#rubyred

Red. Everything is red. I don’t like red. Haven’t liked it for 6 years.

I’m sure I did like it at some point. I can’t remember. I should like red. Red is my business in a way. It’s my job. Red made me successful. Popular. Famous.

But I don’t think it makes me happy.

For the longest time I noticed something missing. I cannot pinpoint the exact moment when. But I have been feeling like I’m in a void. A void of nothingness. Except for the red specks everywhere.

There should be more. I should be happy. But I am not.

The fan above my bed buzzes softly as it blows cool air onto my skin. They told me to get an AC. I didn’t. I like the sound of the fan. It calms me. It has been there since I moved in and it has not once failed me. I don’t see a point in getting rid of something that lacks in nothing but age. If it does its work - and that it certainly does - why replace it.

I shouldn’t be having such a personal connection to a ceiling fan.

I open my eyes. The red is gone. The blowing air causes my eyes to tear up momentarily, causing me involuntarily to look in another direction but up.

I see a white furball laying at the end of my bed. Next to me. Not quite out of reach. I could stretch my arm and feel her soft fur. But I don’t. I don’t feel like moving.

I like my job. I like what I do. I am one of the few people on this earth who were able to fulfil their dream. And I would never change this for anything. It’s just the red that bothers me.

I reach for my phone. The case. Red. Like everything else. It was the details that made me become the Idol I am today. The small parts that were red. That were sensual. That were exciting. That were loving.

People desire me. Because of red. Especially men. I became an object of desire. An object of love. An object that was made through the colour of red. I am red.

The sheets under me rustle as I sit up. Marie’s tail moves over the white sheets. The white curtains - that look almost beige because of the setting sun - stop the light from travelling further into the room.

It’s 8pm. I should be heading out soon. I’m working late today. They gave me midday off. I was at the company yesterday until the middle of the night. I came back at around 3 am and today won’t be any different.

I like the late practice hours. The moments when only a few people are in the building. When it’s quiet. Almost so quiet that I miss the buzzing of my fan in my room.

They have an AC in the building. I like my fan.

I get up. My Bag with my stuff stands next to my door, seemingly waiting for me to pick it up. I’m driving to the company alone today. I’ll be meeting my manager there. She told me to be there in time. I’m already running late.

I tap my freshly manicured fingers on the steering wheel. Dark cherry red with golden accents. I like them. They're pretty, if it weren’t for the red. It isn't as bad as other reds. Not as striking as others. But red. Still. I’d love it. If it weren’t red.

The traffic light shines in a neon light inside my car. Painting everything an anxiety inducing colour.

It’s the colour I'm used to the most. The striking red that fills the stage as soon as I’m about to enter. It’s the colour I hate the most.

The red changes colour and the cars start moving again. Out of reflex I look into the rear-view mirror. Nothing suspicious yet. But they could be anywhere. The people that call themselves my fans but do nothing to make it seem like they are.

There were incidents. People had followed me. People found out where I live. People sent me packages. All kinds of packages. I don't like the packages. Not because of the striking red they are always wrapped in but because of the red inside.

I’d be alright as soon as I arrive in the parking garage under the Hybe Building. It’s only six minutes away now.

Another red light. I check the time on my phone. I am late. I had expected it and texted Taeja. She hadn’t responded but she read it. I know she did. She never really answers. She’s not a big texter.

I drive into the garage. The fluorescent light flickers for a moment before it shines on the few cars still there. I drive by Taeja’s car and park right next to the elevator. That way I don’t need to walk that much when I leave again.

A few metres away stands another car. I’ve seen it a lot. It’s always there when I come and it’s always there when I leave again. I don’t know who it belongs to.

The hallway is long and dark. I like these Hallways. No trace of colour. Just pure and grave grey or black. I enter the practice room Taeja said she’ll wait in.

The room is quiet. Taeja stands right next to the mirror that takes on almost one part of the whole wall. She types something on her phone.

The backup dancers are sitting all over the room on the floor. I have known some of them since the beginning. Many of them have changed agencies since my debut. Just a handful stayed.

I consider them my friends. Even though we never really met outside the company. I’m happy they stayed. At least that hasn’t changed.

Even though the way they view me might have changed. But that’s for my old me to worry about. Everyone changes. And so do I.

“I thought you’d be even later.” She says as she puts her phone on the small stand next to her. “Traffic wasn’t as bad as I thought.” I say, putting my bag next to the door.

“Have you eaten anything?” She always asks that. I don’t blame her. “Yeah. I had TakeOut earlier.” I answer her.

She nods satisfied and claps her hands. “Then shall we start?”

The room is dark. The only light in the room comes from my computer and the sunset lamp in the corner. My friend got it for my birthday.

He’s been in my studio more times than I can count and he’s always been complaining about it not being cozy enough.

Next to the lamp hangs a printed picture that takes over a good fourth of the wall. It’s me on stage at Coachella. I like the picture. Even though the lightsticks make me look like I'm standing on a red ocean.

I’m not surprised they gave me the red one.

I tried making my studio not so red. I think that’s why Seungkwan gave me the sunset lamp. It’s not red. It’s more like a golden orange but still fits my vibe I suppose.

I like it. The plant under the picture lets its leaves hang a little. I don’t know what to do about it. I tried everything. Even talked to it. My best friend said that might help. It didn’t.

I’ve been sitting in front of my computer for a good forty minutes now. Staring at the small symbols.

I don’t know how this works. I should get Beomju to check it over.

I close the file.

I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. It’s coloured in orange light. The water bottle rustles slightly as I pick it up from my desk.

My phone says 2am. I lean forward and send the file to Beomju. The track is almost finished, just needs to be filed to perfection. This is for Beomju to worry about. He knows what the company likes. I don’t feel like putting up with that now. I text him that I’ve sent it to him. Close my phone and get up.

My dark red zip up sweater lays carelessly on my couch together with my bag. The rhinestones on it shine mindlessly in the orange light. I grab it and turn off the light.

The way back to the garage is quiet. I lean against the elevator wall and close my eyes for a moment. The slight rumble of the elevator keeps me from banging my head against the wall. I pull my black cap down a little.

The door opens and white fluorescent light flickers as I step out into the cold parking lot. The garage is almost empty now. Besides my own car there is only the one that's always there.

My steps are the only thing being heard in the empty garage. I open the passenger door and throw my bag onto the seat.

As I walk around it to get to the drivers side the elevator door pings open again. I look up not having expected another person to come down this late.

A guy around my height leaves the elevator. He’s wearing a cap that hides his dark, seemingly long hair, a black shirt that looks a little too big on him but at the same time too tight to conceal anything around his shoulder and chest area and black sweatpants.

He holds a grey sweatshirt in his hand together with his phone. The other one reaches to unlock his car. It’s the car in front.

My hand still lays on the door handle when he looks up. He looks at me and my heart jumps a little.

Red. Everything seems red all of a sudden. I don’t know what happend. But when he looked at me my chest turned warm. The heat creeping up my neck.

I stared. I stared goddamn much. And he noticed.

He smiles at me and bows slightly. Still with my hand on the door handle I lower my head a little. An attempt at a relaxed bow.

I’ve seen him before. Multiple times. Many times actually. Why does it feel so different now? Because I’m not on stage? Pumped with adrenaline? Because he’s not with Seungkwan? Or Minghao? Joshua? Or anyone I know?

What is happening?

I’m still staring. I turn to my car and open the door before scrambling to put my sweater on.

My face is still burning red. And I hope for everything that he doesn’t notice.

I bow one last time without looking at him and hurry to get into the driver's seat. I’m not sure if I trust myself enough to immediately leave. So I scramble to make it look like I’m busily doing something on my phone.

I connect the speakers to my phone. I type in the navigation. I type a message but am really just trying to get him to leave first.

His car lights blind me for a second and then he goes driving right by me. I see his backlight. And then he’s gone.

Everything's still red. A deep shade of red. I lean back and knot my hand through my hair.

Close my eyes. Open them again. Still red.

Damn you Woozi for making me see red.

TAGLIST. @readerwonnie @thepoopdokyeomtouched @berriebeetles @rvebyntvr

This work will be simutaneously posted on my Wattpad [click here.]

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