The halls were alive with activity as Hyeong-Jun made his way to Studio 13 for his first dance practice with the group.
His fingers tingled with nerves at the thought of potentially being behind with the choreography. But he ached to get back to dancing, restless after five years of a daily trainee routine.
“We have less than two months to go, we can’t afford to take time with the lyrics. You’ve had two weeks and you’re telling me you really have nothing to show for it? I’ve seen you write two songs in a night, what’s changed?”
Hyeong-Jun froze as a voice filtered through the door. The voice was so severe it took a moment to recognize the speaker. Lee Junho.
Hyeong-Jun stayed in place, hand hovering centimeters from the door handle. Should he go in?
“Do you enjoy having to talk for someone else?”
“Tae-Gyung-ah!”
Hyeong-Jun took a step back. He shouldn’t be hearing this, but he couldn’t just leave － they were supposed to be having their dance practice.
“Look, there’s only so much choreography we can do with just a melody.” It was clear Lee Junho was trying to pull back his anger and de-escalate the situation.
“If you need it so badly, why don’t you do it!” Han Tae-Gyung refused to lose steam.
“Stop being ridiculous.”
“Oh, right, you can’t. Because in case you’ve forgotten, you need me,” Han Tae-Gyung bit out.
Hyeong-Jun wished he could just remove his ears.
“Just－We’re not getting anywhere, let’s postpone the dance practices, I’ll try and reorganize the schedule.” The sound of Choi SongHua’s voice quietly intervening threw Hyeong-Jun all the more. Had he really been there with them the entire time? “Tae-Gyung-ah, can you have the first 30 seconds of lyrics ready for us in 3 days, I’ll try and give you as much blocked off time as possible to focus on it. I’ll post on the group that the class is canceled.”
“Yeah cause it’s nice and quiet in my room now, isn’t it.”
“Just-let’s just leave it here for today, please.”
Oh hell.
Before Hyeong-Jun could think to scramble back, someone had seized him by the back of his shirt and hauled him into the adjacent studio, pulling the door shut with a quiet click.
Only once his brain caught up with the situation did he realize that the person holding the door closed was none other than Yang Min-Hwan.
“Wha－”
Yang Min-Hwan hurriedly flapped his hands in a show of “quiet” and pressed his ear against the door.
Hyeong-Jun waited. A door opened and footsteps trudged past. Only when Yang Min-Hwan sagged against the wood did Hyeong-Jun allow himself to breathe again.
As if on cue, Hyeong-Jun’s phone vibrated. A quick glance at it confirmed － dance practice was canceled.
Yang Min-Hwan sighed as he read it, and Hyeong-Jun could almost see his head drooping like a disheartened dandelion.
“I hate it when they fight,” Yang Min-Hwan muttered.
Hyeong-Jun hesitated. “Do they do that a lot?”
Yang Min-Hwan wilted even more. “Only recently.” There was a guilty edge to his words and Hyeong-Jun grimaced at the subtext. Only since he’d arrived.
And yet Han Tae-Gyung had seemed fine the first day they’d met. Had that been fake?
“Why can’t Junho-sunbae just write the lyrics?”
Again, Yang Min-Hwan hesitated. “I think you should ask Seonghwa-hyung that, I’m not really the best person to explain it.”
“I wouldn’t expect that from Min-Hwan, no matter what you think.” Guilt hit Hyeong-Jun as he remembered Choi SongHua’s words. Yang Min-Hwan himself was only 19, which meant that he’d probably only known about the world of exorcism for a year.
“Don’t worry about it,” Hyeong-Jun said.
Still, something niggled at the back of his mind.
“Who does Tae-Gyung-sunbae room with?”
Yang Min-Hwan blinked, clearly caught off-guard by the question.
“He’s on his own now.”
***
Choi SongHua kept his word and somehow managed to organize a media training session for them only an hour after what was supposed to be the start of the failed dance practice.
Hyeong-Jun’s own experience with media training had been minimal.
MSW Entertainment had mostly done “Um” counting once a month in a massive group. Everyone had taken turns standing at the front of a room and had to speak about a topic without using any crutch words － but that had been it.
Magpie Entertainment instead took three painful hours to hammer home that no bad comments were to be made towards the company during interviews － common sense. When in doubt stay silent － awkward. And if you didn’t immediately have an answer take time to think before answering － fair. By the time they were finished Hyeong-Jun’s brain felt slightly melted.
Heleft lunch early to finish unpacking the last of his things. The place still felt foreign, even with all his things now clumsily stored in appropriate spaces. It felt like trying to fit a life of memories into a matchbox.
Once done, Hyeong-Jun simply stood, almost loitering. He regretted not checking with the others before he’d left. What would the schedule be now that the original one had been so thoroughly confused?
A knock on the door saved Hyeong-Jun from further wondering.
To his surprise, he was met with Choi SongHua standing outside his door, bag slung over his shoulder.
“Hi?”Hyeong-Jun cringed internally even as the word came out.
“Hi.”
He waited, hoping Choi SongHua would elaborate without him needing to make small talk.
Choi SongHua pulled at the strap of his bag by way of explanation. Everything’s been sorted out with your company registration and profile. I thought you might want to know the details about the group. Did any of the staff mention anything to you?” Choi SongHua raised his eyebrows.
Hyeong-Jun shook his head as he stepped aside to allow Choi SongHua entry.
They took up their seats from the day before, only slightly less awkward this time round.
The chair squeaked as Hyeong-Jun leaned over to retrieve his phone from where he’d discarded it on the bed. He tapped open his notes app.
“Junho-hyung thought you might need this.”
Hyeong-Jun looked up only to find a notebook being held out to him. It had a white cover, but on it was an intricate pencil drawing of a part of the Han River.
Hyeong-Jun could only stare, stunned.
“The inside’s still fine. You can just cover that up.”
“Oh no, it’s fine, I can just use my phone.”
“You seemed like you need it.” The repeated words were stilted and Hyeong-Jun caught Choi SongHua glancing at his pile of journals once more.
“Thanks.” He hurried to take it, flipping it open to hide his embarrassment.
Choi SongHua turned his focus to his file that held what was clearly a printed out power-point. Hyeong-Jun couldn’t help being slightly amused by the old-fashionedness of it. Had it been Choi SongHua’s doing?
“The others know already but we’ll be going under the name K!NDRD.”
Hyeong-Jun glanced at the group name at the top of the presentation. As far as group names went, he’d heard worse.
“The group theme will be Immortals,” Choi SongHua’s delivery of this fact was so deadpan that it was beyond that of someone who didn’t care and had swung back around to someone who clearly was trying not to have his personal feeling shown in his words.
Even without the strange delivery, Hyeong-Jun couldn’t help feeling curious about the choice for the group’s theme.
“Immortals? Isn’t that a bit pretentious?” Hyeong-Jun’s mouth froze half open with his own disbelief. He hadn’t meant to say it like that. The media training really had gone in one ear and out the other.
But surprise and relief hit as his words were met with an uptick of Choi SongHua’s lips.
“It allows us to explore any concepts and topics we might need to for exorcism － what haven’t Immortals experienced.” Skepticism that trickled into Choi SongHua’s voice as he recited this in a too-practiced manner, but the logic was surprisingly sound.
If there’d been any doubt before, it was clear that this wasn’t Magpie Entertainment’s first go around.
“Is there anything you feel are weaknesses, with regards to when you perform?” Hyeong-Jun tilted his head, considering Choi SongHua’s words.
Choi SongHua looked up at his silence. “We can’t emphasise thing’s you’ll struggle with during our first performance. We’ll work on strengthening we can afterwards.” He was still clearly uncomfortable. Hyeong-Jun was glad he wasn’t the only weird one in the situation.
“My long-form rapping could use work and I… I can’t go very high with my range” Hyeong-Jun felt stupid stating the obvious, but it was a weakness, whether he liked it or not.
Choi SongHua made a note.
“We’ll be starting off with a mini album that has four songs, the title for the album will be ‘Phoenix’.” Hyeong-Jun wanted to point out that ‘Phoenix’ might not be the most appropriate name for their first mini album but he forced himself to stay quiet － just because he’d gotten away with the comment on immortals, didn’t mean he should test his luck.
“Tae-Gyung-ah is working on the song for the Summer Solstice performance, so we need to make sure it’s perfect. These ceremonies are very important for keeping resting souls at peace.”
Hyeong-Jun watched Choi SongHua, trying to weigh his words carefully. “Isn’t there anyone else who can write the lyrics?” Hyeong-Jun finally dared to ask.
That guarded look Hyeong-Jun saw the last time Han Tae-Gyung was mentioned, crossed Choi SongHua’s face again, and he hesitated for a moment.
Eventually, he shook his head. “It’s not that simple. The gift to write songs imbued with spirit pacification and exorcism abilities isn’t something just anybody can do. Even if one of us were to write a song, it wouldn’t matter, it wouldn’t work.” There was a strange kind of pressure in Choi SongHua’s voice that he wasn’t sure what to make of.
Hyeong-Jun considered the words as he wrote it down in the new notebook.
“They need me.” Han Tae-Gyung’s words resurfaced in Hyeong-Jun’s mind.
“And you can’t get another lyricist to help him at the very least?” It seemed like a lot of pressure for Han Tae-Gyung to have to bear alone.
Choi SongHua gave a stiff shake of his head.
‘What about Junho-hyung?’
The slam of a door outside, jerked Hyeong-Jun to attention.
He pursed his lips. “What are the odds of us being able to postpone our exorcism classes just one more day?” Hyeong-Jun hedged, a ball of nervous energy threatening to expand in his chest.
Choi SongHua seemed to weigh something in his mind. “Is it urgent?”
“Maybe?” It was the most honest answer he could give.
Choi SongHua gave a slow nod. “I bailed on you yesterday, so we’ll call it even. Make notes of any questions you have so we can cover as much ground as possible in the next session,” Hyeong-Jun took a moment to register the permission so easily given.
Pressing his lips together to hide a smile, Hyeong-Jun quipped: “You got it, boss.”
The disgruntled frown that followed, threatened to make Hyeong-Jun laugh.
***
Hyeong-Jun’s grip tightened on the cap of the soda he’d bought.
A part of him wanted to turn and run right back to his room. But he had to do this. He couldn’t afford to be kicked out because he was causing trouble in the group.
Teamwork was important by normal idol group standards, so it was probably even more important where exorcism groups were concerned.
Hyeong-Jun took a deep breath, and knocked.
There was an extremely long pause where he wondered if Han Tae-Gyung would even open up. Had it not been Han Tae-Gyung’s door he’d heard?
Just when Hyeong-Jun was contemplating whether or not he should knock again , the door cracked open.
“What do you－oh.”
If Hyeong-Jun could have melted into the floor, he would’ve preferred it.
“Can we talk?” Hyeong-Jun forced out despite himself, holding the drink out to Han Tae-Gyung as a peace-offering.
Han Tae-Gyung’s grip on the door slackened for a moment before he caught himself. His face fell into contemplation.
“Sure, come on in.” It was said as if he couldn’t care either way, and Hyeong-Jun trod on eggshells into the other man’s room.
There were posters of rappers up on one side, the statue of an anime character of a samurai that Hyeong-Jun didn’t recognize, propped on a desk.
But the other side of the room was indeed bare. No possessions spilled their way into the space the way they might have if one was used to living alone.
Han Tae-Gyung sat down on a rolling desk chair, ready to turn his body away from Hyeong-Jun.
“I’m sorry.” Han Tae-Gyung froze mid-motion. He turned back to face Hyeong-Jun fully. He tilted his head, brows furrowed.
“For what?”
Had Hyeong-Jun been wrong?
“Didn’t Junho-sunbae used to live in this room with you?”
Han Tae-Gyung remained quiet for a moment before he swallowed. “Did he tell you that?”
“No, I just figured…” Hyeong-Jun trailed off, awkwardly indicating to the empty side of the room.
Han Tae-Gyung’s eyes followed his gesture, lips thinning at the empty bed.
Hyeong-Jun remained silent, cursing himself for not thinking things through. What was he supposed to do now?
“Sorry.” The word was a gruff mumble that caught Hyeong-Jun off-guard.
“Huh?”
“I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” There was a long pause in which Hyeong-Jun wondered if he’d heard wrong. “I’m just frustrated. Junho-hyung always does this.”
The revelation threw Hyeong-Jun all the more.
Sure the tension between them had been hard to miss, but still, Hyeong-Jun had assumed that the balk of the anger was still meant for him.
“He volunteered to share the room with you so you wouldn’t feel rejected or lonely.” The words struck Hyeong-Jun enough that he almost missed the rest of what Han Tae-Gyung said. “He’s always doing that, putting other people’s needs before his own.” He glared at nothing in particular. “Junho-hyung has a tendency of not taking care of himself. I－I used to be able to keep an eye on him while we shared this room but－”
“I’ll try and help him where I can.” Hyeong-Jun’s offer seemed to have interrupted the storm that raged in Han Tae-Gyung’s gaze. Hyeong-Jun wasn’t entirely sure what he could do but he had to try.
He watched the words sink in, and amazingly a sun seemed to appear through the clouds, small though the smile might be.
“Thanks.”
Hyeong-Jun bobbed his head in response, cheeks burning. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re the only one who’s unhappy with the arrangement.”
Han Tae-Gyung’s gaze was heavy, but he didn’t respond.
“Guess I have to go,” Hyeong-Jun excused himself with a small bow of his head and aimed for the door.
“Hyeong-Jun-ssi.”
Hyeong-Jun paused, hand on the door handle. He peeked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for actually talking to me about it. That couldn’t have been easy.”
Surprise made Hyeong-Jun smile in relief.
“No worries.”
