The second day of the MV shoot started before sunrise. The set lights hadn’t even fully warmed up when the stylists swooped in like hawks, armed with curling irons and hair spray.

“Sit still,” my stylist scolded for the fifth time, trying to flatten a rebellious strand of my hair. “You moved again.”

“I breathed,” I muttered.

“Stop doing that too.”

Across the room, the twins were arguing over who looked better in their outfits.

Geon, sitting nearby with his head resting against the mirror, groaned.

“You look the same, and you both look like background dancers in a perfume commercial.”

Renji chuckled quietly beside me. His hair was styled back today — clean, sharp, and unfairly attractive. I caught myself staring a second too long before pretending to check my mic pack.

When we finally stepped onto set, the air smelled like smoke and artificial flowers. The Garden of Eden had transformed overnight into something darker — same vines and gold ornaments, but the lighting had shifted to a deep crimson tone. Temptation instead of purity.

The morning passed in a blur of retakes, camera angles, and “just one more” from the director. My entire body ached by the time Garam finally announced lunch break.

We collapsed onto folding chairs in the corner of the set, still half in costume. The staff handed out lunch boxes — rice, chicken, and the tiniest portion of vegetables I had ever seen.

“Is this a meal or an apology?” Geon asked, poking the food with his chopsticks.

“Apology,” Jiahao said immediately. “A very passive-aggressive one.”

Renji sat down beside me, peeling the lid off his lunch box. He barely touched it, just stirred the rice absently.

“You’re not eating?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Not hungry.”

I frowned. “You said that yesterday too.”

“I’ll eat later.”

Jiahao, who’d been sipping his coffee like an overworked parent, set it down with a sigh. “Don’t start that again. Last time you said that, you passed out during rehearsal.”

Renji shot him a look, but Jiahao didn’t back off.

Geon leaned in, grinning lazily. “Our dear leader’s secret to abs — starvation and pride.”

“Shut up,” Renji muttered, though his tone wasn’t angry. Just… tired.

The room went quiet for a beat, just the faint hum of cameras being repositioned.

Jiahao broke the silence. “You know, it’s messed up how normal this is. Every group I’ve known — everyone does this. Fasting, skipping meals, chewing ice to trick their brain. Like it’s part of the job description.”

“It kind of is,” Geon said quietly this time. “Our bodies are the brand. We’re not people in this system — just mannequins with microphones.”

I felt a lump form in my throat.

I’d seen this before. I’d lived it before. The mirrors, the trainers’ comments, the constant pressure to look perfect even when you were falling apart inside.

I forced a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Remember during trainee years, when they’d weigh us after every meal?”

Renji’s jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

"I used to drink three bottles of water before weigh-ins just to make the scale go up a little,” Jiahao admitted. “That way the managers thought I was stable. Otherwise, they’d start ‘supervising’ my meals again."

Geon snorted. “Supervising, meaning staring you down until you stopped eating.”

Renji finally picked up his chopsticks, twirling them idly. “They make you think it’s discipline. Like starving is part of being strong. But it just… messes you up.”

He didn’t look at anyone when he said it.

I hesitated before speaking. “I used to think being thinner meant I was closer to debuting. Like my worth was measured in kilograms.”

No one laughed this time.

The silence felt heavy — but not uncomfortable. Just… honest.

Then Geon lifted a piece of chicken and dramatically stuffed it into his mouth.

“Well, I’m eating. Screw the brand. If they want me to starve, they can perform the choreography themselves.”

That broke the tension. Jiahao laughed first, then Renji cracked a faint smile.

“Yeah,” Jiahao said. “You tell them.”

Renji nudged my arm lightly. “Eat too. You’ll need energy for the next set. They’re planning the group shots — lots of movement.”

I nodded, finally opening my lunch.

As we ate in relative quiet, I caught Renji watching me — just briefly, but long enough for me to notice. There was something soft in his eyes, something that looked like concern hidden behind all the exhaustion.

Maybe he was thinking about more than just food.

Maybe we all were.

Because in this industry, hunger wasn’t just physical. It was survival. It was identity. And sometimes, it was the only thing that reminded you that you were still human.

The second half of the day felt like crawling through quicksand.

The group scenes always took the longest — angles, lighting, synchronization — and of course, this director seemed obsessed with the idea of “capturing sin through movement.”

Which, in practice, meant hours of redoing the same five seconds of choreography while trying not to sweat through the intricate costumes.

“Geon, hips less suggestive,” the assistant director called.

Geon blinked at her, deadpan. “I’m literally Lust’s backup dancer, how am I supposed to do that?”

“Make it artistic, not thirsty.”

“Oh, right, because a silk shirt unbuttoned to my stomach really screams fine art.”

Even Renji cracked a quiet laugh beside me, though he quickly hid it behind his hand.

We reset positions for what felt like the hundredth time. My legs were trembling from the endless retakes, my hair was sticking to my neck, and the fake smoke machine was blowing directly into my face.

The twins had completely given up pretending to look ethereal. Boom’s eyeliner was smudged into raccoon territory, and Bang had grass stuck in his hair from an earlier fall.

Yujun, ever the perfectionist, kept insisting on one more run for synchronization, his usual explosive energy somehow still intact. “We’re almost there,” he said for the fifth time in a row.

Geon groaned. “If you say ‘almost there’ one more time, I’m committing one of the other deadly sins on camera.”

By early evening, we’d managed to nail the final group scene — the one where we were all positioned in a circle, framed as fallen angels reaching toward a forbidden light source. It looked beautiful on the monitor, but my body was begging for mercy.

As the director called a short break before the final shots, I slumped down beside the fake tree prop, trying not to ruin my makeup with sweat.

Renji dropped down next to me, his shoulder brushing mine as he exhaled. “I think my legs forgot how to function.”

“I left my soul in the smoke machine,” I said weakly.

He huffed out a tired laugh. “Same.”

For a moment, we sat there in silence, watching staff members scurry around setting up the next shot. The light filtering through the studio windows had turned golden — the kind of glow that made everything look softer, even exhaustion.

Renji leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “You ever wonder why we do this to ourselves?”

“Because we’re masochists?” I offered.

He chuckled under his breath. “Maybe. Or maybe we’re just too scared to stop.”

His words lingered longer than I expected. I turned my gaze toward him, taking in the faint smudges of makeup under his eyes, the way the harsh lighting made him look both older and gentler.

He must’ve felt my stare, because his eyes fluttered open and met mine.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing,” I lied.

He didn’t look away right away this time. Just studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable as always, then smiled faintly.

“You’re terrible at lying.”

I wanted to come up with something witty, but all that came out was a nervous laugh.

Before I could say anything else, Jiahao walked by holding a bottle of water and a towel draped over his shoulder. “Are you two gonna flirt or actually help move the props?”

I nearly choked on air. “We’re resting.”

“Yeah, resting your faces about five inches apart,” he teased before walking off with a grin.

Renji shook his head, but there was a hint of pink at the tips of his ears.

“Leader privilege revoked,” I muttered.

He smirked, finally standing up and offering me a hand. “Come on, let’s survive the last scene.”

When I took his hand, his grip lingered just a second too long before he let go.

The final scene of the day went smoother than expected — or maybe we were just too tired to care anymore. It was a slow-motion sequence, all seven of us walking through the dim, golden set, each of us framed under soft light that reflected our sin.

For a moment, it didn’t even feel like acting. The exhaustion, the longing, the ache of it all — it felt real.

When the director finally yelled “Cut! That’s a wrap!” the entire crew broke into applause.

Boom threw his arms around Bang, screaming like they’d just won an award. Geon spun around dramatically, shouting, “We survived, bitches!”

Jiahao nearly fell over laughing, while Yujun just sighed in relief, muttering something about finally being able to sleep.

Renji turned toward me, and even in the chaos, there was that small, subtle smile again. “We did it.”

“Yeah,” I said, grinning despite myself. “We actually did.”

By the time we got back to the dorm, it was already dark outside.

The others scattered like exhausted ghosts — the twins collapsed dramatically onto the living room floor, declaring they were “one rehearsal away from death.” Jiahao vanished toward the shower, muttering something about “leaders never resting.” Yujun was half-asleep on the couch, one shoe still on.

I took a quick shower myself, trying to scrub off the fatigue of two full days of shooting. The hot water helped, but my mind was still buzzing.

When I came out, the dorm was quiet — the kind of quiet that only comes after everyone’s truly spent. I could’ve gone to bed too, but the walls felt too close, too loud with all the things I didn’t want to think about.

So I grabbed a hoodie and slipped outside.

The air was cool, damp with the faint smell of rain. Seoul at night always looked a little unreal — the city lights reflecting in puddles, the hum of passing cars like a lullaby. I kept walking without a real destination until I reached a small park near the dorms.

The swings creaked in the wind. A vending machine flickered nearby. I bought a can of hot coffee and sat down on a bench, the metal cold beneath me.

When I unlocked my phone, I saw a missed message from Minsung.

Minsung:

> Hyung, are you still alive or did your company lock you in a basement?

I smiled faintly and called him.

He picked up after a few rings. “Hyung! You didn’t text for two days. I thought your manager kidnapped you.”

“I mean, you’re not completely wrong,” I said, rubbing my neck. “We just wrapped up the music video filming.”

“Already? That’s crazy fast. Did you look cool?”

I let out a soft laugh. “I tried. Altough I probably looked sleep deprived. How’s school?”

“Eh, same old. Cafeteria food’s tragic, and I naild my math test again. Oh — and that cat I’ve been feeding? He brought me a dead bird as a gift.”

“Wow. Romantic.”

“I’m basically a Disney princess now,” he said proudly.

We talked like that for a while — about nothing important, really. Just normal things. Things that reminded me that somewhere beyond all the bright lights and camera flashes, there was still a small world that felt real.

But then his tone shifted, just a little. “You sound tired, hyung.”

“I am,” I admitted. “But it’s… a good kind of tired.”

“Good tired? That’s new.”

“Yeah.” I tilted my head back, watching the faint glow of city lights through the clouds. “It feels weird, being back in this world again. I thought I’d hate it — but the guys make it… bearable.”

“More than bearable, huh?”

“Maybe.” I smiled faintly. “They’re exhausting, but they’re good people.”

“That’s good,” he said softly. “You always do better when you’re not alone.”

His words lingered. For a second, I thought about telling him the truth — that this wasn’t just about money and a career.

Because I couldn’t forget the faces of the kids who’d disappeared — the ones no one ever looked for again.

But I swallowed that down, like I always did.

No reason to drag him into this mess. Minsung didn’t need to know. In his version of the story, I was just chasing a headline about celebrity scandals and shady contracts. Nothing darker than that.

“I’ll be fine,” I said finally. “Don’t worry so much.”

“I’m your brother. Worrying is part of the job description.”

“Still. I’ve got this.”

“I know,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “Just… don’t burn yourself out again, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

There was a brief pause, and then his teasing tone came back. “Good. Now go to sleep, you sound like a tired old man.”

“Wow. I call you to check in, and this is the thanks I get?”

“Love you too,” he said, and hung up before I could reply.

The line went dead, and the quiet settled in again.

I sat there a while longer, the cup of coffee cooling in my hands, watching the streetlights blink one by one as the city drifted deeper into night.

Sometimes I wondered how long I could keep walking this thin line — half truth, half lie.

Between chasing justice and pretending I was just another idol trying to live his dream.

For now, though, I just wanted to breathe.

To let the world feel simple again — even if it was only for tonight.