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Myungsoo is nothing like his stage personae. That doesn’t really surprise Suji at all because she’s nothing like her stage personae, either, and while she’s pretty pragmatic about that—it’s not like she wants millions of strangers to know everything about her, and besides: it’s idol life and she knew what she was getting into—it sometimes feels like she’s turning into Suzy and she hates that.
But it’s kind of funny because sometimes it seems like the mask they chose for Myungsoo is the exact opposite of who he is, not just a skewed caricature like it is for most of them, like they did it that way on purpose, and Suji isn’t sure whether they thought that was the kindest thing or whether they were being deliberately cruel, but either way, the differences are startling. L is supposed to be cool and chic and mysterious, but Myungsoo is sweet and weird and awkward and almost painfully innocent at times, and it makes Suji feel older than him, like a big sister instead of a younger co-worker (he blushes the first few times she calls him ‘oppa’ even though he told her she could call him that) and maybe that’s because she misses her own brother so much and just wants a substitute, but Myungsoo doesn’t seem to mind. She just kind of wants to take care of him, to give him the hugs he wants so desperately (Suji loves hugs, too, loves when her unnies cuddle her and run their fingers through her hair) and to pat him on the head and tell him that things will be okay because he’s still him underneath L.
She doesn’t do those things, of course, because they’re idols and there’s protocol and people would misunderstand and that’s the last thing either of them needs—they both bring home the bacon for their respective groups, for their respective companies, and Suji has learned her lesson from what happened with Jieun (it infuriated her because it’s no one else’s business, but Jieun had just laughed at Suji’s rage and Suji was just glad that Jieun could laugh at all). But she seeks him out sometimes (not enough to draw attention to them—she knows where the lines are) and even though he withdraws at first (Suji gets that; she’s seen the way even the makeup unnies giggle when he talks to them, the way the girls line up with their squeals and their fansigns outside wherever filming is happening today no matter how cold it is: Myungsoo isn’t used to women who treat him like a person instead of a prospect or a picture to drool over, and it’s no wonder he’s so uncomfortable around girls), Suji is really good at making people feel comfortable and soon enough they’re friends. (Things are still awkward because it’s Myungsoo, but Suji would rather things be awkward and real than comfortable and fake, so she doesn’t mind.)
So she notices that some days he comes to the set blank-faced and doesn’t say a word to anyone and some days he has this big ridiculous grin on his face and he laughs (too hard) at everything she says. Suji has her suspicions about what that means, but it she isn’t one to pry, so it takes a couple of weeks before she gets to confirm things.
They’re eating lunch together, tucked in a corner exactly as far from the bustle of the set as they can be without things looking suspicious (Suji knows where the lines are), and Myungsoo is eating the same thing he’s eaten every single day since the first day of filming. It’s cute, the way he doesn’t get tired of eating the same things over and over, doesn’t need more variety when he finds something he likes, though that level of loyalty (she’d call it that out loud, but in her own mind she knows it’s obsession) is something that would freak her out in almost anyone else. But she just watches him kind of fondly as he eats (messily, like he doesn’t care if his face gets smeared with juice, and she isn’t used to people that attractive being so careless about their appearance except that there’s Jia so maybe she kind of is), tugging her jacket closer around her as she sets her own empty carton aside (it’s Jia’s jacket, and it smells like her, and sometimes when it’s been days and days since they managed to exchange two words that really mean something squeezed in between schedules and practices, Suji feels like that jacket is the only thing holding her together). They actually don’t talk much, for all the time they spend together, but there’s something relaxing about that (with the way her life seems to speed by, a stream of schedules and obligations blurring into each other), and Suji never feels the need to fill the silence. It’s the one thing Myungsoo doesn’t make awkward.
Myungsoo’s phone pings to let him know there’s a new text and he fishes it out of his pocket while he slurps up the last of his noodles (and Suji has to stop herself from grabbing a napkin and wiping his face herself—he’s not a baby even if he sometimes acts like one). The way his face scrunches up into an enormous grin as he reads tells Suji everything she needs to know, though it doesn’t answer the question of who. Myungsoo’s thumb caresses the side of his phone as he reads, and Suji doesn’t think anyone reads that slowly—it’s either the world’s longest message or he’s rereading it multiple times.
“Who was that?” she asks once he finally puts the phone down, jerking her head towards it.
“Sungyeol,” Myungsoo answers (grin still in place, and he has no idea how much he gives away), and Suji isn’t surprised. She’s seen a couple of their variety show appearances, seen the way Myungsoo looks at the boy he says is his best friend, and now that she knows for sure, Suji kind of wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and give him a lecture about giving things away and protecting himself. But his happiness is so pure in that moment that she can’t bring herself to do it, and besides: there’s always the fanservice label. Sometimes they’re given exactly the armor they need.
She knows now, so there’s no need to say it, but at this moment the bustle of the set—the shouting of instructions to assistants, the props people running around and dragging pieces of the set into place, the makeup unnies fussing over extras—seems really far away from where she and Myungsoo are sitting with their knees almost touching and so she says it anyways. “He makes you really happy.”
“Yeah,” Myungsoo answers unselfconsciously, and the free way he does it makes Suji’s heart hurt (you’re an idol, little boy. You’re not supposed to be this way. His hyungs must take good care of him or something. Suji misses Fei and Minyoung a lot right now—she feels like she never has time to really be with them anymore). “He’s the greatest.”
Suji thinks of the tall boy with the gummy smile and the quick tongue; she doesn’t know him well, but she can see why Myungsoo is so taken with him: smiles and sarcasm are an appealing combination. “It’s good—I’m glad. It’s really hard to find someone, living the way we do,” Suji adds, and she doesn’t know why she’s prodding—it’s not like her, not like her at all, but she feels like she’s inching towards something.
Myungsoo’s face is totally blank for a moment, and his face is often blank, so she doesn’t know how she can tell his normal blankness apart from this kind of confusion, but somehow she does. And then he drops his head and the tips of his ears are pink, and he mutters, “It’s not like that.”
Maybe if this was someone else, Suji would get flustered, think she’d misread things and try to backpedal—maybe (though if it were someone else she wouldn’t have started this conversation in the first place). But she’s been paying attention and she knows what she’s seen. “Are you sure?” Maybe things aren’t as far along as she thought they were. That’s a possibility. She knows what that’s like, that in-between phase, where you’re sure, where you know, but things haven’t quite solidified yet so you still feel like you have to hold your breath. It’s a hard place to live, even if it’s worth it in the end.
He rubs at the back of his neck and doesn’t look up at her. “Sometimes I think—sometimes I think he doesn’t—“ he says, and yeah: Suji gets that. She’s been there.
“But sometimes you think he does?”
“Yeah.” He still hasn’t looked up at her.
“And you want him to?” Later she’ll probably ask herself why she keeps pushing this, why she wants to have this conversation at all, but right now it doesn’t matter because it’s happening.
Myungsoo doesn’t say anything, but he looks up at her, and for a moment Suji wonders how she ever found him inexpressive.
“It’s okay,” she says, and when he cocks his head to the side and gives her this pleading look, she knows she’s said the right thing. He needs to hear that. Someone needed to tell him that.
“Is it?”
“Yeah,” she confirms. “It is. He makes you happy.”
He’s quiet for a minute, and Suji knows their break is almost over—breaks are never long enough. Someone will be shouting for them at any moment and then the hair and makeup unnies will swarm around them and then there will be too-bright lights and recited lines (and Myungsoo isn’t a very good actor, but he works so hard) for hours on end and then there will be more schedules and by the time she stumbles into the dorm it’ll be late, so late that the exact time doesn’t even matter anymore, and Fei will have left her a plate in the fridge with a cute little post-it note on it, and Suji will be too tired to even take a shower and her bedroom (the one she has to herself, the one Jia decorated so pretty that Suji hadn’t even been able to let her know that she was disappointed Jia was moving out—she’d grinned and thanked her unnie instead) will seem so big and cold and maybe she’ll let herself creep into Jia’s room and crawl under the covers beside her. And Jia will probably mutter something snarky about Suji’s cold feet waking her up in the middle of the night, but maybe she’ll also fling an arm over Suji’s waist and let her snuggle closer. Suji bumps her nose against the collar of her jacket and breathes deep.
“I don’t think I’m very good at making him happy,” Myungsoo says finally, jerking Suji back to their conversation.
Suji understands that, too: it’s hard, sometimes, with the outgoing ones who are friendly and teasing with everyone but who don’t show so much of their hearts. Suji knows she has a reputation for being distant, even cold (she hears the whispers of ‘bitch’ and though she knows that that’s not who she is, it doesn’t make it hurt any less, even if she learned to forget about it as soon as it happens), and she knows how to keep things to herself in front of cameras and audiences, but she’s pretty sure she’s all too obvious when she’s around the ones who know her best. Back when she’d been sure of herself but not of Jia at all, Fei had given her more hugs out of nowhere than usual, left post-it notes with maternal messages and cute little doodles on her mirror, cooked all her favorite meals. Minyoung had slung an arm around her waist—she’s not tall enough to put one around Suji’s shoulder—and teased her about things that didn’t matter, and Suji had known that that was her way of distracting. Suji wonders if any of Myungsoo’s members do the same for him—if Woohyun-ssi cooks for him, if Dongwoo-ssi tackles him with hugs, if some of the others tease him. She hopes they do.
“If he’s texting you like that, you’re probably better at it than you think,” she says finally, and it isn’t just for comfort: she really believes it.
It’s so clear in his eyes, how torn he is between hope and discouragement. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she confirms with a nod.
He looks like he can’t decide if he wants to smile or not, but he doesn’t have time to decide because the PD is yelling for them and break is over. Suji sighs and stretches as she stands, pulling off her jacket reluctantly and draping it over the back of her chair. Just as she’s about to turn away, her phone beeps and now she’s the one fumbling for it and unable to keep a grin off of her face as she reads.
don’t stick ur freaking cold feet on my legs when u get in 2nite if u do i’ll cut u off
“Who was that?” Myungsoo asks as she shoves the phone back into her jacket pocket and they hurry over towards the cameras.
“Jia,” she answers, and she wonders if her voice sounds as happy as Myungsoo’s does when he talks about Sungyeol.
“Oh,” Myungsoo says, and he grins at her, and she grins back.
And then everything is lights and lines and idol-smiles, but there are texts on their phones that will be reread over and over and Suji decides she’ll put on socks before she gets in bed tonight.