He could feel his bones ache, his head throb, his muscles give in.  Every morning it was the same; waking up to this feeling of exhaustion even if he slept the whole night through.  He had signed up for it, though.  He knew it was worth it…or he thought he did.  He was successful; his fame measured in screams of fans, the tears they shed when he sang, and the way they swooned at his dancing.  The dancing is what put him into a tailspin; it was the most tiring thing he’d ever done.  Or it had been until he met Mister Chun.  Now he spent his mornings in a different state of tired.  A state that passed exhaustion.  He felt like a soul that was too small to carry around his big body.  His name was Yoon DooJoon, the strong leader of B2ST. 

     He was barely an adult at 23 and he felt older then the sun ever since that man came into his life.  He would put on a smile, s never knowing how their leader’s mind was always somewhere else.  Somewhere that would check his body’s wounds slowly so as not to garner further pain.  When they were done practicing, doing events and shows, DooJoon had begun to drink away his thoughts.  Mister Chun had drove DooJoon to drinking away his worries with his cold actions, cruel words, and harsh smiles.  The aforementioned Mister Chun held DooJoon’s heart; his career, s, his family, in his palm.  Mister Chun’s hand was slick with the blood of DooJoon’s worries as he tried to regain control of it again.  No matter what the B2ST leader tried, Mister Chun would laugh his soulless laugh and step even back farther from his reach.

     So every couple of nights, DooJoon would crack open a beer and sip it silently, a fresh one never far away.  s, or rather, his brothers, didn’t ever notice how much he drank because he covered his tracks so well.  Always threw out the trash himself, stashing away the empty cans until he could get to them, and keeping an endless supply of beer in the dorm.  He was smart enough not to drink every night, only once a week, but when he did, he got obliterated. 

     His weekly alcoholic stupor had been going on for a few years, now.  YoSeob never noticed, his smile always bright with a lack of worry.  YoSeob had the act of a careless kid, but he was rather sharp and DooJoon was quite lucky YoSeob hadn’t caught on to anything.  KiKwang never noticed anything to begin with, and would forget he had a nose if he didn’t look in a mirror but it was part of his charm and it always made DooJoon chuckle.  HyunSeung always had food in his hand, but he was always kind enough to share with his leader, knowing of some of the exhaustion he experienced.  HyunSeung probably thought that DooJoon’s complaints of sleepiness were because of all the dancing and practicing, but if only he knew.  The maknae DongWoon always was the gentle pacifier of the group, always respectful of his hyungs and able to defuse a situation with ease.  He would crack a joke, laugh at a lame joke by his hyung, and everyone was calm again.  If anyone had noticed anything in the past two years, it would’ve been JunHyung.  His eyes were sharp and he rarely missed anything.  Had JunHyung noticed DooJoon’s subtle behavior, he would’ve come forward with concern.  Because he hadn’t, DooJoon had to think that his own acting was improving.

     As DooJoon got out of bed, groaning his discomfort, he began to push on ’s legs and arms and backs, forcing them awake.  Each member stirred only for a second before rolling onto their backs, arms stretching.  YoSeob sighed, his eyes closed tight as he murmured something about wishing for a day off.  KiKwang smiled as he sat up, saying they just had a day off but still, it would be nice to have another.  Those two acted lazy, but in reality they worked rather hard. 

     HyunSeung stayed curled into his covers in defiance of the morning sun and DooJoon had to shake the tired man’s leg, smiling in a knowing fashion.  Mornings were hard and even harder when you met them without a night’s rest.  DongWoon grumbled as the conjoined beds shook as DooJoon shook the hidden HyunSeung.  DongWoon’s large torso rose up as he sat and stared with half-closed eyes at his leader and his tired hyung.  As HyunSeung finally sat up and pulled his leg away with a tired frown, JunHyung slowly got to his feet.  JunHyung was good at getting up and starting his day but throughout any day he would complain endlessly of his tiredness.  All of them would gripe, but DooJoon didn’t believe any of them would change this life for another.  Yes, they were tired, but they were so in love with what they did that without each day of being a B2ST, they would surely fall apart.

     If they weren’t this group, they would never be happy again.

     They were brothers.  They all leaned on each other and helped the others stand tall.

     They were B2ST.

     DooJoon stood back as one after another, his younger brothers got out of bed and stood in front of the bathroom to wait their turn.  KiKwang and HyunSeung had even pulled one of their comforters off their bed and were huddling together beneath it, both of them standing with their eyes closed.  DooJoon got the right to go first, as leader, and he would take the few moments of a quick shower to think of nothing.  If for a moment…he could be at peace under the waves of hot water that poured over his supple body. 

     DooJoon’s body was lithe and his strength was hidden in his subtle muscles.  He wasn’t as built as KiKwang and he didn’t care to be.  He liked to look masculine but supple.  It wasn’t that he didn’t work out, he did when he had the chance, but he just didn’t think him looking like a mini-Hulk would be a look to suit him.  He liked himself the way he was.  Even though his body screamed to stop moving every second of every breath, he would still do his silent mantras to keep himself moving. He had fans that adored him; unyieldingly.  He was in charge of five other young men; he was their leader.  He was the glue that kept them going; their security net.  He had parents who loved him; a cherished son.  As he repeated the unspoken words he found strength in, he heard a knock at the door, asking him to hurry up.  As a response, he turned off the scalding hot water and stepped into the steam-filled room.  He wrapped a towel around his thin waist and opened the door, staring into YoSeob’s tired face as he stood in the threshold of the bathroom.  As the younger man’s face split into a grin and DooJoon moved past him, he moved towards the room he shared with the five he corralled, his gaze was captured by the mirror. 

     He crept closer to the glass, his eyes widening as he really got a look at himself.  The hand that gripped the towel dropped and his gaze didn’t falter from himself.  He could see the faint network of scars that had been hidden with three pounds of Neosporin and four pounds of make up.  Each scar was a reminder of the bruise, the moment of impact, and the way he would try so hard to keep himself controlled.  Mister Chun did not cut DooJoon’s skin purposely, it was an after effect of the damage the mysterious man did.  Mostly he left bruises, but sometimes a bruise would cut and blood would appear on his battered body like a ruby swathed in pain.  Mister Chun never did more than hit; he thought anything else too unsavory was an inhumane act and perhaps the leader was lucky this man didn’t want to do further damage besides a barrage of hits.  DooJoon had learned how to airbrush himself after he had first encountered one Mister Chun.  The machine was tucked in the trunk of his car that was parked in the lot near the building and it had seen a lot of DooJoon for a lot longer than intended.  Now everything looked natural; like he wasn’t marred, but he still knew where every single mark was.  With a deep sigh, he turned his pained gaze from his body and again chanted to himself why he endured those hardships. 

     His fans.

     His brothers.

     His family.