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Minhyuk grumbles as he comes out of the recording booth, hands stuffed in his black sweatpants’ pockets. He looks mildly annoyed but still comfortable. Neither the vocal coach nor the producer bother to be kind by any stretch of the imagination. None of the members are surprised, but it still stings when they see the frustrated expressions on their faces.
“You’re up,” the producer says and nods at Kihyun. He gets up and heads to the recording booth. Kihyun always goes last during title track recordings, so he’s used to the members looking tired during his time and not paying attention. It’s probably better that way, he thinks.
Kihyun’s heard his part from the sample song. What were they thinking? is what he thought. Yes, of course I can sing it, is what he said.
The first part is easy and the only reason he has to sing it five times is because he’s a perfectionist and a main vocal. But the highest part… not once has he had to sing a part so high that isn’t the highlight of a song. It comes right before the chorus and Kihyun’s pretty sure he’s going to faint on stage at least once.
“For the love of God, Kihyun, get this right,” their vocal coach says. He looks annoyed when Kihyun looks at him from behind the glass. “Sing it one more time.”
Kihyun does. When he looks up, the man looks pleased.
Kihyun doesn’t like to please. Kihyun needs to please. Kihyun is the main vocalist.
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Through teary eyes, his reflection doesn’t look so bad.
Kihyun’s lips tremble as another cough shakes his entire body violently, and a convulsion follows after. A heavy ringing sound threatens to explode his eardrums and his temples ache. The only thing keeping him from collapsing on the floor in a heap is his intensely tight grip on the sink. He feels but barely sees his fingers turning white.
Thorns are growing inside his lungs, scratching and rupturing, cutting off his breath painfully. He has never felt so much pain at once in his entire life. From all the edges and all the corners of his fragile body, agony spreads. He folds his body in half, choking and leaning his forehead on the cold marble counter.
Kihyun wishes it would end.
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Kihyun runs to the side of the stage with Hyunwoo. He wants to say that his chest aches, but it’s not an ache. It’s knives, constantly stabbing into his lungs and occasionally his heart. He brings a hand to his chest and presses on it, trying to catch his breath. Anyone who sees his face will think in terrible pain. They will be right. The loud cheers of the fans melt into the music and Kihyun relies on Hyunwoo to catch the timing in the brief span of time where everything is jumbled.
The next time they run to the side, Hyunwoo taps his shoulder to ask if he’s alright. Kihyun nods curtly.
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“This is a hard time for everyone,” their manager says. “The past few months have been hard. So we need to work even harder to make up for our hardships.”
No one answers, but he continues with even more passion. “We can get through everything! Dance harder, sing louder, rap qui-“
“Doesn’t work like that,” Changkyun interjects, even in his half-asleep state in the backseat. He sounds awfully unimpressed. The manager doesn’t stop for even a second, too lost in his own excitement.
“We have to rely on each other in this comeback constantly,” he says, nodding to himself. “But you got a music show win, and it wasn’t easy competition either. Let’s cover each other, always!”
Kihyun bangs his head against the window. He wishes it were the manager’s head instead. He wants to slam his manager’s head into the window until both the window and his head break. He feels violent, furious yet fragile- he feels primal. It’s his daily these days, on stage and off stage.
Their manager keeps talking as if he did anything whatsoever to contribute to their success. He keeps talking like what he’s saying is genuinely benefitting the group. He keeps talking like happy words and passion will get them through everything.
Kihyun is tired.
Hopeful reassurances won’t keep Kihyun’s knees from buckling. A ‘good job’ won’t make his vocal range wider. All he can feel as the man keeps running his mouth is the crushing weight of the expectations put on him. That’s why his knees buckle. He’s learned that he always has to be the one to cover a long, long time ago, ever since the company president pulled him into a room and started going off about some ‘the pillar of the group’ crap. That’s why his vocal range is wide.
Kihyun is blunt. He doesn’t like sugar-coating. He knows that no one will ever have his back. But for once, he wants someone other than himself to acknowledge that he has no one to cover him.
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“Your tone is very high,” the radio host remarks. The members’ eyes turn to him immediately. Kihyun straightens up. It’s clear he can’t just say ‘yes’ and let them continue. This moment will seem fleeting to any onlooker, he knows. But…
“Originally, it wasn’t,” Kihyun says after a moment of thinking. “But with each comeback, the company gives me higher notes.”
He tries to read the room to see if he should keep going or stop. There are mixed signs, so he decides to finish it. “From album to album, it gets higher and higher.”
The hosts nod in understanding, except they don’t understand. The members press their lips together, and they know.
Kihyun understands that he’s the only one he can bear this burden, but he also wants to be understood in return.
When the host asks him to sing all of the sudden, Kihyun is only surprised for a second before he complies.
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Kihyun is a nightingale.
When told to sing, he sings. He can sing high. He can sing low. He can sing powerfully and he can sing delicately. He can shout a joyous tune or hum a melancholic melody. He can sing as he moves and he can sing standing in one place. Kihyun can sing without a backdrop or with an entire orchestra. Kihyun can play the guitar or the piano as he sings. Kihyun can do anything. He can sing anything. For your pleasure, he will do everything.
Kihyun is skillful. Kihyun has power.
Kihyun has no control over anything.
As he brings listeners comfort with his gentle voice, Kihyun wonders if he can pull out his vocal chords with his bare hands.
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The practice room is filled with echoes of the members’ voices. Their feet stomp on the ground and their desperation is like that of a two day old group’s. The relief of knowing their misfortunes couldn’t rid them of their success isn’t enough for them to stop pushing themselves to the very edge. The floor has dents in it.
When Kihyun’s part is near, he warms up his voice while doing the dance moves. It feels slightly scratchy, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to. The formation constantly changes and Kihyun moves closer to the center.
He sings his part, but an abrupt cough shakes his lithe frame. No one pays mind. They’re all focused on their own reflections on the mirror. Kihyun is glad.
His eyes are stuck like a glue to the crimson mark on the ground.
From that point on, his body takes over. His brain is a mess of terrified screams and cries.
When practice is done, Kihyun wipes the floor with the soles of his shoes discreetly. His heart’s thumping is deafening.
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It doesn’t end.
Kihyun opens the door of the bathroom and stumbles through the hallway in a stupor. His eyes don’t see, his hands don’t feel and he can’t trust his bruised feet to lead the way.
All of his life, the only person Kihyun could put his trust on was himself. All of his life, he has promptly ignored his friends’ pained glances when he shared less. The course his life has followed has taught him that he needs no one but himself. Therefore, he built up his confidence all the way from under the ground to above the clouds.
Now, Kihyun can’t trust himself. He failed himself- his five senses are in shambles and with it the confidence he built himself upon.
His breaths come in short, pained gasps. He puts his palms on what he thinks are walls and tries to guide himself to his bedroom. Stumbling, limping, head bobbing.
Suddenly, he’s pulled up from where he was nearly crouching and pulled into a sturdy chest.
The person behind him says nothing. He’s gently held from under his armpits. Kihyun lets the hands lead him. His feet are almost off the ground. He tries to feel somewhat in control by stretching his toes to touch the ground as much as possible.
He’s lowered onto a soft surface. Kihyun whimpers when he feels a tissue on his face, wiping the sweat. A warm palm lightly touches his cheek in the process and Kihyun nearly leans into it.
For a few minutes, the room is silent. Kihyun focuses on his breathing. He clenches his hands and unclenches them. He frowns and then relaxes. He trembles and pushes his body further into the duvet.
Hyunwoo coughs. “Kihyun.”
Kihyun tries to rasp out a response but it’s to no avail. Thankfully, Hyunwoo doesn’t mind awkward silences nor one-sided talks. Kihyun wishes he would.
“Kihyun,” Hyunwoo says. “I don’t really know what to say.”
It’s okay, Kihyun wants to say. Neither do I.
“Do you remember when how awkward we were during the survival show, Kihyun?” Hyunwoo asks. Kihyun opens his eyes and looks at Hyunwoo. The man isn’t looking at him. He’s looking outside at the night sky, where there are no stars.
He does remember the survival show. They were very open about their awkwardness towards each other. Kihyun remembers that the first active effort he had spent on closing the gap between them was after the judges told him that their performance was terrible because of their non-existent chemistry.
Hyunwoo clears his throat and looks at Kihyun. “Has anything changed since then?”
For the first time in years, Kihyun is positively speechless.
Hyunwoo moves from his spot on the chair to the bed. Kihyun tries to inch away in protest, not wanting to let the man close to himself after hearing such a hurtful statement. So many thoughts are attacking at once, not letting him breathe, not letting him move. Kihyun is so confused.
“Let me elaborate,” Hyunwoo says and slowly moves so that he’s on his side, facing Kihyun directly. It’s not a great position for either of them- Hyunwoo doesn’t know how to approach sensitive situations very well and Kihyun is incredibly sensitive right now.
“You’re the person I feel I’m closest to in the group,” Hyunwoo says, voice lowered. “We… we’re similar in many aspects. We interact with the outside world a bit differently, but you are the one person in the group that I think could handle being the leader and even do it better than me.”
“You are responsible and tough,” Hyunwoo continues. “But that’s… that’s not what I want to say right now.”
Kihyun gulps and closes his eyes again.
“Why won’t you ever let us help?”
His shaking body is pulled close to the larger man’s warm body. Hyunwoo’s rough hand is on his back, rubbing up and down. The tension in Kihyun’s body slowly dissipates and warmth spreads in him, the source of it Hyunwoo’s each and every finger. Kihyun buries his face in Hyunwoo’s neck and lets long arms envelope his entire frame. Kihyun’s never felt like this.
He relaxes.
Hyunwoo must feel it, because his grip becomes more firm. Kihyun feels like a newborn baby, experiencing things for the first time. Completely lax, not in control- it feels like he’s having an out-of-body experience. Something has changed with this conversation. This conversation, which he has never in his life ever had. A conversation he’s never even dreamed of having. A conversation of this kind that doesn’t feel completely empty.
Hyunwoo has always been special to Kihyun. He is distinct from everyone else. Fans that think they know everything about him and broadcast hosts that think half an hour can summarize a person’s personality- Kihyun despises them.
Hyunwoo is sturdy and emotional. Hyunwoo is awkward and warm. Hyunwoo is honest and trustworthy. Hyunwoo is quiet and among all the people Kihyun’s met in his life, he has the richest personality.
Hyunwoo is unashamedly himself. Kihyun burrows his face further into his neck.
“Hyung,” Kihyun sobs. “Hyung.”
“Yes,” Hyunwoo says. He asks for nothing, but lets Kihyun answer. Kihyun is so thankful.
“I don’t feel awkward with you.”
“I know,” Hyunwoo mumbles from where his chin perched is perched on the top of Kihyun’s head. “But I want you to trust me.”
Kihyun falls asleep in Hyunwoo’s arms, somewhat content and definitely warm.
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A week later, Kihyun starts to take notice of some changes.
The managers stop treating him like a scapegoat. The members start teasing him less without changing their push and pull dynamic. Every night, a tea mysteriously appears on the end table next to his bed. His vocal coach gives him a thumbs up, a compliment and a confirmation that his vocal lessons have been reduced.
There’s still burden on his shoulders, but Kihyun’s legs must’ve become stronger because he feels like he can finally run. He feels freer than he has in over six years.
“You did something, I know you did,” Kihyun says as he cooks, feeling Hyunwoo’s hungry eyes burning holes into his back. He feels the need to turn the heat on even more at the sheer desperation radiating off the man. “Please, calm down with your staring, Hyung! Your food is gonna be ready in three minutes tops.”
“I’m hungry,” Hyunwoo grumbles and his chair creaks. Kihyun assumes he’s leaning back in his chair. “And… well, I might’ve pulled a string or two.”
Or a thousand, Kihyun thinks. He gets seven plates ready and and puts all of them on the table, making sure he gives Hyunwoo his plate first. The man immediately digs into the food. Kihyun calls out to alert the other members and sits down next to Hyunwoo.
As the other men in the house start piling into the kitchen and sitting down, making an unnecessary amount of noise with their loud conversations and slurping, Kihyun shares a glance with Hyunwoo and smiles.