𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐓 , choen

01 | right where you left me

— the absolute BIGGEST thank you to -RODEODRIVE for putting up with me & beta-ing everything i come to him with !! (yes she's not dead. AUTHOR OF ZOOM LIVES!! wont update probably but.. they live!) so yeah enjoy supercut from here on courtesy of him :]

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Noen enjoyed his quiet afternoons alone. After all, at any rate there wasn't much to do after essentially retiring from the oh-so-tiresome career of dancing on a clock app. He didn't regret leaving, never did for a second. Even if he was used to having a bit more money lying around in his accounts.

He reads a trashy supermarket-shelf magazine while he lounges on his leather couch. Noen's never been one for reading, hated it for as long as he's known. The earliest he guesses, would be the first-grade meltdowns over his teacher scolding him for not being at the same level as his peers.

In his brain, usually it's something about the unpredictable letters that can override his brain so easily, and suddenly the flimsy cover of whatever book he'd be trying to read would feel like thousands of million weighted bricks, pushing and pulling every-which-way, too hard on his brain. His teachers thought he was dyslexic. He agreed. His parents didn't, and that was the end of that.

But something about these tacky magazines he's been picking up at his grocery trips lately have taken a new life in his mind. They're entertaining and drama-packed in a way his stupid Shakespeare literature requirements way back in high-school never were.

The real reason for his interest in them though, is mostly to laugh and pay reliefs to whatever god was out there in the universe that he was never famous enough on a level to be published with all his personal problems in a paper clipping at whole foods for four dollars and ninety-nine cents a pop.

Especially now that his "fame" wasn't exactly something to write home about anymore, he could just be an normal person reading a trashy false headline magazine and all. It's sad, but there's some kind of freedom? he feels in being able to relish in all the stereotypes of an average human-being after the excruciating crash of coming to terms with fame for the first time was long done and over.

Noen enjoyed his quiet afternoons alone which is why the mysterious phone call from his long-gone management team, (Bridges were burnt a while ago to say the least.), had turned him crabby and harshly dodging every mailbox and house plant on the way to the all too familiar building.

As he carefully pulls into the tall Tik-Tok company building, he thinks about what business on earth he could possibly have being here. Noen wasn't by any means a "Tik-Toker" anymore after all, and if he was then he wasn't worth calling down here at the very least; and with current state of Tiktok, was anyone really?

Noen's not big in marketing or in the analytics and statistics mumble-jumble of crap they have going on over there, but he thinks anyone with any brainpower left could see that the flesh that made the app anything in the first place was rotting away.

Tiktok was dying, in classier terms you could say, and so with the people who were brainwashed into making money for them audience's were tricking down. Not that it was a bad thing for the latter inherently, in fact, having a smaller core audience and fanbase, rather than a bunch of people who couldn't care less and were there for the hype was a good thing. Not a good thing financially or to investors, or really, anyone in the business world, but a good thing to him at least nonetheless. 

Publicists, marketers, analyzers, the list goes on, all those who  pull the strings behind the scenes of basically anyone with a name for themselves. It's laughable, it's so utterly stupid when Noen looks back on it now. Why did teenage micro-celebrities need things like dating scandals and stunts reserved for typically A-list movie stars and such. What would they promote? Mall clothes? Mediocre music?