𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

he takes another sip of his drink, relaxed. “i think they just let me release a song because i have a lot of fans back home.” it can’t be due to 1nferno’s own popularity, that is for sure. aroon sighs, drinks again, there is nothing he hates more than being part of a so called mid tier group. “but what do you want to release anyway?” he asks serena so he doesn’t have to expand on midas’ attempts to make them successful. he gestures towards her notebook. “what gems do you have hidden in there?”

"i don’t understand why they insisted when people would just assume that it’s for a girl anyway.”

the homophobia in south korea was expected from a technically conservative society, yet still thoroughly infuriating. not when middle-schoolers left, right, centre were sneaking into by-the-hour motels with their partners while pretending they’re in cram schools, not when the rest of the first world had made leaps and bounds in toleration while their society had claimed to be as developed as any nation could be. now serena had never claimed to be the smartest person in the room, but she could safely say that the conservative older generation was as out of touch with the changing of times as one could possibly be. 

at the mention of her old beaten up journal, serena grimaced in a terribly unattractive way -- they weren’t filled with words but melodies in various degrees of completion. unlike many aspiring songwriters, the young girl had no problem with anyone riffling through her compositions, especially since not many around her could read notation in the first place and therefore wouldn’t know how to make heads or tails of her songs. so she absentmindedly pushed the battered thing towards his side of the table, gesturing at it vacantly with the fingers wrapped around her cigarette. 

“i don’t think that midas would like any of my songs.” the honest truth was bitter to swallow but necessary, and serena was never the type of girl to run away. “and i don’t know if i’m an idiot but i’d rather wait a bit until they loosen up with the whole mayday image before even attempting to lobby for a solo.” 

“anyway, they have a plan for all of us, and it’s not like we get a say.” ( no, she didn’t mean to sound quite so defeatist ) 

taking another sip of her beer, serena tried to urge a little smile to bloom -- although the resulting expression might look more like a wince than anything. now onto happier matters. 

“serena, do you need any help setting up?” jueun called as she made her way to the living room from their shared bedroom.  the other members were out on a schedule or their free time which meant they had the place to themselves. over the past months she liked to think her english had gotten better and she quietly hoped she’d be able to flaunt some of it today. that is if she could get over her fear of mispronouncing something and the embarrassment that would follow. when she reached the living room she did a small spin, “what do you think? not too bright is it?” 

it’s a difficult path she found herself running. serenatube had been a massive success, of which she wasn’t surprised in the least, for it was difficult to fail something when their fans all around the world had been clamouring to know just a bit more about the girls, savouring every little manufactured scrap of their daily lives. it somehow still felt like she sold her soul to the devil just to satisfy her hunger. serena moon, who hated to be disingenuous, found herself trying to assemble some sort of balance between the mayday character she had stepped into and her true self, hidden behind cigarette smoke and sheet music. 

what was truly hilarious was the fact that she asked permission to open a soundcloud account at the beginning, wanting her music to be out in the world and for them to speak for themselves. but management had loved her pitch and had made it their own: instead of purely music content of an impersonal soundcloud ( “impersonal?” she had balked silently, knowing full well that there wasn’t a thing more personal in the world than music ) serena would instead open a youtube account where she could document the girls’ daily lives, maybe with a few covers in between uploads. of course, the girls’ ‘daily lives’ must be curated into perfection and edited into oblivion-- with filters that could rival an entire music video. so her ‘vlogging’ camera came the next day, terrifyingly complicated, as well as a list of potential video ‘ideas’ that she was to peruse. 

this video, however, had been wholly her idea -- one that her managers surprisingly approved of.

“it’ll be alright, the filters would take care of all the weird looking stuff.” all harsh light will be muted into soft glows, it had already happened before. “come sit down-- oh! you look cute, that’s a nice shirt.” 

shuffling over to the tripod stand and pressing the record button, the young girl fell back gracelessly onto her chair. a little grin playing on her lips, serena tugged her friend gently on the arm to fall into the seat next to her. the dorm had been mercifully empty, with the rest of the girls out doing errands and individual promotions, it seems as perfect time as any. without any other preamble, she started speaking to the blinking red light, korean first-- perhaps english later.

“hiya everybody! welcome back to this special edition of serena_IRL with our super special guest, and my 98-liner roommate: jueunie!” she gestured brightly at the girl next to her, grinning widely without a touch of pretence, at least this recording she wont be forced into having fun. “we’ll be doing something extra special, becauuse...” 

pulling out a decently sized box from under the table, she excitedly showed the camera the obnoxious union jack sticker displayed proudly on one side. 

“i received this in the mail a few days ago and decided it would be fun to do an unboxing! the package is from my good friend emma in london, we were in the conservatory together for years and stayed in touch since i came to korea.” then quickly changed to english as she waved obnoxiously at the camera. “thanks ems! you’re lovely.” 

in retrospect, he thinks that maybe serena had played it a little too safe. unsurprising, circumstances considered—from what he’s gathered, midas preaches practicality, crispness, and honesty in vocalization. but he wants whimsy, and he knows serena has it in her. “actually, this time, can you try adlibbing this word here? it’s not a pain.” he demonstrates with one of his own. it’s not his crowning achievement, but it gets the point across. “doesn’t have to be that exactly. just improvise.” he lifts his pen from the mic and the track filters through the speakers and into serena’s headphones again: a comfortable legato, piano providing percussion and momentum to establish a steady rhythm.

there was a lovely sort of contradiction that began to wisp inside her mind. serena was, without a doubt, completely comfortable in any recording studio as well as in her capabilities as a singer, but at the same time; the nerves tickled her stomach, the need to impress, to go above and beyond was not lost in hubris. but being on her own had a healthy amount of fears that she could not shake; for who was she supposed to be? mayday’s serena or serena moon, a singer in her own right -- or had she confused one for the other and let her individuality die at midas’ iron grip?

perhaps this was the perfect time to find out. there weren’t any midas executives loitering around the studio, there weren’t any not-quite gentle probing of vocal instructors and producers who wanted her to embody mayday’s sweet and light sound. of course, serena would execute those orders perfectly, as she tramps down the frustration that build inside. raeyoon knew her, knows the way she struggled and subsequently lost the individual edge to her voice into midas’ well-oiled machine. 

at his suggestions, her hand flew forwards to jot down some of her own notes -- a force of habit picked up in her early years in the music conservatory. 

“yes alright.” the ad-lib was half complete in her mind when the track started back up, and then it curves back up into a lilting, beautiful thing that finished up in a neat little bow. the old serena, the one who threw her body against the piano as she played while singing in raspy, raw tones perhaps would approve. or perhaps she would be far too flabbergasted at the softness of it all, the lovely mayday sheen that had irrevocably touched her tone. midas had managed to reshape her into their image somehow, they’re exceptional at demanding appropriate results to their investments.

serena sang as if no one else could hear her. the same way she would when she found herself alone at the dorms, or freely practicing in the corner room with the lone upright piano -- if the usual mayday producers could hear her now they would’ve stopped the recording after her second note. but she continued, an effortless lilt of her vocals flew above the melody in exceptional bounds, until it ended, and the young girl looked expectantly across the large window-- suddenly tentative, unsure. 

“word travels fast, i see.” he shouldn’t be surprised, it’s how things are. “yeah, i’m releasing a song next month, stream it with it’s out, please. these” he raises his glass “are not cheap.” aroon takes another sip, looks around before focusing his attention back on serena. “don’t be. it only took me five years to release a solo song, maybe you won’t take that long.”

midas wasn’t called midas for nothing. they had the touch of gods and could turn any plain-looking girl into a figure adored by millions, they had the power to turn a slight nobody like serena, with her coltish movements and crass lips, into the girl you’d like to bring home to your parents. they took her humble beginnings and burgeoning talent and spun it into a tale that invoked all kinds of emotions, for any reaction was better than indifference, and an idol could not function with mere indifference. so when mayday flew higher and quicker than she had anticipated, serena moon almost suffered from whiplash at the suddenness of it all. no longer was she dreaming in compositions, now she must grapple with the balance of her new persona -- and accept that she could not live selfishly as she once did. 

looking at the drink in his hand, she let out a sharp scoff. “i’m sure its more expensive for me than it is for you, they company made it very clear that our debts are almost all paid off. it’ll probably take another comeback before i could see any significant change in my bank account.” 

midas was also terribly greedy, and somehow serena understood that it could not possibly be otherwise. 

“i think it might take me longer.” she tittered, eyes falling to her notebook as her pencil scratched idly on the corner of the page. “maybe it’ll take yerim unni and jueun to book a few cfs and one of the members to branch out into acting for midas to figure out what to do with me.”

as if she hasn’t been angling for a chance to prove herself, as if she hasn’t been training and composing as if her life depended on it. but the question remains, would anyone ever take to her any differently than a sweet mayday darling? 

“what kind of song is it? i’m assuming it wont be a ballad.” the shadow of a toothy grin, serena herself would have to protest if her debut song was to be a ballad, but perhaps beggars can’t be choosers. “i really did like your song with san sunbaenim, is it going to shock everyone this time ‘round too?” 

her jealousy spiked. even with profane lyrics and a daring sort of flair, aroon banthao had earned the support of the company as well as a prominent senior -- she could only imagine how much her career would implode if she had so much as uttered a swear word in public, much less a recorded release. stubbing out her cigarette and immediately lighting a new one, serena pouted and whined the way that would make mayday fans swoon. 

no longer playing around, he hands her over the notebook, “what do you think of it so far? if someone dedicated this to you…” he pauses, tilting his head, “would you fall in love? or would you want to kick them in the face?”

serena moon had no business falling in love. there was no room in her life and even less room in her heart, she would look at boys and might fall in love with their faces, their voice; but she would suddenly fall right out of love. it seems like they could flit in and out of her heart in record time -- a short enough time to barely make an impression. how was she to write songs about love and all its sadness and light without having experienced it herself? instead the words escape her, when the melody became the only thing that made sense. 

“i would laugh.” she had always been far too truthful for her own good, and serena could only blink blankly in response to questions she couldn’t answer. “i’m not sure if i would be someone to warrant those actions, it might come too far out of left field if there hasn’t been any previous ‘signals’.” 

falling gracelessly across the small sofa to lean closer to the controls, peering curiously at the screen before blinking up at him. now serena did not feel like she could be someone’s muse, all sweaty and sloppily dressed after late night dance practice -- but truly, the concept seems lovely to the mind. more beautiful things have been muses to great men, and she was sure that she wouldn’t be able to climb their ranks. 

“so i’ll sit here and looking pretty, shall i?” a rueful smile, she pulled her legs up to sit comfortably on the couch. she glanced wistfully at his screen, his hands, his work -- oh how much would she give to be given such freedom! her youtube channel was a place for covers, for inside jokes, and tour diaries. the young girl couldn’t help but to look back at the history of the company and pick off the amount creative freedom given to females, that is, the lack thereof. besides, she was serena of mayday, a small cog in midas’ well-oiled machine of success -- she wasn’t allowed to distinguish herself otherwise, not until management had deemed it somewhat more profitable and less of a risk. 

how was she going to be less of a risk without being allowed propose creative ideas? 

“you know, since serena is my company hoobae we know each other pretty well -” not entirely a lie, “and all the trainees told me about the elegant girl from england who’d joined the company just a bit after moving to seoul. it’s like a drama script.” she smiles, she’s taking timeline liberties, but no one cares about that, it sells the story, “it must have been really different,  to go from studying classical music to kpop, yeah? it seems form your profile like you really love piano! why did you  make such a big switch?” she lobs this one at her, an underhanded softball thrown at .0002 miles an hour. please, serena, just hit this one out of the park. 

if there was something that serena moon and mayday’s serena both could firmly agree on was the fact that having everybody’s unadulterated attention was too much. there was a comfortable reason why she hid behind the quiet and elegant image that they had so crafted for her, why being the quiet one meant that there would be less chances for her to fuck up and let potential fans in on her true self. being in mayday meant that she must live the way the image was presented, to live like the trope of a quiet, classical musician in a university who tucks her hair behind an ear before playing and have boys swooning off their feet. she hadn’t been exposed to manhwa growing up, but apparently the trope is still very much alive.

her fingers almost immediately found themselves fidgeting by her front, and she had to mentally force them apart as she blinked balefully at their company senior. if aj hasn’t been playing her part perfectly and effortlessly, one could see the exasperation steaming off each world-- but serena didn’t, and she could only make out the brief but harrowing look that their manager shot her from behind the camera. 

“o-oh yes--” if this was one year ago she’ll prattle about how she was technically of korean descent which makes her technically not a foreigner amidst others of korean descent, while she still retained a british passport and citizenship, which does and doesn’t make her an actual foreigner. but serena knows better now, and tried her best not to look too sheepish as she moved on to the next question. “i like piano a lot and i’ve been playing it a long time -- but i love singing a lot more! i started dreaming of becoming a singer after seeing CAREmel and su.grr sunbaenim on television. classical music is beautiful and all but i do love singing pop songs that more people could relate to.”

she couldn’t really say how much jazz changed her life, and how much her parents had looked down upon the idol industry so thoroughly that serena didn’t even bother telling them about small milestones. everything was always half a lie. the truth with a generous helping of flavour that might make it easier for the public to digest. london to her wasn’t an elegant and exotic origin story, the moon family barely had enough room in their own flat for all the kids to have their own single bed. she couldn’t really remember any instance where all members of her immediate family sat down for a meal outside of the house, in an actual restaurant. but she smiled through it all, accepting the role in exchange for a platform to sing -- what else was she supposed to do?

immediately after speaking she could feel her cheeks getting hot with embarrassment as she remembered serena was next to her. even after a year it was hard not to get embarrassed saying things like that when someone who knew her with the cameras off was near. her solution was to look at her roommate and change the subject. “have you shown them your piano?” 

in her mind’s eye charlie moon was howling with laughter as he pushed his phone screen into everyone’s faces at dinnertime, oliver, being the sweet boy that he is, would probably have the app opened on his own phone and was watching the whole thing on mute in the dinner table, alternating from shovelling food into his mouth and tapping the heart icon. her parents and amelia would be less interested, that much was expected, for a one year anniversary meant little to nothing in the monetary sense -- with a glance they could tell that in the mess of clothes shoved into her closet was the same jumper she had since high school, bought in the dongdaemun night market. serena of mayday only looked shiny and new in clothes that didn’t belong to her, and until she would be able to shine in a pretty brand-name dress she bought herself, her parents wouldn’t be all that impressed. 

“oh this old thing?” ( shy and sweet, serena, remember ) she tittered and smiled slowly in the way that her manager had said made her more humble than she felt. “playing piano really relieves my stress, so i try to get a few minutes in before bed every day.”

( it helps me sleep, is what she doesn’t say, otherwise i’d be up for hours and hours and i wont even realise that the sun is rising )

“but i could play a lullabies for saydays who are having a hard time sleeping! what do you say?” she cupped her ear as if to hear some oncoming answer that might materialise through the camera. it was scripted, obviously, and serena had a full year of reacting to such cues that it didn’t make her cringe anymore. she almost patted herself in the back that very moment. 

“i think i hear ‘yeses’, didn’t you, jueun?” she smiled sweetly at her friend, scrunching her nose the way management vehemently told her not to, before smoothing out her expression and adopting the simple smile that ‘looked so good on her’. “how about i play you guys an original?” 

now this was off-script. they had told her to play something impressive, like a chopin nocturne or a lizst -- but then again, serena moon the pianist could make herself seem impressive if she really wanted to. so she sat down and began playing. it wasn’t anything to begin with, for she followed the template of the hundreds upon hundreds of lullabies in her arsenal, but then the melody bloomed and she followed, chasing the notes up a mountain and twinkling into the stars. but she could feel her manager’s stare burning in the back of her head, and the unspoken words began to echo in her mind. 

( don’t show off, don’t show off, don’t show off )

so the melody slowed, and so did she -- before it tapered off to a major resolution. mayday’s serena looked at the camera and smiled bashfully, as if they had caught her unaware. 

“i’ve been writing that for a while, i hope you like it!” 

a lie. but if she could almost see the hate comments pondering in disbelief if she had said that it was all a freestyle exercise, and the young thing would rather not cut her career short this early.