#yejirk

    befuddled, he rereads the email at least three times, eyebrows furrowing deeper with every repeated scan of the words. an audition, concepts, a photoshoot—they're all words he knows but for some reason, none of it is making any sense to him when they’re put together.

    he thinks they've got the wrong person, until he remembers the email is addressed to lee hangyul. then, he thinks that maybe this is some elaborate scam to get his money, without... actually... asking for any banking information...

    hangyul fumbles with his laptop for a few seconds, his movements bogged down with confusion. finally, he manages to type something into the search bar, and the results flash across his screen almost immediately.

"much like kt’s game, ‘superstar royal’ will be free to play and feature all of your favorite artists from the company. fans will get to play every hit song from royal entertainment through a rhythm game and also collect cards featuring the artists. every week, players will battle each other in leagues to climb up the ranks and become the superstars of the game.

on their statement, royal commented they’ll also be holding auditions to help with promotions for the game. last year, idols, popular trainees, and lucky fans managed to all come together to film different commercials of superstar ktworld."

    he knows of kt and royal entertainment. well, he doesn't know them by name, but he knows vaguely about idols and kpop and... and... that's the extent of his knowledge, actually. hangyul doesn't even know what rhythm games are, and he feels uncharacteristically stupid for perhaps the first time in his life.

    none of this explains why he's being called in for an audition. if anything, after reading the article and a few wikipedia pages, he feels even more lost in this situation.

    there's no other option, then. hangyul grabs his phone, presses on one of the few contacts he has saved, and presses the call button. she's his go-to for everything trendy and ridiculous, always has answers. he can count on her.

    yeji tells him everything, starting from the game in question and ending with her fake class survey—a ruse to sign him up. hangyul can't even bring himself to be angry that she'd used his personal information in such a way, because yeji sounds excited to also participate in what is considered a big deal. somehow, he ends up agreeing to take the spectacle seriously, promises to do his best, and hangs up the phone feeling embarrassed.

    turns out, he can only count on her to do stupid things.

* * *

    the days leading up to the audition pass agonizingly slow. it's not that hangyul is nervous or excited. he doesn't particularly feel anything. he knows the moment is near, while a part of him wishes it wasn't. but april 30th comes with a loud reminder from his phone at precisely 7am, and hangyul rolls out of bed to reluctantly prepare for the day.

    pure. he doesn't think the concept fits him, but it's the only one he truly understands (what the fuck is fresh? crush? they don't even come with descriptions!). hangyul's closet doesn't offer anything special so he wears a simple white shirt and jeans, and styles his hair with as little commitment as possible. he doesn't tell his parents where he's going or what he's doing as he leaves the house.

    there are many familiar faces in the hallway, all waiting for their own turns. hangyul smiles at his cousin, offers a wave towards the girl who forced him into this mess, and briefly settles on someone who he had met at the bazar. he doesn’t bother approaching any of them, as they all seem occupied by one thing or another. everyone seems to have their own routine that they're practicing: listening to music, breathing slowly, chatting with each other. hangyul wonders, briefly, if these people have experience in these kinds of things—already, he's at a disadvantage (not that he wants to succeed, but it would be embarrassing to be turned away so quickly from something he didn't even want. it's a pride thing).

    he makes small talk with a stranger before he's called in for his audition.

    an array of props are presented to him, but hangyul doesn’t think too long about what to use. he grabs the first thing he sees and positions himself in front of the camera.

    it’s embarrassing, to say the least. hangyul has no idea how to wield the prop or look pure. his poses are weak and influenced by whatever the photographer says, while his expressions are stiff and unnatural.

    he’s not used to this; that’s his excuse for losing his composure so easily, for something so mindless. is modelling actually this hard, or is it just beginner’s nerves? (not that he’s nervous or anything. there are no butterflies in his stomach).

    “try to loosen up,” the photographer advises. it’s easier said than done, and he can tell the worker is getting fed up.

    still, hangyul nods as he absorbs those words. loosen up. if he can ace his tests and solve equations and conduct complicated experiments… no, hangyul refuses to let a modelling audition be the bane of his existence. he’ll never hear the end of it (from who? he asks himself. from himself, probably. and the science club if they ever find out).

    rolling his shoulders back, hangyul takes a deep breath. his eyes flutter shut, and when they open once more, there’s a determined gleam in them. he’s gone about this thing all wrong. he’s trying too hard to achieve the results he wants, rather than keeping a steady mind and procedure to get the result that is naturally occurring.

    that’s it.

    “can i switch props?” his question is met with an irritated nod and he wanders back towards the prop table. in the back of his mind, hangyul knows time is ticking, dwindling down. he must have five minutes left over, at most. he needs to make the best of it (he doesn’t care! he doesn’t!).

    he’s careful with his choice this time. hangyul reaches for the item that he feels most drawn to, rather than hastily grabbing for anything. he returns to the shoot and lets his body move on its own accord.

    that’s better. 

    the next few minutes pass quicker than ever, and hangyul bows before exiting the room with his ears burning. it was fine while he was posing (had he disassociated or something?) but all of the initial awkwardness seems to be catching up to him with every step he takes. god, he needs to get away from here.