𝘃𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀. for @ciiielos
if juyeong had her way, the king’s club would be far more selective, gilded gates tightened to exclude those who soil its sacred floor. although she’s never taken the time to pen a list, if she had, jung chanyeol’s name would be etched close to the top of her exclusions. all these years, juyeong can barely fathom what merit he brings to their sacred circle. sure, he’s easy on the eyes. sure, he's fairly decent at football. but he lacks the lineal wealth that course through their veins. lacks the pedigree that should be his birthright. jesus, at this rate, they might well open their door to every other person on the street - what’s the point of an elite society, if it admits those who are more pedestrian than noble?
unfortunately for juyeong, the only substantial weapon in her arsenal is the force of her voice, but even its thunderous opposition is muted by the screeching majority preaching rationality and merit. (which she argues is a hollow pretense because this is a world that thrives on neither!) and so, eight years later, she’s still condemned to share the same air as him. still not the worst of it — the true affront lies in his legion of rabid fans who have seized their interactions, immortalizing them in contentious and grainy images, weaving a gaudy narrative of a romance between him and mbc’s problematic heiress. if you asked her, it’s an utterly scathing and libelous assault, and she would much rather her competitor news channel run another story about her family embezzlement.
she'd already been reeling from the catastrophic ordeal of her weekend, but now, juyeong has to bear through the added torment of encountering chanyeol yet again on a monday. if it weren’t enough that they were both in jeju that weekend, he is also the face of one of their hit variety shows and she has to greet his smiling face on every poster in her fucking office. jesus. she’s shifting through some financial statements when he walks in, and an exasperated sigh eludes her lips, almost as if an instinctive response. she refuses to acknowledge his presence, and it goes unnoticed until someone decides to ask a moronic question — if their hostile air between them stemmed from a nocturnal quarrel. “are you having a lover’s spat?” they tease and it takes all in juyeong not to tell the person to fuck off and die. (she does respond with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, which in itself is an answer, and juyeong watches, with barely-concealed ire, as he mumbles a hurried apology and retreats with unseemly haste. dumbass.) “can’t believe it,” she grumbles to no one in particular, “can’t believe people think i’m dating you of all people.”