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There’s something following Jeonghan.
It’s okay, though. He isn’t scared.
These days all his energy goes towards fighting the ache in his bones, the gasping edge to his breath. The way the room spins when his head turns too quickly.
If there’s something he can’t quite see out of the corner of his eye, hiding at the edge of the darkness —
Well.
Jeonghan doesn’t let himself worry about it.
He can hear breathing, heavy and rattling, the edge of a cough, and he’s supposed to be alone but he knows it isn’t his.
Jeonghan closes his eyes and waits.
The sound comes closer,
Closer, and then —
And then —
Someone slams the storage room door open.
Jeonghan heaves out a sigh, opens his eyes to find Chan staring at him, timing horrible as always.
“Manager’s looking for you,” Chan says. His voice starts out confident, but it falters when he takes in how Jeonghan’s sitting, collapsed against a pile of cleaning supplies.
“I’m not here,” Jeonghan says, not making any moves to get up. He’s not totally sure he can.
Chan stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending, but he doesn’t push like Jeonghan expects him to. He just stares for another moment before nodding slowly, like he’s coming to some great realization.
What that realization is, exactly, Jeonghan isn’t sure — Chan can be a little slow on the uptake if you don’t say things directly. Whatever it is, he backs out slowly instead of nagging, closing the door quietly behind him.
Jeonghan waits for Chan to send someone else in his place to fetch him — someone more comfortable challenging Jeonghan, or at least more likely to be able to convince him to cooperate.
But no one comes, and Jeonghan is so tired that his eyes start to flutter shut.
He gives up and lets them close, listens as the breathing that isn’t his comes closer.
“Where were you?” Seungcheol asks later, when Jeonghan slips back in with the rest of the group.
Jeonghan shrugs, and even lifting his shoulders takes so much strength. Seungcheol squints at him, looking closer, and Jeonghan forces a smile onto his face. The effort pulls his skin tight.
Jeonghan stumbles in the practice room.
Something wraps around the back of his neck, pulls him back up.
The lights flicker once, twice.
“Hello,” Jeonghan says curiously. “Is it you?”
The lights go out.
“Hyung? Hyung!” Chan’s voice is panicked, shriller than Jeonghan can remember ever hearing it. Jeonghan flails an arm out to smack at him, misses completely, and lets it fall to the floor instead.
“Hyung, how long have you been here?” Chan asks, voice urgent, picking up Jeonghan’s limp arm and rubbing at it to try to wake him up. He’s being a little dramatic, Jeonghan thinks, but then his eyes blink open and his vision swims, the ceiling swooping dramatically. Jeonghan snaps them shut again.
Maybe not so dramatic after all.
“I’m gonna get help,” Chan says. “Wait here, okay?”
That’s easy enough, considering Jeonghan can’t seem to make any of his limbs move.
Chan’s idea of “help” turns out to be Soonyoung, which seems … misguided, at best. Jeonghan watches Soonyoung gape at him from where he’s still lying on the floor.
“I can see up your nose,” Jeonghan remarks. Soonyoung laughs, surprised, but the smile slides off his face just as quickly as it had appeared.
“Hyung,” he says. “Can you get up?”
What a stupid question — of course he can’t.
“It’s okay if you need a break, you know,” Soonyoung says quietly, helping Jeonghan ease himself up until he’s sitting upright. Chan holds out a water bottle, the top already screwed off. Jeonghan feels brittle, and irritated with them for hovering.
He can’t hear it breathing when they’re so close like this.
His ears ring in the silence.
Soonyoung stays behind to practice more, and in the car on the way home Jeonghan pretends he doesn’t see Chan and Seungkwan behind him, their eyes flicking over to where he’s sitting as they whisper urgently.
Jeonghan ignores them, closing his eyes again. His hands are shaking with exhaustion. He forces his breath in and out. In, out.
In, out.
Something whispers against the back of his neck —
Something curls around the back of his neck —
Something squeezes the back of his neck —
Jeonghan’s eyes snap open —
The car stops.
“Jeonghan.”
Someone’s voice startles him awake. Jeonghan’s eyes blink open to find Seungcheol staring at him, eyes wide and concerned.
“Why are you here?” Seungcheol asks. “Did you fall asleep standing up?”
Jeonghan doesn’t actually know where he is, he realizes. He’s so tired he can’t remember at all. He blinks once, twice, and takes in his surroundings — here is the kitchen, apparently.
“Ah, Seungcheol-ah,” he bluffs, flailing an arm out to pat at Seungcheol’s arm, his voice as condescending as he can get it. “You should try it some time, hm? It’s great for your back.”
Seungcheol doesn’t respond — his eyes are caught on Jeonghan’s neck instead.
“Jeonghan,” he says slowly, reaching out to pull at the collar of Jeonghan’s shirt. “What is that? Are those — finger marks?”
Jeonghan slaps him away without thinking.
Seungcheol stares at him, eyes wide and hurt.
In his bed Jeonghan feels his tired heart struggle to beat, its rhythm wandering and unsteady. He can’t seem to fill his lungs.
He waits, and waits, and waits, and —
There.
The gasp that isn’t his, the sharp intake of breath. Jeonghan breathes now, too, in time with his invisible friend.
In, out. In, out.
In,
out,
There’s something following Jeonghan.
It’s okay, though. He’s always hated to be alone.