Cover illustration by the absolutely amazing momoya! Thank you so much!
Monday
If you ask Haewon, Mondays are actually fine.
Yes, they’re the farthest day from Friday. Yes, it means that Haewon is once again dancing until she’s drenched in sweat, only to film endless mandatory short videos and figure out interesting things to say on Bubble until both her head and fingers hurt. (The worst part is watching Yoona do this with no problem at all.)
But Monday also means Haewon gets to watch Lily stretch.
So Haewon sits in the mirrored practice room, doing what she always does on a Monday: pretend to check the group schedule on her phone while flicking her eyes up and across the room to a sight that still makes something come loose inside of her, even after years of training and performing together.
She sees Lily stretch. She sees Lily open her body into positions that are mundane, technical poses, arms over legs and knees, neck tilting left and right. They’re positions Haewon has seen ten thousand times, motions Haewon has watched Lily go about dutifully every day in this particular practice room for four years.
Lily stretching is not new. It is Lily preparing for choreography. It is Lily working.
It is also Haewon fighting for her life.
Because Haewon is the leader. She can’t be here watching Lily’s weight shift when she changes sides, seeing the specific bend of her neck when she rolls her head and her hair falls across her face and she pushes it back.
So every Monday, Haewon looks away, which is a motion Haewon has practiced since debut, since Lily stretching in the same room became a daily occurrence. She looks away and she picks up her water bottle and she drinks and the drinking is once again a cover for watching Lily stretch. If anyone asks, Haewon thinks, NMIXX’s leader is just drinking water. She’s allowed.
So Haewon gulps down her water and checks the schedule again, which she has not actually read yet. “Five minutes,” Haewon calls out, hoping her voice reads more “fearless leader of NMIXX” and less “extremely thirsty twenty-something.” The room responds. Monday begins and Monday is fine.
Haewon is not fine.
Tuesday
On Tuesday, Haewon sits in the JYP cafeteria at the NMIXX table by the window. Kyujin's drinking her fourth liter of water of the day, with Jiwoo slumped on her shoulder. Jinsol's filming a short. Yoona, as always, is on Bubble, while eating what appears to be an entire rotisserie chicken.
Haewon puts her phone face down on the table. She’s trying something new. Being active in the moment, unhindered by KakaoTalk or her secret social media accounts. So she looks across the table instead and sees Lily eating bibimbap.
Lily is eating bibimbap with the specific idol-trained focus she gives things, the impenetrable illusion that she’s paying exclusive attention to you and you alone. She mixes the rice and vegetables with her spoon, lifts some up to her lips, parts them wide and —
And Haewon looks away, because she’s decided that starting today she’s giving herself only 10 seconds of Lily-watching per Lily-event, which is stingy, but necessary lest Haewon stop eating her own lunch entirely. More than once Haewon has thought that Lily ought to come with a surgeon general’s warning. Warning: Watching Lily Jin Park Morrow is a highly addictive activity, resulting in embarrassing familiarity with specific body parts and extreme attachment.
So Haewon looks down on her own lunch, which — great. It's also bibimbap, which reminds her of Lily's bibimbap, which reminds her of Lily's lips, which defeats the whole purpose of the ten seconds. She should have gotten something else. Why didn't she get something else?
"Are you okay?"
Haewon looks up from her bibimbap and sees Lily staring back, her spoon halfway up to her face her mouth her lips her — did she say something? She said something, didn't she? Haewon, it's your turn to talk. But what did she say? Quick, something, anything —
"Bibimbap," Haewon says, pointing to the bibimbap.
Lily furrows her eyebrows as Haewon's subconscious files away the past ten seconds. A delightful memory it'll remind Haewon of later, probably at a variety show, causing her face to contort for just a second, long enough for annoying YouTube commenters to point it out.
"Yes," Lily says slowly. She lifts the spoon to her mouth.
Haewon looks at her bibimbap.
Wednesday
Usually, Haewon enjoys being in the booth, because it means Haewon gets to slip into a t-shirt and sweats and grab an Americano and simply become her best self, which is perfectly competent.
And she is perfectly competent. Haewon's not under any illusions when it comes to how technical her vocals are, how clean and crystalline her voice is on "High Horse" or "ADORE U." She knows what people write about her on Twitter, how she's framed on NamuWiki. She is precise. She is controlled. She's who you bring in when it's important for someone to actually understand the lyrics, and that is always an honor.
Today, however, the sound engineer has requested that Haewon advise him on recording, which means Haewon gets to sit in a nice chair, inspect all the lights and knobs on the console, and stare through the glass right at —
Lily. Right at Lily, who smiles and waves. God, it's already been 10 seconds. Haewon's going to go way over budget.
But then the sound engineer nods and Lily turns around, ties her hair back, and puts her headphones on, shuffling closer to the mic. And Haewon decides that Lily's back doesn't count, and resets her mental 10-second timer.
Then the engineer says "From the bridge, Lily-ssi," and Lily sings.
Lily singing is, like Lily stretching, not new. Haewon's heard Lily sing this particular bridge about sixty times across rehearsal, demos, scratch vocals, the works.
But Lily's voice during practice is one thing. It's entirely different when Lily's voice is being transmitted into Haewon's ears through $5,000 headphones, with hardly any air in between. It's somehow even more intimate than when Lily whispers into Haewon's ears in variety shows that Haewon secretly wishes would happen more often.
Back in school, Haewon was top of her class in Korean language. Haewon still has no words for how this feels.
Haewon listens to Lily and Haewon hears the bridge and Haewon has notes. In fact, she has several notes, because Haewon is the technician, the specialist, the one the sound engineer asked for specifically for this bridge. And when Lily lands the last note — a quiet, emotional beat after a powerhouse belt — the sound engineer glances up at Haewon.
"What do you think?"
Haewon opens her mouth to speak, a bulleted list forming on her lips, when Lily turns back around.
"It's good," Haewon finds herself saying.
The sound engineer waits.
Haewon is supposed to say more. Just ten seconds ago, she had composed an entire slide deck in her head about how Lily overshot a particular run, going sharp on the way up, clipping a bit on the way down.
But looking at Lily — four seconds, five seconds, six — Haewon's brain is erasing every single slide, throwing them into an irrecoverable trash bin.
"The—" Haewon starts, clearing her throat. "The run coming down. Maybe open it up a little more. You stop a little short."
That isn't the note. It's close to the note. But it isn't the note. Haewon sees Lily tilt her head slightly, her eyebrows furrowing exactly the way they did on Tuesday. She can tell Lily is deciding whether to say something. Then, she just nods.
"Got it," Lily says, and Haewon almost drops her Americano as she hears Lily through her headphones again.
Lily sings it again. The run is good. Lily's voice unfolds and Haewon, who has spent her entire adolescence training her ear to catch minute differences in breath and timbre, simply lets herself enjoy the sound of Lily's voice crisscrossing through her body.
The bridge ends. The sound engineer looks up.
"Better," Haewon says.
Through the glass, Lily smiles, and Haewon smiles back. Ten seconds.
Thursday
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