Chapter Text
Things had been stable, solid, unshakable. Everything, from their daily lives, was unmoving, unbending, and unscratchable. They were so good at reading each other and caring for each other that rarely did things fall through the cracks or get overlooked.
They had been tethered together since day one, or at least that is how it felt. Tethered, tied, connected, fated, all of it.
It was ironic -- not the funny irony, no, it was that dark irony like someone gifting you a dog collar the day after you had to say goodbye to your best friend. But it was ironic.
Being tethered.
When things first started, there was a rope tied painfully tight around each of their middles. A rope latched to each of them and secured somewhere above them, before them, at the point of debut. The rope was knotted so tight none of them could have untied them if they’d wanted. Only JYP held the scissors that could sever those ropes; he did; he tried.
Except the other’s reflexes were quick and determined. Catching the frayed bits of Minho’s rope. Catching the loose waves of Felix’s clothes. Grabbing hold of the fabric, the hair, their skin, anything to prevent them from plummeting away.
Now, of course, the ropes were gone, maybe they had become too complacent -- too assuming, too comfortable -- that those ropes might only be hidden.
They weren’t.
There wasn’t anything they could do. They tried -- oh how they tried.
A hiatus
It would have to be far too long.
‘Other groups have done that! Members on hiatus for years…’
‘Yeah, but...they normally leave anyway Channie…they might come back once, but it doesn’t last,’
‘Not all of them! Woojin not all of them!’ Chan had insisted again and again -- and each time Woojin looked more tired and more pained.
In the end, no amount of troubleshooting or thinking could solve the problem.
It was funny really. The group had always been so good at noticing when each other were struggling, that the remaining eight focused on each other so much they couldn’t actually see the problems arising.
Couldn’t see the forest through the trees maybe -- couldn’t see the damage through the pain.
For as hyper-aware of each other as they were, they were also oblivious.
No one noticed Chan’s lack of sleep.
No one noticed Minho’s constant movement.
No one noticed Changbin’s silent anger.
No one noticed Felix’s new found obsession with perfection.
No one noticed Seungmin’s sudden silence.
No one noticed Jeongin’s snappy attitude.
No one noticed Jisung’s lack of appetite.
Or if they noticed they couldn’t bring themselves to say anything.
The only thing they noticed was Woojin’s absence and their collective pain.
It was three in the morning, Changbin had left in a fit of anger hours ago -- furious that Chan planned on staying at the studio again.
‘You are gonna fucking die! Don’t you get that! You can’t just kill yourself!’
‘You don’t get to speak to me --”
‘What? Like I care?’ Changbin had practically screamed. His face had gone so red, Jisung was worried he’d burst, ‘because I do. So --’
‘Binnie,’ Chan was defeated now, no longer matching Changbin’s volume, ‘listen, we are all just -- struggling, alright? It’s gonna take time. We need to be --’
‘There for each other?’ Changbin’s words still boiled, ‘then why the fuck are you planning on working through the night again?’ he didn’t wait for a response, he didn’t bid them a good night, he didn’t look at Chan again, he didn’t even glance at Jisung. Changbin just grabbed his things with a flourish and was gone.
Chan sighed, it wasn’t defeated so much as tired -- spent, ‘he’s just hurting Ji Ji. He didn’t mean any of it. We’ll get through this.’
‘I know Hyung,’ Jisung mumbled quietly. Quietly because Chan was right, they would get through it. And quietly because Chan was wrong, Changbin meant it -- Chan would work himself to death if someone didn’t stop him, ‘I know…’
Chan had stopped after that and continued to work for a bit longer, before standing again. Clearly bothered by Changbin’s outburst more than he wanted Jisung to know, ‘I’m gonna go and check our usual rooms...make sure all the others are home and resting...then, uh, I’ll…’ be tapered off.
‘Go home?’
‘Yeah...yeah, I guess… You?’ Normally there wouldn’t have even been a question. You didn’t work later than Chan -- if he called it quits that meant everyone did.
‘No. I have a good groove going. I’m gonna work a bit longer,’
There had been no ‘make sure you eat.’ No ‘you should come home.’ No ‘don’t stay too long.’ Just a tired smile and a, ‘love ya Ji.’ muttered into the door as Chan left.
That happened at eleven-thirty-six. It was now three in the morning, and Jisung continued to scribble out lyrics -- maybe poems or perhaps thoughts would be a better definition -- in the solitude of their silent studio.
He hadn’t received any messages, not that he knew of anyway, his phone had been off since the morning before. No one had come knocking. No one had noticed.
To be fair of course, Jisung didn’t notice either. When everything started being discussed -- when the situation had really started to unravel -- he’d only just become accustomed to checking his blood sugar without a reminder and even then he still forgot some mornings. Normally, Jeongin would remind him with a pillow to the face -- or Felix would, forcing a spoonful of yogurt into his mouth before saying ‘hello.’
Granted, his current situation was not the fault of Jeongin or Felix. It wasn’t Changbin’s fault for storming off. It wasn’t Chan’s for being distracted. It wasn’t Minho’s -- it wasn’t Hyunjin’s -- it wasn’t Seungmin’s --
It certainly wasn’t Woojin’s fault. Woojin had been left with no choice -- literally, no options -- leaving was the only thing possible…
Jisung’s current situation was most certainly his fault. He wasn’t a child. He knew he needed to manage his blood sugar -- knew he needed to check it -- knew he needed to eat regularly. At the very least, he should have noticed the constant jitter that started wracking his body nearly an hour ago.
If not that, then he should have noticed the light pulse that ran through his brain. Or maybe he should have noticed the haze that had been expanding -- first in his mind and now fluttering about his vision. He should have noticed the growing numbness and confusion.
He didn’t. Blood sugar didn’t even cross his mind.
The clock on the wall read four-fifteen and Jisung stood.
For a split second, there was a moment of clarity -- a split second in which he recognized the problem -- a split second of utter regret.
For a fleeting moment, Jisung was aware of how dire this situation had just become. He would probably die here -- momentarily forgotten on the studio floor because of his own foolishness and the group’s grief. It was Sunday. Someone might come for him in a few hours -- far too late to save his life… He’d probably be discovered Monday morning; cold; stiff.
And then there would have to be another statement.
Darkness took his vision and brought him back into the utter oblivion he’d been hovering around before he’s mind formed the complete statement the company would write -- before he could truly envision the other’s reaction.
It took another moment for his body to go limp after his vision left. His mind had shut off before then, so he didn’t feel any pain as his body collided with the half pulled out chair beside him. Didn’t feel the cheap wood dig into his stomach and collar. Didn’t feel his nose bash against the blonde wood, certainly didn’t feel the sudden warm trickle of blood that ran from it. Jisung didn’t feel his glasses fall off, or the notebook slide onto him, or the floor he landed on.
*~*~*~*~*
Comebacks were rough, they always had been, and they only seemed to get harder as the years went by. That might be because they were getting older -- no longer the young group they were back in 2014 when they had debuted -- or maybe it was just because they were so much busier now.
Jackson constantly overseas. Mark and Bam Bam with their endless photo shoots and modeling. Jaebum was writing more often than not anymore. Youngjae seemed to practice more now than he did before they’d debuted. Yugyeom would be more famous than them all one day. All of them composing at times.
And Jinyoung himself was still deep into his pursuit of acting. Thankfully with the support of his members and friends.
Or maybe this comeback seemed harder because this was the first one in a few years that literally had them up all night. Sure they’d spent long -- very long -- days during their last comebacks perfecting the dance and recording but this was the first legitimate all-nighter that GOT7 had done in at least two years.
It could also just be that Jackson was with them, and therefore the energy was up by a hundred percent.
Regardless of the reasonings, Jinyoung was glad for the break. He needed water, maybe some caffeine, it was still too early for breakfast; four-seventeen if the digital clock in the elevator was to be trusted.
The hall was dark, which was to be expected, and the vending machines brighten the corner with their odd neon glow.
The other end of the hall was dark too, except for the harsh light beaming out from the small window a few doors down the way.
Jinyoung scowled concerned, this hall was almost exclusively used by Stray Kids -- Stray Kids who, according to Bam Bam, should not be working;
‘I swear Hyung if I so much as see a flash of Chris’s damaged blonde hair I’m gonna murder him!’ Bam Bam had ranted half-heartedly much earlier, equal parts concern and care.
“That’s definitely Channie’s studio…” Jinyoung mumbled wearily, pulling his phone out and clicking the button. It was four-twenty, so interrupting them seemed justified -- probably needed considering everything that had happened over the last few days. He pocketed his phone once more and with a small puff -- not really a sigh, he was too tired for that -- he walked the short distance.
The room was silent, but Jinyoung knocked anyway. Loudly, in case whoever was within had their headphones on. When no response came, he knocked again. When the silence continued, he craned his head and glanced through the window -- the room was empty. And he nearly turned and left without pause -- but the light bothered him.
The door was unlocked, the door well oiled, and it slid open effortlessly.
When Bam Bam had first mentioned Chris’s fears, first mentioned that Stray Kids’ member Han Jisung -- the loudmouth, soft-hearted, ace -- had passed out once and that he now had medication in case of emergencies, Jinyoung demanded all of GOT7 know how to help if needed.
It hadn’t been noble or caring really, it seemed like common sense. Most people know that cuts bled less if you applied pressure -- that bad allergies sometimes needed special medicine. So it was logical that he, and the others, knew how to help Jisung if the occasion ever arose.
Jinyoung never thought it would, however. Why would it? In what situation would Jisung be with anyone other than Stray Kids…
Yet here he was, “Jisung-ah?” he stood there for far too long, not unsure but stunted, before finally moving forward, “Hey, Jisung-ah, can you hear me?” he shook the unconscious boy harshly, unable to control the sudden spike of adrenaline that ravaged through him, “Okay...okay...there has…”
Jinyoung pulled away quickly, eyes darting around the room with unwanted urgency.
“Jinyoung~~”
“Seunie! Get your phone out!” Jinyoung spotted the shiny red plastic as he shouted, clumsily standing -- bumping into the table and a chair as he went for the box, “Jackson! I need you to call an ambulance!”
“What?!”
“Okay, Jisung-ah...it’s okay… Jackson!” Jinyoung screamed again, already shakily preparing the liquid.
“Jin--,” the words died as Jackson barreled around the corner, “Okay, yeah...911, on it…”
“Yeah...good,” the words weren’t really meant for Jackson. Jinyoung forced the shake to stop and carefully pulled the elastic waistband on Jisung’s sweats down enough to reveal his upper thigh -- after quickly reading the printed instructions. He managed to clean the area without shaking, and sucking in a deep yet shallow breath, pushed the needle into the spot and forced the liquid into Jisung’s thigh.
“-ow, but yes he’s breathing…” Jackson’s voice came back into focus, “We gave him one of his shots, yes. But I don’t think there is a second in that case -- might be one in the dance studio -- do you think he’ll need it before you get here?” he listened closely, “Yes. Understood.” he pulled away from the phone slightly, “Message the others and have one of them open the door for the EMTs.”
Jinyoung blinked blindly for a moment, “right…” he tossed the used needle back into the open box for the time being and messaged Bam Bam -- he was the last contact he’d messaged, “come on Jisungie....come on…”
Jackson stood, the phone still tight to his ear, and dashed out the door leaving Jinyoung alone again.
Shaking again, Jinyoung pulled his sweatshirt sleeve down past his hand and carefully wiped the still wet blood from Jisung’s nose, “Come on Jisungie, you need to wake up for me,”
“Jinyoung,” Jackson slid to his knees, his phone no longer on his ear nor in his hand. Instead, another red box, “They said, if he isn’t conscious in a few minutes,” he panted harshly, “to give him another dose.”
“Right...okay, yeah…”
The elevator dinged from the hallway and Bam Bam’s English increased in volume shortly thereafter, “I have no idea Chris. No, I told you I just got a message from Jinyoung-hyung...no...wait...breathe,” Bam Bam appeared wide-eyed, “shit...no not, it’s fine Chris…”
“He needs another dose. Jinyoung? You gotta move so I can do it,”
“What? Right...right,” Jinyoung pulled away and watched Jackson repeat the steps he’d done minutes ago -- how long ago? It was already four-thirty-six… where did the time go?
“Chris, I don’t,” Bam Bam seemed lost too.
“Give me the phone,” Jinyoung managed softly, careful to not get Jisung’s blood on the device, “Channie, it’s Jinyoung --”
“Hyung! What happened? Is...I thought he was home and,”
“Shhh. Deep breathes,” Jinyoung tried to sound calm, he was watching Jisung just like the others, “I found him in your studio on the ground. I don’t,” he faulted slightly, “I don’t know when he passed out, but we’ve given him two shots already and called for an ambulance, alright? I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
There was a devastating whimper through the phone and undesirable voices in the background, “Is he awake?”
Jinyoung’s silence clearly gave Chan an answer, because the next sound was just an ugly sob and more desperate voices.
“Hey, Channie. I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Jinyoung tried to sound reassuring, but it was hard. Beside him Jackson was stoic, one hand clearly holding tight to Jisung’s pulse, and Bam Bam, no longer a child but clearly just as unsure and scared as one would have been. And then in his ear the horrified sobs of Chan and endless cries from the other members, “I’m sure...he’ll be fine…”