Sequins winked, taffeta rustled, silk shone. A harried clothing coordinator hurried through the hallways with a rack of bright, shiny glitter, and an exhausted manager rushed through the corridor searching for his vagabond charge, who needed to be on stage in precisely two minutes. In the middle of all of it, slightly to the side, Woohyun strolled through the hallways, mentally preparing himself for his performance in twelve minutes and four seconds.

He sang through his parts in his head, hearing every perfect, soaring note in his own voice. Each one was in tune with the song blasting through his professional-grade headphones. He could see himself on the stage; the bright lights and screaming chants would all bleed into each other until they became a background of gray matter. Then he would arrive, resplendent in his power and beauty.

He was so absorbed in his task that, later, Woohyun wondered what had made him notice her. Maybe it was the trace of her trademark perfume, a Yves Saint Laurent scent. Perhaps it was the flash of deep crimson that flashed across his vision, the rich color a stark contrast to other blacks, pinks, and neons. Or, maybe, it was Fate compelling him to turn his head and stare.

Hyomin didn’t acknowledge him. She strode past him; she saw him, knew him, but cared not for him. And, as Woohyun trained his eyes on her receding back that was being swallowed by the crowd of the hallway, he couldn’t help but wonder at a question he knew the answer to--always knew the answer to.

When had they gone so wrong?

“Woohyun,” she suddenly said. They were at their college’s library, working on an assignment. It had something to do with an extensive analysis on the form of Nielsen’s Concerto for Flute and orchestra when compared to that of his Concerto for Clarinet and orchestra. Either way, Woohyun was convinced that watching Hyomin’s face when it was bathed in the sunlight pouring in from the wall to wall windows was more interesting. Or perhaps not.

“Yea, Hyomin?” He finally realized that she was waiting for him to answer.

“When do you think our dreams will come true?”

“Soon, Hyomin, soon. We can only keep on believing.” She smiled; satisfied with his answer, just like every other time she had asked the question. It had almost become a habit to her.

She asked the question again at one the next morning. Instead of a gentle glow surrounding her from the sunlight, Woohyun found that he thought Hyomin was just as beautiful with harsh artificial lighting reflecting off of her. Even her reflection in the mirror remained beautiful, with its form erased out at random intervals from the glare.

“When do you think our dreams will come true?”

Woohyun collapsed onto his back in the middle of the smooth, wooden floor. He struggled to regain steady breathing, muscles sighing from the wood’s cool respite. He did not smile when he finally replied. “Hundreds of hours later. Maybe a bit of luck, too.”

Hyomin didn’t say anything. Instead, she sat down next to his unmoving form, silently holding out a water bottle. He managed a quirk of his lips for her. “Maybe a bit of you, too, Hyomin.”

“Of course, silly.”

He knew that she didn’t like seeing him alone in a practice room, working himself to the edge of his limits every night with other similarly alone, yet accompanied students. However, he would still find her alone at two in the morning in another small practice room, muscles twitching and bones weightless, waiting for his carton of chocolate milk.

“List out all of your personal relationships,” the man said.

Woohyun was jerked out of his fascination with the smoothness of the logo that branded the stack of sheets in front of him--his contract. He stared at the man in front of him, as well as those surrounding him, and blinked owlishly.

“Pardon?”

The man sighed and gestured towards the female next to him. Her stiff, white shirt crinkled as she gestured towards his contract. “It’s on page sixteen. Article 4, Section 1.” The light reflected off of her name tag. Ha Sungjoo. “Please list out all of your personal relationships.”

“Like, my family?”

She nodded. “Exactly. You should include any parents, siblings, girlfriends or boyfriends, friends--”

From Woohyun’s side, Mr. Kim, his solicitor, quickly cut in. “Woohyun, you do not need to list your friends.” Mrs. Ha glared at Mr. Kim for a second, her eyes accusing. “I am only doing what is in my client’s best interests,” he said smoothly.

“As are we,” Mrs. Ha returned. Her tone had stiffened from her previous honey-like voice. Woohyun, however, did not take much note of the shift around him. Instead, he carefully started to write in names. Mother. Father. Brother. Girlfriend. When he finished writing, he passed the sheet to Mr. Kim, who gave it a cursory glance before handing it to Mrs. Ha. She read the list, stopping at the last entry.

“You have a girlfriend?” Her eyes bore into his. Woohyun shifted slightly in his seat. Was he not supposed to have one? He knew that the industry wasn’t always kind to romantic relationships, but the two of them were discreet.

“Yes, I have a girlfriend. She goes to my college as well.”

Mrs. Ha pursed her lips, as if she had swallowed pure lemon juice. “Your...relationship,” she said slowly, gesturing into the air to describe something she could not understand. “Your relationship, to put it simply, is a liability.”

“It’s a what?!” Woohyun jumped up in outrage.

“Calm down, young man. Or did you not want to debut?” Her voice remained even, calm.

“I do want to debut, it’s just--”

“Just what? This is the chance of a lifetime, do not throw it away for a girl.” Woohyun sat back down, stunned. He thought back to the hours of practice he put in every day at college. The late nights he had spent in the practice rooms for the past few years, forcing himself every closer to perfection, ever closer to the stage, every closer to that one chance.

Mrs. Ha softened her voice, leaning towards him. “We can make your dreams come true, young man. We can give you all that you desire. All we require of you before that can happen is one simple thing. It will only take five words.”

There they were again. Except, this time, Woohyun was in a corner of the soundproof music practice rooms, slumped into the wall. He lightly massaged his throat. Somewhere in his mind, he registered that his gag reflex was unusually relaxed that evening. However, he definitely felt the slight strain in his throat that told him that he had strained his vocal cords.

He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Woohyun stiffened when door clicked open, relaxing fractionally when he saw his own vision in red, Hyomin. She wordlessly handed him the thermos, settling down next to him as he uncapped the container and inhaled the fragrant scent of the tea it contained.

The tea was smelled of white, jasmine buds and sweet, spring days. It smelled of old dreams and new possibilities, new corners, new gaps to leap over. And, as Woohyun inhaled the scent of what his dreams were--what his dreams had been, he finally decided.

“Hey, Hyomin,” he said. “Let’s break up.”

“What?” She stiffened next to him, snapping her head towards him.

“You know...I don’t need you or this. Never have, never will. I can make it on my own.”

She searched his eyes; her own were cups of understanding, flavored with a dash of curiosity and a cube of sadness. “A dream?” she asked.

He didn’t say anything, but perhaps that was all the answer she needed--all the answer they both needed.

“Let go, then. I’m not worth it.”

And Woohyun and Hyomin stood up and walked out, the distance between the two of them and the untouched tea growing ever greater.

--

a/n i: I am in Round Table 5. My cards were:

phrase: "Let go. I'm not worth it."

phrase: "I don't need you. Never have, never will. I can make it on my own."

college au

t-ara hyomin x infinite woohyun

"The Portuguese call it saudade: a longing for something so indefinite as to be indefinable. Love affairs, miseries of life, the way things were, people already dead, those who left and the ocean that tossed them on the shores of a different land--all things born of the soul that can only be felt." - Anthony De Sa, Barnacle Love

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a/n ii: not sure guys, but is this even college au. i guess it is?