A/N Sorry for the wait on this chapter. I was making an extensive outline for this story's progression in order to ensure its success. Thank you so much for the kind reviews, I was incredibly surprised that I got 6 just on the first chapter! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!
His eyes were unfocused, drowning in the tears left from the haunting nightmares of his past. He blinked them away with ferocity, angry at his sign of weakness. Yi-Jung did not cry. It was something he stopped doing since he was 11 and he was not about to start now.
He rubbed the sleep and wetness from his eyes, clearing his vision. He stared at his blank white wall for a while. His room was so bare he never really realized it, nor cared for that fact. He had a large, empty room in a single shade of 'guest room' white. His bed was the only thing he liked, large and comfortable, cocooning in a warm embrace every time he threw himself on it drunk over his head. Other than that, there was a single nightstand with a simple lamp and that was all. Empty, white, and lonely. The rest of his house looked the same. One plain neutral color with very few furnishing. He didn't spend time here much besides when he slept so the arrangements of his home were not a concern of his. The decoration was left up to his staff with only one request on his behalf.
"Don't put any of her artwork up. Or mine for the matter." And they followed just that. No one single piece of artwork was hung, placed, or exhibited.
He once lived in a house full of vibrant colors and art. The stained-glass windows captured the light of the sun, bouncing it off of the many glass sculptures his mother use to place on every mantle of the house, alongside his own pottery of course. The house lit up in colors or emerald and rubies and diamonds every sunset. Sometimes he would lay on the floor of his mothers painting studio and watched the many colors dance on the ceiling. Then he would watch his mother paint them on the white canvas with simple smooth brushstrokes. His mother did magical things like that, make an empty, white, and lonely space into a work of colorful art.
But that was year ago. Before his brother moved out years back as he renounced his succession. Before anyone knew his father had an apartment where Yi-jung knew he shared with the many faceless women he dared to sleep with. Before his mother turned empty, white, and lonely herself.
A groan snapped him out of his melancholia. His face contorted into a deadly frown. The nameless women was still here, in the morning. The number one rule in his book, broken.
"Oppa." She moaned as she slid her red manicured hands across his bare chest. With disgust, he there her arm off of his body and staggered out of bed. She whimpered as she recoiled her arm back into her naked breasts.
"Get out." He seethed. She jumped out of his bed, grabbing her discarded clothes around his room.
"But oppa."
"Did you not understand me the first time? Get. Out." He growled, throwing the lamp across the room. She yelped as it crashed against the wall. Without a second thought or glance towards his raging self she ran out of the house crying.
Sighing, he plopped himself back on the bed, running his hand down his face in angry temperament. He didn't mean to lose control like that, but looking at this nameless women's face first thing in the morning was a moment of agonizing realization. He was his father. I bet if the old man was here he'd be laughing in his face pointing a haughty finger yelling "I told you so.". It was unnerving and disgusting to know he ended up being the exact replica of the man he tried so hard to fight against.
"Yo man! Got sent out reservations for that new restaurant opening tonight. The one with the underground club."
Yi-Jung was lounging on the loveseat in Woo-Bin's man cave, sulking about the day's prior events. A night out was just what he needed to recuperate.
"Sounds boring." He pretended, pausing for a moment for dramatic effect. Then he turned his face back to Woo-Bin. "I'll only go if you give me the long-legged blond's number." He smirked, throwing his best friend the tennis ball he had been clobbering the wall with for the past hour.
Woo-Bin examined him momentarily, a serious expression adorning his face, before making his decision to throw the ball back at him. "Only if you get me a date with that feisty little brunette from Jun-Pyo's luncheon last week."
Yi-Jung flashed his perfectly pearly white teeth and both members of the infamous F4 prepared for their night out.
Picking out an outfit was never hard, even with the hundreds and hundreds of choices he had. He always narrowed it down by event, color, and brand of course. What would impress his target? A blonde, blue-eyed heiress from the States had a taste for generic brands. Usually Gucci, Versace, even Armani? He looked through the possible outfits. The Gucci was too flashy for the dark and sultry atmosphere of the place. The Armani was too formal. He settled for Versace. The more classical and neutral set of the two. He slipped on a sleek, dark-grey suit and black shoes. Slim-fit and showing off his toned body. After all, this blonde had a taste for tight and flattering.
He spiked his hair up for a dramatic look and flashed his teeth once more in the mirror before he concluded that, indeed, he looked pretty damn good. A member of F4 must always look the part they were all destined to play. And as the self-proclaimed Casanova, he of course had to exceed expectations.
He met Woo-Bin at his house. Both had previously coordinated to arrive together in the limo with their gorgeous dates. It was the opening night and by their self-proclaimed law, they had to make a grand entrance. He and Woo-Bin were known in every prestigious club. They were always invited to the openings of anything that wanted to make it in the business. Having to Don Juan and Casanova of the F4 at the opening of any club and/or restaurant would surely guarantee a straight ticket to a booming business. In return, Yi-Jung and Woo-Bin got free drinks till the end of time. And boy did they both love drinking.
