Kyoto, Japan 2015

           The dancers kept to their huddle, stretching and kicking their legs occasionally to keep their limbs warm. Because it was sound check and rehearsal they had to stay close to the stage area, even though they weren't doing anything. The waiting was always the worst part.

At center stage, they could see the concert director drawing diagrams on a clipboard and talking to the present Big Bang members about changes that had to be made to accommodate the stage size. Their leader was noticeably absent.

           Bored nearly to tears, Sarang nudged the dancer next to her and nodded towards the side of the stage. The other dancer nodded that she understood and Sarang walked quietly away. She rolled her neck and stretched her shoulders as she opened the creaking exit door, stepping into the sunshine. She sat on the edge of the loading dock, partially hidden by a pillar. While scanning through her Twitter feed and laughing at some of the memes, she heard a car screech to a halt and doors slam. She ignored it. There was a scuffling of feet that sort of captured her attention, but she didn't look up. Then, from the other side of the pillar, she heard yelling that she couldn’t ignore. It was partially in Japanese, some words were in Korean, but mostly the voices spoke in English.

           “ . . . Not what I said!”

           “Kumanhe! I don't want to fight!”

   “If you don’t want to fight, why do you keep bringing it up?!”

           That peaked Sarang's interest, but she knew whatever was happening on the other side of that pillar was none of her damn business. Hearing that their voices were getting louder and closer and that she was understanding more and more of what the fight was about, she knew it was time to go. She hastily stood to go back inside. At the door, she fumbled with the sticking latch and dropped her phone. She reached down to get it and looked over to see the absent leader and his model girlfriend looking back at her.

           “I was already out here,” she told them with her hands up as if she had been caught. She pulled and pulled until the door opened at last, bowed slightly in their direction and ran inside.

            “What took you so long?” one of the Kwon twins asked when she got back to the stage.

           “I stepped out for some air and the door got stuck. Sorry.”

           “Is that all that happened?” he asked with his eyebrow raised, looking over her shoulder to see Jiyong standing there; seething.

           “That's all,” she answered as she moved to her spot. All of the dancers knew very well what wasn’t their business and to never speak, even among themselves, about things they saw in passing.

           Standing in formation under the lights, Sarang couldn’t stop her brain from replaying that scene from outside. She had nothing personal against Kiko. From all that she could tell, Kiko was a perfectly fine human being. But Jiyong was obviously unhappy. It showed through in his lyrics, it was written all over his face, could be seen in his posture when the cameras weren't rolling. Kiko might not have been making him unhappy, but the relationship sure was.

Not that it was any of Sarang’s business.

* * * * *

           Sarang finished dressing for the stage and fastened her heels. She hated dancing in heels, but it was part of the uniform. And because she was slightly shorter than the other dancers, her shoes were taller to even things out. One of the stylists walked over to her and her chin up to make sure her makeup was complete. With a nod, the stylist walked away and Sarang took a deep breath. Though she was 'only' a backup dancer there were strict standards for her appearance which surprised her. Who watched the dancers?  

         It had been eight months since she joined the team and she still got nervous before every performance. Touring with Big Bang could easily be considered the highlight of her life. No one could prepare her for the immensity of the crowds and the electricity when Big Bang stepped on stage. It continuously shocked her night after night. Along with the nerves, the excitement was always present.

Tired of standing still in the small dressing room, Sarang let herself out quietly. Heading nowhere, in particular, Sarang walked down the corridor until she found a quiet corner.  She prayed for a safe and successful show for herself, and everyone involved. She did a few squats and practiced the steps she had had trouble with during practice. She was understandably tense-no, excited- but overall she felt good.

           “Stupid and immature! . . . .” she heard from farther down the hall. Sarang rolled her eyes and laughed quietly at the fact that she had stumbled into yet another argument. “You're about to go on stage. Give me the bottle, JiYong!” She heard his manager yell. Shaking her head, Sarang walked away from the sound of raised voices and went to rejoin the other dancers.

Again, none of her business.

* * * * *

           During the concert, the dancers remarked among themselves on G-Dragon’s performance. He was all over the place; screaming randomly into the microphone, wandering around the stage, rudely interrupting the other members’ solo moments. He was a mess, but no one knew what was wrong or dared to ask. Sarang knew.

         'Crooked' had always been one of her favorite songs to dance to. It was upbeat despite the lyrics, and the choreography was fun and relatively simple. She could sail through it with little concentration, allowing her to fully enjoy being in the moment.

         But on that night, Jiyong was even wilder during the song than usual. From the start, he staggered and stumbled around the stage doing his raps. He missed large portions of the lyrics and would just stop and smile charmingly at the crowd from time to time. And because Sarang knew what was wrong with him, she felt compelled to keep an eye on him.

         During the second verse, he walked backward on the catwalk, away from the main platform. The dancers were lined up on either side of the slim stage hyping the crowd. Sarang should have been doing that too but her conscious screamed at her, so she broke from the formation to stay near to him. The other dancers shot her questioning or dirty looks, seeing that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. She ignored them, keeping close to the secretly inebriated rapper.

         Sarang saw it coming before it happened. Jiyong had his head tipped back, screaming nonsense into the mic while spinning in circles. Closer, and closer to the edge he went. Sarang ran at him, grabbed the back of his jacket and swung him away from the edge. Still singing obliviously, Jiyong threw his arm out and pushed away the hands that touched him.

        Her heel caught on the side of the stage.  . . . . . . .There was no way to right herself; nothing to grab onto.   .

. . . . . . . So Sarang met the fate from which she had just saved Jiyong.

         Sarang could remember the feeling of weightlessness. Then the wave of intense pain as she hit something solid. She remembered nothing else after that.

* * * * *

        Jiyong finished the song and stood on the platform. With the crowd still cheering his name he sank below the stage, grinning stupidly and waving. He took a deep breath as the platform stopped and smiled as he stepped off. There was nothing like the high he got from standing on stage.

        Still immersed in that heady sensation, he didn’t immediately notice the charged atmosphere as he walked down the corridor. He passed clusters of dancers and crew members; some were crying, some were glaring at him. Looking around in confusion, his eyes landed on his manager who looked just as livid as the rest. The manager grabbed Jiyong by the collar of his shirt and roughly pulled him to a dressing room.

        “Yah, let go!”

“Do you know what you’ve done?!” his manager screamed while furiously shaking him.

           Drunk Jiyong shrugged his shoulders and took off his sweat-soaked shirt. He noted the ill-shaped neckline and frowned at it. He liked that shirt, dammit.

           He sank down into the couch and opened a bottle of water. Halfway through a gulp, his manager snatched the bottle from his hand and pushed his head until he could see an iPad on the table.

       “What’s wrong with you?!”

    “Shut up and watch.”

     Jiyong rolled his eyes but did just that. He watched himself on the stage, not really remembering how the performance had gone. He could feel the manager’s eyes burning into the side of his head and looked at him again.

          “Pay attention!” he shouted.

          Jiyong rolled his eyes again and watched as the second verse started. Everything looked normal to him until he noticed the dancer out of line. He stopped watching himself and focused on her. He saw the way she watched him, creeping close, eyes tracking his movement while still dancing. He watched himself spinning and saw the moment when she grabbed him to stop him from teetering over the edge.

          And then he watched himself push her off the stage and dance away without a backward glance.

          He gasped and held his hands over his mouth to stifle a scream. He sobered instantly. “Is . . . is she okay?”

          “She’s not dead, or at least she wasn’t when the ambulance picked her up,” the manager explained. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Looking at a monitor in the corner, both he and Jiyong watched as Seungri and Youngbae stood on the stage to apologize to the crowd. His limited Japanese allowed him to understand that they would be praying for the fallen dancer and that she would