Hyoseob had no idea what he expected to see once he looked in the wide mirrors of the Yes24 Live Hall’s dressing room. Some change, perhaps -- an additional wrinkle on his face, a visibly gray hair on his head, an apparent shift of his aura, making him a bit more stagnant, taking away some of the boyish charm he still had in himself.
It was still him: tousled black hair, styled with just the right amount of gel to make it look messy but chic, average height, just enough make-up to look natural but fix whatever the nature decided to interfere with that day. The semi-formal style of clothing added some seriousness to his usually casual and slightly scattered manner of dressing, but it wasn’t nearly enough to change who he really was -- that one singing guy, who loved his freedom more than anything else, liked drinking a bit too much and blindly chased after his dreams, trampling the earth-bound, current issues on his way.
Although he couldn’t have pinpointed as to why even if he wanted to, he felt a bit--disappointed. Every year, when that day finally comes, he tended to imagine: “what will happen this time?”. Some big change. Huge bang. A surprise keeping him on his toes, making the tiny hair on his arms rise. And every year, it was more or less the same, leaving him wanting -- needing -- more.
It was a terrible kind of greed, Hyoseob realized, to be in a perfectly fine position, yet still crave something else, something bigger, something better.
(The awareness made him feel dirty.)
The birthday live was supposed to be a consolation to that unspecified deficiency and make the day special by itself. A gesture appreciated by fans -- gathering on that one extraordinary day together in a concert hall, singing and dancing and cheering their hearts out for their idol, who decided to share the moment with them, rather than celebrate in privacy. A show for the family -- look at me, Hyoseob seemed to say through the action, look how successful your son, your brother, is on his twenty-fifth birthday; and it continues in a silent plea, please, be proud of me, be happy about my success. For the elderly couple, it’s an assurance, you did good bringing me up, look what you created. Finally, a nod towards all of his friends, people who had stuck with him over the past year and decided to tag along into the next one (”I have no idea what I would do without you,” Hyoseob said to Yongshik backstage in the heat of a passing moment of overwhelming emotions, fans cheering in he distance of just few metres away. All he received in answer was a surprised kind of doubtful look and a painful punch in the back of his shoulder by Millic, “Shut up, you sound like you’re fifty, not twenty-five”. He laughed; he really did.), a party to celebrate the friendship, the loyalty, the mutual help and the support in both the good and the bad times.
But the truth was, it was all about him.
All for him.
Selfish needs, simulated validation of his existence, coping mechanism to being a greedy brat who never felt satisfied with anything and wanted to, just for this one day of the year, feel like something more than he in fact was.
That stage, on that day, was made into his throne, the microphone his royal sceptre and everyone beneath him, cheering and laughing, his faithful people, there for his joy, happiness and well-being.
When all the lights were on him,
a lone bright figure in the entire hall,
he almost felt content.
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