The music plays softly from the speakers, just loud enough to be heard. A sense of dreariness fills the space between, almost bittersweet but not quite- some nameless emotion settled somewhere, tucked underneath his ribs. A heavy heart. The room is dark but moonlight pools around his ankles as Hyukjae closes his eyes and focuses on the soft sounds, so familiar and yet completely alien. His body moves obediently to the old remembered steps, one two one two in time with every beat and count. The adrenaline rush, the music alive and resonating in his bones, each sharp whip of movement punctuating the still air.

 

He can’t believe he’s here again, locking himself in the dance studio in the middle of the night dancing to old songs, swimming in nostalgia with tears halfway down his face. Most of the other members probably couldn’t even remember the moves to half these songs anymore. They're probably out drinking again, he thinks.

 

He really is pathetic.

 

Suddenly solitude isn't as poetic, as beautiful as it's made out to be.

 

But why would it matter to them anyway? Dancing to them was just mechanical; memorise, relearn, repeat. It didn't burn from within, utterly overwhelm and consume. It was a mere requirement they did well, obliging when they had to. Hyukjae can't bring himself to discredit them- he knew how much effort they put into dancing. He knew it didn’t come as easy to some of them as it did to him (the number of times he’d seen Ryeowook tear after dance practices told him he probably didn’t know the half of it) But none of them really, genuinely care, not with the same passion that he holds. Perhaps, Hyukjae thinks, it's better this way, at least they can move on. Not him, though.

 

Hyukjae remembers everything: from practicing for his first ever public performance, to the blood, sweat and tears they had shed to earn their debut stage. He remembers the dance to Knock Out, the memories of his solo dance break being the most vivid. He remembers Miracle, and U, and Don’t Don and Marry U. He remembers Sorry Sorry and all the dances that came after. Memories so deeply engraved in his mind the same way a couple would carve their names into benches – a promise for forever, for eternity. He etched it deep into his mind, bleeding nails against hard wood and scratched in little by little, beat by beat. All these years of bruised knees and aching bones, after all, had to amount to something.

 

He never really expected to become an idol. And when he did become an idol, he never expected to be so successful. He was once scared, of the crowd following his movements with disapproving eyes, of making a mistake and ruining everything, even of being the least noticeable member on stage. He remembers feeling overwhelmed, with all those people looking to him for happiness and the extreme pressure to perform and be charismatic and polite and god knows what else. He even felt a little arrogant at the peak of his career. But he’s never stopped being grateful. As cliche as it sounds.

 

It was this same gratitude that caused him to fall into this habit. It started way back in their early days- when the members would sit in a circle their tiny little dorm, chatting without a care in the world.

 

“A few days, and memories of this hell will leave my mind completely!” It took that one offhand comment from Leeteuk to have him shocked, frozen in slight fear. He didn’t want to forget. He’d make sure he would never forget. That was the first time he found himself heading back to the dance studio in the dead of the night, having snuck out of the dorm right under the manager’s nose. They had found out, of course. He let his phone ring the first few times, and finally switched it to silent mode when it became clear they wouldn’t stop calling. Then he played the song on repeat and danced until he was absolutely sure his body couldn’t handle moving another inch. He woke up the next day with a groggy mind and a livid Leeteuk leaning over him, surrounded by the mix of confused and worried faces of the members.

 

He got a beating from the manager and Donghae wouldn’t speak to him for days, but it really was worth it in the end. Donghae was terrible at holding grudges, so he learnt.

 

This little habit of his took a while to be accepted, but a few years on it was had just become a quirk of his that they’d learned to ignore. To be perfectly honest, Hyukjae didn’t care what they thought of it. Was it inconvenient? Yes, but only for him. Was it self destructive behaviour that hinted at some issues he should be sorting out? Probably. Oh well.

 

Then enlistment came around. Leeteuk was shaking. “I want you to help me take care of them while I’m gone.” Leeteuk had looked at him with pleading eyes, grasping his hands tightly. “You’re the only one I trust to make sure the team doesn’t fall apart.”

 

Hyukjae put this little habit of his on standby for the sake of the team, and somehow managed to hold it all together while the real leader left them for two years. It wasn’t entirely a chore. The two years, spent away from his self induced prison of self loathing and forcing himself to dance just to feel like he was worth something, felt like a pleasure that he didn’t deserve. He was healing, and he wasn’t worthy of it, but he continued nonetheless and it felt so good. He’d go out for a night of drinking instead of a night of dancing– let it burn until he couldn't tell what hurt more, the alcohol, or the guilt.

 

He didn’t start again after Leeteuk left either. They’d come so far, and done so much and he realised he couldn’t measure his achievements in the number of dance steps he could still remember. It just didn’t make sense to wear out his body doing something so pointless when they were already so swamped with comebacks and individual projects to work on.

 

So why was he doing it again now? Why had he found himself once again locking the door of the little dance studio and turning on the music that he hadn’t danced to in over 2 years? Why, why was he back when he promised himself he’d never return?

 

He wants that feeling again, the one he hasn't felt in years. The feeling of memories flooding into him and the feeling of remembering. Every tune, every beat courses through his body like blood pumping through his veins and each holds the key to a different memory. He feels like he’d had them locked away for years now, and his body moves clumsily to vague memories of hours spent in this very room.

 

1 year and 9 months. 91 weeks. 639 days. 15,336 hours. 920, 160 minutes. Approximately 55, 209, 600 seconds. That was how long he would be away. He doesn’t realise he is going to sob until he does, curled into himself on the familiar cold floor. His body shakes with each sob and the tears that he doesn’t realise he’s been holding back seem to be never ending. What would the members think if they saw him now – A mess of tears and sweat, relapsed into a habit he swore he’d never get back to. He was truly pitiful.

 

Enlistment. It had always seemed so far away, an evil that wouldn’t actually come any closer from where it stood leering at them from the distance. Then it was right in his face, claws dug deep into him and the air reeking of its breath, and he realised there was nowhere for him to run. It feels like just yesterday that he was standing in the waiting room, waiting to make his debut as part of Super Junior 05, sweaty hands clutching his pants and head swimming with nerves. Time passed him so excruciating slowly, each second playing out like a thousand years, so that each year he lived seemed like an entire lifetime. Yet it also passed him so fast that one moment he was preparing to go to his first SM audition and in one breath he was a few days away from enlisting. He felt old. Old and scared and weak.

 

He remembers when the first member enlisted. It was a rocky point of time for them all, when Kibum and Han Geng were suddenly gone and Heechul was a mess and they all could swear they’d wake up the next day and another member would be gone again. He remembers crying a lot. Kangin’s scandals only added on to his distress, and Hyukjae remembers being resentful towards him for that.

 

Kangin left. Hyukjae remembers trying to forget everything that had happened and pretending they’d never had those three members in the first place. When Kangin returned, he was different. Not the in your face drastic kind of change, but more of a subtle difference. He wanted to be a better person, he said. He told the members he’d learnt from his mistakes. Hyukjae remembers thinking how enlistment was good for him.

 

When Heechul left, Hyukjae was numb. They’d always had a strange relationship, sometimes close and sometimes entirely cold. By the time he returned, Hyukjae had become used to him not being around. They got closer after Heechul’s return, and Hyukjae found that he liked the change.

 

Leeteuk left Hyukjae a sobbing mess. "Make sure I have a Super Junior to come back to," he'd told Hyukjae before leaving. Hyukjae remembers being absolutely terrified. Hyukjae tried his best then to fill the leader's role. The members hadn't been thinking much when they'd told Leeteuk to be leader; he was the oldest, and it only seemed natural. Hyukjae hadn't realised just how hard it was to do what Leeteuk always did. Home didn't quite feel like home with the lights off. Hyukjae copes for two years. Leeteuk returns. The lines on his face are now much more pronounced, but that was really the only drastic change he saw in the leader.

 

And when Yesung had to go...the three experiences prior had left him with no more pain, just a sense of tiredness and a wish for it all to be over. (Or it could just be the fact that him and Yesung had never really been painfully close anyway.) (He did cry a little, of course, but it’s quiet and it’s in the middle of the night and it goes away as soon as it comes.) The only time he cried about Yesung’s enlistment was when he came back – it was hard not to cry when your hyung leaves for two years and then in the blink of an eye he’s singing on stage with you again, no matter how numb you were when he left you.

 

Hyukjae figured he hadn’t actually become used to the members leaving, because the minute Shindong left he’d locked himself into his room choking on his own tears and trying not to let the neighbours hear his sobs. Maybe some members meant more to him than others. Then Sungmin left too, and Hyukjae hadn’t even recovered from the blow of Shindong’s departure and he’s choking and sobbing again. It was painful, and he felt pathetic. And Shindong and Sungmin hadn’t even left for a whole year yet.

 

And back to the present. Here he was: nose red and snotty, face and eyes puffy, ears straining to hear music that he should have forgotten years ago and body moving to steps that should have been long washed from memory. A hundred synonyms for pathetic pop up in his mind.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”  He could practically hear Sungmin nagging at him from a little corner in his mind.

 

Hyukjae’s body halts and he’s caught by surprise. He tries to continue dancing, tries to sing along, even goes to turn the music up so he can hear better. But what’s the next step? Oh no. He’s forgotten?

 

Before he can drop to his knees and get hit with a fresh bout of sobs, his phone starts ringing. He wants to turn it to silent mode, throw it at the wall, break it, just so it’ll stop. He doesn’t need to talk to anyone, doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He doesn’t do what he feels like doing. He answers the phone.

 

“Hyukjae? Where are you?” Leeteuk’s concerned voice floats into his ears. The familiarity of it makes Hyukjae want to cry. He doesn’t reply for a while, the sound of his shaky breaths in and out being the only thing letting the other know he was there.

 

He opens his mouth to reply at last, but finds he can’t speak. So he cries instead. His sobs are ugly and uncontrolled and he can’t tell whether his face is covered by his tears or his snot or his saliva.

 

“Hyukjae? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Leeteuk sounds worried, and Hyukjae feels like crap for worrying him. But he can’t seem to hold back. His words come out choked.

 

“I’m sc-scared.” There’s a short moment of silence in which Leeteuk doesn’t speak. Hyukjae doesn’t know what to say to fill up the emptiness. Then Leeteuk simply says, “I know.”

 

Then, “So was I. I thought SJ would be nothing without me. I guess I had an inflated sense of my importance back then.” Leeteuk laughs.

 

“I think we were all afraid we’d break without you. You weren’t the only one.”

 

“You weren’t that bad of a replacement yourself. They did fine with you as leader.” Hyukjae can even hear the dimpled smile in Leeteuk’s tone of voice.

 

“I’m a genius, hyung. I can replace any member for anything!” Hyukjae's voice is shaky and unsure, but he laughs it off anyway.

 

“Like how you replaced Jongwoon as main vocal when he left?” Leeteuk jokes.

 

It wasn’t that funny a statement, but Hyukjae laughs. It’s for real this time, in the loud squawky way that the fans make fun of him for, and feels his body relax a little. His laughter sounds through the phone and is joined by the annoying hyena laugh of the older man. He laughs so hard he can feel his stomach aching.

 

It really wasn’t that funny. Still, they keep up their laughter for at least five minutes.

 

“I’m scared.” Hyukjae says again after he recovers. His voice doesn’t come out properly, affected by both his tears and laughter. It was barely a whisper, but Leeteuk understood.

 

“Of course you are.” He responded.

 

“I’ve been doing this for 10 years. I’m scared to stop. And I know we’ve gone through this before and I know it turned out okay every time but I’m still scared because what if it isn’t for me? What if I don’t have a Super Junior to come back to? Or I come back and I don’t fit back into the team properly anymore?” Hyukjae realises he’s rambling but he lets his worries spill out anyway, wishing desperately that Leeteuk could make them vanish.

 

There’s a brief silence as Leeteuk deliberates. Hyukjae rolls onto his side on the cold floor and waits.

 

“I don’t know.” Leeteuk says. “I was scared too, when I left. And I know two years is a really long time and so much can happen within that time and I understand why you’re scared. It’s okay to be scared. I don’t know what’ll happen in the future either.”

 

“But I do know that we’ll always be Super Junior. It’s been 10 years, and we’ve gone through so much, it’ll take more than 2 years to break us. So go serve your 2 years and take a short break from idol life, do well in the army, and we’ll be waiting for you when it’s all over. Yeah?”

 

Hyukjae sniffs a little and then giggles. “Yeah. And don’t get Yesung hyung to replace me in dancing, or I’ll really worry about the group’s future.”

 

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe you'll learn to respect your hyungs in the army, too. I’ll see you off tomorrow, and see you when you get back, okay?"

 

"Yeah. I’ll–"

 

The line goes dead with a beep before he can finish his sentence. Hyukjae feels numb.

 

"I'll see you then."

 

He reached over to switch off the music before closing his eyes.

 

Tomorrow, he'd be Lee Hyukjae the soldier.  

 

1 year and 9 months. 91 weeks. 639 days. 15,336 hours. 920, 160 minutes. Approximately 55, 209, 600 seconds.

 

For a short while, goodbye.