Honestly I have a lot of fear. I was scared of this position…

In the days leading up to the final evaluation, Minhyun felt the distance between him and Jonghyun gape, and then chasm. By some miraculous of fate, they had been placed in the same team for nearly every evaluation, except for the position eval.

He remembered that particular performance very clearly. During the practices, he felt himself slip back into his own element, letting melodies roll off his tongue with practiced ease, laughing carelessly with the rest of his group members, building a camaraderie with Jaehwan from mutual respect and a little bit of envy—and for the first time in a very long time, he had felt at peace and happy even without the company of his best friends. The weather in his brain cleared a little bit and he waited patiently as the sun slowly climbed out from behind the clouds.

He seemed to rediscover the core of his dream—the blindingly passionate love he had for music, for singing—and even though at times his heart ached nostalgically for the exasperated look on Youngmin’s face when he would sing during their naptimes in their designated Nu’est van, he nevertheless enjoyed being in the company of those who appreciated the art of music the same way he did.

The feeling of standing on stage, letting the voices and instruments wash over his skin and spirit was one that he cherished and could never let go of.

But more so than his own performance, he remembered Jonghyun’s. The way his black stage costume stood out against his pale skin, the way his voice sliced through the backing track during his rap, and the way his eyes seemed to burn through the camera lens when he looked at it.

Minhyun had stared at the screen in the green room in awe, just like all the other trainees had, letting the words Jonghyun had written sink into his mind and imprint them somewhere in his gyri. It was always such a wonder watching Jonghyun perform—he rarely had a chance to do so as they usually performed together, and perhaps he had forgotten about the stage presence Jonghyun commanded so easily.

He also remembered the results of that evaluation: Jonghyun placing number one and the world finally righting itself after being tilted too far on its axis for too long. He remembered the relief, the pride, the love flooding his heart relentlessly as he watched Jonghyun climb the stairs to the top of the pyramid, lowering himself slowly onto the number one throne. His expression had been vaguely uneasy, a little bashful, but he had been happy, and Minhyun loved the wild look in his eyes.

Minhyun remembered the way Jonghyun leaned down and looked straight at him, smiling, and the way time teasingly rewinded to days when there was less fear and frustration, and more carefree confidence and soft winds blowing through Jonghyun’s hair. For a second, it seemed almost as if time would remain in the past instead of jolting back to the present.

Minhyun remembered the way Jonghyun’s voice wavered at the beginning of the greeting he led when they were bowing to the national producers, but he also remembered the way it gained strength as he continued speaking—his words echoing lightly through the sound studio, touching Minhyun on the shoulder and whispering that everything was going to be alright.

It had been his favorite arc of the program thus far, even though he hadn’t been with Jonghyun. He loved singing, and he loved watching Jonghyun perform, and more than all of that, he loved watching the look on his best friends’ face when Jonghyun took the number one title that seemed to promise that their dream had hope, that their dream wasn’t going to fizzle out and then vanish.

The concept evaluation brought the two of them back together, and wordlessly once again, Jonghyun accepted the title of leader. Minhyun remembered when he had first pushed that title onto Jonghyun during their group evaluation days and the way Jonghyun had looked at him with nervous caution when he first pitched the idea. Minhyun had watched the way his eyelashes fluttered with hesitance, the way he swallowed his reluctance and almost unwillingly accepted the position, and the way he seemed to inevitably fall flawlessly into the role like it had been molded for him. The title of nation’s leader wasn’t one that had been given to him carelessly—it was perfect for him, but Minhyun always felt a little bit apologetic towards Jonghyun when he saw the way he pushed himself harder and farther to live up to the expectations the nation had for him, and even more terrifyingly, the expectations Jonghyun had for himself.

For the final evaluation, though, the two of them had been separated again, and it was incredibly disorienting not being cramped into a small practice room with Jonghyun, listening to him mumble song lyrics as he teetered on the edge of wakefulness and sleep. Throughout the practices, Minhyun had seemed to be riding some sort of hazy high, body tense as he impatiently waited for the final performance to roll around.

When it finally did, only Jonghyun’s presence soothed his nerves, and he fixated his gaze on Jonghyun and his every movement in between stages. Jonghyun seemed to pick up the way Minhyun was being stretched taut, and naturally gravitated towards him—a shoulder pressed against Minhyun’s arm, a hand ruffling through Minhyun’s hair, a whisper into Minhyun’s ear.

Minhyun slowly felt the crevasse between the two of them close up, and prayed for it to disappear once the program ended and the burden lifted off from their shoulders. Sometimes at night, he had stayed awake and stared up at the ceiling, deep night panic entertaining the idea that perhaps only Jonghyun would make the final team.

The thought of Jonghyun handling the pressure on his own, feeling the burden of Nu’est on his own, made Minhyun push himself harder during practices, struggling to keep up with Jonghyun’s speed at mastering choreographies. No matter what would happen, Minhyun refused to let Jonghyun carry the world on his shoulders all on his own again—he had done so for so, so long and Minhyun had watched the weight of it break his spirit one stone at a time and Minhyun’s heart had shattered in the process. Once the program ended, they would all—all five of them—be given another chance at achieving their dream, and if the world would cease playing cruel tricks on him, Minhyun would keep Jonghyun company as they rebuilt a name for themselves.

 The thought of that allowed him to push through the fog of anxious frustration that engulfed him during the final performance, and time seemed to fastforward throughout the evening and suddenly, he found himself dressed in the standard program uniform and Jonghyun’s fingers tugging at his lapels.

As he gazed down at Jonghyun’s crown of startling black locks and vaguely registered the words he was murmuring under his breath, Minhyun’s mind raced with all the things he wanted to tell Jonghyun.

He wanted to tell him that he would always be by his side, and that he didn’t have to hold up the sky on his own anymore because Minhyun would be there, right next to him, holding it up with him. And next to him, would be Dongho, and next to him would be Minki, and next to him, would be Youngmin, because the world was never the fault of just Jonghyun, but maybe the fault of all five of them. And even then, the crack in the earth they had created was beautiful and sprouting with flowers, and if Jonghyun thought that he had never led them onto a flower path, he was wrong.

He wanted to tell him that he looked beautiful in the uniform, but he looked even more beautiful wearing a white t-shirt, sweat dripping off the ends of his hair as he powered through the choreography for the millionth time. He wanted to tell him that he looked beautiful when he held a mic against his lips, and when he laughed loudly at a joke Hyunbin had made, and when he teared up during the segment with video letters from parents, and when he clung onto Minhyun so tightly as he cried into his chest for the comforts of home and family.

He wanted to tell him thank you for holding up the world on his own for so long, for letting Minhyun grow up at his own pace while he threw himself into adulthood far too early. He wanted to tell him thank you for putting up with the four of them for so long, for tolerating their pranks, their random outbursts of singing, and their teasing. He wanted to tell him thank you for being the best leader he could have ever asked for, the best leader the world could have ever asked for. He wanted to tell him thank you for making him feel safe, feel comforted, feel like he could take on the world even if Jonghyun never felt like he was doing enough, and he wanted to tell him thank you for being the ray of sunlight in Minhyun’s cloudy mind for such a long time.

He wanted to tell him that he loved him.

And he wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but all he knew was that he wanted Jonghyun to keep smiling until his cheeks ached, and that he never wanted Jonghyun to look worried or sad ever again.

But in the end, he didn’t tell Jonghyun any of that, and instead, he let Jonghyun tug him into an embrace that ended far too early and listened to Jonghyun thank him. He smiled at the absurdity of the statement, but before he could reply, they received the cue to begin the final elimination, and the two of them walked out with Minhyun’s hand pressed against the curve of Jonghyun’s back.

Minhyun let most of the elimination pass with a blur, numbly receiving his rank of ninth place and slowly walking towards his seat. He sat in it impatiently and waited for the rest of the ranks to be announced. It was somewhat infuriating watching BoA receive the cue card to announce the next rank and the directors drag the time between each rank to an almost unacceptable length. But despite the edginess that kept him shifting around in his seat, there was always an echo of peace at the back of his mind, reminding him that he had made it, that he and Jonghyun would be together, and that he wouldn’t be leaving Jonghyun alone.

But the echo began to break apart and distort, as the ranking climbed higher and higher, and with a jolt, Minhyun realized that the math didn’t work out quite right. Suddenly, the speed at which BoA was revealing the contestants was too fast, and Minhyun gripped the cold, plastic armrests of his chair tightly until he felt sweat pool underneath his palms.

BoA’s voice reached him as if through a long, distant tunnel, and he felt vaguely familiar names fly by his consciousness.

Kim Jaehwan—

Lee Daehwi—

Park Jihoon—

Kang Daniel—

There was something wrong with the universe—a glitch in the matrix perhaps—another trick the world was playing on him even though it deceptively promised that the games would end with his compliance to fate. The numbers didn’t match up—reality didn’t match up to the script for the future he had unknowingly typed out in his head. Perhaps that had been the problem—the gods didn’t appreciate the way Minhyun tried to predict the future, and decided to punish him with this small jest before letting the universe bring itself back to order.

“And for the final rank, number 11, is…”

Minhyun felt his heart beat slow to a stop, and dimly registered that somehow, time had reached an indefinite pause as well. His lungs clogged up with oxygen he couldn’t seem to breathe, and his eyes wildly searched for Jonghyun’s presence, Jonghyun’s comfort, Jonghyun’s don’t worry, and when he finally found Jonghyun in the crowd of participants on stage, he realized with a jolt that Jonghyun was looking right at him, eyes steadily fixed on Minhyun’s face. Their gaze collided—

—and the world jerked back into motion—

—Jonghyun’s eyes did not leave Minhyun’s face—

—there was a small smile playing against his lips—

—I’m sorry—

“Ha Sungwoon.”

There was an outburst of applause and cheering, and Minhyun felt himself stand up and his hands mimicking the motion of those around him—of Jonghyun—bringing them together in a slow clap. The world seemed to have fallen out of orbit, tumbling through the unfamiliarity of deep, dark space with no destination in mind. There was an avalanche in his chest, threatening to crack his ribcage, and he let out a loud, desperate gasp for air, ignoring the concerned look Jisung threw his way. He felt someone grip his shoulder, as if trying to ground him, but he numbly shook it off as he fell back into his seat as his legs gave way.

“Minhyun. Hwang Minhyun. Minhyun, are you okay?”

The hand on his shoulder returned, and he numbly turned towards it. Jisung’s face appeared in his blurry vision, the concerned look on his face visible even through the haze. Minhyun tried to lift his lips up into a smile, but something was weighing them down and all he could do was furrow his brows in confusion at his inability to command his facial muscles.

“I’m so sorry,” Jisung whispered, and he tugged Minhyun into a hug, a hand pressed firmly against the back of his head.

There was something wrong and unfamiliar about the hug. It wasn’t soft enough, warm enough—it didn’t smell like Jonghyun, didn’t feel like Jonghyun—and Minhyun felt his heart lurch as he gasped again, the sound of his pain breaking through the film of tears coating his cheeks.

Jisung patted him a couple of times, and then reluctantly let go, still eyeing Minhyun worriedly. But in the end, he stepped back and turned around to congratulate another trainee, and Minhyun was left alone again, back turned against the crowd and eyes lifted towards the sky as if seeking out God.

People flitted towards and away from him, congratulating him with hugs and pats on the back and words of encouragement and occasionally a look of sympathy and maybe pity. Sewoon stayed by him a little longer, squeezing him a little harder than he usually dared to as if trying to give Minhyun a little bit of comfort through the press of his fingers. Minhyun mechanically reciprocated with a smile and stepped away politely, eyes resolutely avoiding the sympathetic look on Sewoon’s face.

Seonho stayed with him even longer, wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his shirt, clinging onto him as if his presence would stop the way Minhyun’s eyes were reddened at the corners and the way he couldn’t breathe through his sobs. He hugged Seonho tight, praying with all his might that this young boy who looked up to him wouldn’t feel the same dizzying pain he did, but his heart fell as he remembered that this young boy was also selling his soul to an entertainment industry larger than his life and his pursuit for happiness.

Dongho was there too, giving him a big hug longer than they were used to. There was a quick, whispered thank you, I’m sorry, but thank you into his ear that led to another wrangle of sobs clawing their way out of Minhyun’s chest. And Dongho laughed, a little desperate, a little relieved, a little sad, as he pulled Minhyun back into another hug. I love you Hwang Minhyun, don’t forget us.

Minhyun wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t forget—couldn’t forget—that he would sooner die than forget, but the words wouldn’t come, and instead he could only look at Dongho and cry at the way there were tears pooling at the corners of his eyes as well.

Jonghyun was the worst, appearing at his side like an apparition he could see but could not touch, a soft hug barely perceptible, a small kiss tickling the side of his cheek. He wondered if Jonghyun could taste the saltiness of his tears against his lips, but he couldn’t meet Jonghyun’s eyes, couldn’t allow himself to grip Jonghyun’s arm and stop him from moving away. Instead, he watched Jonghyun’s backside disappear into the crowd of people, a shadow of Jonghyun’s upturned lips tattooed on the backs of his eyelids.

But even as Jonghyun left his side, Dongho was still there, a steadying hand at his elbow as he guided Minhyun into another wave of congratulations. Minki materialized next to him as well and Dongho seemed placated enough to leave the two of them alone. Minki’s smile was bright like he had carefully ironed the disappointment and sadness out of his expression as he gave Minhyun a hug that was quick and strong. Suddenly, Minhyun was reminded that the fragile Choi Minki he had met during their debut days had since grown into a gorgeous young man with a resolve the strength of steel.

When Minki moved to step away and give Minhyun some space, his heart tugged fearfully at the thought of being alone and he reached out a quick hand to grab onto him. Minki looked at him with surprise, but he stayed where he was, peaceful smile never leaving his face as he reached up and brushed Minhyun’s bangs out of his still tearful, red eyes.

“Tell—” Minhyun began, swallowing thickly.

“Tell him that even if I die, I will return to Nu’est,” he continued hoarsely, looking at Minki desperately and forcing his words through broken gasps.

Comprehension flitted across Minki’s face, and suddenly his smile disappeared and he looked at Minhyun sadly.

“Tell him that I won’t forget Nu’est. Tell him thank you, and tell him that he’s beautiful, and tell him that I—”

Minki shook his head and gently tugged his arm out of Minhyun’s grasp. He leaned closer to Minhyun and rested his head on his shoulder, arms wrapping lightly around Minhyun’s midrift.

“Tell him that yourself, Minhyun-ah. He’d want to hear it from you himself.”

And with a little pat on the small of Minhyun’s back, a whispered I love you so much, Minki moved away and Minhyun let himself be swallowed by the sea of grey uniforms, a wave of cavernous loneliness consuming him despite the crowd of people around him.

Somehow, he was ushered back into the waiting rooms, navigating the hallways and falling into the much needed embrace of his mother. He breathed in the scent of her perfume, let her I’m so proud of you brush against the shell of his ear, and clung onto her tightly, tears staining the shoulder of her blouse. He felt his sister his hair, her hand resting lightly against the nape of his neck, and he reached out to pull her into the embrace—a small triangle of his beloved family standing together in a midst of rowdy celebration.

“Aron texted us,” she whispered lovingly. “He said congratulations and thank you.”

Minhyun tightened his arms around his mother, and tried futilely to push back the next wave of tears that shook his core.

This seemed to be the conclusion of Minhyun’s struggle to reach his dream—the dangling stars in the sky that his fingertips could never touch—and the first few pages of another chapter where he could continue to fight to perform on stage, to remain standing with his best friends. This was the beginning of a second chance that they’d been granted—that he’d been granted—but he felt no closure and felt no renewed idealism.

There was a deep hole gaping in his chest, and if nothingness weighed like something, it weighed like the entirety of the world. He focused on his mother’s gentle pats on his back, clenching his eyes shut as he tried to regulate his breathing—

Inhale—one, two, three—

Exhale—one, two, three—

Inhale—one, tw—

“Minhyun-ah.”

Minhyun raised his head instinctively at the voice, even before he recognized the speaker. Something in his heart swelled and threatened to burst, and the lightheadedness he felt had little to do with the dry sobs that wracked his body and everything to do with the man standing peacefully at his side, waiting with slightly open arms as if he was still uncertain, unsure about whether Minhyun would accept his affection.

Minhyun’s mother stepped away, giving her son one last, encouraging smile, and suddenly, Minhyun had nothing to support him but his numb legs that propelled him forward as if they had a mind of their own. He stumbled into Jonghyun’s embrace without even knowing it, and the moment he felt Jonghyun’s arms wrap around his shoulders, an ocean of sadness and loneliness and unfulfilled yearning and torn futures crashed into him as he cried loudly against Jonghyun’s warm, soft presence.

“Why are you crying?” Jonghyun asked quietly, amusedly, and Minhyun could almost hear the smile playing on his lips. But he could only shake his head in response—unable to speak—and let Jonghyun’s chuckle reverberate throughout his body.

“Congratulations, Minhyun-ah.”

“Thank you for everything.”

“I love you.”

What the cameras would later capture would be Jonghyun standing a foot away from where Minhyun was sitting, fingers fiddling with the cap of a water bottle, while Jihoon leaned against the back of Minhyun’s chair and Seonho took the seat to Minhyun’s right. What the cameras would later pick up would be Jonghyun laughingly scolding Minhyun for crying while everyone was celebrating, a softly muttered congratulations, and a gentle smile that finally reached the corners of Jonghyun’s eyes but one Minhyun had missed until he went to watch the video on his own. What the cameras would later show would be Dongho walking through the door, as long as one of us makes it everything will be okay, and Minhyun thanking his Nu’est members for the past five years of camaraderie, friendship, and a blinding, youthful chasing of dreams—a quiet, unspoken promise that he would return to a Nu’est that was going to shake the earth until the world could no longer forget about them.

But all of that was the future—something Minhyun had yet to worry about. For now, he was content with Jonghyun’s arms holding him, Jonghyun’s murmured words trailing around him like the tail of a comet, Jonghyun’s lips brushing against Minhyun’s skin repeatedly—leaving a trail of burning supernovas in their wake.

For now, this was enough—stars spilling from Jonghyun’s arms, soft fingers carving their names into a passing planet, the daybreak waiting for Minhyun to return. 

Even though it’s a one way path, the opposite direction—I’ll walk it. Yeah, don’t worry.

A/N: Thank you Nu'est.