A/N: I have a whole lot of these saved up, so—daily weekly posts until I run out! (Okay, yeah, daily is a bit much. LOL.) By the way, requests can be left at my ask.fm, though I can't guarantee when/if they'll be filled c:

This is actually non-AU, which is pretty rare for me to write.

“Aren’t you afraid, sometimes?”

Woohyun doesn’t bother to turn his head when he hears Sungyeol speak, downing another shot of soju instead. They’re nowhere they should be (hiding out by the Han River when they’re supposed to be asleep with soju they shouldn’t have bought) and Woohyun doesn’t want to think about that, so he doesn’t. “Depends,” he answers, resting his forearms on his knees. “What do you mean by that?”

Sungyeol shrugs, fumbling for the bottle and pouring himself another shot. “Don’t know. Of the future, I guess.”

“Which future?” Woohyun asks before he can catch himself, but decides to that and go on—he’s feeling pleasantly warm despite the cold wind and honestly, he doesn’t even know Sungyeol that well, but he wanted to drink and Woohyun wanted to drink and they both wanted out of the dorm and that’s all that matters. “The one where we never debut? The one where we debut and everyone forgets us anyway? The one where we debut and get famous and everyone loves us for awhile, but then—in the end—we get thrown aside and forgotten all over again?”

He’s expecting some caustic reply about his negativity, or even an admonishment about it, but that just proves he’s been hanging around Dongwoo and Howon (should he be calling him Hoya?) too much, because Sungyeol does neither. He’s just quiet, though Woohyun hears his glass clink against the bottle and assumes he put it down. “All of them?” he offers, and Woohyun turns around then. Sungyeol’s face is a little flushed, and he’s staring straight ahead. “I… well, I don’t really know. I’m not sure.”

“Is there anything you’re sure of?” Woohyun asks, but realises he sounded a little too sharp when Sungyeol flinches. He doesn’t apologise anyway.

“Not much,” Sungyeol replies quietly. Woohyun notices how his words aren’t slurred at all, even though he’s been drinking as much as Woohyun. Brow furrowing, Woohyun reaches for Sungyeol’s shot glass—it’s empty, so he refills it and shoves it into Sungyeol’s hand.

“Drink, then.”

Sungyeol blinks, turning around to look at him. Woohyun impatiently gestures at his glass, clinking it against his own. “Drink. If you’re not really sure of anything, drink until you are.”

“I don’t think that will help,” Sungyeol replies, tone dry. But he downs the shot anyway, and Woohyun smiles. “You’re a weird drunk, Woohyun.”

“I’m not drunk. And that’s hyung to you.” Woohyun turns back to stare at the river again. It’s pitch black at this time of the night, the lights from the opposite shore drifting lazily in the water.

“Your words are merging into each other—what’s that called? Whatever. You’re drunk.”

“Shut up, Sungyeol.”

Sungyeol actually does, surprisingly. Woohyun hears him put his glass down again, and huffs out a sigh. Clearly, he won’t take Woohyun’s advice.

“Do you ever feel afraid?” The silence only lasts a few seconds longer before Sungyeol breaks it again. Then again, Woohyun knew he would. He gives a half-shrug in reply, leaning back as far as he can while still staying upright, supporting himself with his arms.

“Of course.” Woohyun’s not sure there are any days where he’s not afraid anymore—afraid of never moving beyond where he’s standing right now, afraid of stepping forward and finding out he’s not good enough (he already knows he doesn’t sing as well as Sunggyu or dance as well as Hoya or look as good as Myungsoo) and that he’ll be forgotten, cast away, ignored. He doesn’t know anymore.

“So what do you do?” Sungyeol’s voice is hardly more than a whisper. Woohyun sighs loudly, flopping backwards onto the grass. When he stares up at the sky, there are no stars. The city lights are too bright.

“I don’t think about it.”

“But then aren’t you still afraid when you wake up the next day?” Why does Sungyeol have so many questions? Woohyun rolls over, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Yes. Then I don’t think about it again. That’s all. Pour me some soju.”

“Your manners get worse when you’re drunk, too.” Sungyeol obliges, though, and Woohyun mutters a vague thank you when he feels the shot glass being pushed into his hand. He downs it in one go, determined to go on drinking until he can’t think anymore.

The managers will kill them (even though they’re nobodies right now one day they’ll be somebodies, they keep saying, and then things like these can’t get out) and they have practice at five tomorrow and it’s so far past midnight Woohyun has no idea what time it is, but he doesn’t want to go back to the too-small dorm that’s stifling in all the dreams the six other boys his age share (with him). He just wants to forget for one night and not think about it and tomorrow—tomorrow, he’ll dance and sing and work out and pretend tonight never happened. Because Woohyun knows he needs to be perfect and what he’s doing right now doesn’t fit into that neat box.

“Don’t drink anymore. I’m not carrying you back to the dorm.” For some reason, that makes Woohyun laugh. Maybe Sungyeol’s right—he’s drunk.

“Whatever. Whether they find us here or in there, we’re dead. Just don’t think about it.”

Sungyeol laughs softly. “Okay. I won’t.” He pauses briefly, then adds, “Thank you, hyung.” Woohyun thinks that was rather sudden—where did it come from?—but decides not to ask.

He sighs, blinking up at the dark, starless sky, and doesn’t think about it.