The Weight of a Rookie Idol

What a bothersome pair. Han Doyoung was a fraud. He had just emerged from the practice room, yet he brazenly lied to Lee Seon. ‘In front of the dorm,’ he said? Did he take me for a fool?

The path that had taken less than ten minutes to reach now stretched into over twenty on the return. This delay was partly due to my own invertebrate-like, sluggish gait, and partly because Han Doyoung remained engrossed in his phone the entire time.

“Oh, what the… Is this one melted?”

And Lee Seon, it turned out, was indeed a fool.

However terrible my condition, riding an elevator certainly wouldn’t take twenty minutes. He seemed to have vaguely concluded that the delay was simply because they had adjusted their pace to mine, given my exhaustion.

With no energy left to speak, I stumbled into Kwon Yohan’s room.

“Ugh…” A strange groan involuntarily escaped me as I collapsed face down onto the desk. Though I desperately wanted to dive straight into bed, I couldn’t bring myself to do so without showering. ‘I’ll get up when I find the strength to wash,’ I vowed, letting my body go limp.

Noise seeped in through the gap of the improperly closed door. As if their online comment war hadn’t been enough, Han Doyoung and Lee Seon continued their pointless bickering.

Lee Seon insisted that Yoon Jihyuk was siding with him since he’d promised to bring Lee Seon’s favorite pepperoni pizza. Han Doyoung, however, countered that Lee Seon was mistaken, as Yoon Jihyuk had agreed to bring ice cream specifically for him.

‘Why on earth are they fighting over such trivial matters? I simply couldn’t fathom it. The company covered all meal expenses anyway; couldn’t they just order whatever they wanted to their respective rooms?’

The commotion finally ceased only after Yoon Jihyuk returned to the dorm.

‘This is infuriating… Is he their dad or something?’ For a while, muffled voices drifted in, followed by a slow, drawn-out creak, and then a chilling draft brushed against my back. Someone had opened the door and was approaching.

“Asleep?”

It was Lee Seon.

Without lifting my body, I merely blinked, then answered a beat late. “…Is this your ex-boyfriend concept?”

“Are you going to infuriate me as well?”

Grumbling something under his breath, his voice laced with clear annoyance, he clattered a plate and a cup down before me. It was a generous slice of pizza and a glass of cola brimming with ice.

“You need to eat something before you sleep, or you won’t be able to work tomorrow.”

‘How cute,’ was the immediate thought that surfaced in my mind, which had become as sluggish as my body. Unconsciously, I raised my right hand and playfully ruffled Lee Seon’s hair.

I stopped my hand just before the trembling boy could unleash another wave of ‘noise pollution.’

“Thanks. And while you’re being so helpful… could you grab a pudding from that fridge over there? Take one for yourself too.”

“Honestly, you’re nothing short of a tyrannical lord,”

Though he grumbled, Lee Seon obediently retrieved the pudding from the mini-fridge. The outcome, however, was a slight deviation from my original request.

“I’m giving one to the older brothers too, okay?”

His face, as he carefully took out five puddings and handed only one to me, was beaming with triumph.

“Alright, go ahead.”

I wasn’t particularly fond of snacks anyway, and since I hadn’t bought them myself, it truly didn’t matter.

Only after Lee Seon gently closed the door and left the room did I slowly begin to move my hand. My still-trembling fingers fumbled, unable to properly tear open the pudding’s packaging. After a prolonged struggle, I finally managed to scoop a spoonful of the stubborn pudding, no bigger than my fingertip, and push it into my mouth.

There was a simple reason why I had asked for a snack I didn’t even particularly enjoy. I simply couldn’t bring myself to force that greasy pizza into my empty stomach. Yet, at the same time, I found it difficult to outright dismiss the rare act of kindness from the young boy.

Fortunately, it seemed to have been the right decision. After emptying the small plastic cup, the tremors in my hands subsided somewhat, and a sudden, overwhelming hunger swept over me, allowing me to swiftly polish off the remaining food.

Soon enough, my dulled mind began to function properly once more.

“I’ve missed far too much,” I mused. It had been overwhelming enough just dragging my enfeebled body through the scheduled activities, leaving me utterly unable to concern myself with other minor details.

To think I hadn’t even entertained the obvious notion that an idol would have established channels for communicating with their fans.

Intellectually, I knew such things existed, but I had never personally experienced them. Red Moon, after all, couldn’t even provide the most basic fan services, let alone dedicated applications. Live broadcasts were strictly controlled, always requiring staff presence, and SNS posts were only permitted on official accounts after receiving staff approval.

Then again, even if I had known, would I have been able to properly attend to them? Kwon Yohan’s body… it wasn’t an exaggeration to say I genuinely considered it a miracle that he hadn’t collapsed during a schedule yet.

Even today, Han Doyoung had vehemently stopped me from returning to the dorm when I’d reached my limit, resulting in my current miserable state. Why on earth did he insist on making me watch him create new choreography?

Though, doing my usual work again after such a long time did provide a slight sense of stability.

“Anyway, let’s just take a look.”

‘Q-Verse’ was straightforward in its functionality, requiring little time to grasp. Aside from the distinct artist and fan windows, it appeared largely indistinguishable from any ordinary social media platform.

The HEX members generally seemed to post once every one or two days. Sometimes they would simply upload a photo, other times they’d share a snippet of their daily lives, or leave a message, inquiring about their fans’ well-being.

Among them, Kwon Yohan was in a league of his own.

It was as if he did nothing but this all day. The traces he left, morning and night, were so incredibly dense that it seemed impossible unless he had truly integrated this into every fabric of his life. While there were some fluctuations, it was almost impossible to find a single day when he hadn’t logged in at all.

Similarly, days without a selfie were few and far between.

‘Is this how it’s normally done? How do they manage to practice and keep up with their schedules while doing all this?’ After scrolling down as far as I could, I found myself riddled with doubt.

‘Regardless, I need to post something.’

Though the gallery was overflowing with Kwon Yohan’s photos, each showcasing various adorable expressions, finding a usable one proved difficult. There were so many pictures of him in the same outfit that it seemed he might have taken a hundred shots just to select the best one. Furthermore, the attire in the most recent photo perfectly matched that in his last post.

Attempting to craft a written post was equally challenging. Kwon Yohan, who would send haphazard messages to his family, often neglecting proper spacing, presented only meticulously chosen, heartfelt sentences to his fans, as if he had carefully deliberated over every beautiful word.

‘This… could I possibly mimic this?’

Certainly, if I were to slowly read each post and discern his tone and patterns, I might be able to clumsily imitate it. But for some inexplicable reason, the text simply wouldn’t register properly. A suffocating, restrictive feeling seized me, and I ultimately closed the application.

‘Let’s do something else first.’ My thoughts swiftly gravitated towards that alternative.

I aimlessly browsed video sites. What primarily captured my attention were clips featuring Kwon Yohan, meticulously cut and pieced together from variety shows where HEX had appeared as a complete group.

Kwon Yohan, visible through the screen, appeared shy, yet occasionally managed to secure his screentime with surprisingly bold remarks. He presented the quintessential image of a rookie: somewhat clumsy, but clearly striving to make an impression.

Even though these clips were likely curated by fans to highlight only his adorable moments, a subtle, underlying distance often permeated the interactions between Kwon Yohan and the other members. It was discernible only in the most minute details, easily missed if one wasn’t observing intently.

‘…’ ‘This situation is more serious than I initially thought.’

I might not know everything, but rookies at this stage typically have limited content, prompting fans to dissect every available scrap in minute detail. Could the fans truly be unaware that the team wasn’t properly harmonizing?

To dispel the unpleasant lingering feeling, I played the title track’s music video one last time before rising from my seat. Within the opulent, heavy atmosphere of the vampire-themed video, Kwon Yohan’s solitary figure, clad in pure white and standing by a window, remained particularly etched in my memory.

That very image, which had appeared so benevolent and fragile.

****

The boy who had appeared angelic beyond the screen was, in the reflection of the mirror, merely a child.

[It was your day off today! Why didn’t you show your face at all?]

His eyes, brimming with unshed tears, looked as though a mere touch would cause them to overflow. Yet, I couldn’t reach him.

“Indeed. If you continue to stay there alone, you’ll surely fall into depression.”

[Huh? Ah… uh… yes.]

His response seemed utterly lackluster.

“Did I perhaps just hit a sore spot?”

[Well… I suppose so?]

He didn’t appear to be casting blame. I was the one who had blundered, yet Kwon Yohan was attempting to diffuse the situation with a smile. He unnecessarily rolled his eyes, then, after a considerable pause, spoke again.

[They say celebrities typically carry one of those burdens as a given.]

“Normally,” I echoed, then mulled over the sentence I had unconsciously repeated. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I didn’t fit the standards in many ways.”

I considered it a luxury to lament when I had accomplished nothing. Even when I must have known I was merely circling in place, I never learned how to stop. I simply ran. And ran. And ran again. The option of giving up had never even crossed my mind.

Kwon Yohan wore a grave expression, as if grappling with the most significant decision of his life. Feeling an awkward prickle, I idly rubbed the back of my neck.

Eventually, the boy came to his own conclusion.

[…So maybe that’s why I stayed on?]

His words didn’t quite resonate with me.

“Never mind that. More importantly, exactly where, how, and how much does it hurt? Is it some kind of terminal illness?”

Kwon Yohan’s eyes widened before he burst into laughter.

[You’re only curious about that now? Forget it. I’m not telling you. It’s not like I’m on my last legs or anything.]

“Then?”

[Just… take your medicine on time, and don’t overdo it. I even told you who to contact if something happens, didn’t I?]

‘Right?’ Kwon Yohan snapped, his voice abruptly chilling, and turned his back, clearly signaling an end to the conversation.

What could I do? He refused.

Swallowing a sigh, I finished my shower and emerged from the bathroom. Today, instead of the comfortable t-shirt I usually threw on before bed, I planned to wear Kwon Yohan’s favorite, incredibly adorable character pajamas.

I uploaded a few photos, then lay down. This should be fine. My exhausted body swiftly succumbed to deep sleep.