kibum avoids the royal building. he doesn’t want to walk those halls, doesn’t want to look to the center of the building and see the garden growing there, doesn’t want to see the willow tree his name has been carved in for over three years. he doesn’t want to remember all the people who used to walk those halls with him, doesn’t want to think about all the silent promises he made as he crossed their names out of the bark on the tree.
so he spends all his training time in the seocho complex, stretching himself between worrying about what he’ll do for evals, worrying about what he’ll do about the sphere thing, and worrying about what the other royal boys will do about the sphere thing. he spends a lot of time worrying, so by the time he does get time on his own with rachel, he just settles into her arms and sleeps, or when insomnia takes over, as it so often does, listens to her tell him about her day.
he takes whatever breaks he can from all that worrying, and he appreciates the chance to enjoy the time alone with her, to watch the way her lips move and their bedroom’s lamplight glints off her hair.
( he’ll have to give her up if he takes this chance, if sphere decides they want to debut him. she’s just one more thing he’ll be able to add to the list of things he sacrificed for his own success.
at night, when she’s fallen asleep in his arms and he still lies awake in the moonlight, he wishes, more than anything, that he could have both -- that he could debut without having to give up any of the home he’s found in her. )
he knows he’s stretched too thin, knows he’s worrying about too many things, what with trying to write a rap for his evaluation while thinking about what he’ll do about sphere and also worrying after dongmin and jaehyun, both of whom he knows aren’t doing well in the face of this huge decision.
he’s tired, and gentle, happy moments with rachel, dongmin, jaehyun, or all three -- like when they all made him a cake for his birthday and they had a little party -- make him almost want to give it all up, because those moments feel so nice and easy. they remind him of his time so long ago with luminosity, but for once those memories aren’t tinged with longing or resentment; they’re a reminder that he’s had this kind of love before, and that it exists in his future too.
he just hates that it can’t exist in his present -- not if he takes this opportunity and finally accomplishes what he’s been working towards for more than three years.
the decision isn’t really a decision -- he knew immediately when he heard that he wanted to try, that he couldn’t let this opportunity pass, not when royal is about to debut a girl group and it’s impossible to say if he’ll even still be of considerable age before they decide to debut a boy group.
the only question is of whether dongmin and jaehyun will do it too, because the thought of leaving either of them behind makes kibum want to throw up. that also reminds him of luminosity, but of the aftermath: of the feeling of abandonment, of feeling like there was no one left in the world who truly cared about him. and when he thinks of jaehyun’s relationship with his parents, or of how dongmin was literally kicked out less than a month ago, he can’t let himself even consider doing that to them.
he isn’t selfish anymore, and he isn’t working for only his own dream. he needs to be there to support his boys, too -- but if they decide they don’t want to leave royal, then he doesn’t know what he’ll end up doing. it’ll come down to choosing between his career and them, and he honestly doesn’t know which one he would choose.
so he doesn’t worry about that. that isn’t a problem he has to face right now, so he leaves it. he has enough to worry about for now.
( and oh boy, is he worrying. )
he manages to write his own rap for the eval, writing one long verse that, when he times himself, lasts just over the one-minute minimum. he writes about striving for success, describes a vision of running, constantly running, with a hand outstretched, but it’s as if things hold him back, or trip him up, or even as he gets closer to the goal, the road gets longer.
he writes about the frustration of watching others give up, and of wanting to give up himself. of wanting to live an easier life, pursue a different dream. but there is no other dream.
that line always makes him think of rachel, of the way his heart skips a beat every time she smiles, of how content he feels in their apartment with their pets and the lost boys they seem to have adopted. there is no other dream. that line feels like a lie, because there is, now. there is another dream, one where he can settle down with rachel and live a happy, peaceful life teaching dance, maybe acting in musicals or modeling.
so he modifies the line. if i did anything else, i’d never forgive myself.
he’s here. he’s got the opportunity; he’s worked for three years towards this moment. if he gave it up, even for the happy home he’s found, he would never be able to live with himself. he would always ask “what if,” would never be satisfied in his life because he could have had more.
i fight to avoid regrets, to avoid ‘what if’
i fight against the frustration, i fight with determination
i fight for everyone who can’t anymore
i fight because if i didn’t, i could never be satisfied
i’ve been on this path for too long to stop fighting now.
his notes are full of ideas scrawled and crossed out until he ended up with lines he was satisfied with, squeezed in between notes and scribbles and barely legible to anyone but him. he kept intending to transfer them to a clean page while he was practicing, but never brought himself to do it. after all, he could read them well enough, and he kind of likes the look of the page so full of ink. it reminds him of his own mind, and makes a note on the next blank page of the book to write about “a page full of ink.”
when he finally stands in front of the panel and starts rapping, it’s more of a relief than anything. he’s just glad to finally be getting this over with -- it’s just one less thing to be worried about.
the lines fall from his lips easily, after more than a week of working on the lyrics and intently practicing under the guidance of the very coaches judging him now. he raps his lyrics, a flame of pride warming his chest at the thought that he made this. without him, these words, this rhythm, would have never existed. these ideas would never have been expressed, and even if this is just a private evaluation and it’s impossible to know if anyone will ever actually hear this verse, he’s still proud of it, because it’s his.
it’s a contradiction, like he often feels he is: the beat ( made during a very stressful day with one of his coaches in the recording studio ) is gentle but strong. the words are soft but still intimidating, still powerful. the lyrics themselves are a declaration of strength and determination, but still carry a subtext of uncertainty -- that idea of what if i’m not enough, what if i’m just wasting my time that isn’t explicitly written, but is hidden between the lines and within kibum’s voice as he raps the lines.
as he’s performing, he feels nothing but focus on don’t fuck up, you’ll mess up the whole thing and pride at the fact that he created this from nothing.
when it’s over, he feels relieved, but also exhausted, as if he just bared his soul to these coaches who don’t give a shit, and now he has to recover emotionally from that tender moment.
after it’s over, he leaves the seocho complex and goes to the royal building for the first time in almost two weeks. it’s time, he thinks, to face the decisions he’s been avoiding.
Rapping. It’s something Jinri had never even come close to considering for herself. After only a tiny bit of practice, she realized she really can’t pull off the whole tough girl rapper dynamic. However, she can hold a beat fairly well, though she always manages to sound like she’s trying to half-sing, half-speak the words instead of just rapping them.
That’s why she ended up on Ed Sheeran. “Don’t,” while being a little overplayed, is a great song that is a healthy mix of rapping and singing. It’s enough rapping to fit the assignment of Jinri’s evaluation, but with enough singing that it not only fits her style, but can be seen as playing to her strengths, as Jae told her.
Plus, it’s extra advantageous since she already knew the words, thanks to the song being so overplayed. So during practice, she worked on making it sound more like rap and less like singing. There’s only so much she could do with that, though, so eventually she enlisted Jae’s help once again and made her own acapella backtrack.
It was pretty fun, actually; the two of them (occasionally with the help of Luna or one of the other trainees) sat around in the recording studio every day during independent study for a whole week, just figuring out how to make the different percussive sounds in the song and recording them all. The difficult part was keeping all the files straight on the computer and making sure they were all in the right order on the final track. Even now Jinri still isn’t completely sure they didn’t switch a few things up, but hopefully they’re so small they won’t be noticed, especially since the song will only be played once.
The actual evaluation isn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as the Valentine’s one was, which is a little surprising considering that this time she’s stepping a little out of her comfort zone and doing something a bit closer to rapping. However, after a bit of thought it’s not that surprising: what she’s doing actually isn’t too far from singing, and actually probably shouldn’t be called rap at all (but there’s no way she’s gonna admit that until after her eval.) On top of that, this evaluation isn’t also a competition like at Valentine’s. Or at least, Jinri hopes it’s not.
(But if it is, she has to applaud them for doing it this way. Making them unknowingly compete against each other really cuts down on the nerves and will probably improve everyone’s performance.)
((But at the same time, idols have to perform under pressure all the time, so the trainees should probably get used to it--oh wait, she’s getting off track.))
She sits in the evaluation room, watching the other trainees perform and waiting for her turn. When they call her, she goes up and grabs the microphone, smiling and bowing towards the small panel of judges. “Hello, I’ll be rapping Ed Sheeran for you today. My instrumental track is an acapella track I made myself, with a little technical help,” she adds with a small smile towards Jae, who she can see standing at the back of the room.
The “ah la” parts are part of the backtrack, something Jinri knew from the beginning she would have to do. They just overlap too much with the lyrics.
Jinri loves this song because of the story it tells on top of a regular rhythm and beat. She supposes a lot of rap songs are the same way, but for some reason she can never get into them as much. Maybe she’s just mainstream.
Even though Ed always had a bit more singing throughout the song, for the purpose of this eval Jinri makes sure to focus more on rapping during the verses. Then, since the chorus doesn’t sound good as a rap (she knows because she tried), she makes that more singing, more similar to Ed.
Before the third verse, at the point where the original song makes a knocking sound, Jinri claps her hands together three times, along with the clapping sound on the backtrack. She smiles as she “raps,” honestly having fun with the performance.
It feels like too soon when the song ends, and she hopes that was enough rapping for the instructors, because she’s not sure what would happen to a trainee who failed the evaluation assignment, and she’s not too excited to find out.
Key hasn't had to spend as much time on set this week -- nobody has, not even the ones playing main characters, like Mina and Taemin. They're still filming, of course, but apparently there just aren't as many things to work on as usual. It's nice, honestly, to be able to go back to training with everyone, even the main actors who haven't had as much training time lately.
Key's been thinking about trying this for a while now, but he kept putting off actually attending the workshop. However, now that everyone else seems to be excited about having time to actually focus on their training now, it seems he's gotten a surge of motivation as well, so he figures that now's as good a time as any to try out rapping.
The moment he steps into the workshop, he realizes that he's one of only two trainees present: and he even got here a little bit late. There are two coaches in the room as well, so while one stays wirh the other trainee, another comes over to work with Key, who mentally cheers: it'll be nice to have a coach all to himself for a whole workshop.
He didn't expect it to be this sparsely populated, though he supposes he probably should have. Rapping is hardly a staple of Royal, which focuses mostly on singing and charisma. He thinks for a moment that being a rapper here must be even worse than being a dancer: it's not like rapping is necessary for an idol, not like dancing. Everybody has to dance, but Royal's groups could probably get by with one or two mediocre rappers, if any at all.
Even so, the coach seems to know what he's doing, and Key has fun with the older man, rapping along to songs in English and Korean alike, even if they don't hit all the words in the English raps.
key already knows how to rap. he started picking up the ability when he was a dancer on the street, and he's done it on occasion, but for the most part he's focused on dancing and honing his singing skills in lessons with jieun. however, he's never had a formal lesson in rapping, he just kind of figured it out from listening to rap songs and watching others do it on the street. he's certainly not as confident in his rap skills as he is in his dancing, but he figures that he can't be horrible at it, right?
in the workshop, he learns that rapping is all about rhythm, though he had known that going in. he did learn something new, though: unlike dance, in rap you can create your own rhythm. key now knows why choreographing a song that's nothing but rap is hard for him -- its rhythm is often different than the standard one most songs and dances follow.
to the untrained ear, the instructor explains, rapping can seem like nothing more than speaking on top of a beat. but it's definitely more than that; a rap is the performer's chosen method of expressing what's important to them. it's definitely a cheesy way of putting it, but key can't say he doesn't understand. what else is performing, if not a way to express yourself?
he zones out for a few minutes, thinking about how sad it is that in the eyes of companies, performers are nothing more than ways of making money. music and performance is a method of entertainment, sure, but for key it's so much more than that: it's a method of expression, and he feels like sometimes idols and idol hopefuls like the people in this workshop with him tend to forget that.
he zones back in to listen to the instructor talk about freestyle rapping and how that differs from normal rap songs, though his mood is significantly darkened by the thoughts that had distracted him in the first place.
