“Do you think I can do well on the show?”

    Jinsook looks down at Yeonjung, who has her head rested in the older girl’s lap. It’s a bit worrying, if Jinsook is to be honest. 101 girls is a lot of girls and Yeonjung isn’t exactly coming in with the best of companions, sandwiched between a girl with too much confidence and a girl with not enough. But then Jinsook remembers back to when Yeonjung first auditioned for the company, remembers the way her voice drifted through the room, the way it demanded everyone’s attention, the way it wormed itself into Jinsook’s heart like a siren’s call, and firmly promises, “You’ll do great.” Even if there’s no way to be certain, Jinsook knows: Yeonjung’s voice is too beautiful to be unheard. “We both will.”

    Yeonjung briefly grins up at her before the smile dissolves into a pout. “I hate survival shows,” she confesses as anxiety slowly seeps into her voice, fiddling with Jinsook’s shirt. The threading is a bit frayed at the edges, but it’s not enough to throw away, so Jinsook holds onto it.

    “You just say that because you’re still bitter that Somi got eliminated in Sixteen,” Jinsook teases with a quick pinch of Yeonjung’s cheek, if only to get a rise out of her. It works, and the girl immediately surges upwards to put Jinsook in a headlock.

    “Yah!” Yeonjung cries out as Jinsook is barely able to dodge her flailing arms. “Somi deserved better than this!” Yeonjung says, lunging for Jinsook. The older girl crawls out from underneath her and runs to the other side of the empty practice room they’re currently in, cackling all the way. Yeonjung gets up and chases after her.

.

    “Hey,” Jinsook later says, after they’ve settled down. “Promise me you’ll come back to me.” She lifts her head up from its spot resting on Yeonjung’s stomach to look at her.

    “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?” Yeonjung retorts, reaching down to flick Jinsook’s forehead. “You’re the one who’s debuting in a couple of months.” Even as Yeonjung says that, she knows it’s not true. Even when the trainees who were going to debut in Starship’s new girl group were separated from the other trainees in order to practice their newly produced debut song, Jinsook had always managed to make time for Yeonjung- whether it be in the form of late night practices in which Jinsook helps Yeonjung with her dancing, or late (second) dinners, diets be damned. Yeonjung knows that once they debut, there’ll be more schedules- more things to do and less time to do them in, but she also knows Jinsook. And she knows that Jinsook hates to let go of anything (anyone), and Yeonjung hopes that Jinsook cares enough about her to not let her go.

    (She does.)

    “Yah,” Jinsook calls out again, poking at Yeonjung’s stomach to get her attention. “Promise me,” she pouts, sticking her pinky in Yeonjung’s face. Yeonjung nudges her off so they can both sit up and properly look at each other. “Promise me,” Jinsook says again, voice soft and eyes bright.

    Yeonjung doesn’t know why Jinsook is so insistent on this- making her promise to stay. Jinsook may not be the best dancer nor the best singer, but she has something about her that just demands attention, an aura that just draws people in like they’re planets and she’s the sun. And Yeonjung- Yeonjung has been stuck in Jinsook’s orbit for as long as she can remember. Even if Yeonjung did leave, she would always come back, and maybe it’s in this knowledge that Yeonjung links her pinky with Jinsook’s and promises, “I’ll always come back to you.”

.

    Yeonjung’s the only one who hasn’t gotten in the van yet- the one that’s taking her and the other two trainees to the first recording of Produce 101. But that’s mostly Jinsook’s fault.

    “I got you a going-away present,” Jinsook says, giving Yeonjung a small, white envelope.

    Yeonjung grabs it and quickly opens it up to reveal- “This is a picture of you,” Yeonjung deadpans, showing Jinsook the polaroid of herself.

    Jinsook shrugs. “It’s a good luck charm, because you know, I’m so lucky,” Jinsook grins. Yeonjung snorts. Finding a 50,000 won bill on the ground once is not what Yeonjung considers a lucky life; maybe a lucky day, or a lucky week, but definitely not enough luck to last an entire lifetime. But still, she carefully tucks the polaroid away for the rainy days and difficult nights where she’s sure to miss Jinsook, and ignore the older girl’s smug grin.

    Yeonjung throws her arms around Jinsook in a hug as a last farewell. “I’ll miss you,” Yeonjung mumbles, burying her face into the smaller girl’s thick winter coat. “I’ll make sure to look out for your debut,” Yeonjung says, right after she gets on the van.

    “Me too. I’ll look out for your debut too,” Jinsook says casually, as if it’s a fact that’s already set in stone. Yeonjung grins back and that’s the last thing Jinsook sees before the manager slams the van door shut. But still, Jinsook waves to her own reflection in the tinted car window and watches as the van drives out of the parking lot.

.

    On some days, the more difficult days, Yeonjung pulls out the polaroid and wonders how long her orbit is- she wonders how much longer does she have to wait to come back to Jinsook, and sighs.

.

It’s a couple of months later when Yeonjung stands in front of a door, nervous fingers fiddling with the frayed end of her backpack strap. No doubt management has informed the WJSN members (her members now, Yeonjung reminds herself) about the new... arrangement, but Yeonjung hasn’t actually seen any of them since before she started filming for Produce 101 and she can’t help but wonder if, worry if-

Any thoughts she has come to abrupt stop as the door swings open to reveal Jinsook’s grinning face. “You’re home,” she exclaims as she knocks Yeonjung over in a spectacular hug. It’s as if nothing is out of the ordinary- as if Yeonjung has always been a member, has always been right beside her, and Yeonjung has to smile.

“Yeah, I’m home.”