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Xinlong feels nothing but disbelief as he arrives at his dorm, his feet lagging behind him as he turns the knob on the door.
He takes in the sight of cramped bedrooms and the sounds of his fellow contestants chattering among themselves about the brutal elimination they had just witnessed.
Of course, he’s in shock about his rank. Ninth out of 80 people in a country he wasn’t even from, and from a team that didn’t win their evaluation test. He couldn’t believe how it was possible for star creators —essentially, strangers — to change his fate in the competition.
While his mind is running through a million thoughts a minute, his body aches from tiredness. He can’t wait to plop down in his bed and get a semblance of a good night’s rest.
His fantasies of taking his outside clothes to sleep are interrupted by the sight of his roommate sitting on the floor with his head down on his hands.
Was Nian crying? Xinlong couldn’t hear him sniffling, though.
“Boheng?” He clears his throat, momentarily forgetting his own tiredness, to talk to his fellow trainee. It was impossible for him to ignore someone when they were in a rough spot, maybe to his detriment sometimes.
“What?” The younger replies, his Mandarin harsher than it usually was outside of his performances.
Xinlong’s confusion grows. Nian’s a generally bubbly guy, and he did fairly well in today’s results, all things considered.
The fact that they’re still in the same room speaks for itself.
“Do you want to talk…?”
The raven-haired rapper takes his head out of his hands to face him, only to reply with a sharp, “No.”
“Oh-kay,” he lifts his arms in surrender, not knowing how to react.
He’d usually launch into one of his inspirational speeches now, but Nian doesn’t seem to be having it, so the words die at the tip of his tongue.
He hopes that's the only reason, and not because the man’s gaze is so striking that it stops Xinlong in his tracks.
Anyone with a pair of eyes could see how captivating Nian Boheng’s visuals were. It’s one of his strongest points, something agreed upon by their fellow trainees and judges. As a colleague in the industry, he’d be amiss not to appraise his friend’s looks.
Anything more, however, would be bizarre.
He’s not supposed to gawk at Nian’s face, nor is he supposed to learn about the younger rapper beyond what he wants to show on camera.
Xinlong’s not supposed to notice how cutely he snores when he’s had a long day at practice, or how gentle his tone gets when he calls his mom in the middle of the night.
If he hadn’t noticed them, he wouldn’t be concerned with how Nian’s eyes turned colder by the millisecond as he looked at the idol.
He breaks up their mini staring contest. If he can’t get anything out of his roommate, he probably doesn’t have the right to prod him any further. He picks up his drying towel from the foot of his bed and some folded sleep clothes, gracefully exiting the unwanted conversation and jumping into the shower.
It’s frustrating how the look follows him to the tiny bathroom. Wasn’t he just thinking about a million things stepping into their dorm? Why had they all been pushed to the back of his mind?
Ugh.
He ends his shower with a worse mood, and he hopes Nian’s settled himself to sleeping because he doesn’t want the man to hear him stomping about on the tiled floor.
As he tiptoes back to his bed, his mouth makes a noise similar to a squeak. “What’s wrong?”
He has a hard time keeping his voice down, surprised that Nian was sitting down on his bed, legs firmly planted on the floor.
Like he’d been waiting for him.
“Sorry,” the younger says in a small voice, hands intertwined with each other shyly. His head is bowed, long hair covering most of his features. “I’m sorry, gē.”
“I don’t understand. Why are you sorry?”
“You were trying to look out for me, and I was being a dick about it. That’s not cool.”
He chokes out a laugh, one step away from cooing, “You’re worried about that? I’m not mad at you, I promise.”
He finds space to sit beside him, bumping his shoulder with the other rapper in jest.
Nian angles his head to look at him, his piercing gaze replaced by something much softer. His eyes looked downturned, and his lips sagged into a pout.
Xinlong was going to have to kick himself for thinking he looked adorable.
“I’m not in a good rank, aren’t I?” Nian sighs, shoulders slumping even further. “I’m grateful for staying now. But it’s not easy thinking about what I’ve sacrificed to be here, and what I might lose in a few weeks.”
And what does he say to that? Every day, their ranks become harder to predict. He can’t blame him for feeling insecure when eliminations are bound to get more gruesome.
The elder must’ve been silent for too long because Nian backtracks heavily in his words.
“…Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so pathetic. You might think differently than I do, and this doesn’t mean that I’m not proud of our team. Or of you.”
Xinlong smiles gently at his roommate, inching closer to his personal space to reassure him. “You’re not wrong for worrying. We don’t know how these next weeks will go for any of us… But you should know that I’m proud of you, too.”
His new buzzword is being an umbrella for his fellow trainees, especially to the younger ones like Yunseo whom he’s taken a liking to. It’s a responsibility he feels he needs to uphold after his tumultuous ascent into idolhood.
But with Nian, it’s different. He not only wants to shield him from the turbulence of rain, but he also wants to make sure he never encounters bad weather in the first place.
It’s not enough that only he and some trainees see the light in his eyes when he takes on a new challenge, or the infectious laughter he has when he cheers on his team. Everyone deserves to see him at his brightest.
For Nian, Xinlong would stop the rain from falling.
“This shitshow is freaking me out, gē,” he admits, finally cracking a small smile.
Okay, he thinks. Maybe this kind of smile could remain between them, though.
“Me too. I’m happy about my place now, and about the people I care about staying with me. But you’re right that nothing is for certain.”
He already feels the thoughts he had from earlier clouding his mind again. Apparently, the shower wasn’t enough to clear his hyperactive brain.
Nian’s smile turns into a smirk, evidently short-circuiting Xinlong’s brain.
“—And am I one of those people you care about?”
He chuckles, bumping the younger’s shoulder a little too harshly. “Of course, you punk.”
Deep-toned laughter echoes through their thin walls, a ridiculous sing-song voice following it. “You like me, Xinlong.”
Nian could not be more right. Dammit.
He feigns nonchalance, the way years of idol training prepared him for. “Alright, go to sleep, Boheng.”
The younger man turns his entire body to him, his slim arms raised to his sides, “Not until you bring it in, gē.”
“Punk,” he mutters, but captures him in a tight hug.
He tells himself it’s not uncommon to hug one’s friends, even when said friend has his nose on the crook of Xinlong’s neck and the embrace feels warmer than usual.
“Thank you,” Nian whispers almost inaudibly into his skin. “You make it easier to be here.”
He could not be more grateful that his face is hidden from the other’s view, especially when he feels blood rushing to his cheeks. “Y-yeah, same.”
Xinlong thinks he feels a pair of lips ghosting on the side of his jaw when his friend pulls away, but he rules it out with the lateness of the hour.
Nian hobbles over to his bed with a serene smile, barely illuminated by their dorm’s nightlight.
“Night, gē.”
“Good night.”
He follows suit, tucking himself under the covers with a smile of his own.