Work Text:
0.
the lines of text
You’ve been accepted, the lines of text tell him, and Ruki exhales shakily, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Another chance, he tells himself, you can’t fuck up this time. He closes his eyes for a few seconds and reopens them, double checking the letter in case his eyes lied to him (they did not), and he takes some deep breaths before sending off two messages, both of the same, short, simple question –did you get in?
Thirty minutes later, a happy reply. Ruki sighs in relief and sends congratulations, following up with Me too. I knew we could do it, Kosuke replies. Ruki smiles and texts him, Let’s keep working hard together.
One and a half hours later, the reply Ruki’s been waiting more anxiously for comes, anguished and tinged with disbelief and denial. Such is life, Ruki thinks. It’ll be okay, he replies, because he didn’t know what else to say because it probably isn’t okay. He thinks for a few seconds and sends another text, You wanna go out later today?
Yuto replies hours later and ignores Ruki’s question, saying instead, Don’t forget me when you’re all famous and successful. Ruki promises him, I won’t.
1.
the lines between them
a. Yuto
Ruki keeps up his promise for the most part, still texting Yuto on a daily basis, but it’s different, now. Gone was the usual casual, laidback, carefree atmosphere. In its place is caution and weariness, in case he accidentally oversteps the lines Yuto’s drawn between them. Ruki’s still trying to figure out where the edges of the new boundary are, like trying to find the walls in an unlit maze, but he’s learning every day, learning about what he can and can’t talk about – things about the show are strictly off the table, because Yuto still hasn’t gotten over the rejection, but anything about Yuto’s life is good, like Yuto’s new modeling gigs, Yuto’s travels with his friends, Yuto’s new tattoos, etc.
It gets tiring after a while, having to maintain this careful balance between them while the show is taking up most of his energy. He texts Yuto less and less, perhaps not so unintentionally as more activities and preparation take up his time. The slight guilt that manifests within him can always be suppressed if he throws himself into practicing, which he does, focusing on making his movements become part of the music and nothing else.
And, as the days pass by and the line that connects them gradually fades, Ruki realizes that it’s not that hard to let someone go if they didn’t want to stay anymore in the first place.
b. Kosuke
Having collaborated in probably no less than a few hundred performances in the past 3 years, Ruki considers himself close friends with Kosuke. Which is why it’s no surprise when Kosuke texts him what song do you want to do the day they got instructions for first evaluations, forgoing the do you want to be in a group together because they both know they’d both say yes anyways.
After rounding up two more people, they start practicing, and it really feels like the old days, so much that sometimes Ruki has to look twice at the date on the calendar to make sure he’s in year 2019. Kosuke teaching them the dance and going over formations and telling them to practice seriously and stop making the same mistakes over and over again, it all reminds him of all the countless times when their old groups collaborated and performed stages choreographed by Kosuke.
There’s no feeling of jealousy when Kosuke places one class above him, and the way Kosuke stands up and walks over to hug him immediately the moment he enters Class B’s room, it makes Ruki think I’m so glad to have someone like him in my life.
Somewhere between initial evaluations, preparing for the theme song, and practicing for position evaluations, Kosuke becomes his lifeline of some sort, always offering Ruki a helping hand whenever he thinks he needs it, always listening to Ruki complain even if it’s 4am, just always there for Ruki, no matter what he needs.
Ruki thinks he read somewhere that it is easy to fall in love with people who go through hardships with you. He can see how easy it is for that to happen now, when there’s only one person he’s relying on to keep himself sane. He wonders if he’s falling in love with Kosuke. He wonders if Kosuke is falling in love with him. He wonders if he wants to know the answers to these two questions. He wonders if the answers will be the same.
He finds out later, accidentally. Isn’t that how stories like these always go? Heading back to the dorms one night after wrapping up practice, Ruki stops by the room Kosuke’s team is in, about to knock on the door when he notices the half-shut door, senses the atmosphere beyond, and hesitates.
He knows he should leave, shouldn’t eavesdrop, because it’s not meant for his ears, but he hears his own name and his curiosity wins and he stays. He gets more than he bargained for that night, and instead of going back to the dorms he takes a long, long walk outside.
He sneaks back in at 4, hoping that everyone would be asleep already. One look at Kosuke’s bunk bed, Kosuke’s bright eyes is all they need. Kosuke looks away first and Ruki gets into his bed across the room silently, too many incoherent thoughts whirling in his mind and all his words stuck in his throat.
I’m sorry, Ruki whispers into the darkness, minutes, hours later, and he hears Kosuke shift in his bed. The frayed line that connects them struggles under the added weight and gives out. Ruki holds his end of the line in his hand and definitely doesn’t cry himself to sleep.
The next day, they wake up, go to breakfast, practice, go to lunch, and practice some more. Ruki steals more glances at Kosuke than he should. Kosuke talks to Ruki less than he usually does. If their group mates notice anything, they don’t mention it.
And, as Ruki watches Kosuke make his way beyond the sidelines of Ruki’s life with the other half of the line trailing behind him, he learns that some people aren’t his to keep, no matter how much he wants them to stay.
c. Shosei
Shosei, someone Ruki thinks he would never have had any reason to meet or associate with in life if not for this show. Ruki blames the blonde hair and white vest that Shosei wore during his first performance – too eye-catching, and Ruki knows that no matter how many times he could relive that day, he would, without fail, notice Shosei each time, willingly or not.
It’s a peculiar feeling that bubbles up whenever his eyes land on Shosei. Being in Class C together, there are always enough people in the practice room for them to not have talked to each other once, but not enough people for them to not know that they know of each other’s existence.
It’s Shosei who comes up to Ruki first, late, late into the third night when they’re the only ones left in the practice room. With his big, cute, irresistible puppy eyes, Shosei asks, Will you teach me how to control my voice better when I’m dancing?
Ruki opens his mouth to reply, But I’m not good at singing, but something in Shosei’s expression makes him swallow his words and nod instead. It’s 4am but Shosei’s smile is bright as the midday sun and Ruki is blinded.
They make it into B class later, together, and the way Shosei smiles at Ruki when he receives his new class makes Ruki look forward to being in B class more than he should.
I need to repay you for all the help you’ve given me, Shosei says, and Ruki waves him off and tells him Don’t worry about it. But Shosei insists on it anyways, and suddenly Ruki finds Shosei everywhere - when he’s practicing, Shosei’s peeking into the room and smiling at him through the mirror; when they’re filming extra content, Shosei sticks himself next to Ruki and teases him – always teases him; when he’s taking a break, Shosei plops himself down in the spot next to Ruki and hands him a bottle of water.
Don’t you have to practice? Ruki asks one day, genuinely curious as to just how Shosei has so much free time.
Don’t you like my company? Shosei asks him instead, and Ruki just hits Shosei with the bottle of water he’s just given him and looks away. Maybe it was the right response, maybe it was the wrong response, but Shosei scoots closer and rests his head on Ruki’s shoulder, crossing the line they’ve both been wanting but hesitant to.
Ruki feels himself tense up momentarily before relaxing, and when Shosei turns his head to properly bury his face into Ruki’s neck, Ruki can feel the curve of Shosei’s smile against his skin.
2.
the lines of his body
Ruki’s always been teased that all of his muscles are on his face and his face only. He always laughs it off – after all, he’s skinny, and it’s a gift that his metabolism is all he needs to keep his current weight, no matter how much he eats. But it’s still a bit sad that he’ll probably never be able to become really muscular, and that’s why he likes Shosei’s body. Shosei’s well-defined muscles are like a whole landscape, Ruki thinks, a landscape he’d want to spend the rest of his life exploring if he could.
(Ruki said that to Shosei once, and Shosei knocked his forehead and said, smiling, You’re talking nonsense again.
Ruki wrapped his arms around Shosei and said, You know you like it.
I know I like you , Shosei replied. Despite all your dumbness.
Thanks , Ruki said. And after a pause, me too.
And that was how they really confessed.)
Ruki likes brushing his fingers across Shosei’s abs, making Shosei giggle because he’s ticklish. He likes running his lips across Shosei’s chest, biting lightly with his teeth when he feels mischievous, leaving marks that echo the red of Shosei’s flushed cheeks. He likes digging his fingers into Shosei’s thighs, anchoring himself when there’s nothing else to hold onto, leaving half-moons left by his nails engraved into the milky skin there, and he knows that Shosei likes it too.
Ruki also likes the crescents of Shosei’s eyes when he laughs, the curve of his nose, and the slight upward turn of Shosei’s lips when he’s content. He also likes the lines between their fingers when they hold hands, the feeling of Shosei’s lips against his when they kiss, and the way their bodies fit together when they hug. He admits that maybe he’s just a little whipped.
3.
the lines on his back
i.
The show doesn’t get easier – of course it doesn’t – but with Shosei by his side it becomes more bearable. Hardship bonds people, as it always does, and Ruki now sees how vulnerable Shosei is, despite all the times he’s seen Shosei comfort others. From the dropping rankings to getting kicked out from Domino to Yancha placing last, all on top of his grandma passing away, Ruki can see Shosei slowly falling apart.
Ruki tries his best to be there for Shosei, sparing as much of his free time as possible to be with him. He’s not the best at comforting people, he knows, but he tries his best, tries his best to be the shoulder Shosei cries on, tries his best to be the safe haven Shosei can run away to. He knows he won’t ever be everything Shosei needs; he just wants to be enough.
Being in Young together helps, Ruki thinks, because it lets them spend more time together, without having to remember to drop by a different practice room or to run on different practice schedules. It gives Ruki more excuses to check up on Shosei, to be with Shosei, to be there for Shosei, with his clumsy words of reassurance and less clumsy touches of reassurance.
And he thinks that maybe he could be enough for Shosei like this, when Shosei starts climbing into Ruki’s bed each night as if it were his own. Shosei likes to trace patterns on Ruki’s back when he can’t fall asleep, smooth curves and straight edges and brief segments mixing together into works of abstractness that only Shosei can understand.
(Ruki deciphered something once, though, one particular night when it felt like Shosei was scribbling the same pattern each time. It took 20 minutes before Ruki realized Shosei was tracing I love you. over and over again.)
Falling asleep with Shosei’s warmth close to him, waking up to find their limbs tangled and faces centimeters away, it becomes a healing routine for both of them. And, as Ruki watches Shosei regain a little bit more of his smile each day, the weight in his own chest lessens, and Ruki thinks, this is what it feels like to be in love.
ii .
When Ruki’s name is announced by the MC, to be a member of JO1, the first thing he feels is relief. Relief, that he’s finally done it, finally made something out of all the time and money and effort he’s put in during the past decade. A pair of hands grabs onto his jacket, and he doesn’t need to look to know they’re Shosei’s hands, holding onto him and pulling him close and not letting him go even when other people are trying to hug him.
Shosei’s scared, Ruki realizes, because it’s 6th place and he hasn’t gotten called yet. The way Shosei’s hands are still fisted in his jacket tells him just as much. Ruki can’t help but laugh to himself. He pats Shosei on his back and tells him, I’ll be waiting for you up there. I know you’ll make it.
The MC’s prove Ruki right just 10 minutes later. The way Shosei runs up the stairs to hug him, Ruki doesn’t think he’s seen Shosei this happy in a long time. I told you so, Ruki chides with a smile, and Shosei just smiles even wider and squeezes Ruki even tighter before going up to his seat, the seat that belongs to him.
(Shosei repays Ruki properly that night, both of them overdosed on the post live performance high, and for once it wasn’t completely Ruki’s fault that they didn’t sleep until 4 a.m.)
This would be the perfect happily ever after ending if he ever got one, Ruki thinks, but of course, wishful thinking is always just that – wishful thinking.
It’s through another accident that he finds out, and Ruki really hates himself for always finding things out like this. He doesn’t remember much of it, because he doesn’t want to remember any of it, but he knows he remembers dropping by Ren’s room because he had wanted to ask him something, but the half-closed door – always those damn half-closed doors – showed him Shosei, casually backed against a wall, smiling down at Ren, their faces close, too close, before Ren tilted his face up and Shosei met him halfway, arms winding around his neck and fingers threading through his hair automatically like a reflex.
Ruki still remembers the way he felt so, so empty in that instant. He doesn’t remember how he was able to back away without tripping over his own feet, or how he was still able to act normal later that same night when Shosei kissed him goodnight, trying his hardest to not think about how those same lips were on Ren’s just a few hours ago.
So maybe he really wasn’t – isn’t enough, Ruki thinks, but of course there’s nothing he can do about it now, when it’s way past the time to attempt to fix it. Ren had a chance and he took it, and Ruki doesn’t blame him, because really, that’s just the way the world works. Ruki just wishes that he himself was better at doing that too.
He doesn’t talk to Shosei about it, not yet, because there’s too much else going on, things that are way more important and way too energy-consuming for him to even think about bringing it up. Ignorance is bliss, and he can almost live as if nothing was wrong during their daytime schedules.
He always only remembers to think of it at night, when he’s lying in bed, and he always thinks about it until Shosei gets into bed with him like nothing’s changed, trailing kisses down the side of his neck and across his chest.
And Ruki still lets Shosei take whatever he wants, because even though it hurts, it’s still better than nothing. It sounds pathetic even to his own ears, and if he knew how to fix it he’d do it in a heartbeat, but he doesn’t, so he retaliates by scratching his fingernails across Shosei’s back instead, leaving marks that he knows will burn, wishing that he could burn himself into Shosei’s mind too.
4.
the lines on his arm
Days, weeks, months pass by. Ruki still goes about his life, their schedules, their friendships, as if he never found out. He feels like he’s walking on a tightrope that’s getting thinner every day, trying to keep himself on the ever-decreasing width of the string his sanity has become. He feels like he might fall off at any moment. Shosei has slowly but cleanly detached himself from Ruki, and Ruki feels like a part of himself is missing, throwing him off balance and making him adjust to life without his old anchor.
He learns to numb himself, learns to plaster on fake grins completed with slightly scrunched eyes so they would look genuine, learns to say I’m fine, I just didn’t rest well last night to his concerned groupmates on the days when he’s too burnt out to put up his full pretense. It works, and honestly, as long as he wasn’t causing trouble by failing to memorize the scripts for their videos or falling behind during practices for their performances, there’s no reason for anyone to ask him if he was doing okay anyways – everyone’s tired from the endless schedules, and the only person who used to care enough to always check up on Ruki, that person doesn’t anymore.
So maybe the pretense isn’t a viable long-term solution, Ruki realizes a few months in, because he’s beginning to forget what it feels like to feel, and it’s a lot harder for him to make up the variety of emotions when he can’t even remember what they’re like anymore.
His savior arrives when he comes across something one day, a quote that reads:
“For without pain, there can be no pleasure. Without sadness, there can be no happiness. Without misery there can be no beauty. And without these, life is endless, hopeless, doomed and damned.”
And immediately, Ruki realizes that this quote gives him exactly what he needs – a solution.
And so he decides to start from the beginning, to make himself feel pain first. It’s not too hard, Ruki thinks, as he watches the blade slide across his arm with mild interest, leaving behind white lines that fade into red as blood begins to seep through the cuts. It’s a curious feeling, to watch himself bleed, to let himself bleed freely, to revel in the pain because it tells him that he’s still capable of feeling.
It becomes addicting, chasing this feeling of being able to feel, and it becomes a habit. It’s easy to hide, but occasionally he forgets to cover it up, forgets that it’s not a thing normal people do. Shosei drags him aside during practice one day, fingers a tight ring around the wrist of the arm Ruki’s marked up and asks, What is this?
Ruki smiles faintly as he gently detaches Shosei’s fingers one by one from his wrist. And so you’ve noticed, Ruki says instead, light amusement in his voice. But when he looks up and meets Shosei’s gaze dead-on, really looks at him and feels Shosei really look back at him too, something inside him breaks. All the pent-up frustration, tiredness, stress, and pain of the past few months, he knows Shosei can read them easy and clear in his eyes, on his face.
You’ve known for quite some time, Shosei says, not a question, but Ruki nods in response anyways. But I’m not the only reason, Shosei says, after a pause, and Ruki nods again, slower this time. Of course Shosei isn’t the only reason, Ruki smiles bitterly. It’s his own fault that he gave himself to Shosei too readily, too quickly.
Shosei peers into Ruki’s eyes, searching for something – for what, Ruki doesn’t know. But Shosei pulls back a few seconds later, shrugs, and says, Okay, before going back into the practice room, as if he didn’t just crush Ruki, leaving Ruki, stunned, to pull himself together alone before they have to start again.
Ruki half expects something to change between them, but after awhile he realizes there’s nothing to be changed when there’s nothing left. His arm becomes a work of art, the crisscrossing lines telling a story of pain, of sadness, of regret. Shosei doesn’t bring up his cuts, but Ruki knows he still notices them from time to time. All Shosei does, though, is look away when he notices Ruki noticing.
The lines on Ruki’s arm tell him, no matter how much he’s suffering, people who don’t want to see will never see it, even if it’s right in front of their faces.
In the end, that’s the last straw that breaks him.
5.
the lines in his heart
It takes quite some time to recover the pieces that he wants to rebuild himself with, but he does at the end, carefully holding himself together with what he has left. There are cracks and holes now, in the once perfectly smooth porcelain, ugly gaps that serve as a reminder of a past he doesn’t want to remember.
He paints himself over with new friendships, letting the new relationships sink into his crevices and fill them up slowly, bit by bit, until they become just thin lines that run throughout him and don’t hurt anymore. Imperfection is also art, he thinks, as he accepts these new lines as a part of himself that will always be there. If he squints hard enough, he can almost make pretty pictures out of them.
He presses on them from time to time just to see if he would break from the same wounds again, but he doesn’t. The lines in his heart teach him that everything he’s experienced, good or bad, happy or sad, they’re all a part of him and they all make him stronger.