Work Text:
It’s a big empty house, a big empty kitchen.
His muscles ache something sweet.
His throat aches something bitter.
Taemin stares at him across the table. Empty bottles of beer distort the view. His eyes are sunken, his smile defeated.
His unspoken secret gets bigger and bigger.
*
They are supposed to be in 2004, wild-eyed and full of energy and dreams bigger than their little young brains are capable of dreaming.
The only pain they should be feeling are the blisters on their feet, the harsh words of an instructor drilling their lack of progress into their brains, the harsh breath of best friends next to them, older, wiser, trying to do their best to act as if they are not crying.
The balcony is dark and silent, he feels the midnight chill in his bones as Yunho Hyung smokes steadily next to him, elbows resting on the railing, pretending to watch a view too dark for anyone but owls too see.
There are cameras in their rooms, microphones and though they are closed you never be too sure, be too safe.
He takes a deep breath and lets the sour smell fill his lungs.
If he listens hard enough he can hear Donghae’s soft snores coming from the half-open door.
He will get cursed crazy tomorrow because of the mosquito bites he is sure.
“Are you OK?”
Yunho hyung had a panic attack today.
They all knew.
They also knew better than to speak about it.
They are pretending its 2004, before there was Super Junior to talk about, before his asshole maknaes ever came into their lives, before Jungsoo hyung lost all hope, before, before, before.
It’s exhausting to try and transform to another whole when you are too broken to begin with.
He can see Yunho’s fingers shaking, buring around the stub.
Hyung turns around and looks back at the room.
They can see Donghae’s body shifting in the dark, kicking the covers away because it's too humid for them, presenting his body as a whole ass meal for the bugs.
If this had been before, like they are really pretending to be, Heechul hyung would be sleeping in the empty bed next to Donghae.
If this had been back then, he wouldn’t be staying it this room at all.
Instead of him Jaejoong hyung and Yoochun would be here, smoking their lungs out to an early grave, giggling until they woke Heechul up, who would inturn wake the whole hotel with his shrieking screams.Jaejoong hyung would laugh and let Eunhyuk, Donghae, and Junsu hide behind him until Yongwoon hyung and Hangeng dragged Heechul out.
They were other people back then.
They belonged with different people too.
It’s no use to pretend otherwise.
Yunho hyung lets out a trembling breath.
Hyukjae tries not to think about those they have left behind.
*
It's his manager who brings in the news. They have about an hour at the shop before the recording. An hour is all they get at the shop before the recording starts. An hour is all they get to recompose their whole lives.
How easy it seems.
He wants to cry, but then one hour won’t be enough.
If he starts he knows he won’t be able to stop.
Manager hyung says that they have reached Heechul, that they need to be done with makeup in fifteen if they don’t want to mess up their schedule.
In the seat next to him Jungsoo hyung is staring up, deep into the neon lights as a noona lines his under eyes with a soft pink color, his fingers digging into his sweatpants.
He gulps, but he can’t cry.
They can’t be late.
“Hyung...” Hyukjae whispers.
Teuk hyung closes his eyes as the make up noona continues with a sharp stick of mascara.
“I will go after,” he says after a beat.
And it’s not right, they both know it. It’s not ok to be here, it’s not ok to be doing this.
Heechul hyung should come first.
He comes first.
A hairstylist starts pulling his hair, fingers sticky, slimy, the smell of chemicals nauseating.
He looks at Ryeowook, silently leaning against Yesung hyungs shoulder, watches as he whispers something and closes his eyes. Hyukjae pretends that someone isn't gripping his heart and twisting it in his chest, pretends as if the blood doesn't drip from his insides, pretends as if he doesn't want to take his place, bury his nose in a familiar comforting smell and forget why he even exists.
The manager comes back with a newly ironed shirt as Jungsoo hyung pulls himself up, the tears never falling, his make up porcelain perfect.
Kyuhyun and Siwon come and stand next to him, silent, pretending not to be concerned.
Waiting.
Pretending.
Ryeowook goes to hug Donghae, to shush him silently.
They all ignore the wet sound as Donghae is rushed out of the room and Hyukjae isn't sure if he should stand up or follow or let himself be sculpted into a doll as well.
Pretending.
That it's all right.
That they can keep going without it meaning they have stopped or can stop while ignoring that the world keeps turning around them.
A blood red sweatshirt falls on the floor.
Teuk hyung changes to the new shirt, white, pristine, innocent.
“Later.”
*
The ddeokbokki is could on the plate and the cola is not bubbly enough but something always brings back old promises. He can never bring himself to drink in front of his old friend, no matter how many years he has spent living with highly functioning alcoholics or had dinners with old men whose stubby hands reached a bit too far down your throat if you refused to take a shot. They always go back to their childhood when they manage to meet up between hectic schedules and life-changing scandals, then the pain very much there but it changes form, twists itself around more grounded concerns they can wrap their minds around.
He is a big mess of half fitting pieces of friendships, colleagues, and brotherhood, sometimes he feels like going back is the only way to escape from the multitudes of his lack of individuality. Then it feels like junsu can understand.
It's underwhelming and sad at the same time, that this is where their collective dream has taken them.
“I saw your show,” Junsu mentions offhandedly, playing with his chopsticks.
It's a futile question to ask which one, empty as the feelings between them, did you enjoy it? That he feels, would be an undeserved insult.
Of course, it is the show where they pretended Junsu didn't exist, pretending, rewriting, as if they are script to be changed based on the ratings.
“I will be on MBC next month," the words stumble out of his old friend's mouth, mixed with a panicked laughter and hot sauce, “times are changing.”
Junsu, who wanted this more than anyone he has known, the boy who taught him what it meant to be a singer, hasn’t been on a broadcast over a decade now. He can’t promote in a group anymore either. This is what has become of them.
Once they were closer than brothers.
Now there are whole continents they refuse to talk about.
He thinks about Tokyo and Jeddah, of Chile, of Shanghai and Busan and Rome. Thinks about telling Junsu all the cities he has kept to himself, thinks about revealing every bit of well-kept secret feeling that belongs to the person Hyukjae and not the idol Eunhyuk. Junsu would understand, Junsu would know the real him.
But what even is the real him anymore? Who feels what he really feels?
Junsu pouts at the empty bowl full of blood-red sauce and croaks at the ajumma for some new snacks.
No, they don’t need any soju with it.
No, they will be fine without any beer, he promises.
Maybe they won’t.
Maybe they are too old to keep their promises now.
But times are changing.