old story.
@ryanid, a few weeks ago, filming for ryan’s mv.
san had already gotten the whole rundown from his manager when they’d approached him about the latest blocked out day on his schedule. for once, he hadn’t minded it too much. just an appearance in another midas singer’s music video. one he was friends with, even. it was sort of logical. he had fandom power, and he wasn’t the one she’d got outed with for dating. instead, they played up the hard working and celibate angle (despite it being so very far from the truth). apparent his fake morality outweighed the fact that, generally, san was a pretty terrible actor.
at least, he supposed, one generally didn’t have to do a whole lot in music videos. he’d managed well enough for press it, anyway. he might have resented that fact if it didn’t mean he got to work with his friend, instead of getting shipped off another variety show he’d inevitably hate. he’d already gotten the production packet, too. detailing his role (sad boy), the general premise (be a sad boy), and now all that was left was for him to get styled and listen to whatever details the director wanted him to incorporate.
he was shuffled on set, a coffee cup in hand and people swirling busily around him. at one point he was kidnapped for a change of clothes, another for them to do his hair. he was waiting on the finishing touches of makeup when ryan finally found time to drop down into the seat next to him. “congrats.” he meant it, even if his voice didn’t measure up to the sentiment. he knew that music meant more to ryan that the big screen did. he was currently wallowing in his own pity, however, though at least the director could probably make good use of it.
“did you request me? i bet they wanted to stick you with someone in titanium.” he means it as a joke, to kickstart some sort of conversation up like a distraction around them. maybe it’s pointless. filming will likely go on for hours. san lifts a hand, lets it hover momentarily near his hair before he remembers that the stylist had just shot a good half-bottle of spray into it. he drops it back into his lap instead. picks at the cardboard sleeve of his coffee cup. it tastes a bit bracken at this point, but san downs another grimacing mouthful of it anyway.










