Chapter Text
Martin had seen Keonho fall before. By that, he meant the physical action, not in the romantic way that may first come to mind. It wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence since Keonho, on a daily basis, was a ball of sunshine filled with way too much energy.
He was always running around, with a cute, mischievous smile on his face, but the younger one was incredibly clumsy. Most of the time, it ended in nothing more serious than a small stumble, maybe a scratch or a small bruise, followed by a whiny complaint about how the floor clearly had something against him.
This time, though, it was different. It had been during one of their many dance practices in preparation for their tour. Everyone was exhausted, wiping off the sweat dripping down their faces and necks, as they caught their breath during a break. Everyone but Keonho, of course.
He was still practising, running through a particularly challenging part from one of their choreographies. It was a part that included a spin. Keonho just couldn’t seem to perfect it. From where Martin was sitting, water bottle in hand, it looked fine to him, but even the slightest imperfection got under Keonho’s skin like a splinter.
Martin was about to call out to him—to ask Keonho to take a break and drink some water, so he wouldn’t feel too drained when they did more run-throughs later—when it happened. Keonho tried the spin once more, but it was unstable, and everything paused as he hit the ground before anyone could even blink.
Since Martin already had his eyes on the younger one, he jumped to his feet the moment it happened, rushing to Keonho’s side immediately. His heart was beating so loud, taken aback, in shock, that Martin could barely hear what was happening around them.
Before Martin could ask if Keonho was okay, he froze as he noticed how their maknae had landed on his hands to break his fall. Keonho, who had gone still for a second, blinked up at him before his gaze travelled downwards to his own hands. He maneuvered himself into a seating position, but Martin watched as his eyes never left his hands.
“Keonho?” Martin asked softly, like he was trying not to scare an already-spooked animal.
He crouched down, trying to get a better view of his face. The younger one was still staring at his hands, which were now trembling slightly. Then, Keonho tried flexing his fingers. The pain was evident on his face—Keonho’s beautiful, doe eyes now covered with a sheen of tears building up—a shudder running through his body, as he let out a quiet whimper.
“Are you hurt?” someone asked. Martin wasn’t sure if it was one of their members or a staff member. Everything felt muffled like he was underwater.
Keonho finally looked at Martin, meeting his gaze. He hesitated, and that was enough for Martin to be gently pushed aside as the staff and their manager surrounded their maknae.
He had been rushed to the hospital, and no matter how hard Martin argued, they wouldn’t let him go with Keonho. Some bullshit about how he needed rest and how they had a schedule and he hadn’t listened to the continued list of reasons. Even if Keonho wasn’t, well, Keonho, it made no sense for Martin as his leader to not be there for him.
When Keonho returned to the dorm that night, Martin was restless, waiting. The other members were also present, as their manager had gathered them all in the living room. Seonghyeon tried reaching for him, his way of asking if he was okay, but Keonho avoided all of their eyes, weakly shaking his head.
They were informed that Keonho had been diagnosed with fractures around both little fingers. While he was technically okay, he had been advised by the medical professionals to wear casts and braces and minimise excessive movement of both arms.
It took a moment for Martin to understand what that meant. The first thing he felt was a rush of relief, as dramatic as it may seem, that Keonho was alive and breathing and that he would be okay. Then, the words that followed kicked in.
Their tour. The one that they had been preparing so rigorously for. Minimising movement meant Keonho wouldn’t be able to dance. Martin immediately flicked his gaze back to Keonho, who looked so unsure of himself, and the worst thing was how quiet he was. He hadn’t spoken a word to anyone.
Keonho was sitting there, hands resting awkwardly in his lap, wrapped up and useless, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor. Every now and then, he would nod, like he was following along with the conversation, but Martin had never seen him so detached and out of it.
“Keonho, it’s not your fault,” Juhoon said first, his voice gentle yet firm in a way that didn’t leave room for argument.
Seonghyeon agreed, “Yeah. You’re still going on tour with us. That’s the important part.”
“We don’t have time to change the formations, so we’ll stick with what we have right now. And I agree, it’s for the best if you stay seated instead,” James added. “Think about this way, the less you move, the quicker it heals.”
Keonho nodded, but his unfocused gaze felt so distant. Martin wanted to say something. Anything. But the words wouldn’t come out right. They never did when it came to Keonho.
Their manager gave a brief rundown of what would happen next, how they would adjust, and what Keonho would and wouldn’t be doing. By the time they were ushered off to bed, it was late. Their dorm, which was usually lively and loud, was unusually subdued.
Martin lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He was tired. Exhausted. But sleep didn’t come because every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Keonho hitting the floor. The way he had looked down at his hands. The way he hadn’t said anything after.
The blond exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. He needed sleep to function, to think rationally. Their room was quiet with Seonghyeon quietly snoring in the corner, Martin unable to fall asleep, and Keonho… Martin could hear the rustle of sheets, the creak of the mattress, as Keonho tossed and turned in his bed.
Martin’s attention sharpened as he heard a small, frustrated huff leave him, like Keonho was trying to keep it contained. He didn’t know why, but Martin kept his eyes closed. Maybe it was because he didn’t want Keonho to feel watched, or because he didn’t trust himself not to say or do something if he looked.
Seconds, minutes, maybe even longer passed. He couldn’t be sure because time felt strange when he was this hyper-aware of everything. There was another sigh from the other side of their shared room, followed by the sound of Keonho shifting in his sheets.
Then, Martin’s breath caught when he heard footsteps. They were most definitely Keonho’s; they had lived together long enough for Martin to tell even without opening his eyes. They were careful, slow, like Keonho was trying hard not to make a sound. The sound got closer and closer until they stopped beside his bed.
There was a very long pause, to the point where Martin could almost feel the hesitation hanging there, heavy and uncertain.
“Hyung.” Keonho’s voice was quiet.
Martin opened his eyes, blinking to adjust to the darkness, until he could vaguely make out the figure of Keonho standing there in front of him. His shoulders were drawn in, his hands held awkwardly in front of him because of the bandages. From what Martin could see, Keonho wasn’t looking at him directly, his gaze fixed somewhere on his blanket instead.
“Yes?” Martin asked, keeping his voice low to avoid waking up Seonghyeon.
Keonho hesitated again. For a second, it looked like he might take it back, shake his head, laugh it off, say never mind and go back to his own bed.
“I—” Keonho started, then stopped. Martin felt something twist in his chest when he realised that Keonho would’ve been fidgeting with his hands right now if they weren’t bandaged. “I can’t sleep,” Keonho finally admitted.
It came out small, as if Keonho was embarrassed that he was even talking to Martin about this. The truth was that Keonho had done this before—particularly on nights when his thoughts got too much, when feelings sat too heavy on his chest, and he didn’t know what to do with them, needing someone to hold him while he cried—but it wasn’t his fault in the slightest.
Keonho always had trouble sleeping, and it was amplified after they debuted as idols. Their hectic schedules that rarely allowed for moments of rest were tiring, regardless, but with Keonho’s sleep paralysis, it was infinitely worse. He had come to Martin for this exact reason.
Though Keonho would never dare to admit it out loud, Martin knew that the younger one fell asleep faster, easier, and for longer when it was with him. He wasn’t entirely sure why—maybe it was the fact that someone had their arms around Keonho, unconsciously making him feel safe and secure—but if that was the case, then there was one thing he just didn’t understand, no matter how hard he tried to wrap his head around it.
Why him? Why was it always Martin instead of the other members?
It was no secret that James absolutely adored Keonho. Anyone could tell if they paid enough attention. The leniency, the small smile that crept onto his face when their maknae did pretty much anything, and believing in his skills even when Keonho himself didn’t. Besides, James was the strongest out of all of them, and the oldest too, so it would make more sense for Keonho to seek comfort from him.
It was similar for Juhoon, too. Martin’s same-birth-year twin wouldn’t even be here today if it weren’t for Keonho convincing him to join their company, and while he knew they had some sort of conflict in between, Juhoon has no problem whatsoever in openly admitting his slight favouritism for Keonho. Sure, the youngest loved to rile him up sometimes, but it could never erase the fondness in Juhoon’s eyes when he looked at Keonho.
Just thinking about Seonghyeon made Martin want to sigh. Unlike everyone else, he was the one who didn’t hesitate when it came to showing how much he cared for Keonho. The huge grin whenever Keonho looked his way, the way he was the first person Seonghyeon would look for in any room, and not to mention his inability to keep his hands off the youngest. They were all roommates; it would have been so easy for Keonho to pick Seonghyeon instead.
But this felt different. Keonho was standing there like he was expecting to be turned away. He was already preparing to retreat, as if asking was something he shouldn’t have done. Martin moved before that could happen.
“Come here,” he said simply, lifting up his blanket and shifting to the side to make space.
Keonho blinked, like he hadn’t expected it to be that easy, his mouth opening like a fish before he shut it. He climbed in, careful, slower than usual, like he was hyper-aware of the space he was taking up. Martin watched the way he tried to settle without using his hands, the awkwardness in his movements, the way he kept his arms close to himself like he was trying not to get in the way.
Martin’s heart shattered like fragile glass. He reached out without thinking, sliding an arm around Keonho’s waist and gently pulling him closer until there was no space left between his chest and the younger one’s back. He adjusted their arrangement, making sure Keonho’s hands were positioned comfortably and not trapped between them.
“Is this okay?” Martin asked quietly.
He could barely see Keonho’s small nod. “Yeah.”
Without thinking, his hand moved to Keonho’s hair. Martin’s fingers threaded through the soft strands, smoothing them back, then doing it all over again. He repeated his motion, feeling how sleek Keonho’s hair was now that the company had semi-permanently straightened his usual messy curls.
Before Martin had run his hand through his hair, the younger one had been tense. But as soon as he got used to the motion, he relaxed in Martin’s hold, the tension finally leaving his body. Keonho’s breathing evened out soon after, leaving Martin listening to the soft sounds of him sleeping.
The blond couldn’t sleep. Especially not when Keonho was right there, pressed against him, breathing slow and even like this was the first time all day he had been able to rest properly. Martin stared up at the ceiling as his hand continued to brush through Keonho’s hair.
It slowed eventually, the motion turning lazier, but his fingers continued to thread through the strands again and again like he was committing it to memory. Oh, how he wished he could have this every day instead of worrying when it would become nothing more than a memory—the weight against him was weirdly comforting, like he felt better with Keonho by his side, in his arms.