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It's far too early. Earlier than most schedules, but that doesn't mean Lily's already gone in over her head. The sun has barely risen over the distant horizon yet she's already wide awake, thinking. Not like she ever stops thinking, much to her own grievances. But perhaps this morning she's thinking more than usual. Harder than usual.
She watched a movie last night: Fantastic Mr. Fox. Just something to fill the time while strung in the sky on the way back to Seoul. Her original plans were to sleep for the flight duration, but a mixture of a child wailing alongside that uncomfortable feeling in her chest when she knows something is wrong, but just can't quite place it, kept her awake.
It stuck with her; the movie. Who knew a children's stop-motion picture hailing from 2009 would have such a grip on her? But it's more than just some children's animated film, she's learned, with how halfway through the movie she couldn't help but jot sporadic thoughts down on her notes app. She thinks how the movie could make a great Lily's Lost the Plot live, breaking down characters and whimsical nature of the storytelling, but she has an itching feeling that she'll make things too personal.
And when things get too personal, Lily knows people will stop caring.
Because like how things have been for however many years now, Lily is really only known for two things: her voice, and her personality—but much more focus on the former.
It's a no-brainer, really. She's practically dedicated her entire life to honing her voice, pushing herself on the brink of exhaustion and deterioration for any form of acclaim. Which, in the end, she's gotten. She's known as Lily, main vocalist of NMIXX, arguably even one of the best vocals within 4th generation talent (but it feels weird to claim that title). It's nice, sure, having garnered such recognition, but a part of it all is painful. She's heard stories from other members—Yoona having boys practically lining up to see her during her middle-school days—and wonders why that's never been the case for her. She's not ugly, anything but, and it's not like she isn't interesting, either. So why do passing compliments or praises only come in regards to how she sounds on stage? Is flattery the only way to recognition?
But perhaps in recent times, she's managed to balance out her own narrative. Now, she's associated with being Chronically Online—that funny, relatable idol who has little care or regard for media training. It's a nice change, for once. It's nice to be seen beyond just being a voice. And it's also brought her notoriety too, which she supposes is also ideal.
However, Lily doesn't understand how or why people find her so funny at times. She doesn't have much of a filter, usually just letting whatever is on her mind trickle out without much second thought, and that usually leads to some clip of her turning into some soundbite for fans online. It's not exactly uncomfortable, but it doesn't bring much solace, either. It makes her feel weird about her own perception, how people view her as That One Australian-Korean Idol Who Says Out-Of-Pocket Stuff On Live and simply that. Because she's more than that; multi-faceted with nuance, understanding and critically aware. Always has been. And being viewed as so one-dimensional makes her feel iffy. Is she just that? And if so, is that the only way she can present herself to come across as appealing?
She isn't really sure what to think anymore.
"Haewon. Question," Lily asks later that evening, bored.
They're both waiting in the car for Kyujin, their final seatmate, who seems to be off elsewhere, for whatever reason. The schedule is done—some variety content filming—and her mind lingers on something that happened earlier in the day. An off-comment she made, confused by the context of a question she had been asked, which led to the room erupting into laughter. Snickers from staff and hearty laughs from her own members twist and tear at her own emotions. Even thinking it over during the filming downtime later didn't help to fill in the missing context.
Haewon barely looks up from her phone, too enamored in the reel she happens to be watching. "Hmm?"
"Do you think I'm different?"
The question seems to grab Haewon's attention immediately. She fully looks up at Lily, letting the reel loop on repeat in her lap. "In what way?"
Lily bites the inside of her cheek, feeling far too aware of Haewon's full attention being on her. It's something she should be used to now, but it never fails to make her heart race for reasons she can't fully elaborate on.
"Like"—Lily weakly gestures to herself—"generally. Or just, even, with the way that I am, I guess."
Something in Haewon's demeanor shifts—gentle, as if slowly putting the pieces together to the question. Lily isn't sure how to read it very well. All she can notice is how Haewon barely tilts her head—always to the left, a subconscious habit of Haewon's—and how she shuts off her phone in her lap.
"No," Haewon states, softly. "I don't think so." She pauses, as if carefully constructing her next sentences. "I think you're you."
Lily almost wants to frown at Haewon's response. She doesn't understand it. Doesn't get who 'you' is supposed to be. It's like she's torn between two versions of herself: Lily, with a golden voice and an acquired vocabulary that feels in-line with a semi-viral tumblr post, and Lily, the one who can't quite grasp why she's the way she is, and why that makes her different from others around her, why they treat her differently.
She huffs. "Yeah, but who is me?"
The feeling of Haewon's hand entangling into hers makes her jump, fingers threading their way into the gaps, like they're supposed to be there. Lily wants to pull back. It's instinct. But something about Haewon's touch—always careful, never forceful, is something she's learned to ease into, to accept.
So, she doesn't pull away.
The question is left hanging between them for a while. It's long enough that Kyujin tumbles into the passenger seat behind them and the engine of their car roars to life. Lily watches as a conversation between Haewon and Kyujin unfolds, something to do with why Kyujin was so late coming back. She feels a small squeeze from Haewon—reassurance, almost, that she'll get back to her.
Their dorm is quiet. A usual characteristic for the six of them.
All of them had been dropped off, filing one by one into the shared space. It's nothing but the sound of shoes being toed off and steps echoing through the halls. Haewon, like usual, is especially quiet. She's always like that, Lily has noticed, during the down time where it's just them and no cameras.
But tonight is different. That appears to be the case whenever Lily's bedroom door creaks open, just enough for Haewon to slip inside. Lily watches how Haewon sits on the far edge of her bed, an almost careful distance between them where Lily sits cross-legged by her headboard. It feels weirdly intimate with just Haewon in the room. She can almost hear the murmuring of Jinsol and Jiwoo's conversation in the other room.
"I thought about it. What you asked, earlier," Haewon begins, voice tipping just over a whisper. Lily can just about pick out the slight nervous edge to her voice. "I think… I think I don't know which part of 'you' you want me to see. I know you, sure, but I don't think I know the different parts of you that well."
Lily tries to read her, really tries, but she can't tell where Haewon is going with her point. Is Haewon implying she is different? She swallows, harder than she would have liked to.
Haewon continues. "But I understand why you asked." She pauses. "You know who you are. And I think that's something I've always envied about you."
That was not what Lily was expecting. And if she's being honest, she doesn't really believe it. Haewon? Envious? To her, it sounds comical. A gag that usually has Lily as the blunt of the joke. But with the way Haewon looks at her from across the bed, eyes bearing a genuineness that feels almost too raw, Lily knows she's being serious.
It's funny though, Lily realizes. Out of all people, she wouldn't pin Haewon to be the one who would make such a claim about herself. She'd argue that Haewon is probably the most put together person she knows, someone who has everything figured out, someone who can understand their surroundings better.
Maybe she's been jumping to conclusions. Maybe there's more to Haewon than Lily had ever figured, considering she's been seeing her in the same light ever since they met however many years ago. Maybe they just needed each other more than either of them ever realized.
The light bulb finally goes off for Lily, and something akin to an unspoken understanding flickers between them. Haewon definitely picks up on it as she stands to her feet, eyes remaining trained on Lily.
"What were you watching on the plane yesterday?" Haewon asks, stepping backwards towards the door.
Lily blanches. "You saw that?"
"You were sitting in the seat in-front of me."
"Oh, right." Lily flushes at her own clueless-ness. "Fantastic Mr. Fox, kids animated film. You should watch it—or I mean, we could, um, watch it. If you're up for that, of course."
Haewon smiles. "I'd like that."