#idyohan

@idyohan, at the end of the rope. 

kcon didn’t go well. 

correction. kcon had been wonderful. it was her social life that was spiraling, a nose dive that plunged straight for rock bottom, left her sure to be dashing against the rocks. she’d like to say her load was a little lighter these days, that she had some more time to herself, but with each show she finished another reared it’s head, appeared in it’s place. she finished her run on invincible youth only to roll right into promotions for power up hitting full swing, meaning the usual round of appearances. people digging into her life, hinting not-so-obliquely at him, at marco, and then just as easily turning the focus to anything else; her shows, her abs, her endless array of crop tops. do aegyo, do a sexy dance, be this, be that. 

she performs these roles with the ruthless and critically appealing efficiency of a girl with years upon years of training, with just enough mess, and rawness, and emotion to still read genuine despite everything. the flaws set her apart, her company had said once. she’s a little dorky, a lot quirky, kind of loud and brash and boyish, in her way, offset by the delicate femininity of her appearance. it had sounded like a lot of bullshit at the time, but maybe they’d known what they were talking about. 

she almost trusted them, lately. they knew how to market, at least. and if she was going to be a product (well, she already was), she wanted to be flying off the shelves. 

she was. 

converse was a nice deal at least, she liked that well enough. even enjoyed how the commercial had turned out, all artsy and slightly overwrought, flashing and sepia toned in turn. she wanted to be that girl they presented, strong and sweet in turn, a little bit savage, and relatable. instead, she was drunk on a tuesday night, in one of those places that is supposed to be entirely your own, but is all too often found to be a shared element with those who know you best. see, the karaoke is one of the more notable venues in gangnam. and ideally, they don’t let other people into your room, and she’s allowed to belt her heart out, get drunk as fuck, relax on the lux velvet couch and do absolutely nothing, nothing at all. 

instead, he finds her. 

they let him in because of course they do, because how many times have they done this, arranged meetings that happen clandestine and secret. her stomach flip flops and she feels, at once, immensely caged. the backing plays quietly, forgotten in the ringing of her ears, and she drops both the bottle of soju and the flimsy little copper tambourine. 

“no.” she tells him, firmly, for once. “nope, no, no, no no. out you get, go on. shoo.” she flaps her hand at him, uncoordinated, as if he were a stray cat in her path - except not. 

it feels like they’ve been at it for hours. the same actions repeating over and over as though he’s stuck in a time loop, damned to sing the same lyrics through eternity. he done it enough that he can almost time it, the music fades away, the click and then a voice telling him all of the things he’s done wrong. jun knows that he’s not perfect, despite the golden mantle he likes to throw around, he knows that practice is the only way to even get close to perfection. but he’s tired, he’s frustrated and he’s done.

it seems though the last few weeks have been building up to this moment. there’s only so many times he can smile and push down his worries and frustrations, to pretend they don’t exist, to ignore the thoughts when they come crawling in at 2 am when everyone else is asleep. and as time trickles by in the same windowless room, he feels his seemingly infinite patience finally running empty, his emotions scrubbed raw and left open. he silently motions for a break, doesn’t hesitate to throw the headphones off. he tugs off his beanie and roughly runs his hands through his hair, leaving the ends to stick up in a fury of haphazard directions, too frustrated to care about how ridiculous he looks. he throws himself onto the flimsy wooden stool in the corner, ignoring the creak it makes under his weight. jun sighs heavily and roughly tugs the lid off of his water bottle, greedily sipping water as though it would sooth the fury steadily building inside of him. when it’s finished, he crushes the plastic easily before tossing it in the corner toward his bag.

the recording booth isn’t unfamiliar to him in anyway. but tonight the silence is overwhelming, it rings in his ears and threatens to swallow him whole if he allows it. the windows should feel soothing, a clear cut view to han on the other side of the board. but instead it makes him feel trapped, like a suspect under evaluation, an animal fighting to escape it’s cage. shutting his eyes, he leans back against the wall and allows himself this small moment of weakness; allows the feelings that he typically ignores to rise up and crash over him. he lets it overwhelm him and sinks down into it. in the last few hours, he’s grown to hate the sight of han’s face, the sound of his voice, the way he nitpicks and points out every mistake. jun feels as though he’s been singing the same words in the same exact way, but it’s never enough for han.

but sejun knows that han only expect perfection from him because it can be delivered. he would never intentionally set him up to fail, despite the way he feels now. realistically, he knows that it’ll all be worth it in the end. he just needs to keep reminding himself of that. so jun shoves all of his feelings down, steels his nerves and stands. flashing han a strained smile, he slips the headphones back on.

@idyohan, isac arena later in the day.

they’re already hours into recording. enough for san to be annoyed with the entire ordeal. he hates isac more than most things he’s forced to do. it’s exhausting, the filming goes on for far too long, and he’s expected to play perfectly into his role the entire time. a handful of hours on a music show? on a variety? that’s manageable. but isac drags on and on. and he has to remain the bright, peppy, happy go lucky package they market him as. is expected to wander along after olympus members and smile sweet, cheery and excited when they roll into their events.

and san could give a fuck.

he doesn’t want to run. he doesn’t want to watch his group mates running. he doesn’t want to sit in the hot sun and pretend he isn’t going to be annoyed when he gets a tan and his stylist tuts at him like it might be his goddamned fault. he doesn’t want to smile until his cheeks hurt and crave a cigarette so goddamn bad that it sparks him up angry, muttering a severe string of curses under his breath if someone so much trips in front of him. 

he doesn’t try in the dash, and he doesn’t try in archery. he hits the grass twice when they actually shove the weapon in his hands. he pouts, because that’s what san does. and his fans all coo from the stands. he throws them hearts with his fingers like it might not all be fantastically demeaning. as least watching yohan eat dirt had been an entertaining break in the monotony. and when he spots him again later he figures he must have at least had some kind of a run in with jowi. he wouldn’t look so sour around the face if he hadn’t.

world – what is the most important thing to them - be it a tangible goal or vague concept.

it’s an interesting question, in a way. because it’s one that san would be quick to answer. the most important thing to him is, undoubtedly, his career. this has been drilled into him time and time again. by the people around him, and by himself. though how much of it can possibly be organic is questionable. but whatever the motivations, however this was shaped to last inside of him, it still remains true. the most important thing to san is his career, his work. it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t like his group, often doesn’t like the music that they put out. he’ll still work himself to the bone to reach the goals he sets for himself. that others set for him. he still judges those that don’t do the same harshly. he still tries to reach out and grab for that concept of perfection, even if he knows well and good at this point that it’s just not attainable. that the people around him will never be fully satisfied. fully happy. and that, in turn, neither will san.

but it makes sense, doesn’t it? his entire life revolves fully around his career. all extra time essentially devoted to it. hours singing, practicing, dancing. if not for concerts, than for his own interests that still trip and end up in the realm of work. because there’s that part of san that’s still clinging to hope. believing that if he works himself hard enough continuously, that eventually midas will give, and will give into some of what san wants. he’s found a little bit of it now, conceptually with the way midas had been open to how the music video was portrayed. drifting away from that tried and true image of sweet and bland. and he keeps hoping, hoping that if he keeps it up they might eventually loosen the reigns a little more. let him integrate contemporary dance into his solo career. let him pick songs that are more suited to his own taste. let him enjoy the labor he’s been dragging himself through (and desperately hoping that it will feel like it all means something if it ends up happening).

+ @idjingyi asked “Charm”

⸺ what facet of them is the most charming to those in their personal lives?  

it’s an almost impossible question to answer. for a girl who’s image is predicated on being genuine, down to earth, tempting and soft all at once, one would think it must come from somewhere genuine. and maybe it does. maybe eden is mostly a crafted version of herself, picking out the things she knows receive the most love, the most attention. maybe, at this point, eden is entirely affected, a mask worn to hide her face, armor worn into combat. it’s not clear to the observer, and in truth ryan doesn’t know herself. 

the things about her that have always drawn eyes are simple, however. there’s a softness to her that begs to be ruined - rounded cheeks and wide bright eyes. there’s a purity to her, in the cleanness of her image, in the grace of her movements, in the charming almost vintage, almost girl next door styling they favor putting her in, and even in her preferred looks outside of that. there’s something that speaks to secrets, too, and maybe to something wounded. a lot of people want either to ruin her or to fix her, she’s noticed, and in either case she’s not thoroughly interested. 

her personality leaves a lot to be desired. she’s bursting, straining at the seams. an overripe peach about to hit the ground. she looks delightful, delicious, but the inside is sweet to the point of sickening. she’s not sure what anyone thinks about her, thoroughly divorced from her image. probably not much. she hasn’t been a pure version of ryan kim in years. in longer than she can remember, even predating the influence of midas, corrupting as it is. 

so what is there to like, what is there to charm, but the same lies that charm the public? the same demure expressions paired with almost-accidentally-sexual movement, styling, words. maybe she’s funny, but probably she’s not. maybe she’s genuine, but can anyone tell, when she says everything as if it were a line from a script, when she stages the moments of her life as if they were fictionalized? surely no one favors this detachment of hers. 

@idyohan, kcon party ( event )

they have an odd friendship. sometimes it doesn’t seem like much of a friendship at all. and then, sometimes it does. like when san drags himself out of bed at three in the morning to help him out. or how he still talks to him after he pulls something with his best friend. but then they have moments, like the last time he saw him, back as isac, where everything collapses in on itself. where san lashes out angry on jowi’s behalf, or because yohan’s antagonizing him right back. sometimes they’re both too far gone to anger, and it catches up on them in a wildfire rush.

tonight is the perfect environment for one of those fires. both of them seeped through with booze, all it will really take is a matchstick before they’re lit up in a furious blaze. at the moment though, san wears a smile. it’s cocked up, at odds with the one he’d been taunting yohan with all those weeks back. this one’s sly, like he knows he’s about to be a dick. or maybe it’s just everything he’s poured down his throat so far. too many shots with jowi, and chasers to go along with it. until his head feels like he’s swimming. legs a little shaky underneath him. but that’s not a deterrent when he spots yohan, even if he had been searching for milo instead.

in fact, that’s what he opens with. “where’s milo?” it’s rather to the point. but san leans up against a wall next to yohan anyway. they’re out of the way, tucked behind an alcove. the sort of place you’d wander into on your way to look for a bathroom before discovering it’s in the opposite direction altogether. the walls provide a decent sound buffer for the moment though. it gives san a moment for everything to catch up with him.

@idyohan

so, no, dongwoo isn’t dealing with this as well as he’d like to think. what would’ve been a fruitful start to a solo career – finally! – was ruined instantly by an ignorant fuck. he doesn’t even know who broke the news; they won’t let him contact the asshole who outed him for something he hasn’t done for almost a year now. so, before they take everything away, they surely can’t take away his intoxication before he even gets it. heck, part of him hopes they’ll take that away, too. the second the news broke out, it was inevitable that it’d be over for him. the people won’t forget that kind of thing easily, and there’s no doubt that there’s a legion of fans that are defending him, and an even bigger group looking to tear him apart. that’s just the risk he took for someone else’s aspirations: stand on stage to be ripped to shreds the second he makes a single misstep.

so, no, dongwoo isn’t dealing with this as sober as everyone else would want him to. he finds himself in a nice little, nondescript bar, tarp and all, and nearly drinks them dry of their soju supply. it clouds him until he finds himself being led out to the back until he’s throwing up what he drank (all he drank that day) into some bin and being told to leave before they call the police. that’s fair, he says (or thinks he says), and instead of indebting himself to them even further, he decides to take a walk. he almost didn’t pay them, imagine that. another misstep, another crack on the road he forgot not to walk over.

so, no, dongwoo isn’t as sober as he’d like to be on his way home. part of him wonders why he didn’t take his car; another thanks him for that. it’s much colder when he’s just in a shirt and shorts – all branded, but nevertheless his shabbiest look yet – and stumbling home using a shortcut he hardly remembers. at least it’s three in the morning and no one’s around. maybe.

IF YOU WEREN’T AN IDOL, WHAT WOULD YOU BE DOING NOW?