Chapter Text
It’s the year 2014. BTS – or most often referred to as Bangtan during that time – finally gained some tracking from the release of their latest album, Dark & Wild.
It’s the year 2014, and Bighit Entertainment finally decided to invest in another artist.
It’s 2012, and Lee Haneul entered BigHit Entertainment with a pounding heart.
She can’t help the excitement and the nervous titters of her heart. After all, after countless auditions and castings, she’s finally here. She’s finally here in an entertainment company that would give her a chance. A chance to be something. A chance for her to chase her dream.
While Bighit Entertainment itself is not a big company, small, hardly anyone knew them – but Haneul still feels excited. After all, they’re the only ones who would welcome her. A girl with barely there singing and dancing ability, but the passion to be the biggest star out there.
Being an idol had always been a lifelong dream of hers. Ever since she saw an idol group sing and dance on a random TV show that she watched one afternoon, there’s nothing that she wanted more than to become like that. To become someone who can captivate everyone with her mere presence. To be someone who can look that free on the stage.
The bag on her back felt heavy. Not because of what’s inside - just a few sets of clothes, a worn pair of sneakers, and a notebook filled with scribbles of dreams she never dared to say out loud - but because of everything it represents.
Everything that she had left behind just to chase this, which other people would call a futile dream of hers. A part of her troubled youth, her mother had said. Something that she wanted to become just because she had become disillusioned with all the glam and sparkles the entertainment world had shown her.
She adjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder, glancing down at the crumpled paper in her hand for what feels like the hundredth time.
BigHit Entertainment
3rd Floor.
“Okay,” she said. “I can do this. This will be the first chapter of your autobiography, Haneul. The very first thing you did just to achieve your dream.”
The words are muttered in a small voice. As if she’s scared that someone would hear her.
The building, as she looked up, was a bit underwhelming.
It’s not what she would imagine when she first thinks of an entertainment company building. It’s not the towering glass structure she had imagined when she first thought about becoming an idol. There are no giant LED screens, no posters of famous artists plastered across the walls. No glimmering lights or a large screen that would show the company’s bright and beautiful idols. Just a modest building squeezed between other businesses, its exterior slightly worn, like it’s trying its best to keep up with everything around it.
Is this where dreams are made?
Closing her eyes, she shook her head. No, no. She needs to be more grateful. This is the only company that offered her a chance. A humane contract. A promise for her future. She has no right to doubt the sincerity of the company just because they have an ugly building.
After all, from all of the countless auditions they had, out of all of those talented people, they had chosen Haneul.
They had chosen her.
That had to mean something, right?
Releasing a nervous breath, she finally opened the door that would undoubtedly bring her future-
Only to crash straight into something hard.
In a split second, Haneul’s hand immediately latched onto the metal handle of the door in an attempt to stop her from free-falling. Another set of hands also went to her shoulder, stopping her from colliding with the hard ground.
“Shit-! Are you okay!?”
“Okay!” Yelped Haneul, straightening herself. Fuck, this is not going great. This is a bad first impression, actually. “I’m perfectly okay!”
Great. Her first step to achieve her dream starts with a collision. Now everyone will think that she’s a clumsy girl.
It was also then that she finally saw the object- no, the person that bumped into her. A teen who looked around her age stood in front of her. He has short hair and single eyelid eyes, who is now looking at her with something close to concern. The tank top and the shorts he’s wearing are certainly not suitable for the fall season, though he doesn’t look bothered by it.
“Sorry,” she let out, shuffling inside. “I was um- way too nervous, and I forgot to check if anyone was in front of me.”
The teen nodded, shooting her a sheepish smile. “It’s cool,” he said. “I should be more careful, too.”
They exchanged awkward smiles at that, not knowing how to continue the conversation without sounding too awkward with each other.
“Where are you going?” asked the male after a round of awkward silence. “There are several tenants in this building, so…”
“Ah,” said Haneul with a gasp. “I’m going to Bighit Entertainment, I think they’re on the third floor?”
The teen blinked. “Bighit?” he said after a while. “Are you the new trainee?”
Haneul stared at the male. Now that she’s looking at him properlu… “Are you also a trainee?”
It was then that the male let out a huge smile, dimples appearing on his face. “I’m Kim Namjoon, and I've been a trainee here since 2010.”
Two years is a long time in Haneul’s mind. After all, in two years, a baby can start running and eating solid food. In two years, so many things can change in the world.
“A sunbaenim then!” let out Haneul as she bowed. “Let’s work together, sunbaenim!”
Namjoon laughed at that. “I haven’t debuted yet, though.” He rubbed the back of his neck, still smiling widely and a little bashful, despite how easily he laughed. “Seriously, you don’t have to call me sunbaenim, it’s kind of awkward.”
Haneul immediately blinked before she straightened up. “Ah- sorry! Should I call you… uh, Namjon-ssi?” she asked, trying out the more formal way to call him.
He made a face. “That’s somehow worse.”
Fuck. “Um, Namjoon-oppa, then?”
“That’s good,” he said with a nod, sounding satisfied. “We’ll be coworkers here, but I hope all the trainees can get along well.”
A small silence settled between them again, but somehow this feels a bit lighter.
Namjoon glanced at the large backpack on her back. “This is your first day?”
“Yeah,” nodded Haneul. “Real nervous.”
“Ah, you from Seoul?” he asked again with a knowing smile on his face.
She stared, a bit surprised. “How did you know?”
“You got no accents,” he laughed. “We country boys usually got some kind of accent going on when we first arrived. I’m from Ilsan, by the way.”
“Ilsan…” mumbled Haneul. “That’s… really brave of you to come all the way to Seoul.”
Because if it’s Haneul, she won’t have the courage to do it. If it’s Haneul, she would shiver at the mere thought of going to another city altogether with nothing to her name just to chase her dream.
Namjoon actually let out a loud laugh at that. “Nah, I don’t think so,” he said. “I just didn’t think too much before coming here.”
“Ah, that might actually have helped.”
They laughed at that, amusement clear between them. Namjoon shifted his weight slightly, glancing down the hallway before looking back at her. “Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward the inside. “I’ll walk you in properly this time. Less… collisions.”
Haneul let out a small, embarrassed laugh, quickly adjusting her bag again. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry for bothering you, you’re going out… right?”
“Nah, it’s chill,” he said, as he held the door open for her. This time, making sure that she passed first without any incident of colliding with anyone. The corner of his lips twitched, as if he were holding some kind of comment, but he let it go.
The hallway stretched a little longer than she expected, narrow but not suffocating. The lighting was simple, nothing fancy, just enough to keep everything visible. There were faint scuff marks on the floor, like countless footsteps had passed through here over and over again.
Namjoon walked just a bit ahead, hands tucked loosely into his basketball shorts.
“It’s a dump, right?” he asked as they walked into the elevator.
“No,” replied Haneul almost immediately. “It has its own… charms?”
“Just say it’s a dump. Everyone has been calling it a dump for ages.”
She laughed, not giving any further comment.
As they exited the elevator, she should see the small sign right in front of the door. BigHit Entertainment, written in small black letters.
“Home sweet home… well, office sweet office, I guess?” said Namjoon as he opened the door, letting both of them enter the place.
This place… it wasn’t glamorous, she noticed. No glitter, no bright screens. No polished perfections that she would imagine what an office would look like. Just practice rooms, slightly worn walls, and the distant sound of music leaking through closed doors.
“Over there’s the management space, the managers and staff worked there,” Namjoon said, pointing casually as they passed a door. “There’s a small practice room here, but the main ones are in the basement. Try not to get intimidated on your first day.”
She gulped. “Too late?”
Namjoon snorted. “Yeah, that’s normal.”
The deeper they went, the quieter it became. Less noise, more focus. The kind of silence that felt like it was filled with concentration rather than emptiness. As they turned the corner, a woman stepped out from one of the rooms, holding a stack of papers and a phone tucked between her shoulder and ear.
“-No, we can’t push it back again, think about the money-“
She stopped mid-step when she noticed them.
Her eyes landed on Haneul first.
“I’ll call you back,” she said, turning off the call and turning all of her attention towards the both of them.
“Manager Jiwon,” called out Namjoon, straightening out slightly. His previous slouch can’t be seen anymore. “I was just giving the new trainee a tour of the office.”
“Thank you, Namjoon-ssi,” the now identified as Jiwon nodded at the male, though there was no smile on her face. “You must be, Lee Haneul-ssi?”
Haneul immediately bowed, almost too fast. “Yes! Hello! It’s nice to meet you!”
The woman hummed softly, taking a step closer. She continued to stare at her, gaze trailing up and down. Up close, her presence felt even stronger - composed, efficient, the kind of person who noticed everything without needing to say much.
“I’m Kim Jiwon,” she said. “I’ve been expecting you,” she said, extending her hand.
Haneul straightened, hands immediately went to shake Jiwon’s hand. She thinks that her hands are sweaty, but she’s way too nervous to care about that. “It’s really nice to meet you.”
Jiwon’s eyes flicked briefly to her bag, then back to her face, like she was already piecing together who Haneul was from just that.
“You came alone?”
“Yes.”
A small nod.
“No prior training, correct?”
Haneul hesitated for a fraction of a second. “…Yes.”
The answer sat between them.
Namjoon shifted slightly beside her, but he didn’t interrupt. She guesses that he’s probably a bit intimidated by Jiwon, just like she is.
“Hm, alright,” the older woman said with a nod, as if she had done some kind of mental calculation in her head that none of them knew. “Everyone starts somewhere,” Jiwon added, turning slightly as she gestured down the hall. “You’ll be evaluated first, then we’ll place you into a training schedule.”
Haneul nodded quickly. “Yes.”
“Follow me.”
Jiwon turned without waiting, already walking.
Haneul instinctively moved to follow - but paused, glancing back at Namjoon. “Namjoon-oppa,” she called out. “Thank you for the tour.”
He gave her a small grin, hand already in a mid-wave. “Good luck,” he started with a grin. “You’ll be fine,” he said.
Simple and casual. As if he fate and the start of her story didn’t start here.
But somehow reassuring.
Haneul let out a small breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “…Thank you,” she said, giving a large grin and a bow. Then she turned and hurried after Jiwon, her steps echoing through the hall. Hurried and yet still firm.
Namjoon stayed where he was for a second, watching her disappear down the hallway.
“…Another one,” he muttered quietly to himself.
Then, after a beat, he turned back the way he came, hands slipping back into his pockets, steps unhurried.
Behind him, the building carried on as usual.
But for Haneul, everything had just begun.
Haneul soon learnt that Namjoon is like Bighit’s poster boy.
From what the staff had told her; CEO Bang made a whole debut lineup with Namjoon at the center. They also said that the male was scouted personally by CEO Bang. Picked out, chosen, like someone had seen something in him long before anyone else could. It was clear that the CEO saw an untapped potential in the male teen.
That there was an expectation attached to his name.
She, too, could see it as she watched him rap.
The first time that she saw it was a few days into training. She sat in the main practice room – damp and a bit moldy – as she watched the performances that the more senior trainees would give.
There’s a really amazing dancer who, from what other trainees said, came straight from JYP. It really amazes Haneul that someone would give up their position as a JYP trainee just to go to BigHit.
Maybe there’s really something amazing going on here.
And then there’s Namjoon.
He stood there, in the center of the room, with no mic in hand. Just him and his voice. Just him standing there in a simple shirt and dark pants, but still, he managed to captivate the entirety of the room.
His voice is low and steady. Rhythmic. It echoes through the practice room, and she could see how everyone is glued to the performance with bated breath. This is amazing, she thought. Namjoon-oppa is certainly amazing.
There’s no music playing, no background track. Just him and his voice. Just him and his lyrics. Only one of his hands moved as he rapped, no exaggerated performance and certainly not performative. Just a natural performance as if he’s playing with the beats and the rhythm.
Even under the strict gaze of the trainee management staff, his voice never wavered. Never hesitate. Each word landed cleanly, flowing into the next with an ease that Haneul could only dream of replicating. There was an intention in every syllable, control in every breath. Namjoon-oppa didn’t just memorize the lines.
He meant every word he was saying.
Oh, she thought, staring with wide eyes. This is the kind of talent that everyone wants. This is the kind of skill someone should have to debut.
This is not just a skill.
It’s a presence. A presence that managed to captivate everyone in the room.
Her chest tightened, but not in the way it did when she was anxious. This is something that she had felt before.
This is the very emotion that she felt when she first watched an idol performance on her TV. The very feeling that made her want to become an idol. To stand on a stage and make someone feel exactly what Haneul was feeling then and is feeling now.
She could feel her fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her training pants, gripping unconsciously.
Namjoon-oppa finished his verse without any dramatic ending, no flourish, no heavy breathing, no exaggerated expression. He simply stopped and turned his eyes towards the staff members. And yet, somehow, the room stayed silent.
Like no one quite knew how to break whatever had just settled in the air. Even the staff, who had been watching with their usual strict, unreadable expressions, didn’t immediately speak.
Haneul found herself holding her breath, though she’s also the first one who broke it. A quiet clap, a simple one that she gave. Namjoon’s eyes turned towards her, a surprised expression clear on his face.
Her small clap is the start of an applause as more and more trainees began clapping for the amazing performance that he just gave. After that, almost immediately, a cough from one of the staff members interrupted her.
“Good,” he said, a performance director called Kim Sanghyun, jotting something down on his clipboard. “Stability is improving, as well as your stage presence. Keep up the good work, Namjoon-ssi.”
“Thank you!” said Namjoon as he gave the man a bow.
Just that. Just good.
Haneul blinked.
That’s it? If he’s just good, then what is Haneul? A disaster?
Her gaze flickered back to Namjoon, who was already sitting alongside other male trainees. Half-expecting to see disappointment on his face, or at least some kind of negative reaction, because a mere good for that amazing performance is not enough in her opinion. But Namjoon is already smiling and laughing with the other trainees.
He seems happy. As if that small acknowledgement is already enough for him. As if he still has a lot to improve.
The staff moved on quickly after that, calling out the next trainee’s name. People started moving again, whispering among themselves, stretching, preparing.
But Haneul couldn’t move. Her eyes stayed on Namjoon as he stepped out of the room, muttering about wanting to get some water outside.
“…Amazing,” she whispered under her breath.
“Right?”
Haneul flinched slightly, turning to the side. A girl sat next to her, arms wrapped loosely around her knees, watching the room with a knowing look. Her name is Choi Mina, a girl who also lives at the dorm just like Haneul. They actually met during Haneul’s first day here, but they never really exchanged any conversation with each other, even though they share a bunkbed together.
“That’s why he’s the center,” continued Mina, nodding toward Namjoon. “Even the company revolves around him.”
Haneul swallowed, nodding slowly. “…I can see why.”
The girl hummed. “CEO-nim has been building the team around him for a while now. Everyone knows it.”
Everyone knows it.
Haneul lowered her gaze slightly, her thoughts beginning to spiral. Not fast, not panicked, but quiet and heavy.
If that’s the standard…
Her fingers tightened again.
Then, where does Haneul stand?
Haneul didn’t have any prior training before all of this. Manager Jiwon had said that everyone starts from zero, but looking at the rest of the trainees here, Haneul thinks that she starts from a fucking minus. Even Mina knows that the girl had started dancing for years before she even joined BigHit.
She looked around the room.
The trainees stretching in the corner.
At the dancer, everyone whispered about- the one from JYP - moving with sharp, effortless precision like his body understood music better than words.
At Namjoon, who already went back into the main practice room, laughing softly at something another trainee said, was completely at ease, like he belonged here.
And then-
At herself.
Sitting on the edge of the room.
Watching.
Learning.
Trying.
A small breath left her lips.
“…I have a long way to go,” she murmured.
The first thing that Haneul learnt as she settled into the trainee life routine is that effort doesn’t always translate into improvement.
She had always believed it would, though. After all, that’s how things always work for her. That if she practiced enough - if she repeated something over and over again - her body would eventually understand. That was how it worked with piano and violin. That was how it worked with everything she had ever been taught.
But these past few weeks had been such a huge reality check for her.
“Again from the top,” instructed the choreographer.
Haneul nodded as she repeated the routine as best as she could. She stayed up until morning for the past few weeks just to perfect this choreo and yet-!
“Lee Haneul, you’re not dancing right!” Yelled the man, stopping the routine almost immediately. The entire room shifted as eyes began moving towards where Haneul was.
“I’m sorry!” said Haneul, bowing. “I’ll try again!”
“You’d better,” muttered the man, grumbling. “If you can’t handle this, you will never make your debut.”
“Yes, I’m sorry, sir!” repeated Haneul.
She barely had any time to catch her breath before the music started again. Haneul could see Mina glancing her way before mouthing an ‘are you okay?’
Giving her a small nod, she began dancing again.
Dancing is hard. Dancing when your body is hurt from practicing late into the morning is even harder. Haneul doesn’t know what’s wrong with her body, but her body just refuses to work as she wants. She’s way too stiff. Not graceful enough.
Just overall bad.
“You’re really working hard,” said Mina during lunchtime. Calling is lunch is a bit sad because what they’re having is just a roll of vegetable kimbap that they share for both of them. The company had been saying that they needed to lose some weight after all. “That’s amazing, I rarely see you sleep in the dorms.”
“… thanks,” answered Haneul as she chewed. It tasted weird, but it’s cheap and healthy. She doesn’t think it has a lot of calories, at least.
“I seriously don’t understand why they scold you that much…” mumbled Mina. “It’s clear that you’re working harder than everybody.”
“It’s because I suck,” replied Haneul dryly. “And everyone works hard.”
Both she and Mina had developed a close friendship over the past few weeks. She thinks it’s because they are at the same age and share the same kind of interests, which are cosmetics and classical music. Mina had even said that if this idol gig doesn’t work out, she will enter a beauty school and become a beautician.
Haneul doesn’t even have a backup plan if she fails to debut.
Honestly, the hardest part of all of this is not the criticism, not the exhaustion. The hardest part is the constant feeling of being left behind. Everyone is moving at a very fast pace.
Jung Hoseok – the dancer from JYP –moved sharply, precisely, and intentional.
Namjoon, who could rap his feelings out and write lyrics more beautiful than a poet.
Mina, who adjusted quickly after corrections.
And then there’s Haneul. Haneul, who just won’t improve no matter how much work she puts into. Haneul, who still struggles to move her body correctly and sing the way the singing teacher wants. Haneul, who can’t rap to save her life or produce and write music even when there’s a gun aimed at her.
Haneul, who’s just… there.
“… Again,” she whispered to herself as she finished a dancing routine in the practice room. She stands in front of a foggy mirror, feeling hot because she didn’t turn the AC on. The staff had advised them not to turn on the AC during early morning practice due to the high electricity bill.
“Again,” she whispered again, as she began moving, but made a wrong move. A common mistake that she had made over and over.
“Again.”
“Again.’
Again- fuck!” yelled Haneul as she plopped herself onto the practice room floor, sweat beading her face as she panted from exhaustion.
Glancing at her phone, she saw that it was 2AM already. She has school tomorrow.
“Should I end it here…” she muttered, sitting up. Haneul has a quiz tomorrow, but still, she still failed to get the choreography right. There’s an evaluation at the end of the week; she needs to improve, or else the company will cut her trainee life short.
Closing her eyes, she let out a sigh.
“I should go home,” said Haneul, standing up. Even if she continues to practice, she thinks that there’s no way she’ll improve because she’s way too exhausted to correct her form. Exiting the practice room, she glanced at the hallway in front of her.
The building felt different at night.
Quieter. Still.
Not silent - but softer, like everything had been turned down just a notch. The sharp voices of instructors were gone, replaced by the faint hum of electricity, the distant echo of footsteps, and the occasional muffled sound of music leaking through walls. There’s no sound of laughter nor the sound of any scoldings.
Haneul preferred it like this. Fewer eyes.
Just Haneul and the choreography that she failed to master over and over again. Just Haneul and her failure to just do something.
Letting out another sigh, she adjusted her tote bag on her shoulder before she began walking again. The hallways is silent to the point that she could hear her own steps echoing through the place. She’s heading towards the exit when she hears it-
The faint echo of a piano. Uneven and hesitant.
Haneul’s steps slowed.
The piano is not polished. Far from it. Not like what she used to. The notes came in fragments, some too heavy, some slightly off time. Like the person playing was searching for something they couldn’t quite grasp. As if they’re not dancing with the rhythm like what Haneul had been taught, but still trying and searching for something.
She stood there for a second, listening. Her brows pulled together slightly. That progression-
It was close. But not there yet. Somehow, it feels incomplete.
Without thinking, her feet carried her towards the sound on instinct. She could pinpoint where the sound came from when she saw a studio door being opened slightly, faint light spilling into the otherwise dark hallway.
She hesitated a bit.
But then, the piano continued. Still hesitant and trying. Still searching for something.
At that time, Namjoon’s words when they first met appeared inside her mind.
“I just didn’t think too much before coming here.”
Well, she should have stopped thinking then. Before she could overthink it, Haneul took a step closer as she peeked into the studio.
The studio itself is a bit dark, despite the light spilling into the hallways. Skateboards are hanging on the dark wall as well as a bright computer that’s giving the studio a faint glow. She recognized that this is the studio that the producer likes to use, different from what the trainees would usually use.
And in the middle of it sat a boy. A boy sat in front of the computer, shoulders slightly hunched as he fiddled with a keyboard that had been positioned at the side of the room. He’s wearing a black jacket as his eyes wander from the keyboard to the screen. Almost immediately, Haneul knows who that is.
Min Yoongi.
Just like Namjoon, he’s also one of the prospects for the debut lineup. She heard that it’s basically been confirmed, as he’s a rapper in the same calibre as Namjoon. One of the few who could match him, another golden boy that the company is proud of. Others also said that he made a lot of amazing music, some of which was sold to other artists.
Basically, he’s one of the most amazing trainees that BigHit has, just like Namjoon.
At first, he didn’t notice her. All of his attention is focused on the keyboard as he plays the sequence over and over again. Each time, stopping at the same place as if he didn’t know where he wanted to bring the melody.
Haneul still stood there, fingers twitching almost unconsciously.
That note should go lower. No, not lower. Maybe a bit smoother transition. A bit of a shift. Or maybe-
She didn’t even realize how long she had been standing there until a voice cut through the room.
“You’re blocking the AC from the hallways,” Yoongi said, voice flat and unbothered.
Haneul froze, eyes going wide. “Oh- sorry!” she yelped.
Yoongi turned around, staring at her with his cold expression. “What do you want?” he asked.
Honestly, she really doesn’t know what to say. After all, no normal people just walk into a studio at night and give a comment about a stranger’s music. No normal person would even take a peek into an occupied studio late at night.
She has a feeling that no matter what he said, she will only dig herself into an even deeper grave.
“I- uh, I heard a piano,” she said, “And I just-“
That sounded worse out loud.
Yoongi raised an eyebrow, still staring at her with that flat and blank look. Though there’s some kind of recognition in his eyes now. “The new trainee,” he said.
“… Yes.” Is that her label from now on? The new trainee?
A pause appeared between the two of them before Yoongi turned his attention back to the keyboard. “Then you should focus on practice,” he said. “Not wandering around into someone’s studio late at night.”
Stop bothering me, left unsaid.
It’s a clear jab at her, and she knows that she should leave. That it’s clear that he’s telling her to fuck off and leave, but still-
Her gaze drifted back to his hands. To their keyboard. To the uneven sound that he produced as he transitioned from one key to another. To the same unfinished piece that had caught her attention earlier.
“… That part,” she said before she could stop herself.
Yoongi’s fingers paused. “What about it?”
“It feels like you’re searching for something,” she said. “Like you want to find a resolution.”
The male doesn’t respond immediately, merely staring at her as silence reigned between the two of them. After a few seconds where her heartbeat basically hammered inside her chest, he finally nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s the problem.”
Haneul hesitated a bit, fingers curling at her side.”
“… Can I?”
The question hung in the air.
Yoongi still stood there, staring at her quietly.
“You play?” he finally asked.
“A little,” she said. It was a lie, but she didn’t know how else she should say it. In a way that made her feel as if she didn’t have any passion for it.
Another pause.
Then, he shifted lightly, moving away from the keys. “Go ahead,” he mumbled.
Immediately, Haneul stepped inside and walked directly to the keyboard. Piano and keyboard are such different instruments, but still, the moment her fingers hovered above the keyboard, almost immediately, she felt at home.
The unfamiliar feeling of just letting her mind focus on the black and white tiles in front of her. To relive some familiar memories of her past. In an instant, something in her posture changed, subtle but noticeable.
Her shoulder relaxed.
Her breathing steadied.
Slowly, her fingers lowered to the keys.
And then, she played. It brings back a lot of memories. The familiar warm sensation of touching tiles as she played the melody that she had been hearing for the past few minutes. She let her fingers and instinct guide her, as she played the same thing that Yoongi had just played.
When she reached the unfinished part, the part that Yoongi is struggling with, she continued without hesitation. A resolution that doesn’t feel forced. Smoother and softer. More natural than what she had heard a few moments ago.
The final note lingered in the air as she finished playing, a small, hesitant smile appeared on her face as she turned towards where Yoongi had been watching her. “Like that, maybe?”
Silence.
Yoongi was staring at her with a new light in his eyes. It’s not admiration or whatnot, it’s some kind of focus. As if he had just found something that he had been searching for some time.
“Do it again,” he said, reaching for his phone. She realized that he was opening a recording app and nodded his head for her to continue.
Also nodding, she played it again, a bit slower this time, trying to show him how to do it at the same time. Showing him how she moves her fingers to achieve the sound. The shift. The weight. Yoongi leaned forward slightly, watching the way it moves carefully.
His fingers twitched as she followed her movement in the air. A bit heavier and less fluid, but better than what he did before.
Stopping, she grabbed his fingers carefully. “Not like that,” she said softly without thinking. “If you do that, you will be pressing too hard on the transition.”
He paused for a bit, then glanced at her.
Fuck, who is she to correct him? “… Sorry,” she added quickly, releasing his fingers from her grip.
Yoongi didn’t respond. He merely reached forward towards the keyboard, making Haneul take a step back, as he began playing again. He adjusted it this time, though it’s not perfect, but it’s infinitely better than his previous attempt. It flowed better and more smoothly.
Seeing it, she’s a bit impressed. He learns fast. Of course he does. Isn’t he basically a genius producer or something?
“You’ve played before,” stated Yoongi, eyes still on the keyboard.
Haneul hesitated. “Yeah.”
He raised an eyebrow, turning his gaze towards her as he tilted his head a bit. “How long?”
She looked down at the keys. Familiar memories floated into her mind of the countless hours that she had spent in front of a piano. Of all the stages that she has been in, with a piano on her side and the bright lights shining down on her.
Of her first memory in this life, where she could see her mother smiling down at her and carefully guiding her hands into a piano.
“Since I was little,” she replied instead.
“Hm, figures,” hummed Yoongi. “Do it again,” he instructed.
Haneul blinked. “Again?”
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“I want to hear it more properly,” he continued. At that, something in his tone shifted. Less dismissive and less distant. It’s not warm, far from it. But-
It’s more open. Less guarded.
Haneul nodded slowly, fingers already hovering on top of the keys. She began playing deep into the night with a silent and cold boy by her side.
And for the first time since she stepped into BigHit, Haneul wasn’t trying to catch up.