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The demo for Touch is finished and set on the pedestal that is Soonyoung’s phone. All that’s left now is the choreography—the performance.
It’s nothing short of a colossal task. With the song in his hands, treated to and blessed by Seventeen’s virtuoso Lee Jihoon, Soonyoung must embark on this journey without the help of his members.
But that isn’t to say that he is alone.
“It’s certainly a… sensual song,” says one of Soonyoung’s oldest work partners and friends, Yoon Hyelim.
“Well, duh. It’s Soonyoung,” scoffs Kim Yoobin, another dancer and creative mind that frequently works with Seventeen.
“Are you going to grind on the floor some more?” Hyelim asks, grinning.
The third of his fairy godmothers comes into the studio with four iced coffees. Choi Yeeun, with her colourfully dyed hair styled in a messy bun, comes to the group with the bonding force that is cold caffeine.
“I know you’ve been working on it for a while,” Hyelim asks above the eager sipping. “What have you got so far?”
Quick and unbidden, a blush creeps into Soonyoung’s face. “Well, like you said, noona, I want it to be a little bit sexy,” he says with a sheepish grin. “But, like, not too hardcore or anything.”
“So no bondage gear?” Yoobin asks with a pout.
“I never said that,” Soonyoung replies. “Just nothing hardcore.”
“So, then, what are you thinking?” Yeeun asks, stirring her coffee.
“I was thinking,” Soonyoung starts, “that maybe I should try, like, a unique way of being sexy. Not like a traditional macho kind of sexy, but, like…”
The room exhales silently, expectantly. Soonyoung finds himself opposite to six curious eyes.
“You know,” Soonyoung says, trying a different course, “like, the three of you, you’re sexy in a way that’s different than I am. I wanted to try to, like, emulate that kind of charm, you know? Try it on for size.”
The three women exchange looks. Yoobin grabs her own breasts with aggressiveness that almost knocks Soonyoung off his feet—and the gesture wasn’t even directed at him! While he flounders, the room erupts into laughter.
“Well, I guess that’s one way to put that,” Hyelim comments with a lingering laugh. “Literal interpretation aside, I honestly don’t know what you mean, Soonyoung.”
Again, Soonyoung’s face lights up in a blush, red dye settling in the pale roundness of his cheeks. “I… That’s not too far from what I mean,” he mumbles. “I know I don’t have, y-you know—”
“A great rack like mine?” Yoobin interrupts, wearing a cheeky smile. Yeeun rolls her eyes and smacks Yoobin’s shoulder, earning a quick yelp in return.
The scarlet hues in Soonyoung’s cheeks begin to coalesce into one bright sheet of red.
“You’re gonna kill him, unnie,” Yeeun says flatly. She takes another loud draw from her straw before setting her drink down on the table with a sense of finality. “So you wanna be a girl?” she asks, turning to Soonyoung.
“N-No!” Soonyoung exclaims. “I definitely couldn’t pull it off like you guys…”
Hyelim smiles. “No, but you forget your own charm,” she says. “So, you want to explore that charm of yours in a different way, something like we would do.”
Soonyoung nods. He rubs the back of his neck, hot with embarrassment. But he’s alive, despite the mortifying process of linking his ideas together to make a comprehensible concept to present to his team. He has only them to thank.
“You’re in good hands,” Yoobin declares. “I have an idea.”
Soonyoung nearly trips on his feet as he’s urged out of the practice room by Yoobin’s persistent hands. The lights above his head go dark for a second while he ducks his head through the doorway. The group of dancers pass by Jihoon and Seungcheol, who are engaged in an animated conversation, and exchange quick greetings before turning a sharp corner.
Yoobin’s fingers on Soonyoung’s shoulders bear down on him for a breath before relinquishing him. Again, he stumbles, and his shoes make a shrill impact against the wood flooring. The sound explodes from below him, and then it skitters down the hall.
Shadows loom in the distance. The walls stretch high above him. The ladies are solemn soldiers behind him, a loyal escort. Soonyoung feels as if he is falling forward, just slightly askew from Earth’s natural gravity, and the darkness swells and crescendoes.
When Soonyoung regains his bearings, initially lost to a reflexive blink of his eyes, he finds himself in a square room. It’s a closet—no, a changing room. He blinks again in hopes of refreshing his vision.
Yoobin flicks the switch for the vanity lights, but they do not come alive instantaneously. Instead, they inhale, anticipatory, and illuminate the room on the exhale. The rhythmic breath is warm, like a fire sparking to life.
“I promise I’m not trying to play any tricks on you,” Yoobin starts to say, but she’s quickly interrupted by Yeeun.
“This time,” she chirps in.
“Will you shut up and let me do my thing?” Yoobin hisses.
“Sorry, Yeeun, but you know she won’t stop whining if you keep teasing her,” Hyelim says, smiling in a way that warps the shadows on her face.
Yeeun huffs and sighs, but that’s the extent of her complaints.
Yoobin grins. The vanity lights grow brighter, whiter.
“You know, as performance artists, we rely on visual cues, almost illusory things,” Yoobin says. Her hands return to Soonyoung’s shoulders. “These are universal, simple, basic.”
The vanity lights dim and an overhead lamp snaps to life, casting a cone over the four of them. Dust particles suspended in the air shimmer with blurry light like little fairies dancing around Soonyoung’s head. He rubs his nose.
“And our audience, they react to those cues. We may make predictions and build expectations upon the foundation of our collection of cues, but ultimately, it is up to the viewer to decide what to do with our performance,” Yoobin continues. Her fingernails are long, draped over the curve of Soonyoung’s shoulders. “My plan—our plan—is to give you different cues to work with in a controlled environment.”
“Well, it’s really her plan,” Hyelim quips, “but I think I know where she’s going with this.”
“What she’s saying,” Yeeun explains, “is that we’re gonna give you some tits and probably a wig so you can really see what it means to have charm like ours.”
“Wh-What?” Soonyoung squeaks. “Y-You’re gonna dress me in drag?”
“No, no,” Yoobin replies. A feline smile curls her lips. “That’s a different kind of performance. Let’s just say you’re getting a professional makeover.”
Soonyoung stares at his reflection in the vanity mirror. His dark hair has been reduced to shadowy smears in the glass, punctuated with flecks of fairy light, but his eyes are sharp on the flat plane of his face. Six other eyes glint in the glass, observant, sentinel.
Changing his appearance is a direct approach to the abstract nature of his problem, almost too much so. Sometimes, however, the best solution is the simplest one.
“You won’t be thrown to the wolves,” Hyelim assures him. “You don’t even need to leave this building if you don’t want to.”
“Don’t you think it would be fun to hit the club together, us four ladies?” Yoobin coos, leaning her chin closer to Soonyoung’s ear. “Just think of us as, like—your guardian angels.”
“I think you mean his three fairy godmothers,” Yeeun says.
“But didn’t they just stay at home?” Yoobin asks. “I want to see him in action—!”
“Are we gonna get on with this before he gets cold feet?” Hyelim sighs.
“Don’t worry about me,” Soonyoung says, his voice a timid waver in his throat. “I—I trust you guys. And I think, like—it’s worth a shot.” He tries to wet his throat, but his mouth is completely dry.
“That’s what I thought,” Yoobin says smugly. She raises one hand and it hovers by Soonyoung’s cheek for a second. Then, she snaps her fingers.
The first thing that Soonyoung notices is the literal weight on his chest. His reflection in the mirror remains without clear parameters; he can only feel the changes happening to his body as they take place.
“What do you think,” Yoobin asks her colleagues, “long hair or short hair?”
“Long hair,” Yeeun answers. “But not too long. Maybe we should make him blond?”
“I like that,” Hyelim says. “And it should be styled out of his face. We just need to soften the jaw a bit, since his cheeks are already so cute and innocent.”
Part of Soonyoung feels he should object to that, but he doesn’t trust himself to speak.
Just as the women discussed, Soonyoung’s hair grows to fall over his shoulders. He sees the dark smudges in the mirror expand before bursting with brightness. All at once, the women vocalize their approval.
The modifications are small and subtle, little transformations like thinner brows and a thinner frame. His height is maintained by chunky heels. As his features morph under the will of his team, they become clearer in the mirror, until Soonyoung sees a new figure emerge before him, a suggestion of his real appearance twisted by his desires.
“Not bad,” Yeeun says, a hint of pride under her tongue.
“Come on, I think I deserve more credit than that,” Yoobin complains.
“Hey,” Hyelim snaps, “don’t act like you did everything yourself!”
The voices around him become muffled static and Soonyoung’s ears become filled with cotton. All he hears is the sound of his breathing, accompanied by the slow click of his heels as he moves forward. With one hand, he reaches for the frame of the mirror and hesitantly rests his fingertips there.
It’s odd. He knows he was expecting a stranger to stand in his place in the mirror, but the figure that greets him feels familiar. The eyes are his, as are the lips and nose. But the jaw slopes more gently, softened further by the frame of light hair around the face. The lips part with wonder and Soonyoung feels then that this is him.
“Well?” Yoobin huffs impatiently. The word becomes a breath lost in the hurricane that is Soonyoung’s thoughts.
“This is… me,” Soonyoung says, more to himself, more to the woman staring at him on the other side of the glass. He watches, with his own eyes, the combination of lips, teeth, and tongue that performs his vocalization, and his heart soars from the centre of his chest to his throat.
“Yes. Are you surprised?” Hyelim asks.
“Kinda,” Soonyoung replies, his lips a subtle brush of hues in the mirror. He is entranced. “I shouldn’t be, since I watched it happen, but it just looks so…”
Seeing himself speak helps him to fully fathom this new reality. It’s as if his features did not belong to masculinity, since they were so easily transferred to femininity, but rather to his own unique existence.
“Do you think—” Soonyoung starts to ask, but the words of his question sink heavily onto his tongue and stiffen his jaw.
“You look beautiful,” Yeeun tells him softly. Soonyoung’s heart catches the upwards draft of her words and takes flight once more.
“I need to see myself move,” Soonyoung declares, and without another word he turns on his heel. With his weight distributed differently, his feet feel nearly foreign, but they are still his own, and so he moves them with purpose.
Hyelim, Yeeun, and Yoobin all look after him before he disappears completely down the hall, and they share a collective grin.
The practice room brings the comfort of familiarity, but that blanket is quickly ripped away: reality looks at him in the face with countless eyes reflected back at him from multiple angles. A feeling of claustrophobia seizes his throat despite the space around him.
With great effort, he wills himself to focus. His manicured fingers gloss over his phone until Touch starts to bounce through the studio speakers.
His body may be different, but it is his, and it moves all the same. It draws lines in the air and it jumps between planes at will, constantly transitory. With careful eyes, he observes the transforming contours of his body, and with every move he makes, he feels delight bloom in his chest, that pure joy of life that he’s so strongly associated with dance.
Hyelim’s voice enters the room when she says, “So, you think you’re ready?”
Soonyoung stills his feet, but the pulse of his blood in his veins and the flutter of his ribs keeps his body alight. He grins. “Hell yeah,” he says to his reflection.
Deep down, Soonyoung knows that if his confidence were to waver even slightly, he would crumble, and it would be messy, and he would never forget it. It is that truth that keeps his back straight and his lips relaxed under their gloss.
They go to their usual club, the one with the DJ who’s friends with Jihoon. It’s not a complex or lavish affair, but the modest space is cozy. Bodies weave around each other rhythmically, following the beat of a collective breath.
The ladies greet some of their acquaintances as they pass, but Soonyoung keeps to himself, not exactly eager to navigate a conversation with incongruent contexts. Instead, he lets himself blend into the crowd like a drop of ink assimilating into a pot of water.
With unsteady and hesitant feet, he begins to fall into step with the mass of bodies, drawing an abstract image onto the floor with his shoes as he follows the footsteps of those before him. In time, the contours of this image become more defined, and he finds himself moving with a tempered confidence.
There are eyes on him. There are hundreds of eyes in the room. Their gazes are heavy and they adhere to him like a downpour. But he thrives in hurricanes, and he knows the only way to survive the storm is to go with the flow.
Men and women alike throw him looks, but that’s nothing new. The audience demographic does skew differently; it would be pointless to deny that. It would also be pointless to recoil from that truth, so he takes another step forward, another step closer into a man’s space.
It’s not that he hasn’t danced with a man before, of course not. But this is different. He can’t say it’s the same as engaging with a woman, either. As he stands opposite to another dancer on the floor, he can read familiar moves like chess pieces across a board. Now it’s his turn to make a move.
He isn’t sure he can make his body move “femininely”, but he knows how to move it beautifully. Movement is marvellous inherently.
Regardless of Soonyoung’s hesitation, his opponent powers forward. He’s familiar with this bit, the awkwardness of being chosen out of a crowd and being close to a stranger. But then he remembers the music. The music envelops both of them, and Soonyoung enjoys the energy of another complementing his own.
Off the man goes. Soonyoung’s chest is heaving. And he feels it targeted, coveted, like the brilliance of fire hypnotizing a moth.
The next contender smirks when they make eye contact. There’s a flame in his eye that singes Soonyoung’s skin and tickles his nose with the suggestion of smoke.
Before Soonyoung can let the flames crawl over his body, three figures swoop in and cover his front. Relief swells in Soonyoung’s chest, but his bones rattle regardless.
“Sweetheart,” Hyelim says, her chin by Soonyoung’s shoulder, “that guy looked like he wanted to eat you alive. We just wanted to help you out.”
“That, and we figured it was time to see you in action ourselves!” Yoobin adds. She shimmies closer and bumps Soonyoung’s hip with her own. “You’re not bad, but maybe you could learn a bit by following our lead.”
“When you look like this,” Yeeun says, “maybe you won’t feel so ridiculous taking some inspiration from us.”
Before Soonyoung can stammer out any objections, the women turn away from him and tune their ears in towards the music.
They’re right. Soonyoung can take great field notes just by observing them. Trying to emulate them closer to the letter will also hopefully give him further insight to their feminine charm.
Can he emulate them? He’ll never know if he doesn’t try. The cover of the club atmosphere, the lights and shadows, the noise and motion, is familiar to him like any costume he’d don for the sake of the show. Soon, he slips into performance.
Later, they take a break for drinks. The ladies saunter off to the bathroom to freshen up, leaving Soonyoung alone with his fruity cocktail, a chaser to the round of tequila shots they had earlier.
“Jack and coke, please,” someone asks, squeezing into an empty spot along the bar next to Soonyoung. It’s typical bar behaviour, so Soonyoung doesn’t react much. He lets his eyes float over to the newcomer, standing just an inch beyond his breasts, before the real reaction leaps into his throat.
Lee Chan.
It’s not uncommon for the members to seek company on their own, and this particular club is a favourite among them all. But to meet on a night like this…
Soonyoung ducks his head behind his drink. Fuck. He could slip away before Chan notices him. Yet, hesitation binds his feet to the floor.
What kind of reaction would Chan have, seeing him like this? Would Chan even recognize him?
Soonyoung sips his drink and contemplates this question. He watches as Chan waits patiently for his drink, and he watches Chan’s lips move to the rim of the glass when he sips it. Although this is a practiced action for Soonyoung, observing his maknae, the altered context has his heart racing in his chest. The anticipation burns his fingertips with raw electricity.
When they both finish their drinks, their bodies turn towards the dance floor, already thrumming with the music. Soonyoung keeps his eyes trained on Chan’s face and his lungs flutter helplessly. Several shoulders and elbows brush against Soonyoung’s body as he follows after Chan, and it’s when Chan severely sidesteps that his eyes meet Soonyoung’s.
Stillness blankets them and envelops them, bringing them away from the music, from the rhythm. With every step forward, towards Chan, Soonyoung feels the bubble surrounding them shrink, allowing more sound into their space. Bass thumps in Soonyoung’s chest and it urges him forward and farther still.
Chan’s face is slack and muted. Not even the movement of music through the air can disturb his countenance. Soonyoung eats up the distance between them with a hesitant hunger, thinly restrained. New proximity widens Chan’s eyes and Soonyoung feels himself falling forward, diving.
The bubble pops and sound crashes in Soonyoung’s ears, thunderous and tumultuous. Chan steps back and Soonyoung follows; Chan steps forward and Soonyoung fawns. Their bodies weave around each other, yet they do not touch, coming as close as atoms dare to.
As the music flows into a new song, things slow down, and Soonyoung’s breath remains suspended in his lungs for a moment too long. Chan’s chest is at his back, heat and flesh exposed through an open collared shirt, looming and large.
“You’re good,” Soonyoung says to the open, pulsating air.
“I just enjoy it,” Chan replies.
“Then you must enjoy it a lot.”
“You could say that.”
Soonyoung wonders where Chan learned to be coy. He turns on his heel and balances a ginger hand on Chan’s bicep. Sticky heat warms his skin. He feels like melting.
“The music here,” Chan starts, quieter, “it’s—I like the DJ.” His ending is a little lame and he turns his head away. Soonyoung smiles.
“Same,” Soonyoung says, and the smile on his face grows. It seems that smooth exterior stretches only so far. Soonyoung lets his palm rest on Chan’s arm and gently taps his fingernails in quick succession over Chan’s tricep.
Chan’s chest erupts with his gasp and Soonyoung can only smile. The cover of bodies boxing them in is indeed a heavy curtain, and Soonyoung feels no shame as he slithers closer to Chan. They feign dancing in order to press their bodies together.
Chan’s breath is hot on Soonyoung’s neck. “I-I’m sorry,” he murmurs into Soonyoung’s ear. “I’m not usually this forward.”
“Don’t apologize,” Soonyoung laughs. “I bet this isn’t your first time. Don’t pretend to be modest.”
Chan shakes his head and Soonyoung laughs again. He contemplates pushing it even further.
“I-I swear,” Chan insists. “I think you just… reminded me of someone.”
“Your girlfriend?” Soonyoung teases.
Even in the dim and capricious club lights, Chan’s face bursts into a blush. “N-No,” he squeaks. “I don’t—”
Soonyoung puts a hand on Chan’s chest and shushes him. Beneath Soonyoung’s palm, Chan’s heart fights to meet him through his ribcage.
“Listen,” Soonyoung starts, “can you keep a secret?”
Mutely, Chan nods his head.
Soonyoung rises on his toes so that his painted lips are by Chan’s ear. “My name is Kwon Soonyoung.”
When Soonyoung’s feet touch the ground, he looks up to see Chan staring at him with wide eyes.
“Wait,” Chan says. His eyebrows draw together. “What do you mean?”
Soonyoung grins and holds his arms out. “It’s me, Channie,” he says. “Your hyung. I look good like this, don’t I?”
Chan’s mouth opens and closes in soundless confusion. The grin on Soonyoung’s face grows as he presses a finger to those gaping lips.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Just help me find some inspiration.”
Chan’s blush deepens.
“Yes, that’s innuendo,” Soonyoung clarifies. He’s grinning with all his teeth and it feels good. “You totally think I’m hot.”
“I think—I think I should go,” Chan mutters, but Soonyoung takes Chan’s elbow before he can turn away.
“I’m joking,” Soonyoung says. “About that, I mean. I actually need your help, for real.”
“I think,” Chan says again, “you should get me a drink or two so I can get some ideas flowing.”
After more alcohol is introduced to the equation, Chan becomes more agreeable—not that he’d been particularly disagreeable in the first place. It’s not long before the dancefloor lures them away again.
They react to the music just as much as they react to each other, using their bodies as the conduit for communication. Chan’s body is one Soonyoung knows well, in the context of a dance above all, but this context is inherently different with such a crux between them.
“So, do you think I could pass for a real woman?” Soonyoung asks, and the question hangs between them in the scant space between their bodies.
Chan shrugs. “Do you think you are a real woman, like this?” he asks in return.
“How am I supposed to know what being a real woman is supposed to feel like?” Soonyoung rebuts.
“You think I’m gonna know that?”
Soonyoung barks a laugh and Chan laughs with him. It’s ridiculous, and going back and forth with pointless questions compounds the absurdity of it all.
“Was the point of this to ‘feel like a real woman’, anyway?” Chan asks with calmer breath and a more serious mouth.
Soonyoung hums. “I don’t think so,” Soonyoung replies. “I’m not a woman, no matter how I look. I was born and raised, like, male, I guess. A night at the club with a convincing costume isn’t going to change that.”
Chan nods his head. “I feel like I’d feel the same,” he tells Soonyoung, “if I were in your shoes. Or in your heels, I guess.”
“Ha ha.” Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “You’d rather be in these boobs, I bet.”
A wry grin pulls at one corner of Chan’s mouth. “I mean, we could see how convincing that costume really is,” he suggests.
“I know you’re joking, but I’m seriously tempted,” Soonyoung replies.
“Who says I’m joking?” Chan asks.
Flames dance over Soonyoung’s skin and tug playfully at his nerve endings. “W-Well,” Soonyoung stammers, “I mean, I don’t know how long I’m gonna look like this, and like, it would be weird if my boobs fell off and my dick just, like, sprouted out of me, right?”
“You think it’s one of those ‘expires at midnight’ kind of deals?” Chan asks.
Soonyoung slips his hand down the front of Chan’s thigh and forces Chan’s phone out of his pocket.
“Asshole,” Chan grumbles. He’s blushing.
The clock on Chan’s phone reads 11:47pm.
“Oh my god,” Soonyoung whispers. “What if you’re right? What if my dick really does grow back in three minutes and pops right out of this skirt?”
“Here, I’ll cover you. I’ll be a human meat shield,” Chan offers, spreading his arms.
They move together as a unit, shuffling through the crowd like wind rippling through countless blades of grass. Eyes pass over them with varying degrees of interest, but Soonyoung pays them no heed: while he’d made invaluable observations on the field tonight, he’s not about to test this new hypothesis.
The two of them stumble onto the street, fingers and elbows tangled together. Soonyoung orders a cab on Chan’s phone before Chan can snatch it back from him.
Nighttime chill makes Soonyoung quiver. Chan continues to cover him, but it doesn’t quell his quaking. Even in the cab, Chan stays close; Soonyoung shivers not from cold but vicious, biting heat.
The ascent to their dorms is heavenbound, yet Soonyoung trembles like a sinner slipping away from hellfire. He stares at his warped reflection in the elevator doors and thinks, for all he knows, this is the most accurate representation of his image that exists.
Shadows greet them when the doors slide apart, but they are soon scattered by lethargic lights. The AC hums and cushions the sound of footsteps as Chan and Soonyoung advance towards their dorm. Soonyoung is careful not to rouse the slumbering engine with any sudden movement, and his respect is observed as the building remains silent.
Soonyoung pushes the front door open and lights greet them again, a dim suggestion of sight and a stronger suggestion to seek refuge in bed. The door hardly clicks shut before Chan ushers Soonyoung down the hall to his bedroom.
“If your dick is sprouting out right now, I’m not looking,” Chan whispers to him.
“Liar,” Soonyoung accuses with a laugh. “You’re totally looking. It’s just too dark to actually see anything.”
“Cannot confirm nor deny.”
Despite the banter, Soonyoung clings shamelessly to the arms braced against his stomach. It’s a short trip to his bedroom, however, and that touch does eventually recede.
His bedroom light casts him in obscurity, and after examining himself in detail all night, it feels like a relief. All Soonyoung sees clearly is Chan’s face squared before him, vigilant at a precarious hour and setting.
“Get some sleep,” Soonyoung tells him. He loses his fight with the urge to frame Chan’s cheek with his fingers. Chan allows the touch before taking a step away from the door.
“You, too,” Chan replies. “Also, feel free to send me any selfies you might have taken while you had boobs.”
Soonyoung snorts. “I could, but the edited pics that fans make are way sexier than any pic I could take,” he says.
Chan stifles a laugh. “It’s funny ‘cause it’s true,” he says, exhaling a breath caught between a sigh and a laugh.
“Go away before I take that as an insult,” Soonyoung groans.
“Goodnight! Sleep well!” Chan calls, grinning as he turns on his heel towards his own room.
The air is stiff and stale with silence once Soonyoung closes his bedroom door. Heaving a heavy sigh, he presses his back against the door and stares down at his shoes. They’re black boots, a classic staple to any club outfit. Had they been high heels? He can’t remember anymore, but they hold steady as he hobbles towards his bed and topples face first into his pillows.
Without following any visual cues, Soonyoung can perceive his body only through vague, visceral ideas. His muscles and bones react to him as a puppeteer’s playthings would; has he simply proved this to be true regardless of how he appears? Perhaps he needs a reminder so plain as that; perhaps he’s forgotten the inherent and unquestionable authority he has over his own body, a truth that he must continue to reinforce with dance.
Soonyoung rolls onto his back and lifts his feet from the floor. He stares at his boots again. The black leather is dull and hardly distinctive from the nighttime darkness.
He unlocks his phone and texts Chan: “I’m gonna check if I still have boobs. Will update you when I can confirm yes or no.”
Inhaling slowly and deeply, Soonyoung rises to his feet and reaches for the lights.