Part 5: It's Not The Same Anymore

Sooyoung cried as she read the article on her phone. She cried as the van pulled away from the SBS building. She laid her head on Joohyun’s shoulder, left it there for the entirety of the two-hour drive back to their dorms. She might have fallen asleep at some point - she was so tired, pleading with her mind to shut itself off, to take her away from the pain - but she remained in the fitful twilight of partial consciousness. Passing streetlights blasted orange glows on the inside of her shut eyelids. She barely saw them; instead her mind conjured and re-conjured the horrible portrait of her Seungwan lying on that stretcher. Bruised and barely conscious, face swollen and bloodied, right wrist pointed at an odd angle, right leg stiff and unmoving. Sooyoung had only caught a brief glimpse of her beloved, but that imprint on her mind was enough, and she knew that image would haunt her for the rest of her life.

    “Manager-oppa says that she’s stable,” Joohyun said once they’d all settled back into the dorm.

Yerim and Seulgi sat on the couch, staring into the distance with haggard, defeated expressions that Sooyoung knew she must be wearing as well. Joohyun stood in the kitchen, cleaning and organizing with the directionless energy of someone who didn’t know what to do with themselves.

“Is she awake?” Sooyoung asked, clutching her phone with a white-knuckled hand, praying against all hope that she could hear Seungwan’s voice, just to make absolutely certain she was okay.

Joohyun nodded. “She is, but they’re taking her to the operating room soon. She’s on a lot of pain medicine.”

Seulgi gasped, and Yerim looked as if she was going to start sobbing again.

“Operating room?” Sooyoung whispered fearfully, thinking of sterilely lit hallways, fluorescent lights, and hard steel tables.

“Yeah. They need to put metal in her hip to fix it,” Joohyun explained, “My grandma had a similar procedure done when she fell a few years ago.”

“So, it’s routine, right?” Seulgi asked, hope edging into her voice. “So Seungwan will get better fast?”

Joohyun pursed her lips, eyebrows knitting together with worry. The implication in that expression made Sooyoung’s heart plummet. “The surgery is normal, but requires a lot of rehabilitation after. My grandma had to do physical therapy for a year afterward.”

“What about performing?” Yerim asked in a small voice. Her casual, sarcastic attitude had evaporated, replaced by a diminutive, withdrawn manner. “Will she be able to dance the same?”

Joohyun’s pause was answer enough, and Sooyoung could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again. She blinked them away. Seungwan on stage was perfection, talent and skill encapsulated into a tiny, adorable package. When she sang, she took complete control of the performance, complimenting those luscious, full-bodied notes with dance moves that were smooth, snappy, and as captivating as her vocals. Her voice was a well of expression, of varying emotions from euphoria to melancholy. The stage was where Seungwan belonged, where she was born to be.

If she couldn’t perform anymore…

“Our Wendy is strong,” Seulgi said resolutely, “And she never lets anything hold her back. She’ll come out of this.”

“She’s the strongest person I know,” Yerim agreed, staring at a spot on the coffee table, “She’s the one who got me through everything during the first year I joined the group.”

Sooyoung recalled those times, and how hard they’d been for Yerim. Everyone had st