#wc.417

@idseokyung, filming for olympus arcade variety.

olympus had never really been known for having a weak variety presence, but san hadn’t helped that along. he knew he was the weakest among them all. it just wasn’t a strength, pushing himself into being entertaining on camera. he was too withdrawn, and midas decided to cover up that lie with a false personality trait of ‘shy.’ which made sense, for the powers that be. but it didn’t make san any better when you stuck him in front of a camera. nine years in and this fact hadn’t changed. 

he did what he was told -- he smiled, laughed, played along with whatever it was they were supposed to be doing. but he didn’t make the show fun. not like the other members. he just laughed along quietly until someone decided to pull him forward toward attention, likely under the demands of a manager. to try and pretend that they weren’t collapsing from the inside out. 

today wasn’t any different.

they were about halfway through filming all the clumped-together games that they would later break apart into segments through editing. san was tired. he wanted a smoke break and a drink that was at least 80% espresso. but neither of those things were available to him. just a host calling to action the next game that san didn’t care if he would win or not. he was supposed to be dieting anyway, he didn’t really care that the grand prize was fried chicken. but a few of the other members were doing a great job of making it appear like it all mattered in the end. san just wasn’t among them.

@idjaeyul, at a vip room at an upscale club, incredibly drunk.

everything’s in motion. the music is loud, echoing inside of san’s eardrums. colors are rolling and the floor underneath san’s feet is shaking apart. he blinks, heavy-lidded and sways. like he might've been on board a ship. it’s headed toward destruction, about to be capsized with how much he’s stumbling. san’s drunk. entirely smashed. but it’s okay, because they’re in the private vip section of a fairly discrete club. it’s okay, because he’s with jaeyul, and jaeyul always has his best interest at heart. that’s what san steadfastly believes anyway, even if it isn’t quite true. the music changes, and it’s nearly disorienting. 

san lifts an arm, acutely aware of the motion but the processing is almost delayed. he drags his fingers through his hair, leaves it messy. “what time is it even?” san asks the man on his right. jaeyul’s profile in this lighting is familiar to him. etched in his brain. he’s seen it countless times over. how long have they been friends, even? nearly the entire length of san’s career. long enough or too long. it’s hard to tell the difference. his head feels heavy and he drops it, briefly, to jaeyul’s shoulder. 

san inhales the smell of cigarette smoke. maybe it’s from jaeyul, or maybe it’s what’s sticking to his own shirt. a bad habit that clings to fiber and betrays him. in this moment though, it’s very evident that san has quite a many bad habits. “should we leave?” san mumbles it into the fabric of jaeyul’s shirt. he fiddles with the edges of the other’s sleeve. he’s drunk, and he’s built up a repertoire with jaeyul. attempting to pull affection from someone who seems easy to give it. it fluctuates between convincing himself he’s comfortable around him and ignoring a sense of unease that wants to creep up on him when he’s too many drinks in and somebody is ordering another round of shots.