burn.
@idsaeran, season’s change music festival ( event, +5 exp, +5 skill free-choice )
they’re near one edge of the large stretch of stage. there’s another group or two taking up space in different areas. a few memebrs here or there looking to get a feel for the stage, to run through dance remixes before they actually have to practice for sound check. san is, of course, among them. he always is. there’s something obsessive built up inside him. a fury that points toward perfection. a fury that turns back around on him when he can never seem to reach that peak. he knows, logically, that it’s not possible. but it’s been instilled in him. planted like a seed in his psyche by his mother. past the point of sprouting like a clod of weeds. it’s a tree, roots embedded deep inside of him.
it’s not a gift he’s ever learned to appreciate. there’s a logical part of himself that hates it despite everyone around him feeding compliments into wildly unhealthy behavior. his company loves it, his body does not. it’s easy to predict who wins out when it comes to san (that winner is never himself). he doesn’t miss her. she’s not exactly cut out of his life, but if there’s one thing he appreciated when he just debuted as a teen was being ripped away from his mother’s side.
not that there weren’t people there to pick up the slack. that would simply be asking too much of the world. saeran had seemed comfortable enough slipping into that role without quite realizing what he was doing at first. or maybe, at this point he has. eight years means you pick up on details of the lives of your group. even if you hate them. even if you linger near the outskirts willing yourself to disappear. something antagonistic inside of him. condescending, snide. that particular way where he could get underneath san’s skin and burn at him like salt pressed deep into wounds. not always. but sometimes. sometimes when he forced his way into san’s head. when san’s overworked, underfed, desperate. moments like that and he’s easier to topple than most might think. he tries to keep it guarded. he doesn’t want to be easy to force him to his knees. he wants to be made of stone. unmoving. uncaring. unfortunately, he’s simply a man.
saeran’s usually right alongside him at moments like these. attempting to play catch up in a race they’re already leading. he wishes he could yank himself away, practice their song on his own. but it would be stupid, they need to perform together. so san steps through his moves with loose limbs. not entirely serious, rolling through the motions, shadowing reworked choreography in lazy steps. no point in wasting too much energy when they need to spend it all later. besides, they’re olympus’ songs. he knows them like the back of his hand. what he really wants to do is nab milo and rehearse a less than familiar routine. “sharper. that move.” it slides out to meet saeran’s dancing before san has time to remind himself that engaging saeran in anything even mildly critical is probably more effort than it’s worth.
