#idzhu

@idzhu,​ SBS Gayo Daejun after-party

At that point in the evening, Danny was well past buzzed. He was well and truly drunk and most definitely not making the best decisions. He didn’t mind. At least, he didn’t then. He would most certainly come to regret his choices when morning came. He’d lay in bed, nausious and aching from his hangover, and do nothing but regret everything he did the night before until someone forced him to get up. He’d thank the universe for a lack of schedules that day, collapse on the couch and spend the rest of the day there, feeling very unwell. But that was a problem for tomorrow. One happy, intoxicated Danny couldn’t even fathom in the moment. He was too distracted by the sound of singing.

“Sunjae-yah,” Danny said, frantically hitting his group member’s arm. “Do you hear that?” He made sloppy turns in all directions, trying to find the source of the sound. It made him dizzy and he had to stop, leaning on Sunjae to keep from stumbling. When the room didn’t feel like it was spinning anymore, he looked again. Then, he saw it: a large sign with the word “karaoke” printed on it, and an arrow pointing the way. Danny grinned from ear to ear. 

“Dude,” he said. He shook Sunjae a little as he spoke and pointed at the sign. “Sunjae, we have to.”

Danny pushed off of Sunjae, carrying his weight on his own two feet again, if unsteadily. He looked at his friend; his smile was wide and giddy. “Come on, we gotta! It’s a sign! Like, literally!” Danny was a singer by profession but there was something about karaoke that made it a hell of a lot more fun than singing in one of MSG’s practice rooms. Maybe it was the casual nature, the fact that it didn’t have to be perfect, that it was supposed to be a bit silly. Maybe it was the fact that the machine definitely had Diamant’s full discography. The thought of performing Gee or Mr.Mr. was just too hilarious to pass up, really. 

@idzhu 

msg building, late December 2018

There were days when Erin wondered if the “M” in MSG stood for “maze”. Days when she spent minutes, hours even wandering hallways, going up and down stairs, checking and rechecking signs before she could make it to her destination. This was one of those days.

Admittedly, navigation was never on her list of skills, but still. It wasn’t like this at Singularity. Maybe it was because the company was smaller and she knew everyone. Maybe it was because the actual, physical building was smaller. Fewer places for her to get lost. Erin knew the Singularity building like the back of her hand. She could get to her usual practice room blindfolded. There were a lot—a lot—of reasons Erin missed things at Singularity, but as she stood, lost in the middle of a hallway at the MSG building, ease of navigation made its way to the top of her list.

Erin chewed on her lip as she walked aimlessly past a series of closed doors. None of them looked like practice rooms. She let out a quiet whine. Oh, she was so dead. in the ground, already buried dead. She didn’t have to check the time on her phone to know that she was going to be beyond late to her dance practice if she didn’t figure out how to get there soon. She’d already gotten in trouble twice this month for being late. Did MSG have a three strike policy for tardies? Erin didn’t want to find out. God, how embarrassing would that be? She’d die if she had to go crawling back home and tell her parents she got kicked out for not showing up to practice on time. It wasn’t even that she let herself get distracted, which was her usual problem. Erin just could never remember how to get to the stupid practice room. Somehow, Erin got the feeling that excuses didn’t count for much at MSG.

Without realizing it, Erin had walked herself into a dead end. She huffed and kicked the wall. Erin then realized, belatedly, how bad that must’ve looked. She threw a few furtive glances around, saw no one and breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn’t let this get to her. It wasn’t like her to get so worked up. It certainly wasn’t like her to feel so defeated. Erin would keep looking. She’d get to practice even if it killed her.

( in which noah acts like a big, bad sunbae and gets the wind knocked out of him by @idzhu. )

“you’re in the way.”

that is no way to speak to anyone, but noah has a warped sense of respect and manners. he gives those in falsified quantities because he doesn’t want to be the next POIZN. he is already ¼ of their clean-up crew, he doesn’t want to replace them. what a horrible thing to succeed, anyway. being the new kings of perpetual scandal. but noah risks it on the daily—image. apparently, imperial has its fair share of attitude problems. whatever. can’t please everyone.

so, he kinda asks what’s coming for him.

being kicked in the face may seem over the top, but it’s really an oversimplification. after all the stupidity he’s done, noah deserves it. can’t say it eases the pain. can’t say he feels the pain yet, however. that hasn’t hit him. he can hardly comprehend he’s on the ground near the salon imperial is shuttled to for hair and make-up. where is he again?

only when he picks himself up, arms shaking and word spinning does the infliction ebb. ache comes and goes in waves right before the sunset. right before the pace picks up and water crashes unfiltered on the shore. the pain electrifies next, shooting down his jaw, spine and collecting at a mark he’s positive is forming to a ruddy hue.

he knows he caught the kid off guard. knows reflexes are a bitch, but why... why the face of all places. it’s no doubt his money-maker, and he has to explain to any managers he did not participate in a bar fight, and he was just kicked... in the face but someone... which he knows they won’t believe because he’s noah. they know him well enough that the chances of someone knocking him out for being rude is more probable.