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Sometimes, Jeonghan thinks that being alive is far too painful.
There are nights when sleep simply won’t come to him. Nights where he pulls Jisoo as close to him as possible; where he breathes in the familiar smell of his love’s shampoo and hopes that he will be able to get at least one moment of rest before the new day is upon them.
The pain doesn’t hit all that often, but when it does, it hurts . Perhaps once a moment, or even more seldom, it hits hard and fast and somewhere he’s not accustomed. Usually, there’s some pain that’s constant, like the dull ache in his fingers that sometimes grow more and less intense, like waves hitting rocks at the beach. Sometimes, when he’s danced too much or slept too long in the same position, a muscle will twinge for a few hours but be stiff for days after.
It’s when the sharp pain in his hip or back or anywhere else hits, that he pretends that the excessive dance practises led by the ever-energetic Soonyoung have taken a toll on him or that he’s had too little to drink. It’s when those times happen that his instincts automatically refer back to how he acts when he has really bad headaches— tired, annoyed and perhaps a little nauseous.
Some wicked part of him reminds him every time he stretches and some joint or bone creaks alarmingly that he’s far too ill to be an idol.
But he’s not really ill.
Not really.
There are times when the words don’t come, when he suddenly leaves the room between practice sessions to sit in the bathroom, back against the wall, one hand clutching the toilet bowl, the other one pressed against his mouth, muffling dry sobs. Occasionally, when he sits there, mentally screaming at whatever’s pushed off the edge, someone will come in to use the other cubicle. Sometimes, they notice that he’s in there, and they call out a greeting just as they leave again.
Jeonghan is known for being a bit whimsical; prone to getting caught up in his own thoughts and mind, so no one raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t respond.
When he eventually reappears in the practice room, panic attack either ridden out, forcefully pushed away or averted, he goes right over to his stuff and chugs whatever liquid he’s brought with him.
Then he goes back to the gruelling, painful, yet satisfying practice that sometimes manages to calm the tormented racing thoughts in his head.
It’s first when they’re back at the door that he starts showing signs of something being off.
Jisoo’s nice; digs his elbow into Jeonghan’s shoulder until the muscles forcibly relax and he’s able to stretch so that the rest of the tension can slowly bleed out of his back.
Most of the group doesn’t know about his fingers, how he can move them 180 degrees back to touch the back of his hands. But it’s a cool party trick, like how Jihoon can move his eyes independently of each other or Minghao can move his ears.
It’s late, close to the time where they should return to their rooms but aren’t quite up to it yet.
Jeonghan’s not so much participating in the conversation as he’s just sitting there, absentmindedly playing with Jisoo’s hair, gently scratching his short nails over his scalp, smiling softly when he receives those small content sights along with Jisoo’s head gently bumping into his hands, forcing his fingers backwards. He’s so accustomed to it; doesn’t notice how his fingers push beyond what’s normal until Hansol taps his shoulder.
“You didn’t do anything to your hand, did you?” he asks, and Jeonghan stares at him.
“No?” He says, slowly, reaching towards the coffee table to grab his glass of coke. “Why? Does it look swollen or anything?”
Hansol frowns and points. “Your fingers go all freaky when Jisoo pushes back against them.”
Jeonghan moves his hand away and holds it up in front of him, fully aware that he’s got twelve pairs of eyes on him. “Like this?” He uses his right hand to push one of his left fingers back, past the normal range, all the way until his nail touches the back of his hand. “I dunno, I’ve always been able to do that.”
“Woah,” Hansol says, leaning closer to inspect Jeonghan’s hand. “And it doesn’t hurt or anything?”
He shakes his head, blowing a few strands of hair out of his face. It’s a bit of a lie because occasionally, his hands feel like someone’s pierced through the bone with iron nails and then proceeded to drop a thick block of concrete on top.
“Not gonna lie,” Seungcheol says, also leaning forward, looking more awake than he had just a few minutes ago. “That’s freaky. Is it just your fingers?”
Jeonghan hums noncommittally, going back to pet Jisoo, who gratefully pushes back into his hand. “Dunno. Maybe. I don’t really think all that much about it.”
“Probably makes it even nicer to cuddle you,” Chan says from the floor. “If you’re all— floopy —would be easy to twist around someone like Jisoo-hyung.”
In front of him, Jisoo nods but doesn't say much. Jeonghan knows he’s tired— and he understands, he really does —because he’s tired too, ready to drop at any moment’s notice. “I think I’ll go to bed,” he says, breaking apart the vaguely uncomfortable silence that followed his display of weirdness. “G’night guys.”
A chorus of ‘goodnight’s’ follow him into the hallway and once they can’t see his expression any longer, the mask drops and the pain that he’s been hiding away for hours now, the one that’s been quietly pulsing somewhere in the middle of his back, is finally allowed to be noticed.
He manages to make it all the way to the bathroom where he keeps his thinks before it feels like someone's suddenly taken a nailed baseball bat to the middle of his spine. It’s so sudden, and so intense that Jeonghan can’t even tell if it’s panic or pain.
It could be either, he supposes. Well, he’s done all the preparations for bed quickly, like going to the bathroom and brushing his teeth and then he can go to his bedroom and— and—
And what? While there’s no guarantee that Jisoo will sleep in his room tonight, Jeonghan knows better than to hope for solitude, and so, as usual, he prepares to suppress the panic attack rearing its ugly head in the pit of his stomach.
He stumbles into his bedroom, tripping over a box on the floor, but doesn’t regard it. He needs to get the window open. Fresh air will help, will weaken whatever heavy is pressing on his chest, digging its claws into his neck.
He fumbles with the window latch for what feels like hours, distantly wondering what would happen if he stumbled and fell into the back alley. He’s in the upstairs dorm and it would be quite the fall.
The thought scares him.
Jeonghan doesn’t want to die; he loves life and he’s grateful for all the opportunities. And while, yes, his life can hit tough spots, he doesn’t want to end it all.
But then the voice, all the way at the back of his mind that sometimes just says these things, out of the blue so suddenly Jeonghan’s can’t grasp for the thread the thought was connected to.
He plants both hands on the dresser in front of the window, drops his head and coughs, unable to drag in any of the cool evening air.
He doesn’t notice the door opening behind him before Jisoo’s voice sounds behind him— calm, yet worried.
“Hannie-yah? Are you— are you okay?”
And he tries so hard not to break, but today’s been exhausting; the past month has been exhausting, and now he’s running on empty.
“I— Jeonghan whispers, tightening his grip on the dresser. There are rose thorns piercing his lungs, the petals gathering at the bottom, making a crackling sound as they accumulate. “No.”
“I’m going to touch your right elbow,” Jisoo says, and fuck, he sounds worried . “Then I’m going to turn you around and help you sit down on your bed. Just nod when you’re ready.”
His mind is muddy, floating sluggishly along with reality, desaturating everything non-vital. There’s a buzzing in his ears, a shrill ringing pitching in every now and then.
“You’re doing well, “Jisoo says quietly, calmly, a rhythm to his voice that doesn’t match the beat of Jeonghan’s heart or the speed of his breathing.
In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out. And—
He suddenly can’t breathe; his breathing lodges in his throat and catches on the ridges of his trachea. Pain explodes in his chest, almost as if he’d gotten shot at point-blank range.
In— in— and it doesn't get to his lungs.
In, in, in.
In.
In.
“Jeonghan?” Jisoo’s voice is quiet, inquiring.
The voice is shrill to his ears and something in him snaps.
“Shut up,” he hisses, doubling over and knocking into the dresser, gasping, clawing at his chest to get the thorns out of the tissue allowing him to thrive.
“Hannie-yah?”
“S-Shut up.”
Jeonghan’s not sure how he manages to articulate anything at all, but he does and then, once it just can’t seem to get worse, the pain strikes like a viper poised to attack. It hits both his hands, then his left hip, and finally, as if on an afterthought, his left ankle.
And just as he’s sure that the pain’s established itself, it flares and then everything goes numb as if he’s floating. There’s a hand in front of him, looking ready to grab and him and Jeonghan flails, smashing his left hand wrist-first into his bed frame, making a sickening crack sound through the room.
There isn’t even any pain registering in his mind, and he only pulls it closer, cradling it closer against his chest on instinct, dipping his head to let his longish bangs cover the tears digging red lines into his cheeks, puffing up the skin around his eyes.
He can’t breathe and the world is growing increasingly blurry. Distantly, he hears the door to his room open before closing again, wiping away the light from the hallway in just a second.
He doesn’t reach out because every time he’s had a panic attack, he’s dealt with it alone and— and now Jisoo’s left as well. Surely, he must have realised that Jeonghan isn’t worth helping; of course, he isn’t; he’s the group’s mom figure, always helping and taking care of everyone else.
It’s late, and they all have schedule tomorrow. Now he’s probably scared away Jisoo so all he has to do is calm down, get over it and sleep. His wrist hurts, but Jeonghan doesn’t have the energy to look at it.
He’s alone, trapped in a haze of pain and anxiety, breath caught in his throat, and just hen he resigns himself to the fact that come morning, he’ll be iced out by the other members and completely disregarded, the door opens again.
He tries to look up through the sheen of tears blurring his vision, through coughs and hiccups egging on the waves of nausea.
“Jeonghan-hyung?” Chan’s voice sounds in the bedroom, oddly shrill and piercing for something that’s probably no louder than a whisper. “Are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer, suddenly overwhelmed by the sharp yellow-white hallway light. It’s intense, light breaking through the tears in his eyes.
“Close— close the door!” he whispers, voice gaining strength. “P-Please, close the door.”
Several people file into the room, most of them keeping back, but two people come forward to sit down in front of him. They’re close, but not so close that Jeonghan feels immediately threatened by them.
“Jeonghan-hyung, you’re having a panic attack,” Chan’s voice says, and somehow that breaks the little resolve he’s managed to build up after Jisoo left.
Nevermind not feeling threatened.
Waves crash through his mind and he deliriously lashes out again, only to have his wrist caught by someone. He whimpers as the pain hits him and he tries in vain to yank it backwards, but it’s held firmly in someone’s warm, shaking hands.
“Leggo’,” he says, voice strained from the tears spilling down his face. “It hurts .”
It comes out almost like a question, but it seems to get the message across. Someone’s lit their phone flashlight and is holding it in the direction of Jeonghnas’ wrist. He doesn’t look at it, doesn’t want to see what’s become of it.
“Jeonghan-hyung, what would help you calm down right now?” Chan asks, hand gently placed on Jeonghan’s knee. “Do you want someone to hug you? It might help you ground.”
“J-Jisoo,” Jeonghan whispers, because Jisoo, even though he must be repulsed by him now, gives warm, tight, comforting hugs. And besides, he’s the most important person in the world to him.
There’s some shuffling, but then he’s wrapped up in Jisoo’s embrace, arms tight around his torso, a face pressed into his neck, even breaths brushing past his collar bones.
Chan and someone he doesn’t recognise (that’s weak , he should know his own members for fuck’s sake) are still grasping his wrist, whispering quietly between them. Jeonghan tries to not focus on that, listens when Jisoo starts counting for him to follow.
It takes almost twenty minutes for him to calm down and by the time the fuzziness leaves his head, only to be replaced with a throbbing heaviness, the pain in his wrist is more than distracting.
“Seungcheol-hyung?” Chan calls out and Jeonghan hears steps but doesn’t find the willpower to look up and face their group leader.
“I think we need to take a trip to the hospital,” Seungcheol says, worry only now slipping into his voice. Jeonghan musters up the courage and looks up to see Seungcheol, who smiles. Someone’s turnt on his bedside lamp and removed the harsh light from what he now recognises as Jun’s phone. Which means that Jun had been one of the people holding his wrist securely.
Go figure; he should have known that Jisoo would have gotten Chan and Jun, they’ve both seen their share of panic and anxiety. They know how to deal with it better than Jisoo, probably.
“Hey, Jeonghan-ah?” Seungcheol says, crouching down in front of him, disregarding that Jisoo is still playing reverse backpack on Jeonghan, crushing him in the perfect way that’s just tight enough. “Seems like the ‘95-line has to go on a late-night excursion to get your wrist looked at. Is that okay?”
Jeonghan suddenly feels very tired , eyelids drooping, but he nods and lets the combined strength of Jisoo and Seungcheol pull him up on his feet.
Junhui hovers in the door frame to Jeonghan’s bedroom as Seunghceol and Jisoo help Jeonghan put on a jacket and shoes. Jeonghan wants to apologise, wants to say sorry for suddenly causing so much drama when all of them are tired and exhausted like him. But the words won’t come, stuck somewhere in his chest.
They have a car all of them can use and there’s not even a question when Jisoo pulls him into the back seat while Seungcheol gets into the driver’s seat. Jeonghan just wants to sleep, but more than that, he wants to talk, spill all those feelings he’s had to keep bottled up recently. The sudden pain in his joints, the anxiety keeping him up at night, the scar tissue on the inside of his mouth from when he’s bitten into the flesh hard to ground himself with the pain.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice unnaturally steady from someone who has just had a panic attack and is on the way to the hospital to check out an injury. “This all escalated very quickly.”
Seungcheol doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but he nods, waiting for Jeonghan to continue. Jisoo runs his hand through Jeonghan’s hair, scratching lightly like Jeonghan had done to him earlier in the evening.
“I— have anxiety,” Jeonghan says, laughing weakly. “I guess every idol does. I feel scared and overwhelmed for no reason and sometimes it just kicks off and I— freak out.”
His wrist throbs and his head feels sore and he really wants nothing more than to cuddle with Jisoo but this is important. He can sleep in a bit.
“I’m sorry, Joshuji,” he says, feeling like he needs to get this out before any explanation can take place. “When you left— I thought you hated me, that you felt disgusted by my sudden lack of control, and I understand if you do— it’s— I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Jeonghannie,” Jisoo says, pressing a series of kisses to whatever part of him he can easily reach. “Nonono— I know that both Junnie and Chan deal a lot with anxiety and I wanted you to get the best help you could. I didn’t want to see you suffer and— I wasn’t trying to run away from you or anything. I just went to get help.”
Jeonghan nods; logically he knows, but he needed that reassurance to calm himself. He sighs and glances down at his wrist that’s been wrapped in a kitchen towel and an ice pack, hastily secured with an ace bandage. He’s been through worse before. Being an idol that trains and runs all over stages is bound to lead to a few disasters. But somehow, this is worse, because this injury encompasses his loss of control over his anxiety. He’d lashed out at Jisoo. And even though Jisoo’s forgiven him, understood that he couldn’t really control it, Jeonghan can’t help but feel guilty about it.
“You know how I showed you earlier? How my fingers act weird?”
Jisoo nods against him, breath a comforting gust of wind against his neck.
“It hurts me sometimes,” he says slowly, the Korean suddenly feeling thick in his mouth, even though it’s the only language he really knows apart from some really mangled Japanese and the few words of Mandarin or English he’s picked up from Jisoo, Hansol, Minghao and Junhui. “Not always and it rarely interferes with my work, not more than sore muscles do, anyway. But sometimes it can make me feel really stiff or unstable on my feet or just really fatigued, which is why it seems like I'm always sleeping while I’m really trying to conserve energy— I’ve been bottling this all up for so long, but it isn’t even the pain that’s the issue. It’s when it triggers my anxiety so badly and I have to keep it together in front of the kids because I don’t want to worry them, and— and I just want someone to know,” he finishes lamely, too exhausted to even feel emotional about his confession. But one more thought lingers on his mind. “I don't want this to change anything— I just don’t want to be all alone about this anymore and I guess you two are the ones I should tell since, like, I don’t want to worry the kids but— you— yeah.”
He inhales, holds it, exhales and ignores the prickly feeling in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise, Hannie-yah,” Jisoo says quietly. “It’ll be okay; we don’t blame you and I don’t think anyone else will either.” He pauses and Jeonghan’s heart seems to skip a beat. “We should maybe figure out something to tell the kids, though. Perhaps a half-truth. Like, you were exhausted and a bit stressed and then you accidentally hurt yourself and it was just a bit too much. We’ll figure it out. I love you.”
“Yeah,” Jeonghan says slowly. He’s sluggish, ready to fall asleep, and with Jisoo’s fingers running through his hair, he does.
They’re back home first when the first rays of sunshine hit their dorm. He’s fallen asleep twice; once in the car on the way back, and on the way back home again.
They don’t really go to the hospital unless it’s an emergency, for the fear of being recognised, but this— understandably, had classified as one. They’d been lucky and be able to be put in a room right away, as being recognised there would have been a disaster not only for the company but also for Jeonghan’s mental state. He doesn’t really want to be recognised, never mind being taken pictures of when he’s that far gone mentally.
It’s a sprain. Jeonghan hadn’t picked up all of it, too busy clutching Jisoo’s hand with his uninjured one in an attempt to keep the anxiety and exhaustion at bay. Something about grade 2 sprain and a healing period of anywhere between three to eight weeks, depending on his own personal healing speed. Instructions about not using his hand to do anything at all, despite it being in a splint, forcefully keeping the joint at a neutral angle. He’s clutching a bag containing a pack of painkillers and a pack of anti-inflammatories when he drags his feet into the living room, intending to just pass through it so he can drop off the medicine in their designated cupboard. What he finds waiting for him, however, isn’t what he expects.
The rest of their group are all sitting, in pyjamas, with blankets bunched around their legs, looking up at him as he stumbles in, faces solemn. He stops and stares at them. They have schedules in like four hours, and here they are, looking like they haven’t gotten a wink of sleep all night.
“What—” he says dumbly. “What are you doing here? You’re meant to be sleeping. It’s like five in the morning.”
“We were waiting up for you,” Hansol says. “It— when you suddenly left, you and Jisoo-hyung and Cheol-hyung, we got worried because nobody told us anything and initially Jun-hyung didn’t want to tell us anything either, but we gathered that something had happened because we heard some commotion from your room and then you were suddenly gone."
"Oh," Jeonghan says. "Well, I— thank you. That really means a lot. I'm glad I have such caring members, although you are all idiots for staying up when you all have schedule in just a few hours."
"Actually," says Seungcheol's voice from behind him and Jeonghan turns to face him and Jisoo. "I managed to text manager-hyung and explained the situation. We have today off, but we go back to normal tomorrow."
"Jeonghan-hyung?" Hansol says, grabbing Jeonghan's attention again. "What— what happened?"
Jeonghan bites his lip but decides that honesty might be best. Well, a half-truth anyway. He trusts Jun and Chan to not explicitly tell the rest what had actually happened. Jeonghan’s not sure he’s emotionally stable enough for that.
“I’ve been really tired recently,” he says slowly. “It got a bit much and I accidentally hurt myself on my bed. That’s it. I got dizzy, a little overwhelmed, y’all know how it is, and hurt myself.” He holds up his hand, shakes it to get the sweater away from the splint. “And now I’m stuck with this and a bunch of pills for a while.”
“But you’ll be okay?” Minghao says from where he’s cuddled up against Junhui, eyes dropping from exhaustion.
"Yeah," Jeonghan says, smile sneaking into his features. "But you should all go to bed now. No buts. Beauty sleep is important, even for constantly handsome people like the ten of you.”
A few of the members grind out a weak laugh and get up, huddled into blankets or clinging to a pillow or plushie, because while they’re all professional adults, their apartment is packed with stuffed toys of various kinds, some having being gifted to them at fan meets and some being bought— or brought from home on their own accord.
Jisoo comes up behind him and places a hand at the small of his back, underneath his shirt, tenderly caressing the soft skin there. “Will you be okay?” he asks softly, before continuing. “If you want to be alone tonight, I understand. It’s been a long night.”
“No,” Jeonghan says, leaning back to let his head gently touch Jisoo’s. “I’d like you to be there with me. After all, it’s like Channie said, I’m probably good to cuddle for being all ‘floopy’.”
The sun’s shining in through his bedroom window when they finally lay down to sleep twenty minutes later, but with how exhausted they are, it doesn’t seem to matter that the room is bathed in a bleak gold. Jisoo’s a warm and steady presence against his back, trapping him in a comforting embrace that nothing could possibly break through.
He slips into unconsciousness, succumbing to a warm and hazy place with his fingers curled around Jisoo’s wrist.