ETERNAL

@galaqsies / late 90s, summer, afternoon

the complex juts upwards into a precarious point, low railing revealing a scrap of greenery situated at the top- lush at the edges and patchy in turn, it represents the haphazard approach that has generally been taken at dynamite tower. since moving (read, running away to) the city in a shirt broken down two door, lj has held a certain fascination with the fledgling community. billed as a co op for your run down rebels and vigilantes, at odds with the more black and white celebrity focused power structures of good and evil. the aesthetic of it is awkward against the skyline, jammed between sleek new high-rises with it’s half yellowed brick and sloped roof.

it’s not that tall a building, truthfully, but lijae hasn’t ever attempted a flight this high before. pressing her palms together brings a shimmering disk to life, oblong and big enough for her to hop up on top of it, settles her feet against the solidified disk of shimmering gold. shifting, she flexes slightly, bracing herself as she bends her knees lightly. it’s just a quick recon mission, a glimpse at a world she can’t be a part of, like peering through her fishbowl, and then it’s right back to her apartment slash run down (stolen) car. with a grunt, she pushes her feet down slightly and feels her power hum to life beneath her, soaring up abruptly as she draws herself upwards, a sudden jolt that betrays the fact that she hasn’t had a lot of a chance to work her skills out. at least, not in a wider, uncontrolled atmosphere.

as she lifts into the atmosphere, she jams a finger against the button of the walkman on her hip, a muddled rendition of a popular r&b track blaring out tinny and thin from the headphones slnug around her neck. it provides a slight soundtrack as she zips through the air, careening high, high, higher. it leaves her heart racing and her senses spinning, stumbling as she raises one floor, another, third, fourth, until she’s up around the tenth floor and nearing the roof. she’s tired by this point and unsteady on top of it, and she realizes a second too late that she’s losing control. it’s a quick jerk and a sudden jolt and then she’s tumbling down onto the astroturfed surface of the roof, which someone has clearly attempted to dress up as a semi campground, and she fumbles into a heap. there’s a groan, as she reaches her hand up to rub against the bruising spot on her skull, squinting at the offending shoes upon which she has landed, lips pursing slightly. she drags herself upright in time to see tattooed knuckles swipe themselves across full lips, blinking against the scattering light of her construction fragmenting, disappearing.

“hey man, my bad,” she grumbles out, pulling herself upright and letting her legs jut out straight in front of her, stretching her arms out to examine them. “am i bleeding anywhere? that you can see?” she adds, tugging at the hem of a cropped shirt, fingertips moving to ruffle through blonde strands experimentally. “i guess you uh, live here then? i’m lijae. nice to meet you.”

lijae --

“oh, okay, so it was dangerous, so you broke in, so that you could be liable for it instead. wait, why doesn’t it apply to you? super cool kid sunwoo doesn’t do rules?” she teases, wiggling her fingers lightly. “i dunno if you can use it.” she replies, brows furrowing. she lifts her hands with a further concentration to press together, molding and gathering light between her hands until it compresses into a ball shape. “lets try, catch,” she offers, throws it in his direction. it thuds into his palm with a soft sound and she grins, with surprise and interest. “it’s just light.”

sunwoo doesn’t get to show off much these days, the tenants of dynamite all too familiar (or annoyed, or both) with him and his pinpoint accuracy amongst other things. sometimes, he thinks he’s been here too long, since he’s run from the rural outskirts of busan he used to call home. dynamite has been his refuge and maybe he’s made himself too comfortable. but what’s the harm in that? sunwoo see’s none, and so he stays. and he impresses no one anymore that even lijae’s simple ‘kinda cool’ is enough to fill that need, to energize him, to smile like a proud overlarge puppy that learned his first trick. but when light manifests in the palm of her hand, his smile melts into something else more o-shaped. face betraying it all, his intrigue, wonderment. “cool,” he says quietly more to himself than anything as the disc hits the board.

it would be a lie to say he’s not jealous of powers like hers. ones that are eye-catching on their own, without having to over-compensate with big talk and crease-eyed smiles and toned muscles that he technically doesn’t need. but he says none of that, pulling his expression together, into something more unaffected as he mirrors her words and shrug of shoulders,“i mean, kinda cool.” still, he grins back quickly as he sits down onto the mattress, leaning forward. “yes, exactly,” he answers jokingly with a snap and a few taps on the side of his forehead, “see you get it and we just met. it took me months to convince him the rules shouldn’t reply to me.”

he laughs soft until lijae brings her hands together and light appears once more. “whoa,” he mumbles quietly, like he’s worried breaking her focus might cause the thing to explode. or, something. and he certainly can’t have that happening up on his rooftop. he’s about to ask if anything like that’s happened before the ball comes his way, and he catches it on instinct. “just light?” he repeats, eyes widening while he inspects the glimmering ball in his hands, tossing it between his left and right, each time tossing it higher and longer. “so i’m holding like a mini star in my hands right now? huh. neat,” he says, standing up to move a few steps back from her, still playing with the light. “so lijae the light bringer, what brings you to my humble abode? did the light from my bright smile attract you to this rooftop, or did you just move in to dynamite?” he teases before throwing the light back in her direction with no warning.

galaqsies:

as his snacks spill across the table, he sits on the mattress and clicks the play button down, cassette tape winding up to play some hip hop track he heard on the radio one time and hasn’t stopped listening to since. he raps along incoherently as he considers his food choices, reaching for the popsicle that’s already half melted and popping it into his mouth. it’s cool against his tongue, refreshing in the later afternoon heat as he hums – only stopping when a gold light in the sky catches his eyes and comes crashing down before him. he blinks, chewing down on the wooden popsicle stick as he tilts his head to examine the gold structure until it disappears before his eyes. ‘ooh,’ sunwoo hums shortly quietly to himself, intrigued, shifting his attention to the girl in front of him.

“all good,” he answers easy, wiping the popsicle melt from his lips. his eyes scan her body, only looking for any traces of blood (he swears), and shakes his head, reaching to take the stick out of his mouth and toss it onto the table. “nope, no blood that i can see. thank god too or mr.go would threaten to kick me out again, probably. not that he ever really would,” he snorts, leaning forward to click the stop button on the boom box. “yep, but i guess you don’t? i’m sunwoo, haven’t seen you around, and everyone knows better than to come up onto the roof. or you know, crash land onto it. same thing,” he pauses, grabbing a thing of yakult and holding it towards her, “here, have one. in case you’re bleeding inside. i heard this has probiotics? antibiotics? or something? i don’t know but maybe it’ll help.”

she feels an awful lot like she’s been hit by a bowling ball. there’s a scrape on her elbow and her head is spinning ever so slightly, a lingering dizziness at the edges of her senses. she’s got to stop pushing so hard, she’s pretty sure it’s just going to run her into the ground. but how is she supposed to figure anything out if she doesn’t test it?

besides, it’s been mostly successful.

the boy on the roof peers over her,eyes wide and sparkling and his hair a tangle of dark waves. there’s a popsicle stick sticking out of his mouth and the ripple of a surprising amount of muscle beneath tanned skin. the scattering light from the afternoon sun or from her construction as it implodes sparkles over his skin, and the whole thing leaves a strangely surreal taste in her mouth, as if she’s imagining him. “dope,” she sighs out, pulling herself upright to and stretching her legs out. “good music,” she tells him, reaching over to put it back on again, but tugs the dial down, fingers moving then to check on her walkman, which is battered and rather worse for wear. “damn,” she mumbles to herself, taking the offered drink and ripping it open with her teeth.

“so, sunwoo, why does no one come onto your roof? you a big bad boy or something?” she drawls at him, more bravery than perhaps she ought to be feeling. danger was a real thing in seoul, but with so little to lose in life, lijae often feels like it’s not really worth the trouble of getting so worked up. she peers around the area, taking down a gulp of the drink, peeking over his shoulder at the board covered in the marks of myriad throwing stars. “you a fucking ninja or something?” she adds on dubiously, brow lifting as she turns her gaze towards him. she finishes the drink, setting it to the side. “so you just claimed the roof for your super secret ninja training? isn’t that kind of shitty? what about the other tenants?”

sunwoo laughs, out of a surprised kind of delight. ‘dumbass’ is usually the modifier he hears most with his name, ‘foolish’ being the second, and ‘bad boy’ no where near that list. it’s refreshing in a way, validating the stupid hours he spends toning his muscles needlessly and the batwings and initial knuckle tats he got on a whim one night. “you could say that,” he answers with a grin on his lips and a crinkle in the corner of his eyes, betraying his words in an instant. “or, maybe because a few too many accidents have happened here already?” he starts on a mumble, coughing as if to clear his throat before adding, “but, i like your reasoning better. makes me sound cool and scary.” his eyebrows furrow and he straightens his lips like he’s trying to smolder, but he breaks back into a smile, turning to follow her gaze towards the throwing stars.

“you could say that too,” he answers again, jumping up off the mattress before straightening his hands and throwing them up in front of his face, pretending to hit the air with a few whooshing sound effects. “just call me ninja sunwoo,” he jokes, heading over to the board to pull a few batwing shaped stars off with ease. there’s a crack in the wood that’s been steadily growing over some days now, but he avoids it when steps back to throw the sharpened steel onto the board, right onto his haphazardly spray painted yellow targets. he saves one for last just to show off, turning to face her with a tilt of his lips and throws one backwards over his shoulder, landing on the middle target. prideful, he doesn’t bother to look back and check, moving to sit down again instead.

“the rooftop was already closed off to all the tenants before me anyway. something about too many injuries or something and mr.go didn’t want to be held liable? dunno, but none of that applies to me, so,” sunwoo explains, pushing a hand through his hair before leaning forward to rest his arms atop his knees. “anyway, i can’t tell you too much about it. it’s super secret ninja training for a reason,” he jests in a hushed voice, shushing her with a finger to his lips. “but, what about you? what are you and what was that gold thing and most importantly can you make another one that i can use?”

@galaqsies / late 90s, summer, afternoon

the complex juts upwards into a precarious point, low railing revealing a scrap of greenery situated at the top- lush at the edges and patchy in turn, it represents the haphazard approach that has generally been taken at dynamite tower. since moving (read, running away to) the city in a shirt broken down two door, lj has held a certain fascination with the fledgling community. billed as a co op for your run down rebels and vigilantes, at odds with the more black and white celebrity focused power structures of good and evil. the aesthetic of it is awkward against the skyline, jammed between sleek new high-rises with it’s half yellowed brick and sloped roof.

it’s not that tall a building, truthfully, but lijae hasn’t ever attempted a flight this high before. pressing her palms together brings a shimmering disk to life, oblong and big enough for her to hop up on top of it, settles her feet against the solidified disk of shimmering gold. shifting, she flexes slightly, bracing herself as she bends her knees lightly. it’s just a quick recon mission, a glimpse at a world she can’t be a part of, like peering through her fishbowl, and then it’s right back to her apartment slash run down (stolen) car. with a grunt, she pushes her feet down slightly and feels her power hum to life beneath her, soaring up abruptly as she draws herself upwards, a sudden jolt that betrays the fact that she hasn’t had a lot of a chance to work her skills out. at least, not in a wider, uncontrolled atmosphere.

as she lifts into the atmosphere, she jams a finger against the button of the walkman on her hip, a muddled rendition of a popular r&b track blaring out tinny and thin from the headphones slnug around her neck. it provides a slight soundtrack as she zips through the air, careening high, high, higher. it leaves her heart racing and her senses spinning, stumbling as she raises one floor, another, third, fourth, until she’s up around the tenth floor and nearing the roof. she’s tired by this point and unsteady on top of it, and she realizes a second too late that she’s losing control. it’s a quick jerk and a sudden jolt and then she’s tumbling down onto the astroturfed surface of the roof, which someone has clearly attempted to dress up as a semi campground, and she fumbles into a heap. there’s a groan, as she reaches her hand up to rub against the bruising spot on her skull, squinting at the offending shoes upon which she has landed, lips pursing slightly. she drags herself upright in time to see tattooed knuckles swipe themselves across full lips, blinking against the scattering light of her construction fragmenting, disappearing.

“hey man, my bad,” she grumbles out, pulling herself upright and letting her legs jut out straight in front of her, stretching her arms out to examine them. “am i bleeding anywhere? that you can see?” she adds, tugging at the hem of a cropped shirt, fingertips moving to ruffle through blonde strands experimentally. “i guess you uh, live here then? i’m lijae. nice to meet you.”

#new tumblr dum can't delete your post sorry this is massive

there’s a red sign on the door to dynamite tower’s roof that reads, in big bold capital letters: restricted area, employees only. sunwoo pushes it open anyway, half empty plastic bottle of banana milk in one hand and a plastic bag full of convenience store goodies hanging in the crook of his elbow. ‘i can’t read’, he had told the landlord the first time he caught him up there with the straightest look on his face. and really there was no arguing the absurdity of that, resulting in a tiny scribble at the bottom of the sign that reads (and ji sunwoo ^^~). lately, he’s out on the rooftop more than his own room situated just below it, finding the extra space and lack of windows to break ten times over better suited for his target practice needs.

it’s why he’d been up there all day even in the late summer heat, steel throwing stars stuck into the large plank of wood he personally spray painted bright blue and yellow to match the door right next to the wall it’s dangerously propped up against. no one comes up to the roof anymore for this reason, not after he ran the bleeding maintenance guy to the hospital. literally, in his arms, sunwoo profusely apologizing and scolding him at the same time for unbelievably not knowing better than to burst through the roof door the whole way there. so, it’s sunwoo’s roof now. fitted with a hard mattress and cover, a scuffed up low wooden table before it with a faded black boom box sitting on top, and a wild array of exercise and training equipment scattered about.

as his snacks spill across the table, he sits on the mattress and clicks the play button down, cassette tape winding up to play some hip hop track he heard on the radio one time and hasn’t stopped listening to since. he raps along incoherently as he considers his food choices, reaching for the popsicle that’s already half melted and popping it into his mouth. it’s cool against his tongue, refreshing in the later afternoon heat as he hums -- only stopping when a gold light in the sky catches his eyes and comes crashing down before him. he blinks, chewing down on the wooden popsicle stick as he tilts his head to examine the gold structure until it disappears before his eyes. ‘ooh,’ sunwoo hums shortly quietly to himself, intrigued, shifting his attention to the girl in front of him.

“all good,” he answers easy, wiping the popsicle melt from his lips. his eyes scan her body, only looking for any traces of blood (he swears), and shakes his head, reaching to take the stick out of his mouth and toss it onto the table. “nope, no blood that i can see. thank god too or mr.go would threaten to kick me out again, probably. not that he ever really would,” he snorts, leaning forward to click the stop button on the boom box. “yep, but i guess you don’t? i’m sunwoo, haven’t seen you around, and everyone knows better than to come up onto the roof. or you know, crash land onto it. same thing,” he pauses, grabbing a thing of yakult and holding it towards her, “here, have one. in case you’re bleeding inside. i heard this has probiotics? antibiotics? or something? i don’t know but maybe it’ll help.”

stay gold.

@galaqsies

this is the first big project that they’ve allowed lijae to help with. up until now, her life as an intern has mostly meant fetching coffee, placing lunch orders, coordinating deliveries (of lunch and product alike) and scheduling. occasionally, she’s allowed to follow the real stylists around as they work. sometimes, she’s been allowed to re-apply the faintest, clearest shades of lip balm or to dust on further setting powder between takes.

and now, after six months of excruciatingly long hours and back breaking work (often literally, being tasked with hauling the clothes or supplies for hair and makeup around), she’s being allowed to step up to the plate. just a little. an inch forward. but lijae is ambitious, and if given an inch, she’ll take a mile.

yesterday had been the solo shots and sets, and she had spent a good part of the day staring in awe, having assumed much more of things to be computer generated than was actual. today, she sees immediately why they’re allowing her more freedom on set. it’s set up similar to a sort of dream boy’s backyard, with a foosball table, a huge couch, a dog, some grass, and so forth. the boys are outfitted simply and she’s instructed strictly that the makeup will be the same. fresh, shining, bright.

they’re kind of already shining, if she thinks about it, but professionalism means that she shouldn’t, even when she’s ushered in front of sunwoo, who’s half asleep in one of the makeup chairs. she feels like she should say something to him like, hi i’m here and i have to put a bunch of layers of paint on your face now. or maybe, do you want a pillow, or maybe, well, anything. but she’s not sure what the protocol is, glances over and sees kiwon fully asleep as someone silently straightens pale pink strands, and she thinks it might be okay to just not talk at all. so, carefully (gently, uncertainly) she tilts his chin with a fingertip, the tip of her brush dragging a coral tint into place. she’s so focused, in the end, on tracing the curve of his lips and avoiding the layers of foundation already carefully applied, that she doesn’t notice wide round eyes fixed on her for a beat too long, startling slightly at sudden wakefulness, fumbling her brush to the floor (god damnit, another thing to sanitize) and scuffing backwards in platformed sandals. “uh, sorry, hi, i’m the training stylist, so - uh - i’m styling you. i would have said something but i thought you were asleep,” she nods, meaningfully, towards the still unconscious boy beside them. “i’ll get another brush.” she adds, bobbing down to pick it up and set it aside, trading it out for another.

they’d never prepared her for making small talk, though, and while they’ve spoken before she’s sure he’s paid next to no attention. hell, she barely remembers half the clients she’s ever had - it’s easier for these to stick considering the absurd level of fame hoisted upon them, but she’d helped many rookies on her way to this spot without them making much impression. “long night? practicing or?” she tries to think - does this mv have any choreo shots scheduled? it’s a japanese release, how do those work?

lijae --

they’d never prepared her for making small talk, though, and while they’ve spoken before she’s sure he’s paid next to no attention. hell, she barely remembers half the clients she’s ever had - it’s easier for these to stick considering the absurd level of fame hoisted upon them, but she’d helped many rookies on her way to this spot without them making much impression. “long night? practicing or?” she tries to think - does this mv have any choreo shots scheduled? it’s a japanese release, how do those work?

sunwoo’s tired. that’s nothing new, but it feels like a whole different kind of exhaustion now, mixed with nerves and more pressure than usual.

he’s sunwoo, after all. not han or kiwon or taehyun. he doesn’t write lyrics for their songs, much less lyrics in a language he only barely knows conversationally because of all the anime he’s consumed in his 23 years of life. he’s just the maknae, supposedly golden -- so why does he always feels more like a jack of all trades and a master in none? it’s why he still finds it hard to believe his lyrics have been chosen and advertised so heavily, and why he’s spent his nights locking himself up in the practice booth and singing until he physically cannot anymore. because if he doesn’t sound his best after all this hype, what’s the point? what’s losing a few hours of sleep when losing his pride is the alternative?

so, he sleeps in his chair because that’s the only time he can afford to. or, he tries to, laying down with his eyes shut. his eyelids are heavy, but his nerves are heavier, plaguing his mind. so when he feels the lightest brush against his lips, he wakes up. quietly, still. not wanting to disturb the focused look on her face or mess her up by moving too much as she gently touches him up. that is, until she notices him and he grins small as the brush hits the floor, instinctively sitting up more as if to try and reach for the brush himself. when she moves to get it, he sits back, answering, “no worries you’re good, lijae. thanks for not trying to wake me up, your my new favorite stylist already, glad you’re finally moving up.”

he waits until she turns back towards him, wanting her to see the stupid smile on his lips, before settling himself back down into the chair and shutting his eyes. his answer to her question comes in more of a hum of acknowledgment, accompanied with, “yeah, practicing. not much to practice for this music video really, but. we have lots of performances coming up for this release, so. practice.” he doesn’t delve into his reasoning, because who wants to hear that anyway? instead, he tries to shift the focus, peeks one eye open to look up at her, “why, is it that obvious? are my eyebags making your job harder?”

give.

sera --

she wants it to be that easy, she does. but being with gun has never been easy, and it’s never going to be easy, either. she knows that. “besides, you can’t stop now. you’ve got at least a hundred more songs on that hard drive, or you did before. must be even more by now. which means there’s probably about ten of them you’d actually be happy to release. so at least another album.” she teases, poking fun at his relentless perfectionism, nipping lightly at the edge of her own chapped lips, pressing them together thin. “next scene is gonna take longer. i need to get the prosthetics for the cut. it’s going to itch like hell.” she tells him, brows lifting ever so slightly as she leans back, one half step to examine his features. “you’re good to go.”

gun hates the impossibility of it all, the fact that he can’t have one without the other. the fact that he himself can’t choose one side definitively. on one hand, he means it, that he would rather quit now while he’s ahead, while his name is still viewed positively by the public eye. because often, it feels like he’s reached the peak of a mountain with no where else to go now but down, and he’s more afraid of that than the lack of new heights to reach. more afraid of tainting the name he’s slaved to make as reputable as it is now.

but on the other hand, what else would he have to live for outside of sera if he did? and would he end up resenting her, losing both of his only loves? he’s not sure he can bear either choice, and so he hates the impossibility of it all. pretends, with small grins and a rumbling voice and the curl of fingers around her waist, in this small pocket of time that none of that matters. that he can have everything. “hey,” he starts mock-offended, obvious by the tilt of his lips, “i have at least eleven by now. maybe even twelve.” but that might even be a lie too, he’s never happy enough with songs until someone forces him to be. “i can even send them to you as an exclusive first listen,” he continues, only half joking, always wondering what she’ll think of a song even before he completes it.

he grins at her when she leans back to examine her work, reluctantly pulling his hand away from her waist and stuffing it back into his jacket pocket. she tells him he’s good to go, and just like that, this single stolen moment is over in just a few minutes. mischievously he dallies, stretches it as long as he can, drawls in a way that lets his accent slip through, “are you sure you didn’t miss a spot on my lips? feels like i’m missing something.”

give.

sera --

he mumbles at her, quietly, hidden in between them and she steps a half step closer, brows furrowing. “you know you don’t get to just decide that,” she points out, brows lifting slightly, exhaling a strained breath, trying to keep her calm. to remind him that she cannot do this. that he can’t, more importantly. not now, when he has come so far and when there is such a precipice beneath him, such a staggering height to fall from. “careful,” she replies on an undignified scoff, shaking her head softly. “you don’t know how to be careful.” this is abjectly true, objectively speaking, and she reminds him of this with a perked brow and a drawled, “don’t you remember when you were shooting the puma endorsements? huh? you were so sure you could be really careful that day and what happened instead,” she points out, nudging a finger into his side, “they literally walked in on us,” she half-whispers, pushing her finger at him again, moving briefly to curl a finger through the other’s belt loop and tugging lightly. she fights back the urge to groan in frustration as the other continues, lets her eyes slide closed quick. “stop, don’t tempt me.” she complains, peeking one eye open to look at him. “i really, really want to tie you up.” she admits, almost conversationally as she takes his chin in her hand, reaches into her bag to pull out a lip brush, balancing the tint in her fingers as she takes some to paint over his lips, a nude flush of color to bring life to pale features. “we could even take turns,” she sighs plaintively, “just quit your job first.”

gun has a way of making things difficult for himself, whether or not he intends to. he’d joined the company in hopes of fulfilling his producer dreams, only to end up in the harsh spotlight for the rest of his life. he fell for someone in the midst of his unforeseen rise, and she was a staff member at that, his stylist no less, forbidden on three accounts. and now, he’s all but invited her back into his life with the knowledge that, realistically, nothing can happen. but gun’s never cared to succumb to realism anyway. if he had, he wouldn’t be where he is now, standing there in an old painfully familiar set with ten times more success on his shoulders and more watchful eyes on him than he knows how to handle. so he drops his voice and cruelly he suggests what they both know can’t happen because even now, he wants to try. with sera, he always wants to try.

and he knows, despite all her rejections, she wants him too. a fact that has always felt more unbelievable, more incredible than the anonymous proclamations he receives on a daily basis. a fact he wants to hold on to more than anything. “okay, so we only fool around behind locked doors then, lesson learned, that won’t happen again,” he offers a solution, reaching out with a hand still stuffed in his jacket pocket to tap at her waist. brief, skinless, unsatisfying. he steps in closer when she tugs at his belt loop, feeling the warmth radiating off her body and wanting more, more, more. his lips curve at her admission, her offer, and he sweeps his tongue through, laughing quietly before she paints color onto him. “if that’s all it takes, consider it done,” he says as she pulls the brush away. he presses his lips together, making small popping sounds before he slides a hand out of his pocket and reaches, quickly, to tug at the bottom of her shirt. wanting her closer, wanting her.

“after this comeback ends, i’ll announce my early retirement. i’ve made more than enough to quit now while i’m ahead,” he continues, quietly, deciding selfishly, impulsively, he doesn’t care if anyone sees the way he curls his fingers gentle around her waist. in the end, even gun’s not sure if he’s joking or not. after seven years of running and running with no finish line in sight, quitting doesn’t sound so bad. especially not when sera’s there in front of him, hands light on his face, warm under his palm. but he’s always had two great loves in his life, and his career, his music, performing live on stage with bass rumbling beneath his feet is the other. to give that up would be his first death. but sometimes he feels as if to give sera up would be, too.

give.

sera --

“you know i’ve always been a fan.” she all but purrs in reply, lets her hands drop and sees the flicker of his eyes as they open. no lenses this time. she likes that, likes his look natural, in a way, though perhaps the stark, peroxide blonde of his hair offsets that. she bites at the edge of her lip when their eyes meet, a tension that stretches thin between them, an aching tightness in her chest. her heart races and his hands twitch, tempted to press his hands to her hips and she wants him too. wants to crowd a little closer to him, but it’s not that easy. the brush of fingers against the backs of her hands is all she gets, instead, and she rolls her eyes, shifts to tug the camo jacket to settle properly on his shoulders. “at least i know you won’t be able to mess up your hair if you’ve got your hands tied to a chair.” she hums lazily, biting at the inside of her cheek. she smacks him, lightly, on the arm as the other continues. “you know we can’t.” she half-whispers, glancing to make sure no one has heard him, relenting to add, “you know i want too.” as she drags a brush against his cheekbone. “so don’t be cruel.”

they’re on a schedule. his entire life is on a schedule. locked to his career, set months in advance, if not a full year. video shoot today, tomorrow, concept photos the day after, full day of rehearsals after that, and so on for as long as gun can remember. which, he doesn’t tend to remember a lot of it these days, increasingly reliant on his manager to text him the schedule for the week ahead of time. so, of course he knows she’s only going be there for two days. that doesn’t make it any less disappointing, and in the back of his mind he wonders if he’ll be able to convince the company to bring her on for the concept photos, too. probably not, he thinks as his grin feels incredibly apparent to everyone in the room. he’s not giving them any reason to.

but he can’t help it if his chest twinges with the ache of wanting, a slight hint of unfounded jealousy lingering there too. “of course they do, who wouldn’t,” he tells her in reply, suppressing the urge to open his eyes and glare at her jokingly, “but you better not be getting any ideas.” even behind closed lids he can almost see the grin on her face and his lips tilt in return as he lifts a hand up, sticking a pinky out like a promise, “yes, yes i know, i swear i will try my best not to.” and he chuckles quietly, because they both know his best is no where near good enough. he’s missed this desperately, missed her. the ease he feels around her, the way she makes these seemingly endless shoots feel much too short. the exhaustion keeping his eyes closed just minutes ago has long since gone, and when he opens them he can feel the tightness in his chest.

maybe it was a bad idea to request her, because with just one look his progress in forgetting has reset back to zero. he laughs when she pushes at his arm, but it aches more to know she’s right. he doesn’t want her to be. “why not? i say we can,” he says stupidly defiant, dropping his volume down enough that his words sound more like a rumble as he holds his eyes on hers, “they’ve got signal to sell that boyfriend fantasy now. who cares if a senior like me dates anymore?” many would, he knows. despite the many lyrics he’s penned detailing a tragic love much to realistically, and despite his rough image, many still would. he’s still an idol by name, after all. “we can just be more careful,” he adds unhelpfully. they tried to be careful before too, and where did that get them? “except for when you’re tying me up, of course,” he drawls quietly, grinning as he lifts his brows.

give.

#soloist!gun.#soloist!gun.thread #idols.

sera --

maybe it’s an excuse. if she couldn’t get liner to hold up under that kind of heat for a few hours she wouldn’t be much of a stylist. of course touch-ups are normal but she can already anticipate the urge to be there more frequently than she might for another client. it’s an important video, that’s what she defends to herself. “i see you’ve got the anger back. so will we be re-shooting the flashback scenes today? you know, the whole tied to the chair ones?” she drawls, watches his eyes peek open despite himself- she’d anticipated that, has already lifted her hands from his face to rest at his collar, brows lifting. “you know i’ve always liked that scene.”

this isn’t fair. he’d specifically requested her to be his stylist again, at least for this shoot. he wanted to go completely full circle, he said, and that requires the entire crew, from the director to the stylists -- even sera. especially sera. they pushed back, of course, their trust in him lacking for very good reason, and he’d thought that was that. but now her hands are on his face and he can hear her breathe, can see the concentration in her eyes even with his own closed. he can guess almost exactly what she’s wearing right up to her hair pulled into that ponytail he’s always loved and it is so incredibly unfair. they’ve given him what he wants, but logically he knows the stipulations attached.

for now, he pretends he doesn’t.

“good,” he says with a grin, “the more touch-ups the better, i think. shooting might end up taking several days, who knows?” his grin is unrelenting and he wants so desperately to open his eyes, wants to see the smile on her face up close like he hasn’t in what feels like forever. he’s asked the signal boys for selfies with her when they can, but it’s not the same on a phone screen, it’s different when he can feel the soft sweep of her fingers and hear the pout in her voice. so when she continues, he can’t help himself from sliding his lids up the second the pencil leaves his face and he feels her hands on his collar.

he pauses for a beat, smiling when she comes into view just as he’d expected. glasses and ponytail and all, topped with raised brows that makes him snort, “of course, i’m including it just for you. i thought you’d like it.” his arms shift, intending to place his hands on her waist, but he knows it’s a bad idea, knows that his manager would call her away the second he see’s. instead, he reaches up to briefly brush his thumbs against the back of her hands before sliding them back into the pocket of his coat. “or, you know what’d be better? if we tried it outside of the shoot,” he teases, grin cheeky.

give.

sera --

that’s what she tells herself, pushing round spectacles up the bridge of her nose and gathering her hair into a ponytail, back out of her face. he looks half asleep as her assistant drapes accessories on him, and sera thinks of how strange it is to have gotten to the point where she has assistants and he has a say in his concepts, creative contributions from both of them so much more meaningful now. when sihyun steps away from him, sera moves in, doesn’t bother announcing the change, stepping forward to carefully place her fingers against his skin, swallows hard once before she adds a helpful, “keep your eyes closed,” and takes the liner to them carefully, watches the flutter first as he recognizes her voice, a slight grin playing at her lips. “so you’re back to a smoky eye, huh?” there’s a quiet laugh, “you hated it so much back then.”

there is something nostalgic about this, the familiar set they’re on today. the old run down freight car and abandoned train tracks with seemingly more rust than metal. it’s almost painful, too, remembering the previous song they were here for last time. he tries not to think about that song anymore, has even since deleted it from his computer, from his phone, and would even delete it from his memory if he could. it’s not that gun hates it, but those lyrics, the raw ache in his voice were both from much darker times he’d rather not revisit. not when he has a million new things to worry about now.

like how exhausted he feels. not just today at who even knows what time anymore, but almost always as a result of mixing jet lag and lack of sleep and an infinitely restless mind. so, he sleeps on set when he can, or at least rests his eyes, and doesn’t care anymore if he’s caught on camera doing so. his company likes when that happens anyway. it helps further their lethargic image of him, and who is he to complain? so he’s since shooed away the behind the scenes video staff after answering their questions and rests his eyes as stylists prep him for the shoot. his breath evens, slows, and he almost falls asleep despite all the bustling around him until he hears it.

instinctively, he wants to open his eyes to make sure he’s not imagining it. but there’s something pressed against his lid and, well, she asked not to, so he doesn’t. instead, he smiles. it’s small, tired, but it’s there and apparent even in his sleep roughened voice, “yeah, but that’s the point. they made me do it back then so of course i hated it, but now i’m personally making the choice to. and anyway, you always loved it.” he returns her quiet laugh with a hint of smugness. “can i at least open one eye? this doesn’t feel fair.”

forbidden.

#jaesung.#jaesung.png #w/kiwon lohl #idols.#some time after the voyage thread probably

rae --

but it’s hard to remember that. when he speaks to her with such conviction. when his hands catch hers and his fingers cold around them. when they slide to his cheeks and he looks at her like she’s swallowed the sun. she trembles, lips on his until they’re gasping for breath that doesn’t come easy anymore, under the weight of all of this revolution, all of these promises. “of course i do.” she groans out in frustration. “but you left, yul. you left me there. you let him have me. you’d promised, you promised you wouldn’t, so how will it be different now? how are you going to keep these promises? how can we promise each other anything, anymore?”

yul makes a lot of heavy promises that he often cannot keep, despite his best efforts. it is at once his fatal flaw and the thing that keeps him going. both what makes him so convincing, so charismatic to the masses even with all his jagged edges, and yet still so unfit for the classical crown, the old-fashioned citadel’s throne. but he doesn’t want that, anyway. he doesn’t want the nation at his feet or the strength of the avatar at his beck and call or the moon blood red to terrify all of hyrule into dependence on the strength of the fire nation. he wants change, he wants to bring faith back to gerudo under less threatening circumstances, and he wants to settle the rippling unrest across the lands. but maybe above all, selfishly, foolishly still, he wants rae. and he wants her for more than just a few stolen moments and furtive glances, and in more than hushed voices with desperation in his eyes like they are tonight.

“it’s different now, rae. i have already lost everything and have nothing more to lose, but everything to gain. i can promise you these things because i will make them all come true, or i will die trying,” he promises once more with just as much conviction and strength behind his words, even as he says them in barely above a whisper, a breathy voice that damn near wavers while his chest rises and falls so visibly. her hand burns against his cheek and he leans into that fire, placing his own hand over it and dragging his fingers down the back, down her arm, slow, until they’re hooking around her elbow.

his rag tag bunch of people must be wondering where he is, yul knows. and still he stays, stares into her eyes like he has all of eternity to remain squatted right there beside her. “is that not enough for you to believe me one more time?” he knows it’s selfish of him to ask her of this, but he wants, so badly, to hear her say it. like her trust, her belief, is his lifeline amongst all this fire.

#yul.#yul.doc #lozatla.

95z

moon and stars.

@grimoircs / jaesung & kiwon under the new zealand winter night

this happens often these days. jaesung, lying in bed, scrolling through fan comments and humoring them with replies, unable to sleep despite the heavy weight of his lids. they all tell him to sleep, and he counters that they should, too. but they’re up for a reason, they’re studying for exams and sometimes he feels oddly jealous of that. the regular lives they all get to lead outside of being a fan, while he lives and breathes atlas without a break because he can’t do anything else. objectively, he knows that he’s lucky, that he’s set for life even if the fall comes sooner than they hope, that he would’ve drowned in university and after in a regular office job. but, still. he can’t help but wonder, sometimes. he is thankful, though, and he tells his fans as much. thanks them for entertaining him with dumb edits and heartwarming messages alike, tells them he’s finally going to sleep now and that they should also.

and then, he locks his phone. he sets it aside and closes his eyes. sleep never comes on nights like this, and tonight’s no exception. he sighs, whispering sunwoo’s name so quietly it’s mostly just a breath. maybe he doesn’t want him to hear. when the youngest responds with a resounding snore, he smiles something small, fond, and slips out of their bed. his slippers softly drag against the floor on his way to kiwon’s room and he shivers in his thin, long-sleeve jj pajamas as the door slowly creaks open. he closes it lightly behind him before sliding in beside kiwon, arms naturally sliding around the other boy’s waist to steal warmth. comfort. jaesung sighs against the back of his neck, nuzzling there and shutting his eyes once more. he feels better, now, with the faint scent of orange blossoms and amber near him. “kiwon,” he mumbles gently, “are you awake?”

#jaesung.#jaesung.doc #idols.#jj = tata SLKJGKJ

hunt/ed

#jaeyong.#jaeyong.doc #lozatla.

jaeyong --

“i was thinking of burying you alive.” she tells him stubbornly, despite the quiver of fear in her voice, “and i guess i was too eager.” she presses her lips together, opens her eyes to look at him. finds he is much closer than he had been a moment ago, and that she has risen far enough from the ground to be at eye level with him, which is a new and alarming thing. his eyes are dark and intent, with a strength in them that runs like a dark current through a storming ocean. “i’m tired. i want to rest. we’re not going to find him tonight anyway, and you’re weakened too. you’re too stubborn and you’re only going to get us killed.” she bluffs, wiggling her fingers again, snaps them to draw his attention. “you didn’t even fully immobilize me.” she points out, “your pride is too much.”

it takes more energy than jaeyong will ever admit for him to bend blood. still, after all this time.

he’d only learned it after they’d pumped him full of anger and it rose out of that, the heat of it, the way it overwhelms and consumes. and so now, he needs to be angry if he wants to bend blood. now, he cannot acknowledge the jaeyong he’d been before the citadel, cannot be weak, cannot have compassion, cannot, cannot, cannot. but unlike kindness and soft eyes and softer hands, he cannot control fatigue. deep breaths and heavy glares can only suppress it for so long before his tired fingers start to tremble. before his feet start to ache and can’t stand their ground. even now, as she tells him she fantasized about killing him, the little jaeyong of a small water bending tribe that is no more thinks: do it, death would be far better than this.

he doesn’t tell her this, of course. and jaeyong, of the fire nation now in all but element alignment, stores the rage that swells inside of him. he steps forward until she can feel the heat of his breath, burn under the fire in his tired but endlessly frustrated eyes. “you think of betraying me?” he asks, posed more like a threat than a question. a warning, but for what he doesn’t know. because would he have it in him, to kill her, if the need arises? if she got in the way between him and that foolish avatar, would he be the soldier the citadel believes him to be? he breathes slow and tries to steady his hand, tries to believe that he could, would, even now, in a single snap of his fingers.

only, when he does hear a snap, his eyes dart to his fingers like he might’ve done it without his own knowing, and sami falls to the ground in an instant. when he sees her still breathing, he sighs out a quiet, shaky breath of relief. a breath he tries to hide with a scoff when he realizes what had happened, and he’s not sure what’s more infuriating, embarrassing. that he had been worried he might’ve killed her, or that he was too weak to fully freeze her and she noticed. his cheeks burn and he turns back around, doesn’t bother to help her back up. “fine,” he answers, trying to sound gruff and instead coming out tired, almost sulking, “we will rest if that will stop you from all this whining.” he closes his eyes to concentrate, pull himself back together, until he hears the trickling of water and points a hand northeast of them. “so pick yourself up, i hear moving water over this way,” he tells her, walking away without bothering to wait.

承 .