The Got7 members stumbled their way into their dorm, tired out from the rehearsals, schedules, performances and, for the first time, euphoria after a dream-like week. The week had started relatively normal, Jackson had his birthday, they celebrated with a simple cake, joked and hung out like guys did. It was right in the beginning of their Fly comeback promotions so they didn’t overdo it and Jackson had joked about the timing of his birthdays. They could never party cause it’s usually in the midst of packed schedules.

“Just wait until the day my birthday lands during non-promotion time,” Jackson promised with a maniacal gleam in his eyes, “then I’ll make sure you guys will have such a great time you’d remember it for the rest of your lives!”

Jinyoung had to laugh at this. “Yeah right,” replied Jackson’s same-aged friend, “You’d probably make us do something we’d regret for the rest of our lives.”

Instantly, Jackson pulled his infamous Wang Puppy expression, complete with his eyes opened wide in ‘innocence’ and a droopy pout that was made even more pronounced because he had cream on his lips from the birthday cake. “Why do you think of me like that, Junior-shi?” whined Jackson, addressing Jinyoung using the mock formality that he usually used as a weapon against his same-aged friend.

It was JB who reacted by pouncing on Jackson, knocking Jackson off-balance from where he was sitting on the bed and smothered the younger boy with his considerable body weight. Muffled yelps for his leader to get off him could be heard from where Jackson was buried but the others had taken JB’s lead so all seven were now squeezed into the form of a human sandwich. After a lot of grunting, yelling and squeals, the members finally rolled off one by one to reveal Jackson who was red in the face from the ‘tender, loving care’ s had showered him with.

“You have to pay for my hospital bill,” groaned Jackson.

JB laughed and gave Jackson a sharp slap on his that made Jackson yelp even louder. “Enough jokes. We have stages tomorrow. Everyone go to bed,” JB ordered in full leader mode and everyone did as they were told, for once. It really was late and there was a week of stage performances starting from The Show the next day. Right before going to bed, however, JB gave his new roommate a clap on his shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Jackson,” said JB in his low voice, mussing up Jackson’s platinum blonde hair as he ran his fingers through it before climbing into bed.

“Thanks, hyung,” replied Jackson with a yawn, eyes already closed.

Like I said, relatively normal.

Until things started happening to them. Things that they had dreamt of, and hoped would happen, but never dared hope too much because it was painful to deal with the disappointment. They’d joke about it, oh yes, laugh about what they’d say and how they’d react, predicting tears on every side, even practise speeches all in jest. They would promised themselves that they’d work harder, that the next time they’d do better. But always, always, that feeling of wishing for something so badly tinged with fear that it might not happen was lodged in the core of their hearts. They didn’t speak of it to each other – they couldn’t. They just gave each other encouragement, that things will be better, that good things come to those who wait. It’s just… what if they were always left waiting?

Until it happened.

It finally happened.

It was one show.

Then it was two. Jackson bawled openly on and behind stage.

Then it was three. Jackson still couldn’t keep the tears down.

Then it was four. This broke him because it was the thing made of plastic and chrome that he had held in his hands practically every week but it always left to leave with someone else. This time, though, this time it left his hands but found its home in JB’s palm. He couldn’t give space to himself to feel, though, he had to say goodbye to his co-MC whom he was really sad was leaving the show. He’d just have to deal with his emotions later. He fully expected to cry, probably worse than the time he cried with Jinyoung in a corner of the studio. But as he sat in the van to go to dinner, the tears hadn’t come. It was suddenly as if he were numb, as if the week had already taken up every single ounce of all the emotional capacity he held in his heart and body. Were there no more tears to cry? While he hadn’t bawled, he did feel as if he were walking in a daze. There was a happy euphoria that had surrounded them since the second show and now… was it wearing off?

Back to where this narrative started – the Got7 members stumbled their way into their dorm, tired out from the rehearsals, schedules, performances and, for the first time, euphoria after a dream-like week.

They said good night to each other in the usual way but there were smiles accompanying the tired grunts and mumbles of ‘night’. Switching off the light in JB’s room that he now shared, Jackson got into bed, pulling the thin blanket up to his mid-riff. JB and Youngjae’s complaints had been justified. There was no middle ground in this room – either frigid cold or boiling hot. In spring though, it was slightly better. He closed his eyes, snuggling his head into his pillow. Jackson had expected to fall asleep fast but even after JB fell asleep as signalled by his leader’s deep and relaxed breathing, Jackson was still awake.

‘Come on, now, Jackson,’ he scolded himself sternly, ‘you have a horribly busy week ahead of you.’ Squeezing his eyes shut, he started counting sheep. It must have worked because the next time he opened his eyes, it was 4am but Jackson was restless. He couldn’t stay still. He turned his head so his eyes could trace JB’s outline on the bed next to his. JB was sleeping on his side, the broad shoulders looking even broader. JB was fine. JB could sleep.

Then why couldn’t he?

Biting back a sigh, Jackson his side. Tugging down the pillow so that his head rested on half of it while he gripped the other half in his hands. He should be happy, right? The fulfilment and exhilaration had been at such intense levels – it was like the thrill he felt when he finished unwrapping his presents and lifted out items that he had long wished for. It was like the thrill he felt when he first heard he was going to get to go home for the holidays. It was like the thrill he felt when he was informed that he had been given permanent gigs in shows. This week had felt like that thrill, except that it was stronger and constant, stretching days. It was odd to go to sleep feeling so gratified but it was even odder to wake up feeling the same way only to have the thrill prolonged again by another plastic trophy. In the years he had trained, had he dreamed of such a week? In his wildest, most wishful dreams, maybe. Did he think it would come true? Honestly, he didn’t know. His main aim had been to debut and make music. Anything else would come as they would. But, what if… what if it were all a dream and when he next woke up, the week hadn’t happened? Was that why he was afraid of falling asleep? Afraid that the beautiful dream would end?

Biting his lip, he threw off his blanket and got up. He had to check – to see – to allow himself to find out if it had been real.

Very quietly, he tiptoed over to the door and just as silently, opened it. Glancing at JB to make sure that he hadn’t woken JB up, he eased his body out of the room and closed the door behind him. In the darkness with the dim light of streetlights infiltrating the room through the thick curtains, Jackson began to make his way to the mantelpiece. If it had been real, that was where they would be – their plastic pieces with plastic plaques that oddly acknowledged years and years of hard work and passion.

A few steps away, however, Jackson stopped in his tracks. Did he want to find out? Did he really? What if the trophies weren’t there? What if the mantelpiece was empty except for the gifts their fans had given them that they had placed there to remind themselves that there were others who loved and supported them?

Standing frozen, Jackson wrestled with the desire to both find out whether it was reality or that this had all been a dream. It was absolutely silent in the living room for Coco had been given to a caretaker for the week cause they’d be too busy to look after her. It was silent except for him, standing there in the middle of the living room like a fool. This isn’t like him. He usually knew what he wanted and went for it. If he wanted to find out, he would. But this time, he was too hesitant. Was he turning into a coward? So what if it weren’t real? Does that mean it’s the end of his ambitions? Does that mean the end of Got7? The answer was no. Of course it wasn’t the end. They’d still continue doing what they loved because there were those who loved them enough to buy their albums, come to their fansigns, go to their events, wait at airports. Fans did all these things yet Jackson always felt undeserving. So yeah, maybe if this week had been a dream, then reminding himself that fans love them would be enough.

Taking a deep breath, Jackson stepped forward until he knew he was standing in front of the mantelpiece. But his eyes were closed. Reminding himself once again that even if it weren’t true, he’d just have to pick himself up and work harder. Clenching his jaw, hands balling into tight fists, he forced his eyes to open. Just a squint. Nope, couldn’t see a thing. Slightly wider? He caught spots of things dully reflecting the streetlight. Were those spots from the reflective surfaces of gifts? Finally opening his eyes, his gaze focused on the silver ornament perched on a black block.

Inhaling deeply, he lifted up one hand but it inched forward so slowly that Jackson wondered if his body itself was trying to avoid any possibility that he was just imagining things. Gradually, after long moments during which his heart seemed to have slowed, his body tense, the tips of his fingers grazed the object. The cold solid surface reassured him. He let his fingers brush along it for a while before grasping it to hold it closer. His fingers told him it was real. His eyes told him it was real. He raised it to his lips. His lips told him it was real.

It was real.

That one fact took a long, long time to sink in. Who knows how long Jackson would have stood there, until the next morning perhaps, if he didn’t hear a low voice from someone who had approached him unnoticed because he was too absorbed in trying to confirm what was reality and what wasn’t.

“Hey,” came Mark’s voice, raspy and heavy with sleep. Or perhaps lack of sleep.

“Mark,” replied Jackson in greeting. He didn’t look up though, his eyes still fixed on the trophy in his hands.

Mark came to stand at Jackson’s side, his eyes also focusing on the Inki trophy, looking at it over Jackson’s shoulder.

They stood in silence for a while until… until Jackson needed to know.

“Is-” his voice hitched and he had to clear his throat, “is this real?”

“Jacks,” murmured Mark, warm palm coming up to rest on Jackson’s shoulder. He could sense Jackson’s insecurity. He knew that no matter how much Jackson would laugh and declare that they just had to work harder, Jackson craved for affirmation in their music but Jackson would never admit it. Jackson was happy that he could make people laugh. Jackson was happy to be anyone’s shoulder to lean on. Jackson was happy just feeling needed but Mark knew these awards went beyond being happy. He knew that deep down Jackson was always worried that he wasn’t talented enough, that he was holding the group back because his vocals weren’t up to par, because his rapping was hit and miss, because musically, he knew he wasn’t all that. Mark knew because, simply because Mark had the same fear. They never voiced it but in the nights they spent alone on the roof of their old dorm as trainees, they could see the fear echoed in the other.

“Is it?” asked Jackson, his voice quivering now, his fingers gripping the trophy tighter as if it was going to disappear.

“Gaga,” Mark whispered. He was about to say more but he was suddenly occupied in trying to catch Jackson’s body as the younger boy swayed on his feet. Dropping to their knees, Mark heard Jackson try to stifle a sob. Feeling the tears start to swell in his own eyes, Mark just flung both arms around Jackson’s body, one around his shoulders and back while the other wrapped around Jackson’s waist.

“M-Mark,” sobbed Jackson, burying his face in Mark’s chest, his hands still holding the piece of plastic that was now sandwiched between them, digging into both their bodies but neither tried to pull away or ease off on how tight they were glued together. They needed this release and Mark, now Mark didn’t have to be strong because there were no cameras around, no fans. He didn’t have to be the oldest hyung. He didn’t have to be firm, no-nonsense Mark. He could just be Mark – the Mark who had trained hard in dreams of debuting even when it seemed like there was little hope. The Mark who had seen Jackson at his worst, the Mark who had let Jackson see him at his worst.

“G-gaga,” Mark choked out before his tears also started falling. Shifting his body a little, Mark coaxed Jackson into a position where they were both sitting on the floor. Jackson was pliant, he didn’t care, not as long as Mark’s arm that offered comfort and assurance were still there. One of Mark’s hands also released its grip on Jackson’s body to touch the trophy.

And so there they sat on the living room’s hardwood floor, two young adults who had left their homes and families far away. Two young adults who shared more than a couple of similarities. Two individuals who could find no other emotional outlet than to cry their hearts out no matter if they were talkative or quiet by nature because what they were feeling was beyond words.

After quite a while, Jackson’s sobs ceased in place of hiccups. He was a mess, eyes red and swollen, nose red and running, cheeks tear-stained and flushed and yet, Mark found himself brushing Jackson’s tears away. He was probably smearing them more in process but he found comfort in it. The Jackson that was usually strong and buoyant no matter the situation rarely exposed his vulnerability like this, only with the members… only with certain members – and Mark was one of them.

“Ssh,” Mark hushed with a laugh though it sounded hoarse thanks to the tears he had shed, “we’ll wake the others.”

Jackson’s reply was a whimper as he buried his face more firmly into the crook of Mark’s neck. Taking a few deep breaths, he finally managed to say something legible after all the gibberish made up of sobs, half-uttered words and attempts at communication. “It’s… just that, it’s like a dream.”

Mark hummed in agreement because he too had a hard time digesting the emotional rollercoaster they had been on.

“I was just…” gulped Jackson, “I was scared it wasn’t real.”

Mark huffed. “So you came out to check?” Mark asked, his hand running up and down Jackson’s upper arm in soothing .

“Yeah,” Jackson replied before finally picking his head up to look at Mark, “silly huh?” There was a ghost of a grin on Jackson’s face that signalled he was regaining composure and beginning to see how irrational the whole situation was.

“You bet it’s silly,” said Mark, nudging Jackson’s side with his elbow. Turning to look squarely at Jackson, he told Jackson in a whisper, “I did the same thing too.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“The Mcountdown one.”

“Oh.” Jackson looked down at the trophy that was still gripped in his hands. “So I’m not the only silly one in Got7.”

Mark chuckled, “Of course you’re not.”

They sat in silence for a while longer before Mark finally suggested they try to get some sleep. Jackson agreed but just as Mark made to stand up, Jackson reached for Mark’s wrist to tug him down again.

“Hey Mark?”

“What is it Jackson?”

“Remember what you wrote in my birthday letter? The one in Japan?”

“Right after debut? Yeah. Why?”

“You said it’s going to be a long ride. I don’t know about long but it’s been one heck of a ride so far.”

Mark nodded, wondering where Jackson was going with this. Jackson often rambled when he had something really important to say. He’d talk about other stuff as a preamble and the punchline would always be at the end so Mark waited.

“And?” Mark asked in encouragement for Jackson to continue talking.

“And… I’m glad we made it together, Mark. Really glad we made it together,” said Jackson with a beaming smile. Through the tears, snot and everything else, Mark could tell that Jackson had put everything of himself into those words. Hit again by the realisation of how much training together, debuting, laughing and crying together meant to them, Mark suddenly felt an overwhelming urge of raw emotion that threatened to block up his airway and start the waterworks again. Rather than give in, he hugged Jackson with every ounce of strength in his body.

“Same, Jackson,” breathed Mark into Jackson’s hair, his nose and lips pressed against Jackson’s head. “Just… same.” Mark felt Jackson nod and after squeezing him one more time, Mark released Jackson and pulled the younger boy to his feet.

“Now we really should go to bed.”

“Yeah,” agreed Jackson, rubbing his eyes with his fists after he finally placed the trophy back on the mantelpiece. “Coordi noona’s won’t be happy tomorrow.”

Mark scoffed and gave Jackson’s a pat as he pushed the younger towards JB’s room. “Sleep Jacks.”

“I’ll try,” Jackson said because he couldn’t promise that he would. Just before he closed the door though, he said in a loud whisper that was enough to span the length of the living room towards where Mark was heading, “And Mark?”

Mark turned to look over his shoulder, “Yea?”

“Really really glad.”

“Same, Jackson. Same.”