Chapter Text
- Debut Album: The art of loving
- “H.S.K.T” -> LEEHI FEAT. WONSTEIN
- “I Need You” -> BTS
- “Dimple” -> BTS
- “In Bloom” -> ZEROBASEONE
- “Love Scenario” -> IKON
- “Blueberry Eyes” -> MAX FEAT. SUGA
- “DAY 1” -> RED VELVET
“Hello, and welcome back to Last Man Standing!”
It seemed every man, woman, and child in the country, perhaps the world, became glued to their screens the day the survival show Last Man Standing finally announced who would debut, building tension as cameras pointed at the faces of hopeful children who had sacrificed everything for a single shot at idolhood. As the children stood, montages of past clips of each child singing, dancing, and rapping played, sourced from training and official performances. Some children’s private testimonials mostly talk about their plans once they debut and their hopes, while a few reveal their biggest fears. Many trainees’ most vulnerable moments were displayed for the entire world to see; instances of hope and tears of despair turned into international entertainment. One girl’s breakdown post-elimination had secretly been filmed, but it wasn't like she would ever find out.
One of the oldest kids of the remaining group, the eleven-year-old “golden boy”, as the viewers had called him after witnessing his humble attitude and superhuman proficiency in just about every skill, stuck out like a sore thumb as cameras zoomed in on his calm-appearing reaction, as though he must’ve known something the audience and the other contestants did not know. Beneath his expression, his heart had to be going a hundred miles per hour. He tried to take deep breaths, but his lungs seemed to refuse to accept adequate air. His legs feel more like overcooked noodles, and his stomach churns into knots. God, he was nauseous. Now would be a terrible time to throw up. His skin glowed with sweat, drops dripping down his face. He balled his hands into fists, digging his nails into his fleshy, clammy palms, stopping them from shaking. He trained for this. He gave up his life for this. He was nothing more than a shapeshifting vessel to have a pre-made identity poured into, filling every crevice and hardening until it became him. He couldn't tell if he was starving for a proper meal or for the quintessential validation for years of breaking himself down.
The children stood before an announcer on stage. It was a theatrically themed mess. The curtains looked too red while the spotlights were beaming too brightly. The announcer wore a glittery red suit that felt too boxy and angular with a small mic clipped on, reflecting blinding sparkles under the lights, a comically huge top hat, and a smile that looked manic. It was a stark contrast to the mix of nervous and downright terrified expressions on the group. The children wore simple jumpsuits that made them look like grandiloquent captives and big signs with their names hanging around their necks. Some of the children had already started quietly crying. The cameras zoomed in especially on them. It made sense, cents, and good TV. A large television lit up behind him, showing a flashy bar graph of every child’s face beside bars of different lengths; some children had more votes than others, and the audience loved them more. The spotlights that beamed over them were scorching. One boy, whom the audience compared to a pig, had already sweated his flawlessly applied makeup off, leaving patchy spots, and turned his hair into a stringy mess. A young girl, no older than nine, stared at the screen; her hopeful smile fell, leaving an anxiously uncertain frown. She was one of the less popular trainees. The audience didn't like her as much as the others. She fiddled with her jumpsuit, the heat no longer the only thing suffocating her.
“As you all know, this is the moment that will determine who will debut as idols. Only six of you will have your dreams realised with us, while the rest of you fail!” The announcer was far too enthusiastic as he pulled out a card from his pocket, clearing his throat. His movements were over-the-top performative, all for the cameras. He looked straight at the cameras, miming an exaggerated shocked face, dropping his jaw all the way down and covering his cheeks with his hands before addressing the children again.
The number had every child standing upright. Their hearts swelled and sank simultaneously, kept in the crushing juxtaposition as they watched the man take his sweet time, deliberately drawing out the act of opening the card and reading it for maximum damage. Cameras moved from the child trainees to the announcer, catching his expression falter for a moment. He furrows his brow, flipping the card over and looking for something before flipping it back and registering the card’s contents before looking up with a huge smile once again, licking his lips.
“Looks like we’ve got a special surprise! The third generation is getting its first co-ed group! Make sure to keep your hands to yourself and play nice; we wouldn't want any scandals so early! Especially with such a cute, pretty girl in the lineup.” He laughed, the implication flying over everybody else’s heads. He kissed the air around him. He clapped his hands, eyes scanning around. Some of the girls shared confused looks. The boys gulped, pulling their collars away from their necks. There was a long pause before he finally spoke again. “These names came from both popular demand and production recommendations, so can our golden boy come forward to take the first spot in idolhood?”
Wifies stepped forward, slightly smiling with barely contained relief as he bent over a bit, exhaling as he put a hand over his heated chest. The children parted to let him walk through, cheering and jumping around at his success. He bowed, then stood straight. The announcer, without asking, pulled him into a hug as soon as he got close enough. He didn't care that he froze in place.
“I’m so proud of you. I knew you’d make it in.” He held him close for a few seconds too long, his indulgent inhale almost unnoticeable. He parted from the hug, patting his shoulders. He let out a satisfied sigh when the boy stepped back.
“Thank you,” Wifies answered, his smile uncomfortable yet still carrying his famous charm. What else was he supposed to say? His skin still crawled from the unwanted embrace. He looked down at his feet, keeping track. He tried not to stumble back despite his jelly legs; the last thing he wanted was to fall back on television. He looked back up, shaking his limbs out. “It’s an honour.”
Meanwhile, he watched a staff member in black quickly gesture for the camera people to shift the camera angles to focus on him. He watched the announcer wait for the children to settle down, catching an annoyed twitch of his eyebrows, and then the staff member who ordered the camera people raised her hand. He knew all too well what that meant. A quick spike of panic stabbed at him as he instantly turned to look over his shoulder, his body already turning tense; he relaxed when he spotted that the children had promptly lined up again. It seemed they got the memo.
The names went in a quick blur, real names being called out. He knew the cameras would immediately turn to them as they reacted and walked up. He wasn't sure why, but it didn't matter to him. He was going to debut. He heard the second name scream behind him with unbridled joy when he first called her name. He waved back when the nine-year-old girl, who had introduced herself as Jumper before during training, practically skipped to the front while her eyes glittered. The announcer trapped her in a big hug, spinning her around a bit as she squealed before putting her down, kissing her hand and cheek afterwards, then releasing her to the line-up. She immediately pivoted to walk up to the golden boy with a spring in her step, pulling him into a hug while she jumped up and down, shouting about how excited she was to be groupmates with him and how she couldn't wait for them to be best friends soon. She practically leapt into her position next to him, twirling around to face the announcer. Both the announcer and Wifies couldn't suppress their smiles.
The next name called brought a big, loud, and boisterous ten-year-old who preferred going by Derapchu. He yelled about how he told everybody he would make it in. He ran up to the line-up with a cheer while he waved at the cameras, pointing at himself. He hollered a greeting to his mother. The smile remained painted on the announcer’s face, but it didn't reach his eyes… not quite. He ruffled up Jumper’s hair while she waved and giggled, reaching over to dab up Wifies afterwards before taking his place beside the young girl, putting one hand in his pocket.
The boy who came after him had to be the absolute opposite of Derapchu. All three turned to look at him, being met by a short, chestnut-haired boy with big eyes and parted lips, frozen like he couldn't believe his own ears. He practically had to get pushed out of the group by the other kids before he walked the rest by himself. His lips pressed together until they were only a single brushstroke. He only nodded his head as a greeting towards the other members, a barely-there smile blooming only when he waved back at Jumper. A twinge of un coup de foudre struck the eldest. He gulped it down, trying to redirect his stream of thoughts towards the suspense that came with the last two names that were to be announced. He tried to let the sudden awareness of their shoulders bumping past each other while the boy took his spot next to him pass. He did, however, sneak a single peek at him, playing it off as checking for personal space. Worst decision ever. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, eternity seemingly passing by before he finally exhaled.
The final two names called walked hand in hand, one looking about five years old and bewildered while the other looked everybody else’s age, his expression unreadable. Jumper’s eyes lit up when she spotted the youngest. She took her chance when the older boy let go of him, pulling them into a much gentler hug, welcoming them both to the group. She turned to Derapchu, insisting he scoot over so they could stand with her, all while he reacted with an expression that resembled holding back a laugh as he looked down at the youngest child.
From speakers that were hooked up everywhere, triumphant music began playing, building until it filled the room. The ceiling opened and dumped gold confetti onto the stage, covering the children. It was clearly intended for the six idols, all looking around with wonder, like they didn't believe any of it was real. Even the staff clapped for them while a different reality hit the rest of the finalists. A few kids clapped, while the rest cried or threw fits, all drowned out by the music. The announcer joined in the small applause.
“Congratulations to all our winners, better luck next time to all our losers, and thank you all for watching!”
The announcer turned away from the cameras, dropping his performance. He unclipped his mic to hand it to a man in black. He approached the group, closing the distance to shake hands with Wifies and pat the other boys’ shoulders. He bent down to ruffle the youngest’s head before insisting Jumper kiss his cheek. She, not knowing any better, gave him a peck. All the idols bowed and spoke about their individual gratitude. The older man waved it off before pulling out his phone from inside his suit’s inner pockets. He opened the camera app and insisted that one of the non-chosen trainees take a group photo. One of the sobbing kids was pushed out, nominated to take on the job. The man guided the newly formed group back to their original position while he pushed into the middle, getting between the little members. He kept his arm around the boy’s shoulder. The golden boy shivered with disgust as he watched the elder’s hand seemingly slide down Jumper’s back, stopping at her waist. He still smiled for the camera regardless before quickly being whisked away. After all, they had to prepare for their debut. They barely had a chance to say farewell to the unchosen trainees as they got herded out by other staff.
—
The speaker blared a playlist of trending songs from different groups as it sat on one of many shelves with skincare and makeup in a K-style salon the company visited as its go-to for styling idols and trainees. Fake but aesthetically pleasing foliage lined most of the white walls, with a single wall, perpendicular to the salon workstations, having grey, glassy tiles. The logo popped out of the wall in thick, black font. A nicely cushioned long chair was lined up against the wall. It had an insanely famous reputation for styling idols like Jungkook, Wonyoung, AESPA, etc. Signed photos and short messages of gratitude from the idols hung on the walls at the back with special glass displays to promote their beauty products. The air smelt clean and almost minty. The salon booths were lined with dark wood, and the space was covered with palettes and brush sets kept in plastic holders. A small, gourd-shaped oil diffuser released eucalyptus steam into the room.
“You pinky-promise that you’ll make me look like a pretty princess, right? I don't like this outfit. It’s boring. You have to make it up to me.” Jumper pouted, looking down at her clothes, kicking her stick-like legs as she sat in one of the brown faux-leather salon chairs; then she smoothed out her skirt, skin crawling and itching with discomfort. “The skirt is short. It’s not fair. Nufuli got shorts! I want shorts!” She crossed her arms while grumbling under her breath.
“Aww, we’re sorry. Your manager said you had to wear this. We had no choice. We can at least try to make you look like a princess.” The kind stylist who called himself Cookie patted her shoulder, his touch gentle and voice a coo. “Look up for us; makeup unnie wants to put the toner pads on your face.”
“You better, hmph.” She retorted as the makeup artist carefully placed toner pads over her cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead. They cooled her already cool skin. She had explained to the young girl that she just put a calming, hydrating toner pad over her face since she was young and didn't need any special skincare other than some BB cream that she was going to mix into the skin tint. She saw the artist’s peach arm reach for a bottle of some tint, shaking it while she grabbed a clean, white sponge with the same hand. The hand, already holding the bottle and sponge, rummaged through different brushes, the sound of handles tapping against plastic and each other filling her ears until she pulled out a flat, dense brush. Cookie, meanwhile, was playing around with her hair, leaning back a bit as if checking something. The stylists murmured to each other, using terms she didn't quite understand.
“Do you know where the spatula is?”
“I thought you kept it with the brushes. Did you misplace it with the other liquid products? You use the most liquid products out of the artists here.”
“I don't think so… I’ve been trying to be better about—oh, it is with the other liquids. Thanks, Cookie. Jeez, I have to start putting it back where it belongs.”
“I’m always glad to help, LD.”
The artist eventually got the tools she needed, pumping a bit of BB cream onto the back of her hand before opening the bottle and putting a couple of drops. She carefully set the bottles back where they belonged, then used her finger to mix the two, creating a light, buildable base for the girl’s face. She swiped her finger on a clean part of her hand, wiping the excess. Finally, she used the spatula and took a tiny sliver of the mixture before turning to the girl, presenting the tool and shade to the mirror.
“I mixed this shade to be just a little lighter than your actual skin tone.” She pointed to the middle parts of her face, circling it. “I’ll apply it to the centre of your face to brighten it and make your face look small and cute. I’ll contour the edges a bit to make sure it doesn't look too unnatural.”
Jumper nodded, choosing to trust the process as the artist switched between the spatula and flat brush depending on how much coverage was needed, blending the edges with the sponge. LD paused to check her work, looking at the mirror and asking her to move her head to check the angles.
“Cookie said you use the most liquid makeup products in the salon. Why do you do that?” She glanced at her reflection, trying to see what the artist was trying to assess.
“Hmmm, I like using liquids more. They're easier to blend and leave a nicer finish, I think. I can control it better than a powder. Sometimes, idols, their managers, or clients ask for a smoother, matte finish. I can do that, but I prefer liquid. I also think a dewy, glassy finish fits princesses better.” Her explanation was simple enough; it even brought out a little smile from the girl.
Cookie tended to her short locks, first snipping the ends before carefully curling each section as the artist applied makeup to her face, explaining every step of the process. She continuously burst into fits of giggles while still complaining about her t-shirt and skirt.
“The brush tickles.” She managed to get out while looking up at the artist, causing the two of them to pause.
“Really? It does? I’ll have to be extra careful then.” She quietly points to the mirror. “It’ll be worth it, see?”
Jumper's jaw dropped as her breath caught in her throat, waves of disbelief washing over her before she lit up with sheer delight. Her dropped mouth became a broad grin, eyes going wide as she squealed, clapping her hands together. It was like unwrapping a Christmas gift, but a thousand times better!
“You two kept your promise! I look like a real-life princess!” Her excitement was contagious, spreading to the stylists, smiles appearing as they watched. Pride fills both of them with their good work, and the unfinished state of her look nearly slips from their mind, but they quickly snap out of it. They reminded her they weren’t done yet, but they kept smiling and even got more animated as they worked, applying more washes of colour to her until they were satisfied. They happily answered her questions about the purpose of every part of her styling process. The other five boys stood behind the chairs, talking and properly introducing themselves. The group discovered that the two boys who walked together during the announcement, Leo and Nufuli, knew each other before the survival show, their parents being friends. Derapchu thought they were adopted siblings during training but didn't want to pry into the details.
Wifies was the tallest in the group, wearing a black-and-yellow baggy t-shirt with long, frumpy white sleeves sewn on, pristine jorts, an unfortunate-looking shaggy wavy bowl cut with a purple bandana peeking out, and mismatched black-and-white leg warmers.
“Come on, guys. I just did a little bit on the microphone. It wasn't that crazy. It came from a writing exercise I did every day.” He shook his head, shrugging while digging his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the wall. Did he write his own lines for his performance? Yes, but anybody could do that.
Leo and Derapchu were about the same height and age, though they constantly compared by pressing their backs together and insisting that someone use their hand to measure the tops of their heads. Leo was the older of the two, but only by a few months. Derapchu had dismissed it, arguing that the age gap was negligible. If anybody asked, they were basically the same age. Leo didn't even care about the age gap; Derapchu was the one who raised all the concern about it when he thought Virgos came before Aries.
“That was you rapping?! You sounded so cool!” The two both blurted before immediately jinxing each other. Leo rolled his eyes when Derapchu cheered, having won the jinx.
Leo wore a simple white button-up, layered with a navy sweater and some weathered jeans. His bowl cut was longer and less unfortunate; granted, he had a handsome, sort of royal-like face. He could've been a fairytale prince instead of a K-POP idol. He naturally pulled it off better. Derapchu, on the other hand, despite his abundant physical composition, had strong features, looking like a warrior, yet wore a hoodie and ripped jeans. He had a short, cropped haircut. If Wifies could speak without getting punished, then he would say the clothing stylist’s choice was incredibly boring.
“I think you two sounded cooler than him,” Nufuli added, looking up at all three of them, giggling a bit before pointing at the eldest. “He’s not good at being cool.”
The royal duo shared a look and snickered while the golden boy gasped, pointing at himself with mock offence and struggling to suppress his smile. “I’m totally cool! You don't know what you're talking about. How old are you anyway?”
“…” Nufuli paused, looking down at his hands as he counted on his fingers, putting up eight. “I’m eight years old.”
The eldest was truly taken aback when he discovered Nufuli’s age. He had the kind of face that made him look at least three years younger, or maybe it was just his chubby cheeks. No, it was his chubby cheeks, flat button nose, faint eyebrows, little face, and tiny, pouty lips. He also had one of the simplest outfits, practically matching with Jumper with his t-shirt and shorts. The stylists did him a huge favour, fixing up his coil-like bowl cut to look more like a 60/40 cut after he insisted on getting a “big boy cut”. He whined and protested when everybody ragged on him for being the maknae at eight years old. Everybody groaned as Jumper saved him from the light teasing with her eagerness to play; her turn on the seat was finally over, and she absolutely loved her transformation, excitedly yapping about it.
“Aw, man… we were having fun ragging on Fuli.” The Virgo warrior moaned, his arm locked around the youngest boy’s head, pressing his knuckle into his scalp, ruffling it a bit.
“You mean yourself?” Leo responded, looking away with crossed arms and a crooked smirk.
“I’m not a baby!” Nufuli protested between whimper-filled attempts to escape the headlock.
“Come on, Chu, let him go. I think we’ve got enough fun for today.” Wifies approached, gently helping the maknae up as Derapchu finally released him. His eyes scanned him, checking for signs of injury. He only backed up, confident that he was okay, when the maknae coughed a few times.
Jumper gasped and pursed her lips while crossing her arms. Her voice came out raised and high. “You guys had fun without me?!”
Parrot, the middle child of the group, finally spoke, having waited for his turn. His overgrown chestnut locks were cut into a wispy mullet. “No, we were only talking while waiting for you. We teased him a little bit, but Derapchu started it.”
It seemed to get her settled until she quickly brightened up, grabbing the youngest and pulling him toward her, with him yelping. “Let’s play now that we’re all done getting dressed up!” She held his hands as she hopped, insisting he hop with her. The two began hopping in a circle.
Derapchu watched for exactly thirty seconds before making up his mind, hollering for the two to make way for him as he approached with a huge grin. Leo, Wifies, and Parrot stood and watched.
“Leo, get over here!” Jumper yelled, looking over at him with an expectant look.
“It’s super fun!” Nufuli added on.
Leo shifted, switching his weight from leg to leg, mouth opening to say something before he looked away, muttering. “I’m fine. I can watch.”
Parrot remained silent as he continued to watch, each turn stirring a desire for inclusion. It really did look fun. He went through the motions internally, the quick soar into the air before coming back down. His feet seemingly barely touched the ground, resembling a graceful glide as he walked to the group. “Could I join?”
He was taken in and whisked away without a chance to back out. He understood the joy. Sunshine filled his soul as he joined in the laughter. His heart leapt in every hop. Warm, bubbly feelings started in his chest and spread through his veins. It was like hopping on clouds, each motion light and effortless. Although his hold on Jumper’s and Nufuli’s hands was gentle, he kept holding, afraid he could easily fly away. Confusion paid a visit when one of his hands came empty, only to be promptly replaced by a bigger hand. He looked over and spotted Leo, face slightly ruddy as he nervously laughed and averted his gaze.
“I saw you guys having fun, and I wanted to join in.” He spoke, the only explanation he was willing to give. His restraint dissolved in no time, leaving him bursting out in carefree laughs and shouts.
One boy stood alone, watching everybody else have fun, his smile big and genuine as he allowed the secondhand joy to lighten his mood. He tilted his head while everybody laughed together, shouting and singing their own silly tunes. He absorbed the scene before him like a parent watching their child play in the park. The stylists faded into a distant haze, almost disappearing from his sight entirely, and the music tuned itself out in his orchestrated diminuendo.
Some looked at him, as though checking if he had any intention to join them soon. A flash of impatience zipped through their eyes. He pushed himself off the wall, stepping away from it, but still not showing any intent to get involved. His eyes glazed over, unfocused and staring past the group. Darker shades of thought crept towards the front, contrasting with the light, idyllic scene, resembling sfumato with lingering voices and softened edges before him like chiaroscuro. How long could this last? Could he protect everyone from the chaos that awaited them? Was this the first and last good memory the group could keep? The weight of the questions hurled at him pressed on him, piling onto each other.
“Wifies…”
He barely caught the soft voice calling out, for it was so faint that it almost floated past like a misty, tender dream. He tried to shake the feeling that someone called his name, but it nagged. It nagged at him kindly, yet remained a presence, roaming around and trying to get his attention the best it could. Either he misheard it, or it was meant for someone else—
“Wifies, Wifies, Wifies—”
He pulled himself out of his own pleased thoughts, brought back to an augmented reality as he recognised the voice calling out for him. It was louder and clearer, like it wanted him to hear. He searched for its owner, the one who sought an audience with him. Time froze, and the rest of the childish voices disappeared as soon as his eyes found the chestnut-haired angel. He took a sharp intake of breath, only for the breath to get caught. What was his name again? Oh, right—Parrot. God, how could he have nearly forgotten his name? The angel had been reaching out, hand open, as though inviting him to join, inviting him to hold his hand. There was a gap in the circle big enough to fit one more person.
He spared a glance at him when their names were first announced to be in the line-up for debuting and looked at him while greeting him. He switched his attention to him when he spoke at appropriate times. Now, he truly looked at him, and he had a double take. His lips moved, mouth opening and closing, but the train of thought had long left the station, a stream of words stumbling out which didn't make any sense. Even he couldn't make out what he was saying. A sudden warmth crept through his skin, its origin and destination unknown. Was his heart racing, or had it always gone that fast and he didn't realise it?
Angel – no, not just any angel. God’s favourite angel must’ve come down from heaven ages ago to become Parrot. Aphrodite must have conspired with him to create and bless him. Was he real or just his fantasy manifested? It couldn't be possible—he couldn't be possible. Was he even aware of the effect he had? Did he know what impact he had on him? His large, soulful eyes were downright hypnotic, a single glance enough to get him hook, line, and sinker. His gaze seemed to gently disarm him, clearing away physical and metaphysical armour until it saw him, yet there was no malice behind it, more like a fairy reaching for him. It left his mouth feeling dry, and his breath pulled away. He was ethereal, the prince of princes. He continued to speak, still calling for him, perhaps, but all he caught was his lips moving. Part of him wanted to…
The golden boy would’ve had pyrite for a mind, a fool to deny the angel who called his name. He had zero chance of resisting him. Maybe he didn't want that chance. Perhaps he didn't want to resist his Elysian will. His body acted on its own, already surrendering to his desire. His feet stumbled forward, lacking grace, drawn in like a drunk sailor to a siren’s melody as he moved toward the welcoming hand as if it were the key to the Garden of Eden. His mouth closed, the last of his protests departing from him. He must have never known them anyway if he allowed them to fall away so easily.
“Come join us; it’s not as fun if we’re leaving you out.” He beckoned for him to come closer. His serene face glowed with glee, eager to include him. He didn't even realise Wifies had completely locked his attention onto him, so blissfully blind to the seeds of yearning and wonder he planted, already sprouting and spreading through the fertile soil of his psyche like an invasive species, roots fully grown and attached to his spirit. He wanted him to play. He kept his hand open and a spot saved for him.
He withdrew his hands from his pockets. Parrot’s full lips finally pulled into a happy, satisfied smile, his eyes creased at the corners, and his lower eyelids got plump as he finally joined. It lit up the already hazy, Coppolic, picture-perfect remembrance already being painted with each passing second, meant to be saved as a masterpiece, displayed in museums for a lifetime. The one memory that couldn't be degraded by time because his mind wouldn't allow it to happen, blurred brushstrokes would continue to restore it year after year until the final grain of his life slipped through the hourglass. It was untouchable. It was immortal. The smile melted him as their fingers found one another and intertwined.
Wifies’s heart skipped a beat as he hopped with everyone else, giggles leaving his own smiling lips, letting himself indulge in the sweetest act. Each hop felt more like passing beats of floating on cloud nine, releasing more weight from his shoulders and getting closer to being a kid again. He was never much of a romantic, and he knew what he felt for the cherub he was holding hands with wasn't romantic. Most romantic interests he ever had left him bumbling and desperate, skipping training to be in their presence. Girls were pretty, but he’d be an idiot if he didn't admit Parrot was prettier and nicer than all the girls in the world. That boy’s smile had him falling head over heels deep into something that felt more than love, leaving him drowning under the surface. Staying by his side was beyond heavenly; being his best friend, confidant, or even someone important was like personally associating with the divine. It wasn't romantic, but it wasn't platonic either, maybe it was something beyond typical interest. It didn't leave him acting like a fool, but it left him moving like an apostle. Whatever it was, whatever Parrot made him sink into and feel, he needed it more than air. He wanted to drown in it so much that it hurt. His heart ached as it carved a new space shaped like him, all for him to live in while a new fire lit within him. Gold wires snapped and crackled like fireworks, creating new wires that twisted and welded together to remember his name and face. Now that he had gotten a taste of his ambrosia, he ached for another sip.
—
The end of Wifies’ momentary joy came far too early, leaving aftershocks, brought by an older woman who happened to be their handler manager, letting everybody know it was time for their photoshoot. Hands broke from each other one by one until he had no choice but to let go and be left on his own; he grabbed the ghost of the delicate, mutton-fat-jade-toned hand, clutching it tightly like its lingering presence could be kept like sand. He eventually relaxed his fist, letting the grains slip through his fingers until he was only left with how full he felt.
The only solace he could take was in how time froze and everything blurred around Parrot, reality warping into its best version, with vibrant colours and cleaner air. His attention had remained centred on studying him, finding endless reasons to adore him. He found himself falling into a rabbit hole that felt more like flying in the clouds the deeper he fell. He stared and stared until he had almost every trait committed to memory so that his image would haunt him. He memorised his full, pink lips and softly defined Cupid’s bow, associating them with Japanese plums because they were sweet and juicy, and he was pretty sure they were the same colour as his. His strong, straight nose and the way his eyes seemed to hold the contents of his soul at all times were quintessentially classical. He couldn't tell if his slight curls were natural or styled. He occasionally watched the other members take their turns on the chair, but he didn't recall seeing a hairstylist using any curling wands when it was his turn; regardless, he loved how they framed his face, creating a grounded, earthly halo around him. He noted the way his black-and-cream cashmere sweater and baggy jeans devoured his frame, with an open collar that left milky flesh exposed. He was no stranger to such outfits, but god, he was so pretty that it hurt. He looked soft, like he was the type to cry at sad movies or a simple scrape on his knee. He must’ve been the heart-on-his-sleeve type. He’d be the worst liar in the world if he said he didn't want to protect him, selfish and selfless motivations twirling in their own carefully choreographed dance, holding each other close. He could hide him away, keep him away from the demons he saw, and leave him pure and uncorrupted.
The manager had assigned the quick-time yearner the role of line leader, trusted to guide the younger members to the studio. The halls were lined with framed photos of various idols who visited the salon, all signed with perfect signatures, both in silver and golden inks. They must’ve spent years perfecting it until it became muscle memory. The room itself was small with a creamy off-white tone from floor to ceiling, the perfect blank canvas for whatever theme someone wanted to decorate it with. It had no specific smell, but the air was crisp and cool. He barely felt his heart sink. Bright balloons floated everywhere, collected into groups in nearly every shade of the rainbow. Ribbons and frills hung off the walls while confetti covered the floor. Staff were already fixing the lighting equipment and the cameras that pointed towards the set. Two women adjusted the table, chatting casually as they pulled it into position in front of the decorations. An older man arrived, carrying a folded tablecloth, and draped it over the table. He pulled a bag of rainbow plastic confetti discs out from his pocket, opened it and sprinkled the contents over the cloth. Finally, a short, tomboyish-looking woman stood at the entrance with the prepared cake, a flat, red velvet-flavoured cake with white frosting smeared all over with simple swirls of piping at the top, sprinkles just barely dashed over the surface. There was no writing on top. She waited until the table was set before walking with long, confident strides to place it just right. He nodded at the decor, understanding the concept immediately. It felt like a slap. How long has it been since he’s had a proper birthday? He took his spot against one of the blank walls, glancing at the rest of his groupmates. It was almost cute watching their clueless excitement. He gestured for them to line up with him. It took a moment, but they eventually arrived, lining up on both sides. Everybody found their spot against the wall. The manager nodded in approval, and a small, deeper part of him swelled with pride. She clapped her hands together, and he snapped to attention, standing straighter than a rod like a soldier. He didn't know if everybody else followed, but he wasn't going to check. He didn't want to risk it.
“We don't have a lot of time for taking photos. Don’t take too long. We’ve already prepared some songs for you to perform over; we’ll have to get you all back to H.Q. to record.” She checked her watch and sighed as she looked up and around before addressing the group again. “Don’t waste my time.”
The group nodded as she pulled out her phone and began making calls, walking away. They stood tense, despite the cheery decorations, not even daring to breathe. They didn't say a single word as one of the photographers, a blond, dwarf-faced man with short, square glasses, introduced himself as Grian, getting on his knees to be at eye level with everyone. He had a friendly enough smile.
“Ignore what she said, grumpy lady, eh?” That drew out some giggles, disarming the children from the prior apprehension. He looked down for a moment, chuckling before looking back at the children, patting his thighs as he got up with a grunt. “Are you six ready to have some fun?”
The six nodded and eagerly followed the photographer, taking their place on set. They were still a bit uncomfortable as he pointed and suggested poses, unsure if they were posing correctly. He was patient, yet also fun. As time passed, they began to relax, letting themselves be silly and have fun with Grian’s encouragement, chatting and making jokes. He happily let them look at the photos they had taken so far, explaining he would edit them to make them look even better while pointing out different things. He listened to the members’ ideas and integrated them. It felt less like a chore and more like playtime.
Derapchu eyed the cake that sat before him when it was his turn to pose with Nufuli, headlocking and giving him another noogie one moment, then throwing his arm around him. Nufuli beat him to the punch, reaching into the cake and getting a fistful of it before smashing it into his pose buddy’s face with a shit-eating grin. He stared at him for a moment, frozen with shock, before grinning, returning the favour by grabbing another fistful and rubbing it into his face, cackling.
The staff and other members stood behind the cameras, unsure of what to do. Jumper was the first one to speak, yelling out as she ran towards the set.
“Food fight!”
Like sleeper agents hearing the codeword, the rest of the children roared as they charged towards the set, all wanting to get their share of the cake. The staff tried to stop them, but Grian put his hand up, seeing an opportunity unfold before him. The members ruthlessly launched cake at each other, frosting and crumbs getting all over their clothes as they taunted each other.
An hour passed before the manager returned. Her lip twitched as she saw the scene before her. Her face reddened while her eyes darted from the kids, to the set, then to the frozen staff members. The set was a loud, disorganised mess with PROTAG screaming and laughing. Bits of cake flew everywhere, getting stepped on while everybody ran. Nufuli and Jumper were smearing cake all over each other’s faces, absolutely ruining their makeup. Leo and Derapchu were ravenously eating chunks out of their hands. Grian was still behind the camera, laughing along and continuing to take photos. He was fully enabling the behaviour in the name of getting candid photos. Everybody else looked pale and horrified.
Wifies and Parrot were in front of the camera. The smiles on both of their faces were genuine as they licked frosting off each other’s cheeks. They playfully fought with playful grins. At one point, their sleeves brushed past each other as the shorter boy reached for the final piece of cake, looking up at him. All while Wifies suddenly became aware of the closeness enough for tingles to tickle up his spine when their arms brushed each other. He straightened up when he finally grabbed his elbow, scarcely gasping when his hand slid up and settled at his upper arm. He noticed, right? He had to. His body refused to loosen up even when he tried. He prayed that he didn't see how enchanted he had already become.
“Wifies, I got more cake. It’s super yummy. Do you want to try it?” Parrot asked with an innocent tone, yet his eyes held a bit of mischief as he presented his fistful of cake towards him, licking frosting off his lips and leaving a wet sheen. He ducked his head slightly, playing coy with the slightest airy giggle that threw him into a loop. He spotted the small dimples forming in his cheeks. Oh, heavens – he’s smiling. He’s offering cake.
Wifies glanced at the camera, taken aback, then back at him. He eventually smiled as he leaned down, gently holding his now slightly open hand. He happily ate out of the palm of his hand while looking up at him.
Parrot’s already rosy cheeks took on a deeper flush as he watched. Colour flowing from his hairline and down his chest, still grinning and giggling, but with an intense stare, mouth constantly agape. His chest grew tight, his heart pounding against his ribs. Was he always this daring? His body heated up, the sweater suddenly unbearable. Something about it felt forbidden as foreign feelings swirled around within the pits of his being. He never had crushes before, but he liked the rush of watching him submit to eating from his palm and how adorable he looked doing it. He averted his stare when it started feeling too real. His eyes snapped back to him when he felt something wet running against his fingers. He silently gasped, his entire body turning warm as he realised his hand was getting licked clean. An inner voice whispered to retract his hand, yet his hand remained open and free. The worst part was that he only pulled his hand away when it was all over, flexing it a few times before wiping it on his pants, save for maybe a finger. He swiped his thumb over his bottom lip before licking it a few more times, suddenly not convinced that it was entirely clean. Grian just kept taking photos until a sharp voice cut through the fun atmosphere. Everybody froze and looked up, the manager already standing in the set, fuming. The colour drained out of every child’s face.
“What the hell?! Who made this mess?!” She asked as she put her phone away, staring at everybody.
Nufuli let out a small squeak while Jumper immediately pulled him behind her. Leo had finished his piece of the cake, gulping. Derapchu, on the other hand, was mid-chew, stopping right as she spoke. Parrot immediately distanced himself until his back hit the decorated wall, as if he was avoiding being judged guilty by association. He tried to reach out when Wifies started walking to the woman, grabbing him by the wrist before he shook him off.
“It was my idea; I’m sorry.” He immediately confessed as soon as he was in front of her, an unnaturally conditioned second-nature response. His voice was pathetic. “I just thought—”
A deafening slap reverberated. The room shifted, the cake was now spoilt, and the frosting was too sweet. Time stopped. The balloons fell limp. Everybody went from frozen to set in rigor mortis. Wifies closed his eyes, tears pricking them when he tried to hold them back; the sudden shock quickly radiated away from his face, migrating until it was non-existent, yet a stinging sensation lingered long after the initial hit. He slowly looked back at the woman, his expression hard, yet his lip still quivered, betraying his true feelings, more shocked that she did it in front of the other members. His hand went up to cradle his red, burning cheek, biting back a wince. He reminded himself to put some ice on it before an angry mark formed. His eyes dimmed; only a flicker of betrayal dared to present itself before dying off as quickly as it had sparked. Her face was still frozen in its furious state. She bent down, now eye-level with him, grabbing the sides of his arms hard enough to make him wince a bit. Her voice dropped to a low, menacing tone. It was practically chilling, dropping the room’s temperature by ten degrees, digging into his flesh with its barbed spikes. The familiar dread crept up his spine. He couldn't help the way he hunched his shoulders or how his entire body trembled as it remained firmly planted in place. He hated how weak he must look right now. What would his groupmates think? What were they thinking right now? Did they think he was pathetic or that the manager was terrible? His hammering heart leapt into his throat as he stared into her eyes, gulping it down and stuffing it away. The only colour that remained on his pale face was the handprint that crept over his cheek. He knew she saw the fear that swam in his wide eyes, which had turned glossy as his tears finally found an escape. He didn't dare to blink or look away.
“You’re supposed to be the good, responsible one. You’re supposed to keep everyone in line. How the hell are they supposed to know their place if you’re not teaching them?” Her voice emerged tense and serpentine. She paused for a moment; her lips continued to twitch while she clenched her jaw. “You’re letting them misbehave and making my job more difficult. If they can't obey, then everything we’ve worked for will be for nothing.”
The corner of her lips then stretched into an unnatural smile that never reached her overly steady stare, resembling something demonic. Her voice became sweet as sugar. Somehow, this was worse than her barely contained rage.
He felt sick. He forced himself to gulp down the lump forming in his throat again. Her hold remained crushing as she rubbed his arms. Snot dripped from his nose, collecting between his lips while his face scrunched into something ugly, his near-perfect image cracking. His mascara was reduced to brown, free-flowing and translucent tracks.
“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry. I had to use a bit of discipline to emphasise my point. The last thing I want is to have to remind you how things work and where your place is.” She pulled him into a hug while a mangled sob eventually tore from his throat. Searing flashes of pain, darkness, and walls closing in on him flashed at the front of his mind. A small, wounded voice that also managed to find its way screamed it was a trap before getting dragged back into the recesses. No, no more reminders. No. Anything but that. Her embrace was nothing more than a restraining grip around his entirety, a small reminder of her authority that left him gasping every time.
“I—I’ll… hngh… I’ll b-be a good boy. I’ll m-make sure we all b-behave; p-please don't remind—don't remind me… Manager-nim.” His voice, quiet and broken as if created through years of him getting hurt repeatedly, was unlike the golden boy everybody saw only mere moments before. Her hold finally loosened as she patted his back before letting him go, satisfied. She stood up, regaining her composure in record time. She checked her hand, studying her palm for a minute, face unreadable before she pointed at the staff, then Grian.
“You all are useless, absolutely useless. How could you allow this to happen?” She asked, the serpentine hiss in her voice returning as she reared her ugly head once more. The staff looked at each other, stiff and unnerved. They opened their mouths, almost trying to coordinate their responses before closing them. Their shoulders slumped as they gave up trying to defend themselves before even giving themselves a chance.
Wifies continued to remain planted, staring at the floor as he packed up his distress and hid it away somewhere he couldn't find it. He stepped back, wiping his tears and sniffling, then murmuring another apology as he joined his group, wrapping his arms around everybody. Parrot, Leo, and Derapchu had joined Jumper in comforting the baffled and weeping maknae, huddling protectively around him. Grian left his position and immediately stepped in front of the woman, already raising his voice while she crossed her arms. The rest of the staff stood around, a few unsure what to do, while the rest suddenly found the equipment fascinating. One ran out of the room entirely, hyperventilating. Two more ran after them.
“Why did she do that? We were just—we were having fun…” Nufuli hiccuped, his voice weak.
“I think it’s because we’re bad…” Jumper answered, occasionally glancing at the adults. “Like when we messed up the different dance moves sometimes before we got picked, y’know?”
“It was just part of the photoshoot; was it really that serious?! She shouldn't have done that!” Derapchu raised his voice, his thoughts a tangled web like the smack had jumbled everything he thought he knew or believed, yet he frowned, eyes narrowing, and kept the rest of his face blank. His mouth opened and closed while his blood reached a low simmer. Who was she to believe she had any right to treat them like that? They're idols now. They deserved at least a bit of respect. His gaze continually flickered depending on who was speaking, yet his focus moved to Wifies’ reaction. Reminders? Was that a reminder? He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he fell silent, shaking his head. This wasn't right. He glared at him as he got into crisis management mode.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. She gets like that sometimes.” Wifies responded, trying his best to be reassuring, yet his cheek still throbbed and his stomach churned, reeling inside from the smack. “She cares about us. She wants us to be successful, so she’s just being extra strict.” His voice was hollow as he recited the same mantra he told himself after every reminder. When he felt his sanity slip, it acted as a seal to stop himself from completely breaking apart. He hoped everybody believed his words.
“Just—just being extra strict? Does that mean… we’re getting hit too? Will we get reminders every time we mess up?” Parrot finally spoke up, only to be met with silence. It was enough to paint a dark reality, stepping back and parting from the group.
“It’s my fault. I shouldn't have smashed the cake into his face… Jumper wouldn't have declared the food fight otherwise. It should've been me – should’ve been me instead of you.” The maknae continued to sob as he admitted his perceived guilt. Jumper continued to embrace him, trying to rebut his guilt, noting that she was really the one who started everything.
“It’s not fair. It’s nobody's fault. Wifies shouldn't have taken the hit for us.” Leo’s eyes went glossy with unshed tears, and he also stepped away from the group entirely.
Wifies could only watch as everybody still started to unravel despite his attempt. He understood why. They saw him get hit. Sure, he knew the staff were harsh outside of filming, but the farthest he saw them go was yelling. He hoped it would stop when they got picked; perhaps they would be treated with respect now that they actually benefited the company. Now, he broke it, and guilt was already eating at him. It was eating him alive. He destroyed his groupmates’ sense of safety. It was all his fault. Now the adults were fighting, making things worse. If only he could clone himself and send them off. There weren’t enough of him to help everyone through their breakdowns, even if it wasn't the best option.
Jumper held Nufuli extra close. She suddenly looked decades older and more tired in a few moments while Derapchu balled his hands into fists.
Leo, already full-on crying, silently retreated from the other kids, backing into a cleaner corner of the set, sliding down and curling into a ball, shutting his eyes and covering his ears with his hands. The adults were starting to reach the point of screaming at each other, waving their hands around and pointing fingers. More staff started leaving, too uncomfortable with the aggressive situation to stay.
Parrot’s body began to shake, pain pressing against his chest. His breath was short as he rushed to get under the table, tears flowing down his frosting-streaked cheeks as he hid, pulling his knees to his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to relive a happier time. His little mind wouldn't allow it, focusing on the fighting itself.
“They’re kids! The way you’re treating them isn't right!”
Shut up. Shut up, please. For the love of god, just shut up. He didn't ask for this. Make it stop. The table is safe. As long as he hides under the table, he’ll be okay. Hide. Just hide. Hide away from the world. They can't get him if he's here.
“You’re just a contractor with the company. Don’t you dare attempt to overstep that; we can always get another photographer to take your place. They know their place; I suggest you learn yours.”
Why was this happening? He can't breathe. He can't breathe. Oh, God. He’s dying. He’s dying. The world is closing in.
The harder he pressed his palms against his ears, the clearer every noise seemed to become. Whatever was pressing against his chest had now placed its entire weight upon him, the ends of his senses starting to fray and unfurl themselves. Were his ears ringing? He didn't know anymore. He rocked back and forth, blubbering sobs leaving his lips.
“Parrot.”
The voice felt distant, yet it still called out for him. He ignored it.
“Parrot, hey! Parrot!”
He accidentally banged his head against the table, yelping in pain as he opened his eyes and refocused on reality. He felt a hand place itself on the source of the dull ache.
“You okay?” Derapchu asked, having crawled under the table to find Parrot, moving his hand from his head to his shoulder, a worried yet sympathetic gesture. “I didn't know you were such a crybaby.”
“Mm-hm.” Parrot nodded, quickly using his sleeve to wipe his tears, trying to compose himself. He wasn't a crybaby. “Is—is everybody okay?”
“Jumper is playing with Fuli to cheer him up, and Wifies is talking to Leo. Grian and Manager-nim are talking outside. The owner walked in and told them they had to leave the room before she called the police. Manager-nim said we have to shower before we start recording.” He adjusted, turning so he was in front of the recovering kid, taking his hand off his shoulder.
“Are we in trouble?” He kept wiping his tears, his voice quiet yet still breaking in places.
“We’re fine for now.” Derapchu shrugged. “…I think.” That wasn't a good sign.
Wifies stuck his head under the table, his clearly panicked-but-trying-not-to-look-like-he-is countenance washed away, replaced by true relief.
“Leo’s fine now. He was just overwhelmed. Are you two okay?” He asked, scanning both of them but mostly focusing on Parrot.
“We’re okay, just—oh, he’s crying again.” Derapchu scooted back as soon as he saw him biting his lip, tears welling up once more. He quickly looked to Wifies for help. He took his chance to leave the moment he was assured he had it handled.
“Breathe, Parrot.” His voice dropped to a cooing tone as he swiftly took the empty spot for himself. Parrot still chewed his bottom lip, sniffling with each breath while pretty tears flowed down his even prettier cheeks. It hurt to see him in such a state more than the slap. A thunderbolt of shame struck while he observed his face. He couldn't help himself as he carefully pulled him into a hug, cradling his head. He let the other boy melt into his embrace, still shaking. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Wifies—I don't—I don't know why I’m still crying,” Parrot croaked while burying his face into his chest, inhaling his faint yet calming lavender scent. “I hate this. I hate everything about this. I hate how small and hopeless I feel right now. It’s like everything is falling apart, and I can't do anything on my own about it.”
“It’s okay. You don't have to know why. You don't even have to know anything at all. I want you to promise me something, though.” Wifies delicately pulled Parrot off his chest so their eyes could meet. The poor angel’s cheeks were beet-red with mascara completely cried off. He carefully cupped them, using his thumbs to wipe the drying trails away, partly as an excuse to touch him without it being weird, partly from a place of empathy. He wasn't sure if he was imagining things, but he could've sworn his breath hitched, with a few beats of silence passing before he exhaled. “Promise me that you’ll never apologise for crying. It’s not bad to cry. It means you have a big heart. I don't want you to ever grovel at anybody’s feet for being yourself.”
He hadn't expected an answer immediately as the distance between them closed again. He didn't stop Parrot from slipping his chin onto the crook of his shoulder. Tiny currents shot up his neck while silence filled the little space between them, save for the voices of other members, though it quickly vanished, leaving his brain filled only by strangely harmonic thoughts of close warmth and current duty. He let out a shaky breath while he held him just a bit tighter.
“…I promise. I promise I won't apologise.” He finally answered, his voice scarcely audible against his skin.
“Pinky promise?”
“Y-Yeah… pinky promise, plus the thumb stamp.”
The two continued to embrace in comfortable tranquillity, with their heartbeats syncing into their own perfect rhythm until they parted. They conversed about everything and nothing at the same time in hushed voices, lighting up when they discovered overlapping details in their history, like only living a few houses apart, visiting the same playgrounds, and enjoying the same restaurant, wondering if there was a chance they could've met long before they became idols, perhaps bumping into each other. They could've played together. They hid from the rest of the world to soak in each other’s existence, to enjoy whatever the moment was for as long as they could until they knew it better than themselves.