Wy

The fluorescent lights of the practice room hummed with a low, electric vibration that seemed to settle right under Wooyoung’s skin. It was three in the morning, the golden hour of idols, where the line between dedication and exhaustion blurred into a hazy, sweat-slicked reality.

Wooyoung stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, his chest heaving. He had shed his oversized hoodie an hour ago, leaving him in a simple black tank top. His hair, dyed back to a deep, obsidian black for the upcoming comeback, was plastered to his forehead in damp clumps. He looked at his reflection, tracing the line of his jaw and the slight hollow of his cheeks.

He had worked hard for this. It wasn’t a crash diet; he had been eating, just differently. He’d traded some of his heavy muscle mass for a leaner, more fluid silhouette that he felt suited the elegant, dark concept of their new title track. He felt light. He felt fast. He felt healthy.

With a sigh, he reached for his phone, which was vibrating incessantly against the hardwood floor. He shouldn’t have looked. He knew he shouldn’t have, but the curiosity was a phantom limb he couldn't stop reaching for.

He opened Twitter, and the first thing that popped up was a side-by-side comparison of him from the *Bouncy* era versus a fansite preview from their recording today.

*“Is it just me or is Wooyoung getting too thin? I miss his thick thighs and his cheeks,”* the top comment read, boasting thousands of likes.

*“He looks sick. Look at his collarbones. KQ needs to feed him. He looked so much better and healthier during the last tour,”* another user replied.

*“Bring back 2022 Wooyoung. This version of him makes me uncomfortable to watch. He’s losing his charm.”*

Wooyoung felt a cold prickle of discomfort wash over him. It wasn't the first time he'd seen these comments. For the past two weeks, they had been everywhere—on his Instagram, in the YouTube comments of their logs, and even on the fan cafe.

He looked back at the mirror. Was he uncomfortable to watch? He pressed a hand to his stomach, feeling the slight dip where there used to be more substance. He had thought he looked good. He had felt proud of his discipline. But the collective voice of thousands of people telling him he looked "wrong" was starting to drown out his own internal compass.

The door to the practice room creaked open. Wooyoung quickly locked his phone and tossed it onto his gym bag, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"Still at it, Jung Wooyoung?"

Seonghwa entered, carrying two bottles of electrolyte water. His expression was soft, but his eyes were sharp, scanning Wooyoung with that maternal instinct that none of the members could ever quite escape.

"Just finishing up," Wooyoung said, forcing a grin. He tried to summon his usual boisterous energy, the loud laughter that usually filled the halls of KQ. "I wanted to get the transition in the second verse perfect. You know how Mingi gets if we’re a beat off."

Seonghwa walked over and handed him a bottle. "Mingi is asleep on the couch in the lounge, drooling on a pillow. I don't think he’s worried about the second verse right now. I think you should be more worried about getting some sleep."

Wooyoung took a long swig of the drink, the cold liquid stinging his throat. "I’m fine, Hyung. Really."

Seonghwa didn't move. He leaned against the mirror, crossing his arms. "I saw the staff looking at the tablets earlier. They were filtering comments on the latest teaser photos."

Wooyoung’s heart sank. If the staff were filtering them, it meant the situation was worse than he thought. "They’re just worried," Wooyoung murmured, his voice losing its forced cheer. "They think I’m starving myself."

"Are you?" Seonghwa asked gently.

"No! You know I’m not," Wooyoung snapped, then immediately softened. "I’m eating three meals. I’m just... I'm just not lifting as heavy. I wanted to look different for this concept. I wanted to look sharper."

Seonghwa sighed, stepping closer and placing a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder. "I know you are. We see you eating. But the fans only see the photos. They see a change and they get scared. They think they’re being supportive by saying they want the 'old' you back, but they don't realize they're just criticizing the 'current' you."

Wooyoung looked down at his feet. "They say I looked better before. Like I’m a disappointment now because I don't have the same body I had a year ago. It makes me feel like I’m performing in a body that isn't mine anymore."

"It is yours," Seonghwa insisted, squeezing his shoulder. "And as long as you feel strong and healthy, that’s what matters. But Woo, if the comments are making you uncomfortable, stop reading them. Give the phone to San. He’ll hide it in a place you’ll never find it."

Wooyoung chuckled weakly. "San would probably sit on it and break it by accident."

"Probably," Seonghwa smiled. "Come on. Let’s go back to the dorm. Hongjoong ordered chicken, and if we don't get there soon, Jongho will finish the radish."

***

The next few days were a whirlwind of music show pre-recordings. The adrenaline usually kept Wooyoung’s spirits high, but the comments had become a physical weight. Every time he stepped onto the stage, he felt hyper-aware of how the fabric of his stage outfit draped over his frame. He felt the eyes of the cameras, not as tools to capture his performance, but as magnifying glasses searching for flaws.

During a break in the filming for a popular variety show, the members were sitting in the dressing room. Wooyoung was unusually quiet, picking at a bowl of fruit.

San, who had been watching him like a hawk for days, finally sat down beside him. He didn't say anything at first, just leaned his head on Wooyoung’s shoulder, a silent offer of solidarity.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop reading them, because I know you won't," San said quietly, loud enough only for Wooyoung to hear. "But I want you to look at me."

Wooyoung turned his head slightly, meeting San’s intense gaze.

"Do you feel weak when we dance?" San asked.

Wooyoung shook his head. "No. I feel fast. I feel like I can jump higher."

"Do you feel dizzy? Do you feel like you're going to faint?"

"No."

"Then you're doing fine," San said firmly. "The fans... they love us, Woo. But they think they own the way we look. They think that because they've seen us grow for five years, they have a vote in how our bodies change. They don't. Only you get a vote. And maybe the doctor. But definitely not a stranger with a keyboard in another country."

Wooyoung leaned his head back against San’s. "It just sucks, Sannie. I worked hard to get this look. I thought they’d be impressed by the discipline. Instead, they’re acting like I’m a victim of my own job. It makes me feel... small."

"You're never small," San countered. "You're the loudest, most annoying person I know. And I need that person back. The stage feels too quiet when you're inside your own head."

A knock at the door interrupted them. A staff member poked her head in. "Ateez, you're up for the ending fairy shots. Wooyoung-ssi, the stylist wants to pin your shirt a bit more at the waist."

Wooyoung felt a familiar jolt of anxiety. *Pin the shirt. Because it’s too big. Because I’m too small.*

He stood up, his face masking the turmoil inside. He walked over to the stylist, standing still as she tucked the fabric of his expensive silk shirt, cinching it tighter around his midsection to emphasize his lean frame.

"There," she said, patting his side. "You look very elegant, Wooyoung. Very chic."

He tried to take the compliment, but as he stepped out onto the stage, the bright lights felt like an interrogation. They performed *Crazy Form*, and as always, Wooyoung gave it 110%. He flipped, he lunged, he smirked at the camera with the practiced ease of a veteran idol.

But when the music stopped and he had to hold his 'ending fairy' pose, he saw a group of fans in the front row. They weren't cheering. Two of them were whispering to each other, pointing at his arms, their faces etched with what looked like pity.

The pity was worse than the insults.

When they got back to the van after the shoot, Wooyoung went straight to the back and pulled his hood up. He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the V-Live icon.

"What are you doing?" Yunho asked from the seat in front of him.

"I'm going live," Wooyoung said, his voice flat.

"Now? You're exhausted," Hongjoong said, turning around from the passenger seat.

"I need to say something. If I don't, I’m going to explode."

The members exchanged worried glances, but they knew better than to stop him when he had that specific glint in his eyes. Wooyoung waited until they reached the dorm, then went straight to his room and set up his phone.

The notification went out, and within seconds, tens of thousands of people joined. The comments flooded in instantly.

*“Woo! You worked so hard today!”*
*“Eat a lot of delicious food tonight, please!”*
*“You look so tired, are you okay?”*
*“Please gain some weight, we are so worried.”*

Wooyoung stared at the screen for a long minute, watching the "worried" comments scroll by in a blur of blue and white text. He took a deep breath.

"Hello, Atiny," he started, his voice calm but steady. "I saw the performance today. I saw the pictures. And I’ve been reading what you’ve been saying."

The comment section slowed down slightly.

"I know you care about me," Wooyoung continued, leaning closer to the camera. "I know that when you say you miss my 'old body' or that you're worried about my health, it comes from a place of love. But I want to be honest with you. It’s making me very uncomfortable."

He paused, letting the words sink in. In the other room, he could hear the faint sound of the other members hovering near his door, listening.

"I am healthy. I am eating well. I am stronger than I’ve ever been," he said, his black hair falling over his eyes. "This was a choice I made for myself and for this comeback. When you tell me I looked 'better' before, or that I look 'sick' now, it feels like you're telling me that my hard work was a mistake. It feels like you're judging my body instead of my dancing or my singing."

He looked directly into the lens, his expression serious. "I am not a character in a book that stays the same forever. I am a human being. My body will change. I will gain weight, I will lose weight, I will get muscular, I will get lean. That is my right. I want you to love Ateez for our music and our passion. Please... stop commenting on my weight. It doesn't make me feel loved. It just makes me want to hide."

He stayed on for a few more minutes, answering trivial questions about his favorite snacks and the hair dye he used, trying to shift the energy back to something lighter. When he finally turned off the stream, he felt like a literal weight had been lifted off his chest.

There was a soft knock on the door. It was Hongjoong.

The leader didn't say anything at first. He just walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. "That was brave. Not many idols would say that so bluntly."

"I was tired of feeling like a project instead of a person," Wooyoung admitted, leaning back against his headboard.

"You did the right thing," Hongjoong said. "They need to remember the boundaries. We give them our hearts, Woo, but our bodies belong to us."

Wooyoung nodded, feeling a sense of peace he hadn't felt in weeks. He picked up his phone one last time, but instead of going to Twitter, he opened his gallery. He looked at a photo San had taken of him earlier that day—a candid shot of him laughing between takes, his eyes crinkled into crescents, his black hair messy.

He didn't look at his jawline. He didn't look at his arms. He just looked at the expression on his face. He looked happy.

"Hey, Hyung?" Wooyoung called out as Hongjoong reached the door.

"Yeah?"

"Is there any of that chicken left?"

Hongjoong grinned, the familiar, mischievous spark returning to his eyes. "Jongho is currently guarding the last leg with a fork. If you want it, you’re going to have to fight for it."

Wooyoung stood up, stretching his lean limbs, feeling the strength in his muscles and the fire in his belly. "Tell him to get ready. The 'new' Wooyoung is hungry."

As he walked down the hallway, the echo of his own laughter filled the dorm, louder and brighter than any comment on a screen. He was still Jung Wooyoung—black hair, sharp wit, and a soul that couldn't be weighed on a scale. And for the first time in a long time, that was more than enough.