hush hush

word count : 341

it’s safe to say that wonshik doesn’t have all that much experience working; served with a silver spoon on a even shinier platter since birth, it’s not an understatement to say that he’s uneducated and completely unaware of what it truly means to work at a part-time job.

if he could roll his eyes on camera, he would. but instead, taesung remains unfazed with raised expression, a curious ‘hm?’ and tilt of his head at the question. how it managed to get past the staff’s screening is beyond him, but when poised such a pointed attack in front of thousands, the male’s left with no choice but to be defensive.

“ah, i see... a lot of people are worried about my future, it seems?” he deflects, twisting the bitter words with feigned sweetness. “i’m grateful that there are people out there who support me and look after my activities fondly, and i know it can be frustrating from that perspective to see me spread so thin, but...” he hums in brief thought, struggling with a proper explanation that doesn’t employ some underhanded insult. 

while taesung’s (technically) training to be a singer, he doesn’t really sing. but then again, despite his unofficial-official position, you can’t really say he can rap, either. 

he likes to think of it as glorified talking—speaking on rhythm to a beat, varying intonation and pitch every now again—nothing too elegant nor remarkably extravagant, no, to even merit being called ‘singing’.

maybe that’s why he doesn’t really see the point in all of them recording the season’s signal songs—especially for those, like him, whose voices will be naturally mixed into the background. it’s annoying, and per usual, taesung has his fair share of complaints about the decision, yet obediently follows under watchful eyes and judging gazes.

‘personality’ and ‘team spirit’, huh? don’t make him laugh.

thankfully, he’s one of the last contestants to record, having the other guys’ voices as some of a guide (and a guise) for his own session—and he tries his best, surely, to deliver an optimal product in the middle of the night, under the orders of—god forbid—another trainee like he. 

raspy voice grows hoarse from exhaustion and exertion, and even he grows frustrated with himself at the amount of takes he’s had to make until finally meeting decent enough-perfection.

they play back his tracks for him to monitor, head nothing along with the lyrics as he listens, closely, to his own voice—only nodding in acceptance after nearly an hour or so of recording. he shrugs the headphones off, rolls his shoulders, and yawns—for the first thing he wants to do after stepping out of the recording booth is go the fuck to sleep.

     (...) “we’d stand out alright,” he agrees with a snort, taking another drink before speaking again, “but not for the right reasons. everyone would probably talk about how bad we were at rapping instead - at least, they would for me.”

     (...) “i think it makes more sense for you to have a lot of lines actually since you haven’t… uh… had your own song to perform,” he adds on although halfway through, he hesitates and grows slightly sheepish. as usual, he spoke before thinking and didn’t realize that what he was saying could be taken as him gloating for having already debuted in legacy boys and being given actual lines of his own, rather than just singing in a chorus with other trainees for performances like before. “wait, that came out wrong– i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to sound like that! i just think we all deserve screen time and… yeah.” he finishes lamely, wanting to shut himself up in case he somehow continues to makes things worse.

it’s obvious that haru is treading very carefully in the minefield that is jang taesung—the pauses, the hesitation—and any other day, the older male would’ve have a field day with the other’s pathetic antics of trying to maintain peace. but taesung’s too exhausted—too frustrated, too fatigued—to bark back, so instead, he musters up a chuckle, a shake of his head, and (for once) opts for amicable instead of annoyed.

if he’s honest, taesung doesn’t much care for being an idol. to put it simply, it’s a goal, not the dream, and while he’s thankful for the opportunities that’s been given to him as an idol trainee, he doesn’t particularly foresee himself excelling further in the field beyond debuting and the like—striving for the bare minimum of group promotions to remain relevant as a member.

so it’s natural, really, that he doesn’t possess the same amount of greed as the others—for lines, for center positions, for screentime. for, again, being an idol is just a stop along the way, not the whole entire path.

maybe that’s the real challenge for him—forcing himself to care—asserting himself in ways he typically has no time nor energy for. and as they run through their group song for the umpteenth time, he finds his throat unnaturally hoarse and body un-welcomingly fatigued. back slides against the practice mirror as he sits down, hands automatically reaching for a water bottle to down nearly half of it in one go.

like the game of the same name, guess who?’s main premise is for the host to guess who the guest is. the host and the guest sit in front of each in a radio show-like set-up, but are separated by a curtain so that while the audience can see who the guest is, the host cannot.

there are three rounds before the host can place their final guess:

the profile round, where the host’s given a basic profile written by the guest themself ( similar to those on weekly idol ) to help figure out who the other person is. they’re allowed to speak about it together, but the guest’s voice is distorted by a computer program to keep anonymity.

the talent round, where the guest preforms one or two individual talents for the host—however, the guest has to wear a mask and is not allowed to make any noise whatsoever.

the questions round, which is the most similar to the board game, for the host can then ask ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions to the guest based off of the previous two rounds. again, the guest can answer, but with a heavily-edited voice.

at the end, the host will place their final guess, and if they’re correct, then the guest is revealed—but the host is allowed to draw on their face. if the host is incorrect, then the guest does the same to the host. either way, the two will then take a picture together ( like the trend where one person’s ‘ugly’ while the other is ‘beautiful’ in a selfie ) to post on legacy’s sns.

i imagine threading for this will be super easy because it’ll just be them talking and getting to know each other the whole time—which is why, regardless of their relationship, anyone is encouraged to join ! in fact, it’ll be more fun if they’re not close / if we haven’t plotted yet because it’ll be harder for taesung to guess 😈

anyways, y’all know the drill: drop a reply if you want to guest on his show !

( i already randomized the victory outcomes for the sake of plotting 🤪 )

episode one: @lgcjina​ * taesung’s win

episode two: @lgcnabi * lose

episode three: @sejinxlgc * lose

(...) though that being said he still doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of taesung either but well, gitaek is pretty sure he wouldn’t do anything drastic when they’re merely creating gift bags for the fans. 

(...)

“hmm.. maybe… also happy new year? lunar new year is coming up, yea?” he replies, hands fiddling with one of the snacks they had been given to put into the bags. (...) “we could say a fun fact about ourselves too? like.. what our favorite snacks are? or… maybe that’s lame.." 

“fans like it when every gift is customized, right? especially when they’re all receiving them at the same time... right next to each other... wouldn’t want to give a bad impression by having the same copy-and-paste message, ya’ know?” taesung thinks aloud, hands wandering over the wide array of pens provided to them before settling on a distinct silver sharpie.

legends never die.

(...)

“that’s amazing!” she replies, a rather spirited hum accompanying the genuine compliment he will probably not see as one. another tiny fact ahri has never come to realize – too simple-minded to ever think of the possibility that he may not like her. they’ve always gotten along so greatly, haven’t they? 

curled digits rest underneath her chin momentarily, feigning a thoughtful moment, all in jest, never serious. “my favorite champ would have to be – ahri!” her reply comes with a titter, delighted and melodious, as if she’s just made the joke of the year. “not only do we share a name, she’s also super skilled and very pretty. what’s there not to like, right?” her head tilts just the slightest degree, tossing her colleague another smile. “shall we see how the players are doing? the game is about to start!”

upbeat people like ahri always rub him the wrong way—internal scowl deepens at her pitch, and head reluctantly nods in response to her compliment. he can’t trust it—her ‘niceness’, that is, for if there’s one thing that taesung’s learned during his time in legacy, it’s that people are never as nice as they seem.

“oh, wow, who would’ve guessed?” he flatly jokes at her own answer, burying the urge to roll his eyes at her in the back of his head, the pit of his stomach. god, she’s fucking insufferable. but with his own personal discomfort aside, he redirects his attention to the screens in front of them—adjust his headphones and sharpens his sight in shallow analysis of the match bound to begin before them.

snack time

(...)

working along side taesung was fun too, the older male being someone with more experience with this both in age and times training. it makes gitaek feel a little more at ease not that he will ever probably be fully comfortable when it comes to things like this. 

at least it’s not specifically on a stage.

“should we… include notes in this as well?” he voices his question when there’s a lull in their conversation. the two of them working on deciding what the fan gift should be. he’d been wondering about note, thinking it could be another nice addition. “snacks and a personal note kind of thing?” 

taesung thinks this kind of thing to be... pointless. bagging together already packaged snacks for their fans seems fun and nice and all, but do they really have to do it? this useless kind of manual labor, especially since the staff were probably already planning on doing the same anyways. (why can’t they just lie? no one gets hurt from a little white lie.)

so the brunette sighs quietly, as silently as possible, for gitaek beside him seems more... excited than most at the thought of a miniature assembly line—the urge to berate is there, but taesung bites on his tongue. he can play nice, remember? 

legends never die.

(...)

and yet? yet here she is, sitting beside @lgctaesung because she’s hardly one to miss out on any chance presented to her. 

“aaaah, these champion choices look so good, don’t they, taesungssi? this round will surely be intense.” she comments, occasionally looks at her friend, then back at the screen they can see all the details about the ongoing game on.  technical or mechanical details about the game or abilities are amiss, but she manages to keep the conversation flowing,  somehow. “do you have a favorite champion? i’m sure the viewers would die to know.” there is a smile in her voice, in the way her eyes crinkle at the corners. 

taesung’s never been a video games-kind of guy. too focused on his physical reality to care about any virtual ones, he’s never quite understood the appeal of gaming—of this rise in e-sports swiftly and surely cementing its place in competitive history.

but despite his lack of practical experience with the industry, the brunette’s brushed up enough on strategy and terminology to, at least, make it through this gig. he’s watched enough sports broadcast to get the gist of commentating—the tone, the analysis, the hype—and after hosting his own vlive show this past trimester, it’s nearly impossible to fuck this league of legends-thing up.

“hmm... probably a villain?” he answers with a coy smirk, a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. he leans forward, elbows resting leisurely on the table—chin nestles itself gently in the crook of his sleeves, eyes glancing up to watch the passing comments fill the screen. “i’d be pretty good at it, wouldn’t you agree? he muses aloud, sparing another grin as he continues with his reasoning.

"i could've done more," are his first words upon the start of his interview. "i had a lot of expectations for myself as i like to pride myself in my physical fitness, so not being able to eliminate more people was regrettable. especially since i was completely able to, after all."

a smack of his lips, a nod of his head as he mentally rewinds through today's past events. neck cranes from one side to the other as he surmises the best way to word his next answer. "our team's communication could've been better, and our strategy was nearly forgotten near the end," he criticizes, withholding the scowl at the reminder of their—his—shortcomings.

(...)

“well, it’s too crowded here for both of us—” she whispers back, brows furrowed. chances are if they get found, that means they’re both out. which doesn’t exactly bode well for the team does it? “why don’t you try and make a run for it?” sua shoots him a pointed look. better you die than both of us die.

leave it to moon sua to never pay heed to others, too busy listening to the sound of her own voice to care. thankful that there’s not a camera zoomed in on their features, taesung doesn’t waver in sparing a dramatic eye roll (albeit in the dark) at her protests, reluctantly removing his hand from her mouth at the vice of fingernails against his chest.

you have to let us in, the cameramen quiver outside the door, to which the brunette can’t stop the even louder hiss back in response—addressing both the staff members’ and his insufferable teammates’ words. “hyung, i beg of you, please don’t let us get caught,” he whispers through a crack in the doorframe, leaning forward until he’s just barely in earshot.

     “i was outnumbered!” haru defends himself, a small frown forming on his face as he recalls how he got tagged out, the older’s question (or is it an accusation? he’s not too sure but something inside him prickles anyways and he feels the need to protect his dignity) momentarily distracting him from his original reason for calling him over. “a few people on blue cornered me so i couldn’t even run away and i wasn’t strong enough to push my way out…” (...)

     the idea of being avenged makes haru’s ear perk up in interest though. “really? you’d avenge me?” he asks, too surprised by the comment that he couldn’t mask the disbelief in his voice. (...) “it was a couple of the guys an one girl,” he decides on finally answering, regardless of if taesung was actually going to follow through or not. “i felt bad pushing the girl and the guys took advantage of that…” a sigh escapes and he shakes his head, wanting to get rid of the memory. “so here i am now,” he finishes, gesturing to the other team’s flag in his hands. “having to hide this.”

“outnumbered?” taesung parrots with a raise of his eyebrow. “they ganged up on you that bad? that’s dirty,” he comments with a frown, the fire of competition further igniting inside of him at the thought that some of the other teams aren’t playing as fairly as they should be. “who was it? i bet it was ahin,” he thinks aloud, a smirk tugging at the corner of lips at the idea of eliminating the rival in question.