#daiyuws

For all intents and purposes, and by official label standards, Chorong was not part of Dandelion's dance line. Daiyu and Yoojn far surpassed her in the department of skill and sheer experience alone. For someone with four years of training ( and countless days of attempting to follow Crescent's choreography in her room ), she did not think that her capabilities could even dream of achieving the unofficial title.

All that persistent pestering of main dancers from other groups had to pay off eventually. Particularly Dandelion's own.

When they performed their evaluations in the past, Chorong often followed Daiyu's movements closely, examining every nuance in the mirror as she sat with a snack. Just as she did now; tablet in one hand and bag of gummy bears in the other. The poster child of hard work.

Her eyes focused on the main dancer practicing a harder hitting choreography. Occasionally, she would be in such awe of her execution that her fingers would greatly underestimate the trajectory of a gummy bear and one would tragically fall to the floor. ( Was it morbid of her to imagine a high pitched scream of agony when it happened? Or was it relief? She would have to picture the odd fallacy of the gummy animal another day. )

She huffed out a grunt as she pulled herself off the floor, wiping imaginary dust from her leggings. Along with her, she brought the tablet with the screen pulled up on a YouTube video of another idol group doing an official cover of a song. Her fingers wiggled over the image as if to present something that was meant to be dazzling.

     earlier days of windswept hair and hues glazed by uncertainty, a life lead astray at the moment of being lead astray by choices she had made. there was no one else to blame but herself. the sun grazing at her temples, the side of her forefinger pressing against her forehead, shielding her from the light. brows furrowing slightly as she catches a glimpse of a silhouette dancing, the chatter of passerby falling for the background as the sound from the speakers move to the foreground. movements so fluid, so agile and so... perfect, that she can’t help but to stop and stare. amazement evident in her jaded hues, ones that have lost all sign of hope, lost in the hallway of closed doors, a labyrinth of dead ends laced by gossamer. 

     days go by, then weeks, months follow and within that span, haeni has seen the same girl perform on the street. the occasional smile and head nod, the frequent stops made amidst her schedule to stand and watch, to cheer her on, to offer her lunch, a drink, whatever she had available. stars in her eyes, a gaze filled with admiration. a love she had lost amidst her insatiable desire for more, for validation to be met with kind words from her mother, for words of confirmation that she was in fact proud of who she had raised, that haeni wasn’t just a backup plan, wasn’t just a second child after the best. after the oldest.