soured.
@idjunseo, after filming for ep 1 of dancing9.
the teams are finalized, and they’re left clumped together in their new color-coded labels. red and blue. so simplistically primary. but it doesn’t really feel that way when san meets junseo’s eyes, when they’re pulled on the same side of that dividing line. and san, like most of his schedules, hadn’t picked this. hadn’t fought for it. midas had just written it down, and off he’d been shipped. he hadn’t wanting to make a re-acquaintance out of junseo. and san knows that junseo feels much the same way about him. old rivalries. soured emotions. in the end, in that midas free-for-all battle, san supposes he won. the reward, in the end, seemed lacking.
a quiet part of him might wonder what junseo feels for the whole affair. but san’s not so receptive to listening to it.
but ryu san is nothing if not shackled to his image, his fake persona within the group. so when they’re grabbed one by one to discuss their groups, it nearly comes naturally. as natural as the unnatural can sound, at least. “it will be so nice working with dahyun, as she’s my label mate, so we can already understand each other’s styles.” that’s the easiest, the most basic. but does anyone expect anything more than vaguely sweet and largely basic when they sit him down in front of the camera anymore? “and maybe you know? actually, before milo was a part of atlas, he used to dance backup for olympus. so i’m really excited for this opportunity to work with him now that he’s managed to prove himself as such a talented dancer.” that comes next.
he wonders if their fans will fight each other more than they already do because it. “sejun’s in atlas too, so i think it will be really interesting to work with them. i’m really a fan of atlas’ choreography.” san admits, and that’s his kernel of truth before the storm of a lie he’s about to tell on junseo’s behalf. the interviewer perking up with a hidden detail “so i heard that you and junseo used to train at midas together for a bit.” and san has to smile. what else can he do? but he’s been in this game for long enough that it doesn’t trip him up so much as drag up that blanket of perfected polite and obnoxiously shy.
“yes, we trained together when we were a lot younger. actually, i remember wanting to get close to him. but i think i just found him intimidating? i guess i was even more shy, then.” a bashful smile, and san hides it behind his fingers. this is very much calculated. junseo’s in a scandal, and he hopes he can stir it up. hopes there are olympian keyboard warriors out there raging about how san had enough sense to stay away from him. hopes it raises at junseo’s hackles. “it would have been nice to get closer to more of my same-age friends and make precious memories. but maybe we can do that now on the show. it’s regrettable that our interests never managed to match up before olympus’ lineup was finalized.”
he’s let off the hook for the wrap of an interview after that. and what does san care if junseo hears? but he bumps into him backstage anyway when they drag off one of the two atlas boys to go next. “exciting, right?” san asks, his voice sarcastic, sharp. and he’s already managed to remind himself of the same haughty, expectant tone he used to level junseo with back in the training rooms in midas so many years ago. it still doesn’t matter to him now, how much progress junseo has made, or how much he’s improved. in san’s eyes, he’s an underachiever and it’s not liable to change. “too bad we can’t trade you off, like baseball.” san notes, despite the fact that he only has the vaguest notions of how inter-team baseball training even works. or baseball in general.
