In adieu it sets

Don’t fear the dark, a promise

To forever, rise.

~*~

Another one of those days, there's nothing she can do about it.

Her eyes remain closed when the car halts all of a sudden, an irritating honk filling her ears as she shifts in her seat to find comfort from the commotion just a blink away.

A sudden flash of red appears before the darkness, with an eye peeped open she sees a motorcycle zoom past them with its headlights blinding like a lone star amidst the emptiness of the night.

The car is void of its usual energy. After a long day of tiring schedules, the members all seem to have been drained of their energy and can't find the will in them to start up a conversation.

Irene sighs heavily at the low pop song playing on the radio, twisting again in her seat to face the window.

It's just another one of those days where her body just wants to rest. She doesn't want to talk; she doesn't want to think.

From four in the morning when they get up, lethargy never seems to leave her mind till the moment she's finally in bed and drifting off to sleep.

It creeps in with the cold morning air, kisses her cheeks like a long lost friend when they're on the way to yet another music show performance and disappears for a while when she's on stage, feeling a new surge of energy from the fans as they cheer on—they probably feel the same too, waking up far before the sun rises to be there for her, for her group.

To them she will always be thankful, no matter how tired she is or how hard things start to get. Besides, they're so cute—how could she not feel hyped up after meeting with them?

Today was more work than yesterday, and tomorrow will be the same as today.

She opens her eyes once they take the third left to the dorm and drinks in the light of the nightlife, now that they're in a less secluded area.

Her manager touches her lightly on the shoulder, proceeding to wake the members up as she gets out of the car and stretches.

While she unlocks the door to the dorm, a different kind of exhaustion takes over her.

When she’s performing, she doesn’t really think about Bae Joohyun that much. It’s not that she ignores any thoughts of who she is—because she knows, she is Joohyun—and it’s not really an existential crisis of differentiating with her Irene and Joohyun personas. She’s confident in who she is and she knows that she is as much Joohyun as she is Irene. The only difference, of course, lies in a name.

On stage, it feels good to be around people, it feels nice knowing all these people care for her wellbeing and they relish in the moments—however so ephemeral—they spend with her.

But what about when she’s off the stage?

What about when she’s no longer a performer, no longer Irene? Would they still care?

Would she still matter?

Every day, almost, for the past month has been the same—the same questions, the same solace she seeks within herself and in her thoughts, the same person who isn’t strong enough to handle these emotions alone.

It’s just another slump, another day.

She really doesn’t know when this ceaseless slump will end, when exactly will another day come.

The feeling disappears when she’s with her members, when she enjoys another’s company only to hit her like a truck in the middle of the night when she’s alone—no, when she’s lonely. Nothing can seem to stop it, no matter how hard she searches for an answer.

The soft cushions of their sofa provide no comfort to her lassitude, she heaves a sigh as her fingers dig into the ashy arm, leaning on it and staring off at a distance, letting herself zone out. She’s tired.

Physical