"You smell nice today."

He looked at me funny. "Thanks? Do I not smell nice normally?"

I shook my head, "No, you always smell fine, but today you smell nice. Nicer. Is it a new soap you're using?"

He moved away from me slightly, that same expression on his face. "Yeah, I borrowed it from... Why do you bother smelling me, anyway?"

"I don't," I closed the distance between us again, "I just have a good nose. You didn't smell like you normally smell today. You smell a bit like our leader. I guess that's who you borrowed your soap from."

"Yeah, I did."

"Well, you smell nice. I like that smell on you more than I do on our leader. It clashes with his cologne."

He made a face that feigned thanks and turned away.

I'm not stupid. He thinks he is the only one who observes behavior, but he never has bothered to notice who is observing him. I have been this entire time. I can tell by the way that he turns away from me when I say certain things that he must think I'm an idiot or here to sabotage his very foundation, but I'm not. In my own way, I'm helping him. He needs help, even if he may think I'm hindering him. That's not my intention at all. I want to shove him into the spotlight, where he deserves to be. I want him to be noticed. I want everyone to see that he is an amazing individual in a group of amazing individuals.

Our line, "we are one," is deceiving. We can say that, and in the case of our split factions, yes, it is true that we are one group, in spirit. However, in actuality, we are still individuals striving for fame. We are climbing up a ladder together, towards a branch promised to hold all our weight, but we all secretly know that it can't. Some of us will be left behind for the sake of not having the branch break and fall. If life was fair, we would all be on that branch, together, as "one."

But life is never fair.

And as the six of us try so very hard to be on that branch, above our juniors and seniors, we tend to forget who might be left behind. We don't see them trailing, watching our backs as their pace slows and their breathing becomes too labored to carry on. We don't hear them calling for us to slow down while we speed up and away. It's a terrible race that we hadn't prepared ourselves to be in.

Unlike the others, I could see him fading behind us. Unlike the others, I have been reaching my hand out to him every time I see him faltering, even if he reluctantly grips it. He doesn't want my help. He doesn't like my help. Shorter people tend to hate being catered to. Those with cute faces dislike being given kindness because they're "so cute." For them, it is a curse to be made to look like a child forever. That was the curse given to him. His heart is fierce and strong, like my own, filled with the drive to be the best man either of us can be, but both of us are held back by looks that contradict our souls. We both desire to have our leader's cool charisma. I have slowly come to terms with the fact that I will never be seen for the passionate man that I am in my heart; he still sees his entire being as a liability. He has resigned himself to the fact that he must play cuteness in place of the not-cute youngest he lives with, but he will never relinquish his pride.

I envy him for that.

My shyness has always gotten in the way of me wanting to prove my worth as a strong individual. He, on the other hand, knows exactly who he is and I can see the defiance in his eyes. I can also see the pain that cascades behind each blink of his eyes. He doesn't enjoy his position in the slightest. He is the oldest, but reduced to acting like the youngest. It's not fair to him. That's never been his personality.

We walk past a long line of fans as we enter our next venue, and I can hear a few voices yelling his nickname. Mostly, I hear my own name, but as I hear the nickname that I so carelessly gave to him, I can see him holding back a wince. He hates that name. I know he hates that name. It's been said so many times now that it's become solidified as a name for him. It's a horrible nickname that was blurted out in a moment that I can never take back, but I can't apologize for it. It is because of that awful nickname that he is becoming more noticeable. People recognize him. They have something to associate him with. They hear that nickname and it becomes his face that they see.

That's what I want. I want everyone to know him. I want everyone to appreciate him.

I want everyone to love him.

I want them to love him as I love him. I doubt he even realizes that my real intent is that. If he knew my real intent, I'm certain he'd stop associating himself with me. I know him more than he knows himself at this point. I stand next to him in our predetermined formation, the lights of cameras flickering like strobes and I can see that he's miserable. His every smile is fake. Even when he tries to have fun, it seems too forced. I would give him advice, but he'd see it as help. Help is a threat. Help is weakness.

He doesn't want my help.

All I want to do is help, though. I want him to be more popular than I am. I think how much happier I would be if we switched places. I could disappear until I was needed and he could have all the adoration he desires without having to pretend to be someone he's not. It pains me to see him like this. No one else sees it. I don't think many of the fans see it. The press doesn't see it, media personalities don't see it, not even his "friends" see it.

I see it and it makes me want to do nothing more than to him further into the spotlight. If I have to say things that he thinks are idiotic, then so be it. If I have to nudge him into being cute, then I will. I just want for his happiness. I want him to be loved. If I can't love him the way I want to, then I want someone else to.

Of all the people in this world, he is the most worthy of love.