the merge | idol rp discussion
newest »
Normally, Daewon feels the need to try and reassure Hwijae that he doesn't need to overwork himself to debut. But the situation isn't exactly normal right now, and nobody is sure of the future or what it holds, so it's entirely possible that that's what it'll take for him to stand out from the now-doubled pool of trainees. So he doesn't fumble for words, just comes over and sits beside Hwijae, wordlessly swapping out the empty bottle with his own.
"The thing about hypocrisy–" He sighs, hand playing restlessly with the hem of his shirt. "– is that sometimes, you're trying to stop someone from falling into the same pit you're trying to climb out of." It doesn't take a genius to see that Hwijae's tired – tired, and stressed. And he knows from experience that it takes time to get used to constantly terrible sleeping patterns and poor mental health. It's hard to perform at your best when your body wants to just stay still and not use any energy. "You're already a talented dancer, there's no way they'll pass over you again. But you won't be able to debut if you burn yourself out too soon."
It's a reasonable concern, what Hwijae is talking about. Daewon can't personally relate — the only looming question for him is whether BD will bother keeping K-NIGHT around or leave them to wither away like XGIRL. "That seems awful," he says. "But, once everything's settled down, who knows what will happen?" A long pause. "And if you wait a while and it's still not going anywhere, well, I'm sure KHC or JY would be falling over themselves to get you to join one of their future groups."
What he doesn't say is that hearing this, thinking about Hwijae leaving, makes him realise that he doesn't want the boy to leave. He doesn't want to lose their arguments and jokes, doesn't want to lose the only other person dumb enough to be in this room at 2am most mornings. Sure, he has his group, but it's not the same. He's still close to them, but it's different — he feels weird talking to them about things like this, partially because he knows they'll just tell him to go to sleep (as if he hasn't tried that).
But Daewon knows that Hwijae's best chance of debut probably doesn't lie with TYM anymore. It probably lies with OnePunch's rumoured new boygroup, or JY's survival shows, or KHC's millionth new group. And, well, if leaving is what it takes for the kid to succeed, he's not going to stop him. Even if it hurts, the thought of losing someone he's grown so close to, so used to.
"I wouldn't judge you for crying. I think everyone's cried as a trainee at some point."
Daewon instinctively shuffles closer and wraps an arm around Hwijae's shoulders. "No maybe. You're really good. The only reason you didn't debut in K-NIGHT is because you were a bit too much of a kid. I swear, they only chose me for my height." He pauses. They had explained it a little more than that — Hwijae was a year younger than Daewon, and shorter, and had that sort of aura that wouldn't fit with the concepts they wanted for K-NIGHT. "That was at least eighty percent of the reasoning that I actually understood."
He wants to do more for Hwijae than just sit here and comfort him, but Daewon isn't sure that there's anybody who knows when the next boy group might debut. BD probably haven't thought that far ahead, if they even have any plans to debut new groups in the near future. And he doesn't exactly have any power over the company to demand they let the poor kid debut.
"I was going to, but–" He sighs. "I probably shouldn't. The others told me to get some rest, although I think they meant sleep, but, well," he gestures to his face. "Tried that. And there's also the million-dollar question of what's the point? but that's depressing to think about." The thing about Daewon is that while he's naïve, it's largely a conscious choice on his part to avoid losing that. He groans as he stands up, rolling his shoulders and staring at the ceiling. "Can you pick a song for me? Don't tell me what it is." He hasn't practiced this way in ages, but it's a lot more enjoyable than just mindlessly running through song after song — and hopefully it'll wake him up a bit more.
"I said were, not are," Daewon retorts, but there's no bite to it. There never is, with Hwijae. "And you were legally a kid, and you were really short back then too, so it's not like it's not the truth." He's going to get elbowed again, he knows it. But this feels normal at a time when nothing else does, and Daewon has discovered that he has a habit of clinging to normality in times of difficulty. (There is a lot that could be said about how arguing with Hwijae falls under the category of normal and makes him feel reassured, but that's an internal conversation for another time)
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and bends down to plug it in to the speakers. (He is tempted, so so tempted, to just throw it, but the screen is scratched enough as it is). "The passcode is my birthday, I'm assuming you know that." Hoping, more like. He seems to rely on hope an awful lot these days. "And for the record, Crazy in Love is great. I spent hours on some of those lyrics."
"Mhm. Sure." He may as well just let Hwijae make his terrible joke — it's not as if Daewon hasn't made more than his fair share of them.
His hope dies somewhat. He's so tired, and having to think is painful. But he's fairly sure that Hwijae does know it and is trying to pretend he doesn't, because he's done this before. "Fourth of May, ninety-eight." It's an easy birthday to remember, if you keep up with Western pop culture. Although, Daewon hasn't kept up to date with pop culture of any kind for a while now, so he can't really talk.
He has no response for Hwijae's next comment, so he settles for shrugging. "I didn't know she had a song with that name. But it's a B-side, so does it really matter? There are songs all over the world with the same names as each other, and nobody gets confused."
He can practically see Hwijae judging his music, even as he moves into the middle of the room to give himself more space to dance. "Stop judging my music, Beethoven's symphonies are good." Daewon is fully aware that he doesn't have a lot of pop music downloaded — because he rarely listens to music that isn't in the context of practice, and when he does it's while doing things he needs to focus on.
The song starts playing, and Daewon moves into position, acting more on muscle memory than anything else. It's not his favourite song, by far, but the choreography is mostly pretty good. Of course, it doesn't hold much of a candle to Beautiful, but most things don't — it's easily their most popular song (at least, amongst fans. He doesn't keep track of internet commentary).
There are mistakes, he knows, but they're minute. He's not spectacularly out of time or anything, it's just a few moves that could be sharper, could be neater. But he's so tired, and not in the mood for repetition, so he stands there for a moment before turning to face Hwijae. "Pick another song?"
Daewon shrugs. "Nothing's stopping you from leaving." It's probably a bad idea to point that out, because now Hwijae will leave, and leaving Daewon alone with his thoughts is never a good idea. Especially not in a practice room. Without someone there to tell him not to practice too much, he's liable to stay here all day or night without checking the time — which usually means forgetting to eat as well.
"It doesn't affect you if I practice non-stop," he says. "Jaeyoon will only be lecturing me about it." Although that's if he's not preoccupied with everything else that's going on at the moment. Daewon certainly would be — he is anyway, and he doesn't even have to worry about everyone else as well as himself (Mostly because he worries about everyone else and not himself, which is probably not what he's supposed to do, but Lee Daewon and self-care are antonyms).
He recognises the next song, despite having not performed it for a while — he was practicing the dances from this album last week. So he moves into position and starts, mouthing the lyrics as he does. It's easy enough to push aside the fatigue in favour of enjoying the dance, and it's also far too easy to push himself more than he should. He stumbles partway through, limbs lagging behind what his brain tells them. He catches himself, but it's clear that he needs to rest — not that that stops him from pushing on until the song ends before stumble-falling into a seated position.
"Can't get hospitalised if you don't say anything," Daewon says, making finger guns. "Well, probably. After all, I'm still here." This is really, really bad logic, and he knows it, but hey, that's never stopped him before. "Also, what's the hospital going to do? Tell me to sleep?" He knows they have ways to put people to sleep, but he's also fairly sure they only use them on people who are, like, being operated on. Not random idols with severe sleep deprivation.
This is nothing compared to what he went through in the weeks leading up to their last comeback, but he's not about to tell Hwijae that. (In hindsight, Daewon thinks he may have caught the flu around then as well, and worked through it. That would definitely explain why the aching and fatigue lasted several weeks... but then again, so would his lack of sleep and overworking). "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I just need to take a break for a few minutes." Sure, he basically fell over to end up sitting down, but he does that anyway even when he's not dangerously exhausted. It's just an easier way of ending up on the ground.
Daewon shuffles closer to the wall, where he left his thermos, and picks it up to finish the contents. He's honestly not sure that more coffee will fix his fatigue at this point, but nothing will let him sleep either, and dance practice is an easy solution to avoiding sitting around doing nothing and contemplating life — because that's one deep dark hole he'd like to avoid for as long as possible.
"I'm not a masochist," Daewon says, snatching the thermos back. "I just–" He can't say that Hwijae is right, even if he is. If he admits that Hwijae is right, then he admits that this is really unhealthy and he's doing it on purpose. He wants to lie to himself for as long as possible and keep telling himself that it's fine. "I think if I was going to get caffeine poisoning it would have happened already. More than forty-eight hours without sleep means you go through a lot of caffeine."
Having Hwijae this close feels weird in an unfamiliar but not unpleasant way that Daewon can't quite explain. And he doesn't want it to end. Except, at the same time, Hwijae keeps talking about how he should take better care of himself, and sure it's true but it also hits a lot harder than Daewon would like. He can't even figure out how to make light of the situation – although it's entirely likely that he shouldn't. His doctor certainly doesn't approve of his blasé attitude towards his health.
"I'd probably fall asleep and fall in the river, knowing me. But– I'll try. Otherwise you'd have to find someone else to pester."
