D-21

October 10th, 2:56 AM

Hansol has been in deep thought lately, pondering over what was and what is. Who he was and who he is.

Old memories from the last four years resurface in his consciousness and the image of a pale and lanky kid appears behind his tired eyelids when he lies down in bed at night.

When the sounds of the bustling city and his noisy members fade into a faint buzzing at the back of his brain, that's when Hansol tends to think the loudest. That's when his head fills with copious musings, most of them far too ridiculous to translate into coherent human words.

It's usually a pleasant pastime — something he does in order to forget about things that worry him throughout the day; like his family's well being and the placement of SEVENTEEN's songs on the charts, or the hate comments he happens to stumble upon while doing his daily monitoring.

Hansol prefers to push all those prickling thoughts aside in favor of nicer ones: innocent dreams, silly assumptions and meaningless theories that would surely result in his immediate admission to a mental facility if ever voiced out loud. To the wrong person, that is.

Hansol likes to share his ideas; it helps him immerse himself in the 'other reality'. The one that comes after everyone else has gotten to sleep, when the harsh lights of Seoul hide behind the thick curtains of the dorm and he's left alone with his restless mind, building countless air castles on top of each other in the dark spot above his head.

On most nights he'd already be in someone else's bed by now, whispering his most secret and private thoughts into a delicate shoulder, a familiar and warm hand brushing hair behind his ear as he slowly drifts into sleep.

But this time it's different. This time he can't allow himself the luxury of company. This time he's truly alone with the aching in his chest, trying to organize his swirling emotions into less of a complete mess.

This time instead of comfortable rambling about nothing in particular, he's forced to remember things that have happened a long time ago in a new, confusing — and dare he say scary — light.

Hansol remembers that little kid he once was — the awkward fourteen year old boy with the sheepish, crooked smile.

He remembers how unsure he was back then. Unsure he would be able to work toward his dream. Afraid he wasn't talented enough and won't survive the tough competition. Frightened out of his wits from meeting the other boys — the other trainees whom he would have to live with and practice alongside to and fight against to earn a spot in a group that may or may not debut one day.

But as it turned out, he had nothing to be scared of. Because just beside that deathly quiet and terrified child, always stood another boy — his perfect opposite.

A boy who came up to him with a warm welcome smile on the first time they were introduced to each other. A boy who was so excited to discover that the two of them were the same age, and immediately decided they would become best of friends.

The boy who laughed and joked and talked the loudest out of all the other guys. The boy who poked fun at the older trainees like it was nothing, and had a know-it-all, easygoing attitude.

That boy was the same one to reach out for him on every available chance, to consistently ask for hugs and kisses, to naturally lace their hands together in silent promise. A promise to be there for him until the very end (he did often say that he would always protect Hansol, that it was his duty as the older one).

The boy who helped him come out of his shell four years ago was the same boy Hansol would mostly likely be curled up in his arms right now, if not for the fact that everything was entirely different this time.

Hansol goes over all the multiple changes that occurred in his life ever since the beginning of his journey to become an idol, from the least major to the most prominent.

For starters, they are only thirteen members when once they used to be a lot more. He knows that Samuel made his debut with another company, they even met a few times. But aside from that, he hasn't heard much about the other three except that Doyoon was training to become an actor.  

Hansol remembers little, unimportant details from the past. Like games they would often play together on 17tv and how during those games, Seungcheol would roughhouse anyone who had dared cross paths with him (now he is far more gentle with the others). How MingMing and Junhui were always together, practically attached at the hip (MingMing is one of the four trainees who've quit). How Jihoon would make sure everyone got the choreography just right (Hoshi is the main dancer of SEVENTEEN), and how Jeonghan used to be so quiet when he first joined the company (now he tends to speak his mind more often than not).

Hansol remembers everyone with black, straight hair and himself with a brown frizzy mop on top of his head, a lot shorter than what he is now and wearing braces.

God, he used to detest those things with an undying passion; he was very conscious about his looks back then. He was very conscious about a lot of things back then.

Yes, everything is different now. Everyone has changed somehow. Now they were wearing stylish clothes and sporting bright hair colors. They had a packed schedule and thousands of fans all over the world. Hansol was now called Vernon — Seventeen's 'half' member and '4D' rapper — and although he was a tall, conventionally good looking guy with straight, perfectly white teeth (and also a lot less self-conscious) in a sense he still felt the same way as four years ago.

Hansol had never imagined that their fame would skyrocket in just one year of activities.

The memories from his trainee days are still very fresh in his mind.

How could he just let go of more than three years of his life? Three years full of laughter and joy, three whole years full of countless hardships and tormenting despair. And in some instances, full of relentless hunger pangs that would keep him wide awake at night and long-lasting cold bites — those times he can't possibly forget.  

Those three years preceding his current reality as a semi-well known musician are maybe the most substantial years of his life.  And now— Now everything is just... so strikingly different.

Although Hansol had learned how to welcome all the changes in his life with open arms, they've still been a little difficult for him to digest; like a scar that remained on his skin when every other part of his body seemed to rejuvenate.

Change was something inevitable, Hansol knew that. Adapting new routines and ways of thinking was something everyone was ought to do as they went through life. It was a good thing. Changes were what got him out of the practice room and brought him to the where he is today, performing on stage.

It was just that there were some things that Hansol wasn't quite ready to accept yet. Or rather, things he couldn't grasp the full meaning of.

For four long years Hansol had always had one thing that he could be completely certain of. One thing he was convinced would always stay exactly the same.

That thing was him and Seungkwan.

But not anymore.

Their relationship didn't change, and at the same time It couldn't be any more different.

Seungkwan still acted like he was the taller one out of the two of them, the one to comfort Hansol and tell him everything is going to be alright with a radiating grin. He still pinched his cheeks and ruffled his hair messily like they've never moved on from the time they were both living in their own little world — two naive kids playing foolish games in a green practice room to pass time until their indeterminate debut date.

Hansol doesn't know when this behavior started to irk him. Doesn't know when Seungkwan's doting affection began to result in scorching-hot needles that collected around his heart instead of the pleasant warmth he was so accustomed to.

He couldn't trust himself not to do something stupid in light of these new feelings. And so, he took his sweet time trying to understand them — dissecting each and every leap his chest made in sight of one of Seungkwan's careless smiles, carefully examining the jolts of heat that spread across his entire body when the other came too close for comfort and he could feel that sickeningly sweet scent, enveloping his whole being.

Sometimes, when Hansol needed to release some pent up tension he'd go take a long, hot shower. And as the rushing water filled the silence of the washroom, when the sharp tapping of water drops echoed through the steamy air and obscured the sound of his quickening breath, that's when he'd lean one forearm on the cool tiles of the shower wall and let his mind wander to dark, forbidden places. Places he knew he should have never allowed his thoughts an access to.

But no matter how many times Hansol had tried to force the images out of his head, somehow he always ended up coming with a certain boy's name hissed through his gritted teeth. And when that happened, a wave of guilt would instantly wash over him and he'd feel like the biggest piece of in the all of existence. It was wrong — so ing wrong — and it definitely didn't do Seungkwan any justice. His best friend was way more than just a 'nice piece of ' to fuel his disgusting fantasies with.

It was dangerous, this weird attraction. The strange longing that tugged at Hansol's intestines whenever Seungkwan looked at him with that unbearable tenderness in his eyes, peeking at him through agonizingly long lashes.

Hansol didn't understand any of it. So he took his sweet time trying to understand — turning in his mind every single memory from the last four years in a desperate attempt to untie the knot of questions sitting heavily at the pit of his stomach.

Even on this specific night, Hansol knows damn well that he isn't even the least close to understanding. He sighs into his hands with all the exhaustion that piles up in his lungs as he slowly rolls onto his back, listening closely to anything but his excruciating thoughts. Eventually the deafening quiet of the room pains him too much and he sits up on his mattress, looking at the rising motions of the peaceful bodies around him and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

Hansol shifts the center of his weight onto his toes as he lifts himself off of the bed (carefully, as to not to wake his bunk-mate up) and shuffles towards the door with staggering limbs. His throat is so-so dry. His hand clamps around his neck tightly as he swallows the bitter lump of nerves at the back of his mouth.

Hansol walks straight to the kitchen, not stopping even once in his tracks, fearing his thoughts would take over if he so much as cease moving. Once he gets to his destination, he reaches blindly into one of the cupboards and grabs a glass from inside, closing it as quietly as he can right after.  

"Can't sleep, huh?"

Hansol immediately turns around at the sound of a soft voice. He blinks a couple of times before he can draw the faint lines of a wry silhouette in the darkness.

"Yes..."

His eyes gradually adjust to the black surroundings and the blurry form in front of him now wears very distinct and all-too recognizable features: a set of kind, cat-like eyes and a gentle smile.

Hansol goes over to where Jisoo is perched on the kitchen counter, just a few steps away from the sink. He opens the tap and starts filling his glass, the water almost spilling over when his brain inevitably starts working again, but Jisoo clears his throat and pulls him out of his stupor before that can happen.

Hansol looks up at him in a startle and retracts his hand from the sink, shutting the water off with the other.

"I was thinking about my mom," Jisoo whispers into his own already-empty glass. "You?" He directs his gaze ever-so-slightly toward Hansol.

He didn't get to see her over Chuseok, Hansol reminds himself guiltily. What right does he have to feel bad about something as stupid and simple as a mere feeling — a frivolous emotion, a passing thought; nothing concrete. Moreover, how does Hansol even dare feel so utterly miserable about something he can't even begin to describe with rational words? His family didn't live on the opposite end of the planet, after all. His worries were so small in comparison.

"Nothing, really," Hansol says and stands at the other side of the sink. "Just stuff..."

Jisoo hums and drums his fingertips on his glass with light, calculated motions, letting a heavy blanket of silence settle between them.

Hansol can't bring himself to drink and all he can think of is how much his throat is burning.

"I'm going back to bed," Jisoo announces quietly after a while and puts his glass in the sink. "Goodnight, man."

"Yeah, you too."

Jisoo makes his way to the kitchen entrance, and just when it seems like he'll disappear into the dark stillness of the house, he spins around and gives Hansol a quizzical look.

"Are you okay?" he questions in English, tiny wrinkles forming on his forehead.

Hansol's throat is on fire and his heart starts hammering against his ribcage in a worrying rate. He's almost convinced that Jisoo is able to hear the loud thumps in his chest because the older's face twists in something that he can only describe as pity.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Hansol nods slowly, and makes a point of looking Jisoo in the eye. His hands are shaking and he presses them rigidly against the countertop behind him, the harsh sensation lulling him into strangely comforting numbness.

The older breathes a sigh of relief at Hansol's words and a thin smile pulls at the corners of his lips.

"Goodnight, Vernon."

"Goodnight, Josh."

Once Jisoo is completely out of the kitchen and Hansol can't hear the sound of his footsteps anymore, he tightens his grip on the water glass and brings it to his lips with a single swift motion, drinking everything in one gulp.

Hansol chokes when a certain face flashes vividly in front of his eyes. The sudden vision in turn, reduces him to a fit of violent coughs, back hunched over the sink and hands grasping at its edges almost desperately as he gasps for air. Eventually, he manages to come back to his senses and his body limply slides to the floor, head banging on one of the drawers on his shameful way down.

Hansol groans in pain and rubs the fresh bruise that's beginning to swell up on his forehead. It hurts. It hurts really badly.


, he's so ing stupid.