Watching Yong perform was a little like having dual vision. Like a superimposed image. Mata Hari onstage, being beheaded and Yong, bone tired but still as passionate and excited as ever while she practiced her songs or rehearsed her lines or learned her dances for weeks and weeks and weeks. || or, moonsun on Mata Hari opening night

When she wakes up the next day, it’s to a sudden bright stream of sunlight that ades their room. Once she finally blinks the sleep away, Yong can just make out Byul’s silhouette against the glass doors to their room’s balcony, hair still messy from sleep and pajamas hanging loose and rumpled about her shoulders. || or, my take on their entire Kpopflex weekend

When they arrive at the apartment building, Seulgi and Yesol press the house number of their sister’s unit and wait for the telltale buzz that will let them into the building. They take the elevator and get off at the right floor, walk to the end of the hallway as instructed and knock at the third to the last door. When it opens, the woman on the other side isn’t their sister.

“So she’s doing… That is, she’s— How is she?” There was the sound of shuffling on the other end of the line, and then it was their CEO’s turn to sigh. “I guess you’ll see when they get there,” he said, and Yong had to leave it at that. or Yong gets into a role she wasn't expecting