Work Text:
DREAM TEAM (4)
nana
ahfjdjfjdjdh sorry guys csnt make kt to training today
nana
or sxhool actually but wjo cares about that
nana
guess
nana
who
nana
lost their voice
nana
)))))):
full sun
DUDE WHAT THEBFUCK
jen
;(
full sun
REGIONALS LITERALLY IN LIKE 3 DAYS
jen
*:( Lol
jen
Ill get your work for you dw
full sun
WHQT DO YOU MEAN YOU “”””””LOST YUOUR VOICE""""""”
nana
thx ur a real one jeno
nana
what docyou mean what do i mean
nana
woke up and fely like someoke surgically replaced the jnside of my throat with sandpaper while i was asleep
full sun
holy shit
nana
i knowwwwwdhfjfhf im sorry!!!!
nana
renjunnnnnnnn say osmethjng
nana
i can see youre readign these messages
nana
renjun?????? @hrj0323
nana
@hrj0323 @hrj0323 @hrj0323
injeolmi
[Draft] can you still sp
injeolmi
[Draft] do you think y
injeolmi
it’s fine. we’ll figure it out at training. get better soon
nana
U DIDNT HAVE TO SAY IT LIKE THAT???
nana
RENJUN IM SHAKIGN THAT SOUNDS LIKE A THREAT
injeolmi
:)
“Wow,” Yuta said, arms crossed. “No offense or anything, but you guys are kind of fucked.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be our coach,” Renjun said. He dug the heel of his palm into his eyelid, semi-successfully stifling a yawn. “Can’t you be more—optimistic?”
“Or helpful?” That was Donghyuck, voice muffled by the desk his face was pressed against.
“We can just enter as three, right,” Jeno said. He looked enviously alert. “Not like we have to have a Fourth.”
Donghyuck sat up. “Well, yeah,” he said. “It’s just that we don’t have a Third speaker. In case you forgot, we’ve only got a First speaker—” he gestured magnanimously at himself, “—and you two Seconds.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s true,” Jeno said. “Guess we really are fucked.”
Third speaker was the hardest position to fill because of how much improvisation it needed; unlike the other positions, who could come up with their case material in the hour of prep time they got beforehand, the vast bulk of Third was a direct response to the opposition’s case, needed a broad understanding of both teams’ arguments in order to weigh them up and find in favour of their own team. Obviously there was no way of knowing for sure what the other team’s points would be until the debate itself, so nearly the entirety of a Third speaker speech had to be made up on the spot.
Their old coach had always insisted they swap around as much as possible to get practice in every position, but it turned out Jaemin had such a gift for Third they tended to just leave him to it. Renjun didn’t think Jeno had ever actually tried Third before. Donghyuck had some competitive experience and was more or less fine as a Third speaker; it was just that without all the strict formalities and structure of a First speaker speech he tended to careen wildly off-topic. And Renjun—
“Do you guys need a moment to decide on what to do?” Yuta said. “We can take a break while you sort this out.”
“We haven’t even done anything yet,” Renjun said.
“So we’ll just have to not take a break later. Reallocation of resources. If you did economics you would know.”
“Hyung,” Jeno said. “Aren’t you a geology major?”
Renjun sighed. “Can we get some advice, at least?”
Yuta shrugged. “Enter as three. It’d be a shame if you worked so hard all year just to bow out last second because nobody wanted to step up. I think you guys know yourselves best, so I’ll leave the specifics up to you. Be back in five!” He was already pulling out his phone before he’d even stepped out of the door.
“Bet he’s talking to that guy, ” Donghyuck said, delighted.
Jeno looked dubious. “At 7 in the morning?”
“Maybe he’s got early classes. Or a terrible sleep schedule, I don’t know. But why else would Yuta-hyung be acting so… suspiciously?”
“It’s Yuta-hyung, he’s always weird,” Jeno said.
At the start of the year, Yuta had tried to play coy about his personal life, citing something about professionalism even though they’d literally all known him while he was still a student at Neo Institute, but two weeks in and he was already regaling them with tales of the hot guy who stayed with him while he threw up in the bathroom at some house party. Hearing the latest installment in the ongoing saga of Yuta’s catastrophic love life was generally the main highlight of training, though updates had been on hold for the last few weeks as they amped up in preparation for Regionals. Which was now in jeopardy, given that they were down a vital component of their speaker lineup.
“Getting back on topic,” Renjun said pointedly, “we need to think about who’s speaking what.”
“This is so sad,” Donghyuck declared. “Nana, if you’re out there…”
“If only Mark-hyung was still here,” Renjun said, only half-jokingly. There was a brief moment of solemn silence as the three of them paused to consider their ex-captain, who had passed on last year to the realm of university debating.
“Well,” Donghyuck said, clapping his hands. “Our beloved former leader might have abandoned us, but—actually, there’s nothing else to say. Someone’s going to have to square up and do it.”
“Okay, so you do it,” Jeno said, tipping his chair back until the front two legs were off the ground. Renjun kicked at his ankles and Jeno hurriedly lowered the chair back down.
Donghyuck narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you do it?”
“Dude, I don’t even speak half the time,” Jeno said. “Like, sure, I could try, but we wouldn’t even make it past prelims.”
“If I take Third who’s opening the case?” Donghyuck said. “I’m the only one here with the charisma and stylish stage presence to pull off First.”
“‘Charisma,’ he says,” Jeno said, and Donghyuck lunged across the table at him.
They were very carefully not looking at Renjun, and as much as he was embarrassed by the absence of expectation some part of him was also pathetically grateful. The last time Renjun had spoken Third had been a minor disaster, to say the least. It hadn’t even been a proper competition, just a friendly practice match; there could be no excuses for crumbling under pressure. As soon as he stood up with his notes everything he’d prepared had flown out of his head and he’d stumbled his way through the worst debate speech he’d ever delivered in his life, unbearably conscious of his teammates’ gazes burning the back of his neck. Trying for Third again meant admitting that he hadn’t immediately excelled at it, which was not aligned with his personal brand and therefore something he preferred to never have to confront, so he’d left it at that, and his friends, the exasperating, wonderful people they were, let him.
But it had been a year. Having selective stage fright was stupid. It wasn’t like Second didn’t involve improvisation, anyway; nearly half of a Second speech was rebuttal. Speaker positions were hardly an exact science.
“I’ll do it,” Renjun said. He hadn’t known for sure he was going to say it until he had. Then he felt almost lightheaded, like he’d stood up too quickly. “Stop—trying to kill Jeno, I’ll speak Third.”
Donghyuck paused mid-‘friendly’ chokehold, arm looped around Jeno’s neck; Renjun felt vaguely like his intellectual property had been infringed upon. “You will?”
“Yeah,” Renjun said. “I’m the captain, right? So I’ll do it.”
Jeno frowned. “Not that I don’t believe in you, ‘cause I do, but… are you sure?”
Renjun punched him on the shoulder. The problem with being on a team with three of your closest friends was that there was no way to hide your neuroses from them, no matter how insignificant or irrational. Sometimes he wished they knew him a little less well, just for the sake of some flexibility with the truth. “Obviously. I’ve been practising. Anyway, Third is just, like, a really extended rebuttal, I just have to bullshit my way through five more minutes than usual.”
Donghyuck was examining his face with serious intent, and Renjun let him look, trying to project an aura of casual confidence he wasn’t entirely certain he felt. For all his complaints Renjun knew Donghyuck wouldn’t hesitate to volunteer for Third no matter how much he disliked the position, if he thought there was any chance Renjun didn’t really want to take Third. But Renjun meant what he’d said. It was his responsibility, to his team and to himself.
“Alright then, captain,” Donghyuck said, seemingly satisfied. He released Jeno to snake an arm around Renjun’s shoulders, and before Renjun could ward him off he ducked in and planted a kiss on his cheek, leaned his head against his shoulder. Jeno laughed and patted Renjun on the head, hand sliding down to rest on the back of his neck, the gesture familiar, comforting. “Make us proud. Make Mark-hyung proud.”
“Why are you both ganging up on me,” Renjun grumbled. “I like it better when we’re all collectively making fun of Jeno.”
“You don’t look too murderous today, I gotta take all the chances I can get,” Jeno said, eyes crinkling up.
“Who said I’m not feeling murderous,” Renjun said lightly. “Better watch your back, Lee Jeno.”
“Hey, what about Donghyuck! He’s right there!”
Renjun twisted his head to look at Donghyuck, feeling himself go slightly cross-eyed with the effort of focusing on something so close. Donghyuck set his chin against Renjun’s shoulder, puckered his lips, fluttered his eyelashes.
“Hmm,” Renjun said. “I’ll let you live if we return to our original agreement to join forces against Jeno and Jaemin.”
He stuck out a hand. Donghyuck took it and intertwined their fingers.
Jeno shuffled his seat backwards. “You’re gonna regret this,” he said.
“I’ll deal with the inevitable betrayal when it comes,” Renjun said breezily, ignoring Donghyuck’s offended shout.
“You guys done in here?” Yuta poked his head back in the doorway.
“Yeah, I’m doing Third,” Renjun said. It was easier to say the second time around; practice really did make perfect. Yuta didn’t look in the least part surprised, and Renjun resolved not to think about this. “Jeno will take Second.”
“And Donghyuck will be First,” Donghyuck added.
“Thank you for your input,” Renjun said.
“Great, now that’s settled,” Yuta said, reentering the classroom. “Let’s do some rebuttal exercises for the rest of the hour and leave the practice debate for after school.”
Jeno groaned. “Gross,” he said. “Can’t you tell us who you were messaging?”
“I could,” Yuta said agreeably. “But it’s you guys who are doing Regionals in three days, not me.”
“You owe us at least one hour’s worth of updates on your love life sitch once this is over,” Donghyuck said.
“First of all, please never say sitch again. But sure, I’ll order takeout,” Yuta said. “We can have a party if you win.”
“When we win,” Renjun said. He was just saying things at this point. Felt, again, close to vertigo. No wonder Donghyuck was the way he was, considering he lived like this all the time.
“When you win, then,” Yuta said. He looked at Renjun, consideringly, with the kind of sharp expression that reminded him Yuta actually did know what he was doing. He smiled.
The weird mood persisted all through Renjun’s morning classes, and it bothered him that it was bothering him enough to distract him from the work, in some kind of endless frustration ouroboros.
It really shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. Renjun liked debating, liked spending time with three of his favourite people in the world, liked the sustained pressure of prep time and the sharp burst of adrenaline that cleared his mind the moment he stood up to speak. He liked winning, though maybe not as much as Donghyuck did. An adjudicator had once told him during post-debate feedback that he had a voice made for presidency, whatever that was supposed to mean, and that had been nice to hear, too.
The view from the middle of the table was comfortably panoramic; Second had a kind of freedom that First and Third didn’t. It wasn’t a particularly illustrious role, had none of the powerful arguments prioritised for First or the virtuosic grandeur of Third’s closing attacks. But Second was the pathfinder, the bridge, a thousand possible routes sorted through and condensed down to whatever issues he chose to pinpoint.
Or at least it was nice to think about it in those terms, like what he or Jeno did mattered in the scheme of the debate. If either of them had been the one to get sick instead, things would have proceeded just fine without them—not that he had a right to complain, given his lack of interest in stepping outside of his comfort zone. Better to stick with what he knew he was good at. Though that life philosophy had gone out the window this morning. Renjun wasn’t exactly regretting what he had done, but he wasn’t not having an entire host of second thoughts.
A sliver of light flashed out from under his phone, hidden inside his pencil case, signalling an incoming message. Ms Park had her back turned to the class, writing out an induction proof on the whiteboard; Renjun seized the opportunity.
DREAM TEAM (4)
nana
im boreddddddddddddd
nana
someone talk to me
injeolmi
we’re in class
injeolmi
getting an education
nana
omg mr student prwsident why are yiu on yoyr phone in class
nana
wait i take it back come bakc im lonely
nana
and DYING
nana
and lonely
nana
can i get some sympathy from my best friends or ????
full sun
LMAOOOOOOO
jen
Haha nice one nana
full sun
nyway are u sick as in like needing to be quarantined or do u want us to come over after training
nana
probably quarantined… TTTTTTTTTT
jen
Aw Ill drop off some chicken soup later
full sun
jeno for the love of god turn ur autocapitalisation off
jen
At your front door so I dont catch the plague from you
nana
love u guys too
“I knew something like this was going to happen,” Donghyuck said during the following lunch break, jabbing his chopsticks in the air. “Card of the day today was Two of Swords, which is all about tough choices, as you know.” Renjun hadn’t known, but now he did. Being friends with Donghyuck was a constantly educational experience.
“It’s fine,” Renjun blurted out. “It’s not like I’m—scared of speaking Third, or anything.”
Donghyuck set his chopsticks down. “Renjun,” he started.
“No, seriously, I want to speak Third. I mean it,” Renjun said firmly. The more he said it, the truer it had to become. “I want to do this.”
“Okay,” Donghyuck said. “Then I trust you.”
There was a brief silence. “Man, times like these I really miss Mark-hyung,” Jeno said. The mood lightened considerably, and Renjun shot him a thankful look.
Donghyuck leaned back. “Sounds like someone has a cru-ush,” he sang.
“Uh, literally look who’s talking?” Jeno said.
“Oh yeah,” Donghyuck said, as if he’d forgotten he had been madly in love, emphasis on the mad, with Mark for the better part of their high school lives. “And so does Renjun,” he added thoughtfully.
Renjun flushed on reflex, and regretted it immediately, because there was no way Donghyuck wouldn’t misinterpret it. “Don’t drag me into this!”
“Aww, he’s blushing—oh my god, wait, Renjun, are you really—”
And there it was. “It’s not like that!” Renjun hastened to assure Donghyuck, whose expression was rapidly sliding into genuine concern. “I am only the normal baseline amount of in love with Mark-hyung. Which is not something I can say about you.” Jeno held out a hand, and Renjun high-fived him across the table.
Thus satisfied, Donghyuck ignored the rest of this magnificently. “Anyway, I hope Pledis isn’t in our half of the draw,” he said. “I wanna crush them in finals.” He crumpled his juice box in a fist to demonstrate; Renjun leaned away as a precaution, but thankfully it turned out to be empty.
“What are you going to do when we see Taeyong-hyung?” Renjun said.
Donghyuck inhaled dramatically. “I will… do something suitably cool and devastating.”
“You’re going to scare him so much he has to flee the country, you mean,” Jeno muttered under his breath.
“I haven’t decided what yet, but it will be cool and devastating,” Donghyuck continued. “And then I will wipe the floor with his new team. And then he’ll regret ever leaving us.”
Last year, when Mark was still with them, their coach had been World Championships finalist and notable Neo Institute alumnus Lee Taeyong. Taeyong hadn’t renewed his coaching tenure this year, which wouldn’t have been a problem, except that then Donghyuck heard from Jaehyun who heard from fellow state finalist Lee Seokmin that Taeyong was currently coaching the third-year team at Pledis High, where his boyfriends also worked. This of course meant they were now sworn rivals, or something. Donghyuck hadn’t been too clear on the specifics between all the dramatic monologues denouncing the concept of love. Personally Renjun thought it was kind of cute, and also that Donghyuck’s newfound anti-romance sentiment would be a lot more credible if he spent less time trying to kiss all of his friends.
For the past two years they’d entered Regionals in a division above their actual grade, since Mark didn’t have a team from his own grade, so this was the first time they would be encountering the Pledis team Taeyong had taken over. Yesterday Renjun had looked up their competition stats—it wasn’t going to be an easy victory.
“Yuta-hyung’ll cry if he hears you saying that,” Jeno said. “He’d be out of a job if Taeyong-hyung hadn’t left.”
“Yuta-hyung doesn’t know what feelings are,” Donghyuck said. “Anyway, Taeyong-hyung was our coach first. Between us and Pledis there can only be one.”
“Wait,” Renjun said. “Go back to what you said about the draw. That’s not even how the draw works, don’t we have to debate Pledis whether or not we get to the finals?”
“Whatever,” Donghyuck said dismissively. “The details aren’t important. What’s important is that we win. As a wise person once said, winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.”
“Was that wise person yourself,” Renjun said. “Did you make that up on the spot just now.”
“If winning is the only thing, doesn’t that make it everything by default?” Jeno wondered.
“My genius is so underappreciated,” Donghyuck lamented. “Nana would be nicer to me.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Renjun said.
“Yeah, gotta agree with Renjun, I don’t think he would,” Jeno said.
Donghyuck pulled a face at them. “You can’t prove that. He’s not here right now, so he totally could be. It’s like, Schrödinger’s Jaemin.”
Renjun didn’t think that was how it worked, but he also didn’t know enough about physics to argue against it for sure. Fortunately for Donghyuck, the bell signalling the end of lunch cut the conversation short, and Donghyuck leapt up, since his fifth period on Mondays was Modern History on the other side of the school, and Mr Kim was a notorious hardass about punctuality.
“See you two losers at training,” Donghyuck tossed over his shoulder.
“Counting down the seconds,” Jeno yelled back. “Someone has to fill in for Nana,” he said to Renjun.
Renjun smiled, felt the expression wobble, straighten out. Someone had to fill in for Jaemin. Didn’t he know it.
Jeno had printed out a black-and-white photo of Jaemin in the library during his free sixth period, and Donghyuck had somehow managed to obtain a fake candle so they could assemble a miniature shrine at the front of the classroom they were borrowing for training, propped up against the whiteboard. When Yuta came in and saw the setup he laughed so hard he had to clutch at the doorframe to keep himself upright.
“It wasn’t even that funny?” Donghyuck mumbled to Renjun, eyeing Yuta. “Old people are weird…”
As Yuta had promised, the afternoon training session was a full practice debate. They usually went two on two so they could rehearse rebuttal procedure as well, skipping Second speaker, but since they were down a member, Yuta was filling in for Jaemin on Jeno’s team. Renjun thought this was vastly unfair.
During prep time in actual debates, Donghyuck was usually chattier despite Renjun’s best efforts to get everyone to shut up and write their speeches, but under both Renjun and Yuta’s watchful gazes it passed in relative quiet. This only served to ratchet Renjun’s nerves up tighter. It felt like his muscles were wound taut enough someone could reach in there and pluck them like guitar strings.
“You’re so tense,” Donghyuck said, elbowing Renjun, who nearly keeled over from the unexpected contact. “Seriously, Renjun, lighten up. It’s just us.”
“I know,” Renjun said, more harshly than he’d intended. Donghyuck blinked. “Sorry, I’m just—you know.”
“Okay, Donghyuck, you’re up,” Yuta said, pointing his pen at him.
Donghyuck patted Renjun’s thigh encouragingly, stood up and walked to the front of the room, carefully spread his palm cards across the table they were substituting for a podium. “Na Jaemin, always in our hearts,” he proclaimed, thumping his chest. “This one’s for you, Nana.”
Jeno whooped. Renjun was too busy trying to stop the individual atoms that constituted his body from bursting free from their tethers and obliterating his physical form to respond appropriately. After Donghyuck finished speaking it was Jeno, and then Renjun was up.
He had two pages of scribbled notes, highlighter and arrows going everywhere. For a second his head went blank, swept totally clean of thought. Then his eyes caught on the introduction Donghyuck had written for him during prep, right up the top. The Third speaker formalities swam upstream to the forefront of his mind: today’s debate has come down to two main issues. Was that how did Jaemin phrased it? He’d heard him speak countless times, yet he couldn’t remember.
It’s just them, he thought. There was nothing to be afraid of. He opened his mouth to speak.
As soon as he was done the memory of whatever he’d just said sieved through his brain and vacated it. “It was good,” Donghyuck whispered, while Yuta got up and breezed through a vicious dismantling of their side’s case, because it brought him joy to crush high schoolers under his Worlds semifinalist feet.
“Good job today,” Yuta said, once everyone had regrouped in the middle of the classroom for feedback time. “Donghyuck, nothing to say really, fine as always, just make your causal links clearer in case you get a bitchy adjudicator. Just really hammer it in step by step. More detail never hurts, since you’ve got the time. Jeno…”
“I know, I know,” Jeno said. “Need to work on rebuttal, it was too short, I know.”
“Glad you know it. Other than that it was pretty good… good consideration of stakeholders, you’ve really improved there. And Renjun. Well,” Yuta said, and Renjun cringed. “It… wasn’t terrible?”
Jeno slid an arm around Renjun’s shoulders. Rather meanly Renjun thought the comfort was easy for him to give because nobody would ever really ask Jeno to speak third, least of all Jeno himself. But that was unfair, and he knew it, so he nestled himself more securely into Jeno’s side, let Jeno shift his weight to accommodate.
“Oh, come on, guys, you’re making me feel like the bad guy here,” Yuta said, gesturing between Jeno and Renjun. “It wasn’t terrible. It was pretty good, considering you haven’t done third for—how long? A year? You can’t expect to catch up to Jaemin’s level in three days.”
“Yeah,” Renjun said morosely. Jeno squeezed his upper arm. “But I kind of need to.”
“There’s no problem with your content, like, you covered pretty much all the issues you needed to cover. It was just messy. You could have signposted a lot more.” Yuta shrugged. “Structure is a chancey thing.”
“Then how do I get better?”
“I mean, practice is the main thing, obviously,” Yuta said, “but I know we don’t have time. Honestly I think you just got nervous and forgot. Not to sound too sports anime, but you just need to have more, like, faith in your abilities.”
Renjun groaned. “Thanks, hyung, that is so helpful.”
“Hey,” Yuta said, not unkindly. “You’re a good speaker. All you have to do is focus on your actual speech, not on what Jaemin would or wouldn’t do. You aren’t Jaemin, which is fine. You know I was a Second too, when I was on the team with Taeyong. The transition from Second to Third is hard, but it can be done. We’ll keep working on it.”
The three of them parted ways outside the classroom, since Donghyuck was walking home, and Renjun and Jeno were catching different buses. Jeno, the lucky bastard, had a stop right in front of the school, whereas Renjun had to trek it up the hill to the main road.
At this in-between time after school hours but before the work day finished, there was nobody else at the bus stop. Renjun sat down in the shelter, unlocked his phone. Sitting in the text box, still unsent for reasons he couldn’t articulate, was a message he’d written right after morning training. Neither Jeno nor Donghyuck had mentioned it yet; again, he was grateful, embarrassed. He stared at the blinking cursor, at the timestamp of the last message in the group chat. A vicious spike of annoyance at nothing at particular lanced through him and he blindly stabbed a finger at the screen until the message sent.
DREAM TEAM (4)
injeolmi
also i’m speaking third for regionals
Moments later, his phone screen lit up with an incoming call. Renjun blinked. Accepted it. “Are you sure you should be talking?” he said, in lieu of a greeting.
“Hi,” Jaemin croaked. “I’m fine. Barely even sick.”
Even distorted and crackling over the shitty one-bar signal connection Renjun could tell there was no way Jaemin’s voice could hold up for the entire eight-minute-long duration of a debate speech. The very last vestiges of his hope that Jaemin would miraculously swoop in and save the day shrivelled up and died, which was nothing less than what he’d expected; the universe never let him off easy, after all.
“Why are you calling me,” Renjun said. “We have a group chat, you know. Don’t,” he added, raising his voice, “say it’s because you wanted to hear my voice. Wait, I can do this entire conversation for both of us. You’re going to say, Injun-ah, you can’t just steal my lines like that, and then I’ll say, I can do whatever I want, and then you’ll say—”
Jaemin made a noise that was a hybrid of a laugh and a cough. For a young person, Jaemin was rather old. Or sentimental, at least. “That hurts my feelings. ‘M not that predictable.”
“Please. I’ve known you for, like, five years. Also can you stop talking, hearing you talk is stressing me out—”
“I want to go to Regionals.”
It was quiet but had none of Jaemin’s usual levity. The unexpected seriousness was a little hard to bear, knowing the real longing that lay beneath it. Jaemin had worked hard—more than that, had loved what he was doing with a bright totality—and now he wouldn’t be even able to see that devotion or effort realised. Neither of them would be getting what they wanted.
Except—maybe Renjun did want—
Renjun gentled his voice. “Jaemin, you can barely speak right now.”
“I can do Fourth,” Jaemin said, sounding miserable and halfway to his deathbed. “Can still write—”
“Stay home,” Renjun ordered. “I’m your captain, so you have to listen to me. You need to rest. If you come to the tournament and make us all sick then we’ll definitely have no chance of winning.”
Jaemin blew out a long, gusty sigh. “Hate this.”
“Don’t come,” Renjun said. “We’ll need you for State, anyway, so you better get better by then. Or else.” It was the world’s weakest threat because of the helpless fondness seeping into his voice, but he did have an image to maintain.
Jaemin mumbled something which was probably along the lines of you can’t do that, I’m Na Jaemin and I’m too stupidly beautiful to die and hung up.
The sun had set while they were training, though it was still bright out. Overhead the day was bleeding out into evening, the muted colour of a fresh bruise. The bus was still another five minutes away. It felt like the entire day’s worth of exhaustion had caught up with him all at once. Now he only had two more days to get to where he needed to be. He hoped it would be enough.
Mark, arguably the best Third Neo Institute had seen since Taeyong himself, had been Worlds material—presumably still was, but it was fun pretending like he’d stopped existing the moment he graduated, which had been Donghyuck’s idea. Few things brought Donghyuck more joy than antagonising Mark, who bore it with a mixture of good-natured confusion and fond exasperation. This rather belied the fact that all of them were to some degree slightly in love with Mark, though Donghyuck was the most obvious about it.
Case in point: Mark’s graduation ceremony last year. They’d eventually pried him away from the general horde of well-wishers congratulating him on topping the grade and shepherded him into the classroom where they’d set up a surprise party.
“Today we lost our dear friend, brother, and captain Mark Lee,” Donghyuck announced, in the ringing tones of an eulogy.
Mark laughed in that slightly nervous way of his. “Guys, I’m right here? Haha.”
“Sometimes I can still hear his voice,” Donghyuck said gravely.
“Guys, it’s not like I’m dead—”
“Do you guys hear that sound,” Donghyuck said, cupping a hand around his ear. “Almost like he’s trying to communicate with us through the wind, from beyond the grave… Ah, I’m so touched… ”
Renjun rolled his eyes and looped his arms around Mark’s neck. “We’ll miss you,” Renjun said, pulling back.
“Why are you talking to thin air,” Donghyuck said.
Mark held out his arms, and Donghyuck sniffed but walked into them, probably the most aware out of everyone of how rare it was for Mark to be the one initiating. “I’ll miss you guys too,” Mark said, “but seriously, I’m not dead. You can talk to me anytime. I’ll make time even if I’m busy with, like, university and whatever.”
“This is the last time I’ll be acknowledging your existence so don’t get used to it,” Donghyuck said, clutching at the hood of Mark’s jacket with both hands. “But you better.”
“I don’t know how that’s gonna work,” Mark said, after a brief pause. “I’ll do my best?”
“I didn’t expect you to understand,” Donghyuck said loftily. He clung even more tightly to Mark. There was a shine to his eyes that everyone pretended not to see.
So Mark had moved on to university, doing bigger and better debate tournaments with a new set of teammates, climbing ever upwards while his shadow stretched long and wide over the rest of them. Renjun knew nobody was expecting him to perform at any standard above a stopgap measure, other than maybe himself, and still it was impossible not to feel like he’d fallen short even before he’d started.
Tuesday’s training sessions passed in a slightly delirious patchwork of practice drills and topic research. Objectively he could tell he was making progress, but it was erratic, agonisingly slow. The actual process of speaking Third was unremarkable. He just wasn’t used to getting back mediocre results when he applied himself to something. It was more a blow to his pride than anything else, but it still hurt.
They were packing up at the end of training, pushing tables and chairs back into their original formation. Yuta was rapidly typing something on his phone, the glow of his screen catching on his small but unmistakeable smile.
Donghyuck nudged the last chair into place with his hip. “Are you talking to your boyfriend? Can you introduce him to us if we win?”
“He isn’t my boyfriend. Yet,” Yuta said. “Also no. I need some distance between my personal and professional lives.”
“Can you at least tell us his name?” Donghyuck persisted.
“Absolutely not.” Yuta scowled. “You’re just going to try and stalk him across all his social media.”
“Then can you show us a picture? Prove this guy exists?”
Yuta considered this for a moment. “Okay, deal. Get to State and I’ll show you a photo.”
“This is, like, the most elaborate catfishing setup ever,” Jeno said. “I bet you made him up.”
“What! I did not—wait, are you trying to reverse psychology me into giving you identifying information? Nice one, but it’s not going to work. Get to State first.”
“Damn,” Jeno said. “Worth a shot.”
“Oh, and also Kun told me the second years want to do a practice debate against you lot,” Yuta said.
“Not until after Regionals,” Renjun said immediately. “When we get Jaemin back.”
Renjun was not intimidated by the second-year team, because they were only second years, other than Jisung the freaky prodigy first-year Third speaker. He just didn’t agree with the fact that they were all so tall—especially Chenle, who he still remembered walking to primary school back when he was small and cute, but who was now the world’s loudest First. When Jaemin was back the playing ground would be more even; it would be Jeno’s turn to speak Second by then, anyway. Absolution of responsibility, so why did he feel so discontent?
“Alright,” Yuta said. “Make sure you win against them. I can’t lose face in front of the other coaches either, you know. Lots at stake here.”
“I just don’t like not being good at things,” Renjun finished. It was a wilting attempt at lightness.
He’d gone down to one of the empty classrooms in the Design and Technology block post-training so he could have a quick meltdown in the peace and quiet of the basement of the school. Donghyuck tagged along since he was far too indulgent of Renjun’s moods, so instead of unloading on the electric sander he had Donghyuck for an audience.
Donghyuck swung his legs back and forth absently. “Not being good at something the first time you try it doesn’t mean it isn’t worth trying again,” he said.
Donghyuck was perched on the table, because he had a thing for high places. Renjun sat cross-legged on the floor, because if the ground chose to open up beneath them anytime soon he would thankfully be the first to go.
“I don’t like it when you’re reasonable either,” Renjun said.
“I’m always reasonable,” Donghyuck said. “You should listen to me more often.”
“That’s so funny,” Renjun said. “I could’ve sworn you just said ‘I’m always reasonable.’” He was deflecting. Donghyuck was letting him deflect.
“You know you don’t win a debate at Third,” Donghyuck said. The openhearted kindness in his voice stung like saltwater in a cut.
Renjun knew he was just being childish. He hated having any kind of incompleteness on display; he should have outgrown anything like that. It was supposed to be effortless. He was supposed to be good at things. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “but you can lose a debate at Third.”
Donghyuck frowned. “Renjun, you’re just sulking,” he said.
“I’m not sulking,” Renjun sulked.
“Do you want a hug?”
“Yeah,” Renjun said.
Donghyuck hopped off the table, sat down next to Renjun and wrapped his arms around him. It was like classical conditioning; the tension sluiced right off of Renjun.
“It’s going to be fine,” Donghyuck said, with such conviction it was impossible not to believe him, at least for the moment.
“Why didn’t we make you captain?” Renjun joked weakly.
“Please,” Donghyuck said. “It couldn’t have been anyone other than you.”
When the call from Mark came, on the way home from the bus stop, Renjun wasn’t even surprised. If there was anyone who was old despite ostensibly being a young person, it was Mark.
“Hey!” Mark said, the moment Renjun picked up. “Heard you’re speaking Third for Regionals.”
“Haha, yeah,” Renjun said, and flinched away from his own phone. Mark’s stupid speaking habits were apparently contagious. “Yes. Yeah, I am.”
“That’s so cool!” Mark enthused. “You’re gonna kill it. Wish I could come and watch, but I’m in New Zealand tomorrow…”
“Oh, yeah, we saw,” Renjun said. “Model United Nations state rep, right? Congratulations, hyung.”
He could practically hear Mark glowing. “Thanks, Renjun! How are you feeling for Thursday?”
“Fine,” Renjun lied. Mark had his own host of things to worry about; he didn’t need the anxieties of his old debate team on his overly capable shoulders on top of that.
“Third’s tough, but it’s a lot of fun,” Mark said. “I know you can handle it, captain.”
The lengthening shadows swept in waves across the footpath. Renjun stepped over a crack in the pavement. “Oh my god, hyung, please don’t call me that, that’s so weird. And I’m just filling in for Jaemin,” he said. “It’s not like I’m a real Third.”
“Well, if you’re doing Third I think that makes you a real Third,” Mark said earnestly.
Renjun laughed and hoped the forcedness didn’t translate over the phone. He stopped at his front door, fumbled for his keys with one hand. “Okay,” he said. “Anything you say, hyung.”
“Tell me how it goes!” Mark said.
“Of course,” Renjun said softly. Closed the door with a quiet click behind him.
Last year Renjun had done a Geography project on the Marianas Trench, the deepest point in the ocean. Barely a thumbnail pressed into the ocean floor, yet it gouged out a cut eleven kilometres beneath the surface. If you were standing at the bottom of it you would be crushed by pressure a thousand times what you felt above the water. But even that was a known quantity; it had been measured, mapped out. Lit up. There could be deeper points, further in. Things could only hold fear if they weren’t known.
Donghyuck had tarot club after debating training on Wednesdays, so today it was just Renjun draped over Jeno’s living room couch like a deflated balloon while Jeno doodled on his calculus homework, in an interesting reversal of their usual dynamic.
“Why do I suck,” Renjun said.
“You don’t suck,” Jeno said kindly.
“Then how come I keep doing so badly at Third?”
“You’re not?” Jeno cowered a little under the baleful eye Renjun turned on him, but rallied. “No, like, seriously, you’re not. Like, you’re not Jaemin, but neither am I. And you’re doing way better than I would have. So.”
“I’m not a bad speaker,” Renjun said, primarily to himself. “I’m fine when it’s just normal rebuttal at Second. It shouldn’t be any different for Third. Why is it different?”
Jeno was quiet for a moment, flipping his pen back and forth between his fingers. “Can I say something?”
“You just did, but continue.”
“That’s the kind of thing I’d say, get your own unfunny lines.”
Renjun lifted an arm to point threateningly at Jeno, then let it flop back down to dangle off the edge of the couch. “If I wasn’t trying to fuse myself into this couch right now I would go over there and strangle you. But what were you saying?”
Jeno grinned. “Well, here’s what I think,” he said. “I think you think that if you let yourself enjoy speaking Third, or be as good as you can be at Third, you’ll be, like, usurping Jaemin’s position or something. Which you don’t want, because you don’t think you deserve it, and because you think Jaemin’s going to hate you. That’s not true, by the way. Both of those things aren’t true.”
“Wow,” Renjun said, after a pause. It was unnerving hearing the whole messy thing unravelled so matter-of-factly. What an efficient dissection. No wonder Jeno was ranking so well in Biology. “Um. That was a lot of think’s. Give me a second to process.”
Jeno shrugged. “Been thinking about it.”
“You make me sound so…” Renjun trailed off. “Do you really…”
“I mean,” Jeno said. “We’ve been sharing Second for years and I never thought we were, like, locked in battle over it. So what if you end up being really good at Third? It’s not like Jaemin will mind, he loves you. I can get you proof right now.” He whipped out his phone and started typing.
“What? No!” Renjun scrambled off the couch, but it was too late. Jeno triumphantly brandished his screen in Renjun’s face.
DREAM TEAM (4)
jen
URGENT @nanajjjjj how do you feel about Renjun
nana
cat heart eyes emoji x5000000
nana
why
“Why did you do that, oh my god,” Renjun whined, batting Jeno’s hand away and burying his face in Jeno’s shoulder. “This is embarrassing. I hate it when you guys make me have feelings.”
“Dude, you literally have the most feelings out of all of us,” Jeno said. His arms came around Renjun; he always knew exactly when to give comfort. “But you heard it from the guy himself. You’re allowed to want to be Third, if you do. And you’ve still got me and Donghyuck on the table. So don’t worry about anything else. Just speak.”
Regionals ran over two days in a round robin style, and then a third day for semi-finals and finals, as determined by the cumulative sum of team scores across the preliminary rounds. Their bracket of the tournament was hosted at Pledis High this year, so there was zero chance of them not running into Taeyong. Donghyuck was ecstatic about this, Renjun markedly less so, because what would probably happen was that they would pass each other in the hallway, and Taeyong would look at them with those huge, sad, startled-deer eyes like they were the ones who had left, and then Donghyuck would bulldoze through the requisite conversational niceties and make things hideously awkward, and Yuta would fake-laugh if he’d already arrived by then, and Taeyong would bolt, and Renjun would have to leave the country to avoid ever running into Taeyong again.
“You’re overthinking it,” came Jeno’s voice from the bus seat beside him. Renjun started, slid his gaze sideways until it reached Jeno’s eerily relaxed face, slumped back down. “No, you didn’t say anything out loud,” Jeno added, preempting Renjun’s next question. “You just got that scary focused about-to-kill-somebody look you have when you’re worrying too much. Whatever it is, it’s gonna be fine.”
“I was just thinking about Taeyong-hyung,” Renjun said. “I might pass out from the embarrassment when we see him today. Please don’t leave my unconscious body behind.”
“No promises,” Jeno said. Though if there was anybody Renjun trusted with lugging his unconscious body to safety, it was Jeno, so he didn’t put too much stock in the demurral.
By the time the bus arrived at Pledis High, Yuta and Donghyuck were already waiting for them, outside the front gates. Yuta was looking at his phone, and Donghyuck was unsubtly trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was on the screen.
“Hyung, you’re here so early,” Jeno called.
“I think he’s been possessed,” Donghyuck said, in a carrying stage-whisper.
Yuta rolled his eyes and stowed his phone away in his pocket. “It’s your last ever Regionals,” he said. “I can probably afford to take the moral blow of not being fashionably late just this once.”
“We’re very grateful,” Renjun said dryly.
One of the things Renjun held in warm regard about Pledis High was that they never skimped on the catering when they hosted debates, and they didn’t disappoint this year. There were wide platters of finger sandwiches and cookies set up on tables outside the main hall, mostly untouched since the majority of the other teams hadn’t arrived yet. Jeno drifted over to inspect the food, Donghyuck clinging to his arm, and Renjun followed at a more sedate pace, keeping a wary eye out for the home team.
“I’ll go check in at registration,” Yuta said. “Don’t get into any physical altercations while I’m gone.”
“When have we ever gotten into a physical altercation,” Donghyuck protested, as if he hadn’t literally waded into a fistfight with the Loona team’s Fourth, Park Chaewon, a couple months earlier at a local tournament and nearly gotten the both of them suspended, though Renjun was pretty sure they became friends after that.
Yuta didn’t dignify this with a response before leaving. Renjun poured himself a paper cup of water while Jeno smiled benignly at nobody in particular and Donghyuck surveyed the room with a regal assurance.
“Pledis team’s here,” Jeno said, pointing across the room. Three girls and a boy, all in the Pledis uniform, had arrived, trailed by a very familiar figure. “And Taeyong-hyung,” he added, completely unnecessarily, because Donghyuck had already lit up, clamped a hand around a wrist each, and started dragging them towards Taeyong.
Taeyong’s face, expressive as always, told Renjun exactly when he noticed them. Renjun braced himself against the violent surge of secondhand embarrassment as he watched surprise, followed by frozen-in-the-headlights fear, bloom over Taeyong’s features. The Pledis team was grazing at the food tables, oblivious; Renjun felt a burst of sympathy for his former coach.
“Hi, hyung!” Donghyuck chirped. “Fancy seeing you here!”
“Hey kids,” Taeyong said. With valiant Third speaker aplomb, he gathered himself together again. “Ah… good luck for the tourn—wait, where’s Jaemin?”
“He’s sick,” Renjun found himself saying, before Donghyuck could launch another hidden conversational grenade at Taeyong. “It’s just us three today.”
“Don’t just show him our weaknesses like that!” Donghyuck hissed.
“Taeyong-hyung literally could already tell,” Jeno pointed out. Taeyong started inching back towards the door. “He can count, dumbass.”
“What are you guys doing out here?” came Yuta’s voice, followed by Yuta’s body rounding the corner. “Oh. It’s you.”
For the second time, Taeyong froze. His mouth fell open. The tips of his ears flushed cherry red.
“Yukkuri,” Taeyong said. “I didn’t know you were coaching at Neo.”
“If you were less of a hermit online you would have,” Yuta said brightly.
Donghyuck’s gaze was flicking between the two of them, intent, like he was watching an invisible table tennis match. He nodded decisively. “Exes,” he whispered into Renjun’s ear. “Bet you anything.”
“Interesting,” Renjun whispered back.
“Well, it was good to catch up,” Yuta was saying, in a tone of voice that signalled he meant anything but. “See you at the finals, then.”
“See you,” Taeyong echoed, and finally de-petrified enough to make his escape.
Donghyuck rounded on Yuta. “You never told us you and Taeyong-hyung used to be a thing!”
“Personal-professional divide,” Yuta said. “It wasn’t relevant! Also it wasn’t dramatic or anything, it was a totally friendly breakup, Taeyong is just like that because he’s scared of love.”
“He left us for love,” Donghyuck said, clenching his fist.
“Which is perfectly valid of him and I hope he’s very happy,” Renjun added sternly.
Jeno had also opted for water and took a peaceable sip from his own disposable cup. “So what’s the draw like?”
“We won’t be seeing Pledis until the fifth round,” Yuta said, handing Jeno a folded sheet of paper. Jeno unfolded it, scanned the table printed on it for two seconds, and passed it on to Renjun, who immediately passed it back.
“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow for your showdown of destiny,” Jeno said to Donghyuck.
“I’m patient,” Donghyuck said.
“In what universe,” Renjun interjected, incredulous.
“It’s only part one, anyway,” Donghyuck continued, like Renjun hadn’t spoken. “The real showdown is going to come at finals.”
“That was ridiculous,” Donghyuck hissed. “The adjudicator—what the fuck was that? We won that, we tore their case to shreds, and he gets up there and rips us apart, like, that’s the opposition’s job, not the adjudicator’s—”
“Keep your voice down!” Renjun said, jerking his head at the other team standing barely three metres away, getting feedback from the adjudicator. “I mean, yeah, but wait.”
“We’re still in, right?” Jeno said. “We should still make the cutoff for semis?”
“Yeah, I think so, pretty sure everyone else has lost at least once, so we’re definitely still in the top four.” Renjun scowled. His heart was still unseated, lodged in his throat. He couldn’t remember a single word of what he’d spoken all day. “That was such a stupid topic. We should’ve won.”
Yuta was making his way down from the seats. “Fuck that adjudicator,” Yuta said when he reached them, throwing an arm around Jeno’s shoulders and steering them all out of the door. “Don’t even bother getting feedback, it’ll be a waste of your time. It was a shit topic obviously weighted to the affirmative and you guys did the best you could. Let’s go.”
“Guess who came to watch us,” Jeno said, once they’d sat down at their designated table.
Donghyuck brightened. “The otherworldly apparition of Mark Lee?” he asked, eyes glittering as he scanned the rows of audience seats in front of them. “When I drew The Fool this morning I didn’t think it was going to be that literal—”
“What? Mark-hyung’s ghost is in New Zealand, dude, you know this,” Jeno said. “No, it’s Nana.”
“I told him to stay at home!” Renjun hissed, immediately twisting away from the audience. Pledis’s First speaker shot him an annoyed look, and Renjun mouthed an apology. “Does he look like he’s dying? I can’t do Third with him watching.”
“Nah, he looks fine,” Donghyuck said. He waved enthusiastically, presumably at Jaemin. “Very much alive, and most likely continuing to remain so for the foreseeable future.”
“Can we do a last-minute substitution with an audience member,” Renjun muttered, hiding his face in his hands. His stomach was doing its best impression of a contortionist’s routine. “This is the worst. He won’t want to be friends with me anymore once he hears me do Third.”
“Do you even hear yourself right now!” Donghyuck said.
“Renjun,” Jeno said. Then there were fingers curling around his wrists, peeling his hands off his face. Jeno was looking intently at him, and so was Donghyuck, from over Jeno’s shoulder. Kind, resolute. “What’s it going to take for you to trust that you’re a good Third?”
What was one more debate? He’d gotten through seven already. This was the last one he needed to do before he never had to think about Third again, if he didn’t want to. Whether he wanted to or not was a question he wasn’t interested in confronting until the day was over.
“Come on, we’ve got to crush Pledis like we said we would,” Donghyuck said. He reached over Jeno to clasp Renjun’s hands.
“This rivalry only exists in your head,” Renjun said, but he sucked in a breath and forced his shoulders down. Turned around to face the audience again.
It wasn’t difficult to find Jaemin in the audience, because he was sitting right up the front like an embarrassingly overenthusiastic parent. Surprisingly, it wasn’t difficult to meet his eyes, either. There was a small smile playing about Jaemin’s lips, and it broadened when he saw Renjun looking at him. Renjun managed to summon up an answering smile. Jaemin gave him a thumbs-up. The knot in his stomach eased a little.
One more debate. He knew their case, had a decent idea of what the opposition’s would be. It was okay to enjoy it, he thought. It was okay to want to do well. His whole team was there, after all: Donghyuck and Jeno beside him, Jaemin just a little further out in the audience. The speech itself was the only part he had to carry alone.
The chairperson stood up. Renjun picked up his pen.
“Congratulations,” said Pledis’s terrifying First speaker, gripping Renjun’s hand. There was a steely glint in her eyes despite the genuine smile she was sporting. “You spoke so well!”
“Thank you, you too, you were amazing,” said Renjun. Her speaking style was brutally efficient, so certain of itself even Donghyuck had gotten a little flustered when his turn to respond came. There would be Worlds team audition invites coming her way for sure.
Park Xiyeon dipped her head gracefully and moved on to Jeno. Pledis’s Second clasped Renjun’s hand; they exchanged pleasantries, followed by Pledis’s Third and Fourth. The high of victory hadn’t quite kicked in yet, the feeling of submersion still unbroken.
The Pledis team regrouped on the other side of the room with Taeyong. Renjun exchanged glances with Jeno and Donghyuck. Jeno nudged his shoulder. “Nana,” he said, jerking his chin towards the front.
Renjun turned. Jaemin was deftly weaving in and out of the congregated clumps of people drifting around the room. Knowing what was coming, Renjun sighed and opened his arms just in time for Jaemin to throw himself into them as if they were reuniting after years spent oceans apart on opposite sides of the world.
“I missed you guys,” Jaemin said, hooking his chin over Renjun’s shoulder. Donghyuck reached over sideways to ruffle his hair.
“It’s only been three days,” Renjun said.
“Injun-ah,” Jaemin whined. “Didn’t you miss me?”
“Nope,” Renjun said cheerfully. “Are you feeling better? We do have a group chat where you could share this kind of information, if you remember.”
“All better and ready for State!” Jaemin said. “I wanted to surprise you guys. Witness this historic event of Hwang Injun speaking Third myself.”
Renjun averted his eyes. “So,” he said, feeling strangely shy, like he was delivering a confession or something. “How’d I go, then?”
“Kick me out of the team,” Jaemin declared. He pulled back, hands on Renjun’s shoulders, and shook him until Renjun looked up again. His gaze was warm. Sliced right through the waterlogged staticky tangle in Renjun’s chest.
“You’re so dramatic,” Renjun said. “I’m going back to Second. Don’t get sick again before State or I’ll kill you for real.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jaemin said. “But you know, Injun-ah, you were really good. If you want to keep doing Third…”
“Let me in,” Donghyuck said, wriggling into the space between Jaemin and Renjun, smug as a cat basking in afternoon sunlight. “Jeno, get in here. Group hug time!”
Jeno’s face appeared over Jaemin’s shoulder. One of his hands could just reach Renjun’s hip. It’s just them, Renjun thought. Just his best friends, just his best team.
“Come on, guys,” Yuta said, in the periphery of Renjun’s vision. “We have to move to the main hall.” None of them made any move to detangle from each other. Yuta sighed. “Just don’t be late to your own award ceremony.”
“You know what The Fool actually means?” Donghyuck said, working his arms around Renjun’s neck.
Renjun smiled. “Tell me.”
“The Fool is new beginnings,” Donghyuck said. “Completely unlimited potential. Anything and everything could be possible.”
“Anything, huh,” Renjun said. Jaemin hummed.
“All just depends on what you want,” Donghyuck said. “So what do you want?”
“You make it sound so dramatic,” Jeno said.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this and I never will again so take notes if you have to,” Donghyuck said, “but it doesn’t have to be.”
Renjun’s head had cleared the water. Heading out to the open ocean, or back towards the shore: either was possible. “No, it’s okay,” Renjun said. “I think this is pretty good, right now.”