A faint beep woke Hyeong-Jun. He squinted through darkness and sleep-glued eyes as he tried to figure out what was happening.
“Hyung?”
A silhouette made it’s way from the open door to Hyeong-Jun’s bed.
Who would－?
“Hyung?”
Oh, Yang MinHwan.
“Yeah?” Hyeong-Jun croaked, voice still rough with sleep. Yang MinHwan jerked in surprised.
Hyeong-Jun sat up, wiping at his still thick eyes.
“Um, Seonghwa-hyung asked us to meet them at Studio 5.”
Hyeong-Jun stared for a long moment before his brain finally woke up enough to reach out and check his phone. 4 AM. Okay. So he wasn’t insane. It was still early.
“Seonghwa-hyung asked me come tell you so, um, I’ll see you there?” Hyeong-Jun could only bob his head as the door clicked shut once more.
He glanced to Lee Junho’s bed. Empty.
Had he gotten up on his own? Why wouldn’t he have just woken Hyeong-Jun when he did?
Still confused, Hyeong-Jun groggily got up, dressed and trudged to Studio 5.
The hallways were quiet, only a few trainees up early for on reason or another.
Studio 5 as it turned out, was another recording studio, but what surprised Hyeong-Jun was the sight that greeted him upon entry.
Lee Junho sat hunched over at the soundboard desk, none other than Han Tae-Gyung right next to him.
Lee Junho’s hair stood every which way, tired eyes scanning papers furiously. If it weren’t for the cap hiding Han Tae-Gyung’s hair, it probably would’ve been in a similar state. Hyeong-Jun strongly suspected that Lee Junho hadn’t gotten up early but rather that neither he nor Han Tae-Gyung had ever gone to sleep.
Furthest from the door, on the other side of Lee Junho, Choi Songhua stood, arms supporting his weight as he leaned over the table to inspect the pages as well.
“Hyung,” Yang MinHwan greeted once more, the first to notice Hyeong-Jun. He stood slightly apart from the others. But there was anxiety in his eyes.
The other three looked up at Yang MinHwan’s greeting and to Hyeong-Jun’s surprise, matching smiles appeared on both Lee Junh and Han Tae-Gyung’s faces.
“Great, we’re all here, we can start sorting out the line distributions.” Lee Junho said brightly, as if Hyeong-Jun hadn’t just walked into an alternate universe.
“Of what?” Hyeong-Jun asked dumbly, wondering if he was misunderstanding something.
“We have a mock-up for the main track.”
Hyeong-Jun stared for a second too long, wanting so badly to question when, where, and how all of this had happened.
“That’s wonderful, hyung!” Yang MinHwan’s happy exclamation saved Hyeong-Jun from accidentally throwing another pebble into water that had finally settled. “So your inspiration’s back?”
Han Tae-Gyung snorted. “Work doesn’t wait for inspiration.”
Hyeong-Jun wanted to point out that the sentiment hadn’t helped Han Tae-Gyung before. But the shock at Han Tae-Gyung’s reversion to snarky but nice, kept Hyeong-Jun quiet.
Lee Jun-ho shook his head, but there was a good-naturedness to it. Despite the exhaustion that clearly permeated his being, he looked lighter than he had since Hyeong-Jun’s arrival.
Whatever had happened after Hyeong-Jun’s chat with Han Tae-Gyung the previous day, Hyeong-Jun couldn’t help being grateful for it.
“Come sit,” Choi SongHua said and soon they were all crowded together at the booth as Lee Junho played the track.
It started with a single note from a piano.
“Just close your eyes,”
The first sentence was high, clear and so stunning that it immediately broke chills out across Hyeong-Jun’s skin. He could only assume it was Lee Junho’s voice.
“The voice whispers soft-ly to me,
The place around me is dark,” the song pitched up, “my heart un-kn-own,
I cry for help but there’s no one a-round.”
“Grime, dirt and dust surround me
In the distance a bird’s cry
Takes me back to what I’ve lo-ost
There’s n-o ho-ope left.”
The first two verses’ travelled wide in their high range, creating a truly eerie atmosphere.
“Air burning in your chest
An icy distress
I ha-ave a way out, I ca-an promise peace
I’m right here, take my hand.”
The rap crashed through the calm malevolence of the song, completely catching Hyeong-Jun off-guard. It was so strong and aggressive that it shouldn’t have worked. Two completely different songs; yet the under current of the melody had foreshadowed it in such a way that it was the other side of a coin instead, a perfect fit.
It was harsh, authoritative and very clearly Han Tae-Gyung.
“Its easy do you da-are, your growing despair
You think I ignore it, you think I don’t care?
Then why am I here, tik-e-tock-tock
You’ve been relying on a broken clock.”
Han Tae-Gyung’s rap ended and Lee Jun-ho’s voice took over once more.
Their voices moved through the room and sang in a strange harmony. Amazement warred with envy at the range both of them demonstrated, covering parts that they probably wouldn’t be given once the lines were distributed, and yet they managed to make the song feel full and strong.
Hyeong-Jun couldn’t help but be surprised as he listened.
This wasn’t the kind of song he’d expected after hearing “exorcism music”. Sure there was the underlining message but if Hyeong-Jun hadn’t been told, he would’ve been hard pressed to identify it as anything “strange”. And yet from the start to the very end, goosebumps stayed raised on his arms.
Han Tae-Gyung’s rap carried the last final 30 seconds with Lee Junho’s high vocals merging perfectly. It was chaotic, overwhelming the space. And worked in a way it shouldn’t have.
The final sentence was a punctuation accompanied only with a lone piano key.
“It’s quite high,” Yang MinHwan was the first to speak.
“We thought it might be good to start with something that shows everyone’s range,” Lee Junho said as he scratched at the side of his face guiltily, but the smile still present somewhat ruined the effect.
Everyone gave hesitant nods. Hyeong-Jun pressed his lips together, wanting to point out that “high notes” and he didn’t exactly see eye to eye. But he would just have to make the best of it. Being an idol was about compromise, he couldn’t afford to make trouble.
“Do you think you could do the start?” Lee Junho asked Yang MinHwan, who looked slightly terrified at the thought but nodded nonetheless.
Thinking on the sample song Yang MinHwan had done on Hyeong-Jun’s first day , this song’s start seemed too melancholy for the small sun that was Yang MinHwan.
“Great, then I’ll take the second part of the intro since it’s also on the higher raw vocal side.” Lee Junho smiled.
“You’re taking the first rap?” Choi SongHua said it more as a statement than a question.
“Of course,” Han Tae-Gyung smirked.
“Seonghwa-yah, would you be able to handle the pre-chorus with Tae-Gyung-ah?”
Choi SongHua nodded.
“Great, then Min-ah and I can take the chorus again but I’ll do the start and Min-ah can do the second part so it’s slightly changed up.” Lee Junho said as he noted everything down, only glancing up quickly for reconfirmation from Yang MinHwan
Hyeong-Jun wanted to pull back from the situation, unable to ignore how useless he felt as the roles were dealt out. He couldn’t claim any of them.
The rapping at the start of the song was long and complicated. It made sense that they wouldn’t want to entrust him with it and the chorus and pre-chorus were both too high for him.
“Hyeong-Jun-ah.” Lee Junho pulled Hyeong-Jun out of his thoughts. “Would you be able to take the refrain?” His eyes were bright with expectation.
Hyeong-Jun nodded automatically before he’d even looked at the lyrics.
Once he did look, he couldn’t help being disappointed.
It was arguably the most boring part of the song, not high or particularly complicated in terms of the rap.
It’d be fine. He would just need to do his best.
He could always earn their trust in the long run, when there was more time.
They continued with the line distribution and Hyeong-Jun received one more verse that at least had more of a rap feel to it, even if it had a slower pace.
It was fine, he had enough other things to worry about. It was better that he didn’t have to try and improve his breathing techniques for longer rap sections on top of everything else.
Once the line distributions had been sorted, Choi SongHua took up the pages of notes and lyrics and pulled a memory stick from the recording booth’s computer. “I’ll give these to the choreographers so they can start working on it. We need to start practicing as soon as possible.” Everyone murmured their assent, well aware of the ticking clock hanging over them. “Did everyone see the message about tomorrow’s fitting?” Choi SongHua asked but his eyes were on Hyeong-Jun.
“Mine too?” he couldn’t help his surprise.
Choi SongHua nodded. “They’ve had our measurements for a while now, so they’re rushing to have yours ready too.”
Hyeong-Jun grimaced at the reminder. “I’ll be there.”
***
“We decided to focus on the title of the album for the colour story.” A delicately featured woman with pixie cut hair that had been introduced as Stylist Park explained as her assistant rolled a hanging rod into Magpie Entertainment’s backstage area.
The place had the typical makeup tables and light-bulb framed mirrors taking up one side while the other side had temporary, fabric cubicles for makeshift changing rooms.
Hyeong-Jun glanced at the rich, royal shades of red, blue, green, gold and white satin that reflected the fluorescent light. It was one of the few materials that looked good under any lighting. Except for the tops’ hanbok-like collars, each one differed quite a bit.
The pants paired with the tops were all black, three pairs were made from a thicker suit-like material, one from leather and another from what Hyeong-Jun could only guess to be vinyl.
“Please bear in mind that these will be your outfits for the Summer Solstice performance as well as the MV, so we’ll need to do movement checks with you before you leave today ín case alterations are needed.”
“Yes, Stylist Park.”
“Junho-ssi, the red one, Tae-Gyung-ssi, the green one. MinHwan-ssi, I know your size is a bit on the smaller size at the moment but the gold one should work after the alterations we made. Seonghwa-ssi, the blue one,” Stylist Park rattled all of this off in a quick succession that spoke of familiarity.
Hyeong-Jun stood last in line as everyone took turns to receive their outfits from the assistant.
“Hyeong-Jun-ssi?” Hyeong-Jun blinked as Stylist Park looked at him, askance. She threw an assessing gaze over him before pulling a white top off the rack. “This should give us a starting point,” she said by way of explanation before handing it over to Hyeong-Jun. He thanked her and filed into the line for the temporary changing rooms.
Once the outfit was on, Hyeong-Jun couldn’t help staring at the mirror in surprise. It must have been a pretty hastily put together outfit, but none of that was visible in the tailoring. The white satin gave nice dimension to the fabric, and Hyeong-Jun couldn’t help but admire the intricate embroidery that highlighted the hanbok neckline of the top. The only other detail was the golden buttons around his wrists and the gold and black studded belt that had been paired with the pants. Overall it was quite minimalistic, yet mindful of the traditions it was drawing from.
The shirt hung slightly too loose around his body but the overall effect wasn’t lost. Hyeong-Jun couldn’t suppress a smile as he stared at his reflection. Was it stupid to get this excited over an outfit? Maybe. But that did nothing to dampen the buzz under his skin. He’d never felt this special in clothing before.
As the stylist had warned, they were quizzed about the comfort and lengths of the outfits before they were made to do various movements to ensure that the clothes wouldn’t ride up in a strange way or accidentally rip mid-performance.
Hyeong-Jun glanced around as he realized that it was just three of them, Choi SongHua missing.
“Hyeong-Jun-ssi, would you mind standing here,” the assistant instructed from where she was busy at a table. Hyeong-Jun nodded and wandered over. Only to spot Choi SongHua, standing around the corner of the changing room, his outfit still draped over an arm as he spoke to Stylist Park.
“It’s fine, I heard one of your assistants was still recovering, I’ll ask that they postpone the photoshoot. We also need more time.” Choi SongHua’s words barely carried through the short distance.
“Thank you, she worked with Karina for quite a few years so it’s shaken her up,” Stylist Park had her eyes closed, massaging her brow.
Choi SongHua shook his head. “It’s understandable.”
Hyeong-Jun frowned. Karina?
“Thank you, you can go change again,” the assistant’s words pulled Hyeong-Jun from his confusion and he hurried to follow her instructions.
Should he ask Lee Junho? Was he even allowed to?
It still felt like a world that he’d accidentally been brought into, a world contained in a shoe that was about to drop.
It was ridiculous.
Yet, once inside the changing room, Hyeong-Jun hurried to take out his phone. With all the social media blocking software that had been put on it, Hyeong-Jun was glad when the general search engine still came to life after he’d typed ‘Karina’. It was a long shot, but Hyeong-Jun wasn’t sure there was another option. If they were talking about it in a work setting, surely it meant it was someone within the industry.
Finally, the search page finished loading.
Hyeong-Jun almost dropped his phone.
At the top of the search results, staring back at him, was a picture of Eun-Ji’s mom.
