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Comeback, performance of title track...
Mrs. Min came through, obviously, there’s not much that can get between an invested mother and the child she raised and loves with her whole heart.
I’m not going to ask questions, I’m not going to ask what kind of strings she pulled to get us here. I’m banking on Mrs. Min knowing what she’s doing as we walk arm-in-arm through the doors together to K-Music World, the weekly music performance show that ranks the current singles on the music charts in all of Korea and announces a winner after each performance.
I can only compare it to getting weekly Grammy awards for a single, but the singles based on popularity on the charts, so maybe it’s closer to getting on the Hot 100 every single week, and there’s a trophy at the end, too.
Trickshot’s performing tonight, along with a bunch of other groups, some more well-known than others, all of them with enough talent to fill the atmosphere, to fill the room with an excited audience.
Mrs. Min and I are shown to our designated spot, close enough to the stage with a few fans as the show gets ready to go on air.
There’s a lot of running around by staff, a lot of barking of orders in headsets, final checking of cameras, people tripping over cables and tripods, coffee and water being spilled as the last frenzied few minutes before the show airs.
An all-female group known as Wonder comes out and starts setting up on stage. The girls all take their places in front of the camera, each one of them taking big, deep breaths before their performance starts after the introductions have been made by the hosts.
Mrs. Min says something about going to the bathroom, leaving me behind in the pool of fans. I lose sight of her within the mass of people, each one of them holding up their idol group’s unique light sticks, waving them around and getting attention from their favourite idols.
As the music starts, fan chants are being yelled out as I shuffle a little from side to side, waiting for Trickshot to show up, glancing around to try and find Mrs. Min, thinking about using my elbows to open up a lane through the crowd to get to her.
One performance passes, then another, and another, and I know that I’ve been stranded over here by myself, left to my own devices, left to my own apology. Mrs. Min did all the heavy lifting making sure we were able to get here last-minute, maybe even pulling the family card with Jaeyong and the staff, and now I’m here, in a sea of people, sticking out a little ’cause I’m taller than most girls here, but still guy-height and you can’t easily pick me out of the crowd.
It’s not like Jaeyong is actually going to see me, even if I’m close enough to the stage, even if I’m as tall as I am. There’s literally a camera in front of the idols’ faces, they’re not interacting with the crowd so much as with the people on the other side of the lens.
I’ll admit that I haven’t thought this far ahead, and while I might stick out in the crowd, Jaeyong’s got other things to think of, too.
Like, he probably has to make sure he matches tempo and/or beat, and sings his heart out, and maybe the clothes they’ve chosen for this era are going to be uncomfortable, or hell, maybe his shoes are gonna be shit — I just don’t know, but the more I think about it, the more I’m thinking that this was a shit idea, and I’m the moron that came up with it.
I had the vague notion of coming here, of showing up and letting him know that I support him, that I’m willing to be here, as close as I can get outside of closed doors, where we can interact and I can be here for him, even if I’m just another fan in a sea of other fans.
I can do that for him.
So I’m here, and I’m more nervous than Trickshot is; I can tell by the way they just file out on stage, having last-minute discussions with one another, looking the absolute most gorgeous I have ever seen them since I became a hardcore Trixie fangirl.
Holy fucking shit.
How am I supposed to concentrate with a whole Min Jaeyong looking like that?! Shit, shit, shit! I really didn’t think this through, ohmygod.
Jaeyong’s shirt is sheer, as in see-through, looking like lace or some other kind of material I don’t have a name for, and even though it billows around his body, it leaves zero to the imagination that I want to start covering up people’s eyes so they don’t get to look at him like that, get a free show, shit.
That’s my boyfriend, stop ogling my boyfriend! Cease and desist! Stoppppp!
I hold it in, but I’m biting down hard on my back molars and my jaw gives a bright flare of pain before I focus on my breathing, trying to ignore the fact that everyone around me is crowding closer, one teeming mass moving towards the front barricade, where I tower over the girl in front of me and get a direct line of sight with Jaeyong.
My heart gives a kick in my chest, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to see me.
All he does though is blink at me, face gone into work mode, brain probably turned off so he can rely on muscle memory to get him through, training and practicing for hours and hours every single day so that they can’t get it wrong, so that they could do the choreo in their sleep.
It doesn’t help my heart problems at all that Jaeyong’s wearing that sheer shirt, ripped jeans that show off a lot of thigh, wicked looking combat boots with silver laces, beautiful earrings for all of his piercings, and his hair is the same shock of silver as the laces, the styling at its very best, most aesthetic. He looks like another person, not like my Jaeyong.
He looks like an idol, completely untouchable, unapproachable.
I’m hyperventilating, I’m aware that I’m hyperventilating, and fangirling over my boyfriend, but how am I supposed to help it when I get to see him up close doing what he loves the most on stage? How am I supposed to remain unaffected?
Answer is I just can’t, and I’m screaming with the rest of them when the song starts, deceptively slow at first and then bringing down the bass like a rain of fire, thudding in my heart, shaking around all my organs and making me jump around like a crazy person, nearly getting brained by all of the light sticks waving around me.
It gives me more than a few moments of doubt while I let myself dance around and enjoy the performance—my first ever live performance of Trickshot’s since trying to buy tickets for any one of their performances or concerts makes the Hunger Games look like an easy stroll in the park, and I’m dying, I’m losing it, I’m going to be a puddle of mush by the end of the song.
Everyone (but mostly Jaeyong ’cause I’m biased) looks so good, even the maknae, all of nineteen years old, trying to compete with his hyungs. Shit, they all look so good, and this era is a lot, judging by the outfits and the makeup, their eyes smokier than ever, their lips glossier and pinker than ever before.
It’s a dark concept, looks like, and I can’t wait to get my grubby hands on a physical copy of the album to add to my steadily growing collection.
Maybe it’s time to focus, yeah. Forget the album and focus on Jaeyong!
If I focus on Jaeyong any more, I’m going to combust right here, right now.
God, he’s so gorgeous, so lovely, and I’m torn between wanting to look at him, for him to acknowledge me in any kind of way, and being afraid to look to see that he’s not looking at me at all. Now though, I can’t seem to tear my eyes away, enthralled by his performance, by the sheer beauty he possesses when he’s dancing, still untouchable, unknowable.
My heart twists in my chest, and my breath starts coming out in stuttered gasps that have nothing to do with the jumping in place, trying not to seem out of place in the crowd, sticking out like a sore thumb.
Look at me, Jaeyongie, please?
Won’t you look at me and see me like you’ve always managed to see me?
I groan, the gasps and shrieks around me adding to the noise, drowning me out, because there’s a dance break, the mother of all dance breaks. Sinful body rolls and twisting of hips that make me look around for some kind of authority figure so I can ask if this is allowed, if this is legal for them to be moving like this. Pretty sure, whether a person has a functioning uterus or not, we’re all walking out of here pregnant, their allure and grace and raw talent the driving force.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m sweating.
I shake with the suppressed need to fly over the barricade and make a run for Jaeyong, wanting to kiss him breathless, right there on stage, to apologize, to demand forgiveness for my shitty behaviour, but that’s not right, not when I take the choice away from him, too.
So I force myself to watch, to take it all in, not even reaching my phone to record all of this, wanting to be present in the moment.
Jaeyong’s heartbreakingly stunning in the way he moves his body when he dances, turning and twisting in ways I haven’t seen him move before, the emotion in the movements tearing a hole inside of me, ripping something apart, shredding me from the inside out until I’m throbbing, aching for what was lost.
And then he’s moving harder, angrier, than before, the music getting heavier with guitars, a rock vibe coming through for the last verse and I’m holding my breath, leaning forward as if the men on the stage are the only ones that hold all the air in the room. I keep getting pressed forward by the crowd, watching the lights go down until only Jaeyong, their main dancer remains illuminated, bathed in light, the crescendo of music cutting abruptly so it feels like I can’t even begin to catch my breath from the crash of the song ending, everything I feel for Jaeyong just tumbling down, down, down.
I’m crying, tears making their tracks down my cheeks, as I watch him panting, his headset and mic making his laboured breaths come out loud over the speakers, his chest rocking up and down, his dark, dark eyes shadowed by the light that limns his body from top-down. He glares at the crowd like we’ve hurt him and he’s promising revenge in this life or the next, and I struggle to breathe through the pain in my chest.
I can’t help but wonder if that look is for me, if he truly means it.
I take the chance, waving at him, no light stick in my hand, but tall enough, standing out just enough that I hope he can see me.
The lights go off, and we’re all plunged into darkness, like there’s been a blackout, and all I can see are light sticks being waved around for each group, and nothing else, noise erupting into conversations now instead of just hyped-up yelling and screaming.
My heart’s skyrocketing in my chest about to make a break for the stratosphere, drumming so hard against my rib cage, pulsing at the base of my throat, the silence somehow pressing down on me as conversations resume and the lights slowly come back on to reveal an empty stage.
Trickshot’s gone — Jaeyong’s gone— having vacated the stage for the next performer being announced.
I know I still have one more chance at the very end of the show when the broadcast tally comes in, if Trickshot’s going to receive the award for most popular song and performance at the end of the night once all the votes coming in from viewers get counted (adding to the physical and digital sales of the song amassed during the week), and I have to take it, have to get him to look at me, at least, so I can say my piece.
I don’t really pay attention to the rest of the performers (two solo acts and three more groups), waiting for the end of the night, fighting back a yawn and an urgent need to pee, until it’s finally done and the host comes out, opening an envelope after praising each performance, finally announcing third place, runner-up, and finally first place—going to Trickshot, of course, of course.
The Trixies in the crowd go nuts around me while I hold my breath, watch Hoseung move forwards, extending both hands out to receive the trophy, holding it aloft for all of us to see. Jaeyong’s not part of the festivities as he stands off to the side with his hands behind his back, looking out into the audience, eyes roving over people’s faces, turning away the minute he would be looking at me when the maknae pulls on his sleeve, getting his attention.
I’ve never wanted to beat anyone up so badly.
There’s nothing for it, I cup my hands over my mouth, and call for him. “Jaeyong! Min Jaeyong!” I yell, using my hands like a megaphone, and my loud voice to project the sound out and out.
The winning single starts up again, almost drowning out Hoseung’s thank you speech, and then everyone’s dancing on stage, congratulating Trickshot with bows in their direction, groups and performers starting to file off the stage while bright gold confetti streams from the ceiling.
Only Trickshot’s members are left on stage, waving to the cameras, waving to the audience and bowing towards us in gratitude, passing the trophy around like a hot potato.
I keep calling for him, even getting Hoseung’s eye before recognition passes over his face, and I’m hoping I’m looking at an ally instead of an enemy.
I pull the trump card, and yell out, “Lucas Min! LUCAS!” I wave my arms around, taking up more space than I should, glancing left then right to make sure I’m not throwing elbows and hurting anyone around me.
“Oh, Jesus, would you just look at me?” I grunt to myself in English, trying to take a step forward, but there’s a high school kid, still in her uniform standing in front of me, and I don’t want to be that asshole who squashes her, but she’s literally an obstacle right now and I’m wondering if I have enough room to make a running leap to vault over her.
I keep waving both arms, stopping in my tracks when one of the camera guys looks about ready to swing his giant camera around to get me in the frame, and I’m moving out of the way, pointing towards the stage, and pretending like something interesting happened, eyes going wide, hand coming up to cover my mouth. The guy swings his camera back towards the stage, looking for the source of the drama, and I wipe at my clammy forehead only in time for me to make direct eye contact with Jaeyong.
He looks at me.
I look at him.
Time doesn’t stop so much as it seems to slow, music warbling out to a high-pitched ringing in my ears, my brain and body hyper-focusing on Jaeyong and only Jaeyong. I can’t see his eyes, can’t really make them out when he cants his head forward, creating a shadow in the hollows, hands coming together in front of him, one hand clasping his wrist, the other holding onto the bouquet of flowers he’d been given with the trophy being passed around between the members.
I can’t tell what he’s thinking, if he really knows I’m here or if he’s checked out and recuperating in his mind while the rest of him is still on stage.
When Jaeyong smirks, it’s an ugly thing, making my stomach twist at the sight of it, and he shakes his head, as if trying to rid himself of a bad, bad thought.
He looks away, as if I’m not even here, as if I don’t exist.
Ah, hell no. We’re not doing that. I came here to apologize and I’m fucking going to get the chance to. I don’t care who I have to beat up to do it.
Shit.
Hoseung comes to stand beside Jaeyong and I watch, transfixed, as a conversation is had between whispered ears, one hand covering their own mouths, Jaeyong glancing back to the audience and it feels like he’s making direct eye contact with me, and I hope that I’m standing close enough, that his focus is on so that he can really see me.
I bite at my bottom lip, and short of doing a handstand or throwing myself on security’s mercy, I don’t know what else to do to get his attention. I’ve bellowed, I’ve waved, and I’m practically in the front row.
Maybe he doesn’t want to see you, either, huh?
No, fuck that. Fuck that.
This is my shot, and I’m taking it, and whatever happens, happens and I’ll have to live with it for the rest of my life.
I glare at Jaeyong now, arms crossed over my chest.
It’s fine, really, I guess. I have a back-up plan, one for every letter of the Latin alphabet, and I’m prepared to use any of them, all of them, to get Jaeyong to hear me out.
What did I expect to happen, that he’d see me, run towards me and we’d ride off into the Seoul sunset?
It’s gonna take more than that.
I’ve shown up, I’m here, I want to be here.
I could text him right now, but I doubt he has his phone on him, but whatever, I try anyway.
Me: Press 1 if you’re in the audience at K-Music World and staring right at Min Jaeyong.
Me: 1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111
Me: Hi.
Me: I’m here.
Me: I think you’re looking right at me.
Me: Oh, shit, you are looking right at me.
Me: What do you want me to do, where do you want me to go?
Me: Jaeyong?
I half-type out another text message as I get jostled around, people now being directed to leave the studio under the direction of the security team. With a quick glance around, it seems like I’m the only one really left, and my thumbs flying over the screen.
I’m definitely gonna play the foreigner card, the lost in translation bit to take those few more precious seconds when my phone is plucked out of my grasp and removed from my death-like grip all too easily.
Who the hell is taking my phone, and do they wanna go?
I look up, mouth open, taking a deep breath in to start swearing and yelling when it’s Jaeyong, Jaeyong, standing in front of me, holding up my phone, reading my messages and not looking at me, his eyebrows drawing farther and farther down over his eyes, that silver hair making me stop and stare, and stare, and stare.
Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of eyebrow and forehead, not to mention all the skin I can see without much imagination needed.
Did he have to look so good while I’m here to grovel, to ask for him to take me back, to ask for him to let me be by his side? I need to talk with the stylists, they’re killing me here. They’re killing me!
Who thought it was a good idea for Jaeyong to look like this? Who? In front of all these people?
I’m baring my teeth before I can think better of it, and we’re making eye contact and I feel it everywhere.
“Hi,” I say, biting back on my teeth, letting that snarl slip free when I stare at his face and only at his face. “Hi, Jaeyongie.” I’m aware of the people leaving around me, me being one of the last stragglers in the place. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” I hold up a special badge out from my purse, the one that Mrs. Min gave me, showing it off.
Jaeyong nods then says something to the security guy and then something to a Trickshot staff member (I only know so ’cause the guy has the band logo printed on his shirt, with the word STAFF underneath it so it seems like a good bet), and I’m being ushered out and around the barricade, one of the last few people to still be in the vicinity (among those who are supposed to be here).
I move quickly, like he’s going to forget about me if I’m not in his direct line of sight.
I’ve lost Mrs. Min, but there’s no way I’m going to lose Jaeyong now, not when I’ve come this far.
Shit, shit, shit, this is happening! This is going to happen!
Oh my God, what am I gonna say?!
