Perfection. The word rolls off Kyungsoo’s tongue like poison. There is no such thing that exists in the world. No such thing, yet everyone strives to become something as close to flawless as possible. Sitting on the couch, the darkness enveloped his surroundings, shadows dancing around his room and body. Slowly getting off the furniture, Kyungsoo made his way to clear the center of the room of obstacles, readying himself to practice the dance, again and again, despite his body’s protest.

            He can’t dance well. Sharper. Faster. He’s too stiff. Cleaner. Smoother. There’s other kids that are better looking and more talented. The floor echoes each time his feet hit the floor, each step filled with ambition and desperation. Not good enough. Never good enough. The words pound inside his head, the image of judges quietly whispering to each other their critique of him. But whispers are always heard, even now when he flies across the room, silence only broken by broken pants and grunts. Time dies as he continues to dance, only stopping when his body can no longer withstand the pain, collapsing in a heavy heap onto the floor, hair sticking to his forehead, sticky with sweat. Looking in the mirror across the room, Kyungsoo can barely recognize his own face. His eyes are dark and sharp, full of hatred. The hatred, he realized long ago, wasn’t for the judges, or the better looking, more talented dancers and singers, but for himself. Hatred for not dancing sharp enough, fast enough, smooth enough. Hatred for not being as attractive as the others. Hatred for not being good enough, and most of all, hatred for being who he was. Breathing deeply, he picked himself up, mechanically taking his belongings and readying himself to go, not even bothering to shower.

            The ride to the warehouse is the same as always with the exception of the winter frost creeping onto the windows. Kyungsoo’s fingers dance along the car seats, wishing his own skill to at least equal the graceful movements of his hand. Arriving at the building, Kyungsoo quietly thanks the driver, paying him and painfully stepping out of the vehicle, greeting the cool December air. His t-shirt and sweatpants do little to stop the cold air from crawling along his figure, coaxing goosebumps out of his skin. Shivering lightly, Kyungsoo hopped quickly into the abandoned building, down the familiar hallways and into an empty room, breathing in the familiar scent of his own personal practice room, soon to be forgotten, faintly reminding of himself.

            Stuffing the earbuds in his ears, Kyungsoo swiftly started his music, getting ready to dance again. There’s other kids that are better looking and more talented. Lean forward, look right, swing both arms back. Better looking and more talented. Lean back, bring up your left hand. Better looking. Right hand extends along the right thigh. Better. Slipping, Kyungsoo saw a whirl of colors before smacking his head on the floor with a thud, a gasp escaping his lips. Body aching, Kyungsoo tried to get up to start again, falling to the floor again as his legs failed him. Slamming his fists against the ground, he sobbed quietly to himself, only to find that no tears fell. Giving up, he rolled onto his back, staring blankly at the ceiling, darkness shrowding the room despite it only being afternoon. The scars that lined his legs pulsed along with the music blasting in his ear, begging him to stop, but to no avail. Getting up slowly, he stood, restarting the song to give the dance another try. He was going to get into the company. He was going to show them he could dance. He was going to show what he was worth, that in each step, turn, beat, that he was worth it all.

            Days, weeks, months died along with little parts of Kyungsoo as he sung and danced his life away, the auditions coming all too soon. Before he knew it, he was dragging his feet up the stairs to the company building once again, a dead corpse on the seat as he waited for his name to be called. “Park Chanyeol?” Sitting. “Oh Sehun.” Forgotten. “Kim Jongin next?” Dying. One by one, people leave the room as quickly as they came, drifting away in various directions to determine their futures. The hushed beat of his heart kept him awake, ears perked for any sign of his name. “Do Kyungsoo?” a curt voice questioned, his words cutting through the air. Breathing heavily, Kyungsoo stood, blindly following whoever led him through a labyrinth of halls. “If you’ll just enter this room here sir,” the sharp voice said robotically. Blankly staring ahead, he quietly stepped into the center of the room, greeting the men that had once shattered his dream.

-----------------

            Panting heavily, Kyungsoo stilled, waiting for the judges’ responses to his audition. He eyed the scratching pens on papers and listened to the not so quiet whispers, only catching a few words. “…dancing…improvement…vocals…” His heart threatened to burst, pounding violently in his chest. All of a sudden the pens stopped, the whispering hushed, and he could see mouths moving, heard nothing. “Congratulations. You will be entering training with the company within a week.” He wants to break out into a smile and jump in excitement, but all he manages is a bow to the seated men, because he’s too far broken.

-----

a/n: hello again everyone, it's been a while. so i have no idea what i'm going to do with this story (or if i'm even going to continue it) but we'll see! maybe i'll sprinkle in a little otp later keke