Work Text:
Kaiwen’s questions had been like an endless wave when it was decided that he’d be heading to Korea to participate in the show with them. Jiahao had done his best to placate him, to answer what he could and be as encouraging as possible, but some things had to be learned and those things couldn’t be taught. Not by him, anyway. Not as much as he wished he could.
The first thing you learn when you become a trainee is to not get attached to anyone. You’d spend the next several years of your life bouncing around from one place to another unless you got lucky, and your chances of debuting with any one group of people you met along the way were slim to none. The culling only got worse the closer a group got to debut, after all. Growing too close to your fellow trainees would only result in heartbreak, and that was all there was to it.
But Jiahao and the rest of the Seeds had crossed that bridge a long time ago, ten times over. They were friends and brothers — Jiahao their parent even, depending on which of his fans you asked. And it wasn’t far from the truth. He’d been the only adult in the living space he shared with Bingfan, Anxin, Hanzhong, and Kaiwen back in the day. They’d always come to him with their problems and worries, seeking his comfort and guidance which he’d willingly given — still did whenever they needed it.
And maybe that was why the past two years had been so difficult, why the here and now felt like dodging cannonballs at sea.
Something had shifted between them since MA1. The four of them, sans Kaiwen, had run into the show headfirst, fully expecting to debut together, but that hadn’t been the reality. Bingfan and Hanzhong made it; Jiahao and Anxin had not.
Jiahao had been devastated, of course. This was supposed to be the last stop on his seemingly neverending trainee journey. The rankings had been in his favor, the time was right. But the audience had other plans.
They’d all broken down that night, Bingfan taking the news worse than anyone. They hadn’t been apart in years and now it was going to be permanent, at least for the foreseeable future.
Their plan had failed. They were supposed to all debut together, to dominate the competition and leave nothing to chance. That was what they wanted, what they knew with every fiber of their being would happen. They were invincible together, after all.
Or maybe they’d mixed up “invincibility” with “vulnerability.”
He’d dwelled on it all the way back to China and even a little beyond. Anxin had bounced back a lot faster, but Anxin had the benefit of youth on his side. The company still wanted Jiahao, but for how much longer? He was already at the age where most places would see it and toss him aside without a second thought, his talent irrelevant to most companies in such an oversaturated and cutthroat industry.
But still he persevered. He still had a dream to realize, still had people who counted on him. He still had the still-adjusting Bingfan and Hanzhong to worry over. He still had Anxin, Yubo, and the kids with him.
And Kaiwen.
His eldest (because Yubo came along later and, ergo, didn’t count) had never been the type to hold grudges or start petty arguments. He hadn’t been upset when his four long-term roommates left and he hadn’t been upset when they returned, two short, all those months later. He’d welcomed Jiahao and Anxin back with open arms, a dignity undeserved by those who’d been so preoccupied with their own affairs that they’d barely paid him a passing thought.
Kaiwen had been left back home, he and Yubo left to bear the burden of eldest brothers and parents to the younger Seeds. They’d done so, always, with honor. They never complained, never got jealous or angry, never stopped to ask the world why it’d been so unfair to them and so kind to the others. They knew how trainee life worked as well as anybody.
But things started to shift within their ever-crumbling family when it was announced that they’d be participating in Boys II Planet.
Jiahao and Anxin were automatic contenders, their faces and talent already known from their time in MA1. They’d been sent over to Nouer months ago to train, to garner more “kpop” experience. They’d been visiting on and off, both officially and unofficially, but this time it was for good.
And Jiahao wasn’t complaining. He was more at peace during that brief passage of time than he had been in a long time. Anxin was with him and they were finally reunited with Bingfan and Hanzhong, long stretches of promotions on their end aside. And Gihyeon was there too, of course. The same Gihyeon who’d brightened his days during their hectic MA1 experience, who he no longer had to struggle to contact due to distance and communication restrictions.
Jiahao was home, in every sense of the word, surrounded by the people he cared about the most and on the verge of finally making his painfully long dream come true. This time he and Anxin would make it. But this time, they’d also have Kaiwen.
Kaiwen had been the one chosen by their company to tag along with them to the show. Jiahao and Anxin had been at the training camp with him when the decision was made. He’d beaten everyone else out for that spot, including Yubo.
Yubo had congratulated his friend, his always steady gaze masking just a hint of betrayal that day. Because, like Kaiwen, Yubo would never hold a grudge over someone else succeeding where he’d fallen short. But unlike Kaiwen, Yubo would never let his emotions betray him. He was the furthest thing from cold and unfeeling, but he was well-guarded — something poor Kaiwen lacked, even on the verge of entering an industry where such things were so often invaluable.
Kaiwen hadn’t caught on to the underlying truth in Yubo’s gaze that day and probably never would. Yubo would take on Jiahao’s role of caring for the younger ones, this time without any help, and Kaiwen would be busy marveling at all the new and shiny things he’d be encountering during his stay in Korea.
Because, dramatic as it may come across, survival shows so often permanently altered the lives of their participants. It was an inevitable reality, one that no amount of training or mental gymnastics could prepare you for.
Sometimes it was good. The air in Korea was a lot less stifling than it was back home — the type of air that offered with it certain liberties. People could be themselves here, within reason. People could also take it too far, get themselves into trouble in more ways than one.
Jiahao had been keeping an eye on Kaiwen since their arrival, but that was hard to do with someone who was constantly in motion. Kaiwen liked to bounce from person to person, from place to place. He liked to drag his new friends over to meet Jiahao because he knew it was the fastest way to get him to actually talk to someone.
His behavior was endearing. Kaiwen was always so unabashedly himself, but that, in turn, made it exhausting. When you cared about someone the way Jiahao cared about Kaiwen, everyone and everything was a threat. And those threats weren’t ones that could be easily guarded against, if they could be at all.
Kaiwen was kind and gentle, and a lot more fragile and delicate than he’d ever admit. Maybe he didn’t even see it, but Jiahao and the people around him did. It wasn’t a character flaw by any means, but it was dangerous in a setting such as this one.
There were over a hundred of them at the start of the show, nearly double that. It was impossible to have that many people around and not get your feelings hurt in one way or another. Because the people you met were another one of those life-altering survival show things. That, combined with the atmosphere, could either be a blessing or a recipe for disaster. Jiahao would know — he’d seen it happen, maybe even experienced it himself.
People often met their soulmates on shows like these, regardless of what form that may take. New friendships were inevitably born. People found other people that they could never again live without. Oftentimes, bonds were formed that could never be broken — ones that grew like vines to the point that they sometimes strangled the ones you left back home. It was something that Yubo understood even without coming to this place, something that Kaiwen wouldn’t learn until it was all said and done.
Because unlike Yubo, Kaiwen liked to chase and be chased. He could do that here. There were people here, ones he didn’t know, but that he could know.
Kaiwen had never taken to cages as well as the rest of them did. He did what he had to do, but there was always that underlying nagging feeling. He was a flightless bird, crying out to the heavens, and he hadn’t gotten much of a response until that first day of filming.
And he was free now. As close to free as he could get under their current circumstances, anyway, and Jiahao would just have to let him fly. He’d be there whenever his wings got too heavy to carry him any further.
It took C- and K–Group merging, falling a rank, and several eliminated trainees later for that moment to arrive. Kaiwen was finally starting to understand the position he was in, that they were all in. Jiahao could tell by the look in his eyes, just a hint duller than they’d been previously. He could tell by Kaiwen’s furrowed brow, the subtle fidgeting whenever he was left to his own devices. He wondered how often Kaiwen thought of home now, wondered if he knew that it would never be the same again when he finally did go back.
Things would have been easier if the company had sent someone other than Kaiwen here — anyone else. Yubo, who was strong in every way and self-confident, wouldn’t have let things get to him as badly as Kaiwen did. Yizhuo, ever fearless and likely missing Kaiwen like crazy, would have run in, guns blazing, and floored everyone. He would’ve been right back up on his feet as soon as he was knocked down, laughing about it. Jiahao could’ve managed any of the others, really, but they’d sent Kaiwen .
Kaiwen who still sought Jiahao out whenever he had any sort of problem, big or small. Kaiwen who always showed him the latest person or thing that happened to be holding his interest at any given moment. Kaiwen who liked to stay late with him after practice to discuss ways they could improve and have heavy conversations about life and their futures.
It hadn’t been as hard with Anxin, Hanzhong, and Bingfan — maybe because Jiahao was experiencing everything for the first time with them too. But watching Kaiwen go through it alone was a different story. It was a helpless feeling, knowing what was happening and what was to come and being unable to do anything about it — to know that someone as gentle as Kaiwen would have to deal with the inevitable consequences the aftermath of the show would bring along with it.
Success or failure would bring about change. For him, for Kaiwen, for Anxin. In an ideal world, the three of them would debut together, but the show merger had thrown a wrench into that plan. Anxin was a shoe-in, but Jiahao and Kaiwen were a lot less certain now.
Anxin, as much as he wanted to debut with them, would thrive, regardless. He was a people person, friends with anyone, and able to adapt to any environment.
Jiahao wasn’t sure what would become of him if he didn’t make it this time. The company probably had plans for him if they’d kept him around this long, but he was getting tired of the waiting and uncertainty.
Kaiwen would go home if he didn’t make it. He’d return to his cage with his newfound taste of freedom, and the restlessness he’d felt before would be replaced with misery. He would acclimate as best as he could and one day he’d debut, infinite what-ifs gnawing at his brain, regardless of what country he was in.
It was cruel, really, the way their fate rested in the hands of strangers. Strangers who, in most cases, didn’t care if they stayed together or not. Debuting was the goal, yes, but no one seemed to care what their favorite show participants wanted outside of that. No one cared about the bonds they were breaking, about the friends they were separating who’d been training together for years and wanted nothing more than to debut together, to stay together.
But they’d all have to cross those bridges when the time came. Anxin was debuting, Jiahao and Kaiwen were in limbo, and that was all there was to it for the time being. They would do their best until then, endure whatever they had to endure. They had no other choice.
One thing that was for certain though, was that Jiahao would be there to pick up the pieces if need be. He hoped he wouldn’t have to, even if he was left all alone. If it made them happy and put an end to their suffering, then he could handle an empty nest.