Chapter Text
His movements became increasingly heavy and difficult to control. They required stability and precision, but turned into a burdensome obligation. It was impossible to take away his grace and fluidity, abilities that the young dancer had learned to master, those he had made his own. All of this was written directly into him, into his blood, his bones, his soul.
The room was sweating with uncontrollable heat. The long mirrors were damp. The condensation had smudged the mirrors, sticking to them until they were blurred. But this did not seem to bother the lone dancer in the middle of the room. He did not care about his reflection, his appearance. He rejected it. At that moment, he was looking for an escape; he was searching for perfection. He wanted to go beyond that.
The music gradually changed. It lost its meaning, giving way to an intoxicating melody. Its sole purpose was to fill a void, the heavy, raw silence of the studio.
The young man seemed lost in a kind of intoxication. His instability was not apparent. He tried to catch his breath, to stabilise himself. But it was in vain. The precision and confidence he displayed were only covers to hide the truth. No matter, he could not deny himself to focus on anything other than his rhythm. He forgot the pain, he ignored his aching muscles. The agitated beating of his heart now led the dance.
A sudden stop, face to face with the mirrors, his vision obstructed. He could see nothing. In front of him, no existence, no presence. Nothing.
His gaze was distant. He was not trying to see himself, but to forget himself for a moment. His concentration was not focused on anything in particular. It was empty.
He had tried, but in vain. The dancer gently touched his chest, his trembling hand remembering the recent effort. He felt nothing, only emptiness. A hole in place of what had once been the exciting desire to simply live. Nothing left. It was depressing.
The adrenaline began to slowly evaporate. And with it, his strength to stand upright also faded away. He fell without even realising it. The long hours of training finally caught up with him. The collision with the ground was barely felt, just an echo. A single dull pain was pushed into the background. His muscles relaxed only slightly, still tense. His eyes suddenly stung, but he refused to show any weakness, even though he was alone. How shameful, how ridiculous and pathetic! He fled from his reflection. He no longer wanted to present himself as someone fragile. But oh, how painful and demanding it was. So demanding and exhausting. He was strongly opposed to letting any tears fall. If he gave in, no one would be there to support him. By giving in, he would show how ridiculous he was. He would refuse the pity of others. He always refuses it.
His breathing stabilised, mingling with the heat around him, quietly suffocating him.
A sharp, dull noise rang out and interrupted his train of thought. His phone. He stared at the source of the noise. His phone rang, buried in a pile of clothes at the bottom of his bag. He didn't dare get up right away, weighing the pros and cons first. He stared at his bag, waiting for something that would never come. The call dropped, but the dancer waited until he heard the generic ringtone again.
—Hello?—he answered.
—Go home.—the monotone, hoarse voice sounded calm. It was neither urgent nor authoritative, but simply patient.
—Who says I'm not at home?—he asked.
—Soonyoung.—sighed the voice on the other end of the line. —It's 3 a.m. Go home before I come looking for you.—he paused, hesitating, before adding.—Stop overworking yourself.
Soonyoung ignored the concern he could clearly hear in the other person's voice. He and Jihoon had known each other forever. Of course his best friend wouldn't forget him. Jihoon knew his bad habits well. They were very close. However, that didn't make Soonyoung any more receptive to receiving pity in this way. Help that he confused and mistakenly associated with weakness.
—It's okay, I'm fine.—he reassured him in vain. It sounded false, and they both knew it.
—And when you're not okay anymore, what will you do?—Jihoon asked. —Go home, or I promise I'll come and get you.
—No need, I'm leaving right now.—he said, getting up and grabbing his bag before heading for the door. —You're worrying for nothing.—a heavy silence settled in after his reply.
—You're not invincible, I hope you know that. You're not alone.—he hung up immediately afterwards.
Soonyoung didn't want to dwell on the subject. The bitter cold of Seoul greeted him as soon as he stepped outside. It was incredibly cold and dark. Soonyoung hurried back inside. He deeply hated the cold, which he felt constantly. With every movement, an icy chill ran through him.
"Invincible" was an artificial and misleading concept. What did it really mean? It was just a poor facade he was trying to project. Completely and utterly false. Entirely fabricated. A useless shield that only hid a small part of what was already cracked inside him.
He didn't take long to get home. He entered the code before stepping into the hall. He greeted the receptionist mechanically and went up the stairs. Soonyoung slammed the door to his flat, blindly stepping on the papers scattered on his landing. He would surely hear complaints from his neighbour in the morning. But the young dancer paid no attention. Once again, he ignored the little post-it notes and the entire existence of his downstairs neighbour. He wasn't rude, far from it. He simply lived in his own inconsistency, lost in his fatigue.
It was always the same: the same reproaches, the same arguments and insults. He would sort it all out later, one way or another. Soonyoung felt far too exhausted for all that. However, rest was still a long way off. His body may have been exhausted, but his mind was not. The fatigue remained constant; rest was nothing but a luxury.
Soonyoung headed for his favourite room. He had converted an old bedroom into a mini studio. It wasn't huge, of course, very different from his real studio. Nevertheless, it seemed sufficient.
The mirrors were small and narrow. The large, powerful speakers were absent. But that wasn't a problem.
He turned on his headphones before putting them on. The music played softly. Soonyoung let himself be guided, his body moving delicately.
He hid from all problems, placing himself in safety. When he danced like this, he was nobody. He strangely liked it. He didn't feel rushed. He felt free to exist in his shadow. It was his refuge and he would make it permanent. But he knew that deep down, it wasn't.
●○●○●○
The next day, he had barely slept a wink. His body had only been able to rest for three short hours. He hurried out, even forgetting his breakfast. Soonyoung almost tripped over a parcel. It didn't matter, he would deal with it later. Tomorrow, perhaps. He didn't want to be late and arouse Jihoon's suspicions about his condition. The other guy worried too much, that was a fact. And if he was concerned about him, he wouldn't be long in sharing it with Jennie. Soonyoung suspected that this was already the case. But if they didn't say anything, he wouldn't either.
—Would you mind making less noise?— accused Jeon Wonwoo, his stupid neighbour from below.
Soonyoung took a moment before responding.
—I don't have time, I'm in a hurry.—he replied irritably.
It was always like that between them. They didn't like each other, that much was obvious. Wonwoo blamed him for absolutely everything: for being loud, unpredictable, contemptuous, haughty, careless, and several other unpleasant adjectives. In reality, Jeon Wonwoo was simply a control freak. They didn't get along, and they never would. They hated each other, and Soonyoung knew full well that this would never change.
Wonwoo stood between him and the lift. Soonyoung stared at him.
—It's not difficult to have respect for others. It's a pretty simple concept, but you just choose to ignore it. You could stop making so much noise at night.—he was visibly irritated. His eyebrows were furrowed, his arms crossed, his posture tense. His scent perfectly conveyed his irritation. However, Soonyoung couldn't smell it. His nose, which was far too sensitive at the moment, couldn't detect anything at all. Soonyoung was oblivious to any signs of annoyance; he was instead consumed by exasperation and impatience.
—Listen, I don't have time for your criticism. I'm in a hurry and I can't hear you. Why don't you leave me one of your little notes?— he asked.—I'll take a quick look at it. Have a nice day.
Soonyoung rushed towards the stairs, avoiding any conflict with the other person.
—You're nothing but a bloody idiot.—Wonwoo muttered under his breath.
Soonyoung, disoriented by his own unsteady gait, didn't hear him.
He soon arrived at his destination. He opened the doors to his agency before hurrying to Jihoon's workplace. He hurried, wanting to spend some time with the other before starting his long day at work. Soonyoung looked at his phone to confirm how much time he had left. It was just enough to sit on his favourite sofa in the production studio of Jihoon, known as the renowned producer Woozi.
Soonyoung entered without greeting the other, without any obligation to make himself heard or ask permission before entering. He felt comfortable in the other's presence. Soonyoung felt safe with Jihoon. When they were together, no formal communication was necessary. With a simple gesture, a simple glance, they understood each other.
Soonyoung sat, stretched out on his soft sofa, and watched Woozi from where he was.
—Take my jacket. —whispered Jihoon without even looking up from what he was doing. Soonyoung noticed the loose-fitting black jacket draped over the arm of the sofa.
It was warm, large at the shoulders and loose around the body. It was comfortable to wear.
A tender silence settled between them, no words necessary. While Woozi worked on his new sound, Soonyoung enjoyed the only real moment of rest he allowed himself to relax. He surfed the Internet aimlessly. Something caught his attention. He frowned.
The latest trend irritated him deeply: "Dancer Hoshi and idol Jennie have been seen together a lot recently. Are they hiding a romantic relationship?" His jaw clenched when he saw this; he tightened his grip on his phone. He felt uncomfortable with this unlikely news. He and Jennie were certainly very close, but never in that way. His last relationship had left deep scars, wounds that were still open and raw. They wouldn't let him forget. He was afraid of being scarred forever.
"You belong to me," an old echo carved into him.
—Are you okay?—Jihoon asked, looking concerned. He didn't like what he saw on Soonyoung's face.
—Huh?–he replied, confused, before catching himself. —Yes, yes. —he said again.—I'm perfectly fine. —He glanced at the time before standing up. —I have to go, see you tonight.
Soonyoung left quickly, under the concerned gaze of the other. He pulled his jacket tightly around him before heading to the rehearsal room.