Ship/Member: Wonwoo/Junhui Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: canonverse (early/debut days), ambiguous relationships, repression Permission to remix: yes
***
In Junhui’s defense, his mouth was full of kimbap.
He thought it was an understandable excuse for inaccurate pronunciation while rehashing his and Minghao’s argument. Not to Wonwoo, apparently.
“Siot is a little breathy. Ssang siot is more tense.” Wonwoo demonstrated it. “Do you hear the difference?”
Junhui chewed. “Not really, no.”
“Listen.” Wonwoo enunciated a consonant, slow and careful. “Which one was that?”
“Erm.” Junhui swallowed his mouthful and slurped at his last of his drink to wash it down. The straw made a loud rattle in the empty cup, a sound Minghao would have scolded him for. He put his cup down. “Ssang siot?”
Wonwoo shook his head. “Siot.”
Junhui was a student of application. He was consistent, if not particularly studious, about his Korean lessons. The members were the most effective teachers anyway. Those lessons stuck. Textbook memorization? Not so much.
“Anyway,” said Junhui abruptly. “What do you think I should do now?”
“I can re-explain the difference in another way,” offered Wonwoo patiently, “or I can quiz you again?”
“You’re missing the point, Wonwoo,” said Junhui lightly. “I was saying words, not just consonants.”
“What?”
“My argument with Myungho — what should I do now?”
(“Wonwoo,” said Junhui, through a bite of mackerel. “I . . . . . . . .” He choked, fishbone caught in his throat.
Wonwoo thumped Junhui’s back. “What were you saying?”
“Fishbone,” spluttered Junhui, coughing. “I can still feel it.”
“Swallow it,” advised Wonwoo. “Eat another bite of rice. That’s what I do. It’ll push it further down your throat.”
“But I don’t want that,” Junhui said stubbornly, voice hoarse. His chest hurt. “I want it out.”
Wonwoo blinked. “I don’t know if I can help with that.”)
Wonwoo found Junhui in one of the company’s meeting rooms. Junhui was hunched over his unfinished Korean assignment, mouthing vocabulary words to himself.
“Oh, Wonwoo!” Junhui sat up straighter, his grin lazy. “Is it my turn to record? Were you looking for me?”
“I didn’t know you were here. They were being loud in the studio. And my head hurts.”
“I can be quiet,” promised Junhui.
Wonwoo gave him a little smile. “You don’t have to. Go back to what you were doing. Pretend I’m not here.”
Junhui laughed, half breath, half sound. “As if that were possible….” But he turned back to his assignment obediently.
The silence lasted a full ten seconds.
“Wonwoo. Are you busy?”
“Hm?”
“The members always say you’re good at Korean.” Junhui dipped his voice to a comically low tone. “Teacher Jeon Wonwoo, please save me…”
“What do you need to learn?”
“Well, we’re working on relationship terms right now. Chapter seven. For example, you are my-” Junhui sounded it out: “Co-work-er.”
“Is that all I am to you?” teased Wonwoo.
“No, you’re-” Junhui switched to Mandarin for the words he couldn’t yet express. “You’re my . . . . . . . . too.”
“What does that mean?”
Junhui averted his gaze. “Hmm. We haven’t gotten that far in the lesson yet.”
“Try to tell me.”
Junhui paused. “I don’t know how to explain it in a way you would understand.” He looked down at the open Korean workbook. “So did I say it right? Co-work-er?”
“Yes, you’re my coworker. But you’re also my roommate.” Wonwoo enunciated each word, slow and careful. “You’re my member.” Wonwoo looked away. “You’re my . . . . . . . . and my friend.”
“What did you say?”
“Friend?”
“No, no, I know. Soonyoung taught me that one. Friend,” repeated Junhui impatiently. “What did you say before that?”
“Coworker, roommate, member, friend?”
“There was something else.” Junhui scanned the Korean workbook futilely. “Never mind. Maybe I misheard. Guess I still need more Korean lessons…”
Wonwoo hummed noncommittally.
When Junhui was alone again, he pulled out his speech-to-text app, fumbling at mimicked pronunciation. It took eight tries before his phone recognized his utterance and spit out something close to intelligible. Even then, he wasn’t sure if he got it right.
Did you mean: 짝사랑?
Junhui copied the text. Pasted it. Pressed translate.
[FILL] . . . . . . . .
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: canonverse (early/debut days), ambiguous relationships, repression
Permission to remix: yes
***
In Junhui’s defense, his mouth was full of kimbap.
He thought it was an understandable excuse for inaccurate pronunciation while rehashing his and Minghao’s argument. Not to Wonwoo, apparently.
“Siot is a little breathy. Ssang siot is more tense.” Wonwoo demonstrated it. “Do you hear the difference?”
Junhui chewed. “Not really, no.”
“Listen.” Wonwoo enunciated a consonant, slow and careful. “Which one was that?”
“Erm.” Junhui swallowed his mouthful and slurped at his last of his drink to wash it down. The straw made a loud rattle in the empty cup, a sound Minghao would have scolded him for. He put his cup down. “Ssang siot?”
Wonwoo shook his head. “Siot.”
Junhui was a student of application. He was consistent, if not particularly studious, about his Korean lessons. The members were the most effective teachers anyway. Those lessons stuck. Textbook memorization? Not so much.
“Anyway,” said Junhui abruptly. “What do you think I should do now?”
“I can re-explain the difference in another way,” offered Wonwoo patiently, “or I can quiz you again?”
“You’re missing the point, Wonwoo,” said Junhui lightly. “I was saying words, not just consonants.”
“What?”
“My argument with Myungho — what should I do now?”
(“Wonwoo,” said Junhui, through a bite of mackerel. “I . . . . . . . .” He choked, fishbone caught in his throat.
Wonwoo thumped Junhui’s back. “What were you saying?”
“Fishbone,” spluttered Junhui, coughing. “I can still feel it.”
“Swallow it,” advised Wonwoo. “Eat another bite of rice. That’s what I do. It’ll push it further down your throat.”
“But I don’t want that,” Junhui said stubbornly, voice hoarse. His chest hurt. “I want it out.”
Wonwoo blinked. “I don’t know if I can help with that.”)
Wonwoo found Junhui in one of the company’s meeting rooms. Junhui was hunched over his unfinished Korean assignment, mouthing vocabulary words to himself.
“Oh, Wonwoo!” Junhui sat up straighter, his grin lazy. “Is it my turn to record? Were you looking for me?”
“I didn’t know you were here. They were being loud in the studio. And my head hurts.”
“I can be quiet,” promised Junhui.
Wonwoo gave him a little smile. “You don’t have to. Go back to what you were doing. Pretend I’m not here.”
Junhui laughed, half breath, half sound. “As if that were possible….” But he turned back to his assignment obediently.
The silence lasted a full ten seconds.
“Wonwoo. Are you busy?”
“Hm?”
“The members always say you’re good at Korean.” Junhui dipped his voice to a comically low tone. “Teacher Jeon Wonwoo, please save me…”
“What do you need to learn?”
“Well, we’re working on relationship terms right now. Chapter seven. For example, you are my-” Junhui sounded it out: “Co-work-er.”
“Is that all I am to you?” teased Wonwoo.
“No, you’re-” Junhui switched to Mandarin for the words he couldn’t yet express. “You’re my . . . . . . . . too.”
“What does that mean?”
Junhui averted his gaze. “Hmm. We haven’t gotten that far in the lesson yet.”
“Try to tell me.”
Junhui paused. “I don’t know how to explain it in a way you would understand.” He looked down at the open Korean workbook. “So did I say it right? Co-work-er?”
“Yes, you’re my coworker. But you’re also my roommate.” Wonwoo enunciated each word, slow and careful. “You’re my member.” Wonwoo looked away. “You’re my . . . . . . . . and my friend.”
“What did you say?”
“Friend?”
“No, no, I know. Soonyoung taught me that one. Friend,” repeated Junhui impatiently. “What did you say before that?”
“Coworker, roommate, member, friend?”
“There was something else.” Junhui scanned the Korean workbook futilely. “Never mind. Maybe I misheard. Guess I still need more Korean lessons…”
Wonwoo hummed noncommittally.
When Junhui was alone again, he pulled out his speech-to-text app, fumbling at mimicked pronunciation. It took eight tries before his phone recognized his utterance and spit out something close to intelligible. Even then, he wasn’t sure if he got it right.
Did you mean: 짝사랑?
Junhui copied the text. Pasted it. Pressed translate.