Chapter Text
As a man who focused too much on earning a spot in one of the biggest entertainment companies in South Korea, Qian Kun didn’t have much time to spend on trivial things, which in this case, was namely, love.
However, love wasn’t a foreign concept to him.
He had watched how other trainees fell in love with one another, whispering promises that seemed to have no end. Most of the time, it would be to the future of debuting together, to stand side-by-side, holding hands and bowing at adoring fans who supported them. Inwardly, Kun knew that it was all wishful thinking on both sides. Among the millions of applications sent in to be trainees, among the hundreds and thousands of actual trainees waiting for that one special word, debut, it was unlikely for so many couples to fulfill their wishes.
Kun hoped that they knew that.
For a few times during his trainee days, Kun had wondered about the concept of love and if he should actually just start a relationship that was doomed to end. After all, those relationships were what kept some trainees sane, and were what gave others hope, that yes, they still had a chance. But after seeing one too many of those couples quitting it right there and then, full of tears and cries of pain, anger, and wasted time; because the chance of debuting was too small that it seemed like putting in a ships knot through the eye of a sewing needle, Kun had decided to save himself. Most people might call him a coward, but he wouldn’t be able keep afloat if he was drowning in heartbreak.
Regret over not spending time perfecting himself in time, sharpening his moves with the mirror, for not spending all his waking time to practice, practice, and practice, and therefore being cut off and replaced by other trainees who were younger, more virile, and just by all accounts, better than him, would’ve overpowered that feeling of his heart cracking into pieces for being left by someone who promised him a forever. It seemed sad, that the only thing his spotlight was on was the fact that he wasn’t enough, but it was a dog eat dog world, the survival of the fittest. Kun couldn’t bother wasting his time on trivial things that would never end up happily. Those kind of stuff with happy endings only existed in fairy tales.
Kun would just bide his time by practicing hard, to sing better and to dance better, to master all the skills an idol would need. Just to be the finest performer. In a world where only the best succeed, romance wasn’t needed. And Kun, well he just couldn’t afford it.
.
After a few technical difficulties with his agency, in which Kun was kept on his tippy toes for months, spending countless nights scared if his biggest fears would come true, that he would be called up one morning to meet the higher ups, and be told that, ‘We’re sorry, but you just didn’t make the cut.’
But against all odds, he had finally debuted.
He screamed for joy that morning, called all his parents, his relatives, and every single soul who supported him in following his dreams without a single doubt, right after he heard the news. Today was to be celebrated.
.
Sadly, and he knows it, even with the joy of being able to debut, he seemingly didn’t have a permanent spot in the band. He was just there to look pretty and bring in even more fans by doing so. He was lucky to even have a line in the song. To even be in one. He doesn’t mind. Sure, all his vocal talent and countless nights he spent practicing to be a flawless idol might’ve gone to waste, thrown down into an endless rabbit hole, but at least he was finally able to start living his dream.
Dedicating his life to a single cause had finally bear its fruit.
.
.
.
But then, out of the blue, it was back into the basement for him.
.
If Kun loved gloating, in which he doesn’t, Kun would pride himself in three things: his face; vocals; and his musical ability. His face was crafted by the gods themselves, a soft, kind-looking face with hard lines that showcased his own brand of masculinity. His voice which was always praised for its angelic beauty, was another feature on him that highlighted his appearance. And when he played the piano, it was majestic, a whole different story altogether. It told of sorrow and happiness, of loneliness and of understanding, of being lost but being free. Also, it was hard to find someone who could play a tune just by ear. Kun could do it.
If Kun loved to brag, in which he doesn’t, he would tell hundreds of stories of how so many people had managed to stuff his gym locker with notes and letters during his weightlifting exercises at the gym, which was scary because he knew how to alter his schedules, and make them as inconsistent as possible, which he learned to do after one night of having been made to clean up hundreds of handwritten letters and gifts that laid scattered across the tiled floor when he had opened his locker. He went home burnt out that night.
But with those experiences, that somehow kept occurring, also came the sad understanding that Kun would never be able to reciprocate those raw feelings. Those raw heartfelt feelings which they poured out into the letters, hoping for him to read them and maybe if God was feeling gracious, for him to reply. But it was impossible. Every day, during every second, every minute, and every hour, all that had to be done was practice. He didn’t even have time to take a break and take care of himself. Sleep became naps, and naps became power naps. The letters placed in a box at the bottom of his closet, only to be remembered as the unopened letters of unconditional support and love.
It hurt Kun to realize that by fulfilling his dreams, he had to break others. If he thinks about it now, it’s more than a little bit true. To debut, he broke other trainees hearts; and by having debut; he’ll break a million more if he does something wrong.
But what you don’t know, won’t kill you.
Love isn’t easy.
Life isn’t easy.
Sometimes Kun wishes that they were both easy.
The hope comes and goes.
He’d rather not think too much about it.