Round 25: the light could ever go (but the golden age is over) (1/2)
Title: the light could ever go (but the golden age is over)
Team: Future
Rating: pg-13
Fandom: exo
Pairing: Sehun-centric / minor Sehun/Chanyeol
Summary: The sun is setting, and Sehun is afraid of what the darkness will bring.
Warnings: minor character death, non-linear storytelling
Author's Note: eternal thanks to teamqtpies for their cheerleading and handholding, and to the cutest beta ever who swooped in and rescued me from excessive commas, typos, muddled up tenses and potentially bad fic titles. (title from woodkid's the golden age)
Prompt Used: Block B - Jackpot, supplementary prompts
.'>
Sehun’s been in the studio many times in the last five years.
The sets of people hurrying to-and-fro and the camera tests and hosts reciting their cues have become a familiar sight, both through first hand experience and his computer screen in the editing room. But as a coordi snaps a mike to his shirt, fiddling with it non-stop as if a few centimeters really makes a difference, and a stylist brushes up his makeup, he can’t help but marvel at how surreal it feels.
For one, he’s quite possibly forgotten how a makeup brush felt like on his face.
Sehun is standing by the edge of the constructed arena, idly kicking the lit-up acrylic flooring with the toe of his shoe, a recording camera with a blinking light set up next to him. His mind is in overdrive, buzzing excessively and trying to take in so much all at once that if he had been any less preoccupied with anxiety, he would most probably have a headache.
In less than ten minutes he’d be up on stage again, broadcasted to the entire nation on one of the most anticipated reality shows, live. Finally.
His heart manages to be simultaneously uplifted with excitement and heavy with anxiety, the atmosphere somehow both unbelievably familiar and inexplicably foreign. He lets his gaze linger to the right, hoping to ease the nervousness that has somehow wormed its way into his mind, but all he catches is the producer eyeing him from behind the monitor, face a mix of disdain and smugness.
Judging. He can imagine all the unspoken words in his mind and it sends an uncomfortable feeling up his chest.
To make everything worse, the producer gets up from his chair and makes his way over to Sehun, just as the coordi and stylist finish and hustle to the next person. He tries looking around for any possible natural-looking escape route, maybe he can pretend he needs to get coffee and wriggle his way out, but finds none.
“Hey, Sehun!” Producer lands a heavy slap on his back, deliberately boisterous and loud, “Imagine my surprise when I saw your face on the participant submissions list. Thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But hey, you really are right here in front of me, all mic-ed up and ready. Have to admit I wasn’t exactly thinking of you when I formulated this show,” his amusement is apparent as day, the fake cheeriness grating.
Sehun tamps down his discomfort and offers a tight smile, fists clenched, “I wasn’t exactly expecting this either.”
“You all were so popular back in the day. Now that I think about it, it hasn’t even been that long, but here you are, fighting for that once chance to strike it big again! What a pleasant surprise your fans are going to get.” Then there is the sympathetic gaze Sehun doesn’t appreciate, the unsaid, pitying “I guess you couldn’t help it, you grew up in that environment after all.” playing across his features.
“Anyway, I wish you and your partner the best! You probably want that prize pretty bad, given how you had to quit to participate. Putting it all on the line eh?” His greasy face breaks into a smile Sehun desperately wants to reach up and wipe off completely, but he doesn’t rebut, just nods and thanks him for the unnecessary concern.
there are calls from around the studio for everyone to get into position, the cameramen coming to rest their fingers just above the recording button, ready to click on cue. The studio lights are turned to full brightness and the recording begins.
The host announces a long introduction of the basis of the show, her cheery tone a stark, almost disconcerting contrast from the content. it sounds mocking, almost, the way she smiles and laughs, narrating game rules that in Sehun’s head, boil down to nothing but “let’s all see how pathetic people can be to feed their greed for fame.”
Then an overly informative vcr plays on the screen overhead, helpfully delving into the private lives of every participant for the benefit of the audience. Sehun sees himself on screen, letting the camera crew into his tiny, messy, completely unpresentable apartment. It pauses on a particularly unflattering frame of his face, and he notices they’ve added some captions describing his lifestyle post-exo, the running commentary by the mechanical voice sounding almost taunting.
He filters it all out. It’ll be worth it. A minute of embarrassment, and a chance to start over.
Right.
Sehun closes his eyes. He knows the contents of it all by heart now, the legal document they’d been given to sign and the manual firmly imprinted in his mind.
You bear responsibility for your actions on the show. Elimination is based on public voting on a weekly basis. Voters can base their opinions on how much they like you, your fate is in their hands. We do not guarantee fame, the show is a platform to make it easier for those of you who want to try, but you have to depend on yourselves from here on. Forfeitures will induce a compensation fee of ₩100,000.
Sehun flinches slightly thinking about the gamble they had been willing to take, and he hopes, one second too late, that it hasn’t been caught on camera. Beside him, Joonmyun maintains a frozen, placid smile. He looks around the set, teams parked behind podiums, a couple of faces recognizable.
There are a few more he swears he has never seen, but a quick glance at their name plate tells him they’ve definitely talked at some point in time. There are more idols that he expected, actors and actresses that had seen better days, variety stars. All sporting the same look of thinly-veiled desperation.
Then it’s time for introductions, as the spotlight shines on each person and a prompter from behind the monitor holds up a cue for everyone to outline their reasons for joining the show in more detail. Maybe try to be funny or charming. Earn points with the audience. Curry some favour. It feels pathetic, really.
But it’s too late to go anywhere but on.
He takes a deep breath, smiles, and bows for the audience.
-
The funeral hall is too silent and uncomfortable. everything is muffled and distant― the tamped down sobbing, the pressing of feet on the floor as soundlessly as possible, a cloud of unspoken emotions hanging overheard, too dense and too overwhelming for words.
Sehun reaches a hand up and tugs at the tie around his neck, desperately inching it downwards for some breathing space. He can't remember the last time he's worn one -it might have been three years ago- but it's long enough for the stifling feeling to be unfamiliar and unrelenting.
Maybe over the years he's grown too used to loose t-shirts and khakis. It's like readjusting all over again.
He is hyperaware of how awkward he looks tugging at the knot on his collar, and as he nears the specific hall - flower wreaths positioned in front more of a sign than anything - his hand snaps back to rest casually at his side. There are people here, and there is fear and his heart screams there are people ready to judge and type accounts on the internet before his mind reminds him, one second too late, no there aren't.
There is nobody watching to look if he looks unsightly tugging at his tie, or if he has skipped out on shaving two days in a row. Nobody who cares enough to think anything of it.
Sehun passes it off as habit.
He's slightly nervous. It feels vaguely like crossing a threshold he's not supposed to, or trespassing on sensitive land. He hasn't seen many of them in far too long a time, and it's not like they can go back to before, not after they'd been the ones to trash every imagination of a bond. A small part of him hopes he won't run into any of them at all, as unlikely and fantastical it sounds even to his ears.
He hasn't prayed or hoped for much in a long time, but for the few seconds it takes him to reach the propped open double doors, he wishes with everything in him that none of the faces will register, that none of the people in the hall will have any knowledge of him. That he will be just another face.
No such luck.
He recognizes the silhouettes the moment he turns into the room. There is an older woman slumped near the front, supported by a male and female on either side of her. Her wails are drawn out but muted somehow, grief seemingly drained out of her by shock and consecutive days of swollen eyes.
Sehun has to shake off the haunting echo her cries produce around the hall.
He sees Jongdae and Kyungsoo to the left out of the corner of his eye, faces solemn and silent as they converse, eyes flicking over to the front ever so often. Their voices are hushed, just loud enough to hear, not enough to distinguish. They look up briefly when he enters before returning to the conversation.
Chanyeol is near the front, hunched over and unmoving. Sehun had been so sure he wouldn’t see him again, that Seoul is big enough for them to go another five years of not meeting at least. But here he is, staring at that familiar back for the second time in a month.
He hesitantly makes his way to the front, socked feet struggling to get a grip on the slippery floor. His heart is pounding irrationally fast, too loud and out-of-place for the silence, and he lifts his hand to rest on his chest as if it'd dull the thudding. Chanyeol remains kneeling at the side, figure almost unmoving as he stares blankly ahead.
His gaze is so focused, trained on the area in front of him that if Sehun hadn't known him better, he would have believed he was actually looking at something. He moves towards the front to go through the custom, and after finally bowing at the younger man, who has stopped supporting the woman to return one, sets to take the spot next to Chanyeol. The process of kneeling is a lot more difficult than he expects, and he hears a small crack.
Sehun's not sure if it's because of the heaviness in his heart - the feeling of being cornered in and hollowed out - or if he's just getting stiff with age.
The portrait in front feels too close, a reflection of a reality he hasn’t come to fully accept, and it’s a startling reminder of what life has come to be. He realizes how it had never quite sunk in that this was a face that had become a regular in his life, one that he hadn’t seen in a long time and would never see again.
it gets too much, and he looks away for a second. The image doesn’t leave though, every curve of the eye and chapped skin emblazoned on the back of his eyelids. He’s not ready, not ready to face something he’s avoided time and again, and the sudden proximity, with no way out, is almost suffocating. He tries to regulate his breathing. Two short, sharp intakes of breath, one long exhale.
“So, uh, I didn’t think we would meet again? -so soon,” Sehun starts, fingers rapping on the ground in quick, unsteady successions. Chanyeol finally looks up, his eyes haggard and worn out, a small smile forming on his lips, “I guess it’s fate huh?”
He isn’t attempting conversation this time, but Sehun figures Chanyeol needs time to deal with everything, clearly exhausted and troubled. He can’t help noticing that, without the make-up, the wrinkles around his eyes stand out even more. Sehun reaches a hesitant hand to his back and Chanyeol startles at the touch. He doesn’t say anything, but it feels intrusive to rest his arm there for any longer than necessary, so Sehun awkwardly brings it down to his lap.
He is debating between running away from the stifling atmosphere and staying for the sake of nostalgia (because truthfully he wants to know how the rest have been doing) when another silhouette appears in the doorway, the light from outside stretching his shadow across the ground.
Everybody turns to look, a brief glance out of the corner of the eye, all curious as to who bothered to come beneath the unconcerned facade. Sehun isn’t sure if he hallucinates the hush that falls over the room. He hadn’t known it was possible for Chanyeol to get any stiffer, but he tenses up almost immediately.
All eyes train on joonmyun as he makes his way to the front, offers incense, and bows. Joonmyun, with his hair combed back and graceful movements, looking not a day over twenty-five. Joonmyun, with his pressed black suit and contained exterior, as collected as Sehun remembers from all those years ago.
He doesn’t stay longer than necessary at the front before walking over and stopping in front of Chanyeol. He sits down, cross-legged, ignoring the open hostility surprisingly well. Sehun supposes he’s had five years to acclimate to such treatment. Chanyeol makes an obvious show of angling his body towards Sehun.
Joonmyun raises an eyebrow, all perfectly trimmed hair looking too delicate on pale, almost glowing skin, "You guys have met? Before this? How?" Almost right away, Sehun notices how he attempts to feign a neutral expression of casual interest, but he also immediately sees the screws already turning beneath the surface.
"By accident," Chanyeol replies, and keeps it at that, palm coming to rest on Sehun’s knee to keep him from speaking. He doesn’t look Joonmyun in the eye. Then he rises abruptly, excusing himself and mumbling something about getting back to work before hurrying out of the hall. Sehun is about to follow, panic unconsciously rising in his chest when Joonmyun shifts to face him, firmly resting his hand on his shoulder to stop him from leaving.
Sehun knows he’s never been very good at dealing with people- he still has no idea how to- so when Joonmyun suggests having to speak to him urgently, all he can do is nod numbly.
-
He wakes up to a large amount of sound in the dorm. in his groggy state, he can barely make out the words, just a mix of people screaming and pacing and a lot of low murmuring.
Over the years he has honed an instinct for sound, a sort of hypersensitivity that instantly tags a noise with a label, a mental image to make it easily comprehensible, and this time instinct tells him it's bad - it brings back images of the sound he'd woken up to the day they realized Kris had packed everything and left the dorm too early for it to be normal, and the day Baekhyun had gotten too drunk on the streets and caused them to dominate headlines for all the wrong reasons. So he bolts for the door, desperately hoping to be wrong, praying and wishing that in the span of time it takes for him to cross the room to the door, things will quieten down.
They don't. The sound of his room door creaking open hushes the room into a tense silence for a moment, but the next second the commotion starts up again, as if deciding there is no use for secrecy.
He blinks multiple times for everything to come into focus, his vision adjusting to the harsh morning light. Joonmyun is in front of the television in the living room, a few of the members on the other end, warily eyeing the distance between them. His eyes burn and he loses focus again, but from where he is he thinks he can make out anger. The other members are scattered around the living room, all of them steadfastly avoiding eye contact and explanations.
His head still feels too heavy to be able to check if anyone’s missing, but when his vision clears Sehun thinks there’s just a hint of fear there as well.
He turns to the clock on the wall, counting the number of hours he’d been asleep and disconnected from the world. Six. That isn’t very long, and the shorter window of time reassures him, ever so slightly.
Still, he vaguely feels like the only one out of the obvious loop, and that uncertainty scares him slightly. being the only one in the room unaware of the situation makes him feel more vulnerable.
He isn’t fully awake yet when all of a sudden, Baekhyun almost launches himself across the living room, barely held back, by Kyungsoo and Chanyeol. Yixing keeps a hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder, attempting to look some semblance of calm, murmuring quiet words of reassurance, but Sehun can see the mild frustration on his face.
And then it’s quiet. Baekhyun’s heavy, ragged breathing the only source of noise in the room. They’re staring at each other, nobody taking the liberty of beginning to speak. joonmyun looks troubled, the creases in his forehead apparent as he seems to decide on something to say.
Sehun looks from one of them to the next. The silence somehow manages to feel more rife with tension than the screaming, everyone a single syllable away from breaking down, just waiting for the balance to tip.
Then Joonmyun straightens a little and clears his throat, saying, “I just-”, and the scales tip.
“Shut up. Don’t make excuses. Don’t even talk. I might shove your head up your asshole-” Baekhyun says, voice rising and painfully restrained, as Joonmyun attempts to start over again.
“-oh God I said don’t speak. Don’t.” Baekhyun sneers, contempt dripping from every word, “Nobody here has time for any of your bullshit and nothing you say will change anything because we all know what you’re like. We know exactly what you’ve done and none of the shit you spew will change anything. You thought we would sit back and let you do this didn’t you? I’m gonna expose everything you’ve done and everything you are.” Sehun is a little scared, he allows himself to admit, because Baekhyun looks nearly deranged, face red and eyes screaming bloody murder. Sehun realizes nobody around him is hushing him though, just maintaining a firm grip on his arms to stop it from escalating into a full scale brawl.
Joonmyun seems determined to say something, troubled expression still in place, and Sehun isn’t sure if the way he looks genuinely concerned is unsettling or not, “And if you understood you would know I was doing this for our own good! It’s for everyone, you included!”, he shouts over the din, stepping towards Baekhyun.
The rest pull Baekhyun back as the tiny bubble of composure he’s left bursts completely, and he screams, voice cracking and twisting into an indistinguishable gurgle, “FOR US? You did it for us? You’re telling me that you leaked rumours of Chanyeol staying over at that actresses’ place overnight without consulting anyone for us? Have you gone mad? I cannot think of any reason-”
Sehun is pretty sure he gasps. He can’t remember for sure because reality and his mind had split ways then, the facts sinking in too fast and too soon for him to process the situation. His mind closes in on itself, voices bouncing around relentlessly and memories he never thinks of anymore resurfacing all at once.
The rumours aren’t true. He knows they aren’t.
“It helps us stay relevant! Whether you like it or not it got us to the top of search rankings and news portals and all those forums for the first time in years! At least we’ll be going out remembered!” Baekhyun falls silent at that, the redness of his face fading into shock and incredulity. Time seems to have slowed to a crawl as everyone seems to struggle to come up with a reaction.
Jongin looks lost, looking all around before focusing on a spot in the ground, his gaze on the marble unwavering. It’s a sign that he’s attempting to block out everything. Sehun doesn’t notice he’s looking for something to support his weight until his back makes painful contact with the door frame. He sees a lot, all the reactions, but none of them seem to make any sense in his mind.
Baekhyun lets out a shaky sigh, backing away slowly into his room. He hits a few corners on the way, but he doesn’t flinch.
They don’t put out any official clarifications.
-
Everland has changed a lot in a decade.
It's the first thing Sehun tells himself when he feeds his entry ticket into the automated machine (but not before fumbling with the slot like any other middle-aged man who hasn't been able to keep pace with the world). The second thing he’s reminded of is that he's getting old. For one, he can't remember the exact last time he's been here, and for what he does remember it seems like an entire lifetime ago, memories foggy and disjointed.
Everything feels different even as small waves of familiarity wash over him, like the ticket booth building, repainted but preserved in it's original glory, and the roller coaster right up front that he remembers screaming his lungs out on on live broadcast. That may have been five, maybe six? Seven? years ago.
There's a small scrunch underneath his foot that unceremoniously pulls him out of his thoughts. He's wandered further down the path by now, the plots of bright flower combinations a little dizzying, his eyes trying to squint past the glare of the sunlight filtering past his fingers.
It's August and there are tons of kids - all looking so painfully young and hopeful - milling around, taking full advantage of summer break. They rush by him without a second glance, from one queue to the other, entire lives seeming to revolve around the short-sighted goal of reaching as fast as possible. They look thirteen, fourteen at most, shrill laughter and beckoning screams ringing too loudly through the air as they gesticulate in the general direction of another ride.
He wonders,, if in another universe, this would have been him.
Sehun turns slightly to survey his surroundings. He'd been sent to scope out the park as a possible film set for a projected drama. It’s a tedious job that he never looks forward to doing. He fingers the camera hanging around his neck, fiddling with the knobs and clicking the lense cap on and off, knowing he should be getting somewhere to even hope of meeting the 9pm deadline.
It's only a little past one, but Sehun figures it's okay, he probably needs the time. He slowly pulls open the map he'd snagged on his way to the entrance, frowning as his eyes struggle to take in every inch of the colourful, cartoon-annotated illustration.
The section of the park he’d been told to focus on is somewhere near the back, and he spends nearly a minute scrutinizing every corner of the map before he locates the entrance. He is alone today, but unconsciously throws a glance over his shoulder, noting with relief that nobody seems to have noticed.
Sehun's never been very good at directions, and some part of him is convinced the one he decides on is the exact opposite, but there's nobody nearby to ask, so he hesitantly lifts a foot to the left. He eyes the area around him for road signs or landscape markers, but after the first five minutes or so everything starts to look similar.
Bright. Fantastical. A little foreign and discomforting.
A horde of kids rush past him to the entrance of a nearby castle, excited chatter filling the air completely. Sehun notes, with a slightly immature sort of bitterness, that they don't seem to be having any trouble with finding their way around. He briefly wonders if the difficulty with recognition is another sign of old age. The fact that he's way past his prime doesn't help the bitter taste reality is leaving in his mouth.
Maybe no matter how jaded he thinks himself to be, there is something about youth or freedom that will always feel wonderfully refreshing. He finds himself drawn to the pack of children, tracing their movements with his eyes, feet drawn to the steps they’ve ran. His line of vision stops abruptly at the sight of a long lanky figure dressed in colourful clothes, face painted beyond recognition and balloons peeking out of his pockets.
Once upon a time he would say clowns gave him anxiety, that they were a phobia even. He remembers crying on that third-grade trip after one had offered him a balloon, and screaming even louder when it had tried to comfort him.
There was something about painted faces stretched into false smiles, that deceiving cheeriness and the way they were always bright that seemed so incredibly inhuman. He remembers scaring himself into thinking they could be very likely be plotting murder beneath all that make-up, but on the surface it was always smiling, always ready to entertain and bring laughter. And the audience would never know.
He doesn’t know when he stopped being afraid.
They’re commonplace in the theme park, stuffy character costumes and overenthusiastic usage of face paint. This one is like everyone else, like the one he’d passed near the entrance, the one he sees on those ads they play on tv. But it’s different.
Sehun is surprised he sees anything past the layers of colour and costume adornments, but he manages, somehow. It’s a face he recognizes immediately, one that had been a constant in his life for far too long for it to suddenly disappear. And with the way Chanyeol flinches mid-turn, Sehun supposes Chanyeol sees him, too.
Chanyeol shifts awkwardly and avoids eye contact, entertaining himself with twisting a balloon flower. A flock of elementary school children scramble past, snorting with gleeful laughter at the sight of balloons as they form an orderly line in front of him. Almost immediately, Chanyeol slaps a smile onto his face, digging into his pockets for different animals and colours to hand out and patting them on the head. He keeps his focus trained on them, eyes twinkling and gaze unwavering, but Sehun knows Chanyeol sees him.
He's seen that exact same body act the exact same way for more than a decade, steadfastly keeping his gaze channelled somewhere so he wouldn't have to tear away and meet anything straight on. Chanyeol had been really good at it too, still is. He'd always been avoidant. but Sehun has seen enough to look right past it.
He makes no move to leave, waiting as he watches Chanyeol, watches as nostalgia filters up past the barriers he’s constructed in his mind, as each action sparks off something so much more. The last kid leaves, bouncing along with a flower-wand in hand, and chanyeol finally turns around, slowly, deliberating.
The smile he draws up is hesitant for a while, the red paint around his lips cracking and distorted by the action itself that it looks a little maniacal, but then it spreads, taking on its familiar wide grin, firmly plastering itself onto his face, and all Sehun can see is Chanyeol. Sehun remembers him being good at faking smiles too.
For all the readiness he's convinced himself to feel, his body freezes, and Sehun almost forgets how to move, the nerves connecting his brain to his limbs ceasing to function. All he can hear is his heart thudding terrifying loud and heavy as Chanyeol starts walking towards him, until the distance between them has been closed like the years that have passed.
He holds onto the inside of his jeans pocket, desperate to grasp onto any semblance of reality. Sehun reminds himself to calm down, act as natural as possible. Like nothing's changed. He almost wants to burst out laughing from the ridiculousness of that last thought.
He hasn't looked any of them up since the day they split, didn't know how to face them without making it awkward, and he hadn’t been prepared for any chance meetings either. He tries to reassure himself, figuring that it's Chanyeol, Chanyeol who never shuts up and Chanyeol who makes sure he grins too wide and too boyishly for everything, so in theory it should be fine. Easy, almost.
But then he realizes that the Chanyeol he remembers is twenty three, hair cut in a bob and all gangly limbs and tendency to bounce. Attached as the ever smiling face of exo, the largest popularity magnet on the scene. Chanyeol is thirty five now. He's thirty five and folding balloon sculptures in a theme park, the mv of the newest boy group, half his age, playing behind him on a huge LED screen. None of the regular visitors around seem to have any idea who he is.
Chanyeol is, in all likelihood, tired of pretending now.
He is thirty five, and Sehun realizes with mild horror that it has been almost twenty years since the first time he's seen him, back in the dingy practice room, thick glasses and hoodie with dubious english words on them hanging off his gangly frame. And that it is possibly the first time in all those years he has seen chanyeol smile so genuinely.
Or maybe he had seen it, one day many years ago, but that memory has faded into nothing underneath all the picture-perfect copies of white teeth. Chanyeol is tired and there are more lines and wrinkles etched into his face than fillers and botox can upkeep, but he looks content.
In fact, his clown suit sits slightly big on his frame, and he's definitely gotten thinner, but Chanyeol looks nothing but happy. He's almost jealous. It's the kind of happy and content he wishes he had. It's the kind of happy he doesn't understand being able to feel when you once had everything and now have nothing.
Sehun clears his throat, a hoarse, extremely unattractive sound, but it elicits a smile from Chanyeol. He grapples hopelessly in his mind for something to say.
Chanyeol is the one who starts the conversation, smile almost pained, “It’s been pretty long, huh. We all kinda just split up and disappeared-”
"I-I was actually looking for one section of the park for production scopes. report by the end of the workday,” He blabbers on about the first thing that comes to mind, irrelevant or not, “But I'm getting old and useless and I guess my sense of direction is worsening. Didn't expect to see you here, of all places." He'd meant for it to come out sounding light-hearted but it sounds the furthest thing from humourous and he shifts on the balls of his feet uneasily, unsure of how to continue.
Chanyeol looks slightly taken aback. Then he looks worried, and Sehun doesn't know why, but that sets him slightly on edge.
"Sehun," Chanyeol says, brows furrowing underneath all the face paint, "You're not old. You're what? thirty-three? That's not old at all."
"Just look at all those kids debuting half-" Sehun starts to defend himself, gesturing at the screen, still broadcasting the video behind Chanyeol. Then he pauses, detecting something akin to pity on Chanyeol's face. It's hardly noticeable underneath the paint, but it's not like Sehun isn't accustomed to seeing underneath layers of powder and tint.
“I- I feel alive, you know? It doesn’t pay as much, or much at all, but it pays enough, I do a little of what I like on the side, busking occasionally along the streets, no worries as to who’s looking. I’m happy. Really happy. You know it too Sehun, isn’t life so much more now?”
And Sehun wants so desperately to scream life isn’t any more, that it feels so little and so lacking, but the expression on Chanyeol’s face is enough to ward him off. He fights to keep a neutral expression, but knows that it’s a bust.
"Sehun," Chanyeol starts, concerned, but something in his tone kicks off Sehun's defense mechanisms and he jerks back suddenly, letting out a hollow laugh, "Ah yeah, almost forgot about the reason i was here in the first place. I have work to do, else I’ll lose even this source of income. Mind pointing me in the direction of," he glances at the map, stoutly refusing eye contact, “American Adventure?”
Chanyeol looks mildly hurt, but musters a smile anyway and lifts a hand to the right. "Just walk til you see the boat ride, then turn left, you’ll know you’re there when you see the looping coasters."
“I-I’ll see you around...town. It was great meeting you,” Sehun knows great isn’t supposed to equate to uncomfortable and awkward, but he doesn’t deny that the chance meeting sparks off a tiny burst of warmth and familiarity within him.
Then he hurries off, taking care to appear engrossed in the map.
-
They need a date to reschedule their variety show filming.
They’re off in the mountains somewhere in Gangwon for the show - Sehun isn’t sure where exactly - he’d heard it in passing but his nonexistent sense of direction and the winding, forested roads they’ve passed do nothing to help. They are continuously reminded of production budget, that every minute is money lost and money lost on a group on the decline, but torrential wind keeps them confined in their hotel rooms for the day.
Sehun looks around his shared room with Baekhyun. It’s not too shabby, wallpaper peeling in places and carpet a little dusty, but equipped with all the basic necessities. Yet he can’t help comparing it to the best they’ve had at their prime.
It’s a bell curve every group has to experience, one that they started their careers off well aware of. The gradual upgrades as they climb towards their peak, the exhilarating feeling of getting better treatment, better lodging, better food as they ascend through the tiers. But also the knowledge, tucked away in corners of their minds, that once they hit the peak of the curve there is nowhere to go but down.
Sehun knows they’re sliding down well now.
It’s evening, the rain pouring mercilessly onto the tiny tiled balcony outside, the television barely able to be heard over the noise. He comes out of the shower to find Baekhyun cross-legged on the bed, flipping through channels listlessly. The weather report. A weekend drama. Some documentary about wild animals.
He doesn’t bother listening to the content, fingers pressing into the buttons just for the sake of entertaining himself.
Some changes are so gradual, so slow that one hardly notices anything amiss unless you place the beginning and the end side-by-side and realize that all those minor changes have added up to a whole damn lot over the years. And that day, with the wind howling outside and rain mercilessly whipping dry, wilting trees about, in one extraordinary moment of clarity, Sehun sees Baekhyun in a quiet, muted, almost disjointed light.
And the picture is terrifying.
Baekhyun, who was once the life of the party both on and off screen, has never looked so dead in Sehun’s memory. He remembers him getting more tired and less obnoxious, but that was the effect of growing older, wasn’t it? They were all growing old, growing up.
And then suddenly the quick flipping of clashing audio stops, the jerky interweaving of sounds calming into one uniform tone. A clear voice filters through, a celebrity Sehun cannot place in a third world country, talking, interview-style, about the children she’s met who have nothing but are still optimistic, appreciative of the little things. They’re interspersed with video montages of her mingling with the children, all bright-eyed and smiling, clambering after each other in a muddy field.
Baekhyun seems engaged, straightening up and dragging himself nearer to the screen. Sehun watches the screen carefully, half-doubtful as to the authenticity of the actresses’ emotions. That should be one too many tears, isn’t it? It reminds him of them at the GDA a few years back, trying to appear like they hadn’t lose their rookie mindset.
He guesses it is a nice documentary, but nothing he finds particularly interesting or out of the ordinary. He switches his gaze to Baekhyun, wondering vaguely what has caught his attention.
“What does it mean to feel alive, Sehun?” Baekhyun suddenly says, quiet, his voice thoughtful.
He’s caught off-guard, the words caught in his throat, incoherent and unsure of how to react.
It seems like forever has passed before he finally manages a strangled, “What?”
“How do you know you’re alive?” Baekhyun hasn’t torn his gaze from the screen yet, intently studying the video, eyes trained on every singular movement.
“We’re conscious? Breathing?” He offers dumbly, not fully comprehending the situation. He’s very sure Baekhyun was expecting something more profound and more worthy of existential-centric conversations, but has nothing to offer. He doesn’t know the answer himself. It’s not something he thinks about often, he guesses.
“No, but what makes it worthwhile?”
Sehun tries very hard to think of an answer, one that is justifiable and one that makes sense to himself, but comes up with nothing.
“I think- I think it’s the adrenaline rush. Of knowing it’s great to be alive. That even between an option with no worries and feeling nothing, the rush of living makes it worthwhile. LIfe right now - it’s just going through the motions, and I’ve become better at them - really great, if I’m honest -” Baekhyun cracks a small, humourless smile, “But there’s no meaning to anything anymore. It’s actually tortorous. I-I don’t feel alive sometimes.”
“You look it.” It escapes faster than he can control, and he hurries to find an explanation, reaching for an apology when Baekhyun smiles wryly, features drawn up half-heartedly like he no longer has the energy for the full action.
“It’s alright. We all need some honesty sometimes. And it’s reassuring to know I’m still human.” Baekhyun says, gaze unreadable as he watches Sehun. It’s a little unnerving, because in that moment Sehun swears Baekhyun sees right through him, like he is slowly dissecting his mind, like Baekhyun knows his thoughts better than he does himself.
Morning comes faster than necessary, the phone in the room ringing shrilly long before the sun is due over the horizon. Sehun reaches a groggy hand to the bedside table, hazily groping along it before clamping a hand over the receiver. Baekhyun stirs in his sleep and stretches, scrambling halfway up the bed, sending a quizzical look across the way.
It’s an automated morning call telling them to get to the lobby to prepare for filming before the weather gets unpredictable later in the day.
Short hours of sleep are no longer anything new, his body used to the long hours of exhaustion, but mornings are still difficult, and he still has to drag himself out of bed for the filming. Sehun knows very well it is their last. After which they would maybe release an album, promote one last time, and then slowly, naturally, fade out of the spotlight (or what’s left of it), announce a sudden disbandment, find reasons to fade back into the blur of society.
The conversation from yesterday remains in his mind for some reason, even as he makes his way to the lift, steps heavy.
He is worried, slightly fearful at the impending loss of what he has known to be life over the past decade. It seems infinitely frightening to try to assimilate into a life so vastly different from the only one he has grown accustomed to, at a time when he no longer has the benefit of youth to slowly figure his life out.
It’s hard to carry on when you know the end is near.
But the end of what, exactly? It’s not exo. The eventual disbandment of a group has always been unavoidable and ingrained in them, they started knowing full well they would one day go their separate ways. He can’t place what it is exactly.
He is distracted even as a mike is hooked onto his collar, the camera crew getting into position. He barely notices anything before the producer shouts a sharp, curt, “Ready.”
Chanyeol holds his arms wide apart and claps his hands together for the opening slate, smile already plastered on his face. On instinct, they all turn to the different spots of flashing red lights to begin their introduction, order perfected over years of practice. After days of dreading, of heavy-heartedness, it is the beginning of the end.
Years of experience later, they are a lot better with variety cameras than during Showtime, and right off the bat Chanyeol cracks a joke to get them started. Everyone bursts out into over exaggerated laughter. Joonmyun falls to the floor, doubled over, the way he always does. At least it looks a whole lot more natural now.
They know exactly what to say for the perfect captions to be edited in for maximum impact, how to make humour sound more charming, less obnoxious. Their scripted lines sound a lot more natural, even as Joonmyun, as MC for the day, rambles off the setting of today’s mission. Sehun blanks out, his thoughts unconsciously drifting to snippets of time stored from the last decade, and how he’d always wondered how it would feel to no longer delude himself into living in the moment and putting off the future.
It feels strangely...dull. Everything feels the same, yet different. It’s weird how he feels so hollow inside, but on the outside nothing has changed.
Over the years he’s mastered the act of nodding every few seconds, and furrowing his brow ever so slightly to appear just the right amount of thoughtful when someone else speaks. It’s not enough to look confused and attract attention, but just enough to not appear spaced-out. He prides himself on mastering the technique as the words filter past him, not stopping to register or sink in.
The truth is they’re running out of time.
Most of the original fandom have grown past the idol-phase, too busy trying to survive in the world now that they are out of the shelter of growing up. Young fans are way too preoccupied with the ripped physique of hip twenty year olds to bother with thirty year old wrinkles.
They are reaching the end of their shelf-life and everyone is all too aware of that, actions sometimes overly loud and carefree to overcompensate for the worry looming over them. Joonmyun finishes the explanation, and Sehun lets out a cheer to fill the atmosphere, just long enough for the first take to be done.
He gathers later that it’s a race on one of the hiking routes, and he is grouped with Baekhyun and Jongdae. It’s not a lot of information, but he guesses the good thing about being paired up with them is that he can be relegated to a background role, let them do the talking.
All throughout the day they keep the spirits high, and Sehun marvels at the way Baekhyun manages to come alive in front of the camera, shaking off lethargy like an old piece of clothing left in the laundry basket. He speaks into the handheld camcorder, animated and shameless, and Sehun is sure he is picking phrases from a mental collection of humourous things he’s heard.
It takes them twelve hours to get enough footage. Sehun estimates he has spoken a grand total of six times, trying to get screen time when he can, but he doesn’t know how much of it will be edited out, deemed not interesting enough. He doesn’t know when it got so competitive, but throughout the day he tries to stick close to their shaky camera or walk along the VJ, just so he has a chance of fitting into a frame.
It’s evening by the time filming finishes for the day, and they trudge back, noiselessly, to their rooms.
The sun is setting and Sehun is afraid of what the darkness will bring.
Ratings are dismal, as they’re told, gathered in the same practice room they were formed in, all those years ago. Nobody says a word, knowing full well what they implications are. Sehun focuses on the ceiling lights, counting them in every direction possible, waiting to see how long it takes for them to blind him.
It takes him eleven sets of twenty counts to start seeing stars and coloured spots. Another two before he hears the manager announcing the inevitable, episodes cut down to six from ten, used to make space for an upcoming variety show the station has high hopes for.
The last episode features them in the recording studio, taking turns to introduce the recording process, amping up the comments for the laughs. Nobody mentions anything about it being their eleventh album, or their last. Nobody is supposed to know before it actually happens. Nothing before the day people wake up to the news on the top of online portals.
He goes over his lines, all neatly outlined on a sheet. It’s a full album, eleven songs, two recycled from earlier versions, and all his lines can still fit into a single page. The cameras are running, and so when Chanyeol says into his handheld, “Look at Sehun! Only one sheet of paper.” he returns in a beat, “At least I’m not struggling like Jongdae. With the way he’s shuffling, he won’t be able to find the pages.”
That’s a lie. Jongdae manages his stack of fifteen better than Sehun does with his sheet but they laugh, and Chanyeol moves onto the next member.
They finish recording pretty soon, and Sehun guesses the crew is eager to wrap up. They all gather for the closing, taking turns to say short, unnecessary reflections, speaking of futures they know will not come to fruition. They even throw in the old cringe-worthy showtime greeting just for laughs.
Then the tapes stop.
-
Next
Team: Future
Rating: pg-13
Fandom: exo
Pairing: Sehun-centric / minor Sehun/Chanyeol
Summary: The sun is setting, and Sehun is afraid of what the darkness will bring.
Warnings: minor character death, non-linear storytelling
Author's Note: eternal thanks to teamqtpies for their cheerleading and handholding, and to the cutest beta ever who swooped in and rescued me from excessive commas, typos, muddled up tenses and potentially bad fic titles. (title from woodkid's the golden age)
Prompt Used: Block B - Jackpot, supplementary prompts
.'>
Sehun’s been in the studio many times in the last five years.
The sets of people hurrying to-and-fro and the camera tests and hosts reciting their cues have become a familiar sight, both through first hand experience and his computer screen in the editing room. But as a coordi snaps a mike to his shirt, fiddling with it non-stop as if a few centimeters really makes a difference, and a stylist brushes up his makeup, he can’t help but marvel at how surreal it feels.
For one, he’s quite possibly forgotten how a makeup brush felt like on his face.
Sehun is standing by the edge of the constructed arena, idly kicking the lit-up acrylic flooring with the toe of his shoe, a recording camera with a blinking light set up next to him. His mind is in overdrive, buzzing excessively and trying to take in so much all at once that if he had been any less preoccupied with anxiety, he would most probably have a headache.
In less than ten minutes he’d be up on stage again, broadcasted to the entire nation on one of the most anticipated reality shows, live. Finally.
His heart manages to be simultaneously uplifted with excitement and heavy with anxiety, the atmosphere somehow both unbelievably familiar and inexplicably foreign. He lets his gaze linger to the right, hoping to ease the nervousness that has somehow wormed its way into his mind, but all he catches is the producer eyeing him from behind the monitor, face a mix of disdain and smugness.
Judging. He can imagine all the unspoken words in his mind and it sends an uncomfortable feeling up his chest.
To make everything worse, the producer gets up from his chair and makes his way over to Sehun, just as the coordi and stylist finish and hustle to the next person. He tries looking around for any possible natural-looking escape route, maybe he can pretend he needs to get coffee and wriggle his way out, but finds none.
“Hey, Sehun!” Producer lands a heavy slap on his back, deliberately boisterous and loud, “Imagine my surprise when I saw your face on the participant submissions list. Thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But hey, you really are right here in front of me, all mic-ed up and ready. Have to admit I wasn’t exactly thinking of you when I formulated this show,” his amusement is apparent as day, the fake cheeriness grating.
Sehun tamps down his discomfort and offers a tight smile, fists clenched, “I wasn’t exactly expecting this either.”
“You all were so popular back in the day. Now that I think about it, it hasn’t even been that long, but here you are, fighting for that once chance to strike it big again! What a pleasant surprise your fans are going to get.” Then there is the sympathetic gaze Sehun doesn’t appreciate, the unsaid, pitying “I guess you couldn’t help it, you grew up in that environment after all.” playing across his features.
“Anyway, I wish you and your partner the best! You probably want that prize pretty bad, given how you had to quit to participate. Putting it all on the line eh?” His greasy face breaks into a smile Sehun desperately wants to reach up and wipe off completely, but he doesn’t rebut, just nods and thanks him for the unnecessary concern.
there are calls from around the studio for everyone to get into position, the cameramen coming to rest their fingers just above the recording button, ready to click on cue. The studio lights are turned to full brightness and the recording begins.
The host announces a long introduction of the basis of the show, her cheery tone a stark, almost disconcerting contrast from the content. it sounds mocking, almost, the way she smiles and laughs, narrating game rules that in Sehun’s head, boil down to nothing but “let’s all see how pathetic people can be to feed their greed for fame.”
Then an overly informative vcr plays on the screen overhead, helpfully delving into the private lives of every participant for the benefit of the audience. Sehun sees himself on screen, letting the camera crew into his tiny, messy, completely unpresentable apartment. It pauses on a particularly unflattering frame of his face, and he notices they’ve added some captions describing his lifestyle post-exo, the running commentary by the mechanical voice sounding almost taunting.
He filters it all out. It’ll be worth it. A minute of embarrassment, and a chance to start over.
Right.
Sehun closes his eyes. He knows the contents of it all by heart now, the legal document they’d been given to sign and the manual firmly imprinted in his mind.
You bear responsibility for your actions on the show. Elimination is based on public voting on a weekly basis. Voters can base their opinions on how much they like you, your fate is in their hands. We do not guarantee fame, the show is a platform to make it easier for those of you who want to try, but you have to depend on yourselves from here on. Forfeitures will induce a compensation fee of ₩100,000.
Sehun flinches slightly thinking about the gamble they had been willing to take, and he hopes, one second too late, that it hasn’t been caught on camera. Beside him, Joonmyun maintains a frozen, placid smile. He looks around the set, teams parked behind podiums, a couple of faces recognizable.
There are a few more he swears he has never seen, but a quick glance at their name plate tells him they’ve definitely talked at some point in time. There are more idols that he expected, actors and actresses that had seen better days, variety stars. All sporting the same look of thinly-veiled desperation.
Then it’s time for introductions, as the spotlight shines on each person and a prompter from behind the monitor holds up a cue for everyone to outline their reasons for joining the show in more detail. Maybe try to be funny or charming. Earn points with the audience. Curry some favour. It feels pathetic, really.
But it’s too late to go anywhere but on.
He takes a deep breath, smiles, and bows for the audience.
-
The funeral hall is too silent and uncomfortable. everything is muffled and distant― the tamped down sobbing, the pressing of feet on the floor as soundlessly as possible, a cloud of unspoken emotions hanging overheard, too dense and too overwhelming for words.
Sehun reaches a hand up and tugs at the tie around his neck, desperately inching it downwards for some breathing space. He can't remember the last time he's worn one -it might have been three years ago- but it's long enough for the stifling feeling to be unfamiliar and unrelenting.
Maybe over the years he's grown too used to loose t-shirts and khakis. It's like readjusting all over again.
He is hyperaware of how awkward he looks tugging at the knot on his collar, and as he nears the specific hall - flower wreaths positioned in front more of a sign than anything - his hand snaps back to rest casually at his side. There are people here, and there is fear and his heart screams there are people ready to judge and type accounts on the internet before his mind reminds him, one second too late, no there aren't.
There is nobody watching to look if he looks unsightly tugging at his tie, or if he has skipped out on shaving two days in a row. Nobody who cares enough to think anything of it.
Sehun passes it off as habit.
He's slightly nervous. It feels vaguely like crossing a threshold he's not supposed to, or trespassing on sensitive land. He hasn't seen many of them in far too long a time, and it's not like they can go back to before, not after they'd been the ones to trash every imagination of a bond. A small part of him hopes he won't run into any of them at all, as unlikely and fantastical it sounds even to his ears.
He hasn't prayed or hoped for much in a long time, but for the few seconds it takes him to reach the propped open double doors, he wishes with everything in him that none of the faces will register, that none of the people in the hall will have any knowledge of him. That he will be just another face.
No such luck.
He recognizes the silhouettes the moment he turns into the room. There is an older woman slumped near the front, supported by a male and female on either side of her. Her wails are drawn out but muted somehow, grief seemingly drained out of her by shock and consecutive days of swollen eyes.
Sehun has to shake off the haunting echo her cries produce around the hall.
He sees Jongdae and Kyungsoo to the left out of the corner of his eye, faces solemn and silent as they converse, eyes flicking over to the front ever so often. Their voices are hushed, just loud enough to hear, not enough to distinguish. They look up briefly when he enters before returning to the conversation.
Chanyeol is near the front, hunched over and unmoving. Sehun had been so sure he wouldn’t see him again, that Seoul is big enough for them to go another five years of not meeting at least. But here he is, staring at that familiar back for the second time in a month.
He hesitantly makes his way to the front, socked feet struggling to get a grip on the slippery floor. His heart is pounding irrationally fast, too loud and out-of-place for the silence, and he lifts his hand to rest on his chest as if it'd dull the thudding. Chanyeol remains kneeling at the side, figure almost unmoving as he stares blankly ahead.
His gaze is so focused, trained on the area in front of him that if Sehun hadn't known him better, he would have believed he was actually looking at something. He moves towards the front to go through the custom, and after finally bowing at the younger man, who has stopped supporting the woman to return one, sets to take the spot next to Chanyeol. The process of kneeling is a lot more difficult than he expects, and he hears a small crack.
Sehun's not sure if it's because of the heaviness in his heart - the feeling of being cornered in and hollowed out - or if he's just getting stiff with age.
The portrait in front feels too close, a reflection of a reality he hasn’t come to fully accept, and it’s a startling reminder of what life has come to be. He realizes how it had never quite sunk in that this was a face that had become a regular in his life, one that he hadn’t seen in a long time and would never see again.
it gets too much, and he looks away for a second. The image doesn’t leave though, every curve of the eye and chapped skin emblazoned on the back of his eyelids. He’s not ready, not ready to face something he’s avoided time and again, and the sudden proximity, with no way out, is almost suffocating. He tries to regulate his breathing. Two short, sharp intakes of breath, one long exhale.
“So, uh, I didn’t think we would meet again? -so soon,” Sehun starts, fingers rapping on the ground in quick, unsteady successions. Chanyeol finally looks up, his eyes haggard and worn out, a small smile forming on his lips, “I guess it’s fate huh?”
He isn’t attempting conversation this time, but Sehun figures Chanyeol needs time to deal with everything, clearly exhausted and troubled. He can’t help noticing that, without the make-up, the wrinkles around his eyes stand out even more. Sehun reaches a hesitant hand to his back and Chanyeol startles at the touch. He doesn’t say anything, but it feels intrusive to rest his arm there for any longer than necessary, so Sehun awkwardly brings it down to his lap.
He is debating between running away from the stifling atmosphere and staying for the sake of nostalgia (because truthfully he wants to know how the rest have been doing) when another silhouette appears in the doorway, the light from outside stretching his shadow across the ground.
Everybody turns to look, a brief glance out of the corner of the eye, all curious as to who bothered to come beneath the unconcerned facade. Sehun isn’t sure if he hallucinates the hush that falls over the room. He hadn’t known it was possible for Chanyeol to get any stiffer, but he tenses up almost immediately.
All eyes train on joonmyun as he makes his way to the front, offers incense, and bows. Joonmyun, with his hair combed back and graceful movements, looking not a day over twenty-five. Joonmyun, with his pressed black suit and contained exterior, as collected as Sehun remembers from all those years ago.
He doesn’t stay longer than necessary at the front before walking over and stopping in front of Chanyeol. He sits down, cross-legged, ignoring the open hostility surprisingly well. Sehun supposes he’s had five years to acclimate to such treatment. Chanyeol makes an obvious show of angling his body towards Sehun.
Joonmyun raises an eyebrow, all perfectly trimmed hair looking too delicate on pale, almost glowing skin, "You guys have met? Before this? How?" Almost right away, Sehun notices how he attempts to feign a neutral expression of casual interest, but he also immediately sees the screws already turning beneath the surface.
"By accident," Chanyeol replies, and keeps it at that, palm coming to rest on Sehun’s knee to keep him from speaking. He doesn’t look Joonmyun in the eye. Then he rises abruptly, excusing himself and mumbling something about getting back to work before hurrying out of the hall. Sehun is about to follow, panic unconsciously rising in his chest when Joonmyun shifts to face him, firmly resting his hand on his shoulder to stop him from leaving.
Sehun knows he’s never been very good at dealing with people- he still has no idea how to- so when Joonmyun suggests having to speak to him urgently, all he can do is nod numbly.
-
He wakes up to a large amount of sound in the dorm. in his groggy state, he can barely make out the words, just a mix of people screaming and pacing and a lot of low murmuring.
Over the years he has honed an instinct for sound, a sort of hypersensitivity that instantly tags a noise with a label, a mental image to make it easily comprehensible, and this time instinct tells him it's bad - it brings back images of the sound he'd woken up to the day they realized Kris had packed everything and left the dorm too early for it to be normal, and the day Baekhyun had gotten too drunk on the streets and caused them to dominate headlines for all the wrong reasons. So he bolts for the door, desperately hoping to be wrong, praying and wishing that in the span of time it takes for him to cross the room to the door, things will quieten down.
They don't. The sound of his room door creaking open hushes the room into a tense silence for a moment, but the next second the commotion starts up again, as if deciding there is no use for secrecy.
He blinks multiple times for everything to come into focus, his vision adjusting to the harsh morning light. Joonmyun is in front of the television in the living room, a few of the members on the other end, warily eyeing the distance between them. His eyes burn and he loses focus again, but from where he is he thinks he can make out anger. The other members are scattered around the living room, all of them steadfastly avoiding eye contact and explanations.
His head still feels too heavy to be able to check if anyone’s missing, but when his vision clears Sehun thinks there’s just a hint of fear there as well.
He turns to the clock on the wall, counting the number of hours he’d been asleep and disconnected from the world. Six. That isn’t very long, and the shorter window of time reassures him, ever so slightly.
Still, he vaguely feels like the only one out of the obvious loop, and that uncertainty scares him slightly. being the only one in the room unaware of the situation makes him feel more vulnerable.
He isn’t fully awake yet when all of a sudden, Baekhyun almost launches himself across the living room, barely held back, by Kyungsoo and Chanyeol. Yixing keeps a hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder, attempting to look some semblance of calm, murmuring quiet words of reassurance, but Sehun can see the mild frustration on his face.
And then it’s quiet. Baekhyun’s heavy, ragged breathing the only source of noise in the room. They’re staring at each other, nobody taking the liberty of beginning to speak. joonmyun looks troubled, the creases in his forehead apparent as he seems to decide on something to say.
Sehun looks from one of them to the next. The silence somehow manages to feel more rife with tension than the screaming, everyone a single syllable away from breaking down, just waiting for the balance to tip.
Then Joonmyun straightens a little and clears his throat, saying, “I just-”, and the scales tip.
“Shut up. Don’t make excuses. Don’t even talk. I might shove your head up your asshole-” Baekhyun says, voice rising and painfully restrained, as Joonmyun attempts to start over again.
“-oh God I said don’t speak. Don’t.” Baekhyun sneers, contempt dripping from every word, “Nobody here has time for any of your bullshit and nothing you say will change anything because we all know what you’re like. We know exactly what you’ve done and none of the shit you spew will change anything. You thought we would sit back and let you do this didn’t you? I’m gonna expose everything you’ve done and everything you are.” Sehun is a little scared, he allows himself to admit, because Baekhyun looks nearly deranged, face red and eyes screaming bloody murder. Sehun realizes nobody around him is hushing him though, just maintaining a firm grip on his arms to stop it from escalating into a full scale brawl.
Joonmyun seems determined to say something, troubled expression still in place, and Sehun isn’t sure if the way he looks genuinely concerned is unsettling or not, “And if you understood you would know I was doing this for our own good! It’s for everyone, you included!”, he shouts over the din, stepping towards Baekhyun.
The rest pull Baekhyun back as the tiny bubble of composure he’s left bursts completely, and he screams, voice cracking and twisting into an indistinguishable gurgle, “FOR US? You did it for us? You’re telling me that you leaked rumours of Chanyeol staying over at that actresses’ place overnight without consulting anyone for us? Have you gone mad? I cannot think of any reason-”
Sehun is pretty sure he gasps. He can’t remember for sure because reality and his mind had split ways then, the facts sinking in too fast and too soon for him to process the situation. His mind closes in on itself, voices bouncing around relentlessly and memories he never thinks of anymore resurfacing all at once.
The rumours aren’t true. He knows they aren’t.
“It helps us stay relevant! Whether you like it or not it got us to the top of search rankings and news portals and all those forums for the first time in years! At least we’ll be going out remembered!” Baekhyun falls silent at that, the redness of his face fading into shock and incredulity. Time seems to have slowed to a crawl as everyone seems to struggle to come up with a reaction.
Jongin looks lost, looking all around before focusing on a spot in the ground, his gaze on the marble unwavering. It’s a sign that he’s attempting to block out everything. Sehun doesn’t notice he’s looking for something to support his weight until his back makes painful contact with the door frame. He sees a lot, all the reactions, but none of them seem to make any sense in his mind.
Baekhyun lets out a shaky sigh, backing away slowly into his room. He hits a few corners on the way, but he doesn’t flinch.
They don’t put out any official clarifications.
-
Everland has changed a lot in a decade.
It's the first thing Sehun tells himself when he feeds his entry ticket into the automated machine (but not before fumbling with the slot like any other middle-aged man who hasn't been able to keep pace with the world). The second thing he’s reminded of is that he's getting old. For one, he can't remember the exact last time he's been here, and for what he does remember it seems like an entire lifetime ago, memories foggy and disjointed.
Everything feels different even as small waves of familiarity wash over him, like the ticket booth building, repainted but preserved in it's original glory, and the roller coaster right up front that he remembers screaming his lungs out on on live broadcast. That may have been five, maybe six? Seven? years ago.
There's a small scrunch underneath his foot that unceremoniously pulls him out of his thoughts. He's wandered further down the path by now, the plots of bright flower combinations a little dizzying, his eyes trying to squint past the glare of the sunlight filtering past his fingers.
It's August and there are tons of kids - all looking so painfully young and hopeful - milling around, taking full advantage of summer break. They rush by him without a second glance, from one queue to the other, entire lives seeming to revolve around the short-sighted goal of reaching as fast as possible. They look thirteen, fourteen at most, shrill laughter and beckoning screams ringing too loudly through the air as they gesticulate in the general direction of another ride.
He wonders,, if in another universe, this would have been him.
Sehun turns slightly to survey his surroundings. He'd been sent to scope out the park as a possible film set for a projected drama. It’s a tedious job that he never looks forward to doing. He fingers the camera hanging around his neck, fiddling with the knobs and clicking the lense cap on and off, knowing he should be getting somewhere to even hope of meeting the 9pm deadline.
It's only a little past one, but Sehun figures it's okay, he probably needs the time. He slowly pulls open the map he'd snagged on his way to the entrance, frowning as his eyes struggle to take in every inch of the colourful, cartoon-annotated illustration.
The section of the park he’d been told to focus on is somewhere near the back, and he spends nearly a minute scrutinizing every corner of the map before he locates the entrance. He is alone today, but unconsciously throws a glance over his shoulder, noting with relief that nobody seems to have noticed.
Sehun's never been very good at directions, and some part of him is convinced the one he decides on is the exact opposite, but there's nobody nearby to ask, so he hesitantly lifts a foot to the left. He eyes the area around him for road signs or landscape markers, but after the first five minutes or so everything starts to look similar.
Bright. Fantastical. A little foreign and discomforting.
A horde of kids rush past him to the entrance of a nearby castle, excited chatter filling the air completely. Sehun notes, with a slightly immature sort of bitterness, that they don't seem to be having any trouble with finding their way around. He briefly wonders if the difficulty with recognition is another sign of old age. The fact that he's way past his prime doesn't help the bitter taste reality is leaving in his mouth.
Maybe no matter how jaded he thinks himself to be, there is something about youth or freedom that will always feel wonderfully refreshing. He finds himself drawn to the pack of children, tracing their movements with his eyes, feet drawn to the steps they’ve ran. His line of vision stops abruptly at the sight of a long lanky figure dressed in colourful clothes, face painted beyond recognition and balloons peeking out of his pockets.
Once upon a time he would say clowns gave him anxiety, that they were a phobia even. He remembers crying on that third-grade trip after one had offered him a balloon, and screaming even louder when it had tried to comfort him.
There was something about painted faces stretched into false smiles, that deceiving cheeriness and the way they were always bright that seemed so incredibly inhuman. He remembers scaring himself into thinking they could be very likely be plotting murder beneath all that make-up, but on the surface it was always smiling, always ready to entertain and bring laughter. And the audience would never know.
He doesn’t know when he stopped being afraid.
They’re commonplace in the theme park, stuffy character costumes and overenthusiastic usage of face paint. This one is like everyone else, like the one he’d passed near the entrance, the one he sees on those ads they play on tv. But it’s different.
Sehun is surprised he sees anything past the layers of colour and costume adornments, but he manages, somehow. It’s a face he recognizes immediately, one that had been a constant in his life for far too long for it to suddenly disappear. And with the way Chanyeol flinches mid-turn, Sehun supposes Chanyeol sees him, too.
Chanyeol shifts awkwardly and avoids eye contact, entertaining himself with twisting a balloon flower. A flock of elementary school children scramble past, snorting with gleeful laughter at the sight of balloons as they form an orderly line in front of him. Almost immediately, Chanyeol slaps a smile onto his face, digging into his pockets for different animals and colours to hand out and patting them on the head. He keeps his focus trained on them, eyes twinkling and gaze unwavering, but Sehun knows Chanyeol sees him.
He's seen that exact same body act the exact same way for more than a decade, steadfastly keeping his gaze channelled somewhere so he wouldn't have to tear away and meet anything straight on. Chanyeol had been really good at it too, still is. He'd always been avoidant. but Sehun has seen enough to look right past it.
He makes no move to leave, waiting as he watches Chanyeol, watches as nostalgia filters up past the barriers he’s constructed in his mind, as each action sparks off something so much more. The last kid leaves, bouncing along with a flower-wand in hand, and chanyeol finally turns around, slowly, deliberating.
The smile he draws up is hesitant for a while, the red paint around his lips cracking and distorted by the action itself that it looks a little maniacal, but then it spreads, taking on its familiar wide grin, firmly plastering itself onto his face, and all Sehun can see is Chanyeol. Sehun remembers him being good at faking smiles too.
For all the readiness he's convinced himself to feel, his body freezes, and Sehun almost forgets how to move, the nerves connecting his brain to his limbs ceasing to function. All he can hear is his heart thudding terrifying loud and heavy as Chanyeol starts walking towards him, until the distance between them has been closed like the years that have passed.
He holds onto the inside of his jeans pocket, desperate to grasp onto any semblance of reality. Sehun reminds himself to calm down, act as natural as possible. Like nothing's changed. He almost wants to burst out laughing from the ridiculousness of that last thought.
He hasn't looked any of them up since the day they split, didn't know how to face them without making it awkward, and he hadn’t been prepared for any chance meetings either. He tries to reassure himself, figuring that it's Chanyeol, Chanyeol who never shuts up and Chanyeol who makes sure he grins too wide and too boyishly for everything, so in theory it should be fine. Easy, almost.
But then he realizes that the Chanyeol he remembers is twenty three, hair cut in a bob and all gangly limbs and tendency to bounce. Attached as the ever smiling face of exo, the largest popularity magnet on the scene. Chanyeol is thirty five now. He's thirty five and folding balloon sculptures in a theme park, the mv of the newest boy group, half his age, playing behind him on a huge LED screen. None of the regular visitors around seem to have any idea who he is.
Chanyeol is, in all likelihood, tired of pretending now.
He is thirty five, and Sehun realizes with mild horror that it has been almost twenty years since the first time he's seen him, back in the dingy practice room, thick glasses and hoodie with dubious english words on them hanging off his gangly frame. And that it is possibly the first time in all those years he has seen chanyeol smile so genuinely.
Or maybe he had seen it, one day many years ago, but that memory has faded into nothing underneath all the picture-perfect copies of white teeth. Chanyeol is tired and there are more lines and wrinkles etched into his face than fillers and botox can upkeep, but he looks content.
In fact, his clown suit sits slightly big on his frame, and he's definitely gotten thinner, but Chanyeol looks nothing but happy. He's almost jealous. It's the kind of happy and content he wishes he had. It's the kind of happy he doesn't understand being able to feel when you once had everything and now have nothing.
Sehun clears his throat, a hoarse, extremely unattractive sound, but it elicits a smile from Chanyeol. He grapples hopelessly in his mind for something to say.
Chanyeol is the one who starts the conversation, smile almost pained, “It’s been pretty long, huh. We all kinda just split up and disappeared-”
"I-I was actually looking for one section of the park for production scopes. report by the end of the workday,” He blabbers on about the first thing that comes to mind, irrelevant or not, “But I'm getting old and useless and I guess my sense of direction is worsening. Didn't expect to see you here, of all places." He'd meant for it to come out sounding light-hearted but it sounds the furthest thing from humourous and he shifts on the balls of his feet uneasily, unsure of how to continue.
Chanyeol looks slightly taken aback. Then he looks worried, and Sehun doesn't know why, but that sets him slightly on edge.
"Sehun," Chanyeol says, brows furrowing underneath all the face paint, "You're not old. You're what? thirty-three? That's not old at all."
"Just look at all those kids debuting half-" Sehun starts to defend himself, gesturing at the screen, still broadcasting the video behind Chanyeol. Then he pauses, detecting something akin to pity on Chanyeol's face. It's hardly noticeable underneath the paint, but it's not like Sehun isn't accustomed to seeing underneath layers of powder and tint.
“I- I feel alive, you know? It doesn’t pay as much, or much at all, but it pays enough, I do a little of what I like on the side, busking occasionally along the streets, no worries as to who’s looking. I’m happy. Really happy. You know it too Sehun, isn’t life so much more now?”
And Sehun wants so desperately to scream life isn’t any more, that it feels so little and so lacking, but the expression on Chanyeol’s face is enough to ward him off. He fights to keep a neutral expression, but knows that it’s a bust.
"Sehun," Chanyeol starts, concerned, but something in his tone kicks off Sehun's defense mechanisms and he jerks back suddenly, letting out a hollow laugh, "Ah yeah, almost forgot about the reason i was here in the first place. I have work to do, else I’ll lose even this source of income. Mind pointing me in the direction of," he glances at the map, stoutly refusing eye contact, “American Adventure?”
Chanyeol looks mildly hurt, but musters a smile anyway and lifts a hand to the right. "Just walk til you see the boat ride, then turn left, you’ll know you’re there when you see the looping coasters."
“I-I’ll see you around...town. It was great meeting you,” Sehun knows great isn’t supposed to equate to uncomfortable and awkward, but he doesn’t deny that the chance meeting sparks off a tiny burst of warmth and familiarity within him.
Then he hurries off, taking care to appear engrossed in the map.
-
They need a date to reschedule their variety show filming.
They’re off in the mountains somewhere in Gangwon for the show - Sehun isn’t sure where exactly - he’d heard it in passing but his nonexistent sense of direction and the winding, forested roads they’ve passed do nothing to help. They are continuously reminded of production budget, that every minute is money lost and money lost on a group on the decline, but torrential wind keeps them confined in their hotel rooms for the day.
Sehun looks around his shared room with Baekhyun. It’s not too shabby, wallpaper peeling in places and carpet a little dusty, but equipped with all the basic necessities. Yet he can’t help comparing it to the best they’ve had at their prime.
It’s a bell curve every group has to experience, one that they started their careers off well aware of. The gradual upgrades as they climb towards their peak, the exhilarating feeling of getting better treatment, better lodging, better food as they ascend through the tiers. But also the knowledge, tucked away in corners of their minds, that once they hit the peak of the curve there is nowhere to go but down.
Sehun knows they’re sliding down well now.
It’s evening, the rain pouring mercilessly onto the tiny tiled balcony outside, the television barely able to be heard over the noise. He comes out of the shower to find Baekhyun cross-legged on the bed, flipping through channels listlessly. The weather report. A weekend drama. Some documentary about wild animals.
He doesn’t bother listening to the content, fingers pressing into the buttons just for the sake of entertaining himself.
Some changes are so gradual, so slow that one hardly notices anything amiss unless you place the beginning and the end side-by-side and realize that all those minor changes have added up to a whole damn lot over the years. And that day, with the wind howling outside and rain mercilessly whipping dry, wilting trees about, in one extraordinary moment of clarity, Sehun sees Baekhyun in a quiet, muted, almost disjointed light.
And the picture is terrifying.
Baekhyun, who was once the life of the party both on and off screen, has never looked so dead in Sehun’s memory. He remembers him getting more tired and less obnoxious, but that was the effect of growing older, wasn’t it? They were all growing old, growing up.
And then suddenly the quick flipping of clashing audio stops, the jerky interweaving of sounds calming into one uniform tone. A clear voice filters through, a celebrity Sehun cannot place in a third world country, talking, interview-style, about the children she’s met who have nothing but are still optimistic, appreciative of the little things. They’re interspersed with video montages of her mingling with the children, all bright-eyed and smiling, clambering after each other in a muddy field.
Baekhyun seems engaged, straightening up and dragging himself nearer to the screen. Sehun watches the screen carefully, half-doubtful as to the authenticity of the actresses’ emotions. That should be one too many tears, isn’t it? It reminds him of them at the GDA a few years back, trying to appear like they hadn’t lose their rookie mindset.
He guesses it is a nice documentary, but nothing he finds particularly interesting or out of the ordinary. He switches his gaze to Baekhyun, wondering vaguely what has caught his attention.
“What does it mean to feel alive, Sehun?” Baekhyun suddenly says, quiet, his voice thoughtful.
He’s caught off-guard, the words caught in his throat, incoherent and unsure of how to react.
It seems like forever has passed before he finally manages a strangled, “What?”
“How do you know you’re alive?” Baekhyun hasn’t torn his gaze from the screen yet, intently studying the video, eyes trained on every singular movement.
“We’re conscious? Breathing?” He offers dumbly, not fully comprehending the situation. He’s very sure Baekhyun was expecting something more profound and more worthy of existential-centric conversations, but has nothing to offer. He doesn’t know the answer himself. It’s not something he thinks about often, he guesses.
“No, but what makes it worthwhile?”
Sehun tries very hard to think of an answer, one that is justifiable and one that makes sense to himself, but comes up with nothing.
“I think- I think it’s the adrenaline rush. Of knowing it’s great to be alive. That even between an option with no worries and feeling nothing, the rush of living makes it worthwhile. LIfe right now - it’s just going through the motions, and I’ve become better at them - really great, if I’m honest -” Baekhyun cracks a small, humourless smile, “But there’s no meaning to anything anymore. It’s actually tortorous. I-I don’t feel alive sometimes.”
“You look it.” It escapes faster than he can control, and he hurries to find an explanation, reaching for an apology when Baekhyun smiles wryly, features drawn up half-heartedly like he no longer has the energy for the full action.
“It’s alright. We all need some honesty sometimes. And it’s reassuring to know I’m still human.” Baekhyun says, gaze unreadable as he watches Sehun. It’s a little unnerving, because in that moment Sehun swears Baekhyun sees right through him, like he is slowly dissecting his mind, like Baekhyun knows his thoughts better than he does himself.
Morning comes faster than necessary, the phone in the room ringing shrilly long before the sun is due over the horizon. Sehun reaches a groggy hand to the bedside table, hazily groping along it before clamping a hand over the receiver. Baekhyun stirs in his sleep and stretches, scrambling halfway up the bed, sending a quizzical look across the way.
It’s an automated morning call telling them to get to the lobby to prepare for filming before the weather gets unpredictable later in the day.
Short hours of sleep are no longer anything new, his body used to the long hours of exhaustion, but mornings are still difficult, and he still has to drag himself out of bed for the filming. Sehun knows very well it is their last. After which they would maybe release an album, promote one last time, and then slowly, naturally, fade out of the spotlight (or what’s left of it), announce a sudden disbandment, find reasons to fade back into the blur of society.
The conversation from yesterday remains in his mind for some reason, even as he makes his way to the lift, steps heavy.
He is worried, slightly fearful at the impending loss of what he has known to be life over the past decade. It seems infinitely frightening to try to assimilate into a life so vastly different from the only one he has grown accustomed to, at a time when he no longer has the benefit of youth to slowly figure his life out.
It’s hard to carry on when you know the end is near.
But the end of what, exactly? It’s not exo. The eventual disbandment of a group has always been unavoidable and ingrained in them, they started knowing full well they would one day go their separate ways. He can’t place what it is exactly.
He is distracted even as a mike is hooked onto his collar, the camera crew getting into position. He barely notices anything before the producer shouts a sharp, curt, “Ready.”
Chanyeol holds his arms wide apart and claps his hands together for the opening slate, smile already plastered on his face. On instinct, they all turn to the different spots of flashing red lights to begin their introduction, order perfected over years of practice. After days of dreading, of heavy-heartedness, it is the beginning of the end.
Years of experience later, they are a lot better with variety cameras than during Showtime, and right off the bat Chanyeol cracks a joke to get them started. Everyone bursts out into over exaggerated laughter. Joonmyun falls to the floor, doubled over, the way he always does. At least it looks a whole lot more natural now.
They know exactly what to say for the perfect captions to be edited in for maximum impact, how to make humour sound more charming, less obnoxious. Their scripted lines sound a lot more natural, even as Joonmyun, as MC for the day, rambles off the setting of today’s mission. Sehun blanks out, his thoughts unconsciously drifting to snippets of time stored from the last decade, and how he’d always wondered how it would feel to no longer delude himself into living in the moment and putting off the future.
It feels strangely...dull. Everything feels the same, yet different. It’s weird how he feels so hollow inside, but on the outside nothing has changed.
Over the years he’s mastered the act of nodding every few seconds, and furrowing his brow ever so slightly to appear just the right amount of thoughtful when someone else speaks. It’s not enough to look confused and attract attention, but just enough to not appear spaced-out. He prides himself on mastering the technique as the words filter past him, not stopping to register or sink in.
The truth is they’re running out of time.
Most of the original fandom have grown past the idol-phase, too busy trying to survive in the world now that they are out of the shelter of growing up. Young fans are way too preoccupied with the ripped physique of hip twenty year olds to bother with thirty year old wrinkles.
They are reaching the end of their shelf-life and everyone is all too aware of that, actions sometimes overly loud and carefree to overcompensate for the worry looming over them. Joonmyun finishes the explanation, and Sehun lets out a cheer to fill the atmosphere, just long enough for the first take to be done.
He gathers later that it’s a race on one of the hiking routes, and he is grouped with Baekhyun and Jongdae. It’s not a lot of information, but he guesses the good thing about being paired up with them is that he can be relegated to a background role, let them do the talking.
All throughout the day they keep the spirits high, and Sehun marvels at the way Baekhyun manages to come alive in front of the camera, shaking off lethargy like an old piece of clothing left in the laundry basket. He speaks into the handheld camcorder, animated and shameless, and Sehun is sure he is picking phrases from a mental collection of humourous things he’s heard.
It takes them twelve hours to get enough footage. Sehun estimates he has spoken a grand total of six times, trying to get screen time when he can, but he doesn’t know how much of it will be edited out, deemed not interesting enough. He doesn’t know when it got so competitive, but throughout the day he tries to stick close to their shaky camera or walk along the VJ, just so he has a chance of fitting into a frame.
It’s evening by the time filming finishes for the day, and they trudge back, noiselessly, to their rooms.
The sun is setting and Sehun is afraid of what the darkness will bring.
Ratings are dismal, as they’re told, gathered in the same practice room they were formed in, all those years ago. Nobody says a word, knowing full well what they implications are. Sehun focuses on the ceiling lights, counting them in every direction possible, waiting to see how long it takes for them to blind him.
It takes him eleven sets of twenty counts to start seeing stars and coloured spots. Another two before he hears the manager announcing the inevitable, episodes cut down to six from ten, used to make space for an upcoming variety show the station has high hopes for.
The last episode features them in the recording studio, taking turns to introduce the recording process, amping up the comments for the laughs. Nobody mentions anything about it being their eleventh album, or their last. Nobody is supposed to know before it actually happens. Nothing before the day people wake up to the news on the top of online portals.
He goes over his lines, all neatly outlined on a sheet. It’s a full album, eleven songs, two recycled from earlier versions, and all his lines can still fit into a single page. The cameras are running, and so when Chanyeol says into his handheld, “Look at Sehun! Only one sheet of paper.” he returns in a beat, “At least I’m not struggling like Jongdae. With the way he’s shuffling, he won’t be able to find the pages.”
That’s a lie. Jongdae manages his stack of fifteen better than Sehun does with his sheet but they laugh, and Chanyeol moves onto the next member.
They finish recording pretty soon, and Sehun guesses the crew is eager to wrap up. They all gather for the closing, taking turns to say short, unnecessary reflections, speaking of futures they know will not come to fruition. They even throw in the old cringe-worthy showtime greeting just for laughs.
Then the tapes stop.
-
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