Chapter Text
Jo is the first one to find out. He doesn’t necessarily like being the first one for these things, but he figures it’s probably because he’s so quiet the others don’t notice he’s there. He’s been the third wheel in so many situations now, he almost can’t keep track of what he’s supposed to know and what he isn’t. When the members share a weird inside joke with each other and lean a little too close to whisper and giggle; or when one of them stares when they think the other isn’t looking, eyes too fond in a way they would never let anyone else see; or when they touch each other in front of him, probably subconsciously, and neither of them really pays any heed to it - Jo observes all of this and quietly, slowly, processes. He’s not quick enough to address the elephant in the room when he’s in the room, but he’s usually the only one who notices the elephant is there to begin with, cataloguing the shape and colour of it, the way it grows and fills the space, the people at the heart of it being the most oblivious.
Observing Yudai and Fuma had probably been the easiest. They had always been so open and honest with their feelings for each other that when Fuma had finally asked Yudai out in the green room at BEAT AX (Jo is just glad they noticed he was there before anything too scandalous had happened), everything had finally just clicked together in Jo’s head. Their elephant had been a benign, gentle beast, though no less overwhelming for it; its size and strength bordered on too much for Jo, but it exuded the soft warmth of a sunny autumn afternoon, and Jo was always happy to bask in its sweet, golden tones.
Harua and Maki were a different beast entirely; a puppy yipping at its playmate, begging for and receiving attention in equal measure, and always a joy to watch with their carefree energy. Their innocence was in stark contrast to whatever Nicholas and Euijoo had going on - prowling around each other, yearning and spurning in turn. Jo doesn’t interfere and doesn’t criticise; as long as his members are happy, then Jo is happy too, even if he is the unwitting third wheel.
This right now, however, is not at all a happy situation. He’s booked a practice studio in the company to rehearse his parts a little more, but he walks into the wrong studio by accident, just in time to see Yudai drop to the floor, clutching at his knee and crying out in pain. For a second, he’s torn between backing out of the room and pretending he hasn’t seen anything, and jumping forward to see if Yudai is okay.
Yudai takes the choice away from him by noticing him in the mirror. The pain twisting his features immediately transforms into a smile and he sits upright, stretching his legs out in front of him with only the smallest wince.
“Jo! What are you doing here? Did you book this room after me? I must have forgotten the time, I’m sorry! Just give hyung a second to cool down, yeah? Or did you want me to go through some choreo with you? I have time, it’s okay, you’re worried about that last chorus, right?” Yudai is rambling, which is how Jo knows things are bad.
Jo desperately needs some time to process. It’s so hard to decide how he should react when people insist on hiding their feelings; he doesn’t want to overstep, so he always falls back on what’s easiest, in the moment. Yudai has offered, so he accepts, letting Yudai coach him through the choreography that’s been bothering him, instructing him so clearly and easily from the angle of his torso down to the turn of his wrist. He doesn’t comment when Yudai chooses to drag a stool out to sit while he watches Jo do another runthrough, and keeps his face carefully blank when Yudai has to push himself up to standing with a hand clenched on his thigh, knuckles white and face pulled so tight in a grimace that he pretends is a grin.
They’ve grabbed their belongings and are headed out the door when Jo decides he needs to address this, before it slips through his fingers.
“Kei-hyung, um, are you,” Yudai turns to him, eyes shining with innocence and kindness and Jo has to steel himself in order to continue. “Is your, um, are you okay?”
A shadow flashes across Yudai’s face, predator flicking its tail beneath the waves, but it’s gone before Jo can blink.
“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re so sweet, Jo!” Yudai slings an arm around Jo’s neck and rubs his cheek against Jo’s aggressively. Jo stiffens automatically at the physical contact, and it takes all his brain power to make himself relax and appreciate the affection.
Later, when Jo is finally at home and clean and comfortable, he thinks back to how Yudai had been, how he had hidden his pain away and avoided Jo’s concern so smoothly, like a fish sliding out his grasp. Jo’s sketchbook is open in front of him, and by the time he’s ready for bed, he realises he’s drawn a shark, prowling the ocean depths; so sleek in its movements but rough if you rub it the wrong way, sharp teeth hidden in the dark.
The image remains in his mind in the days and weeks that follow; he sees Euijoo approach Yudai, looking defeated as he retreats; Nicholas hovers skittishly, stiff in his movements and in the furrow of his brow; and Fuma, holding the weight of Yudai’s injury on his shoulders, rigid and stoic in a way he hasn’t been for a while, all the edges that the members had managed to wear down over the years reverting to a tall and featureless cliff. The waters beneath loom fathomless and dark - Yuma is the first one to take the plunge and gets bitten by what’s waiting underneath, fierce and menacing, even if only in its own defence.
Jo is lying in bed, adding colour and shading to his shark sketch while Taki lies contorted on top of him, gnawing absentmindedly at Jo’s calf.
“Kei-hyung definitely went to see the company doctor though, right? I talked to him about it, and he’d said he would!” Taki sighs, with an extra hard nibble. Jo barely manages to keep his leg from jerking up and kicking Taki in the face. He adds swirls to the water in his drawing, imagining how it’s been sucking them all in, gasping for air amidst the seafoam.
Taki presses his fingers into the bend of Jo’s knee. “I don’t like seeing Kei-hyung in pain,” he says, voice so quiet and sad. Jo hums his agreement, tracing the lines of the shark’s teeth in white, sharp accents among the deep blues and greys. He thinks about how the shark, for all its ferocity, has to keep swimming to survive; he thinks about the way Yudai’s eyes burn with determination even during their long days and late nights. Jo thinks he understands, somewhat, the drive for perfection through repetition - Jo knows that it’s something he needs, to make sure he keeps up with the others and doesn’t drag them down, but for Yudai, it’s something he craves, a fire lit under his skin as he blazes the way ahead and pulls the group along with him, allowing them to coast just a little easier in his wake.
Tonight is another one of those nights when Yudai’s pull is especially strong - he’s rounded most of them up to go to dinner with him, trying to build that bubble of warmth and camaraderie that keeps them going through their busiest times. And for a while, it worked; dinner was a boisterous albeit rushed affair, and Yuma and Harua are still giggling as they step out of the restaurant, arms linked and whispering to each other with Taki not too far behind, trying to get in on the fun.
Jo is tired out from the excess of human interaction, so he brings up the rear, with Fuma and Yudai just ahead of him. He expects them to link arms too, like Yuma and Harua, anticipating how the tendrils of their soft golden affection for each other will lick pleasantly at his toes; Yudai is limping noticeably now, knee protesting despite their leisurely stroll, and Fuma extends an arm to support him, natural as breathing.
Yudai sucks his teeth, smacking Fuma’s arm aside and throwing him off balance. The residual buoyant warmth from dinner dissipates with an almost audible pop, dousing Jo with a deep chill. He watches as Yudai stomps ahead, tense with how he’s controlling his gait to eliminate his limp. Fuma hugs his arms to himself and tilts his head up to the sky, just for a moment, as if he’s trying to take one last gasping breath above the roil of the ocean. By the time he notices Jo walking behind him, the usual gentle spark in his eyes has been swallowed up, leaving behind a darkness that’s vast and deep.
His voice is calm, though, and maybe too still. “Cold tonight, isn’t it? Can’t even tell if the moon is out.” His attempt at off-handedness falls miserably flat.
Jo nods jerkily, and Fuma falls in step beside him. Jo’s limbs feel heavy, like he’s wading through molasses; an elephant tossed out to sea, struggling futilely against an inevitable fate. By the time he gets to his room, he’s exhausted, and doesn’t want anything more than to climb into bed and pass out. His sketchbook is still open on his desk - he’s used too many dark colours, ink still damp and bleeding into the pages below.
On principle, he keeps all of his drawings, even if he doesn’t like them; it’s a record of his progress, a reflection of his mood at the time, and in that way, they’re all precious to him. But just this once, he itches to tear this drawing out - he hates how it’s tainted the pages below it, hates how he can feel the stains not just on his fingers but on the whole group, inky obsidian twisting around their limbs and pulling the air from their lungs. He shuts his sketchbook more violently than necessary and shoves it into his drawer.
Crawling into bed, he closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, trying to remind himself that the darkness of sleep is not the one that’s making him drown.