Chapter Text
shouu
Friday, July 18, 2025 >
syeong
img_250717
do you think it's worth it?
shouu is typing ...
-
It feels like whiplash when the cameras stop rolling.
They barely get five minutes to breathe, cry, hug, and smile with their friends and families before the staff quickly usher the other trainees off the stage and start to urge the members towards the back for makeup touch-ups and one-on-one interviews.
It's an understatement to say they’re on cloud nine, overwhelmed, heartbroken, and drained all at once as they file in and out of makeup chairs, staff fiddling with their hair, and as soon as they finish, they send each of them straight off to a separate camera up close in their face.
Then they stand through every interview, each one going on a little too long for all of their liking considering the adrenaline and panic finally lulling, only leaving brutal exhaustion in its wake. Siyoung is dissociating before he even notices, back on the autopilot he’s used to, keeping his eyes and expressions vigilant as his mind fades somewhere else, only really paying full attention for his turn and to mentally practice his Japanese.
He can tell everyone is on their last legs. There’s slight wavering and swaying of their legs, hands clasped tightly together, small subtle head shakes that he knows would be more intense if there wasn’t a camera on them, pinching their wrists, blinking a little too hard, fiddling with each other’s clothes, rocking back and forth on their feet — basically anything that will keep them awake and alert long enough. He’s glad Daiki is making them laugh, because he doesn’t think he has it in him right now.
As soon as the cameras stop rolling and they finish every bit of content they need to, there's a chorus of sighs of relief, followed by a plethora of fidgeting as they change out of the pressed starchy stiff uniforms.
It’s short lived however, as the staff direct them all into two vans to practice the dance formations for their schedule tomorrow. The staff collectively ignore the symphony of groans and politely shove food into their hands with sympathetic expressions.
Siyoung watches as Yoshiki is directed to the first van with an exhausted Daiki, Shinhaeng, Issa, Ryoga, and Keito in tow.
Siyoung is in front as he’s led to the second van, glancing behind him to count heads. Towa is practically slumped over, while Kosuke is visibly nodding off behind him. Ryuji and Yuki are whispering to each other, and Yura is in the back softly urging them forward.
The van is mostly quiet once they’re moving, filled only by quiet chewing as they try to give themselves enough protein and energy to get through the rest of the day that already feels like it's gone on too long.
Siyoung turns around, catching Yura’s eyes from the back. Yura hums slightly with a fond smile, eyes flickering to Yuki slumped against his shoulder. Siyoung smiles and turns to his left and Kosuke and Ryuji’s head are together, completely out, sleeping with their food wrappers still nestled in their hands.
Yet, despite that calm atmosphere, when Siyoung turns back forward, it's the polar opposite. Not in the way that it's loud, but in it's discomfort. Towa is antsy and he’s staring into space, eyes unfocused. He’s picking at his nailbeds, his eyes somewhere else. It wouldn't be noticeable if someone weren't staring, because it's quiet. Understated. But every movement feels so loud to Siyoung.
And Siyoung blinks.
And for just a second, in Towa’s place is himself. Young, in the company van, tongue running over his teeth because it still feels weird with his braces off, his leg bouncing and hands twitching because he can’t do a handstand and he doesn’t have anything to hold onto and he’s picking at the skin by the side of his fingernails and Shouu hands him a-
Siyoung blinks again.
And, wordlessly, Siyoung digs into his bag and pulls out a soft memory foam keychain, and presses it into Towa’s hands.
And Towa stiffens for a second, but he looks down, and his shoulders relax. His fingers press carefully into the foam, eyes fixated as the material bounces back. He watches as every muscle in Towa's body seems to untense one by one, slowly.
Siyoung quietly clears his throat. “Before we go to practice, I’ll ask if they can get your bag so you can get your pen out.” Siyoung whispers in Japanese, looking away pointedly.
Towa keeps pressing his fingers into it before a quiet realization dawns on his face. He quietly sucks in a breath and turns his head. “How did you-” he whispers, incredulous. But when he looks up, he catches that all-too-familiar gaze in Siyoung’s eyes. He catches how Siyoung is wringing his hands in the fabric of his clothes. How his finger picks at the fraying aglet on the drawstring of the hood. How the fingers on his free hand tap against his leg in a meticulous pattern when clutching the fabric isn't enough. How the skin around his nails is red and swollen.
And Towa softens, knowingly trailing his thumb over his similarly messy, picked nailbeds.
“Thanks,” he whispers in Korean.
Siyoung catches his eyes for just a second and catches that relief peaking through, and he nods softly.
And when the vans finally come to a stop and everyone tumbles out, Siyoung gently tugs a staff member aside, whispering to her. Towa practically jumps with excitement as she emerges from the back of the van with his bag, unzipping it and digging his hand inside until he pulls out his pen, tapping the green silicone of his pen against his hand repeatedly. He places the keychain back in Siyoung's hand with a grateful, shy smile, a newfound pep in his step as he follows after Ryuji.
And when he looks up at the members, counting heads as he watches Towa’s back, he only counts ten.
But his skin prickles, feeling someone’s eyes on him.
And there’s Yura. Watching. Eyes full of something he can’t really describe.
“That was nice,” he says quietly in Korean.
Siyoung hums and whispers back. “He needed it.”
“I know,” Yura whispers. He softly nudges Siyoung’s shoulder with his own. “C’mon, let’s go.”
-
When they clamber back towards the vans hours later, it’s an entirely different wave of exhaustion. Pure, unadulterated heaviness in their eyes, fighting to keep them open as they stumble over. Yoshiki and Issa chuckle at Shinhaeng’s messy stilted mixture of Japanese, Korean, English, and artful gesturing to supplement how he’s feeling when Daiki drags them into the first van with a playful eye roll.
Siyoung hangs behind, counting quietly in his head to make sure everyone is accounted for, humming as Keito holds Yuki’s hand and leads him to the first van. Once the door closes behind them, Kosuke and Towa come barreling straight for the second van, scrambling in and determined to get the back seats so it’s ‘easier to sleep’ (their words, not his). After them, Ryoga and Yura quietly walk alongside each other, but Ryoga's hands are fidgeting and his shoulders are scrunched. Siyoung aches in recollection, recognizing the expression, wanting to move and help, wanting to do something, reassure him maybe, but he hasn’t counted everyone and-
And Yura offers his hand to Ryoga without missing a beat. Wordless. Siyoung sighs quietly, easing as Ryoga plays with Yura’s fingers absentmindedly.
Yura catches his stare from over his shoulder, eyes briefly meeting Siyoung’s.
And there’s something there. Something knowing. Something quiet that feels a little too loud as Yura nods.
So he drags his eyes away.
“Siyoung,” comes a quiet voice from behind him.
Siyoung turns, and there stands Ryuji. He’s shuffling his feet and wringing his hands, shoulders hunched forward. He’s so tall, but he looks so small right now. He clears his throat a little, eyes wide and hopeful.
“Can I sit with you?” he whispers, finally making eye contact.
Siyoung softens at his demeanor and hums. “The seats are small,” he whispers, voice soft. “Are you sure you’ll have enough room?”
He nods quickly. “Just…” he mumbles shyly, a slight tremor in his hands as he chews on his lip. “Don't wanna sit alone. Need to be next to a person.”
Siyoungs smiles and gently nods, offering his hand. “C’mon, let’s go.”
It’s maybe less than ten minutes into the ride before Ryuji promptly falls asleep on his shoulder, his legs curled up to his chest, one of his thumbs in his mouth, his free hand holding Siyoung’s like he needs it to breathe.
And Siyoung pretends not to notice the gaze boring into his head he can feel from his left from the only person he'd bet money is not planning on sleeping either.
-
When the vans finally stop at the temporary dormitory, almost everyone is asleep. Siyoung makes eye contact with Yura as they gently shake everyone awake, nudging them up.They all file out, eyes bleary from napping as they’re handed their suitcases and backpacks. The staff herd them into the space, relaying off room assignments and handing back their phones one by one.
Most of them all skitter off happily once their phones are on, respectively scattering and ducking into free rooms and smiling as they hear someone pick up.
Daiki laughs loudly when he hears a happy chirp of ‘Giuse!’ from down the hall before the door closes behind Ryuji, then promptly guffaws as his own video call connects. “Anxin, why on earth do you have Jiahao’s phone?”
Issa is huddled on a chair in a quiet corner of the laundry room, smiling at the video call as a conversation with one person quickly becomes a call with two people and then eventually eight people as six other curious heads peep into the frame.
Towa’s head tilted to hold his phone between his ear and his shoulder while simultaneously trying to balance his bags as he murmurs in Korean, and Shinhaeng almost runs into the side of the door while typing rapidly and smiling, “Wait Jae, I can’t see you, gimme a second-”
Keito runs out happily as his phone starts ringing, Maki’s voice loud and clear with happy whoops despite Keito’s phone not being on speaker. Yuki and Kosuke are waving animatedly and pouting to someone in a video call, both of them fighting to be more in the frame as a soft voice giggles in a sing-song voice over the phone. “I can see you both, stop bickering~”
Ryoga smiles at his phone to a familiar face, his voice going quiet and soft, something he only shows to one person as he holes himself up in the bathroom, and Yoshiki is talking fast as he paces up and down the hall looking for a free space.
And at the end of it all, as the final door shuts, there’s Siyoung.
In the common room, alone.
His phone is heavy in his pocket.
He hasn’t even tried powering it on.
He isn’t going to.
It’s anything but quiet as he hears the muffled voices coming from every which way, happy and excited and sad and emotional and everything everywhere all at once. It’s lively. It’s full.
But it feels quiet in the big common room all by himself. It feels too big.
And he already tried handstands, but the old tatami has too much give and makes it harder to balance, and he just keeps falling.
After about forty five minutes of sitting, trying to do more handstands that he can’t hold for long enough (which only ends in more frustration), and marking the choreography and formations they went over again before tomorrow for the sixth time, the front door opens, and the sound of someone toeing their shoes off rings out as footsteps approach in the corridor.
And then there’s Yura.
Holding several paper bags that smell like heaven while a staff member follows suit behind him with even more.
He sets the bags on the kitchen counter before asking the staff member to send a text message to everyone that there’s food. They tilt their head in confusion, saying Yura can do it since he has his phone.
But when Yura’s eyes briefly meet Siyoung’s, it’s like his soul is bared through them, a weighted sullenness to them that he quickly masks as he breaks eye contact. Yura politely looks the staff’s way and says his phone is dead in a sheepish tone that Siyoung knows is faux, once again asking if the staff can do it.
And Siyoung can tell. He just knows that just like him, Yura never turned his phone on.
Yura bows his head and mumbles a thank you as the staff finally obliges, before ushering Siyoung over with his hand.
Siyoung quietly helps Yura take everything out of the bag, setting up all the large containers of food on the counter and pulling out plates and bowls for everyone to use without a word.
And it’s easier. It's better somehow. The act of being not alone. Even if he still kind of feels like the world is caving in and he needs to be by himself.
But Yura doesn’t speak. And neither does he.
And it’s a quiet in-between. Not loud, but not alone. Better than the thoughts that could have spiraled if he was on his own.
And maybe it's better for them both.
-
One by one, the various voices become increasingly hushed as conversations lull, members peeping out of the rooms as phone calls finally come to an end. The quiet space fills with small voices as they join slowly, taking plates and piling them high with food before settling in the common room. They shovel food into their mouths, smiling and laughing, joking and giggling despite their eyes drooping, a clear determination in their eyes to keep themselves awake, but they're slipping. The day was just too much. Too long and too tiring. Too emotionally all over the place.
Siyoung knows. He remembers.
He can tell Yura does too by the faraway look in his eyes.
But they’re laughing, giggling as they skitter away happily into their rooms and return in pajamas, happily dragging futons and masses of blankets into the room, along with adding contributions to a steadily growing pile of snacks in the middle of the room.
And it’s loud. The good kind of loud, where everyone is happy, bundling in blankets, tossing pillows, laughing, and chasing each other around the room.
But underneath, it’s stilted. Just a little. With the what-ifs and everything in between. It always is. That's how it goes.
Staff walk in and roll their eyes fondly at the sight of the chaos, but firmly tell them all their call time for the next morning, resulting in a chorus of whines and complaints. So, as everyone pulls out their phones and sets one or ten alarms, reluctantly, Siyoung does the same. He takes a deep breath as he powers it on, ignoring every notification, swiping them away as he types in his passcode and punching numbers in at an ungodly hour with the loudest alarm sound he can find.
Before he knows it, the volume shifts to a dull roar, soft voices melding with yawns as they fight to keep their eyes open.
And suddenly, it’s too loud.
A quiet, muffled buzzing.
Then, a sound rings out. Insistent and telling.
Siyoung looks down at the blanket and his breath catches. He fiddles with the fabric, shuffling through it as the sound gets impossibly louder, ringing in his ears.
And he stills when he sees this phone. Face-up, ringing, and the contact name.
Junhyuk.
And he swears the world stands still.
His breath catches in his throat, and he swears the world blurs around him. Like all that exists is him and his phone. He looks around, but all of their faces are blurry. Like he's underwater and can only make out the broad shapes and vague outlines. “I-,” he stammers, whispering in quiet Japanese. “I have to take this.”
He stumbles to the door, carefully stepping over hands, legs, blankets and snacks while haphazardly tugging on socks and outside shoes in the doorway before ducking outside, trying not the dwell on the head tilts and confusion on their faces.
As the door slams hard behind him, he settles on the stoop by the front, holding the vibrating device in his hands. He doesn't want to let it ring. He wants to pick up. But he's on edge for some reason. Something deep. Something he doesn't want to name. Something ugly and scary. Something he has to feel, he knows it, and he'd rather do anything but. But he's out here. And they're debuting in two countries, and he doesn't know when he'll have free time again.
When he finally picks up the phone, he doesn’t say anything. He just clutches it tight, breathing into the speaker. At the silence, there’s a soft sigh on the other line.
“Hey Siyoung.”
Siyoung lets his head fall, shoulders shaking just the slightest bit as he trembles. He sucks in a breath.
“Hey hyung,” he whispers meekly.
There’s a soft, gentle hum.
“Congratulations,” he whispers.
And he swears he breaks. The floodgates open again, pouring out and clouding his vision. "Thank you," he whispers, trying to blink back the waterworks. “I miss you,” he sputters. sniffling. "Leading is hard. I don't know how you dealt with us."
And Junhyuk laughs, something deep, loud, and authentic, and everything feels right. And Siyoung can only cry harder.
So he shuts his eyes tight and pretends he's in their old room. That there's too many beds cramped into one space and Junhyuk is right in front of him as he complains about how terrible the Korean subtitles were on the livestream, how hard it is to read Japanese fast, how he tried to go to the final and had every person he knew enter the lottery to no avail, how long it took to announce Siyoung's rank, how anxious he was, and everything in between.
"I was just so worried. I was hoping you'd be called earlier so I wasn't as nervous, but it kept dragging on forever..."
"How do you think I felt when I was waiting for you to get announced when I went to your finale?"
"Just as awful!! I almost jumped out of my skin waiting for myself, but now I know how it feels to watch and I hate it even more!"
He couldn’t tell you how long they were out there talking. He talks about anything and everything until his face hurts from smiling and his face is puffy from crying.
Siyoung can feel his eyes drooping as he yawns, the night finally catching up to him. Junhyuk hums knowingly.
“You have a schedule tomorrow,” he whispers, soft and knowing. “You should get some rest. The broadcasts are early.”
He knows the schedules are early. He’s been through this time and time again. And he’s so exhausted he can barely keep his eyes open. It’s like then. Achingly familiar, like if he opens his eyes he’ll be seventeen again, Junhyuk in front of him with a knowing smile, back in a cramped dorm with bickering of five voices he knows a little too well echoing from down the hall. It’s all just like then.
Almost.
Except something shatters.
‘You have a schedule.’
‘You.’
It feels ugly. It feels like a slap in the face. It echoes in the silence, loud and piercing.
Because back then, he knows never thought he'd do this with anyone else. Because with all his heart he knows this shouldn't be a ‘you.’ It should've been an ‘us.’
And it aches more than his heart can take.
He knows Junhyuk is right too. He’ll be miserable and dissociate the entire time if he doesn’t sleep at least a little. Plus, he'll have to use more energy to think and translate and speak, and it'll be live, so he can't fidget to keep himself awake, nor is it justifiable to do a handstand and focus on balancing on live television when it's not his turn to speak, unless he finds a way to disguise it as a party trick.
Yet, he can’t seem to force himself to move.
Junhyuk chuckles quietly. “I won’t disappear when you hang up,” he murmurs in the silence.
He also knows that. Deep down, somewhere. Maybe. And yet…
“Siyoung,” he says softly, but voice pointed with a quiet authority he knows a little too well. It's the same tone Siyoung has been using throughout the whole program whenever he leads. Because he knows it works. And he hates that it works so well. Siyoung curls in on himself, clutching the phone tighter.
“You did so good. You always do Siyoungie.”
He whines, something quiet, raw, and almost pathetic, like a wounded animal.
“I love you hyung.”
Junhyuk hums back. “I love you too Siyoung.”
He waits, just listening to Junhyuk’s breaths for a minute.
He knows Junhyuk won’t hang up. He’s waiting for him to be ready.
Then, he hears a small squeaky creak as the door shifts near him. He freezes, but his eyes catch Yura’s as he peeks out. Yura’s eyes settle on the phone, wordless.
Siyoung exhales shakily, like he didn’t know he was holding it. But Yura doesn’t move. He just waits. Watching.
So he swallows back a sob and mumbles into his phone.
“Goodnight,” he murmurs. He bites his tongue hard before he says something stupid, like see you tomorrow, and he aches. “I’ll call you when I’m free.”
When he finally clicks the button and the line goes dead, Siyoung sets his phone down, pulling his knees up to his chest as his head falls.
Yura opens the door quietly, cautious to make as little sound as possible as he carefully shuts it behind him.
He sits near Siyoung. Not touching, not meeting his eyes. Because Yura is perceptive. He always has been. And Siyoung couldn't be more grateful.
After about five minutes of silence that felt more like five hours, Siyoung takes a muddled breath, and scoots ever-so-slightly closer, barely noticeable to anyone who isn’t looking.
“Hey,” Yura whispers.
Siyoung tilts his head to the side, just enough so he can see Yura’s side profile.
“Hey,” he murmurs back.
It’s silent again as Yura worries his lip, almost speaking before closing his mouth again, like he doesn’t know where or how to begin. After a few minutes, he grips the curb tight on either side of himself, trying to ease his trembling while he clears his throat.
“Which one of your members was it?” he whispers in Korean.
He doesn’t need to ask how Yura knows.
Siyoung stares at the sky, blinking back the tears welling up in his eyes.
“...Junhyuk,” he chokes out, a hair's breath of a whisper. “...My leader.” He can feel his voice break halfway through the word. Yura hums and nods.
“Kotaro called me earlier,” he whispers, a shaky, broken laugh spilling from his mouth. “I didn’t have the heart to pick up. I just let it ring.” He sees Yura’s head fall in the corner of his eye. “Hyeonseung too. I just couldn't…” he bites his lip. “...I turned it back off after that.”
Siyoung aches as he sees Yura trembling in his peripherals.
“I already miss them," Yura mumbles. "And I want to talk to them. But if I talk to them, that means we’re gonna have to say some sort of goodbye,” he chokes, sucking in a breath. “And I know I'll cry like a baby. I just...don’t think I’m ready to face that. Not yet. Not now. Not when they were all I knew for so long."
Siyoung's head falls too, shoulders shaking as he cries, hugging himself. “Deep down I know I’m not losing him. Or any of them, really. I know they’re always with me, but…” he shivers, burying himself deeper in his hoodie. “It hurts so bad,” he mumbles in quiet Japanese. "It feels weird doing this alone. I mean, not alone but-" he shrinks in on himself, wilting as he takes a deep breath to stop his rambling. "I knew it'd be like this when I moved. I knew I'd be starting over. But...I never imagined It would be like this."
Yura nods and inches closer, slow and steady until his leg presses flush to Siyoung’s. He reaches his hand up, gently running his fingers through the hair at Siyoung’s nape.
Siyoung almost whines, leaning into his touch just slightly.
When he finally manages to pull his head up, face messy, red, and splotchy with tears, he steals a quick glance, and Yura is the same. Silent tears running down his face as his shoulders shake.
Siyoung quietly eases into Yura’s touch, little sobs and hiccups spilling out as he crumbles. Then he leans away from Yura’s hand, and carefully, lightly, almost like he’s giving Yura a way out, gently lets his head fall onto Yura’s shoulder. He waits for a movement, any indicator that it is or isn’t okay. Yura stays motionless, his hand trailing down Siyoung’s back, feather light and soft before he drops it, resting it back between them.
Siyoung stares down at Yura’s fingers, his eyes taking in the tremors and tension. The need to be touching something. To have something to focus your brain. So he tentatively reaches a hand out, lifting it and cradling it into his hands delicately, his thumb tracing the lines of his palm.
Siyoung takes a quiet wheezy breath, eyes fixed on Yura’s hand, slowly sliding his fingers up Yura's palm before delicately slipping them between Yura's, staring at the way the tension eases in his grasp as their fingers interlace and whispers. “Can I tell you about them?”
Yura’s breath catches, and Siyoung can feel Yura’s eyes trained on him. He doesn’t look up. Yura lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and nods, his thumb rubbing small circles delicately on the side of Siyoung’s hand. “Always,” he says under his breath. “And…can I…? After…?”
“Of course.”
-
And suddenly nothing exists except them and their memories. A quiet bubble of hurt and love and heartbreak and laughter and everything in between, whispered into the night for both of them to hear. To tell someone else. To show how hard they've loved.
"Shouu is so nice," Siyoung mumbles. "Too nice. He'd stay awake forever if we wanted to be awake in there with him, no matter how tired he was. And he treated everyone so dearly even though he was away from home with no other Japanese members. He was so good to me and all the younger members. I don't know what I would've done without him. He's like family."
"And Junhyuk was our soul. We'd get tired and unmotivated while practicing, and he'd sit with us and make sure we were alright. Poked us until he made us laugh. He made practice so hard - He'd find the worst ways for us to practice - The most grueling and tiring option he could have possibly thought of. It was always a thousand times harder than the actual choreography. But every time, I remember him saying get up and do the actual movements - and suddenly the real movements were so much easier. So much lighter. He was always good at raising our spirits again when they were at our lowest - even if it sucks in the beginning part, and we complained and we all hated it...it made us better. He made us better."
"They've always been by my side." Yura starts. "I can't think of a time they weren't stuck to me like glue. After our group formed and we were all attached. None of us even cared at how little we were selling. We were just happy to be on stage. To be together. Then, after a while we could tell the company had given up. They stopped trying, they didn't have the funding, and our sales weren't enough to fix any of it. We all stayed close. Stayed friends. Stayed together. But, you know... survivals are tough. We split up and went to different ones, just to see if any of us could catch a break. Only some passed the auditions. Then Hyeonseung got eliminated so early, and it destroyed me. I just couldn't fathom him not being there with us. When we first met him he was so apprehensive and standoffish. But once we got in the debut group together, he really took us under his wing. He was so patient. He'd sit and talk us through the Korean if it was too fast, or help us if there was some cultural context we were missing. Now every chancee I can I start learning a new language. For every person I meet. I just try, even if I'm not great. Because Hyeonseung tried for Kotaro and I, even when he was so different at first and it meant so much to me..." He sniffles.
"It hurt so bad when he was eliminated. And when we drifted, I was crushed. I'm glad Kotaro and I were together, because I really don't know if I could've done it all on my own until we both got eliminated but...it still stung. It stung to watch the editing and see none of us getting filmed. Never capturing any of our good moments on camera. But it hurt so much more for this. For Kotaro... God-" Yura whimpers, "He deserved so much better. If only they've given him a chance maybe he would've..." Yura bites his lip, catching himself and not letting himself finish the what-if as the tears flow down.
His eyes are pleading for understanding, that he doesn't mean anything bad towards the members, but Siyoung doesn't have to try to understand. "I know..." he whispers as Yura's head falls atop of his.
Yura shakes and cries, hiding his face in Siyoung's hair. "You know..." he whispers, voice breaking. "You lead like them. Like a mix of all of them." Yura sits up and faces him, taking both of Siyoung's hands into his own. "I know that they aren't here, but they are, in a way. You always carry them with you," he murmurs. "And we feel it. You make us feel how they make you feel. Supported. Cared for. Safe."
Siyoung pouts and softens at the fondness in his voice.
"And you love like them," Siyoung murmurs. "With everything you have. You show it in quiet little ways in everything you do. In the way you care for everyone. In your patience and your observance. In the way you take care of people and bridge the gap when you communicate. Ways you wouldn't notice if they didn't see you every day. People who get close to you see everything you are. People see your love. They see your care. They see you."
They both just stare at each other after that, crying and smiling as they collapse, foreheads brushing together as their intertwined hands get promptly drenched with their tears. They both look down, squeezing each other's hands, grasping at reality and grounding themselves the only way they know how.
Something halfway between a laugh and a sob spills from Yura's mouth as he mumbles, "I'm really glad you're here."
Siyoung laughs in response, nuzzling his nose against Yura's with a heartbreaking tenderness. "I'm glad you're here too," he speaks softly. "You deserve it, you know that?"
"You do too. God you do too, have you seen yourself?" Yura whispers, breathless and smiling.
Siyoung laughs, deep and sincere. "Shut up and look in a mirror for one second," Siyoung whispers, brushing back Yura's hair.
Yura sighs, soft and fond as he brings his hands up to Siyoung's face, achingly gentle as it delicately cups it in his hands like he's something precious. "You know they're so proud of you," he says, his eyes glazed with tears and shining with sincerity as he wipes a stray tear away with his thumb.
Siyoung nods shakily, adoration bleeding through his pores as he pulls back and cups Yura's face. "And they're proud of you too," he mumbles. "We all are."
And Siyoung doesn't think he's ever hugged someone tighter in his life. They both hang on for dear life, fingers pressing into skin and fabric as they do anything to get closer as physically possible.
They both laugh, tears still falling and tiny hiccups still slipping through the cracks as they finally loosen up, yet still attached.
“We’ll be alright.” Yura whispers, staring up into the night sky at the stars above. It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah,” Siyoung whispers, nuzzling in closer. “We will.”
Yura shakily stands himself up, staring out into the night. The streetlights glow and shine, reflecting in his glossy eyes and the tear tracks on his face that neither of them can be bothered to hide. He looks down at Siyoung and offers his hand. "C'mon, it's late, and I'm sure they're waiting."
And Siyoung smiles, taking his hand with no hesitation.