“sorry, your door was open. i didn’t think of knocking, but i made ramen if you wanted some.” his hand is on the brass knob, fingers drumming an incessant beat as the other points over his shoulder, down the hall to the kitchen. the smell of broth wafts. “i didn’t know you had so many plushies. they’re cute.” you’re cute.
“ OH. SURE. ” FOOD IS AN easy way to distract him, a luxury that he frequently deprives himself of. the scent alone is enough to draw him out of his den, shame momentarily blacked out by the promise of nourishment. without so much as a backward glance, he starts towards the door. the resolute march is only stopped by a singular word --------- ‘ cute. ’
oh, of course, he’s been likened to it before. what with his tiny face and seraphic grin. soft, pale flesh and thin, pretty fingers that frame his cheeks so well in the now painfully common - place flower pot pose. his eye - smiles, however rare, are nothing short of heartwarming. the kind that makes you want to melt into a puddle and just lay in his cuteness.
which is why they’re so rare, naturally. lin already tried to make a career off of being cute. he might’ve, if his company hadn’t sabotaged him.
jianhong, on the other hand --------- he prides himself on maturity. on the way his tongue darts past his lips to wet them suggestively, the fierceness and the lust in his gaze as he stares out into the crowd. that’s more his style. this inevitably clashes with his army of stuffed animals; thus, they remain hidden. he knows better than to ask, “ are you going to tell anyone ? ” he tells himself that he has nothing to hide.
( so why does he lie ? one may ask. he doesn’t have an answer. )
“ they’re from fans, ” jianhong mumbles. a certifiable excuse were it not for the lackluster delivery. “ i felt bad about tossing them all out because they’re so many and the big ones are so expensive ---------- ” how would he know ? unless he was a connoisseur, there was no real way of knowing. was feeling up the material enough ? “ --------- so i just kind of stuff them in here. makes good insulation during the winter, too. ”
halfway into the hall, jianhong pauses. half - turns. lifts his brows, as if he doesn’t care at all. “ you can have one if you want. ” no, you cannot. do not ask. don’t even think about it.
+ detail your parent’s initial and current thoughts on your career choice ( + 05 exp ) --------- word count: 495
IT ISN’T PRIDE. NOT AT FIRST. at first, it’s “ why are you doing this ? you need to stay home to take care of your mother while i’m at work. ” and lin understands, because he’d ask the same of his son if he were in his father’s position. but he also knows that his father never felt passion --------- not the way lin feels for music. sitting in an office all day does not mean his father’s a dull man. he has a stunning sense of humor, a wit that would have most heads spinning. lin wishes he had that sort of charisma. jianhong doesn’t. after all those years, it’s faded away.
his father’s faded away. nothing was the same after his wife died.
maybe that’s why his father disapproves so much. the fact that lin never got to be by his mother’s bedside because he was off being shelved away in his old company, set aside for newer talent. the fact that this private loss, the intimacy of mourning, was lost with the lawsuit when it was revealed that ye lin was, in fact, not compensated for his work and his family was swimming in debt. really, nothing ever went right for them after lin left home.
they don’t talk often these days, either. jianhong never bothered to tell his father about his name change, despite the fact that he’s never been referred to as lin in almost a decade. he doesn’t think his father reads enough articles to care about how he’s doing. occasionally they’ll talk, pretending like everything’s okay.
“ are you eating ? sleeping ? ”
“ yes. you ? ”
“ of course. what else am i supposed to do ? ”
his father never asks about his work. jianhong thinks it’s for the best. he doesn’t know about the online abuse, the vitriol aimed in his direction. part of him wonders if his father would even care. if he regrets picking lin out of a line - up of twelve other boys. maybe those kids would’ve pursued something more practical. they would’ve gotten paid, would’ve been able to afford treatment for their mother. lin was a failure of a son. jianhong isn’t even sure if he is one anymore.
nothing is ever really said between the two of them anymore. nothing of substance. jianhong thinks he’s moderately satisfied with his place in life. he’s working hard, being praised for his efforts. and even the disapproval of his father, no longer palpable from a whole sea away, isn’t able to quash that. his father may want a better son, but jianhong knows it’s better to be true to himself than to be as lifeless as the man he left behind.
it still isn’t pride. in fact, it’s always been disappointment. disapproval. befuddlement. criticism. nothing good. and it’s caused a gorge, deep and vast and wide.
a gorge that may never be crossed. a gorge that jianhong still mourns.
IT REALLY SHOULDN’T BE SO embarrassing. jianhong feels as though he’s at an age and point in his life where shame should be a nonentity --------- he’s an entertainer, spending most if not all of his life under scrutiny. his fans know a little bit of the extent of his supposed ‘ chagrin ’ because of what he leaves exposed under vlives. usually it’s just the big ones, excused as carnival prizes and not keepsakes from his early childhood or even just collector’s pieces he spent his free time scouring for. it wasn’t as if he cuddled them, anyway. the soft dolls just framed him as he slept.
kind of like the flowers surrounding snow white’s glass coffin, if he really wanted to make such a morbid comparison.
but there were limits to his secrets. he tried to be an open book with his member out of respect; if they were to be brothers - in - arms, no matter their feelings on each other, then they should know everything about him. and they sort of did. they know of ye lin ( and that he is dead ), and that’s really the most pressing and interesting thing about him.
he’s got favorites, though. it would be foolish to think he didn’t; even parents who claimed they couldn’t pick between their children deep down had some sort of preference, let alone a young man who’d effectively been forced to work with a group of strangers for the past six or so years. ( strangers he had ended up letting down, of course. ) so can one blame him for suddenly flinching at how uncool he might seem to one of the members he likes the most ?
“ when did you come in ? ” the words leave his lips more accusatory than he intends, skewing a bit rude. there’s almost a year between them. he almost balks at his own disrespect. and the fact the words give the impression he’d have tried to hide the stuffed animals if he had known jinwoo was going to enter. hands finding their way to his hips, jianhong decided instead to turn to bravado. he had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of --------- right ? “ did you need something ? ” stop looking at the giant bear against the wall that looks like it’s going to fall right on top of me.
SOLITUDE IS A NECESSITY. IN such a business as his, the hustle and bustle of artist, staff, and fan alike, it is too easy to get swept up in the tide of sheer numbers. he stands out, tall and lanky and pale and world - weary, but that is the last thing he wants. often times, jianhong’s greatest desire is to climb into his bed, cocoon himself in his blankets, and stay there indefinitely. however, he understands that he signed up a life of the complete opposite. his days were filled with work, work, and more work --------- a variety of tasks that included performances, practice, and, if he was lucky, the opportunity to work on personal projects. also a regular variety guest, jianhong had very little time to himself during the day.
naturally, he took to the dark, to moonlight, to ... recharge, in a way. he liked the quiet, just being accompanied by neon lights and the occasional passing car. he was careful never to get caught, lest he be suspected of illicit activity, and often swathed himself in warm, oversized sweatshirts and combined a pair of sunglasses with a black face mask. suspicious, perhaps, if someone saw him walking down the street, but nobody was out that late anyway.
or, so he thought.
although jianhong usually considered himself a prudent person, he was prone to the occasional lapse -------- failing to check the weather before he stepped out, all he had with which to shelter himself from the storm was his hood. he’s lucky that he comes across an awning, and the man ducks quickly underneath it as he jumps from a clap of thunder. jianhong sighs, slipping off his hood and shaking off what wetness permeated it to coat his hair. only when he looked to the side did he jump again, noting finally that he wasn’t alone. a young man, close to his age, had the same idea as him. not any young man, though. there’s something niggling in the back of his head. this is someone he knows, or someone he should know. jianhong’s brows furrow as he tries to place the familiar face.
“ ah ! ” he says after a pause, not realizing then that he has spoken aloud. cheeks flushing once he realized he was audible, he scrambles to say something else. “ you’re ... you’re from atlas, aren’t you ? ” he slips his mouth mask down to his chin and points at his face. “ i’m jianhong --------- janus. from imperial. what ... brings you out so late ? ”
YE JIANHONG IS ONLY HUMAN. though he has chosen for himself a life of exploitation and constant bombardment, he is still fallible. jianhong rarely slept for more than three hours at a time. when imperial was preparing for a comeback, he might as well have not slept at all. his self - inflicted insomnia resulted in his becoming practically a walking corpse. mindlessly perfunctory, he would go through his day as if in a haze. everyone around him had gotten used to it. attempts to dissuade him didn’t man out, and so people had given up. but he often forgot that he was a senior now, that he had to be an example for the younger idols who looked up to him.
if he were more self - aware, he would’ve been better. he’d have recognized that his juniors were promoting at the same time as him, and thus decided to be on his best behavior. he wouldn’t be half - asleep in his chair as the stylists bustled around him, eyelids drooping as he propped his feet up on the only spot in front of him that wasn’t covered in makeup. he wouldn’t have hissed when a stylist tapped him on the shoulder. wouldn’t have blinked himself awake and frowned a little upon seeing someone approach him.
“ what’s this ? ” would not have left his lips --------- a nicer and more encouraging reception would have replaced it. but seeing as he was, of course, running on fumes, what filter usually took residence between his brain and mouth was shot to hell. “ oh ... thank you. ” knowing even in his semi - consciousness that speaking would probably lead to bad things, he closed his mouth and offered a smile instead. well, he tried to, pulling up the corners of his mouth into what turned out to be a sort of grimace. “ what ... which one are you again ? ” he looked down at the album in his hands, brows furrowing. “ sorry --------- what’s your name ? ”
zenith !! is there a genre or sound you’d like to put out with your group in the future ? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
“ I DON’T KNOW … I REALLY liked really really’s tropical house vibe and would like to go further with that. ” and they are. “ … but i can’t deny that i’ve always wanted to do something more youthful ! i’m a young man, after all. give me something i can be cute to. ” the interviewer’s brows fly up at that response; imperial’s more mature sound is their staple. janus has built a career off of biting his lower lip and winking and thrusting his hips. and the way he cringes, a full body gesture of discomfort and distress when aegyo is asked of him, isn’t exactly hidden. but the truth is, he’s been saddled with maturity since the beginning of his career. even back home, when he was barely fourteen at debut, they capitalized on the sophisticated way with which he conducted himself. jianhong never had the opportunity to explore his youth, the playfulness that went subdued after years of too - early strife and stress. he never really got the chance to be a kid. “ oh, don’t look at me like that. i’m only twenty - four ! ” he certainly doesn’t act it.
HE WAS SLOPPY; THAT’S REALLY his only excuse. jianhong is usually more careful than this. but he wasn’t expecting to be accosted like this. normally, it’d be covered up. the ink on his skin isn’t an old shame --------- it’s remembrance, a lamentation of sorts, of what might have been had his life turned out different. an ode to romance and how it has yet to fade from his heart, manifested onto his skin. it didn’t behoove him, a then up - and - coming idol, to get such a stigmatized body modification. but had been in love, and as a romantic, he wanted to commemorate the ache. a regular romeo, he supposed.
once he joined the korean industry in particular, he knew that it would need to be covered at all times. not wanting to make trouble for stylists and his staff, jianhong often took it upon himself to cover it up himself. either with makeup or large, flesh - colored bandages, he was mostly incredibly conscious of his tattoo and when it was showing. but this wasn’t any official engagement of any kind. just a meeting between friends ( could he refer to her as that ? he hoped so ). he’d help her with her rapping skills, she’d hopefully imprint some grace on his usually - aggressive form. none of this involved a flashing of the flesh of his hip, let alone the minimalist image seated there.
‘ x marks the spot. ’ that’s what the artist joked when jianhong first told him what he wanted. ‘ x stands for xuedong, ’ jianhong had wanted to say, but that was an exceedingly masculine name and eyebrows would be raised if not totally denied service to top it all off. and to be fair, it kind of looks like an x one would find on a treasure map, if a bit too precise to seem like it’s by a pirate’s hand. so it would make sense that yujin would poke it.
( sort of. most people, he finds, like to keep their hands to themselves. but between friends, skinship is ... expected. )
that, of course, does not stop him from leaping out of his skin at the sudden contact. caught mid - yawn, the rapper shrieks and jumps a few feet backwards, hands flying from being extended above his head to cupping the exposed skin in question. “ don’t do that ! ” jianhong gasps, winded and ( frankly ) a little wary. “ good lord, you almost gave me a heart attack. ”
flare !! what’s a song you’d like to cover ? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
OH, BUT HE DOESN’T PAY too much attention to others’ music, so can he answer this question genuinely ? jianhong wracks his brain for anything that might be an acceptable answer, hoping that his mild distress doesn’t show on his face. “ ah, i quite like olympus’s the eve. it’s more my brand of music. ” and if audiences are aware of his contributions to imperial’s discography, discarded and otherwise, they’d be heavily inclined to agree. “ i’m not a huge fan of very uptempo songs, and its hook is very catchy. the instrumentation is very nice ———- the guitar riffs and backbeat in particular are stand - outs ——— but i suppose i’m digressing. it’s just a very nice song overall. ” he snickers then, a mockery of his own frail justifications; he does like the song, but the answer seems haphazard. slapped together because he couldn’t come up with anything and was using his apparent know - how of composition to back it up.
at this point in his career, though, he’s more a lyricist than a performer. he’s not a terrible rapper or vocalist by any means, but for all his practice, he’s more of an artist than a pure idol. he sincerely doubts this is a change 99 approves of. it’s not like he can just go back, though.
nova !! who is your greatest inspiration or strength ? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
‘ MYSELF ’ IS FAR TOO ARROGANT of an answer, but it’s as honest as he can manage. there are a lot of important people in his life. people he loved, lost, people who convinced him he could do the impossible, but jianhong feels a little too jaded to think their influence remains with him to this day. there’s a difference between his first grade teacher telling him that he had the voice of an angel and being told by producers that his flow’s been getting better. maybe it’s because he was such a perfect child that nothing now, mediocrity in adulthood, ever satisfies him. so used he was to success that even the suggestion of anything less than flawless had him loathing himself just a little more than he usually did for at least an entire week. he was working on that --------- on tolerating his non - failures and reminding himself that he didn’t need to be impeccable at everything every second of every day.
“ my father, ” jianhong says, because that’s a decent answer that people would accept. great emphasis is placed on filial piety, so he could get away with citing his father --------- who he hasn’t spoken to in at least three weeks --------- as his greatest inspiration. it might’ve been a truthful answer a few years back. but after his lawsuit, ye hanyu withdrew into his grief. losing the love of one’s life does that to a person --------- jianhong would know. “ he’s always been very supportive of my work. and i know that he’s proud of all that imperial has accomplished. but i want to do better for him, because he’s been my rock for as long as i’ve been in the industry. ” don’t talk about china, he reminds himself. people don’t want to hear about it.
LONG GONE. HAPPIER WITHOUT HIM. he doesn’t think about xuedong much anymore ——— that’s a lie, he thinks about him all the time, whenever he does anything worthwhile, when they win on a music show or when he writes lyrics for a love song he’d love to serenade xuedong with. but all that wishing does nothing when xuedong is still gone. the first letter of his romanized name etched in ink on jianhong’s hip, all that he has as a memory of the man ( boy, really, when they last saw each other ) was a too - short kiss and the feeling of two palms pressing against his chest. jianhong’s ( lin’s ) heart still aches when he remembers it. jianhong ( lin ) still loves him. he may always love him.
“ my ideal type is someone who’s very mature, ” he says with confidence. someone. not ‘ a girl. ’ the distinction is made clear with how flatly he says it. there is no hesitation, no uncertainty in his innuendo. he knows people will pick up on that. “ someone who is nurturing and kind, a kind of an … an old soul, i think. someone who puts the needs of others before themselves, a person who carries themselves with grace and dignity. ” his lips twitch. almost rueful. painted with what ifs and could have beens, of hypotheticals and dreams and nightmares. drowned in wondering what he should’ve done, of wondering what it would feel like to be so loved. “ i’ve also always been partial to brown hair ——— chestnut brown ———- and a beautiful smile. ”
constellation !! do you have any ambitions or personal goals for the future ? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
THIS IS A QUERY HE has to tread carefully. all too familiar are the words of rebuke, the way people would sneer at him for ( apparently ) thinking that he’s better than everyone else. maybe he wasn’t paying attention to a member when he was speaking, or he rolled his eyes while cracking his neck. maybe his v lives skew a bit more ‘ look at me, look at what i’m working on ! ’ and less ‘ man, i love you guys and my group mates. ’ but that’s not what he feels at all -------- honest to god. any ambitions he has are admittedly self - centered, but at the core of it all, he wants to better himself for imperial. ( right ? it’s not because he’s fragile and can’t take criticism; everything he’s working towards is so that his group gets a main rapper that it deserves ... right ? )
“ i wouldn’t say i have any ambitions in particular, ” jianhong says slowly, looking at his shoes. his right leg jiggles as he attempts to come up with a follow - up. “ well ... i would like to improve upon my songwriting. maybe ten or so years down the line, wh --------- if i decide to retire, i’ll take that up as a profession. i’m not looking to go solo or anything, if that’s what the question is driving towards. ” too on the nose ? he’s already made one slip up. a palpable, noticeable one. “ right now, i’m working on trying to be satisfied with myself. ”
hhhhhhh ok so this is ( terribly !!! ) overdue, but since i am off hiatus and i have more than an hour per day of free time for the first time in a month ( post - secondary education, am i right ? ), it’s about time i drop a plot call ! i’ve got a sparkling new plots page right over here, so hit the lil ♡ and i’ll hope over to your ims --------- if i’m not responding to the ancient, cobweb - covered ones i’m about to get to :’)
axis !! what do you do when you’re not practicing or preparing for a comeback ? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
HE CAN ALMOST HEAR CULTWOO’S tandem groaning as he says the same two words: “ i’m boring. ” it’s an answer the nation’s heard a thousand times over; at this point, it has crossed the boundary from self - deprecating into downright obnoxious. but his words are true, at least in jianhong’s eyes. beyond being an idol, he doesn’t have much going for himself. ever since imperial’s hiatus, he devoted his entire being to his job, to being foolproof in his work ethic so that no one could ever criticize him for not caring again. but that isn’t quite accurate; he’s done some things besides work since imperial came back. like ... go to a convenience store with his friend. and he went outside. looked at the outside. saw some birds. life. that kind of stuff.
“ i used to be really into photography --------- i don’t go out as often anymore during the day because it’s easier to get recognized, but sometimes i go out with my camera at night to see what the moon lets me capture. it’s not anything fancy, i just kind of point and shoot. ” he lifts his hands to pantomime the action, then clicks his tongue for punctuation. “ other than that, i do a lot of reading. it helps inspire me, poetry especially. i’m very fond of percy bysshe shelley’s works. lord byron, too. i suppose i enjoy the romantics in general. i do wonder -------- does it translate to my music ? ”
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