Part Six of (nearly over now) Seven: In which we examine the immovable core of Lee Minhyuk and the things that don't wash over it.

Contains B-Bomb, F-Bombs and Kyung whining that I've not written about him yet so he has to be included in every other chapter.

Minhyuk has to grit his teeth while he dances, watching his band mates bowing under the strain of the work. His own stamina is negligible - right now he's running on the strength of knowing that they're all secretly watching him for guidance. That, and a slowly bubbling anger. No one is quite on the mark, not even Kwon, who can't muster his usual smile. The others are almost completely shut off with tensed jaws and weary eyes, pouring all their energy just into remembering what they're meant to do next. Muscle memory disappears when your muscles can't even remember how to hold you upright. They're on the fourth run through and nobody seems to have understood that this is making them perform worse, not better.

It's been two months of rehearsing, performing and training. Minhyuk has had about three hours of sleep and hasn't eaten since noon; they came straight from studio to studio and are fuelled mostly by coffee, energy drinks and a bag of sweets Taeil had with him. They all knew that once the song was released their lives would kick back into insanity mode - at least they're not filming Match Up 3, and they can be almost certain they won't be woken up by sugary high-pitched candy pop at far too ing early o'clock - but that doesn't make the physical strain any easier to bear. And to cap it off, the stage producer, sitting like a lump of rock in front of them, has the nerve to be scowling - sneering even. Minhyuk thinks about how much he wants to punch him, using his face as a focusing point for the imaginary gun he pops. He can see Kwonnie's hands shaking as he mirrors his move. Jaehyo is stumbling behind them and Zico is losing the rhythm entirely and Kyung has just about given up, dropping his hands to his knees whenever he's not up front, trying to catch his breath. 

They need to rest; they're waiting for the word to be given so they can collapse where they're standing. And as soon as the music ends, the er down the front with the stony face just nods and says, "One more time."

It has always been beyond Minhyuk how people with the nature of Zico, or Jihoon, or even Jaehyo - he's not forceful, but he's very good at whining - manage to stay quiet at times like this. He himself can hardly do it; he who is painted as the quiet, sort of responsible guy (as far as any of them can be called responsible), the older one without much of a presence. Beside him, he hears Kwon give out a long, shaky sigh; the rest of them are just looking at their shoes, too out of breath to attempt any response. Even the camera crew, and their PD, sitting to one side and suddenly engrossed in his phone, seem unwilling to step in. They exchange a few glances, but all seem to understand that the lump of rock directing this rehearsal will not be moved.

"First position," the bastard grates out. "Again."

"Let us rest first." His tone is so unquestioning, assuming the matter is already settled, that a couple of the boys drop straight to the ground thankfully. Weariness has burnt every bit of compromise out of him, and Kwon, at least, can see the warning signs. He shifts a touch closer, making it clear enough that he's watching Minhyuk.

"You get it right. Then you rest. We don't have time for lying around." The rock is just as immovable as him, and everyone is now paying some kind of attention, through their various aches and pains. Their PD looks up from his phone and tries to catch Minhyuk's eyes, which he steadily avoids. He should have said something himself.

"We're exhausted. We won't get it right in this state. Let us rest."

"Just fifteen minutes," Kwon adds, mediating. They make a good team at times like this: Minhyuk is really too blunt to be appealing at all, and Kwon softens his tone for him.

"Get up. All of you. Back in position." 

Minhyuk totally forgets himself for a second, takes a furious step forward. He's almost shocked when Kwon grabs his wrist to stop him, but then thankful. What kind of a comeback would it be if it finished with him punching out a member of staff? That doesn't detract in the slightest from how much he wants to do it when he sees his friends hauling themselves upright again resentfully, with various plaintive moans and muttered curses and an actual tiny whimper of pain from Kyung, who wrenched his ankle badly yesterday. Finally, when they're ready to start, Minhyuk manages to drag the shutters down over his face, and his rage stops choking him and starts to power his muscles again. They're all running on similar feelings now, plus the ragged hope that this time they'll actually be allowed to finish, and the run through comes off, if not more smoothly then more accurately.

"Alright then. We're running over. But you'd better be more on it than that tonight." None of them ever really bother listening to things like this; they all know that as soon as they're on stage it will be like someone flicked the engines on in them, and they won't ever disappoint their fans. Rehearsals never go well for them, because they thrive on the energy of the room. Performing for a rock isn't very inspiring. Minhyuk is the first to walk off, shoulders squared, with Kwon catching up to sling an arm around him.

"You really shouldn't do like that hyung."

"Bastard. I hate being talked to like that." It's not so much being ordered around, but the tone which he hates - the utterly disregarding, crushing tone which cuts cleanly over him. Maybe if he was Zico they'd have listened, but Zico can't stop once he's started; he already has too many tangled feelings about their careers, and he can't isolate one issue from the rest. Minhyuk can, and he can voice his objections and remain stoic while doing so, but can't say he can imagine himself being the leader. He never has been. At school he was a fairly average student, a pretty normal guy; dancing was the only thing he was ever really good at - that and fighting, and out of love for his parents he followed the first instead of the second, and ended up here. If it hadn't taken off for him, he'd still be at university, probably a fairly average student, a pretty normal guy. It doesn't really bother Minhyuk one way or the other, but he ended up here, and he's enjoying himself immensely. At first the world he'd tumbled into was terrifying; then it was fascinating. Now he can appreciate both aspects, and every day is a battle between the two. Normally he can find himself, at least by the time they're back in their dorm with the television blaring to cover the noise of seven young men who have been behaving themselves all day, back at a happy medium where they're just a group of friends having fun, just a group of pretty normal guys. Underneath all the lights and sound, they're all people.

He doesn't just mean the band, either. That lumpen idiot of a producer back there - as if he didn't have nights when he couldn't sleep, and came into work bleary eyed and unable to focus; as if he didn't get stomach bugs and colds and sore feet. As if the camera crew would let anyone talk to their children like that, or would allow them to be berated in that state. As if their PD hadn't taken the opportunity during their last performance to have a good nap stretched out in the waiting room, the traitorous bastard. He can speak up because it's safe for him to do so, but he knows it won't have an impact. 

"We're not machines," he growls. "We're people."

"Not to them. We're idols."

Minhyuk snorts in response. Kwon knows better than to continue his attempt at reasoning with him, and just sticks near him as they hurry through the corridors, hoping to catch an hour of sleep before they're called up for the interviews. He takes a corner of the dressing room to himself, hunching over his phone. Everyone knows not to talk to him, and easily distract the backstage cameras (of course they can't sleep, of course the filming continues; their nerves are just about ready to snap) from bothering him. They don't try too hard anyway. It's useful to be a background figure at times. He buries himself in mobile games until the stylists call him up to get dressed, then almost falls asleep in the chair under the make up girl's soft touches. A camera pokes in his face and asks how much sleep he's had. He blinks slowly and grumbles out an answer; a make up brush pokes him in the eye and the girl tuts at him to stay still.

"We're drunk with tiredness," Jaehyo says to another camera, seated on the floor and yawning. "Everyone's going mad."

"The exhausting life of an idol," Jihoon butts in, grimacing ridiculously. He and Zico are letting their thread thin nerves recover through boisterousness, talking too loudly, as if they think letting their energy down even a single notch will lead straight to collapse. Zico can hardly stand still under the fussing fingers of the stylists, and more than once earns a sharp reproach for causing the girl to stick herself with pins.

Normal is a relative phrase. He's never really known people like these, Minhyuk reflects, comparing them to his friends from school. Last time he met up with them, his favourite brawling partner Dong-hyun was stuck into the third year of a medical degree, and Joon-ho who had a different girl for every day of the week now has a steady girlfriend who he's thinking of marrying. He would have fought for any of those guys as well - he did, back in the playground and occasionally out in the streets when they were threatened by older kids or just some punk who thought he could run his mouth because they were dancers and they wouldn't know how to fight - but somehow it's different here. There's so many fragile egos in the room, and the idol industry doesn't want them to grow up anyway, and they spend so much time at the brink of their physical and mental stamina. It becomes a battle, here: a battle to maintain their peace and happiness, to return to his happy medium. He doesn't really know how he fell -backwards into this group of odd-looking cuttings from the idol floor, or how he ended up instinctively willing to risk his reputation over a ten minute break. There's something immensely frustrating about the sort of instincts this band of idiots and jerks and weirdos inspires in him.

Somehow, however tired they all are, when Zico grabs him around the shoulders and tells him that their performance is going to be the best one they've ever done, he believes him, even though he says the same thing before every performance. He stands up straighter, feels more alert than in the past ten hours, and manages a small smile of relief which grows when Zico palms him another can of Red Bull behind his back. Kwon returns to his side, narrow eyes softened after a snatched phonecall to his girlfriend.

"I really could have hit that guy earlier," Minhyuk says, with no trace of anger left.

"I know. You shouldn't though."

"Worth a try."

"Ah. Sometimes it's nice just to hear someone say it." Kwon stretches his arms and legs out where he's sitting, making a starfish shape and looking up at Minhyuk from under his flop of bleached hair.  "It's funny how no one expects it from you."

It's so typical of Kwon to say exactly what's lurking at the back of his own mind that he doesn't even need to respond. He settles himself more comfortably against the wall he's leaning on and watches one of the stylists attack Jihoon with a can of hairspray big enough to kill someone. The question that occurs to him is why it is nearly always him, behind the scenes, disproportionately angry over things that any other idol group would take in their stride. Partly it's the nature of their band: their penchant for trouble making and willingness to be as authentic as possible. They don't even refer to themselves as idols.

Part of it is something in Minhyuk himself which none of the others seem to possess, some kind of hard, immovable core over which everything he experiences washes, until something runs aground. Then it's like the whole world has ground to a halt around him, and he can see nothing past this sudden obstacle. When he's relaxed, and there's plenty of space for everything to flow around that centre, it's like nothing in the world could ever rouse him from his calm, methodical smiling. When life is stressful and hectic and people are shouting at him what feels like every minute - Minhyuk hates being shouted at, really hates it, and nothing rouses his anger so quickly - every tiny annoyance grinds against him. He remembers well how he got a week's worth of detentions during exam period when he was fifteen, and the teacher wouldn't stop yelling at the class, and he couldn't bear it any longer and lashed out, knocking over his desk and another student. He remembers how many arguments with his father had ended with him stalking off in white hot fury, every muscle screwed into a ball just to keep himself from hitting the old man. He remembers especially that long eight months, when they had nothing to do but lie around and get in each other's space, and how Jaehyo wore that split lip on his pretty face for two weeks and deserved every second of it.

It's not a protective instinct, then, like he imagines it is with Zico - Zico who curls his hands into fists when anyone so much as looks at them the wrong way and is sometimes only held back from hitting out by his ever present consciousness of being the leader, the one they're taking their cues from. Underlying his feelings towards his band mates is a layer of selfishness, a wish for a simple and easy going life, like the one he had back in school. Minhyuk tries to be honest with himself, and he knows he's not destined for great things; he won't be in this band his whole life, and he probably won't pursue a musical career when it's over for the simple fact that music isn't really what he's good at. He didn't expect to find himself an idol at the age of twenty two and he doesn't expect it to last past his thirties. What he aims for is just what anyone else would, given this sort of luck: success while it's happening, good memories once it's over. He can stand up to people like that rock who was watching their rehearsal because he doesn't feel like the rest of his life is in their hands. And he will do it because the rest of them, who depend so nervously on the approval of those types, won't be calm until they're reassured that they're doing their best. That silent core is what keeps him grounded and in touch with external reality, in touch with the truth that they're all just people. Sometimes he thinks it's the most important thing he has.

Kyung appears, wobbling on his bad ankle and looking alarmingly small with bare feet. "They said I can't wear lifts because of my ankle," he says gloomily, and drops down between Minhyuk and Kwon's knees, tipping his head back. "This is going to ."

"It'll be fine. We'll cover for you," Kwon soothes, petting his hair encouragingly.

"You should wrap it, at least," Minhyuk says. "I've got some tape in my bag. That'll help." He ends up doing it for him, telling him in a low voice to just rest it as much as he can before they go on stage, and it'll only be a few minutes, and tomorrow they'll get it properly looked at, and finally Kyung starts to smile again and even manages a joke at his own expense about how really he just doesn't want to end up disappearing behind the rest of them, and they should really let the shorter ones go in front.

"You really think Lee Taeil's dancing should be centre stage?"

"Maybe not." He stands and tests the ankle with a mournful grimace. ". If I stack it on stage, just leave me to die."

"At least it's not your shoulders," Minhyuk says with a grin. Kyung tells him to off in a voice almost as pert as normal. 

When they finally, finally make it off the stage and back into the dressing room, they collapse wherever there is room, and no one makes a sound for three minutes solid. Even their PD knows not to bother; they're all still annoyed with him anyway, for missing a second performance to take a nap. Minhyuk is still waiting for his heart rate to return to normal when Jaehyo makes a sound like he's dying and gasps, "Can we please go home now?"

"Oh, yes, of course!" the PD exclaims, as if he had no idea that's what they wanted. There are several more ugly dying noises, and then they all begin locating the very last ebb of their energy and getting their belongings together. No one is filming any more, thank , and for now the hollering of the fans and the applause and approval of their senior bands is completely forgotten. Even with the make up still clinging to their damp faces, their star status is washed away. It's not normally like this - the come down is usually slower, and the buzz lasts at least until they get home and sit down properly - but they've been going too long already. Kyung is white faced and limping, holding onto Zico for support; Jihoon almost walks out of the building in bare feet, carrying his shoes, until someone points it out. Kwon takes refuge in his incredible ability to walk with his eyes shut, and is already almost asleep by the time they get in the car. Minhyuk plods at the back with Taeil, who shares something of his stoicism when it comes to physical endurance. The singer is buried in the huge fur-lined hood of his coat, but Minhyuk thinks he can hear his teeth grinding together.

"You know, we were in there six hours, and we were actually performing for six minutes. Plus the rehearsal makes forty six minutes." Taeil notes this quite nonchalantly, without looking up from under his hood, following Jaehyo into the car and shoving his too-long legs aside to make room for Minhyuk beside him.

"All of it's meant to be a performance, you know," Minhyuk says. He can finally manage a real smile, in the damp warmth of the car with Jihoon's foghorn snoring already erupting from the back seat. Exhausted as he is he turns around and pulls his chin into his chest, rasping out, "First position. Do it again," just to see the weary smiles and laughter break out.

"I really thought you were gonna lose it back there," Zico says.

"Idols don't 'lose it'," Kyung says, "they just get over-passionate, right?"

"Those sons of es."

"Now you're forgetting your place, Jiho." Zico holds his hands up in contrition to Kyung's mock-stern face and starts apologising profusely, in the breathy over-eager voice of a novice until Kyung shoves him back into his corner so he can sleep on his shoulder.

"I was going to lose it if I had to go over that stupid bridge part once more," Taeil chips in, burying himself back in his hood. The car rattles off back home, and Minhyuk slowly feels the suffocating curtains being drawn back from their lives, the weight of expectation relaxing. However hard they try to act the part they're expected to, they still remember who they are underneath, and that gives him hope. However much they try to deny their own reality when they're on a stage - any stage, with any amount of people watching - they happily plunge back into it as soon as they can. Jaehyo kicks his shoes off and drapes his legs across everyone in the second row; Kwon sleeps with his mouth open and makes gurgling sounds when the car goes over bumps; Kyung whines about his ankle and Zico babytalks at him. Minhyuk likes this best, this unconscious and undisturbed relaxation, but he can't have the one without the other; he knows that now, and without the highs and lows he would just have a fairly average life, a pretty normal existence. While this is here, while it's happening, he's determined to enjoy it - to protect it. It is a moment still and separate from the rest of their lives, where the singular laws and principles of the idol industry apply and your self becomes something you trade or hire in small pieces. That's okay; he's a good negotiator.