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TW: manipulation, gaslighting, yandere-ish themes, fear of abandonment,

Synopsis: As an overworked manager to a well-known but conceited idol, you plan on quitting right after one of his shows. Unfortunately, your client is a lot more convincing than you expected. 

The ending lyric to an all too familiar preppy, upbeat song was muffled behind the dressing room door you stood next to. Even the applause and screams of excitement could be heard through the thin performance center walls as you gathered up your bag. 

Feet stomped outside the door, rushing bodies moving back and forth to push stage equipment and props, making sure it all moves discreetly in time for the audience to stay oblivious. And, for the main idol to stay compliant. You waited to hear the heavier clacks of polished dance shoes, the sound of heavy breathing from hours of singing and layers of clothes being rustled. You smelt his hairspray before you heard his signature sounds, heart sinking at the fact that he was off the stage so soon. It only meant the confrontation you were dreading would come much faster than anticipated.

You used the small towel in your hand to dab at your forehead, looking at yourself in the bright vanity, hoping your client wouldn't notice how obviously nervous you were. 

The door in front of you roughly shoved open, nearly hitting you until it slammed shut again, the star of the show leaning against it. He sighed heavy breaths, shutting his eyes and wiping at his forehead with his hand as he stood slumped. 

"Here," You gestured the towel to him, wrapping it back into a perfect square like he preferred. 

He looked at you without a forethought, taking the towel.

"Thanks," He snatched the water bottle out of your hands as well, moving over to his vanity. "Would've been more useful earlier, but whatever." 

You didn't let his words sting you like they did the first time you heard them. You knew it wasn't personal, he was just in another mood after the unending performance he just gave for the second time tonight. 

"How was the show?" You asked, taking small steps towards him. 

He removed the pastel-pink wig from his head with a wince, tugging at the face tape stuck to it without remorse. 

"I don't know, you tell me. You were the one watching." 

"Actually, I wasn't," Your voice quivered a tad. "I just got here." 

"What the hell? Why weren't you here? What if something happened," He began to untie the small tie around his neck, voice sounding somewhat softer despite his mood. "You know as my little 'slave' you're supposed to be here 24/7."

The idol ripped open a makeup wipe bag.

"I-, I know." You looked at him in the mirror.

"What if there was a wardrobe malfunction? I could be doomed. And then who's fault would that be?" He said casually, rubbing a wipe underneath his eyes to remove smudged mascara. 

"Yeah, I know..."

"So, what's your excuse this time." He asked in a bored tone, looking up at you. 

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something serious-- Uh, something about my job as your, you know, manager."

"Okay..." He said in a suspicious tone, rubbing at his lips to get rid of thick lipgloss and foundation. 

"Well, I feel I've outlasted my stay here. I mean, with the performance agency, and as your--"

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