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Still Frames;; introducing YUDDY, the antagonist. (pt.1 of 2)
( spend a nightmare with me // l’ethétique )
Light up a cigarette and the smoke of it joins the clouds that sail above, winds of cool brushing passed sweat tinged shoulders as a disdainful return of mother nature. Eyes follow the pattern created by the gray threads that curl like silk in water, how it coils so elegantly into the Prussian blue of the heavens and which distorts when a gust of air escapes burned lungs. He taints it, the sky that holds the ethereal view of nightlife and romanticism, like he does with everything he finds beautiful. Taint it, as if beauty wasn’t allowed in his world if not to ruin it. Pretty vases? Broken. Gorgeous flowers? Plucked, discarded. Aged love? Who needs it. Not him. He just needed the body that lead him here, naked apart from the boxer briefs that covered his lower half and with part of his frame out the window, winds of cool bringing him down from the short lived high he just experienced for the how many of time? Ah, who knows. All he knows is that she’s beautiful too, the girl that gave him what he could not count, laying there in his bed as a lover for a night, a short night, a night that has ended just moments ago with his breath against her collarbone and her fingers in his hair. He can still hear her stuttering to get his name out, ragged breathing breaking up the simple European name and stretching out its syllables. And he wished he could return the favour, whisper hers against her neck when the peak was hit, when he came down from it, yet her name was long forgotten the second he was allowed to touch her, the moment when she told him “Yes.” in a crowded club because that’s all he sought after, pretty words nowhere near from his heart but from his brain where he’s clever enough to persuade and have her melting for him.
Ruin beauty, and she’ll leave soon, after she showers and calls a cab. After she gets dressed and bids her farewells, a body there for use and nothing more. And he awaits the sound of his front door falling to its lock, there to signify that a night had truly ended, but in secret he dreads it all the same. Because once she leaves he’ll be alone again, there to sip on unnamed poisons as he dwells on her touch, her sounds, and have them cradle him to another lonely sleep.
And after that sleep he’ll awake mere hours later, with no body in his grasp and nobody in his heart yet he feels the same exhaustion as when he did, thick threads of desire dragging its way through the mineral of his bones, sated yet deprived. He’d have seconds to dwell on it before he’s going again, out the door with a coat thrown over shoulders, cigarette dangling from his lips, head empty yet full. He’d feel the weight on his shoulders as his car feels weightless racing over the darkened asphalt to get to work, blue smoke engulfing the vehicle with every puff of breath. It’s reminiscent, the smell, the thick ghastly smell that clings to the darkened leather and the textured dashboard and the fabric of his clothes whilst auburn lights slither closer and closer to the lips coloured like a fine glass of rosé. It’s so reminiscent, painfully so, because it reminds of September, that autumn month, that one that started this all.
“Rough night, Jerome?” is what he’ll be greeted with, what he’ll hear when his coat hits the chair of the studio and his body hits it afterwards, eyes of co-workers scanning his face as he looks so tired. Always tired until the night hits.
“Great night.” He’ll correct, a flair to his voice that is challenging, bragging, downright arrogant but who was breaking as he smirks for seconds before the topic switches, a man refusing to linger on the night before, indulge in how he fell asleep, how it ended. “Now, we’re working on that Knight song, correct?”
The day would progress like every day; flashes of it sliding before his eyes like a film played on fast forward, details lost, story forgotten. Conversations brush by even when aimed at him, words turning to white noise that pleads and nags for his attention but all his concentration lays elsewhere, in the one passion he has not yet lost or taken away by a single outburst he may or may not be regretting. His fingers move over keyboards and presses keys, ears keen on any sound he twists into a melody, eyes following the colourful lines of soundwaves as he takes in what he could create. He thinks; if not for her he wouldn’t be here. He would be in France smiling and living to and for a lie handcrafted for him to consume, to tend to and bath in the soft lights of affection and love and adoration for one. Maybe he’d be there heartbroken, the future cold, icy, if he found out later and a dream passed its expiration date. Maybe he’d be in the arms of someone who did appreciate him, folded over in an embrace as 2am went to 3 and the low hum of a friend met in the same space of her lulls him to sleep. He could think about life then, life if her lie never came out, life if it did later, life if he never met her in that park but met another sooner, before her, play with the idea of experimenting and discovering in ways he deprived himself of because he was in love and he was faithful. He could think that, but he’s here; producing, writing, throwing balls of paper over his shoulder as half his songs show an emotion he does not want anyone to sing. And it’s a life with benefits, meeting such stars, seeing your work be adored by thousands, millions, whilst being an anonymous name nestled between the greats on records, but it’s a life he can’t seem to enjoy. Hour after hour, day after day, from Monday to Friday that continues cycle of a fastforward button jammed steals his time away, another week gone. And when Friday hits its end he either finds himself dwelling, miserable, or put on the façade he so desperately wants live, just once more;
“I can give you everything you want.”
Club lights flash and that’s what he’d whisper, a breath ghosting over skin as he’d exhale another empty promise to a girl who deserved better than this.
“I can give you everything you need.”
What she needs? No, what he needs. Between the dancing and the small talk, is she not just a vessel? A vessel that’s soft to the touch, warm to the touch, with a laugh that’s so pretty and a glint that’s inviting, dancing behind the browns of her most beautiful eyes. Yes, she’s just that and he hates himself for seeing her that way. Seeing her as the base level of a person, with no hobbies to her name, no goals in life, no personality to dive into and pick apart to fall for. But God does he need this, need it. Need not to smile at a habit of putting glasses on coasters or take advantage of a love for basil, home made cooking, the smell of the beach. He can’t dig deeper, to a core that shows what drives her, what makes her smile, what hurts her so he could never do it. She’s a baseline and his fingers pluck the strings, heated fingerpads sliding along the hem of her high rising skirt when she beckoned him closer and allowed him to. Ah, is it truly what he needs? What he wants? A body, there for pleasure and to discard when boredom sets in, when interest fades and another looks more beautiful. Hm.
“I can take you away from here. Have you scream in ecstasy.”
Does he want to? Who cares, it only matters that he can and he will. Play her. Entertain her. And it’s that level of confidence that some may find attractive, the fact that you can see from the way he looks at the girl he’ll deliver whatever she wants, if it gets him what he wants. Egotism, narcissism, it’s the start of the evening and all his mouth has done is build himself up. That he was a prize to be had, that you should be honoured to have him even talk to you, breath the same air as you. And he wants to get to a point where he believes his words, ignore what has been taken away from him, what’s been confirmed by a simple action. Fuck her. He’ll believe he’s better one day. No, not one day. Today. He’s better. Hell, he’s always been better. And she’ll notice. She’ll regret it. She’ll watch him blow up and she’ll regret every moment she missed of him. From her warm bed in Paris, her shared apartment in Seoul. She’ll realize that she lost him. She lost a prize, even if he hadn’t let go of her yet. But she’ll disappear soon. Just- Just keep bordering on this arrogance.
“Is that really an offer you can refuse?”
Keep bordering on this cockiness.
“A night.”
On this fleeting vainglory.
“With me.”
Keep bordering on all this pride, this useless, undeserved pride for no one but himself. A sense of smugness that clouds whatever he hides beneath the surface. What did he say? “A night with me.”? A night with who? Who even is he anymore? Jerome, spun one eighty and now just lost. Lost in a maze of emotions he doesn’t allow himself to air out, air into the winds of understanding and cooing because he doesn’t want to. Who wants to show a weakness that he was broken because of a girl who should mean nothing to him now. A girl, who took his heart, took his trust, took his pain he whispered silently from years and years of being other, and gave it back. Gave his heart back bruised and bloodied. Returned his trust in pieces, broken like vases on wooden floors. Hand back the pain, now threefold, as he’s other again, as he’s lesser again, as he’s alone again.
“Call me.” He hears, and he’s back to where he was a week ago; half of his body leaning out of his window, mother nature kissing his skin as he defiles her with the light up cigarette. It passed so quickly, the week, time moving at the speed of light as a mind melts one day with the other, one hour with another, one girl with a lover and his tongue slips over his lips when he feels her touch on the nude of his shoulders, on the base of his neck. A cigarette sits snugly between finger tips, dangling there as ashes trickle down like darkened snowflakes to the concrete meters below. For the first time in the days does time slow down, seconds ticking away like minutes as he lets that blueish smoke slip passed his lips and into the air before he turns to her, there to watch her expression; take her in. Oh, she’s so pretty, from her lips to her eyes to the blunt bangs that sit above her eyebrows, to even the sated expression she carries as her lips had curled into a lazy smirk. Time slows; just this once; for he was wanted. How sad it might sound it’s the words she used; Call me, meaning see me, meaning fuck me, meaning entertain me, meaning I want you. For another time. Multiple times. Again. And that little ‘I want you’ is important. When has he been wanted? Not when he was born. Not when he flew from Korea to France. Not on his first day at school, his meetings with family, his experience of falling in love. He might’ve been wanted three times. All friends. And where are they now? It’s easy to forget.
Their lips meet, albeit brief, as he’s never there to linger. And as they part she leaves him, without the care of him seeing her out, taking her home, wish her a good night. Because that’s it, he doesn’t care enough. Not about her, nor the previous one, the one before and even the one he’ll meet in the future. The only thing she’s worthy of is a whisper, one accompanied by the smirk that started this night and one who’s promise is just as empty as he is.
“I will.”
Ah, he won’t.
EPILOGUE. YUDDY ‘18
( when a bird lands;; death of a sinner )
Fallen like the ash of a cigarette it’s a dvd case that lands to the ground after his hand wormed it free, the intended book forgotten the second his eyes landed on its cover.
It reads;
‘Days of being Wild’
three times over in various scripts from Latin, to Hanzi, to Hangul right below, a sea of blue hues contrasting the lettering beautifully on its background. When had been the last time he saw this? Probably years ago; not when twenty-six but twenty-four, no twenty two.... twenty-one. A young man, a confused boy, alone in the capital of Morning Calm whilst a storm was brewing. He picks it up and remembers the day he bought it, remembers his small but bitter laugh at the fact he missed it in his collection when all he wanted to do was sink into his cheap couch and let a trilogy slide by in front of his dull eyes. Not even the simple things could work out for him anymore, he would’ve thought. But why didn’t he have it? He takes care of his films. Well, because of a friend who he lend it to, you know, the one who’s bedroom he remembered seeing last, the one who brushed his fingers through his hair and whispered the soft ‘Forget her,’ he finally seemed to have made true. The one who warned him, when he was too deaf to listen, and in the present day Jerome’s teeth slid over his lip.
The movie played a week later, Korean subtitles making it harder for him to follow but he remembered the many times he watched it. There was empathy for the women, disdain for the friend, adoration for Tide and Yuddy.. Ah, Yuddy. He never knew what to feel about him. Always lost between emotions the character brought. “Yuddy is a fucking dick.” He remembered his friend Niko saying, his voice showing amusement yet annoyance and he remembered all his friends laughing except for him. He stayed silent, too absorbed into the feeling of understanding him.
Yuddy;
who was abandoned; adopted; lied to.
Yuddy;
who was a womanizer; a heartbreaker; one to hate yet fight over.
Yuddy;
who was complicated.
That’s it.
Between the cloud of smoke lodged in his livingroom did a young Jerome lean forward to part it, eyes on the way a character moved over screen as his fingers snubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray for its early grave. His lips were parted, expression wiped from emotions as wide eyes fell into the character study that now lead him to the realization that; “That’s me.” Me, as in him, as in the character he’ll play for the years to come like he is some kind of actor in a film. He understands him, is him, lives the life of him and even though in the movie the end seems bleak, he won’t end like that. He knows he won’t. And even if he did. Who cares. He’ll live life.
She won’t be there to take it from him.
Jerome stands in the present with the dvd gripped in his hands, long bangs blocking his vision. Everything, his whole life here, it’s like a distant memory now. How fast he was living, like he didn’t care for anything; not even himself. And he could empathize with himself; how he just wanted to live in this façade and indulge in this sea of possibilities that he missed out of because he tended a lie for two years, tended her lie. But as he thinks back at what he created he might as well hate himself. I used you. I used you. Oh, you too. Mindful in the moment he ticks off every face, every smile, every glow of ecstasy and every hateful glare he received from people he took in just to use them. And he remembers every smirk, every grin, every up and down with a tongue running over his lips as he objectifies another one, lies to another one, disregard another one because look at the other one, oh she’s beautiful too. Hell, even the one he loves now, who he looked at in terror when those feelings arose, yes, how did that start again? With a smirk and a destination, where his words were daring him, his mind sparked curiousity, his heart was uninteresting. But his body, his body was what he wanted. And wasn’t he a prize to be won?
Ah, Yuddy. It’s his alias through the years. It’s the name fans scream when he’s on stage, the one he hears when a host introduces him, the one he reads in credits. It’s his public name, his unsaid private name, almost more true than his given name and even with his mind slowly wondering if he could show more of himself to the people who he kept distant with his behaviour, maybe apologize to some, he can’t help but question, with his vision blurring to pale blue at his unfocused gaze;
What is more of himself?
No;
How much of this was him?
FIN.
( end )
#WORDCOUNT. ( 2972 )#L'ANALYSE D'UN PERSONNAGE. ( yuddy / jerome )#LES COURTS-MÉTRAGES. ( aesthetics )#OOC. ( song: too fast - sonder )#( movie: days of being wild - wong kar-wai )#( little disclaimer: i'm not here to vilify his sexuality. i think that's fine. what i am here to do is vilify how he used it. )#( i wrote this as an introduction and a re-connection with his character as the idea of YUDDY left me a bit. )#( biography is almost there. life distracted me a bit )#( i'm planning to make my last chance a beautiful one. )#( thank you for reading. i hope everyone is doing well )#( new introduction coming soon too by the way. just- un peu plus de temps )#( merci beaucoup )
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i wrote a very long comeback post but i just. too much fluff, not getting to the point. i don’t like it.
so bonjour. naomi here, resident sad boy aesthetic and greatest disappearance act of 2018. here to apologise to many people (i’m very sorry for disappearing so often and promising things with no outcome, it’s shitty and last weeks epiphany hit me in the head with it.) and reappear with news of a rewritten biography, almost done. two á three more chapters to go. some plots are disappearing, a lot of them actually as with a new biography comes small tweeks, i’ll notify. though, with said epiphany, i want to be honest here and say this is my last effort for jerome. i’ve seen many people depart from this rp for mental health reasons whether depression and/or anxiety, and i have noticed (and probably a few of you too) that after events of 2017 i’ve been struggling a lot, with being here, concentrating, writing everyone, even with enjoying kpop at times (which is bad if you write in a kpop orientated roleplay) and i don’t want to be greedy, which i have been, and which also has it’s personal reasons. i love jerome tremendously, (i can honestly say he’s my most beloved muse.) and from the muses that still reside from when i was more open and talkactive, i love his connections as well. but i don’t want to drag a corpse around and pretend its alive, that’ll be a disservice to the people in this rp, to jaebum as a faceclaim, to jerome as a character. so with weeks of obsessive writing for a biography i can be proud of, a theme revamp, new npc’s thrown into his life to discover him more, if after all that i can’t make him what he once was, i don’t think i’ll be able to continue him.
now, i hope this doesn’t scare off potential plots with people as i make it sound like i’m very uncertain. but, honestly i need to show honesty. and whilst i’m not super uncertain, i’m not super certain as well. so i understand if people are hesitant.
if i do end up saying goodbye, whether this week still, next week or maybe somewhere in 2019 who knows, i’ll say it. i’ve had too many rps just let me go because of inactivity after i just start to hibernate, put my head in the sand if you will, but this rp has given me a lot to be thankful of, and it deserves a proper goodbye if i depart. if not when, we are giving jerome a fighting chance here. a pathetic one but a fighting chance non the less. so yes if i do depart i want to stay connected, as the people i’ve met here are lovely people and again there are too many people i’ve lost contact with in rp spheres either because i disappeared for too long or a group just dissipates.
so please, for now i have a dlscord for plotting, but if something happens, i have a dlscord for talking @ maenoji#6891
now, it’s terribly late/early, and i have a bio to finish. so i’ll be feeding my sleep deprivation with writing that as i tell everyone bonne nuit,
little ps; do the people who knew nari (fmdrizo) still have contact with her? i missed her farewell and i.. i’m always worried
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December 5th. 11.24pm kst. - don’t leave me.
location; seoul, home
motivation; his birthday, mbc cover festival 2017, @fmdjulien
wordcount; just over 4000
writers note; throwback. originally meant for his birthday, this concept has been written and rewritten a few times and i’ve been through three song changes before settling on this one today. though the first one and the second one fits the situation of jerome’s romantic endeavors very much (especially the second. that one is spot on. which is “mentioned” in this.) i changed it last minute to this one, as it felt right. apparently this song is a hymn of cowardice men so? jerome. the two songs will appear in a playlist at some point however so it’ll be heard. i didn’t write out the song because it’s tedious to do so, but i went by every couplet, translating it to jerome’s situation. (with help of english translations and the dutch version to grasp the idea of the song better.)
bonus note; queued because i’ve probably thrown myself into hibernation and knowing myself forgot the days because of it. so this is unfinished.. i mean the writing is all good kind of but spellchecks.. sentence control.. perfectionist stuff like that hasn’t been done as my mind isn’t all there and this piece is supposed to have an instagram live graphic but if i’m not here to make it, it’s technically not done. when i’m back i’ll probably repost this with everything. anyway. hope this is nice to read though and i hope i queued this right.. hm.
see you in spring,
“The songs?” A heavy eyed twenty five year old repeats as he reads the comments that scrolled by on his screen, avoiding any that contain the words ‘girlfriend’ or ‘model’. It’s been four months since he kissed the mouth of a friend and did things he could never take back, said things he could never get back, drunk and stupid yet high on truths finally admitted in the air. It’s been two months since Tokyo where the new and the old met each other, indirectly and more negatively than a young Frenchman could anticipate. Did he think she was the next? That last August was there to cash in the prize he promised himself and now it’s time to find another, gain again. That previous acquaintanceship had left him wanting her and left an American to be long forgotten? Did he think that? Jerome didn’t know. As it’s been less than a month after the cover festival that had came and went, tensions high between two men and just like all the days that followed that pivotal moment in the peak of Summer had one of them distancing, hiding, never explaining, never talking. Just silence, one to be broken someday.
“You guys want me to sing the songs?” We’re here and it’s December, nearing the end of a year that fueled a back and forth within Jerome and showed the cowardice behaviours in his actions. Like now, with the hesitations in his voice there because the songs he had in his mind are explanatory, are admitting, and even when he mentioned them not by name, he’s unsure to give them out, expose himself to ears that are deaf to its meanings.
Mention not by name, his informing nature had hit the ears of viewers moments prior, warm yet hoarse voice telling them the song he sang for the cover festival was not one of his choosings, but of his managers instead. “I do love Origin.” He started, speaking softly, weary smile on his face. “But it was not the songs I had in mind.” One he told, a sleazy r&b track that had Jiyoon scolding him for the millionth time these past months, one that fitted perfectly with the Frenchmans image. Truly overcompensating in nature as it would’ve dripped from his mouth if given the allowance to sing it then. Yet the others, the ones that came naturally to him as he read over the prompt, he had chosen to stay silent about, a nervous tinge hitting his heart the second he noticed comments rolling in asking what his first picks would’ve been. Long bangs hide that nervousness ghosting behind his eyes yet he pushes the strands up, defiant to himself, fingers running through pin straight hair to have awaiting gazes catch a glimpse of what terror and lack of sleep could create. “I..” He stumbles, uncharacteristic for him yet familiar to any fan that has followed him since the beginning. December 5th just does that to him, they say, every year he looks tired. And he does, truly does, yet they push it onto parties, hangover wild from drinking and drinking his way till the 4th turns into the 5th, clock hitting 12 and friends cheering happily at another year conquered for a man riding the fast lane. Instead of the reality of it all; the tears that make him drowsy, the cries that make him weak, head resting upon the vinyl steering wheel as he eerily awaits for something, anything, opposite of the building he once was carried out of, small hands clinging to the coat of a woman who would be the first to call him ‘Jerome’.
This year seems no different, nothing unusual to the off camera yawn and the rubbing of his eyes, only this time he has another load on him, one that hangs from his heart almost as heavy as his mother does. “If I sing one, would you all be happy? The livestream will end after I’m done.” Comments upon comments tell him no, that he should keep streaming, that he should sing both, like he owes them things, like they’re greedy, and it makes his tongue hit the back of his teeth. “I sing one. You all shouldn’t be greedy, it’s a bad trait.” He scoffs at how ironic it sounds coming from himself as he must be known for his greed now. Always taking even when he’s giving. Take it all because he wants it all, even if he doesn’t deserve it all. He doesn’t deserve it all. “English or French?”
princeyu class is so boring! please stay on longer.
deuxmoles une chanson! france loves hearing your french!
knightsangels your voice is all we need!!
plushballmiso if you rather want it to end now.... you seem so tired oppa.
yuzotp yuddy hyung! please let us hear. you sound so beautiful in french.
ellement french french french!
His tongue slips over his drying lips as he follows the quick replies, playfully scolding the name he recognized for watching him in class yet arrogantly stating he might as well be more important than schoolwork. But he quickly slips back into his calmer self, the smirk that had hinted his lips already gone as he saw the masses telling him they don’t mind as they would love to hear him in his native tongue, indulge in a secret song they where once deprived from, too. And he sighs, so delicately that he could be sure half of the viewers just gasped at the sound, maybe he does seem a little different. “Okay. French it is.” The word of agreement breaks silent consideration that rings through the room he was in, though pay attention and it sounds like he spoke it reluctantly. “I am tired though. And I feel a little rough. So if my voice isn’t up to pair, blame that.” Humility, it carries his voice before he breaks it, the smirk he had before blossoming back on his lips which he is known to have, voice dropping slightly as he whispered; “I’m still amazing.”
Movements to the keyboard are smooth, just a few steps away from the bed he sat upon yet if you knew him deeply, you’d be able to poke through the cloaked veil he wore today, see how anxious he grew at the prospect of forming his mouth around the language of love. Know the way he bend down to pet Edith was not only out of affection, but for a silent wish of comfort as well, a physical whisper of ‘help me’ to the feline who just purred in her own delight. Feel the clamminess of his hands as he rubs them together after settling behind his keyboard all the while you see the bop of his Adams apple which stutters when it hits its peak. All these things, if you knew him, watched him closely, you’d see there was more than tiredness and roughness that played him. You’d see him conflicted, you’d see him astray. You might as well see him desperate.
“I want to preface this a little bit.” Jerome starts as fingers caressed keys so gently, like he was caressing a lover instead. Drunk and in love, a remembrance of the moments pads of digits awaited the drag over skin. Body unclothed. Senses on fire. Touch him. His tongue slid past his teeth. “The song. It’s just that, a song.” Punctuation. “One I’ve known for years from my time in France yet I never understood it. And I’ll probably never will.“ Look into his eyes and you’ll see he’s unsure, like his life experience has given him something else. Look to his lips and you’d see that wavering smile, so little and barely noticeable yet it’s there. It’s there. Just like summer was there but then autumn had passed and winter had begun. It’s there, just like understanding was there, somewhere, as he feels it haunting him now. “But it has always touched me in a way. As it speaks to desperation maybe, possibly the cowardice of men.” Without knowing he can imagine the thoughts going through some fans minds; why does that touch him? Is this a point to connect to his debut? When he was unwise and he shared too much, mouth running too fast as he thought the source of it all was far away and not steps away from him. ”Just like I said though, simply a song which I admire.” Break the fantasy, he doesn’t allow people to indulge, to question, as she’s there connected yet for once it’s not about her. “Don’t expect it to be summer again.” He says, voice bordering on alluring (which, strange), and he tries so hard to chuckle or smirk or have anything denote he’s being sly with a callback to his virtual wedding day yet he can’t. Because it is like summer again, only winter now with the opposite of warmth ghosting around the spacious bedroom. No heated ear to whisper his song in to, only a cool device replacing it broadcasting his melody to thousands. But is he listening? He glances towards the bed and for all viewers it seems he’s staring at the feline out of view, peering soundly at her owner, yet he stares at the pillows instead, passed the animal and to a hazy memory he wants so badly to forget; dark hair messy sprawled out on cushions, body arching and wanting for him. Beautiful and blushed, unraveled and there, there to be loved, blatantly loved, unapologetically loved. There for him and he wants it again and again and again- wait. Does he want to forget? With a graze of his teeth over his bottom lip, he suddenly turns back around to have sharp eyes face the lens again, question nonchalantly rolling off his tongue the moment he does. “Do you all know Jacques Brel?”
A sea of no’s until one hopeful yes.
He gets his smile back, honest, or so it seemed, as his voice enters his bed room. “JewelAva, you’re my favourite today.” Day made, the girl behind the username must be glowing at the acknowledgement of one of her favourite artist yet Jerome might as well feel his fresh smile faltering, the study of her name getting to him. “I like your name too.” He admits however, corners of his mouth still curved upwards as he stared into the camera. “Jewel... Jewels... Aren’t we all a little fan of Julien? In here?” Though, did he just sound sad saying the last part? Tapping his chest over his heart in a cute fanservice way a strategy of cloaking it? Ah, only good ears will hear, others might see it as simple exhaustion. “Might change my name to 30jewels. I might..”
Lingering on the comments suddenly all telling him they love the Belgian singer as well, mixed with the heart emoticons scattering between his name and Juliens, he feels himself slipping in a daze for a moment. Given the day, he’s breaking at some point. The clock is nearing twelve and he hasn’t thought deeply yet as he had no time for it. It’s a Tuesday, he’s not free, and when he was he sat sobbing in his car, tinted windows a live saver. He got home late, birthday dinner with friends were one was missing, not invited but still missing and he gnawed painfully at his bottom lip, playing more with his food than eating it. I miss you. Then a phone call from Frederic in his presumed break from teaching has him acting like he’s fine, even when the other knew December was a month that left his spirit low and saddened. “Why do you lie so often to me now?” Freddy had asked, tone concerned and maybe a tad frustrated. “You know I’m not the cameras nor your fans. You don’t have to put on a front for me.” Friends for so long yet acting like he’s at work, chatting with friends who aren’t friends who know his name but not know him and it hurts to do this but he hurts alone. “I...I’m not.” He stuttered, uncharacteristically, a back and forth igniting by it. Denying and challenging over and over again until his mouth blabbers something about the livestream that’s about to start, changing the subject for his own good as honesty was his virtue once. “Jerome you’re avoiding. Stop it. I’m your best frie-” Sentences dissipate under the pushing voice of the younger Frenchman, cutting him off almost desperately with a simple; “The livestream Freddy. Will you watch?” And Jerome could flinch at the sigh that escaped his longest friend then, sounding almost disappointed, defeated, but mostly just sad. “I’ll see if I can catch the end. I have lots of things to do. Anyway, I only called to wish you a happy birthday so happy birthday Jerome. Take care of yourself.” Before he could say thank you or you too a disconnection tone beeps in his ear, leaving whatever sentence to die out in his throat. Given the day, he’s breaking at some point and after that phonecall he was sure it was then, with a wetness painting his cheeks and a black screen mirroring his expression back to him. Yet as he stood there, ready to let go, the screen illuminated with a reminder of a stream that was promised to start soon and all he could do was stare, stare forward to the wall and missing the way a tear made its mark on the glass.
jewelava is the song ‘quand on n’a que l’amour’?
“Hm?” His daze dissolves into thin air as he catches the comment, leaning over to scroll through the chat to find it again. “Quand on n’a que l’amour? Oh non.” Is said with a shake of his head accompanying it, forgetting he answered all in French. “Tres bonne chanson mias.. uh no. No. I’ve been in love before.” It’s the way he said it, so matter-of-factly, that should’ve alarmed himself. But it didn’t. “I know how the play it though.” Fingers run through his dark locks before they land on the plastic keys of his keyboard again, immediately hitting a note upon contact and as he starts playing the keys he half sings half hums along with the melody of a single couplet, dwindling it down when he had enough. When the word l’amour stopped itself from coming out and his hands lift up from the keyboard. His eyebrows knit together. “A little...A little like that.” And hands rub together. “Maybe I’ll cover it someday.” He takes a glance to the screen then and the questions of who he was in love with burn his retina’s, so he looks away. “But it’s getting late.” He says. “And I promised only one song.” He continues. “One song.” He repeats, voice disappearing into the hum of his bedroom afterwards. For you. He mouths, so unnoticeable that he thinks he thought it. But are you watching?
It stays silent for a moment, where masculine hands find their place on the keys again and long bangs fall neatly over his eyebrows, partly his eyes. He sits there in pure silent just to lick his lips, having them dry again for some reason. Or maybe he sits there to recollect himself from his mind slipping, thoughts jumbled and screeching loud. Whatever his reason was it stays quiet before he doesn’t.
Humming is how he breaks the air, where originally the Ondes Martenot vibrates hauntingly with the melody yet it’s Jerome who does it hauntingly beautiful now, even with the light hoarseness that carries his vocal cords. At her home the fan named Ava lays in her bed at an ungodly hour hand clasped over her mouth as she recognizes the melody immediately. But Jerome isn’t looking at the screen anymore, hasn’t looked in a while, so the comment of her stating it’s one of her favourite songs falls to blind eyes as lips form around the first five syllables that’ll open him up, a whisper that trembles delightfully.
“Ne me quitte pas..”
i.
A couplet escapes him, the first of five and he’s already falling into that Jerome flair he’s known for when he gets intimate, passionate, allowed to speak as him. Forget the times where they hurt each other because they know each other and know which string to pull. Forget the fake smiles on one and the distance on another as it’s all just fear and misunderstandings breeding them. Forget the squashed moments of happiness, when the cloak of pink got lifted and reality set in. Forget that I’m a coward beneath the assertive and confident, the aggressive and straight forward. The blunt. The suave. Forget that I’m simply that, a coward, when it comes to love.
ii.
Promises upon promises he wants to gift the air and gift the man that’s somewhere out there because deep down he knows he can make them true. All of them. From highs to lows even if most of them are nothing but simple when the song he sings exudes the fantasy of the extravagant. It’s a fantasy he’d indulge in though, find a pearl of rain in the driest of deserts, dig the earth till exhaustion purely to dress him in gold. Anything. If it meant to love him he’d do anything.
iii.
Languages made up to others are ones his love must understand because he’s the only one that can. Take a word not from his lips but from his eyes and from his touch and the taste of his tongue that runs along the seam of plush lips in the deepness of nights as a back bows to it. Hear the stutter of his heart and the gulp of his swallow as bodies fall still in the bed that fills no regrets like the other does. Listen to the physical that speaks of cherishment, amour, the simple way of devotion even when a body turned away. He tells him, more than anyone could, as even though many people crave a dream he craves the most, their hearts a weak flame compared to his own supernova.
Without his realization, a tear runs down Jerome’s cheek.
iv.
Scorching lava paints the fields of rye with ash so thick it must never grow fruitful again, yet wait a few years and then come back - you’ll be surprised how much you see. Enough grains to feed a city, enough flowers to be dressed in dew, a field now rich with growth breaking through the onyx soil more abundant than before. Years does it take to get like this, but how many? Five, maybe six, and isn’t he already there? Jerome, coming home to love from the metropolis of lust to see darkened skies fall upon blossomed flora and he sees love.
He sees love even when he never wanted to see it. He’s found love even though he’s scared to take it. He’s in love and he knows he’s wanted. Knows because it rolled off a tongue in the truest of moments, no filters, no nothing holding it back. He’s wanted.
Hell, maybe even loved.
Like warm crackles of an open fire, it’s the breaks in his voice that leave all watchers to hold their heart at the delicateness of it, transported back to the beginning of the year when Limbo first came out. All watchers except for two, maybe three. One in France who sits quietly in the buzzling teachers lounge, earbuds in his ears as dark eyebrows knit together in a way a young Jerome would laugh loudly at as a young Halit squished his cheeks and told him to smile whilst the youngest shows the dazzling row of metal decorating his teeth. It’s his standard face, sure, but its tinted by concern that is undeniable for the male that stuttered across his phone screen, 8960 kilometers away. The other is closer, in the same country even, and who just sobs at the reminiscence of it all; the long hair, the facial hair, the posture that is exactly the same. Even the hoarseness tinging a beautiful singing voice has her remembering the hums of a twenty year old when he’d entertain motherly affection. It breaks her, so she stops. But the last, the third, is he even watching now? Know it now? After months of silence broken by fighting, shattered by misunderstandings, mend by exhaustion, does he know it now? That it’s never him but it’s always this. Always a coward who still lets the past control him.
v.
No, don’t cry no more. Do- do speak some more. Only when smiles are seen, only when laughs are heard, there as a melody that’s more beautiful than any song he has ever heard. Childlike wonder lost on him, loosing the battle to simple joy from him.
Ah, five couplets and Jerome starts on the last one, feeling his cheeks to be cold at the wetness it holds yet he can’t wipe away as it’ll be obvious that way, the feelings he carries as the loudness of his previous couplet simmers down in a broken murmur that is nothing but soft. It seems so silly but he’s here to embarrass himself, isn’t he? Even if espresso coloured eyes aren’t watching. Make the confident act like a fool on his birthday no less for someone who should’ve never gotten that close. But there’s pride in his workings, somewhere in the depths of his mind where his stage persona starts to crumble and he just wants to admit, he feels pride that he’s getting there. Yet he can’t get there here, displayed to thousands whilst his image shows him as a Dorian Gray and like the help he asked for, there’s a fluffy toosh wiggling in preparation for the jump to have pretty dark paws land and rest upon a lap she feels most comfortable in. Edith, she arrives at the right time, meow so loud and nasally just like her owners laugh and upon the “Danser et sourire-” that leaves his mouth he looks down to find satellite disks and a koala-esque nose facing up at him, features that make his lips curl into the lightest of smiles. Help me he conveyed with a brush over her head and chocolate dipped paws find their way onto the piano keys to do just that, disturbing the melody for a moment before her purrs enhance it, soothing him at the same time.
Eskimo kisses are there with every pause that leaves him, fur head hitting the underside of his chin every time she asks and if Jerome was there to spare a glance at the chat he’d see the adoration of fans translated in an explosion of heart emoticons. But there is Edith, and there is the song waiting to be finished for the man who may or may not be watching, so he continues.
Continues his wish to be at his side again, to haunt his shadow as he laughs and sings because of him or something else. Just the crinkles of smile lines decorating the corners of eyes there to be adored like the wide smile uncovered by a hand as Jerome drags him in a drunken dance, lifting the heaviness of his heart as it’s everything he loves, threads falling apart. He wants to continue unraveling from up close, be the shadow cast at high noon when the sun’s beating down and we’re at the hottest part of the day. He wants to feast upon every sound produced by a single mouth from unapologetic laughs to delighted sighs to whiny moans to annoyed huffs to angry shouts to breaking sobs- To all, he wants to be there for them all. Wants to sooth some, wants to produce some. Just, wants to. Even if he’s scared to do.
He says don’t leave me even if it’s not his place to do so. Running away from problems his own doing and ignoring the hands that reach out. But he’s difficult is he not? Difficult with love and accepting want, difficult with letting go of the past, of her. Difficult with believing, with coping, with trust when trust was lost and betrayed so easily before. “I love you” She told him once, lies decorating her voice yet ears not hearing it. “I want you.” She whispered once, but gone she wanted another. “I’ll follow you everywhere.” She promised once, when the smile on his face was bright and exited, exuding pride from his accomplishment of a job offer in Seoul, and for once she made it true - but not how he wanted. Here too breathing and living life in the countries capital. Then there too in the Land of the Rising Sun, in the same capital, in the same district, in the same club. She makes a single one true, as a memory, as a warning, as a break in his safety;
A break who brought him here.
Leading her further and further away from his mind whilst leading him closer and closer to his heart. All but consciously until the second both wandered to him, and with her tongue down his throat in a hotelroom he wants not to be in he realized fully then that he could live without her but could not live without him. Never without him.
The end is near and he whispers it now. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me- stop. You’re sounding desperate. Fingers start to hurt at the quick alternating between piercing keys, Edith still purrs so obnoxiously loud and he just feels so tired. He doesn’t want to sound desperate as it’s the day that make it so. All he wants to do is make it clear that the running is stupid, that he hates the cowardliness he brings upon himself as he keeps thinking and thinking that he’ll loose him if he stops. It’s terrifying thing but he wants to give him answers, wants to give him reasons, wants to stop abusing his patience like he did before. Julien, oh he deserves so much more. Jerome wants to give him more. Wants to give him everything.
So don’t leave me. Jerome said it three times in a wavering tone and countless of times in the song that’ll end with a final repeating of those words. Don’t leave me. But he says nothing of that sort. Instead his Adams apple bops again, slow and there and recognizable to one as it’s been seen countless times before. Same to the way he licks his lips, starting not at corners but the middle of his bottom lip, pink muscle lingering before the words leave him.
“Et veux-moi encore.”
He almost says something else, almost asked something more yet he caught himself with the run of his tongue, lips wet to wrap around these words instead of a sentence including love. Yes, he has no right to ask but he has the right to declare, to suggest, to plant the seed that he wants his still, that he loves him still and that he’ll never forgive himself if he ruined them.
And want me still.
Fingers finish the song. Fingers turn the keyboard off. Fingers wrap around the skinny frame of mocha and creme to have that purring frame press to his chest. Then it’s his lips that find the fur decorating her dome, pressing a kiss between the large ears as he spins his chair around to get up and carry his darling to her previous napping spot. He doesn’t notice the hearts on screen.
“Bonne nuit.” You hear in the distance but his body is out of view, blind eyes seeing nothing of the sleeve sliding along his right cheek, nothing of the petting of his cat and in part hear nothing of the murmured ‘thank you’ that seems so silly but sounded true.
Seconds later he’s back in view and he ever looked so handsome, leaning over the keyboard to have his upper body in view, hair pushed back and messily falling, shirt cut suddenly seeming lower than before. And yes he still looks tired, but maybe there’s something else, pose reminiscent to when he was overly confident once yet different, more open, more closed. “Goodnight.” He says to all, repeating the French but this time in English and whatever expression he has his eyes betray him, they always betray him, just like his voice does. Know him deeply and you’ll see it. Know him closely and you’ll hear it. That it’s not for all but solely for one, just for one, always for one.
From one breath to the next his face disappears into the end of a broadcast, comments halting where they spammed before. Jerome ends his night there too, whether he’s breaking or he had broken or he’s regretting or he’s relieved, it doesn’t matter. He ends his night; With his back hitting his bed. With his cat clawing at his leg. With his mouth forming around words before a voice memo gets send to someone who’s simply named ‘mon cœur‘ in his contact list.
“Je pense toujours que tu es beau, Julien.“
He ends his night, only then.
I still think of you as beautiful.
FIN.
{ end }
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@fmdtheo : bc entertainment?? more like baby croissant entertainment at this rate
fixed
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OK I WAS SO ANGRY WHEN I WOKE UP BC i LosT All mY INSant MESSagES PRocESS OnLY bc I FEll AslEEP beHInd mY LAptoP (a hazard dotn be ME) aND mY ASS forGOT TO SAVE BETWEEN WRITING but then i saw nari was back so im fine again bc ???nari (though my soft heart isnt getting my writing back so people who are i owe things in IMs- naomi is HERE todAY. to SLAY bc i sAY so. i cant rhyme. i have more to write in ims than i have rp wise how-)
ALSO
UHH EXcuSEZ-MOI?? aNOTHER PRECIOUS FRANÇAIS OUIOUIOUI BABY CROISSANT??????????? IS DAD BAGUETTE AKA JEROME GAUTHIER GETTING A SECOND BIOLOGICAL SON??????????????? (bc look.. person.. whoever u r..
imjuststatingfacts
im jking but rly-
i..i need to stop this dad jerome deal but who am i to denY my sons dadmenship
#Writer Speaks.#ooc. { idrank the caffeine again sOMEONE STOP ME FROM DOING THIS I CRASH SO HARD }#{ anYWAY im writing nd finishing up somETHINg in LE phOTOshOP ok bye }
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YUDDY’s instagram update;; 180403
comments;
deuxmoles why he looking so good?? 😩😩😩 run me over w ur truck daddy
princeyu PLEASE CUT THE MULLET ✂️☠️
inthemoodfortoi aesthetic prince
saintjerhoeme when u go on a trip but u forget ur still wearing ur aquaria entrance look wig #dragdefinedbyYU
hitthekwon i love your face but pls when are we hearing smthng new again!!!
soohoney oppa!! wanna know what you thinks of vivis cover of instagram!!! we know you loved RIZO’s!! ❤️❤️❤️
#Médias sociaux. { Instagram }#ooc. { finished all my replies!! sorry it took so long. ishould not drink caffeine when i have a lot of muse bc i only crash v hard }#{ anyway. its late/early but i'll try to get some ims done! }#{ also @ my own made up instagram user hitthekwon *eye eye* }#{ 2nd also. remember deuxmoles/princeyu/saintjerhoeme. they are my babies }#{ 3rd also. for people not knowing of the dragqueen aquaria. she has like this really dope punkish mullet wig. }#{ which she wore in her entrance look on RPDR nd every time jb has his hair styled like this i think about it bc so good }
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jameschaexfmd:
{ send to: jerome } That’s right, i do.
{ send to: jerome } I believe that I can do it without a bribe, but that sounds like a good plan, do you need anything else other than a guitar?
{ send to: jerome } Please, I can learn it in hours ;) you are in good hands.
{ send to: mars’ james }
if you have anything more to offer me. I do appreciate a nice freestyle. You’re the rapper of your group, right? Think you could handle delivering bars straight from the head?
{ send to: mars’ james }
And learn in hours huh? Even if I change my mind last minute and send you the hardest guitar solo to learn instead?
{ send to: mars’ james }
Know I’ll hold you on that. One off note and I’ll destroy your confidence myself ;)
#Des messages texte. { á Chae 'James' Jaehyun }#ooc. { Jeromes way of filtering out the IDOL rappers dont @ him also dont disappoint him james NO JKbut rly jerome a snobby a-hole w this }
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fmdmunhee:
{ send to: Jerome }
Yes and everything that I do is great.
{ send to: Jerome }
How about we skip the Miguel and just write our own song? You want great TV and that will make us look really fucking good. I’m telling you, people are going to go crazy over us working together.
{ send to: Jerome }
We might even end up going viral. So, what do you say? Are we writing our own song or are we writing our own song?
{ send to: Munhee ( ₩ ) }
Confidence with a tinge of arrogance. I like that. We'd make a good team.
{ send to: Munhee ( ₩ ) }
Though, an original song? In such short amount of time? Between filming? Are you testing my songwriter abilities because you know I can’t let a challenge like that pass on by.
{ send to: Munhee ( ₩ ) }
If you haven’t caught on. Yes. My answer is yes. Let’s fucking do it and let’s do it big. I want all eyes on us. I think we could make magic. I mean everything I make is magic already, but together? Yea, we could be magnifique.
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time, date: evening, april 3rd
location: camping terrain
with: @fmdbenjy
There where many things that haunted the dubbed prince of rnb’s life, ones that haunt every idol in the industry to some sort of degree. From small party scandals to lingering touches that might look a little too suspicious, a whole slew of them followed his career throughout the years he tasted fame. Some dimmed down, new ones arose, yet one originating from the late summer of 2016 still left it’s print on the Frenchman image; his show me the money interview. When he sat down that day it seemed to go all fine, the conversation starting off nicely with the reunification of him and Crown after the year of seemingly being apart, followed by the airing of rumours of him joining the main label and the talk of the many idol rappers that found themselves proving something in the industry outside of the safe bubble of screaming fans and endless adoration. But soon it had showed to devolve into something he has yet to shake. And it may be the language he used; sub par, less respect, pretty faces with no talent, that had left him in the line of fire of online wrath and side eyes from industry rappers alike. But was he really all to blame? One thing he tried to make clear in the interview was that most of his problems laid with the company and with the fans, how the companies see rap as just a thing to do when a trainee could not sing yet was skilled enough in dance or had the visual capability to lure fans and campaigns alike. And that the fans can put some rappers on a pedestal whilst not deserving of that placement in the industry that is rap.
Yet that was not taken from his words. Instead, he was seen attacking idols, attacking fans and attacking the industry he belonged to now. His manager could hit him with the amount of fury she had for him, and so could BC, so it seemed like the only one who could joke about it was himself, who chuckled at some of the comments he got the chance to read. One word thrown out the most was ego. Look at his ego. Debuted just over a year ago and already an ego. Does he think he’s better than them? Depends. Many Instagram livestreams that followed were there to do damage control, then his move to the main label he was bombarded with more criticisms. More damage control. His enjoyment faded quickly.
It’s been almost two years yet it still haunts him, trickled down to where he stood next to the buses that brought them at the camping sight hours prior, away from the prying gaze of the cameras and next to the manager who has dealt with him for way too long. “Idol rappers, you’re talking to them.” She tells him, eyeing the males that stand with each other or near their own managers respectfully. Jerome just cocked his eyebrow, halting his midway ruffle of his long hair to look at the sternness painting the womans face only to deduce she’s not just saying that. “Why? Is this still about the Show me the money thing? We’re almost at season eight I doubt anyone still cares.” Jiyoon could laugh at his naivety, and if she wasn’t so set on having him listen she would’ve. “Oh, they care alright. You insulted almost every rapper in your industry. Just because you’re cute with Alien’s Rizo from time to time doesn’t mean these things just disappear.” With a mention of Insoo the corners of his lips turn involuntarily upwards and his gaze falls, a soft spot always hit for the younger, before that hint of a smile leaves him the moment his eyes settle on her and she continues speaking, tone a little more strict. “So you’re talking to them. I suggest you pick someone that will work in your favour. Like maybe one of the newer ones.”
No definite answer was given in agreement, at least, if not counting the ‘fine’ forced out of him by a hit of her papers.
Evening had hit for a while now and the most he’s done is mingle with the people who he already been more than acquainted with, French hitting the air when he falls down next to the vocalist of Charm, disappearing somewhere beyond the trees with Goldstars Golden boy, worming his way into a conversation between some of the members of Knight, things like that and with all of his managers distaste following suit. Always defiant, he was a handful ever since his debut; a rebellious personality with the intentions of doing things his own way and a keenness for treading the line of career tainting scandals, troubles occur when trying to tame him. Yet when he makes his way to the supply table to swipe up a water bottle to quench his thirst, he’ll finally learn to take directions for a change. “Jerome.” He hears a permanent raspy voice call his name and when he whips his head to the source of familiarity, his manager is next to him. “Does your tent have enough blankets already?” It’s like her never ending scowl towards him did just that, end, replaced by something sweeter and it makes confusion blossom on Jerome’s handsome visage. “I..I don’t think so? I haven’t checked?” He tells truthfully, voice fluctuating in question as he watches her gift him a smile, like that’s exactly what she wanted him to say. “Then be a gentleman for a change and grab some, they’re by that group over there, along side that idol rapper.” Ah, that’s explains the smile. She’s been displeased with him and sees an opportunity for him to redeem himself. His confusion falters, soon to be replaced by something else.
Following her gaze with his own, it lands on the rapper she wants him to interact with, and the second the figure comes into focus his jaw juts out slightly, eyes narrowing for moments upon having Elements main rapper take up their vision. Annoyance, his confusion got replaced with annoyance, and the word “No.” escapes him too fast, light tinge of irritation hinting his voice whilst his gaze returned to the woman with the stylish bob. “Yes.” She returns with no hesitation, sternness battling the sweetness in her face. “No, me and Benjy. We don’t work together.” Is what he tries next, only to get back a “Benjy and I. And then act like you do.” before any other rebuttals get shut down by a nudge to his back. “But-” He does try, once more, yet the mouthing of a singular syllable shuts him up and has him walking, deep exhale leaving his frame.
‘Go.’
In the background he can faintly hear his manager repeat the word ‘camera’ over and over again in a hurried manner as he made his way to the younger male. It’s his cue to act, to have his most charming smirk lace his mouth and have any smidgen of irritation brushed over by a fake form of fondness. Fake it till the cameras are gone, is what he thinks. From the side he swoops in, making himself known with a call of the rappers name first before his arm finds its place around shoulders, holding the younger in a half-arsed embrace. “Nice to bump into you here. Also being forced to get the blankets, huh?” It’s a question as lifeless as asking about the weather, interest clearly absent in his voice yet smirk showing promise, growing only more handsome after he leans back from whispering four quick words;
‘Work with me. Cameras.’
#Mots écrits. { ft. Huang 'Benjy' Kuanlin }#ooc. { ily ivy i hope this oK }#{ you dont have to match the lenGTH btw bae ok its ALL BUENO }#{ half of this is giving the reasons why benjy dislikes him lmao so you really dont have to match!!!! }#{ also lmao jerome swoopin in like eyyoo ;)) benben hows u doin i can choke you out rn so dont test me }#fmdidolized1#fmdidolizedoncam
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fmdxsamsoo:
{ send to: yuddy sunbaenim }
I mean, I guess so? I’ve been playing for a while, I can pick up chords pretty well.
{ send to: yuddy sunbaenim }
I was planning on bringing it anyway for the same reason. Not the collab thing, but to play it around the campfire.. Not that I’m not up for playing it with you and learning the song, of course. Which song did you have in mind?
{ send to: yuddy sunbaenim }
Yeah, yeah it is.
{ send to: yuddy sunbaenim }
I can, don’t worry. Just tell me what song you want me to learn and I’ll do it, no problem.
{ send to: unity’s samsoo }
Great. I knew I could count on you.
{ send to: unity’s samsoo }
No need to over explain yourself though. I get what you mean.
{ send to: unity’s samsoo }
This one. [link] Would get the party going, right? Spring turning into Summer. It’s one of my favourites on the album and I'd feel everyone would like it. Do you know it?
{ send to: unity’s samsoo }
I’m a little worried though. You are a bit shy, would you be able to handle working with me? There is a chance I could outshine you.
{ send to: unity’s samsoo }
And we wouldn't want that, now would we?
#Des messages texte. { á Oon 'Soo' Samsoo }#ooc. { jerome's actual name for samsoo in his phone 'my bias u3u <3<3<3 dotn answerr' }#{ nO IM JOKING but imagine }#{ also my aesthetic; jerome baiting samsoo to throw hands }#{ 'you're a bit shy' implied patronizing tone }#{ but also he's being real bc samSOO IS HIS BIAS ND HE WANTS HIM TO SHINE LIKE A STAR OK FNSKNS }#{ jerome's angelness for samsoo is the equivalent of a fan telling their bias to step on them }#{ but like.. in a non sexual actually meaning it kind of way }
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{ send to: ??? }
Hey, you play the guitar pretty well right?
{ send to: ??? }
If so I don’t care if you have to bribe your manager for it but bring that guitar to camp and work with me. I’m only here to make good television and so are you, right? And I think a little collab around the fireplace would do just that, no? Give a lil to the fans. Me, you, the rest, all vibing to a fine Miguel song?
{ send to: ??? }
It’s a great idea.
{ send to: ??? }
That is... If I can safely assume you’ll be able to learn a song in a few days. Don’t tell me I shouldn’t put my faith in you. ;)
#fmdopen#ooc. { when did it become friday }#{ ANywaY }#{ bc this is for idolized *teen boy voice* nO GIRLS ALLOWED!! }#{ i dont know what happens if multiple people say 'OK' but eH we'll see }
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hello people from old and new! naomi is back in action with her son jerome. i’ve been stuck in my sisters house for the last weeks of my absence because she went on vacation and i had to take care of a sick rabbit who peed everywhere. i might have a disease now at the amount he bit me but what can you do. im joking. you might ask “but naomi doesnt your sister have wifi” yes she do but i’m an anxious wreck so spending my days on a first floor apartment with my sister on the other side of the world w an infected foot had me fucke d upppp boiii but now i’m back in my own home and my sister + her boyfriend are safely home!! foot all fine!! and everyone is calm again!! so!! i can return with a good heart. i’ll be sliding in the dms of the people who bear emoticon’ed me 600 years ago and bc i suck w introducing myself to new people i’ll just hi!!!!! i think when i wake up i’m gonna do a “bio reading” marathon as i write bc i need to appreciate. also shit i need more threads wow i suck might see me replying to some open starters and def need to get back to plotting bc there are some people i’ve been dying to thread with ;^;
its like 6am now so i might b heading 2 bed now but under the cut there will be a reintroduction to jerome (one i promised in januari i believe) as im rewriting his bio (no major things change really its just minor things nd its time for an upgrade) so yes! hello (ims will come tomorrow as well ;3;)
also fact. mullet daddy jaebum is jerome rn dont drag him dont @ him its gone before you know it. probs after idolized its a look tho wow i love- a chic farmer (... the short bangs are tragic tho jerome honey i kno u liked them on wren but ur not wren. jerome: but i- me: no. this this not this jerome: :( ok fine me: fuego
anyway before i pass out here is reintroduction. the triggers are; adoption, racism themes??? like yeah ok!! apologize if this is shit. hope everyone is having a good day though you all are great!
Jerome Gauthier aka Yuddy
-Anti idol
-Has an okay reputation but that’s because he’s smart about things.
-BC eyeing him tho *eyes fake friends with good reputation for him to hang out with* (hmu for fake friend plots. funny the person w the best rep of all actually likes jerome. bless jisoos christ. guess that praying on knees worked out in the end huh jerome. /dont/ sainthood is waiting)
-Talented™. (ask him to write songs for you) (Actually have a few songs in my library i want him to write but not sing so *eyes*)
-Passionate as fuck don’t mess with him in the studio (passionate all over tbh)
-Adopted and in search of his bloodlines
-Hoe but not really
-Actually, scrap that. Nicknames him JerHOEme
-Is actually lovely
-But acts like a shit
-Slips up and is soft to people sometimes before being a complete and utter asshole the next second
-bc soft jerome whOMST i only know deMON
-Suave Fuckboy who’s nonchalant about everything
-French™
-Will call you baby at some point in your life
-Signature smirk
-Egotistic???? Narcissistic??? a lil bit don’t stroke his ego
-Secretive™. not much info on his time in france
-Secretly a dad without children (except for his actual biological son insoo aka chorizo sausage who he goes to play ball with- i mean work on songs in the studio. seriously catch him picking up his son from soccer practice i mean shit no i mean- ok insoo is really his son dont fight me on this.)
-And also has a daughter an Oriental shorthair cat called Edith who he is so soft with he kicks out girls to cuddle with her. (one meow and he’s home)
- we support WISH hating jerome in this household. please people who have girls in WISH dont let them like him (or be a rebel and go against the mothers wishes but you’ve been warned)
-Dont let him get in your pants too like ask wren you dont want that (or i mean with the list of kinks i peeped maybe idk who am i to say what your muse wants or does not want idk im just protecting people from satan)
-Unlikely he’ll get in any pants now anyway tho bc he a proud shopper at papa juliens pizza and y’all some other brand type ish domino lookin asses NAH *throws hands up* rome’s in the house (no but guys. this is his soulmate THIS IS HIM. dISgUStiNG- )
-In 2016 interview took him out of context and it looks like he hates all idol rappers but is not true. He just doesn’t like companies making rap out to be like this thing you can do if you’re pretty and you can’t sing and he doesn’t like it when said pretty idols know nothing of it. he gets the grind but will side eye (benjy nd jerome already have a rivalry bc of this shit thank u interviewer)
-Dating scandals?? EHH. He almost had one with a Japanese model called Momo in the beginning of his career but BC did well of spinning them as friends and he legit had one with his ex last october which?????????? shit she touched his *spoiler* and it was *spoiler* . BC about to ban him from fashion shows damn. yoonah and him have to go to paris fashion week quick
-BC has yet to force him into a relationship tho. but damn he gonna be angry when that ever happens yoo.
-Studied to become a cinematographer. Now is annoying as fuck during recording MV’s bc he butts into everything (BUT thats why his his mvs so AESTHETIC. eye for beauty bois)
-Holler at ya boi if you want a nice mv he’s involved like that
-Also to the girls who have been in an MV with Jerome.. know he probably flirted with you between takes bc during he’s grade a professionalism but he still a ho
-Actual catlady no questions asked (he feeds stray cats and gets cut up by edith when she smells other cats on him rip)
-Actual wife material no questions asked (to quote the great Halit Yilmaz during that time Jerome stood in the kitchen for hours making baklava and other Turkish treats for Halit’s Eid al-Fitr: “Shit, Jerome if you were a girl i’d marry you in a heartbeat.” and its true. we would ALL marry jerome. who says no is lying. )
-Smooth™
-Ok the ego thing btw its weird its an act but hes weird about it dont ask
idk what else to write ok short rundown of his bio as again i’m writing a new one and i cringe every time i look at my old one. im probs forgetting a lot but EYO ITS 6AM WHO CARES
CHILDHOOD age 0 to 10
-Born to a single mom who got fucked over by a smash nd dash dad. (we side eye Ok Chanwook in this household.)
-Moms family discouraged her from taking care of him herself so putting up for adoption it is.
-Very emotional not ok mom boram cry a lot pls. (got v angry too like boi if she ever sees chanwook again he can change his name to no dick larry)
-Adopted by a French couple called Lucas and Daphné (previously named Annelies). pretty kool peeps
-JK racist assholes who fetishize jerome a lot. PLEASE. the yellow fever runs deep. take him away from them,
-Raised in a small town in France and knew 0 Asians growing up. so thats nice
-Loves his adoptive grandpa to death tho (who’s he named after u3u)
-Actually hates the rest lol
-Ok uncle Rémy pretty cool bc he laughs at teen!Jerome shit talking his parents and aunt Camille. She a sweety ;3; a bit odd but a sweety #stanauntCamille
-Basically the people on the Gauthier side and born from Jerome and Clemintine are ok, the rest is shit (except for his dad Lucas. He a Gauthier but he shit)
-Junior/Senior relationship w granpda ;3; “Pépé!!” “Junior!!” *tiny jerome swings around grandpa’s neck* LOVE
-Grandma passed when he was 9. (he loved her very much and would always show her his drawings on her bed ;-;)
-Hard time adjusting at first when he was a tiny toddler. had a lisp talking french. ;3; baby rome
-young jerome had a bad case of the abandonment issues he literally held onto his dads leg for like 30 minutes before the teacher finally peeled him away from him. my smol boi
-Elephants. remember this. is important. /sob
-TLDR; biological mom didnt want to loose him. adoptive parents and dad are fucks. grandpa is kool. jerome had a good childhood until he didnt. thank u ignorance
TEEN YEARS age 10 to 20
-middle school very nice
-j FUCKING KKKKK EMO JEROME INBOUNDDDD
-kids are mean. teens are mean. young!jerome v lonely
-honestly he had no friends. except for like maybe this one kid on his sport called mattheo but he kinda a weeb so uhhhh ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
-the time comes that he feels uncomfortable with everything korean. he already learned korean along side french and english when he was growing up but now distances himself from further learning. he clings to french culture a lot and even to this day he refers to himself as french and european, and rarely refers to himself as korean or asian.
-feels disconnected from both though. its like.. his parents took his korean culture away from him by using it for their own amusement. it was not his to have basically. and french- a lot of people around him give the vibe he’s not “allowed” to call himself fully french. they see him as korean, korean-french but never just french. he feels very misunderstood. lack of identity and just not fitting in
-around this time (or earlier i’m musing still) his cousin Antonin (moms side) kind of fell out on him. like. wow. not good. fucked jerome up a lil. (issues intensify)
-inferiority complex inbound/ is he ok? no he isnt. he starts writing to get his emotions out.
-Blessed Freddy rolled in teen jerome’s life like: guess we need to do history homework together
jerome: aren’t you gonna make a ‘do my homework bc you’re asian’ joke
freddy: why would i
jerome:
-they bond over music, freddy is the one who gets him serious about getting into it (we thank our lord freddy for this gift of life we call singer/songwriter jerome. pray to freddy 10 times a day *srry jisoos christ but ur out*)
-literally young jerome would be a great soundcloud artist in this day and age. he was like joji meets rei brown with more of an rnb tinge. he liked ambient because it calmed him.
-in his old bio thats still up bc im a slow writer his old name was some dumb shit like l.only DUMB its romeles now (get it.. jeROME LESlie gauthier. im smart)
-OK IM GONNA GO QUICKER NOW
-eMO FOR A LONG TIME BC OF LONELINESS AND OTHERING FREDDY IS HIS BEACON OF HOPE WE LOVE FREDDY IN THIS HOUSEHOLD!!!!!!!
-had a big ass fall out with his parents when he was around 15? was like “UHHH FUCK Y’ALL” and moved in with his grandpa (he was very disrespectful like damn boy but you know what. i support)
-best decision of his life because grandpa v lonely after his wife died and Jerome^2 is… so soft.
-Jerome dancing/singing to old tunes and being engrossed with old movies
-Learning how to cook ;3;
-I mean bc his middle and highschool were in Laval he spend a lot of his time w his grandpa already so he already had a bed and ;-; #jerome^2
-Halit rolls into his life. Braces, huge smile, lil prepubescent stash ohmygod. My child.
-BLANC is born. Freddy/Jerome/Halit’s musical trio. Stan the Three Musketeers
-Found his first best friend and a purpose in Freddy. Found a home in Halit. (sob)
-Finds solace in rnb and hiphop. People start noticing him because of it. Writes songs and performs them in café’s. Found his niche. 15 to 19 where his “best” years
-THE BIG MOVE. After a concerned halit mom, a proud freddy mom and a “WHAT THE FUCK JEROME NO DONT GO” jerome mom they pack their bags and PARIS HERE WE COME
-Enter ex who haunts his life, Seo Yumi aka Marie (now model, v pretty, makes me cry)
-Spots her in the summer doing yoga in the park and boi he an assman so he got fucked up (jk he saw her face and was like wHAT love at first sight
-enrolls in film school, meets her there again and wow falls in love hard like wow calm down boy
-Dating~~~v possessive not good at ALL cALM DOWN JEROME
-ok he got his issues nd marie was the first one who openly listened to his problems and understood and made him appreciate his korean heritige bc she’s korean and showed him cultural aspects without the gross fetishizing that came with his parents and he just- he got intense ok. he already got a v intense personality so- still not good tho he needs to dial it down
-she thought so too and like after a year she was !!!! what the fuck. she is not one for serious relationships but jerome was like ehhh why not in the beginning its v nice to hear nd be seen as the most beautiful ok but then it got suffocating but instead of breaking up with him she kept him around. he a safe haven ya know. reliable. someone to built on later. *i wanna say she also didnt break up w him because his emo stories but marie,,, eh...* (funny tho like she got a thing for bad boys so she just “this is the fifth time you called me beautiful just degrade me lil like choke me idk” and jerome just “w-why would i do that you’re beautiful i dont want to hurt you” ah *looks into the future* ohhowthetableshaveturned.mp4 )
-Marie cheated on him the second she got the chance which was when jerome went to america w his bros
-Got offered a job as a songwriter when in ny. Wouldnt think he’d take it but after getting kicked out of school for beating the shit out of the guy marie cheated on him with and with marie out of the picture nothing held him back from starting a new life.
-TLDR; emo era. silver era. emo era 2 emo harder
ADULTHOOD age 20 to now
-Seoul make way for the rise of YUDDY™
-the name yuddy is from the film days of being wild. the character is kinda yuddy-ish too so he saw the film again and yep. thats my name
-Fuck_love.mp3
-Visits his orphanage. they like “nah boi u aint got no papers boi”
-Parents can give him access to his birthmother btw, aren’t doing it lol
-EMO
-Drinks. Sleeps around. Gets a reputation. You kno how it is. (gr8 ride tho. highly recommend. 5 out of 5 stars on yelp)
-SMASH ND DASH. Chanwook is that u??????
-One girl who he got with multiple times reminded him of Marie tho and that fucked him up for a bit (PSST ITS A PLOT WINK SO IF YA GIRL OF AGE IN THE 2013′S HMU BC ITS DRAMATIC HE GHOSTED THE SHIT OUT OF HER)
-Writes a lot of songs, a few for BC (knight baes). BC like *eye emoji* who dat boi who him iz
-Gets sign w BCreate and is like eyy life pretty good
-but lmao he debut and oh who’s that pretty girl promoting that lipstick?? oh.. its marie ;3;
-imfine.jpeg
-Joins main label and literally joins w a blessing stream limbo on spotify
-wgm era was a great era of jerome lmty his hair was great, shared cute personal things, manager was happy, slept with his best friend, was married to a sweet beautiful girl ya know the good stuff 👍 no im not crying you are
-triple fantasy era was awful we dont talk about that he looked like his brother and i’m still emotional about him wow.
-instagram is a great song
-Interviewer: u mention an ex in ur song tell me more Jerome: *SWEATS*
-Marie: my short hair DOES look pretty thank u babe ur red hair was cute too <3<3
-The fact she linked to him now is spook
-But ok he still flirty, still daring, still yuddy™ but definitely less of the whole “sleeping around” thing now bc he… he uhh closetoyou.mp3
TLDR; he turned into his dad but romeo is rising AND HE IS SCARED!!!!!
also never forget jerome is the messiest king in this ok non y’all are as messy as him. he fucked his ex’s friend oK THERE IS NOTHING MORE MESSY. dONT COME FOR HIS CROWN
#Writer Speaks.#ooc. { i dont want to reset the clock again it says 6am in this post its almost 7am i've been here since 4 i'm slower than usual wow }#{ almost 7 its 7.30 i got to stop ok }#{v sleepy now so!! goodnight talk to everyone in a few hours}
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fmdjulien:
moving to a steady tempo that’s in his head, julien’s eyes flutter closed as he tilts his head back, suddenly feeling like he was on a carnival ride. the ground beneath him is unstable at best, the room spinning in julien’s head and causing his body to teeter back and forth in the middle of the living room. tick, tock. tick, tock. he languidly sways like a pendulum, moving from one side to the other and back while he awaits the other to indulge him. it’s as if the turmoil that’s been wreaking havoc in the depths of julien’s mind is being projected onto his body, tugging him back and forth as he goes between trying to work through his feelings or ignoring that they’re even there. should he continue to be the logical voice of reason or throw caution to the wind and act on his impulses? tick, tock. tick, tock. his skin is flushed from the liquor, tinged a rosy shade of red from the tips of his ears to the flesh of his cheeks and down to expanse of his torso that’s hidden beneath the cut of his shirt. maybe it’s due to the alcohol pumping through his bloodstream from downing glass after glass of the amber liquor that’s given him an overwhelmingly strong dose of liquid courage, but julien doesn’t even feel any sort of regret for what he had just offered the other. he can’t fully comprehend the weight of the words he had just spoken out into the universe, teetering further and further away from the safety of being silent and instead falling into dangerous territory.
tick, tock. tick, tock.
since their first meeting all those months ago across the ocean in los angeles, julien’s been the one to make demands of the other soloist. from the littlest of requests to the tallest of orders, demands made both in teasing and in pure seriousness had been made by the american. yet no matter how outlandish or grand these commands were, the frenchman seated in front of him followed through. could he even fathom just how far the other would go just to grant him whatever he wished?
prove to me you’ll be worth my time, julien had requested during their first conversation off-stage just under two years ago, a combination of the summer heat of los angeles and the spiked cola leaving the american in a daring mood. a few minutes were spent seated at a booth in the corner of the nightclub away from the dance floor, jerome’s arm slung over his relaxed shoulders while his warm hand rested on the thin fabric that stretched over jerome’s toned thigh. julien didn’t want to invest precious time on something that wouldn’t be worth it in the end, but instead posed the demand to jerome to see what would come of it. the other had simply responded with his signature smirk as he took a sip from his glass, feline eyes boring intensely into julien’s as he did exactly what julien had asked of him. by the end of the night, as the pair left for their own separate rooms, julien had absolutely no idea exactly what he just got himself into; all he knew was that he wanted to be around the other soloist much more.
tell me how to make it better, julien had pleaded with him one night in the dead of winter, desperation clear in his voice as the pair stayed seated in julien’s car parked along the han river. even though the heat had been turned on in the car to combat the midnight wind blowing off the river, there still was a chill between them as jerome failed to meet the american’s gaze. it all started a few weeks prior; julien on stage for a morning tech rehearsal in chicago with his phone lying unattended in his backpack while jerome left voice message after voice message in drunken hysterics from his home in seoul. by the time julien had gotten to his phone, his voicemail inbox was full and he couldn’t decipher the words through the tears the other had shed. when he frantically tried to call back, there was no response. for weeks upon returning home, julien was met with radio silence from the other, concerning him more and more until he hit his breaking point. all he wanted was to make it better and for them to move forward. although jerome remained silent and avoided his gaze for most of the night, he still delivered in the end, both of them reconciling before heading home and falling asleep the second their bodies hit the mattress.
sing me a song, julien had asked from halfway across the world one night in the early summer, eyes bleary and body heavy with exhaustion. unable to sleep after tossing and turning between the hotel room sheets for several hours, all he wanted was rest. new york was unforgiving, a city foreign and unfamiliar to julien and so very large, the loneliness had started to hit him and led him to seek some sort of comfort. the first person that had come to mind was one who was just taller than he was, with a twinkle in his eye and a teasing in his tone but was full of warmth more than anything else. all he had wanted was to hear jerome’s voice, to listen to him until he fell asleep. he had called and asked, nearly begging to hear anything and jerome still indulged him all the way from seoul, taking a few minutes away from the producer’s table to soothe him with a soulful melody until all jerome heard was even breathing laced with light snoring on the other end.
be mine, julien had demanded, his mouth moving faster than his mind and spilling his inner most thoughts before he had a chance to keep them tucked away in the depths of his conscience. marry me, the american had continued, as if simply having the other as his own wasn’t enough. after everything that the pair had been through up to this point, it was safe to say that when it came to jerome, it was never enough for julien. things came so easy whenever julien was with him, their conversations teasing and affectionate and warm. how they managed to go from rivals to the closest friends in just over a year was something that the american couldn’t even begin to comprehend, but he can’t think of any other explanation but that the two were so attuned to each other, two pieces of the puzzle that belonged only with each other and fit with no other. i can be your special someone for life, julien had vowed, sealing away his own fate before he had a chance to even comprehend what he had just said. to claim the other as his was one thing, but to offer himself in return was something completely different. he was never one to let another claim him in that way; he belonged to the world for everyone to adore from afar, not to a single person who could care for him so closely. what he proposed to jerome was something he would not have had the shamelessness to say if he were anything but drunk out of his mind. yet the one question that begged to be asked in the back of his cloudy, intoxicated mind, was if jerome would look as julien’s request the same way as every other thing that julien asked of him. would jerome follow through and give julien what he wanted, even in his drunken state?
tick, tock. tick, tock.
second after second passed as julien wobbled back and forth in the middle of the living room, and despite the haze that his head was in, he couldn’t feel the familiar warmth that jerome always enveloped him in when in close proximity. a pair of irises the shade of espresso reveal themselves as julien’s eyes flutter open, only for his vision to be dominated by the sight of the frenchman. the corners of julien’s lips had turned up into a smile at the sight of jerome in front of him, but the expression soon disappeared once his inebriated mind caught up with the rest of him. the expression on jerome’s face had been anything but identical to his own; instead of a smile, there was a seriousness on the younger’s face that had julien confused. was this not something jerome had wanted, too? julien, ever the observant one, had picked up on things regarding his best friend here and there. he’s been one to engage in flirtatious banter with the other, teasing with both words and slight touches that only lingered a moment longer than necessary. up to just a few weeks ago he’s found enjoyment in the flirting and teasing, but the enjoyment had soon been replaced by anxiety. he had recently realized he had wanted the other as more than just a best friend; the attraction was there, sticking out like a sore thumb begging for his attention. but what if things didn’t pan out the way julien had wanted it to go? was he simply overanalyzing the entire situation and reading too much into it, thinking the feelings were mutual but were simply one-sided? was jerome simply being his teasing self, the affection nothing more than platonic?
julien’s eyes widened as jerome moved closer without any hint of stopping, lungs sharply inhaling a breath of air the moment the other’s arm snaked around his waist. he could barely stay upright on his own, feeling lightheaded above everything else. but as he was all but dragged toward the center of the living room floor, julien had started to worry about just what was on the other’s mind. arms that felt weightless shot out for balance to keep from falling to the ground from the force that was jerome, and before he could even register nearly toppling over, his back met something else before hitting the floor. instead of the cold, hard ground, julien’s body came in contact with something much softer, warmer. it takes the american a moment to realize that he was still upright, his body enveloped in the familiar embrace, one that he had felt from time to time when the two were near each other and simply craved to be close. his head lolls back, resting atop jerome’s shoulder as he molded himself against the other’s chest for support while keeping a space between the rest of their bodies. there was a silence that fell upon them those few moments, but words didn’t need to be spoken for the emotional charge to pulse into the air between them. with each drag of the frenchman’s fingertips along his arm, julien can feel himself getting closer and closer to falling off the deep end and going insane. his body lets out an uncontrollable shudder at the touch, teeth sinking into his lower lip as his fingers wrap around jerome’s forearm, desperately needing to anchor himself to something and keep himself from crumbling. finally, the other speaks to him, the timbre of jerome’s voice no longer sweet like honey but instead wrecked with a dangerous blend of alcohol and emotions.
speechless, julien can feel a shiver pass through him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes as a mix of his and jerome’s words are being hurled back at him. and just like that, julien feels the knot forming in the pit of his stomach. had jerome really thought that julien had nothing but cruel intentions behind his words? that despite julien’s drunk yet teasing demeanor, his words were simply a farce? the american can feel the breath rushing out of him, eyes falling shut for a moment and fingernails digging into the clothed arm around his middle as he struggled to bring oxygen back into his lungs. “‘rome,” julien called out for the other as his eyes opened once more, voice soft and out of breath, skin flushed and heart pounding. the liquid courage that was coursing through his bloodstream just a few minutes ago seemed to die down; maybe this was a sign for julien to not pursue it further. the response julien had received was one where jerome found his words to be a manipulative trick to get what he wanted and nothing more. oh, if only jerome knew that it wasn’t the song that julien had wanted. weeks of internal turmoil for julien about where the pair stood had left him on edge, desperate to drink those concerns away before they ruined one of the most important things in his life. tonight was no different, his head feeling light from the liquor that spilled down his throat, but being around jerome had left him spilling secrets and letting his innermost thoughts escape. and when julien finally let those festering thoughts slip before he can stop himself, he’s met with skepticism and even anger from the person where he’s laid his affections. would jerome even believe him if he were to insist that he meant what he had said?
the drag of the fingers along julien’s arm disappears and he uses the moment to his advantage. blindly moving his hand up from where it rested at his side, his fingers slip up past the collar of the frenchman’s shirt to wrap around the nape of the other’s neck. with every word that spills from jerome’s mouth julien can feel him slipping through his clutches and moving further and further away from him; the least that julien could do was physically hold onto the other and refuse to let go. as much as he wants to interrupt the frenchman, to shut him up so he can get it through to jerome’s head that his offer still stands, he’s scrambling to find the right words to say. julien’s subtle yet teasing approach that he just took didn’t work as planned and all but blew up in his face, but he could still salvage it, even in his drunken state. being in a state of inebriation, it takes a bit longer for julien’s mind and senses to catch up with each other, but still he remains in jerome’s embrace, letting the other continue to move him back and forth as if he were a pendulum.
tick, tock. tick, tock.
was he moving back and forth with each second passing? or was he swaying between remaining silent or speaking up in an attempt to save the both of them in this situation? before julien had another chance to part his lips and speak his mind, his body is pulled away from the closeness of jerome for a few moments before he’s spun around and pulled against the other’s chest once more. a sound of surprise escapes julien, the noise fleeing from the back of his throat as soon as his body collides with the frenchman’s. the smell of liquor mixed with jerome’s heady scent was intoxicating to julien, sending him reeling and letting jerome move him around as the other pleased. as they stood chest to chest, toe to toe, julien’s hands had begun to shake against jerome from the nerves that came along. every movement that jerome had made, every word that he had said, every touch that lingered on julien’s skin broke down the american’s sense of control. always a control freak, there’s a reason julien avoids drinking in front of others; it leaves him reckless and overconfident in things that a sobered up version of himself wouldn’t dare acknowledge. yet here he was, inebriated and in pain over just how long he let these feelings fester deep inside of him while they tried to claw their way out of him. julien had already made it this far; he was all but ready to throw caution to the wind and persist.
“i meant it when i said you deserve better,” is the first thing that leaves julien’s lips, a declaration of what he feels deep inside of him as he takes a tiny step forward, closing the space between them a few inches as he leans in closer to listen to the softness of the frenchman’s humming. “you deserve to hear the reasons you ask of me, don’t you? reasons for you to sing for me? reasons for you to be mine?” the questions are asked in a soft, airy tone that comes from julien as he leans in, his nose lightly running along the sharp jawline of the frenchman swaying him back and forth. as he inhaled, finding that familiar scent filling up his lungs, julien let out a sigh before continuing his speaking, his lips pressed up oh so gently against the other’s ear. “you deserve the world and nothing less. let me sway you, jerome. just like you sway me.” as soon as the words left his lips, it was like julien had drunkenly set his course, stopping at nothing to make sure that by the end of the night, jerome would know where julien stood in terms of attraction. julien turned his head slightly, his cheek lightly kissing jerome’s as he let his eyes close again so he could focus on the other senses that jerome had already invaded.
as they move back and forth over the living room floor, their steps faint and their bodies swaying, julien blindly moved his head once more, his lips returning to graze along the shell of the other’s ear. “i wasn’t lying when i said i wanted to be your special someone for life,” julien began, breath lightly tickling jerome’s skin. “just like you make me an exception, i will always make an exception when it comes to you. things are different when it comes to you. don’t you know that by now, 'rome?” it’s a question that remains in the air between them, but before jerome can even gather up the words to respond to him, julien continues with his voice dropping to a whisper. “i would never offer myself to anyone the way i just offered myself to you…” trailing off for a moment, the american let out a sigh while his palm slowly slid down jerome’s shoulder before finding its resting place on his chest. “i’m hurt you’d even think i’d only say those things so you would sing to me… even though you were the one who suggested singing it in the first place. but you are you and i am me and at the end of the day, despite how unfair we think the other is being we’ll still make an exception for each other. that in itself is worthy enough of a reason for something as sentimental as a song, no?” there’s a soft hum that leaves julien’s lips, delicate and airy as he unlinks his fingers from the other’s, unclasping their hands in favor for resting his palm on the other’s chest before sliding both hands up to wrap around jerome’s neck. it’s still not enough for julien, and he takes another step closer, closing jerome into his embrace. there’s a moment of silence from julien, the american pressing his lips gently to the spot of bare skin just below jerome’s ear before lifting his head up and pulling back to gaze at jerome’s face in front of him. his gaze is glassy, and even in his inebriated state he’s simply speaking his mind with no filter; he hopes at least one of them will remember what was said and done in these moments once the sun rose over the horizon.
“i have more reasons, you know,” julien revealed, his tongue peeking out to swipe over his plush lips as he attempted to keep his mouth from running dry in any way possible. “i could give you all the reasons you could ever want, but do you want to know the most important reason?” the question hangs in the air, a rhetorical one as julien’s fingers reach up to gingerly play with the strands of hair at the nape of jerome’s neck. “it’s a secret i’ve kept for over a year, but you are you and i am me and i’ll make you an exception and let you in, just this once..” the words are leaving his mouth, any sort of thoughts he’s ever held back in the months leading up to this moment getting ready to leave him like a heavy burden on his shoulders being lifted. julien cocks his head just slightly, meeting the other’s gaze with his own. there’s a quiet that’s fallen upon julien as he continued to look at jerome, who was humming and swaying to the melody leaving his lips. the moments pass with julien’s silence, tick, tock. tick, tock. and finally, he parts his lips again to speak. “i’ve wanted you since that night we first spoke to each other in los angeles. all this time, i’ve toyed with the idea of you being mine. even though we’ve gone off and found others to occupy our time and needs, even though we’re best friends, it never changed that fact that i wanted to be yours. you proved to be worth my time long ago, but have i proved to be worth yours?” his words keep coming, spilling over and being uttered into the universe where he won’t be able to take any of them back. but even in his condition, julien wouldn’t want to take those words back, no regrets being shown. with that confession, he quiets down for a few moments to take a few deep breaths, gently pressing his forehead against jerome’s, and with that, he opens his mouth one last time, a final push before he’s falling over into the deep end without any way of staying afloat. “i’ll take what i can get, whether to be yours for just tonight or for life.” his voice is soft, barely above a whisper but it’s a delicate tone that rests in the air like the melody jerome had just hummed to him.
“take what you want from me, i’ll give you what you need.”
Learn from your mistakes and do not repeat them, Jerome should’ve heard this the second his fingers screwed off the top of a liquor bottle and the faintest of smiles had paint his lips. The first time he found himself drunk and in a situation too close to reveal the truth the universe had saved him by having a boy distracted miles away. How much he could’ve said that night, how much he could’ve admitted. You’d think a boy would grow smarter then, understand that luck doesn’t come twice and that the second time will be his downfall, his end. But what is he without his bad decisions? His wrongs, his rights. He would be no one, a husk of a man - not the one he grew out to be.
It were the beginnings of winter and a young man just spend minutes sobbing to a dead line connecting him to his unanswered day dream, phone lying forgotten on the couch. He cries against his palms and shakes with every intake of breath, intoxication of the bottles of alcohol he downed moments ago magnifying his mood by tenfolds. “What’s wrong with me?” is what he questions in the emptiness of his apartment to the cat that sat looking at him with tail swinging from side to side like a metronome. left, right, left, right. She stares at him with curiousity as he exclaims it almost desperately, masculine hands covering half of his face. “What’s wrong with me.” He repeats and yes he sounds, desperate, like he hates himself for what he almost unveiled in his drunken stupor.
He would’ve said it, would’ve admitted to every brewing feeling that had been hidden for all that time and would’ve looked foolish doing so;
{ x }
It’s the end of winter and Jerome had never felt so relieved with someone not picking up the phone. People complimented him over the song he added moments before originally a solo song should’ve been released with the leader of WISH, who’s waist he finds at every public event. It’s quiet and small, just a piano under his fingertips and microphone to his lips, rawer than the previous singles on his discography and he looks at it only once before he sends it off; perfectionism leaving him. His most intimate song yet is what he reads on blogs and articles. Fans wished it was longer, swoon over the unfiltered vocals all the while they wonder who it is about. He smiles weakly, smirks handsomely, but in his mind thoughts are racing. If they think, would he think too?
Kick him out. Leave him. Ghost him like you do with all the others. You don’t want these feelings, do you? It’s a voice that whispers in his ear one night, originating from the part of his brain that irrationally protects himself from experiencing love again. Love hurts, it’s true, and every fibre in his being tells him he doesn’t want it, never again. Marie tells him that, non verbally as she graces the covers of magazines and stars in commercials promoting the newest 3CE lipsticks. She stimulates the need to protect himself, reminds him to be selfish instead of selfless, to choose himself over others and not care for them, too. But to stay, is it only selfless? To smile at the other and rush to his side whenever he needs him, to aid him in his every worry. Or is it selfish, to not want the bright burst of vitality rushing through his veins to disappear, continue to indulging in the touches, the feelings, the warmth. Would he be selfish if he’d hurt the elder all the while he hurts himself? Does the blossoming warmth of deep rooted affection sooth over the self inflicted pain that digs needles into the frail muscle that beats and beats again? Is he selfish or selfless, when he keeps going, keeps pushing, keeps making room for the older male in his shredded heart.
For Julien he is both.
On that one night was the only moment he entertained that thought. To end it now, to leave him as a friend, to extent the radio silence so far that only a gentle rustle of clothes would be heard when two bodies passed each other on stage. He entertains it once, only once, see the pros of holding the power he promised himself, of predicting emotions. It’s a short thought but it’s filled with saving himself from messing up, from blurting out that whenever he gets reminded of him he’s back to his seventeen year old self again, staring at his first ever love. It’s haunted by the image of emotions painting the elders face. Would he feel sadness? Confusion? Hatred for the younger? To leave him like this, no explanation, no reasoning, just absent in his life like time reverted back to that moment before LA. Before the single red thread connecting the two pulled them together. He mauls on the idea, resulting in him airing his frustrations before he weeps again in the comfort of his Seoul apartment, arms around a feline who purrs for his comfort. Do you want him to have it? It’s a question so ambiguous in his mind but he knows exactly what it meant; does he want to gift Julien the power? Of ever seeing him break, of ever seeing his resolve crumble down to nothing and have restraint fizzle out like a flame in pouring rain. Will he have him decide their fate? Yes. Give him the power. Every bit of it. If it means being close to him and never hurt him he could control Jerome like a puppet, bend him to his every will and desire. He could break his heart and he’ll never love again. He could love him and thrust him into eternal summer. He could never know and have him blossom into a flower, who’ll wilt inside when a lover ever makes it’s way in the dream like American’s heart. Do you really want him to have it? He can hurt you. Yes. Dive into the unknown, the ambiguity of the future without the sharp snap of a string. He’ll drown for him, slow and steady. Sink to the bottom of a lake he does not know the contents of. And whether it’ll burn his lungs or give his eyes the ethereal view of the sun behind the waters, he gives it all to Julien. He falls with faith. He falls blinded.
He falls solely for him.
It’s nearing the end of summer and he falls blinded still, with the sun that is Julien pressing to his eyelids as he whispered his words to his ear. Give me a reason and I’m yours. Reasons of plenty he has in his mind for how he’s in the Americans possession already, the white flag of the French waving in surrender the second he invaded his heart. Even if there’s someone who claims she has him, still, he’s his. A star can shine bright, twinkle in the darkened night. Yet she’s not the sun, who’s close and shines brighter, captivating a moon who’s light side is turned away from her. The moon is the sun’s, but then why does he ask? Why ask for convincing when he already was, his? I want to hear it from you. Ah, it’s part of a sentence that dissolves when hums vibrate his vocal cords, replacing it with the melody of love and devotion, to one person, to him. Give him the power, Jerome wants to hear the reasons from him. Wants to know how far he’ll go to have him.
There’s an underlying fear that lingers though, one that clouds his mind more than the alcohol ever could. It does not disturb the humming, but it’s there, gnawing painfully at the back of his mind. Jerome convinced himself he could never be the source of Juliens desires, even when there was a time where he believed he did, only sexually, in the beginnings when his created narcissism saw every glance as a silent way of holding back. But that all fell away the second a friendship blossomed into something deeper and now he can’t even see drunken confessions as something aimed at him. He remembers this attraction however, the one admitted so coyly over drinks in a club crowded with familiar faces, yet he tries not to think about it. They’ve been friends for a while and platonic for a while too, so he refuses. Refuses profusely even when elegant fingers slide through his hair and lips are begging to be devoured, even when words of encouragement leave a rosebud mouth, the smell of the breath sliding passed his cheek one of tequila, or something else, even when every fibre of his being tells him that certain touches mean something, and that all he needs to do was lean with, answer them, Jerome refuses to acknowledge anything and stays ignorant, willfully ignorant. Until he doesn’t.
It’s that he’s so lost in his own mind that he barely registers the shaking beneath his fingertips, Juliens nervousness showing its face, and that he barely registers the elder begin to speak too, his own nervousness. He catches only the last few words of the first sentence before his attention switches on again, questions entering his ear canal. What he wants to do is nod, nod eagerly at the airiness to give answers to questions that have no verbal ones, yet he doesn’t and just keeps his yes’es to himself, humming oh so sweetly instead. Is he deserving? He wouldn’t know. But he’s fearful of his need for the reasons, his defense mechanisms coming to play. Would they be fruitless? Reasons superficial, that of friends. Or would they compete with the simplest reason of all, one that allowed Jerome to be here, heartbeat betraying as a song of love leaves him; You being you. The private Julien, the uncalculated Julien, the one that unraveled at the seams for him. The one that made him his. He thinks about this before his sense of touch rips him away from it, skin prickling where Juliens nose ran along his jawline. And if sober Jerome feels weak to his knees for every touch, a drunk Jerome feels helpless, humming wavering due to a shaky intake of breath. Was he not telling himself to stop gifting the elder reactions just moments ago? When still on the couch, eyes wide at the words of possession, lips parted in shock? Did he not try to hide every responds? Every telltale sign that revealed how much the elder affected him? He sure tried, yet every bit of confidence had left him, leaving him to curl his fingers into the fabric of Juliens shirt as he accepted the step forward. Accept it, not fight it. Hold him without pushing him to stay distant, not even when lips find his cheek.
And it’s a ripple effect. Every word that followed. Every touch that lingered. Every sigh that brushes over his skin. It spirals him down to nothing, opens him up to something, and breaks his foundations down. A graze to his ear leaves him leaning into it, warm breath makes his tongue press to his molars, and the fourth sentence leaving cherry blossom lips made it so he swallows dryly in the pause of his humming, eyes squeezing tighter shut. Was that really what he heard? Or did his ears deceive him. Julien, to be his special someone for life? No, Julien wanting to be his special someone for life? It couldn’t be, right? He must’ve heard it incorrectly, or have Julien not understand what he meant by it. The special someone who earns the kisses so deep they take a breath away, earns the shy making gazes that dig holes into a body at the intensity of them, earns the touches, the passion, the words of affection. Julien must’ve not understand, but Jerome can’t give him that lack of credit. So maybe he understood, at least the basics of togetherness and hints of love, and say he himself heard it all correctly, what does this mean? What does this mean for their friendship? Jerome knew their friendship was always one to be unusual. Though affectionate gazes and lingering skinship weren’t things invented by them, there always was something hidden beneath the surface, something that did make them unusual, unique. A certain level of care that transcends the friendships before them, the way they read each other without words, just a single glance sufficing, and how fast they got to that point, like it was all meant to be. It’s crazy but even without the normalcy of their relationship, wouldn’t the upgrade to known tailor-made affection change everything? Yes it would and Julien wouldn’t want that, right? There’s no answer, just his fogging mind trying to figure out if fantasy blended with reality. Could he really? Want for everything to change? Jerome wants to ask, wants to tell him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but he falls silent every time he tries, humming being his silence in the living room that suddenly felt a few degrees hotter.
In his daze he almost forgot he was the one who suggested singing, that he was the one to let it spill so easily from his lips like it was a sigh, drawn out of him naturally. But he forgets as he could’ve defused it all if Julien didn’t say the words he said. He could’ve smirked nervously and tell him to buy him ring first, propose first, make it extravagant because that’s what an egomaniac like himself deserves. Yet Julien said the things that trigger something in Jerome, words of want, possession, planting seeds of desires and it seemed impossible to joke now. His mind was somewhere else, with the sentences that run the elders mouth to the drag of Juliens left hand downwards to rest over his heart sure to find it pulsating more rapidly, his mind was with every scary possibility this will lead to.
A pebble thrown, like one thrown in the heart of summer on one of the beautiful lakes in Brittany, a memory of his youth. The waters ripple as the stone skims over its surface, a young Jerome having thrown it with precision and now watches in awe. The first bounce is the first step, away from the girl who just broke his heart. It’s September and the warmth of summer seeps out of the air just like the love does. She watches him, unknown to her of what she just turned him into but curious and intrigued the second she finds out. In Seoul the ripples turn into drunk kisses given to anyone who wants them, a simple reaction to the plunge of his heart. He despises love and so he doesn’t search for it, instead he hunts for something else, something he hasn’t familiarized himself with but what he masters in gaining incredibly well; carnal desires. He runs his tongue over supple skin yet he feels nothing. His hands move south to tease yet he feels nothing. His name floats around a small apartment, called out in a different manner every time yet he feels nothing. He feels empty, truly empty, just like his apartment when the door falls on it’s lock the second time that night. The second bounce is the second meeting in a busy nightclub in LA, with his mouth against a rosy ear telling a recently acquainted everything that ought to happen when desire runs its course. He’s confident then, a step away from mouthing his way down his neck and tasting what he wants earlier than expected, but he reels it in only to start the hunt. A friendship blossoms between two and three, one that’s real among the fakery of the industry and one that slowly makes his heart contract. Oh, what he gotten himself into. The third bounce is the third time he finds himself staring at the elder, every glance resulting in his heart picking up pace. He doesn’t realize it yet that because he stopped searching what he wanted he actually found it; love, in the male that was once just a prize to be conquered, a pray to be caught. He doesn’t realize, until he does and the ripples of the third bounce show the fear in his realization, show what he promised to himself dissolve within the shortest of time spans. It shows the tears of winter, the nerves of spring and the violent heart beat of summer. The fourth bounce is the fourth time he pardons himself away from his wife only to find his way to Julien again, taupe coloured suit too hot under the early morning sun. It’s like the American is a magnet and he’s just a lone scrap of metal, pulled towards the other by on invisible force. Eyes too, like magnets, as he explained the song he’s humming now, always finding the eyes as rich as chocolate, trapping him in its beauty. He’s lost. A quick hop and we’re at the fifth bounce which is about to hit, left hand following the path from Julien’s waist to the small of his back, accidentally shifting the fabric of his shirt there. A story turning into a melody, the ripples that connect the fourth and fifth, accompanied by curiousity, drunken intoxication and an underlying want - unknowingly on both sides.
Hands slide up his chest, lips find the skin below his ear and all Jerome wants to do is sink through the wooden floor they sway upon. Every word, every touch, it feels like it builds up to something and Jerome detects his legs most possibly were about to give out. Say something. He thinks throughout the poetry that leaves the Americans pouty lips but what little words form in that foggy brain of his are gone the second they appear, unable to vocalize them even when there are pauses for him to do so. It is as if he turned mute, a curse put on his vocal cods only allowing him to hum the song of his heart to the male of the same. Blinded, mute, when will he turn deaf? With the body of his love pressed against him and closed eyes turned away, when will the moment strike where he can’t hear his voice anymore?
Never, but he wished to turn it now. After he nods gently at the rhetorical question, dazed out of his mind from the alcohol, the words and the drag of elegant fingers burning like sun rays on the back of his neck. He doesn’t expect the mention of a secret and because of this his eyes blink open, head turning only to find the big glassy eyes that have been staring at him for how long? He doesn’t know, but the second their eyes meet Jerome feels it’s too confrontational to have him like this, so close, watching him, even when this closeness has been mirrored countless times before. This is different, all different, and upon finding himself drowning in his gaze, all of a sudden he feels every bit of regret hit him all at once.
He doesn’t regret humming the song or holding him in an embrace of swaying, but he regrets asking for the reasons as he doesn’t want to know. What he wants is for Julien to keep his secret, for himself to stay ignorant, just as blissfully ignorant as how he once was; when he fell in love and he didn’t know, when his heart hit violently against his ribs and he blamed everything but the presence of a daydream, when feelings didn’t interfere with platonic love, care, everything - and for them to never change.
You keep your secret, I’ll keep mine.
But his voice is still lost, humming already faltering and when his eyes fall upon the sheen of saliva that rests atop plump lips parting to speak, he knows it’s already too late to stop it.
“Don’t make me make you fall in love, Julien. It’s dangerous.” Jerome had once said on one of their first coffee dates, quoting one of his inspirations behind the rim of his espresso, smirk lacing his lips. At the time he was allowed to talk like this, joke like this, warn like this, as he himself felt nothing yet. Stupid. “Desire looks good on you, you know?” Is a response whispered in his ear after having caught the American looking at him, immediately making his way over to him the second he has the chance. He feels daring then, with his hand resting on the smaller waist looking ‘friendly’ enough whilst he runs his mouth along the shell of his ear, art of subtlety mastered well. And as his whispers continue he suddenly feels the need to reveal how nice he thinks it would look in his bed, on his couch, against the surface of his shower wall - words leaving him not suited for the environment that they were in. But as he leans away it doesn’t matter, he says what he wants and the unfazed expression greeting him make him feel disappointed for a moment yet with the spotting of reds dusting the tips of ears, Jerome’s face splits in the most handsome grin he could muster. Loves it. “You shouldn’t fight it bébé, just give in. Break for me. I think we’d work good together.” He tells him on the phone, voice sounding too rough for the hour and it would be fair to assume he plays himself up, as evident by the amusement that follows suit like an afterthought. There is seriousness though, that lingers, as he wants it, deeply, for him to break. Give it. “In time you’ll admit it. That you want nothing but me. After all, nobody can stay off of me for long.” Another comment, dripping with sleaze and egotism as it leaves his mouth before a lollipop replaces it, winking slyly upon leaving the singer. In the beginnings he is dying to know, verbally or physically he can’t wait for Julien to snap and admit it; that all he wants is him. But then they became friends and slowly but surely that wish disappeared into the back of his mind, accessed only when teasing borders on something else and he pushes forward to almost seal their fate earlier than expected. After winter he stops believing he’d be able to get him into admitting anything, nor does he want to. They’re friends, surely there’s no room for want in that?
Just a simple vibration of vocal cords was all it took for Julien to make room - and drag Jerome with him.
Humming breaks in the back of his throat, right at the end of a couplet, leaving the last tone to escape him gravelly like he hasn’t drank liquid for days. Words settle and once again does Julien leave him with widened eyes, a freeze of his body, and the parting of lips. Was what he heard reality? After the elder explained to feel hurt at the accusation of only wanting him for a song? After being told that he wished to be his special someone? Who’d sway him, like he sways him? Yes, all reality, and he awaited these words for long yet loathes them just the same, if not for the fact that this meant the end of them in whichever which way, it’s for that he could’ve had him all along. Since the beginning. Since that night in LA. And yet, also since the moment of falling, falling in love. Ah, in this moment he cannot remember but there where these late night conversations he had with a person cloaked in anonymity, and how they peaked into his love life only to propose the question of “how do you know they’ll never be yours?”. How he ranted and raved about how it could never be, that there were too many variables keeping them apart. How he explained that it would be dangerous to know, that it’s better to stay like this - friends. Friends with a secret, one to never be uncovered. He sounded so sure of himself, even when the thought of having him had entered his mind. He was sure it could never be. Yet here Julien was, proving him wrong and wanting him just the same. Or, is it the same? Jerome has no time to think, has no ability to think. All his mind repeats is that the root of his affection just admitted to have toyed with the idea of having him, that he wants to be his, has wanted him since the very beginning, and is now asking him if he has been worth his time all along.
The sentences hang in the air as they stand there, in the middle of the living room with Jerome stiller than a baby brown snake approached by a predator. He’s been staring distantly at Juliens mouth all this time, unfocused and not daring to have dark pools of burnt umber telling him what he feels in this moment. The warmth of affection, the heat of lust. It’s too confrontational, but when foreheads touch and they breath in unison (Jerome’s hitching during the first deep intake of air), his eyes flicker upwards, like pupils were attached to strings or Juliens were simply magnets once again, his own the lone scraps of metal that follow. Their gazes meet, lost ones connecting with the glassy and it’s like he’s drowning once more, breath caught beneath the waters, common sense floating away completely - together with all his regrets melting like snow before the sun.
I’ll take what I can get, whether to be yours for just tonight or for life.Take what you want from me, I’ll give you what you need.
Silence, like the silence of being submerged into waters with only the echo of sirens breaking through, a melody too beautiful to ignore. He sees plump lips as nectar and himself as just a bee, ready to be swatted away by someone who’s flower can’t be tainted by this. Taint the flower of friendship, one who’s strong and perfectly fine the way it is. A beautiful flower, bathing in the sun and the moon, so close to touch, so close to ruin or maybe have it blossom into something better, something more beautiful than they both could ever imagine. Jerome does not know yet he leans the smallest of inches closer, like he’s testing the waters or is waiting for the dream to dissolve in thin air. But tip his toes and all he feels is warmth, no spikes of coldness consuming his flesh. Hovering over lips there are no thoughts, no actions, no nothing to push him away, to stop him, to see what he’s about to do as a simple mistake, something that’ll change things forever. At least nothing comes further than his deep subconsciousness, where he screams for himself to stop, all muffled by the airy whispers that left a day dream. He had so much power before, one taste of emotions and he was gone like a spectre in the night, there to taunt whoever had the unfortunate time of falling for a nightmare. But give his nights to a dream, give the power to a lover, and he is helpless before him.
With his left hand curling into the small of his back, and his right hand doing so below his shoulder blade, Jerome fists the fabric of Juliens shirt tighter in his grasp, movement gifted back to him only to press his body closer. Lip twitches once as his breath turns shallow, counting five quiet breathes whilst a sharp nose slides along a softer one, preparing himself for the deep end.
No words were spoken as voices drown under warm waters. No answers given as breath was valuable there. Just a name leaves him, escaping his mouth too fast, too breathless, ghosting over lips as if it’s oxygen, because there was no more time to linger.
“Julien.”
For their lips had already collided.
Five bounces. A stone skimming over the waters, only to take a plunge after the last hop, never to come back from it again.
VOYAGES DANS LE TEMPS; Á LA CHAMBRE
( time travels; to the bedroom )
Don’t take advantage of his intoxication, Jerome tells himself this every time they get drunk. It’s easy to listen; as he watches him get looser and just laughs at the stupid words that leave his rosy mouth, buzzing in far lesser amounts himself but seeing life through a skewed filter, too. Yet it gets harder over time; when plump lips curl into a smile upon falling in a warm lap, hands finding anywhere to freeze the younger up and have teeth sink into his bottom lip. He restraints himself, always does. He ceases his drinking to keep himself level headed, holds a tight grip on his waist to keep himself down and rests his cheek on his shoulder to hide his expression, one which almost looks pained. He stops himself from ruining the moment, stops himself from ruining their friendship, stops himself from ruining him.
Always.
Yet today he feels drunker than he normally does, having sipped on the same kind of poison as the American and feeling all his responsibility drip off him like wax off a burning candle. He’s still more sober than Julien, clearly you wouldn’t say but he is, only by a tad. Withal he got drunker on something else too, something like nectar of the Gods painting lips and interlacing words and all he wants to do is taste more, drink more, fall more, into a maddening intoxication where the liquor is not whiskey, but is Julien instead.
Taste it; the rush, of his tongue sliding past another and being allowed to do it, taking in every single reaction he gets from the one who’s mouth tastes too delicious for him to stop. He feels delirious to have him like this, blood boiling in his veins as he so feverishly pushes at the others back to be the one now yearning for them to be closer, get closer, like he’s been hankering for this moment for too long. Drink it; the sounds, as hands take the initiative to slide down the Americans back and settle right below to swell of his ass, only taking the detour when Juliens back hits the wall. “Julien.” He says, voice bordering on begging but cloaked in breathlessness and the dark tinge of want before their mouths crash together again. Vocally he doesn’t make it clear what he wants but physically it’s implied, fingers digging high in his thighs to find a grasp all the while his knee prods in between his legs. Lift yourself up by my shoulders, put your legs around my waist and let me have you like this - let me take you like this. And whether on his own accord or not, lips detach from where they press to reddened ones the second weight fills his hands, body now his to carry. With his mouth away from plush ones he marks him already, upon the glance to his neck his teeth sink in the flesh like a bite from apple, tonguing the mark the minute it blossoms crimson red. The intended roll of his hips halt upon hearing a distant mewl escape a feline stretching her long legs out on the couch, ripping the movement away from him just as fast as he rips Julien away from the wall to hit the bed room door next, friction having to wait. Swallow it; the sight, of the male he saw as nothing but an untouchable sun sprawled out before him on the soft mattress of his bed. Thrown there by him, weightless in his arms like a feather and peeled away from his body just to stare at the sheer beauty of it all. Wine spilled lips plump and inviting coloured that way because of him, his mouth bruising his lips like that. Skin flushed a honeysuckle pink because of the alcohol or because of him, he wants to believe it’s because of him. Mark the tint of maroon already decorating the underside of his jaw, placement right on the line of his neck and placed right there by him. Claim him because he is his. And Jerome looks wild like this, wavy bangs messily falling in front of his eyes whilst his heated gaze pierces through and bores intensely into Juliens frame from where he stands, needily observing the pink and reddish hues that form an orchestra on the elders skin. It calls for him, calls for his mouth to trace over the colour and melt the melody together with his breath, his tongue, his teeth. Have him nibble his way over the rosiness of Juliens ear like he intended to do when he saw nothing but lust in a lively club some time ago. Have him paint his skin with more colours, more opportunities, more ways to call him his.
So he listens to this calling, after his fingers tug his shirt over his head to reveal the nakedness hiding underneath. After the deafening snap of his belt sliding through belt loops ceases to exist in the breath filled bedroom. After both items taken off his body hit the Turkish rug he was gifted by a friend unlike Julien, he listens and crawls on top of the other, slides his hands up his thighs to elevate him higher on his lap and truly listens when his mouth finds his the pinkish hue of his skin before capturing the most warm toned of all.
His lips.
Sealing their fate a million times over.
Life in Pink || Julien & Jerome
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hello ono i didn’t poof i hibernated like a bear in the dead of winter for a bit because i got spooked by something and didn’t realize so many days had past. i need to get my act together ik. i’m getting there!! there’s a lot of things i need to respond to but if anyone wants to write with me please reply with a " ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ “ because it’s fitting. i’ll shoot you a message now or when i awake from a nap (as its 4am!). trying to get back into the swing of things. i’m sorry for having such bad activity and for letting people wait. truly am.
all ‘round suave baguette jerome gauthier needs to rise again!
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fmdkatsu:
[ 📱→ jerome hyung ] JEROME PLEASE HELP
[ 📱→ jerome hyung ] we’re just looking at each other… i’m using the voice thing to send this text
[ 📱→ jerome hyung ] sorry if anything wired cames out of it
[ 📱→ jerome hyung ] the staring is too intense to look at what it’s tie ping
[ 📱→ katsu ] i said only text me again if the bird got scared or if it pooped on you.
[ 📱→ katsu ] did you scare the bird? probably not.
[ 📱→ katsu ] did it poop on you? probably not either!!
[ 📱→ katsu ] craazyyy how a leader can’t take ordersss!!!
[ 📱→ katsu ] honestly, this is why your group dares to fall apart. this is the example they follow. i pity you.
[ 📱→ katsu ] now, stop texting me.
[ 📱→ katsu ] and just catch the damned bird. i gave all this advice. and if i caught three when i was younger, you can catch one.
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cont.
happy (late) valentines day from bc’s second casanova
personal jerome valentines cards. send them to your loved ones as super late gift or hold onto them till next year. happy lovin.
almost all of these had @fmdjulien in mind not going to lie
#NaoMEMES. { trash post }#ooc. { memekid 2000 makes a short appearance and now i'm tired }#{ trying to be funny drains but i hope i did a good job }#{ if one person chuckles im glad }#{ i send some out as well but not to all sadly. i'm sorry }#{ i just couldnt think of anything funnily romantic or something for our muses }#{ as my jokes are staler than old bread at the moment but }#{ enjoy these }#{ i'm going to quickly eat and maybe take a nap but i hope everyone has enjoyed their valentines day }
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fmdkatsu:
[ 📱→ ?? ] okay do not freak out when i tell you this
[ 📱→ ?? ] promise?? okay good whatever
[ 📱→ ?? ] anyway… i accidentally let a bird into the charm dorms and i need help getting it out
[ 📱→ ?? ] i am currently under a table, watching it from a distance. it pooped on the fridge
[ 📱→ katsu ] ??? seriously.
[ 📱→ katsu ] how the fuck do you get a bird in your dorm?
[ 📱→ katsu ] better question yet, why are you bothering me with it?
[ 📱→ katsu ] just catch it. i’m busy.
... 3 minutes later
[ 📱→ katsu ] though if it’s a young bird don’t catch it with your hands. it’ll smell like you and be rejected by its mom. so be careful.
[ 📱→ katsu ] also don’t be loud. they don’t like that. it’ll panic them.
[ 📱→ katsu ] just stay calm, make some bird noises, place down some seeds (or if you don’t have any, peanut butter is great as well) and you’ll be good.
[ 📱→ katsu ] only text me again if you scared the bird.
[ 📱→ katsu ] ...or if it pooped on you. i’m in dire need of a good laugh.
#Des messages texte. { Suzuki 'Katsu' Hirokatsu }#ooc. { i wrote this when a bird kept looking at me whilst it ate peanut butter }#{ so it was only fate }
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