#trainee oc

“You guys need more energy.” LeeBoi critiqued into the microphone. Subin snorted. “They’d have more energy if you gave them a break to rest their vocal cords.” Her statement was overheard through the speaker, but neither of the producers acknowledged the commentary.

“Let’s try it from the top. Remember, more energy.” LeeBoi talked over Subin, ignoring her like usual. Subin rolled her eyes and played with the ends of her hair, her frown somehow drooping more than before.

The recording finally ended when Fren.z’s alarm went off. Their time in the recording studio was up. The trainees exited the studio, thanking all three producers as they passed. When Taehyung dipped into a bow for Subin, Fren.z chuckled dryly. “She’s younger than you, Taehyung. No need to break your back in half.” He laughed. Subin narrowed her eyes at the older producer, giving him a look so icy it made Sanghoon’s eyebrow twitch. Taehyung let out a weak chuckle before leading the other boys out of the studio.

“God, they’re awful to her.” Taehyung whispered as soon as they left. “I should have stood up for her, shouldn’t I?” 

“Nah, Subin can fight her own battles.” Longwei reassured his friend, giving the other trainee a clap on the back. A mischievous smirk spread on his face. “I bet she appreciated that adequate bow, though.” 

“Shh.” Taehyung chuckled, rolling his eyes. “I had to show my appreciation somehow.” The four boys made their way to the elevator, taking it back up to Trainee Town to complete their training for the day.

When most of the trainees filed out of the practice rooms, Sanghoon decided to stay behind. Lately the stress of showcases, trainee events, and upcoming debut team announcements has been getting to him. He wanted to take some time to do what he really loved: creating his own music.

He knew that all studios were free after three. He took the elevator down to The Dungeons alone, his bags slung over his shoulder.  He’d only stay until four, then he’d head to the dorms and get some shut eye before another day of practice. 

Sanghoon headed to his favorite recording studio, the Green Room, at the very end of the hall. As he walked down the hallway, he heard a familiar beat coming from the Red Studio. He slowed his pace, wondering if Fren.z or LeeBoi were still here. Sanghoon contemplated turning back just to avoid any awkward encounter with the producers, but then he heard a feminine sounding growl of annoyance. 

The trainee furrowed his eyebrows and glanced into the studio. At the soundboard was Subin, running her hands through her platinum hair. Suddenly, Subin wheeled the chair she was in back, turning around sharply. Sanghoon and Subin made eye contact, both of them jumping in surprise. 

Subin, with a hand still over her racing heart, opened the door.

“Sanghoon, don’t do that again.” Subin sighed, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward ever so slightly into a ghost of a grin. “Sorry… I just…” Sanghoon fumbled for the words. “No worries, man.” Subin shook her head. “I get sketched out after three anyways. Y’know, witching hour and shit.” 

“Yeah,” Sanghoon’s fingers fidgeted with the straps of his bags. He spends so much physical time with Subin that he forgets that they don’t really know each other. At all. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to his boss’s daughter. 

“What were you working on?” Sanghoon asked, his eyes darting to the soundboard that Subin was previously sat at.

“Oh, yeah,” Subin looked over her shoulder at the equipment. “The demo you guys recorded earlier sounded like ass once Tweedle Dick and Tweedle Dumbass layered it onto the backtrack. I’ve been trying to fix it, but they created a monster.” 

Subin looked back and Sanghoon with a small grin on her face. “Wanna hear what I’ve got?” 

Sanghoon felt like rejecting the founder’s daughter was not a good idea, so he nodded. Subin let him step into the studio, offering the spare chair next to her at the soundboard.

“See, this is what it sounded like before I got my grimy little hands on it,” Subin pressed play on her computer. The song that they had recorded earlier sounded so manufactured. So bland. Sanghoon’s dislike seemed to have shown on his face, because Subin clapped her hands together and cackled. 

“See? It’s booty isn’t it?” She asked.

“Yeah, that sucks.” Sanghoon agreed. Subin chuckled before typing on her computer again.

“Alright, but now this,” She pressed play. “Is how I think it should sound.” 

Subin’s version was much better. There was more dimension, more personality. She kept the more messier recordings of them chanting rather than the robotic and uniform chant the other producers preferred. The track sounded exciting and fresh.

Sanghoon tapped his fingers to the beat. As good as it was, it was missing something. “Uh-oh,” Subin turned the volume down. “You don’t like something?” 

“No, no. It sounds great. Really great. But…” Sanghoon tried to search for the words.

“Something’s missing, right?” Subin asked. “Yeah.” Sanghoon nodded. “I think you need some like… Adlibs or something.” 

Subin nodded. Her eyes darted to the empty recording booth, then back at Sanghoon. “You’re a rapper, right?” She asked. “Yeah.” “Do you think you could improv some cool adlibs?” She asked, a smirk appearing on her face.

Sanghoon’s plan to stay until four was tossed out the window once he and Subin started bouncing ideas off one another. Even if Sanghoon noticed how late it was, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He really enjoyed spending time with Subin. She was chill and took things so simply. Being around Subin was like taking a break from reality, and Sanghoon wasn’t ready to return back just yet. It was nearing five in the morning when Subin finally recognized how late they had stayed. 

“Holy hell, look at the time.” Subin gasped, holding up her cellphone. “We should probably go. You have practice in a few hours.” 

“Don’t remind me.” Sanghoon groaned. “Hey, debut announcements come out soon. Hopefully you’ll only be a trainee for a little while longer.” Subin comforted him. “Just enjoy the ride. Soon you’ll be looking back on your trainee days with nostalgia.” 

Sanghoon nodded, taking in her advice. He was just about to leave when a realization hit him.

“Hey, are you walking home alone?” Sanghoon paused in the doorway. Subin chuckled. “Do I really look that weak?” “No, but I’ll still walk you to the subway or something.” Sanghoon shifted his bag awkwardly. 

The producer pouted. “You’re cute, Sanghoon. But don’t worry about it. I’m ordering an Uber to come pick me up in a few. It’ll be right outside the company, don’t you worry.” “Okay. Cool.” Sanghoon nodded, shifting his weight on his feet. “I guess I’ll see you tomor- in a few hours, then?” 

“Sorry!” Seolhee apologized. “I didn’t think anyone else would be here... Did you book the practice room?” “I did.” Yeetai took a few steps forward. “But honestly, you look like you could use the extra practice more than I do.”  Seolhee felt her cheeks heat up. Yeetai had a talent for making the people around him feel like they were inferior to him. Whether he did this on purpose or not, Seolhee still found him intimidating, especially given the fact that he has seniority over her in terms of training length. 

The newbie’s mouth opened, but she wasn’t sure what to say in response. Yeetai chuckled and placed his bag down next to the door.  “Here,” Yeetai came over, standing next to her. She looked at their reflections in the mirror, watching as Yeetai took the position of the first pose after the chorus. 

“Your biggest problem is energy.” Yeetai explained. “You’re playing it real safe with your moves. Try making them bigger and adding more strength.”  He then demonstrated what he meant by cranking out the steps that Seolhee had been slaving over almost perfectly. Seolhee’s mouth dropped at how perfect he danced to the routine that wasn’t even his.  Yeetai chuckled at the expression, but he was easily eating it up. “You try.” He offered. Seolhee hesitantly took to the center, taking a deep breath. “Hey, I can sense your nerves from here. Calm down, I’m your teammate.” Yeetai held out his hands, motioning them downward in a ‘cool down’ motion. Seolhee nodded. The music started again as she went through the motions, this time taking Yeetai’s advice into consideration.

“Now you’ve got something.” He grinned, watching her intently. Seolhee felt herself losing power in her movements, suddenly becoming self cautious under his stare. The music stopped and Yeetai crossed his arms, furrowing his eyebrows together.  “Do I make you nervous, Seolhee?” He asked, a devilish smirk on his face. Seolhee’s cheeks started to heat up in embarrassment.  “There’s really no need to be. We’re both in this together, aren’t we?” Yeetai continued, tilting his head at Seolhee, an amused glint in his eyes. Seolhee pushed stray hairs back, forcing herself to remain eye contact with the boy standing in front of her. She’s never gone to a conventional school before, but she imagined that Yeetai would be the human manifestation of the douche bag jock stereotype.

“No. You don’t.” She said firmly. She stood up a little straighter. “The practice room is all yours.” Seolhee strode over to the boombox, unplugging her cellphone from the aux cord. Behind her, Yeetai came forward to attach his own phone to the aux. Seolhee stiffened up when his arm came around to grab the cord. Yeetai let out a chuckle under his breath.

“You sure I don’t make you nervous?” Yeetai asked, arching an eyebrow, a devilish smirk crossing over his face. Seolhee rolled her eyes. Sometimes she wondered why she never talked to Yeetai much, and now she knew why. The kid was so full of himself, she thought it was amazing how full of oneself a boy could be.  “You’re not as cute as you think you are.” Seolhee scrunched her eyebrows together. Yeetai leaned away from her, an analyzing look on his face, as if he was trying to read Seolhee’s past, present, and future. 

Heecheon sighed, stopping his movements. He glanced at the clock anxiously. “I just wanna know the results of that x-ray.” “We all do.” Kosuke piped up from the seat next to the only window in the hospital room. “But I don’t think being all anxious about it is going to change anything.”  Takumi and Ren, who were leaning against the far wall, looked at each other anxiously. Daisuke knew what they all were thinking. If his injury was serious, he’d have no choice but to pull out of the competition. 

The upsetting thought made Daisuke want to cry. He only had the chance to perform once on the Produce 101 stage, and he was looking forward to hopefully performing many more with his new friends. Now, there was a chance that he wasn’t even going to make it to the first elimination round. 

Knuckles rasped on the door as Doctor Nakamura peeked his head inside. The doctor had been very helpful and sympathetic towards Daisuke. He’s even mentioned that his daughter was rooting for him on Produce 101. However, his expression now looked a little grim, which didn’t help Daisuke’s nerves.

“I have your results, Mr. Tanaka.” Nakamura walked into the room. He took a seat on the swivel stool beside the bed with a sigh. Another jolt of nerves ran through Daisuke’s body. He had a feeling what was coming next. “So, the good news is, it’s a fracture, not a broken clavicle, so you won’t need any extreme surgery to help heal that bone.” Nakamura informed him. “However, a fractured clavicle takes up to six weeks to heal.”

Daisuke looked at the doctor with his mouth parted. He looked at the other trainees around the room, all of them bearing similar expressions of hurt and disbelief. Heecheon brought his hand to his mouth. Takumi’s eyes started to glaze over. Daisuke swallowed hard, trying to comprehend the news that was given to him.

“Is there anyway to heal him quicker?” Kosuke asked, standing up from his seat. The desperate question made Daisuke feel even worse.

“The only way to heal a fractured clavicle is through wearing a sling and going to phyiscal therapy. It’s a process that you wouldn’t want to rush, especially since Daisuke is a dancer. He’ll want complete rotation of his shoulder when he’s finished healing, and we can only get that through traditional means.” Nakamura said, his voice twinged with sympathy. 

“So, I have to pull out of Produce 101?” Daisuke asked, just to clarify. Nakamura nodded solemnly.  “I’m afraid so.”