Tilt and Shift

 

“You're greedy.”

Jinhwan shakes his head, laughing quietly, repeating that word again.

Greedy.

“Junhwe, what are you even saying?” His expression is incredulous with no small amount of confusion.

Has he asked something crazy? Is it so crazy to think he needed to improve more? Is Junhwe losing his mind with these worries that always came to him during practice and in recording sessions? He has already lost sleep due to the anxiety that strikes him just before he could drift off at night—his sanity would be lost next, he is certain.

“You’ve been doing so well, why would you think otherwise?” He looks at Junhwe before shaking his head. “Ah, you silly kid…”

The way Jinhwan brushed the matter aside spoke volumes. Apparently, Junhwe is being insecure over nothing. Yet he can’t seem to let go of his frustrations. He can't get rid of that tight feeling in his chest. With every positive word his hyung says, the feeling grows, spreading, wrapping around his heart and lungs.

“Thanks Hyung,” he says suddenly, cutting the conversation short, and he even sounds ungrateful to his own ears. He declines Jinhwan’s offer to practice with him, ignoring the way the shorter man’s face falls, and walks away.

He finds himself in the kitchen, but he isn't hungry. Bobby is there too, but Junhwe does his best to act as though he isn't there. He pretends he isn't affected by his presence and that the atmosphere hasn't changed at all. Junhwe focuses on the embarrassment he feels from his talk with Jinhwan instead and grabs a cup from an open cabinet. He fills the glass with water before taking a long drink. He turns around, taking a few paces forward, and leans against the counter. He begins to think. He drums his fingers on the countertop, wondering if he truly was being greedy. He didn't just want to improve; he honestly needed to! Despite that, perhaps he shouldn't have even said anything to Jinhwan. Junhwe's hands wrap around his cup, tightly. He could have just figured out a solution on his own.

Or maybe he really was worrying over nothing.

“Maybe,” he says quietly to himself, before taking another drink and glancing up.

He nearly chokes.

Bobby's eyes are on him now—they are always on him—and Junhwe struggles to act unaffected. This is not new, but the rappers gaze held concern and that's when Junhwe knew he had to get away. Ignoring Bobby's attempts to get closer is one thing, but being under his watchful eye was another. The last thing Junhwe wants right now is confrontation, or worse, an intervention session with the whole team.

So, he leaves, barely making eye contact as he nods and gives Bobby a strained smile he refuses to label as awkward. He escapes the kitchen, easily dodging an uncomfortable situation, and heads to the bathroom.

Inside, Junhwe locks the door and breaths. He leans against the door and just breaths. When he opens his eyes, he finds solstice in the silence surrounding him. For a moment, he is calm, but then his face gains a new sensation. Junhwe recognizes the strange itch. He can feel the impending breakout underneath his skin and feels mild panic, wondering if he's been neglecting his health and daily routine too often.

He sighs, frustrated, and grabs a towel. He tells himself that it's just stress as he lets the water run. He quickly goes through his routine with a few small hesitations, signaling to himself that he hasn't been maintaining a solid regime. As he finishes up, washing his face with cool water, his mind begins to wander toward dangerous territory again.

His moves are good, but not good enough. He was first a dancer and then a singer, and yet, compared to others’, his dance seems mediocre at best. There was always someone better than him, hitting western beats more sharply, more cleanly. There was always something to improve, like his succession and fluidity.

His vocals…

That was all he had going for him, wasn't it? His voice is a key factor in the distinctive color of iKON. That's what everyone keeps telling him. The trainers, the judges, the fans, his team...

The towel falls into the sink, and Junhwe's stares at his reflection, looking into his own the eyes.

In the stat, he is in now, what was Junhwe contributing to the group other than being a vocalist with a pathetic mentality?

“Nothing.” He watches as his lips form these words of truth. “Absolutely nothing.”

His eyes fall back to the sink and he sighs.

“Practice makes perfect.”

 

 

He falls, unable to resist gravity, crashing onto the hard floor. He’s on his side, breathing heavily, painfully, trying to ease the tightness in his chest. He rolls onto his back and stares at ceiling. He doesn't know if he can get back up. He doesn't know if he wants to stand again, only to collapse once more due to another failure.

He’s losing himself, so he opens his mouth. He belts out lyrics, utter nonsense; he isn't even sure what he’s singing anymore. He is comforted for a breath of a moment. Singing is something he could do. It is something he could get praised for. But then his throat feels tight, and his chest is constricting again. He still hasn't quite caught his breath and now his rhythm is off. There is no beat to follow but the pounding of his racing heart. He pushes through, because he always pushes through. He ignores strain that colors his tone and reaches for that one note, desperate.

His voice cracks.

The silence of the room that follows is deafening.  

Junhwe's hands find their way to his face, covering his eyes, blocking out reality. He laughs, broken and pained.

God, there is so much pain.

What was success without pain?

He stands. Barely. The time it took to pull his body from off the floor was time wasted. He needs to practice. He reminds himself; he needs to keep practicing.

The room tilts.

Junhwe’s hand slams onto the mirror. He’s leaning forward, supporting the weight of his body with one arm. He picks up his head and glances at the mirror, swallowing hard. He feels his throat close, his vision blurs. He can't even see his own reflection anymore.

For that, he was thankful.

He turns slowly, turns until his back is against the mirror, and slides down, using the surface to keep him from crashing down. Junhwe settles to the floor, mu