empty.
@idjinwoo, school festival performance ( prompt, +5 exp, +5 skill )
he’s nearing the end of solo promotions, so it makes sense that he’s here by himself. part of the lineup for some college festival or another. might as well wring as much money as they can out of him before he has to get benched from performances. at least technically, because he’s already been jammed into a meeting room to discuss his upcoming mentor-ship in the middle of a survival show. midas had okayed it without asking him, but san hadn’t expected it to work any differently. it was just how his contract worked. they pointed, he went. they told him to jump, and he did. until his legs gave out. and then he got up again. rinse, repeat.
it’s obvious though that it’s been too much. even for san, used to the brutal pace that midas tends to run olympus at. tell me promotions had been jam packed, and everything for danger had been rushed. he can’t remember the last time he’d slept properly. his legs feel hollow and like they’re made of lead all at once. his heart thumps erratically away inside of his chest, the the nervous, spent engine of a rundown car. and in the middle of his stage, he stumbles. catches himself on a heel. he nearly makes it look like it was on purpose. probably only his fansite masters could tell. a dizzying moment where the world felt a bit like it was tipping to the side. and maybe he’s dehydrated. probably. is just thankful for once that he has a backtrack to mouth along to. he’s sure he’d sound terrible live.
he doesn’t even want to sleep at this point. he doesn’t even really feel capable of it. san doesn’t know what he wants. for his skin to stop feeling like static. to wipe away the swelling of nausea in his stomach. to blink away white spots and quiet the spiking patter of his heart. but none of those things happen. they just climb their way up his throat. demand to be felt until it’s all consuming. until he feels unhinged, vulnerable and torn open. like he might shake apart, like he might be incapable of breathing. like he might be dying.
and oh, it’s a panic attack.
san has them near-often enough that he knows what it is, even if half of his brain is still caught up and convinced that he’s having a literal heart attack. he also knows he hates being seen with them by anyone other than his manager while clutching a fistful of pills designs to shove him away from the proverbial cliff’s edge. so he stumbles off, past workers, stylists, prop up tents until he finds somewhere tucked away and devoid of people. lets himself drop to the grass to tuck his head between his thighs. digs fingers into the gaps of his ribs through cotton and tries to force himself into breathing before he does something really fucking stupid, before he passes out. before they have to haul him off to get an iv drip and that will be so much wasted time that san already hates the idea of it. too wound up in the throes of panic, in the alarming overwhelming nature of it that he misses the newfound company.