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Nobody sees it in Seungmin, but he knows it's there. The sense of self-criticism is one that doesn't easily leave. Not once has he been sure of himself or his actions, of his skills or his looks, of who he is or what he could be. Seungmin can only base his self-evaluation coming from what others input, on what information others provide for him. Sometimes it's feedback he asks for, or gets in practice. That input was not the type to bother him so much on its own. It's natural for humans to make mistakes and to need to improve. In practice, at the dorm, Seungmin is just that- A human. There, he is allowed to misstep and backtrack and rework things. That's the place where perfection is not expected, nor is it particularly needed.
But when there is a camera, Seungmin is no longer human. He is an idol. He is a toy for the company to market and needs to play his part. And his part?
Perfection.
But he's not good at playing his part. Anyone can see that. Pick a video, pick an article, pick a website- It doesn't matter. Seungmin sees the same words plastered everywhere, directed at him like bullets aiming for a crystal target. He shines, except he doesn't. There is nothing about him naturally appealing, there isn't a thing that makes him special. He only shines because he fits in with the other eight members. It isn't a shine that makes him stand out. Rather, it's one that just lags behind the rest, struggling to keep up and only there because it swallows up the extra shine from the others. Seungmin takes everything good about each member and embodies it oh so weakly. A dull, thieving imitation. He distorts it with his own darkness and tries to show it off like it's his good side. But the public sees right through this, even if the others don't.
Ugly.
It's true. Seungmin has ugly moles and a painfully plain face. Who wants to look at him?
Talentless.
Especially in juxtaposition with the others. What is there in his voice that Jeongin, Chan, and Jisung do not have? The answer is simple: Nothing.
Annoying.
Of course he is. He just stares into the camera and smiles because he's too useless to do anything else.
Fat.
Look at his cheeks. It only adds to the ugliness.
Loud.
This is a flaw even the members have commented on. Seungmin is too loud. He wishes he knew how to make himself quiet forever.
Worthless.
Yes, well...Seungmin knows. He knows.
Why is he there?
Why? He wants to know, too. Don't ask him.
A waste of air.
If he could just stop breathing, he would. He doesn't deserve the space he takes, the air he breathes, any of it.
I wish he would just die.
And Seungmin honestly wishes the same.
Living in a world where he cannot even live up to the most basic standards is horrifying to him, and Seungmin locks his phone as he lays it face down on the bathroom floor. He stares at the same medicine cabinet that he always does, the one that holds the leftover prescription pain medication from when Jisung broke his wrist some time before the show, the one that holds Chan's sleeping pills even though he labels them as something else, the one that holds various cough syrups and allergy pills and cold medicines. Seungmin may not have been able to find exact measures online, but he knows that if he mixed a lot of all of those with the soju his manager doesn't realize he knows is stashed in the side room, then he'd almost definitely die. He knows overdosing is such an unreliable method, but surely if he downed half of all of those with alcohol he wouldn't be unlucky enough to survive?
Perhaps he would, and then his body would be in such a weakened state that the next attempt would finish him off for good.
But Seungmin doesn't stand to open the cabinet. No, he inspects it with glassy eyes and trembling lips that try so hard to keep any noise behind them. He can't let the others know. He can just see Hyunjin's broken expression, hear the worry in Minho's voice, if he is caught crying by himself. It's different when he approaches them in tears. That, that is an open display of weakness. Something he lets them see. But getting caught means he doesn't want anyone to know, and that he never planned on letting them in on the fact that he was upset. That's a totally different situation, a totally different feeling.
His fist hits the bathtub-shower combo weakly. It still hurts anyway- The District 9 choreography has them touching the ground, repeatedly, resting their weight on bruised hands. So of course when Seungmin hits these purple bruises on the hard surface, it hurts. He hisses, but it's not enough. It just doesn't satisfy the voice in his mind that reminds him of everything that is wrong. That part of himself that focuses on all of the mistakes the idol made.
The idol must be perfect. The idol is manmade. Seungmin is not perfect. Seungmin is unsuccessfully manmade.
Ugly. Talentless. Annoying. Fat. Loud. Worthless. Why is he here? A waste of air. I wish he would just die. Yes, those are the results of his blood and sweat. The years of dedication and tears. Seungmin understands that he's a failure. He gets it, and that's why he stumbles to his feet and leaves the bathroom. There is no such thing as rest for someone like him. He avoids eye contact with Felix, who brushes his arm with a light smile as they pass each other. Seungmin simply lets his gaze slide by the starry cheeks and shaped lips, and retreats to the empty living room. He doesn't know if Felix notices the minor action, but he doesn't think it will do much even if he has. Seungmin is allowed to have bad days, so he can blame it on that if the dancer asks.
Blackness. It's ugly and it's tangled knots of thread strung inside of his crooked body. Seungmin feels it as clearly as he feels his fingers and toes, the blackness that tightens around veins and arteries and muscles and bones. It makes parts of him numb and the rest ache and burn as he begins stretches in the empty area between the desk and the couch. He needs to keep busy to become perfect, or, less of a failure. He doesn't let himself rest. Seungmin feels the ugly blackness restricting his movements, causing muscles to cramp and tears prick his eyes. He hates it. He hates his weakness, because it defines him. It molds him into this misshapen mass of human body parts and traits that amount to a total of nothing. Seungmin stretches farther. His legs are bending and it's all wrong. He's all wrong.
Farther, straighter, straighter and farther or the stretch isn't right and he gasps at the pain and he attempts to force it. Seungmin must get better at it. He needs to get it right so those smiles his fans call sunshine can be real. They are so fake and practiced and wrong, they burn as the puppet string threads yank and tug to make it look just right. But a fake can never be as good as the real thing. Maybe the fans could love him then? If he could make it real and right? Right now they only like him out of obligation, Seungmin knows it. God he knows it, and then there are those who are brave enough to admit how broken he is. It hurts but they only speak the truth and it's the truth that hurts the most, isn't that right? Push push push push-
"Seungmin, stop," Chan grabs him around his waist, pulling him straight up and against his broad chest. Seungmin pants in the leader's arms, trembling just a bit. When did he get back? The teenager does not know. Thickened saliva keeps him from swallowing properly past the dead flower in his throat (That flower is the pretty voice he used to have before he realized he was not good enough) so he allows it to pool heavily on his tongue, "Fuck, Minnie, are you trying to pull a muscle or something? You're going to hurt yourself like that!"
Changbin and Jeongin stand in the doorway, both looking a little more than distressed. Seungmin wonders if he looked like he was struggling with the complicated stretch that badly. He swears it isn't that bad.
"I just...Wanted to do it," He whispers. There is the part of him that is melting into the warm hold, the comfort and familiarity of Chan's embrace. Then the rest of him knows he doesn't deserve to slump into something so nice and it's pulling him away. But the man does not let go, and he shuts his eyes in despair, "Hyung, let me go, I won't do it again. I'm sorry."
"You have to work towards that kind of stretch, you can't force it," Changbin speaks up. He's biting his lip unsurely, "Don't get hurt."
Jeongin is looking at Seungmin with a more critical eye, the kind he wishes to shy away from. Those are the kinds of eyes that can see his every flaw and weakness, and rip him apart. They will do that. He lets the puppet strings do their work and laughs something akin to acid. It burns his mouth and tastes sour but he doesn't know what else to do. He's too stupid to figure it out. Too worthless. He wonders why they are even wasting their time on him. Shouldn't they be eating dinner right about now? Seungmin wants them to be healthy and happy. He is a poison that drags the health and happiness out of others. The team shouldn't be near him, and he fights weakly against the arms he is trapped in.
"Hyung," His voice is so whiny, it grates at his ears. Disgusting. He does not look anyone in the eyes. They would see the wetness in them that way.
"Let him go," Minho speaks up. Seungmin tears his gaze to the dancer who he had failed to see enter the room. Minho's expression is quiet consideration, but he motions meaningfully to Chan and finally- please don't let me go- He is released from the strong grip. Seungmin retreats to his bedroom without another word and does not look back.
It only takes a few more weeks for Seungmin to crack a little too harshly. He is prone to minor breakdowns. That's what happens when you're an ugly wreck, you just can't keep it together and he knows it. That's why he tries to keep to himself a lot, to minimize the visibility and damage. No one deserves to see the repulsive creature that he is, stripped of its skin and shaking on the ground. But today, where Seungmin is usually complimented, he has been criticized. Weak vocalization, unsteady, breathy, voice cracks, he's done it all wrong. By the time he reaches dance practice, his body is tense with the need to get it out, but exactly what "it" is, Seungmin's not sure. He is torn to pieces, told how terrible his dancing is, he's out of synch, that's the wrong step- Wrong wrong wrong. Seungmin is just wrong, and he hates himself for it. He cannot even manage a fake smile as he shrugs off Chan's concerns when he collapses into the van and pulls his knees to cover his face.
He needs to hold it together but it's so damn hard when everything is reminding you what a worthless thing you are. Talentless. Fat. A waste of air. I wish he would just die. Oh, he can just see the comments again in his mind, the same way he has for months now. There are endless repeats, but he can never forget the startled feeling when he saw their original rendition. His near-empty stomach fights violently against him, acid burning in the base of his throat. He's disgusting.
The sounds of conversation play around him but Seungmin knows all eyes are on him. They're taking in his weak form. Wondering why and how he became a part of this team. He wants to know, too. He wants Chan to take it back. So he stumbles out of the car as soon as they park, some sort of racket screeching against his ears as he tries to escape to anywhere that he isn't right now, but he takes one wrong step a few feet into the dorm and falls straight to his bruised knees. They ache in deep, harsh pain and his fingernails dig into the hard floor, enough to start to rip them from their beds. Someone is touching his shoulder and someone else is kneeling in front of him, but Seungmin really can't tell who or why. He can hear glass shattering inside of his skull. It's not a sound from the outside, it's a sound he knows he is hearing alone, but it hurt and he whines, high and long.
Seungmin is so ugly. He sounds so ugly. He looks so ugly. Everything around him is beautiful but he is the single dead flower in the field.
"Seungminnie," Chan's voice is so concerned that he must have been trying to talk to him this whole time. Through blurry, teary eyes he sees it is Minho kneeling in front of him, his small hands wrapping around Seungmin's to stop him from tearing off his own nails. He wishes Minho would stop doing that, so he could be distracted from his worthless, repulsive, fat, useless self, "Seungminnie, breathe, please. In and out with me, okay?"
He does not listen.
"Hyung?" Jeongin is terrified as he directs his voice towards their leader. Yes, Seungmin is surely the worst. He recognizes Felix's small fingers as they work at knots in his shoulder, and the volume of whatever sound is dripping from his mouth increases. He does not deserve to be touched by someone so kind and beautiful. He is a poison that seeps outwards. He will ruin Felix, eat away at his goodness as he tries to gobble it all up for himself. He will steal Jisung's bright smile, suck at Hyunjin's energy, crush Jeongin's happiness, consume Changbin's strength, destroy Minho's gentleness, and crumple up Chan's reassuring aura as he tries to better himself. Seungmin will be the end of them all and he knows it, this is why he doesn't deserve the space Changbin is making the young members of the group give him, except also Seungmin needs them gone. He needs them away so they don't fall prey to his disease. But it would be so much better if they suffocated and hurt him more the way he deserves.
"Seungmin," Felix's low voice whispers right in his ear and he shivers. It's comforting. He hates it, "Mate, it's okay. We've got you."
"Please stop-" He cries, "You ne-ed to stop, please."
"Why? Is there something wrong with taking care of you?" Jisung asks from the couch where he has pulled Hyunjin into a one-armed hug. He seems nervous to hear the answer, so Seungmin doesn't say anything at all other than "stop" because the warmth isn't good for him. It burns his skin the same way holy water would a demon- It's just too good for him. It's just too good for him.
"It's okay," Chan's talking to everyone, but it just hits Seungmin so hard and he falls backwards, straight into his broad chest. Arms wrap around him, keeping him there, and he just can't fight it anymore. He's so tired, exhausted from hating himself and exhausted from fighting everything. Exhausted from trying to be better when he can never be. He realizes when he meets Changbin's horrified gaze that he's speaking all of his thoughts but honestly he doesn't even care, the poison is spilling out of him and bubbling on the floor in front of him like acid and wow, Seungmin can see Jeongin crying now. Minho's petting his hair. He hates the attention.
He's supposed to die before he gets it.
"You're worth so much more than you think," Hyunjin speaks with a surprisingly steady voice, "Oh Seungmin, who even would say those kinds of things about you? You're so much better than you're saying, Seungminnie, I promise."
Hyunjin can promise, but it won't change the truth.
"It's everywhere. Don't you see them saying it everywhere? They taught me the truth, I was blind before, I didn't see it," He's mumbling and Changbin shakes his head sadly.
"That's enough, Minnie."
Chan picks Seungmin up and he simultaneously clings closer and tries to push himself away. Wishy-washy. Uncertain. Can't do anything right.
"We can talk in the morning," Minho tucks hair behind Seungmin's ear with a smile that isn't really a smile. Seungmin makes enough of those to know as Jisung wraps his own favorite blanket around Seungmin. It's soft, and that's why Jisung loves it so much. Another thing for him to ruin.
Some day that blanket will become ruined just like Seungmin, he knows. It will become dirty and used, wrong and unloved. He will wait until the softness washes out.