#wc.382

@idyohan, isac arena later in the day.

they’re already hours into recording. enough for san to be annoyed with the entire ordeal. he hates isac more than most things he’s forced to do. it’s exhausting, the filming goes on for far too long, and he’s expected to play perfectly into his role the entire time. a handful of hours on a music show? on a variety? that’s manageable. but isac drags on and on. and he has to remain the bright, peppy, happy go lucky package they market him as. is expected to wander along after olympus members and smile sweet, cheery and excited when they roll into their events.

and san could give a fuck.

he doesn’t want to run. he doesn’t want to watch his group mates running. he doesn’t want to sit in the hot sun and pretend he isn’t going to be annoyed when he gets a tan and his stylist tuts at him like it might be his goddamned fault. he doesn’t want to smile until his cheeks hurt and crave a cigarette so goddamn bad that it sparks him up angry, muttering a severe string of curses under his breath if someone so much trips in front of him. 

he doesn’t try in the dash, and he doesn’t try in archery. he hits the grass twice when they actually shove the weapon in his hands. he pouts, because that’s what san does. and his fans all coo from the stands. he throws them hearts with his fingers like it might not all be fantastically demeaning. as least watching yohan eat dirt had been an entertaining break in the monotony. and when he spots him again later he figures he must have at least had some kind of a run in with jowi. he wouldn’t look so sour around the face if he hadn’t.