, they haven’t been on talking terms. “I’m sure she’d date you if she knew who you were, Kimgyu.”
Gyuvin bristles at the implied message there. That he’s delusional, an out-of-touch crazy fan, someone that doesn’t have a chance. When he hears the group of boys to his right start to laugh at the prod, Woojae also snickers in his ear. It’s not even like that, not for him. Gyuvin likes Ricky, sure, but he isn’t this devoted because he wants to have a chance with him. He knows that is out of the question. Ricky has provided so much happiness to Gyuvin’s life, he’s lifted him up on more occasions than one, he’s done so much for him. Gyuvin looks up to the idol and his work ethic, and when he’s tired after a long day of studying and cram school the only thing that can get him out of a blinding funk is seeing Ricky smile, or hearing his sweet voice.
People like Woojae make fun of fans because they don’t know how to be one. They don’t know what it’s like to be grateful for someone’s presence without needing loyalty back from them. Ricky may not know who he is, but that’s not his job. It’s his job to entertain and be seen, and as a fan, it’s Gyuvin’s job to make sure his idol is loved and noticed.
On his way out of school, Gunwook apologizes for not being able to go with him because of a last minute student council meeting. They agree to hang out after dinner to play basketball, and Gyuvin shakes off a hoard of other boys grappling for attention.
“Please?” Jaehyun asks, eyes as round as blueberries, “You’re no fun when you’re like this.”
“It’s not even my choice,” Gyuvin groans as he pushes his head out of the bus stop to check the location of his ride. “My mom’s gonna kill me if I don’t help out at the shop today. Our delivery guy bailed,” he fibs.
“I can help!” Taesan offers. “I’m good at riding a bike!”
“Yeah, a bicycle, not the scooter,” Gyuvin rejects. He only smiles when the bus pulls up to the curb and he turns to wave at the other students before climbing on, tapping his bus pass. When he plops down in a window seat he grins down at the two boys, returning a kiss that Jaehyun blows his way as the bus revs up and moves him forward.
He feels as smug as a pug with himself for devising a plan on the fly like that. Jaehyun was begging him to be their third wheel to the arcade, but Gyuvin knows better. Jaehyun likes having him between them so that they can’t be forced to deal with their feelings. He’s sure they like each other, and hopefully this will bring them closer to their own realizations. If only he could be this helpful for other people like Ricky. Thinking about the lack of word about his debut has his thoughts spoiling again. He uses up a chunk of his data to replay the boy’s music video over and over during the course of his ride home, hoping to at least garner some more views.
FOX CALL has him skipping down the hill to the chicken restaurant his family owns. He twirls through the gate while humming, so engrossed in hitting the high note that he barrels right into his mother balancing three bags of piping hot fried chicken. One topples to the ground and his heart stops, eyes widening as his mother slowly turns her head up to him, only getting more irritated at the fact that she has to look so high up now that he’s successfully grown past 180 centimeters.
So, he’s promptly spanked on the butt. Also, he’s hit on the back with a weak and semi-doting hand. “Kim Gyuvin,” his mother shrieks as she follows him. “I told you to watch where you’re going, didn’t I? Didn’t I say that to you?” She did. Her voice rings out through the kitchen as she jogs, hot on his heels. “Where is your mind lately?”
Gyuvin cowers when he’s flicked over the nose, looking pitiful. “What do you mean? I just got home!”
She cinches her hands around her hips as she tuts. “You’re distracted again, huh? Chasing idols?”
His mother would be able to draw the truth out of him even if he was wearing steel armor. There’s no use in lying to her but the way she looks at him makes him sad, and almost ashamed. She’s said it before— Gyuvin is too old to be obsessed with celebrities, he should be worrying about his own goals. He’s too old, he’s seventeen and yet he’s too old to admire someone. Admiration is for children and he’s now at the age where he needs to be the one to take the next steps into being admired. But here he stands, afraid of the unknown, lost to his own cause. Gyuvin is a ball of potential that is too frightened to even bounce in fear that he will break something and mess all these juggling pieces of his life up.
When she is done waiting for him to answer, her arms drop by her sides as if admitting defeat and she turns around to wipe her hands over a rag. “Help me out by passing out the new flyers,” she commands. To make it more of a punishment, she tacks on, “and make sure you wear the puppy suit.”
“But it’s hot!” Gyuvin half-wails, hoping to garner some good graces.
“If you don’t plan on going to college then choke!”
Gyuvin doesn’t end up choking and after twenty minutes he is fixed in front of the main road, flopping around in a dog costume. It looks much like the famous emoji, white with brown ears and spots. He plays up the crowd attraction by wagging his butt as he passes out the coupons, drawing everyone to Woofie Chicken. With more stubborn customers he takes them by the hand to personally escort them, holding them captive with his overgrown paws. Gyuvin even takes pictures with girls that giggle over his antics and doesn’t forget to promote the restaurant by holding up the flyers clearly. He’s seen himself once on the Instagram explore page, posed next to an influencer he had no idea existed, but it was a huge hit for the shop. They had trouble keeping up with all of the orders for the three months it was bustling. Gyuvin has never been so proud of himself. He was just a teenager and he managed to blow up his family’s business. He blows out a sigh through his nostrils, frustrated thinking about all the people at Ricky’s company that are sitting on their asses not lifting a single finger. How easy would it be for Ricky to go viral the same way?
A lightbulb appears above his floppy brown ears. How easy would it be?
This is something Gyuvin can do for Ricky. This way he can actually be helpful, he can pay Ricky back for all the joy he’s filled his memories with. Every moment the boy has touched is something Gyuvin holds close to his heart. He can be useful like this, and he’s actually good at it, gifted, even. Gyuvin won’t let this opportunity pass. It’s the last gift he can present to Ricky before he has to move on, and before he ages out of this fruitful stage of idol worshiping.
His heart flutters the closer he gets to Gunwook’s house, and his sneakers dig and sand down at the soles with how fast he’s going. He only pauses to adjust the two poster boards tightly in his armpits and to fix his backpack strap, nearly hopping into the sliding door of his best friend’s house. He swallows a scream when he passes by Eunchae, green and thick with a mud mask and cucumber wafting from her breath when she greets him, stumbling into Gunwook’s with no time to lose.
It takes less than a minute to run through his master plan and Gunwook is onboard, but as a passive spectator. He was supportive but in proper bestie fashion he grandly declared that there “was no way in hell [he] would be caught drumming down an idol’s mating call down the street of Hongdae in a furry suit on a Saturday.” Which Gyuvin can agree is a fair thing to feel. He will pretend that Gunwook wouldn’t jump at the chance to save his precious Seok Matthew from the greedy grasp of an evil, money-hungry, good-for-nothing company, but alas. This is the work of one super fan, Ricky’s one and only soldier. Gyuvin salutes the air before dropping his big body back down to the poster, etching out the next blocky word.
“Have you ever thought about how we spend all of this time thinking about our favorite idols? It’s like a buffer,” Gunwook says, more to himself than to Gyuvin, “so we don’t have to think about our own lives. We can just focus everything on them and let all our worries fall away.”
“I guess that’s why mom hates that I do it,” Gyuvin admits. “She says I’m wasting my time, wasting my life away.”
“You know, when I see someone our age doing well as an idol it makes me wonder what I did wrong to be living so dully.” Gunwook slides his hand across the wood floor to wriggle his fingers back into the snack bag, pulling out another stringy piece of squid. “But then I feel proud almost, like their success is also mine. Like, I helped in some way, and did the work with them.”
Gyuvin stays quiet. He wonders what Gunwook would be like in five years, or even three. The younger one already speaks philosophically at his age, he can’t imagine how deep with introspection he will be when he has more of the world in his two hands. He drags the thick Sharpie over the board and it squeaks with resistance as he writes out FOX CALL. Gyuvin feels proud too. He’s proud of Ricky, his same-age friend-idol-celebrity-whatever, but he wouldn’t dare pin the boy’s success on himself. He’s just a fan, someone in a sea of lights, a pinprick in Ricky’s vision. The most help he has done is empty out his pocket money on photocards and limited edition dolls in the form of stuffed cats that barely resemble the singer. Tomorrow, that will change.
Tomorrow, he will be a walking billboard.
On the front of his body: STREAM FOX CALL BY RICKY SHEN. BE A FOX AND CALL YOUR FRIENDS! RICKY IS LURING YOU. >O<
And on the back: TAKE PIX AND SHARE WITH FRIENDS! PLEASE GIVE RICKY LOVE. ^O^ FOLLOW @RICKYSHENOFFICIAL.
It’s not as hot on Saturday, and Gyuvin takes it as a sign that he is doing a good deed. Had it been hurricane weather he still would’ve forced himself out of his house, but that’s beside the point. He has Gunwook’s bluetooth speaker fully juiced with the charging cords tucked into his Stussy crossover bag, and a prayer sitting over his lips for everything to go right. The moment he gets out of the subway he secures the doggy head over his own human one, taking a deep breath as he enters the busy street with bold propaganda strapped to his body.
“Here goes nothing,” Gyuvin whispers to nobody and everybody that will listen.
12 p.m.
The initial embarrassment washes over quickly when Gyuvin finds his groove. It’s the same as him promoting his parents’ restaurant but better because there’s music, and music brings everyone together. He waddles along the street with FOX CALL blaring from the little speaker, bopping his head and gracing each store corner with the hip beat.
Some people ignore him completely and others stop to watch and video him. When he notices the cameras, he dances passionately, tutting and thrusting his hands around the same way Ricky had in his music video. He gains energy and an extra boost of happiness whenever he thinks about people leaving him and searching the idol up out of curiosity. It feels meaningful.
3 p.m.
On Gyuvin’s first self-allotted break, he checks his phone and gets a this u? text from Jaehyun. It’s a screenshot from Twitter, and Jaehyun is freaking the fuck out over it calling him cute and asking if Gyuvin will remember him when he’s famous. Gyuvin clicks out of it and is met with a string of more screenshots, all of them involving him but this time from Gunwook. He’s gotta say, he does look mighty cute from an outsider’s perspective. In some of the pictures he looks like a hyper puppy, and in others he looks sweetly pathetic with his backside facing the person’s phone as he walks away, tail between his legs.
He really wasn’t expecting to gain this much attention in the three hours he’s been out, but it fuels him to keep going, to spread the gospel that is Ricky Shen. He could tour around the world on the moon with how excited he is, and when he sees all of the quote retweets he can’t stop himself from grinning. With each new post, he imagines someone being exposed to Ricky Shen for the first time.
are you happy??? comes the message from Gunwook, ur my hero, man.
5 p.m.
The impossible happens: a new Ricky Bubble notification, sent forty minutes ago. Gyuvin can’t believe his eyes but he refuses to take off the dog head in fear of being caught unmasked in the streets. He can feel his pulse from his ears.
> It seems as though I’ve lost my puppy.
> Please help me find him.
> Update me with locations and pictures with the hashtag #MongMongHunt.
> Let’s find him together. ^^
6 p.m.
“If you want him to find you, you can’t be moving around so much,” the kind lady advises. “You want him to see you, right? He’s desperately looking for you.”
“Oh, it’s not like that at all,” Gyuvin assures with two paws waving. “I have to promote, I can’t stop.”
The other woman next to her pats him on the side of his arm, tutting, “Don’t be silly! You deserve to be recognized. Just stay put and let him come to you.”
Gyuvin bows a full ninety degrees before backing away. “I’m sorry, I have to go now. Everyone needs to hear his song at least once!”
He runs, but he doesn’t know what from. Even Gyuvin doesn’t understand himself sometimes. Of course it would be nice to see Ricky, but he can easily open YouTube and do that. Right now there’s more on the line. On the flip side, he’s worried about being perceived by his favorite singer. He’s aware of how funny he looks. What would Ricky want to do with a gangly peer? It would be uncomfortable for him to be intertwined in Gyuvin’s antics. He would be much happier if Ricky stayed far, far away from him to save face.
7 p.m.
A conga line ensues, led by none other than Gyuvin and his puppy woofs and a trail of students his own age and a sprinkle of older women. He’s happier than ever, that is, until he feels his phone vibrating viciously in his bag. He has been able to ignore all of the notifications from his friends in order to focus on the task at hand, but the frequency of the buzzes can only point to one person: his mother.
He continues to walk his group down the street, weaving between food cart aisles and past popular stores as he reaches into the front pocket of his sling bag to see his mother’s face plastered over the front of his phone. He picks up, of course, because he doesn’t want to die and actually would like to stay alive to see summer.
Even if Hongdae was as loud as Gocheok Sky Stadium he would still be able to hear his parent’s threatening tone, and his face paints white as she begins with a nice, “Kim Gyuvin, do you think I’m a joke?”
“Eomma, I’m a little tied up right now,” Gyuvin yells into the speakerphone positioned by the costume’s mouth opening.
“A little tied up? Do you have any idea who you’re talking to right now?!” There’s a sigh. “Get home now unless you plan on living in a cardboard box.”
This would scare Gyuvin if he was doing anything but this. He knows for a fact that his mother will punish him when he gets home but there are more important things to worry about. He’s barely been in business for a full shift at work and he hasn’t reached all the people he can yet. There’s still so much to do, and he’s still young. He’s still seventeen and still allowed to be reckless and naive and rebellious. Just once in his life he wants to do something as a fan, a true act of selflessness.
It feels like after today he won’t be able to, like K-Pop and fanboying and Ricky Shen will slip through his fingers like sand. He’ll age out of this. He will be forced to, and he will be damned if he looks back at this time in his life and feel regretful that he didn’t live out his passion to the highest extent. He wants to be able to tell himself that he did it, he took one step forward towards what he wants, that he made a decision and acted on it. That he can hold himself accountable. He wants to do that much. Time is ticking, he’s losing his youth, he’s losing the one thing that makes him stand on his two feet.
“I love you, Eomma,” Gyuvin says, meaning every word, “but I’ll repent later.”
8 p.m.
He allows himself one break when the bluetooth speaker finally gives out on him after a fantastic first round. He’s surprised it kept going as long as it did, and now he’s seated on the floor of the subway with it charging next to him. He’s thankful for the free outlet because he also gets to charge his phone and FaceTime Gunwook, thankful to see a familiar face after such a hectic day.
He scrolls through the backlog of messages the other boy sent throughout his hours galloping through the busy streets. There are Bubble messages from Ricky asking for updates, and various pictures of Gyuvin posed near easy to spot locations, although it changes by the minute. His phone app says he’s walked a total of sixteen miles and he has the sweat to prove it.
“What’re you going to do if he actually finds you?” Gunwook asks with his mouth occupied with a Choco Pie, the payment Gyuvin gave him for lending his speaker for the day. “It’s getting pretty serious.”
Gyuvin never thought his act of silliness would garner this much attention. He never expected Ricky to find out about it, and never thought in a million years that he would be this invested either. He was an idol with bigger, better things to focus on. He didn’t need to concern himself with what a high schooler was doing with his weekend. Although he would like to stay humble, the attention from the blonde singer brings a smile to his face. He won’t lie about that.
“I just want him to remember this as a happy time.”
“I hope you two meet with good feelings,” Gunwook chuckles. “You’re such a gentleman.”
Gyuvin rolls his eyes but Gunwook has no way of seeing that. “Shut up, as if I’d have a chance.” And if he did have a chance then who’s to say that Ricky doesn’t already have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Or a sinister third company? Gyuvin’s chances at ever getting with anyone, ever, has been doomed from the very beginning.
Gunwook is his best friend for a reason and that reason is to feed his delusions. “Don’t say it like that. He’d be lucky to have a dude like you.”
But Gyuvin doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t want to be vindicated. All he hopes for is that Ricky will receive the love he deserves, even if it’s not him in the end. Like a second lead in a drama, Gyuvin would respectfully wish him happiness from his seat in the stands.
9 p.m.
Usually by now, Gyuvin would have burned through three meals and a litter of snacks. He’s never gone hungry in his entire life. Today is a first, and maybe he attributes his voluntary fasting period to being pure in his wish to be of use to idol sensation Ricky Shen. Fasting means that he’s working tirelessly for a cause, and that his devotion is white-clear. He wants nothing out of it, and he’s doing it from the root of his heart, but golly do those twisted potato snacks look divine.
Gyuvin stares at the food cart with longing eyes behind his mask, watching the man arrange the long potato spiral on a bamboo stick before dropping it into a vat of deliciously fat oil. Gyuvin licks his lips as he suddenly becomes aware of his aching stomach and his dry mouth, running a hand over his bulbous dog tummy.
It’s okay, he tells himself, it’ll be all worth it in the end. Just push through, Kim Gyuvi—
“CORN DOGS, FRESH CORN DOGS!” A vendor screams to his right. Gyuvin whips his head to follow the voice, and then to his left another woman yells, “CHEESY LOBSTER BITES!” As if that isn’t enough to make a teenager want to throw in the towel, the man at the end of the street uses a blow horn to announce, “OREO CHURROS, ONE PLUS ONE!”
Gyuvin is salivating in his costume.
The voices, oh, the voices.
10 p.m.
Like most humans, Gyuvin needs to use the restroom to relieve himself from a day’s worth of liquids. He rushes into the nearest public bathroom and only bonks his head once while attempting to duck into a stall after seeing the urinals in disarray. It causes him to finally take his dog head off and he balances it over one of the cleaner sinks before disappearing into the cubicle, working his way out of the costume. He’s got most of the outfit scrunched around his ankles when he hears the entry door creak open once again and his heart stills in a way his pee doesn’t, streaming out healthily as his ears stay trained on the extra body in the room.
He didn’t notice anyone behind him before he entered, and he was sure this was more abandoned than one of the convenience store restrooms. Has someone followed him here on purpose? Was he about to be skinned alive by a total stranger? He’s only seventeen, he still has so much to do!
Before he knows it, his forehead is beading with sweat and he’s frozen from the chest down, not knowing whether he should move or not. When he hears the clicking of heeled boots he only confuses himself more. He’s about to be eaten alive, he’s sure of it. He’s going to open the stall door and be devoured by someone with a penchant for being fashionable, or a trendy mafia lord.
When he finally pulls all of his courage up, he decides that the only way he will get out of this situation alive is to act like the stronger one, the crazier one. So, he lifts his foot (paw-shaped) up in a karate stance before using all of his power to kick the stall door open with a shocking boom that vertebrates off the tiled walls. His eyes are closed and right when he plans to open them to see exactly who intruded on his sacred potty time, the heavy surface swings on its hinges right back in his direction, ricocheting directly over his face with a resounding thonk!
Birds fly above his head once he tramples backwards against the toilet and his hand nurses his throbbing button nose, smoothing it out to make sure it hasn’t fallen off his body. The shock of it all nearly has him forgetting all about the second person before the boots start over his way, and Gyuvin’s eyes lift from Prada shoes to perfectly tapered black slacks, all the way up to a slim waist hidden behind an equally dark duster coat. Underneath a bucket hat and above a black face mask lies two perfectly lined eyes.
Ricky Shen. Handsome, otherworldly angel Ricky Shen is staring down at him with the slowest of blinks. Is Gyuvin’s dead? “Are you done playing hard to get?”
11 p.m.
Gyuvin doesn’t know how this is his life. Across the table from him, a mere arm stretch away sits the idol that he’s seen endlessly on his phone. He’s no longer digitized, or pixels on a screen but the real, living, breathing thing. Ricky Shen, even without layers of stage makeup, is unreal. Gyuvin cannot believe it, he can’t even start to think this is reality. He would watch videos of Ricky before bed, hoping for sweet dreams. He’d scour the internet after every event for pictures of him just to feel closer to him. He would study the singer’s life with acute concentration, wanting to know everything about the older boy, to see what made him special and to see if there was something inside of his idol that also resided in himself.
Maybe he’s suffering from a heat stroke and he passed out on the street long ago, and now he’s wading through a delusional haze where his mind is dreaming all of this up. Wishful thinking, or a mental brea—
“What you did out there was kinda crazy,” Ricky says as he pours water into Gyuvin’s cup. His voice is smooth and light, but deeper than Gyuvin remembers it to be. From all the content he watches, he’s surprised that the idol is no longer using his customer service voice. “You weren’t scared of people seeing you?”
“That’s kind of the point,” Gyuvin says, bringing the silver cup to his lips. “And it’s nothing compared to what you do every day. I was all covered up.”
The corners of Ricky’s lips lift up enough for it to classify as a smile and Gyuvin warms from his chest at it. Then it dawns on him that he made the boy smile, he did it, nobody else, and he smiles too because he can’t help it. “If you wanted to be seen that badly why didn’t you want me to find you? I was searching for hours and you kept moving around.” One of Ricky’s dark eyebrows quirks at an angle. “Was it a grandiose ploy for my attention?”
“No!” Gyuvin shouts before calming himself down, gripping around a fork with no food on it. He breathes out after noticing he hasn’t been breathing at all and sighs. “I just… didn’t want you to think I wanted to be thanked or anything. I didn’t do it because I wanted something back.”
“You know it would be fine if you did,” Ricky counters with another gentle grin. “You were out there putting in the work. It wouldn’t be bad to wish to receive something in return.”
Gyuvin frowns. He doesn’t want to be compensated for helping promote Ricky’s song. He would do it daily if it meant people would finally notice the singer’s talent before noticing his face. “I only wanted to help. Your album is great and I know you put a lot of work into it. If putting on a dog suit and forcing people to listen is what will get you to your next step then I’m happy to do it.”
“…Don’t you have exams to study for? You’re a student, aren’t you?”
Not wanting to be chided by his idol of all people, he slyly reminds him that they’re the same age. “Don’t you too?”
“I dropped out.”
“Oh.” He knew that already, but it slipped his mind. Now he feels silly. “I’m sorry. I think.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Ricky hums, “I get to live out my dream. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Gyuvin supposes he doesn’t need to be in school given his circumstances. Ricky picks through the radish side to pluck a skinnier piece out with his chopsticks, crunching down on it. Gyuvin watches his mouth, the posture of his lips. Ricky looks like a doll and he moves like one that just came to life, short, languid movements, as elegant as a swan. “Do you have a dream, Gyuvin?”
He flushes at being called by his name and he feels his face get hot instantly. It’s mortifying. He brings a hand up to his ear to rub at it nervously, wanting at least one part of him to chill out. Dream? What kind of dream could he have? He was told his entire life to be a good boy, a good person, to always see the good in others, and so he has. He’s not like Ricky, he didn’t debut at the age of fifteen under a big company. He didn’t wake up with a goal of being plastered over every cosmetic ad or in every bar on a Soju poster. In fact, in the last three years since Gyuvin has first laid eyes on Ricky, all he’s ever thought of was him. Ricky was his dream, but he couldn’t say that. It’d give away his age, the lack of maturity that Ricky seems to possess copious amounts of.
So he shrugs, because looking aimless is less worrying than looking like an obsessed fan. “Graduate? I know I will but after that… I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out yet.”
“There’s no rush,” Ricky consoles immediately. “You have the rest of your life to decide.”
“You talk like you’re fifty years old. We were born in the same year, you know,” Gyuvin clears up.
“Sorry, it’s a bad habit. Comes with the job,” the teen says with a helpless scrunch of his face.
When Ricky giggles behind his hand Gyuvin realizes that the idol is most likely used to putting on a facade, acting older than he is. He’s managed and watched over by people decades older than him, forced to shed his childlike whims in exchange for business worthy conversations and determination. It saddens him to think of Ricky not being able to be a teenager, and not being able to live out his life freely. Even today he had to sneak around to find Gyuvin, decked out in a full disguise that did little to hide his glowing aura. In another life, he would fit in with his friends at school. He would play basketball with all of them and have ice cream after, maybe strawberry milkshakes. Ricky would wear uniforms and still look insanely good, and he would read manhwa in Gunwook’s room and eat Eunchae’s snacks just like Gyuvin does. Maybe he’d even play Mario Kart with him and Yujin and sleepover until their heartbeats thrummed together as one. In another life, maybe Ricky isn’t an idol at all but his friend. Maybe not just a friend, either, but still his favorite person.
“Are you going to tell me why you decided to attack Hongdae with my song, or do I have to guess that too?”
“I was annoyed,” Gyuvin says after swallowing. It’s interesting to him how easily he’s been able to say things to Ricky. He once saw the idol in passing during one of his radio showings but they were separated by glass and he was shoved behind six rows of people due to his height, and even then he was at a loss for words.
Ricky rests his cheek into his hand as he listens. “The song is that bad, huh?”
“No,” Gyuvin says petulantly, already defensive. “I was annoyed at how incompetent your company is. They’re always sabotaging you, it doesn’t make any sense.”
When Gyuvin glances Ricky’s way to gauge his reaction, he is met with widened eyes and a shocked and pleased tweak of the lips. “You went out of your way to do this… because my company didn’t?”
“Well, yeah,” Gyuvin supplies like it’s the only reasonable thing to do. “I couldn’t sit there and call myself your fan and not do anything.” The teenager huffs before grabbing a spoonful of rice and shoveling it into his mouth. He nearly forgot he was starving, and rice is quick to soothe his empty belly. “I hate seeing people being taken advantage of. You do so much for the group and you attract so many people. It’s not fair.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, and they just step on you and any chance you get to actually shine on your own. Why would they even dangle the opportunity in front of you if they aren’t going to promote you to the best of their ability? Even a seventeen year old could do better,” Gyuvin growls.
“And you have,” Ricky replies sweetly. His tone mulls into something deeper and Gyuvin’s ears prick in surprise. “I think you found your dream. If not your dream, then your calling.”
The younger of the two cocks his head. “A loser CEO for an entertainment company?”
Ricky snorts. “No, silly. A lawyer. You know, a voice for the voiceless?”
Gyuvin won’t lie and say he hasn’t thought about it before, but he’s never put too much effort into looking into the option. He doesn’t know if he would be a good lawyer because most lawyers on television look like crooks and scammers with diplomas. He doesn’t want to fight for anything, but he does believe in justice. Everyone deserves a fighting chance.
“I would hire you. You’re very persuasive. You should think about it someday,” Ricky hums, moving on to pick at the berries in his fruity lemonade concoction. “I don’t see many fanboys, and I definitely don’t meet them.” His eyes are perfectly sharp when he stares up at Gyuvin, and Gyuvin understands more what a fox call really is. He feels like he’s swimming in Ricky’s eyes. “Wouldn’t you rather spend your attention on girls?”
He’s brought back to Woojae and all of their tiffs. Woojae had teased him endlessly about it, telling him he would be happier if he stanned a girl group. But the thing with Gyuvin is that he was always more interested in what he could relate to, even though now he can barely see any similarities between him and Ricky when he’s this close.
“Love is love, no matter the gender,” Gyuvin says wisely. He wonders if Ricky swings that way and will get the reference. He wonders if it even matters. “I prefer you. I’ve been supporting you since the very start.”
Ricky doesn’t meet his eyes anymore, and the confidence and maturity he was spilling out with before comes to a slow drip. He curls into himself almost, guarded. “Why did you choose me?” Then, softer, “Why do you like me?”
Upon closer inspection, Ricky is much smaller than he looks on screen. On their walk into the restaurant Gyuvin noticed he was half a head taller than the idol, and his wrists were thin enough to snap with a case of bad wind. Gyuvin’s eyes run over the boy’s collarbone and the small, thin diamond necklace he sports daily. They’re both boys but Ricky looks like a porcelain figurine, a ballerina spinning in a jewelry box. Despite the musky, manly cologne and the wispy dark hairs around the edge of his jawline, Ricky is different all the way down to his cells. He’s so much more than he lets on.
“When I first saw you, you looked lonely.” It’s true.
On the debut showcase for Hot Shot, Ricky’s home base group, Eunchae had dragged both Gyuvin and Gunwook over in hopes of some fun and new faces. It was there where Gyuvin first saw Ricky, and he was floored first by how young he looked and how shiny his eyes looked as he blinked around at the crowd in front of the stage. He was quiet, and even when handed the microphone his voice never raised higher than a hushed whisper. Gyuvin wondered how someone that introverted and green would be able to survive being an idol, but that only made him want to check on him more. How Ricky was doing, how he was adjusting, if he was eating his meals, Gyuvin thought about it without stopping. He couldn’t get Ricky out of his mind, and by the second month of living with those compulsive thoughts, he subscribed to his Bubble account and tuned in for every Live. It couldn’t be helped.
Looking at Ricky back then, he was just asking to be loved, Gyuvin was sure of that. With his fidgety hands and his big eyes and his gummy smile, Gyuvin decided right then and there that he would love him.
“I thought if I became your fan then you’d eventually know that you were loved. I wanted to be your fan so you’d know someone was cheering you on from the sidelines.”
“Should I bring you home? Your mom must be worried.” As if to square away their conversation into a nice box, Ricky breaks eye contact to look for the waitress in search of their check. Gyuvin doesn’t miss the way his hand trembles when he curls it on the table.
He wants to say the same for Ricky, that his own mother or his members must be looking for him too. That someone must be looking for him. But he’s afraid to after coming to the conclusion that if Ricky were able to walk around the crowded streets of Hongdae alone without even a manager then maybe his company is more of an open wound than he thought.
After the quietest taxi ride in history, Ricky and Gyuvin walk side by side down the hill that houses the younger teen’s residence. Gyuvin had initially told him he could find his way home and that it wouldn’t be a problem, but Ricky insisted on making sure he wasn’t an actual stray. That’s how they end up brushing shoulders the entire way down, going at a slower pace than needed. Gyuvin’s dog paws crunch and scratch over the gravel and serve as one of the only sounds save for the crickets that have started to hum their night tune.
Gyuvin doesn’t want to go home. He doesn’t want tonight to end. He’s afraid of going to bed and waking up with more distance between him and Ricky than there was a week ago. The boy clears his throat and gets another ghost whiff of the idol’s cologne, breathing it in. “Thank you for not being creeped out,” Gyuvin says while looking ahead. “I know it must be weird to have an old fanboy.”
“…Old?” He can feel Ricky turn his head even if he doesn’t look at him.
“Yeah, I mean, I bet you were expecting a thirteen year old to do this,” Gyuvin admits bashfully. He feels sticky in the costume now, suffocated even though he’s ditched the dog head long ago. “But it was really fun for me. It’s going to be the highlight of my teenage years for sure.”
Ricky chuckles and it sounds like the start to a song. “Do you plan to ignore me for the rest of your life?”
“No—“ Gyuvin tries to interject, finally turning to the shorter boy.
“I didn’t know I was just a phase for you, Gyuvin,” Ricky finishes with a doubtful smile. He’s so innocent. Gyuvin can tell that he’s disappointed, it shows through like glass.
“What I meant to say was,” Gyuvin saves, “is that I plan to love you in silence, you know? I can’t really be twenty or thirty and be loud about it like I have been. When you’re a kid it’s cute, but as you get older it’s way childish.”
“Why not? Music is ageless. Your interests don’t have a timeline, or a deadline. I wish you wouldn’t put so much thought into it.” The blonde pushes his hands into his coat pockets, shivering. “Liking something doesn’t make you childish. It makes you human.”
Gyuvin feels like he’s saying everything wrong, but he also feels like he’s learning something. He pauses the moment he sees the brick wall to his place rounding the corner and walks in front of Ricky to face him. “You’re my favorite person, I don’t think that will go away.”
“I get it,” Ricky says once they stop in front of Gyuvin’s gated door. From the corners of the sidewalk he focuses on the wildflowers poking through the cement. “The life of an idol is fleeting, you know. When you’re not in the spotlight you’re easily forgotten. People move on with their lives, fans leave. Then all you’re left with is yourself.”
The question comes out faster than Gyuvin can realize he’s asked it, “Are you afraid of being forgotten?”
“Isn’t everyone?” Ricky asks. His gaze flickers to Gyuvin’s, and Gyuvin can see that it moves from one eye to the other, ending at his lips. “You can only shine for so long before you burn out. We’re humans, not the sun.”
“I won’t forget you for as long as I live.”
“I won’t forget you either, Kim Gyuvin,” Ricky says, enunciating every syllable of his name with his plushy lips. “For as long as I live.” And if that isn’t enough to make the younger one believe him, he crosses his pointer over his middle finger, eyes filled with sincerity. “Promise.”
What a ridiculous situation. They’re stalling for more time together, Gyuvin knows it’s true because the other isn’t moving to close the conversation or to say his goodbyes. He wonders if Ricky is dreading going home too. Or maybe his dorm doesn’t feel like home at all, and he’d rather be anywhere else but there. Gyuvin feels the same and he thinks Ricky knows this. When the older boy shakes and pulls his arms around himself, Gyuvin can’t help but want to help, and he also can’t stop his selfish thoughts.
Ricky said he wouldn’t forget him, so Gyuvin should make sure there’s something to remember him by.
He hesitates when Ricky looks at him and acknowledges the small movement he makes towards him. There’s that look again, the same one from his debut showcase. The one that screams he’s lonely, and should be held. “I feel like if I don’t do this now, I’ll regret it,” Gyuvin says as a precursor.
Ricky tilts his head in curiosity even as Gyuvin brings his arms out to envelope the boy into his chest. The idol stills, wordless in the embrace, hands hanging down by his side. Years seem to go by before Ricky is shocked back to life, realizing that he’s being hugged, that he can feel Gyuvin’s body through the dog costume.
And Ricky’s arms assume their position over Gyuvin’s shoulders naturally. The hug deepens enough for Gyuvin to press the tip of his nose into the boy’s neck, the closest he will ever be, and he feels Ricky resting his cheek on his shoulder like a lovely cat giving in. “Now there’s no way you’ll forget m—“
Ricky lifts his head to kiss him on the cheek, narrowly missing the corner of his lips, stunning Gyuvin out of his mind. The idol looks pleased to have gotten something right about him, the fact that Gyuvin would be open to more. His tone is silky, “You won’t forget me either. I’ll make sure of it.”
There’s enough pressure building up in Gyuvin’s head for him to rocket off into space. He doesn’t know what to do so he stays frozen solid, mouth agape. Ricky snorts and it still sounds godly, thundering in Gyuvin’s ears even as he gently pushes Gyuvin into the entrance of his house.
His heels click as he walks and Gyuvin can’t take his eyes off of him. “When you become a big shot lawyer, come find me. I’ll make you chase me this time.” He waves his hand to motion Gyuvin back into his house. “Go to bed now, you’ve worked hard, MongMong.”
He walks away and Gyuvin feels like he’s floating out of his world again, like he’s becoming unreachable by the second. His heart yearns in ways only outstretched hands can, reaching and wanting and desiring. There’s an ache growing fast, eating Gyuvin up from the inside out like a black hole. A new path is opening for him and he’s in the middle of it. He needs to do something, he needs to be strong. Just once, Kim Gyuvin will do the impossible.
When Ricky is almost out of eyesight, Gyuvin makes the move to hop back out onto the street. He’s not far enough for Gyuvin to scare himself out of what he’s thinking of doing, and after a short jog he’s able to catch the idol by the wrist, flipping him around. He’s seen it in movies but he never thought he would have the expertise to execute it. Either way, he finds it easy to take soft cheeks in both of his palms. Ricky is as sweet as milk when he stares up at him, like he’s been waiting for Gyuvin to do this all night long.
“It’s okay,” Ricky encourages with a nod, as reckless as Gyuvin feels. “It’s okay.”
Ricky smiles into the kiss, really smiles, and Gyuvin could shed tears from how happy that makes him to know he’s the one making him smile. As they kiss, Ricky clings his fists around the fur of the suit, and Gyuvin moves and leads their lips into a dance made for two. It settles on him that there’s a possibility he was right all along; his youth was ending, and his adulthood is just beginning.
Ricky presses his palm flatter over Gyuvin’s chest when they finally part and the younger bumps like a bongo underneath it. “Your heart’s beating like crazy,” Ricky whispers happily. There’s a giggle that escapes and Ricky’s lips are stained red with their scandal.
“Because I’ve been chasing you all my life,” Gyuvin replies before using this time to seal their lips together in another kiss.