❄ Cold Relations ❄ [SEVENTEEN] ✓

Chapter 34: Picking Up the Pieces (i.e. SEVENTEEN's Lost Memories)

S.Coups was tired of playing father to eleven kids, a job he knew too well. "Guys..."

Jeonghan possessed the stern tongue of a fulltime mother. "That's a terrible idea. Woozi cut our travel time almost in half. Like hell we'll split up. And risk getting separated for good? No, I don't think so."

DK, Seungkwan, and Jun couldn't even look Jeonghan in the eye after that. They felt absolutely humiliated, their hopes obliterated, and none of them had the guts to fight the issue or apologize...

~.~.~

The underground subway reminded Woozi of a cement casket—there was only one way out. Either they achieved their goal, or they died trying. The floor was smeared yellow with paint that was no longer vibrant. The little circular outgrowths on the concrete under his feet always made Jihoon wonder what purpose they served. Maybe when the weather was foul, and thousands of hustlers brought rain in on their shoes, it prevented them from slipping—but that was just a guess. Square pillars curved around the rim of the platform and a four-foot drop to the gulley of the tracks—chipped wood and wrought iron—which needed repairs.

Woozi absorbed the damp, dank atmosphere; it was winter, yet the walls were sweating, displaying water damage, due to some leaking pipes embedded in the cracked cement. To spare his legs, Jihoon swung them over the edge and pushed off to the gulley. S.Coups jumped straight down. Vernon was next, and he followed S.Coups's lead, but the leap shook his bones enough to make his legs ache. "Aish. Chincha..." Hansol bent over and massaged his sore knees.

The8 was half into the jump when Hoshi cracked one hell of a joke (and this time, yes, it was actually funny), funny enough to have Minghao twist his ankle on the way down, stumble, and almost fall—Woozi was there to steady him.

"You all right?"

The8 tested his ankle—tender but not injured—and nodded. He looked Jihoon straight in the eye, and Woozi stared back at him, unblinking. More confused feelings. How wonderful. Why does everything Woozi says and does, despite the tension between us, make me like him even more?

"Left or right?" Vernon asked.

S.Coups scratched the back of his neck and said, "Don't ask me that question. Ask Woozi." Flashbacks. Unpleasant flashbacks... from the bar. He forced himself to block them out.

Vernon sensed their leader's discomfort and eased off. "Mianhae."

S.Coups acknowledged him with a thankful smile; he wasn't the only one experiencing these "blasts from the past."

More memories. Woozi, for one, couldn't stop them from coming. The closer they came to the dorm, the more he seemed to remember. I stepped off the subway and rooted my foot to the platform. My dream was to become a producer, and I followed my love of music from Busan to Seoul and Pledis Entertainment. It was the day of my audition. I wasn't just nervous. Excitement was twisted with anxiety, and the jumble of emotions was giving me hell. I felt like I would pass out at any moment. I could sing, and even play multiple instruments, but I could not dance. And I don't know what I would do if they asked me to try. Where would I even start? To be taken under Pledis's wing. To be accepted as a trainee. Those were my ultimate goals. Yet, for a boy who could barely find his way around Busan, how likely was it that I would succeed? Confidence. A quality I often lacked, but a vital one in the life of a Kpop idol. I must have confidence—

An astringent beam of light stabbed through the darkness and blinded Jihoon; he splayed his fingers over his eyes to prevent retina damage and hugged the wall as his mind went blank. A blaring horn shattered his sensitive hearing. And then he saw it: a train—such a powerful machine, barreling down the tracks, ready to ravish his body, rip it to pieces. If it was possible to peel back the outer metal layer and reveal the innerworkings, one would not find body tissue nor a beating heart, which would feel remorse for the many lives it took. Woozi's free arm wavered with indecision; should it protect his mind, his precious memories; or his heart, his fragile emotions. Unable to reach a verdict, the arm clung to his body to lessen the impact on pain of death—