rkcheri:
jihyun thinks everything is as good as it can be. they’re finally idols, the glamour, the fame, the exclusivity is embedded into their skin. baby skin blush and heavily rotating sparkles dazzle bright eyes, they’re it. royal’s branding tattooed in ink along their collars. they were royal’s and as each idol that bears the name of their company, they’re the same – as luxe, they were first and foremost representatives of the prestigious entertainment buff, so jisub’s words of approval weighing heavy on each girl’s shoulders. jihyun’s own tired arms are teetering at the weight but she manages because like she said, everything is as good as it can be. they were idols now. in minutes, they’d be doing another show in celebration of their debut – all smiles, all happy songs, all tall heels and a crowd of onlookers who barely know who they are.
it should make her happy, they were finally at the peak, if not, the starting point, they’ve all been waiting for.
and yet –
wary eyes stray from her own appearance in the mirror, a fuzzy mix of scandalized hues and dark eyeshadow make bright eyes pop and further make her eyes hurt and her mind wonder. they cross to jiwon, follow the other until she’s seated right beside her and jihyun’s dropping whatever her mind had worrisomely caught onto in favor of jiwon’s worries. better to let someone else’s troubles in the front seat than her own, it was almost a given, these days. a smile settles on her lips, gaze retracting from the mirror to look at the other beside her, “always.” she says with a certainty she hopes the other feels, a promise that whatever she has to say has her complete attention.
then, another question falls from her lips as eyebrows furrow; concern an easy emotion to feel as memories retell a tale of minutes before their showcase, of tears against a bare shoulder and a cramped bathroom stall. “is everything okay?”
she’s gotten this far. supposedly that, asking permission to address a glitter pastel elephant in the room, is the hard part. and yet, it feels harder to actually ask the question, to actually lead the painted elephant to jihyun for blatant scrutiny. even though jihyun was there, saw, experienced, every earth-shattering, utterly embarrassing, horrifically vulnerable moment of jiwon’s breakdown over a green room sink.
her smile stays in place, even as she glances incredulously at a stylist passing by toward the clothing rack in the corner.
“um,” obviously it’s not okay, she thinks stubbornly, a little petulantly, i had a panic attack in a dressing room bathroom over a boy and energy pills and liquid eyeliner like something out of a terrible teen melodrama, of course everything is not okay.
but she likes jihyun, loves her even, and that isn’t a response that’s necessary or even remotely called for. she respects jihyun too, as if somehow jihyun doesn’t wear the heavy mask of authority that usually comes with the title of leader. how long that lasts, no one is really sure. jiwon’s never been very good at rules.
“okay so, obviously,” she starts lightly, as if whatever she says next will be the long-winded lead up to a hilarious joke, “you were there for my mommy dearest freakout in the bathroom. the whole thing. it’s kind of a blur. i just want to- i don’t know, i know we don’t air we need to clear but um...”
her smile starts to falter, her fingers tangling nervously in an uncharacteristic tic.
“i don’t know, i just. really kind of need someone to talk to about this. all of it it. i dunno. shit, dammit, stop saying you don’t know, jiwon, that’s not helpful.”
she inhales, shuts her eyes, stops. then her face cracks into a smile again, but a softer one, one draped with a tint of stress, or bittersweetness.
“now i remember why i took up smoking.”
