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Red Velvet on Twitter (@rvsmtown)
Hello. This is Red Velvet.
All members have thought a lot about their contract renewals. Four members will continue their activities under the management of SM Entertainment. Red Velvet is fully supportive of Irene's career under her new management.
All members have no thoughts of disbandment at all.
Please keep supporting Red Velvet in the future.
No Song to Regret
… it will be the silence, where I am, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on.
(Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable)
A year later Seungwan still wakes up to the same dream.
Nightmare, she’s been wanting to correct herself. Not a dream. A nightmare, nightmarish memory. She still can’t correct herself. Or maybe she doesn’t really want to.
In her dream, she is still surprised that it was Yerim who gave voice first to what the rest of them had in mind. She’s expected Sooyoung to be the one to lose her temper, and she’s even prepared herself for Seulgi’s possible breakdown. Yerim’s shrill cry burned the last word that even just hearing it made Seungwan flinch in shame as if she herself were the receiver of it. Had it come to the public knowledge, Yerim would surely garner vicious criticism or even derail her own career at once.
On her left is a seething Yerim. On her right sat an ashen Seulgi, her grip on Seungwan’s knee painful even though her hand was trembling. Next to Seulgi, Sooyoung gritted her teeth so hard, jaw taut, veins on her cheeks, her trademark coyness gone. Facing the four of them: their Joohyun. No, not theirs, Seungwan noted, tasting sandpaper in her dry mouth. No longer theirs. Even in her dream, it tasted real.
In her dream, persistent was that soft, composed voice, that of Irene Full of Grace, Korea’s goddess. Persistent was her mask that, for the first time, was shown to them instead of to the mass. The moment they all gathered for that fateful five-minute session, Seungwan knew that Joohyun would not budge, and she knew that Joohyun knew they knew. The graceful mask did not falter in that drawn-out five-minute session, not even once.
She feels a dull pain pulsate under the skin over her ribs. Or maybe from behind her ribs. Breathe in, Seungwan. Breathe out, Seungwan. Like the dream, persistent is the pain.
Leaving her bedroom for the kitchen, she feels disoriented for a moment now that she only stays at the dorm when necessary. Walks straight, left, another left, straight. Takes a glass with her initial. Tries to index the jumbled memories swarming her brain: a ghost of red lipstick on the rim of the same glass when one morning Joohyun could not get hers from the top shelf and used Seungwan’s instead; the pumpkin juice Joohyun always reminded them to drink at night; five dirty identical glasses in the dishwasher, forgotten for the two exhausting weeks of their last comeback. The phantom pain on Seungwan’s side throbs.
She finishes her water, puts the glass in the sink, and prepares to go back to her room. Passing by the couch in the living room, she notices a Sooyoung-shaped lump. On the wall overhead, the clock hits 3:40. Sooyoung had a late night schedule, Seungwan remembers, and she has to leave again at 5:00. Must be nice to be able to lose yourself in your work and go home dead tired and just sleep. In her sleep, Sooyoung pulls her blanket higher, almost touching the bridge of her nose. Sleeping in Joohyun’s choice of crib when her own bed can’t give her the rest she wants, Seungwan knows.
She could have roused Sooyoung and told her to sleep in her own room. You’ll catch cold sleeping here, you’ll get a crick in your neck when you wake up, she could have told Sooyoung, but to her dismay the voice in her mind has emulated Joohyun’s.
She ends up lifting the end of Sooyoung’s blanket, scoots closer, and fits herself at the end of the couch, Sooyoung’s feet digging into her thigh, her own feet resting on the coffee table. Sooyoung calls her name, voice groggy and heavy with exhaustion, which Seungwan responds to with, “Go back to sleep, Ddoong.”
Sooyoung mumbles a barely-there affirmative, rising only to turn around and wind an arm around Seungwan's waist, and goes back to sleep. She doesn’t ask why Seungwan can’t go back to sleep. There is no need to ask.
Closing her eyes, Seungwan wishes for one hour of dreamless sleep, one where her brain won’t replay the first thing Yerim had said in that five-minute session.
-.-.-
Greg Kurstin pushes his short, curly locks up his head, takes a deep breath, and stares at the gray wall over her head. He’s silent for some time, merely dragging his fingers down his cheeks. “Wendy,” he breathes out, and in the booth Seungwan fidgets in worried anticipation, “how are you this good?”
It’s become instinctual to bow at whatever is thrown at her—compliments, taunts, pipe dreams, empty promises—until she remembers that he’s American. He doesn’t need her bow. In between thanking him and hiding her flushed face, she raises two thumbs at him. “All thanks to you, Greg,” she says.
“Alright, folks, dinner and then off with the rest of our schedule. Please be back here at nine sharp. Chop, chop,” Greg announces to the rest of the recording team in the studio, who slink their way out to recharge their coffee-fueled bodies. Seungwan exits the booth, stands next to Greg’s chair, waits for a new note or instruction. No one is perpetually flawless, after all. Reading her expression, Greg gives her an easy grin, reaching into his brown bomber jacket for his phone. He shows it to her. “From Sia. Read it yourself. I sent some short clips from our morning sessions to her.”
She ducks her head, chin nearly touching the dip between her collarbones.
“Stop expecting me to mark you down, Wendy. There’s a reason Sia wanted your vocal for this song.” Greg clicks his tongue, still good humored. “So learn to take a compliment, will ya.” He rises, gathers his notes, pats her on the arm. “Also, about what I said yesterday. Just think about it, okay. No pressure.”
She only exhales loudly after he leaves.
-.-.-
As expected, Sooyoung is still in the KBS studio when Seungwan drops by its building. Sooyoung’s scowl at the arrival of an interruption-in-person is swiftly replaced by a large grin as she recognizes her. She skips to get to her, even.
“Urgh, Ddoong, no. You’re all sweat.” She pushes Sooyoung away in mock disgust.
Sooyoung only pulls her closer. “Eonnie, it’s not everyday you visit me during taping. You love me, sweat or no sweat. That’s why you’re here.”
“I’m only here because I promised you this.” She raises the large bottle of mixed berries smoothie that she’s bought on her way. “And I’m a woman of my words.”
Sooyoung beams. “I’m the luckiest person in the world that you’re a woman of your words.” She takes the bottle from Seungwan, sits on the floor, leans against the wall with her legs stretched out. With a wave of her hand, she invites Seungwan to sit next to her. Sooyoung won’t be there for too long, Seungwan knows. Her break is about to end, her taping to resume.
“Oh, this is really good.” Sooyoung’s already finished half of her smoothie when she pushes the bottle toward her.
Seungwan eyes her suspiciously. “You only feed the stuff you don’t like to me.”
“Eonnie,” she whines.
Sighing, Seungwan takes the bottle from her, takes a sip, and returns it with an affirmative hum.
“No, drink some more, eonnie.” Sooyoung's grin was intact, but her eyes softens when Seungwan takes a few more gulps. “Good, right? Told you. What time do you need to be back at the studio?”
“Not until nine.” She lets out a resigned chuckle. “And after that, they want me to shred my vocal cords.”
Sooyoung’s eyebrows rise. “I thought they’ve changed their mind?”
She shrugs.
“I see.” Sooyoung nods. “Well, I hate seeing you push yourself like that, but when have you listened to me, right? And it’s not everyday that Sia wants you to sing her song. So.” Sooyoung nods again, bumping her shoulder to Seungwan’s. “I know this goes without saying, but you’re gonna rock the song, eonnie.”
“And this is coming from, what, one who’s bound to perform Red Flavor in a week.” She chuckles.
“Oh good Lord, why.” Sooyoung joins in her chuckling. “No offense, I love it, but it’s definitely our Gee.” Then Sooyoung snaps to attention, checking the door and exhaling in relief when she can reassure herself that there’s no one at the door. At Seungwan’s bewilderment, she says, “Taeyeon-eonnie was here earlier.”
“Nah, you’re safe. She hates Gee.” Seungwan snickers. “And every song she hates juuust happens to be the group’s best selling.”
Sooyoung stares at her before breaking into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “Can you imagine, eonnie—hating your biggest hit? Yet performing it for the rest of your life—I mean—eonnie—I just—” Her slaps land on Seungwan’s arm and shoulder. “God—I just—I can’t.”
Her own laughter quietening, Seungwan acquiesces, “Yeah, I can’t.” She rests her head on Sooyoung’s shoulder, closes her eyes, and hangs on to her memories of Joohyun’s face when they had to perform Red Flavor one time too many.
Driving back to the recording studio, she takes a longer route. On the radio, two DJs are talking, wishing Wendy-ssi all the best luck with her incoming project with Sia, because it’s not everyday Sia personally asked a singer to sing her song, is it?
“That, and I hope we can get clarification soon about the rumor of her going to participate in an American TV show.”
“As Wendy-ssi’s biggest fan, I’m very proud of her.”
“What do you mean her biggest fan? Should I challenge you to a duel for that title?”
“Hey!”
Where were they when giant cameras capped with exorbitant long lenses camped in front of her apartment complex just to get a shot of her in distress? Where were they when Sooyoung would not even smile as she shut down intrusive questions on talkshows, earning herself the moniker The Savage Idol? Where were they when Seulgi, upon learning their company’s decision that she was to assume leadership in the group, took it upon herself to study hours and hours of past interviews even though they hurt? Where were they when gossip staples pitted Yerim against Joohyun just because Yerim's newest single came out mere days after the news broke?
Where were they when Joohyun left?
Happiness is playing in the background to the DJs’ chat. Odd choice, given the hour. “You know,” one of the DJs begins, “I’m rooting for them, too.” He lets out a chuckle. “My daughter adores them, and she might hit me if she hears me saying this, but I’m glad all Red Velvet members have matured into who they are now. Can’t imagine them singing the same song over and over again, can we, really.”
On the radio, her twenty years old self belts out the lines that introduced Korea to Red Velvet’s Wendy who shone the brightest on the stage.
Seungwan tugs the rim of her baseball cap lower and grips the steering wheel tighter. She tells herself she has no song to regret and makes herself believe so.
-.-.-
By the time they are on the twelfth take, she’s wanted to burst out in tears and claw her throat to pieces. Think Twist and Shout, Seungwan, she’s repeated it to herself. Think Tom Waits and that goddamn croaking frog in a vodka barrel dump of a voice. Think Tina Turner and the 500,000 takes she did for River Deep, Mountain High. Think of something, anything. Think of Joohyun.
She flounders on the last run, and the staff on the other side of the glass let out the breath they’ve been holding for the last two minutes, some barely able even to hold back a groan. Disappointed, but not surprised. They are all rooting for her, wanting to see her nail it, needing her to reach that peak. Still.
She makes a hand gesture to Greg, asking for a five-minute break. It hurts to even swallow. Sandpaper, sandpaper, sandpaper. The grey wall almost swims behind her eyelids. Greg enters the booth. “Still okay, Wendy?” he asks, handing her a bottle of water.
Nodding, she takes a sip of her water. “Yeah. I can still go on.” Sia has the perfect vocal fry for the song, and yet she wants one tiny Korean singer—idol, even—to sing it. Wants her. Wants her and no one else. Seungwan won’t give the world the satisfaction from watching her fail to meet the expectation. If people hit you with their doubt, hit them back twice as hard, her mind Joohyun says. Sandpaper, sandpaper, sandpaper. I believe in you.
Greg takes a long look at her. Folding his arms across his jacket-clad chest, he sighs. “Alright, one more time and we’ll call it a day.”
“But—”
“One more time.” Then he adds, gentler, “Wendy, it’s three in the freaking morning. I’m more than pleased to see your dedication, but the team needs some rest, too. Not everyone can run on sheer determination like you.”
She sighs. “Alright.”
Greg pats her on the shoulder. “So I guess this is your answer, huh.”
She gives him a wry smile. “What tells you?”
“Say what, lemme take you to breakfast and I’ll share my super secret, super short list of people who’ve literally turned down a collab with Sia.”
“Turn down? I was just thinking I wasn’t ready.” She puts on an affronted look to her best ability.
“Wah, wah. Told you before to learn to take a compliment, didn’t I? And I say this as your fan.” Grinning, he leaves the booth. Takes a seat, puts on his headphone, gives her the signal to start again. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. You can do this, Seungwan. You can do this. I believe in you.
From the top.
-.-.-
Her throat hurts for the next four days, and she only manages to have breakfast with Greg on the day he is scheduled to return to the States. It goes in a quick manner, her telling him to thank Sia again and again—a thousand times, please, tell her I love her and thank her and worship her a thousand times and more—and his telling her that he is looking forward to working with her again. In fact, he’s already had some sort of composition that can only go with her voice. “Just meet me in the middle, Wendy,” he tells her. Whether it’s an invitation or a request, she doesn’t want to think too much about it for now. Twenty years old Seungwan might only try to survive vocal nodules and damning debut timing. Tomorrow Seungwan may run to the phone first thing in the morning and beg Greg for the promised song. Today Seungwan has better things to do.
Such as appeasing Sooyoung.
“Yah, Wendy Shon Seungwan-eonnie! I can’t believe you!”
Why does she think admitting Sooyoung to her apartment is a good idea, again?
Said person drops—throws!—her bag to the couch noisily, half of its content spilling to the carpeted floor. In three strides, Sooyoung gets a hold of her. Hands on Seungwan’s shoulders, she gives her a good, rough shake. “Why am I just finding out from our manager that you’re not going to California? Are you insane? Eonnie!”
She clasps Sooyoung’s shoulders in return, locking them in a ridiculous half embrace, half choke. “Yes, Ddoong, because Cali means I will be singing with Sia. Yes, because Cali means the first collaboration I would’ve done in a year is not with you, or any of you messy, chaotic kids. Whom I love to death, make no mistake, but messy and chaotic still.”
Sooyoung grips her shoulders harder. “Eonnie, it’s been a year. Being sentimental isn’t making it any easier for you, for us.”
She scowls, lets go of Sooyoung, slumps on the couch. “I know it isn’t.” In fact, she’s made up her mind ever since she accepted Sia’s invitation after her cover of Chandelier in The King of Mask Singer made rounds on the internet. And with her company's lack of enthusiasm notwithstanding, it doesn’t matter whether she stays or goes. Her new single has already got waves of buzz just from its being Sia’s first collaboration with an Asian singer. One small step for K-pop, one giant leap for Asia, Billboard wrote once they caught air of the ongoing project. To be honest, Seungwan will be much more content if she could busk a performance in Sia’s residence, just the two of them and one piano, no camera involved.
Sooyoung slides to sit beside her. “There goes my dream of being the first person to receive World’s #1 Hit CD signed by Sia and you.”
“I can sign it anytime.”
“Shut up. Urgh, I’m still mad at you.”
“Figures. Seulgi called to tell me the same thing earlier.”
“Joohyunnie would—”
Sooyoung catches herself short and stops. Looking at each other, they groan in unison. So much for being sentimental.
-.-.-
Sooyoung’s glare when she and Seulgi enter the izakaya would have shut a crying child on the spot. That being said, from Sooyoung’s left Yerim gives Seungwan a shit-eating grin. “Ignore Sooyoung-eonnie. She’s just pissed because she lost the bet.”
“You two bet on me?” She slides onto a seat next to Seulgi, who sits beside Sooyoung.
Yerim rolls her eyes. “Technically, I only bet on you not leaving Korea for the recording. Sooyoung-eonnie was very specific, though.” Then she mimicks Sooyoung to a t, “‘Seungwan-eonnie would record an MV with Sia if only to piss our company. Sia would play the piano, but the camera would only shoot her from the back. Seungwan-eonnie would sing with a poker face. They two would look out the window as the camera panned away, and Seungwan-eonnie would leave by walking on an empty street.’
Seungwan’s mouth gapes open.
“And I won.” Yerim pushes a shot of soju toward her. “First round’s on me, eonnie. Thanks for being so predictable.”
Seungwan’s “Manner!” meets Seulgi’s “Yah!” as Sooyoung puts Yerim in a mock chokehold. Behind the counter, the izakaya owner that they’ve booked for the rest of the evening bites back a smile, readies some more drinks, and goes to mind his own business. Happy customers are good for business because happy customers always drink more, after all.
Food after food come in small bites. Seungwan’s throat protests against the heat and grease of her first scoop of kimchi pancake, a reminder of what she’s put it through these last few days. Sooyoung rubs her back when she sees her wince after swallowing, which Seulgi notices, too. “Rough day?” she asks, to which Seungwan simply corrects, “Days.”
Sooyoung raises her shot. “To Seungwan-eonnie’s health.” Seulgi and Yerim follow suit. No teasing, just a plain concern and gentle wish. Seungwan’s cheeks burn.
“Stop treating me like I’m about to have my sixtieth birthday tomorrow.”
“We have to celebrate your work and achievement no matter how small it is,” Sooyoung counters. “Who else but our Seungwan-eonnie gets a personal request from one of the biggest names in the business for a collab? And for a Hollywood production, too.”
“And will go on a solo Asia tour after this winter break?” Seulgi adds.
“And at the same time never stops being our mom?” Yerim chips in.
The heat has spread to her neck and ears, and Seungwan groaned, dropping her head, hiding her face behind her folded arms. It is then that the front door of the izakaya slides open. A soft voice, so familiar, too familiar, filters in. “What did I miss?” Seungwan’s spine stiffens. She doesn’t dare to raise her head. Three voices offer an update at the same time, but Seungwan’s senses zero in on the warm figure plastered to her back and a pair of soft hands cupping her ears. The insistent pain on her side announces its unwelcome return.
“As expected from our Wendy,” Joohyun says, tenderly, affectionately. She pats Seungwan on the nape, goes to hang her coat, and sits on the seat next to her.
Seungwan raises her head to sneak a peek at Joohyun from behind her arms. “You’re late,” she scoffs.
“But never too late,” Joohyun amends. “I promised to be your designated driver tonight, after all.” Her hand reaches out for the menu but retracts when she sees Seungwan’s pancake. “Are you eating that?”
She grimaces, reminded of her throat. “I was.”
Joohyun takes a pair of chopsticks, takes a piece of Seungwan’s pancake. “All the more for me, then.”
At the other end of the table, Yerim snickers.
-.-.-
At 2 AM, Sooyoung snatches the lone ukulele on the wall and shoves it to Seungwan. “Play something,” she slurs in English. Over her shoulders, Seulgi and Yerim whoop loudly. Seungwan plucks a string, then two, strums a little, then asks, in English as well, “Play what?”
“Boy!” Yerim shouts. Sooyoung cackles at the horrible pun.
She plays one bar. Five notes in, and everyone groans. “Nooooo, not that,” Sooyoung protests.
Seungwan has to look offended. “Why? It’s a great song.”
“Nobody’s got time for E-flat majoring our way in a bar, Wannie,” Seulgi supplies. “And no, not other Sia songs, too. If Titanium is out, the rest is also out.”
Yerim then vetoes her next choice, and Sooyoung proposes a song totally out of her limited repertoire of ukulele chords. Joohyun takes a sip of her gin and tonic, quietly watching the rest of them bicker and rib each other. From the corner of her eye, Seungwan sees Joohyun bite back a smile at the sight of Sooyoung locking Yerim’s arms to her sides and Seulgi messing Yerim’s hair.
Seungwan starts plucking again. On the sixth note, Seulgi turns to her, tilts her head, eyes Joohyun. When Seulgi’s eyes meet hers, Seungwan gives her a faint smile. “Ddeul?”
“Yeah, yeah, alright. This one’s good.” Seulgi clears her throat, opens her mouth, and starts. “Somehow today—”
“—the wind feels different from yesterday when it breezes past me,” Sooyoung picks up.
“Today too I can hear your voice, a dearly missed whisper coming to me,” Seungwan takes her turn.
Yerim and Seulgi hum the bridge part and one by one their voice slides into its respective slot in harmonization. Sooyoung takes her phone, leans it against the counter, rests her head on Seulgi’s shoulder.
“You come into my story, my memory, my morning.”
No one objects to Joohyun’s taking the chorus part. Yerim merely lays her head on the countertop and closes her eyes, and Sooyoung strokes Yerim hair. Forever a baby, the apple of their eye. Seungwan doesn’t sing again, and she doesn’t say anything when Seulgi puts a hand on her knee. Unlike a year ago, Seulgi’s grip doen’t hurt and her hand doesn’t tremble. Seungwan hugs the ukulele closer to her body, to the pain on her side, which got fainter and fainter each day. Things get better, after all. Stories, memories, mornings do.
-.-.-
At 4 AM, Sooyoung volunteers to drop the heavily inebriated Seulgi at the dorm before heading to her own apartment. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on our bear,” she slurs, looking only a little better than Seulgi. With an arm looped around Seulgi’s waist and Seulgi’s own around her shoulder, the two of them exit the izakaya through the back door and into Sooyoung’s waiting ride. Sooyoung rolls the window down to yell, “Night, Seungwan-eonnie! Or morning, whatever! You too, Joohyunnie and Yerim-ah! Good morning!”
They watch the car speed away. Yerim, surprisingly, is still able to stand on her feet, although not without swaying. “You,” she turns to Joohyun, pointing fingers only an inch away from poking Joohyun in the eyes, “keep an eye on her.” She points at Seungwan.
“The nerves,” Seungwan grumbles. “I ain’t drunk.” It’ll look more convincing if only she doesn’t hiccup at the end of her proclamation.
Ignoring her, Yerim maintains her staredown with Joohyun. “Alright, Joohyunnie?”
“What’s the magic word, Yerim-ah?”
Yerim does not, will not back down. “You can’t say no to me.”
Joohyun’s face is that of one who stared straight at the audience when, at their height, they performed Peek-a-Boo and Bad Boy back to back. Poised, unfazed, unnerved. Seungwan is prepared to step in to prevent yet another strife when Joohyun opens her mouth. “I did, once,” Joohyun says, not unkindly. “And you survived.”
Yerim blinks twice. Then she snorts. “Damn right I did.” She sways again on her feet before straightening herself. “Aren’t you proud of me?”
Joohyun raises her eyebrows. A corner of her mouth rises in the beginning of a smile. “I’m always proud of you,” she says, not because she is positioned to do so but because Yerim is their pride, her pride. Yerim gives Joohyun another long look but says nothing. Her ride arrives, and she gets on the car. Seungwan reaches out to pat Yerim on the back of her head and, part tipsy and part relieved, kisses her temple. “Night, squirt.”
Yerim does not wave at them or wish them good night, though—that little shit. Joohyun takes Seungwan’s car key from her, and Seungwan leads her to her car, which is parked three blocks away from the izakaya, being mentally mindful of any possible cameras that might be lurking around.
It takes twenty minutes to get to her apartment on the other side of the Han. Joohyun is such a slow, ubercareful driver. Seungwan sends a text to Sooyoung in response to Sooyoung’s five. “Sooyoung wants us to let her know once we arrive,” she tells Joohyun, getting a tiny smile as a response. “Still Sooyoung’s biggest fan, I see,” Joohyun says. If Seungwan doesn’t know her better, she’ll think that Joohyun is teasing her. It is a statement born out of patient observation, not a jest. It is a profession of Seungwan’s role in the group: Sooyoung’s supporter, Yerim’s one-woman army, Seulgi’s yellow brick road, and Joohyun’s—pillar? Favorite person? Something? Everything? None the aforementioned?
Joohyun parks neatly in the basement lot. She opens her door first, turning to ask Seungwan, “Can you walk?”
“Yes.” She manages to get off the car, but she has to lean on the wall next to the entrance door to stop the world from spinning. Or maybe it’s her head that’s spinning. Or both. “No.” Joohyun loops an arm under Seungwan’s to support her. “Key, card, I mean, card, front, my bag.” Joohyun takes her access card, takes it to open the entrance, walks past the lobby. If the front desk staff acknowledges her, he’s doing a good job to remain indifferent.
They head to the elevator. “Eleven, please,” Seungwan mumbles. A ding. A short walk. Door opens, closes, is locked. Joohyun switches the light on, and Seungwan groans as bright glares assault her eyes. “No, no, too far,” she moans when Joohyun asks if she should drag her to her bedroom. She drops herself on the sofa unceremoniously. “Here’s fine.”
Joohyun eyes the brown bomber jacket draped on the arm rest of the couch, raising an eyebrow at Seungwan, but Seungwan lifts her hand to stop Joohyun even before she starts. “No. You can’t ask. Don’t.”
Joohyun relents. She looks out of place standing in the middle of Seungwan’s apartment like that, and at the same time Seungwan wants to believe Joohyun belongs here.
When Joohyun asks if she’d like some water, Seungwan waves her hand to the direction of her kitchen. Joohyun goes, and part of Seungwan revels in a flash of cruel satisfaction when she thinks that Joohyun will soon see the pictures on her fridge. Pictures of her with blond hair, blue hair, red hair, purple hair, long and short hair alike. Of her sharing cup ramen with Seulgi, wrestling with Yerim over the last kimchi mandu, and drinking from the same glass of somaek with Sooyoung. Of her posing, hydration mask in place and hair in a messy bun, with Joohyun like a pair of twins. A candid picture of the five of them taken backstage, heads bowed in silent prayers and hands clasped in each other’s. Of their first concert. Of their first award.
Time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future, she remembers Yerim citing a TS Eliot poem to her in one of their first outings after Joohyun’s departure, half punch drunk and half dying to stay sane in the midst of media-fueled bashing. Her fridge the ever present time capsule, Seungwan thinks.
Joohyun returns with a glass of water and a bottle of propolis spray. Seungwan finishes half of the water and is about to take the spray from Joohyun when Joohyun steps to stand between her spread thighs. “Open wide,” she says, which Seungwan obeys. Joohyun holds Seungwan's jaw as she uses the spray on her. Seungwan’s burning throat feels cooler immediately.
Joohyun sweeps a thumb against Seungwan’s lower lip to wipe a stray drop of the spray, expression impassive but eyes gentle. “You should take good care of this stock-in-trade of yours,” Joohyun says, fingertips stroking Seungwan’s throat. Groaning, Seungwan slides to rest her head against the back of the couch. Joohyun’s hands follow suit, cupping Seungwan’s cheeks. “I can’t always remind you to take care of yourself.”
“Yeah, you left, I’m aware.”
The fingertips on her neck still, and Seungwan tries to quell the burst of distant anger that threatens to spill out of sudden. She forgives Joohyun, has long done it in fact, but she has not forgotten. Must be the alcohol, must be the alcohol.
A sigh. A shake of the head. Wisps of hair falling over beautiful eyes—still so beautiful after all these times. “Scoot over,” Joohyun says, pushing Seungwan's legs to make room for herself. Joohyun dislikes being touched, and as such she must be the one to initiate a contact. As Seungwan pulls herself up to a sitting position, Joohyun rests her head on Seungwan’s lap, eyes closed, mouth thinning into a serious line.
Her phone buzzes with a text from Sooyoung that asks for an update. //Home safe and sound,// she texts back.
//Joohyunnie there too?//
//Yes. Sleep well, Ddoong.//
She puts her phone away, and Joohyun asks, “Sooyoung again?” Seungwan nods, and Joohyun lets out a small laugh. “As protective as ever.”
“More like clingy hug monster.”
“Sooyoung overcompensates for everything and overcompensates even more when it comes to you.”
She snorts. If anything, she hears a hint of the old fiercely competitive Joohyun in that statement. As if caring for Seungwan were a competition, really. “I’m her favorite eonnie, remember.”
“And? You’re my favorite person.”
Stomach churning and cheeks burning, Seungwan cups Joohyun’s jaw, then her chin, slipping her hair behind her ear. “That’s our Joohyunnie,” she says, “having her way with words as always.”
Joohyun hums in satisfaction.
She tells Joohyun that Seulgi’s finished shooting the MV yesterday, that she’s watched the unedited record with Taemin, who almost cried. That she’ll give anything to have an ounce of Seulgi’s gift. (Joohyun tilts her head to press her face more firmly onto Seungwan’s palm at that.) That Sooyoung was an inch away from kicking an SBS producer in the nuts last week. That it was the same shit, different day. That she wishes Sooyoung’s never dated Dohwan at all, what’s with their embarrassing break up like that. (The vibration from Joohyun’s chuckle reverberates through Seungwan’s own body.) That, yes, she’s serious, she’s ten times a mother hen she already is whenever that Jo-hwan shit is mentioned around her.
“And Yerim-ah?”
Seungwan recalls the Yerim whose first thing to say in that fateful night was, “What is this bullshit?” Who threw the copy of a yellow newspaper she had carried to the table, sending it skidding past Joohyun’s clasped fingers, the biggest headline on its front page reading “Five No More” next to a lone picture of Joohyun. Who had never looked more furious. Who took Joohyun’s departure the loudest—not the hardest, no, all of them did take it hard—and the worst. Who penned a song that had Bae Joohyun come back you selfish jerk written all over it and gave it to another girl group, who then bested Red Velvet’s own comeback, the first after being four-membered, on music shows. Who, in private, had sat down with Seungwan many times in bars, in VIP karaoke places, in the dark of their dorm. Seungwan understands grief well, and she understands Yerim enough to know that Yerim’s choosing anger over the hurt is because the former always, always feels better. More manageable. Less humiliating. Easier to let go.
Joohyun shifts, now lying on her side, face tilted up. “How about you?”
“I eat well,” she says. “I don’t sleep enough, but who does? I have a weekly schedule with Taeyeon-eonnie to practice our runs. Speaking of which, can you believe it’s been years and SM still hasn’t green-lighted our duet? I want a duet with her, damn it.” She pauses, inhales, runs her fingers through Joohyun’s hair. It calms her as always, one of the things that does not change. “I call my parents more often. Mom said you should come visit her next time you’re shooting in Toronto.” At that, Joohyun snorts. “My last showcase was a disaster. I was so sick I had to sit down the whole time. Leeteuk-oppa had to support me so that I wouldn’t fall face first in front of everyone. I’m much better now, don’t worry. Oh, my sister had dinner with Seulgi’s brother just the other day. God, I hope they’re not going for a second dinner. I’m really, really not looking forward to being Seulgi’s real in-law.” She shudders at the thought, and Joohyun laughs. Her laughter peters out as Seungwan continues, quieter, “I’m not going to the States.”
Joohyun frowns. “Seungwan-ah,” she begins, a hint of disapproval leaking into her tone.
She thumbs the crease between Joohyun’s eyebrows to smooth it. “I’m sticking with the original plan. I’m singing, Seulgi dancing. I won’t be there in the MV. I’m happy that Sia wants to appear in the MV with me, but I don’t want to reduce Sia into some sort of glorified pianist you only see in the shadow while I lipsync my way through the MV.” She exhales noisily. “You think she’ll understand? Sia, I mean.”
“She’ll understand,” Joohyun restates, and Joohyun does have her way with reassuring people that Seungwan never once doubts her.
“I had a dream about you again.”
“The same dream?”
“Mm.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Long forgiven.”
They don’t speak for a while. Joohyun turns to press her forehead against Seungwan’s stomach, eyes still closed. Seungwan cups the back of Joohyun’s head gently, thumb stroking the helix of Joohyun’s ear, wondering if her hand could turn ghostly and reach into Joohyun’s brain, if she could see how Joohyun’s mind worked, could get a minuscule better understanding of Joohyun, could see if Joohyun had recovered from the heartbreak gracefully. Or at least more gracefully than she has.
“Seungwan, tell me I did well,” Joohyun says, voice muffled by the fabric of Seungwan’s shirt and roughened from the torture of her own demons, no longer Irene the Graceful. “Tell me I did the right thing.”
And Seungwan—who’s been too numb, and still kind of is, to react that night, who’s trusted her paper heart to her members and never wanted it back, who knows that when you were at a crossroad you must make a choice—does. “You did well.” For you, she doesn’t say. She can’t say it. Won’t say it. Joohyun deserves certainty, too. Joohyun deserves whatever happiness life is willing to throw at her. They all do. “You did the right thing.”
-.-.-
Joohyun has to leave some time before five, because she has a flight to catch at nine (Prada duty, overseas trip, Irene Bae thing). Seungwan offers to drive her to her apartment, but Joohyun gives her a dirty look, her signature look as the eldest sister to four rascals, as if challenging her to deny the fact that she’s in no condition to drive safe. Joohyun calls her driver instead, and Seungwan insists that she’ll walk her to the private drop off.
She stops before unlocking her door, though. Clears her throat, pulls at the sleeve of Joohyun’s coat, keeps the fabric daintily held. “Would you reconsider, eonnie?” she says, as honest as she can because there is no other way. “It’s easier when you’re here.”
Joohyun eases her hand out, upturns it, and slips her fingers through Seungwan’s. Bumps her shoulder against Seungwan’s, squeezes her fingers, sighs. “I am unbelievably fond of you,” she murmurs, an answer that is a non-answer but just as honest.
At seven, there are already fancam shots and fan pictures of Joohyun at Incheon on the internet. Yerim texts her just as she is browsing through the pictures. //Did u make her cry?// Typical Yerim, ever forthright with her found sisters, knowing she’ll get away with it.
//wtf kim yerim no i didnt//
//Well scuse me 4 thinking. Is not everyday she wears shades u know. So. She made u cry?//
//NO and ffs do something about your hangover, squirt//
She sleeps the day away. Wakes up in the evening, drinks two bottles of Gatorade, orders braised pork leg and tteokbokki for Sooyoung who will swing by. Taeyeon leaves a voice message when she is in the shower, reminding her of their joint practice this weekend. Seungwan’s thought to ask her if Taeyeon’s found more freedom as a soloist than as a girl group vocalist but decides against it because she’s not sure she knows how to answer it if the question were redirected at her. By the time Sooyoung texts her to let her know that she’s only five minutes away, she’s showered, done her laundry, and got rid of the bomber jacket on the couch.
Sooyoung drew her into a half-hug as soon as she opened the door. “You look better than Seulgi-eonnie.”
“Well, the fact that Yerim’s the first to text me today tells me so.” She lets Sooyoung go, hesitating a bit before gathering her courage. “Ddoong, you do know I love you all, don’t you?”
It does not take Sooyoung long to decipher her. She shakes her head, laughing softly. “What’s this? Where does this come from? We’re doing a Five-Minute Conclave now? If anything, it should be me asking you if you know we love you enough.”
She shrugs. “Just want to tell you that. I don’t think I’ve said it enough.”
Sooyoung grins. “Eonnie, you silly. This is why everybody is a little bit in love with you.” She pulls Seungwan into her arms.
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
Burrowed in Sooyoung’s arms, with texts from Seulgi and Yerim still in mind, with Joohyun’s presence never gone, she marveled at the transience and, at the same time, wonder of it all.
-.-.-
I’m aware that our readership is notoriously pedantic to ballads like My Heart Will Go On or I Will Always Love You, but here comes the day a ballad pulls at my heart string: the newest Sia-Greg Kurstin composition Ariadne. We all can talk how exceptional and deeply curious Christopher Nolan’s cinematic execution is, but it is Ariadne that lends the movie’s climax its poetic justice. When Chalamet’s cry cracks as he tries not to bow under the weight of the world imposed on his shoulders, Shon’s 11-second long note-holding, part plea and part stubborn willpower, catapults us to a new height where only a select few of us are both human and divine.
(Nick Lang, The Rolling Stones, November 19, 2023)
Mix some Samuel Beckett-inspired lyrics, some Sia, and a lot of Wendy in a song, and you get Ariadne. What a strong contender for the Academy Award for Best Original Song! Sia might have received the script before the movie even started its principal photography, but somehow Greg Kurstin’s Midas touch made the song work perfectly for the climax of the movie.
(Mark J. McCain, Billboard, November 19, 2023)
I’m delightedly surprised by the work Wendy has done for the soundtracks. Where have you been hiding her all this time, Korea? Or, maybe, in Wendy’s case it takes being in the company of geniuses for a diamond to shine.
(Kenneth Hiraga Knowles, Paste, November 20, 2023)
I’ve just found out that it doesn’t take much for me to get wrecked: just hurl Timothée Chalamet’s tears and Wendy Shon’s voice in a Christopher Nolan movie at me. Be honest with me, you also cried when Wendy hit that C6.
(Amanda Sanders, Buzzfeed, November 21, 2023)
[+279, -11] The movie is so good, and the song deserves the Oscar buzz. Good job, Composer Sia, Producer Kurstin, our Wendy.
[+99, -15] Idolhood is too small for her.
[+101, -6] Her runs are to die for.
[+78, -1] Those 11 seconds of glory aigoo...
[+204, -88] If Taeyeon’s voice is that of someone divorced seven times, Wendy’s is that of someone divorced ten times AND having to serve in three world wars.
[+588, -12] Nation’s best friends!
[+133, -72] I heard Wendy refused to appear in the MV with Sia. She’s letting fame get to her head. This is a waste of Seulgi’s talent. She can sing too, you know.
[+114, -29] I actually wish Seulgi also sang, not only danced. Maybe we could ask Sia for another song? This time for them both.
[+11, -3] Right? The ace of K-pop and they’re doing her dirty like this.
[+2, -2] #seulgileavessm
[+19] #seulrenedeservebetter
[+13, -56] You just HAD to make this about you, didn't you?
[+4, -22] So much for supporting all five of them...
[+176, -48] Still carrying the Korean music industry on her shoulders, I see. Our Wendy, Korea’s pride.
[+88, -34] I couldn’t believe Irene went to the movie premiere. Did she even congratulate Wendy? I don’t think so…. The traitor.
[+44, -4] Is your brain as rotten as your heart?
[+17, -1] She’s a sssssnake.
[+9, -2] It’s not the first time SM don’t address issues like this. So annoying.
[+2, -2] You need help, dumbass.
Red Velvet on Twitter (@rvsmtown)
Seulgi and Wendy will participate in Broadway in Seoul 10th Anniversary (23-12-2023). They will sing For Good from the musical Wicked, accompanied by Girls’ Generation's Seo Joohyun on piano. Please send Seulgi and Wendy a lot of love.
Wendy of Red Velvet (todayis_wendy)
Here when I say “I never want to be without you,” somewhere else I am saying “I never want to be without you again.” When I don't touch you it's a mistake in any life, in each place and forever. (Bob Hicok)
#HaveAGoodWeekendEverybody #YesEverybody #SpendSomeTimeWithYourLovedOnes #BroadwayInSeoul
A.N. (2020):
If you've reached this point, thank you for spending some of your time with this fic.
This was originally just scribbles dated back in 2014 when everything was wrong with SM. At that time I didn't care much about four new starlets with weird hair dye, and all I thought of them was, “Good luck, Red Velvet.” This fic shaped its own form as I was writing. Think of it as a kind of Wendy character study.
Red Velvet's way up hasn't always been easy, but they’ve always managed it with grace. But if there’s anything that being a K-pop listener since 2003 taught me, it’s that idolhood is short and K-pop is an industry, not a charity. Unless Red Velvet manage to wrangle some bargaining power like Super Junior and Shinhwa and their respective fans did before them, I can only hope that Red Velvet will have an equally graceful way down. I don’t think they will. I don’t think they can. But, again, I can hope.
P.S. My playlist when working on this fic:
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road – Sara Bareilles, live from Atlanta ver.
밀지마 (Don’t Push Me) – Wendy and Seulgi, 함부로 애틋하게 OST
Model Behavior – Laura Benanti, from Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown
Into My Arms – Nick Cave
Genesis 30:3 – The Mountain Goats
All Flowers in Time Bend Towards the Sun – Jeff Buckley and Elizabeth Fraser
My Story – E Z Hyoung, 순정만화 OST
다시만난세계 (Into the New World) – Girls' Generation, Tokyo Dome 2014 ver.
For Good – Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel, #OutOfOz ver.
A.N. (2022)
A Japanese student from Yonsei's language school, the same program I went to, was among those who were killed in the Itaewon crowd crush. May she and other victims find peace. May their family be comforted by their memory of them.
ackermagg, you might not remember this but you left me such detailed review that I had to save it. Your words comforted me in the dark days I couldn't muster the will to write. I hope your kindness has returned to you ten-fold.
