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rkxsungwoon-blog · 6 years ago

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☆ MGA5 EPISODE TWO ; JULY 4 #5008 HA SUNGWOON ; skills performance ( singer ) performance: sorry (고백) by yang dail (양다일) ( 1:10 - 2:10, 2:20 - 3:15 )

perhaps one of the only perks of being a ha in this competition is that sungwoon’s survival is confirmed fairly early on. exhaling, he stumbles over a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and sags against kenta in relief, his fingers automatically scrambling to grip someone’s hand but finding purchase only in the fabric of kenta’s shirt. palms slick with sweat, he can only offer kenta a silent promise to take care of his laundry later while holding on for dear life.

sungwoon closes his eyes and waits until minhyun’s name is called, then daniel’s, then woojin’s and even kenta’s before his face splits into a wide grin. is he allowed to feel relieved that he still has a future on this show? that they call do? that empty enigma survived the proverbial axe-blow? letting out a triumphant whoop, he tries to drape his arms over as many of their shoulders as he can (which is not many, admittedly, but he makes the attempt) and pulls them close. “we’re through!”

he doesn’t know if it’s fate or the universe or just the force of their skill that ensured their survival, but he’s grateful they can continue on this journey together for a little longer. he feels like he’s getting greedier with each hurdle they cross—let them get through just this round, just next week, just till the end of the show—but sungwoon has never fully learned to curb his ambitions. with each victory, he allows himself to dream a little bigger and bolder, envisioning a future in which all of empty enigma—

win? but they can’t. last year had two winners, which seemed like enough of a stretch. at the end of the day, this is a competition, and his beloved friends are his rivals. as if to drive the point home, the next challenge is one of skills: contestants are grouped together by their main talent, with eliminations slated to take place at the end. naturally, singers make up the largest category, with dancers following after, then rappers. conversely, this means the largest number of people eliminated will come from the singers, and sungwoon is not cocky enough in his own abilities to believe he doesn’t have to worry about his own position.

minhyun and daniel are singers too, and while sungwoon is grudgingly impressed by minhyun’s skills, he can’t say the same for daniel. as much as he loves daniel as a performer, sungwoon is aware just about everyone else in their group is a better singer than him. he can name five or six more skilled than himself, and he feels… dread settle in his stomach at the thought of daniel ending up near the bottom of the list. at the thought of, perhaps, him or minhyun making it through without daniel. sungwoon is less worried about woojin and kenta; woojin has an amazing talent for dance, and kenta… he believes in kenta with his whole heart and prays it’ll be enough.

he doesn’t want to compete against empty enigma yet, not one-on-one in such a cutthroat atmosphere, but part of sungwoon wants to embrace the challenge head-on; it was the skills performance which sent him home last time, when he’d been assigned to dance when all he wanted was to sing. this is his chance at redemption, and yet… he casts his gaze over his friends, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. not at their expense.

“i’m switching to rap,” sungwoon announces, climbing to his feet. it’s a snap decision, more of a joke than anything else, but in his heart of hearts, he wishes he could just so he wouldn’t have to compete against his friends. the rap category is the only one an empty enigma member doesn’t already have a claim to. one of the people sitting around them snarkily asks if he can even rap, and since sungwoon is committed, he asks someone to drop a beat for him. he does a small lap while pumping up the crowd before launching into an ill-thought out, terrible, no-good freestyle.

my name is ha sungwoon i never sing out of tune you will cheer for me soon and then i’ll fly off to the moon

by the end of it, those who aren’t laughing are looking at him with a dumbfounded expression. “it’s just a joke, guys. don’t worry,” he says reassuringly. “trc won’t be picking me up any time soon.” sungwoon only intended for his performance to ease some of the tension around them, but then daniel announces he’s actually switching to rap. and all sungwoon can really think is, why, because he knows daniel has some experience with the skill, though surely not enough to be confident in for this stage of the competition? but daniel reminds sungwoon of the last time it was only his voice up on that stage, and sungwoon’s expression immediately clears in understanding. “you know what you’re doing,” he says, giving daniel’s shoulder a squeeze.

he still has some reservations, but sungwoon trusts daniel; only he knows what’s best for himself. besides, sungwoon has enough to worry about on his own.

this is where it all becomes real.

sitting through the first episode is excruciating, mostly because sungwoon cringes every time his face pops up on screen. of course they highlighted his height again, and of course his little stumble with his keyboard aired. he supposes he shouldn’t complain; his edit wasn’t malicious. mnet can (and has) done worse. at the end of it, he’s exhausted all over again, but it does give him more of an idea who to watch for—and who to worry about. keep your rivals close, as they say. or at the very least, stay informed. sungwoon refuses to be caught off guard.

his phone blows up with messages after the episode—most a variation of jokes on his height again (hyung, you grew .5 cm? ㅋㅋㅋ) or expressing shock over the fact that he’s in a band (empty enigma?? lol what kind of a name is that?). his sister calls to profess her love for minhyun and sungwoon yells NO ANYONE BUT HIM (and variations thereof) into his phone for a solid eight minutes before she sighs and tells him the heart wants what the heart wants.

one of his friends just sends him a quote: ‘the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result’. sungwoon is confused and annoyed enough to call him immediately and ask what the fuck he’s on about. “do you really think anything will change this year?” his friend asks. “shit, dude, you’re doing this hellish show again and for what?”

“all of empty enigma is on it this time,” sungwoon says, throat dry. “i’m doing this for them. us. it’s not—”

his friend is quiet or a long time. “it’s okay to say you want it too, you know? you don’t always have to hide behind other people. it’s alright to admit you just want—to win, or to get a contract. whatever.” when sungwoon doesn’t answer, he sighs. “good luck, though. hope it works out.” the distinct click of the call ending fills his ear, but sungwoon doesn’t move for a long time.

he hasn’t—well. he hasn’t thought about winning in those terms. with four other peoples’ survival hanging on the line, sungwoon doesn’t have the luxury to entertain thoughts of winning. his natural competitive edge wants to accept nothing less, but winning (or even placing high enough to receive something) comes with caveats he can’t afford to think about yet. empty enigma is a unit, or have been operating as one so far, but as this stage (and every stage from now on) has been driving home, they can’t be one forever. sooner or later, they’ll be pulled apart. sooner or later, one of them won’t make it through. and that day could come as quickly as thursday.

a full body shudder runs through him at the thought. not yet, sungwoon thinks desperately. he’s playing with fire by making so many demands of the universe, but what else does he have? not yet. we’ve got a ways to go before i’m ready to say goodbye.

woojin and kenta are often absent during the week, busy preparing for their performances elsewhere. it makes sense; as dancers, they need a different kind of environment to practice in. thankfully, the acoustics aren’t bad in their sharehouse, so sungwoon and minhyun can more or less manage here. daniel comes over during the week to hang out, though he’s secretive about his own performance. sungwoon guesses he wants to keep it a secret (daniel seems to be writing his own rap) so he tries not to pry too much. the curiosity really is killing him, however, along with the anxiety. but the snippets he manages to catch aren’t that bad, and they go a long way in smoothing over some of his worries.

his own performance is, in some ways, equally as complicated to settle on as the previous round. sungwoon hoped it would get easier, but his tendency to overthink always comes back to bite him in the ass. this time is no different. after two rounds of songs in english, he knows he wants to sing something in korean, but the question still remains: what, exactly, is fitting for a performance of skill?

sungwoon’s mind wanders to their album tracklist again, or any of the songs buried in his laptop—the ugly children that didn’t quite make the cut. he wants to sing his own music up on the stage. he didn’t realize how strong the desire was until he heard daniel perform his own song last round, and then joohyun sing for empty enigma. he too wants to stand up there and say, this is something i created. this is my work. this is something only i can sing.

as always, he calls his sister for advice. sunyoung is opinionated and drawn in easily by a pretty face, but she knows how survival shows work and is surprisingly shrewd for a thirteen year old with no musical talent whatsoever. sungwoon trusts her opinions. but once he tells her he’s considering singing an empty enigma song, it’s her turn to drown his eardrums out with a shrill NO! “oppa! your image!” when sungwoon doesn’t get it, she explains long-sufferingly, as if it should be obvious, “you just revealed you’re in some super weird band! you can’t get up on stage and sing your angry music. you’re going to alienate people.”

“since when were you using big words?” she may have a point. “but that’s my music, you know? i… we all worked hard on it, and i want to—”

“mom and dad watched episode one,” sunyoung cuts in, and for a split second, sungwoon sees—red and blue and pitch black in a sequence, his breath catching in his chest. this has to be a fucking joke, but sunyoung has never sounded so serious and solemn in her life. “they didn’t recognize you till your dumb introduction, but they definitely saw you after that. they were paying attention and… i don’t think they were...” she doesn’t say it. happy. of course they weren’t happy. sungwoon wants to laugh. like he cares.

“you expect me to give a shit about what they think?” and once again, sunyoung doesn’t say what they both know. he does. after everything, after all their crap, the little boy inside him cares, craves their approval, wants to still make them proud. the pragmatist in him knows that time is long past; his parents would be horrified to learn of what he’s done, what he dreams of doing, who he loves—his angry music might be the least of it. and yet so much of who he is in empty enigma is their doing. the long-simmering rage he holds inside his chest is for them. they should know.

“no angry metal songs, please,” sunyoung repeats, her voice small. “they’re going to watch episode two with me.” her tone turns pleading. “just sing something nice, oppa.”

“fine,” he says, and his sister heaves a sigh of relief. the blood still roars in his ears, drum beats in his mind gearing him up for war. but sunyoung is not an enemy, not an opponent, not a rival. she’s a teenager caught in a difficult place, and some days sungwoon wishes this wasn’t her burden to bear. that she didn’t have to play middle-man like this. none of this is her fault, he reminds himself, rubbing his temples. “i’m sorry,” sungwoon adds a moment later. a poor substitute for a hug or anything remotely brotherly, but it’s all he has to give.

“talk to you later?” she phrases it as a question as always, accepting the apology with more grace than sungwoon could ever possess. he says yeah before hanging up and throwing his phone onto his bed. he wants to believe this is all a sick joke, but it was naive of him to think he could somehow skate through another year of the mgas without his parents finding out he was on the show. sunyoung did inform him they were keeping a closer eye on her after last semester’s grades, and there’s no way she was going to miss the mgas for anything.

it would be easier if sungwoon knew why they wanted to watch him. they haven’t cared about anything he’s done for a long time. they haven’t cared about him in general, not once they pawned him off on his grandparents. it took sungwoon a long time to come to terms with that fact, and he’s not going to pretend it was easy. neither is he going to pretend that coming to terms with it means forgiveness or letting go or any of that feel-good bullshit. what he feels is closer to resignation, a dull acceptance of the status quo and his role as the unwanted child.

maybe it’s as simple as them wanting to make sure sungwoon doesn’t embarrass them. keep up appearances and everything. he wonders what they tell people he’s doing, if they mention him at all. he imagines it’d go something like ‘my son goes to snu! he’s pre-med!’ because they always hoped he’d become a doctor. or he’s being too charitable in assuming they even tell people they have a son. that sounds about right. either way, he’s not pre-med—he’s a singer! surprise and sorry for bringing shame to the family and all that. he dares them to chastise him either way. dares them to say anything, knowing they won’t.

if it weren’t for sunyoung’s request, he would’ve said fuck it and sung one of the extreme songs he’s written about his parents over the years, consequences be damned. it might be his only chance to make them listen to him. they’ve never had a good track record with that. sungwoon remembers being five years old and clinging to his mom’s skirt, begging her not to leave him behind only to be met by a blank stare. or being eight and waiting next to the phone on his birthday for his parents to call (they don’t). or even to be nineteen, wrapped in his own grief and coming face to face with strangers who are supposed to be his parents and finding—no recognition, no sympathy. he stopped trying after that, figuring it was no use. and he sang, because he couldn’t do anything else, praying one day they’d listen.

god. his unfulfilled hopes stack up one by one, and he’s surprised to find they still hurt when what sungwoon wants is to feel nothing at all. “guess that takes find yourself out of the running,” sungwoon says out loud. it isn’t funny.

after spending the rest of the day in bed rebuffing any concerned inquiries by his housemates, sungwoon throws himself into preparations with renewed vigor. sunyoung asked him to just sing something nice? he can do that. it only takes a quick search to land on a fitting song. a ballad, of all things, but one he thinks can showcase the strength and beauty of his voice. it’s a risk, in a way. the real challenge of this stage is to captivate the judges, to deliver a performance worth remembering.

the temptation to resort to a flashy stage or a gimmick is strong; after all, they’re competing against forty nine other people all hand-selected by the judges as worthy contestants. you need to stand out somehow. sungwoon can already imagine the influx of remixed songs and girl group choreographies, the original songs meant to impress even though they’re unfamiliar. desperation mixed with a desire to win means the performances will be… interesting.

but sungwoon is not a gimmick and doesn’t want the world to see him as one. he can’t pull out a metal song and hope it’ll work out, all for maybe a minute of screentime. the ballad—just sungwoon and his voice up on that stage with no instrument to hide behind—is the perfect way to make this all about the singing, the way he’d wanted it to be last year during the skills stage. no fancy tricks, no showing off on the keyboard, nothing else. the lone spotlight on himself stripped down to his bare minimum should scare him, but all he feels is anticipation. it’s finally time to be heard.

(the bitter part of him wants to say, look, mom and dad! at least a ballad singer is presentable, right?)

practice keeps his mind off the mess that is his life. he’s grateful for it keeping him occupied through the lonely hours. sungwoon sings himself hoarse, then spends hours nursing his throat back, reminding himself he has better technique than this. he knows he’s pushing it too far this time, but it’s do or die. with just his voice highlighted, he can’t afford to make any mistakes. no going off tune, no voice cracks, absolutely no observable strain. when he begins feeling restless, he practices in the mirror to make sure he doesn’t grimace or look ugly while hitting the high notes.

sungwoon feels something akin to ready by the time thursday rolls around, if not fully confident he could sing this song perfectly in his sleep. he just hopes everything will go off without a hitch during the actual stage. everyone will be watching, he thinks before bed. and damn if that doesn’t fuel his desire to give the best performance possible.

when they arrive at the venue on thursday, sungwoon is momentarily taken aback at the sight of the reduced chairs. last week’s elimination didn’t feel like much, but looking at the stage now drives home just how big of cut the judges made last week. he wonders if this week is going to see their numbers halved as well. twenty five sounds too low for this early in the competition, but with all the changes, sungwoon can’t predict anything either way. he has no idea what to expect.

what he does know is that he does not want to be sitting in the same place as last time; the row behind them was emanating hostile intent, while the one in front had dumbass energy. neither are vibes sungwoon wants to be surrounded with at the moment, not during this round, and he’s glad daniel seems to feel the same. after exchanging a look, daniel directs them to sit across the room and sungwoon happily follows, already feeling lighter than last week. daniel (rather forcefully) tells him he’s sitting next to him this week, and sungwoon holds back a laugh. “you want to hold my hand that badly?” he asks teasingly, but with real warmth as he thinks, i do too.

of course, the peace is shattered when kenta waves over their loud seatmates from last time. sungwoon considers getting up and moving in a game of impromptu musical chairs, but daniel’s hand on his arms roots him in place. maybe it wouldn’t be fair to abandon daniel to this—or maybe sungwoon is just easy when it comes to him. regardless, he sighs and covers daniel’s hand with his own before settling back into his seat. “the things i do for—” oh, cameras. remembering them a moment too late, sungwoon presses his lips together and shakes his head. not love, not out loud.

thankfully, the performances begin sooner this time, though it’s a double edged sword. with the singers performing first, sungwoon’s name is called all too soon. he doesn’t have much to measure himself against, no room to adjust his performance accordingly based on what he’s seen so far. that might end up being a good thing, but for now, he feels the tiniest bit nervous as he approaches the stage. will he be good enough? no, he thinks. fuck that. he is good enough to stand here among this group of talented individuals. he’s not doubting himself.

he bows once he’s on stage, mic in hand. “hello! this is the still-growing sprout ha sungwoon!” his introduction is cheerful and a little cheeky; he is a good few centimetres taller thanks to his insoles, but no one has to really know that. “i’ll be singing sorry by yang dail today. i hope you enjoy my performance.” maybe he should’ve made a joke about how it’s no toxic and he hopes it won’t put people to sleep, but if he’s doing his job right, it shouldn’t.

taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes as the first notes of the music wash over him. it’s a pretty ballad—but not a love song, which feels strange to sing after two rounds of the same thing. sungwoon is better at embracing heartbreak, however; it’s been a constant companion in his life and hasn’t fully left him even now. he channels that heartache, the weariness into his tone during the first verse.

your cold face our fights that come all the time all the scars that were sent and received sometimes, we feel bad and it builds up for a while so now none of you remains in me

it feels strange to do this without playing an instrument, but this is what sungwoon wants. his voice and his voice along. beginning gentler than he normally would, he keeps his voice smooth throughout the verse, lingering on notes where required. the song tells a story of a love crumbling apart, but sungwoon thinks in that moment of his parents—the scars sent and received, the guilt he still feels in his weakest moments for his own emotions. now none of you remains in me, he thinks, eyes fluttering open at the line. he wishes that were true. maybe it can be. he’s certainly all himself, with nothing of his parents in him.

i know it can’t be helped but i don’t want to let you go but when i call your name i don’t feel anything i’m just here

the chorus builds and sungwoon rises with it, his clear voice growing louder and more powerful before easing back into something softer and fragile. he finds it surprisingly easy to shed his personas from the first and second stages in this competition to emerge onstage as a versatile vocalist who lays it all up here. bares it all, because he sings every song like it’s his own, like the lyrics belong to him. he doesn’t have to sing his own music to connect and to make other people feel it too. he doesn’t need his crutches—his instruments—or even squall to feel like he’s soaring, to feel like he’s doing something worth doing. and he doesn’t need anyone’s approval to be here.

sungwoon hopes his parents are listening, not for their sake or even his own; he just wants them to get the message. this is him, this is what he can do, and here is what he thinks of their interest and their disapproval and their olive branches: i don’t feel anything. whatever hopes he’s secret held onto—he lets go. the final lines of the chorus are a soft admission, equal parts resignation and acceptance, and in the pause between them and the bridge, he looks at the judges without seeing them at all. maybe he’s not singing for them in this moment but himself. still, the corners of his mouth lift slightly as he makes eye contact with katie lee before turning away.

i used to draw you out every day now i can’t i don’t want you anymore

the bridge reminds him of climbing a staircase; as the music swells, so does sungwoon’s voice, his head tipping back as he pulls the microphone away from his mouth by the slightest amount. he doesn’t want his words to get muffled or slurred, and thankfully, his pronunciation remains clear as he sings. instead of embracing anger, he sings the song like a goodbye, a farewell with years and years’ worth of sentiment behind it. kinder than his parents deserve, maybe, but sungwoon is tired of it all and thinks he could, for once, afford to be kind. with the final line, he transitions easily into the vocalization and thinks, this is the end.

the end can’t be helped but you’re trying not to let go but even that is meaningless to me

here is where he unleashes his voice fully, emotion mixing with power and control to deliver an impactful chorus. the high note comes easily, and sungwoon holds it with little effort. he feels his voice come from deep inside, bursting out of him with a force that surprises even sungwoon. but he can do this much. he can show this much if he wants to get any further. as sungwoon sings the final lines of the song, he feels none of the triumph of last week—this is a denouement and the soft epilogue, the vulnerable action of saying, i’ve done enough and now i’m spent. he is spent. he’s said all he needs to.

feels like something i’ve procrastinated now i think i should tell you

he stays on stage for a few seconds following the end of the song, waiting for the music to fade away. sinking into another bow once he’s done, sungwoon gives the judges a smile before returning to his seat. he feels lighter, like he left the weight, the pain, the sadness all on stage. unlike his empty engima performances, he doesn’t carry any of the emotions off with him to brood on later. he’s—free. buoyant for once in his life, sungwoon nearly skips back to where empty enigma sit—only to realize how bad of an idea it is when he suffers a slight shoe malfunction. also known as: the slow-motion horror movie moment when his shoes fall off and his insoles—

sungwoon scoops them up and hugs them to his chest as he sits down, noticeably shorter. kenta doesn’t let it go without a comment, and sungwoon bristles because he doesn’t need this from his fellow shortie, of all people! “you can’t judge me for this,” he huffs. “you know what it’s like.” he’s pretty sure kenta is also wearing considerable insoles. maybe not as much as sungwoon, but then again, he’s also not sandwiched between the freakishly large daniel and minhyun. “expose your shoe lifts right now,” sungwoon continues. this is a matter of pride. but kenta protests even as sungwoon says, “take off your shoes if you have nothing to hide!”

and kenta, being kenta, says something extremely weird which has sungwoon wanting to rub his temples. “you don’t put… you don’t put makeup on your feet?” they’re feet. which is, admittedly, a very strange hill to die on, so he accepts kenta’s explanation without comment because he wants this to end. after fixing his own shoes, sungwoon straightens up and thinks about asking kenta to elaborate on his point when daniel squeezes his hand, a soft you did well bringing a smile to sungwoon’s face. daniel pulls away too soon, but sungwoon doesn’t chase his warmth, not willing to ask for more than he can give right now. he’s lucky he gets this much.

sungwoon endeavors to pay attention to as many of the other performances as he can, but his attention starts to wander near the end. though he tries to keep his muttered asides and bad jokes to a minimum, it feels natural to share them with daniel, like they’re back in 2018, being… well, dumb and happy. god, he loves it.

when the performances switch over to the dancers, with joohyun leading the group, he grows more alert—enough to see her stumble even with his untrained eye. wincing, he turns to daniel on instinct; seeing wrestle with indecision, sungwoon touches his arm, his voice dropping low. “go see if she’s okay.” and daniel bolts. maybe some other day he’d feel something. even a week ago, he would’ve felt something. but none of that is joohyun’s fault, and sungwoon—wants her to be okay as well. so he swallows whatever else he could’ve said and waits for daniel to return.

his attention is split until woojin takes the stage, and once again sungwoon is awestruck by how powerful and precise each of his movements are. kenta follows shortly after, putting on a cute performance that has sungwoon grinning and cheering the whole time, even if he and kenta did beef earlier (for like five minutes, over something very stupid. it’s how they roll). once the dancers are done, the rappers begin taking the stage one by one. at some point, sungwoon realizes daniel is holding his hand again. it’s probably the nerves coming through, and hell, sungwoon is nervous too. he doesn’t know what to expect, but daniel has never had a bad performance, so—

“go kill it,” he tells him seriously, before daniel has to take this stage. and because it’s daniel, he does light the stage on fire with his self-written rap. it’s a lot better than sungwoon ever expected; once he picks his jaw up off the floor, he’s cheering along, playing the hype man for daniel. every single line packs a harder punch than before, and by the time daniel is done, sungwoon is pumped, and all he can see is daniel. the proud smile on his face doesn’t slip as daniel returns to his seat. “so,” he says. “that was a lot better than my freestyle.” but he’s joking and lacking the words to tell daniel just how much he loved the performance and hopes his excitement says enough.

once the rappers are done, sungwoon runs his eyes over the fifty left, all of them having given it their best up on that stage. there’s no way all fifty of them can move on even if they all deserve to, but he hopes that empty enigma are some of the lucky ones. they have been so far, right?

we’ve got a ways to go yet.

#rkmga5 #rkmga5skill #( c: solo )#( wc: 5159 )#danielxrk #rkkenta #rkminhyun #rkpwj #joohyunrk #( because mentioned )#( god this is so sloppy but i'm so tired!! )#( the ending is the worst )#( just don't read this lmao i'm sick and done )

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