chapelwood
so we make deals, with ourselves and with others. lies we agree to. compromises we pretend are victories. — c. priest ★
( + idol star athletics championship with @idchansu. ) she’s going to kill whoever decided to put her in this event---because, have they seen her? a girl who’s practically born into four-inch tall gucci heels, ban hyera isn’t exactly the ideal candidate for the sixty-meter sprint.
why couldn’t they put someone like jowi in this?---make her put those long legs of hers into good use for once, hyera laments but knows full-and-well that it’s too little, too late to be complaining now, no, not when she’s already standing at the starting line with others clad in gaudy primary-colored shirts, jumping and stretching and acting like this god-awful event’s actually fun.
she glances down at her own yellow torso, hides her disgust behind curtains of brunette strands, averts her gaze to her teammates next to her---to her left is some guy she’s probably never spoken before in her life and, thus, irrelevant, and to her right is---
oh, fuck.
and then she’s swiftly turning around so that the approaching figure is facing her back instead of her front, clenched fist rising to softly pound against porcelain forehead---maybe she should’ve read the list of competitors for each event, maybe she should’ve actually paid attention; because if she did, she wouldn’t be in this predicament---or, at least, she could’ve properly mentally (and emotionally) prepared for it.
“fuck,” the mantra is audible now, though hushed and under breath. “fuck, fuck, fuck.” how does she get out of this---in a way that makes logical sense for the occasion? should she feign sickness? plead for the person next to her to switch lane spots? which would be the less suspicious, the more natural?---who would’ve guess that ban hyera, someone who prides herself on being in a constant state of levelheadedness, would be crushing under such unexpected pressure?
and with the clock ticking away, the minutes until the pull of trigger and start of race decreasing ever so quickly, she ultimately decides to suck it up---face her fears, no, but strategically avoid them. she inhales heavily, exhaling even more harshly before she shakes her head, hands moving to tie her hair up into a ponytail in attempt to distract from nagging thoughts.
