He chooses to sit in the corner, putting his head on his thighs, trying to slow his breathing down. He concentrates on the feeling of his sweat rolling down his face and watches it as it drops down on the floor. It’s a distraction, a way to escape the ongoing conversations of the people around him.  He tries not to listen but it’s so hard. They say the harder you try to avoid something, the more you can’t run away from it. And so he hears what the other people have to say.

“The new kid is good at dancing. But Youngbae is still better. It’s his best asset, but if somebody is already better than him in what he does best, how the hell do they expect him to shine enough to debut?” the dance instructor half-whispers to another YG staff that’s overseeing the trainees.

He knows they’re talking about him. Who else is sub-par here? The two long-time trainees are almost considered experts and are ready for debut. They’re the standard that everyone else has to reach if they want even a sliver of hope to debut. Then there’s Daesung. That hyung came to YG even much later than him but his vocals are so excellent and his dancing is already well-developed and he just progresses so freaking fast that he’s become the favorite of all the trainers. The other Seunghyun, (they say the better Seunghyun) might be bad at dancing but he’s already a pretty big name in the underground rap community. His raps are excellent and only Jiyong can even catch up to him in that aspect. He also has a unique voice that will be an asset and will give him an edge over everyone. And then there’s pretty-boy Hyunseung. His vocals are also very good and he dances pretty well. But it’s his face that will give him an advantage. He’s the one who looks like a typical k-pop idol the most amongst them. He’ll be the essential link to the rest of Korean pop that will make the group not become too visually different . The key to ensure that the very judgmental and critical society will still accept them.

And what about him? Lee Seunghyun of Gwangju. The dancing king there. Oh what a joke that title is now. The moment he saw Youngbae and Jiyong dance, he knew that the thing he has always prided himself on has now become commonplace. He was the biggest fish in a small pond who thought he was something so great. He reveled in the admiration shown to him in his birthplace. But now that he has been thrown into the big ocean of Seoul, he realized how small he actually was. It was one thing to realize that on his own, but it was worse when that fact was almost constantly being shoved to his face.

As he watches the steady stream of his perspiration hitting the concrete floor, he realizes that moisture has now formed in front of his eyes. He tries to blink it away, but instead of making the tears go back, the action causes them to stream out from his eyes and down his cheeks, prolonging their stay by clinging to his jawline, before falling to the floor and mixing in with the puddle caused by his sweat. He feels so helpless as he senses another one leak out from his eyes. Not being able to stop them, he just lets them continue to fall. Maybe it’s okay to shed a few tears. Maybe it will help or maybe it won’t. He just closed his eyes, succumbing to the heaviness that he feels.

He was awoken by the silence and the darkness of the dance studio. Did he fall asleep? Probably, because now nobody was there with him. He feels another sting in his heart. Did nobody even care enough to wake him up to tell him they were going home? Apparently, because he’s here all alone. He sighs, touches the floor, and uses his hands to hoists himself up. When he stood up, he stopped abruptly, stood still and gazed at his surroundings, mesmerized by the sight he saw. The dance studio was lightly illuminated by the sliver of light coming in through the open window. Even with the dim light, he could see the expensive mirrors and the padded floor. He could make out the latest gadgets in sound technology, the best speakers available in the market, and even the luxurious airconditioning unit that was bought especially for them. He sees all of this and yet this is not what touches him. He sees the beauty of the studio and marvels at the fact that he feels no warmth.

He then remembers a different studio, one very dingy and dirty as it was a public one. The mirrors there were cracked in some places and the padding in the floor definitely needed repair. He laughs as he remembers that there were too many holes to count. He remembers the blaring speakers that had too much bass and too little rhythm, and the static that usually blared out them. He remembers perspiring a lot but never getting relief because all they had there was one old electric fan in the corner of the studio. But what he remembers the most and craves now is the warmth of the people there who were with him.

There, in the dance studio in Gwangju, he felt as free as a bird. He just turned and twisted his body to the beat and let the music and rhythm consume him whole. There, he was able to produce soulful and yet so technically accurate dances that not only earned him the admiration of his townmates, but most importantly, the respect of his peers. There, he was the maknae, yet he was the leader. There, he didn’t have to do much, and yet he was the brightest star. Here, he had the best of everything, yet what his heart yearned for was the comfort of home and the love of his friends.

He finds himself hurrying out of the studio and running away from the YG building. He doesn’t know where he’s running off to, and he doesn’t care. He just lets his feet carry him away from his troubles. He then sees a taxi, and hails it even before he could think of a destination. He almost jumps in, his body straining to express the desire to leave which it has been unconsciously repressing. His fidgeting stops, however, when the driver asks: “where to?”. He sits still, staring widely at the driver. Forcing himself not to say out the words he knows he would later on regret. But maybe too much is too much; so much that he catches himself saying: “To the bus station please”

The driver takes him there. He’s so grateful that he had enough money on his wallet for the taxi. It would have been a disaster if he didn’t. People would have had to come rescue him. How would he have been able to explain why he was going to the bus station in the middle of the night?

His legs continue to carry him as he almost unconsciously drifts along. He goes to the teller and before he can even think of what to say, his mouth has already blurted out: “One ticket to Gwangju please”. The teller gives him his ticket, and he automatically hands out his payment. He feels as though somebody else is controlling his movements. He feels like he’s a disinterested third party looking at his actions from afar. He wants to stop himself, but he can’t. He knew a part of his mind was screaming at him to be rational and not do this. But his heart, his emotions, were all urging him on. He feels reassured. Maybe this is the right thing to do if this is what his heart wants.

He finds himself seated on the bus, his heart and mind pounding so loudly that they were like drum beats in a parade. He swallows nervously while looking at the other passengers. Nobody will recognize him. He’ll be safe from the recriminations of his actions. He repeats this until his heartbeat slows down and he can breathe normally.

He then starts to imagine how his return home will unfold. He can almost see their house, the white fence and the old dilapidated bench that has been through so many winters, springs, summers, and autumns. He can almost see his appa and omma smiling at him as he steps into their doorway. He can almost feel the warmth of their hugs as they reach out to him. He can almost feel the softness of their couch as he sinks into it to rest after his long journey. He can almost taste the home-cooked meal his mom would prepare him. He can almost feel the familiar surge of security that his bedroom offers him. He knows he can have all that once he reaches home.

He also imagines his crewmates from Il Hwa welcoming him back with open arms as he enters their beloved studio. He can imagine the boisterous laughter and the catcalls that will follow him inside and the slaps on the back he will receive from his hyungs. He can almost feel the hoarseness of his voice when he has to call the attention of s so that they’ll quit the horseplay and start to practice. He can almost feel the strain of the muscles in his body as he tries to execute the moves he thinks will best suit the song they will use for the next competition. He can almost taste the excitement in the air when they win it. All this was waiting back home in Gwangju.

He smiled at his thoughts, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He’s baffled because this is what he wants and needs, and yet there’s this hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach that becomes heavier and heavier at each turn of the wheels of the bus. The more he thinks about going home and how happy he would be, the more this hollowness spreads throughout his body. And he knows that finally, his rational mind has caught up with his emotional heart. He sighs and stares out at the window feeling worse and worse as the overpowering lights of Seoul become dimmer and dimmer behind him.

When the scenery changed to the wide fields and the unobstructed view of the night sky in the countryside, his thoughts wandered to how his life actually was before Seoul. He suddenly remembers all the financial troubles his family encountered and how they were driven out from their own house when he was younger. He remembers the numerous nights that he had listened to his omma crying herself to sleep, thinking that nobody heard her. He remembers the stench during the days when his dad would drink himself into a stupor to have a little bit of respite from the multitudes of problems that they had. He remembers assuring Little Hannah that life was going to become better and that her oppa would find a way. He remembers a young boy staring at himself in the mirror castigating himself to do everything he could to change their lives. He remembers winning a dancing competition and how proud he was to have been noticed by a talent scout. But then he remembers how crestfallen his teammates were when the scout only noticed him and not them. He remembers how his hyungs cheered him on and wished him luck as his bus to Seoul pulled away from the Gwangju bus station. And he finally remembers why he must not go home.

It was 2 in the morning when the bus finally reached Gwangju. The conductor wakes him up and he groggily stands up to go down from the bus. When his eyes take in the sight of the familiar bus station, he chooses to ignore the pang in his heart and with sure, steady steps, he walks over to the teller and confidently says: “One ticket to Seoul please”.

It was 6 in the morning when he finally returned to the dormitory where the YG trainees were staying. He was sincerely hoping his hyungs were asleep but that hope was quickly dashed when he heard the tinkle of a spoon hitting the side of a mug as soon as he entered the door. He bravely tried to walk past their kitchen even though he knew that it was occupied, counting the remaining steps to his bedroom; that is, until he heard a low, menacing growl.
 

“And where have you been? I stayed up all night waiting for you to come back. Manager hyung was looking for you and I covered your by saying that you went to your cousins house. I wouldn’t have bothered but I’m going to be your leader and you are my responsibility. But do one more stunt like this and I’ll personally ensure that your life will be hell. Understood Little Seunghyun?” said Jiyong as he intensely glared at his dongsaeng.

“Understood hyung. I’m sorry. I just…. I… Uhm….” Seunghyun stuttered, unable to form a sentence either from fear of the anger of his hyung or because he wanted his escapade last night to remain a secret.

“Speak up! Your excuse better be good” Jiyong said impatiently as his eyes still threw daggers at his co-trainee.

Seunghyun still couldn’t find the right words to speak, so he just handed his hyung his ticket.

“What’s this?” Jiyong said while receiving the ticket. He then held it on his hand and examined it. “A bus ticket, where the hell did you – Oh. Gwangju. Oh… Okay”, Jiyong sighed as looked at his dongsaeng. The latter notices that Jiyong’s eyes  were now finally rid of the anger it was showing earlier. Instead, it was now overflowing with understanding and compassion and even pity. The change in his look gave the younger one the courage to speak up.

“Hyung, can I ask you a favor?”” Seunghyun said as he stared down at his hands that were fidgeting on their own.

“What’s that Maknae-ah?” Jiyong asked softly.

“Can you keep that ticket and show it to me whenever I feel down?” Maknae said as he stared at the ticket that was still in his hyung’s hands.

“Of course Little Seunghyun. Now go to sleep, you must be tired” Jiyong said as he held the younger’s arm while dragging his dongsaeng to the latter's bedroom. He hurriedly tucked Seunghyun in while they both reveled in the awkward silence between them. Before the door closed, Seunghyun could have sworn he heard Jiyong say: “Thanks for trusting me”.

From then on, that ticket made an appearance everytime Seunghyun got scolded. That ticket showed up whenever he failed to do something that he set his sights on. That ticket boosted him up whenever he encountered criticisms. That ticket helped him get up whenever he stumbled and fell. That ticket was there through every single low point in his life. That ticket became the source of Seunghyun’s strength. That ticket and the person who held it for him.