“Hyeong-Jun-oppa1!”
Hyeong-Jun’s autopilot navigation away from the cemetery the next day was pulled to a halt by a small frame running towards him.
He barely registered it before said small frame bowled into his tired legs. He teetered precariously before regaining his balance.
Hyeong-Jun’s hand automatically came to rest on the back of the small frame and he looked down to be met with a wide eyed but slightly watery smile from non-other than Eun-Ji.
“Eun-Ji?” In the daylight, with her hair up in two blue-ribboned pigtails Hyeong-Jun almost doubted himself. “What are you doing back here?”
“Oehalmeoni2 brought me home to get some more clothes.” She indeed had a sea green backpack on her back.
Hyeong-Jun followed Eun-Ji’s finger to find a small woman who couldn’t have been much older than Hyeong-Jun’s parents would have been. She was carrying a cardboard box and attempting to hurry towards them, expression a mix of caution and alarm.
“Oh,” Hyeong-Jun almost stepped back, suddenly self-conscious about encroaching on what was clearly a family outing. But Eun-Ji had moved her grip from around his legs to clutch his hand and he didn’t have the heart to pull away.
“Halmeoni, look, look. This is Hyeong-Jun-oppa,” Eun-Ji exclaimed with pride.
Understanding flashed across Eun-Ji’s grandmother’s face. “Are you the young man who helped Eun-Ji get to safety that night?”
Hyeong-Jun struggled to meet her eyes and glanced down at Eun-Ji instead. He gave a small nod and a quick bow of respect. “Yes ma’am.”
“Thank you, thank you for saving my granddaughter.”
“No－ it…” Hyeong-Jun struggled to know where to start. He’d barely done anything. The real credit had to go to Choi SongHua and Lee Junho－
Eun-Ji’s hand tightened around his.
“Of course, ma’am.”
Her grandmother met his gaze. Her eyes were bright, untouched by age. They were deep, reaching out, searching for something.
Hyeong-Jun could only tentatively meet them before she pulled away, as if shaking off a thought. Her lips tightened for a second before she gathered herself once more.
“Do you need help with that, ma’am” Hyeong-Jun couldn’t resist checking as he watched her hands shake from the weight of the box. “It’s no trouble, ma’am.” Anything to put off having to start his own packing, his own leaving behind of a place that he’d called home for the past five years.
“Oh but－”
“Please, halmeoni,” Eun-Ji interrupted. Hyeong-Jun’s face heated, he hadn’t meant to force his presence on the poor woman.
She paused and studied her granddaughter for a moment. Then she let out a sigh caught between exhaustion and fond exasperation.
“Alright then.”
And so Hyeong-Jun found himself taking over the box from Eun-Ji’s grandmother, and accompanying them on the bus. Eun-Ji pointed out all her favourite shops on the way to the door of an apartment building. And despite Hyeong-Jun’s offers to carry the box upstairs, her grandmother once again took ownership of it.
“Thank you for the trouble, dear. Mrs Oh said she’d ask if she could share your number so I could thank you. But I’m so happy we were able to meet in person instead.” A tinge of emotion wobbled through her voice.
Did he imagine the tremor of thin shoulders still weighed down by grief? Had he looked like that five years ago?
Eun-Ji’s other hand joined the one already clutching his.
“I can still give it to you,” Hyeong-Jun said before he’d fully thought it through. “In case you need help moving things or anything,” he hurried to elaborate when Eun-Ji’s grandmother simply stared at him for a moment.
“Does that mean you’ll come visit?” Eun-Ji perked up.
Guilt welled up in Hyeong-Jun at the thought of once more imposing his presence on her grandmother. But he couldn’t help it, he wanted to help.
“I could…” he hedged, looking to Eun-Ji’s grandmother for guidance.
A part of Hyeong-Jun knew he shouldn’t do this. He couldn’t afford to take on another responsibility when his own move into the dormitories already loomed over his head. But it was a distraction, one that wasn’t life-altering.
There was an awkward pause.
Why had he offered? Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? Was it really so difficult to just mind his own－
She reached into her handbag and pulled out her cellphone.
“Thank you, dear. If you have time please come by for dinner, it’s the least I can do to show our gratitude,” Hyeong-Jun’s face flared with heated embarrassment as he added his number to the phone and gave it back.
“Eun-Ji, say thank you,” her grandmother instructed before they bid their goodbyes, leaving Hyeong-Jun with a strange mixture of relief and apprehension.
***
No one’s looking, no one’s looking, no one’s looking, Hyeong-Jun reminded himself as he made his way past people loitering in the Magpie dorms around 5 PM that day.
It was a large two-storey building, but the number of doors he passed led Hyeong-Jun to believe the dorms only consisted of rooms and not living spaces. The walls had been painted grey, probably to remain as neutral as possible, but the lights overhead were an off-yellow that discoloured everything it touched.
Hyeong-Jun picked up his pace as he scanned every room he passed. Finally a door with a number 17 on it came into view.
With slight hesitation, Hyeong-Jun knocked.
There was clunking and footsteps through the door before it finally opened to reveal Lee Junho.
“Hyeong-Jun-ssi.” A flash of surprise was immediately replaced with the apparently ever-present easy smile.
“Welcome to the Magpie Entertainment dormitories,” he splayed his hands with a flourish as he stepped to the side for Hyeong-Jun to enter.
“Sorry for intruding,” Hyeong-Jun said almost automatically as he stepped inside.
Lee Junho simply waved it away.
“Which bunk would you like? I haven’t really started unpacking yet either.” He indicated to the two single beds available in the bare space.
Hyeong-Jun was slightly pulled off-course by this question. Had everyone only moved into the dorms recently? Maybe Hyeong-Jun wasn’t so out of place after all.
One of the beds was near the only window in the room while the other one was nearer to the hallway. Hyeong-Jun hesitated. With his tendency towards getting cold, the one near the door was definitely more preferable, but it didn’t feel right to try and claim a bed when he might as well still be a guest in the group. “I’m fine either way.”
“Oh, then is it fine if I take the bed by the window?”
Hyeong-Jun tried not to nod too vigorously.
Lee Junho smiled. “Okay great. Just put your things wherever. You can put posters up if you want, though I doubt we’ll be here long.”
That gave Hyeong-Jun pause. “What do you mean?”
Lee Junho shrugged. “These are the dorms for trainees and normal early debut groups, we’ll probably be moving out as soon as we debut officially for confidentiality reasons.”
‘Normal debut groups.’ Hyeong-Jun wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He nodded.
“I’ll show you around if you want?” Lee Junho offered. Hyeong-Jun rushed to put down the things he’d brought.
They’d barely made it a few steps out of the room when the neighboring door opened.
“Hyung3,” Yang MinHwan’s bright smile greeted them from the opened door.
“Min-ah, I’m showing Hyeong-Jun-ssi around. This is Min-ah and Seongwha-ya’s room,” Lee Junho indicated, and a glance behind Yang MinHwan revealed one side of a room that looked well lived-in, while the other looked quite clinical and empty. Perhaps a few of them had been forced to move rooms because of company reasons?
“Tae-Gyung-hyung asked us to meet them at the recording room with Hyeong-Jun-sunbae4.”
Hyeong-Jun blushed. “Oh no, you can just call me hyung.” He’d barely made it out of the position of trainee, he wasn’t sure he could claim the title of sunbae.
If it was possible for Yang MinHwan’s smile to shine even more, it did.
“Then you can be informal with me too, Hyeong-Jun-hyung.” Hyeong-Jun couldn’t help smiling at that.
“Why didn’t Tae-Gyung-i just message me?” Lee Junho frowned.
Yang Min-Hwan froze.
Hyeong-Jun was suddenly a very unwilling third wheel to a conversation that clearly couldn’t be had, the tension palpable.
Lee Junho’s expression tightened. “Let’s go.”
Hyeong-Jun gave Yang MinHwan an awkward smile and the three of them made their way down the hall.
“Breakfast and dinner are set at 7 o’clock and lunch is at 12. Seonghwa-ka’s still working through your schedule at the moment. We’ll be prepping for our debut for the next two months so we thought it might be best if some of your language lessons were replaced with lessons on exorcism for now. Then we can see how it goes from there.” Lee Junho lowered his voice at the last few words.
“That’d definitely help,” Hyeong-Jun agreed drily. Lee Junho’s smile reappeared.
“Don’t worry, you’ll start getting used to it soon.” Hyeong-Jun doubted it, but he didn’t refute it.
“You probably shouldn’t be talking about things like that out here.” Hyeong-Jun was startled to find Han Tae-Gyung leaning against a wall near a partially open door. His calm eyes from yesterday held a coldness now.
“Tae-Gyung-ah.” The stiffness had returned to Lee Jun-ho’s voice.
Han Tae-Gyung swept his eyes over the three of them before turning and entering the room.
“They’re waiting for us,” Yang MinHwan attempted to sound upbeat to fill the silence. There was a painfully still moment before Lee Junho led them inside.
“Did something happen?” Hyeong-Jun whispered.
Yang MinHwan hesitated but said nothing, following after Lee Junho.
So that was a yes.
“I’ll get the song done soon,” Hyeong-Jun heard Han Tae-Gyung say before he saw them.
The room was a recording room. A sound booth could be seen through an observation window. The walls of the booth were dark from the carpet-like soundproofing material. Choi SongHua sat in front of the soundboard in the observation area while Han Tae-Gyung stood next to him. If Choi SongHua had given a reply, Hyeong-Jun didn’t hear it.
“What’s going on?” Lee Junho asked once Hyeong-Jun had closed the door behind him.
“I wanted everyone to do audio samples. Tae-Gyung-ah’s working on the debut track. I want him to have a good sense of Hyeong-Jun-ssi’s voice and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t get in the practice as well.”
Choi SongHua got up.
“Vocals?” Hyeong-Jun’s voice was suddenly thin in his own ears.
“Don’t worry, it’s just a quick thing so we know what to work with when allocating lyrics,” Lee Junho assured.
“We?”
“Tae-Gyung-ah does the lyrics and I do the arrangements.” Lee Junho explained. Hyeong-Jun swallowed. “Singing might be the least important part about exorcisms but it doesn’t mean it’s not still important.” Lee Junho winked.
“Don’t worry, I’ll go first.” Yang MinHwan offered and with a confirming nod from Choi SongHua, he entered the sound booth. He slipped the headphones onto his neck with such practiced ease, that Hyeong-Jun couldn’t help feeling envious.
Without preamble, Yang MinHwan started running through vocal exercises.
“Do you do recordings here often?” Hyeong-Jun asked.
“We had recording practice as trainees, did WSM not have those?” Lee Junho frowned, both curious and thoughtful.
Hyeong-Jun shook his head. There was no denying that Magpie Entertainment was much larger than WSM Entertainment, so Hyeong-Jun wasn’t sure why Lee Junho was surprised.
Still, Hyeong-Jun couldn’t help being both apprehensive and intrigued. There was a familiarity to everyone in WSM Entertainment. Hyeong-Jun knew their skills, their faults, where they sometimes shone and faltered. But this group was the home his parents hadn’t chosen for him, the home his parents didn’t want for him…if his grandmother was to be believed.
“I’m ready,” Yang MinHwan said into the mic, drawing the attention back to the booth.
Lee Junho adjusted something on the soundboard.
“Okay,”
Yang MinHwan chose a fresh-feeling pop song by a younger group who was currently quite popular.
“I see the sadness in your eyes, girl what is it doing the-e-ere”
Even though his voice still had some maturing to do, it was clear － bright and light like his smile.
But he only sang a few bars before he was brought to a stop by a gesture from Han Tae-Gyung. Hyeong-Jun barely had time to feel confused as Lee Junho gave a nod of confirmation and then Yang MinHwan was exiting the booth.
They hadn’t been joking when they said it was just a sample. It couldn’t have been more than 30 seconds.
Lee Junho stood up and Han Tae-Gyung paused before moving over to his seat. Hyeong-Jun glanced at Yang MinHwan who gave him a smile that looked like it was camouflaging a grimace. When he looked back, Han Tae-Gyung had a tight grip on his mic as he gave Lee Junho the go ahead.
Lee Junho’s voice had a warmness to it but when he incorporated subvocals into his sample, it became light and breathy in a pleasant way that added texture to it.
Hyeong-Jun’s leg bounced as Han Tae-Gyung changed places with Lee Junho. With the amount of ire he exuded, Hyeong-Jun was surprised Han Tae-Gyung didn’t shoulder past Lee Junho on the way.
Han Tae-Gyung for his part spat out a rap, curse words and all, that had Lee Junho rubbing at his brow.
Hyeong-Jun brought a hand up to cover the smile on his face. He could just imagine President Min keeling over in shock.
“Rude, they be begging, sweating, thought you’d be brave
Grabbing, gripping what you haven’t been given.”
His words were powerful punches, confident and controlled.
Unfortunately even after the curse words were dropped, it didn’t lessen the dark cloud that continued to hover over Han Tae-Gyung as he exited the booth.
Then it was only Choi SongHua left before it would be Hyeong-Jun’s turn.
Since he’d played that strange flute during their initial encounter, Hyeong-Jun hadn't heard much of Choi SongHua's singing. What he had heard had been rather quiet and subdued.
He couldn’t help being curious.
Choi SongHua closed his eyes, swaying to an invisible melody. A ring glinted where he held the mic.
“How could it just be me,
Winds howl around the building, so lonely,”
Chills broke out across Hyeong-Jun’s skin.
A high note.
It wasn’t the kind of high note that set stages trembling with its glory. It instead had the crisp, clear quality of a breathtaking nostalgia
“Footsteps with no purpose, no thought,
They say it’s oh-kay, the roads are broad,”
Hyeong-Jun hurried to cover his gaping mouth when Choi SongHua opened his eyes.
His high note seemed to falter for a moment－
No, he simply stopped singing, had it really been 30 seconds?
“Get going,” Han Tae-Gyung pulled Hyeong-Jun back to reality and he was pretty sure he didn’t imagine the bite in Han Tae-Gyung’s words.
Crap, what the hell was he gonna sing?
“Sorry,” Hyeong-Jun hurried to apologize before entering the booth.
Choi SongHua still stood at the mic when Hyeong-Jun entered. He shifted from foot to foot for a moment. “If you’re not sure what to sing, just do a part of the cover you did during the audition, you did well,” Choi SongHua said and with that he exited the room.
Hyeong-Jun stood frozen.
“You okay?” Lee Junho asked over the mic, startling Hyeong-Jun back into action.
With a grimace, he moved so he was in front of the mic, relying on his streaming experience to handle it.
“This okay?” Hyeong-Jun checked his distance from the mic as he put on the headphones. Lee Junho gave a thumbs up.
The lyrics from the cover were still fresh in Hyeong-Jun’s mind, practiced as it had been…yet it was the song that had failed to land him the audition…
What if he somehow failed again?
He swallowed.
“I’m here all alone, ready to fight,”
It was strange, singing without accompaniment this time round. Without support.
“Lay myself bare, my ambitions and plights,”
In the silence he pushed his voice to its depths. He should hold back. ‘...unfortunately your voice…” Hyeong-Jun forced the thought away.
“I don’t know how to ge-et there
But I have to do it right”
Mark’s part, what was it? The moment dragged. Hyeong-jun gripped the material of his shirt.
There it was.
“You say I don’t take it serious, I got my feet planted firm－”
The rap started okay but overall it was shaky at best, unused as he was, to the breathing techniques needed for longer intervals of rapping,
When Han Tae-Gyung stuck up his hand to call Hyeong-Jun to a halt before Por’s half of the rap, he couldn’t help being relieved.
His cheeks burned.
If he couldn’t get President Min’s attention during his best performance, he didn’t want to know what his new group thought of him after that.
There was only so long Hyeong-Jun could draw out taking off his headphones before he had to exit the sound booth again.
“Wah, Hyeong-Jun-ssi!” Lee Junho exclaimed as soon as Hyeong-Jun dared to open the booth door. “Nomu jarhaesseo5. I knew your voice was deep but I didn’t know you could do that.”
Hyeong-Jun blinked. Lee Junho sounded so shocked that Hyeong-Jun wasn’t sure whether or not to take it seriously.
“Yeah, that was so cool. ‘I’m here all alone, ready to fight,’” Yang Min-Hwan hurried to agree and attempted to make his voice deep as he recited the lines from the song.
Hyeong-Jun glanced at Han Tae-Gyung. He was looking at Lee Junho, a strange expression on his face.
Hyeong-Jun turned his gaze to Choi SongHua. The other man gave a quick nod before he turned his focus to fiddling with something on the soundboard.
Were they really serious? Of course he’d had his viewers for his ghost stories who’d commented on his deep voice before, but it was easy not to take it seriously when ASMR appealed to such a niche group of people.
This was different.
Hyeong-Jun’s chest warmed.
Even if singing was the least important part of exorcism, there was something reassuring in the others at least liking his voice; so unlike the career death sentence President Min had given him.
Footnotes
1.-oppa: an honorific used by a younger female to an older male to indicate closeness, it can be used to indicate a sibling or sibling-like relationship (as well as a romantic one)
2. oehalmeoni: pronounced way-hal-mo-ni, grandmother on the mother’s side
3. -hyung: technically spelt hyeong but I used the more popular version to avoid confusion with Hyeong-Jun’s name. An honorific used by younger males to older males to indicate closeness smiliar to oppa for women.
4. -sunbae:honorific used to show respect to someone who is more advance within the same field
5. Nomu jarhaesseo: loosely translates to “very good” amd os a common korean expression.
