✧ –––– 𝙝𝙚𝙮𝙡𝙤 !! i'm tsu ( pst, they/them ), beyond excited to be here and introduce trainee #138, vocalist & producer hopeful, kang minseon !! he's someone who comes across very warm & easygoing but, under the surface, grapples with a great deal of inner turbulence & doubt, so ! i'm looking forward to seeing how things unravel with him, and i'm so looking forward to writing with you as well !! please feel free to browse his profile here and, under the cut, find a brief summary about him + jumping off points for potential connections. — if you're interested in plotting with us, please give this post a like !! ♡ tytyty !!
✧ –––– IN SUM …
until you're able to meet him, kang minseon is more myth than he is man. there's really no evidence that he exists, apart from hearing his name referenced in idle chatter— apparently, he's an applied music graduate who auditioned to join the ranks of hydra's self-producing idols. some say he hides himself in studio rooms because he's intensely antisocial; others say he's battling an unfortunate allergy to outside air.
so. when you finally meet him, it turns out he's.. remarkably.... unremarkable?
he keeps to himself, though he's more than generous in non-verbal responses. easy to befriend. pleasant to be around— enjoyable, even. if you were to ask why you can never find him outside of mandatory training, he'd roll his shoulders sheepishly and tell you he's always catching up on sleep.
— which is the truth ! ( .. half of it. )
because at 3am in the morning, minseon stares at himself in the practice room mirror, takes in his willowy reflection & tired eyes, and wonders if he's made The Wrong Choice in being here, if this will all just amount to one enormous regret. — and, because that line of questioning always leads him to feeling worn, he turns away from it, diverts his attention by feeding his ever-insatiable impulses, and sometimes does something that he actually does regret.
.... lack of sleep is way easier to explain though. he sticks with that answer and always disappears before you can ask any followups.
𝙏𝙇𝘿𝙍: Local Creature of the Night Masquerades as Very Normal Boy and Occasionally Distracts Himself from Trainee Concerns by Doing Something Wildly Impulsive and Probably Not Really Smart.
✧ –––– POTENTIAL CONNECTIONS …
every one of these is flexible ! i love 2 brainstorm 🤧
bestie who is his safe place, who immediately soothes his nerves & helps wind him down. he is a storm, & they are his shelter !!
friend who reflects his chaotic energy back at him, the first person he calls on to do something absolutely idiotic @ 4am.
someone who flusters him by noticing the littlest things about him, gives him attention that he's unused to & frankly unsettled by ????
someone who believes every rumor they've heard about him, convinced he's an ancient vampire who will disintegrate in the sun.
someone who maintains Very Niche Interests that he either already shares or will be interested in sharing. anything kinda weird !
someone who's had a crush on him since the beginning of time, something he's never noticed because he is DENSE.
a composer who writes topline for his beats and/or ! a composer who he makes arrangements for.
fellow coffee enjoyer who can hold their own against 183cm zombies.
friends ! just more friends in general, please.... i am not asking, i am begging.... minseon is just a silly little guy with poor impulse control !!!
taejin jumps at the cold touch. his easy grin slips for a moment, slack, into shock, before he recovers and lets out a laugh that digs deep dimples into the side of his cheeks. there's a touch of bashfulness, too, in the way he tilts his laugh down and busies himself with pulling the car back onto the road, trying to brush past how uncharacteristically affected his reaction had been — how strange it feels to get shy over something so small. "many thanks for the latte, but you can keep the cold hands."
before his mind can register it, he takes one hand off the steering wheel and holds the one that had just touched his neck. he gives it a firm squeeze, like he's checking the temperature, and waits for maybe a beat longer than necessary to release it.
"cold to the bone," he says, the tone of a diagnosis. he shakes his head with the faux gravity of a doctor. "this isn't good. first the hands, then the arms, what's next, the heart? i can't just sit back and watch my roommate turn into a block of ice." he glances at minseon and breaks into a smile. "good thing i'll be taking you somewhere warm, huh? here it's just hot, but sokcho gets a different kind of sun than seoul. trust me. you won't be the same person when you leave."
he says it with a conviction that runs bottomless in him, a deep well that feeds into every thought, every vague nonsense he pushes out to the world, and imbues it with possibility. his party trick is pulling down castles from the sky. he lives in the brackish zone of whimsy and reality, where he creates, endlessly, the conditions of his own existence.
minseon is sitting next to him in the car, and for whatever reason, taejin can't help but feel the urge to be making something. something that would hold the two of them, something that would be their space — bigger than this car, or a castle. he doesn't know what shape it would take, not yet, but it's somewhere in the clouds. he sees that it's there, and he'll wait for the right moment to tug it gently down.
IT'S SIMPLE, REALLY. minseon's hand is in taejin's, so this is now where all his thoughts start and stop: that to hold and to be held are such a simple pleasures— so simple that minseon unthinkingly stretches his fingers out to graze the tips of them against taejin's palm as it draws away, chasing his warmth like a catch on a line.
he schools his features into something solemn as he listens to the disclosure of a fabricated prognosis, nodding along to the results and pulling the seam of his lips into a smile only when it's mirrored perfectly beside him. nestled between all the expressed absurdities is the assumption that his cold touch is a symptom of an affliction that can be remedied— spoken in jest, all offhand— ... but something like sentiment smolders under minseon's chest when he looks from taejin's face to his hands, something unfamiliar and febrile, and he wonders, distractedly, if there's a chance he could really be put on the mend after all.
it's not something he chooses to dwell on.
minseon has made a habit of not entertaining fallible abstractions ( hope, the most insufferable of these ), even if it sounds disarmingly dulcet falling from the arch of taejin's mouth. still, he smiles indulgently and says, "oh? 've you considered i might not want to leave, then? — taejin." his voice softens around the name. "since you invited me out, i'm gonna have t' hold you at least partially responsible for making sure i get back to seoul safe and sound. ... even if you have to drag me back kickin' 'nd screamin', alright?"
with a muted laugh, he sinks further into his seat until his knees crowd the car's glove box. minseon closes his eyes, briefly, before chancing another glance beside him, attention skipping once more to his companion's face. fixing itself there. "hey," he begins, cautiously, "i do wanna say thanks, though. for taking me with you. ...... means a lot to me, actually."
DATED: late february 2023, following hyde academy's first elimination
FEATURING: canon npc ( references to okamoto kentaru )
WORD COUNT: 900
NOTES: kang minseon continues to be both protagonist + antagonist of his own story. aka this is a backstory drop, but minseon is a woefully unreliable narrator ! ( tw: unreality )
MINSEON WAKES WITHOUT THE KNOWLEDGE THAT HE'D FALLEN ASLEEP.
He blinks, and he's in the kitchen slicing strawberries ( works the knife with a precision borne of experience, stains the skin of his hands a scarlet red ).
In his periphery, he can see that he's being watched. The lens of the camera is and has been ever-present, but, today, there's an additional set of eyes on him, belonging to a visitant who shares his face, known simply as 'The Boy'. The Boy has settled himself against the counter, long arms crossed against his chest. Where he typically appears looking like a parody of Minseon from years past, in this moment, he's become Minseon's exact likeness, down to the tight clench of his jaw, the dark bruise blooming on the side of his wrist.
It's remarkably unnerving.
Minseon puts the knife down and rinses his hands. They don't speak.
He walks past his apparition and into the pantry.
KANG MINSEON: WILL YOU STAY OR WILL YOU RUN?
» Run.
HE OPENS THE PANTRY DOOR AND FINDS HIMSELF IN HIS CHILDHOOD BEDROOM. It's a small, faded room lit with yellow bulbs and streaks of sun— an attic his family had converted into a living space when he'd outgrown his grandparents' room. Outside, he can hear the excited chatter of students walking home from evening extracurriculars; Minseon remembers being fourteen and idly casting his eyes down to watch them from above, wishing and wanting. He was a mousy thing back then, with great big eyes and prominent ears and too-long limbs for a too-small body. He catches a glimpse of his reflection now, glassy and near-transparent in the pane of a window. Things are different, he assures himself. Things have changed.
He starts to make his way downstairs, before he hears his own voice in his ears, low and somewhat scratchy with disuse: "I don't think we have time for this."
The Boy has followed him in.
Minseon lingers at the top of the steps. He can hear his mother in the kitchen, humming absently over the sound of a ladle clattering against the rim of a stewpot. There's the aroma of curry rice in the air, and it makes Minseon's body ache; he doesn't remember why. He levels The Boy with a hard stare. "I need it."
So he heads downstairs.
The thing he misses most about living in Incheon is the music of his own home. It's the jazz filtering in through the floorboards, another quartet rehearsing for a night at the bar. It's the ring of the telephone and the subsequent sound of his grandfather moving to answer it. It's the chatter of patrons, the clinking of glasses, the polite applause as the room dims and the stage comes alive. Minseon closes his eyes, and he can imagine it all, awash in violet lights, the familiar weight of a bass guitar on his upper thigh, calloused hands wrapped around its neck. It's the music of his childhood, to dream awake. And it all comes to a gratifying conclusion when he hears his mother drop a spoon to the floor and give a lukewarm curse.
Minseon wanders into the kitchen.
His mother cries, "Seon-ah!" and she's happy to see him, he notes with relief. She tosses the spoon into the sink and looks somewhat proud of herself. "Your mother cooked dinner today. Set the table; I'll be right out!"
Minseon doesn't have the heart to tell her that he does not have an appetite. Moreover, the curry is burning, and he can smell it. The Boy peers into the stewpot, and Minseon watches him falter, watches his lower lip tremble. He feels something twist painfully inside of him, but he ignores it and moves to set the dining table.
His mother has left the TV on to drown out the noise of the bar below. Mnet is airing a drama centered on k-pop idols played by k-pop idols, and Minseon scoffs as the male lead is mobbed by adoring fans. It's played for laughs. He doesn't laugh.
His father, sitting innocuously on a nearby shelf, also does not laugh— He doesn't do much, in fact, but Minseon smiles at him all the same. He's always liked to think of this stranger as a kind man, but beyond passing curiosities, the truth is that he doesn't think of his father much at all. Away from this shelf, outside of this house, it's difficult to remember he even exists.
He's about to pick up the photo frame to inspect it, wondering if he should broach this topic with his mother, when he's distracted by the sound of the TV again, the transition to another program: a survival show. Beside him, The Boy goes still. A voice that sounds eerily familiar begins a recap of the events thus far, but before it can finish, the TV turns itself off, flooding the room in silence.
... Silence?
Minseon strains his ears to listen for the sounds of the jazz bar. It's too quiet. Anxiously, he makes his way back to the kitchen, but his mother has disappeared. In her place is a canvas-bound journal with a recipe for Japanese curry. He searches its pages for a way forward, maybe for a suggestion of what's to come, but all that's in it is a singular name written in kanji: Okamoto Kentaru. Minseon flinches and steadies himself against the counter, suddenly dizzy...
⌇⌇ 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞
⤷ flashback (summer '22) with @hdminseon
⤷ location: gangnam, seoul > sokcho beach
it creeps up on him. taejin's hunched over the water coolers in one of hydra's practice rooms when homesickness punches through him like a fist.
it's his first summer in seoul. his first summer landlocked, and he can't get over how strange it is to see the sun in the sky with no stretch of sea rolling underneath. here it's all hot concrete and crowded intersections and tall buildings throwing flashes of reflected light as he crosses the street. how long has it been since he's seen an unobstructed horizon? he misses it something fierce, and it's an ache that stabs between his ribs for the rest of the week, shaking his focus and consuming him so completely that he has to call an acquaintance after practice one day, asking if he could borrow their car for the weekend (this saturday) just to make that three hour drive to the sokcho coast. he needs so badly to fill his lungs with salted air and feel the sand beneath his feet again. he doesn't even care that the roads will be crowded with cars headed east. even bumper to bumper, it would still be worth it.
and minseon will be with him.
taejin flicks the car's turn signal and pulls into the shopping center where he said he'd be meeting his roommate—a small collection of storefronts just five minutes from hydra hq. he slows to a stop next to the curb of a discount coffee shop and rolls down his window, leaning his torso over the console to call after a familiar figure.
"hi, 'scuse me!" loud and cheeky, he cups his mouth with one hand and adjusts the sunglasses in his hair with the other. "i'm a representative from hydra labels and i couldn't help but notice your visuals. are you interested in being an idol by any chance?"
he grins, and there's no small amount of flirtation in it. lately, he's been living for every opportunity to tease his roommate. to enter his field of vision and occupy it completely for a few electric moments. taejin always knew he was a little greedy for attention, but it was only after meeting minseon that he's felt this insatiable. it surprises him sometimes, how reflexive it's become to glance up from whatever he's doing to look for his eyes (round, dark, pointedly doe-like—he remembers it being the first thing he noticed when they first met) ... it's strange. these days, taejin finds himself doing a lot of things he has no explanation for. like inviting minseon to go on this trip with him, or thinking that it was only natural for him to come along. somehow, from the very beginning, his plans had always included minseon.
"i happen to know a lot of people in high places," taejin continues, not letting go of the gag. he wiggles his brows like a shady figure running a bad scam. "if you get in this car, i could make you a star."
ACCEPTING TAEJIN'S INVITATION WAS ENTIRELY TOO EASY. it's a realization that finally hits when the girl behind the coffee counter asks, "is there anything else?", and minseon finds himself buffering, trying to recall whether he knows taejin's usual order. he doesn't. he says, "actually, i'll have one more of the same," then spends the next couple of minutes fiddling with his phone, questioning the decision and wishing he didn't have to.
because things with taejin have always been easy.
it hasn't been long since he first sauntered into minseon's sleepy little life, all playful charm and confident gait, and already, minseon feels as if he should know more about taejin than he does. he wants to know more. he finds himself perfectly swept up in taejin's tide, and the water is welcoming and warm. minseon has no knowledge of the anatomy of waves, can't even begin to guess at his roommate's go-to drink order, yet still, he allows himself to drift. he thinks it's only a matter of time before he's tempted to look back and see just how far he's come from the shore, but today, minseon is wholly content to indulge in soothing flights of fancy...
isn't it such a pretty thought, after all —
the notion that he could drown himself in yang taejin?
he bites back a smile upon hearing a familiar voice.
amused, minseon tilts half his body sideways to better catch taejin's winsome grin through the car's open window. unconsciously, he mirrors it. "promise me my name in lights, and 'm all yours." he gets in the car, gingerly sets the drinks down before tapping the lid on one of the cups. "my contributions for the day: hojicha lattes and—" then without warning, he reaches up to press his knuckles against the sliver of skin behind taejin's ear. even in the sweltering heat of summer, minseon's fingers are freezing. he narrows his eyes, expression wicked. "— cold hands."
it's crazy to think how nervous hwan feels, like this had been some big exam or evaluations for sponsors or the bigger managements. in fact, while he does not know what it feels to take an exam as he's been homeschooled his entire life and he treats every evaluation he's done with equal dedication and of importance, in a way, the music he presents to this strangers seems to hold more importance to him. perhaps if hwan had truly delve his intentions within, there is a need to impress. there's a need to woo the man whom he shares the room with, like the birds he sees doing those fancy dances on a mating call when he used to watch national geographic as a child.
he watches as the man before him pays full attention to his music, as none like had done before. which wasn't saying much as hwan rarely shares his music, even to his parents. he has shared them anonymously, or at least on the website that lets your share music but he goes by his english name there so it's not like anyone would know who he is. nevertheless, he still waits. it's as if the room had deafen alike those in horror movies where one awaits their death, except, he could hear the bass of his music over the headphones even when hwan isn't plugged to it. he supposed, his music comes easy to him, he's read the lines of his composition time to time over that even when he closes his eyes, he could hear them precisely like a ghost that stays in a haunted house, a land where it is it's treasure and where anyone who tries to lay hands or step into their land, would be haunted for life. in a sense, he is the house and the ghost is his music. anyone who dared to step in and stay however, would be haunted alike.
after what seems to be a while, he snaps away from his thoughts at the commentary given, and he sighs generously when his nervousness melts away from his system and when he sees the man smile. "of course, it's uh, you're the first really i've shown this too, or like in general to any of my music. i think that itself holds high honor- for me," hwan comments, nodding to his words.
if there is another sigh of relief that comes, hwan does his best holding it in. "i'm... i'm so thankful you thought of it like that-" hwan remarks his gratitude over the man's poised way of words. in fact, the way the latter carries his way with words reminds him of a certain profile he revisits on his soundcloud days. (thank god it didn't have one of those 'who and who has visited or seen your profile' notification, or god be damned over the embarrassing amount of times hwan has clicked on the producer's(?) profile.) in fact, if hwan thinks about it deeply without being overly fond yet appreciative over the remarks he's given, perhaps he could recognize the man's voice in the profile he clicks ever so generously of.
the greatest compliments hwan receives is being asked if he's a solo artist. to which he thinks, he's far from it. he's not prepared for it, and in his defense, he could point out more of his flaws than what he excels in. "oh no- i uh, i just like making music. just a random dude who writes and composes a lot during his free time," hwan comments and as humble as it sounds, he's far from cry. he's worked hard over the years of training sure, but hwan rather points out at his flaws. because to him, he would never feel good enough.
THERE'S A STRANGE SENSE OF SELF-SATISFACTION MINSEON HAS TO SWALLOW DOWN, UPON HEARING HIS COMPANION SAY 'YOU'RE THE FIRST'.
... 'first'. it's a position he relishes, which may be surprising, given his clear lack of interest in competition. first in line has never meant much to minseon — he doesn't derive joy in the triumph over others — but to be the first to do something that no one has thought to do, to go somewhere that no one has thought to go... these prospects appeal to him. there's something almost possessive in the way he holds it all close to his chest, ever a hoarder of secrets. he opens the door to an unfamiliar room and thinks: 'mine'. nips a bruise under the collar of a shirt and it's: 'mine'. listens to the demo of an unnamed artist and bites back the urge to say: 'ALL MINE'.
he watches his new friend stumble over his gratitude, feeling endearment flood his chest for the second time during their short exchange. the other male wears humility like a cloak. minseon wants to peel it back and contemplate what lies beneath, but— he'll wait for an invitation first. there is time for that, still, minseon is sure of it. he is certain this is the first meeting of many more to come.
" 'just a random dude,' huh?" he repeats, warm lilt to his voice. "... not to me."
he sits up. a weighty sort of silence follows, as he leans his body forward until he's eye to eye with his companion, almost too close to leave room for comfort. — regarding reputation, minseon has heard a lot of things about himself. often underlying such things is the fear that he is too much. the intensity of the stare he pins on his accompaniment now is perhaps evidence of just that. his voice dips lower as he speaks: "you asked for my input, right? and... y' heard what i had to say, right? so, unfortunately for you, you don't have the privilege of being 'just a random dude' anymore. y' mean something. to me." minseon flips one of his hands open, palm up. "give me your phone."
if there is one thing that doyeon looks forward to on a weekday, it's definitely the english class that hydra has assigned for her to take. look, she may be good in geometry, additional mathematics, history and all that jazz, but since her family were all born and stayed in south korea for their entire life, she does not have anyone in particular to utilize her english studies on. pen-pals and internet friend were totally out of the question as she is skeptical over being online much less do not use any social media even before becoming a trainee.
but the point is, when doyeon reaches her shared class with other hydra trainee, she sees her favorite boy and the seat empty next to him. perhaps the other trainees usually come in later, but doyeon would race against them to sit against minseon whom she had known some classes back. there's just this vibe to the wonder nation trainee that doyeon had liked. the one meme she knew that went along the lines of "if anything happened to him, i will kill everyone then myself" and she strongly feels like that would apply for minseon in her case of infatuation.
the thing is, doyeon isn't sure if she quite like minseon the way people would think. but his reactions to her weak attempted on using english pick up she definitely did not google before class, makes it fun to be around him. he also happened to be one of the few people whom had not mind doyeon's flirtatious antics.
"hey sleepyhead" the raven haired greets her deskmate. "you must be tired since you've been running through my mind the entire day" she throws out an english pick up line with a grin, anticipating minseon's reaction.
MINSEON ISN'T SURE WHEN NAM DOYEON BECAME A CONSTANT IN HIS LIFE. there hasn't been any distinctive moments of realization, sudden or swift acknowledgements of the fact— someplace, somehow, in his quiet existence, he had just left an opening for her and she had stepped in. a wholly uncomplicated affair. an arrangement he's exceedingly fond of, made evident in the way his posture visibly softens when she moves to take her seat beside him. his eyes skip up to regard her from where they were previously ( and feverishly ) fixated on the cacography that seemed to make up a majority of his comp notebook.
"— hey."
and then almost immediately, the tips of his ears color at 'sleepyhead'. classroom settings do, unfortunately, have a certain quality ( or multiple qualities? ) about them that seem entirely too conducive for long naps. and in this respect, minseon is an opportunist, so if the company didn't want him to sleep, should they really have supplied him with the perfect backdrop for it?
he's about to say as much, but then doyeon follows her greeting with a sentence in english, and minseon's face scrunches together as if he's just eaten something sour. he processes it all very slowly. nothing about it reads as flirting ( though, he has trouble recognizing that without the language barrier ), so he's woefully earnest in mulling over the words that seem most important to him: 'tired' and 'running' and... maybe this is more straightforward than he thinks...... "[ no. no... i didn't— i didn't running, ]" he concludes finally, appearing somewhat proud to have cobbled together a sentence he hasn't been taught. "[ but you... you like running? ... running a lot? ]"
can't talk about it. of course. "oh, i figured i just wanted to congratulate you." niel said quickly. he wasn't sure if the spluttering was out of surprise or something else. it was hard to get a read on the situation. it shouldn't be so hard. they were the same age. literal days apart if niel remembered correctly, which should mean a certain level of comfort. but there was still the lingering feeling that he'd done something wrong and now minseon was holding it against him. maybe niel had accidentally snapped at him during practice? "i didn't mean to surprise you, sorry."
he picked at the food trying to figure out how to word his question without offending minseon. he was taken aback, however, by minseon's question. "oh, well..." niel's expression fell a little. he couldn't help but be disappointed by it even at this point. he focused on his rice for a moment moreso rearranging the grains than actually eating it. "that's because there's not really anything to keep secret..."
niel made himself smile anyway. "i got a lot of positive feedback though! so i'm sure they'll come up with something." the sentiment rang slightly false even to niel's ear but they weren't really here to talk about that. it was kind of excruciating dancing around the topic. especially if they were going to talk about that instead. it wasn't minseon's fault really, it was just that niel knew he was horribly envious and he didn't want to let that out on someone who hadn't done anythign wrong.
"actually...i hope you don't mind if i'm a little blunt. i don't really know how else to say this." niel said deciding to switch tactics and just pray to god that he didn't offend minseon. "i just heard a rumor that you were mad at me for something during evaluations and people were saying you hate me or something." he was word vomiting a bit but even as he recognized that he couldn't really stop himself. "and i guess i just wanted to ask you if that was true? i mean it's okay if you do. i was just hoping if i did something i could apologize for it. i didn't want to leave anything on a sour note...and we're the same age so i was hoping we could be friends, y'know?"
MINSEON WAS BEGINNING TO WORRY THAT THERE WAS A LIMIT TO HOW MUCH SOCIAL INTERACTION HIS BODY COULD PHYSICALLY PROCESS. he had unintentionally driven niel from one awkward exchange to another, expression betraying remorse in the shape of an open-mouthed grimace, and... things were going from bad to dreadful, but niel was apologizing to him. niel was doing his best to salvage a conversation that was, perhaps, doomed to fail ever since minseon had entered it. and minseon himself had quite a lot he wanted to say, but he was saying none of it, because none of it was processing. everything that fell from his lips was an automatic response, a knee-jerk reaction of "i'm sorry"'s and "it's okay"'s that seemed to cloak any of his genuine sincerity.
he was considering how to tell niel that he wouldn't have survived their last evaluation without him, when niel took the opportunity to pivot to something else. he opened with 'actually...' and minseon felt his heart sink to his stomach. these were not words one would use to preface good news. he knew the way this usually went: having left too much open for interpretation, regardless of whether the explications were fair or not, it was his responsibility to determine if an apology was owed. ( and more often than not, he figured it was owed. minseon was not in the habit of making things easy for anyone, and it brought him an immeasurable amount of guilt. )
but niel did not assign blame, and following his admission, minseon raised his head to level him with a questioning stare. "we are friends," he concluded, somewhat dimly, before realizing this was not something he could decide on his own. he flushed, then preoccupied himself with stabbing at his food to avoid looking into niel's face. "i mean— i... i was never mad. i don't hate you. i actually really like you." he was still frowning. it was not something he was cognizant of. "i do. you're always... patient with me. considerate. kind. 'nd cute. — people talk. and i don't know how, but i keep giving them things to talk about. ... 'm just... sorry that you got caught in the crossfire......"
in all honestly, it felt like hwan was being evaluated even though he had offered his piece up to be assessed as so. having his music being listened by someone new gives him the same excitement yet nervousness just as any monthly evaluation he goes through with the company. there's butterflies in his stomach akin to when he has to show his practices of honing his vocals and dance to the panel, except this time it had been more intimate.
for this particular piece, hwan has been working for weeks, from composing the simple bassline to writing the rap lyrics that would fit the mood. unlike his other track, child, this new track shows a bit more of a classic yet intensive flow; something the trainee has not been able to master until recently; and one that takes years to perfect. admittedly, this had been sitting in his draft for months to years now, only to resurface when he no longer feels afraid to explore a different side of him especially when he's equipped with years of practice and no longer sounding awkward as he did when the song had only been saved in hums and random chord progression.
while he feels absolutely proud of his work and how it had showed his different side, there's still a part of him that's worried that it may come off as worst, that it didn't deliver the impact that hwan wanted to raise with his work. but he waits. he waits for the man seated next to him - expression intense yet attentive to his music, for him to say something and if he had any remarks about his piece but knows that it is probably reserved for when the song finishes. and perhaps in that moment a two minute long song felt like two decades long.
hwan fiddles with his fingers, almost as close as to picking the bits of his cuticles out of a bad habit when the wait feels long. but when the song is finally over, the music bar stopping at the end of the score, the raven-haired pauses his action and looks at his one and only listener expectedly. a small part of him braces any sort of commentary, especially the worsts.
THE ACT OF SHARING IS — IN AND OF ITSELF — AN ACT OF VULNERABILITY. it's an attribute made all the more salient when considering the subjective and articulative nature of art, and minseon has never been one to take that lightly. he is not in the business of volunteering praise if he does not wholeheartedly believe it's due, and this has earned him a reputation among his peers for being... unexpectedly cold, a quality incongruous with the smiling front he dons for friendly acquaintances.
but the truth is this: that minseon's sincerity is the greatest kindness he can ever and will ever offer. so, for this benevolent stranger, he presses play, lets his eyes fall shut, and does not smile. he listens.
the track put forward is stripped in a way that delivers more than is immediately apparent. it demands attention in that regard, suggesting ferocity in a conflicting exhibition of restraint. one corner of minseon's lips quirks upward. when the song comes to a close, he remains still and silent, up until a gentle query invites him to speak. then, he cracks one eye open. "... well, shit." there's a playful lilt to his voice. "'s it really even matter what i think?"
nevertheless, he sinks into his seat and presses his cheek against the back of his chair, peering up at his companion obligingly. "... was delicious, actually. texture like velvet. rich. commanding." he searches for words. he's been chastised more than once for not expressing himself coherently. "... switch ups made me lose my mind; production's perfect for stage. think it should be published already." — and there's... something else he wants to disclose, but it's another thought he keeps close. the piece is entirely new to him, but listening to it feels..... familiar somehow, as if minseon were longing for something he never even knew was absent. he can't quite put his finger on it, but, for now, he pulls himself from that line of thought. "so, you wrote, arranged, and performed this on your own...... you're.. a solo artist, then?"
DATED: late february 2023
FEATURING: hyde academy contestants ( all named )
WORD COUNT: 1,200
NOTES: kang minseon entering his single father era..........
MINSEON IS PLEASANTLY SURPRISED TO FIND TWO BOXES OF CURRY ROUX IN THE ACADEMY PANTRY. He spends the early hours of his morning cutting onions, peeling carrots, soaking potatoes... It's a little known fact that he makes for quite an excellent cook. — Although it's a skill he hasn't particularly been eager to advertise, he's aware that getting up at the break of dawn and tying an apron around his waist, especially this early into the project, will give others the impression that he is.... always like this. The type of man who can cook. The type of man who will cook. The word 'reliable' comes to mind, and Minseon has to pause in the middle of grating his ginger to smother down a self-deprecatory laugh.
His eyes flick upward to regard one of the cameras nestled in the corners of the kitchen ceiling. Belatedly, he raises a hand in an awkward sort of half-greeting. If any of this makes it on air, he can already imagine his mother talking aloud to her tablet, suggesting additional ingredients for a sweeter taste: apples, bananas, chutney. He imagines his grandfather boasting to his patrons about his grandson, the local celebrity, gathering everyone near the bar to watch things onscreen, giving them all a round on the house. He imagines dear Hwan, smiling widely as he hunches over his phone in the center of his favorite studio, taking a well-deserved break after hours spent pouring himself into his work.
But Minseon is getting a little ahead of himself, isn't he?
He has to ace this assignment first. For them.
✧ –––– MEANINGFUL RELATIONSHIPS IN A SYNTHETIC SOCIETY :
EXHIBIT A, Extended Notes on the Revelatory Nature of Leading a Group .
It's a fresh, hardcover notebook that he bought prior to his departure from Seoul: 200 pages of grid-lined paper bound by a canvas dyed rose ebony. Since Minseon's arrival in Paju, it's already accumulated its fair share of stains — coffee and ink — but it's clear that the principal purpose of this notebook is not to be read; it is to be written in. The first five or so pages are nearly unintelligible: jumble of notes scrawled on a messy musical staff that Minseon clearly gave up on drawing halfway through. The next few pages are little more comprehensible: the lyrics sheet to 'Maverick' is torn and earnestly attached to the journal in parts. Annotations are jotted down wherever there is room for them. — Take a peek?
━━ BAE SUNGHO / LEAD RAPPER & DANCER : There isn't much written where Sungho is concerned. Minseon has idly traced over his name in different colored pens. They've hardly just been acquainted, but even looking at the characters that make up Sungho's name has Minseon's ribs ache with all of the things Sungho is that Minseon himself will never be: adored, desired, loved. He isn't particularly fond of dwelling on it, but the abstraction comes and goes more often than he likes.
━━ JAMIE HAN / MAIN VOCAL | MASON LEE / MAIN RAPPER & DANCER : In between doodles and impromptu games of tic-tac-toe, Minseon has drafted a loose practice & monitoring schedule for Jamie, Mason, and himself. Having spent years in training together, there is an unspoken sort of trust he harbors for both of them, and this trust manifests itself now in the comfort and the knowledge that there isn't a need to worry; Jamie and Mason always pull through. All Minseon needs to do is work out how best to intensify their light, and, rest assured, they will shine.
━━ ROBBY HAN / MAIN DANCER & MAKNAE | SON TAEGYEOM / RAPPER & DANCER : Several group formations are outlined near Robby's name. Minseon had wrestled with distributing positions evenly, but he knows their arrangement still leaves much to be desired. As Robby and Taegyeom had both run into conflicts over parts in the past, Minseon looks after them now with caution. He is cognizant of the fact that, regarding aforesaid conflicts, one of them had taken action as a form of response, and the other, as an instigation. He does not regard these with equal weight.
━━ JUNG JAEYOUNG / CENTER : A quick sketch of Jae's side profile is crosshatched in ink. The page is folded over like an ill-kept secret, on account of the fact that Jae and Minseon are......... friends. At least— they're 'friends' insofar as that definition involves Minseon replaying a very dim memory of folding himself up against the frame of Jae's body. It's not something he remembers clearly, but it's a recollection that surfaces. Constantly.
━━ KANG MINSEON / LEADER & VOCAL : Nothing of note here.
━━ MIZUNO KOTA / LEAD DANCER | OKAMOTO KENTARU / RAPPER : A recipe for Japanese curry is outlined in a bright and bubbly hand, courtesy of Kentaru. On the back of the page, he's written his and Kota's names in kanji, and Minseon has diligently practiced replicating the characters underneath. Prior to filming, Minseon had been worried about getting along with new acquaintances, but he seems to be making a slow and steady progress, despite still being quite clumsy with his feelings.
━━ PARK HANEUL / LEAD VOCAL : There are observations written in the margins next to all of Haneul's parts. Some of them denote modulation, but the majority are there to express admiration: exclamation points, underlines, liberal use of colored pens. If there's one thing Minseon wants to leverage his position for, it's to give Haneul's vocal prowess the recognition it deserves. He'll do what he can to make it happen. He is a weapon, after all— a knife, if only Haneul will learn to wield him.
━━ RYU YISEUL / VISUAL & VOCAL : Beside Yiseul's name is a dark smudge of ink where Minseon had absentmindedly scribbled shapes in the midst of his pensive thoughts. He's been doing that too often lately — thinking — but he doesn't know how else he can find a way to function around Yiseul without his insides turning... molten. It's a work in progress. Minseon doesn't know what Yiseul wants from him, but he thinks it's been made quite clear that, whatever it is, it's not the same as what Minseon wants. ( ... But what does Minseon want? )
✧ –––– MEANINGFUL RELATIONSHIPS IN A SYNTHETIC SOCIETY :
EXHIBIT B, Breakfast .
It's the soft light of sunrise filtering in through the long, floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the entirety of the west wall. It casts the room in a faint glow and soothes the edges of the Academy's dark interiors, tempering contrast between illumination and shadow. There's the aroma of freshly made curry in the kitchen— eleven portions in a large stewpot, short grain rice washed and cooked. It's a new recipe from a new friend in a new place to call home.
A short ways away, Kang Minseon has tucked himself into a loveseat and fallen asleep there. Beside him is a lukewarm mug of dark roast coffee, untouched. His fingers are curled around the spine of a journal. A pen is tucked behind his left ear. There is a dark streak of ink running from the side of his palm to the center of his wrist, evidence of having been in solemn thought. He looks uncharacteristically at ease now. — Someone has removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose and set them aside. Someone else has draped a jacket over his willowy frame. He looks uncharacteristically held dear now.
𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐁𝐀𝐑, Paju, SK
Mid February , 2023
w. 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍
Alcohol might as well be Yiseul's best friend. Nothing else makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside, well, apart from cats. Cats definitely make him feel warm and fuzzy inside. At least it makes him feel something, something he can control, for the most part. In his hand he holds a tall glass of something fruity and fiery, with a little umbrella sticking out of the top. Fruity and fiery. A giggle erupts from his lips as he realises he might be described the exact same way, and he turns to his companion. His woefully sober companion.
"Seonie~" He draws his name out as though he can't get enough of the taste of it on his tongue, rolling the syllables around in his mouth for far too long. There he sits, that fucker. With his pretty mouth, and his pretty nose, and his fucking pretty hands. Had the bar stools not been attached to the floor he knows full well he'd have a leg over Minseon's right now, ever unable to keep his hands off the man. "Why don't you drink?" He's probably asked before, but in his alcohol addled mind he can't manage to locate the knowledge. Typically, Yiseul prides himself on knowing everything about everyone, and knowing for a fact that not a single person knows anything about him. Ever an enigma, the mysterious Yiseul.
He reaches over, trailing his fingers up along Minseon's forearm, until he lets his hand rest on his bicep, taking a long, deep inhale, as though contemplating something terribly heavy. "When are you going to choke me?" He asks as though he's merely asking the weather, then laughs and turns back to his drink, taking a long sip through the hot pink straw he'd requested. Yiseul likes to watch Minseon when he says stuff like that. He can't get enough of seeing the effects of his own words written so plainly on the other mans face. So, he glances over, well aware that his signature impish grin is tugging at the corner of his lips, giving away that he knows exactly what he's doing.
MINSEON SITS AT THE BARTOP LIKE HE'S PERFORMING A PERSONAL ACT OF PENANCE, absentmindedly taking sips from an old fashioned glass of club soda and letting the sharp smell of alcohol lap at his apprehensions like a shallow tide. He's been feeling sentimental lately. And homesick. Fortunately, his companion for the night is distracting enough to deny him a descent into aimless rumination; Ryu Yiseul all but utters Minseon's name, and Minseon is already drawing closer — moth to flame — trying to catch the words that tumble from his mouth.
Yiseul asks him a question.
Tipsy or not, it's innocent and inoffensive, but Minseon has reasons for disliking alcohol beyond the edge of its acidic burn, so it's a question that gives him some pause. Yiseul has unintentionally wandered to the edge of a precipice, one that overlooks the yawning chasm of a past Minseon has more or less kept private, and... Minseon wants to come undone by Yiseul's hands but never by accident. He steers them both to safety, for now: "Not really my thing— 've got other vices. ... As I'm sure you know."
( And speaking of those other vices... )
His body is warm and yielding under an indulgent touch, wholly unprepared when Yiseul asks... something else. It's a question that's less innocent, less inoffensive, the effects of which are almost immediate. Minseon's eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, breath stalling before it's belatedly exhaled into a small scoff. His eyes narrow. He finds himself somewhat... irritated by the query, for two primary reasons: 1) There's a time and a place for it, neither of which are now or here. 2) It's a simple question, really, and it deserves a simple answer. Minseon can settle it in five words ( 'WHEN – YOU'RE – BEGGING – FOR – IT' ) — But. With reference to Reason No. 1, seeing as it is neither the time nor the place, he has to swallow it down and level Yiseul with a look of admonishment. "Play nice tonight." His eyes fall to the smooth column of Yiseul's throat. Lingers there. "... And don't test me, please. I've been so—" They skip back up. Yiseul's smile is wicked; Minseon's, now, has the trace of something lethal. "...... I've been so good."
* / ( 👟 𝖝 🤹🏼♂️ ]
Jae stood firm as Minseon sleepily caressed his face, and what felt like Minseon searching for his pulse. Confused, yet understanding he freed his arm and softly whispered “Na, I’m real as fuck”. His sleepy friend had unknowingly unlocked some hidden emotions that Jae hadn’t realized yet. Letting out a deep breath, he turned around to slowly exit Minseons room - making his way back to the kitchen.
Deep in thought, making some quick ramen to eat; Jae kept revisiting the sequence leading Minseon to rest, the words he was saying, the way he made him feel. Jae’s had a guy love once, and they would probably still be together if it wasn’t for the sneaking on their behalf. Due to the toxicity of his previous relationship, Jae developed a sense of avoiding rejection. Nowadays, he waits for the opposite to ‘make a move’ in order to protect his feelings. Once he feels rejected or shot down, his immature habit of ‘clowning’ the suitor would make the situation worst for them - making Jae feel better.
He quickly prepared his ramen and shoveled it down with some lacquered chopsticks. Chasing down his meal with a chilsung cider, contemplating on what he should do next. “ *sigh* I don’t know what hell I’m going to do” he mumbled to himself under his breath. He had felt a certain vibe from Minseon, sleepy or not. He wasn’t sure if he was reading too much into it and that his friend was just super affectionate - which wouldn’t be a problem. Nibbling on the inside of his lip nervously, he slowly walked back to Minseons room. He stood still in the doorway for a minute, until he decided to check on him closer and get some rest with his friend for a while. Pulling his hood back over his head, Jae positioned himself comfortably on the giant beanbag adjacent to Minseons bed. Not sure if he’d answer or not, Jae whispers “Hey…you sleep?”
MINSEON WOKE BLANKETED IN PERPLEXITY, blinking up at his dorm room ceiling and wondering how the hell he ended up here. It wasn't often that he made it back to his own bed; sleep was a state of being that fell into him— not usually the other way 'round— but, it seemed, he'd miraculously found his way... home, to a room awash in the moon's yellow light, enveloped in the sound of heavy rain and thunder. It was his favorite sound. Part of him wanted to steal away into the night and capture a recording for future use, but another part, a larger one, wanted to savor this experience in the present. Simple pleasures. They were all he needed.
He didn't know how much time he'd spent lying in idle comfort, but the sound of footsteps gently drew his attention back into the four walls of his room. He didn't move, even when he registered that someone had settled down nearby.
It was a voice that prompted his recollection of the night's events: Jae, asserting his place in reality, and Minseon, barely holding onto his. He still felt weightless. Was he asleep? "No." He didn't think so. — He turned his head to regard his companion, not quite sure what else he wanted to say. He settled for: "Thank you."
Then, after a beat: " 'm fine now, Jae... If you wanna go, you don't have to stay."
His eyes searched Jae's face for something. It was difficult to read the other male's expression under the dark of his hood, but Minseon had always felt like this, like there was a portion of Jae hidden underneath all the bravado and bluster, and the thought of unraveling him now, layer by layer, was an inviting prospect.
"You could, though?" he prompted quietly. "If you wanted to, you could— ....... stay."
