Pairing: Jungkook singer x chubby y/n
PART 1 of Places You Never Were
Not edited as usual and should end with part 2. Really poured my heart out in this one, hope you like it!
Triggers: sad feelings, crude words and description, intense unrequited love, heart break
She had loved him in the silent ways. And he had simply let her, as though he was doing her a favor.
He never asked for anything but he always accepted. The hearty home cooked meals , the cheerful messages reminding him to sleep early and take a break when he needed it, the silence when resounding echoes of the world around him got too loud. When he needed an escape. Always there.
Foolish girl. I was always there. Invisible, woven into the tapestry of his life --a single seamless thread overarching the entire narrative. Always there, but never seen.
Too trivial to be seen. To be seen with. In the background of his life like a never ending tune.
Even the way he broke up with me was trivial. Like I held no meaning to him after 5 long years of holding him down. It was a text, after he had left for one of his international tours with the rest of his group.
I never told him about what I saw in the studio that day. I simply bottled it up, the grief and then the rage, rocking myself to sleep in tears -dwelling on things of the past that would haunt me.
That night was when they all hitched a late night flight to America from South Korea. It was 5 AM when I received the text, "Let's take a break Y/N. I know this feels like it came out of nowhere, but come on. You know that we haven't been the same since a while now. It's best for me and you , so we can stay focused on our professional goals".
I read the text, a manic, dry laugh escaping my throat. Like something in me had cracked. Permanently. Focused on professional goals. So that was what he was doing with that dancer in that studio late into the evening. Pursuing professional goals. I see, I guess that's what they called whoring around nowadays.
We both knew whose goals he truly cared about. His. Because, even though I had been transforming his career and his life selflessly, mine had changed very little. I was still under-study to a producer, not even an official one. That's what happens when you take shit. From everyone. Including people at work. I guess my relationship dynamics had translated into my work as well.
Weeks of unwashed, crusty dishes and funky smelling, dirty hair. But if I didn't show up for any more days- I would be unemployed. So I went back to work. The producer I worked under, Kang, still forgot my name though I had been working with him for a number of years. Still getting his dry wash, still making his piss water coffee, still organizing messy shelves-fixing his life instead of mine. Still unnoticed.
But the world doesn't wait for you. Even when you are decaying and decomposing inside. The machine of the industry won't ever stop. For anyone. The world wouldn't let me recover, headlines flooded with rumors of his projects, his hook-ups, his relationships, collaborations, him.
The text still reverberated in my ears, as if he had spoke it out loud , "Let's take a break". Five years down the drain. Spilled milk. And maybe that's why they call these things break-ups. Because it literally breaks you from the inside out... corroding parts of you that you tend to take for granted. Trust and optimism in the world gone in the blink of an eye.
Those were the days I wish my love was unrequited. If it had just stayed a pipe dream, at least it wouldn't have broken me like this.
I still didn't know where I went wrong. I still didn't as I went through the motions of my monotonous life. He had been warm to me. Kind and considerate, loving. He had called me his rock, his calm in the storm that was his life. All lies. I should've known that I was just a phase in his life. A passing summer rain. We were too different to work in reality.
His life is noisy and vibrant. He lives in stages and luxury hotel rooms. Rented Villas. He passes through places, nothing ever permanent. I live in the embrace of soft blankets worn out by the passage of time and faded covers of books I have thumbed through the pages of a million times. In an apartment I had stayed in for 6 years now.
My eyes fall on memories--all too painful. I try not to think of them, to not see them. Mementos of times gone by. A backstage pass, a hoodie he left behind, a birthday card signed in his messy loopy signature. The pain never dulls, even though its been a few months since the fall out. He has been jet-setting across the globe for his tour.
And just when I thought it could not hurt anymore than it already did. I saw them at the award show. The dancer and him. Walking hand in hand. The dancer was dressed in a golden shimmery fabric, floating across with floor with her lengthy, frail arm on his buff, tuxedo clad shoulder. My producer had told me to come, a networking event from hell.
I was dressed in black, as most of the junior crew were. A drab black shirt and pants that couldn't cover my hefty frame well enough. As if it wasn't enough to see him with her, his speech poured salt on the raw edges of my wounds. "Thank you to our fans, our team, our families", he drawled smoothly. "And to all the people behind the scenes who have seen all versions of me and still helped me to walk this path and achieve so much when I was lost. You are all part of my journey and I am forever grateful".
I felt like I had been sharply slapped on my cheek. I had been relegated to the supporting cast in his life, the side character, the background. It seemed to me, that's all I ever was. The supporting character in someone else's life. He looked through the crowd, his gaze fixing on me - a flicker of recognition. A momentary lapse in his nonchalant composure.
I look forward at him as though he was immaterial, as though he was invisible. Because to me in that moment that was what he had become. He had erased my existence from his life. And he did so proudly.
I didn't win anything that night.
But I sure as hell was done losing.
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The studio looked different now that it had nothing to do with him. I had purged all signs of him from the studio. The ones that I could anyway. Gone were the days were I scurried around like a mouse, silent and hesitant to pitch in ideas.
I stayed longer than everyone else. I was building myself. Something I should have done from the beginning. Instead of building up someone else. Learning and absorbing all the skills of the producers and engineers around me. Fine-tuning layered vocals, manipulating sample sounds to fit in with a track. Lacing together vocals with syncopated beats.
I asked. Something I never did before. I let them take a risk on me, trying the controls myself when they offered. I worked on demos on my own and one day when I was busy munching on a veggie sandwich , my boss came in, a wry smile on his face , crooning melodically, "You've got it".
I stared at him confused. Stuttering, "Sss...ir what do you mean"? He went on resolutely as though he had made up his mind, "You got it kid. The gumption and the genius. Drop all the projects you are working on as of today. You will be working for a solo artist, crafting together their title tracks".
I sat there completely mind-blown as he walked away as fluidly as he had come in, just as silently.
I worked on the tracks day and night. The rough work schedule and my disinterest in food making me lose weight and gain skills I never thought I had. I thought I didn't have it in me. But I layered every track, made every decision regarding arrangements- no matter how minute. I could hear a hint of the insertion of one trumpet and the chords of one piano piece and know which part of which track I was in. I was obsessive. It had to be how I envisioned it.
The room was silent the day of the title track recording. "Alright", I said to the awaiting room, all head producers and boss in to hear the recording. "Let's make sure the verses for track 3 are minimal , raw, with low reverb. Pull in the strings, and build the tension . Make sure to make it sharp in terms of enunciation of lyrics because once we break the tension... there will be silence in the track ".
The young soloist frantically noted it down, teaming with fear and wide eyes as I explained how it should progress.
One of the senior producers who wouldn't even have acknowledged me before raised his hand. "Are you certain that such a drop, with silence, wouldn't be too precarious. Don't you think it would lose the interest of listeners"?
This time was not the time I doubted myself. I had slowly stopped doing that as I had crafted these tracks together. "I am sure", I firmly responded. " There are too many ballads-especially pop ballads nowadays with the same over produced noises. Silence occasionally would do the audience some good".
There was a brief overture of silence in the room till another producer sighed.
In the booth, the artist sang the song over the arrangement, and as i sat in the control room--I felt so joyous. Something I hadn't felt in a while. The tracks with the voice sounded honest...truthful... and so beautiful. I let his voice crack because that brought beauty to some tracks. The rawness with the music arrangements enveloping them, even brought tears to a few producers in the room.
When the artist came out of the booth, he fearfully looked at me, "I am so sorry... for my voice cracking. I promise I will do better. Please let me record them again". He looked at me, like I would take away everything he worked for. But I am not that type of person...I don't take people away from their dreams.
I whispered back to him, "We are keeping the tracks as is. If your voice didn't crack, I would feel like you were singing lies. But you can't lie on these tracks... they have to be honest , even if they are painful. Thanks for lending your voice and bringing them to life".
He smiled back at me, his pink bangs fringing his watery, teary eyes. And you know what, I was not at all close to this guy. But I could feel my eyes tear up too. Some bonds are forged differently. We laughed at each other , leaky eyes meeting as the rest of the producers clapped me on the back, exiting the room.
It was the birth of something new.
______________________________________________
The track dropped 2 months later. No heavy marketing circuit. Just a midnight release and accompanying dance performance done by the artist to certain tracks on music bank and other channels.
It was everywhere by that morning. Flooding the radio, in all stores, in clubs, cafes , playing everywhere--even in a few ads and the central track anticipated to be in one long awaited korean drama which had already included it in its trailer .
The title track dominated the charts with its "charming simplicity" and "devastating lyrics and arrangement". Even the most astringent of critics lauded it as a "heart wrenching series of compositions that mimicked the death of love". Artists used it in edits and sang along to it. Even avid indie lovers who tended to harp on mostly overproduced pop songs spelled it out to be " the sound of scratching your soul on glass shards , melancholy and akin to slowly bleeding to death".
Placed in cursive handwriting below the title, in credits was my first name. Embossed in red script on the bottom of the album. Something for once, in its entirety, belonged to me.
The artist, Jimin, blew up overnight as well. He was a part of Jungkook's group and a lesser known member. He had been struggling til now to make an identity for himself, to distinguish himself as he had what some considered " weaker vocals" and only dance skills to show. But with this album, he ascended into the ranks. Showing up on billboard, even getting international acclaim. Invited to perform at the VMAs.
With my production and lyrics, and his innate talent, he beat out Jungkook's solo for the No. 1 spot on the Korean Hot 100- and stayed there for 4 weeks straight.
His fans argued that it was a fluke, a temporary deviation. Nothing to write home about.
But the talents and the machinery of the industry knew better.
Jungkook may have been spectacular, but he lacked depth. Depth and soul that the newcomer had. Singing that sounded like crying... that resounded in the souls of everyone who heard the artist live. And now the soul had someone's name encrypted into it, one that the industry couldn't afford to pretend away any longer.
Headlines ravaged the press, "Rookie member Dethrones Veteran Soloist in Weekly Chart", "Clash of Members due to Superior Skills ", "The Death and Birth of Pop".
All dramatic titles that reached me. I laughed dryly at the soap opera that was being played out in the headlines.
My life sure was changing quickly. I was being fought over...artists wanted me to direct and produce their albums. I had moved out of my apartment into a cozy house that I had always wanted, since I was a little girl. A homey, spacious cottage with a massive garden filled with fruit and flower trees.
My earnings were sky-rocketing and I bought properties to ensure that in case something happened, I still had the means to stay in my new house (that I now never wanted to leave).
At work I felt like I belonged. The other producers listened to my thoughts and took it seriously. I had my hands in a lot of projects. And it was all working out.
I showed up on my first talk show , a panel named "The Sound of Music". It was an entire show talking about female empowerment through music as a medium. The host of the show asked, "You have been behind the scenes for the longest time. Was your success something you expected"?
I pondered the question for a bit. "No, definitely not. But I built it , thinking that the outcome was inevitable . That there is no way I could possibly fail".
And that is how I continued my work. My newfound stability was reflected in my appearance. I had lost some weight from following a healthy lifestyle and my curves that had at one point made me look frumpy, now looked well-proportioned on my frame. No way would I be a model by any means, but my figure suited my frame. I was feeling more active than ever.
But life can't stay perfect like that now, can it? A headline dominated the frame of the news articles, "Idol involved in DUI, severely injured. Can he survive this"?
I stared at the title in bewilderment. Can he? Did he survive? I guess we'll find out.
