Chapter Text
The sun has been shining recently. She still struggles to get up in the morning, but she always joins me when I’m walking to the studio. It’s nice. I want the sun to keep bathing me in those rays, so I’m scared for the moment when it inevitably turns away from me. I know that I can’t keep it forever; there are so many people who would feel lucky to have that light on them. But I can’t help it. I keep telling myself that I shouldn’t be selfish. Why do I have time to think about the sun when everyone else is trying so hard for this debut? I’m too selfish for them, I’m going to let them down. They keep looking to me like I have all the answers, so I have to keep this mask tied tight before it slips and I mess up again. The sun is the only thing that is keeping me together. At this point, I might fall apart if I lose it now.
I
Oh Bitna wakes up late again.
Its the fifth time this week that she wakes up hours after the sun has first risen. She can instantly tell that she’s the only person in the house. Sol’s been in. The leader would have come during a flying visit, dropping the brown bag filled with now lukewarm coffees and pastries onto the island before she sets off again for the dance studio. The young woman will apply a sticky note with that reminder to the back wall of her brain. Wedged in the cracks as the metaphorical holds together her head through sheer will. Not much goes on up there right after she’s woken up.
She’ll move forwards, bleary eyed as she rustles through the contents of the bag left behind.
Bitna will spend way too long watching the stationary food - it feels like they’re taunting her, waving imaginary arms and teasing her. She’ll settle on the two travel cups left. They have a comeback soon, the internet could be too harsh when she didn’t look her best. She wouldn’t let that happen this time; she would be ready this time. Instead, the young woman will sweep the objects into an open drawer, sealing it tight like the monster who growled in her stomach. It was threatening to come out on the prowl. She’ll settle into the alcove set against their front window - taking small sips at the cold liquid inside the cups.
Nabi keeps leaving her things throughout their shared apartment.
This time, a book on the window sill. Balancing precariously against the small, opened crack like the missing girl had left in a hurry. Bitna can’t decide if the responding spear pressing against her sternum is a bolt of worry, or the monster knocking against her walls, reminding her of its existence. Nabi will be okay; she’ll presses the decision aside. Her fellow member had always been careful, cautious, possibly the least impulsive out of their entirety. Nabi had always been a solid figure in her life. Constantly evolving, growing, but somehow staying the same throughout. The woman knew that she would always have her to rely on.
But where had she gone?
Bitna takes the morning as her own.
She would be expected in the studio that afternoon, their managers ringing tone striking up a warning in her brain. Possibly the only thing that could push Bitna into a hurried state. The woman felt sorry; they’d put their manager through so much hell in the past few years.
Her phone vibrates much later on in the late morning.
This time, they have caught the woman as she tailors her hair into pigtails. Attaching the fan given bows to both hair band before she clicks across her screen. ‘I have a family emergency so we will send over a junior intern to drive you to and from your session.’
That’s unfortunate.
Bitna had never seen a dog drive a car before.
But here she was, proven wrong as a puppy dog of a man rolls up outside of the apartment. A hand will appear from the front window, indicating that he’s seen her as a wider smile crosses through his features. They’ve never met before, why is he looking at her like that. She’ll tug the brim of her cap a little lower across her forehead, hair swept neatly below her hoodie. They’d chosen green this time. A mild throwback to F4’s debut. On certain days, the young woman wishes that she’d thought twice, three times before the debut. Maybe then she could’ve stepped back, made a different decision. Maybe becoming one of those nameless faces on the streets would have done her better.
Although, she will continue to battle with the sinking doubt that settles in her stomach. She has to stop letting them down.
He’ll tilt his head as she enters the vehicle, and she can instantly tell that he has reared his head up to start the conversation. The huff, the sudden incline of a forehead as he decides better, focusing on the road again makes Bitna feels like she’s just kicked him.
She needs to stop caring so much.
In turn, the woman will chew at freshly filed fingernails; clicking through the gossip sections of their socials. She’ll devour the symbols across the screen, the only sustenance she needs as few compliments flow into her empty brain. She won’t realise that she’s bitten down to her fingerprint until the taste of pennies fills her tongue. It won’t stop. Lapping at the wound until she chews harder. Maybe, some part of her wants it to bleed harder, creasing the corners of her mouth with the colour until her lips are red enough, youthful enough, pretty enough. She wonders how it will feel to watch the spray fill up the car - splattering against her newfound puppy dog as he seems to focus so deeply in obeying speed limits. Maybe she allows herself to fall too deeply into the pit at times.
“Why do you read them?”
It’ll take her a minute or two to discern the fact that the dog has spoken. She didn’t know that dogs could speak either - apparently you do learn a new thing everyday.
“What are you talking about?”
“The comments,” he’ll flick his fingers in her direction; pointing to the phone clenched in her lithe fingers at the best of his abilities, “why do you read them when they upset you?”
She’s stunned into silence, and she thinks that he knows it too, because something softer passes across his eyes, and that scares her. She’s hardly the best candidate for soft looks, or rather, being treated like a fragile item needing some bubble wrap to survive.
“I didn’t realise that what I decide to do is any of your business.”
They’ve arrived, and she’s glad. Bitna uses it as an incentive to leave the car quickly. The desire to look back, to see the hurt that will inevitably flash across his features. But she holds herself back, instead, marching into the building. She has no time for pity.
She misses the curiosity that nibbles away at Yang Dohyeok’s eyes. Or the intensity in his gaze as he frowns at her disappearing figure.
years before
“Surely they won’t make me dance too hard for the concept? Everyone has heat stroke in the summer, no ones dancing that hard.”
Jiwan had found herself stuck in the dance studio for longer than she could bare. They hadn’t even debuted yet, and she was starting to doubt her decision to work this hard.
“It’ll be easier once you manage these movements, Jiwan.”
It still felt formal.
Yoon Sol had naturally stood up to become their leader, always cool headed, the problem solver. It had been an obvious choice. The young woman had heard that Yu Nabi had been considered for the role, but she’s never seen the other woman stay this late to help another member. Although, she was starting to believe that she found it difficult to look further than Sol’s intimidating frame. The tall woman was a marvel. Artistic, and gentle in the way that she took up a room. She hadn’t looked like much when they were all introduced. This stick sized woman was supposed to become their lead dancer.
It quickly became a different matter when Sol began to move.
In those first few weeks, Jiwan felt out of place. She had always been smaller than her peers, tiny, clunky, never able to keep up. She felt like she was constantly lagging behind the others. The story of the tortoise and the hare was a fable for a reason - it was a lie when reflected into true existence. She would always let others down.
After a while, she stopped worrying.
She had became the summer to match Sol’s winter. Maybe this was a good thing. For once, her slowness felt like it was fate, playing into her favour as she spent these late nights practicing with the other woman. She wouldn’t allow herself to discern the truth behind these sudden feelings. The emotions erupting like little petals in the pit of her stomach. She was summer, it made sense. The heat would swirl through her soul, warming their little side of the world as Sol gently places her hands into the divers pointed downwards against her hip bones. They’d swim in her stomach. Making her sick, or, sometimes elated.
Jiwan didn’t like the winter. It had always been too cold to her, too cruel. This felt like a second try. She’d happily trap herself in a snow globe if Sol continued to look at her everyday, shaking her life up with little might.
She’d trip.
Too distracted in the spider web that her thoughts had trapped her inside, and the woman feels like she has become the spider itself. Too many legs splaying as she braces herself for the sharp impact against the recently polished floors. They gleam too brightly for her half close eyes, so she won’t notice the sudden movement of the other person in the room. Diving too sharply, too quickly for her half hazy brain to keep up.
Sol’s hands feel like an anchor as they wrap quickly around her left wrist.
Tugging her back into the safe zone, and Jiwan finds herself pressed against the leader. Fingers will clench against Sol’s exercise vest, tugging too much - but it hardly becomes the central theme in her focus. Jiwan finds herself mimicking the blossoming flowers in the pit of her stomach after the parting of the other woman’s lips. They freeze in their bubble, time stopping too slickly.
It doesn’t last long enough.
Soon, Jiwan is pulled out again. Missing the way that Sol’s eyes darted down to her own lips, ignoring the fact that the woman’s hand clenched with the urge to clutch her jaw, to finally find out what cherry tasted like on Jiwan’s lips.
Their managing enters a moment or two before, fussing over possible injuries as they chastise the girls for working too hard. Jiwan also misses the look in Sol’s eyes as she watches the woman leave her alone once again.
II
Sol can feel the sands weighing down her spine again. The hands of time ticking too slowly, wrapping around each vertebrae like a warm hand. Something that starts off as nice, calming, but when she least expects it - the hands turn mean again, tightening the grip until the feeling creeps up her throat so that she can’t breathe.
She struggles with those dreams, or rather, nightmares.
Every sleeping moment filled with cries of dissonance, screaming too loud until she finally realises that that noise is coming from her own throat. Crawling up through the dark void like a warning, because maybe, one day, she’ll stop being good enough for them. And on that day, she knows that she will let her girls down.
So instead, she dances.
Falling easily into the routine that takes up half of her existence. Sol had never asked for anything more. She’d finally raise her head, sweaty as she takes in her appearance in the wall to wall mirrors. The woman will continue to sweep things under the rug. It’s become second nature to her.
As long as her girls are doing okay, she’ll be happy.
She’ll try one last dance, exerting that little extra bit of energy that she holds left in the metre sat in her lungs. She won’t leave until she’s panting - dripping a bit too much with sweat. The woman times her practices perfectly, finding herself in sync with the other members of the group. Sol will watch with ease, swigging on her electrolyte drink as Oh Bitna marches through the doorway of their company building. She’ll note the coffee clenched between fingers, the tired expression. Leaving a post-it reminder in the back of her mind to force some food between those bickering lips at a later time in the morning. Only on the day that her dead body lays across that foyer will she let Bitna slave away without food. She doesn’t care what the other woman has to say about the matter.
Yu Nabi appears from a nearby room a second or two later; probably preoccupied by the sudden appearance of her fellow house co-owner. Sol doesn’t attempt to capture their attention. It’s become too easy to remain silent as the pair squabble over who did or didn’t do the dishes the night before. She’s started to think that Nabi continues to participate in these domestic matters as an attempt to tug her friend back out of her shell.
They create synergy, meeting in a shared gaze across the distance. Sol finds herself struck by the worry in Nabi’s eyes, and in that moment, she wonders if Bitna simply refuses to recognise the groups concern - or whether Nabi had managed to become a better actress these days.
“Don’t worry too hard,” the small woman makes her presence known by the slight touch on her elbow, “Bitna doesn’t know, you’ve always been good at reading us.”
She won’t question it when she turns to acknowledge Seo Jiwan, forcing her face to fall into complacency.
Although its hard, Sol can’t help but admire the woman’s appearance.
“Now that everyones here, shall we talk about the promotions?”
They’ve all fallen into this unspoken situation - carefully treading like seasoned ballerinas on breaking glass. And it constantly feels unnatural, uneasy to the woman. But she can foresee the fallout from finally breaking that glass; it doesn’t bode well for the future. They can watch, and keep each other safe for the time being. Maybe, they’ll finally come to the right time once the promotion are over. Hopefully.
Yoon Sol allows herself to forget her worries before they completely consume her again, and instead, hyper focuses on the easy way that Jiwan slots herself into her side. Arm carefully linking with her own as they approach the first matter of the day. Sol distracts the guilty beasts who threaten to march into a parade underneath her skin, gaining enough time to lock them tightly into the back of her mind. She’s allowed to sink into this sunlight that lasts only when Jiwan is around for a little longer.