soft.

maybe, if he were someone else, he would. jaewon lightens up his cigarette.

“done with the party already, yena?” he speaks up, cigarette between his lips.

yena stumbled into the industry as if by fate, and the result of that is that she is incredibly illsuited for her surroundings. she lacks that anxious fervor. she’s a performer to the core, but she doesn’t possess the fiery desperation that so many of them do. hers is a quiet flame, a low burning coal in the heart of a fire, glowing steady and relentless. maybe the industry needs people like her, too, she’d thought at first. a stable fire, not the flickering intensity that burns out so quickly. she doesn’t mind waiting as her groupmates rise to prominence for this and that, acting mostly, or commercial endeavors. she’s in it for the music, even if her opportunity for a solo has been robbed her. 

heaven1004 feels like salt in the wound of that, when she’s hard carrying the song itself, when he of all people is her partner in the video, when the whole thing is a clear bait at the summer market and it works so effortlessly and so well that yena finds it alarming. 99 entertainment is lazy on the best of days, they shouldn’t be rewarded for their low effort pandering. still, at least that pandering lines her pockets. and she has the musical to focus on these days, too. something to flex her real skills, the vocal talents buried in simpering choruses and notes belted in the same range, every time, endlessly. 

annoying. 

she’s unsatisfied, these days. uninspired. tired of endless parties and the every increasing army of hoobaes, all bright eyed, all catty, all messy, all ridiculous in one way or another. so she’s off on the roof instead, sipping a drink - she doesn’t smoke. won’t do that to her vocal chords. she’s no masochist. or at least, not like that. she’s annoyed at the smell of smoke, doubly so when she sees the source. reaches out and takes it from between his lips, grinds it to the railing and flicks it off the rooftop when the flame is extinguished. “ruin your lungs all you want but leave mine alone.” she scolds, mostly just to infuriate him. she enjoys that, sneaking up beneath his skin. it’s the least he deserves, for the crime of loving her in the first place. 

“its just really hard. i’ve been so worried about my girls, you know, her.oine and now jawbreaker, jiahn too, and worried about the comeback and now…about the show, and ellie’s screentime and jiahn’s reputation, i just want us to do well as a group, but the show feels so divisive. and like you said. a lot of them don’t…like me to be here anyway, too. it just feels like a lot of things to worry about.” she adds the last with a playful pout that she hopes offsets the heavy topic. she sniffles, pulls a deep breath, adds, “congratulations on your unit debut by the way.”  

oh heavens.  (pun perhaps slightly intended) the girl thinks to herself as she watches suran's face change. she likes her, she does, but she's always been too sensitive for an industry this brutal. she's got her heart on her sleeve, and while that makes for great music and performance abilities, it doesn't give her the ability to stand up under the pressure.

she's going to have to toughen up fast. yena knows that it's got to be brutal for her right now, with so much change and inconsistency plaguing her, with her being trapped in this nightmare of a situation, but yena knows also that these kinds of things will only keep coming. if it isn't this set back it'll be another.

still, she offers comfort where she can, sweeps her hand through the girl's hair and pats her on the back, between too-thin shoulder blades, protruding beneath her thin tshirt like they might break through her skin and prompt her to take flight, unfurling wings in the place of bone.

she doesn't bother hiding a soft, fond laugh as the other prompts a question, tries to change the subject. she's almost sure she can hear a cameraman do the same, despite himself certainly, and she gestures them away. "let a girl cry in peace, would you?" she playfully scolds, "surely you got enough by now. edit her nicely. she's having a hard time," the idol pouts towards them, despite knowing clearly that the lowly cameramen will have little say in things. but they'll both come off sympathetic for it, so why not? her image and seniority give her leeway to bend the expectations of propriety and restriction just a little bit anyway and thus she does so to preserve the other's privacy belatedly, to do her best to soften the uncertainty of the moment, the embarrassed energy that radiates from the other.

“it’s hard, even so.” she admits, exhales heavy and pushes her hand back through her hair. “i like jiahn, but the group has changed so much. the balance is weird now. the dynamic is off. the company is…better but …” but why would they put me on this, she wants to say. why are they making me fight for my life, for my career, again - as if i haven’t done that day in and day out for the last bazillion years, at this point. she exhales heavy. “I’m just….tired of trying to prove myself all the time. when it seems like it just goes around in circles, endlessly.”

yena feels for the girl. she’s been paying attention to the dynamics between the trainees, after all. its her job to do so. and what she’s seen hasn’t always been sunshine and rainbows. it was hard, to watch her dealing with that. but these kids, half of them were just that. some of them were barely even 21, just babies tottering around fresh out of high school on spindly legs and oversized heels, desperate to make a mark. yena could understand the theory of that, the desire to succeed, but she couldn’t understand the cruelty that came with it. 

maybe that was because her own path to success had been so abrupt and uncontested. she’s rolled up to a substitute teaching gig and left a trainee. she’d wowed her way through training and stood on stage, and nearly a decade later here she was. maybe she was lucky, maybe she was blessed. whatever it was, she was grateful at least for that. 

she wants suran to succeed too. 

she wants it for her so, so terribly badly.

the majority of the day’s work was over and it was a dedicated rest time for all of the participants of the show: they had a few hours to eat, shower, rest, and revive themselves until they were allowed to practice again. myungeun had already ate this morning and was waiting for the shower in her room, but let all of the other trainees go in front of her (although she was the oldest in the room and had the opportunity to go first, letting all of the younger kids go only seemed fair). this break time – and consequently while she was waiting for the shower to open up – was spent decompressing on the roof, watching the sunset.

she’s meandered up to the roof before, though not with one of the contestants. 

she tries to keep her distance. yena’s been in the industry long enough now to know that trainees, rookies, they come and go in the blink of an eye. a year or two and half the groups at the music shows have changed over completely, it feels like. more and more filter onto the stages every year, only to vanish abruptly, to dip into obscurity and wink out of existence. so she tends, truthfully, to keep herself guarded. in the early going it was easy to get attached, to fight towards their dreams together, to cry together when one dream is ground to dust. but over time she grew tired of it, inured to the endless cycle. the ending, the vanishing, the distance. the resentment, too, that came from so many, friends turning on her as her career continued when there’s could not. as if yena knew what made such things happen. she’s seen enough beautiful and talented people fade away to believe now that there is no real rhyme or reason to it. 

which makes her participation on the show all the more awkward. 

how can she look all these hopefuls in the eye and not want to tell them “turn back now” or “this is really as bad an idea as your parents have told you it is.” how can she tell them “you don’t have the skills to make it” when she’s seen people with far less skill go immeasurably far? you shouldn’t have the skills to make it, more like, but half the battle is luck and luck alone. honestly maybe even more than half. 

eventually the bulky camera pulls itself away, and jiahn smiles sweet, pretends like she might not know there are hidden cameras dotted around the room. “it’s challenging, but it’s offering me a lot more opportunities. like training with you, i think that’s probably every trainees dream, right?” jiahn teases this out with a grin, something that reads just a little more real. i know we’re both human, you know i need to act fake. that’s what it hints at. because she bets yena does know, her image is perfectly manicured. jiahn wants that too. “suran’s been such a huge help. i don’t know what i’d do without her in jawbreaker, really. she helped make me feel welcomed. like i really had a place there. she really deserves that center spot.” she adds on, because she’s still hoping to push their bonding story line into the spotlight.

there are cameras everywhere. 

yena can ignore them, because she’s grown used to that sort of thing. the subconcious awareness of angles, of her words, of her gestures and expressions that comes with years upon years of practice. she’d been awkward once, like these trainees. 

half of them plan every word they say into sound bites, leaving conversations stilted and bizarre to the listener. the rest stare into the cameras, or pander to them, or aggressively ignore them. some even seem to forget the fixed cameras that dot the room, visibly relaxing when the behemoth, rolling cameras are wheeled off by the crew. they’re awkward and unbalanced, they’re bright and youthful, with the exception of the half the boys who even linger around her own age, a refreshing shift in the industry, she thinks. if only all the girls weren’t children, perhaps they’d be moving in the right direction as a whole, thinking more of talent than of milkable, marketable years. but such things are impossible. 

they’re all a half step away from trouble and yena doesn’t envy them one bit. 

she’d not been thrilled about this whole thing, but she’s relaxed into her role well enough. she’s sure they’ll edit her blandly enough- her image is so well cemented at this point, through years of effort, that trying to break it down would be near impossible, and not worth the fight to do so, besides. they showcase her familiarity with san as a longterm performer, her playful barbs at yohan who seems to have very little to do when the girls are on stage, she criticizes some, encourages others, and now, now she smiles. 

and when there was a break in filming the practices, she lingered a little longer, unable to help herself. there may have been the slightest crush in place, in the twist of her stomach and in the riotous flutter of her heartbeat. “oh, thanks sunbae. unnie.” she tacks on, not sure how to address her, outside the show they’d moved to unnie long ago, with yena being a rather informal sort with those she found herself fond of, but the formality of the setting left suran defaulting back towards further propriety. her parents had hammered in the importance of respect in the industry, and in life, from an early age. it was hard to shake. “it’s been amazing. it’s been hard too, but, it’s a really important opportunity for jawbreaker…” she trails off, lips pursing into a pout. “i just hope the chanel thing doesn’t derail me too much.” 

it sounds vain, but yena is rather used to people being a little bit fluttery over her, a little bit starstruck, slightly in love. this is the sort of thing that happens somewhat regularly, when you’re marketed in the way that she is. it takes a certain special sort of charisma and charm to hold up visually next to someone as utterly gorgeous as im sooyeon, after all, and yena’s managed to do so for quite some time. 

so suran’s occasional stammer brings only the barest glimmer of a smile to her lips, and the girl’s uncertain stumbling through honorific prompts a gentle, “unnie is fine, don’t worry so much. even if i’m a scary mentor now.” she teases, cocks her head to the side, “though i suppose i ought to leave it mostly to the judges to be frightening. perhaps i shouldn’t have yelled at that last girl,” she muses thoughtfully, shoulders lifting in a delicate shrug of movement as she dismisses the thought. 

suran sounds rehearsed, but the important bits come sneaking out after, trailing on the ends of the canned response, and yena picks them up, dusts them off and hides them away. in an industry like this it never hurts to know the buzz. “i suppose the girls are probably quite cruel about it, aren’t they?” she murmurs, brows furrowing. she reaches out, squeezes her shoulder. “one photoshoot under your belt with them is basically nothing. they’re just jealous because they’re fighting against a debuted idol and, frankly, they’re a bit dumb. ostensibly they knew the premise of the show, right, i don’t see why they’re so catty and surprised now, as if you’ve done them some slight.” yena’s eyes roll and she waves a hand dismissively. “but you can’t expect everyone to be rational, reasonable, or even moderately intelligent. not when dreams are on the line. it’s the touchiest thing for most people.”

idsooyeon:

“and soon we’ll start 1004 promotions right? so much for my whole ‘actress transition’.” a little snort escaped her nose at the non-complaint. when others might yearn for days off and ample time between schedules, sooyeon herself would likely wish for the exact opposite. 

( and you know what they say, be careful of what you wish for ) 

“they won’t.” she tells her, but she doesn’t mean in cruelly. “you’re a woman succeeding. you’re making a transition they don’t want you to make, and you’re doing it well. they’re not going to relent for a long time. but the public, they’ll love you.” this, she firmly believes, is true. the sort of people to leave the comments they do on sooyeon’s articles are never going to stop. they take too much perverse pleasure in dragging down those infinitely beyond them. “you’re beyond what they can criticize anyway. you’ve got a plan. stick to it, ignore the comments.” 

she says this, she thinks, as much for sooyeon as for yourself. 

because she’s seen this unit layout they have in mind for them. she’s heard the song now and she’s read the lyrics, and she’s seen the shorts they’re going to put her in. they, as always, leave half of her ass hanging out. so your legs look longer, they tell her. but she’s not a fucking idiot. her legs look long enough proportionally, there’s a limit. 

but god, if she hadn’t cried. 

one look at that choreography demo - a chair dance straight into a chorus that consisted only of body rolls in a tight black dress or a cutoffs and tank top - and she was disgusted. with herself, mostly, for thinking she might have a chance at change with this. “yeah and to think they thought this would be placating me in my incessant requests for a solo,” she drawls alongside the other, groans softly. “I just want something with...with artistry. something real. i mean. starry night was a great step forward. i should have known they’d send us skyrocketing backwards at the first possible opportunity. it’s just -” she purses her lips, exhales. “getting old.”

“ah! i’m not sure if they told you, but we’re supposed to do a soundtrack for my drama?” as discomfort left her voice, worry settled instead. “i haven’t heard the song or anything but i’m pretty sure a rap would have no place in a historical drama… so it’ll probably be a ballad… which is just great for me-” 

im sooyeon sighed. age-old worries seeping through her veins, as if there was no way she could ever run away from her demons. 

reason enough to feel pretty. 

it fascinates yena that such a small feeling could be such a huge motivator. she fingers the curl of her hair beside her cheek with an idle hum. “well, as long as you’re happy, sweets.” she teases, pats at the much, much taller girl’s head. sooyeon was born for celebrity, clearly, with her constant narrative direction. “have you ever thought about directing? obviously you’re an actress, duh, but, like, you should consider it.” she tells her. it seems disconnected from the entire rest of the conversation, because bae yena’s monologues generally remain internal, but the idea is there regardless. it makes sense.

if sooyeon spends her whole life thinking in choreographed angles and precisely timed movements and actions and statements, imagine the directorial talent if she developed an eye for turning it outward, funneling it through the camera lens to focus on a set, on a stage? it seems to yena that the other girl was born with the skillset for such a thing. 

of course given the industry, they’d likely rather pluck out their own eyeballs than a) let sooyeon languish BEHIND a camera rather than in front of it and/or b) allow a female idol to have that much creative control or involvement in anything more than the most trivial of things. 

she’s growing to hate the little box she’s placed in. 

unlike sooyeon she had stumbled into debut with little awareness of what she was getting herself into. she’d never had the interest, and the rapid pace of her training, the whirlwind of it hadn’t given her much time to observe or think - in retrospect she thinks it likely 99 entertainment did that on purpose, pushed her through before she could think better of it, locked her down before she even realized she wanted to leave. 

“when did that ever stop any of them?” she points out wryly, brow arching. of course its revolting, but it’s also their lives. their livelihood. no sense ignoring the traumatizing but inescapable. it gets under sooyeon’s skin though, so she pats a hand lightly between her shoulder blades. a silent apology.