cry baby

Ryujin had learned to make jams, vinigarettes, alcohol, ice cream, and sorbet alongside now-called-Mom who already knew how to do these things. Once, he had made honey when she decided to grow honeybees from scratch, though they didn't live past the spring. They ate strawberry cobblers and strawberry pies and strawberry cakes and strawberry granola with almond and coconut nibs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner accompanied by chocolate dipped strawberries for dessert. Despite how inventive they were with their recipes and despite the frequency by which they consumed the little red monsters, so many of the strawberries went bad. Often, Ryujin would find moldy strawberries under his pillow, squashed to a paste. Few had become attached to his shoes almost as if they were growing out of the leather. One strawberry had become his father's only good eye. It rotted him from the inside out; always oozing a sticky foul liquid. The sour smell followed him the remainder of his life.

On the farm they had chickens and cows and pigs and one horse and a dog that did nothing but eat the chicken feed, eat the pig slop, eat Ryujin's leftovers then later eat his brother's heart when they found the rest of his body three miles from their home. They had tried, once, to raise a goat but the dog ate even that while crying at what he'd done.

This was one of two things Ryujin thought about as Dayoo stood before him, her hair pinned back, fighting back tears in the middle of the full mooned night. Her dark shirt was speckled with a white stain no amount of washing could clear and her face was red from her crying—evidence, he guessed, of a genuine sadness their shared time together was ending.

The second thing he thought about was what sort of face Iori would make if their time together suddenly, abruptly, came to an end. There was no answer he could think of, only a hypothetical that Dayoo's broken heart was testing for him.

Together, Dayoo and Ryujin stood in front of her apartment building. Only one of the eyes of the three story building was lit. Dayoo's floor. The curtain was slightly drawn back and from the window her roommates—all of whom were models under the same company she was signed to—were watching them. They were not friends, Dayoo had expressed this on one or two occasions. The girls lived together in order to cut the cost of rent.

"I just like thought we were good. Did I—did I do something?" Dayoo was tall. She was the only one of her immediate family to average six feet—an inheritance from a great grandmother that always sat unsmiling in photographs. When she had auditioned in her teen years at an idol company, they rejected her. She wasn't that great a singer or dancer. However, she had a look they loved so she was signed to a sister company after the room had stopped laughing at her. It was a story Dayoo had retold fondly, but Ryujin could only imagine the sadness her younger self felt as the adults laughed at her for daring to dream.

He was reminded of Jules as he looked at her, struggling to hold back his grimace at the red of her cheeks, her falling tears, her constant sniffling. His skin crawled.

"You didn't do anything," Ryujin assured. "It's just—things are busy. You know how it is." Much of his schedule was blank. It had been this way since Sooyong's passing. No one knew what to do with him and if they did they seemed reluctant to execute this idea or tell him.

His days were blurring into one another. The prospect of a debut felt further and further away. He stuck with Poser not out of some foolish trust in the company but an understanding of what it meant to be their trainee. There were opportunities and followers and endless praise and trips to fashion shows and money if Ryujin's manager could land him a small gig that didn't get in the way of anything important for the higher ups. These gigs were growing less and less. His manager was a shell of who she once was. Her time and energy was being divided, split, stolen.

Dayoo was busier than Ryujin was. Models had to be in order to not fall into the cracks and become a what's her face or do you remember so and so or a pretty girl with only Pinterest fame to her name. She was slowly climbing up the ladder of relevancy. She was a favorite of fashion girls on Twitter and Tiktok who were always looking for a new style inspiration to tack it girl status to. The tabloids were comparing her walk to Yasmeen Ghauri and calling her thee supermodel to watch out for even though the word supermodel held no real meaning these days.

Despite her love for modeling, Dayoo still wanted to sing and dance on stage. In her spare time, she attended a dance class and was a frequent karaoke goer. Ryujin had gone with her twice to karaoke. Both times, he had left her was stunned. She had never once thought he had real talent. Their karaoke trips ended shortly after. Dayoo kept a dirty songbook she scribbled in that she had shown him on their sixth outing together. Her writing was bad. Her metaphors were corny and borrowed from American pop hits but there was a charm to the clumsiness. There was genuine love behind every word.

Iori kept a song book as well. Hers was much older than Dayoo's and she never shared this book with Ryujin unless—well. He wasn't sure what prompted her to let him occasionally glimpse at the fraying pages, the smudge words, the songs that seemed to talk about a different time before there was Ryujin and Jules and Iori, later a Haeum add on. But she did share with him and he found them as brilliant as her. Her songs were good enough as demos for hotshot artists. Her songs were good enough for her to go independent. Her songs were good enough for a solo career. None of these were things Iori wanted.

She wanted to be an idol. She wanted a group. She wanted to do fanmeets. She wanted fansites and lightsticks and stage performances and Inkigayo sandwiches and ISAC and MAMA performances and cheaply made awards. She wanted these things some days. Other days it meant nothing to her. Whatever, she would say. It doesn't matter anymore.

"I just really like you Ryujin," Dayoo continued on. "I want this work out."

These were the facts of Ryujin: As much as he did not date, he did not break hearts nor did he work things out or tack labels to things that should remain without labels. He was not Dayoo's boyfriend nor was he her friend nor was he anything more than a guy she met occasionally when she was in South Korea and his phone bill was paid.

There had to be love for a heartbreak. Ryujin only loved a handful of people.

What he wanted from Dayoo was the same thing he wanted from all the other girls he had brief sort-of-things with. This want was kept to himself. A mystery in a mystery in a mystery—the matryoshka called Ryujin Ha.

"I'm sorry, Dayoo." The apology was bitter in his mouth. "I wish it could but—" he trailed off, schooling his expression to one of a sad lover boy with nothing left to give.

He thought of Jules again and her eyes that had grown into a dulled gem, a stark difference to that of Dayoo's that often held mischief and warmth and curiosity. It was like meeting Jules all over again.

Dayoo's crying only grew. Without meaning to, Ryujin recoiled, disgust making his cheek twitch as he struggled to remain understanding and sincere.

Around the sob that fell out of her, Dayoo choked out, "My name's Hyein."

After seeing Dayoo off, Ryujin walked down the quiet road until he found a two way split in it. He laid on the pavement and stared up at the starless sky. He imagined the moon falling and crashing into Earth, killing everything on impact. He imagined the night itself falling like a thick blanket over him, smothering and warm and peaceful.

On his farm, the moon and stars could not exist. Refusing to accept this reality, his brother started throwing the strawberries up at the endless stretch of sky. For two weeks, the strawberries dotted their enclosure of the great big world. The strawberries learned to twinkle and sparkle. They fell out of the sky the same day his brother disappeared. Mom too.

Ryujin shut his eyes. He inhaled. He could taste something sweet and old and familiar in the air. It clung to the back of his throat even as he exhaled. At the sound of a car slowing to a stop, he opened his eyes and sat up. He came face to face with the bright headlights of Iori's beat up car. Under his palms, the ground was cold. It was solid.

Ryujin opened the passenger side where Haeum was sitting and gripping onto his seatbelt. Haeum blinked as if coming alive. He looked at Ryujin the same way he had looked at him the very first time they met. Haeum was open and honest. He could not hide a single thing despite how much he believed he was succeeding at it.

"Hi," Haeum said.

"Hey." Ryujin extended his hand, patient. Haeum leaned closer so Ryujin could run his fingers through his hair, marveling at the new color. Blonde Jules and, now, red Haeum. In the short time Ryujin had been away, things had changed. They always did.

Except Iori.

She was constant in a way he liked. It made him think she refused to go forward without him and that she was tethered to the monotony growing like a hard shell around the pulp of Ryujin's life.

Ryujin moved his hand away. His fingers were tinted—either from the cold or leftover dye in Haeum's hair. Maybe both. "Alright, get in the back."

"But I was here first." Haeum sent a pleading look to Iori but she busied herself with the radio that hadn't worked since she bought the car two years ago. Ryujin waited, already knowing the outcome.

Haeum, betrayed, unbuckled his belt and climbed into the backseat, huffing to himself. Once he was seated in the back, Ryujin settled in the passenger, adjusting his seat as far back as was comfortable. He kicked his feet on the dash.

"I wish you wouldn't do that." Iori sped down the residential area even before Ryujin full closed the door. She adjusted her speed when she saw the speed limit. "Don't you usually Uber?"

"Yeah." Ryujin left his feet where they were. "But I owe them like 60 bucks."

"Just pay it."

Ryujin laughed at the ridiculousness of her suggestion.

Haeum peeked his head between the seats. "I can pay it for you."

"I know for a fact you have less money than I do."

"No?" Haeum replied, unsure. He licked his lips then asked, slowly, "How was your date?"

Ryujin shrugged. "We broke up." It was the easier answer. It was what Haeum wanted to hear each time Ryujin came back.

"Oh." Haeum struggled to hide his smile. "Okay."

Often, Ryujin could picture Haeum waiting at the door for in the same way a dog patiently waited for its master. Haeum struck him as the type to endlessly scroll through Ryujin's Instagram feed, jealous at the strange people he did not know that made up a hidden portion of Ryujin's life.

Ryujin mustered up tears and stared idly out the window. It took two sniffles for Haeum to notice then he was rambling, flustered and embarrassed by his reaction. "I don't know why anyone would break up with you! You're a nice guy! Too nice! On like Tiktok and stuff everyone's all like the dating scene is trash. No one cares about anyone and we're in an era of social decline and also the decline of empathy and I know you care and that's why you get hurt and—"

"Social decline," Iori echoed, amused. "The trash dating scene. All real problems affecting Ryujin."

Haeum nodded, eagerly. "Exactly!" As sweet as Haeum was, he was also far too easy. His reactions, his expressions, his existence—it all scratched an itch that Ryujin lived inside of. All Ryujin wanted to do was take a big bite out of Haeum and steal some of the marrow from his bones. Not out of need but out of something else he struggled to name properly—something connected to Iori.

Where Jules saw clay, Ryujin saw mud and, occasionally, glass. He did not want Haeum to change as it was this Haeum he was so attached to. Where was the joy in another version of such a sweetheart?

Ryujin bit back his smile, pleased at Haeum's reaction. "Thank you, Haeum. That's kind of you."

There was more Haeum wanted to say, but he dropped it in favor of stewing within Ryujin's compliment. He leaned back in his seat to hide the blush on his face. He mumbled, almost unheard over the sound of the engine, "Well, you know."

Ryujin did not know but he could guess. "Have we talked to Jules?"

"No." Haeum was still upset by her abrupt and nonsensical departure. He believed she had a blind trust in Jisoo and that her love for him was built on Jisoo's deception and Jules' misplaced guilt over the death of his father. He considered Jules' departure to be the worse moment of his whole life—the exact words he used when sharing the news with Ryujin who knew there was much worse that had happened to Haeum.

"I have," Iori said.

"Noona!" Haeum cried. "Our pact!"

"She said Jisoo might make her kill herself by the end of the week. They're going shopping for furniture and stuff." A pause then Iori added, "Very domestic, ain't it?"

Haeum rolled his eyes. "Domestic my foot."

Ryujin had to agree.

Iori smiled, playful, but she offered nothing else and let the conversation lull into a comfortable silence.

Ryujin rolled down the window. He filled in their talk with what Jules might have said then stopped when the imaginary Jules' words annoyed him. "I forgot her name. Da—" He hesitated, "Hye?"

"I forget things all the time too." Iori tapped the side of her head. She glanced in the rearview mirror to watch Haeum stare at the cars passing hers. "But they always come back. Even if—" She waved her hand around, confident Ryujin understood what she meant.

Ryujin imagined Jules pointing out how strange that all was. She never forgot. She would liken herself to a pit things get thrown into, overfilling but unable to stop taking. Iori might have considered herself rusted and old. The sort of thing with a lost rich history.

ELIZABETH HWANG (best known by the stage name LIZZY, now insisting to be known as LIZ,) rose to infamy after replacing the widely-beloved SONG JINARI as a member of the doomed girl group BOUQUET at seventeen years old. Despite bias towards JINARI leaving LIZ unpopular, she stuck with the group until their disbandment in 2021, when she promptly got the hell out of OHJANG ENTERTAINMENT. In 2023, LIZ signed up for the survival show nextUP as an independent trainee. Though she only placed in 28th out of 100, LIZ's performance was enough to attract the attention of RNN ENTERTAINMENT, who signed LIZ on as a trainee. Last year, they sent her on DREAMQUEST in yet another failed attempt at the survival show redemption act - but even the kick in the teeth of another elimination won't break LIZ's spirits. Even if it kills her- or worse, bankrupts her record label, she will rise again.

iNOUE MiO first appeared on screen at only twelve years of age, when her voice blew away the nation and brought in the highest ratings ever seen by the singing contest HOMETOWN iDOL. Mio won the show in a landslide public vote. Alongside a hefty cash prize deposited straight into her parents' bank account, she was awarded a contract with RNN ENTERTAiNMENT’s Japanese subsidiary label, EPONA. From then on, an ordinary, working class childhood was given up to fame, and MiO's teen years passed her by in an instant as she danced herself to exhaustion and filled up the pockets of the adults around her. By the time she was twenty-one, MiO had become one of the most beloved idols in j-pop, one of RNN's top-selling artists, and had just made her silver screen debut to success and acclaim. However, it was at her peak that her producer (and, allegedly, only friend) KOBAYASHi KENTARO suddenly passed away at only 22 years old. All of her plans going forward were cancelled, and MiO's final, unwilling, public appearance saw her mobbed by cameras at KENTARO's memorial service, and then, she was gone. She wouldn't resurface again until her appearance on LiZ's mixtape RESURRECTiON; sparking a rumour that MiO would be a part of the lineup of RNN's new girl group- not that many buy into that one. Why would someone as successfull as MiO bother starting all over again?

Before LIZZY, there was KIM ROMI. That is to say, ROMI was the original maknae of BOUQUET, having made her debut with the original lineup at just 15 years old. In contrast to LIZ, ROMI was treated well by fans, pushed by OHJANG ENTERTAINMENT to have an innocent 'little sister' image long into her career. While promoting together in BOUQUET, ROMI and LIZ were constantly pitted against one another, their fanbases clashing so loudly and frequently that the fan-rivalry was easily projected onto the girls. Much of the media during the end of BOUQUET's run was speculation on the allegedly volatile relationship between ROMI and LIZ, generally skewed to paint ROMI as the victim. Since the group's disbandment in 2021, ROMI has pursued her childhood love of musical theatre, and had just completed her first run in a supporting role when her social media went black at the end of 2024. She hasn't been seen or heard from since; and a tweet with more engagement than BOUQUET had seen since 2017 unknowingly prophesized; 'somehow LIZZY is behind this.'

For as long as she can remember, KEIRA LÖWE has been dancing competitively; entering her first contest at just 6 years old. It started off as a fun hobby; but by the time she was eight, she won her first cash prize, and from then on she danced every day of her life, wether she felt like it or not. KEIRA was sent to study abroad as soon as she was of high school age, training at a prestigious arts school in London. At seventeen years old, KEIRA was cast as a backup dancer for a music video. This led to several more oppurtunities, and as she pursued them KEIRA eventually found herself working with EPONA in Japan, where she backed MiO over three promotional eras. While working in Japan, KEIRA also made a name for herself within the competetive waacking scene under the sort-of-moniker KIRA, for which she'd gain attention as her rounds were uploaded to YouTube. KEIRA retired from competing in late 2024 as she was suddenly airlifted to South Korea to join the lineup of ANTI in a flurry of rushed meetings and spontanious agreements. As exciting as getting out of the background and into the spotlight must be, you can't help but wonder if KEIRA realises exactly what she's signed up for.

“He hasn’t spoken since the funeral, and you’re talking about what avenues we’re going to take. Enough of the faux-sympathy bullshit, Jinhwa–”

“Jisung, please,” Kiwoo whispers, a feeble attempt to keep the peace. He hasn’t felt like playing peacemaker these days. Even now, he rests his forehead on his palm like he has a headache with his round eyes shut. Jisung is relentless. He always is. Always fighting until he’s out of breath or the other person has finally decided to give up. Jinhwa seemed never to give up. It makes Aiden’s shoulders tense, looking at Reid to share a silent word, but Reid is only watching Jisung.

“No. No. This is bullshit. Finn hasn’t been in the ground for a week and he wants to ask when we’re ready for a fucking comeback.”

“That’s not what I’m–”

“Then what is this? A sudden mental health check? Because the timing isn’t suspicious at all. Are you going to check our noses next?”

“Jisung!” Kiwoo snaps, looking over his shoulder at the man with a disgusted look. Jisung raises his brows, putting a hand on his chest in bewilderment. Jinhwa sighs, leaning back in his chair as he taps his desk.

“What? Like I’m wrong? He didn’t give a fuck about our wellbeing before one of us overdosed–No, no, sorry, until he died, because he overdosed twice and he didn’t do anything about it. Remember that?” Every word is an accusation with fire and venom behind it. Woobin sucks air through his teeth.

“We all knew what Finn was doing,” Woobin speaks, causing heads to turn towards him, most stunned he’s speaking since he’s been the most nonchalant about this whole thing since it happened. “And we all did nothing to help him so–”

“That’s not true–” Reid tries, but Woobin scoffs, cutting him off.

“It is. It is true. We stopped giving a fuck that Finn was sniffing up half his body weight in coke after, like, what? 2021? 2022? Just because you made a half-assed attempt to get him to rehab doesn’t mean you cared more, Reid.” Then the room is silent with Reid turning his head away, upper lip curled in, while Blue almost looks smug because he knows he’s right. Blue, despite his glaring flaws, is usually always right. He always says the truth in the most indigestible fashion to watch others choke on what he already knows.

“Should you really have much of a say on this?” Jisung chimes in, baritone voice hard. Blue turns his head towards the elder dramatic, tilting it with a condescending hum. Jisung sucks air through his perfect teeth, locking eyes with Blue. “You liked Finn unconscious more than you did awake.”

Blue scoffs, rolling his head as if to get a crick out of his neck.

“Everybody liked Finn unconscious.”

Just as Aiden opens his mouth to tell Blue to shut up, Jihan steps out from his corner, smacking Blue in the mouth with the back of his hand. The impact stuns him, sending him snapping back and colliding with the back of the couch before his hands jerk up to cover his now bleeding lower lip. Aiden shuts his mouth, his eyes wide as mothballs as they stare forward.

Kiwoo drops his head in his hands while Jisung bites back a laugh, wearing the same smug expression Blue once wore.

“Stop talking.” Is all Jihan tells his son, stepping back behind Jinhwa’s desk, arms crossed and eyes glaring daggers into Blue. Blue stares ahead of him, keeping his mouth covered with one hand as he adjusts his posture, as if it makes much of a difference.

Jinhwa rubs his lips together, uncomfortable yet bored. When he shakes his head slowly, some of his dark brown hair falls into his face. He drums his slender fingers on his desk, hoping maybe to get Noah’s attention, but Noah still stares ahead, wordless.

“We could bring up the possibility of…” Jinhwa hesitates, sighing with a shrug. “Disbandment, if that’s what you boys would like to discuss.”

The only boy in the room is dead, but even Finn was nearing 26. He was no boy. These are men all nearing thirty or just touching it, all living through more than they should’ve at their ages. Reid is the eldest, turning thirty just three months ago. He’s spent a third of his life in DeepDive, even longer under Jinhwa’s cold and hard direction, and he wants to imagine what life would be like as something simpler than this. He’s thought of being a painter before, but he’s useless with a paintbrush. Sometimes, Reid wishes to be a simple taxi driver and remain anonymous. He knows life wouldn’t be easier if he were one, but he also believes it would be much simpler.

Jisung is next, being twenty-eight but swearing he feels forty-eight. A part of Jisung knows he’s never been a boy. Before he became a trainee, he helped his mom make rent by selling fruit on the side of the road or tricking people into giving him their spare change. He started training later than the rest of the boys, joining at sixteen and managing to debut at eighteen because of his charm and vocals. He’s always been praised for his maturity, but now he feels it's wearing on him or showing in his skin. He smokes two packs of cigarettes on a normal day, three if he’s stressed, but recently he’s been nearing four. He feels ancient.

Noah feels as if he’s aged backwards. When he was fifteen, he felt twenty-five, but now, at twenty-six, he feels fifteen. He swears he’s felt fifteen for lifetimes now. He can’t escape those numbers. At fifteen, Noah was the tallest trainee, told by the head trainee evaluator he was too handsome to be fifteen, and he needed to embrace that more. He had no idea what that meant, but by the time he was sixteen, they were officially dating. She was thirty-two. He only began to feel like a boy when they broke up once Noah turned twenty-five. Ever since then, he’s been going backwards, and this loss only seemed to make it worse.

Woobin has always been a man. Ever since his mom left in the middle of the night, he had been treated as a grown man, not a five-year-old boy. With every cruel word from his father’s tongue, every bruise from his balled up fist, and every exit from a step-mother that promised to stay, Woobin aged. He feels older than his father, who looms in the corner like a shadowy ghost waiting to spook whoever dares to pass him. Woobin has never been a boy. At this point, he finds being a boy pointless, wishing he were a man straight from the womb.

Kiwoo didn’t care to be a man, but that’s what he’s been since his sister died. He marks that as the loss of his innocence if he had any left at that point. The sadness in him often clawed at what made him a child, seeping in and souring every good memory he had. Since he was seven, he’s been sad. He’s always been miserable. There are just days when he’s less sad than others. Now, his days consist of rotting in his bed until his husband is begging him to get up to eat something. Oddly, Kiwoo hasn’t felt this childish since he was a child. He relies on others to take care of him. Drew even brushed his hair this morning before this meeting. It’s dreadful to be a child in a man’s body, Kiwoo thinks, but it's always been this way.

And Aiden. Aiden seemed to be the only one in the room who wasn’t forced to accept manhood at an early age. Some say his mother coddled him too much. He still believed in Santa when he was thirteen and refused to do basic tasks without her supervision. It’s never been known whether this is how Aiden is or how his mother is, but either way, he stayed a boy the longest out of all of them. Time and men have changed that. Aiden doesn’t think he became a man the night he can’t remember, but he still feels in his spirit. He thinks something was taken from him, and nothing was gained. He assumes he’s a man now, but he doesn’t care about that. He never has and probably never will.

“I don’t want to do this without Finn,” Noah finally speaks, low and hushed. Jinhwa nods slowly. He reaches for his son’s hand, but Noah doesn’t move, keeping his dark brown eyes ahead, fingers lying limply on his thighs. “We won’t even sound the same.” That sentence sounds forced out as if Noah doesn’t want to say it because it means nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

Kiwoo keenly eyes Jinhwa’s hand slowly retracting, glancing at Noah, then back at the ground as a silence settles. The only thing he can hear is Aiden’s teeth clipping against his nails. Kiwoo reaches over, shoving them from the elder’s mouth with a hard blink. Aiden balls his fists up by his sides instead, nodding.

“I don’t want to either,” Aiden concludes. Reid looks up when his best friend speaks, inhaling through his nose.

“Me either.” If Aiden goes, Reid goes. It’s always been that way. It will always be that way. They both know that and accepted that long ago.

“There’s no reason to keep going without Finn,” Blue chimes in, “I’m out.”

Jisung gives the man a glare that could cut glass, knowing this was a business decision for him. He opens his mouth to say that, but he catches Kiwoo’s tired eyes, and the air gets caught in his throat. He shuts his mouth, lips forming a line, then he nods, crossing his arms.

“It’s all of us or none of us,” Jisung finally says, voice gruff, but it carries a sadness that has Noah glancing up the slightest bit.

Slowly, eyes drift over to Kiwoo, waiting for his conclusion. The silence is waiting to be filled, Kiwoo staring at the ground, unaware of the eyes on him, waiting for the usual voice to fill the room. He’s met with silence. It oddly hits him that he’ll never hear the seventh voice that would boisterously fill the room with laughter or a stupid comment ever again. Kiwoo’s brow knitted, and his bottom lip shook, his small hand lifting to cover his eyes that filled with tears quicker than he could comprehend. A sob he tries to repress shakes out of his throat, making him drop his head down.

No one moves, no one says a word. 

Noah lifts his arm, placing a hand on Kiwoo’s shoulder and rubbing it in an attempt to comfort him. Noah moves his hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck, rubbing there and down his spine robotically, mimicking how he remembers his mother would comfort him when he cried as a child. He’s silent, but he’s there.

Jinhwa nods, taking that as an answer enough, pushing the box of tissues towards Kiwoo, who doesn’t move to take them. He sits behind his desk like a judge delivering the final verdict, his posture perfect and a cold look on his face, as he tries to mask it with sincerity.

No one knows if Son Jinhwa really cared that Finn Lee died, or if he was just sad his prized pig finally went to the slaughter. 

“We can discuss this more after the funeral.” The thought of the funeral is absolutely dreadful to all of them. Jisung feels his throat tighten, looking down at the ground as his arms tighten around his chest. 

“I respect–”

“Can we leave?” Jisung interjects, looking up to stare squarely at Jinhwa, who stares holes into the other man’s skull. Both of their stares are relentless, waiting for the other to back down, but neither of them does. Jisung raises his thick brows, urging Jinhwa to say something or dismiss him. They only stop looking at each other when Noah stands from his chair, helping Kiwoo up with an arm around his shoulders. 

They leave without a word, Kiwoo holding onto Noah’s shirt at his waist with his head down, light brown hair covering his face in a curly curtain. 

Reid lingers as the first wave leaves, watching Noah guide Kiwoo out of the room. If not for the ripple in the carpet, Reid might believe the entire encounter is a bad TV drama. He lets his hands rest at his sides, short nails digging into the seams of his trousers, and stares at the curve of the office chair at Woobin’s unmoving blue-black silhouette on the couch.

Aiden is still beside him, holding his breath in that way he does when he wants to say something but doesn’t trust himself not to cry. Reid nudges him hard with an elbow, and Aiden startles, blinking.

“Come on,” Reid says. The sound of his voice feels like sand in his mouth. “Let’s get some air.”

Aiden nods and stands. He looks back at Woobin, who presses his tongue to his raw lip and offers a half-shrug. Reid thinks if he looks closer, he’ll see the beginnings of a bruise where Jihan struck him, a bruised purple blooming under the skin, but Woobin’s expression is so flat, so bored, almost, that it’s easier to look away.

Jisung is already at the door, jiggling the handle too hard, like maybe he can wrench his way out of this room and everything it stands for. He doesn’t wait for anyone, just tears into the hall, two steps ahead of his own shadow. Reid follows, and when he passes Jinhwa, he catches the man’s profile: the pinched mouth, the wide pupils.

Out in the hallway, the air is a few degrees cooler, and it feels like a slap. Jisung is already half a corridor away, shoulders hunched and strides long enough to make it clear he doesn’t want company. Reid doubts even a bear trap could stop him now. He doesn’t blame him.

Woobin is the last to leave. He wipes his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve, eyes Aiden for a second, then trails after the rest of them. Aiden watches him go, then follows, keeping three paces behind like he’s afraid the air might snap if he gets too close.

Nobody speaks in the elevator. It creaks and groans, and smells like something smokey. Jisung keeps his eyes locked on the red numbers as they tick down, and Woobin stares at his own reflection in the metal wall, as if he’s waiting for it to talk back. Aiden tucks himself into the corner and presses his fists to his thighs. Reid closes his eyes and counts the seconds.

At the ground floor, Jisung bolts before the doors finish opening, disappearing into the parking lot. Woobin goes next, hands in his pockets, head down, the solid thump of his boots leaving a trail. Reid hears him spit on the cement as he passes the curb. Aiden lingers, waiting for Reid to move.

while kang sooyong fought against the allegations, promising long time fans the situation was "a misunderstanding being blown out of proportion", the back and forth took negatively affected the company's reputation with stock holders and longtime investors rescinding their decade long support of lordly piece. close friends of kang sooyong as well as industry insiders revealed the lawsuit was taking a toll on both sides with concerns over sooyong's health dominating the discussions. it had also been revealed that the prince did not have enough funds to go against lordly piece's team of lawyers hence why court dates were repeatedly being pushed back and sooyong's attempts at negotiations were falling flat.

sadly, only a few days into the new year, sooyong suffered from a heart attack, passing away shortly after he arrived at the hospital. the stress from the legal battle would be cited as one of many reasons he later died. while close friends mourned the loss, fans remained conflicted on how to approach the situation especially after his son, prominent actor kang jisoo, was recorded crying at the hospital. however, members of the prince had a different way of expressing their feelings about his passing:

screenshots of their instagram story's would go viral over night. later, the members hosted their first live since the news of the lawsuit and fans flooded the comments calling them extremely inappropriate. in response, iori, the leader of the prince, said, "we don't care." the live would end shortly after due to the rapid increase of unsavory and hostile comments.

responses to their reactions were less than positive with most agreeing, regardless of the situation, it was a childish thing for them to do.

lordly piece's second group, renaissance, were frequently brought in the discussion with many noting how the boy group had shared their condolences. their response, no doubt, fed into the growing belief the lawsuit may not have had any real merit if the only other group of the label wasn't joining the prince in their celebration.