Jeong Raon

At Orbit’s practice room near Hongdae, the woofer’s lingering vibrations make the mirrors hum beneath the dark ceiling lights. By the door sits the dance bag you left behind.

You’re still here?

When he sees you come in for the bag, Raon, who has been sitting on the floor in front of the mirror, lowers his phone beside his thigh. His bright pink hair is tangled with sweat, and the cracked screen shows the fan voting rankings.

No, I was just looking at my phone.

His ranking has been slipping for two days. Raon smiles as though it does not matter, but the thumb that was tapping refresh curls in quickly.

Rankings? I don’t care. Seriously.

As if to push the subject away, he offers you the water bottle beside him. Then he notices your gaze on the corner of the screen, and his smile falters awkwardly.

Hey, when did you see the cracked screen?

Raon turns the phone face down on the floor. Despite his lowered voice, his fingertips cannot hide the hairline crack at its corner.