#he could be a soloist Sure but we are currently seeing how that is turning out for him (see: book 7 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

asthmark · 4 years ago

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❝ comfortable ❞ l.mk

synopsis → “oh, i’m mark. mark lee.” he gives her a lop-sided grin, reminding you of a high school boy. the kind you would have a crush on.

word count → 3k

a/n → instead of admitting to the fact that this has been in my drafts since october what if i just said i was watching superm interviews and got inspired.. would anyone believe that??? anyway superm on the ellen show was a fever dream lol

your leg bounces nervously as your makeup artist touches up your look and you stare at the tv screen in anticipation. you were finally making your television debut. you knew you were blessed for the wonderful opportunity, especially for how new you were to the music industry.

you had started like nearly every other artist; posting covers on youtube. these were well received and gained a good amount of views and likes but your career really took off when you began creating original content. every time you would release a single, it would make it on the trending page thanks to your growing fanbase and exposure to the general public, who seemed to like you. soon enough, requests to interview you whether it be on radio, tv, or magazines were high and, thanks to your managers, you found yourself in los angeles, backstage in a studio, waiting for the ellen degeneres to introduce you to her live audience and thousands of viewers at home.

��don’t move so much, miss l/n,” the woman trying to apply your highlighter comments. “you’re smudging your makeup.”

you force yourself to sit still as you apologize. “sorry. pre-show jitters.”

the woman smiles, emphatically. “i understand, sweetheart. i would be nervous too.”

you’re quiet for a moment, debating if you should continue conversing with her. “can i be honest?”

she hums as she dabs a beauty blender into your cheek. “go ahead.”

“i am so nervous that i’ll mess up or say something stupid. the only thing close to an interview i’ve ever done was a q&a on my youtube channel. and at least i could edit stuff out then.” you huff. “if i make some kind of mistake on my tv debut, my career will be over before it even started.”

“well, think of it this way,” she says. “you went from a moderately popular youtube channel to the ellen show. that doesn’t happen for no reason. there are people out there who really admire you.”

you chuckle in disbelief. “it’s crazy to think about people actually wanting to see me. i still can't believe it.”

she giggles, softly. “they know there's something worth seeing.” at seeing your small smile, almost as if you were barely realizing your own star status, she laughs. “you seriously gotta wake up, girl. you’re famous!”

you smile at her, finding humor in her words. “thanks for the wake up call.”

you both direct your attention to the tv placed backstage that broadcasted what was happening on stage. you listen in to ellen’s monologue as she tells jokes and addresses current topics. before long, there’s a knock on the doorframe. you half expect a staff member to let you know that you’ll be on soon but instead you hear a quiet, “hello?”

you and your makeup artist both turn to the boy standing in the doorway. he's wearing a black jacket paired with dark, ripped jeans held up by a belt. he goes to bow, then remembers that korean etiquette does not apply and decides to wave as a greeting instead. you reciprocate the gesture. he stands with only one foot inside the room, almost as if he’s too polite to enter without being given the okay.

“did they send you to get your makeup done?” the woman who had done yours says.

he nods. “they said something about concealer and bb cream, i think?”

she smiles. “yeah, it’s basic stuff. come on in. what’s your name, dear?”

“oh, i’m mark. mark lee.” he gives her a lop-sided grin, reminding you of a high school boy. the kind you would have a crush on.

“well, mark lee, i’m lily. i’ll be doing your makeup, making sure you look pretty for the cameras.” she motions to you. “i'm just about done here so i’ll be right with you.”

“okay, thank you.” he shuffles in, his eyes glued to you and you hold his stare. he nods, a wordless greeting as he settles in next to you. in return, you throw up a peace sign and he smiles at your casual behavior.

“you know what? somebody used all the setting spray. i’ll be right back, i’m just going to steal some from my co-workers.” with that, lily darts out of the room.

it’s pure silence between the two of you until you spark conversation. “i didn't get to introduce myself but i'm y/n.”

“i know,” he responds, quickly. “i'm kind of a fan, actually. i mean, it’s practically impossible to not be. you’re all over the place. especially with the new single you dropped... which is a bop, by the way.”

you smile at his simply-worded praise. it was a nice switch up from the professional reviews you received from critics. “that’s so cute. i’m honored.” you miss the way mark’s ears turn slightly pink at your words. “but enough about me, what do you do, mark?”

“oh, me? i’m in the k-pop scene.”

you hum. “that’s a good genre to be in. which group?”

“right now i’m promoting with superm, it’s kind of like a side project. but originally, i’m in a band called nct.”

you lean forward at hearing the familiar name. “nct? as in, nct 127?”

mark’s eyes light up. “yeah! you know us?”

you nod, enthusiastically. “oh my god, yes! you collabed with ava, right?”

“we sure did. are you guys close?”

“i help her write lyrics sometimes.” you lower your voice down to a whisper for dramatic effect. “i wrote the chorus to ‘sweet but psycho’.”

the way mark’s jaw drops is almost comedic. “no way! that song got her famous, dude!” his lips curve into a playful smirk. “just because of that i’m gonna have to get you in the studio.”

you return the mischievous look. “is that a promise?”

“i’m back!” lily announces, giving mark no time to respond. she gives no warning as she spritzs you with the bottle she had gone to retrieve.

you cough, choking on the mist. “no heads up?”

“sorry, dear. you’re on in two minutes, no time to waste.”

you feel a chill go up your spine. it was finally time.

mark nudges your arm. “you okay?”

“a little nervous.” that proves to be the biggest understatement of all time because in reality your heart is doing somersaults.

“hey.” you stare at him, his brown eyes boring into you. “you’ll be fine. there’s nothing to worry about. you got this!”

you smile at his words of encouragement. he cared about you and you find that your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now.

“i'll be here to cheer you on while you’re out there and i’ll be back when you’re done to tell you how amazing you did, okay?”

you nod.

“now get out there!”

“well, we have a great show for y’all today,” ellen says, clasping her hands together, having just finished her monologue. “i mean, it’s always great but the exciting thing is we have two musical guests today.”

the audience that cheered wildly is shown on screen. you almost forget about the knot in your stomach when you see some people in the crowd wearing shirts with the cover art and quoted lyrics of your last single.

“i see you guys are ready so, without further ado... let’s get started. our first guest is a soloist who has made quite a big name for herself in such a short period of time. she currently has three singles on the billboard charts, her most recent music video is number one trending on youtube, and she has a new ep coming out soon. here for her television debut, please welcome y/n l/n.”

you walk out from behind the stage, a huge smile on your face. the crowd screams and you wave to them until your hands become too occupied hugging the hostess who greets you with open arms and a proud smile. once the hype dies down and your entrance music fades out, you take a seat, opposite of ellen.

“how have you been y/n?”

“amazing,” you respond, letting your hands fall neatly in your lap.

“and why is that?”

you sigh, wistfully. “everything has been going so well for me lately. i mean, i feel like all these doors are opening up for me all of a sudden. i think i finally made it.”

“you’re just barely realizing that?” ellen exclaims.

you laugh, along with the audience. “kind of, yeah. it just all happened so fast.”

“is there an experience that comes to mind where you finally realized how famous you are?”

you try to think for a few moments before your eyes light up. “okay so, i was at a mcdonald’s like, last month and i went through the drive thru and ordered some nuggets and fries. so, i pull up to the window to pay and it’s around 2 a.m. so the cashier guy is super out of it, like he’s not even paying attention to me. finally, he goes to grab my card and he gets a good look at me and just freezes. like, full on shuts down. so i ask him if he’s okay and he nods so i try to hand him my card again but he goes, ‘no, you’re famous, you don’t have to pay’. and in that moment i just knew.”

“hold on, pause,” ellen announces, dramatically. “you’re telling me that you have been nominated as artist of the year, gained over ten million followers on social media and made your national television debut but the thing that really made you say ‘wow, i’m famous’ was a couple of chicken nuggets?”

“ellen, c’mon,” you begin, seriously. “it was a twenty piece.”

“oh, well, that changes everything,” she says, playing along with you, as the audience erupts into laughter.

the rest of the interview goes smoothly, running on jokes and sarcastic energy. you discuss your young age (thus resulting in some of your baby pictures finally being revealed to the world), millennial culture (the crowd went wild when you explained terms such as netflix and chill to ellen who claimed she didn’t understand yet her sly smirk said otherwise) and your upcoming ep (that you would be giving a sneak peek of later on in the show).

you continue chatting once the commercial break is announced and ellen showers you with praises, commenting how young talent never failed to amaze her, although it did make her feel old. you get to thank the hostess and tell her how much you appreciated her sweet words and the opportunity she had given you before the crew is dragging you backstage so you can prep for your upcoming performance.

you’re greeted by a “that was awesome!” and a high five one you get backstage.

you flash mark a full smile. “couldn’t have done it without my hype man.”

just then lily walks in to touch up your makeup.

“and my hype woman!”

she just rolls her eyes and chuckles as she reapplies gloss to your lips.

“seriously though, y/n. why did you have to be so perfect? the bar is all the way up here now.” to emphasize his point, mark raises his arm as high as it will go.

“hey, i only tried hard because you’re up next. you’re a hard act to beat, mark lee. i mean, you’re charismatic, charming, witty; basically every talk show host’s dream.”

he scoffs yet you see how he avoids your gaze, your compliments obviously flattering him to the extreme.

a staff member walks by, cutting your conversation short. “y/n, you’re back on in one. superm is on right after.”

you and mark turn back to each other, speaking the same two words at the same time.

“good luck.”

ellen introduces you again, only this time you hold a guitar and stand in front of a microphone once you’re back on the stage. you perform a never before heard song but judging by the roaring applause and standing ovation you receive by the end of it, it’s another successful hit.

you bask in the amazing response and then you’re ushered backstage for the last time. you catch sight of the staff placing more seats on the stage as you exit and you smile eagerly, knowing exactly what’s to come. you search the hallways for your new friend, hoping you can catch him before the show goes back on air. you’re almost about to give up when you hear your name being called.

you lock eyes with mark who stands a couple feet away, barely hidden from the audience’s view. even from where you stand you can tell he has a nervous smile on his face. you jog towards him and to your surprise, he envelops your figure without a second thought. in return, you tentatively wrap your arms around him.

“great job,” he murmurs, breath fanning your ear. “i really did cheer you on.”

“i’ll make sure to do the same.” you hesitantly pull away from his embrace, holding him at an arm’s length away. “go get ‘em.”

he gives you a determined nod and you watch him rush on stage, the audience’s wild cheering increasing. their energy didn’t fade once throughout the interview and just as you had suspected, mark was doing wonderfully. he clearly thrived in interviews; his awkward, boyish nature enchanting everyone in the studio, yourself included.

ellen crosses her legs and clears her throat. “so, i have to ask you something, you know, for the fans.”

the group leaned forward in anticipation, awaiting her next words.

“are any of you dating?”

the crowd released noises of amusement at hearing the very personal question. you can’t help but feel intrigued although you knew ellen has always been quite the invasive person. you watched as the seven boys looked around at each other, unsure what to say but before their silence can become suspiciously long, mark ends up taking the question.

“why are you always so curious about this, though?” he blurts.

the audience absolutely eats up his response, cheering at his bluntness. even you find it humorous, shoulders shaking with a chuckle. that’s definitely gonna become a meme, you think.

“it’s my job!” counters ellen. “why are you so defensive?”

the crowd is very responsive to ellen’s rebuttal, ‘ooh’ing in amusement.

mark’s silence only pushes the hostess to continue teasing him.

“does it maybe have anything to do with y/n?”

your smile drops. had she seen you two? you’re not sure why you feel so exposed; after all, you had just been talking.

ellen’s lips adorn a sly smile at mark’s stunned reaction. “you seemed to be getting very comfortable with each other backstage.”

the black haired male stumbles over his words before he gets a semi-coherent sentence out. “we just, um—we just met.”

“oh really? you two looked like you had known each other forever.”

mark chuckles breathlessly, eyes glued to his lap, obviously at a loss for words. ellen stares at him expectantly so he mutters, “i like making friends.”

ellen, the audience, and even some of the band members laugh at his response.

“well, i’m sure there’s a lot of fans out there that wish they were your ‘friend’.” her tone makes it clear she doesn’t buy his excuse but she prods him no further, instead turning to stare into the main camera. “when we get back superm will be performing their title track ‘jopping’. during the commercial break, please feel free to place your bets as to how long mark and y/n will remain ‘friends’.”

the camera pans to mark for a couple seconds; his ears are bright red and his cheeks are dusted light pink, his makeup doing nothing to help hide the blush. his eyes dart around, anxiously and then they cut to commercials.

you shake your head, smiling at the entire situation and just how big of a dork mark was.

you attentively watch superm’s two performances, eyes mostly glued to a certain rapper. you sit patiently in the makeup room, waiting for mark to return backstage so you can congratulate him but he never appears. you try to conceal your disappointment, even when lily enters the room, smiling brightly.

“well, the show’s over, doll.” she removes her makeup stained apron and glances at you as she places it on a nearby rack. “hey, why the long face?”

you stare at your reflection in the mirror, no longer bothering to hide your pout now that your frustration had been made known.

“you did great, if that’s what you’re worried about. just ask mark.”

“he left,” you mumble. “i thought i’d be able to catch him before he left and we could… i don’t know, talk a bit more? i just really—” you trail off.

“like him?” lily suggests, too loudly for your liking.

your head snaps towards her, eyes wide, only confirming your feelings.

“don’t worry, dear, you can say it. i won’t tell ellen,” she jokes.

you sigh and slump down in your seat. “yeah. i like him.”

“well, then, i have good news for you.”

you half-heartedly hum, allowing her to continue.

she waves a piece of crumpled paper in front of your face. you grab it from her, staring at it curiously.

“what’s this?”

she nods her head at it, encouraging you to find out for yourself. “open it and see.”

you obey, unfolding the tiny item. your eyes struggle to read the words inside but if you squint, they become clearer.

please call, me i would love to become closer ‘friends’.

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

it’s mark btw :)

you can’t contain your smile at the cute little note.

“he’s adorable,” you say, mostly to yourself but lily audibly agrees.

“he ran into me as he was leaving and begged me to deliver that message to you. which reminds me, i’m supposed to let you know that he wishes he could have stuck around but his schedule is ‘crazy tight’ so he had to ‘dip’. his words not mine.”

you nod, grin widening. “thanks, lily.”

“my pleasure. nothing like young love.”

you give her a glare although it’s all but threatening.

she folds her arms, teasingly. “so, are you going to give him a call or what?”

you’re sure she sees the phone in your hand and the way your fingers press the numbers on the keypad, excitedly but nevertheless, you decide to answer.

“i’d be crazy not to.”

346 notes · View notes

moondustaeil · 4 years ago

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anoetic ❧ kim doyoung

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ✧☾.·:·. anoetic

⠀ ⠀⠀ about

⋅ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ : breakup au ; exes to ... ; fluff , angst , suggestive

⋅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ : soloist!Doyoung x reader , composer!Taeyong , soloist!Taeil

⋅ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ : 15k

⋅ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ : numbered parts are current events , unnumbered parts titled as “summer sun” are flashbacks , alcoholism , suggestive content , guilt-shaming , hidden but exposed relationship , idol-dating drama , arguments , jealousy , inappropriate language , ...

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀ ⠀⠀ synopsis

⋅ The record is new, the songs that play old and the message overdue. Kim Doyoung, once your summer sun, now an empty silhouette draped in noirceur in your apartment. You’re his remedy.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀ ⠀⠀ part of

⋅ the neo-summer collab, hosted by @neo-cult-ure . With a chosen summer-titled song we write a fic about a chosen member: my song is “Summer sun” by Hooverphonic.

❧ ᴏɴᴇ : "ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴀᴄᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ." ☙

The clock-like ticking of the direction indicator resounds over the song that is playing on the car radio. It is one of the love songs that Doyoung tends to play. It’s not as lyrical as his own songs due to the repeated "baby, baby," in the intro, but he still enjoys listening to the hidden sentiment in the singer’s voice. He takes the turn rightwards and turns off his indicator as soon as the turn has been made. After doing so, he places both hands on the steering wheel as he drives into the street.

The new street welcomes him almost like he's never seen it before. The street is far from unfamiliar to his eyes though. Aside from the doubled amount of cars that drive on the other lane and the modernised apartments, things look exactly the same.

He cocks his head to the side to be able to have a broader view of things he shouldn't be looking at. Something that a lot of drivers habitually do. Just like those drivers, Doyoung sets his eyes on the different buildings and white clouds that slowly move in the same direction as the car.

Almost too distraught by the outside world, he forgets the purpose of driving in this street. Until. The apartment building where you live comes in his eye-sight, he doesn't even need to cock his head to the side to be able to see the window that belongs to your exact apartment.

Something that could resemble a smile starts to form on his lips but he parts his lips to not give in to the temptations of the shown emotion. As much as he wants to smile, there is no objective meaning to do so yet as happiness has not made its introduction in today's events.

The first available parking lot is taken up by his car, neatly parking between the white rectangular lines as he learned at his driving classes ages ago. He isn't someone who bought his licence in a pack of cereal, something that apparently happened a very long time ago, but that might only be something old people say to clarify how easy it used to be in the past. After checking each possible mirror, he turns off the motor of his vehicle.

His silver Porsche 911 Carrera S gladly forces itself to listen to the given instructions. The overly-expensive car provided Doyoung with comfort and support during the entire ride, but Doyoung is glad that soon he will be able to get out of the car and stretch his legs. Momentarily, he leans back against the leather seat to release the tensed feeling in his shoulderblades but soon realises it won't ease the nerves that he's feeling and does the opposite of sitting in a relaxed position. He hovers forward as one of his arms lays over the steering wheel. With the other, he fishes out a piece of jewellery from his pocket. On his left hand, he places a real silver ring on his pinky. A strange action compared to what most people would do in this situation.

Not until a couple of minutes after he gets out of the car, he finally collects the courage to walk up to the familiar apartment complex. But the moment he does, he can only stand in front of the common front door like someone is willing to open it before he rings the bell. To the right, his eyes endlessly read over the many names of those who have their homes in the complex. On purpose, he reads foreign names slower even though he can read them as well as he can read the ones written in Korean. He avoids the first syllable of your name: no matter if it says your name or not, for now, he opts to move on to the following names.

What now? His slow reading didn’t help him any further. In the end, he has no other option but to leave or search for your name between the many tags and ring the bell. Before he even starts with his mission, he sighs because he knows he doesn't need to search for your name on the white-coloured tags.

A lump of unstable breathing leaves his lips as he presses his index finger to the black buzzer. That action only happens after he makes sure to move further away from the camera and microphone. You probably wouldn’t open the door or even answer if you found out it was him. The buzzer starts chanting its ringtone, a sound that makes Doyoung’s heartbeat accelerate. It seems like he might have a heart attack the moment the buzzing is replaced by your voice.

With the multiple second-lasting buzzes, Doyoung freezes in his current spot. Not because he's cold without coat covering his shoulders but because many what if's start to form scenarios in his mind. What if you don't open the door because you don't live here anymore? What if you don't open the door because you are in bed with somebody new?

The first scenario can be nullified as your name still was on the little white tag, still typed in the same font as before which meant that nothing apparently changed. It gives him hope that the second scenario is as much made up out of fiction as the first one.

"Hello?" Your voice interrupts the scenarios completely, they disappear like they never were possibilities in the first place. "Who is it?" you ask again when you don't get a proper response. You don't hear a voice responding to you, neither do you see anyone, not one glimpse that reveals someone is waiting for you to open up the door.

The tone of your voice makes Doyoung cover his mouth with one of his hands: the words don't mean anything to him but hearing your voice after such a long time shoots a bullet of sentiment to his heart. It's not an effortless task for him to stay silent while you are speaking, because even when he covers his mouth with his hand, he's obligated to purse his lips invisibly.

Wordlessly, Doyoung narrates and tells himself to leave now that he still has the chance to do so. Despite knowing you're there at home, he guesses he won't be fulfilling his goal today. From his pursed lips pushes a sigh before he turns his body away from the door.

The handful of steps form a small staircase together. Doyoung easily skips them by taking one large step until he finds himself on the public walkway. Deep inside, he wants to run towards the car, but his feet don't allow him to go faster than an average walking pace.

"Doyoung!"

Before prohibiting the action to himself, his body turns towards the apartment building. Firstly, his eyes meet the common front door of the complex but his eyes are quick to notice the light movements. He sees them from the corner of his eye and immediately looks up towards the source. Your bedroom window is opened, with you standing in the opening, chanting his name to catch his attention.

His vocal cords are taken away by speechlessness. His right hand is quick to solve the problem by allowing his index finger to point towards his silver-coloured vehicle. The hand that was in his pocket is used to unlock the doors. Momentarily, he disappears on the passenger's side of the car.

The empty-handed arrival is reversed when he appears in front of the camera. In his hand is a collection of bundled wildflowers, which he tightly grips between his clenched fist. The grip never loosens, not even when he needs to hold the railing in order to safely get up the stairs.

Each step he takes seems to resemble a memory of the times he had walked these steps. The revisited memories don't tire him out despite the long time he stands still for them. Step one reminds him of the first time that he came here on his own because you granted him a key. The step in the middle that separates one floor from the other reminds him of the tiring sighs that left his lips after long workdays. The last step reminds him of the last time he walked down from them after the breakup. One by one, heavy steps and the ones he was taking now didn't vary much in weight.

Two steps. One step.

As soon as he wants to step on the unchanging floor, he almost stumbles over his clumsy feet when the door of your apartment opens. There is still a chain that separates the door from completely opening but after re-opening your door, he can fully see you in front of him.

Almost ceremonially, he holds out the flowers towards you. You're too far away to grasp the little bouquet of nature between your fingers and even after five more tiny steps, when he's right in front of you, your fingers still don't reach out for them.

"Come in," you tell Doyoung without greeting him first, your door opening as wide as it can to let in the person that you used to unofficially share this place with. Your body doesn't completely turn as you keep on checking whether Doyoung actually follows you inside, instead of trying to flee like he did when he was outside. This time Doyoung's feet allow him to follow you inside the apartment, the only time his feet halt is when he takes off his shoes in the hallway and neatly places them on the provided rack.

Your feet stop in the living room as you expect to sit there together with him rather than an inconvenient spot such as your bedroom the kitchen, not that they were untried places, but the progressive situation caused them to become inconvenient over time.

"I brought these," Doyoung says but not until after he once again holds out the little bouquet of flowers towards you, he almost didn't say anything but noticed how you didn't seem to get the hint of having to take the flowers from his hand. You look down at his hands to see what he is holding before you focus on his face again, trying to decipher the unreadable expression.

Without sharing a response, you take the bouquet from his hand and hold them between your lightly-clenched fist instead. "Thank you," you say with a small nod out of discomfort and awkwardness even though you're grateful for the little bouquet. Whether he came empty-handed or not wouldn't have mattered to you at all, perhaps him not coming at all wouldn't have mattered either. "I will put these in a vase and get you a drink. What would you like to drink?" you ask.

"Just some water," you hear Doyoung say right before you can disappear into your kitchen. Thinking you knew what he wanted to drink, you already took the steps towards the other room. Water was his standard drink: not too cold so that it wouldn't damage his vocal cords and not too warm so that he wouldn't feel nauseous. Although you expected him to say water, another drink momentarily seemed an option but you'd rather not think about that too much.

Silence fills the apartment as each of you are in a different room right now: you're in the kitchen looking for a vase and pouring Doyoung his drink while Doyoung is in the living room and can only silently look at everything. Time seems to go by slowly but you blame it on yourself for stretching some time as you are too busy mouthing possible conversation-starters to yourself. After all, appearing stupidly inarticulate in front of your ex-lover wasn't something you want to take place.

In two turns you take the objects towards the common room: first the vase with wildflowers that are placed in the middle of the table, setting you and Doyoung apart with the decoration, after that you place two glasses of water on each side of the table.

"Thanks," Doyoung says once the glass of water is placed in front of him. His hand wraps around the glass, shoving it slightly towards the end of the table. As much as he wants to gulp it down so that he doesn't need to speak for a few seconds, his fingertips can only trace over the thin ribbles of the glass without lifting it to his lips to drink.

Over the bouquet of flowers, he can see you sitting on the other side of the table but lowers his eyes to the flowers instead of continuing to look at you. He fails to notice how you look at him for a short amount of time: starting at his hair before your eyes undergo the transition from his face towards his upper body. He still looks the same as he does in the pictures that you've kept and the memories in your heart.

Doyoung looks away from the flowers, perhaps due to the visual attention even though he doesn't realise that you were looking. Firstly, he looks towards the white walls that seem the same as they were long ago even though some patches are discoloured from the sunlight that shines in on a summer day. Next, his eyes follow the individual pieces of furniture that fill the room, one by one even though some of them form a set together. Almost like a matching lingerie set, but less sexy and more personality-revealing, but why did he even make that comparison?

"You look good."

Faster than ever before, Doyoung's head turns towards you. His eyes shifting to you after you say the words and he silently hopes you were still eyeing him, but unfortunately, your head is hung low and your eyes turned away from him. Your gaze fixated on the half-empty or half-full glass of water in front of you.

Doyoung loves the remedy of sound and the remedy of silence. Truly, it doesn't cure what is going on but it's like a placebo that gives him the feeling that things are brightening up. Perhaps rather than a remedy, he still feels stunned by the words you said and he takes them a little bit too much to heart. Hopefulness fills his heart, unneeded.

"But the hair is still stupid," you seriously add. There is no need for you to look at his hair once more before stating the comment, you can clearly recall the many colours of Kim Doyoung. From his pulchritude regular hair colour at the beginning of your relationship to the strawberry pink shade, or from the soft purple locks to an intense blue shade, and up until now where his hair was regularly black. Still, you conclude you don't like the look of his hair and if you can't blame it on the colour, you blame it on the forehead-covering bangs.

The remedy of silence seems Doyoung's accustomed placebo today. He stares at you as you let the continuation of words flow from your lips, and even when you fall silent, he opts to take a second placebo. As he looks at you, the side effects seem to kick in: memories of you and him, a new record filled with old songs.

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜱᴜɴ : "ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ"

"Last year it was a great honour to receive the new artist of the year award. This year, it is another great honour to be here as representer of the same award."

Your pupils are trembling as your anxious eyes are staring at the fully-brightened laptop intensely. Your eyelids urge to cover your irises due to the blinding blue backdrop. Yet, every few seconds, you widely open your eyes because you don’t want to miss Doyoung’s live speech from the award show.

Through the screen, you fail to notice little details about him: either because they are morphed away by full-coverage makeup or because your eyes have no intention to work properly at this hour of the night. Yet, you can imagine those details without having to see them on his face: out of the many people he sees in a day, only you have disclosure of the miniature beauty details.

The microphone is held towards his lips by the host of the show. His own hands are too occupied, holding the award between them to present them to the audience and the camera. He expects you to be watching from home. And he's right when he knows that you stay up until midnight and even past that. You wouldn't miss seeing his performance of his new solo on stage, and surely not the glorious moment where he receives the award.

"This year brought so many powerful new artists, I was on the edge of my seat the whole time," his speech continues with the fake set of words. He looks awfully serious while saying them. A fake smile would have given away how he beforehand knew that he was the one to receive the award. How else would his name be engraved in the little statue-like award already? His fans don't think that far ahead but no one truly does, which is the reason why grand award shows sneak off with so many viewers.

It's something you wouldn't have known either if it wasn't for Doyoung telling you how award shows truly worked. Just like how he told you about idols being each other's friends, but sometimes also being the complete opposite. Whether or not they were actual friends, it didn't change the fact they weren't allowed to talk because their agencies don't agree with such things. For example, Moon Taeil, who like Doyoung is also a great vocalist, but their interactions stay behind the scenes and unposted about. Ignoring one another on stage but behind the scenes, they plan stereotypical artist hangouts in a rented restaurant.

"Doyoung, would you like to thank someone special? Who helped you to achieve this award for the second year in a row?" The host asks Doyoung who momentarily fell quiet after his imitated surprise. Doyoung can only hum as he looks around the stage before his eyes go to the right camera again, something he studied as well so that his eyes don't meet camera number three when he is supposed to look at camera two. "I would like to thank my company for allowing me to bring out the music that I want to show to my fans, with that I also want to thank my fans who hugely supported me not only now but every single day and every step down this path."

You don't feel addressed by his words unlike his many fans do, simply because even if you love his music and voice, you don't classify yourself as a fan. Admitting to being a fan of your boyfriend would be embarrassing and almost would make you sound like one of those fans that possesses of his personal belongings and phone number after sneaking into his hotel room. But you don't possess of those things because you're a "사생팬" or a "sasaeng fan" but because you are his lover, the person that he comes home to almost every night.

"And there is one more person that I want to thank," Doyoung picks up where he left off once again. The words unnecessarily make your heart beat faster out of panic: even if you trust him, there are always chances that things slip out or that he impulsively decides to share details about his personal life. Every fan of him might possibly remember the night he did a live in his bedroom with a packet of condoms on his bedside table and you hidden away in a different room. The start of a set of rumours to which he just admitted that he was someone with sexual needs but that he was being safe, so didn't need any extra criticism from media or fans. "I would like to thank Lee Taeyong, who helped to compose and produce this track!"

A belated sigh escapes from your pursed lips as your head is thrown back towards the white ceiling. Your eyes are closing but unlike before, it's not due to the bright light but in utter relief. Your palpitating heart slowly begins to replace the rapid pulsations by a regular heartbeat, the lack of stable beats causing your heart to skip a few before things become normal again.

Your pursed lips loosen until they begin to part slowly, allowing a soft laugh of disbelief to leave your lips. "Fuck," you mutter with a deep breath that holds back all of the stress that you bottled up in a matter of seconds. As you tilt your head again towards the laptop screen, your eyes automatically open to see the bright colours surrounding your lover. Doyoung bows shortly to the host before he does the same to the people in the crowd, receiving a standing ovation and an endless tune of unmatched claps.

Even you from home, can't help but slowly start clapping both of your hands together. An inaudible applause of pride because even if you knew he would win for over a week, it doesn't stop you from boasting his self-confidence even when he doesn't see it. "Fuck you, Kim Doyoung," you scold silently as you now feel your calm heartbeat again, the shock from earlier escaping through the gaps of the closed windows to flow along with the nightly breeze.

The shining star of the evening disappears from the stage, the previously bright background suddenly wasn't as bright anymore. Artists that follow after Doyoung don't follow your recognition. You're biased by no other than your lover and everyone else seems non-existent in your world. Without an interest in the others, you close your laptop and push it further away from you.

Only your summer sun, Kim Doyoung.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

A black tailored jacket is dropped onto the single leather coated armchair that's specifically standing in the living room for lonely evening reads. The piece of furniture is unseated in so it might as well get accompanied by the expensive piece of clothing that hung over Doyoung's upper body earlier that night.

The blackened screen of the large television reflects Doyoung's full body like a mirror. The reflection reveals his tired silhouette with the help of the only source of light, the table lamp somewhere in the corner. He looks at his own reflection: seeing the white cuffed dress-shirt that stands out rather than the rest of the black-coloured outfit. He turns away from his tired appearance and lunches his body over the low coffee table. The tired expression is replaced by a small smile when his eyes immediately meet the little object he was looking for, his ring. The piece of jewellery is laying on top of some magazines that he starred in or covered on, but only the silver band catches his attention.

Between his thumb and index finger, he holds the ring with a light grip. The glacial material rests between his fingers effortlessly and he can't help but observe its little details. The medium band that is just the right in-between of thick and thin, the black engraved decorations that add meaning to the ring. He tightens the grip on the ring as he slides it around his pinky. Right where it belongs. Habitually, he takes it off before he leaves the apartment for a public appearance. Ceremonially, he puts it on the second he returns home so that he can make his appearance as human and lover. As soon as the ring is found around his finger, he spreads out his fingers. On the side of his hand is a little cut due to a fan that wanted a bit too much attention, but only the ring receives his full attention.

His back straightens painfully but doesn't prevent his shoulders from slumping forward in tiredness. It's a long-term consequence from the many hours he spends away from his comfortable home. Hotel beds aren't quite as comfortable, studio chairs are as stiff as high-school desks, the backseat of the car can be compared to the armchair in the living room. Nothing compares to the remedy of home where he can spend endless hours with you, in comfort.

"You're not coming to bed tonight?"

Despite being able to see your reflection through the black tv-screen, Doyoung turns his body towards the sound of your voice. He can't stop himself from smiling even before he sees you. When you finally come in his eyesight, that smile widens even more. Unconsciously, he adjusts the ring on his pinky with his thumb before dropping his hand next to his body.

"I am," he responds shortly. His sock-clad feet slowly step towards you, creating soundless suspense due to the darkness of the room around the two of you. "I was just taking my ring, you know I don't like not wearing it," he hums out in a softer voice as he gets closer to you.

You take the last step towards him and smile when you see that he has a wide but relieved smile on his lips. "I know, I was just waiting for you to come to bed," you say in a soft voice as you wrap your arms around his body to properly welcome him back home. The embrace starts off light but soon Doyoung tightly wraps you with a layer of thick love his arms tightly holding you in place so that he can decide when there's been given enough love.

"Let me tuck you in then," Doyoung playfully comments to your words but he appreciates that you waited for hours even if you might have drifted off a few times. You laugh silently at the words, slapping your hand over his shirt-covered shoulder before resting your head on the body part. "How many times did you fall asleep during my speech?"

The second laugh you let out is louder than before, mostly because of how well he knows you: after all, no one else would be able to tell you accomplished the unsaid goal of falling asleep during his speeches a few times, and no one would even know you watched award shows. It was obvious that no one would be able to tell, simply because only a handful of people knew about your existence in Doyoung's life. And less than a handful of people knew about Doyoung's existence in your standard life. Just the way it was supposed to be. It's better if you lay low.

"None," you say as you press a few tired kisses to the side of his neck, thanking him for the service as he starts carrying you towards your shared bedroom. From afar it could look like a gesture of love but at this hour, neither of you were in need for intimacy to level up. "I nearly had a heart attack when you started to thank 'someone special'" you quote.

This time it's Doyoung's laugh that vocalises through the apartment hallway, fading out as the two of you get to the living room and separate the two locations by closing the door. "Seems like I can make your heartbeat fast even after such a long time," he proudly states. You are put down on your side of the bed for Doyoung to rid himself of the uncomfortable suit. The formal outfit gets replaced by nothing but his comfortable sweatpants and an oversized black t-shirt.

"Yeah, you're a little shit, that's all I have to say," you declare. While he's changing, you lay your head on the pillow and watch each detailed movement he makes until the moment his body is laid to rest next to yours. "I thought I was your lover!" he protests against your words, trying his best to make it sound like he's not as tired as he truly feels. You know better than that and see through the playful facade, facing your tired boyfriend. "You're my summer sun."

The words are left responseless but they cause a white-coloured cloud of love to dwindle down upon your exhausted bodies. Doyoung presses a delicate kiss to your cheek to wish you a goodnight sleep before his arms once more find themselves around your body.

A symbolic lullaby later, the remedy of the dark takes over. Two exhausted bodies laying in each other's embrace until the late morning calls out for attention.

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜱᴜɴ : "ᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴀʀᴠᴇʟʟᴏᴜꜱ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇꜱ, ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍᴇ"

"Something effable," Doyoung requests. While his fingers are placed on the tile-resembling keyboard keys, your fingers are circled around the poetry book. Today's reading recommendation is no other than Rupi Kaur's "the sun and her flowers." You hum as your damp fingertips caress over the poem on page two hundred sixteen.

The family-related poem wouldn't be seen as effable to your boyfriend, thus your eyes travel to page two hundred seventeen: first over the fine-line illustration of a unibrow before the ode catches your attention. You place the three fingers that separate your thumb from your pinky at the gutter of the book and hold it slightly higher for Doyoung to see. "Effable enough?" You question.

"I will know if you read it to me," Doyoung responds, one hand making its escape from the white keys without leaving his fingerprint. Instead, his fingers meet with the virgin-white fibreglass. Due to the warmth of the water that fills it, the material doesn't seem as cold as it usually does, but it might just be your presence that warms up his body until his fingertips. His fingers halt as he smiles, letting time stop because the sound of your wonderful laugh fills the bathroom.

"Why would I read it to you, you didn't want to join me in the bath so I don't want to read it to you either," you teasingly protest. The book sinking more towards the surface but there's enough distance for the bottom edge to stay unembellished from water. This time it is Doyoung who fills the bathroom with his vocal sounds, just like his songs, his laugh was like a melody even if it made him sputter like an old water faucet. "I had a shower this morning and I promised to send lyrics to Taeil, Jaehyun and Haechan tonight," Doyoung sighs. After coming home, he regrets still having leftover work on his plate.

Due to the self-set deadline of the lyrics, Doyoung is sat on the floor in the bathroom whilst you take a bath. Though for once, work doesn't seem as demanding and he has hope that the lyrics will be a product of the current circumstances. Almost like a scene in a French film, the scenery is aesthetically pleasing: burning candles on the edge of the tub, dimmed lights to set a romantic mood, a book in your hands, and your beauty. Not just beauty as he would call you beautiful: the beauty in your smile, the beauty that rests in your fingertips, the beauty that coats your pure heart. Ensorcell, to enchant or fascinate someone. And yes, your beauty fascinates Kim Doyoung.

"What do I get in return if I read it to you?" You challenge. Everything in life is a give and take, but that doesn't mean you want the unreachable in return for reading a finger-countable-lined piece of poetry. "Some old-story lyrics about you, the cliché kind," Doyoung presents to you as he motions to his right hand that's still placed upon the keyboard. In consideration, you let out a hum "seems like a gift I have received a few times already, don't you have anything better to offer me?"

Unsatisfied by the unsealed deal, Doyoung puts up his thinking face. His facial expression depicted with his eyes that look upwards and his upper teeth that lightly scrape over his lower lip. "What if you just don't write lyrics today? If we go to bed early, you can finish them tomorrow morning," you suggest. It's a tempting offer that Doyoung badly wants to take, he shifts his eyes to you as though his final answer will be written over your cheeks. "That's not fair: your poem is less than half a page long and I have to stop working all night just to listen to it?"

"I stay up all night to listen to your speeches too," you playfully backlash against the words he says. You can't deny that watching him work makes you feel either way proud but also desolated on some moments.

"It's just one evening, summer sun," is all you need to say before Doyoung gives in and gives up his work for tonight. "Only if you'll let me play what I have so far as well," the deal continues before you can seal it with a kiss. Once more: life is a give and take. In agreement, you nod your head.

"Now read me the poem, dearest," before the deal is sealed, Doyoung urges you to read the poem that you've kept hidden under your water-stained hand. You doubt if the page will ever desiccate without the appearance of vein-like crumples. "Here goes something effable."

"Even if they've been separated, they'll end up together. You can't keep lovers apart, no matter how much I pluck and pull them. My eyebrows always find their way back to each other." You read out almost ceremonially even if it gets hard not to burst out laughing at the unexpected twist of the poetry. After reading the short lines, you close the book and toss it towards the floor. "That was your effable poem."

Among the numerous variations in Doyoung's laugh, there is a serious style issue in the "haha," that sarcastically leaves his lips. Yet, after the sarcastic and almost spoken laugh, a roar of laughter escapes his mouth.

You turn your body sideways slightly to look at your summer sun, unable to stop the upturn of the corners of your mouth when you see him laugh. The way he uses not only his mouth but also his cheeks and eyes to laugh makes it only more genuine and dazzling. Your hand reaches for his that is still rested on the edge of the tub, intertwining your fingers during the moment of exuberance.

The laughter slowly fades out after floating like a cloud in the sky, tranquillity slowly dawning over the room like morning dew on roses. Doyoung's gentle fingerpads stroke over the back of your hand lightly, ignoring the hindering from his dry skin that tries to smooth your wet one. "Do you want me to listen to your song now?" you ask Doyoung, leaning down to press an emotive kiss to his hand.

"I thought you wanted an evening without work-related things?" Doyoung questions as he looks towards you, his free hand moving to remove the keyboard from his lifted knees. A quick reflex of your hand causes it to land on the keyboard to hold it into place "No, I would like to hear what you wrote so far, if not, just play me the tune."

"My beloved, y/n. I'm not going to play it yet, you were right and I want to spend an evening alone with you, without my music."

As much as it pretty much breaks the deal you never managed to seal with a kiss, you nod your head in consensus. One out of three hundred sixty-five nights in a year isn't a lot, especially not when it is about Doyoung not working on his musical career. That one night of not working won't make his agency withhold a day's worth of money.

"Hm, I like the sound of that," you admit to him. Your hand finds his again in a gentle embrace, once more intertwining your fingertips for everlasting contact. "As do I," he responds with a soft smile, lightly tugging at your wrist to draw you closer to him. Halfway the small margin your lips meet for a kiss.

His lips felt soft against your mouth, the numbing feeling only making the sincerely intimate kiss more addictive. A war of tugging is created when your hand tugs at his to slender the distance between the two of you, causing his yet dry hand to sink into the warm water together with yours. As the kiss continues, your fingertips explore one another in the pool of wetness: whilst your thumb and index finger find the silver band around his pinky, his thumb and index finger messily measure your ring finger.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

The white fluffed bedding resembles what you imagine that it would look like in heaven: an unexisting property with nothing but softness and white-coloured ornaments scattered around messily. Yet, there is something that distinguishes heaven from your bedroom: in heaven, you hope to lie on a mellow white-cloud instead of the wooden floor of your shared bedroom.

If you were to associate white with some self-chosen words or feelings, you'd associate it with: peace, cleansing, calm, protection, peace, and of course purity. And if you were to associate your summer sun with a colour: it would be lilac. Doyoung endlessly reminds you of strongly-scented lavender against white bricks, the colour of an aesthetically pleasing sky, a brown-paper wrapped bouquet of lilac and white coloured wildflowers. You don't bother finding out which colour you are, for Doyoung, you'd be any hue from the Pantone colour book.

The pad of your index finger strokes over Doyoung's spine, caressing the heated skin delicately. The idiomatic expression "sending shivers down someone's spine," would be of excellent use in this situation as Doyoung's back arches momentarily at your small gesture.

Doyoung turns his head towards you, a soft smile displaying on his lips as he sees you in nothing but purity. Even though his lips are slightly parted from one another, no words fall from them like a waterfall. You prop up your body on your left elbow, allowing another body part of yours to go numb just as every part of the left half of your body. The numb tingles equal painlessness even though your bones only age by laying on the hard wooden floor.

"Do you think we will be like the unibrow from the poem?" Doyoung asks you, grasping your hand that was on his back before you manage to lay it to rest at your side. He intertwines your fingers for what seems like the first time, even though the time your fingers have been separated from one another is shorter than the time they've been symbolically glued together. "What do you mean?" you ask.

Your thumb endlessly rotates over the knuckle of his index finger, applying the slightest bit of pressure which barely makes it feel like the touch of a feather, so light. But the circular movent pauses when you hear the question. Which unibrow?

"The poem from the book you were reading earlier," Doyoung says in a softer tone, adoring the way you look confused even though you had been the one reading the poetry to him, so you better than anyone, should know what had been fonted down on the page. "Even if they've been separated, they'll end up together," Doyoung quotes faultlessly.

"Ah." You calmly breathe out as the memories come to your visual memory: not only the illustration underneath the poem but also the expression on Doyoung's face as you read the second half of the poem. Due to his quotation and the return of the memories, you forget the initial question he asked.

He leans closer to you as he sees the reflection of himself disappearing into your eyes, the universe forgotten by the termination of time. You find yourself in the midsts of the spinning earth but barely realise you stand still in the centre.

"Did you hear my question?" the warm breath dampens your face before you progress the words. His face is close enough to yours to make use of his five senses: your natural scent, the minuscule facial details, the almost peachy-soft skin of your cheeks, your calmed breathing pattern. "Hm?" you hum out silently.

"Do you think we will be like the unibrow of the poetry book?" Doyoung is obligated to question once more since you had been too lost in your lover's memory lane to hear it. This time you almost snort at the words, but it sounds more like an inward laugh. Unibrow still is an unusual word, especially knowing Doyoung is referring to the first two lines where lovers are the subject of affection rather than the hairs that grow above your eyes.

"Do you mean that we will always end up together despite being separated?" You ask in return although you're sure that's exactly what he means. Your already confirmed question just gets extra validation when Doyoung nods his head "that you can keep lovers apart," he finishes the next line of the poem with different wordings but effortlessly puts the same meaning into them.

Unibrow.

"I think no matter how much people pluck, it won't stop us from blooming towards one another," you state in a soft voice. Your finger motions seem to resemble a pair of scissors, cutting off the blooming flowers which you'd like to name Doyoung and y/n. Cutting the flowers with the unmechanical pair of scissors is something you don't plan on doing, thinking about it already makes some petals wither.

Though as you imagined earlier, Doyoung is like lilac lavender, which doesn't let its petals wither, unlike the flower that you are. Seemingly an omen but you don't let the ode write its lyrical ending for your relationship yet.

"Will I still be your summer sun in Winter?" the endless questionnaire of Doyoung drags on longer than needed. Presumably, because Doyoung wants to hear your exclamation of love and affection but the effect is reversed. The questions only effectuate insecurity and mayhaps sadness. In response, you simply hum to brush off the subject.

You love Kim Dongyoung. Your one and only summer sun: distanced by the high sky but close enough to shine his rays down upon your existence. No matter where you go in life: the sun will be there, even if each night it would die for the moon, it was out of love. Whether you walked between the bright-coloured scenery in the park or sat in your leather reading-armchair with the curtains closed. The sun was always present.

A cloud. You sigh. Symbolical to the wind that allows the cloud to float in front of the sun. You are a cloud.

The made comparisons are endless. Panic rises from the pit in your stomach, all the way towards your awaiting heart. Heartsickness goes along the agony of mind, and you can't help but isolate the thoughts from your summer sun. Your face glows as you smile affectionately at Doyoung and your fingertips go along the circle of life again by stroking over the back of his hand.

"You'll be my summer sun, for an eviternity,"

❧ ᴛᴡᴏ : "ɪ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴀ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ" ☙

A new record filled with old songs.

The record malfunctions. Merely halfway through one of Doyoung's favourite love stories, it starts to falter. The remaining memory-filled lyrics don't sound the same. The distortion makes it sound unpleasant.

The last audible lyric replays itself until the message is overdue: "you'll be my summer sun, for an eviternity."

The timeless music and unforgettable lyrics get replaced by memories that grow vague over time. One of the reasons why Doyoung prefers to recall memories like they are love songs: he can buy new records endlessly, no matter how old the songs are. Lyrics stay the same, memories change.

If memories were comparable, he'd compare them to the cover art of a record. The lyrics and music are the most essential but cover art can't be ignored. On good days, he can adjust the brightness. On bad days, he completely drags down the saturation until there's nothing but a monochrome illustration left.

On the cover art are never-changing elements: a shining sun, grey-ish clouds, a white wall, lilac-coloured lavender. They all play the starring role, no matter the filter that coats them. Those four reoccurring elements remind him of you, and the relationship.

The music is discontinued when he hears a voice interrupting another replay of the lyric. Even if the music is gone, he doesn't hear what the voice is trying to say. It's only one word, brought to his ears in a worried tone.

On the other side of the table, you are the person that calls out his name endlessly. Almost a handful of times that you tried to reach him in the past minutes, and even though he's opposite of you, he seems far away. Far from reality and in his own universe.

You can see it in the unfocused eyes. The brown irises seem to be staring at you without actually seeing you. It's one of the few signals that he is only present in his own world: a world that you don't see, but surely are a part of even though you aren't aware of it. Seeing him like that worries you, you can't even wonder about the images that layer in front of his sight.

"Doyoung," you call out his name once more. You have no other option but to chant his name until he returns back to the real world. It's not the first time to see Doyoung like this, something that you could label as unfortunately or fortunately. Which of the two options it is and which memories are connected to it, are things that you hold yourself back from. You would rather not let those things haunt your mind.

The effect of your chant is that lifeless human Doyoung finally makes the slightest movement. His head stiffly tilts to the side, the movement of his neck seems unnatural and painful. Yet, he doesn't show any signs of discomfort: his lips are pursed into a tight line, and his unfocused eyes are still aimed at you.

You sigh deeply at the barely visible change. "Doyoung!" You chant louder. You bet it's loud enough for the apartment next to yours to complain by banging on the walls, but luckily the hardworking couple from next door isn't home to show their protests.

Your loud exclamation seems to put a halt on Doyoung's reverie. It's not noticeable until his eyes seem to drift away from their aiming point for the first time in minutes. The imprecise staring transitions to exploring eyes before he targets them on you. He hums, which is barely audible as the haze had its effect on his vocal cords. The remains still glue onto him.

"You were daydreaming," you mention without him questioning about it. You took the hum as a sign that he was slowly getting ready to speak, and you're too uncomfortable to let the silence last much longer. "Oh," he shortly responds to your words. Though it doesn't make him realise why you called out his name, or whether it was actually you. He feels betrayed by himself and it seems like no one is willing to tell him the truth.

With a grunt out of discomfort, he moves his hand away from the glass of water. His fingertips are painfully sore from the endless twitching between the ribbles of the glass. His hand moves to his face, rubbing the haze from his facial features. Yet, the haze is like a layer of primer that seeps into his pores. Whether or not it's noticeable, it's still present, hidden behind a new layer.

Doyoung's word of realisation causes silence to fill the room once more. It's not a word that you have a response to, and you don't want to ask your ex-lover about the contents of his daydream. But you can't turn the daydream into an excuse for not saying anything, still, it's what you opt to do.

Your eyes leave the visage of the black silhouette on the other side of the table. You cast them towards the wildflowers that you've been gifted by the person behind the silhouette. When you don't look at him, he looks at you. Doyoung maintains the one-sided eye contact with you. His eyes observing you in silence, trying to find melancholy in your body language.

Melancholy. The defined emotion that he looks for in your body language surprises him, but his expressionless face won't show the self-surprise. Millions of questions could tell him the answer to how you feel, but he doesn't ask any of them. He simply longs to see melancholy and spoken words won't satisfy the lust.

The way you avoid eye-contact could be a first signal of melancholy. Your silence could be the second. The monochrome but mollitious furniture could be third on the list of signals. Whether or not they are actually symptoms, Doyoung makes himself believe that they are. Just like he makes himself believe that you want him back.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

"How have you been?"

Doyoung's question is like an excerpt from a slow-burn book that you will never read. Like the cliché line from a romantic film where the characters end their relationship halfway through but still end up together before the closing credits. But this isn't a slow-burn book or a cliché film. If anything: the closing credits of your relationship have been shown, the last page has been turned and the screen has gone black.

"How have I been?" You question as you look up from your own glass of water, but you still cast your eyes far away from Doyoung's so that you don't have to look into them. Doyoung's eyes tears from your face the moment your head moves, whether you plan to look at him or not. When he looks at you, you don't look at him. When you look at him, he doesn't look at you. Now that is a cliché, seen in films where people are forbidden to love one another. Perhaps you've both forbidden yourselves even though you try to look for love in the other's visage.

Doyoung hums lowly at your question "how you've been," he repeats his words. You wish your question would have given you some time, but the few extra seconds don't automatically form an answer. You should have been prepared for a question like that, but Doyoung coming over unannounced left you unprepared for everything. Even for a simple question like that, ex-lovers needed preparation. If there was an ex-lover who didn't need time for that question, it was because they were genuinely happy or able to brag. It's the type of question you answer with an untrue story and a fake smile. But how can you tell a story so untrue without a fakely realistic plot?

"I could tell how I've been first, if you want me to," Doyoung desperately suggests. You wish he would tell you that you didn't need to answer his question if you didn't want to. But instead, Doyoung who seems desperate to speak decided to take over from you before you made a blunder.

You simply nod. Despite realising that you don't want to lie, you allow Doyoung to go first. The sudden realisation of not wanting to lie is built up out of the reality that you should be scolding him for showing up unannounced, so he probably had more to tell you than you had to tell him. And the desperation in his voice almost indicated that he had an entire storybook ready to read. But nothing was less true than that.

"I've been good," are the only words that leave his lips. Not even sixty seconds later, you conclude that it's the only thing he has to say. The waterfall of words you expected, doesn't flow out. His lips are pursed into a stiff line to hold himself from saying anything more.

You want to scoff at his short sentence, one that isn't even long enough to start a chapter with. Yet, you keep your manners and just nod as a sign you accept the words. "You've been good?" You ask him for a continuation without using those defined words, but Doyoung avoids the hint and just nods his head.

Doyoung lowers his eyes towards his lap. Under the small table and on his lap, his two hands come together. His fingertips nervously fumble with one of his treasured objects, his ring. The silver band that belonged on his pinky, moves from finger to finger until it's between his thumb and index finger. Brown eyes follow the movements of the ring and the remains of the coldness as it moves to another finger.

"Have you sold out your voice?"

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜱᴜɴ : "ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪᴄᴋ ᴡᴀʟʟ ɴᴀᴍᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜᴇꜱ ᴍᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ"

Sextilis.

The original name of the last summer month. A name given by the Roman calendars before the months January and February originated. Later Sextilis was renamed Augustus to honour the first emperor of Rome, Caesar Augustus.

What August weather typically looks like is hard to define. But at a glance, it's noticeable that hurricane activity increases, average temperatures turn cooler, and the length of daylight decreases. On rare occasions, early-August snow makes its appearance, and that fact can ring a bell to the childhood film: Nanny McPhee.

00 : 34 : 50 there'll be snow in August before that one's there when you need her

It doesn't snow. But it's August. And the timestamp of the film implies what time it was when Doyoung made his appearance in your shared apartment last night. Now, a little over eleven hours later, Doyoung is found on his soft blanket. His exhausted body wrapped in the white sheets like it's a layer of snow that covers the ground.

Whilst Doyoung finds himself asleep in a bed of snow-coloured sheets and pillows, you find yourself walking through the increased hurricane-like emotions. Your facial expression is as dark as the skies before a hurricane, yet, it's the calm before the storm.

You are still kind enough to prepare breakfast for your summer sun. On the tray you prepared is the one thing he needs the most, and the things he will dismiss. Toast neatly placed on a white plate, a Dafalgan that is effervescing in a half-empty glass of water, the silver band that connects him to you. The filled tray is what you hold in your hands when you go to the bedroom, stopping you from starting a rant the moment you walk in.

At first glance, your eyes see Doyoung peacefully asleep between empty bed-space, right in the middle like he's taking the throne. He looks like a God. Turn it around and you have Dog, which is exactly what his late-night disappearances imply. What he does at night is unknown to you. And when you reek the swallowed liquor on his tastebuds, you don't even want to know.

"Doyoung, it's past eleven." You announce. Your voice is soft, quiet before the volume increases with each time that you need to repeat the words. You don't know why you don't immediately start shouting out his name. You can almost compare it to a teacher who willingly explains the same chemical formula over and over again. Until the chemical substances provoke a chemical reaction.

Doyoung can only hum tiredly in response. He's lost in the tunnel of sleep and your voice is a little bit too far away. He's not even prepared to see the daylight, even though he knows he has to. "What time is it?" he asks.

"Past eleven. Almost noon," you address. It takes a glance at the alarm clock for you to see what time it exactly is, but Doyoung is too tired to hear the one-minute intervals. So you shorten your words enough for him to understand.

Your footsteps exceed the line that separates the bedroom from the hallway. The wooden floor is incognito from the many expensive pieces of clothes that are scattered along. It looks messy and yet the clothes are patterned towards the bed. You take the same route as the clothes lead you in, stepping over them as there is barely room for your feet to stand on the wood.

After stepping on at least two different clothing items, you reach Doyoung's side of the bed. "I brought you breakfast," you comment. Your hand pulls from the tray, trying to shove some meaningless items from the bedside table so that you can place the tray on it. That way, an empty wine bottle and some notebooks fall to the floor and the tray takes their place.

"Didn't you say it's almost noon?" Doyoung mumbles. He turns his worn-off body on his side to face the bedside table or you, but his eyes are still tightly pressed shut. At least his brain seems to connect the dots between you bringing breakfast but telling him it's almost noon.

You hum. "It is. Only nine minutes before it's noon," you say. Part of you feels happy that Doyoung is capable of using his brain, but the other half just wishes that this situation wouldn't exist. It's far from uncommon, a little too common, something that happens too often. Even though you don't know if the unknown events are similar to the others, the morning after is a replay of an old song.

"Then why are you bringing me breakfast?" Finally, his words start making sense, but you hoped for words that made you feel like you received a bouquet of flowers. Some gratefulness for nearly serving Doyoung would be appreciated, even if it only was a mumbled: "thank you,". It could be effortlessly said compared to something that sounded like what you did wasn't enough. "Because it's not noon yet."

"Bullshit," Doyoung objects to your previous words. At least he knows it's bullshit but on the other hand, he would be fuming if the actual reason slips past your lips. "You can eat toast as lunch too, you don't need to eat beef daily, Dongyoung," you say in a gentle tone. Still, the way his real name is mentioned, makes it sound more strict and serious.

"Why? Why are you feeding me lies?"

Doyoung's bare body feels hot against the snow-coloured sheets, his blood boiling out of anger or because of the liquor remains in his blood. His brown eyes are opened and intensely staring into yours. He demands an answer. An honest answer that can make his blood boil even more. It almost appears like he is purposely trying to make you say hurtful words. If he gets hurt by them, he has the chance to take off his stress on you by anger. Or so, it seems.

"You got drunk. If you eat lunch now, you'll throw up and I will be the one to clean it all up!" You say, your voice increasing as you speak. Yet, you still sound relatively calm. Like earlier: you're like the substances that eventually provoke a chemical reaction. The toxic level of concern is greater than a small number and lower than a high number. Yet to increase.

"That's not what I'm asking," Doyoung states. He sits up on the bed, grasping every piece of clothing that has been thrown close to his side of the bed last night. Unfortunately for him, his socks are the last piece of clothing he took off. His dress-shirt is near the door, where he had almost torn it off. "I'm asking you why you're lying to me."

Out of annoyance, you press your fist down upon your thumb until you hear the sound. A sound that is heard when people crack their hands before a fight. A physical fight that you're not going to have. But it has the same effect on you. Even if you want to slap him across the face, you don't. Your fights are fought with harsh words, threats to break promises and eventual silence.

"I lied about the breakfast because I didn't want to fight. I don't like fighting with you but you apparently do! All you do is nitpick, closely observe everything so that you can point out my mistakes and then use them against me."

Ah, those words. The rant that had been stuck in your throat for days. The rant you hadn't coughed up because you weren't sure if medicine could cure the cold that followed. The consequences were unpredictable, just as unpredictable as to when the symptoms would finally turn into the sickness. Today, you coughed it up.

"I go out so much so that I don't have to be around you so much."

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

"Is that truly what you think of me?" You question Doyoung. The room is empty but you still dedicate the words to your summer sun. He made his appearance without showing his silhouette. Exposure by the folded tray that rests against the kitchen tiles and the tableware laid to wash in the sink.

Unlike the high notes that he sings, his footsteps had been so low and almost inaudible. It leaves you in the dark as you don't know how long it's been since he dropped his breakfast utilities in the kitchen. Perhaps it's your fault for not hearing him. Out of anger, you refused to acknowledge his presence and focused on 'me-time'.

Stood against the kitchen counter, you realise he's been there when you failed to notice. The mess he leaves is something that typifies the Doyoung you recently got to know. You try not to think of the evolution, because it could have been you who changed. You try to ignore your initial basic-need for water and opt to clean up the mess. It's not something you do out of love, but you still do it.

"What?" Doyoung's confused voice chimes in. His low-sounding footsteps make an appearance, starting at the bedroom door but they move towards the kitchen. The footsteps halt at the doorframe, where he stands at a safe distance. Ready to either converse or flee when the argument ignites. "You mean what I said earlier?"

"That you go out so much so that you don't have to come home to me," you paraphrase the words. It nearly feels like you are saying the words to Doyoung rather than quoting what he said to you earlier. After saying the words, you swallow the bitter feeling down with saliva.

"Oh, that," is the first response you receive back. Because you're so busy to get the symbolical bitter feeling off of the tip of your tongue, you don't hear the dry words that leave his lips. "I had a tough day and took it out on you, I'm sorry," he excuses himself. Doyoung is a storyteller, but you willingly take the words. Perhaps this is the one matter you do out of love.

You nod. You have no affair with tough days but fall for the temptation of an apology. "Sorry for saying those things," Doyoung apologises again before you have the chance to ask more questions. Not that you have many, just one: 'why?'

"Just know that I didn't mean anything I said, you have to trust me there," he adds. The more words he adds to the explanation, the fewer questions that remain for you to ask. Though it's known that liars generously overshare details, but you're not focussed on the convoluted sentence structure within the shared details.

Your head lightly moves up and down in a nodding motion, responding to his words. Even though a lie usually is told one-way, Doyoung still feels the need to hear a clear response from your mouth. "y/n, answer me. Do you trust me?"

There is a one-second gap between Doyoung's question and your answer. Something that could be seen as hesitation, but you hope Doyoung doesn't dig that far into details. "I trust you," you answer his demand after the slow-passing second.

Speedingly slow, Doyoung's footsteps approach you. Time doesn't consist out of seconds, it seems like footsteps replace the ticking instead. The preventive safe di

So fast, yet, so slow. Doyoung's footsteps approach you. Time no longer consist out of ticking seconds, replaced by the sound of Doyoung's footsteps. The preventive safe distance decreases with each step he takes towards you, each hesitating yet straightforward step. You swallow thickly as you anticipate his arrival. One step. Two steps. Three steps. Four steps.

Unexpectedly, a pair of hands brush over your shoulders. Even if you anticipated the arrival of Doyoung, the sudden touch makes you raise your shoulders quickly. "It's just me," Doyoung states. His fingertips slowly start kneading your tense shoulders until your shoulders give in. With your shoulders hunched forward, you also let your head hang momentarily. The weight of the fight is lifted off of your shoulders, but not after a numbing fall.

August snow. Right now, it's rain, it seems.

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜱᴜɴ : "ɪ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴅᴜᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʜɪɢʜ ᴡᴀʟʟ ɴᴀᴍᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ"

Doyoung draws your attention to him with his eyes. Your own eyes ignore the reflection of the room in his eyes so that you can focus on what he's trying to tell you. You are able to decode the wordless message and translate the eye-contact into words: he wants you to follow him. As a response, you nod your head, not breaking the eye-contact.

As Doyoung walks past the circle of people and up the first few steps of the staircase, you do too in relay. You follow approximately four steps after him: enough for people to not suspect a thing, enough for you to continuously see his moving silhouette. Because you don't lose sight of him, it's easy to follow without having to check different possible directions.

In Doyoung's shadow, you shine. Taeyong's eyes fall on your distanced silhouette momentarily, not breaking the one-sided eye contact until you're out of sight. His eyes lower again and his body turns to his friend and fellow musician, Moon Taeil. "Do you know where y/n went?" He inquires. Taeil, who had been following almost every movement out of boredom, shakes his head. "Perhaps the bathroom, I thought she said something along the lines of that."

The subject "Doyoung," is one Taeyong doesn't ask questions about. First of all, because he hadn't seen Doyoung leaving the party behind. Second, because he wasn't suspicious or curious about his friend's whereabouts.

Stuffed far away in a corner, a place where Taeyong's eyes don't reach, are you and Doyoung. Doyoung arrives first and is casually leaning against the wall until your four-steps gap has been closed. Hearing your light footsteps, Doyoung silently counts the seconds until you come in his sight. His mouth not opening until all steps have been taken.

"Why did I have to come here?" You ask. Your voice is loud and clear, despite the music that almost interrupts you with each word that leaves your lips. A party is not a good place for a talk, but you're as far away from the music as you can, just as far as you are from humanity. Though, your summer sun is also human. "Is something wrong?"

Doyoung shakes his head. He responds to the latter question first, simply because he knows that you get nervous if you wouldn't get an answer to the question. "Don't worry, nothing is wrong," he says in a calming tone, but adjusts his volume halfway through the sentence. His calming voice isn't audible over the music.

"Then why are we here?"

Your curiosity provokes Doyoung to let out a small chuckle. You see the chuckle falling from his lips by the way his lip corners are tugged upwards and the change in his eyes. Though the sound itself is inaudible even if you can imagine what it would sound like. "I just wanted you to come here for a bit," he explains loudly over the sound of the music. "I haven't even been able to lay eyes on you for the past hours, let alone hold your hand."

You smile. Despite the voice not sounding so gentle, you know he means it. It's all due to the music that the words and the hue of them don't match as they should. "You want some alone-time?" You question. Doyoung greedily nods in response to your words, not wasting his vocal cords to just say one simple word.

Before your response is chanted, his arms are found around your engulfed body. One of his hands is resting on your lower back, as is the other until it removes from the mirrored spot towards your waist. Doyoung turns his head back, checking whether someone had found the unlead way to the hidden corner where you were. "Just for a few minutes," he tells you seriously after he turns his head to face you again.

Wordlessly, like before, you use your eyes to answer his question. You're aware that you shouldn't be here. The ring isn't on Doyoung's pinky, almost meaning that you're not his lover until the silver band is found around his finger again. Even though you're not his girlfriend now, you still comply with his words. The hidden thrill.

It's like an aphrodisiac, mixed with Pandora's box effect. For the first, and perhaps last time that evening, his lips contact yours. Sensually-coloured fireworks explode in the form of music, numbing all of your senses but the tingles in the pit of your stomach and the softness of his lips against yours.

The soft kiss is soon changed as Doyoung deepens the kiss. It doesn't take long for you to get used to the fiery aggressiveness of his kisses, after all, you enjoy the reasoning behind those kinds of kisses. His fingertips tighten around your flesh, grabbing your clothed waist until the localised skin discolours lightly due to the applied pressure.

"I don't think we should risk this, Dongyoung," you mumble against his parted lips. Your lips almost melt against his again, the inviting warmth making you shape your lips the same way he does. The mumbles disappear between the unheated gaps of air.

The sensuality boils in the pit of your stomach, rising up to your heart as Doyoung's tongue traces over your lips. Mapping every inch of your lips by tracing along the shape slowly, savouring the taste of liquor combined with the taste of you. Strategic touches went from your clothed waist to your bare waist, his fingertips slipping under the shirt to lightly caress over the skin. "Why?" He asks. As his words echo over the music, his five fingertips now grip onto your bare skin. "Tell me why and I'll stop."

Air leaves your lips as they part a bit more, unshaped for any prepared word or sentence. The shape changes as you try to configure the words that should be used in response. "Because," you start slowly, breathing deeply after the word leaves your lips. Seconds after the first word, the others follow. "I don't want to get caught and get us into trouble."

The words put a halt on the aphrodisiac that had been building up at a rapid pace. Your request can only make Doyoung comply, realising that without either of you knowing, someone could have seen the momentum of love. One last time, Doyoung's lips play with yours in a gentle kiss, a wordless goodbye for the upcoming hours of separation.

"We should continue this later," Doyoung says as he pulls away. His eyes reveal the hunger he feels in the depths of his body, drowning in lust for pleasure and you. When you hum in agreement, his eyes only intensify according to the peaked feelings in his body.

You reach for his hand, gently holding it in yours. The pads of your fingertip circle around each finger until you reach his pinky. Your fingertips don't spiral over the smallest finger, instead, they trace over the spot that would usually carry the silver band. Perhaps you're not his lover tonight, but, …

"Sounds like you should take me to your place, summer sun."

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Doyoung pushes his glass upon the sink, pushing away the skin products that take their limited space there. He barely hears the can with shaving dream falling to the tiled floor, so he surely doesn't hear the plastic pump bottle of handsoap dropping to the floor.

The liquor is like a whirlpool in the glass. It almost spills past the edges but luckily the sea of alcohol slowly calms down after being let go of. Doyoung stares at the amber-coloured liquid, his eyes following the whirlpool until it completely stills within the glass. When it finally stills, his eyes tear away from it.

"Shower," he tells himself quietly. It's more like a self-reminder than a command. Even though the hot water is running, he fails to notice the starting smog in the room, thus forgets that the shower water is already running. His tired limbs start taking off remains of clothing but only one item is removed from his body: his underwear.

When his brain wraps itself around the thought of his underwear, he is capable of thinking back about last night. Simply because his underwear was the last remaining piece of clothing on his skin before a drunken night of pleasure with you. He briefly recalls the flavour of liquor on your lips, even though he was the one to spread that flavour. The feeling of your soft-skinned body against his, even though he treated it far from soft.

As water flows, so do his thoughts. His thoughts are like an uncontrolled stream of water, whilst the shower-head can easily control the flow. It's an endless stream: as shower water continues running, so do his thoughts. The shower is forgotten as he listens to his thoughts and memories, trying to relive them in the order that they happened. Did he see Taeyong flirting with you after he sensually kissed you? Did he kiss you sensually after Taeyong flirted with you?

The relived memories of Teayong bring fog to his mind, clouding all other memories. Out of nowhere, he starts comparing himself to his friend: is Taeyong as wealthy as he is? Does Taeyong have as many songs under his belt as he has? Can Taeyong please someone as he does? Is Teayong as beautiful as he is?

In particular, the last question seems to haunt his mind. It's something he can easily observe by comparing Taeyong's godly-given looks to his own. Just like the artwork "김서림" or "Fogged Mirror" by Uesong Lee, his own mirror above the sink is heavily fogged.

Cloudy. That's what the mirror looks like, and the one word that could describe what the weather was like up in his brain. Memories that he could recall seconds ago are replaced by grey clouds that only provoke him to compare himself to one of his friends.

He tilts his head upwards confidently, the way of being disappearing as fast as it came. His reflection is clouded with fog, almost like the summer sun that gets covered by a thick layer of clouds. Faintly, he can make out the colour of his hair and skin, but not more than those blurry visuals.

With his flat hand, he wipes over the mirror to see a distorted version of himself. The lack of usual scraping sound is what takes his attention, keeping his hand pressed on the reflective glass. He wipes once more, only hearing the almost-squeaking sound rather than the scraping.

His eyes meet the circumjacent parts around his hand. Many scratches left behind on the glass and his hand that seems to smooth over the scratches rather than adding more. His ring. The culprit. His finger is not dressed-up by the silver band, neither is the mirror tortured with a new scratch. Why wasn't it around his finger? After twelve hours of being home with you, the connecting ring still wasn't around his pinky.

"Doyoung, are you almost done?!"

Your voice hides panic but it doesn't stop you from sounding frantic even from the other side of the door. The look on your face is almost predictable, but still at a level that's never seen before. The electronic device is tightly engulfed in your hands, squeezing so hard that your warmth radiates to the device.

"I'm almost done, why?" His voice sounds just as frantic as yours does. His fogged mind now filled with panic after the imagination of you seeing the ring somewhere laying around. If you found out he slept with you without wearing his ring or even spent almost twenty-four hours without ring, you would be mad. Would you?

Both of you swallow thickly at the same time, something inaudible to the person on the other side of the door. "Just come out, Doyoung!" You say louder, angrier. As a response, Doyoung tries his best to clean up the bathroom as fast as he can. The untaken shower is still warm when the water gets turned off, the fallen bottles are brought back to their original spots. And the glass of alcohol is back in Doyoung's left hand.

Out of the hamper, are taken some old clothes that should have gotten washed rather than worn again. But the clothes still find their way around Doyoung's skin, covering up his bare body with his own scent. On the clothes, he can smell alcohol, sweat, his cologne: dirty but nothing unusual. It's the scent of him.

Once dressed and provided with the glass of alcohol, he opens the bathroom door. When you're not standing in front of the door as he expected, his footsteps hunt through the apartment in search for you.

The living room is the place where he looks for you first, and the place where his hunt stops. After eyeing you, his gaze drifts to the ring that is on the coffee table, neatly laying where it usually waits for Doyoung's arrival. Unlike other days, the piece of jewellery looks lonely.

"What's wrong?" Doyoung inquires. Your tense figure provokes him to do the same. His shoulders straight and his finger fumbling with one another, unknowingly he imitates the signs of stress you show.

"You would know if you checked your phone," you announce. Your own phone is tightly clutched between your fingertips and if you unlock it, you'd be faced with the consequences of stupidity. "I will look for my phone," Doyoung offers as his eyes wildly dart around. His phone isn't on the coffee table like his ring is, neither is it laying on the dinner table.

"Just leave it, I'll read it to you instead!" You huff. Are you angry? Or displeased? The many underlying hues in your voice makes Doyoung wonder what emotion it specifically is, and what he should do to result in the concept of positive emotion.

"Soloist Kim Doyoung admits to dating after a surfaced picture of the couple kissing and leaving a party together."

The headliner that is worded in many different ways on even more different gossip pages. More articles are written about the discovery than over the fact that idols should be allowed to date and find happiness with whoever they fancy. Twelve hours later than the occurrences of the kiss and the pictured flee, you went from unknown to identified.

You don't need to read any of the articles to understand what they consist of, the title says it all. Neither do you need to see the reactions of others, you already know the results. People will invade your privacy, see you less as a person and more as Doyoung's shadow, spread hate-filled words about you wherever they go.

"And, what do you think of that, hm?" You loudly question your lover. Doyoung is awfully quiet, even more, quiet than he is in his sleep, but that doesn't mean he's as peaceful as he is during his resting time. The little signs that he imitated before are now individual signs of stress: plucking his nails and then rubbing his fingertips together to soothe the pain. "What do you think of that? Is that why you badly wanted some 'alone-time' with me!?"

Last night's numbing music now remind you of camera flashes, it's a sound that endlessly repeats in your mind. It starts with one camera flash but suddenly your ears are overwhelmed with the imaginary sound of cameras flashing around you.

You're pulled away from your thoughts when you hear a loud slam. When your eyes find focus, you see Doyoung's fist against the wall, painfully crumbling down the wall after the harsh contact between the materials and his bone-filled body. "Shit!" He loudly curses.

"One reason which is love, that made me promise to keep us together. But as I grow taller, I crush down due to the high wall named 'reality'"

❧ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ : "ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴍᴀʟʟᴇʀ ꜱᴏ ɪ ɢᴏᴛ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ" ☙

"Have you sold out your voice?"

Doyoung's eyes tear away from the silver band that he's toying with between his fingers. First, his eyes meet the wildflowers before he looks at your sitting figure on the other side of the table. Out of shock, his fingertips momentarily halt their actions, as well as the ring, ends up being held between his thumb and index finger.

Memories invade the other thoughts once more: memories of breaking points in your relationship. Multiple factors caused the breaking point to approach sooner than expected. His addiction to alcoholic beverages, the hidden and yet exposed relationship, jealousy, the lack of time. Were those valid reasons to end the love song early? Maybe not, but it still happened.

It still happened. His vision starts to portray the day the love song ended tragically, he can already hear the passage that is usually called the intro. It opens the movement or a separate piece, preceding the theme or lyrics. The intro abruptly stops when a different sound is heard.

The sound of something dropping onto the wooden floor stops the ticking of the clock against the wall. Time seems to stand still and yet the object hits the floor before the fragment is paused. Doyoung's fingertips don't intervene: the silver band falls from his fingertips and onto the floor.

If only that sound had been included in the conclusion of the song, it would have completed the song structure perfectly. A tragic downfall before all ended, the music fading out sadly once the ring had been fallen. Though the song has been written, and this only belongs to a badly-written sequel.

Doyoung's eyes are quick to follow the untrammelled movements of the ring, eyeing the trail it could take before it barrels past his eyesight. He bends over his body slightly, reaching a little further so that his fingertips reach the floor. The ring comes to a halt, throwing itself down after one more ceremonial twirl. To pick it up, he allows his thumb to assist his index finger, holding it between his digits before he brings it up.

Your eyes intensely stare at the silver band between his fingertips, your eyes feasting on trying to recognise the familiar object. After scrutinising the object from a distance, realisation hits you like a brick. The ring. The ring that was an unspoken promise of your relationship, the almost cursed object was in your apartment, held by your faded summer sun.

Doyoung notices how your investigating gaze changes to an expression of shock. His eyes never leave yours, they stay focused on you, even when he straightens his body again and straightly sits on his chair. The moment, he's properly seated again, your body indicates that you want to get up.

Despite your body preparing itself to stand up, you stay seated. "Why are you here?" You question him. The shocked expression on your face transitions into something much darker. It's not anger, neither is it confusion. Your expression displays disapprobation, disapprobation towards his presence.

It's not you who stands up from the chair as your body tells you to do, it's Doyoung who takes initiative and straightens his posture after standing up. He doesn't respond to your question with words, but seeing the silver band that suddenly is around his pinky, the answer to the question is almost screamed out.

Just a few mere seconds after Doyoung gets up from his chair, he's already standing on the other side of the table. The side where your tensed body is seated on a chair, the side that he was able to see when he stared ahead of him, the side that allowed you to look at him. He takes in your appearance briefly: your tensed shoulders that you keep raised by your arms that lean upon the table, your gaze that is fixated to the current empty chair on the other side of the table.

To receive your attention, Doyoung wraps his hand around your upper arm, tugging at it lightly so that you would shift your gaze and body towards him. Though, your body is tense, barely moving despite his light tugs.

The second tug on your arm causes you to finally interact, stopping the ignorance because you want answers. You shift your attention to him by pulling your arm out of his grip as you stand up from the chair. You turn your body to face his and look at him with the same dark expression. "Why?! Why are you here?!"

You wait for an answer. Not longer than a few seconds before you run out of patience. It's not the first time your question is left unanswered, and for once, you're not willing to take silence as an answer. If he's here to apologise, then you want to hear it from his lips. If he's here to talk, you want to hear it coming from his mouth. If he's here because he 'accidentally' passed by, you want to hear the words coming from his vocal cords.

Your question only leaves Doyoung to look down, his lips sealed like there's a secret on the tip of his tongue. All of the questions you ever asked him are left unanswered, and this one might finish that list. Even if you say you're not willing to receive silence, you let it happen. "Leave, if you have nothing to say," you mumble before pushing your body past his. Your feet are lost within the own space of your apartment: are you heading to the door? Fleeing towards your bedroom? You don't even know.

Doyoung's feet follow your hesitating footsteps. Slowly and almost inaudible as you're standing still, so there's no need to rush. He halts his own feet a step behind the line where yours are perfectly aligned. Without being granted permission, his hands are placed on your shoulders before lowering towards your waist. Engulfing you in his arms.

The embrace lasts no longer than two seconds. Your body turns towards his again, breaking the physical contact. You want to step away from him again, flee towards a location that you have yet to figure out. You almost do, but Doyoung is fast to hold you back from doing so.

His flat hands place against both your cheeks, his fingers slowly curving in the form that your face is shaped in. Sometimes his thumb twitches, which is seen as a gentle caress over your facial structure. "Look at me, my beloved," he whispers, his lips barely moving but they're parted as a signal he just spoke.

And you do.

Tear-filled eyes stare into his. You look past the reflection of yourself, staring into the black-coloured pupils of Doyoung's eyes. Compared to your rheumy-looking eyes, his eyes are filled with much more sentiment. The wet layer on his eyes makes them shine, shine like the summer sun. Summer sun, a name you would affectionately call Kim Dongyoung.

Doyoung rests his forehead against the side of your face delicately. "I'm sorry," is all that leaves his lips the moment he feels your skin against his. As much as he wants the moment to last, his feelings start to run ahead of his actions.

A first kiss is placed on your cheek, but it doesn't stop there. It rarely does. His lips are quick to return homewards to yours. It's a gentle brush that indicates what both of you have been missing out on.

With your lips connected, a kiss is indicated. It doesn't start with a gentle peck, the kiss is deepened before it properly started. Doyoung's hands are lightly wrapped around your throat and jaw whilst your hands steadily grip onto his shirt.

With each short breath in between the kisses, they evolve towards something much more emotionally charged. Many feelings pour from mouth to mouth: lust, sadness, anger, desire. Love bubbles in the pit of your stomach but you can't taste its flavour upon Doyoung's lips.

"Summer sun," you mumble against his lips before you can stop yourself. The affectionate nickname making Doyoung's fingertips tighten around your throat, tugging a strand of hair along in the process. The feeling stimulates a quiet moan to slip from your opened lips.

Doyoung's tongue grazes between your upper and lower lip slowly, begging for permission to be a part of you. Your parted lips grant him wordless access to which he wastes no time to explore your mouth.

The amorous kiss allows you to feel the warmth behind Doyoung's parted lips, just as he feels the inviting warmth behind your lips. His tongue finds yours in an overlapping moment: what used to be a battle is now two puzzle pieces being perfectly aligned. As his tongue curves, yours does too around his. The heat becoming the glue that keeps the two of you together until each unidentified spot has been explored.

One hand moves away from your throat, trailing upwards to the back of your head. You're effortlessly pulled closer against Doyoung's body, causing his lips to press harder against yours during the kiss. You're left breathless, but Doyoung uses his last breath to give you a belated answer.

"I'm here because I want you back. You're my remedy."

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district2001 · 4 years ago

Text

Another Canadian

Seventeen AU: 14th member

ERA: Clap

Jangmi ft. Dino x The Boyz (Kevin)

Recap: Jangmi and Chan meet Kevin (The Boyz) after Music Bank

Words: 1.3k

AN: Requests are OPEN: Please please please send me what you want to see from Jangmi. I’m also open to feedback :)

CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST FOR MORE JANGMI CONTENT XX

Jangmi’s Masterlist

Yes. I actually googled and found out when SVT x The Boyz could have had interactions, And coincidentally SVT were performing on The Boyz debut music show performance. So this occurred on the 12th of December 2017 (we love research).

The Boyz comeback was todday and I absolutely love the song. And the dance. And the visuals (what else did we expect from them).

Also also: Did you guys like the little feature of another Canadian at the very end/ I think it’s time you meet all of Jangmi’s friends, and get to know her social circle out of SVT.

Send me requests for scenarios w. your ults (even if they aren’t in SVT) and I’ll write a lil something something Xx

“Chan-nah!” Jangmi whined. “Why do I need to come with you to the vending machine?”

Dino laughed, while dragging his twin-maknae down the Music Bank Corridor. “Because, last time Vernon left by himself to get food, we nearly left him for soundcheck.”

“That’s because Vernon’s stupid.” Jangmi stopped as Dino kept pulling a push door. “And clearly you’ve been spending too much time with him.”

Chan squeezed her hand tightly, causing her to yell in pain and shimmy her hand out of his grip.

They were currently on their last day of promotions for Clap, and Jangmi wouldn’t be lying if she said she was a little relieved that it was over. She was missing having sugar-filled cereal every morning, and not going to bed starving. Luckily, her members still snuck her snacks over promotions. And hopefully Chan would aswell right now.

Jangmi turned around to face Chan, as she used her back to push through the door. “Do you think there’ll be Chilli flavoured Chi-“

Her question was abruptly cut off, as she collided into someone. The impact wasn’t that strong thankfully, so she regained her balance quite quickly.

“Crap!” The person she bumped into muttered under their breath.

She quickly turned around to face them, hoping that it was a hoobae or someone she knew (preferably Monsta X considering they were performing aswell). She’d be absolutely mortified bumping into her sunbaenim.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry” Jangmi cried out in English, finally taking in the persons appearance. He looked slightly older than her, or maybe the same age-she couldn’t tell.

She then realised that she hadn’t even apologised in the correct language. “Neomu mianhabnida.” She corrected herself, whilst bowing.

She heard Chan sniffle in his laughter. She mentally cursed him, as well as reminding herself to eat the majority of his chips.

“I’m sorry.” The boy replied, also whilst bowing.

Only then then did she notice that his white shirt was slightly damp in the middle, and that there was a small puddle of brown liquid near his shoes.

“Did I do that? I’m truely sorry, I’m such a klutz. Hopefully you don’t have anywhere to be after this.” She started rambling, as she took some tissues out of her demin jacket pocket, and started furiously wiping the floor.

The boy then crouched beside her, grabbing some of the unused tissues for her hand and started helping her clean up the mess, as well as dabbing some of the hot chocolate from his shirt.

Jangmi decided this was probably the best opportunity to find out who the boy was. He was clearly an idol, considering he was dressed nicely, and had some makeup on his face. She was fairly certain he wasn’t a sunbaenim, but she wanted to make sure.

“Anneyonghaeyo, Seventeen maknae Jangmi imnida” She introduced herself, swiping away the last bit of chocolate evidence.

The boy gave a mini bow to her, or as well as one could bow whilst squatting. “I’m Kevin. Nice to meet you”

“Ohhh! Kevin. You are a foreigner?” Jangmi was curious. She needed some Australian friends badly.

“Yes. I’m from Canada.” Jangmi mentally sighed in disappointment.

“Why is everyone from Canada.” She playfully groaned in English, as she stood up and patted her skirt down. “Well in that case, You can call me Rydel if you want. It’s nice to meet you.” She held out her hand.

Kevin shook her hand.

“Wait, like the highschool in Grease?” He asked as he grabbed the chocolate soaked tissues from her left hand.

Jangmi protested. “I’ve got that, don’t worry.”

“No. it’s ok. It was my drink anyway.”

“Yea, but I was the one not looking where I was going.” She laughed. “I’m a bit clumsy.”

“Aren’t we all?” Kevin threw the tissues into the nearest bin, before walking back to Jangmi.

“Are you a soloist?” She was curious about him.

“No no. I could never. I’m part of The Boyz.” He smiled widely. “We actually debuted today.”

“Congratulations,” Jangmi exclaimed, slightly louder than she anticipated.

“Jangmi-yah. Be quiet.” Jangmi then realised that Dino was still with them.

Kevin and Dino both bowed politely towards each other.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Dino.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m The Boyz’s main vocalist Kevin.”

Jangmi fake frowned, teasing her hoobae. “How come I didn’t get a proper greeting from you.”

“Sorry. I’m sort of new at this.” Kevin sheepishly replied in Korean.

“It’s ok. Everyone’s new at this at one point. Ask him about all the stupid things I’ve done.” She gestured at her twin-maknae

A silence followed. Jangmi looked over to see if Dino would contribute to the conversation, but he was too busy looking at something on his phone.

“What company are you under?”

“Crek.er”

“Wait, is that the one with Haknyeon, from Produce?” Dino asked, looking up from his phone.

Kevin nodded. “He’s actually in our group.”

“JR mentioned that he was one of the nicest contestants.” Jangmi added.

“Really?” Kevin asked. “That’s good to hear.”

“I think I read an article about your group.” Dino continued. “You have lots of members like us, yeah?”

Kevin nodded, taking a sip of his hot chocolate, or whatever was left of it. “Not as many as you though. We have 12.”

Jangmi was going to give some advice on being in a large group, when she was pulled away from their conversation, quite literally, by one of her managers.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you two.” The manager pointed the twin-maknaes.

“Oops” Jangmi suppressed a grin.

“The vans loaded. It’s time to go.”

Dino whined. “We haven’t even got our snacks yet.”

“Once you are back at Pledis, you can have some-” Their manager stopped mid-sentence and frowned. “What do you mean by ‘we’?”

Jangmi’s eyes widened. “He was referring to getting snacks with Kevin.” She stuttered, as she quickly slung her hands over Kevin’s shoulders, and brought him closer to her, ignoring his shocked expression.

“Kevin, meet our manager. Our manager, meet Kevin from The Boyz.” She introduced.

They both bowed towards each other.

Their manager grabbed Chan’s hoodie and motioned for Jangmi to come closer to her. “You can get some snacks next time, we’re running late for their next schedule.”

She turned to her heel, and walked out the door, dragging Chan with her. “Jangmi, hurry up!” The manager called out as she exited the room.

Kevin cleared his throat, and only then did Jangmi realise her hands were still wrapped over his shoulders.

“Sorry about that.” She hastily removed her hands. “I’m on a strict chicken breast and salad diet, and if I get caught breaking it, I have to run 5km every morning for a week.” Jangmi switched the conversation to English.

Kevin chuckled. “That’s alright.” He too then began speaking in English. “5km though, damn. That’s brutal.”

“You have no idea.” Jangmi rolled her eyes.

“I better head off before they leave me.” She continued. “Congratulations on your debut once again though. Seriously well done! Keep up the hard work.”

Kevin nodded his head in acknowledgement. “Thanks. It means a lot coming from you.”

“I highly doubt that. But I’ll take the compliment.” Jangmi smiled.

“Nah nah. For real. I think you guys have cemented yourselves in the KPOP scene.”

“And I’m sure you guys will aswell.”

“You haven’t even heard our music.” Kevin sarcastically replied, whilst holding the door open for her.

“I’ll download it right now and listen to it on the drive back.” Jangmi immediately took out her phone and began searching up the group.

“You don’t have to do it.” Kevin protested, probably feeling bad that he was forcing her to listen to their music.

Jangmi sushed him and continued typing until she was interrupted by her Jun calling her phone. She pressed the “Can I call you back later?” button, before shoving it back in her phone.

“Duty calls.” She smiled. “If we ever see each other again, don’t be afraid to come and say hi.”

“Will do.” Kevin nodded, before pointing behind him. “I should probably head back aswell. They’re all probably wondering where I am.”

“Can’t loose a member on debut day.” Jangmi chuckled, while waving goodbye.

“Thanks for the advice and being so friendly.” Kevin bowed, and turned around, presumably heading back to his dressing room

“I don’t think I gave you any, but I’ll take it.” Jangmi yelled over her shoulder, as she turned the corridor.

She took out her phone and ignored all of Jun’s messages about all the other van’s leaving, and the performance team still waiting for her.

Jangmi found one of her best friends messages, which were obviously at the top of her texts.

‘Yo Mark’

‘I think I found you another Canadian.’

‘Now find me an Australian’

‘I’m outnumbered’

Previous: Seventeen Right Here

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slipping-through-my-fingertips · 3 years ago

Text

mad woman

part of my folklore series

Summary: Kurt is concerned that Santana has lost her voice; Blaine helps her get it back.

Notes: I really feel that this song embodies Santana. I can’t explain it but it just reminds me so much of her. HAPPY 1 YEAR OF FOLKLORE!!!!!

AO3

Anytime he heard Santana singing in the shower, Kurt wondered why she gave up performing. Sure, she had the Spotlight Diner shifts but she was seldom a soloist. More likely, Santana opted to be backup vocals unless she was feuding with Rachel that day. It was like glee all over again. Her voice silenced or drowned out by the attention seekers. She didn’t fight for it as she had during her short-lived time as a member of the Treble Tones. Hell, she wasn’t into the music as much as Elliott and Dani were when One Tree Hill had been a quintet.

Kurt was worried about her. Though she’d deny it, Santana loved to sing. She needed glee just as much as the rest of them. The problem was since she moved to New York it was like she lost her voice.

He remembers feeling like that when he first arrived. Without NYADA, Kurt was another drop in the huge sea of city folk. No longer did he stand out for his bold fashion choices or being gay. Here, the things that once made him eccentric were just another thing people tried to ignore as they went about their days. No one in the city had time to pick on or compliment a newcomer from a small town in Ohio.

At first, Kurt liked it because the fear of being beaten for being himself had completely vanished within a few weeks of moving. That was all behind him. Way back in Lima. After a few months, the novelty wore off. He actually started to miss the stares from his classmates at McKinley High.

He hated to admit it but Rachel may have been right when she said they were similar. Sometimes, Kurt felt like Tinkerbell too. He needed applause to live. Craved the attention. Then, he got it at the Winter Showcase. Madame Tibideaux handed the limelight to him on a silver platter. The entirety of the NYADA staff got to hear him sing.

Of course, he could’ve thrown up because he was so nervous and completely unprepared. Yet, it had been exhilarating. That rush of being on stage with a captive audience. Combined with his attendance to NYADA being on the line, Kurt hadn’t felt this energized since he last saw Blaine in person.

None of that seemed to faze Santana Lopez.

Honestly, after pulling her into the band and having her quit, recommending the evening dance classes at NYADA, and taking her out to Callbacks on weekends, Kurt was out of ideas. She refused to get on stage. But he saw that small smile on her face when she hummed under her breath when she thought no one was listening. No matter how vehemently she denied it, she missed singing. So, Kurt called Blaine.

“I don’t know, Kurt, it’s kinda hard to help when I’m not seeing the situation for myself.” Blaine sighs, likely bummed he can’t solve this.

Kurt practically saw him pouting through the phone. Thank god, they weren’t on Skype. He hated seeing his boyfriend looking so defeated when he wasn’t there in person to kiss the top of his head.

Blaine had become the self-proclaimed advice-giver of the New Directions since he transferred.

He helped Mike Chang fix his relationship with Tina when they had a week-long fight about only eating at Asian restaurants on their date nights. Tina had been pissed. No simple apology was going to cut it. Blaine single-handedly compiled a list of Tina’s favorite places to eat and added a few of his personal favorite date night places.

When Finn would forget special dates and Rachel got fussy about how Finn never uses the couple calendars she made for them, Blaine stepped in and helped him set up a reminder alert on his phone.

And there was that whole fiasco about Miss Pillsbury not-so-subtly hinting that she wanted to get engaged. Blaine was able to straighten Mr. Schue out pretty quickly that day. For the life of him, that man didn’t understand why Miss Pillsbury was acting so weird.

“You don’t have to be so roundabout, you know?” Kurt told him.

“Huh.” Playing dumb, typical.

“Just come up to the city, Blaine,” he said. “I know you want to ask.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, boyfriend of mine,” Blaine huffed. “I have zero ulterior motives while being completely unhelpful to your current predicament.”

“Uh-huh, I’m sure that’s the case. I’ll see you next week.”

“Unless Cooper can find an earlier flight!” Blaine exclaimed.

He had been using up the countless number of frequent flyer miles his older brother had racked up to make weekend trips to New York. After Cooper discovered their long-distance relationship (likely after one too many late-night calls from Blaine missing his boyfriend), he offered them to Blaine.

Blaine arrived the following Friday. McKinley had some teacher’s day so Blaine was able to hop on a morning flight. He was waiting in the loft when Kurt finished classes for the day.

“Okay, we’re going to Callbacks tonight,” Kurt said, removing his coat.

“Hello to you too,” Blaine replied, standing up from the sofa. “How are you, Blaine? How was the flight, Blaine? I missed you so much, Blaine.”

Kurt rolled his eyes and ignored his boyfriend.

“This isn’t about you, Blaine,” he said, “it’s about Santana.”

“Wow, Blaine, you look great! Aren’t those my yellow pants you’re borrowing?” Blaine crossed his arms.

“Hey!” Kurt exclaimed. “Those are my pants!”

“Yeah.” Blaine blushed. “I rolled them so they’d fit better.”

Kurt marched over to him and knocked him onto the couch. “You look hot in my clothes.”

“I look better out of them.”

Instead of verbally agreeing, Kurt unbuttoned his yellow pants. Blaine was quick to keep up removing his own shirt and attempting to pull off Kurt’s as well. However, Blaine was sitting on the couch and Kurt was kneeling between his legs. It was proving to be rather difficult a task.

“Kurt…” Blaine groaned, “come up here with me.”

“I can’t very well do what I want up there, Blaine.”

He sat up straighter. “Is this payment for not properly greeting me because I’ll take a blowjob over ‘how do you do’ any day?”

Kurt pressed his face into Blaine’s naked thigh. “So long as you aren’t accepting blowjobs from anyone but me.”

“No, I would…” Kurt licked around Blaine’s hip. “Never.”

Within seconds, Blaine’s head was fully tipped over the back of the couch and the only thing coming from his mouth were moans. He couldn’t even force the word ‘Kurt’ from his lips. When Kurt finally gave in and decided Blaine had received efficient teasing, he sucked at the tip until Blaine screamed his name.

They were quick to clean up their mess afterward, unsure of when the girls would be home. It was one thing to have sex in the living room, it was a whole other to get caught. Though, Kurt figured Rachel owned him after Brody paraded around naked for the few months they dated.

“Okay, now that we’ve defiled Santana’s bed, can we focus on helping her?”

“Step one, don’t tell her about this,” Blaine suggested.

Kurt slapped Blaine’s chest.

“Ow.”

“Be helpful. You said if you were in New York, you’d be able to help better. So do it.”

“FIne,” Blaine replied, “no Callbacks. I have a better idea.”

Turns out that idea was a speciality club night of Alternative Tunes.

“It’s open mic. There’s gonna be singers, poets, magicians, and I heard their harpist is opening tonight,” Blaine explained, as they waited in line.

“Is that why she brought your violin?” Rachel questioned.

“Yup!” Blaine held up his black case. “I haven’t played to an audience of more than one in a while.”

Kurt smiled at him. He loved when Blaine performed just for him almost as much as he enjoyed watching Blaine in front of an audience. Something about his face just lit up on stage. The same way Santana’s did in front of a microphone.

“As much as I love talking about violins…” She rolled her eyes, “is there alcohol at this place?” Santana asked, “because that’s like 90% the point of going out.”

“Yes, there’s alcohol,” Kurt confirmed.

He told Blaine they’d need at least two drinks into Santana before they brought up performing to her. Which proved true. After nursing two long island ice teas, Santana was finally talking to Blaine about being on stage. He hadn’t gone up yet and she was teasing him.

“Come on, you brought your own instrument and everything,” she said. “Give us a show and tell.”

With that, Blaine stood up and walked to the stage. No one was in line so he went right up after the juggler finished. He tapped the microphone and introduced himself.

“I’d like to dedicate this first one to my boyfriend.”

He mouthed an “I love you” towards Kurt, who blew a kiss back.

Then, he was lost in the strings. The next song he did was for Santana. Blaine didn’t announce it or anything but he watched her face when he could during the progression of the song. When he finished his set, Blaine thanked the audience. Kurt whistled and clapped, Rachel was jumping up and down while screaming for an encore, and when Blaine was back at the table Santana offered to buy him a drink.

Without Kurt even realizing it, the next performer on stage was Santana. Just her. She didn’t introduce herself as Blaine did, the piano music just started to play and then she was singing.

“What do you sing on your drive home?

Do you see my face in the neighbor's lawn?

Does she smile?

Or does she mouth, ‘Fuck you forever’?”

Kurt couldn’t say why exactly but the song suited her well. Santana was always one to command an audience when she soloed. Soft instrumental with harsher lyrics was always her style.

While Santana had the audience and Kurt captivated, Blaine bounced back over to their table. He had two drinks in his hand.

“For you,” he said, passing Kurt a mojito.

In return, Kurt pecked his check. He really was so lucky. Then, his full attention went back to the stage.

“Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy

What about that?

And when you say I seem angry, I get more angry

And there's nothing like a mad woman

What a shame she went mad

No one likes a mad woman

You made her like that”

As Santana finished her song, Kurt and Rachel turned to Blaine, who was positively beaming. He’d done exactly what he had told Kurt he could do.

“How?” Rachel asked.

“I’m a smooth talker,” Blaine said with a smirk.

Kurt rolled his eyes.

If anything, his boyfriend was a clumsy mess. Romantic and adorable? Yes. Tripped over his words? Constantly.

“Come on, Blaine, give it up,” Kurt said.

“Magicians never reveal their secrets.”

Rachel huffed. She had a glint in her eyes suggesting she wasn’t giving up. Rachel rarely did when she really wanted something. Kurt had a theory that she could pester anyone enough to get what she wanted. Example A, a ticket to NYADA by tracking down the head of admissions and inviting her to Chicago to watch a show choir competition.

Before Kurt could tell Rachel to drop it, Santana returned. She had a new drink in her hand.

“Compliments of the lady in red,” she told them.

“Excellent song choice,” Kurt said.

“Blaine’s idea.” she shrugged, sipping her drink.

Blaine was still beaming.

“It’s perfect for her, isn’t it?” Blaine replied, “When I first heard it I knew I had to hear Santana do a cover of it.”

Santana winked at him from across the table.

“What is going on with you two?” Rachel asked. “The devil incarnate and the sun from teletubbies should not get along this well.”

Santana shrugged. “He’s besties with Britt.”

“It’s true.” Blaine nodded. “She even called us the Sunshine Twins.”

Kurt’s eyes drift to Blaine’s—his—yellow pants. “Yeah, that fits.”

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic #my fics #folklore series

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mountphoenixrp · 3 years ago

Photo

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

Tu’er Shen, the Rabbit God of LGBTQIA+ Relations, whose origins stem from Ancient China. He is currently unemployed.

FC NAME/GROUP: Lee Hoseok/Wonho - Soloist GOD NAME: Tu'er Shen / Tu Shen (Leveret Spirit / Rabbit God). He is the patron deity and safeguarder of LGBTQIA+ relations. IC NAME: Hu Tianbao PANTHEON: Chinese OCCUPATION: undecided DEFINING FEATURES: upturned rabbit-like nose

PERSONALITY: Ironically, Tian has grown a lot since his untimely death. However, he is still very much the same lovestruck young man that he was before his rise to divinity. Go figure that losing your life would give you a passion for living, right? He tries to experience new things whenever he can and not set limits on himself. This extends into his relationships with others as well. He has a big heart and cares very much for the people around him, the amount of which is always increasing because he's outgoing. Surprisingly, in spite of being a God who is known to help others find love, he isn't actually known for being monogamous. Part of his reasoning had been that he wasn't settled anywhere in the past, but nothing has changed now that he has put roots down in Mount Phoenix. Tian believes that he has a lot of love to give and that there is no reason it should be restricted to one person.

HISTORY: Many stories over the course of history have romanticized the act of sacrificing oneself for true love. Hu Tianbao doesn't really consider himself any different. A young soldier from the time of the Qing Dynasty, Tian found himself in quite the predicament when he fell for a man serving as a government official.

While bonds between men weren't unheard of in the province of Fujian, they were often concealed as a brotherly sort of relationship. The elder man, known as the qixiong (adoptive older brother) would pay what was essentially a bride price to the parents of the younger man, who would become known as the qidi (adoptive younger brother). They would even host a ceremony just like a formal wedding, after which the qidi would move into the qixiong's home and serve as the equivalent of a wife. Eventually, both men would be expected to marry women and procreate, but some of their partnerships could last up to twenty years before they separated to fulfill their "husbandly duties."

It was risky thinking that perhaps the man he desired would engage in such a deceptive partnership. The official was from another province and it was unlikely that their practices were the same, but Tian couldn't help how smitten he was. They'd met in passing, but he might as well have been invisible to the official, just another lowly commoner. Even so, he'd find himself longingly watching the man as he went about his duties and found it harder to keep his growing affections to himself. Could such a beautiful feeling truly be immoral? Unbeknownst to Tian, the official had noticed him hanging around and had grown suspicious of his intentions. He'd assumed he was a spy or some other shady criminal, but his attention had been harmless enough that the official couldn't make an accusation. The day came that Tian could no longer keep his feelings to himself, though, and he ventured to the bathhouse he knew the official frequented, hoping to catch him alone so he could tell him. He'd very nearly backed out, but the official saw him before he could and immediately questioned why Tian would invade his privacy. In a fit of nervous emotion, Tian confessed his love, saying that he knew it was wrong and that he was unworthy of a man of his stature, but that he couldn't help his heart's desire.

The official would have probably been less disgusted if Tian had confessed to murder. In a fit of rage, he dragged Tian out of the bathhouse and had his guards beat him to death, leaving his body beneath a dead tree. Tian journeyed to the Underworld, where the Lord of the Afterlife recognized his love had been true and granted him the title of the Rabbit God, so that he may oversee and protect the affairs of people like himself. With his newfound purpose, Tian returned to the mortal realm and appeared in the dream of a villager, telling him to build a temple where those in need could seek his aid.

For nine years, Tian blessed many relationships who would otherwise be shunned by the powers that be. In 1765, however, a new official named Zhu Gui came to Fujian. On the surface, he seemed like a true servant of the people, but his ultimate goal was the expansion of Confusian principles. He would create and enforce the first law in China to ban homosexual relations and so began his crusade against what he deemed as the "Cult of Hu Tianbao." Zhu Gui accused the Rabbit God's followers of being lewd individuals who prayed in secret for assistance in corrupting the youth to share in their depraved desires. It didn't take much convincing for him to receive government support to destroy their places of worship.

Tu'er Shen's temples were razed to the ground. His idols were smashed to pieces and scattered into the river to never be recovered. Like the forgotten bits sinking into the dark depths, those who worshipped and found comfort in the controversial God were forced to do so in secret. They would erect small, unmarked shrines that only they knew the true purpose for and couldn't even tell the tale of the unfortunate Hu Tianbao without the fear of retribution. Yet the shunned God still listened to the pleas of those who felt misunderstood and oppressed simply for who they loved. He only wished that he could reach out to more of the community that had no other Gods to turn to who understood their plight.

For nearly two centuries, the government's persecution of his followers had left Tu'er Shen's already discrete temples abandoned. If anyone happened across it, there wasn't even any sign that it belonged to the Rabbit God, except for the coincidental presence of bunnies that could occasionally be caught scurrying away into the foliage. He would go years before he would hear the whispers of someone's prayers... So it was with great sorrow that Tu'er Shen left Fujian. The harsh reality was that he couldn't do much for people who didn't know he even existed. A forgotten God was powerless... Yet as the civil rights movement for the LGBTQIA+ community grew in fervor, he realized that he could do so much more as just a man.

Tianbao traveled the world, finding the little pockets of people willing to fight for the freedom to love who they wanted without the fear of suffering the same grim fate as so many others. It wasn't until the 20th century that the movement truly started gaining traction and was able to make legal leaps and bounds to decriminalize same-sex partnerships. Seeing the progress that humans made, without having to entreaty the aid of a higher power, really astounded Tianbao. He would have never thought in his wildest dreams that any of what he'd witnessed would ever be possible. A once silent community had found its own voice and fought against all odds to make sure they were heard.

While Western nations were making more progress, though, Tian wasn't ignorant to the seemingly insurmountable oppression that was still going on in his homeland. In 2006, he found himself called back when a priest in Taiwan built the first temple dedicated to The Leveret Spirit in nearly two centuries. Even though he had been fighting for civil rights alongside mortals for many years, there had always been a sense that something was missing. Hearing the prayers of those who felt alone and reminding them that they were not fulfilled a purpose he had all but forgotten. During his years spent in Taiwan, Tian had crossed paths with a few Gods and Goddesses from an island out in the sea that mere mortals couldn't find. It wasn't until 2019, when same-sex marriages were legalized in Taiwan, that Tian decided to go check out this island for himself and he has remained there ever since.

POWERS: in his myth, Tu'er Shen can enter dreams and interact with the dreamer. But when going to his temple, people pray to him to find love and for blessings/good fortune in same-sex relationships. Usually at the temple, they ask for talismans or blessings on things like skin care products to hopefully attract a partner. So I was thinking his powers would be the ability to walk in dreams and influence the dreamer, momentarily increasing the luck or allure of someone carrying a blessed item, and minor wish granting.

STRENGTHS: confident, assertive, observant, instinctive, friendly WEAKNESSES: single minded, overly emotional, blames himself for things he can't control, overly protective of his children, cannot swim

#kpop rp #krp #lee hoseok #wonho #mp; welcome

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404fmdtaejin · 4 years ago

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famed idol life / career meme

notes: once again, a big mega post because i didn’t want to flood dash with answers. thanks to everyone that sent in!!

1. what is your favorite single you’ve released?

“solo wise? i’ve only released one solo portal song, which was a self-written song called that’s okay. well, bc forced that one on me when they took pages from my diary — still, my only one solo release, and that’s the favorite since i’m left with no other option. in regards to group? everyone knows, amigo or not — my favorite will always be view. something special about that time, i tell you.”

2. what are your favorite b-sides/non-title tracks you’ve released?

“since i haven’t released any songs by myself other than the one mentioned before, i’d have to go through decipher’s discography. lovesick, odd eye, prism, honesty, stranger, better off — there’s a lot to sift through in the past few years. unfortunately, there’s a point where my interest had started weaning off idol-dom, and you can observe that when i stopped paying attention and interest into what decipher did conceptually after 2016. at least the enjoyment was fun while it lasted.”

3. what is your least favorite song (title track or b-side) you’ve released?

”that’s an easy one. you take any b-side we’ve released in the past few years, and that probably makes the list. the comeback with the b-side shot was awful. that’s probably the worst, in my head. never was a fan of that comeback, now that i think of it — i call it the dark blip of decipher’s early career. perhaps it’s just ambivalence at this point that i have no real strong feelings towards bsides nowadays.”

4. if you could do a duet with anyone in the industry, who would you choose? what do you think of your/your group’s concept?

“i’d want to do a duet with duri — we’ll have a tale of the oldies. the two 1990 liners inside bc’s walls doing a ballad song. though, duri would have to take the high notes on that one seeing as how he’s a power vocalist. there’s rarely times where i’m able to keep in touch or have people around my age, and for that — i’m always grateful when i come across that. we’d manage something interesting given the same age, and the ballad concept.”

5. what do you think of your/your group’s concept?

“decipher doesn’t really stick to a concept, and i suppose our concept has always been to branch into new avenues. there’s good things and bad things about it, obviously. we’re given new things to try, new stylings, and what not. however, we’re also subjected to that risk in case it doesn’t turn out how bc envisioned. to put it short — it’s either a hit or miss.”

6. what is one thing (a concept, a genre, an outfit, etc.) you would least like your company make you do?

“decipher’s novelty in the industry is that we’ve been here so long that we’ve managed a lot of different concepts. from the house pop to retro vibes, even spring ballads in soft tunes — we’ve done it all. the least? i’d say another electronic heavy music where we’re dancing like madmen. i wouldn’t mind a powerful choreography to show i can still ‘hang’, but to the sounds of techno-ish music? i don’t think so. at least, not with my age.”

7. what one thing (concepts, genres, styling, frequency of comebacks, etc.) would you like to change about your current career as an idol?

“i don’t want to comeback so frequently — it seems we’re coming back more frequently than other rookies. it would be nicer to stay back and relax while we let the hoobaes have their time to shine. genres and concepts aren’t really on the top of my list to complain about, though i would enjoy an old throw-back to decipher’s glory days where we’re given something newer. perhaps, that’d be enough to rejuvenate my attitude towards the industry.”

8. if you could be in any idol group, which one would you choose?

“with my age, i don’t think i’d fit any group. perhaps, i could assimilate myself to knight, but the bad boy niche doesn’t really match mine. say, i was a few years younger — then, you’d have me inside charm. i think i’d do a pretty good left and right if you ask me.”

9. if you could say one thing to your ceo, what would it be?

“i respect the business model you form. however, i’m still trying to understand it when applied to me. thirteen years, and i have yet to sit down and have a conversation with you. it’d be nice to have one someday.”

10. if you were auditioning for your company today, what would you perform for your audition, or what would you change from your original audition?

“my audition was so long ago. fourteen, fifteen years now, and that’s nearly half of my life. i wish i could remember parts — but there’s only the snippet of a ballad i sang, probably kim bum soo. all alongside some awkward dancing that bc shaped me up for. i’d probably pick a sung sikyung song instead.”

11. if you could do any special stage, what would it be and who would it be with?

”call it a weird match, but i’d have a set with duri, andy, joohwan, my maknae and jiah. well, those would be the people i’d know well enough to collaborate with, though the outcome might not be as promising as i initially thought. case closed, never make me do a special stage.”

12. what career opportunities would you like to pursue that you’ve yet to, or what achievements would you like to obtain that you’ve yet to?

“maybe a bit of variety? i’m completely happy where i am with acting, though it’d be better if decipher’s comebacks were rarer. however, i’m taking what i can get and variety might be a chance to show the side that doesn’t get shown when i’m playing a role on tv. i’ve heard from some people that i can be funny at times.”

13. if you could become a model or ambassador for any brand, what would you choose?

“as much as i like high fashion, i haven’t done any modeling in regards to brand deals with high fashion. a luxury brand would be nice — i hear prada has changed with the entrance of raf simons. i’ve been into the streetwear look lately after itaewon class, so that would be a current go-to. otherwise, i think i’m happy promoting good feel and credit cards.”

14. if you could be on any variety show, which one (or which type of one) would you want to be on?

“i live alone would be my first pick. only because i’ve decorated my house nicely recently, and haven’t had a chance to show it off to many people as i’m not home as often these days. however, that’d require an off day and i don’t have many of those lately. i think people would be shocked to see what i do when i’m around my house, lounging and rarely moving around.”

15. if you were offered the chance to become a ceo of an entertainment company, new or existing, would you take it? why or why not?

“as much as i’m leader of decipher, i don’t think i could handle leading a company. i wouldn’t want to become a ceo. it distracts from my own schedule, and i’d be too focused on my company rather than the hobbies and interests that appeal to me. sure, i’d make more money — but what’s more money on top of the money i already have? it’s counterproductive and i’d rather do what i like doing.”

16. what changes would you implement if you were the ceo of your company?

“each company runs on a specific pattern of events, and there’s a reason for that. a reason why routine shapes each group, so i wouldn’t necessarily change much. my trainee year was difficult, but it also fostered friendships within the group that i consider irreplaceable. the only change i can think of? maybe getting to know my artists rather than staying far off.”

17. what do you do to relieve the stress of idol life?

“i work out. i run a lot, and go to the gym as cliche as it sounds. but each role requires me to be in top shape, and after all that i’ve found a love for working out each morning. other than that, i like to shop and cook, even walk my dog. normal things any other person does on their day off. by the end of the day? finishing it off with a cold beer becomes my saving peace.”

18. what tips would you give to a trainee about to debut?

”push through it because it’s only a matter of time till debut happens. the trainee years are taken for granted, and you need to learn to treasure those moments. once debut happens, there’s no looking back and you’re constantly on the move — so, you’re better off enjoying now. also, don’t be afraid to approach sunbaes. we’re all in the same boat, been there and done that, so let us help where we can.”

19. what was the hardest part of being a trainee?

“singing while running around the room? i remember running too many laps, out of breath belting a high note. looking back, it was probably the time i thought i was going to end my trainee career right there and run to my parents. other than that? learning to live with others? i’ve lived a blessed life, and i’ve never had to share a room with anyone. that felt like a culture shock.”

20. did you enjoy the lifestyle of a trainee or of a debuted idol more?

“call me weird, but i’d say the trainee life. there was something special about those days, and now i’m so many years in my career and i miss the days crammed in the dorms. i don’t think there’s anything like it. the structure of it, the tears of joy and sadness all into one — every emotion all there. it’s rare moments like those i’ll never get back.”

21. what one song or album by another group or soloist would you have liked to release yourself?

“i’ve heard a lot of songs, but i heard a song recently by a charm member. one of the solo projects of dai, and his song let’s love was something that made me want to release music as well. maybe, it’s just inspiration just at that moment, but the song was something i enjoyed listening to. knight’s tempo was also something that i wish decipher was given, just because there’s a certain spark when it comes to the song.”

22. describe your dream sub-unit (members and concept).

“my dream sub-unit? does that relate to in-group or out of group? for the sake of this question, i’ll keep it in-group to simplify things. i’d like to keep our main vocal, myself and our lead rapper only because the maknae already has his thing in champion — though conceptually, i’m not sure what we’d be able to do. something non-dance related, i’d hope. perhaps, a power house vocal because i know our lead rapper can belt a few notes better than most main vocals of other groups.”

23. out of the following six options, would you rather be allowed to play a major hand in the lyrics, production, choreography, styling, music videos, or concepts you release?

“no lyrics, production or choreography. i’ve never been talented in that market, and maybe that’s why i don’t take part in any of these things. instead, i’d keep to the styling, and music videos — though, i don’t have an artistic eye. perhaps, i’d keep to styling as it lies most with my interests. my members might get bored of wearing the same dress shirts and slacks for each comeback.”

24. which of the two other companies (out of bc, dimensions, and gold star) you are not currently signed under would you rather be an artist in?

“none of the other two. i’ve said it time and time again that i’m loyal to bc — i might complain about it, sure. but in hindsight, i don’t see myself being in any other music company. now, if you had asked me in terms of acting? then, we’d have a different story between namoo, artist and vast.”

25. what is your least favorite part of being an idol?

“there’s no breaks, not for age. there’s little opportunity to cease the past, and continue on a new future. instead, i’m always tethered to the role of an idol, and despite how much i try — they still reel me back in each time for another comeback. on top of that, some songs don’t age well with time — decipher has a few of those. yet, because they’re fan favorites, i have no choice but to dance and sing along as if it’s 2009 again.”

26. what is your favorite part of being an idol?

“ironic, but there’s a lot of opportunities to try new things. i wouldn’t have thought of cf modeling or acting, if it weren’t for the opportunities presented to me. as a result, i’ve found a new enjoyment in an acting career due to the idol life. plus, along the way i meet different people to give me new insight — suppose it keeps me young again.”

27. would you rather be incredibly famous with a terrible reputation and hated by most or be fairly unknown with a good reputation and adored by those who know of you? why?

“i don’t know how to answer this one because being incredibly famous with a terrible reputation is just a cheapened output of your career you’ve built thus far. that would simply become a life unenjoyable, so by default i suppose i’d rather have the latter. fairy unknown with a good reputation because that way, you have a basis to build yourself up.”

28. what moment in your career are you proudest of so far?

“i’d either attribute it to parasite, which did win a lot of accolades not only in the country but out or i’d give it to the recent baeksang nomination for the dramas i was in. i don’t think i’d ever predict the success of stories i had a pleasure of working on. in retrospect, it was nice that so many people were able to relate and get along with the characters i was given the honor of portraying.”

29. what have you learned about yourself and/or society since becoming a celebrity?

“i’m no longer an extrovert. in fact, i’m more of an introvert. i used to think i was an extrovert, and one time i was when i was busy running around getting assimilated to those new faces. however, over the years, my circle’s only run short and i’ve been given little things here and there that make me want to preserve my small circle of people i’ve gotten to know along the way. i don’t like going out and partying, and much rather have a night in with dubu in peace.”

30. what would you like to change about how society views or treats idols?

“it’d be nice to be given more freedom — but isn’t that what everyone wants? i’m talking about stepping into something without facing backlash, or how we’re seen as approachable because we’re public figures. it’d be nice to sit down and have a meal without the thought of dispatch finding who i’m with, or scrutinizing any of my friendships. there should be some level of normalcy given, and i think that’s the least anyone could ask for.”

#fmdmeme001 #thanks to everyone that sent in!! :)#fmdkiana #fmdtaeyong #fmdjihoon #fmdsunghee #fmdjoosung #jiwonfmd #fmdting

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rosymaeflower · 4 years ago

Text

Idolize Me! CH 1

Summary: Idol!MC whos scummy as hell, follow her as she navigates Devildom from an idols perspective. Lotta plot, fluff and MAYBE smut as we go *wink wink* btw its harem af

I also post of Ao3!

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"MC!"

My manager calls out to me as a team of stylists flutter around me, teasing and pulling on my hair and touching up on my makeup.

"Yeah?" I call out blindly to him as my eyes stay shut to allow a nameless hand to pad on another layer of shimmer atop my eyelid.

"After makeup and wardrobe, u should test the fitting of your mic and in ear piece, you don't want them falling out on you on stage!" He nags. It's so like him to remind me of things I've done thousands of times, but it seems to help him more than me so I tend to just humor him.

“Yes yes I got it!” I call out once again. The stylists around me slowly disappear one by one till it’s just my manager left, letting me know that makeup and hair has now officially completed. He presses the in ear piece into my hands and fiddles with the wires for a while, muttering about how we’re running late as usual.

I stare back into the reflection I see in the mirror. The girl before me has transformed completely from the regular me to a completely polished and idol worthy me. I barely recognize myself, but I don’t need that to do my job.

“Alright, done, get up!” My manager hurries again, signalling for the stylists to check me over once more. Their hands are on me again, pulling and tugging as they go. My eyes stray towards a screen showing a boy group nearing the end of their performance, the chants of fans vibrating through the thin walls doing nothing to soothe my ever present nerves.

“Are you ready?” My manager asks, now finally calm as I’m moving into position behind the curtains.

I chuckle, "Of course, how could I not?” The boy group bows collectively and file off the stage, the emcees of the award show returning to the stage to announce the winner of some other award I can’t remember. How much did I get for pawning off my trophies anyways? Not much if I recall, so the awards are basically worthless to me.

“Remember, make this a blast and you could get a ton of CF opportunities if your stage goes viral, we could even up your asking price!” My manager yaps, clearly off in fantasy land. I’m actually pretty comfortable with my current popularity as a soloist. My albums sell out regularly, I’ve done both local and international tours, I’ve never been in a scandal (except for the chicken wings commercial one but it was clearly the directors fault!) and public opinion of me as a person is a-okay. But of course, earning money is this industry’s driving force, it doesn't hurt to have a few more dollars lying around…

With a thunderous applause, the winner has accepted their award and has given an emotional speech of thanks. And now… It’s time.

I vaguely hear my stage name being announced before the curtains slowly peel apart, revealing a sea of colorful lights and shrill screams. I take a step forward only to fall. Fall through the ground, wind swirling around me and through my hair as the lights bend and shift into something else completely. My eyes squeeze shut and I let out a fearful scream before-

*THUD*

My eyes fly open, I'm now laid sprawled on some cool tiled floorings. The lighting is completely different, the stage and crowd is gone, my backup dancers are gone.

What the-

I whip my head around only for my eyes to lay upon an imposing figure seated atop a majestic golden throne. Tanned skin and fiery red hair, wrapped in deep red clothes that could only be described as royalty, the man smiles warmly down at me. My head is still spinning from the weird vortex I just experienced but I can tell he calls the shots around here. I'm laid right by the steps before him, which makes me feel more vulnerable than ever.

Something about him is off. Otherworldly. Despite his harmless smile, I know I shouldn't trust him right away. Besides, who the hell is he? Where the hell am I?

With my attention initially focused on him, I almost failed to notice the other figures standing in what could only be described as ‘throne room’.

A green haired man with an unreadable expression who stands by the left arm of the throne. A tall black haired man who has his arms folded and is looking at me with…. Uh, polite disinterest? Or is that malice? Honestly I can’t even figure it out. I don’t even know if I should be scared or happy right now!

By the side of Mister Dark Scary Pants, there's a lean blonde guy with striking poison green eyes, his left hand absentmindedly laying on his chest. He looks decently normal, except for the ever present wrinkle between his brows. His eyes seem to flicker in recognition as he stares at me. Beside him, a beautiful peach haired man with an even more beautiful smirk chuckles as he stares right at me, his eyes unashamedly roaming down from my head to my bare legs.

“My my~ What have we here?” He croons in my direction. Well then. Looks like he's a classic pervert.

I’m no stranger to beauty, god knows I meet many extremely attractive people in my line of work, but something about them all seem... off. Just like the Throne Guy. They're all impossibly gorgeous but I feel like I should be running for my life right now, which I would but I am currently busy being plastered to the floor.

My thoughts are then interrupted by Throne Guy, who sweeps open his arms in a shameless welcoming gesture.

“Welcome to Devildom!” He announces, his voice surprisingly friendly. "Sorry if we startled you Miss MC, I'm afraid we couldn't be sure of your whereabouts before summoning you here."

I eye all of them cautiously, unsure if I’ve died or just am in a coma. “Ah yes… Devildom yes…” I say absentmindedly, slowly getting to my feet. Did my manager arrange for me to perform for the devil? First of all, major breach of contract! Secondly, how much am I getting paid? I reckon I could fetch a high price down here...

Finally standing, I realize just how naked I feel in this vast empty room. The dress I'm wearing is an off the shoulder long glittery blue piece, definitely suited for my scheduled stage but NOT for an audience with sketchy handsome men! The green haired man beckons me up the low steps and wraps a coat with strange symbols around my bare shoulders.

"Um…" my soft voice echoes through the loud room, making me cringe but I'm way too confused and worried to care. "So where am I? And who are you people?" I wave my hand at the surrounding men. "Am i… dead?" I asked tentatively, wrapping the coat tighter around me.

If I am, how on earth did I die?? Stage piece fell on me? My manager stabbed me? My backup dancer stabbed me?? A deranged fan?? As my thoughts raced a mile a minute, the Throne Guy’s deep laugh brings me back to the present. While surprisingly warm, I can’t help but feel like I’m some sort of prey here… And the men are all definitely predators.

"No, Miss MC, you're far from it!" He puts his hand to his chest. “My name is Diavolo, I am the crown prince of Devildom,” He then gestures to the man on his left, green haired man. “This is Barbatos, he serves me as both my butler and advisor,”

His hand waves towards the other 3 men on his right. “These are the Avatars of Sin, immediate to my right is Lucifer, then Satan and Asmodeus.

A strained smile finds itself on my face at his words. Is this some sort of prank? I shifted my eyes around, hoping to spot a secret camera, a boom mic, anything that would confirm my suspicions but I found nothing. Those names… I was never religious but everyone knows the name Satan and Lucifer right? The rest of the names sound familiar as well, biblical yet demonic at the same time…

I eye Diavolo, my eyes hoping to catch something that could help me figure all this out. "So Diavolo… If I’m not dead, why am I here?" I ask tentatively, still not believing most of what’s going on.

"Why there's no need to be scared, pretty girl!" Asmodeus purrs at me. "Just look me in the eyes…" His hand reaches out to turn my face towards his before a black gloved hand reaches out to smack it away.

"Control yourself, Asmo," Lucifer says sternly, nearly stepping right in between us.

“Aw you’re no fun Lucifer,” Asmodeus laughs, shooting me one last wink before leaning back. It seems like this Lucifer has some sort of authoritative power over them too?

Diavolo clears his throat, bringing my attention to him once again. “Well to answer your question, you’re here on a student exchange programme!” He says cheerfully. “You will be attending RAD, the Royal Academy right here in Devildom to learn the customs and culture of us demons here.” He explains.

My mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “Uh huh?” I ask, a little in shock.

“Worry not,” Barbatos finally speaks, his voice light and lilting. “Your disappearance back home will be dealt with accordingly and you will be given all the help you need to adjust to your 1 year stay here.” He says, stepping forward to press a mobile like device into my hands. “ This is your D.D.D, it operates similarly to a regular human cellphone where you can contact people, complete your tasks for school and even operate social media.”

My jaw drops. “Wait so… I can contact my friends and family? And even post from hell??” I ask hopefully. “And wait, did you say ONE YEAR??” My brain finally caught up to everything he said.

“Let me correct myself, you can contact residents here only, and you will only be able to access Devilgram for social media purposes, it won’t impact your account back on the human realm.” Barbatos explains patiently. “Also, this place is officially called Devildom but yes there are humans who call it ‘Hell’.” He says, a little amused. “And yes, the exchange programme lasts a year.”

Well then. There goes whatever social standing I have left. People forget stars as quickly as they come, a year without comebacks? Or posting? Or shows? I’m basically jobless for the next whole year! Where am I gonna get my money! Also not seeing my family? Not to mention me never signing up for this anyways!

“But I have a job!” I exclaim, eyes flitting back and forth between Diavolo and Barbatos. “I didn’t sign up for this either, you must have the wrong person-”

Barbatos shakes his head calmly. “We most certainly have the right person Miss MC, you may not have signed up for this but your file was picked out of tens of thousands, you are incredibly lucky to have this opportunity.”

I made a face at him, finally regaining my nerves. I also don't have to worry about cameras here so I don’t have to worry about scandals anytime soon! “Listen, my job-”

“Ah yes, you’re an idol back in the human realm correct?” Diavolo interrupts me now, his teeth glinting under the chandelier light. “Not to worry, we have made it so that you’re taking a hiatus from performing to go back to school, we have made sure your family is aware of that too,”

The beautiful man gasps suddenly. "Oh my god! I knew I recognized you from somewhere!" He grabs my hand, leaning closer into me. "You're (stage name)!" He exclaims, eyes roaming over my face in childlike wonder. Once again, Lucifer moves forward to pull him back, this time with a disapproving glare.

I grin a little shakily. So demons can recognize me after all… "Ah yes but that's just a stage name… My real name is MC," I explain.

Satan, the blonde man, taps his fist into his palm in realization. “No wonder you looked so familiar,” He says. “I’ve heard of you and your songs,”

My eyes widened in surprise. “Demons… know idols?” I ask curiously. This could be a huge plus for me, I could rack up tons of cash down here, maybe even convert whatever demon money I earn into human money!

Barbatos finally smiles at me, his face looking way less mysterious with it now. “Yes Miss MC, you’ll find that you have a bit of a fanclub down here in Devildom as well.” He says.

“Oh!” I must say, in my 4 years of being an active idol, I never expected a portion of my fans to be made up of demons. But a welcomed surprise… I can hold concerts, fansigns, maybe even a high five event? Just thinking about all the money I could get from this is exhilarating!

“During your stay here you will be living with us,” Lucifer interjects through my money driven thoughts. “By us I mean my brothers and I, the Avatars of Sin.”

Asmo snickers, “You and I will have plenty of time to get acquainted with one another then, I’ve never been with an idol before!” He says almost giddily, licking his lips.

“and you never will.” I say firmly, frowning slightly.

“Please excuse my brother, he’s the Avatar of Lust after all,” Satan says, folding his arms. “I’m the Avatar of Wrath and Lucifer over here is Pride but I’m sure you can tell that by the pompous way he speaks and acts-”

“Satan please,” Lucifer grits out, “We have guests and we are in the audience of Lord Diavolo, mind your words,” He narrows his eyes at his brother, who shoots him an equally dirty look back.

I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh which earned a smug smile from Satan and a piercing glare from Lucifer. “Haha yes… So is that all I have to know?” I ask finally, rolling my shoulders back to ease a bit of the tension that’s been building up since I got here.

“Ah since this is an exchange programme, you aren’t the only human here,” Barbatos says. “Solomon, a human sorcerer, will be taking the same course you will be as well at RAD,”

“A sorcerer?” I ask in wonder. Hmm, I definitely should get to know him, I can’t just be with demons all the time can I? And he may be a fan… How much would he pay for a signature hmm?

“Yes but he will be living in the Purgatory Hall with the angels from the Celestial Realm,”

“I’m sorry what now?”

“You’ll be living in the House of Lamentation with the brothers as explained,”

“Why, pray tell?”

Diavolo lets out a laugh. “I assure you this wasn’t on purpose, the Purgatory Hall just doesn’t have enough space for all 4 of you,” He explains. “Now Lucifer, about her caretaker?”

Lucifer clears his throat and steps forward. “We Avatars of Sins are in RADs student council, so we will naturally be looking after you during your stay here in Devildom but I have also assigned one of my brothers to be your primary caretaker for any of your immediate needs,” He pulls out his own D.D.D, taps on the screen a few and then hands it to me. “You may call him down here, his name is Mammon” He said. “Put it on speakerphone,” He adds, his brows knitting together almost in preparation for disapproval.

I gingerly take his D.D.D and tap on Mammons name. Since they’re all assigned to one of the 7 deadly sins, I wonder which is Mammons? The dial tone is steady for a long while and before I wanted to give Lucifer back his phone, someone picked up.

“Whaddaya want?!” A males voice rings through the air.

Out of my peripheral vision, I see Lucifer's hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“Uh hi?” I ask, a little awkward. I look incredulously at Lucifer who isnt looking at me, why’d he hand me the phone so abruptly?! Asmodeus and Satan look on with little smirks on their faces, Satan probably enjoying Lucifer's despair more than the actual phone call.

“Wait you ain’t Lucifer!” Mammon shouts through the phone. “Whyddaya sound like a gir-” Mammon gasps loudly. “Are ya a gal he’s seein’?!!”

I splutter as Asmo and Satan laugh openly now, clearly enjoying this all too much. Lucifer lurches forward as if to grab his D.D.D. back but Diavolo holds out a hand to stop him, hiding a smile behind his palm with the other.

“Wait why’d I hear Asmo and Satan too?! Are ya with ‘em too? Lucifers gonna be real mad if he finds out ya know?!” Mammon shouts urgently at me, as if giving me holy advice.

“I- What? NO!” I trip over my words trying to get my point across. “No, god no, I’m a human from the exchange program?” I say, glancing up at Barbatos to make sure I’ve said the right thing but his unreadable expression tells me nothing.

The line goes dead silent for a bit. “LUCIFER’S SHAGGIN’ A HUMAN?!?!” Mammon bellows through the phone.

I blush wildly at his words, not knowing what to answer. Satan and Asmo laugh openly now, Satan falling to his knees as he grasps at his stomach. Lucifer hisses, grabbing his phone back now that Diavolo’s too busy laughing to stop him.

“Mammon, I’m giving you 1 MINUTE to come down to the throne room or I’ll have you hung from the ceiling for the rest of the week,” Lucifer says lowly into the phone, his voice dark and uh.. Scary as hell? Remind me not to get on his bad side thank you!

The line goes silent again. We all settle into silence as we hear thuds echoing through the walls, gradually growing louder before the big grand doors burst open to reveal a huffing and puffing figure collapse on the carpeted floor. Tanned skin with snow white hair, Mammon is as attractive as all of his brothers, except for the fact that he seems to be dying right in front of us.

“38 seconds, not bad,” Lucifer tuts, glancing at his watch.

“ARGH,” Mammon groans. “What was that for Lucifer?! I wasn’t gon’ tell nobody!” He complains, getting to his feet and dusting off his pants.

“You dare forget that we are supposed to welcome the new exchange student today, jump to such conclusions and embarrass us in front of Lord Diavolo?” Lucifer seethes, crossing his arms, his eyes glowing redder by the second.

“Relax Lucifer, he’s here now so it doesn’t matter,” Diavolo drawls from his throne. He seems to be enjoying this little show we have unknowingly put on.

Mammon eyes me with distaste. “So ya a transfer student? Why are ya all dressed up like that anyways?” He asks suspiciously.

“MC here is an IDOL,” Asmo claps his hands in glee. “Come on MC, let’s bounce! I can’t wait to show you all the makeup we have down here!” He links his arm with mine, pulling me towards the large doors left ajar by Mammon.

Mammon whips around towards us suddenly. “AN IDOL?! Hang on are ya (stage name)?!” He nearly shrieks, eyes as large as saucepans. A fan maybe?

“Yeah that’s right! And you aren’t getting your scummy hands on her cuz I claimed her first!” Asmo brags, yanking my arm tighter towards him.

“I mean if you want a signature, you can pay me for one,” I offer with a sly smile, shrugging Asmo off. How could I pass up such an opportunity? Maybe I could even inflate what I usually charge at fansigns back on Earth…

Mammon's jaw grows slack as he stares at me. “Are ya… chargin’ me?” He whispers, grasping at his heart.

Satan lets out a sharp laugh, walking towards us. “Turns out she’s as scummy as Mammon,” He comments, eyeing me with newfound interest.

“Ridiculous,” I scoff, “I’m scummier.” With that, I relinked my arms with Asmo and we marched out of the hall with Satan, leaving Mammon standing there stunned.

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like/reblog if ya like ^-^

#obey me #obey me fanfic #idol!mc #idol!reader #mammon #lucifer #asmo #belphie #beel #satan #diavolo #barbatos #simeon #solomon #luke

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okskz · 4 years ago

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I Know Your Secret.

Elsy + Jackson

after elsy’s meeting about her solo debut, she hangs with jackson only for him to ask her about her secret.

hope you guys enjoy! please feel free to leave some feedback because it is always appreciated!

[8th Member of Got7/Soloist]

“And now that we have the song ready, all is left to have a video shoot as well take concept photos.” Elsy listened to her manager speak.

She was currently in a meeting with her manager, as well as PSY. Along with a few other important people to help prepare Elsy for her solo debut soon. “And after we have everything ready then the articles can start about your debut as a soloist, then that’s when we can start posting.” He finished, nodding as he took a seat next to Elsy.

The girl smiled at him as she gave him a small clap like everyone else did.

“Perfect.” PSY applaud, standing up. “Elsy, I am honored to have you apart of this company. I know this song and debut will do great. I truly love everything.” He smiled at her.

“Thank you.” Elsy stood up, bowing. “I’ll make sure to do my best.”

“I guess we’re done here.” PSY smiled, leaving room.

Everyone gathered up their belongings to head out as well. Elsy stayed back a little to put everything in her bag then walked out. That was when she was beginning to get a call from Jackson. “Hello?” She answered.

“Hey come out. I’m here at your job.”

“Huh? Um, okay! I’m on my way down!”

As quickly as she could, Elsy made her way down to the front of the building, where she was met with Jackson. She jogged her way to him, jumping into a tight hug. “Jackson!” She laughed. “What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to see you. And of course hear an update about what’s going on with Lee Elsy.” He chuckled, bringing an arm around her. “Coffee?”

“I’d love that.”

***

“I was actually in a meeting before you called.” Elsy took a sip from her drink. The two began to walk around after getting some coffee.

“Oh really?” Jackson questioned. “About what?”

“My solo debut of course.” She chuckled. “We practically have almost everything ready. Song is done, now I just need to work on choreography and shooting the video and as well as taking the concept photos.”

“I’m sure you’ll look great.” Jackson grinned, patting Elsy’s head.

“You’ll be there to support me right?”

“Of course!” Jackson exclaimed. “Why wouldn’t I? I’ll always stay supporting you. In anything that you do.”

“Thanks.” Elsy sighed. “I’m a little nervous. I’ve never imagined having a solo debut really. It’s always been you guys that I do everything with. It feels different.” She shrugged.

“You’ll do great.” Jackson said with a smile. “I just know it. With or without us you always do great.”

“Thanks, Jackson.” Elsy said in English.

“How are you and Jinyoung?” Jackson then asked. He though back of wha he had overheard Elsy say to him.

“Oh we’re great now.” Elsy answered. “After that talk we had, we’ve been good. Thanks for helping.”

Jackson grinned for a moment, before speaking up again. Knowing about what really happened between the two was eating him alive, and he had to mention it to Elsy. “Speaking of that day.” Jackson sighed, stopping to face Elsy. “I, um, been meaning to talk to about something?”

“Oh?” Elsy questioned as she stopped to face Jackson as well. She grew confused, and noticed how uneasy Jackson looked. “About what?”

“I know your secret.”

“Secret?” Elsy repeated. “What secret?”

“About you and Jinyoung.”

Elsy let out a gasp when feeling her world flip upside down from hearing Jackson’s words. How could he have possibly known? Elsy felt herself shake a bit, the cup of coffee dropping out from her hand. She began to walk away from Jackson quickly. She couldn’t believe he knew about the two.

“Elsy, wait!” Jackson shouted, trying to catch up to Elsy. “Elsy! Stop please!”

He got ahold of her wrist turning her back around. “You’re not supposed to know!” She cried, taking his hand away from. She started to walk away again but this time Jackson was quick enough to grab her wrist again.

“I know, but it’s just something I overheard.”

“Well forget you ever heard it!”

“Okay! B-But why did it happen?” He questioned.

Elsy let out a sigh. “It was a night when he came over and I told him everything that was going on- you know what I’m talking about. And well one thing led to another- and we slept together.”

“Wow.” Jackson was in shock to say the least. “I knew you and Jinyoung were close but not that close.” He began to joke.

“Jackson!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Jackson look at me and listen to me closely.” Elsy threatened as she poked on his chest. “Absolutely no one can know that Jinyoung and I slept together, got it?”

“Got it.”

The two began to walk again, forgetting all about the conversation they just had. Only to not realize the stranger who was a bystander listening to it all.

#got7 au #got7 oc #kpop oc #kpop oc au #kpop au #kpop female oc #female kpop oc #kpop female addition #female oc #got7 fluff #got7 angst #got7 female oc #got7 8th member au #got7 8th member #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #kpop female additional oc #female additional oc #jackson wang au

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atinytokki · 5 years ago

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Here’s my first impressions (aka this is what 2020 is gonna sound like folks)

Alright so I’m really behind today, as some of you know I literally just got back from vacation and it’s also my first day of classes this semester and it’s just craziness. Yes I’m posting the first chapter of Yeosang’s spin-off today. But people seemed to like my first impressions of the last album so I’m going to do them again. Thankfully (?) this album is a lot shorter so I can pause and talk about stuff.

Warning! a loooong post, squealing, incoherent thoughts smashed together, and crying ahead. A lot of crying. Keysmashes included.

Post-MV thoughts before I listen to it again: There’s way too much to focus on and I’ve watched it many many times to look at the choreo and the storyline stuff that’s happening, but this is my first time listening without the video so I’ll notice more musically this time. But first I wanna say; YEOSANG’S LINES!!!! I’ve been screaming for forever that he has a beautiful deep voice and needs to be given parts that compliment it. And wow it finally happened :’) Anyway here we gooo

건배하자 like a thunder!! Can you believe they literally spoiled the entire hook of their next song in Beginning of the End? *flashbacks to my utter confusion when that happened* San sounds amazing and I like the little echoey thingies. Gives it a real nostalgic feel. Jongho already popping off vocally barely 10 seconds in. Mingi’s rap here and the transition to Hongjoong’s— rap line goals. The attitude in that mm-mm made me smile ngl. This prechorus might be my favourite part of the song. Seonghwa sounds heavenly. An EDM drop bringing back that hook, good decision and again it kinda feels nostalgic?? Especially the oh-oh-ohs which are also giving me a pirate drinking song vibe wow 0.0 Wooyoung with that 불러 불러 lol. Yes the Yeosang part!! I love a good post-chorus switchup and he. handled. it. perfectly. There’s even harmony, yall know how much I love harmony. And SINGING RAPPERS AHAHDJAHAK YESSSSS. Back to that glorious prechorus but it’s Yunho’s turn. This chorus is just such an anthem. I’m bopping rn. San in this bridge— he said I am a VOCALIST listen to my beautiful VOICE. Yay the rappers going back and forth again!! It’s like If Without You. Man I can’t believe I get to replay this song forever. 2020 is gonna be lit. You hit those notes Jongho! I’m always blown away by this kid, and that scoop earlier mmmm. Just nodding very energetically right now. Perfect end to the song. 100/10!!!!

Okay I’m pausing before the next one starts because no I am not prepared. It’s just like last time; I know Hongjoong wrote this and I know it’s gonna ruin me but I have no idea how and when and what it’s even gonna be like but anyway, too bad, let’s just go.

Oh kinda futuristic sounding opening with the synths? Yooo the vocal thingy in the background, sounds like a sample of some kind, that is super cool and I hope we get more of it. Ok I paused just to write that, let me unpause. This is gonna be a long one, I can already tell, sorry guys 😅 And the beat changed right before the vocalists came in. definitely a back and forth thing here in two registers, very sweet. Wow. WOW MINGI WOW. This rap is?? It sounds super mature and idk just full of confidence. I’m shook. Ok the chorus. Holy cow this is LIT lit. Nope nope I need to pause and go back. This is so chaotic, I feel like I’m missing things?? I’m listening to that chorus again because there were so many elements there. I just wanna take this song and break it down second by second to hear every single sound hahahah. I’m only catching an odd word or two here as far as lyrics go. Oml harmonies 💆🏻‍♀️ Alright Hongjoong’s rap. OMG if he sounded sassy in Answer this is a whole new level and I LOVE IT. Flow is 100/10. The “are you gonna take me there” gives me chills. This song needs a dance this chorus is TOO LIT. Am I at a rave rn??? Oh thank God the bridge took it back a level. Ok I’m pausing because I think I caught some of the lyrics this time. If I’m not wrong I heard 난 궁금해 저 끝이 궁금해, 더 가까이 조금 더 가까이 ? Which is something like “I wonder, I wonder about the end. Closer, a little bit closer” if I heard correctly. I need to look up the lyrics in full later because Hongjoong has a big brain and his lyrics are always 🤯🤩 Ok unpause. Final breakdown! Yep this is going on repeat the rest of today. Jongho yussss with the ad libs. No it’s over ㅠㅠ Alright this one is already vying for top spot this album. We shall see. But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. HONGJOONG GENIUS.

Um so yeah I saw them perform this live for their anniversary thingy and cried so this should be fun. At least I already know the song so how much can it hurt me? 🤷🏻‍♀️

Smart of whoever put this album together to stick this song right in the middle and make us cry between head banging to the other songs. Mingi in the beginning is just 💖💕💘💝💓 San ballad king. I need more ballads from him. Jongho, of course, with perfect vocal control. Oh Seonghwa too, I need more ballads from him. Wooyoung with T H A T part. A tear is forming, I just love this chorus. People are saying the song should be in a drama and I 100% agree. Everyone together FOREVER YOU ARE MY STARRR. The little drum frills it’s so cute :(( Yay Hongjoong, and his cute little voice I’m UWUWU. Wooyoung with the high note and I’m ascending........... Chorus again and this is the real meaning of crying in the club. It just occurred to me that the second verse seemed really short. Yeosang + Hongjoong + that guitar in the bridge is *chef’s kiss*. This is so emotional, do we really need to do this at 4am?!? I’m just gonna vibe for a sec, it’s the last chorus. The ad libs were so perfect and the way it ended— wow. I need a moment.

From my understanding this is a full version of the Precious Overture they gave us last album. Tempted to go back and see my first impressions about that one, but either way i have a distinct feeling my wig is about to be snatched. Let’s GOOO

So far, it’s starting the same. Creepy humming and all. Okay scratch that, we have a vocal melody. Yunho sounds great ugh I’m so proud. Sorry, San’s voice just takes me to another plane of existence or something, how can it be that smooth and gorgeous, someone please explain. Building to something now... Oo. OO?! Hongjoong’s rapping. This is so cool oh wow, and into this vocal part which I believe is the chorus?? wOW wow it’s amazing to hear this having already heard the bgm, this is like a new level of appreciation. It really all goes well. Ah we have a switch up now with Seonghwa. guys GUYS GUYS you know how I feel about switch ups. Sorry I’m going back to catch something. The tempo changed here and really grabbed my attention. The bass is also super cool, it’s actually the same melody as the treasure opening (and the opening of this song) but much lower, I believe. Uh oh guys this might be vying for top spot too. Let’s continue. Ok Mingi’s rap which I’ve already heard. Um I’m confused now. It’s Hongjoong’s rap again? Is this the chorus?? Woah woah hold on I gotta pause. Because. Wait, what?? This is the chorus??!? Yoooooooo bold move! I have no idea what is going on but I love it. Continuing on. Ah yeah ok the vocal part with Yeosang again, so I guess the rap + vocal part is the chorus? Also I neglected to mention but Yeosang is killing this song. Ooh okay this bridge is building some suspense. Feeeelingggggg.... And now a shouted version of the rap for the final chorus. Okay wow I’m impressed that they took it this direction. And Jongho with the ad libs is PERFECTIONNNN. Oop okay they’ve added the revised-lyric Treasure part to the end here. And the lyrics are the same as in Precious (Overture) so I’m guessing we still didn’t find the treasure, good grief. How long is it gonna take to find this treasure 😅. And it ended like that. Well. WOW. Again, I could listen to this on repeat all day. Again, I am deceased. Instant fave.

I’m pretty sure this is the exact same as I already heard on the trailer thingy but we are gonna react to it anyway.

The orchestra really loosens my tear ducts like nothing else. It’s beautiful, who else is doing it like them?? “Did you find your treasure?” Yes, I found ATEEZ 🥺. The way he says “finally found it” . This is Maddox btw. Also about Maddox, hang on I’m gonna pause for a PSA: guys if you don’t know Maddox please PLEASE check him out. He’s doing the amazing narration on this (and Intro too), he’s a soloist under KQ and one of Ateez’s hyungs who they look up to. In addition to his superior narrating talents, he is also an amazing vocalist. If you like R&B and lo-fi music I would definitely recommend him, he just dropped a single called Color Blind, his insta is xxmaddox, he’s a great guy and YEAH that’s all for my plug but go stan him, he is deserving and proof of the fact that KQ artists are talent through and through. Unpausing! The way the orchestra swells and then goes into a piratey sounding theme is so motivating and familiar :))) “Can you hear those voices?” HNGJRKSNDN WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE SCARY. This is the Epilogue, it’s supposed to be like the denouement, the falling action!! The bad guys should be gone now! What’s next?? Treasure Ep: Answer to Question? Because that’s what I have after this album! More questions!!! Anyway, the bass here and the humming 👌🏻 100/10 for the instrumental. And in ATEEZ fashion, they leave me thirsting for more.

So that was my first impression/live reaction to the mini album! I think it’s Horizon and Precious fighting for #1 currently. Maybe I’ll reblog with second and third and fourth impressions... Thanks for reading if you got this far! And tell me what your first impressions were and if I missed something big while I was keysmashing. TTFN~

#ateez #ateez action to answer #ateez answer #ateez reactions #ateez first impressions #first impressions #keysmash #liveblog #tokki.txt

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a-damson-in-distress · 5 years ago

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The Protégé 4

Pairing: MadaSaku

Plot: In search of a new cellist for his prestigious orchestra, an infamously feared maestro stumbles upon a young rising star.

The Protégé 1

The Protégé 2

The Protégé 3

Edit: I almost forgot to add this super important note: A thousand thank yous to my regulars who have followed this story from the get-go. There are a few of you who never fail to show their appreciation and never forget to leave an encouraging comment. Don’t think I don’t notice you, you stalkers ;). I am immensly thankful for your feedback and your comments, they keep me so motivated and give me a sense of validation, like this isn’t just some sort of private thing that I only create for myself and nobody else gives a shit about it. If five hundred people read my story without leaving a comment or anything and I’ve only got the few reviews from you guys, it’s still enough to show me that my work is appreciated. So thank you!

Note: For those of you who are as confused about orchestral stage etiquette as I am and have no idea what’s going on with the whole handshake thing in this chapter, here’s what I found out about it while doing research for chapter four: The first violinist in an orchestra is also called the concert master, he represents the entire orchestra and functions as a sort of “team captain” if you will. So whenever the maestro invites a soloist, the soloist is supposed to shake hands with the maestro (thanking him for the invitation basically) as well as the concert master (though there are variations to this, some only shake hands before the performance, some before and after, etc.). By shaking the CM’s hand, the soloist essentially thanks all of the other musicians for their collaboration as solo concertos are usually a group effort, and you know the soloist can’t go around shaking the hands of a hundred people so they usually only shake hands with the CM *gasp* wow that was a long explanation. Aaaaaaanyway, here’s a video of the concerto Sakura is performing in this chapter: Camille Saint-Saën’s Cello Concerto No.1 in A minor.

Enjoy, have fun reading, let me know if you liked it, leave a comment, send a carrier pigeon, send a smoke signal, you know whatever floats your boat. You know the drill.

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“A little to the left. Chin up. Perfect, stay that way.”

Sakura had trouble not squinting her eyes when the photographer unleashed another onslaught of camera flashes upon her. She was currently in his studio doing a photo shoot for the orchestra’s and the theatre’s official websites. Her probation period was over, and they were only a week away from kicking off their tour after their first performance at home, so now the New National Theatre was going to officially announce her as the principal cellist of Maestro Uchiha’s ensemble complete with interviews, articles, videos of her rehearsals, and ridiculously over-the-top photographs.

The nickname the press had given her after her solo in Sapporo spread like wildfire, and the orchestra’s publicist decided to capitalise on her image as the Imperatrix Furiosa. So they put her in a majestic velvet evening gown dyed in a scandalous scarlet with a skirt wide enough to allow her to spread her legs to accommodate her cello on the throne-like chair she was currently sitting in. Her hair was tied up into an overly dramatic and intricate updo and fastened with fancy kanzashi hair pins that were sticking out in such a manner they made it look like she was wearing a crown.

The dress and accessories paired with the red lipstick and dramatic eye make-up made her look every bit the Furious Empress and the enticing femme fatale of Japan’s classical music scene the publicist wanted her to portray.

And Sakura hated every second of it.

“Do you think you have enough pictures now?” the young cellist asked tentatively while trying to hold her unnatural pose.

Deidara, the orchestra’s publicist, looked up from the laptop where her photographs appeared right after being snapped. “Just a few more, sweety. You’re doing great, though.” He gave her an encouraging thumbs-up and shot her an apologetic smile. Great, Sakura mused silently, she must have looked more uncomfortable than she thought. And here she was thinking she was good at hiding it.

“Seriously, though, we need to wrap this up. She’s got rehearsal in an hour, and Madara will chop off my head if his MVP is late,” Sakura heard the blonde publicist explain to the photographer. She sincerely hoped the heavy make-up was covering the deep blush she could feel spreading across her cheeks at his remark. Did her Maestro really tell the publicist she was his most valuable musician?

“No grinning, please,” came the photographer’s command from behind his lens.

Right. Stop daydreaming, Sakura reminded herself.

Straightening her back and schooling her features, the pink-haired cellist remained motionless on her make-shift throne. After a few more minutes of clicking, snapping, repositioning, and flashing, Sakura was finally free to get out of her dress and wash off all that make-up. She undid her complicated updo and gathered her hair into a high puffy ponytail. Putting on her pastel green boat neck dress with box pleats and slipping into her simple white ballerinas, she immediately felt more comfortable, like her young and goofy self and not the mature and seductive diva the photographer wanted her to be.

“Chop-chop, darling. Maestro Menacing is waiting for you.” Sakura was torn from her thoughts at the sound of Deidara calling out from the other side of the closed door. The young musician had to supress a smirk at the sound of the nickname she knew the publicist secretly used for her Maestro. He wasn’t entirely wrong, Mr Uchiha really could come across as menacing and unapproachable. But Sakura had gotten to know another side of him over the last weeks as well. There was a gentleness to him he only rarely showed, tiny little smiles of satisfaction and subtle gestures of encouragement. As much as she appreciated his constructive criticism, she loved his nods of approval and his well done, Ms Haruno’s even more.

And she couldn’t wait to prove herself to her Maestro during the upcoming tour and hope for a bit more of his praise she so selfishly craved.

After Deidara and Sakura left the photographer’s studio, they immediately headed back to the theatre where the rest of Maestro Uchiha’s ensemble was already preparing themselves for one of their last rehearsals before kicking off their tour. Sakura took her usual seat to the right of the conductor’s music stand. She was so busy tuning her cello, she didn’t even notice her Maestro approach his podium.

“Ms Haruno.” A deep voice made her look up in surprise and she was met with the sight of the raven-haired conductor casually leaning on the rail of his podium with his strong arms crossed in front of his broad chest, clad in a meticulous three-piece suit sans the jacket.

The young cellist prayed to God her blush wasn’t as visible as she thought it was.

“Yes, Maestro?” she answered in a small voice.

“How was the photoshoot?”

Sakura gave him a weak smile and chuckled softly. “Honestly? It was horrible. They dressed me up in this heavy, floor-length gown and backcombed my hair so much it looked like I had a bird’s nest on my head in the end. And I had so much make-up on I could literally feel my pores dying a horrible death by asphyxiation. Please don’t look at the photos once they upload them.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. But if it makes you feel any better, I will not go actively looking for your pictures. Though I have to admit, I would love to see a pink bird’s nest.” Her Maestro’s teasing grin made her giggle, and Sakura looked up at the raven-haired conductor with a huge smile on her face.

Just in that moment, she could hear the sound of a camera shutter from her left. Both her Maestro and Sakura turned around in surprise and spotted Deidara standing in the middle of the countless rows of seats with a camera in his hand.

“Finally. Do you know how difficult it is to get a photo of two people together who both hate to pose for pictures? You two are a publicist’s nightmare, but you’re lucky you’re so goddamn photogenic.”

Sakura turned to Maestro Uchiha and looked at him questioningly. With an annoyed eye roll, he explained, “Deidara said he needed a picture of the two of us together for our countless social media profiles. He wants to make a post about me welcoming you to the ensemble or whatever, and apparently, I cannot officially welcome you without a picture.”

His obvious annoyance with the blonde publicist elicited another laugh from the young cellist. Sakura watched her conductor narrow his eyes at her before his own lips spread into a tiny amused grin.

“Alright, that’s enough giggling now, Ms Haruno. If you keep enjoying my jokes like that, the other members of my orchestra might start to think I actually have a heart.”

Biting on her bottom lip to keep herself from chuckling at his quip and again hoping that her blush wouldn’t betray her, the young cellist focused her gaze on her sheet music and readied her instrument for the rehearsal. The other musicians took their seats as well, filling up the vacant space around Sakura, and fixed their eyes on the conductor.

Maestro Uchiha gave his final orders, raised his baton, and the musicians started playing.

---------

“I finally got Naruto to accept my karaoke challenge. He’s going to do Leona Lewis’ Bleeding Love at the bar tonight, you gotta come with us!”

The pink-haired cellist looked up from her sheet music and was met with the face of her new roommate Ino, the principal clarinet of their ensemble. After her first rehearsal with the Tokyo Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra, Temari had introduced her to some people she claimed were the only tolerable ones, and Sakura immediately hit it off with the blonde musician. Not long after getting to know each other, Ino offered her to move in with her after her previous roommate accepted another job in a different city. Though some of her newly found friends in the orchestra, who had all known Ino for a long time now, jokingly advised her against it with the explanation that she’s bi and you’re annoyingly adorable and totally her type, she’ll eat you up and spit you out, Sakura hadn’t regretted a single second of being the roommate of the exuberant and feisty clarinet player.

“Sure, I’ll be there. I just need a minute to talk to the Maestro,” Sakura answered with an amused grin.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ino bounce up and down with excitement. “Yay, it’s gonna be so great. We always go out the night before our first performance, without any alcohol of course,” the blonde musician added in a loud voice, pointedly looking in Maestro Uchiha’s direction before continuing, “but still, you’re gonna have so much fun with us. I’ll see you at home. And don’t be late, missy, I still need to do your makeup.”

Sakura was met with the end of Ino’s perfectly manicured index finger pointed accusingly at her face before the blonde turned on her heel and strutted off the stage as if it were her own personal catwalk.

Gathering her things, the pink-haired cellist made her way to the Maestro, who was currently busy berating his principal percussionist Naruto for goofing around with his timpani sticks during a break and pretending to have a swordfight with his fellow players. She decided to wait for them to finish and came to a halt in the middle of the string section when she realised that their orchestra’s concert master Kabuto was seemingly also waiting for a word with their conductor.

The grey-haired violinist was one of the musicians who hadn’t even spared her a glance on her first day. But while most of them seemed to have come around in the meantime or have at least started greeting their newest member, Kabuto was still adamantly giving her the cold shoulder. Whenever she tried talking to him, Sakura was met with nothing but haughty looks and condescending remarks. Though she had to admit, the moments of interaction between them were few and far between, because Sakura tried to keep them to a minimum. Their concert master was clearly of the highly competitive sort, and Sakura had no intention of letting him drag her into a musical pissing contest.

And still, manners were manners, so the cellist forced a tight smile and greeted him.

“Hey, Kabuto. Excited for our first concert tomorrow?”

The grey-haired violinist slowly turned his head and looked down his nose at her. He studied her for a second with narrowed eyes, as if trying to discern whether or not she was worthy of an answer, before opening his mouth, “I’m sure you are.”

Supressing the urge to roll her eyes at his usual cryptic answer, Sakura instead ignored his remark and cleared her throat. “So um, every CM seems to be handling stage etiquette a bit differently, so I wanted to ask you how you want to do the handshake tomorrow? Before and after, or just after or do you –“

“Honestly, Haruno, I couldn’t care less about the handshake or your solo. But if this really is so confusing to you, why don’t you go ask Daddy for help? It’s not like our Maestro has anything better to do than take his new little girl by the hand and show her how things work around here.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Sakura could feel her cheeks heating up at his embarrassing remark, and she stared at him open-mouthed, stunned into silence. Luckily, she didn’t have to come up with an answer, since Kabuto was approached by another violinist in that moment, asking him whether he wanted to go out tonight.

“No thanks, I’ll be staying at the theatre for a while longer. I’ve got other plans for later,” the concert master explained with a devious grin.

After the violinist left, Kabuto made no attempt to address Sakura again, and Maestro Uchiha was still not done chewing out Naruto. Since she felt so incredibly uncomfortable in Kabuto’s presence, the young musician decided to grab her cello case and leave. Not even the prospect of talking to Maestro Uchiha for a few minutes was worth it, if it meant she had to spend another second in awkward silence with the concert master who seemed to hate her guts.

---------

There was a ritual Madara had long formed a habit of going through before every concert he was going to conduct. It consisted of him mumbling every single articulation in chronological order of every piece of that night’s programme while he re-arranged the seats of his musicians on stage. Even though the stage crew of every theatre he ever worked at never failed to position everything correctly, the conductor still felt more at east when he could move every chair and every music stand to just the perfect spot.

Madara was currently contemplating whether to push a sax player’s seat half a centimetre to the left or to the right when he heard a commotion from backstage. He followed the noise to the labyrinth of dressing rooms where his eyes caught sight of three blonde musicians rushing from one room to the next, frantically looking for something.

“What do you mean, she can’t find it. It must be there!” Temari came rushing past him with a handbag before she promptly dumped its content on a table and started digging through it.

“I don’t know. When we got home last night, I asked her if all of her stuff was ready in the dressing room. She told me she checked everything three times, even tried on the shoes just to be safe, because she was afraid they gave her the wrong size.”

Madara watched his principal clarinet go through the countless makeup bags before she turned to another person in the hall. “Naruto, did you check the clothing racks in all the dressing rooms?” Madara’s gaze landed on the blonde percussionist who just entered the room with an apologetic shake of his head.

Clearing his throat to get their attention, the raven-haired conductor leaned against the door frame and let his gaze wander around the dressing room in which the three musicians were currently bustling about.

“Our concert starts in half an hour. I sincerely hope you’ll find whatever you’re so desperately looking for.”

Madara’s accusatory gaze met the desperate look of the blonde clarinet player before she approached him, grabbing his arm and tugging him down the hall.

“Maestro, you need to help us. It’s an emergency.”

Ino came to a halt in front of the closed door of another dressing room and knocked twice before letting herself in. Madara stayed behind, still unsure of what was really going on.

“Oh God, Ino, please tell me you have it, please! I need to be ready before anyone finds out, or before he finds out. Please, we need to hurry, Maestro Uchiha absolutely can’t know about this, or I’m screwed!”

Madara’s heart suddenly lurched in his chest at the sound of Sakura’s distraught voice so close to tears. He took a step forward and entered the room where he was met with the sight of his principal cellist dressed up in her concert outfit, a dark-green fitted pant suit, black patent leather Oxford’s, and a white blouse fully buttoned up – and missing a bow tie.

“Ms Haruno, what’s going on?”

She fixed her scared, wide eyes on him, and Madara was immediately hit with the urge to envelop her in his arms and assure her he’ll make everything right for her again.

The conductor couldn’t help but let his gaze be drawn to her beautiful mouth, invited by the sight of her teeth chewing on her bottom lip before releasing it to speak.

“Maestro, I’m so so sorry, but I … I can’t seem to find my bow tie. But I swear to God it was here. After the rehearsal and before I left the theatre yesterday, I checked if all of my stuff was ready like you told us and I swear to God my outfit was complete, I know I saw the bow tie with the rest of my clothes. But now it’s gone and we looked everywhere and I don’t know what to do. God, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry to disappoint you.” Her voice was shaky and on the verge of tears and Madara had to consciously restrain the urge in his feet to run to her.

He was just about to say something to comfort the distraught young cellist when he heard more voices approaching the dressing room. The maestro turned around to see a small crowd gathered outside the door, all asking and wondering what was going on with their youngest member.

“Nothing to see here, alright? Just looking for a lost bow tie. We’ll be ready any second now, so scram, got it?” The blonde clarinet player fixed the crowd with a stern gaze and waved her hands in front of her to signal the other musicians to disperse.

“Maybe we should help look? I’m sure we’ll find it faster that way. Then we can all get back to our preparations in peace.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Madara could see Sakura’s head shoot up and her eyes widen in surprise at the sound of his concert master’s suggestion. But before anybody could say anything, Kabuto had already turned around and left.

“I’m sorry for troubling you with this, Maestro. We actually promised Sakura not to tell you anything, but we really couldn’t find it anywhere after looking for so long, and now we’re kind of lost.” Ino’s apologetic gaze was shooting back and forth between the conductor and his principal cellist.

“It’s quite alright, Ms Yamanaka. I’m glad you told me. Now I can get to the bottom of this myself.”

When he saw Sakura’s worried expression turn even more desperate, Madara felt like slapping himself. That came out way more threatening than he intended it to. He was just about to clarify his statement when he heard a knock on the open door which made all their heads turn around.

Kabuto was standing in the doorway with his right hand raised, a bow tie dangling from the edge of his middle finger. “You’ll never guess where I found this,” he said in a casual tone, a barely visible smirk gracing his features.

Madara watched his principal clarinet cross her arms in front of her chest. “Oh I’m sure I will.”

Kabuto ignored her, instead stepping into the dressing room and approaching Sakura. “Somehow, it landed in a drawer of one of the dressing tables.” He slipped the bow tie off his middle finger, and Sakura barely had enough time to catch it. “Lucky for you I’m so thorough at everything I do.” He gave her what was probably meant to be a half-baked attempt at a sincere smile and then turned to face Madara, his fake grin widening, before he left the room.

The maestro’s eyes landed on the young cellist in front of him again, who was still staring after the concert master with a look of confusion. He glanced at his watch and cleared his throat.

“Everybody out. I need a minute with Ms Haruno.”

After her friends hesitantly left the room and closed the door behind them, Madara let his gaze rest on Sakura’s downcast head. It was then the maestro realised she was playing with the bow tie in her hand, tugging at it and turning it around between her fingers. She was nervous.

“Ms Haruno, look at me.”

At the sound of his soft command, Sakura slowly raised her head to meet his gaze. Madara had to supress a groan at the sight of her teeth chewing on her bottom lip again.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” her whispering voice pleaded with him.

“I’m not mad, Ms Haruno. I know none of this was your fault, trust me.” He closed his hands over her fidgeting ones and took the bow tie.

“Chin up.”

The young cellist just stared at him for a second, jade-green eyes wide with confusion.

Madara took a step closer to her, put a finger beneath her chin and forced her head up. He then proceeded to turn up her collar and fasten the bow tie around her neck.

“You’re not going to allow this incident to rattle you, you’re better than this and we both know it. Once I call you up on stage, you’re going to walk up there like you own the place, play your solo to perfection, and blow everyone away.” He gave her bow tie a final tug.

“Have I made myself understood, Ms Haruno?” Madara looked down at her with a strict gaze and a tiny amused smirk gracing his lips.

“Yes, Maestro,” Sakura nodded enthusiastically while smiling up at him with a look of pure determination.

“Good.” Madara grabbed her chin between his fingers and leaned closer to her face before murmuring, “I wouldn’t expect anything less form my protégé.”

He watched with satisfaction as a deep blush spread across her cheeks and her jade-green eyes widened in surprise, staring up at him with that look of wonder, reverence, and gratification she only seemed to have reserved for him, as if his praise was the only thing in the world giving her life meaning.

Unable to resist, Madara allowed his gaze to rest on her inviting lips for a split second before letting go off her chin and forcing himself to leave her dressing room.

His thoughts kept swirling around the young cellist even as he stepped onto the stage amidst tumultuous applause. The conductor had to admit that it was a good decision not to have Sakura join the ensemble for the entire programme but only for her solo in the last half hour; he probably wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes from her. Though that wasn’t the original reason for not having her on stage for the entire performance. What Madara was really hoping to achieve with the late entrance of his principal cellist was to give her the grand introduction deserving of a musician of her calibre. After all, the Tokyo Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra was one of the most prestigious ensembles in the world of classical music, and Sakura Haruno wasn’t just anybody. And a good maestro knows to save the best for last.

Despite his mind being distracted with the image of her inviting lips only centimetres away from his own, Madara was still able to focus on the musicians in front of him as he led his orchestra through the concert’s programme. After they finished their second to last piece and when it was time for Sakura’s solo, he signalled his ensemble to quiet down, turned around on his podium to face the audience and grabbed a microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, as you may have heard the Tokyo Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra has signed on a new member. As of this April, our vacant spot of principal cellist was filled with an immensely talented young musician from Kyoto. Though she doesn’t need an introduction, she’s going to get one anyway. She is an award-winning cello prodigy who was the youngest ever recipient of the first Grand Prize at the Rostropovitch Cello Competition at the age of sixteen. She studied under Takanori Nakano, Stjepan Hauser, and Steven Isserlis, to mention but a few. After establishing herself as a world-renowned cellist in her previous orchestras, she will now join us for our tour as the newest and youngest member of my ensemble. Ladies and Gentlemen, you will now hear Camille Saint-Saëns’ Cello Concerto number 1 in A minor with our new principal cellist Sakura Haruno as the soloist.”

Madara put down the microphone, stepped off his podium, and walked off the stage to where Sakura was waiting for him.

“Ready?” he asked with an encouraging smile.

She answered with a determined nod as her lips spread into an excited grin. “As I’ll ever be.”

The maestro signalled her to lead the way. As the cellist stepped onto the stage with her instrument in hand, the audience erupted into thunderous applause. Madara followed after her, clapping his hands like the rest of the guests and the musicians of his ensemble. He watched her bow deeply to the audience before turning to Kabuto and shaking his hand with a smug grin plastered on her face. She waited for Madara to step onto his podium before shaking his hand as well.

“Give ‘em hell, Ms Haruno.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see another one of her blushes he liked so much taint her cheeks as she took a seat and readied herself with a subtle, sincere smile gracing her lips.

Madara raised his baton while Sakura steadied her bow above the strings of her cello. They shared one last look, the cellist looking up at her maestro for guidance and the maestro giving her a tiny smile of approval. He nodded to his entire ensemble.

As the music enveloped the large concert hall, Madara could see Sakura sway in her seat, eyes closed and completely surrendering herself to her instrument. He knew in that moment that she was gone now, transporting her mind into whatever utopia she conjured up whenever she let go and allowed her music to simply take her away.

As easy as it was for him to get and hold her attention, the maestro had to begrudgingly admit that music still seemed to be the only thing able to ensnare her in a way he could not. He was going to have to change that soon enough, he decided.

But for the time being, Madara let her be. His protégé was lost to the world now, anyway.

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