* GIG 10 (OST AUDITION) ▸ SUNRISE !
(“you know how some people are called ‘king of’ some special skill?” he’d asked a fellow trainee once. “don’t you wish that could be you someday?”
“you’re already a ‘king of’,” they’d replied dryly, and leaned over to flick the middle of his forehead. “king of passing on opportunities.”
wincing, hyunseok rubbed the sore spot and huffed, “you could’ve just said vocals. or creme brûlée.”)
it would be easier to refute those words back then (and now) if they were a lie. but hyunseok is known to ignore most of the gigs that frequently crop up. if asked, he’ll say that he doesn’t want to take an opportunity away from someone who wants or deserves it more. “that’s not how auditions work,” the same friend grumbled. “how d’you know you’re gonna be the one stealing a chance from someone else and not the other fuckin’ way around?”
maybe they’re right; it’s arrogant of hyunseok to think he would automatically put someone else at a disadvantage. he doubts he’s good enough to be considered a threat to anyone, and that forces him to question who he’s really passing on these opportunities for. if not for anyone else, perhaps it’s just him. he’s the one who’s scared to put himself out there, to open himself up to criticism, to hear we don’t feel you’re the right fit or thank you, but we’re going a different direction or you’re just not good enough.
(yeah. he’s afraid, and it’s easier to invent reasons to run away than admit it.)
hyunseok resolves not to let his own fears hold him back. when the opportunity to participate in the ost for cram school comes around, he pays attention, listens to all the demos with serious interest, and toys with the idea of actually auditioning. the panel isn’t as daunting as a crowd full of screaming fans, which is both comforting and a little nerve-wracking at the same time. hyunseok figures he can sing in front of five people without making a fool of himself, but he’s also keenly aware that those five people are a lot more discerning than your average fan. with that in mind, he nearly talks himself out of it despite his earlier determination.
however, one of the songs sticks in his head. sunrise is a beautiful track, exactly the kind of style that suits hyunseok’s voice the best. the falsetto during the chorus doesn’t present a challenge—falsettos and high notes are one of his specialties—and the lyrics touch part of his heart that continues to yearn for things (for people) out of his reach. he finds himself humming the tune absentmindedly while cooking or bathing or scrolling through his messages before bed. partway through saturday practice, he realizes he wants to be the one to sing this song. it scares him—hyunseok doesn’t want to make a habit of wanting things he’s not guaranteed to get, but if he’s come this far—
he shouldn’t give up.
so he spends his free time diligently learning the song. his voice matches well with the tune, and the lyrics are fairly easy to learn. the english pronunciation worries him a little, but hyunseok doesn’t think it’s too jarring. he feels like the emotion he pours into the song is more important, anyway. you sing like you’re in love, he often hears. in this case, his one unique skill is actually helpful and he hopes his connection with it will impact the director and producer of the drama, at the very least.
when the day of the audition comes, hyunseok almost bolts. his tangled nerves form a pit in his stomach and threaten to sink this entire opportunity. there’s a reason he doesn’t try out for these things. even one of the staff members stops him before he’s called to ask if he’s alright—you look green, she says, her eyes alight with concern. thanks, hyunseok blurts out in response, and she leaves him alone after that.
once she’s out of sight, hyunseok sinks into an empty seat presses his knees together, taking a deep, shuddering breath. it’ll be fine. it’s just a private audition for an ost. it’ll be fine. you like this song, he reminds himself miserably. even if he fails spectacularly, he likes this song and wants to be able to say he fought for it.
when the panel calls him in, he immediately sinks into a deep bow and musters all his courage to say, “h—hello, i’m ryu hyunseok and i’ll be singing ‘sunrise’ for you today.” it’s easier to audition if he doesn’t have to look directly at the people evaluating him, so hyunseok keeps his eyes closed while he sings, trusting in his instincts to guide him through the song. it’s easy to get lost in the lyrics once he starts, and while the nerves don’t dissipate entirely, he manages to reach the end without stumbling.
the difficult part comes after he’s done—he sinks into another bow and walks out of the room before remembering he should thank the staff, producer, and director for listening to him. after a hasty goodbye, he ruins his exit further by walking into the doorframe. face red, hyunseok scampers away to nurse his embarrassment and his injuries.
there’s no telling how he did. he feels like he sang well, but it’s always a gamble, isn’t it? still, there’s a lightness in his step as he gets further from the audition, a giddiness in his heart as he thinks, i did it. whatever happens, hyunseok is still proud of himself for that.