No Song to Regret

… it will be the silence, where I am, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on.

(Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable)

A year later Seungwan still wakes up to the same dream.

Nightmare, she’s been wanting to correct herself. Not a dream. A nightmare, nightmarish memory. She still can’t correct herself. Or maybe she doesn’t really want to.

In her dream, she is still surprised that it was Yerim who gave voice first to what the rest of them had in mind. She’s expected Sooyoung to be the one to lose her temper, and she’s even prepared herself for Seulgi’s possible breakdown. Yerim’s shrill cry burned the last word that even just hearing it made Seungwan flinch in shame as if she herself were the receiver of it. Had it come to the public knowledge, Yerim would surely garner vicious criticism or even derail her own career at once.

On her left is a seething Yerim. On her right sat an ashen Seulgi, her grip on Seungwan’s knee painful even though her hand was trembling. Next to Seulgi, Sooyoung gritted her teeth so hard, jaw taut, veins on her cheeks, her trademark coyness gone. Facing the four of them: their Joohyun. No, not theirs, Seungwan noted, tasting sandpaper in her dry mouth. No longer theirs. Even in her dream, it tasted real.

In her dream, persistent was that soft, composed voice, that of Irene Full of Grace, Korea’s goddess. Persistent was her mask that, for the first time, was shown to them instead of to the mass. The moment they all gathered for that fateful five-minute session, Seungwan knew that Joohyun would not budge, and she knew that Joohyun knew they knew. The graceful mask did not falter in that drawn-out five-minute session, not even once.

She feels a dull pain pulsate under the skin over her ribs. Or maybe from behind her ribs. Breathe in, Seungwan. Breathe out, Seungwan. Like the dream, persistent is the pain.

Leaving her bedroom for the kitchen, she feels disoriented for a moment now that she only stays at the dorm when necessary. Walks straight, left, another left, straight. Takes a glass with her initial. Tries to index the jumbled memories swarming her brain: a ghost of red lipstick on the rim of the same glass when one morning Joohyun could not get hers from the top shelf and used Seungwan’s instead; the pumpkin juice Joohyun always reminded them to drink at night; five dirty identical glasses in the dishwasher, forgotten for the two exhausting weeks of their last comeback. The phantom pain on Seungwan’s side throbs.

She finishes her water, puts the glass in the sink, and prepares to go back to her room. Passing by the couch in the living room, she notices a Sooyoung-shaped lump. On the wall overhead, the clock hits 3:40. Sooyoung had a late night schedule, Seungwan remembers, and she has to leave again at 5:00. Must be nice to be able to lose yourself in your work and go home dead tired and just sleep. In her sleep, Sooyoung pulls her blanket higher, almost touching the bridge of her nose. Sleeping in Joohyun’s choice of crib when her own bed can’t give her the rest she wants, Seungwan knows.

She could have roused Sooyoung and told her to sleep in her own room. You’ll catch cold sleeping here, you’ll get a crick in your neck when you wake up, she could have told Sooyoung, but to her dismay the voice in her mind has emulated Joohyun’s.

She ends up lifting the end of Sooyoung’s blanket, scoots closer, and fits herself at the end of the couch, Sooyoung’s feet digging into her thigh, her own feet resting on the coffee table. Sooyoung calls her name, voice groggy and heavy with exhaustion, which Seungwan responds to with, “Go back to sleep, Ddoong.”

Sooyoung mumbles a barely-there affirmative, rising only to turn around and wind an arm around Seungwan's waist, and goes back to sleep. She doesn’t ask why Seungwan can’t go back to sleep. There is no need to ask.

Closing her eyes, Seungwan wishes for one hour of dreamless sleep, one where her brain won’t replay the first thing Yerim had said in that five-minute session.

-.-.-

Greg Kurstin pushes his short, curly locks up his head, takes a deep breath, and stares at the gray wall over her head. He’s silent for some time, merely dragging his fingers down his cheeks. “Wendy,” he breathes out, and in the booth Seungwan fidgets in worried anticipation, “how are you this good?”

It’s become instinctual to bow at whatever is thrown at her—compliments, taunts, pipe dreams, empty promises—until she remembers that he’s American. He doesn’t need her bow. In between thanking him and hiding her flushed face, she raises two thumbs at him. “All thanks to you, Greg,” she says.

“Alright, folks, dinner and then off with the rest of our schedule. Please be back here at nine sharp. Chop, chop,” Greg announces to the rest of the recording team in the studio, who slink their way out to recharge their coffee-fueled bodies. Seungwan exits the booth, stands next to Greg’s chair, waits for a new note or instruction. No one is perpetually flawless, after all. Reading her expression, Greg gives her an easy grin, reaching into his brown bomber jacket for his phone. He shows it to her. “From Sia. Read it yourself. I sent some short clips from our morning sessions to her.”

She ducks her head, chin nearly touching the dip between her collarbones.

“Stop expecting me to mark you down, Wendy. There’s a reason Sia wanted your vocal for this song.” Greg clicks his tongue, still good humored. “So learn to take a compliment, will ya.” He rises, gathers his notes, pats her on the arm. “Also, about what I said yesterday. Just think about it, okay. No pressure.”

She only exhales loudly after he leaves.

-.-.-

As expected, Sooyoung is still in the KBS studio when Seungwan drops by its building. Sooyoung’s scowl at the arrival of an interruption-in-person is swiftly replaced by a large grin as she recognizes her. She skips to get to her, even.

“Urgh, Ddoong, no. You’re all sweat.” She pushes Sooyoung away in mock disgust.

Sooyoung only pulls her closer. “Eonnie, it’s not everyday you visit me during taping. You love me, sweat or no sweat. That’s why you’re here.”

“I’m only here because I promised you this.” She raises the large bottle of mixed berries smoothie that she’s bought on her way. “And I’m a woman of my words.”

Sooyoung beams. “I’m the luckiest person in the world that you’re a woman of your words.” She takes the bottle from Seungwan, sits on the floor, leans against the wall with her legs stretched out. With a wave of her hand, she invites Seungwan to sit next to her. Sooyoung won’t be there for too long, Seungwan knows. Her break is about to end, her taping to resume.

“Oh, this is really good.” Sooyoung’s already finished half of her smoothie when she pushes the bottle toward her.

Seungwan eyes her suspiciously. “You only feed the stuff you don’t like to me.”

“Eonnie,” she whines.

Sighing, Seungwan takes the bottle from her, takes a sip, and returns it with an affirmative hum.

“No, drink some more, eonnie.” Sooyoung's grin was intact, but her eyes softens when Seungwan takes a few more gulps. “Good, right? Told you. What time do you need to be back at the studio?”

“Not until nine.” She lets out a resigned chuckle. “And after that, they want me to shred my vocal cords.”

Sooyoung’s eyebrows rise. “I thought they’ve changed their mind?”

She shrugs.

“I see.” Sooyoung nods. “Well, I hate seeing you push yourself like that, but when have you listened to me, right? And it’s not everyday that Sia wants you to sing her song. So.” Sooyoung nods again, bumping her shoulder to Seungwan’s. “I know this goes without saying, but you’re gonna rock the song, eonnie.”

“And this is coming from, what, one who’s bound to perform Red Flavor in a week.” She chuckles.

“Oh good Lord, why.” Sooyoung joins in her chuckling. “No offense, I love it, but it’s definitely our Gee.” Then Sooyoung snaps to attention, checking the door and exhaling in relief when she can reassure herself that there’s no one at the door. At Seungwan’s bewilderment, she says, “Taeyeon-eonnie was here earlier.”

“Nah, you’re safe. She hates Gee.” Seungwan snickers. “And every song she hates juuust happens to be the group’s best selling.”

Sooyoung stares at her before breaking into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “Can you imagine, eonnie—hating your biggest hit? Yet performing it for the rest of your life—I mean—eonnie—I just—” Her slaps land on Seungwan’s arm and shoulder. “God—I just—I can’t.”

Her own laughter quietening, Seungwan acquiesces, “Yeah, I can’t.” She rests her head on Sooyoung’s shoulder, closes her eyes, and hangs on to her memories of Joohyun’s face when they had to perform Red Flavor one time too many.

Driving back to the recording studio, she takes a longer route. On the radio, two DJs are talking, wishing Wendy-ssi all the best luck with her incoming project with Sia, because it’s not everyday Sia personally asked a singer to sing her song, is it?

“That, and I hope we can get clarification soon about the rumor of her going to participate in an American TV show.”

“As Wendy-ssi’s biggest fan, I’m very proud of her.”

“What do you mean her biggest fan? Should I challenge you to a duel for that title?”

“Hey!”

Where were they when giant cameras capped with exorbitant long lenses camped in front of her apartment complex just to get a shot of her in distress? Where were they when Sooyoung would not even smile as she shut down intrusive questions on talkshows, earning herself the moniker The Savage Idol? Where were they when Seulgi, upon learning their company’s decision that she was to assume leadership in the group, took it upon herself to study hours and hours of past interviews even though they hurt? Where were they when gossip staples pitted Yerim against Joohyun just because Yerim's newest single came out mere days after the news broke?

Where were they when Joohyun left?

Happiness is playing in the background to the DJs’ chat. Odd choice, given the hour. “You know,” one of the DJs begins, “I’m rooting for them, too.” He lets out a chuckle. “My daughter adores them, and she might hit me if she hears me saying this, but I’m glad all Red Velvet members have matured into who they are now. Can’t imagine them singing the same song over and over again, can we, really.”

On the radio, her twenty years old self belts out the lines that introduced Korea to Red Velvet’s Wendy who shone the brightest on the stage.

Seungwan tugs the rim of her baseball cap lower and grips the steering wheel tighter. She tells herself she has no song to regret and makes herself believe so.

-.-.-

By the time they are on the twelfth take, she’s wanted to burst out in tears and claw to pieces. Think Twist and Shout, Seungwan, she’s repeated it to herself. Think Tom Waits and that goddamn croaking frog in a vodka barrel dump of a voice. Think Tina Turner and the 500,000 takes she did for River Deep, Mountain High. Think of something, anything. Think of Joohyun.

She flounders on the last run, and the staff on the other side of the glass let out the breath they’ve been holding for the last two minutes, some barely able even to hold back a groan. Disappointed, but not surprised. They are all rooting for her, wanting to see her nail it, needing her to reach that peak. Still.

She makes a hand gesture to Greg, asking for a five-minute break. It hurts to even swallow. Sandpaper, sandpaper, sandpaper. The grey wall almost swims behind her eyelids. Greg enters the booth. “Still okay, Wendy?” he asks, handing her a bottle of water.

Nodding, she takes a sip of her water. “Yeah. I can still go on.” Sia has the perfect vocal fry for the song, and yet she wants one tiny Korean singer—idol, even—to sing it. Wants her. Wants her and no one else. Seungwan won’t give the world the satisfaction from watching her fail to meet the expectation. If people hit you with their doubt, hit them back twice as hard, her mind Joohyun says. Sandpaper, sandpaper, sandpaper. I believe in you.

Greg takes a long look at her. Folding his arms across his jacket-clad chest, he sighs. “Alright, one more time and we’ll call it a day.”

“But—”

“One more time.” Then he adds, gentler, “Wendy, it’s three in the freaking morning. I’m more than pleased to see your dedication, but the team needs some rest, too. Not everyone can run on sheer determination like you.”

She sighs. “Alright.”

Greg pats her on the shoulder. “So I guess this is your answer, huh.”

She gives him a wry smile. “What tells you?”

“Say what, lemme take you to breakfast and I’ll share my super secret, super short list of people who’ve literally turned down a collab with Sia.”

“Turn down? I was just thinking I wasn’t ready.” She puts on an affronted look to her best ability.

“Wah, wah. Told you before to learn to take a compliment, didn’t I? And I say this as your fan.” Grinning, he leaves the booth. Takes a seat, puts on his headphone, gives her the signal to start again. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. You can do this, Seungwan. You can do this. I believe in you.

From the top.

-.-.-

hurts for the next four days, and she only manages to have breakfast with Greg on the day he is scheduled to return to the States. It goes in a quick manner, her telling him to thank Sia again and again—a thousand times, please, tell her I love her and thank her and worship her a thousand times and more—and his telling her that he is looking forward to working with her again. In fact, he’s already had some sort of composition that can only go with her voice. “Just meet me in the middle, Wendy,” he tells her. Whether it’s an invitation or a request, she doesn’t want to think too much about it for now. Twenty years old Seungwan might only try to survive vocal nodules and damning debut timing. Tomorrow Seungwan may run to the phone first thing in the morning and beg Greg for the promised song. Today Seungwan has better things to do.

Such as appeasing Sooyoung.

“Yah, Wendy Shon Seungwan-eonnie! I can’t believe you!”

Why does she think admitting Sooyoung to her apartment is a good idea, again?

Said person drops—throws!—her bag to the couch noisily, half of its content spilling to the carpeted floor. In three strides, Sooyoung gets a hold of her. Hands on Seungwan’s shoulders, she gives her a good, rough shake. “Why am I just finding out from our manager that you’re not going to California? Are you insane? Eonnie!”

She clasps Sooyoung’s shoulders in return, lock