SVT NEXT DOOR | ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴇᴇɴ

SVT NEXT DOOR | 33

A nervous tremor ran through me as I heard a familiar voice. "Are you ready?"

I whipped around, heart hammering against my ribs. There, bathed in the soft glow of the practice room lights, stood Joshua. His silver hair, damp from exertion, stuck to his forehead in a way that made him look both youthful and determined.

"Oh, you're here?" I blurted, my voice barely a squeak. "Where are the others?" My gaze darted past him, frantically searching the empty room for the other members of SEVENTEEN.

"They're already in the audience seats," Joshua said, his voice a soothing balm to my rising panic.

I nodded, more to myself than to him. The past few weeks had melted into a whirlwind of rigorous practices, aching muscles, and late-night pep talks. It felt like just yesterday we were all nervous rookies, stepping into the unfamiliar territory of the training camp. Today, though, today was different.

Today was the final evaluation performance, the culmination of all our blood, sweat, and (quite possibly) a few tears. Today, we'd find out who, amongst us trainee interns, would be officially welcomed into the company, and who would have to face the bittersweet sting of rejection.

A pang of sadness, sharp and unexpected, sliced through the pre-performance jitters. Today wouldn't just be about the evaluation, about the culmination of weeks of grueling training. Today would also be the day I said goodbye to Chanyoung.

"Are you nervous about performing on stage?" Joshua's voice was gentle, yet it seemed to pierce through the bubble I'd built around my emotions. I glanced down at the microphone clutched in my hand, my knuckles white as bone against the cool black plastic. The realization hit me like a physical blow. When had I started gripping it so tightly?

With a conscious effort, I loosened my grip, the sudden release mirroring the unfurling of my anxieties. "It's not the performance," I mumbled, my voice thick with unshed tears. "I'm more worried about sending Chanyoung away again."

Joshua's brow furrowed in concern. He took a quick step forward, closing the distance between us. Before I could blink, he wrapped me in a warm embrace, his strong arms a familiar source of comfort. I burrowed into his hug, clinging to him like a lifeline.

"It will be okay," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the storm of emotions brewing inside me. "Chanyoung will be fine."

I squeezed my eyes shut, the warmth of his embrace a stark contrast to the cold dread creeping into my heart. "It has to be this way, right?" I whispered, the question more a plea than anything else.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the already dim backstage lights. Joshua held me tighter, his silence a weighty counterpoint to the frantic hammering of my own heart. We stood there for a moment, a silent tableau of pre-show nerves and unspoken goodbyes.

Finally, he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. "Listen," he said, his voice firm but kind. "His departure might separate you, but relationships don't just disappear. This might be goodbye for now, but it's not the end." A hint of a smile played on his lips, a spark of hope in the midst of the looming goodbye.

I sniffled, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. "Yeah, maybe," I mumbled, a sliver of that hope flickering to life within me. The weight of the goodbye still sat heavy, but Joshua's words had chipped away at the edges, leaving a space for a possibility, a future reunion under brighter lights.

Suddenly, a flurry of activity erupted around us. Stage managers barked orders, stylists fussed over last-minute adjustments, and the excited chatter of the audience seeped in from the auditorium. The dreamlike bubble of our goodbye burst, replaced by the harsh reality of the show.

Taking a deep breath, I straightened my clothes and forced a smile. "Thanks, Jisoo oppa. I needed that."

He returned the smile, a genuine one this time. "Go out there and shine. Make them remember your name. Make Chanyoung proud." His words hung in the air, a challenge and a promise rolled into one.

With a final nod, I stepped away from him and joined the throng of trainee interns making their way to the stage. The familiar pre-show jitters returned, but this time they were tinged with a newfound determination. I wouldn't just be performing for myself today. I'd be performing for Chanyoung, for the memories we shared, and for the hope of a future reunion under the spotlight.

The spotlight sliced through the nervous energy buzzing backstage, finding me bathed in its harsh white glow. My gaze drifted down to the center of my chest, where the familiar warmth of the sunflower pendant pressed against my skin. Chanyoung's parting gift, a silent promise whispered in the language of shared dreams.

My fingers grazed the cool metal, a grounding touch amidst the swirling pre-show chaos. The in-ear monitor crackled to life, the stage director's voice a rhythmic countdown echoing in my head. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.

With each passing number, I closed my eyes tighter, willing myself to find my center. The thrumming bass vibrated through the stage floor, a steady pulse that mirrored the frantic rhythm of my own heartbeat. Six. Five. Four. Three.

A silent prayer formed on my lips, a message carried on the invisible waves of sound. Chanyoung-ah, this one's for you. It wasn't just a performance anymore. It was a promise, a battle cry echoing in the silent chamber of my heart. Two. One.

The world dissolved into a concentrated kaleidoscope of light and sound. My eyes snapped open, blazing with a newfound determination. The music surged, a tidal wave washing away the last vestiges of doubt.

It was showtime.

*****