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“Again!”
His leg stretched too far.
“Again!”
His grin was too tight.
“Again!”
His tail should’ve swished the other way.
Every miniscule detail was critical, and Singe’s eyes were firmly on his body throughout every repeated dance. If it wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t worth the performance. And of those six mistakes he’d spotted last time, one belonged to him.
He let his exhaustion show.
John collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air as sweat dripped - he could already feel himself losing his grip as sweat pooled beneath his palms, and he grimaced. Lifted his hands and wiped them against his shirt, closing his eyes briefly as if that’d help him breathe better.
His ears twitched at the sounds of steps softly moving around the room, desperately trying to fight off the shakes in his body. His mouth was like a desert, he couldn’t even salivate or swallow anything past air.
At the touch of something cold against his shoulder, John jolted and snapped his baggy eyes open, Singe stood next to him with John’s water bottle held out. He stared at it, almost surprised, before attempting to reach out and grab it.
Singe tested his strength by only somewhat relaxing his hold on the bottle, and when John failed to fully grip it, Singe sat down and popped the cap open, then gently held the back of John’s head.
“Drink.” He told him, and held the bottle to his lips.
John would be lying if he said he didn’t start attempting to drown himself with that water with how fast he was chugging it down - like life itself was spilling into his soul and rejuvenating him. Singe was kind enough to let him have the whole thing in one go, though his body felt… bad almost immediately after doing so.
Singe set the bottle aside and guided John to lay down and set his head against his lap.
“...You did good today.” He said, not really looking at him.
John’s heart soared suddenly, legs squeezing together as his tail wagged beneath him. The shaky grin was as genuine as it was exhausted. “You think so?”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t,” Singe rolled his eyes. “You continue to prove why you’re number one. You should be proud of that.”
John ducked his head as the smile turned bashful, cheeks turning a little warm. “Thanks, Singe… None of it would’ve been possible without you.”
“Maybe, but I could be the world’s greatest manager, it wouldn’t matter if my star performer was simply okay.” He turned his head down to look at John. “You’re worthy of your spot. I’m only so hard on you so you can keep getting better.”
The sigh that left Singe afterwards was almost tired as he reached up to rub at his temple, like he was soothing away a headache. “Just wish your brothers could keep up. It's a bit annoying that you can pull off everything I put down, but when they struggle to keep up, it’s fundamentally holding you back and I have to change things to be easier.”
There was a twist of guilt that followed, and John’s smile turned weak. “I know… I’m sure they’ll catch up.”
“Maybe.” Singe didn’t sound confident, and John stiffened as his eyes landed down onto him. “It’s telling, though, that you’re the only one here all the time.”
John’s smile tightened. “Well, I guess they could work a little harder, but I don’t want them to push themselves.”
Singe hummed, but ultimately didn’t add more to that as he nudged his leg up, signalling for John to get off. He did, rather sluggishly, rubbing the back of his head with a long sigh - and then a hand found his chin and guided his head over to Singe’s intense stare.
John held his gaze, wide eyed and surprised. Warmth rushed to his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears, and he stayed very still as Singe practically studied him. Brows furrowed and focused, John found himself frozen.
Eventually, Singe rubbed his thumb against John’s bottom lids, looking a little annoyed. “Hm… your eye bags are getting heavier these days.”
The comment glued itself to his mind, nestling itself in whatever free space it could find as John's expression twisted and looked away. “Yeah- sorry, hard to sleep.”
“It’s fine, but photoshoot’s soon,” Singe let go of his chin then and stood up, holding his hand out for John to grab. “There’s gonna be a lot of close-ups of your face. We could fix it in post production, but better safe than sorry.”
John grunted as he stood up, pretending his legs weren’t twitching with complaints. “Maybe we can avoid some close ups..? Ow- ow!” John hissed as a hand gripped a fistful of his hair and pulled a little too hard.
Singe’s glare tightened. “Beyond the fact that that was a stupid suggestion, your face is more desired in a photo than all your brothers combined, and though it’s partly because of you being the raw talent of your group, your eyes are what really sells.”
John nodded stiffly, breathing out in relief once Singe let go and reached back to rub the back of his head, mumbling into his chest. “I distinctly remember a time where I was called a freak for my eyes.” His gaze turned towards the mirror, catching his own eyes as if to judge them. His right eye was the soft blue most of his brothers had, and the left was a pretty pink that matched Floyd.
“It’s freaky when it’s on someone normal, yes,” Singe said, and John watched him cross his arms in his reflection. “But it’s iconic on someone famous, that’s just the way life works. Two different colours are good for marketing, too; makes you stand out to other troll bands.”
He thought that over, briefly. Everyone’s perception of his eyes had changed the more popular he got. It went from a curse to a unique trait unlike any other. So long as he remained popular, everyone would blindly love everything about him.
Singe stepped past him and nudged at his chin to lift it up and fix his posture by patting his stomach, reminding him to keep it sucked in, before making his way towards the door and throwing his bag over his shoulder. “Good work today, as I said, but it’d be worth practising a little more - I don’t want any stops because of you next time.”
John puffed out his chest then, nodding quickly as Singe offered a lazy salute, then closed the door behind him.
…Right. John turned around and jabbed his finger against the play button of the music player.
Can’t stop until it’s perfect.