Chapter Text
asshole: hey
um
thanks for this afternoon.
Me: Why do you still have my number?
asshole: if you recognise me, u obviously still have my number
asshole.
i take my thanks back then.
Me: It’s … whatever.
I’m not cruel enough to leave someone by themselves when they’re having a panic attack.
asshole: yeah
anyway
thanks
Me: Don’t text me again.
asshole: fine then i WONT.
Home was … quiet, for once.
Yuta’s mother was nowhere to be seen, as was her boyfriend, so Yuta relished in the solace by grabbing some cup ramen and eating in the living room. The television was quietly glaring football as the evening dragged on, and yet Yuta’s mind was elsewhere.
Taeyong.
He hadn’t seen the male that bad since his anxiety was first diagnosed, when they were both twelve and Taeyong still had that childish belief that one day his father would come home, that his mother would smile at her two sons. The two had been at Yuta’s, Mark asleep on Yuta’s bed because he was sick and couldn’t stay home alone.
Yuta remembered how his mother had come up to tell Taeyong that she’s “really sorry, dear, but your mother won’t be home again because of work. She asked if you could stay here tonight, which I agreed to. You’re always welcome, darling.”
Yuta had watched how Taeyong’s face had dropped, his skin paling, and it had taken all of a minute before he was hunched over and fighting for air, grasping at Ms Nakamoto’s shirt as she tried to hug him close.
“I think it’s anxiety, Yuta,” she was whispering later, stroking Taeyong’s hair as he slept fitfully with his head in her lap. Yuta knew what that meant – his mother was a psychiatrist and was constantly fostering a healthy home environment surrounding mental illnesses. He looked down at his best friend, lips turning down in a frown, before up at his mother.
“Will he be okay?” Yuta had asked then, and his mother had reassured him that yes, he would.
Looking back on what had happened today, six years later, Yuta wasn’t sure his mother was correct.
“You okay, lion?”
Taeyong could hear Lucas’ voice through Mark’s phone, his voice easily carrying down the lines and loud enough that Taeyong – sitting next to Mark as the younger did his homework – could easily hear his words.
“’m good, Xuxi,” Mark murmured in response as he rapidly scratched down mathematical equations, Taeyong quietly watching over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind, however, reaching only to tug lightly at his older brother’s chair. Taeyong took the hint and moved closer, letting Mark lean back against his frame and continue working.
“Are you doing the English homework?” Lucas asked, Mark humming a “no,” as he finally finished the page and flipped it over to check his answers.
All correct.
“Doin’ the math homework. I’ll do English later –” Mark cut himself off when Taeyong prodded his thigh, sighing softly. “– I’ll do it now, let me get it out.”
“Okay, I’ll – what? Jaehyun? … Okay, coming! Sorry, cub, I gotta go! Call you back soon, I’ll text you first!” Lucas hung up a moment later, Mark slowly setting his phone down before glaring at his homework.
“You okay, Mark?” Taeyong’s words had his little brother curling closer to him, knees pulling to his chest. He looked troubled, and it struck Taeyong painfully that he knew he’d caused it.
“I’m worried, Tae …” Mark began, his voice quiet but steady. “You … you work a lot, and you do so much for me. I, God, I appreciate you so much and everything you’ve done, but sometimes I just … I want you with me.”
As he’d talked, Mark had shrunk until he was curled into a tight ball and his voice shook. Taeyong’s heart constricted and he couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around the younger male and burying his face in soft, brown hair.
“Mark … Markie,” Taeyong whispered and pulled his brother closer when he gasped a quiet sob, “don’t worry about me. Please. You’re – You’re so young, Markie, just enjoy freshman year with your friends and – and don’t let anything stress you out.”
Before he knew it, Mark was turning around to crawl into Taeyong’s lap – a second time for the day – and burying his face in his shoulder. His shirt soon grew wet around his shoulder from Mark’s tears, small body shaking in Taeyong’s grasp.
“Don’t worry about me, Mark,” Taeyong’s voice was steady, comforting. He’d perfected it over the last fourteen years, ever since Mark had been born and Taeyong had been trusted with the task of looking after his baby brother. “Let your older brother worry about you.”
It was nearing two in the morning, and Taeyong still wasn’t finished.
He’d finally made it through his reports, but his math assignment sat in front of him and he just couldn’t make his brain work.
All evening had been derailed from his usual schedule to console Mark – after both breakdowns in the council room, and then Mark’s second upset, Taeyong had spent the entire evening with Mark curled into his side as he ordered Chinese takeout and ignored the stir-fry ingredients sitting in his fridge.
After guiding a half-asleep Mark to his bed and letting the teenager crash early without finishing his English homework, it had been nearing ten and Taeyong had … so much to do.
Four hours later and he only had to finish these five questions to end his math assignment – a task given to him over the holidays and due in a week – but Taeyong’s head was hurting, his vision was spinning, and he felt like he was going to throw up.
He didn’t, thank goodness, but he almost fainted when he got up to go get some water.
“What’s the matter with me?” Taeyong murmured as he pulled open the fridge, pulling an unopened bottle of water out and downing a third of it in less than a minute. He felt his mind clear when he got something in his stomach, letting the cold of the fridge wash over him and liven him up.
As he stood there drinking, Taeyong looked around the kitchen and sighed heavily when a wave of nostalgia rippled through him – two-year-old Taeyong sitting at the table on his father’s lap as his mother fed him; three-year-old Taeyong running across the table to jump into his father’s arms, giggling loudly; four-year-old Taeyong standing on a chair to help his mother roll dough for Korean delicacies.
Five-year-old Taeyong sitting in his chair when his mother told him she was pregnant with his younger brother, his father holding her hand. Five-year-old Taeyong grinning widely as he jumped off his chair to walk to his mother and lay gentle hands on her flat stomach, leaning in close to kiss the skin over her shirt and whisper, “I’ll be your big brother. I can’t wait to see you.”
A soft smile tugged at Taeyong’s lips when he remembered his mother whilst she was pregnant, and how he had ‘stepped up’ to help. It had been so cute, his short and pudgy frame toddling next to his mother, helping her sit down and always keeping her company as his father worked.
He was content. He was happy.
Too bad it didn’t last long – Taeyong never knew what exactly had happened, but it began to break down months after Mark’s birth, when Taeyong would cradle his brother in his arms as his parents yelled at each other downstairs. He vividly remembered hiding under the table in the kitchen when he was almost seven, holding Mark to his chest and trying to shush him, as his mother screamed at his father in the living room. When he heard a large thump and “Lee Haeyoung!”, followed by a large crash – what later turned out to be a vase Taeyong had painted at school for his parents, crashing onto the floor when his mother had thrown it at the wall – Mark had screamed, and the voices quietened. Enough for Taeyong to curl around his brother and kiss his forehead, silently pleading through his own tears for Mark to calm down.
After that, his father was rarely home, and his mother was more and more distant until his father eventually never returned, and his mother rarely spoke to them. Taeyong learnt how to cook and care for a toddler at an age that was too young, and he spent more time with the Nakamoto’s than he did in his own home.
(When he accidentally called Ms Nakamoto ‘Mom’ for the first time, all he’d gotten was a sad smile in return)
It was past two am, and Taeyong could feel his breathing shaking as he shoved the water back into the fridge, shoving his palms into his eyes because he wasn’t breaking down for the second time that day.
It was past two am when Taeyong finally dragged himself upstairs and fell asleep, fingers tight in his blankets and tears drying on his cheeks.
Wednesdays were one of the best days of the week, in Johnny’s opinion.
After hugging his mother and father goodbye for the day, he was driving over to Lucas and Jaehyun’s – yes, Johnny can drive – to pick them up.
“God, shut up!” Jaehyun yelled, rubbing his eyes, as he opened his door and stomped out. Lucas followed, locking it behind him, phone pressed to his ear and mouth moving rapidly in conversation. Johnny beeped the horn once more, grinning as Jaehyun flipped him off and slid into the passenger seat.
“You could’ve woken my parents up,” he griped as he did his seatbelt up, Lucas sliding into the backseat. Johnny scoffed, kicking it into gear and driving off.
“Your parents are at work, don’t start with me. What’s the monster doing in the back?” Johnny asked, Lucas’ conversation background sound as he turned the car radio down.
“I don’t know,” Jaehyun whined, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. “He’s been talking to Mark all morning; they’re inseparable.”
Johnny couldn’t help but laugh softly at Jaehyun’s dramatics, reaching over to clap his knee comfortingly.
“At least he’s best friends with the captain’s young brother – imagine if he’d befriended some hooligan.”
“He is the hooligan!”
“Who’s the hooligan?” Lucas piped up from the back, phone now lying next to him and conversation with Mark having ended. “Is it me? Hyung!”
Sliding into his last class of the day – English – was always interesting because this was the class that he always got some form of entertainment out of.
This was the only class that he shared with Taeyong and Yuta.
Sure, Johnny had other classes with either one of them, but both at one time was a sure-fire recipe for both entertainment and disaster.
Taeyong was the best student in the whole school, consistently pulling the highest marks and generally being better than everyone else, but he always rose to Yuta’s teasing and they always argued.
Every. Single. Time.
Pulling his books out and tiredly smiling in greeting to his seat mate – Sanghyuk Han, a demon in pale skin and weirdly-tinted orange hair – Johnny watched as everyone trudged in. Surprisingly, Yuta was one of the first people; swathed head to toe in his usual emo garb, it wasn’t common to see him so early.
It was even more rare to see him earlier than Taeyong.
Johnny was confused, especially when Taeyong had raced in five minutes late, hair askew and cheeks flushed like he had a fever.
“Disappointing,” the teacher had droned as if Taeyong was constantly late instead of missing five minutes once, and the visible breaking of his expression constricted Johnny’s heart. He nodded quickly and slid into his seat at the front, ignoring the slight snickering from the back – (not Yuta, for once) – to pull out his books.
Johnny wasn’t going to be weird and stare at Taeyong, but there was something different about him – he looked exhausted. His cheeks were still flushed, and his eyes looked wet when he ran in. His hair was all askew, his skin pale, his eye-bags dark; Taeyong looked a whole mess.
What was even more surprising is that the entire lesson passed without a peep from either him or Yuta; the latter quietly writing in his book, actually listening to the teacher.
“It was so … weird,” Johnny murmured as he leant against Jaehyun, perched on the back of his car. Jaehyun nodded, eyes closed, as he slowly ate his ice-cream. They had driven to the nearby service station for some food, coming back to the school parking lot to wait for Lucas to get out of tutoring.
“What else happened?” Jaehyun murmured, voice thick with sleepiness and ice-cream.
“Nothing! They just, they were both quiet, and Yuta looked like he actually worked! Everyone was very …” Johnny trailed off, sitting up slightly to look at something. He jostled Jaehyun as he moved, the younger whining pitifully before cracking an eye open.
“Johnny, what gives?” he moaned, moving to sit up with him. Johnny motioned with his head, not wanting to give away what they were looking at to anyone else.
“Over there, Jae. Look – by the gates.”
There, over by the gates, stood Yuta Nakamoto and Taeyong Lee.
Talking.