[FIC]: polaroid.

[nacseo]

polaroid, pg, sandeul/baro.
look at this photograph.

i have a dream,
even if i'm thrown away or ripped to shreds
deep in my heart i have a dream as precious as gem
if by chance, without a reason,
somebody ridicules me behind my back
i should be patient,
i would wait just for that day.
as you always worry,
you say that foolish dreams are poisonous
just like a book that tells us about the end of the world
there's the reality that we can't turn back already
insooni, "거위의 꿈"


POLAROID
sandeul/baro


Junghwan starts taking candid photos of all of the members right after they finish filming Match Up, and by the time they’re promoting “Beautiful Target,” he has a shoebox full of Polaroids stuffed behind a row of sweaters in his closet. It’s not even that he’s ever really been a photographer, or that he has a particular interest in it—Junghwan takes the photos to remind himself that there’s something under their camera faces.

He explains it to Dongwoo one evening, when he’d snapped a shot of Dongwoo with his hair down, glasses off, chopsticks halfway to his face, and accidentallly made Dongwoo choke on his rice.

“It’s kind of dumb,” he says, fingering the edges of the picture as it develops in his hands. “I like reminding myself that underneath Sandeul and Baro and CNU, there’s Junghwan and Sunwoo and Dongwoo.”

Dongwoo tilted his head a little, chopsticks tapping idly against the side of the bowl. “You think you’re going to forget?” he asks.

Junghwan shrugs a little. “I don’t think so,” he says. “But better safe than sorry, right?”

What he doesn’t say is that sometimes he already forgets that there was a Junghwan, or a Sandeul, before there was B1A4. They bring up his past photos and radical transformation on variety shows and during interviews and Junghwan gets really quiet, because he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like dragging up that part of himself, the part that he’d worked so hard to get away from. (He admits that he wears glasses at the dorm, still, because people think it’s cute, and it makes the interviewers laugh, but Junghwan’s wearing contacts more and more these days.)

Dongwoo nods slowly, giving Junghwan that hyung-like look that says he more or less has figured out everything that Junghwan is leaving unsaid. “Well, next time wait until I’m done chewing,” he says, and they leave it at that.



His favorite photos are the ones he’ll never show to anyone.

Early on, when this fixation on photography was barely beginning, Junghwan had taken a photo of Chansik when they were laying in bed in a hotel somewhere. Chansik is half-awake, if that, and his hair is everywhere. He has a line from the pillow printed across his cheek, and he’s in the middle of a word, the shape of his mouth looking like a smile. Junghwan likes that one, because there’s “B1A4’s magnae Gongchan” and then there’s Gong Chansik, and Junghwan thinks this is a photo of the latter.

Another one: Jinyoung, bent over a table in their kitchen, writing out lyrics in a well-loved notebook. Everyone knows not to bother Jinyoung when he’s writing, but Junghwan had lingered in the doorway and snapped the shot when he knew Jinyoung was too deep in his own head to notice. In the photograph, Jinyoung’s shoulders are hunched and his back looks tense, but there’s something in the way he holds the pencil that suggests true happiness.

Junghwan doesn’t take photos of himself, though. He doesn’t think he could be as honest with himself.



It’s Sunwoo that’s the hardest to pin down, because he has quick reflexes and always seems to notice when Junghwan’s camera is trained on him. Junghwan gets a lot of really good photos of Sunwoo smiling, Sunwoo doing stupid bunny aegyo, Sunwoo laughing at something Dongwoo has just said, but not a lot of Sunwoo just being Sunwoo.

You’d think that he would be the easiest to get a handle on—they’re the same line, chingu, and they’re already close. But somehow, Sunwoo proves elusive.

“Junghwan-ah,” Sunwoo says, flopping down right on top of Junghwan’s back. He’s laying in his bunk, looking at the collection of Polaroids that he’s amassed over the last few months, and Sunwoo’s weight is a surprising (but comforting) presence. “What are you doing?”

“Heavy,” Junghwan says, gasping dramatically for breath. “Can’t breathe, gonna die!”

“Yah.” Sunwoo pokes him in the sides. “I’ll tickle you.”

“I’ll kick you,” Junghwan warns. Sunwoo slides off him, instead choosing to stretch out between Junghwan and the wall against which his bed is placed. “I’m looking at pictures. Go away, you’re too loud.”

Sunwoo doesn’t bother taking Junghwan’s threat seriously. “I’ll be quiet,” he says, propping his chin up in his hands. “I want to see what all these photos look like.”

There’s no good reason for Junghwan to say no, and Sunwoo is the closest thing he’s had to a best friend in years, so Junghwan just scoots over a little and lets Sunwoo look. Most of them are innocent enough, just captured moments of the everyday hilarity that is their dorm. Some of them are uncomfortably intimate, like the photo of Chansik half-asleep, or the one of Sunwoo’s back as he changed into pajamas, hair messy, shirt still tangled around his arms.

“These are nice,” Sunwoo says eventually, his fingers tracing the edges of a photo (Jinyoung, laughing). “When did you take them?”

“On and off since ‘Only Learned Bad Things,’” Junghwan says, shifting a little. It’s a little embarrassing, now that he’s thought about it.

“Hmm.” Sunwoo picks one up, one of himself and Chansik on the set of their music video for “Beautiful Target.” Sunwoo has Chansik in a headlock, and Dongwoo is looking on with a grin. “Any particular reason, or are you thinking about a career in photography?”

“No,” Junghwan says. “Just. I like taking pictures. That’s all.”

Sunwoo tilts his head to the side, looking at Junghwan. At this distance, there’s no room to lie. “Why?”

“...Because I’m worried I’m going to forget that Lee Junghwan exists,” Junghwan says. “Or Cha Sunwoo, or Jung Jinyoung. And when I forget, all that’ll be left is Sandeul and Baro and leader Jinyoung.” He looks down, avoiding Sunwoo’s gaze, and picks up a photo, any photo, anything to keep this conversation from being more embarrassing than it already is. “It’s pretty dumb, I know.”

“It’s not dumb.” From the corner of his eye, Junghwan can see Sunwoo still watching him. “You don’t take any pictures of yourself?”

There are a few scattered amongst the many that are Junghwan and another member—Junghwan and Sunwoo, Junghwan and Chansik. But none of Junghwan by himself. “I’d feel like I was lying if I did,” Junghwan says. “Because... the point is that all of these pictures are of the members when we’re not CNU and Gongchan and Baro and Jinyoung and Sandeul. We’re Dongwoo and Chansik and Sunwoo and Jinyoung and Junghwan. But I don’t know if I could take a picture of myself and be Junghwan instead of Sandeul.”

It’s like a reflex: The camera comes out, and Junghwan becomes Sandeul.

“Huh.” Sunwoo puts the photo down and rolls on top of him again, ruffling Junghwan’s hair. When he speaks, it’s right in Junghwan’s ear: “It’s not dumb. It’s a good idea. Don’t stop, okay?”

“Okay,” Junghwan says. A moment later, Sunwoo is gone.



When Junghwan turns twenty, they have a tiny party with takeout and cake from the store around the corner, and Junghwan wears a silly pointy hat and eats too much and generally enjoys himself. But when the excitement has worn away and the food is in the fridge and they’re getting ready for bed, Sunwoo comes up and hands him a shoebox and says, “Here. This is your present.”

“I thought you all gave me a present together,” Junghwan says. Earlier in the evening they’d presented him with a giant plush Mashimaro and a collection of letters from his family and friends in Busan (Junghwan isn’t ashamed to admit he cried a little). It had been perfect, and thoughtful, and so Junghwan hadn’t been expecting this.

“I’m giving you something else,” Sunwoo says, shaking the box a little. “Take it.”

Junghwan takes it, and Sunwoo lingers by his bed when he sits down and opens it. Inside are—photographs, and plenty of them, fifty, maybe a hundred, all of Junghwan. All candid, obviously, because Junghwan hadn’t even noticed Sunwoo taking them. “Oh,” he says, quietly, lifting one gently out of the box. It’s a photo of him with his head on Chansik’s stomach, watching a movie—A Moment to Remember, Junghwan thinks. He remembers, because Chansik cried at the end. “You took these all—?”

“I got Dongwoo hyung to help me,” Sunwoo admits, sitting down on the bed next to Junghwan. “But mostly I took them. Sorry if that’s weird.”

Junghwan doesn’t say anything for a second. He’s busy thinking about all the nonchalance he had tried so hard to force into his conversation with Sunwoo those weeks ago, and how useless that must have been. Sunwoo can read him like a book. He hadn’t really thought that Sunwoo would take him seriously, because of all of them, Sunwoo is the one for whom his onstage persona is closest to his offstage—Junghwan hadn’t thought he would get it. But obviously he does, and this box of photos is proof.

“It’s not weird,” he says, looking up at Sunwoo. His vision is a little blurry, the back of his throat very warm. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Sunwoo smiles, the kind of big, open smile he really only shows around Junghwan, and for a moment Junghwan is just totally helpless in the face of this huge wave of affection for him. Ridiculous, charming Sunwoo who does things like take candid photographs of Junghwan because he’s worried that Junghwan is worried.

So he kisses Sunwoo, because there’s nothing else he can do, and Sunwoo’s mouth is soft and warm and Junghwan thinks he’s made a huge mistake until Sunwoo mumbles something in the back of his throat and kisses him back.

“I guess that means you like them,” Sunwoo says when they pull apart. He’s still smiling, and something like sunlight unfurls in Junghwan’s chest.

“Yeah,” Junghwan says, “I guess I did,” and kisses him again.



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Polaroids are all PS'd from a variety of Twitpics posted by the members ;;