Idol | sunsun

2

Sunoo met Park Sunghoon at the wrong place, worst possible time. He'd been interviewing idol groups at the Melon Music Awards for three hours straight when he'd gotten up for a quick bathroom break. He was already fuming for having to watch eighteen-year-olds do aegyo over and over again, but the cherry on top was when he found out the hallway was clogged by a boygroup made of twenty-fucking-three people.

Their staff apologised to Sunoo profusely, but he didn't bother to listen. After raising his eyes to the ceiling and groaning, he decided to wander around. Considering how many people attended these shows, there must've been at least one free bathroom, right? He just needed to keep searching.

But the more Sunoo walked, the less hope he had. He couldn't count the number of female idols in feather coats he'd stumbled upon in the past five minutes—who the fuck was in charge of the costume design?—or the times he'd opened a dressing room by accident. He'd probably missed two of his interviews by then. He'd be lucky if he returned in time for the last one.

At one point, he took a right turn into a hall he could've sworn he'd seen before, and he was just about to give up. " I'll just ask someone, " he thought, although the idea of talking to any of the people around him terrified him to death. All the stylists wanted was to get home or make their idol fit into their leather pants, not guide a pathetic journalist around an unknown arena. So, taking one leap of faith, he eyed the first door to his left and considered his options. There was a sheet of paper taped to the door, but the small white lie in his resume about his Thai skills was starting to take its toll.

He couldn't read shit.

Did it say dressing room? Bathroom? Closet? Sunoo would never know unless he opened the door. With a tilt of his head, he cursed under his breath before walking closer and wrapping his fingers around the knob. But before he could twist it, the door was being pulled open from the other side.

Sunoo stumbled as a slim figure was revealed. He raised his head and widened his eyes in pure terror.

"Please tell me you're not a stalker," a man with crossed arms said in Korean. "It would be such a waste of face."

"I— I'm not," Sunoo stammered, moving as far as possible from him. He was a few centimeters smaller than him; way leaner. His hair, swept back, was hot pink, and multiple dangling earrings hung from his ears. Another idol . "I was just looking for the bathroom."

One of the man's eyebrows flew up. With a loose flick of his wrist, he pointed at the sign on the door. "In a dressing room?"

Sunoo wasn't a man of faith, but at that moment he prayed for the ground to swallow him whole. "I can't speak Thai."

The corners of the idol's lips curled upwards with amusement. He leaned against the doorframe and ran his eyes down and up Sunoo's body. It was a bit like how cats stalk mice, a sort of senile grin threating to pull at the corners of his mouth. Part of it made Sunoo feel misplaced, like he was somehow too much and too little to be in front of this person— this idol whose only job was to shine brighter than everyone else. "Then what are you doing here? Did you lie on your little resume?"

Sunoo frowned. Little resume? Who did he think he was? "No," he lied through his teeth, gritting them at the smirk that grew wider on the idol's lips. It was unnerving and invigorating, and Sunoo wasn't sure if he was turned on by it or terrified. Both at once, probably. "There was no one better for the job."

The idol hummed, unconvinced by Sunoo's statement but willing to play his game. Surprisingly, Sunoo had the feeling that he was easier to read than what he liked to pretend. His arrogance and wicked smiles were a crystal-clear shield. "Whatever you say, hot-shot. What's your name?"