Chapter Text
It's a cloudy day, when Jaemin steps out of the company car, manager in tow as he stares up at the building that would once again become his home. Dreary skies and strong winds, nothing like the welcoming warm weather he has been envisioning for the entire year he was stuck lazing around, suffocated by loneliness.
There's still time to go before the scheduled comeback. Heck, there's still time to go before Jaemin could really join in on practices. Vocal lessons and such, sure, but the gruelling dance practices they had to go through? No way. Not for a month at least.
The car door shuts. It's just Jaemin, his manager, and his suitcase. Jaemin would love to blame the slight tremble of his hand on the weather, but the bitter truth is that he's been away for so long he's worried he wouldn't be welcomed back.
Of course, they'd kept in touch. It's not as if a little distance could destroy years and years of friendship, the struggles they went through together and the moments of pure elation that they spent in each others company. It's not the individual friendships he's worried about, it's the group as a whole. He's not naive, he knows in the long months of his absence they would've found a way to mould themselves around the gap he had left. He's watched the content they've released; they functioned fine without him.
(More than fine, in fact, he bitterly notes, recalling the two comebacks they had had without him. The goddamn daesang they had won without him).
"Come on, Jaemin-ah," his manager's voice interrupts, soft and pleasant to the ears. They never lost the babying lilt to their words, not even after all the members had grown taller than them. Dream would remain eternally children in their eyes.
Jaemin nods wordlessly, and follows. He's been envisioning this day for an year now, replaying his vision of it over and over in his head, but now that he's actually here... he kind of wants to turn back.
Shaking his head, he steels himself. What is he thinking? Both his normal therapist and his physical therapist had given him the go, only monthly appointments required now compared to the previous weekly. This is his home away from home, after all.
Hopefully it will still be.
The first one to greet him, rather surprisingly, is Chenle, who throws his arms around Jaemin the moment he steps in. Jaemin stumbles a bit. Despite being stronger than before, the sudden action takes him completely off-guard.
From behind them, their manager chuckles, saying, "be gentle with him, Chenle-ah."
Chenle nods, hair bouncing from the force of his enthusiasm, and the manager leaves them at that.
Jaemin gazes down at the boy in his arms, pleasantly surprised by the sharpness of the once round and chubby face, cheekbones high and defined and jawline much more prominent. He had seen the selcas, sure, but seeing it like this, in real life is jarring.
"Hyung, I missed you so much!" Chenle cries out, comfortably resting against his shoulder. Once again, Jaemin is surprised, this time by the smoothness of the words that flow from his mouth. Gone were the long pauses between words and the stutters that would accompany, the chinese boy still unfamiliar with Korean. He sounds much more confident now, and Jaemin can't stop the strange mixture of emotions that burst within him.
He's too busy contemplating every feature on Chenle's face to formulate a response. Chenle isn't deterred by Jaemin's silence, however. He pulls away and tugs on Jaemin's wrist with the excitement of a little puppy. Jaemin follows along, endeared. Maybe he was overthinking on the ride here, and it would turn out fine.
"Were you waiting for me?" He asks, ignoring how strange it felt to actually talk to them.
Chenle doesn't comment on the awkwardness of his tone. Instead, he shakes his head and says, "I was just about to head out to get some food, actually. I lost rock paper scissors, but then you showed up! Manager hyung didn't tell anyone, which is why we—" he swings Jaemin around, guiding him to stand next to the door of the room Jisung, Jeno, and Renjun all share "— are going to surprise them."
Jaemin blinks, heartbeat suddenly erratic. Somehow, actually being inside the dorm made everything so much more real. He isn't just nervous now, no, he's terrified.
"Chenle, wait—"
The door swings open. Chenle saunters in, and Jaemin is left hiding.
He hears, over his pounding heart, Chenle chatting to them, proudly talking about all the food that he had bought, that he had left in the fridge and they would have to take out on their own. He hears the grumbles and groans, the shuffling of feet as they all get up.
He sees them invade his vision.
Jisung spots him first, observant as usual, eyes immediately darting to the shadowy corner he's tucked against. A split- second passes, where they just stare at each other.
And then Jisung screams.
Jeno and Renjun react immediately, whirling around, but Jaemin has no time to comprehend that as Jisung all but throws himself into Jaemin's chest, shoulders shaking and eyes tearing up already.
"Jaemin!" "Nana!" Twin cries from the two behind, as they too crowd Jaemin against the wall, enveloping him in a tight three way embrace.
His back hits the wall.
He can't breathe.
He can't breathe.
"Guys—" he hears someone say, but it's muffled, like Jaemin is wrapped in cling film and suspended in water, the limbs thrown around him a weight dragging him to unknown depths.
"Guys!" the voice calls out again, but Jaemin is sinking, and he wants to respond but he can't breathe, not when his lungs are being compressed out of existence.
"Guys!"
A sob breaks out of his throat. The restraints disappear. He drops to the floor, hands clutching for something he doesn't even know as he takes in heaving breaths. In, and out, in, and out like his therapist taught him. It doesn't help, not when he can still hear noises from above him, not when his legs feel too weak to stand.
Jaemin doesn't know how long he stays there, curled into himself. His body is tense, nauseous and terrified but he doesn't know why. He cant even register where he is anymore, He doesn't know when the others back off and someone helps him to his feet and guides him to his new room with Jaemin a dead weight against their side.
He shares the room with their manager, but more often than not, the manager isn't home so the room is quite bare. Someone has already brought Jaemin's suitcase in, but he's too tired to wonder who. It's as if the fight has suddenly drained out of him, as he slumps into himself.
"Go to sleep, Jaemin-ah," the voice soothes, lowering him into the covers.
Jaemin's hand flies out to grab the figure's. He tugs insistently, aware of his clingy behavior but too stressed to feel self conscious over it.
The figure obliges easily, sliding under the blankets and cuddling up to his side. Slowly, the ringing in his ears disappear, and the world starts to regain it's usual definition.
"I'm so sorry," he whispers into a chest more solid and less boney than he remembers.
"It's alright," a voice answers. And that's that.
When Jaemin wakes up, it's not the slow ascent into consciousness that he's used to, but rather a sudden jolt. He sits up as if shocked, heart pounding, hand flying to his chest. He takes a moment to calm himself and looks around the room, washed in a soft yellow glow from the rising sun.
He's not surprised to see Jeno lying next to him. His body must have recognized the touch of his best friend even through it's panic; Jaemin doubts he would've been compliant if anyone else had tried to help him.
Jeno is still asleep next to him, face highlighted by the muted rays of the sun. Jaemin stares at the way the light reflects off the new edges on Jeno's face, the masculine features that he finally grew into relaxed in his peaceful slumber.
Like a tidal wave, memories of yesterday crashes into him. His face burns in red hot embarrassment when he recalls his behavior, not as vivid as he hopes but rather a flash of blurred colors and overwhelming dread. That... hasn't happened in a while, honestly. Jaemin isn't a stranger to anxiety attacks, witnessing it both from himself and his fellow members, but panic attacks were a rarity.
When the embarrassment ebbs away, the guilt crashes in its stead. His friends had tried to greet him, and what did he do? He freaked out! What was wrong with him?
The nausea is beginning to return, and Jaemin knows he has to quell it somehow, so he quickly throws the covers off himself and marches outside. It's too early for anyone else to be awake anyways.
He runs through a mental checklist, listing out things he must do. Contact his mom, for she must be worried and lonely after he left. Do the stretches his physical therapist had asked of him, though that could take some time and he should focus on it later. And most importantly, prepare an apology gift.
Or, in other words, food.
Cooking has always been something Jaemin enjoyed, days of his childhood spent next to his grandmother's side, absorbing her teachings. His love only grew during his break, when cooking was one of the few activities he could do that didn't strain his body but at the same time felt rewarding.
Mind set, he rummages through their fridge, ready to pick up ingredients when a thought suddenly hits him.
Were these even his to use anymore? He has moved in again, sure, but... he doesn't know if any of the ingredients are reserved by a member, doesn't know if they would be mad, doesn't know if they already have plans for breakfast.
The dread creeps back up.
He waves it away. Those were stupid thoughts. He knows that they wouldn't have made breakfast plans without him, knows that everything in the fridge is his to use.
With that in mind, he begins to prepare, though the balance of determination and unease occasionally tips too much for his comfort.
He finishes efficiently, cleaning up as he goes, and taking extra care to plate everything beautifully. Kimchi jjigae ladled over steaming bowls of rice that he carries to the dining table with his heart feeling ten times lighter than before.
He moves to wash his hands and wipe the beads of sweat on his face when someone pipes up from behind.
"Holy shit, Jaemin, did you make these?"
Jaemin whirls around, towel clutched in hand, only to find Jeno beaming up at him.
His hair is adorabley messed up, and his eyes are puffy and tired, but his face is bright as he takes a seat at the table, patting the chair next to him.
Jaemin obliges and takes a seat, staring down at his own bowl of rice. He picks up his chopsticks slowly and eats tiny, bite sized pieces, a sharp contrast to Jeno who's practically inhaling the food.
They sit like that in silence for a while, only the sounds of them eating filling the room. Perhaps to Jeno it was simple, comfortable company, but to Jaemin it was just another reminder of the elephant in the room. Sooner or later, they'll start to ask questions, and he won't be able to answer.
He returned with the promise of never creating trouble for them again, not after the hell that was chewing gum promotions. And yet, it hasn't even been a day, and he's already started shit.
He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with the silence. He doesn't want to be the one to initiate a conversation, not when he's not entirely sure that Jeno isn't mad about the previous day.
Luckily, Jeno seems to get the hint, slamming the half eaten bowl down and flinching at the underestimated strength. He turns to Jaemin, eyes soft and smile subtle, and Jaemin knows he's going to try wrench answers out of him.
"I'm fine," Jaemin says, before Jeno can start, heart hammering in his chest.
Jeno frowns. Jaemin knows what he's thinking of; the countless nights were Jaemin parroted the same thing to him, ignoring the sting in his back. Whatever chances of Jeno trusting him, Jaemin had already broken it.
"Jaemin," Jeno starts, slow and considering. "We won't talk about it if you don't want to but..." he stops, biting his lips, visibly struggling with the words. Then, like a balloon that met a needle, he deflates into his seat with a great sigh.
"It's alright, Jaemin," he says, looking up at him with earnest eyes. "I missed you so much. We missed you so much."
Something grabs ahold of his throat; not the vicious grip of his self doubt and hatred like he was accustomed to but rather something lighter. Something happier. They had missed him, the same way he had missed them. This was what he wanted. What he was yearning for all that time, during the days he spent alone. Even if he ruined their reunion...
"I'm sorry," he echoes once more from last night.
Something in Jeno's face falters, but he collects himself in record time. He reaches out to grasp Jaemin's hands, food left forgotten, as he smiles with a smile that lights up his entire face. "Let's meet up with the others later? Mark hyung and Haechannie too. They've been blowing up our group chat, have you seen?"
Jaemin shakes his head. No, he hasn't seen. He's had that groupchat muted for as long as he could remember, the feeling of bitterness that would creep up whenever one of them would mention a schedule too much for him to bear.
Jeno shrugs at this. "Eh, it's fine. What do you say though?"
Jaemin nods. "I'd like that," he says.
Jeno beams, throwing his arms around Jaemin's neck, forceful in his excitement. And just as quickly, he retracts them back, eyes wide and terrified as they search Jaemin's face for a reaction.
Ruined it. Ruined it. Ruined it.
Jaemin ignores the voice in his head and throws himself at Jeno, snuggling into his best friend's warmth, inhaling the sharp woody scent that followed him everywhere. Even though Jeno has grown taller, more sturdier, they still fit together the same way they used to. His arms recognize the body it's pressed against immediately, and he relaxes almost instantly.
"I missed you too," he whispers, quiet, but from the way the arms around his waist tightens, he knows Jeno has heard.
Jeno helps him with his stretches, patient even through the most boring ones, keeping him company through mindless chatter. A bird has started nesting in one of the trees, a cat snuck up the stairs one day, oh speaking of cats, Bongshik has gotten really chubby lately.
Jaemin listens to it all, but he also keeps an ear out for the rest of the dorms, wondering when the remaining two would wake up. Chenle must've gone home last night, and Jaemin doesn't know if he's glad or even more worried.
The soft patter of footsteps make him pause. He looks up just as the door swings open, and Jisung stands there, a foot taller than Jaemin remembers, eyes wide and watery.
"Hyung," he chokes out, moving towards Jaemin, and as if attracted by a magnet, Jaemin hauls himself to his feet, meeting the young boy halfway.
Jisung is still slender, still folds himself into Jaemin's arms to fit under his chin, still fits in Jaemin's arms like the child he took under his wing back when they were mere trainees. His heart bursts with fond affection, and here, with Jisung in his embrace and Jeno watching over them with a smile, he doesn't know why he ever got scared of them.
Thinking of it like that brings back the unwanted guilt again, and he's just opened his mouth to apologize — because it's Jisung, and he's so young and so kind and would've been so worried — when Jisung pulls back and exclaims, "I'm hungry!"
Jaemin can't help the happiness he feels at that; Jisung had ignored the kitchen in favor of looking for him, and for someone so constantly as hungry as him, that actually did mean a lot.
"There's food on the table," he says kindly, ignoring the way Jisung's eyes widen a little because it's the first time he's heard Jaemin talk.
It's strange, he knows. He was always dubbed the mood-maker of the group before, always hyper, always boisterous, always ready to play with them. He wonders if their vision of their reunion included the Jaemin of one year ago, a figure that has long withered away.
He tries not to think about it, instead following Jisung to the kitchen and observing his face as he shoves the rice into his mouth, clumsy but endearing all the same. Jaemin smiles as he watches, and when Jisung puts his bowl down and leaves with a flimsy explanation of having to wake Renjun up, Jaemin ignores the pang in his chest.
He supposed they expected something like this then, if the lack of thank you was anything to go by. You don't thank people for things expected of them, he thinks, as he cleans up the mess Jisung left behind. He deserves this, for being such a baby and ruining yesterday.
Heck, it even extended beyond yesterday. Jaemin's absence would've thrown them into chaos, updated choreo to learn, more lines, and he feels horrible for it.
If making them food and cleaning up afterwards was what got him in their good books, he'll have to do it.
There was one day before debut that Jaemin remembers vividly. He and Renjun had snuck out to the nearest convenience store to get ice cream, coffee for Jaemin and strawberry for Renjun. As they slowly made their way through the cone, leaning against a wall hidden in an alleyway, they had looked up at the stars. Jaemin didn't see anything particularly interesting about them, but what was beautiful was the light that shone in Renjun's eyes whenever he talked about the night sky with a bright smile.
Jaemin had listened, happy to keep him company even if he didn't understand half the things Renjun said, and soon enough, the cone was gone, and Jaemin had wiped his sticky hands on his pants.
Renjun had stared at him, eyes trailing up from his fingers, up his arms, his neck, to finally settle on his face. Jaemin liked to hold eye contact with people, but here, tucked in an alleyway with only their hearts for company, he felt too vulnerable to try. Renjun stared as if he saw right through Jaemin's skin, into the bundle of nerves in his body, into his brain that kept him up every night, telling him he'll never be good enough.
"Jaemin," he had said, breaking eye contact to look back up into the indigo sky. "I like the stars because it makes me happy."
Jaemin had nodded, slow and confused.
And then Renjun had said the four words that would haunt him for days to come.
"What makes you happy?"
Jaemin remembers not knowing why his heart sunk at the question. He didn't understand the sudden terror that gripped him. He barely managed to stop his face from contorting into a frown, and forced a smile.
"Seeing other people happy," he had answered easily, fingers tapping the brick walls behind them, sticky skin coming back dirty.
Renjun had frowned at him. Because that wasn't a lie, sure, but it was never the truth either.
Jaemin remembers not sleeping that night.