Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

Macbeth, Shakespeare

Myungsoo straightens his cap nervously as he rings the doorbell.

This is it.

Ever since he has read Nam Woohyun’s first novel, ‘A Dim Star’, his life has never been the same. He was barely a teenager but he had already made up his mind – he would work with his favourite author one day. As he grew older, he developed further interest in language and literature and finally decided to become a copy editor.

It wasn’t easy – his parents weren’t very happy with his decision. Besides, getting a job at the same publishing company as Woohyun felt like a pipe dream at first. When he was informed that he had passed the job interview at SK Publishing, he couldn’t believe his luck.

However, he soon found out that Woohyun barely comes to the office and does all of his writing from home. His editor, Irae, goes out to his place to meet him. So for the first few months, even though they are in the same company, he didn’t see Woohyun at all.

Finally, one day, there is a rumour that Woohyun is causing a ruckus in front of the CEO’s door.

“Bathroom break,” he shouts to the air before running out of the room he shares with the junior editors and jogs up the stairs to where the CEO’s office is. That’s where he first catches a glimpse of Woohyun. He is much more handsome than the pictures and videos he has seen of him and even though, at that moment, he was being physically restrained by Seungkwan, the CEO’s secretary, he looked dignified.

When the CEO had called him and gave him the opportunity to be Woohyun’s editor, he was sure it was a dream he would eventually wake up from. But when he woke up this morning, the small paper with Woohyun’s address was still in his jeans pocket.

Right.

He’s wearing his newest plaid shirt today and a blue ball cap, for the occasion. After all, first impressions are important. He thought about getting flowers but decided it was bit over the top. Instead, he got some expensive bread at the foreign bakery on the main street and requested for a blue bow on the box. For what it’s worth.

He rings the bell again, palms sweating. What should he say to Woohyun? What would be the author’s reaction to have been assigned such a junior editor? The suspense is killing him.

But no one is answering the door. He presses the bell again, grabbing the strap of his backpack nervously – again, no answer. They said at the office that Woohyun would definitely be at home, and it’s 11.30am, so no reason for him to still be asleep. Frowning, he presses the bell again, this time not letting go for a few seconds. He could hear the dull gong go off inside, but there is no sound, no hurrying footsteps.

His heart beats fast. Did something happen to the author? He slips out his phone and calls Woohyun’s number. It rings and rings, no answer. Why wasn’t he answering his phone?

With every passing second, his anxiety mounts. Should he call Sunggyu? Should he break the door? Would that be very rude? For all he knows, Woohyun might be in the bath.

Wait, what if he fell asleep in the bath and even now, he’s slowly sinking into-

He throws his body into the door as hard as he can. It was like hitting a concrete wall, his insides are jarred. But he slams himself again; this time there is a faint rattle from doorframe - I’m coming Woohyun-ssi.

With the third try, he runs far back and throws himself like a cannon ball, but instead of hitting concrete, he slices through air and then it comes, the collision but it’s different.

“Ouch!” he hears a loud cry as he crashes to the floor but it’s cushioned by the fact that he’s fallen on someone through the now open door.

“Oh no, Woohyun-ssi are you ok?” Tears fall from his eyes as he sees a reddish bruise blooming on the author’s forehead.

Woohyun just curses under his breath - some Myungsoo doesn’t even know the meanings of. Truly, the author’s breath of knowledge is different.

“I’ll call an ambulance right now!” he fumbles on the ground for his phone. 

“Good ing idea you moron! You’ve probably broken all 365 bones in my precious body,” Woohyun cries.

“Actually, there are only 206 bones…” he mumbles softly. Novelists don’t need to know biology. Also they have a unique sense of imagination which sometimes distorts well-known facts. It’s not a big deal.

“Who are you?” There is an angry frown between his eyebrows as cups the bruise with his hand.

“I-I’m Kim Myungsoo, your new editor.”

“My new editor?” Woohyun stops winging and suddenly looks at him with concentration. “What do you mean by my new editor? Did Irae ing resign?” His eyes are popping out in anger and if Myungsoo’s legs weren’t already jelly, he would have fainted.

“No-no, I mean I was assigned-”

He is sweating buckets at this point. Had Woohyun not been told about him? He didn’t think he would have to explain this to him, and definitely not after he has knocked him off his feet.

This is not how he imagined his first proper meeting with his hero to go. He has somehow managed to infuriate him. The image of the two of them hanging out by the Han River, enjoying ice cream, fades into darkness.

“CEO-nim told me to-”

“To hell with your CEO!” Woohyun pulls himself to a sitting position, cradling his head in his hands, “I’m not having a new editor. Tell Irae to comeback or die.”

It hurt him to hear that his hero didn’t want him, so plainly. It’s okay, Woohyun doesn’t know him or how much he loves him – there’s no reason for him to accept him with open arms. Besides, he has worked with Irae for 8 or 9 years; the author and their editor are like two peas in a pod. A sudden change is always undesirable. It’s all understandable. 

Gathering himself, he says, “I-we need to get some ice on this bruise, it’s ruining your perfect face.”

“My what?”

“Your perfect face.” It shocks even himself how he doesn’t stutter. Woohyun grows quiet and looks at him inquisitively.

Finally, he says quietly, “It’s in the freezer. Kitchen.”

Permission, he realizes, it’s permission to enter his home. He stands up so quickly that his knees creak.

By the time he wraps up some ice in a spare towel he finds on the kitchen floor, Woohyun has gotten himself up, come inside, and laid down on the chintz sofa.

He gently presses the ice to his forehead causing him to wince.

“Is it too cold?”

“It’s ice, you idiot, of course it’s cold.”

“Sorry.” He moves it away.

“Don’t, it feels good,” he mutters, closing his eyes. Myungsoo knows he means the ice but he can’t help the butterflies in his stomach. He grins. “Why do they think a useless lad like you can be my editor?”

The grin fades as quickly as it had come. “I…well, CEO- nim said…”  

“Ask them. I want an answer.”

Woohyun sounds serious but he’s not sure if calling the CEO and demanding an answer is a good idea, even if it is instigated by the author.

“Umm…”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?”

At this moment, he is more afraid of Woohyun than the CEO. Gulping, he dials Sunggyu’s number. He picks up on the first ring.

“Yes?” he asks sharply.

“Umm…Woohyun-ssi…”

“Pass the phone to him.”

It’s almost as if the CEO had expected this. Well, he thinks begrudgingly, he was the one who chose not to tell Woohyun about this change. It’s like he was setting him up for failure.

Woohyun takes the phone – a frown appears between his eyebrows.

“Why have you sent me a new editor? Did I tell you I want a new editor?” His frown deepens hearing Sunggyu’s answer. “What the hell, this is not the type of muse I meant-”

The more he listens, the darker the expression on his face gets. It’s like a storm brewing.

“Why do you care? You didn’t come to save me last night, I could have been dead!” He shouts the word into the phone. Myungsoo feels guilty, like he is suddenly privy to a domestic he shouldn’t be a part of. A part of him wonders what Woohyun means by muse. Irae seems at least 10-15 years older than Woohyun – surely, they couldn’t have had a relationship like that…or could they?

“Yeah, whatever, I haven’t touched your pizza.”

Myungsoo’s eyes follow Woohyun’s to an open pizza box on the table, 3 slices missing.

“If I’m too much for you, just tell me to look for a new publisher. Don’t send me infants.”

He chucks the phone in Myungsoo’s direction.

“I’m sorry,” Sunggyu tells him in a strained voice. “I would normally ask you to stick through it but I know what he’s like, so if he’s nasty to you, just leave. But I promise he warms up…with time.”

“Yes, CEO-nim.”

When he hangs up, Woohyun looks at him and says with a sneer, “He gave you his personal phone number, did he?”

“Umm…yes.”

“Giving it out willy-nilly…” he makes a face, then shuts his eyes again, pressing the ice onto his forehead again.

Despite complaining about him, Myungsoo realizes that Woohyun didn’t mention the fact that he has given him a whacking bruise to Sunggyu. He feels oddly grateful.

“Look, to make things easier, do whatever you want to do. Hang out, order food, whatever. I will also do whatever I want to do. If they really think a teenager can tame me, they’ve got it coming.”

“I don’t…” Myungsoo is not sure which point to refute first, that he isn’t a teenager or that he hasn’t been sent to tame him. It doesn’t matter though, because the author doesn’t look like he’s listening.

“Now leave me alone.”

The new shirt, the blue cap, the fancy bread…none of it helped. Why did he even bother?

Myungsoo spends the first day sat timidly on Woohyun’s sofa, only getting up to refill the ice and to go to the bathroom. Woohyun takes a nap, then flips through a magazine, then turns on the TV to watch an 80s movie and turns it off when it is about to reach .

“Are you hungry?”

He heats up the cold pizza, washing it down with wine. Myungsoo has never seen anyone drink wine instead of water, so he finds it fascinating, which Woohyun mistakes for him wanting to drink some. When he politely declines, Woohyun scoffs and says that he’s probably not old enough to drink anyway.

After lunch, he scrolls through his phone, lying on the couch. Myungsoo was afraid that the author and the couch would become one very soon.

At no point does he do anything remotely related to writing.

“Do you-do you have any idea about the sequel? Will Seohan and Damian meet again? Will Jiae forgive Damian?” he plucks up the courage to ask.

Woohyun squints at him “Why did you take this gig? Sunggyu and Irae must have told you that I’m…difficult to work with.”

Myungsoo blushes, staring at his hands in his lap. “I’ve been a huge fan for a long time.”

“Of my work?” Technically, yes.

“Yes, ever since middle school…I actually wanted to become an editor-”

He looks away, clear that he has lost interest.

“And I guess there isn’t a less annoying version of you somewhere in the company that could replace you?”

“E-excuse me?”

“Never mind.”

--

The next day, Woohyun answers the door on the second ring, but does not look pleased about it.

“Oh, you haven’t quit yet.”

“I…” He doesn’t know what to say as he follows him inside the house.

The truth is, he is never going to quit because this has been his dream. He doesn’t like being insulted at every turn, of course, but Woohyun is a genius and genii have their mood swings. Every author has good days and bad days. No, he will not quit. And he will make sure Woohyun submits that manuscript at the end of the allotted time.

He doesn’t make a lot of progress, however. Woohyun doesn’t engage in any conversation and actually gets quite irritated when Myungsoo tries to talk to him about writing the sequel. He takes another nap.

Myungsoo has noticed the bags under his eyes but hasn’t had the courage to ask what had kept him awake at night. It doesn’t look like he had gone out.

When he is not making disparaging comments about him, Woohyun gives him the silent treatment. Myungsoo is surprised by how someone could do absolutely nothing. He is curious as to what’s going on in his mind but he doesn’t dare ask.

When the sun starts to set, the author says, “Are you staying for dinner, or what? If you are, you order.”

A week ago, Myungsoo would have given every last penny in his bank account to have dinner with Nam Woohyun. But that joyous occasion is now dimmed by the thought of the almost Herculean task ahead – making him write. Irae had not been joking about the slump – he doesn’t see any spark of inspiration in his eyes. He is always sprawled across his sofa in a languid manner, his eyes listless. Myungsoo’s not sure he knows the cure for this.

“I can literally feel heat emanating from your brain,” Woohyun suddenly says, knocking his chopsticks against his bowl to gain his attention. “Stop thinking, will you?”

“Sorry, I…”

“Look, I know you want to be able to be the man who delivers a brand-new Nam Woohyun manuscript to the CEO,” he says, chewing his rice cake with gusto. “But think about this – if Irae couldn’t do it, with all her experience, how do you stand a chance? Sunggyu has been very mean to you.”

He sees his point but he thinks differently – Sunggyu must have known what he was doing. Sometimes, it’s not about experience, it’s about persistence and the one thing Myungsoo has in abundance is patience.

He will never give up on Nam Woohyun.

--

“You don’t have to do that.”

Desperate for something to do, Myungsoo has started tidying up Woohyun’s living room, while the author is lounging in his pajamas, watching a crime documentary. It’s been another fruitless day so far – Woohyun had spoken to someone on the phone about going out later and when Myungsoo had inquired about it, he had been his usual teasing, depreciating self.

“I don’t mind.” There is a lot of junk strewn around the room, bits of paper, clothes, socks. It reminds him of some of the dorms he had seen in university.

“I have a cleaner who should come around at some point,” Woohyun’s eyes are trained on the screen.

“Really?” Myungsoo raises an eyebrow. “Because it looks like this place hasn’t been cleaned in a while.”

“Oh shoot!” the author slaps his forehead. “I forgot I fired her.”

Rolling his eyes, he mumbles, “Yeah, I can tell.”

“You still don’t need to do it.”

Ignoring what he said, Myungsoo carries on. Cleaning is therapeutic for him and he has read that an uncluttered environment helps with creativity.

As he steadily makes his way around the massive living room, he is surprised to find an acoustic guitar under a heap of clothes and old newspapers. He strums the strings absentmindedly – it’s not tuned.

The sound catches Woohyun’s attention, who pauses the TV and looks over his shoulder.

“Oh, you found it.”

“Do you play?” he asks curiously. He knows a lot about Woohyun through interviews but he has never mentioned playing the guitar.

“Nope.”

“Why do you have it then?”

“I don’t know, bought it on a whim. I guess I was going through a phase where I was trying to look cool and had too much money.”

He smiles to himself. He doesn’t think Woohyun could be any cooler than he already is.

“May I?”

The author shrugs disinterestedly.

Myungsoo plays a little tune he had learned from a senior at school. He knows the basics and he has covered one or two songs before. That was all in school though, he hasn’t played in a long time.

“You’re good.” He notices that although he appeared uninterested and he has his back to him, Woohyun has not restarted the program he was watching on the TV.

“Not really, I only know a few chords.”

“Isn’t it interesting that there are only a limited number of chords but they can make unlimited number of tunes. And there are practically unlimited number of words but sometimes there just isn’t the right word to express something.”

Myungsoo looks at him in surprise. He has never heard him say something so intimate to him before. Despite having his back to him, Myungsoo can see in the droop of his shoulders that he is in deep thought.

“I can’t imagine you wouldn’t be able to express something in words.”

He answers very slowly. “You’d think that, but…” There is a long pause. Turning around to look at him, he says, “Take it, I don’t have any use for it.”

“I couldn’t,” Myungsoo put the guitar down quickly. It’s obviously expensive and barely used.

“Of course you can. Think of it as a present from me.”

Myungsoo’s inside bubble gleefully. A present from his hero?

Is he going to die soon – why are all his dreams coming true like this?

“What kind of music do you like?” he asks, encouraged by the author’s mellow words.

“Ballads, probably.”

He laughs. “I imagine all writers listen to ballads.”

“Why?” Woohyun asks curiously.

“Because ballads give you inspiration, I suppose, to write the sad stuff.”

Woohyun stares at him for so long that he worries he will start shouting at him. However, when he speaks, his voice is even. “I don’t need inspiration to write the sad stuff.”

“So-so why do you listen to ballads?”

“Sunggyu used to play them all the time, I guess it became a habit.”

It’s not a surprise that they would be influenced by each other given how long they have worked together for. But there’s something else that startles him – it’s the way he says it. It’s strange but Myungsoo could almost swear that Woohyun misses Sunggyu.

The publisher is of course only phone call away but something in Woohyun’s voice makes it sound like he is a million miles away, maybe in a different reality.

He doesn’t understand. But then, he didn’t think he would understand Nam Woohyun in a couple of days. He needs to be learned over years, researched over decades, studied during a lifetime.

Dedication, you need dedication to know Nam Woohyun.

He would die for the privilege.

-- 

“I brought some of your novels,” Myungsoo says, getting them out from his backpack.

He thinks he has finally found an opening with the author. Yesterday, he has been the most talkative so far and he even gave him a guitar as a present. Now is his chance to pry that aperture open permanently.

Woohyun laughs derisively. “Why? I’ve got copies of all of them in my house.”

“Yes, but you haven’t got this copy.” He hands him a paperback of his debut novel, worn from the hundreds of times he has read it, ramyeon stains on the cover, dog-eared pages with oil stains and light pencil marks. “This is the one I got when I was a teenager. I still read it sometimes.”

The author holds it up, examining it as if he is holding something unfamiliar.

“You really are a fan,” he comments, leafing through the pages. His face settles, from the usual annoyance, his features normalize. He looks calm, gentle, handling the book gingerly, as if it may just collapse in his hands.

“It was a dud, you know,” he finally says, putting it down gently on the kitchen counter. “I probably sold 200 copies initially, less than that. Sunggyu almost went under.” He chuckles fondly.

“But he still published your next book…”

“Yeah,” he looks up, his eyes bright. “He sat me down and said, ‘Nam Woohyun, I can’t accept the fact that only I know how good of a writer you are, no, this won’t do.’ Crazy, right?” he laughs, as if the ridiculousness of it all still amuses him.

“And your next novel was a million seller,” Myungsoo hands him his own copy of ‘Marginal’, the book that finally caused Woohyun to rise to the spotlight. It’s a precious copy.

“Oh, it’s signed!” Woohyun exclaims. He stares at Myungsoo, screwing his eyes, as if trying hard to remember something. “We’ve met before?”

Shaking his head, Myungsoo says, “No, unfortunately. I bribed a cousin of mine to go to the book signing event. I had my midterms and my parents were guarding me like watchdogs so I couldn’t go out anywhere. But you were having your book signings at the same time, so I asked noona to go and get my copy signed for me. I washed her car till I was 20 every week since then in return.”

They both laugh this time; Woohyun’s shoulders go up and down with the laughter. It’s perfectly adorable. The image of 20-year-old Myungsoo washing his noona’s car in shorts must have seemed hilarious to him and he is grateful for that. The way Woohyun’s eyes sparkle when he laughs causes his insides to feel light.

This is the first time he has seen him laugh, really laugh, from up close - Myungsoo makes a little mental note. Remember this.

“You know how long it took me to write ‘Marginal’?”

“Two weeks, you said it in an interview once,” he answers proudly. Every fact that the author had mentioned about himself or his work is ingrained in his memory.

“Less than that actually,” Woohyun walks into the living room, carrying the book, Myungsoo following close behind him. “I didn’t sleep, I didn’t eat, I didn’t even smoke…I used to smoke back then.” He sounds reminiscent.

Myungsoo can’t believe this is happening, he is hearing about how the novel he loves so much came into being, from its creator. This is straight out of his dreams.  

“Sunggyu told me to stop smoking, he said he didn’t want me to die before I made him any profit. I went cold turkey.”

Myungsoo knows Sunggyu is older than Woohyun but perhaps they are close enough for him to drop the honorifics. Back in those days, they went through a lot of hardship together, that much was clear. In a dedication once, Woohyun had called him his rock. In interviews too, he always mentioned him, joking how if he is the tree, Sunggyu is the root. That’s the kind of bond that doesn’t just dissolve.

“When ‘Marginal’ sold 1000 copies, I cried. When it surpassed a million sales…” he smiles shyly, “I passed out.”

“You actually…passed out?”

Nodding, the author turns the book around so that his own picture is staring back at him – it’s not the most professional author picture he has come across, Woohyun looks young and he’s in an ill-fitting grey suit. He still looks handsome.

“Sunggyu’s suit, his tie, he took this picture on his crappy camera phone.”  He taps on the cover, a small smile on his lips. “Not bad, eh?”

Myungsoo nods in agreement. Something causes his throat to close up. A sudden annoyance…no, it’s jealousy. He is jealous. Hearing the author talking about his past fondly has made him jealous, that he wasn’t there, that he couldn’t experience it with him. It’s not rational, but his insides squirm with dissatisfaction.

Kim Sunggyu had been there for the author. Why him?

And then he realizes that if Sunggyu hadn’t done what he did for Woohyun, he would have never made it as a novelist and the world, Myungsoo, would have been deprived of him. Sunggyu had actually done him a favour.

Clearing his throat, he says hesitatingly, “About CEO-nim…did you-really mean it when you said you’ll look for another publishing company?” It’s been bothering him since then.

Woohyun had been livid and the anger in his voice when he spoke to Sunggyu was very real. No matter how close of a relationship they may have, the symbiotic quality to it has come to an end. Any other publisher would take up Woohyun in an instant and Sunggyu has a lot of good writers under his umbrella for him to not need him anymore.

Where would that leave Myungsoo? He has worked hard all his life to get where he is today.

A shadow passes over the author’s face. “I don’t know…I guess it depends on what he says.” His voice is suddenly colder.

The man looks pensive and Myungsoo worries that he has ruined his good mood by bringing up the memory of their argument.

“But my favourite,” he says loudly, hoping to bring him out of his discomfortable thoughts, “is this. ‘Concrete Halos and Superficial Angels’.”

The ends of his lips turn up again as he accepts the book from him. “I’m surprised. It did well, but there are definitely other bestsellers which are more popular.”

“You know why’s that, right?”

“Because Goyo died?”

“Because Goyo died.” Myungsoo remembers scouring all the fan forums where the discussion was heated about Goyo’s death. He wasn’t the main character, but he was who Myungsoo sympathized with the most. As it turned out, he had been a lot of people’s favourite character and his death caused a lot of people to boycott the novel. “But I don’t see a problem with that. Goyo needed to die. Silence needed to die in order for others to hear the music.”

The book slips from Woohyun’s hand, sliding into his lap, as he gazes at Myungsoo, as if he’s seen a ghost.

“I’m sorry,” he says, picking it up hastily, “that’s the second person who told me that.”

Myungsoo smiles. “To be honest, I read it on one of the forums. I liked the comment so much, I bookmarked it.”

Woohyun’s eyes turn glassy. He remains quiet, staring at the cover of the book.

Silence, he thinks, goosebumps appearing on his forearms. It’s so deep it soaks into his bones.

“You want me to sign these?” he finally asks after a very long