Hoya stands on that stage surrounded by the falling confetti and the bowed congratulations of the other groups for the second time. He knows that he’s happy—but there’s a reason why only Sungjong cries, and it’s not just because the other members are better at keeping their composure this time around.

As they ride home in the van, the other members singing along with the radio and laughing, Hoya sits in the back and stares out the window, thinking.

Later that night he and Dongwoo are in that familiar orientation: him on the couch, Dongwoo at the desk.

“What are you writing about?”

“Today,” Dongwoo replies serenely, his pen gliding across the page.

“Don’t you already have last week’s win written down?”

“Yeah?”

Hoya has to pause.

“Don’t you feel that…” he begins, carefully crafting the sentence so that Dongwoo will understand it and at the same time not sure if he wants to say it.

Dongwoo pauses and looks over his shoulder at the back of Hoya’s head.

“It was different this week, right?” Hoya asks.

“Yeah…” Dongwoo thinks for a second, tapping his pen against his cheek. “Somehow, things were calmer. It was less of a punch in the gut.”

Hoya’s brow is furrowed in thought. “I don’t know, I always thought I’d be happiest with that first place trophy, but this week, it just feels less…” Dongwoo waits for Hoya to finish his thought but Hoya just shakes his head and slides his legs off the couch, heading towards his bedroom. Last week seems to be fading already, forgotten in the wake of this week which in itself is only a pale echo of last week which will be forgotten in paler and paler iterations…

 “Goodnight, Hoya,” Dongwoo calls as his pen begins to glide across the page again.

“Night.” Hoya closes the bedroom door behind him. In the darkness he feels his way to his bed and sets his alarm clock for five the next morning.