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John rolled his head on his aching shoulders, the pinched nerve hadn’t left for weeks now and no matter how he stretched or twisted his body, it never went away.
As he raised his eyes, he was met with his own reflection.
It judged where he stared, panting as if it had done as much work as he did. Standing still, it only served a reminder of what John wasn’t doing.
Nose curling, he tore his eyes away from the reflection and jabbed his thumb against the play button on the stereo. The music filled the room, and he was already moving his arms to follow the choreo despite not being in position, making his way back to the centre of the room as he huffed out a quick breath, and then began to move his legs to the beat as well.
He could practically make out Singe’s form in front of him, guiding the choreo and keeping tabs on them all. How he was able to do both at once, John would never know. Just another thing about his friend that showcased how deserving he was of his position.
And how much John was really dragging him down.
Each move forced his limbs out like attacks, as fast as they were fluid. Everything was perfectly crafted to melt into the next move for a seamless performance. He watched his own dance like it was going to run away from him, his mind placing images of his brothers in place of where they would be at each point of the song.
All of them doing their parts perfectly, just like Singe envisioned.
His own voice played from the stereo, and he mouthed the words despite wanting to rest his throat - habit, he supposed, every rehearsal had to be played like it was the true performance for the audience, like they were always watching. Singe gave him that advice; helped keep him focused.
Branch slid by, then Floyd, then Clay, then Bruce.
And John leaped forward, twisting his body to roll-
He hissed and slammed his hand down to catch himself, twisting awkwardly before colliding into the ground with a pained grunt. He was quick to sit up, reaching back to hold his shoulder as he groaned into his knees.
The song kept playing, reminding him that it wouldn’t wait for a mistake.
Pushing past the pain, John forced himself to stand and shook out his aching arm, the other one still ‘dancing’ along to the song as he moved back in place and kept going. He’d just have to try the summersault again until he got it right.
And he kept trying. Again, and again. Each one ending in some kind of disaster. First he slammed into the mirror, then knocked some benches aside, his hand kept thrusting towards the ground to catch himself which threw off his balance - he recognised he was afraid of doing the jump, but money didn’t particularly care for fear.
The original choreo didn’t include this dumb leap, but Singe said this’d wow the audience enough to distract them from Floyd should he ‘do anything stupid’.
John yelped as he dropped to the ground again, groaning as he rolled onto his back and pressed his hands to his face.
Dammit, dammit, dammit…!
The song kept playing, his singing practically mocking him. He could do that just fine, but a roll? That was his limit?
He wouldn’t allow that, but at this point if he tried again he was pretty sure he’d just crack his skull open. A break would serve him well, maybe check in on his brothers and see how they were?
It took another ten minutes to convince himself to get off the floor, grabbing his water bottle and switching off the music so he could head out. The cool water felt heavenly against his throat, his walk coming to a stop as he tipped his head back desperately, and before he knew it he’d basically drained the entire thing dry.
John grimaced, pulling back the bottle with cheeks filled with water. He shouldn’t have done that, now he’d feel sluggish. He dipped into the nearest bathroom and spat the water out there, though still mentally scolded himself for drinking as much as he had.
A sigh dragged out of his lips, rubbing at his tired eyes before he left the bathroom in favour of the living room. That’d be good, yeah! Maybe he could put a show on or something…
As he arrived, though, he noticed the TV was already in use, and a mop of murky lime hair spilled from the other side of the couch - John pursed his lips, then moved over to see his brother, Clay, laying across with a deadpan look on his face, mindlessly watching a video about the biological weaknesses on bergens.
John tilted his head.
“Clay-”
Clay snapped his head over with a gasp, before pressing a hand against his chest and dropping back into the couch with a roll of his eyes.
“You scared me, JD.”
“Sorry,” John moved around the couch and sat himself down on the other end. “Are you busy?”
“Oh goody, my favourite question - it’s all about the illusion of choice with that one,” Clay grumbled, but lazily reached over and hit the pause button on the remote. He turned his head and nudged his knee aside to get a better look at John. “What?”
“Well-” He offered a tight smile, before his eyes flicked up to his hair. “Well, maybe before anything else, fix your hair up? Singe said-”
“Get off my case, JD,” Clay kicked at him with his leg, and John fought not to hiss as he rammed into his tender arm. “I’m on break, my hair can be whatever colour I want.”
“Yes- true, yeah,” he tried not to comment that just because they were on ‘break’ didn’t mean they were off the clock, but sparking more of Clay’s wrath probably wouldn’t be wise. “Anyway, I might need your help with a portion of the dance? It’s this specific part that-”
“If I have to listen to another second of that stupid song I’m gonna tear my hair out, JD,” Clay responded flatly. “And more than that, if I have to repeat a certain part of the song I’m gonna take my skin out with it, too.”
“C’mon, Clay,” he grinned at him and nudged his leg with his arm. “No need to be a grouch! A bit more fun in that tone - you’re gonna have to listen to it again on performance day anyway, right? So what’s a few more times? There’s always gonna be ‘one more’-”
“I said no, John!” Clay shoved himself up with a snarl. “I don’t wanna help with the damn dance! Figure it out! I came here so I can be alone and watch things I actually like, not to get into a discussion about technicalities! The less I have to go in that room, the better! Can you go? Ask someone else!”
John didn’t say anything at first, only briefly surprised by Clay’s outburst - more so because of the noise, not necessarily what he was saying. John sucked his lips in and smiled regardless. The “You got it!” he managed to get out was pretty weak, he thought, but Clay didn’t seem to care. The moment John stood up Clay had already hit ‘play’ on the remote and gone back to merging with the couch.
He paused at the door, wondering if he should say something - an apology maybe? But Clay had made it clear that he wanted to be alone, so the sooner he left the better, probably. An apology might just irritate him more.
John sighed as he reached over to rub his shoulder again, and wondered if Singe might be willing to help him do the flip, though he’d rather ask Bruce first. Bruce was good for stability, and tended to be the pillar of the dance with his larger stature.
Then again, everyone was on break.
…Which he just recalled he had planned on doing, too.
Damn.