#miori threads

thread .01—starter for @lovelettersbymio, kh entertainment dorm buildings

Miori hasn’t been down these halls in years. Seniors just don't really need to, nowadays—ever since Miori settled on which penthouse she wanted, she hasn't bothered coming to the dorms. So it feels awkward in her baseball cap, sunglasses, and face mask. It's just other idols, but she knows she's a well-established senior, and she doesn't like the attention the same way she once did.

She glances at her phone, frowning under the mask. Glowing back up at her is her half-sister's—she mentally grimaces at the word—text inviting her to the amusement park for Miori's 32nd birthday coming up.

Sweet, oblivious Mio. How would she know that Miori's tastes aren't exactly amusement parks? But...Miori has an obligation. Some kind. She doesn't quite know what, but she knows that she does feel awful every time Mio looks up at her with those big, hopeful eyes, unaware that just the sight of her makes Miori nauseous. She's a relic of the past, after all—a relic Miori's spent her whole life forgetting.

Now, wherever Kismet is running around, Miori's not sure. But she doesn't have to be unsure for too long—she rounds the corner, and there she is. Mio. Walking toward Miori far before she's ready to see her.

Realistically speaking, Miori would never have been ready to see her. She never is. She's spent the whole morning steeling herself to let her little sister down gently. But in a horrifically embarrassing, graceless display, Miori spins on her heel and slams right into the wall.

Well, no hope of escaping before Mio could see her. No avoiding it now. She turns casually as if none of that just happened.

thread .03—starter for @dionyxux, youngjae’s apartment, a summer night in 2025.

It’s nights like these that make Miori appreciate all the work it took to get to this point—the point where she’s comfortable enough to lounge in her scrappiest pajamas, eating the sweetest ice cream, drinking the darkest of wines—and, of course, chatting with one of her closest friends.

She’s well aware that, at this very hour, there are trainees and rookies grueling away in the KH and Adagio buildings alike. It’s approaching that end of the month where trainee evaluations are coming up—it’s a blessing in and of itself to be surprised when she remembers that still happens.

Youngjae is one of her favorite people to remember those days with—the days of long, hard, seemingly thankless work; and the nights, too, where idols like them would lie awake and wonder if this was all in vain. Axis and Serene may not have had quite the same career trajectory, but the level of work was all the same between them both. And as the groups’ two leaders, those sleepless nights felt even longer.

So. Nights like this, where they can recline on the couch like languid cats, purr over the new crystal decanters Miori purchased last week, and gossip about the state of the industry—these aren’t anything she takes for granted.

Tonight’s not much for relaxing, though. They killed some time with bad movies and cheap gossip, some shallow laughs that didn’t feel quite right. But this isn’t why Youngjae invited her over, she can tell. He’s in one of those moods—Miori’s come to know them well. He’s been seeming agitated tonight—she can take any number of guesses as to why, whether it’s dissatisfaction with Axis’ direction, or the way the public is always seeming to misunderstand him. Miori lifts her wineglass to her lips, observing him with a critical eye as she takes an unhurried drink. Eventually, she sighs, kicks off her slippers, and pushes off the couch to snatch the half-empty bottle off the table. She pulls the cork off and leans forward to fill Youngjae’s glass, still in his hand, much more than is customary.

When she leans back, completely graceless and completely uncaring of that, she takes a deep, lazy pull from the bottle, keeping her eyes fixed on his. When she sets the bottle back on the table, a half-kind, half-defiant challenging smile is barely tugging at her lips.

thread .02—starter for @tosummers, kh entertainment practice rooms

“One, and, two, and, dah, dah, dah…”

Dancing has never been Miori’s strong suit. Just as she anticipated, though, with Kismet’s comeback, she got roped in to make a couple TikToks. “Style” has been stuck in her head for the past couple days, so as ridiculous as she finds the new trend of tapping in idols from other groups for shorts and reels, she doesn’t entirely mind listening to this song over.

Mara’s another main vocalist in KH—it’s how Miori ended up getting closer to her. Miori, like her stepfather, mostly enjoys music through the ways it connects people. So it wasn’t too hard to seek out the main vocalist of her junior group and build a connection from there—and now, Mara is the member of Kismet Miori is closest to. Regrettably. And that’s not a dig at Mara—Miori looks sidelong across the room at Mio. Main dancer. This would be a good excuse to go talk to her, she thinks. But the thought of it somehow makes Miori’s brain short-circuit—how do you have a conversation, again?

This is embarrassing. She’s almost thirty-two, for God’s sake, and she can’t talk to some kid just because they happen to have a shared connection with a man that Miori happens to hate. She steels herself forces her feet to angle toward Mio, but it feels like they won’t move.

She sighs. It would be nice to have a little sister. She’s getting in her own way—she should give her therapist a call, she thinks. But for now, she just needs to figure out this damn count. So her feet turn away and carry her toward Mara by the water station.