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(...)

They make their rounds soon enough. Popping in for last greetings, they reach the newbies’ room, four walls penetrated in hairspray and musk and she steps right into this smellsome wormhole, eyes grazing over a sight bone-chilling in its familiarity: herself, mid-bite, midnight dinner. Hayeon’s eyes continue their steady graze over the pasture, past Miss Brisket, past Miss Short Ribs, past Miss Sirloin…

The girls immediately spring up. Some throw their sandwiches down while others hold them behind their backs as the entire row flings themselves into a bow. Hayeon returns in a practiced thirty-three degrees while MC Hyukjin, two years her junior, opts for a careful forty-five.

Hayeon addresses no one in particular, eyes smiling towards the corner clock, “Late lunch? Late dinner? Or god forbid, both?”

There are mumbles of speculation about Hayeon’s sincerity and nose in earshot that Yuha cannot make up. Though that does seem redundant and all something she wishes she could afford to sit on. But the ball’s in the air, still. She reads rookie mistake in their senior’s eyes as she keeps to herself, the rest of her co-dreamers scrambling on what’s useful to say at a level past whispering.

“We’ll take anything.” Nara makes the first cast, her need to impress on like a switch, flipped like muscle memory as opposed to a habit. “Though I must say brioche is a step up for the bread in place of plain white sandwich br...”

“My god, you should’ve stopped at ‘anything’,” Eunkyung mutters through gritted teeth, followed by an embarrassed chuckle in the tune of “what’s new” from Soyi right beside her. 

(see also This Is Why You Are Not The Leader)

It’s just a sandwich, Yuha thinks again. Her smile is pulled in lazily at the corners, gaze nowhere, too tired to pretend with everything else. The one bite is lonely, and her nose has crinkled one too many times to change that. Weird to be jealous over the clock and how it doesn’t have anywhere to be. Just on time, is all. With the flow. Even if it had stopped, nobody would blame it for anything save for dead batteries... but even then, whose fault actually is that?

“Would’ve been fine starving until breakfast,” she thinks aloud, the sound leading up to it having settled down a beat ago. This is when she looks up, eyes shifting back to Hayeon like a magnet, the slightest hope that she agrees or at least gets it even if there’s not a show to be made of the whole thing.

It comes from an underclassman he’s never seen in his entire life anyway... can you blame him? Sangjun properly allows the question from who really matters, pushing his pretend-glasses up with his middle finger as he settles in the leftmost chair of the auditioning panel. To which he then answers, “Don’t worry about it.” His eyes are on the man upfront and center on stage all the while, his third once-over happening when said guy says “thank you” to a question.

Oh, the way he will not be bored with this one.

It’s immediate, the submersion. He’s in character: a young student in love with a girl he had been enamored by so long ago, but also a girl whom he never had the chance to grow close to. On point, the portrayal of that awkward yet ecstatic scene, with Éponine’s longing and sorrow covering the background while Cosette is grinning at him. He takes her hands, raring, willing. He isn’t himself, modesty through and through aside, this something that resonates with Sangjun too quick, reverberating within the walls that house those who’re just as lost in it as he is.

And then he is, and so is he. Sangjun’s reminded to breathe again when Hwi’s own is heard in earshot, more of a breathless laugh, relieved. Neither of them are the main casting director, but they exchange looks, Sangjun breaking it faster than it’d started to glue his eyes on the auditionee’s shoes. Nothing personal, not looking into his eyes for the nth time even if it hadn’t been reciprocated for half of the amount of instances. It’s a good thing. They all hear Rohee wrapping it up then and there, her voice nothing but an echo in the periphery, followed by applause. Not the deafening kind. Regardless, he can’t hear it.

What’s it like being that person?

—

“Sungki, wasn’t it?” he thinks out loud, the hall clearing out as the whole panel stays seated for final reflections of this round.

Rohee sips from her Americano, bored. At least the pinch between her brows is no longer there. “You show up late again and dinner will be on me without you there.” Her last slurp is a long one, hand mimicking that of a knife slicing across her neck before laying flat in midair, a platter now. “Alive.” She nods at Sangjun’s eye, the one not covered with a patch. “I’ll save that part for last.”

The rest of them laugh. He doesn’t have to imagine being that guy. What’s new?

—

“Sangjun.”

Periwinkle’s an ugly word, what more for the sky. But it is what it is when he steps back out into the open, the other half of a gradient that fades into orange towards the bottom.

“Excellent’s an understatement for what you did in there.” He says this in a tone that mocks scholars, but he’ll call it a mere tribute if you ask. Though it may be straight from his ass, it isn’t untrue. “Pontmercy for real.”

Kind of weird to be standing behind someone when you’re introducing yourself, no? Again though, it is what it is.

[ ... ]

a slight wave of her hand to get his attention. she rolls down the passenger window, unlocks the doors. stays facing front as he throws his luggage into the backseat. says “hurry and get in” before she can stop herself. life, living is surreal.

saerom pulls off and wonders what the hell she’s doing.

“I’m not that shaggy, am I?” he greets, running his hand over his stubble. The seat is comfortable enough to distract himself from the idea that he’s speaking to a half-stranger, but not so much to tempt him to recline. Kunwoo grins, content with the small things. Saerom looks well, as tsun as she is.

For every passing second that is silent, he teeters between entertaining her questions that have yet to be put out there and entertaining himself with decorated accounts of his travels in the west. The sky is lighter than the air, typical of summer. They could play punch buggy if she’s got some child left in her. Kunwoo tugs on his collar like a habit, yawning as he continues minding the horizon. Pretends it’s something he hasn’t seen before, in case delusion’s something he has yet to outgrow. Imagination, he calls it.

“not nearly enough.” the corners of his lip flatten and draw back on his face, mouth turning into a thin line to mimic the look of someone considering something very serious, but in a displeased manner. “you should definitely be ‘hahaha-ing’ at my jokes about a thousand times more.” but of course that bit comes out just before sebastian decides to hit him with the words that sucker punch him in the gut.

‘oh,’ he thinks to himself. ‘that’s what dad had meant.’ 

he thinks of the way his mother knows how to disarm his dad with a single phrase, a single word sometimes. one foot back, as the other steps forward. and god he’s always wanted something like that.

they say your perception of love is shaped by your parents. because they’re the ones who map out the destinations, the steps, for you while you’re in your formative years. that is, until you start to take over with small sideways steps and slightly different landmarks because you’re starting to navigate on your own. someone new excites you and inspires you enough to have you stepping outside of the lines and borders. “uh, i mean – i feel like you laugh at me more than anything, but thanks!” yejun always thought he’d meet a girl like that out here.

the chipper response is a defense mechanism; he feels like he paused a little too long. he lets his expression relax as he leans over to set the computer on the ground before climbing back onto the bed, stretching long limbs out to lay alongside bastian, except on his side. matching gaze for gaze. “of course i want your opinion. it matters to me the most out of anyone.”

he was wrong. he’d met sebastian.

“but if it’s something soul-crushing i don’t wanna hear it. compliments and adorations only, for right now while i’m in my slump!”

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “I said what I said, Yej.” That funny feeling in his throat that follows when he joins him is apparently just stronger because like Hell it’s ever really left. Sebastian turns so that they’re directly face-to-face, tucking his hands underneath his cheek. Both, because if he leaves one out then said hand will reach over to do something as ridiculous as brush away Yejun’s already-tucked-hair from his really-fricking-nice (that’s a terrible understatement). It doesn’t matter what that would lead to. He’s not sure what he hates more: knowing or pretending to find out.

How do you crush a soul as homely as his? It’s not a miracle Yejun has one at all. All the credit he gets is nothing short of earned. Funny knacks up his sleeve and everything.

Cool, Seb. Speak that out loud.

( sms » elijah ) if watching gusgus run around his cage counts as busy ( sms » elijah ) then yes

the unread books stacked by her bed do not appreciate this at all. even if these few weeks have given her zero ability to concentrate on stuff like that, thoughts always… somewhere else.

( sms » elijah ) do you wanna come over ( sms » elijah ) dskjhfdhdk ( sms » elijah ) are you? ( sms » elijah ) busy i mean

[ sms » goeun ] busy uhhh [ sms » goeun ] being on my way over?

heat creeps up his face, but not a lot. he’d be smiling a lot more nervously if she could see.

[ sms » goeun ] yeah

did she invite you though?

c’mon, genius.

[ sms » goeun ] i have something to drop off for gusgus anyway! if that was reason enough

yeah. me. my presence. ba dum tss.

Yoonhee’s glad to at least say this isn’t the most exciting part of her day. It’d just be all the more one for the books is all, but ending on a note of stress and not unadulterated joy is... stinky. Her brows are furrowed, the space in between pinched as she retraces her steps down plenty of aisles, through narrow crowds, around building corners, both dilapidated and mid-construction. Republic City, oh, how your beauty will be missed. A frown’s appropriate, accompanies whatever else goes on on her baby-turned-concerned-cabbage-aunt face.

Alright, actually: it’s more winging it than reliving her day in reverse. Consider this a blessing in disguise if it means stalling and staying in this life, but dreaming isn’t a sustainable way to go on about plenty of your days. Her thinking cap stays screwed on, gut feeling just a bonus when she remembers faces she’s lingered on for more than seconds at a time. A constellation on that old vendor’s cheek, budding teeth of a three-year-old. She can’t chase anything until she can. How lucky, knowing a first impression could be more than superficial. Laughter deserves all its credit and more.

Sunset’s beat by a minute when she passes an alley she couldn’t ignore even if she tried. A group of Lost Boys appear about her age the closer she gets, the closer she minds things she wouldn’t have had to mind had she just not worn that darned cute set of pearl jewelry. What for? It was just a festival, Yoonhee. Some are lanky, others just look mean to people but harmless to reptilia. One particular guy is broad, a head taller than her like she vaguely remembers. Enough invitation to tap on his shoulder, a question sitting on the tip of her tongue. But oh, does it die when she sees what’s on his ear.

Hey, though. No worries. She has a new one.

“Where’s the other earring?!”

she doesn’t tell him she took that video two days ago and that she spent those two days mulling over whether to send it or not. also doesn’t mention that hamsters are nocturnal fur babies anyway, so it technically isn’t too early.

( sms » elijah ) never too early for a nap ( sms » elijah ) plus my sleep schedule isn’t wonky anymore :/

that’s because it’s virtually nonexistent now!

( sms » elijah ) you say that like yours is normal

first day off in two weeks and this pitiful attempt at a conversation is how she decides to spend it.

[ sms » goeun ] heh [ sms » goeun ] not my fault gusgus is up in the night [ sms » goeun ] super metal of him......

his thumbs do a little dance over the screen.

[ sms » goeun ] can i come over

[ sms » goeun ] do you wanna grab some food together

[ sms » goeun ] also not trying to be a flirt or anything but are you busy right now

@eyezo

hard plastic slips down the sides of his nose as he tilts his chin downward, glasses getting closer to the tip of his nose. he squints at the words on the screen, as if squinting is going to make a difference. it’s times like this that he’s happy he has a mini sounding board in his roommate (even if the sounding board is a reluctant one).

“do you think i’m funny?”

uncrossing his legs, he cradles his laptop in the crook of one elbow as he starts to crawl over to bastian. he misjudges the distance and his last lunge leaves him a little too close, knee banging into a thigh that isn’t his. “oh, damn it - sorry.” his opposite hand goes to swipe on the track-pad impatiently as he points to the posting. “it’s a casting call for a sitcom. no network associated to it just yet but i feel like it’s gotta be a big one if they’re purposefully not revealing that information.” nose scrunching to try and coax his glasses up his nose a bit more, yejun waits for bastian to pay attention. “but i don’t know if i’m funny enough for a sitcom.” however, he is very desperate so if bastian doens’t manage to talk him out of it in the next ten minutes, yejun really might try to show up to this call in four days. “not that the bar is very high for most of them.” 

Sebastian figures it’d be easier to have an answer for Yejun had it been for the following:

1) Yejun not wearing these stinkin’ glasses, cute as they are. Really brings out the age in him.

2) Sitcoms not being the hit or miss kind of thing in the entertainment industry. At least in the west, they can have the “woke” part down however hard or seamlessly they may try. But that doesn’t make them any less tricky of a business, and sitting here thinking this hard about Yejun’s place in one may or may not already say enough on its own.

“Could be.” This answers his first speculation, the part about who’s running this bad boy. The following part where his roommate makes a jab at sitcoms, period, is reason enough for Sebastian to smile one of his big smiles. If he understands it to that extent, then what’s the hurt in trying? Lightbulb: humming, not exactly dying off. “Hows often do I ‘hahaha’ at you again?” he asks when he looks up from his phone, locking eyes with the other, seeing how much closer he is than expected. Drawing his face away, it’s only to make sure he doesn’t appear too blurry (shit memory serving him is Yejun being farsighted). Obviously not because these glasses are stinkin’ cute on him and more reason for Sebastian to be shy. “Because I know I laugh enough with you.” More than.

“Rommie! Ah, sorry, I meant Saerom. But yeah, uh, hey! It’s been a while, got your number from Hyunnie- shit, wait, Woohyun—”

“Please leave a message after the beep.”

“Ah...” He puffs out his cheeks, blowing a gust of air to mix with the rest of the humid S. Korea atmos. The beep sounds. Inhala, exhala. “Saerom? It’s Kunwoo.” Kunnie. His mouth stretches at that, but he’s still a bit antsy, swaying along with the rest of the crowd in the ever-bustling airport. “I’ve touched down an hour and a half ago, been on vacation in Mexico.” It comes out the native way. “Haven’t been able to get in proper touch with Woohyun since then because, well.” Someone bumps into him as they pass by the left towards the other direction, not sparing a ‘sorry’ let alone a bow of the head. “Dunno, actually!” He laughs, breathless, apologetic. “I don’t even live with the guy but I mean, I talk to him the most out of our childhood group but it probably shouldn’t be that way because whatever, y’know, we’re grown and childhood’s a different bag of worms.” He stops himself there.

In the middle of foot traffic in the arrival terminal, Kunwoo turns around to take one more deep breath. No one takes the time to enjoy the exterior of the glass anymore, huh? It’s some architecture, possibly the best he’s seen of all the places he’s traveled to thus far. Can’t be biased if he hasn’t truly been home for more than a month at a time since finishing up school. High school. “I can explain if you wouldn’t mind picking shaggy old me from the airport.” He frowns, a small smile forming as he draws his phone away from his face to press the end call button, brows turned down with the corners of his mouth.

If an hour and a half becomes two and some more, then what the hell? Viva la vida his ass.

“I’ve been told to pass this to ya,” her bandmate clarifies. Which is out-of-character knowing her because Nara’s never the type to just do something if there isn’t any incentive. It’s just a sandwich, Yuha thinks with her lips pursed, stomach growling before she can reject it. They talk about these specific ones all the time, shoulders hunched at the thought of ever having to eat one, fear greater in actually enjoying it and having had talked all that crap for nothing. This, she figures, is enough to distract her from her prior thoughts. This will be what’ll lead her back home, away from here. To a time where she’d been starry-eyed at the TV every time a live broadcast had been going on and her family would just leave it at that. To be young again...

The door swings open when they’re joined by another one of their members, hallway lit all hospital-esque. There’s small talk amongst every passing group of threes and then some. Most don’t have the sandwiches. Some flirt, others have dark eyes for different reasons. None of these people belong to her, by the looks of it. Yuha looks down at the sandwich, picking it up curiously, spreading every joined layer apart just a tad to find anything that’s out of place. Nothing to her co-existing relief and dismay. The skepticism in taking a bite remains.

With a lift of her head, her eyes lock onto the next passing person. People, rather: Inkigayo’s emcees, cool and poised though their dynamic on stage is meant to be relaxed and jaunty and delivered quite well, at that. It happens so, the stark contrast enough to keep her head up, eyes following the one to whom she’s particularly drawn.

Her future, personified. Everybody talks.

sitting crosslegged in front of the decorated cage, she stares at gusgus. he blinks back at her and it’s strangely off-putting. this continues for what feels like eternity until he scampers off to his mushroom house. it’s a sign — or maybe she’s just looking for one. 

she glances down at her phone.

( sms » elijah ) video attachment. ( sms » elijah ) omg look at him ( sms » elijah ) :00 ( sms » elijah ) 😳 ( sms » elijah ) oh no

wow. 

eloquent.

@eyezo !

[ sms » goeun ] oh baby... [ sms » goeun ] can’t believe you just let him : /

maybe he’s making this up, but he can sense her urgency in how abruptly the text had come. three something in the afternoon, completely unprompted. assuming it had just happened too, who’d wanna just let it pass by unshared? is unshared a word...

damn. priorities.

It shows ten minutes in. Chul’s hands are past the point of no return, skimming until they’re skidding and making the hairs rise on the back of Sehyung’s neck. Earns a grunt, whoever that belongs to lost between shy touches in reciprocation to... this.

Sehyung observes however else he can. “You’re touching me like it’s the first time.” The way this sneaks into everything feels out of place (see: a fish trying to catch a current, aggressive as they are, missing it). There’s a hitch in his throat, a mark on. Rosy, his cheeks moreso as he leans in to catch the other’s lips, the motion a stutter.

“Must suck if you’re still this coherent,” Chul manages against the corner of his mouth, hooded eyes fixating on his fingers fixed on the hem of his jeans. If mischief is dark, it isn’t the worst thing to express in the moment. Just hard to differentiate from something more glaringly obvious. Harder. Oh God, the way his heart just knocks from the outside in (are you sure that’s how it goes)—

links: muses (you can hover over every name for fcs but! actual profile pages tba) anddddd me

about: errr i function on eastern standard time (est), all over the place only all the time. SORRY to anyone who does end up plotting with me, i’m not the most organized person but i can at least assure i’m invested if... well idk you’ll just know. happy to talk it out if you’re not the best with tics and cues though. as for faces i love writing, i lean towards idols and the occasional 30/40-something-year-old actor.

plots: this one boy band collective kaz and i have been wanting to recruit for since forever, htgawm keating 5 type of shit, anything i could use lee jaehyun (hyunjae of tbz) as a face for, hm. historical fiction that’s not joseon era bc what the fuck. religious/political tension and differences... yes. also anything U want if we hit it off pretty ok

it’s me(me): right now it’s this 

current jams: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

tag yourself!writing edition: The Planner sans the god-tier blog navigation (though i do love and need my tags para mi)