#cvx;performance

they’ll only be performing it alongside the title for the first week, but seungcheol vows to enjoy each and every one of them. it won’t be often that he gets a chance like this, so why waste it? he’s never been this enthusiastic to get up at the crack of dawn. this comeback era is his favourite so far, from its songs to its schedules and it’s put a spring in his step— in his smile that seems to stretch to his eyes and flash his gums far more now than it ever has in the past. 

when they perform ‘pretty u’, he’s the picture of vibrant youth, a blooming flower. he’s got a bright grin, a sunny disposition that is relentlessly honest and true. he’d said back in february that this would be his favourite comeback yet and he hadn’t been wrong. he’s always been so concerned about shining, about standing out enough for people to feel he’s worthy of his position in convex without taking any of the spotlight away from his members, but this comeback, it doesn’t cross his mind nearly as often — rarely in comparison. he’s so blissfully happy despite the same exhaustion, despite the same busy routines. he glows without having to remind himself because he’s so overjoyed that it bursts from him like sunshine. he’s gentle as ever but bouncing on his heels; he’s comfortable and confident and it’s beautiful. 

“cheol, your new song is so good! you looked so handsome performing tonight. I sent the clip to all my friends—” his father’s laughter cuts his mother off mid-sentence, their faces beaming through his phone screen the night after their first stages. “the ballad song you did, too... I wish you could have had more lines, but it’s not fair on the other members if you always outshine them, right?” if it were any other time, he’d insist only a mother would say something so embarrassing ( and so untrue; he never outshines, only fits in because that’s all he ever wants, to deserve to stand together with so much raw talent ) but today, he just laughs. 

“you looked so happy up there, cheol. we’re so proud of you; always. congrats on the comeback!” 

“thanks, dad.” he grins, eyeing the way his mother scowls. 

she tuts, “where’s my thanks! he barely said anything!” 

“can you forward me that clip you took?” 

he’s tired by the time the show starts, but, as cliche as it feels, he finds a new spark in the cheers of fans in the audience. there may be no one here for them, but he can still hear passionate people out there and that’s enough for him to feel a new lease of life to put on the best performance he can. there’s a lot of buzz surrounding them lately with all the line-up changes over the past year and their anniversary passing yesterday, so his priority right now is to take advantage of that attention and show the world why they should give convex the time of day — why they should keep watching and supporting them despite the uncertainty of the group. 

‘adore u’s funky beat booms through the venue and seungcheol is reminded how easy it is to lose himself in the music when he performs. even though their struggles lately are plain to see in the slight emptiness of the stage, ‘adore u’ is still a song of celebration and love and he intends to keep it that way. he doesn’t want to go the rest of their careers, their lives associating it with loss and pain. it’s just so hard. 

otherwise, it’s just like any other music show performance. he puts his all into it because that’s what everyone, himself included, deserves, and he enjoys every second for the same reason. each move is executed with a precision that is good enough for seungcheol, for where he’s at with the choreography changes and the skill in general. 

( and he doesn’t drop woohyun, which is really the most important part of the entire performance. safety comes first above all, and it’s easily his favourite aspect of this ‘comeback’, too. if he can perfect that, it should be a job well done, even if he knows that he’d kick himself if he made a mistake anywhere. there isn’t room for mistakes, especially right now. ) 

regardless, there’s not much he can do besides try to make himself look as professional yet as comfortable as possible. it isn’t difficult to do so in his expressions, an effortless grin stretching his lips at the reality around him. he could barely believe sometimes that he’s really here — not jeju specifically, but here in convex. surrounded by so much talent, it’s a mystery how he fits into the equation and some cold, lonely nights, he wonders what he’ll wake up to. if this will all be a dream when he opens his eyes in the morning. it never is, but he still worries. he wouldn’t be him if he didn’t. 

이젠 출발선 신발끈 꽉 매 비스듬해 우리랑 1등 사이 간격 해가 되던 모래주머니 양 옆 (옆) 발에서 떼고 자세를 잡아 크라우치 (달려) 꼴찌에서 이등이 되고 비등비등한 이틈에서 일등이 되고파 (I wanna wanna) 무작정 인기 많은건 됐고 우리 얘기로 많은 이들의 귀를 채우고파 (pull up)

his verse is pretty early on. from then, he waits for his smaller lines here and there, joins in the group parts quietly as not to overpower anyone else. truthfully, even though he had only known sehun prior to convex’s creation, he has grown to love the chemistry of their unit. the hard times he’d had opening up to rome and yien still bit him sometimes, but as performers, he couldn’t deny that they meshed together well. sehun certainly acted as a much needed wildcard to their mostly calm group. ( sometimes seungcheol forgets that he’s fourth youngest overall; he doesn’t really feel like he’s anywhere near the maknae line, but maybe that’s because he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders as if he’s facing retirement — as if he’s been doing so for ten times the years he has. ) 

this is proof of this. that they can come together after a couple months and perform this song for an audience as if it’s their hundredth and not nowhere even near double figures. perhaps if anyone’s not seen them rap this before, they’d even think there wasn’t any choreography besides the chorus, the way they move around each other that natural even if seungcheol’s movements himself are still a little stiff. it’s not that he doesn’t know where to go, what to do, but more that he’s restless, unsure of his own stage presence after so many knock backs. he’s boring, he’s just a filler member, but maybe ‘ah yeah’ and its four members is his perfect time to shine. 

with an extra dose of courage in his step, he finishes each chorus. 

I’m turnt up I’m super turnt up

he can already hear 'mansae’s opening beats in his head before they even begin getting into formation. at this point, the song is part of his soul, firmly printed in his muscle memory and still ringing in his ears after he lies down to sleep. it’s in his steps as he walks out, finds his place in the starting circle and flattens down his shirt out of view. it’ll only get ruffled in a few seconds when the high energy choreography starts but he’d rather at least start looking presentable. he’d seen some of the pictures from their promotion month and the way his shirt had hung around his waistline and jackets hanging off his shoulders had embarrassed him a little. he knows it’s inevitable, but he’d like to look as put together as possible. maybe then people would think he’s cool. falsely, of course, but it’d be nice to fool people for a little while. 

after so many hours of practices and performances, the dance rolls off his body like a calm wave. he doesn’t feel as much worry nowadays as he used to, but he still makes sure to watch the feet of others at points in formation changes that he often used to stand on toes. he believes he’s gotten good at hiding it, but maybe individual fancams will reveal all his dance secrets, though he doesn’t think for a second there’ll even be an individual fancam for him, and that should an official one be taken, it won’t be watched by many. maybe his confidence is what he needs to tackle first in this new year. 

by the time his part rolls around, he’s more than comfortable on stage. the first ten to fifteen seconds, though entirely the intro, are always his shakiest with their debut track. perhaps it’s because he’s adjusting to the fact that he’s here doing this; performing his debut song. he’s sure it’s something that will fade with experience. as they go through more and more comebacks, more and more stages, he imagines that one day he won’t even worry about falling over or a voice crack because there will already be plenty of evidence that that isn’t all he can do. perhaps he’s just scared of letting the team down, letting himself and his family down. 

or maybe he’s just choi seungcheol and even his own shadow scares him witless. 

( it’s probably that. ) 

알쏭달쏭 눈빛에 쩔쩔매 말 한마디 건네기가 왜 힘이 듭니까 아버지도 어머님께 이랬습니까 woo

he truly loves ( and feels like they fit him perfectly; the sphere producers obviously know what they’re doing, but it’s a little spooky when it’s yourself and not just idols you follow but don’t know ) both his parts, but the bridge slightly triumphs. he grins as he raps, allows himself to let loose a little in an attempt to ‘charm’ those watching even if he knows he still pales in comparison to members like hyun who embody charisma. he knows he’ll get there, but the small things help, and the bridge is a comfortable place to show a little more of his personality and the love he feels for music. lyric-wise, he prefers the former, but the beat of these lines has him feeling more energetic than usual, though he’s soon moving out of the centre position to make way for the climax of the track. 

콩깍지 씐 김에 니 부드런 손에 깍지도 살며시 껴볼래 girl

he’d realised after initial confusion why so much preparation had been going into this special show, but it still hadn’t prepared him for actually being here. the audience is bigger, and likely largely here for their senior groups rather than rookies like convex, but the pressure is still immense on his shoulders. if that is the case, he has to make a good impression in order to make sure their next attendance at a concert like this is for convex. ( it doesn’t rest solely on his shoulders, of course, but that fact has never mattered much to seungcheol’s nagging worries. ) 

still, getting perform ‘mr. chu’ of all songs is a blessing he won’t question. a lot of the time he wonders why he had been chosen to be a member of convex, and even in moments he shouldn’t, he still thinks about it, but it seems the simplest of opportunities are what push it to the back of his mind. he does feel honoured, too, to have all the things he’s got so far — a place in the group, his voice on their title track and unit track, his face in their album jacket, his poor dancing on music show stages. however, no matter how much he loves their title track nowadays, there’s something refreshing about getting to pay tribute to a song he’s loved since its release. he doesn’t say anything, though, because, just as he is with eclipse, he worries it’ll somehow make its way back to she’z ( to make matters worse, probably via national television ) and he’ll never live it down. instead, he quietly buzzes to himself as they wait, the ground around him still swimming until those around him respond to their cue and he’s entering onto the stage to get into position, grounding himself with a deep breath. 

he only has one short line in this performance as most of the group do — the honest reality of having thirteen members, especially in a stage only a couple minutes long — but it’s possibly his favourite line of the song. having only rapped for obvious reasons ( mostly being that he’s a member of the rap unit ) since debut, the chance to sing is one he grips tightly. it’s a little more challenging, too, than what he expected to be given here. he figured most of the lines would go to the vocal unit and perhaps they’d have worked in a small rap for their unit just to balance out the distribution a little, but he’d been pleasantly surprised when they started rehearsing back in december. all he has to do now is not mess it up. 

( in theory, it should be easy. he’s practised this enough times, worked hard enough. fate doesn’t always favour him, though. ) 

by the time his line rolls around, he makes sure he has enough power in his voice to deliver it. taking a well-timed breath, he smiles to the camera he finds ahead of him and sings with confidence. 

내 꿈결 같은 넌 나만의

he wonders if the viewers at home can hear his sigh of relief. 

his grin lingers as he continues dancing, his movements less impressive than his vocals but strong enough that he doesn’t feel insecurities start to slip in. it’s when he thinks too much that he screws up, so he keeps his mind blank, letting hours of effort move his body in sync with the rest of the group. 

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. 

he glances over at the injured members when he can, checks they’re still upright, still smiling ( or at least not wincing ). he takes a deep breath before each of his lines, tugs his lips up into a grin as he delivers them, returning to his thoughtful expression once he’s away from the centre. he doesn’t know what will happen after this, how baek jiyoung intends to handle this, but he knows they need rest — that she can’t possibly let things get worse. getting injured is bad enough, let alone the short time since their debut. they all worked too hard for poor decisions to make these injuries last a lifetime, to always be remembered as a group that rolled over in submission when hit with trouble. the rest of them, those lucky enough to have only sustained bruises or nothing at all, have to perform their best to make up for the empty spaces on stage while their injured recover, but it’s hard. it’s hard to think about anything but whether or not they’ll get the chance to recover, whether or not they’ll be given the time they need to heal. 

maybe it’s selfish to wish that the group hadn’t been hit by something so troubling when he knows he’s one of the worst of them with worrying needlessly, but it’s more than that. it’s knowing how much pressure they’re all under, how vital these first few months, let alone weeks, are. they don’t need the added stress. none of them. 

but it’s silly; of course it is. baek jiyoung knows what she’s doing, the members know what they have to do ( as much as they might not like it ) to recover well. worrying doesn’t help anyone but there’s nothing he can do about it. 

he barely sleeps that night, wrapped up in his duvet, it feels like a blink of the eye before he’s waking up again for the next day of promotions. 

he’s grateful that the day’s performances, rehearsal and live, will both be inside under shelter from the rain. still, sitting around waiting for each step gives him time to get lost in his thoughts again and receive a little note from a member of sphere staff to be careful on stage, the far away look in his eyes clearly more obvious than he’d expected it to be. he promises he will try, but it’s an agreement weakly made. he can try all he likes but he know it won’t happen. 

“we saw the news; is everyone okay?” his mother calls him that night, way after she should be in bed, but only just after he and the others returned home. “we saw you were missing a couple kids tonight.” 

he blinks, “you watched?” 

she laughs, “your father and I watch every night.” seungcheol smiles, then sighs. 

“a lot of us slipped in the rain in rehearsals yesterday, but most of us are fine; just a few bruises. sehunnie, kibum hyung and woohyun hyung weren’t so lucky, but we’re taking care of them, I promise.” an easier deal to make, though still not entirely truthful. seungcheol doesn’t feel like he’s helpful for anything, but he’s not about to admit it to his nagging mother — he’ll never get her off the phone. 

“good. take care of yourselves, okay? and tell them to get well soon from us. if you need anything, you know we’re always just a call away, right?”

he snorts, “even at five in the morning?”

“you know your father is always just a call away, right?” 

they talk for a while, as long as seungcheol can keep his eyes open. he knows that as time goes on, he’ll have less and less opportunities to contact his parents like this, so he takes every chance now. when he finally succumbs to sleep, his mind stays clear for the only night for a while, his mother’s voice soothing as the worries start to creep in. he savours it, because the rest of the month ahead promises him no reprieve. 

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.