The words hit Jaehwan like a train. He should be ecstatic, overjoyed, yet the only thing he can even comprehend is the feeling of pure defeat that sits in his stomach.

He is going to be cast as a trainee.

Finally, after all those years of hoping and dreaming. Singing to the point of raw vocal chords in perfecting those notes, begging his mother to take him to competitions. All in the hopes of getting noticed by his dream company and propelling himself into that childhood aspiration of becoming a singer.

Here he was, and yet, never has he felt more out of place.

After the final audition process, he would be thrown into a sort of reality TV show, competing against ten other equally qualified, equally talented, equally hopeful trainees, pitted against each other for a chance to debut.

Seeing their talents had rattled him first hand, but it was what the CEO had told him during his personal interview that had left him so shaken.

You’re not seeing anyone, are you Jaehwan?

I am.

The instant the words left his lips, he knew he had made a mistake. He should have protected her.

A disapproving frown creased his superior’s face and he folded his hands together beneath his chin in a steeple. Here was the man who could possibly be responsible for directing Jaehwan’s artistic career looking down at him with criticism and displeasure.

How he wanted to make that look go away.

What do I have to do?

Well, your talents are exemplary and I’d hate to see that go to waste. As an artist, it would be impossible to focus on your music with these other responsibilities.

Jaehwan nodded without processing anything, hypnotized.

There are countless other applicants who have already taken these things into account and are more than willing to take your place. You have a week to make a decision.  

Another senseless nod. That had been six days ago.

He now sits nearby a convenience store in Gangnam with his cell phone clutched tightly in his hand, not far from the company building. The streets are busy with shoppers and tourists despite the ungodly hour, nestled right in the heartbeat of the entertainment district after all.

He punches her number in from memory before deleting it.  

 

Jaehwan had met her his freshman year of highschool. They had bumped into each other in the Humanities building after both missing first period, still getting used to finding their classes. They made a pact to walk together to avoid getting lost in the future. Their walks led to shared lunch breaks and after school walks, study sessions to tutoring. Not that she needed it, she was a genius when it came to Calculus. It was Jaehwan that needed the extra help.

Maybe it was their polar opposites that had drawn them together. Jaehwan focused on the arts, often scolded for doodling in class or humming a bit too loudly to himself. He liked to daydream and tell her about wanting to become a singer and touch people with his music.

The way he saw it, she was much more grounded in reality. She excelled in math and sciences and hoped to become a doctor. She would often for having such an imaginative and romantic view of his future in a society as competitive as Korea, but never failed to attend his singing competitions and cheer him on. She had even filmed the video that had peaked the interest of Jellyfish Entertainment.

He grew to love her bubbly laugh and her spirited zest for life, the way she’d carry herself so confidently yet be so delicately shy whenever he sang to her. It melted his heart.

He kissed her in the library the week of finals. She had been so stressed over exams that she was losing sleep, visible in the dark circles below her eyes. Stressing and worrying about her future, the pressure from her parents, making the top half of her class, all while fussing over his stupid audition coming up and what song he was going to sing and if he wanted to practice after school that he decided enough was enough and he was going to show her how he felt to get her to shut up.

Her cheeks burned.

What took you so long to do that?

She had murmured before erupting in a fit of embarrassed giggles, burying her head into her books. Jaehwan smiled and kissed her hair.

Always thinking of him, believing in him when no one else did.

Each academic year, they would make a pact with each other to fulfil their goals before the end of the term and celebrate with a special date when fulfilled. Going out to eat, the movies, amusement parks, strolling through the city. Anything was a treat as long as they were together.

The following year, hers had been to make the top twenty in their class, his to make the honors choir.

The next year, make the top ten. Place in a national competition.

Seoul National University. Jellyfish Entertainment.

Fall silvered into winter, winter melted into spring, bloomed into summer and before they knew it, four years had flown by. They graduated with the perfume of cherry blossoms in the air, the world warm and bright and full of opportunity.

It starts to rain. She answers on the fourth ring, her voice smoky and faint, a voice he had grown accustomed to hearing on hazy summer mornings with sunlight tinting her eyelashes gold.

Jaehwan? What’s wrong? It’s so late.

I don’t love you anymore.

He felt like he was going to be sick, the words like poison in his mouth. It was better this way, he thought, instead of having to make things more complicated than they already were and having to explain himself. How his heart was torn between the two things he loved most in life and how he was choosing music over her.

I think it’d be best if we didn’t see each other.

The silence on the other end was dizzying and he opened and closed his mouth, a fish out of water, trying to think of what more to say, to lessen the blow. But nothing came.

I understand.

Hurt, she sounded so hurt. He felt paralyzed.   

Is that why you called me? Is there anything else you want to say to me?

No. I’m sorry for waking you.

Fine. Goodbye.

The line drops like his heart. He puts his head into his hands and cries for the first time since his brothers left for the military.

The selection process had been brutal. Ten of them had gone into the public eye to be evaluated, judged, have their talents dissected by the directors.

Your performance is always the same, show off a stronger image.

He coughed up blood in the bathroom sink as a result of over vocalization. He wondered if he should have at least told her that he’d made it into the company. She’d at least be happy that way.

No. If he told her and he didn’t make it into the group, it would have been all for nothing. He’d be a failure. With nothing to fall back on, no academic future or job security, he’d be an absolute deadbeat.

All those years rehearsing with her wasted.

Well, your talents are exemplary and I’d hate to see that go to waste.

Waste? How could she ever be the cause of his wasted talent? She was the fire, the driving force behind his passion for music. The one that put song in his life, notes in his breath.

Taekwoon had been chosen first. This wasn’t exactly unexpected for him. The boy was quiet and withdrawn, intimidating even, yet opened up like a ing flower whenever he was asked to sing, adding color and his own unique flare. Taekwoon was the one Jaehwan was nervous about the most and here he was as the main vocalist.

Four more soon followed and Jaehwan saw the tunnel closing quickly. He wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ground.

And then he heard his name in the final lineup. Chosen last.

He masks his vulnerability with jokes and humor, his outshining personality for her. Always hoping that she’s watching somewhere.

Their debut is a trainwreck in his eyes.

Six ragtag boys who have no familiarity or respect for each other thrown into the music scene. He could have sung better, danced better. So much pressure on twenty somethings to perform perfectly. Like dancing monkeys, to entertain.

When did music become all about money?

He’s starting to feel miserable, lost.

A year later, he asks Taekwoon to do a duet of the song he wrote for her. He hands the piece over shyly when Taekwoon asks for it, his eyes quickly scanning over the composition as he sifts through the sheets.

He’s never felt more exposed than he is now with Jung Taekwoon reading over his lyrics.

Taekwoon agrees quietly, sipping from his iced coffee. Groggy, compliant.

Your feelings convey well.

After their first stage, Jaehwan feels numb. His feelings were now out to the world, was he really ready to hear what it had to say?

But know she’d know, no doubt. That put a spring in his heavy step.

The years ticked by and Jaehwan wasn’t feeling regret anymore. His bandmates were easily his brothers, each bringing something unique to the group yet they meshed together so well. Their sound was unique, as well as their performances and concepts, displayed by their worldwide fanbase and the glittering awards they took home at the end of each promotion. Every morning, he could wake up and say he was happy to go to work.

Music had become what it had meant to be again.

It’s the goodbye stage of their most recent comeback. His mic is on, hair and makeup set, sitting in the waiting room with the rest of VIXX. Wonshik dozes next to him.

Jaehwan puts in his earbuds and starts to warm up his voice, careful not to wake Wonshik.

A few minutes of searching through social media tells him that she’s currently enrolled in Seoul National University as an undergrad. He smiles, warmth blooming in his chest. Perhaps she’ll get her doctorate at Korea’s top university as well?

What’re you looking at that’s so funny?

Hyukkie’s Instagram feed.

A chorus of laughter and they leave him alone. He excuses himself to the restroom, brushing past staff and other performers. Pulling out his phone, his fingers hover over the keypad.

He punches her number in from memory before deleting it.