Ship/Member: Woozi Major Tags: mention of mass death in the beginning but it's pretty vague Additional Tags: science fiction, space au, robot au, second person pov, woozi-centric character study on hearing and music Permission to remix: Yes
lots of inspiration from "i think beethoven encoded his deafness in his music" by gabriela lena frank and that tweet from nasa about how a black hole can be heard in space if there's enough gas (that's my layman's understanding, at least. the physics of this is probably wrong)
*** Enjoy your next vacation into space aboard the RSS Soheon!
Featuring our award-winning restaurant, luxury spa and sauna, and live entertainment from robot idol group Seventeen!
***
You wake up for the lunchtime show one day, and the roof of the spaceship is gone. Blown clean off, not even a hint of damage, except for the fact that you can see straight into outer space where there used to be a ceiling.
No people either. All of the passengers and crew are gone, along with anything that wasn’t bolted down onto the deck. It’s like the rapture, Joshua transmits, half-awed and half-horrified. None of you mention what probably happens to humans if they’re plucked out by the hand of god, metaphorical or not, and exposed to the cold vacuum of deep space.
But even if this really is the end times, life marches on, and so do you. All thirteen of you: robots without the need for air, idols without an audience, floating through space on a ship without a roof.
***
Of course, you’re not completely lacking an audience. You have each other.
There’s always someone dancing, acting out a skit, trying to make another member laugh. It’s part of your programming, or maybe this is what you all have programmed yourselves into after all these years— always performing, always putting on a show.
But the shows are silent now. After all, in space, no one can hear you scream.
***
It’s not a competition, but of all the members, you probably feel it the most acutely. You’re the group’s producer— well, maybe not anymore. What’s a music producer who can’t produce music? But even outside of that, you’ve always lived for sound, fed on the energy from a passerby’s absent-minded humming, a rhythmic tapping of fingers, a soft dance of a piano melody. In contrast, the absolute silence of space feels constricting.
Without sound, everyone learns to communicate by transmitting electronic messages and extending grace where it’s needed. But you’ve always struggled putting your feelings into words.
***
I don’t get it, Hoshi tells you, scrunching up his eyebrows.
Sorry, I’m bad at explaining, you reply, but honestly, you’re not even sure this is something that can be explained.
You can try, Hoshi insists. Please, try. For me.
He’s looking at you with those soft, pleading eyes, and you let out a sigh, as if this was going to go any other way.
It’s just this feeling. I’ve been watching that star for a long, long time, and it feels like it’s…calling me?
Hoshi follows your gaze over the front of the ship. If there was a horizon, you would be looking straight at it; instead, the two of you, and the ship, are pointed directly towards a glaring, orange star.
When I look at it, you explain, it’s almost like I can hear sound again. Deep vibrations and bottomless humming.
What does it sound like?
It sounds like…like a giant generator running at the bottom of the ocean.
Cool.
You turn to look at him. You believe me? Coups said I should get my audio receptors checked.
Hoshi shrugs. I don’t think you would make up something like this. And for what it’s worth, I think Coups believes you too. He wouldn’t have changed the entire trajectory of the ship if he didn’t.
You have nothing to say to that. It’s hard to accept that other people believe you when you barely believe yourself.
Don’t worry, Woozi, Hoshi transmits, flashing you a big, earnest smile. We’ll get you to your star.
***
You spend a lot of your time writing now. Writing lyrics for songs that don’t exist, writing compositions you can only hear in your head.
It probably says something about you that you can’t figure out another hobby, can’t tear yourself away from music that no one can hear.
***
You think about Beethoven, too.
In his early sonatas, the left and right hand play close together, classical mirror images of each other. The hands in his later sonatas, after he had lost much of his hearing, stretch wide across the piano, dancing completely different choreographies. In the long yawn between low and high notes, there’s rich musical texture and contrast, but your mind keeps going back to the profound physicality of it. The vibrations of lower notes, the thickness and resonance of clashing sounds, the physical pressure of fingers on larger and heavier pianos.
People find ways of experiencing music without hearing.
***
It’s not safe to move the spaceship any closer to the star, S. Coups announces to everyone over breakfast one morning.
The humming from the star feels stronger than ever. It’s in your body, vibrating hot and loud through your circuits. Stopping here is not an option for you.
What if I exit the spaceship? you ask.
If he’s surprised, S. Coups doesn’t let it show. Yes, that could be safe as long as you stay tethered to the ship and don’t get more than forty kilometers closer to the star.
I can do that, you transmit, already getting up from your chair.
Hoshi stands and grabs your arm.
Hey, I’m coming with you.
Really? What if I’m just crazy?
So? I’m crazier, he replies.
Seungkwan gets up too. We already know both of you are crazy. I’m coming too.
Count me in too, Jeonghan chimes.
Same.
Me too, after I finish this egg.
One by one, all twelve of your members stand up, insisting they join you.
Okay, you say, not bothering to hide your smile.
***
All thirteen of you head out into space, tethered to each other and to the ship in a long, single-file line. You take the front of the line, leading everyone towards the bright, pulsing ball of gas. Even from millions of kilometers away, it seems so close, extending a massive and intimidating presence.
As you swim towards the star, the feeling in your body only grows stronger. You don’t know where you’re going, but this must be the right direction.
And then, your audio receptors pick up on the slightest sound. It’s a deep, soft rumble, haunting and strange, and almost out of your hearing range, but it’s definitely there. After months of being plagued by the feeling of almost hearing something, this is clearly so much more real.
You pick up the pace, accelerating forward and tugging at your members. Behind you, Mingyu gasps.
Is that…
“Yes,” you say, using your vocal transmitter for the first time since the accident. “You’re hearing sound.”
Your own voice shocks you. It’s exactly like you remember, which is not a surprise given how thoroughly all of you have maintained your parts. But being able to hear it is another thing altogether. After months of impenetrable silence, it’s overwhelming with relief, to know that you can try to speak and sound will actually come out.
You turn to look at your members. They’re just as emotional as you, in various states of shock and awe, and your heart is flooded with something indescribable. They’ve known you since you were all prototypes, they turned around a whole spaceship for you to chase a gut instinct, and they even stepped right into outer space to follow you. Words aren’t enough.
Instead, you open your mouth, and you sing for them.
[FILL] sounds of stars
Major Tags: mention of mass death in the beginning but it's pretty vague
Additional Tags: science fiction, space au, robot au, second person pov, woozi-centric character study on hearing and music
Permission to remix: Yes
lots of inspiration from "i think beethoven encoded his deafness in his music" by gabriela lena frank and that tweet from nasa about how a black hole can be heard in space if there's enough gas (that's my layman's understanding, at least. the physics of this is probably wrong)
***
Enjoy your next vacation into space aboard the RSS Soheon!
Featuring our award-winning restaurant, luxury spa and sauna, and live entertainment from robot idol group Seventeen!
***
You wake up for the lunchtime show one day, and the roof of the spaceship is gone. Blown clean off, not even a hint of damage, except for the fact that you can see straight into outer space where there used to be a ceiling.
No people either. All of the passengers and crew are gone, along with anything that wasn’t bolted down onto the deck. It’s like the rapture, Joshua transmits, half-awed and half-horrified. None of you mention what probably happens to humans if they’re plucked out by the hand of god, metaphorical or not, and exposed to the cold vacuum of deep space.
But even if this really is the end times, life marches on, and so do you. All thirteen of you: robots without the need for air, idols without an audience, floating through space on a ship without a roof.
***
Of course, you’re not completely lacking an audience. You have each other.
There’s always someone dancing, acting out a skit, trying to make another member laugh. It’s part of your programming, or maybe this is what you all have programmed yourselves into after all these years— always performing, always putting on a show.
But the shows are silent now. After all, in space, no one can hear you scream.
***
It’s not a competition, but of all the members, you probably feel it the most acutely. You’re the group’s producer— well, maybe not anymore. What’s a music producer who can’t produce music? But even outside of that, you’ve always lived for sound, fed on the energy from a passerby’s absent-minded humming, a rhythmic tapping of fingers, a soft dance of a piano melody. In contrast, the absolute silence of space feels constricting.
Without sound, everyone learns to communicate by transmitting electronic messages and extending grace where it’s needed. But you’ve always struggled putting your feelings into words.
***
I don’t get it, Hoshi tells you, scrunching up his eyebrows.
Sorry, I’m bad at explaining, you reply, but honestly, you’re not even sure this is something that can be explained.
You can try, Hoshi insists. Please, try. For me.
He’s looking at you with those soft, pleading eyes, and you let out a sigh, as if this was going to go any other way.
It’s just this feeling. I’ve been watching that star for a long, long time, and it feels like it’s…calling me?
Hoshi follows your gaze over the front of the ship. If there was a horizon, you would be looking straight at it; instead, the two of you, and the ship, are pointed directly towards a glaring, orange star.
When I look at it, you explain, it’s almost like I can hear sound again. Deep vibrations and bottomless humming.
What does it sound like?
It sounds like…like a giant generator running at the bottom of the ocean.
Cool.
You turn to look at him. You believe me? Coups said I should get my audio receptors checked.
Hoshi shrugs. I don’t think you would make up something like this. And for what it’s worth, I think Coups believes you too. He wouldn’t have changed the entire trajectory of the ship if he didn’t.
You have nothing to say to that. It’s hard to accept that other people believe you when you barely believe yourself.
Don’t worry, Woozi, Hoshi transmits, flashing you a big, earnest smile. We’ll get you to your star.
***
You spend a lot of your time writing now. Writing lyrics for songs that don’t exist, writing compositions you can only hear in your head.
It probably says something about you that you can’t figure out another hobby, can’t tear yourself away from music that no one can hear.
***
You think about Beethoven, too.
In his early sonatas, the left and right hand play close together, classical mirror images of each other. The hands in his later sonatas, after he had lost much of his hearing, stretch wide across the piano, dancing completely different choreographies. In the long yawn between low and high notes, there’s rich musical texture and contrast, but your mind keeps going back to the profound physicality of it. The vibrations of lower notes, the thickness and resonance of clashing sounds, the physical pressure of fingers on larger and heavier pianos.
People find ways of experiencing music without hearing.
***
It’s not safe to move the spaceship any closer to the star, S. Coups announces to everyone over breakfast one morning.
The humming from the star feels stronger than ever. It’s in your body, vibrating hot and loud through your circuits. Stopping here is not an option for you.
What if I exit the spaceship? you ask.
If he’s surprised, S. Coups doesn’t let it show. Yes, that could be safe as long as you stay tethered to the ship and don’t get more than forty kilometers closer to the star.
I can do that, you transmit, already getting up from your chair.
Hoshi stands and grabs your arm.
Hey, I’m coming with you.
Really? What if I’m just crazy?
So? I’m crazier, he replies.
Seungkwan gets up too. We already know both of you are crazy. I’m coming too.
Count me in too, Jeonghan chimes.
Same.
Me too, after I finish this egg.
One by one, all twelve of your members stand up, insisting they join you.
Okay, you say, not bothering to hide your smile.
***
All thirteen of you head out into space, tethered to each other and to the ship in a long, single-file line. You take the front of the line, leading everyone towards the bright, pulsing ball of gas. Even from millions of kilometers away, it seems so close, extending a massive and intimidating presence.
As you swim towards the star, the feeling in your body only grows stronger. You don’t know where you’re going, but this must be the right direction.
And then, your audio receptors pick up on the slightest sound. It’s a deep, soft rumble, haunting and strange, and almost out of your hearing range, but it’s definitely there. After months of being plagued by the feeling of almost hearing something, this is clearly so much more real.
You pick up the pace, accelerating forward and tugging at your members. Behind you, Mingyu gasps.
Is that…
“Yes,” you say, using your vocal transmitter for the first time since the accident. “You’re hearing sound.”
Your own voice shocks you. It’s exactly like you remember, which is not a surprise given how thoroughly all of you have maintained your parts. But being able to hear it is another thing altogether. After months of impenetrable silence, it’s overwhelming with relief, to know that you can try to speak and sound will actually come out.
You turn to look at your members. They’re just as emotional as you, in various states of shock and awe, and your heart is flooded with something indescribable. They’ve known you since you were all prototypes, they turned around a whole spaceship for you to chase a gut instinct, and they even stepped right into outer space to follow you. Words aren’t enough.
Instead, you open your mouth, and you sing for them.