catapult
nice try, you cannot turn away but nice try. turned your legs to little building blocks -- @idjowi, schedule prompt ( weekly idol filming ).
her hair’s a little sticky near her nape. makeup blotchy, and there are a few stylists scurrying around them with brushes and sponges getting ready to pat everything back into place, until they’re all glossy and pretty again. but that’s just the sort of thing that happens when you attempt to whirl through a collection of your song’s dances at random. it’s a bit impossible to stay dewy and perfect throughout all that, despite what everyone wants you to think. so they roll their way into a break, and miji finds jowi when they finally deem her face acceptable and tug and tuck out her hair until it falls appropriately down her back once again.
she hooks an arm around her shoulders, ruffles jowi’s hair in the process enough to make a stylist toss a frown her way, but miji ignores it. jowi’s hair is currently straight, it’s not the most difficult thing in the world to finger comb it back into place before set. “how are you hanging, babe?” she tosses it out as she pulls jowi along with her, toward a smaller corner of the studio. away from prying eyes, from wayward ears, from the other members of their group. but miji thinks jowi needs that right now. that isolation. away from eyes that feel like they’re sticking to her.
being sequestered doesn’t make things better, but being out of the spotlight helps. helps miji sometimes, too. despite how much she wants this. despite how much she loves being on stage. but everyone hits a point where they don’t want to be stared at. everyone hits a point where they don’t want to be talked about. everyone hits a point where you don’t want to sit and wonder if what they’s whispering behind their hands is about you, and what those words they’re hiding out of sight are.
“i think we did a pretty bomb job, we should get compensated.” she teases out, winds a strand of jowi’s hair around her finger as she talks, eyes straying in an attempt to find a clock. her phone still tucked somewhere backstage in the jacket she’d come in. she’s always been stuck in between hating and liking shows like these. she likes the recognition, she likes building up a repertoire. she even like some of the things they do, talk about. but they always last just a little too long, and miji often gets tired of carrying around a person that’s not-quite-herself.