Summary: The project group gets bad news. Yunho can’t seem to get a break—until Jae takes matters into his own hands.

A.N.: This is the first of my shorter chapters/more frequent posts plan. I definitely think this system will work better for me. Those 6k word chapters were killing me. OTL

I don’t want to give anything away, but I’m really glad to be past a certain point in this story. It’s been hard to put Yunjae through some of these scenes. And stay tuned, because the first major story milestone happens in the next chapter. Eeee! I’m excited to get there. ^^

—*—

“We’re not in the showcase.”

Heechul delivers the news with a carefully neutral expression. “I ran into Gil as he was posting the list, so there’s no question. We’re not performing.”

Silence. We’ve been expecting it, but hearing the official word is still a blow.

For weeks now, the studio has been buzzing with excitement as project groups refine their routines, trying to highlight their charms and convince instructors they’re ready to go pro. Showcases are the gateway to stardom. The annual performance gives the public a glimpse of up-and-coming idols and allows SM to get a sense of how popular the group might become. A fan café sprang up for BoA after one showcase appearance. And for Shinhwa’s Eric.

A dazzling showcase doesn’t guarantee stardom, but it does bring trainees one step closer. No one wants to be passed over. But only the best groups get tapped to perform.

We didn’t make the cut. It doesn’t bother me much—I’ve never been chosen—but it’s the first time for Yunho and Heechul. They’ve been in every showcase since they started training. Being left out this year feels like a rebuke. Or a warning.

“I in’ knew it!”

Kangin throws the CD case he’s holding across the room. It shatters on the mirrored wall, clattering to the floor in pieces. I’ve never seen him so pissed off. He glares at Yunho in a fury, fists clenched and eyes hard with blame. For one alarming moment I think he’s going to take a swing at him. Heechul steps forward, putting out a hand to hold him back—and earns a look of angry contempt. Then Kangin storms out of the practice room, kicking over a chair and slamming the door behind him. Heechul shakes his head and sighs.

“That went about as well as I expected.”

He picks up the CD pieces and rights the toppled chair, then looks around the small studio. We’d been warming up for practice when Heechul walked in and dropped the bombshell. A full water bottle rests on the floor by a battered boom box. The props for our routine are stacked in the center of the dance space. They’re pointless now. With another sigh, Heechul turns away. He hefts the bag Kangin left behind, then glances over to where Yunho stands frozen in shock.

He hesitates, looking back at me with concern. “You guys okay if I go?”

I nod. “We’ll be fine.”

Heechul casts a doubtful look at Yunho, but doesn’t argue. He gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then leaves to find Kangin.

I’m alone with Yunho. He stands motionless, expression calm, but I know him well enough by now that his stoic look can’t fool me. Inside, he’s screaming.

“We knew this would happen,” I say in a soothing voice. “You said yourself that our performance wasn’t strong enough to make this year’s show.”

Yunho nods in silence, staring at the floor.

“We’ll be in the next showcase.”

“Will we?” Yunho rasps. His ragged voice sounds worse than usual today. He looks at me with bleak eyes.

“Of course we will. We’ll have to work harder, is all. Practice more and—“

“All the hard work in the world won’t bring my voice back.”

“Of course it will. It’s only been a few months since your surgery. Coming back from what you went through isn’t easy. No one expects you to bounce right back like nothing happened.” A lie. Some people did expect that, however unfair it was. But I’m not going to bring that up now. Keep it positive. “Look how far you’ve come already. Think how much better you’ll be in a—“

“Jae.” His tone is flat. “Stop. Please. I don’t need a pep talk. I need to face reality.”

“That is reality, you’re being too hard on yourse—“

“No!” He turns away, presenting me with his profile. “No, I’m not.”

He paces a few steps away, running his hand through his hair, visibly agitated. He looks down at the floor for a moment, then swings back to face me. His expression is tortured.

“I don’t know what to do. I’ve done everything I can think of to get better but nothing’s working. I can’t keep up with the routines. Dancing wipes me out. And my voice…” He stops and shakes his head, looking down, lips twitching with restrained emotions.

We stand in silence for a moment. Yunho tries to collect himself after his outburst, fighting tears. The small space between us feels like an uncrossable chasm. I want so much to take the one necessary step forward and embrace him. To hold him and rock him and tell him everything’s going to be okay. His suffering tears at my heart. The scar on his neck has healed beautifully. Only a thin white line remains to commemorate the ordeal. But pain survives in the broken music of his voice as he strains to sing along with us. And in his eyes, as he fails.

“Maybe I should give up,” he whispers. “Accept that I can’t sing anymore and focus on dancing. I won’t be an idol, but I could still dance backup.”

“Backup?” I’m shocked. I can’t believe he said that. Not Jung Yunho, SM’s golden boy. If there’s one person at this company who was born to be a star, it’s him. It’s his destiny. Everyone knows it. He knows it. Or at least, he used to. “You can’t just…give up on being an idol. What about your dream?”

“What about Kangin’s dream?” His eyes challenge me. “What about your dream? Should I hold you back? We all know that I’m the reason our group didn’t make the showcase. How many more chances will you lose because you’re too kind to kick me out?”

“That’s not why.”

He looks at me in confusion. “What?”

“We’re not keeping you because we’re kind. It’s because we have faith in you. We see how hard you’re trying, and we know you’ll get better. We believe in you.”

He gives me a sardonic look, unsaid words hanging in the air between us: then you’re fools.

I choose my next words carefully. I know his pride. “Yunho…I know some techniques for getting past vocal problems. An ahjumma in my old apartment building taught them to me. I could show you, if you want.”

 He dismisses my suggestion. “I already saw a speech therapist—“

“And it worked! You couldn’t talk at all a few months ago, and now you can. I can do that for your singing. I can help you.”

His face flickers with longing, but I see he’s afraid to ask for help. Afraid to hope.

“Please, Yunho. Don’t give up. After everything you’ve done for me, let me repay you by helping with this one small thing. I know we can make you better.”

I wait while he considers. In the hallway, I hear trainees cheering and shouting congratulations. The noisy celebration gets louder as the showcase announcement spreads through the school. Their happiness feels a world away from the tense atmosphere in this studio. In here, there’s only bitterness and loss. Yunho glances at the door, still considering my offer. The moment seems to stretch on forever. Please please please.

Finally, he nods. “Okay. Why not? I’ll try anything.”

Happiness floods through me. Thank god. I know I can help Yunho sing again. I can help him regain his old confidence. I want to help him get back to the way he was before the operation: happy, friendly, sure of himself and his place in the world. I want the old Yunho back.

I grin at him. “Good. You’ll see. You’ll be outsinging Eunhyuk in a week. Although, I guess that’s not really saying much.”

He nods and his lips curve upward, but the smile never quite reaches his eyes.

 —*—

“No, do i