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fate, he must say, has a strange sense of humour. this is twice now that they’ve been forced into the same workshop. but despite them being at odds, byeongkwan’s presence this time around has kept him on his feet, out of trouble, and distracted from the simmering tension between him and their mentor. at one point, he even catches himself suppressing a smile at being booed, ready to fire off think you can do better? then the call comes. mrs. han. the amusement fades along with the music they’ve been practicing to.
his parents adored byeongkwan, perhaps a little too much. whenever rowon brought him over, they’d welcome him to the dinner table, fed him second plates, third plates, fourths, only to then send him home with leftovers – and there were always leftovers. it bothered rowon at first, how well they treated someone better than their own blood, but those feelings were short-lived. the hans had spent their entire lives acting like a family. for once, they began to feel like one.
but that was then, this is now.
when byeongkwan mentions him, mrs. han goes suddenly quiet. rowon imagines his mother must be panicking and scrambling for words, reasons, excuses, anything. she doesn’t know that they’re no longer friends; rowon hasn’t disclosed that to her. but surely – surely – she’s smart enough to realize that something must’ve happened if he’s not bringing byeongkwan around anymore. his eyes narrow. yes, she must’ve realized. his mother isn’t stupid.
“did you forget what day it was?” the question comes out curt. he has half a mind to remember that byeongkwan is listening in, but there are more important matters at play – namely, why his mother hid this from him. he’s not looking at byeongkwan anymore; he’s looking at the phone, staring at it as he says, “you know we have schedules all day saturday.”
on the other end, his mother’s pitch goes higher. she speaks faster. of course, of course. how could i forget? i must’ve gotten my days mixed up. you’re off on –
“sundays.”
– right, sundays. that’s right. i’m sorry, i didn’t realize you were in the middle of practice, byeongkwan. i’ll let you two get back to it. with a hasty goodbye, the line cuts off.
“you’re still in contact with my parents.” it’s not a question. he peers up at byeongkwan. “what did she want?”
⸻ INVITATION ( @rowonlgc )
"Boooo," Byeongkwan taunts playfully from his seat on the ground, firing two thumbs down at the other as he runs through his practice set. "You call yourself a triple threat? More like a triple..." Buffering. "...Wreck."
His playful digs always fell a bit short as of late. Overly cautious and painfully lame. He'd blame the slight ( understatement ) awkwardness that he felt whenever the two found themselves alone. Byeongkwan, still accustomed to a distance no shorter than arms-length when it came to Rowon, struggled to fall into the same level of comfort that once was. He opens his mouth to speak again, prepared to give some real feedback, when his phone begins to buzz in his back pocket.
"Shit - Hey, turn that down a second, yeah?" he waves a hand in the other's direction, gesturing to kill the music. He expects yet another scathing call from his father, but the contact that appears gives him pause - even to the point of giving the screen a double take. "Mrs. Han?"
The pleasantries are short, yet kind. He had always known the woman to be so. "Yeah - No, I'm a little bu - Are you sure? I don't know if that's... It has been a while...?" his brows furrow, perplexed, and his eyes travel to land on Rowon. Had he put her up to this? "I guess, I uh... Yeah, yeah, that sounds great. I'm actually in practice with him now - "
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gig023 solo
( wc. ) 318
it’s been six years since he last donned a uniform. unlike the ones he wore in secondary school, these one are far nicer: higher quality, impeccably tailored, though notably stiffer around the neck and under arms. he has tried loosening his tie several times, but each attempt is met with the stylist reprimanding him for looking unruly – like a delinquent – she implies with pinched eyebrows. rowon finds it ironic.
he wasn’t the delinquent type, far from. back in secondary, he ran with the popular crowd – the prim and proper sort that sat near the front of the classroom and competed over being busy and being teacher’s pet. he was never the favourite, never had any interest in that, but he had significant influence over those who did. you’ve always turned in your papers on time, right? you should ask her for an extension. she’ll give it to you. to make things fair, the extension had to apply to everyone.
the same trick doesn’t work here. he nudges a senior model with the thought that looking too uniform is unappealing. “you see one of us, and you’ve seen it all. wouldn’t it be better to show off what makes us unique? individuality is the trend nowadays, and it would make us more marketable as idols and actors if the audience can get a sense of our personality through how we wear our uniforms.” all of this just because he wants to loosen his tie, yes. the senior model considers his idea, but the stylist waves it off. it goes against the brief.
sometimes they’re like that, the senior model muses. usually, it’s ’cause they’ve got some sort of vision. we just have to trust them. they’ve been doing this longer than we have. they know what works.
rowon decides it’s not worth pushing for.
short term discomfort for long term gain – that’s the trade off.
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all of a sudden, rowon can see again.
it’s an instant switch, much like an actor playing a role. he unscrews the water bottle cap and tips it upward for seyoon to sip, mindful of every minuscule change in expression that may indicate that seyoon has had enough. “your form is better this morning,” he compliments for the first time today. “they should put you up front.”
there must be a higher power at play here, because the moment he says that, a familiar trainee appears in his peripherals. their eyes are glazed over, lips quivering. rowon admits, he’s drawn to these types – the poor souls, the sad and pathetic – given any other time with any other person, he would’ve turned his full attention to them … but seyoon is cuter and needier and less snottier, so he takes priority.
still, he offers the trainee what remains of seyoon’s water. all two drops of it. that inadvertently becomes the final straw. tears stream down the trainee’s face as they clutch onto the empty bottle, sobbing about how they’re not good enough, how this is the end for them, i’m never going to debut, i can’t do this anymore –
“then don’t.” the trainee sobers up almost immediately, bewildered. rowon continues, his tone gentler. “pushing yourself too hard does more harm than good. maybe you should switch places with seyoon. take it easy this time, let your leg heal, then do better for the next stage.” there’s nothing wrong with their leg, but he knows a comment like that would send an anxious brain to overdrive. it’s only a matter of time before seyoon secures his rightful spot, front and centre.
A part of Seyoon was indignant.
He knew exactly why Rowon behaved this way and found it utterly unfair! In his mind, this guy should like him no matter what - whether he was in a floofy hoodie or slutty tank top. If any of his regular chicks were in this practice room, they'd be sighing wistfully over his biceps of steel.
But then again, would he still like Rowon if the guy shaved his head plus eyebrows, gained sixty pounds and decided to abandon his calm, mysterious vibe to become a fun-loving twerk instructor?
Fine, fine. Seyoon tossed his hoodie back on and shook his hair so it was fluffy again. Then he returned to Rowon's side to take up on that water offer by pressing his lips against the uncapped bottle. What? He curled his fingers into a fist that could in reality knock a bitch out and gave Rowon's chest two feather-light boops in silent demand. You want me to drink myself?
Extra cuteness for extra pampering. It was, as always, an equivalent exchange between them.
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@LGCENT just posted a photo!
found the most beautiful art piece at the museum today
#lgctrainees #lgcent #hanrowon #kangminjun
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minjun’s hands are warm.
that’s the first thing he notices.
then there’s the warmth pressing into his back – the warmth of a whisper close to his ear – the warmth of sympathy – the warmth of company.
grains of rice dance around their hands as the water in the stainless steel pot starts to fill up and overflow. rowon doesn’t move to stop it. instead, his fingers are curled around minjun’s, inadvertently so; and the faster the water runs, the tighter his grip becomes. it occurs to him, momentarily, that he’s crushing minjun’s fingers, hurting him – but these feelings of resentment run deeper than any concern he can ever have for another. he knows this well, but this isn’t what he eventually tells.
“sorry,” rowon says, easing up so he can shut off the water. “it frustrates me that we were in the same house, and i didn’t notice how you were being treated.” a lie and a diversion, that’s what it is; he doesn’t like talking about certain matters that would make him sound … unfavourable.
“we should have enough for pajeon.” once he sets the rice cooker, he brushes past minjun to get to the fridge. it’s not his dorm, and it’s not his place, but he’s been in this kitchen enough times to call it his. he retrieves a batch of scallions and holds them up with a small smile. “how ‘bout it?”
end.
always the quiet observer, minjun waited.
first it was the cutting sounds stopping and then some shift in rowon’s breathing. it wasn’t too evident but since they were comfortably working side by side, it was easily noted by him. for a split second, minjun felt guilty for heaving the air with his babbling but he had been gaining confidence lately and decided not to blame himself for things people asked him about.
“of course, hyung.” he offered with a low, soft voice and managed to finish cutting the cabbage, his mind replaying the video with the instructions on the size he should cut it, while his eyes fell on the man beside him; even for someone skilled at the kitchen like minjun, he knew better not to divide attention when handling a knife.
he worked in silence for enough time to realize it wouldn’t be him if he didn’t do something. sideglancing at rowon he noticed for a second time his hands and that made him immediately drop the knife, his body fully turned to the older man.
their height difference wasn’t too big but because minjun’s body proportion was bigger, it wasn’t difficult for him to stop closer rowon by the sink, as he stretched his arms and found his hands underwater. it was a bold move for sure, but minjun felt he needed to ease whatever was going on inside his head after what he said.
taking his hands, he whispered an “it’s okay, hyung”. they remained like that, water falling on their hands and the rice and it was almost relaxing, at least for minjun. “pajeon, with lots of garlic, i loved her recipe. we could try cooking it one day.”
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it’s not hurt that he feels.
nor is it anger, or apprehension.
when seyoon tears away from him, everything – all of a sudden and all at once – goes hush. the adrenaline buzzing in his head cuts out. the anticipation blazing from within extinguishes like water to candle. it feels colder. bitter, almost. the night rescinds its invitation, and the vast sky, once a measureless beauty glimmering with wishes, opens up and engulfs him whole. he recognizes this as disappointment.
it’s not a feeling that he experiences often. he doesn’t – shouldn’t – hold any expectations for others, and yet –
he stands up without sparing seyoon another look, and for a minute, he remains there, eyes cast over the cliff, considering, calculating. what was he expecting? what did he want? confirmation, a small, very quiet part of him answers. why? what for? companionship. someone to be on your side.
the hollowness settles.
rowon resumes business as usual.
and as fate would have it, a brilliant streak of light shoots across the sky – then comes another, and another, and another. “seyoon.” he reaches out to get seyoon’s attention without drawing his eyes away. “look.” it’s the first time he’s seen a meteor shower in real time. there’s nothing that spectacular about it, but for some reason, he finds himself enamoured.
“if one hits, it would us take years to rebuild,” he muses, watching a streak disappear into the horizon. “people would get hurt. homes would turn into rubble. but even when we know the truth, we continue to see it as something beautiful. it’s all about perception and what we want to believe.” a pause. his gaze trails over. “your secret is safe with me.”
he picks up the plastic bag he’d brought along.
“let’s call it a night.”
TW: MENTION OF SUICIDE
He ripped his wrist out of Rowon's hand.
There were no thoughts involved with that movement, just instinct.
Seyoon had halted his pathetic sniffling by this point, his eyes remaining wide but with a different emotion from before. He was upset, but was it because he was accused of something horrible or because Rowon called him out on the truth that he was not willing to admit?
He didn't want to find out. Wished he could just run away. Hide his face from God's judgment once and for all. Yet where could he escape to? In front of him, there was only the cliff where he almost fell to his death. Behind him, in the quiet forest, the dead boy's spirit awaited closure.
Seyoon felt tired all of a sudden. The night was chilly, and the wind stung his cheeks where tears left salty trails. Rowon's eyes were darker than the woods, but his touch was warm. Seyoon was weak. He was tempted. Rowon's lips were beautiful enough to soften his gaze, and a part of him was ready to go crawling right back to the person he had just pulled away from.
It was never your fault. You weren't responsible. Let him go. He could just accept this, but another voice inside refused to shut up: Kim Seyoon, what's wrong with you? Who are you? Is this how our parents raised you? What happened to acknowledging and learning from our mistakes? What happened to seeking forgiveness and making amendments? He burdened you with his death? He punished you for not sharing his misery? Are you really going to sit there and let this man talk about the boy you used to care about like a brother this way?
"I don't wanna talk about this anymore," he whined, rubbing at his temples. "Hyung can't tell other people about this, okay? It has to be our secret."
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on your left
( w. ) @hyunsoolgc
catching hyunsoo during his morning run has become something akin to a routine. a courteous nod here, some small talk there, that’s really the extent of their interactions – but rowon still finds himself looking forward to it, if not for the familiar face, then for the random question he occasionally poses in ( futile ) attempts to get to know hyunsoo. it’s a curious case. most people enjoy talking about themselves, oftentimes offering up information without him prompting. but hyunsoo is closed book, and his pages seem to be glued shut.
that just makes rowon all the more intrigued.
he’s coming up with a list of questions – how hyunsoo takes his coffee, does he have any siblings, has he played this new so and so game ( a good friend of mine was talking about it ; it’s never a name and always a ‘good friend’ ) – when he spots the man of the hour on the trail up ahead. a shadow of a smile rides his lips as he steadily picks up his pace. closer and closer, closer and closer –
“on your left!” he gives a hard, encouraging smack to hyunsoo’s back as he whizzes past.
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blind spot
( w. ) @seyoonlgc
sometimes – fine, most of the time – rowon sees what he wants to see. he has these scripts in his head, stage directions, and a whole cast of characters shoved into neat little boxes, so when anyone does anything outside of this perception of them, he simply … does not see. seyoon is no exception to this. deep down inside, he knows seyoon works out. he’s seen him going into the gym a few times, and those are the days when he’d decide it’s good weather for a run and promptly change direction.
“water?” rowon offers, holding out a bottle while diligently maintaining eye contact. usually, he’d throw out praises and words of encouragement throughout practice. and usually, during breaks, he’d go over to squish seyoon’s cheeks, pamper him with massages, buy him food, feed him –
but this is not super cute fat cat seyoonie.
this is … kim seyoon, person.
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catharsis
( w. ) @lgcyunseo
it’s not his usual scene, but he doesn’t look out of place. faded jeans, white tee, cuffed, he’s seated in the far back corner, tucked away in a half-circle booth shared by four others. they’re strangers, each one of them, but he treats them like close friends, chatting, cheering – all while keeping an eye on his actual friend. she’s meeting an ex ( just to talk things out, she insisted, whatever you do, don’t let me go home with her ). so far, so good. they seem bitterly amicable. he looks away.
across the dimly lit floor, a familiar face catches his attention. im yunseo. how curious. for some time, rowon watches him. watches how the shadows dance across his features, watches how he moves about. it’s different, somehow. and when yunseo approaches the bar, rowon excuses himself from the table and makes his way over.
“didn’t expect to find you here,” he greets, easing into the empty space to yunseo’s immediate right. a small smile, a head tilt. “can i buy you a drink?”
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assertive?
bossy when he wants to be?
rowon wants to argue there’s nothing wrong with that. sometimes he needs to lead them in a certain direction ( … away from mint chocolate fried chicken, and other creative fusions, for example ). but before he can fully launch into the if’s, but’s, and why’s, he stops mid-thought at iseul’s comment. his eyebrows shoot up.
“you’re not?” he hasn’t asked about iseul’s … endeavours, mostly because he’s been under the assumption that iseul isn’t seeing anyone. but is he? is he? surely, he would know. surely, iseul would tell him. rowon decides not to ask – not now, at least – and ruminates, “you look like one.” a cheeky grin slips at that. “no offense.”
"do i look like a whiny pers—hey," he huffs, slapping his friend's arm at the correction rowon had made but he can't even be mad, if he's honest, because it's mostly true. he wouldn't consider him not whiny but at the same time ... "why are these fans reading me for filth? we haven't even debuted yet," iseul complains halfheartedly, putting down his phone where he had been traversing the new world of archiveofourown that he had learned of very recently.
it was a scary place, if he's honest.
"i wouldn't say you're aggressive ... more ... assertive?" iseul says, trying to think of how he wanted to word it and he grins afterwards. "like you're bossy when you wanna be?"
he picks his phone up again and he frowns, unable to decide whether he's happy he can read these fanfics in english or not. "i can't believe the small amount of wonseul writers think i'm a bottom."
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“my dearest darling,” rowon reads aloud, “i am sending you my heart by sea in hopes that it would reach you – no, i do not hope. i know it will. i am meant to find you again, my love. we are meant to be. though you no longer wish to speak, you will never be unloved by me. i miss you terribly. please return safely.”
he raises an eyebrow at the numbers scribbled in the top corner. the message dates back to september, seven years ago. it’s a miracle – or perhaps fate – that the glass bottle hadn’t shattered against rock all this time.
“it’s been a while. you think they’re still waiting for an answer?” he hands the letter back to hyuntae for closer inspection. “would you wait seven years?”
hyuntae liked this. he finally felt like he was learning more about rowon. he felt like he wasn't as far away. tae kept his vision up at the sky, admiring the beauty. "its beautiful" tae usually didn't have time to actually admire the beauty of the world. most of his focus was dancing. the thing that never failed him. he listened as rowon explained the hidden spot and how it began getting overcrowed. "i won't tell a soul" he teased nudging him playfully back.
he watched rowon struggle before extending it to him. "HEY! my hands aren't that small" he exclaimed as he grabbed the bottle from him. and as rowon expected his hands easily grabbed the note inside and handed it over to rowon. "since you found it, you read it first"
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rowon is on his best behaviour. he shows up early, stays late. he’s attentive, receptive ( mostly – they’ve had their disagreements about his performance feeling empty ). he tries his best, and when his best isn’t enough, he tries again. but most importantly, he says nothing – not a single word of the matter. his eyes do the talking instead. whenever max speaks to the group, rowon stares, unblinking, unfazed; and wherever max goes, dark eyes follow close behind.
make no mistake, it’s his fullest intent to make max as uncomfortable as possible so there’s no choice but to talk about it.
the time comes a lot sooner than expected. he catches a glimpse of the hands wrung together, and he almost smiles – but then he remembers hyuk. he remembers max. he remembers max’s partner wookjin. and it’s no longer entertaining. still, he keeps his composure. still, he plays it cool. “strange,” rowon answers. he’s seated backwards in a chair, chin propped up. “i’m not used to being so formal with you. mind if i speak casually?”
and then, inevitably –
“so. wanna tell me what happened?” he’s heard hyuk’s side, but max was once a good friend so he should reserve judgment and hear him out, right?
@rowonlgc
when max saw the list of people he was supposed to mentor, he entered the whole workshop with mixed feelings. while he was happy to know all the people he was going to work with, he also wasn't sure how rowon in particular would behave. they used to be good friends, great friends even but with how much of a rollercoaster things had been and the disaster with hyuk, the idol was a little lost where he stood with his old pal.
so during a 1 on 1 session, max was a little lost how to begin that conversation without using time rowon was meant to learn and improve. "so how are you feeling about all of this so far," was the best and most vague way he felt he could approach the situation with, hands wrung together to have something to do with them and not fidget around with a pen or bounce his knee.
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so often, rowon listens with the intent to respond. he’s usually quick with his quips, refuting every point made, hitting it where it hurts with such repetitive intensity that it eventually wears the other person down to an exasperated apology. and though he feels the fire bursting in his chest and scaling up his throat, it soothes over right before it reaches his tongue. he’s not angry, just … conflicted.
“i only had tendonitis in my wrist twice,” he says, his voice steady in comparison to minkyu’s quiver. “once, when i had to handwrite a ten-page essay detailing why i was wrong for speaking out against my instructor; and the second time, when i was practicing how to pour a raccoon because i promised you that i would try.” is it the truth? is it a lie? there’s no trace of sadness in his eyes when he confesses this, but he does start picking at the napkin tucked under the plate of pastries. “i perfected it, took some time, but i did. it was one of our most popular designs, but it didn’t feel right because i wasn’t making it for you.”
unpredictability, inconsistency, indecision – these are hallmarks of his behaviour that have landed him in similar predicaments time and time again, but there’s always an explanation ( an excuse, some may call it ). whether or not someone believes him, though, is where his troubles lie. he doesn’t counter minkyu’s choice of words with i am not. that’s too much attention on himself for a problem that is not his. he stops playing with the napkin.
“i asked to change shifts because i wanted more chances to see you. i called off plans i had for weeks because i wanted to meet you – even if it was only for twenty minutes. i did a lot for you, minkyu, because i liked you just as much, if not more.” he leans forward. underneath the table, his ankle brushes against minkyu’s – something he often did back then. it’s a timid act, almost as if to say, hey, i’m into you, you know? “you made me happy, you really did, but twice now, you’ve given me false hope. twice now, you’ve lied.”
he looks at minkyu dead in the eyes.
“you can’t tell me that you love me and disappear. i deserve better than that.”
A tight knot forms in Minkyu's throat, suffocating him and making it difficult to breathe; let alone articulate his thoughts. His body tenses, instinctively readying for either confrontation or escape, as if his defenses are being breached, threatening the protective barriers he's meticulously built to shield himself from pain and heartache.
Though Rowon's words reach his ears, it takes a moment for them to register, disbelief slowly seeping into his consciousness as he finally turns to face him.
"What," he manages to croak out. Drawing a shaky breath, he clenches his fists, gripping the fabric of his denim jeans tightly, resisting the urge to accept the offered gesture of goodwill. "How dare you try to shift the blame onto me like that, when you're the one who led us into this mess in the first place?"
"You have the audacity to turn this around on me, after I opened up to you, after I trusted you, ... after I liked you so much." he continues, his voice quivering with suppressed anger. "I refuse to be the victim of your indecision and inconsistency." With a heavy sigh, he finally releases his grip on his jeans, reaching instead for the warmth of his cup, seeking solace in the familiar embrace of his hot beverage.
"I'm not afraid," he asserts. "But I refuse to subject myself to the pain of your unpredictability again. I deserve better than that."
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minjun is his.
not ‘his’ in a sense that a friend is his, or a rented apartment is his – but ‘his’ in the way this drink is his, this pet cat is his, and this name is his. it’s his to have. his to hold. his to own.
the brazen thought comes out of nowhere, but it doesn’t disturb him in the slightest; if anything, it only sheds light on feelings long held – feelings that would work their way into a clenched jaw whenever he sees minjun being friendly with fellow trainees, feelings that would rouse a growing fire, flames curling deep in the pit of his stomach whenever he overhears minjun calling someone else ‘hyung.’ as if that honorific belongs to him.
( but it does – it does – minjun had called him ‘my hyung.’ he doesn’t miss that, and he doesn’t miss the nickname or the arm snaked around his waist either. )
rowon is in a mood, and it’s starting to show. the captain, pity the poor guy, catches on and eventually excuses himself – though not before giving minjun an odd look, almost as if to ask, what’s gotten into you? rowon pretends he doesn’t see that and goes to the bench to retrieve a water bottle and a towel. typically, he would toss both items to minjun, but this time, he offers the water and takes it upon himself to towel minjun’s hair dry.
“i’m jealous,” he says then, simple and straightforward so there’s no uncertainty about how he feels on this matter. “didn’t realize other people called you junnie.” his eyes draw down from the wet hair. he stops towelling. “i thought i was the only one with that privilege.”
minjun can notice the change in his routine as they’re seasons of the year. sometimes they’re not as evident as a blazing summer day or the heavy rain pouring outside. however, they’re still noticeable, like flowers blooming outside the company’s building or the freezing air as he walks down the street for a late-night snack hunt at the convenience store nearby.
his swimming routine is something immutable so far. he’s still training, still finding solace underwater and, above all, still hungry for the record-breaking; if pride is a sin, that’s his.
it’s a surprise when his eyes find rowon’s figure coming in his direction, actually, he senses his presence before he’s seen and again the sense of pride fills his heart, to the point he’s laughing, not at how the team captain is being a little invasive with his celebration - even minjun knows limits.
he’s about to say something when the heavy, yet comfortable and familiar embrace envelops him and in any other circumstance he could complain he’d get his hyung wet. still, the small talk between captain and rowon makes minjun kind of interested, and attentive if anyone steps out of the line.
he tenses a little when the captain calls him like that and minjun immediately corrects him with an “it’s minjun” but it probably comes out low because rowon is still talking and maybe they’re both ignoring him but minjun knows how to play the right way, as soon as he notices the captain’s posture change a little, a daring tone coming with a didn’t know junnie needed a bodyguard. you really are important, golden boy.
the hand comes in his direction, to pinch his cheek but minjun frowns and escapes from it - he’s not having fun anymore. “it’s minjun.” his tone is more serious now, as one of his arms is now finding rowon’s waist, under the heavy coat he’s wearing, as he hugs him closer. “he’s not my bodyguard, he’s my hyung”.
turning his attention to the older man, he hopes to find his eyes, smiling at him, slowly color returning to his cheeks, “i’m glad you came, wonnie hyung, i knew you wouldn’t miss it.”
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RATED E FOR EVERYONE › @iseullgc
his plan to fabricate fanservice at fancom had worked. a look here and a little skinship there was all that’s needed to get people talking … and writing.
it starts – as it always does – innocently. a quick search of their names ( out of boredom, mind you ) returns a slew of mostly positive comments from netizens. but a deeper dive into the depths of the world wide web brings them to what looks to be a blogging platform. it’s here that they find an absolute goldmine.
rowon is on page two of the wonseul tag when he notices a certain trend. “they make you so whiny.” he shifts closer to iseul to show him yet another piece of writing that has fictional iseul clinging to fictional rowon. “you’re not whiny.” a pause. “that whiny,” he clarifies. “and i’m always aggressive in these. i’m not aggressive, am i?”
( never mind the fact that he has a record of biting iseul’s shoulder, squishing his cheeks until they were bright red, and throwing him down and suffocating him when they were play fighting that one time – but it was just once! )
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@LGCENT just posted a photo!
miss me?
#lgctrainees #lgcent #hanrowon
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LGCVSS INTERVIEW › WC: 365
WHAT WAS THE ACTIVITY YOU DID & HOW DID YOU FEEL ABOUT IT?
“fishing,” rowon answers. “when they initially announced the task, i thought – huh, four hours? who fishes for four whole hours? that’s a punishment. we’re being punished. but once we got out there, time went by quickly. it was the first time for a lot of us, so we spent a good hour trying to figure what was the best technique.” there’s a slit in his sleeve that he considers addressing; many of them had gotten hurt by the flying hooks, one of which caught onto his shirt, but after some thought, he decides not to draw attention to it. no point in embarrassing the trainee who kept apologizing profusely for it. “it was quiet for the most part. gave me some time to think about where i wanted to go from here. i ended up enjoying it more than i thought i would.”
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DID YOU CATCH ANYTHING & WHAT WAS YOUR FAVOURITE MOMENT?
“near the end of the fourth hour, we must’ve stumbled across a school of fish, ’cause that’s when we began catching a lot. at that point, i want to say it was two – maybe three – of us that had caught more than one, but all of a sudden, we were all tied. i guess you can say that our competitive spirit kicked in. i ended up with four. would’ve gotten five, but i had to let one go since the trainee next to me was getting pulled into the water – poor kid. it took two of us to stabilize him, so if we’re talking about the biggest catch, it would be his.” up until then, the weekend had been fairly peaceful. who would’ve thought that fishing was what got his adrenaline kicking. “if that ends up making the final cut, don’t look at us too closely. a life was on the line, so we couldn’t give our best angles.” a joke, of course.
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WHAT IS ONE TAKEAWAY YOU’VE LEARNED FROM THIS EXPERIENCE?
how he sees it, fishing has little to do with skill and everything to do with patience. it’s about the tease, the lure, the meager taste, then the inevitable chase. but rowon doesn’t say any of that. instead, he goes with a simple and humourous, “that maybe fishing is my calling.” and he cracks a smile.
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