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Being the shortest in the group wasn’t that bad. Sure, he was always getting those “small height jokes” from the others, needed extra padding in his shoes, and had to work a little harder to bend and arrange himself in their choreography—but overall, he didn’t mind.
Okay, yes, he did kind of wish he were taller. He’d always wanted to be the strong guy. The coolest character in an anime—the one with legendary strength who shows up last minute and saves the heroes. But, you know… He is growing. A little.
If Ryo were the tallest, he thinks he’d be way more confident. And probably more annoying—I mean, he’d definitely rub it in the members’ faces. Especially the hyungs. Which is why he finds it kind of strange that Daeyoung—tall as a tree, built like a rock—is always lowering himself for others.
And not in theory. He means literally.
The way Daeyoung’s legs spread into a triangle, his head craning onto Riku’s neck at a near 35 degree angle cannot be comfortable. He’s also kind of nuzzling his face into him which is like 5% cute and 95% disgusting.
Ryo crinkles his nose from where he’s leaning against the studio wall. His hair, matted with sweat, sticks to his forehead and clings to his eyes—still (unfortunately) not enough to obstruct the view of his hyungs clinging to each other.
“I don’t get how you can cling to him Jaehee hyung,” Ryo says. “We’re all sweaty!”
Daeyoung hums and wraps his arms around Riku, pulling him closer. Ryo catches the minute movement of Riku’s chest, stuttering from a quick breath.
“It doesn’t matter if we’re sweaty,” Daeyoung says, petulant. “It’s comfortable.”
Riku laughs but it’s without the usual lightness in his tone. It comes out haggard, like it was punched out of him.
Ryo narrows his eyes as he sees Riku’s cheeks begin to bloom red. And then—for the first time since Ryo has known him—Riku pushes Daeyoung’s affection away.
“Aah, it’s too hot now!” He whines, squirming out of Daeyoung’s hold and rushing to the water bottles beside Ryo. He collapses dramatically on the floor and takes several large gulps of water, like he’s trying to drown something in his chest.
“Sorry, Daeyoungie!” He calls, and Daeyoung, as sweet and calm as ever, just smiles and nods.
When Daeyoung drifts off to the members on the other side of the room, Ryo looks through his peripheral vision to see Riku’s hand over his heart.
“You got hot quickly, hyung,” he states.
Riku flinches slightly but plays it off with a laugh. “Yeah, something just came over me!”
Ryo hums. His eyes follow Daeyoung as he settles beside Sakuya, who’s talking animatedly with his hands. The whole time, Daeyoung smiles and nods. But doesn’t say a word.
**
It’s weird.
Daeyoung’s always done this thing—shrinking for others. He’s taller than everyone in the group. Significantly. And thoughtful in a way that makes it second nature. Since debut, it’s been a habit: spreading his feet, crouching his knees, ducking down to meet them where they are.
So it’s weird, that it seems that only now are his hyungs rejecting it.
It happens again at a jacket shoot. They’re grouped together for a photo—Ryo’s on the far right, and Sion and Daeyoung are on the opposite end. Daeyoung has his signature triangle pose, creating the perfect height to match Sion. They all look at the camera—smiling, laughing, posing. When the director says they can take a break, Ryo turns his head and sees the exact moment Sion and Daeyoung’s heads turn towards each other, faces inches apart.
Sion’s head turns away like he’s been slapped. The impact of the action is loud in all the wrong ways. Daeyoung’s face morphs quickly—something blank to something broken turns into a smile. Sion’s face burns and he can’t seem to look back at him. The awkward “sorry” Daeyoung laughs out chases Sion’s retreating form.
It’s not as though anything really happened—not on the surface. But Ryo still feels utterly helpless when all of the members diverge into different paths.
He quietly slips outside the studio, taking in the fresh air to settle his nerves. He’s about to leave when he realises he can hear voices—his hyung’s—threading through the wind.
He knows he shouldn’t do it. Really. But his feet move forward anyway. Legs thudding against concrete: left, right, again and again. Short, skinny legs that feel too small, too light to hold the weight of the mess in his head. He peeks at the corner. He stills. He listens.
“—didn’t mean to do it like that,” Sion says, his voice low like a secret. “I panicked.”
“I know it’s hard,” Yushi mutters. “I’d panic too.”
“I just—he always does that thing, and—god, his face was so—he was so close and—”
“Maybe he didn’t notice,” Riku says quietly.
“Sion hyung was pretty obvious about it,” Yushi points out.
“Hey, it’s not like you’ve been doing any—“
Ryo clenches his eyes shut and takes a careful step back, trying not to make a sound. He takes a step again. And again. Small, light, controlled, as though his legs can’t bring him back any further. He’s five steps in before he feels gentle hands on his arms.
He immediately steps away, whips around, and opens his eyes.
It's Daeyoung.
Ryo can’t tell if he heard it. He cranes his head up to reach Daeyoung’s eyes, and finds Daeyoung is staring right back. Ryo used to think he was everything Ryo wasn’t. Someone who fit the role of a hero in every way. He was tall, strong, and could sing in ways that moved his heart. He should have been intimidating, but he was anything but. He was soft, from the features of his face to the touch of his heart. His strength was never loud—it was the kind that bent down to meet others where they stood. The kind that made himself small, so no one else had to.
Daeyoung’s eyes were electric, like stars mixed in a galaxy, repelling against each other and sparking new life. Ryo thinks that maybe, this is strength too.
The two of them walk away, silently. They go back to the set, they drink their water, and they go over to where Sakuya is snacking on some bread.
They don’t talk about it at all.
**
They’re in the van, coming back from a long flight.
Their manager turned off the lights, letting them sleep. Riku and Sion are dozed off on top of each other. Sakuya is curled up against Ryo’s side, his breath already even and steady.
Ryo wakes softly, jostled by a bump in the road.
It takes a minute for him to stir fully. He groans a little when he realises they haven’t reached the dorms yet, head thudding gently back against the window. He’s about to slip under again when he notices—Daeyoung and Yushi are still awake.
Yushi shifts awkwardly in his seat. Daeyoung is staring out the window, arm braced on the door, eyes following the streetlights as they flicker by.
“Daeyoung-ah,” Yushi says, voice quiet. “You’re not gonna sleep on me this time?”
He’s wearing that oversized varsity jacket again. Thick and padded—like it was made to be leaned on. Daeyoung always chooses the seat beside him when he wears it. Ryo knows, because Daeyoung drools when he sleeps and Yushi keeps tissues in the jacket pocket, just to wipe it away before he wakes.
But this time, Daeyoung doesn’t even look away from the window.
“It’s okay, hyung,” he says. “I know you don’t like it when I do.”
Ryo watches Yushi’s mouth open, then close again. Watches the way his hand lifts—hesitates—before settling back in his lap.
“I… I never said that,” Yushi murmurs.
“You didn’t have to.”
Ryo should be asleep. He wishes he were asleep. He wishes he didn’t stick his nose in things.
He wonders if Sakuya noticed it too. If he did, maybe he’s just ignoring it.
No. He’s sure Sakuya hasn’t noticed. Sakuya’s strong, and brave. He wouldn’t hide from things. He wouldn’t turn away.
Silence is an interesting thing—because it isn’t as easily made as people think. Even within a barren desert, on a windless day, the body still sings. From the blood that pumps through one’s veins, to the quiet hissing of auditory neurons firing spontaneously in the brain.
The quietest silence still isn’t really silent.
Ryo spends the rest of the ride with his eyes shut, trying to fall back asleep.
Instead, he listens to everything—the sound of his heart, the rustle of the van, his hyungs’ breathing—for the rest of the ride.
**
They used to be roommates. His hyung has always been kind and gentle. Like drops of water condensing on rainforest leaves—a sweet nectar of life born from the world around it.
That only became more obvious when they lived together. He’d stay up late talking to Ryo whenever he noticed he was anxious about the next day. He’d pull the covers up when Ryo kicked them away in his sleep. And every night, without fail, he’d end his “good night” with an “I love you.”
They don’t room together anymore, but the respect Ryo holds for his hyung has only grown since. If he had to name a flaw Ryo would say it without hesitation:
He’s too aware of everyone else. And never aware of himself.
They’re not even in the same dorm now, but that doesn’t stop Ryo.
He walks across the hallway with purpose, long strides carrying him to the door. He knocks—three succinct taps—and waits.
Daeyoung cracks the door open. “Ryo? What are you doing here?”
Ryo already knows the other hyungs are out—he made sure of it. A well-timed suggestion, a casual mention of a trendy new restaurant—one he knew the older members would be drawn to, and the younger ones wouldn’t bother with.
“I just wanted to talk,” he says.
Daeyoung still looks confused, but he opens the door and lets him in.
They move to the kitchen. Daeyoung starts making ramen without being asked, like always.
“What is it, Ryo? Is something wrong?”
“Hyung,” Ryo says firmly.
He taps Daeyoung’s arm, and when he turns, Ryo gently takes the seasoning packet from his hands. Daeyoung lets it go immediately, blinking in surprise.
Without explaining, Ryo disappears for a second, then returns dragging one of the dining chairs across the floor.
When Daeyoung half-rises to help, Ryo stops him with a look and a wave of his hand.
He positions the chair in front of Daeyoung, grabs the backrest, and climbs up—socked feet pressing into the cushion.
Daeyoung instinctively steadies the chair, hands resting on either side. It takes a few seconds of Ryo shuffling, changing positions, and straightening and bending his back until he finally does it. Ryo looks forward, stares Daeyoung squarely in the eyes, head at the perfect height to match his.
“Daeyoung hyung,” he says, “I love you.”
Daeyoung blinks. His eyes go wide. He sputters, a confused noise leaving his lips. And then he laughs—soft, breathy laughter that shakes his shoulders and creases the corners of his eyes.
“What?”
Ryo smiles. He can’t help it. His eyes are sparkling, his lips curve wide. His hyung is so, so cute.
“I love you,” he repeats. “And I know you think the kindest thing you can do is adapt. To change shape. To bend yourself toward making everyone else happy.”
Ryo’s voice softens.
“But hyung… I know you’re not happy. At least not lately. And you can’t keep guessing what people want from you. You have to talk to us. Even if we don’t talk first.”
He places a hand on Daeyoung’s arm. Light, but steady.
“And if you do, you’ll see—”
His voice catches for just a second, before settling again.
“You’re surrounded by people who will bend for you too.”
Daeyoung seems stunned into silence, but Ryo holds his ground. He looks at him with all the adoration and pride he can muster—until his vision starts to blur because his hyung is crying too.
“Ryo,” Daeyoung says between hiccups. “When did you get so mature, hmm?”
Ryo straightens his back and puffs up his chest. “I always have been,” he says, in lieu of saying something corny and true like ‘by watching you’.
Daeyoung’s strong arms wrap him in a hug. It’s uncomfortable, with his awkward bending position and the backrest between them, but Ryo finds he doesn’t care. He hugs him back, arms tight around his shoulders.
They stay like that for a while, a bundle of quiet laughter and silly tears, until eventually, Ryo’s stomach grumbles.
Daeyoung snorts. “Should I keep cooking the ramen?”
Later, when Ryo takes his leave after the meal and a nice, long chat they say their goodbyes.
“Good night, hyung,” Ryo says. “I love you.”
Daeyoung smiles, and Ryo wishes he never stops. “Thank you Ryo, and good night. I love you too.”
**
Ryo doesn’t mean to brag (he does) but he’s kind of a genius (he is). It’s the only way to explain the satisfactory fruits of his labour (the combined happiness and bounce back of synergy between the group).
No one tells him—or Sakuya for that matter—but it doesn’t really matter. Ryo noticed. And well, Sakuya never really knows what’s going on anyway.
It’s the way Daeyoung goes back to his silly triangle position, head nuzzling into the shoulders of his hyungs. The way Daeyoung and Yushi blush when Yushi comes to practice in his varsity jacket, or when Daeyoung whines when Sion goes close to his face and stares just for fun.
It’s the way he sees Daeyoung lean down to kiss his hyungs, and for his hyungs to sneak in kisses—on tiptoe, on chairs, in 7cm platform sneakers.
It’s all kind of really sickening, but also pretty cute. It’s gotten to about a fifty fifty percent which is likely where it will settle (Ryo can only be so happy about seeing his hyungs be in love with each other).
Kind of like now, when he gets ready for the day, staring at his reflection in the mirror and overhears a “he’s so darn cute,” from Sion’s room alongside a very obvious clip of Daeyoung from a fansign. He really does not understand how Sakuya hasn’t caught on.
Ryo smooths down the wrinkles in his shirt, smiling at his reflection. He thinks it would be fun to be the tallest in the group.
He does a little twirl. Because he can. And it’s fun. Maybe he’ll grow taller one day, but he’s already strong. And strength, he’s learning, has never really been about height anyway.