Even though he had written music for himself and had helped in the writing process of a handful of songs for CHARM, Daisuke still didn’t feel as though he could really consider himself much of an artist. He wrote lyrics, but that was just about to the extent where his artistry ran dry. However those were standards he only held himself up to. If someone said that they only wrote their lyrics but still considered themselves to be an artist, then he would accept that explanation and reasoning without questioning it. However, for himself, he wanted to master everything that came to songwriting and creating before calling himself an artist. Which was why he had asked Aidynn for his help with production. He knew that Aidynn produced quite a lot of his own music, and he enjoyed his member’s music, so it was a no brainer asking him.
Not to mention, the older member of CHARM was one of the few people that Daisuke really felt comfortable with. Although that comfort was a little ruined by the fact that they had to be on camera the entire time. He fidgeted with the camera a little bit, making sure that it was angled properly, not yet turning it on. “This is so awkward..” He mumbled, huffing out a sigh. “Are you ready, hyung?” He asked, speaking up a little louder as he turned his attention to Aidynn.
it’s different, standing in the middle of the room with a camera pointed at them and lights positioned just out of frame to cast them in the most flattering shades amid the punching bags hanging to the side of them. ash hadn’t hit any bags on his first day of boxing training, but he knows without asking that production wants him to speed up the pace to keep the live interesting. he’s not qualified to teach jiah anything about boxing when he’s still learning himself, and he’s become increasingly aware of that since entering the gym, but there’s no way to back out now.
ash stands awkwardly in front of the table where the streaming camera is propped up when he’s given the cue that they’ve begun broadcasting and he looks blankly into the lens for a few seconds before he figures out how to introduce himself. “hi, ah, people are coming in quickly. did you all see the title? today i’ll be teaching jiah about boxing. a lot of jiah’s fans must be in here, too, so i’ll introduce myself. i’m taeyong.” he turns to look at jiah, keeping enough distance between them so as not to spark any fan anger or controversy. “until today, i didn’t know you had an interest in boxing.”
the camera’s ready, already on-air and rolling. the thing about collaborations and the handshakes that go on for the sake of gold star and bc’s bank account is simple: friendship strictly for exploitation purposes.
but this time, it’s different when the person sitting next to him’s an actual friend and their friendship becomes nothing more than the source of idol fan-wars all set for nowhere. for the sake of his own sanity, gyujeong’s eyes avoid the comments where the constant petty remarks hone in on the dynamic of knight versus origin than the content at bay.
“so, today — i guess i can show you how to ‘bedazzle’ canvas sneakers.” his voice hits a notch higher at bedazzle, eyes wide open in a pinch of humor. “well, really — this live broadcast is just to show you how there’s customization in any pair of shoes that can be done. simple and easy.” the edge of his lips warps upwards into a half-smudged smirk, his fingers already pulling forth the line of paint and random markers scattered around.
what gyujeong wants more than anything at this moment is also simple: a damn cigarette, and the uncensored conversations that occur without the cameras. simple — just like their random first encounter back stage years ago.
still, he can’t find resolve that easily. so, he relegates himself to a beginning salute to the cameras before turning over. “have you customized clothing before? have any ideas on what you want to achieve today?”
jaein wouldn’t say she’s bad in the kitchen. having been the eldest of four children, there were times where she had to take care of her little siblings’ meals. however, baking seems to be a completely different story, and she didn’t find the joy in it as much as some of her other group members. when alice suggested a baking live where she would teach the older member how to bake, she had no reason to say no. knowing alice’s kills, she was confident that she wouldn’t burn the kitchen down or anything.
it felt weird having a few staff members in the middle of lucid’s dorm though at the same time, it was nice that they didn’t have to move to some other location. this way, the moment the live is finished the two of them could relax. with a clap of her hands, she nudges the younger member with her elbow as a way of asking if she’s ready. ultimately, it was up to alice to sign for the cameras to turn on since jaein was technically the student. there was nothing she needed to do at the moment. “ready?”
the pole studio the base staff have chosen to rent out for the live isn’t the one mirae usually goes to, but she takes the unfamiliarity in stride. she’d pushed hard to be able to do something involving her pole dancing hobby for one of the base videos and livestreams she’d been told she’d be scheduled to film, and while she’d been turned down for doing a pole cover in favor of a more traditional dance cover, she’d been granted the chance to teach someone, and that was enough to make her happy for now.
staff flocking around her to fix her make-up or remind her what she is and isn’t supposed to touch on have slowed to a trickle, so mirae finds hyeju on set to make sure her student for the day is almost ready to go, too. “you good to go?” she checks, having found the younger woman without much trouble. while mirae was donning a bit more fabric than she normally would when practicing on her own to avoid any live outfit mishaps, the two that would be on camera still stood out from being in more athletic clothing than the staff members. “anything you want to ask before we start?”
setting: base online how-to live, may 2021
with: @fmdtaeyong
yuanjun liked to think he was pretty decent at this stuff. he was no master of the arts, far from, but he had always liked indulging in the ocassional art project regardless of the medium, a part of him never having moved past his love for his high school arts classes. so when tasked with doing something, anything for a livestream for the base online platform, fucking around with clay on camera had been a welcome opportunity. how exactly ash had gotten roped into it he couldn’t remember but here they were, situated behind two pottery wheels trying their best hand at making flower vases.
which was going great... on yuanjun’s part at least. he wouldn’t want to be rude towards ash, not ever, for that he spent far too long being starstruck about every single thing knight ever did but glancing over at what the older was making (or maybe more accurately trying to make), it felt safe to conclude that perhaps pottery wasn’t one of his many strengths. “ah hyung that’s... a really interesting shape.” he flashed ash the broadest smile he could muster, perhaps that would make up for the fact that the vase was really fucking ugly. “it’s very... abstract! like, super artsy and stuff like modern art.” yuanjun was a firm believer that art was anything that was created with the intention to be art but truly, this vase had him questioning that. “but uh- i think you wanna make it a little less lopsided, i think it’s really cool but i don’t know if the laws of phsyics agree.”
summary: there’s silly questions given, then there’s one question that drives deep into minjung’s psyche. whether she gives advice to a fan or is giving advice to herself, she can’t tell — it’s all a learning process, she supposes.
warnings: none
wc: 747
when her eyes glide past the screen, it’s all the same realm of comments.
some that mention a hello from wherever country they’re viewing, and the rest a series of questions she can barely keep track of. the first few come in easy answers — what do you do when you don’t want to study?and she replies, stop watching this live stream and go back to work with a thinned out grin that stretches across her face. the arduous feat to come across always tip-toes on the touchy subjects of fuse’s future and the lapse of time met with radio silence. what do you do if your favorite group is on hiatus for a near year with no news?
for those, she has no answers. can’t feed into the hint of fuse’s upcoming title track which mars the group into bad taste and a corny title, and the only thing she can do to qualm the worries is a mere sentiment constantly relayed — fuse isn’t going anywhere, do not worry.
when the questions come about her pushed back solo and the wave of silence for the heavy white elephant in the room, she can’t give answers to those either. bound by contract, she’s stripped of any voice or jarring form of individuality. instead, she’s left to plead the fifth in silence and the bob of her head that jostles from left to right humming an old tune. (last night story, and if anyone’s a clairvoyant, then they’d be able to read between the lines and know the cover’s added to her album).
but nobody knows, nobody picks up.
seo minjung’s left to read the comments of a live — advice asked, and she still can’t keep up with the rapid-pace of comments and the train of hearts on the side of her screen.
her palm meets her chin, and she narrows her eyes in. one question and it throws back to the fall in judgement and an old ballad thrown in the back of her mind. 180 degrees, and the question punctures itself deeper into her heart.
“unnie — i’ve been listening to your song 180 degrees after a breakup. how do i get over heartbreak?”
she reads the comment out loud, her tongue resting on her upper lip as she dips her head further to the right. the hums cease, and she dead-pans into a camera, reeling back into the gravity of seriousness, taking in each thought word for word.
“i can say time, but nobody actually wants to wait it out because the time it takes to heal a heart doesn’t account for the pain you have to endure during it.” minjung speaks, void of the idol formalities of innocent looks and the oh-i’ve-never-dated-anyone facade that bars rookies silent. instead, she gives a shrivel of honesty when her eyes hold sympathy in a wistful gaze to a blank face. “cry. lock yourself in a room and cry loudly without a care for a world. lay in bed, don’t get up till you don’t know what time of day it is. eat the food you want, watch sad movies and listen to sad ballads that make you cry more — what i mean is, cry till you feel every tear has been squeezed out of your system and you feel empty.” in reality, it comes as a life lesson. examples upon examples pushed from first-hand experiences, and she finds talking it out becomes no match for the catharsis that comes from a full hand cry.
“when you cry that much and acknowledge the pain you’re going through, it makes things better no matter how silly you feel. once you accept that, you’re at ground zero — things only go up after you hit the complete bottom.” a lengthy answer, pulled straight from her heart, and she fixes up a lop-sided smile before adding on, “you’ll get through it. i believe in you.” her fist raised in the air, a ‘fighting’ for good measure and her eyes fall back to the screen reading one comment after another.
-
that becomes the most memorable advice question given — the question that reaches into her current state of affairs. perhaps, it’s only a strike of fate when the stranger falls right in line with what she’s going through. no longer vicarious, seo minjung realizes she’s nothing special. everyone goes through heartache, and everyone falls into the same steps of heartbreak.
