Beware & Take Care

Beware & Take Care [1/3]

A red-eyed Jung Hoseok peered into the laptop's screen, adjusting it so the camera caught the entirety of the room behind him. He then absentmindedly scrolled through his playlist-- it was a mix of songs from every genre possible, things that both inspired and motivated him, specifically in his art of dance. As he navigated, he stretched his neck side-to-side, thinking that tonight's lonely practice session might be going a little harder than usual. Landing on a decision, he alt-tabbed back to the camera view, and caught a glimpse of himself in its view.

He looked like absolute hell.

Bare-faced, bags under his bloodshot eyes, lips chapped, hair completely a mess. He wasn't able to get even a wink of relaxation--much less sleep--amidst the onslaught of messages he was receiving from all over the Internet, from fans, from haters, and from friends alike:

"Have you seen that trending tag?"
"Hey, are you okay? Have you seen what's going on?"
"Woah Twitter just went crazy! You alright?"
"I keep getting emails about BTS, you guys catching some flack?"
"J-Hope, stay strong! It's okay!"
"It's about time somebody told you, horse face!"
"What happened?!"
"Hey message me back, where did this come from?"

Hoseok had started answering texts and emails back at first, completely confused as to why he was suddenly receiving hateful messages and strange hashtags. He'd literally been relaxing for the absolute first time in weeks, finally getting to start the chapter of a book he'd had in his travel bag for nearly two years now, when the alerts started flooding in on his phone. Completely unprompted. He knew it was about to get real bad when Yoongi swung into the room and said, "Shit, stay off the web, bro, it's getting loud."

After a while, though, his mood just consistently plummetted and he couldn't take it any longer. He stopped answering. He locked himself in the office with the computer and just told anyone who prompted that he was "fine" through the door. He tried not to read what they were talking about, but the voices in the back of his mind drove him to it. The acid in his stomach didn't settle even for a second once he finally opened Twitter. He let the alerts keep coming in for another hour until he finally just shut the phone off. Without even closing any windows, he just shut the monitor off, nearly knocking it off its base with force. Enough was enough. As hip-hop artists and idols, they had their fair share of negative comments and slander, but this particular attack was so focused and so filled with vitriol, he couldn't help but feel it like a sharp knife to the chest.

He hadn't let any tears fall yet, but he could feel the pressure in his lungs, stomach, and head forming. The sheer force of trying to not let it emotionally get to him, though, made his eyes feel like they were burning. Anytime he felt the stinging, he'd squeeze his eyes shut tight and will it back-- he needed to stay strong, of course, but, more than just that, he fiercely hated his negative emotions. Just as he went hard in happiness and positive energy, his sadness could strike with just as much force, and it wasn't something he could afford to succumb to right then. Being an emotional rollercoaster wasn't something he wanted to deal with that night.

Which was why he found himself at the dance practice studio so late into the night.

Hoseok's face soured upon seeing himself in the camera, and he tipped it downward just enough to not see his eyes anymore. He wasn't there to self-evaluate his appearance, or his emotional outlook. He was there to lose himself in what he loved most in the entire world: dance, the art of throwing yourself into rhythm. Not only would it be a perfect outlet for the effusive feelings surrounding him, but he knew it would help him grow stronger for the ones that mattered -- the fans, and his groupmates. He would do what he did best, which was to turn this wrecking ball of a scenario into something positive, something he could learn and benefit from. He would dance until he couldn't, knowing any bit of progress would be for the good of himself, his brothers, and his audience.