#10 Myungjong

Sungjong's POV

I sit on my bed, reading a book that I randomly bought at the airport in Japan. It's pretty nice even though I grabbed it off the shelf at the last minute. And it's also a good chance to practice my Japanese. I simply love how the guy, the protagonist always gives the girl little gifts as a form of showing his love but she does not realize it until he confesses. It's so sweet and cliche and this is my third time reading the story.

I feel Myungsoo-hyung's fingers lace in mine as the part of my bed he sits on sinks.

"Come on, Sungjong. Let's go out and celebrate. We topped the charts in Japan and Korea," he says.

To him, I need to go. To him, I played a part in helping Infinite top the charts. But what else have I done? Other than being the maknae and appearing in all their music videos. But to me, I have done nothing. I have only danced with them, rehearsed with them, provided my feeble voice during the concerts, There is nothing after all of that. Why do I need to sit and eat with them, then? I don't deserve the food. The food is for them, for doing all the hard work just to top the charts.

Infinite is just basically Hoya and Dongwoo hyungs for their rapping and dancing, Sunggyu and Woohyun hyungs for their powerful vocals and Myungsoo-hyung for his ulzzang face. I'm just another member. I'm just the ugly duckling who likes dancing girl group dances. My vocals are too weak and are always drowned out. And if I'm ever dancing with Infinite, I'm always at the back or the corner. I only get the center when it's my part, which is only merely two or three lines. Then I get banished to the back or corner all over again.

If this is all I've ever done, do I even deserve to celebrate with all of them? They have worked, and their hard work has now paid off and given them what they truly desired in the musical industry. To top the charts.

"I'm just feeling giddy, hyung. You can just go with all of them. Leave me here, I'll be fine alone. And I can eat some leftovers," I say, even though I know there are no leftovers. I can just starve or eat a biscuit. Either way is fine with me.

"Sungjong, there are no leftovers. Are you alright?" Hyung asks, his hand deftly playing with my lean fingers.

I shut the novel and walk to the desk where I usually sit to ponder whether my presence on Earth is really necessary. I can just commit suicide and no one would notice. The Inspirits might but nobody cares if I die or not. I'm a useless freak. I reach under for my tiny collection of razors. I'm not giddy of course, I just want to let my pain out.

"Sungjong, what are you doing?" 

"Just looking for something," I reply.

"Sungjong, are you out of your mind? I know you well enough to tell you that you don't keep things under the table," hyung says, his voice firm as if concerned about my mental state.

"Hyung, just go have some fun and leave me alone," I say, rather forcefully, indicating that his presence here is unnecessary.

"Sungjong, if you're not going, then I'm not going. Keep that in mind while I go and get some water," he says, closing the door behind him.

I slip one razor from the box into my pocket. If I get the chance, I can let the blood flow to my heart's content. The first slash is always the most painful. Because pain inside finally gets to meet the world outside. But the recurring slashes that I make, they don't hurt. It's like I've become immune.

--

"Here, drink this," hyung says handing me the glass of water, He still believes I'm sick then. I gulp down the contents of the glass and place it on the table by the side of my bed. 

"Sungjong. Tell me, are you really okay? You seem so troubled and sometimes, even though you're right here, it feels l