She never liked fortune tellers, nor any sort of divination that could give an insight to her life. She could not bear to witness the horrors that were in store for her, nor come to terms with the biggest mistakes she might’ve made in the past. She could only hope that her choices, until this day, were for the best.

“There’s this program wanting to recruit you–” Manager Yoon’s head popped out from behind the wall.

“What is it?” she asked, looking up from her guitar.

“Fortune telling.”

She involuntarily flinched. The slightly obese man gave her a firm nod and tapped the rough texture of the wall three times. He’d always tap when he had to make a decision.

“Well, then. I’ll tell them you’re booked.”

Grateful and regretful all at once, she gave him a tired smile.

“Thank you.”

A few minutes later, he came back, slumping down on the couch in front of the small TV set. He didn’t turn it on.

“Why don’t you sleep early?” manager Yoon suggested, “You have a radio show to host tomorrow.”

Without glancing up from her scribbles and strings, the girl pointed out, “I have radio shows to host every other day.”

Manager grunted tiredly.

“But since you want to watch TV,” she told him as she started packing up her things, offering him a knowing smile. “I’ll take this to my room. Good night.”

Walking off, the moment her hand touched the doorknob, the TV came to life. She sighed and wished herself good night.

Her name was Choi Junhee, and she knew well that she was not all good. Though, she took pleasure in the fact that the bad sides of herself were the things that could touch and inspire humanity.

Junhee found solace in music; thought it could save her. 

She was wrong, because Junhong found it too.

When morning came, she woke up from a dream of their earlier years. The way he looked at her, the reason she composed all these songs. She never wanted to grow up, but it was almost impossible when she was with him.

‘I’m just not that innocent boy anymore.’ She remembered how his words stung her more than anyone could ever imagine, and how hard she had to fight back the tears. He wanted her to comfort him, tell him it was okay, that she would still be his friend at least. For one drastic moment, she wanted to tell him that she grew up too, that she wasn’t that far from him. But in truth, she stared with shameless disappointment, watched him as he stared back with his heart in his eyes and hope so desperate. Like every spinning tale based on reality, the girl walked away.

“Remember,” manager Yoon said now, pushing the very girl passed the stylist who insisted she wear a proper dress instead of a gray hoodie and jeans. “They are a versatile band, but you don’t interview them,” he reminded her. “Sixty-three percent of morning listeners are your fans, so whatever you do, do not–”

“I’ll think of it as a tea party,” she concluded offhandedly. Manager Yoon stopped by the door and blinked. Slowly, he chortled.

It was ten in the morning when the studio’s door opened. She dabbed her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie and sniffled, digging the heels of her hands deeper, wondering how far back they could go.

Feeling like a child, a chuckle escaped her lips. After all, she had never wanted to grow up. 

Six people were standing on the side, watching her expectantly when she got up shyly to greet them. Her hasty gaze skipped past the tallest one on purpose.

“Hello,” she laughed.

Everyone grinned, except one. She pretended not to notice. A reassuring hand squeezed her shoulder and she knew it was manager Yoon covering up for the awkwardness.

“She stayed up late last night writing songs and things,” he said good-naturedly. “A little weird in the mornings, this girl. You’ll have to forgive her.”

“We don’t mind at all.” A member stepped forward; he looked the oldest and his voice was frighteningly deep. His smile was dazzling when he offered his hand. “People who are ‘a little weird’ are those who inspire the world.”

There was a chuckle, then the hand on her shoulder disappeared. Junhee desperately wished there was someone to ask her if she was okay, or if she wanted to do this, or if she was sure she would be okay. But there was nobody to do that and she forced herself to smile.

“Hello. I’m Bang Yongguk; composer, guitarist,” he said firmly. “Heard you’re a composer? Amongst other…things?”

She shook his hand, “I do acoustics. Amongst other things. I’m Juniel.”

“I hope you’ll play for us during the airing,” he responded politely as she hid her hand behind her back.

“Of course. We will all have to.”

A member behind Yongguk muttered to his peer in an unguarded busan accent, “My throat is sore.” His peer elbowed him in the stomach and smiled abashedly.

She averted her eyes in a rush when a particular member shifted his feet impatiently. She gestured to the round recording table for them to sit and advised that everybody read through the segments before they went on air.

They all did as told.

He’d always done as told.

Almost.

They were talking about runaways, studying and they’d already sung four 80s songs remade with an acoustic guitar. The busan accent boy, Jung Daehyun, was a good singer the way Junhong probably would never be. Junhong was a bassist and rapper, wasn’t he? Junhee wished she had been there to see how it turned out this way. But she wasn’t there when it happened and that was that.

“Ah, so you ran away to Japan to study?” Yoo Youngjae talked a lot. He had a nasty habit of twisting people’s words to suit his tongue.

“Yes, if that’s how you want to put it.”

Four of them laughed, while one remained stoic and Moon Jongup merely gave a grin. Then they carried on to the topic of ideal types, as usual. It was a must when males were around.

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