Chapter Text
“Cut,” a voice rang loudly into the room, making Minho release a short breath on instinct, “that’s it for today, great job everyone!”
Everyone was smiling around him, rightfully so.
It was a great day at work. The filming went smoothly, everyone came with their lines memorized and there was enough coffee on set for a stable of horses.
One inhale.
It was one of the few days where work was acceptable, tolerable, and almost enjoyable. Because work was also work, and the part of enjoyment was incredibly limited most of the time.
But the next day they all had to start again, keep on moving and filming on and, on and, on until it was all over. Even if it was over only for a short while; the next project was always on hold while the demand had to be kept at bay.
One exhale.
Minho walked off the set and gathered his things, making sure to greet everyone before leaving.
“Don’t you need help taking the makeup off?” one of the makeup assistants asked him right as he was almost stepping out of the main building.
“Ah, I’ll manage it, don’t worry about it!” he gave a short smile, polite and nice and everything that it had to be in order to prevent him from a threatening scolding about his skincare routine.
“Alright, have a nice night, Minho!”
Another smile, another short wave.
Another routine that tasted artificial just like strawberry candy.
“Do you think you still have the energy for it?” his manager asked once he stepped into the car.
“Do I have much of a choice?” it was supposed to come out as a joke, but Minho’s manager didn’t seem that amused.
Minho couldn’t really blame him, the chuckle that followed out of his own mouth sounded like a perfect mix between awkward and nervous.
“We could postpone it,” Minhyuk mumbled as he started the car.
On days like these, where the tiredness was starting to catch up with Minho, Minhyuk was getting a little too hard to read.
His monotone tone didn’t give Minho a lot to work with either, because it could mean that he wasn’t eager to see Minho ditch another opportunity to give his fans all the content they wanted. But it could also mean that he wasn’t in the mood to take Minho around to record said content.
“And miss the opportunity?” Minho huffed, struggling out of his shirt and already changing into the ironed suit that was hanging from the safety handle.
Tiredness made Minho’s bones heavy, but his craving to achieve more– to appeal to the public, to shine in the lights and let people enjoy the persona that was perfectly crafted for him, for the screen he was supposed to be watched from, it always quickly overcame any thought of giving up on the opportunities he was given.
“It’s just an interview,” Minhyuk kept his eyes stuck on the road. The sun was starting to go back into hiding, “you should take some time to rest, you’ll get burned out if you keep it like this.”
So it was the second option. Minhyuk was growing just as tired as Minho.
But Minho chuckled at that, because it was funny how ironic it was.
“Are you sure you’re supposed to tell me that as my manager?” Minho smiled, and this time it actually managed to come across as a joke.
“Don’t think so,” the man smiled back, eyes glancing at Minho in the rearview, “but as your friend, I’m morally obliged to look out so you don’t work yourself into your deathbed.”
“Uh-oh,” Minho squinted his eyes, fake-shivered, and covered his bare arms with his fingers, “you’re so somber today, Minhyuk.”
The man behind the wheel only shook his head. A bigger smile took over his lips– that was Minho’s cue that Minhyuk was convinced that he was able to work just a little more before the day was over.
“It’s just an interview,” Minho quietly repeated the words he heard mere seconds prior. “I’ll be just fine,” and it felt like needed encouragement for both himself and Minhyuk.
One inhale.
“How much?” Minho asked after some time, finishing with the buttons of his crisp suit.
“After the next turn, we’re there; a few minutes at best.”
Minho was mostly for the people– to see, to love, to admire, and to criticize. Minho didn’t mind the crumbs of himself he ended up with at the end of each day.
One exhale.
☾⋆｡°✩
“Minho, this is Jisungie,” the unknown woman smiled sweetly at him– probably his mother’s friend from somewhere, he couldn’t really tell, and yet he couldn’t really shake off the feeling that he saw her somewhere.
His eyes shifted to the figure that was hiding behind the woman’s legs.
A bowl-cut boy who seemed to be younger than him; the height difference was telling enough for Minho to quickly figure that much out.
A scowl covered Minho’s small forehead.
How was he supposed to befriend someone that didn’t seem to want to befriend him?
“Hey!” he took a step toward the woman; towards the small boy, who had his shoulders so raised up that he reminded Minho of a scared cat.
“You little rascal,” he heard his mom quietly say from somewhere behind him. “Be nice, Jisung is a little shy.”
But that wasn’t part of the rules that went around the playground.
“We can play,” Minho declared, a deep frown still decorating his forehead. He could feel his mother’s hand on his shoulder. “But I won’t play ball, it sucks!”
The hand squeezed his shoulder, and yet no amount of damage control could make him play anything that involved balls.
“Minho!” he heard his mother yelp. It was accompanied by the unknown woman’s laughter– he was so sure that she seemed familiar.
There wasn’t anything funny about ball games.
“It’s true, mom!” he insisted for a second longer, before he returned to the scared kid, using him to escape his mother’s wrath. “What do you want to play?”
“Um,” said the boy named Jisungie, pushing Minho’s expectations with his obvious hesitation and making him eager to hear what he had to say.
He was quite an expert in the games field, as he often liked to call himself; his friends wouldn’t admit to it but that didn’t make less of his title.
“Hey, you,” his mom said again, forcing Minho to turn his attention from his new friend, “why don’t you two watch some cartoons while Soojin gets here with her mom?”
It was truly a tempting offer.
And if Soojin would show up that only meant more friends to play with, less chances of balls involved– it was all a clear win in Minho's agenda.
“What are we going to watch?” Minho still tried to negotiate, squinting his eyes at his mom.
“Doraemon should be running soon,” his mother hummed while glancing at the clock on the wall.
Before Minho could even get a reaction out, he heard a small gasp from behind him before the less unknown woman let out a chuckle.
“Oh, Sungie loves that one,” she said, while Minho simply nodded– it was set, no balls.
It was all he had to hear for them to end up like that, plastered in front of the TV on a chilly autumn afternoon, two cups of warm milk sweetened with honey before them.
The commentary during the episodes was Minho's way of befriending Jisung. Whether it was imitating the silly expressions they saw or asking all kinds of questions that Minho's mind hadn't conjured before, it was nice.
Being friends with Jisung was nice so far.
Having his usual friend befriend his new friend was also nice. Jisung was a little shy at first when Soojin got there, but with Minho along, it was easy to work it out and actually play something fun.
Jisung was nice.
So nice that he had the boy promise to come back to play soon when his mom insisted that they had to leave.
☾⋆｡°✩
“The fans have been curious, Minho” the middle-aged man chuckled under his breath. It didn't sound like anything he wanted to talk about.
It sounded exactly like something they mentioned to leave out of the interview.
“Hmm,” Minho hummed, curiously waiting for whatever the man had in store for him.
There weren't a lot of things that could surprise Minho at that point.
“There have been some rumors, if we can call them that,” the man's smile dimmed slightly, “about a possible love interest?”
It was too late for Minho to stop the laugh that escaped him.
Minhyuk would scold him for not controlling his reactions faster, but it was so ridiculous, how could he not show his honest reaction to that?
“A love interest?” Minho asked back, a bit mocking.
Mean.
“That's what people are saying on the internet,” the man bit back, with an obvious sharp inhale.
“Ah,” Minho exhaled, mindlessly playing with the silver ring on his pointer finger. “I really stopped going through all that at some point after the first year of being in the industry. People on the internet say all sorts of things.”
Minho's eyes drifted to the ceiling, suddenly avoiding the interviewer's gaze, rougher days of scrolling and scrolling and scrolling to no end were brought back to his memory. It all felt sour on his tongue.
“It can really take a toll on your mental health,” he went on, a little lighter on his tone and followed by a sugary sweet smile.
A bit artificial, like the emotions he was putting on for the camera.
“But I love my fans too much,” he chuckled, a practiced thing that rolled off his tongue with earned ease. “And I think it's a bit too early in my career to talk about any love interest at all.”
Confirming you're bitchless on national TV has never been more fun.
And Minho has never been more bored in an interview. But that was part of the job, right? Offer more content, besides the usual part. Let everyone know what he could be, what he could offer.
Feed into parasocialism.
But the questions never got spicier, never dug too deep. It was ridiculously boring already, and it was only getting more boring. All while his half-heartedness could never part of the equation.
“And I think that ends our little chit-chat today,” the man announced a little while later, too cheery for someone who was a victim of baldness. “Thank you so much for coming here today.”
“Thank you so much for having me,” Minho smiled back, waving to the camera until the director yelled cut and he was a free man again.
As free as an actor could be.
“Where to, now?” Minho asked once he got back in the car, unknown of the time.
“Home,” which was Minho's favorite song after an entire day of work, “it's too late to even try to do anything else.”
Non-negotiable. Which wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to Minho. His part for the day was done, now the dread of the next day was his main concern.
“Wanna grab something to eat before you drop me off?” Minho said after some time in the silence between them that expressed nothing less than exhaustion. Not even the songs on the radio could save them.
“You're gonna be puffy tomorrow,” as if that was one of Minho's concerns.
“Because tomorrow is..?” Minho tried, squinting his eyes like he was trying to remember anything while his mind was clearer than Soonie's bowl after he finished eating.
“A full day. Schedule's packed,” and Minhyuk's sigh was enough to make Minho whine high in his throat.
That wasn’t fun.
“And what time is it?”
“Past your resting time, that's for sure,” Minhyuk mumbled, focusing on the road.
Minho could tell by the too-familiar turns, they were growing close to his apartment.
“As comforting as a hammer in the back of your head,” he hummed, already grabbing his things from the backseat.
Less time wasted, each second not spent resting was a wasted second.
“It's only for the moment. After you finish filming for this drama, you should be free for at least two weeks,” Minhyuk reassured, all while Minho was a bit concerned.
Should he actually pray and start manifesting that Minhyuk's words would come true?
“I'll be crossing the days off in my calendar until then,” Minho unbuckled as soon as Minhyuk parked the car. “See you tomorrow, old man,” he waved him off, and before Minhyuk could even say anything back, Minho was already half inside the apartment building.
☾⋆｡°✩
Han Jisung was a loud crier.
It was bad.
But it wasn't the worst thing in the world; eight-year-old Minho was even worse at comforting him.
“I think there are rocks stuck in there,” Soojin whispered, loud enough to be heard over the whirl that was running in Minho's mind.
He was such a scaredy cat.
“Do something,” she said a few seconds later, maybe in an attempt to push him out of the trance Minho fell in, out of his own panic.
“I don't know what!” he yelped.
Jisung cried louder; he was getting close to competing with a siren.
Jisung's mom would surely be mad at him; at how he failed to take care of Jisung and how he was now hurt– not because of Minho, but in his presence for sure. He was the oldest too.
Jisung was hurt.
Minho had no idea how to help.
“Jisungie,” he watched Soojin carefully approach a wailing Jisung.
The only response consisted of cries they were starting to get used to. Minho could only stand aside and watch whatever witchcraft Soojin tried just to get Jisung fixed up.
“Can I blow on it?” she asked Jisung, who only nodded weakly.
It was fascinating how he was able to hear that over all the sound.
Maybe Jisung would be alright. Maybe Soojin would know how to fix a scraped knee decorated with a few tiny rocks. Maybe it could all pass just like that and they could go back to playing like they were doing before Jisung tripped and messed up his knee.
Yeah.
There was nothing to worry about.
“Minho,” he was brought back to reality by Soojin calling his name between heavy huffs of breath.
Jisung wasn't crying as loud now, maybe whatever Soojin was doing was actually working.
“You know where Jisungie lives, right?”
What kind of question was that? Of course, he knew.
“Umm, yeah,” he mumbled back, unsure of what was about to follow.
“Go get Jisung's mom,” she rushed him, all while trying to blow air on a sadly scraped knee.
But Minho didn't know how to feel about that. It was like he drew the middle shortest stick. Jisung had the shortest one, with his knee and everything.
But Minho? He had to announce his mom about the knee, he had to face the worst, he was supposed to get her there and also go through the scolding for not taking care of Jisung.
Minho didn’t really want to do that.
“Minho!” Soojin yelled at him, high-pitched and a bit more scratchy to his ears than Jisung's cries.
Minho had to be brave. For Jisung’s well-being.
For the health of his friend’s knee.
And he did. He gathered all the courage he needed to head to Jisung’s house and knock until someone opened the door.
Minho was brave and delivered the heartbreaking news to Jisung's mom, who, to his relief, didn't ask him anything or question his care for her son.
That might've been because of the over detailed explanation he gave Jisung's mother.
But he was brave, he did his part well and he was sort of proud of himself when he got back with her to the playground.
And yet, eight-year-old Minho had no idea what to do with the twisty feeling inside his chest when he saw Jisung clinging to Soojin's now dirty teddy bear, and her clinging onto calmer Jisung.
☾⋆｡°✩
“Whatever that was about,” Minho mumbled to himself and most likely to the ghosts that controlled Soonie's food dispenser.
The almost spicy question from the interview stuck with him. Bugged his mind all the way from when he entered his apartment and was greeted by a hungry and loving orange cat, and into the shower.
Even after, as he was lazing in his fuzzy robe and mindlessly scrolling through his phone at an hour he was supposed to sleep.
It was still there, that annoying ‘the internet is talking about a possible love interest.’
The internet loved to talk, but a possible love interest could affect Minho's life in ways that he couldn’t really digest.
And if it was serious enough, it could get him into a play pretend relationship that would only eat away his social battery. Life wasn’t pretty fun when decisions were made for you, no matter what you had to say in the matter.
Tick, tick, tick.
Minho was still scrolling through cat videos and sighing from time to time when his mind would remind him of the almost spicy topic.
It was an itch, there was no way of it going away without itching it.
Right?
Tick, tick, tick.
Of course, he ended up searching up his own name after all the promises he made to his therapist on their last meeting.
Of course, he scrolled for too long and found absolutely nothing.
The internet talked a lot of shit, but unlike the interview, it didn't involve his love life.
Tick, tick.
The scrolling went on and on, just without his own name in the search bar. It kept going for a little too long.
It kept going until a hollow feeling wrapped around him, waking him up to reality and getting him out of his artificial bubble that was social media; pushing him into emotions that he couldn’t really decipher.
The shadow of some wicked emotions that he once felt and tried to forget about.
A minute later, Minho was staring at his white ceiling, the screen of his phone showing only an article title of someone who was now a ghost, his mind blank and his heartbeat in his throat.
Tick.
The clock on his bedside table was the only noise filling his ears, along with his hammering heart.
HAN JISUNG: The young producer who won everyone's hearts on his way to the TOP OF EVERY CHART.