Chapter Text
I can make you better.
These were the words that crept into the boys’ brains. At first, it was easy enough to ignore the voice, to write it off as a bad dream or something overheard in line for a coffee. But soon it was as if the words refused to leave. They repeated over and over again in their sleep, during meals, even in the practice rooms. Any other thoughts were suffocated by the promise of potential, the weight of a decision they weren’t sure they completely understood.
Eventually, the voice disappeared–or went too quiet to hear. The boys practiced day in and day out, working until their legs felt weak and their voices threatened to fizzle out like a fire doused in their own blood, sweat, and tears. They knew they could sell more albums, reach more fans, and become the performers they were always meant to be as long as they were together.
To their growing group of fans, they would point to their friendship as their greatest encouragement. As cheesy and overplayed in the industry as it was, they really meant it. Plus, it was much more palatable than admitting that Fridays at Eunwoo’s family’s chicken shop were an equally crucial part of their routine.
“Oh my god, this is amazing!” Eunwoo speaks, mouth full and smile wide. He bends over the back of his chair to give two thumbs up to his father in the kitchen, his fingers stained flaming orange from the special “extra super mega” hot wings his parents only make for him. Hajoon puts his hand out instinctively to catch the chair, but he knows Eunwoo won’t fall; he never does.
“Dude, what’s your dad’s recipe? You’ve gotta tell me,” Yejun says, leaning across the table, noticeably less spicy wing in hand. Every week he asks, and every week Eunwoo gives him the same answer.
“It’s a family secret,” he replies with a two-finger salute.
Yejun laughs and sits back in his chair, propping his feet up on the empty seat next to him. Its occupant, Tae, stands out front on the phone, cheeks rosy, a smile painted across his features. The boys devour what’s in front of them as though they hadn’t eaten in a month. Once that plate is gone, another replaces it, and the cycle continues.
After closing, the smell of fresh chicken mingles with the scent of strawberry cleaner, the same kind Eunwoo insists on using in their own kitchen as well. It’s familiar, even comforting at this point. A loose screw jangles in the air conditioning vent above them, a sound that can only be heard after the chatter of the day’s customers has disappeared. A TV quietly plays commercials in the background, occasionally overwhelmed by the sounds of clanking dishes and vacuuming.
Eventually, Tae returns, eating his share of wings that the other boys set aside for him. Yejun and Hajoon begin cleaning up, careful to let Tae eat in peace, while Eunwoo tucks money under the cash register for his parents to find after the boys have left so they can’t return it. With their daily lives as hectic as they are, this feels normal again.
Their laughter carries into the night air, floating along like a melody. With all of their hard work and dedication finally paying off, the boys feel an equal sense of excitement and anxiety about their future, but in the comfort of each other’s presence, whatever comes next seems much less daunting.
Somewhere, eyes watch them leave the restaurant, turn the corner, and head up the street as they always do. Somewhere, someone grows hungry.