T.O.P's P.O.V

The impending headache was announcing its dreadful arrival, as the voice, of the man in the other end of the call, managed to fuel my anger. Irritation burned through my blood, as the upsetting feeling of frustration boiled in my inside, triggering me further.

Without a doubt, all my problems had lined up to ensure I was reminded that I was doom. Doom, with capital D.

“You don’t how much I hate to not have a clue about what’s happening with the artists I manage. How come there are freaking rumors all around media platforms about you dating? Where the hell did this scandal came from?”

I tried not to roll my eyes at the man raising his voice at me, but it was extremely hard not to do so.

My manager, in the other end of the line, sighed heavily, before he proceeded to bombard me with more questions I honestly didn’t have an answer to, “when did this happened? Why are there people believing this bull crap? And why – as if it wasn’t enough – are you in the top search of all these websites? I’m making questions, but I’m not getting answers.”

It took all my willpower not to hang up on him. That would have been disrespectful, and I didn’t need a round of scolding at the moment, so I swallowed down the urge to fire an insult at him, to bark back at him.

I wasn’t in the ring mind to handle my hot blooded manager, not after what happened with Eunjung, not after I emptied my feelings out in front of her just to have her doubt every word, not after I was finally able to have a break once stepping out of the stage, not after the horrid morning I went through.

No, I definitely wasn’t in the right mind for anybody or anything at all, and that specifically included my hard headed manager.

I face palmed myself for answering the call in the first place. It was stupid of me, stupid to think I could handle the incoming wave of yells that was to surely come out from my manager’s mouth, but - on my defense - I went on overdrive after Eunjung crossed the door to exit my dressing room.

The smile in front of the camera felt plastic and pretended, my vague interaction with the public felt distant, it was as if an automatic sense had taken over my body motions. My reactions felt practiced, and my unbothered demeanor was nothing more than a cover, a mask of forced expressions.

“Choi Seung Hyun, are you even listening? Don’t you have anything to say?”

That time around, I did roll my eyes.

What did he wanted to hear? What was I supposed to say to defend myself? It was too much to handle, and nobody seemed to believe what I say, so why bother to speak in the first place.

“Seunghyun, I’m talking to you. You owe me an explanation; will you give me none?” My manager pressed on, letting out an awfully sarcastic chuckle that spoke volumes about how extremely annoyed he was at the moment. He demanded an answer, he clearly wanted me to say something, anything at all, but without expecting me to reply, he carried on, “that’s what you are going to do? Stay silent while I rack my brain trying to decipher what’s true and what’s not. How am I going to respond when the boss calls me? What do you expect me to say when writers, columnists and magazines representatives are all over me? The press is asphyxiating me with questions, trying to get firsthand information about you, about her, about this and that, but how am I supposed to give out a clear answer when I, myself, don’t know what the hell it’s happening?”

He kept on ranting, and I didn’t understand half of what he said or asked due to the fact that he was speaking quickly. He only stopped briefly to breathe and sigh at me, as if his life depended on reminding me that I was a lost cause.

“Do you mind explaining everything to me? You do owe me an explanation.”

He was utterly frustrating.

I was tempted to end the call right then and there, to shut my manager out and forget about what was happening, to pretend the situation I was in was just product of my wild imagination.

But, I couldn’t.

“What do you exactly want to know?”

My manager, all the way from the end-line of the call, let out a snort at my interrogative.

I knew that was the wrong thing to say, but I couldn’t care less.

“What do I want to know?” He questioned back, instead of replying, seemingly not believing what I asked him before, “are you really serious, punk?”

I clearly heard the acid in his acrid tone of voice.

“I practically bombarded you with questions before, and you dared ask me what do I want to know? You are unbelievable.”

I sighed, and simultaneously lost count of the times I had do so up to that point.

My patience was boiling, and - for the second time - I confirmed that I wasn’t in the right mind to handle my manager, or deal with the consequences of a problem – which in the first place - I didn’t call for.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Choi Seung Hyun?”

He carried on, to my misfortune, my luck only worsened.

“How should I interpret your silence? Is it that the confirmation of what I fear? Are you dating this so-called Eunjung? Was it true the first time the news came out? Wasn’t it?”

My manager kept firing questions after questions at me, and - to top it all – my tolerance level was biting its limit.

He just didn’t know how and when to shut up.

I rolled my eyes at him, but decided that if I wanted to end the call I needed to at least answer him 3 or 5 questions, and see if that would call him down.

And so I did.

“To start, no, I’m not dating Eunjung, what means you don’t have to worry about that part. Second, that’s all you have to say to the people hovering over you for information, just deny everything. Come on, the company knows its way around this type of scandals, just ignore and deny.” I tried not to bark out my words as I proceeded. “Third, and just in case you forgot, I said – and I repeat – no, I’m not dating Eunjung. Those rumors are baseless, and I don’t understand why they are a hot topic. Fourth, I don’t know why the media keeps insisting that we are something, but they won’t be happy without making someone’s life difficult, now will they?”

I let out a bored exhale, losing track of where this rant was taking us, purpose casted aside as I went on, “and last, but not least, why are you doubting my words? The first time this happened, I talked to the boss myself and cleared everything up. Nothing has changed this way around, we are nothing? I swear we are nothing, and I’m not lying to you?”

That time around it was my manager who kept silent the whole time, apparently letting my words sink in the air as he overanalyzed my speech.

His silence did nothing to appease me, but bothered me instead. That silence meant he was contemplating my argument, so he was able to fire right back at me with another argument.

To my surprise (and luck), he didn’t do as I predicted, and instead shot me a final question.

“Seunghyun, are you really not dating that girl? You don’t have to lie to me.”

And as much as the truth pained me right then and there, it would have been a nasty lie to say I was, because I didn’t even know what I was to her.

I sighed for nth time in the spam of the 17 minutes the call had lasted, “no, I’m not dating her.”

I heard my manager hummed, all the way from the other end of the line, “I believe you then.”

His reply was unexpected, and it came to hit me like a truck with the raw honesty I knew he intended to express, as he spoke in a subtler version of his anxious, annoyed tone of voice.

I felt my body vibrate in a shock of relief that bolted through my blood, as an electrifying wave of assurance washed over me, relaxing my senses in the process.

“I will call you later on.”

A heavy load of stress was lifted up from my shoulders, when my manager announced he will end the call.

It was about time.

I hummed, not even attempting to mask the relief in my tone, and without thinking twice, I blurted out a simple “bye” and hanged up on him.

With that done, I felt as if I was finally able to breathe, even if it was just for a brief moment.

But, I couldn’t exactly breathe in peace.

It was hard to ignore how there was still a fat lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow down. It was difficult to try and disregard how tight the air felt around me, as it circulated mockingly in my direction. It was hard to overlook the emptiness that seemed to grow bigger and thicker in my inside, to the point it was unbearable. It was, above everything, impossible to neglect how my depressing state seemed to take extraordinary pleasure in my mishap, as it kept on demanding that I was reminded about how pathetic myself was.

I felt utterly sick, without a doubt, I was certainly ill. And the worst part of it all, was that I knew the reason why, yet couldn’t do anything about it.

________________________________

Hours ticked by after that last meeting with Eunjung, meeting I will categorize as ill-fated, disastrous even.

The hours stumbled upon days – in an insanely slow pace - without a word from Eunjung, but my thoughts wouldn’t shut up about her. They never did anyways.

Both her company and mine had released official arguments addressing the situation in turn the dating scandal. The companies’ representatives were quick to put out the impending fire threatening to blow up the problem into capital proportions. And there was, thankfully, nothing further aiming to prove the non-existent romantic relationship we were acquainted with.

And though there were still media outlets attempting to keep alive the fading flame that ignited the rumors, on their defense, there was nothing but fabricated photos and circumstantial evidence.

The dull days blanched into a week, and I didn’t count with the courage to call her or send her a text to know about how she was doing so far.

From what I researched in news platforms, Eunjung’s group had ended promotions and were expected to come back with a sub-unit, and I was able to click on some photos and see her face again after I last saw her in my dressing room.

I forced myself to get used to the idea that I wasn’t going to meet her again, not after that fatal confession, but I wanted a proper closure. I didn’t want to part ways on wrong terms, and if we were going to pretend that nothing ever happened between us, then, we could as well meet and play the part.

Yet, things didn’t seem to work on my favor, but when did they?

My company (or rather both the president and my manager), thought it was convenient for me to step down from hosting the music program, and though it was about time I did, I couldn’t help but feel bitter about it. The excuse being the fact that one of the members from EXO, who was on a concert tour with his group, had come back to keep hosting the show. He wasn’t even the member I was called to replace, but I didn’t want to fight a battle I clearly lost against my company’s arguments.

The casual, accidental meetings with Eunjung in the hallways of the music program, came to an abrupt and unexpected end.

Nevertheless, I was decided to meet her again, even if it was for the last time.

My resolute, however, came crashing down like an unpredictable avalanche as more days kept passing by in an anticlimactic twist.

The fact that I didn’t build up the courage to send her a text spoke volumes about how pathetic my state was and how my confidence had long abandoned me.

I could only hope that the odds against our meeting didn’t, completely, prevent it from happening. That was the sole weapon on my defense, a probability.

Yet, I couldn’t take the risk, so after searching through different information outlets, I found out that the sub-unit group that Eunjung was promoting with, was going to star in on the music program I used to host. That, certainly, was a green signal and I took the go.

The day that Eunjung’s group was scheduled to perform, I went to the building for the pre-recording stages before the broadcast, like I had forced myself to do so for the past two months.

The atmosphere in the corridors was oddly tense, the bodies passing me by didn’t seemed to acknowledge my presence and failed to recognize me.

I was dressed in black, a cap in top of my head helped the casual appearance I was aiming for.

It wasn’t hard to disguise as one of the staff members, so apart from the jumbled apologies of the people that bumped into me in the packed hallways, nobody approached me.

It was possibly due to the unmistakable aura surrounding me, I was always told my image was deceiving.

Cold, intimidating, arrogant, hateful and aloof were the words people used to describe me with, so it wasn’t shocking to know that others thought it was impossible to come near me.

Eunjung, nonetheless, didn’t appear to be faze by my rather tough exterior, and even went as far as to slap me during one of our first meetings.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the fond memory of Eunjung’s dumbfounded expression, right after realizing she had slapped me. That was definitely a sight I was happy to recall.

Out of a sudden, my train of thoughts was rudely interjected, and I was forced to stop dead on my tracks when I impacted a wall, after turning a left into a corridor I didn’t recognize.

Damn it.

I stepped back, and my hand shot up to inspect my face out of automatic instinct.

“Are you okay, man?”

I heard the voice of a male called after me, and I feared he would approach me. I couldn’t risk getting recognize, not when I was close to go knocking in the door of Eunjung’s dressing room.

“I’m fine,” I blurted out, and didn’t wait for the male’s response.

I bolted out of the scene, trying to look as nonchalant as I could.

Stumbling upon my hurried steps down the corridor, I took an abrupt turn at the end of the hallway and came to face yet another long corridor of dressing rooms.

I didn’t know where to start from or where to look at. Asking for directions was not an option, it wasn’t like I was lost at all, I was just looking for a specific dressing room. And though asking seemed very tempting, I decided it wasn’t a choice in the first place.

I let out a repressed sigh, and authorized the mocking air, circulating around me, to press down on me.

I, however, wasn’t giving up on the idea of meeting Eunjung, for what my eyes went travelling from door to door reading the names of different groups. But, to no avail, my stare didn’t blunder across that particular dressing room.

Slowly, and in a gradual pace, I found myself feeding the feeling of fretfulness inside.

I figured out that when it came to certain matters my patience was thin, and right at that moment it was bordering its definite limit.

Just when I thought I wasn’t going to come across the damn dressing room, I saw a female walking in my direction.

The hallway wasn’t narrow, for what she easily passed me by, mumbling a polite “good morning” while bowing her head, probably mistaking me as a staff member.

To not be rude, I opted to greet back and forced out a “hello”, yet the salute found its way stuck on my throat when I recognized the face of the female.

Her height didn’t surpass mine, her features were both sharp and soft, her brows were thin and her hair long and brown. It was then that I noticed I knew her.

I definitely knew that face. She was one of the members from T-ARA.

The female ignored how openly I was staring at her, and with an awkward, press smile she kept on her way down the corridor, walking to the opposite hallway.

My eyes shot after her back, and I tried to appear as unsuspicious as I could possibly manage in that situation, and I trailed behind her, careful of keeping at least 3 meters of distance between.

She stopped abruptly and cocked her head around at my direction, when it became obvious that there was someone following her.

I managed, somehow, to avoid her confused gaze as I turned to look at the door of the random dressing room in front of me.

I tried to look