Seventeen: the quiet harmony of us [Woozi X Scoups]

Chapter 2: Strained Strings

The days leading up to the tour were chaotic. Every moment was spent in rehearsals, meetings, and last-minute preparations. Tensions were high, and the pressure was suffocating. But amidst it all, Woozi and Seungcheol had found their rhythm. They were an unspoken team, with Seungcheol supporting Woozi in quiet ways—bringing him food when he forgot to eat, offering encouragement when the stress got too much, staying late after rehearsals just to keep him company.

The connection between them had always been natural, seamless, but lately, something felt different. Woozi could feel it in the way Seungcheol lingered just a little longer when they talked, how his hand would rest on Woozi’s shoulder for a beat too long, or how his eyes softened in moments of quiet, unspoken understanding. Woozi wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he couldn’t deny the warmth that settled in his chest whenever Seungcheol was around.

The other members noticed, of course. How could they not?

“Do you think they know?” Mingyu whispered one day as he watched Woozi and Seungcheol from across the room. The two were huddled over Woozi’s laptop, reviewing something about the setlist. Seungcheol’s body leaned toward Woozi, their shoulders almost touching.

Jeonghan smirked, leaning against the wall. “They’re clueless.”

“They’re perfect for each other,” Joshua added, shaking his head with a smile. “But you know how Woozi is. He’s too in his head.”

“And Seungcheol’s too patient to push him,” Jeonghan said knowingly. “It’ll take time.”

“Should we do something about it?” Minghao chimed in, joining the conversation as he eyed the pair from a distance.

Jeonghan chuckled, crossing his arms. “No need. They’ll figure it out eventually.”

---

That night, Woozi found himself in the studio again, late after everyone else had gone to bed. This time, though, it wasn’t music that was keeping him awake. It was the weight of something he couldn’t name, something that had been growing between him and Seungcheol for months. The pressure of the tour and the constant demands of production were beginning to blur into something bigger—something that left him feeling raw, exposed.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the music just wasn’t coming. It was frustrating, and Woozi hated how out of control he felt. Music had always been his sanctuary, the one thing he could control when everything else felt chaotic. But tonight, even that felt distant, unreachable.

The door creaked open again, just like before. Woozi didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

And, just like before, Seungcheol stepped inside, his presence filling the room with a quiet kind of calm. He approached slowly, his footsteps soft against the studio floor. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat beside Woozi on the small couch, close but not too close. His presence was enough to ease some of the tension in Woozi’s shoulders, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the tightness in his chest.

“I knew you’d be here,” Seungcheol said, his voice low, familiar.

Woozi didn’t respond. Instead, he stared at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers as the silence stretched between them. He didn’t know how to put into words the whirlwind of emotions that had been building inside him—the pressure, the exhaustion, and the growing feelings he didn’t know how to confront.

“Jihoon…” Seungcheol’s voice was soft, tentative. “What’s going on?”

Woozi’s chest tightened. He wanted to brush it off, to say it was nothing and continue as if everything was fine. But he couldn’t lie to Seungcheol. Not when he was looking at him with those concerned eyes, the ones that always seemed to see right through him.

“I don’t know,” Woozi said finally, his voice strained. “I just… I feel like I’m drowning.”

Seungcheol didn’t push, giving Woozi the space he needed to find his words.

“I’m supposed to be the one who holds everything together,” Woozi whispered, his hands clenching into fists. “But sometimes I don’t know if I can. And I hate that I feel this way, that I can’t just—”

He stopped, his throat tightening with the weight of his unspoken words. The vulnerability of admitting this, even to Seungcheol, was overwhelming. He was used to being the strong one, the one who everyone relied on. He wasn’t supposed to feel this fragile.

Seungcheol didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, quietly, he reached out and placed his hand over Woozi’s clenched fist. It was a simple gesture, but it was enough to make Woozi’s breath hitch. The warmth of Seungcheol’s touch grounded him in a way nothing else had lately.

“You’re not alone in this,” Seungcheol said softly, his voice steady and reassuring. “You never were.”

The words hit Woozi harder than he expected. They were exactly what he needed to hear, but hadn’t been able to admit. Tears welled up in his eyes, and before he could stop them, they spilled over, hot and overwhelming. He tried to turn away, to hide his face, but Seungcheol was faster.

Without a word, Seungcheol pulled him into his arms, holding him tightly. Woozi didn’t fight it. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to be vulnerable, to lean on someone else. It felt foreign, but at the same time, it felt safe.

Seungcheol’s hand stroked his hair, his voice a gentle whisper. “You don’t have to do this alone, Jihoon. I’m here. I’ve always been here.”

Woozi clung to him, his face buried in Seungcheol’s shoulder, the quiet comfort of his embrace calming the storm inside him. He didn’t know how long they stayed like that—minutes, maybe longer—but for the first time in what felt like forever, Woozi didn’t feel like he had to keep holding everything together on his own.

The weight of the tour, the expectations, the unspoken feelings between him and Seungcheol—they all melted away, just for a moment. All that mattered was Seungcheol’s arms around him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the quiet reassurance that he wasn’t alone.

When Woozi finally pulled back, his eyes were red, but the tightness in his chest had loosened. He looked at Seungcheol, searching his face for any sign of discomfort, but all he saw was warmth, understanding.

“Thank you,” Woozi whispered, his voice hoarse from crying.

Seungcheol smiled softly, brushing a stray tear from Woozi’s cheek. “Anytime.”

They sat in silence for a while longer, side by side, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Woozi didn’t know what would happen next—if this moment would change things between them, if he’d ever find the courage to put his feelings into words. But for now, it didn’t matter.

For now, Seungcheol was here, and that was enough.

---