Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The answer that is always given
is when you die you can reset
and start again

Yeonjun used to think they were like fractals. 

A chaotic outward spiral; uncontrollable but in some ways predictable. A repetition of the same pattern. They were so young and so naive and so full of their own feelings that they couldn’t always process in full. So there were fights. And there were tears. And there were hurt feelings and licked wounds but in the end they always came back together. A fractal in a spiral. A crystal in the process of formation– chaotic, dangerous, awe inspiring, endless. 

Or. What he thought was endless. 

But maybe that was the root of his naivety. Maybe there was nothing that existed that was truly endless. At the end of the universe, there are no arms to catch you when you fall. Especially when you fall in love. 

An end begins a trivial matter
It's a time to burn everything
If I could forget you without hesitation...

The comeback has been announced and promotional material has started to drop. Their days are long and difficult and packed full of preparation for performances and more recordings and pre-recorded interviews that would be more fun if they weren’t actually filmed back to back to back. It’s hard to keep on the face of an idol when sometimes he feels like he’s dying inside. Was that dramatic? Maybe. He’s sure some people would say it was. That he always was. On the plus side, they’re so busy Yeonjun hardly has time to think about anything or notice anything or be present in anything . As long as he is just there enough to be passable no one says anything. Which is good. 

None of them really know anything about what had happened. Was happening. The broken fractal. 

So he smiles at the right times and he jokes around with the other members and he keeps his  line of sight clear of a tall boy with a perfect smile and large hands that used to hold the core of Yeonjun’s self between them. And if he can do that, if he stays real enough, then he can make it back to his room at the end of the day mostly unscathed. 

“Y-you like me? Really?”

“Well…. I mean…. yeah. I wouldn’t… what do you think I would make it up?”

“N-n-no! Not like that. I just mean… I-I-I…. I mean, why would you…”

“Why would I what?”

“Like me?”

A head cocked to the side. Strong eyebrows pulling together as full lips pout in something like displeasure. 

“What? Why wouldn’t I? Do you really think there’s no way I could like you? Why would you even ask that?”

“W-w-well… I just mean… I mean, you know… I’m…”

“Do you want me to list the reasons? Cause I can.”

He is very grateful that their group is as good as they are. As solid and together and strong . Even though everything else is going to shit, at least Yeonjun knows they’re not going to break apart completely. Even if he does, if he is, at least they won’t. So right. Business as usual. 

And it is. As usual. Mostly. Because they all start the day at the dorms, spilling into the same van and taking the same roads and the same turns to the company building. They follow their schedules; dance until they're red faced and short of breath and everything aches in time with their heart beats. Vocal lessons, studio blocks, lunches in the cafeteria, small talk with other groups. And at the end of the day, they're spilling into the same van, taking those same roads and turns and passing the same lights. They climb those same steps and take the same elevator down the same hall into the same dorm.  And Yeonjun tries to be the same too. Act and smile and play all the same. Business as usual. 

Even though his bed is empty. Even though his nights are lonely. Even though he feels cold and shivering and dark seems to go on for an eternity. 

“Is everything okay? You’ve been quiet.”

“I…Well, can we talk later?" A laugh that's unreturned. The sound almost sticks in a suddenly dry throat.

"Sounds serious. Am I in trouble?" Play coy. Flirt. Joke until that smile breaks. 

Silence in return.

"Let's just talk in your room after everyone is in bed."

A ticking clock. Seconds to countdown. 

“Hey, hyung.” Beomgyu sits beside him on the leather couch in the green room of some station or some show or some….something. A photoshoot? Is it a photoshoot? A trailer? It’s all blurring together. He’s not really looking at him, eyes trained on his phone, long hair falling over his cheek bones. It’s a good feeling of being seen and yet invisible.  He’s close enough that their shoulders press against each other but without his eyes on him, Yeonjun can be tired. 

“Hey. Are you done filming already?” The younger man nods, thumbs lightning fast over his screen. 

“For now at least. Until group stuff. The double edged sword of going first.” Double edged sword is right. With as many solo scenes as Yeonjun has had for this video, he’s had long, long days of filming. The other boys don’t really have scenes alone besides promo shots and while it can be almost more exhausting being alone without the additional energy of a team member, it gives Yeonjun another block of time to not have to be real. He can be Idol Yeonjun in front of the camera no problem. This isn't the first time he's felt like the world is eating him alive, like he is standing at the edge of a cliff just waiting for the rock slide, like there is ice beneath his feet and maybe it's gonna crack and maybe this facade will too and then everyone will know how powerless Choi Yeonjun really is. But the cameras don't need all of him, don't want the nasty, dark parts inside him that he got used to spooning and scraping out with hands bigger than his own assisting him. So he can keep those for later. When he's alone and he doesn't have to try and stave off the world's gnashing teeth or the oncoming push off the cliff, the needles of freezing cold water as the ice breaks.

"You must be tired today, huh? You're really quiet." Yeonjun honestly doesn't realize he hasn’t responded, not even a hum of acknowledgement. Try harder echoes in his head and it feels almost like an old friend coming home. The voice is familiar. It's what brings form to his failures but also gives him an easy path forward.– he just has to fix it, fix himself. No matter the cost.

"Ah…sorry, Beomgyu, it's….yeah I'm tired." He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head with a shrug as if to say ' Such is the life' and Beomgyu lets out a long suffering groan either in response to his words or failing the level he's been on in the game. He lets his hands fall to his lap and turns to actually face the older man. Beomgyu’s eyes are always warmer and sharper than Yeonjun expects, no matter how many times he sees him and for a second, Yeonjun is afraid that he can see everything . See the way Yeonjun isn’t sleeping, even when hugging a pillow tight to his chest in hopes the illusion of not being alone will be enough to trick him into shutting his brain off, into finding some comfort. He’s afraid Beomgyu can see the way he cries in the shower, can’t help it most nights, can’t look at himself in the mirror with his clothes off because he’ll be able to see every inch of unblemished skin and know that something- someone is missing. God, if Beomgyu can see all of it, can make out all the muffled sobs and gaping wounds, all the poisonous words he spat back while his heart broke, Yeonjun doesn’t know what he’ll do.  He just prays that if the younger man can see everything, does somehow know everything, he won’t say any of it outloud.

But Beomgyu only offers him a tired smile and stretches his arms above his head. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you, Mr. Rockstar. That’s what you get for being the legend .” He nudges Yeonjun’s shoulder a bit too hard with his own and Yeonjun knows he’s joking but there's a little leftover bubble of fear that he thought had popped when their group settled into itself, when Soobin started whispering soft words into his hair instead. He hears the echo of other trainees who stared at him from the corner of their eyes when his name just kept appearing at the top of the rankings. He falls into that same mouth drying, panic building, face numbing, anxiety that he’s worked his ass off to cover up with overconfidence. They can’t hurt you if they don’t know you. That’s what he believed. It’s what he used to protect himself. He forces a weak smile that he hopes comes across light-hearted and not hopeless like he feels. It doesn’t matter much anyways; Beomgyu is already turning away and back to his game. For a moment, Yeonjun looks over at the younger man and feels a desperation to cling to his warmth, an urge to share that he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. Looking at Beomgyu, focused on his game with his eyebrows drawn together and his lips moving with mumbled curses of concentration, he wants to be seen for all his pain and hidden sobs and sleepless nights. He wets his lips, mouth filling with saliva as if in anticipation to say something. 

But he doesn’t. He might as well have covered his own mouth with his palm to shut himself up. Soobin knows all the nasty parts inside his body, all his weakness, all his broken pieces. Once all of it lined up together, once Soobin had gathered enough of his secrets and twisted up bits to start and see the full picture, he had left. He made the right choice to keep far away from all that Yeonjun was. There’s no reason that Beomgyu wouldn’t do the same. No reason they wouldn’t all do the same. He should just be grateful Soobin hadn’t exposed him for the failure and the coward he was. 

Yeonjun wasn’t worth the work. He gets that now.

He sits back in his seat and pulls out his own phone, clicking on various apps. Closing them without doing anything else. Opens his email but nothing new has come in except some spam he clears out quickly enough. He likes a few of his friends' photos from his private instagram account, scrolls down on the main page refreshing it a few times with nothing new popping up before he’s swiping out of that, too. It should be easy enough to put his phone away, lean back, and close his eyes to get a few extra minutes of sleep that he didn’t get the night before. Instead, Yeonjun’s thumb hovers over the messages icon. He has a few unread messages from his cousin and a couple of friends, but he can’t bring himself to open the app and view them. He just doesn’t think he can stand to see the five words that he knows will stare back at him. 

Sleep well baby Love you. 

Yeonjun stares at his phone, thumb still hovering, even as the screen goes black. 

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be anywhere. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone walking towards them before plopping down next to Beomgyu. When Yeonjun looks up, he feels every cell of his body freeze, go cold, shrink inside out as he sees Soobin’s face hovering near Beomgyu’s shoulder. The other man doesn’t look at Yeonjun, almost as if the elder was invisible, as incorporeal as he felt most of the time. 

“Hi, hyung.” Beomgyu mumbles. Soobin leans in closer, leaning in to look at the game Beomgyu is playing with a snort. 

“Are you still on this level? I thought you would have beat it a while ago. Hasn’t it been a few days?” There’s a lightness to his tone that Yeonjun hasn’t had directed at him since the night it was hissed insults through clenched teeth. Yeonjun doesn’t understand how he can do it. Or maybe he can. In some ways. Soobin seems so unaffected by everything that happened between them. Doesn’t he feel like something is missing? Doesn’t he feel the absence of a body next to him, curled around him, being with him? Yeonjun hasn’t been able to sleep one whole night. His brain is foggy all the time. He feels like a stranger in his own home, to his own friends. He looks at the playback screen and doesn’t even recognize himself. Soobin doesn’t seem like any of this has mattered to him. Acts like he hasn’t mattered to him. Maybe that’s the part that Yeonjun can understand to some degree. It’s not the first time Yeonjun has been considered ‘too much’, ‘not worth it’.

“God. Can you believe he’s doing it again ?”

“I know. I just want to say ‘We get it. You think you’re the best. Nobody cares. You’re setting a bad example to the new trainees.”

Yeonjun can’t help but watch the pair out of the corner of his eye, even as his hand starts to shake and his chest feels so heavy he doesn’t even understand how he’s breathing. There’s a part of him that almost feels as if these past two years– 

Youreallylikeme?OfcourseIdo.Youdon’tbelieveme?

– existed only in his imagination. A second reality he crafted all on his own, a private reprieve. It makes more sense to him than Soobin being totally fine, the smile on his face honest and real and not carved into skin as a poor attempt to seem human. Soobin with a full night of sleep and steady hands and laughter that still twinkles like dew drops. The alternative is having to accept how little he meant to Soobin in the first place. That while Yeonjun feels like his chest is caving in on itself every breath he takes, Soobin must feel relief at not having to carry the weight of Yeonjun’s need, the desperation in his touch.  How much lighter he must feel without the burden that was Choi Yeonjun and his need to be The Best. To be wanted. To need reassurance and praise like water. 

“How about you, hyung?” It’s Taehyun, nudging his shoulder with a closed fist. Not a punch, just a gentle push. Yeonjun hadn’t even heard him walk up, gaze blank and blood pounding in his ears. 

“Wh-what?” He stutters out, forcing himself not to look over at Soobin again, not to check if the younger man is registering his existence at all. “S-sorry, I didn’t hear.”

“Hyung is tired today.” Beomgyu responds before Taehyun can repeat himself. Yeonjun smiles sheepishly, a little self-deprecating, tries not to let his eyes stray over to check Soobin’s reaction at hearing Beomgyu’s words.

He fails.

Soobin is looking at his phone.

He doesn’t react. 

Yeonjun is still nothing but a figment. 

“Oh.” Taehyun hums out, crouching down and folding his arms over his knees. “Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to come with us to get food after the shoot. It’ll be pretty late by the time we’re all done but there’s that chicken place that will still be open and it would be nice to all go together.”

Together.  

“But if you’re not feeling up to it, we can bring food back for you instead.” Yeonjun doesn’t love to be alone most of the time, but not letting anyone see how fucking broken and weak he is  surpasses his need for companionship. It’s just too much to imagine someone noticing. As much as there’s a spark in him longing for someone to see him, to see his shaking fingers and dark eyes, he can’t risk it. He knows that. There’s only so much pretending he has in him before he just wants to lay down and let time take him.

“I-I… Yeah, I’m really tired. Plus, I’m going to be here later for solo recordings. I wouldn’t want to keep you later than you needed to be. Just… you should all go after you’re done.” Yeonjun pulls his face into something he hopes will pass as a smile and for a split second it seems like Taehyun doesn’t believe him. But he’s not really lying. He is tired. Exhausted. Even his bones seem to ache with how worn down he feels. And he is going to be recording late- he’s not even sure how late. It just makes sense for him not to join them. So no. Not lying. There’s no reason for Taehyun to think he is. 

The younger man nods, giving him a smile in return. 

“Hard working hyung, like always.” Praise. Words that celebrate his drive to work and work and work until he can’t hold himself up anymore as opposed to hissed, judgmental prayers for his failure. Usually, acknowledgment of his hard work makes his chest feel full of life and warmth. But… 

“Oh, hyung. Look at how bruised up your feet are. You’re working too hard.”

“Yeonjunnie, have you eaten yet? I brought a protein box and some coffee.”

“Come on, Yeonjun. Let’s go home and watch that new movie. I’ll give you a scalp massage.”

But there is no one pulling him away from his own critical eye and into a warm embrace and fingers in his hair. He’s not delusional– the other members have made comments about his overzealous commitment but how is it supposed to be the same when that warm honey-chocolate gaze slides over him like he’s invisible?

Like now. Like Soobin ignoring the conversation happening around him to focus on his phone. 

So Yeonjun gives a little shrug, a small smile, in Taehyun’s direction before the younger man is flopping onto the couch across the room. And Yeonjun goes back to existing in that space between real and dead. 

I can't feel anything anymore
I count the memories one by one as they fall
I lie to myself and say things are great now

Yeonjun’s individual schedule ends far earlier than he expects. If he was interested, he could easily message the group chat and join them for dinner. He knows they would wait, would make room, and ensure he could be a part of the meal. But he’s not interested. If he lets himself actually listen to his thoughts, he’s not interested in much right now. So instead he makes his way to one of the smaller practice rooms, one empty for the night and far removed from the high traffic hallways. He’s let their manager know he won’t need an escort, that he can turn in much earlier than the idol plans to– although that part he kept to himself. He just doesn’t want to inconvenience anyone else with his own version of disappearing. 

Bluetooth connected, Yeonjun puts on a playlist that is heavy, demands brutality, unable to handle anything that could lean in the direction of sweet or love or yearning or joy. Instead, he pushes himself through stretches and warm ups. His body keeps betraying him with this constant inability to just go numb and he feels like this kind of punishment is more than acceptable. So he takes hours. Hours that build upon other hours. Time slipping away like cold water down a drain. Yeonjun lets himself get lost in the thudding of bass drums. Of rapid, raw beats. Of the feeling of each note in his fingertips instead of how his heart isn’t beating along with the music.  It’s only when his legs turn to jelly and he literally can’t stand up, body slumping down on the hard floor, that he knows he has to call it. Yeonjun pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, dragging his body across the room to his bag. He picks up his phone to turn off the music and it’s only at that moment that the time actually registers. It is late– very late – and he’s a little surprised he doesn’t have any texts reminding him of what exactly a comeback schedule entails and just how packed each day was going to be. Reminding him that he needs to rest, that sleep is just as important as practice. That they love him as Yeonjun the person, not just Yeonjun the Idol. Something hits low in his gut and he tries to remind himself they had their own schedules today, they all went out to dinner, they probably got home exhausted and he’s an adult who, by this point in his career, should know when to say stop . But it’s hard to stop the voice that tells him this is part of his punishment for being too much and too difficult and selfish . 

God, he wishes that voice would go silent. He doesn’t want to be like this. This isn’t the company he wants or craves.

Yeonjun has to walk home since he sent away the manager that could drive him and there’s a brief moment of regret as his knees seem to shake under his weight. It occurs to him that perhaps he should have considered this additional physical activity. Another part of him has a sick dream of simply vanishing into the city scape. Of letting his body fail the way it yearns to. Fading away in the wind. He shakes his head to scatter the stray thought and heaves a sigh of determination before he pushes the heavy glass doors of the building open and steps into the chilly air. 

Yeonjun walks in through the front door panting. The sweat that had dried over his skin has reformed in a sticky kind of feeling that begs for a shower. The dorm is mostly dark, all the lights off save for a single lamp in the corner by the tv. Something about seeing the warm glow of the yellow bulb makes that voice inside him hiss and stutter away— maybe he didn’t receive any texts but they didn’t want him arriving home into a dark, cold space. It used to be that Yeonjun would find Soobin asleep on the couch or sitting up playing on his phone if he stayed late. Soobin would always get up like he’d been sitting for hours, playing up a groan, exaggerating just how much Yeonjun had made him wait, leaning his body weight completely on him and tumbling them back to the couch.

“I practically grew roots, hyung. How would we explain that to the company?”

The act always made Yeonjun want to coo and fawn, dragging the other boy to his bedroom and trying to cuddle his teasing away. If there had been leftovers from dinner, they would eat it together under his covers. Sometimes all that meant was Soobin feeding him bite after bite despite his whining.

“You worked hard. You need to eat. Let me take care of you.”

‘Icanttakecareofyouanymore’

Now, as Yeonjun opens the fridge and spots the take out dish brought back for him, a cute note with his name and covered in hearts clearly written by Huening, he feels a little sick. It seems so small and petty to him, such a stupid reaction his body is having to a tiny memory that wasn’t even consistent . That wasn’t even important but looking at the food makes his stomach turn and he can’t handle the idea of taking even one bite. Eating alone in this empty space, in all his empty spaces, feels like too concrete a reminder of this new empty space . Hallow. Raw.  Swallowing hard, Yeonjun shuts the fridge door harder than maybe necessary and makes a beeline for the bathroom. He’s so very grateful for the small gestures of the members- the light and the note and the thoughtful meal- but selfishly it’s the silence he wishes they were here to fill instead. The silence that lets his mind fill every moment with ghosts of another going through routines with him. Another body taking up the shower with him to save on time and water but also sneaking in small kisses- sometimes more if they felt like risking it. A deep voice muffled around foam to talk around his toothbrush and continue a story he had started telling as they got ready. Big  hands steadying his waist, wrapping around and giving him a squeeze to side step to use the sink. Worst of all, a solid body, long legs, warm chest sliding under the covers on the nights they shared his bed, tugging him in close, pressing good night kisses behind his ear. 

But the silence is empty and it’s lonely and even the heat of the water can’t seem to warm his bones from the chill that settles in his chest.  He scrubs mindlessly at his skin, lost in a spiral of loss and longing and misses, more than anything, what their friendship was. Not for the first time, he wonders if he never should have spoken those words out loud.

“Do you want me to list the reasons? Cause I can.”

As he steps out of the spray of water, unshed tears continuing to build behind his exhaustion– will he ever stop crying? When does a flood dry out?  – a soft towel patting his shivering body dry, he thinks he hears a door open and footsteps padding down the hall towards the bathroom. He pauses, assuming that someone will knock on the door and tell him to hurry up, some annoyed, sleep warm voice to hurry him along. Some kind of connection to remind him he isn’t solitary.  But there’s not another sound before the steps seem to be retreating again followed by the clicking of a door. Yeonjun frowns, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, timed, like he’s doing something wrong. Like a countdown suddenly starting in the background. Tick Tock, don’t fuck it up. Why wouldn’t whoever it was just let him know they needed the bathroom or simply open the door as they were all sometimes keen on doing? He quickens his movements, wrapping his towel around his waist before hurrying from the bathroom. Yeonjun is nearly in hisown room, the handle in his hand when he hears another door click open and turns to see Soobin stepping out into the hall. He doesn’t look at Yeonjun, frozen with twitching, quivering fingers. He looks through him like he’s a ghost. He simply walks past and disappears into the bathroom, the door shutting before the light is flicked on. It’s obvious it was him before and it’s not that much more of a stretch that he guessed it was Yeonjun taking up space. His insistence on ignoring the older man’s existence keeps him from even acknowledging him and telling him to move. It’s too much; Yeonjun’s throat seems to swell shut and he feels like he can’t breathe. He forces his body to move, knees shaking, chest hitching and he wants nothing more than to just be asleep and forget that anything today happened, forget that any of this is even real. 

His door clicks shut behind him and he chokes out a sound like his throat is being ripped out and he bits into his lip so hard he breaks skin and can taste the small amount of blood on his tongue but god is it a reprieve from the constant taste of salt.

No more crying. No more crying. Please, god, no more crying. 

Yeonjun drags himself to a pile of clothes he has near his bed. They’re folded neatly, no place for them to actually be permanently. He pulls a pair of basketball shorts from the bottom and the rest of the pile comes tumbling down. Deep inside, he almost wants to laugh at how similar he feels– a pile of shapeless fabric tumbled over into a mess simply because there was nowhere for it to belong. Another night he may have put in the effort to restack, refold the pile or simply have separated things out and pulled the shorts out neatly. He doesn’t have the strength or the drive to even give the clothing a second look. Can’t give anymore attention to a visual representation of his insides. 

He pulls himself to stand to slip his pajamas on and tosses his towel somewhere else. Somewhere into the darkness of his room when did he last turn on the light? Does he even know how to anymore?   Yeonjun uses the last of what he can scrape from his insides to crawl into his bed and yank all his covers over his head.

If he’s lucky, he’ll sleep quickly, deeply, and through the night, body worn out to the point of being unable to keep conscious.

If he’s lucky, he will have no time to think about anything that happened today. Anything that’s happened in weeks. 

If he’s lucky, he’ll suffocate under the heavy comforter, drown in all the sounds he’s trying so hard to keep inside. 

Cease to be anything at all and finally reflect exactly how he feels on the inside. 

Letting out my voice, I screamed your name
Surely even my voice won't reach you

Chapter Text

I've got a hole in my soul where you used to be
There's a thorn in my heart and it's killing me
I wish I could go back and do it all differently
'Cause now there's a hole in my soul where you used to be

Nights always seem so long now. 

Yeonjun has never really loved the concept of needing to sleep much. He always longed for the reality that sleep could be an option. Almost like a past time. Every hour that passed when he was supposed to be asleep felt like a waste of time. Time, he has since realized, is slipping through his fingers far faster than he ever imagined. It’s easy to feel immortal, untouchable, special when you’re young, when you’re an idol. And despite all his doubts, all the times Yeonjun thought maybe he wasn’t good enough, he still never thought about an end . Not of the group, not of himself, not of…

The only plus side to sleep is when he is asleep, he doesn’t think about all that has ended. All that is on a time limit. When asleep, he isn’t alone and his hands aren’t cold and he doesn’t shiver and he doesn’t feel dead and decaying. 

Yeonjun opens his eyes to the gray of the world far before his alarm signals the beginning of the day. His sheets are cold again– they always are– and through the blinds he can tell the sun is struggling to peek rays of light from behind heavy clouds. That’s just fine for Yeonjun; things have felt gray since–

Shaking hands grasping desperately at stretched cotton.

Broken pleas into the dark room.

Voice cracking around anger that is simply a reaction to his heart breaking. 

Unable to fully process the heat of tears on his cheeks, of broken promises of forever scattered around the floor.

These days, Yeonjun is still waking up in a state of before . He doesn’t remember that night of claws in his chest tearing everything apart. He still thinks about the occasional morning of waking up to warm arms draped over his waist holding him close against a heartbeat perfectly in sync with his own. 

Once reality sets in, when the shades of before drain away like water colors in the rain, there’s a moment of mourning so intense, he believes it will break every bone in his body just to have somewhere to go. But gray falls like a veil over everything, and for a few hours he is so blissfully…

Numb.

It doesn’t last, not really. There’s full days ahead of him that include being near the gravity of Soobin– not in it, no, not anymore, just close enough to instead feel the vastness of no gravity. Floating in undefinable space. He tries his best to ignore it, tries to pretend that every day isn’t just slowly stripping him down to his nerves one layer of skin at a time. It may be the most difficult thing he’s accomplished. To not break down screaming or crying or breaking his own ribs during the duration of shared schedules. It becomes almost a game of ‘what’s different’. A game of how to change around this new reality, mold  his body into the puzzle piece that fits into this new reality. During choreography lessons, Yeonjun forces his eyes not to wander across the surface of the mirror the way they used to. Instead, he keeps his eyes trained on his own reflection. It holds his attention well enough, all the flaws to fix. He doesn’t sit with the other members during breaks, opting instead to sit alone, close his eyes, and listen to music to drown out the laughter he can no longer be a part of. He can’t laugh with a rattling chest, he can barely breathe. 

He knows that the others notice. How could they not? But it’s hard to tell what they think happened between them. The plain fact of the matter is Soobin and Yeonjun never outright told the other members they were together. That there was much more truth behind the staged flirting than just fanservice and skinship. So they don’t really know. They don’t know why Soobin’s eyes slide over Yeonjun like his physical form has started to show the slick oil of his insides. They don’t know that some days, Yeonjun forces himself to check out completely from reality in a desperate attempt to not start begging Soobin to just see him. 

Yeonjun is just so tired . His sleep isn’t really sleep and seconds tick by like miles in a desert. He wants to check out. To actually sleep. To just stop for a second. A minute. An eternity.

A hand gently touches his shoulder and he startles, eyes snapping open to see who it is, heart rate spiking. Taehyun is standing there, a small smile on his face as he holds a plastic cup out to him. 

“Jumpy, hyung?”

Yeonjun feels like he’s clicking back into the world around him, colors and sounds dripping back into his awareness– Beomgyu and Huening Kai’s voices loud and yelling at each other as they goof off around the room. A couple of their managers chatting casually nearby. Soobin playfully scolding the younger two members before shouting in surprise as they turn on him. He swallows thickly and focuses back on Taehyun, forces out a weak, breathy laugh.  “God, yeah. I must have totally zoned out.” 

Taehyun flops down beside him and shakes the plastic cup in front of his face until the older man takes it. The cup is wet with condensation and ice cubes clink and rattle against the plastic. An iced Americano. He hadn’t even known someone was going to grab coffee. He cocks his head at Taehyun in question, receiving a simple shrug in response. “You were really, really focused during the first half of practice, but I can also tell you’re really tired. I thought maybe you could use a little pick me up. Especially if you’re going to keep at the pace you are.”

Inside his gut, in the frozen chasm behind his ribs, there’s a little whisper of fondness, of nostalgia. Something that brushes over the painful little thorns that fill him up. 

“Ah, look at you taking care of hyung. How’d you know.” 

“I’ve known you the longest. Of course I know how to take care of you.” He says it so casually and that whisper twists into a song. 

Of course I know how to take care of you.

Of course I know–

–take care of you–

I’ll always take care of you. No matter what.

They’re words he’s heard before. Words spoken by a different voice time and time again. A promise. A reminder that ‘always’ has a countdown all its own. He sticks the straw in his mouth and takes a long sip of the coffee to swallow back the anguish begging to disrupt the warm breeze of sea salt Taehyung brought along with him. Even though Soobin is twisted and woven and stitched into almost every memory of Yeonjun’s life, he’s desperate not to lose this. He doesn’t know how he would survive losing this– losing them – on top of his heart. So he doesn’t let himself think about thumbs brushing uncontrolled tears off of red cheeks in stairwells, doesn’t let himself feel the lips on his forehead, his palms, his temple. 

Instead, he focuses on 

A small hand clutched tight in his own as the plane takes off towards the first step of their future. 

He focuses on 

sitting side by side on the beach in the salty ocean breeze and starshine . 

The tight, impossible, relieved hug shared when they knew they would be together for their future.

 Taehyun isn’t one to cuddle or seek out physical affection, but Yeonjun still nudges their knees together, makes an air kiss at him that twists the younger man’s face into embarrassed affection. 

“What would we do without you?”  The younger man nudges his knee back, pointedly looking at where Beomgyu has Huening Kai in a weak headlock that their youngest is clearly letting him hold. 

“Fall apart, probably.”

The truth of the statement is a reflection of his own thoughts and he carefully won’t allow his eyes to linger on the figure Kai starts to drag into their wrestling match.

My heart is closed up and I feel it crumbling down
I try not to cry and scream everyday
That believe is powerful
My own heart killed me

The next couple days were primarily spent filming with an emphasis on behind the scenes content. It was more exhausting than it used to be while being less exhausting than Yeonjun was expecting. Whatever the reason, the younger boys really had seemed to clue in on the shift in energy between Soobin and Yeonjun and were putting in an obvious effort to keep them apart while maintaining the goofy, teasing vibe they’re group was known by their fans for. Beomgyu was investing more time into being with Soobin, kicking his teasing and their banter up a few notches for the camera. Meanwhile, Huening Kai and Taehyun slipped in and out of conversations and interactions with everyone. Sometimes, Yeonjun found himself sitting alone between takes and others, Kai was leaning between his legs, showing off his island in Animal Crossing like Yeonjun had any idea what he was talking about. It started to feel, if only for moments during an otherwise faded gray, that Yeonjun could somehow reform. That maybe his bones could grow back. 

The hope was a foreign feeling inside that he clung to as he put all his effort into ignoring the sound of Soobin’s voice. His laugh. His teasing screams. If he could forget why he felt so hollow, if only for a moment, then maybe something could fill the sieve. 

They return to the dorms somewhere between “early’ and “late” with an empty schedule the following day. It is an incredibly rare occurrence for them in the midst of comeback prep and the choruses of gratitude for the extra sleep is resounding. Yeonjun’s own dread feels off key amongst the sound and he swallows the feeling as best he can. Empty schedules mean nothing to keep his brain away from the cotton candy memories of before . When empty schedules meant—

Sleepy sunrises in the privacy of his room. 

Whispered good mornings into lingering kisses

A day spent in a cocoon of blankets and arms around his waist and fingers in his hair while some show or some movie or some noise droned on, filling the room with the flickers of a story. 

Lazy lusting– not rushed or frantic, not desperate. But syrupy sweet and slow. Molasses pooling under your tongue.

The members all mill around the kitchen discussing food and plans for their day off when Kai bounds into the living room, snatching up the remote and demanding they all watch one of the Marvel movies they have been talking about.  And even though he is met with Beomgyu’s groan of distaste and whining to just go to sleep, it is difficult for anyone to deny their maknae anything. The night turns into the five of them scattered around the living room, takeout delivered, drinks and snacks dispersed and the movie playing on the tv with all the lights off around them. 

Like this, it was even easier to pretend everything was fine. Yeonjun sits on the couch squeezed between the armrest and Taehyun, Beomgyu curled up on the other side with Soobin sitting on the floor in front of him. Huening sits in the beanbag turned arm chair, lounging his long limbs all over, one armed wrapped around a plushie and a blanket dragged from his bed over him. And Yeonjun feels… almost content. In the dark, he barely even exists; consciousness barely there, only interacting with the flashing lights and colors of the screen. Taehyun is pressed against his shoulder, but only due to the size of the couch and there is no demand for anything, including interaction. The tv is loud enough he can drown out any conversations around him and in combination with the ease of filming this week, Yeonjun lets the vibrations of battle sounds from the movie wash over him without fearing shaking apart.  One movie turns into two and between the start of the second, Yeonjun stands up with a stretch, back cracking.

“I’m getting another beer. Anyone else need anything from the kitchen? Speak now or forever hold your peace cause I’m not doing it again.” 

Beomgyu turns to him with an overly dramatic flip of his hair, a faux haughty expression pinching his face. 

“Yes waiter, I’ll take a bottle of your finest bordeaux. Properly aged. From last century perhaps.” He fights to keep his mouth from grinning and Yeonjun can already tell he is about to be annoyed. 

“Do you have anything as far back as 1999? I know that must seem ancient.” 

“Glass of water. Got it.” Yeonjun shoots him finger guns and the middle finger, ignoring the younger man’s immediate whine. He shakes his head fondly, easily settling into this feeling of normalcy and comfort. He grabs a couple beers– better to not make another trip later– , a soda for Beomgyu, and a bag of snacks that he knows are Huening Kai’s favorite but as he turns around to return to the living room, he is met straight on by Soobin. 

He blinks.

He can’t breathe.

Their eyes meet. 

He is choking. 

It is the first time in days Soobin has actually looked at him and there is a single flash of surprise before his expression shudders shut and something Yeonjun has been ignoring inside him snaps. He sucks in a shuddering breath between his clenched teeth as their gazes hold. Time seems to suspend around them. Like something is about to happen. A shoe dropping. An explosion. A tinkling of glass on ice covered fields.  Yeonjun doesn’t know what he should do or if he should do anything at all. He is floundering. Lost. And it seems for a moment that Soobin is, too. Then Soobin takes a step forward, eyes turning away as he begins moving towards the bathroom. Panic builds inside Yeonjun from a place deep inside linked to that desperate night in the dark. Like if he can just say the right thing then things will be fixed. Soobin will stay. The spiral realigning into eternal fractals once again.

“S-Soobin!” He chokes, wishing his voice didn’t sound so small, so fragile. Soobin pauses, not facing him but not fully turning away. His profile is hard set, eyes trained forward, shoulders tense.  Yeonjuns mind is blanking and every word is scattered in letters on his tongue. 

“U-uhm… ah… D-did you need a drink or anything? I-I’m…because I’m grabbing everyone else’s and—“

“No.” Soobin’s voice is hard and heavy, cutting Yeonjun off like hands around his throat. He says nothing else, continuing to the bathroom, steps assured if but a little rushed. Yeonjun wasn’t… he didn’t…

Wind rushes through his ears, warping the sounds from the living room and flooding his head with his thudding heartbeat. It is thundering as his chest caves in. That’s who they are now. That’s what they are.

Strangers. Faceless spaces passing with no recognition. How can they go on like this? How can he go on like this? Yeonjuns body feels shaky, weak, operating on autopilot as he returns to the living room. Mindlessly, he hands the soda to Beomgyu, not reacting at all to the joyful gratitude for his gracious hyung. Yeonjun stares for a moment at the empty seat beside Taehyun and the proximity to Soobin overwhelms him, lungs shutting down. His eyes flit around, looking for an exit, a solution, and fall on Huening Kai, swaddled on the beanbag.

“Hu-“ He swallows hard, silently begging his voice to steady. One deep breath. One forced smile.

“Hueninggie~ switch with hyung. I need a change of position. My back is hurting.” He faux pouts, knowing how much the youngest loves it. Predictably, Kai coos, reaching up and wrapping his arms around Yeonjuns waist, tugging him down to sit practically on his lap.

“Then noona and I will share. Cuddle with me~”  He cant say no. Can’t deny the comfort of the arms wrapped around him, the warmth of another body as his very nerves quiver in the chill of Soobin’s reaction to him.  A part of him worries that without another body to remind his own it is real, he will freeze over and shatter. Nothing but scattered, crystalline echoes of dreams filled with sunshine.

I’m already nobody to you
Just a stranger worse than a bad memory
I’ll be just wiped off
After being thrown away

Chapter Text

You’re walking away, the build-up of this break up
The Opening Sequence rewinds the incident
Ah, this familiar pain

It would seem like a late hour at the company but in their industry, there’s not really any off hours. Someone is always doing something somewhere. It is, however, later than Yeonjun expects anyone from his group to be there. He knows Taehyun was heading home– which really translated to taking a nice ‘little’ night jog because apparently it helped him wind down. Heuning Kai had headed out after his individual vocal lesson to grab dinner with his sisters. As far as he knew, Soobin had had a meeting with one of the managers and had plans for a night in with his switch and his hedgehog and Beomgyu had some online game tournament he was watching or playing or…something. He couldn’t be sure. So in wandering the relative silence of the Hybe building, the floor with most of the smaller rooms used for group meetings or VLives, Yeonjun expects to be alone. All he wants is a quiet semi isolated location to work on lyrics. He is still having too difficult of a time at home to be as productive as he wants to be. He knows he has to numb some of his feelings to remain professional around Soobin. Has to cut off the nerves attached to the empty spaces in his chest that used to be filled with dimpled smiles just for him, the feeling of big hands wrapped around his waist, of warm butterfly kisses in the gray mornings. If he lets himself be connected, if he reaches into those spaces and feels the gaps with his bare hands, in the same shared space as the man who carved them in… he knows he will lose it. It’s still too hard, too much to fully process without crying or screaming or sobbing or pulling out all his hair just to feel something else . 

Closed off in a room alone, away from people who know just enough to look at him just a little too long with something that may be pity but Yeonjun can’t always be sure isn't contempt, he can plug back in those circuits just enough to find the words to put on paper in a pathetic attempt at finding some kind of resolution or acceptance or comfort. Maybe if he can get the words out, suck the poison from the oozing, empty spaces, maybe things will start to heal. Maybe he can feel whole again. Maybe he won’t have to wear a mask of professionalism and self worth and being an actual person and not shattered pieces barely held together by what felt like an empty husk. 

Maybe it will be enough.

Maybe the words will unlock some kind of secret.

Maybe.

May–

Yeonjun stops walking when he hears a laugh that sounds an awful lot like Beomgyu coming from one of the rooms. It seems so odd…he was pretty insistent on the online whatever it was earlier. Curiosity gets the better of him and Yeonjun follows the younger man’s voice carrying through the empty hallways, words muffled by the thick doors but loud enough (almost always) to project through. 

Curiosity killed the cat you know rings in his mind as he peers in through the small window in the door and feels his chest cave in around what must be a gunshot.

there is nothing I can do-blame on me
You and My Tragedy
It's full of sadness
This scene that locked me up
This sequence that's like forever

It is Beomgyu. Beomgyu with a wide smile, soft on his features. A secret. Special. He’s sitting on the table with his legs hanging off the edge and his knees parted just enough for strong legs and slender hips to fit between them. His arms drape over broad, but delicate shoulders, fingers running gently over dark, shaved hair of an undercut. His eyes, twinkling like they’re filled with starlight, filled with the gentle breeze of spring and the glittering waters of the ocean in the summer evening look into a set of matching stars, matching ocean waves. That soft, secret, special smile is in return, in response to the dimpled, warm, special pull of lips around words so soft Yeonjun can’t make them out, can’t even make out his voice. But he can guess what it sounds like. He’s heard it, felt it, breathed it more times than he could count.

It was supposed to be his. His special smile. The shining twinkle of Seoul sidewalk on a rainy fall night filling dark, warm gazes only directed at him because he was supposed to be special. It was supposed to be his. It was supposed to be his. It was his. It was his. Itwassupposedtobehishishishis

They move closer together and Yeonjun wants so desperately to look away and stop watching his own gutting but his legs are numbing and his vision feels blurred at the edges, sharpening on fingers tangling into dark hair to pull that dimpled smile closer, on big hands on a thin waist and they’re coming together like a bomb going off. Like flashes of light and thundering of buildings and shrapnel tearing through him at an alarming rate. 

Lips touch, gentle but familiar. This is not a first time. This is not a first kiss. 

The corner of a darkened practice room. Their backs against the mirror. Pressed together shoulder to shoulder to hip to thigh until its fingertips lacing together and whispered confessions. Inching closer…closer, heart thundering in a chest full of light and want. A plea breathed against parting lips before the two of them colliding like the first snowfall. Gentle and special. Magical. Unforgettable.

Forgotten.

They fit together like puzzle pieces and all those sharp edges have been smoothed away under gentle loving hands. They click together and Yeonjun feels like he might throw up but he’s shaking and he can’t feel his fingertips, can only feel the ghost of long fingers tangled with his own. 

He’s kissing Soobin for the first time in a darkened practice room with their sweat still cooling on their skin and his cheeks are flushed and there’s sweat above Soobin’s lip and he looks so beautiful Yeonjun almost feels like this has to be a dream because it’s all so perfect and he’s bursting with warm light. Bursting into flames that lick at his heart and his chest and bring them together and that heat is shared because it’s him and him becoming them and it’s so perfect.

Soobin is kissing Beomgyu and it’s careful and gentle but not soft and Beomgyu is opening, blooming in his hands. Thighs flex around slender hips and arms are wrapping more solidly around shoulders that look lighter than they have in months and he can’t help but wonder if he can feel the muscles shift and arch through Soobin’s shirt.

He’s pressed against soft sheets in his newly single room, silent save for shared breaths and intimate laughs against heated skin. There’s a hand wrapped around his wrists–both held together with his bones knocking together and it makes his mouth water and his back arch and his gut clench– and the other is curled around his waist holding him close, soft, long fingers pressed against his bare skin. It’s so much and it’s not enough and he never knew he could ache like this for a person, for a sensation, for these stolen moments just between them. Little pockets of time that will stay pressed into his skin like bruises and god does he hope those hands around his waist leave bruises. Tender reminders. Special for them. A secret. He’s wrapping long legs around a slim waist and pulling Soobin closer, back arched because he wants and he needs and he pleads into the darkness with his eyes closed because he knows Soobin is there. Trusts that as he perfectly and completely takes him apart, he will put him back together. 

Yeonjun is scattered. He’s a million pieces and he’s floating in this empty hallway and distantly he wonders – Will the cleaning crew who come in through these empty halls at hours too early or too late to be disturbed find him like dust ground into the carpet or clinging to the walls in a desperate attempt to still be something . 

Look away. He tries to command his body, tries to take control of himself even as his chest is stuttering and is this what it feels like to drown? Would the cold embrace of winter waters be a comfort in comparison? The couple couple they’re a couple that is a couple a pair in the room still remain oblivious to his wide eyed voyeurism. Beomgyu scoots himself to the edge of the table, forcing Soobin into taking a step back, his knees hitting a chair behind him. They laugh into each other’s mouth, comfortable and honest and familiar and Beomgyu is pushing himself to stand and pushing Soobin to sit. His hand cups Soobin’s jaw and tilts him up into another kiss– firmer, intentional, insistent– and the other man slides his hands up the length of his spine, palms wide enough to cover him, urge him closer. 

Please look away. He’s pleading, begging his legs to fucking move but he may not even be real anymore. A wisp, an illusion, trapped and cursed to haunt these empty they were supposed to be empty he was supposed to be alone halls and watch his heart break, disintegrate right before his eyes again and again and again. An eternity. The never ending fractal of cracks along his ribs in patterns that can’t be replicated and will never stop and maybe the universe never ends. Maybe the stars aren’t something beautiful and shining and a reminder of the vastness of existence and how special it is to find someone to call your own. But instead the scattered stardust is the reality of heartbreak. It’s rib cages torn open and ground into a powder

, blown into oblivion. Forever floating. Never whole again. 

A fractal. Spiraling again and again and again. The sharp points of that knife into his gut again and again and again. 

“You’re so beautiful, hyung.” Soobin’s voice whispers in the humid air between them, their naked skin pressed together, the moonlight casting mountains and valleys of light and shadow over this moment that’s only theirs. Yeonjun doesn’t get shy and doubtful anymore when Soobin whispers compliments to him. It used to be so hard to believe but Soobin kept promising him that he wasn’t just saying it. Yeonjun didn’t need to be The Fourth Gen It Boy, The Legendary Trainee, with Soobin. Because he could just be Yeonjun. He could just be hyung, not said with responsibility and pressure attached to it, but the warm silk of love and adoration and intimacy. So he smiles, trails his fingers along the younger man’s jaw, maps the details of his image so he can burn him into his mind like Soobin has burned himself into Yeonjun’s soul. A permanent etching. Lightning hitting sand to create an impossible, irreplaceable shape. This is his. Soobin is his. He is Soobin’s. He doesn’t question his compliments anymore. 

There’s a bullet hole in his chest, there must be blood. He must be dripping blood. When a rib cage is twisted open and everything pours out there must be blood. Even as cold, as frozen in his veins as Yeonjun has felt since the last time he felt those fingertips against his skin. The last time he felt those lips touch his own. 

Soobin is kissing Beomgyu and Beomgyu is kissing Soobin and he’s leaning over him with a temporary height advantage and Soobin is pulling him down, down, down into his lap where he cradles him close against his chest and his arms curl around his waist and up along his spine. Big palms spanning a lean back, muscles arching into the touch, chests pressed together. Gentle smiles. Warm skin pressed against cotton, soaking through to the skin beneath. 

Please, please look away.

They burn like candle light and the fire Yeonjun thought had died within him flares bright and uncontrollable and he knows it is burning him alive. 

Please look away, please!

He is kissing Soobin for the first time in a darkened practice room and the mirror is smooth against his back and the ground is hard beneath them but it doesn’t matter Because this heat is theirs and it’s only theirs and it warms them like a summer bonfire. 

Beomgyu is kissing Soobin and their lips are red and spit slick and Yeonjun is watching his own death happen in real time. In slow motion. Double speed. Second by agonizing second. Over and over again and forever. This fire is not warm. This fire burns him alive and he is becoming ash that will be cleaned by an unknown person at an unknown hour in a hallway that was supposed to be empty. 

He is in a bright practice room and he’s breathless from laughing and his head rests on Soobin’s heaving chest and it’s perfect and he’s loved and light fingers are carding through his hair and–

“ You’re so beautiful, hyung..”--

Pleasepleasepleaseplease

They curve together beautifully. He watches Soobin bloom beneath hands that are not his own and wonders if he ever looked so whole when it was Yeonjun’s hands against him. Wonders if Soobin ever bloomed beneath him. There’s a hole in his chest and he thinks he feels those familiar hands– so familiar, so special, just for him- digging deep into the bloody mess to yank his heart out but didn’t those hands already hold this mess of himself in wide palms and delicate fingers? please But the fingers are not delicate. They dig into stuttering muscle pleaseplease and Yeonjun is watching his own death, watching arteries tear apart and there has to be blood imbeggingpleasemovepleasestoppleaseplease. How can someone feel this much pain without blood?

He is kissing Soobin for the first time in a darkened practice room and it’s cream pouring into hot coffee. The beginning of a forever spiral. An impossible fractal and he knows that this moment will never happen like this again. That this is his rebirth. That all the empty spaces inside of him are seen and beginning to be filled by light and warmth and flames licking at frozen wounds and too much ambition. 

Yeonjun is burning alive. He’s in the middle of gun fire. He is the epicenter of a bomb drop. He is gutted and he is bleeding and the words whispered between exchanged oxygen and warm nights and searching hands are tightening like a noose around his neck. 

He is kissing Soobin–

Soobin is kissing Beomgyu in a room that was supposed to be empty

His wrists are grinding together in a big hand and he aches.

Delicate fingers curl into thin fabric and they tense with want and that is not his shirt beneath them. 

He is tracing finger tips over sleepy, warm features in the moonlight. 

“You’re beautiful, hyung.”

Beomgyu is kissing Soobin and the lights are on without shame. They fit together like a puzzle and this is not their first kiss and every touch that was his is being paved over.

He is kissing Soobin but the image is twisting and blurring and the coffee cup is in shattered porcelain on the floor and is that coffee or is that blood how can there be this much pain without blood-

PleaseImdyingpleasemoveIcan’tIcan’t

Soobin is kissing Beomgyu and they’re tangled together like reaching ivy and Yeonjun’s legs are shaking and numb and he can’t believe he hasn’t fallen to shatter into porcelain against the floor– swept up by strangers at a strange hour in a hallway that should have been empty– but his body wakes up just enough to feel how each part of him aches and begs for this to stop and he’s finally moving and his eyes are finally pulling away from his own murder and he wishes he could run but at least he’s moving even as his chest is frozen and the oxygen around him is solid and heavy. Everything blurs away. Everything is running ink on crinkled paper and the promises that were written are nothing more now than a memory and they won’t even be that before long. 

He is kissing Soobin for the last time in his darkened bedroom and there are tears on his own lips and he’s pleading like he did that first time but the lips beneath his own are unresponsive. His hands tangle and pull and cling to the stretched out fabric of a worn tshirt that he has pulled off this body more times than he can count. He can. He can count. Each and every time. Every single thread felt beneath his fingers. They’re standing and they’re not pressed together because those hands are on his waist, big and sure and firm, but they’re pushing Yeonjun away. They’re putting distance between them. They’re pressing into skin that will bruise and piercing those bruises to tear his insides out and leave him there. 

“You’re so beautiful, hyung.”

“You know I’m right in this. This isn’t working. Please, Yeonjun, please.”

His lips are salty and he’s alone and his knees are shaking and his chest hurts so bad and he wishes he was drowning instead. At least water embraces. At least the vastness of dark water wraps around you and pulls you down and–

Soobin is kissing Beomgyu and Beomgyu is kissing Soobin and Yeonjun’s knees hit the tile in a bathroom stall he doesn’t remember getting to and he’s vomiting so hard he’s shaking and his eyes water. Or maybe he’s crying. There’s salt on his lips and he still feels sick but there’s nothing left inside him and how was it not blood on his lips, vile and vicious and ripped from inside where everything else used to be. Yeonjun is not kissing Soobin and Soobin is kissing Beomgyu and Beomgyu’s hands trace pathways that were supposed to be only his. Yeonjun watched his execution as it happened and should have seen it coming, of course it was coming. He trusted Soobin. He stopped questioning when he was called so beautiful, hyung but he should have seen it for what it was. It was not the end of questioning, it was the beginning of lying to himself and he should have known .

Soobin’s hands are curled in a shirt that is not his and hands that are not his are cupping Soobin’s jaw and Yeonjun presses his face against his knees and howls.

Let the funeral start
Hear the casket close let's pin
Split black ribbon to your overcoat
The laughter pours form under doors in this house
I don't understand the sound no more
It seems artificial like a TV set

Time passes. 

As it always does. 

But Yeonjun hardly notices. 

He’s still hunched over his aching knees in the empty bathroom. His eyes feel so swollen they hurt and his chest is still hiccuping with little choking sounds he tries to swallow down over and over. If asked, he wouldn’t be able to say how much time had passed, if any had at all. He was just…

…there.  Somewhere. No where. 

A low, angry vibration sounds against the tiled floor of the bathroom. He blinks slow and heavy a number of times before realizing he can feel the vibration against his leg as well–

Ah… his phone. 

It takes an uncomfortable amount of time and effort for Yeonjun to push himself into a sitting position, his hand weakly digging in his pocket to pull out the device. He hasn’t even noticed how badly his hands are shaking until it takes him two tries to unlock the call. 

“Yeonjun-ssi,” Manager. He sounds stern, but not angry. Yeonjun doesn’t even feel the normal surge of anxiety at potentially disappointing someone he respects so much. He doesn’t feel anything. Finally. He doesn’t feel anything. “Are you still at the company? Do you need a ride or should I just go ahead for now?” 

Yeonjun swallows, mouth feeling dry, voice feeling choked. He clears his throat a little from the residual congestion and pushes himself up into a sitting position. 

“I-I’ll be down in just a second. Please wait for me, hyung.” 

“Of course. Don’t rush too much. Beomgyu and Soobin can be patient.” 

Yeonjun’s heart stops. Moves to his throat. Chokes off every breath he sucked in to try and steady his shaking chest. 

BeomgyuandSoobinBeomgyuandSoobinBeomgyuandSoobin

The names circle around in his head. They don’t feel like separate names. They feel like rope around his throat. Water in his lungs. Darkness clouding his vision until it’s just space and it’s empty and it’s cold and–

“Yeonjun-ssi? Are you still there?”

The world has come screaming back at him and that numb feeling he had is gone in a snap and he feels sick again. He doesn’t want to go down anymore. He doesn’t want to leave the safety of this bathroom stall, the outside world shut out and make believe as long as he stays far, far away from it. He doesn’t want to feel anything. He wants to be back in that floating nothing, not free falling. Not afraid and sick and desperate. Yeonjun feels like the scene from that room is replaying in high definition in front of his eyes even as he hears his manager call his name again and he has to snap back before there’s more worry and more attention and drawing his presence into the space that is beomgyuandsoobin

“Ah-ah, yeah. Yes. Uhm… I’m here. I just… sorry, I’m feeling a little sick.”

“Sick?” The concern is evident. Fuck. 

“D-don’t worry! Seriously. Just a little light headed. I…” He pushes himself to stand, shutting his eyes against the black spots clouding his vision after everything. “I just didn’t… I don’t think I ate enough and I’m feeling dehydrated. I just need to rest.” 

“Hm… okay. Well, let's get you home, okay?  See you soon.” 

As soon as they hang up, Yeonjun is forcing himself to take halting steps out of the stall. He just wants to be home. He just wants to be locked in his room.  He wants to be away from everyone and everything and even if he doesn’t sleep he just doesn’t want to be . 

He just wishes he could do it without that van. 

Why isn’t anything empty tonight except Yeonjun?

Yeonjun splashes cold water on his face and avoids the mirror. He knows he must look like absolute shit and just prays the cold water helps reduce any swelling and that nobody looks at him close enough to see just how puffy his eyes are. How red his cheeks are. How pale his face is. It’s just a car ride. It’s one car ride. 

It’s the dorms. It’s seeing them everyday. It’s watching them circle each other and knowing they don’t just circle, they tangle and they fit and they look beautiful together and he looks happy. Finally, he’s happy again.

Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you
It's the wrong time for somebody new
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse

Yeonjun squares his shoulders and exhales a long, deep breath as he pushes the door open to the parking garage. Their van isn’t parked far away and he can clearly see as their manager steps out of the front seat to pull open the door for him as he approaches. He keeps his face tilted down a little and tugs his hood up over his head more, hoping to shield himself from the light enough to downplay the worst of his wretched image. Their manager lays a heavy, solid hand on his shoulder and it grounds Yeonjun enough to stabilize his legs before climbing into the van and slumping into the empty seat. He doesn’t look behind him. Doesn’t acknowledge the bodies he can feel in the backseat, energies he is so familiar with but somehow feel foreign and uninvited. 

The van starts to pull out onto the street and Beomgyu leans forward in his seat, popping into Yeonjun’s peripheral vision. It’s so dark around them and Yeonjun is grateful to his core. Beomgyu is too close and it makes his skin itch in a way it never has around the younger man. There’s bile in the back of his throat and he wants to scream. 

“Hyung said you were feeling sick. Are you okay?” Beomgyu’s voice is soft, considerate. Like he’s worried his usual volume will make Yeonjun feel worse. It’s a good call– Yeonjun doesn’t know what he would do but he knows it would not be the right thing. 

“I’m fine.” His voice is weak. His tone short and unintentionally agitated. He doesn’t want to be hostile or start anything but he feels like he’s a thread away from snapping and he just wants to be left alone. He needs to be left alone. He doesn’t want Beomgyu’s sweet tone and gentle concern. He doesn’t want to be reminded that he’s not supposed to know about the romance blooming between separated hands just behind him. Because he knows what that feels like. Yeonjun is so familiar with the energy of longing and the warmth of later and he doesn’t want to remember that it’s happening with someone else. Someone being so kind. 

He just wants it all to stop. 

He wishes he was dust. Wishes he was ash. Wishes he was nothing.

Beomgyu makes a small sound of duress and briefly rubs the back of Yeonjun’s hand, giving it a little squeeze. 

“Okay. Well. If you need anything when we get home, let me know okay? I’ll even be a good deongsang and get it for you. Cause I’m nice like that.” There’s a smile in his voice and Yeonjun wishes he could feel it but he can’t. It’s swallowed by the desperation to get as far away from everything as possible. He can’t speak. If he speaks he thinks he’ll cry. He thinks he’ll beg. He thinks his heart will break apart in his hands and he’ll be forced to try and shove it back into his chest through that fucking bullethole going right through him. 

There’snobloodbutthereshouldbebloodgodcantheyseetheblood?

He makes a small sound of confirmation and turns towards the window, back to the younger man and closes his eyes, pretends to rest as he feels Beomgyu’s presence sit back in his seat. 

Soon. Soon he’ll be locked away from this reality where Soobin is happy with someone else. Locked away from the reality that there has always been something dangerous in Yeonjun. He drains people of their love. It is safer to give their heart to someone else. 

If Soobin had left his heart in Yeonjun’s hands, he’s sure he would have devoured it. This was better. Yeonjun is trouble. He’s a blackhole of taking . 

Soobin is sitting side by side with Beomgyu. They don’t speak because they don’t need to. Behind closed eyes, Yeonjun sees backs of hands touching, waiting to lace fingers together behind private doors. He feels his own grief and he sees long fingers cradling a delicate jaw and smiles pressing against each other. 

His hands are cold. His fingers are frozen. There is blooming warmth just behind him but all Yeonjun feels is the absence of a hand around his own. 

Now we speak with ruined tongues
And the words we say aren't meant for anyone
It's just a mumbled sentence to a passing acquaintance
But there was once you
You said you hate my suffering
And you understood
And you'd take care of me
You'd always be there
Well, where are you now?

Chapter Text

I hate that you’re happy without me
And I pray, I want you to feel the pain as much as I do
I can feel the breakup, falling apart alone
I want you to regret more than I do
I just hate that you’re happy

“So…What is it you wanted to talk about?” Yeonjun’s palms are sweating, anxiety gnawing at his insides.

When Yeonjun’s alarm goes off and before drips away into after, the feeling that swoops through his gut is different. New.

There’s something akin to anger sizzling in his stomach, filling up his veins and his heart. It’s pumping through him and his jaw grinds together with resentment. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be like this. The new anger does nothing to coax him out of bed, the same weight in his limbs as yesterday. As the day before. As so, so many days before.

An endless spiral…Fractals, sharp and beautiful…

He hears movement out in the hallway, low voices and dragging feet, and knows somewhere deep down that he doesn’t have a choice. Work is work and idols don’t get days off to grind their teeth and dig their nails into their fists and hope desperately that they aren’t actually broken. So he drags himself from bed and straight to the bathroom. He doesn’t know how he lucks out into finding it empty but he’ll consider it a small blessing before the shit storm that he is absolutely sure today is going to be. Yeonjun turns the water cold to try and quell the heat under his skin, but the chilly spikes do little to calm him. He feels twisted inside around his bones, something pulsing and a strange part of him thrives in the new feeling. Something that breaks up the constant grey and crushing sorrow.

His shower is quick. He’s feeling impatient and agitated and even the air around him is making his skin feel constricting. Maybe he should talk to someone– another member or a manager or something– almost like a warning. A warning that he doesn’t feel in control of himself, that he doesn’t know how to reign in this whirlwind. Yeonjun has always been good at being professional. But today? Today he feels… unhinged. But how does one explain this feeling? How does one convey the undulating waves he feels curling inside him?

The thought dissipates almost as soon as it arrives. Yeonjun instead focuses on pulling oversized clothes over his burning skin and drying his hair with forced control. Resting his forearms on the counter, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. He can’t do today like this. He has to be better. He can’t let anyone know.

A quick glance at his phone tells Yeonjun that he’s spent a little longer getting ready than he thought and it's barely a beat later that there’s a gentle knock against the door.

“Hyung..?” It’s Huening’s soft, sleepy voice dancing towards him and he’s grateful it’s the youngest. “Are you about ready? Cars here- we gotta go.”

Yeonjun takes one more second before he opens the door to give the younger man a tight lipped smile. He meets his gaze with something Yeonjun can’t decipher and flits his own eyes away before he can think any longer on it. He doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to feel, he wants to empty himself into nothing. He shoves his shoes and a bucket hat on and somehow manages to be the first one out the door.

Once he reaches the car, Yeonjun shoves himself into the very back seat and presses himself against the window. A whole car ride to pull back on his mask, to settle into a suit that may not always feel like him but feels natural to slip into. He shuts his eyes and fights back the urge to squeeze them shut tight and cover his ears like when he was young and his mom and dad would fight. The day is uncomfortable already; itching like a bad sweater.

There’s a weight and a body suddenly pressed against him. The person nudges his shoulder against Yeonjun’s and before he can open his eyes and tell whoever it is that he’s not feeling very sociable, Beomgyu leans in and speaks to him softly.

“Are you feeling any better, hyung? Did you get good sleep?”

Yeonjun doesn’t respond. He can’t. He doesn’t know how. He bites back something nasty behind his teeth and turns more towards the window. Reaches up to pull his hat further over his eyes. He’s sure Beomgyu is shooting him a look-maybe confused, maybe hurt, he doesn’t know- and hears the younger man clear his throat, scooting a little closer.

“I came to check on you last night but you must have already been asleep. You didn’t answer when I knocked.”

Yeonjun continues to ignore him, that gentle care with which he speaks doing nothing but stroking the dark flames in his chest to climb higher and higher.

There’s a longer pause before Beomgyu sighs and presumably turns away to mind his own business. Yeonjun nearly lets out his own sigh of relief, arms crossed over his chest, body tight to prevent himself from swaying into the body beside him.

I only wish you weren’t my friend
Then I could hurt you in the end
I never claimed to be a saint
My own was banished long ago
It took the death of hope to let you go

The stickiness in his gut stays with him throughout their schedules. If anything, it seems to become more viscous as the day goes on. He can imagine it stretched out along his muscles and ribs and organs, clinging with thorns, growing to fill his throat. Yeonjun keeps his distance from the rest of the group, maknaes included. Still grasping at some kind of solution to the hazardous feeling. The brief moment of relief at feeling something new has faded away like a far off memory. No matter how exhausted the sad feelings have been, Yeonjun is desperate to not feel this. It feels uncontrollable. Alive in a way he’s not ready to deal with. But he tries his best to fight against the irritation crawling under his skin at the sound of Beomgyu’s loud voice, the sound of Huening Kai’s laugh, the sound of passing staff. Noises echo around him and crawl into his ears like insects. He just wants to make it through, go home, hope that this pendulum swing stops and he can settle into some kind of normal feeling.

Yeonjun should have known that dance practice would be the most precarious of times. Back in their early years, in the first bit after debut when he was still so used to clawing his way to the top he couldn’t let go of his desperation and impossible standards, his drive for perfection was often a spark for an argument to break out. Yeonjun had to learn that perfection means the end of growth. That being in a group meant not having to go at it alone. That with each heavy step forward, he had these wonderful boys around him to carry him when he couldn’t move on his own. But he doesn’t find the warmth and affection that lives inside him when he looks at their reflections in the mirror. A regular day may breed irritation at some of the simple mistakes they’re making, but today isn’t a regular day. Today his teeth grind together, a spark of pain in his jaw from how hard he clenches.

Yeonjun huffs out a sigh when Kai enters the chorus of No Rules half a beat late. He knows Kai can read the annoyance in his expression when he shoots the elder a sheepish smile. Yeonjun’s face forces itself into some kind of grimace and he looks away, not wanting to lash out at Huening for what he knows is a simple mistake. There’s shuffling of staff off to the side and he knows that the tension isn’t going unnoticed by them or their dance instructor. She looks tired and rubs at her temples in what may be exasperation.

“Okay…” She sighs, walking towards her bag in the corner. “Run through things a few more times. You know your weak points. We will regroup tomorrow when you’re all focused. I have nothing else to do here tonight.”

Silence follows in her exit and Yeonjun feels his pulse tick up, mouth dry. Her tone of disappointment as she leaves causes a near physical reaction in him; it’s his very least favorite feeling. Except something in him is clawing its way out, becoming unburied, fighting for control over his limbs and words.

Taehyun is the first to move, going over to the speaker and fiddling with their playlist, starting it over without another word. There’s not much else any of them can say. No words of encouragement or motivation. They can only fix the problem, run through things just like their teacher said.

The first few songs go fine but Yeonjun is still studying the mirror, waiting for anything to not match, to not fit. His eyes drag over his own form, his extensions and his lines. The ending of each fingertip and the timing of each breath. It’s not just the mistakes of others, it’s the mistakes of himself, too. Things just feel off kilter. Imbalanced. Heavy. Yeonjun feels like he doesn’t have full control over anything about himself, simply a passenger on a wild ride to nowhere. The only thing he can do is push harder, be better. He grits his teeth when the roll of his neck looks stiff, the fluidity of his body turning brittle under his gaze. He studies himself against the other members, trying not to let his younger self control him. He wants to just focus on himself, on his own mistakes and flaws. He wants to work on perfecting the choreography and not allowing anyone to see through these fault lines into the sticky darkness. But his eyes can’t help but roam over the shadows, the figures around him. Because the thing is it’s not just him. There’s these moments where they might as well be fresh trainees fumbling their way through choreography they should know by now.

They’re at the part of the choreography where they slide on their knees and push back up within the next beat. No Rules is challenging on a good day– Yeonjun knows that– but when Beomgyu struggles to stand in time with the music, something in Yeonjun snaps and breaks.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Beomgyu! It’s so fucking simple!” His voice is scathing, teeth bared like a wild animal as he spins to stare at the younger man. Beomgyu’s face is an open expression of shock and hurt, his arms pulled up in defense. His hair, in the process of growing out and pushed out of his face with a thick headband, is soaked with sweat, sticking to his neck and around his ears. His chest is heaving beneath his sweaty t-shirt and it’s obvious how exhausted he is. Most other days, possibly any other day, Yeonjun would feel frustrated, maybe a little annoyed, and might still call him out. But it would be with a simmering understanding that this shit wasn’t easy. That they were trying. That understanding is nowhere in his body now; everything just feels like fire.

“H-hyung… I-I… I’m just…”

“No! Fuck your excuses– we’ve gone through this so many goddamn times– why is it so fucking hard for you to–”

“Yeonjun!” Yeonjun spins around to face the shout that interrupted him. He draws himself up to full height, jaw and fists clenched, ready to snap at whoever dare to interrupt him. But any possible reply, movement, inhaleexhaleinhaleinhaleinhale is stopped short.Their leader stands with his shoulders squared and an angry flush high on his cheeks. Silence echoes against the walls of the practice room following Soobin’s outburst. No one speaks. Yeonjun’s knees quiver.

“You do not get to talk to him like that! We are all tired. We are all trying our best and we’re exhausted. You are completely out of line.”

Soobin is meeting his eyes for the first time in what feels like years and the look on his face is one Yeonjun has never had directed at him. It’s so different from what he’s used to. There’s a chilliness there that seems to shudder under Yeonjun’s skin. He meets those eyes that used to hold all the comfort in the world, that used to be warm like home, and steals himself against the threatening nausea.

“Maybe some of our best isn’t good enough.” He hisses through bared teeth. The tar in his veins is gaining strength, waves in a storm ready to tear apart anything in its path. He's not even sure if he's talking about Beomgyu, or the dancing, or a single goddamn one of the boys surrounding him or if he's talking about himself. About Soobin. About the two of them and the thing they built between clasped hands. About the feeling of surrender.

For a moment, Soobin seems stunned at his retort, eyes blinking rapidly a couple of times as if clearing his vision, confirming this reality. But it’s only a moment. His jaw begins to tighten the longer their eyes hold. Yeonjun knows this is a dangerous game. He’s poking at old bruises and gaping wounds and there’s a part of him that hopes Soobin just loses it. Hits him or calls him horrible, honest things. Gives Yeonjun a reason to justify his anger and not just feel hurt by a raw sense of betrayal.

“Are you trying to say that Beomgyu’s work today isn’t good enough?”

“Is that what it fucking sounds like?”

“And what about the rest of us, Yeojun? What about yourself? Pretty sure you’ve had your own share of mistakes, don’t you think?”

Yes. Yeonjun thinks, feeling the weight of the word on his shoulders, in his gut, cutting up his insides like he always does. Striving for perfection no matter how far away it feels. Having his mistakes pointed out, even vaguely, is something Yeonjun has always expected from people around him. Even when he was younger, fresh and naive and so, so fragile, even when the criticism hurt, he still soaked it in and applied the words like ointment on a wound. He’d look at himself through the eyes of his critics, his teachers, his coaches, and analyze how to be better. How to exceed.

Somewhere, logically, Yeonjun knows the words aren’t any worse than what he had just yelled at Beomgyu. But emotionally, the accusation feels like Soobin’s words aren’t about practice. It feels like he’s telling Yeonjun This is why you were replaced.

“You’re not the instructor. You’re not our teacher. We’re a team and we don’t cut each other down. I thought you got over this behavior when we were trainees.” Soobin crosses his arms with a sneer and Yeonjun is battling between pride and hurt. He’s breathing heavy, heartbeat hard against his ribs and he knows he’s desperately clinging to the anger to not think about how this is the first time Soobin has actively acknowledged him in front of other people in weeks, months, eternities . This is the first proof that they exist in the same space and together since they were together. Yeonjun wants to dig his claws into the awful tar feeling that’s been clinging all day, that directed his anger at Beomgyu and his mistakes in the first place. He desperately wants to hold it in place because if it slips all that will be left is the raw edges of his mind repeating a mantra reminding him He’s only looking at you for him it’s not you it’s him he loves him and you’re a danger and you’re a problem and you only exist to him as a mistake not just this but everything a mistake. A Mistake. A Mistake.

So he grits his teeth, holds Soobin’s eyes, narrows his own. He gathers the storm in his arms, holds it tight to his chest. All the letters of the language swirl in Yeonjun’s brain until he strings together the most honest thing he’s said in months.

“Fuck. You.” His voice seems hoarse as it pushes past his teeth. It shakes on each inhale and exhale and he doesn’t give a flying fuck because he’s turning on his heel and storming right out the door. The hurricane inside of him is battling between rage and self hatred but the sticky pitch waves are determined to leave a trail of destruction behind him. He intentionally slams the door with all his strength before stalking down the hall. Being around people feels too suffocating, too damaging, he fears he will have to peel his skin right off his muscles and bones or choke on all his contradictions. On his own fraudulence. On the feeling of belonging that simply feels like a lie.

He will sequester himself. Quarantine this mass inside of him. The raging pain. The tar pit. Maybe if he’s away, he will be able to calm down enough to know the day was just fucked, it wasn’t just one or two people, but a balance in the universe. Maybe if he’s far enough away, he can convince himself that Soobin’s anger wasn’t because it was Yeonjun about Beomgyu. That while Yeonjun deserved to be scolded, it was his own frustration and anger boiling over that caused him to talk like that. Just like Yeonjun but in a different shade.

Maybe a different color story all together.

I'm the nightmare you fell asleep in and woke up still in
I'm your karma closing in with each stroke of a pen
Perfect time to have some remorse to show for your sin
No, it's hopeless, I'm the denial that you're hopelessly in
When they say all of this is approaching its end
But you refuse to believe that it's over, here we go all over again

Yeonjun barricades himself in one of the recording rooms booked that day for Tomorrow x Together, writing himself an excuse that he’s working in case any of their staff come and bug him. In his defense, he is working. A little. Kind of. It’s mostly him sitting in front of a blank notebook page with his notes app opened to scattered thoughts of possible lyrics. On the computer screen is a playlist he’s been building on youtube of various dance styles– some to their own songs. The videos make him feel a spark of interest and a wave of regret, every breath tied up in the now and the before of the fight.

He isn’t alone for more than 45 minutes before he hears a light knock at the door and the person enters without permission. Yeonjun spins in his chair, mouth open to question the visitor, just as Beomgyu shuts the door behind him. He looks tired and ruffled, hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it, face pinched together in concern. He’s not meeting Yeonjun’s eyes and in honesty, the eldest is fucking grateful for it. He’s experiencing too many conflicting feelings– is he mad that Beomgyu just came in without waiting for an invitation? Is he upset that Soobin so readily defended the younger man in the face of Yeonjun’s indignation? Is he so fucking guilty for the way that he lashed out, the way that he implied like ‘best’ wasn’t ‘good enough’?

They stay in silence for a moment, heartbeats painful in the seconds before Beomgyu does look up, pins Yeonjun straight through the heart.

“Hyung… why are you mad at me?”

The question is asked small, weak, uncertain but unwavering. Yeonjun feels his chest ache because god he doesn’t want his little brother’s feeling like this because of him.

“Did I do something? Did I overstep? I know I was a little overbearing yesterday when you weren’t feeling well– I didn’t mean to make it harder, I swear!” Beomgyu’s eyes are shiny with tears and sincerity and it crushes Yeonjun. Everything feels like a mirrored dimension– Beomgyu, the most sincere little brother with emotions loud like thunder or whispered like rain. Beomgyu, the man who took Yeonjun’s place at Soobin’s side, who fits so snuggly in Soobin’s arms, who makes him look so thankful at every kiss. He can’t figure out what he’s supposed to feel, it’s all mixed up and messy.

“Whatever it is, hyung, just tell me. I can take it. I want to know so I can fix it. But if you don’t tell me, if you don’t talk to me…. I mean… I just don’t know what I did.”

Yeonjun squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, fighting against the horrific urge to cry, and lets out a long, steady sigh. He feels powerless against his own love. Feels the need to protect, to fix swooping over sluggish magma in his veins, snuffing out the fire.

“Beomgyu-ah… you… ah, you didn’t do anything.” He can’t tell if it’s the full truth, a half truth, or a lie. Beomgyu's expression doesn't change but for a glimmer of confusion. Yeonjun rubs his hands over his own face, presses palms again his eye sockets, pushes back tears of heartbreak and confusion and anger and the simple fucking feeling of being sad. He can hear Beomgyu shifting back and forth. The silence is weighted in waiting. Illusionary hands of a clock tick tick tick-ing until one of them slices through the heaviness.

"I…" Yeonjun's voice cracks at the word and he stops to clear his throat. He doesn’t know how to navigate this conversation, his feelings, Beomgyu’s feelings. He drops his hands to his lap but can’t force his eyes to actually meet Beomgyu’s. He focuses on a little scuff next to the door instead. An emotionless, detached mark. Distinctly not him. Not them.

“I’m…. I’m having a hard time with… things. You know with… I mean, the pandemic has been… hard. And I guess in some ways… I mean… Just…” His jaw snaps shut, eyes burning and he just wants this done. All of this. All of him.

Beomgyu makes a small humming sound in his throat and out of the corner of his eye, Yeonjun watches him pull up a second chair. He sits in front of the older man, their knees almost touching.

“Hyung, I really, really get what you mean. Without being with our fans it sort of starts to feel like ‘What’s the point’, right? Like why are we working our asses off, dieting, running ourselves into the ground when it’s just going to be big empty spaces and silence around us? This comeback is…it feels fucking impossible sometimes.” He ducks his head, trying to catch Yeonjun’s eyes but Yeonjun is resolute in avoiding his gaze. Because it’s confusing.

Or conflicting.

Or completely fucking fucked.

Because what he said is true. What Beomgyu said was true– this all fucking sucks. It felt like a lie, like being given their dream only to be doused awake in icy waves. No longer hearing MOA’s voices was torture. He’d give up anything to hear it again. In all the ‘worst-case-scenarios’ Yeonjun used to mentally run through while working towards his– their– goal, this reality was never one of them.

But Yeonjun has learned better than to try and bargain with the universe. Nothing can change what is already in motion.

And that’s where things are fucked. Yeonjun isn’t lying but he’s not telling the truth either. He feels companionship in Beomgyu expressing similar thoughts but sick to his stomach, dizzy, burning, freezing at what he knows now. He could say something. He could tell Beomgyu he knows. That he saw them. That he can tell he makes Soobin happy and just the idea of that makes Yeonjun want to scream until his voice dies because that used to be him but now Soobin only looks at him like he’s small and pathetic.

Yeonjun finally gains the courage to look into the younger man’s face and sees only sincerity. A silent ‘I see you’ in his hot chocolate eyes. Maybe he doesn’t even know about Yeonjun and Soobin. They never outright told anyone and Yeonjun can’t know if the information was disclosed to him. Maybe he thinks he’s just hiding a secret like Yeonjun had been– something solid and powerful but so, so fragile. Either way, Yeonjun shouldn’t have said what he did to him. He’d always sworn to himself all of the beautiful, terrible things between him and Soobin would never interfere with work. He couldn’t start now. Private versus public. Choi Yeonjun couldn’t be so weak as to let his feelings fuck up everything else.

So he forces himself to study Beomgyu’s face, hold his stare, drop his own hand onto the one on his knee and give it a tight squeeze.

“I know. I guess I needed the reminder. “ Yeonjun’s gut hurts with the need to fix this, apologize, let Beomgyu know his best is more than enough. It’s spectacular.

“I’m really sorry, Beommie. I shouldn’t have picked on you like that and I definitely shouldn’t have implied you’re not good enough or aren’t trying hard. You’re so, so good in every way. We couldn’t do this without you. I couldn’t do it without you. I’m so sorry I was such an asshole. Worse than an asshole. I don’t… I don’t even know.”

“It’s okay hyung–”

“No, it’s not okay.” Yeonjun interrupts, unable to stand the idea of his friend absolving him of something so nasty. In a way, the guilt is so much easier to deal with than the rest. He clings to the voice telling him he deserves punishment, not love. That everything that’s been all fucked up inside of him is for a reason. “It’s not okay for me, for anyone to talk to you like that. You didn’t deserve it. Okay?”

Beomgyu’s smile widens, softens. He reaches up and lightly flicks Yeonjun’s forehead before gently messing with his hair, fingers soft against his scalp.

“Fine. Then I forgive you. Is that better?”

No. Yeonjun wants to answer. If you hate me this would be easier. Maybe this feeling could be justified. Instead he pouts, rubs his forehead and nods slightly. His eyes fall away from Beomgyu’s, bravery spent. The younger man heaves a heavy, relieved sigh.

“God, I was really nervous coming up here but I’m really glad we talked. I feel a lot better knowing what you’re thinking. Misplaced anger is pretty normal, you know. Especially when the thing you’re mad at is a global pandemic you have absolutely no control over. “ He pushes himself up, stretching and moving the chair back to the corner, moving closer to the door, clearly planning to leave.

Those words are on his tongue again.

Did you know?

Why him?

How long?

Are you the reason he stopped loving me?

He wants to bite his tongue off to keep his secret, but as Beomgyu’s hand touches the handle, something cracks.

“What happened to the tournament?”

The younger man turns to him, eyebrows bunched together with a confused pout.

“What are you talking about?”

“Last night. You and Soobin came home with me but earlier you said you had a game tournament. What happened?” He swallows thickly. “You were really excited for it.” Does he sound too suspicious? Accusatory? Broken?

Beomgyu’s expression changes just enough to confirm the wintery chill across the nape of his neck. To confirm that he feels caught. Somewhere between anxious and guilty.

“Oh…uhm… yeah, I actually got the date wrong.” He laughs but it sounds just on the edge of forced, an effort to pop this sudden tension around them.

“And you decided to stay at work instead of going home? Were you and Soobin working on something?” He’s getting dangerously close to what he actually wants to know. He’s getting far too vulnerable, stripping layers of defenses as if wanting Beomgyu to just eviscerate him with a confession. Let him squash the anxiety and what ever fucked up feelings are all tangled up inside him, let them just be dead so he stops feeling so fucking small. Weak. Fragile.

Fractured fractals

Melting snowflakes turning grey and disgusting in city streets

Stardust made of bones.

Watching Beomgyu– his friend, his teammate, his brother– Yeonjun knows. He doesn’t even need the words.

Beomgyu does know about him and Soobin. His eyes are flickering all around the room, away from his hyung before snapping them back to Yeonjun’s face to try and hide his avoidance. He‘s a believable liar but never with anything real. When it’s real, Beomgyu is an open book, a vibrant honesty he might as well be shouting.

And Beomgyu knows.

He knows that it was Yeonjun’s hands first.

Yeonjun’s lips.

Yeonjun’s name on Soobin’s tongue.

How the fuck is he supposed to feel? What the fuck is he supposed to do? Something short circuits in his brain, white noise and numb skin. Frost bitten and blackened. He’s being torn apart in too many different directions and it’s breaking his connection with reality.

“Oh.. Yeah! I decided to work on some melodies. Maybe for the next album or something. Soobin was going to just say good-bye before heading home but… We got caught up on one of my songs so…”

one of my songs

What a fucking joke.

Yeonjun could tell him. Could call him out on his bullshit. Call him a liar. Expose this betrayal. This comedy. This farce. He could storm out of yet another room, find Soobin and let this monster inside him out. Bash him right in his beautiful face. He could lay himself down at their feet and beg them to just put him out of his misery. He could walk into the Han river and let himself become singular with each molecule of water. But ultimately he remains silent. Nods his head, turns his chair back around to face the computer and his blank notebook.

“Sorry about your tournament.” He manages to push past the choking in his throat. There’s a beat of silence, a heavy inhale.

“Th-thanks, hyung.” A soft voice, a soft thing fluttering through their air. “Don’t stay too late, okay? Everyone was worried but I’ll let them know you just need some space.”

Not everyone. Soobin wasn’t. Soobin hadn’t been worried about him in centuries. Only worried about what damage Yeonjun could do.

God he could do so much damage.

A hum of acknowledgement from Yeonujun meets a gentle goodbye and the door snicking shut. The room is doused in silence again.

How is Yeonjun still able to cry? How is it possible with all the tears he’s shed? Isn’t there a limit? He’s so exhausted, why aren’t they?

He doesn’t move. Remains staring blank and unprocessing with hunched shoulders and silent tears streaming down a face that doesn’t even feel like his own.

So break yourself against my stones
And spit your pity in my soul
You never needed any help
You sold me out to save yourself
And I won’t listen to your shame
You ran away, you’re all the same
Angels lie to keep control
My love was punished long ago
If you still care, don’t ever let me know”

Eventually, Yeonjun does actually manage some work. A few lines of lyrics jotted down. Messing remedially in some music mixing programs, making notes of some questions to ask Taehyun later. Listening to their new album and mentally going over choreography. It helps to get his brain back online but still keeps him far away from the clouded mess of reality.

As the evening turns to night and Yeonjun’s stomach reminds him of his activities of the day and the hours since a quick breakfast of coffee and a powerbar, he pushes himself away from the desk and stretches his arms above his head. He feels about ready to head home now. Grab a little food, a quick shower to wash away the sweat from practice, climb into bed and wait desperately for sleep. He’s actually even feeling a little tired– not just worn down to dust, but like he could almost sleep. He’s just thinking he can stop off at the corner store to pick up some ice cream or something– a little apology for his outburst. Maybe smooth things over with the other members and with–

An arrow shoots him right through the chest.

What if Beomgyu and Soobin are still here?

What if he catches them together again?

What if he has to ride in the van with them again, knowing in his gut what the fizzing anticipation means?

What if he has to see them come home together? Watch them put thoughtful distance between them but unable to put anything but warmth when their eyes meet?

What if they all want to talk about today and Soobin yells at him again? Reminds him how nasty he is. Reminds him that he’s the one lacking. That he’s the one who’s not good enough. Or worse.

What if he goes back to ignoring Yeonjun all together?

Scenarios rip through his imagination at breakneck speeds and he knows with certainty there is no way he can leave the safety of this room. He can’t expose himself to the outside elements, not unprotected. Not already wrung dry.

Skipping a meal will probably do him some good anyways. He’s been meaning to double down on his diet. Take it more seriously. He remains seated, body momentarily stiff with anxiety. He forces himself to take a deep breath in, hold it, pushes it past shuddering teeth. Trying to prevent yet another fucking meltdown. Yeonjun will just stay here. Claim falling asleep working. Brush off concerns by apologizing again. No one will ask questions. No one will worry too much. It’s not the first time Yeonjun has slept at the building instead of at home, getting caught up in always pushing harder. He’ll allow himself this reprieve. This safety. He knows he has an early morning personal schedule tomorrow, one of the photoshoots, but he is sure he’d be more of a mess, harder to make beautiful, if he pulled himself away from this fortress. The risk is too high. The damage too likely. No sleep has to be better than a throat full of razorblades and eyes glued shut with tears that are apparently fucking endless.

Yeonjun toes off his shoes and pulls his hoodie back on over his head. Thankfully, he’s in one of the rooms with a small couch. An unusual stroke of good fortune. He’s far too tall for the furniture but curls up on his side anyways, facing the back of the cushions with his hood pulled up. There’s no blankets or pillows but the room is warm enough and Yeonjun’s slept with less and on worse surfaces before.

Mindlessly, he scrolls through tik tok on his personal account, letting himself get lost in the endless scroll of pointless videos until blinking gets slower, eyes remaining closed longer one after the other. Before he can think too much about it, he falls blissfully unaware, phone still quietly playing the last video.

It’s the fastest he’s fallen asleep in months.

How much to light up my star again
And rewire all my thoughts?
Oh baby, won't you remind me what I am?
And break, break my little cold heart

Chapter Text

Remember the words you told me
“Love me till the day I die”
Surrender my everything ‘cause you made me believe you’re mine
You used to call me baby, now you’re calling me by name

It’s not that Yeonjun didn’t notice things changing between them.

But changes in relationships were normal, right? He figured it was just the regular ‘wear and tear’ that couples went through. When he noticed Soobin shying away from his touches, it was easy to chalk it up to being shy. Yeonjun had always been the one who wanted—needed – more physical contact, was far more shameless in front of other people and the cameras. And in the beginning of them , Soobin had been less in control of his urges, too. But the honeymoon phase had ended a while ago and it made sense if Soobin was coming down from that and being more aware of their surroundings.

They still had their private moments together. Still have casual touches at the dorms– holding hands, cradling back hugs, gentle kisses along the arched throats. They came together naturally. An easy step from being together to being Together. They were already tactile, they already veered towards physical touch between the two of them. It had made sense they both yearned near constant to maintain the contact. And when it slowed, when the urgency seemed to bubble only in Yeonjun’s fingertips, it was easy to explain away. Easy to perhaps not even notice.

Soobin wasn’t absent, hadn’t completely pulled away. They still slept in the same bed multiple times a week. Still curled around each other underneath blankets, breathed each other in, kissed slow and lazy late into the night. They still had sex, they still had wandering hands and exchanged teasing touches on occasion. It was just less. And sometimes Yeonjun didn’t feel the same connection they used to have. Not that it felt like Soobin was forcing himself, but more like he was humoring Yeonjun’s desire, his desperation. But Soobin was under a lot of pressure, he always had been as their leader and that pressure didn’t lessen just because they weren’t in front of in-person crowds. But Soobin used to talk to him about it, used to come to Yeonjun for comfort and reassurance and sharing that burden. NowYeonjun felt, in the back of his mind, that willingness of vulnerability closing up a day at a time. He could feel the other man pulling away a string at a time. And each one pulled felt like it was slowly unraveling Yeonjun. The more he felt that tugging, that unraveling, the more he tried to fight it, grasping at vanishing threads and trying to hold them together. He could feel himself becoming desperate, nearly crazed with the desire, need, to keep them stitched. Even as he felt it, even as he hated himself a little for it knowing how taxing he could be, Yeonjun couldn’t stop the fear growing in the back of his mind. Vines dragging at insecurities and nerves and lonely anxieties. He was a runaway train. He knew something had to give, lost to what the solution could be and too much of a coward to bring it up himself.

So yes, Yeonjun knew things were changing. Shifting. Fraying. He knew how emotions could build to boiling– it’s not like he and Soobin had never fought. Both before and after they got together– that was normal, of course it was. He just had never really anticipated this being the outcome.

I’ve been thinking
“What did I do? What did I say?”
I know, it’s already enough
What do I do without your love?
Will you show me how?

When Soobin had asked him earlier to talk after everyone was in bed, he was expecting a conversation that would border on or develop into a fight. He expected Soobin to tell him what was bothering him, even if that thing was Yeonjun himself. He expected to feel defensive, maybe hurt. Maybe he would cry. Maybe Soobin would. But they would talk, they would find a solution, they would heal together better and stronger than ever. Fights happened. Partners bugged each other. That was normal. That was okay.

But from the first moment things were different. Wrong.

The heavy sigh. The avoided eye contact. The Forced distance.

This wasn’t supposed to be an option. The End wasn’t even on the table.

Yeonjun blinks in disbelief across the room where Soobin slouches against the wall. There’s a lump forming in his throat that’s threatening to choke him, blood pounding in his ear. Maybe he heard wrong, maybe this is a mistake, maybe he’s over thinking.

“Wh-what?” His voice is frail in the heaviness of the room, but he knows Soobin hears him. The other man runs a hand through his hair and presses his lips together but still doesn’t look up to meet Yeonjun’s eyes. It makes it all feel like a dream. It makes it all feel like a nightmare.

They say that true love hurts
Well, this could almost kill me
Young love murdered, that is what this must be
The light is fading from me
As you watch my heart bleed

“Soobin… Soobin, baby… Please…” He’s not even sure what he’s trying to say. His brain is moving in slow motion, stuck in a loop not understanding what the fuck he’s hearing. What the fuck it means. “I need… I don’t– what are you saying? Wh-what’s not working?” It feels like every nerve in his body is shaking, shuddering, clawing desperately for some kind of stable ground even as he manages halting steps that bring him closer to Home. His lip trembles dangerously, jaw quaking. Soobin’s eyes move away from his stare to look up at the ceiling, head tilted back against the wall. He swallows and Yeonjun watches his throat bob. The memory of his taste overwhelms him like a tidal wave, spreading like ash over his tongue. He’s on the edge of a cliff, waiting for a hand to either pull him up or push him off.

“Us, Yeonjun. We’re not working. It’s… I mean…” He blinks rapidly at the ceiling, lips pressed together as he swallows around his voice again, clears his throat before straightening up against the wall and turning his eyes back on Yeonjun. His eyes are dry, hardened and flat, whatever emotion that might have been there blinked away in the face of Soobin’s resolve. “Hyung, you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed. You can’t tell me this–” He gestures between them and it feels like a slap. It’s the push into their widening fissure. “--- has felt good lately. We both know that something isn’t.. It’s just not the same.”

Except Yeonjun didn’t know. He didn’t know the something– them, their love, their relationship, the homes they built between them– had changed to The End. No happily ever after.

“A-a-are… Are you…” Yeonjunis chocking, teeth chattering together like he’s in ice. Fitting– the more Soobin talks, the more he feels all the warmth, all the sunlight from his body being leached away. He holds a hand against his collarbone as if the touch will steady his words, steady his world and stop whatever the fuck it is that is tearing him apart piece by piece.

“A-are you b-breaking..” breaking my heart, breaking my world, breaking me “..breaking up with me?”

Silence follows his question as Soobin’s eyes slip away from him again, motionless until he nods slowly.

The world shatters in slow motion.

Deep in a bad dream like how you left me
I wanted to love you I just want you to know that I cried
Cause I can’t help it’s over
Burning what you killed myself
And I don’t want this to be over
Wish that I could be enough to watch you find
Love

A gentle touch against his shoulder paired with a soft jostle has Yeonjun blinking awake with a bit of a start, bleary vision taken up by black leather and the feeling of drying sweat on the back of his neck. It takes him a moment to return to his body, to the now and not the before.

That’s right; he’s in the studio still. Had hidden away like a coward, subjecting himself to the slight twinge in his back from sleeping cramped to avoid the risk of exposure to… to them.

SoobinandBeomgyu

SoobinandBeomgyu

SoobinandBeomgyu

His brain threads their names together like they’re one word as opposed to two separate people. In some ways, it’s making it easier for him to accept his new existence in a reality where his heart-break led to new love blooming in front of him.

Not his, of course. But something he saw for himself is beautiful all the same.

He’s reminded of the hand on his shoulder when fingers give him another little squeeze and he’s glancing over his shoulder to find Huening Kai couching next to the couch. He rubs his hand over Yeonjun’s back as the older man starts to push himself into a sitting position with a groan.

“Hueningie? What are you doing here?” His voice sounds scratchy and rough and Yeonjun doesn’t even want to imagine what his face looks like after crying again and not even a hint of his usual nighttime hygiene routine. His mouth tastes disgusting and he’s sure his breath is even worse, but Huening Kai doesn’t react to his mumbled question except to run his nails gently over Yeonjun’s back and give him a smile.

“Morning, hyung.” His voice remains soft, gentle like his touch. “You didn’t come back last night, and I knew you had an early shoot this morning for some of your solo parts. My call time is right after, so I thought I’d come with you. And make sure you are awake.” He says the last part with a little teasing smile and hands Yeonjun an iced americano the older man didn’t notice he was holding. He feels warmth spread throughout his chest and into his fingertips that have felt so frozen, so cold. It feels like curling up in front of a hearth, like toasty flames kissing with little tendrils of warmth. Yeonjun can’t help but break into a fragile smile. He can feel the tickle of tears behind his eyes, but they thankfully remain dry.

“You didn’t have to do that. It’s so much time before you have to be here. You should have slept in more.” Kai leans over and lightly pinches his cheek before standing and holding out a faded tote bag Yeonjun has seen him use occasionally when going to visit his mom with his sisters. He blinks at the bag and then up at Huening Kai, eyebrows pulled together in confusion but before he can ask any questions, the maknae is answering the silent inquiry.

“I figured you didn’t have any of your shower stuff here. I woke you up with enough time to wash up in the gym before your shoot—wouldn’t want the make-up noona’s getting on your case about your hair or skin. “ He runs his fingers through Yeonjun’s hair as if to prove his point, wrinkling his nose in faux disgust before grinning again. Yeonjun is overwhelmed with affection to the point of feeling choked by his love and appreciation for the man in front of him. Sometimes it was hard to rectify Huening Kai of Today versus the young, awkward, timid boy from so many years ago. His “Little Yeonjun”. His first chance to really be a big brother. And even though they ran into their own share of fights and problems, had to figure out how to be flexible with their own perceptions of ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, Yeonjun’s adoration and admiration for the youngest grew every day. He felt constantly in awe of how he’d grown, evolved, continued to improve. And still, he remained so sweet, so thoughtful, so ready and willing to do what he could to improve the lives of the people around him.

Yeonjun stands and wraps his arms around Huening Kai’s middle, noting in the back of his mind how thick his waist and chest are, how he’s taller than Yeonjun now, how Yeonjun almost feels small the same way he feels inside. But this is warmth. This is safety. This is love and he finds himself once again trying to remind the broken little bits of him, all his insides, that he’s not alone. That while Soobin is so far away, simply a nightmare of memories residing like ghosts in the body that houses Yeonjun, he wasn’t the only light around.

“Thank you, Huening.” Yeonjun’s voice is soft and sleep caked, a little gravely and definitely emotional but he is able to clear his throat, take a step back, and grab the bag from Kai’s hands. He smiles up at the younger man, taking note of his sleep drooped eyes and tired smile. “You should take a little nap in one of the lounges. I… I can come get you when I’m done showering and hyung will get you breakfast in the café before my shoot starts.” Huening Kai hums in assent, flicking his hair away from his face.

“Sure, hyung. But take your time. I’m just going to go with you to the shoot anyway. You’ll have plenty of time to thank me.”

Yeonjun opens his mouth to protest, wants to tell the younger man he shouldn’t worry about coming to the shoot early,that he should get more sleep before what they both know will be a grueling day. He doesn’t even get a syllable out before Kai is already out the door, holding it open for Yeonjun with a little yawn.

“C’mon. The best couches are just outside the gym so I’ll go with you up there.”

Yeonjun knows it’s a lie– the best couches are in the lounge near the cafeteria– but he feels too warmed by the consideration to argue anymore. If Huening Kai wants to take care of him a little, it’s his own prerogative and selfishly, Yeonjun wants to cling to the attention like dew drops in the morning sun. With every step through the halls, their footsteps echos of each other, Yeonjun can feel butterfly wings in his chest. His feet don’t drag. The day hasn’t had a chance to start out gray. Huening Kai’s smile is flecks of vibrant primary colors across peeling wood and it feels like a lifeline. If Yeonjun leans a little more into the attention, grips a little tighter, he doesn’t think their maknae will hold it against him.

I can’t move, I’m paralyzed
I can’t explain why I’m terrified
I just wanna feel the ground
when I’m coming down
I wanna cut you outta my dreams
‘Til I’m bleeding out

By the time practice starts, Yeonjun is feeling significantly better than he has in a while. He couldn’t say for certain the reason, but could guess it had something to do with the selfless acts of their angel-maknae and what could be considered some of the best sleep he’s had in months. Despite the location being on a couch that was too small. Despite the ache in his lower back and shoulders. Whatever the reason, Yeonjun found himself goofing around with the members a little more—even Beomgyu. If he didn’t think about it too hard, if he didn’t let all those dark twisty thoughts that had grown into his broken spaces like weeds from concrete, he could pretend things were almost as they used to be. He could pretend Beomgyu didn’t know what he was doing, feet blurring over Yeonjun’s footsteps.

Everything feels almost normal. Almost better. The strangest thing happening is Soobin actively avoiding him. Avoiding Yeonjun and his smile and his goofing around and his shouts of joyful faux annoyance when Taehyun all but tackles him in between sets. It was different, new. Up until this point, Soobin has acted like Yeonjun doesn’t even exist. Treated him like a ghost, like a nightmare, like a distant memory one could look back on with pensive regret. But his behavior now was intentional. As if he couldn’t imagine a ghost but instead was forced to acknowledge a flesh and bone person. Maybe it was because of their altercation the day before. Maybe it was because Yeonjun felt like his edges were coming into focus, that he was solidifying. He couldn’t be sure and while the realization had his brain digging claws and teeth into the thought- desperate to be seen, desperate for even the distant warmth of Soobin’s attention—Yeonjun forces himself to focus on their work, their dance, their performance. He pushes himself to feel his character, to not be Choi Yeonjun.

It isn’t that far of a stretch, really. His character has a broken-heart too.

They’re practicing ‘0X1= LOVESONG’. It is simultaneously some of Yeonjun’s favorite choreography and a singular, gaping wound, If he ignores his feelings enough, shuts himself off to the infection in his gut, Yeonjun can appreciate not only the aesthetic of him and Soobin’s duet portion of the song, but also the musicality of their movements, the impact it adds to an already emotional song. With the work Taehyun and Huening Kai have put into learning new vocal techniques, the practice they’ve put in, the development they’ve shown. With Beomgyu’s dedication to his facial expressions, to burying himself in the sweet, destructive love of the song, Yeonjun focuses on bettering himself as well. Even when Soobin’s hand burns across his chest, even when the contact of their backs together still makes Yeonjun’s voice want to stall in his throat, he refuses to allow himself to sink into the quicksand of despair he’s been standing in.

Freeze

FightFlight

Freeze. Freeze. Freeze.

They finish their third or so run through and while Malibu-saem works with Kai on some of their floor work, Yeonjun watches himself in the mirror repeating the climax of the song. He forces himself to imagine Soobin’s hand up along his chest, not having the courage to approach the younger man and ask to practice together. Especially when Soobin keeps his back turned to him during any moments of rest.

He can imagine the touch effortlessly, the sensation of Soobin’s hands branded into his memory.

Strong fingers over bare skin. A large palm settling over his pounding heartbeat.
“Don’t be nervous, hyung. You know I’ll take care of you.”
A grounding sensation, a healing touch.

It hurts. It burns. His flesh melts underneath violent hands down to his weak sternum. He begs for it to break, to melt into his heart, the stuttering muscle longing for rest. He’s choking on smoke. It’s drenching him in the stench of his tragedy.

Yeonjun hears their voices in his head as his body moves to the silent melody.

Take all of me

He loses himself for just a moment, eyes shutting as he lets himself settle into his imagination, his memory. For a single inhale, he travels back in time. He remembers what it feels like to click together like puzzle pieces. Rounded out blossoming petals. An eternity of them. He doesn’t just feel Soobin’s hands, he feels his heart. He feels his love. He feels the burst of warmth with every smile. He lets himself feel his love for Soobin as well. Feels it like a gift for the first time in so long. Feels it in the memory of lips on lips, of his hands massaging the younger man’s scalp, temples, neck, shoulders. Feels it in the whisper of a thin waist between his knees, of his hands gripping strong thighs, of hooded eyes meeting a wanting heat. Drifting in his memories, biting down on his lip to keep his wobble under control, Yeonjun’s hand strays from his shoulder without consideration. His fingertips brush against his neck and the next moment, he opens his eyes to stare at his reflection.

Take all of me

The picture it paints is different than before. A hand on a throat speaks of trust, of placing a very life into someone’s hands. He can see how Soobin’s hand would span the length, the width of his neck. He can imagine his own hand over top, clinging.

Take all of me
I need you

After a handful of minutes, Malibu-saem goes to start the song over. The Yeonjun of yesterday, the one more willing to gut himself on stage, raises his hand.

“I have a suggestion for our duet portion.”

His voice sounds much stronger than he feels, an inkling of trepidation wanting to keep him silent. He feels eyes on him. It’s familiar. In some ways, it feels good. In others it feels like a threat.

“When Soobin grabs my shoulder, what if we moved it here—” He grips his own throat like he did before; a light but begging touch. “—instead? I think it fits with the mood we’re wanting and with the lyrics.” Yeonjun can see her considering, see her mentally running through each singular movement in the song and perfectly visualizing what this impact might be. Her eyes flick between Yeonjun and Soobin before giving him a nod.

“Let’s try it. I’m curious.”

She says nothing more before clapping her hands loudly together, signaling their time to step back into formation.

Yeonjun can feel Soobin’s hesitation as they near their portion of the song. No matter what kind of distance is forced between them, Yeonjun will always be able to read the younger man.

Except he never saw the end coming. He never expected the devastating blow. The knife in his chest.

Way the world ends. Way the world ends.

A whimper.

As he watches the alternative movement with a critical eye. it’s obvious it’s not as clean as it was before, but the striking image is undeniable and they run through it four more times with the change before their instructor switches them over to practice No Rules. She’s really pushing them to make up for the day before. They’re already doing so much better it’s almost painful but Yeonjun tries not to think about it. Instead, he focuses on how they’re doing—how he’s doing – in the now. Their muscles burn, sweat soaking through their shirts, but it’s obvious everyone’s mood has improved.

(Almost everyone. Soobin carries a tension in his wide shoulders and in every joint, like prey ready to spring away from danger)

An hour before they’re done for the day, Sungdeuk-nim visits their studio. He doesn’t come by often, especially when he’s not technically involved with the choreography, but in a lot of ways, he’s just as important as Bang SiHyuk-nim. Dropping in to see how they’re doing isn’t completely unheard of. Regardless of what kind of name they continue to make for themselves, they will always be Bangtan’s little brothers and that comes with a responsibility that sometimes feels crushing—to all of them. Being a reflection of BTS means they’re also a reflection of the company, of Bang PD-nim, of Sungdeuk-nim.

He stands beside Malibu as they get into position to run through everything top to bottom again. Yeonjun feels like it’s a showcase, like he’s onstage. The energy of exposition, of performance. So, he sinks into exactly that once more, ceasing to be heart-broken Choi Yeonjun and evolving into a boy finding his missing piece and wanting to fall into that depth regardless of what that fall entails.

Say you love me

Say you love me

They’re all panting at the end of the run through—Yeonjun makes a note to work on his own stamina—and wait with eager anticipation for any feedback Sungdeuk-nim may have for them. He seems to consider them a moment, eyes narrowed in thought before he turns to Malibu.

“What made you decide to make the change in the middle? With Yeonjun and Soobin?”

Yeonjun swallows hard. He can feel the back of his neck itching as Malibu lifts her hand to point him out.

“It wasn’t my idea. Yeonjun pitched it and we’ve been running through it a few times with the change. I’m leaning towards keeping it—what do you think?”

Sungdeuk-nim turns to pin Yeonjun with his gaze and Yeonjun’s mouth goes dry.

“I think it makes a huge impact.” He crosses his arms over his chest and shifts his weight closer to the five of them, body language showing his interest. “What inspired you to change it? I’m curious about your thought process.”

Yeonjun isn’t sure how to explain to someone what a big fucking deal this is. He’s admired Sungdeuk-nim since he was a trainee, since he watched him not only choreograph for BTS, but stand in as one of their dancers, too. And while he is aware they as a group have a much more familiar bond with him than other non-BIGHIT groups (especially him and Taehyun who had seen beginning to end the evolution of the company) the reality of his attention was still sometimes overwhelming. It’s not that he doesn’t feel that way when their instructor called him out specifically or when a guest choreographer comes in to work with them and only has praises to sing for them. It was just… different. Having someone who watched him train, who watched him grow, who he watched in return, acknowledge his growth.

“I was just running through the piece on my own but really thought about the musicality of the motions. The lyrics there are so intense but… but also really vulnerable. I thought the movement should offer the same kind of vulnerability and trust the song is asking for.”

Sungdeuk-nim’s mouth spreads into a small, approving smile as Yeonjun explains himself and the sense of pride Yeonjun feels is both foreign and familiar. This day has felt like an impossible step forward.

Maybe this is what healing feels like.

“I like it. Your instincts for dance are spot on. I know a little bit of Namjoon’s thought process on some of the lyrics and I think he’d be impressed with the change, too.” Sungdeuk-nim chuckles to himself, turns to Malibu like he’s telling a joke. “He may know next to nothing about dance, still, but goddamn him and his emotional intelligence. You don’t have to be a genius to see emotion in dance but he went ahead and is one anyways.”

The visit starts to feel like too much. To bring up RM, Yeonjun’s main inspiration anytime he writes lyrics, is so much light to bring into his body when it’s been only darkness and decay. Taehyun claps him on the shoulders, giving him a little shake and a wide smile in the mirror.

“My wish is that we debut together. I know Yeonjunnie-hyung will take care of me and… I hope you let me take care of you a little, too.``

Sungdeuk-nim excuses himself not long after, thanking them for letting him interrupt and telling them he thinks this is going to be their best comeback yet. They run through things a few more times with their instructor, getting some one-on-one coaching in, before she leaves them to practice a bit on their own before the end of their day.

“You all did a wonderful job today. I knew yesterday had to be a fluke—thanks for proving me right. Your professionalism and dedication is, as always, refreshing.” She smiles at them in that way that makes her feel a lot like noona , eyes meeting each and every one of them separately. “Great work. I think Sungdeuk may be onto something about this comeback.”

I’m fumbling unreasonably, I’m the only one left here
You’re not gone, even the traces left behind are lonely
Your words that dig into my skin are cruel
A mark was placed where the ring sits

Once it’s just them and a couple managers around the practice room, Beomgyu launches himself on to Yeonjun’s back, causing the oldest to stumble with a grunt.

“Wow~ hyung! Never beating those “Fourth Gen It Boy Legendary Trainee” allegations, huh?”

Hands that are not his pulling at white cotton

He’s blooming under a new touch

That smile is supposed to be his, handed over to someone else

Yeonjun’s smile nearly falters but he catches it’s fall just in time, swallowing hard against the sudden punch of emotion. It’s a knife edge he’s balancing on, but he’s determined to not let today fall apart.

“Ah, I guess so. I’m not sure that one change warrants this kind of reaction.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course it does!” Beomgyu drops back to the floor and gives Yeonjun a playfully scolding shove. “You suggested a change, this late in production, mind you, and it was well received and implemented. That’s a big deal! Don’t downplay that.”

“Yah!” Heuning Kai’s voice is loud across the practice room. He has his arms around Soobin who cringes at the volume so close to his ear. “Soobinnie-hyung! Isn’t the change cool? It looks really good in the mirror! What do you think?”

Yeonjun’s eyes snap to the pair across the room. He can’t help it when his eyes flicker to Soobin, the staccato of his heartbeat thudding in his ears and he can’t look away.

He can’t look away. It’s his murder and he can’t look away.

Soobin looks uncomfortable at being put on the spot, cheeks flushing and panicked eyes flickering around the room as if an exit from the conversation will suddenly appear.

“U-uhm… well..” He clears his throat and for a brief moment, a single second, a single hand tick, his eyes meet Yeonjun’s and there’s something there in their depths that twists thorny and sharp all up inside. It’s heavy, weighted with something unknown and it tingles across Yeonjun’s skin like spider webs. “ It’s good but… I think it makes the whole thing too sexy. It really puts the focus on hyung looking sexy.”

Yeonjun’s stomach clenches and feels like it falls right out of his body. He hears a sharp inhale and isn’t sure if it’s himself or Taehyun standing just to the side of him. Soobin refuses to meet anyone's eyes but Kai’s arms drop as he regards their leader with a confused frown. Awkward silence falls over them. It’s a comment that maybe, if things were good, if Yeonjun wasn’t a single thread away from unraveling completely day after day, they could have played this off. He could have leaned into it or at least clapped back. But now, shaking knees and weak resolve, Yeonjun has no idea what do to.

Freeze.Flight.Freeze.Flight.Freeze

“Does he always have to make everything about himself?”
“I know, like we get it—you’re number one on the list. Who fucking cares anymore?”
“God, wouldn’t it be hilarious if he never even debuted? I mean, he’s been here so long already. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I don’t know, the public loves conceited assholes like him anyways and he’s so desperate to do whatever the company wants if it means attention. He’s a cash cow.”
“You’re right. Pathetic people like him do well in the beginning.”
“But they burn out fast—everyone will get tired of his shit pretty quick. Even the company.”
He wants to run, he wants to disappear, he wants to go back in time and find that younger version of himself and never let him fall in love.

Beside him, Beomgyu throws an arm over his shoulder with a terse scoff and a curled lip sent in Soobin’s direction. Whether or not he knows what kind of maelstrom is tearing Yeonjun to pieces, he rolls his eyes and lets out a long, suffering groan.

“Oh, c’mon! Don’t be so jealous of the visual line. We can’t help it we’re so beautiful.” He jostles Yeonjun a little and the oldest wishes he could crack his face in half into a joking smile, but he feels frozen.

Freeze
Flight
Fight
Freeze
FlightFlightFlight

It’s just enough to crack the tension that had settled over the room and Taehyun leaps into the opportunity, a hand held to his chest as he steps between the two pairs of his band members, physically placing himself in the trench between Yeonjun and Soobin.

“Excuse me, I’m pretty sure you’re talking about me. Everyone says so, hyung. Don’t be so jealous.” He repeats Beomgyu’s words at him and the other man immediately gasps in offense.

They descend into a choir of light bickering and Yeonjun is able to take a few steps away before turning his back on the rest of the group, taking deep, calming breaths. He catches a glimpse of Huening Kai and Soobin talking in one of the further corners of the room, sour looks on both their faces but he doesn’t let himself linger on any of it.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. Idontwanttobehere

Yeonjun pulls out his phone, clinging to any kind of distraction—this was a good day, he was feeling good, he still doesn’t want to lose it. He flicks through some of his messages as he sips cold water, reading each notification carefully to not allow for a wandering mind.

Itreallyputsthefocusonhyungbeingsexy

A new text comes in right as his thumb is awkwardly hovering over every icon on his home screen, desperate for anything to pull his attention.

Changbin:
Yo
Changbin:
A few of us are going out tonight wanna come?
Changbin:
I know you’re in the middle of comeback
Stuff but if you’ve got the time…
Changbin:
👀👀👀👀👀👀

A little context if you care to listen
I find myself in a shit position
The man that I love sat me down last night
And he told me it was over, dumb decision
And I don’t want to feel how my heart is ripping
In fact, I don’t want to feel so I stick to sipping
I don’t want to feel how I did last night
Doctor, have mercy on me, take this pain away
You’re asking me my symptoms, doctor, I don’t want to feel

The world is spinning, colors flashing off of sticky surfaces and faces that are blurred and nameless. Bodies form to a singular Body and beginning and ends don’t matter anymore. With every sip of alcohol past his lips, Yeonjun drifts further and further away from the weight of loss, the gravity of grief. With every swallow, he becomes more a stranger, a shadow. With every swallow, he becomes less of a person being burned alive. That stone that’s been sitting in his gut, the pain in his chest, the constant pressure of SoobinandBeomgyuSoobinandBeomgyu is far away. Like he’s disconnected. Better than anything he’s tried before. The numbness blurring his edges sweeps through his blood stream and he can’t even feel the knife in his chest, through skin and muscle and bone. It’s happening to someone else. He can stand at the side lines, drink in hand and watch like a horror movie on tv.

Look at that broken boy. Look at his twisted limbs and gaping chest. All hollowed out. Must have been painful. Must have been sad. How many tears could he have cried?

Yeonjun had spent the first part of the night clinging to Changbin’s arm, downing a couple shots at the bar, laughing louder and louder with every drink. His friend had slunk away from the sea of bodies at one point, shouting over the heavy bass his awe at Yeonjun even having the strength to dance so much in the middle of comeback prep. How could Yeonjun explain to him that husks can’t get tired? That ash can only drift. No movement of its own choice, simply subjected to the whimsy of the wind.

Changbin knows, more or less, about The End. But blessedly, he does not bring Soobin up, doesn’t ask any additional questions to fill in the gaps in the sad little murder story. He knows Yeonjun well enough by now to understand that what the taller man needs is to be lost in dancing with strangers in blinding lights that don’t stay anywhere long enough to expose him.

In the color and dark and taste of whiskey on his tongue, Yeonjun loses time itself, the concept non-existent when nothing singular exists anymore. He has a stranger’s arms around his waist, holding him flush against a chest that is unfamiliar in its width, in its muscle. There are hands on – smaller, gripping too tight and rough– and they slide over his hips, his thighs, ghosting closer and closer to his cock which remains completely uninterested in the touch. There’s sloppy, wet lips on his neck and if he wasn’t floating far away– How sad,look at that broken doll. That shattered heart. Those cut strings. To be abandoned in the stars, how tragic. Shattered star dust. Lies and lies and lies over and over in a spiral – he’d never let it happen. But Yeonjun isn’t really thinking. He’s avoiding any thoughts. He isn’t even a real body anymore. Unable to think, unable to be weighed down by heavy, lead feelings. He’s the trap beat pounding along the floor and through his bones. He’s the humidity between bodies pressed all together, individual limbs and torsos and feelings non-existent in the sea of sensation. He’s flashing lights sweeping across sticky spills, risky hookups in darkened corners, riskier activities tucked away in plush leather booths. He’s not himself. He’s not his own.

And he’s certainly not Soobin’s. He’s not even real, how could he belong to anyone.

All my tears are liquor going down, down
I don’t give a damn how it looks right now
I just wanna drink till I go dumb
So I can just forget how I’m numb

Yeonjun’s drink is empty and his hands are feeling restless. The feeling of a warm tongue licking at his sweaty skin is suddenly turning his stomach. The hands on his body, fingers toying with the waistband of his jeans, feel like spiders across his skin. The need to get away is strong and he doesn’t pay the stranger, the sea of arms and legs and shadowed anonymity, anymore attention as he stumbles his way to the edge of the crowd.

He feels like he’s coming up for air as he breaks free of the foggy humidity of shared body heat and heaving lungs. A shudder rolls along his spine and a sweat different than before breaks out across heated skin. He can’t tell if the bass is just so loud it’s shaking the floor or if it’s his legs that tremble, but he forgoes the bar and manages to stumble his way to the bathroom without tripping or falling. There’s a couple of people at the urinals and one of the doors to a stall is shut, but the other three are open and Yeonjun makes a beeline for the stall furthest from the door, locking it behind him. He is already starting to throw up as he turns to the toilet and doesn’t even make it to his knees first before his stomach is clenching and emptying and now he knows for sure his legs tremble under the weight of it. Yeonjun sinks down to the floor as another wave of nausea hits him and he’s throwing up again and a horrible sound is being ripped from his throat, tears being squeezed from his eyes.

There’s a brief release from the nausea and he takes the opportunity to sit fully on the floor, back against the wall dividing him from the next stall. He can’t open his eyes and he longs for the feeling of not existing again. How is it that he always ends up here? Acid on his tongue, throat burning, slumped in a bathroom stall feeling horribly scraped out and emptied.

The world is spinning behind his eyelids and he’s tired down to his bones, tired through every nerve ending. He knows there is no way he’s going to be able to stand. He’s too weak, always has been. Yeonjun slowly lifts his shaking hands to press his palms over his eyes, hoping that the pressure will balance out the world and he can stop spinning, spinning, spinning, falling, drowning.

Yeonjun barks out a sharp, ugly laugh as reality settles over him. The whole thing is unbelievable. He really is just as pathetic as everyone always said.

The single sound pops like a cork and is followed by bubbles of horrible, choked off giggles that slip closer and closer to sobs caught in his chest the longer they escape. He hears one of the other people in the bathroom clear their throat in discomfort and only finds apathy where embarrassment should reside. The apathy should be his partner tonight. He’s not supposed to be able to feel anything. He isn’t supposed to be real. He’s supposed to be numb. Invulnerable. Untouchable.

But the freefall is done and he’s hit the earth and it’s black tar and quicksand.

He’s crying again, and this time it’s not from the force of his clenching stomach. This time there’s no laughter, confused or otherwise, in his sobs. He mostly just feels pathetic and empty like his stomach and he’s shivering as the sweat dries on his skin.

God. He’s so empty.

And still his stomach clenches again. It takes all of his strength to pull himself back over to the toilet and he can’t open his eyes because the world is upside down and it’s spinning him around and around and he guesses the toilet is the only thing that’s keeping him from falling. Yeonjun is gagging around nothing, there’s nothing left inside him– he doesn’t even have his heart in his chest. Everything is gone. Scraped out and empty and he wants to be numb again, he doesn’t want this feeling. This is just sick; this is just the same nausea and the same emptiness and the same shivers that violently tremble through him even though they shouldn’t because its really not cold enough for all that.

But Yeonjun hasn’t felt warm in months. Hasn’t felt warm since before it was salty lips pressing insistently on an unmovable mouth beneath him. And even then…. even then hadn’t the warmth been fading? And for how long? Yeonjun’s not even sure he remembers the last time those flames licked at his skin in the kind of way that warmed him, held him, as opposed to burning him alive?

He feels so fucking stupid, sitting there on the dirty floor of this bathroom stall shivering as his body starts to feel something again. He hates this feeling, like when your limbs fall asleep and the feeling starts to return, little pins and needles under his skin, tingling him back to life. Logically, he knew that the numbness wouldn’t last– nothing ever does no matter what you believe. Not the feeling of being numb or the feeling of being high or the feeling of being in love or the feeling of cupping your hands around a flickering flame because God if that light goes out then maybe you understand the reality of eternity.

“Quit saying ‘We’!”

A sudden wave of anger crashes into him at an alarming speed, drowning out any and all other thoughts, all other feelings. He tastes the bitterness, the rage, like bile in the back of his throat; fiery acid ready to burn him bloody. His chest is tight with it, teeth grinding together so hard he feels his jaw ache and it’s just not fair. It’s not fucking fair. Yeonjun had tried so fucking hard to be good so why wasn’t it enough? Why wasn’t he enough? It’s not like he didn’t know how flawed he was. Not like he had never heard what other trainees whispered about him behind his back, desperate for him to fail, to prove he was human just like them. It’s not as if he doesn’t see the things people say about him online. He’s sure that if people had known about him and Soobin they all would have thought him undeserving of standing in the light of Soobin’s affections. He knows all that, but he was trying goddamnit. He was trying so fucking hard.

The insecurities were always in the back of his mind, eating away at him. For so long he tried to keep it all in, to never allow the facade of confidence to break. Kept all those feelings locked inside because he knew it was exhausting for them all, for Soobin, to feel like he needed that reassurance all the time. He was unreliable, at best, when it came to being there for them. But Soobin had told him not to. He had told Yeonjun he was safe. That he would listen and he wouldn’t leave and they could support and help and love each other.

The feeling is under his skin like maggots, like disease and he wants more than anything to be able to claw himself open and bleed it out just to relieve the pressure enough for him to breathe without his ribs crushing his lungs. Because he’s struggling for oxygen, puffs of air being pulled in gravely inhaleexhalein….hale and it feels like each one is getting shorter and harder and thicker and his head is already swimming, world already spinning but now he thinks he really will pass out here in this dirty bathroom stall. Alone. Always alone. Alone again.

Yeonjun’s fist slams into the opposite side of the stall once twice… threefourfive and the pain doesn’t translate to his brain. It’s just a released tap. The energy– spider legs under his skin, in his throat, crawling into his empty chest to make a home of his corpse– releases with each time his knuckles hit the concrete. The chokehold on his lungs seems to loosen and he’s breathing deeper. Each one stutters through his lips, wet from tears, gets pulled apart by the ugly sobbing noise he just can’t stop. Through his hazy vision, he can see blood left on the wall in front of him.

Oh.

It’s mine.

There’s a detached sort of recognition within him. I punched a wall. I punched that wall. That’s my blood. My knuckles are bleeding. Distantly, it reminds him of when he was young. When he would get too overwhelmed and would tug at his hair or hit his palms against the side of his head because he couldn’t unravel the screaming inside of him, too small to understand or break apart the anxiety. It used to make his mom cry. He hated making his mom cry. He learned to deal with things differently.

Yeonjun’s hands tangle in his hair, tugging hard once. He presses his fingers hard into his temples until he feels a pulse. There’s a lightning storm inside him and it’s too big. Too big to be held in his body without tearing him apart. He feels it pulling at his seams and god how blissful would it be for those threads to just snap? Just let it all fall apart.

Let his body vanish here and leave behind only the silence after a tornado. The destruction after violence.

I’m gonna fly like a bird through the night
Feel my tears as they dry
I’m holding on for dear life
Won’t look down, won’t open my eyes
Keep my glass full until morning light
Cause I’m just holding on for tonight

Things drift in and out. He feels like his whole body is going cold and numb. There’s this tiny voice, almost hopeful, that wonders if perhaps this is it. That his body is finally giving up on him leaving the hallowed out corpse he really is as the only evidence he was here. Yeonjun cradles his hand against his chest and lets his eyes remain closed. He’s so dizzy already, the world tilting side to side, spinning faster and faster. There’s no point in trying to keep up and wouldn’t oblivion be better anyways?

The sounds from around him– running water, the clink clink of belt buckles, the swish of denim and zippers– blur in and out in waves until they seem to go out, leaving the bathroom blissfully empty. It settles something in him, knowing he can go back to being nothing. He doesn’t have to exist anymore closed up in a dirty bathroom stall, empty– so empty– eyes closed and mind complacent.

There’s no way Yeonjun would be able to say how long he sat there, no way to tell if he passed out or fell asleep or just went blank, but a familiar voice is calling his name to the empty bathroom and he can hear doors of other stalls being pushed open until the door to his own is pushed, the lock catching.

“Yeonjun?” Changbin’s voice is gentle but urgent. “Are you in there?” Briefly, Yeonjun considers ignoring him, letting himself simply fade away, but it’s not his friend's fault that things are like this and he doesn’t want to cause more problems. He attempts to pull himself up to reach the lock but slumps back against the wall with a pathetic, weak groan. He wants to try again, wants to not be so goddamn pathetic, a burden, for once in his fucking life, but his limbs are so heavy. They feel detached from his body, leaden and useless. The knocking comes a little more urgently and Yeonjun whimpers in response.

“Yeonjun? Can you answer me please? Can you let me in?”

The worry in his friend’s voice makes him feel guilty. Guilt has always been an excellent motivator. Yeonjun manages to get his knees underneath him and holds a hand on the toilet seat to steady himself just enough to knock the lock open. Nausea overtakes him again at the movement and he hiccups wetly. He lowers himself to rest his cheek against his own hand as he dry heaves. There’s really nothing left in him; he wishes his body would get the hint. The poison has been purged. It’s only him now.

How disappointing.

Changbin’s hand is rubbing his back in gentle circles and he makes quiet hushed sounds as Yeonjun’s body shakes him through the last of his heaving. The jumping in his stomach finally stops enough for him to push away from the mess he left. He falls back against Changbin’s chest and doesn’t even register the tears on his cheeks. Who fucking cares anymore. They never stop.

The older man wipes at Yeonjun’s face with some toilet paper and Yeonjun should be absolutely mortified but he’s just done. Instead, he just lets himself be maneuvered, moved, picked up off the floor with an arm around his waist and his arm around strong shoulders. He guesses they’re moving, his legs hardly moving, stiff and weak and he’s frozen all over. Yeonjun lets his head fall forward and sway with the movement. As he lets himself float against the solidity of his friend, Changbin digs his hand into Yeonjun’s pocket to pull out his phone. Yeonjun wants to ask what he’s doing but he finds he doesn’t actually care. He’s just tired. He’s just done. He doesn’t want anymore. Doesn’t want anything.

Changbin has a short conversation with someone, words not registering in Yeonjun’s mind, and once he’s done he’s sweeping Yeonjun up into a princess hold that would be embarrassing but he’s just emptyemptyempty and he doesn’t care anymore. He’s numb again but it’s not like last time. It’s not buoyant, it’s not shining lights and burning alcohol. This is laying at the bottom of the ocean, pressure crushing into you. Wondering why haven’t I drowned yet? Why the torture continues. At some point, he finds himself in a car, buckled in beside Changbin. His friend is holding a sports drink to his lips and encouraging him to take small sips. Yeonjun does what he’s told. Let’s his body fall into whatever instructions it is given. It’s easier this way. He doesn’t know why he didn’t give up on fighting eons ago.

He leans his head against his friend's shoulder, Changbin’s hand rubbing over his back. If Yeonjun is lucky, he’ll never wake up. This would be a fine way to go.

Oh, my sweet suffering
Why should I keep doing it, you are doing it again
I’m just a person of unimportance
A last dance to forget my huge sadness
A little bit of love, a bit of honey
And I’m dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing…
And in this noise, I’m running and I’m afraid
Is this my turn? Here comes the pain

Chapter Text

You need an instant ease
From your life where you got plenty
Of every hurt and heartbreak
You just take it all in the face

It’s the familiar sound of his ring tone that pulls Taehyun out of his fitful sleep.

He’s not sure what time it is, but he hears Huening Kai grumbling in the next bed and blindly reaches over to the end table until he wraps his hands around the device. He blearily opens one eye to try and read the screen, try to figure out who the fuck is calling him at ….

At three o’clock in the fucking morning.

‘Healing-hyung’ is flashing across his screen and the man frowns; why would Yeonjun be calling him so late (so early? Ugh, confusing)?

Huening grumbles his name sleepily into his pillow, urging Taehyun to do something to cease the noises coming from his speakers.

“Hyung?”

“Ah… uhm, is this Taehyun?”

The voice on the other end of the line is definitely not Yeonjun’s and Taehyun is immediately sitting up in bed on high alert. There’s a lot of voice in the background of the call—maybe chattering voices, maybe some yelling, is that water running? Is that a bass? Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kai stirring a little more, clearly tuning in to the spike of anxiety Taehyun is experiencing.

“Who is this?” He asks shortly, tone sharp, nervousness gnawing at his brain. He’s not confirming who he is until he knows who the hell has Yeonjun’s phone. He’s not fucking stupid. This could easily be a saeseng.

“Oh, right. Shit.” The voice mumbles. There’s a bit of shuffling on the other end and he’s getting agitated with his nerves. “Sorry, it’s Changbin. Yeonjun came out with me and a few of my bandmates tonight.”

Taehyun lets out a steady, measured breath. This is a double-edged sword—this is thankfully someone he knows, someone who is close with Yeonjun and he knows would take care of him. But he still has Yeonjun’s phone. And he’s still calling Taehyun at a downright terrible time. None of this adds up to something good. Kai is sitting up now, too and has reached over to turn the lamp on. He still looks half asleep but alert enough to be focused on Taehyun, his own expression bleeding into concerned curiosity.

“Where’s hyung?”

“He’s with me—I’ve got him. It’s just..” There’s some muttering from Changbin—it sounds like maybe he’s talking to someone about a car. “Ah, he’s like really drunk and in a bad kind of way. Just.. he’s a mess. I think maybe he passed out in the bathroom for a little bit.” Changbin sounds flustered, worried. He’s talking fast and a little sloppy and Taehyun is already throwing his blankets off and going to his dresser to pull out some pants and a t-shirt.

“We’re leaving, obviously, and I’m bring him back home. I would be more than happy to take care of him, but I’ve got a curfew and… I just think it’d be better for him to be there and I know… I trust you take care of him.”

“Of course. There’s no reason you shouldn’t.” Taehyun doesn’t mean to sound confrontational or defensive. He’s still on high alert and what Changbin has told him doesn’t exactly make him feel better. It settles some of his fears—Yeonjun isn’t missing. He’s not hurt. He hasn’t been attacked or anything. But passing out in a club bathroom—no matter how private and VIP that club is—is never a great sign. Changbin hums on the other end of the line in acknowledgement and Taehyun responds with his own little sigh.

“Sorry- thank you for taking care of him. What do you need from me?”

“My car is going to be here in just a minute or two and we’ll be bringing him back first. Could… would you be able to come and help him inside? Make sure he gets to bed… and doesn’t like…drown in vomit or something.” He says it almost like a joke but there’s an undercurrent of legitimate concern.

“Yeah, yes of course. I’ll be ready. Just text me from hyung’s phone when you’re close and I’ll come down.”

They exchange polite thank you’d and Taehyun hangs up his phone, shoving it into his sweatpants pocket.

“Taehyun, what’s going on? Who was that?” Kai sounds more awake now, big eyes bright with trepidation as he stares Taehyun down from across the room. And Taehyun wishes he had more he could offer to ease that feeling from Kai’s face but the plain fact of the matter is that he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know what he could say because he has no idea what kind of state Yeonjun is coming home in. He has no idea what actually transpired tonight. He assumes Changbin told him only the necessary details to alert him to the need for him while still allowing the space for Yeonjun to share what he wanted—if he could, that is. For all Taehyun knows, Yeonjun will be all but shoved into his arms close to unconscious, unable to be woken until the hangover gets him tomorrow. And as much as he treasure’s his soulmate and the endless supply of empathy that resides within him, Taehyun knows how humiliating it would be for Yeonjun were Kai to see him in this kind of state of severity. As misguided as their oldest member is, he still felt like he had to protect the rest of them from seeing his imperfections. As if Taehyun hasn’t seen him in some of his worst moments and still could never stop looking at him with stars in his eyes. As if Huening Kai didn’t view him as a sibling with a hand in raising him the same way he did Leah. But if Yeonjun took the form of sin, Taehyun would theorize that Pride would be a contender for Yeonjun’s shape. With how fragile their hyung has seemed over the last few days, weeks, months it was a better idea to error on the side of least exposure. Being the emotional support for with Choi Yeonjun rested his head could be a game of chess that ranged from exhilarating to exhausting if only because the older man was so good at talking his way out of deserving help.

“Everything’s fine. It was Changbin calling about Yeonjun-hyung.” Huening Kai started to move as if to get out of bed and Taehyun quickly pushed forward. “He’s okay! He’s fine. But it sounds like he got a little carried away at the club and Changbin doesn’t have the flexibility to look after him so he’s dropping him off here in a few. He called me so I can go down and get him.” The frown was still marring his friends face and he could already feel the push Kai was going to make to join him. Again, Taehyun cut him off before they could get too far into it. He didn’t have the time to dawdle too much. He wanted to be ready to catch Yeonjun the second he needed it.

“I know what you’re going to say, Kai, but you know how hyung is. If there’s too many of us around—which, lets face it, could be just one of us—he’s going to shut down more. And it does sound like things got pretty emotional. At the very least, I want to make sure I can get him hydrated and fed before a hangover can start taking over too much.”

Clearly, the youngest member did not like this plan and the expression he had shifted in to was one that spoke of the stubbornness of a middle child. But in the true glory that was Huening Kai, he acquiesced, letting out a heavy sigh and shutting his eyes momentarily to calm himself.

“Okay. Okay, yeah you’re right. And Changbin was right to call you. If anyone can get him to a better place tonight, whatever that is, it’s you. Just… just text me, okay?” Vulnerable. It was one of the things the two of them could express so easily between them. One of the things that made “Friends” resonate so deeply in his chest. One of the things that when Taehyun first listened to “Dear Sputnik” had his heart clenching a little, to understand what “soulmates” really meant.

He quickly nodded his agreement and muttered a small confirmation of promise into the soft light of the room before grabbing a hoody and stepping out into the hallway.

I know that you want to cry
But there’s much more to life than dying
Over your past mistakes
And people who threw dirt on your face

Taehyun shoots his phone a quick glance as he steps into the kitchen, momentarily surprised by the light in the living room on. Even more surprised by the figure of Soobin sitting at the table with a whole thing of ice cream in front of him, hair disheveled and expression far away. Eating that much ice cream in the middle of the night-morning could only mean Soobin was feeling an overwhelming amound of stress and fatigue to the point of insomnia. He seemed to check back into his physical body as he registered the movement of the younger man entering his proximity.

“Taehyun… what are you doing up?” He took a moment to soak in Taehyun’s presence, his clothing, and his frown deepened. “Are you going somewhere?”

Taehyun could lie. He thinks about lying. It would be easy for him to say he was about to go on a run because he couldn’t sleep. He could see from where he was standing that the carton of ice cream Soobin has in front of him is almost completely empty meaning the likelihood their leader was going to be going back to bed very soon was high. Chances are he would be gone by the time Taehyun gets Yeonjun upstairs.

He could lie, and he would get away with it and no one but Huening Kai would be the wiser. But Taehyun believes in honesty, especially when it came to the group. Especially now.

“I’m going down to meet Changbin’s car when he drops Yeonjun-hyung off. It sounds like maybe he had a little too much to drink and may have passed out for a bit at the club.” He speaks with measured intention, providing only necessary information with just a dash of an unprompted, objective look on the mess that was made between them all. He notes with a sick sort of satisfaction that is only partially warranted as concern coats Soobin’s features and he drops the spoon he was using.

“Passed out? Is he okay? Did something happen? Should we call—”

“Is this concern for the comeback or concern for hyung?” Straight to the point. Taehyun doesn’t have the time to navigate emotional immaturity. Soobin looks like he’s been slapped, eyes wide and mouth parted in a little ‘o’ of shock, hurt splashing across his features. He snaps his mouth shut with a snap and turns his eyes downcast.

“That doesn’t feel fair…”

“Isn’t it though?” Taehyun can’t help the drip of venom in his words. Wouldn’t, maybe, even if he could.

“Taehyun…” Soobin speaks with an air of bone deep exhaustion; a weariness that far exceeds that of a kpop leader during comeback season. But Taehyun is done tiptoeing. Maybe it’s the call from Changbin, the startling realization that Yeonjun’s sour mood and graying energy is bleeding into spaces much more personal but also public. Maybe it’s because there is so much that could happen to an unconscious idol, even in a highly VIP space with more rules and security than most award shows. This… situation has gone beyond the frustrating concern he and Kai have discussed time and time again over the last few months and dipping its toes into what could become realistically dangerous not for the group but for the individual they love.

“…you don’t understand. There’s so much that—”

“Do you think Huening and I are stupid? Do you think we really don’t know what the fuck is going on? Has been going on?” Taehyun carries his own exasperation in spades and is laying it all out on the table for Soobin now. “You guys didn’t need to tell us you were dating for us to know. We literally live together, hyung. We work together. We see each other almost 24/7, 365 days all around. And even when we’re not together, we’re still in contact. We might as well be stitched together by our pinkies the way we all exist in our shared space. Kai and I might be younger, but let’s be honest—we notice so much more than any of the rest of you. And we actually talk which is more than I can say for our hyungs.”

Soobin seems near shamed into silence, lips pressed into a small, quivering line, eyes still downturned. Taehyun takes the moment to breath deep before continuing.

“We know that you broke up. And it obviously didn’t go well. And for some unknown, god forsaken, downright immature reason, the two of you can’t seem to exist in all this shared space without Yeonjun-hyung shrinking himself down to take up as little space as possible and you reverting back to your younger self who was too afraid to talk to anyone and instead came off like you thought you were better than a lot of us. It’s so hard, hyung. To sit back and be silent and hope that you figure your shit out. The only thing I don’t understand is how you could possibly think we could make it through a comeback, much less the remainder of our careers, in the way we’ve been carrying on for months.” Taehyun checks his phone again, making sure he hasn’t missed a text or call. Soobin sucks in a deep breath and releases it in a shuddering stream.

“I… I don’t think you guys are stupid. I guess I just… didn’t realize we were being so obvious.” He winces at Taehyun’s responding scoff, eyes squeezing shut. “It’s… there is a lot more than just…what I mean to say is that you know but you don’t know.” He finally lifts his eyes to meet Taehyun’s once again, clearly trying to steel himself for the remainder of the conversation. “All that aside, if hyung is as drunk or as out of it as you’re saying he is than I think that as the leader I should—”

“Don’t pull that shit, Soobin.” Taehyun is not one to speak so informally and he can see the interruption has left Soobin floundering. Presumably, the acid in Taehyun’s tone doesn’t help. “You don’t get to act concerned whenever you fancy.”

“I’m not acting—”

“You’ve been ignoring him when you’re not being flat out antagonistic or, at best, apathetic towards him. No one else, just him. We’ve noticed. This ‘concern as the leader’ is an excuse because this is an unprecedented situation and I get that, but don’t you think you might partially be the reason for this?” Taehyun’s hands lay flat on the surface of the table, his phone pressed between the wooden surface and his palm. He leans across the space between him and Soobin and most certainly does not feel like one of the maknaes. Soobin has curled in on himself a bit more and his eyes are shining like he’s about to cry. A sick, mean little part of Taehyun thinks good. But the reality is that Soobin is still his friend. And Taehyun still loves him even though he’s so frustrated and angry he could shake Soobin until his eyes roll around in his head like a cartoon.

“Look, I’m not trying to be mean, hyung. I’m just stating the facts because I quite frankly don’t have time to try and be gentle. And I’m tired of navigating a mind field of emotional trip wires and balancing the extremes of both of your emotional states. Something needs to change, but tonight—right now—is not the time. And I think Beomgyu-hyung would agree. It certainly didn’t seem like your boyfriend appreciated how you talked about Yeonjun today during practice.”

Soobin’s wide eyed, shocked expression satisfies that dark devil inside him. The underestimation of his observational skills is once again a perfect tool in getting the upper hand and driving home an important point.

The vibration of his phone is loud held against the table and Taehyun is already moving across the room to the foyer to slip on his shoes as he glances at the screen where Changbin is alerting him to their near arrival.

“I’m going to get hyung. I think you and I both know you shouldn’t be out here when we come back up.” He doesn’t wait for a response, simply leaves, and lets the door shut behind him, trusting Soobin to make the right choice.

It’s hard for you when you’re fighting
And nobody knows it when you’re silent

He’s too anxious to wait for the elevator and instead takes the stairs at a hurried pace, skipping the last few every flight he completes, nearly vaulting himself around corners. The lobby is silent, only a single security guard at the front desk, the second presumably making rounds to check the building. The employee doesn’t even glance up as Taehyun speed walks to the lobby doors, the glass panels parting smoothly to hit him with a chilly breeze as he approaches. He’s barely outside for thirty seconds before a sleek, black, SUV with dark windows rolls to a stop in front of him. The back door swings open immediately and Changbin climbs out, shooting Taehyun a tiny, tired smile before turning back to the backseat. Taehyun steps forward to stand just a little behind the older man as he gently leads a sleepy, weak limbed Yeonjun across the seat and out the door. Changbin nearly has to lift Yeonjun and set him on solid ground and Taehyun immediately grabs Yeonjun’s arm and pulls it over his shoulder. His own arm goes to the older man’s waist, and he takes on the majority of Yeonjun’s weight. Yeonjun is clearly still drunk, but conscious which Taehyun is going to consider a win.

“I got him to drink a bottle of Pokari on our way here but dehydration is going to be a bitch later so he should probably get some more electrolytes and should definitely drink water. If you can get him to eat, that’d probably be good, too. He puked a lot. Plus, you know how he can get before a bunch of music show performances.” A concern dropped casually into the conversation. A clear indication of the depth of their friendship combined with the familiarity with the cruelty of their industry. Taehyun hums, confirming the information has been received and hoists Yeonjun up a little bit as the older man starts to slide down.

“Thank you, Changbin-ssi. Really. I know he couldn’t have been in better hands than yours.”

Changbin’s smile widens a bit before he fondly reaches over to push Yeonjun’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. Yeonjun groans and lets his head loll into the touch.

“If only I could figure out how to actually make him feel better.”

The statement is more a mumble than an actual sentence and Taehyun lets it hover in the air with his unvoiced response. Me, too.

He doesn’t watch Yeonjun’s friend reenter the car, or the car driving away, already turned towards the lobby doors and pulling Yeonjun along with him. The older man is shivering against his side, but Taehyun honestly doesn’t know if it’s from the nip of night air or from something else. His eyes are partially open, blinking bleary and slow at the lobby lights.

“Taehyun…” The murmur comes from a dry throat and barely crackles in the silence of marble and metal, but it shudders through Taehyun’s chest all the same.

“I’m here, hyung. Now, let’s get you upstairs.”

I wanna run away
Don’t wanna lie, I don’t want a life
Send me a gun
And I’ll see The Sun

Chapter Text

I'm walking in the rain
Though everything seems to be hurting
Just kill me now
As I roam forever
Until I can forget your

Yeonjun has been aware of the world going on around him—the car driving down loosely familiar highways, the sports drink bottle slowly emptying every time Changbin presses it to his lips and encourages small sips of the sweet, tepid liquid. He knows what’s going on, but he doesn’t really feel any of it happening still. It isn’t the numbness he’s been after. He can still feel the constant devastation of his own ruins, feels mad and sad, and bad, bad, bad. But all those feelings are brushes against fingertips with no effort into reaching or gripping. He can feel them, but he refuses to grab them.

They’re getting closer to his dorm, Yeonjun beginning to recognize the same light littered streets of Seoul cars travel along to and from the company, even at such an early time of late at night. Clearly, he ruined Changbin’s night out, his night off, with friends. It’s always been at least a little bit who he is. Selfish, selfish, so fucking selfish once again. It was part of that bad that has become a second skin. As much as Yeonjun wants to quit being a fucking vampire to all the people around him, sucking at love and care and kindness until he drinks it all down and leaves hemorrhaging corpses in his wake, he has no fucking idea how to. It’s not the first time he’s understood why Soobin left. The younger man hadn’t needed to say it exactly for Yeonjun to know. Sweet, gentle, empathetic Soobin. And Yeonjun reached greedy little hands into his love and drained him dry. God, it would be better for everyone if they followed in Soobin’s footsteps.

“ ‘m sorry…” Yeonjun mutters, his head resting on Changbin’s broad shoulder, jostling lightly whenever they hit a street not quite as well paved. Changbin makes a questioning sound and turns a little to look down at him. The bottle is back at his lips and as weak as Yeonjun feels, he certainly can’t disappoint his friend anymore. He lets more of the sugary sweet past dry cracked lips before he continues.

“Tonight… You invited me out with everyone, and it should have been fun and a good break and instead you got stuck babysitting my sloppy ass and… I just… I’m sorry. I’m… I’m sorry I’ve been such a fucking mess lately.”

Yeonjun wants to follow it up with ‘I won’t be this way forever’ but what’s the point in lying? In making a promise he knows goddamn well he can’t keep?

“Yeonjun… You don’t have to apologize for anything, okay? I’m not babysitting you. You’re my friend and I love you and me being there for you, taking care of you, isn’t babysitting. I just wish you weren’t so sad.”

Sad.

Yeah, Yeonjun guesses he probably is sad.

With no words to respond with, no strength to disagree or argue with his friend, Yeonjun falls silent again. This back and forth of him speaking truth and people around him trying to reassure him of a lie is certainly not new. Besides, at the end of the day Yeonjun is still selfish and while he knows it would be better for his friends to leave, he doesn’t want to let them go.

My fall will be for you
My love will be in you
If you be the one to cut me
I'll bleed forever

Yeonjun lays with his back to the door, eyes staring blankly at the wall as his thoughts move syrupy slow but no less damaging. It’s hard to imagine that earlier today—or yesterday or however one wanted to classify the stand still of ticking hands from one day to the next—he felt like maybe he was healing. Like maybe he could take a step forward and not be constantly reminded of his own failures, of the parts of him that are ugly and awful and acidic. It feels like a distant dream, now. This concept of confidence when he suggested a change to choreography. His willingness to put even an ounce of his pain on display imagining the free fall of the love Soobin and he built, the blind trust leading to crumbling impact. His bravery has vanished now, positive he will never be able to perform their single with the change everyone praised him for. Yeonjun wishes he could go back in time and stop himself from even considering vocalizing his opinion, the image he saw in his mind as he rewound the best, worst parts of his life. Yeonjun wishes he could go back in time and stop himself from a lot of things. Anything to stop this feeling. Anything to stop him from burning everyone around him to ash.

Maybe it’s the alcohol or his aching core muscles from the never ending nausea and vertigo. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t stopped shaking since Changbin picked him up off that dirty bathroom floor. Maybe because his selfishness is so fucking desperate to not have to be left alone with the rest of him. Whatever the reason, his room is suddenly suffocating. The air is pressing him down, thick, and heavy. Both an unstoppable force and an immovable mass. Yeonjun, the unfortunate collection of atoms and energy trapped under the weight. His lungs can’t pull in oxygen, the air so thick they can’t expand past the unbelievable gravity around him.

He throws the blankets off his body, feeling too hot, much too hot–

Being burned alive

–and all but throws himself from his bed. A wave of dizziness overwhelms him, making the world swim. He stumbles towards the door but everything feels like a fun house. Topsy, turvy, disorienting. Yeonjun’s knees buckle under the spinning room, his vision blinking in and out between flickering black spots and bright lights and he collapses to the floor with an audible thud. He doesn’t feel any pain, doesn’t feel anything past this surging fear. Panic. He can’t breathe; everything trapped in his chest, blocked by fire and smoke. Yeonjun gasps, whines, claws weak hands against the tile.

Am I going to die?
Is this dying?
Is this black hole inside finally coming into reality?
Will it suck away any light left?
Will it consume me?
Will I finally become nothing?

Yeonjun’s thoughts spiral and with them a swelling thunder of emotion he can’t place.

Fear? Or Relief?

The end of everything, of everyone, is always inevitable. Maybe his bell has finally tolled.

Yeonjun’s vision starts to grey and he clutches at his chest against some bubbling mysterious something inside him. It hurts. It burns. He wishes he could dig his fingers into his flesh just to rip the sensation free. He never hears the door open. Never hears the bottle thump against the ground and roll away. Never hears hurried footsteps or notice the sudden presence of a person beside him until there are hands on his shoulders, hands wrapping around his own.

The touch is a wrecking ball.

Yeonjun breaks.

Rain, your rhythm on my window pane
drives me insane because
I can't face the music
without singing' the blues
My heart is so broken
I've spoken to the Lord for sympathy
and if He don't help me, so help me
It's the bottom of the deep blue sea for me
I'm gonna end this misery
My man has left me
And I can't face the music
without singing' the blues

His body collapses forward against who he can only assume is Taehyun, all the bubbling finally boiling over, scalding his lips as a horrendous, wounded sound leaves him. He can’t feel his fingers. He knows Taehyun is moving him, partially dragging him back onto his bed but Yeonjun can’t help him any. His body is useless, nerves and muscle and self burned away.

Yeonjun’s chest is aching, the sounds being pulled from between his ribs, from deep in his gut, hurt as they push past his sore throat. He’s so tired of crying but that’s not even what this feels like. This is an evisceration. This is a culling of his twisted, torn up insides. This is the hope that when Yeonjun is finally empty, he can be rebuilt as something—someone—good. He just doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Not himself. Not the people he loves. He wants to be what his mother expects him to be—he wants to help and to heal and to care for those around him. He feels like a liar. A fraud.

Taehyun is holding him half in his lap, tightly against his chest. His shirt is damp under Yeonjun’s cheek and Yeonjun wants to feel embarrassed by it, to stop this second complete crash of the night. But whatever has broken free inside of him is rampaging and uncontrollable. He feels weak. He feels powerless. He feels sad. To sum up his pain into such a simple word—two letters, one syllable—seems like it should be wrong in some way. Remedial. But there’s a weight in its simplicity that settles inside him like Yes, that’s it. There is such a complicated, convoluted, catastrophic mess inside him, it’s difficult to pick out individual pieces or pictures. It’s angry. It’s destructive. It’s bad. But above all he is sad. Taehyun’s hands soothe over his back, trying to calm the hiccupping of choked, pained sobs that hurt Yeonjun’s entire body. Yeonjun thinks the younger man’s hands are shaking but it’s hard to tell when his own body feels like a constant electrical current that he just can’t stop. He tightens his fingers in Taehyun’s shirt and clings with any strength he has left. His dongsaeng doesn’t ask him any questions, doesn’t pry for more information. He just holds him; palm on his back, fingers in his sweaty hair.

My fall will be for you
My love will be in you
You were the one to cut me
So I'll bleed forever

“I-it hurts all the time.” Yeonjun gasps out words he can’t stop from pushing past chapped lips and a gravel throat. “I try and push it away, try not to think about it. I don’t want to think about him, but I can’t fucking stop it!” He removes his hands from Taehyun’s shirt in favor of digging his fingers into his own hair, tugging as if to berate himself. He hears a small sound of protest from Taehyun before a hand is covering his own, gently prying his fingers from black strands of hair. The younger man makes a small sound of concern and Yeonjun feels a distant burn as Taehyun’s thumb brushes over the broken skin of his knuckles. A subtle reminder of just how fucked Yeonjun has made this night.

“I’m so sorry, hyung. I’m so sorry it hurts.” Taehyun’s voice is tender like the soft light cast over his room, practically a whisper in comparison to the raw sounds from Yeonjun. He wants to find sanctuary in the kind actions of the younger man but finds his ability to register comfort so far away. It doesn’t feel like he will ever stop hurting. It doesn’t feel like he will ever stop bleeding. The idea of a ‘broken heart’ has never seemed so literal but Yeonjun can’t imagine what else this could be. What else could cleave him in half.

When he was younger, he had come across the original “The Little Mermaid” story in a book of fairy tales he found at the library and was surprised by the ending. No happily ever after, no victory for the hero and heroine. Just the mermaid ending up alone, her broken heart turning her to sea foam captured by the ebbing tide and dragged out to dissipate into the rest of the waves. Washed away. Yeonjun can think of no better escape from this. Abandoning his aching, desperate, weak physical form and turning into a nothing that is a part of something with no thought or feeling of his own. Returned to wherever skin and bone and broken hearts begin. Sea foam. Washed away.

Taehyun’s hands slide under his own, lacing their fingers together as he cradles their hands between their chests. Yeonjun turns into the younger man, burrowing deeper against his side, trying to muffle the hideous sounds he’s making in place of crying. Each one feels like it is being yanked right out of him and it’s making his stomach turn, nausea twisting up his organs and making his throat burn with acid. But there’s nothing left inside him. Nothing left to purge besides these sounds and these tears, and forcing someone else to witness what his body is trying to do.

Sea foam. Washed away. Salty. Unfeeling. Nothing.

When will I feel like me again?
I'm hanging by a thread
My skin is paper thin
I can't stop wavering
I've never been so scared

Eventually, Yeonjun’s exhaustion wins out against his gorging pain and he’s reduced to shallow, hiccupping breaths and sticky cheeks. His eyes are burning, hurting even when they’re closed, and he knows there are still tears sliding in weak, broken streams down his cheeks. His nose is stuffed, his stomach and chest hurt like he’s been in some kind of accident and his fingers ache from gripping Taehyun’s hand. They move onto the bed,even tho Yeonjun’s legs refuse to cooperate. Throughout, Taehyun keeps his arms around his hyung, and once they’re settled he begins rocking gently back and forth, one hand tight around Yeonjun’s while the other pet along his sides, his back. The movement, however subtle, does something to lull Yeonjun’s mind. It’s not blank, not like he wants, not like it was, but it’s also not white noise and shattered porcelain and whispered voices in a dark practice room.

“It never feels better.” Yeonjun whispers, a different version of his earlier confession. “It’s just always there, waiting for me to have nothing else in my head to distract me from how much I don’t want to be here.”

“Don’t want to be where, hyung?” Taehyun whispers, his tone of voice hinting that he already knows the answer but is praying he’s wrong. And Yeonjun wishes he could give him that, just one single fucking thing, even as small as that reassurance. He doesn’t want to scare his dongsaeng. He doesn’t want to show Taehyun just how broken and ugly he is on the inside. He doesn’t want to confirm what everyone already knows—That Yeonjun is weak. Pathetic. Selfish. That he’s letting the love he lost ruin him, break him into pieces, take away his will to exist. It didn’t ruin Soobin—why should Yeonjun be any different? Why can’t he be strong, unyielding in the face of loss? Why can’t he also forget?

“Here. Anywhere. I don’t… I don't want to be anything and I don’t want to be anywhere.”

A weighted silence follows and Yeonjun knows he’s said too much, knows that this isn’t what people want to hear. When they ask you how you are, you can say you’re sad. Or upset. Or even broken. But they don’t want to hear that you want to be gone. Sea foam.

“I sometimes… a lot of the time…wish I was dead, Taehyun. Or if not dead, I wish I could cut out this stupid, disgusting, ugly part in me that makes me….m-makes me this.”

I cannot stay here, I cannot leave
Just like all I loved, I'm make believe
Imagine heart, I disappear
Seems no one will appear here and make me real

He’s expecting the typical reaction to emotions too big to comprehend, too scary to address head on—Don’t say that. What would we do if you weren’t here? You don’t mean that. You’re just upset. Don’t say such scary things. You’ll feel better. It's just a break-up. It’s just a boy. We would be so sad if you were gone. Do you really want to do that to us? He’s expecting Taehyun to not want to talk about it. To gloss over the feeling, the desire. He expects pity and fear and disappointment. He expects guilt. What he hears is a shaky inhale and he feels Taehyun’s arms tightening around him. His thumb brushes over Yeonjun’s busted knuckles and bends his head down to lay his cheek against the older man’s head.

“I understand, hyung.” His voice is so soft, Yeonjun isn’t sure he’d be able to hear it if they weren’t so close. “No one wants to live in pain every day, that’s so much to ask of someone. When the only option for reprieve is escape… no one can… no one gets to blame you for that.”

It’s the first time Yeonjun has uttered even a fraction of what’s going on inside his head, what’s been weighing him down. He never could have anticipated this reaction. It loosens something inside him and makes the tears cascade down his cheeks more heavily. Without the fear of judgment taking up residence inside his brain, regret fills the empty spaces, proving again that this spiral—the broken fractal—refuses to allow him respite. Could he have had this earlier? Would Taehyun always have been so accepting? If Yeonjun had said something would that even make a fucking difference?

Another sob lodges itself in his throat, all the thoughts and feelings and please just let this end, refusing to exist in silence. Demanding a place outside of his body to expose every raw nerve ending. Taehyun’s hand continues to be a grounding force on his back, soothing caresses down the length of his spine. He doesn’t push for Yeonjun to speak, allowing him the luxury—or curse—of silence. A part of him wants to remain that way, his ugly sounds of despair the only thing to pass cracked lips pressed tight together. But the unraveling inside, loosened by whispered promises no one wants to live in pain every day… No one gets to blame you urge him to spill that black, viscous parasite that coats his insides. He pleads with the silence, broken by quivering breaths and cut off sobs, to not leave residual stains on the boy beneath him.

“H-he… he’s with Beomgyu now…” It doesn’t occur to Yeonjun to specify who. Even without explicitly sharing the information, he never really thought the other members were oblivious to the relationship between him and Soobin. It’s not like they were very subtle. “Shipping Culture” as an idol was expected. Fuck, they’d had trainings on how to handle what one might find out there– twitter posts and youtube compilations and fanfiction– lumped in with how to deal with negative comments online. Yeonjun knew there was an over abundance of people who had analyzed every interaction between him and Soobin since pre-debut. If they could figure it out as fans who saw only a portion of their lives, limited interactions between all of them, there was no way their bandmates hadn’t pieced things together. Meaning they also must have some idea of the rest. The break up. The breaking.

The hand on his back doesn’t pause but he feels Taehyun let out a heavy sigh laced with something like reluctant acceptance.

“I… I know, hyung. They didn’t say anything but… I know.”

Somehow, this doesn’t surprise Yeonjun either.

“I saw them together.”

Yeonjun’s voice cracks on the words, those memories– hallways that were supposed to be empty. Kissing Soobin for the first time in a dark practice room but no, not anymore. The pathway of his hands and his touch and his memory wiped away by someone new, someone better – keep him in a chokehold. Taehyun’s hand stutters through the steady caresses against his back, pause in surprised hesitation. It’s the first time the younger man has faltered tonight. In the face of everything else, he has been a sturdy, solid presence. In the wake of Yeonjun’s words, Taehyun stumbles.

“When did you see them together? Where? “ His voice sounds strained, urgent or upset in some way. The way someone might sound when gathering details of a disaster. Yeonjun is afraid he has upset him. That it’s his fault Taehyun sounds that way. That he shook the foundation the younger man tried so hard to build. He makes a sound close to a whimper and squeezes his eyes shut tight. His bottom lip quivers with his nerves, preparing to take it back. Maybe he pushed too hard, too far. Maybe Taehyun has had enough. Cup full already with Yeonjun’s confessions, already overflowing. But Taehyun simply responds to his sound with one of his own– an apologetic hum vibrating with an urge to continue. Yeonjun takes a deep breath, keeps his eyes closed as he braces himself.

“A few days ago. The night before I had that fight with Beomgyu and S-Soobin during practice. They both said they had things going on and I had stayed late to work on lyrics b-but saw them in a room. Together. “ Yeonjun tries his very best to remain as detached from the words as possible, fighting against the images that try to solidify in his memory. Taehyun’s arms tighten around him, pulling him up his chest to rest his cheek against the younger man’s shoulder. Yeonjun sits astride Taehyun’s lap, pressed close against the man beneath him. He take advantage of the situation, always taking more than he’s given, and buries his face against Taehyun’s throat.nHe can feel—hear—Taehyun’s steady pulse and focuses on that instead of the blurry water color images of hands his own clenching, pulling in worn cotton. Kisses in a dark practice room or maybe the darkness of his own room. Hands pushing him away, away, away, further and further from home.

“You never should have had to experience that, hyung. Especially if, I’m assuming, they didn’t talk to you first. Give you a warning or something.”

Yeonjun shakes his head slowly, swallowing hard. He’s glad to be buried against Taehyun’s skin. He doesn’t want to see his face during this conversation.

“Soobin… he doesn’t talk to me anymore. I’m not sure that Beomgyu would talk to me on his own about it. He definitely doesn’t know I know about them.”

Silence follows. Yeonjun guesses Taehyun doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t blame the younger man—what can someone say to that? Yeonjun himself still doesn’t know what he’s feeling or how he’s supposed to feel. Should he be mad at Beomgyu? Should he throw a bigger fit? Corner the couple and yell at them about their betrayal, about his own devastation, about witnessing his own murder? Does he even deserve that?

While I'm holding heaven
It starts slipping through my hands
I'm so done with begging
For someone to give a damn
Am I hard to love?
Baby, I don't understand
Am I hard to love?
Because they never want to stay beside me

“H-he told me he wasn’t in love with me anymore. J-j-just like that. Like I was nothing. Like all the time we were together meant nothing. I don’t know how to function, and everything feels turned on its head and I feel sick when I look at them but he’s fine. S-soob… He’s fine. A-a-and I get it, I guess. He’s not in love with me. H-he didn’t lose anything except my dead fucking weight and demands. He gained something…someone…someone so much better and deserving and I—”

Taehyun makes a soft shushing sound and presses his hand solidly between Yeonjun’s shoulder blades. Yeonjun didn’t realize his breathing hard started picking up again, coming out in strangled little huffs. He forces himself to slow, takes big gasps of air, focuses on Taehyun’s heartbeat that he is just able to feel against his cheek and lets himself be settled down by familiar hands.

“Hyung.” Taehyun starts, voice weighted and serious. He pushes gently at Yeonjun’s shoulders, separating their bodies and the space between them makes a sharp sense of panic rise up in Yeonjun’s throat. Taehyun must see it in his face, hands rubbing up and down the older man’s arms before they gently cup the sides of his face. Taehyun is forcing their eyes to meet, smooths his thumbs over Yeonjun’s jaw and the apples of his cheeks, brushing away trickling tears.

“Hyung I want you to look at me when I say this because it is so so important that you hear me.” The eye contact is hard to keep. The intensity of Taehyun’s gaze is so heavy it feels like Yeonjun could drown. But his little brother asks so little of him. And the least- the very least- Yeonjun can do is fulfill this one ask. So he sniffles, blinks wetly at Taehyun’s big, shining eyes, and gives a tiny nod.

Taehyun seems to prepare himself for whatever he’s about to say, taking a deep breath in and it makes Yeonjun feel a little anxious. A calm before the storm. Preparing to deliver bad news to someone clearly unstable and messy and difficult and –

“There is no one, no one, more deserving of love than you. Soobin-hyung falling out of love with you has nothing to do with anything you did. It’s certainly not something I can understand.”

Yeonjun’s bottom lip trembles as he holds Taehyun’s gaze. It’s hard to believe his words but it’s even harder to doubt his sincerity.

“H-how do you know that?” The older man whispers into the space between them. Taehyun’s lips pull into an almost sad smile, gliding his thumb across Yeonjun’s waterline.

“Because I know you, hyung. I’ve known you the longest, remember? That means I know you the most. “

Yeonjun’s throat constricts, choking on the distant scent of salty sea breeze and stuffy practice rooms. His mind conjures memories of a smaller Taehyun, a younger Taehyun. Wide eyed with wonder and fiery determination. Taehyun who cried with him when they found out they were both debuting. Taehyun who laced their fingers together on the first plane back from LA, just the two of them. Head resting on Yeonjun’s shoulder, as he drowsily whispered I’ll always be with you, hyung, okay? We’re going to do this together. It's as overwhelming as it is grounding. It knocks the air from his lungs. All Yeonjun can do is press his forehead to Taehyun’s shoulder and weep.

Life is bad
Gloom and misery everywhere
Stormy weather, stormy weather
And I just can’t get my poor self together
Oh, I’m weary all of the time
The time, so weary all of the time

Silence shrouds them, a small pocket of sanctuary in the cold emptiness of his room. Yeonjun doesn't want to interrupt it. There's an irrational, inescapable fear under his tongue that says if he speaks, this will turn out to all be a dream. That he'll wake up alone, the state becoming his new forever reality. That the disappointment of his drunken, sloppy night will crush him. That all his members will look at him with pity and lightly veiled disgust the way he looks at himself. He wants to settle into the safety, make a hide away in the comfort. He wants to force himself to turn away from everything else and just let someone else take the reins.

Sea Foam. The ocean carrying him away in moon pulled waves

But there’s words like vines crawling up his throat, growing towards the light that the silence brings. The words need to be shared because Yeonjun is reaching– has reached– the end of a fraying rope. As much of a failure as he feels, as much of a burden and an unmovable mass he is, he needs help if he’s going to hold on.

Taehyun is leaning relaxed against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. Yeonjun is sprawled across his lap again with his head pillowed on Taehyun’s thigh. The younger man keeps his hands on Yeonjun; fingers running through his hair, hand massaging the back of his neck, a gentle squeeze to his shoulder. Yeonjun's eyes stare across the room at his closed door, unseeing and lost in spiraling thoughts and fears. They are endless. They are eternal. They are everything Yeonjun thought he had and when it comes down to it, there is the root of it all. How does someone move forward when the only thing that ends up being true are his fears?

“I don't know what to do…” Yeonjun's voice is a tight whisper along the surface of this silence. He holds his breath as it breaks and waits for reality to crash back into him.

Alone. He's alone. A broken boy. How sad. How pathetic.

“About what, hyung?” Taehyun's voice ripples back and Yeonjun lets out a inhale he hadn't realized he was holding.

“About….about any of this. About me. About us. A-about them…Soobin and Beomgyu. I don't know what I'm supposed to do to not let every day destroy me over and over again.”

He figures Taehyun deserves his honesty in exchange for his willingness to listen to Yeonjun's dramatics. To hold him through endless tears and hiccuping sobs. Taehyun's hands never pause in their gentle ministrations, never stumble or hesitate. They are consistent and solid just like him. He doesn't speak right away, taking his time to be thoughtful and non-reactive. It's a quality Yeonjun has always admired about their first maknae. He is logical, honest, but never cold or insensitive. He always takes his time to ensure what he's saying or doing is what he believes is the right thing.

“I think you do the only thing you can do, hyung- just keep taking little steps forward. Give yourself the grace to backslide. And…” Taehyun takes a deep breath, his thumb pressing against Yeonjun's hairline a little harder. “You ask for help. You lean on us. Me and Huening. I know you don't want to because we're younger– the youngest– but we care about you, hyung. We love you and we've seen you hurting and we want to help.”

It’s a plea for Yeonjun’s vulnerability. An ask for him to open himself up fully and expose all the parts about himself he hates. The parts he is afraid of. Hasn’t tonight been enough to show Taehyun how much work being close to Yeonjun actually is? Doesn’t he realize that Yeonjun is quicksand and the deeper Taehyun walks into his depths the deeper he will sink until there is nothing left of him? Suffocated by Yeonjun’s own need and desperation? Yeonjun doesn’t know what to say. Taehyun must be wrong. There is no way that is how to do things. Displaying those raw nerve endings, removing the shield he’s built around himself since he was a trainee, being vulnerable and honest is what got him here in the first place. Isn’t that why Soobin left? Why he fell in love with someone else? Why he fell in love with Beomgyu? Yeonjun has lost so much already—he can’t risk losing everything, everyone, else.

When he went away
The blues walked in and met me
Oh, yeah if he stays away
Old rocking chair’s gonna get me
All I do is pray
The Lord will let me
Walk in the sun once more

His silence must tell Taehyun something because the younger man lets out a little sigh. It sounds like frustration, like exasperation, like exhaustion and Yeonjun can’t help but flinch in response. He’s not sure if Taehyun catches the reaction or not but his nails run across Yeonjun’s scalp with a little more intent.

“Why don’t you trust us, Yeonjun?”

Taehyun’s voice is gentle and saturated in doubt, in hurt. Guilt immediately fills every space in Yeonjun’s husk of a body and when he breathes it tastes like ash. His body tenses, wanting to sit up in protest, to look his dongsaeng in the eye and attempt to reassure him. Erase the hurt in his voice. But he’s afraid to move, to create space. What if the space between them is never bridged? What if pulling out of Taehyun’s arms reads as pushing him away? What if Taehyun pushes him away in return?

It feels like Yeonjun only exists in fear or despair. How can he keep living like this?

Freeze.

Flight.

Freeze.

Flight.

He has no fight left.

“It…It’s not that I don’t trust you, Taehyun-ah. It’s… it’s everything else.” There’s a choice Yeonjun has to make. To fortify his walls and refuse Taehyun’s plea. Or to pull back the layers of skin and sinew and muscle to reveal his hallowed out insides. He presses against his instincts, challenges them. For Taehyun.

“ It’s me. I don’t trust me.” The words are fluttering, weak little things. But they’re out there.

“There’s… well… I’m just…”

It is so hard to continue. He desperately wishes he could paint a picture and show Taehyun what he means. Parsing through his own mind, through all his thoughts and feelings and nightmares and trying to figure out how to put them into words instead of just screams and aching and tears seems impossible. Every word feels trite. Every sentence cheap. He doesn’t have the words of a poet or a writer. He doesn’t have prose and tools and extensive vocabulary to know how to create an understanding of his mess inside him. Yeonjun feels simultaneously desperate to hide and already grieving the inability to share and have Taehyun understand.

But a voice whispers like an ember struggling to be lifted from the ashes. Didn’t Taehyun understand him before? Didn’t he hold Yeonjun tighter and tell him it was okay he felt the pull of non-existence? That his feelings were not only heard but validated. Not a betrayal of Taehyun’s love but a fucking gaping maw of a monster between Yeonjun and his ability to heal. What could be the difference between telling someone you wanted to be dead and admitting you ruin other people with your need for constant attention and reassurance?

They say it gets better but I’ve seen it worse
I hate to say I told you so, but I told it to you first
And they say love’s a blessing, but I’ve seen it so cursed
And I still remember where I was when the feeling changed
How I burned my tongue when the ceiling caved in

Yeonjun takes a deep breath and holds, preparing for the plunge. Either waves will carry him gently to shore or he’ll drown with ice in his lungs.

“There’s so much I need. So much I…I demand of people I say I love. I ask for so much, Taehyun, and I know it drains people. Like how often can you give the same reassurances, the same words of support and encouragement before it just becomes a chore? I asked so much of Soobin. I was always going to him when things got bad. It had to have become too tiring having a one sided relationship with some kind of weak person who always needs you to tell them how great they are or how pretty they are or how talented they are even though there is literal evidence right in front of my face all the goddamn time. But I only focus on the bad shit and then would go running off to him to make it better. It must have been why he pulled away. Why…Why Soobin didn’t… doesn’t want me anymore.”

He swallows down the bile and panicked saliva and forces himself to continue, to push through the rip tide.

“Wh-when we first got together I… I wasn’t so weak. I was stronger and braver and I actually acted like a responsible hyung. I was there for him. I always listened and I didn’t ask for anything in return. He could rely on me to take care of things, to take care of him. And I lost that. I stopped being that. I started demanding so much from him and… and with the pandemic I’ve… So much of me felt empty and I felt lost and I just expected him to pick up those pieces. I’ve been so obsessed with what people have to say about how I look, how much I weigh, what I sound like, what I dance like, if I’m good enough. And yeah that’s like.. part of being an idol and we all feel that way sometimes but most people take some time to feel bad and then pick themselves up and move on because it’s just fucking strangers on the internet. But I needed him to tell me I was good enough. That I was… that I was enough. And I needed it all the fucking time.”

Tears are back in his eyes and they barely phase him anymore. The feeling is a familiar companion and a part of him thrives in the expected. His throat is raw from crying and his eyes are sore and puffy but at least the sensations and aches are ones he recognizes. If he is to navigate this unfamiliar path of forcing Taehyun to see and feel all his jagged insides, at least he has something familiar to carry him through.

“I’m too much, Taehyun. And I always have been. I was just better at hiding it. That’s what all the other trainees used to say. It’s what fans say. It’s what some members of our protocol team have said. And it’s what Soobin said to me in the very, very beginning. That I made him uncomfortable, the way I acted. Like I was younger. Looking back at all those pieces spread out, it’s not hard to see that it’s me. I’m the problem. I’m like… like a fucking energy vampire—I just take and take and take until people are drained dry. And I can’t… Taehyun, I can’t lose you and Kai, too. I can’t. I won’t be able to make it without you. I won’t. So… so it’s better this way. It’s better to just…just keep it to myself. Figure it out on my own. It’s what I should have been doing anyways—that’s what adults do. Isn’t tonight proof enough that I’m so much fucking work on top of everything else we have going on? I can’t… I won't burden you with anymore of my bullshit.”

“Sometimes it feels like… or I wonder if Soobin ever even loved me. Liked me. Or if he agreed to be my boyfriend to get me to back off a bit, especially in front of cameras. If he was just fucking tired of my constant need for attention and all the annoying flirting and forced skinship. Maybe he figured he’d just give in to how irritating I was and just pray the ego boost would be enough to shut me up for a second.”

There is no pause once the words are out in the open. No opportunity for Yeonjun to second guess himself or feel anxious. Taehyun is bending over Yeonjun’s body to cover him with his own, pressing a series of light kisses to the top of Yeonjun’s head, the back of his neck, the apples of his heated cheeks. He squeezes Yeonjun tight against himself. For Taehyun, not usually one to be physically affectionate outside the occasional couch cuddle or linked arms, the reaction is enough to shove Yeonjun out of the twisted bottomless fall of “what if’s”.

“Oh, hyung… you are so…so unkind to yourself. I don’t…”

Taehyun's voice hitches and his sentence is left unfinished, His arms tighten around Yeonjun as if he’s afraid. The words are so mournful, wrapped up in so, so much and Yeonjun doesn’t even know how to respond. He’s never thought of things in that way; being unkind. How can he be unkind to himself? Being self-aware, holding high standards, driving to always be better– how is any of that unkind? Isn’t that all just realistic? Isn’t striving for improvement considered self-care? Yeonjun opens and closes his mouth, as empty as his understanding, and furrows his eyebrows together. His thoughts are heavy and mushy and he can’t quite grip any words to pull free. The letters are all blurred together, layered under Taehyun’s meaning, creating useless piles of nothing.

Unkind?

I swear to God, I'm such a mess
The harder I try, I regress
I'm my own worst enemy
Right now I truly hate being me
Every day feels like the road I'm on
Might just open up and swallow me whole
How do I feel so mighty small
When I'm struggling to find feet at all

“When you told us your mom calls you ‘Healing’, god, hyung it just clicked. It made sense like ‘Of course she does–that’s what hyung is.’ Even when you’re being a pain in the ass, you’re still just as… I don’t know. You’re just something else. Better in a lot of ways than the general populace, certainly better than a lot of people in the industry. Better but, more importantly, so very exceptional.” Taehyun’s nails run soothing lines over Yeonjun’s scalp, fingers moving down to press warm palms to his clammy neck.

“Don’t you remember? You were always boasting about being ranked first, teasing new trainees, pretending you were some kind of intimidating upperclassmen or something. But you were always the first one to the studio and practice rooms in the morning, the last one to leave. You were ranked first because you worked your ass off every second of every day. You were always the first one to offer help to other trainees. It’s a cut throat industry and a lot of people enjoy watching others fail. So many idols got to success by stepping on the backs of others, getting to the stage with blood all over their hands. Not you though, never you. You walked through choreography when our peers got lost in how quick our teachers would run through things. You shared healthy snacks, and sometimes not so healthy, even when we were supposed to be dieting. You helped people with homework, taught the stupid English slang you learned from your cousins. A lot of those boys were complete dickheads, letting their insecurities win. Instead of focusing on how to be better, they spent their time shit talking you, trying to make you into this pompous asshole who treated everyone else like we were beneath you. They acted all smug when you would get absolutely dragged in front of everyone by our instructors because they were holding you to a different standard. And you were holding yourself to a different standard, too. You had every right to be cruel in return. You were better than them. You were smarter than them. You were always destined to make it, born to be on stage and in the spotlight. But you chose to be kind. As they all dropped out, unable or unwilling to take the pressure, you could have been vengeful and mean spirited. But you never were. Instead, you grieved their losses. You grieved for every single one of those boys who quit or got cut.”

It’s an out of body experience, hearing the way Taehyun talks about their trainee days. It’s not really how Yeonjun remembers it. When he thinks back, things seem foggy except for his critiques. His successes. His failures. His fears. His dreams. When stories of their younger days crop up in interviews or lives or fan meets or even just the five of them goofing off, Yeonjun’s blurred memory can’t quite pull together the full picture. Sometimes, it feels like he wasn’t even there. Yeonjun has always assumed it was evidence supporting words so familiar in voices so foreign– Choi Yeonjun is overly confident. He’s so cocky. He’s so self centered. He only cares about himself. Tomorrow x Together is really just Yeonjun and friends. He’s not even that good. Just a minion of Big Hit.

“Taehyun…” Yeonjun’s voice cracks and he squeezes his eyes shut. His body is starting to feel more steady but it feels like something inside him is quaking.

“Taehyun, I don’t know what to say to all that. I don’t… It’s never felt that way to me.”

“Of course it hasn’t. How could it when you’re healing to everyone else but yourself? We see it. We feel it. ‘Healing-hyung’. But you never give that feeling to yourself. You don’t let yourself into that circle.”

Taehyun’s tone is not cruel or critical and his voice remains gentle and warm like a summer evening breeze. His words sink into Yeonjun’s gut, although they don’t quite settle. Something inside him is protesting. Wants to tell Taehyun he’s wrong and delusional and lying. Instead, he clamps his jaw shut and presses his lips closed. A wave of gratitude or protest or confusion or pain manages to hijack his next exhale but there’s nothing to be done about it. It gets into the air and the consequences are simple. Taehyun pulling him closer. Both of their arms wrapping tight around each other. A confirmation of Them. A grounding feeling rounding out the night. A reminder that home doesn’t have to be one person.

Endless Rain
Fall on my heart
In this wounded soul
Let me forget
All of the hate
All of the sadness

Yeonjun’s concept of time is so fucked at this point, there’s no way to guess how much time has passed between returning home and now. Slowly, he forces himself to release his grip on Taehyun and rub quivering hands over his face.

“God, I’m going to feel like absolute shit tomorrow. Or… today. I don’t really fucking know. I can’t imagine how I’m going to survive through everything. My face already feels so swollen it’s practically throbbing. Might even pop.”

Yeonjun’s voice is absolutely wrecked. He feels sticky and gross and maybe a little hungry. Taehyun meets his complaints with a little snort and a soft jab in the side.

“I bet a shower will help. You should go ahead and do that– might as well. It’s almost time to get up for the day. Lucky you, getting the first shower of the day.”

Taehyun urges him up and into the bathroom once he’s no longer dizzy and unsteady on his legs. The younger man encourages him to take as long as he wants since no one else is up, but Yeonjun still feels guilty about how late it is, how late he is keeping Taehyun awake. The hot water feels goddamn incredible on his sticky skin, but he keeps things routine with very little indulgence. Stepping out of the steamy shower and into the humidity of the bathroom causes a shiver up his spine and he wishes he had grabbed different clothes until he notices his sleep shorts are gone and in their place is a matching sweatshirt and sweatpants Yeonjun is positive are not his own—he’s pretty sure they’re Huening’s if the oversized fit is anything to go by. The fabric is warm, soft, welcoming on skin that still feels sensitive from the events of the night. He feels drained and weak. Feels like a baby fawn stepping out into the world for the first time barely able to hold himself up. Yeonjun can’t be bothered to blow dry his hair, just squeezes out as much water as he can and pads his way out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen where he can hear the sounds of Taehyun moving around.

Taehyun must hear him somehow, turning around the moment Yeonjun crosses the threshold from the hallway into the dimly lit kitchen. He smiles at his hyung and steps away from whatever is cooking on the stovetop to guide Yeonjun to the living room and nudge him until he is sitting on the floor in front of their low table. Yeonjun is so incredibly grateful to not have to think, to not have to make his own decisions and instead give up the reins completely to Taehyun. It might not be the most responsible thing to do, but he just doesn’t have anymore self-loathing left inside him tonight.

On top of his exhaustion, Taehyun’s words repeat over and over in his head.

“Why don’t you trust us, hyung?”

“You’re so unkind to yourself.”

Yeonjun sits staring off into space and startles a bit as a container of steaming noodles is placed in front of him. It’s just an instant bowl of ramen but Taehyun had added two marinated, soft boiled eggs, nestled into the noodles. A tall glass of water and another sports drink are placed beside the throw-away bowl and even though Yeonjun feels so full of liquid, it's kind of uncomfortable. He knows if he wants to feel even a little bit alive tomorrow, the hydration is the way to do it.

“Eat that.” Taehyun instructs softly and Yeonjun wastes no time following the instructions. The first bite awakens a hunger he didn’t even know he felt, and he has to practice an incredible show of restraint to not shovel the food into his mouth like a starving man. He’s so focused on the food he barely registers Taehyun sliding onto the couch behind him until he hears the blow dryer and feels the younger man start to dry his hair with gentle fingers. He wants to make a joke about a “full service salon” but that would require him to stop eating the way he is. Besides, his throat hurts too bad to put the effort into being heard over the blow dryer. Instead, he focuses on the tasks Taehyun gave him and it’s nice to focus on something outside of himself for the moment. Simple instructions are nice. It lets time pass in something almost comfortable, only the white noise of the blow dryer to float in the silence.

When the bowl and the glasses are empty and Yeonjun’s hair is fluffy and dry, he tries to let himself relax into the aftermath of… everything. He can’t say he feels better, but he certainly doesn’t feel worse and there is a lightness in his chest he hasn’t felt in ages. There is probably something to be said about “getting things off your chest” after all. That voice inside he can never quite silence wants to berate him, guilt him, judge him for not saying something sooner. For saying something at all. He’s emotionally and physically exhausted though and doesn’t have the energy to try and unravel all the conflicting feelings waiting on the sidelines. He just wants to sit in this silence and let himself rest. He just wants to rest.

Break apart the pain
And start healing

A soft ping draws both of their attention and Taehyun glances at the cushion beside him where his phone sits. He reads what Yeonjun assumes is a message and huffs a small laugh. Muttering a quiet ‘Alright’ under his breath, he sets his phone down to rest his hands on Yeonjun’s shoulders, giving them a little squeeze.

“So, a couple things.” Taehyun starts, voice far more lively than it’s been all night. “I don’t think you should be alone tonight. I think you should have some company and to be honest, I don’t want you alone tonight. And I’m not sure that your room is the best place to be right now. And Kai obviously heard the phone call from Changbin and he’s freaking out a bit. He’s really worried about you and is more than a little desperate to hopefully not actually smother you but he’s so big now, I’m not sure he even knows his own strength.” Taehyun mutters the last part somewhere between annoyance and envy. He tries so hard to build up muscle mass but it’s comeback season—with all the cardio they do on a regular basis there’s no way to retain the weight Taehyun wants. Huening Kai doesn’t really have to try. He’s broad and tall and thick by nature.

Yeonjun can imagine their maknae just behind the bedroom door, anxious with anticipation, wanting to do something to ease someone’s discomfort. He’s always been like that, even when they were younger and he was just a scared little thing with no idea how to navigate this new world of idols. Yeonjun’s instincts are at war with each other. To reassure the youngest, let him coddle and comfort his hyung and, in response, himself. Or keep his distance from more of the horrible, freeing vulnerability. His shoulder’s slump and he stares at his hands.

“I guess I don’t really have a choice, huh?”

Taehyun’s hands squeeze his shoulders again, tongue clicking against his teeth.

“You always have a choice, hyung. I’m telling you what we want but it’s all up to you. I’m never going to make you do something you don’t want to do.”

Yeonjun has to admit it’s an appealing concept to not sleep alone. Not having to be in his room filled with memories that are now just empty gaps and too much space. Yeonjun’s love language has always been physical touch and he’s always found comfort in Huening Kai’s cuddles. Little Yeonjun or Big Yeonjun, it didn’t matter. Kai’s touch has always felt so fucking sincere it could hurt your teeth.

Yeonjun nods, shoulders relaxing under Taehyun’s gentle hands.

They barely make it into the room and over to Kai’s bed, before their maknae is tugging Yeonjun down with him and wrapping him up in all his long limbs. Yeonjun is completely enveloped, safe between the wall and Kai and any empty spaces are taken up by big plushies and the feeling of being loved only Kai Kamal Hueining can provide. The younger man doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t push Yeonjun to talk, just tucks his hyung’s face under his chin and hugs tight. Huening Kai has always been good like that. He puts on the cutesy persona for the cameras– a persona that is definitely mostly true– but when it’s just them being them, he has a quiet maturity none of the other members have. Including Yeonjun himself. His patience for petulance and immunity to immaturity sometimes feels like he’s not the baby but the oldest, caring for his own group of brothers. Maybe it’s from being a middle child or learning from his big and little sisters. Maybe it’s his unsteady childhood and the need to hold onto his stability when he has it. Whatever the reason, Kai is sturdy and his presence is big but not overwhelming. Yeonjun has never liked his own vulnerability and hates to be weak in front of their youngests or… well… anyone. But he’s so fucking tired and Kai is so fucking warm and Yeonjun feels completely hidden from everything outside of this space behind Huening’s ever broadening shoulders. He’s safe. He’s protected.

Kai nuzzles into Yeonjun’s hair and whispers a soft good-night, pressing a sweet little kiss to Yeonjun’s cheek. The comfort Yeonjun feels, the tender care he’s been shown tonight, the horrifically painful, brutalizing purge of everything has left him feeling empty and floaty. Not numb. Suspended. Like floating in the calm waters. Eyes closed and face turned up towards the sun. Weightless. Silence save for the shifting, rotating earth spinning endlessly through space.

When you're alone
Who cares for starlit skies?
When you're alone
The magic moonlight dies
At break of dawn
There is no sunrise
When your lover has gone

Things don’t perfect themselves overnight.

Yeonjun didn’t really expect them to, but it was still hard to not feel a little disappointed that things didn’t magically fix themselves after one night of talking. He tries to focus on the things that feel better as opposed to the things that feel the same and the distinction helps rekindle some of the hope he carries for a future where he doesn’t ache. He allows himself to get lost in the anchor of Taehyun and Kai’s care and quits trying to force himself into solitude. The companionship alone does wonders for silencing the hissing and the acidic burning inside his own head. Any time starts to drift, when the sense of loss crawls up his throat to choke him, he finds himself met with the warmth of not alone .  As if they are gifted with the gift of foresight or mind reading or some other way to peer inside Yeonjun’s shambled mind, one or both would manifest beside him without a single word. It helps that Yeonjun doesn’t have to ask for help, ask to be cared for, ask to be seen. His vulnerability and need are already on the table and the maknaes do not force him into repeating the act of self-inflicted skinning. It was near impossible the last time and Yeonjun is sure if he had to do it again, he would remain in solidarity; silent and consumed.

Yeonjun spends the first couple weeks sleeping in Kai and Taehyun’s room. Huening had moved all his plushies to the floor at the foot of his bed to make room, the action so selfless Yeonjun almost cried. Most nights, that’s where he lays, huddled against the chest of the person he watched grow from boy to man. It’s impossible not to note the differences-in him, in them, in everything- and it makes him feel a little nostalgic for The Beginning. But living in Before won’t do him any good. It’s the longing they spoke of in Blue Hour; a desire to remain in the “between”. To never have to see the setting sun and say good-bye to who and what you had before. But you do it anyway. What other choices do you have? Huening Kai holds him throughout the night, tucks his face against Yeonjun’s neck and really, at the end of everything, not much has changed besides their size.

Day by day, Yeonjun feels his feet move him forward. Feels clumsy stitches pulling him back together. Piece by shattered piece.

He finds himself standing straighter when it’s all of them in a room together, no longer cowering under his grief. He eats at (most) every meal, appetite no longer squashed, nausea no longer lingering. He smiles at other idols and employees of the agency in the hallways, no longer wanting to hide in the shadows least they recognize the monster he is. Yeonjun still has nights where he aches so deeply, he can feel his bones creaking and his heart groan. There are days that the sight of Soobin out of the corner of his eye drags him down a spiraling headspace going down, down down down…

Spiraling endless fractals. Shattered pieces of forever .

There are days where he can’t keep up a smile around Beomgyu, where all he can see when he looks at the younger man is hands not his not his nothis but they pull at cotton and Soobin blooms instead of wilts and he’s happy . He can always sense the concern and wishes he could alleviate it but he is thankfully always saved by Taehyun pulling Beomgyu into a wrestling match, by Kai and some absurd game he created.

So that’s that. Life moves forward. Yeonjun steps once and then again and tries to just keep going one step at a time. Things start to feel better and Yeonjun accepts they don’t need to be perfect because maybe perfect doesn’t even exist in the grand scheme of things. He has to hope it doesn’t.

For if lovin' you means I'm weak
Then I'm weak
For I still fall apart when we speak
Or we meet
If the love that we knew
won't bother you
Darlin' you're stronger than me

A few weeks after his night of drunken confessions and his howling purge, Yeonjun finds himself alone in the dorms. He’s not actually alone , but the only other member without a schedule that evening is Soobin. Soobin whose name has transitioned from meaning home to meaning alone . It’s easier for Yeonjun to just think of the dorm as empty instead of acknowledging the strained silence between the two of them. He moves through the dorm like he is the only physical presence, reminding himself he doesn’t have to tip toe or cower or try to take up as little space as possible. It’s early in the evening and Yeonjun’s about ready for dinner in some form or other. His eyes are fixated on his phone as he heads towards the kitchen, messaging a few people back while simultaneously trying to figure out what he wants to eat. Right before he enters, he looks up and comes to a surprised stop in the hallway. His eyes are drawn to Soobin slouched at the table, his back turned towards Yeonjun. Most likely, he’s unable to take advantage of their sliver of downtime, over-thinking their upcoming music show and radio appearances. Overthinking everything . Maybe he went out to get ice cream and is eating every bite right now. 

Or. Maybe he’s waiting for Beomgyu . 

The traitorous voice Yeonjun has never been able to shake whispers viciously through bloodied, blackened gums. Yeonjun physically clenches his teeth together, biting against the anxiety and rolling of his stomach that starts when the idea is planted. He wants to ignore the voice. He’s going to ignore the voice. Whatever Soobin is doing, whatever they are doing, it’s none of his business. He came out here for a reason, goddamnit, and he’s not going to hide away because of nerves and little painful thorns of “maybe”s. 

And now I second-guess my thoughts, every step I take
I’m losin’ hope in love, and I’ve lost all in faith
Yeah, for a dreamer, I just close my eyes and it’s all blank
I have you to thank.

Subconsciously, Yeonjun still braces himself, pulls on the metaphysical armor and takes a step into the kitchen proper, moving with purpose. From the corner of his eyes, he watches Soobin startle and glance up at him, face going slack with shock or discomfort before looking away again.  Yeonjun is just here for a little dinner or snack. A little evening ramen, he’s decided. They don’t have to be around each other long. They don’t have to talk. They just have to exist in these minutes until they can both go back to the comfort of pretending anonymity. 

The air around them is tense and thick with uncertainty and anticipation. It forces Yeonjun to swallow around a lump in his throat, forces him to count his inhales…exhales…inhales… He’s waiting for his water to boil, fingers tapping nervously against the counter before he quickly crosses his arms over his chest to silence and still them. Yeonjun is not a person who likes to remain stationary. His body demands movement to feel comfortable and alive and expel the skipping molecules of his genetic make up. It takes intentional action to stop the fidgeting. It’s one of the reasons he loves dance so much– a focused and productive direction to aim all that’s inside him. The crushing weight of his sorrow has frozen him for so long, it sometimes feels like his body wants to make up for lost time. In this instance, although the taptaptapping of fingers is normal, it’s also been missing. Absent. He’s probably reading into it, but Yeonjun feels like the action is radiating discomfort and he is determined to seem in control and unbothered. 

The salty, spicy scent of ramen broth wafts through the kitchen and Yeonjun taps the timer on his phone as he adds the noodles. He’s back to waiting when he sees movement at his side and jerks in response, heartbeat spiking in surprise.  It’s just Soobin, awkwardly standing at the sink to wash his dishes, eyes focused on the mundane task with  a determination usually saved for meetings with managers. His discomfort rolls off of him like steam from the little pot on the stove. Yeonjun tries to ignore it, watches the minutes count down on his phone screen. They exist around each other like strangers. Like fumbling children in the dark. Yeonjun hates it. Hates this glimpse into a horrible, painful future. 

They both finish with their tasks at about the same time; Yeonjun moving his food from the pot into a bowl and stirring them around with mild disinterest, a reflection of his distracted mind. This feeling that encompasses them is painful at best. It’s suffocating. It’s harmful. In the back of Yeonjun’s mind, he can feel something begin to take shape, to form itself into something solid. Soobin shuffles towards his room, shoulders hunched in and steps jerky.  The solidifying mass inside Yeonjun, a need he didn’t even realize was there, grows bigger and bolder. It builds like a powder keg, swelling and burning inside him. His mouth parts, fire and smoke and desperation to spit smoke bursts from him before he’s even fully formed the thoughts or consequences. 

“Soobin… We need to talk.

Yeonjun steadies his voice. He won’t allow for it to shake or show his nerves or for his words to sound like a suggestion. A conversation between them has been long overdue and the longer they put it off, the more Yeonjun feels like he will never move from this place that is constantly aching.

The younger man stops and Yeonjun can see him swallow hard, placing a hand on the back of one of the kitchen chairs as if to keep himself up. They’re standing on the edge of the chasm, hovering over an abyss on a weakened foundation that’s been crumbling beneath their feet. In this heartbeat, in his breath, the ground could disintegrate and with it, the future of everything. The words taking shape, ready to be birthed, are what everything hinges on.

“We… I can’t keep going on like this. I can’t keep pretending…” Yeonjun can feel his throat start to swell, feel his eyes burn, and his chest ache and ache and ache . It would be so much easier to shy away from the confrontation, to step back and run away and keep pretending. 

But Soobin’s eyes are on him. He is visible. He is solid and real and Soobin can’t ignore him now. 

You want me to act like we’ve never kissed
You want me to forget
Pretend we’ve never met
And I’ve tried and I’ve tried
But I haven’t yet
You walk by and I fall to pieces

“Why won’t you talk to me? Why do you ignore me like I’m not here?” It’s not really what Yeonjun wants to say, voice is so frail and brittle, a wisp of wind could shatter any confidence he’s managed to build up. But it’s what he needs to say. Somewhere, hidden under months and months of this horrible play of haunting his own life, Yeonjun knows there are answers Soobin is hiding, shielding, keeping close to himself. If they can’t solve that, if they can’t figure out how to interact without punching wounds through each other’s chest, then there’s only one other option. An option that allows them not to work together. To not have to exist in each other’s spaces. 

To end their one dream. Their Tomorrow by Together. 

Soobin’s eyes widen and dart around as if looking for an exit, a way out. He quivers like a hazy mirage in the desert. 

“I’m… I… when…wha–?”

Soobin isn’t outright denying it, but Yeonjun can read the panic in his face, can see the gears of his mind churning, trying to figure a way to deflect. How does one deflect the ghost they’ve been living with when finally coming face to face? It’s like a seance– planchet moves on its own. Spells out the question.

W

H

Y

Soobin seems to realize his predicament to some degree, throat bobbing with dry gulps as his eyes finally land on Yeonjun again.

“Goddamnit, Choi Soobin, fucking look at me!”

Yeonjun’s throat is tight around unease, around the fear that has grown familiar when faced with Soobin’s eyes on him. It used to warm his whole world, technicolor flames crackling in every pore, every nerve, every breath.

How was Yeonjun supposed to know he was being burned alive when it ached so sweetly?

Heard my name like music from your mouth
But just like smoke you breathed me in and out
How long did you play with the fantasy?
I wonder bout the way you'll remember me
The night our home became just a house

Soobin’s lips part and Yeonjun freezes in anticipation but no sound follows. The younger man seems so lost, so unsure, floundering in the face of conflict not unlike the baby faced trainee of years passed. 

“Don’t worry, Soobinnie. Hyung will take care of it.”

Soobin may have grown, may be better at standing his ground on occasion in meetings or with managers, but he’s still that gangly, unsure teenager stepping into an unfamiliar world. The young adult who had the label of ‘Leader’ thrust into hands before he even understood what the title meant. He still needs a push, sometimes. The encouragement or a kick start to keep things moving. 

So, Yeonjun does what he’s always promised. That, at least, remains the same.

“I’m not… delusional enough to think things can be the…the same as before…” He starts, mind a film reel in washed out greys.

Sweet smiles meant just for him. Quiet nights, just the two of them, exchanging comfort and praise whispered against each other’s skin. Nights of Soobin buried against his chest after stress crying because being the leader of BTS’s Little Brothers came at a cost the younger boy never expected, barely holding on with the pressure of an idol. 

Takecareofyou

“But… we…”

“Quit saying ‘We’!”

“But I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t deal with you not talking to me.”

There’s an edge of desperation to his voice and Yeonjun is barely holding back the panic that continues to mount under his skin. Even as he tries to remain in control, nothing can stop his hands from shaking. His lips quivering around each word. The echoes of salty, devastating kisses and hands pushing him away.

Hands that are not his over stretched, soft cotton

“I don’t want to be a ghost anymore, Soobin. I don’t want to feel like I’m not allowed to be a part of the group.”

Soobin makes a pained noise and collapses into the chair he so desperately clung to. His face has gone pale, his own hands trembling. It’s difficult for Yeonjun to process this Soobin, no matter how familiar he is. Soobin has been so distant and cold. Nothing in his actions or words reflected back his younger years. Yeonjun has been staring at a stranger for months and suddenly he feels like he’s back in time instead. A boy too young, too lost to know what to do. It’s startling. Difficult for Yeonjun to shift gears to now . He feels suspended in both the bruise of his memories and the internal bleeding of the present. 

That sparkle in your eye is gone
Your smile is just a careless yawn
You're breaking my heart
You've changed
Your kisses now are so blasé
You're bored with me in every way
I can't understand
You've changed
You've forgotten the words 'I love you'
Each memory we've shared
You ignore every star above you
I can't realize you've ever cared
You've changed

He waits in silence for Soobin’s words, fighting the urge to cave under the discomfort and fill the empty air. He can’t fall prey to his own vulnerabilities. He can’t step in front of the bullet he shot just to make things easier . The conversation can’t remain one sided. Not anymore.

Soobin stares hard at the surface of the table, moving to fold his hands in his lap, and doesn't raise his eyes to the man whose heart he shattered. Yeonjun might  feel bothered by it if he wasn’t so scared that he’ll be met with the more familiar, frozen stare Soobin saves for him. The oil slick sliding right off of him. A ghost. 

“Yeonjun…”

Not hyung

“I’m… I know it… I don’t know what to do ..” His voice reeks of hopelessness, of fear, and he moves his hands to thread through his hair, rub over his face. Yeonjun feels the sharp spike of anger zip through his body like a butcher's knife. 

“Not this.” His voice is acidic and he can’t find the capacity for compassion as the words drip from clenched teeth. His vexation prickles at the idea, the feeling , that Soobin is putting his hands up in surrender. Not accountability. Not ownership. Just throwing his actions away like a child with a toy he’s done with. Like ignorance and loss is a good enough reason to raze a man.

“I know!” Soobin’s voice cracks under his own emotion. It should cause Yeonjun’s instinct to fix, to comfort, to save, flicker behind his ribcage but it must be buried away by his caustic hurt and agitation. He feels anger well up and crash over any gentle inclinations.

“I know I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up so much and I didn’t want to think about it cause I didn’t know what to do and it’s so much easier to ignore the bad things and I’d already hurt you so much so–”

“So you decided to hurt me more?”

How could you be so cruel
To somebody who would die for you?
Your colors showed me the truth 
Now my world is painted black and blue

Yeonjun can’t help it, the words spill out before he’s even fully thought them through. It’s hard not to focus on the fractions of Soobin’s words, the ones that hurt the most. The ones that shred Yeonjun’s paper defenses. 

“...easier to ignore the bad things...”

Like Yeonjun is “the bad things” to ignore. Like their relationship is “The Bad Things”.

Every grueling practice preparing for debut.

Every idiotic joke trying to get young Soobin to crack a smile. 

Every tear soaked confession in darked parks late at night when everything was Too Much. Not Enough.

Every kiss shared in dark practice rooms and empty dressing rooms and cramped beds before their new dorm. 

Every hand hold. 

Every smile. 

Every shared meal. Trip to the store on the corner. Food snuck in to break strict diets

How is Yeonjun not supposed to translate “The Bad Things” into them? Into Soobin and Yeonjun? SoobinandYeonjun.

Soobin flinches, chokes on his own spit at Yeonjun’s interruption and his cheeks flare in what Yeonjun can’t help but hope is shame. 

“It’s so stupid. A-a-and so selfish . At first, I just wanted to give you space, you know? I didn’t think it would be fair to just…go on like nothing happened. I figured you wouldn’t .. wouldn’t want to be around me too much for a while. I thought some time apart, some distance between us, just for a little bit, would help things level out. Get us to a better place, or at least somewhere we could be normal. That’s… that’s what I thought.” 

Soobin speaks small and weak, eyes glued to the table’s surface. Yeonjun sees a splotch of dried something and wonders if that’s what holds so much of Soobin’s attention. 

Kai was meant to wipe down the table. Yeonjun would have to remind him. 

“I wanted to give you space. B-but then it felt… easier. To not deal with it at all. To not acknowledge it. To not-”

“To not acknowledge me?”

Soobin’s eyes shudder closed, voice choking out a painful admission. 

“Yeah…” 

Yeonjun desperately wants to break apart right then and there between his question and Soobin’s confirmation. It’s one thing to think Soobin didn’t want to acknowledge the mess he’d left behind. But it’s another thing to hear it outloud, confirmed by the very hands that had torn him to pieces, limb by limb, cell by cell, energy unwoven leaving behind …

Nothing but a ghost. 

A ghost to be exercised from Soobin’s serene home he built, his peaceful existence no longer bogged down by something "Bad".

Yeonjun squeezes his eyes shut and swallows hard past the painful lump in his throat. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Soobin. He doesn’t want to reveal how vulnerable, how broken, how sad he still is. Too many emotions, too many thoughts, too many fears and nightmares bubble inside him. The slow boil of a frog in a pot. 

“That’s not fair.” Yeonjun whispers into the space between them. The sound is solidified with a conviction Yeonjun didn’t even know he felt. Knowing, absolutely knowing , that even if he was too much, even if he was weak and emotional and needy, he didn’t deserve to be intentionally hurt. He didn’t deserve to be abandoned. His insides weren’t there to play with.

Your love was written so true
and now I can't speak your name
I faced destruction and you
just killed me and walked away
I gave my heart to the cruel
Now it will not beat again

“That’s not fair!”

Yeonjun’s voice raises along with his eyes and he stares ahead at the man so familiar and so foreign. Soobin flinches hard at the words, the sharp edges of Yeonjun’s fury, bringing his shoulders up to his ears. He flinches like he’s been slapped. A part of Yeonjun wishes that’s exactly what he had done. 

“I–...I know. I know . It wasn’t…” Soobin stutters in a weak voice but Yeonjun isn’t done. 

“You took everything away from me! You took your love from me in every way! We were supposed to be friends before anything else but you took our friendship away without even talking to me first!”

The tears are running down, down, down his cheeks, his personal battle to stop them lost again despite his attempts. Soobin’s eyes snap open to stare at him slack jawed and flushed with guilt and discomfort.

“You hurt me, Soobin. You intentionally hurt me and you didn’t even care! You actively didn’t care. Made the choice not to care about me!” Yeonjun’s voice cracks in the wake of his outburst and he feels so weak, his knees tremble. His voice is growing fragile and he is desperate to hold onto his anger but it’s fracturing into sadness again. 

For the first time since that dark room and his own begging, Soobin begins to cry. 

Didn't I give it all?
Tried my best
Gave you everything I had
everything and no less
Didn't I do it right?
Did I let you down?

Big, fat teardrops slide down flushed, splotchy cheeks as if they’ve been building up and finally have the freedom to be let go. Yeonjun wonders if that’s true. If Soobin has been able to hold everything back until coming face to face with the consequences of his actions. 

“B-by the time I really realized how bad it was… it felt like it w-was too late t-to fix or…or change or… or… It just felt bad and I felt so out of control! I didn’t… I couldn’t figure anything out and I just… didn’t know what to do! I… I…” The younger man’s breathing is stuttering in his chest, voice hiccuping in hooking sobs. He’s working himself up and Yeonjun knows a panic attack when he sees one. 

Maybe it’s because he finally tapped in to a feeling different from sadness or hatred or drowning in running water colors, like his wrath has been a valve to release his boiling insides. Whatever it was, the urge to soothe and calm Soobin burns in Yeonjun’s fingertips and he hesitates ignoring it. There will always be a part of him to guide Soobin’s breathing, to hug him tight, to comb fingers through his hair and dry his tears. But as consuming as the feeling is in familiarity, Yeonjun’s fear and hurt, his distrust of Soobin, holds him back. Somehow it feels like a trap. Set to lure him into a false sense of normalcy before slamming a pipe into knee caps again and again and prevent him from ever moving forward. Yeonjun wants to admonish the unreasonable feeling, wants to tell himself there’s no way Soobin’s accelerated breathing and sweaty brow are part of a masterplan to cripple Yeonjun. He so desperately wants to convince himself the fear is wrong. 

But it was always supposed to be him. His hands. His smile. His lips kissing every chance they had at privacy. It was never supposed to be a lie. It was always supposed to be a promise. 

So what if? What if? Whatifwhatifwhatif–

  The battle between his fear and his weakness meet some kind of impasse and, unable to remain still and play ignorance, Yeonjun walks calmly to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. At the table. Soobin’s face is buried in his hands. Small, high pitched whines interrupt the stifled sobs and Yeonjun can picture Soobin biting down on his lip, trying to force himself silent. 

Yeonjun doesn’t say any words of comfort, doesn’t rub a soothing hand along shuddering shoulders, doesn’t pull Soobin to his chest and tell him everything will be okay. He places the chilled bottle on the table against Soobin’s arm, letting him know it’s there before he moves back to a safe distance. He pulls out the chair on the other side of the table and eases himself down to sit, arms crossed over his chest. 

He suddenly remembers his noodles. They must be lukewarm and over cooked now. He doesn't really feel like eating anymore. 

“Drink that.” Yeonjun instructs in a clipped voice, arms crossed over his chest. Soobin slowly raises his head and twists the cap off the bottle with a strangled thank you . His hands shake so terribly for a moment Yeonjun isn’t even sure he’ll be able to drink anything, to even get the bottle to his lips. But Soobin does. And he takes small sips of cold water until his breathing evens out. Yeonjun thinks about cold, mushy noodles waiting for him on the counter– a waste really, but his appetite is certainly gone at this point. He doesn’t think he could eat them even if they weren’t in such a sorry state. 

Eventually, Soobin gets his breathing under control and while his eyes are still wet and glassy, he seems to have settled at least for now. Yeonjun squeezes his arms tighter and diverts his gaze to that same mystery smudge on the table. 

“None of us can go on like this, Soobin. The group. It’s not fair to them. It’s not fair to our fans. And they’re noticing. We always promised each other we would never let our relationship interfere with the group. Well, it is. Obviously. So you and I need to make a decision. “

Saying “relationship” makes acid burn in the back of Yeonjun’s throat and he’s not sure he’s ever hated a conversation more. But this is the right thing. The best thing. The only thing that will unbreak and unfreeze. He moves his eyes back up to Soobin and is surprised to find the younger man already watching him. Yeonjun takes a deep shuddering breath that tastes like fear. 

“We have to decide if we can be professional. Put aside our… our own feelings and act with some semblance of normalcy or if we can’t and we need to stop working together.”

The words are bile. They are a threat of death. An obituary. They are a devastating, agonizing blow to all Yeonjun is, was, and will be. He can see that feeling reflected in Soobin’s eyes as if he hadn’t been considering this outcome, this option. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he hadn’t ever let himself think of the ‘could’s. He had already chosen ignorance, deniability. Had chosen to be blind to the fallout. Their breakdown. Their crumbling foundation. Them. It all seems so impossible to ignore the poison that had leaked into their bloodstream. Acting like a cancer chewing through any possible future save for the apocalypse creeping in on them. 

This is the way the world ends

“We… we can’t let the group end.” Soobin’s voice is strangled in his throat, anguish warping every word. He sounds so young, so lost. These thoughts and fears have circled Yeonjun like vultures ever since he woke up in a world where Soobin didn’t love him. It was easy, at first, to pretend things would be fine just like they’d always promised. But Soobin was cold. He was unkind. He was the whisper of ‘ but what if? ’. Yeonjun doesn’t feel as lost around the anguish The End brings. He has become familiar now with having a limb severed. But Soobin is new to this possible reality. His ignorance has kept him safe from having to live in a nightmare. 

Now, he is no longer the reaper. Now, the scythe hovers over both of them. 

Yeonjun nods numbly along to the statement, knowing he’s said it to himself again and again until it sounds distorted. It sounds different coming from someone else’s lips. Like Maybe.

“Then.. we have to be better around each other. I know I can… I know I’ve…”

Yeonjun swallows as he relives the shame, the loneliness, the feeling of being powerless, every time he tried to fix the bridge between him and Soobin. Every time Soobin dismissed him, ignored him. It makes the back of his neck feel warm with embarrassment. It was so hard to put himself out there when he had been the one rejected.  And that rejection just kept coming back at him, the only scraps of attention he received. 

I feel the fingerprints that you left on my heart
You played a game of love
and then you said we had to part
You left me all alone
and as the teardrops start
I feel the fingerprints of sorrow on my heart

“I’ve been trying Soobin, I’ve been trying so hard and… and I know I haven’t been perfect. But at least I’ve tried. I don’t… I don’t feel like you have. And we both need to if any of this is going to work. If the group can work.”

Soobin sits silently for what is probably just a few seconds but certainly feels like a lifetime. Like an eternity hanging between them. The inhale before death or relief. 

Soobin nods slowly. He looks cowed. Maybe it’s because this is the first time he’s been forced to look at the possible future crafted by his own actions. Maybe the walls he built to keep himself from dealing with things are crumbling. Whatever the reason, Soobin looks different and Yeonjun can physically feel as the air shudders around them with a little less weight. Soobin is finally looking at what he has done, finally sees the damage he has caused and the wasteland he must help to rebuild. It would be so easy to say ‘Great lets do that’ and move on, accept that the awareness is there, that they agree, and hope things will be better. A paper thin solution for a flood. There’s a lot more to be said. A lot more that needs to be reconnected. Understanding and compassion and kindness that has to be cleaned and fixed between them. It would be easier if Yeonjun let the nasty buzzing in his mind be smothered by empty hope. It would be better for Yeonjun to force himself to ignore the constant thought wrapped around every single one of his words and breaths and beats of his heart. It would be simpler for Yeonjun to let the question fester and eat him alive. 

smiling kisses, relaxed shoulders, blossoming under a new touch and god why is there no blood

Across the table, Soobin shifts uncomfortably, hands spinning the water bottle in small circles on the table's surface. His eyes flicker around, never settling in one place. His leg under the table bounces uncontrollably enough Yeonjun can hear his heel hitting the floor in the silence around them.  Soobin exhales, long and heavy, hands flat on the table, body poised to move. Like they have said all they can say and the rest will have to be saved for a different day. Yeonjun should let him. Yeonjun should be grateful. This is a start. A messy, barely formed start but a start and he shouldn’t ruin it with this buzzing, this constant buzzing, but–

He’s burning alive. He’s being burned alive.

“I know you and Beomgyu are together.”

I’ve got your picture
That you gave to me
And it’s signed with love
Just like it used to be
The only thing different
The only thing new
I’ve got your picture
She’s got you

The words fall fast from his lips like confession to a priest. He can feel his ears flush and phantom hands around his neck. He watches as all the color drains from Soobin’s face until the younger man looks almost green, looks sick. Yeonjun wets his dry lips and roughly clears his throat, tries to loosen the nerves clinging to his vocal chords. 

“O-or… or however ‘together’ you are. B-but I can’t imagine it only being…casual.” 

Every word is a razor through Yeonjun’s tongue, his larynx, and he can feel blades in his throat.  It hurts to acknowledge what he saw. It hurts to confirm what he suspects. That’s what Soobin’s face says, confirms. His pallid complexion and wide, scared eyes are a confession. Yeonjun feels a little sick himself. 

He must be bleeding. There must be blood. It will choke him, witnessing his own murder. The blood- there has to be blood, there must be so much blood- will fill his lungs and drown him but there’s nothing left inside, nothing left to purge. A husk, he’s a husk, stardust, broken fractals-

“Wh-wh-what… h-h-how-” Soobin’s voice is barely a whisper. He sounds scared . He looks a little devastated. Yeonjun can’t look at him without it hurting too much to keep words from forming. He stares down at his fidgeting fingers instead, picks at a hangnail. Across the table, Soobin has gone silent and still. Frozen.

“I saw the two of you at the company.” Yeonjun answers the unspoken question. “The night I rode home with you guys. When I was…When I got sick.”

It’s sharp edges

He doesn’t want this

He’s out of control and it makes him sick

Sticky with sweat. Angry. Dizzy. Nauseous. 

His thoughts are shrill and they taste like blood. 

Like panic.

Yeonjun scoffs and it sounds nasty even to himself. 

“Super fucking irresponsible of you two, by the way. Even we were never that stupid.”

The words spew like venom from between his teeth, more caustic than he ever could have intended, but the grief of Them is still so close to his core, whispers of what once was wrapped in barbed wire and thorns. Mentioning who they used to be together, remembering gentle hands and strong thighs and soft hair and stress bitten lips makes Yeonjun long for an oblivion that is simply not an option. The memories of Them are parasites. Painful, draining, deadly.

Soobin is sucking big, stuttering breaths through pale lips, panic clear in the way his shaking hands struggle with the cap of the water bottle. He’s attempting the same method to calm himself as Yeonjun handed him earlier though he seems to be having a much harder time forcing himself through the steps without support. Yeonjun forces himself to remain silent and still as the younger man struggles to swallow little sips of cool water. Even from where he sits, Yeonjun can see sweat collecting at Soobin’s hairline, along the lines of his palms, the dip of his clavicle. 

And Yeonjun waits. 

There’s more buried in his words, a bruise against fragile bones and shredded muscle hidden beneath statements of fact. Purpling letters tattooed on the inside of his skull, always visible to him, always pounding inside his head. Yeonjun refuses to tack it on to the end of everything else like a throw away. As if an answer to it would be an option. So he waits. He waits to see what version of Soobin he is about to get. Will the younger man remain honest and transparent, sharing his own vulnerability? Or is he taking the time to calm down to allow himself the chance of pulling back on his costume of ignorance? He’d rather leave the question unspoken, unanswered and let it kill him than have Soobin lie to his face to avoid further bloodshed. He can’t stand for those hands– hands he loved…loves, craves, aches for– to inflict any more cruelty in an attempt to be gentle. 

Soobin’s face doesn’t seem to know which emotion to settle on, as if his brain is firing everything all at once too fast to process. Distantly, Yeonjun thinks it’s odd for Soobin to have been so stoic, so in control when he shattered Yeonjun’s heart into shards of dust and decay and scattered stardust but is now a somber portrait of inner conflict. It would be impossible to imagine the two faces are the same had Yeonjun not been there and here, then and now, to experience them both. Instead it just feels a little nauseating, like being sick at sea. The push and pull of the tide rocking to and fro heave ho heave ho .

The water bottle, now empty in Soobin’s shaking grasp, crinkles pathetically in little pulses. The bottle cap continuously twisted on and off, on and off, on and off. The tension in the room, between them, is cloying, bites the edges of Yeonjun’s mind that long to sink, to slink away. - sea foam washed away in ocean waves swallowed by the frozen abyss- but he forces himself through the discomfort. 

“It was stupid.” Soobin’s voice is strangled and small. Weak and trembling. “It was stupid and selfish and so, so dangerous. I really don’t know what’s worse—that someone outside the five of us could have caught us or… or the fact that you did.”

I'll sail my ship alone 
with all the dreams I own
Drifting out across the ocean blue
Yes, I'll sail my ship alone
Tho' all the sails you've torn
and when it starts to sinkin'
I'll blame you

Yeonjun wants to say nothing could be worse than what happened. He wants to insist that a crime had been committed. Choi Yeonjun murdered by ex-lover and replacement. Not a crime of passion. Just cleaning up waste. But Yeonjun has gotten this far by ensuring he is nothing if not a professional first and realistically speaking, if any one else—management, another group member, a choreographer or producer or visiting patron or or or – had caught Soobin and Beomgyu in that kind of position, it really would have been The End. No options. If they didn’t disband the group entirely, the five of them could have said goodbye to any kind of freedom. Goodbye to spending any time unaccompanied. Goodbye to movie nights and late night fried chicken runs and quiet holiday celebrations spent with just the five of them and a couple bottles of soju. They would all have to be coworkers. Nothing more. Preferably less.

Still. The gunshot wound in his chest pulses with selfishness. It aches with a vengeful fantasy that someone else did catch them. That they would be forced apart. That they would have to suffer watching the person they love be so, so close and still impossible to reach. Just like Yeonjun has had to. In the fantasy, he is over his own loss. He’s done being in pain. He gets to watch from the outside as the two of Them bleed out before him 

Oh how sad, to die of a broken heart. To bleed out in the open for everyone to see. How embarrassing. How devastating. How Sad .

 Fantasy is not reality, though, and Yeonjun really has never been one for vengeance.

“You… never should have found out this way, hyu—Yeonjun. That must have been… God. Fuck! I can’t begin to imagine what that must have been like.”

“No. You can’t.”

Yeonjun doesn’t think anyone can until it happens. Until you’re trapped in your frozen body feeling an explosion break your bones and tear apart each fiber of muscle, of flesh, of you. Until you’re lying on the bathroom floor, empty and sick and desperate for anything to make it all stop. Anything to at least make the pain real and visible and physical so maybe the results of other’s actions will have to be witnessed in all their glory.  Yeonjun would have welcomed an actual bullet to the head over the knife in his fucking back. At least then it would have all been over.

Soobin is crying again. Yeonjun wonders if he, too, has experienced tears so frequently, they’ve simply become a part of him.

“There’s nothing I can say to ever touch on how fucked up that is. Saying sorry feels so… it feels so contrived and juvenile. This is.. god…”

Soobin buries his face in his hands, the crinkled, shapeless bottle tipping over on the table now that its form has lost foundation. It makes the tiniest noise as it hits the surface and something in it feels appropriate. Fitting.

But with a whimper

The younger man presses his fingers hard against his eyes and up into his hair, tugging on a fistful of dark strands before huffing out a heavy, steadying sigh and looking up at Yeonjun.

“I’ve betrayed you so much. I’ve broken everyone’s trust, but…what I’ve done to you is… I can’t… I’m not smart enough to know the words for how fucking awful I’ve been to you.  I’m just… god, I’m so fucking weak. I didn’t even warn you and I shouldn’t have done anything in the first place but I did and I don’t know what to do and all I can say is… I’m so fucking sorry. I’m just so sorry. For everything. For how I’ve acted these last few months. For how I’ve treated you. For not being honest. For not being responsible. For not being respectful or kind to you. I’m just… I’m just sorry.”

Soobin holds eye contact throughout his apology and his sincerity takes Yeonjun’s breath away. He never realized how much he needed to hear those words from Soobin’s lips until just now. 

“I’m so fucking sorry”

Acknowledgement from his assassin. Confirmation of spilled blood. Those bloody hands lifting the burden of responsibility off his own crumbling shoulders. He sucks in a sharp inhale at the sudden relief and feels himself relax back into the chair.  Soobin has covered his face again, shoulders shaking along with his aborted attempts at muting the sobs in his throat. He always has dealt with crushing emotion quieter than Yeonjun. It pulls at the strings of sympathy in the older man's wounded heart and that debilitating weight from his chest no longer suffocates the need to voice it.

How to rise from the floor
when it's not you I'm rising for
Just do the next right thing
Take a step, step again
It is all that I can
to do the next right thing

“Thank you. For apologizing. It might not feel like enough but it means a lot to me. I’ve really needed to hear that from you. Makes me feel less crazy.”

Yeonjun’s lips pull into an expression somewhere between a joke, a truth, and self-deprecation. It’s not quite a smile but maybe it’s getting there.

“It wasn’t… it's not just you, Soobin. I meant it before. I didn’t… I mean, I haven’t been handling things super well. There’s a lot that could have been done differently, too and just… it didn’t. And I did make a lot of excuses as to why. Plus…” Yeonjun takes a pause. Prepares and steadies himself for his next words.

“Plus, it’s not like you did it on your own. Beomgyu was a part of it, too.”

..his special smile. It was supposed to be his. 

Lips touching and it’s familiar. This is not a first kiss.

He’s turning to ash in a hallway that was supposed to be empty

Hands that are not his tracing pathways that should have been only his

Erased. He’s erased.

It’s really the first time Yeonjun has openly acknowledged Beomgyu’s part in everything. The knife in Yeonjun’s back was plunged by two hands, holding the handle the way Yeonjun imagines they hold hands in the back of the van and dark, invisible spaces. It’s a big pill to swallow and it tastes like bile, but it’s there now. It’s out in the open and it’s solid and letting himself feel that…well… maybe it’s a step in the right direction. Maybe it’s important to allow himself to not just make Soobin a villainous figure with a familiarly unfamiliar face. Allow himself to look through that window in the door and recognize the two figures tearing up his trust like tissue paper. Maybe it’s a step in the right direction.

And I thought my heart was detached
from all the sunlight of our past
but she's so sweet, she's so pretty
Does she mean you forgot about me?
And now I'm picking her apart
like cutting her down will make you miss my wretched heart
but she's beautiful
She looks kind
She probably gives you butterflies

Soobin opens his mouth as if to say something but makes a small, aborted noise instead. Maybe he was going to defend Beomgyu. Maybe he was planning to self sacrifice. Whatever it was, he thinks better of it and swallows the words down to a tiny hum between shut lips.  The flow of the conversation, of the confessions, has led them here. It’s some kind of crossroad with no real direction. It’s a lull that makes that same question thrum behind Yeonjun’s eyelids. 

Anxiety is crawling under his skin in a way that feels almost like anticipation. Knowing something defining is about to happen, unsure if he’s ready or not. 

Yeonjun takes the plunge. 

“Was he the reason, Soobin?” His voice is thready and weak and he doesn’t want to know the answer but he needs to. “Did we… did you break up with me because of Beomgyu?” Yeonjun’s mouth dries, threatening to turn his next words to dust before they can even be voiced. 

“Did… did you cheat on me with—”

“ No !” Soobin emphatically interrupts him, something like horror underlining his voice. The younger man’s hands are flat on the table, shiny eyes unwavering even as wetness continues to build and fall over his water line.

“No. I swear to you. Beomgyu had nothing to do with our relationship. And I would never cheat on you. Please believe me on that. Trust me just on that. Please.” There’s a familiar desperation bleeding into each syllable that leaves Soobin’s mouth.  His tongue weaving anguish around his words.

“I know I haven’t given you a reason to trust me anymore, I know I’ve ruined that and I deserve it, I know I do, but please , please…please just give me this.”

Yeonjun watches Soobin carefully until the intensity of the younger man’s eyes becomes too overwhelming and he has to look away. He wants to believe him. He wants to trust that Soobin wouldn’t lie to him about this.

So he makes a choice.

He takes a step.

He chooses to do just that— trust him. Believe him.

Believe that even throughout all of this , with all the moments Soobin wasn’t Soobin , wasn’t home, and instead a stranger okay with hurting a man he used to say he loved, no version of Choi Soobin would do that .

No version of Beomgyu would either.

Yeonjun nods a little, humming his positive response. It doesn’t completely alleviate the fear rooted in all his insecurities, but it’s a start.

“How could you think that? That Beomgyu would be the reason?”

Soobin is avoiding saying ’break-up’. Yeonjun can’t tell if he’s relieved or upset.

Yeonjun shrugs, no longer feeling any kind of anything besides Soobin’s attention. It weighs heavy on him, even without looking.

“I guess because I still don’t understand why . Why you just…stopped loving me. What I did wrong. So it made some kind of sense, I guess. If you fell in love with someone else and…he’s…” A raspy, miserable sound jerks from  somewhere deep in Yeonjun’s self-loathing. As much as he wishes his nasty insides didn’t always ride just under his skin, he’s not naïve enough to ignore  it’s permanent residency.

“I don’t know. I guess it just makes sense. How that could have been what happened. You found someone better who wasn’t so…immature and clingy. Who didn’t need you to hold their hand every five fucking seconds. You know… someone who could take care of themselves and wasn’t… isn’t too much.”

Yeonjun’s shoulders are hunched up by his ears. He feels embarrassed by what he’s saying, like admitting a sick secret.. It’s not as if his habit of self-criticism is new to Soobin but something about voicing it now , words falling into the empty spaces between them, makes shame burn hot at the back of his neck. Maybe it’s because now, Soobin doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to be gentle with Yeonjun. He can be honest . He can lay it all out on the table. He no longer needs to feel obligated to protect Yeonjun’s feelings or to reassure the older man of his worth.

Go on and take it
Take it all with you
Don’t look back at this crumbling fool
Just take all of my love
Take it all with my love

Soobin is silent long enough to make Yeonjun uncomfortable, forcing his eyes up to look at the younger man. Soobin sits with a much calmer energy than he has the rest of the conversation. Almost like he transferred all his anxiety to Yeonjun. But the calm isn’t peaceful— it’s sad. It’s guilty.

“This was never about there being something wrong with you. You have always been more wonderful and kind and selfless than anyone I’ve ever met. You always put us first… you always put me first. I’ve always told you that.”

“Right.” Yeonjun interrupts. His voice is thick and wet and he hates this. “That’s what I mean though. How often did I need you to reassure me? How many times did you have to tell me over and over and over again that I was good enough? Deserving? Not a failure? It was all the time. Soobin, who wouldn’t get tired of that?”

“Yeonjun… hyung..” 

The honorific feels like a punch in the gut, surprising him in a way he wouldn't know how to describe. It shouldn't surprise him, not really. How many years has he been 'hyung'? But now, Soobin sounds a little hesitant with it as if the word is foreign on his tongue. Yeonjun can’t decide if the syllable makes him feel comfort or distress.

“Hyung…” Soobin starts again, audibly swallowing and taking a deep breath before continuing.

“That’s what friends… what partners do. We hold each other up when shit is bad. Being an idol is fucking hard, no matter how much you love it. You have done all those same things for me, for us one hundred times over. You needing me, wanting me, to be by your side when you felt most vulnerable and self conscious had nothing to do with… with breaking up.”

“Then why? What was the reason?” Yeonjun hates how his voice cracks and breaks like waves crashing into jagged cliffs. How deeply he wishes he could, for once , hold it together, be in control. Will he always feel so powerless in the face of rejection? He doesn’t want to shake apart every time something hurts. How will he ever survive?

Soobin sighs but it doesn’t sound like he’s frustrated or annoyed. It sounds heavy and strained, as if he has to push through thorny brambles and let them cut him up on his way to release it. 

“I can never have a satisfying answer. There isn’t really… there isn’t a why. It just is. That doesn’t explain anything, doesn’t provide closure or a clean cut exact answer. It fucking sucks, I know. I wish I could give that to you. To me, even. I hate that I don’t have a better answer to give.” 

An air of resignation drifts like smoke on the tail end of Soobin’s words and Yeonjun knows he needs to just breathe it in and let it take root. If this is his answer, if this is all there is, he needs to accept it at face value. ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ may be a bad trope in romcoms or fiction, but maybe there's some truth to it. Maybe it’s not always just because the other person is avoiding being cruel. Avoiding responsibility. 

Yeonjun expels self-pity and destruction as he exhales. He feels his shoulder sink, exhaustion taking hold of his muscles and bones. It feels like hours of sitting at this table while he and Soobin attempt to undo tight knots in the red string of their relationship. Feels like for eternities. He has been Sisyphus; cursed to forever push the boulder to a top that doesn’t exist. Punished for believing himself and the things he held dear untouchable. Even by gods. But right now, at this kitchen table in the low light, surrounded by a quiet that seems unnatural in a home always filled with noise, Yeonjun feels that perhaps this is a plateau. Not a victory, not yet, but an opportunity to rest. And he thinks he just might see the hint of that impossible top. 

Wearily, Yeonjun pushes himself from the table. They’ve done enough work tonight and there’s no point in revisiting things they’re both still trying to figure out.  Maybe they never will. Maybe some questions remain unanswered. 

“Okay.” 

It’s all Yeonjun can think to say, unsure how to call an end to this whole thing but also knows it’s done and now Soobin is just as tired as him, ready for a break and time alone to process. To shift into the healing phase of ‘ them’ .  The opportunity to figure out how they go forward in each other’s space and not treat each other like dangerous landmines.

Yeonjun takes a few steps towards the hall, pausing before he exits the kitchen. He turns to look at Soobin, the younger man turned slightly in his chair, watching him. 

“Thank you for talking, for agreeing to…to work together better. I know it’s super uncomfortable and it’s not easy, but I’m glad we’re on the same page now.” Soobin gives him a weak, wobbly smile and a little nod.

“Of course. Thank you for bringing it up and making me. I wasn’t being very good about all of it. As a friend, as a member, or as a leader. I really let everyone down this time.” Soobin looks like maybe he’s about to cry again and Yeonjun wants to give him some privacy to really do that, to break down with no other eyes on him. He takes another step to leave, but his heart tugs his body into pausing once more. 

“And Soobin?” He waits until Soobin’s eyes are up on him again. “Keep calling me hyung, okay? No matter what, I’ll always be hyung.”

Soobin’s watery, grateful smile makes Yeonjun’s chest ache in a good way. It settles into the new, carved out pocket of ‘acceptance’ to make its own home. 

“Or noona?” Soobin nearly whispers, the hint of his impending tears hitching the end of his words. 

Yeonjun can’t help his own answering smile, humming a single noise that’s close to a laugh, light and vibrating. 

“Yeah. Or noona.”

When Yeonjun walks away, it finally doesn’t feel like running away. It feels like forging a path. It feels like real change. 

As opposed to heading to his own room again, Yeonjun turns into the maknae’s room. Even though they haven’t returned from their schedules, being in their space feels like he’s not on his own. It helps ease any impending loneliness after being wrung dry. He’s in need of comfort after everything that happened and he knows neither of them will mind. He crawls into Kai’s bed, hugging one of his plushies to his chest. Letting his eyes close, Yeonjun takes a few deep breaths, focused on relaxing each and every one of his muscles, letting himself sink into gentle exhaustion and peace. The strings between them all remain tangled, Yeonjun’s fingertips bloody from attempts of picking out knots, but there’s progress. The beginnings of loose ends and tidy piles. 

In and out. 

The roots of acceptance, of tranquil resignation, curl into all his empty spaces and with each exhale, Yeonjun feels them grow. 

Sometimes you’ll laugh, sometimes you’ll cry
Life never tells us the when’s or the why’s
When you’ve got friends to wish you well
You’ll find your point when you will exhale

Soobin begins to exist in his orbit again. At first, it still feels tense, rusty. Yeonjun can’t imagine how it’s all reading on camera but no one says anything to them and he’s just grateful it’s happening at all. The nauseating unease he used to feel when Soobin stepped into a room slowly evaporates into a barely there sensation. Things aren’t normal , that’s for certain, but they don’t feel like a constant struggle of drowning and gasping for air. Dance practice no longer demands Yeonjun’s ability to shut down his emotions and remain detached and focused solely on himself. He can allow himself to view the big picture. The wide screen. How they move together. When he and Soobin dance their duet, Soobin doesn’t flinch away from his touch anymore. The move isn’t perfect, not yet, but sometimes Yeonjun has to remind himself nothing really is. That’s not what makes it all so good. 

The comeback is rushing up on them, an oncoming hurricane. Their days are filled to bursting with all the preparations–  grueling dance practices, a flip flop of extensive vocal lessons and instructions rest their voices, avoid talking. Everything becomes a blur of sweat soaked fatigue wrapped up in very little sleep and meals focused on necessity instead of enjoyment, protein packed and eaten on the go. 

Yeonjun finds himself in his usual pre-comeback rotation of falling asleep immediately upon entering his room and a brain so full of thoughts echoing endlessly in his mind it is near impossible to silence them in order to sleep. Sometimes this means mere minutes of sleep before the day starts again, but at this point in his life and his career, he’s used to it, finding it best to just ride the waves as they come.  

He is sitting on his floor with only his oscillating mood lamp on, winding shades of blue and purple together in a relaxing dance, an effortless blend. A record he’d recently been given plays soft guitar strings accompanied by a smokey voice. He’s folding piles of clothes that have been tossed around his bedroom for, quite frankly, an embarrassing amount of time, in an attempt to organize the chaos of his physical space, hoping it will set his brain into some kind of order as well. 

Yeonjun pulls a heap of clothing closer to himself picking through pieces to separate into piles– fold this, fold this, this should be hung. A hesitant, quiet knock just pushes past his focus to notice. He taps his phone screen, surprised at the time. Who is visiting him so late? And why are they knocking ? He never receives this level of respect. 

“Uh…go ahead and come in. Doors open.” He calls, attention moving back to the sweater he holds in his hands. 

Hm. To fold or to hang? Knits can be so tricky if you don’t have the right hangers and he's not sure he has any left. 

Beomgyu enters the room with nerves vibrating around him, making the air shiver. It’s a sensation Yeonjun doesn’t really associate with their middle member. He hangs back near Yeonjun’s doorway, hand gripping the door knob so tight his knuckles turn while. He’s not quite in Yeonjun’s room but not quite in the hallway. Yeonjun assumes he’s not staying, probably is just delivering a message or reminder. Yeonjun lowers the sweater in his hands to look up questioningly at the younger member. Beomgyu takes a deep breath, eyes shutting briefly in a long blink before they flick up to Yeonjun’s, only to snap to look at the floor. 

“Hyung..? Can we talk for a minute?” 

The words set off alarm bells in Yeonjun’s head, loud and shrill and overriding any other possible thoughts. Very rarely, if ever, are those words strung together in a way that led to something good. He drops the sweater all together and runs his hands through his hair. 

“Yeah, of course, Beommie. Come on in.” Still, Beomgyu lingers. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, eyes darting around the room like he’s looking for danger or traps before he slips inside and shakily shuts the door behind him. Yeonjun is starting to get the feeling he is woefully unprepared for whatever conversation is about to happen. 

Beomgyu shifts from foot to foot, still avoiding looking directly at Yeonjun. Yeonjun allows him the time he clearly needs to gather his thoughts or his courage or whatever else he may need. Yeonjun knows the importance of silence before something difficult. 

As suddenly as he showed up, Beomgyu bursts into tears, immediately burying his face in his hands. Yeonjun is startled enough, he actually jumps at the sound, eyes wide and heart pounding.  Beomgyu doesn’t move aside from his heaving shoulders as he cries, sobs, breaks. It’s instinct that drives Yeonjun to stand and cross the room to try and comfort or soothe or ground the other man. He’s honestly not sure what would be best. The only thing he is sure of is whatever is happening, whatever Beomgyu has to say, it’s major.  An explosion. Catastrophe. 

“Hey… hey, Beomgyu. Calm down, baby. Everything is okay. Everything is fine.” Yeonjun raises his hands to rub along Beomgyu’s arms and shoulders but his hands are lightly slapped away as the younger man takes a couple of wobbly steps backwards and away. His arms wrap around himself, holding himself tight, and revealing his expression, crumpled and distraught. 

“No, it’s not!” Beomgyu’s voice cracks and the sound hurts . He opens red rimmed eyes, always so pretty and sparkling as if from another world– he’s so pretty, so lovely, of course, of course, the right choice - now tinged red and swollen. His eyes meet Yeonjun’s with a broken determination, keeping the forced distance between them. Yeonjun hovers, unsure of what to do with his body or how to brace himself for whatever is coming next. 

“S-s-soobin….Soobin told me.” Beomgyu’s voice strains around the words.  It takes a moment of Yeonjun processing– hands that are not his – a string pulled taunt, a blade ready to slice through each and every thread Yeonjun has used to stitch himself back together like a hot knife through butter. 

“Soobin told me you… you know about..” Beomgyu swallows hard and his eyes dart to the side before he forces them back to Yeonjun. “About me and him and…” 

The younger man’s lip wobbles against a clenched jaw, valiantly trying to hold back the continual tsunami of emotion. Yeonjun feels a little numb, mind–heart– still trying to swallow the words like a skipping record. Yeonjun isn’t sure what his reaction is supposed to be, what is expected of him. All he can do is release a small exhale of acknowledgement. 

“O-oh…”

Look out
The feelings rushing back again
Too much, too numb
It’s ripped the seam I stitch it up again
Somehow it stays on

Is Beomgyu expecting anger? Is he expecting an explosion? Are his arms wrapped around himself like a shield because he fears Yeonjun’s shrapnel? Yeonjun looks inside himself, digs fingers into ash to see if that anger resides within him and comes up empty handed.  It's numbness. It’s nothing. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell the difference, if there is one at all. Yeonjun’s inner dialogue is unpredictable at best. It’s gotten better since his conversation with Soobin but his wounds are still so deep and he spent so long letting them fester with infection. Healing isn’t linear. Sometimes every one of those stitched threads threaten to unravel, the incisions red, puffy, irritated. Some days, everything feels like rebuilding strength after atrophy. Most often, thinking too much about everything still makes him feel like he’s broken bones and blown muscles. Most often, he has to box up the scattered body parts and fractured spirals and set all the pieces aside. Just outside his line of sight and disconnected from his circuit. It keeps him functional but if he plugs back in, the upload can be too much, overwhelming. It’s survival, it’s slow healing along a non-linear path like time happening all at once, but in moments like this he’s left floundering, trying to anticipate expectations. 

Beomgyu watches him, a small whining sound humming in the back of his throat, smothered little sounds. He seems to be waiting for Yeonjun to continue but when the older man remains silent, Beomgyu’s eyes dart away, lips parting with a splintered inhale. He stares at his own feet, somehow makes himself smaller. 

“Th-there’s….there’s nothing I can possibly say, hyung. I know how awful this is, how awful my actions… our actions have been. I’m so selfish and it’s disgusting …” Beomgyu covers his face with his hands again, the heel of his palms pressing hard into his eyes. Then, like a marionette with cut strings, he falls back against the wall, sliding to the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest. Yeonjun sits himself down, his back against the bed. It feels wrong to stand when Beomgyu has fallen. 

Yeonjun’s eyes drift with a strange attached detachment, taking in every detail in technicolor restoration of black and white. The glittering tears like frost glistening down Beomgyu’s cheeks, his neck, his lips. The sounds he makes are so ugly one would think there was a face to match. But Beomgyu is beautiful. Always. Yeonjun soaks in the distance between them and feels his heart leap in his chest at the parallel. He rests against the same bed, stares across the same space, his existence wavering in the same way. 

A widening fissure

A forced distance

Stumbling, pushed away and he’s sinking to the floor. 

“I’m just not in love anymore.”

A parallel flipped– Yeonjun is not the one breaking apart. He is not the one hovering on the precipice of destruction. It’s a strange feeling. The resignation, the acceptance Yeonjun has nurtured in his chest keeps him from feeling the licking fires waiting to char skin and shatter bone like glass. Because this isn’t The End. This is a part of The Beginning. 

He still doesn’t know what to say, but the distance feels wrong and Beomgyu is getting more upset and beyond everything else Yeonjun has ever felt, love has and always will be his center. His own guiding star. He moves to his knees and crawls across the space until he sits cross legged in front of Beomgyu. Gently, confidently, he places a hand on one of the younger man’s knees, giving it a tight squeeze. Beomgyu’s hands fall away from his face and he stares at Yeonjun with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. 

“I would hope he would tell you. It’d be pretty shitty not to.” Yeonjun tries for humor but it falls a little flat, Beomgyu’s eyes drifting away again and an unhappy frown pulling on his lips. Yeonjun clears his voice and tries again. 

“Beomgyu…I’m not upset.” He winces, tasting the lie on his tongue before shaking his head. “That’s not…entirely true. I was. I really, really was. It felt…”

The words are sticky in his throat, suffocating dark molasses. He’s lost in a battle between honesty and hiding away his vulnerability. Whether the lie would be for himself or for Beomgyu, he isn’t sure. All he knows is the unease pounding in his chest like a war drum. Yeonjun chews at his bottom lip as he thinks, as he takes his time to pull free each thought and line them all up until they’re coherent.  Emotions war within him, crashing waves of anger and hurt eroding the mountain of acceptance and tentative forward momentum. The anger is easy. The hurt and betrayal and murder are easy to fling into Beomgyu’s face— he’s as guilty as Soobin when it all boils down. He has the blood on his hands, too.  But is that even what Yeonjun wants? What does it accomplish if anything? It’s a rehashing of a rehashing of a rehashing. It’s words for anger's sake and not for the sake of resolution.

But it’s also the truth.

Yeonjun can feel his silence oppressive on his chest. Beomgyu doesn’t hide his nervous anticipation, hands fidgeting, fists clenching, eyes blinking rapidly and focused on his fingers. Yeonjun feels out of control, lost in what he’s supposed to do. Lost in…

Just lost.

As he watches Beomgyu and his fidgeting and his shivering shoulders, there’s a slow dawning that comes over Yeonjun that Beomgyu is lost, too. And if he is also lost, maybe they can find their way out together.

It always starts with a single step.

I don’t believe, I don’t believe it
You left me in peace, left me in pieces
Too hard to breath, I’m on my knees
Right now.

“It felt like dying.” Yeonjun whispers between them, fingers clenching on Beomgyu’s knee as the feelings swell within him.

“I thought I had felt gutted when Soobin broke up with me but…” Yeonjun can’t look at Beomgyu, even when a pained whine makes its way from the younger man’s throat. Yeonjun swallows against the sap around his vocal cords, even as it chokes his voice.

“Nothing ever could have prepared me for seeing the two of you together.  I never… I’ve never thought that kind of pain could exist until I felt it.”

Beomgyu’s body is shaking all over; Yeonjun feels it under his hand, can see out of the corner of his eye. The younger man has covered his face again, hiccupping through sobs behind shut lips. The instinct to not hurt others, to not let others down, to protect his family, wants to silence the conversation.

No more. No more. Nomorenomorenomorenomore

“I…honestly don’t know how much you know about me and Soobin. About our relationship. But I know that you knew about it. Soobin never told me, if you’re wondering. I don’t know what you two have discussed or… or anything about… the two of you…”

He can’t refer to their relationship. He can’t mention them together. It’s too much to scrape from his tongue. It’s hot tar and acid. Yeonjun can feel the tickling of tears in the back of his eyes, accepting that they are just a part of every conversation now. Every moment of healing or reopening wounds, however one would like to see it. He doesn’t try to stop them, but he forces his voice steady and pushes on.

“The night I came down to the van when you and Soobin were already there. The night I was sick and went to bed early. That’s when… I saw the two of you together. That’s partially why I was such an asshole during practice the next day. I… you asked if I was mad at you, if you had done something wrong and I lied.  I wasn’t ready to… to face everything. I wasn’t ready to accept what you had done. What both of you had done. But after that conversation in the recording studio… I knew that Soobin had told you everything.”

“That’s why you didn’t come home that night.” Beomgyu whispers. He sounds like he swallowed glass and smoke. Each syllable is punctuated with his crying, his breathing strangled by his guilty conscience. Yeonjun hums in agreement, his own lip starting to tremble.

“I won’t… can’t ask for your forgiveness, hyung. I don’t know how you can even be in the same room as me now. I can’t… I don’t even want to look at myself in the mirror. I'm so disgusted with myself. I never wanted to be this kind of person, someone who hurts someone I love so much. I never thought I could be such a piece of shit and….and… and… I don’t even have an explanation—there isn’t one! Not one that’s acceptable. Not one that makes any of this okay.”

The pain in Beomgyu’s voice pierces through Yeonjun’s chest and he realizes that it was never about the younger man protecting himself from Yeonjun’s shrapnel. He was holding himself together to avoid his own dismantling. To avoid taking Yeonjun with him. Some might say it’s gratifying to a person responsible for bleeding you dry to experience some of that pain themselves. Some kind of satisfaction of karmic retribution of the universe's own revenge. But Yeonjun has never been one for relishing in the unhappiness of others. Just like the fantasy that was only ever a fantasy he didn’t think he ever even wanted. He’s never understood schadenfreude. 

No bad people. Just people having really bad days.

That’s what his mother always used to say to him as a child who didn’t understand the behavior of ‘villains’. A child who wept when those same villains died or suffered at the end of the movie. As an adult, Yeonjun understands it’s more complicated than that. That there are actually bad people and consequences are important, but Beomgyu isn’t a bad person. Beomgyu is a phenomenal person with such a massive capacity for love it could swallow everything around him. He’s kind and gentle and empathetic where others would be harsh and uncaring. He tries hard and he loves hard. Yeonjun knows for a fact Beomgyu would never and has never intentionally caused someone pain. He made a bad choice. A selfish choice. A choice that hurt someone else.

Yeonjun can’t even say it was a bad choice if he takes a step back from the situation. In a different timeline, where Soobin hadn’t torn Yeonjun’s whole being to pieces and left him unable to pull himself back together, the choice could be harmless all together. No consequences save for a budding romance and a chance to bloom. Yeonjun is hard pressed to accept that romance, a chance for love or something like it, could be a bad choice.  He’s not happy about how things happened. He’s not grateful for his own suffering. He’s not a martyr to SoobinandBeomgyu. He’s not even sure he’s happy for them.  The ache inside is still a bloody bruise and if he’s honest, Yeonjun isn’t sure it will ever fully heal. He may never be able to rejoice in their relationship. Still, despite the scars that are surely left behind, Yeonjun doesn’t enjoy Beomgyu’s pain. And he certainly doesn’t want the younger man to have it.

“I understand, y’know, if you c-can’t be around me. I-if you don’t want to l-l-look at or t-talk to me. I could… I would t-t-totally understand if… if you di-didn’t want me in the group anymore. If… if… I w-would leave if you wanted me to-to. I would. I-in a heartbeat.”

“No.”

Yeonjun’s voice is stronger than he anticipated, hard and edged when he cuts into Beomgyu’s words. The younger man’s eyes snap up to Yeonjun right as the older man looks at him. They meet somewhere between them and a fire burns hot within Yeonjun’s belly.

“No…” He starts, softer, more gentle. “I don’t want you to go anywhere. I don’t want anyone leaving the group. This-“ He motions between them, the shrinking space, his hand on Beomgyu’s knee. “-is always going to be more important than anything else. We’re not Tomorrow by Together without you. You’re a part of us. A part of me.”

Oh, why can't I forget you?
I know so well what is in store
a moment or two
up in the clouds with you
then back where I was before
No, I don't want to cry anymore

Yeonjun scoots closer, one of his legs tangling with Beomgyu’s.  Beomgyu looks miserable as he watches him move. His long hair sticks to wet cheeks, and he hasn’t stopped crying the whole time. His face is swollen and blotchy red paints his cheeks and neck.

“W-why don’t you hate me, hyung?” The question is a whimper and Yeonjun’s heart aches to erase it. It holds a feeling not wholly unfamiliar to Yeonjun– Self-loathing and confused, begging, needing a reason why it’s not deserved. Why another person doesn’t agree with the toxic voice that hisses unkindness.

“I could never hate you.” He whispers back, holding eye contact to express his honestly.  His lips twitch a little, letting out a slow sigh as he tilts his head, resting his chin on his own hand.

“I mean… Unless you killed my mom or something.”

Beomgyu huffs out a pathetic, wet imitation of a laugh but there is a tentative smile pulling at dry lips.

“I would never.” He whines, voice strained against the tears still steadily falling like crystalline raindrops.  He looks so small, curled into himself, disheveled and cracking to pieces. The pain and guilt still pull at his features and Yeonjun knows this isn’t an easy, simple, one-hit-wonder of a conversation that is going to suddenly fix everything. But when has anything ever been?

With steady, tender fingers, Yeonjun reaches out to tuck Beomgyu’s hair behind his ear, pushing stuck strands away from his puffy cheeks. He uses the sleeve of his hoodie to pat Beomgyu’s tears dry, even if more take their place. Yeonjun knows the endless cycle of watery emotions slipping down, down, down for what feels like eternity. But sometimes it’s just nice for the tears to carve new paths.

Beomgyu watches him with something like awe on his face, disbelieving, maybe, of the kindness. Yeonjun just offers a soft smile in return, fingers still running through long hair.

All these mixed emotions we keep
Locked away like stolen pearls
Stolen pearl devotions we keep
Locked away from all the world

“I’m not going to pretend this whole shitshow hasn’t been awful or that I’ve been handling things… well. I’ve been in a bad place and sometimes it still comes around, it still has a tight hold on me. And I don’t want to be hurtful, but I know I can’t find comfort in you or Soobin right now.”

Beomgyu winces at his words, closing his eyes and tilting his head down. Yeonjun knocks a knuckle against the younger man’s chin with a soft ‘hey’ until he looks up at his hyung again.

“I know it doesn’t make sense. That I can be upset at you but I don’t feel… I’m not mad and I certainly don’t hate you. It’s… the feelings are complicated.  It’s like it’s been two different sets of people. There’s the Beomgyu and Soobin I’ve known since before debut and… there’s Beomgyu and Soobin—a couple who I don’t know.”

Yeonjun sighs, tucks Beomgyu’s hair away from his face again before he’s pulling his hands to himself, folded in his lap. He doesn’t pull away from the younger man completely, but he’s getting into territory that makes his skin feel paper thin. He’s still afraid of the hurt he feels when he thinks too much about broken fractals and stardust of bones and tar that tears at skin. He wants to continue his honesty, hopes that if he just says the things he feels it will be easier to keep the sutures clean, wants this to be the final stitch pulled taught. But it’s hard. The truth sticks to the roof of his mouth, little thorns holding on and demanding blood if the words move forward. There’s always a price of blood Yeonjun must pay when he delves into the days of running watercolor and a grey world. It’s bright red on a dark canvas and he knows it’s a step towards a scene of color and vibrancy, but god does it hurt.

“It felt like the Soobin I knew had died. He was… he was so awful to me. Ignoring me or… or just being mean. And I was trying, you know. I was trying to be normal around him as much as I could even when it hurt so bad I thought it must be visible.  It was easy to get in my head about things, to blame myself and the way he treated me just… solidified all those fears and self-hatred. The Soobin I knew, who I loved and who was supposed to love me back, would never act that way with me. Would never leave me like that. So it just felt like he must be dead and there was this new, angry person wearing his face.  Then… then I saw you together…”

  Curiosity killed the cat and his chest is caving around a gunshot. 

There are slim thighs flexing around slender hips

Arms around shoulders that look loose and relaxed

He is blooming and Yeonjun is burning alive

There must be blood. There has to be blood. 

“I saw you together and it made me see him—the Soobin I knew. But… it wasn’t me. It was easier to feel like Soobin was a stranger when he never looked the way he had before but then to see it, to see him that way and know that this man I loved made the choice to hurt me, was fucking devastating. And that alone… I mean, god, that alone was enough to make my whole body hurt but then… then it was you.”

Yeonjun is choking on the retelling, on the sharing of his autopsy. There’s a feeling rattling around in his ribcage like the aftershocks of a gunshot, skittering through his chest and his fingers and his jaw. His instincts are screaming for him to flee – flight, flight, flightflightflight – because he doesn’t want to do this anymore. He feels so exposed and it drives something like hysteria into his synapsis. Does he even have the strength to push through the battlefield and continue? Can he even get the words out from behind his clenching teeth? Yeonjun can’t look at Beomgyu, has no idea what his expression might be, but he knows he can’t do both. He can’t keep the younger man in his sight while reliving those same hands driving a knife into his spine to leave him paralyzed.

“It made me sick. Actually, literally, sick. I couldn’t… I didn’t… it was a reality I never could have anticipated, and it changed everything for me. My whole world tipped off its axis and just… it felt like I was being thrown into a completely different gravity field. Nothing felt safe or right anymore and I didn’t… how was I supposed to survive in a new place like that, you know? So, I just… I made myself separate the two things. I ignored, blocked out, the image and knowledge of you and Soobin. I just…focused on you being Beomgyu. Which obviously didn’t 100% work considering how I blew up at you when we were all fucking up at practice. But I couldn’t face a world where two people I loved so much would hate me so much in return.”

Yeonjun can feel Beomgyu inhale as if to speak and he knows the younger man wants to contradict him. Wants to correct him. He can already taste the insistent ‘I don’t hate you’ which he already knows. It’s not about that. It was never about that. Yeonjun couldn’t, can’t, understand doing something like this to someone you say you love. It’s still a hard thing to sit with and not feel constantly in danger. He can’t imagine a scenario in which it would feel okay to do such a thing as Soobin and Beomgyu did.

Then again, he could never imagine a scenario where Soobin didn’t love him and they weren’t together and they weren’t waking up to each other in gentle sunbeams and sweet kisses. Maybe he needs to quit thinking he knows anything about the future.

“I know, I know—you… neither one of you ever hated me but there was a choice there that hurt me. And that was hard to deal with. It still… sometimes it still is. If I sit and I think about things too much, it still feels like ‘Man, how could they do that if they care about me’. I know it’s not that simple and there’s no ‘right’ way to do things. Sometimes things just… happen. Soobin already told me he didn’t leave me for you. That you two never….” Yeonjun swallows hard past the painful lump in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and forcing himself to push through. “That he never cheated on me and I have to accept that as it is. I have to accept how things are now if we’re all going to be together.”

Feel the presence all around
A tortured soul
A wound unhealing
No regrets or promises
The past is gone
But you can still be free

Taking a deep breath, Yeonjun looks back up at Beomgyu who stares back at him with sorrow and mourning, as if he’s watching a loved one die. Maybe he is, in some regard. Maybe he’s replaying the murder scene only to realize that blood covers his hands as well.  Beomgyu’s lip is trembling, rattling through his jaw and Yeonjun is sure he’s moments away from falling to pieces as small as sand. Yeonjun reaches his quivering hands up to wrap around the younger man’s, giving them a tight, reassuring squeeze.

“I’m still upset, Beomgyu-ah. I’m still hurt and I still don’t understand everything. To be honest, I’m not sure I ever will. But I also love you. And I know you love me. And sometimes, the right thing to do feels impossible and it doesn’t always feel like I have the strength to do it. But I love you. And I love us. And I’m not going to let anything take that all away from us. Our reality is this—Soobin broke up with me. Shortly after, you two got together. It’s hard and it hurts and it’s going to keep being hard and keep hurting. Period. We can’t change any of that. But we can decide what it does to us all. I don’t want to be ignored anymore, I don’t want to be treated like a pariah or a ghost, or a nuisance. Soobin’s been a lot better with that. I want to be Tomorrow by Together. I want to be us. I don’t want anything to come between what we all have worked for. I remind myself that the relationship you two have isn’t about me. It isn’t meant to hurt me, it was never about you being better than me. It just is. Soobin’s relationship with you is not a reflection or result of his relationship with me. They’re different. We’re different.”

Yeonjun gives Beomgyu’s hands a little tug until the younger man gives in and collapses sideways into his chest. They’re both crying, something somewhat cathartic, and a part of Yeonjun thinks this shouldn’t be possible. How can he feel okay with this? How can he feel safe with those dangerous hands so close to him, clinging to the sides of his hoodie? The bigger part of him, the part that grew up in small, muggy practice rooms and danced until his feet bled and looked after his four little corgis, knows that this is right. Puzzle pieces slotting together. A click in the universe that completes something broken. There’s more to be said. More to discuss and go through. More to try and resolve. Maybe someday he’ll ask about the how. He’ll ask about SoobinandBeomgyu. Yeonjun knows he can’t right now, much too fragile and weak, still growing back the protective layers of his very being. But this is a start. This is a familiar weight against his chest and the smell of Beomgyu’s shampoo as he leans his cheek against the younger man’s head. They both shake, somehow in sync with one another, and Yeonjun rocks them both back and forth. At the end of everything, all he wants is in this room, in this dorm, on those stages with his family around him. Everything else is fixable. He’s been broken but broken things can be repaired. Wounds can heal. Safe houses can be rebuilt after flames burn everything down. He knows he won’t always find comfort in Beomgyu like this, that sometimes the sight of them will be too much, but that is then, and this is now and now he relishes in the safety of their combined forms. Wrapped around each other, protecting each other, loving each other.  Everything else is waves in an ocean. Unpredictable. Smooth sailing or tumultuous survival. All they need to do is be prepared. Yeonjun can do that. They can all do that. Just because something might happen doesn’t mean it will, doesn’t mean it’s worth not trying.

Yeonjun hugs Beomgyu tighter, doesn’t try to hush his crying. Instead, he matches him sound for sound, their breathing hitching and sticking in tune with each other.

Cause there has always been heartache and pain
And when it’s over you’ll breathe again
You’ll breathe again.

Things change. Life goes on. Milk poured into coffee, a caramel fractal swirling through bitter black, is inevitably stirred, and stirred until it all becomes one. It is always the intention, and the result is oh so sweet in comparison.

Yeonjun stands backstage, a familiar darkness wrapped around him. It’s a small space filled with the anticipation of performance. He shakes his hands out to release some of the mounting energy, a strange combination of loving the stage but feeling the missing piece of a live audience. It leaves his fingers feeling tingly, makes him feel off balance.  He breathes deep and lets it all out in a slow, measured way, filling and emptying his diaphragm to calm himself. Yeonjun knows he’s not the only one to feel it, but their staff are all trying their best to make up for the missing fans. As Yeonjun walks himself through any relaxation techniques, he feels a hand wrap around his own fingers, giving them a tight squeeze. His eyes follow the movement to his side where Soobin offers him a steady smile and nudges their shoulders together.

“Are you okay, hyung? I know it feels so… weird without hearing the crowd but we’re definitely ready. This is going to kick ass.”

The gentle familiarity is still something Yeonjun is relearning, still catches him off guard after the draught of affection. Still, he smiles in return, shoulders shrugging uselessly as he shifts from foot to foot.

“I know we’ve worked our asses off to get here. I know we can do this so fucking well. I’m just worried about all this…electricity I’m used to exchanging with MOA. I know we already experienced it with Blue Hour but this is different. This is a completely different song and vibe and the performance feels…”

Raw

Painful

Familiar

‘I know I love you’

‘My one and only’

“… it just feels like a lot and I’m worried it’s going to be too much and I’m either going to over or under perform.”

The last part of his sentence rushes out from between his teeth and it feels like he’s admitting to a crime. Soobin holds his eyes, lips twitching in a frown. Yeonjun has always been able to read Soobin, and Soobin has always been able to read him in return. An understanding zips between them—Soobin knows what Yeonjun is feeling, knows how true the words ring for him in pained vibrations.  The younger man raises a hand to give the back of Yeonjun’s neck a squeeze. He doesn’t offer empty words. He doesn’t give a pitying smile. He meets Yeonjun’s eyes and acknowledges what they once were. It feels normal . It feels right. It aches behind Yeonjun’s ribs in the best way, like dark bruises after dance practices after you’ve found success through all your hard work.

“Put your all into, hyung. Don’t hold back. You’re going to shine up there.”

Yeonjun refuses to fucking cry right before they’re supposed to go out on stage, although he feels the pressure against his waterline. He feels grateful and he feels safe and he feels seen. His footing is evening out and it’s the first time in months he feels truly steady. He has just enough time to give Soobin’s hand a tight squeeze in return, offering a tentative smile, before they’re being ushered to their places. Kai places a light hand on the small of Yeonjun’s back as he starts moving up the stairs, Taehyun and Beomgyu in front of him and he can watch their expressions fall into place, becoming the characters of the song, the story.

If the world will end with a whimper, Yeonjun believes it can begin with the sound of building strings. A determined voice. Falling to your knees.

I know I love you

The universe began with stardust made of bones, with shards of light, and a collective sense of right. Good. Yes.

Spiraling fractals in a vast nothingness.

With a bang.

So hold on
Let time be patient
Let pain be gracious
Love will soon come, baby
If you just hold on