Chapter Text
Evidence of hard work is sweat.
Not the sleepless nights, thinking of everything that could go wrong.
Not the constant hours spent waiting in a line for your 5th audition in 3 months.
Not spending the last 3 dollars to your name on a bus ride across the city to compete with 300 other people.
Just the sweat on your back.
At least that was how Minho saw it.
They always ridiculed him, saying that the only reason he got in was because he mentioned BTS. They thought that he was lazy, that he knew he was good.
Minho thought he was the worst. No matter what he did he was never good enough. He spent night after night, dripping with sweat as he tries to master the difficult spot in his choreography.
It was only after the trainees saw him, passed out on the floor, sweat covering every inch of his shirt that he earned any form of respect.
World of dance, they didn't care. Multiple dance awards, didn't care. Been dancing since he was 5, didn't care. The only time they cared was when he said he hid in the background, unnoticed, unseen. Just another face doing the same moves.
Or when he was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. He didn't want to be seen as this dancing god that could never get tired. Not some suck up dancer with horrible stamina either.
He was Minho, he liked cats, loved making jokes, had an obnoxious laugh, and wanted to be a singer. He wasn't just some pretty face with above average dancing ability. Every part of his personality was stripped away, to the point where others only knew him as,"the bts backup dancer," or,"The really good dancer from group 7."
As much as he enjoyed being complemented on his skill he wished he had a friend, maybe if he worked harder they would want to get to know him.
He'd had this mentality for 2 months and no one talked to him.
It wasn't until a frustrated scream shot past his throat at 2 in the morning because he had messed up the choreography once again, did someone finally notice.
"Mind if I join you?" a voice asked.
When Minho looked over to see who was talking, he didn't expect it to be Chris. He had never really talked to him because he was always closed off and locked away in a studio somewhere.
Realizing that he didn't answer his question huffed out a "sure," before lying down on the practice room floor.
"Why are you still here? Class ended like 4 hours ago," he said sitting down next to him.
Minho closed his eyes, still trying to catch his breath,"I'm not good enough."
Chris chuckled,"I've seen you dance, seems good enough to me."
"Well if that's the case then why has no one wanted to talk to me?" he sighed.
"I'll talk to you," Chris laid down next to him.
"Seriously?"
Chris nodded.
That night, or I guess morning, was the first time Minho had met someone who made him believe that his value wasn't measured in the sweat on his back.