( ☆ ── ❝ glass house ❞

[twig.]

•» 𝘈𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘴 𝘍𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦 «•

role: the actor | tagged: marina, marisol | mentions: naomi, noah | word count: 701
██████████████████████████████████████████

marisol called a meeting that afternoon, which effectively disrupted adonis' carefully planned schedule. ever since he'd become a member of the hex, his life had been endlessly busy. between rigorous movie filming, lengthy interviews, and paparazzi harassment, adonis hardly had a moment to breathe. still, there was always time for marisol, no matter what. she was the one who had given him the opportunity to be a part of this grandiose lifestyle, the one who had rescued him from poverty and given adonis a chance to be something more than a working man who cared for his aging grandparents instead of himself. additionally, she'd also given him a mighty fine face, one that he never got tired of admiring. the least he could do was come when she called.

marisol had mentioned something about introducing a new member, one who was desperately needed since the loss of sammy. sammy was close with the entire group, her presence like a ray of sunshine that never ceased to brighten up their world. her death had left a gaping hole in the hex, there were no secrets there. everybody was in pain. the atmosphere in the ferox had been particularly gloomy and tense since her sudden passing. it would be a pleasant distraction to have someone new joining the ranks. still, marisol's timing in bringing in the new member could have been better. sammy's funeral hadn't even taken place, yet here they were. regardless, adonis forced himself to trust her choice. marisol was a good woman, she must have had a reason for introducing her so soon.

when he entered the room, naomi and marina were already there, marina appearing far more distraught than the others. adonis listened carefully from his place beside the couch, choosing to stand instead of sit. his blue eyes flickered from marisol to noah as she was introduced. he took a moment to observe her, noting her signature hex appearance and awkward demeanor. it was apparent she was uncomfortable, adonis guessed that she probably felt scrutinized under their gazes. to spare her from feeling embarrassment, his eyes returned to marisol. it was difficult not to see noah as a replacement considering how quickly she'd shown up after sammy, but he chose to keep that to himself. however, marina, the more confrontational member of the hex, chose to speak her mind. though her reaction was relatively justifiable, her words were harsh and biting, causing an obvious frown to spread across the actor's face. "don't say that." adonis snapped to break the silence, marina's comment about their care for sammy having struck a particularly sensitive nerve. "naomi's right, marina. we all cared about her. don't be insensitive, you're not the only one in the hex who's hurting." after he spoke, his expression softened, his manicured brows no longer knitted together in distaste. he couldn't scowl like that for long, it would cause wrinkles. naomi's kind words helped ease the sting of marina's. those two just seemed to work like that. he returned his gaze to noah, offering her a gentle smile and a playful wink. the world could be a very cold place as a brand new member of the hex, cameras and the pap always in your face, your existence being broadcasted for millions to see. the last thing adonis wanted was for noah to feel like she couldn't fit in among the people just like her.

"uh, i have a question." adonis raised his hand despite the apparent fact that the deepest voice in the room had to come from him. "do you need someone to help show her around? cause, y'know, i can do it." it wasn't surprising that he'd be the first to volunteer, he enjoyed helping others. also, according to the media, he was a total playboy, so why wouldn't he jump at the chance to spend some time with the pretty new girl? his intentions weren't quite like the media made them out to be, but he didn't see much of a purpose in fighting the reputation. as long as the people he was closest to knew who he really was, the media could keep grasping at straws and smacking labels onto him all they want.

[sneezes]

ᵗᵒ ʰᵘʳᵗ ⁱˢ ᵃˢ ʰᵘᵐᵃⁿ ᵃˢ ᵗᵒ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰᵉ. ﾞ
Ⅰ. jeremiah auguste sullivan Ⅱ. meeting room Ⅲ. everyone Ⅳ. 928 wc

"Have you every lost someone you love and wanted one more conversation, one more chance to make up for the time when you thought they would be here forever? If so, then you know you can go your whole life collecting days, and none will outweigh the one you wish you had back."

He snaps the book shut, throws it back onto his bed and leans in his chair, spinning around quietly. Mitch Albom, For One More Day. Huh, that wasn't very helpful at all. None of it's helping, and he knows he's not doing this right. The junction between his thumb and pointer finger is raw and red from where the pencil is scraping against it as he writes. It kind of stings.

Still, he isn't able to produce anything and that's a problem. It just keeps jumbling, coming back to the same idea over and over again and not fitting right. His sentences are coming out wrong, the theme is wrong, the topic is wrong, the synonym there should be less mediocre, dialogue won't flow, it's all stunted.

He's torn between completely scrapping the piece he's been working on for two months because it's that terrible or just letting it sit for even longer. The irony lies in the timing, and the reminder is enough to send him right back where he started, getting up from his chair and picking For One More Day back up tentatively.

"One more day, huh." He mumbles, beginning to leaf through the pages to find his spot again. When unable to write, one must read. Or something like that, probably, it seemed accurate enough. He travels back, sits down once more, and does nothing but lose himself in the philosophical book.

By the time he remembers he was supposed to be at some meeting, he's already passed five of the chapters in the book. Absorbing nothing of the words, he sighs and places it on top of the manuscript of work, only to lean back instead of getting up to get out of his room.

He's staring at the ceiling fan, watching it spin in circles. They had offered him something that wasn't as shabby looking as the ceiling fan, but the familiarity of the object was preferred and so it stuck. It isn't as though he had much when he had been with his parents: he supposes he's just more comfortable by the gesture he had lived with his entire childhood. Or something.

It's several minutes since their meeting time and he hasn't moved much. He doesn't really have anything against this new girl he's never met, there'd be no reason to, but all the same he doesn't find the same enthusiasm he had for the others and he doesn't want to pretend it either.

He rubs his face vigorously before somehow pushing himself to get up from the chair, stretching where he stood. The idea to plop back down was definitely being entertained, but he steps away and begins the short walk from the chair to his door before remembering how disheveled he probably looked from rolling around in bed. Ah well... he'd probably get in trouble for not fixing it, and it was bad for first impressions?

So he spends even more time fixing his appearance haphazardly. He still looks like a mess on most days since then, but it'll do.

Again, he moves to leave the room, this time getting the door open and stepping out before any secondary thoughts come to mind as to why he doesn't have to leave at that moment. Though a frown is still present on his face, much more common than thought, as he gets closer to the door of their meeting room he pushes through with a careful smile - polite, not overbearing.

Pushing the door open, it's obvious that he's somewhat late. Adonis, Naomi, Marina and the new girl are all there. Marisol is there too, the one who set it all up. As he looks through the people there, he notices the two missing: that is, Roscoe and Sammy. Though only one of them would show up either way, he adds silently, and his smile wavers for a single second before he steps fully into the room.

"If I knew that I would not only look less pretty than you and miss the chance to show you around," he begins, voice light and jovial, "then I would have hurried to get out or spent more time fixing myself up." As he speaks, he moves off towards Noah, moving around Marisol to take her spot unhurriedly.

Reaching out, he takes her hand in his own and bends down to place a short kiss on the back of her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Miss." He offers, resuming his straightened position as he smiles towards her, eyes alight with mirth. "We haven't been introduced since I was so late, but I'm Jeremiah."

Then he steps back, letting go of her hand as he does so. Even despite the fact that they all shared similar traits due to the nature of what they went through, he can't help but compare her to Sammy regardless. She isn't all the same, isn't the same pretty he considered Sammy - no, not nearly. Aesthetically she fit in just perfectly with them, but...

He resumes his previous position, taking a spot around the table where there was open space before deciding that he'd sit rather than stand and takes a seat, crossing his arms on the surface of the table before resting his head there.

[Kim Jongdae]

ＲＯＳＣＯＥ ＤＥＡＮ ＫＩＭ
❝ ｎｏ ｌｉｍｉｔ, ｇｏｎｎａ ｔｏｕｃｈ ｔｈｅ ｓｋｙ !! ❞
─────────────────────────────────────────────────

tagged;; everyone idk |oc;; jesus im confused but shoutout @ syb, ty for tagging me; also this is short but Im just testing the waters

Footsteps sounded through the corridor as Roscoe steps through the hallway, fully dressed and clothed in business professional clothing. He's probably overdressed for the occasion, but there's no time to change; he's already late as it is and the young male's sure he's about to hear it from someone if he doesn't hurry. Despite that lingering thought, the man doesn't hurry, he takes his time to walk towards the meeting with leisure.

His hair is still styled for that photo shoot earlier that day- a fashion shoot showing off a couple different lines of clothing this time, something different from his usual underwear shoots. They were fun while they lasted, Roscoe's always enjoyed modeling, posing for the camera and creating some sort of art (though not to say he was art or anything like that- but the man enjoyed such a creative media as photography was), but as with the way it has always been, something felt off about his career. As with the others in this program- the others that he was supposed to be meeting... say five? ten? minutes ago, he was different from what he remembered. Blonde hair and blue eyes took the place of what had been naturally dark locks and dark eyes. Although it met the standards apparently placed upon him, it felt odd. Roscoe wasn't Roscoe. Or at least, he felt as if he wasn't himself; just some modified version- the version others wanted to see. It was him, but it wasn't him. Regardless, everyone else seemed to like it and the young male guessed that's how it'd be. For however long he was going to be blonde and blue eyed for- his whole life?

Not to mention, there's more on Roscoe's mind than just his appearance, his career, his family that's probably presumed him dead or some morbid thing like that. No, rather, it's the thought of a dead member. An unfortunate death that's placed a cloud of gloom above everyone's heads- he, himself included, of course. Perhaps that's why he's been working more than he has in a while- or at least, for as long as he could remember. Modeling has cleared his mind, blanked from any and all thoughts; only to model and do well as a model. That would be all. And that's what Roscoe's been doing for the past- how many days had it been? Shoots from the break of dawn to the time his tired body hit the soft reassurance of his bed were his favorite at the moment. Even if it meant he'd be late to important meetings; like the one he was about to walk into now-

Continuous footsteps bring Roscoe to the door of the supposed meeting room. He stops in front of the door and takes a breath; voices could be heard ever so faintly. Everyone's probably already there, is he the last? (probably- yes).

Opening the door with a firm push, Roscoe steps in calmly, greeted by the familiar faces of his fellow hex members, as well as a new face all together. Just as he had pushed the door out of his way, Roscoe pushes his thoughts out of his mind as well. And instead, he quirks his lips in a slight smile, hands in his pockets. Immediately his gaze lands on the newcomer. The unfamiliar face.

"Sorry I'm late. Roscoe. Nice to meet you."