Ship/Member: junhui/minghao Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: character study, idolverse, fame but not the way you wanted it, what does it cost to be an idol and what does it look like on other people, love as a duty at first but also love of that duty makes it also a choice in a way Permission to remix: please ask! wc:1354 hello wife <3 thank u for this delicious quote i have been thinking about it ever since i saw it.. not sure if i actually filled this prompt correctly but i think for a first junhao this is a valiant attempt
***
Minghao was always serious.
Immovable but not immutable. So proper, not prone to bending or breaking. He reminded Junhui of a tree.
Minghao was the type that liked to place down roots and settle, for lengths on end, sifting through the mysteries of the universe with the patience of someone way beyond his age, even if the answers never revealed themselves in the end.
Junhui was nothing like that.
He’d tried to, at first.
You have a handsome face, Seungkwan would always despair while disciplining himself on some newfangled health routine that he’d picked up from the depths of the interwebs, wrangling whoever he could into doing it with him, couldn’t you be a little bit more serious, Moon Jun? You have an image to protect! And because he had 12 other people to think about – 12 other dreams to think about – Junhui tried.
It didn’t work. It felt like putting on clothes that didn’t belong to him. A part of Junhui ached when he saw everyone else around him put on theirs, too, mouths pinching themselves into polite smiles even when it got too uncomfortable underneath the spotlight. It hurt to hold himself a certain way all the time. He was one of the older ones, a hyung to look up to, but the role always felt clunky in his hands when he’d wielded it.
Sometimes Junhui would look at himself in the mirror and fail to recognize the picture staring back.
This is how you have to be, their CEO said, and they’d all accepted it, heads bowed and fingers trembling as they slipped their rings on. Back then, everyone had just wanted to be liked.
A little folding, a pinch here and there – it was all worth it in the end, if you earned some love. A small part of Junhui wanted that too. Of course he did. But in the wake of all he’d lost to get to this point, Junhui was suddenly nervous. Who could he be if someone else decided all of that for him?
Minghao never wavered. He nodded once, and that was that. Nothing else had to be said or taken into consideration. The burden was his to bear.
Junhui wanted to reach out to stop him, to at least make him think a little carefully about what was being done to him – to them all – but when Junhui looked into Minghao’s eyes, determination blazed bright and true. He held so much more courage than Junhui could ever hope to have in a lifetime.
So he held his tongue and let Minghao step past.
He’d tried. It didn’t work.
This was, in part, because Junhui was extremely flighty.
He knew this. His members knew this, and they loved him regardless.
Junhui, as they all knew, was the type to go online shopping in the middle of the night to acquire the necessary materials for a niche product he’d spotted on Weibo, only to lose interest by the time it made its way from the supplier to their dorm. He liked to hop from one thing to the next as they sparked his interest, bouncing around from place to place, sending texts into the group chat regardless of an answer. Calls to nowhere.
The first years were suffocating. They had debuted yet, but they were hardly free, always set in motion. Always on the run from something and towards another. Junhui found it hard to take a breath. He struggled with the weight of expectations that strapped him down into place.
He wanted to be free.
He wanted to stay.
He didn’t know what he wanted anymore.
Those first years, Junhui was always lumped next to Minghao. He hardly minded. Sometimes it felt nice to be a part of a whole, even if they weren’t that similar in the first place. It always ended up being Minghao who had to take care of Junhui, instead of the other way around.
On paper, it made sense: both performance unit members, not the best at speaking just yet, foreigners in an industry where sameness was the best way to survive.
A marriage of convenience, he joked, to which Minghao always rolled his eyes.
“Everything becomes convenient to you,” Minghao pointed out.
Junhui wondered if it was the same for Minghao. Minghao, who was infinitely more thoughtful than Junhui was, always so careful about everything that he did, so that in the end it looked like an act of deliberation instead of something he’d mindlessly just stumbled into.
Junhui caught himself before he asked the question. He didn’t know which answer was worse.
Somewhere along the way the pressure lifted. They all felt a little more free. But there Minghao remained, by Junhui’s side. Constant.
One time Junhui was lazing around in the dressing room, clips in his hair. He’d turned the volume of his phone all the way up because everyone had already left to get their makeup retouched or their wardrobe fixed, and it was better to hear the sound coming back at him than nothing at all.
There was only Minghao in the room, anyway. He was always listening to Junhui, ever since Junhui had walked up to him in that green room and accidentally spat on his face trying to use a language that was neither of theirs. He was always listening even if he pretended that he wasn’t.
Minghao looked up at him from where he was reading, clearly irked by the sound but trying to be a better person about it. Minghao held his tongue, and Junhui wanted to ruffle his hair for it.
Sometimes it felt like an unspoken victory, when Junhui was able to annoy Minghao, just to see if he could get a reaction out of him.
“Doesn’t it bother you? The sound?” Minghao asked instead.
Junhui took a moment to think about it.
“Nope,” he answered easily. Minghao twisted his lips into a half-grin, half-grimace, and all fond, Junhui liked to think.
They returned to their respective universes without saying another word. Minghao stayed in the room and Junhui dialed down the volume just a bit.
Another contract renewal came and went. This time all thirteen of them decided not to sign, even without talking about it. They’d laughed when their votes were revealed, though for some their throats were thick with tears when it happened.
Junhui was one of the members who were not as affected. In a way he had begun, without even realizing it, preparing for the end. Like it was inevitable instead of something to be avoided.
He’d reasoned with himself: he could hardly expect to be the same person he was when he started this journey. Sometimes a dream turned sideways, turned into something else entirely. What their story really needed was to come to an end, in order for the next chapter to begin.
Minghao was somewhere in the middle. He stayed stone-faced throughout the entire meeting, so still that Junhui wondered if he would finally crack.
He hoped Minghao knew that he was allowed to break, if he needed. Junhui would be there to catch him. They all would.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Minghao says when everyone else is out of earshot.
Junhui pretended to play dumb. “Like what?”
Minghao was the only one, still, after all these years, who never let it slide. “Like you’re worried about me. I’m fine.”
Junhui shrugged. “If you say so.”
“Do you think you’re going to try anything else?” Minghao asked, quietly. Junhui knew what he was really asking — will we have more time together? Will I see you on stage again?
Junhui took a while to craft his answer. “I don’t think so,” he mustered up brightly, but the end of his sentence came out stilted. “I think I’m done.”
Minghao became silent and Junhui smiled, folding him into a hug.
“It’s not the end of the world, Minghao. You know where to find me.”
Besides, Junhui knew: Minghao was different than he was.
[FILL] are any of us ever truly alone?
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: character study, idolverse, fame but not the way you wanted it, what does it cost to be an idol and what does it look like on other people, love as a duty at first but also love of that duty makes it also a choice in a way
Permission to remix: please ask!
wc:1354
hello wife <3 thank u for this delicious quote i have been thinking about it ever since i saw it.. not sure if i actually filled this prompt correctly but i think for a first junhao this is a valiant attempt
***
Minghao was always serious.
Immovable but not immutable. So proper, not prone to bending or breaking. He reminded Junhui of a tree.
Minghao was the type that liked to place down roots and settle, for lengths on end, sifting through the mysteries of the universe with the patience of someone way beyond his age, even if the answers never revealed themselves in the end.
Junhui was nothing like that.
He’d tried to, at first.
You have a handsome face, Seungkwan would always despair while disciplining himself on some newfangled health routine that he’d picked up from the depths of the interwebs, wrangling whoever he could into doing it with him, couldn’t you be a little bit more serious, Moon Jun? You have an image to protect! And because he had 12 other people to think about – 12 other dreams to think about – Junhui tried.
It didn’t work. It felt like putting on clothes that didn’t belong to him. A part of Junhui ached when he saw everyone else around him put on theirs, too, mouths pinching themselves into polite smiles even when it got too uncomfortable underneath the spotlight. It hurt to hold himself a certain way all the time. He was one of the older ones, a hyung to look up to, but the role always felt clunky in his hands when he’d wielded it.
Sometimes Junhui would look at himself in the mirror and fail to recognize the picture staring back.
This is how you have to be, their CEO said, and they’d all accepted it, heads bowed and fingers trembling as they slipped their rings on. Back then, everyone had just wanted to be liked.
A little folding, a pinch here and there – it was all worth it in the end, if you earned some love. A small part of Junhui wanted that too. Of course he did. But in the wake of all he’d lost to get to this point, Junhui was suddenly nervous. Who could he be if someone else decided all of that for him?
Minghao never wavered. He nodded once, and that was that. Nothing else had to be said or taken into consideration. The burden was his to bear.
Junhui wanted to reach out to stop him, to at least make him think a little carefully about what was being done to him – to them all – but when Junhui looked into Minghao’s eyes, determination blazed bright and true. He held so much more courage than Junhui could ever hope to have in a lifetime.
So he held his tongue and let Minghao step past.
He’d tried. It didn’t work.
This was, in part, because Junhui was extremely flighty.
He knew this. His members knew this, and they loved him regardless.
Junhui, as they all knew, was the type to go online shopping in the middle of the night to acquire the necessary materials for a niche product he’d spotted on Weibo, only to lose interest by the time it made its way from the supplier to their dorm. He liked to hop from one thing to the next as they sparked his interest, bouncing around from place to place, sending texts into the group chat regardless of an answer. Calls to nowhere.
The first years were suffocating. They had debuted yet, but they were hardly free, always set in motion. Always on the run from something and towards another. Junhui found it hard to take a breath. He struggled with the weight of expectations that strapped him down into place.
He wanted to be free.
He wanted to stay.
He didn’t know what he wanted anymore.
Those first years, Junhui was always lumped next to Minghao. He hardly minded. Sometimes it felt nice to be a part of a whole, even if they weren’t that similar in the first place. It always ended up being Minghao who had to take care of Junhui, instead of the other way around.
On paper, it made sense: both performance unit members, not the best at speaking just yet, foreigners in an industry where sameness was the best way to survive.
A marriage of convenience, he joked, to which Minghao always rolled his eyes.
“Everything becomes convenient to you,” Minghao pointed out.
Junhui wondered if it was the same for Minghao. Minghao, who was infinitely more thoughtful than Junhui was, always so careful about everything that he did, so that in the end it looked like an act of deliberation instead of something he’d mindlessly just stumbled into.
Junhui caught himself before he asked the question. He didn’t know which answer was worse.
Somewhere along the way the pressure lifted. They all felt a little more free. But there Minghao remained, by Junhui’s side. Constant.
One time Junhui was lazing around in the dressing room, clips in his hair. He’d turned the volume of his phone all the way up because everyone had already left to get their makeup retouched or their wardrobe fixed, and it was better to hear the sound coming back at him than nothing at all.
There was only Minghao in the room, anyway. He was always listening to Junhui, ever since Junhui had walked up to him in that green room and accidentally spat on his face trying to use a language that was neither of theirs. He was always listening even if he pretended that he wasn’t.
Minghao looked up at him from where he was reading, clearly irked by the sound but trying to be a better person about it. Minghao held his tongue, and Junhui wanted to ruffle his hair for it.
Sometimes it felt like an unspoken victory, when Junhui was able to annoy Minghao, just to see if he could get a reaction out of him.
“Doesn’t it bother you? The sound?” Minghao asked instead.
Junhui took a moment to think about it.
“Nope,” he answered easily. Minghao twisted his lips into a half-grin, half-grimace, and all fond, Junhui liked to think.
They returned to their respective universes without saying another word. Minghao stayed in the room and Junhui dialed down the volume just a bit.
Another contract renewal came and went. This time all thirteen of them decided not to sign, even without talking about it. They’d laughed when their votes were revealed, though for some their throats were thick with tears when it happened.
Junhui was one of the members who were not as affected. In a way he had begun, without even realizing it, preparing for the end. Like it was inevitable instead of something to be avoided.
He’d reasoned with himself: he could hardly expect to be the same person he was when he started this journey. Sometimes a dream turned sideways, turned into something else entirely. What their story really needed was to come to an end, in order for the next chapter to begin.
Minghao was somewhere in the middle. He stayed stone-faced throughout the entire meeting, so still that Junhui wondered if he would finally crack.
He hoped Minghao knew that he was allowed to break, if he needed. Junhui would be there to catch him. They all would.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Minghao says when everyone else is out of earshot.
Junhui pretended to play dumb. “Like what?”
Minghao was the only one, still, after all these years, who never let it slide. “Like you’re worried about me. I’m fine.”
Junhui shrugged. “If you say so.”
“Do you think you’re going to try anything else?” Minghao asked, quietly. Junhui knew what he was really asking — will we have more time together? Will I see you on stage again?
Junhui took a while to craft his answer. “I don’t think so,” he mustered up brightly, but the end of his sentence came out stilted. “I think I’m done.”
Minghao became silent and Junhui smiled, folding him into a hug.
“It’s not the end of the world, Minghao. You know where to find me.”
Besides, Junhui knew: Minghao was different than he was.
He would make it.