It’s a close 2^nd place, lost to a singer that debuted only last year. A loss that was a perfectly reasonable expectation when the sales and voting numbers were calculated, but still somehow comes as a surprise.

Woohyun makes corny jokes on the ride home, and Dongwoo laughs contagiously at each one, but Hoya only feels a coffin lid pushing insistently down on his head. It takes all of his strength to keep his back straight under the weight as he stares out the window, watching the constellation of car light sweep past, faster than he can keep up with. He’s being taken out of the game before he’s even had a chance to properly compete.

When they get back to the dorm Hoya heads straight to his room. As he shuts the door behind him he sees Dongwoo sitting quietly at his desk, hands clasped in his lap, staring at the pages in front of him. His pen lies on the top of the desk, slowly rolling towards the edge.

Dongwoo thought long and hard in the car, even as he smiled and laughed at Woohyun’s empty jokes. A couple months ago there had begun a sudden shifting of public opinion – there was a sudden exodus of members from the fan club, and previously consistent groups’ sales had plummeted. He had always figured that the shifting was just a phase, the temporary adjustment of someone who’s been sitting in the same position for too long, followed by the settling back into that same default.

This loss, though, makes that harder to believe.

When he leans forward, there’s a familiar sharp pain in his stomach.  He closes his eyes and tightens his interlocked fingers. Dongwoo thinks that has something, maybe everything, to do with why they lost tonight.

Dongwoo hears a door creak and opens his eyes, guiltily straightening up and grabbing his pen. Hoya’s standing the doorway of his bedroom, probably unable to sleep. The dark was too oppressive and the quiet too eerie.

“Practice at 4:30 tomorrow.”

It’s not a question, and right then Dongwoo is grateful for that. Something to take his mind off of the steady throbbing in his stomach. Something that makes him believe they can fight this together.

So he just smiles.

Hoya nods curtly and closes the door. It’s so quiet that Dongwoo can hear the tinny beeps of the alarm clock as Hoya sets his alarm for tomorrow. Dongwoo looks at the still blank sheet of paper in front of him, the words stuck in his mind for the first time, unable to flow out. It’s not that there’s nothing to say. There’s plenty. It’s just that Dongwoo’s scared to write it.

An hour later, the notebook is back in its compartment, the fresh ink of only two words seeping into its pages.

Hoya lies awake in his bed, eyes boring into the darkness as he slowly discerns diamond-patterned stitching on the mattress above him. Only 2 more hours. 2 hours until he can get up again. He can’t stand waiting that long, he can’t even sleep. All that he can do is stare defiantly into the darkness.