[exo] spoiled & rotten.
EXO is the black hole of the universe. Kai is also a black hole. erm obviously part of The Fame series.
spoiled & rotten.
exo // kai-centric // 2360 words
in which Kai learns to be the new golden child of SME.
spoiled & rotten.
-
Jongin would like to believe that one day his life could make for an interesting enough story to tell on a TV talk show, that he could make people laugh and sigh in sympathy with little anecdotes of the early days, but right in that moment between one debut performance and the next, he wanted no story nor sympathy. All that burned in his mind was the pulsing pain in his hips, slowly spreading out to his entire body, throbbing and searing, as though the liquid pain could spread through his blood stream with a single movement. The beat and the bass was still echoing loud in his ears, lights flashing in his eyes, despite the fact it was already the end of their three takes on this stage.
He grabbed Kyungsoo's wrist, fingers wrapped hard and vice-like around flesh and bones. He could feel Kyungsoo's bones grinding in his grip. It might bruise later, finger-shaped rings of black and blue. Jongin was vaguely aware of the slight smile on his lips and the glazed look in his eyes. Kyungsoo's eyes were wide but understanding soon dawned in them.
The older boy said nothing about the crushing grip Jongin had on him as he led him down the stage, Jongin limping and biting down on his lips. There were shouts and screams chanting his name, but he pretended not to hear.
He wanted no sympathy, because this was everything Kim Jongin had ever wanted. But this was not where Kim Jongin's story began.
-
It started out as a young child's fascination with the fluidity of body movements and the steady beat of the tracks, but it wasn't long before he realized he wanted so much more. He wanted the stage and bright lights loud beats. He wanted the world to look at him. He wanted the crowd screaming around him, hundreds and thousands of nameless faces, he wanted camera lights flashing and whirling. He wanted eyes to trace every single line of his body when he moved, either in awe or envy or both. He wanted magazine spreads, billboard posters, LCD screens, his face in windows of stores down the streets of Myeongdong. Give me attention, give me adoration. He wanted to be on that center stage, the world at his feet.
Jongin had always been a greedy child, but everyone kept telling him it was the right thing to be. You could not have anything if you didn't want everything badly enough. And the thing was he knew he had what it took. A little bit of natural-born talent, a little bit of luck, and truckloads of sheer blind determination. He knew he could have the world at his feet if he wanted it badly enough.
Or at least that was what he kept telling himself through the sweat and pain for the last five years.
-
He had been in the company long enough, he'd like to think. He had walked these halls for five years, born witness to scandals and heartbreaks, listened to stories and rumours. He knew the place better than he knew his own house. SME's child through and through, the kids at school would snigger behind his back. He knew what the trainee kids at the company whispered behind his back, too. That he was the golden child, well-liked for no reason good enough, favouritism at its best. They were wary around him, the kind of reluctant friendship he more than understood.
Five years, he watched them come and go, dreams and hopes slowly burning out on the sweat-soaked floor of the practice rooms. He wanted to say "I'm so sorry" every time, but a small part of him also wanted to breathe out in relief, "I am not them. I am still here. I am better."
Five years, he learned to be wary of simple friendships because they came and went sometimes too fast. The ones he liked, he would grip their wrist and send a little wish, please let this one stay. Most of the time, it didn't work no matter how hard he wished for it. They all left in the end, some staring at him in barely veiled envy and anger, as if he had betrayed them somehow by still staying.
-
"What if I don't grow up to be handsome enough?" This was at age thirteen. Jongin pouted as he glanced at himself in the mirror. Skin too dark, lips too thick, bone structure too mediocre.
His dance instructor burst out laughing at him. "That's going to be the least of your worries. An idol's face is not exactly something they naturally grew up with."
Age fifteen. "What if I turn out to be too boring for people?"
"Do you really think those girls would really like you for who you are? The parts of your persona the company doesn't supply you with, the fans would fill in by themselves. They make the mold, you just have to fit into it."
Age eighteen, Jongin realized the lights of the stage were too bright and the music was too loud for people to really look at him anyway.
-
The truth was he knew his story was one that had been told hundreds and thousands of times before. A kid with dreams who reached out and took them, suffered through minimal to moderate hardships, finally came to reasonable success. There was nothing special about him. He just had to make it special while it lasted.
"In five years time, you'll either grow up to be invincible or just crash and burn." A sunbaenim shrugged, leaning against the railings of the balcony, cigarette delicately held between long fingers.
Eighteen-years-old, weeks and months away from his first time on that stage, the truth was Jongin knew all stars burned out eventually, some just faster than others. Dong Bang Shin Ki, Super Junior, people came and went. He had an industry-average window of five years. All the people in this new group, they were beautiful young things brimming with hopes and dreams now, but five years down the line, no one could tell. He was just barely in the middle of the story now.
-
Five years of never being good enough meant endless nights spent soaking blood, sweat, and tears into the hardwood floor of the company's practice rooms. He learned to categorize the pain and aches in his body, half of them taught by his seniors and clinic doctors, half of them he learned by himself. Was it discomforting, distressing, distracting, or excruciating? How many pills would it take for the pain to go away? After a while, it became easier for his body to ignore the burn and stretch of his muscles, the ache running deep in his bones and the way his eyes burned with sweat. Everything was put on repeat repeat repeat, because practice made perfect and he had to practice drowning out the pain as well, everyone told him that.
His body moved to the beat, automatic but fluid and graceful, drawing sharp lines and arched curves in the air. The music drowned out the fever burning bright behind his eyes.
Winters drew out into summers, and more people in that crowd of girls outside the company's backdoor recognized him as he shuffled in and out, hoodie pulled tight against his body. He could feel their eyes scrutinizing, judging him, deciding whether he was worth it to be the crowd's next idol on a pedestal. Sometimes he turned to smile and wave at them, eyes bright and genuine, because putting on a show was what he was good at.
Five years were probably a little too long. He watched groups after groups debut in the scene, some older, some younger than him. The instructors kept telling him the company had long-term plans, but an increasingly growing part in him was starting to think maybe he was never going to be good enough - the little child favoured for no good reason. The day the instructors and some people in management ushered him and a bunch of other kids into a room to announce the formation of the new group, he had to hold on tight to his hands to keep them from uncontrollably shaking.
-
Being the golden child meant expectation and the suspicious jeer of people looking at him. Of course the company had plans for him, his dance instructor smiled at him and gave Jongin a list of the choreography he would have to spend time practicing on his own besides the group's main routines, because he was going to be the main figure of the group's introduction to the world at large. For every one day his groupmates spent filming their teaser, he spent five.
He learned to transform the throbbing ache and searing burn into power and desire in the white hours of the studio when he could not see anything beyond the lights flashing behind his eyelids, hearing nothing but the loud thumping of his own heart. The cameras were on, and his body kept on moving. He had what it took to make the world fall at his feet, he kept telling himself. Kai was going to be invincible. Kai would be that special star.
He staggered back into the dorm in the white hours between exhaustion and artificial bursts of energy, evading the looks of half sympathy and half envy from the other boys. His legs trembled and headache pounded at back of his skull, his body wrung out dry. He wanted no sympathy. This had always been what he wanted. He had seen the way Kyungsoo bent over the sink in their bathroom, coughing his voice raw in helpless anger, his fingers trembling on white porcelain after endless hours in the recording studio. They were all paying what it was worth for their hopes and dreams. They all wanted this.
They wrote the other boys' names into his skin for the MV. Black ink traced their history, the names and year and the long-awaited hopes and dreams. D.O., Baekhyun, Chanyeol, Sehun, Suho, Kai.
"They wrote us into your skin." Sehun tilted his head, his eyes lingering on Jongin's collarbones.
-
The truth was he was familiar with the pain and the ache of his body, but he was not prepared for it on the stage, with all lights on him and the deafening crowd scrutinizing his every move.
It was the second day of their debut showcase, and Jongin realized he could not walk. Hysteria rose in his throat during rehearsal every time pain flared up his ankle, sharp and bright amidst all the steady old ache and burn in his body, making his moves slow and clumsy. It suddenly struck him how it had been so much easier doing it in the practice room, when he could slow down for a while if the pain got too much, but now that they were all out there in the wake of their debut, there was no time for slowing down. The show must go on, and injuries were no excuse for a missed beat. The screams of the crowd demanded all they had to give and more. Pain meant weakness, weakness was something Kai could not afford after so many years. The company didn't invest on people if they couldn't get a return on it, and investment in weaknesses meant a waste of time.
So he gritted his teeth and danced for the crowd, feeling elation and excitement burst in his chest, smiling for the cameras at the same time he gripped Sehun's and Kyungsoo's arms for support as they made their way through long hallways. There would be no sympathy, because this was what he had wished for all his life, and finally he was living it. All that mattered was the fire burning in his heart. Not quite joy, but something much fiercer, that kind of feeling when a kid's dream finally came true.
He had earned this. He would be their golden child, because he had earned this.
(Back when he was a trainee, all the kids joked about how you could only achieve the status of an idol when you finally got rushed to the hospital for an IV drip before a show. Now he knew they were probably all taking bets on who would be first. It wasn't a competition, but it came close.)
-
Their debut flashed by like lightning, sudden and staggering. He felt like he kept forgetting something and time passed by way too fast. One day he would look back at this and laugh, but right then surviving on four hours of sleep in the last three days with the excruciating pain in his hips seemed more important than it really was.
"This is fame, a little too early too fast." Taemin let him lean against his bony shoulders.
"But you are all right now."
"I am." Taemin looked vaguely surprised at this. Jongin thought that was enough comfort at this hour.
Kyungsoo led him off the stage into their changing room, Jongin's fingers winding bruises into his skin. Maybe he would apologize later in the privacy of their room, maybe he would forget. Joonmyun hovered over him, wanting to be a responsible leader, but it was okay, because each of them had always taken care of themselves anyway. He was no one's responsibility but his own, and practice made perfect, so Jongin knew to start learning. He was a natural, his instructors used to say, but the truth was no one was a natural at being what the world wanted.
One day he would fly across oceans and continents to perform for crowds that would scream his name and declarations of love in languages he didn't speak, and everything would be worth it even if his body was burned out to the bones. This was fame, a little too early too fast.
"Smile brighter, boy." The photographer told him, and the camera flashed.
This same story had been told millions of times. He would not be the first or the last, but he would put on a good show while it lasted.
-
spoiled & rotten.
exo // kai-centric // 2360 words
in which Kai learns to be the new golden child of SME.
spoiled & rotten.
-
Jongin would like to believe that one day his life could make for an interesting enough story to tell on a TV talk show, that he could make people laugh and sigh in sympathy with little anecdotes of the early days, but right in that moment between one debut performance and the next, he wanted no story nor sympathy. All that burned in his mind was the pulsing pain in his hips, slowly spreading out to his entire body, throbbing and searing, as though the liquid pain could spread through his blood stream with a single movement. The beat and the bass was still echoing loud in his ears, lights flashing in his eyes, despite the fact it was already the end of their three takes on this stage.
He grabbed Kyungsoo's wrist, fingers wrapped hard and vice-like around flesh and bones. He could feel Kyungsoo's bones grinding in his grip. It might bruise later, finger-shaped rings of black and blue. Jongin was vaguely aware of the slight smile on his lips and the glazed look in his eyes. Kyungsoo's eyes were wide but understanding soon dawned in them.
The older boy said nothing about the crushing grip Jongin had on him as he led him down the stage, Jongin limping and biting down on his lips. There were shouts and screams chanting his name, but he pretended not to hear.
He wanted no sympathy, because this was everything Kim Jongin had ever wanted. But this was not where Kim Jongin's story began.
-
It started out as a young child's fascination with the fluidity of body movements and the steady beat of the tracks, but it wasn't long before he realized he wanted so much more. He wanted the stage and bright lights loud beats. He wanted the world to look at him. He wanted the crowd screaming around him, hundreds and thousands of nameless faces, he wanted camera lights flashing and whirling. He wanted eyes to trace every single line of his body when he moved, either in awe or envy or both. He wanted magazine spreads, billboard posters, LCD screens, his face in windows of stores down the streets of Myeongdong. Give me attention, give me adoration. He wanted to be on that center stage, the world at his feet.
Jongin had always been a greedy child, but everyone kept telling him it was the right thing to be. You could not have anything if you didn't want everything badly enough. And the thing was he knew he had what it took. A little bit of natural-born talent, a little bit of luck, and truckloads of sheer blind determination. He knew he could have the world at his feet if he wanted it badly enough.
Or at least that was what he kept telling himself through the sweat and pain for the last five years.
-
He had been in the company long enough, he'd like to think. He had walked these halls for five years, born witness to scandals and heartbreaks, listened to stories and rumours. He knew the place better than he knew his own house. SME's child through and through, the kids at school would snigger behind his back. He knew what the trainee kids at the company whispered behind his back, too. That he was the golden child, well-liked for no reason good enough, favouritism at its best. They were wary around him, the kind of reluctant friendship he more than understood.
Five years, he watched them come and go, dreams and hopes slowly burning out on the sweat-soaked floor of the practice rooms. He wanted to say "I'm so sorry" every time, but a small part of him also wanted to breathe out in relief, "I am not them. I am still here. I am better."
Five years, he learned to be wary of simple friendships because they came and went sometimes too fast. The ones he liked, he would grip their wrist and send a little wish, please let this one stay. Most of the time, it didn't work no matter how hard he wished for it. They all left in the end, some staring at him in barely veiled envy and anger, as if he had betrayed them somehow by still staying.
-
"What if I don't grow up to be handsome enough?" This was at age thirteen. Jongin pouted as he glanced at himself in the mirror. Skin too dark, lips too thick, bone structure too mediocre.
His dance instructor burst out laughing at him. "That's going to be the least of your worries. An idol's face is not exactly something they naturally grew up with."
Age fifteen. "What if I turn out to be too boring for people?"
"Do you really think those girls would really like you for who you are? The parts of your persona the company doesn't supply you with, the fans would fill in by themselves. They make the mold, you just have to fit into it."
Age eighteen, Jongin realized the lights of the stage were too bright and the music was too loud for people to really look at him anyway.
-
The truth was he knew his story was one that had been told hundreds and thousands of times before. A kid with dreams who reached out and took them, suffered through minimal to moderate hardships, finally came to reasonable success. There was nothing special about him. He just had to make it special while it lasted.
"In five years time, you'll either grow up to be invincible or just crash and burn." A sunbaenim shrugged, leaning against the railings of the balcony, cigarette delicately held between long fingers.
Eighteen-years-old, weeks and months away from his first time on that stage, the truth was Jongin knew all stars burned out eventually, some just faster than others. Dong Bang Shin Ki, Super Junior, people came and went. He had an industry-average window of five years. All the people in this new group, they were beautiful young things brimming with hopes and dreams now, but five years down the line, no one could tell. He was just barely in the middle of the story now.
-
Five years of never being good enough meant endless nights spent soaking blood, sweat, and tears into the hardwood floor of the company's practice rooms. He learned to categorize the pain and aches in his body, half of them taught by his seniors and clinic doctors, half of them he learned by himself. Was it discomforting, distressing, distracting, or excruciating? How many pills would it take for the pain to go away? After a while, it became easier for his body to ignore the burn and stretch of his muscles, the ache running deep in his bones and the way his eyes burned with sweat. Everything was put on repeat repeat repeat, because practice made perfect and he had to practice drowning out the pain as well, everyone told him that.
His body moved to the beat, automatic but fluid and graceful, drawing sharp lines and arched curves in the air. The music drowned out the fever burning bright behind his eyes.
Winters drew out into summers, and more people in that crowd of girls outside the company's backdoor recognized him as he shuffled in and out, hoodie pulled tight against his body. He could feel their eyes scrutinizing, judging him, deciding whether he was worth it to be the crowd's next idol on a pedestal. Sometimes he turned to smile and wave at them, eyes bright and genuine, because putting on a show was what he was good at.
Five years were probably a little too long. He watched groups after groups debut in the scene, some older, some younger than him. The instructors kept telling him the company had long-term plans, but an increasingly growing part in him was starting to think maybe he was never going to be good enough - the little child favoured for no good reason. The day the instructors and some people in management ushered him and a bunch of other kids into a room to announce the formation of the new group, he had to hold on tight to his hands to keep them from uncontrollably shaking.
-
Being the golden child meant expectation and the suspicious jeer of people looking at him. Of course the company had plans for him, his dance instructor smiled at him and gave Jongin a list of the choreography he would have to spend time practicing on his own besides the group's main routines, because he was going to be the main figure of the group's introduction to the world at large. For every one day his groupmates spent filming their teaser, he spent five.
He learned to transform the throbbing ache and searing burn into power and desire in the white hours of the studio when he could not see anything beyond the lights flashing behind his eyelids, hearing nothing but the loud thumping of his own heart. The cameras were on, and his body kept on moving. He had what it took to make the world fall at his feet, he kept telling himself. Kai was going to be invincible. Kai would be that special star.
He staggered back into the dorm in the white hours between exhaustion and artificial bursts of energy, evading the looks of half sympathy and half envy from the other boys. His legs trembled and headache pounded at back of his skull, his body wrung out dry. He wanted no sympathy. This had always been what he wanted. He had seen the way Kyungsoo bent over the sink in their bathroom, coughing his voice raw in helpless anger, his fingers trembling on white porcelain after endless hours in the recording studio. They were all paying what it was worth for their hopes and dreams. They all wanted this.
They wrote the other boys' names into his skin for the MV. Black ink traced their history, the names and year and the long-awaited hopes and dreams. D.O., Baekhyun, Chanyeol, Sehun, Suho, Kai.
"They wrote us into your skin." Sehun tilted his head, his eyes lingering on Jongin's collarbones.
-
The truth was he was familiar with the pain and the ache of his body, but he was not prepared for it on the stage, with all lights on him and the deafening crowd scrutinizing his every move.
It was the second day of their debut showcase, and Jongin realized he could not walk. Hysteria rose in his throat during rehearsal every time pain flared up his ankle, sharp and bright amidst all the steady old ache and burn in his body, making his moves slow and clumsy. It suddenly struck him how it had been so much easier doing it in the practice room, when he could slow down for a while if the pain got too much, but now that they were all out there in the wake of their debut, there was no time for slowing down. The show must go on, and injuries were no excuse for a missed beat. The screams of the crowd demanded all they had to give and more. Pain meant weakness, weakness was something Kai could not afford after so many years. The company didn't invest on people if they couldn't get a return on it, and investment in weaknesses meant a waste of time.
So he gritted his teeth and danced for the crowd, feeling elation and excitement burst in his chest, smiling for the cameras at the same time he gripped Sehun's and Kyungsoo's arms for support as they made their way through long hallways. There would be no sympathy, because this was what he had wished for all his life, and finally he was living it. All that mattered was the fire burning in his heart. Not quite joy, but something much fiercer, that kind of feeling when a kid's dream finally came true.
He had earned this. He would be their golden child, because he had earned this.
(Back when he was a trainee, all the kids joked about how you could only achieve the status of an idol when you finally got rushed to the hospital for an IV drip before a show. Now he knew they were probably all taking bets on who would be first. It wasn't a competition, but it came close.)
-
Their debut flashed by like lightning, sudden and staggering. He felt like he kept forgetting something and time passed by way too fast. One day he would look back at this and laugh, but right then surviving on four hours of sleep in the last three days with the excruciating pain in his hips seemed more important than it really was.
"This is fame, a little too early too fast." Taemin let him lean against his bony shoulders.
"But you are all right now."
"I am." Taemin looked vaguely surprised at this. Jongin thought that was enough comfort at this hour.
Kyungsoo led him off the stage into their changing room, Jongin's fingers winding bruises into his skin. Maybe he would apologize later in the privacy of their room, maybe he would forget. Joonmyun hovered over him, wanting to be a responsible leader, but it was okay, because each of them had always taken care of themselves anyway. He was no one's responsibility but his own, and practice made perfect, so Jongin knew to start learning. He was a natural, his instructors used to say, but the truth was no one was a natural at being what the world wanted.
One day he would fly across oceans and continents to perform for crowds that would scream his name and declarations of love in languages he didn't speak, and everything would be worth it even if his body was burned out to the bones. This was fame, a little too early too fast.
"Smile brighter, boy." The photographer told him, and the camera flashed.
This same story had been told millions of times. He would not be the first or the last, but he would put on a good show while it lasted.
-