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Hwanhee looks small.
Gunwook swipes through the pictures. He looks smaller than usual, smaller than before.
“Gunwook-ah, I’m going to shower first!” Taerae calls out from somewhere behind him.
“Ah, okay,” Gunwook says back, without looking up from his phone.
He opens up his KakaoTalk. Gunwook scrolls past the currently quiet Zerobaseone group chat, a text from his mom telling him to sleep well, and a new picture from Daeul in Sweden. He taps on his chat with Hwanhee and skims through the messages.
The chat is full of questions like have you been sleeping well and are you nervous and how was the flight, most of them are from Gunwook. He spots a message from Hwanhee two days ago; you worry too much about hyung really~ take care of yourself Gunwook-ah!
Gunwook narrows his eyes, opening the Instagram pictures back up. He considers what time it is in Thailand. Then he hits the call button.
The phone rings and Gunwook feels his heart jump with every hum.
“Gunwook-ah?” Hwanhee’s voice greets him, warmth pouring out of the line.
Gunwook wants to replay it repeatedly, the way Hwanhee says his name, full of delight to know that Gunwook is calling. “Hey, hyung,” Gunwook says softly so he doesn’t disturb the rest of the dorm. “How is Thailand?”
“Good, good.” Hwanhee sounds cheerful. Gunwook wonders what he’s doing, what it looks like over there. If he’s in the hotel room, if he’s alone. “How is work?”
“Busy.” So busy that Gunwook can feel his body clamoring for sleep, that he’s actively fighting to stay awake on the phone. “But I’m excited. It’s hard to believe that it’s really happening.” Everything is starting to come together, singing practice and recordings and dance practice and filming content and doing live broadcasts; each step closer to debut. The hard part is over— all Gunwook has to do is the rest.
“Of course.” Hwanhee’s voice turns wistful. “There’s nothing like that feeling.” He doesn’t have to explain for Gunwook to know that he’s thinking of his own debut, his first time.
Something in Gunwook stirs, being reminded that every step he’s taking has already been taken by Hwanhee. “It’s nice,” Gunwook says so quietly that he’s almost whispering. Hwanhee is so far from him. So far Gunwook wonders if he’ll ever catch up or if all he can do is follow.
Hwanhee is quiet too. “It’s scary, isn’t it?”
Gunwook doesn’t let himself feel fear. But in this space, with Hwanhee, he lets it go for a minute. He’s scared. “Yeah.”
“It doesn’t go away.” In just four words, Gunwook can feel the distance between them stretched wide, the wisdom that Hwanhee carries with him compared to the nothing that Gunwook knows. Hwanhee laughs a little. “I’m still scared every time I go on stage.”
Gunwook knows. When Hwanhee told him how terrified he was of dancing alone, Gunwook had run through the whole thing with him, talked him through it. Gunwook closes his eyes and he can see their reflections in the practice room mirror, Hwanhee watching himself and Gunwook watching him.
Hwanhee must’ve thought Gunwook’s pause was an indication of worriedness because he quickly added, “But you’re the bravest kid I know, you’ll be amazing.”
Gunwook opens his eyes. Hwanhee is the one fighting a battle every time he goes on stage and he wins, knowing he’d have to do it all over again next time. Gunwook might be confident but Hwanhee is the brave one. The bravest person Gunwook knows. But all Gunwook says back is, “Thank you, hyung.”
There’s a brief pause, a skipped beat. “Listen,” Hwanhee says quietly like someone might hear, like he’s slipping Gunwook something he’s not supposed to. “I’ll try to be there.”
Gunwook’s heart quickens, liquid excitement running through his veins. “Really?” Gunwook thinks about finding Hwanhee in the front row at the fancon, holding a sign for him as he did for the third mission. Hwanhee would smile and the thought of that alone washes any trace of fear from Gunwook’s mind.
“I can’t promise anything,” Hwanhee says carefully.
“Please.” Gunwook saves this kind of begging and pleading for the most important situations; when his grandma’s cat got sick, when getting his CSAT results back. When he thought Hwanhee might not make it past the first eliminations.
“Gunwook-ah.” Hwanhee sighs fondly. “I’ll try.” He says it gently but Gunwook can feel the promise in his words.
Gunwook is already thinking ahead. He’ll wear Hwanhee’s bracelet, and if they don’t let him, he’ll keep it in his back pocket. When he’s on stage, he’ll look out into the crowd, past his parents, past the fans, to find Hwanhee’s smile. Afterwards, Hwanhee will come backstage and Gunwook will pick him up and spin him around, drunk on adrenaline and Hwanhee’s squealing.
In the background, there’s shuffling, the sound of a door opening and closing. On Gunwook’s side, he can hear Taerae shut off the shower. It feels like their bubble away from the rest of the world is starting to leak air, slowly deflating.
“I have to go,” Hwanhee mumbles into the phone. A voice in the background, probably Dongyeol, calls out, “Hwan-ah!”
Gunwook reminds himself of the reason he called. “Wait, hyung.” It sounds desperate out of his mouth.
“Give me a second!” Hwanhee shouts back to Dongyeol, before turning toward the phone again. “Hm?”
“Please take care of yourself,” Gunwook says firmly. “Please eat to keep your energy up.”
There’s a pause and Gunwook isn’t sure if he’s muted or gone until he hears Dongyeol open a closet door on Hwanhee’s side. “I’ll try,” Hwanhee says again, more unsure. “You worry about hyung too much, really.”
“I worry about hyung the right amount.” Gunwook huffs. “Maybe not enough.” Some days, in the moments before he falls asleep, he thinks about Hwanhee. He wonders if Hwanhee would be sleeping, or if he would be awake— if Hwanhee thought of him too.
Hwanhee chuckles. “Goodnight, Gunwook-ah.”
“Goodnight,” Gunwook says. It feels like his breath is caught in his throat, like there’s something he’s waiting for.
There’s a pause. Gunwook listens to Hwanhee breathe, to Dongyeol or someone in the background shuffling. Then Hwanhee ends the call.
The room door opens.
“Your mom?” Taerae asks, closing the door quietly behind him.
“No,” Gunwook says softly. He looks up. “Just Hwanhee-hyung.”
When he lies in his bed, eyes closed, Hwanhee’s voice lulls him to sleep. Goodnight, Gunwook-ah.