Chapter Text
Do you feel ashamed
When you hear my name?
Loop the string, pull the piece through the middle. Tighten the knots.
He stands up from the porch, murmurs a goodbye to his mother who tells him to be safe. She smiles — Seunghan sees the resemblance between them in the way her eyes crinkle, the whiskers that dimple into her skin where the flesh on her cheeks lift up. She reaches out and holds the sleeves of his jacket that he always wears just in case he gets cold, because he doesn’t like to be caught off guard by the slight chill of the season.
“You’re going to be okay,” she says. He nods.
He lets his footsteps take him to the train station. As soon as he gets there, his hands are instinctively reaching for the mask hanging off his ears and his baseball cap. He adjusts them, makes sure there’s no chance of them slipping off before entering.
The train arrives quickly. It’s not peak hour and he is thankful for it, not having to be forced into a compartment already packed like sardines. Seunghan never had a problem with other bodies encroaching on his personal space, but the thought of what might cross their minds if they ever recognised him makes him more anxious that he likes to admit.
He sits down just as the doors slide shut.
There is something tranquil about a quiet commute. Seunghan is an introvert. Theoretically, he likes quiet. He still does, don't get him wrong, loud sounds and voices really aren't his forte. But when it’s quiet, it nags him incessantly that he is all alone.
He misses them badly.
Sohee’s contagious bursts of laughter is the first thing he returns to when his mind trails off to listless thought. He always finds himself smiling along before he can catch himself. That smile drops when he realises where he is and is replaced by a ugly pang in his chest. His soulmate and only friend of the same age within the group.
Then it’s Eunseok, who he misses more than he has let on, the person he spent the most time with in his trainee days. Eunseok is usually quiet, but his silly jokes make up for it. Wonbin, who gave off the vibes of a grumpy cat when they first met but quickly warmed up to him and stuck to his side.Then there's Shotaro, their oldest, who smiles so brightly and takes care of everyone. Opposite him, Anton the youngest who, despite his lanky build, is shy and has a warm heart. The most sensitive and observant of them all, Seunghan thinks — he’d be the first to notice if something is off with any of them.
And Sungchan.
Sungchan who is kind and patient. But also Sungchan who blazed with anger that night when Seunghan stood at the doorway of the dorms, holding a packed suitcase full of dreams that he had locked away.
“Why?” He had asked, brokenly. Then suddenly, all Seunghan sees is a boy who was just like him, but seemed to have sacrificed so much more to finally be in a group of his own just for Seunghan to stroll over and ruin it all.
They were doing so well. Their fame rose quickly and with all eyes on them, it is only natural that they exceed the expectations of the public. Putting in a hundred percent wasn't enough and he knew better than anyone how his members stretched themselves beyond their limits to reach the impossible standards.
One slip up. Just one. Dealing with being stabbed in the back by someone that he called friend was the least of his worries when the news broke. His scandal was plastered all over the media and had exposed an Achilles heel in an impenetrable group, keyboard warriors to chip away at everything that they've worked so hard to put together.
Everything seemed to pass by in a blur. They were still busy, still dancing, still singing, still performing till every muscle in their bodies screamed with overwork. At that time, he wasn’t aware of the harrowing scar that had burrowed deep. The cause of the impact from the storm he had no choice but to face head on.
It was the little things.
Like turning up to a music show interview past midnight and feeling the silence of the studio after he spoke. Like seeing the comments that would stream in on their posts, demanding for him to leave the group. Angry emoji. Cursing emoji. Nauseous emoji. The hate that grew and grew and grew until it overflowed. Extended to the other members. It was the perfect breeding ground for plenty of rumors and unconfirmed facts about not just him, but also his members that he loves so much. His members who did nothing wrong. That hurt the most , to be honest, almost more than anything else.
Finally, it was too much to ignore. Seunghan was called in for a meeting on a regular day, in the middle of practice. The management wanted to speak with him. A discussion — they called it, but it had lasted a mere twenty minutes, just enough for Seunghan to grasp the situation.
“We’ve decided that it would be in your best interest to take a little break.”
It would be an understatement to say that it felt like his world had been torn into two from that day onwards. Seunghan had so selfishly wanted to continue that he had completely overlooked how much his scandal had hurt everyone, even if they stubbornly refused to mention it or denied it wholeheartedly. He couldn’t refute it, he couldn’t say no — they were right. By staying, by clinging on with tenterhooks, Seunghan was just a burden to his group at that point.
The painful wound turned into an ugly mark. And the ugly mark had formed into a scar.
It was marred at the edges, but had sealed nonetheless. Time heals, the gaping hole in his chest has closed and he finally feels like he can breathe again without it hurting.
After he was put on an indefinite hiatus with no promise of his return, Seunghan spent months away from social media. There was a deep rooted fear in him that he might see something that would make him lose his purpose and his grit to pull through. He knew what they thought of him. A womaniser, a selfish idol who didn't care about his team and their efforts, a fuck boy. The motel man — they had called him when the first images surfaced. The news might've as well have destroyed him overnight, yet at that time, naive and oblivious, he couldn’t see what was coming next.
Presently, Seunghan rests his hands on his lap. He locks his fingers, rubs his chin, fondles with spikes on his lobes. He could never sit still. He wondered if he had been jinxed with it somehow, to never be granted the opportunity to stay in one place for too long. Just like how he had only been active for three pathetic months. He forcefully pushes that thought away, mentally scolding himself for spiraling.
He tries to think of good things.
His childhood, his school life, his friends. His mom, his family, his old neighbourhood. The stage, his debut, his members. His fans that were still waiting for him.
“Look at all the nice things that people are saying about you, our hani.”
For the first time in months, Seunghan pulled himself out of isolation and took the metro to Seoul Forest Station. With his heart thumping, he stood and waited, hesitant to approach the board while other people were looking.
Sure enough, in all its glory, is a lighted box ad of him in the middle of the station. Every inch of it was covered in colored sticky notes, organised carefully to let his face peek through.
He takes a tentative step. Then another.
Seunghan finds himself in front of the board and instantly, all the worry and anxiety that had accumulated over the past few weeks melts away. It was a realisation that, ‘oh, they don’t hate me’. Not all of them at least.
So many hearts. Messages that were written with care by the people who supported him to express that they still care, always will. That they are waiting for him.
For the first time after he returned home, his chest fills with something warm.
But one worry remains.
He had been gone for more than half a year now. Maybe, his absence had meant something at the very start when the members had to work twice as hard to fill in the messy gap he had left behind. The tremor in their voices as they were pushed to fill his lines. Nevertheless, they rose against the controversies and etched their name in history. All six of them.
Amongst their hard work and their achievements, where did he stand?
Seunghan had been gone so long he didn’t know if the members even wanted him back. It only makes sense if they hate him for the psychological turmoil he had put them through. Maybe the space they left for him in their choreographies had closed and they no longer needed someone vulnerable to fill the cracks. They had built something stronger. Sturdier.
Perhaps they never needed him.
RIIZE is 6. RIIZE is 7. What’s the difference when they rake in the same numbers?
He alights at the stop, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Taps his card out and exits the station.
The sun is brighter than he anticipates so he tugs his cap down further and enters the building. He still has his pass, his key, everything. He remembers which floor the practice rooms are on as if he had never left. It’s muscle memory, come to think of it, but he couldn’t help but imagine the worst possible outcome by letting his body take control.
Seunghan’s body walks himself down the familiar corridors and stops in front of black door, pressing down on the handle. The door creaks open. Fear, trepidation. His stomach twists and does a double flip, his lungs close in on themselves — it is killing Seunghan to know that the door is the only thing that separates him from the answer he's most afraid of. But he needs to know. He wants to.
“What took you so lon-” Sungchan’s sentence is cut off as he stands up abruptly, his jacket falling to the ground.
He stares at Seunghan with wide eyes, the brown in them swirling with something unreadable. But it isn’t angry and hot like the night he had left, there was something else behind it. Hate? Disgust, perhaps?
For a moment, all there is is silence. They stand there, staring at each other, trying to play spot the difference between how much they have changed in their time apart. Sungchan’s hair is darker now but he's handsome as always, maybe even more handsome than before. The awkward stare-down only cracks when Seunghan decides to speak.
“Hi,” Seunghan greets shyly.
Immediately, long arms throw themselves over him and Seunghan is pulled into Sungchan’s bigger frame. He’s still toned but has lost some muscle, his height still towering over him. Sungchan drops his head down to Seunghan’s shoulder, weighing down on him.
“You’re back. We missed you. I missed you ,” he murmurs. Then a muffled sob.
Seunghan reaches his hands up to run them over the taller’s back as he feels his own eyes glisten with tears. God, he missed this.
“Yeah,” his voice cracks a little, his throat dry. He smiles. “I missed you too. It's been awhile.”
Anyway, don't be a stranger.