╾ monsters in the closet
@fmdmina
There were days when the life of an idol got a bit too hectic for someone who craved peace and quiet as much as Moonjin – and maybe those days were almost everyday, though he'd never complain –, so he had taken to stealing whatever time he could away from crowds of people and strangers fawning over whether that one strand of hair fell into his face just right. Of course he was thankful for the hard work everyone was putting in, and he knew the fuss they were making was all for the artists' sake, for his sake, and because they themselves were stressed as well. He was thankful. He was. But that didn't mean he wouldn't gladly leave the room once the stylists were done with their work before they could look at him long enough to find something else that possibly wasn't perfect the way it was.
That day, too, was another one of those. Impulse were all dolled up and ready to go whenever – too early, much too early, so they were told to wait. It felt like they always were. Hours of getting ready at shops, seated in front of mirrors, never quite asleep but not all there either, for but a few minutes on stage or in front of a camera. But it was worth it, of course; it always was. Moonjin simply didn't like being idle and not putting precious time to good use.
So he did. There was always one room or another no one was occupying and he had made it a habit to spend his breaks there – wherever it was that he could be undisturbed for a while. This time, it was some sort of locker room, most likely one not meant for idols at all, but it wasn't like he was trespassing – no signs had told him not to go in there, after all. The corner was where he made his temporary home, on a stool near the wall next to a row of lockers; a place most would have no doubt found claustrophobic, but he was comfortable. Book in hand – an English one his international fans had recommended that he had decided to challenge himself with because the language still felt foreign to him, despite his best efforts to learn –, he drowned out the rest of the world, if only for that little while he would grant himself.
That was until he heard the door open and close, though he couldn't actually see it, his view blocked by the locker he had been leaning against prior to this disruption, and before he could decide whether or not he should reveal himself, tell them something about how he had gotten lost, maybe, there was a sob. Crying. Careful not to make a sound and startle whoever it was, he closed his book and placed it on the ground for now, only realizing once it was already done that it made little sense to be quiet before announcing his presence either way. Awkward. He felt awkward.
Yet when he stepped out of the corner and glanced at whoever this poor soul was, something constricted in his chest and his breath got caught in his lungs. The uncomfortable feeling from before, evoked by catching a stranger in such a private moment, was replaced with a dull ache. It was no stranger. “Mina?”, he whispered more than said, though he already knew it was her. Moonjin would know her anywhere, under any circumstances – always.
Slow, tentative steps carried him over to her as if he was scared she would run away otherwise, and maybe part of him was. When he stopped, there was still almost an arm's length of space between them – in case she needed it; space. Carefully, giving her ample time to pull away should she want to, he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze – and that was all. He didn't pull her into him, didn't put his arms around her, too afraid to overwhelm her, make her feel caged – after all, he shouldn't have been there in the first place. But he was and he would never simply leave her like this either; not even if she were to ask. “I'm here,” he said therefore, his tone of voice as calm as ever, compensating, in a way, for the fact that his insides were anything but. “I’m here.”
