sun’s almost set, all I need is your warmth until the end

moon sooyoung | 22 hairdresser, part-time cashier, full-time moonchild surviving on coffee, bad days, and a little borrowed starlight sr media signed 2025!

[besooyoung]

º ✧ 。––– ( ☾ 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈 ) / profile / skills tracking / pinterest / intro

23 years old. hairdresser. part-time cashier. twitch streamer. full-time stubborn dreamer. born in seoul. raised in the spaces between goodbye and maybe next time. grew up learning how to lie pretty, how to smile sharp, how to survive places she was never meant to stay. still carries pieces of every home she never quite fit into. trained hands — in hair, in dance, in learning how to build something steady out of broken promises. licensed since 2022, twitch streamer since 2023 (voice only, no face reveal yet). goes by xo_selene online. nickname "sho," a gift from someone who saw her even when she didn’t see herself. sometimes quiet, sometimes loud. sometimes tired enough to burn the world down, sometimes stubborn enough to keep planting flowers in the ashes anyway.

[renxbe]

for ren, the strangeness comes from opposite circumstances, from a change in scenery after a long day of fatalistic training. his route home is postponed so that he can track a new set of transit stops to sooyoung's new apartment. her neighborhood is refreshing, less pristine and suffocating than the high-end condos he was put up in, and more akin to the city life he imagined being a professional artist would lead him too.

then again, he's not sure artist is the right word for him anymore. it could be that delta will, one way or another, take that from him too.

her smile is weary, but it's still a bigger smile than he manages. her presence has always been a comfort, but even she can't fight the fate that looms over his head like a boot over a bug. he can only hope it'll be quick. he knows it won't be.

wordlessly, he takes the spot on the blanket offered him, smelling freshly of the quick shower he took on his way out of the delta building, setting his own fifty-ounce water bottle next to her sports drink with a small clang that pierces the humid haze of a twilight summer like a paring knife.

he still can't find his words for some reason, but when he gets a whiff of her conditioner and feels the weight of her head on him, his shoulders relax in spite of themselves. but his throat tightens. he should be happier than he is in this moment, he is so lucky for it. but all he can think about is how quickly it might be taken away.

before he can stop himself, his hand reaches down to fiddle with a loose thread hanging from the cuff of the sleeve hiding half of her hand.

this has become their thing, rooftop confessions, unbridled expression while they hide together from the powers that would rather see them apart. the relationship between them has changed, maybe, but it is rooted in a friendship that has always felt safe. and he has to be honest with her, even if it'll ruin everything. she deserves that, and more.

"i'm on probation. if they kick me out..." she will hear the tightening of his throat no matter how well he thinks he can hide it; she spent years listening to him talk on twitch streams. she could probably read his emotions from the twitch of an eyebrow, "i have to leave the country probably."

[besooyoung]

she hears it before he says it—the little catch in his breath, the tiny scrape of metal when his bottle hits concrete, the way a sentence arrives already braced for impact. it lands in her chest like a dull coin.

she doesn’t flinch. not out loud, anyway. “okay.” a heartbeat, and she focuses on the way ren's toying with a loose thread on her sleeve as if it grounds her. “how long?”

no panic, no pity; he hates both and she hates being handled, so she doesn’t. “what are they even measuring, exactly? attendance? eval sheets? somebody’s horoscope?” the corner of her mouth tilts. “do i need to bribe a coach with hair masks and under-eye patches? because i have bulk quantities.”

silence slips back in, the good kind. laundry lines sigh across the way. neon hums. the city smells like hot dust and leftover rain. sooyoung stares at nothing particular and feels everything anyway. “i hate it,” she says, softer, almost half mumbled. “not you- this. a stamp deciding if you get to exist here.”

she can feel the old instinct rising- the one that kept her and jinyoung fed and moving and okay when things were not okay. make a list, make a route, make a plan. control is a story she tells herself, and it works more often than it should. she doesn’t want to parent him; she just needs somewhere to put the fear.

“i’m gonna say some options,” she warns, mouth quirking. “not because i’m trying to parent you, but because if i don’t make a plan, my brain will eat itself for dinner. planning is my emotional support hobby and you are free to veto.” she laughs, self-deprecating as she is, in an attempt to make it easier.

she counts them off on her fingers, calm, rhythmic, purposeful. “one: i ask around-language schools, visa folks, anyone who knows a loophole. i know people who know people. two: worst comes to worst, we pivot. you built a whole universe once with a webcam and wifi; a company with a shitty opinion doesn’t get to erase that.”

the quirk becomes a real, unwilling smile. “three: we get married for paperwork and the bit. terrible photos, excellent story.” (it’s a joke- mostly. she lets it hover, amused and a little daring.) "and we'll pretend it was a fever dream from severe exhaustion."

“you could’ve told me sooner,” she adds, gentler than it reads, catching ren's hand and knitting their fingers together. it’s not a rebuke- probably some of the best proof that she knows him; the way he swallows hard around the truth, how long he tries to carry things until they bruise. “but i get it.”

she lets her head rest again with a sigh. the first time she’s done it without asking herself three times if she’s allowed to want it. growth, she thinks wryly. look at her, thriving.

“call it ninety days, sixty, whatever- treat it like a runway. if you want, i can make a trash spreadsheet so i feel useful and color code the hell out of it. you keep your head down; i’ll keep snacks up, and on your evaluation day, i’m outside with the grossest, most delicious thing you can think of to celebrate whatever happens next.”

underneath the competence, there’s a thin wire of fear: not of him leaving, exactly-she’s survived worse and built a life out of afters when she's had to- but of wanting something and saying it out loud. she swallows once, decides to try anyway.

“and if they kick you out, i’m not disappearing,” she says simply. “i know airports. i know long distance. i can keep chats alive at 3am. i’m not saying i want that. but... i am saying you don’t get rid of me that easily.”

lightness returns, and she teases. “also, i finally found a rooftop that doesn’t smell like burnt ramen and lost fabric softener. i am owed at least five dramatic sunsets with you. do not make me replace you with a cardboard cutout.”

she tips her head, studying his profile sideways. there’s the old gamer she met through a laggy stream, the trainee who keeps getting back up, the boy who laughs with his eyes before his mouth remembers how. “tell me the rules- what counts, what doesn’t,” she says. “i’ll write the worst bullet list you’ve ever seen," she raises her hands in surrender like a disclaimer, "strictly for my sanity. and every day, same time, we'll meet back up and pretend we’re just two idiots who like a good view.”

a breath. a truth, small and steady. “and i’m glad you’re here.”

then the sardonic glint because she can’t help herself: “also your water bottle could hydrate a small village. that's insane."

[beseira]

watch your step

while seira had joined waterbomb for the performances, she might just have used more time on eating than watching performances. the performances were fun to watch, and seira liked imagining herself standing on that same stage some day, but, no matter how good the performances were, she kept getting distracted by food. when the smell hit her nose, she simply couldn’t resist and her legs automatically walked in the direction of whatever she was smelling.

it happened again, she smelled hotteok and a few minutes later the hotteok were in her hands, too focused on her food though she doesn’t really watch where she’s going, and suddenly she’s walking right into someone, the terrible part? she drops her food. “no! no! no!” she immediately sits down, looks at the delicious hotteok which has now gone to waste, and then she remembers someone else than her hotteok might be hurt too. 

“ah! are you okay? so sorry, i wasn’t looking where i was going” she pouts.

sending it to... @besooyoung

[besooyoung]

it happens in slow motion.

one minute she’s sidestepping a foam blaster like it’s her job—slushie in one hand, churro in the other—the next, wham. impact. her foot slips on the soaked grass and her poor churro flies through the air like a tragic war hero.

she gasps, clutching her chest like she’s just witnessed a crime. “my condolences,” she says solemnly, crouching next to the other girl, who’s mourning her own food loss like it was a beloved pet. “they were taken from us too soon.”

but the humor’s quick to creep into her voice, dry and playful. she eyes the hotteok on the ground with exaggerated grief. “you had the good stuff, too. that’s a tragedy. i mean, if it had been just fries, i could’ve let it go.”

then she looks up, meeting the other girl’s wide-eyed concern with a flash of a grin. “i’m fine, promise. bruised pride, maybe. and a churro shaped hole in my heart.”

she rises to her feet and offers a hand to help the stranger up, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt once she’s steady. “emotionally though? yeah, i’d say we’re both in critical condition. but…” she leans in slightly, voice lowering like she’s sharing secrets. “if we go three stalls over, there’s a grandma who runs a tteokbokki booth. and i heard if you tell her your favorite idol’s name and she might give you a sympathy skewer for free.”

a beat. a smirk. “unless it’s someone disrespectful. then you’re on your own.”

she straightens, wipes her palm on her shorts, then sticks it out properly. “i’m sooyoung. serial snack smuggler. occasional food psychic. you?”

[bechaerin]

she understood why this festival may be appealing to some people. chaerin just, unfortunately, did not fall under that crowd. however, she was a people pleaser—more like friend pleaser—and she couldn't say no to her friends. that's how she finds herself here one more year.

"exactly! i think it's pretty nice out here! it's not like the idol is going to notice me just because i'm like five feet in front of them." perhaps a big reason why chaerin wasn't very into waterbomb was because she wasn't big into idols. well, she wasn't disinterested in them, but she wasn't a fan like some of the other people here.

the only thought that kept crossing her mind was how she was going to get home if she got more drenched than she is now. in her current state, she could probably dry herself off and take the subway or something. however, if she were to get any more wet, she doubts the other people on the subway would like her near them.

"deal!" she says with a chuckle as she watches sooyoung steal a drink. "what do you like so much about waterbomb anyway?" she asks with a slight scrunch of her nose before taking another sip of her slushie.

[besooyoung]

“hm, maybe i just have a thing for damp regret and overpriced drinks,” sooyoung deadpans, gaze drifting across the soaked crowd like she’s definitely questioning her life choices—but only a little. “plus, it gives me an excuse to wear ridiculous sunglasses and pretend it’s fashion.”

she nudges chaerin’s elbow lightly, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “not everyone can pull off ‘reluctantly dragged to waterbomb chic’, you know.”

a beat passes while she sips her slushie—her slushie, now, and eyes someone yelling incoherently in a bucket hat near the front.

“but seriously? i think it’s just nice to show up somewhere and not have to impress anyone,” she says, a little softer this time, voice nearly lost under the beat of the music. “just water, noise, and sugar. it’s kind of perfect.”

but then the moment passes, and her signature dry smile returns. “also, i like watching people wipe out when they run in flip flops. top-tier entertainment.”

she jerks her chin toward the crowd. “if you start regretting it, i’ll let you spray someone. no questions asked. call it… community service.”

[eunaez]

”ah, same,” she nods her head, remembering how she was absolutely drenched by the end of her first day. “i know better now, but honestly,” a grin crosses eunae’s face. “with it being so hot the water is sometimes refreshing. that’s not an invitation to shoot me, though,” she frowns, brows furrowing as she watches sooyoung lift her water gun up. she finishes her sentence off with a laugh, indicating that she’s joking.

mostly.

she leans in as sooyoung shares a piece of advice, eyes instinctively glancing around to see if she can find the suspect in question. “got it - beware of the menace by the churro stand. my stomach’s been growling for the past half hour,” eunae sighs, looking down. “want to try to traverse into enemy territory with me?” she grins, lifting her water gun up, ready to fire.

[besooyoung]

sooyoung tilts her head, expression all faux innocence as she slowly lowers her water gun, finger hovering over the trigger in a way that’s definitely suspicious. “oh? shoot you? me? never. i’m deeply offended that you’d even suggest it,” she says, tone just barely hiding her grin.

a beat later and she very lightly mists eunae’s arm with a barely-there stream, just enough to prove a point. “accident,” she says, not looking even a little sorry.

when eunae leans in, sooyoung mirrors her, hands cupped like she’s relaying a top-secret mission. “menace in pink bucket hat. don’t be fooled by the churros—she’s ruthless.” she gestures dramatically toward the stand. “we’ll have to move fast, stay low. this is high-stakes snacking.”

but when eunae suggests the plan with that little grin and raised water gun, sooyoung breaks into a laugh. “god, yes. if i die on the way, tell them i want to be buried in sequins.” she raises her own water gun in salute. “ready when you are, partner.”

and just like that, she’s charging forward—half-dashing, half-ducking behind taller festivalgoers, calling back over her shoulder with a gleam in her eyes: “FOR THE CHURROS!”

[besooyoung]

let the stars sort it out --* w/ @renxbe

it still feels weird, having a key to her own apartment. a place that’s hers, not borrowed or temporary or half-lived in. weird, but good. good in that quiet, unfamiliar way that makes her nervous if she thinks about it too long.

so she doesn’t. she thinks about the evening air instead. about how the rooftop view isn’t anything spectacular—mostly other rooftops, laundry lines, neon signs from a noraebang two blocks away—but still, it’s hers.

she hears the door creak behind her and doesn’t turn around. just offers a small glance over her shoulder and a smile that’s more tired than anything else.

“you always find your way to a rooftop anyway, figured i’d beat you to it for once.”

it’s not mean. it never is with him. her voice carries a teasing lilt, like a string she’s offering him to pull. like always.

she doesn’t know what they are—hasn’t dared try to name it. it’s slower than anything she’s ever felt before, but maybe that’s why she lets it happen. whatever’s between them, it moves like molasses, soft and clumsy, quiet as a secret. but it’s there.

she gestures with a slight nod to the spot next to her on the blanket she dragged up earlier, knees pulled to her chest, hoodie sleeves swallowed past her palms. she’s still in training clothes, hair pulled up, skin bare and warm with the day’s leftover heat. a half-drunk bottle of pocari sits nearby, condensation beading against the plastic.

"they didn’t kill me today," she says lightly, breaking the silence, "though i think my quads might just disown me tomorrow."

her fingers toy with the edge of the blanket. her shoulder brushes his for the first time, and when she doesn’t immediately move away, that’s its own kind of invitation. eventually, her head tips gently against him—hesitant at first, then more fully.

it’s not a grand gesture. it’s just comfort. just stillness, and admittedly, it's almost exactly what she needed. "whoo," she sarcastically cheers, "officially part of the overworked and underpaid idol machine."

[besooyoung]

-- an unpretty form

she’s been here for too long. she knows because her water bottle’s gone warm and the bluetooth speaker she borrowed a charger from the front desk for is wheezing like it’s begging her to stop. the air is thick with that heavy, humid kind of sweat smell that clings to fabric even after you wash it. she’ll have to remember to do laundry tonight. or tomorrow. or—

“five more times,” she mumbles, breathless, to no one but herself. “and then i’ll stop.” (she won’t.)

the combo itself isn’t hard. not really. it’s sharp, mostly arms, mostly upper body. it’s just that every time she watches herself in the mirror she sees something off. not wrong—just not right. the transitions too clunky. the timing off by half a breath. her face blank when it’s supposed to burn.

she wipes her forehead with the hem of her shirt. it’s damp. she grimaces, leans back against the mirror and lets herself sit on the cool floor for a second too long, relishing the chill against her back as she stretches into a lay instead.

her phone buzzes- some group chat ping, probably, again. she doesn’t check it- it's likely another [stupid] meme that the girls will spend ten minutes dissecting before going quiet for another hour. instead of confirming her suspicions, she picks up the remote, stares at it for a second, and sets it back down. sighs. she knows what comes next.

another run. another angle. another shot at getting her arms to actually hit clean the way they do in her head. her legs feel like overcooked noodles but whatever—she’s danced through worse- and she'd still rather not acknowledge the uncomfortable ache in the back of her throat from practicing the skill she's quickly hating the most.

"ugh," she mutters, dragging herself upright again. “no one’s even watching.”

[besooyoung]

the shape of trying - saturday, june 14 - seocho training facility, interview room 3

she doesn’t sleep much the night before.

her body’s tired, but her thoughts don’t settle; they loop endlessly through the last few days, her performance, the strange hush that came after, the way her name still doesn’t sound real when people say it in congratulations. and now this— a formal audition, panel interview, no stage lights to hide behind. just her, a chair, and the truth.

she shows up early. too early. time crawls. she sits with her hands folded neatly in her lap, every breath a quiet mantra— you’re here, you’re ready, you can do this. the floor is too clean. the air smells like someone else's nerves and oversteeped tea. when they call her name, she rises like she's about to begin the long walk to her overdue boss battle, hesitant, but determined all the same.

room 3 is bright, cold, clinical. the kind of cold that settles deep in your bones and pulls at you sleepily. the panel doesn’t smile when she bows. she didn’t expect them to, but it doesn't do much to still the pounding in her chest.

“good morning, how are you?”

“nervous,” she answers honestly, voice soft, “but grateful to be here.” no reaction. just the sound of a pen against a clipboard. she presses her palms into her knees to ground herself.

“let’s get started, shall we?”

“have you choreographed a routine before? please tell us about your experience.”

“a few times,” she says, careful but sure. “school events, mostly. group projects. i’ve helped friends polish their pieces, filled in gaps. i think i’m good at seeing what a performance needs to feel complete. and making it feel like someone’s heart is in it.”

“please sing a chorus of your favourite song for us.”

she exhales. it takes a second, longer than she wants it to— because everything she rehearsed feels wrong now. nothing polished or impressive could explain the knot in her chest. but there’s one song that stays with her. has stayed, for a long time.

sooyoung lets her voice fall into day6's i wait without too much more hesitation. it's not perfectly by any means, but honestly, heartfelt much in the same way that she put into her talent show performance- though the lack of skill is much more pronounced when it comes to singing. (if jinyoung were here, he'd ask her if she wanted a bucket to carry the tune in, she's sure)

she finishes, lips parting slightly as the final word lingers in the air. her heart thuds in her chest.

and immediately, her brain lights up with panic; was that too flat? maybe i should’ve picked a cuter song? something softer? oh god what if i just completely tanked this whole thing—

but she meets the panel’s eyes anyway. lets the silence be.

“what is dance to you? a technical skill, a hobby, art form, or something else more personal?”

“it’s language,” she says. “when my mouth can’t say it, my body can. when it’s too heavy to name, i move it out of me. sometimes dance is survival. sometimes it’s how i hold onto myself.”

“why did you choose ‘slump’ for your talent show performance?”

her hands tighten. then release.

“because i’ve been stuck. heavy. numb. wanting to stop, but not letting myself.” she blinks, slow and sure. “that song doesn’t end in hope, but it doesn’t end in giving up either. it felt honest. like holding your breath and still moving forward.”

“what will you do if you fail this audition? will you stop trying altogether?”

“no.” her voice doesn't waver. “i’ve failed before. and i’m still here. i’ll keep trying. even when it hurts. even when it’s slow. because something in me still believes there’s a place for this dream.”

“answer honestly — why do you want to be an idol? for yourself, or to chase others?”

she doesn’t answer right away.

“both,” she says finally. “my brother believed in me first. he saw something in me when i couldn’t. i chased him for a while. i still do, a little. but… now i’m chasing the version of me he saw. the one who loves this. who gets back up. who knows what she wants, even when it hurts.”

-

no one smiles. but she thinks she catches the flicker of something softer in one of the panelist’s eyes. maybe she imagined it. maybe not.

they thank her. she bows again. deeper this time. then she steps outside, and the door clicks shut behind her.

for a second, she just stands there.

the hallway is empty. sterile. quiet.

her hands are still shaking. her mouth feels dry. and she’s pretty sure one of her shoelaces came untied somewhere between questions four and five. the adrenaline is starting to ebb, leaving her hollowed out and strangely weightless.

she doesn’t know what they wrote down, but won't be forgetting the scratching of pen on paper any time soon. she doesn’t know how she came across- if it was like the last audition, where she seemed too naïve- too unskilled, and clearly out of any element remotely close to idoldom. she doesn’t know if it was anything near enough.

but she knows what it took to get here. and she knows she didn’t lie.

sooyoung leans back against the wall, tips her head up toward the fluorescent light until her eyes sting. she breathes in. out. again.

no one claps. no one comforts her. no one says she did well.

and now here she is- not waiting for jinyoung anymore. walking away from something she did on her own. auditioned on her own. answered for herself.

it’s a strange thing— she feels light, like something uncoiled in her chest. but she also feels like crying, and maybe throwing up at some point too. maybe she will, later.

for now, she stops by the same convenience store they used to grab drinks from. her fingers hover over the usual choices, then drift to something new. she doesn’t need to relive the old memories. she just wants to honor them.

she pays, steps outside, and texts him.

> made it through the audition. > thank you for believing in me before i did. > i hope i made you proud.

and then, quietly to herself, she adds: “i think i’m proud of me, too.”

[benayoung]

* ❁┆pretty girl mantra

needless to say, nayoung has been busy. she's also quite detached from the sr media trainees outside of project novus since it started. she lives in dorms with the girls, trains with the girls all day, novus girls novus girls novus girls. she gets it. and it's only going to be more the case once they debut. hopefully they'll all experience the ups and downs of idol life with each other.

nayoung, surprisingly, doesn't hate it. she doesn't dislike any of them. she wouldn't say she's friends with all of them, but they're pleasant co-workers, at least. they have plenty of time to grow closer, too, or at least she hopes so.

however, nayoung's reputation is important to her. she is sort of the face of sr media's female trainees now, so she needs to carry herself appropriately. when she hears whispers of sr media picking up new trainees, she figures it's only right for her to introduce herself.

she decides to check in on her lunch break. there's a practice room the newest trainees tend to gravitate toward, so she starts there. sure enough, there's a fresh face. she's not unfamiliar, though. if anything, sooyoung is closer to a friend than most girls she knows. there's some cognitive dissonance seeing her here, but it's not bad.

"welcome to sr media?" she says, words more uncertain than she means them to be. she lets out a small huff of amusement.

❁┆@besooyoung

[besooyoung]

sooyoung doesn’t look up at first.

she’s got one arm lifted, adjusting the tightness of the hoodie she hasn’t even taken off yet, a water bottle tucked against her hip. she’s been in the room less than five minutes—just long enough to unlace her shoes and stretch her calves in the mirror. and she’s still debating whether she should stay here for practice or sneak off somewhere quieter.

but that voice—wry, familiar, a little unsure—pulls her attention. she glances over her shoulder, and then turns the rest of the way with a slow, surprised smile.

“is that supposed to be a threat?” she teases, gentle as ever, but her tone softens as her gaze settles. “you’re not gonna report me to the scary upper management for lurking in your room, are you?”

they’ve crossed paths before—more than once, more than just passing. nayoung’s trusted her hands enough to sit in her chair, let her trim and color and smooth strands into place. that kind of closeness lives quiet but deep. but standing here now, with nayoung in her sleek practice fit and sooyoung still adjusting to the rhythm of trainee life, it hits her a little: they’re not peers in quite the same way anymore.

“…hi,” she adds, belated and a little breathless, gentle, all sarcastic jokes. “didn’t expect to see you here.”

her fingers fidget with the hem of her sleeve.

“but—thanks. for the welcome, i mean. kind of still finding my footing, but.” she shrugs with a tilt of her head. “guess we’re coworkers now, huh?”

[eunaez]

━━ waterbomb 2025◞ this is for .· ( @besooyoung )

when it comes to making friends, eunae’s not the greatest. texts messages from her are few and far between considering the trainee’s busy schedule. hangouts? they’re becoming even less frequent as project novus ramps up.

however, she’s not going to miss waterbomb; especially when she knows a good chunk of axis labels other trainees were going to be there as well. she loves a good music festival, even if waterbomb might be a bit less focused on the music and more on . . . other things. regardless, it’s an opportunity to get to know other people, and eunae needs to work on making good first impressions.

she waves to sooyoung when she spots her in the crowd, a small group of trainees had gotten together and decided to come to the event together. it’s not long before everyone had split up to see different stages or just gotten lost.

“i can’t remember, is this your first time at waterbomb? either way, are you having a good time so far?” she strikes up a conversation as soon as she’s in earshot.

[besooyoung]

she doesn’t spot eunae right away— not until the girl’s already waving, already making her way through the crowd. sooyoung startles slightly, blinking once before the warmth registers. she returns the wave with a small, sheepish smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear that had already plastered itself to her temple. it’s hot, she’s sticky, and her hair’s definitely lost the war with gravity and humidity, but she’s still glad to see a familiar face.

“not my first, actually,” sooyoung says, brushing a few soaked strands away from her eyes, trying to look unfazed even though someone just pelted her square in the back five minutes ago. “i came last year too. got absolutely annihilated by water balloons. so i came better prepared this time.”

she lifts her weapon of choice—a water gun that looks more ornamental than threatening—with a little flourish.

“i forgot how intense it gets though. the moment you drop your guard, some stranger with a hose appears like they sensed weakness in the force.”

she takes a sip of her slushie, now basically juice, and hums contentedly. “still worth it. there’s something really healing about screaming your favorite song while soaking wet in 90 degree weather.”

she flashes eunae a sideways grin. “you look like you’ve got good instincts though. veteran waterbomber or just naturally slippery?” and, lowering her voice just a bit, as if sharing war intel: “also. warning. there’s a dude with two water guns lurking by the churros stand. no mercy in his eyes. if we team up, we might survive.”

[hangyeolbe]

"no, that can't be, I have at least-"

then it hits him, her oddly sporadic behavior, her clipped phrases, the strange way she snatched his phone out of his hand before he could even process what's going on. there was a time he would've been far quicker on the uptake, when he would've instantly seen her well-meaning mischief for what it was. but he can't remember the last time he's gotten a full night's sleep or spent less than eight hours a day under unforgiving flourescents, not to mention a reluctant breakup and a lack of fiscal stability turning stress into an almost tangible being sitting at the base of his skull like an invisible cicada.

"yah, moon sooyoung," he chastises in somewhat of a whine, nothing too curt or truly scolding, but not without a hair of exasperation.

"you can't let me not pay you for this. and you can't make me let you pay either!"

he knows, just from that sympathetic glance from across the counter, that she can, will, and has done just that, and that there is now nothing he can do about it even if he was logistically capable. already do his thoughts race around calculating just how long it will take him to save up the money to pay her properly for services rendered.

he catches his reflection in a nearby mirror, unable to suppress a genuine, albeit sheepish smile from curling about his lips. he looks like how he pictures himself in his head now; sooyoung is so very good at what she does. his eyes grow just glassy enough to catch the salon's flattering light fixtures, in the same moment that he meets his friend's gaze in the mirror.

"I don't mind a few caspars here and there. maybe one of them is cute and single."

he turns to face her directly, reaching for her hand and squeezing it between both of his.

"thank you," and then, with less weight, "come over. I'll cook you something. what do you want to eat? you have to at least let me feed you."

"and no," he adds, matching her tone from earlier when she refused to let him pay for his own dye job, "I am not taking no for an answer."

[besooyoung]

“you’re not supposed to notice the caspars,” she says, but there’s no heat to the protest. just a quiet huff and a flick to his freshly styled bangs, playful and fond. “they’re there to add dimension. mystery. emotional depth.”

she could keep the joke going—moon sooyoung: licensed stylist, professional illusionist—but then he goes and meets her eyes in the mirror, and the words tangle somewhere in her chest. she sees the way his expression shifts, the gratitude sitting just behind the glassiness, and it still hits her like it’s the first time. that she can do this. that she gets to help people feel more like themselves again.

“yeah, yeah,” she mumbles, eyes flicking away, pretending to tidy up the station. “you’re welcome.”

and then, as he turns and squeezes her hand between both of his, sooyoung softens again. doesn’t pull away. her voice drops, a little less deflective now. “you look good, hangyeol. like—really good. not just the hair. the whole thing. i hope you see it too.”

but of course he has to ruin the moment by telling her no. about food.

she lets out an exaggerated groan and dramatically drops her head onto his shoulder. “ugh. you and joomi, both trying to feed me. like i’m some undernourished stray you picked up on the street.” a pause. “...what’re you making?”

her voice lifts on the last part, teasing. but her grin is already real.

[bechaerin]

✦ * ·  ˚ @besooyoung

waterbomb.

again, chaerin's not the most impressed with the festival. she's met her fair amount of rude people who were mostly there to squirt water guns to other people. her? she liked to be there for the music, but she also preferred to stay in the back, so she didn't have a bunch of people squeezing her to get closer to the stage.

it's why she finds herself lounging around in the back, a water gun in her hand and a slushie in the other. "i wish i could see some of the artists closer up, but i don't want to be in the middle of that huge crowd," she stated with a scrunch of her nose before turning her head to sooyoung.

despite not loving waterbomb, she couldn't really say no when someone asked her to accompany them, and this year it was sooyoung. they decided to take a quick break from the performances to quench their thirsts and simply get away from the growing crowd. or more like she asked to, and sooyoung was nice enough to oblige. "i promise we can get back in there once i'm done with my slushie."

[besooyoung]

“you say that like i’m holding you hostage.” sooyoung lifts her brows over her sunglasses, half a grin curling at her mouth as she swirls what’s left of her iced drink with a straw. “i told you—you’re the one who said you’d come! i was fully prepared to be soaked and alone with some guy’s armpit in my face the whole time.”

she’s teasing, of course. it’s not that bad. but there was a very tall, very overenthusiastic fan two rows up who kept jumping and splashing half the crowd with their water gun like they were in a battle royale. sooyoung had taken a direct hit earlier- her hair still smells faintly of whatever perfume they were wearing.

“honestly though, the back’s kind of underrated anyway.” she leans back against the railing, turning her face up slightly toward the sky. “you get a breeze. your drink survives. nobody elbows you in the ribs. what more could you want?”

a beat passes, and sooyoung looks over with a mischevious glint in her eye.

“…besides the entire idol lineup ten feet from your face, obviously.”

she steals a sip of chaerin’s slushie before she can protest. “mmm. okay, deal. let’s head back in a minute before you melt into the pavement.”

[besooyoung]

hiiiii!! so, sooyoung has officially signed with sr media and i would LOVE to toss starters out to any trainees that might need some! overall sooyoung is (so far) leaning on the quieter, observe more side than anything as she's still not sure this is real. but she is generally a fun, sarcastic vitamin that makes friends easily ♡ 

and for waterbomb, sooyoung is DEFINITELY going, so if anyone would like to thread with a thoroughly-too-excited-maybe-slightly-inebriated twenty-something, hit.us.up.

so, if any of this interests you at all, please feel free to comment below and let me know what kind of starter you'd like! or, if you'd prefer a bit more planning, you can always find me here in ims or on discord @ lqdoyeon !

[besooyoung]

a whole lot of firsts ⭑ mid july | first day ⭑ ~750 ⭑ seventeen - flight

𓏲 ࣪₊✦⭑𓂃𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

sooyoung wakes up long before the sun. the apartment hums softly with silence, and her breath fogs lightly in the cool air. she gets dressed and redressed, ties her hair back, changes her mind, ties it again. checks her bag three times- snacks, breath mints, notebook, charger, a compact mirror. everything is there, but her nerves won’t stop picking at her.

by the time she reaches the seocho facility, the sky is just beginning to turn blue.

it starts with the health check—a sterile, too-bright room with clipped voices and measured glances. height, weight, questions about sleep and diet. she lies and says she’s fine. the nurse writes something down, and sooyoung wonders what boxes she’s just been put into.

language class is easier. they’re checking for fluency, and she ends up in the english room with a handful of others. it’s mostly light conversation, pronunciation drills, a few exercises. she speaks when prompted and even gets a small laugh from the trainee beside her. it feels like a victory.

she eats breakfast alone in the hallway. triangle kimbap and vitamin water. the corridor is full of movement—trainees floating past like ghosts, some chattering nervously, others lost in their own heads. she sees a few familiar faces from the show. none of them say anything.

acting class is next, and it’s everything she dreads. too many eyes, too much pretending. her answers feel stiff in her mouth. she flubs a line. her hands won’t stop fidgeting. but she doesn’t leave. she stays until the end, lets the discomfort stretch her, tries to learn something in the process.

vocal class follows. it’s her weakest skill by far, and it shows. her voice shakes during the warmups, so she focuses on breath work, phrasing, pitch control. someone near her sings like she was born on stage. sooyoung listens with quiet awe and stores the sound away like a secret.

open practice is a relief. the mirrors, the music, the space to move. she starts by repeating the choreography from her performance, then moves on to improvisation. her body aches already, but dancing feels like home. for the first time that day, she doesn’t feel like she’s falling behind.

lunch is loud. the cafeteria buzzes with overlapping conversations, trays clattering. she sits near the edge, her tray mostly untouched. two other girls take the seats across from her. they don’t say much, but one of them offers a napkin when sooyoung spills a bit of soup. it’s a small kindness. it matters.

etiquette class is surprisingly grounding. posture drills, greeting protocols, eye contact techniques. there’s something comforting about clear expectations, about knowing exactly what’s right and wrong in a space. her spine straightens. she starts bowing with confidence.

the second round of open practice is tougher. her muscles are stiff now, sore from repetition. but she pushes through—tries isolations, mimics a trainee doing popping until her arms burn. she’s not the best. but she’s getting better.

dance class at five is where she shines again. the instructor is fast-paced, sharp-tongued, but she thrives in the structure. her feet stumble once, twice, but by the end, they’re steady. she’s drenched in sweat, ponytail loose, and still one of the last to stop moving. she’s proud of that.

the gym, though? hell. cardio burns. the weights feel like bricks. but she doesn’t skip a single set. each rep is a promise to herself. i’m still here. i’m still trying.

dinner tastes like a reward. rice, soup, a fried egg. she nearly tears up over how warm it is. someone at her table groans about group evaluations. she groans back. they laugh. it feels like belonging.

mandatory practice comes last. her body wants to quit, but her mind isn’t ready to stop. she runs through the day’s routine again, then her talent show solo, and finally, a freestyle—a mess of steps that might turn into something someday. no one’s watching. it doesn’t matter. she’s still dancing.

before she leaves, she snaps a mirror selfie. her hair is wild, her shirt clings to her back, her expression unreadable. it’s not for social media. it’s just for her. proof.

when she gets home, she drops everything by the door. she doesn’t shower. doesn’t eat. just peels off her socks and collapses onto the couch. her legs scream, her arms tremble. her thoughts are mush. but somewhere inside her chest, past the exhaustion and fear and leftover doubt—there’s something burning.

not quite confidence. not yet. but the shape of it. the beginning.

and this time, she doesn’t talk herself out of it.

[srmedia]

— COMPANY NOTICE

MOON SOOYOUNG has joined sr media as of JULY 16, 2025.

she is on a full contract which expires JULY 16, 2026.

[funfactory]

nagyung ♡ 250626

[kouxbe]

kou doesn't take pride in a lot of things ( mostly because he can't bring himself to care for a lot of things ), but being employee of the month whilst juggling his trainee and school career is something he thinks he can brag about a bit. just a little bit.

because despite it all the one thing that kou knows he can never truly give up, is his love for cats. "a catnanimous vote," he says, though his usual facial expression remains unchanged, despite his attempt at a pun.

he watches as sooyoung tries and is rejected by a cat, and he can't help the little laugh that escapes his lips. of course it'd be a cat to make him laugh. "she doesn't like the treats, she's really picky," he says, referring to the cat. he calls her over, coos at her before rubbing the back of her ear.

"how long do you have? honestly, if i wasn't swamped with training, i could easily write you three facts about each cat here," and he isn't really joking this time. it's true, kou's grown so attached to the cats that he thinks he could recognize them by meow alone.

he hands sooyoung more treats though, glancing around to make sure no one else is looking. "the cat by the back there - the tabby - he really loves these treats. don't give him too much though, it's salty," he whispers.

"i'm taking your word," he smiles. "if i'm not employee of the month next month i'll be really upset."

[besooyoung]

she stifles a laugh at catnanimous, not because it’s funny (it is, in the most absurd way), but because kou delivers it with a straight face like he’s reading stock prices or tax code. “you should be arrested for that,” she says solemnly, but the corners of her mouth betray her with a twitch.

the rejected treat lies on the floor beside her, shameful and untouched. “wow,” she sighs, watching the cat turn her back with a dramatic tail flick. “i came here for emotional support and instead i’m getting negged by cats and punished for believing in you.”

but she takes the extra treats anyway. because of course she does, and kou hands them over like they’re classified documents and she’s his accomplice in a feline conspiracy. she even leans in a little, stage whispering back, “don’t worry, i’ll ration them. this is now a targeted operation.”

when he mentions knowing each cat’s habits, quirks, meows, she just looks at him for a moment. not in judgment—just quiet observation. this is why she’s never truly believed him when he acts like nothing matters. because something does. and it shows.

“i’ve got an hour,” she says. “maybe less, if this latte betrays me. but definitely long enough to hear your top five cat gossip headlines. give me the drama.”

she nudges his foot gently under the table, grinning.