Supernova

Burn Up

"You need anything else, J?" My manager asked me as he opened the van door and I stepped out into the private basement car park of the exclusive apartment complex where we lived. 

"I'm good, hyung." I said, reaching into the car and grabbing my bag.

"Ok, then. You get some rest." He said, patting me gently on the shoulder. "It's been a long day and you have another early call. I'll be here at 6.30am."

"Thanks, hyung." 

He raised his hand in farewell, taking his mobile out to tap into it, just as I stepped into the lift, swiping the keycard as I did. The doors slid closed silently and I exhaled.

Long day was putting it mildly. The photoshoot had been a night shoot so we'd started late and it had taken five hours for the photographer to be satisfied. What with a morning of dance practice, an afternoon in the studio recording last minute changes to a few of the tracks and the hours in make up and styling, I'd been on the go for a very long time indeed. 

And yet, I was wired. 

Making a snap decision, I hit the code on the panel for the private gym. I knew myself well. I was too wired for sleep. I needed to wind down if I wanted to get any rest and this was the only way I had at the moment. 

The lift pinged and the doors slid open.

There was no-one at the gym at this hour, I had the whole place to myself. I walked over to the treadmills by the windows overlooking the Han River, set my bag down and removed my hoodie, dropping it on top of the bag before stepping onto one of the machines. As I started my warm up run, I let my mind wander.

It had been two hectic months.

I'd done my best not to overthink, to just jump into things and get back into the swing of it. I'd told myself that there would be readjustment, I'd been away for two years after all, with practically no contact with the entertainment industry at all during that time. 

And the readjustment didn't just apply to the work - it also applied to people. Specifically the group. I hadn't spoken to any of the members while I'd been away, thanks to the nature of my military service and the restrictions it placed on me.

It was natural that there'd be some initial awkwardness.

What I hadn't banked on was how very out of place I'd feel. 

Oh, I still enjoyed the music, the singing, the dancing. The creative part of it all still felt good. So did working with the group again and the staff, they were all family after all.

It was the rest of it that no longer fit me. 

Or perhaps, I no longer fit it. 

The circus that went along with the artistry was a struggle for me. Not the tight schedules, the relentless workload, being pushed to the limit physically and mentally, not that. 

No, it was the attention. The light that shone constantly on us. Being on display all the time. 

But then, I'd always been uncomfortable with that.

I upped the speed and incline and began running flat out, looking out at the glittering lights of Seoul at night but not seeing them. 

I'd been a teenager at a performance my cousin's band were giving at a street fair. Their lead singer had a huge row with the rest of the band and had stalked off just before they were due on stage. I'd been bribed with the promise of free meals for a week to take his place as I was the only other person who knew the songs and I could sing better than the rest of them.