these days, i...
adore you, sings jinwook under his breath. i adore you, i adore you, enough to get dizzy. the sheet of lyrics is crumpled between his fingers, his own parts highlighted in a pink so bright it almost stung his eyes when he first saw it. a few weeks later, the text is faded beneath the splash of color and in the seams of the page’s folds.
he’s in charge of some catchy chorus lines this time around, and as much as he dislikes the air of competition surrounding that sort of thing, it feels good - the parts are comfortable, and they fit him, and the center point dance that comes along with it is bright and dynamic, in a way that has quickly become convex’s own style, if he’s allowed to say so himself. he likes the way the chords shift minor at the end of the chorus, and he likes that the dance team has snuck in so many playful hidden bits of choreography, even if the song won’t see the light of a music show stage. he likes the idea of releasing a music video as an anniversary fan gift. all things considered, jinwook should adore it.
he sets the lyrics down and sets his fingers against the studio keyboard, absently hitting a few chords from the bridge. he should be just as enthusiastic about the amount of downtime that has come to the group between promotion cycles, but lately he’s been aching for more schedules to take his mind off things. after recovering from comeback promotions in may, jinwook had thrown himself into the vlive opportunities that came their way, but that was only once a week. the rest of their practice schedules had been mostly mindless routine, and jinwook would’ve appreciated the familiarity more if his personal life hadn’t been falling apart at the same time. he’d finally gotten the extra independent study and studio time he’d been missing, but mostly, when he’d tried to write, it’d been an unpleasant, pessimistic mess and not like convex’s bright image at all.
it’s never been jinwook’s personal style, either, to feel so listless in his happy place. he catches himself frowning at the blank wall, and he’d come here to work his parts, but he opens the bench and digs out a book of old sheet music instead - anything that won’t take the innocent lyrics i’ll sing you, and twist them into memories of a song he’d written himself, three years ago, in a tone just as adoring.

















