#meme.hc

imp –what aspect of their personality is the most damaging to their interpersonal relationships?

san is selfish. it splinters into different, fractured pieces. but that’s the core of it. he’s an incredibly selfish person. he puts himself first in nearly all situations, and often doesn’t fully consider things from other people's point of view. he’s hypocritical. a greedy thing, with expectations that pile up high. but then he’ll go and do something that he’d get pissed over himself if their roles were reversed. and then he’ll go an be mad if confronted. because that’s all anything ever seems to turn into inside of san, anger. 

he’s not emotionally mature, despite how he can sometimes present himself. how some people just assume him to be, this straight laced perfectionist without room for humor. he still has that mindset of a teenager. that pointed, demanding way of thinking, and thinking only about yourself. it probably has something to do with debuting so young. with all but throwing education out of the window, not being surrounded by direct peers. not growing with them. for a lot of his teenage years, san was isolated. he had group members he interacted poorly with, management, and his mother. and then he was expected to keep an image trapped in this sweet, naive sort of role. a lost boy, expected to never grow up in this ill-constructed neverland of a trap. 

banger – favorite title song from their own discography and why? + @idjunseo

san’s favorite title from olympus’ very extensive discography is one of those answers that may seem contrite, the sort of answer that the fans love. but it isn’t picked at random, or for their benefit when he chooses it during interviews, even if he doesn’t expand on it to the full capacity of his answer. it was olympus’ debut song, before the dawn. and really, he’d just liked it. he can even pitch himself back to that moment. sitting in a clump with five other boys he barely knew, still in the process of being mixed together, this new song that would be considered their first defining steps played for them all. and it was back before san started to grow pessimistic. back, even, before he learned that he didn’t get along with his group mates. that most wanted nothing to do with him, and when they did, it was to treat him nearly like a child. unless dance was involved. sometimes. to some people. 

he’d liked the dance. he’d been all frenetic energy learning it. and he can remember, too, that his mother was still excited. and he was still riding that. she’d been so happy. so proud that he’d made the cut, that he’d realized this dream he’d been steadily running toward. it had felt like, for once, that he’d met something. some goal. of course, it got moved again not soon after. but his life at this point, when this song had been taking place, had seemed alright. it seemed like he might’ve been destined for something. like all that work might be on the way to paying off. they didn’t win any awards with it. and it was the start of the pretty boy image they’d assigned to him, with sheepdog-shaggy bangs and his hair grown too long. but he hadn’t known it would last. was happy to debut. was happy to make his mother so ecstatic. 

glitter – what is the most important thing to them - be it a tangible goal or vague concept. + @idminyoung, @idsooyeon

san is attracted to beauty. who isn’t? there must be something hardwired into people, everyone gravitates toward it. that’s why he has his job. that’s why he’s sat through injections, and dentist appointments to bleach his teeth, why he has bi-weekly appointments with a dermatologist, and why his hair is near-constantly dyed an array of colors. why midas spends thousands on treatments to make sure it somehow remains halfway-to-healthy despite it all. 

he’s attracted to a particular kind of beauty though. the kind that’s a shadow of brutality. rough-edged and raw. he likes dance, and he likes the kind of dances that feel like a hammers beating against you. that make you visibly feel a shock of sadness, or anger, or hope. he likes songs that weigh down on him. make him feel like he should sink down through the floorboards. and he likes people, too. angry-eyed with trembling fists. the kind of people who are quick to spill stories that leave san enraptured. poetry, and poetry in motion. 

but the thing about poetry, the thing he’s recently learned he likes about it a whole lot, is that to be beautiful it doesn’t mean it has to be pretty, or dulcet. beauty doesn’t always translate into softly twisted words, a smile stretched wide. beauty can be a hungry thing -- insatiable. beauty can be awe inspiring, it can be terror that chills at your bones. beauty will captivate, and it pulls you in. it makes you stare. it makes you want, or need, or fear. it makes you feel. it twists up your insides and sends them toppling. and that’s what san likes about it. he craves it, the feeling that it can incite. and that’s what has him dashing back against these sorts of people. again and again, a faulty raft caught in a tide. 

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).

constellation – if they were to wish upon a shooting star, what would they wish for?+ @idyujin

if san were faced with this question, he wouldn’t have a knee jerk reaction. there’s not something that he desperately craves, a craving that he also acknowledges. he doesn’t want to fix his nose permanently. doesn’t wish he  were 5cm taller. and, if prompted, he’d probably give you an answer about music, his career. because that is what san always centers around. perpetually. he’d wish for a world without olympus, or one where he doesn’t have to promote with them anymore. he’d wish to be a soloist in a different company, one given more freedom in musical direction, with the kind of dance style he could pair with it. themes, expression. he’d try to make a wish to reshape the only world he knows into something more enjoyable to himself. something he thinks he might love, if he were actually given it. given the opportunity for it.

but if san were able to break past all those constrictive , roped off parts of his mind he might wish for something different. if he were able to even consider a world where he didn’t have to constantly circle around this industry, the gravitational pull of being an idol. it’s hard for him to imagine, to picture. from his youth, he’d grown into this. stepped into the role before he was fully developed, so what else does he know? but there’s another wish there, lurking down deep. a wish he’s too afraid to look toward, because if he acknowledged it, then everything would collapse. would fall to ruin. he’d be aimless, and he so desperately needs a purpose, so desperately needs something to run hard toward, that san would slip. falter.

the wish that he’d had a normal childhood. with skateboard-scraped knees and a band of friends. a life without pictorials, a life without auditions. a life where he might’ve learned to enjoy dance as a hobby. a life where he could go to school without threat of being bullied for extensions woven into his hair, a face in a music video. a world where he could have figured out who the hell he was before his mother decided for him. a world where he could breathe. where he didn’t have to get signed under midas for his mother to praise him.

angel – who do they most want to protect or shield? from what? why?

san is an isolated soul. for the first couple of years debuted, there wasn’t really anyone in life that he could depend on aside from his mother. eventually, it shifted. people joined midas, or debuted where they were able to meet up, connect. he mentored on a show, and ended up wanted to actively help someone for what might’ve been the first time in his life. so he supposes that, now, there are a whole collection of people he doesn’t want to lose. doesn’t want to see get hurt. but there was only one person there, in the before. one person who’s still there with him. a presence that’s helped shape who he is as a person -- and that would be his mother. 

he loves her, of course he does. what son wouldn’t? and sometimes he hates her. but he hoards that like the shame-filled secret that it is.

it might seem silly -- what is there to protect her from? she’s removed from the industry (to an extent). she perches on san’s shoulder, chimes in with her opinions, pushes him toward more opportunities. but insiders aren’t circling her like vultures, not like they do with her friends. there’s no threat of journalists digging up a dating scandal on her and throwing it towards the masses. but he does want to protect her. he does want to keep her happy. and if he stops and thinks about it for long enough, he realizes it’s from his own actions, opinions, constant fuck-ups.

but isn’t that what all children want?

that’s what he’s convinced of. doesn’t everyone want to smother the parts of themselves that disappoint their parents. doesn’t everyone wear their shame ringed around their necks when they know they’ve gone and done something that will make them upset? and san protects her in his own ways. he follows her whims. he does what she wants. he practices, and he spares her the details when he breaks. he debuts, and he finds fame. he lets her capitalize off of his name. anything to make her happy. 

gen-n – what is their most defining memory from their childhood?

it’s san’s birthday, and he’s ten years old. he’s perched on a chair, and there’s a blowdryer pointed hot at his scalp. there’s another little girl next to him. she has a gap for a front tooth, and her words lisp on the way out – the sort of thing people call adorable. they’re both there for a clothing shop photoshoot. it’s a bigger shop online, so his mother had been excited. san remembers that. after the casting, she’d gotten him a happy meal. it came with a some stupid, wind-up plastic toy in the shape of a dragon. he’d broken off the spinner after twisting it too much and watching it skitter haphazard across the table. she’d yelled at him, but he still has it tucked deep into the pocket of his pants right now. maybe it’ll be confiscated later, when they switch him out and into the clothes for the shoot later and they hand it off to her. he likes to collect his memories like that, in these fragmented pieces that he often breaks himself. trinkets and toys. rewards he earns himself when he behaves, when he acts like a good son. when he excels, or when he stands patient and blinks away stubborn sleep during the slow-crawling photoshoots she sticks him into.

this memory is like countless others, should be like countless others. but it’s the first birthday she’d forgotten in favor of something deemed more important. heels thumped against wood, a handheld game crushed between his palms, blush on his nose. restless legs, even then, he hadn’t wanted to sit still. but he did. had pointed a smile at the camera when he was finally pushed out on set. that half-expectation still lingering, that if he did a good job, that if the production assistant praised him, his mother might reveal the reward. offer him a present, get him cake, something. 

but it was less about a reward this time, more about importance. the day had been overshadowed by an event. and then he’d had his dance lesson, and by the time she drove him home it was late. and she was on the phone, talking to someone. and his father wasn’t there (and even when he was, did they ever really talk?). so he tucked himself in front of the tv, chin to the tops of bony knees and watched a late-night horror film. the kind with buckets of fake blood, the kind that would keep him up at night. twisted holes into the worn sleeves of his shirt, and he didn’t bring it up. because a part of him knew that, in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter. on that totem pole of importance, of what he should be doing, that was the bottom rung. actions? those were important. accomplishments. and everything else fell to the wayside, or that was how he was starting to learn how to categorize it all. the parts that she wanted, and the parts that she didn’t want to deal with.

swee-t – what is their most crippling vice or addiction?

san, at his very core, is an unwilling addict. the kind who will turn away, shake his head, deny, deny, deny. but his personality is an addictive one, something hard-wired into his genetic code. he leans on all of these vices like a crutch, a coping mechanism that isn’t one. or, a flawed one anyway. because at the end of it all, does oblivion really help? he drinks, and he smokes. he takes pills when he can get them, something to dull the pain of a knee or a foot (he swears). and when he has time off he’ll throw the remainder of his energy into partying wild, sleep numb and dreamless for too long. a coma-like state. he has a ritualistic work routine he needs to push himself through. he needs to dance. he needs to force his body toward attempted perfection. he needs to sing (he needs to catch up, to surpass, he needs and needs). to the point where he’ll make himself anxious if he’s not given the opportunity to do so. jittery limbs, snappish behavior. san is a compilation of addictions, and so then, what is the most crippling? which holds him back the most?

it’s probably attention.

funny, for a boy who stands on stage in front of thousands. millions of followers on social media, girls who follow him around on the streets when they’re able to catch sight of him. too many people pay attention, but then, that’s not the kind that san’s addicted to. it’s a very specific shade that he’s willing to throw himself recklessly at. that heavy-gutted feeling of want. magnetism. something that stirs up a reaction in him. a crackle of heat splitting between his ribs, fire in his veins. the heavy weight of wanting eyes dragging down his back, or wanting hands. the kind of thing he can mix around, pretend like it’s diluted love. until he makes himself sick with it. becomes sick of it. tears himself away like he’s on a bad bender. swears it all off again. cuts off the source. decides he hates it, and like most addicts, hates himself.

but that’s the thing about addiction, isn’t it? eventually those cravings spiral. they turn into compulsions. they turn into visceral, primal need.