#famedscheduleq223

❝ people that soaks into heart what kind of person am i? am i a good person? or a bad person? @minjungfmd

​jihoon feels like he is holding onto every single thread of sanity he has left. he feels like a little kid being scolded, for something he isn't entirely aware of. he understands where minjung is coming from. he was a dick last time they spoke, but he was honest, as honest as he could be to salvage some of their friendship. if anything, jihoon thinks he did really good, compared to any previous discourses he's had, he is impressed that minjung had the guts to approach him in a public setting.

let alone to call him out for being as friendly and cheery as ever. maybe if she looked a bit fucking deeper, she would notice that wasn't the case. maybe he should have bared his teeth more, scared her off and make her leave him to wallow in self pity. just like she did about juyeon, maybe even worse than that.. oh, it was definitely worse than that. they've had plenty of friendly interactions through the event, he was being as civil as civil could get. so he doesn't understand why minjung expect him to tear into her in a public setting with cameras and people lingering at every corner?

he is chewing on his lips as he listens to her, eyes scanning the perimeter every few seconds because he feels the need to get out. he doesn't care how disrespectful it is, he wants out.

butter is an empty, pointless song. it weighs heavy to go from music that, even if at times hadn’t connected with him, had some kind of meaning, to singing about being as smooth as butter. he realizes any days he’d had where he’d come anything close to a smooth-talking charmer are behind him, but even with that considered, butter is more sickly yellow-green, artificially colored sugary drink commercial than reflection of anyone’s lived human experience. if he has to hear the empty drum beat that cues him in one more time, he might lose it.

lucky for everyone involved, they’re called to break from dance practice as their too-late lunch arrives. ash moves with a speed yet unseen the duration of practice to get in line for food, but it just ends with him being asked to pass along lunch boxes to his other members. he has an inkling it has more to do with him being the youngest than the first in line, but he’s learned not to fight the tasks that get handed down to him for daring to be born last.

he turns to offer two identical lunch boxes to minhee, pretending as if he’s presenting him with a choice. “chicken, or... chicken?”

it might be the most talk ash has initiated with minhee in months, if he’s honest. some time around the turn of the year, as award shows grew increasingly tiresome and the possibility of faking some extreme freak accident to get out of performing dynamite another time grew more and more appealing, it had occurred to ash that minhee just seemed a little... happier. he’d promptly made the decision to keep his distance and not ask. it was for minhee’s sake, he swore. there are certain energies ash vibes with and certain others he doesn’t. not in some metaphysical or pseudoscientific way. he won’t cast away company because they’re an aries or because of their aura, but he gets irritated when there’s a little too much pep in someone’s step. he doesn’t want to be a party-pooper or some kind of black hole of joy just because he’s miserable nine times out of ten, so avoidance becomes his coping mechanism. 

maybe, he’s finally fallen into neuroticism today.

or yesterday, or maybe it was a week before when it started. 

the studio in his house no longer feels like home, creating deafening noises that relegate his work to gold star’s name. his studio in gold star feels even worse, compounded with interruptions of different staff members popping in to take apart his hard drive for extortion.

maybe, that’s just all an exaggeration.

either way, he’s found himself a new makeshift rental studio space. inside, it’s quaint and quiet, nothing more than some sofa he bought from ikea and the mini-fridge with whatever he’s managed to bring from his house. minimalism, the new concept, and by hour five, he’s created some songs he doesn’t deem shitty anymore — at least, not shitty enough to be a platinum title. (too bad, it’ll never get any use). by the time he plays it back, and reaches for another diet coke before realizing he’s out.

so, begins the trek out the door and straight to the CU around the corner. 

thus, her feet lead her toward his direction and by the time she’s standing in front of him, her head’s tilted in confusion. “fancy seeing you here,” she begins before giving some last minute greetings to the staff members passing by them. “oh, do i not get any flowers?” she’s referring to their interaction at his own concert. 

hyojung almost hates to admit it, but she’s grown sort of fond of gyujeong and his presence. she doesn’t understand him all the time, and she thinks he has an oddly negative perspective of the world, but he’s pretty entertaining to be around. that’s why she sparked up this conversation in the first place, hoping that he could provide something amusing enough.

another event, this time in the haze of too many familiar faces. she stands in the crowd, arms-lengths from strangers she exchanges hellos to in passing. she’s learned by now — she’s a professional, and professionalism guides itself in a thin-lipped smile permanently engrained when she stands still. 

because hindsight is 20/20, and the last thing she needs is more whispers and speculations that paint her into different dimensions of grey.

she hides behind the next group of staff passing, only bouncing her gaze to the left to see a familiar face. a reminder from the chatter of the crowds, and they’re in a public space decorated as near-family despite what details get concealed behind the grand spotlight.

when the first day of their concert is over and they’re headed backstage with the staff giving them a round of applause, hyojung can’t help but think she could have done a better job. although it’s just a promise to herself, she swears she’ll put more of herself on stage tomorrow. 

just as she’s making this silent promise, she spots a familiar face in the hallway. breaking out from the staff members who have surrounded her, she makes her way toward minhee, greeting him with a slight wave of her fingers. “did you come to check up on how well i’ll pull off the hairography of gogobebe?” she says rather teasingly before ruffling the bottom of her still-bobbed hair. it’s grown out quite a bit, but it was still rather short since she’s still fiming. “i think i did a nice job with the amount of hair i have right now.”

it’s a near riot outside, and he can already feel the tensions of the cameras creeping over him. it’s straight day light, but they feel like the shadows that never dissipate when he takes one step forward, sneaks a peak behind him, only to confirm his suspicions right.

get used to it, right? that’s what they tell you when you step foot into show biz.

yet, it never gets easier and he feels himself tighten up with each step, sliding out his phone only to realize — the ending doesn’t near, and he’s still short a few hours before he gets the nod to jet-straight to the studio. so, he manages. finds a familiar face in the sea of a stray crowd before taking the bread of silence as cue to strike up conversation — either way, he drowns. 

❝ savor it, lick it, say it, bon, taste so good, everyone loves it