#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ mingeun. ]

[fcble]

let's start a new thing! what is the moral alignment for your ocs? <3

I've chosen to interpret good/evil as other people/self and lawful/chaotic as the usual society/freedom in addition to personal consistency. Otherwise it'd be kind of boring because I don't think anyone except Haksu would ever commit murder or otherwise embrace villainy.

LAWFUL GOOD

JAESEOP has what I've always referred to in my notes as the protagonist build. He has plot armor. He has a strong sense of justice. He helps old ladies cross the street. He's the type to save the world and his friends and get the girl. You get the picture. He's also very consistent with these traits, even if they're not necessarily the law.

BYEONGHWI is more of a textbook lawful good. He's into tradition and honor and filial piety and the patriarchy. He has that Confucianism in him. It kind of defines his entire life and he doesn't mind. That's where his personal morals come from.

NEUTRAL GOOD

ANDREW is very willing to bend the rules. He's way more into the spirit of the law than the letter of it, but mostly if it will benefit more people than just himself. He's very altruistic and doesn't expect much in return. The best example I can think of for this is when he snuck Byeonghwi into his work-subsidized housing back when they were trainees.

KIYOUNG has the same general spirit of the law viewpoint as Andrew. While he was in college and before he became an idol, he worked for an environmental nonprofit. If not for his friendship with Intak, he would have stayed there and probably trended closer to chaotic good. For now, he spends a lot of time in Jaeseop's company.

LAWFUL NEUTRAL

INTAK has bootlicker and doormat tendencies and for those reasons he's lawful and neutral. In a lot of situations, he could really go either way to the more selfish or more altruistic option. But above all of that, he also leans towards filial piety and respecting authority.

Similar to Intak, EUNSU has most definitely defended billionaires on Twitter before. He's like well just get good at the stock market and you too can pull yourself up by your bootstraps. His neutrality, on the other hand, comes from making some major selfish decisions (becoming an idol) and some major selfless decisions (leaving Fable to inherit his father's priesthood).

NEUTRAL EVIL

One of MINGEUN'S defining character traits has always been his selfishness. He could also be true neutral because he survives no matter what and adapts, improvises, and overcomes, but that implies he also considers the greater good from time to time. I don't really think he does that. He has little respect for authority but he's also fairly consistent to his own morals.

CHAOTIC EVIL

HAKSU has the CEO build. In ten years he could be running a company with 247582 labor violations. On a smaller scale, he's extremely hypocritical. He's very "rules for thee but not for me." And the "I'd sell you to Satan for one corn chip" troubled bird. Also he got his job by stalking Taein and thought very little of it.

[fcble]

INVIDIA + LIMBO for my man mingeun!!

INVIDIA — A time my muse was vindictive and held a grudge or wished harm upon others.

In which Mingeun receives the opposite of a welcome. July 28, 2024. 0.9k.

Mingeun arrives home less than twenty-four hours after he left, feeling... lighter? No. Vindicated? Perhaps. Normal? He'll settle for that. Normalcy lasts until he unlocks the door of Fable's apartment. That's when he's met with the uncomfortable sight of Daewoong on the couch, looking rather hungover, for lack of a better description. Andrew sits on his right with enough space for another person to sit between them, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world. It's like a meeting of the Anti-Mingeun Convention. All they're missing is Taein, a couple thousand online detractors, and maybe one or two of Haksu's sasaengs, just to spice things up.

It takes less than two seconds for Mingeun to process the fact that he's in an incomprehensible amount of trouble. Like he always is. He folds his arms over his chest, still carrying his backpack of one day's worth of clothes. "What did I do now?"

"I don't fucking know," Daewoong says irritably. "Andrew told me he doesn't know either. Is that correct?"

Mingeun hates him. He's hated Daewoong from the day he first arrived, another SM Entertainment reject, high and mighty and simultaneously a failure. He hates his helicopter management. He hates how he acts as an extension of Taein's will, the sword wielded by a king, with no discernible independence of his own.

"Yes," he lies. Andrew didn't throw him under the bus. It would have been easy for him to tell the truth, to say, "Mingeun went to Japan because his girlfriend is there." He didn't do that, and now he's a witness to Mingeun's latest downfall.

Daewoong steeples his fingers together, a near-perfect mirror image of Taein. "So what did you do?"

It has to be an intimidation tactic. He wants Mingeun to incriminate himself. After all, going on vacation isn't a crime. And he did what Taein asked of him, anyway. Somehow, Mingeun doesn't think the logic he used with Hwajung will go over well with his manager. He spends a minute fantasizing about wrapping his fingers around Daewoong's throat and feeling the flesh give beneath his grip. He's had similar thoughts about Taein before, sitting across from him in his office in the shittiest plastic chair known to man. He wonders how long it would take before Andrew would interrupt, or if he'd let Mingeun have his way. He digs his fingers into the side of his rib cage until it hurts.

"Nothing," he says levelly. An immediate response is a sure sign of a frantic cover up, and Mingeun is nothing if not a proficient liar. Andrew doesn't so much as shift in his seat, and Mingeun appreciates him like he's never appreciated anyone before.

Daewoong brings his phone out of his pocket. "Read the headline." He gives his phone up to Andrew in another power play.

Andrew reads out loud in a tight, stiff voice. "'Fable's Byeonghwi, Mingeun, and Intak Spotted at Neon Nights Show.'"

Mingeun's heart drops into the pit of his stomach. Daewoong plucks his phone out of Andrew's grip with two fingers.

"I wouldn't call flying to Japan last night nothing," Daewoong says. He holds his other hand out. "Passport. Phone. Wallet."

Mingeun doesn't move. He's almost twenty-five, not twelve. He pictures, again, his hands on Daewoong's throat, the realization in his eyes at the moment he recognizes that Mingeun is the one with the power, not him. Andrew would let him get away with it, he decides. There's no love lost between the two of them. His therapist hasn't told him this is an unhealthy coping method yet. Probably because he hasn't told her about it.

"Mingeun. We both had long nights. Now." Daewoong speaks like Mingeun is some unruly animal, easily tamed by a stern word and a firm hand.

There are only two ways out of this situation that he can see. First, he leaves, like he always does. The problem with that is there's no telling how long Daewoong is willing to wait. This is his job, after all. Second, Mingeun can give in. He fiddles with one of the straps of his backpack.

Andrew reads his mind. "Don't give it to him," he says, in English this time.

Mingeun is already lowering his backpack to the ground, so he hears, more than sees, the vicious crack as Daewoong backhands Andrew. He flinches nevertheless. He knows Daewoong is capable of this violence—just like he is—but he's never raised a hand against Fable before.

"Speak Korean, Yejun." Daewoong all but snarls around Andrew's old stage name.

Mingeun's passport and wallet aren't hard to find. He keeps them both in the same outside pocket. He risks a glance up at Andrew, who sits there with fury blazing in his eyes, one side of his jawline tinged pink.

"Here," he mumbles, fishing his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and handing over the pieces of his modern lifestyle to Daewoong. He watches Daewoong rifle through his wallet and take out both his credit cards before tossing the rest of it back at him. It would be so easy, Mingeun thinks, to throttle him, to leave ten nearly identical bruises scattered along his windpipe—not enough to kill him, just enough to scare him. He hides his hands behind his back and digs his nails into his palms.

Daewoong stands abruptly. "I'm staying in Eunsu's room again. Clean it up."

He leaves, presumably to collect whatever he needs to move into Eunsu's room. Mingeun stares daggers at his back, flopping down on the couch next to Andrew, tired and phoneless and utterly drained.

"I fucking hate him," Andrew says, still in English, massaging the side of his face.

"Who doesn't?" Mingeun responds, taking great comfort in the fact that Andrew would have backed him up in his most impulsive moments.

LIMBO — A time my muse acted faithless and disloyal.

In which Mingeun flakes. April 20, 2024. 0.6k.

It took three weeks for Mingeun and his mother to plan a single dinner. Between her job and his job and the time difference and the fact that Mingeun doesn't want to see her, it's a miracle any plan formed at all. According to his mother, the timing is perfect. It's almost the end of Eunice's sophomore year of university, and Fable's New York tour stop isn't far from her campus. His younger sister seemed even unhappier with the plan than Mingeun does. He wonders how many more years will pass before his mother recognizes the common factor in all of her children moving away from home as soon as they can.

The plan they finally agreed upon is dinner at some upscale seafood restaurant, one of many in a chain run by some celebrity chef Mingeun's mother follows on Instagram, the night before Fable's New York concert. She also asked him if there's anyway the two of them can get last minute tickets to the concert, griping about prices and resellers on the phone. Mingeun lied and told her no, despite knowing that Andrew's parents will be at their LA stop in decent seats, close to, but not directly in front of the stage.

The only task left for Mingeun is to tell Daewoong he has plans for that night. The day creeps closer and closer. The practices ramp up, until he goes to bed with 'Platonic Love' looping in his head. He stays quiet. Andrew is stressed about an already-booked car rental and an already-planned vacation itinerary, on top of everything else he has to worry about. Mingeun doesn't utter a word. Then it's the first night of their Seoul concert, and the second night, and they're packed on a plane to Los Angeles. Daewoong remains none the wiser.

Mingeun wishes he could say he tried. The problem is that he hasn't tried at all. He doesn't talk to Daewoong. He doesn't talk to his mother. He doesn't even talk to Eunice when she texts him and asks, are you srsly going to dinner w/ mom?

Maybe his mother will come down with a cold and miss her flight. Maybe one of Eunice's professors will assign her a major homework assignment due on the same night. Maybe Mingeun will fall off the stage at one of the earlier stops and break his leg.

None of those things happen, and before he knows it, he's in New York and he has a miserable impending family dinner in the next few hours.

His savior comes in the form of Byeonghwi, who descends like an angel sent from heaven, looming over him as he stews in despair in a hotel bed. "Are you busy tonight?"

Mingeun thinks about his mother and her plans and pushes them out of his head. He props himself up into a sitting position. "No."

"Do you wanna go out?"

He has a suspicion that Byeonghwi is asking him because he speaks fluent English. "Why didn't you ask Andrew-hyung?" he asks, even though he would really not like Byeonghwi to ask Andrew, and he's going to say yes, regardless of where the out is.

Byeonghwi hesitates, and then says, "He wouldn't approve."

That sounds even better to Mingeun. If Andrew doesn't approve, then Daewoong certainly wouldn't approve, and that means Mingeun should do it.

"Yeah, sure. Where are you going?"

Byeonghwi shrugs, and Mingeun can't help but wonder what he signed up for. Maybe Andrew was right to disapprove.

He might be a little bit of an asshole, but he isn't a complete asshole. He does the bare minimum and texts both his mother and Eunice that something came up and he won't be able to attend the night's dinner. Eunice responds directly to him with a gif of some animated character falling over, captioned with "dies from cringe."

Mingeun spends a minute feeling guilty about leaving his baby sister—who also happens to be an adult—at the mercy of their mother. Then he feels relieved about saving his own skin, and doesn't even bother to pry a plan out of Byeonghwi.

[fcble]

Mingeun’s participation in Shooting Stars (@theidcl) is officially acknowledged for the first time in an hour and a half long video uploaded to the official Fable YouTube channel, in which he reacts to and dissects his appearances in the first three episodes of the show. To fans’ dismay, he talks about himself almost the entire time, speaking very little about his experiences or interactions with any other idols.

CLICK HERE OR THE SOURCE LINK TO VOTE !

MOST REPLAYED MOMENTS !

( 001 ) … The most replayed moment is near the end of the video, when Mingeun talks about his team for the second challenge, Wonderland. 

“We had a really good song. And I was able to be the main vocalist,” he says, beaming from ear to ear. “My teammates were great! I loved performing with them.”

Outside of those few vague sentences, he says nothing more specific about the other competitors.

( 002 ) … Mingeun winces at himself making bunny ears with his hands over his head in his very first introduction.

“I don’t know why I did that.”

( 003 ) … He sits in the middle of the frame with his hands clasped on the table in front of him. Before speaking, Mingeun displays his left wrist to the camera, showing off the iridescent blue metal of his watch.

“Every time I go to film for Shooting Stars, I try to wear a different watch,” he says. “I don’t want my image to be negatively manipulated. I like this one the most. Andrew-hyung and Jaeseop-hyung gave me this one for my birthday a few years ago. Isn’t it nice?”

( 004 ) … At the start of the video, prior to reacting to the show itself, he briefly plays his audition video, staring at himself performing Woodz’s “I Hate You” in the Fable practice room. 

“I wanted to show off more of myself. I know most people know me as Fable’s main dancer, or for worse reasons.” He doesn’t say anything more, trusting his audience to read between the lines. “So I chose this song. It would be boring if I didn’t try anything new.”

( 005 ) … “I don’t want to say that anything I did was regrettable,” Mingeun says halfway through the video. He pauses the show during the song announcements for the first challenge.

“The only song I wanted to perform in the first round was ‘Sherlock.’ When I was picked by Liling-ssi to perform ‘No No No’”—he sighs audibly—“it was disappointing.

“I said this in the diary room, but it wasn’t aired, so I’ll say it again here. ‘Gee’ would have been the worst. Like this.” Mingeun places his right hand flat against the table, holding his arm sideways. “‘No No No’ is here.”

He holds his left hand only slightly above his right. “I don’t blame Liling-ssi at all. I’m still glad she picked me and we put on our best performance.”

( 006 ) … As he watches the first episode, Mingeun says, “It wasn’t shown when I chose my seat. I walked up to the first place seat. I can’t remember what I said word for word. It was something about seeing what the view was like.”

He reenacts his unaired actions, holding his right hand in front of his forehead like he’s shading his eyes from the sun. He holds the position for a short moment, dropping his hand with a laugh.

“I never planned on sitting in the seat. Everyone knows whoever sits there is cursed to lose.”

[fcble]

AFTERMATH. October 2023. Featuring Yoon Mingeun, Lee Jaeseop. 0.8k.

“Was it worth it?” Jaeseop asks. He sits on Mingeun’s couch, sipping beer from a coffee mug, while the end of the Shooting Stars finale plays on the TV. A Hite Extra Cold can sits on the floor next to him.

Mingeun stands in the doorway between the living room and the small hall that leads to his room. He didn’t watch it. He’s lived through it once and lost, and that’s much more than enough for him. “You don’t live here,” he says bluntly.

Jaeseop gives him a once over with his gaze, probably taking in his bed head and his Among Us t-shirt and his basketball shorts. “Haksu let me borrow the spare key.”

Mingeun is going to kill him.

On second thought, he’s going to kill both of them. The ferocity of the thought surprises him with its violence. He takes an involuntary step back towards the safety of his bedroom, flexing his fingers and hiding his hands behind his back before he acts on impulse. He has to stop skipping his therapy appointments.

Jaeseop takes his actions as something else. “I won’t bite. You know that,” he says, holding his mug in two hands and taking another small sip. “I will say I told you so.”

If it was Andrew telling him that or Haksu telling him that, Mingeun doesn’t think he’d be so upset. That’s what he expects from them. He pushes them and they push him back. But Jaeseop is supposed to be his friend, his ally. And sure, he was against Mingeun’s participation from the beginning. Mingeun had been so certain he would come around. He wonders if he could have done something different—he could have won—and maybe Jaeseop wouldn’t be acting like this.

“It’s for the better,” Jaeseop continues, seemingly oblivious to Mingeun plotting his death in the corner. “Do you hate us to the point where you’d rather be in a group called Starzie?”

Mingeun can hear echoes of Andrew in that question: it’s patronizing and almost rhetorical. He fucking hates it. “I don’t hate you.”

He means it. He’s had his disgreements with everyone else, but he’s never hated Jaeseop. He owes him his career—if not his life.

Jaeseop clearly expects more from him, so he adds, “I like Fable.” Also not a lie. Two for two. Mingeun’s proud of himself. If Jaeseop watched the whole show, he would know that too. Mingeun took every opportunity he had to promote the group. It was very much a part of the image he wanted to show, but he rarely had to exaggerate it.

His words are a poor showing by any metric, but Jaeseop doesn’t comment on it. He poses another question instead. “Then why did you go?”

“I wanted to,” Mingeun sullenly, though the words are inadequate in explaining his true feelings. He did want to go. He’s just incapable of explaining how much. He felt like if he didn’t leap at the opportunity, he’d never come across anything like it ever again. He felt like if he let it pass him by, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “I’ve already done it. It was good for me. When was the last time you saw an article demanding I leave the group to save face?”

“Three years ago.”  Clearly, he doesn’t keep up with the news, because Mingeun’s seen that sentiment plastered all over the Internet a few months ago, when Shooting Stars first began to air.

“Try April.”

Jaeseop’s lips are pressed into a thin line, an expression he wears when he knows he’s losing an argument. He changes the topic abruptly. “It’s good that it’s over. You need to start thinking about what’s next.”

He pauses, briefly, swirling his cup in circles. Mingeun stands, rooted to the spot, unsure of what he’s going to say.

“My uncle is going to speak to you about extending your contract soon,” Jaeseop says. “If there’s anything that will satiate you for another year and a half, you should ask for it then.”

Mingeun nods mutely. He’s been so busy he hasn’t had the time to think about how their contracts are nearly up. He also has to admit that he’s forgotten that contracts pause during military service, because it’s not something that affects him.

A soda ad blares on TV in the background as he stands there silently. He’ll have to think about it. He always has wants. It’s a matter of whether or not Taein can fulfill them.

Jaeseop drains the rest of his drink and picks the can up off the floor. “Think about it. Don’t squander the opportunity.”

His words make Mingeun think he isn't nearly as disapproving as he seems to be. Mingeun gives another silent nod.

He expects Jaeseop to leave, but all he does is settle further into the couch to watch whatever drama is airing next. Mingeun leaves him to it, retreating back to the sanctuary of his bedroom to think about what he wants from Taein.

[fcble]

You can vote for MINGEUN three times a day by CLICKING HERE.

As the Shooting Stars finale approaches, Mingeun can be found in any one of his usual haunts: his company’s dance practice room, the French bakery down the street, any of the many live music venues dotting Hongdae. For this interview, he invites me to the building of his label, Zenith Entertainment.

He greets me in the building’s lobby, charmingly polite. He has a magnetic presence, making me feel less like a seasoned writer and more like a Fabulist—one of his group’s dedicated fans. It isn’t hard to see why he’s so successful as an idol. Mingeun leads me through the building, giving me a glimpse of his daily life. Zenith Entertainment starts on the third floor. He points out the practice rooms of the company’s three artists—his own group Fable, girl band Neon Nights, and idol soloist Jaesun.

Then we hike up the stairs to the fourth floor, the corporate level. He shows me the open-concept office of the staff in one large room. We briefly greet Zenith Entertainment CEO, Lee Taein, hard at work in his own office.

Eventually, Mingeun unlocks a door at the end of the hallway. We step into a small, dimly lit room. In the corner is a small glass cubicle, containing a single recording microphone and music stand. The main centerpiece is a neatly organized desk with all the workings of a musician: a widescreen monitor, two speakers, a pair of headphones, a computer keyboard and a music one. A shelf on the wall displays each of Fable’s albums. Two high-backed ergonomic chairs occupy the rest of the remaining space. Mingeun gestures for me to take the seat closest to the desk as he sits in the chair opposite. He explains that this is the studio of fellow Fable member Andrew Han, one of the group’s main producers.

The following is an unedited transcript of our interview.

Q: Tell me a little about yourself, and how you came to compete on Shooting Stars. A: Hello, I’m Fable’s Yoon Mingeun. Officially, I’m the group’s main dancer. We’re becoming a bit less strict with positions. I trained as a vocalist for some time at SM Entertainment before I joined Zenith. I chose to join Shooting Stars because I wanted to prove myself to myself.

Q: Can you elaborate any more on that last point? A: I guess. There are so many skilled and talented idols these days. Even in my own group, I feel overshadowed sometimes. I want the acknowledgment or the physical proof that I’m just as good, or better. And I’m competitive. I want to win. Is that so bad?

Q: The first voting put you at rank 22, before you rose into the single digits. Do you have anything to say about how you managed to pull that off? A: No.

Q: What would you bring to the winning group? What makes you indispensable? A: I can do anything. That’s kind of already my role in Fable. I do whatever’s asked of me, because I can. If someone’s sick or someone leaves, it doesn’t matter, because I’m there. I’m insurance.

Q: Anything else you want to tell readers? A: Not really. Vote for me. That’s all I have to ask.

[fcble]

In which Taein gives Mingeun another chance.

FEATURING: Lee Taein, Yoon Mingeun WORD COUNT: 1k SETTING: January 2024 NOTES: Out of my interlude era. I think. We will return to regularly scheduled programming soon. These are, alternatively, perspectives on Mingeun.

“What if I don’t want to sign it?” Mingeun asks for what must be the tenth time in the past two hours. “What if I want to leave?”

Taein kneads his forehead. He’s sorely tempted to tell Mingeun to go ahead and leave if he wants it so badly. He doubts Mingeun would take him up on that offer—he’s always been a bit too desperate for his own good.

“You don’t want that,” he says. They’ve talked in the same, unproductive circles for hours. He knew this was going to be the hardest battle. Intak had said nothing except for a few polite greetings, before silently scrawling his signature across the bottom of his new contract. Haksu and Andrew had negotiated for a bit more, but nothing Taein wasn’t going to give them anyway. A little more freedom was the most obvious thing to ask for. And after all these years, he supposes it’s a reward for their hard work.

Of course Mingeun is a different case. His gaze shifts away, almost as if he’s considering it. “Okay, but what if I did? What else could you give me?”

“That would be a conversation to have if you were considering leaving.”

“Hypothetically—”

“No.” Taein slides the printed contract even closer to Mingeun. It’s dangerously close to slipping off the edge of the table. “No hypotheticals.”

“What did you give everyone else?”

A different tact, then. Had Mingeun not just spent the past month under Daewoong’s constant supervision as a direct consequence for running his mouth in response to an online criticism that would have blown over in time if he left it alone, Taein would generously have offered him the same opportunities for solo work and independence as everyone else. 

“That makes no difference. You’ve lost your chance.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

Taein doesn’t respond. He waits for Mingeun’s statement to sink in. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to happen. Mingeun’s expression remains defiant as ever.

Taein starts to count. “Your inability to adhere to our previous agreement to assimilate with the rest of the group. Your decision to not only begin a relationship with Hwajung-ssi, but be sloppy enough to be caught. Your insistence on competing on Shooting Stars. Your impulsive response to that video. How many chances do you need, Mingeun?”

“Not all of those were my fault.”

“Enough of them were. Consider this your third and final chance.”

“Can I have some time to think about it?”

“Fifteen minutes. You’ve known about this meeting for weeks.” 

This is meant to be a small, under the table deal. Taein’s tactics aren’t exactly legal. Nor are they illegal, but rather, as the kids would put it, a secret third thing. Unethical, if he had to put a name to it. It doesn’t make a difference to him. He’s far from the first person to do something like this.              

“I wasn’t thinking about it,” Mingeun says.

“Obviously. It’s the same contract you signed before you debuted with different dates,” Taein says. He spins his chair around to try to find the original document in the mess of his office. He makes a mental note to ask Yuxuan to try and make sense of the chaos when he has time. 

The minute his back is turned, he hears Mingeun say, “Yah, hyung.”

Taein is a hair’s breadth away from a lecture when he turns back to see Mingeun on his phone, leaning back in his seat with his feet propped up on Taein’s desk.

With distaste, Taein slides the stack of papers nearest to Mingeun’s shoes closer to himself. This is his fifteen minutes of thinking about it, Taein tells himself. Having given up his search for Mingeun’s first contract, he tries to listen in on the phone conversation. It’s difficult because Mingeun is speaking French.

Taein massages his temples. Judging from the cocky grin he can’t seem to keep off his face, Mingeun is doing it on purpose. He’s listened to Daewoong complain about how Andrew and Mingeun speak their own combination of English and French when they want to speak privately with one another—something that’s begun to occur more frequently. Taein thought it was all an exaggeration. 

He waits, placidly, until Mingeun ends his call. He sends his own text message, an apology to Cheolhwan for his increasingly late arrival to their meeting.

“Finished?” Taein asks once Mingeun’s phone disappears back into his pocket.

“You’re giving Intak-hyung a solo.”

It’s half a question and half a statement. Taein inclines his head slightly. “An unpromoted mixtape is different from a solo.”

“Can I have a solo?”

“No.”

Mingeun doesn’t seem too upset about that answer. Taein doesn’t know what the point of asking questions he already knows the answer to is.

“You can sign your amended contract, or you can leave,” he continues. “As soon as tomorrow, if that’s what you so desire. There’s a morality clause in here”—he reaches across the table to flip through the pages—”about refraining from partaking in any actions that could result in public scandal or contempt. Your callous inconsiderations to date and run your mouth are grounds enough for contract termination. As you’re the one in breach of it, you’ll owe the company five hundred million won plus interest, as stipulated in the penalty clause. Consider it a testament to my patience that you have a choice.”

Mingeun stares at him with death in his eyes. Taein isn’t particularly worried. Mingeun is all bark and very little bite. He doesn’t say anything as he turns to the last page and finally signs his name. 

The tension leaves Taein in an instant. “Thank you,” he says, picking up the paper before the ink has fully dried. 

Mingeun stands up with so much force his chair’s feet skid back across the ground. “I did this because I like Fable and Jaeseop-hyung would be disappointed in me if I didn’t.” 

He bows stiffly, some fifteen degrees—not nearly polite enough for an interaction between an employee and his boss.

Before he can leave, Taein interrupts with his final instruction. “Break up with Hwajung-ssi. It’s a distraction to the both of you.”

Mingeun’s expression darkens even further. “That’s my personal life.”

“That’s your livelihood,” Taein corrects. “Chances, Mingeun.”

[fcble]

Omg Haksu what did you do do this time? 😭

## HAKSU: "I didn't do anything. My father's health is ailing and I'm his only son. I had to go home. I wanted to perform at our concert. I know it was disappointing to our fans that I wasn't there."

He pauses. "And what do you mean by 'this time?' I've never done anything bad."

[fcble]

In which Mingeun feels alive again. FEATURING: Yoon Mingeun, Go Hwajung (@necnnights), Neon Nights ensemble WORD COUNT: 7.8k SETTING: November 2020 NOTES: Further consequences and context to Mingeun's scandal collection. Also previously discussed here and here.

When Mingeun gets back to Korea, he discovers he’s banned from the Fable practice room. The rest of his group is finishing up promotions of their fifth mini album. Mingeun steams as he watches the stages and listens to the songs, trying to figure out which of the lines should be his. He even goes as far as to ask Jaeseop the same question. He doesn’t get a clear answer, only something about how they’ll consider it in the future, and so Mingeun is left to sulk and skulk.

He spends two days in the dorms before he’s bored. He can’t stand talking to any of his roommates or friends. Walking past Fable’s debut album poster in the entryway—it hides an unrepaired hole in the drywall—constantly reminds him who he is.

Everything sets him off: Haksu leaves a shirt on the floor of the living room, Eunsu drinks his soy milk without asking, Jaeseop refuses to give him back his key to the practice room.

Mingeun has no choice but to visit only during business hours. It seems like the rest of Fable is against him. He tries the door to the practice room every day. It’s locked every day. Sometimes he sits in Andrew’s studio just to annoy him. He’d do the same to Intak, but he thinks Intak is more likely to kill him for getting on his bad side.

At the end of his first futile week, he’s trying the practice room door handle for fun. The lights are off and he knows it’s locked, but he tries it anyway. Then someone taps him on the shoulder.

He turns around to see a girl a full head shorter than him. She looks familiar, yet he can’t place exactly why. She smiles and says, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mingeun-sunbaenim!”

Mingeun is caught off guard. He’s out of practice from not being an idol for so many months. At any other time, he’d be able to pretend to know her in a way that would make her none the wiser to his slip up. But he doesn’t.

Her face falls slightly. “I’m Qiuyun. From Neon Nights?”

“The band,” Mingeun says, recalling how Taein signed them a few years ago. He met a few of them shortly after, and then heard nothing about them since. He’s been so caught up in his own problems he’s forgotten Fable isn’t the company’s only artist. Their practice room occupies the other side of the corridor, and it’s almost as if he’s never noticed it.

“We’re practicing soon, if you want to listen in,” Qiuyun offers shyly.

“I’d love to,” Mingeun says, remembering his manners.

He follows her to the end of the hall, where the door opens to a cluttered room half the size of Fable’s.

It’s dimly lit, and Qiuyun appears to be the last to arrive.

“You’re late.” This comes from a girl with a guitar in her lap, sitting on the edge of the drum set’s boosted platform. She turns her gaze on Mingeun next. “Who’s this?”

“Mingeun. From Fable,” Qiuyun says in an exasperated tone Mingeun associates with young people explaining pop culture and slang to their parents and grandparents.

His name clearly doesn’t ring a bell to the four other people in the room. Their lack of knowledge is simultaneously reassuring and disappointing. He’s not the only one who doesn’t recall the few times they’ve interacted. But Fable is the company’s flagship group—shouldn’t he be more familiar?

“The liar,” Qiuyun elaborates, and that prompts a few understanding noises. He’s going to be plagued by that for the rest of his life.

She introduces everyone at a rapid fire speed. Mingeun doesn’t bother to tell her he almost knows who they are. The girl with the guitar is Eunbyul, behind the drum set is Hwajung, and off to the side are Yumi—bass guitar resting on the floor beside her—and Eden—empty-handed. Then Qiuyun goes off to tune and set up her own instrument, and Mingeun is left standing alone and out of his element like he’s never felt before.

Hwajung points a drum stick at him. “Do you know any of our music?”

Mingeun, who usually prides himself on knowing everything and anything there is to know about kpop, no matter how obscure the groups or songs are, admits, “No.”

He was unaware they had music.

“I can’t name a single Fable song,” Yumi says. The gaze she casts in his direction makes Mingeun feel like he’s withering away.

“There’s that one with the hanbok outfits,” Eden says. “I can’t remember the name.”

That describes most of Fable’s music.

“‘Gaja,’” Mingeun guesses, because it’s their most popular track.

Eden shakes her head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“I like ‘Round and Round,’” Qiuyun volunteers as she plays through a few scales on her guitar.

That comes as a surprise. It’s one of their b-sides, and an unpopular one, because Mingeun can’t even remember what album it was part of.

“Fangirl later,” Hwajung snaps. “Perform now, for our guest.”

She doesn’t sound happy to have him. Mingeun doesn’t understand why. There’s nothing more he misses than performing. If they asked him to sing and dance, he’d do it, gladly.

“What are we performing, exactly?” Eden asks, arching a brow.

Hwajung takes a minute to think about it. “‘Jealousy?’” she asks in Eunbyul’s direction.

Eunbyul shrugs. “That’s fine.”

Eden steps forward into the center, now holding a wireless microphone. She’s flanked by Qiuyun and Eunbyul on the left, and Yumi on the right.

“So this is the second single off our first album,” Eden says. Mingeun’s head reels. They have an album already? When did this happen? Fable didn’t have one until a few months ago. He should have known.

“It’s called ‘Jealousy,’ but you already knew that.”

Hwajung counts four beats with her drumsticks, and they start. The first part is an upbeat guitar line so low Mingeun swears he can feel it resonate through his chest. Then Eden starts to sing—in English.

He doesn’t know what he expected from their music. Probably something slower, something easy on the ears that you’d hear in a coffee shop, something like chill beats to relax and study to. Then maybe he could tell himself that it makes perfect sense for him to never have heard their music. He didn’t expect this upbeat, guitar-driven track, with Eden making eye contact with him every other line, like she’s peeling away all his fronts and leaving him entirely exposed.

Following the second chorus, Eden steps back and Eunbyul steps forward for a guitar solo. That’s when Mingeun realizes that more than anything, they’re having fun. A deep-seated feeling of jealousy—just like their song—rushes through him. He wants to perform again, even if it’s for an audience of one person.

The song ends, and Mingeun claps politely.

“What do you think?” Qiuyun asks after a few seconds.

“I like it,” Mingeun says. “You sound really good.”

“That’s it?” Hwajung asks, standing up. “That’s all you have to say?”

Something about her reaction reminds Mingeun of himself. It’s a terrifying thought. He pushes it away.

“Why did you decide to write it in English?” he asks to change the subject. He assumes they wrote it. They’re a band after all, not an idol group.

“Eden plays the keyboard,” Hwajung says, “but we don’t use it in all our songs.”

“My English is better than my Japanese,” Eden says with a laugh. “Eunbyul takes care of that, and we’ve decided I can sing some of them in English.”

Japanese. That explains why Mingeun doesn’t know a single song.

Remembering he doesn’t have to lie anymore, he says, “I speak English too. I’m Canadian.”

They’re such simple sentences, but it feels so liberating. His euphoria is crushed immediately when Yumi looks at him and says, “English is one of the most common languages in the world.”

He refuses to let her get to him. So he brushes it off and pretends she didn’t say anything.

That night, Mingeun lies in bed and listens to a fifteen-track behemoth titled INTENTION.

He starts to spend more and more time with them. He checks the Fable room too, multiple times a day, even though he doesn’t relish the idea of being trapped in there with any of his group members. At some point, Jaeseop sends him a polite, but still strongly-worded text, describing how Taein is “extremely upset and disappointed,” which explains why his “hiatus will continue until further consideration.” It also comes with “a strong recommendation to keep out of trouble” and suggests he “uses this time to reflect on himself.”

Mingeun pretends he doesn’t care.

He tries to be the first one to leave the dorms in the morning and the last one to return at night, like he isn’t even there. He takes the trains in circles, blending in with the young adults who are not banned from their workplaces. The city has shifted in barely perceptible ways in the months he was gone. The change of seasons, of course. The quick turnover of small businesses and specialty stores in busy areas. Mingeun missed it all.

When Hwajung texts that she’s at the building, then he heads there as well. She’s always the first to arrive, seemingly propelled by the same drive as he is. Their conversations are sparse. Hwajung will send something like “here” or “on my way” or “almost there.” Mingeun will reply with “ok” or the OK hand sign emoji or maybe a similar sticker as he sways gently on the subway.

She’s working on an album now. She has her own office-turned-studio, the same way Andrew and Intak have theirs, but she prefers sitting or lying down on the ground with her computer and a notebook in front of her drum set. Mingeun sits there too, listening to her complain about her music or Taein or her piece of shit twin brother.

“Taein-nim hates us,” Hwajung says one morning, looking more at her screen than Mingeun.

Mingeun gets that. He’s almost certain Taein hates him too. Not the rest of his group, just him specifically. It’s hard to think otherwise.

“He hates our music too. I—we—can’t promote in Japan forever. I don’t care if he thinks the market there is better for us.”

“You can’t compromise what you write,” Mingeun says, and Hwajung looks up at him in what might be surprise.

Then she says, “You do whatever he asks of you.”

“My only choice was to lie,” he says testily.

“I’m not talking about that,” Hwajung says. “You’re an idol.” She says it like it disgusts her, like it’s the worst insult she could think of.

“So what?” Mingeun asks, entirely unaffected.

“Your job is to do what other people tell you to do and what other people expect you to do without being told.”

“I like it.”

He doesn’t have a better response. If he had somewhere else to go, he would leave.

The arrival of Eunbyul and Yumi—always together—saves him. Or not, because they would probably take Hwajung’s side. More importantly, they take Hwajung’s attention off Mingeun.

It’s routine, the way she spends the morning showing off whatever progress she’s made on her music. Mingeun spends the time sitting off to the side alone, uncomfortably, with very little idea of what they’re talking about. He opens the same three apps on his phone, a constant rotation through Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok. The upside to it all is that it sounds a little different every day, even to his untrained ear. Mingeun is pretty sure Andrew has been working on the same song for his entire life, and he refuses to let anyone listen to it.

Anywhere from a few minutes to a couple of hours of boredom later, Qiuyun arrives and saves Mingeun from his state of crippling boredom. Today, it takes her almost half an hour.

Mingeun isn’t blind to the invisible battle lines in the band. Something separates Hwajung and Eunbyul and Yumi from the other two members, extremely evident in how they cluster together closer and speak quieter when Qiuyun appears. He ignores it because it’s not his problem.

“Today?” Qiuyun asks.

Mingeun shakes his head. A few days ago, he promised to get her a Fable album signed by her bias, Haksu. He made that promise while temporarily forgetting he was avoiding the rest of his group like the plague, as if Haksu doesn’t sleep in the room right next to his.

It’s probably souring her opinion of him, but she must have read some of the news articles about him. They’re all fairly accurate. Mingeun would know, because he’s read all of them. He has little to dispute.

Qiuyun sighs as she sits down next to him. Mingeun knows she’s disappointed. He’d still rather deal with her disappointment than Haksu.

He wishes he had something smart to say about the way Hwajung’s new song sounds. He doesn’t. He has a very lively discussion about the latest EXO album with Qiuyun instead.

Over time, Mingeun listens to every Neon Nights song on Spotify. There are more of them than he thought. There are two singles in Korean with a single song apiece from 2016. Then there’s the Japanese music: the fifteen tracks of INTENTION, two EPs, and a number of singles repeated on their three albums. By the end of it, it’s all starting to blend together for him. Only the earliest songs sound different.

He doesn’t normally text Hwajung—other than their morning conversations, which aren’t even really conversations—but he wants to share his opinion.

I listened to your music, he sends with proper grammar and spelling.

It’s nearly three in the morning, but Hwajung responds almost immediately.

and? don’t leave me in suspense, her message reads.

Mingeun takes a minute to type up his reply. He didn’t think she would reply so quickly. More accurately, he didn’t think at all. He can’t say he thinks every song sounds the same, so he spins it differently.

Your sound is consistent. He knows for certain that he’s lived with Haksu for much too long. Thinly veiled almost insults have always been his forte. What happened between 2016 and 2018?

your ceo signed us, she says, like Taein isn’t now her CEO as well. She doesn’t say anything more, instead asking, what’s your favorite song your group has released?

Knowing she’s never heard a Fable song, he gives her a short list of their most popular songs, title tracks, and a few of their recent b-sides.

i don’t care about popularity, she sends back. i want to know which song you like.

So Mingeun copies and pastes a YouTube link to “Make Me a Different Person,” one of the more popular b-sides from their first mini album.

Hwajung’s typing dots appear and disappear a few times. Mingeun waits with bated breath until he eventually falls asleep.

Later in the morning, he wakes up hours later than he usually does. Hwajung’s usual text is there, unread on his lock screen. There’s nothing about the Fable song, to his annoyance. He all but flies out of bed and his apartment to meet her.

Mingeun flattens his hair in the elevator, using his phone’s front camera as a mirror. Then he walks down the hall and gently pushes the door open. Today, Hwajung is using Eden’s keyboard as a table. She looks up when he enters.

“You’re free tonight,” Hwajung says. It should be a question, but it comes out sounding like a statement.

Mingeun nods.

“Let’s go to a concert.”

“A concert?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Hwajung says, like he’s dumb and has never heard of a concert before in his entire life. “You’d change your mind about our music if you went to a live show.”

He’s doubtful about that. He’s heard their music—one song—live. But it’s not like he has any other plans—he never has any other plans.

“Okay,” he agrees. He sits down next to her on the piano bench. “Did you listen to any of the songs I sent you?”

“Some of them,” she says. “Pop music is so boring.”

She plays a few chords on the keyboard.

“It’s not,” he says. Mingeun is great at arguing. Give him a topic and another person, and they’ll be at each other’s throats in minutes. Something is different with Hwajung. He wants to disagree with her. He does disagree with her. Somehow he’s unable to act on any of it.

“Can you play?” he asks instead, nodding at the instrument in front of them.

Hwajung tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I can play every instrument in this room.”

She says it with a confidence and self-assurance Mingeun envies.

“Can you teach me?” Mingeun asks. He’s not sure where that comes from. He doesn’t think she’d be a better teacher than someone like Andrew, but he’s bored and he isn’t on speaking terms with Andrew right now.

“You don’t know how?” She sounds surprised. “Some musician you are.”

Mingeun is not a musician. He’s never considered himself one, and he probably never will. He’s an idol. A performer and a singer straining for the inhuman standards he’ll die trying to meet. He doesn’t tell her that. He gives her his flattest, most expressionless stare, and says, “No.”

Hwajung groans. “Please tell me you know something about music.”

That stings. He isn’t completely in the dark. “I can read sheet music.”

“Outside of the treble clef?”

“No.”

Hwajung places her left hand on a white key in front of Mingeun. “This is middle C.”

She runs through the keys and the clefs and some scales. Mingeun pays attention, though he notices more than anything else how enthusiastic she is when she teaches. It makes him acutely aware of how much he misses doing what he loves. She answers each of his stupid questions impatiently, but he still gets an understandable answer.

When Mingeun feels as if his brain is bursting at the seams, he stops her. Hwajung looks disappointed.

“Teach me more tomorrow,” he says.

“You’d want that?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Mingeun says. He likes her company. She’s a lot less intimidating now that he’s getting to know her.

“Don’t forget about tonight,” she reminds him.

A few hours later, Mingeun is pressing his ear to his bedroom door, straining to catch any hint of sound. He’s supposed to meet Hwajung in a few minutes. The time ticks away the longer he waits. The problem is that he doesn’t want to talk to or even see any of his roommates. He tells himself it sounds quiet enough outside.

He takes a silent step outside, shutting his door as quietly as possible. Then he slips down the hallway. Light streams out from underneath Haksu’s door—a decent enough sign. He takes a few bold steps into the living room, only to be greeted by Eunsu and Byeonghwi sitting silently on the couch, both of them engaged in their phones.

Mingeun freezes. He wonders if he can sneak by them and out the door without either of them noticing. While lost in his thoughts, something about his presence must alert them to him.

“Mingeun,” Eunsu says, sounding surprised, like he forgot about him. “You’re going out?”

Mingeun straightens up with dignity, trying to pretend he wasn’t about to consider making a break for it past the two of them. “Yes,” he says simply. He tugs at the lapels of his jacket. Isn’t it obvious?

“With who?” Byeonghwi asks, probably because he knows Mingeun has almost no friends.

“Hwajung,” Mingeun says, not caring if they recognize her name or not.

An indescribable look passes between Eunsu and Byeonghwi. A spike of resentment surges through Mingeun. He can’t have been gone long enough to no longer understand their silent communication. He refuses to believe it.

“Only two of you?” Eunsu asks.

“Yes,” Mingeun bites out. “Any other questions, Dad?”

“That sounds like a date, hyung,” Byeonghwi says, almost cautiously.

“It’s not a date,” Mingeun snaps.

They both look surprised at his outburst. He doesn’t know why. He forces his fists to unclench. He isn’t sure when that happened.

“Bye,” he mutters.

Then he sits in the entryway for a few minutes, lacing up his All Stars.

Hwajung doesn’t live far, which is good, because Mingeun is fucking freezing. The late November wind cuts through his jacket and his jeans. He tucks his hands into his pockets and almost runs the few blocks to her apartment building.

When he gets there, she isn’t ready to leave yet. Instead, Yumi leads him up through the building, saying nothing except, “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.”

Mingeun believes her.

Eventually, he stands in Hwajung’s kitchen, subjected to the critical eyes of her and Yumi. The room smells faintly of weed.

“He’s passable,” Yumi says. She speaks like he isn’t even there.

Hwajung sits on a bar stool and sips at her drink—soju, presumably, because it’s in a shot glass—through a straw, careful not to smudge her makeup. Next to her, Mingeun feels extremely underdressed. When he stood in his own bedroom, he thought his outfit was acceptable—leather jacket over a plain white t-shirt tucked into dark skinny jeans.

“He’s so plain,” Hwajung says.

That’s how he should be. Mingeun is rarely recognized in public, but if it happened tonight, it’d be disastrous. He’s supposed to still be in Canada. He can already see the headlines in his mind’s eye, can already picture the accusations flung his way if he’s spotted alone with a girl.

“You didn’t tell me what you were wearing,” Mingeun complains. He could have matched Hwajung’s faded Nirvana shirt and baggy pants, complete with its collection of silver chains that pair with all of her accessories, if he was given the chance.

Hwajung dismisses him. “Do you want anything to drink?” she asks, changing the subject. “We have soju, beer, Yumi’s expensive whisky.”

“He is not drinking my Hibiki,” Yumi says darkly.

Mingeun would never dream of it. “I don’t drink.”

They both stare at him.

“You shouldn’t be alive,” Yumi says in a tone so matter of fact that Mingeun would believe her if he wasn’t standing in front of her.

He shrugs.

Hwajung finishes her drink. “Let’s go. See you later, Yumi.”

Hwajung’s manager, Aerin, drives them to the venue. Mingeun sits alone in the backseat of her personal car. He thought they might just take the subway, or maybe call a taxi. Daewoong would never drive Mingeun—or anyone else in Fable—somewhere on his own, much less with a girl.

Aerin doesn’t seem to mind. Hwajung’s phone connects automatically to the car speakers, music only intermittently interrupted by Siri providing them with directions. It keeps Mingeun from having to speak, at the very least.

They’re dropped off in front of the darkest, dingiest bar Mingeun has ever seen in his life. He’s not quite sure where in Seoul they are.

“Thank you so much, unnie!” Hwajung gushes as they step outside. She trips on the curb almost immediately.

He should probably try to catch her or help her or something. He watches her stumble forward a few steps until she regains her balance instead. Then he’s subjected to her dark glare after she recovers.

“It’s these boots,” Hwajung complains. They add about five centimeters to her height. She still stands almost a full head shorter than Mingeun.

The inside of the bar is just as dark and dingy as he thought it would be. It takes him a few minutes to adjust to the darkness. The main focal point is a dimly lit stage, where a small crowd has already gathered in front. The floor slopes gently toward it.

Hwajung seems to be extremely well-adjusted. She grabs Mingeun’s hand and tugs him towards the side.

“I need a picture for my Instagram,” she says—no, demands.

Mingeun complies. He’s handing her phone back when she pulls him in again.

“We have to take one together.”

The thought never occurred to him. This isn’t the type of photo he can post on Twitter—unless he wants to be further eviscerated for sharing a couple pose four-cut.

Hwajung stands on her tiptoes, teetering from side to side. He wraps one arm around her shoulder to steady her, and that’s when she takes the picture.

“I won’t post it,” she says, as if she’s read his mind. “I’m a celebrity too.”

Mingeun decides to trust her.

The show starts. His first impression is that it’s loud. So loud, he can feel it in his chest. The crowd surges around them with each song. Hwajung clings to his right arm so they’re not separated, other arm high in the air, bouncing to the beat of each song. She knows every word to every song. Mingeun doesn’t even know the name of the band.

The lead singer seems to do more screaming than singing. It’s entirely unintelligible, and yet he can’t help but be caught up in it all. At one point, he has to take his jacket off. He’s grateful he’s wearing white. At another point, the singer gestures for the crowd to form an empty circle.

Hwajung pulls him away. “We’re not going in there.”

When the next song starts—somehow even louder and faster than anything Mingeun’s heard yet, he cranes his neck to see what’s going on. He can’t quite comprehend the wild, thrashing movements of that part of the crowd.

In between sets, she finally relinquishes his arm. Mingeun feels his circulation resume.

“Do you see what I mean now?” she asks, eyes bright, bangs stuck to her forehead with sweat.

“Your band doesn’t sound like this,” he says.

“Not yet,” she says. She pulls a lip tint out of her bag and starts touching up her makeup, even though she looks fine.

He’s not quite sure what to make of that. “I think I understand.”

Mingeun would have gotten here eventually, regardless of the genre or the musician. He rarely gets to see a performance from the audience’s perspective. It’s electrifying, to feel not just the energy from the band, but from the people around him.

“I knew you would.” Hwajung beams up at him.

Two more bands perform after that. Mingeun does get it, even though he thinks all three of them sound somewhat similar to each other. The differences come mostly in how much screaming there is in each set.

Aerin picks them up again after the show. The sweat on his shirt freezes against his back. Mingeun puts his jacket back on. It doesn’t do much.

“I’m cold,” Hwajung complains on the short dash to the car. Her breath puffs out with each word.

“Me too,” Mingeun agrees, wrapping his jacket tighter around him.

In the car, he rubs his hands together directly in front of the air vents. Between the weather and Hwajung’s weight on his arm for a few hours, it’s a miracle he can feel his fingers.

Aerin drops him off first. His hands freeze over again as he immediately starts texting Hwajung.

Mingeun runs into Eunsu again in the living room. This time, he doesn’t care, breezing dismissively past him. He sends his text to Hwajung. When can we go again?

Mingeun never goes home for Christmas. The very thought makes him nauseous. He’s spent four in Korea so far—one with his extended family, two with Eunsu, and last year’s with Andrew. This year, as the holidays approach, he realizes he has no plans. He’s capable of having conversations with Eunsu again, but he doesn’t enjoy the lengthy train rides or Eunsu’s small town that somehow counts as a city. He understands why Eunsu couldn’t live there.

He ticks off the other members in his head. Jaeseop is an immediate no because Taein will be there. Andrew is flying home. Byeonghwi and Intak live too far away. Haksu is—Mingeun doesn’t want to spend the holidays with him.

He begins to anticipate a sad and lonely week in the dorms, by himself. That is, until the morning he lets it slip in front of Hwajung. Mingeun wants to take back his words, or better yet, curl up into a ball and die.

But Hwajung says, “Spend it with me.” Her cheeks flush slightly more pink than her blush.

“And my family,” she adds quickly. “They won’t mind.”

“I don’t want to bother you—” Mingeun starts to say.

“You won’t,” Hwajung says firmly, and that’s it on that.

Mingeun ends his self-imposed vow of almost silence with his group for good and spends the next few days assuring them he’ll be fine and he can take care of himself. He doesn’t tell them what his plans are.

He spends his time shopping for a gift instead, before quickly realizing he has no idea what Hwajung’s interests are outside of music and her band. Does she have other interests? He pauses in his research, fingers stilling in a texting position over his phone screen. Does he have other interests outside of being an idol and Fable? Not really. That’s probably what makes them such good… Mingeun isn’t quite sure how to categorize their relationship. Somewhere past work acquaintances, for sure. They don’t talk about anything other than music—work—but he’s confident they could.

He thinks about it for a few more minutes, and ends up buying her a notebook with music staffs in place of lines.

A few days later, Hwajung picks him up in a car.

“You can drive?” Mingeun asks, slack-jawed as he stands on the sidewalk. He holds a supermarket plastic bag of mujigae-tteok in his left hand and his phone in his right. Hwajung’s gift, packed neatly in its gift bag, dangles from his right wrist. He hadn’t recognized her at first, until she rolled down her window and honked at him.

“Yes,” Hwajung says out the window. “Get in the fucking car.”

Mingeun gets in the fucking car.

She gives him a cursory glance. “You don’t have to bring anything.”

He’s much too well-mannered to visit someone’s home and not bring food. He starts to waffle out a response, but Hwajung floors the gas and he holds onto the inside door handle for dear life.

As far as Mingeun can tell, she’s not a good driver. He doesn’t know how to drive, but he doesn’t think it involves cutting into lanes and expecting other cars to move, or taking turns so fast he slides from side to side in his seat. He hears his mujigae-tteok fall over in the back seat almost as soon as she departs from the curb.

A Day6 CD blares over the car speakers—one of The Book of Us ones. It’s a happy medium between their respective music tastes. Mingeun can’t fully appreciate it when it seems like Hwajung is one bad turn away from an accident.

“Before we get there,” she says, seemingly oblivious to his terror, “I want to apologize for everything Sungjae is going to say.”

“He’s that bad?” Mingeun asks. His throat is so dry it almost hurts.

Hwajung nods emphatically. The car jerks to the right before she corrects it. “He hates idols more than I do. I think that’s all he knows about you.”

“He can read about me online,” Mingeun grumbles.

He’s never told Hwajung this, but he’s done his own research on Neon Nights. He knows Sungjae—her piece of shit twin brother—used to be part of the band. He’s never asked any of the current members what happened.

“He probably has,” Hwajung says. This time, she turns to look at Mingeun. “You don’t mind, right?”

“Can you look at the road?” he asks. He’s proud of himself for not yelling it.

“We’re almost there,” she says soothingly, taking one more breakneck turn onto a narrow residential street.

She turns into a driveway a few moments later. Mingeun finally relinquishes his grip on the door. It takes him a little more time to calm his racing heart. His legs are numb as he steps outside.

Hwajung’s home is a not-quite sprawling single-story house. As soon as he steps inside—right behind Hwajung—he’s almost overwhelmed by the smell of food. The indistinct sounds of a TV drift from somewhere deeper within the house.

A young man approximately his age appears like an apparition. Mingeun, still shaken from the car ride, almost jumps. This must be Sungjae. He bears a passing resemblance to Hwajung.

He gives the two of them a baleful glance. “So that’s your boyfriend.”

Mingeun feels his cheeks flush. “We’re not dating,” he and Hwajung say at the same time. Her words are spoken much more forcefully than his.

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t know who he is.”

“Hwajung! Don’t argue with your brother. Come and cook dinner,” a female voice, presumably her mother, calls.

Sungjae gives Hwajung a shit-eating grin.

She sighs. “You never tell Sungjae to cook,” she yells back. She takes both the plastic supermarket bag and her gift from Mingeun. “You’ll have to put up with him for a bit.”

Her words are accompanied with a grimace.

“We’ll be best friends by dinner time,” Sungjae says. Mingeun does not share that sentiment.

And that’s how he finds himself sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the Go family’s couch. The plastic cover crinkles every time he shifts a few centimeters. A drama is playing on the TV, but neither Mingeun nor Sungjae are paying attention.

“What has my sister told you about me?” Sungjae asks. He sits more comfortably than Mingeun, which makes sense, because it’s his home.

“Nothing much,” Mingeun says, calm and impassive. He doesn’t like Sungjae. Something about his mannerisms reminds Mingeun of a shark. Or maybe an eel.

They don’t have anything else in common except Hwajung. He doesn’t want to talk about her so much when she isn’t there to hear it.

“Why did you leave the band?” he asks, purely out of the desire to fill the silence.

Sungjae’s expression grows cold. “Why does that matter to you?”

Mingeun shrugs, secretly delighted with the rise he’s getting out of Sungjae. “Curiosity.”

“You’re an idol. You don’t know the first thing about what we went through or what it takes to be a real musician.”

He wonders where this came from. It’s far from the worst insult he’s ever heard. He knows he’s not a musician. Maybe Sungjae needed an excuse to insult him. Mingeun’s heard all of this before from Hwajung. The twins are alike, even if she tries to deny it. Besides that, he’d like to think he knows something or other about hardship and music. He knows for a fact that Sungjae never moved across the world as a teenager for a dream he had only the smallest chance of achieving. He doubts Sungjae ever agreed to lie about who he was as part of his career.

Mingeun shrugs, devoid of other responses that would piss off Sungjae even more.

Hwajung returns from her kitchen exile to stony silence. The couch cover crackles as she sits next to Mingeun. “Made a new friend?” she asks.

“Not at all,” he says cheerfully.

Over dinner, Mingeun talks about himself with practiced ease to Hwajung’s parents. He’s good at talking about what he does and why—he has to be. He hopes it isn’t coming off as too rehearsed, even though it is. He talks about where he’s from and how he got here and what his parents do and on and on and on, until it begins to feel more like an interrogation.

The only question that isn’t normally asked of idols comes from Hwajung’s father, who asks, “How did you meet Hwajung?”

Hwajung slams her chopsticks down on the side of her plate. “We’re coworkers. We met at work.”

Her statement is largely ignored.

“She’s never had an interest in boys before. It’s nice to see,” her mother says pleasantly. “When will you get a girlfriend, Sungjae?”

Mingeun picks at his food, feeling like he shouldn’t be part of this conversation at all. He wants to eat and show his appreciation to Hwajung’s family for hosting him. The samgyeopsal tastes like ash in his mouth. He’s certain the twins never developed anything close to his fucked up relationship with food as they pursued music.

The rest of dinner—and dessert—are similarly borderline uncomfortable affairs. His mujigae-tteok offering is well-received, at least.

When it’s finally over, Hwajung drives Mingeun back to his apartment in silence, because Sungjae sits in the backseat. Neither of them want the other person there. Mingeun had pretended he didn’t hear any of the arguing that went on between their family. Hwajung insisted she could drive back alone. Her parents disagreed.

Mingeun wishes they lived closer to each other. The ride feels longer than it did before, even when she drives no slower than fifteen kilometers per hour over the speed limit. He notices Sungjae doesn’t have the same death grip on the door handle.

“Sorry about Sungjae and my parents,” Hwajung says, like Sungjae isn’t in the backseat. “I usually only bring the other band members over. They were excited to meet you.”

“Which is why I think you’re a couple. You act like it too,” Sungjae says. He sounds almost upset. Mingeun has no idea why.

“Shut the fuck up,” she says in retaliation.

Mingeun rifles through Hwajung’s CD collection. In the very back of the case are two Neon Nights CDs. He picks one at random—first EP FIRST SIGHT—and inserts it into the car. He turns the volume up as their characteristic bass lines thump over the speakers.

Sungjae’s groan is barely audible. “You’ve ruined our band.”

“I don’t want to hear you,” Hwajung calls back. “It’s my fucking band.” She grins at Mingeun. It takes everything in him to not tell her to focus on the road.

They only listen to two songs before they arrive at Mingeun’s apartment building. He’s grateful to stand on solid ground again.

“Thanks for inviting me,” he says as the car idles. “I had a good time.”

It’s dark, but he thinks he sees Hwajung blush, which means she probably didn’t catch his lie. Her voice is slightly higher than normal as she wishes him a good night.

“Listen to this,” Hwajung says. It sounds like an order. She holds her headphones with the ear cups flipped out, offering the right side to Mingeun.

He’s surprised. She’s never encouraged him to listen to her music like this before.

It’s their first day back at work in the new year. Mingeun is free to be a member of Fable again—his practice room ban was lifted—but it’s become so routine to spend his mornings with Hwajung. He didn’t even ask Jaeseop for the key yet.

He takes the offered side of her headphones, sitting closer to her. The program on her computer screen means nothing to him. It’s a meaningless array of colors and lines. The only thing he recognizes are the piano keys down the left side of her screen.

The music begins to play. The track is loud and fast—as expected of everything she writes. Her sound is growing on him. He needs better descriptions for it other than loud and fast. It might not be something he chooses to listen to, but it doesn’t make him feel like his ears are bleeding.

It comes to an abrupt stop, and Mingeun realizes he’d like to hear more of it. Or maybe it’s because she left off right before a drop.

Hwajung looks at him expectantly. Mingeun chooses his words very, very carefully. “I like the bass in the intro and the build-up in the pre-chorus.”

“Is that what you really think?” She looks him right in the eye, and that’s when he realizes just how close they are to each other.

He can’t back down, so he says, “Yeah, it is.” He’s not intimidated by her anymore.

Then the door opens to reveal Eunbyul and Yumi. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. They work here too. It takes only a second for Mingeun to process the shocked expressions on their faces and the way Eunbyul stops in the middle of a sentence.

Hwajung slams her laptop lid shut, and Mingeun drops his side of the headphones. He mutters something incoherent about needing to use the restroom—he doesn’t even know what he’s saying—and rushes past the two of them out the door.

He stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to lower his heart rate to a normal BPM. The only people he has to worry about seeing in here are his group members. Mingeun locks himself in a stall anyway.

It shouldn’t be so embarrassing, but Mingeun replays the moment over and over in his head. The shocked expressions on Eunbyul and Yumi’s faces. Sitting right next to Hwajung—so close to Hwajung—in those blissful moments right before disaster.

Mingeun groans and closes the lid of the toilet seat so he can sit down in despair. He can’t show his face in there ever again. He’s not sure what he had with them, but he knows he’s ruined it.

When a sufficient number of minutes have passed for him to recover from the initial mortification, he steadies himself to step outside. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he’ll find out along the way.

Yumi corners him right outside the bathroom. For a short second, Mingeun thinks he’s about to die. If looks could kill, he would be dead by her gaze many, many times over in the past few months.

“You fucking idiot,” she hisses instead. “She likes you.”

Mingeun finds it hard to believe that anyone would like him like that.

“She does?” he asks in a daze.

“You spend hours alone together every morning. You met her parents. Are you blind or stupid?”

“Oh,” Mingeun says stupidly.

“You’re the guy. Ask her out already.”

Yumi turns away, stalking down the hall. Mingeun goes back to the bathroom to do a Google search for how to tell if a girl likes you.

If the search results are anything to go by, Yumi is correct. Mingeun hates being wrong. Since he doesn’t dare to show his face to the band again, he goes to the one person he thinks would know what to do in his situation.

To his disappointment, Jaeseop is not the only person in the practice room. Haksu and Andrew are there too. The room smells like a strange combination of stale, dusty air and Haksu’s instant ramen, currently rotating in the microwave. Andrew stands on a chair, opening the row of windows that reach the ceiling.

“I was wondering when you were going to ask for your key,” Jaeseop says.

“I have something else to ask,” Mingeun says. Before they can think he’s changed, he adds, “I also want my key back.”

He starts pacing around the room. Jaeseop digs through his bag and retrieves the key. He tosses it to Mingeun, who watches the silver ring arc through the air before he catches it.

“I don’t know if I want to hear what you’re going to ask,” Jaeseop says. Mingeun can hear the trepidation in his voice. It stings a little. He’s not that untrustworthy.

He cushions Jaeseop for the blow. “Since you have the most relationship experience, what do you do if a girl likes you?”

His words are followed by silence, broken only by the beeping of the microwave.

Jaeseop sighs. “Please don’t tell me you plan on doing anything except telling her no.”

There’s too many negatives in that sentence. Mingeun is confused. He shrugs. “I don’t know yet.”

Andrew sits down on his chair. The last two windows remain closed. “Did she tell you that?”

“No,” Mingeun admits, “but I’m pretty sure of it. Why does Jaeseop-hyung get to have a girlfriend?”

“That was a different situation,” Jaeseop says.

“Jaeseop-hyung doesn’t cause problems like you do,” Haksu says. Mingeun glares at him. He refuses to take advice from the guy sitting cross-legged on the floor using his plastic ramen bowl cover as a soup spoon.

No one’s on his side. Mingeun is disappointed, but not too surprised.

“You know you’re not supposed to date, right?” Haksu asks.

Mingeun doesn’t respond. He does know it. It’s so much easier to say than to do. And it’s even easier for Haksu to say it—because he’s never been in a relationship.

“Is it mutual? Do you like her?” Jaeseop asks.

Mingeun doesn’t answer that either. Jaeseop seems to almost understand. He wishes it was just the two of them having this conversation. Without any outside influence, he could show Jaeseop this isn’t a bad idea. He does like Hwajung. He wants to move past this weird limbo of somewhere between and around coworkers and friends.

“You’re the last person I expected to want a relationship,” Andrew says. Then he seems to remember Haksu is also in the room. “Second to last. Isn’t being an idol more important to you?”

Mingeun can’t remember the last time he was this disillusioned by idol life. “No one will know,” he says. His secret-keeping in public record isn’t great. All he needs is a second chance. He can do better.

No one says anything in response. He can see the way all three of them think he shouldn’t be trusted. They’re too nice to say it to his face. Or so he thought.

“You were caught in a lie once,” Haksu says. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

Mingeun has had more than enough. He texts Hwajung and asks if she can meet him somewhere. She responds immediately, volunteering her shared studio. He’s never been there before.

He ensures he has the key to Fable’s room, and excuses himself from whatever his group members are doing.

Unfortunately, he only has to walk across the hallway. Hwajung is there already, door propped open with a guitar case. He can’t tell if there’s actually a guitar in there or not. He knocks on the open door anyway to announce his arrival.

Hwajung sits on her desk. “Does this have anything to do with you running away to the bathroom this morning?”

Mingeun sits next to her. He has little tact, less shame, and absolutely no game. He doesn’t even hear what she says. “Do you wanna go out? With me?”

“Yumi told you to do this.” Her response is matter of fact.

He can’t deny it. “Yes. But if I didn’t want to do it, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I’d love to,” she says. She wraps her arms around his neck, leaning against him. Mingeun knows she can feel the way his heartbeat triples.

His phone vibrates with a text.

I can hear you across the hall. Hope you’re better at lying, Haksu’s message says.

Mingeun leaves him on read. Nothing he says could possibly dampen his spirits.

[fcble]

A LOOK INTO MINGEUN'S G-SHOCK COLLECTION

1. It all started with Mingeun's first watch, the black GW-5600J. One of the more basic models, it was given to him when he was a kid by his parents, simply because they thought he needed a watch. In the years he's had it, he's done little more than replace the battery and wristband a few times. He also scratched the plastic screen years ago but never fixed it. Mingeun is more shocked than anything else that his childhood watch survived into his adulthood.

2. The white G-8900A was a congratulatory gift when he passed the SM Entertainment audition, once again from his parents. It’s held bad memories for years now, and Mingeun rarely wears it. Also, he used to wear it a lot as an SM trainee and the wristband started turning gray.

3. As a teenager, he was given the G-1400D in black. It was meant as a replacement for his first watch, but Mingeun used the two of them interchangeably. He has not impressed his parents enough in the past ten years to receive any more watches.

4. Mingeun received another watch, the gold-faced GMW-B5000KL, to celebrate his long-awaited debut. This one was given to him by his extended family he lived with while a trainee. He tends to favor it over the older ones from his parents.

5. The limited edition Transformers DW-6900TF (complete with Optimus Prime) was a gift to Mingeun from a fan, shortly after its release in 2019. He's not a Transformers fan, but it’s cool. There was a period around the time of his scandal where he refused to wear it. Recently, he’s brought it back.

6. With his first paycheck, Mingeun bought the bright blue GAX-100MSA. It was released a couple of years previously, and he had thought about it for some time. He quickly realized he didn't like it as much as he thought he would. Nevertheless, he forces himself to wear it if it matches his outfits because he spent his own money on it.

7. For his birthday in 2021, he received the limited edition MTG-B2000PH-2A from Andrew and Jaeseop. The watch is the most expensive one out of his collection, and one of his prized possessions. That doesn't stop him from wearing it almost every day.

8. As something of a gag gift, Eunsu bought Mingeun the green and white GBD-H1000 when Mingeun started going to therapy. The reasoning behind it was that the watch is made to be an exercise tracker. Eunsu thought it would be fun for Mingeun to monitor his own heart rate. Mingeun didn't. He wears it anyway.

9. Mingeun's latest purchase is the DWE-5610YU in green. It was somewhat an impulse buy, but he barely has anything green and he loves expanding his collection. Nevermind that he only has two arms and can only wear one watch at a time without looking ridiculous.

[fcble]

mingeun 18 + 19 🫡🥰

A PEEK INSIDE...

18.     “secret” hiding spot.

Mingeun’s hiding spot is an Amazon cardboard box he keeps in the back of his closet. Its contents are as follows:

His current journal, the A5 Leuchtturm1917 in black

His old journal, a worn composition book

The pen he uses to write, the 0.5mm Dong-A U-Knock gel pen in black

A haphazard stack of polaroid photos of himself and the rest of Fable

A signed copy of Teen Top’s second full album, High Five

The only items he really wants to keep secret are the journals. Everything else is there because it fits or he doesn’t have anywhere else to put it.

19.     five most recent in contact list. 

He doesn’t talk to very many people. The same handful of his contacts are shuffled and reordered as the days pass. Right now, Mingeun has recently spoken with:

Eunsu, of course. 

His girlfriend.

His older sister, Minah.

Haksu.

Fable’s manager. He added the “(manager)” description to remind himself way back in 2018. He has yet to change it or the default icon.

[fcble]

In which Andrew and Mingeun put the dia in diaspora. FEATURING : Andrew Han, Yoon Mingeun, Fable ensemble WORD COUNT : 6k

APRIL 2017

For Mingeun, meeting Andrew is a moment of certainty in his uncertain life. They’re much too similar to each other, and that means there can only be one of them. They hold the same position. They have very similar backgrounds (to Taein, at least, and it’s his opinion that counts). Mingeun knows it needs to be him. It’s sickening, he thinks, how nice Andrew seems to be. He’s not possessed by the same manic urgency for success as Mingeun.

Mingeun sees him with Byeonghwi all the time, in the lobby, in the singular conference room, heads bent over Byeonghwi’s homework. And that’s the other thing. Andrew is smart, and it hasn’t gone to his head. It’s Eunsu who pries Andrew’s credentials out of him, eyes almost popping out of his head when he tells Mingeun, “Did you know he went to an Ivy League university?”

All that does is make Mingeun feel even more inferior, with his lack of education and his lack of refinement. Andrew is conversationally fluent or better in four languages. He speaks French better than Mingeun, and Mingeun did French immersion.

Mingeun grits his teeth and tells himself he could be a better idol. Except everyone else seems enamored by him. There’s Byeonghwi of course, always in their little tutoring sessions. Eunsu finds him fascinating, waxing poetic of Andrew’s shining qualities. Andrew cracked Intak’s shell in a record two weeks. Mingeun was unaware that Intak was capable of saying so many words. Even Jaeseop defers to him sometimes. Mingeun wants to shake him and tell him to get his shit back together, because Andrew is only a few months older, and Jaeseop is smart and worldly too.

About a month after Andrew's arrival at Zenith, he insists on taking Mingeun out for coffee. They go to an overpriced coffee shop/bakery, where Andrew insists on paying.

Mingeun is halfway through fucking up a croissant when Andrew says, "Let's get along. No more pretending the other person doesn't exist."

He speaks in English, as if that will make Mingeun more susceptible to his words. It seems he doesn't understand they're competing against each other.

Mingeun puts his croissant down. "Why? There's no guarantee one or both of us will debut."

“Stop thinking like that,” Andrew says. The hard gaze in his eyes contrasts with the rest of his pretty face and his words. It doesn't scare Mingeun, but it does intimidate him slightly, making him think that maybe he underestimated Andrew. Maybe he does have that same pressing desire to survive. Mingeun's stomach rolls. They're too much alike. He hates it. He wants to crawl out of his skin and become a different person.

But Mingeun knows how this will end. Being a trainee puts you at the whim of too many other people. It leaves you vulnerable, and no amount of willpower will let you survive unscathed.

“You haven’t been around here for very long,” Mingeun says. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I’ll survive,” Andrew says, as if he didn’t hear Mingeun’s concerns.

“You don’t understand!” The sound of his fist cracking against the lacquered table draws the attention of the people around them.

Mingeun tries to collect himself. He really does. But the little food he ate is churning in his stomach, and his vision is clouded, like he can’t see anything other than Andrew. Stupidly confident, infuriatingly self-assured Andrew Han.

Andrew is saying something back, because Mingeun can see his lips moving. He can't hear a single word over the blood roaring in his ears.

He cuts him off. "Thank you for the food, hyung," Mingeun says, rising stiffly from his seat.

Annoyance flashes through Andrew's eyes, before he returns to his usual relaxed self.

"You can't keep walking out of conversations when they don't go your way," he says. "You won't get anywhere like that."

Andrew speaks in absolutes. Will, will not, can, cannot.

Mingeun raises his chin in defiance and says, "Fuck off."

He makes the most dramatic and dignified exit he can, refusing to look back in Andrew's direction.

"Are you going to be a hater for your entire life?" Eunsu asks.

The good thing about being part of an entertainment company so small it can't house its own trainees is the freedom it gives them. The bad thing is that both Mingeun and Eunsu live with family and friends, and that means all their private conversations happen in the anonymity that comes with living in a big city.

"I'm not a hater," Mingeun says on their third lap of the same Hongdae block. They pause to watch a busking group cover EXO’s “Monster,” and Mingeun's entire body thrums with the need to join in, even when he's tired and upset from his own day.

Eunsu takes a moment to respond. "Okay," he says, and Mingeun reasons to himself that he's distracted and he's tired and that's why he's not having a full conversation. “You act like one. You barely get along with anyone.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Mingeun asks without taking his gaze off the performance.

“If you’re going to be in a group, you have to work with other people,” Eunsu says, stating the obvious.

“I know that.” He can work with other people, but he doesn’t have to enjoy it. As long as he can stand on stage, he’ll do whatever it takes.

“You don’t act like it. I don’t want to tell you to lower yourself to everyone else’s level, but you can’t force them meet the same high standard you hold yourself too,” Eunsu says slowly, as if carefully choosing every word.

“I don’t,” Mingeun says, and he means it. He has to push himself, because this is all he knows, and he can’t fail.

“It’s good to be grateful for what you have, even if it’s settling for something less.”

Mingeun doesn’t want to talk to him anymore either. He’s not settling. Eunsu–rational, practical Eunsu–has told him multiple times before that Taein had nothing to do with his unfortunate departure from SM Entertainment. Mingeun knows it has to be true, because Taein left before he did, but he still feels like he has something to prove to him. It’s almost like revenge, or maybe spite, that made Mingeun actively seek him out.

He fakes a yawn. “I’m ready to go home. Good night, Eunsu. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“You can say you don’t want to talk to me,” Eunsu says. “Good night, I guess.”

AUGUST 2019

Andrew wouldn't say he hates Fable's concept. He wouldn't say he dislikes it either. He doesn't have close to the same level of virulent hatred as Mingeun does. It's more of a passive feeling, of whether or not he belongs.

It comes in small moments. Like when Taein puts him on the spot and asks him to come up with a Korean stage name in half a second. Andrew panics, stringing together the most auspicious Chinese characters he can remember from his courses. He ends up with 藝: art, and 俊: talented, handsome. Yejun. Every day he's grateful it makes sense as a name.

Or when he meets Mingeun, who asks him when he and/or his parents immigrated. Andrew has to explain that it was his great-grandparents who moved to the US, and it was so long ago he has no idea what year that was. All Mingeun says is, "Oh." They don't talk again for another three weeks.

It's when Fable is in the final stages of preparation for their debut, and Andrew admits he's never worn a hanbok before. Seven people stare at him like he's grown a second head. Jaeseop has to give him a step by step tutorial on how to get dressed.

Or all the times he’s out in the city, and so consciously aware of how he stands out. The way he dresses, the way he walks, the way he has to lean against every inanimate object. It prompts greetings in English or extremely slow, enunciated Korean. Sometimes he plays along, responding in English. Sometimes he shuts them down in Korean. Most of the time, he lies awake in bed on those nights, and wonders why he got on the plane in the first place.

By Fable’s second comeback, he’s had enough.

“Again?” Haksu asks distastefully when they learn of the concept for their third mini album. He voices Andrew’s thoughts exactly. The difference is that Andrew wasn’t going to say that out loud.

The eight of them sit in the only formal meeting room in the Zenith building. Taein, Andrew has realized, likes to micromanage. He sits at the head of the table, album concept art still projected onto the wall.

Taein ignores Haksu. “If there are no other questions, then I'll see you at the concept photoshoot.”

The difference between him and the other members, Andrew muses after Taein’s dismissal, is fundamental. They can all be dissatisfied with the stagnancy of Fable’s concept, but Andrew is the only one who feels so out of place. What claim does he have to the stories and traditions his group members were raised with?

The person with the closest experience to Andrew has to be Mingeun. But something happened along the way. A few months before their debut, Mingeun went from temperamental and judgemental, to a quiet, sullen shell of himself. He's still quick to anger, but Andrew knows that's an indubitable part of Mingeun that can never be changed. The difference is that it comes out in his actions instead of his words.

The worst part of it all is that Mingeun stopped speaking to Andrew in English whenever the two of them were alone. Andrew's grasp on a new language has improved by leaps and bounds over the past few months, but it was Mingeun's idea to talk to each other in a different language, both for privacy and to retain their fluency. Now he refuses to speak anything other than Korean. Andrew can't understand what's gotten into him, or why he refuses to talk about it.

Their trainee era pseudo rivalry is over, and it was all in Mingeun's head anyway. It wouldn't be an issue if Mingeun could hold a proper conversation about his problems like a normal, functioning adult. The issue is that he spent so long as an asocial trainee that he probably has no understanding of what it’s like to be a normal, functioning adult.

Andrew tries to recruit Jaeseop for this attempt at a conversation. He's lost track of how many times he's tried.

“No,” Jaeseop says. “You can do this yourself.”

“It’s part of your job as leader,” Andrew says, “to mediate conflicts.”

“I don’t get paid enough for that.”

“We barely get paid at all.”

That isn’t a strong enough argument for Jaeseop, so Andrew knocks on Mingeun’s door alone.

“What do you want?” Mingeun opens the door to reveal himself in a Fortnite t-shirt.

Andrew momentarily forgets what he wanted to talk about.

“Hey, Mingeun. Can we talk?” He leans against the doorframe.

“Did I fuck up something?” Mingeun asks, crossing his arms.

“No. Can I come in?”

Mingeun lives in squalor. Andrew picks his way over clothes, various fan gifts, and no less than three SHINee posters that have fallen off the walls.

“I know you hate our concept,” Andrew says when he’s seated on Mingeun’s bed. “I want to know if you hate it for the same reason I do.”

“Which is? Don’t leave me hanging like that.”

Andrew takes a deep breath and takes the plunge. He really shouldn’t be so nervous about having a conversation, but he can’t help it. “I don’t feel like I belong. I’m not the right person to represent whatever we’re supposed to represent.”

Words fail him. He doesn’t know how to convey to Mingeun that he feels like a fraud, like every day he lives a lie, and some day, someone will call him out on it, and Andrew’s house of cards will come crashing down.

To his surprise, Mingeun starts to laugh. “I was stressed there, for a minute. I thought something was wrong. You mean impostor syndrome? Yeah, I do. Every fucking day of my life.”

Andrew knows what impostor syndrome is, and he knows that what he’s feeling is distinctly not imposter syndrome.

“It’s not that,” he says. “I mean the concept itself. The clothes. The music. The overall aesthetic. What am I doing here? I don’t have the same cultural connection everyone else does.”

“Oh. I didn't think Taein-nim gave you the talk too.”

“The talk?” Andrew repeats, but Mingeun moves on.

“Never mind. You’re Korean. You have the same right to the culture as any of us.”

Mingeun doesn’t understand. Andrew has always thought of it as a wall between separating himself and Mingeun from the rest of the group. Now he’s realizing that there’s another wall between himself and Mingeun. Maybe a thinner one, or a slightly porous one, but a wall nonetheless.

“It’s not the same,” he says. “I’m a foreigner, and I’ll always be one. I don’t have the same experiences and memories of growing up ingrained in my culture.”

“Okay. So you didn’t watch Pororo when you were a kid. So what? It’s not too late. You’re in Korea now. Go outside and get your fucking experience.”

He’s all worked up now, gesticulating wildly through the air.

Andrew changes tactics. “When you moved, didn’t you know you were never going to fit in the same as everyone else around you?”

“I was three,” Mingeun says. “That’s different. Immigrating overseas is assimilating into another culture, not returning to your homeland.”

“This isn’t my homeland. I could spend the rest of my life learning the history and the traditions, and I still wouldn’t know as much as someone who grew up here.”

“And that’s fine! No one gives a fuck. We’re in a fucking kpop group. Don’t delude yourself into thinking we’re paragons of cultural influence.”

Andrew didn’t know Mingeun had words like that in his vocabulary.

“I never said that,” he says, even though he thought that influencing was part of being an idol.

“It sounds like it,” Mingeun retorts. “It sounds like you have a problem, and you’re trying to take it out on me.”

How can he misconstrue the point so badly? It’s indicative of Mingeun’s lack of listening comprehension.

“I used to think we were alike,” he continues. “Now I’m glad we’re not. Get out of my room.”

“We can talk about this,” Andrew says.

“That’s all you ever want to do. Talk and talk and talk. I'm fucking tired of talking!"

There's a knock at the door. Mingeun glares at Andrew until he stands up to get it.

“Hi, hyung,” Byeonghwi says. “I don't want to bother you, but it’s really loud.”

“Of course,” Mingeun says, from somewhere behind Andrew. He sounds completely different from the way he did three minutes ago. “Andrew-hyung was just leaving, right?”

He places one hand firmly between Andrew’s shoulder blades, all but pushing him out the door.

In front of Byeonghwi, Andrew has no choice but to go along.

JUNE 2020

Everything is going well for Fable. They’ve finally released a studio album, an event that was an extremely long time coming by Andrew’s standards. Two years and he’s still not used to making idol music. Maybe it’s something he’ll never get used to.

Haksu finds the article first. He sends a screenshot, and then a link, to their group chat, and Andrew zooms in on the image to read the headline, “Exclusive Reveal of Fable’s Mingeun’s True Past.”

He skims the article: an explanation of their group and concept, Mingeun’s profile picture, a Tweet in English that says, “was anyone gonna tell me this kid from my elementary school became a kpop idol or was i supposed to find that out myself from mcountdown?” accompanied by a yearbook picture of eight-year-old Mingeun Yoon, and a fantaken airport photo of Mingeun with his Canadian passport in one hand.

Andrew doesn’t think much of it. It’s a weird thing to be in the news for. He scrolls down to the comments and reads through variation upon variation of “who?” He closes the article and mutes the group chat when he sees that there are fifty new messages.

Three days later, Mingeun goes on hiatus. The day after that, he gets on a plane to Canada. It all seems very dramatic and blown out of proportion to Andrew, but he keeps quiet. Tensions run high among the rest of them. Haksu takes Mingeun’s center position in the chorus, making him center for over half the song. Jaeseop fumes quietly in the background. Eunsu loses his temper three times in three days, and for a few moments, it’s like Mingeun never left at all.

Two weeks after Mingeun’s initial departure, it seems as if everyone has calmed down. Haksu reports that it’s become harder and harder to find the first article, and most searches of their group bring up only their recent activities. Andrew does a bit of discreet searching through Twitter on his own, only to find out that the initial Tweet was also deleted, and no one outside of Korea gave a shit at all, probably.

"I don't see why Mingeun's… issue was an issue in the first place," he says, lying on the ground of Intak's bedroom. Andrew would like to be working on music, but his writing process these days takes place only in his head while he stares at the ceiling.

It isn't like the floor is comfortable either, when all he has to work with is a spare pillow and Intak’s tiny rug. But Intak is in his bed, and Jaeseop is in his chair (holding a pile of clothes in his lap) and that leaves Andrew on the floor.

“It escalated so fast. You didn’t keep up with Mingeun’s transgressions?” Jaeseop asks. “Betrayed his country, deceived his fans, sympathized with North Korea–”

Andrew stops him. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Angry people on the Internet seldom make sense,” Intak says.

“It was something about the way he doesn’t have to enlist,” Jaeseop says.

"Extrapolation," Intak suggests. "To be honest, I could see where the deception accusations came from."

"It wasn't deceptive," Jaeseop says. "It was an omission that lets people believe what they want to believe. You should really ask Mingeun about this yourself." He levels an accusatory glare at Andrew.

"About what?" Andrew asks, a bit slow on the uptake.

"The way he lied about his upbringing." The response comes so easily, as if Jaeseop is talking about something as benign as the weather.

"I knew it," Intak says, sounding incredibly self-satisfied.

Andrew sits with the revelation a minute longer, recalling a year-old conversation. "Am I the only one who didn't know about this?"

"Only Eunsu and I knew for sure," Jaeseop says.

"But it isn't difficult to notice. Maybe if you could see past your own nose for once–"

"Hey–" Andrew tries to interrupt him but Intak keeps talking.

"-because then you'd notice there's an obvious difference between your image and his image. Why do you get to be yourself, and speak so openly about not knowing anything about your heritage, like you're proud of it?"

The problem with Intak's argument is that it isn't pride. It's ignorance, embarrassment, a sort of disclaimer Andrew feels like he has to give for his very existence. His career is based on his own culture, and he knows next to nothing about it.

Andrew sneaks a glance at Jaeseop, but something like silent agreement in his expression tells him he's on his own.

"It isn't an image," Andrew says, sitting up on the floor. He wants to defend himself, but every possible defense he has could be misconstrued as an excuse. He knows Intak would take advantage of that.

Intak meets his gaze. "Then that's worse."

"I think he gets it, Intak," Jaeseop says as he folds one of Intak's shirts. The pile of clothes is beginning to turn into a neat stack of clothes.

“We were talking about Mingeun. Can we go back to talking about Mingeun?” Andrew asks.

“When he’s not here to have a say in anything? No,” Intak says. “We’re talking about you now.”

“Fine,” Andrew bites out. “Any other complaints?”

“You’re Korean and you have no spice tolerance.”

Andrew stares at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Intak shrugs. “It’s a complaint. It comes to mind every time we go out to eat.”

“You use every pot and pan when you cook,” Jaeseop says.

“We own two pots and two pans.”

“One pot meals,” Intak says in full seriousness, when Andrew knows full well the one of the only things he can cook is instant ramen. Why are they talking about this anyway?

It occurs to Andrew, as they lapse back into comfortable silence, that Mingeun played his role extremely well. If it had been Andrew in his place, the charade would have been up after a day. It must have been a stroke of luck that all he had to change was his name.

AUGUST 2020

By the second month of his Lee Taein-imposed exile, Mingeun can feel his sanity slipping away. There's nothing to do at home. He goes for walks around the neighborhood while he listens to the latest kpop releases. He teaches himself the dances in the bathroom mirror. He runs errands with his parents, where his greatest contribution is carrying all the groceries into the house in one trip. He tries to spend more time with his sisters, except Minah has a normal full-time job, and Eunice spends all of her free time out with her friends or studying for the SAT. His path has diverged much too far from theirs: he's never had a job with regular hours, or given a thought to college admissions.

"One of my group members went to Columbia," he says once, in an attempt to have a conversation.

Eunice laughs. "Then he became a kpop idol?"

"He studied music," Mingeun says.

"If he was really good at music, he would have gone to Berklee or Julliard, and maybe you'd both be more famous."

"You sound like Mom," he says, because she does. They’ve all heard that. If Minah was better, she’d work on Wall Street. If Mingeun was better, he’d be in NCT.

His sister looks disgusted, like it's the greatest insult to be compared to their parents. Mingeun would agree.

By the end of the third month, Mingeun hasn't left his house in three weeks. The last time he ventured outside, he was recognized at the mall by a teenage girl who stopped him and said very loudly, "Oh my God, you're Mingeun from Fable right?"

Mingeun is on hiatus, he's taking a break, and he doesn't have to be an idol, so he frowns, says, "What?" and walks away.

He overhears one of the girl's friends say, "You can't just assume an Asian guy is a kpop idol" and the original girl defend herself ("I swear he looked just like him").

The last time he went out before that, he decided it might be nice to be able to drive. His mother does her best to teach him. Mingeun gets as far as cruising down the street, making three point turns, and even parallel parking once. It all ends when he accidentally presses the gas instead of the brake and floors it through a–thankfully empty–intersection.

His mother berates him for at least fifteen minutes, as the car idles on the side of the road. Mingeun can’t stop his hands from shaking on the steering wheel, curling inward on himself mentally, telling himself he’s impervious to the criticism, even when he knows he’s not.

Other than that, he spends as much time as possible calling his group members, whenever time zones and their schedules allow. They're some of the only friends he has. He's barely talked to his school friends since the last time he was in school four years ago.

By the fourth month, Mingeun resorts to the tried and true strategy of bothering Taein until he gives in. It's worked before with him and Haksu, and he surprises himself by waiting so long before he tries it out. He texts Taein every day, multiple times a day: screenshots of his six hour Discord calls with Intak and Jaeseop (proof that he’s a team player), feedback on Fable's newest album (proof that he’s staying up to date), photos from his daily life (proof that he’s taking the break he was told to do). Taein rarely responds. He also rarely reads the messages. It's a lot harder to do this with an ocean between them.

So he starts calling. Taein picks up the first few times, and Mingeun finally feels like he's getting somewhere.

"Good morning, sajang-nim," Mingeun will say brightly, knowing full well that it's ten in the morning for him and 2 AM for Taein. "How was your day? Can I go back yet?"

And Taein will give a vague answer like, "It isn’t the right time" or "There are factors outside of my control that must be considered" or "Please don't call me unless it's an emergency."

At some point, his calls stop going through, and he's pretty sure Taein has him blocked. Mingeun starts sending his messages to the Fable group chat instead, asking them to tell Taein to please unblock him. Haksu finds the situation amusing. Andrew leaves the group chat three times. Mingeun adds him back three times. It isn't like he has anything better to do.

“Stop leaving the group chat,” Mingeun says as soon as Andrew picks up his call.

“I should hang up right now.”

“You’re no better than Taein. He blocked me.”

“I know, I’ve read your texts.”

Why did Mingeun call Andrew anyway? Just to complain?

“Then tell him to unblock me,” Mingeun says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

"He has a lot going on right now. There have been fans outside the company building for three days now. They want you to leave the group."

Mingeun's heart drops. Clearly, this is why Taein doesn't want him to come back. Would he fold to fans just as easily as he folds to them?

“It’s been all over social media too,” Andrew continues.

“I haven’t looked,” Mingeun lies. Every time he types his name into the Twitter search bar, one of the first results is #MINGEUN_OUT.

“That’s good. It’s worse online.”

“Do you think Taein would agree? That I should leave?” Mingeun sees no future for himself if he’s kicked out of another company, this time after a debut.

Andrew is silent for a moment. “It depends on how weak-willed he is. It’s his fault that you’re in this situation in the first place. Jaeseop told me a little about what you were forced to do.”

“I wasn’t forced,” Mingeun says, though he isn’t sure why he’s defending Taein. “I chose to do it.”

“From what Jaeseop said, it didn’t sound like you had a choice. He’s your biggest fan. He’s defended you for the past few months.”

He makes it sound like Jaeseop is a defense attorney and Mingeun is his poor, hapless, falsely accused client. Maybe he should have been a lawyer instead of a kpop idol.

“What did Jaeseop tell you?” Mingeun asks, trying to get a grasp on how much Andrew knows.

“You’re purposely vague about your childhood. You let everyone assume you’re Korean by nationality. You made some sort of agreement with Taein to lie. Jaeseop wasn’t clear on that part.”

“Did Jaeseop tell you that was the only way Taein would let me debut? That he was so focused on the group's image he would mold me to fit it?”

“No,” Andrew says. “You didn’t have to keep this to yourself. You could have told us.”

Mingeun shakes his head, even though he knows Andrew can’t see him. “And make all of us liars, instead of just me? This is my problem. I can deal with it myself.”

“It’s not only your problem when it affects the entire group. Your identity isn’t a problem.” The frustration is evident in his voice.

“It is when you’re an idol,” Mingeun says, even though he knows Andrew is going to disagree, with the bullheaded stubbornness that makes him unable to see from any perspectives other than his own. "Wouldn't you have done the same?"

"No." Andrew's response is firm and immediate, and that comes as a surprise. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

There’s an implicit question in there: how does Mingeun live with it? He’s not sure of that. “Where are you from?” and sometimes even “What’s your name?” have always been difficult questions for him to answer. Being told what to say and how to behave made it easier, in some ways. Now his answer is a convoluted, “I was born in Korea, but I moved to Canada when I was young, and even though I grew up there, I visited Korea every year, until I moved back when I was a teenager.” What could be a one word answer for many people becomes an autobiography for him, like he has to give his entire life story to answer an icebreaker question.

“Yeah. I guess it’s difficult,” he admits eventually, and all of this, he realizes, is a weight lifted off his shoulders. He won’t have Taein feed him lines anymore, but he also won’t have to micromanage every word he says.

“I have to go,” Andrew says suddenly and vaguely. Mingeun gets the feeling that he doesn’t want to talk anymore. Just when they might have been getting somewhere.

Mingeun shuts back down. “Oh. Alright. I’ll call you again later.”

“Sure. Bye, Mingeun.”

He never calls Andrew back.

By the fifth month, Mingeun borrows his dad’s credit card, books a flight to Korea, and doesn’t tell anyone until his plane is taxiing for take off.

SEPTEMBER 2022

It takes Andrew four years to write an album. In all fairness, it’s not a full four years. Two years pass before he starts. He has to gain an understanding of Fable and kpop and the way comeback means any new music release first. It would be so terribly American of him (and terrible in general) to travel abroad and immediately impose his ideas and his standards on everyone around him.

So he waits.

It isn’t until Intak has a very large hand in the title track of their first studio album that Andrew thinks he could do that too. He even goes as far as to think he could do more than that.

Add another two years onto that, and now Andrew has a passable skeleton of an album. Now, he thinks he’s ready to show it to some of his group–not the whole group, because if Andrew showed Jaeseop a melody and three pages describing the vibe, he would look at Andrew blankly and say, “That’s not a song.”

Instead, Andrew invites the other most musically-inclined members. Over the years, their production group has shifted to become what it is today: Andrew, Intak, Haksu, and their latest addition, Mingeun. For the most part, they already know what he’s been working on. Andrew has asked Intak for his input multiple times. Haksu has edited a few of his early lyric drafts. The difference is this time, Andrew wants a review of all twenty-seven songs he’s considering for the album.

His studio is cramped with all four of them in there, and both Intak and Mingeun like to pace, so they meet in what’s become mostly Andrew and Intak’s apartment, because Kiyoung is rarely there and Jaeseop has moved out.

For the most part, everything goes as Andrew expected. He orders pizza, Haksu makes a snide comment about Americans, they drag Intak’s speaker system into the living room, and they listen to his music.

It’s a little intimidating, even though these are his friends he’s known for years now, to gauge the reactions on their faces as the songs play. It feels as if Andrew has bared his soul to them, his very existence hinging on how many times Intak creases his brow in each three minute period.

The first few tracks are no surprise to anyone. There’s the title track he worked on with Intak for the explicit purpose of being a title track, the second promotional track that Mingeun had assured him over and over again sounds completely fine, and Eunsu’s song that he persuaded Intak to take a second look at.

They progress further and further into the uncharted territory of songs that no one other than Andrew has heard, and he does his best to describe what he envisioned for each one. Mingeun demolishes four slices of pizza as Andrew stumbles over his words, as if he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

It seems everyone has only nice things to say, which is a bit disappointing to Andrew. Of course he wants recognition for his work, but he also wants his work to deserve it.

That changes with the ninth track.

“The next one is a band track,” Andrew says. “I had help from Neon Nights with this one too.”

“You did?” Mingeun asks with his mouth full. He sounds surprised. He looks like he’s going to say something else, but he goes back to chewing quietly.

“I was also thinking it could be our first English song.”

“What?” Mingeun and Haksu say at the same time.

“Jinx,” Mingeun says, and then continues with his complaints. “Why? We don’t need to make music in English.”

Andrew had never expected Mingeun to be so against the idea. Mingeun is someone who always wants more, and Andrew never thought being in a mildly successful kpop group would be enough for him.

“Other groups do it,” Andrew says.

“With title tracks,” Mingeun says.

“Because they want to break into the Western market,” Haksu adds. “We’ve never wanted that. It’s not our goal.”

“Why not?” Andrew asks, frustrated. It’s time they tried something new. If he has to film one more cringeworthy Korean tourism commercial, or smile and nod at the “kpop’s cultural representative” nickname one more time, he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

“There’s no place for us,” Mingeun says like it’s obvious. “Aren’t you here because you couldn’t survive there? Haven’t you been excluded, or looked down upon, and you want to go back to that?”

And the answer to that is no, because Andrew has never thought of himself as anything other than American. He doesn’t know how to explain to Mingeun that he feels more out of place in Korea, surrounded by people who are supposedly like him, than at home in the US.

“Things are changing now,” Andrew says.

“Not enough,” Mingeun snaps back.

“We should do it,” Intak says, finally breaking his silence. “Think of it as a challenge.” He stares at Mingeun while he says it, because Mingeun isn’t one to back down from a challenge.

Mingeun scoffs at that. “I speak English. It wouldn’t be difficult for me.”

“Obviously it’s difficult for you to accept it,” comes Intak’s response.

Mingeun begins a silent, angry circuit around the room. It’s a definite upgrade over punching a hole in the drywall.

“It still doesn’t make sense,” Haksu says. “It wouldn’t fit our image at all.”

That’s another thing Andrew will never understand, even after a few years in Korea. The emphasis on appearances, the way how you look is more important than what you do. He’s guilty of propagating that too: the stage outfits, the makeup, the filters, his stage name, finding out what his best selfie angle is.

“Enough about our goddamn image,” Andrew says, exasperated. Haksu winces, and Andrew thinks he should have said fuck instead. “Maybe it’s time it reflected who we are.”

He’s met with silence.

“What does the song sound like?” Intak asks.

[fcble]

So a fansite at the Shooting Stars ( @theidcl ) filming took pictures of some of the idols there, and today I realized one of them is Mingeun from Fable?

I didn’t recognize him at first because I never thought he would be there. Fable barely finished promoting and he’s doing this already. Plus, I didn’t think he or the company were the type to do survival shows. They’re all ex-SM. Is he that desperate? ㅋㅋ

[+30, -2] does he think he’s kim wooseok? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

[+21, -5] op you know so much about him. you must be his fan.

[+13, -3] does he even have korean fans?

[+5, -15] who?

103 COMMENTS

[fcble]

CLICK THE SOURCE LINK to be redirected to a Google form where you can vote for Mingeun on SHOOTING STARS up to three times a day so he can cause problems for people other than his own group ❤️

[fcble]

NOTABLE FABLE HEADLINES !

Originally posted October 2018

Shortly after Fable’s debut, screenshots of a Facebook account purported to be Intak’s were posted by an anonymous Twitter account. The person in the screenshots was, for lack of a better phrase, talking shit about celebrities and classmates and everyone in between. The most common sentiment among netizens was that it didn’t make any sense for Intak to hate idols, and then become an idol himself.

There was never any official response to the accusations, leading to split fan responses. Some people believe that as an admission of guilt, and others believe it was gossip that should have been ignored. None of the classmates mentioned in the comments confirmed or denied the statements.

Originally posted June 2020

Amidst the promotions of their first full album, an exposé on Mingeun’s background was published. It sought to fact-check and clear up a lot of the murky history that Mingeun rarely spoke about, and contained a list of assumptions and other statements previously thought to be true, such as:

Mingeun was born on November 13, 1999 in Yongin, South Korea. True.

Mingeun is a citizen of South Korea. False.

Mingeun lived overseas for a short period of time, before returning to Korea. False.

The evidence that followed was extremely damning, as Mingeun’s former Canadian classmates posted pictures and anecdotes, and Twitter users began to compile threads of “every time andrew spoke english and mingeun pretended he didn’t understand.” There was also quite a bit of investigation into Mingeun’s immediate family, all of whom are also not living in Korea. They did not appreciate the sudden airing of their personal lives to nosy kpop stans, to say the least.

The only official response to the controversy was Mingeun’s apology letter, in which he apologized for being deceitful towards fans, and announced his hiatus to reflect on his actions. This was not enough to many Korean fans, who called for his departure from the group and also for his work visa to be revoked. To this day, the scandal is the largest stain on the group’s nearly pristine history. It also remains a unique indicator for Fable overall, as the group with the guy who lied about his nationality.

Originally posted February 2021

Less than a year later, Mingeun found himself embroiled in another scandal. This was an especially egregious offense, because he was still on hiatus from his last scandal, and supposedly not in Korea. As it turned out, that was a lie. He was spotted in various well-populated locations–Lotte World, Namsan Tower, COEX Mall–with a young woman whose appearance is redacted in every associated image.

Mingeun issued another apology for being less than truthful about his whereabouts, and clarified that the two of them were “just friends.” His hiatus was extended for another three months. The entire ordeal is often overshadowed by his previous scandal.

Originally posted March 2021

In early 2021, Byeonghwi came under fire for claims of his negative high school reputation, which warped into school violence allegations with the time period of the reveal. Byeonghwi addressed the rumors himself in live streams, where he talked about how he transferred high schools in the middle of the school year, rarely went to class when he was a trainee, and relied heavily on Andrew’s help to graduate. Also, he was kind of a loser and barely talked to any of his classmates.

[fcble]

🎀 for mingeun!

🎀 ― a childhood memory.

In which Mingeun is unable to choose for himself. WORD COUNT: 0.6k SETTING: August 2011

Mingeun stares out the window of Korean Air flight 70 with nonstop service from Seoul to Vancouver. He leans his head against the wall of the cabin, wishing he could drown out his mother’s voice. She’s talking about him, like she’s been doing for the last almost three months. He wonders how many more people she has to tell about his new status as an idol trainee.

His parents are more proud of it than he is. Mingeun still thinks it’s strange. Almost three months ago, they arrived in Korea and stepped off the plane at their gate, only to be met with the casting agent, about to leave on a flight two gates over.

He didn’t say much more than “Your son could be a celebrity”—or something similar—before pressing a pink business card into the hands of Mingeun’s mother and ducking under the ropes separating the first class and economy boarding lines of his own flight.

Only a few hours after they arrived at Harabeoji and Halmeoni’s house, Mingeun’s mother called the number, explaining the situation over the phone. Mingeun sat quietly on the floor and listened to her schedule an audition.

“This is a great opportunity. You love SHINee,” his mother said after.

Mingeun does love SHINee. That doesn’t mean he wants to be them.

Now, minutes before their flight is scheduled to leave, his mother’s phone call finally ends. Mingeun can’t wait until they’re in the air and she has no connection. He’ll have to talk to her, but it’s better than listening to her one-sided conversations about him. He’s disappointed to see her dial another number and put her phone to her ear again.

“Jiae!” she says brightly with faux enthusiasm. “How long has it been?”

Mingeun wishes his mother’s friends wouldn’t pick up the phone. He closes his eyes, as if that would help him close his ears. It doesn’t. He listens to the exchange of bragging under the guise of casual pleasantries—Mingeun’s participation in French immersion, conveniently leaving out that his grades were so poor, he’s going back to normal school this year; Minah’s almost perfect GPA in her two years of high school so far.

“Is Seokhwa doing well? Is he still at that entertainment company? Remind me of their name again?”

She changes the topic, just as he expects. Mingeun doesn’t know why he’d think otherwise. 

“Right, right, of course,” she says, like she cares. He knows she doesn’t. It’s just a way for her to start bragging about Mingeun.

As if on cue, his mother says, “Mingeun was scouted by SM Entertainment in June.”

She speaks loudly and clearly so that the entire plane can hear. Even the flight attendants passing up and down the aisle slow down slightly to stare, all while making it look like they aren’t.

“Of course he’s going to do it.” Mingeun’s mother snaps the words out.

Mingeun doesn’t know why she’s so insistent about it. She’s never spoken positively about music or idols until she was given that business card.

The pilot’s voice crackles over the speakers, announcing their imminent departure in Korean and English.

“It was so good talking to you,” Mingeun’s mother gushes. “We’ll have to get together when I get back.”

He can only hear half the conversation, but Mingeun is almost certain she cut off whatever her friend was saying. He’s happy the worst of it is over.

His mother scoffs. “I can’t believe she would try to give me advice when her son is at some small no-name company.”

The look she gives Mingeun can almost be described as loving. He stares at the runway as the plane begins to pick up speed, steadying himself for the next ten hours in an economy seat next to his mother.

[fcble]

🙊 for mingeun!!

🙊 ― a memory you don’t ever talk about.

In which Mingeun tries to go home. WORD COUNT: 1k WARNINGS: Verbal abuse. Extremely shitty parents. NOTES: Takes place mid 2020, amongst Mingeun's scandal, which you can read more about here and here.

Mingeun can’t go home. He knows that much. He explains the situation as best as he can over the phone to his older sister, Minah. It’s a difficult process—Mingeun chokes up over random words and backtracks multiple times to explain the whole story. By the end of it, his sinuses hurt from the effort of trying not to cry.

Two days later, Minah picks him up at Vancouver International Airport. 

Mingeun stares straight ahead at the road from the passenger seat of her Hyundai Sonata. “How long can I stay?”

In his peripheral vision, he sees the sideways glance he gets. “As long as you need to.”

But Mingeun doesn’t want to be a burden, and he knows she lives with her boyfriend—Stephen or Daniel or Kevin or some other similarly generic name—in an apartment barely big enough for the two of them.

“You won’t tell Mom?” he asks, just to reassure himself.

“Of course not.”

Mingeun figures his parents already know. They can read the news. His only hope is that they’ll assume he’s still in Korea, not that the CEO of his entertainment company is a such an asshole he packed Mingeun onto a plane and sent him halfway around the world.

Minah parks in her designated spot, and Mingeun lugs his suitcases out of the trunk.

“Is your boyfriend home?” he asks on the elevator up to the fifth floor.

“Gary? No, he’s at work.”

Mingeun is off on every count. The name of Minah’s boyfriend. Average working adult schedules. 

The elevator door dings open.

“Shit,” Minah breathes quietly. 

Mingeun looks past her to see a familiar silhouette pacing up and down the hallway. The freshly blown out perm, hair cut slightly shorter than a bob. The sensible black flats, silent on the carpeted floor. The timeless, stylish outfit, modest in its long sleeves, shin-length pants, and high neckline. It’s been almost four years since he left, but the sight of his mother still fills Mingeun with trepidation. He doesn’t think children are supposed to fear or despise their parents the way he does.

“Minah. Why don’t you answer your phone?” his mother asks.

Mingeun is relieved she didn’t talk to him first. He doesn’t wish her scrutiny on his sister—he doesn’t wish it on anyone—but at his core, he’s all about self-preservation.

“I was driving, Mom,” Minah says. “Please don’t yell in the hallway. Let’s go inside.”

She leads the way down the hall and into her apartment. Mingeun follows close behind, rolling his suitcases as quietly as possible. 

“Yah. Mingeun,” his mother says from behind him.

All she says is his name. Mingeun flinches.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were coming home?”

“I don’t know,” Mingeun mumbles.

“Just leave your stuff,” Minah says quietly in English. “We have to get rid of her first.”

Their mother is poking her way around Minah’s kitchen. She opens the refrigerator and sniffs. “Only takeout containers! Minah, you need to cook more.”

Minah hurries over and closes the refrigerator door. “I have work.”

Mingeun takes an uneasy seat on the edge of Minah’s couch, one of the only places that isn’t occupied by pillows and blankets and stuffed animals. This wasn’t what he expected to return to. He was thinking he could spend some time here, lay low for a few weeks, and then return to Korea to pick up the pieces of his career. His mother wouldn’t even have to know.

“I heard from Yerin you were in trouble. She showed me the picture of you at the airport. You know how embarrassing that is for me? The son I raised didn’t tell me anything. I have to hear through gossip.” She says the last word like it’s caused her personal offense.

Mingeun has no idea who Yerin is. Probably one of his mother’s friends, but he doesn’t pay much attention. Does that make him a bad son?

Minah takes a seat next to Mingeun, pushing aside multiple pillows. Mingeun likes her there. It makes the battle lines evident.

“Sorry,” Mingeun says to the floor.

His mother lets out an exaggerated sigh. “How did I have two worthless children?”

“Mom!” Minah snaps.

“Don’t talk back.” She flaps her hand in Minah’s direction. “So disrespectful.”

If Mingeun was braver, he’d say something. Something about how there must be some common factor that made both him and Minah act this way. Instead, he becomes very interested in the carpet threads under his feet.

His mother addresses him next. “You need to go back and apologize. How can you run away like this? You’re disgraceful. How can your father and I show our faces?”

These questions are rhetorical. Mingeun sits there, numb and quiet. He can’t explain the situation. She wouldn’t understand. He tries to tune her out, but his mother’s voice is loud and grating. Every word seems like a direct attack on Mingeun, cutting deep into his very being.

“We make so many sacrifices for you. You do nothing. First, you drop out of SM. Then you drop out of high school. Now you do this.” She gestures meaninglessly through the air. “Your father and I try to support you. You make it so difficult.”

“Sorry,” Mingeun says again. He keeps his head bowed, still interested in the floor. Maybe this way, no one will see the tears threatening to drop with each passing second.

When his mother stops to take a breath, Minah stands up. “That’s enough, Mom. We get it. You need to leave now.”

If Mingeun didn’t feel like shit, he would find it amusing to watch his sister strong-arm their mother out the door. Minah is younger and stronger, and with one arm around their mother’s back, she’s forceful enough to make their mother stumble. 

As it stands, Mingeun does feel like shit, and his vision is blurry with tears. He hears the lock click, and then feels Minah’s weight on the couch again.

She wraps him a hug, one hand stroking his hair, in a way Mingeun can’t remember experiencing for years. “I didn’t know she would be here, or that she would say anything like that. You know it’s not true, right?”

Mingeun doesn’t say anything in response, but finally lets himself cry into his sister’s shirt sleeve.