Chapter Text
The first time it happened, Sunoo told himself it was fine.
Votes were votes. The format of iland had been explained clearly: after every challenge, someone had to leave. It wasn’t personal, he reminded himself. Just strategy, skill, survival. He could accept that.
But the sting still lingered when he realized that, once again, it was his name the majority had written down. Although he didn't know who wrote his name down, it still didn't change the fact that it was written down by most of the people he performed with.
He forced his smile to hold as he walked toward the exit that would carry him to Ground. Cameras followed his every move, but Sunoo had already learned how to control his expressions. Smile when they expected it. Bow when it was polite. Never let them see his heart crack.
When the doors closed and the lights dimmed, he let out a single, shaky breath. He pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling.
“Again…”
The word escaped him in a whisper. He wrapped his arms around himself, hugging the cold air.
It wasn’t being sent to Ground that hurt him. He actually liked the boys down there, the ones who’d been voted out before, the ones who understood. It was the reminder that, in the eyes of those who stood beside him on the stage, he was expendable. They didn’t need him on the team.
And yet, every time, the fans would vote him back. Number one. Every single time.
At first, he’d been relieved. Grateful. He told himself, At least someone believes in me. At least someone thinks I deserve to stay. But the more it happened, the heavier the weight became.
Why did they keep saving him? Why him, out of everyone? He’d only been training for nine months. Jake, who had trained for ten years, was always working just as hard, and yet the spotlight landed on Sunoo. Others had been practicing for years, sweating and struggling to reach this moment, while he… he was just a boy who loved to perform, still learning to control his breath and hit every step with power.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew the reason. His smile, his charm, the way his eyes lit up when he was on stage. The sob story about his health. He knew he was easy to love on camera.
But was that enough? Was that all he was?
Each fan vote that pushed him to number one felt like a hand lifting him higher, but instead of feeling secure, he felt dizzy, perched on a ledge too fragile to last.
The fans would love him, but if he debuts, will his future members love him too?
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In the practice room, Sunoo sat with Jake.
Jake had been there from the start, a steady presence. They’d both been thrown into this whirlwind with barely a year of training behind them, but Jake never made Sunoo feel small about it. Instead, he laughed easily, shoulders relaxed even when others were tense.
“You did well today,” Jake said, tossing Sunoo a bottle of water. His Australian accent rounded the words in a way that made them sound more reassuring than anyone else’s.
Sunoo caught the bottle but didn’t open it. “Did I? I made a mistake in the second chorus. Heeseung hyung had to cover for me.”
Jake shrugged, sipping his own drink. “Everyone makes mistakes. That’s why it’s practice.”
Sunoo smiled faintly, but the compliment rolled off him like water. He wanted to believe Jake, but deep inside, the ache pulsed.
“They voted me out again,” Sunoo whispered.
Jake stilled, eyes flicking to him. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he set his bottle down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“You know I didn’t.”
Sunoo met his gaze. There was no hesitation there. No guilt. Just steady honesty.
“I don’t get it,” Sunoo admitted, his voice so small he hated himself for it. “Why is it always me?”
Jake’s jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to say something, to give him an answer that would fix it all. But he could only sit there in silence.
“They don’t see you the way I do. We trained and practiced together. I know how hard you work,” he said simply.
Sunoo swallowed. He wanted to ask Why can’t they see I’m trying my hardest, when we’re always practicing together? but he couldn’t. The question stuck in his throat.
Instead, he looked away and nodded, pretending Jake’s reassurance had been enough.
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Weeks blurred together. More votes. More eliminations. More fan saves.
By the time the final stage came, Sunoo had grown used to the rhythm of betrayal. He no longer flinched when his name was called. He no longer let the elevator walls close in on him. He smiled for the cameras, let the world see his resilience, and only allowed himself to crumble in silence when no one was looking.
That night, as the final lineup was announced, Sunoo felt his heart stop.
One by one, names were called. Heeseung. Jay. Jake. Sunghoon. Jungwon. Ni-ki.
The seventh spot, the fan pick. His name.
The roar of cheers, the sound of his own name shouted by fans who believed in him, should have felt like salvation. Instead, it felt like a weight crushing down on his chest.
He bowed. He smiled. He hugged the others, who smiled back with varying degrees of relief and shock. But when his cheek pressed against their shoulders, he noticed the absence.
K was not there.
K, who had been a pillar in the practice room. K, who had carried so many stages. K, who had earned the respect of everyone.
Sunoo could see it in their eyes, the flicker of grief, of guilt, of what-if.
And in his heart, the whisper grew louder: That spot wasn’t meant for you. It was meant for him.
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They debuted as ENHYPEN.
The cameras, the lights, the endless schedules, they all blurred into one. Fans cheered their names, songs charted, and awards piled up.
The others seemed to have moved on. They rarely spoke of I-LAND. To them, it was the past, a stepping stone that had led to their future together.
But for Sunoo, it was an open wound, one that no applause could heal.
And no matter how brightly he smiled, the shadows between them never fully faded.
When he’d finally seen it, the living room was dim except for the soft glow of the television. Seven boys sat scattered across couches and beanbags, bowls of snacks untouched on the table. The air was heavy with the kind of silence that wasn’t empty at all; it was thick, pulsing, suffocating.
Onscreen, the replay of I-LAND flickered. Their survival show. Their origin. The months of competition that had forged them into Enhypen. They only got the chance to watch it now.
But tonight, the familiar scenes carried new weight.
They had debuted. They had danced on music show stages, held their first fansign, and watched their fandom swell with love and cheers. Sunoo should have been relieved, celebrating. Yet, as the episodes rolled, revealing the unseen truths, who had voted for whom, who had whispered which names in private, all the unspoken, unacknowledged shadows began to stretch long across the room.
Sunoo sat pressed into the corner of the couch, his knees pulled close, hands tucked between them as if he were shrinking himself. He didn’t want the others to notice how cold his fingers were, though the dorm was warm. His heart pounded each time his face flashed on the screen, not because of pride, but dread.
He remembered the tension in the air during those votes. The way the members’ faces would tighten in guilt or determination as they placed their stones, one by one. Back then, he could pretend it wasn’t them that voted for him. That the sharp pang in his chest was just nerves. He had survived every time because of fans, their voices lifting him, their choices shielding him.
But now, the truth was undeniable.
He had been the one they voted out.
Over and over again.
Except Jake.
Sunoo swallowed hard, eyes darting away from the screen. He didn’t want to meet anyone’s gaze, not Heeseung’s, not Sunghoon’s, not Jay’s, especially not Ni-ki’s.
The silence stretched until Jungwon, their reliable leader, cleared his throat softly. “We… we should take this with perspective, right? It was part of the show.”
No one answered.
Jay shifted in his seat, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something but decided against it. Ni-ki leaned back, eyes closed, arms crossed, the picture of indifference, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him.
Jake was the only one who moved. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice steady but warm. “Sunoo, you know that doesn’t mean anything now. Right? We’re a team.”
Sunoo forced a smile, one he knew didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, of course.”
But inside, his chest burned.
That night, when the lights were off and the dorm was quiet, Sunoo lay awake staring at the ceiling. He could hear Ni-ki’s soft breathing from across the room, Jungwon’s rustling as he turned in bed.
On the surface, Sunoo was thriving. He laughed on variety shows, teased his members during V Lives, and took every killing part given to him with dazzling expressions.
But at night, lying in his bunk staring at the ceiling, he thought of those votes. Of every time his brothers had written his name down, sending him to the Ground. Of the way K’s absence hung in the air like a ghost.
Sunoo’s mind wouldn’t stop replaying the moments.
Heeseung’s face on the screen, vote in hand. His name falling from Jungwon’s lips with careful deliberation. Sunghoon’s too. Jay’s. Even Ni-ki’s, as though he and Sunoo hadn't spent so many nights in Ground together, huddled for warmth, whispering jokes to keep spirits alive.
All of them had once chosen him out.
Except Jake.
He thought of Jake’s vote, the one voice, the one act of trust. Nine months of training, barely any longer than Jake’s own ten, yet Jake had never doubted him. Jake had seen him as an equal. As deserving.
The comfort warmed Sunoo briefly, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the louder thought:
Why had no one else believed in him?
His chest tightened. His fans had voted him number one, over and over. But what did the cheers mean when his own teammates hadn’t seen him as worthy?
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