Work Text:
is it better to speak or to die?
i’ve asked myself that question multiple times, yet i could never answer it. speaking about it has always felt like a death penalty and what makes that any worse or better than dying, right?
___
growing up, i never thought speaking my mind would change anything. i never did it, and nothing ever seemed to change my mind.
i watched as they kept coming back — smiling, and on some days, crying. i watched them through every season, every emotion, and yet the thought of saying it out loud was scarier than death.
so i chose to stay silent.
i watched xinlong grow up. watched him become the person he is today — someone so lovely and gentle you couldn’t find a bad thing about him.
xinlong was always like this — always someone who looked out for others. he treated the youngest like his own son, never disrespected the oldest, and still kept that playfulness inside him.
and i was just a bystander. just someone supporting his story — their story.
zihao was no different. he was a bright figure, shining in a room full of people.
i always thought the world was unfair for treating him differently — for acting like he was a joke, like his feelings didn’t matter, like his talents were nothing compared to his funny personality.
i always thought he deserved the world. both of them did.
and yet, i didn’t belong anywhere beside them.
it was stupid. i am stupid.
i know it’s all in my head, and yet it makes it so hard to separate reality from imagination.
watching xinlong debut in ald1 made something change.
suddenly, he was back in the dorms — laughing loudly with zihao, spreading himself on the couch like time wasn’t knocking on our door.
i know he wanted to act like nothing changed. i know he wanted to stay, but all three of us knew this wasn’t what he was meant for.
xinlong was made for the big stage. he was made to stand where he shined the most.
and maybe i realized that boystory was never a place where he could shine like he does in ald1.
maybe we were just the pre-show — the one everyone ignored, the one no one cared about as they waited excitedly for the main show.
and maybe, just maybe, our futures were written in the stars long before i realized.
somewhere between the stars, it was probably also written how i’d end up. but ignoring that felt safer than reading between the lines.
___
home race felt different at first. for a brief moment, i thought i could grab it — grab onto something that would give me a chance to shine like them. to be seen.
but, as i said, our futures were already written in the stars.
zihao had his friends — suren, hengyu, shunyu.
i wasn’t anywhere in the picture.
and it’s so stupid, because i know that’s not how it is. i know i mean something to him. i have to — after everything we’ve been through… right?
i felt the feeling deep in my chest. it was tightening and spreading. i felt it squeeze whenever i watched him giggle into his phone. i watched as his interactions grew while i kept replying to the same fans.
i watched as their popularity skyrocketed while i stayed the same.
while i stayed behind.
we were always supposed to be one.
boystory was our thing. we were meant to stand on big stages, perform like stray kids and itzy — to be seen by the world.
and i still wonder why it didn’t work out. why they used us and left us forgotten like christmas gifts.
i know we could’ve had it all. they promised us that. and yet here i stand, watching how the group we put our blood, sweat, and tears into slowly becomes a memory.
i watch how they go back to their normal lives, how they achieve their dreams, how they can stand on the stage all six of us once dreamed about.
and me?
i stay behind.
i stay in the dorms where six beds are, where you can find six sets of cutlery — and yet none of it has been touched.
except one.
because they moved on, grew up, and i…
i put my youth into this. did everything for this. and i’m still here, waiting for a change. waiting for someone to pull out the cameras and tell me the last seven years were a prank.
so yes, i believe it’s better to die than to speak.
because speaking means you have to acknowledge the reality you’re stuck in. it means facing something you’ve feared — something that hurts so badly.