Chapter Text
“Happy birthday to you~.”
Through the haze of his exhaustion, the soft singing of a sweet voice filters through his ears, and his eyes flutter open in confusion. Again? His team already sang “Happy Birthday” to him this morning. He sits back on his elbows from his prone position on the bed, eyes squinting as he tries to make out the figure in the darkness with the pinpricks of light provided by the burning candles on the approaching cake. “Happy birthday to you~.” The silhouette looks a little short. Is this his assistant coach?
The figure approaches slowly but steadily, balancing the dessert in their hands and bringing it to his lap. The weight of the cake fully shifted to rest on his legs, the figure holds up their newly-freed hands and waves them back and forth like one would when engaging a young child in song, “Happy birthday, dear Riki~.”
Sunghoon does a double-take. Why did this person just address him as Riki? Are they in the wrong hotel room?
“Happy birthday to you~.” The figure claps enthusiastically before gesturing toward the nineteen candles spaced out on the cake, carefully placed to avoid messing up the purple frosting that spells out Happy Birthday Riki-Chan! , wax sleepily threatening to drip down the candle stems. “Make a wish!”
Sunghoon blinks at the request, looks up at the stranger in his room, and says the only thing that comes to his mind, “My birthday is over.”
“What? Riki-ya, what are you talking about? Your birthday just started. The clock just turned midnight, it’s officially December 9th!” Though it’s difficult to see, Sunghoon’s eyes have spent the last few agonizing seconds of the birthday song adjusting, and he can make out a confused pout on the man’s face, his eyebrow furrowed in clear concern. “Don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday.”
“My birthday was yesterday,” Sunghoon says, and he lifts the cake off his lap, placing it on the nightstand next to him -- though it doesn’t resemble the one in his hotel room that he remembers placing his reading glasses on top of -- and stands up with his hand against the wall, blindly feeling for a light switch. Luckily, it seems the other man knows what he’s looking for because he taps his hand against the body of a lamp, and it flashes on, orange moodlighting filling the space and finally allowing Sunghoon to get a clear look.
The man in front of him, besides looking confused and on the verge of searching for hidden cameras, seems rather young. His skin is supple and dewy, especially under the orange glow, and his golden brown eyes are foxy and unimpressed, their sharp edges emphasized by the pinch in his nose as he stares Sunghoon down. His hands rest on his hips while he leans down to blow out the candles himself, pausing the slow-as-molasses descent of the wax. “What are you playing at, Riki-ya? That’s not how time zones work, you know. There is no time difference between Japan and Seoul.”
“And my name isn’t Riki.” Sunghoon’s hand flies up to his throat, pinching at his Adam’s apple in shock and choking a bit on the revelation. Why does he sound different? His voice is deeper than it’s ever been, and as Sunghoon looks down at himself, turning his hands over to look at his palms and then up his arms, he realizes that something is strange. These aren’t the pajamas he wore to bed -- he usually goes topless -- nor is his skin usually this tan.
“Is this seriously about your stage name? Are you mad I put Riki instead of Ni-ki on the cake?” The man scoffs, gesturing toward the writing before dipping his finger into the cake to smudge the writing of the frosting until the name is illegible. “There, happy now?” The man sucks off the icing on his finger, taking it out of his mouth with an audible pop! “Mmm, that’s good. You should try it.”
Sunghoon stands there in shock, the reality of the situation dawning on him as he glances over at the cake that definitely doesn’t fit into his competition diet. His eyes frantically dance around the room, looking for anything passingly reflective, and he’s relieved to find a mirror hanging off the closet door. He rushes over to it while his right hand reaches up to feel for his cheek. Sunghoon lightly pinches his face and watches in horror as the stranger in the mirror reciprocates his actions.
Instead of the beauty marks he’s used to, on the side of his nose and under his eye, there’s a mole on his chin. Well, really, that’s an understatement. It’s not just that the moles on his face have somehow decided to move places like a restless kitten in the middle of the night. He looks younger. Maybe not as young as the other man in the room, but his thick, pouty lips look more like a baby duck’s beak than he’s used to. The structure of his jaw is more like a diamond than an oval. His eyebrows are full but thinner than they should be.
In short, this is not his face. This is not his body.
Vaguely, Sunghoon acknowledges the fact that the other man in the room has continued talking, rambling on about cake flavors and unfunny pranks. But the only thing Sunghoon can focus on is the way his right hand trembles as he reaches out to touch the mirror, connecting with the simulacrum on the other side. It looks to be in as much disbelief as Sunghoon is.
Then, abruptly, Sunghoon raises the same hand and gives himself a brisk slap.
The other man gasps. “What the hell, Riki?”
Sunghoon’s head snaps to the side, his vision blurring as he makes eye contact with a puma plushie on a shelf, positioned so that its front legs hang off dangerously and its beady eyes glare unflinchingly back at him. The other man storms up to him, the height difference forcing him to look up as he grabs Sunghoon’s (?) face and examines him, letting go when he realizes that the red handprint will fade in a few seconds. “Why did you do that? Have you been possessed or something? What is going on?”
Sunghoon locks eyes with the concerned man, genuinely moved by the care in his voice, but it’s like the words to explain get stuck in his throat. What is there to explain? How can Sunghoon start when he would rather have an explanation himself? How did he get here in the first place? He just tested that this isn’t a dream, so what could possibly be happening to him other than a mental break brought on by the stress of his recent competition in two days? Is this really the kind of thing he can admit to someone he doesn’t know?
“I-- I--” Sunghoon stutters, wanting to reply but having nothing to say.
“You-- you what?” The man replies, frustrated, trying to meet him halfway.
“I--”
The phone rings. The baby-faced man looks down at his pocket, taking out his shiny Samsung flip phone and looking at the number of an unknown caller on the screen. He raises an eyebrow, clearly about to reject the call, but Sunghoon’s eyes widen with recognition.
That’s his number.
“Stop!” Sunghoon shouts, in English for some reason, and the man freezes at the command like he’s just failed a game of Simon Says.
“What?”
Wordlessly, Sunghoon accepts the call and immediately presses the speakerphone button. A panicked voice suddenly fills the room, and this time it’s one Sunghoon is intimately familiar with.
“SUNOO-HYUNG, HELP ME!”
It’s his voice.
𖤓
Sunoo recoils when he hears his name shouted, glancing up at Riki, who forced him to accept the call, then looking down at the display, the words unknown caller in bold text. Sunoo has many contacts in the industry, but he always remembers to meticulously save them by last name, first name, title, and even the occasion in which they met. But even if he didn’t, he’s fairly certain that he has never heard this voice before in his life. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Hyung, it’s me, Riki!”
What ? Riki is clearly standing right in front of him right now. But he sees Riki nod, like he completely understands what this stranger is talking about, and then it’s Riki responding instead of him. “You must be the person who's taken over my body.”
“Hyung, who is that? He’s speaking with my voice!”
“My name is Park Sunghoon,” Riki says, and Sunoo shuts his eyes in frustration, completely confused. Sure, Riki is prone to pulling pranks, but usually they’re along the lines of randomly shouting while Sunoo is trying to write an important thank you note or replacing his mint chocolate ice cream with toothpaste in the freezer. This kind of prank is something else entirely, much too convoluted for his younger friend’s taste, and yet there’s no other explanation he can think of.
Sunoo ends the call. With an uncharacteristic yelp (“eesh!”), Riki looks down at him, betrayed. “Why did you do that? Call that number back right now.”
Without even bothering, the phone rings again, but Sunoo snaps his phone shut, rejecting the call, and throws his phone behind him on the bed without even looking. “What kind of prank are you pulling, Riki? Who was that? Why can’t we just celebrate your birthday in peace?” Though he’s younger, Riki has grown to be much taller than Sunoo, and he utilizes his height to look over Sunoo’s head like he’s not even there, clearly staring at the phone. Sunoo snaps his fingers to grab Riki’s attention, and then tilts his head to the side in expectation. “Well? What is going on?”
“I told you, I’m not your friend, Riki. That must’ve been him on the phone. I think that we’ve, well, switched bodies or something,” Riki says in his deep voice, and he must be taking acting classes recently because he sounds so convincing that Sunoo would believe him if he weren’t saying something completely ridiculous.
Sunoo scoffs, “And I’m supposed to believe that?” Sunoo waits for a few beats, hoping to hear a real explanation, but suddenly the sound of ringing is coming from in front of him instead of behind him, and both of them look down at Riki’s sweatpants. Riki pulls his iPhone out of his front pocket and accepts the call without even blinking, holding it up to his ear so that Sunoo can’t hear the other half of their conversation.
“Riki?” Riki says, and Sunoo reaches up to try to grab the phone out of his hands. Unluckily for him, Riki is still much taller and goes on his tiptoes to avoid Sunoo’s attempts without much difficulty. Sunoo considers between stomping on Riki’s feet or kicking the backs of Riki’s knees, but settles on waiting with a pout on his lips, staring up at his friend’s face. “Yeah, he hung up because he doesn’t believe us… Well, I tried, but I don’t really understand what’s going on either. Yeah, yeah, just give me a second.”
Riki pulls the phone away from his ear and finally looks back at Sunoo. “He wants to talk to you. Promise you won’t hang up.”
“I’m not talking to a stranger!”
Still not on speakerphone, they both hear a tinny “Sunoo-hyung, please!” from the device, and Sunoo averts his gaze. Riki raises an eyebrow, and Sunoo sighs heavily.
“Fine, fine, I’ll talk to him,” he acquiesces, and Riki hands him the phone. Sunoo brings it up to his ear and bites out, “What do you want?”
“Hyung, you have to believe me. It’s me, Riki!”
Sunoo rolls his eyes, placing one hand on his hip and cocking it. “Uh-huh. And what did Riki promise for you to go this hard for his stupid prank? It’s really not funny.”
“Hyung, I swear, it’s not a prank.”
“Prove it, then.”
There’s silence over the line, and then just before Sunoo is about to speak again, the person responds. “Okay, fine. Let me tell you something that no one else knows. Something that only you and I know.”
Sunoo’s eyes flicker back toward Riki’s insistent ones in front of him. “And how do I know this isn’t something Riki told you in advance?” Riki shakes his head, so Sunoo’s eyes cut away, and he walks over to look out Riki’s window. His apartment is on the fourteenth floor, and it provides a rather nice view of the Seoul skyline.
“I promise. This is something I would never tell anyone else.”
Sunoo’s eyes trace the skyline, admiring the lights of a city that he didn’t grow up in, nor did Riki, but one that both of them have learned to call home. He thinks he can make out the tip of his own apartment building, and he wonders why he bothered to go out this late to pick up a cake and surprise his friend when he was just going to be rewarded like this. “Okay. Go ahead. Tell me,” Sunoo challenges the caller.
“You wanted plot twist to be your next comeback song, and you’re bitter the company gave it away to the debut group.”
Sunoo gasps, his free hand coming up to cover his mouth, and he looks accusingly behind his shoulder at Riki, who shrugs innocently with wide eyes. “How could you tell him that?! I told you that in confidence!”
The voice over the phone continues, “I didn’t tell anyone that! It’s me, Riki!”
Sunoo splutters, “Th-this doesn’t make any sense.”
“Fine, let me say something else. You and I first met when I was just a back-up dancer for 1-Land’s debut showcase, but we didn’t get along at first because you overheard me talking about you being chosen last place and thought I was bad-mouthing you, and it wasn’t until Jungwon-hyung cleared up the misunderstanding that you learned I voted for you every round. You made it up to me by recommending some of my choreography for your first comeback, and when it was accepted, you took me out to dinner using Jay-hyung’s card to celebrate. After 1-Land’s disbandment performance, I was the first person you called, and we got so drunk that night that you almost started an Instagram Live at 3am but I stopped you—“
“—I don’t remember that!—“
“—Do you remember when I had a hard time getting work after being kicked out of my dance team, you were the one who recommended me to your performance director, and ever since you re-debuted as a soloist, I’ve been involved in the choreo for all of your title tracks. Whenever I see any of my old dance team members at music shows, you always act as a buffer for me to avoid them, and in turn I always cover for you whenever you go out without your manager's permission.” In the gasp of breath Riki—er, the caller takes before he can keep talking, Sunoo cuts him off.
“Fine. I get it. That’s a very good summary of our friendship. Subtle exposition and all that. But this doesn’t prove anything. You could’ve told anyone that stuff.”
Sunoo hears a groan over the line. “Then here, Hyung. Something I promise I would never tell anyone, not even if my life depended on it:
“The reason your comeback is being delayed is because the CEO found out you’re gay.”
Sunoo’s jaw drops. With those words ringing clear in his head, he no longer has any more doubts. The Riki he knows is playful and silly, but still understands where the line is and would never stoop so low as to out Sunoo’s sexuality to anyone, and definitely not for a prank.
So fine, the only plausible explanation is that he’s talking to Riki. But if this is Riki on the phone, then who is the guy standing in the room with him?
❆
The baby-faced man on the phone, Sunoo-hyung, apparently, though Sunghoon still believes that he’s likely the oldest man out of the three, turns around to face Sunghoon with one finger accusingly extended towards him. “Who the hell are you?”
Okay. Whatever Riki said over the phone must have been overwhelmingly persuasive because he can tell by the wary look in Sunoo’s eyes, the way he keeps his arm out to preserve personal space even as he approaches Sunghoon again, even his tentative footsteps, that Sunoo is fully aware of Sunghoon . In a show of peace, Sunghoon raises both of his hands, palms facing outwards, but feeling a bit like he’s been unjustly accused. He doesn’t have any idea why this is happening either!
Though he can’t make out any words, there’s a bit of talk over the phone, and Sunoo brings down the device so that it’s held in the midpoint between the two of them, tapping the speakerphone button once more. “Go ahead, Riki-ya.”
“My name is Nishimura Riki,” the man over the phone finally introduces himself. “I think you said your name was Park Sunghoon.”
“Wait,” Sunoo gasps, his eyes flickering up to meet Sunghoon’s own. “You mean, like the actor? Are you Park Sunghoon-sunbaenim?” He speaks a little like he’s holding back a shriek, overwhelmed at the possibility, and Sunghoon almost feels guilty about letting him down.
“No! Not like the actor,” Sunoo visibly deflates, though with disappointment or relief, Sunghoon’s not sure. “More like the figure skater.”
“Figure skater?” Sunoo asks. His honey eyes drift upwards, lost in thought, before he snaps his fingers, a lightbulb flashing to life over his head. “I recognize you! Aren’t you the one who got bronze back in Beijing? Riki, remember? I was so pissed because--”
“--because he lost against the Japanese skater,” Riki continues, sounding a bit smug, and, well, ouch . It’s not like that was Sunghoon’s proudest moment either, but bronze is nothing to sneeze at!
“But that’s you?” Sunoo says, and when Sunghoon nods his head, it almost feels like the lines of confusion in Sunoo’s face crease even more. “But, have you and Riki ever met before?”
“I don’t think so,” Sunghoon says, and both men look down at the phone when Riki agrees. “I mean, unless Riki has ever been to a competition before, but being an athlete keeps me pretty busy. I guess it’s possible that we’ve bumped into each other on the street, though. Why?”
“Well, because ,” Sunoo says, fully emphasizing the words as he throws his arms out in exasperation, “if you two have never met, then what reason would you have to…”
“Switch bodies?” Sunghoon continues, since Sunoo seems too unwilling to say the words out loud.
“Yes, exactly!”
Sunghoon looks around Riki’s bedroom, taking in the framed pictures on the wall, the scattered plushies of Pokémon, and even a few stuffed ducks that look to have been personally polka-dotted with a black Sharpie, searching for any point of recognition. Coming up empty, Sunghoon asks, “If you guys have both heard of me, maybe I’ve heard about Riki before. What do you do?”
Sunoo purses his plush lips, eyes narrowed like he doesn’t think it very plausible. “You’re more likely to have heard of me than Riki, to be honest. Are you into any male idol groups?”
“Idol groups?” Sunghoon repeats, a bit bemused. “Not really. I mean, I’ve heard of Seventeen and BTS but…”
“Riki choreographs for male idol groups,” Sunoo reveals, and not even two seconds later, there are sounds of protest over the phone.
“I do not!” Riki disagrees. “I helped choreograph for your group, that’s it. My choreography was never accepted for any of the others.”
Sunoo rolls his eyes, and Sunghoon gets the feeling that this is an argument that gets rehashed between the two often. “But we both know it would’ve been if not for that jerk.”
“No, we don’t---”
“Okay!” Sunghoon interrupts, feeling completely out of the loop and not thinking it very productive for their current situation anyway. “Sunoo, you said I would be more likely to recognize you than Riki. Are you in an idol group?”
Sunoo shakes his head, the fluffy auburn brown strands of his hair swaying in reaction. “Not anymore. I was part of one of those temporary Produce groups, 1-Land. We did pretty good when we were promoting, but we disbanded a little while ago.”
Sunghoon flushes, a bit embarrassed to have to admit that he doesn’t recall ever hearing about this boy group before. Maybe in passing, from a conversation with his younger sister or one of his female teammates, but typically when things like idol groups get brought up, he has to tune out the conversation for the sake of the health of his ears -- too much squealing for his introverted tastes. “I’m sorry, Sunoo-ssi--”
“No big deal,” Sunoo waves him off, and to his credit, he genuinely doesn’t seem very disappointed. “Groups like ours generally have more female fans than male.”
From over the phone, Riki’s voice mischievously cuts in, “What are you talking about, Hyung? You have a lot of male fans--”
“Riki!” Sunoo hisses, and his eyes dart back and forth between Sunghoon and the device before he picks up the phone, changing the output settings and bringing it up to his ear. Sunoo cups the front of his mouth, limiting what Sunghoon can hear, and whispers harshly into the receiver. If Sunghoon tried, he might be able to pick out certain words, but he turns his head to the side respectfully and patiently waits for Sunoo to finish his aside and resume the conversation. Once he does, Sunghoon can hear a bit of laughter from over the line, but it quickly dies down once Sunoo eagerly switches the topic.
“So, if you guys have never met in person, then what else do we think could have caused this?” Sunoo asks. He starts to grasp at straws. “Were either of you engaged in some sort of weird witchcraft ritual or something?”
“What? No!” Sunghoon responds, baffled by the question. “What are you even suggesting?”
“I don’t know!” Sunoo defends, “Body-switching sounds like witchcraft to me!”
“Well, I definitely wasn’t. Riki?” Sunghoon prods sarcastically, but Riki responds in the same way. “I’ve been too busy preparing for an upcoming competition.”
Sunoo looks around helplessly, his arms flapping against his side. “Then I don’t know what could’ve---” He cuts himself off, his eyes locking onto the bedside table like he has aim assist in a video game. Then, his head whips back around to stare at Sunghoon. “Didn’t you say that your birthday was yesterday?”
“Yes,” Sunghoon responds slowly, the puzzle pieces starting to come together in his brain. “December 8th.”
“And I came in to surprise Riki at midnight,” Sunoo continues, now pacing around the room like he’s Sherlock Holmes on the cusp of a massive discovery. “So if you two were already switched by the time I came in, then maybe your birthdays have something to do with it!” Sunoo looks up with excitement at his deduction, a bright glint in his eyes like he’s looking for someone to acknowledge him.
But instead of the genius Sherlock, Sunghoon rather thinks Sunoo resembles the adorable Detective Pikachu, feeling compelled to point out the obvious, “Okay, so we switched places because of our birthdays. But how does that help us? Does that mean we have to wait another year to switch back?” Over the phone, they both hear an anguished groan at the possibility.
But Sunoo quickly shakes his head. “No, no, I don’t think so. Usually when this happens--”
“Usually?” Sunghoon cuts him off, disbelief in his tone.
“You know, in books and TV shows. Usually when it happens then, the two parties have to touch, and something about the physical contact reminds their souls of where they came from, and then they pass out or something while everything goes back to normal,” Sunoo explains, his hands gesturing a bit wildly as he does to illustrate his point.
A silence fills the room for a little bit as the two concerned parties contemplate. After a few moments, Riki finally breaks the quiet. “So we just need to find each other and touch?”
“I think so,” Sunoo confirms. “But that shouldn’t be too big of an issue, since obviously Sunghoon is also Korean. Do you live in Seoul, Sunghoon-ssi?” Sunoo asks, gesturing out toward the window.
“Well, yes,” Sunghoon affirms halteringly. “I do live in Seoul, but I had to travel for the ISU Grand Prix. So right now, I’m actually in--”
“Tokyo.” Riki finishes his sentence, his voice tense with shock and awe. “I’m in Japan right now.”