hi friends! i’m garden plant 9000 (she/her) but you can call me gp9 for short ଲ( ⓛ ω ⓛ *)ଲ and this is my muse, miles from crescent! a little sad, a little rejected and a little useless but it’s okay. he’ll fake it till he makes it and he’s kinda making it, which proves that faking it works. he’s a little blunt and rude but he means well, he’s just bad at expressing himself outside of his craft. buT ANYWAY!! i hope to write with everyone here soon, pls consider liking this so i can do just that yeeehhaaawee lezgeddit
the tears that he has been holding for so long finally run free, maybe out of shock or out of all the hurt that he has been trying to swallow down for the sake of trying to talk things out, of giving miles the benefit of the doubt, and also maybe out of guilt because he didn’t mean it, he— "m-miles,” are you ok, he wants to ask but the words die on his throat and a sob takes their place while kiha holds his now free wrist against himself almost protectively.
shock. nothing but a wave of shock encompasses him. a widened gaze that was met with the floor beneath, brows lifted above dazed hues as lips move agape for a moment, only to come to close again in attempts to decipher the situation. he doesn’t feel the stinging sensation immediately, it comes in waves after, feels it burn against his features as ebony strands fall before him. the hand he had around kiha’s wrist falls limp to his side and for a moment, it feels as though time had frozen. that he was trapped in some sort of limbo, destined to be some sort of failure on the precipice of no return. nothing but the rising of his chest, moves with the silence of the room. digits finally curving into his palm, crescents can be found imprinted against his flesh as nails dig into his own skin in fists.
he doesn’t know what to do, though his brows begin to register the situation as they knit gently across his features. head tilting to the side as he takes a deep inhale, avoiding eye contact with kiha. abnormality now painting his skies a dusty grey, and he feels the world almost ending around him, feels the sensation of drowning breaking his lungs as his breaths draw shorter and shorter. this has never happened to them before, all their arguments have never escalated this way, had never ended up in such a dire place. he had sworn to never raise his voice at kiha, to protect kiha, to be there for kiha, and yet here he was, doing all the things he wasn’t meant to do. the manacles of anger and the chains of pride having locked him into the prison of dystopia. coloured panels turning grey as the sun gets dismantled by the monstrosity within.
a hand raises slowly to press against his cheek, the stinging subsides though, the feeling of drowning does little to stop. “you—” he pauses, only because words fail him more than they have already, as his arm falls to his side again. cornered then slapped, what a fate to live out.
his gaze falls to kiha’s arm, seeing it being held so protectively in front of him that it makes miles have to glance down at his empty palms, fingers stretching out as they quiver slightly under the fear that he would lose himself again. he matches his gaze with kiha again, brows falling flat as his gaze smokes up with a blurry screen of tears, tears that he tries so hard to hold back. and he falls to his knees, a frustrated scream leaving him as palms press against the practice room floor. he’s hunched over, trying to keep his wailing to a minimum, his droplets of tears fall from tired hues. this was a pathetic sight to see, a sight no one should witness, especially kiha.
and this was the first time he had cried since his father’s death. almost two decades of pent up emotions and not allowing himself to cry because his mother tells him that boys don’t cry, that they’re meant to be strong, that tears were a sign of weakness. and he bottles it all in. keeps it all tucked away in the small crevice of his soul. he fucked up. miles fucked up. how embarrassing, as he silent tries to suppress his emotions, “you fucked me up.” some sternness is evident in his tone, “i forced myself to love the colour orange. pastel orange because you said it was your favourite colour. i forced myself to listen to soft music because those are the kinds of songs you like. i forced myself to do better because that’s what you deserve because—” digits curling into fists as they scrape against the practice room floor, “because— i was so afraid— afraid of losing this friendship, of losing you but fuck me right? who gives a fuck about miles. fuck him and his feelings, fuck that guy, right?” he falls to his side, curling up into himself as a sleeve comes to messily wipe at the tears staining his features.
“lets just corner him and slap him if he reacts poorly, fuck me right?”
careless words were once exchanged, accompanied by the sideways glance that would flicker across tired hues in a daze. impassivity pasted onto his features with the subtle tug of his corners into a smirk that seemed to be more condescendingly than intended. features, too truthful to his unsaid words, claiming a part of his vocabulary through the arched brows that would push up above his eyes with a silent scoff leaving so naturally from his throat, eyes circling back only to walk away. little was said between them, even less so in interaction. he tried to keep everything to a minimal, not wanting to accidentally piss anyone off in the process of assimilating himself into the culture of the industry.
but that was a decade ago. now, now was different. he has carved out a spot for himself, despite the constant voice of self doubt, there’s a glimmer of hope that shines through the opaqueness of murky waters. more comfortable with the image that he presents to the media, to the netizens and to the fans that support him. more decisive in the way he chooses his words, and how he chooses to handle his reactions to other’s reacting to him. polarising, he has been told. digits raking through his strands of the all too familiar hallway of yuseong, eyes landing on the equally familiar silhouette of aera. a brow raising, it had been a while and he has heard of her recent debut. he wasn’t sure how long he had known her to wonder the yuseong hallways, to venture in the practice rooms but now she was there, freshly debuted.
“what’s with the face?” corners tugging to a smirk, forefinger coming to tug the collar of his shirt forward, “and congratulations.” he adds, corners curving upwardly accompanied by crescents. “don’t tell me you already hate it because unfortunately, it does not get any better. it’s only downhill from here.” a subtle scoff leaving at the tail end of his words, tone teasing though his words bled with the truth of the reality he had witnessed.
So, ‘Operation: Befriend a Crescent Member’ had a bit of a rocky start. But somewhere between his bouts of clumsiness and random cacti facts, the rookie weaseled his way into Miles’ good graces - and his contact list. Once the utter shock of actually receiving an invite to hang out finally wore off, Danny finds himself wandering into an empty parking lot. Which to some may have been mildly suspicious in the first place, but he’s just happy to be included in whatever plans Miles has in store.
“Uh…” However, his enthusiasm does little to mask his puzzled expression as he chews on the end of a candy cane and stares at the vehicle before them. It kind of just looked like a regular golf cart. …But with a little imagination, he could see the vision! “Yeah! It just needs a little of that Christmas magic! And I’m a great decorator, y’know,” Danny nods, a hand sinking into the front pocket of his evergreen hoodie ( ‘tis the season! ) to fish for his phone. “You should see these photos from my family’s old holiday cards! I did all the backdrops -”
“Oh! M - me?!” he sputters, fumbling to juggle the keys flung his way, his phone, and the candy tumbling from his lips. “A - are you sure?! I’m not -“ It had been quite a while since the last time he’d been behind the wheel of anything other than an arcade-style racing game. On the one hand, this could end pretty badly - but on the other, he could really impress his senior and potentially be rewarded with a pocketknife of his own to commemorate their new friendship ( Danny has yet to confirm that Miles actually carries one but that doesn’t stop him from assuming anyway ).
He gives a can-do shrug and slides into the driver’s side of the cart. After making a show of adjusting the tiny mirrors, he gives the key a turn and fires it up. “No need to worry about that! I’m a great driver, so you’re safe with me! Now, is there a gear on this thing or do you j -“ One tap of the petal jolts the cart forward, and Danny’s already beginning to question his decisions. “Ah, sorry!” He smiles apologetically before giving it another go. A gentler start and the two are cruising along at a somewhat reasonable speed. “So, where to? Think we can find some decorations nearby?”
miles doesn’t doubt the other’s christmas spirit and way of decorating, and that he completely has faith in danny to spice up the cart with some much needed pimpage if need be. but, with their current surroundings, being discreet was of the utmost priority. he nods in acknowledgement of danny’s great decorating abilities. he nods again, a slight chuckle perking at his corners as the other showed some enthusiasm in driving, candy falling from his lips only to have miles retrieve his own candy cane from his many pockets, a little less jangle this time and more practical.
and he’s glad that danny at least shows some care in adjusting the mirrors, that safety is somewhat in the forefront of their agenda, and that they would be left in one piece after this adventure. lips move agape, about to reply only to be stopped by the sudden jolt that almost dislocates his skull from his spinal cord. he freezes for a moment, almost regretting his decision to let the younger drive though, he had first started off on the same foot and the same jolt had almost flung his passenger out of the front seat, this was but a minor learning curve. “i almost saw my life flash before my eyes.” a chuckle leaving him, feeling somewhat more alive than before.
“we could go to the props place and take some decorations for the cart? or we could rogue and hit the streets and go to that one halloween store that’s on the verge of closing down, just down the street from here?” he sits back, making sure to have a good grip on the sides of his seat to avoid being flung across the street and trampled on. “but maybe we should get some disguises if we choose to venture out into the wilderness.” maybe a good ol’ santa costume would do the thing or the classic elf.
“we should disguise ourselves as chorong to help improve her reputation.” placing the candy cane in between his teeth, peeling the wrapping back.
"the spirits.” he speaks with a sigh hissing between his teeth, words almost heaving out in a tiresome string of a syllable, as digits run through his strands, lazing back against the wall of the practice room. “but mostly the ceo yoo.” he’s starting to whine, tone a little too stretched out, “from the last time we tried to pick lock our way into the ceo’s office, since then, my sleep paralysis demon looks exactly like ceo yoo.” another sigh, this time more tired than the last. he was lacking sleep, oh so much sleep that it was becoming incomprehensible.
“come to think of it, i don’t think i’ve seen the ceo in a couple of weeks now.” a subtle frown stretching across his features, legs straighten as shoulders roll back. had the ceo been murdered? been possessed by a demon and then murdered? murdered by a possessed demon? possessed by a murderous demon? a mountainous selection of options that it became too complex to ponder. “have you seen the ceo?” his gaze finally lifting to match with the other, or perhaps... no, it can’t be. he squints for a moment, could minho be possessed? his squint intensifies only to revert to his usual indifferent stretch of brow when he catches himself chuckling at the thought of a demon brave enough to conquer the soul that was minho’s. bright, too bright, too much brightness that sometimes looking at the other would cause uv damage to his eyes.
a mental reminder to wear sunglasses at their next encounter.
“you’re too humble, hyung.” his words are mostly said in jest, but he meant it. “when i started off as a trainee, just seeing you and the other members walking in the hallway had everyone pausing. you all seemed untouchable, like titans. it wasn’t envy or greed, but it had us questioning if we were worthy to ever be in a similar position as you. your vibe has always been different from the other members.” he finds a spot by the remote control for the speaker system, playing with the battery compartment lid. how often was the remote used after all there was a bluetooth option? he accidentally presses play, shoulders lifting out of shock when the music booms through the speakers. he pauses the music with a soft, embarrassed laugh escaping his lips. “uh, and i mean that as a compliment. truly.”
“our performance is actually fun. it didn’t take us long for us to figure out what we wanted to do with it. lots of headbanging and vibey.” he places down the remote control beside him, leaning forward with his arms resting on his thighs. “why haven’t you been sleeping? are the days blurring into each other for you too? i can’t seem to remember what i did two days ago, or what i need to do tomorrow.”
“want some help?” he asks, tilting his head slightly to glance up at miles with a faint grin on his lips. “or, a distraction?” a much, much better one than what he was doing just now.
the positivity that was being showered upon him has him feeling unworthy and weary of the criticism that might follow, as if some kind of strategic way to tell him that he ultimately sucks in the end. the buttering up process was inevitable when it came to criticism, to the constructive feedback that wasn’t so constructive and more so, destructive. he lets a nervous smile perk at his corners, nods slowly to the other’s praises. “you’re pretty untouchable now, aren’t you?” a chuckle follows at the tail end of his words. international fans and domestic fans alike, outshining even crescent, the maknae was scaled so much higher than miles himself. he felt almost undeserving to be placed with such high praise from phoenix’s own maknae. viewing himself as only some sort of washed up idol who was lucky enough to come across stardom.
“headbanging and vibey, sounds like the kind of performance i want to be in.” the same chuckle resurfacing, somewhat relieved that the compliments had come to an end, a sigh accompanies his words. “i just can’t seem to fit sleeping into my schedule, if i’m being honest.” he shrugs, sometimes being too busy to even remember to sleep. weekend reminders from his mother to sleep early and to dedicate more of his time on things he enjoyed to relieve what little stress he could.
“a distraction sounds good, right about now.” catching himself almost dozing off at some point throughout the practice. he was certain the audience was going to pick up on the fact that he hadn’t slept at all as of late. one all nighter had turned to numerous and now they were unstoppable. “food right about now would be great, but i’ve heard the food here sucks.”
looking rather pleased with himself, hands resting with purpose on either side of his hips, chin tilting upwardly, a gesture of triumph. having pulled all the stops for the start of the festive season, “behold, a christmas themed golf cart.”
he had always wanted to attempt to do at least a few donuts in his lifetime, and it was suggested that doing so on a full sized vehicle would be more dangerous than what it was worth. he supposes, that the next best thing to do, would be to attempt those donuts on a smaller scale golf cart. would it be as dangerous? perhaps. would it still have the same risks and consequences? absolutely. but was he going to reconsider? absolutely not. instead, he was going to rope in danny. someone he figured shared the same passion for shenanigans as himself.
“well, they’re not christmas themed yet... but we can always decorate them to fit the festive season.” he was thinking of ripping some of the fresh decoration put up around the yuseong building or even to take them from the drama set they’re both present at to decorate the golf cart. it wouldn’t hurt to live on the edge of criminal activity, theft was not as bad as murder.
“here, you test drive it.” tossing the key towards the other, “just make sure you don’t kill us.” climbing onto the passenger side of the cart, he figures sitting at the back would present more unhealthy consequences. the urge to suddenly jump off from the cart going at high speeds would at least increase by seventy percent. this was the result of being left unsupervised by the real adults. “i only just had a mini album released, i can’t die just yet.”
synopsis — miles has a life crisis because he never thought he was capable of being more than the ‘maknae’ of crescent.
word count — 507.
silence sweeps the practice room with its deafening crescendo that comes in waves of fastened heart beats and sweat dropping by the bullets down the side of his temples. jawline, scraped by the beads of sweat that leaves a shiny residue, bleeding down the veins of his neck. throat, parched with numerous bottles lining the practice room mirror, all of which were now empty. hours spent slaving away in the room that vibrated with the invisible drive of the music that was crafted for his solo. and for a moment, the silence becomes too loud that he drops to his knees in exhaustion. the realisation hits, and it hits harder than he thought it would have. years, years spent mastering his craft but he finds that mastery was so far fetched that he should just find comfort in the mediocrity that was himself. he finds himself having given up somewhere in between, somewhere close enough that it saddens his soul to think about.
palms pressing against the flooring before him, as the strands fall in clumps of wet tangles barricading his vision. tired hues darting from the speakers back to the fingers that fidget before him, slightly relieved to find a moment to catch his breath. was this real? preparing for something that wasn’t a group project? something he truly wanted? something he had wanted to craft, a sense of himself interpreted in an art form that he understood and resonated with. something someone could find meaning in. shallow ambitions only turning more meaningful as he realises that this was his own. he’s more than just the maknae of crescent. he was miles. he felt like a fraud because this wasn’t him. this was just a projection of someone he wanted to be. the separation between his stage persona and the real him causing a scrimmage somewhere inside of him.
was he a fraud? projecting an image that was so far from the truth.
he drops himself to the floor, shoulder rolling himself up facing the ceiling on his back. he feels the strands dampen his forehead as eyes shut close, chest heaving shakily. he doesn’t deserve this, there are more people out there who hold more talent than he did. more people who deserved this opportunity, the recognition, the chance to shine. he was a jaded stone, edges smoothed out without purpose. but he has worked hard to be here, hasn’t he?
an almost confession spewing from his thoughts, reverie filled with nothing but the incessant prayers to be heard and the need to accepted. he writes of lavender, describing the one beacon of hope that lights his way, the scent of sweetness that radiates a glow of light mauve twisted with the shade of pastel orange. mixed messages and strange emotions that cascade through an already struggling mind, yet nothing but the calmness of chaos pricks at his reverie. a ball of oddity that lies on the precipice of self annihilation and preservation, though he can only do one.
and maybe because kiha is already too far gone in his own confession, too wrapped up around the fact that he has been having these feelings for miles for far too long and he has only realized them now so he has a lot to make up for that he’s moving by instinct, pressing kisses from miles’ hands to his cheeks, how he’s moving in closer and closer to the other with even less respect towards miles’ personal space than he normally would, that kiha seals that promise with a kiss— more of a peck really, innocent and gentle on miles’ lips.
for fifteen years old kiha who never got the chance to do any of this, for twenty three years old kiha who almost lost his best friend, for twenty four years old kiha who didn’t lose his best friend and finally— finally gets his chance to give his heart to the person it always belonged to.
he’s still recovering from the sudden rush of embarrassment that washes over him, sanguine painting the tips of his ears and dotting his features. he feels his palms pressing closer against his cheeks, feeling the pressure alleviate the heated flush that transfers to his palms. gaze averting from kiha in between his fingers. the bravery he had managed to muster up had seemingly dissipated as he felt the uneasiness rupture his veins, only wanting to go back to sleep and have the comfort of darkness to envelope his waking distress into some form of a comforting demonic possession within his sleep.
kiha’s words drop with weight, he couldn’t help the knitting of his brows, the way his jaded hues light up slightly with an unexpected glow. he was almost certain that he had misheard, feeling his hands being peeled from his features, feeling the confusion more prominently painting his features. widened hues accompanying the flustered expression that darts his gaze with uncertainty around his room. was this some sort of dream? he was certain he had woken up, unless... unless he had in fact died, then perhaps this would have made a lot more sense. his thought process cut short as kiha plants his lips onto his palms, an instinctive deep breath is inhaled, brows forming with concern.
and then, he finds himself in between kiha’s hands, mentally tries to calm himself down, tries to lower his body temperature with sheer concentration. he was not used to being this close in proximity to anyone, let alone kiha. he was sure he looked at least horrifyingly terrified but tries his best to suppress the twitches on his features to a subtle look of confusion. he was overwhelmed, his senses were hypersensitive as if he were drowning in an ocean of emotions and unsaid feelings. too in his own head to realise the sudden tenderness that momentarily meets with his own lips, and he swears, he swears that he had almost passed out from the the overstimulation of his senses. overwhelmed was everything that encompassed him.
widened eyes finally resting on kiha, carefully watching his features, feeling his own heart rate beat too fast for comfort, a sense of adrenaline building up in his cerulean veins. digits curl in on themselves by his sides, digging into the mattress beneath. shoulders frozen in place, unsure of what to do next, unfamiliar territory laced with slight panic bleeding from his reverie.
“i—” his gaze drops from kiha, hands reaching for kiha’s own. “... i don’t know what to do right now.” he confesses. “i feel like i’m going to pass out.” he adds, grip tightening on kiha’s hands, cupping them in between his own. “so— what... wha—what are we now?” clearly best friends don’t kiss each other, to his knowledge at least.
to say the maknae’s reaction wasn’t entertaining, would be a lie. marco highly enjoyed seeing the younger in slight distress, can’t hide the fact that the smirk at his lips only growing more visible as the younger speaks. their friendship, a good one, though with many speed bumps along the way, marco came to realise that the younger had been stewing in his sadness for a minute too long. miles had no reason to let harbour those feelings, to cultivate an even larger emotional abyss without having to try to bury the last. unproductive, and if the younger wanted to remained baked by his most inner deep thoughts, then marco would give him a reason to be remain locked up in his own mind.
“i don’t have any issues with you, miles.” his words leaving him rather too casually for the situation, “i told you. i don’t have any issues with you, miles. where is all this coming from? i’ve done nothing but support you through crescent and this is the thanks i get? for you to stand here and disrespect me?” his words weighing lighter, though his tone shifts as the syllables leave from his lips. digits coming to comb through his hair, “i’m sure you don’t talk to kiha this way.” a smirk inching at his features, “… or maybe you do and that’s why he—“ a sigh leaving him, “never mind that, this is meant to be our day off. stop being a bitch and enjoy the festival.”
at the mention of kiha’s name, he can’t help the instinctive widen of his jaded hues, one that reflected the frustrations he felt deep down. and marco, marco knew this. marco knew the turmoil, the inner scrimmage that harassed his reverie on the daily, and yet, here he stood, almost too mockingly within the periphery of the miles’ own suffering. he lets his gaze narrow as brows furrow slightly at as the older pauses amidst his words, calculated and with reason. “why he what?” he repeats, “why he what? finish your sentence, coward.” he lets his eyes roll, lets his arms cross before him as his neck rolls back to release what little tension he can. “day off, my fucking ass...” he huffs under his breath as digits come to rake through his ebony strands.
the festival was meant to be fun, meant to be relaxing but all that came from it was more stress and more pent up anxiety over his performance. the hip thrusting was perhaps too much, or maybe it was too little for him to perfect. he was told the aggression was too much for his own good, that the performance would be ruined by his energy alone because he had done too much, that at this rate, he would dislocate his hips and end up in a wheelchair. but it doesn’t stop him from giving it his all, even with all the negative criticism.
he lets the last comment slide, lets his eyes roll again as he lets out an exaggerated exhale, “what do you want to do then?”
his gaze darts to the other as the words leave from the other's mouth, brows raising in slight concern and he catches himself staring at moonsik for a while before words are able to be formed. "did you eat something weird?" his gaze narrowing in on the other's features, attempting to analyse his expression to find any hints of an illness that had managed to ravage his system.
lets his gaze trail the other's frame, ending at his shoes before averting to his own, legs outstretched as his back leaned up against the wall of the practice room. "... or is it one of those... feelings thing?" he hopes not, he hopes it's not one of those feelings things. he hates talking about feelings and more importantly, he doesn't know how to handle his own let alone someone else's.
"have you tried going for a walk?" he has been told that he helps, although, a run is more useful. nothing beats the feeling of being knocked out cold by the breathlessness you would feel after overworking your lungs and losing your ability to inhale and exhale casually. nothing was like the feeling of tasting blood when you ran far and fast enough that you end up in a different city. "or a run?" he adds.
his gaze moves back to meet with moonsik's own, "do... do you... want to talk about it? or..." he's attempting to be of help, despite the uncertainty he radiates from his voice. "lets start with this, define feeling and define myself."
surprisingly, the parking lot had been quieter than usual given the time of day. her hobby for the past week were to people watch. she enjoyed watching staff, managers, and idols rushed into their vans to beat out the inevitable traffic by the gate. she had observed groups dynamics from her passenger seat and listened on several conversations, but most had been mundane and none too interested. dandelion’s promotions had ended, which gifted them with more than enough time to leave the broadcasting station. no one was waiting for them after all, but her stomach had protested loudly several times while she waited for the members to return.
yoojin spots the crowd first, leaning closer to the window while thumbing the volume button on the side of her phone, lowering the music. her stomach sinks when she spots the mysterious man at the center of the commotion, fingers curling into a tight fist. she knew better than to play hero, especially when the cameras gave away the identities of the hassling people. time speeds up and she hears the door of the driver’s side opening, the senior manager stepping out to open the sliding door to the van, and with a push the mysterious man is seated by her side.
the door slams shut, and she recognizes him now. what just happened? she didn’t know her manager could move that fast, but she would tease him about it later. her gaze drops to the cup in his hand, eyebrow raising when he speaks. “i don’t think you have much of a choice.” she points out, peering over his shoulder to watch as the crowd retreats from the van, standing a few meters away while gushing about crescent’s lead vocalist. “how did you keep your drink from not spilling on you?”
crowds like that always manage to freak him out a little. no matter how many years he spends being the centre of brightly flashing lights and the chatter that falls to the background of all the squealing that accompanies the clicks, he will never used to it. never get used to the ignorant questions that get slung at him, to the ridiculous titles plastered against tabloids, something about being the reincarnation of a countryside farmer possessed by a spirit of a siren. folktales that bleed into mainstream only to taint the waters a shade of charcoal.
he nods as she responds, she’s right. if he dared to venture out into that crowd again, more questions would be asked. perhaps even accompanied by an embarrassing tabloid title of how the crescent member had barged into a girl group’s van without a word. was this the moment that he would forever be labelled as some sort of freak who targets girl groups? his brow quivers in slight fear at the thought alone, digits wrapping around his cup a little tighter as he peers out the window, watching the crowd gradually dispersing. “magic.” an almost too fast of a response that spills from his lips, as his gaze shifts to meet with hers again, “i mean, after a few years of running late, you get used to it.” arm raising, giving his cup a little shake, “the lid nowadays are pretty sturdy too.” taking the cup to his lips as he takes a sip, lowering it again to his lap.
“if they catch me walking out of here and realising this isn’t crescent’s van, i am never going to recover from this tragedy.” a sigh hissing from between his corners, not having expected more from himself. he allows his gaze to fall on one of the photographers outside, just hoping that no other crescent member was unfortunate enough to be subjected to the wrong van. that instead, his members had chosen to drive themselves to the venue. “do you know any cool magic tricks?”
