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Sometimes, Shuhua catches herself wondering whether any of this is really worth it. The days are relatively easy to survive, with her bandmates by her side at every step she takes, but it's the nights that take their toll on her.
"Just two more years," she mutters to herself, as she checks herself out in the body mirror in the corner of her room. She's standing a few feet away, but even from the distance Shuhua knows her recently dyed, blonde hair looks more akin to a bird nest than the Marilyn Monroe concept her group is currently pursuing. "Serves them right from frying my scalp so badly," she snickers, but deep inside she knows she will not show herself like this. Not with her overthinking mind, not with her attention to detail.
With a tug of a hoodie, she covers up her hair and finally tears her eyes away from the mirror.
Swiftly, Shuhua opens up her laptop, untapes the front camera and views herself on the screen. Her pale skin along with a pastel hoodie contrast nicely with the dim, unlit background, playing out on the only source of the light in the room: the nightstand lamp positioned by her side. The frame reveals her only down to her chest, but she's glad nonetheless for forcing some long sweatpants on. In the idol life, after all, there is no space for a simplest slip-up, regardless of the unharmful intention.
With all of that ensured, Shuhua sends a quick message to the management and opens the needed website. She checks her time, and as she does so, the clock hits 10PM sharp, so without further waiting she clicks the camera icon and allows the live to begin.
The people gather at a regular speed, the thousands adding up fast in the first couple of minutes, just to slow down later on. Shuhua goes through her regular greetings first — with her using an app with predominantly Chinese userbase, one could think it would be easier for her to spit out the memorized words. But it isn't, it never got easier for her to do so, and so Shuhua stopped hoping it would ever did. Instead, she chooses to focus on the ongoing thread of comments.
"It's nice," she responds to one of them, that caught her eye. "It's nice to be done with the main comeback promotions, because I have more time for you all." Shuhua's lips curl up in a tiny smile as she tries her best to appear fond of all the people behind the screen.
It's not that she's not thankful, but it's true that putting on a show gets simply overwhelming at times. With another song of her group getting mainstream popularity, the fandom both grew and got more insistent on having a regular schedule for the group content.
Which is good, Shuhua thinks, to see their hard work finally pay off after over four years. It's just a shame not all of them are able to enjoy it the way they should. The essence of their happiness seems to be scattered all over the place, soaking into the hardwood floors before she or any of the other four girls get to bask in it.
Four.
"Will the upcoming tour be world-wide? Good question." Shuhua unlocks her phone, distracting herself from her own thoughts. She taps on the notes app and scrolls through it for a second before continuing.
"Okay, it's been already announced. Y'all scared me for a while," she chuckles. "You can see it on a promo post pinned on our official account that we will indeed give concerts outside of Asia! If I remember correctly, it includes North and South America, along with Australia."
Shuhua skims through the comments for a bit more. She expects to receive countless new questions addressing her response. What about Europe; what's a world tour if you don't visit at least one country on every continent? Why don't you know your schedule by heart, if your group leader can do so? Why do you speak so casually about it, shouldn't you be more happy? And yadda, yadda more, as all the fandom critics love to use their opportunities to come after her any moment given.
And maybe those things should be pointed out. Maybe with the little amount of her input into the group she deserves to hear that over and over again, until it's engraved in her head forever. You're not working hard enough to hear nice things, the little voice in her head supplies Shuhua with. Maybe if it was you who got removed from the group, nobody would have to fear you'll bring it down from its current success.
Subconsciously, Shuhua leans back on her swivel chair. With her right glued to the screen, her left arm shoots to her thigh, scratching the fingertips against the skin vigorously. She doesn't know when she has developed this stress relief method, but it has always worked for her, so she has never bothered to actively work against it.
And she probably never would, if it wasn't for the few wet splotches blossoming on the light-pink material of her pants, right underneath her touch. Fuck.
"I..." Shuhua forces out, a weak smile maintained on her lips. She doesn't have to look down to connect the dots and realize the unfortunate situation she's accidentally put herself in.
It's been going for a while already, her another, not so complimentary little coping mechanism, and while both the staff and the members have been informed about it — much against Shuhua's will — it has been made stark clear that the wider public is to be kept away from her personal struggles.
And really, Shuhua is more than fine with it. The only implication however is that she can't even excuse herself to take care of the issue out of the camera view, but for now she has to let the blood flow out of the scraped cuts until she's done with the live. So inconvenient.
Should've done it somewhere else.
"I," Shuhua goes on, "am stunned by your kind comments." She opts for, acknowledging the chat she has tuned out for a moment. "I also loved the collaboration between our company and the new stylist studio. Both the stage outfits and the dresses we used for filming the music video were truly breath-taking." She beams.
And it's not really forced, with the way the netizens have taken turn to, for the first time in the history of her streaming, bombard her with waterfalls of praises and otherwise lovely words. Whether to put attention to her perfectly styled platinum hair, to jump on the train of admiring her porcelain-doll features or even the way she hit every beat on the stage while performing; amongst the thousands of comments, it's hard to even cherry pick any curses or criticism, despite how much Shuhua feels tempted to do so.
It's you who made the dress look so well, some say.
About to sell my mom to One Direction just so I can chant your name from the audience, some joke.
Can't wait to see you perform in my home city, been waiting for this moment all of these years of stanning, some cry in relief.
And Shuhua, oddly, feels the emptiest she's ever did. Her brain doesn't supply her any meaningful to say, her voice is stuck midway through her throat and her thigh burns, but the physical pain is not even close to the clutch she feels around her heart. It's so much to take in, to comprehend, and Shuhua can't help but crumble on the eyes of all these people.
With her lip shaking and all the leftover mascara smeared around her eyes, Shuhua laughs and laughs and laughs with the giddiness of a little kid. She chokes on her tears, just to then give into another salve of laughter, and like that on repeat.
Someone from within the building must have watched her, as in the moment, a mere forty minutes into her live, not even close to the end, Shuhua can hear the door opening.
"Brought you some tissues." Shuhua whips her head around just to see one of her bandmates, Yuqi, approaching her from the other end of the room with a soft expression. "At this rate, you won't even have to double cleanse before the bed."
Without skipping a beat, Yuqi bends just enough to wipe every corner of Shuhua's face dry. She then tucks the younger's loose hairpieces back behind her ears and sends her an air kiss before patting Shuhua's head through the hood.
"They're growing up so fast," Yuqi sighs theatrically, as she throws the tissue pack right onto the nightstand table, next to the laptop. As she walks away, only then she adds, "please take good care of her for me, chat!", before eventually exiting the room.
The matter of the dirtied sweatpants goes unsaid, but it's okay, Shuhua decides as she sneakily takes a tissue and slips it underneath the band of her pants, using it to separate her skin from the cotton. Sometimes, waiting for the white knight to come rescue you is fruitless; some days you just have to piece together the little things you're given from the people around you and save yourself. Then, and only then do things finally seem worth it.
And maybe that's why Shuhua chooses to persevere; to stay.