Chanyeol:
Over the next few days, I suffer alone and in the silence of my apartment, spending half of my time just passing through the rooms aimlessly, my mind on full blast, thoughts zooming by and not being able to settle on just one most of the time.
My fellow members are coming over later tonight for a housewarming party, not having had the time between when I began my lease and the beginning of our tour to have any type of get-together.
I spend the other half of these few days composing in the home office that I had redesigned upon moving in to act as an in-home studio.
I push the door to the studio gently open, flipping on the light switch. I see it, the discarded piece of paper, as my eyes scan over my equipment and the scattered sheets of paper lining my desk and keyboard.
Composing my own stuff has always been one of my favorite hobbies, even if the music that had resulted was almost solely for me and never saw the light of day.
I had presented a few things to our producers, and, although they usually always gave me positive feedback or constructive criticism, they hadn't used any of it. Not yet at least, I'm still hoping.
I look at the single sheet of music crumpled up on the floor a few feet away. I had thrown it in frustration last night and now I'm reliving the emotions that had gone through me in that moment. I shivered at the memory.
I could feel all over again, the feeling of hopelessness and confusion, as I collapsed into the desk chair, my face in my hands, I leaned my head onto my desk, near tears, before aggressively crumpling up the sheet and tossing it in a rage.
My anger has mostly subsided since last night, so I step hesitantly into the room and bend down to pick up the disposed song. It was a rough draft, a first try at expressing the feelings I've repressed for so long.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and straighten out the sheet of paper. Moving slowly to my office chair, I read over the lyrics as I calmly sit down. It's amazingly good for the little time that I had spent on it. It was accurate to my all-consuming emotions. It needs a touch here or there, but it isn't far from presentable.
I close my eyes tight and shake my head quickly back and forth for a moment. This song wasn't nothing… When I open my eyes, I lay the sheet out flat on my desk and grab my guitar from its stand to my right.
I play.
