Work Text:
“...naeildo neol al-abol geoya nan … jigeumcheoleom hello…”
After their song, Hello, finally came to a stop, the deafening cheers of fans erupted, echoing through the dome. Even with his in-ear monitors still on, Ricky could feel the vibrations of thousands of voices chanting, the synchronized lightsticks swaying like waves of an endless ocean. It should have been breathtaking, and it was—but Ricky’s chest felt heavy.
This was their penultimate concert before their contract ended this year. The end was near, and they all knew it. Each member had been pouring everything into these last performances, pushing themselves to the point of collapse.
For Ricky, that truth was harsher than ever.
He thought back to the comments he read just hours before stepping on stage:
– truthfully, i want the members to stay together even though some of them are getting treated badly TT
– selfish! You’d rather let him continue getting hurt???? Ricky shouldn’t continue his contract!!
– lol, he isn’t that talented anyway, so it wouldn’t make a difference even if zb1 becomes an 8-member group.
– ??? KYS
Each word had carved itself into his chest, leaving wounds that the loud cheers around him couldn’t heal. He knew this was normal in fandom culture—conflict, hate, the endless back-and-forth—but today, it pierced deeper. Maybe because he hadn’t been feeling well these past few days. Maybe because he was tired of pretending he was unaffected.
– Honestly, his skills are mediocre for an idol. So even if he leaves the group, he wouldn’t thrive as a soloist.
“Ugh…” He grimaced as a sharp ringing filled his ears, drowning out the roar of the dome. Ricky blinked, trying to steady himself, but the stage lights blurred, and the members’ voices became distant. He pressed his hand to his ear, shutting his eyes instinctively.
A warm grip caught his other hand. “Rick, we have to gather in line and bow.”
It was Gyuvin. Ricky forced his eyes open and was met with Gyuvin’s worried gaze. His sweaty palm must have startled him—Ricky wasn’t the type to sweat like this. Still, he gave a small shake of his head and turned toward the front, forcing himself into line with the others.
“1, 2, 3, thank you, Zeroses!”
They bowed, smiles plastered on their faces. But Ricky’s legs trembled beneath him. He felt Gyuvin’s eyes burning into his side, then caught him whispering urgently to Hanbin. Ricky tried not to focus on it. He tried to keep walking. But with each step, the dizziness grew worse. His breath came in shallow bursts, and the world dimmed at the edges.
He heard voices—Jiwoong’s, Taerae’s—but they were muffled, warped, as though he were submerged underwater. He wanted to reassure them, to say it was just a fever lingering from the past few days, but all that escaped was a harsh, dry cough. His throat burned. His body begged him to stop, but he clenched his fists, forcing another step forward.
Then his knees buckled.
“Ricky!”
The last thing he heard was the scream of fans near the stage before the world tilted and went dark.
*
When Ricky awoke, the ceiling above him was unfamiliar yet recognizable—backstage. An oxygen mask was strapped to his face, the cool rush of air filling his lungs. Medical staff hovered close, murmuring as they checked his vitals. Beyond them, the members stood in a tense cluster.
Hao bit his nails until they were nearly raw, Hanbin paced and pressed the staff for updates, while Jiwoong stared at his phone like he was waiting for bad news, and Taerae... he was practically restraining Gyuvin, whose entire body shook with barely contained panic.
When Ricky’s eyes opened fully, his gaze immediately found Gyuvin’s. His eyes were red, his nose flushed, and his lips pressed into a trembling line. He looked like he had been holding everything back, and Ricky’s chest ached at the sight.
“Ricky!” Gyuvin’s voice cracked, relief flooding his features as the others rushed closer, crowding him with worried questions and tearful exclamations.
“Your temperature’s still high,” one of the staff said firmly. “You need to go to the hospital for further tests.”
Their manager nodded, already making arrangements. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it.”
Jiwoong immediately shook his head when the manager suggested only a few people accompany him. “I’m going too.” His tone left no room for argument.
“Me too,” Gyuvin’s voice broke again. “I want to be with him.”
But Hanbin cut in, gently but firmly, “No. We can’t draw more attention. There’s already a video of Ricky collapsing going around online.”
The words hung heavy. Ricky lowered his gaze. Of course the world had already seen him at his weakest. He really was pathetic isn't he?
*
After hours at the hospital, he was finally discharged. His phone buzzed relentlessly with missed calls from his mother. His heart sank—she must have seen everything online. He called her immediately, reassuring her between shallow breaths: “Mom, I’m fine… yes, discharged already… don’t worry.”
But the moment the call ended, his thumb hovered over the social media apps. He swallowed hard, then set the phone down. He couldn’t look. Not tonight.
Back at the dorm, the members surrounded him, relief still etched on their faces.
“What did the doctor say?” Hao asked immediately.
Ricky explained quietly that he needed a week of rest. Only then did they reluctantly let him go, insisting they’d take turns checking in. Ricky chuckled softly, too tired to argue, and slipped into his room.
Not even ten minutes later, a knock came. “It’s open,” he called.
The door creaked, soft footsteps followed, and the bed dipped beside him. “Rick…”
Ricky turned his head and managed a weak smile. “Qubing.” He lifted his arms, and Gyuvin hesitated only a second before collapsing into his embrace, clutching him tightly.
“Sorry… I really worried you guys.” Ricky whispered. But when Gyuvin didn’t answer, Ricky frowned. “…Qubing?” He froze when he felt dampness soaking into his shirt, right where Gyuvin’s face was buried.
“Don’t cry…” Ricky tried to sit up, but Gyuvin held him down, trembling.
It was a long moment before Gyuvin finally spoke, voice muffled and raw. “Back there… you looked like you were about to break. Like you couldn’t breathe.” He lifted his face, eyes glistening as he searched Ricky’s expression. “Can’t you tell me what really happened?”
Ricky faltered, guilt pressing into him. “It’s nothing. Just exhaustion. You know how it is.”
“Don’t lie.” Gyuvin’s frown deepened, his gaze unrelenting. “I know you too well.”
Ricky’s chest tightened. The hateful comments replayed in his mind, sharp and poisonous. He had brushed them off so many times before, so why did they cut so deep this time? He didn’t want Gyuvin to know. Didn’t want to seem weak. But when Gyuvin whispered again—
“Baby, please?”—Ricky’s defenses cracked. His ears burned at the endearment, and he finally admitted in a trembling voice, “I just… I saw some things online before the concert. I didn’t expect it to hit me so hard. I know it’s stupid.”
Gyuvin’s arms tightened around him like a vow. “No. Don’t you dare call it stupid. You’re allowed to feel hurt, Ricky. You don’t have to carry it all alone.”
Ricky’s throat closed up. For the first time that night, the weight he’d been holding back began to lift—just a little—as he let himself sink deeper into Gyuvin’s embrace.