Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1: WRONG NUMBER
No one knew exactly when it had started, not even Yeosang. He could remember the details of his first encounter with Wooyoung almost perfectly, or his mother’s vivid reaction when he’d told his family of his wish to audition and become a K-pop idol, or that one time he’d cried and broke down after a weekly assessment because the pressure was too much and he held onto Wooyoung like a life-line.
He couldn’t however, exactly recall the first time he was summoned to meet a company staff in one of the conference rooms only to turn up into an empty space. He’d been on his way to their practice studio with him running late after an individual recording when a message popped up on his phone screen, telling him of the brief meeting. It was from an unknown number, and Yeosang remembered questioning it but he’d carried himself to the designated room nonetheless in hope he wasn’t causing any inconveniences to his group and the staff member for waiting.
Imagine his surprise when he opened the door and not a single soul was in the conference room. He double-checked the text, venue stated clearly in bold and looked up to the plaque on the wall next to the door, the same letters and numbers glaring back at him. There was no other person on the level, seemingly deserted with the lack of noise and a chill ran through Yeosang’s frame. He didn’t know what it was back then.
When he went back down to the level of their studio, all the members of Ateez were waiting for him, including their choreographer. He bowed a few times, hastily apologizing for his lateness and quickly warming up before getting into position. Only during the break did Yeosang had the chance to properly explained his earlier delay.
“I got a text telling me there was a briefing on level 10 so I went up there.” He told the group as they formed a loose circle at the corner of the room, listening to him while gulping down drinks and taking deep breathes.
“But the whole area was empty. There was no one there.” Yeosang watched as confusion fleeted in and out of his members face, trying to make sense of his account.
“Where were they?” asked Wooyoung, eyes wide and face focused as he listened attentively to his friend.
Yeosang shrugged. “I don’t know.” He honestly said.
“Who sent you the text, Yeosang?” inquired Seonghwa. They waited for him to answer.
The visual of the group blinked a few times before letting out the same, “I don’t know.”
“Huh?”
“It was an unknown number.” He quickly told them, pulling out his phone to show them the text he’d received. “I tried calling but the line went straight to voicemail.”
The leader reached out from his side and took the phone, holding it close to read. Yeosang let him and simply watched as he sipped from his water bottle. Then, his mind thought of something.
“Didn’t any of you get the same text?”
His members shook their heads while Hongjoong kept scanning the screen before returning Yeosang his phone.
“That’s weird.” The older guy commented. “Is someone trying to pull a prank on you?”
He mulled over the question before his eyes went to Wooyoung, the others following suit in a scarily similar pace.
His same-aged friend widened his eyes at the stares he was getting, sputtering words of denial and shaking his head frivolously.
“I-It’s not m-me, I swear!” Wooyoung let out seriously. “Where would I get an unknown number anyway?” He reasoned, relaxing when the rest dropped their gaze on him.
“I was almost excited thinking it was a bullet camera.” San muttered from where he was crouching on the floor.
Yunho let out a hum. “It could’ve been a wrong number though. Maybe they sent it to you by mistake.”
And at the words of the tall dancer, Yeosang thought of the likelihood as he nodded his head.
“That is possible.”
The others seemed satisfied with the conclusion they reached, and the subject dropped as they continued with their practice. Yeosang honestly believed it was the first and last something as such would happen. It didn’t bother him really, apart from having his energy and time wasted he didn’t ponder on it for long. And by the time he’d received another false notification, Yeosang had totally forgotten of the event.
The second time it happened was in the form of a sticky note stuck on his performance outfit which was hanging on a rack, his name labelled on the hanger. It was their first week of comeback and Yeosang had been the few last to get his makeup done for a music show recording when the stylist handed him the memo.
It didn’t have his name on it, just a short request of an interview at the administrative office in the same broadcasting building. He’d stared at the note blankly, questions running through his mind and trying to make sense of the situation. But Yeosang didn’t get to mull on it further; they were due to go on stage soon after he’d read the note for the second time.
And the exhaustion that followed after all their schedules distracted Yeosang’s mind from recalling the handwritten message.
It was a few days later when he’d received another piece of note – a soft pink paper filled with the same handwriting - did Yeosang’s memory resurfaced. The note had been placed directly on his phone screen, a set of room number with time and date scrawled over the sheet informing him of a meeting. Something about the handwriting stopped the idol from complying, an inkling feeling encasing his frame as his head tried to make up possibilities.
He looked up and scanned the practice room, gaze falling onto one of the members practicing their moves in front of the mirror covering half of the wall. Yeosang walked over to the figure, hand still holding the note as his eyes narrowed on the other.
“Wooyoung-ah.” His voice was calm.
The dancer turned his head. “Nae?” He kept dancing, looking back into the mirror but motioning for his friend to speak.
“Did you do this?” asked Yeosang, holding out the small paper.
Wooyoung stopped then, his movement halted at the sight of the item in Yeosang’s hand.
“Do what?” He questioned, taking the note and reading the words. “What is this?”
“What is that?” came San’s voice. He’d been standing near the dancer when Yeosang had approached Wooyoung.
“An interview? For who?” San inquired, having scanned the note over Wooyoung’s shoulder, conveniently resting his chin on the shorter guy.
“It was stuck on my phone screen.” Yeosang told him. “I thought it was Wooyoung trying to mess around.”
The said guy spluttered, feeling wrongly accused but he laughed it off like he always did. The motion forced San to move away from Wooyoung, avoiding any collision.
“That’s not my style, Yeosangie.” He jested. “Besides, my handwriting doesn’t look like that, you know it.” He confidently said.
Yeosang did know, but then he’d have to think of other explanations, especially how the two notes from different settings had found him, almost intentionally. But with the promotions going on and their lack of rest on top of deranged sleeping time only managed to agitate Yeosang’s tired mind.
He snatched the note from Wooyoung’s hand and crumpled it in his fist.
“I guess it’s just another mistake by someone.” The visual mumbled, lethargy clouding his senses.
San seemed to notice the sudden change in the visual’s demeanour, but Wooyoung was already asking the next question.
“What makes you think it’s a mistake?”
Yeosang held back a sigh. “Because it’s the exact same thing with the text I got weeks ago. Remember?” He studied the other’s face. “Or was it last month?” He added as an afterthought.
“Owh, that!” San exclaimed. “I remember, you went up to level 10, right? But no one was there.” He recalled, perhaps a little too lively as he tried to ease Yeosang’s concern. The frown on the handsome face deemed it was necessary.
Yeosang nodded his head, visibly losing the tense in his frame.
“Also,” he spoke slowly, “I got the same note when we were at the music show few days ago.” He watched as their faces changed into shock and confusion, a little hint of troubled creasing their foreheads. Yeosang wondered if he shouldn’t have told them about it, if it was only going to make them worried over nothing.
“I mean it could just be a coincidence though.” He quickly added. “Someone must’ve mistakenly dropped this or something.”
“Onto your phone, of all things?” Wooyoung looked at him dubiously. “And what do you mean the same note? Why didn’t you tell us this before?”
San cut him off there, having connected the dots quicker than Wooyoung. “Yeosang-ah,” he called, “you honestly think it’s a coincidence?”
There was something in the other’s inquiry – the way it was articulated with no hidden meaning but somehow pricked Yeosang’s conscience made him rethink of his own action. At some point, he thought he really shouldn’t have talked about it at all and it wasn’t because of his friends’ reaction. Perhaps it was his tired mind telling him there was no point in worrying over something trivial.
“I think I’m overreacting.” He said, tasting the word on his tongue. It wasn’t unlike him to read past the line of something and he assumed it applied to the situation as well.
“It’s just a note with no name. If someone’s trying to mess with me, then they’ve succeeded the first time.” Yeosang’s eyes travelled down to the crumpled paper still in his hand. “I’m not falling for it again.” His grip tightened.
“But-“
“Let’s not think about it. My head hurts.” He tried to dismiss the subject by laughing it off, something he always does when he gets embarrassed or insecure. The other two didn’t say anything in return and Yeosang knew he’d managed to convince them.
It’s nothing. He told himself.