Chapter Text
The same preview every time.
The more familiar it gets, the more selfish my temperature.
-Adore U, Nmixx
September 20th, 2017
“Do you like Jin better? Or Lily.” Haewon speaks into the mostly empty practice room, swinging her backpack down off her shoulder and onto the polished wood. It sounds harsh to her own ears when it clunks down just a little harder than she intended. She cringes twice, once for her tablet and computer, and once for the way her mouth doesn’t quite wrap around the foreign syllables of the English name on her first try. It comes out choppier than she intended, noticeable for sure to her companion.
“I don’t mind; either works. I think Jin is easier for most people.” Lily-Jin smiles at her, sliding a baby pink bookbag in place next to Haewon’s basic navy blue. It’s obvious this is not the first practice room floor her bag has experienced. The bottom of the bag is scuffed, worn close to brown with little streaks of black and one curiously blue dash. Without meaning to, Haewon imagines it placed down outside the building or resting on the floor of a train, unnecessarily justifying the stains.
“Hmm.” Haewon hums lamely in response. Her statement was not a challenge, but Haewon kind of receives it as such. Lily is her name. This is a fact. Even though most of the instructors and trainees throw Jin-ssi up and down the hallways of JYP, that wasn’t really correct, was it? She’s Lily M in Haewon’s (slightly ridiculous) mental image for sure. So much so that she froze for at least 3 seconds reading out her duet assignment this week. Park Jin? She might as well have been paired up with Kim Jimin or John Smith. It was hard to link such a basic name like that to a girl like Lily M. She’s still some minor form of starstruck at the other girl. Lily who came in at least a minute late to every dance class and charmed half of the teachers into saying it wasn’t a problem. That alone justified having something…different about her. Not bad, just different. Even the most extroverted of all the trainees, the friendliest or oldest or most comfortable, none of them would dare bust into the room like that. The way she said it too, the word itself almost sounded foreign, taking dips you couldn’t predict before it finally registered as an apology. That was always when someone would call out “Lily!” maybe followed with whatever English phrases the room could muster (Oh my God! or some trending soundbite), and this was where the problem rose back again. Haewon had seen the clips; she had caught one or two episodes as a kid. She knew that no matter how many greeting bows they exchanged or how many months in Korea or how many times Park Jin is announced in bold letters on showcase sheets, this is Lily M. Child star, vocal legend in the trainee-flooded halls of JYP, foreigner for sure, no matter what language classes they tuck her into.
Haewon imagines what it would feel like, slipping on another name and knowing it’s yours too. She’s not picky; honestly, it probably wouldn’t bother her, but for someone like Lily, who exists so upfront, she can’t imagine it’s pleasant. Maybe it’s because she's still a little starstruck by the girl, or maybe it’s normal teenage awkwardness, but she’s stuck here. It’s not like her to be this flustered or fixated, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts from progressing. She has no clue whether it would be bridging an unwelcome gap into too-familiar if she were to call out her English name. Most of the older trainees do; all of the foreign ones absolutely do. It wasn’t even uncommon to hear a “Lily unnie” from some particularly bold little kid paying her a compliment. Haewon paused at all of this, coming to her senses for one sharp moment. She didn’t know she knew this much about the other girl. She had no clue she was paying all that attention until the facts offered themselves up. The spiral continues to a point where it doesn’t matter; the opportunity for any response to seem natural has passed. She risks a glance at the topic of her mini-crisis, hoping she’ll magically know just by looking at her. Maybe she even had the decency to put on a name tag.
The girl in question doesn’t seem aware in any way of the dilemma she’s laid out for Haewon. She’s almost too calm as she tugs a folder free from the overstuffed bag and sets it down in front of her, sinking criss-cross applesauce onto the floor. Her name, or maybe two names, isn’t a problem anymore when she leans back against the mirror and pats the floor next to her. Haewon listens, happy to give up this particular train of thought and move back into a comfortable predictability. She’s still shaking the last squiggly lines of worry off her wrists by the time she’s sinking down and mirroring her companion, notebook and assignment sheets stacked on the right. She lays out the duet sheet in front of them so they can both see. It just holds each of their trainee information in bold black font and a handwritten addition from their instructor, the song they're assigned to, and some gentle suggestions for placement and such. She did it thoughtlessly but with her silence it comes out like some form of prompting. Lily smiles at her and then again at the paper before them; Haewon is starting to think that might just be her default reaction. She cracks her knuckles.
“Alright, straight to business. I like that. Let's go!” She says it like they're about to start a sports game and not practice a routine duet assessment. It still makes Haewon laugh.
It’s awkward. Not unbearably so, but in that little way collaborations always are. It’s not the same as school projects, though; those, at least, are so wildly impersonal that even when you’re embarrassed, it's boring. There’s this kind of transparency that comes with being a trainee. Everyone shares the understanding that no matter where you look, you’re staring at someone who is just as desperate and ambitious and desperate as you are. It’s exposing, to say the least. Even in things like this, it’s embarrassing to sit across from someone and have them know when you sing a note or move your arms, you’re trying your best. However, it’s disrespectful and borderline dangerous if you don’t, and ambitious, hungry girls like Haewon don’t get the luxury of holding back. It’s complex and unspoken. It’s additionally too intimate to share with 30 other kids. Haewon doesn’t take to ignoring as well as the others. She’s still shy after classes, using her commute as an excuse to skip bubble tea dates and branching into anything too out there. That’s why she hates duet weeks. Even though she knows it’s always fine. She always makes her partner laugh the right amount, has a reputation as a reliable second choice, and has a respectable contact list of professionally saved numbers with a curt JYP following full first and last names. It’s just the principle of it. She’s not the one who video calls on the weekends and texts her mom to beg for sleepovers after dance class. It’s not even disdain, just preference, just personality.
Eventually they finish the planning portion and begin running minor choreo. It’s always her hope to do the singing last. Even though she knows this feeling has to fade, it’s so scary. No matter how many auditions or evaluations, it feels personal and almost silly. That’s why it’s better to do it last, when you know you have a train to catch. It’s absolutely her move, to open up some sensitive, squishy part of yourself and bear it then go, or to have a nasty vocal crack and ditch. It sits at the back of Haewon’s neck while they take a little break. Soon she will have to expose something to judge. It’s additionally intimidating to know just how good the other girl is. But that’s a gentle concern. She’s not afraid, just uncomfortable. It sucks, but it’s part of the gig. She can be as nervous as she wants, but it will always sit second to the steady stream of her water bottle, the cool feel of the floor underneath her and the traces of ambition that tingle under her skin. Instead of letting her nerves grow into anything substantial, she shifts lanes, looking to the girl next to her. She’s scrolling through something on her phone, sipping from a baby blue, sticker-covered water bottle. Disney characters, Haewon thinks. It’s a bit too childish for her tastes, but it suits Lily somehow. It’s cute. Haewon peeks a little at her phone. English characters litter the screen; celebrities she can’t quite place disappear when a thumb shoos them away. Her eyes go from the phone to the water bottle again, scanning the stickers and flicking around the other girl’s mouth when she takes a gulp. The soft pink contrasts against the smooth blue plastic. Eventually she notices Haewon’s gaze and turns to meet it, face blank, maybe expectant? In a weird way Haewon forgets to register the expression altogether. She gets a little caught at the roundness of her eyes. She’s not flustered or startled, but it’s odd for Haewon to register that she likes it, looking at her. So much so, it takes her a second to remember she was the one to prompt this. Whoops.
“So, how long have you been singing?” Haewon says it lazily, almost out of habit. It’s just one of the questions you ask your showcase partner; don’t ask her why. It’s almost part of the structure, a pre-set way to offer up a friendly middle ground during water breaks.
Lily does something close to a giggle in recognition. She’s had this conversation probably 80 times. Its mundanity becomes its own form of an inside joke, an understanding passed between them. She doesn’t even have to think before opening her mouth. Each time a trainee wave comes and goes, the answers all get polished, just from use. It’s not lying or fake, but as entire hoards of faces that had laughed and sweat and sang with her disappear into towns she can only clumsily pronounce and names she’s only half sure of, she develops little scripts for the predictable things.
“Since I could speak. My dad always tells me he thinks it’s even earlier. He says that I wasn’t crying; I was practicing a belt.” Lily says. She wrinkles her nose playfully at her dad’s imaginary praise, settling into a fond smile after a practiced response.
“What about you? Since you could walk?”
A chipped pink fingernail points to Haewon’s paper on the ground. Amongst the printer paper background sit some hastily scribbled notes that didn’t make it into her notebook from their little mini-lectures before practice. The only other addition from Haewon comes in the form of a tiny doodle of some waves. Most of her paper goods and homework sheets held the same calling card, a bad habit bred from boredom on the train rides home. Lily wasn’t really referencing any of that, though; instead, her finger held onto the printed identifiers up top. Oh Haewon, female, trainee, 2003. Lily’s finger stilled just beyond all this, focusing on Dance A, Vocal B. It proclaims her as a dance trainee. In JYP’s complicated filing system, at least. She’s coming up on half a year of this commute and practice schedule and they’ve abandoned that in all but name, keeping her with most of the vocal trainees like most of the time. Haewon huffs out a laugh, realizing the question at once.
“No, God no. I mean maybe yeah, those dumb little toddler dances and stuff. But I wasn’t really into any of this till middle school. I was way too shy and…rigid as a kid.”
“Rigid?” Lily asks, tilting her head slightly. Her mouth quirks in what might be amusement.
“Yeah, I’ve never been very…fun? I would’ve never gone dancing or singing or stuff like that when I was little-little. I did a ton of hobbies and competitions though. It’s stupid to say this to you, but I was really into English as a kid.” She doesn’t really know why she says it, but it pays off. The older girl’s face lights up, she lets out just one or two breathy “ah” sounds just hearing Haewon’s flustered tone. It comes across like enthusiastic assurance but still does something to startle her. Lily rocks forward on the ground, hands resting just in front of her bent knees, to grin at her companion.
“No way. What, like you took lessons?!” Her face looks like it might hurt from her smile, but in a weird way there’s no flame to all her energy. It’s exciting but not overwhelming.
“Kinda? I did little kid pronunciation competitions. I liked feeling special in English class at school for sounding better than the other kids and my parents always found the story for me to recite or whatever. It was fun, one time I got to stand on stage at this little festival and I got 25 dollars and a little toy for winning.” Haewon feels stupid saying it. She really wishes that the whole cool, mature trainee thing she idealized before her acceptance would kick in right about now and they’d magically start talking about key changes or whatever “real musicians” do. Yet, every time another detail slips out of her embarrassed, traitorous mouth Lily M, the legendary trainee and TV star, keeps smiling just a little bit bigger. When she finally trails off lamely with her champion story, what was a wildly pleased smile has shifted in some way to something softer. It makes Haewon feel like a little kid to receive it. A little bit because it has that vibe, the kind of gentle encouragement one might send to a cute thing. Mostly though, just because Haewon does feel…little. Confused and small in some way she can’t place. It’s such a subtle thing but it still tips her gently off center. There’s no malice to anything but she can’t help but blush like she’s been teased.
“That’s awesome. It’s funny, you were an English prodigy and I was nationally viral for being so bad at Korean. Anyonghaseoohh.” She draws it out a little longer, a little ridiculous just to break a smile out of Haewon. It works.
“Say something in English. Anything. For me. It can be one of those funny little stories.” Lily grins, bringing one hand under her chin and resting. She opens her face up, eyes widening slightly to take in all of the performance. Haewon tries again to steady herself. She has friends at school but this feels oddly intimate. She doesn’t know if another person has ever ladled this much attention on her all at once. Haewon trains her eyes around the neck of Lily’s baggy practice T-shirt. It’s a lifeline, much safer for sure than stealing a glance at the girl's face. She gulps something down without meaning to, an awkward swallow in the expectant silence.
“Mmmm. The tortoise and the hare. Aesop’s fables. Good things can’t be rushed. Slow and steady wins the race.” She chokes it out, her voice a little unsteady out of the gate. She knows there’s something awkward about the curve of her throat around the bend of an “S”. She wishes she picked something easier, maybe it would’ve come off more impressive if she did. She fights off the bouncy cadence she’s supposed to have for the presentations. Her voice sounds so different here, in another language, in a very very quiet practice room. It’s deeper, more of her chest is used for some reason. She moves her eyes from their safety zone to meet Lily’s gaze.
“Wow! That was great! Ten stars!” Lily’s rapid English praises pour out, followed by ridiculous little flutters of applause.
Haewon’s entire body shivers. She almost wants to cover her mouth to stop the girlish giggle that busts out of her. Her stomach flips sharply in reaction and again in horrifying realization. Shit. She likes it. A lot. She likes it in a way that makes her dizzy. She likes hearing her. She had seen clips online and she had watched Finding Nemo that one time. Some vague part of her was aware that Lily would have an accent in her home tongue, one different from even the celebrity interviews and English practice material Haewon scrubbed through in 5th grade. Australian, something, as far as anyone in this room is concerned, is entirely unique to her, to Lily. But knowing and hearing are two very different things. And unfortunately Haewon, in this exact moment, has no clue why this sound causes a full body reset for her. Fuck. Some stupid little spectator in her head cheers, uproariously and almost inappropriate. ‘SAY SOMETHING. ANYTHING. GET HER TO SPEAK ENGLISH AGAIN.’ it roars.
“Ummm. What is the time? Do you like the summer? My name is Haewon.”
Spurred on by Lily’s delight Haewon is worried she won’t stop. Is it possible to gain fluency from pure desperation? Her voice sounds a little goofy with how it shifts for her own name, caught in the gaps of two languages. She flips it up a little bit without meaning to. The foreigner's grin only seems to grow, at one point a dangerous row of teeth grab onto her own bottom lip and squeeze before shifting back into her, now familiar, smile.
“This is too much! You’re a genius!” Her accent hooks onto the “O”s and pulls, some form of a drawl grabbing the rhythm of Haewon’s own heartbeat with it. The only phrases left in her arsenal are a knock knock joke her father learned from an American coworker years ago and ‘Where is the Bathroom’. Neither feels like the right thing to say. Lily is still looking at her though. Baited, expectant. She hasn’t corrected any pronunciation or offered any leading questions like any tutors have in the past. It doesn’t help that Haewon seems to be developing a bad habit of going blank in front of her either.
“Cmon, just give me one more! I’ll be so impressed!” Lily begs gently, nodding her encouragement into the space between them. It feels equally like a playground game and something too grown up for Haewon’s 15 year old mind to grasp fully onto. She stares back at Lily, poking her cheek from the inside with her tongue, searching for what the other girl was pleading for.
“I really don’t know that much, I don’t know what to say.” Haewon says plainly. Her eyes trace from Lily’s brow to her chin and back up to her eyes. She doesn’t know exactly what she’s looking for, disappointment maybe? “Give me a second.”
“No, no. It’s ok! I’m sorry I was pushy. You just have such a nice voice! Makes me excited to sing with you. Your pronunciation is so good! Almost enough to make me homesick.” Lily waves her hands in front of her. Shushing down any apologies slinking off of Haewon. Her words are understandable and definitely in Korean but do something odd with their pronunciation. It’s not quite an accent but the cadence of them follows the tumbling rules of English. Like Lily hasn’t fully switched back in, some special Park Jin dialect. It makes Haewon a little proud to catch the subtlety of it.
“Here, since I don’t know, teach me something.”
“Hmmm. That’s a lot of pressure. What kind of something?”
“More pressure than speaking English in front of someone when you barely know what you’re saying? I don’t know. What do you think is important to know?” Haewon says. She feels like she’s risking something by teasing without knowing her that well, but it comes out anyway.
“Woah! Hold on. I have to speak in Korean literally all the time. Now we’re kinda even. Something important,” Lily stills, eyes moving slightly up as if she’s reading potential options in the air. “Oh! Here! For when you debut. You’ll need to know this, for fansigns and international trips and stuff. La-uv Yewr”
“Oh god, don’t say that. You’ll jinx me. Repeat it. I couldn’t understand.” Haewon says, stuck on the new sounds.
“Well I should probably teach you the American sound. I have a little bit of an accent. This is something you can say to all your adoring fans and sold out stadiums. Love you! luv yew! Luh-veh Y-ooh.” Lily splashes options out faster than Haewon can fully follow. They all sound different, like she’s fighting her voice to get it just right. Haewon zeroes in, diligently tracking the movement of her teacher’s mouth. She’s so intensely focused on mimicking the shapes she doesn’t have the space to be embarrassed. Some pathetic little part of her wants to nail it the first try.
“Say it one more time. I’m paying attention.” Haewon squints a little, eyebrows dropping down to concentrate.
“Okay, ready? Love you.” Lily says, looping an index finger through the space between them, spelling it out in an invisible alphabet.
“Love you.” Haewon mimics, voice scratching deep in an attempt to get the right sound from her throat. She says it once more, silently; testing out the words before they fully settle. Something's not quite right.
“Yeah, stellar! You killed it.” Lily says, stretching her hand up for a high five. Haewon doesn’t know what she said but understands it’s a compliment. Hearing her voice, unfiltered by translation or a forced accent, gets her greedy. It’s scary but it even makes her bold.
“No, not right.” Haewon uses what’s left of her limited vocabulary.
“What? You were great. I don’t think you could pronounce it any better.” Lily’s eyebrows knit together with a twitch. It’s not said in Korean but Haewon tries to interpret from her general vibe.
“No, I was saying it like someone else, teach me like you.” Haewon nods, switching back home and hoping it doesn’t sound as pleading as it feels. She can’t even fully place where the embarrassment springs from, only that it’s burning.
“Oh! Sure. Like me.” Lily sounds a little shocked when she says it. Her smile has dropped, face now slightly sobered. Haewon wishes she was better versed in her expressions. If she had a guide maybe she’d feel less out of her depth. Instead she’s half guessing, choosing to ignore whatever extra steps come with her sudden fits of overthinking.
“I don’t know. I feel like I’ll say it weird just because I know you’re listening. Love you.” Lily giggles awkwardly afterwards. Her ears shift to red and though her face stays pale the edge of her neck follows along, dutifully flushing pink.
“Laurve You. Love you.” Haewon repeats, adjusting slightly. She’s not spot on, but she’s close. She looks at Lily expectantly. She’s eager, a little excited. It’s pathetic but she’s kinda waiting for the ridiculous little praises. Instead she's met with a very flushed, very embarrassed Australian. Haewon vaguely registers her peripheral, looking at the mirror wall and noticing the limited space between the two girls, their baggy practice clothes almost meeting at the hems. She rocks herself back, smiling a little too proud at her fast learning. Even with the space to breathe Lily seems to need the second to reset. Duh, she’s foreign. Everyone knows despite her bubbly personality she’s quite fond of personal space. It’s embarrassing Haewon forgot but she had no clue it bothered the other girl this much. She still seemed to be reeling a little, clearly coming down from the accidental discomfort Haewon put her through.
“Sorry! I didn’t realize how close we were. That’s pretty good, right? Love you!” She parrots once more, trying to replicate the curving sound of the girl’s accent. Lily huffs a laugh out.
“No, it's good. A little weird but good. Cute, even! It’s like having a little budgie,” She lets out another little half chuckle, dispersing the tightness in her shoulders. “Sorry! I don’t know why I’m so embarrassed. I don’t think I’ve ever said love you to anyone but my parents! It’s scary!”
The entire floor flips underneath Haewon. She's out in the open ocean, everything sways left with the tide, then right again. It’s a similar feeling, the swoop in her stomach, it reminds her of ferry rides and floating on vacations, that subtly sick weightlessness. She can almost feel the bobbing of a grand ship as she stands dumbly on the deck. Then the ship is blown to fucking bits in a violent, firey explosion.
“WE WERE SAYING I LOVE YOU??” She feels her hair fall in front of her face as she sits up ram rod straight.
“What? Yeah! Well kinda! It’s like a cute way, casual. Love you! Saranghe!” Lily flushes harder, holding a hand up and awkwardly flailing it in an attempt to show its casualty.
“I didn't know that! I wouldn’t have said it in your face!” Haewon feels loud and stupid and awkward all at once. She’s completely red she’s sure. One hand grips into the hair near her forehead, pushing it back and holding it up. She’s halfway committed to grabbing her bag and making a run for it when an entirely new problem arises. The girl across from her crumples, shaking in jerky fits. An ungodly gurgle sputters up from her depths. Holy fuck, holy fuck. Lily M is dying. She’s dying and the last thing she ever heard was Haewon being a brat. After a few seconds of pure shock she jumps forward, crouched at the other girl’s side, a tentative hand reaching to her shoulder as she continues her convulsions.
“Lily? Lily!” Haewon is panicking. This is not in her duet partner textbook. Is it a seizure? Allergies? Another jealous trainee spiked her stupid cartoon character water bottle with very slow acting poison? She’s about to run for a trusted adult when the girl in question finally sucks in a dramatic loud gasp and rolls to face her. She’s completely red, face scrunched and squished in pure hysteric joy. Her shoulders continue their jerky dance, from this perspective Haewon can see the sharp bursts of her breath that fuel her silent, wild giggles. Seeing Haewon’s panicked face seems to spur her twice as hard, sound joining her laughing fit. Sharp and high pitched barks cut through Haewon’s worry like a knife, deflating the other girl completely.
“Oh my god. I thought you were dying! Don’t do that!” She’s so relieved she goes practically boneless. Flopping down dramatically, her hair fanning onto the floor and half on her face. Lily, somehow, escalates again, hitting the floor just once, loud bouncy giggles flooding the room.
“Sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! You just looked so scared! It was so cute. It was so funny!” Lily can barely be understood. English and Korean and Giggles all barely conforming into language. She’s rushed onto her knees, finally sobering up just enough to come off as apologetic. She crouches next to Haewon on the floor as she apologizes, dipping into something resembling a bow. Haewon huffs, offended and loud. She reaches a hand out and shoves the other girl, sending her tumbling onto the floor. Lily’s eyes widen comically in shock, she lands with a gentle puff of air and looks so thoroughly ruffled that Haewon can't help but burst into laughter. Nothing about it is giggly or soft, obnoxious loud belly laughs, one finger pointing at the other girl’s shocked expression.
“Mean!!” Lily shouts it back but her smile is already back. They’ve swapped places, Lily looking pleased and silent as Haewon crinkles her eyes and grips her sleeve in the need to ground herself from her full body belly laughs.
“I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this. I think I stayed up too late or something.”
“Really? I’m like this all the time. You don’t need to apologize. But hey, guess what?”
“Hm?”
“Your pronunciation, when you shouted my name? It was perfect.” Lily rolls over, grinning through her mousy brown hair. It’s just short enough that it does nothing to curtain her smile.
“I’m fluent. Good for me. It’s all anyone needs to know,‘Lily’ and ‘Love you’.” It’s a lame joke and it makes her stomach twist to say (weird), but Lily indulges her anyway, laughing and nodding along like she couldn’t agree more.
—
Modern Day
Haewon was testing her. Lily was sure of it. She was getting something from this. Nowhere in her, mostly made up, leader duties did it say she needed to sit in on concert outfit fittings. It’s something only for Haewon, some intrusion to their busy schedule. She can feel eyes on her from whatever fold out chair Haewon keeps watch on. The stylists weren’t expecting both of them. Only Lily’s name was on the schedule itself. They seemed to be a little flustered at their dual arrival and had to find something so Haewon wasn’t just standing awkwardly in the back.
“This is nice. It looks good.” Haewon’s voice settles low in her ears, much lower than it should. There's one stylist pinning something to her hip, another standing back and looking at the whole outfit.
“Aw, thanks Haewon.” Her voice is saccharine, friendly affection dripping from the syllables. The stylist kneeling behind her smiles at the sweet display. Haewon looks like she’s trying to swallow a lemon without anyone noticing. It’s her own fault, she’ll survive it. Lily watches reflection. Haewon hasn’t breached eye contact yet. She’s tracing invisible shapes as they appear across Lily’s back and the tops of her shoulders. Win or loss, it’s too soon to tell.
Haewon must’ve blacked out at some point. Why did she schedule this? Was she trying to kill herself? That’s the only explanation. She must’ve been so sleep deprived and so delirious she couldn’t help herself. Or maybe this is divine punishment from a past life. One where she was a dictator or spit on babies, or maybe both. That's the only things that would justify the torture of witnessing Lily, wrapped in leather straps, bare faced and devastating. It’s too much, the dichotomy. Her soft, unguarded face, unburdened by a stage look. She looks so young like this, so much like the girl Haewon’s always known, her bleached hair tied back loosely.The stylists are still circling Lily, debating leather versus studs, as if this moment deserves committee deliberation. It’s Greek, Sisyphian really, this kind of punishment. She’s here, rolling that stupid boulder up the same stupid hill. Watching Lily and pretending not to. What was this fitting even for? A concert or some music show. Is this the end of year outfits? Haewon did this already, probably. Got wrapped and pinned and measured and prodded.
Lily absently hums a song Haewon doesn’t know. Haewon jokes about her solo dance practice earlier just to have something to say. She couldn’t catch the beat right and their performance director didn’t say anything funny but so characteristic it was humor. Lily’s laughter is chiming when it comes.
Haewon is bad with details these days. She’s gotten slightly complacent to the invisible march of their life. They’ll let her know what to wear and when, anything else doesn’t matter all that much. The things that matter always click into place all on their own. Lily spins, twisting herself awkwardly to give the stylist room to adjust something. The stiff material of her top cuts gently into her torso, just enough to press. A bone in her ribcage is on prodding display for these few seconds. In some self indulgent way, she does wish she remembered what she was wearing. If only so she knows how they match. If you asked Haewon in an interview “what's the best part of being in a group?” she’d come up with some perfectly acceptable, moderately sentimental, reasonably detached response. Something funny but forgettable about familiarity, shared responsibility, the magic of friendship coupled with a fat paycheck and all that. But if you caught her in the right light, or hooked her up to a polygraph, she might slip out something a little more true. She might even crawl back to specific examples, something like year end music shows, flooded with other young adults. A crowd of hands searching to pull members and friends closer for a group picture or closing broadcast. She’s the leader, the moderately anti-social leader at that. That means it’s her responsibility to look around, scan the crowd of fur and leather and fabric and skin, to find the dyed beacons of whatever her girls look like right now. This means that when she spots the bleach blond giveaway of Lily Morrow and looks down at her outfit, she’ll see some altered version of her own. It’s meant to display their camaraderie, sisterhood and sameness, their identity as Nmixx, but for those blessed seconds of spotting among the crowd all it yells is mine and it’s better than any fansign or paycheck or year end award. It could appall her if she let it, the possessive little whims tucked into their everyday life, but that would mean Haewon would have to stop there and contemplate, something no one has the time for her to do. Instead she chooses to savor them, to keep something for herself.
“What do you think for the hair?” Haewon throws it out casually, not looking in her eyes. She’s tracing the crossing X of the back of Lily’s top.
“I don’t know,” Lily hums thoughtfully, as if debating whether to take the offer Haewon’s given.
“What do you think?”
Bingo. Haewon looks up, meeting her eyes and grinning. The questions light but beneath it, the same twitching thing waits — half-hungry, half-hopeful— a fidgety holdover until the next chance to drag their friendship into the greedy, gray “more.”. This coded message wrapped and delivered right into her own greed.
“Ponytail. Put your hair up. It’ll look nice.” She grins like someone just gave her the last slice of cake. She’s almost giddy. She can’t stop herself from rushing forward to the month from now when this move is in motion. Lily on stage, bathed in glowing light and covered up with black leather straps, with her hair pulled back and gathered, a sign that she had listened to what Haewon had thought. Neck bared in some sick, subtle message of “See this? Remember?” just for the two of them. Glancing back at Lily, the Australian notices her excitement and rolls her eyes, mouth quirked in that amused, fond way. Sometimes Haewon thinks she’ll say it out loud. She’ll look at her and her hidden messages and dumb complications and tell her point blank “This is stupid. You’re selfish and neither of us is subtle.” but it never comes. After all, they’re both pretty selfish and every time the pattern repeats it only affirms their bad habits. They’ll slide back and forth from the cool feigned ignorance to the red anticipation of their greedy little repeats. Lily looks so exasperated and fond, Haewon almost wants to giggle, but that would be hard to explain. Plus, probably even more unhealthy altogether. It’s that knowing smile that keeps the train moving. Haewon swears she could pray to it. Lily brushes her hand across her own shoulder like she’s tracking the gaze.
The stylist behind her voices her approval of the idea. She’s coordinating all of them at once. Her voice is a sharp and stark reminder they are not alone.
“I was hoping for an updo. It would highlight the details nicely. You too, Haewon-ssi, if you’ve already submitted the request for the salon, hold off. I’d like to see if it’ll make sense for you to match.”
Lily’s eyebrows raise, she’s joking when she smiles back at Haewon. She twists her whole body around to look at her directly, not through the polished glass.
“Hmm. I don’t know. Would you want that? Are you ok with twinning?” Her voice is practically straining to hide her laughter. It’s like they're talking about some inside joke, childish and safe and appropriate for a styling room. Haewon rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny her a smile. The cycle rolls back over itself. If Haewon was smarter she could probably predict it before the next turn.
Waiting rooms and movie nights. Company dinners and off days. Practice room floors and dorm room bedrooms. Hotels and restaurants and stages across an entire ocean. Haewon carries her longing like a pre-approved little carry-on. Cumbersome and necessary, it doesn’t cause any trouble boarding flights. It’s not too heavy to carry, most days she won’t even notice she’s picked it up or put it down until her shoulders ache trudging back home. On her individual schedules sometimes it’s louder, misplaced and nagging, like she’s left her wallet behind. One hand will ghost restless through the motions, searching herself until the absence is placed. Once she finds it or when the day is done (whichever comes first), she’ll sling it over her shoulder and wrap it in any metaphor she wants if it’ll let her feign any sliver control or autonomy. Closing one eye and likening it to something else through the squint was, after all, the only way to address it at all. Something unnamed and unable to ignore, any juvenile confusion she felt as a trainee warped and fell to the side, sheared off with age and exposure into the blinding clarity of her own feelings. This is not how you treat your best friend. This is not the understanding of a coworker. This is, unfortunately, not some little kid crush. It was easier then, at the start of this cycle. Haewon had her rules and her reservations, understood every inch of what was acceptable and what crossed the line. Back when they could screw their eyes shut and pretend this was a childhood oversight, brought about from shared ambition and shared water bottles and pre teen hormones. Ignorance was convenient and necessary but had an alarmingly short shelf life. Smart girls like Lily don’t let that kind of thing go so easily.
The drained rattle of a straw against the empty walls of her iced cup feels like a loss of some kind. She already got thoroughly scolded for the caffeinated drink so she wants to get every opportunity at its benefits as well. Lily makes some vaguely annoyed face at the sound so Haewon goes again with a second attempt, vigor exaggerated.
“Haewon. I will throw you out if you don’t stop, I swear it.” Her tone is much too amused to hold any weight.
Haewon’s devotion endures, mostly without any rhyme or reason. She contributes it to years of careful practice. They’ve lived a life, a shared life, where desire is praised next to godliness; Idolhood and its pillars acting as an altar to need and restriction. They were both proof of what happens when you follow the carefully taught lessons pounded into any young trainee. They’ve internalized it, the shining results of what happens when hunger is your bible and routine is your worship and the Music Bank annex set is your church. There is no space for a trainee without ambition, without drive. Perfunctory does not get you to the debut showcase, restraint doesn’t let you climb billboards. Is it any wonder these exemplary trainees, two girls groomed for a life of repeated, structured desire, followed instructions? When they first debuted, they were even praised for their chemistry. It was something to be analyzed, like any other aspect of their infant group. Their affection, their breath control, their synchronization. Any casual intimacy amplified and scrutinized, a phenomenon that spread with their industry experience. Fanservice and interviews and wandering eyes and insane questions. Haewon’s hard fought restraint and carefully built conditioning doesn’t know where to go now. How do you feed the screams of a camera urging you together while clamping your hands firmly over your own howling mouth? It’s been documented and edited, framed to music and pasted over half-way true narratives by nameless fans; fans championed by identifying profile photos of her own face. Previews of her own selfishness plastered across her career and jumbled into the rest of her life. It becomes so normal, to feed into the smile of a cheering NSWER with a heart pose and a hug to her Lily, that she barely notices the nuances. Familiar and so close to what’s wanted, what use is fighting her own pulpy heartbeats?
They decide to remove the strap around her thigh. Haewon offers to hold it while the managers hunt an alternative down. It’s cheap, no one blows much money on one-use accessories for a group still climbing their peaks. It’s almost plastic and holds none of the heat one would expect from an item so recently worn. They have Lily run through some choreo to test how her skirt moves. Haewon doesn’t interrupt, she holds the garter in her hands and waits until someone offers a spot for her to put it down.
When the fitting is done Haewon lets her clamber into the van first. Lily orders dinner for both of them without asking as they pull away from the building. Haewon brought her gloves, she left them at the dorms at the beginning of the day. Lily smiles at her when they’re passed over. She lies and tells Haewon she’s sweet. Lily asks about her schedule. Haewon shoves the question off with a joke. Lily doesn’t hide her pout. Haewon doesn’t hide her smile from seeing it. They don’t eat together, but Haewon separates the cheap wooden chopsticks before the other girl can grab them and presses them into Lily’s hand when they divide their order. Lily’s smile verges just barely into too soft and pleased.
“You always mangle them. I’m just saving the environment by not letting you make these into toothpicks.”
Lily doesn’t fight her, she sticks her tongue out once and sings absently while opening up the bags and packages. The food itself is a little cold from the delivery. It’s the chicken place Lily has been hooked on for weeks. They divide it up methodically, relying on ages of practice filling bowls and drifting politely past to reach cabinets. Haewon has a set of neatly labeled plastic dishware her mother got her right before she moved into the trainee dorms. She keeps meaning to get something more permanent. Lily’s family visited once and they painted ceramics together. Lily’s bowl is blue with attempts at florals. It’s poorly decorated and endearingly ugly but Lily uses it well. It’s late enough that the proof of some other girl’s dinner sit’s unwashed in the sink basin. Most of their dishes are communal anyways. The years have softened their material possessiveness. Haewon doesn’t say anything when she places the last piece of chicken in Lily’s bowl. The sauce dripped just once onto the counter in the transit. Lily tries to argue, to tell her she never finishes all her food anyways but Haewon shakes her head and it’s dropped. She says next time she’ll order and they’ll get nothing but fish and vegetables just so Lily will giggle. Lily brushes fully against her to get a water glass. They don’t eat together but Lily chimes out a thank you before they go into their separate rooms.
“What are you thanking me for? You paid.” Haewon is audibly confused. Lily is looking at her like she knows something Haewon doesn’t. An exaggerated insightfulness gracing her features.
“Ah. Don’t get so hung up on the details, that’s your problem, Haewon.” She does a funny little huff and adopts a stoic expression. She’s entertained herself with this. She looks pleased with her own joke.
Haewon can’t think of anything to say in time for it to be actually funny. She settles for some amused snort combination and lets Lily stay a little mysterious. She doesn’t get the humor at all but it’s not ruined by that fact. Someone further down turns on a shower. Music is playing in the bathroom and muffled by the door. There's not any heated, coded message in Lily’s gaze, she’s smiling just for the sake of it. Haewon isn’t quite smiling but she’s still standing there.
“Goodnight, Haewon.” Lily slips away first. Their doors are diagonally aligned in the hallway of the dorms. Kyujin left a package in the middle of the walkway. Haewon can hear Lily’s voice if she strains, greeting her roommate with a sing-song tone. When she closes the door it’s cut off. Tomorrow is another early day and Haewon is sure her greed could kill her if she let it.