BAP entered their dorm in silence.

They had just returned from the live filming of a music show. The lights had been hot, their costumes heavy and their bodies tired and worn out from overwork and lack of sleep. Although they had done their best, the group hadn’t been one-hundred percent and there had been a few mistakes. Daehyun’s voice had cracked and Youngjae had tripped a little during one of the more technical dance breaks. But Junhong’s mistake had been the worst of all. Like the rest Junhong had been exhausted, and unlike the rest, he had been working with a 101 degree fever that he had intentionally neglected to mention. It was during his part in Power, where he did his LTE rap when he forgot his lyrics, and ended up mumbling gibberish instead of words. On any other show his mistake—while inconvenient—could be fixed by a simple apology and another few minutes of filming. But on a live show, there was nothing that could be done. As such, the ride back to the dorms passed in a tense silence. But as soon as the manager dropped group off and the front door shut behind them, everything exploded. 

"What the hell Zelo?” Himchan spat, his tone bitter and his posture tense.
Junhong grimaced. Himchan always called him by his real name. For him to be addressed as Zelo Himchan had to be incredibly angry. "I'm sorry hyung. I did my best." The young boy answered. 
"Your best?” Jongup scoffed, poison coating his tongue. “You’re kidding right? You ed up your lyrics in front of a live audience.”

“Hyung,” Junhong began, “I didn’t—”
"They have a valid point,” Yongguk broke in, “tonight the mistakes were your fault Junhong. Have you checked the comments online lately? Our fans are tearing us apart, claiming that we’re too proud to practice and think that we’re too popular to fail. We’re losing fans Junhong, and most of them are citing you as the reason for why they’re leaving." His voice was flat, but Junhong could tell that their leader was upset.
"I—but—" Junhong started, desperate to defend himself.
"Junhong, stop.” Yongguk said, his voice still monotone. “You can’t plead maknae status this time. You have to improve. You’re holding all of us back.”

“You’d be better off as a trainee again,” Daehyun snarled. “Especially if you can’t even remember your lyrics. Are you a professional at all?”

“Come on guys,” Youngjae broke in. “Don’t you think you’re being just a little bit harsh?”

“No,” Daehyun replied, his voice monotone and his eyes hard. “He’s been making a lot of mistakes lately. I haven’t mentioned it before because he’s always so sorry about it and apologizes so much, but he really ed up this time. It was live television! He can’t apologize that mistake away.”

Junhong felt tears pricking at his eyes, threatening to start falling. But s didn’t notice. Instead they only continued to berate him further, while Junhong stood quietly, looking at his shiny new red basketball Nikes. When he couldn’t take any more Junhong excused himself to his room, his head bowed low to avoid any accidental eye contact. Once alone the boy quickly changed out of his concert-wear into a comfortable pair of grey jeans and a soft, long-sleeved black shirt. His white-blonde hair he covered with a dark grey beanie. His red Nikes he switched out for the old beat-up white converse that he had brought with him from his previous life—the life he had lived before BAP debuted and the whole world was watching him. He grabbed his wallet off his dresser and stuffed his phone in his pocket, passing Daehyun, Youngjae and Jongup on his way out the front door.

“Where is he going?” Daehyun asked no one in particular, momentarily pausing in his rant over how irresponsible and lazy the maknae had become.

“I don’t know.” Jongup shrugged. “Maybe he wanted to clear his head or something.”

Yongguk stuck his head into the hallway. “Did someone just leave?”

“Yeah,” Daehyun yelled back, “Junhong did.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“Nope!” Daehyun replied.
"He'll probably be back soon." Youngjae added from his comfortable spot on the living room couch.

“Okay.” Yongguk nodded, and ducked back into his room, tucking his headphones over his ears again.

But Youngjae was wrong. 

Several hours passed, and Junhong hadn't returned. The members called him only to hear the familiar “Hi! This is Junhong. I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you!” Wondering if he’d snuck back in and fallen asleep, Himchan popped his head into Junhong’s room, his face frowning when he returned to the group.

“Well, he’s definitely not here, but his stuff is everywhere. He didn’t put anything away.”

“That’s weird,” Jongup remarked, “He’s usually pretty careful with his concert stuff, especially since we have to return most of it to our sponsors.”
"Do you think we were too hard on him?" Youngjae asked, the question floating into the air and hanging there like a specter.
Yongguk frowned. "We might have been. I forget sometimes that he’s still only seventeen. He hasn’t even graduated high school yet. I should probably call the manager—see if he’s heard anything." The rest of the members nodded in agreement, each looking to the floor and thinking over their words in their own separate ways. Yongguk pulled out his phone and left for another room to call their manager.
"Look,” Youngjae pulled a face, “it's raining." Everyone looked out of the window. Sure enough, rain pelted the earth.

“Do you think he’s inside?” Jongup asked, shivering a little.
Daehyun grimaced. “He is if he’s smart.”

“I hope he is,” Himchan frowned. “His coat is still in his room. He’ll be freezing without it.”

“Did he at least bring his wallet?” Yongguk asked, having returned from his conversation with the manager.

Himchan nodded. “I think so. I didn’t see it on his dresser.”

Yongguk heaved a sigh of relief. Since they’d first met, Junhong had been a sort of younger brother to him. With their shared interest in rap, and with Junhong’s easy going, happy-go-lucky attitude Yongguk found it easy for him to get along with the younger boy.  He knew how stressful performing could be, especially as tired and worn out as BAP had been lately. Plus, Junhong was young compared to the rest of them. Where Yongguk was over twenty-three and had experience in the underground, Junhong was a super rookie who was swept off the streets and plopped into the group without a moment’s chance to adjust. Mistakes were inevitable, especially for him.
"Manager said that he hadn’t heard anything from Junhong,” Yongguk began, “Not that he would have, seeing as Junhong isn’t even answering. He’s talking to the police—trying to find out if they’ve seen anything—but it’s unlikely that they’ll be able to help. It’s not their job to track down run-away idols.”

The rest of the group sighed, gazes drifting back to the rainy scene outside as each member worried for their missing maknae.

Meanwhile, all the way across town Junhong sat in the back of a taxi, his chin propped up on the heel of his hand and his eyes watching the pelting rain outside. It was a good thing he had managed to get a taxi when he did. Otherwise he would have been soaked through. His shirt—while comfortable—was in no way waterproof. If Yongguk could see him now he would probably scold him and make a joke about how he was clearly the maknae, making silly mistakes like forgetting his jacket.

Junhong frowned, his mind drifting back to his bandmates. Their words had been harsh. Granted, they weren’t wrong, but it still stung to think about them. But beyond his bandmates’ words, it was the words of the fans that were harsher. Junhong glanced down at his phone, where he had been scrolling through the comments left on the BAP fansite. They had written things like “I thought Zelo was cool”. “I thought he was like a super talented rookie or something. lol.” and “what the hell?!?! does he really think hes so good?”. There were a few “wtf Zelo?!”s and more than a dozen “Zelo is bringing down our oppas!!! He should leave the group!”s. And the comments only got worse. While quite a few accused him of being self-centered and lazy, over half of them called him a useless part of BAP and demanded he leave the group. But the worst were the one or two comments that made death threats. Their words were vicious and cruel, and they  made Junhong shiver. True, there were a few “Zelo oppa fighting!”s, but the commenters were quickly attacked by other netizens, and their positivity was drowned out the overwhelming amounts of hate saturating the page.

Junhong sighed, shutting off his phone, ignoring the missed calls from his bandmates and his manager. The goodbye message flashed brightly before his phone went dead. With a huff he turned back to the window, resting his chin on his hand again and letting the pitter-patter lull him to sleep. The taxi driver watched his passenger through the mirror, his heart going out to the obviously upset boy. Thirty minutes later the taxi pulled up against the curb of a busy street.

“Hey kid, we’re here.” The taxi driver put his car into park, waiting for Junhong to respond. He glanced down at his gps, frowning. “I don’t know why you’d want to come here. It’s not a very nice part of town.” There was no response. “Kid?” The taxi driver turned around, laughing a little to himself when he realized that Junhong was asleep. “Hey kid,” the taxi driver said, poking Junhong’s knee. “Wake up. We’re here.” Junhong didn’t respond; he didn’t even shift in his seat. The taxi driver rolled his eyes, poking his knee a little harder. “Kid. Come on. You’ve got to get out.”

Junhong still didn’t respond.

The taxi driver huffed, muttering to himself. “Fine, guess I’ll have to take you with me.” A few seconds later the taxi pulled away from the curb, its passenger still inside.

Junhong woke up on a green velvet couch that gave in under his weight with a coarse woolen blanket thrown over him. His hat had fallen off at some point and someone had set it on the coffee table next to him. Junhong rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his mind as he looked around an unfamiliar room. It looked like a living room. Pictures sat on the mantle of a fireplace across the room. The furniture—the green velvet couch Junhong sat on, along with a dark blue armchair in the corner and the dinged coffee table—all looked tired and worn, but also well loved. There was a handmade rug on the floor, its fibers faded but the care in it apparent.

“You’re awake?”

Junhong sat up and turned toward the voice, surprised to recognize the taxi driver that had pick