Chapter Text
As promised, Jisoo is a blast at the afterparty.
She leads the models, seamstresses, stage crew, and select guests to the Chinese restaurant neighboring the theater. The place has been rented out, and a feast of dishes and drinks greet them as soon as they walk through the door. After Jisoo greets and thanks the restaurant owners—apparently also family friends—she raises a glass and proceeds to get delightfully drunk.
Seonghwa has attended plenty of afterparties in his career so far, and Jisoo could drink with the most seasoned executives and directors. She guides the group through toasting and applauding everyone involved with the showcase, shares several anecdotes that get the entire room laughing, and then opens a makeshift dance floor between the tables, arms high in the air. Seonghwa didn't keep track of how many drinks she knocked back during her toasts, but he suspects there's a god in this Chinese restaurant.
"Jisoo will go far in life," Seonghwa tells Hongjoong. Hongjoong slouches slightly to hear him over the ruckus.
"That's what I'm always saying," Hongjoong says. "Never to her face, of course."
"How much of a grump are you usually? People keep being surprised at how sweet 'you' are when I talk to them."
"I'm not a grump," Hongjoong grumbles, arms crossed.
Seonghwa laughs, but it's true that Hongjoong is plenty popular. The two of them stick to a corner, Hongjoong eating sweet and sour pork to satisfy Seonghwa's needy stomach, but people keep seeking Hongjoong out. The stylist Yuna dishes about the older woman she started dating recently. A classmate rambles about her thesis on cross-dressing in the Joseon dynasty. Someone calling Hongjoong noona details his trip abroad for top surgery. Somehow, Seonghwa navigates these conversations and more without anyone realizing that the real Hongjoong is listening at Seonghwa's side.
Never has Seonghwa spoken to so many openly queer people one after another. He knows plenty of gay and bi idols, as well as some staff members. But they usually aren't so vocal about it, even at a closed-door party. Even with the entertainment industry being as queer as it is, people are cautious. They have to be.
Speaking with Hongjoong's friends and acquaintances is nice. It's also a little sad. Seonghwa will probably never live a life like this, not unless he gives up his dreams. And nothing could make him give up, not even how he glowed on stage earlier. At least, he doesn't think so. But Seonghwa wiped away Yuna's beautiful makeup before leaving the theater, and he already misses it.
Now isn't the time for an existential crisis though. So Seonghwa stuffs the feelings and questions deep inside himself as if he's cramming too many clothes into an already cramped closet.
Plenty of people are curious about the masked person accompanying "Hongjoong." When drawn into conversation, Hongjoong manages to give away zero concrete answers about alias Kim Seongmin or their relationship. Still, everyone cuts coy glances toward Seonghwa, undoubtedly assuming that once the afterparty winds down, their night will truly begin.
In reality, about an hour into the celebration, Hongjoong's phone beeps with several texts. Hongjoong studies the screen, texting back and furrowing Seonghwa's big brows together.
"What is it?" Seonghwa asks.
"One of the other 7-Eleven part-timers messaged me, and—well, look."
Seonghwa takes the proffered phone from Hongjoong, and soon he's frowning as well.
Kang Bumi (711)
Oppa, sorry to bother you on a day off
But there is a situation
A woman called Lee Eunjung is looking for you
She didn't know your name, but the guy she's describing is definitely you
I told her we're not allowed to answer questions about schedules
She hasn't left though
She's been waiting outside for the last hour
I just wanted to warn you
I don't know a Lee Eunjung
What does she look like?
A little older than you?
Short bob
Kinda boyish looking
"That's your stalker, isn't it?" Hongjoong asks.
"Sounds like her," Seonghwa agrees. He wonders if Lee Eunjung is her real name. Then he wonders if she knows Seonghwa took Hongjoong's body and thought he'd come work Hongjoong's job, but it seems more likely that she'd assume the curse failed entirely. "I'm sorry. She must be mad at you for helping me escape last night. Or she thinks you can give her information on me. I didn't mean to get you pulled into this mess too."
Hongjoong dismisses his apology with a wave of a hand. "It's not your fault she's criminally obsessive. What do you want to do?"
Seonghwa thinks, shutting out the noise of the Chinese restaurant. If she was loitering outside the company building or dormitory, he'd call Doyun and ask whether they should contact the police. Surely there's be enough security camera footage of her lurking around his work and home to file a report. There might even be a shot of her grabbing him the other day. The company typically doesn't press charges against sasaengs; it's hard to build legally viable cases when all they've done is follow a celebrity. But the company would probably make an exception for this sasaeng since she's proven herself capable of escalation.
But it's Hongjoong's work she is loitering outside of, not his. And she has no way of knowing with 100% certainty that Hongjoong is Seonghwa right now. That means he has a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
"I want to talk to her."
It's miserably damp and chilly outside, but Hongjoong insists on accompanying him.
"I'll just wait here," Hongjoong says, patting the concrete face of 7-Eleven's rear wall. The nearby bar's red neon light casts an eerie glow across the alley. "She won't see me, but if you yell, I'll hear."
"I doubt she's going to attack me—you. I wouldn't put your body at risk like that."
"Still. You should have backup."
It's a fair point. Even if Lee Eunjung isn't the home-invading, knife-wielding, drink-poisoning sort of sasaeng, she does unnerve Seonghwa.
He shoulders the bag with Hongjoong's gear. They agreed that he should carry it since it makes him seem more like Hongjoong and less like Seonghwa. Hongjoong, however, holds on to the laptop since it's the most likely thing to break if Seonghwa has to drop the bag and run. Then Seonghwa goes to the front of the narrow alley and checks both directions.
Someone is sitting on the bench in front of 7-Eleven, lit up a sickly yellow by the streetlamp above. Seonghwa can't see her face, but he recognizes the fall of her short hair.
"It's her," he confirms. "All right. I'm going."
Hongjoong clasps his shoulder. "Good luck."
Seonghwa steels himself and then steps out of the alley. As he moves, he sheds the posture and habits trained into him by the company for moving in public. He tries to throw away the furtiveness that usually follows him when he attempts to go unnoticed these days. He's just a random citizen walking down a sidewalk in Seoul, one among ten million. Someone that no one will recognize and stare at or point their phone camera toward or tail behind, giggling.
Hongjoong's body feels like an impenetrable shield.
Eunjung is too focused on the storefront to notice him approaching until he's almost upon her. She jumps when Seonghwa says, "You shouldn't be here."
"You!" She half-rises from her seat, then seems to reconsider and sits again. "You're that clerk."
"Yeah." Eunjung still doesn't know Hongjoong's name, and Seonghwa isn't going to introduce himself and give it to her. He repeats, more firmly, "You shouldn't be here."
Eunjung bristles at his brusque manners, but she remains stubbornly seated, folding her hands tightly on her lap. "It's a public place, and I'm not causing any trouble. You can't make me leave."
"You're wasting your time. He won't come back here again."
"Do you know him?" Eunjung demands. "Did he tell you that?"
"I don't know him, so you're wasting your time talking to me too. I just happen to work here. But yeah, he told me that."
Eunjung sizes him up, assessing the truthfulness of his words. Seonghwa sizes her up too. It's hard to tell while he's standing and she's sitting, but she looks a bit taller than Hongjoong. Under the lamplight, the scar near her nose stands out more. Or maybe Seonghwa just takes it in better with less panic surging through him. He's only ever seen this sasaeng in hurried glances and that one long look she forced from him yesterday. Her eyes tonight lack the bleeding desperation from when he knew she had Seonghwa in front of her. Now, they are only brown.
She could be an office worker, public servant, even the mother to a small child. Or, more likely, the wife or daughter of someone rich, if she has time to waste on stalking him. But no matter who she is, she's just a person.
"Can I sit?" Seonghwa asks, and then he remembers that he doesn't need to be polite. There's no reason for "Hongjoong" to worry about image or anti-fan retaliation. "I'm going to sit."
He claims the opposite end of the bench, settling the heavy bag between them and sighing. His feet ache. The heels Jisoo gave him for the showcase really were too small. Eunjung watches him from the corner of her eye, her gaze sharp even at an angle.
"So," Seonghwa says, recklessly throwing the word out into the night, "what's your deal?"
"My deal?"
"Don't you have anything better to do than follow a small-time celebrity everywhere?"
"I don't follow him everywhere," Eunjung says, mouth flat. "I'm not like those girls."
"What do you do then?"
She doesn't answer. But she doesn't get up and leave either. For a while, they both sit on the same bench, staring into the fluorescent-lit 7-Eleven. Through the window, Seonghwa can see a young woman straightening items on the shelves and an older man sitting by the register. There are two customers, a pair of high school boys bent over cup ramyeon at the counter. It's not yet late enough for Hongjoong's usual midnight to morning shift.
When Seonghwa was younger, his only goals were to dance his best, improve his rapping, and find a company that would debut him. He never dreamed of anything except performing. Now, however, he wonders what it'd be like to really live a life like Hongjoong's. Go to university. Work a part-time jobs. Do favors for friends. Date anyone. Wear whatever is most comfortable.
Be whoever is most comfortable.
"Why him?" Seonghwa asks.
Eunjung turns, her sullen mouth still flat.
"I know you're not sitting out here in the cold for some clerk," Seonghwa presses. "What's so interesting about this idol that you'd waste your time like this?"
All fans, even the stalkers, are the same in one regard: they love to talk about their idol. Seonghwa watches as the temptation wages war against her annoyance and reticence, her lips pressing thinner and thinner.
Finally, however, she unfolds her hands and spreads her fingers across her legs. Her mouth parts stiffly, and she says, "He's perfect."
That...wasn't what Seonghwa expected. Not something so common; he's heard that he's perfect from fans so many times that the words has ceased to convey any meaning to him.
"No one is perfect."
"I don't mean like that." Eunjung's gaze cuts over to him, that desperation from last night flashing briefly in her eyes. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me," Seonghwa says. "What do you mean by perfect?"
Eunjung looks away. She rubs the side of her nose, finger brushing against the scar on her cheek. "Seonghwa's visual is my ideal."
This, too, is common. He's used to hearing compliments about his appearance, and he's become confident in his looks.
But it wasn't so long ago that he grew his bangs out and avoided mirrors so he wouldn't have to see himself. He hated his big nose, his bushy brows, his too-wide mouth, and his too-narrow eyes. Some days, he felt like the ugliest person in the world. Even after his debut and cosmetic surgery, he still felt that way some days.
He confessed this to Yunho once. Yunho stared at him like he was crazy.
"So you like how he looks," Seonghwa says, struggling to wrap his mind around how this is somehow enough to lead a person to stalking. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people like how he looks, but the vast majority would never do what Eunjung has done.
"He looks exactly how I want to look."
The confession sinks slowly into the night between them, the moisture-laden, tension-filled air made even heavier. It takes Seonghwa a moment to process it. He first thinks, Ah, so that's why it was a body-switching curse, and then he thinks, Wait, what?
"What do you mean? Look like m—him how?"
Fortunately, Eunjung doesn't notice the slip. "It's not fair," she says. "When I see him, I think 'That should be me.' The way he looks...I want that."
Seonghwa remembers Hongjoong watching him carefully from the hotel bed, asking Do you want to be with me, or do you want to be me? But then and now, it is wrong.
"You can't be someone else," Seonghwa says. Eunjung scowls, but Seonghwa keeps going. "You can change yourself. But you're never going to be satisfied if you make someone else your goal."
Eunjung huffs and stands, cutting off any further discussion with sharp movements. "Like I said," she shoots at him, "you wouldn't understand."
With that, she steps out of the lamplight. The night obscures her form as she strides past the alley where Hongjoong hides without a glance. Seonghwa stays on the bench, turning the short, stranger conversation over and over. After a while, Hongjoong emerges and comes to him.
"Is that it then?" Hongjoong asks, arms crossed over the laptop.
"I guess."
Eunjung will probably find again later, so long as she knows where to look. Maybe she'll try to curse him again, or even attack him with more ordinary methods, and he'll have to get her arrested. At least now he knows to be extra cautious of her.
But maybe she'll give up. Maybe she'll work on herself instead of focusing her energy on him. Only time will tell.
"Did you find out what you wanted?"
Seonghwa rises, sore feet protesting. He stares down the dark street where Eunjung vanished one more time before settling his gaze on Hongjoong beside him.
"No. But that's okay."
They return to the hotel, the end of their very long day finally approaching.
While Hongjoong showers, Seonghwa calls Doyun to check in. Doyun instructs him to call immediately if anything changes and promises to stop by in the morning after dropping Jongho and San off at the dermatologist.
"You should be hitting the twenty-four hour mark soon," Doyun reminds him. "So the curse might end overnight. But it might not."
Given how unscientific this entire adventure has been thus far, Seonghwa knows there are no promises. He isn't sure which outcome he hopes for. Pausing work, even for just a couple of days, makes him anxious, worried about losing ground in the industry's rapid rat race. At the same time, it feels good to step away, to take a break and breathe. The poison is its own antidote, as his mother would say.
For Hongjoong's sake, it would be best if the curse ended soon and their normal lives resumed.
Doyun reviews the two plans for tomorrow—Plan A if they are still swapped, Plan B if they are back in their own bodies—and then his manager must hurry off to the next schedule. Hongjoong emerges from the bathroom just as Seonghwa hangs up. He wonders if it is a coincidence or the result of polite eavesdropping.
"Are you going to wash up?" Hongjoong asks, briskly rubbing a towel through Seonghwa's hair. Their stylist has banned Seonghwa from towel drying since his hair is so damaged from back-to-back bleaching, but he figures the poor strands can survive one bout and keeps quiet.
"In a minute." He's still reviewing the Plan B schedules that Doyun texted over. Tomorrow, New World has dance practice in the morning, followed by a meeting with management, another interview after lunch (this time with a Korean publication), and a presentation from the merchandise team. Add on the private rap lesson Seonghwa booked in the evening, and it's a full day, but there's nothing crucial. Nothing will fall apart if Seonghwa has to call out "sick" again. But that doesn't stop the stinging buzz that runs through Seonghwa at the notion of missing another day's worth of schedules.
"What's wrong?" Hongjoong asks, tossing the damp towel in the direction of the laundry rack. It falls to the floor; Seonghwa makes a mental note to hang it later. "Mingi always tells me I look constipated when I'm worried. This is my first time seeing it though."
"Everything's fine," Seonghwa says. Everything will be fine, at least. Whatever will happen will happen, and that's it. He will get through this curse, however long it lasts, and then he will get back to his normal life.
That would be the simplest thing to do, at least.
"That stalker said something weird to you, didn't she?"
Seonghwa looks up from his phone, finding his own face watching him carefully. Hongjoong wears the face differently. The eyes are a little pinched, like Hongjoong is too used to squinting to stop doing it even with Seonghwa's clear vision. The mouth a little flatter, probably lacking the years of image training that ingrained a soft smile as Seonghwa's neutral resting expression. It's Seonghwa's face but not quite.
"She said that she likes how I look," Seonghwa explains.
"That's weird? I could probably poll a hundred random people and they'd all say you look good."
It's more or less the same compliment as what Eunjung said, but hearing it from Hongjoong makes Seonghwa flush, the now-familiar warmth creeping over Hongjoong's neck.
"Not like that. I thought that's what she meant too, but she said it was actually more like...that she wants to look like me. Exactly like me."
Hongjoong considers this, lips parting slightly and then closing again. After a few beats of silence, Hongjoong sits down on the bed, hands sliding into the pockets of the hotel's white bathrobe. "Huh. All right."
"What were you going to say?" Seonghwa asks.
"What? Nothing."
"You were clearly about to say something and stopped."
"Ah. Well." Hongjoong leans back against the mass of pillows at the bed's head, eyes fixing on the opposite wall's mirror instead of Seonghwa. "I shouldn't make assumptions."
"I want to hear your assumptions though."
Hongjoong sighs. "I just—what your stalker said to you makes me think the fixation on you might be rooted in gender envy."
"Gender envy," Seonghwa repeats. He understands the concepts separately, but he doesn't know what to make of them when pressed together the way Hongjoong says it.
"It's like. You see how someone wears their masculinity or their femininity or both or whatever. The way they present themselves to the world. And you want to present yourself like that too." Hongjoong pauses, as if waiting to see whether Seonghwa will jump in, and then forges forward, quicker than before. "It's not a bad thing. It's normal. But sometimes people can get really obsessive about it. And it seems like your stalker sort of...went off the deep end."
"...I see," Seonghwa says, more out of an effort to break the awkward atmosphere than actual understanding. "So...is that something you felt before?"
"Sort of? I don't like framing it as 'envy.' For me, it's more inspiration. Like fashion inspiration. But I don't mean just clothes—I mean everything. If someone is doing something that I like enough to try, then I'll try it and decide whether it's something I want to keep doing."
That makes more sense to Seonghwa. His image management is half the company advising him on what to do and half Seonghwa thinking about how he wants fans and the public to see him. A lot of his ideas come from other celebrities, the way they dress, their speaking tone, how they act on stage, and so on. Maybe it's not really comparable, but he understands the concept better if he thinks of it like that.
Hongjoong's hands clap together. "Have you ever seen a guy and thought his particular style of manliness was really cool?"
"Maybe? But that's more—those are guys I'm attracted to, usually."
"Yeah, that can make it confusing. But then what about a woman and her femininity?"
Three people immediately come to mind. First, a junior high teacher who had the shortest hair among all the female staff but also wore dresses every day rather than the slacks that the others preferred. Second, Lee Hyori, who is, of course, a legend, no further explanation needed. And finally, New World's head manager Sunghee. All of their other managers are men, so she stood out for that reason alone, but she never tried to blend in as one of the guys. She embodied the very idea of "boss," handling every situation with not just competence but grace and commanding rooms without ever raising her voice.
"Maybe," Seonghwa repeats, still mentally running through every woman he's ever admired. He tries to gather himself. "I think I get it now."
"But listen—I don't know your stalker at all. I could be totally wrong. And even if I'm right, that's no reason to harass someone. It's not healthy to dwell on it to that extent. If all you do is envy, you end up destroying yourself."
Seonghwa plucks at the bed covers, unable to meet Hongjoong's eyes. That question from earlier replays in his mind. Do you want to be with me, or do you want to be me?
"I should wash up," Seonghwa blurts, and then he makes his escape.
He showers under cold water, scrubbing as he shivers. It's not enough to quiet his mind though. When he gets out, he confronts the mirror, looking past Hongjoong's reflection to try to find himself.
The way he feels about Hongjoong—is it just an escapist fantasy, relieving stress by daydreaming about a different life? Is it a crush, like Wooyoung has been claiming ever since Seonghwa started frequenting Hongjoong's 7-Eleven? Is it this gender envy thing?
When he used to perch on a stool and stand beside his mother, watching her transform both their faces—was that just childhood fun or something more? When he stood on stage earlier tonight, wearing Hongjoong's smaller body, longer hair, and the most beautiful dress—was the sensation that burst from his chest just the familiar hunger to be seen that's so common among idols, or was it the hunger to be seen as a woman?
Seonghwa flosses and brushes Hongjoong's teeth. He applies a nighttime face moisturizer. He shrugs on the soft hotel bathroom that matches what Hongjoong is wearing. As he ties the belt, Seonghwa looks into the mirror and cinches it tighter than necessary, pulling the fabric taut at the waist so that something resembling an hourglass figure forms around Hongjoong's flat body.
For a moment, he only looks. Then he picks the belt's knot apart with trembling fingers and reties it loosely.
When he emerges, Hongjoong has gotten into bed with the laptop.
"I'm just replying to some school emails," Hongjoong says, fingers tapping against the keyboard with rapid clicks. "I'm ready to go to sleep whenever you are."
Seonghwa tugs the blankets of his own bed loose and settles underneath them. The layers rest heavily on top of his body, pressing him down. It's weirdly comforting. "You can keep the light on if you need it. I'm used to it."
Hongjoong grunts in response, still typing away. Seonghwa closes his eyes. Eventually, the laptop lid shuts, Hongjoong reaches to turn off the lamp between their two beds. The room darkens behind Seonghwa's lids. He keeps them closed, listening to the sounds of Hongjoong shifting a couple of meters away, settling in. Finally, the room falls silent except for the sounds of them breathing.
Seonghwa can't sleep. He opens his eyes, licks his lips, and speaks into the dark.
"Hongjoong-ah."
"Yeah?" Hongjoong mumbles.
"Could you do that girl voice thing again? In my voice."
Hongjoong doesn't reply for a while. Seonghwa wonders if Hongjoong already drifted off or if it was a weird request to make. But then Hongjoong shifts and pats the mattress.
"Come here."
Mystified, Seonghwa tosses back his bed covers and crosses the short distance, first perching on the edge of the mattress and then laying down when Hongjoong tells him to. His heart drums in his ears, flipping over with little lub-dubs, and his entire body is on high alert. Hongjoong borrowed the shampoo and conditioner that Seonghwa brought from the dorm, the expensive treatments that he hides between showers so the members won't steal it. Smelling the familiar fragrances on another person makes something in Seonghwa's gut tighten.
It's been some time since Seonghwa last laid in bed with someone besides the New World members. Even longer since he laid in bed with someone he wants to kiss.
With the lamp off, the only illumination comes from the moon and streetlights glowing through the sliding door's curtains. The muted glow casts soft shadows over Hongjoong's face—Seonghwa's face.
"What should I say?" Hongjoong asks, still in Seonghwa's normal baritone.
"Anything."
Hongjoong frowns. Then, in the uncannily feminine tone Seonghwa only heard a snatch of earlier, Hongjoong says, "I'm worried I'll say the wrong thing to you."
It's perversely thrilling to hear something like a woman speak in Seonghwa's voice, to watch the sounds emerge from his own lips. A beat passes before he registers Hongjoong's words.
"Why worried? What would the wrong thing be?"
"I don't even know." Hongjoong sighs, knuckle digging into one eye. "The thing is. You remind me of myself. But just because something is right for me doesn't mean it's right for you. It's important to figure out some things by yourself. And I'm scared that I might ruin that for you or rush you or...I don't want to mess up your life. I kind of hope that you don't even understand what I'm talking about right now."
"Sorry, but I think I do," Seonghwa says, and Hongjoong groans. "You're not going to mess up my life."
"You're an idol. A male idol in a boy group," Hongjoong stresses, switching back to a man's voice. "I'd hate for you to start dwelling on this stuff and get stressed out or depressed. Some people feel fine at first, but then once they notice something is wrong, everything they've been ignoring and repressing starts to flood them and rub them raw."
"If I've been ignoring it and repressing it, isn't it better to finally let it out?"
"Is now the right time in your life for it?"
Seonghwa supposes that Hongjoong knows a lot more about these matters than he does. And he certainly doesn't know what the future might hold for him. Still, he's certain about one thing.
"I'm glad we talked about this stuff," Seonghwa tells Hongjoong. "I'm glad I met you."
Hongjoong studies him, still frowning.
"Whatever happens, that won't change," Seonghwa insists. "You're an amazing person."
Slowly, the frown shifts into a small, hesitant smile, barely seen under the dull light. A hand reaches up and covers Seonghwa's eyes and the top half of his face. Seonghwa blinks, lashes brushing Hongjoong's palm.
"You're sweet. But I'm not doing this while I can see myself."
Then Hongjoong leans over and kisses him. It's close-mouthed and chaste, just a press of lips to lips, but it startles Seonghwa. He opens his mouth in surprise, but Hongjoong has already drawn back, waiting a moment longer before lifting the hand away.
Hongjoong resettles against the pillows, dodging Seonghwa's gaze.
"What was that for?" Seonghwa asks, still frozen.
"I just wanted to see how it felt," Hongjoong says, clearly aiming for cool and non-committal and failing on both fronts.
"To kiss yourself or to kiss me?"
"What do you think?"
"I think we should do it again."
Hongjoong laughs. "Very bold, but nope. Anything else is going to have to wait until I've got my body back. And until you feel more certain about what you want."
"I'm pretty sure that regardless of anything else, I think you're really hot, and I like you."
Hongjoong blushes at that, the visible-from-space, full-cheeked flush that can burn through primer and foundation on Seonghwa's face. "Well. I still want to wait. For my own peace of mind. Now let's go to sleep, I've been awake since dawn."
Seonghwa settles down beside Hongjoong carefully, unsure whether he's allowed to stay in the same bed. Hongjoong lets it happen though, so Seonghwa lets it happen too.
He closes his eyes and listens to the body beside him breathe, timing the rise and fall of his own chest until they match.
This time, it's easy to drift off to sleep.
Seonghwa wakes up with the urgent need to pee. He stumbles from the bed, stumbling out of the bed covers snarled around his feet. Hotel rooms are mostly the same all over the world, so he finds the bathroom more on instinct than anything else. It's still dark, and his eyelids feel swollen and sore.
When he's done relieving himself, he washes his hands. Dries them. Snaps his head to get his pink bangs out of his face and then checks his reflection to see how poor his condition is.
It takes him a moment to remember that finding his own face in the mirror should be a surprise.
Seonghwa pinches himself to make sure he's not dreaming. It stings, but he's still unconvinced. So, he goes to the lump on the bed and shakes what he thinks is Hongjoong's shoulder.
"Hongjoong-ah! Hongjoong-ah, we're back."
"Back?" Hongjoong croaks, not rising at all.
"We're in our own bodies again."
"Mm." Hongjoong rolls over, pulling the covers up. "Five minutes..."
Seonghwa turns to the mirror hanging over the desk, examining his reflection properly. He looks exactly how he left himself the night before last. His hair is still bubblegum pink and one more bleaching session away from total annihilation. The persistent pimple by his ear is still there, hidden under his sideburns. His cheeks are a little puffy from all the greasy things Hongjoong ate in his body yesterday.
He's really back.
Doyun springs to the top of Seonghwa's mind. He's supposed to call his manager right away to get picked up and resume the usual schedule now that the body swap has ended. Hongjoong needs to return to normal life too. It's the right thing to do, for both of them. Seonghwa is antsy to start practicing again and ensure this weird blip won't slow the team down any longer.
But even knowing this, even feeling eager to work, he hesitates.
Seonghwa pads across the bedroom and unplugs his phone. There's a message from Doyun, checking in to see if anything's changed. Seonghwa stares at the screen for some time, considering. Then he sends a reply and puts the phone down.
Their hotel room has a little balcony. Doyun told them to avoid the outdoors, but Seonghwa wants fresh air, and the chance of being spotted is low. So, he pulls back the curtain to let in a little more of the sunshine and pushes the door open enough to hear the traffic on the street, the sounds of people going to school or the office or the shop. He drags a chair over and watches the world pass by below.
Compared to the last couple of damp, chilly days, today is dry and warm. A breeze brushes his cheeks and he tips his head back, letting the sun soak into his skin. His body.
Hongjoong finds him like that.
"We're back?" Hongjoong asks, crawling out of bed and scratching a bird's nest of hair.
"Yeah."
Hongjoong lets loose a jaw-cracking yawn and stretches each limb, shivering from the effort. "Guess that means I've got to get back to class this afternoon. Do you think your manager would give me a ride?"
"He will. But I haven't told him yet."
"Why not?"
Seonghwa shrugs. "I just wanted a little more time."
They order room service for breakfast. When the food arrives, Seonghwa pushes the curtains and sliding door all the way back so they can eat on the balcony. After everything, he desired something familiar, so he ordered a spread close to what his mother would prepare on the weekends. The hotel sends up rice so white it gleams, bean sprout soup generously topped with scallions, a fluffy rolled omelet, and the side dishes of the day.
Hongjoong goes straight for the omelet, plucking a segment from the plate before sitting down. "Didn't your manager say to stay off the balcony?"
Seonghwa gulps down his soup. "Are you going to tell on me?"
"Nope. I guess this is nothing compared to sneaking off to Jisoo's showcase. Besides, it will be your problem if he finds out, not mind."
Hongjoong snags more of the rolled omelet, chewing slowly with eyes shut. Seonghwa watches as Hongjoong eats, studying the once-stranger across from him. Even in just a plastic-frame glasses, cream-colored bathrobe, messy hair and zero makeup, Hongjoong exudes a queer, understated sort of femininity. Something that can't be attributed to the chipped nail polish or long locks or dozen piercings.
He wonders if Hongjoong was like this since birth or if it's something practiced like the girl voice.
He wonders if either could be true for himself.
"How did you know for sure that you aren't a guy?" Seonghwa asks.
Hongjoong's eyes open. For a while, Hongjoong just keeps chewing, considering Seonghwa under the morning sunlight. Then Hongjoong swallows. "I didn't. I still don't."
"You don't?" Seonghwa echoes.
"Not for sure."
Seonghwa turns this new information over is his head, trying to fit the piece into the image of Hongjoong that he's built up in his mind. "But then—how did you end up...changing yourself?"
Hongjoong moves on to the rice but seems more interested in poking the chopsticks into it than actually eating. "Remember what I said about not wanting to mess your life up?"
"Yeah."
"Keep that in mind. Because this is just me. I don't know how things are for other people."
Hongjoong shifts in the chair, legs crossing so the knees poke out from the open sides. The bathrobe rides up the thighs dangerously. Seonghwa allows himself a quick glance.
"One day..." Hongjoong begins, and Seonghwa snaps his gaze back up. Hongjoong laughs and gives him a mock stern look before starting over. "One day, I wondered if I'd be happier if I wore what I wanted, even if other people thought it was weird. I tried it, and it made me happy, so I keep doing it. And then another day, I wondered if I'd be happier if I could train my voice to sound less masculine. I tried it, and it made me happy, so I keep doing it. Eventually, I wondered if I'd be happier if I asked my friends to call me noona and unnie. I tried it, and it made me happy, so I keep doing it."
Hongjoong's chopsticks tap against the side of the rice bowl. "People assume that transitioning is this all-or-nothing, all-of-a-sudden thing and that everyone knows exactly what they're doing. But that's not true for me. I just wake up each day and decide if I want to keep doing what I'm doing or if I want to try something new. That's what transitioning is to me: trying to live a life I'm happy with every day."
Seonghwa has no idea how to follow that, but Hongjoong doesn't seem to expect a response right away or ever. They let Seoul fill the silence between them; the city bus creaking to a stop at the intersection. Pigeons descending from a neighboring rooftop, their fluttering wings like music against the city's traffic sounds. A pair of kids in junior high uniforms racing with their school bags beating against their backs, shouting something indistinct to one another.
Ten million people living in Seoul, and by some miracle, Seonghwa found himself beside exactly who he needed to meet. Someone he didn't even know he needed to meet.
"I'm happy," he says. "But. Maybe I could be happier. Maybe I...maybe I should try some new things. I just don't know where to start."
"There's no rush," Hongjoong assures him. Then an unfamiliar shyness settles across Hongjoong's shoulders, making them lift up to the ears. "And. You have my number if you want help. Or if you just want to hang out."
"I'd like that," Seonghwa says. And Hongjoong turns away, but Seonghwa catches the corner of a smile reshaping the mouth.
He remembers how that smile felt on his face.
Perhaps, one day, the sight of it will be as familiar to him as his own reflection.