mayday.

ryu hyunseok. twenty three. chef and trainee at legacy entertainment.

[lgchyunseok]

if someone told you in the last year that you would be where you are today, how would you feel?

"i don’t know,” hyunseok says honestly. would he be disappointed? perhaps. a year ago, he probably hoped to have overcome his stage-fright issues, had some real accomplishments and credits under his name, and be preparing for a debut. a year ago, he would’ve been looking at his future self with stars in his eyes, believing him to be capable of soaring to great heights. but it’s hard to take such big leaps forward in the span of one year. there are other things hyunseok has gained in the meantime, like a deeper appreciation of his friendships, a slow and steady increase in various skills as a result of all his hard work, and a growing sense of confidence. he wants to say that his past self would recognize those gains as valuable too. 

“i don’t know,” he says again, with a shrug. “i think i’d feel... complicated.” it’s the most truthful answer he can give. “i’m still working it out,” he adds apologetically. “but i want to believe that i’d be kind to myself, instead of being disappointed or unsatisfied for not meeting some arbitrary standard i set in a different time and a different context.”

[lgchyunseok]

what was an unexpected joy for you this past year?

hyunseok wants to say that all his joys have been rather unexpected, but that answer feels like it would be cheating, so he tries to settle on just one. he’s eternally grateful for each and every thing that goes right for him, so it takes some time to finally say, “i suppose the most unexpected happiness of all--probably that i somehow convinced seolmi to date me?” he laughs and hopes his ears haven’t turned red. “i didn’t go into the year expecting to find a girlfriend at all, and yet somehow... i really got lucky! i’m happy, though.” expression softening into a small smile, he shoves his hands in his pockets and repeats, “i’m happy.” 

[lgchyunseok]

if you could wish for anything within this year, what would it be and why?

he doesn’t want to get greedy and wish for something too big. but then again, hyunseok wonders if he has a moral obligation to ask for something like world peace or ending poverty when faced with the prospect of making a wish. maybe he’s just not equipped to make these kinds of decisions, and maybe he’s happiest making things happen through his own efforts. whatever the case, he finds it hard to answer. “i guess,” he begins slowly, biting his lower lip. “i’d want something like... an opportunity to sing an ost? i just want to feel like my time in legacy is leading up to something. i’m not usually greedy for results, but...” trailing off, he laughs to himself. his words sound flimsy and insincere to his own ears. “i dunno! i think it’d just be nice to feel like i’ve accomplished something, you know?” really, what he feels like he’s saying is: he wants a reason to stay.

[lgchyunseok]

what is the worst present you've given someone in the past 1 year?

he winces. “worst?” hyunseok repeats. he likes to think he isn’t--okay, he may not be all that great at giving gifts, and maybe there’s a larger pool of ‘worst’ to pick from than he would like, but it’s hard to just... come out and say it. “i don’t know... i guess maybe those shoulder massage coupons i gave my friend as a joke, except he took them seriously and the moment to admit they weren’t a joke passed, and now i’m on the hook for like five massages?” next time, hyunseok decides, he simply will not attempt to be funny.

[lgchyunseok]

in the past 1 year, what has been your biggest accomplishment?

he doesn’t know if there’s any big accomplishment he can point to and say, this is it. the past year has been one of smaller, quieter victories--performing on stage without having a complete breakdown, finishing the song he’d been agonizing over for three months, managing to survive filming for the documentary. small accomplishments are fine; hyunseok is happy to let them build into something. for the purposes of the question, then, he thinks outside the company. “ah, well, the executive chef at the restaurant i work at let me design one of the dishes for our new menu, and that was a really great opportunity. people seem to like it, thankfully! so i’d call it my biggest accomplishment so far.”

[lgchyunseok]

within the last year is there one thing you regret?

there’s one regret that comes to mind immediately, even though he’s a little ashamed to say it out loud. “i haven’t really been the best son to my parents this past year,” he admits quietly. since he came to seoul, actually, their communication has been... sparse. hyunseok knows he should probably try harder, but sometimes he’ll be on the phone with his mother or father and not know what to say. maybe it’s a middle child problem; his sisters have no issue talking to them, but then again, they’re with their parents while hyunseok is all the way here. he sighs. “they asked me to visit this summer, but my schedule didn’t allow it.” he had the days off to take advantage of, but eventually decided it wasn’t worth it, considering he’d be back home for chuseok anyway. considering how homesick he’s been feeling lately, that was definitely a mistake on his part. “i wish i’d said yes. i miss my mom’s fish stew.”

[lgchyunseok]

anything you want to improve on a year from now?

there’s room for so much improvement in hyunseok’s life that it’s hard to narrow it down to just one thing. the primary would be his stage fright, of course, but he wants desperately to believe that it’ll take less than a year to conquer that particular demon. maybe he’s being too optimistic, but positive thoughts for positive results, right? aside from that... he rubs his chin, deep in thought. “i’d like to improve my composition skills,” hyunseok says finally. “i like making music--i’m not great at it, but it’s satisfying, and if i can improve enough to have someone like... and maybe even sing my songs in a year, that would be amazing.”

[lgchyunseok]

One rule you'd love to break within the next year?

“i’m not really much of a rule-breaker,” he says apologetically. as the resident Wet Blanket and Follower of Regulations, hyunseok avoids things than can get him in trouble. “ah, if anything, maybe i’d like to make a secret sns account--just a foodstagram or something.”

[lgchyunseok]

if you could go on a date anyone in lgc one year from now, who would it be? any reason why?

it’s an extremely straightforward question. a flush crawls over his cheeks as he scrambles for an answer to an inquiry that shouldn’t feel as uncomfortable as it does. maybe it’s because the first name that pops into his mind shouldn’t, and the second name carries an edge of guilt with it because of the first. even then, hyunseok worries he’s getting ahead of himself. a year is a long time, and there’s no guarantee his feelings for anyone will remain the same. it’s both a relief and disappointment--he’s not sure whether he’s wishing for change, or hoping to maintain the status quo. 

“uh, well, i have a girlfriend...” his gaze drops to his feet as he attempts to control the expression on his face to save himself from further embarrassment. “so ideally, i hope--if she wants to, at least. if--we don’t end up--” this is a mess. it’s not that hard of a question to answer. raising his head, hyunseok says, “seolmi.” then, sheepishly, “if we--if i’m still that lucky.”

[lgchyunseok]

during the past year, what was the biggest challenge you’ve faced?

much to his chagrin, his ‘challenges’ haven’t changed all that much from when he started training at legacy. “maybe performing at the legacy festival?” hyunseok still isn’t comfortable with standing in front of crowds of people, all watching and judging and waiting for him to make a mistake. he might’ve survived the festival without mishap, but just barely, and he’s not really eager to have a repeat of that. “getting up on stage is still tough for me, and i guess it’s always going to be my mountain to climb,” he continues, rubbing the back of his neck. “oh, but in a more general sense, i suppose balancing all my responsibilities has been a challenge. i mean, if it’s this hard for me, i don’t know how students manage to pull it off? hang in there, guys...”

[lgchyunseok]

in a year from now, do you see yourself at legacy?

he doesn’t know how to answer. doesn’t know if he wants to, if he can without disappointing himself and his friends. he’s given the question a lot of thought, spent nights staring up at the ceiling ruminating on whether he can continue on like this. hyunseok feels like he’s operating within suspended time, moving neither forward or back. he’s caught between childish dreams and stark reality, between the stage and his culinary career, and he knows at some point, he’ll have to make a commitment to one or the other. the choice seems clear. 

“i want to say i won’t give up,” he says finally, with a rueful smile. “i want to say yes, i’ll still be here a year, two years from now, but the truth is--”

the truth is that with each year, he grows older, and the dream of a debut slips through his fingers. the truth is that with each year, he becomes a better, more skilled chef, and the promise of a promotion is right within his grasp. the truth is, hyunseok knows what will be better for him, and it’s just a matter of making the decision final. but he’s scared of regretting it, scared that he’ll choose wrongly, but he’s terrified of stagnating, of treading water, of holding on for something that might never happen.

(some people aren’t meant for the stage.)

“no,” hyunseok says finally, exhaling softly. “i don’t think i will be.” he attempts another smile, but it slips off his face. “i think i’d like to finish out the year, at least, but after that... even if things don’t work out, i’m looking forward to cheering my friends on.” 

[lgchyunseok]

in the last year, what was the best thing hyyunseok cooked or baked?

the question is a difficult one to answer--there’s been much hyunseok has gone out on a limb and tried over the past year, with varying degree of results. the pavlova, for example, qualifies as the most challenging dish, perhaps, but when hyunseok thinks of ‘best’, he thinks of the thing that’s brought him the most joy. “hmmm, maybe my matcha roll cake with the adzuki bean cream?” he’d made it for a friend who didn’t do well with desserts that were too sweet, and hyunseok spent an entire week searching and refining the recipe before making it for her. her expression of pleasant surprise when she’d tried the cake, and the following grateful smile, is etched into his mind. “it was fun to make! i put a lot of love into it, and i think it made someone really happy. so i’d consider it the best.”

[lgchyunseok]

AHIN​:

      glancing up from the floor, ahin’s gaze flickers across the studio and lands on hyunseok. too easily, his feet lead him straight to the other, a small but easy smile already on ahin’s lips. “did you get enough water?” he asks as a greeting, the smile widening ever-so-slightly. ahin wipes away a stray bead of sweat with the back of his hand. maybe the past few hours were more exhausting than he realized. he’s sure to feel a couple of aches tomorrow morning. 

      everyone seems to be moving at their own pace, and ahin is sure there are plenty of people who are both ahead and behind the middle of the curve, where he’d squarely situate himself. 

      he’s been too absorbed in focusing on the lesson to really monitor anyone around him today, so he figures he should ask. “how’s the choreography going for you? smoothly?” 

exhaustion, hyunseok finds, is a familiar friend. the change in seasons always brings an increase in workload along with it—the restaurant’s new seasonal menu means more time dedicated towards perfecting the new dishes on top of hyunseok’s already bursting schedule, but he doesn’t mind it too much. he’s happiest when he has a chance to put his skills to the test, to push himself to try new things. admittedly, the heat makes it difficult to focus sometimes (whether he’s in a blisteringly hot kitchen or in a stuffy practice room), but hyunseok prefers to keep busy over spending his summer ‘resting’ and ‘relaxing’—code for doing absolutely nothing. honestly, at this point, hyunseok’s not sure if he knows how to do nothing.

it’s part of the reason why he’s so excited about the summer bootcamps legacy is offering its trainees. regular training is familiar and routine after years at the company, and it rarely asks too much of hyunseok. he knows his limits, knows how much effort to put in and where to hold back. in comparison, the bootcamp is unknown territory; maybe that’s why he’s more fired up than usual. not only are they learning new and exciting choreography, but the ability to practice with people hyunseok doesn’t usually get to spend time with is enough to get his blood pumping and pull more from him that he would usually give. perhaps he’s just on the verge of pushing himself too far, but it would be disrespectful to give anything less than his all when others are pouring their blood, sweat, and tears into the camp.

but giving a hundred percent all the time is fairly tiring. sweat drips down his face as he sags against the wall during their five-minute break. hyunseok reaches for a fresh towel lying on a bench and wipes it off, attempting to control his heavy breathing. dancing isn’t his forte to begin with—he’s a much better singer—and it's something of a struggle to just keep up with everyone else. but dancing is integral to debuting as an idol, and even if hyunseok is uncertain whether that’s what he wants, he still wants to do his best while he’s on this path. besides, it’s not awful—there’s something satisfying about nailing a move he couldn’t a few days ago. the tangible results really makes hyunseok feel like he’s improving.

it would be nice if others noticed, he thinks idly, reaching for a bottle of water. hyunseok isn’t one to actively seek out compliments, but—well, who doesn’t want someone to acknowledge their efforts. lost in idle thought, he only catches the tail end of ahin’s question. “—water?” eyes widening in surprise, hyunseok pushes himself off the wall and grins, heat crawling up his neck. he’d known, of course, that ahin was here, but he’d been too busy concentrating to be aware of the other man. now, though, it’s a touch harder to stay unconcerned—not that he is concerned, just a little off-kilter at the sight of ahin’s easy smile.

“water?” hyunseok repeats, cocking his head to the side, before glancing down at the bottle in his hands. “oh, you want some? you can have this if you want.” he tips the bottle towards ahin, then grimances. “i already, ah, took a sip or two, but… i don’t have a dirty mouth…?” a stupid, stupid thing to say. hanging his head sheepishly, hyunseok crushes the bottle in his fist. “ignore me. i’m tired. can you get heatstroke indoors, because i might have—” he’ll quit while he’s ahead.

swallowing, hyunseok reorients himself and focuses on the question he can answer without making a fool of himself. “hmmmm, well, i wouldn’t really say smooth, but it’s going, at least.” letting out a self-deprecating laugh, he sweeps his hair out of his face. “i think i’m doing okay today—there are a couple of moves i’m struggling with, but i’ll get them by the end of the session.” he clenches his hand into a determined fist and pumps it into the air. “how are you finding it, though? piece of cake for the great dancing machine ahin, i bet.” if he hadn’t been so busy concentrating, he would’ve loved to watch ahin dance (would’ve gotten lost in admiration, likely). 

hyunseok wishes he were half as good as ahin, though—wishes aren’t much, but he can work towards that goal. 

[lgcmanager]

1 YEAR ANNIVERSARY MEME

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[subinis]

cutest ♡

+ bonus:

[lgchyunseok]

* CHARITY DAY (FARM WORK) ▸ PHOTO !

he looks the farthest thing from picture perfect.

hyunseok’s shirt clings to his body, covered in sweat and dirt and who knows what else from his somewhat rocky attempt to help feed the pigs earlier. his hair is either plastered to his forehead in damp clumps or sticking out in different directions, and he makes no move to smooth it down as he pauses to rest for a moment. dirt is streaked across his face, errant bruises and cuts cover his arms, and the less that is said about his boots, the better. working on a farm isn’t supposed to be pretty, and hyunseok knows that. in fact, he thinks ruefully, if you manage to look pretty in these conditions, you’re either an angel or not working all that seriously. or just better at managing yourself than hyunseok is.

using his teeth, he yanks his gloves off and studies his hands. they’re dry and cracked, dirt embedded under his fingernails, but that much is to be expected. it’s strange to see them like this for the first time in a while—seoul’s made him a little soft, and all that time spent in the kitchen wears on his hands in a completely different way. not better or worse, just different. with a thoughtful hum, hyunseok slips them back on and wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt. the sun is still high in the sky, and there are hours to go before the day’s activities are over. surely there must be something else for him to do?

he wanders around like a lost puppy for a few minutes before stumbling into the farmer he’d helped feed the pigs for earlier. the grandfather looks at him up and down before chuckling. “ya want to do more? you’ve been running around all day.” hyunseok shrugs, and the grandfather thumps him on the back with more force than hyunseok was anticipating. “can’t say i don’t like that kind of attitude.” he directs hyunseok to move some crates around after that, saying he’ll put those young muscles to good use. hyunseok doesn’t complain, just follows his instructions while trading friendly stories about life and friends and the grandfather’s troublesome grandchildren.

when the photographer finds him, he’s in mid-conversation with the farmer while hoisting up a crate of vegetables, a bright grin on his face. beads of sweat roll down his face, arms, legs, but under the light of the sun, they make him glisten, while the rays catch off hyunseok’s hair as he throws his head back and laughs. he doesn’t hear the click! of the shutter in the moment, nor does he register it until the farmer chuckles and points the photographer out. “looks like you got some paparazzi following you, kiddo.”

“oh,” hyunseok says immediately, flushing under the sudden interest. “i didn’t realize—i look—” that must’ve been a bad shot. a horrible shot. “i didn’t make a face or anything, did i?” but the photographer assures him that he looked fine, and offers to take another shot with the farmer. hyunseok accepts gratefully; this time, he makes a conscious effort to smile—not that it’ll make much of a difference, he thinks. he still looks the farthest thing from picture perfect, rather like something someone dragged through the mud, but that’s alright. if his current appearance is proof of all his hard work, then he takes pride in it. he wouldn’t want to look any different.

(“it’s a better picture than you think. i wouldn’t worry too much,” the photographer tells him later, shooting him a wink before heading out in search of other subjects. hyunseok stares after her in puzzlement.)

[lgchyunseok]

* CHARITY DAY (FARM WORK) ▸ REFLECTION !

in some ways, hyunseok isn’t all that surprised that he just barely manages to catch the last bus back to seoul. for all his jokes that he might just settle down in the small village full time (!!), he can’t deny that he was sorely tempted to do exactly that for a moment.

there’s a tranquility here that can’t be found elsewhere, a sort of slow and steady rhythm that grounds him, makes him feel at complete and utter peace for the first time in a long while. it reminds him of afternoons spent helping his father on their fishing boat, the days’ aches fading into the background as he leaned back to enjoy the sunset. there’s a similar sort of ache spreading through his body now, and as he watches the countryside streak past, he wishes that he could preserve this moment somehow.

face pressed against the cool glass window, hyunseok exhales and closes his eyes. he’s glad, ultimately, that he chose to help the elderly with their farm work out of all the options available. it might not have been the most glamorous or exciting of charity day options, but he can tell their efforts made a difference, however big or small. the farmers’ appreciation is evident in the small things: the way they’d embraced all these misfit kids from seoul with warmth and kindness, the way they’d never scolded hyunseok for all the things he’d done wrong, the way they’d insisted he eat more at lunch and dinner, and the way they’d clapped along happily during his (frankly, embarrassing) trot performance.

hyunseok just wishes he could’ve done more for them. the end of the day came too soon, and now he’s returning to seoul, a place where he’s never felt like what he does matters in the same way. training is rewarding in its own way most of the time, but occasionally hyunseok wonders if he couldn’t be making better use of his time and energy. wonders, dimly, if all this training will ever lead anywhere.

with a sigh, he straightens up. today isn’t about him, and he refuses to wallow in negativity. instead, he holds the memory of his time on the farm close to his heart. he’d like to come back, if the opportunity arises. once, twice, as many times as they’ll have him. he’d like, one day, to proudly say, i’ll ease your burden! you can rely on me.