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“If you were going to stay away,” Beomgyu says quietly, words drifting in the space between them in the van, “then you shouldn’t have kissed me at all, unnie.”
Yeonjun swallows. Breathes. In, out. One, two, three. Next to her, Taehyun’s shoulder lolls onto hers, Kai similarly dead knocked out; Soobin’s snores begin to get louder and louder from the backseat. A weak objection it is, but she tries, “you wanted me to.”
“Then reject me, unnie, it’s not that hard,” Beomgyu fires back. Her voice pitches high, wobbling for a second, but she gathers herself back to composure in a heartbeat. An idol has to know these things, after all; Yeonjun’s never been convinced that those are good things, when inter-group conflicts happen and all five of them hate arguing with each other. Loaded with hurt venom: “You’ve rejected plenty of people in your life, haven’t you? What’s one more? Legendary trainee. Fourth gen it girl.”
Unless they want to argue, in which case: well. Fuck around and find out. She’s never quite seen Beomgyu being as mean as this. She supposes Soobin’s been giving out pointers.
“It’s not that I…” she starts, falters. She means to say it’s not that I wanted to, but that would sound—exceedingly pathetic, even for her. Never mind that she has no real way to rebut Beomgyu’s furious weaponizing of her fame within the industry. It’s true, she is, she has become exceedingly deft at sidestepping offers to go out for drinks and—whatnot, and she’s accepted some, even, but really.
Really, Choi Beomgyu. This girl.
“If,” Beomgyu visibly swallows. “If—if you really didn’t want it, then why…” Yeonjun looks out the window, at the skyscrapers dimming out the night sky. Fighting against the most pathetic excuse of all: we shouldn’t. It’s not going to work out. All eyes are on us, especially now.
You know unforgiving they are. Especially to ones like us. Girl groups are spared no amount of backlash, and coming from where they do? Yeonjun’s entire being skitters in fear at the thought. It’s one thing to push boundaries, to stubbornly stick to a vision of artistry and self-expression. It’s another to throw everything to hell, because—
Here’s the deal: Choi Yeonjun is the kind of person who charges on and ahead straight at her goals and dreams. For years now, it’s simply been a truth—that Yeonjun will do anything it takes, working as hard as she can until her voice gives out and her body hits the practice room floor, for her to achieve the thing she’s had her eyes on since she was a tiny teenager yet to grow into the shape of her body. There are very, very few things that place that second in her list of priorities.
It’s only a given that it should be her group. Her members. This is something they have built together with their hands, a dream to be shared for as long as they can. People she cherishes more than most others. Doesn’t it sound callous and heartless when she says: what if I tell you what I mean, and everything crashes down because of it?
It’d sound less like she doesn’t trust herself and more like she doesn’t trust Beomgyu, or the rest. The furthest thing from the truth. Or—
She thinks Taehyun would get it. She’s even more no-nonsense than Yeonjun.
Which is not the attitude Beomgyu would appreciate right now. Or ever, really. Bitterly, tired in a way that renders her boneless and limp, Yeonjun wonders: do you regret the concern you showed earlier yet? Because it’d made her happy, as much as she’d been annoyed in the way she gets at shows of unwanted concern, when Beomgyu, still not clued into Yeonjun’s panic over it, had come asking, unnie, are you okay? Haven’t you been sleeping well? Do you need me to do anything?
To ask that would be more than cruel, and Yeonjun’s been cruel enough. To say she yearns for that concern would be a betrayal of it all. So she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t say that she wants nothing more than to reach out.
Beomgyu’s silence is a condemnation in of itself.