❒ summary: In which Chaeri realised that she missed the warmth of a hug more than she expected and that family may not always be a matter of blood
❒ notes:Bold and Italic at the same time indicates a sentence said in French.
❒ warnings: Mention of assault (Not described in detail)
「 Chaeri's Masterlist on my blog 」
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Takes place not long before their debut | 2013
She once had a cellphone.
Before returning to Korea, her lifestyle could be described as more than wealthy. Her mother, a prima ballerina at the Paris Opera, never had to make compromises on how much money to spend and how much money to keep each month since she had pursued that career, and this benefited her children too. Chaeri always had a wardrobe full of the prettiest dresses, handbags from internationally renowned French designers, and the most professional pointes and tutus that could be found on the market. Because, of course, all those comforts she enjoyed came at a price: her dedication to ballet.
Her mother wanted, rather, demanded, her children to be as talented and successful as she was. To Dal, her brother, this came as easy as breathing.. He was the reincarnation of ballet. Chaeri, though, felt like she had to try harder than anyone else to be acceptable in her mother's eyes. Her life revolved around dance lessons, model walking, manners and everything that would make her perfect not only for her mother, but for everyone. The words 'In this family, we do not accept failures' were often repeated to her.
Being perfect is a heavy responsibility for everyone, but for a young girl a somewhat heavier one.
Fortunately, in her opinion, what made the days better was the time spent with her brother. The brother she loved deeply, admired and would have given her life for. She could have sworn the feelings were mutual but, apparently, he prioritised other things over her. Like everyone else. But of all the others, she didn't care, never had. What she had hang onto all those years was the bond she thought she shared with her brother. She should have hated him after the way he had turned his back on her not long ago; the disappointed angry eyes in which he judged her and called her a liar; the indifference he showed in letting her go back to Korea without even telling her that he was going to miss her; the way he failed to protect her.
Instead, there she was, on the floor of Big Hit's public relations office, now empty by hours, with a handset phone beside her, the stretched wire running all the way across half the room, from the plug to where she was sitting. With her back against a desk she hugged her knees to her chest, with the feeling that if she squeezed them tight enough her heart too would find a way to heal its cracks. She tried to call him at the Opera Institute in Paris, where he'd been studying and living for years after winning a scholarship - she tried that too but it hadn't gone the same way -, she tried calling him at home and on his mobile phone.
