connor bedard has a certain softness to him that just hits me every now and then. like sometimes he'll be making crazy shots and everyone on his team is glazing him and he's taking interviews that scream "i was media trained, i'm ready for this", and other times i look at him and he looks so vulnerable that it guts me. it was easier to see in his rookie year, where he was just looking up at all of the other veterans who were looking up at him for a whole other reason. it's that fliggy interview where he says that connor didn't go to in person high school and you can see it sometimes in his social interactions. it's that nazar/bedard 32 thoughts podcast where frank says that bedsy is a little lazy sometimes, like people are always holding doors for him and helping him pick his stuff up. it's that blackhawks content video where the producer was like "name all of nick foligno's kids" and the blackhawks were literally like "connor bedard". as the new season takes way and the blackhawks inevitably make connor captain, he's probably going to feed into the softness less and less. i don't see it as often anymore. it makes me a little sad because i can't tell if he's growing out of it because he's ready to, or because he feels like he has to. like, he wants to get taken care of, he just doesn't get that anymore because all of the older blackhawks are getting traded for the young core.
but maybe i'm just offseason doom posting LOL anyways here are some soft bedsy photos to illustrate what i'm talking about
Connor might be exaggerating, because he's only talked to Macklin a handful of times, but talking to this guy sometimes feels akin to pulling teeth. Connor doesn't like talking about himself all that much, likes diverting the attention to other topics and the other people he's talking with. Most people do like talking about themselves, so it's an easy enough diversion. But Mack will not give him anything except the most cursory of glances, the most banal of answers.
How did they market this kid, this team, as social wonders? He had seen, even without looking them up, so many clips of Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith being lauded as some of the best friends of rookie hockey players. They never seemed to run out of silly stories to tell or smiles and chirps to throw at each other. Connor knew he was boring, especially when you first got to know him, but he didn't think he was so bad as to completely stifle any personality that Mack already had.
Connor lets himself marinate on it, and quietly resolves to let out all of his thoughts now and then move on. Something Connor had begun realizing, which made him feel a little sick inside, was that maybe he was holding Mack to the standard the media held him at. And, y'know, that's not fair. Macklin Celebrini has no responsibility to uphold his media personality off the ice, especially during the offseason. He can be as unfriendly or as non-talkative as he'd like, because he doesn't owe Connor anything. Connor's always felt this sense of responsibility over the kid, as though he could be some resource or stability for the other first-draft pick who has had just about as many expectations piled on top of his head as Connor had. He'd considered them similar. Just like, he realizes with dread, the media had. Even by trying to offer Mack something, he had inadvertently been expecting something from him. No wonder Mack didn't want to talk to Connor, someone who didn't see him.
I enjoyed your Bedard web weaving as a new fan of his ("lemme ponder this" converted me). Hear me out: Will and Conner as friends. As the top picks of their draft they had no choice but to exist in each other's vicinity thanks to the media leading up to the draft. Then they parted ways to light up their respective leagues (with Will leading NCAA scoring on the most dominant line in college hockey and Conner winning the Calder). But then Conner's year two hit and he was no longer The Next One, he was the former generational talent. And Will, who some considered a potential Calder candidate, didn't even score his first NHL goal until his ninth game (in which he scored two against Conner, funny enough). He hit his stride later in the season but the first half was rough. Who could they both relate to if not each other? Especially when in the next season Mack went off and they were both being compared to him and both falling short. And maybe Mack didn't care enough to meet Conner halfway, but you know who would? Maybe the guy who greeted him first when they were next to each other during a face off (both relegated to the wing after being drafted as centers). Maybe the guy who asked him how his shoulder was holding up (having also just experienced an upper body injury). Maybe Conner was too busy being jealous of Mack for having Will (as a friend, a partner, whatever they considered themselves to be for each other) that he didn't realize he could have Will too and in ways Mack never could. Because while Mack got silver at the Olympics, he's never failed individually, not in the way Will and Conner have and do, and until he does, Will and Conner will always share something Mack can't force himself between. Though on the topic of winning and losing, it's kind of funny how Mack has yet to win for his country unlike both Will and Conner. I first got into bedsywill as almost a crack ship, but the two of them together has been growing on me exponentially. Unfortunately my knowledge of Bedard as a person and player is incredibly limited comparatively lol so I struggle to come up with anything compelling (hence you!). Come join the dark side (bedsywill rare pair hell) pspspsps
"lemme ponder this ... she can juggle" had me ROLLING that kid is so unserious and I love him :D unfortunately atp I only follow connor bedard seriously enough to weave any kind of narrative at all :( the only reason I know anything about celebrini is bc a) boy wonder and b) they will not. stop. comparing connor to him. I do not have this problem with will. so i def see the vision, but unfortunately probs not clearly enough to do it justice :( I wish you luck in the ao3 tags with finding ur ppl tho !!
It's always kind of just been Connor and hockey against the world. Hockey had rules structure. Pass the puck. Score the puck. Connor liked to do both. His junior coaches used to get mad at him because he would pass the puck too much, but who cared? They were up 4-2 anyways and Connor had scored twice already. He wasn't trying to score a hat trick for the ego boost, he didn't need an ego boost. If his teammate would have a good angle, especially a teammate who was thinking about quitting hockey, why not give it to them? If they whiffed, they whiffed, and time moved onward. If they didn't whiff, then maybe Connor could keep them around a little bit longer.
The Blackhawks didn't like him playing like that, and he was no longer good enough to ignore the coaches and do whatever he wanted. He was a product; he was not graced the leniency he was awarded by being a teenager. They paid him the big bucks to be their new franchise player, and that turned hockey from the team game that he loved into the Connor Bedard special. He could either make his coaches happy or his teammates, but never both, and that killed him. Sometimes he could feel eyes on the back of his neck, warm and unpleasant, but when he turned around to check everyone was looking somewhere else.
So it hurt, Connor thought mutely, that no one else understood. Maybe, he thought, Macklin would. Here's another kid who loves hockey just as much as he does, who's performing better than he is, who seems attainable? And Connor tried really hard, with all of his social shortcomings, to have it happen. He started easy conversations, safe ones about plays and gear, which Mack would only respond to on a surface level. He offered his phone number, but Mack never texted. He would say hi before games, but Mack would just look at him, barely saying hi before turning to chirp at Will. Even Will Smith would turn around and look at him, smiling affably, before the pair moved on. They started talking more in the summer, but even then it lacked the depth of even his shallowest childhood friendships.
Connor tried to ignore it, he really did. He would dig deep into hockey and ice time, scattering pylons to make silly skating drills and aiming for every inch of the net from every angle on the ice. It steadied him, and Connor knew he would move on. But he felt pathetic, sometimes. Not pathetic for having a slower season, but pathetic for wanting to be friends with someone who was completely indifferent to him.
When you're finally winning games, other young players are now joining you, vibes are up, and then you get injured by your biggest rival team. And then your best friend on the team gets injured. And then you lose a lot. And everyone thinks you're washed. And then you don't get selected for Team Canada for the Olympics. And then your country loses in Milan while you watch. And then you finally come back. And your buddy has the yips, or is cursed, or something. And then your uncs get traded away. And then Colton Dach gets traded away. There goes your dreams of winning the cup together. And then your captain, the team dad, the only consistent thing you knew about the team gets traded away. And then Troy Murray passes away. And you're just so. not. making. the. playoffs.
saw this post which changed my entire perspective of celebedsy so new rpf:
-
Mack is similar to Connor in a lot of ways - comes to the rink early to train, first draft pick, frustrated when losing - so Connor foolishly thinks that he's safe when he gives his heart away. Surely this kid, so similar to himself, would get it.
But, Connor learns, Mack isn't similar to him at all. They do all the same things for completely different reasons. Connor goes to the rink early because he loves skating. Mack goes to the rink early because discipline makes him a better hockey player. Connor hates losing, hates being pushed around, so sometimes he flares up. But he always recovers. If he throws his helmet, he'll pick it up and apologize to the equipment manager. If he can't shoot for shit, he'll still commend the people who set him up; it's not their fault. But Mack is temperamental in a way that shows that hockey is his only release, that this game is one of the only places where he's really allowed to be angry. Connor is angry because he cares, but he hates being angry if it hurts or scares people. Mack is angry because for once in his life, he's not being scolded for being angry, and he won't apologize. He's never abashed, only stormily defiant.
So Mack doesn't get it, doesn't get Connor at all. Connor does it all for himself, but Mack does it for his dad, or at least the expectations his dad stands for. It's not as though one is more noble than the other. But Mack will always think of Connor as naive, self-centered, as if Mack's anger refines him, makes him morally superior. He could learn to treat Connor better, probably. He did it with Will. But Connor's not Will. He's not gonna stick around and let himself get neglected just for the possibility of a friend. Connor has other friends and family who will love and support him. Mack doesn’t believe he can have that, so he shuts out people, or else gets wildly, violently, attached to them. Everyone loves their idea of him, but very few really know him. Connor knows him, but Mack doesn't care to be known by Connor. And Connor knows when to give up, just how far he can push. He's the type to toe the line, but not the type to cross it.
And so they drift off, two stars in the night sky. One (Macklin) shines brighter, well-known. A perfectly polished pearl, anything unpleasant hiding far beneath the carefully curated exterior. The other is there, too, close but just out of reach. He'll never be the supernova that Mack is, but that's because surface level Mack is much more likable than surface level Connor. Maybe deep-down Connor could be a little more likable than deep-down Mack, but no one really cares enough to stick around. That's the industry, as they say.
Because the crux of the matter is that Connor Bedard only knows Macklin Celebrini well enough for the occasional small talk and friendly chirp. They’re allies, they’re acquaintances, and Connor might even go so far as to call them friends. But at the end of the day, when Macklin Celebrini is surrounded by doting teammates and has the ability to actually soak in the attention without feeling like a fraud, when Macklin Celebrini has a winger and a friend like Will Smith, when Macklin Celebrini has the Olympics spot and the attention of all of the current hockey greats, when Connor has none of that - Connor can’t call them ‘equals’.
- excerpt from a fanfiction I'm probably not going to finish writing but it's been fun drafting out my celebedsy feels!
you’re lying on a dinky couch in some sequestered, out of the way corridor room backstage, mindlessly scrolling through your phone and simply waiting for your dad to finish work tonight. it might not be how you were planning on spending the night before your birthday, but it is what it is and, given how much effort your dad put into getting you to japan, you have no complaints.
at least you had your bag. and some chips. and— what else did you bring with you?
you fumble through your bag, suddenly curious. the answer: not much. you have some chapstick, your earbuds, your wallet (that holds nothing but a bus pass and a stamp card for your local coffee shop; go figure), and a box of band aids from when you cut yourself earlier today that you never got to return to the nice staff who lent it to you.
curiosity sated, you settle back down on the couch and continue scrolling through your feed. minutes on your phone bleed into an hour, and judging by how hectic the backstage has begun to sound, you figure that the group will be heading out to perform any minute now. you’re in the middle of a peaceful baking post when—
thud.
the sound of the backstage suddenly gets a lot louder, and you peek up from your phone to look at the now ajar door. whoever it is that just barged into your room closes the door, and as the background noise muffles again you notice him lift his finger closer to his face and hiss in what looks like pain.
“are you... okay?” you ask, tentatively, and the boy jumps.
he is somehow both casually and not casually dressed at the same time. his outfit is simple, but well put together, and you recognize that jacket from one of the clothing racks you offered to help push in way back when all of those concert staff started setting up. if that wasn’t enough of a dead giveaway, his curly blond hair would be. clearly, he’s one of the members of the group, but what is he doing here?
“oh, i didn’t realize that someone was in here! i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt—” he begins.
“no! no, don’t worry about it, i’m not doing anything important.” you interject, not wanting him to apologize any longer. it’s then that you notice what’s wrong with his finger; it’s bleeding.
“what happened to your finger?” you ask, looking at it, and he follows your gaze to look at the blood on his hand.
“oh, i just cut it on a prop.” he explains, sheepishly, and you nod in understanding.
“is it bad?” you ask, sitting up from where you were lying down to try and take a closer look at it, and he shakes his head.
“no, it’s really shallow. i’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.” he assures you, and it’s then that you remember.
“do you want a bandage?” you offer, breaking eye contact to push aside your half-eaten chip bag on the tiny table beside you. the bandaid box you had borrowed from the crew lies innocently on the table, and you hold it up victoriously.
he blinks. “actually, that’d be nice, thank you.”
you stand up to pass him the bandage box, and he takes it. it takes a beat too long for him to open it, though, and you notice the way his hands fumble around the small parts as he draws out a single bandaid. now that you’re closer, you can take a better look at his finger (which is slowly smearing blood on the band aid wrapper) and your eyes widen. that cut looks a lot deeper than he made it sound.
almost instinctively, you take his hand. “that’s not a shallow cut! you should go get that cleaned. don’t you guys have a first aid kit somewhere?”
you look up as you say this, and he’s looking at you with round, wide eyes. it’s only then that you realize how in his personal space you are, and you let go of his hand and take a step back.
“sorry,” you mumble, looking away as you try desperately to ignore the heat that’s blooming in your cheeks. but you manage to force yourself to look at him again, because you do need an answer.
“it’s really not that bad!” he tries to convince you, but you’re not taking it. “do you have a first aid kit somewhere?” you repeat.
“i’m sure we do, but i don’t have time for that. it’s manageable and i have to be on stage soon—” a flicker of alarm passes through his eyes. “shoot, i have to be on stage soon.” he says, and turns to leave.
“wait!” you call, and he stops. without thinking about it, you take the bloody bandaid wrapper that he couldn’t open out of his hand, open it, and adhere it securely around his finger. “this will do for now, but you have to get that checked out during your break, okay?” you tell him, plucking the now useless bandaid box out of his hand. he’s doing the wide-eyed thing again, and you can’t stand the fluttery feeling in your stomach when he does, so you cut off any opportunity for him to reply with more words. “will you be okay to perform on stage? like, if you use a handheld mic, it might be uncomfortable. and try not to put too much pressure on that finger, yeah?” you blurt out, nervously, and he still doesn’t say anything back (probably because you don't give him any opportunity to).
you open your mouth, your mind traitorously ready to word vomit through the awkwardness, but you’re thankfully cut short by the sound of voices outside. “chan-hyung is missing,” one of them says, loud enough that you can hear it clearly from your room, and the curly-haired boy in front of you seems to jolt.
“i have to go!” he exclaims, rushing to the door, and you lunge in front of him to open the door before he does. “watch that finger,” you remind him, threateningly, before softening. “and take care, yeah?”
he pauses.
“thank you,” he adds, before the reality of his situation crashes back onto him and he dashes out of the room. you close the door behind him and stare at the blood-stained box in your hand, thoughtfully.
you have the uncanny knack of running into kim jinhwan exactly when he needs it. he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued.
a/n: support ikon on kingdom!
-
the first time you meet him, it’s at your friend’s debut stage. once upon a time, you and your friend, yerin, had been trainees together in a decently small company. but while her skills only grew over time, morphing into something fascinating and breathtaking that deserved to be shown to the world, yours had stagnated. it wasn’t for lack of effort – you had put just as many hours into dance and vocal lessons as the others – but it was, probably, for lack of passion.
at some point, you had stopped emphasizing with your fellow trainee’s heartfelt speeches on their dreams of debuting, and it was around then that you realized you weren’t meant to be an idol in the same way they were. it was alright, though, because if anyone out of the two of you deserved to debut, it was her. you’d never felt any regret after terminating your short trainee agreement with your label.
but your friendship had never ceased, and you’d kept in regular contact with yerin, as well as the other trainees set to debut in the rookie group. you often took to reminding them to eat their meals, or to take breaks in between lessons, because you’d experienced first-hand how thoroughly unchecked passions can blind a person to their obvious needs.
finally, their efforts had culminated into a debut, and you wouldn’t miss their first stage for the world. their manager, minseo (who, in a different timeline, might have been your manager as well) was kind enough to let you visit them face-to-face in their waiting room for the music program.
“nervous?” you ask, taking in yerin’s brightly-coloured romper and her bleached, curled, strands of hair. it’s such a far departure from the tracksuits and messy ponytail you’d often seen her sporting during early morning dance practices, but it somehow suits her better than anything else you’d ever seen her wear.
“excited.” she responds instead, with a frightening degree of certainty. it must be nice, you think, to have something you want so desperately and unfalteringly. but watching your best friend get to live out her dreams is almost just as nice.
you nod, feeling the corners of your lips quirk up. “have i ever told you how proud i am of you?” you say, lightheartedly, suppressing the urge to ruffle your hand over her well-styled hair.
“no, but since it’s coming from you, i know you mean it.” she says with such sincerity that you feel an unexpected surge of pride lodge itself into your chest.
you clear your throat. this won’t do. she hasn’t even performed yet and you’re already turning into a sentimental mess. “i’m going to go get myself something to drink,” you say, excusing yourself. “do you want anything?”
her eyes brighten. “ooh, can i have an orange soda?” she asks, before pausing and turning around. “wait, manager-nim, am i allowed to drink soda before a stage?”
minseo tears her eyes away from her phone and straightens up. “as long as it’s not something that will rapidly stain your teeth, it should be fine. are you thirsty? do you need me to get you something?”
you pipe up. “oh, it’s fine, i can get it. you should stay with the group, unni, you’re the manager.” then, you raise your voice and direct it towards the rest of the girls. “hey, guys, i’m getting yerin a drink from the vending machine. does anyone else want anything?”
“oh, can i have a canned coffee?” you hear one of the members – jiyoung’s – voice ask.
“me too!” hyemin’s voice adds.
“vitamin water, please!” mirae’s voice calls.
you tally the drinks up in your head. two canned coffees, an orange soda, and vitamin water. you hold up an ‘okay’ sign with your hand and nod. jiyoung jokingly salutes in return.
“can i pay you back?” minseo offers, pulling out a credit card that most definitely won’t work on the rickety vending machines you’d seen on your way to the waiting room.
you shake your head dismissively. “it’s just a couple of drinks, and besides, i have a ton of coins i need to get rid of. you can buy me a meal later, yeah?” you offer, and minseo nods. “at this rate, i’ll have to hire you as my assistant.” she jokes, lightheartedly, and you smile. you wouldn’t mind that at all.
you recite the list of drinks to yourself as you make it out of their waiting room and towards the vending machine. two canned coffees, an orange soda, and vitamin water. two canned coffees, an orange soda, and vitamin water. two ca—
thud.
the small sound shakes you out of your mantra and, instinctively, you turn towards the noise. judging by the obvious frustration radiating from the person in front of you and his relative position to the vending machine, you figure he just kicked the poor thing.
“are you alright?” you ask, tentatively, and the person in question turns to face you.
oh. it’s kim jinhwan. from ikon.
you try your hardest to suppress a smile. yerin loves ikon. she’d be so jealous to know that you ran into one of the members today, and in such an innocuous way at that.
“yes, sorry.” jinhwan offers, looking almost sheepish. “the machine stole my money, and-”
almost on cue, you hear a voice call out in the distance. “hurry up, hyung! you said it’d only take a few minutes!”
jinhwan’s expression instantly sours, and you nod in understanding. “what did you try to get, sunbaenim?” you ask politely, turning towards the machine and scanning its contents.
“just an energy drink. but i guess i’ll be fine without it.” he explains, trying a little too hard to sound lighthearted and unbothered.
you identify the drink in question and punch in its code. after feeding your coins into the machine, you watch as the suddenly functional appliance pushes the energy drink out of its row and into the bottom of the machine.
squatting, you grab the drink and hold it out. “please, take this.” you offer as you stand up, suddenly noticing how heavily the foundation under his eyes is applied. you inwardly frown. he must really need the boost. “it’s the one you wanted, right?”
he doesn’t take it, instead opting to stare at it instead. “i couldn’t, i don’t have any more change on me right now.” he says, despite eyeing the drink longingly.
“hyung! we have to go!” the voice from before calls out again, insistently. he turns towards the voice before turning back to you, conflicted. you put on what you hope is a reassuring smile before pushing the drink with a little more force into his hands. instinctively, he takes it.
“please don’t worry about it, it’s just a drink. good luck with your stage, sunbaenim!” you cheer, gently.
he looks at the drink, then looks at you, then glances behind him at what you presume to be his waiting room before looking at you again.
“jinhwan hyung!” the voice demands with an intimidating undercurrent of finality, leaving no more room to stall. you tilt your head towards it meaningfully.
“i.. thank you.” he finally says, tightly, before turning around and running away. satisfied, you turn towards the vending machine. what did your friends ask for? right, two canned coffees, an orange soda, and vitamin water. you punch the drink codes in, methodically inserting all of your loose change you had been trying to get rid of for so long, and add an extra coffee in for minseo for good measure. if she’s going to make good on her dinner promise, and you know she will, she should get a little something in return.
(you would have gotten her something even if you didn't coerce her into buying you food. a part of you thrives at the feeling of taking care of others, and you dimly wonder if that means anything.)
-
the next time you meet him is yet another case of being in the right place at the right time, for lack of a better phrase.
you’d spent a good portion of your school days active as a trainee. so, when you’d eventually exited the entertainment industry, you were strikingly behind all the other students your age in the cruelly competitive system that was korea’s education system. you were planning on taking a gap year to figure out exactly what you wanted to do with the rest of your life (which was generally frowned upon, as students were expected to naturally know these things), but minseo had saved you from that fate. “since the girls have been getting a little bigger recently, i’ve been given the permission and the budget to hire an assistant manager.” she had explained through a spontaneous phone call, her voice crackling over the receiver as you shifted your cellphone to your other ear. “if i can trust anyone to care for them the way that i do, it’s you.”
“will it be okay?” you had asked, not against the proposition but not wanting to get her in trouble. “i have no managerial experience, and i’m in the same age range as the members. i don’t want the company to come off as unprofessional.”
she had reassured you that you wouldn’t be working on anything that she wouldn’t teach you to do first, and that, as long as you didn’t boast about your age, it would be fine. “i was allowed to write the hiring criteria, and if you just happen to be the perfect candidate, then so be it.” she had said, and you could almost imagine the conspiratorial wink she would have shot in your direction if you were talking face to face.
and so your reentrance to the entertainment industry had begun; except this time, you were on the other, more secluded, side of the stage. you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t considered being a manager before; you’ve always been the type to take care of others, and when minseo had joked about taking you on as an assistant before, a secret part of you had taken it a little too close to heart. but you had never actually expected her words to become a reality.
the job isn’t too hard to pick up. you’re assigned a lot of small yet useful tasks, like calling the salons and confirming hair appointment times, or writing the minutes for meetings about comeback concepts. sometimes, your only role for the day is simply coaxing minseo unni into stopping and taking a lunch break. you’re busy, for sure, but not yet at the juggling-octopus level of the senior manager, who is somehow able to coordinate every other task and responsibility that involves the group simultaneously and all without fail. while you just have to confirm the things she’s already set up, she has to do all the preparation work. you’ve seen her meticulously arrange and assign each member’s schedules, all the while keeping an eye on album sales and concert venues and security payroll and feedback from their vocal or dance instructors. just by looking at her essay of a to-do list that’s propped up on her desk, you understand why the company gave her the permission to hire an assistant.
the most important responsibility she had given you, however, was to be the first line of contact with the members of the group. “you know them better than i do, so i think you’d do a better job of helping them out. they’re not too fussy, so it shouldn’t be too hard to work with them? just keep an eye on the members, and check on them every now and then. of course, let me know if you need any extra help.” a very harried minseo had told you, while on hold with the videography company who, annoyingly, hadn’t confirmed what time they were coming in tomorrow to film the dance video for the group’s upcoming comeback.
“yes, of course.” you had replied, fully intending to not do just that. you were going to avoid adding any responsibilities to minseo unni’s workload at all costs.
there wasn’t much that you needed to do. occasionally, you needed to get the members drinks or snacks while they were in their waiting rooms before music show performances, or make sure that they checked in with you before they went out anywhere. to help with this, you had gotten into the habit of carrying a backpack with you at all times, fully stocked with the necessities: an assortment of the member’s favourite snacks, an epipen for hyemin’s peanut allergy tucked in a small first aid kit, extra hair elastics, pads and tampons, and various sets of phone chargers.
“you’re already, like, one of those overprepared asian mothers that carries everything in her massive purse, and you’re barely an adult.” yerin had snickered one day while you reorganized your bag in their dorm.
you had grinned, teasingly pushing her away. “it’s this overprepared asian mother that has your precious pocky at hand, so watch it.” you’d warned, shaking the snack box in the air.
“don’t shake it!” yerin had yelped, cradling the cookie sticks protectively against her chest. “you’ll break them.”
it was the last week of promotions for the group’s third mini album, and you had just finished supervising the stage hands as they finished setting up the stage. satisfied, you grab your backpack from the chair it was lounging on, thank them for their hard work, and beeline for the exit, wondering if you can run into the girls before they get called down for their pre-stage interview.
“—ust going to have to wait, we don’t have any on hand right now.” you hear a gruff sounding voice say, and subconsciously, you look towards the source of the noise.
just across the hallway from you is what appears to be a very tall manager and a very short idol, judging from the casual apparel the taller is wearing and the shiny, glittery jacket the shorter one has on. the one in the glittery jacket is clutching at his shoulder in obvious discomfort.
“how long do you think it will take?” the shorter asks, letting go of his shoulder and rolling it back, and you’d recognize that voice anywhere. yerin had recently been studying his stage habits by watching his fancams on repeat, and at this point, his voice was engraved in the back of your mind. it’s jinhwan, again.
(“i can’t believe you got to meet jinhwan sunbae before i did,” yerin had pouted when you had told her about your previous encounter. “but why did you call him sunbae? he’s not technically your senior anymore.”
“so i used to be a trainee, and old habits die hard. sue me.” you had defended yourself, protectively, before making a mental note to stop doing that.)
“i’m not sure. i’m not supposed to leave the shooting site, and no one else has answered my calls yet. do you think you’ll be able to do the stage without a patch?” the manager asks.
the idol who you now recognize as jinhwan winces, and you take that as your cue to dig through your bag. after finding what you’re looking for, you take a nervous breath and walk towards the pair.
“hello,” you greet tentatively, bowing. the two of them turn to face you, and politely bow back. you don’t miss the way jinhwan’s face grimaces ever so slightly as he does so.
“i’m really sorry if i’m being invasive, but i happened to hear what was going on.” you start. at that, you offer him the pair of pain-relief patches you were clutching securely with both of your hands. “please, take these.”
the two of them pause, taking a second to read the upside-down text on the packaging. in hindsight, you probably should have held it so the text was facing them. “won’t you need them?” the manager asks, eventually looking back up at you.
you shake your head in denial, eyes wide. “no, no. i always have extras in my bag. besides, the ones my members use most often are the ankle patches, so i won’t miss these.” you explain, taking a short, meaningful glance at jinhwan’s shoulder before pushing the packages into his manager’s hands.
he takes them. “thank you,” he says, gratefully, and you smile.
“yes, of course.” you reply, taking another quick glance at jinhwan. he’s staring at you, expression carefully blank, but, upon making eye contact. he bows his head. “thank you,” he says as well, and you pause. there’s something in his tone that sounds off, but you can’t quite pinpoint what it is.
you don’t have time to stand there and think about it, though, because your group is going to get called down for their interview any minute now. and while you don’t technically have to be there, minseo said that it would be a good idea for you to monitor them. “just so you can get used to your job,” she had said, and you agreed. it would be entirely selfish to back out on that now, just to stand and meaninglessly analyze a person you had no connections with.
“i … have to go now.” you begin, tentatively, ignoring the pressing feeling in the pit of your stomach thats begging you to stay and figure out what feels so wrong. “good luck on your stage, sunb- i mean! jinhwan-ssi, and i hope your shoulder feels better.”
you bow, reflexively, trying your best not to make a weird face out of embarrassment, and jinhwan bows back. “thank you, again.” he reiterates, and you turn to leave.
it’s only after you’re absolutely sure that you’re out of their line of view before you let yourself cringe. sunbae? you tried to call him sunbae? you really, really, need to get out of that habit. what kind of interaction was that?
‘but is he okay?’ a smaller, more insistent, voice in the back of your head asks, and you frown. you don’t know.
-
in between your last memorable encounter and the next one, you see him a few times. your group passes by him in a few music programs, you run into their group at a hair appointment, and a few other miscellaneous encounters as such naturally occur. but you never interact. as a manager, it’s not your job to play buddy-buddy with other idol groups, especially if they’re not even in your company. you’ve always done a very good job of staying out of the spotlight, and, as a manager, most people don’t spare you a glance. jinhwan doesn’t even look in your direction.
you’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed.
the third time you meet him is not, for once, at a music program. you’re in hapjeong-dong, meaning to visit a friend who’d recently moved into the area. but she’d last-minute changed her housewarming party time to a dinner party instead of a lunch meetup. by the time you’d got the memo, you were already halfway across seoul on the subway. since you hadn’t eaten anything yet, and you no longer had lunch plans, your first stop is at the first ramen shop you see after you exit the terminal.
“i’m afraid we’re a little full at the moment, ma’am, and the only seats available are at the counter. will that be alright?” the hostess asks, smiling warmly.
“yes, that’s great.” you say, and you let her escort you to the counter and hand you a menu. you prop up your purse and your housewarming gift on the chair next to you before taking it, thanking her.
as you’re flipping through the menu, mentally calculating how much more you’ll be able to spend this month, you hear the tinkling of the bell at the front door signalling another customer. a cursory glance around the relatively full counter area lets you know that there’s only one seat left, and you’re hogging it with your bags. you quickly take them off the only available chair and bend down to set them on the ground below your feet.
“... and here you go, sir, i’ll be back with a menu shortly.” the bubbly hostess says, smiling politely at the customer whose face you haven’t seen yet. you straighten up, taking a quick look at the hostess and the customer before turning back to look at your menu.
“yes, thank you,” the customer says, and you freeze. you must be hearing things. there is no way that you are eating lunch next to kim jinhwan in a random restaurant.
the customer sits down next to you, and you shoot another quick look at the man who is taking off his mask. who is most definitely kim jinhwan.
do you … do you say anything? idols deserve to eat in peace, so should you pretend not to recognize him? but won’t sitting in a stony, awkward silence as you eat next to each other be even worse? you contemplate burying yourself in your phone for the entire meal, before realizing that you left it in your purse. and there’s no feasible way that you can grab it without having to scoot back your chair, get off the stool to open your bag, and sit back up on it again.
unfortunately for you, he looks in your direction as you’re gaping at him, panic-struck. the resulting eye contact is unbearably awkward on your end, but he looks at you as if he’s trying to remember who you are.
“pardon me, but are you the one who … with the pain-relief patch?” he asks, gesturing slightly with his hands as he sits dodwn. it’s vague and awkward, and if he did that to anyone else they’d be very confused, but you know exactly what he means.
you blush a little. there’s nothing else you can say now. “yes, uh, i think that was me.”
“and … the vending machine?” he ventures.
your eyes widen a little at that. that was so many months ago. he still remembers? “the energy drink, right? that was also me. hello, jinhwan-ssi.” you offer, tentatively, bowing your head slightly. at this point, there’s no use pretending you don’t know his name. he bows his head in return.
“may i ask for your name?” jinhwan asks, tentatively.
“oh, ah, i’m ______.” you respond. “it’s nice to meet you, officially.”
jinhwan nods in agreement, seemingly taking in all the new information for a few seconds. after a short pause, he continues. “do you also work in the entertainment industry?” he asks, slowly.
“yes, i’m an assistant manager for kyubie, a new girlgroup at AB entertainment,” you introduce yourself. it still feels a little strange to say that title out loud. assistant manager. you’re an assistant manager.
“ah, i see.” jinhwan says, smiling a little as he processes the information, and you politely smile back. a part of you wants to help him carry this conversation out, but the other, more dominant part of you is just as socially awkward as he looks like he feels and is absolutely incapable of doing such a thing.
“you look quite young for a manager,” he offers, as an odd semblance of a compliment, and you take it in stride.
“i get that a lot! i actually used to be a trainee at AB, but i ended up becoming a manager inst!—ead …” you start, mouth running itself as it struggles to fill the awkward silence, before you register what you just said.
“i, uh, i wasn’t supposed to say that.” you mutter, loudly enough so its audible but quietly enough to express your regret.
jinhwan, for what it’s worth, only looks placidly amused. “don’t worry, i won’t say a word,” he assures you. he doesn’t ask for any more details or for an elaboration on why it would be a secret. you’re grateful for that.
“thank you,” you say, trying not to let the relief show itself too heavily in your tone. if he notices it, he doesn’t say a word.
“i should be thanking you. for the drink and for the pain-relief patches, before. i don’t think i could have done my stage without either.” he assures you, kindly. “i didn’t get to thank you properly before.”
you shake your head in denial. “no, no, don’t worry about it. i get what it’s like to always be running low on time. and you did say thank you! i didn’t feel underappreciated, or ignored, or anything like that.” you explain, letting out your first real smile since the beginning of the conversation.
(you miss the way his eyes linger on it for a beat too long.)
“i’m glad that you think that, then,” jinhwan says, faintly, as the hostess comes back with his menu that he barely even scans before ordering. you, too, order, ignoring the meaningful glances she’s throwing at the two of you. that’s a misunderstanding that can be resolved in the unlikely chance it becomes an issue.
“so,” jinhwan starts, “tell me about your group.”
and you’re gone.
conversation flows surprisingly easily once the two of you find your common ground. as a manager and as a friend, you have a lot to tell him about your members and how they act. “one of them, my friend, actually, she’s a really big fan of yours.” you mention, offhandedly. you’ve gone long past the point where you’re trying to filter yourself.
“is that so?” he asks, calmly, and you grin.
“yeah. she was really jealous when i told her that i met you before,” you laugh, “and she’ll probably be a little bit jealous that i met you again today.”
“what about you?” he asks, and then looks a little bit startled. almost as if he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“i’m sorry?” you ask, despite knowing perfectly well what he’d meant to say. you do your best to not blush.
jinhwan, having seemingly decided to just go with it, smiles. “are you a fan of mine, too?” he asks, and oh, your cheeks are not supposed to feel this hot.
“i, uh—” you flounder, trying to think of a way to answer this professionally, before a strangely brave crevice of your mind tells you to be honest.
“before? i don’t know. but now? probably.” you admit, which is good enough for jinhwan.
he doesn’t push it (probably because you looked like a tomato just then and he wants to save your blood pressure), and instead steers the conversation back to your life as a manager and his funny anecdotes in the entertainment industry. for someone who is so soft spoken and looked so thoroughly awkward when you first met, he tries incredibly hard to keep the conversation flowing and comfortable. you’re half in awe at his easy going nature.
you eat slowly once you get your food, selfishly wanting the conversation to last longer, but eventually there are no more noodles left in your plate and half of the lunchtime rush has already cleared out. jinhwan excuses himself to pay, asking you to watch his jacket, and you grab your purse and your housewarming gift from the floor while you wait. your phone tells you that it’s been nearly two hours since you entered the restaurant, and you must have suddenly forgotten how to read time, because there’s no possible way you had spent that long talking with jinhwan.
he eventually comes back. he puts his mask on and grabs his jacket from the back of his chair, and you take that as your cue to head to the payment counter. “i’m here to pay for my order,” you say, pulling out your wallet, and the checkout man shakes his head.
“you’re already paid for,” he explains, and you frown. “pardon me?” you ask, unsure if you heard him right.
“the gentleman who sat next to you has already paid for your meal,” he clarifies, and you stand there for a moment.
“are— are you sure?” you ask, confusedly. the checkout man nods. “here’s the purchase receipt if you want to be sure.”
the sound of the front door bell tinkling draws your attention, and you turn to see jinhwan’s figure leave the shop. “thank you!” you exclaim hurriedly to the counter, mindlessly stuffing the receipt in your left pocket before booking it out of there.
by the time you get to the outside of the shop, jinhwan is a good ten meters away. “jinh—!” you start, and then stop. yelling an idol’s name in public is most definitely not a good idea.
you’ve never been the most active, but you run after him anyway. thankfully, he’s not making an effort to run away from you, because you wouldn’t be able to catch up with him then.
eventually, you catch up with him as he’s waiting for a pedestrian walkway to turn green. “jinhwan-ssi!” you call, furtively, and the man in question turns around to face you.
" ______.” he says, curiously. “what are you doing here?”
“you paid for my meal.” you state, and he looks at you like it’s obvious.
“yes, i did.” he says, frowning a little. the pedestrian walkway turns green. he doesn’t make any effort to move.
“can i pay you back?” you ask, hand instinctively going towards your wallet in your right pocket.
he laughs a little at that. “why would you pay me back? this is my thank you for the favours you did for me.”
“you don’t have to pay me back! i did those things because i could. besides, a vending machine drink and a pain-relief patch costs much less than a meal.” you argue.
“then, consider it like i’m doing this because i can.” he counters, and its very hard to object to your own logic.
“can i at least buy you coffee or something as thanks?” you ask, as the pedestrian walkway turns red once more.
at this, jinhwan pauses, before he sighs. “i have vocal practice in half an hour, so i can’t right now. but—” he continues, seeing the look of disappointment you already knew was on your face, “did you get the receipt from the checkout guy?”
“the what?” you ask, confused.
his face pales. “oh no, did you not take it?” he asks, suddenly looking scared, and you remember mindlessly snatching the receipt from the checkout man’s hands. you clumsily pat through your pockets a little before pulling a slip of paper out from your left pocket. “no, i have it,” you say, holding it up, “but why?”
jinhwan sighs. “turn it over,” he says, and you do.
in pen, a phone number is scribbled over the back of the receipt. “jinhwan,” it says in neatly printed letters next to it, and you fight back the urge to smile. you probably do a terrible job of it, too.
“text me when you’re free, and we can do coffee sometime, yeah?” jinhwan offers. you can’t see his face well because of his mask, but the tips of his ears are red. it’s stupidly endearing.
“i will,” you promise, because how could you say no to that?
the walkway light turns green once again. jinhwan waves as he crosses the street, and you wave as you stay behind. its only after you’re absolutely, positively sure that he’s out of sight that you let yourself grin, burying your too-hot face into your hands.
if you just played your cards right, you have a date with kim jinhwan.
-
(you text him the very same day, and make plans for coffee the next week.
you treat him to crepe cakes and lattes, and he pouts, claiming that the crepes were too much and now he just has to take you out to make up for it.
before you can tell him that no, it’s fine, it’s your treat, he has movie tickets for two booked and emailed to your account.
you agree to go, but only if you get to buy the popcorn.)
it starts when he’s twenty four, a couple of years into his quiet office job. a worker from another branch transfers into his team, and the manager holds a party in your honour. your first day is on yoongi’s day off, but at his manager’s insistence he leaves his apartment to attend your welcome dinner.
he finds his team at the restaurant easily enough, and is instantly whisked away only to be brought in front of an unfamiliar woman. “this is ______, she’s going to be joining our team from today.” the manager announces, smiling warmly.
“uh, hello, nice to meet you.” yoongi says formally, uncomfortably. he considers shifting his face into a smile, but he knows well enough that it wouldn’t look kind. he’s not well versed in the art of appearing welcoming, at least at first glance.
“yes, you too.” you say back, equally stiffly.
you’re immediately introduced to another coworker on the team, and yoongi takes that as his cue to leave.
-
you’re placed under one of his coworkers, who’s supposed to help you pass your probation period and get acclimated to the office. yoongi doesn’t see you and promptly forgets about you.
until you run into him a few weeks later.
a few of his coworkers had invited him out for their lunch break, but yoongi declined. he was trying to save money to buy a birthday present for his mom this month, and besides, his social battery was running out. yoongi could already feel the vestiges of fatigue clinging to his chest, curling and coiling around his head and threatening to trigger a very large headache. he didn’t want to speed the process along.
he doesn’t normally eat in the break room, usually opting to eat at his desk and scroll through social media as he does, but since he knows no one in his area will be around, he decides to make use of the empty space. he’s just reclined in the only comfortable chair and turned his phone on when he sees the someone walk in at the edges of his vision.
you’re standing there, looking every bit as awkward and uncomfortable as he currently feels. yoongi scrambles to remember your name, but comes up blank.
“oh, s-sorry, uh- didn’t know someone was in here.” you say, fumbling over your words.
“aren’t you going out with the rest of the team?” yoongi asks, and then winces. accusatory. he sounds accusatory. he hopes you don’t think he sounds accusatory.
“i already brought a lunch today, i didn’t want it to go to waste.” you explain.’
“right, so, uh-” yoongi says, then pauses. what comes next? right, manners. he can do manners.
you haven’t been here for all that long. it’d be rude of him to ask you to leave, even if a little bit of alone time would be really welcome right about now. he wouldn’t want you to think that he doesn’t like you or anything of the sort.
“you can eat here, if you want.” yoongi finally offers.
“really? oh, i mean- yeah, that’d be nice. uh- thank you.” you say.
yoongi dimly realizes that by inviting you to eat here, he’s just effectively closed off any easy way for you to leave if you wanted to. if only he had the social skills of any of his friends. then he’d be able to navigate his way through this easily enough.
fortunately, you sit in silence for the remainder of the lunch. you might have been uncomfortable, but yoongi didn’t want to stare at you to try and find out. but for him, it was nice. yoongi has always appreciated a good bit of silence.
it’s only after you’re both done eating and you leave that yoongi realizes that your presence didn’t make him more tired. if anything, being alone with someone else kind of helped clear his mind.
huh.
-
he’s twenty five, and you’re attending a friend’s wedding. yoongi is your plus one.
he’s sitting in your living room, slouching despite the potential of creases in his freshly ironed suit. he’s been waiting for you for the past half hour or so while you finished getting yourself ready, but he came early anyway so he doesn’t mind. yoongi has always been patient, but he finds that you bring out depths of patience he didn’t even know he had. it’s only been six months since he awkwardly asked you to be his girlfriend, but he thinks he could wait forever if you asked.
“how do i look, babe?” he hears your voice ask, and he turns around to look.
you’re absolutely stunning. he feels the words rise on his mouth, rolls them over carefully with his tongue before swallowing them into nothingness. it’s still so hard to be vulnerable, to open up and call you beautiful. these types of words require a depth of sincerity that he’s not sure he’s able to convey, although he knows for sure that he feels it.
“you look good,” he says, instead. he considers, briefly, walking up to you and pressing a kiss into your forehead. taking your hand into his own.
“are you ready to go?” you ask, smiling, unaware of the thoughts rolling precariously around his head, and he shakes himself out of his reverie enough to nod.
(he can’t bring himself to do it.)
-
he’s twenty six, and it wasn’t really a fight. it was you having an off-day, seemingly irritated over every little thing he did, and it was him taking in that negative energy and reflecting it back. he’d already asked you what was wrong, and you had smiled without your eyes, jaw uncomfortably set, saying that it was nothing.
his unspoken words, or lack thereof, make the inside of his mouth taste like ash. or rust. something dead and dry and unpleasant that lingers for a beat too long. he swallows, hoping to get rid of the vile taste, but it’s thick like honey and infinitely less sweet.
part of him wishes that you’d just scream at him. maybe throw a vase, watch it shatter into big pieces on his hardwood floor. anything would be better than this uncomfortable tension. he knows that he didn’t do anything big to warrant your anger, but that doesn’t change the fact that you still felt something. if he didn’t do one thing, then maybe he did a lot of little things, but he’s at a loss of what to do if you won’t tell him what’s wrong.
not that he can complain. he’s exactly the same. you’re both the type to swallow your words. he’s always been afraid of ruining things.
he sits on his couch with you, watches you fiddle with the ring. he’d bought it for you on a whim, once, caught up in fluttery feelings as he’d thought about how your hair had ruffled in the wind and your smile shone especially bright that day. he still remembers how much more radiant you were when he had offered it to you, his hands trembling. it wasn’t a marriage proposal, no, but it was an expression of something. a promise that, no matter what happens, he’s serious about this. he’s never been good at expressing his feelings, and it had taken a small miracle for him to do that much.
you’d always worn it on the right finger of your right hand, insisting that it was the proper place for a promise ring. he didn’t know enough to disagree, and he wouldn’t have disagreed with you anyway. today, it’s on your third finger.
yoongi thinks he’s running out of miracles.
-
he sits down and weighs his options. listens to your words ring inside his head.
love doesn’t come easily. he doesn’t know much, but he knows that this is love. that this was love? for him, it still is. love is a choice, and it’s a choice he makes when he wakes up beside you every morning, comforted by your mere presence. it’s a choice he makes when he leaves quietly, not wanting to wake you up earlier than you need to. it’s a choice he makes when he looks at you, immersed in your work, and thinks that he could spend the rest of his days like this. he realizes that, should this fail, he might never want to make this choice again.
“you shouldn’t talk about this so … lightly.” yoongi says, quietly. you say nothing in return.
he doesn’t know when, but one day you stopped making that choice. otherwise, this wouldn’t be happening. and he can’t force you to make that choice. he wouldn’t even want to.
yoongi doesn’t have the courage to look at your face, so he looks at your hands instead. they’re pretty. and bare. he ignores the ring sitting on the surface of his coffee table, looking both out of place and sadly fitting.
two years ago, yuto woke up in a field, and now he is a farmer. his past was easy enough to forget, especially considering that he couldn’t even remember it in the first place. but it’s proving to be much, much harder to ignore.
loss one. loss two. seungjoon kind of hates how easily people can be categorized into neat little titles. especially since the people in question are more than just failed missions. he always hopes, deep in his heart, that he’ll find a way to bring them both back. but he’ll settle for one; the one he can actually communicate with.
a/n: 3/3 fics on my ao3 that i forgot to bring to tumblr.
warning: traumatic symptoms
yuto hates night the most, which is why waking up is the best part of his day. when he first started working, one of his grandparents had to come and physically shake him out of his slumber. but, now that his body has gotten familiar with the farm and its customs, he doesn’t need that anymore. his biological clock has taken to waking him up at 4:30 a.m. every day so he can start his chores. as his grandmother would say, the cows wait for nobody.
he doesn’t bother to wash up — he’s going to get dirty again, anyway — and instead changes into less comfortable yet more durable clothes. it’s still dark outside, and he’s too lazy to light a candle, so yuto just sort of mentally crosses his fingers and hopes his shirt isn’t buttoned the wrong way. not like it matters too much here, as the only beings he has to impress at this time are the farm animals, but he’d rather not look like an idiot in the odd chance he actually leaves the property area.
the chores themselves are so systematic they’re almost therapeutic. grab the buckets on the way out to milk the cows. one, two, three, four, and then bring them back in and exchange the full buckets for empty baskets. set the baskets beside the hen cage and go feed the inner barn first, lest the animals riot. fill the horses’ trough with hay. offer a carrot to one of them, and send a well-meaning glare at the other one who always tries to run away whenever he opens the stable. fill the cow’s trough with feed, and pat each of them gently on the nose for a job well done before heading out.
when he arrives back at the hen cage, one of the baskets is gone. sure enough, a familiar figure is crouching inside the cage, slowly yet surely collecting the eggs on the right side of the pen. “i thought i told you that i can do the morning chores by myself, now.” yuto calls, jogging towards the enclosure. “you should be resting, grandpa!”
“hush, child, i’ve been doing this since before you were born.” the old man says, waving a gloved hand in yuto’s general direction. “i know well enough how much work there is in the mornings. i don’t know why you keep insisting on doing it all by yourself.”
“you don’t even know when i was born,” yuto protests, grabbing the remaining basket and entering the enclosure. he squats by the left side of the cage and begins steadily collecting the eggs.
“at my age, trivialities like birth years don’t matter for those as young-looking as yourself.” the old man chuckles as yuto finishes checking the last nest. wordlessly, the old man offers yuto his filled basket.
he takes it with his empty hand and stands up to exit the cage. “is grandma sleeping, at least?” he asks, hopefully, waiting as the old man unlatches the cage.
the old man laughs, this time, a full bellied laugh that echoes across the open plains as he exits the cage. yuto moves one of the baskets to his other arm and single handedly fastens the latch behind himself. “son, i couldn’t stop that woman from doing what she wanted if i tried. knowing her, she’s probably waiting on these eggs to finish breakfast.” the old man says as they start their trek towards the house.
“she’d want to be awake at this time?” yuto asks, incredulously.
“that’s part of it. she’s always been the restless type, hated doing nothing when she could be doing something. but it’s also a habit. like me, and like the fine man you’re shaping up to be—”
at this, yuto smiles.
“—she can’t help but wake up when the birds start singing.” he explains, fondly.
yuto nods. “that sounds about right.” he muses. “at least, from what i know about her.”
“you’ve been here for what, a year now?” the old man asks.
“about two years, i think.” yuto corrects, not unkindly.
the old man exhales in disbelief, his breath forming a short-lived smoky cloud in the morning haze. “that long, already?” he remarks.
a pause. even after all this time, yuto still doesn’t quite know how to talk about his sudden arrival. it’s too strange to ignore, but too delicate to talk about so lightly.
yuto says nothing in return, watching the patterns his breath makes in the brisk air.
“but yes,” the old man continues, sensing the sudden tension in the air and breaking it. “you’ve been here long enough to have figured us out.”
“and i’ll be here for much longer, if you let me.” yuto says, smiling.
“is that so?” the old man asks, a note of pleasant surprise evident in his voice.
“of course? why would i want to leave?” yuto counters.
“well, doesn’t a young man like yourself want to go see the world? i was quite the wanderer myself, back when i was your age.” the old man says, a hint of a nostalgia lingering on his weathered face.
yuto’s smile falters as he tries to tamp down the sudden wave of something. vivid flashes of images flicker through his head, like an unwanted, corrupted slideshow invading the blank screen of his mind. a space station. a train. a meteor storm in the desert. seven white desks in a black room. a museum, at night, with alarms blaring. he shouldn’t know what any of these things are. why does he?
“i think i’ve had enough exploring to last me a lifetime.” yuto murmurs, pensively.
“pardon me?” the old man asks.
yuto shakes his head, breaking out of his trance as the strange moment passes. he plasters what he hopes is a convincing smile on his face. “i-it’s nothing.” he stammers, and then curses inwardly. stuttering is the opposite of casual.
it doesn’t go unnoticed. “are you sure you’re feeling alright, yuto?” the old man asks, concern painted over his features - which quickly morphs into the slightest tint of fear. “are you hearing those voi-”
“no! no, it’s not that, i promise. that was a one time thing, and a long, long time ago. i’m all better now, really!” yuto exclaims, rushing to assure the old man.
he doesn’t look convinced, but at least he doesn’t look afraid anymore. “if you’re sure about it, then.” he says, warily.
a lot of things go unsaid, but yuto understands them, anyway.
-
he hurtles into the abandoned room and frantically rummages through a filing cabinet. he’s already been here for far too long, and time is something he’s never had enough of. but he can’t leave yet. not before he finds it.
yuto doesn’t bother cleaning up after himself. no point if they already know he’s here. he shuffles through a stack of papers on the desk, allowing them to fall clumsily back into a pathetic semblance of a pile. it’s not here. it was supposed to be here. someone found it already.
a flash, and he’s stumbling out of a building. alarms are blaring, red and blue and loud and accusatory. “someone is here”, they seem to scream, insistently. demandingly. “find him, find him, find him.”
he curses and runs faster. spotting an entrance, yuto slips into a secluded alleyway where he’s certain he won’t be followed. yet judging by the hooded figure yuto senses a few feet behind, he couldn’t be more wrong. before the stranger notices, yuto unsheathes his gun. points it to the stranger’s forehead. cocks the trigger.
a flash, and asteroids are falling from the sky. his skin is dry, and his eyes and mouth sting from the dust.
“this is why we sent you back.” a voice says, echoing in his head. it’s hauntingly familiar, in a way yuto knows he should remember. in a way yuto feels like he’s heard countless times before.
“we wanted to change things,” it continues. the air begins to vibrate, the trepidation of oncoming disaster choking out his heart. yuto fights the urge to cover his ears, to collapse onto the ground and scream. “we didn’t know it would end like this.”
the voice resonates in his bones. yuto shivers, feels goosebumps angrily crawl up his skin.
“come back,” it says. it pleads.
yuto frowns, shakes his head as the ground beneath him trembles. dimly, he recognizes that the asteroids must have reached the surface. he gets the funny feeling that, should things have ended differently, he would have died here.
“please.”
-
yuto’s eyes shoot open. it’s not cold, but he’s shivering anyway.
‘no’, he realizes with a start, he’s shaking. his mouth tastes like ash: bitter and dry and unpleasant and frighteningly real. he also sort of wants to cry. it’s instinctive, like his impulse to run away and never come back.
despite having spent an entire night lying down and doing nothing but sleeping, yuto is panting as if he’s run a marathon. (or as if he’s ran into an alleyway. ran to hide. ran to— no). his heart is racing. everything is dark and uncomfortable and much, much too fast.
‘breathe in, breathe out,’ yuto thinks, begs. he attempts to force his lungs to reset into a normal, functioning pattern. it takes an embarrassingly long time, but he eventually settles into something that can pass as regular.
this is exactly why he hates the night. night is when he sleeps. when he sleeps, he dreams. and his dreams are never quite right. they’re too bright, too loud, too vivid. too real.
yet, yuto muses, the dreams are far better than the voices. with the dreams, he can squeeze his eyes shut and trick himself into ignoring them as soon as the day starts. he can busy himself with farmwork and gardening and chopping firewood to dull the pain. but he can’t ignore the voices. the variety of tones that echo in his head — a baritone drawl, a sunny chirp, a melodic velvet — all tinged with concern and saying the same sorts of things. “come back, yuto. don’t you remember? please?”
“no,” he wants to yell back, “leave me alone!” because he can’t remember. he’s tried and he’s tried, but all he gets are flashes of images that are too fantastical to be real. nothing in the world is as sleek and shiny as the buildings in his recollections. it’s almost like they’re from some sort of fairytale or alternate universe. which is entirely, completely, and utterly impossible.
voices in his head, visions in his dreams. neither are a good sign. yuto genuinely thinks he’s sane, and his grandparents do as well. not that he’s told them anything — all they know of is a single panicked episode he couldn’t hide in front of them — but their approval means the world to him all the same. they found him and took him in when he was nothing but a lost boy in a grass field who couldn’t remember anything but his own name. in yuto’s eyes, they saved his life. and he refuses to confide to them anything that could cause their honourable names to be tainted through association with an insane stranger like himself. that could bring them trouble.
yuto is perfectly functional, if you ignore the fact that he can’t wake up quite right on some days (see: today). but no one else who heard his tale would think the same. it’s why he doesn’t go out often, and prefers to spend his time in the comfortable confines of their property. here, there’s no one new to watch if he has another episode. if he doesn’t want to get thrown into an asylum, or cause his grandparents any more unnecessary concern, he needs to eradicate whatever it is that’s screwing with his head. and if he can’t do that, he needs to be careful. but how much longer can he keep this up for?
he picks up a pillow and mashes it into his face. it’s the wrong kind of dark right now; not the fuzzy dark of dawn, but the black and shrouding dark of nighttime. yuto can afford to sleep a little longer. or, in any case, he can afford to try.
yuto squeezes his eyes shut and pretends that everything is okay.
-
“are you watching his feed again?” hyojin’s voice asks. seungjoon doesn’t bother to turn around.
he feels more than hears hyojin’s footsteps approaching, before two arms grab the back of seungjoon’s chair. hyojin leans over to watch the screen. “stop pushing me down,” seungjoon mutters, swatting blindly behind him.
“i’m only touching your chair?” hyojin protests, grabbing seungjoon’s arms and shoving them down. seungjoon sighs, but acquiesces and stops trying to hit him.
they stay there like that for a moment, sitting or standing, and simply watch the screen. yuto is looking at a pile of freshly picked corn in the candlelight. he picks one up, deftly unshucks it, and places it in a neat little stack that is forming on the side.
“do you want to go get dinner?” hyojin offers, unmoving.
“i’m not hungry,” seungjoon replies, eyes still glued to the screen.
“when’s the last time you’ve eaten?” hyojin asks. seungjoon doesn’t reply.
hyojin hums, tapping a short rhythm where his fingers rest in the chair. “i know you hate it when i say this, but you watching him isn’t going to do anything.” he waits for a reaction, any reaction, but seungjoon remains silent.
“this isn’t part of your job,” hyojin continues. “we have people monitoring him 24/7, and you’re the first person that they notify if anything happens. you’re not allowed to communicate with him while he’s awake, anyway. the CEO himself ordered it, so you don’t have the authority to override it. and we really don’t want a repeat of last time.”
seungjoon pushes his bangs back with his off hand and exhales, shutting his eyes. right, last time.
an inhumane screaming noise, loud and painful and entirely yuto.
an elderly couple crouching in front of him, repeatedly asking him how they can help.
his heart rate, his blood pressure, both spiked up to a concerningly high rate. his vitals alarm is blaring. the cameras in yuto’s eyes don’t reveal yuto himself, and seungjoon wonders, with a grim sense of dread, how he’d be feeling if he could see the state yuto was in himself.
they really, really don’t want a repeat of last time. hyojin’s right. he knows it, hyojin knows it, and he knows that hyojin knows that he knows it.
“the entire unit is worried for you. at first we thought this was a coping mechanism that would help you get better, but you’re only getting more stressed. it’s okay to take a break, but it’s not okay to keep working only to drop all your responsibilities. have you realized that you’ve left jaeyoung to single handedly take care of your team’s duties?”
seungjoon curses under his breath, finally turning around. “ah, shoot, i didn’t mean to do that.”
“i know. we sent minkyun over to help him out. he asked me not to bring it up, but you need to realize what you’re doing.” hyojin says, jamming his hands into his hoodie pocket.
“it’s just—” seungjoon starts, and just as suddenly stops. he flails his hands in the air a little, desperately trying to convey the hopelessness and frustration that’s suddenly welled in his throat. has breathing always been this hard?
hyojin nods, perfectly understanding. it’s amazing what over a decade of friendship will do for you. “take your time,” he says, patiently.
seungjoon takes a deep breath. and another one. collects his thoughts into some semblance of coherency. opens his mouth.
“this is different from ... minseok.” he begins, ignoring the way hyojin flinches a little. seungjoon feels the same.
“minseok was both our responsibilities. but yuto, he’s mine. and we didn’t even lose communication this time. but we can’t send him back to reboot his memories without his permission, and he doesn’t even remember how to give permission in the first place. i just have to sit and watch as he feeds some stupid cows or harvest some stupid crops! he is one of the smartest people in this agency and he’s farming? i just - ugh, i want him back.”
seungjoon kicks the wall underneath the computer desk. to his dismay, it barely makes a noise. he’s not any less frustrated, and he’s definitely just bruised his toe.
hyojin nods again, seemingly satisfied with seungjoon’s outburst of emotion. “it’s the first time you’ve been open to any of us in a while.” he comments, pensively.
seungjoon doesn’t grace him with a response. that cheeky little brat.
“i’m picking up dinner. is jajangmyeon alright?” hyojin asks abruptly.
“what?” seungjoon says.
“not a question. i’ll be back with the food in five minutes. oh, and i ordered tangsuyuk too.” hyojin states, pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking it.
“have you forgotten that we’re not supposed to eat food around the very expensive computers?” seungjoon asks, raising his eyebrows.
hyojin’s lips quirk into a half smile. “since when have you and i followed the rules when it comes to food?”
seungjoon opens his mouth, and closes it. he chooses to nod instead. he couldn’t argue with that flawless logic even if he tried.
as hyojin walks out, another agent walks in, holding a clipboard to his chest with his arm. seungjoon frowns; he thought he knew everyone in his division, but he doesn’t recognize the man who just came in. “are you looking for someone?” seungjoon offers, tentatively.
“oh, no, i’ve just been stationed here.” the agent says, glancing down at his clipboard. “i’ve been told that tonight i have to monitor agent YO-425-83 —”
at this, seungjoon stiffens.
“— and orchestrate his dreams.” the strange agent finishes, unaware of the inner conflict that’s just risen in seungjoon’s brain.
seungjoon tries a smile. it feels forced and awkward on his face, but he hopes the other agent doesn’t notice. “were you debriefed on exactly how you were to do this?” seungjoon asks, his voice restrained and thick.
“somewhat, yes. i was given a file,” he starts, procuring a USB drive out of seemingly thin air, “and i was told to play the video into his memory feed. the rest, they said, was self-explanatory.”
oh. this is dangerous. seungjoon should most definitely not sit here and watch whatever memories they try to feed into yuto’s brain. he’s not mentally strong enough to handle it. it’s one thing to watch yuto on the farm, where he is a completely different person who never knew seungjoon or his life as an agent. it is another thing entirely to watch him be the person who he once was, only to have that fleeting image ripped out of seungjoon’s incapable hands yet again.
but seungjoon couldn’t stop himself from watching if he tried.
“may i monitor the process?” he decides to ask, rummaging through his bag propped up on another chair before pulling out his special badge. “i’m a supervisor, and this is a very delicate mission, so, as it’s your first time doing this, i’d like to ensure nothing goes wrong.”
the agent’s eyes widen. “y-yes, uh— of c-course, sir!” he stammers, fumbling over his words before dropping into a hasty bow. “i am so sorry, if i had known—”
seungjoon raises a hand, backing away from yuto’s monitoring computer and gesturing towards it. “no need to worry, you’ve done nothing wrong. now, why don’t you set up the system? we wouldn’t want to be late.”
the new agent hastens to oblige, pulling another chair in front of the computer before inserting the USB drive and typing furiously. the password screen clears, replaced by the thumbnail of the yuto’s dream’s video. it’s black, which gives no indication as to how this is going to go.
“would you like a headset, sir?” the agent offers, holding one out. “or do you not need to hear how the dream is going to monitor it?”
“thank you,” seungjoon says, putting the headset on and noticing how it cancels out the whirring of the computers and other white noises. for better or for worse, he is going to be fully immersed in this dream.
seungjoon holds his breath as the agent presses play.
it’s the strangest set of memories, and for once, seungjoon has no clue what the CEO was thinking. he can faintly recall where the scenes were from, though, based on the stories yuto had told. he’s searching for the key in an abandoned apartment. he’s investigating a fully secured museum, escaping from the alarms. he’s running from the authorities, hiding in a not-so-abandoned alleyway as he holds a gun to changyoon’s head, not realizing who it is. how is this supposed to help yuto gain his memories back, again?
the scene changes once more, and the proceeding image sends a chill up his spine. seungjoon curses, soft and low. it’s the asteroids; the reason why yuto had to go back and change things; the reason why he isn’t in this time and place anymore. if he could, seungjoon would take to a space station and destroy every single asteroid that ever dared to exist. every single stupid chunk of rock that stole parts of his life away. almost subconsciously, seungjoon switches the microphone on his headset to ‘on’.
“this is why we sent you back,” seungjoon says, sadly. dream yuto stills, says nothing, does nothing.
“sir?” the other agent asks in confusion. seungjoon ignores him.
“we wanted to change things,” he continues, watching as the asteroids get closer and closer to the ground. “we didn’t know it would end like this.”
‘didn’t know that you would be stuck in the past,’ seungjoon wants to add, but can’t. the last time they gave such a direct clue, yuto had an episode. he never wants to see yuto in pain like that again.
dream yuto shivers. for a second, seungjoon allows himself to hope that his words are working. that, once this is all over, yuto will activate the ‘return’ signal like he’s always been able to do.
“come back,” seungjoon pleads, letting the desperation bleed into his words.
dream yuto shakes his head, and it’s with a horrible jolt that seungjoon realizes the dream is coming to a close. before the moment ends, seungjoon squeaks out one last word.
“please.”
the dream stops.
seungjoon slumps back and stares at the monitor for a tense second. nothing happens. he pulls off his headset, gently placing it on the desk in front of him, and angrily swipes at the tears that have been rolling down his face.
-
hyojin drove him home.
he had taken one look at seungjoon’s miserable state and the computer in front of him before piecing together what he had missed. hyojin offered a brisk apology to the baffled, new agent in front of him before gathering his mess of a friend and declaring the work day over. seungjoon was in no position to disagree.
“take a nap. or watch a movie, or eat the jajangmyeon i put in your fridge, or whatever. but if i see you back at work today, i will end you.” hyojin threatened before cheerfully exiting.
seungjoon flops down on his bed, suddenly exhausted. he squeezes his eyes shut and pretends that everything is okay. wonders if, maybe, somewhere across time and space, someone out there is doing the same.
a collection of small moments where minkyun falls a little in love with the world.
inspired by this tumblr post that for the life of me i cannot find the link to, but here’s a link to an instagram post that screenshotted it.
a/n: 2/3 of posts i put on my ao3 that have not made it to my tumblr.
1.
‘the best and worst part of mangwon-dong is the strays,’ minkyun decides as he walks around the area. best, because he gets to see, pet, and feed all of these animals every day after practice; worst, because he knows all of these animals are not getting proper care. strays are smart and wily and more than capable of fending for themselves, but minkyun firmly believes that just because they are able to do so does not mean they should have to.
he worries about them every day. worries when it’s cold, worries when it’s too hot, worries when it rains. minkyun is a very small person who can only do very small things, but he tries to do his part regardless. which means making rounds to feed as many strays as he can with the cat food container he has in his hand.
he knows most stray cats congregate around the alleys beside convenience stores (probably hoping for the crumbs of the people who eat around it) so he heads to the first convenience store he sees. sure enough, there’s a cat sitting by the corner. it’s pitifully thin, a fact that makes minkyun’s heart clench. it’s also been thoroughly ignored by the past two customers who have walked out of the store. “you’d think they would at least spare it a glance,” minkyun mutters, dryly.
he is maybe fifty meters away when he sees a well dressed woman kneel in front of the cat. she produces a treat out of seemingly thin air and offers it to the cat, who eagerly accepts. when the cat finishes it, she pulls another one out of her pocket. ‘oh’, minkyun realizes, stopping in his tracks, ‘her pockets are filled with cat treats.’
for just a second, he falls a little in love with the air of kindness that seems to viscerally surround her. she’s dressed like an office worker and looks to be his mother’s age, but she’s taking her time where she could be working or resting to feed the stray cats. he hasn’t met many adults who would do the same. maybe minkyun is a very small person who can only do very small things, but knowing that he is not the only small person in this very big world brings him all the comfort he could ever need.
2.
minkyun is reminded, once again, that he works in an industry where viewers find pleasure in his misery. he hates, hates, hates haunted houses. always has, always will. but this is one of their first vlives after their debut, and he figures that running away sobbing will not make a great first impression. at least he isn’t alone, though, since he has jaeyoung to accompany him. brave, reliable, jaeyoung, who will most definitely have to stand in the front because there is no way minkyun is going to brave the unknown first.
jaeyoung, to his credit, is exceptionally patient with minkyun. he dutifully ignores minkyun’s protests of how he can’t go in there and talks over his very loud thoughts with miscellaneous thoughts of his own. “hold on, i have to film us both,” jaeyoung says to no one in particular. “should i hold the camera? you can hold the box.”
minkyun doesn’t grace him with an answer.
jaeyoung frets over turning on the lights to show their faces and angling the camera to show their faces before managing to adequately sort it all out. “alright, let’s go.” he says decisively.
“no, i’m not going.” minkyun says, in a last ditch attempt to convince himself that he has the courage to stay behind and disappoint his group, fans, and agency. he doesn’t, but self preservation is a nice thought.
“i get it, but there’s nothing we can do. let’s go. stay behind me.” jaeyoung says, not unkindly, and minkyun has no choice but to agree.
the further they go, the darker it gets, and minkyun is not a fan of how every offputting sound seems to be amplified by the eerie aura of the facility. all he has is a flashlight that the leaders hinted would be useless later on, and a camera for video evidence if anything goes wrong. he also doesn’t like how desperately his hands seem to grip at the back of jaeyoung’s shirt, but he can’t find it in himself to let go.
‘you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,’ he silently chants to himself as jaeyoung makes small talk with the camera while some mystical recorded voice explains their mission. he nervously looks behind him every few seconds, but that’s more of an anxiety thing and less of an actual threat. but his nonexistent composure gets shot to pieces the second something makes a funny noise.
minkyun is nothing if not wonderfully responsive so he screams. loudly. all his little dumb brain can process is a never ending stream of ‘panic panic panic’ and who is he to override his baser instincts?
it only gets worse from there. more things start to make funny noises and more indiscernible shapes he can barely see start to appear out of nowhere. his mind screams louder, ‘PANIC PANIC PANIC’ and it’s only fueled by all the unfamiliar stimulus. he is not safe, there’s too many things happening at once, his heart is pounding to some terrible off kilter rhythm and the air is thick and heavy and he’s drowning in the soupy fear that’s latching his jaw shut as he blindly edges forwards and -
thud.
for a long, horrible, moment, it’s too quiet. then -
he doesn’t quite process exactly what he sees, only that it’s unnatural and frightening and suddenly all he knows how to do is scream and scream and scream as the fear paralyzes him. if it wasn’t for jaeyoung faithfully tugging him along, he never would have made it through the stupid corridor.
the rest of the mission is all a hazy blur. he figures that his mind did him a favour and deleted the memories from his head right afterwards, and he’s not complaining. and if he’s not quite right for the rest if the day, that’s nobody’s business.
he watches the reuploaded live on the very next day. he hates himself a little for how weak and cowardly he seems compared to all the other members, but all of the comments seem to call him the funniest idol they’ve ever felt sorry for while watching. minkyun wonders, again, if he should be proud of providing entertainment or resentful for what he had to go through to provide it.
his bitter thoughts are cut short once the biggest scare occurs. video minkyun is screaming like some sort of unholy banshee while video jaeyoung is screaming like a normal person, but video jaeyoung braves on. “it’s okay, i’m here, hold on,” video jaeyoung mutters, over and over again. it’s a soothing mantra and minkyun can almost see his recorded self calming down a little, settling into something outside of his raw, unadulterated panic. it doesn’t last for long, because video minkyun seems to always find another thing to cry about, but video jaeyoung is steadfast in his patience and reassurances as he keeps the two of them going.
real minkyun falls a little in love with the overwhelming sense of reassurance and comfort that video jaeyoung exuded. he had never fully recognized that side of jaeyoung before. the feeling passes, but minkyun thinks he’ll notice that part of him a lot more from now on.
3.
minkyun is not a stranger to busking. he was in a short program about busking with the rest of his group, and he’d seen people busking on the sides of streets before. he’d even been brave enough to sing a short tune on a street, but that was before he was an idol and before anyone knew his face. not that many people know his face now, but he has to act as though everyone does anyway. he’s seen what the media does to provide entertainment to the masses, and, despite doubting that busking could do him any real harm, doesn’t want to take the chance.
but that doesn’t stop him from pausing near any busker he comes across, listening or watching whatever the performer has to offer. it takes a certain caliber of courage to put yourself out there in front of an audience who didn’t ask to see you, and minkyun will openly admire and respect that whenever he can.
today is a good day. it’s as quiet and peaceful as the streets in korea can get, and he’s enjoying the cool autumn breeze as he walks towards the company building, cat food in tow. he was running low on food for the strays, and he happened to wake up earlier than he needed to for his afternoon vocal lesson, anyway. by some rare tendril of luck, minkyun can afford to enjoy and prolong his walk for another hour or so.
he’s halfway to the company, approaching an intersection, when he sees a boy in a high school uniform fiddling with strings on his guitar. the crotchety old man inside of minkyun protests - this kid should be in school, it’s class time, he’s not even trying to hide it - before it deflates and dies down. minkyun has so many friends who delayed or skipped high school altogether to become idols. even the ones that did “attend” missed a ridiculous amount of days. he should be the last person to complain.
minkyun almost misses it when the boy begins to sing, caught up in his conflicting thoughts. but once he hears it, he halts altogether.
it’s been a while since he’s heard someone sing so … honestly.
minkyun has spent a lot of his life learning the art of composure. he’s been taught time and time again how to correct his breathing, or how to widen his range, or how to emphasize the right notes at the right times to convey the right emotions. once he gathered some semblance of the basics, he even began to notice it in singers he hears on tv. this one turned her sustained high note into a vibrato by relaxing her throat. that one decrescendoed at the end of his phrase to give more finality to the note. even with professional singers who were supposed to be masters at conveying profound emotions, all minkyun heard was an amalgamation of techniques.
but this boy. he has no technique whatever.
without intending to, minkyun begins mentally critiquing his choices. he should have held that last note for at least half a beat longer. he should have emphasized that syllable. he should have -
‘no’, minkyun thinks, and this thought is louder and more final than the rest. he shouldn’t have done any of that. he shouldn’t have to do any of that. this boy’s voice, his clumsy guitar, and the honest and genuine emotion it conveys, is perfect the way it is. rather, it’s perfect because it is. it’s refreshing to listen so mindlessly and yet so carefully to a song, for once.
minkyun falls a little in love with the way the boy sings, but more so with the music he provides. it’s been a while since he’s felt this way about a song. it’s been a while since he’s remembered why he wanted to become an idol in the first place.
he dumps all of his change in the boy’s guitar case and walks away.
hyojin wholeheartedly loves space; the big kind, like the sky and the planets and the brilliant, brilliant stars, but also the small kind, like the time he gets to himself when everything screams louder than it should.
mildly inspired by on the run LA ep 22, time stamp 10:25
a/n: i’ve posted this on ao3 and have since orphaned it (due to unnecessary worrying) so if you recognize it, that’s likely why.
warning: mentions of exhaustion / depressive symptoms
on days when practice runs late (which is almost every day when you don’t know when to stop; a trait hyojin admits he has but refuses to see the problem with), hyojin likes to look at the sky. when he’s feeling lazy, or when dance practice is exceptionally gruelling, he can only really manage to make it to the nearest window and do his best to look up and over the surrounding building’s walls. but when he’s feeling particularly active, he’ll take the stairs up to the rooftop patio and enjoy the sight. from there, he has a clear, unobstructed, view.
not that it’s all that clear, though. light pollution, residual smog, and occasionally cloudy skies mask what hyojin imagines would be a stunning scene without. he’s looked up some night sky pictures on nasa’s official gallery, and they were absolutely breathtaking. so were their ridiculously high quality photos of the solar system, and the milky way, and all the constellations. he has these images saved in a neat little folder on his phone, for days when his own view doesn’t cut it. one day, hyojin would like to see them in real life. maybe he could visit an actual observatory with professional telescopes.
but as it stands, all hyojin can see from his place on earth is the moon, and, if he’s lucky, a couple of stars. on most days, that’s enough. he can observe how far along the lunar cycle the moon is, and he can close his eyes and make a tiny wish to the first star he saw that night. he’s not sure if his wishes help — luck is a fickle thing that he’s never quite had enough of — but he figures it can’t hurt. and after his little ritual, he can return back to his practice room or his dorm with a peaceful mind. he’s here. he’s grounded. he has a more or less beautiful sky to look at. on most days, that’s enough.
but on other days, it’s not. like today.
for one, it’s not even nighttime. a glance at the clock in the practice room tells him that it’s 17:34, which he eventually translates into 5:34 p.m.. it’s much too early to look to the sky for comfort, and it is definitely much too early for the type of crisis that hyojin normally only gets very late at night or very early in the morning. the ones where he can’t do anything besides sit in place like some useless tree stump while he questions his life.
“do you want to go get dinner?”
hyojin hates wasting time, so he doesn’t let them happen often, but every now and then one sneaks by him. especially when he’s overworked and tired and doesn’t have the energy to fight it off. he’s not sure what’s happening just yet, but he can sense that familiar, unsettling feeling simmering somewhere very near.
“hyung, you good?” hyojin hears, and he jolts in place where he’s sitting on the practice room floor. yuto’s looking down at him, all wide eyed and polite, and seungjoon is draped over the poor boy’s back.
“yeah, sorry, i was just … thinking.” hyojin replies lamely, cursing himself for his lack of a better explanation. all of these thoughts, and not a single one is of any use outside of his head.
“seungjoon hyung asked if you were getting dinner with us, but you didn’t answer.” yuto continues. hyojin pauses to process this, before noticing just how quiet the room is. a glance around the room confirms his suspicions; the room is empty, save for the three of them. “where did everyone else go?” hyojin asks.
“jaeyoung and minkyun said they were going to the studio after practice today to work on a new song, remember? and changyoon went to start a vlive. they all said goodbye before they left?” seungjoon explains.
huh. hyojin doesn’t recall any of this. “right, now i remember!” hyojin lies, perhaps a bit too eagerly. he can feel seungjoon staring at him, but he avoids the impulse to look back and stubbornly maintains eye contact with yuto instead.
“so … dinner?” yuto asks.
hyojin hesitates. he is hungry, but going out to eat means talking to someone to order. it means maintaining a conversation with his members, or at the very least keeping up with what they’re talking about. they’re usually really good at sensing when doesn’t want to talk, and they never push him, but hyojin doesn’t want to show off how drained he’s feeling at the moment. just thinking about it makes his head hurt.
“i don’t really want to go out today.” hyojin confesses. seungjoon and yuto nod together like a pair of synchronized bobble heads. cute.
“i’m kind of getting a headache, so i think i’ll head back to the dorm for a bit and take a nap. maybe i can go live sometime today, too. did anyone say they wanted to go after changyoon?” hyojin asks.
“no, i don’t think so.” seungjoon replies, which causes hyojin to accidentally make eye contact with him. darn. seungjoon can be ridiculously perceptive when he wants to be, especially when it comes to reading him. hyojin is not in the mood to be read right now.
seungjoon must come to some sort of conclusion in his head, because he stops staring at hyojin with that weird, ambiguous gaze. “i’ll drop some food off at your place after we’re done. that kimchi fried rice and those dumplings you like.” seungjoon says decisively, before pushing himself off from yuto’s back. “are you coming down with us, at least?”
“yeah, let’s go.” hyojin mumbles as he stands up. his muscles are sore, more likely a result of yesterday’s practice than today’s. the teachers went particularly hard yesterday. it was this constant series of ‘again, again, again’ for all these minuscule details that even yuto seemed to have a hard time catching. but they were much better afterwards because of it, so hyojin figures he shouldn’t complain.
he’s happy to listen to yuto and seungjoon babble about dance practice as they walk down the stairs; partially because he loves hearing the passion in their voices as they discuss how they want to present themselves, and partially because he doesn’t think he has the power to sustain a conversation right now. thankfully, neither of the two push him to say anything. he’s not sure whether it’s because he said he was getting a headache or because they can sense something is actually off with him, but he’s grateful nonetheless.
hyojin remembers to smile and say goodbye when he parts ways with seungjoon and yuto. then, he puts his phone on do not disturb before starting his trek home. he doesn’t want to talk to anyone just yet.
-
hyojin sits down on his bed and he doesn’t cry. he simply thinks.
sometimes he feels like a fake. he’s been told by dozens of people that his singing voice is so emotional. that it conveys a depth of feeling that’s heart wrenchingly beautiful when it needs to be, and technically perfect when it doesn’t. and he’s grateful for that, he truly is. but sometimes, he worries that it isn’t enough.
not that he doesn’t express emotions, because he does. he knows he does. anyone who’s observed hyojin long enough can see it. but the one thing he feels like he hasn’t openly expressed is sadness. which is understandable, after all, since he’s an idol. people come to him and his music for comfort, not to hear him complain. but he’s starting to believe that his absolute inability to convey this basic emotion is what’s causing all of his weird crises.
hyojin wishes he could cry. but he hasn’t cried in so long that he fears he no longer knows how to. bottled up emotions don’t free themselves easily, not when he’s tightened the cap so hard and so often that he’s not sure where the bottle ends and the cap begins.
‘don’t you feel bad?’ he chides himself.
‘yes,’ his inner voice croaks.
‘then prove it,’ he thinks. he challenges himself. he demands.
hyojin doesn’t cry, so he stands up. it’s time for him to get a grip on himself. he takes a shower and changes into comfortable clothes. he doesn't have anything else to do for the rest of the day, so he tries to take a nap as well. it’s hard at first — he’s oddly cold under the power of the air conditioning (that he never bothered to learn how to turn off) and his mind is still whirring with empty, useless, thoughts — but his sheer exhaustion overpowers it all as he falls into a shallow, troubled rest.
-
when he wakes up, his room is much darker then it was before. he reaches out for his phone, his hand haphazardly scrabbling for purchase on his nightstand before finally picking it up. squinting, he manages to read the time: 8:19 p.m.. cool, so he got around two hours of sleep. he figures that’s not too bad. he got four the other day when he was actually trying to go to bed.
for a moment, hyojin contemplates attempting to sleep again before deciding against it. he’s a little drowsy, but he’s not physically tired anymore. with that in mind, he gets up, slips his phone in his pocket, and opens his bedroom door. he could use a cup of water.
the lights are on somewhere out there, which hyojin guesses probably means that changyoon is on the couch playing kart rider or something. his assumption is proven to be correct when he spots changyoon, in sweatpants and a t-shirt, mumbling under his breath at his phone.
“what are you doing?” hyojin asks, turning towards the kitchen to pour himself some water. just before he looks away, he sees changyoon flinch. “n-nothing, i was just texting minkyun,” he hears changyoon stammer awkwardly.
hyojin pauses. suspicious. changyoon is definitely hiding something. hyojin considers confronting his roommate, but before he gets the chance to do so he feels his stomach grumble. right, he skipped dinner.
“did you already eat?” hyojin asks instead, taking his cup of water with him as he walks to the couch. it’s then that he notices the nearly empty takeout box of dumplings on the coffee table.
“never mind, i guess you have.” hyojin answers himself, putting his cup on the table and sitting down next to changyoon. “hmm, what should i eat?”
“oh, right!” changyoon says, popping the last dumpling in his mouth and standing up. “i ran into seungjoon and yuto on the way here. they gave me some takeout for you,” he explains as he walks to the fridge.
hyojin had forgotten about that, but he remembers now. “yeah, i think he said he was going to do that. kimchi fried rice and dumplings, right?” hyojin asks. he could really go for some dumplings right about now, especially after seeing changyoon eating.
changyoon freezes. “o-oh, so seungjoon told you,” he chuckles nervously, pulling a clear plastic bag out of the fridge and bringing it back to where hyojin is sitting on the couch. he’s trembling, which is odd. hyojin already has a very bad feeling about this, but he doesn’t want to say anything yet. surely changyoon wouldn’t do something so dumb as to -
“where are my dumplings?” hyojin demands, after opening the styrofoam container and only finding fried rice. he looks inside the empty plastic bag one more time, just to be sure (they’re not there), before glancing at the empty styrofoam container that changyoon was eating out of before. funnily enough, it’s the same type of takeout box as his fried rice container.
“you ate my dumplings?” hyojin shrieks, immediately grabbing a pillow from the couch. changyoon has already wisely retreated to the very end of the room, but hyojin wastes no time in lunging to where changyoon escaped to with agility akin to his deer nickname. changyoon futilely attempts to dart out of the way, but hyojin manages to grasp the collar of his shirt with one hand while he smacks changyoon with the pillow in his other hand. “what - were - you - thinking?” hyojin hisses, punctuating each word with a thump from the pillow. he notices that changyoon is covering his head, so he makes sure to hit the deserving food thief extra hard.
“i’m sorry, i’m sorry!” changyoon wails as he drops to the ground to shield himself further. “i was hungry!”
“and you thought to take my food, you jerk?” hyojin yells, dropping and holding changyoon down with his knee while he continues to bash him with the pillow. “you didn’t even leave any behind for me!”
“i’m sorry, i’m sor- ow! stop hitting me, please, i’ll buy you more dumplings!” changyoon begs, and it’s enough for hyojin to graciously let changyoon go. “you better,” hyojin threatens, standing up. “you’re lucky i’m weak right now, you brat.”
“i’m sorry, what? you call that weak?” changyoon asks incredulously, sitting up and leaning back on his hands. “was that pillow made out of rocks?”
“if i hadn’t just woken up, and i wasn’t so hungry …” hyojin trails off.
“you know what, i don’t even want to think about it,” changyoon decides. “but the food stall closes at 10, so we should get going if you want the dumplings tonight.”
“i’m sorry, we?” hyojin asks incredulously. “why do i have to go out?
“don’t you want to personally make sure i get the right ones?” changyoon offers.
“no, because i can tell you right now which ones i want — pork, by the way — and if you forget you can text me.” hyojin says.
“but i don’t want to go outside alone! it’s dark, and it’s scary!”
“sucks for you, then, you shouldn’t have eaten my food in the first place. and since when have you been scared of the dark?”
“please?” changyoon asks. “i’ll buy you ice cream if you do.”
hyojin pauses. ice cream does sound really good right now. “okay, fine.” he decides. “but i’m not changing.”
“yeah, me neither. the food stall lady has known us for forever, though, so it’s probably fine.” changyoon reasons, standing up. “let me get my wallet and then we can go.”
“okay,” hyojin agrees. “i need to fix my hair anyways, it’s probably a mess.”
hyojin manages to tidy up his bedhead/warrior hair and find a cap in his room, but changyoon still hasn’t come out yet. “are you coming?” hyojin calls, walking out of his room to sit on the couch. he picks up his unfinished glass of water and takes a sip. he wouldn’t want to have damaged his throat after his screaming fit.
changyoon walks into the living room, looking sheepish. “so, um, how mad would you be if i told you that i think i left my wallet at the company?”
“yeah, uh, i just realized i left my coat in the room where i did my vlive, and i normally carry my wallet in my pocket.” changyoon explains, before wincing. maybe he was expecting to get hit again?
hyojin sighs. “it’s fine. it’s on the way, anyway. let’s go?” he asks, before downing what’s left of his drink and standing up.
changyoon nods happily. “you’re the best and i love you?” he offers.
hyojin pushes changyoon. “ew. you can be sappy after i’ve eaten,” he laughs. “now get me some food.”
-
“come in with me?” changyoon asks, once they’re in front of WM. “i swear i saw the ghost last time, and i don’t want to face it alone.”
“well, why do i have to see it?” hyojin grumbles, but he opens the door for changyoon anyway. hyojin’s not heartless enough to ditch him, especially when he’s buying him food. but if he’s being really honest, he’d accompany changyoon regardless.
“what room did you leave your stuff in?” hyojin asks as they climb up the stairs, before coming to a realization.
“should we have asked the security guards for the keys?” hyojin pauses, before turning around. “wait, we should have, hold on, let’s go back -“
“wait!” changyoon calls, his voice amplified in the empty stairwell. hyojin reaches to cover his ears.
“oh, sorry, that was too loud,” changyoon realizes belatedly. “but trust me, we don’t need the keys.”
“what do you mean we don’t need the keys? the security guards always lock everything up after the office workers leave.” hyojin says, puzzled.
“minkyun’s in that room, he’s the one that told me i left my sweater there.” changyoon explains, as he continues to climb the stairs. instinctively, hyojin follows him.
“but why didn’t you tell me before? you could have told me that minkyun was there when you said that you left your wallet here.” hyojin asks.
“well i - uh, i forgot?” changyoon stammers.
hyojin frowns. changyoon is somehow being even more suspicious then when he ate hyojin’s dumplings, which is very confusing. something about his words are not adding up. he opens his mouth to ask something else, before being interrupted by changyoon.
“okay, we’re here!” changyoon exclaims, opening the door. except it doesn’t lead to the second or third floor like hyojin had expected.
“why are we on the roof?” hyojin asks, following changyoon before stopping in his tracks.
“oh hey, you’re here!” minkyun exclaims.
except it’s not just minkyun. the rest of the members are all there, bizarrely sitting in a circle on a large blanket on the roof. there’s various soda cans scattered around the edge of their huddle, and a couple of chip bags lie in the middle. if hyojin didn’t know better, he’d guess by the food that it was a poorly prepared picnic or a decently prepared sleepover.
“what …?” hyojin trails off in confusion.
next to him, changyoon breathes a sigh of relief and runs towards the rest of the members. “i am never doing this again. that was the most stressful hour or whatever of my life. i am incapable of lying, i swear he almost caught me twice, i have aged because of this -“
“oh, be quiet, this was your fault anyway.” minkyun snaps, but without a single hint of malice in his voice.
“so, um?” hyojin asks, frozen in place, as changyoon and minkyun bicker in the background. “what?”
“well, uh, this might sound pretty dumb, but you were really out of it in practice today.” jaeyoung starts, standing up and walking towards him. the rest of them do the same, abandoning their drinks and their snacks. “you were listening to what the teacher said and doing the dance moves correctly and everything, but it was like you weren’t actually there? you didn’t even say ‘bye’ back when minkyun and i left.”
darn. he was being obvious. hyojin opens his mouth, ready to give some kind of excuse, but seungjoon cuts him off.
“we wanted to ask you about it, but we didn’t know what to say and we didn’t want to make it awkward for you. and you mentioned how looking at the sky clears your mind, right? so we thought it would be nice to stargaze together? except it’s really cloudy …” seungjoon trails off.
hyojin looks up. seungjoon’s right, he can barely see the moon behind the clouds, let alone any stars. but the mere fact that his members came together and planned this in the first place is really, really nice.
hyojin looks around again and thinks. he knows for a fact that no one had chips at their dorm (seungjoon recently confiscated them all and donated them to the staff when he was feeling particularly sensitive about his self induced diet), so someone had went out and bought all the snacks so they’d have something to eat. someone had brought drinks so they wouldn’t get thirsty. someone had lugged this very big blanket up many flights of stairs so they’d have someplace clean to sit. someone had suggested doing this because they thought he felt bad, and someone had planned the event, even taking care to keep it a secret, to make him feel better. and they did this in their spare time, instead of practicing more or taking a well deserved break, for him.
they planned this all for him.
jaeyoung takes his silence as a bad thing, and hurriedly chimes in. “i mean, this might not have been what you were thinking of when you said you liked the galaxy, and we can always do something else! we don’t have a group practice tomorrow anyway, so we can do something fun tonight.”
“no, no! i’m just … this is good. actually, this is perfect. i - you didn’t have to do this, but it’s really thoughtful, and i?” hyojin buffers, completely lost for words.
seungjoon takes his arm. “you can just say thank you, and come sit with us.” he laughs, guiding hyojin back to their blanket where they’ve conveniently left a space for him to sit.
yuto hands him a coke as he takes his place, and hyojin wordlessly opens it and takes a sip. “thank you,” hyojin says, after a short pause. “i’m serious. this is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.”
“you’re always trying to take care of us, yeah? we can do this for you.” minkyun says, and it’s so thoughtful hyojin winces a little. he’s not in the right headspace to vent about his emotions right now. he’s not even sure if he has the right words for them. maybe later, when he has them sorted out in his head, he’ll share them with the others. but for now, he just wants to spend some time together, in each other's proximity.
hyojin normally looks to the sky to clear his head, but for once, his mind is blissfully empty. something about this entire situation brings him genuine peace and he’s extremely grateful for that. it’s not like he tries to overthink or overwork himself, but he somehow ends up overdoing things anyway. very rarely does hyojin let himself sit back and just do things. very rarely does hyojin let himself be content with just being enough, and not more. right here and right now, though, hyojin feels like enough.
“so that’s why changyoon ate my dumplings.” hyojin realizes belatedly.
the rooftop was silent before, but somehow it becomes even quieter. “changyoon stole your food?” yuto whispers in horror.
“okay, in my defence!” changyoon screams, raising his hand. “i wouldn’t have had to resort to this if you guys didn’t make me bring him here! you know i’m bad at lying, and you still chose me! i needed a reason to be nervous in front of him!”
“and you’re still alive?” seungjoon asks, shocked. “after eating his food?”
“barely.” changyoon complains. “he makes a pillow hurt.”
“i knew you wouldn’t be so dumb as to eat my food for no reason.” hyojin mutters under his breath.
“do you know how many times i nearly had a heart attack because of you?” changyoon begins, pointing an accusatory finger at hyojin. “when you came out of your room i was so stressed. we were all texting each other trying to make plans, and i was eating your food, and i had to pretend i was texting minkyun about something normal and not this whole surprise event. and then i had to make a dumb excuse to get you here, and i said i left my wallet in my coat — why would i even wear a coat, it’s summer?”
hyojin didn’t even notice that. probably because he was so caught up on the food he was missing that he didn’t even see the signs right in front of him.
“i realized it the second after i said it, but i’m so grateful you didn’t call me out for it. and then you asked me about the keys, and of course we didn’t need the keys because everyone was already here, so i had to make up another lie about minkyun, except it didn’t even make sense because i totally would have mentioned it before, and this was just an overall traumatic experience. kim hyojin, never ask me another question again.” changyoon finishes dramatically.
“but we wouldn’t have made you do this alone if you didn’t try to add hyojin to the group chat. this is technically your own fault.” minkyun points out, and hyojin frowns. “what groupchat?” hyojin asks.
“you didn’t get the notifications?” seungjoon asks, and hyojin shakes his head.
“so seungjoon tried to make a groupchat with all the members except you so we could figure out what to do together, right?” minkyun starts. “but changyoon, this absolute idiot, literally asks, ‘oh, why aren’t we just using the groupchat we already have’ and adds you. why do you think we left him out in the first place?”
“it was an honest mistake!” changyoon whines. “anyone could have done it!”
“but you did it.” minkyun teases, and changyoon stutters out excuses.
“wait, but you had no clue that we were doing this?” jaeyoung asks. “i figured we ruined it after we added you to the groupchat by accident.”
“i didn’t even get the notifications, though, are you -? oh.” hyojin says.
“what?” yuto asks.
“i turned my notifications off after i said bye to you and seungjoon.” hyojin realizes.
“then i didn’t even ruin anything! it didn’t have to be me in the first place!” changyoon screams. “this is so unfair!”
“but hey, at least you were successful.” seungjoon points out, and everyone else nods.
“the emotional trauma? that you put me through? what about that?” changyoon asks, but he’s interrupted by the sound of jaeyoung slapping his own arm.
“sorry, mosquito.” jaeyoung explains sheepishly.
“shoot, we forgot about bugs.” seungjoon sighs. “do you want to just go inside? we can order chicken or something.”
“actually, that sounds great right now. i haven’t had dinner yet, and i’m so hungry.” hyojin says happily.
“you didn’t have dinner? i literally brought you food!” seungjoon complains.
“okay, but after changyoon ate my dumplings, did you really think i was going to focus on eating over revenge?”
seungjoon pauses. “yeah, never mind. but still!”
“it’s okay, i’ll eat it later.” hyojin says. “but let’s order something in for now? and we should probably clean all this up, too.”
“we’re going inside? good, i’m getting cold.” yuto adds, standing up and picking up his empty coke can and a half eaten bag of chips.
“do you want to sleep over in the practice room?” minkyun suggests, laughing. “we’re already ordering chicken, this is basically our trainee days all over again.”
“you know what, i’m actually down for that.” jaeyoung says, grinning. “if they let us do it five years ago, they’ll let us do it now.”
“honestly?” hyojin asks, smiling one of his first real smiles. he hasn’t been this content for a while. “that sounds really, really good.”
it’s been a while, hyojin thinks as they clean up, since he’s been truly happy like this. it's been a while, he thinks, since everything has felt right. but here, in this space with five of the people he loves the most, he feels like enough. and for now, that’s all that matters.
okay so i know that the explanation that onf gave is that they’re puppets in love with their puppeteer, but they can’t love her. i’m going to expand on this a lot in my (probably crazy and far too thought out) take on the performance, so here’s my theory on onf’s rendition of their own songs, we must love + moscow moscow!
this performance is a play or an opera: specifically, a tragedy. onf’s costumes and the set - fallen chandeliers, bookcases and broken columns at 0:35 - proves it for me. in this tragedy, the girl in the middle at 0:06 (her name is yooa, she’s from onf’s company and is a member of oh my girl, who competed in queendom!) is the grand puppeteer that onf is in love with, and onf are her six favourite marionette dolls. we can see her controlling them with her hand movements. she’s wearing a mask, which i’ll get more into later, and she’s in power (note her throne at 0:45, but that’s skipping ahead).
credits to [ONFtheSwitch] ONF스위치 on YouTube for posting this video on it!
OMG SO I JUST FOUND THIS OUT BUT YOU KNOW THE BIT AFTER SEUNGJOON AND YOOA’S DANCE BREAK AND JUST BEFORE THE SECOND VERSE WHERE WYATT MUMBLES SOMETHING??? APPARENTLY IF YOU PLAY IT IN REVERSE HE SAYS 사랑하게 될 거야 (we must love) AND THAT IS SO COOL!
and that also makes so much sense because i just remembered that in the in the broadcast version of this performance, the subtitles have a reverse arrow at that part!
it’s genuinely amazing how much thought went into this masterpiece!
ONF CONCEPT(?) THEORY - ROAD TO KINGDOM THIRD ROUND
TLDR ON BOTTOM
it's happy appreciation/slight concept time! the performance starts with clips of their old stages playing on TV before panning out to what looks like a waiting room. you can tell this is performance is set just after their collab stage because the collab costumes are in the clothing rack at 0:15! notably, wyatt is lifting a table (u can see it in his fancam,reference to when he preparing before everybody?), mk is talking with our favourite producer, hwanghyun, e-tion’s getting approval from our favourite dance teacher, youngoh, and hyojin is listening to the next track they will perform. can we talk about the onf crew cameos? i love that!
as the lyrics say “let the music control my body” (0:22), he closes his eyes and the screen goes black. i think what happens after is all hyojin's imagination.
at 0:35 hyojin is walking out of the curtained waiting to the open stage. he joins his members and the music starts! there's not much to analyze lol but i want to appreciate how nicely they embody the lyrics to the song! the lyrics to this often repeated chorus bit are: “let the music talk to my body, it controls my arms and legs. let my body talk to the music! you know what the people want, now, show them!” i think that their concept is people who are possessed by the spirit of music, and all the members are letting it do what it wants! hecka cute, right? hyojin's imagination is showing him what it's like to let the music overtake him!
appreciation moment: can we talk about hyojin's part at 1:51 ends with him singing “you know what the people want, now, show them” and then it pans to yuto's solo at 2:01! literally perfect timing? like yes, that is what we wanted. thank you.
but after yuto snaps at 2:25, it goes back to dark again. hyojin's back in his waiting room, and a staff member tells him to enter standby. this isn't his imagination anymore - he's awake. he knows what it'll be like if he lets the music take over, so he does! he high fives j-us (2:43), says showtime to start it off, and it's all straight vibing from there! that's literally it! it's so refreshing watching them just enjoy a song.
also, the lyrics to wyatt's rap are the cutest thing ever? the korean bit at 3:20 goes something like “when would we be able to fill up our gaps? [this is] another class for my soul” and then it goes “thank you for RAIN! because of you i can have fun like crazy on this stage!”
TLDR: ONF lets themselves get possessed by music and straight up vibe for 4 minutes and 17 seconds
okay so i know that the explanation that onf gave is that they’re puppets in love with their puppeteer, but they can't love her. i'm going to expand on this a lot in my (probably crazy and far too thought out) take on the performance, so here's my theory on onf’s rendition of their own songs, we must love + moscow moscow!
this performance is a play or an opera: specifically, a tragedy. onf's costumes and the set - fallen chandeliers, bookcases and broken columns at 0:35 - proves it for me. in this tragedy, the girl in the middle at 0:06 (her name is yooa, she's from onf's company and is a member of oh my girl, who competed in queendom!) is the grand puppeteer that onf is in love with, and onf are her six favourite marionette dolls. we can see her controlling them with her hand movements. she's wearing a mask, which i'll get more into later, and she's in power (note her throne at 0:45, but that's skipping ahead).
if we go back to when yooa is controlling them, wyatt's narration starts. at 0:16, he says: “tell me the reason why you didn't look like a stranger the moment our eyes met. maybe we were put under a spell and our memories got taken away.” this connects excellently with the lyrics of we must love, which i'll reference throughout. yooa breathes life (or at least sentience) into her favourite dolls at 0:28, and they quickly realize how connected they are with her. that's why seungjoon sings “strange things keep happening since we've met” at 0:43. but now that they are more than mere dolls, they have some power. we see wyatt at 0:54 dancing with a mask and other backup dancers. they are dolls yooa does not pay attention to. they're masked because she doesn't care to remember their faces. notice how at 0:59 he throws away the mask he holds? i think that symbolizes he is more important than the faceless - he is memorable. the other lesser dolls did the same earlier on, but it doesn’t matter because they're still wearing a mask. they are not yooa's favourites, and they are not memorable.
next is 1:09, where seungjoon and changyoon are doing their chair dance. at this time stamp, they seem reaching for something they can't see nor get, before falling (foreshadowing much?). the lyrics during this bit are “were we a thing before? or in another world? all i know is that you're going to fall in love with me”. this makes this song incredibly sad, because now they are aware of how they are in love with yooa. the dance is likely symbolizing them trying to reach for her. they're even declaring, confidently, that she will fall in love with them! but we as the audience to the play know it can't happen because they're dolls, not human. it's what makes this a tragedy.
then is the chorus. hyojin has his baton thing and he “conducts” the faceless dolls. but i don't think it's a conductors baton - i think it's a wand. for spells. hyojin is more than one of the favourite dolls. yooa gives him the most power to control, which is important later.
this leads to 1:30: yooa and seungjoon's dance. one thing we should note is yooa's mask is off (remember how i said i'd go more into her mask later?). when she had the mask on, she was hiding herself from the boys. if the backup dancers wear masks because she does not care about them, then she wears a mask because she hopes onf won't care for her. now, with her mask off, she's letting them see her and connect with her. but more importantly, she actually wants them to see her face. i think she wants to love them too, but she knows she can't. another thing to note is that in the chair dance before, seungjoon was reaching for something - maybe yooa? here, he has her! but it’s only for a moment, because near the end of their dance, she tries to escape. maybe she realizes this isn't right. but seungjoon runs after her, and she lets him hug her.
the lyrics at 1:51 say that “it seems like the monstrous realities keep piling up”, which is another grim reminder that this tale can only end badly. but there's hyojin with his wand at 2:01, stubbornly singing that he's “stronger against sadness”. trying to deny reality. unfortunately at 2:47, there's the clock behind yuto. i took it as a warning: your time in this sentience, making these memories, is running out. this proves true at 3:40, the moment when hyojin points his wand and says “you will love me”. then, the mood completely changes.
the members minus hyojin start to stumble away, all marionette like - they're not human anymore. the faceless are left frozen in their midst. hyojin is the only one left sentient (recall that yooa gave him the most power). then hyojin starts walking towards where all the other members went, singing the exact same thing from wyatt's narration. focus on the last line - “maybe we were put under a spell and our memories got taken away.” as he sings it, he twirls his wand (4:04) while yooa beckons him in the background. then, he drops his wand and falls to his knees. yooa takes her mask, emotionless, and puts it back on. the play ends, with all the boys either hopelessly reaching, frozen, for yooa or lying on the ground.
that ending bit is particularly cruel for me. throughout the whole play, they loved her and she loved them too. but it couldn't happen because they weren't human, so she created a little world where it could. but the play had to end. then, as the lyrics described, she made one of the dolls who loved her put the boys “under a spell and [their] memories got taken away.” they will never remember their short time of sentience or the love they felt for her, but she will remember it all and hide behind her mask, never to show the love she felt again.
