in gold.

an ecstatic addiction. antonio. olympus. lead vocal.

[idhwanhee-blog]

nowadays.

chuseok gayo festival, ca. after cover stage.

why did you decide to sing boohwal’s never ending story?

such a question is to be expected — even without midas carefully cherry-picking them. hwanhee knew that particular thing would be asked even before his manager gave him the list of pre-selected questions and scripted answers. it’s a cliche to ask about such a thing. but everyone loves cliches despite what they say or feel about it. that’s the reason they’re so popular, isn’t it?

he answers each question fluently, like the words are truly coming from his heart. and only those behind the scenes know they’re embellished words, carefully written and selected to avoid causing trouble. but his answer to this particular question retains the truth — not the complete truth, but parts of it. he gives a short glance at his manager, and he can see the manager mouthing ‘empathy.’

“i sang this song when i auditioned,” he inserts a shy, sheepish smile and ducks his head. he lets a quiet laugh escape. it’s forced but the breathy wheeze conceals it. “but it wasn’t a good audition.”

he notices the surprise marking the interviewer’s face; it throws him off slightly, but he continues with tears gathering his eyes. (all done with his manager’s approval, of course.) he looks down in his lap, showing the camera that he is currently “reminiscing” about that point in his life. his actions are subtle, but he plays it off as emotionally as he can.

in reality, there was absolutely nothing dramatically emotional about that day — the producers had told him to leave, so he left; they told him to return when he got better, so he returned a year later. if anything, the dismissal from them only encouraged him to keep moving forward. it’s certainly not a story that would bring actual tears to his eyes. but that’s what the script told him to do: tug at the audiences’ heart strings; play with their emotions. it’s an idea that makes him nauseated, but he’s not the type to easily say no.

well, not to them, anyway.

however, the thought runs in his mind longer than it should: toying with people’s emotions. isn’t that what he’s done his entire career? why does he suddenly feel bad about it now? is it because the words have always been beautifully decorated by telling him they’re selling fantasy instead? or has he always been against such an idea, but he’s never fully grasped it until just recently?

he’ll think about all of that at a later time, because he has a job to finish now.

“it’s a song that reminds me that i’ve come a long way as a singer,” he says, now strictly sticking to the script. “and the members and olympians and the company and…” he becomes quiet again. it’s not because he forgot the script — he’s studied it for days after each rehearsal and sound check, but he doesn’t think he can say the next part without bearing his teeth. so he trails off, looks down at his lap, holds onto his fidgeting fingers, until he’s able to smoothly finish up his answer while simultaneously sticking to the script, “and i don’t think i could have improved this much without their love and support.”

[idhwanhee-blog]

dynamite.

[idhwanhee-blog]

idohsan‌:

“it’s not a particularly complicated suggestion. i mean, go practice your stages if you’re so worried about them. i know it’s a strange concept to this fucking group, but that’s generally how practice works.” it’s rote and blunt. but there’s not a creative way he can reword it. san’s already done it. until his legs were aching and he swayed on his feet, the night crawling into dawn. and he’d done it the night before, and the night before that. he’s always been a workaholic, but it tends to get glossed over. lost in the narrative. he knows he’s forever a child in their eyes. lagging behind. undeserving. 

he stopped caring a long time ago.

at certain times, hwanhee lets his mind drift. he doesn’t like thinking about the complicated, so he prefers to think about the superficial (because it’s less stressful that way): he thinks about that one cloud that looked eerily similar to a cartoon character. but there are very few times when he would venture too far into his mind and he wonders if san would have been better off if midas hadn’t debuted him so early...

he’s always stopped himself when such thoughts began to explore that side of his mind. he’s an important asset of the group. (everyone is, but it’s a thought hwanhee doesn’t openly express. why should he? he’s sure most of them won’t either; not willingly, anyway.) but he doesn’t think it’s necessarily wrong to ponder this. maybe it would have been better, letting the boy mature some more until he’s able to swallow the vinegar that produces from his tongue — let the taste simmer so he inhales the sourness without a visible grimace. (or in this case, a tantrum.)

he scoffs as his arms cross and twine together. ‘worried,’ san says — this boy thinks he’s worried. it’s not necessarily a lie because san probably won’t fabricate things like this — the boy’s too wrapped in his own childish outbursts to make up such things. but hwanhee doesn’t like this. he doesn’t like how he’s so transparent, even though he desperately tries to conceal the unpleasant sensation that keeps building up inside of him. so another, deep exhale comes forward and hwanhee’s eyes raise to the ceiling and they sink back down to meet san’s pointed look.

the rise and fall of his eyebrows are quick, almost like a knee-jerk reaction, and they sink lower and lower, folding the flesh between them. he knows he shouldn’t be affected by whatever san’s saying; brush it off like a proper grown-up should. but he doesn’t think he can. so he finally asks, “why are you like this?” he wonders if san would even answer him seriously, but he doesn’t wait for an answer or a ‘justifiable’ reason. “you know what—” it comes out quickly because he doesn’t want to get with a petty squabble with a child.

besides, he already has an idea why oh san is the way he is. and hwanhee decides that it’s nothing complicated: san’s just tainted by the overexposure, and that’s too much for a growing kid to handle -- and that’s all there is to it. he rubs his temples, trying to soothe the headache that is beginning to consume him. “--just forget i said anything.”

[idsungyeol-archive]

— Neutral.

[idhwanhee-blog]

idsungyeol‌:

“It seems like today’s stage has been very exhausting to all of us,” as if nothing, Sungyeol started guiding again. Presenting content his company would later pat him on the shoulder for. And continue not giving him what he wants. A sick form of radicalism, all six of them slaves. “I can’t tell if we just performed better for our Olympians, borrowed their energy as if it’s our own on stage to come down with no energy left… Or we’re just getting old,” a colorful laugh left his lungs, sound disturbed by the the wave of air that came towards his face and lifted his wet fringe as he turned the fan on. “Either way, we gave it our all and we will rest well to give out all to you once again.” A firm nod of his head followed his words, eyes of Hwanhee in search for approval. Sungyeol was used to speaking for all of the members, the sole spokesperson of love for fans, members and their craft. Except that this time the view of his member sparked another idea.  “Al least the other part of Olympus will.. We,” His hand, even though less chummy, ends up on Hwanhee’s shoulder again. “Have a date first, don’t we?”

it’s amazing how sungyeol can keep up with this act for long periods of time. it’s impressively commendable. hwanhee, on the other hand, can’t really do that — especially as his energy continues to decrease after a round of performances. so he does what he does best: concealing his slight displeasure by directing his eyes to his shoes; the hand that grips the back of his neck demonstrates his modesty perfectly.

and just to take it a step further (because sungyeol is doing exactly that — though that is part of his character) hwanhee begins fanning himself, and then lightly presses his palms on his cheeks to make it seem like his cheeks are flaring up at the older’s saccharine compliments.

hwanhee gladly takes the water bottle from sungyeol, the only time he’s gladly done something during this interaction, and presses the cold bottle to his cheek after fanning himself with his hand one last time. then, he keeps his eyes glued on sungyeol. he does look at the camera from time to time, but hwanhee’s focus is more on the man beside him, preparing himself for the man’s next act. he mimics his reactions: smiles a bit when sungyeol smiles and even tries to imitate the laughter (though hwanhee’s is much more subdued and breathy).

hwanhee takes a sip of water, and sungyeol’s next move could not have come at a better time. it’s almost as if he planned this whole thing, but it could have been a mere coincidence. because while sungyeol is good at these things, he's certainly not a god.

the red color noting his previous activity dies down quite quickly — quicker than one would imagine, possibly because he’s used to it by now. but the color flares to his neck until it finally dusts his cheeks once again. and this time, it’s not because of dancing or the heat of the blazing lights. it comes from aggravation stemming from sungyeol’s sudden announcement and the fit of coughs that erupt from hwanhee’s throat.

“thats…” he trails off. he coughs once more, gives a quick look at the camera and continues with a hushed voice that’s loud enough for the camera to pick up, “that’s private.”

[idhwanhee-blog]

dynamite.

[idhwanhee-blog]

idohsan‌:

“so, you do?” san asks him, because he’s not really sure what hwanhee’s getting at, or what he’s even implying. certainly something, judging by tone. the emphasis he fits snugly to his words. “maybe you should go practice your stages again, if you’re so worried.” he suggests in that sort of way where it reads as more of a put-down than actual advice. pulls himself up from the chair before hwanhee can reach out and touch him again like he’s a toddler without the capacity for autonomy. san lifts his brows, expectant. maybe he just wants to see if can make him sneer. annoy him right back.

he’s sure san doesn’t mean it to come out as mean-spirited as it sounded; just like how hwanhee didn’t mean to sound patronizing. but he still doesn’t like it. as soon as hwanhee frowns, his eyebrow raises. and it’s a deep frown — not at all similar to his usual, straight face.

“why…” but he doesn’t continue. he feels the restlessness of his foot return once again, so he raises his hand lightly in front of the boy. he pinches the bridge of his nose to calm himself; to rearrange the thoughts that are buzzing through his mind.

he would rather not get caught up in the dramatics. he’s completely content with glaring from the back or rolling his eyes from the sidelines. expressing his ever-growing displeasures and exasperation will only exhaust him; even admitting that there is growing discontent within him tires him out. so he only silently wonders why san’s so…hostile.

then again, everyone in olympus is; that’s their secret trademark.

but the more san bites the more surprised hwanhee becomes. because they’ve grown up together — well they have all grown up together, but that’s besides the point. hwanhee’s always had some kind of eye on the boy because he was so young when he entered the practice rooms. and because hwanhee is older, he felt like he had some sort of obligation to take care of san. or maybe he saw something in san that he saw in himself (mostly because the boy’s young age of entrance reflected his own).

the absurd tone of san’s is no way to pay back the gentle attentions and care hwanhee had given him when they were growing adolescence. and even though he holds some kind of soft affections towards san, he can’t seem to be able to swallow up the bite that threatens to creep out of him every second.

quickly, hwanhee stuffs his hands in his pockets when he feels his hands form tightly-wound fists. it’s not that he feels a growing desire to physically attack san, but he’s hiding any evidence that the boy is dangerously stepping on his toes. but it comes out anyways: “what do you mean by that?” it’s a low, inquisitive growl. his voice is hushed and laced with the supposed disappointment a parent feels when they mask their anger.

[hyesunws]

( neighbours )

[idhwanhee-blog]

idwoong‌:

gwangju coincidence with @idhwanhee

as he tucks it away in his bag and turns the corner, his eye catches the back of a neck that looks awfully familiar. it’s a quiet mid-afternoon in gwangju, and he’s just seen pretty much everyone he knows in the city - but suddenly two pieces click together in his head. of course the back of that neck looks familiar, it’s probably familiar to every pair of eyes in the country! woong quickly scans the area to make sure he doesn’t attract any unwanted attention before speeding up his pace to catch up with the figure ahead, reaching out to tap on its shoulder. “antonio sunbae?” he gives a quick bow and flashes the brightest smile he can muster. they’ve met a couple times, in the hallways at music shows whenever galaxy and olympus happen to be promoting at the same time, but woong has learned over the years not to expect that other people remember who you are. “i’m galaxy’s woong, what a coincidence! what are you doing in gwangju?”

gwangju is home in words only because no matter when he goes or where he goes, he’s not fully comfortable being there. he desperately wants to be, though. maybe that’s the reason why he goes there whenever midas allow him free time. he can go anywhere — spain, new york, even somewhere that’s considered unconventional like sweden — but he’s always been pulled back to gwangju, like a curse he can never escape from. it beckons him to come back every year.

he only wears a simple black hat to blend in with the people, because he’s strangely oblivious to the recognition he knows he has. he feels a couple of double takes as he crosses the streets, enter a cafe or check into a hotel, but no one really fully calls him out or asks him about his identity. a few, brave souls do, but they’re surprisingly quiet about it. and he’s forever grateful for their controlled reactions. and while he appreciates the distance people give him, he still craves for some kind of crowd to form — even though that would be an incredible inconvenience to deal with. oh, the disturbance he would cause!

so when someone calls his name, the beating in his chest rises — just slightly, though. however, it spikes dramatically when they touch him. hwanhee’s shoulder twitches because he does not like that — even if it is just a light tap. he stops walking and pushes his hat further onto his head to hide the remaining pink locks that peek out.

“i’ll sign something for you,” he says out of habit, “but i have to turn down photos, i—“

he stops halfway through his apology because the word ‘sunbae’ is finally ringing in his ears. he turns around. he expects someone smaller, just because the members of galaxy are fairly young — babies, even — so he angles his chin to look down. he’s shocked to see that his eyes meet his chest. he looks up to look at the boy’s face; the travel upward is comically slow.

(he hopes his surprise is hidden under the bill of his cap.)

hwanhee nods in acknowledgement. “yes, i know.” and he isn’t technically lying about that. he does know who choi woong is, or at least knows of his existence — knows most, if not all of galaxy’s existence, mostly because of hyunjin.

he wonders how he should answer. he could tell him that he’s on a vacation, but who on earth would visit gwangju for a vacation when there are other, and more better options in the world? (hwanhee. hwanhee does. and he can see that choi woong from galaxy does so too.)

so he decides to tell the truth, “visiting my home town.” a long pause passes, and he puts his hands in his pockets. “i guess,” he adds with a shrug.

[idhwanhee-blog]

inevitable.

@iddahyun // midas media, ca. late night

rings and vibrations have been filling up his phone every hour, reminding him of the heavy rain that is falling at this time. it tells him to stay home, or to at least be cautious when he’s going out. he’s never taken any of these warnings too seriously.

but maybe he should have.

his back is shoved into a deep corner of the elevator, trying not to cross the distance that he (and now he assumes dahyun has made one for him as well. and she’s right to do that. he deserves it.) has so cautiously made.

he presses the open button, growls when it doesn’t serve its intended function — doesn’t even light up. with all the money this company makes, they sure aren’t putting it into good use.

he feels his phone buzzing again, mockingly reminding him that he should have listened to his phone. he should have stayed home and stared at the white walls of his home until they became hazy and blurry instead.

he pushes the button yet again; it’s the seventh time he’s done this. he knows it won’t work. it’s stopped by the weather’s interference. but it’s silent in here. usually, he doesn’t mind. he can relax with silence and he can clear his head of stress and trouble. but it was hard trying to pick up the pieces of the night in la and throw it all away. it left a small fracture in his heart that leaks so many new things that he’s never realized for himself. and it’s even harder to bury those insistent thoughts when one of the troubles that he’s pushed so far back is right in front of him. pushing those thoughts forward. it bubbles inside of him, threatening to implode.

his vexation and nerves become evident by the quick taps of his foot. it moves simultaneously to the pounding of his heart. it echoes and bounces off the confining walls of the elevator. a bead of cold sweat rolls appears on his forehead and threatens to roll down his cheek.

his hand slams against the button for the eighth time, grabbing on to that sliver of hope that the elevator will somehow magically work again. then, the lights of the elevator flicker, threatening him that it’ll shut off sooner or later.

“damn weather.”

[vexxedbyvixx]

[idhwanhee-blog]

vexxedbyvixx‌:

{180909} AMN Big Concert l starlight_sis

[idsungyeol-archive]

— Neutral.

[idhwanhee-blog]

idsungyeol‌:

Concert behind. 2018 September

ft. @idhwanhee

There’s a bunch of arms of stylists with cloths wiping their sweat around them, the softness of a small towel hitting his tan cheek. A part of his character demands him to become distracted, direct the same smile at one of the women, each pat over his skin met with a ‘thank you’ before he takes one of the cloths and pats Hwanhee’s cheek with it. With an obvious added force that would look like a playful gesture in the video of them that will eventually reach screens of fans. “You worked hard, we all worked hard today,” he directs his gaze back into the camera. “We’ve had a lot of concerts recently. Olympians, did you enjoy us? Of course you did,” for how much he disliked playing the older brother, he was surely a natural. “How are you feeling, our top one vocal?”

when sungyeol’s hand claps over his shoulder, hwanhee looks up to him with his eyes startled open. he sighs. he quickly masks the single disgruntled exhale by huffing out exaggerated pants from the live show they finished not too long ago, realizing the two are on camera. there’s no way sungyeol’s being this familiar and touchy-feely in his natural state. 

hwanhee pulls his lips together to prevent the irate tsk from escaping his tight hold. he pulls his lips tighter when sungyeol forces them to bow. he’d rather play this faux familial relations game sometime when he’s not drenched in the aftermath of a set. actually, when they’re both not drenched from the aftermath of a set. but hwanhee grows impossibly limp under sungyeol’s hold. it’s usually been like this, though, like the older member is sucking the life force out of him by acting like they’re attached to the hip. though hwanhee will admit, without hesitation, that sungyeol (now) is the better member out of the rest. 

so he settles. 

even when sungyeol does decide by himself that he is going to be the one to wipe off hwanhee’s face, he stays put. he lets him roughly dry his skin and forcefully push his cheek to the other side of his face. hwanhee lets a low groan slip out of him. to mask his mistake, he frowns — letting his mouth stick out into a pout, and quietly whines for him to stop — to show the fans watching this particular interaction that kim sungyeol is indeed the older brother of olympus that just dotes on his members too much. and that hwanhee, known for his cold exterior, becomes soft behind the scenes and to the other members — especially towards ‘yeol hyung’. 

he curls in like a violet shrinking into its bud — mostly to create some distance between them — and bashfully rubs at the back of his neck. to a certain point, hwanhee isn’t really acting. he lowers his head to hide his small, growing smile begging to slip out of his tight grasp. he knows sungyeol’s probably meant nothing by it (to a certain extent, because olympus’ songs just feel incredibly hollow without a touch of his voice). it’s merely lip service in front of the cameras, but hwanhee can’t help feeling a swell of pride blossoming within the depths of his gut. what a fool he is, to be flattered by empty words.

“yeol hyung,” he whines weakly (not a hard feat; he’s still tired from the performance). he tugs sungyeol's arm to seem more 'vulnerable,' or whatever. "please."

[idhwanhee-blog]

dynamite.

[idhwanhee-blog]

idohsan‌:

“should i be?” he asks him back, something wary and disgruntled packaged into his tone all at once. 

hwanhee stays silent, taken aback by san’s words. he comes back a couple of moments later. “…right,” he mumbles beneath his breath.

maybe part of the reason why san’s speaking to him like this is because he’s asked such a useless question. perhaps he should have thought it out a bit more before he spoke, but san should have done the same thing as well. his lips gather, a displeased frown already marking his face. he doesn’t want san to be a source of his irritation. but really, a simple yes or no would have sufficed, and hwanhee probably would have been on his way to speak to someone else.

his hand starts to raise to push his hair back, but he realizes the time his stylist spent on his hair; it lands on the back of his neck instead. he opts for a sigh, frustration beginning to replace the aforementioned anxiety.

maybe this attitude was cute — in a ‘a toddler who stubbornly wants to reach for that lego set on the highest shelf himself’ kind of way — before when hwanhee’s only had a very small sample of it; when he’s only heard it in very small, varying doses. and even then, he could feel the exasperated way his eyes would threaten to roll back.

but really, what was hwanhee expecting? when after all, san’s a child; always has been, and always will be. the boy seemed to be becoming more deeply involved with the dramatics before he’s left, too. but then again, he’s only seen small snippets of it; only heard small snippets of it. and hwanhee’s always passed it off as a mere act of an adolescent’s rebellious phase or a simple case of puberty.

he brushes off san’s tone like an adult should, because hwanhee is a fully grown, mature adult. while san, on the other hand, is still a boy. he nods stiffly and continues, “you don’t really have anything to worry about.”

he pats the boy’s head with the pads of his fingers, carefully trying not to mess up the stylist’s hard work — mostly to lessen the accidental condescension that manages to sneak out of his mouth.

[idhwanhee-blog]

chase.

detail your character practicing vocals // +5 exp, +5 vocal mid-january 2018

hwanhee presses down the key and matches the note sync perfectly. the vocal coach thinks otherwise, commenting that he’s a little flat. he wants to argue that he’s wrong. he did hit the right note. the delicious temptation to disagree starts to boil inside of him, and it threatens to spill out, but fighting with that man never gets hwanhee anywhere — only a hostile disconnect and a session that makes him feel like he’s going to rip himself in half. so he just nods and trades places with the other man.

the first quarter of the practice is just warming up. it’s just him saying a plethora of twisting rhymes about colored leather and whatnot — nothing too special; just incredibly standard.

practicing itself is nothing special either, he just sings.

“you’re pushing too much.” “stop singing with your shoulders.” “you’re straining.”

however, it would be fun — that fresh spark he felt when he was a naive, dreamy child — if the vocal coach isn’t so judgmental about everything. if holds back the nitpicking just a little bit. but to a point hwanhee understands why the man has to be so critical.

“you’re breathing through your mouth again.” “you’re straining.” “hong hwanhee, you are straining.”

the words are reminiscent of his trainee period. he knows that. he feels that in a place where he shouldn’t feel it. the stretch of his throat is unbearable because he’s forcing the sound to come out, trying to reach for the notes he hasn’t sung for two years.

“just try to relax.”

but that’s easier said than done. can this man even understand that? while the other members have become better at their craft (he bitterly admits to himself), he has had to play catch up to make up for his absent years. he may have regressed to the same state he was during his adolescence. so he’s antsy. he doesn’t have time to calm down and relax.

“come on, you’re too tense.”

he takes a deep breath to at least try. if he doesn’t come back to the state he was in before, or get into a state where he’s better than he was before, hwanhee can be apart from this round of comebacks. he may even be able to do something more this time around. he desperately hopes he can do something more, and he’ll do anything to have that wish granted. 

he tries again. he keeps his shoulders lax but locked in its original position. he feels the sound coming from his stomach and vibrating out of his throat. he’s able to get the sound out better, easier. he doesn’t have to squeeze to produce sound. there’s a bit of stretch where he feels within his neck when he tries to reach for that final note, but the discomfort disappears within a second.

the man in front of him just taps on the music sheet in front of the keyboard; his expression is unreadable.

“you still have some work to do.”

[idhwanhee-blog]

dynamite.

@idohsan // olympus’ concert, backstage.

while the entirety of kcon was exhausting and while he wants to rest — at least have time to take a deep breath. hwanhee knows none of them won’t be able to have that kind of freedom. and when midas announced a concert for olympus, he doesn’t know why he was so surprised. but at least he has something to take his mind off of it.

hwanhee would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t like concerts. he likes the wide stage, the lights that focus on him (even though he shares it with five other people), and the sound reverberating throughout the concert hall. it makes him feel tired in the most exhilarating ways. and it makes him feel like he’s going somewhere; like concerts are the quintessence of moving forward; proof that he had indeed become (or come close to becoming) someone.

and those sentiments are strengthened when he hears in passing that this is essentially a test to decide their direction. would they decide to pack him in a unit? would they give him something more? or would they ultimately hide him away until they find him useful?

so he asks them — no, begs them on his hands and knees — for something new; something unexpected. even though he knows it’s easier to go for the safe route; perform a soft or power ballad that showcases the strength everyone knows he already possesses. he wants to show them he is capable of more than one thing.

but can he prove to them that he's able to do more?

his foot tapping quickens, and it’s now out of rhythm from the song that’s going through his mind. not a good sign, so he gets up. begins walking around to lessen the sensation of his liquefying limbs. he goes from one person to the next. he asks about the mic quality, the lighting, the vcrs, the audience. he flies through each staff member and questions like a violent wind. he decides to return to the dressing room until he sees someone he hasn’t spoken to.

“hey,” and he follows that up by lightly nudging their shoulder with his own, just so hwanhee can make sure he’s grabbed the person’s attention. he blinks slowly, not really expecting them to be san. he wonders about what to say. he thinks long and hard until he asks the first thing that pops into his mind: “nervous?”

and what an idiotic question it is, but he’s gotta start somewhere.

[iddahyun]

( been through . )

[idhwanhee-blog]

iddahyun‌:

“please don’t go. not yet.” her eyes were wide and pleading, on the verge of tears but she wouldn’t let them fall in front of him. dahyun was vulnerable enough in this moment; more vulnerable than she had been in a long time.

he takes his hand off the door. maybe this awful, one-sided game of push and pull was just hwanhee’s way of testing her. a test to see how much dahyun really cares for him. a test to see how much dahyun would hurt if the hwanhee she’s familiarized herself with just vanished into thin air. because, once she says those words, he’s ready to bring everything forward.

but then, the thought he’s brushed off -- yoon jiyeon’s poisonous words -- returns. and it bothers him. he is that cruel. he is the exact person — the exact problematic child -- he wants dahyun to stay away from. the realization crashes into him like a flood.

it’s sick. he’s sick — no, he’s fucked.

he doesn’t think he can look at her.

he’s silently vowed to protect her from harm. he wished to be there for her whenever she called. he’s promised himself to keep her away from danger. and what is the point of promising himself that he’d cherish her for better or for worse if he’s testing her like this — if he treats her like she means absolutely nothing to him? his hand goes back to the doorknob, trying to keep himself from falling. his legs are weak and shaky and he brings down his face to hide the deplorable shame that is beginning to consume him.

“leave.” he says, but his voice shakes too much that even hwanhee, the speaker himself, can’t decipher it. so he tries again, but this time with his forearm muffling his mouth because he knows he doesn’t mean it. he prays to anyone, to anything, that she doesn’t hear this. he wants her to hear that he doesn’t mean any of this. he wants her to stay. he wants her to stay because he’ll change. he’ll promise to do better. he’ll promise to never hurt her.

he wonders if dahyun’s heard any of this before. she probably has, so why would she believe it again? just because he’s her ‘friend?’ a friend who hurt her; who treated her like she’s nothing; who has been harsh to her throughout their awaited reunion?

and he turns the knob.

“…please, just go.”

[lgcseojin]

╰ the unknown guest,

[idhwanhee-blog]

idseojin‌:

“Waiting for what… or who? Me?” It took several seconds of re-examining the man’s face for realization to wash over him. The looks, the wardrobe ㅡ all indicative of an idol. His name lingered on the tip of his tongue, though he stifled it, aware of the possibility it may emerge mispronounced or incorrect. Hwan something from Imp… Imperial? Far too uncertain and worried of embarrassing himself, he resorted to vagueness as usual. “I’m pretty sure you got the wrong dressing room. Yours is probably in better condition.”

he looks inquisitively at yoo seojin. well, his curiosity is more towards yoo seojin's sandwich. he wonders where he got such a thing, and if yoo seojin's manager knows he has it. his manager's always kept him away from snack bars, vending machines and food stalls, only giving him a single plate with tomatoes, carrots and a single sheet of lettuce; monitors how much liquid he consumes as well. he's somewhat tempted to ask if he can take a bite too, but holds back because the consequences of a small sample could lead to something more troubling.

he closes the magazine on his lap when one of the sides of the couch sinks a bit more to accommodate one more person. all through that time, hwanhee keeps his eyes on him. it only shifts a little bit to check the paper bag he brought. in fact, one of the reasons why he’s here is because of the thing in his bag. hwanhee gives the guy a nod, and he waits for the moment where yoo seojin processes this: that he came here for him (well…he came here hoping to see every member of xlnc, but he doesn’t mind it too much). however, the long-awaited moment that he had expected never really came. but maybe he should just learn not to have such unrealistic expectations…?

he really doesn’t know if olympus’ dressing room was better even though he was there just the previous day. “looks the same,” he says with a shrug. he looks around a bit more, trying to spot any difference between the two. “ah.”

he points to a spot in the room, where mirrors line the walls, and unlike the waiting room he was in yesterday, there are four chairs in front of them. “our waiting room from yesterday had two more chairs.” but of course, that is to be expected. he doesn’t remember if the room was in better condition, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was. still, hwanhee likes this one better. it’s quieter, possibly because there are only two people in the room.

“anyway, i‘m here because i want to be here.” he leans his head into the couch as well, trying to come off as relaxed (and not at all nervous). “nice show by the way,” hwanhee says flatly, trying to keep the tremors from his voice minimal.

[xxinkeyxx]

[idjiyeon-blog]

problematic.

[idhwanhee-blog]

idjiyeon‌:

“but olympus is still my favorite.” what a lie, but one she says like is the ultimate truth. jiyeon smiles and bows politely. “i’ll be watching you, sunbae.” it’s a general statement, not a threat. for now. “remember to drink more water instead of coffee.” jiyeon waves. “have a nice day!”

she already got bored of him. for now.

his scowl deepens. his hands immediately goes to his hips. he tries to swallow the wedge in his throat that threatens to spill out of him at any minute.

yoon jiyeon is annoyingly stubborn. it’s a good thing, sure, but this is not the ideal time to show it off. she’s not a person to be underestimated; someone who has control over the intensity and direction of where and who her flames should burn — he’s really regretting that he stayed put instead of running off at the slightest sense of discomfort.

why didn’t he? he’s good at that.

she says it’s nothing, and he scoffs whilst keeping his eyes locked on her. he doesn’t like the look in her eyes — how yoon jiyeon’s indifference comes so natural while hwanhee has to hold everything together. she seems to know everything yet reveals nothing, and hwanhee has been wearing his heart on his sleeve during this interaction. what do you know, yoon jiyeon? how much do you know? does she know anything at all? maybe she’s just messing with him to get a rise out of him. either way, he doesn’t like this…this unfamiliar imbalance.

when she stands up, going head-to-head with him, he steps back at her bold movement — but how could he not expect her to do this? he tells himself to expect the unexpected when dealing with this girl. but he didn’t expect her to talk about titanium.

his displeasure grows, if that’s even possible, and his nails dig into his sides. amazing, she says; a package, she says. he has to laugh at that. if anything, they’re a complete repackage — but he prefers to go on about them later. besides, what do they have to do with anything? why even mention them? how are they relevant to this situation? he bites his lip to hold the click of his tongue, realizing that she’s probably just using them to make him angrier. but he doesn’t want her to be satisfied by his visibly growing irritation, so he drops his hands. he pushes his hair back, hears some snaps because he’s pushing it too aggressively. he doesn’t care. he’s done indulging her.

his foot moves to block her path before she can go off first. “mind your own business, yoon jiyeon.” his voice is devoid of emotion. he’s just tired and wants to go somewhere else. he knows she’s the victor here, but he at least wants to get the last word in; win this, at least.

[idhwanhee-blog]

transcript.

[idhwanhee-blog]

idhwarin‌:

she turned to the girl at the resister and her eyes scanned the menu. “can i have a ice latte with caramel and vanilla…” that did not seem to cost too much. she waited for her sunbae to place his order and once he finished, she asked the other girl about a few book stores and gift shops that were close. she had been given her answer and a few directions so she returned to his side and bowed her head again. “thank you for treating me sunbae~” even if it was not the number one thing she wanted to do, she could enjoy it at least.

hwanhee doesn’t need to look at the menu to know what he wants. in fact, he always gets the one of these two drinks: a plain, black coffee or an americano. he pays close attention to hwarin’s selection. it isn’t too pricy — not that he’s worrying about the cost of it. she could have gotten anything she wanted, even if the price is unreasonably high. he’s tempted to order the same. maybe replace the caramel with chocolate and ask for extra cream. he hasn’t had anything sweet in a while, and he wonders if he should indulge — just for today (it’s been a rough flight, and he thinks the day wouldn’t be equally tiring). ah, but he also wants the sourness of watered coffee beans and shots of expresso to attack his tongue with each sip to keep him awake.

All three have their own pros and cons, and he lists them out quickly in his head before the cashier can make a comment. at long last, he orders, “black coffee.” the cashier nods and walks off to put together their orders.

hwanhee gives hwarin a very fleeting look, just to see if he can read what she’s thinking. he’s somewhat shocked to see her a couple of steps away from him, speaking to someone else. he’s not offended…even though that would normally be the case (maybe the fatigue is really getting to him). he realizes that he probably did force her to follow him around.

his hand raise slowly when she bows. while her expression of gratitude is much appreciated, he doesn’t feel like she needs to thank him that much. it’s just a simple cup of hotel coffee – nothing too grand or expensive. he takes a slow sip, and he’s pleasantly surprised; they must have added sweetener to this. it’s nice. “…i should be thanking you,” he mumbles. he quickly goes back to drinking his beverage, trying to cool down the abashed flush he feels rushing up his neck. then, he coughs, having to drink a mouthful quicker than he can handle.

hwanhee quickly looks down at his hand to check the time on his invisible watch. he sighs. he didn’t bring his phone with him, and he certainly didn’t tell anyone he’s going on a café hunt. (he’s certainly going to receive and earful.) “i should get going,” he says, hoping to alleviate the pressure of having hwarin excuse herself first.  

[idjiyeon-blog]

problematic.

[idhwanhee-blog]

idjiyeon‌:

she turns her attention back to hwanhee and smiles, the sweet smile of a person who is not this good at all, who will take your whole arm if you offer a hand. jiyeon had a lot of practice with her last drama, playing the villain was funny. “strange how we never interact, olympus and fantasy, right?” she asks “almost like midas is afraid someone will do anything wrong and things will escalate.” jiyeon doesn’t look at hwanhee anymore, she doesn’t need to. “like getting involved and then leaving. but of course none of you are that cruel.”

she still doesn’t bother looking. “right, sunbae?”

hwanhee doesn’t say anything after that. he only snorts, awfully stupefied by her clipped answer. he stares at her with his jaw awkwardly set between slack and tight as she makes herself comfortable in her seat. his hands lock together and hold them within each other tightly to contain the incredible frustration this girl is giving him. he feels heat rising to his cheeks, and he realizes that he’s stopped breathing — too busy trying to keep himself looking unaffected and composed; he breathes slowly through his nose, long and slow.

he desperately wants to look away from her, but a small spark of hope urges him to keep glaring at her, hoping she’ll finally realize his silent plea of ‘get the fuck away from me this instant.’ sadly, jiyeon remains unbothered: babbling about jaewon that goes in one ear and out the other. 

he clicks his tongue — like he cares.

when jiyeon looks at him, hwanhee feels a chill run down his spine. he’s not a very religious person, but he’s sure this is how one feels when they’re judged to live in eternal happiness or eternal suffering. no, he thinks this is worse because he can feel her scrutiny physically choking him.

he starts grinding the sole of his shoes on the floor like he is digging a hole to hide from this conversation; to leave it like jiyeon wasn’t smart enough to do (or maybe it is the other way around; maybe he wasn’t smart enough to leave when yoon jiyeon came around, and he receives the answer now).

hwanhee finally gives into his frustration as he slaps his palms over his knees and raises himself from his seat. he stands in front of her. he blocks the light, casting a shadow. he towers over her, easily covering her small frame. he looks down at her, hoping she’ll feel the same way he’s making him feel right now — attacked and horrified.

“what—” his throat starts to collapse into itself as he begins to speak. the air trapped inside struggles to escape between the ruins of his throat. he forces the rest of his words out as a hushed shout, “—are you going on about, yoon jiyeon?”