#machine.

if there’s one thing that jinsung hates more than anything else in this world, it’s vocal practice. he hates the feeling of his throat straining, he hates the way his vocals sound in the empty room. and the way their vocal coach picks them apart, leaves them open and bleeding like wounds.

he had never wanted to be a singer, he just wanted to be famous. and he liked dancing, liked the way it made his muscles burn, was deeply satisfied every time he nailed a particularly hard routine after hours of trying again and again. he enjoyed the praise his teacher would give him and if he’s being absolutely honest, he loved the way they would film themselves because he got to watch the video back and take pride in himself and all of his hard work. if he had it his way, he would have kept strictly to dancing, maybe providing some small vocals or maybe even trying his hand at rap. but for whatever reason, his first vocal lesson had left him with the official title of a vocalist.

it got a lot harder after that. the company got a full report from their teacher and after that, they hounded him for it. a boy who had no interest, no prior training in singing and suddenly knowledge was being crammed down his throat at every moment. hours spent with the same cranky old man staring at him behind a keyboard, making him practice note after note. relax your throat, breathe in, and pull the notes out. jinsung was nothing if not a perfectionist, maybe if it had come easy to him it wouldn’t have been a problem. hell, he wasn’t opposed to hardwork, was used to it when it came to school and his studies. but singing was a whole other beast, a monster that didn’t want to be contained or controlled at first.

and so he worked his ass off. he sang every chance he got, lost his voice more times than he should have, was scolded for not taking care of himself properly and cried like a baby in the bathrooms that no one ever used.

nowadays vocal lessons are still like going to war. it’s a little easy now that he knows what he’s supposed to do. but the stares he gets from the vocal teacher never get easier to face. it just gets harder, the looks of contempt like jinsung was handed a gift that he threw away, like he was doing nothing but taking his voice for granted. which was the exact opposite if you asked him. he was the one getting up on stage and pouring his heart out for waiting ears.

and so here he is, in preparations for their next comeback looming on the horizon and jinsung’s been summoned by their teacher once more for vocal practice. usually he’s lucky and it’s all three vocalist of atlas, but due to schedules it didn’t work out quite the way he hoped. and of course jinsung has to make it worse, drags it out by slowly making his way into the room much like a man sentenced to death. as he pulls open the door, he already sees the telltale throbbing vein in their vocal coach’s forehead. he bows his head, words kept to a minimum as he shuts the door behind him and takes his seat in the chair across from the other. jinsung takes a deep breath and unfurls the lyric sheets from his tight grip as he meets eyes with the older man and deep down he knows that it’s going to be a long hour.