"The biggest in Korea News, former The Rose guitarist, Woosung (Korean-American composer and vocalist), has made his anticipated comeback on May 13th with a new EP titled Moth. Furthermore, he seems to be more beautiful and looking more refreshed than ever—this is following plastic surgery rumours earlier this fall of which Woosung has denied. Korea News secured an exclusive interview with the former The Rose guitarist to talk about the new step in his career and Korean celebrity image. What does this mean for the lead guitarist? Will he disband from the group?"
Talia stops in the middle of the ridiculously tiny kitchen, oversized Woolpack t-shirt hanging off of her thin shoulder. The spoon of Cocopops freezing on the way to her mouth, hanging open in surprise. "What do you mean?" she cried. "He's leaving The Rose? But—but…"
"Am I supposed to know who that is?"
She turns to me, face contorted in comical horror. "We listen to him all the time."
"Name a song?"
"He did the vocals for Snooze."
"With Suga?"
"With Suga." She turns off the Tv. "Like I actually fucking hate him so much for that. Why would he leave the group?"
"I mean, people should be allowed to evolve. If he feels like it's what's best for his career, can you really blame him?"
Woosung had fluffy brown hair cropped in a childhood bowl cut and curtain bangs. A round mouth. Pretty, prominent nose. Eyes sharper than an obsidian blade. Thin shoulders. He was a small man. Androgynous sex appeal. Vulnerable voice. A gentle quiver in his harmonies. Dry and nuanced.
He wasn't a very good dancer. But he was aware of his body and his movements complimented his small, genderless him.
"You don't know anything. Literally, everyone can see that he got surgery. It's disgusting. Why can't he just be honest about it? If he didn't want to be part of the band, why didn't he just say so? What's the point of getting a new face?"
"Meomchuji maseyo." Don't stop.
"Huh?"
"Jebal." Please.
I sat up. "I don't—"
"Misonyeo, h-hajima." Babe, don't do it.
Woosung looked up at me. His eyes glazed over. He wasn't completely in the room with me. The look on his face told me that. Eyelids are heavy. Sharp siren eyes staring into my soul. He reached for me and then wrapped his delicate fingers under the curl of my leg. "Come here."
"Sammy—"
"Don't call me by that name. Please. Can you say Woosung?"
"Woosung—"
He pulled me closer to him. Then touched his mouth to my forehead. "I don't want to stop. Is that okay?"
"I can't anymore."
"Just tell me how you want it. I promise I won't take too long," he said. Then he cupped my face in his small hands, pulling me closer to him so he could kiss me. His mouth tasted sweet. He whimpered into the kiss. "Jebal, misonyeo." Please, babe.
I laid back on the bed, turning my head away from him. Exposing my neck. He wanted to continue—on my terms. What did I want from him?
I combed my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. I pulled his mouth back onto mine. "I want you to be gentle. Okay?"
He sunk into me, eyelashes fluttering on my cheek. He was so pretty when he gave it to me. I cherished moments like this with him. Tiny pockets of mercy. Relief. When he wasn't guarded. The moments when he wasn't afraid of being criticized. "Jeongmal gomawo." Thank you so much.
I thread my fingers through his fluffy hair, wrapping my legs around his lithe waist. He was a small man. Tiny and androgynous. Pretty mouth. Sharp eyes. Prominent nose.
Woosung whimpered. "Jeosonghae." Thank you.
"Can I say something weird?"
"Ne." Yes.
"I love it when you address me in Korean."
"That's really bad—you saying that," he laughed, teeth teasing the space between my neck and my shoulder.
I turned away from him, feeling mildly embarrassed. He said on my terms. "I know. But I'm only saying that about you. It's not a fetish of mine."
"You only think that way about me?"
I nodded my head.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"What do you mean?"
"Saying it like that is still really bad."
"I know. I didn't say it wasn't."
He pulled away from me. The dim lights in his bedroom softened further on the chiseled planes of his chest. Down the valley of his abdomen. Around the curl of his hips. "I think you should leave."
"What do you mean?"
"Get dressed. I'm taking you home."
"What? No, I won't allow you to do that to me. Tell me what I did wrong? I've already apologized."
"It's the fact that you think like that in the first place."
"Sammy…"
"I told you—don't call me that. My fucking name is Woosung."
"You can't be serious."
"I don't want to do this with you right now. I need to be at the studio in the morning. I can either take you home or you can sleep in my room alone. I'll move to the guest room. You decide."
I whipped the bedsheets back, sliding my legs off of the bed. "You're a fucking psycho."
"Right."
"I'll take myself home."
"I'm not letting you do that. It's almost midnight. How are you going to get home? You're not going to get an Uber at a time like this. Let me take you home," he insisted.
"You said that we are going to do this on my terms so I'm going to find my own way home," I said.
He grabbed my arm. It that moment, his tiny hands seemed almost comical. The thing that had been his appeal turned against him and made him look like he was putting on an act. The valiant hero. "Babe."
"Take your hands off me."
"Don't do something stupid because you're angry at me," he said.
I became aware of him for the first time. His lithe body hovering over time as if he were an angel. A shadow waiting in the corner of the room, watching me move around but never engaging. "What do you want from me? Huh? Why are you still trying to save face when you are clearly the one in the wrong? What do you think they're going to say about you when they find out that you kicked your girlfriend out of your house at midnight?"
"That's not what is happening here."
"Right." I got out of bed and then wrapped his robe around my naked body. "What else could it be? You're not upset about what I said. You're just looking for an excuse to get rid of me."
"That's not true."
"What is it then?"
"Come here."
I paused. Woosung wrapped his body around mine, arms pulling me into his chest. "I hate it when people say that about me. I don't…I don't even know I do it. I suppose it says something about me. I try to be the perfect Korean-American. What does that even mean? You know? I don't want you to see that part of me. I don't want you to like it. Because I hate it. The thing you like most about me is the thing I hate about myself. That's difficult to deal with."
"What's wrong with being yourself? I don't want you to feel like I expect you to be a certain person," I said.
"I know."
"Can I stay?"
"I think I'm going to move to the guest room. I still have a lot of work to do before I need to be at the studio," he said into my neck. "Mianhae." Forgive me.
"That's not fair, Woosung."
He chuckled. "I'm sorry. I swear, I won't do it again.