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Oh Haewon is an idol.
This time last year, maybe two years ago now, people would constantly tell her she was the most popular entertainer. Brand endorsements, variety shows, her main job - all of it on two hours of sleep, more caffeine than blood, and her own sweat.
Okay, well, maybe not more caffeine than blood. She thinks she puts more of her blood than her heart into her work sometimes.
Of course, that doesn’t apply to everything. Being on stage is enough to pump her along the claustrophobic industry vessels for as long as she needs. Notes warbling from her lips, burning limbs doing their best to look sharp and collected, are enough for her, for her entire lifetime.
But NMIXX makes her afraid sometimes. Haewon loves them, of course. She loves them so much that she looks at them and thinks her heart might implode. It wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, with them in her sights, but she doesn’t think she’d ever forgive herself for letting them see that. Anyway, still, she gets scared.
Which is why sometimes, in moments of clarity and understanding of the leaders that have come before her, Haewon finds herself contained and still in high energy moments. Her members, her friends, her family, get lost in their own excitement and fun very easily - this their fans know very well - and rather than getting swept away, on occasion, Haewon will dig her heels into the ground and cling onto the fragile daisy stems between blades of grass, observing and wishing she could permanently capture the moment in a snowglobe.
She reprimands Yoona for shutting herself in her room on the same nights that she shoos the other members away when they seem to be approaching the door.
She pulls embarrassed grimaces onto her facial muscles at Jinsol’s clownery, lips curling upward nonetheless.
She scolds Jiwoo for her food preferences in the same breath that she cradles her, stroking her hair and patting her back.
She glares at a particularly audacious Kyujin, her inaction rendering her completely nonthreatening, as intended.
She waits and waits during every second of every day for an opening to push Lily’s buttons, teasing her over things that anyone else would simply move on from in two seconds (getting the time wrong) or address far more seriously (a certain pattern in social interactions). In between demanding schedules, gruelling practices, and sleepless hours spent pitifully self-reprimanding, these brief pockets of reprieve are shimmering diamonds tumbling amongst the grains of sand inside the hourglass that counts down the days until Haewon’s inevitable career death.
So arrest her for writing it all down.
Apparently, according to Yoona, fans on twitter are calling her ‘down bad’ and have been for years (to which Lily howled until she teared up before explaining, and Haewon smacked the shit out of her arm when she found out Lily had been aware of this happening the whole time too). Haewon can’t even begin to defend her other behaviour, but in terms of this, well. When these days she can barely remember her own birthday, her precious drops of sunshine are something she never wants to let spill away. So she writes.
Today, Lily-unnie said that if something is not impossible, it is possible. She stated the obvious so seriously, her eyes were so wide looking directly into mine with a straight face. I couldn’t help but laugh.
Today, I saw Lily-unnie reading on the stairs. I took a photo. She’s really fascinating, like, who actually reads in a place like that? Was it comfortable? I can’t believe she’s real sometimes.
Today, Lily-unnie said “banana” in the cutest way. I don’t think Jinsol even reacted, I don’t know how. Lily-unnie is so naturally cute and funny, and I don’t think she realises. She has an ability you can only be born with. I’m a bit jealous.
Jealous, or - Haewon’s thumbs tremble above the screen, unable to picture anything that isn’t big brown eyes and a drawling accent and the widest smile imaginable - something I don’t think I want to name.
Something Haewon has written about in lyrics, too embarrassed to share which words are from her pen. Something Haewon has sung about countless times, because after all, aren’t most songs about it? Something that Oh Haewon, an idol, says as naturally as her greetings in the corridors of music shows.
Something that she knows, as she shuts off her phone and closes her eyes, will fill her unconscious world again until she wakes emptier and heavy.
===
Haewon isn’t afraid of heights. Yoona is, but Haewon is not. They switch places on the second day of their concert, so that Yoona shakes less. It’s still terrifying to be so far from the ground; not in the sense that Haewon thinks she may fall, but there is an inherent sickness that comes with being so far from familiarity. If you need to be humble and authentic to be considered grounded, Haewon supposes her head is in the clouds and her neck burns from looking at the stars; and Haewon’s not sure what authentic means to her, really.
So, yes, she’s afraid. Always afraid, always nervous, biting on it like chewing gum until the task at hand briefly takes precedent. They warn you about the cons of the glass case, but less so the pedestal. Haewon’s always been one to want what she shouldn’t, and as time speeds on, she thinks maybe it’s an incurable condition. Deathly afraid, indeed.
Exhibit A: Lily. Lily Park Jin Morrow, who reads 44 books in 11 months and calls it a failure, eats 3 servings’ worth of fries when offered at any given meal, and pouts like a kicked puppy when people don’t play along with her theatre-kid ‘burst into song’ moments. Lily, whose hair glows at the edges under stagelights like the halo Haewon sang of at her audition.
Lily, who despite her best efforts to go undetected, instantly became the only person Haewon could see in the mirror during dance lessons. The main character in Haewon’s field of view, who looked much taller on television and had far more pinchable cheeks in person (although Haewon would soon learn, thanks to Jinsol’s lack of self-restraint, that an actual attempt to do so spells very genuine upset for Lily).
Haewon’s wishing star. On some days, when the line between morning and night is blurred, and Haewon arrives home from filming a commercial for some snack she’s already forgotten the name of, she finds Lily hastily drying her hair with a towel and walking to her and Jinsol’s shared bedroom. Their glazed-over gazes meet, and Haewon’s fingers twitch as she resists the urge to shield her eyes as they burn. Each time, there’s a flash of something different in that scorching sensation. Receiving their team name, cooking meals at their old dorms, birthdays before they had to sit at office chairs in front of balloons and flimsy tinsel for them. Smile lines. Soft lips. Interlaced fingers.
At some point in the past 3 years and 10 months, it seems to Haewon that the pair have unknowingly memorised some sort of script for this part of their day, whenever this particular segment of their orbit around each other arrives. Once that flash has engraved itself onto Haewon’s eyelids, she knows what comes next.
Lily’s smile will be far too wide for 3:26am, and her movements will slow to a halt until her towel is draped over her shoulder. “No more coffee tonight, Haewonnie,” she’ll whisper, low and rich. “I’ll fix you some hot milk.”
A warm, slightly damp hand will make contact with Haewon’s shoulder, passing over it like water slides over the riverbed. Instead of going to wash up, an invisible string will pull Haewon by the chest and turn her around, feet padding until she’s in the kitchen, counting the marks left on the back of Lily’s shirt by her not-quite-dry-yet hair.
“I would’ve been awake right now even if I didn’t have a schedule,” she’ll grumble, and Lily will tut like an elementary school teacher.
“That doesn’t make it any better,” Lily will fill a glass and carefully place it in the microwave. “I would’ve hoped they would stop giving you so many morning schedules by this point, though,” she’ll continue over an underscore of droning humming, turning around to face Haewon, her back leaning against fake granite. She’ll tilt her head, and Haewon will feel the phantom heft of it in her palm.
“It’s okay. There’s no way for me to be the idol I want to be and get as much sleep as I want at the same time. It’s good to be busy–”
“Jeez, is PD-nim in your ear? You sound like a robot,” Lily will huff, cheeks (they are not pinchable) puffing as she abruptly turns on the tap. “At least take your contacts out.”
The microwave will beep. Warm light will stop glowing from its window, leaving only the clinical hallway light to make sense of the kitchen’s darkness. Neither of them open the door - the glass will still be piping hot. Haewon will wash her hands in the sink before swiftly entering the bathroom and removing her contact lenses.
She’ll settle in her bedroom, silent save for Kyujin’s soft snores. Lily will follow closely behind with her glass of milk, setting it on Haewon’s bedside table before delicately sinking onto the mattress next to her, perched on the edge. There will be some comment about tomorrow’s schedule on the tip of Haewon’s tongue, and before it can spill, Lily’s hands will be precariously putting her black, thick-rimmed glasses on her face. Her eyesight will be clear again, and still she will be afraid to see what is in front of her. She will feel the heat from Lily’s skin, smell the conditioner on her wrist, and almost ask. Almost admit it.
“Lily?” she’ll mutter, well aware that the girl in front of her is the answer.
Lily will stare into Haewon’s terrified eyes and, as she has for the better part of a decade, know what the question really is. Her thumb will trail across Haewon’s shoulder as she mouths, “Hush,” the smile on her face too sweet for 3:41am. She will not push, and Haewon will stay afraid, but at least Lily sees that she is.
Smile lines. Soft lips. Interlaced fingers.
“Goodnight,” they will whisper to each other, sickly sweet, and Haewon will not sleep until her glass is empty.
===
Exhibit B: Oh Haewon wants to cut her hair again.
Usually, she would keep her mouth shut about it. She hasn’t cut her hair in nearly two years and still she’s at the point where it slips her mind just what’s extension and what’s real. That is to say, it’s clear what image the company currently wants her to have. She was fine with it. She’s always fine with it.
All she has to do is tie her hair up whenever she can; if she can’t, then she can purposefully neglect to pull it out of her jacket or scarf despite how it tickles and itches at her neck. Since she went blonde and even a few weeks before, a new pastime has emerged. Almost every day now, she’ll look in the mirror, pulling and tucking and tying and clipping until her shoulders are untouched and her near-platinum locks wisp at her eyelashes and out behind her ears. Then, once some of it is hugging her cheeks and the rest isn’t visible, she takes a deep breath in and out. She’ll meet the gaze of her mirror-self and when she inevitably loses the staring contest - afraid, cowering - she rips it all out and hops into the shower, the scalding water washing away everything except her skin and her stupid, stupid hair.
Haewon is afraid. She doesn’t even know what the question is this time, so forget about wanting the answer. All she can do is present it as wanting a completely normal image change and talk about it with the fans who don’t know any better. That’s all she’s allowed, and it’s all she can allow herself.
Lily has never really cared for what’s allowed. Not in the way you might think - the most vulgar word she’s ever even thought about saying is probably ‘stupid’ or ‘idiot’. No, Lily Park Jin Morrow is actually all for rules, until it’s a choice between that and her heart and its unbreakable bond to her loose-lipped mouth.
Haewon supposes she should have seen it coming that Lily would end up providing both the question and the answer this time. The latter always seems to know before the former.
It starts in the practice room, as Haewon realises most things do. Yoona is melting into the couch, scrolling twitter through barely-opened eyes until a post makes her brows furrow. She perks up slightly and turns to Lily, curled up on her other side. Haewon pretends to be none-the-wiser at first.
“Lily-unnie, what does this mean?”
Lily leans forward, reading aloud, “Non-binary victorian milk delivery person Bae we miss you everyda– hold on.” She reads again, slower, and doesn’t even reach the end before she snorts and starts uncontrollably laughing. Yoona and Haewon share a look. Great, now Lily knows she’s listening.
“Well, I mean– gosh, how do I even explain this in Korean–” Lily, out of the pure goodness of her heart, tries her best to answer Yoona’s question through her laughing fit. Once the shaking of her shoulders and squeaky inhales die down, her chin is in her hand, the corners of her lips still pulled wide. Haewon mentally kicks herself in the shin for not studying English more - it’s unfair that Lily is their only port of call.
“Okay, well, Victorian fashion is sort of like. Old-timey British clothes,” Lily takes the phone from Yoona, who promptly slumps back against the couch and rubs her now-sore arm. “So I guess that part and the ‘milk delivery’ part are referring to her outfit. Y’know, the whole suit-and-suspenders thing. It’s very ‘little Victorian boy’, which I guess is an English meme itself.”
Yoona blinks slowly, at least having enough grace to nod as if she understands. Haewon leans closer, trying to see Bae’s clothes on a little boy. English memes and Korean memes certainly have their differences - frankly, she’s never had to discuss memes in-depth with anyone, but she thinks that the meaning of the word in the two languages is quite different on a fundamental level.
“But that’s not relevant. And then, uh…” Lily hums, the crease between her brows deepening. If Haewon had studied more English, maybe it wouldn’t be there right now. Not that Lily looks any worse for it; she’s still glowing, even with her sweat-slicked skin under the too-white practice room lights.
It’s just unfair. Because whenever that crease is there, Haewon has to resist smoothing it herself.
“You know Tomboy, right?”
They both know Haewon is listening, anyway. “By i-dle sunbaenim?”
“Mmh,” Lily sets Yoona’s phone back in its owner's lap, “You know the lyric ‘neither man nor woman’?”
Haewon nods, her nails digging into her palms.
“That’s kind of what non-binary means, in gender terms. So, like, to see things as binary is like that English phrase, seeing things as black and white. Some people see gender that way, like there’s only women and men, and no other way to exist.”
As always, Lily knows the question before Haewon does. Her head tilts so she can make more direct eye contact with Haewon while Yoona is between them. Haewon briefly wonders why Yoona doesn’t look as intrigued as she herself is, already scrolling through twitter again and mumbling incoherent complaints about video games (which doesn’t sound like Korean nor English to the game-aversed leader). It’s very possible Yoona knows more about Western attitudes towards this type of stuff than she lets on - her screentime would certainly facilitate it.
All this wondering leads Haewon away from the question at hand, but Lily remembers, guides her back like a beacon. “But people are different, right? Some people feel like the boxes of “woman” and “man” don’t fit them fully, or at all. At least, that’s my understanding of it.”
There’s something about Lily Morrow, Park Jin - some might call it a dichotomy, but Haewon has never liked drawing lines between the aspects of a person. Lines aren’t to be crossed, and to cut yourself into quarters like that can only be counter-productive. She’s aware of the hypocrisy in that thought, when she can count the pieces she’s cut herself into on her fingers, but this isn’t about her.
Lily may be clumsy. Nervously laughing and backtracking to a chorus of Haewon’s teases and mockery, she’s not perfect, not by a long shot. But beneath the surface, over the past 8 years, Haewon’s found through her own efforts of digging and brushing away at the dirt that Lily might have one of the biggest expanses of knowledge she has ever caught a glimpse into. Every single lyric of every Taylor Swift song, enough quotes from her favourite books to debut a work of her own; and then, things like this. Entire ways of living, entire relationship dynamics to one’s own existence that Haewon has never even dreamed of.
How would Haewon feel about herself, if she didn’t cling to womanhood, if it weren’t half of her job description? What would it mean to exist outside of it? All of it?
The concept is confusing, because of course it is - it’s a foreign cog suddenly shoved into the machine she was raised in, but one that sparks intrigue. A dull ache grows at her temples as she traces Lily’s smile lines with her eyes, Lily’s own trained onto Haewon and poised to listen despite the younger girl having nothing to say to begin with. These things have a way of getting caught in the throat, she’s found: lodged on their way out of her trachea, trembling at the prospect of passing through her larynx. Lily must’ve been born with x-ray eyes, Haewon thinks. Why she only seems to use her powers on Haewon, she’s got no clue.
Lily inhales, about to speak into the weighted silence, when their dance teacher claps her hands firmly and calls for the girls to return to practice, the sound echoing off of the walls and piercing the throbbing of Haewon’s brain against her skull. Her leader instincts kick in, muscle memory sending her elbow nudging into Yoona’s side, her lips spouting an order to put her phone down. Yoona shoots her an obedient smile with eyes that are far too knowing. Lily compliments her hat.
Haewon is afraid.
===
Exhibit C: Friends.
Oh Haewon is not a masochist. She knows having friends is important. She has some, and she’d never in a million years want to live without them. But, Oh Haewon is an idol - she has been for nearly 4 years now. She knows that it is unfair, no matter how you slice it.
Grains of sand are useless at defying gravity, and so tend to spill into the lower compartment of the hourglass quite quickly. Haewon knows this all too well, with it dictating how much sleep she gets (very little). She can write things down to remember, she can pry her eyes open to see more of the grains fall before they run out; but she can’t stop them, nor can she add more. Therefore, it is unfair to those friends, who have much less to fit into the time between their hourglasses being half full and half empty than Haewon does. It’s unfair that, spilling between the pixels spelling out messages like ‘if you have time’ and ‘i know you’re busy’, the lifestyle Haewon has spent nearly a decade of her life working towards is more of a larger-than-life style inconvenience of filming and memorising that breathes down the back of not just her, but anyone who chooses to associate with her.
And, yes, others must choose, because Haewon wants what she shouldn’t want. It’s unfair of her to rope people into a space where they must squeeze to fit, so the best she can do is reel it in unless someone volunteers themselves.
Haewon’s stomach churns as she waits for her iced americano at the company cafe, mentally recalling the event from a couple of months ago. She’s mentioned it once on Bubble and never again because, well, it’s frankly embarrassing to be scared to talk to a rookie group you have 3 years’ seniority over because they’re just too cool. The leader has half a mind to dig a grave and hold a vigil for her desired cold-girl persona right now, because her current public perception is that of a chronically online clown with a caffeine addiction who can surprisingly sing. She sees new rookies and thinks what am I even doing?
See, XLOV have been featuring in Haewon’s earphones quite frequently as of late. First of all, the range they’ve managed to show through their newest project, even within its short runtime, is something Haewon can only admire. That is a given.
What’s also a given is her admiration of their direct involvement in their music. Of course, deep down, she knows the situations are a far cry from comparable. It wouldn’t be fair to her, but Haewon is always the exception to her own rules. She knows that their focuses during training were different, she knows their individual journeys as artists have been different, she knows all of this. She knows that, in a few years, she will have shaved enough time from her schedule to have refined her writing and composition skills, and she won’t be looking at the, so longingly. She knows all of this.
The only thing she cannot shoo away with the voice in her head is possibly the most unavoidable part of it all. It’s a bit funny - well it would be if it wasn’t a figurative mirror to her face.
XLOV, the group with the genderless concept. Haewon hasn’t watched much of their content for fear of reaching a point of no return (and also because Park Jinyoung told her himself to read more books - she hasn’t really done that, but less screentime is basically the same thing, and she has a right to privacy, so who really cares). However, they’re unapologetically loud about it in a way Haewon has trained herself to avoid. It would be obnoxious on her.
On them, it’s nothing short of breathtaking.
To boil it all down, Haewon sees them and sees four people doing whatever they want, and having fun while doing it. She’s afraid because they’re right. Haewon is no stranger to dissecting herself, tucking away different parts depending on who may see them. Unsightly is the last thing an idol should want to be - not that she thinks they're unsightly, but she's more than aware that what constiutes as 'unsightly' differs wildly between people. And yet, when she sees people who couldn’t care less about being confusing, all in the pursuit of loving what they do, the work ethos she’s carefully crafted for herself since the very day she set her heart on this dream begins to melt, morph, reshape itself into something entirely new.
Haewon is afraid, but she looks in her bathroom mirror, frayed, tangled hair tied into a low knot and thinks: I would rather be afraid than regretful.
It’s late. Fans will notice her commenting on SNS posts that don’t even relate to her. Still, she can pocket the thought and uncrumple it again when the opportunity arises, whether their paths naturally cross or she tramples hers into the ground herself. There is something else she can do, though. Two things, actually.
She can address A and B.
===
“You want me to what?”
Lily stands dumbfounded, still rather dazed from being smuggled into her own bathroom. The lights of which are a clinical tint of white, and the acoustics of which force their voices into restrained whispers, so as to not wake their equally sleep-deprived members. They’re standing facing each other - rather awkwardly, with the way Haewon keeps shifting her weight from leg to leg and averting her eyes. One might assume they don’t even live together without context.
“I need a haircut,” Haewon says.
With a raise of her brow, Lily inevitably chips away at Haewon’s shield. She’s always been more pliant for her, an open book to her x-ray eyes.
“And you texted me in the middle of the night to sneak in here together instead of talking to a stylist at the salon? Won’t you get in trouble?”
Not I, not we, but you. Haewon wants what she shouldn’t have, but it’s no wonder why. Lily might be sunshine brought to Earth, melting away Haewon’s idiotic wax wings and leaving her smiling amongst her own ashes.
Her eyes drift to the mirror, her reflection taunting her. How long has she spent moulding it for others, adjusting hoodies and hiding makeup like a dress-up doll? Her chest tightens, aches. Bruised.
“I need a haircut, unnie,” she breathes, jaw tensing. “And not because I’ve got split ends, or I need to for a shoot, or we have a comeback soon.”
That seems to get through to the older girl, her exposed forehead and eyes encircled with tired shadow and un-tinted lips shifting slightly until they spell out understanding. Silent, because it has to be, because she knows Haewon is afraid.
“Well, uh, you know I’m not really a professional,” Lily rambles, words clumsily running into each other. “I’ve never cut anyone’s hair, actually, not even my own.”
“I don’t care,” Haewon jumps to say, urgency starting to creep up her throat. She takes a moment to collect herself, meeting Lily’s gaze in the mirror. “I… I want it to be you.”
The air feels warmer than before, cupping Haewon’s cheeks and nipping at the tips of Lily’s ears as the latter’s eyes widen before she abruptly looks away to rummage through one of the baskets under the sink. As much as her stomach is flipping inside out and her heart is beating out of her chest, Haewon can’t rip her attention away from the older girl. Lily stands straight again, a pair of scissors in her hand.
“Okay, I might have to look up a YouTube tutorial or something. I can’t just go in with no preparation, you know,” Lily finally allows her face to relax into the wide smile that dissipates the tension in Haewon’s shoulders, before reaching into the pocket of her sweats. “Don’t worry, I brought my phone!” She takes it out and shakes it in her hand, the case still matching the one on Haewon’s, and they share a childish, hushed chuckle. Haewon simply nods, clinging onto every miniscule sound that echoes in the room to stop herself from diving headfirst into Lily’s orbit, crashing into her and letting her light engulf her and completely sear against her skin. It can wait. She can wait.
They spend the next hour and a half in a space between tense and comfortable, talking about songs they’d like to cover together, gendered pronouns in their respective languages, how their families are doing, how dogs would wear trousers if they could. Anything, nothing, everything, as it’s always been with Haewon and Lily. Anything makes them laugh if they’re caught together in the right state; nothing expected; everything feared and everything loved.
Snip snip snip. Lily’s unsure hand takes to Haewon’s bleached hair with all the conviction of a lion cub with anxiety. Haewon watches her in the mirror, lips pursed and brows furrowed, and is sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that there’s no one else she’d trust more with any of this. All of it. The haircut and the rest of it.
“This is going to be… not super amazing,” Lily mutters, a hairtie hanging from the corner of her mouth by her canine, as she begins to work on what she hopes will be the layers.
Haewon allows her lips to stretch wide, her eyes to curve into half-moons. “Perfect,” she replies, causing Lily to pause for a moment. Suddenly, Haewon’s neck is swathed by Lily’s arms as they wrap tightly, her nose nuzzling into the crook of her neck. The younger girl can sense the dampness before she feels it seep through her thin cotton pajamas and onto her skin, and she brings her hands up to return the embrace as best she can from this angle.
“I’m proud of you,” Lily makes a point to say it just loud enough to be above a whisper, even if it muffles into Haewon’s shirt.
It’s all too soon for Haewon to give anything else than a rub on the back of her hand and a much more subdued smile than the one she’d worn several seconds ago - one just for herself, not for Lily, not yet. She then pulls herself to the surface once again, turns her head as much as she can in Lily’s grip to face the girl.
“Now let’s finish up so I don’t get caught looking like a scarecrow.”
This earns a light shove and a hollow reprimand. “Hey. Trust the process.”
Blonde locks fall to their feet in haphazard chunks, each an excess shaving. Snip; an outfit she wore. Snip; words of appeasement at a fansign. Snip; a lip gloss she scrubbed off as soon as the shoot ended. Chip, chip, chipping away like novice carpenters tired of making wooden blocks, chisel in hand, finally content with confusing if it allowed them to be bold.
Haewon’s starting to decipher what authentic might mean to her. It might mean, as Lily lowers her hand and slowly places the scissors on the sink, stray hair scattered across their bathroom. It might mean, as Haewon runs a hand through and ruffles, this scraggly haircut. It’s not drastically different from before; it’s around the same length as she had it cut two years ago, just with choppier, more strongly defined layers and uneven shaping around her face. Haewon supposes it doesn’t have to be that much different, so long as she can hold on to the weightless feeling in her chest.
“Like it?” Lily asks, hand resting on Haewon’s shoulder, anchoring, firm.
Haewon wants what she shouldn’t have. Smile lines. Soft lips. Interlaced fingers.
When she turns around and collapses into her wishing star, she knows now why they say Icarus smiled as he fell. It should burn, enveloped by blazing arms and chest pressed against a thumping heart. But now she’s here, smiling against Lily’s neck, the pieces of herself she’d tucked away all too visible in the light, and she knows that even if she were to disintegrate into ash, like the sand in her hourglass, she would do it smiling. Her arms snake around Lily’s waist, cheek pressed into her shoulder.
“Thanks, unnie.”
“Always Haewonnie,” Lily reminds her. “Forever and always.”