The Second Chance of A Suicidal Idol

Fire (2)

Ryeo Hyun looked at Joon-woo with saddened eyes. "You... you can't get the dance?" He asked, "Why not?"

Joon-woo nodded, head resting in his arms, ashamed. "I'm... I'm not a dancer Hyung– I don't dance well." He explained, with his voice as deadpann as he could make it.

Ryeo Hyun frowned, "But you did the intro dance just fine..." He reasoned.

Joon-woo scoffed. 'Fine' wasn't enough in K-Pop, let alone this show. 'Fine' was the bitch that every idol put to rest the moment they became a trainee because 'fine' was just as average as every man before.

If Ha-rin was ever just 'fine' upon stage or at any showcase, she would be ridiculed. She would be insulted, called lazy and every synonym there was to be called. If Ha-rin was ever just 'fine' she was nothing. Wasn't it the same here?

"The intro was meant to be easy." Joon-woo reasoned, "Everyone did it perfectly for a reason."

Ryeo Hyun raised his eyebrows, laughing to himself while looking away. "Joon-woo, do you not realize how impressive you are?" He asked, voice genuine in a way Joon-woo took a moment to realize.

Joon-woo looked at Ryeo Hyun, a bit baffled by the question. Had he not seen Joon-woo dance? Any half-decent K-Pop idol had to be extraordinary in a crowd of people. Any half-decent idol had to dance, sing, even talk with an accent of perfect, hadn't Ryeo Hyun known that at least?

"You're 18." Ryeo Hyun said.

'Mentally 29...' Joon-woo thought to himself.

"You memorized the intro dance after the first demonstration. Did you not see how surprised everyone was when you did it so perfectly at the first try?" Ryeo Hyun asked.

'No.' Joon-woo thought, he hadn't. From that moment all he could recall was not putting enough force into his turn.

"And the interviews. Man, you killed that!" Ryeo Hyun said, "It was like you were an idol already, with the way you deflected the interviews aggro questions..." He admired, recalling the moment with heart eyes.

Joon-woo faced his head the other way. He hated this. He hated the compliments because they made his skin crawl. He hated the compliments because he didn't deserve them. Compliments were only warranted by perfection, and Joon-woo wasn't yet that.

"Hey..." Ryeo Hyun called out, recognizing that Joon-woo was trying to block him out. "Are you listening? I'm your Hyung, you know."

Joon-woo winced, having to remind himself he was currently in the body of an 18 year old boy and not a 29 year old woman. "I'm listening, Hyung..." He spoke quietly.

Ryeo Hyun roughly patted him on the back, it took a lot for Joon-woo not to flinch at the sudden touch. "Good. Now believe it."

Joon-woo didn't believe it. He just watched as Ryeo Hyun stood and exited the room, leaving Joon-woo with his thoughts and the chorus of 'Fire' playing in the background.

That night Joon-woo got home at 11 P.M.

–+–

Joon-woo looked at his phone. He now had two phone numbers in his contact. Reggie Lee (hyung) and his landlord.

At around 5 A.M. there were loud, heavy knocks at his door. Joon-woo being possibly the heaviest sleeper there was, needed to be shaken awake by Kite. When he had gotten up his hair was unbrushed and his middle part oddly folded over. He didn't care to know who was at the door.

But as soon as he opened it he cared all too much.

A short stubby woman, even shorter than Joon-woo, looked up at him. Her face was small and seemed to be cinched with age. She pointed an angry finger at Joon-woo, placing it at his chest.

"Park Joon-woo, where the f*ck is my rent money?!" She asked, lightly digging her salon-done nails into Joon-woo's chest. "You're a day late, you know how this goes..."

Joon-woo gulped, because he didn't, infact, know how it went. Had he been so busy with fixing his dance and Producer10 that he's forgotten about possibly the most important thing about living? Money, work, Joon-woo had forgotten all about it.

"You will get it by Friday, I'm very sorry..." He quickly apologized, bowing to the landlord before closing the door. 'Fuck...' He cursed, looking at Kite with a sudden rage, "Why didn't tell me anything about money!" He yelled, attempting to snatch Kite from his flight.

Kite flew out of Joon-woo's reach, "I didn't know either! I help people die, not pay their bills!" It defended itself.

"Kite, I have to put together almost a million won in three days..."Joon-woo groaned, "And right now I have about nothing in my bank account. What do you want me to do?" He asked, almost begged.

Kite sighed, "I mean you could always get a part-time job..?" It warrily suggested, hesitant to even utter the words.

Joon-woo shook his head, "I get home from recordings at unprecedented times, I'm a dropout, I'm still 18, and I have to practice..." He reasoned, "Kite, I don't have time for this." He finished face hysterically with a weak smile but nervous face.

Kite paused, looking Joon-woo up and down and eventually admitting Joon-woo's features. Long, surprisingly well-kept hair, a nose just sharp enough to match his lips. Joon-woo's face was a harmonious combination.

"What? Why won't you reply now?" Joon-woo asked, rage bubbling in his chest.

"No, no– Joon-woo!" Kite cried, dodging Joon-woo's attempts to snatch it, "It's just– you can definitely use your looks to get some money, right? I've seen some humans do that..." Kite suggested oblivious to Joon-woo's terrified face.

"What?" Joon-woo's face paled at the suggestion.

Kite, as if scared to continue, staggered upon his perch and out of Joon-woo's reach. "Is my idea... plausible?" Kite asked, Joon-woo's face falling further.

Joon-woo pointed an accusing finger at Kite, "Are you a moron? Joon-woo– this body is 18 years old and you're telling me to sell myself?" He exclaimed, analyzing the bird for any sign of confusion.

"I mean you could always make yourself look a bit older and get away with it..." Kite continued, appearing to find it's suggestion as normal.

Joon-woo's mouth went agape, "Hah. You... You're so– moral-less." He accused, "There's other ways to make money, you know.

Kite looked up, curious, "What ways?"

Joon-woo let out a small grin. "Busking."