“Miss...are you okay? You’re crying.”

Jeongyeon looks away towards the window and uses her sleeve to wipe her streaming tears as best she could. She also tries to clear to quickly regain her composure.

The elderly man, wrinkles marked with age that reveals his close push to sixty, discerns the heaviness of the young lady in his backseat. Then in an unexpected noble fashion, he turns off the meter and starts to drive.

Jeongyeon notices the gesture and immediately apologizes, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to do that. How could I possibly—”

“There’s rush hour traffic and it might take an hour to get from here to anywhere outside of here.”

“You can turn your meter on, I wouldn’t want to—”

The kind man flashes a fatherly smile from his rearview mirror, “Young lady, it’s fine. You just sit back and cry if you need to.”

And almost instantly, she cries. In fact, she weeps. All the emotions, from the blissful happiness to the heart-wrenching sadness, she’s finally getting to release. The feeling felt cathartic, almost as though she’s free falling in space while screaming her lungs out, the expanse too vast, and the cosmos too empty for anyone to hear. But who knew the feeling could find her in the backseat of a kind taxi driver’s bright orange Hyundai Sonata, in the middle of rush hour traffic in Seoul.

– two years ago –

Behind the oversized, greasy, cheesy sunglasses, Jeongyeon is reaching the limit to her frustration. But because she is a professional idol, she commits to every single demand that the title entailed. Including this cringe-worthy choreography, this unfittingly forced song, this itchy over-the-top sequin blouse, and this obsession-inducing strategic pairing of her and Nayeon.

Four more measures left in this ungodly choreography for this ungodly song with an equally ungodly title as Ear Candy. She shimmies right, left, in sync with her partner and the backup dancers positioned to the side. The most crucial part of the whole performance still impending.

Alas, the last ingeniously manufactured final act of the special duo stage is left, the last meticulously added part that is the long-standing crowd favorite. Jeongyeon takes her sunglasses off as Nayeon struts in such a provoking manner towards her.

Nayeon wraps her arms around her neck and ing get hers every time. Jeongyeon forcingly puts one of her most impressive professional acts to date and it looks something like this: the girl-crush smile, the hands on the other’s waist, forehead pressing against hers, while she pretends to pretend she’s actually in love.

Nayeon always flirts with that fine line the more and more they do this for the sheer manic reaction that the crowd gives. And the more she tries to get closer, the harder and harder it is for Jeongyeon to master that self-control.

Tonight was no different. Nayeon boldly moves Jeongyeon’s in-ear microphone from obstructing her view of her lips. She locks eyes with her lips as Jeongyeon defenselessly watches her do this. For a hot second, she imagines the scenario where she actually leans in to actually kiss her. The next second she’s just left fuming with rage by Nayeon’s nerve to push her over the edge like this over a damn performance and over the damn screams from their fans.

As soon as the lights blackout, Jeongyeon pulls away from Nayeon, walking hastily towards backstage, leaving her to trail behind. They reach their private makeshift dressing room behind the arena stage and because of the pent-up frustration, or perhaps it was the adrenaline, Jeongyeon rips her in-ears out, pulls the transmitter that is clipped on the seams of her shorts, and slams it on the table.

For a moment the busybodies pause to cast their curious concern towards the loud thump. The few members that were not on the stage, getting ready backstage for the next one, are also startled, looking at Jeongyeon with worry.

She mutters to herself loud enough for anyone within ten feet to hear. “I’m not doing that ing stage anymore!”

Nayeon’s dresser is within range, which causes her to react, “Yah. What’s wrong with you?!”
 

Their costume manager quickly helps Jeongyeon with the outfit transformation as they will need to be on stand-by for the next group song in less than five minutes.

Still fuming, Jeongyeon bites back, “Mark my words. I’M. NOT. DOING. THAT. STAGE AGAIN. Not with you.”

An hour later, the concert ends. Because they are professionals, they keep the stage sacred for their fans, showing their best efforts, leaving their real emotions backstage, even if they have to fake through it with that one million-dollar smile that makes the experience for every concert attendee worth every penny.

The members relax in the waiting room after all the fanfare, already changed into comfortable clothes, everyone mostly quiet, lost in their own devices, too exhausted to talk. Jeongyeon has her headphones on, the hood of her sweatshirt covering her head partially, eyes shut but not sleeping, while she waits for her managers to wrap up their duties.

At this time, one of her managers and their lead tour manager approaches Jeongyeon. They tap her on the shoulder and she removes her headphones to give them her attention.

“Jeongyeon-ah, you weren’t serious earlier, right?” Her manager asks.

Deadpan, she nods her head. She submits with such sternness in her tone, “I was serious. I’m not doing that stage anymore.”

Everyone’s ears perk up. In the corner of Jeongyeon’s eye she sees Nayeon shift her position to sit up straight.

“Is there a problem with the stage?” Her managers probe, obviously concerned that this issue is being sprung onto them out of nowhere.

Jeongyeon sighs as she looks at them with straight face, “I just don’t want to do that unit stage anymore. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. We can just learn a new one. Better yet, h