Sleepless Night by Crush, Punch

“Don’t worry.”

The warmth of her father’s palm as it cradles her cheek does little to quell her fluttering nerves. She fidgets atop the creaky table she sits upon, small fingers wringing in the hem of the thin dress she was urged into wearing. It’s lacy and uncomfortable, hardly suitable for the chilling draft which permeates the dreary motel room, but she only has to wear it for a little while – “just a little while, tiny dove,” she’s told.

In front of her, bending down slightly to her height, stands her father. His mouth is pulled back into a comforting grin, the street lights outside illuminating his yellowed teeth and the dullness of his eyes. “You look perfect...so much like your mother,” he cooes in reassurance. It only worsens the tension coiling in her stomach.

She should be used to this by now. She knows she should be. Because this isn’t her first time doing this, and her father always reminds her that it’s okay – “everything will be okay, trust me” – and she’s a big girl now. Big girls aren’t supposed to be afraid.

But she is. Oh, she's so scared. No matter how much she wishes she could swallow her inhibitions and get over her childish fears of what’s to come, she simply can’t. And her father, as always, seems to sense this. He notices the hesitance that brims in her large and innocent eyes, the rigidness of her bared shoulders, the firm line of her lips – painted a deep red and trembling.

“You have to look happy, tiny dove,” her father stresses. “Relax. Smile.” He brushes a stray lock of curled hair behind her ear, careful not to bother the golden earring which dangles from her lobe. “You have to please Papa’s friends, remember? You want Sanghyun to have dinner for the night, don’t you? And the new toy he’s been asking for...you want Papa to be able to afford it, right?”

She nods slowly and whispers, “y-yes, papa.” Then, with a frightened whimper, she grabs her father’s much larger hand in a tight and desperate hold, her eyelashes dampening slightly as she asks, “but you’ll still be outside, won’t you? Swear that you’ll be right outside.”

Her father merely chuckles, breaking his hand out of her firm grip before pinching her cheek. And then a knock sounds from beyond the motel door, three heavy strikes that seem just as loud as her racing heart. She stares wide-eyed at her father, pleading silently for him to stay, but he kisses the top of her head instead – just as he always does at moments like this.

“I’ll buy you some sweets when we’re done,” he promises. He steps away from her and towards the door, opening it wide while proudly welcoming his clients inside. They hand him a silver briefcase that gleams in the flickering motel light, and he accepts it with a hardy laugh.

"You Americans sure know how to do business," he says.

One of the men, the older of the two with a large camera in his hands, looks at her father expectantly. “This should cover at least fifty shots, correct?”

“I’ll make it sixty because you two are such loyal customers,” her father replies with practiced glee. He gives the two of them a slap on their shoulders, tilting his head towards where she sits in the middle of the small room. His grin is polite as he reminds them, like he does all of his clients, “undergarments stay on.”

They nod, already aware of that one (and only) rule, before finally turning to their model of the evening. Their smiles make her skin crawl. They're poor attempts at being disarming, only causing her to shiver at the sight of them. Dark and crooked and getting closer and closer as her father eases his way out of the room.

Like a mantra, her mind repeats in echoes of her father’s voice, it’s only a little while. Only a little while. It’ll all be over soon.

They stop in front of her, looming over her petite frame with those same disgusting smiles and twisted looks in their glazed eyes. “Hello,” one croons in English, his voice gravelly and low, “are you ready for your photoshoot, pretty girl?”

She knows she’s not supposed to, but she can’t help but shake her head and inch away. “I – I don’t…”

And the other shushes her, placing one grimy finger against her stammering lips. “It’s alright,” he tells her softly.

“Just smile for the camera.”

Sandara wakes up to the feeling of being nearly shoved off of her narrow bed.

“Time to wake up, Darna-unnie!” one of her roommates, a bubbly girl named Nara, calls in the softest yell she can muster at four in the morning. “Come on, come on! Wake up already!”

Groaning, Sandara buries her head under her pillow, ignoring Nara’s huff of exasperation and pushes for attention. “Five more minutes,” she whines miserably, and Nara lets out a mocking laugh for they both know five minutes is a luxury neither of them can afford at the moment.

“The shower stalls are going to be completely full soon. Then you’ll have to start your schedule all yucky and gross.”

“I don’t care. Let me sleep.”

But Sandara has known Nara for almost six weeks already (has it really been that long since she arrived at Taiji? It feels longer), and is more than aware that the girl will not relent once she’s got her mind set on something – namely irritating Sandara until she gets her way, as she’s doing now. Sandara can feel the weight on her bed shifting as Nara comes to plop down next to her half-awake, half-dying form. And then there’s a poke to her nose.

“If you wake up now, I’ll give you the banana milk I managed to snag from the cafeteria yester–”

Sandara is awake within seconds. Nara’s yelp of surprise at the girl’s sudden upright bolt melts into a knowing giggle, and she pats herself on the back for managing to get the stubborn girl to rise. Sandara is eyeing her with too much excitement for so early in the day, expression hopeful and beaming.

“You had better not be lying, Jang,” she warns, though the intimidating tone she was aiming for gets lost under her wide smile.

The younger girl gives her a shrug. “I could be...or not,” she chimes mischievously. “You’ll never know unless you come to the shower stalls with me.”

There’s no hesitation. “Deal.”

And the two of them are off, Sandara throwing her bed sheets aside so she can follow Nara and their awaiting roommates, Inna and Dain, down the empty halls of the Taiji’s fifth floor (exclusive to all resident female trainees). Because they had awoken earlier than most, they’re able to shower for far longer than if they’d risen at the usual time. They may have lost out on another hour of sleep, yes, but nothing beats a lengthy and steamy shower without dozens of prying eyes separated by flimsy curtains.

When they finally leave the stalls, wrapped in their bathrobes and laughing at some story Inna has told, they bump (thankfully not literally) into a girl Sandara instantly heaves a sigh upon seeing.

Seo Inyoung.

Of all people. Lucky me, Sandara thinks with feigned enthusiam.

As the trainee who has been under Taiji for the longest, Inyoung is the self-proclaimed “queen” who reigns over them all. Despite her lengthy five years in the company, she’s younger than Sandara – like every other trainee, Sandara was surprised to discover – but still speaks to others without a of manners or honorifics. Patronizing and stubborn and an all-around horrid person to be within an a hundred-mile radius of, Inyoung’s rotten personality is perhaps the biggest indicator (second only to her sub-pair vocals) as to why she’s been training for so long. And as a junior trainee at that – not even a senior one like Donghae and Chanyeol who had arrived two years before Sandara herself. To not be promoted to their level probably meant she has yet to reach the qualifications necessary. How shocking.

When Sandara first met Inyoung, it was during a vocal session with Hoony. As always, the loveable instructor was showering Sandara with praises, and Inyoung had not taken too kindly to such attention, especially since (as she so snootily announced) she had been working with Hoony for much longer. When the session ended and they were all left with a small break in their schedule, she gathered her lackeys a few of the other trainees and circled Sandara like they were all in one of those ridiculous scenes one would see in some corny highschool flick.

“You don’t look all that great,” Inyoung snapped between noisy pops of her bubblegum. “You don’t sing all that great either. Hoony-sunbae is just being nice because you’re some ing immigrant.”

Tired and hungry and so not up for anyone’s nonsense, Sandara didn’t reply. Instead, she attempted to shove her way past the wall of attitude the three girls had formed around her, but they stopped her with a harsh push back into the wall. Sandara grimaced, glaring at the girls with looks she saved solely for when the kids back at Yang’s did something they weren’t supposed to (an art she’s practically mastered).

Glaring, she said in a flat tone, “back off. I'm not here for this.”

“Oh, the immigrant speaks Korean so well!” Inyoung’s little bottle-blonde friend (whose name still escapes Sandara) cackled. She looked Sandara up and down, hiding her smirk behind her hand. “What, did Hoony-sunbae give you lessons while he let you his ?”

The three girls erupted in a chorus of shrill laughter that made Sandara’s already aching head pulse even more. “Just leave me alone,” she mumbled irritably. “I don’t want any trouble with you guys.”

It was the other nameless girl’s turn to make a snide comment, something Sandara was surprised didn’t magically summon Jiyong to appear out of thin air and curse her out for (as he would probably do). It was a line that was terribly cliché, a never-heard-before “go back to your country,” and by then, Sandara had had enough.

She was never one to fight, only throwing her fists when it was absolutely necessary, but desperate times obviously called for desperate measures, and Sandara had always been the type who refused to let others – especially obnoxious little girls who were perhaps no older than thirteen – try and intimidate her. Besides, Jiyong had told her to never let these city kids boss her around, and she refused to let him down.

Stepping forward with a hand raised, Sandara growled at the girls, “listen here, you bratty –”

“Heeeeey, Darna-yah! Aren’t you coming to lunch?” Seemingly out of nowhere, Chanyeol’s lanky form darted between the four of them, effectively breaking their staring match and snapping Sandara out of her darkened mood. He paid no attention to the other three girls, only staring at Sandara with a look that told her to not do whatever she was about to. He chuckled awkwardly – a loud and ear-grating noise that sounded so terribly forced, Sandara almost snorted – and threw an arm around her shoulder. “Donghae-hyung already saved seats for us. Can’t let his kindness go to waste, now can we? Haha, nope! We can’t. So let’s go, okay? Like right now.”

Looking back, Sandara wishes she had pushed past Chanyeol and clocked Inyoung and her troll friends in their faces just like her conscience (that sounded oddly like Jiyong) told her to do. At least then she would’ve made sure Inyoung knew not to mess with her again. But it seemed soundlessly leaving with Chanyeol that day placed a foot in the door leading to a world of harassment by Inyoung and her posse.

And now, with the sun hardly in the sky, Inyoung already looks ready to start a brawl as she comes to stop in front of Sandara and her (equally annoyed) roommates. With her nose in the air, the young trainee scoffs. “Oh great. I was having such a good morning and now you’ve all gone and ruined it, roaming down the hall looking like wet dogs. Hopefully none of the boys see how awful you look without all of the pounds of makeup you usually wear.”

Inna, tall and formidable, narrows her eyes down at Inyoung with a scowl. “You know, you should really be saving all of that energy for dance practice, Inyoung-ssi. We all know you need it after that show you put on yesterday.”

And even though Sandara still isn’t the best at dancing (what can she say? She has two left feet), she struggles to hide her smile as she remembers Inyoung’s comical trip into Boa during one difficult turn during practice the morning before. Boa nearly fell herself at the unexpected weight of the girl, and while none of them had laughed then (because Boa looked so frighteningly mad at that moment), they all do now because of Inyoung’s blushing cheeks and lack of a proper retort.

“Whatever!” is all she yells as she storms past them (though, of course, not without purposely knocking into Sandara’s shoulder – how original).

As she disappears into the shower room behind them, Inna and Dain high-five one another while Nara turns to Sandara with mirth in her eyes. “She’s going to be even more of a tyrant for that one, won’t she?”

And Sandara shrugs dismissively, the four of them resuming their casual trek back to their room. “Well, what do you expect from people b with envy?” is her response.

Though she still doesn’t fully believe Hiro’s words from all those nights ago, she’s slowly (huge emphasis on that word) learning to accept the possible truth behind them. Maybe Sandara does have the talent the other trainees long for; maybe they are envious of how well she’s doing. And if not her, per se, they’re certainly jealous of the three girls walking beside her.

Dancing aside (because that’s an entirely different story), Sandara believes she’s performing quite well for a new trainee. While she still doesn’t understand the whole “golden” title – and, frankly, probably never will – she does know that she’s at least within the top ten of the twenty remaining trainees who had auditioned around the same time as her. Meanwhile, Inna is amazing at dancing, her long legs making the most complicated moves seem like a breeze. Nara has an incredibly likeable personality, getting through public speaking lessons better than all of the trainees combined. And Dain, shy and mostly silent, absolutely shines when she stands behind a microphone. They’re a group of lucky individuals, or so Yoojin said when she first announced them as roommates.

“I’ve seen all of your audition tapes and, let me tell you, I believe you’re all very fortunate to be paired together,” the head of their dorms had said with a friendly smile. “You’ll only bring out the best in one another, I’m sure.”

On the other hand, Donghae complains often that said “fortune fairy” definitely missed him when he got his roommate assignment two years ago. Hyukjae, the boy he shares his bunk with, has a tendency to walk around whenever he can, and that causes a lot of awkward encounters and unwanted eyefuls that Donghae is sure he could’ve lived without. Heechul has a prickly attitude that most find hard to adapt to. And then there’s Junsu, who’s supposedly like an owl for how often he’s awake all throughout the night, keeping everyone else awake with his endless singing and random bouts of dance practice.

Chanyeol once teased Donghae for such a tragic pairing because, unlike the older boy, his roommates all mind their own business and are hardly in their room at the same time.

“Guess that's your karma for stealing my GameBoy back in grade school,” he snickered. And Donghae retaliated by stealing the boy’s milk and drinking it all in one gulp.

Which reminds Sandara...

“As I promised,” Nara chirps when they’ve finally changed into what’s become their daily outfits (sweatpants, sweatshirts, and quickly-wearing-out sneakers). She places a small jug of banana milk in Sandara’s eager hands. “Enjoy, unnie!”

“You’re an angel, Jang,” Sandara sighs blissfully, and pops a straw through the flimsy plastic at the lid of the bottle. She takes a long and satisfying sip, even doing a slight dance at the delicious taste of