48G ▸ [ advanced ] discussion

Technically, Daewon shouldn't be here. He should be in bed, resting, because a) he has nothing scheduled today and he's far from out of practice, he can afford to take one day off; and b) he can feel the beginnings of some sort of flu-like viral infection that's going to haunt him for the next few weeks if he doesn't head it off early by resting. And yet here he is, practicing. His limbs are aching, but he needs to be able to do this. Because he's going to have to do it many more times in the future, in much more high-stakes situations, when he's even more tired and sick. Better to get used to it now.

Effortlessness is, much like most of Dae's talents, something he has learned through practice, hard work and perseverance. And this is the secret to it — perform perfectly when you're at your worst, and everything else will be easy in comparison.

He drops to the floor, resting with his back against the wall. Head tilted forward, hands loose by his sides — the picture of exhaustion. He's tempted, so tempted, to shut his eyes, but he shouldn't sleep here and he knows his neck and shoulders will regret it if he does.

Maybe this was a mistake. The hours upon hours of practice, the sleep deprivation and the endless competition — are they really worth it? No, he thinks, but I've come so far that it would be a waste to give up now.

Daewon has never liked the trope of mistaking someone for someone else when you're not looking at them. Because sure, if it was based solely off the words, he'd assume that it was a concerned teammate (or manager) — but he's got ears, he can tell that it's not any of them.

"I'm fine," he says quietly, looking up at last. "Just tired." It's Hwijae — which surprises him a little, because the younger boy always seems to despise being around him, but at the same time is not entirely unexpected. He has a ranking to maintain, after all. Just like Daewon — except unlike Daewon, he (probably — he's not that well-acquainted with Hwijae) knows when to stop.

Daewon stands, trying to push back the overwhelming urge to fall asleep where he is. He's unbelievably tempted to just... genuinely answer the question, for once. To say no, no I'm not, I've been pushing myself too hard for years and it's been catching up with me from the beginning. Instead, he smiles, runs a hand through his hair and shrugs. "Really, I should be asking how you're doing, not the other way around. Being second is harder than being first — especially when you're still a kid. When you're first... you've gotten as far as you can. There's less pressure from others to do better — most of this is self-inflicted. But I remember when I was second —whether here or in school — there was always this pressure to be the best, to overcome that last step. Even though that last step is the near-insurmountable one."

He groans, tilting his head back and staring up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry, I get really philosophical when I'm on the verge of falling asleep. If you want to practice alone, I'll just go– somewhere else. But if you want, I can watch and tell you what I think? If that helps." He falls silent, unsure what else to say to avoid awkwardness. Daewon is excellent at performative social interaction — but genuine conversations with people he does actually want to know and get along with?

Daewon continues staring up at the ceiling, eyes half-closed against the lights. Clearly he's hit a nerve — or several. This is why he should just keep his mouth shut when he's not singing. "Sorry, –" He shouldn't offer an excuse. It'll only make everything worse. Hwijae is in a bad mood, clearly sensitive about being considered a child, and trying to justify calling him one won't help.

"I did answer the question," he defends, finally bringing his gaze down to actually look at Hwijae. "I don't know what your standards for 'okay' are, so yes and no are kind of too vague in this case." Daewon wonders what other 'somebody' he was going to say before he stopped. He's sure Hwijae doesn't like him, and it's fairly clear that at least one of the reasons is because he's first and Hwijae is second, but it also seems like there's more to it. "I'm not trying to be condescending– I'm sorry if it came out that way– just." He gestures vaguely, then gives up.

"I want to watch. Scope out the competition—" he tries to sound like he's joking. Angry teenage boys are frustrating. "—get to watch a good dancer." He settles against the wall, which is surprisingly comfortable (although that may just be because anything he can sort-of sleep on is comfortable at the moment), and tilts his head to one side. "Why do you hate me so much?" he asks, abruptly but quietly, gently, like he usually speaks. He half-expects Hwijae to just ignore the question, or to reply with a scowl, but it's worth a try.

"Actually, I said I should be the one asking because you've probably got it harder than me. You might also be better at coping than me — I wouldn't know." Daewon sighs. Phrasing has always been his enemy — although at least in school it was because the teachers were bad at it, rather than him. "I also said, quite explicitly, 'I'm fine. Just tired.'" He wonders when he got so bad at reading people, so bad at getting along with people. Or maybe it's just Hwijae that he can't make proper conversation with. Because the boy's so damn defensive and angry and borderline petulant with all his glaring and arguing, and all the niceness in the world doesn't seem to work on him — and Daewon's tired.

And that tiredness is why he can't find the energy to try to read Hwijae's actions, figure out what his behaviour means. (Also because Daewon isn't a psychologist, and teenage boys are confusing and frustrating). So he shrugs, runs a hand through his hair and ignores his headache. "Annoyingly good at everything? That's what I usually get." If I was you, I'd have punched me in the face already if it wouldn't ruin my career, he thinks. But Lee Daewon is too nice (literally) to punch anyone in the face, no matter how angry they might make him.

"It's fine. I'll just shut up and let you practice." I'll just shut up before I annoy you even more and say something stupid in an effort to be nice.

"The secret to soft hair is sleep deprivation, apparently," Daewon replies equally dryly, then he adds, "I'm not – good at everything, I mean. Conversation, for example. But the public see what they want to see." And who wants to see the cracks? Who wants to see their favourite stumble? He hates this – hates feeling like he has to justify himself, has to seem acceptable in the eyes of someone who will probably never like him – but it's become an unfortunate habit.

He watches, head tilted, eyes half-closed. Hwijae is good — to say the least — and he thinks that if it wasn't for the concerted effort he made last autumn to promote himself as much as humanly possible, Hwijae would have been ranked first. The logical part of his brain reminds him that, while Hwijae is good, people like Daewon for different reasons. Hwijae is cute, in a "boyfriend" but childish way; Daewon is... more mature, he looks his age. The dancing is nearly seamless, and while he isn't particularly familiar with Team G's songs (beyond the title tracks) he can tell it's almost perfect just by looking — that, or Hwijae is making up a routine, which is equally impressive.

Professional evaluation. For all his bitterness, Hwijae is funny — even if he is insulting Daewon. "Uh– you're really good and I'm tempted to just cede the centre position to you? Then maybe I can sleep." He pushes off the wall and moves to stand closer to the centre of the room, facing away from the mirrored wall and not quite looking Hwijae in the eyes. "There were a couple of moments that looked a tiny bit off, but honestly? Nobody'll notice unless they're watching for it." Not that he'd know, because he's a perfectionist and never lets himself make mistakes because he's tired. "That professional enough?" It's a bad joke, it'll probably get taken the wrong way, but dammit, let Daewon make jokes he finds funny. Who cares about anyone else? (He does)

Daewon stares at him for a moment, because he's pretty sure that's not an actual phrase, then laughs. "That's– the worst description I've ever heard. Who– who would say that?" It sounds like something an out-of-touch old lady would say in an attempt to sound like she understands pop culture. It sounds like a lot of really dumb choices that unfortunately made their way onto the internet and decided to grace the world with their presence.

Then Hwijae starts laughing, and Daewon realises that it's actually really late. Because he recognises the laugh of someone who's too tired to think straight, but has to because there are expectations placed on them. He watches Hwijae's movement, then tries to mimic it himself. "I'd slow the music right down, practice at that speed until it's in sync, then start speeding it back up. It'll feel longer than just going over and over again until it works, but it's probably the easiest and quickest way to get it in sync."

sorry abt the length i wanted to post it before i leave the house

"I don't," Daewon says. It's true – he rarely checks the news, least of all celebrity-related things. A good way to keep away from negative comments, and he doesn't really give himself time to check things beyond the usual social media updates anyway. "And things like that are probably a good reason to continue not doing so."

"No, that's how I do it. I mean, have you seen the choreo for some of our songs? If someone could stand up and do those at full speed right away they wouldn't be human." It took him months to get the choreography for Hard Carry perfect, and although nobody's ever picked up on it, he still hadn't mastered it by the time he debuted. Fortunately, the cameras weren't focused on his feet.

"It's crash course for how to learn anything hard for anyone. I actually got taught it off my music teacher when I was a kid, because I kept playing the piece too fast and messing up." Hwijae's change in tone is unexpected, and Daewon thinks he might have said something wrong – or the teenager is just drawing the wrong conclusions. Maybe Hwijae has deep underlying insecurities about his dancing ability and that's why he's so hostile right now. "It doesn't work so well if you're not already familiar with the steps, so I'm not sure it'd work so well for people who can't dance." He yawns. His many borderline-sleepless nights are really starting to catch up to him.

"I played piano. Dropped it around the same time I got into here. It wasn't my thing, but my parents figured it was a useful skill to have." Daewon shrugs. He'd never enjoyed piano. The pieces were often dull, and he struggled with it more than he'd struggled with anything else. Giving it up was possibly the easiest decision he's ever made – much to the disappointment of his teacher. The opportunity to focus more on dance and singing, two of his favourite things, was one that he had been more than happy to take – whatever the cost.

He yawns again, raising a hand to cover his mouth. "I've got nothing scheduled tomorrow, I can sleep in." Of course, by Daewon's standards, 'sleeping in' is waking up at six rather than five. But Hwijae doesn't need to know that. "Besides, what's the point of your twenties if not to turn you into an insomniac?" He would point out that Hwijae is also still awake, but the boy doesn't look as tired (and probably wasn't awake at this time every night for the last six weeks).

"And if I go back to the dorm now, I'll probably wake everyone else up who's already asleep." It's a pathetic excuse – they mostly sleep like the dead, because they're all so tired – but Daewon doesn't want to go to sleep yet, and he still feels like he should practice more. There are still tiny things that he can improve, and he wants to be able to focus on choreography for other purposes tomorrow (namely, his increasingly neglected YouTube channel).

The tiredness is really starting to catch up with him now, but in the kind of way where he knows he won't be getting sufficient sleep any time soon but he'll still feel sleepy for the next few hours or more. He wonders how to phrase his skill level. "I wouldn't call it my fatal flaw, but I'm not very good at it. I didn't enjoy it, so I didn't put any effort in. And I'm pretty bad at rapping, too." It's one of the main reasons he sometimes wonders why he ended up in Team D, with their numerous rap-heavy songs.

"It won't kill me to stay awake for another hour or two," Daewon reasons. "It's not as though my sleep schedule can get any worse." He's actually never pulled an all-nighter, always managing to get to sleep for at least a couple of hours – so it could get worse, really. Hypothetically. Daewon would probably fall asleep before he could get all the way through, in reality. "My voice isn't grating," he adds. "I think you're getting me confused with someone else."

"That would be good," Daewon says, then he pauses. "Not that you're lowly or anything – you really need to stop putting yourself down, even if it is sarcastically." He sets up the music and starts – it's one of their newer B-sides, and he's fairly well-acquainted with it, but some of the steps are fast and complex, and he often struggles with them when he's tired. Not that anyone notices very often, because he's long since mastered the art of getting away with sloppy footwork without anyone noticing. When he's finished, he half-falls half-walks over to his phone to turn off the music – not that big a deal, he lies to himself.

"So– on a scale of one to one hundred, how bad was the footwork?" He knows he made a few mistakes, small ones but still mistakes, and he knows how to fix them, but he wants to know if there was anything Hwijae caught that he missed.

Daewon buries his face in his hands. "I should have mentioned that before I started. Sorry, hang on. I'll do it again." He pulls the song back to the beginning, starts again. It's not as good, he can tell – his feet are slower, his movements aren't as sharp. Not by much, but by enough to dissatisfy him. It frustrates him to no end that even one extra run-through can make him so much more tired – and it's probably a sign that he should go to sleep.

Then he stumbles, foot not finding the right position fast enough, and he falls. It's not serious – at most, he'll have a couple of bruises – but it hurts in a different way. It's been so long since he's made such a simple mistake and had such a drastic result, so long since fatigue was able to trip him up, and it feels as though all his hard work has been undone because he failed to make one simple step correctly.

"Well, I think it's clear how good the footwork was that time," he says quietly, pulling himself into a cross-legged seated position. "Guess I should actually go to sleep before I do die of tiredness." Normally, he'd practice more after a mistake, but he's not that bad at recognising what his body is trying to tell him. Daewon closes his eyes, glad that the tiredness hasn't also driven him to emotional fragility. The last thing he needs is to have a mental breakdown over a small mistake.

Cue the overflowing well of emotions Daewon didn't ask for. Guilt, frustration, the looming depression of unidentifiable negative feelings he's been repressing for years. "I wasn't," he replies flatly. "Both of those were sub-standard. I can do much better than that, I know I can. Even if I'm tired." He sighs, opening his eyes and staring at the floor. It takes a lot to make Daewon crack, because he's spent years doing everything he can to hide this — the struggling boy who never realised just how hard achieving his dream would be. But once he does crack, it's hard to piece the shield back together.

"I'm the centre because of a lot of reasons, not least because of the amount of work I put into my Instagram late last year. Besides, there's a difference between what people see and what actually happens." He conveniently avoids mentioning that a lot of the time, that's that he's on the verge of passing out, leaving Hwijae to (hopefully) assume the best — that he nearly-trips a lot, or some equally harmless mistake.

Daewon moves to stand, intending to get a drink, but as soon as he's even slightly off the floor his head starts spinning. "Yikes," he mutters, dropping back to the ground and resting his head on Hwijae's shoulder. "I really need to sleep." He should ask before invading the other boy's personal space, but Daewon is too tired to care right now. He can apologise profusely later if need be.

Daewon shrugs. "Maybe not just those reasons. But they definitely play a big part." There are a myriad of factors, he knows, but he's too tired to overcomplicate everything. It's easier to just be self-deprecating. "That's the thing about hypocrisy," he says. "Sometimes they're doing it for your benefit, because they know from experience that it's a bad idea."

He'll be honest – no, the kid isn't making sense. But neither is Daewon, and it's mostly just a weird conversation fuelled by tiredness and stress, and they should go back to their dorms and sleep. But, for some reason, they've both decided to hold themselves to an unnecessarily high standard and practice in the middle of the night like the idiots that they are. "How annoyed will they be if we sleep here?" he asks, fairly sure that the management are incapable of actually doing anything severe to either of them without jeopardising a significant portion of their profits. Daewon really doesn't want to move, and it's taking all his energy to avoid falling asleep on Hwijae – because he's fairly sure the kid still hates him (and would even more if he knew that Daewon is forever going to refer to him internally as 'the kid') and he doesn't want to inconvenience him even more.

"Don't make me cry," he says, rather than trying to respond properly. "I get really emotional when I'm this tired. Stop being so nice."

He does know that he should sleep in an actual bed, and that if he stands up for more than a few seconds the dizziness will subside. But Daewon is comfortable, and tired, and Hwijae is being nice to him (despite what he says), so you never know. Maybe he's already asleep.

But he can't be, because his brain would never come up with the phrase ‘delightful explosion of youth’. He sits up more, looking at Hwijae in disbelief. "Delightful explosion of youth? Is this the same person who said I exploded with handsomeness?" He'd like to think that the stupidity is being contained within one person rather than being more widely distributed, that there is actually hope for the future, but he's read YA books before. Flowery, outright strange writing is a common trait in a particular type of people.

"Awfully reassuring for just plain honesty," he teases. "And I know. You hate me because I called you a kid and you're not a kid." Slowly, Daewon rises to his feet, grateful when the dizziness subsides quickly. "I'm going to go sleep before I pass out somewhere stupid and wake up with neck pains." He's never done that before, surprisingly enough. And with that, he moves towards the door, pausing to pick up his water bottle and drink.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Daewon says. "At least your team isn't a mess." Daewon is a nice person. He doesn't usually insult people even if it is justified. But anyone with eyes can see just how much of a disaster Team D is. "I love Team D like family–" aside from a few moments "–but they're a mess."

He laughs at Hwijae's last comment, turning to look at the younger boy. "If you work hard enough, I won't need to dream about it," he says, forcing himself not to say anything else because that was awkwardly-worded enough and Daewon expressing himself fluently is as likely as Jisoo not getting in any more dating scandals.

And finally, finally, like the family member that takes hours to actually leave after they say they're going, he steps out of the room.