irony is when she sheds one practice room filled with the melodies of old music buried under years of dust into the next one that’s filled with equinox preparations in the low-blow to bach’s cult classic notes. the only getaway from any of the back and forth comes at the hands of the choreography teacher in charge, snaps of fingers in line with another thirty minute break.
(they’ve sweat the majority of their makeup off. pretended enough to exude enough grace and elegance inside faux ballet-play to contradict the sight).
it’s easy to keep her body busy when her mind’s running its own pace — distant memories of a blurry night, and the resurrection of past playing resume. a game she no longer holds the cards to, and the only surrender comes at the hands of caffeine, and maybe if she’s lucky enough, her mind will run faster than her heart can keep up.
doesn’t matter, though. not when the sight of a known company mate’s right in front of her. behave, at least that’s what her mind says. formalities first, something she hears in the tune of her father’s voice. yet, pettiness takes the first step before restraint when she taps hyojung’s shoulder, eyes wide open. “hi, lucky you.” she says quietly, a show of cordial hellos when her mouth curls. “i’m taking a survey for a research project — don’t know when i’ll compile all the pieces. nevertheless, i’d like your opinions on a few things, do you have time?”
starter for @fmdhyojung / q&a’s for base culture complex yt filming🤪
the crinkled paper in his hand scrawls out the words, “since both of you have been in gold star for so long, what’s the funniest memory you can remember of each other?” to which, he reads out loud. it’s a silent scream, the way he manages to stare straight into the camera before guiding his piercing eyes towards his manager. (his manager catches his drift, cuts for ten minutes of a break before gyujeong decides to say fuck you to this all.)
it’s the sigh of relief that escapes his mouth, his elbows now on the desk with his palms cupped over his eyes. within that show of avant garde formalities, he sighs louder before mumbling, “you’d think they’d double check these questions before they decide to make us shoot this video?” words monotoned to a hum, and he presses his head into his palms further. “sounds like we’re filming something for transit love with these shitty questions.”
his voice doesn’t taper, but his face lifts up from his hands. ten minutes, and most likely, he’s spent two of them bitching.
a suppression of his sighs, and his voice balances back down to a standstill of bleak emptiness. “you got any explanation as to why we got paired for this?”
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오마이걸 효정과 함께하는 <케바케식당>
365일 미소를 잃지 않는 효정 SBN을 위해
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1월 31일 수요일 오후 6시에 만나요✨
토크 맛집 <케바케 식당> 💜매주 (수) 18시💜"
she doesn’t blame the inevitable, knowing the little quirks and edges that unwrap in a visibly untouched, pristine industry. daunting perfection comes with the risk of unwarranted fractures — surprises that throw in a new variable. and to that, she only awaits lost in sea.
assimilation, it’s what she’s always known.
so, she doesn’t mark her greetings with a frown smudged across her face, or a lecture awaiting on the tip of her tongue (she’s been on the other side. knows how heavy the pressure sits across shoulders). instead, she welcomes her partner with a doe-eyed stare, polished off with a polite smile and a bow of her head — hierarchy still applies, and the cameras are still on.
“hey, are you feeling any better?” it’s ignorance to the cameras when she takes an empty seat, settling her bag on her lap before looking over once more. today, she waves down the glass mirrors of tiny jokes and games in lieu of humbling honesty — a game of morals for one. “did you get a chance to look over the katalk messages i sent you? if not, we can go over it today if you’re feeling up to it.”
humidity’s a crime, and seoul’s guilty with it’s non-stop rainy season — least, that’s what he pins his frustration on. it’s certainly not the fact he’s forced to be in the building when he could be doing god knows what else, and it’s certainly not the fact he’s forced to make shit music under the guise of being a sell out.
it’s the weather. it always is.
figures, that’s why he runs towards tardiness with his slow steps towards the company building, iced americano in hand all while balancing a chanel umbrella around his arm (pretentiousness comes in many pictures). gyujeong’s almost robotic in the stiff movements, scanning his id card, tipping his head towards the security before heading straight towards the elevators. but it’s the sight of someone he knows, someone he can fall into a conversation with — maybe then, he’ll be left with two hours of practice instead of three.
(he takes his shot).
“are you going outside without an umbrella today?” his eyebrow raises, peeks over towards hyojung barehanded. “you know, the weather’s kinda shitty today — heard it's not supposed to stop raining until tomorrow.”