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James woke up to a silence that he now had to familiarise himself with. Though he was already used to the peace of it all—as a result of the amount of holidays he spent alone at the building. He didn't have to record any video logs anymore, even if it were practically an instinct. He looked up at the frame above him, tracing over the lines in thought; the wood was worn out, yet it held on—sturdy as ever—which was the least it could do now.
He sat up from his bed as he reached out to plug in his charger, stretching his arms out to ease his stiff body that seemed pained as of recent—either from the amount of practice, or lack thereof. At most times, James found himself in the studio, staring at his laptop screen in thought—he never really worked on anything as of recent when he had it open, simply using it as a way to distract himself from whatever was happening around him. Ideas came to a halt—his creativity washed out as did his motivation; he didn't try searching for an incentive, never feeling like doing anything at this point other than to wait for the holidays to be over, then he'd be able to busy himself.
Though, no matter how much he tried to do so, he found himself spending the weeks simply staying inside the dorm, watching as each member slowly left—one by one—leaving their rooms bare as though no one had lived there.
Jihoon was the last to leave, in which James had now been forlorn; they didn't exchange any words, no goodbyes, just him looking down at Jihoon in the middle of packing, and a tense atmosphere between them—because they both expected this outcome, no matter how much they dreaded it.
He didn't hate them for their decisions, but the feeling of them gone left him with a sense of disappointment, hurt. He attempted to pull them back up, get them into working again, spark at least a flicker of hope for their passion—alas, it just wouldn't work; and James couldn't accept such a rejection towards his feeble attempts at keeping the group together, for he, himself, had given up as well.
Nothing stays forever, and he should be fine with that.
He had to be fine with that.
James tried to ignore his reflection in the mirror when he went to the bathroom to wash up, not wanting to see how grim he looked from the late events. He probably had to eat for the morning, not wanting to stumble over himself during training, yet he found his appetite absent for the past days—it was fine, he would find something to snack on as always.
“Ah, shit.” James blinked, staring at the inside of the fridge.
It was practically empty, save for a few hotdogs left in the freezer. He looked at it, contemplating on whether he should eat, or preserve it for later on—not like he needed to eat right now, no? Then again, training would take up his energy, and he spent a good lot of time on his movements; James took a moment to consider his options, and with hesitation, he took out the pack and tossed it into the microwave—7 minutes, he didn't know why he insisted on that—letting it defrost as he headed on to his room.
His clothes felt heavy on him, wrinkles increasingly obvious, there was a certain scent to the hoodie that stopped him from changing out of it—yet he was persistent. James searched through his closet, grabbing the first thing he saw and switching out his clothes, even if it didn't spare him from the chilling atmosphere—he didn't mind it, in fact, he thought the cold was comforting despite how much it bit, it brought him back out of his mind when his skin stung. James grabbed his phone, pressing down onto the power button. He wasn't much surprised by the amount of notifications that surged through, his phone lagging from each one that popped up—a good lot of them were from the previous days, lessening each day till the latest one was only a few hours ago. He didn't bother checking it, what mattered was the battery, and it was barely enough for the day, only twenty percent, but it's not like he really needed it, not much. James huffed in disappointment, more at himself; there was maybe something wrong with him, even if the changes were good for him.
James ran a hand through his hair, heading to the kitchen to grab the freshly defrosted hotdogs, quick to toss them onto the pan. He only ate one for the morning, leaving the rest in a container that he'd set aside, even if his stomach wasn't content with just one, it was better than having a glass of water for breakfast—either that, or nothing at all. Despite the possibly unhealthy diet, it was fine, he didn't want to spend too much time in the morning, not when he had other things to focus on; it's not like he didn't want to eat, he would be busy getting back into routine, and he had priorities—he didn't have to waste his time off, now being able to fixate on improvement without any interruptions.
That was his resolution, at least supposedly; he wanted to see himself improve, innovate, it was the least he could do right now with the slump he's been in. He had a basis, and he would build up from that, for he didn't have much time for other things—hobbies, interests—James never had that much time for such when he decided he wanted to go down this route, but there were others that helped him manage. He shouldn't think too much about them, they were helping themselves now, and so was he—they were their own people.
He grabbed his things on the way out, deciding to rush himself in which he tied his shoes on the way to the building, bag hanging off his shoulder as he hopped, fingers working on the laces. It's not like he was late, in fact, it was early in the morning—a quarter to six to be exact. James liked running, or maybe the adrenaline of it, even if it meant he would be out of breath by the time he got to the building, because at least it would help him with his agility. He ignored his body twitching, as well as the restaurants he passed by down the sidewalk, not wanting to tempt himself with food—he didn't have an appetite, even if his body felt otherwise.
By the time James arrived at the studio, it was still quite empty considering the time. Training started at eight in the morning, and he was fairly three hours early, either he spent his free time as if it were a treat, or get a jump start by practicing. Surprisingly, he didn't choose the latter. James sat in the corner, his bag leaning against him as he pondered on what to do; strangely, he didn't want to use his phone—he had been like that for the past few days—nor did he want to use his laptop, felt like too much of a hassle, it's not like he had anything important to do on any of them. So he sat there, staring at the door as he waited, trying to stop his mind from drifting off into deep thought.
James watched as a few other trainees slowly started stepping into the studio, setting down their own stuff, seeing how they made small talk with each other. Some had their own circles, some kept to themselves, yet they still contrasted James' current state; they were, or at least seemed, content with their lives, while James wasn't. He didn't know if he felt envious of how each of them interacted with each other, their personalities varying yet finding common ground, whilst he was able to chat with them himself, there was never a connection, a spark. Maybe he kept to himself too much, maybe it was his introversion, even so, he was able to initiate, he had the energy for it. But in the back of his mind, he knew that it wasn't those things, not such.
Whatever spark he had has now been doused.
And James didn't make the choice to rekindle it, for he saw no use. Nothing would be the same as what he had before with Trainee A, for the group was all he knew—at least, that's what his mind came to.
So he sat there in the corner, envying them from afar, because straying away felt better for him than becoming too attached, not wanting to make the same mistakes—even if mistakes were part of the journey, not forever.