doppelganger.

kwon jinwoo. 24. imperial. main dancer and lead rapper. all that glitters is not gold. navigation.

[chieftacobluebird]

»  dancing queen.

[idjinwoo-blog]

idmyungeun:

“hey, got a minute?” 99 entertainment was in the works of preparing and debuting a new boy group; jinwoo – myungeun’s rock when it came to dance advice – was in the line up. of course she was happy for him, but that also meant that she wouldn’t be able to bombard him with endless questions about dancing. he would be too busy and she would have to find someone else who was not only a good dancer, but also as patient with her as jinwoo was.

the thing is with kwon jinwoo, he never has a minute.

he doesn’t give himself that leisure to have time leftover because time is a cruel thing. always running. never stopping. he doesn’t want to waste too many seconds until they’re minutes. until they’re days, and he’s behind schedule. because he’s the main dancer of imperial, he should know the dances first. he should know them to teach his members. to help where he can.

main anything is a burden. definitely, it means the best one for the role. is he really that good of a dancer. were the lessons at the community centre good enough. jinwoo doesn’t know. doesn’t think so. maybe it’s all the negativity that makes it hard to believe. that kills his self-esteem. why won’t it. he was passed up for poizn. apparently wasn’t good then. but he is now. 

apparently.

but sometimes when he’s teaching others. showing pointers. jinwoo thinks so. for the tiniest of movements. or maybe myungeun has that effect on him. to make him believe in himself when he’s telling her to stretch well before exerting in anything because cramps is bitch, and no performance stops because your muscles do. it crosses jinwoo’s mind he’ll debut soon so little things like this will have to stop. that he’ll lack time for her because he’ll be too busy actually being an idol. accomplishing that goal. bittersweet, really.

he’s middle of some choreography when he hears her voice. catches her reflection in mirrors fogged. that’s when he stops. shoes squeaking. there’s almost whiplash when he makes a minute palpable because he’s been there since dawn and doesn’t remember when he took a break. preparations for debut makes him into this. triggers the workaholic nature jinwoo possesses. old habits die hard. and in this industry, it blows them out of proportion. 

“yeah, i got a minute.” and for her he does. despite panting. despite sweat running down temples and stinging his eyes. he wipes what he could on the inside of his shirt and walks to her with a smile loose enough to fade at will. “what’s up?”

[idhyerin-deactivated20181106]

sinatra blue.

[idjinwoo-blog]

idhyerin:

“but maybe,” just maybe. “it’s so i could find you.”

maybe that is the case.

he likes to think so. gives him purpose. makes his time existing worthwhile. it’s a whole lot better than being a replacement. than being some kind of substitute for a person he should know because he is that person. (he is jiwon before jinwoo.) but not here with hyerin---no, saebyul. jiwon and james don’t exist when he’s with her. with his byul. (he doesn’t say this out loud. doesn’t materialize the words he wants to bring to life.) he smiles and lets the thoughts remain as thoughts. lets them stay trapped on a tongue too unwillingly and a mind too scared. 

saebyul is a little bit like home. like completion. like the missing pieces between his fingers and only hers fit. so jinwoo takes her hand and holds both of theirs up to the stars. maybe they were atoms of the same sun once. separated when the world was created til their souls went, ‘aha, i found you!’ his heart feels like this when he’s with her. when she’s able to see through him. read the pages he bars down on. maybe jinwoo does exist. but maybe he only exists with her. 

because he feels real when he intertwines their fingers and caresses his thumb against her knuckles. senses the bone. the warmth. the oddity of sentiment and never wanting to let go, but jinwoo does. lets go to peel back the hoodie blocking her face from his. because it’s more than looking at her. it’s finding comfort in her eyes. in speaking with his to let her know he’s glad she’s there. 

for whatever reason it may possible be. 

but he hopes it is to meet him---so he can meet her. 

people come and go, but saebyul stays. 

“to find me?” he repeats because it sounds like she lucked out, but jinwoo is optimistic for once. a believer for once. to complete me---us. it’s never said. never hinted. jinwoo wonders if she can decipher the thoughts through his eyes as he gazes into hers. he nudges her cheek with the back of his hand. lets it linger until he’s warm and smiling naturally. 

because it’s never easy being kwon jinwoo, but saebyul understands. makes him understand it’s okay to not know. to be lost and wandering because she’s there. “because i think my purpose is also to find you. to meet you. so we can have moments like this.” just the two of them on a rooftop where no one else can touch them. ruin them. 

or maybe more. one day. who knows.

he wishes. 

( yeah, i believe in soulmates. ) i believe in you.

[lgcmicha]

DOVE.

[idjinwoo-blog]

idxrmn:

the corner of his lips stretched out into a grin, it was entirely too hot to show expressive emotions. he was mentally drained and the hear sucked out the energy he never had in the first place. “if i do win, i’ll throw my shirt off and twist it in the air. it would be really cool if they let me give a quick speech, i’ll dedicate my actions to you.” their friendship wasn’t a common one. it consisted of weird jokes and sarcastic statements, something roman always looked forward too.

he can go on and on complaining about sports day. reminds him of school. those juvenile competitions between classrooms and grades. all for fun. but sweating, tiring himself out was not fun whatsoever. perspiration is a thick, sticky layer on his skin. he glistens in the sun because of the sun. this is more tolerable in winter because stripping bare isn't socially accepted. and even that won't be enough to cool down. if only jinwoo can rip the slab of skin off his body (maybe he'll find jiwon inside and it's a happy day).

the plastic of the chair sticks to his forearms, tears at it when jinwoo is restless and moves. every little reaction earns him droplets of warm sweat down his sideburns and nape. so he tries to freeze. tries to minimizes breathing and fidgeting with the wrinkles of his name stuck on the front of his jersey. fingers traces the familiar letters the thick, straight strokes. reads the syllable aloud by outlining over and over again. james aka kwon jinwoo. (who is he.)

imperial's main dancer and lead rapper. second son of kwon jinho and ahn nayoung. jiwon's replacement. james' vessel. really, kwon jinwoo is a nobody. but soon he'll hear his name being announced (well, james), and he has to leap over a rod and hope it doesn't drop. (it can, though. jinwoo doesn't care about winning. james is a tad more competitive.) but not today. today jinwoo takes it easy. today he is who he thinks he is: a boring man dying in the heat and serving impish jests to a friend. a real, regular young adult.

“throw the shirt at me, too. and i'll cherish it forever.” jinwoo sits vastly too comfortably for an idol with an image to maintain. the length of his body his stretched, legs stitched at the ankles and a near delirious smile scribbled across an befuddled mug. “have it framed and placed on my wall,” he snickers, lets humour sink. “are our turns coming up, by the way? i hope they forgot about me.” really. “you---you can jump on my behalf.”

[idjinwoo-blog]

yellow card.

[idjinwoo-blog]

idhyera:

“just me?” she’s really trying not to sound personally offended, she promises, but it’s just so hard to not feel insulted when someone would prefer jowi over her. and so she scoffs—quite melodramatically, too—as she stares at him. “no apology? you are the one who made a mistake here, you know. not me.”

mistake one: opening his mouth. mistake two: not opening his mouth.

jinwoo stares visibly perplexed. blinks a couple of times to wash away confusion. doesn't work. scorn's evident on hyera's face. he should apologize for the misunderstanding then walk away. pretend it didn't happen. he thinks it's too late by the subtle anger clouding her voice. by the thoughts that seemingly reiterate without much of a filter. a lot is said. a lot is mentioned for a small mistake---small in his opinion. he's quiet for too long. puzzled for even longer. he can almost sense hyera's dislike, acrimony. it challenged the thickness of the humidity in the gross summer air.

but he possibly overthinks, wipes his forearm against his arm, sticky forehead, lets the voices in his head take over. she seems angry. he should leave. feet heavy and unwilling to budge, jinwoo stands there, twisting his ankles because why---why can't he move and just go. he's upset lately, that's why he's idle. he's tired of being pushed around, ordered to do this and that. be this or that. no, he doesn't want to do what's told anymore; he wants the freedom to do as he chooses, however he pleases. maybe the perfect time is to start now.

“it's a figure of speech.” jinwoo is more deadpan than he expects. eyes lose focus. face loses intensity but his molars are bit down hard on nothing. a step back when limbs are less cramped. he feigns disinterest for an upper hand while his own are stuffed in the pockets of joggers. “it's a harmless mistake. i thought you were someone else. do you really need an apology for something so little?” though, it' will be easier to just say sorry. two syllables to end this. to finish everything. to quell the unnecessary animosity between them.

the last thing he wants is to start something with someone. to get off on the wrong foot in such a small world. they're bound to cross paths time and time again. things are bound to be awkward. first impressions are often key. this can be proof of how fatal they can actually be.

[idyoojung-blog]

rude awakening.

[idjinwoo-blog]

idyoojung:

“if i didn’t, you’d have toppled over into my lap.” there’s no sarcasm. just plain fact. she’s always gentle with the things (the people) around her when she wants to be. it’s a silent warning. there are eyes watching, jinwoo. we have to be careful. discreet. she rests a chin on an upturned palm and raises a brow in retaliation of his glare, feigning ignorance. “we would’ve been front page on pann and trending on naver. i saved us both the trouble, ‘s all.” she squints at him. evaluating, probing. “are you mad? did i wake you from a good dream?”

they're thrown a suspicious gander. an eyebrow quirked. a dark, knowing twinkle. then it's gone---everything. chatter resumes, and jinwoo straights his posture. hair cascades just over his eyes, blocking the familiar sheen of familiarity. he and yoojung, they shouldn't be seen together, shouldn't be friends. it has nothing to do with who he's dated, but it has everything to do with being friends because males and females can never be just friends. so they act like strangers or at least something less ambiguous. almost acquaintances but not really. colleagues, probably. formal, accurate, draws a line neither can cross in a stadium packed of people. 

yoojung has this frankness about her jinwoo admires. with her he's a little more honest, a little more true to himself, a little more jinwoo and less james. a shimmer of hope, of life lingers in the crease of her eyes, in her smile. he likes that. she shouldn't lose that. she shouldn't be drained to a vessel of commands, only alive because others said so. this is where they differ, where similarities of best friends fade, and they're only opposites attract. her drive should remain her own; she shouldn't be like him. and as a sunbae, that's hard to acknowledge, to accept. 

be an example.

but he isn't. it's yoojung who notices the stares, the perils, the monochrome hue building under his eyes.

so no, he isn't mad at her for saving him. “thanks,” jinwoo mutters, coming across more halfhearted than sincere. there's no need to get his message across because yoojung has an understanding quality about her. she listens with intrigue, ears perked and shoulder available for him on the rooftops. “and nah, dreamt i was falling or some shit. doesn't that mean i'm losing control of my life?” laughter slices sharp and cold and no humour whatsoever. “but i never had control to begin with.”

he's okay admitting anything to yoojung. she knows more than the he does. the bitter scowl plagues his features and tight skin stretches over a clenched jaw once he falls silent. it shouldn't bother him... still, but it does, and jinwoo lets it. “correct me if i'm wrong, though.” please do---please distract me.

[idryusan]

empty.

[idjinwoo-blog]

idohsan:

he speaks up again, and san figures it’s a try at camaraderie. generally, he’s pretty bad about things like that. bonding. sharing. being a normal, functioning human being. but at the moment he’s sapped. at the moment, surprisingly, he doesn’t mind the company. doesn’t mind not being stranded on his own. at least now that james has made it obvious he’s planning on keeping his hands to himself. “secrets for you too?” san takes a stab in the dark, half-curious if someone else is as oddly ashamed of it all as he is.

jinwoo lets his fringe fall over his forehead, lets the shadow cast over his eyes like some transparent mask thinking it's opaque because that's easier to live with. he doesn't let anyone see him beyond face value, beyond the hard expression he holds. they say he's icier these days, visage cut from a layer of ice but kind below the frost---by he they mean james. someone not entirely him, not entirely real. a defence mechanism at best. if knight's had armour, jinwoo has james. 

like san has olympus, the golden boy. none is said aloud, none crosses his features once jinwoo lets gaze wander somewhere else less intrusive---to the tents behind san's head as he remains battered on the grass. he pretends not to notice the thick veneer of sheen on san's face, the strands of hair woven against his temples in intricate design that almost seems of intention. 

he pretends the laboured breathing, the breakdown fades into wisps of nothingness. or he tries to. but jinwoo is made of too many memories. most of them aren't his. 

“i have nothing to worry about, then.” because jinwoo is a man of his word---because jinwoo is a man of so little words. spilling secrets, exposing someone just as vulnerable, just as human isn't him, isn't jinwoo, james, jiwon. he has nothing against san, nothing against the threats from a ragged, exasperated body. 

besides, san has zilch on him. james is too careful, too cautious, too image conscious so he won't crack. (not yet.) there's no pride in this, in the manner jinwoo keeps his composure as if that can convince san he's honest, he won't tell a soul, that what he witnessed is safe, and san can safely return as the golden boy without harm. visibly, that is. 

it's hot. night is less brutal than day but heat is merciless on them. though, maybe it's not the temperature. maybe it's the stares they pass, the metaphorical circle of two mistrustful persons. he sweats, feels targeted by san's assumption. jinwoo figures it's only fair. 

an eye for an eye. 

“i'm only secrets, man,” he says it purposefully low. not to hide but admission is more difficult for him to accept than to let san know he's got plenty of secrets, too---that he's made of it. “we all are.”

[archiveidjowi-blog]

static.

[idjinwoo-blog]

idjowi:

she grins back at him when he returns the words, lifts her cup in a wordless gesture, “ain’t it just, “ she drawls back at him, twists the words playful as she shifts and stretches her legs out, toes pointing, calves burning as she shifts in place. she watches him as he trails his thought process aloud, can see the twinkle in his eye as he makes his call. she smiles. “you’re damn ride. feed my addictions and my greed. you’re a fine man, jinwoo, a damn fine man.”

he pulls a smile but eyes linger idle on the stack of papers. creasing corners, jinwoo feels each edge soft yet sharp enough to cut, to harm. people are more or less the same. paper becomes what others want, intend. idols are treated no differently. two sides of the same coin. they’re bendable and breakable but no one holds the latter to any regard. it’s pushed aside until rips are said to be bandaged, to ‘grow up and pull yourself together.’ by then the paper is aged and wrinkled, merely crumpled by the hands who made it and tossed aside. disposable.

paper comes with two sides and serves no purpose when both are scribbled with a maelstorm.

someone tells him he’s a trinity. made up of three distinct personalities and existences. it’s a nice way of saying he’s confused, that he is a step away from a personality disorder because jinwoo toes the edge of the cliff of insanity, looking down without fear. (that in itself is frightening.) jiwon is perfection. some higher order he was raised to be. some deity his parents worshipped. james is no different but palpable. he’s a mixture of all good, all talents, all he’s learned to be an idol. and jinwoo, well, he’s the ache in joints, the burn of calves, the exhaustion of lungs and the migraine behind his eyes.

jinwoo is associated with discomfort, with bad habits and near vices. he is self-medication. and a thinker of bad ideas. sometimes they come true. sometimes they remain as just vivid images because jinwoo is timid, is uncertain, is low self-esteem, and his own harshest critic. he is a puppet easily ordered around, easily persuaded, easily tricked. he is nothing but some transparency of a soul without intention.

not that jowi convinces him for drinks, he decides that by himself, to accept her offer and make it an oddity of his own creation. or at least that’s what he’ll say when confronted by any managers on his whereabouts between so and so time. (maybe he’ll let james give them a brief head’s up.)

“you make it sound like i’m the devil on you left shoulder.” (but he’s accurately the devil-man’s crybaby.) jinwoo doesn’t mind, chuckles briefly at the curve of her words. he can hear her smile, see the delight flicker where fatigue once was. he’s happy. for a moment they can escape what the world so strictly expects them to be. but first—jinwoo glances at the time on the wall, fills his lungs with air and fake confidence until it’s real—they have to keep up charades. “but first, let’s kick ass at this, shall we.” survive, he means survive.

[idjinwoo-blog]

dawn.

[idjinwoo-blog]

idbelair:

‘would you like some water? or a chocolate bar? i know we’re not supposed to eat them, but they can restore your energy pretty quickly.’‘

he learned the choreography a year ago. 

(the song, too. recorded on a day between schedules. a mix of criticisms, trial and errors all for apparently nothing.)

three hundred sixty five---seven days and counting.

managers tried to sugarcoat the rushed comeback. (“you already recorded and prepared for the song last year.”) as if that heals wounds, as if that makes the entire ordeal less exhausting and more idealistic. jinwoo still has to practice, still has to train his muscles and bones to remember—to buckle down and soak to memory the choreography, the positions, the pace: everything.

not that it’s difficult for him. jinwoo has been dancing since he was too young to do anything else but old enough for following rhythm and making it his. but imperial isn’t known for their impressive stages, for their routines he helped work on, suggested ideas for, and that affects him. a little sad, a little disappointed, a little upset he can’t be better.

anger flares as patience dwindles, and he’s close to punching the blurry reflection of himself in the mirror but words rope around his wrist and twist him around. jinwoo inhales, forgets to exhale briefly as he stares wide-eyed at belair. he feels naked, bare, exposed before her so jinwoo averts his gaze, breathes out and stands with a bit more pride than fatigue.

“morning,” is grumbled. the intent to come across bright and cheer dead before fruition. “i’m fine. don’t worry about me. i just got here a few minutes before you.” the fog on mirrors and humidity soaring in the room holler otherwise. jinwoo brushes it aside, strides to belair with hands on his hips. (to hold himself up-right and from falling over.)

the offer of chocolate is tempting. his mouth waters yet he shakes his head and betrays desires. “i’m okay with just water.” he’ll learn to be. “i ran out—forgot to bring some. have you eaten, though? you shouldn’t practice on an empty stomach.” jinwoo operates quickly, exchanges expression of concern almost as rapid. he doesn’t like people worrying about him.

makes him feel more useless than normal.

[prdsverse]

Let us hold hands and mentally prepare for pierced up JB  🙏

[idjinwoo-blog]

refresher.

[idjinwoo-blog]

idjiyeon:

but she is not, and her future is not only cause for her concern, but her sister’s too, and jiyeon hates to disappoint. “yeah, maybe, i know i’ve been offered some roles but with our comeback i wouldn’t have the time so midas passed them on my behalf.” someone else would be angry, but jiyeon doesn’t care too much, not to the point of fighting about it – she would lose anyway. “the public liked my last role so that’s way better than the first one.” she looks around once again, at the public and the events, envisioning a life where this won’t be a reality. it’s not dream, but a better future, or at least a lucrative one. “tell me the truth, do you think i’m good?” jiyeon asks, turning to face him. “like, i don’t need to be oscar worth, but do you think i could have a future in acting if i tried?”

she doesn’t feed his ego.

and that’s a good thing.

jiyeon feeds his self-esteem. if he can blush, he will, and maybe—just maybe pink flushes across his cheeks, not as dull under the glow of his skin. he tans easily, and he likes it. one of few conditions he likes about summer. it hides the sickly, pale hue jinwoo normally gambols in.

he almost believes her true—almost, but it’s a step in the right direction; it’s progression. perhaps one day he’ll come to fully accept her compliments. and a teensy part of him keeps it in his pocket for safe-keeping. “thanks. it was recorded a year ago, so they kinda just tossed us out there. but for what it’s worth, i’m glad it’s well received. i’m just done with these rushed comebacks.” with being scapegoats. imperial deserves more than shotgun comebacks to cover scandals.

jinwoo is done being someone’s shield.

figuratively speaking, or course. what does it matter if he’s tired of it, it’s not up to him. he’s a pawn in a wicked game of chess: disposable all around but fiercely loyal. sad, really.

“what would i do without you.” and jinwoo isn’t saying this to be sappy, he truly means it. jiyeon is someone he treasures, values. what he lacks in quantity of friends he has an overwhelming quality. no one understands him better, no one else is going through what he is.

but jiyeon can relate. and a friendship blossomed on common ground.

discomfort is evident in her actions, in the discreet shifts and the pauses. jinwoo regrets bringing it up, regrets asking in the first place, but he always worries how she’s doing, coping. he wants to reach over the chasm, hold her hand with a firm but assuring squeeze that he’s there as much as she is for him—that come what may, he’ll always be there.

unspoken, but jinwoo hopes jiyeon hears.

her seams are fraying as she speaks, and jinwoo inches closer. each blink is a testament to their friendship. i’m here, i’m here, i’m here. but he’s caught off guard, doesn’t know what to say. friends don’t lie.

“you are good,” so he doesn’t. “don’t think for a second you’re not. but i can’t answer that, jiyeon-ah. it’s up to you if you want to pursue this into the future. i’m all about what you,” he emphasis, eyes beating into hers, “want. whatever is, i’m gonna support you. whatever it is, i believe in you.”

[k1tschs]

( * magic shop. )

[idjinwoo-blog]

idyujin:

her brows furrow slightly upon hearing jinwoo’s words. “nobody whispers when they cheer, so it’s your fault if you’re distracted.” a playful chuckle leaves her mouth. “that sounds better than running, honestly, i’m a little jealous.” she would rather do anything than running, but perhaps for someone as not athletic as yujin, running could save her a lot from embarrassment. “futsal and high jump it is then. i’ll be sure to cheer the loudest, so don’t worry.” it’s no guarantee that she might do it, but since her members are playing too, why not? she could say it’s for them.

jinwoo doesn’t break rules. he’s a law-abiding citizen on most days. some days, maybe he dabbles in what idols shouldn’t. nothing remotely scandalous. a few breaks into freedom here and there. he’s a workaholic. working himself to the bone is deeply instilled in his demographic. because working is being preoccupied; it’s having something to do. he likes being busy, thoughts are quieter then. so he saves himself from overthinking, teaches himself to become infatuated by the simplicities in daily life.

to be a simple person, he wants that. to take pictures with friends without the fear of consequence, without shackles around ankles to tug him away from those who offer the slightest bit of friendship, but they’re the opposite gender. in the world they live in, in the idol-dimension, there’s an unsaid rule: males and females cannot interact.

it’s silly. rather juvenile.

if he’s caught posing with yujin—if he’s caught too close, it’s a big deal. rumours will fly, all baseless, but mayhem erupts, anyway. peace and quiet is knowing your place and staying there.

today, jinwoo is adventurous. he doesn’t care if anyone sees him. photobombing, he’ll call it. where’s the lie. he laughs, lets the conversation flow naturally without thinking this is wrong. but it is on many levels. she rides on his jest, retorts her own, and jinwoo likes this—likes the ease of talking to someone without having to try too hard. friendship is a connection.

“if i ever need someone to take pictures of me for instagram, i’ll let you know,” he winks because that’s what people do when they jest around. an instinctive reaction, nothing ulterior. a hand fists, then a thumb juts out as jinwoo nods, “you can be the first person to whisper-cheer. i think that’s pretty awesome.” a dip teasing, and jinwoo lets his arm fall and sway.

casual—he doesn’t like anything too complicated. and out of jawbreaker, yujin is slice of life. nothing too convoluted, nothing too mind-boggling but nice, smooth-sailing. he imagines have siblings is close to this. “but i guess cheering the loudest sounds much better than anything hushed. you do have a point there. if you want, we can switch. you do my events, and i’ll cheer.”

[idsuran-blog]

misstep.

[idjinwoo-blog]

idsuran:

so instead, she makes a face. involuntary, half hurt and half dismissal, a bizarre dichotomy not easily identified. “well aren’t you delightfully frigid. you pick that up from your parents or what?” it’s a low blow. she’s probably gone too far. “yeah, you’re right.” she returns, shutters her expression into the manicured heroine jawbreaker’s song suran visage, bobs forward in a bow. “super sorry for the inconvenience, sunbaenim, stay healthy and do well out there today.” the lilt in her voice is delightfully artificial. “think kindly of jawbreaker.” she tacks on, a common parting sentiment these days, before she steps out of the safety of the doorway and towards the field, away from the cold weight of his eyes.

love is often romanticized and so is pain. jinwoo doesn’t understand the apotheosis of either one. maybe once upon a time he understood why love is revered as some great existence. (and to this day, maybe he still does, but don’t tell jinwoo that. don’t give him some fragment of hope to hold onto. because hope is paralyzing.) he love suran then, was convinced she felt the same way, that she loved him for him and not the jiwon he was vying to subsist. 

but she disappeared in a blink of an eye. rapid. there one moment and gone the next. 

it was a low point in his life. though, jinwoo did learn something; he hated cramming loneliness with people because people leave. all the time. suran is living testament to that.

jinwoo condemns her too much for something that happened interim ago. he should be the better person, ignore the lip she gives and the low-blow she delivers. this is idol sports day, not some melodramatic fest of a relationship that ended without a proper conclusion. is this it. is this the epilogue. to go out in flames---symbolically, of course.

this isn’t him, isn’t the jinwoo he knows. (does he know himself, though. does suran know him, who he really is or is she like everyone else who sees illusions.) he doesn’t berate, castigate anyone. people leave, but people have reasons. he wants to ask suran why she left him, wasn’t he good enough, did he do something wrong. because he’s convinced it’s his fault. despite the recrimination he puts on her shoulders, deep down it has to be his. 

he must have lacked somewhere. 

an inhale, jinwoo stays the kind of quiet that sends others way, the kind of quiet like he has nothing left to say. he should have left it at that, watch her leave---a chance he never got since suran vanished into thin air. “good luck with jawbreaker.” break a leg, but he chooses not to say this. “see you.” ambiguous, some type of promise because they have to see one another in the stadium and pretend the either is a complete stranger.

[idsooyeon]

* countenance

[idjinwoo-blog]

idsooyeon:

“don’t tell me- …is this your seat?” she blurted out the question with words tinged with soft incredulity, round eyes widening impossibly as she tilted her head towards the only seat next to her. 

life is funny

not haha-funny but ridiculous, and jinwoo doesn’t laugh. he barely reacts, bites back the urge to run. blood rushes from his knees, and he wobbles, loses balance for three seconds. she isn’t jianhong—isn’t anyone he expects to speak to him, to look at him, to occupy the seat next to his.

a mistake. it has to be.

but when jinwoo scans the rows of dark blue seats and sees members scattered with managers, and one glaring at him to sit down because he’s holding a queue of eleven people behind him, he realizes the gravity of the situation. no, this isn’t a mistake. yes, he has to sit beside an ex-girlfriend on a flight thankfully short enough but too long all at once.

he staggers on unsteady feet before lowering himself down. eye contact ended moments ago when jinwoo decided everything but sooyeon was more interesting or less an upheaval of buried emotions. jinwoo goes with the latter. he has less interconnecting history with strangers upon strangers, and he’s on relatively good terms with most.

what terms is he on with sooyeon.

that, he can’t answer.

but he remembers the argument—the break-up. remembers what he diced and served. and he still regrets it. moved on, though, matured with time. it was practically a decade ago, give or take. they were young, in love, and he let everything get between them because james was a thing—james had to successful.

james had no time for a relationship.

“uh, yeah.” the answer is woven late, stuck in traffic and blocked by a burning lump in his throat. palpitations and twisting gut plagues jinwoo, drains colour from chapped lips. “i guess who we sit beside went over their heads.” wished it went over his, too. “i can... i don’t know, switch with one of your members if that’ll be more comfortable for you.” and more comfortable for him. 

he wears it obvious, his dislike for the situation. it is in his lack of a smile, the near grimace his lips bend to---it is in the tone of his voice, hollow, cold and the yearn to leave is more evident in the dark glint in his eyes.

[lgcmicha]

DOVE.

[idjinwoo-blog]

idxrmn:

a very loose bright shirt had hugged the muscles of his arm as he reached up to wipe his face, only to scrunch his nose up at the other’s response. he honestly wanted to get this high jump over with so he could nap in the corner, find the most comfortable place with a bit of air to give him comfort. “give them a striptease and then hear my manager scream in my ear about exposing myself? is it worth it?” he chuckled. roman was so tempted to do it, his true fans had already seen his chest and the ink that covered half of it. “i think i’ve already blessed them a few times in the past.”

regardless of how this reality is viewed, idols are nothing but zoo animals. this is what crouching tigers must feel. trapped in some enclosure. all eyes on them, leering. mouths gasping. fingers pointing. loud screams, cries. nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. just there, breathing and absorbing and pretending beyond the walls is the freedom to run in a jungle. moss and dirt under thick soles—freeing thin souls.

jinwoo sits. just sits and moves his eyes from one place to the other. a hundred stare back, gauge for life. for a sign. he’s too tired to put on a show, to find heart-fingers in his pockets, to fling heart-arms over his head. enough with the grease, he’s already glossed in perspiration.

time passes in the ticks of his watch. the sun is a bit higher, a bit stronger. exposed skin glows and sweat beads under a fringe of hair. he wastes energy fanning himself, wastes battery holding a mini-electric fan to his face that only gusts humid heat. the water bottle pressed to his calf slowly loses spirit, takes on a warm body temperature that no longer cools jinwoo down. patience hangs on a thin thread as the bar for high jump falls. again. and staff have to set it up. again. for someone else to take an eternity to jump over.

jinwoo plans to kick it down on his first try, but james is another story. he is intense whereas jinwoo is indifferent; he wants to win, wants the sweet taste of victory thick on his tongue and a medal strapped around his neck. will make the parents happier, that’s for sure.

so jinwoo shuts down his own idea, palm-in-cheek and uses roman as a distraction or inspiration. because roman is either one or the other. they met way back when. roman entered 99 entertainment. thought it was midas media. distracted jinwoo enough to laugh, to offer a hand in friendship. that’s when inspiration kicked in. roman’s work ethic, jinwoo admired, thought of it highly.

still does.

“if you win the high jump, you should throw off your shirt in celebration.” a funny suggestion is all it is. jinwoo’s smile lacks definition, slanted on a pressed cheek. “football players do it all the time. think of the close up.” but jinwoo doesn’t care about any of that. james on the other thinks it’s brilliant.

[idjinwoo-blog]

yellow card.

isac ; @idhyera.

sweat trickles down his nape. with it, it tips the iceberg of irritation, and jinwoo tries to calm down by scrubbing a towel against his face. his white jersey is rich in grass stains. somehow the put-together image james prides himself in having is out the window, and jinwoo is in command. his hair is a bird’s nest, thick dark brown tresses in dire need of a trim are pushed back from his eyes. 

futsal was a frustrating of back and forth, chasing after some ball and kicking it towards some net to win. (and the crowd goes wild.) he doesn’t remember if he scores or not, if he helps the white team whatsoever, but that’s the least of his worries. jinwoo wants out, he wants somewhere with ac blowing at his face and getting him sick with a cold. because the constant back and forth shift of temperatures can do that, can make his nose red and throat a little more hoarse than normal. and everything feels like school, when he pretends to be sick in bed to avoid a test he didn’t study for because he was too busy training for this---to be an idol, to parade for fans and make money. 

there’s far too many people, far too many he’s too connected with, and they’re all in the same uniform. his gauge fills, and he is at his limit. 

what jinwoo needs is someone who understands him, someone he gets along with, someone he doesn’t have to fake it. yoojung is a consideration, but he avoids her because he’s too entangled with her members to bring about any sort of peace of mind. so he searches for jowi in the mess of yellow. (colour’s too bright, it hurts his eyes.) 

edge of his palm pressed against one cheekbone, jinwoo isn’t attentive. he doesn’t look where he goes and grabs a shoulder he mistakes for a friend. “jowi, hey---” but it’s not her, and jinwoo is too quick when he pulls his arm away. “never mind. just you.” he doesn’t mean for it to sound patronizing, yet his tone betrays him and the less than amused expression does little to display truth.

[idyoojung-blog]

rude awakening.

[idjinwoo-blog]

idyoojung:

sighing, she rests her cheek on her palm and leans to the left and lifts her free hand extended in front of her, palm straight out. when the deep pull of sleep seems to have gotten his hooks in him and he sways backward once again, yoojung is ready. from the back, it looks as though she had reached out to pat jinwoo on the back. in reality, she sinks her fingers into the back of his shirt and yanks, jerking him backward.

it’s a rude wakeup call, she imagines. (yoojung is sure he’ll thank her later.) and she muffles a chuckle with a bite to the inside of her cheek, waiting for jinwoo to shake the disorientation. to refocus. wakey wakey~ “sleep well?”

he dreams of falling. the kind of dream his gut is high in his ribs, and he wants to scream but nothing ever comes out. then he awakens, cold sweat glistening under a damp fringe and on the edges of sticky sideburns. jinwoo looks around, wide-eyed and half petrified. he has a where am i crisis on his face. and he can’t for the life of him figure out why he’s in a middle of a valley, chanting fans and idols too, too many.

at first it doesn’t register. faces are a blend of ambiguity and alien. and cameramen are running around, sticking cameras in nook and crannies, invading privacy. jinwoo braces himself, thinks one is close by but no one. his knees bounce, tremble and the plastic hair he’s in creaks, protesting from the increase in tempo. his eyes scour for his members, for jianhong, for a semblance of familiarity and security. 

then yoojung’s voice brings about some clarity and focus. jinwoo doesn’t remember falling asleep, doesn’t remember how she got there but the similarity of their shirts provides some recognition. idol athletics championships. explains the cameras, the throng of fans on bleachers, the sweat he’s coated in. they’re on the same team which, arguably, is the only good reason to have her group and his mingle.

because as much as jinwoo and yoojung get along, he has sour and complicated affiliations with at least two of her members. that’s two too many.

his face rests a frown. his fists rub fatigue from his eyes, but jinwoo is sure it’s permanent like the lilac-grey blushed over his cheeks. “yah, yoojung—“ when he starts, the gravelly tone ample of sleep startles jinwoo. when did he sound so... hoarse, so exhausted to the bone. this is what little sleep does.

turns you into someone unfamiliar. into a stranger.

but jinwoo doesn’t know who he is, anyway.

“did you wake me up?” a strange irritation gnaws at his neck as jinwoo palms his nape then realizes his shirt is askew. the collar is yanked and wrinkles drape. he casts yoojung an accusatory look which soon adapts into a glare. “you did wake me up, didn’t you.”

[idsuran-blog]

misstep.

[idjinwoo-blog]

idsuran:

“well -” she swallows, bites the tip of her tongue for a second, continues, “ i mean yeah, kinda. jesus, you really make me feel like a fuckin’ cunt.” she winces as soon as she blurts it out - swearing is unbecoming and there are ears everywhere. she holds up a hand preemptively to silence him. “yeah, yeah, i know, i am, i’m the worst. got it.”

he says things and is never completely prepared when words of equal malice are returned, slammed back across the tennis court. and jinwoo twists his wrist, adjusts his stance. his turn but this time he chooses carefully, methodically. sunbaenim is a hard serving (lets not forget petty)—is the ice bucket challenge, freezing cold and all at once until he’s gasping for the concept of air as his lungs forget what it’s like to breathe.

for nearly a minute, jinwoo forgets how to breathe. red in the face, anger climbs and fogs in his chest and head. he has to remember his place, their place, where they are and who they are. they’re not friends but colleagues in some turbulent world that has been thrown back into each other’s lives.

jinwoo forgets to forget they were ever together. that once upon a time they were more than friends. he lets that get the best of the him, lets the past sneak up behind him, lets himself speak his mind without thinking of the repercussions. then reality crashes, sinks to bone, and jinwoo blinks twice. frustration lingers, but he swallows the fiery lump. it singes down his throat—his pride gone with it.

recollections of them slowly drip in a murky puddle. he sees his reflection, sees the dirt behind a pristine image.

he won’t risk that with suran; he won’t risk anything for her.

so jinwoo back-peddles, collects himself and breathes in long inhales and deep exhales. “i really can’t control how you feel, so that isn’t my problem whatsoever.” jinwoo wonders where this side of him comes from. jiwon? their parents? all the pent up negligence that one day transitioned to aggression, maybe.

people are one in the same. they’re two sides of the same coin. family: they ignore jinwoo, acts like he doesn’t exist. suran: she left, acted like he didn’t exist. it reoccurs to him she must have a reason for walking out, for vanishing without a trace.

maybe a case too compelling that jinwoo stood no chance. wouldn’t be a first.

whatever her purpose was—is, jinwoo doesn’t care to listen. “also, you should watch your tongue when you speak to a sunbae.” if one thing is certain, she’s right. he is petty.