hit me like a ray of sun, burning through my darkest night,

--

“Do you want to come over? My mom sent over a fresh batch of kimchi.”

It’s just a little past ten in the evening after their first ever group practice for their comeback and they’re the last ones at the practice room, sweat trickling down their foreheads, shirts clinging uncomfortably to the skins on their back. Wheein and Hyejin left fifteen minutes ago but Yong had elected to stay behind to run the last part of their dance over again just so she could get it right. Now that they are done, she’s looking forward to a hot shower at home, to sitting in front of the TV in her pajamas while she and Byul–

“Oh I can’t.”

That derails Yongsun’s thought process immediately. She blinks. “Why not?” She tries not to pout, of course Byul can have her own plans but it doesn’t change the fact that nowadays their schedules are more out of sync than usual, and Yong isn’t above admitting that not being able to see Byul as much leaves her feeling wrong-footed. 

Byul is busy wiping at the sweat on her face with a facial wipe. There are blotches of red across her cheeks and it would look unbecoming if Yong wasn’t so charmed seeing her like this. “I have voice practice after this.”

“Oh.” Yong knows about Second World. How could she not? It only really hits her now, though, how much Byul is really taking it seriously. “You’ve been awake since 3AM.” Yong says, it’s not an accusation, just a statement of fact. Byul started off her day earlier than the rest of them, and she still isn’t done.

“Well yeah, but I want to improve.” Byul replies with an offhanded shrug. Like commenting on the weather. That’s when Yong catches the first glimpse of it. The spark of—something. She can’t quite place it yet, but the sight of it drains all her disappointment away.

Still, she also sees the dark shadows beginning to form under Byul’s eyes and the slight tremble in her fingers that warn of fatigue just almost on the horizon. Yong isn’t sure if her heart wants to break or burst open with pride, so instead she says, “okay with you if I sit in?”

Byul blinks, apparently not expecting that. “You sure, Unnie? You were up pretty early too, you don’t have to.”

“Nonsense.” Yong says, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she makes her way to the door. “You’ve done the same for me loads of times.”

That earns her a smile, and she doesn’t think she imagines the way Byul holds her hand a little tighter as they make their way from the dance practice rooms to the vocal rooms.

Much later, when they’re both finally in a car and on their way home, Yong says “Byul-ah, you know I’m proud of you, right?.”

Byul laughs, “Are you the one going greasy on my now, Unnie?” Her voice is teasing and if Yong knew her any less, she probably would have missed the hint of insecurity underneath all of that. So instead she smirks and chucks one of the car pillows in Byul’s direction.

“Shut up.”

—

A week later they’re back in the vocal practice room. It’s even later now, the clock ticking away the minutes to dawn and Yong is watching Byul work with her vocal trainer on her breathing technique.

“You shouldn’t scream with your head voice when you hit the high notes,” he says, standing a respectable distance from her as he reaches out a hand to place against her core. “Tighten your diaphragm more and feel the push as you sing, this is where the power will come from and you won't risk losing your voice as much or damaging your vocal cords.”

He’s been drilling this with her for the better part of two hours, but Yong knows that singing from her core still doesn’t come as naturally to Byul as it does to the rest of them. Already she can see the familiar tells in Byul that give away how frustrated she’s growing by the second. The infinitesimal downward turn of , the tightness in her shoulders, the insecurity bleeding out of her eyes like headlights; all of them as clear to Yong as a well-lit billboard. Sometimes she wonders why other people can’t read these signs that are so obvious to her eyes. Out of the four of them, Byul is the most transparent, a clear lake that runs deep. 

“Let’s sing it together,” Yong says, standing up and waving the vocal instructor back to the piano. She takes Byul’s hands and places them on her own core before placing hers on Byul’s. 

“Breathe with me first” Yong says, and they take a few breaths together. Until the tightness in Byul’s shoulders dissipates. Until there’s a small smile playing around the corners of her lips. Until her eyes are focused only on, Yong’s sending a flush of warmth down to her very gut.

“Music please.”

This time, Byul hits the high note properly, and Yong sees it again. A spark that vanishes as quickly as it appears but not before leaving Yong a little hungry for more. It’s a new shift in this woman that she knows better than anyone. 

They’re both a little breathless after, and their hands are still on each other’s abdomens. Yong can’t even hear what the vocal coach is saying. There is a different type of intimacy charging the air between them and even after seven years of being together she marvels a little at the fact that her heart still jackhammers nervously around her ribcage or how the pleasant swoop in her stomach catches her by surprise every time.

“What do you think?”

Yong is snapped out of the moment and she’s too embarrassed to ask the vocal coach to repeat himself.

“Yeah, definitely.” She says, hoping it’s a reply that works. In front of her, Byul just looks from her to the coach, and Yong is a little glad that she’s not the only lost one.

“So uh,” Yong adds, before she can lose her nerve, “just remember that for your next round and you’ll nail it for sure.”

It’s a general and all-encompassing enough piece of advice, but Byul’s smile turns a little knowing, and the younger girl sneaks in a quick pinch at Yong’s side before she pulls her own hands away too.

“Sure, Yong. I’ll remember exactly that.”

—

When preparations for their group comeback hit a fever pitch, so do Byul’s Second World activities. If it’s not vocal training at night, it’s stage rehearsals, and if it’s not that, it’s tapings. On top of all that, they’ve also begun preemptive concert rehearsals as a group. 

The only time Yong tries to get Byul to slow down, they’ve just wrapped the ‘1,2,3 Eoi!’ MV taping and Byul is shivering a little underneath her leather jacket. The fact that it’s raining certainly isn’t helping.

“You should rest,” Yong says offhandedly, as they change into their normal clothes in the trailer. “You can afford to skip one day of voice lessons.”

“No I can’t,” Byul says, and there’s a little heat there but Yongsun decides not to take it too personally. “How are people supposed to take me seriously as a singer if I don’t take my own preparations seriously?” Byul adds.

Yong goes still and she wishes she could rewind the last three minutes. There’s nothing she could say that wouldn’t sound patronizing. Not coming from her, of all people. And not after what she knows Byul’s been through. The years of being given less than thirty seconds on a title track. The hours she spent comforting Byul when they were trainees after she was taken off voice lessons and relegated as a rapper. 

So instead, Yongsun drops whatever she’s doing and turns around. “I’m sorry,” she says, and means it.

Byul sighs, and it sounds like it comes from the very core of her. “Me too, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Yong nods, and instead steps closer to pull Byul into a hug. There’s no one else in the trailer, and even if there were, she wouldn’t care.

“You are a singer,” she whispers, and she doesn’t think she imagines the feeling of Byul trembling slightly in her arms.

A couple of weeks later, Byul texts her late at night with a selca and the words ‘GOING TO THE FINALS.’

—

Right before their comeback fan showcase, Byul pulls the entire group into the Naver Now waiting room with a camera and a request for them to pre-record something for the Second World Finals. Wheein and Hyejin nonstop about it as the JTBC crew set up their cameras, which gives Yong the perfect opportunity to sit back and observe Byul for a few moments before the cameras start rolling. 

There’s been something different about Byul these last few weeks. She’s been carrying herself differently, and it takes a while for Yong to pin it down. When Byul laughs at a joke Hyejin makes, Yong realizes what it is.

It’s that spark of something she caught months ago, when Byul had just started practicing for Second World, way before she was in the prime position to win. Except now it’s not really a spark anymore. It’s a supernova. Bright and brilliant and seeping out of Byul’s every pore.

It’s blinding and addicting at the same time, which is why when Byul points the camera at her, Yong says the first thing on her mind. 

“You know I can see only you right?”

Yong panics for a second, wondering if she’s exposed just how hopelessly enamored she’s always been, but Wheein saves her from herself, picking up the words and matching it to a well-known ballad that all of them sing.

After though, when the JTBC crew leave and they go backstage for the showcase, she feels Byul reach out for her hand in the dark. Yong squeezes back.

—

A few hours before the Second World Finals broadcast, she gives Byul a call, fully expecting it to go to voicemail, except Byul answers on the second ring.

“Unnie.” Even through the phone static, Yong can hear her nerves as clear as day. Byul told her about the sudden rule change a few days ago. All the judges' scores wiped clean with just a fan vote now being the only thing that can decide whether Byul will win or not. The idea of it still leaves a bitter taste in Yong’s mouth even to this day.

“Hwaiting!” She says, projecting all the other things she wants to say that they don’t need words for. 

“Thank you,” Byul says, and because she so desperately wants Byul to smile before what might be the most nerve-wracking moment of her solo career, Yong immediately follows up with, “You know it’s gonna be you, right?”

It gets the desired effect of hearing Byul laugh.

“You’re gross,” Byul says, and Yong thinks it’s funny how much their roles have changed today. “I’ll call you after, okay?”

They end the call there and Yong spends the rest of the evening more than a little restless, her phone in a death grip in her hand with the TV in her living room already set to JTBC.

It’s not just that she’s nervous for the competition outcome, but more than anything she’s nervous for Byul. This wouldn’t be the first time a network changed a rule, or added a sudden fine print to make it harder for them to win something. And after how much Byul’s grown in the past months, after bearing witness to how much Byul seems to have lit up from the inside since finally showing the world just how well she can sing, Yong is nervous to see all of that taken away just because a network wants to produce “good television”.

Which is why, the moment the live broadcast starts, Yong is a bundle of nerves. She votes when the time comes to send in votes, and she all but steals her sister’s phone just to make sure she votes too. By the time the host starts stretching out the announcement of the winner, Yong feels like she’s one more advertisement away from throwing their TV out the window.

And then finally, finally , Byul wins.

It’s practically a miracle that Yong manages to keep her hands from shaking long enough to record the entire win on her phone. Behind her, she can distantly hear her sister whooping and cheering, but all Yong sees is the Byul on her TV screen, smiling and being congratulated by her fellow Second World finalists, shining brighter than she’s ever seen her before. The brightest star in the night sky.

Her phone keeps buzzing with notifications from their MAMAMOO group chat and she think she should join in on the fun but everything’s gone oddly blurry and soft at the edges. When Yong touches her face, it’s only then that she realizes she’s crying her own tears of joy.

—

Much, much later, after the adrenaline from Byul’s win has died down, Yong’s phone lights up with another text.

‘I’M OUTSIDE’

She all but sprints to their front door, unlocking it in a mad rush to the sight of Byul, makeup gone and dressed in nothing but a fleece hoodie over a baggy T-shirt, sweatpants, and her prescription glasses. The light still coming off of her in waves. Yong feels more than a little lightheaded in the presence of it, which is why she doesn’t bother pretending to be annoyed at the late night visit.

She pulls Byul in for a hug and if she feels the familiar sting behind her eyes as closes up, she takes a little comfort in the fact that she hears Byul try and fail to hide a sniffle or two as well.

“You’ve done well,” Yong says, her voice thick. In her arms, Byul let’s out a quick little sob of her own but Yong can feel the smile pressed up against the skin of her neck. Before she knows it, Byul draws her in for a kiss. It’s perfect and the rightness of everything settles in her chest like a glow. 

By the time they pull apart, they’re both a little flushed and breathless but that’s okay. Everything is okay.

“Do you want to come inside?” Yong asks, opening her door wider, “My mom sent over another batch of kimchi.”

Byul laughs, already toeing off her shoes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

fin.

--

you're the only one i want, think i'm addicted to your light