Chapter Text
Moondae hopes to all that is good and holy that there are no cameras to record him crouched against a low partition, carefully listening in on a conversation he has no reason to try and join. He doesn’t know what level of hell his reputation will end up at but he’s also in too deep to crawl away and act like he didn’t run after Ryu Chungwoo and Lee Sejin. He’s still not sure what possessed him to follow them.
“It’s okay, Sejin-ssi,” Chungwoo tries, his voice pitched low and soothing. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, just come back to the practice room and we can all talk about it.”
“No,” Sejin’s voice is hard, closed off and insistent. “I’m not going back. Everyone there, everyone in our team- you all, you’re all just-.”
There’s a bitten off sound and a muffled sob. Moondae doesn’t need to see what’s going on to know that Sejin is clearly overwhelmed and that there’s nothing Chungwoo says will get through until he calms himself down. It’s more upsetting than he expects, to hear someone cry and try to hide it, making himself smaller and quieter so the mics can’t pick anything up to use against them, so the camera crew can’t pinpoint their location and film everything in terrifying quality to be blasted onto the screens of millions of strangers. Wongil’s cries echo in his head and he grips at the fabric stretched over his knees to give his hands something to do.
There’s a low murmur, barely audible, before Chungwoo raises his voice calling after Lee Sejin. The sound of rapid footsteps moving further away and down the hallway persists until it’s silent. Moondae stops breathing, suddenly all too wary of being heard. When the quiet stretches for another long moment, he deems it safe enough to run back to the practice room. He feels a little foolish, certainly for running after two people he barely knew and barely knew him, and for thinking he had any reason to be around.
Still, there’s an uncomfortable feeling of responsibility, misplaced as it was, ever since he’s had to listen to his friend cry out about the way this show treated them, this very show that was meant to save his life while simultaneously ruining others.
Moondae peeks around the corner, if just to sate the feeling of inadequacy, at being unable to do anything to help these poor kids, when he comes nose to chest with another human being. In line with much of his second life, his luck was god awful. At this point, he’d trade in his Charm stat for a Luck stat; it would definitely benefit him far more.
It’s with a feeling of shame and abject humiliation both when Moondae peers up at Ryu Chungwoo. He seems larger like this, towering over Moondae who stooped over to try and see around the corner, and his disapproval practically weighs the air down. The glare on his fierce face is terrifying for a brief moment before it falters and melts into a confused look.
“Moondae-yah?” he says bewildered, he drops his arms that were folded tight across his chest and tilts his head. “What are you doing here?”
“Is he okay?” Moondae blurts out, practically interrupting Chungwoo’s question. “Is Sejin-hyungnim alright?”
Chungwoo sighs.
“Moondae-yah, I can’t-.”
“I just,” Moondae doesn’t know what it is about Ryu Chungwoo that has him feeling discomfit and uncomfortable but it feels especially egregious when he actually interrupts him. “I’ve just never seen Lee Sejin-hyungnim like that. It was, it’s-.”
Maybe it’s because Ryu Chungwoo, in this life and in his previous one as Gunwoo, is a year older than him so he feels like he has to show actual regard. Maybe it’s because Chungwoo feels like a leader, like a pillar, like a reliable, respectable figure. Maybe it’s because he has seen Chungwoo in action and seen how he’s stepped up and lead several groups well despite his young age.
“Hey, breathe,” Chungwoo cuts in, placing a large warm hand on his head. “It’s okay, kiddo. Your Lee Sejin-hyungnim is feeling a bit stressed out right now, but don’t worry. He’ll be alright once he gets some space and time to relax.”
Moondae sighs, it’s advice and a gentle reminder he’s heard more than once at this point. But the rational, results-orientated part of his brain that never turns off is screaming at him to fix this problem. He’s never felt so helpless than when Wongil begged, pleaded and eventually demanded he leave the whole debacle alone. Now, faced with a similar situation, it feels like another opportunity to miss.
Worse, there’s a bit more weight to this particular time bomb. Moondae can’t be 100% sure which Lee Sejin is going to be involved in a drug scandal but with the way the older Lee Sejin was spiraling, this event could easily have lead to some kind of drug use and eventual abuse. Every moment this issue wasn’t being solved was a step closer to another bad ending.
“You hear me, Moondae-yah?” Chungwoo ruffles his hair a bit and pokes him in the middle of his forehead, tilting his head back so they’re making direct eye contact. “I know you want to help but the best thing you can do right now is focus on your work.”
Chungwoo is far less indulgent than the others and it’s clear that there isn’t a way to worm his way around this. It’s easier with the others – Ahyeon and Keunse both tend to overindulge him, Wongil and Heeseung are almost too supportive and Iljoon could easily be swayed if he looked sad enough. Chungwoo’s gaze, however, read far more adamant and stern; it’s a look that says he won’t take no for an answer. He isn’t unkind about it, nor is he scolding or accusing Moondae of anything, but he sets a clear boundary that Moondae knows better than to test.
“I hear you, hyungnim,” Moondae replies, only a touch petulant. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Chungwoo assures and he looks so put together and mature that Moondae feels the petulance leave him like a dying spirit; it’s unfair that they’re close in age but he can easily make Moondae feel like he’s just a child with a few words. “Alright kid, get going. It’s time to head back to your group.”
Moondae can accept a loss – no really, he can. Just because he was slightly cowed by Chungwoo’s steely rationale (and a tiny bit scared of his disapproval, but like, only a little), didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try and fix this to-be debacle anyway. Moondae, burdened by future knowledge, knew better than Chungwoo and no amount of scary-leader aura would stop him.
If he looked over his shoulder as he snooped around and tried to find where Lee Sejin was, that was just natural wariness and had nothing to do with Ryu Chungwoo. Everything would be fine.
Everything was emphatically not fine.
Moondae should just keep his thoughts to himself next time. Every time he insisted something would go right, it would flip-turn and land face down instead. Truly, he had no one to blame but himself – Ryu Chungwoo clearly knew better, he was going to start heeding his advice in earnest in the future.
“Park Moondae,” Lee Sejin somehow manages to look enraged even tearful. “We may have been on a team together but we are not friends.”
Which, while true, ouch. That one stung a little, Moondae wasn’t too prideful to admit it. It’s not like he was facing delusions that everyone loved him on this show; he’s seen a few looks thrown his way and he knows for a fact that the camera that has worked at ruining his life these past few months is also a big reason why he’s been left alone despite everything. Still, no one liked being told something like that so bluntly despite the its veracity.
“Of course,” Moondae tries to demure; he’s definitely fucked up. “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to-.”
“It doesn’t matter if you didn’t mean to do anything,” Lee Sejin interrupts, a furrow in between his eyebrows and an upset red climbing onto his cheeks. “You’re sticking your nose into something that doesn’t concern you. Worse, you’re inserting yourself into a situation that doesn’t even marginally involve you.”
Moondae can feel his pulse pounding, a heavy thud that climbs from his chest into the back of his eyes and he can feel himself flush hot all over his entire body. For all that he’s complained of abject humiliation in this life, this is the first time that he feels the shame and mortification so acutely that it hurts. He doesn’t really understand why this is affecting him so much, not when so much worse has been said to him in the past and rolled off his shoulders without another thought.
He’s blaming the teenage hormones, that had to be it.
Moondae keeps his head bowed, not wanting to look up and Lee Sejin and see the rage and annoyance on his face anymore. Lee Sejin isn’t that much taller than him, probably 10cm or so but under his glare, he feels so much taller and Moondae feels positively minuscule.
He doesn’t need to look up to know that he’s crossed a line and flinches when the metal door slams with a loud crash. There’s a stunned silence in the Hard Conversation Stairwell he’s dragged multiple people into since the start of Idol Inc.
Well, that could’ve gone better.
Moondae drags his trembling hands over his face before taking a slow, deep and measured breath that comes out too shaky and pitiful. He was a grown man, he wasn’t going to let something as silly and insignificant as hurt feelings ruin his day (the guilt, however, just might do it instead). Once he feels like the ground isn’t swaying under him, Moondae feels normal enough to go back to the practice room. He was only gone for a handful of minutes, on a supposed bathroom break, but the minute he gets back into the room he’s surrounded by all sides.
“Woah, hey, what’s wrong? What’s going on, little guy?” Keunse tips his face up by the chin and turns his face to the side. “Are you okay?”
“What,” Moondae replies bewildered, letting himself be manhandled. “I’m fine.”
Ahyeon extracts him from Keunse’s grasp but tuts under his breath, cupping his cheeks and thumbing gently under his eyes.
“You look upset, Moondae-yah,” Ahyeon murmurs, looking into his eyes searchingly. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine,” Moondae insists, trying to remove Ahyeon’s hands from his person in a way that won’t insult him. “Nothing happened.”
Everyone in the room exchanges skeptical glances, even Raebin, and Moondae wonders just how he looked walking back into the room for everyone to suddenly gain the ability to communicate with wiggling eyebrows and pursed mouths. Maybe he was getting sick again – they were working like crazy, working on a schedule that would have even the most seasoned crunch time teams going through multiple breakdowns.
And like they could read the impending deadline of their performance, the entire room makes the collective (and correct) decision to believe him. Which they should considering, you know, he was telling the truth. He was fine. Embarrassed and a little hurt, which only made him feel more embarrassed that he cared so much, but you know, just fine.
Still, he feels their eyes staying close for the rest of the day. Everyone is exceedingly sweet to him in a way that should feel suspicious but they’re trying so earnestly to not be overbearing that Moondae, already off kilter from being berated by Lee Sejin, accepts the attention with a quiet gratefulness.
(What Moondae fails to realize that this only sends multiple people spiraling further into fear. Moondae, their usually prickly, independent and sassy little guy, suddenly and calmly allowing their usual brand of too touchy and clingy affection without even an attempt at pretending he didn’t like it? Insanely suspicious, extremely worrying; Iljoon already had to talk Ahyeon and Keunse both out of maxing out their credit cards buying essential comfort items. Why a child would need a 3,000,000 won cashmere sweater for comfort, Iljoon would never know. Rich people, he’d never understand them.)
He rides this preferential treatment into getting the first shower even though it’s clear everyone wants to wash up as quickly as possible and pass out on the nearest flat surface. Moondae, hair wet and a towel around his shoulders, had tried waking up lljoon for the next shower but he, Ahyeon and Keunse were all deep in an REM cycle that closely resembled a coma.
“Moondae-yah,” Raebin whispers around a yawn, he looks worn out and his eyes are red after staring at a screen for half the day. “Do you mind if I go next while we wait for one of the rest to wake up?”
“Of course, hyung,” Moondae assures, already putting a clean towel in his hand and leading him to the bathroom when it looks like he’s about to topple over. “They won’t mind and if anyone wakes up, I’ll let them know.”
Raebin’s slow answering smile is broken up by a large, jaw-cracking yawn and Moondae bites back a laugh. He waits until he hears the water running to make sure Raebin made it in there conscious before going through his usual nighttime routine. Usually, he’d be the first one face down in bed, already dreaming of bottles of soju and crisp, cold cans of beer, but for the first time since he’s woken up with it, his system finally gave him a win.
An embarrassingly named win, but a win nonetheless.
Name: Park Moondae (Ryu Gunwoo)
Level: 12
Title: None
Singing: A
Dancing: C
Looks: A-
Charm: B
Traits: Infinite Potential
Available Stat Points: 2
Skills :
> Who Could Say No To That Face? [C]
> Apple Of My Eye [D]
v Little Energizer Bunny [ B ]
Passive Skill
Thanks to the power of youth, fatigue build up is reduced by 50%!
He just wants to have a little chat with whoever runs this system. Just a quick one. But he also won’t throw away the one good gift he’s gotten from it, not when he’s the only one left standing after a grueling day of hard work. It’s so effective that he’s not even annoyed by chorus of snores below him.
Usually, it would keep him up and lead to another sleepless, insomnia-ridden night but he’s not tired whatsoever. He could probably spend another another hour or two practicing the choreography to finally bump his dance stat into the B-tiers. He does have two leftover stat points to use but he wants to save those for emergencies.
It doesn’t take long for Moondae to talk himself into taking advantage of Little Energizer Bunny and practicing into the night, especially when there’s no chance that his usual overbearing minders would wake up any time soon. When he opens the dorm door to make his escape, however, he comes face to face with the last thing he thought he’d see in his lifetime.
Cha Eugene, hand up as if he was about to knock at the door, looks down at him with teary eyes and a wobbling lower lip for two seconds before bursting into loud sobs.
Oh God, Moondae thinks to himself as Eugene gathers him into a tight hug and starts wailing into his hair, not again.