When Sunggyu looks back, a trail of broken bridges greets him – high school friends forgotten, neighbourhood friends lost, relatives he didn’t have the time to contact anymore … but when he turns his head to the side, he sees one person, one friend, constant, reassuring.

His life is a rollercoaster, ups and downs, twists and turns. Some days, he is fighting against the CEO for INFINITE, on others, he’s trying to convince the members as the CEO’s spokesperson. He ensures the managers don’t scold the kids too much, and that the members listen to the stylists well. He makes sure that Sungyeol isn’t driving Sungjong crazy, or Hoya isn’t pushing himself too hard. That Dongwoo is expressing himself and Woohyun’s getting his way, within reasonable limits. That Myungsoo isn’t too lonely, and Sungyeol hasn’t given up.

He feels like an exasperated parent at times, with six very different kids of different ages who just wouldn’t listen. He feels like a strategist playing a game of chess, planning what action to take when, how to manipulate the members, how to move Sungyeol two spaces to the right and Sungjong three spaces across.

It’s tiring but just like a Captain who can’t abandon his ship, he can’t stop caring about INFINITE.

Among all this turbulence, this frequently altering picture, there is one speck of constancy in his life – Nam Woohyun. Woohyun, not the member of INFINITE, who is just as difficult to deal with as the rest of the members, maybe even more, but Woohyun, his friend. The friend who has always been there by his side.

Woohyun was there during those seemingly never ending vocal lessons, his voice hoarse, his throat sore. Woohyun was there, amidst the tears he shed when the CEO scolded him, told him to quit, that he wasn’t cut out for this dream. He was there when Sunggyu retired to bed after the fight they had, his legs not kicking anymore, his fist opened to show his palms. There when he folded his blankets in the crack of dawn, fingers numb, eyes drowsy. There when the harsh glares of the lights from their debut stage scorched his eyes, complaining how he still couldn’t see the red light, and asking Sunggyu if he had.

When they won, the first time, a blur of tears and sweat; he mumbled to Sunggyu that red was their lucky colour. He was there during the countless practices, the concert stages, the variety shows…

Sunggyu can taste Woohyun on the tip of his tongue, his fingertips. Woohyun has become a part of his existence. He is like a silent film playing in the background, not distracting, but so very distracting.

But it isn’t only a one-way street – Woohyun knows the power he has over the leader, without speaking, without even asking. That’s why he could boldly proclaim that a Kim Sunggyu without Nam Woohyun is like a kite without strings. They come in a pair – like chopsticks, like socks, one redundant without the other.

Sunggyu loves how their voices mesh together – so different, but so complementary. Loves how Woohyun looks at him, when no one else does, and smiles. How his hand snakes around his waist, and pulls him closer into a hug. How when he hides his face embarrassedly, Woohyun laughs a little more. How he hugs him like he needs him; how he wants to contain the celebration between them, momentarily, in that not-so-short hug that doesn’t go unnoticed by members and fans alike. But it seems like they have accepted them as they are, not denying them their chance to be together. It’s different, their relationship, but they’ve never had to explain. In a way, it is bliss.

And when things get tense, when Sunggyu is displeased with s and isn’t hiding how angry he is, it’s Woohyun’s time to step up. Because if Sunggyu is the angry who has to keep the children in line, Woohyun is the loving mom, who would never stop the leader from disciplining the kids but form a boundary when things start to get out of hand. Among all the grim faces, he will say something light-hearted that will diffuse the tension and the others can pick up from there. Without sparing him a glance, Sunggyu realises he had been on the verge of crossing the line, the one he promised himself he will never cross. And even though he’s never told Woohyun about that invisible line, it’s not a surprise that he knows.

There is no amazement in Woohyun’s voice when Sunggyu calls him, during the holidays, when they’re spending time with their own families.

‘Want to go out for a drink?’

Woohyun chuckles. He doesn’t say what Sunggyu knows he’s thinking. But what’s there to say, because they both know.

‘Yes, of course.’

Even though we’re going to see each other in a few days and for the rest of the year. Maybe the rest of our lives.

Really? Promise me we will.

There is a difference between wanting something, and needing something. It is the same with persons. Some of them you want, and some of them you need. Like an infant needs its mother. Sunggyu is embarrassed to admit that his 27-yeard old self, as manly and independent as he is, needs someone. But Woohyun makes it so much easier, with no questions, no teasing remarks, no gloating. He accepts his need, says the things Sunggyu would never be able to say.

‘Do you love me?’

‘I like you.’

The shy timid answer is enough for Woohyun, because he’s shrewd, he can read between the lines, so he can guess the rest.

Because a Kim Sunggyu without Nam Woohyun is a drop of dew, sliding off the back of a lotus leaf, into the water, sliding into oblivion.