#!per_se

@jungwoork

it was not yet nine in the morning and the sky was already bright and clear, the sun beating down on the pale dirt and sand with all the promise of the unbearable summer heat that would come with the afternoon. he was running on fumes and local coffee, a few minutes more of brief shut-eye caught on the shuttle ride from their hotel, and then a few more in his makeup chair. in spite of his sparse hours of restless sleep (anxiety and excitement battling in an endless round even long after he’d started to dream), he was alert and attentive when his turn with the photographer came around. there was already a makeup artist flitting over to swipe powder over his nose, across his cheekbones and forehead, setting powder working hard to keep makeup on over the inevitable sheen of sweat threatening to break through.

it was easy to slip into the demeanor the concept brought with it, the landscape and architecture bringing an air of edge and fantasy all at once, regal yet rugged, mysterious and intimidating but still intriguing and inviting. he was in his wheelhouse now, more comfortable in front of cameras than he was around some people. he wore the wardrobe and the demeanor like a glove, uncharacteristically relaxed, sprawled casually and confidently against the fountain’s ledge in a way that gave no hint of how deliberate the appearance of that casual confidence was.

“tilt your chin up for me just a bit- there, perfect, that’s great-”

he was suddenly aware of an additional pair of eyes on him, not staff or stylist, but groupmate. he was still getting used to jungwoo’s hair, but the blond complimented the palace well, made him compliment the colors of the tiling so much that it made ricky wonder just how long he’d been standing there.

“great - i think we got it!”

ricky knew a photographer’s enthusiastic dismissal when he heard one and began to get to his feet, careful not to crease or dirty the clothing anymore than he already had during this section of photoshoot. he made his way to the waiting monitor, stealing a glance at jungwoo and passing him a timid, close-lipped smile on the way before settling in front of the screen as the man behind it began clicking through his photos.

“ah, it’s hot,” he mumbled, dabbing at his brow with the heel of his hand until a staff member approached, offering he and jungwoo pocket-sized battery-powered fans and a pair of bottled waters. then the screen flickered to another shot of many, making ricky pause. 

@rkhuidong ; dated thurs. jun. 13, 2019

it was not a difficult feat for ricky to leave his apartment spotless on his way out, the way his landlord had requested. the few belongings he’d accumulated during his time in seoul miraculously still fit into the single suitcase, single duffle bag, and single backpack he was now piling just outside of his door. most of his sleeps, his meals, his mornings and nights were already spent at the nova building, occasionally at seocho, leaving little time for him to really live in the apartment he’d been renting with the help of old friends long gone. surfaces and cupboards were left without a blemish, as he’d first found them, because if he’d learned one thing from his parents, it was how to properly clean up after himself.

there were a handful of memories that couldn’t be scrubbed away from vinyl floors and balcony doors, people who’d spent the most time here, the firsts these walls had seen come and go, holidays and fights, hugs, pets, tears, songs. but he wasn’t one to willingly hang onto memories that made him more melancholy than he already was naturally. they were only ghosts of people and things and places that had already left his life; now it was time for them to leave his airspace too.

i’m all done, he messaged huidong, as the door shut behind him, slinging the straps of his generously stuffed backpack over his arms, then the duffle bag, across his torso. he tucked a pillow under one arm, a stuffed animal under the other, balanced a body pillow precariously on the top of his roller suitcase and began to move toward the elevator at the end of the hall, slowly and meticulously so as not to disturb his careful sculpture of life belongings.

“ah, it’s hot,” he complained in a mumble when he greeted huidong downstairs, at the curb. he’d dressed for the chill of the morning, wore a few of his bulkiest items to keep room free in his luggage for other belongings. the beginnings of the day’s summer sun seemed to laugh at him as it warmed his face.