kang 'ricky' yuchan. 970227.
per_se's golden ticket [ DISCLAIMER ] s:339 d:490 r:167 ch:459 cr:126 "but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible." -- t.e. lawrence
It takes everything within him not to let the disappointed sigh escape at the cool greeting, the tentative smile on Moonbok’s face thoroughly sent packing to be replaced by an expression that’s somewhere between glum and guilty. Instead, Moonbok bites his lip and hastily redirects his attention to his own phone, hair hiding his face.
It’s so awkward, and it’s even worse knowing that he’s the cause of it all. If not for his sudden intrusion into their lives, perhaps the atmosphere in the dorm would be a lot cheerier. (At least, that’s what Moonbok assumes would be the case, disregarding the whole locked-door thing as a once off)
There’s frustration building in him too, though Moonbok has no idea who he’s frustrated with. At the members of PER_SE? At himself for not know what to do or how to tread? At Sphere for simply agreeing to Nova’s request to transfer his contract? At Nova for requesting him to begin with? With everyone?
He just doesn’t know. All he knows is that it’s driving him crazy and as much as he tries to hold it in, he can’t help but let out of frustrated groan of ‘crap…!’ as he sinks down on to his pillows, a hand over his eyes for a moment while he tries to squash down the negativity wreaking havoc in his head.
After a moment of two, Moonbok makes the mistake of glancing over at his new roommate, expecting to see Yuchan looking at his phone or something. Only to see the younger staring at him with a thoroughly unamused expression. It takes a second of confusion before Moonbok realizes what he’s gone to warrant such a response and he instantly wants to crawl into a hole a bury himself alive with mortification. As it is, he facepalms with a horrified groan at himself.
He needs to remember he doesn’t live with Youngjae anymore.
“Oh, God. Sorry, I’m sorry Yuchan-ssi.” he calls out as he wrenches himself upright, face burning. “I swear, that wasn’t aimed at you at all! It wasn’t really aimed at anyone….”
He can’t relax. Even with his favorite music playing loudly in his ears and familiar bed linens shaping around his form, he is on edge, muscles tense, ears ringing. Even if he doesn’t look at him and can’t hear him, he can feel Moonbok’s presence, a stranger’s presence, which comes with the need to be on still, the need to expend energy on keeping the thin masking layer around his person up and running, a protective barrier, electric and cautionary, an illusion charm mixed with a keep out sign.
He hears it clearly through the pause between songs, sharp and shocking from across the room: crap! It makes him actively pause his playlist and shift his gaze to his peripheral vision, turning his head just slightly to eye Moonbok warily, an unintentional scowl stamping itself between his eyebrows. There is only a slight air of judgment from Yuchan; mostly, his expression is one of confusion, alert and guarded confusion but confusion nonetheless.
No way is this going to last long or run smoothly if this outburst from his brand new roommate is a habit.
And it certainly isn’t going to make it easy to sleep, despite the standard level of exhaustion currently settled into Yuchan’s overworked limbs and overactive mind. He can feel anxiety creeping into his veins, slowly morphing itself into last-minute insomnia. So he sighs, plucking one of his earbuds from his ear as he starts to sit up.
“You should be more careful,” he declares, a flat, stoic, unreadable moment of unsolicited advice in response to Moonbok’s arguably understandable moment of passionately frustrated expression, “You can’t say stuff like that in front of people if you want to be an idol. You’re lucky it’s just me here. If we were anywhere else - you never know who’s watching or listening.”
It seems obvious to him, Idol Strategy 101: Maintain a Squeaky Clean Image at All Times, no unsolicited shouting, yelling, swearing, cursing, expressions of anger or fear or disappointment, no signs of undesirable faults or flaws. It doesn’t occur to him that not every trainee spent so much time and energy carefully and meticulously crafting their demeanor to take shape at the drop of a hat for every possible situation, environment, scenario.
“I don’t know if they taught you that at your old company but...” he trails off, letting his roommate fill in the rest with whatever he might, before adding as a semi-separate thought, “We work too hard for something like that to mess things up.”
It is a warning, just as much as it is a word of advice, neutral in intention, not meant to scare or welcome, just meant to set the tone for Moonbok’s future in PER_SE: Tread carefully; we all do.
he’d simply made a little cameo, had said his name as a greeting, not expecting much. he’s on his way to the kitchen, to grab a snack, when ricky calls out his name. he thinks that maybe the older boy wanted him to grab a snack for him as well, but his next words caught him slightly off guard.
“oh? me?” he heads back to the room, and peeks his head through the side. “really?” he points to himself, blinking before walking towards ricky. he takes a seat beside the older boy, and notices the comments flooding in at a rapid rate –– he manages to catch a few of them, though he’d noticed a lot of “JUNJU!!!!!” in all caps.
he allows himself to get comfortable and waves to the camera. “hi everyone! it’s junju!” making a heart he begins to read the comments. “yes ~ i already ate! i was on the way to grab more snacks actually,” he smiles. do a vlive too junju! “but i’m doing one right now aren’t i?” he laughs, before he remembers that he’d actually walked in on ricky’s. “ah, but i can do one later! lets watch yuchan hyung’s one right now!” he adds, turning to look at ricky.
he can feel the atmosphere shift in favor of junju almost instantly, as he shifts to make room in the frame for haknyeon. ricky can feel himself rapidly losing control of the situation, vastly unprepared for this mental adjustment that he’s had to make in just a few short moments.
there must be a way he can maintain some semblance of control here, some level of influence to avoid his own livestream being commandeered by their naturally charming and highly popular young rapper. i can remember when he joined nova, ricky wants to say, i remember when he was brand new and he couldn’t keep up with the choreography, i remember sn project when he needed all sorts of help, i remember life in nova before him when i was nova’s prodigal son not him, not jungwoo, me. but he swallows all of that back, manages to turn his head to glance at haknyeon with a smile, watching him as he addresses the camera.
“junju eats a lot, actually, since he’s still growing,” he adds, almost sing-songy in tone, turning back to the camera to address the viewers directly, “so send him a lot of snacks, so he doesn’t eat all of ours.”
he looks back at haknyeon, eyes glinting with something sharp despite the warm smile on his face, “what are you eating now? show the fans,” he instructs him, reaching with his free hand to push haknyeon’s hand, and snack, into frame, his best attempt at keeping hold of at least some fraction of the stream’s direction.
being an idol meant many things. amongst the loud cheering, performances and hours of training, there came the opportunity for jaehyun to meet new people in the industry. truth be told, when he’d gotten to know yuchan, he wondered why they hadn’t been friends sooner; they seemed to click pretty well, and jaehyun quite enjoyed having someone like him to talk to. they probably aren’t a pair that fans would’ve thought would end up being such great friends, but they are, and jaehyun appreciates that.
he’s called yuchan out for dinner after he’s done with his promotions, sort of as a way to unwind and celebrate not having to perform can you feel it on another music show. they go to a simple eatery, and momentarily jaehyun wonders if anyone recognizes them when he catches a few glances their way. they’re either looking over because they know who they are, or because two good looking men are hanging out.
as he settles into his seat, he looks up at yuchan. “do you think they recognize us?” he asks lightheartedly. “well, recognize you,” he adds with a playful grin. “i’d rather they not recognize me as the guy who sung gorilla and can you feel it,” he scrunches his nose in mock disgust (jokingly! kinda!) –– it’s no secret that jaehyun dislikes both songs that his group has came out with, but he’s really only this open about it to a select few people.
he’d found an unexpected friend and ally in jaehyun. it surprised even himself, the fact that they got along so well, that they seemed to have more in common than less, the fact that he was able to put aside the unspoken capitalistic rivalry between their groups that came automatically with debuting so close together. somehow their mutual cynicism, jaehyun’s more outward, toward his company, and yuchan’s more inward, toward himself, brought them together and helped them bond, rather than drive them apart.
it was a rarity within itself for yuchan to spend time with anyone outside of per_se’s innermost circle, let alone do so outside of the safe confines of nova-run facilities, let alone do so somewhere where any pair of prying eyes in seoul could watch him eat. but he was grateful for the friendship, and for the opportunity to put his doctor’s advice into practice, in spite of his anxiety at the concept.
he notices them too, as they slip quietly into the moderately crowded restaurant and are seated at a table near the center of the room, the few curious glances sent their way.
“no way,” he retorts lightly, scowling and scrunching his own nose cutely while scanning the menu for anything that might be appealing without ruining his own self-imposed dietary regimen, “your face is all over every mall in seoul, you’re definitely the famous one.”
he silently decides on the kimchi stew, and one or two extra servings of rice, for the carbs. he can already feel the itch to get back into a practice room and dance his legs into jelly, and the extra energy will be a nice pick-me-up.
“maybe we should cover gorilla,” he suggests about his own group; it’s half a joke and half a genuine consideration, “people might recognize us then.”
if haknyeon’s being honest, their schedule so far isn’t exactly jam packed. it’s still kind of odd to him, how some months there’s no time to do anything, and others, it felt like there was too much time. haknyeon had personally found himself going on vlives more often, and interacting with fans through sns more. that aside, with his newer role of main rapper, he’d spent a good amount of his free time still in the practice room, working on refining his skills.
though for today he’s hanging around the dorms, and the thought of going on vlive crosses his mind, only for him to find out that ricky’s already on. he blinks and turns to look around the dorm, briefly remembering that ricky’s there as well. in his haknyeon-like fashion, he walks towards the older boy’s room and pops his head through the door.
“hyung? you’re on vlive?” he says cheerfully, smile bright. “hi everyone! it’s junju!” he beams, waving (though he’s not sure if the camera catches this, or just his voice), before he waves to ricky and heads back to his room. he doesn’t want to intrude, maybe he’ll hold a vlive of his own later, but for now he knows that ricky’s already online.
he likes interacting with their fans. it’s a pleasant way to pass time that would otherwise grate on his anxious nerves, and, as jungwoo has pointed out in the past, is an effective reminder that he exists, that he is not a failure or a nobody or a waste of the company’s time and money. there is something comforting about the quick-moving chat scrolling up the side of his phone’s screen as he switches off between chatting and reading, pausing to answer the occasional question or two that catches his eye.
it’s natural for the fans to want to know where the other members are, so he tries not to take it personally as their names begin to pop up in every other comment; they are a group after all. yuchan takes a few minutes to update the viewers about their whereabouts (which, depending on the member, are either his best guess or his believable fabrications): their leader is at the gym, working out; hosung is at a voice lesson; jungwoo is on grocery duty this week, and the youngest per_se member is probably in the other room, playing games.
“has everyone eaten?” he chimes in next, “it’s nearly dinner time, i didn’t realize.” yuchan meokbang !! flash a few comments and he chuckles as he reads one of them out loud, despite his blood running cold at the very thought. “i’ll ask the members. maybe if we get a million more views on o sole mio.”
he’s still smiling, eyes scanning the comments as he reaches up to adjust the pillow between his neck and the wall, when haknyeon’s voice sounds from across the room. ricky sends his smile to the maknae, then glances back at the screen. the falter in his smile is nearly imperceptible to the untrained eye (but certainly the glint in his eyes dulling is a little more noticeable) as haknyeon’s stage name takes over, overloading the comment stream in at least three different languages.
“ah, junju-yah,” he calls, mostly fondly, beckoning him over with a smile and an extended arm despite the shadow cast just behind his eyes, inviting him to sit on the bed next to him, “they want to see you.”
he hears it both, the accusation and the compliment. and if jungwoo hadn’t been used to these sorts of comments from yuchan, he might have to stop and think about exactly how to reply. but he’s heard this and worse, back when the compliments were much more backhanded and the accusations much more direct. he can brush it off easily now, scrunching his nose up at yuchan anyways and whining too exaggeratedly for it to be serious. “hey, i do have to work to be a visual! it’s so hard to get beauty sleep anymore, you should see my skincare routine… it’s basically a whole workout!” it’s not, but that’s besides the point.
yuchan yelps, and then pokes him again, and suddenly jungwoo is looking around for anything to defend himself with. he grabs a cushion off of another seat and holds it between himself and the other carefully, like a makeshift shield. just try that again, his posture reads, see what happens. they both know that absolutely nothing will happen.
“no,” he pretends to mull it over, like he has to think long and hard about the true meaning of a bright and fun music video that definitely wasn’t supposed to be read so far into. “i’m pretty sure you’re the ghost. you should trust me on this, i’m pretty clever you know.”
there’s a brief moment where he considers forcing himself to cry, just to prove to yuchan that he’s good looking even when he is ugly crying, but jungwoo thinks better of the effort that would take. “i’m going to tell everyone you made me cry,” he play-threatens instead, “you’re so mean, yuchannie. why do you bully me?”
the pout fixes itself all the more firmly in place, now locked into competition with the expression mirrored back at him. he leans forward just slightly, lets his eyes go just a little wider, enough to be cute and not crazed-looking. it’s true, yuchan can make this expression to, and he wears it quite well. a testament to well-served years of being the nova maknae before himself and haknyeon came along, jungwoo can only guess. jungwoo ends up giving in, leaning back into his seat with a soft humph! you win this round, kang yuchan. but there’s always next time.
“ghosts can be friendly!” he’s quick on his words to make up for the fact that he just lost the pouting contest, as if there’s a reason to make up for that. “hey, yuchan, i think your stage name should’ve been casper.”
“what’s my routine then, huh?” he drives it in, the false perception that jungwoo is discounting his own efforts, adding to the ambiguous banter between them that is so characteristic of their friendship. his routine is no false, however; he’s gone to great lengths to maintain his health in every aspect, following the strict regimen he concocted after multiple discussions with his stylists and makeup artists and trainers to take good care of his hair, skin, nails, body (and what a regiment it is) at least 75% of the time. even then, somehow jungwoo still seems to surpass him, beauty sleep or not, “nobody here sleeps, so what? skincare as a workout. no way.” he tsks for good measure before taking another generous sip of the protein shake that jungwoo’s taste buds were so offended by, as if to emphasize his point.
“what are you a screenwriter now too? you can’t do everything, kim jungwoo,” he declares, as if he’s the only one in the room with authority to do so. his window for poking his groupmate in tickling spots has closed, for now, so he shoves at the displaced seat cushion instead, as if to challenge jungwoo’s challenging posture, as if to remind him i’m not afraid of you.
jungwoo’s next accusation is most likely meant to be harmless, playful even, but it makes yuchan balk slightly. he hesitates, his hand stopping in its tracks where it was gearing up to grab the cushion’s edge and push it down and out of the way long enough for his arm to get past it.
“who’s a bully? you can’t call me ‘yuchannie’ and ‘bully’ at the same time, that doesn’t make sense,” the moment of solemn reality seems to pass through yuchan a little quicker than normal; perhaps it wasn’t a dig at the criticisms he read across multiple social media platforms at the conclusion of the mgas. there is not visible change in jungwoo’s demeanor, no indication that he seriously means to call him a bully. and so, the moment passes. so yuchan lets it pass, to the best of his ability, and grabs the pillow anyway, as if to move it out of the way, “c’mere, i’ll show you a bully-”
he forsakes his shake to put both hands on the cushion, exerting a bit of additional strength and inadvertently shrinking the space between them.
“casper? casper??” he starts to push forward on the pillow instead, the conversation beginning to dissolve into signs of an inevitable roughhousing battle, “you should be casper - you’re the blond one!”
Setting into the dorm was… awkward. And that’s the most diplomatic way Moonbok could put the current situation. There’s already an awkwardness between him and the other PER_SE members stemming from his sudden inclusion into their lives out of nowhere. But at least for the first few days he’d lived apart from them and they’d all had their own space to come to terms with the idea of him actually joining them.
Then move-in day had happened. And that had be an Experience, to say the least. Of all the things Moonbok had expected might happen, being locked out of his new room by his roommate and having to plead for help to get in from Huidong to get in had never even crossed his mind.
And it wasn’t even him that Yuchan had been mad at. (Well, not solely, anyways)
It’s a few days later and Moonbok is curled up on his bed (though even with it having his own bedsheets and other assorted pieces, it still feels… foreign.) eyes trained on his phone, watching the choreography he needs to get up to speed up on like a hawk. There’s even a notebook beside him that he scribbles particular points in, like how to execute a particular move at a certain time.
Sungmin would think it’s hilarious.
He’s startled out of his ‘studying’ when the door is suddenly opened and Yuchan makes his reappearance. Hastily Moonbok presses pause on the M/V and sets the phone down, offering a small (nervous) smile to his roommate.
(Who he’s not entirely sure even likes him.)
“Hi…” he murmurs softly, noticing the dark look on the younger boy’s face and deciding not to push for conversation too hard, smile starting to slide away.
Maybe he should just huddle under the covers and watch his practice material there.
It wasn’t his fault the door to his bedroom happened to be locked the day their new member arrived. Yes, he had gotten upset with Haknyeon, and yes he had shut the door and locked it behind him and flopped petulantly into his bed, shoving ear buds into his ears to drown out the world. But it wasn’t his fault that that happened to occur on the same day Moonbok happened to arrive. And he stood by that now, even after the mild lecture from Huidong about making their new member feel welcome.
He still doesn’t like that it’s the default to stick the new member in his room, in Hugo’s bed; why should he have to be the one sharing a room with a stranger? He doesn’t know Moonbok, he doesn’t trust Moonbok, and now he’s expected to sleep across from him every night and breathe the same air as him every day? It doesn’t seem fair, that it’s his personal space and privacy sacrificed to make room for the replacement. He hardly feels comfortable in his own skin as it is; sleeping in the same room as a stranger certainly doesn’t help.
So there is no refuge from the world when he slips into his room after his post-practice shower, hair freshly towel-dried and smelling of Hosung’s(?) conditioner. There is nothing relaxing about coming back to his room to the annoyingly eager expression on Moonbok’s face, even if Moonbok has technically done nothing wrong. But Yuchan knows he’ll never hear the end of it from Huidong if he doesn’t at least make an effort.
“...Hi,” he returns flatly, trying to mute the inherent coolness that wants to paint itself across his tongue, trying to soften the natural tension in his jaw. It’s all he gives him (all he can manage, really), before he plops down on his bed, rolling onto his back and reaching for the phone waiting on his nightstand.
he has too much time. suddenly, there is too much free time on his hands, too many hours cooped up in an apartment with four - no, five again - other members, all of them without anything to do or anywhere to go. he has no sympathy for their new member, no inclination to break his cold reputation now for some new face sent in to replace hugo’s, not even when he knows the strenuous, albeit unofficial, rehearsal schedule they’ll all have just to get this stranger they’ve never met acclimated to the group, to complex choreographies, to nova itself, as if he’s been here all along.
but he hasn’t. yuchan doesn’t know him. nobody knows him or who he is or what he can do, other than rap. there is no trust, not from yuchan, who already sometimes doubts the dedication from his fellow members who have been here from the beginning. so why should he put his trust in a stranger, just because he happens to be sharing a room with him (and why does he have to move into his room anyway?).
yuchan isn’t stupid, not about the industry at least; he knows that much about himself. he knows two months of nothing after the loss of a member is a bad sign, replacement or none. it isn’t just two months of no per_se, it’s two months of no individual activities, no unit schedules, no radio shows or variety shows or interviews or photo shoots or ad campaigns. radio silence, in every sense of the phrase.
cw: allusions to an eating disorder ; panic attacks ; debt
they can’t compete with no activities, they can’t break even with no checks to earn. hemorrhaging money, that’s the phrase they always use in the movies, or in contract rooms, or in law offices. he’s hyper aware of it with every meal they eat, with every hour the air conditioning cools the apartment, with every grocery run or snack break. it makes his own meals start to feel stressful again, they way they used to before he started seeing a company-sponsored doctor...another glaring contractual expense that will undoubtedly see his own individual earnings further in the red.
how is everything? how are you? are you eating? his mother’s texts and calls and video chats are still regular. good, fine, yes, are always his answers. in reality everything is in shambles, he is a basket case, and food feels like an unnecessary expense when the ship is sinking around him.
he watches convex’s don’t wanna cry and he can’t help it, the thought that crosses his mind, the fleeting recollection of a notice hung on every bulletin board across samsung’s building in seocho: that could have been him. it’s a pang in his chest, because back then, it was unwavering loyalty to and unmoving faith in nova, in his future with the company. now, he sees job security he cannot relate to in stunning choreography and sharp synchronicity and handsome faces that he probably wouldn’t have to carry on his back through every dance rehearsal. the comments, as to be expected, as they should be, are glowing and frantic and impossible to keep up with at the rate they fly across his screen.
how are you? are you healthy? do you need money? his brother is a little more straightforward, a little more blunt, sounds more and more like their father all the time (their father, meanwhile, seems appeased by the news relayed to him through their mother). fine, yes, no, are yuchan’s answers for him. physically, he is perfectly fine, so perhaps the lie about his health is half true. certainly he needs money, but there is too much pride coursing through his veins to admit it, especially when he knows his brother must be up to his neck in medical school expenses and the lingering costs of the months-old marriage he now boasts on his left ring finger.
he doesn’t know how to tell his family that he is terrified, that he thinks he has failed, somehow, that his own individual auditions have been fruitless, that he fears the news any day now that the gamble nova took on per_se isn’t salvageable, that he will be sent back to busan disgraced and indebted and forgotten.
panic. that is the word for the feeling welling up in him like a broken water main. he succumbs to it for the first time in months, slipping out of an impromptu dance practice after he feels himself losing patience with the pace at which they’re moving as a group, and into a bathroom stall, as he is so accustomed to doing. panic, because, what if, by some horrible miracle, everything, all of it, seven and a half years, was for absolutely nothing? or, perhaps, less than nothing?
he feels like he might vomit, but he never does, staring into an unforgiving toilet bowl until he starts to see a certain number of zeroes staring back out at him in his mind, the same amount of zeroes on his artist contract, like eyes watching him drown in midair.
panic.
eventually it subsides, but only just: only enough that he can breathe again. but it isn’t entirely gone. it is still there grating on his consciousness, tensing his jaw, tightening his muscles, straining his nerves. he doesn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the day, save to their manager, and to huidong, in short, clipped phrases, lest he lose his temper in the direction of the wrong person. his stomach is still turning and the numbers are still ticking in his head, so he downs a hastily mixed protein shake and disappears into his room.
perhaps he will find some reprieve in sleep. perhaps there will be no panic when his eyes finally slip shut and body settles into the mattress.
or, as is more likely, he’ll be left to contemplate his panic alone, as it glues itself to the back of his eyelids, to stay.
i heard and*roma won today ! congratulations and*roma !! we cheered for you from our dorm, did you hear us? ㅋ we’ll play only high heels for the rest of the week... everyone go up to that place how is it? the air is different
if he’s being completely honest, he’s still reeling in from the losing a member. he knows it’s ‘show biz’ and that they aren’t the only group to have gone through this, but that doesn’t make things any much easier. haknyeon would like to think that the members of per_se have created a special bond, that they were more than just in it for the business, that there were layers to this team.
he sits by the practice room and stares at the article. it’s out; and now everyone knows that they’ve lost a member. he understands that hugo had to leave, yet he’d be lying if he said he wished he didn’t. it’s the few words at the end of the article that capture his attention.
confusion is what he feels. had he read it wrong? immediately he turns to ricky and passes the older boy his phone. “hyung,” he says, and he points to the article he’d been reading. “did you see this? it’s an article about hugo hyung leaving. but… at the end,” he furrows his brows, “it said that nova isn’t commenting on whether or not we’ll be adding a new member… even though sphere has.”
and this isn’t something unheard of –– nova doing something without telling the members. after all, haknyeon had only learnt of his stage name the day his teasers were released. “do you think they’ll add a new member?” he asks, voice softer.
ricky thinks it sunk in for him the quickest, because he’s the one who’s now sharing his room with an empty bed, who, every night during this break in promotions, stares at the empty half of the room as if he might be able to manifest hugo’s belongings out of thin air. it feels strange to fall asleep with his back to silence, with no sounds of steady breathing or the shifting of covers from behind him. even with yuchan’s reputation of being cold and unforgiving and solitary, he feels the vacancy strongly, worries about the future of the group that, by some miracle, boasted such a remarkable synergy between the six of them. they were, are, a unit; how could this happen, and what did it mean for the future?
the radio silence from their agency didn’t help. there was only notice of hugo’s departure and and*roma’s comeback, with nothing in between, as if they dropped the five young men in the eye of a storm with nothing but the clothes on their backs and left them to fend for themselves. and then there was the article; as was typical of the industry, the news broke across media in an instant, and then spread across their fandom like wildfire. of course he’s seen it. it feels like he’s seen every tweet, every comment, every post, some hopeful, some cynical, some cruel. but he doesn’t tell haknyeon that; he knows that’s not why he’s asking.
he noticed the same detail the younger member had, the vague noncommittal air of nova’s response to such a provocative question, leaving everyone, including per_se themselves, in the dark. but he takes the phone nonetheless, scanning the article he’s already read again.
he wants to confidently tell haknyeon it doesn’t mean anything, that the company is being vague so that they aren’t accused of backtracking regardless of what decisions they make or actions they take. but within that is the obvious tell that they have not made a decision in either direction, which means that nobody has ruled out the addition of another member. it’s a fact that makes the vacant spot in his room feel heavier somehow, as if there was already someone else’s energy trying to move in and replace hugo’s.
“i don’t know,” he answers, expression stony and unreadable at first, because he has already steeled himself against the possibility. but he allows his aura to soften slightly, to let haknyeon in, as he returns his phone to him; this is a difficult time for all of them.
“he has- ...had a lot of parts. i don’t know who would cover all of them. and the formations...” he trails off because it’s as if he can hear their superiors, the company’s higher-ups having this exact same conversation, perhaps calmly, perhaps in a heated debate around some long table on the top floor of the company building, if per_se is even worthy of garnering such executive attention, “i don’t know.”
he hears it both, the accusation and the compliment. and if jungwoo hadn’t been used to these sorts of comments from yuchan, he might have to stop and think about exactly how to reply. but he’s heard this and worse, back when the compliments were much more backhanded and the accusations much more direct. he can brush it off easily now, scrunching his nose up at yuchan anyways and whining too exaggeratedly for it to be serious. “hey, i do have to work to be a visual! it’s so hard to get beauty sleep anymore, you should see my skincare routine… it’s basically a whole workout!” it’s not, but that’s besides the point.
yuchan yelps, and then pokes him again, and suddenly jungwoo is looking around for anything to defend himself with. he grabs a cushion off of another seat and holds it between himself and the other carefully, like a makeshift shield. just try that again, his posture reads, see what happens. they both know that absolutely nothing will happen.
“no,” he pretends to mull it over, like he has to think long and hard about the true meaning of a bright and fun music video that definitely wasn’t supposed to be read so far into. “i’m pretty sure you’re the ghost. you should trust me on this, i’m pretty clever you know.”
there’s a brief moment where he considers forcing himself to cry, just to prove to yuchan that he’s good looking even when he is ugly crying, but jungwoo thinks better of the effort that would take. “i’m going to tell everyone you made me cry,” he play-threatens instead, “you’re so mean, yuchannie. why do you bully me?”
the pout fixes itself all the more firmly in place, now locked into competition with the expression mirrored back at him. he leans forward just slightly, lets his eyes go just a little wider, enough to be cute and not crazed-looking. it’s true, yuchan can make this expression to, and he wears it quite well. a testament to well-served years of being the nova maknae before himself and haknyeon came along, jungwoo can only guess. jungwoo ends up giving in, leaning back into his seat with a soft humph! you win this round, kang yuchan. but there’s always next time.
“ghosts can be friendly!” he’s quick on his words to make up for the fact that he just lost the pouting contest, as if there’s a reason to make up for that. “hey, yuchan, i think your stage name should’ve been casper.”
he falters at jungwoo’s threat, in spite of it being a joke (at least he thinks it’s a joke; jungwoo wouldn’t do that, would he?), pulling his hand back toward himself before curling both hands around his glass. it brings back memories of the season of the mgas where the pair of them reunited, where their ceo shattered everyone’s expectations by breaking the show’s established precedent and refusing jungwoo a contract live on air. yuchan is certain he read nearly every tweet about it, about team nova, about nova entertainment, about his ceo, about his own coaching abilities. he remembers the thread taking moments out of context, cropped clips and gifs of his interactions with jungwoo, putting them under a fish bowl lens and implying he was the reason jungwoo left in the first place.
“hey, you made yourself cry, i didn’t do anything,” he bites back eventually, still with some recovered air of playfulness, in spite of the reality tucked away in the moment.
“you bully yourself,” he adds, holding up his protein shake to emphasize his point, “i was minding my own business.”
he starts to pull his phone back toward him, as if to protect it from any further prying. he is still self-conscious of his appearance in the music video, and their current discourse doesn’t help.
“what’s that noise for?” he reacts to jungwoo’s audible huff, leaning back in his chair with an identical level of force, raising his eyebrows in another brief moment of challenging, as if to dare him to attempt another contest of puppy dog eyes, “don’t start stuff you can’t finish, kim jungwoo.”
casper. casper. just like that, jungwoo so easily digs his heels in, picks at the situation so expertly that yuchan feels biologically obligated to push back against it, to argue like school children into the night over ghosts and pouts and protein shakes, because he is insecure about his appearance in the video and jungwoo is not, as he should be, impressed by it, and for some reason it feels very important to yuchan that jungwoo should be, in fact, impressed.
it’s this sense of fond(?), stubborn urgency that pushes him off of his kitchen island stool, as if that’ll help him address jungwoo more directly (or give him a quicker escape route should the need arise).
“who are you calling casper? you’re the blond one!”
it’s the first slowdown they’ve had in ages, leaving yuchan lost in the empty space that is a vacant schedule. some of his groupmates are reveling in the opportunity to relax, to breathe between breathless, bustling schedules. but he has his own anxieties, as always, anxieties that begin to manifest as concerns for his career, as if, somehow, a lack of an event or a booking or a photoshoot or a day of filming is a reflection on him, on what is, perhaps, a lack of talent or appeal. yuchan as a member of per_se is one thing, is a piece of a grander puzzle, a moving part in a well-oiled, well-selling machine. but what about yuchan as an artist, as a performer? is his brand that unappealing, that unsellable on its own? it can’t be - his appearance in melody day’s video wasn’t an accident, was it? his success on the mgas had to count for something. his years of training outside of a debut lineup must have meant something.
the dorm feels empty a lot of the time, and even that exacerbates yuchan’s stress. he misses hugo, the empty spot in his room perhaps the worst vacancy of them all, and the fact that he knows huidong has a very important person to visit during their time off is a stressor within itself. he listens intently to the radio interview with huidong and haknyeon, putting it upon himself to screen his members’ interviews himself now that he has nothing better to do, wary of a repeat of hosung’s slip-up from only weeks ago. he almost envies how his peers can slip so easily into a world of relaxation and rest and recovery, while his own idleness has brought him nothing but worries.
he tries to take his mind off of the precarious intricacies of his own group by focusing on and*roma’s activities. it is another opportunity he has now that he did not have before, a way to fill his time with something he views as productive, to take his mind off of his own lack of a schedule. they are everywhere, it seems: on the radio, recording official soundtracks, sitting on judging panels, appearing on reality shows and variety shows alike. he even starts looking at their numbers, taking notes on his phone the way he’s seen his own manager do with per_se’s (though hers are on well-organized company spreadsheets, not on a crudely put together notes app), out of sheer curiosity; it’s easier to look at statistics objectively when it’s not his own life on the line.
then there is jungwoo. that is a different kind of stress altogether. yet, in spite of that, somehow his presence has become less of an encumbrance and more of a comfort. yuchan has even started to believe jungwoo when he begins to overwhelm him with praise, has started to allow himself to enjoy his company without second guessing it, which is easier now that they aren’t thrust into every daily scenario alongside the rest of the members. eventually, it will force them to confront reality in unavoidable ways, even more than they already have.
but for now, for a young man who misses his far-away family and aches with worry for his future, a friend (he can call him a friend now at least, that much is certain) he can trust is a welcome reprieve.
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