Work Text:
The only reason Hyungwon's made it this far is his looks.
Hyungwon sounds like he's mumbling instead of singing.
Why isn't Hyungwon eliminated yet?
Hyungwon should've been eliminated instead of Yoonho.
Can Hyungwon even sing?
The criticism never stops. Whether it's from Twitter or Youtube comments or the No Mercy judges themselves, they all say one thing — he isn't good enough. And it's true. Hyungwon knows that. Even if he makes it into the group, it’ll most likely be because of his visuals — something that is more luck than actual talent. And if he does make it in, what are the fans going to say about him? He’s nothing when compared to the other trainees. He isn’t exceptional at singing or dancing or anything at all. In all their performances, he’s just — there.
It’s the insecurity that has him retching in the toilet before every performance, until he feels so empty, bare, devoid of anything, no talent, nothing. It’s the fear of messing up that hacks away at his voice until all that’s left is a barely-stable string of monotonous notes. And it’s the threat of not debuting, of being kicked out and left behind, that looms over him constantly, snaking around his throat and constricting until he feels like he’s going to suffocate from the pressure.
There are days when he has to take a break in the middle of practice, has to run to the nearest toilet and duck into a stall, has to take several deep breaths until he stops feeling like he’s going to self-combust. There are nights when it gets too much and he finds his carefully-constructed walls crumbling, falling to shambles as he cries in the shower, choked-back sobs muffled by the running water.
It’s nights like these that Hyungwon lies awake for what seems like hours and hours, staring at the ceiling, with only the faint glow of Hyunwoo’s nightlight to accompany the thoughts and fears pervading his mind.
Tonight is one of those nights, and Hyungwon slowly descends the bunk bed ladder, each footstep careful, hesitant, afraid that even the tinest creak of wood will wake his roommates up.
It isn’t that he doesn’t like sleeping alone. In fact, it’s the complete opposite — amongst the four of them that share the big room, he’s the one who occupies his bed the most. It’s a safe, private place, where he can stare at the wall in silence and replay every mistake he’s made in his mind until he knows how to fix them, until he has the confidence to face the others again.
But sometimes, he needs someone to talk to, someone to reassure and comfort him when the burden gets too heavy for him to bear.
So he climbs into Wonho’s bed, edging under the covers until he’s pressed up against his back. Wonho turns, arm hooking around Hyungwon’s waist and pulling him close, letting Hyungwon lie on his other arm and bury his head into the crook of his neck, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent.
“Can't sleep?” Wonho asks, eyes crinkling, and Hyungwon mumbles a soft “yeah,” voice tired and raspy. Wonho seems to accept the answer easily, and he drops the conversation, the two of them falling into a comfortable silence.
It’s a common occurrence, really. Hyungwon isn’t sure when it started — somewhere in between the pair mission and the group mission that came chasing hot on its heels, he supposes. They’d both been tired and worn out and needed someone’s company, so why not? It was a convenient, mutually beneficial relationship. Wonho needed someone to take care of him when he falls sick, to massage out the kinks in his joints after dance practice and make sure he ate proper meals, and Hyungwon needed someone to be there for him, someone to support him and cheer him on. But somewhere along the line, Hyungwon had let his guard down, and now — now he finds himself having to deal with feelings that are most likely unrequited.
“Uh,” he starts awkwardly, not knowng how to broach the subject. Wonho responds with a muffled “mm?”, having almost fallen back asleep, and Hyungwon finds his words lodged in his throat, suddenly afraid to know Wonho’s answer.
“Who do you think will get eliminated next?” he says instead, trying to sound nonchalant, blasé even, but his voice catches noticeably and Wonho reaches up to ruffle his hair.
“Hey, don’t worry, okay? Just do your best, I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he reassures, voice soothing.
“But I,” Hyungwon blurts out, his fears catching up to him and spilling out of his throat, “I’m not good like the others, I can’t sing like Kihyun, can’t dance like Hyunwoo.”
Wonho exhales, breath fanning out across the top of Hyungwon’s head. “You’re better than the other Starship trainees,” he murmurs, “you made it into No Mercy."
“If…if I don’t make it…” Hyungwon starts, voice quiet and shaky, “if I’m eliminated—“
“No, stop it,” Wonho cuts in, hand cupping Hyungwon’s cheek, “have more faith in yourself, okay?”
Hyungwon shakes his head, fingers fisting in Wonho’s shirt. “They’d choose Seokwon,” he says, as if it’s a foregone conclusion, as if he’s already accepted the thought long ago. “He’s better than me. The only reason they’d choose me would be because of my face, and that— that isn’t even a talent—” he breaks off, swallowing hard in an attempt to hold back the tears.
“No, the reason they’d choose you would be because you have potential,” he murmurs, the hand around Hyungwon’s waist rubbing soothing circles into the small of his back. “Stop being so harsh on yourself. You’re a lot better than you think you are. Your voice is pleasant to listen to and you dance well, okay? You do have potential. Maybe you don’t see it, but I do.”
It’s those words, the words that no one has ever said to him, the first ever acknowledgement of his skills that tears apart the remaining shreds of the walls he’d learnt to build after every setback, every mistake. He tries to formulate a reply but the words just won’t come and all of a sudden he’s crying, tears forcing their way past his shut eyelids, and fuck, he shouldn’t have started this, shouldn’t have dragged Wonho into his mess. Wonho has enough things to worry about without him adding to the list of problems, and the thought of being a burden to him as well has Hyungwon choking out the only words he can think to say, “I’m sorry—“
And then Wonho’s hugging him, for real this time, pulling Hyungwon close and pressing tender kisses to the crown of his head as Hyungwon finally breaks, silent tears staining the sleeve of Wonho’s shirt.
Wonho lifts his chin with gentle fingers, smiling lightly down at him as he brushes away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “It’s okay to cry sometimes, you know.”
Hyungwon can only nod, the tears prickling behind his eyes as he tries to blink them away, smiling weakly up at Wonho. “Thanks,” he whispers, voice hoarse and raspy from crying, “really, thank you.”
He falls asleep to the steady sound of Wonho’s heartbeat.
( the next day, before the final mission, their gazes meet right as hyungwon’s about to go onstage, and he knows that no matter what he does, there’ll always be someone who will support him, every step of the way.
he sings better than he’s ever sung before. )