An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
a story of what it is to shoulder the burdens of another
a story of how love still matters even when you think it doesn’t
or, seungcheol is the best leader wonwoo could ask for
7.1k words
tags: scoups & wonwoo, hurt/comfort, scoups is the best leader
Three days since it happened.
Three days since Seungcheol found Mingyu stricken on the floor holding a sobbing Wonwoo in his arms.
Three days since Seungcheol had to hear the words “Wonwoo’s mom, she’s gone.” falling from Mingyu’s lips.
Three days, and Pledis management is already arguing with him about Wonwoo’s contractual schedule.
They’ve been at it for hours now, finally getting to the crux of the matter, the biggest disagreement of all. How long they’re going to let Wonwoo mourn. Seungcheol asks for a month. They practically spit in his face with their counteroffer.
“One week? Are you joking?” Seungcheol asks incredulously.
“Seungcheol-ssi, you know that comeback promotions are starting.” A staff member says, not unkindly, but firmly nonetheless.
“His mother died.” Seungcheol argues back.
“We know that, Seungcheol-ssi. But we also know how much work this will be and how much money this is going to cost us if we have to make up for his absence.” Another staff member puts in.
“We’re used to hard work.” Seungcheol says, not budging.
“It’s not just that. We have photoshoots, variety show appearances, MV recordings that all need to happen before the comeback. We’ve contracted for the thirteen of you, we can’t be without one member.”
“So push back the goddamned comeback date.” Seungcheol growls.
The CEO butts in. “Seungcheol.” No suffix. No respect in that simple lack of it. “We can’t do that. Everything has already been announced and music show dates have been booked. Pushing it back a month is not possible.”
Seungcheol shakes his head, jaw clenching. He knows they’re right, and it pisses him off.
“Three weeks, then.” He finally says.
“Two. That’s the most we can offer.” The CEO responds.
“If it's two then you all are organizing this funeral and footing the damn bill.” Seungcheol bites back.
There’s silence in the room.
“Well?” Seungcheol says, unwilling to back down.
The staff look uncomfortable, all except for the CEO. Seungcheol holds his gaze, expression as rock hard as he can manage.
“Done.” The CEO answers.
Seungcheol nods once, rising abruptly from his chair and walking towards the door to the meeting room.
He pauses in the doorway.
“White flowers.” He says.
“What?” One staff member asks.
“I said, only white flowers. Wonwoo hates yellow.” Then he turns and stalks out of the meeting room, letting the door slam shut behind him.
The moment he’s out of that room, it’s like something lets go inside of him. He wants to hit something, he wants to yell at someone, wants to unleash the rage that’s building inside of him. But he can’t be caught breaking things out here by some unsuspecting hoobae. He wracks his brain for somewhere he can go. The only place he can think of that could be private is Jihoon’s studio, so he stumbles down the hall to the elevators and presses the down button.
Damn executives always have to be on the top floor, lording themselves over everyone. The thought only serves to provoke him further, and he huffs out an irritated breath as he waits for the elevator to climb the floors to his level.
When he finally reaches the universe factory, it takes him three tries to punch in the door code because his hands are shaking so badly. The door opens, and it’s completely dark inside. Seungcheol is grateful for the fact that Jihoon isn’t here, grateful that he doesn’t have to hold himself back for the sake of one of the members he’s supposed to be protecting.
He shuts the door. Everything that has been boiling inside of him is coming to a head, and he cannot hold it in anymore. A scream rips itself out of him. Desperate, frustrated, and horrifically angry.
Angry at the world for letting this happen. Angry at the sickness that took Wonwoo’s mother away. Angry at the company for being so uncaring.
Angry at himself. Because the only thing he could do for Wonwoo was get him two measly weeks and a check.
He yells into the soundproofed room until he loses his voice, until he’s too tired to draw enough breath to make a sound forceful enough for how he feels inside. He drops himself onto the couch, breathing heavily.
Now that he’s let some of it out, he almost feels embarrassed at how easily he let them get to him. He knows that he needs to be careful, to be contained, because he’s the first line of protection. If he had let his anger get the better of him in that room, he’d have undermined himself and the whole team in the process.
He needs to keep himself together. He needs to be strong for Wonwoo.
Anyone else can be the shoulder he cries on, can be his physical comfort or his listening ear. But Seungcheol is the only one who can fight for him out here, with the people that basically hold his entire life in their hands. He has to do it right, because Wonwoo needs all the help he can get. Wonwoo needs someone in his corner, someone that loves him, and is willing to take the blame in front of thirty company executives.
So that’s who Seungcheol decides to be.
Everything that is within his power to do, he’ll do it. And then some.
It’ll be exhausting, he knows, but it’s always exhausting to be the leader anyways. All he can hope is that it will lift a load from Wonwoo’s shoulders. Anything else is secondary.
……….
It ends up being worse than Seungcheol anticipated. Every request to lighten Wonwoo’s load, even a little bit, is met with intense pushback. He doesn’t understand how this could be possible, coming home at the end of every day both angry and disappointed, upset that money is more important to these people than Wonwoo is. He finds himself on the top floor more often than not. More often than not, he leaves with pennies for his trouble. A few weeks pass, slowly and so packed that Seungcheol’s head barely hits the pillow before his alarm is blaring in his ear again.
Today is one of the worst, starting way too early in the morning, and planned to go late into the night. It had started with a meeting first thing with staff to discuss promo filming arrangements, one that had gone longer than it should have because Seungcheol had gotten into a fight with them over Wonwoo’s level of involvement. Then onto a solo photo shoot, not nearly as mentally taxing, but exhausting just the same. Now, he’s on his way to the third, and hopefully less stressful location, a set for the next Going episode.
He’s going to arrive there incredibly early. On purpose, though. It’ll be the first episode that Wonwoo has filmed since he came back to work, and Seungcheol wants to catch Hyunseok to discuss a few things before they start filming today.
He flits in and out of sleep on the way, trying to catch up on weeks of inadequate rest, trying to mediate the incredible levels of stress he has been under. He’s getting tired of yelling. Unfortunately, today might involve more of that, if this conversation goes as fantastically well as all of the rest he’s been having with company directors.
When they arrive, he slides out of the car with a grunt, shouldering his small bag as he thanks the driver. His eyes scan over the rows of cameras and production staff, searching for the PD. Once he has located the man, Seungcheol strides over with purpose.
“Hyung, hi.” He says, bowing slightly as Hyunseok turns towards him in surprise.
“Seungcheol. You’re early.” He observes.
“Yeah. I wanted to talk to you about something before we start today. You have a minute?” Seungcheol asks.
Hyunseok looks around, gauging the state of the cameras being set up around him, then turning back to Seungcheol and nodding.
He walks them over towards a quieter corner, making small talk as they go, asking how things have been going with promotions for the new comeback. Seungcheol follows, letting the easy conversation flow, not allowing the building apprehension in his body show on the outside. When they reach their destination, they talk casually for a few more minutes, but Seungcheol is aware of the tight schedule Hyunseok is probably on, and diverts the conversation.
“Hyung, I’m sure you’ve heard about Wonwoo and… everything.” He starts.
Hyunseok nods, face softening into something quiet and sad. “My condolences. I know you all are close with each other’s families.”
Seungcheol swallows. “Yeah. We are.”
“Is there something I can do?” Hyunseok asks, eyes on Seungcheol’s face.
“Yes, actually. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Seungcheol says, trying not to let hope rise in his chest.
Hyunseok leans against the wall, crossing his arms and nodding for Seungcheol to continue.
“I wanted to ask if you would keep an extra eye out for him when you’re editing all of this later.” He says. “He’s just. He zones out a lot. And sometimes his face just. Drops. And I don’t want him to have to deal with the whole world seeing that.”
Hyunseok doesn’t say anything, his face unreadable.
Seungcheol panics a little on the inside, dreading another fight, another conversation that requires every tooth and nail to gain any type of ground. “If you need me to make up for it somehow, I’ll give my all to make it easier on you, I’ll be more energetic, I’ll-”
Hyunseok reaches out and places his hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, shaking his head. “Seungcheol-ah, don’t worry about it. It’s no issue. I’ll talk to the post-production staff, see what we can do.”
Wide-eyed, Seungcheol is slightly taken aback. “Oh. Thank you. Sorry. I’m just used to having to fight a little harder.” He forces out a laugh, trying to make the words sound a little lighter than they are.
He feels Hyunseok squeeze his shoulder. “I’m sorry you’ve had to fight at all.” He says.
Seungcheol doesn’t really know what to do with that. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to do anything, the hand on his shoulder already disappeared, Hyunseok off to deal with whatever a PD needs to do before a long shoot.
It’s a quiet reprieve from the treatment he’s used to, and Seungcheol is grateful for it, but he knows that that is all it is. A reprieve. He’ll be back to normal procedure, back to pushing boulders uphill the moment he steps foot back in the Hybe building.
……….
Seungcheol sits in the empty practice room, lyric sheets strewn around him. The digital clock on the wall blinks red, minutes and hours having passed until the numbers read something obscene. He pushes his hair haphazardly off of his forehead, reaching for the next paper.
He’s looking at the final line distributions for the new album repackage. Well, they’re supposed to be final, anyway. They’re supposed to be recording at the end of the week. But the nagging voice in the back of Seungcheol’s head as he goes over each paper, Wonwoo’s name highlighted over and over, is telling him it's too much. It’s only Wonwoo’s second comeback since the funeral, barely a month since the last one, and he still isn’t in a good place mentally. It’s simply too much for him. It seems like even more than he would have even if he was fine. It feels like a lot even in proportion to the other members.
More lines means that there’s more choreography, more attention, more potential for analysis from fans and antis alike. It means more time in the recording studio, grueling hours that feel like they’ll never end. Looking at Wonwoo, and the state he’s in, makes Seungcheol feel sick thinking about forcing this level of load onto him.
The thing is, Seungcheol couldn’t tell if he was blowing things out of proportion and just being overprotective, or if Wonwoo really did have an incredibly significant amount of lines. So that’s why he’s spent the last few hours color-coding every track, trying to figure out visually if the distribution is actually off. He puts the last sheet of paper to the side and sighs.
It is. It is too much, and Seungcheol can’t help the little spark of irritation that rises in his chest at Jihoon, at Bumzu. They know Wonwoo is struggling. Why would they load him up even more?
He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath, trying to mitigate the ugly feelings that could easily spill out.
It’s probably not even Jihoon’s fault. He probably didn’t realize. He’s probably up to ears with everything too. Two comebacks and two full albums within two months is borderline insane.
But either way, he’s got to talk to him. He’s responsible for protecting Wonwoo however he can. Even if it means an awkward conversation with one of his best friends.
Heaving himself off the floor with a grunt, he gathers the highlighter-stained papers and attempts to put them back into the album order. He shuts off the practice room lights as he leaves, stuck in darkness for a moment before the motion sensors in the hallway light the path down to the elevators.
It’s an easy trip back to Jihoon’s studio, where Seungcheol knows that despite the late hour, or perhaps especially due to the late hour, Jihoon will be squirreled away working. On the way, he tries to take some calming breaths, tries not to unleash the days and weeks and months of overwhelming load onto his friend. It’s with careful restraint that he knocks softly on the door, pushing it open without hearing an answer because he knows how Jihoon gets.
Sure enough, Jihoon is hunched over his desk, the glow of the computer screen illuminating his face and a pair of headphones mashed crookedly on his head. He lifts his gaze as the door clicks closed, eyebrows going up when he sees Seungcheol.
“What's up, Coups?” He says, voice gravelly.
It grates a little on Seungcheol, the lack of honorifics. His thoughts immediately cast back to those stuffy boardrooms, the utter disrespect he felt in them. Some small part of his mind tells him to relax, that it’s not a big issue and it’s Jihoon, who’s his friend, and is probably exhausted. But Seungcheol is too.
“Yah. Where’s the ‘hyung’?” Seungcheol says, trying not to let his already building irritation show, trying to inject some level of humor into the words.
He guesses he doesn’t do a very good job of modulating his tone because Jihoon’s eyes narrow at him, and he moves away from his computer.
“Sorry.” Jihoon says, tone just a little sceptical, a little rebellious. “Hyung.”
Something in Seungcheol rips a little. It doesn’t fully snap, but he’s on his last thread. He shakes his head, and only allows himself to let out a huff of air instead of the armada of sharp words that his overloaded brain wants to shoot out.
He forces himself to look back at Jihoon, face tight. Jihoon looks resigned now, tired body slumped in his chair.
“Sorry.” Jihoon says again, softer this time. “I’m tired. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”
Seungcheol’s chest softens, the edge in his body easing up ever so slightly.
“Can I sit?” He asks, pointing at the desk chair next to Jihoon that is usually Bumzu’s spot.
Jihoon nods and moves slightly to face him when he lowers himself into the chair. Seungcheol sits there for a moment, fidgeting with his hands. It’s not like he wants to be here, accusing anyone, especially not Jihoon.
Too bad, the voice in the back of his head says. Irritatingly, he knows the voice is right.
He looks across at Jihoon and takes a breath.
“Look, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, and sometimes things slip through the cracks. But Jihoon-ah, did you really not notice how much you’re overloading Wonwoo?” He says.
Jihoon’s face does something complicated, and his gaze slips down to where his hands are resting in his lap.
Seungcheol lets him have a moment, does his best to be patient even though he kind of feels like strangling the answer out of him.
“I noticed.” Jihoon eventually says softly.
Seungcheol stares at him. Jihoon doesn’t look back.
“It’s not my fault though.” He adds.
Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean, it’s not your fault.” His voice comes out a little sharper, a little afraid of what Jihoon is going to tell him.
“Bigwigs told us to give him more lines.” Jihoon says, voice small. He keeps his eyes down.
Seungcheol sees red for a moment.
“What? Why?” He asks, incredulous.
Jihoon’s face is tight when he answers. “They said the fans need to see that he’s fine.”
“But he’s not fucking fine!” Seungcheol says, anger finally bursting out now that he has someone deserving to aim it at.
“I know that, hyung. I- I know.”
Seungcheol rakes a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Gonna have to schedule another goddamn fucking meeting. Fuck.”
“I’ll go with you.” Jihoon offers.
Seungcheol shakes his head.
“No. No, this is my job. I’m not letting them put more on top of you. It’s enough.” He bites out, anger and exhaustion bleeding together.
Jihoon finally looks at him, guilt and relief mixing in his expression. “You sure?”
Seungcheol nods.
He leaves the universe factory with a lump of something wedged in his chest, knowing that the conversation he’s going to have tomorrow is going to be even more exhausting than this one.
But it’s his responsibility. And he’s willing to shoulder it, willing to stand under fire if it means Wonwoo, and everyone else, will be shielded from the flames.
The meeting goes about as well as he could have hoped it would. Two hours of words flying back and forth, arguments that leave him raw and exhausted. They barely budge.
Seungcheol hopes it still counts for something.
………
Mingyu calls him crying.
It’s late in the evening, Seungcheol is just about to fall asleep, when his phone rings with a familiar tone. He picks up immediately.
The sound of Mingyu’s choked sobs as he explains to Seungcheol that Wonwoo asked him to leave, to stop helping him, makes Seungcheol’s heart drop to his stomach. It’s been months, but Wonwoo still hasn’t been doing well, hasn’t been doing better, and now he’s pushed away the person that had been caring for him the most.
A part of him gets it. He understands that Mingyu’s life is too intertwined with the day of her death, that even just seeing his face could be hard for Wonwoo. But it worries him, because Mingyu was the one Seungcheol was counting on the most to be there for Wonwoo while Seungcheol dealt with everything else.
If he doesn’t want Mingyu near him, Seungcheol knows that Wonwoo’s not going to ask anyone else for help either. He knows now that the situation is worse than he thought.
He does his best to calm Mingyu, to give him advice, to be the leader that he needs right now. All the while his brain is buzzing, thinking of who he’s going to delegate to, who’s the least likely to make the situation more difficult.
He texts Jeonghan the moment he’s off the phone with Mingyu, when his tears have finally dried.
seungcheol: I need you to do something for me
The response comes in immediately.
hannie: ?
hannie: everything okay?
seungcheol: sort of
seungcheol: not really
seungcheol: it’s wonwoo
His phone lights up with a call, Jeonghan's ringtone filling the room. He picks up immediately.
“What do you need?” Jeonghan asks the moment the call connects.
Seungcheol sighs, relaying all that Mingyu had told him.
“I don’t have enough time to talk to everyone about this. To make sure that he’s still got support. I- I’m tied up.” He says, tired.
Jeonghan hums in understanding. “I got it, Coups-ah. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to them.”
“Okay.” Seungcheol says, voice weak. “Just. Make sure he’s okay for me, please?” He whispers.
“I’ll do my best.” Jeonghan says.
Seungcheol lets out a slow breath, trying to relieve the tension that’s been building behind his eyes, threatening a headache.
“Thank you, Hannie.” He says.
Jeonghan hums.
There’s a pause, and Seungcheol is about to open his mouth to close out the conversation, when Jeonghan’s voice comes softly through the receiver.
“Don’t forget to take care of yourself too, Coups-ah.” He says.
“I know. I- I know.” Seungcheol says, but his voice is resigned. He knows that Jeonghan knows that his own self-care isn’t even in the top ten of his priorities right now. Not when there’s so much to do. Not when he holds the responsibility of this situation on his shoulders.
He hears a sigh come through on the other side of the phone.
“Okay.” Jeonghan eventually says, quiet. “Get some sleep, Seungcheollie.”
Seungcheol mumbles something in response, hearing the call go dead a few moments later. He passes out immediately.
Tomorrow will be another long day. Another fight.
Worth it, though. Worth it for Wonwoo.
……………
A year passes. A year of angry conversations slowly dwindling, a year of seeing Wonwoo’s smile gradually return to his face. Some healing had been gone through, some breaking too. The hands on the clock kept moving, in circles, time passing as some things changed and some things stayed the same. Jihoon’s song had torn them all back into pieces when he’d showed it to them, thirteen all smushed into his studio, allowing them to come together and gather those pieces up again.
Seungcheol had stayed stoic through it all, had shouldered the difficulties with pride. Now, seeing Wonwoo’s grin as they prepare stupid games for Caratland 2023, he can finally feel a little bit of triumph. He had known, even as the stress piled higher, that he was doing it for a reason, doing it because he loved Wonwoo, but it’s different now, getting to see that it really had been worth it.
They’re planning to sing that beautiful song together onstage, share it with everyone properly for the first time. Seungcheol had double and triple checked with both Jihoon and Wonwoo to make sure they were okay with it. Jihoon had said yes, although not without several whiny complaints that he probably wouldn’t be able to keep himself together. Wonwoo had simply smiled and nodded patiently each time Seungcheol asked.
Jihoon hadn’t been wrong. The first two days of Caratland had come and gone, Seungcheol having to pass him tissues at the end on both nights, gently teasing to make the fans laugh.
They’re nearing the end of the third day now. Seungcheol is watching the boys run excitedly across the stage, singing and laughing their hearts out as they play together. He laughs along with them.
He can’t shake this funny feeling in his stomach, though. Some instinct inside of him is raising warning bells. He’d double checked with staff before to make sure that everything was okay for the concert, even gone over details about what would be shown on the screens behind them and the rules to the games one last time. Something is still bothering him though, has been poking at him for the entire concert.
Shaking his head, he does his best to push the feeling away, tries to chalk it up to nerves and stress and exhaustion. He chooses to lose himself with the rest of them, laughing and teasing.
He’s almost forgotten about the feeling as the opening notes to Circles begin to play, everyone changed into more comfortable clothes. Standing next to Jihoon, he can’t help but tease him a little as he gives his intro speech.
“Woozi cried at the end of this song the past two days. I’m curious, you think he can make it without crying today?” He jokes, looking out at the sea of fans.
Jihoon whines and complains, betrayal written all over his face, and Seungcheol laughs as they step forward to start the song.
Halfway through, and so far so good. It’s almost time for the break where they show photos and videos of the members, back when they were tiny and wide-eyed and so unsure of their futures. For all his teasing, Seungcheol understands why Jihoon cried, why they all cried on that first day. It’s strange, to see those photos of them as kids. Because that’s what they were, kids. Kids with big dreams and no money in their pockets. Kids that are now grown and selling out stadiums.
He smiles to himself as the instrumental plays, turning to the screen to watch the slideshow again.
But something’s different.
There are no photos, no videos.
Just words.
Words written in handwriting he knows better than his own, handwriting he grew up seeing on the fridge, on notes, on birthday cards. His father’s handwriting.
Suddenly Seungcheol feels that sick feeling back and stronger than ever.
Pledis' staff had somehow managed to wrangle handwritten letters out of each of their parents. Which would maybe be sweet, could perhaps be heartwarming, if it wasn’t for the song playing in the background. A song written through grief, about the loss of one such parent.
The words continue to show up on the screen, and Seungcheol can feel anger growing, rising up to replace the uneasy feeling. They had told him it would all be the same. He had asked specifically, and they had told him nothing was going to be different. They knew. They knew that this was going to mess all of them up.
It’s when he looks across the stage and sees the tears streaming down Wonwoo’s face that the anger turns into rage.
How dare they. How dare they exploit Wonwoo’s pain to generate reactions from fans. How dare they put this entire team into such a vulnerable position with no warning, no preparation.
One by one, the letters appear and disappear. Jihoon is crying again, but this time Seungcheol is too fucking angry to even think of teasing, to even remember the little joke about curiosity and tears. The sound of Jihoon’s wrecked voice as he tries to sing through the last lines breaks something inside of Seungcheol. He paces around the stage as the members crowd around in the silence, split between Jihoon and Wonwoo on the other side.
He can’t go closer to either of them because if he does, he’ll lose his composure completely. He’ll explode and yell or cry or kick something, and that’s not a part of him that he wants to show the fans.
So he walks. He lets the other members bring Jihoon tissues and pull Wonwoo to cry into their shoulders. And he stews. The stadium is quiet, enough that he can still hear Jihoon’s sobs through the microphone, even though it’s far away from his face, forgotten.
It pisses him off. Why the hell haven’t they turned his mic volume down? The whole stadium doesn’t need to hear the sounds of Jihoon breaking apart, or see the evidence of Wonwoo’s pain falling down over his cheeks. The whole stadium should never have witnessed any of this, the raw unraveling of their deepest sorrows and pain. Something begins to rise alongside the anger in his chest, because he was the one responsible for keeping them safe, and here they are, broken in front of thousands. He hadn’t done his job well enough to protect them.
He lets it go on for a while, as fans call out with sympathy. He addresses them, once, asking them to wait a moment so his members can recover. Camera operators go for a close up on his face, and when he sees himself on the big screen he waves them away.
Enough of the exploitation. Enough of this.
“This isn’t fair.” He says, into his mic. “It’s really not fair.” He doesn’t know how much of the anger leaks into his voice, hoping that the most emotion people can read out of it is mild exasperation, perhaps thinly-veiled irritation.
Still. He’s not going to be quiet. He’s not going to let his company and whoever came up with this idea think that they’re going to get away with it.
“I guess you managers are smiling right now, huh?” He grits out, a humorless laugh escaping him. Petty. Mocking. “I’ll be seeing you guys later, yeah?”
It’s a warning. Preparing them for the storm that Choi Seungcheol is going to unleash the moment this show is finished.
Maybe it was too much, maybe a little too bold and defiant to say in front of the fans. But what’s said is said.
The tension in the stadium is high, and he knows it’s partially his fault now too. He tries to bury the fury, to call back the Seungcheol of ten minutes ago who had been so excited to tease his friend. He tries to lighten the mood, making a self-deprecating joke that he knows doesn’t land.
He’s grateful when Mingyu takes the lead, sending them all up to sit for their ending ments. He doesn’t even want to talk, afraid of what else is going to come tumbling out of his mouth because the rage hasn’t dimmed, not enough to think about anything else.
He turns to Jeonghan as they move to sit on the raised platforms next to each other.
“I asked them. I checked with them about the pictures and they fucking lied to me.” He hisses.
“I know Coups-ah, I know. We’ll talk about it later, okay? We can’t- not right now.” Jeonghan says before gently moving to settle beside him.
Seungcheol knows he’s right, knows he needs to get himself under control before he says something else potentially damaging in front of the fans. They’ve got a show to continue, an experience that fans have sacrificed their time and efforts for. He can’t let his emotions get in the way of that.
It still rankles him that they all have to sit here and talk about their thoughts when they’ve been so unceremoniously jumbled. It’s not fair to ask them all to come up with something to say when it’s so hard to keep it from getting too personal.
Joshua says something at one point, something about how he feels close enough to Carats to be vulnerable, to show these sides of the team. It takes everything in Seungcheol not to turn and tell him to be quiet.
He’s not mad at Joshua, not really. He knows that he’s just doing damage control, trying to make the situation less uncomfortable for the fans, but the message he sent them is one that Seungcheol heavily disagrees with. He doesn’t want Carats thinking that they are entitled to seeing every facet of them. It’s that comment from Joshua that has him focusing enough to properly formulate what he wants to say in his own ment.
Him and each of his members are celebrities, yes. But they don’t owe everything to fans, especially not the darkest parts of themselves. They invite fans to share their lives, their successes, but there are things that should remain private. Things like grief, like the deepest pains imaginable.
He should have done better to protect them from it, from being laid bare in front of thousands of people. He should have done more. He should have been better.
“Between us members, we already know this, but we really can’t share everything with you. You know that, right?” He says, addressing the crowd. He leaves no room for interpretation. Simply lays it out.
“It’s been a hard year for us. Not because of work. But personally. That’s why we’re crying.” Another line being drawn. Telling them that these tears were never meant for them to see.
The rest of his ment is careful, catering, but the main message is clear.
We aren’t your playthings. We’re humans too.
He tries not to sit in his head while the rest of the members talk. He does his best to stay involved, to laugh or comment at the appropriate times. The issue is, with the anger tamped down, he has more capacity to think about all of the ways he could have prevented this. All of the ways he failed to protect them from being used like this. It makes him feel sick to his stomach.
He just wants this concert to be over so he can find whoever was responsible for all of this. If he didn’t prevent it from happening this time, at least he can make damn well sure that it won’t happen again.
Somehow, he manages to muster the capability for positive energy for the last songs, singing and jumping with the rest of them. He keeps an eye on Wonwoo and Jihoon out of the corner of his eye, and they seem okay.
They’re probably masking over it, though, like he is doing with his anger, with his disappointment in himself.
Finally, finally, the concert finishes. The curtain begins to close, the last bits of music playing on as the members call their goodbyes. Chan spoils the date of their new comeback, so Seungcheol feels obliged to stay back and say it properly, even as his mind is in a completely different place. He’s one of the last to disappear behind the curtain.
Vaguely, he registers Seokmin’s voice as he stalks down the stairs to reach backstage, but now that the concert is finally over, he feels the fury surging up again, ringing in his ears. He rips his in-ear monitors out and yanks his mic pack from where it’s attached to his back pocket, storming towards the back area of the stadium where he knows that executives will be waiting and ready to congratulate them on a successful three-show fanmeeting.
He brushes past the members, a few of them turning with confused looks as he marches by.
He’s halfway down the hallway when a group of well dressed individuals come around the corner at the end of it. His pace doesn’t slow, not even as he passes the green room where the rest of the members surely assumed he was heading, where they are heading themselves. He keeps walking until he meets the group of executives, who are chatting amongst themselves until they register who, exactly, is coming to meet them.
“Who was it. Who greenlit this.” He says, coming to a stop in front of them, voice low and deadly.
Most of them have the decency to look a little uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly. None of them say anything. Seungcheol is about to press them again, to raise his voice and get an answer, when one of them has the utter audacity to ask him what he means.
“What do I mean?” He asks back, even and poisonous. “You can’t be serious- who was in charge of that little display of exploitation you just put on? Care to share?”
He looks around at each of them.
“Nobody?” He asks.
Eventually one of them speaks, the most guilty-looking out of all of them. “I- we thought that it would be a good way to connect with fans.”
“You thought-” Seungcheol cuts himself off with a scoff. “You thought that putting us out there like lambs to the slaughter, was a good way to connect with fans? Did you take one moment to think about what it would mean for us? For Wonwoo? Who wasn’t going to have a letter from his mother?”
“But the fans love this kind of-”
“And that means they get more rights to human decency than we do?” He interrupts, cutting her off shortly.
“It’s good for your branding.” She tries again, but Seungcheol is already shaking his head.
“Did you even think to ask us what we thought about this kind of “branding?”” He asks.
“We thought it unnecessary-”
“No, see, that’s a fucking lie. You all took advantage of us, of him, and you knew it wasn’t the right thing to do so you didn’t tell us.”
The hallway is silent.
“You should have told us.” He says, firm. “You didn’t. Because you knew I would say no.”
Another man opens his mouth to speak, but Seungcheol levels him with a look that is anything but civil.
“It’s in our contracts, you know. We don’t do anything we don’t want to do. You all found a loophole, and you better believe we’re going to be in meetings until that loophole doesn't exist anymore.” He says, looking each of them in the eye.
“So you go on home. Go home, and think about what it was that made this so colossally unacceptable. I’ll be there tomorrow. You better have some really fucking fantastic apologies prepared.”
There’s another silence, in which each and every one of those suits looks as if they don’t know what to do with themselves.
“Well? Go on. You’re going to need to get some good sleep.” He says, gesturing with his chin down the hallway in front of him.
Awkwardly, one by one, they turn away, walking back down the hallway. A few talk in hushed whispers between themselves but Seungcheol doesn’t care anymore. That’s a problem for another time. It’s enough for today.
He doesn’t move until they have turned the corner, until the last of them has disappeared and he can no longer hear the infuriating noise of their clicking shoes. Only then does he let himself deflate. He’s exhausted. He’s sick of this.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he begins turning around, only to be pulled strongly into a very tight hug.
Seungcheol tenses, emotions high and volatile, but the arms around him keep their grip. He recognizes the cologne as belonging to one of the members, his brain too messy for him to parse out whose it is, but it’s enough to know it means that these arms are safe. The body is warm, and wide, and strong, and Seungcheol is too spent to resist. He rests his forehead onto a broad shoulder, slumping forwards.
“It’s okay, hyung.” A soft voice whispers next to his ear. Wonwoo’s voice.
Now registering who it is, Seungcheol feels guilt rise up in his chest. He should be the one comforting Wonwoo. He should be begging forgiveness for the fact that any of this mess happened at all.
“I’m sorry.” He breathes, the words stumbling out.
Wonwoo stiffens.
“Why would you be sorry?” He asks softly.
There’s a pause, a moment where now that the anger has dissipated, all Seungcheol can feel is the weight of everything upon him, the weight of his failure.
“I didn’t protect you, I- I didn’t do the one thing I was supposed to do.” He eventually chokes out, upset and disappointed at everything, and nothing more than himself.
Wonwoo pulls back from Seungcheol to look him in the eyes, hands resting on both of his shoulders. There’s something devastating in his expression and Seungcheol doesn’t want to see that look on his face ever again.
“You didn’t protect me?” Wonwoo asks.
It’s rhetorical, he knows it is, but Seungcheol feels as if he should answer anyway.
“I- no. I didn’t.” Seungcheol responds, voice struggling to remain stable.
Wonwoo glances upwards, face flickering with something carefully repressed. When he looks back at Seungcheol, it’s with a gaze that is so strong, so achingly serious that Seungcheol is very nearly taken aback.
“Hyung, what are you talking about? You’ve been protecting me since the moment all of this started.” He says, eyes earnest, and Seungcheol is struck dumb. That hadn’t been what he’d expected. He’d been ready for some kind of placation, an assurance that he would do better next time. Not a rebuttal. His brain struggles to catch up as Wonwoo is still talking, still looking at him intently as he speaks.
“You’ve been in countless screaming matches just to get me one moment of break. You’ve confronted people you’d rather not have. You’ve done everything you could to help me in even the smallest ways, and I should have told you before but you were one of the biggest reasons I could even keep going at all, because I knew that I had you in my corner like that.”
Seungcheol can feel tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and blinks to force them back. He doesn’t know how Wonwoo knows all of this. He didn’t think anyone really knew, apart from Jihoon, and maybe Jeonghan. He hadn’t been sure that any of it had really made a difference.
Wonwoo continues talking, gesturing behind him, in the direction of the stage they had just come off of.
“This? I know you did all you could to make sure it would be okay. You checked with me, you checked with Jihoon-ah, you checked with the staff. You protected me as best you could, like you always do. Please, please don’t apologize when I know you sacrificed everything for me.”
The hallway echoes with Wonwoo’s last words, Seungcheol stood frozen, staring. All of a sudden it all comes crashing over him. The late nights, the fights, the stress. The knowledge of the simple fact that it hadn’t all been wasted, that he had done his job well. The tears begin streaming out on their own.
“I didn’t- it’s been so-” He tries to choke out, but Wonwoo pulls him back into a hug, one hand at the back of his neck.
“I know, hyung. I know.” He says softly, letting Seungcheol bury his face in his shoulder. “You’ve done more than enough. You’ve taken care of me so well.”
Seungcheol cries quietly. He doesn’t sob, doesn’t whimper. It’s relief that washes through him. It’s a quiet catharsis, as Wonwoo holds him close and patient. Warmth gathers in his chest, a little bit of pride, knowing that his efforts hadn’t been useless, that the impact had been felt.
They stay there long enough for the soft sounds of other members whispering with each other to reach them. Seungcheol lifts his face up from Wonwoo’s shoulder and huffs a laugh when he sees Soonyoung and Seokmin peeking out from the green room doorway. Wonwoo pulls back, eyebrows furrowed, then chuckles too when he twists his head to look.
Turning back to Seungcheol, he smiles softly at him. “You okay to go back in there? I think they’re all a little worried about you.”
Seungcheol nods. “I’m okay.”
Wonwoo nods back. Seungcheol begins down the hallway, but Wonwoo grabs his sleeve. Confused, Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at him.
“I just.” Wonwoo pauses. “Thank you, hyung. For all of it. I haven’t said it enough.”
Seungcheol softens.
“It was my biggest honor, Wonu-yah. I would do it all again.”
thank you so much for reading! if you liked this story, you might enjoy the other installments in this series too <3
