#cheol;eval

blink and you’d miss the way the month flies by, leaving seungcheol trapped in his own head the night before the showcase despite having gone to the lotte world halloween celebrations in an attempt to tire himself out so much that even his wandering thoughts can’t keep him awake. it seems it doesn’t matter what he does, he can’t shake the nerves that tomorrow he’ll wake up and he’ll go to the press conference, the styling, the actual showcase and he won’t be choi seungcheol anymore — he’ll be a debuted idol, a member of convex. 

when he does wake up the next morning, a little groggy from lack of sleep ( though he imagines everyone is, because if you’re not worried about all this then you’re probably too excited to sleep instead ), he thinks there’s no possible way five o’clock could come any slower. their morning preparations feel like they’ll never end, though his comfortable turtleneck and blazer combo are a good choice for the tightness in his throat as he spots the table for the press conference through the curtains. there are more reporters than he can count on both hands and feet, but he supposes they are a sphere group and it’s been a hot minute since sphere debuted a brand new group. with luxe just debuting earlier this year, too, and a kt group coming at some point as well, he supposes there’s a certain attraction to all the new ‘competition’ between the top tier companies’ new generation idols. personally, he doesn’t understand it, but if it helps both groups get the attention they deserve, he won’t complain. 

it’s not exactly like how they practised last month. cameras distract his attention with each flash and click and he doesn’t recognise a single journalist in the way he recognised the stern curves of their coaches’ eyes and taut, emotionless lips. he doesn’t want to say anything, knowing that all that’s going to come out is a stumbled mess of mismatch syllables but he knows, too, that saying nothing is just as bad. he’d rather chance that people find his nerves admirable or endearing over thinking he’s rude or cold. or worse, ungrateful. so he answers one question about how excited but nervous they are, smiles so wide that his dimples dip into his cheeks and his long eyelashes flutter. he messes up almost every other word but he gets it out in the end and the stars in jihoon’s eyes down the table are enough to know he did well, all things considered. he swears to himself to answer more at their future comeback showcase, to try hard to answer smaller questions in the many interviews and shows they’ll take part in in the coming months to promote this debut, and that satisfies him for now. as much as he imagines the company might complain, he works best with baby steps, and perhaps with a group so large, it will go a little more unnoticed that seungcheol says so little at first. at all, it’s hard even for the chattier members to get a word in edgeways when the chattiest get going. 

they’re hidden behind closed doors for an hour after that, plenty of time for his heart to come down to its regular pace just in time to speed back up again as staff begin warning them of how much time is left to go. some say it with an urgency to their voice, clipboards in hand and headsets over their ears, the stress of everything going perfectly clearly spiking their blood pressure. but the stylists, those who don’t have trivial things like the brightness of the stage lights and whether or not the mics will work when the vocal team perform the first song of the night to worry about, their voices are full of wonder. wonder and enthusiasm and all the things he should be feeling know that his dream is only twenty-eight minutes away but instead, his stomach is filled with angry butterflies, desperate to escape their cage. he’s probably going to sweat off all his makeup before he even goes out on stage, but he lets the stylist continue covering the pimple on his chin diligently, quietly, because it’s safer to feign not knowing his fate should it hit him before the stress finishes him off. 

don’t get him wrong, though, he is excited — unbelievably so under all the pressure, but that’s just it. there’s so much riding on this hour and a half of his life, such a minuscule amount of time in his long, healthy lifespan, that it’s hard to enjoy it really. he knows he will once it’s over. he knows he’ll look out on the crowd once they’re doing their final introductions and goodbyes ( for now ) and he’ll feel immense pride and joy and everything in between because then all the scary parts are over. then, he’s made it. maybe not quite made it, but he’s gotten this far; he’s passed the worst of it. first impressions are important and it won’t matter if he’s perfect for the rest of the promotion cycle; he has to be perfect now. 

( he has to be perfect all the time, as per the woes of the idol life, but now especially. at least, it feels that way in the heat of the moment. ) 

he takes a deep breath, gulps down a mouthful of the water bottle thrust towards him in the crowd of members backstage. this is it, and he can hear the roar of a lively audience as the first vcr clip plays. 

it’s strange hearing familiar voices boomed out over the arena, and then moments later in the room around him. it’s strange hearing familiar names called out to prepare to enter the stage once the arena stereos fade to a dramatic silence. a familiar song, familiar vocals, everything feels so close yet so far. he knows all these people, knew these songs before anyone else out there in the audience did, yet he feels disconnected from it all, like he isn’t really here living it — like this is some kind of dream. it’s as if all his friends, new and old, are debuting around him and he’s a bystander, watching it all unfold, but he’s not. he’s part of this and he’s being ushered away to follow the vocal team on stage with their own unit song, the lights blinding as he walks out and the screams deafening as they get into position. 

but he can’t stay starstruck; he can’t think about how his parents are out there somewhere watching him ( probably crying, too ). even if he wants to, he can’t. he has a job to do and he has a stage to own the best he can and hell yes, he’s nervous, but this is where he feels the most at peace in the world. perhaps not in front of two and a half thousand people, the last time they did this having only been about two hundred or so, but still— the stage, swallowed by the music and the atmosphere, is where he belongs. 

when he raps, he doesn’t stutter even once. he’s practised ‘ah yeah’ enough times now that he could perform it in his sleep, even, but regardless, he exudes a confidence that whilst doesn’t embody the meaning of the word charisma, at least more than makes up for the shy mess he is off stage. anyone can see the difference between the strength he feels when he raps compared to his timid speaking nature and he can only hope that duality appeals to their audience. all he can ever really do in general is hope because he can’t change anything overnight. he can grow, though, so maybe, whatever it is their fans will be called one day, maybe they’ll come along for the ride. 

he pays enough attention to the other rappers to keep in sync with their movements as they ‘dance’ their loose choreography. he’s still grateful for it all these months later but their more relaxed coordination for this song is a blessing when mansae has so many steps and jumps that he’s always worried he’s going to land on someone’s toes or twist an ankle. he doesn’t have too many lines, too much to worry about perfecting, but what he does have, he executes with a precision only achieved by late nights in the studio and a demo playing through his headphones in the dorm when they get a little free time. once that same silence befalls the speakers, he exits the stage to allow the performance team to own it themselves. 

their first full group introduction of the night goes by with ease. he’s said ‘hello’ enough times in the last few days let alone lifetime not to mess it up, thought enough about how much he loves the song 20 to gush about it on park heejae’s command with only a few stutters every sentence. the mafia game is understandably a bit of a mess to his muddled brain, thirteen people far too many to keep up with as he stares wide-eyed at each of them accusing one another with fire in their eyes. ( it’s then that he realises why he’d gotten the nickname bunny from a fan whose post he’d read online after their pre-debut showcase, and he blushes just in time to be called out by one of the performance team as the mafia. ) the following retelling of all the memories they’ve made over the past year as convex ( he wonders if anyone out there realises how long this group has been in the works, how long he’s doubted he’d make it this far, but he supposes that ruins the illusion ) bring tears to his eyes. he doesn’t once cry, but he won’t deny getting teary-eyed as he recounts the time jihoon had surprised him with the news he’d be joining the group and that their long-time dream to debut together that felt so unrealistic would actually be coming true ( and again when tales of hyun pranking people are retold and he can’t hold in his laughter ). he feels so comfortable that he almost misses the cue to say a temporary goodbye so that the ‘mansae’ music video can play on the big screens for the first time before they gather to perform it moments after. he wonders if it’s really that fun to hear a song twice in a row like that, but he soon realises how stupid that sounds when he himself is guilty of listening to new songs on repeat for hours the day they come out. he hopes people will do that with ‘mansae’ tomorrow when the album is finally available to buy and stream. as always, he hopes. 

it’s not the first time they’ve performed their debut mini albums’ tracks, and certainly not the last, but it still feels like both of those kinds of ultimatums in one. most of his peace has gone by the time they’re in formation and the first beat hits, but he doesn’t think about it at risk of losing more. he doesn’t really think about anything, honestly. he lets his mind blank a little, listens to the backing track and his friends’ voices so to know when to jump, when to kick his foot across the floor and when the time comes for his own lines. 

blink and you’d miss the way the minutes fly by, leaving seungcheol’s chest rising and falling and his heart pounding at what feel like a hundred miles an hour. the night’s coming to an end as they introduce themselves one last time, make a loud promise to work their hardest for all the fans and for the equally as hardworking staff that helped make all of this a reality — that helped their dreams all come true. 

and at the end of the day, when he curls into bed with exhaustion deep in his bones as always, he drifts away the moment his head hits the pillow. debut day complete. now? who knows what the future holds, but he’s ready. they’re ready. 

filming their music video a few months ago, even all the way back to the samsung commercials, cameras not held by himself, his tripod or his mother seem to make his heart pound in unnatural ways. recording perhaps isn’t so bad, because even though it lasts much longer, his movements have to be natural, at least he can use minhee’s advice of pretending he’s han solo, pretending he’s someone cooler and more confident to appear more put together himself. it doesn’t matter how much he pretends now, han solo would never pose like this for this long. 

( of course, it wouldn’t be this long if he wasn’t so painfully uncomfortable with modelling. his lacking past experience doesn’t help him even a little. ) 

he tries his best to look at the lens in the way that says I have at least a shred of charisma but the photographer doesn’t seem to agree. thankfully, everyone’s patient enough to guide him along the way. instructions are thrown at him from every angle in tones that are as gentle as the staff seem to have begun to understand he needs. it’s not the most dignified of feelings knowing that everyone’s so well aware of how much of a scaredy cat he is, but when it helps keep his heart calm, he thinks his pride is a worthy sacrifice. 

his individual photograph isn’t the end of it all, but it’s certainly the hardest. once he’s in the company of his members, he loosens up a bit. particularly when they’re not supposed to look at the camera, seungcheol feels the world slow down to a more manageable pace. suddenly, it doesn’t feel like he’s even working anymore, as if this is a professional photoshoot with equipment everywhere worth more money that he’ll probably ever see ( though he hopes he does for convex and his parents’ sakes ). it feels like he’s just hanging out with friends, another of them wandering around with a polaroid to snap memories. perhaps that’s how he should think of it from now on — that even with a camera so expensive pointed at him, all it’s doing is capturing a memory he’ll be desperate to look back on one day. 

( it doesn’t help that much but it does make a genuine smile spread over his lips as he meets jihoon’s eyes across the way. ) 

spreading the shoots out over two days feels like a blessing. their evenings are their own and it’s their first time staying in a hotel together, something he’s sure they’ll have to get used to eventually. he’s more excited about it than he’d like to admit, even after his mother had embarrassingly likened it to a sleepover and asked if they’re going to talk about boys and have pillow fights. 

( he can tell she has a, never been to a sleepover and b, never been a trainee, because he knows every potential moment of sleep is precious. )

truthfully, he thinks it a blessing rather than a sin overall. his ability to blend in means that any small mistakes he makes aren’t on full blast to the world. it means he doesn’t have too much pressure on his shoulders and it’s instead more spread over the group ( as it should be even if he wishes there wasn’t any pressure at all ). at this stage, he’d rather start small and build up but he knows that the more positive attention they get in total is only going to benefit them in the long run so he at least understands her concerns. 

( that doesn’t mean he’s too thrilled about taking charisma-building classes because even though he knows he needs them desperately, they still feel a little patronising. surely his confidence would grow with time, anyway? he supposes it’s not worth the risk of finding out. ) 

he has to admit, however, that he’s relieved to be back to the familiar format of monthly evaluations again. recording their music video had been an incredible experience but one that was filled with uncertainty also. practising the month away for a single final performance is comfortable — it’s what he’s used to. maybe he’s just unadventurous. maybe he’s just glad to be doing something he truly feels like he can nail again. 

it’s not an easy process learning an entirely new dance, especially one that isn’t for their debut promotions. he feels jihoon’s lacking presence when he struggles, but there’s comfort in their unit teamwork. he feels guilty seeking sehun’s help, watching his moves carefully for his own benefit when the boy has his own skill of singing to focus on but he tries to return the favour to the team where he can. he’s no woohyun, but he’s a fairly strong singer in his own right and easily accessible when they’re practising all together. keeping an eye on the others while they perform helps him recognise the ‘effort’ that goes into their expressions and mannerisms that creates the effortless charisma and stage presence baek jiyoung wishes for him to one day have. he doesn’t think it’ll be any time soon that he’s that good but perhaps he should be aiming a little higher than getting by. 

maybe he should give himself a little more credit. after all, baek jiyoung believes in him. the core, though he has no idea what that means. 

one thing he definitely knows, regardless of the fact that he hates to admit it, is that he knows being negative about the performance will only make things worse so he has to keep his head up as hard as it may be in the late nights when he just can’t nail that few seconds or this few seconds. unsurprisingly, it’s easier than he remembers to pretend he’s got everything under control around the others, or maybe they just don’t say anything in fear of making things worse but either way, he’s grateful. it’s peaceful throughout the month despite the stress of training and practices — it’s familiar. 

even when performance day finally rolls around, he does his best not to let it all unnerve him. he’s worked hard to get to this point, etching another brand new choreography into his muscle memory in time for the end of the month, and he knows this is going to be used for something because sphere isn’t stupid. any film of them is valuable footage for project convex, even if all they’re doing is nibbling on energy-filled snacks between practices— hell, even napping. getting to see a more intimate side to an idol’s life is one of dedicated fans’ favourite things in the world and he knows baek jiyoung knows that. she wouldn’t be the powerful ceo she is if she didn’t know every little detail about the industry— far more than he can ever even dream to scratch the surface of. he has to put his faith in her to do them right as much as she has to put faith in him to return the favour. 

that’s what he goes into this thinking of. even if his heart is racing with nerves, she believes in him and he has to give her a reason to — prove to her that he’s steadily getting to where he should be. 

when the music starts, there’s not a single moment for hesitation as he must start dancing instantly. for a couple weeks, he’d always stumbled on the starting beat but forcing himself to run over the introduction so many hundreds of times, he now breezes through it with practised ease. for the first thirty seconds, as he settles into the performance, he only thinks about the dance. this way, he makes sure he doesn’t make any rookie errors too early. once they start nearing his short chorus lines, he starts to put a little more consideration into his expressions. a small smirk here and there as he stands at the front beside yien, the two of them the ‘dancers’ of this challenge. if anyone around him makes any mistakes in the first minute or so, he doesn’t notice, his brain working overtime to ensure he is both aware of himself and his surroundings. there’s no use in being good alone if you can’t work well with the team; so much is obvious from yien’s compromising as to not make seungcheol stand out ( in a bad light ) where it counts. 

you make me a teenager you make me a teenager 유치해져도 뭐 어때 we are so young ay

she makes me a teenager 매일 더 난 심해져 우리 둘을 티 내줘

after his second chorus lines, they part to allow sehun some centre time. he knows the whole point of this performance is that he and yien are supposed to be leading the dance and typically dancers stick to the front but nothing feels more unnatural than having someone sing the bridge from ten foot behind them. there’s a little more balance to their performance to make it feel more like a performance rather than a show of skills— a task helped by the generous formations in the song and their four-person version of it. they do have to stick to the rules, though, so they’re soon moving back to the front for a dance break he’d been dreading since they’d first decided to add it in for that extra oomph. 

you make me a teenager you make me a teenager 유치해져도 뭐 어때 we are so young ay

he stands front and centre and his heart feels like it’s going to burst right out of his chest but he thinks it a fair deal given that yien would be doing two flips. unsurprisingly, it’s the part he practices the most over the month, the part he’s most desperate not to mess up. he puts his entire being into it, fights to get through to the finish line without a single mistake. it’s not easy; he tries to block out anything besides the people around him and each precise movement. he won’t lie and say his execution was perfect, his movements a little smooth where they shouldn’t be or fierce when they should be smooth but overall, for someone who isn’t by any means a dancer, he’s proud of himself. he’s proud of the team. 

you make me a teenager you make me a teenager 유치해져도 뭐 어때 we are so young ay

after the dance break, there’s only one more chorus run, half of which doesn’t even have what he’d consider a real choreography. it’s a welcome break being able to just bounce around into formation again, ‘rap’ out his final line before they jump back into the dance for sehun and rome’s ending lines and when the music eventually fades to silence, he breathes a heavy sigh of relief, a wide smile on his lips because he’s done it — he danced front and centre for a whole song and he doesn’t want to do it ever again. 

truthfully, he almost likes that this is a smaller scale event. it feels more intimate for their first introduction to the world as convex. it’s more relaxed, too, an atmosphere that he has much more experience with as a solo performer or in duets. 

he fondly thinks back to the last time he stood on stage with jihoon and smiles as he tidies up his hair backstage. 

there’s a faint buzz coming from the crowd as they wait to take the stage; he can just barely hear it over the loud buzz of final preparations and checks. he’s still safely in his provided black uniform just like every other member of convex, has been since the first time they checked him over five minutes ago and every time since but he can understand the stress — the pressure to get everything perfect. whilst there’s a surge of excitement rushing through him like electricity, there’s also a familiar unsettled feeling in his stomach like butterflies bumping into the walls. this is ‘only’ a pre-debut show to generate interest, they say, but it’s still their first appearance under the name they’ll wear with pride for the rest of their lives and that’s pretty damn terrifying. 

( it’s also the first time he’ll have to perform and dance ‘mansae’ in front of people that aren’t his members, his coaches or his trusty han solo action figure that never judges him and he’s kind of bricking it. )

still, he knows from experience and the nagging voice of his mother echoing in his mind that the more he thinks about things going wrong, the more likely it is they will, so he glances over at jihoon instead, allows the comforting familiarity of the younger boy’s features to calm him and takes a deep breath. 

we are convex! 

it’s the first time he’s said the name with such gusto. on the streets handing out flyers, as real as it all felt, he didn’t have any proof. being here on stage, the thirteen of them ready to take on the world ( but first: yes24 muv hall — baby steps ), it’s all final. if they had wanted to make any lineup changes, it’d have been in their best interest to do it before this moment ( though, again, he tries not to think about that; he’d thought he was over that months ago ). 

he’s grateful once again for his minimal amount of lines in ‘ah yeah’ for the selfish reason of not having as many opportunities to mess things up. he knows that once he’s on stage, and feels it as the instrumental for ‘mansae’ begins to play out, that none of this will matter — that he’ll lose himself in the music and performing and that he won’t even be able to think about how well he’s doing. it’s something that a few have pointed out to him in the past; that his comfort with the stage ( though not always charisma strictly, but he’s working on it ) are a stark and surprising difference to his nervousness elsewhere. that doesn’t mean he’s flawless, but at least he’s better than the ridiculous mess he is as he switches outfits for ‘ah yeah’. 

he knows his parents are out there somewhere. it would’ve made more sense for them to come for the evening show at 9pm, given the store’s opening hours, but ( after laughing in his face as they came to meet him handing out flyers ) they had insisted they’d be fools to miss the very first convex showcase. they’d closed up the store, proudly displayed a spare flyer in the window and now stood somewhere out there in the crowd. seungcheol wonders if they’re proud. 

( of course they are. even if he fell over, ruined it all, they’d still be proud because he’s their beloved son, their world, and he’s so lucky to have them. he pretends they’re the only ones in the audience, the only eyes watching, and to him, deep down, they are. they’re the only ones he’s this desperate to impress and he will. he does. )

the energy of the showcase isn’t astounding due to its size, but it’s more than he anticipated. cheers warm his heart as he bows with his members at the very end of their first showcase, as they introduce themselves once more and depart the stage with bright, happy smiles and excited waves. 

they’ll do it all again in the evening, and it’ll all go smoothly and he’ll stand in the same place, wave his arms above his head and bounce on the spot in pure happiness. 

being back in the studio again so soon, too, is a blessing. unfamiliar familiar four walls around him, keeping him safe, he raps over and over and over until it’s as near to perfect as they can manage. he knows this process takes time and so he stays patient. he has the fewest lines by quite a margin and he thinks it pretty fair given the amount he’d gotten in their debut track, but the number of seconds only makes him want to perfect this more — almost like this one verse is his chance to show everyone that he has what it takes. maybe it is. maybe this is going to be his defining moment — to step out of the title of sphere’s scaredy cat and into convex’s main rapper; to be more than his fears as he’s always tried desperately to be. 

any moment he can’t dance ( and can’t get in trouble if he’s overheard ), he’s practising the new song. he perhaps would’ve picked a title more descriptive than ‘ah yeah’ but he can’t say it isn’t fitting as he ends up perfecting the titular chorus lines first through no extra effort of his own. 

he adjusts the headphones over his ears as he listens to the producer’s feedback, humming softly in agreement and nodding his head. he’s grateful this time for the fewer eyes watching him as he records. whilst he had blocked out the outside world as he completed his session for mansae, returning back into the waiting area after had reminded him how many people he had to impress; how many people would be watching him and depending on him. seeing only three pairs of eyes maximum on him at any point in time made his heart feel a little calmer when he noticed the other members in his peripheral. he’d been growing closer to rome and yien, too, and had known sehun for years, and when he thinks about the other members he’s comfortable like this with, he realises the number has grown far higher than he realised. a gentle smile tugs his lips as he raps his lines again and again and again— until it’s perfect enough that he can slip back through the door and relax into a seat, take a deep breath and let go. 

“have fun!” he blurts to the next member heading in, cheeks pink as it sinks in how abrupt he’d been. but can anyone blame him? is this... bliss? 

the song is vibrant, upbeat, youthful— if he were egotistical enough, he might even hesitate to say it was made for him and his tastes. he’s unlikely to have a large part and he’s okay with that, strangely prefers it almost. maybe it’s a little selfish to want less light on himself for whatever reason be it to let his friends shine or because he doesn’t know if he can handle it at this early stage, but regardless, seungcheol is relieved to find out the amount of rap that will be shared between the four of them, happy to spend time practising it ( and maybe a little of the vocal unit’s parts, too, because even if he’s a rapper primarily, his heart still longs to sing every once in a while, and the cheering chorus just isn’t enough— or really singing at all, in his books ). it’s something that, given the chance to find a little peace with the whole idea of debuting and how real it feels with the lyrics to a brand new song, never been heard before outside of sphere’s secretive walls, in his hand, he falls into quite easily. he has always felt a certain calm whilst performing — a mixture between the adrenaline rush of a stage or an audience ( or a future stage or audience, in this case ) and the peaceful familiarity of it all. it’s his happy balance, the place he feels most safe, so it’s no surprise that he topples into it almost, headfirst and lips stretched into a grin. 

he practices whenever he can outside of his scheduled sessions; in the dorm, as he busies himself getting ready to leave or go to bed, as he waits for each training session to start, even quietly to himself as he and rome go through the notions of recording their paired teaser. he wonders, hopes, it’ll get stuck in the heads of listeners as well as it’s gotten stuck in his, because if so, he likes to think they’ll make a pretty memorable debut. 

( and that’s what’s most important, right? to make a name for themselves and get their footing before they expand to new genres, new concepts, new images. a safety net, he supposes. once they’ve got a strong fanbase, it won’t matter if they try something new and it doesn’t work as well as their other concepts. it’s not the best example, but he thinks of fingertip— how different it was to glass bead, me gustas tu, rough, and how big a risk it would have been any time before its release in the progression of their career. it had gone down well, of course, and felt like gfriend, even if it were different their previous releases, and seungcheol hopes that they can have their own ‘fingertip’ one day. ) 

running over his highlighted potential rap lines once more, he feels an ache begin to settle into his legs. he’s been sitting on the floor after practice for almost an hour, so he stretches out his legs and starts from the top; rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat. practice makes perfect ( or at least, closer to it ), so he applies that, practices as much as he can ahead of the studio recording. 

it has to be said, however, that amongst all the nerves is a building excitement. the particularly appropriate challenge for this month’s stressful final day only serves as a reminder of what’s to come — endless grilling from the public, perfecting answers to questions he should never have to expect and, thus, of course, debut. momentarily, his mind wanders to his million curiosities about how it’ll all unfold, but he doesn’t allow it to stray too far, since they’re about to start and seungcheol already knows that actually listening is the most important part of an interview. 

his coach makes himself comfortable in the seat opposite him, prepared with questions hidden to seungcheol’s eye. ( though, admittedly, as tempting as it might be, seungcheol is far too scared of being caught to have even tried sneaking a peek. ) anything could be written on those papers, and whilst seungcheol doesn’t think he’s ever done anything to be challenged on in an unanswerable question, it doesn’t hurt to anticipate the worst. he’ll either get what he expected or be pleasantly surprised to be spared; isn’t that foolproof? he supposes he’ll find out. 

“please introduce yourself.” 

easy enough, he thinks. “h-hello! I’m s.coups, o-one of convex’s m-main rappers.” he hesitates to playfully add ‘dancing black hole’, but quickly decides against it. it’s difficult to get his tone across when he’s stumbling over his words like this and he’d rather not be misinterpreted. still, he knows he can’t leave it at that — it’s far too plain, tells the coach nothing about him as a person or a performer. he inwardly cringes as he considers his trainee title as a last resort after he’s left too long of a pause between answers, but the moment has passed before he can think of anything else. 

“we hear you’re ‘sphere’s scaredy cat’. where did this come from?” 

he supposes it’s wishful thinking to think he’ll ever escape it. he doesn’t mind it too much; after all, he gave himself the name. he just doesn’t want it to be his only identity after debut. he’s much more than a scaredy cat, really. “I get st-startled v-very easily.” he breathes out a weak chuckle. “l-loud noises, mostly, so y-you can imagine w-what it’s l-like for me living in a d-dorm of th-thirteen.” speculation, of course, but he doesn’t think it’ll be far off the truth. 

“it’s becoming expected now for rappers to write their own lyrics. you don’t. why?” 

he sucks in a deep breath. “for a long time, I’ve been p-passionate about making rap more acc-accessible to all. I w-want to rid the industry of th-this idea that you ha-have you have an extensive b-background in underground r-rapping to be a rapper. o-of course, if you h-have that, that’s great, b-b-b-but— I think it discourages a lot of y-young people from pursuing rap.” his eyes widen in panic, wondering if he’s perhaps talking too much or even sounding judgemental to those who have that experience under their belt. of course, he doesn’t mean any harm by his comments; he can’t help that his own experiences with underground rappers has so often been sour. “I want to be a g-great idol rapper, so I c-can inspire mo-more future idols to feel c-confident in their skills.”

“we heard that you sang for your audition, though. if rap is so important to you, why did you sing?” 

“singing is important to me, too.” he answers evenly, the first sentence to come out free of trembles. maybe it’s because it feels like an attack, like he can’t be passionate about more than one thing, like he’s being accused of being unfocused, indecisive. “I’m v-versatile musically. rap is my f-focus, but I have a lot of tr-tricks up my sleeve I h-hope to show more as time passes. at the time, I had o-only singing publicly for a f-few months, so it fe-felt right to h-honour that new e-era of my life.” 

“you also sing monthly on your youtube channel, right? can you tell us more about that? we’re all curious who WZ is.” 

he laughs heartily, a soft pink dusting his cheeks. he wonders if they truly feel as if they’re catching him out here; as if he’s going to stumble ( not too much of a stretch to believe ) over an excuse for ‘WZ’s identity, but the real truth is— “WZ is convex’s shortest lead dancer, lee jihoon!” it’s rather noticeable how his stutter drops immediately at the mention of his best friend, and even more obvious how his features light up and his shoulders relax. his hands hidden under the table have stopped rubbing against one another, instead animatedly gesturing as he speaks. “we share a love for gfriend’s music, so I decided to dedicate the first cover of my monthly project to him. it’s also one of the two videos I showed him when I told him about the channel and my past with singing, so it has a lot of sentimental value.” his eyes curve as he pauses for a few beats. “my monthly project started as a way to ensure I uploaded semi-regularly on that channel,” and a way to keep sane through the rollercoaster that was 2016, he bites his tongue, “but it’s also now a testament to my growth both musically and personally over the past— wow, almost two years. you can see how I’ve matured from the early days, writing out raps to avoid bringing my two worlds together, to now. there’s so much more vibrancy in my covers now, even if I do have to record them late at night after training.” he chuckles, running a hand through his hair, hoping his blush isn’t too obvious. 

“speaking of jihoon, you two seem to be close. you’ve both posted about each other on instagram and you speak very fondly of him.” 

“jihoon and I have been best friends for almost four years. we’re— kind of opposites in a lot of ways and that’s why we work so well together. jihoon’s helped me through a lot, and he’s helped me to get closer with the other convex boys, whether he realises it or not.” he has a proud grin on his gentle features as he thinks to the endless encouragement the younger gives him, the unconditional support and patience. he nods softly. “it’s through his friendship that I’ve grown more confident in myself and learnt to take risks. where he is brave, I am cowardly, and where I am gentle, he can be unintentionally sharp. he has an attention to detail I don’t, and I have a nagging voice he sometimes needs. we’re always helping one another grow to be better and better versions of ourselves.” he hums quietly. “I have lots to learn from every member of convex; charisma from hyun, dance from the performance unit—” he pales, realising he’d uttered the word he’d been trying to avoid. 

“it’s no secret that dance isn’t your strong point. in a predebut performance in july, you fell a lot. do you think you’ve improved since then?” 

they really don’t hold back, he thinks, blinking once, twice, before he snaps back to reality. july is still a month he doesn’t really enjoy looking back on, and that much must be obvious, or he doubts they’d have honed in on it specifically. “I d-definitely still have a long way to go,” he admits, “but it’s something my interest in is growing in ra-rapidly. I’ve been working on it a lot recently, so please anticipate my next stage! you’ll see!” he smiles brightly, sighing inwardly in relief. 

“you didn’t take the college entrance exams, correct? so if you weren’t an idol, what would you be doing?” 

“music.” he answers immediately, not a moment of hesitation. “being an idol is the path th-through music that I want more than anything, but it’s not the only path. I have an interest in classical music, too, and a particularly strong interest in movie scores. my family also own a music store, so I would find a way to be part of music somehow.” he nods, adding quietly, “it’s my destiny.” 

“why do you think you deserve to debut?” 

“hard work, dedication and passion; just like everyone else. everyone deserves to debut if their heart is in it.” it’s probably not the answer he should be giving. maybe he should be selling himself, talking about how he alone has worked hard and how baek jiyoung deems him ready and he feels it in his bones, too, that this is the right time, but it’s not in his nature. he knows idols are supposed to lie from time to time— white lies for the sake of image aren’t foreign to him, but had he or had he not worked so hard to rid himself of that? to be honest? he doesn’t think he has a personality that’s particularly un-idol-friendly, so maybe he’s reasonably safe. maybe his white lies can be about ideal types and how easy he is to wake up in the morning. we’ll see, he thinks. 

“finally, what are your goals for the future? do you want to have a solo career on the side one day? perhaps acting or modelling? radio hosting?” 

“my only goal is to continue to better myself for fans and for the other boys; to be the best performer I can each and every time I step on stage, and never to give up or falter. I want to help convex grow to being a highly respected name; a group that is known for their charms and performance skills. anything beyond that, solo activities, modelling contracts, for myself alone are bonuses.” still, he laughs softly as he adds, “that being said, I’d really love to go on king of masked singer, or something similar, one day.” 

once he’s finished talking and the coach clicks the lid shut on his pen, he breathes a sigh of relief. he doesn’t doubt that he’ll launch into a full analysis of his performance in a few minutes, once he’s organised his criticisms into a more natural order, but for now, he can’t say he doesn’t expect the obvious, “you definitely need to work on that stutter,” that fills the stifling silence. 

“I’m w-w-working on it.” 

the coach doesn’t make eye contact as he adds, “and to think you considered yourself a contender as a leader with it.” he bites his bottom lip nervously, hands returning to rubbing against one another under the table. it’s not a statement he’s undeserving of and perhaps that’s why it stings so much more than he expects at first, digging into his confidence and dragging it into the ground. he wants to argue, clarify that he didn’t explicitly name himself for it, he simply laid everything on the table, said he’d do anything because he would— if it meant pleasing everyone, he’d do it— but it’s not worth it. he has to develop a thick skin, anyway, right? then comments like this ( and worse ) won’t hurt so much after debut. 

he can see it now: convex’s black hole, convex’s unlucky number 13. he chews through the skin.

it’s no secret that he’s been uptight in the past when evaluations not suited to his specific style pop up. when they recorded the samsung ads back in march, he spent an entire month from mid february to the end of his shooting session complaining about it ( and then continuing to when it didn’t air in the first couple months after all the teams had finished ). when june rolled around, he was grateful to do something different from his usual ‘pick up a guitar and sing’ act, but that just meant that he complained about those evaluations that he’d enjoyed in the past. it became increasingly obvious the more he thought about it that the problem was never that the evaluations highlighted his weaknesses, or portrayed him ( rightfully so, he thinks ) as a one trick pony, but instead that he lacked the ability to comprehend that each and every evaluation was meant to help him grow, to help broaden his horizons. he hasn’t shown any progress in dancing over the last few months — despite july’s evaluation especially — because he’s never allowed himself to grow. he can’t step forward if he glues his shoes to the ground. 

he’s lucky to be here, and maybe instead of desperately trying to prove his worth every month, he should accept that he wouldn’t be here without reason and enjoy it. 

he seeks out a dance coach the third day of the bootcamp after his mid-practice realisation, asks if he thinks it’s possible for someone of his skill ( or lack thereof, but isn’t adding that part of the problem? he bites his tongue ) to learn an entire song’s choreography in three and a half days. he appreciates the honesty when he receives a sharp ‘no’ in reply, but his own expression must say otherwise, because he adds ‘not without help’ and seungcheol manages to rope him into a collective few extra hours one-to-one over the three days to really nail the most difficult parts. 

to start, he focuses on the first third of the song, up until the end of the chorus that transitions into zico’s rap. the minimum he’s required to perform is a minute, but it feels like he isn’t taking his desire to change seriously if he doesn’t at least attempt the full three. besides, the chorus ( and pre-chorus, which for the sake of simplicity, he bulks together in his mind ) makes up such a large portion of the song that after getting his body to remember that with rest of the required amount, he figures it’s just a case of filling in the gaps — the rap, bridge and outro. 

when performance day rolls around, he’s as ready as he needs to be to feel comfortable. nerves still rack his body as he waits for his turn, but he reminds himself not to utter or even think the dangerous words he’s instinctively plagued by. instead, he chants ‘I can do this’ and the reminder to ‘enjoy it’ over and over in his head ( and very, very quietly out loud at times, to the confusion of passers by ) until it’s all he can think about — until he’s being called in and finding his place in the centre of the room. 

once the music starts, he heaves a sigh of relief, letting his lips curl up at the corners as he mouths along to every line. 

there’s truthfully nothing graceful about his movements. he’s heavy footed and a little stiff still, despite best efforts to practice it out of him, but he hopes that’s to be expected from someone with his starting ability and the timescale he’d cornered himself into. if he wanted to impress with the dance itself, he’d have chosen one he’d learnt directly from those in front of him, but as he keeps telling himself, that’s not the point. the point is to have fun and regardless of the jump he just forgot at the end of the pre-chorus, he is actually having fun. 

he’d chosen the song for a couple reasons which, in his opinion, show their significance during his performance. the first is the sense of comfort he feels with it being a dance that matches its simplicity with it’s energy. save for a few trickier parts ( namely the backing dancers in zico’s rap, which he, with a small laugh, skips over, following zico’s movements and even rapping a little out loud as he does so ), it’s not a complex dance— at least not to the level of kt’s lc9, anyway. yet, at the same time, it’s not a plain dance either. it’s not one that lacks effort or dedication, or fails to stand out on stage. that healthy balance, he supposes, is perfect for him right now. 

the second is the poorly thought out reason that he simply just likes the song a lot. it shouldn’t mean that much to the decision, because he also likes gfriend and you aren’t going to find him learning rough any time soon ( or perhaps you will with this new change of heart? ) but it’s one he thinks is at least important this time. he can’t have fun and it won’t show that he’s having fun if he doesn’t even like the song he’s performing, right? not at this stage, anyway. while he has the ability to, he should choose the beats that he enjoys the most. he won’t have that luxury another month, or after debut, and the whole point of this is to grow out of grumbling about everything and enjoy the opportunities that are presented to him, so he should start straight away with making the best of every situation. 

( that being said, it’s a steady process. he’s learning to try new things, but you shouldn’t dive in at the deep end without armbands if you can’t swim. he has to learn the basics before he can push himself further. he has a way to go yet before he can break out s.coups-tas tu on variety shows. ) 

had it not been for either of these comforts, he probably wouldn’t have been smiling still at the end of the bridge after his clumsy footwork for the verse and awkward body rolls in the two previous choruses. he knows that the choreography for the last chorus is a little different to the ones before it, but it feels easier to him to just repeat the moves he already knows from the previous. transitioning into the outro he feels a sense of relief wash over his body. the final wiggle is a move he’s perfected over the years through many instances of embarrassing dad dancing ( albeit block b do it with a lot more style, but maybe this is him leaving his own mark on the dance that isn’t stiffness ) and with the fading out of the track, he bows politely, thanks the staff for their time and leaves feeling on top of the world.