So I never realized how strange it would be to write about writers and fanboys. I am both Wooyoung and San depending on the situation lol.

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Wooyoung's POV

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I lay on my bed on my stomach, reading all the messages of support over and over. A warm feeling spread through my insides at the nice words everyone had for me. This was why I loved doing what I did. Because the good outweighed the bad. Because the love I felt from people I didn't even know made a lot of my real life torment tolerable. My favorite though, was by far the one from SecretARMY378, who definitely seemed like a big fan.

Those guys sound like such jerks. Sorry you're going through that. Thank you for persisting though! And it's alright if it's not done quickly. Your stories are more than worth the wait. Thank you also for not deleting these amazing stories. I'm sure I already told you that your stories are the reason I like Namjin at all. Please never stop. The world needs your awesome stories.

I giggled quietly to myself, rolling around on the sheets as I soaked in the praise. It felt nice, knowing that I'd turned someone on to a certain pairing. What better honor than that? I'd gotten to know a bit about them too, via the comments and replies on my story.  Like the name suggests, they were a secret ARMY. Not a lot of people know about that fact. They also held me in really high regard, claiming they loved my work and were always anxiously waiting for the next update. They also mentioned they recommended my stories elsewhere if anyone asked for recommendations.

"Wooyoung?" I slammed the lid of my laptop down as my door swung open and mom came in. I sat up. "What's all the giggling about?" she asked with a small smile.

"Nothing," I said, trying to sound innocent and nonchalant. "Just watching funny videos. What's up?" I moved to sit on the edge of the bed, trying to draw her attention away from my laptop. She didn't know about BangtanBadBoi, and that was not going to change. I didn't want her to know about my alter ego. Doing so would reveal a lot more than some simple stories.

"I was going out with a couple friends," she answered, and for the first time I noticed her nice blouse and jeans. "Just wanted to tell you I might be back late."

"Alright mom," I said, giving her a squeeze around the waist. She patted my hair. "Have fun." I waved as she left. Once she was out if sight, I flopped backwards, rolling over onto my stomach to look at my laptop again. I read through the comments for the fifth time, feeling light and cozy. A different kind of notification, however, caught my eye. "Personal message?" I questioned to myself. No one ever messaged me on here. Mostly because they just read and did nothing else. I clicked on it, my eyes widening when I saw who it was from.

SecretARMY378: hey. So I know we've never really, like, talked before. But I just wanted to say that what you do... A lot of people like it, okay? Don't let your bullies get you down.

I read their message over and over, hardly believing it. Honestly I didn't expect anyone to read my author's notes. Or if they did, not actually care about them. So I felt rather touched that this person took some time out of their day to say these nice things to me. It was exactly the kind of pick me up I needed.

BangtanBadBoi: I'll try not to let it get me down! Thank you for the words of encouragement. It means a lot to me. I'm glad you enjoy my stories so much. I'm also glad to get to know a fellow ARMY.

I left it at that, finally closing my laptop for good for the night. I set it down carefully on the floor, a little under my bed so I wouldn't step on it in the morning. I shed my sweater after that. I loved it, and would gladly sleep in it, but I had a tendency to overheat in the middle of the night. I would end up with it on the floor anyway. I picked up the book balanced on my nightstand, settling back against my headboard. I thumbed through a few pages until the words began to blur, though I knew it wasn't from drowsiness.

I very well could stop what I was doing. I knew what attention it brought me. Yet at the same time writing was my comfort. My escape from reality. It brought me joy like very few things did. Writing let me be whoever I imagined myself to be. And when I began writing fanfictions in year seven and saw what kind of community awaited me, it quickly turned into a kind of drug as well. I couldn't go more than a couple days without jotting something down. Filling notebooks meant for school assignments with the wild things my imagination conjured. Inking ideas into my skin with pens and markers so I wouldn't forget them. It became another part of who I was, for better or worse.

I sighed, using a finger to trace nonsensical patterns between the posters on my ceiling. A few BTS ones from the few albums I'd collected for myself. Dark and Wild. Wings. Love Yourself: Her. A fan made drawing I'd bought for a few won off Wish. An EXO poster too. From The Power of Music. I didn't own much, but I was proud of it regardless.

I rolled to face the wall, closing my eyes. I wasn't tired. Not by any means. But my dreams were always far better than my reality.

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San's POV

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I should've been sleeping. I knew that. I had school the next morning, and even if I had a bit if a reputation as a bad boy, I was still mostly studious. I got good grades and maintained an impressive attendance record. Usually by now I was fast asleep, off in dreamland. But tonight I felt restless, tossing and turning until I tangled my limbs in my blankets, no position feeling comfortable. It didn't help that my thoughts decided to go a million kilometers an hour right now.

I sighed, sitting up and shoving the blankets away from me. I swung my legs over the side of my bed and simply sat there, eyes closed and breathing even, waiting for that wave of exhaustion to wash over me. But when I opened my eyes I still felt itchy and wired for no reason. So I stood, groaning a little as my back cracked a bit. I stretched my arms above my head, walking across my room and settling myself in my desk chair. My fingers danced lightly across the wood as my phone caught my eye. I could read to pass the time. But I also knew myself, and if I began, I wouldn't stop until the sun rose.

"Fuck it," I whispered to myself, sliding the phone over and opening Wattpad. I paused after that. What did I even want to read? I could continue that Chanbaek story I was slowly working through. But I quickly dismissed that idea. I didn't feel like reading about EXO tonight. That Jihope story I added to my library last week? It sounded good. I was a bit of a sucker for fantasy-esque stories, and when it was mentioned that it dealt with faeries, it was immediately added.

But even after all of that, there was really only a handful of stories that really kept my focus. That I could read and reread countless times. That I loved without question. That I turned to any time I was feeling down. And that was anything written by BangtanBadBoi. His stories brought me a kind of comfort I never knew I needed.

"Which one?" I mused aloud. I could reread Hold Me Tightly. It was my favorite after all. But after some careful consideration I loaded up Rock-a-bye, craving a little Jihope after all. My second favorite one was parent stories, and Rock-a-bye was that. They weren't idols in it, and Jhope had a failed marriage (not on his end. She decided to end it). Except she left him with full custody of their one year old son, named Ki Woong. Once he meets Jimin, he tries desperately to hide the fact he's a single dad in fear of scaring him off with a toddler. It was sappy. It was adorable. I loved it so much.

The next time I thought to look at the time I winced at how much had passed. It was a little after midnight when I started. Now it was almost four. I was actually almost finished with the story. But I forced myself to set the phone down and retreat back to my bed. I laid down, facing my ceiling. I reached under the covers and pulled out Shiber, a plush toy that'd I'd had for as long as I could remember. Everyone always assumed I threw him out as I got older, and for some reason I let them believe that. It was kind of like BTS in a way. I didn't need the extra attention on me. I cuddled Shiber to my chest, running my fingers over his not fluff.

Actually, Wooyoung and I were a lot more alike than he realized. I just never admitted it to him. We both liked the same things. We both had something we were passionate about. He was just vocal about his passion. He wore his fandoms proudly, plastered all over his clothes and his belongings. I hid mine, preferring to stay in the shadows with it and watch from the sidelines. He didn't always mind the attention on him. I hated it. To me, it was a sign of weakness. One I couldn't show, even if all I wanted to do was shout it out some days.

"San?" I groaned as my name was spoken, lifting my head off the pillow and blinking blearily into the morning light. "It's almost time to get up for school," mom continued, pushing my door open a bit more.

"Actually mom, I don't feel very well this morning." I hoped my lack of sleep and scratchy morning voice made that sound believable. She frowned and made her way inside. Her hand immediately found my forehead. I held my breath as her frown deepened a bit.

"You aren't warm," she commented lightly. I closed my eyes, whining pathetically. I really didn't want to go to school today. I wasn't lying. Not really. I didn't feel good, but I couldn't exactly explain why. Something just felt wrong. "I suppose I can let you stay home," she decided. "Just this once."

"Thanks mom," I said, feeling a rush of relief at not being made to go to school. She patted my cheek and left. I scooped Shiber up off the floor and tucked him back under my arm, laying down and closing my eyes. Maybe if I slept I could shake this strange feeling inside me. But once again sleep alluded me. I tossed and turned and tried so many different positions it was getting ridiculous.

You know why, a little voice at the back of my mind said. You know exactly why you feel this way. You aren't a bad guy. Why do you treat someone you once considered your friend so horrid?

"Stop it!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands over my ears like I could physically block my thoughts. "He...he brings it on himself," I added softly. "He's different. He's weird. He's asking for it. Right?" By the final word my voice was barely a whisper as I contemplated everything I'd just said. No, not really. He wasn't asking for it. But I outed him before he could get his footing and turned a lot of the school against him. He was an outcast among our peers, and I was the reason. "It's not like we treat Jongho any better..." But we didn't do anything to him expect stop including him. We didn't go out of our way to make his life living hell. So why Wooyoung?

Because I was hiding my own set of fears and insecurities and instead of facing them head on I choose to make a spectacle of someone who liked something out if the norm. I wasn't dumb. I could see what we were all doing to him. I could see us chipping away at his morale, slowing brining him closer to his breaking point. But at this point all I could do was join them. Lead them. Or I risked everything I fought so hard to hide.

...

Well well. San does have a moral compass.