Work Text:
I am waiting. Sometimes it feels like I am always waiting. Waiting for a new schedule, a new song, a new costume, a new interview. Today, I am waiting for the latter. I am already styled, dolled up in a fancy outfit, and a little bit nervous. But I still have some minutes. Standing in front of the studio, I do not have much to do. Which is dangerous. An unoccupied mind is a dangerous mind. But I am not thinking of you. I am thinking about the interview questions, my answers, what I should have for dinner. If I should have something for dinner…
I am really not thinking of you. But I hear laughter in one of the hallways and approaching steps. I look up. I do not know the person who appears behind a corner, crosses my hallway and vanishes behind yet another corner. I do not know the second one or the third. This is when I stop counting. I almost turn my head, ready to finish thinking about having sushi or salad for dinner, when a flash of familiarity appears.
~*~
You know, I always thought life was a string of different versions. Versions of the same place, the same time, the same person.
There is a version of you when you were a baby. Maybe it still lives in your mom’s memories. There is a version of you that you were when you were in primary school. Maybe someone remembers you as the handsome guy sitting in front of them or as the one who always shared his lunchbox.
There are many versions of you, of me. Of us.
There is a version of you that appears at the most random moments in unfamiliar hallways when I least expect it.
~*~
Our eyes meet – I wonder which version of you you are today.
~*~
Sometimes it feels like I meet a new version of you every time I see you. Just yesterday, I saw you on Weekly Idol together with your bandmates. I did not want to watch the show, really. I once promised myself that I would not miss you. But it appeared on my YouTube when I was watching a silly cat video, and suddenly it autoplayed. When I saw you, I could not stop watching. I have never seen you in a variety show together with your group. I was mesmerized by this new version of you. You looked happy.
Sometimes, when time is slow, I am listening to your songs and watching your stages. I am proud of you and of the version you have become. Sometimes I wish I could tell you, but you are not the version I have known, and I am not the version of me that you have known. Although it has barely been a year. But a lot of things can happen in a year. A year can turn a familiar version into a completely new version of a person.
But sometimes, the new versions and the ones I am familiar with can collide. I was doing promotions for my solo debut on M Countdown. I remember walking down a hallway, trying to find out where I was supposed to be, when I read your name on one of the doors. I almost did not connect the group name with you. Almost. As if I haven’t followed your success.
Unfortunately, you were nowhere in sight, and I did not see you backstage. We must have missed each other. I almost thought I would not even catch a glimpse of you, but I did in the end. I saw you on stage. You stood right in front of me at the end of the show when everyone was waiting for the winner's announcement. You stood so close that I could have touched your shoulder, your hair if I had wanted to. But you seemed nervous, and I did not want to disturb your focus. I did not dare to. You know because of everything. Because you were not really in front of me. It was a version of you. The proud-winner-and-member-of-the-survival-show version of you. And this was a version of you that should not interact with me—the dropped idol with the lost opportunities that you kissed a few times for an acting job. Or, well…that another version of you had kissed, liked, and knew. The actor version of you. We both knew that the actor version of you and the idol version of you did not go well with each other. Even if I wished they would.
~*~
In my mind, it went like this: I was watching you from behind, thinking about all your different versions, the ones that came before me, the ones that I knew, and the ones that came after me. Suddenly, you turned around for a short moment and met my stare that was on the back of your head just moments before, as I remembered how soft your hair was when running my fingers through it. Your absent gaze focused on me, and I could see a whirl of emotions in your eyes. Surprise, irritation, unsureness about how to react in a moment like this that had been familiar to us once. Then it became soft and familiar—a small smile on your lips. And suddenly, there was a flash of a version of you that I knew. For a short moment, we were the versions of ourselves again that belonged together in a sense. But then you remembered, came to your senses, and turned around again. Back to your idol self. Back to your dream. Back to a version of you that did not need me.
~*~
In reality, it was less dramatic. Because although it appeared as if you were looking for something (someone? me?) when the camera was not focused on you, our gazes never met. The winner was announced, the cannons went off, and I left the stage. By the time I was finished in the changing room, you had already left, herded off to another schedule with your group. And although there had been a version of me that could have followed you on a schedule, this version was long gone. I turned around and went home.
~*~
It is a pleasant surprise to see you. Here in this hallway. It is not like I miss you all the time. But it would be a lie to say that I do not miss you at all. At least the version of you that you showed me. That was my partner-in-crime for a short while. That traveled with me, worked with me, and just existed with me. I think it is hard not to miss someone you spend so much time with. Even if it was only for a short while.
I miss the version of you that you showed me when no one was looking. On rooftops in between shoots, at coffee shops when no one knew who we were, when no one cared. The version of you that trusted me and shared secrets, concerns, and stories with me. The version of you that bitched together with me about how unfair the entertainment industry could be. This version of you that was a close friend to me, whom I called my soulmate.
The version of you that seems to be gone. It is the version of you I miss the most. Because I have not seen that one in so long.
~*~
Because I do not quite know the version of you that I am seeing in the hallway right now, it is hard for me to read you. I do not know the newer versions of you. But I hope that this version of you is happy. That you are happy now. Happier than you were a year ago, when we met. I hope that I am seeing a happy version of you, one that finally fulfilled his dream of singing, dancing, and being a recognized idol. I truly hope you are happy. No matter which version of me I am today, this is something that has not changed and probably will never change. Because I always want you happy.
~*~
I have a lot of versions, too. Did you see my idol version on M Countdown? Was I cool? Were you proud of me? Maybe someday I can ask you about it. When the versions of ourselves match again. I once told you about my version theory, and you just laughed. You said that our versions could never unmatch after we got to know each other and became friends. Now look where we are. I do not know about the versions of me that exist, but I believe that they are similar to yours. I hope there is a version of me that you cherished and that you will keep in your heart. That you will sometimes think about. That you sometimes miss. Because there is a version of you that I keep in my heart, that I sometimes think about, that I sometimes miss. Because I keep all your versions in my heart. The one that was close to me, that hugged me, that traveled with me. The one that practiced lines and kisses with me, the one that laughed with me, the one that celebrated with me. The one that felt like my soulmate. Because I keep even the versions of you that I am not part of, because our ways parted and we changed.
~*~
I still remember when you told me about your decision to participate in the survival show. To try again. Because you never let go of your dream. Never. I remember your smile and happiness when you were accepted, our video call when you packed your things and wanted my opinion on every object you stuffed into your bag. I remember how proud I was. But I remember the silences too. When we did not know what to say. Because we knew the underlying implications, we knew what it meant. That we would change, that everything would change. That the versions of us that fit together like puzzle pieces had to be torn apart and molded into something that would probably never fit together again. And we were scared. Scared to lose these versions of ourselves. Do you remember what I told you that one night, when we were sitting facing each other, our knees touching, both in our own minds? I told you that you should follow your dream without being afraid. That I would support you. That every version of me would support every version of you.
And I did—I still do. I do not regret anything and I hope you are the same. Even if we do not really talk anymore. Even if our eyes cannot meet anymore because it would hurt your image. The idol version of you that does not go along with the version of you that was a male lead in BL drama. That kissed me. That was my friend, my soulmate. I am still supporting you. Quietly. Even if I miss you. I love your idol version—that dazzling and sparkling version of you that can live his dream. That looks so so happy. But I also miss the version of you that you were when we were together, which belonged to me in a way. The version that you had to abandon. The version that I picked up, that I will keep in my heart along with the memories we made together. I will watch our videos and our shows and laugh about the memories that we shared. I will remember them with a light heart. Even if we cannot go back to them because they do not go with the versions of ourselves that we are now.
I will keep a part, a version of you. A version of you that you are not anymore in my heart, safe for you. In case there is a time, you will miss that part of yourself.
~*~
There is a smile on your face. It’s small, but real as it reaches your eyes. A small nod of your head as if you are agreeing, saying that I should keep this version of you close to my heart, that you will be back. One day. Your mouth is opening as if you want to say something. But you never do. Because your manager is calling you, ushering you to go on, to go back to the version you are today. You turn around at the same time that the door behind me is opening. The PD is calling me for my interview.
~*~
Our eyes have met. And then the moment is gone. Like the versions of ourselves that we lost along the way.