Author's Note: Just a quick edit. I'll probably come back one day and actually make this less rambly and crappy. I don't write angst, I don't own these characters, and any other disclaimers that apply.

On nights like this, you wonder what you’re doing here. You wonder why you even try. You wonder if you even had a choice.

It’s late, and you’re alone in the dorm. As much as you appreciate some peace and quiet, it was never supposed to be like this. You were supposed to be popular, but now everyone else is out filming dramas or appearing on variety shows or writing lyrics for raps or going to dance and vocal practices. And you’re left behind, just staring out the window and an old silver locket and remembering.

You were young. You loved music. It was as simple as that. There were fans, but there were no fangirls. There were hints of eyeliner, but never a mask of makeup. There were no televised stages or variety shows or interviews- just the thrum of the bass and pounding of a keyboard and your voice. Sometimes you miss those days, when you sang for no reason other than because you loved it. Because really, let’s face it, you never were suited for this life

It was your sister’s locket. She was fifteen and you were nine, and she was always older, prettier, cooler. Her first boyfriend gave it to her and she wore it every day. And you would always watch as she carefully took it off and ask to touch, but she always said you were too careless and would break it. And for the longest time, all you wanted was to look inside the locket and see what was there, but she never let you. And, eventually, you forgot all about it until the day you left home, and she came back from the city for the first time in months. She was dressed up all sophisticatedly and wearing makeup and her hair was in loose curls and you can barely recognize her. She shoves a card, with an envelope of money tucked inside, at you and gives you a huge hug. Later that night, you tell her about your plan to audition and she wishes you good luck and spends the rest of the night telling you stories and giving you advice and warning you not to tell mom and dad. But not even a day later, she rushes back out, shouting about missing the train and her next interview. You want to call out for her, but you let her run away. Later, when you set the card aside, along with other graduation presents, and carefully count the money, the locket falls out. It’s simple and worn with age, but you hold it carefully. And then you realize. You miss her.

You never used to care about your weight and clothes. Now all you wonder about double eyelid surgery and diets and red hair dye. All for Infinite, you convince yourself. All in the hope that Infinite gets one more fan. That you get one more fan. That someone will hear you.

But for every fan you draw in, another ten come in for Woohyun, or Hoya, or Sungyeol. And no matter how hard you work, no matter how often you hit those high notes or manage to convince everyone to practice for an extra hour, you’ll always be regarded as Grandpa-Gyu (and Woohyun will get the solo album, a niggling little voice says, in the back of your head)

And you’re torn. Because as much as you want fame and popularity and success (isn’t that why you gave up on rock? Isn’t that why you’re here?, you asked yourself), you were drawn in and now you’re stuck caring about six other boys. And now you care too much to begrudge them. They had everything- looks, voice, dancing, personality- and no matter how clear your voice was, you never matched them in anything else.

You used to drink, when you were ashamed of your thoughts. But alcohol doesn't cleanse your soul; all it does is leave you hung-over and your voice dead. But on nights like this, you can’t help yourself, and you don’t know why (you never knew why you drank anymore) but you find a small bottle of soju and take sips of burning alcohol and hope you don’t get drunk on memories.

You remember back then. Back when a scout told you that you had potential and you would (and still could) become something great. Back when your friends asked you to be the lead singer for their rock band. Back when you got all the solos in middle school choir. Back when you first started taking voice lessons and your teacher was so impressed. Back when you got your first guitar and keyboard. Back when you first heard a song that made you stop everything and just listen.

Sometimes, you wonder if it was worth it to pursue music (but you can never go back now), when you could have followed your sister's footsteps. Sometimes, anything- doctor, lawyer, even a nine-to-fice desk job- seems better than this life. (where you live in a fake shell and your parents hate you) But you wanted fame, and now you have it, and now it’s not enough (maybe it was never enough).

You carry your sister’s locket in your pocket for a month before you finally decide to open it. It’s a quiet night, and you’re just a bit homesick, but unwilling to admit that weakness. So you pop it open gently. But it’s nothing. There is no picture of family, or a boyfriend, or anything. It’s empty- and you feel cheated.

The door open, and a thin crack of light breaks into the dorm.

“Hyung?” a voice calls out hesitantly, “Are you home?”

You instantly recognize Woohyun's voice, and as much as you would like to ignore him, you know he's a worrier, so you call out a response. He doesn’t turn on the light and instead makes his way to the window, where you’re sitting. You look over at him- his skinny jeans and navy blazer and fake glasses- and he looks oddly endearing. You wonder when you stopped hating him so much for being more popular than you (and for being made main vocalist alongside you) and started thinking of him as a friend (or more).

“Are you drinking?” Woohyun asks. “We’ve got schedules tomorrow, hyung.”

You laugh because he started caring about you too. “Just a little. Don’t worry.”

“You know, the alcohol tastes sweet compared to the bitterness in my heart.” You mutter under your breath and let out a tiny chuckle. You know Woohyun probably heard you but he’s silent (why did you even say that, you berate yourself). But you also know Woohyun won’t bat an eye- he’s seen you in far worse, back when you were discontent and Infinite wasn’t making the charts like you hoped. But you haven’t gotten drunk again where he or the other members could find you. You don’t want them to worry (you never want them to worry).

“Hyung,” Woohyun says again, and you think it’s almost a bit tender the way he says it, but you also might have drunk more soju than you thought. “I found out tonight-”

He pauses, and you prepare to congratulate him on his solo debut- you know what those smiles and handshakes from the president hinted towards. But Woohyun doesn’t continue immediately. Instead, he takes the chair next to yours and stares out the window.

“You’ve got the solo album.” Woohyun says instead. “Congrats.”

You don’t smile or thank him or say anything. You just wonder because Woohyun had assured you that you would get the album and you thought it was empty words and now you wonder how he knew (and you wonder if he sacrificed so you could shine. As much as you wanted a solo album, you never wanted that).

“How did you know?” You finally ask. The long silences aren’t awkward; they feel natural in the velvety night and the lone moon shining through the window (where did all the stars go?).

 “I always knew I wasn’t going to get it,” he finally admits. “They never wanted me to have a solo song. They want me to go on variety shows. I’m supposed to start filming for a drama this month.”

Your mouth curls into an Oh, but you don’t say anything because Woohyun doesn’t seem bothered or jealous by this information. Woohyun seems to want to say something, but he swallows his words and so do you.

“Here” Woohyun pulls out something from his bag. It’s a bear, wearing a shirt with “Congratulations!” scrawled across in what you recognize is his messy handwriting.

He squeezes the bear’s paw and music begins to play. You recognize the tune immediately.

You’re six and your dad has finally fixed the radio. And the first thing you hear is a heavy beat and a clear voice singing over guitars and you stop reading your storybook and just close your eyes. It’s at that moment you realize what you want to do for the rest of your life.

“You said liked this song, right?” Woohyun asks. You nod and smile. “Well, congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you say, with sincerity. You take the bear, and ignore the unsaid words and sparks flying whenever your fingers brush. Thank you for everything.

You sit in silence, but you want to say something, anything. (He's right there, your mind screams. and he's looking at you with those eyes and his face is illuminated by the moon, and he's so perfect and you're not) Every second, it gets harder and harder to come up with the right words, and, in the end, you decide on nothing.

You don’t know when you became satisfied with unsaid conversations and sidelong glances and maybes. You don’t know when you stopped being happy and everything began tasting bittersweet. You don’t know when you decided nothing was worth chasing after anymore.

You used to keep a picture of Infinite in the locket, back before you debuted. But you took it out and you think, sometimes, about putting in one of the selcas of you and Woohyun. But you don’t and the locket stays empty. And, on nights like this, you can almost convince yourself that you prefer it that way.