idiseul-blog

[idiseul-blog]

ill at ease.

( he usually walks on eggshells around @idhojun, but iseul finally acts like a proper senior and strikes up conversation before the performances. )

iseul is never not in the mood ‘cept for today.

now.

the discomfort, the detest of being there, he doesn’t wield it proudly like a knight with their sword. no, iseul hides it with small, polite smiles and a head hung low. when they ask if something is the matter, he brushes it off and forces a laugh to make his answer a little more plausible. isn’t quite sure if they believe it or not, but they walk away like they do, anyway. all for the best. he can’t bring himself to explain why something is the matter. will take too much of their valuable time. by the end of it, iseul might be streaked in tears and more pathetic than anyone should realize. he has an image to uphold. as detrimental as it is being sirius of all bad and no good, it is protection from the outside world.

he hasn’t been on a big stage like this gayo in a while. last year he thought he’d feel on top of the world. the feeling can’t be any more opposite. iseul is at rock bottom, dirt under fingernails as he climbs—climbs for the top that is escaping him. getting further and further away. lost, confused, alone, no one really understands him. gets him. he’s scared of doing anything that can reach sources and make headlines. scared of breaches of privacy and more pictures released that will surely bury his career six feet under. he’s almost there, feeling the ground for that rumoured solo.

keeping to himself is what he does. the safest option. he doesn’t gamble at the chance to appear too friendly. time and time again he’s commited himself to that. older, maturer, wiser, iseul doesn’t want anymore harm done to him, to poizn, to someone else. besides, his motives are always prosecuted as ultior, anyway. why bother. he thinks, maybe he should just be the bad guy, become the monster they created.

and maybe he slowly getting into the role. deep down or not that deep at all, iseul is still nice. is still the senior that wants to look out for juniors or rookies or trainees. even if it’s hojun. which is perfect example for someone who dislikes him, but iseul approaches cautiously with nothing but a sliver of a smile on his face. barely there but there regardless.

“here.” he hands hojun a water bottle. he’ll need it. everyone will. “are you nervous for the performances later? i mean... we never really had the chance to have a proper talk, but i see you train and practice, so i can’t wait for you to be up on stage with us.”

[idiseul-blog]

pleased as punch.

( he thinks he runs into an ex, but it turns out to be @idjua, and iseul can’t be more than happy. )

shock wears off in bits and pieces. leaves falling trees. petals from flowers. love from hearts. it peels from iseul’s face a beat at a time, takes the missing colour and returns it.

he has never been happier to see jua.

“shit. i thought you were... never mind.”

because he thought it was ellie he bumped into.

nonetheless, jua is a sight for sore eyes. a breath of fresh air. a rose among thorns. a friend in a sea of unfamiliar, strange faces. so, iseul musters a smile and is able to relax against a wall. a manager doesn’t stray far behind. thus, house arrest wages on. even on the way to the cafeteria for something to munch on. something to take his time. while not worthwhile, it’s better than letting thoughts consume him. better than letting worry invade then multiply until he is nothing but a bag of flesh, bones and unspoken words, unshed fear.

jua is a good friend. someone he has come to trust. someone who has probably seen him on all sorts of days: good when he dated ellie—which served as the foundation of their friendship, bad when they broke up, and he was texting jua on random weekends how everything was. he stopped doing it now, choosing to focus on the positives in his life rather than the negatives. his friendship with jua is one of them. and he’s happy despite what happened, they remain friends.

the one good thing that came from that relationship. the one good relationship. the one good person.

“but hey, we haven’t seen each other in a while. was it december we met up?” for iseul to give jua his present to ellie (and mugs with personalized sleeves for jua and yujin as well): some scarf he tried to knit. didn’t work out too well. didn’t even know if she got it. as the question sits on the tip of his tongue, he forfeits asking it. focusing on ellie meant more months of grieving in solitude. he can’t hurt himself like that anymore. refuses to.

“how is everything? i’m looking forward to your performances later. bet it’ll be ass kicking as always.” personally, he directs this only at jua with a spark in his eyes and a fine edge on his smile, pushing any tampering thoughts of ellie to the back of his mind because he is truly happy to see jua.

[idiseul-blog]

idjaeyoon:

“why?” wary, jae’s gaze sharpens and he straightens, remnants of his previous bout of playfulness replaced by the tiniest measure of alarm. the wolf in him stirs, sensing danger. “she say somethin’?” 

it takes everything in iseul not to snap.

because it’s jae, and that should be enough reason to. fucked up, right? they say only the ones you love can hurt you the most. time and time again, that’s proven true. from ex-girlfriends to best friends—iseul stares hard at jae but doesn’t glare. glaring means letting anger win, nursing the boil and broil of hatred. he can’t hate jae. it’s impossible. so it’s relief on his end when jae backs away, somewhat lost, confused, dim. iseul reads the blankness in his eyes, can practically reach his fingers into the hollowness and pluck out the memory himself.

but it hits jae, anyway.

and it better.

iseul finds himself more mad, but he doesn’t want to be. the stifling sensation of a pulsing head, galloping heart is awful—brutal. makes him wince, jaw clench and throat bob once then twice. down his throat, he tastes the bitter followed by the sour. if he bites down hard enough on his tongue to prevent from lashing out, he might taste blood soon.

again, it’s jae, and iseul refuses to wreck their friendship more. but it begs the question: are they even friends? more than anyone, iseul trusted jae. training together, hoping they’d debut together. the walks to the stations when iseul returned home to busan, the shadows of a smile—a real smile iseul witnessed on jae once and decided he wanted to see more, wanted to be the reason once. the early morning hellos and late night goodbyes. the years worth of trust and love eating him up, hurting him more.

jae isn’t making it easy to not hate him, to not shove him against the wall and bare teeth, warning him to never touch sophia again. iseul knows jae won’t—hopes he won’t. through the bad, he still sees the good. through it all, jae is still his friend. but he can’t stand him right. for the sake of their friendship, turning away is better, right. losing jae is losing his longest love—no, iseul can’t afford that.

even if it’s sophia. sophia who means more to iseul than anyone. a battle of love rages within, and he’s consumed in the bloodbath. that frustrates him. that paints indignation as red on a pale face. so it’s easy for jae to get a reaction. unfairly so. because the more jae speaks, distant and detached, the more pissed iseul gets.

“don’t remember much.” iseul bites back, holds back from breaking. not down but letting the temper win, letting it out to roam free. attack free. his eyebrows come straight down, jaw flexing and ears singing. “you remembered plenty last night. she didn’t even have to tell me. you did. even boasted to me about it.” then the word reply on tape. he hears the static amidst how sweet it was. furious, iseul shuts his eyes and just... the longer he sees jae, the more his fists continue to ache. he breathes. has to or else he’ll combust. that’s not a pretty picture; that’s not iseul.

yet a step forward is taken. not intimidating but searching. “why... how could you? i trusted you. more than anyone around sophia. i thought... she’d be safe around you. that you wouldn’t go after her like you do everyone else. but you did. how could you do this to me?” there he breaks. voice first then heart second.

et tu, brute?

[idiseul-blog]

idtali:

Setting her phone down on the coffee table, Taehee shifted around on her couch, pulling her legs back towards her and wrapping them with her arms, hugging them against her chest as she closed her eyes, trying to stop the tears but, to no avail.

sns to taehee : i’ll be right there

straight to the point.

no time to beat around the bush.

iseul isn’t a runner, but he sprints to taehee’s place, ignoring the blaze in his lungs and the inferno in his calves; he runs without stopping, without taking a breather, without anything else on his mind but to get to taehee fast. fortunately, idols live within walking distance of one another. fortunately, but he feels too far, feels like he’s using valuable minutes to get there.

he doesn’t burst through the doors. he enters carefully, breathing hard. face red and sweat above his brow, iseul is quiet as he walks. “taehee noona?” he calls not loud but soft, afraid if he makes too much noise something will break. that taehee will shatter more.

he saw the backlash she’s receiving. saw the threatening messages. saw everything so demeaning and heartless, iseul thinks of covering her eyes with his own two hands to at least shield her from a couple. in that regard, he’s too late. inevitably, so. but it doesn’t mean he’s not going to be there for her. iseul will always, always have taehee’s back.

through thick and thin.

curled on the couch is where iseul finds her. he bends, not sitting next to her but crouching before her with a light hand on her knee. “noona, i’m here. i’m here,” he has to repeat in case she doesn’t hear, in case she doesn’t believe because the comments are louder.

“do you want anything? water, warm milk, tea?” he considers asking how she’s doing, but iseul witnesses the answer in the way she holds herself, trembling. it breaks his heart to see someone he cares about hurting so much. for the first time, he beats angry but is quickly and effectively erased when he’s meant to do his best to console her, comfort her, not be angry at the shameful people leaving such nasty comments. he just can’t help it.

“i’ll stay here for as long as you need me, okay.” along with that, iseul offers the best smile he can muster as something taehee can take.

drowning.

[idiseul-blog]

idmijung:

She wandered from room to room. Karaoke wasn’t her thing. She shied away from the pools, too. It should’ve been no surprise that Mijung managed to find herself drawn to the dance floor. That she knew how to do without thought. She placed her finished drink on the tray of a nearby server and, finally, joined in the festivities. Mijung let the music take over, let her mind go blank. She followed the beat and it set her free. There, surrounded by strangers and stars alike, Mijung smiled for the first time all night. She didn’t even have the care to regret that she hadn’t started dancing earlier. Instead, Mijung simply enjoyed herself in the moment.

iseul considers the safest area of the party is the dance floor. why? no reason. more people. too many people in the same place bounds to draw witnesses just in case. he’s paranoid. has been since the scandal. and rightfully so. not that he’s going to do anything stupid. he’ll keep to himself. has to because laying low is better than anything else. even chatting with others. he might get photographed. things might get blown out of proportion. yeah, no. that’s not going to happen. no on his watch.

so, he’s there dancing. he lost sophia and jae ages ago. can’t seem to find taekyoon or jingyi either, but it’s fine. they must be busy. must be having fun or so he hopes because he doesn’t want any of them in hot water. call iseul overly sensitive. he purposefully avoids anyone that might bring with them too much unwanted attention. rest assured, they said, nothing bad is goign to happen, but he has a sick feeling in his gut. and iseul puts blind trust in it. he treks carefully, cautiously, on the look out and prowl for something to go wrong. and at this point, if something does, he attracted it to him. all that law of the universe mumbo-jumbo he also has faith in. 

think positively and nothing bad should happen.

iseul doesn’t think running into mijung is bad, per say. but there is a time and place for everything, and he feels this is a little out of sorts. that bumping into her on the dance floor after avoiding her post-scandal isn’t the most appropriate because what he is supposed to say when music a little too loud, and he’s a talker, wants to ask how she’s been and if she’s enjoying her. you know, catching up and apologizing for not being around. 

it was all due to wanting to protect her from rumours. she’s a trainee and to be seen with him won’t look good on her reputation. the last iseul wants to do is tarnish that. however, it’s been months, and he misses his good friend. 

“hi.” it’s a little awkward and blunt. a little too natural and not poised. but it’s sincere, and he hopes that’s good enough for now. “what’s up? are you having a good time? 

mending fences

[idiseul-blog]

idellie:

“i forget how cold it gets at night.” small talk was safe, right? they could do that, right? one look at him caused a flood of memories to return, even fond winter ones where she found herself wrapped up in his coat with him. “how are you? i saw your performance. that throwback was fun.”

too much of anything breaks him.

the attention. the stares. the conversations behind hands, but iseul can see their eyes. see how they flicker to him, scrutinize him, judge him. they peg him a label. they peg him the star he’s name after: sirius. all detrimental and no good. all scandal. venomous and poisonous. beyond the image of shoulders too wide, a smile too crooked, no one sees the shadow of a boy lost and seeking. they only see scandal, pictures of him in bed with a woman. after years of trying to prove him, make something out of his nothing, he is still good for nothing.

elbows propped on the railing, iseul stares at the city below his feet. the red and white of cars going home, escaping home, looking for home. he sees the lights of buildings and pretends they’re stars because that’s far more beautiful and romantic. he’s into that—the romantic tragedy while strawberry scented smoke flits from cracked lips that have been sitting far too straight. they curve around the mouth of a small vape in he can easily hide in a pocket, lets the warm and grit of smoke burn at the back of his throat before exhaling—exhaling everything negative with it. doesn’t work, but he feels a bit better. or maybe he’s becoming numb in the cold.

then she shows up, and iseul feels everything all over again. the fall of their relationship, his heart ripped from his chest: broken, scarred, carnage. and his gut instinct is to go. to run away, far, but the world is too small; their world is even smaller. he takes one last puff, not directly staring because it hurts. ellie’s beauty is painful. a reminder of the laughs they shared. of the nights she’s tucked under his arm. of the stolen kisses and hugs where he doesn’t want to let go. (he let go.)

she’s right, it’s cold. and he almost offers her the coat he’s wearing. he can’t now, and that stings as badly as any cut but worse. it seeps through bone and ripples until his arms feel barren, and his hands clench because there is nothing he can do about it. her voice is familiar and foreigner. a ghostly yesterday. iseul still likes it, and he hates the fact that he does. he still loves her, and... he hates the fact that he does.

so, as much as it pains him, iseul turns away for a beat and considers not making chatter. not giving in to old habits die hard. he still sees her from the corner of his eye. still admires her. still gulps the butterflies down and ignores the hiccup of his pulse. why now? why now when he’s on the verge of forgetting. of letting that part of iseul go. the part that cares, that always cares regardless.

“you know,” he starts slow but not careful. just timed around an avenue if he should be honest or flee. iseul is still stuck on that. “i called you christmas. called you a lot. but you didn’t answer. should have expected it, really. but i still had foolish hope you would because christmas is about that. making stupid wishes.” a finger drags on the rail, he’s stupid. “so, do you really care how i am?” then iseul finally looks at her. no affection. no tenderness. just the redness of eyes trying to prevent either one.

damage .

[idiseul-blog]

idjowi:

she scowls, and she kicks him beneath the table, drives her foot into his shin. “so like the upshot is, as previously stated, i’m a shitty friend. which is not new, but if you’d happened to miss that at any point, you might wanna take it under advisement.” she squints, glances furtively around the room as if seeking an escape route.. “can we get some soju?”

he choose to laugh because it’s like breathing, but it sounds more alive. more like he actually extorted energy somewhere instead of just sitting blankly, looking as pretty as he can get, which isn’t saying much. iseul has his cheek in an upturned palm, looking interested, intrigued, piqued as well as amused.

which he realizes is wrong, but he crossed the thin line ages ago. stopped caring almost as long. details.

but he still has... whatever is left of his repertoire to consider. so, he keeps his voice purposefully low so no one can hear. can’t have that. can’t risk that even if he wants to burst out to laughter, mocking, patronizing. he keeps it to himself because he and jowi are friends, and as friends, he shouldn’t be so i told you but more understanding.

his shoulders are broad enough to cry on. confide in. iseul knows jowi isn’t exactly about that. and her actually detailing what happened is as startling as it is mind-fucking. yet he is chuckling like everything isn’t a big deal. maybe it’s to ease her, to calm her down before memories can agitate. can ghost a finger over that metaphorical trigger. so, iseul does what he can to snatch it away.

tries to.

“see, was that so hard? coming face to face with your problems instead of running from them...” see: tries to. iseul pulls a face, realizes the error in his speech and shakes his head. “doesn’t saying it out loud help, i don’t know, alleviate the shitty feeling?” he pretends to breathe through his nose a little easier, motioning air in while smiling hopefully... or impishly (and a rad wistful somewhere in the cracks). he can’t decide which suits best, so it’s kinda an odd blend of many things.

“but yeah, her slapping you was out of line.” and he’s not saying that because he punched jae for similar-ish reasons. nope, not at all. this isn’t even about him. sitting back, iseul drums fingers on the table, ignores the shiner on his knuckles and coughs awkwardly. “this is why talking things out always works. maybe... honesty is the best policy. you only said what was on your mind. if it makes you feel any better, it may have been inappropriate to spring it on her but someone had to sooner or later. you did a good deed. congrats!”

frankly speaking, he very much deserved the kick on his shin. “jowi, what the hell! just because you got hit doesn’t mean you should return the favour. just when i was going to order soju, too,” he winces, bites on his inner cheek to restrain himself for muttering how much his leg hurts. how the pain is splintering from his ankle upwards, and he rubs it down to dilute the throb but waves a waiter over, anyway. a bottle of chamiseul arrives a beat later. how fitting. he pours them a glass each and lifts his. “you see, whether you’re a shitty friend or not, whether you got slapped for kissing a guy or not, i’ll be here... to bother you until you talk about it. so, i think we’re both a little fucked up. cheers?”

ruffled tail feathers.

[idiseul-blog]

idsophia:

“hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” no judgment, no inflection. hits him with the brutal truth. “jealousy can turn a woman wretched and hateful and lashing out is a coping mechanism when someone feels wronged. you’re famous–a public figure. your reputation is expensive, but flimsy. paper thin. she probably understands that better than you. knows how to stab you where it would hurt the most. almost like a warped ‘if i’m suffering, you have to suffer too!’ mindset.” her hand comes down soft against his wrist, thumb grazing a fluttering pulse. “it’s always the moment when you least expect it that a snake will strike. the question now is: what else does she know about you that can be incriminating? what other ammunition does she have?” what will you do, seul? how will you fight against a woman who has nothing else to lose?

iseul takes her words how they are: brutally honest but gently sophia.

and he feels everything almost all at once. the devastation, the fall from grace and the crash landing that burnt skin and image, wrecking an accumulation of years upon years of sheer perseverance, of sheer survival. the fear, the shadows that manifest during dark times, that approach undetected and pounce without warning, clawing, gnawing, dragging him where no one can save him, no one can see him. the agony of betrayal, the faces of every friend he’a ever made and the red x’s he smears over each one just in case... just in case they have something. just in case they want to destroy him, flay him little by little or all at once.

pain is all the same; it hurts.

with sophia, he feels a little less. feels his heart breaking diluted and dull and swears it beats once or twice. but the tears, they continue. they roll down cheeks from eyes so wistful, he can’t look up. lacks the bravery to. doesn’t have the strength to look sophia dead on and see himself. see the sympathy. see the wounds he knows he’s reopening for her.

knees to his chest, iseul lets himself break to pieces with every fallen tear. cries until he can no longer. until it becomes too hard to breathe, and he has a punishing headache. misery loves company. he can’t rid himself of the throb in his chest, the lump in his throat, the thump, thump, thumping in his forehead until it spreads to his temples, then crown and everywhere else. but iseul thinks the physical pain is easier to handle, to tolerate.

it washes away the emotions wanting to burst free but can’t because they are iseul’s to feel. no one else’s.

especially not sophia’s. but he knows she’s experiencing it. reliving it. he’s sorry. wants to say so but every open of his lips are unintelligent drawls, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. he can hear her say not to apologize, anyway.

her words are a bible he memorizes every night.

“i don’t—“ speaking is a struggle. speaking is more or less sharp inhales and spattered exhales. he rubs his nose on the sleeve of his sweater then tries again. tries to hook his voice and make it real. make it known. “i don’t know what she has of me. maybe more of the same pictures. maybe worst ones. but what’s the point... she already ruined me.” and it happens again, the nagging question as to why... why him. and what—what did he do. frustrated, conflicted, a maelstrom of too many thoughts and feelings, iseul buries his face into his palms and shouts. “what am i supposed to do now? how am i supposed to recover for this? how is POIZN... i wrecked POIZN again, didn’t i? 99 is going to lock us back up and throw away the key, and it’s all my fault.”

blood is stronger than water.

[idiseul-blog]

x

[idiseul-blog]

idjingyi:

he let the silence fall in between them, hands steadily petting the smooth fur under his fingertips. “you don’t have to agree, i can literally haul my ass back to the dorm and face everything like a man.” he should be doing that anyway.

iseul sees the murky waters in jingyi’s eyes. notices the melancholy that he, himself, is all too familiar with. he wants to ask if he’s okay, if everything is all right, but the answer is staring back at him. he doesn’t want to pry either, to make jingyi feel uncomfortable when he should be feeling fine. or at least a little bit okay. comforting others, iseul isn’t too good at that, anyway. his thoughts come out more all over the place than actual sincere advice. all he can offer is his place to jingyi and hopes that it can help somewhere. anywhere.

smiling softly, he shakes his head, “don’t apologize. you’re welcome here anytime. always.” and that’s the truth. he isn’t saying that because jingyi’s already there, and he doesn’t have the guts to kick him out. he’ll never do that. nope. all of iseul’s friends, especially his closest ones, are always welcome with open arms. as selfish as this may sound, iseul likes the company, too. what do they call it: misery loves company, but that’s a heartless thing to think when he goes for the grocery bags only to stop and stand back up as jingyi confesses why. it’s not that he didn’t want to know, per say, but iseul wanted jingyi to say it on his own accord. when he’s ready.

guess it’s now. and he isn’t prepared for this. for what he hears. iseul thought everything was okay between jingyi and aroon. the shock wears off to concern quickly as he listens intently, feeling the words, the pain that comes between the lines and the all too familiar ache in his chest.

“hey.” he rests a hand on jingyi’s shoulder, offering some kind of strength. some kind of physical comfort that says he’s there for him. wordless and present. “you’re free to stay here for as long as you like. for however long you need to be here, this place is yours as much as it is mine. you won’t be a bother, jingyi. you’re my friend, and this is the least i can do. what are friends for, right?” squeezing his arm, iseul moves to address the cat in his hold. “and they’re here for you, too. they can keep you company, keep you preoccupied when thoughts get too loud, and you feel like you can’t breathe. i know this may be cliche, and i hate it myself when i hear it, but things are going to be fine. until then and even afterwards, stay here. this can be your home for a bit. for a while. i don’t mind.”

Blame.

[idiseul-blog]

idjaeyoon:

“you look like shit.” it comes out tactless. borne out of a less than five second observation jae makes off-hand when he draws up in front of him, heels rocking when he recognizes another ghost lurking about. “didn’t see you around much. must’ve been hiding. or were you avoiding me? or…” he sidles up close, slings an arm around iseul’s shoulders and whispers like he’s got some sacred secret he’s about to share. “were you preoccupied, hm? had fun last night at the party, did ya? ” it’s casual–easy–how much cheekiness he can interject into his words. the subtle callousness can be played off easily enough in the way he nudges an elbow into iseul’s ribs, eyes creasing in amusement, a soft chuckle puffing out of his lips. “who was the lucky girl? or guy? not judgin’.”

he hates the fact he’s always at the company. always. there isn’t a day iseul isn’t there unless POIZN miraculously has schedules lined up that keeps them away from what he fondly refers to as azkaban. all the same, really. similarities are uncanny. dementors engulfing happiness and the inevitable souls isn’t any different from managers or executives draining you shriveled and dry. but that’s mean, the comparison. and yet, iseul doesn’t care. walks into the building with a head hung low and an all too large hoodie covering a fringe that falls over his eyes. under, his eyes are dark and the circles are purple, full of fatigue and a night of tossing and turning. behind closed eyelids all he saw was... that.

now, in front of him, all he saw is jae. he’s taken a back, fist uncharacteristically balling. his knuckles ache sore, like he punched a wall. then he spots the bruise on jae’s mouth. a perfect fit. he grimaces. trust jae to always be forward, blunt, inconsiderately so.

“look who’s talking,” iseul grumbles, bites out and arches a brow that no one can see. but it’s there, on the verge of angry. confrontations don’t sit well with him. he isn’t the type to get mad and start an argument. he usually sits back and waits for things to mellow and subside. so he tries to do so, tries to ignore the fact jae is an asshole, and he wants to punch him again.

and as iseul tries to retreat, the idiot gets too close... like they’re fucking friends or something. it takes everything in iseul not to shove him away. people are around. can’t have another scandal. think of the disappointment and rage when POIZN is once again launched into the negative light. not when things seem to be finally turning around. iseul won’t have anyone wreck it. especially not someone he once thought to be his greatest friend. things change, but jae has always been too hard to handle. him and noah, iseul was warned repeatedly to stay away from them, but he stuck by because he trusted them—trusted jae.

now... he thinks he should have listened.

“hyung, i am going to say this as politely as possible, but i need you to get off of me.” with grit and not actually polite, iseul grinds his molars and scowls. “are you seriously... do you not remember what you told me last night? what you did? god, just how wasted were you? never mind. you’d have to be pretty fucking wasted to kiss my cousin then brag about it to me and not remember.”

et tu, brute?

[idiseul-blog]

idsungyeol:

“or, actually, forget that for a moment. first of all, how are you?”

there is something frightening about being home alone. not the ghosts that lurk in hall closets nor the monsters living under beds but the thoughts within his own head. those scare iseul. scare him so much, he can’t stay where everything is quiet, where everything can remind him of what’s happening, of how badly he fucked up. so, he jumps at any chance he gets to avoid being cooped in his condo. when sungyeol’s text flies in, a different alert to seperate from everyone else’s, iseul grabs whatever he can and races out the door in a heartbeat, faster than he can message his manager about his whereabouts. can’t have 99 worry. can’t have them freak out like they did x amount of days ago. nor can iseul blame them; it came as a shock to everyone.

the pictures, the articles, the news reports. he was driving when it happened. had to pull over when his phone blew up. ring after ring. beep after beep. link after link. he remembers almost passing out, almost vomiting the dakgalbi he had at jae’s place. everything else after is a vague blur of shouting, of management pacing, of him just sitting there and taking the brunt of it all. it’s his scandal. it’s him photographed. so he gets all the anger.

gets all the remarks and questions of his well-being mixed in. most of the time, it’s from friends. so, iseul isn’t too fazed when sungyeol prefixes him with that question. and yet, nothing but bated breath exits a slack jaw. iseul stands in the studio, on the edge of breaking down or breaking to a grin; gotta fake it to make it.

but around sungyeol, someone he considers family, he knows he doesn’t have to lie or sugarcoat. he knows he can be honest. knows he can sob about it, mucus dripping from his nose and everything. he doesn’t because he can’t. because he’s done so for x amount of days, and he’s dried up.

he dissolves space between them and shrugs his shoulders halfheartedly. they settle uneven. “i don’t... know.” and he’s actually embarrassed over his response. over how unhelpful it is. how it barely answers sungyeol at all. “i’m not really used to this. to being the talk of the town. it’s kinda... weird. or... i’m weird because i should still be devastated, but i’m not. at least not right now. what are the stages of grief again? denial? sometimes i can’t believe that i’m the one in those pictures, and i’m the one facing all the backlash.” scratching at his nape, iseul goes off tangent as he tries to decipher the calamity that is his current situation.

“is it normal to not know how to feel? do i have every right to even be miserable since it was all my fault?” and iseul asks sungyeol like he has all the explanations in the world, anticipating and curious and hopeful things will be all right.

—reputation.

[idiseul-blog]

summary: how iseul spends 2018 christmas with a few friends, nabiya cat shelter and an ex.

iseul spends this christmas with friends who have become his family, since his own is celebrating it in jeju without him; he spends it with jingyi first, waking up and cooking french toast for them. he feeds kirby, gaeul and salem under the table and promises them a bowl of lukewarm milk as a holiday treat. dropping by hyuk’s place real quick, iseul leaves him a poem rolled into a bottle, and it’s hyuk’s problem how to get it out. next, he meets with taekyoon and some baked cookies. they recite their love for one another as brothers from other mothers do before he sprints to sophia, his actual family. he has a bag of gifts (a four piece bedsheet set of fluffy unicorns and fluffier clouds, a totoro mug and plushie that doubles as a handwarmer) under his arms for both her and her new dog (a dog bed and chew toy), so subsequently, he gets noah something as well (liquor). jua has his present for ellie, a wool scarf to keep her warm since he isn't there anymore. by mistake, iseul almost calls jae up, but then he remembers they aren't exactly on speaking terms and leaves his present at home for a rainy day.

by now, it's past noon, and he's headed straight for nabiya cat shelter. it's his idea first and foremost, not 99, but the company takes credit. a manager tells iseul it'll look great on his record, which is near permanently damaged thanks to what happened earlier in the year. so press like this, of him spending his christmas with cute, little kittens, is good for him. people eat that up. or so they say. iseul doesn't really listen because he's doing this for the animals without a home and not to fix his image. killing two birds with one stone, though. yay.

the rest of his day involves pointing lasers and watching the cats go crazy. he laughs too loud to mask the emptiness within, and it's obvious. but no one says anything. they let iseul do what he likes, playing with felines that think his legs are trees and try to climb up them. with every sharp dig of their claws, he flinches but does nothing. it's christmas, so they should behave like children, overjoyed. some cats are less than playful and sociable, but he pets them, anyway. he has a magic touch with animals, knows where to scratch and brush until their eyes shut, content and purring. a few look like they're smiling, leaning into the strokes of his palm and fingers. if he can take all of them home, he will in a heartbeat, but there are better homes, better owners, better people.

he stays until it's time to go because iseul doesn't really want to go home: he's fighting with his best friend, being with sophia reminds him that halmeoni is gone (and that's awful but he doesn't want to cry again or make her cry), he and ellie can't celebrate together under mistletoe like he planned during their last christmas, his family forgot to invite him to jeju island because they assumed he's too busy earning them money... the works. so, iseul chooses to meet with the friends he had before he became an idol, see what they’re up to, ask about their lives because he's tired of talking about his. what's there to say, anyway. over barbecue and soju, they catch up. some are engaged while others are thinking of popping the question. despite his own sense of loneliness, he cheers them on. if not him, at least them.

then she shows up, and his friends warn him not to confront her; she's bad news, his ex-girlfriend, that very person who single-handedly ruined him.. but at this point, he's drunk a little too much and is too tipsy to think straight. then again, when she's involved, he never does. an omen.

“why'd you release the pictures?” and it's almost too loud. friends try to pull him away, but iseul pries their hands from him. “please, tell me why. did i do something wrong?” he probably did; he always does.

“i just couldn't stand to see you happy.”

[idiseul-blog]

idzhu:

( ... )

sunjae opened his mouth, just about ready to apologize like the nice boy he was, but he paused when he actually recognized who he had just bumped into. “oh!” surprise flickered across hs features for a moment as he looked at the older, “what are you doing here?” maybe a little rude, but he was curious and curiosity always came before being polite.

iseul wears fatigue in designer bags under his eyes. it looks awful on him, but he disregards beauty sleep for waking hours, which isn’t the most sound of ideas. thoughts are a civilized mess; he can function, but the question is, can he function well? the answer is in how underdressed he is in nothing but a sponsored champion sweatshirt from ages ago, adidas joggers and untied boots. every step on the lace is a startle, an almost guaranteed plummet, but iseul walks slow enough that it gives him time to compose himself, shaking it off under a bucket hat freyed around the edges. there is sentiment in old clothing that he cannot part easily with. a sense of familiarity in a rapidly changing world. he blinked, and it’s winter.

he blinked, and he almost crashed into someone.

on a crowded sidewalk of everyone going everywhere at once, iseul can’t react in time to swerve. so he simply puts he brakes on his feet. he can hear the mental screech of tires, and his teeth grit, expecting a head on collision. it never comes. relief releases in a sigh dancing under the tip of his nose, smoky but cold.

he blinks again, and he’s seeing two.

“ah, hey.” iseul lifts a hand in a poor attempt at a wave. his arm kinda freezes there, just like his smile. he can’t tell from which sunjae the voice came from. he can’t tell them apart and that bothers him—why are there two of sunjae, anyway? he points, makes a confused grimace and continues to flicker eyes at both. is this lack of sleep pinning a penalty on him? is this him slowly spiraling out of his mind after a traumatic year? no, it can’t be. iseul pinches his back, retrieves his lost soul and fluttering logic.

two people who look alike must mean one thing—identical twins, of course. how did he not see it sooner.

too busy blinking, probably.

“oh, you know... just out for a stroll.” because iseul locked himself at 99, producing songs he doesn’t know will hear the time of day. being cooped in recycled air convinced iseul enough to take a breather. but as he goes back and forth gaping at each sunjae, he thinks he should have stayed indoors. he doesn’t know which one to talk to, which one is his junior, and that embarrasses him enough to look past them as he speaks to not give anything away. “i never knew you had a twin! that’s pretty awesome.” correction: an awesome nightmare for iseul.

1+1 =

[idiseul-blog]

americano.

( in which iseul has ideas to share with @idjueun over iced coffee and music. )

kang iseul always comes prepared and never empty handed. and even if he does, he compensates somehow. somewhere along the lines. a people-pleaser is what he is. he has this innate need to get on everyone’s good side, to get the majority to like him. it’s a syndrome stemmed from a childhood consisting of dismissive waves. of go ask your eomma and go bother your appa. of having poems thrown away in favour of straight A report cards. of always being the black sheep of the family. (they utitlize its wool like they call him for money.)

so, when he does drop by MSG, he battles a psychological warfare with himself when he isn’t there to check in on sophia. because no one questions a cousin visiting another cousin. but someone will question a member of POIZN visiting a member of honey. or in this case, asking her to meet at a recording studio in hongdae he often used when he still dormed. belongs to a friend of a friend.

it doesn’t fit. no matter how it’s seen. no matter the angle. on paper, iseul and jueun shouldn’t be written in the same sentence. yet he has a spiral notebook with her name stitched on the top of a few pages. and iced coffee, of course. this is kang iseul always being prepared.

it’s for business, he explains. and he isn’t wrong. sprawled in front of him are lyrics in messy penmanship and a soundboard he’s itching to get his fingers on. iseul has a new sound he wants jueun to listen to. wants her input because he values opinions from friends.

“hey, you made it!” the door cracks open, and iseul beams without hesitation. he turns in the leather chair, comfortable in hobo-couture of baggy joggers and an even baggier hoodie. because they get along. because iseul enjoys jueun’s company, he can be himself and forget for a moment he has to force people to like him. “i hope you didn’t have a hard time finding the place. took me ages when i first came here. oh, and i have your favourite, too. iced coffee!”

[idiseul-blog]

ideunbyul:

( ... )

so when she saw him approaching as honey awaited their time to go on stage, eunbyul turned away, hoping that would deter iseul. she pulled at the hem of her shorts, frowning slightly as she tried to look busy. tried being the keyword – exactly how was she supposed to look busy when she really wasn’t doing anything ? but staring up at the screen, watching one of the other groups perform, eunbyul hoped that iseul would just pass her by.

for the first time in a while, he’s nervous. actually, no. iseul stands corrected.

since the scandal, he’s been an anxious wreck. every flash of camera strikes a trigger: a gallop in his heart and a pull on his throat. sweat beads under the heat of the spotlight. of the media’s eyes on him, prowling for a mistake. if he can avoid the red carpet, he will, but that isn’t the direction the company wants him to take. what iseul needs is image maintenance. a heavy dose of it. a last resort to fix the mar in his record—on POIZN’s long list of errors. he doesn’t want to think about the backlash they face on the daily, but at an awards show, it’s hard not to.

POIZN is nominated. his song is nominated. iseul should be thrilled. keyword: thrilled. he isn’t. he wears a hole in the dressing room floor pacing, chewing on the dead skin around his nails. a nasty habit. he sweats through the layers of a black button-down and long jacket. stylists warn him: he’ll ruin his hair, he’ll ruin his make-up. heeds fall on deaf ears as iseul takes a ply of tissue and dabs it on a glistening forehead. it doesn’t work. it crumbles on his fingertips, and iseul excuses himself for the washroom. there is an uprising of something foul in the deep pits of his stomach. something he can no longer tamp down by pressing his arm to his gut.

so strides hurriedly backstage, zipping through corridors but not once forgetting to bow and greet everyone he passes. he wants to vomit, but respect is priority especially when he’s expected to be on everyone’s good side. somewhere, he hears noah snickering for adopting such a people-pleaser persona no one believes true, anyway. while sophia reassures he’s doing just fine, and people love him, which he doesn’t believe true.

despite the nausea and discomfort, iseul battles the cacophony and wields a smile as both a sword and shield. dons it like armour until he’s somewhere safer. until he’s with people he can trust or grow to. from where he stands, iseul doesn’t spot jueun and holler her name, but he sees eunbyul, and he approaches in behaved strides of straight shoulders and a slight bend at his middle. they’re an awkward match. iseul doesn’t quite know how to come about eunbyul. how to speak to her, but he does, anyway. comes across a little aggressively friendship on most occasions. tonight, though, he settles for reserved, a testament to the twist of his gut.

“uncomfortable or nervous? both?” greetings are skipped, and stating what might be the obvious is chosen. a testament to his own feelings. his eyes don’t roam from her face, but he sees the smallest of reactions, anyway. “do you want some cough drops? i usually offer strawberry milk to help quell the nerves, but this is all i got on.” from the pocket of a coat that nearly reaches the ground, iseul pulls a stick of halls and waves it. he isn’t bribing her. isn’t buying her friendship with cough drops. sure, it looks suspicious given who he is, but iseul swears he’s just helping out. or trying to.

excuse me.

[idiseul-blog]

🎁

nothing, next.

if you ask iseul now.

but if this was a few months ago, he’d give jae—nothing materialistic because he has everything or can buy it himself. so, it can be a serious struggle to find the perfect gift. and that’s iseul’s flaw; he spends too much time imagining if they’ll appreciate the gift. it sucks the fun out of present hunting, leaving iseul quite grouchy. he just wants the best for his friends.

or who was his friend.

he doesn’t really know what jae is right now. it’s messy.

so when he’s knitting cup-sleeves for banana milk he plans on giving out to fellow idols, he makes one extra and stitches in jae’s name just because... they’ll get over this trench between them. even on christmas, soldiers at war exchanged presents, so what’s to say they won’t. anyway, iseul can’t stay angry forever. not at jae, especially.

he sighs when kirby gets cat hair all over jae’s gift as he tries to dust the thin, white strands away. inside, he sneaks a small parchment of paper with a poem. (just so you know, you will always be the james to my sirius, even when we fight.) as well as a polaroid iseul took when they were trainees. jae standing on the station platform, waving or throwing the bird at him inside the train. you can barely make iseul’s reflection out in the photo.

let’s debut together, hyung! is also scribbled on white as an old christmas wish that never came true.