Yeonjun plucks at the strings of his guitar, stretched so that it almost cuts his fingers, and looks at the humming crowd in the club. this place was familiar for their performances, and therefore he knew some of the people by their faces. Sweat is running down his ruddy face, and his long pink hair is wet with all the energy he puts out. the members of the group sing loudly, almost tearing themselves up, and Yeonjun only breathes deeply, blinded by club spotlights