I couldn't quite put my childhood dream into words, but the ever-changing winds of change usually centered around being "loved." In that sense, being an idol was a career that was innate to me. I nurtured that dream, sitting in front of the occasionally dead TV screen. Watching them in the spotlight, I silently admired them. Everyone on stage shone. They sparkled. I wanted to shine. That kind of yearning fueled my desire to leave the countryside and move to the city at fifteen. While I didn't possess any particular talent, my handsome face was my only weapon. I'd work all morning and practice singing and dancing in my small room in the evening. After a few warnings from the owner, I'd often find myself humming along in the park in front of my house, earphones plugged in. The more I thought about whether I was a complete idiot, the more I grew up. My ability to learn quickly was my only source of hope.
I must have gone through two or three crates of auditions, from large to small, places that didn't even have a company name listed. My 2G phone, which only worked on text messages, was filled with rejection reports. While peeling onions in a Chinese restaurant, I threw the knife on the floor and cried. My hair was a mess. I cried like a madman in broad daylight. A coworker even readily offered to take over if I cried enough. I think I was even a little grateful. We almost became close. She committed suicide due to financial hardship. When I heard the news a few days later, I was glad I'd barely escaped. It was probably around that time that I resolved to be cautious in all my relationships. It was better not to have something than to lose it. I couldn't cry anymore. The onions were still spicy, but from that day on, I practiced like a madman. The result was an acceptance letter from a small agency. I don't think it was a natural, fleeting stroke of luck, but rather a reward commensurate with my sacrifice. So, I joined the agency at 18, and within a year, I was selected for the debut group.
We had our own separate dorm, and we put our room up for rent. There were eleven trainees, but it was only about 26 square meters. There was only one bathroom, so we had to take turns bathing. As the youngest, I consciously volunteered to be the last. The awkward atmosphere had already dissipated, and after about a month, everyone seemed to have become close. Of course, this was only superficial. The atmosphere here was so fast-paced that no one could let their guard down until the very end. Eleven was definitely not the right number, and the anxiety that some would drop out made everyone deeply wary. Therefore, the practice room, rather than the dorm where subtle power struggles were taking place, became my sanctuary. I enjoyed sneaking old cassettes late into the night and lurking in the corner of the room. Memorizing dance routines and looking at my sweaty body in the mirror would sometimes ease my vague fear. Hard work never betrays. The power of a single phrase I'd glimpsed was truly remarkable. Effort often betrays, and I know it's all just a facade, but I practiced for three hours straight. With no way back, the only way forward was forward. I wouldn't stop. Feeling short of breath and a little overwhelmed, I turned off the music and grabbed a bottle of water. Then a man showed up. When he suddenly opened the door and burst in with a navy beanie, it felt strange. I wondered if he was from the company, but then I noticed his knees were chafed beneath his shorts. He must have practiced just as hard as I did. Thanks to that, I knew he was a trainee right away. Holding an empty paper cup in one hand, he leaned against the wall for a moment, then strode over to me with long legs. Then he suddenly asked,
“Is there a fire?”
"···."
There was something different about Min Yoongi from the moment we first met.
The first day was a fire, and the next day was another. I wondered why he persisted in asking even though he already knew. There's nothing, there isn't. Finally, on the third day, I snapped at him harshly, still searching for a lighter. Even if there was... would I be kicked out together? As a trainee, he obviously knew that the company rules stipulated smoking. At this point, I wondered if he considered being rejected a form of amusement. Min Yoongi looked regretfully at the cigarette pack, still unopened. He took off the beanie he always wore, and his light yellow hair was disheveled. Even in the practice room, he didn't do anything. Occasionally, he'd point out my dancing or lecture me like the director of a vocal academy, saying that singing wasn't done that way. Hey, you need to use your stomach, not your throat. I kept doing that, and eventually, I'd lose it. At first, I'd fight back, but I'd learned the skill of deflecting criticism. I'd nod roughly. He smacked his lips at my silence, even when I provoked him. He must have realized then that his petty words weren't enough to attract my attention. After that, he brought me food. When I refused his caramel latte because I thought it would make me fat, he grumbled and gave me an Americano the next day. The bitter one didn't suit my taste, but I drank it because I saw the effort he put into buying it so early in the morning. His pleased gaze reached the bedside. I think it's partly his fault that I'm always drinking Americano now. Min Yoongi pretended not to care, acting friendly towards me. As if he had done something to me. So, did he really do something? Whenever I came to my senses, I found myself smiling at him without realizing it. He was good at permeating.
It got to the point where I was confiding in Min Yoongi things I hadn't even told my close teammates. This morning, when we were practicing choreography, he made a mistake and then he called me out on it... I poured out every anecdote from that morning, trying not to show my displeasure. He didn't take any direct action like swearing back or going to confront me, but he just soothed me by pouring water on my angry mouth. "Okay, drink some water first." Then I opened my mouth slightly like a baby bird pecking at its mother's food. Min Yoongi said this in the silence, tilting his wrist absentmindedly.
“Where is there a kid who comes to practice at dawn every day even though his skills aren’t lacking? He’s such a hard worker that even the most professional players can’t do it.”
You'll succeed at whatever you do, I know. That's what he told me. The encouragement from a mere trainee, not even the CEO or the manager, was powerful. Seriously, it hit home. His eyes would become overly calm the moment he offered such mature advice. I didn't know what he meant. I didn't even try to find out. Having just turned nineteen, I wasn't at the leisure to listen to other people's stories. Ignoring him would be more accurate. It was something I regretted. He often carried an MP3 player with him, and he'd lend me one of his earphones. Whenever a soft pop song drifted into my ears, he'd turn his head and glance at Min Yoongi. His blond hair cascaded down his sharp nose. His nearly pale skin was tinged with red here and there, especially around his eyes. He often rubbed his eyes while listening. The lyrics were just plain monotonous.
It was good news. Thanks to one member's voluntary withdrawal, our team had been confirmed as ten, confirming our debut. We'd received word from our manager that afternoon. The members were overjoyed. However, no one asked about that one detail. Perhaps it was both natural and cruel. The same-age member she'd known as her soulmate and the most compatible member of the group showed no sign of sadness. She immediately picked up the phone and ran to the other end to relay the news. There are things that make sense in our heads, but our hearts can't quite grasp. That day felt just like that. It was the first day I'd gone out of my way to find Min Yoongi. The uncluttered agency building was partly to blame, but Min Yoongi's simplicity was even more helpful. He was in the practice room. I'd flung open the door in the wee hours of the morning, hoping to throw him a surprise. Min Yoongi flinched. The way he stood there, completely unfazed, felt strangely out of place. It was as if a secret had been discovered. Soon, he'd pretended to be joking.
“You’re here? You’ve been slacking off on practice lately.”
“Brother.”
I said. I'm debuting. My debut is confirmed. We're going to events, going on broadcasts, and all that. It's amazing to have achieved a dream. I wanted to look cool. To the person I relied on the most, the person I treasured the most, the person I loved the most. I crossed the practice hallway with a bright smile. Even if I couldn't show off my envy, I hoped he'd at least praise me. Like he always did. In that warm voice. That you've worked hard so far, that your hardships are over now. That you've been rewarded for your efforts. Was it too much to hope that tonight would be like the nights we'd just had? I closed the distance to three steps and looked up at him. Min Yoongi's expression was hard. At first, I thought he was joking. He loved teasing people. Even in the beginning, and his record was so numerous that I couldn't even count them all. It was annoying, but on the other hand, I thought it was just like him. Trying to lighten the mood, I reached out to his skinny wrist, and then... A series of noises deafened my ears.
"···."
“··· Oppa?”
A hand thrown away, with no hope. A cold silence.
"··· ah."
"···."
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”
"···."
“I’m going to go now.”
Congratulations on your debut. That was it. Min Yoongi ran past me as if he was running away. I was dumbfounded for a long time. In the empty practice room. It had been a long time since I was alone. Only then did my hands begin to tingle, and my heart a little more so. Why? Was it my fault? Being the first to debut in the same situation? But you know how much I struggled. You know how much I struggled. Then… shouldn't you be celebrating even more? Back then, I was selfish. I was naive, overly sensitive, and self-centered. Even when the warmth of the cold floor crept through my toes, even when my hand burned after being thrown away, I didn't bother to rush out and catch him. The emptiness before me blinded me, and I couldn't fathom what he must have been like today. No, just how he must have been. Where Min Yoongi had awkwardly been, there was a trash can. Inside was a cigarette pack, the plastic wrapper still intact, as if it were brand new. Seriously. This was the worst day ever.
Half a year had passed since then. Min Yoongi hadn't seen me since, as if he really didn't intend to see me. I don't know if it was intentional or personal, but I was angry. I was so angry that I even felt resentful. Inside the van heading to the broadcasting station, I clenched my fists. I broke my promise to be cautious in all relationships. People come and go as they please. I knew that, but once again. I couldn't hold back the tears that occasionally welled up. Even when the members asked what was wrong, I couldn't answer. Even I didn't know why. I became someone who was loved, just as I'd always wanted to be. For some reason, our debut album became a hit, and my schedule became quite hectic. News articles about our group were all over the internet, and with our rapidly increasing popularity in the past few months, everyone at the company was busy. In just one day, we received over 500 individual fan letters. I was loved. I didn't envy anyone. I even closed my eyes while looking out the window. It was undoubtedly a beautiful view. I missed the hazy night sky. Around that time, I started buying Americano.
Min Yoongi had a distinctive smell. When I playfully rested my head on his shoulder, the scent of fabric softener hit me. It was unforgettable. That's why I had so much perfume. As soon as I earned money, I bought everything I could find. I had to forget. His smell was so repulsive to me. Sometimes, I even retched a few times because it was unbearable. The nostalgia for him wouldn't leave my mind. I was heading to the CEO's office for a new fashion brand advertisement when I stopped walking. This can't be happening... My head turned, completely different from what I'd thought. Someone faced me in the middle of the hallway. Sometimes, unbelievable things happen all at once. Trust and distrust come from choices. The scent still lingered, and I...
“How have you been, Kim Yeo-ju?”
"···."
I am.
He looked drastically different after a long time. His crown, once covered in blonde, was now covered in black hair that had grown back. He was wearing ripped jeans instead of the shorts that had clearly shown his bare knees. The red around his eyes was no longer red, which gave me a faint sense of comfort. I sat down at a nearby cafe. I had already told the CEO about this. Min Yoongi, who had been scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, spoke first. “You’re really popular these days. Your group is always on TV.” His triangular eyes closed prettily with a smile. “Exactly like I said.” It was a good idea to bring that up. The person who had stormed off without permission and not even shown his face for a year. I wanted to argue with him right away, but I held my peace for now. I took a sip of the Americano placed in front of me.
“How was it?”
"what?"
“I’ve always seen my shabby appearance. I think it would be different to see me there.”
The answer was already set. I wanted him to suffer. Seeing me rise to the summit I so desperately yearned for, he'd envy me, lament me. I wanted him to atone for me in some way. Min Yoongi smiled bitterly.
“It was pretty.”
"······."
“It was shiny.”
My once-compassionate heart slowly crumbled. The expression on his face, the way he spoke so brazenly now, the detached eyes that couldn't deny his sincerity. I gritted my teeth. I wanted to endure the pain and completely erase the memories I'd loved, but he was already that very memory. I knew it, too.
“Can I ask you one more thing?”
"huh."
“Back then. When we were really... close.”
"······."
“You didn’t like me?”
It was as if I'd thrown a stone at someone who'd been so calm, sending tiny ripples through my mind. My eyes were already welling up with tears. It was hard for me. With my brother gone, I had nowhere to lean on. Why on earth did he disappear without a word? What did I do wrong that day? Was it okay for us to become so insignificant? Right after our debut, just thinking about my brother made my heart race, and I was on the verge of breaking down. Really. That's what I said. Even though I tried my best to calm him down, my voice was shaking. His hand was gradually tightening. I tried not to show my ugly appearance.
“That’s why I’m asking. I’m just curious.”
The weight of words will be revealed no matter how hard you try to hide it. Min Yoongi knows this is my last regret.
"Sorry."
“What is it?”
"all."
An irresponsible answer. He cleared his throat after that answer.
“I’ll tell you my story now.”
"···."
“It’s a little long.”
Min Yoongi said he abandoned his family and hometown, risking his life solely for his debut. Perhaps it was his family background or his natural disposition, but he desperately wanted stability. That's why he was even more impatient and pushed himself ahead. He was a genius who went from trainee to near-debut in just eight months. He was no exception, practicing until dawn. It wasn't just a coincidence that we often stayed up late together. Unknowingly, he overworked himself until, at some point, he felt a tingling sensation in his right ankle. The pain, initially dismissed as simple muscle soreness, was actually a precursor to degenerative arthritis. He was slow to address the issue, which led to a metal rod being inserted into his leg. Min Yoongi ended up limping. For months, he struggled to walk, let alone dance. After receiving a diagnosis, he stepped onto the company rooftop for the first time. He'd heard the news from his manager just hours before: he'd been removed from the group he was slated to debut with. Min Yoongi had six months left on his contract. He said he could easily be transferred to another team if his leg condition improved within six months, but he had already considered that possibility to be near zero. Essentially, he was told he'd have to stay at the company like a ghost for six months before being released. Standing on the rooftop railing, Min Yoongi looked down. He wondered if he was going to die. But he didn't. He did, however, buy a cigarette.
The reason he bought cigarettes was to get out of the company as soon as possible. Walking had gotten a little easier, but his arthritis showed no signs of improving, so his debut was off the table. Min Yoongi said he was so, so frustrated with all the wasted time he'd had. He brought cigarettes inside the building, thinking he might just have a cigarette and get kicked out. He thought it would be quite funny if he left a single cigarette butt in the middle of the practice room. But Min Yoongi, a twenty-year-old former idol trainee, had never tried smoking before. He forgot his lighter. He only realized it when he got to the practice room door. He grabbed the doorknob, thinking he'd definitely bring a lighter with him the next day, but there I was. To borrow his words... a complete newbie.
He said he was impressed by how focused he was on his own work, no matter who came in. He said he found it funny how he got annoyed when I mentioned the lighter a few times, which he probably wouldn't have because he was bored. I can't say it's entirely my fault, but I had some part in his loss of interest in cigarettes. Min Yoongi saw himself in me. Maybe that's why he often smiled bitterly. I finally understood why he always sat quietly in the practice room. I wonder what he thought, what he resented, what he regretted while sitting next to me, listening to music. It must have been painful. The advice and encouragement he sometimes tossed out thoughtlessly were instead directed at him. Saying things like, "You'll succeed." He couldn't hide his complex feelings.
We liked each other. Even though we'd never said a word, I knew it subconsciously. It was a tangle of feelings too deep to simply define as friendship. My heartbeat raced down through our clasped hands. Min Yoongi was the first to notice. After countless moments of deliberation, he decided to express his feelings. The first thing he did was throw away his cigarettes. He had no reason to leave the company anymore. I was in the practice room, and even though there were only a few months left, those moments were precious. Seeing no reason to step in and cut back, I tossed the new, unopened cigarette pack into the trash can. Everything was perfect. It was a relationship that would work out, no matter who it was, if only one of us expressed it. It was truly a stroke of genius. It was just that no one dared approach that stroke of genius. That day was the day my debut was confirmed.
That day, of all days, was like that.
“··· Oppa?”
"···."
What must Min Yoongi have felt? What must he have thought as he looked at me? Was that resentment directed at me, or was it slowly eating away at me? He was undoubtedly happy. It was something I longed for, not just for myself, but for him, who spent all night with me, helping me practice. However, reality was a bit harsher. Words and reality were vastly different. Even Min Yoongi, who was always so indifferent, didn't know it would hurt so much. His right leg began to tingle for no reason. He avoided my brightly smiling eyes. He said his throat was so tight that he couldn't even congratulate me. If we had met a little differently, what would have been different? It wasn't this relationship... something else. That's what I thought. Now, it hurt so much, maybe even a little more. The jealousy and inferiority complex I feel toward someone I love is doubling down. He must have been unable to bear that disgust. He might have been feeling homesick for a long time. He pushed my hand away and kicked open the practice room door. He stood quietly, leaning against the wall. Min Yoongi's eyes were particularly red. There was no guarantee that his past days with me would have been any different from that day. He cried silently that day.
“This is the end.”
"···."
“Now that we talk about it… it’s nothing special.”
My Americano had cooled. Min Yoongi raised his head slightly. I looked away. I just stared out the window. It was still daytime. We, who had met in the fading dawn, were unfamiliar with each other in the bright daylight. We weren't honest. We still liked each other. It was just a slight difference. As if it were planned, I didn't have the courage to close that gap first. I was a debuted idol, and Min Yoongi was a former trainee who was now quite far from debuting. Our eyes met in silence. A single word could change our relationship.
but,
"······."
No one said anything.