Snow by Zion. T

“Just relax.”

Jiyong huffs angrily at Sandara’s soft command, his bottom lip jutting out into a miserable pout. Beside him, Sandara rolls her eyes with playful exaggeration and scoots closer to the boy with the acoustic guitar resting in his lap. She places a hand over where his fingers contort over the neck of the guitar, easing the digits into the proper position with a calm patience that only makes Jiyong pout harder.

“I can do it myself,” he grumbles petulantly, but doesn’t back away from Sandara’s guiding hold. She remains silent, simply nodding in feigned agreement as she adjusts one of his fingers over the D string. Jiyong blinks down at their joined hands with rapt attention, making a slight oh sound when he sees the way the lightweight instrument is supposed to be held.

When Sandara finally backs away, a satisfied expression on her face, Jiyong turns to her eagerly. “What do I do now?”

Laughing, Sandara shrugs with one shoulder. “I don’t know,” she says in a teasing tone. “How about you try strumming it?”

Jiyong wrinkles his nose for a moment, yet opts out of pettily speaking out against her lighthearted mockery of him. He focuses on the guitar instead, his right hand remaining frozen on the strings – exactly where Sandara left them – while his left hand slowly eases its way to the row of cords above the sound board. He gives her one last look, as if to ask if he was doing things correctly, and she nods at him with a grin that makes Jiyong beam excitedly. Just as he’s told, he relaxes his tense fingers, lifts his hand, and…

It sounds awful. Deep and sloppy and all over the place. Some notes end abruptly, squeaky and short-lived, while others ring throughout the small bedroom in a creaky warble. Jiyong grimaces at the echoing noise and peeks one nervous eye to where Sandara sits. He expects her to either have a similar expression of distaste on her face – eyes clenched shut and back curled with disgust – or to at least be on the verge of cackling at his astounding failure to play something as simple as a guitar.

But to his surprise, she simply smiles at him, something akin to pride shimmering in her chocolate eyes. And Jiyong has to pause as she begins to praise him for an attempt that even he knew was undoubtedly terrible.

“That sounded much better than my first try,” she tells him, unaware of his leery expression at her words. “Just a bit more practice and you’ll be even better than me one day.”

Despite her saccharine compliments, Jiyong still finds himself embarrassed beyond compare. Sandara is perhaps the most talented girl in Yang Orphanage, seeming to have a knack for a litany of things that Jiyong cannot even begin to replicate. He almost feels inferior to her in that regard, never seeming to quite match her in her endless skills no matter how hard he tries. But if there’s one thing Kwon Jiyong is known for, it’s certainly his tenacity, so he ignores all of the signs that scream at him for his incompetence and lets out a low hum.

“I know I will,” he retorts cockily, nose in the air. “And when I do, I’ll write a song for you as thanks, and it’ll be the bestest song you’ve ever heard in your whole life.”

Sandara raises an eyebrow, figuring it was better to humor Jiyong’s smugness than to call him out for its obvious falsehood. Tilting her head, she asks in a tone of pure disbelief, “you sure about that? I’ve heard quite a few good songs in my lifetime.”

“Yeah, but none of them were written by me, so they all .” Jiyong is absolutely resolute. He keeps his eyes focused on the guitar, fingers hovering over the strings as he finds himself lost in the idea of one day being able to play as well as the girl sitting next to him.

Sandara watches him, bemused beyond compare, and simply sighs at his refusal to at least try and be a bit more modest. As stubborn and haughty as Jiyong often is, she knows such aloof behavior is nothing more than a front. Beneath all of those sharp words and sour expressions is a boy only she knows is hilariously akin to a teddy bear: sweet and shy and prone to blush more than a schoolgirl if you know which buttons to push. Sandara’s most favorite pass time, between her homeschooling and seemingly endless chores, is to find how many ways in which she can destroy the cold exterior of Kwon Jiyong and let loose his inner cuteness. Unlike everyone else, she knows it exists; she’s seen it before. And she swears that the other children of the orphanage who avoid Jiyong like the plague for his rough personality are certainly missing out.

For some inexplicable reason, she finds herself striving to make his days a bit brighter, regardless of their circumstances, and relishes in the effects of her constant affection. Sometimes, whenever he seems too lost in thought, she’ll spontaneously strike him with some nonsensical game – like a pillow fight. Feathers would decorate his hair, and his smile would be so wide that it’d make her heart sing. Other times, when he looks particularly down, she’ll bake him his favorite treats, surprising him and causing his face to glow with a rare show of happiness.

And then there are times like these, when it’s just the two of them alone, basking in a silent world of their own making. A place where their worst memories are just distant nightmares to be forgotten with time. A place where only the present exists, the two of them, and nothing else. Jiyong begins playing the guitar once more, each strum getting better and better as the minutes roll by, and Sandara cannot help but close her eyes and sigh at the monotonous but somehow relaxing sound. She comes to lay down on the bed, listening closely to the one-stringed music Jiyong plays, and sinks into the mattress with a soft croon. She can almost hear Jiyong’s joy through the melody of his fingertips.

It’s odd, but it feels as if whenever Jiyong is happy, Sandara is happy. As if she cannot live comfortably unless she knows her Jiyong is forgetting his pain and laughing right along with her. Perhaps it’s all just some warped coping mechanism, a desire to live vicariously through another person and use their emotions as a replacement for the one’s inside of her which she struggles to suppress. Or maybe she even sees an image of her brother within him, the personified idea of what Sanghyun would have grown up to be like had he not been sent to another foster home. Whatever it is that draws her to Kwon Jiyong, whatever the reason behind her need to heal his emotional scars, she can’t help but feel that everything seems...right in the world when she sees him smile.

And she hates herself for being the one to take that smile away.

“You’re daydreaming again,” a voice scolds lightly from behind her, and Sandara jumps upright. She spins around in her seat, eyes fluttering as she takes in the appearance of the one to intrude on her guilt-ridden musings. She relaxes instantly when she realizes it’s a man who is amongst one of the few she considers a friend of sorts in this lion’s den of a company.

Eun Jiwon is a strangely placid man for an employee of Taiji (the other trainees insist that it has something to do with him being raised in Hawaii, but Sandara finds such a reasoning to be silly). He’s one of her many trainers, specifically her fitness instructor, and is perhaps the kindest out of all of them. He’s soft-spoken and polite, never pushing Sandara too hard, and despite their large , she enjoys the company of Jiwon more than she has anyone else in the week since she began her training.

True to their legacy, Taiji Entertainment proved to be a difficult place to live and work in. After miraculously landing a probationary position amongst the company’s small group of fresh trainees, she had immediately been given a schedule of tasks she was set to perform and perfect (lest she be kicked out without so much as a warning) by the end of the year.

From five in the morning, long before the sun was in the sky, until late at night, Sandara is ordered to follow the plans the higher-ups of Taiji have set for prospective idols like her. Most people call it the “weeding out agenda” for its unrivaled intensity, and Sandara can confirm that it’s downright ridiculous.

First, there’s the hour-long exercise sessions with Jiwon. Upon first meeting him, Sandara didn’t even have a chance to feel nervous about working with someone new; Jiwon was so calm and welcoming that she had instantly felt at home while going through the bouts of simple to rigorous exercises. Sandara has only been working with him for a few days, but it’s always saddening to leave the gym (her safe haven, which is ironic considering how much she abhors strenuous activity) and move on to the next task on her schedule: dance training with Kwon Boa.

Unlike Jiwon, Kwon Boa – or simply Boa, with no honorifics, as the older woman had commanded the trainees to call her – is, for lack of a better term, a complete hard-. Breaks are a foreign concept to her, and she drills countless dance moves into everyone’s brains for three hours without rest. Over and over again, she will direct and berate people (sometime to the point of making them cry) but Sandara expects no less from a woman who became an idol at the tender age of twelve years old. Despite complimenting her on her singing during the auditions, Boa shows Sandara no sign of recognition or regard. It’s almost disheartening, but Sandara knows it’s nothing personal. She only wishes she was a better dancer. Boa isn’t exactly nice whenever Sandara happens to stumble over a move (which occurs  more often than not) and she seems to almost enjoy nearly cursing the poor teenager out whenever such mistakes happen.

Thankfully, after a quick shower, Sandara is able to have vocal training with the much kinder Kang Sunghoon.

“Good morning, loves! Your Hoony-sunbae has arrived!” he singsongs each time he walks into the large recording studio. The twenty-nine trainees, Sandara included, are always hesitant to address him so casually, but he insists that it’s the most appropriate way to call him.

Hoony is an absolute sweetheart, and Sandara often finds herself wondering if he has fallen from Heaven itself. He treats all of the trainees with care and respect, always giving constructive criticism when needed without sounding like an utter pompous (like a certain instructor Sandara knows). But he seems to dote on Sandara a bit more, even calling her his “little miss” or his “precious dongsaeng” despite the hierarchical rift in their relationship. The other trainees sometimes mutter amongst themselves in jealousy, but Sandara knows how Hoony treats her is nothing more than his silly way of making her feel comfortable. He thinks she’s a foreigner, after all, and perhaps wants to show her that she’ll be accepted by him no matter where she’s from. Sandara sincerely appreciates it, and wholly enjoys her four hour sessions with him, even if she does leave the studio with a painfully sore throat each time. But sometimes his coddling is a tad too overbearing, which is why he’s only second place to Eun Jiwon (though she’ll never tell him as much, in fear of breaking the poor man’s heart).

By then, it’s usually around one o’clock: lunch time. For everyone, from trainees to the highest sunbaes still working in the building, lunch is scheduled at the same time. And it’s during these periods that Sandara can relax and speak freely with a few of the people she’ll be seeing everyday for (hopefully) a very long time. Two of the trainees she has become quite close to in the few days she has been in Taiji are the boys Lee Donghae and Park Chanyeol, both like skyscrapers compared to her petite form. Out of everyone, they are the most genuine and don’t speak to Sandara (or about her) with cold stares and upturned lips. Their childishness reminds her a lot of her own brother, and even Jiyong, which is probably why she enjoys conversing with them so much over ham sandwiches and cartons of skim milk.

“How much do you bet the Snake is ing Rain,” are the words Lee Donghae first greeted her with. He had slammed his tray in front of where she sat (alone and blissfully minding her own business), and proceeded to ramble on about his suspicions that Kwon Boa and Jung Jihoon were canoodling behind everyone’s backs, ignoring her stupefied expression. “I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Two of the company’s biggest s. A match made in Hell.”

Before she could answer, a lanky boy with too curly hair slid into their table. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Is this stray dog bothering you?” Chanyeol had entered the scene then, looking apologetic as he set his tray down next to Donghae’s. “Don’t worry, he’s just trying to start a conspiracy group and you’re the only rookie he hasn’t tried recruiting yet.”

“It’s not a conspiracy if it’s true,” Donghae defended between bites of his food. Chanyeol rolled his eyes in exasperation, to which Sandara chuckled gently under her breath. The two of them looked at her then, seeming to come to the same conclusion at the same time as they both began to properly introduce themselves.

“I’m Donghae and this is my cousin’s step-brother, Park Butthole.”

Chanyeol let out a flat and sarcastic laugh. “It’s Park Chanyeol,” he corrected with a glare. “Sorry, sometimes Donghae-hyung forgets how to speak Korean. He dropped out of highschool, you know.”

“Listen here, you string bean bastard.”

“Mind your tongue in front of the lady, hyung.”

“I’ll mind your tongue if you...wait, no. Let me rephrase that.”

At that point, Sandara couldn’t smother her laughter any longer. She burst into a fit of giggles, body quacking as she watched the two squabbling boys before her. Donghae covered his face with his palms, positively embarrassed, while Chanyeol smirked with the pride of winning their short-lived argument.

Somehow, it wound up being the start of quite an interesting friendship. And Sandara always looks forward to their brief meetings at the lunch hall table, for they make her days all the better with their constant jokes and humor. But then, once the clock strikes two o’clock, reality sets in once more and it’s back to their schedule. The hours following lunch are spent doing other uninteresting tasks like public speaking and language building – both of which make her nervous about what is to come. Her instructor for the former, a man named Eric Moon, warns them all that the entertainment business is a wretched and horrible place, filled to the brim with vultures who only want to see you fail.

“And it’s your words,” he always reminds them, “that determine whether you succumb to the pressure.”

It frightens her to even think about how terrible being an idol can be. Something as simple as words can destroy everything you’ve struggled to build, and Sandara hopes she doesn’t befall to such an unfortunate fate.

That nagging paranoia is only settled (though barely) afterwards, when the trainees are schooled by professional teachers for six hours on the lower levels of the building. Sandara’s teacher is a young and quirky woman named Park Bom. With stark bottle-red hair and a tendency to always wear the brightest of colors, Bom is an eccentric thing, constantly bouncing between topics and buzzing with boundless energy. Sandara often feels tired just watching her, but still finds herself enjoying her instructional periods because of her hilarity and excitement. Sometimes Park Bom will even slip them all sweets (despite them being forbidden from their diets) because, according to her, a little sugar never hurt anyone.

Sandara loves Park Bom for that.

Around midnight is when the daily evaluations take place, and with them brings Dara’s least favorite person: Jung Jihoon. He’s one of the head directors of Taiji Entertainment and makes sure the entire world knows it too. He’s vicious, rude, and is always wearing those hideous sunglasses of his. Dara wishes she could kick them right off of his face – or just kick him in the face. Both would make her feel good, honestly. He isn’t called Rain (short for “raining on everyone’s parade”) by all of the trainees for nothing.

Jung Jihoon’s job is to test each trainee and make sure their performance levels are up to par with his absurd standards. And since, no matter how hard each of them try, they never are, Jung Jihoon always forces them to practice dancing and singing for at least two or three more hours beyond their scheduled time. He watches them closely during these periods, yelling and cursing and ma