L O V E T A L K 🌸 #rkspring
YEOUIDO FLOWER FESTIVAL
♡ with @seolhyunrk
practicing this song with seol on the weekends had become a secretive kind of joy for cho who, often these days, had looked actively for reasons to distract herself from the norm. seol was someone she could look forward to seeing at seocho every week, whose sunny smile and sweet singing tones could uplift a dejected girl’s spirit even when unintentional. cho needed it, needed a friend – that precious kind of soul that’s comforting just by its sheer existence in the world; just by being there in the rehearsal room, laughing and conversing with her easily, seolhyun could clear away the cobwebs that clung so stubbornly to cho’s chaotic thoughts. being around seol, especially now that the rapper needed a clarity of mind better than ever, was more important than the girl would ever dare to confess to her companion.
the royal show – cho hadn’t yet told seol about her plans to join simply because she didn’t know how to. it wasn’t as if the right opportunities hadn’t come up to speak, as anyone could spill their thoughts in between these breaks to rest their voices, but somehow chorong continued to struggle with the right words to explain just how complicated her decision had been. she wasn’t afraid of seolhyun judging her but the ‘what if’ lid was too terrifying for her to open – being questioned why felt like admitting to a betrayal, and then what if she lost? to get her hopes up about debuting with seolhyun would mean almost certain disappointment if the competition didn’t favor her. wasn’t it easier then, to pretend her choice for entering the competition was a shallow one? ‘i just want the recognition’ she’d already told the others but it hadn’t been the whole truth, not even close to it.
“yeouido…?” chorong blinks in surprise to hear seolhyun speak of the flower festival, as she had all but forgotten its existence since visiting it as a high school girl. “well, we’ve been working on this song,” seol explains in that reasonable way of hers and it clicks instantly in chorong’s thoughts what she means – what better opportunity to show off their musical progress than to showcase what they’ve been perfecting for months? cho held little love for impromptu performances that left her feeling unprepared and nervous but this would be different – she and seol had painstakingly torn apart the arrangement in their rehearsals in order to make it suit them and, honestly, cho’s confidence about it was the best she’d felt in a very long time.
“alright. i’d love to!” a soft smile accompanies the agreement and cho feels it – the excitement of getting to be on stage again in front of a live audience. and with seol, of all people, ah—she’d be envious of any MGA fans who would be blessed with such an unexpected, reunited duo! luckily, she’d be the one getting to live it.
“are you ready?”
the day comes quicker than cho imagines but if there’s one question she’s absolutely sure of enough to answer, it’s this one. “yes,” she replies swiftly to the staffer who’d asked and then the rapper winds her way through an energetic crowd backstage to find her partner. “seol—!” the pretty girl is waiting for her and chorong naturally falls into the pre-performance routine she’s gotten used to since the MGAs: checking on hair, makeup, and warming up vocals in preparation for the live. her hands find their way into seolhyun’s and cho squeezes just once for reassurance—and cheer to boost up her energy. “what team?” she whispers playfully.
their team.
an outdoor venue is a new one and refreshing, cho reflects silently, when she can feel the evening’s breeze caressing the strands of her long dark hair. it lifts the tresses off her shoulders and cho sends up a grateful thought to the heavens for having thought to wear shorts out here instead of a skirt like she’d first imagined – that’s not the kind of attention she’d want for a cute performance like this. and cute it will be, for how could seol be anything but that when they take to the stage with their microphones in hand? she nods to the staff in charge of starting the music and chorong flashes seol an encouraging smile. without the pressure of evaluations hanging over her head, without company weight and survival shows and constantly being judged—for the first time, chorong could actually have fun on the stage again. her heart lifts the moment the intro begins.
seolhyun’s voice caresses the crowd like expensive silk – warm and luxurious – and chorong is glad to see the way the audience’s faces react to it; much in the same way she does, she thinks with a silent laugh, like they want to be wrapped up inside it and kept safe. seolhyun’s lyrics ask her the prying questions—what’s he like? good manners? – and it takes all in cho not to burst out laughing at the thought of such a thing.
( romance… she’d given up on it now. )
but it’s easy enough to play around with seolhyun as if it were real. the way seol’s luminous eyes light up with such cheerful curiosity – a natural actress if cho had ever seen one – leaves the rapper filled up with energy to return the sunny atmosphere in kind. it’s rare for cho to get to smile this much, this often, but her heart feels lightweight up on this stage, as if she could really leave all those unpleasant thoughts behind her.
얜 느낌이 달라 처음부터 뭔가
feel 이 딱 꽂히게 만들어 버려 날
들었다 놨다 나는 지금 얘 손바닥 안
yeah 영 알 수 가 없어 걘 바닷속 같지
빠지는게 두려워 튜브를 줘 빨리
her rap verses and seolhyun’s singing entwine like two best friends who can’t separate, at times hopeful and prodding and other times sighing with the knowledge of a frustrating love. how little cho had ever confided in seolhyun about her own love life, but how real it felt in this performance to have someone who would likely listen. although the words slipped easily from the rapper’s tongue from the familiarity of constant rehearsal, the emotion conveyed behind the lyrics felt like something more.
a question, really, bubbling up in the center of chorong’s chest as she beamed at seolhyun with a sincere, affectionate expression: could she tell her… everything?
two years ago, cho thought she’d be a songwriter. behind the scenes of her dream company, she would learn from sphere’s best composers, make many mistakes and, as a result, write better lyrics, and eventually ascend to become a full-time composer under baek jiyoung’s payroll.
but life took its own path, diverging from idealistic expectations and hopes and throwing cho into an ‘idol’ world she hadn’t dared imagined she’d be able to fit into. even now, she questions it. does her body and soul fit perfectly inside these rigid lines of expectant behavior? as an idol, she’s told how to act, how to speak, how to sing, how to walk from one place to another in perfectly straight posture. listen to instructions, film commercials, train to take photographs until cho thinks the editors know more about the flaws of her body even more than herself.
is she happy? talks with jonghyun sometimes makes her think otherwise and yet, there are times when cho thinks she’s actually enjoying this side of the entertainment industry more than she’ll care to admit. there’s heavy makeup layered on her face and chorong glances in the mirror every now and then to remind herself that this is real. this prettified version of her that even her own mother might not recognize when the commercial airs on television. but her mama will love her regardless, those bright eyes shining as the older woman records this and brags about her daughter to everyone on the same apartment floor that she lives on.
ah, home. a sharp pinprick of longing for that place. the director calls for the group to assemble but chorong moves as if in a daze to join the others. only half-listening to the acting orders, she thinks instead of home with her mother, and now home with the two others she cares about. how is jonghyun doing? how is seulgi doing? chorong can’t concentrate now as her fingers itch to text seulgi and demand to know what she’s up to. even just being told ‘sleeping’ would be a nice enough distraction--
but no, she has to focus. cobwebs of thought disappear as the girl shakes her head faintly. the next scene is the shopping and cho quietly goes to aron’s side, hoping she can learn what she’s ignored by watching him act instead.
april evaluation
떠나지마 d o n ‘ t l e a v e
a r r a n g e m e n t
cho’s sigh of relief is practically silent as it’s expelled from her lips. the evaluation for this month takes a much-desired return to simplicity and the rapper couldn’t feel more overjoyed than this. had baek jiyoung heard her quiet cry for surcease in that big office of hers? unlikely, but cho would imagine it anyway and take the reprieve for what it truly is: a blessing.
it’s harder to find a song to perform than she expects; cho spends two weeks listening to recommended playlists non-stop, and it’s not until ‘ballad’ is the sole requirement that the trainee realizes she isn’t as confident about what that means when it comes to choosing the piece. a slow song? acoustic? a song about love? – all predictable answers to ‘what is a ballad’ and, yet, it’s difficult to find the criteria in a song that she actually wants to play for the coaches. in the end, it comes down to practicality: any love song sounds like a ballad when it’s played acoustically. if she takes an old song and makes it creatively her own with a slower arrangement… that should, hopefully, be enough.
“park chorong, first year rap trainee,” she introduces when the time comes. it’s a simple performance room that’s assigned to them and cho assesses the audience – familiar faces of coaches who give her a variation of stoic expressions and encouraging smiles – with her sharp gaze before striding over towards the offered piano. she’s dressed comfortably for this, wearing a form-fitting, long-sleeved black tee and dark-washed jeans, and sits down on the narrow piano bench with confidence. little by little, the original stage fright chorong remembers feeling so clearly from the mgas has faded into non-existence.
( as they say, experience is the best teacher and she feels calm. poised. )
the rapper takes a deep breath as her fingers move with ease into the introduction, dancing over the ivory keys that’s gentle melody replaces the original song’s powerful orchestra. it’s a different flavor, a brand-new, softer feeling, but the core of the song doesn’t lose its heart—its devastation that permeates through the meaningful lyrics. it’s been awhile since chorong’s been allowed to sing freely on her own, without being the backup for another trainee’s main part or helping them to rearrange their own performances, and she shamelessly enjoys this freeing feeling of letting her voice sing solo.
잊기엔 너무 사랑했나봐
아직도 널 기다리는 나야
우리의 시간은 멈췄나봐
니가 곁에 있는 것 같아
떠나지마 떠나가지마 나를
가슴에 상처만 주고
떠나지마 이런 날 울리지는 마
나에게 돌아와줘
she transitions easily into the rap verse—her improving skill translating into a performance that’s crisp and enunciated with care. chorong isn’t ignorant to the commonality that exists between the lyrics and her own life but she simply doesn’t care about it anymore; lamenting about a lost, almost love seems too toxic in the long run to her, and wasteful, honestly, when she has those around her trying hard continuously to raise her spirits. to demean jonghyun’s efforts in doing so by dwelling in the past seems almost too selfish for a self-absorbed chorong to contemplate.
여지껏 살아왔던 일생에 단 한번
미치도록 아껴줬던 사람은 너란걸
이별이란 파편에 죽은 내 사랑이
가여워 괴로워 이밤은 또 외로워...
her voice lifts again, having shortened the song considerably to take into account the trainee’s self-acknowledged lack of stamina. she’s not used to singing songs entirely on her own and chorong knows her limitations from the start when she’d rearranged this piece. being more accustomed to rap verses, she sings the heartfelt chorus one more time before launching into the second round of passionate plea:
너의 옷자락에 넣어둔 내 마음은
찢거나 버리거나 숨기거나 태운대로
향수처럼 남어 그림처럼
보여 낙인처럼 새겨져
버렸음을 기억해 don’t wanna cry…
fingers begin to ache from the constant strain but chorong has practiced this song for a week in order to memorize it without a music sheet. her hands move instinctively as she continues and cho bears through the dull soreness as she reaches the final climax of the song. for times like this, when the girl must pretend she feels the same level of pain the composer felt when writing the original, cho feels glad that she doesn’t have to look directly into the coaches’ eyes. how embarrassed she’d be to have to keep a straight face when singing about ‘not leaving’ and ‘not to make her cry’-- chorong wouldn’t cry in the first place… not when physical revenge seems like a much better, and more enjoyable alternative. if the coaches could see her gaze, they’d realize right away the insincerity of her emotions even when the technicality and pitch is correct.
( soulless, they might call her. they might not be wrong. )
‘a told secret only remains a secret if the second person is dead.’ or so her mother always said. luckily, chorong won’t tell anyone about the very secret excitement she’s feeling as she sorts through the music pages in her hands. there’s three performances this time and each one promises to be as different as night and day-- exciting, and undoubtedly challenging on both her time and creativity.
even luckier, two of the performances are with trainees she’s close to; even luckier, with fellow mga contestants the audience will be astonished to learn have joined the company since the show ended. chorong hasn’t missed the memo of a public concert and she’s got a thrilled sense of anticipation for the moment mijoo and seulgi are exposed for the world to see. snatched right up from nova’s claws, mijoo is a rare jewel lusted after by many, and seulgi’s appearance is a mystery the netizens will devour with ravenous interest.
“baek jiyoung has been busy--” they’ll whisper and write in their blogs. chorong absolutely can’t wait. on their premier stage, the rapper will join them both and all eyes will be on them: a trio of talent their boss will be proud of. and jonghyun-- oh, chorong’s looking forward to that, as well. who’d imagine such a modern twist on shakespeare like the plan jonghyun has dreamed up? sphere bleeds creativity and the newest generation is full of it.
chorong sets her music sheets down beside her laptop and fixes her attention to the latter. there’s a song for her to rearrange and a sonnet to rewrite within a matter of weeks and time has never seemed so fragile until now. giving up her self-study for this, chorong gets to work right away, humming to herself and typing notations on the computer as she goes. as usual, some lines work and others don’t-- the second requiring a series of frustrated, muttered curses from the rapper until she comes up with a less vulgar solution.
‘don’t forget the costumes--’ the reminder catches her eye several days later and jonghyun’s scrawl is as recognizable on the pink sticky note as the sound of his voice rousing her in the morning.
the grass muffles footsteps that bring chorong closer to the edge of the amassed crowd, her voice softening into a murmured quiet apology as she brushes arms with strangers to move further into the group for a better vantage point. for being a public talent show, chorong hadn’t expected this level of attendance and yet, mostly everyone she recognized was here, their whispers of excitement dancing around her ears and ribald remarks thrown out to those female performers who’d come attired in their sexiest clothing to sing and dance.
pigs.
chorong sidles her way to a good spot and keeps her features schooled blank as the males close by shoot her interested glances. clearly the unflattering oversized hoodie wasn’t doing its intended job of hiding her presence and chorong clicks her tongue in disapproval the moment one foolishly brave soul steps closer to her. he freezes in place when chorong coolly stares back at him, satisfaction blooming in her chest when he correctly reads the silent rejection in her expression.
she’d come here to see her friends: seulgi and yoongi, who both had promised performances for her listening pleasure, and perhaps seolhyun, too, if the other had chosen to do so (and what a surprise that would be!) chorong gladly listens to the acts that come before and in between her friends’ own, her eyes glued to the stage and absently nodding along as the public performers did their best to ‘wow’ this crowd. the key difference, she notices mildly, between this stage and the one for the trainees had to be the level of pressure. chorong could confidently say these listeners were far more happier and encouraging of those who showed off their best than the others had been within the companies. without the threat of official competition, did everything feel so much more relaxed?
yoongi’s rap moves her, in the way that tears burn behind eyes and cause her throat to tighten in compassion. seulgi’s violin and dance cheers her up, coaxing out a rare smile on chorong’s lips and silent plans to tease her roommate later. it’s clear that the two are talented and chorong keeps her hopes unsaid; a future in which all her friends could join her in sphere together someday. she misses them terribly, even if she sees seulgi every evening, but chorong keeps it quiet and closely guarded deep inside her heart. for the two who chase their dreams as vividly as she does, they only deserve the best paths they could possibly be given.
(but, for the meantime, her wishes will continue to remain quite selfish.)
fact #1 learned during summer camp: indoor air-conditioning will always beat the sun.
fact #2 learned during summer camp: attending workshops is fun if they’re useful.
and this workshop is useful because chorong plans on singing for the rest of her life and useful because it affords the girl ample opportunity to observe what korea’s new generation of idols are capable of (see: competition.) some can sing-- that’s obvious-- and many more can’t, which, as sad as it is to admit, is not surprising in the least. idols didn’t need to be talented in everything, or anything really, if their visuals were competent enough to lure in the loyal fans. how lucky to be able to live that way, so carefree and dependent that one lovely smile can snatch a dozen potential cfs!
fact #3 learned during summer camp: jealousy is a thing.
“good,” the instructor praises as she circles around chorong’s pairing and listens to each one of them vocalize the lines to chi-chi’s “mister mister.” a terrible song choice for any occasion, in chorong’s opinion, but it was the price for asking the other singer to accompany her for this workshop exercise. just by listening during the previous warm-ups, chorong honed in on the royal girl as a worthwhile partner to train with and easily slid into her hemisphere the moment the instructors told them to break off into groupings.
“what’s it like in sphere?” the other asks curiously once a well-deserved break is earned. she hands chorong a water bottle and the latter accepts it with a gracious nod. chorong chooses her words carefully, thoughts organizing into a priority list of how not to drag her company while being honest about her improving happiness.
“mm. creative?” the company more casual than focused, allowing artists to develop their personal skills as future musicians in the industry. chorong spends more time alone than with the others even if lessons consume the majority of her busy days. “between university and training, it’s a headache.” the other girl’s eyebrows raise but chorong only takes a small sip of the water and sets it aside. “let’s get back to work, shall we?”
should’ve been
the perfect storm
now we’ll never
know for sure
with @seulgirk
regrets hang heavy on a red string that is never tied around chorong’s wrist. she thinks seulgi and she could have been something-- best friends, partners, maybe even lovers if fate had sought to be so kind to the two of them. chorong is an idealist, as most writers tend to be, but not even fanciful imaginings nor lyrics penned to a music page were enough to obscure the reality of the situation: some people are never meant to be more than enemies.
( though... perhaps ‘enemies’ is a bit too harsh of a term; chorong doesn’t hate seulgi at all, actually, but it’s difficult to find common ground with someone who doesn’t even share the same likes, and whose music taste leaves much to be desired. )
chorong hates chi-chi for what they represent to the industry, and seulgi loves them because they inspire her to work harder. chorong likes being alone to write, finding inspiration in the buzz that surrounds her when she blends into invisibility, and seulgi likes to bother her with nonsense topics of conversation. for someone who cares for the importance of individual words and phrases, chorong can’t stand it when seulgi uses too much of them in a tumble of wanting chorong to pay attention to her. and maybe chorong would do so, if only seulgi would actually be quiet for once.
but it’s when seulgi finally does shut up, words disappearing in the act of silent, hurtful contemplation, that chorong does feel worried. it’s a stupid way to feel, especially since this is actually what the girl desires in the first place but seulgi is like a puppy, and there’s no worse realization than to discover chorong might have accidentally kicked one. seulgi doesn’t make a sound but keeps her gaze downcast and chorong is annoyed: annoyed that she’s so manipulated by this girl, irritated that she actually cares enough to want to cheer seulgi up, and completely regretful as soon as the words leave chorong’s mouth.
“-- i guess chi-chi does have one or two good songs.”
she’s a wanderess, capable of drifting down streets she’s never visited before in the unending search for something new, but there are times when chorong’s feet feel nailed to the earth’s floor-- and that includes when an unexpected visit from her step-sister keeps the girl in the realm of the other one’s desires. she doesn’t dislike seunghee-- after all, chorong’s father marrying her mother is hardly her fault either-- but it’s that their tastes don’t always match when it comes to things they like to do.
“what do you think of this dress?” seunghee’s questioning voice drifts in chorong’s direction and the latter flicks her gaze over the mannequin in the shop window. the mall is chorong’s prison this time and the girl resigns herself to the inevitable boredom of it all.
“it’s nice,” she says simply. it’s all that’s ever expected from her before seunghee goes off on her own tangent and chorong’s eyes wander elsewhere seeking nothing else except a convenient distraction from a place and time she’d rather not be. however, when the distraction does come, in the form of a high school boy with a camcorder approaching her, the girl can’t honestly deduce whether she’s grateful or flummoxed at the unanticipated development more.
“a school project?” chorong echoes after the boy briefly explains his mission to her. “yeah-- it’s just a few minutes of your time if you can spare it,” he entreats earnestly. big brown eyes look directly into chorong’s and the girl swallows, wondering if there’s any difference between this boy and an overgrown puppy; it’s not like she hasn’t been approached by males before, but never for so innocent a reason as this and one she can actually say ‘yes’ to.
“chorong, what’s this?” seunghee’s asks as she comes to stand beside chorong and peeks curiously at the boy’s camera. “an interview?”
“he wants me to rap... freestyle,” chorong explains sheepishly. seunghee’s mouth parts in surprise before a few passing moments leaves the girl shaking with laughter. “you... rapping... i’m--” her hand clamps down on chorong’s shoulder to keep her balance as seunghee continues to dissolve into giggles. “hey, kid,” seunghee gasps out, “i don’t think you’re asking the right per--”
it isn’t seunghee’s fault that chorong’s father married her mother, and it isn’t seunghee’s fault that she doesn’t know chorong’s private hobbies outside of their unplanned get-togethers. despite the rudeness the girl displays towards the boy, the ignorant behavior doesn’t dissuade chorong from showing off what she can do-- even if it’s just to put a sharp stop to that ridiculous cackling.
If I was just another dusty record on the shelf
Would you blow me off and play me like everybody else?
If I asked you to scratch my back, could you manage that?
Furthermore, I apologize for any skipping tracks
It's just the last guy that played me left a couple cracks
I used to used to used to, now I'm over that
'Cause holding grudges over love is ancient artifacts
If I could only find a note to make you understand
I'd sing it softly in your ear and grab you by the hand
Just keep it stuck inside your head, like your favorite tune
And know my heart's a stereo that only plays for you
seunghee, having frozen the moment chorong opened her mouth, only looks away as her step-sister finishes with a smile in the boy’s direction. chorong tilts her head towards the camera, asking, “is that all you need?” the boy-- whom chorong belatedly remembers introducing himself as ‘junse’ earlier-- stares at her in shock for a moment before remembering to answer her question with an eager nod. “yeah... yeah, that was great! thank you!”
