To be needed

Suburban Seoul at midnight is a completely different beast; whereas she roars with rubber on asphalt and assorted traffic signals in the day, at night she snores to the tune of cicadas, crickets, crows, and toads in organized cacophony.

On nights like these, moments of quiet rung heavy in your ears, and yet, without fail, remain soothing. The world’s mess and stress of barely tolerable work and expensive cost-of-living disappeared when you laid back on the barrier wall and looked into the stars and their vague constellations.

“Something’s missing,” Lia whispered.

That, and because right beside you on nights like these was Lia.

“Sorry?”

“We really need to have some towels here. Or blankets. Anything but the floor,” Lia thought aloud. “I’d love to actually lie down here.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” you replied. “Just give me the next… two years to save up enough for the nine of you.” An arm backhanded you over the chest.

“I’m serious!,” Lia whined. “Managers are supposed to listen to their idols’ needs, you know.”

“Okay, one: I’m not your manager—”

“Yet!,” Lia shushed you.

“—one-point-five: it’s hardly your choice or mine if I will be your manager. Two: even if I was, buying that kind of thing will still be up to the company. And I’m not spending my own money on you.” Another heavier arm slapped you again, actually stinging your chest.

“Ow!,” you chuckled. “Let me finish first!”

Lia scoffed, throwing a playful tantrum. You turned to face her, or at least the back of her head. “Psst. Jisu-ya.”

She turned her face towards you, twisted into a scowl. Her face may be screaming I’ll-punch-you-again, but she wasn’t gonna ignore a call by your nickname for her – her actual name. You raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Three: even if I wasn’t your manager, of course I’d make it happen. Somehow,” you replied.

The edges of her lips curled into a suppressed smile. “Fine,” she rolled her eyes. “I’ll mark my calendar.”

The both of you looked back up into the sky, and your conversation quickly dissipated into the thrums and thumps of the night.

“Promise me something,” Lia sighed.

“Yeah?”

“Always be by my side.”

You scoffed. “Where’d that come from?”

“Just promise.”

You chuckled next. “That’s not something I have to promise if I already am.”

“Promise!,” Lia whined. “For me.”

The echo of Lia’s plea may have drowned out the thrum of cicadas and toads, but the beating of your heart was much louder. It throbbed in your ears, it ached in your chest, and it rang through your bones. That was Lia for you: the only person who could make you say anything without a second of hesitation.

“I promise, Jisu-ya.”

“What?!”

“Calm down, you two,” the chairman huffed. “People might hear us.”

“Sorry, but– Chairman-nim!,” Lia exclaimed. “Y-you can’t be serious!”

“I am,” he continued sternly. “Let me run it by you again: Lia, your job as leader isn’t to be ‘the best,’ it’s to keep everyone in check. And you,” he pointed to you, “are there to back her up. Your job as manager is to get these girls onboard with the company’s directives and schedules. And you,” he pointed back to Lia, “are there to help direct the rest of them to do so. What’s so hard to do about that?”

Stunned silence. The chairman made the obviously monumental task sound so simple, even if it wasn’t. He gestured to the both of you to sit down.

“Now, regardless of whatever relationship you two have, I’ve observed you can work together effectively and, therefore, independently.”

“Sir, we don’t have a—,” you tried to butt in, but the chairman waved you off.

“Regardless what you two have or not, just keep it hidden from the press. But honestly? I’d rather you fail at that than lose your synergy, and that’s proof enough of how sure I am with this. Hence, my decision is final.”

You stared into your clasped hands; Lia looked like her body was slowly imploding.

“I get there’s a lot of eyes on you all,” the chairman continued. “But the nine of you are the best we have, with the plus one needed to make it better than the best. I wouldn’t put this on you if I didn’t trust you both. Especially you, Lia.”

Lia’s eyes shot up. “Me, sir?”

“Yes. I could have asked Jimin or Yeji. They’re older, more strong-willed, probably your own picks too. But I need it to be you, because your experience and attitude makes you the only one that even they will listen to. I cannot emphasize enough how important that is. Besides,” he leaned in, “you’d be surprised how the vote went.”

“The… vote?,” she asked.

“Yep, asked the staff to facilitate one with the girls. All but two chose you – not gonna name those two, but you can guess who. You too,” he gestured to you. “Same staff said you’d be the best replacement for Mr. Chan. I’m taking that recommendation seriously.”

Lia looked down at the floor, her foot pushed up against yours, as if to symbolize a fist clenched around yours in hesitation.

“I understand, sir,” she said softly. The chairman looked at you, and you gave a decisive nod.

“Okay. That settles it. And to sweeten the deal,” the chairman added, pulling out a manila envelope, “I’m giving you one week off. Together. Details and tasks are in the envelope.”

The two of you looked at each other, fear replaced by confusion, with a hint of excitement.

“Leader?! What the heck do I know about leading? I can’t even– I don’t even plan my schedule sometimes! So how–”

“Holy fuck, I am so not ready for this. I just started those management seminars! And nine of you! Nine! Of all the–”

The two of you screamed at each other. Not at each other, but quite literally facing each other, hot breath and saliva thrown into each others’ faces – just another day of you two freaking out together.

But just this once, you felt your rant fade into the background, breath still heavy, as you watched Lia just go at it. She ran through all her worries with the team: Jimin and Yeji’s more-rivalry-than-friendly friendly rivalry; Ryujin and Aeri’s individually abrasive, jointly fractious characters; Minjeong and Chaeryeong’s unhealthily silent commitment to perfection; and Yizhuo and Yuna’s unpredictable troublemaking. She had ideas disguised as frantic I-shoulds, insights masked by frustration and fear.

But more so than her panic was… her. The silly shifts in her facial expressions, a voice that hid stores of patience and understanding – you knew you were going to miss that wide smile she does when she’s genuinely enjoying herself, or that hearty, open-mouthed laugh she makes from stupid jokes. You knew Lia long enough by now that those would be the first to go when the worst rolled by. But you also felt a certain drive to make it work, if only to preserve it.

Lia snapped her fingers in your eyes, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you… okay?”