SILHOUETTE ( Korean: 실루엣; stylized in all caps ) was a four-member girl group under Poser Records. Meticulously put together by the CEO, Silhouette was, in her definition, the perfect introduction to what the company had to offer. Composed of members Cho Dalmi, Iris Ogawa, Yoo Arin, and Ito Miyori, the group will make their debut on February 3, 2008 with the ep "Miss Popular" but wouldn't break out into the mainstream until their 1st mini album "Kitty, Kitty" later that year.
Their career within the next two years was considered a generational run by the masses. Silhouette quickly became one of the most talked about and favored acts to come out of the late 2000s, their name listed among peers like Girls Generation and AOA for those shaping the current generation. However, the group will take an abrupt turn when it was announced that Arin was removed from the lineup on November 10, 2010 due to a physical altercation with another member that led to a staff member getting injured.
Instead of pushing forward with the now trio as many expected, Poser decided to put Silhouette on a small hiatus as they shifted focus onto solo careers for their strongest members ─ so basically everyone but Miyori.
Dalmi, under the stage name MIMI, debuted first on August 10, 2011 with the mini album "SERPENTINE." She'll go on to make history as one of the longest charting female soloists that year, the tracks MANEATER and SIREN fighting for the #1 spot throughout a consecutive 10 weeks until peaking at #1 and #3 respectfully. She'll accumulate a total of 17 wins over the next 4 weeks and won 2 Best New Female Artists awards, making her the first Poser Records artist to do such. By the end of her run, Mimi became dubbed as "Korea's Siren" and was listed as one of the most memorable idols to debut that year.
Months later, Iris ( now going by DUCHESS ) will debut on March 30, 2012 with her release "DIRTYBLONDE." Unlike Mimi, Duchess was given an EP and only got to promote the title track DIRRRTYGIRL for 3 weeks. Despite running into several issues like getting censored and criticized for her more vulgar lyrics, capped physical copies that hindered her overall sales, and never ranking among the top 3 within South Korea, Duchess still saw massive success with DIRTYBLONDE internationally. She'll peak at #21 on Billboard Hot 100 and perform on the Late Night Show with David Letterman, giving Poser more exposure overseas and eventually releasing an English remix of the song featuring a prominent male rapper. To her surprise, she'll also win Best New Female Artist at the 2012 MAMA Awards where she broke down in tears and thanked everyone who believed in her.
In case you were wondering what Miyori was up to ( you probably weren't ), she was keeping the name Silhouette through her own Youtube channel. There she uploaded covers of their music as well as other artist, answered questions every Friday, and sometimes hung out with the others to let their fans see that they were still close ─ Silhouette wasn't over yet but that didn't mean things were getting better, either.
Mimi and Duchess hated each other. By now, fans had gotten into both of their heads ( mainly Mimi ) that they were above the trio, saying that they were bigger than the program and didn't need "dead weight" holding them down. Duchess tried to remain cordial as they prepared for a comeback but Mimi made things difficult, believing that she had the right to control their sound and look this time around because... she just could. No one told her otherwise. This, alongside the constant bickering and petty jabs eventually boiled over to a point of no return, both soloists now declaring they can't do this anymore.
On November 24, 2012, Poser announced that Silhouette was disbanding. Mimi and Duchess will stay under the company while Miyori left the industry altogether, her life remaining private after making a final video talking fondly of the memories she and the others made together.
Regardless of how they ended, Silhouette left an impression on the industry many can't forget. They, for the longest time, were Poser. Even if Mimi and Duchess hate talking about it, they can't deny the impact their group had early on, how it shaped the company for years for come.
One question still remains: just how will the next Poser girl group do compared to their seniors?
Originally debuting with LOOPiN in 2018 under sub-unit LOOPiN look(a)like, Wanee started off her Idol career presenting as a male Idol. After LOOPiN's first and final world tour VERTiGO came to an end in July 2026, Wanee took a undeterminated health hiatus, deleting social media and having her Artist Page at the Rare Rythmn website temporarily removed. Following LOOPiN's disbandment in September 13th, 2027, the singer publicly came out as a transgender woman.
Wanee saw a redebut still under Rare Rythmn in mid 2028 with digital single what's a girl to do?
BIRTH NAME: Kim Haegon. GIVEN NAME: Kim Wanee. BIRTHDATE: 03.22.01. PRONOUNS: she/her. PROFESSION: Idol. POSITIONS: vocalist, lead dancer, maknae. ETHNICITY: Korean. NATIONALITY: South Korean (Seoul natural.) FACE CLAIM: Chae Ryujin. She's intuitive, dependent, devoted, stubborn.
warnings: slut-shaming, objectification, allusions to sexual abuse.
Haha, well! You know how girls are. Girls in their tight dresses or stockings or mini skirts or stilettos. Our girl isn't like that. She's got a one way ticket to seduction, sure, but she's not like that! She's different. Now are the days of raspberries and cream and cotton and roses, wouldn't you agree? Not that stuff you see on TV, those wriggling little worms. She's a princess in a castle. Innocence in promiscuity. Our girl is different from the other girls. Full of foam and bubbles and bread and frosted donuts.
Still not sold on her? Still doubt her? Still watching her with disdain? Oh, you poor thing. Poor, poor soul. Our girl can help with that. I must help you understand. She's so itty-bitty, you could just eat her up! Doesn't that make you feel good inside? Everyone wants a girl they can own. Why wouldn't you want her?
Maybe you're too good. Okay, okay, I got it. But she likes it, all right? Performing is her life. The thrill is completely undeniable. She'd rather die than forfeit a night of cameras and eyes. Eyes all on her as soon as the curtain rises. A girl with that much power over the audience is dangerous. For her to be held in the wrong arms, well… that wouldn't be so good. That's why you need her. You need this girl.
But oh, silly me, you haven't even seen her in action yet! My apologies. All this talk just to sell a product that might be broken. I assure you, she's not, but, well. You know. This business is hard on other girls. Not this girl, no, I'm just making a point. My time with this girl is over, but she's still valuable. See, see! Don't you see the ribbons wound around her ankles? The award-winning smile she flashes to the crowd? Look at her dance! That smile! As beautiful as an angel. Or a doll. What about the beauty of a mother's comforting grin? Angel-doll-mother? So many possibilities. She can be anything you want her to be, but an angel is so close to heaven it could make anyone weep.
Nobody can paint this picture. A unique specimen like her dare not be recreated in something so futile as pixels on a screen. You want the real thing, I know you do. Others do, too. Think about the revenue. Think about being the head of a grand table. Think about the empire you could construct. Give her the tools and she could build it for you. Our training regimen is strict, you know. She's got so many skills because of us. Hey, she could teach your girls a thing or two! Transaction to a trade. How incredible, huh? How one thing turns into something else? Perhaps it was always another thing masquerading as other things?
Just kidding. Our girl wears her heart on her sleeve. She is so happy all the time. So honest! You can ask her to change that, too, except she might forget after a while. Yes, a singular drawback. Don't back out now. Remember, anything you want her to be, she can be that. She won't even fight back when you remind her! Not a peep from her mouth! Quite handy, right? I made sure to really press that into her. Our girl is so smart. Girl of stardust and light and love and song.
Time's up! Wow, didn't it just fly by? You know what they say! Haha, yes. Oh, I'm so glad you're taking our girl under your wing. I know you'll take good care of her. She can take good care of you, too, if you let her. I'll still need compensation for my time, though. No, no, just mine. You'll never need to pay for service from our girl again.
i rly dont wanna off-screen c-ade bec i still love them.... but Bruhhh im so like very obviously not raring to do anything w them either... they were never really gonna last longer than J4U i like their last hurrah being the fact they get to hold onto the longest-running crown (for now) so i think at most they squeeze out two more albums before they have to give up and go their own ways. i do have ideas for what they’d do after though which is why i wanna get back into this again!!!!!! im feeling inspired a bit probably!!!!!!
plan of action would probably be 🤓
revamp #Gorogjus
big retrospective post for them
Where Will They Go....
glowstixx
they need rewrites for stuff too but idk if i’ll do it or js delete... we will see 😂✌️ ALSO HELLO OOMFVILLE!!!!!!! Sorry sorry omg animanga has taken back over my life... @junjiie is where i am usually.....
WWW.ASTER-ISM.COM .. Q-A : DEBATING THE EXISTENCE OF ██ ──── 2023
✮⋆˙ USER 8921 ──── Q: quick question for confirmation! did ██ really exist? was he really a member of the group? every source i try to find comes up as empty or suddenly disappears right after i find it. any and all help is appreciated!
tread carefully see responses down below…
✮⋆˙ user 1117 ── A: in my opinion.. no. i don’t really believe that pair went through all the hard work of creating a group based on that book just to remove a guy who wasn’t even there for a whole six months.
⤿ ✮⋆˙ user 2284 ── R: but i thought i read an article once about how he got booted because he was verbally abusing members? maybe i just have a shitty memory..
✮⋆˙ user 0295 ── A: i swear i’m being gaslit.. i remember ██ so well (=｀.´ =) he was well known for having a terrible attitude in every interview and the members notoriously did not get along with him
⤿ ✮⋆˙ user 8821 ── R: no no i remember him too!! my sister was a pre-debut fan she downloaded some of his old trainee videos i swear to god╭( ๐ _๐)╮she showed them to me and he was REAL!!
⤿ ✮⋆˙ user 0295 ── R: thank you for validating me!! i can’t tell you how much this topic has frustrated me :(
✮⋆˙ user 4278 ── A: i think certain people are experiencing something like mass hysteria.. the members have never heard of this man in their lives Σ(-᷅_-᷄๑) they are clearly beginning to find it weird. this thread is pointless.
✮⋆˙ user 0006 ── A: ██ was probably a marketing tactic to farm sympathy ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ we all know the members were not that adored by most public outlets.. the whole thing made them seem human
⤿ ✮⋆˙ user 4102 ── R: yeah i thought it was avenue for them to explain why neve came back so suddenly after leaving the lineup right before debut. they brought back a guy people liked in place of a guy people despised.
✮⋆˙ user 1160 ── A: this might seem like a stretch but i think they killed him
⤿ ✮⋆˙ user 4278 ── R: yeah no. close your laptop and get some sleep.
✮⋆˙ user 9012 ── A: ██ doesn’t exist i don’t think, but the sources disappearing is weird, maybe something up with your computer?
✮⋆˙ user 2704 ── A: i swear this conversation comes up every comeback （>﹏<）who cares about ██ we have a full album coming in a couple weeks!!
✮⋆˙ user 6152 ── A: you could probably find some untouched sources over at the blog scaelum. they basically created a cork board full of information over there, don’t go telling people on reddit though.
the thread ends here. you should not pursue this further.
STRANGFRUiT was an eight piece coed group under the now defunct YELLOW. Known for their quirky sound and an aesthetic fans best describe as weird and wet, the first half of Strangefruit debuted in 2006 with the release of the full album, FiSH MARKET. From there, their reputation would grow, emphasized by limited releases, hyper exposure, and no public information of the members—until after disbandment.
FiSH MARKET is the defining Strangefruit album as well as the lead track, DAVY JONES' LOCKER. The music video went viral overnight thanks to the video game style aesthetic, the loose story involving members working as fisherman at an odd mill, and the iconic montage of headless fish dancing the choreography with the members. As of today, the reuploaded music video sits at 150 million views. Promotions for the album lasted months, a sneaky way to hide the two year gap before their next release. Fans could find members at fish markets throughout the country, working alongside vendors and performing which led to karaoke sessions with attendees. The unconventional promotion tactics no doubt aided in their 2006 Digital Popularity Award as well as New Group of the Year.
Throughout 2007, the members were pushed heavily to the public through variety shows, vlogs, and interviews. Their vlog series, LiViNG STRANGE introduced new members, Ian and Yedam.
The last two members, Fox and Newni Moon, wouldn’t be introduced till 2008 with the release of their second full album, GOOD MiNCE. The title track, OOPS, would gain similar popularity to their debut. The MV faced slight criticism due to scenes of members being chopped up, mushed to paste, and packaged into bright pink containers. The same containers were inclusions in special albums and, later, YELLOW. sold them as mini cakes on their website. At pop up shops along the street, fans could buy the cakes directly from the members. Stages from this era are some of the most memorable. From skate rinks to malls to rooftops to someone’s basement, YELLOW. was hell bent on making Strangefruit go anywhere and everywhere.
Good Mince was given a Daesang for Album of the Year and Strangefruit, crowned Group of the Year.
In 2009, they were invited as guests to the concert of the Japanese soloist now known as The Witch. This helped gain popularity amongst Japanese audiences. The same year they released three Japanese singles: Donut Hole, Doll Message, and Candy Crush. Much of 2010 and 2011 was dedicated to touring. Throughout the touring season, the members were frequently seen unaccompanied. A vlog featuring Strangefruit doing their own makeup and hair upset fans—didn’t they have staff?
With questions about the legitimacy of YELLOW. surfacing, red herrIng was released in 2012. not her but her had a tamer music video then most were used to, but there was lots of unsettling shots: empty buildings, moss on the walls, a forest with chairs scattered around, a big white cake topped with only the groom—all saturated by the bright colorful filter of Strangefruit.
After a sweep at Mama: radio silence. Much of Strangefruit’s content was moved or deleted and the company site went down.
In 2015, Newni Moon—real name Dohui Park— during a VLIVE announcing her solo debut, admitted the group quietly disbanded in 2014. They were told of their disbandment via a sticky note placed on their dorm door. Throughout the live, she talked about her time with YELLOW. and Strangefruit:
"It was really hard to make friends or even talk to members. Everyone only ever seemed to value Yedam's opinion. I'd have dinner by myself, I'd see movies by myself, I'd even go to events by myself while the others piled up in one car laughing—maybe even at me. I felt a lot like Mona did, struggling to get my foot in what was shaping out to be an established friend group that didn't want me in it. Thinking about it now, they were really .. weird. I don't know. I just remember—I guess it doesn't matter now." ──── Dohui Park, Vlive 020615
Alongside Dohui's Vlive, clips of an interview Mona did resurfaced. She admitted to feeling left out at times and struggling in her childhood due to how lonely she felt However, fans of Strangefruit—ever the detectives—were quick to find out Mona's interview was done prior to her joining the group. Though Dohui never mentioned the interview, fans conflated the two and grew upset that Dohui would try to tarnish her member's reputations. They would comb through the remaining content of Strangefruit, easily finding touching moments among the group that disproved Dohui's claims of clique behavior. With Dohui’s debut right around the corner, it felt like an attempt to boost her career with a childish scandal. Outside of the fandom, thanks to said fandom's efforts, Dohui’s Vlive didn’t gain any traction and she later deleted the live entirely.
Afer their disbandment, a few members have seen success in other avenues: Ryujin debuted as actor in Reply 1988 and, since, has been lauded as a natural talent in the industry while Gawon worked as a freelance producer. Yedam and Ian were mostly off grid, occasionally updating fans on social media. Sweetest announced her engagement to Kaeul Ma, the first son of the Ma family and current ceo of the media empire, The Last Living Giant. Mona was hired by the entertainment label, Another Named, as a vocal coach—a choice that upset fans hoping for a solo debut given her popularity, especially amongst overseas fans.
In 2023, Ryujin, Gawon, and Ian debuted as members of S*x on the rocks promoting alongside Sweetest and Yedam. Dohui is still active as an indie soloist after a falling out with her company. Fox remains the only member unaccounted for.
WHILE fans have been waiting eagerly for news of music from the newly-solo Morning since his less-than-amicable departure from Glorydaze last year, it seems he'd rather look towards new ventures. Earlier today, rumours spread that the singer, born Ahn Migum, had purchased an Itaewon nightclub; soon followed by documented proof. Idols dabbling in real-estate is nothing new, but the building in question is what's raising eyebrows. The club, which by all accounts has cycled through several names and owners in the past five years or so, was best known in the early 2010s as FLASH, and was infamous for losing it's liscence and closing it's doors in 2015, having been the backdrop to Ahn's very own underage drinking scandal. [EXCERPT FROM ONLINE TABLOID, PUBLISHED MAY 2023]
STARRING: Cory Oh.
FEATURING: Ahn Migum.
WORD COUNT: 1k.
CW: Vague allusions to substance abuse issues.
SUMMARY: What's so bad about Pure Heroine?
Even though it’s not a real statue, it makes Cory uncomfortable. He cranes his neck as he stares up at his own face, about two feet higher than his own and devoid of colour. It’s only painted to look like marble, but someone had still been paid to etch his face into something, and whenever he imagines the brief that RNN must have sent out, a shiver goes down his back. He’d felt like this when he’d seen it in the video he’d done for his song with the others, but it feels even worse to be confronted with it in the wild. He wants to tear it down and smash its head and proclaim, loudly enough for all of Itaewon to hear, that he doesn’t think he’s important.
It doesn’t surprise him that Migum kept his own, and it’s only slightly less of a shock that he’d kept Cory, Paris and Mimi’s. What he can’t wrap his head around is where.
“What was that lyric again?” Cory asks, as he gazes upon the ridiculous ‘stone’ idols. You can tell who they’re supposed to be, at least. They’re well made; not to mention impressive in stature for as much as they were mostly styrofoam.
“You’re so fucking predictable,” Migum scoffs. “I literally said, when Cola sees this he’s gonna quote Lorde.”
“Doesn’t it feel a little pig-headed to erect statues of ourselves in a nightclub?” Cory bats back. Migum quirks the eyebrow that isn’t pierced, which Cory thinks is weird because he’d think he’d be more aware of the other one.
“Well, nobody’s ever accused me of modesty before, so…” He offers a shrug and a grin. “Besides, remember back in the day they had a big oil painting of L.O.V hung up behind the DJ booth? L.O.V never even played here. We made this place, we deserve it. And nobody erected them, they’re just, y’know… Ones we had.”
Cory doesn’t really have a response for that other than that he thinks the fact that L.O.V had never stepped foot in Flash was the only reason that that painting was acceptable. Fortunately, Migum doesn’t wait for a response and sets off down the stairs into the empty nightclub, leaving Cory once more to gaze at the four statues lining the back of the front room. One lit in blue, one in purple, then pink, and red. It’s not just the idea of statues that doesn’t sit well with him. There are only four of them.
“Y’know,” Cory says as he enters the main room. Migum is leaning against a booth, thumbs flying across his screen. They don’t stop until he’s hit send, not even as his eyeline diverts itself up to meet Cory. Cory doesn’t know what it feels like to have such confidence that you can send a text off like it’s nothing. He has to reread it a thousand times. “Someone’s missing.”
Migum’s face drops, immediately settling into an expression of very clear bemusement. “Cause he wasn’t in the music video I got the statues from. I’m not gonna pay for one.” He says, voice flat.
“Yeah, but the only reason he’s not on that song with us is because we didn’t invite him.” Cory points out. “When you add everything together, it looks a little bad. It’ll look that way to, like… fans, too, I mean, and especially to people who don’t like us.”
“Okay, then you can be the one to ask JT to pose for a statue.” Migum dismisses, which makes Cory understand that he’s not going to get his point, which is that there doesn’t need to be any statues of anybody in the entrance of any nightclub. “I feel like you were kidding, but he actually would start talking about the perils of deifying celebrities or whatever. He literally doesn’t want to be famous.”
“He’s still associated with this place as much as we are. He’s gonna think it’s a slight,” Cory chirps. He knows Migum’s brain; someone made something big and cool and shiny with his face on it and he wants to show it to as many people as possible. But Je t’aime seems to live for finding reasons to feel excluded.
“Oh no, is he gonna be mad at me?” Migum exhales in an overblown faux shaky tone. ”What do you think he’ll do to me? Ignore me for a couple of weeks? Or say something to Paris behind my back?”
“If you don’t care, then take all the blame yourself,” Is all Cory has to say. He couldn’t get involved even if he wanted to. It’s impossible for the pair of them to hold a conversation these days, and If he fights with Je t’aime, Brooklyn’s going to take it upon himself to play mediator again. He can’t think of a worse way to kick off the summer.
“Yeah. Story of my life,” Migum scoffs, as if he’s not the only one to have really gotten away scott-free. As if he’s not the only one who could ever dream of pulling a stunt like buying this place and rebranding it back to how it was, reminding everyone of the one thing Cory and the girls have worked their asses off trying to make them forget. “By the way, you can’t be referencing Pure Heroine in 2023. It’s dated. You used to be cool, Coke.”
“Whatever, I haven’t had time to develop many new interests.” Cory tuts out, scripted dialogue for conversations about how he’s old now. He drops into the seat of the booth. It feels weird. “I sorta missed the last ten years.”
“Ten.” Migum repeats, dumbly. “That’s the first time I thought about the fact it’s been ten years. That means it’s been ten years since we met, too.”
Cory hadn’t thought much about that, either. For a second, he tries to think about those days, but it’s hard to isolate any of them anymore. They’d happened so quickly and he’d been fully present for so little of it. It had been fun, but that’s where he has to leave it. Thinking too much about that kind of fun isn’t a good idea, and it’s already kind of stupid just to be here at all. Even in the day, even when he’s just with Migum, who he trusts to beat the shit out of him if he even looks towards the bar. He feels a pit in his stomach like when he misses someone terribly, and clears his throat, forcing himself out of his head and back to his friend. “And look where we still are.” He snorts weakly, gesturing to Flash around him. It’s always a little unsettling, but home always has been.
Migum hums. “You know, Cola, we’ve done pretty well, all things considered.”
“Yeah,” He says, because Migum certainly has. Cory bites at the inside of his cheek and tries not to think about the meeting Peridot has with RNN next week, or the fact it’s all about to be over. “I suppose so.”
IN WHICH … Eunice’s worlds collide.
FEATURING … Eunice Yoon, Andrew Han, Mingeun Yoon
WORD COUNT … 3.6k
Eunice was in a band for all of almost one week when she forgot to silence her phone before a studio practice. Her ringtone—one of the default Apple ones—blared through the small space.
“Sorry,” she said as their practice ground to a halt, hurrying to lift her guitar over her head and pass it to Andrew, who held out his hand without saying anything.
She rushed over to the small pile of their belongings by the door, her cheeks burning with embarrassment, digging through her purse until she found the offending object. She silenced it without looking at the caller ID. It was probably a spam call anyway. Hardly anyone ever called her.
She took her guitar back, settled her left hand against its frets, and tried to remember exactly where in the song they were.
“Let’s start from the top,” Andrew said, and Eunice strained to catch even the slightest hint of irritation or anger.
They made it as far as the first chorus before Andrew’s phone lit up. It was silent, but it lay flat on the ground, illuminating the dirt and grime on the side of Nick’s backpack. Eunice was the first to notice, her pick faltering in a mistake she knew they all heard. She tried not to grimace and kept playing.
They finished the song, and moved on to the next one. Her gaze was almost always fixed on Andrew’s phone. The screen would go dark for no more than thirty seconds—the length of a chorus—before lighting up with some other notification.
“You should answer that,” Olivia said at the end of the song.
Andrew fit his microphone back in the stand. “This is embarrassing,” he said, but he stepped off the stage and answered his phone.
Eunice stretched her fingers, grateful for the break. Studio time was expensive, and so they always tried to play straight through their sessions. It was good practice for their future shows, and Eunice would rather have her fingers cramp now than on a stage.
She didn’t think much of Andrew’s call, sidling closer to Olivia, until he said, “I didn’t know she was your sister.” In Korean.
Her head snapped up towards him, like a sleeper agent suddenly activated after so many dormant years. She didn’t know Andrew spoke Korean. He didn’t seem like the type, and since she was fairly Westernized herself, she hadn’t bothered to ask.
“What’s going on with him?” she heard Nick mutter from the back of the room.
“Fine. How was I supposed to know? Should I give her the phone?” Andrew, in English again.
Maybe Eunice dreamed it. Maybe she spent too much time practicing and was having language hallucinations, but Andrew was beckoning her over, and so she placed her guitar flat on the ground and stepped down off the practice stage.
He held out his phone. “It’s your brother.”
Eunice only had one brother. Frowning, she took it, saw the contact name Mingeun Yoon front and center on the screen, and lifted it to her ear. “Oppa?”
“Why are you in Andrew’s fucking band?” Mingeun demanded.
“I don’t understand,” she said, turning her back on the rest of the room. “How do you know him? Why does he have your number?”
She was increasingly cognizant of the fact that Andrew could understand her half of the conversation.
“Of course he didn’t tell you.” Mingeun sounded almost amused. It was a little scary, but Eunice wasn’t going to tell him that. “When did you learn to play the guitar? I didn’t know you were interested in music.”
“That’s none of your business,” she hissed into the phone. “Tell me how you know Andrew, and I’ll tell you why I joined his band.”
She could feel the eyes of the other band members on her back, and hear the muted tones of their indistinct conversation.
“We were in the same idol group,” her brother said, and as soon as he finished his sentence, she hung up the phone.
She would deal with Mingeun later. All she ever wanted was something that was her own, and once she finally embraced something she truly enjoyed, it was only natural that her brother would interrupt to ruin it all. Nick’s offer had sounded too good to be true, and it was.
Eunice could never have any interests related to music, because that was Mingeun’s domain, and their mother had always been so proud of his trainee status and later his idol status. She was too young to remember the first few years after he was scouted for herself, the years where he’d spend summers in Korea with their aunt and uncle. Her mother spoke about it often enough for Eunice to pretend to remember, about how successful he was at such a young age with such a clear vision for his future.
She marched up to Andrew and dropped his phone into his hand. She looked him in the eye—almost craning her neck—and shoved all thoughts of Fable from her mind. “Let’s practice.”
As their practice drew to a close, Eunice tried to escape the room as quickly as possible. She cleaned up as fast as she possibly could, all of her wires impossibly tangled into one giant knot that she would regret by their next practice. There was more to this complicated truth she wanted to drag out of either Mingeun or Andrew. Not Mingeun, she decided, picking up her bag and blocking his number. He would want to know too much about her, what she was doing and if she was still in school and how she learned to play the guitar.
She said a few terse goodbyes—it was the middle of the week, and Nick had to work tomorrow, which was the only reason the four of them wouldn’t spend another few hours together in some forced team building activities—and left without much fanfare.
She heard footsteps immediately in her wake, and could guess who they belonged to. She didn’t turn around, but asked to the nighttime air, “Why didn’t you say you were in Fable?”
The denizens of New York City had seen stranger things than a young woman carrying a guitar case speaking to herself.
“It wasn’t important,” Andrew said from her right, having caught up to her easily. He was about a foot taller than her, and seemed to only have to take one step for every two of hers. “He never mentioned me?”
“Why would we talk about you?” Eunice had never been interested in Mingeun’s idol group, and there were too many of them to keep track of. Her brother was controversial enough on his own, and it was enough for her to try to keep up with him. She didn’t talk to Mingeun about most things, anyway. It was only when the two of them or their other family members happened to be in the same city when they’d finally interact.
“You said you were from Seattle.”
“I lied. It’s easier that way.” They were almost at the subway station. She hoped Andrew lived in the opposite direction on a completely different line.
“That sounds like something Mingeun would say.”
Eunice stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. More than one person swore at her, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Or move. She felt rooted to the spot, paralyzed with anger.
“Don't compare me to him. I don't know what kind of relationship you had with him, but I'm not interested in being some kind of surrogate Mingeun.”
“I never said you were.” Andrew was calm. Too calm. “You aren’t that much like him. He doesn’t let people in easily.”
She couldn’t decide if she wanted to hear more about her brother from him or not. She liked Andrew. He was kind, skilled, and only a little pretentious. She had a difficult time picturing Mingeun getting along with him, but it wasn’t as if she knew her own brother all that well.
Eunice gripped her guitar case tighter and forced her legs to move again. She managed to make it into the subway station before Andrew spoke again.
“Do you want to quit?” he asked. “If you do, I understand. I know we have a contract, but I’m sure Kay can find you a way out if you want it.”
She was beginning to think he took her for an idiot, or at the very least, someone who needed to be coddled. There was so much she couldn't tell him, so she didn't. Like how soon after she had been invited to join, she had spoken to Kay on her own and told her she would need the label to sponsor a work visa for her after she graduated to be able to stay in the country. Kay had bitched about it, but more along the lines of why nothing could be easy with Andrew. Eunice was still here, and she didn't intend to leave.
“No,” she said, trying her best to imbue a single word with as much derision as possible. It was a stupid suggestion, and she wanted him to know that.
She tapped her phone against the scanner and pushed her way through the turnstile.
Andrew followed her all the way to her platform. She hoped they weren't neighbors.
“I'll be fine,” she said brusquely. “I don't want to leave. I just need some time to think about this.”
“Sure,” he said. “As much time as you need.”
She peered down the tracks, trying to spot the lights of an incoming train.
“Is this also your train?” Eunice asked.
He shook his head. “I live on the Upper West Side,” he said, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
That night, Eunice lay in bed and did a Google search for Andrew Han. She probably should have done it long ago, when Nick first introduced them, just to make sure she wasn't about to be kidnapped or scammed. She read his Wikipedia article, which was short and didn’t say much. She couldn’t read his Namuwiki article, so she didn’t. She scrolled through his Instagram, which should have been a hint all along, given that he had almost four million followers. He wasn’t a frequent poster, and it wasn’t long before she reached the point at which Fable must have disbanded, and she saw him and Mingeun in the same picture, at opposite ends of their group.
She stared at the photo for a long time, longer than she'd like to admit. Then she swiped through the rest of the pictures in the post, snapshots of Andrew and Mingeun and their group members sharing meals or taking group selfies in front of the mirror of a dance studio. There was more where that came from the further back she scrolled.
Eventually, Eunice found her way to a music video from—she checked the video description—six years ago. It was from the time when Mingeun had taken a break and returned home, only for him to spend much of his time in Minah’s apartment. Eunice was never invited to Minah's apartment. Then he used their dad's credit card to buy a plane ticket back to Korea, and Eunice was left the sole witness and audience to their mom's tirades.
She stared at Andrew on her phone screen, noticeably younger and maybe happier. Or he was a good actor. The song did nothing for her—quiet and tinny from her phone's speaker. Eunice always thought their concept was cheesy—history lessons with no discernable audience. Surely their domestic fans had no need to take instructions from some idols.
She sorted their YouTube channel by popularity and skipped everything that resembled a music video or a song. There was so much to see—hours and hours of videos of what might have been every second of Fable's career. She had always known that it existed, but she had never been tempted to seek it out. She didn't talk about Mingeun or to Mingeun, and that meant she had no idea what being a kpop idol entailed.
That was when she stumbled on a video titled, “In Full Bloom.” It was forty-five minutes and featured Andrew’s face in the center of the thumbnail. She checked the time. She had class tomorrow, and watching an almost hour long video about her new band member was perhaps not the best decision she had ever made. She clicked play.
It was aboit the making of Fable’s second album, which seemed to be about pears. She wasn't going to judge. She watched Andrew discuss the first song, about the experience of being ghosted. That made Eunice almost snort with laughter, because she was mostly certain that men like Andrew Han did not get ghosted. He was too good at everything.
She watched his easy banter with his old group members like a hawk. Would this happen to her too someday, the seemingly intimate moments of late night practices and recording sessions immortalized forever in a YouTube video? The subtitles called him Yejun, but the people called him Andrew in a casual and personal way. He seemed so confident and capable, even when presenting the album to a man that must have been his boss. Andrew had done the same thing to Eunice right before she accepted the offer, using PowerPoint to introduce him and Olivia and Nick and discuss his plans for their first album. Old habits died hard, it seemed.
She skipped the rest of the video in favor of a fan compilation of “minjun moments that give me life.” It was a poor decision in her night of poor decisions. She saw Andrew practically read Mingeun's mind, covertly nudging him in one direction or another before he said something stupid. She watched them lower their voices in group conversations and speak in a mangled, bastardized combination of English and French while the Korean subtitles struggled to catch up.
It was all too intimate. It felt like she didn’t know the people on her phone screen, and one of them was her own brother. Eunice tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach, the one that accompanied the realization that there were so many people who might know her brother better than she did. One of them was probably Andrew, and she had no idea what to make of that.
She swallowed down her nausea and fell asleep with a video still playing, resolving to speak with Mingeun tomorrow.
Tomorrow came and went, as did the next tomorrow and the one after that, and soon Eunice began to feel like Macbeth.
“That’s enough for today,” Andrew said a little more than halfway through one of their private lessons. They had to have these because Eunice was already behind and trying desperately not to fall farther behind.
She looked at the time. “I have half an hour until my next class.”
Andrew's mouth was set in a grim line. “We have half an hour to talk to Mingeun. He's at the coffee shop across the street.”
Eunice started, her guitar case almost slipping from her hands. “He's here?”
“Apparently he hitched a ride with our ex-labelmates. Long story.” He didn’t look particularly thrilled by this development.
They finished cleaning up in silence, and Eunice made sure to prop the door open as they left. Practice rooms at her school were a hot commodity, and she wasn’t even studying music. It was free, and that was why she liked it.
She also liked the independent coffee shop across the street, and the fact that it wasn’t a Starbucks. It would be a tragedy if she liked it less in the future because of Mingeun. She took a deep breath to steady herself, and pushed open the door.
She spotted him immediately. Mingeun sat alone at a table for four, earbuds snaking from his phone to his ears. An iced coffee sat, three-quarters full, in front of him, and a permanent scowl etched itself on his forehead.
“I’ll get us something to drink,” Andrew said, before disappearing and leaving Eunice alone.
She sat down across from Mingeun and watched as he took his earbuds out. She wasn’t going to speak first. He was supposed to be more of an adult than she was.
“Why are you doing this?” he finally asked. Clearly, “this” was something he didn’t understand.
Eunice stared down at the table. “Because I wanted to try it,” she said softly. She had no desire to tell him the entire story.
“You wanted to learn how to play the guitar and you wanted to join Andrew’s band.”
“I guess so,” she said with a shrug.
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“How did you meet him?” Mingeun finally asked.
“He’s friends with my boss.”
“You’re friendly with your boss? That sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
She shrugged again, and a matcha latte appeared at her elbow.
"It looks like everything is going well," Andrew's voice said from above her. "You don't need me here."
Mingeun stood and grabbed Andrew by the wrist so quickly Eunice barely comprehended it. His chair screeched back with an awful, ugly sound. "I'm supposed to be the one who always tries to run. Sit down."
Eunice did her best not to stare as Andrew obeyed him. He took the seat next to Mingeun, and placed a brown paper bag in the middle of the table. “If you want to eat something.”
Mingeun sat and pulled the bag toward himself and peered inside. "You were going to eat all of this yourself?"
"It isn't that much. A croissant is not going to kill you," Andrew said.
Mingeun scowled, leaned back in his seat, and flicked the bag over to Eunice. "I'm not hungry."
She was. She used the napkin in the bag to pull out one of the two croissants. And if she was eating, she didn't have to talk.
"Eunice was going to speak with you," Andrew said. "You didn't have to come all the way to New York."
Eunice was not going to speak with him, but she thought the same. There was once an ocean and almost the entire North American continent between them, and now there was nothing but the plastic table of a college neighborhood coffee shop.
“I decided it might be a good time to visit my baby sister and one of my good friends.”
“And TMT is performing in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade next week,” Andrew said, a sentence that Eunice could only partially comprehend.
Mingeun nodded, poking at the ice in his cup with his straw. “That’s happening too.”
She had a hard time believing him. “The last time you were supposed to visit me, you ditched me right before dinner with Mom.”
That was a few years ago, during her undergrad and one of Fable’s world tours. She had been less than thrilled at the prospect of dinner with their mother, but comforted by the thought that Mingeun would be there with her. Then he hadn’t shown up, and she had to explain to the restaurant through her mortification that there would only be two people dining that evening despite their reservation for three. The only communication either of them received from Mingeun that night was a vague text saying that something had come up and he couldn’t make it. Which was obvious, when he wasn’t at the restaurant.
Mingeun winced. “I forgot about that.” He turned to Andrew. “How did you just happen to recruit my sister?”
“We talked about this already,” Andrew said. “I met her through a friend, and then I texted you, and you basically told me Eunice is a common name and I shouldn’t worry about it.”
Eunice chewed her croissant. “It is a common name,” she agreed. She knew another Eunice in high school, also the daughter of Korean immigrants, and two more in her various college classes.
“I don’t know why this matters so much,” she continued. She told Andrew she needed some time to think about it, and now she had thought about it, and she had come to the conclusion that it didn’t really matter and her brother might be in the process of becoming their parents. He had his own life in a different country, a world away from what Eunice wanted to do.
And then—to Mingeun—”You didn’t know what I was doing until I started doing things w I was doing or what I was interested in until Andrew happened to be part of it. You don’t care about us because of me. You care about us because of him,” she said, voicing her thoughts as they occurred to her. Maybe the Minjun shippers were correct, and the two of them had some unfathomably deep bond no mere mortal could comprehend.
The weight of her accusation hung heavy in the air. Andrew spoke first. “I think she’s right,” he said, like Eunice wasn’t even there. “You care about us in relation to one another, not individually.”
That wasn’t what she said, but she let it slide. She thought Andrew meant well.
Mingeun glared at her, his gaze cold and unsettling. Eunice looked away first.
“Fine,” he said finally. “If that’s what you think. I still think it’s weird.”
He stood abruptly, his drink still half full, clearly signaling an end to the conversation. That worked for Eunice, because she had a class to get to soon.
“You won’t tell Mom, right?” she asked suddenly.
“That you decided to join my former group member’s band? No. She’d make it my fault, somehow. You can tell her yourself,” Mingeun said.
He pointed to Andrew with his drink. “And if you do anything else weird, I’ll sic Haksu-hyung on you.”
timestamp, pt. i. april 29, 2018 @ caraluna’s restroom.
timestamp, pt. ii. march 2, 2025 @ before the oscars.
word count. 3065 words.
trigger warnings. subtle mention of physical, mental abuse, blood (non-graphic, nosebleed), emotional trauma, guilt and self blame, emotional dependency.
[...] silk and praise cannot soften what was carried forward.
pt. i.
The restroom is quiet.
In the wrong way.
Yaoyao sits on the edge of the closed toilet lid, hands folded uselessly on her lap, shoulders sloped inward as if her body was trying to apologize for existing. Blood keeps coming from her bruised nose— not fast, nor dramatic anymore, but it was enough to stain everything.
It slips over trembling lips, dots the porcelain beneath, and darkens the towel Poppy is pressing gently to her face.
Poppy doesn’t speak.
She moves like someone underwater— careful, slow, and her hands automatic rather than intentional. She rinses the bloodied cloth, folds it, then presses it again.
Her fingers are warm, reverent even, but there is a distance to her. A hollow quiet that wasn’t there before. It isn't cruelty. It isn't even anger.
It is something worse. The fragile numbness of shock.
She doesn’t look at Yaoyao for a very long time, and when she does, usually just to instruct her to move, it feels like being seen through glass.
From the other room, voices bleed through the walls in fractured syllables. Raised and muffled. There’s a crash, then nothing.
It’s the sound of a world rearranging itself.
Yaoyao flinches at every noise. Poppy doesn’t react at all.
Suddenly, the blonde feels devastatingly young. Seventeen and small and pathetic and terrified and cornered by her own consequences.
Guilt settles in her chest like a second heart: heavy, unrelenting, and overwhelming. She thinks of Kaia's troubled eyes, of Nari’s demanding presence, of the way everything spiraled because she chose— dared to choose herself.
Only because she hadn’t thought of them.
The weight of it presses down on her chest— ribcage, heart, and all, until breathing feels optional.
Poppy finally lifts her gaze.
Her eyes are sharp, holding something unreadable within them. Fear, maybe, or calculation, or the quiet horror of realization.
When she speaks, it is barely a sound at all.
“Did you?”
Two words. No accusation. No comfort. Just the question, naked and trembling between them.
Yaoyao’s breath stutters.
The truth rushes forward, sharp and unwieldy.
Yes, I did. Yes, I broke our promise. Yes, I lit the match.
But truth is never a single thing.
It splinters. It bends. And Yaoyao has learned, too early and too well, how to live in the spaces between its shapes.
Liar is too simple of a word, and liar implies intent. Survivor fits closer, though even that feels borrowed.
Being a child is the truest thing she knows how to be.
“Poppy, I didn't think this would happen,” she whispers, and it is honest in the way that matters. Tears stream down bruised cheeks before she can stop them. “I just… I couldn't keep pretending anymore. you— you get me, right?” Her voice folds in on itself. “I thought if someone knew— other than us, Vivi, him— it would stop. That she would stop. I thought I was being helpful, I–I swear...”
Poppy listens. She doesn’t interrupt.
Her face remains unreadable, and that scares Yaoyao more than anything else.
It isn’t because she thinks Poppy doesn’t believe her.
It’s worse than that.
Poppy has always been the one who understands without asking, who feels without needing things spelled out.
Poppy thinks. Poppy connects dots quietly and gently, until they form a shape you can’t unsee. That stillness on her face isn’t anger… it’s comprehension slowly settling in.
And Yaoyao realizes, with a hollow drop in her chest, that Poppy is seeing all of it.
Not just the fear. Not just the bruises.
But the choice.
“I didn't name her,” Yaoyao adds, desperate now, words and tears spilling faster. “I swear. I didn't say who. They, the people who found the pictures— they came to that conclusion themselves. I— I was protecting me—”
The slip makes her flinch.
“—us,” she corrects, quickly, too quickly, like patching a crack before anyone notices the fault line.
There is a pause. A fragile, terrifying pause.
Poppy’s brows knit, just slightly.
Not in accusation. In thought.
“…Us?” she echoes, quietly.
The word lands wrong.
Yaoyao’s breath stutters. Shame curls hot and sharp and ugly beneath her ribs, because she knows what Poppy heard in that pause— the way us arrived like an afterthought, like a shelter thrown up at the last second.
Not a lie, exactly. Just… a softer version of the truth.
She had been protecting Poppy. She had been protecting Kaia. Of course she had! And she would do it again. She would burn for them if she had to!
But she had been protecting herself the most.
And that, somehow, feels worse to admit.
“I didn't mean it like that,” Yaoyao whispers, voice cracking open. “I wasn't trying to hide behind you or Kaoru, I swear.” she swallows, eyes burning and throat aching. “I just… I couldn't. Not anymore. I needed someone to hear me. To see it before it was too late. I thought if it was out there, even a little, it would finally stop! That it would force things to change. That Vivi would finally hear us.”
Her hands curl in her lap, small and shaking.
“I didn’t pull you in to save myself,” she adds, quieter now, almost pleading. “I— I just didn’t know how… to keep standing by myself…”
Because Yaoyao isn’t cruel.
She isn’t evil. She isn’t heartless.
She’s just a kid who learned early that survival sometimes means letting the truth wear someone else’s shape. Not because you want to hurt them, not to sacrifice them, but because you can’t bear to be crushed alone.
Poppy continues listening.
And somehow, that might be the kindest thing of all.
The noise outside spikes once more— a sharp edge of a sound— and then collapses into a silence so complete it rings loudly within the restroom.
Something inside Yaoyao trembles.
Her shoulders immediately fold inward, and her hands clutch at fabric like a child bracing for an impact she knows is coming.
Poppy moves.
She steps forward and pulls the younger girl into her arms, sudden and sure, as if hesitation might mean losing her altogether.
And the moment contact is made, Yaoyao breaks. The sound that leaves her is raw, stripped of pride or restraint, and she buries her face into Poppy’s shoulder as sobs tear free.
Poppy holds her, and her body is trembling, too. Pressed close— not away from the truth, but with it— and still, her grip never loosens.
Yaoyao cries until the guilt inside her twists into something without a name. She doesn’t know if she did the right thing. She doesn’t know if this makes her brave or selfish, unforgivable or foolish. She doesn’t know if Kaia hates her now, or if disappointment might hurt even more than hatred ever could.
She only knows this: the hands holding her now are real.
They are steady, unbroken, and untouched by the violence itself— and that makes it worse.
Poppy didn’t cross the line. She didn’t push. She didn’t choose. She only understood.
Understanding has always been the way Poppy hurts without meaning to.
Maybe this is love— holy and romantic and painfully mundane all at once.
Or maybe it is the cage she helped build without meaning to.
But Yaoyao clings to it, because in this moment, it is the only thing keeping her from disappearing entirely.
pt. ii.
The stylist room is too quiet for how much it has already taken from her.
It’s quiet in that curated way, really. Mirrors too clean, the air faintly sweet with citrus and heat, and Yaoyao sits alone beneath a halo of warm lights, skin still humming faintly from hours of careful hands and whispered adjustments.
The stylist had stepped out— “five minutes,” she’d said, like five minutes isn’t a lifetime when your pulse is already humming. Yaoyao lifts her hands to her collarbone, her jawline, her cheeks—- fingers hovering uselessly as she adjusts nothing at all, just grounding herself in the fact that she is here. That this is happening.
She smooths the fabric at her waist for the third time, even though nothing is wrong. The rose gold dress moves like it knows her, and it feels exquisite in a way that makes her hyperaware of her own pulse.
There’s a pause as she lingers before the mirror, fingertips tracing fabric.
She hesitates.
Then, she looks.
She doesn’t quite recognize the person looking back.
Alone, she feels exposed. Too soft, too real.
Selfish and foolish. All the seams visible.
Then she smiles at herself.
It settles onto her face like something practiced, something learned. The girl in the mirror sharpens, lifts, and becomes luminous. Beautiful. Elegant.
So Yvan— so Yvanna Liu that it almost feels inevitable that she would be loved, chosen, recognized and perhaps, awarded.
It's strange how easily she could step into that version of herself: Adored and untouchable, and how quickly the room believes it.
There’s a knock at the door.
It wasn’t sharp. Not efficient. Hesitant, almost.
Yaoyao turns, slipping a silk robe from her shoulders. “Yeah?”
The door opens slowly and Poppy steps inside, and for a moment, the room seems to recalibrate around her.
Yaoyao even forgets to breathe.
It isn’t because Poppy looks different. It's because she looks… here.
Beautiful, undeniably so, but grounded. Solid, composed, and unmistakably real. Dark fabric falling clean against her frame, hair smoothed back, makeup kept simple but beautiful. Nothing about her asks to be stared at, and yet she’s impossible to miss; the kind of beauty that doesn’t reach for attention because it already knows it has it.
She looks like someone who knows exactly where she’s standing, even if she hasn’t moved much at all.
Yaoyao’s face lights up instantly.
“Oh my god—” it bursts out of her before she could stop it, a laugh catching in her throat. “You made it!”
She doesn’t wait for an answer.
Instead, she crosses the room in a rush of silk and bare feet and excitement, arms already lifting. Poppy barely has time to brace before she collides with her, wrapping herself around her with a soft, breathless sound, like she’s been holding this joy in for too long.
Poppy exhales— a quiet and surprised sound, and then her arms come up, firm and familiar, folding around Yaoyao’s back.
She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.
Her smile pressed warm and real against Yaoyao’s temple.
“I didn't think you’d actually make it!” Yaoyao blurts, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes bright and a little too shiny. “You’ve been impossible to reach, it’s not even funny! Our tiktok streak ended, Hwayoung. It ended,” she says, voice tipping dramatically. “And for a good minute, too! I thought you actually killed yourself like you kept telling Kaia you will—”
“Oh, shut up,” Poppy says, amused, soft. then, inevitably, “Hi to you too.”
Yaoyao laughs, breathless, and then suddenly stills, like she’s remembered something vital, something she’s been holding in since the door opened.
“Wait. Wait— look!”
She steps back, already lifting the skirt of her dress, excitement bubbling over before she can contain it. She spins once, then again, the rose gold fabric catching the light and blooming outward, alive and fluid and unmistakably hers.
“She made this for me,” Yaoyao says, already reaching for the skirt again, breathless, laughter threaded through every word. “Selene Chow— remember her? China trip? The hotel lobby where Kaia got lost for like forty minutes?” She laughs, not waiting for an answer. “She made this just for me!”
She turns a little, angling herself toward Poppy, fingers skimming the fabric as if inviting her to see it properly. “Do you see the cut? Here— and the way it moves when I do this—”
She lifts the skirt just enough for the fabric to catch the light, then lets it fall, watching it settle with something like awe.
“It feels like it knows me,” she adds, softer now, almost incredulous. Then her grin snaps back into place, bright and daring. “Like I could float! I look like the real-life Glinda, if I may dare.”
She stops in front of Poppy, arms spread just a little, waiting like a child presenting something precious and asking to be seen.
For the first time since she walked in, Poppy laughs. It's quiet, soft, and real.
But their laughter settles.
Not abruptly. Not awkwardly. It was just… enough to leave space behind it.
Yaoyao’s arms lower on their own because the room feels different now— fuller, heavier, like the air has learned something… new? old?
Rotten?
She looks at Poppy. She really looks at her… standing there so close, and something inside her tightens.
It isn’t stage fright. It isn't doubt.
It’s recognition.
Alone, Yaoyao is at her most exposed. All the pretending stripped away, no one to perform for but herself. With others, she knows how to become something brighter and louder. Someone easier to love and adore.
With Poppy, however… it’s not the same.
Poppy knows the girl behind the bright smile. The one who learned how to shine because it was safer than being seen, and that knowledge presses close, gentle and unrelenting, and Yaoyao feels small in a way that isn’t painful, just terrifyingly honest.
The silence stretches.
Then Poppy moves.
And the blonde thinks of it now.
Standing here in silk and light, beautiful and steady and ready to be adored, because Poppy reaches for her the same way she always has.
Poppy steps closer and lifts a hand, fingers brushing a loose strand near her temple. She smooths it back with careful precision, like it matters. Like she matters.
“You’ve got a curl escaping,” she murmurs, soft.
She tucks it back with the same easy familiarity she’s always had, like this moment exists outside of time and consequence.
Then, her attention drifts to the dress, to a barely-there crease near the waist, and she fixes that too, slow and methodical, as if this moment is no different from any other.
As if they have not been standing on the edge of something enormous.
Yaoyao feels it hit her then. Sharply, quietly.
The blood. Narissa’s screams. Kaia’s empty gaze.
The restroom. The way Poppy’s hands had moved back then… rinsing cloth, pressing gently, never rushing, never recoiling. The way she had taken care of the mess without asking or demanding for more. How she’d stayed when staying meant knowing too much.
It's the same hands now.
Clean, steady, and familiar.
Back then, Poppy had fixed her face while the world broke apart on the other side of a door because of her. Now, she fixes her hair before the world opens up and applauds for her. The distance between those two moments feels impossible, and yet— here they are.
Yaoyao swallows.
She realizes, suddenly, that this is when she feels the smallest. Not when she’s alone. Not when she’s onstage. Not under the lights.
Right here.
Because Poppy saw her before the wings, before the applause, before the way everyone decided she was easy to love. Poppy remembers the blood and the shaking hands and the way Yaoyao learned how to lie without ever feeling like one.
Poppy steps back just enough to look at her work, her hands lingering for half a second too long at the other’s shoulders.
“There,” she murmurs, quiet and sure. “Perfect.”
Yaoyao almost laughs at that. Almost cries.
Perfect, she thinks. After everything.
But Poppy is smiling at her now, like this is the most natural thing in the world. Like she isn’t carrying the weight for all of them.
Like she hasn’t stayed behind so the rest could move forward.
And something in Yaoyao settles.
Because this— this small, careful tending is how Poppy has always loved them. Not loudly, not visibly, but completely.
This settles in too deep, too fast.
Yaoyao doesn’t say anything. She just steps forward and folds herself into Poppy again, slower this time— more careful, like she’s asking for permission.
This hug isn't a celebration. It's refuge.
Poppy stiffens for half a second— not in refusal, but in recognition, and then her arms come up, holding the blonde the way she always has. Like she knows exactly what this costs her. Like she’s choosing it anyway.
Yaoyao feels it then, sharp and aching, the weight Poppy carries so she—they can keep moving. The way she stayed when everything turned ugly. The way loving them seems to have anchored her in place while the rest of them were allowed to rise.
Guilt curls low in Yaoyao's chest. It was ugly and tender all at once.
Poppy exhales, and then gently pulls back, just enough to look at her.
Both hands come up to cup Yaoyao’s face, thumbs warm against her cheeks, grounding her whether she needed it or not. Poppy's expression is soft, but there’s something painful in it too— knowledge, maybe. The kind that never really leaves.
“Hey,” she says, low and careful, like she’s speaking to the part of Yaoyao that still shakes. Then, quieter, unwavering, "I'm proud of you.”
It lands wrong.
It lands heavy.
Yaoyao’s throat tightens, because pride is the one thing she doesn’t know how to accept from her.
Because Poppy should be angry. She should be distant. She should be somewhere else, choosing herself for once.
And maybe she is angry.
Not in the way anger looks when it’s loud or sharp, but in the way it settles into the body after years of holding things together— in the quiet recalculations, the softened edges, the way she carries herself like someone who has learned exactly how much she can afford to feel, and no more.
But she’s still here.
Still loving her—them with hands that know too much and ask for nothing in return.
Because if there is anger in her, it lives alongside love, braided so tightly with responsibility and care that it can no longer exist without it.
Yaoyao nods, a small and broken motion. Happiness and guilt tangle together until she can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
She presses her hands over Poppy's wrists, holding them there, as if afraid she might disappear.
And for a moment… Yaoyao lets herself be held as she is, wings and blood and hope and all, knowing full well that this love is both her salvation and the quiet weight she may never stop carrying.
IN WHICH … Andrew begins to turn a pipe dream into a reality.
FEATURING … Andrew Han, Olivia Olayemi, Nick Irfan
WORD COUNT … 5k
WARNINGS … Brief mentions of and references to Andrew’s alcoholism.
Andrew waited at the bar until most of the crowd had left the venue. He wasn't the only one. There were a handful of other people, and some of them kept trying to order drinks despite the last call having been nearly half an hour ago during The Year 2000’s last song. Once the pit was empty, he drained the last of his own drink, paid his tab, and made his way to the stage.
“I'm with the band,” he said, displaying the pass he had so carefully wheedled from Liv when he was inevitably stopped.
The backstage was dimly lit, a mess of wires and boxes and paraphernalia from any number of years ago. Andrew hadn't told anyone else he was coming. He could hear the faint sounds of raised voices. He picked his way through the halls, the noise growing steadily louder. He only recognized one of the voices—Sela, the band’s lead singer. The other was probably Austin or Dallas or whatever city his name was, the latest in their string of guitarists.
As much as it pained him—and likely Sela and Liv and Isaac—it didn't seem like they would last much longer. It made Andrew feel like less of a homewrecker. Liv could play in two bands at once, he reasoned, until one inevitably fell apart.
He stopped in front of the door where the voices were the loudest, and knocked. They fell silent immediately.
He stepped back, waited a few seconds, and the lock clicked open. Sela stuck her head out, and Andrew watched a host of different expressions cross her face.
“Long time no see,” he said, every prepared thought for this reunion flying out of his head.
Sela seemed to settle for confusion. “Andrew? What are you doing here?”
“Am I not allowed to support my friends?”
She shook her head. “No, I was surprised. How did you get back here?” she asked as she gestured for Andrew to enter their dressing room.
“That would be my fault,” Liv said from the back of the room, and Andrew was immensely relieved to not have to explain himself.
The bleached blond head of the band's drummer, Isaac, shot up. “You took him seriously?”
Sela turned on him next. “Was I the only one who wasn't invited to this little reunion?” she asked dryly.
“I don't know who he is,” the guitarist with the city name volunteered.
“Phoenix,” Sela snapped. “Get out. Of the band too, while you're at it.”
Andrew waited until he left, in a string of muttered complaints, before he spoke. “Why don't you leave him playing support?”
Sela seemed to have a lot of anger tonight, as all five foot two of her stepped up to Andrew now, wisps of hair freeing themselves from the hairspray cage of her stage attire. “Why don't you leave and quit telling me how to run my band?”
She stepped back and slumped onto the couch next to Isaac. “Liv, can you tell him to leave?”
“No. I invited him here,” Liv said. “Now is as good a time as any to catch up.”
Sela waved a hand dismissively through the air. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
Andrew didn’t think she was, but he spoke anyway. “I was thinking of starting a band.”
“A guitar position just opened up, if you want it,” Selma said.
“That's not what I had in mind,” he said. “I'm not good enough for that.”
She rolled her eyes. “You picked the weirdest fucking hill to be humble on. You can play circles around Phoenix. We can stick you behind a keyboard if you'd prefer that.”
This was exactly why the two of them could never coexist professionally. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he said.
Then he changed the subject, because he didn’t want to argue with her. She was probably already upset at him for dropping in out of nowhere, and he didn’t want to make it worse. “That Phoenix guy seems like a piece of work.”
Sela threw her hands up in the air. “Oh my God. You tell me.”
It was obvious she had a lot to say. Andrew didn’t do much except nod along and agree with whatever she said. She talked about how he spent four months as their live show guitarist, which was the longest anyone had lasted up until that point, and then a few months as their touring guitarist, and then he started expressing a desire to involve himself in their music, which led to their label pressuring them to formally introdue him as a member of the band.
Occasionally, Liv or Isaac would join in with another anecdote about how stupid he was and how all his songs sucked and a begrudging respect for his skills that were drowned out by the sheer unlikeability of his personality.
That somehow turned into gossiping about their old classmates, the only people they had in common with one another besides each other. It was a steady stream of names and faces Andrew could barely remember, until the venue’s staff arrived and asked them to please leave in very bored tones. They didn’t even seem to notice that the four people in the dressing room were not the same four people in the band.
Even though they were beginning to grow a little too old for it, Andrew followed along as Sela led them to her favorite bar—a treat, she said, to celebrate Andrew’s return. He lost track of time, stayed out way too late, and eventually stumbled back into his apartment at an ungodly hour, warmed by either companionship, a little too much to drink, or both.
“Drink?” Andrew asked, taking a can for himself out of his refrigerator. Liv was visiting to discuss their possible joint musical future. Her day job was as a private music teacher, mostly for children, which meant she set her own schedule, worked mostly in the afternoons, and charged obscene amounts of money. His day job was to sit around and think about his future, which meant they had ample time to meet.
Liv twisted over the back of his couch to stare at him. “Andrew, it's the middle of the day.”
He nudged the door closed with his foot. “It's five o’clock somewhere in the world.” He popped the tab open and took a sip.
She sighed and shook her head. “I thought you were over this.”
He shrugged. She should have expected the worst from him. He pulled his singular stool out of his hallway kitchen and sat next to her.
“Are you really willing to leave Sela?” he asked, changing the subject.
Liv fiddled with a curl. “Yeah. Ever since Jackson left, it hasn't been the same. Phoenix was the worst by far. He’s such a snob. Last week he told me he just learned who Taylor Swift is. It's like she finds these guys in the back alleys or dumpsters of hipster art museums or something.”
“Knowing her, she probably did.” Sela was more pretentious than Andrew and Liv combined, especially since Andrew’s pretentiousness had long since been curbed by being a kpop idol.
They sat in silence for a few moments, Andrew nursing his drink.
Liv spoke abruptly. “I found a drummer.” She talked as she swiped through her phone. “Do you remember Nick Irfan? He was a couple years younger than us. He wasn't a music major, but he was in a band and he would always reserve the practice rooms when he wasn't supposed to.”
The name rang no bells in Andrew's mind, but the situation sort of did. There was always some sort of drama over the practice rooms.
“Not really,” he said as Liv handed her phone to him, a video of a poorly lit venue and a band performing some pop punk song playing on the screen.
He clicked the volume up a couple of notches. “Am I going to break up another band?” he asked.
“You're not breaking us up,” Liv said. “It was bound to happen with or without you. You might be expediting it. Nick's band dissolved a couple of months ago. Their lead singer was arrested after his third DUI and that was the end for them.”
Andrew took another sip of his drink. It was a little difficult to tell from the subpar video quality if the drummer was any good or not. There were three of them in the band, and they at least all looked like they were having fun. If Liv knew him and trusted him, Andrew reasoned, he must be good.
“He sounds decent,” he said eventually, handing her phone back.
“He’s better than decent,” Liv said.
“Is he looking for another band? How hard will it be to get him on board?"
She shrugged. “I’d like it to be easy. I pop the question, and he says yes.”
Andrew drained his drink much too soon. "Sure. It didn't take much to convince you, did it?"
“The Year 2000 is falling apart,” she said with a sigh. “We were never meant to last this long. It was something we did for fun, on the side, and then it became this much larger project.”
He hadn’t known much about their band’s formation, because he was already a Fable member by the time they got together. At that time, he had his own set of issues to worry about, and hadn’t given them as much thought as he should have.
“I’m thinking this might be a major project,” Andrew said.
“I don’t mind the scale,” she said, “as long as it’s something we agree on.”
“I don’t have much of a plan,” he admitted. Getting Liv to agree to join him was as far as his current plan extended at the moment.
“You don’t micro-manage on Sela’s level. You know she ambushed one of our label’s executives in an elevator to complain about Phoenix? He didn’t even know who she was. The most good she got was our health insurance and 401(k)s.”
Andrew had never given thought to a retirement plan before. “I’ll ask my agent to add that to the list.” He didn’t have too many demands when looking for another label. He thought of himself as a simple arist—some grace to form his own band, and creative freedom for his music. And money to do those two things. Which was, of course, a high demand.
He wanted another drink, and in order for that to happen, he had to get Liv to leave before she could remark on his habits again. “So what’s our plan for getting Nick on board?”
“Just ask him,” she said. “You’re more of a draw than I am. He works for some consulting company in FiDi, so he doesn’t always text back immediately.”
That was the last thing Andrew expected to hear from her. “You want me to recruit a Wall Street frat bro?” he asked incredulously. He tried to reconcile the image of a professional business man with the pop punk band performance he heard earlier.
An alarm on Liv’s phone rang. “He was in a professional frat,” she said as she stood, silencing the alarm. “Don’t be so judgmental. I have a lesson in an hour, but we’ll talk about this again later.”
She tapped the empty can he still held. “And not to get drunk every time we meet.”
Andrew would tell her he wasn’t drunk, that he was still perfectly in control of all his facilities. He didn’t say that because he didn’t want to start an argument. He saw her to the door instead, and as soon as she was gone, he had another drink.
That same night, Andrew read over his introductory text four or five times before sending it. Then he was confronted with the wall of text inside its bright blue blob. There were few things worse than sending an extremely long text message, and they included both editing the extremely long text message and un-sending it.
True to Liv’s word, a few days passed before Nick replied to him. It was a block of text nearly as long as Andrew's, ranging from how flattering it was to be offered this position to how it was crazy that Andrew remembered him from college—Andrew did not—to his final no. It was punctuated by “lol” no more than four times, and nothing else.
Andrew left him on read. He was going to push him a little more, because Liv vouched for him and his agent was starting to hound him for updates and telling him no label would be willing to sign him if he couldn't get his shit together.
He texted Liv the bad news.
YOU: Nick said no
OLIVIA: Really? Tbh I didn't expect that
YOU: What else do you know about him? He said he remembers me from college so I'm going to ask to meet up as friends
OLIVIA: I feel like he should be the one to tell you his life story but I'll give you what I know. If you end up deciding to crash his workplace, don't mention my name
OLIVIA: I don't want to be part of that
As it turned out, he didn’t need to crash Nick’s workplace. Nick seemed happy enough to meet up, and even proposed the public rooftop plaza of some building in FiDi that also hosted a really good taco stand.
That was how Andrew found himself riding the elevator up twelve floors to the rooftop entrance, possessed by a sense of deja vu. It wasn't exactly the same as Zenith Entertainment's building, given that the latter was a third of the height and the elevator didn't reach the rooftop. The elevator door slid open silently and seamlessly, and he was buffeted by a chilly gust of wind. It wasn't yet cold enough to be winter, but Andrew still tucked his hands into his jacket pockets.
He did a short circuit through the plaza, trying to figure out what type of person liked to frequent this place, and if Nick was of the same type. He wasn't even sure if he could call his current location the rooftop, either. The building extended impossibly higher in a split level that made him dizzy whenever he looked up.
As he made it back to the elevator, he thought he recognized a face he had previously seen on his Instagram feed. He had to follow Nick from his finsta, which made him feel like he was exposing himself because it wasn’t like they knew each other well. His public account had over a million followers, and Andrew wasn’t prepared for that level of commitment yet.
The guy who had to be Nick waved him over. He wore a dark blue blazer and a bright smile.
“Hi. Andrew, right? It's been a while.”
Liv had promised him that he'd know Nick when he saw him, and Andrew hadn't had the heart to tell her otherwise. Her social circle was always bigger than his, and he didn't have the same knack for names and faces and connections and friends of friends that she did.
“Yeah. Too long,” he said out loud, because he could always pretend.
Nick held his phone loosely in one hand, gaze flicking between its screen and Andrew’s face. “You look different on Google Images.”
Andrew wasn't quite sure what to make of that. “They don't always pick the most flattering pictures. Hopefully you prefer the real me.”
“I’ve never had lunch with a real celebrity before. Let’s go with the real you.”
He seemed nice enough, but they were meeting on his lunch break and it limited their time, so Andrew got right to the point.
“Can I ask why you said no to the band?” he asked as they sat down with their—just Nick’s—food. He had barely been able to suppress his full body flinch at the prices. Nick didn’t even blink, and offered to buy something for Andrew. Andrew argued him down until the taco stand’s owner loudly cleared his throat at them, and that was why Nick was the only one eating.
Nick tore into his taco before he spoke. “You’re a professional. Both you and Liv. I’m too old for that now. STSA was never that serious. We started as a Paramore cover band, you know, and it wasn’t until a few years ago that we started to play original music. We never had a label. We’re more indie than Liv.” He cracked a smile at his own joke.
There was only part of that statement Andrew was concerned about. "Liv and I are both older than you," he said mildly, and watched Nick's eyes go almost comically wide with fright.
"No, that's not what I meant. We’re not that old yet. I mean, isn't being a pop star a young person's game?"
"That's why I'm not a pop star anymore," Andrew said. The kpop industry was just, if not more, obsessed with youth than America’s music industry. He had almost been too old ten years ago. “But you’re right. This is a serious venture, and I’d like it if we all took it seriously. It’d be our livelihoods, for Liv and I.”
Nick raked his clean hand through his hair. "Fuck. I messed this up pretty badly, didn't I?"
Andrew shrugged. “I won’t comment on that.”
If this didn’t work out, he thought, he could figure something else out. Maybe he could rip apart Sela’s band even more, if Liv was right and they were about to fall apart anyway. He could see the mental image of his future dissolving in his mind’s eye. He liked being in a group. He hadn’t realized how much he had relied on Jaeseop and Byeonghwi and Intak and even Mingeun until they went their separate ways. His own solo adventures had been a taste of what he didn’t want, even if he was perfectly capable of doing everything alone.
"You know, Liv's been blowing up my phone," Nick said, shaking Andrew out of his thoughts. "Every morning. Every evening. It's like clockwork. She always asks for small things or short conversations, but it’s beginning to feel like psychological warfare. I’m getting the impression that you guys really want me. I don’t know what I did to warrant that.”
That was news to Andrew. “Don’t sell yourself short. We both want to work with people we know and trust.”
“Huh,” was all Nick said as he polished off his taco. “You both drive very hard bargains. Give me a couple of days to think about it again.”
It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. Andrew would take that for now and consider it a small victory.
“Sure,” he said. “We’re also on the lookout for a guitarist. Even if you decide this isn't what you want to do, I’d really appreciate it if you could put us in contact with anyone you know.”
Nick nodded. "Yeah, I can do that. We live in New York City. Guitar players and wannabe rock stars are a dime a dozen here."
Nick said yes two days later, and Andrew felt a weight lift off his shoulders.
“It’s because of you,” he told Liv the next time she visited. He was the only one who lived alone—for now, at least—which meant that he hosted whenever necessary. Nick was supposed to arrive soon too, and Andrew was working on the last-minute touches to make his apartment more presentable.
"Me?" Liv asked, looking surprised.
"He told me you texted him constantly. It might have given him subconscious suggestions.”
She didn’t appear amused. "I just reminded him of all the good times he had with STSA and how he should pursue his passions. I know finance certainly isn't his life goal."
Andrew didn't know that, but he could certainly sympathize.
Nick arrived not long after, with a stream of complaints about clients who lacked respect, decorum, basic human decency, or some combination of the three. He didn’t calm down until he was slipping his shoes off and standing in Andrew’s combined entryway-kitchen-hallway.
“Nice place. I like how it’s almost possible to reach both walls at once,” he said.
Andrew was taller than him, and if he reached out with both arms at once, he could probably touch both walls. He hadn't tried that before and he wasn't going to start now.
"It's New York," he said. At least he had an apartment that wasn't a glorified shoe box. He had windows and a view that wasn't an alleyway. He would be the first to admit that the bar for living spaces was extremely low.
Nick settled next to Liv on Andrew’s couch—which wasn’t really his, as it came with the partially furnished apartment—like he lived there. Andrew pulled his single seat and three soda cans out of the kitchen. If they were going to have another member, he needed more chairs, or someone else had to host.
“We need to promote ourselves better,” Nick said once they were settled. “Obviously. We need a different direction from you two trying to pick some other has-been from whatever they're doing at the moment. No offense.”
“We're all has-beens,” Andrew said, swirling his soda around in its can. Nick didn’t drink, and Liv had declined as well, out of politeness or solidarity or something else he didn’t recognize. He didn’t want to be the only one inebriated, and that was why he had also settled for a Diet Coke.
Nick nodded. “Exactly. That's why we need some fresh blood. Someone who’s young, but still fits our theme.”
“I wasn’t aware we had a theme,” Andrew said. He hadn’t even shown them the music he had written yet.
“I thought it was obvious.” Nick spread his arms wide across Andrew’s couch, nearly backhanding Liv in the face.
She swatted his hand away. “It’s not.”
“Statistically speaking, we represent the demographics with the worst luck when it comes to romance.”
“Speak for yourself,” Liv said indignantly. “You sound like an incel.”
Nick continued on like he hadn’t heard her. “We’re the bottom of the barrel. The last pick in gym class. The subject of ‘I wouldn’t date you if you were the last man on Earth.’ I’d go as far as to say we’re pretty undesirable.”
He was met with silence. As much as Andrew hated to admit it, he could see, somewhat, where Nick was coming from. Liv coughed twice into her hand, still sounding suspiciously like “incel.”
A grin split Nick’s face and he held up his Coke for a toast. “I think I just named us. Can I do that?”
Andrew tapped his soda can against Nick’s. “It’ll work.” It was going to work better than he expected with the lyrics he was writing.
“Fine,” Liv said with a grimace, joining their toast. “Only because I can’t think of anything better right now.”
“I hate to ruin the moment,” Andrew said, “but I wanted to discuss our complete lack of a guitarist.”
“We have you,” Liv pointed out.
He couldn’t picture himself on stage with anything except a microphone and maybe a hanbok if he really couldn’t escape Fable. “That isn’t going to work. I can talk to Sela—”
She cut him off. “No. She’s not going to do you any more favors, and I’m not going to work with any of the guitarists she brought within ten feet of The Year 2000 again.”
Nick cleared his throat. Andrew had almost forgotten he was there. “I feel like I missed something here. I have my own proposal for a guitarist, if I’m not overstepping.”
That was a surprise. He seemed to be working over time already, despite having made his own decision to join not too long ago.
“There’s an intern at my workplace who’s staying for the school year who plays the guitar,” he continued. “We talk about music sometimes, and I don’t think she’s ever been in a band. She listens to Pulp, which I know is important to you.” He gestured to Liv with his can. “And she’s Korean, which is probably important to you.” He turned to point at Andrew.
Andrew and Liv spoke at the same time. “That doesn’t matter to me,” he said, just as Liv said, “I don’t think I can be in a band with a twenty-year-old kid.”
Nick seemed unfazed. “She’s in a grad program and I’ve seen her drink. It can’t hurt to ask.”
Liv pursed her lips. “If you're serious and think she's a good fit, show her this.”
She produced an iPad from somewhere, and Andrew could see something that wouldn't look out of place on a telephone pole or subway wall. He rose from his chair to get a closer look. “You made us an ad?”
It was clearly designed to look older than it was, with its black and white color scheme and halftone design. The words “INDIE BAND SEEKING GUITARIST” were plastered on the top of the page, and a QR code occupied the bottom right corner.
“We didn't have a name until recently, or I would have added that as well,” she said.
"These are the same things you told me," Nick said, drawing Andrew's attention to the pros and cons neatly listed underneath.
"It worked, didn't it?" Liv asked.
Andrew skimmed the lists. The pros included the benefits she wanted, working with other passionate musicians, and travel opportunities. The cons, on the other hand—
"Hey. Why is 'controlling lead singer' on here?"
"That's what you're going to be soon enough," Liv said. "I'm sure once we start playing together your inner tyrant will emerge."
"That's not true," Andrew protested weakly.
“We'll both hate you for it, and I'll probably end every practice by calling you a bastard and cursing your name,” she said cheerily.
Nick looked ill, like he now regretted being helpful. “You didn't tell me he's still like that. I always thought people exaggerated,”
“You'll be fine,” Liv said. “He'll do it because he loves us, and we're good enough to keep up with his pursuit of perfection. I think he's toned it down a bit since college.”
Andrew thought about Intak and Haksu and Eunsu, and how “good enough” by their standards and Taein’s standard had, in fact, been enough.
“Yeah,” he agreed out loud. “You should delete that part.”
Liv considered her design. “No, I like it better this way.”
Andrew handed off Liv’s poster design to Kay, his agent—their agent now, he supposed—and it was an overnight success. It was possibly too successful, because it quickly inundated them with more applicants than they could comfortably consider. Nick’s dime a dozen comment had proven true, and Andrew and Liv culled the list with a ruthless, vibe-based efficiency.
They also met Nick's intern, Eunice Yoon, whose name had Andrew texting Mingeun with one hand while they talked. According to him, that was also his sister’s name and she was going to school in New York, but she didn't play the guitar. Even through the texts, Andrew could hear his derisive tone of voice, like he thought Andrew was stupid.
Andrew didn't think anything more of it. He didn’t have time for that. There were much more important things on his mind, like how they now had a label and everyone seemed to be fine with the tracks he had produced. It was a much smoother path than he expected, and the recording of their first few songs was now under way. The last snag in his plan was that he was recording all the guitar parts, rather than someone who had more confidence and skill than him and the calluses to prove it.
Kay continued to nag him about the fact that their new label wouldn't take them seriously if they kept waiting for the perfect final member to fall out of the sky. Those were her exact words.
“I can play the guitar,” he said the next time they met up with her for lunch.
“You told me you don’t want to do that,” Kay said, tapping notes on her phone with one hand.
“I don’t want to. I don’t like how our options look now, and in that case, I’d rather do it myself.”
“He’s a diva,” Nick said, waving his fork through the air. “It’s his job. We don’t have to listen to him.”
“I thought there was someone you were talking to,” she said.
There had been a few people. Eunice was starting to look like a better choice with each passing day, likely because her connection to Nick made her less forgettable than the other candidates. With them, either Andrew didn't like them or Liv didn't like them, and they were finding it difficult to agree on anything.
“It isn't working out,” Andrew admitted.
“You have to make it work, and soon,” Kay said ominously. “If you insist on having a fourth member and can't produce one by yourselves, the label will choose for you.”
“Absolutely not,” Liv said.
This was something important to her. Andrew knew he could make it work if it came down to it, and Nick seemed to have no strong feelings either way. Sometimes a label knew what they were doing when they shoved a bunch of people together and told them to work it out.
“Then we should take Eunice,” Nick said matter of factly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Andrew knew he was right. He wanted to split the burden with someone, and someone they tangentially knew was better than a complete stranger.
“Alright,” he said resignedly. He knew Liv liked her too, and it was his own reservations that were their biggest hang up.
“Great,” Kay said cheerfully. “Wasn’t that easy? Let her know, and give me her contact information and I’ll get her on your contract as soon as possible.”
It was easy, Andrew had to admit. He had a band, people he could trust, and a record deal. All it took was spending ten years of his life in a kpop group, and even that could have gone worse.
“That sounds great,” he echoed. “I’m looking forward to this.”
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