Considering your muse, how do they feel about the pressure that they face when it comes to relationships and dating? Do they wish to find love, or have they already and faced the consequences for it? In your response, express how your muse feels towards the topic of dating and the stipulations that come along with it while being a pubic figure.
Being a celebrity is fun. When you wake up groggy at 6ᴀᴍ in an impromptu cosplay of a blow fish (because no matter what there’s no remedy for puffy face) and looking like a (not-at-all hot) mess while adjusting your chunk, thick-rimmed glasses to read personal letters from big names like Calvin Klein and Jeremy Scott, you’re still bombarded with comments about how mystical you are. How that perky pimple dimpling your cheek doesn’t detract at all from people’s perception of your otherwise flawless skin.
But when you wake up at 6ᴀᴍ with your inner rebel screaming at you to get awesome things like a septum ring or 7 tattoos illustrating your love for Beyoncè, Gaga or the late Andy Warhol; or channel your inner mischief and lea 9 years worth of home videos of your band mates onto the internet or get a cute girlfriend to match sweaters, phone cases and socks with and stroll with along the Han River with your surrogate babies--... things get a little bit... ironic. Ironic because he’s just shy of 30, with an ever flourishing career budded from singing lovey dovy songs despite... not being advised to date or actually perform any of the acts he serenades about.
Still, Kibum refuses to conform and instead falls in love 700 times a day. Be it with cute, small inanimate objects, lush materials or eccentric, unconventionally pretty visuals and personalities that strike his fantasy instantaneously. But really? Getting his attention was never much of a challenge (today alone he’s fallen in love at first sight with an antique toaster, the packaging of a facial cream[whilst disliking the product itself] and a hoobae with long limbs and clear skin) but keeping his undying attention? Now that was another story.
Love that comes ablaze in not red- but blue flames within seconds but burns out in a millisecond was both a gift and a curse. A push and a pull. And Kibum loves playing with fire.
But It’s exactly the way fickle ‘ol Kibum loves to his own misfortune. You see, Kibum’s a giver. Bold, brazen and blunt one- but still a giver. He gives wit, love and care (nagging) and critique for free.
The artist’s core is icy, angry hues of blues, reluctant greens and splotches of purple make up the pallete of his core. The artist who never changes-- changes. Loses his greens for rouge reds, his blues for orange citrus and his purples for golden rod. All of which is his color.
The artist nears 30, but his crushes are that of a school boy. Silly little gimmicks made to woe the other hue, silly gimmicks has ivory finger tips made to push every button tinkering and tampering with every gear to find out what makes them tick.
A well dressed tactician is invested. Can now name about three hundred facts about the one who has him swooning; what they’re like, their habits, their hobbies, their quirks, their desires, their dreams. He doesn’t want to seem clingy, but he will seem clingy, every appendix wrapped snug around the one who makes him happiest, the one who makes it all worth it; the one he’s ready to exchange rings with, get married, have a family.
This is what it would be like if he were in love. If he were dating.
Kim Kibum finds out who he’s dating through this thing called the internet. A place where he has, apparently, ran through all 4 of his band mates (because somehow being in the same group makes fans wild with speculation), members of his 91 line, his model friends, his seasonal friends, his deck of best friends and people he’s only been seen with for work or promotions.
Whether or not the speculations hold truth (and they most definitely do not) the constant pokes and prods at his personal life or whom he may or may not be dating frustrates him to no end (especially since the people that’s fun to be rumored with and whom he’s verbally confirmed that yes, he does find them attractive [ie. Jung Eunji, Kang Minkyung] never ended up as even side notes on Pann. (He separated work from his personal life easily, so why couldn’t they?) Would be the question he’d be asking if he were less experienced, had been in this industry for a few months, but it’s been almost ten years so he knows the answer.
Only after he finishes his performance, after he finishes eating halo-halo with his band mates, does he realize he’s alone. Not physically, no. Physically he’s surrounded by millions (trillions?), the numbers on his lives proves that much. But here, sitting up with a spiral of blankets coiling his waist in Manila, one set of finger tips pressing into an imported snow globe, and the other fancied around crystal glass, he’s alone.
