there she goes (again)

—

‘UNNIE, BREAK A LEG!’

Byul typed and re-typed the message on her phone before giving up and hitting send with a sigh.

That’s what you were supposed to greet someone in the theater. Or at least, that’s what Yong had excitedly told her last month, when they managed to carve out enough time for a quick video call after her radio show and Yong’s rehearsals. 

She chanced a glance at the bouquet of flowers in the passenger seat beside her. Earlier, when she had told the florist what she wanted, the middle-aged woman behind the counter had given her a knowing smile. “Must be for a very special person,” the florist had said, handing the bouquet over with no small amount of care. Byul accepted it with a nod, thankful that her facemask was hiding what was certainly a very prominent blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Yes, she is.”

The perks of arriving an hour early to the theater was that there were hardly any cars in the guest parking lot. The cons of arriving an hour early to the theater was that Byul now had an hour to stew in the mix of emotions wreaking havoc on her heart. She felt like throwing up, like her heart was leaping into , like something inside of her was itching beneath her skin trying to claw its way out. Byul fired off another text to someone else and got a reply almost instantly.

‘GO AHEAD. SECURITY HAS YOU ON THE GUEST LIST.’

She took a few minutes to try and slow her heartbeat, then she grabbed the bouquet from the passenger seat and made her way to the actor entrance to the side. 

Sure enough, the guard at the door took one look at her and smiled, didn't even bother asking for her name, just stepped aside and opened the door for her with a bow. Inside, there was a nervous energy that permeated every square inch of the building. Byul could see stage hands scuttling here and there, clipboards in hand as they spoke into their headsets. Ensemble actors already in costume were crossing the halls, some didn’t even give a second glance, but others who must have recognized her smiled in her direction and bowed too, eyes darting to the large telltale bouquet in her hands.

When she reached the door labeled Mata Hari, she knocked once before poking her head in. Immediately her eyes zeroed in on Yong, in her make-up chair and surrounded by staff and her manager, who smiled at Moonbyul knowingly.

“Aigoo, Moonbyul-ssi!” Yong’s smile was wide and pleased, but Byul could easily see the nerves there, just simmering below the surface. She handed the bouquet over, eyes lingering on Yong’s.

“A hundred roses,” she said excitedly, not ashamed in the least to be the one showing her hand just this once. Yong’s eyes sparkled with something that looked a lot like adoration. Before Byul could say anything else though, Yong directed her attention to her vlog camera, propped up and recording against the vanity mirror. 

Ah.

“These are a hundred roses, because red is the Mata Hari color,” she said, hoping Yong’s viewers weren’t too aware about the intricacies of flower language. 

“Oh, she’s an event girl,” Yong teased, before handing back the bouquet for Byul to place atop the rehearsal piano. “Thank you!” Yong called out.

Byul stayed with Yong for as long as she was allowed, putting in that extra effort to make Yong smile, distracting her from her opening night nerves by just listening to everything she had to say. Even going so far as to letting Yong bring her to say hi to Hongki, grabbing at an opportunity to tease them about their kiss later on in the show. 

Eventually, she had to leave to let Yong finish with the final preparations for the show. Once she was alone though, spending the remaining time in the theater lobby where the concession stand was selling horribly overpriced drinks and snacks, the nerves came back in full force. 

She couldn’t quite understand it. Only that she’s seen the viral youtube clips of leading actresses forgetting a line or missing a note mid song or tripping on their skirts during a dance. She was nervous because she wanted the show to be the best it could be because that was what Yong wanted. She was nervous because critics were harsh and the public was even harsher. All she wanted was for everyone to see Yong shine as she lived out a dream that’s been years in the making, ever since they grew old enough to dream beyond just being a mere K-Pop idol.

By the time she was actually in her seat, waiting for the show to begin, her heart was in again. Once the lights had dimmed and the orchestra began playing the first few bars of the overture, Byul felt like she was just about ready to vibrate out of her seat. 

When the curtains parted and she saw Yong walk onstage, in full costume and makeup, the breath Byul had been holding since she arrived at The Charlotte an hour ago turned to awe and wonder in her lungs. An inescapable feeling that filled her up and filled her up until it was all she was. This was it, the culmination of all of Yong’s hard work come to fruition. Even if Mata Hari on stage was only wearing a simple coat and dress, Yong looked resplendent, embodying the role like she was born to play it. 

Watching Yong perform was a little like having dual vision. 

As everyone else in the audience watched Margaret Zelle first arrive in Paris, down on her luck and destitute but burning with a passion to crawl her way out of the muck, Byul only saw Yong, dedicating all her time into researching everything she could about Mata Hari the moment she was offered the role. spending late hours listening to the soundtrack again and again until she had almost every song memorized.

While everyone witnessed Margaret shed her skin to become Mata Hari, fiercely confident and alluring, dancing for a captive audience, Byul could also see Yong lying down on her bed with dozens of pain patches on her back so clearly, like it was happening at the same time instead of in her memories.

When Margaret and Armand first met, as she watched their love take the form of gentle caresses and soft spoken melodies and eventually passionate kisses, Byul could only recall running those lines and those scenes with Yong in her apartment and on the plane to Germany and even in their hotel between performances. Practicing and practicing together until Yong could look at her co-stars the same way she looked at Byul. 

When Mata Hari was accused of being a spy, a palpable tension ran through the audience, the fear of it reminding Byul of the time Yong called her in the middle of the night, trying to play off her anxieties after seeing online comments from strangers who weren’t on board with another Kpop Idol being cast in a musical. They had spent hours on the phone that evening, talking about anything that wasn’t the show until the last of Yong’s fears had subsided. 

The moment the show reached its epic , as Mata Hari calmly accepted her fate and walked regally to her own execution, everyone sitting in Byul’s row was weeping silent tears. Byul was crying too, bawling really, because she could remember nights of massaging Yong’s feet after a grueling sixteen hours spent in rehearsal. Like a superimposed image. Mata Hari onstage, being beheaded and Yong, bone tired but still as passionate and excited as ever while she practiced her songs or rehearsed her lines or learned her dances for weeks and weeks and weeks. 

When the curtain closed, the entire audience erupted into thunderous applause, Byul among them. On her feet and clapping even as her tears ruined the face mask she was wearing. She felt raw and vulnerable and happy and proud and shewasn’t even sure if she remembered half of what she watched but that was okay. She planned to watch this show again and again anyway. For Yong. 

Byul wasted no time making her way backstage after the final curtain call. Yong’s staff and manager ushered her excitedly into the dressing room. When Yong returned, Byul could feel the tears building behind her eyes again.

“I cried,” she said, while Yong was in the middle of vlogging. 

“Oh she cried again,” Yong said to the camera, fully gearing up to some more and Byul didn’t even mind. 

“I could see your hardship,” Byul said, voice already cracking traitorously even as she wanted to say more. To say how amazing the whole show was. To say how beautiful and magnetic Yong looked on stage. To say how proud she was of Yong at that very moment.

When Yong began crying too though, Byul didn’t bother saying any of it. Yong already knew. 

After the flurry of various guests and castmates rushing in and out of Yong’s room, they finally, finally had a few moments to themselves, between Yong’s manager stepping out to double check schedules with the Casting Director and them waiting for the car that will take Yong home to arrive.

Yong was slowly removing her makeup in front of the mirror, wig off and already in her plain street clothes. The double vision was back, but instead it was like every other memory Byul’s had of seeing Yong like this. From Solar into Yongsun. From Mata Hari into Yong. She smiled.

“Hey,” Byul said.

Yong glanced at her, makeup wipe still in hand, “Yes?”

“You did great today.”

Yong ducked her head, trying and failing to hide a pleased smile. She held out a new makeup wipe to Byul, mischievous little grin playing across her lips as she said, “Would you mind?”

Byul laughed quietly, shaking her head as she took the wipe and stood between the V of Yong’s legs, cupping her the soft curve of her cheek as she tilted her head this way and that. Byul gently wiped away the last of Mata Hari’s face, until all that was left was Yong again. When it was done, Yong tilted her head up just a little more, expectant.

Byul grinned, and leaned down for a kiss.

“Thank you for coming,” Yong whispered against her lips. Byul smiled back.

The door opened suddenly and they quickly pulled apart, just in time to see Yong’s manager, shaking her head fondly at them. “The car is here.”

Outside the theater, there were moomoos everywhere, congratulating Yong, waving to her, Byul joined them in their admiration but carefully kept her head down all the same, hand on the small of Yong’s back, guiding her through the throng. 

At the corner, she could see Yong’s manager pulling her towards the reserved car park. Byul’s car was parked in the opposite direction. She gave Yong’s shoulder a final grip.

“I’ll call you tonight!”

Yong nodded, already turning the other way.

Once Byul was in the safety of her own car, she took a few moments to compose herself, the rush of the day finally catching up with her. She was just about to start the engine when her phone pinged with a message from Yong. 

It was rows upon rows of red rose emojis, followed by the words:

‘LOVE YOU’

—

and I just can't contain

the feeling that remains.