Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts as Jeongin is leaving JYP with Seungmin and Jisung. It's been an easy day, as they go - a meeting, some vocal training, choreography blocking. He's spent the last couple of hours helping out with guide vocals for Jisung's latest track and messing about in the music room. It might, Jeongin thinks, be the most relaxed work day he's ever had. He swings his water bottle in his hand, listening to it slosh rhythmically as he walks.

The wave of dizziness takes him completely by surprise. 

They've just left the main doors and are heading for the gate when Jeongin feels suddenly like he's going to be sick, the world lurching underneath him. His legs go weak and he stumbles heavily to one side. Crashing straight into Seungmin is the only thing that keeps him from falling. 

"Innie." Seungmin's voice is sharp, startled. Jeongin feels himself be grabbed around the waist and hauled a few feet over, directed to sit on a low wall. 

A hand tugs down Jeongin's face mask, and he realises he's closed his eyes. He breathes deeply, holding tight to Seungmin's arm.

"IN-ah?" Jisung says. "Are you ok? What's going on?"

"Sorry, sorry," Jeongin says breathlessly, "just - I just got dizzy for a second. I'm ok. It's going away."

It is; after a few more seconds leaning heavily on Seungmin and breathing deeply, Jeongin blinks his eyes open. Nothing's spinning any more, and the nausea has mostly ebbed away. 

"Sorry," he says again. "I'm fine."

"You almost passed out," Jisung says dubiously. He's crouching in front of them, one hand on Jeongin's knee, the other clutching his phone. "You’ve gone white. You collapsed."

"I didn't collapse."

"You literally did," says Seungmin, pinching his side, but it's more of a hug than anything else.

Jeongin accepts the water bottle Seungmin shoves into his hand and sips it. "I swear I feel fine now."

He really does - a little disconcerted, maybe, sort of anxious with all their attention on him - but fine. Not even nauseous any more. 

Jisung insists on calling a car to take them home, playing the hyung card when Jeongin tries to insist harder that he can walk, and Seungmin wraps an arm around him to walk him into the dorm, holding on tighter when Jeongin tries to shrug him away.

They frogmarch him into the living room and Seungmin pushes him down on the couch next to Chan. Their leader gives him a look, setting his laptop aside.

"Innie? What's wrong?"

Jeongin must look sulkier than he thought. He opens his mouth to respond, but Jisung beats him to it. 

"He passed out on the way home."

"I did not ," Jeongin says, over Chan's startled noise and Hyunjin's horrified What? from somewhere in the kitchen. Everyone in the room is looking at him now and he shrinks even further into the couch, ducking his head. "I got dizzy for five seconds; they're overreacting."

"You would have collapsed to the ground if Seungmin hadn't caught you," Jisung argues.

Chan squeezes Jeongin's shoulder and then puts a hand up to feel his forehead. "Are you feeling ok, aegi? You're a bit pale."

"I'm fine, hyung," Jeongin says. He can hear the whine in his voice. He has a love-hate relationship with being called aegi; he can't deny that when he is feeling sick or hurt or sad, it makes him feel better, but right now it just makes him feel like they think he's a child.

"I promise," he says firmly. "I just got dizzy and lost my balance. It went away basically straight away."

"Ok," Chan says. He lets go of Jeongin's shoulder to pet through his hair, instead. "Come tell me if it happens again, yeah?"

Jeongin nods shortly, and escapes to his room so everybody will stop staring. 

When it happens again, he doesn't tell Chan. He means to - or he thinks he does, but even thinking about saying Um, I felt dizzy again makes him squirm, and they have dance practice, and it goes away almost as quickly as the first time.

It's been three days, and Jeongin's tired. They've been shooting a video and now they're straight back into work, so it's less weird to him that he might be feeling off, but it's no less scary. They're having a break from dancing and he's escaped to the bathroom - by himself, no matter what Changbin calls after him into the hallway.

Jeongin's just washing his hands when it happens again. The rush of nausea has him hunching over, sure he'll throw up, but instead the floor disappears from underneath him and he feels his hands slide along the sink. This time, he'll concede, it probably does count as actual passing out, because there's at least a couple of seconds of total blackness, and when he opens his eyes he's lying on the floor, the side of his head aching a little where he must have smacked it.

He grips the sink and gingerly pulls himself up. Just like last time, the nausea's going away as he breathes deeply, and it's only a few seconds before he can stand on wobbly legs. 

Their manager is in the dance studio when he gets back, derailing his half-formed plan to go tell Chan. Jeongin feels physically fine but a little shaky and anxious, so instead of going to Chan, he sits down near Hyunjin, and waits. A second later - possibly not even that - the older boy has hauled him into his lap. Jeongin sinks gratefully into the cuddle, shuffles to get comfortable and then lays his head down on Hyunjin's shoulder. 

"Hi, Innie-ah. Are you ok?"

Hyunjin speaks quietly - for all he's the most dramatic person Jeongin's ever met, he's sensitive, and he can be discreet when he needs to. Jeongin worms a little closer and nods into his neck. 

"Mm. Headache," he says, and it's not a lie, his head does hurt. It's an omission, though, a pretty big one, and he feels guilty about it as Hyunjin hums sympathetically and cuddles him in.

It keeps happening. No one has caught him yet, but two weeks later and it's almost once a day, so it's only a matter of time. Jeongin starts to feel sick at other times, too, the nausea lasting even once the dizziness has passed, and an ever-present, low-level fatigue that he can't shake. He's anxious all the time, too, worried that it'll happen with people around, or worse, cameras, or that next time he'll fall from a height or hit a wall or something and really hurt himself. 

By the third time he's woken up on the floor, he starts to worry that there's something really, truly wrong with him, and he's almost ramped himself up into a panic attack when someone calls his name from elsewhere in the dorm. Jeongin takes a deep breath and forces the anxiety away. Later. He can be upset later. 

The others have clearly noticed something is wrong. Jeongin knows he's being quiet, and the members aren't stupid. Everyone's being very gentle with him. Jeongin's both grateful and exasperated. 

Nearly three weeks to the day since the first dizzy spell, he slumps against the window in the car on the way home. He wants to sleep for a week.

Someone tugs on his sleeve - Minho, sliding into the seat next to him. He doesn't say anything, but tucks his arm around Jeongin and rearranges them until Jeongin's leaning against his chest. Jeongin shuts his eyes, and falls asleep to Minho's fingers sifting gently through his hair. 

He half wakes up to find himself being guided out of the car and manoeuvred onto Minho's back, someone else's hands at his waist to help, a third person taking his bag from him. Jeongin wants to protest, but he's so tired and he feels so sick and he's pretty sure he narrowly avoided cracking his head open when he collapsed near a table today, so he pushes his face into Minho's neck and goes back to sleep. He wakes again when he's gently deposited on his bed. Someone takes off his shoes. The blankets are tucked in around him, and lips press lightly against his forehead.

"I'm so worried about him," a voice whispers, but Jeongin's not awake enough to work out whose.

Jeongin's practically already moving by the time he wakes up, finding himself just conscious enough to scuttle into the bathroom and drop to his knees to throw up. He has no idea what time it is - the dorm is quiet, when he can pause between retches to listen, and everything's dark, so he assumes it's late enough for everyone to have gone to bed.

He heaves again, trying to be quiet and not cry, but barely manages either. Black spots fleck his vision as he's sick a fourth time, basically just water and bile as it's been a while since he ate anything. His throat burns. His head is throbbing. He drops it onto his elbow, curled up into a little ball between the toilet and the bathroom counter.

There's a soft knock on the bathroom door. "Innie? Is that you?"

Jeongin breathes deeply until he's sure he's not going to throw up again right this second, and then leans over to flush the toilet and grab some tissue to wipe his mouth. "Yeah."

"Are you ok? Can you let me in?"

It's Jisung, presumably having woken up when Jeongin staggered out of the bedroom at a run. Jeongin reaches over to open the door - he doesn't even remember locking it - and slumps back.

"Hey," Jisung says gently, dropping down by his side. "Are you ok? Are you sick?"

Jeongin nods, because there's no point lying now that he's actually been caught throwing up. He feels awful, and there are tears on his face, and his stomach is still rolling. Jisung strokes some of the sweaty hair back from his forehead - his fingers are cool, and it feels amazing.

"I'm sorry," Jisung says. "Let me get you some water, ok? I'll be back."

Jeongin nods again. He tries to stay still while Jisung is gone, but his stomach lurches and he has to hunch forward to throw up again. 

"Ai, Innie." Jisung hurries back in and Jeongin feels hands on him, rubbing soothingly at his back and his waist. 

"It's ok, you're ok," Jisung mutters. 

Jeongin's not so sure. He leans back against the counter, shivering and sipping carefully at a bottle of water while Jisung flushes the toilet and fusses at his hair. He fetches his toothbrush and toothpaste, too, although Jeongin draws the line at letting him brush for him.

"Well gosh," Jisung says. "Hyung knows when he's not wanted. The ingratitude in young people these days!"

He keeps rambling while Jeongin brushes his teeth and drinks more water. His voice is animated but his hands gentle and caring, and Jeongin leans into the touches to show his appreciation. 

"Are you done, do you think? Do you want to come back to bed?"

Jeongin nods, allowing Jisung to scoop him up off the floor. His head throbs again, and he hears himself make a faintly embarrassing whimpering noise. Jisung wraps a supportive arm around his waist and leads him out into the hall, but they've only made it halfway when Jeongin feels a familiar lurching sensation and clutches at the older boy's shirt. 

"Hyung, 'm'gonna pass out," he slurs. Jisung swears, tightening his grip, and guides them carefully down to the floor. He makes Jeongin lie down on his side, one arm curled up to support his head.

"You're ok," he says again. "Just keep breathing, Innie. I'm just gonna get someone else to help me take care of you. You can't pass out while you're lying down, ok? You'll be alright."

Jeongin closes his eyes and tries to obey, but he's scared. He hates passing out, and he's alone now, and everything's strange and he's cold, and he's pretty sure he's crying now, as if this wasn't embarrassing enough.

"Hey, Innie, hey, it's ok." Chan. Chan's hands are on him, rubbing soothingly at his hip, sifting back his hair to feel his forehead. "You ok? Can you look at me?"

Jeongin drags his eyes open. Chan is crouching in front of him, Jisung just behind. Someone's turned the hall light on, and it makes Jeongin squint.

"Hi, aegi," Chan murmurs. "We're going to get you sitting up, ok? And then we can get you back to bed."

Jeongin closes his eyes again and lets them manhandle him upright. Jisung makes him put his head between his knees for a while, which sort of helps, but his legs still buckle the second they get him standing. 

"Ok, ok," Chan says in English, and then, "it's ok, Innie, I'm going to carry you, alright?"

Jeongin clings weakly around Chan's neck as he's lifted, and then lets himself sag against his chest. For the second time that day (night? he doesn't know), Jeongin's carried to his bed, only this time he's awake to see Chan sit down on the edge and brush a hand over his hair. 

"Hannie is bringing you the bucket in case you're sick again," Chan says gently. "I'll get you the day off tomorrow, ok? More if I can. You just rest."

He keeps talking, but Jeongin can't follow any more. He closes his eyes against the pain in his head, and everything fades away.

It's light when he wakes - bright, mid-morning light, and the dorm is very quiet. Jisung's bed is empty and Jeongin wonders briefly, anxiously, if they've left him alone, until movement on the floor catches his eye. 

Hyunjin is sprawled out on top of some of the couch cushions, his face buried in a pillow and one of his arms stretched up towards the bed. Jeongin shifts, reaches for the hand, and tangles their fingers together. 

Hyunjin hums, squeezing Jeongin’s hand. His eyes blink open and he rolls onto his back, squinting as he smiles. 

"Hi, Jeonginnie." He pushes up onto his elbows and then hauls himself up to sit on the edge of Jeongin's bed, brushing his hair back to feel his forehead like Chan did the night before. "How are you feeling?"

Jeongin shrugs one shoulder, embarrassed. If Hyunjin is here it means someone asked him to stay, which means everyone knows what happened last night, and everyone's been talking about him being sick. 

"Don't hide," Hyunjin chides softly. "It's just me. Everyone else is at work. You got me a day off, so thanks."

Jeongin sits up carefully. He feels nauseous, dizzy, but not like he's actively going to throw up or pass out, so he supposes it's an improvement. 

"Seriously," Hyunjin says, frowning a little. "Tell me how you're feeling."

"Sick."

Hyunjin frowns more and tucks his arm around Jeongin's waist, pulling him into a hug. "Ok. Do you want to sleep more, or come sit in the living room?"

"I, um." Jeongin hedges. He doesn't want to sleep any more, but also, "I'm not sure I can stand up by myself."

"That's ok; hyung will help you," Hyunjin says easily. "Tell me if you're too dizzy, ok? I'm no Chan-hyung but I can carry you if you need me to."

Jeongin leans heavily on the older boy's arm as they shuffle out to the living room. Hyunjin settles him carefully onto the couch and then sits down again, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "Are you ok, Innie?"

His tone is so, so gentle, his eyes kind, and maybe it's because Jeongin's sick and his defences are down, but it's as though the last few weeks all land on him at once. Feeling nauseous and tired all the time, running out of rooms when he gets dizzy, waking up alone after collapsing for no reason, terrified to tell anyone, terrified to be caught - Jeongin's breath catches once, twice, and he bursts into tears.

"Oh, hey." Hyunjin sounds startled, sliding closer immediately and gathering Jeongin into his arms. He's warm with sleep and he smells familiar and Jeongin sobs, clinging. 

"Sh, it's ok, it's ok," Hyunjin murmurs. "Hyung has you. You're ok."

One of his hands comes up to stroke at Jeongin's nape. "What is it, aegi? What's wrong?"

"I just - I feel so sick - all the time," Jeongin gets out, his face pressed into his hyung's shoulder. 

"All the time?" Hyunjin asks gently. "Not just last night?"

"No, for - for weeks," Jeongin sobs. "I've been - I -"

He cuts himself off, unable to talk past the crying, and Hyunjin hums worriedly. 

"Sh, sh, calm down. It's ok. Cry if you need to, and then you can tell hyung what's been going on and I'll fix it for you."

He tugs Jeongin even closer, wrapping him up in his arms, and Jeongin curls his legs up until he's almost in the older boy's lap, sobbing. Somewhere under the uncontrollable mass of emotion he's so embarrassed, furious with himself for losing the control he's been so careful to maintain so far. But Hyunjin's voice is soft and his embrace is loving and all Jeongin can do is bury his face in his neck and try to breathe. 

He feels even worse by the time he can stop crying. A headache is pulsing in his temples and his stomach rolls, and he lies limply against Hyunjin's shoulder, breathing shallowly. 

"I, um," he sniffles. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Ok, don't worry." 

Hyunjin eases him back against the couch and disappears, coming back quickly with the bucket, which he drops to the floor between Jeongin's knees. His arm comes back around Jeongin's shoulders, rubbing soothingly, and Jeongin leans towards it even as he has to hunch over, retching.

Hyunjin holds him up as he's sick again. Jeongin burns with humiliation, tears still sliding down his cheeks, but Hyunjin doesn't say anything. 

When it's over Jeongin accepts mouthwash and water, lets Hyunjin dab at his face with the cloth, and tries to pretend he's not still crying. He fails miserably. Hyunjin pets his hair and strokes his face, wiping at some of the tears. 

"Sit here a second. I'll be right back and we can talk, ok? Don't worry."

Jeongin drops his face to his hands. He shouldn't have said anything. He's already derailing practice by not being there and forcing Hyunjin to stay as well. It's not like he's going to catch up with the new choreography as quickly, either. He's nineteen now. He should be able to take care of himself. 

Hyunjin takes the bucket away and brings it back a few minutes later. His hand comes to the back of Jeongin's neck, squeezing lightly. 

"Jeonginnie," he says warmly. "Tell me what's wrong."

Jeongin lets himself be pulled into a cuddle, dropping his head tiredly to Hyunjin's neck and curling in close. He tries to speak, but it comes out a pathetic little sob, instead. Hyunjin makes a sad noise in response, pets at his hair.

"You said you've not been feeling well for a while."

Jeongin takes a deep breath. "Um. Do you remember when Jisung-hyung said I passed out?"

Hyunjin hums in acknowledgement.

"I didn't that time. I really didn't. But after... at first I just kept getting dizzy, but then - I did pass out. And then it kept happening."

"All this time? Innie," Hyunjin chides gently. "You didn't say anything? We knew something was off, but... Hyung's sorry we didn't notice."

"It was - there's so - we have so much to do." Jeongin swallows against the ache of more tears in his throat. "I didn't want to be annoying."

"You're never annoying. We love you. How often has this been happening?"

"Every day," Jeongin mumbles, ashamed. "Sometimes more than once. I just - I can sort of feel it coming, so I'd leave the room, and then it would go away quickly at first, but then - now I just feel sick and exhausted all the time, and I can't even stand up, and I - I don't know what to do, I'm sorry, I don't want to be annoying, I'm so sorry."

He's fully crying again now, and Hyunjin croons at him, his big hand coming to rest on the side of Jeongin's face.

"Sh, sh," he says. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, ok? You haven't done anything wrong. Everything's going to be ok."

Hyunjin rocks them gently and Jeongin clings and cries until he runs out of energy and goes limp against his hyung's chest, exhausted. Hyunjin makes him drink more water, and tries to persuade him to eat something, but Jeongin resists. 

"Ok," Hyunjin says, his tone careful. "But - I don't know if you've noticed, aegi. You've lost quite a lot of weight, yeah? It makes more sense now that I know you've not been feeling well, but... we've been worried. Please try and eat something later, ok?"

Jeongin nods, promises. Guilt settles heavy in his stomach, making him feel even sicker. 

"He was so upset, hyung. He cried until he was sick."

The words come from somewhere nearby, registering dimly in Jeongin's half-awake mind. He's sleepy and warm - there's a pillow under his head now, and one of the fuzzy blankets tucked tightly over him - and doesn't bother to open his eyes, just listens idly as the voice speaks again.

"No, he needs to see a doctor. He says he's been feeling sick for weeks, and he keeps passing out... no, no, I know. He didn't want us to worry or interrupt work... Yeah, I almost cried."

Hyunjin, Jeongin thinks, on the phone. He lowers his voice a little as he comes closer, and Jeongin feels the couch dip as he sits down. A hand strokes through his hair.

"He's sleeping now," Hyunjin says softly. "Yeah... maybe just you?... No, it's just he's so anxious about causing trouble, and you know how he gets when... Yeah. Yeah."

The hand keeps stroking his hair, Hyunjin's voice a quiet murmur, and Jeongin's lulled back to sleep.

The next time he wakes, it's to a by-now-familiar wave of nausea. He hears himself groan a little, rolling forward to sit up and fumbling for the bucket. 

"It's ok," Hyunjin says, helping him extricate himself from the blanket. "Deep breaths; it's alright."

Jeongin's head throbs as he retches, his body convulsing even though there's nothing to bring up. Hyunjin keeps a hand on his back and whispers to him until he's done. Jeongin accepts the mouthwash afterwards, but pushes the water away - the thought of swallowing anything makes him want to cry.

"Please, Innie," Hyunjin says gently. "You're already dehydrated. You'll only get sicker if you don't drink anything."

"I'll just throw it back up."

"Just try a little bit. Please."

Hyunjin's beautiful face is creased in concern, his eyes dark and sincere. He stares until Jeongin takes the water with a shaky hand, and then beams at him, kisses his temple. Jeongin sips gingerly at the bottle, leaning into the embrace. He feels awful. Weak, sick, nervous. He knows there must be consequences of telling Hyunjin what's been going on, but he can't work out what they'll be. 

He tugs on Hyunjin's sleeve, slowly lifting the older boy's arm to curl up under it. Hyunjin makes a pleased noise.

"You're cute," he says quietly. "I'm sorry you're sick, aegi. I'll take care of you, ok?"

The thing is, Jeongin knows that. He trusts Hyunjin with his life - he trusts all the members with his life. But just because he knows they'll take care of him doesn't mean he has any right to ask. Doesn't mean he shouldn't be able to cope by himself. Stupid, frustrated tears prick at his eyes again and he breathes deeply to keep them at bay, pressing his face into the meat of Hyunjin's shoulder. 

There's a noise at the door, and Jeongin flinches hard, surprising even himself. Hyunjin hugs him closer.

"It's ok; it's just hyung."

He means Chan, it turns out. Their leader shuffles into the room smiling, but with a little line of worry in his forehead. Jeongin realises he has no idea what time it is, if this is early for anyone to be back or not. It's light outside, though, so it definitely is early for Chan to be back.

"Hi, kids." Chan sits down on Jeongin's other side, puts a hand on his back. Chan runs hot and Jeongin cold, so his touch always feels startlingly, blissfully warm. Jeongin looks up at him over Hyunjin's arm.

"Hi, hyung."

"How are you doing, IN-ah?"

"I'm ok." Jeongin hunches uncomfortably at Chan's kind, scrutinising gaze. 

"He's still throwing up," Hyunjin says, taking over. "I've been trying to get him to keep drinking but it's rough on him, isn't it, Innie? So I'm kind of worried he's dehydrated. Headache, too, yeah? And he's all dizzy."

"Ai, our poor baby," Chan says, somehow making it sympathetic rather than patronising. His hand strokes down Jeongin's back, and Hyunjin kisses his hair, and Jeongin sort of wants to stay curled up between them being petted forever. Then, Hyunjin ruins it.

"Jeonginnie," he says gently, "I asked hyung to come home early so we could talk, yeah? About what you told me earlier."

Jeongin hunches even more, willing himself not to start crying again. He's usually stronger than this, but it's like a dam has broken, and he's struggling to control himself.

"Nobody's mad at you," Chan says at once. "You haven't done anything wrong, ok? I just want to know what's going on so I can help."

Jeongin fumbles through another explanation, blushing furiously under Chan's soft expression. The older boy keeps rubbing his back soothingly. 

"Ok," he says, once Jeongin has faltered into silence. "I'm going to get you a doctor's appointment. Hopefully they can have someone come here, but we might have to take you in."

Jeongin opens his mouth to protest, but Chan talks over him. "Don't worry about missing anything. This is your health and it's more important, ok? Everything can be caught up or postponed. You stay here with Hyunjinnie and I'll make some calls."

He leans in and kisses Jeongin's forehead before getting up. Jeongin curls up a little tighter under Hyunjin's arm. He can't shake the feeling that he's delaying everyone. 

"Don't worry," Hyunjin says. "Hyung will sort it out, and I'm here with you. Get some more sleep."

He grabs one of the pillows and sets it in his lap. Jeongin's so, so tired. He lets himself sink down, Chan's voice a soft murmur in the background, Hyunjin's arms around him gentle and familiar, and shuts his eyes. 

Chapter Text

The whole following day, Jeongin feels the best he's felt in ages. Tired, still, but he doesn't get dizzy at all, and so by evening he's begging Chan to let him practice again. His hyung eventually concedes, even though they haven't managed to get him a doctor's appointment yet, and so two days after breaking down in Hyunjin's lap, Jeongin finds himself practically bouncing into the practice room.

"Look who's got his energy back," Felix says, beaming like a proud mother, and Jeongin is so happy that he flings his arms around him in a slightly aggressive hug. 

Jeongin keeps feeling fine - good even - right up until their first break after lunch. He chugged half his bottle of water before the last run-through, but because everyone has been nagging him about staying hydrated, he goes to grab some more. Right as he bends, though, his stomach lurches, and Jeongin holds his breath.

"IN-ah? You ok?" 

It's Changbin, grabbing his elbow, and Jeongin sways towards him, trying not to throw up. "Dizzy."

"Alright, alright - sit down a minute."

Changbin grabs his other arm and lowers him to sit against the mirror. Jeongin drops his head to his knees, willing himself not to cry. He really, really thought it was over. 

People are talking over him. Changbin's hand is still solid on his arm, and someone else's fingers come to rub at the back of his neck. 

"Innie, are you with us?" 

Jeongin raises his head slowly to look at Chan, letting the nausea ebb gradually away. "Mm. Yeah. Just dizzy."

"Alright. I think you should sit out the rest, yeah? You've done almost a full day."

"No, hyung, please," says Jeongin at once. "I'm ok, I swear. I just need a minute."

"Innie, two days ago you couldn't stand up." Hyunjin's the one stroking his neck, and he wriggles closer to put his arm around Jeongin's waist. "Where's your water? Just rest for a bit. For me. Maybe you'll feel better by the end and hyung will let you join in."

He squishes his face up to Jeongin's and kisses him messily on the temple. Jeongin sighs, accepts his water bottle from Changbin, and leans back against the window. Chan squeezes his knees, and the others go back to practice. 

Jeongin shivers, a light draft reaching him from under the door. When he glances up, just for a split second, it looks like there's a shadow underneath, and he hopes someone is going to come in and interrupt practice so he won't miss as much. But the shadow moves on, and Jeongin drinks his water and tries not to sulk. 

He doesn't feel better by the end. As soon as Changbin and Seungmin pull him carefully upright, Jeongin's vision goes dark and he drops back to his knees, swallowing hard to avoid throwing up. 

"It's ok, it's ok," Seungmin chants quietly in his ear. "Come sit down. We can go home in a minute."

Jeongin slumps into Seungmin's side on the couch and stays there as everyone else gathers their stuff. Hyunjin joins them too - he's been clingy all day, and Jeongin doesn't mind, because he's feeling clingy right back. 

Seungmin is scratching gently through the hair at the nape of his neck. It feels nice, and Jeongin concentrates on it to distract himself from the nausea. He closes his eyes.

"Is he sleeping?"

Jeongin registers Jisung's voice a little while later, but can't bring himself to move or open his eyes. He's back to feeling awful, and if he thinks about it too hard, he's going to cry, so he stays cuddled up against Seungmin with Hyunjin's warmth at his back, and lets his members talk.

"Yeah," Seungmin says, whispering. "He was shaking, before."

"Alright. Binnie-hyung's going to see if the car is here and then Chan-hyung says he'll carry him down."

"Poor baby," Felix murmurs. "He's so sick."

"I hate seeing him like this,” says Jisung. 

Seungmin doesn’t say anything more, but leans his chin on top of Jeongin's head. Jeongin closes a hand around his sleeve. Everything's swaying beneath him like they're on a ship. If it wasn't for the lurch of his stomach, Jeongin thinks, it would almost be soothing. 

He lets the conversation slip away from him for a while, until he feels someone's hand on his face.

"Innie? Hyung's going to carry you to the car, ok?"

It's Chan. Jeongin pushes at the hand, tightening his grip on Seungmin's arm. 

"No... please."

It's one thing being carried at home. Jeongin doesn't even know if he likes it; it makes him feel small and vulnerable, and that makes something in his chest come loose, something he doesn't think he wants to face. But this is his workplace - he can't bear the idea of someone from management seeing him being carried out like a baby. Or worse, someone from another idol group. He could never look anyone from Twice or GOT7 in the face again.

"Please let me walk," he gasps out, dragging his eyes open. "Please."

"Innie," Chan says carefully. "You're sick, yeah? We're really worried you'll pass out again."

Jeongin claws at Seungmin and Hyunjin's knees for leverage and sits up, making himself focus even as everything blurs. 

"Please," he says again. He isn't going to cry here either. He is not. "Everyone - everyone will see if you carry me."

Chan's face softens, understanding. "Ok. Ok. But if you can't, don't worry, alright? You can go on my back; no one will think anything."

"We'll put your hood up," Hyunjin says, stroking his back. 

Jeongin makes it to the car through stubbornness alone. Chan and Minho walk either side of him, solid as pillars, and he sags in their arms, forcing his legs to stay under him. 

"Almost there," Minho murmurs. "You're doing great. You can lie down in just a second."

The van appears in front of him like a mirage. Jeongin gives up, lets them lift him inside, and sinks into Seungmin and Felix's waiting laps. 

They carry him up to the dorm, too, and Jeongin doesn't protest. He isn't sure if he's been asleep or unconscious. In the elevator he puts his arms around Chan's neck, peers up over his shoulder at the others. Everyone looks upset - Minho has his arm around Hyunjin, who looks like he's about to cry - and Jeongin goes tense with guilt.

"It's alright," Chan says softly, misinterpreting. "We're almost there. A doctor is coming to see you soon, alright? At the dorm."

Jeongin makes a small, protesting noise. 

"People who pass out don't get a choice," Changbin says, and Jeongin hears somebody smack him. 

"Don't hit your dongsaeng," Changbin whines. Minho, then. 

"He's right, though, IN-ah," Chan says. "We're worried you're too dehydrated. At least they can probably prescribe you something for the nausea. You'll feel better."

Jeongin has no idea how much time passes before the doctor arrives. It feels like Chan barely sets him down before the doorbell is going, and Jeongin doesn't really zone into the conversation until the doctor - a sweet-faced woman - pricks his finger and he flinches.

"Sorry, Jeongin-ssi," she says brightly. "That's a good reflex, though. Can you open your mouth for me?"

She looks at his tongue and his eyes and listens to Chan and Hyunjin explain his symptoms - everyone else has been banished to their bedrooms for hovering. 

The little device she pricked his finger with beeps and the doctor glances at the screen. 

"Ok, I'm going to recommend we get you admitted to hospital, alright? There's no need to panic," she adds. Jeongin isn't sure if that part is directed at him or or the others - Hyunjin's hand flexes around his, and he can see the tight set of Chan's jaw in the corner of his eye.

"You're bordering on dangerously dehydrated, and your blood sugar is pretty low," she explains. "So they'll just give you some fluids to help you get levelled out. They can also give you something for the nausea, and do some further tests to hopefully figure out what's causing these symptoms and get you treated, because it could be a number of things."

That part sounds nice, Jeongin supposes. But before that is getting up again, and travelling to the hospital, and strangers talking to him, and maybe even photographs of him in a hospital, and - he bites his lip.

"I - I have to go?"

The doctor smiles kindly at him. "I'm afraid so, but there's nothing to worry about. I'm sure one of your friends will go with you, hm?"

Chan comes with him (Hyunjin only agrees to stay behind when Minho and Changbin sit on him). Iseul, one of their managers, comes to drive them, clicking his tongue concernedly when Jeongin slumps into Chan’s side in the car. 

The hospital doctor asks all the same questions as the first one, albeit a touch more brusquely, and they take his blood - at least this time when Jeongin nearly passes out, it's just because he hates injections - and he's about ready to cry when they get him into a hospital gown, set him up with an IV and finally, finally he and Chan are left alone in a room. 

"Innie, I'm proud of you." Chan comes to sit on the end of the bed. "I know all this is a lot to handle when you don't feel well. You're being so strong."

Jeongin doesn't feel strong. He blinks the tears away hard, reaching for Chan's hand. He can feel his eyes closing already. 

"You can go to sleep, honey, it's ok," Chan murmurs. "They'll come and see you when the blood results are ready, or when the IV is finished, whichever is first. I'll be here."

"No. No, I'm absolutely sure. I'd stake my life on it. No."

Chan's angry, Jeongin thinks dazedly. He blinks himself awake, listening to Chan's loud, serious voice float in from the hallway - the hospital hallway, he remembers. He's in the hospital, because he's sick. 

The IV bag attached to his wrist is almost empty, and Jeongin notes gratefully that he doesn't feel so bad any more - exhausted and weak, sure, but not like he's about to throw up, and not like he has to grit his teeth to cling to consciousness. He takes a deep breath, just now realising how scared he was that they wouldn't know how to fix him.

Chan's still speaking. "Of course I understand that, sir, but I know him -"

Their manager's voice interrupts, quieter than Chan's, so Jeongin can't make out the words. He sounds serious too, but placatory. Jeongin struggles to sit up, pausing at a thankfully short-lived wave of dizziness, but doesn't make it all the way there before the door opens again.

"Innie," Chan says, crossing the room in half a second. "Hey, are you ok? Don't get up. How are you feeling?"

Jeongin gives up and lies back down when Chan nudges him. "Better," he says, "not as sick. Just really tired."

"Good evening, Jeongin-ssi," the doctor says, coming back in with their manager at his heels. "I see the IV is almost done - that's great. I've got your blood results here as well. Let me just do a couple more tests and we can go through them."

Chan gets a mulish look on his face that Jeongin recognises from times when people - management, journalists, coaches - have tried to bully them. He moves to the far side of Jeongin's bed to give the doctor space, but doesn't back off. 

The doctor adjusts the bed so that Jeongin is sitting up. He conducts some of the same tests Jeongin remembers from before - looking at his eyes, his heart, his blood pressure - and seems satisfied. 

"Looks like the IV is doing its job," he says. "That's great. Let's talk about your blood.”

Creepy, Jeongin thinks.

The doctor opens the folder he brought in with him and points at one of the little rows of numbers with a pen. "This one here is your blood sugar, which was very low, although the IV should have helped with that a little. Based on what we've heard, I think we can put that problem down to excessive vomiting and not eating or drinking enough in the days before you were brought in."

The pen moves to another row. "These numbers here are the ones we found more concerning, Jeongin-ssi."

"Concerning?" Jeongin hears the wobble in his own voice, and reaches slowly for Chan's sleeve. "Is - am I sick?"

The doctor frowns. "Not exactly. These columns here indicate elevated levels of benzodiazepines in your blood. When you were admitted, you reported on your intake form that you do not currently take any kind of prescription drug. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Are you taking anything that was not prescribed? That you might have got hold of in some other way?"

"I - what? Taking..." 

Chan's thumb soothes over the back of his hand, and Jeongin realises he's shaking.

"Other drugs, Jeongin-ssi. I know this might be difficult to discuss with your friend and your manager present, but we need to know as it affects how we can help you."

"I - no, no," Jeongin says. His voice cracks. "I've never - just, just painkillers. Normal ones. Ibuprofen, or - or whatever we have at home."

"Your manager mentioned that another boy you live with takes anxiety medication. Have you ever used any of that?"

"I - Jisung-hyung's pills?" Jeongin looks up at Iseul, who nods. "No - I haven't - I wouldn't take his -"

"There's no need to be defensive," the doctor says, sternly. "We see a lot of young people in here who don't tell us the truth, Jeongin-ssi, and it doesn't go well for them or for their families. If we can't treat you -"

"I am telling the truth." A couple of frustrated tears spill over and Jeongin sniffs. "I am, I promise - I would never. Hyung," he says, grabbing Chan's arm in both hands. "Please, I wouldn't take hyung's pills, I didn't -"

"Sh, Innie, I know." Chan cups the back of Jeongin's head, holding it to his chest. "I know you wouldn't. I told them. I believe you."

Jeongin breathes in, trying frantically to calm down. No wonder they don't believe him, he thinks; he's a mess.

“We know you have access to Jisung’s medication,” Iseul says in a tired voice. He won’t look Jeongin in the eye. 

The doctor raises his eyebrows. "I appreciate that this is difficult," he says, "but the levels of benzodiazepines in these results clearly indicate exposure to several types of tranquiliser."

Iseul cuts in. "Is he in further physical danger? Will he need to stay here overnight?"

"No - provided he ingests no more of the drug or drugs, it should pass out of his system with no problems, and the fluids should counteract some of the symptoms. The rest of the effects of this dose will fade naturally."

"What do you mean 'this dose'?" Chan says sharply. 

"Based on reportage of symptoms and a couple of lingering ingredients in the blood, I would suggest dosing has taken place over a period of at least a month."

"But I haven't taken anything," Jeongin says. He's starting to feel sick again, and he can hear his voice getting smaller with each word. "I don't know how it - I don't know why it's there."

"Jeongin." Iseul isn't quite snapping, but he's close. Jeongin flinches into Chan's side. He isn't sure he's ever heard their manager use his formal name like that - it's always been Jeongin-ah, Jeonginnie before.  

"We can discuss how this drug got into your system later," Iseul continues. "Chan - call me when the IV is finished and I'll drive you home."

He sweeps out of the room. Jeongin clutches at Chan's arm. He can't breathe. They think he's doing drugs, and it's there in his blood, in his file, that incomprehensible row of numbers suggesting he's someone completely different, has made completely different choices. He's never had anything stronger than the sips of soju his hyungs sometimes let him sneak. Half a beer, once. He didn't even like it.

"Doctor," says Chan, and Jeongin jumps. His leader strokes a hand down his back. "I know how this must look to you, but I promise - we're in an idol group; we know the consequences of drug use... Is there any other way it could get into his blood?"

The doctor sighs irritably, standing up. "He's ingested several variants of benzodiazepine over the last month," he says. "That's clear from his bloodwork, and it's all I can tell you at this stage. Someone will be back to check on you in about an hour, when the IV is finished. If anything changes in how you are feeling, the call button on the left will alert someone to help you."

He's gone before either of them can say anything else. Jeongin shivers in the draft as the door swings closed. He feels frozen. He can't get the look on his manager's face out of his head. 

He's going to lose his job - his life. They're going to kick him out of Stray Kids, because there's drugs in his blood, and Jeongin can't prove he's never taken them. You can't prove a negative, his dad likes to say. Oh, god, they're going to tell his parents. He'll be disowned, and he'll have to leave, and there'll be nowhere for him to go.

Jeongin doesn't realise he's hyperventilating until Chan shakes him firmly by the shoulders. 

"Breathe," he orders, and Jeongin obeys automatically.

Chan sits down on the edge of the bed and looks Jeongin straight in the eyes. Jeongin stares back. His vision's gone blurry. 

"I believe you," Chan says again. "I don't know what's going on but we'll fix it, Innie, ok? I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Jeongin blinks, and two tears spill over, cool against his hot cheeks. 

It's almost another hour before they can leave. Jeongin stays curled up in the bed and puts all his energy into not crying, while Chan strokes his hair, texting furiously with his other hand. 

Their manager doesn't say a word the whole drive back. It's nearly midnight and Jeongin feels the exhaustion deep in his bones. He's never been tired like this before. Not after practising until 5am every night, not performing day in and day out on tour, not even last year when his insomnia got so bad he started hallucinating. This is his limit, his body says. He can't do any more. His hands shake in his lap.

They pull up outside the dorm and Iseul glances at them in the rearview mirror. "9am tomorrow," he says. "My office. The two of you, and Jisung."

"Hyung," Chan says at once, "Jeonginnie needs rest; he's just been in the hospital -"

"Jeongin needs to understand the consequences of the situation," Iseul says. "If he is physically incapable of attending, call in the morning. Otherwise, I'll see you there. Goodnight."

Jeongin's throat aches with holding back tears. He bows, and wobbles his way out of the car, smiling politely as best as he can. Chan looks at him and for a second Jeongin thinks he's about to see his leader crying. It wouldn't be the first time, not by a long shot, but Jeongin can't bear that this time is his fault. 

"You don't have to do that, Innie," Chan says gently instead. 

Jeongin pretends he doesn't know what he's talking about, and stares hard at the ground as Chan helps him inside. He's so tired he can barely see. The lights in the hallway pierce his vision like needles.

The vast, reaching implications of the evening are threatening to crush him flat. Jeongin can't think, can't slow down his thoughts enough to catch one, can't look straight at any of it because it will turn him to stone like Medusa. He's just going to go inside, let Chan explain, hope they believe him, and go to bed. 

This plan falls apart almost immediately. 

Everyone’s gathered anxiously in the living room when they get in, pretending not to be waiting up. Jeongin smiles for them, too, even as his cheeks twitch with the effort. 

“Jeonginnie, you’re back,” Changbin says sweetly. “Our little baby bird back in the nest.”

“Yeah,” Jeongin manages. He intends to aim for the couch and try not to listen while Chan explains, but the second he turns, he locks eyes with Jisung, and something in his chest cracks open. 

“Hyung.” His voice splinters horribly. Jisung’s eyes go round and startled at once, and he reaches out, starts to say something, but Jeongin’s already stumbling forward to clamp his arms around his neck.

He can’t breathe. 

“Hyung,” he gasps again, “I didn’t take it. I didn’t. Please. I promise.”

“What? Innie.”

Jeongin’s knees give out and he crumples to the floor, Jisung’s arms going tight around his waist to slow his fall. 

“Please believe me.” He doesn’t want to cry now. If he starts crying he isn’t going to be able to stop for hours and hours and he’s so tired. He just needs Jisung to understand.

“Innie, it’s ok.” Jisung rubs his back soothingly. He looks up at Chan for an explanation, but Jeongin grabs at his jumper to keep his attention. 

“I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t ever - ever -“

“Sh, hey.” Chan crouches next to him, hauls him up onto the couch so that he can burrow into Jisung’s side. “There. Just breathe for a second, ok? Hannie doesn’t even know what you’re talking about, remember?”

He keeps the explanation short. One of his hands rests hot on Jeongin’s hip. Jeongin keeps his face half hidden in Jisung’s shoulder, trying not to listen.

When they get to the accusation, Jisung hisses in a little gasp. Jeongin forces himself upright against the dizziness and the exhaustion, presses a trembling hand to the older boy’s arm.

“Hyung, I promise, I wouldn’t -“

“Oh my god, I know you wouldn’t.” Jisung wraps both arms and a leg around Jeongin, squeezes him in tight. “I know that. I’ll tell them. It’s ok.”

Nobody says anything for a little while. Jeongin’s eyes sting and he peels himself unsteadily away from Chan and Jisung. 

“I - can I go to bed?”

“Of course, aegi. Do you want someone with you?” Chan looks so sad. They all do. Jeongin can’t meet anyone’s eyes. 

“No,” he says, barely even a whisper. “I’m - I’m ok.”

He doesn’t turn the light on in his room, or bother getting changed, just crawls into his bed and crushes the toy Hyunjin gave him to his chest. Curling up tight, he presses his open mouth to his pillow, taking huge, wracking breaths to silence the sobs.

Chapter Text

Hyunjin was right, Jeongin thinks dazedly, he has lost weight. He stares at himself in the mirror. He looks awful - pale and washed out, divots like thumbprints in his cheeks. His collarbones stand out sharply. His wrists look like they could snap. 

It feels like he's looking at a stranger. He's drunk with exhaustion, can't connect the face he's looking at with his own. The bathroom counter is cold against his hands when he presses them down hard, trying to focus. 

Someone knocks softly on the door. "Innie? Are you ok? We need to go."

Jeongin doesn't move. He's so afraid that it's gone right through him, taken him out of his body. The longer he stays in here, the longer he's still in Stray Kids. The longer he stays in here, the longer he can pretend that none of it is happening at all.  

"Innie." 

The door opens, because he's not allowed to lock it any more in case he collapses. Chan leans on the doorframe.

"We need to go," he says gently. 

Jeongin bites his lip and nods. Chan holds out a big purple jumper and Jeongin takes it automatically and holds it in his hands, running his thumb over the fabric. It's very soft. Chenille, he thinks the fabric is called. He's not sure if it's his or not. He's definitely seen Felix wearing it before.

"Innie," Chan says again, startling him. "Put it on, yeah?"

Yes. Jeongin can do that. He tugs it over his head, gets briefly caught in a sleeve until Chan pulls on it for him, straightening it out. He sets his hands on Jeongin's shoulders afterwards, squeezes. 

"Hey. It's going to be ok, alright?"

Jeongin can't look at him. He smiles somewhere in the direction of Chan's stomach, and slips past to find his shoes. 

They sit in a line outside of Iseul's office. Jisung is jiggling his leg so hard Jeongin can feel it, vibrating all the way up from the bench to his clenched teeth, and something in his hyung's pocket is rattling. 

"It's going to be ok," Chan says for the hundredth time. His hand is heavy on Jeongin's knee - they made him sit in the middle, and both of them keep touching him. Jeongin can't decide if he wants to lean into it or flinch away. 

Iseul calls them in. Jeongin's head swims threateningly when he stands, and he leans into the hand Jisung sets on the small of his back as they walk in. 

They bow, and Iseul gestures them into chairs without smiling. It's like his personality has done a complete 180, and Jeongin is terrified. He doesn't know this man, he doesn't know how he'll react, he doesn't know what's about to happen.

Iseul sits in the middle of the table, with someone Jeongin thinks is from the legal team on one side and Donghyun, one of the other managers, on the other. Donghyun offers a gentle smile.

"Jeongin-ah, how are you feeling?" he says. 

Jeongin is so pleased to hear the pet name that he almost wilts with relief. "Better, hyung-nim, thank you."

His voice is tiny. Chan's hand lands back on his knee under the table.

"You know that you're in here today because of a contract violation," Iseul starts. 

Jeongin stares at his lap. He doesn't know what to say, or how he can say anything without sounding insolent. Chan's fingers tighten on his leg, and his leader leans forward.

"With respect, hyung-nim, Jeongin hasn't violated his contract," he says. "I know - we all know he didn't take those drugs."

"The drugs were in his blood, and he took enough of them to require hospitalisation," Iseul says. "An overdose. Public intoxication of any kind and use of any illegal substances - that includes medical drugs you are not prescribed - is very specifically prohibited in your contracts. You are all well aware of this."

"Please, hyung-nim, I didn't take anything," Jeongin says. His voice shrinks with every word. Tears are already welling in his eyes again and he stares at his lap, trying to force them back.

"You have easy access to the drug," Iseul says, slightly more gently. He nods at Jisung. "It's kept in your household. It showed up in your blood results. I'm afraid whether you took the drugs or not is not in question, Jeongin."

"Hyung-nim," Jisung blurts out. "Sorry, I'm sorry to interrupt, I just - Jeonginnie would never take my medication, and I can prove it."

He fumbles a box out of his pocket, spills out two blister packs full of pills. "My presciption is three months, and I renewed it in January, look - I take them once a day. If you count them -"

"This is not the first prescription you've had of this drug," Iseul says firmly. "He could have obtained the pills at any point within the last year. Once again, whether or not he took the drug is not in question here. It's a contract violation, and it should result in termination."

There's a thick silence and Jeongin's breath catches in his throat. Jisung grabs for his hand and Chan moves his chair closer, the metal screeching on the floor, to put his arm around Jeongin's shoulders. 

"You can't make him leave," he says firmly. "Jinyoung-hyung -"

"Is aware of the situation, and extremely displeased," Iseul says, "but fortunately for you, he agrees that the group cannot afford to lose another member so soon."

Jeongin swallows, tries to control his breathing and manages not to sob. He can't do anything about the tears, which slide relentlessly down his cheeks.

"We're putting you on contract probation, Jeongin. There is no room for error here. We need your word that you will never again take this drug or any other mind-altering substance, including alcohol, for the duration of your employment, and we're going to have you sign an addendum to your current contract to this effect. If you violate this, your employment will be terminated and you will forfeit any writing or royalty credits on anything already released or recorded."

It's too much to understand. Jeongin's so tired still. A headache throbs in his temple. 

"Look at me and tell me that you will not take this drug again."

Jeongin has to steel himself to look up. He opens his mouth to answer but closes it again when there's nothing he can think to say that isn't admitting to something he hasn't done. 

"Hyung-nim, he didn't take -"

"That is not in question." Iseul cuts Chan off, scowling. "Jeongin, I need your word."

"I, um," Jeongin almost whispers. There's a sudden burst of laughter from the hallway outside and he flinches, mouth closing with a click of his teeth. "I've never -"

"Jeongin."

"Hyung-nim -" Chan starts again.

"Enough," Iseul snaps. "Jeongin."

"I promise I won't take the drug again," Jeongin says tonelessly. The tears tickle his cheeks but he doesn't move to wipe them away. 

"And you understand that doing so will result in immediate termination of your contract and relinquishing of your writing and royalty credits on music released during your time with JYP?"

"I understand."

"Thank you. Sign here."

Iseul gestures and the legal representative slides over a piece of paper. Jeongin's hand is visibly shaking when he picks it up. His cheeks burn. 

There's nothing on the paper that Iseul didn't say aloud, but Chan puts his hand over Jeongin's when he goes to pick the pen up.

"Hyung-nim, we're supposed to have 48 hours to go over contract amendments."

Iseul scoffs a little. The lawyer, a bored-looking younger guy, clears his throat. "Ah, as this is a result of a disciplinary action, this counts as an emergency amendment and we can request signage within 12 hours of the event or the event's discovery. That clause can be found in your original contract."

"Do you have a copy of Jeongin's contract here?"

The lawyer flips open a file and draws it out. It feels like barely any time at all since Jeongin was in this building with his parents, signing that piece of paper, so excited he could barely keep still.  

"The emergency amendment clause," the lawyer says, pointing with a pen.

Chan pulls the contract towards him and starts reading, his mouth scrunched up to one side the way it gets when he's stressed. Jeongin tries to look too, but the words are so blurry through the tears that he gives up.

"As you can see, the clause is in there, and we are legally within our rights to demand the amendment," Iseul says. "Jeongin, sign, please."

Jeongin's temples throb. He picks up the pen again, scribbles his signature while barely looking at the page, and swallows another sob.

At his sides, Jisung keeps twitching towards him as though he wants to hug him, and Chan is practically vibrating with anger. Iseul glances over the paper and passes it back to the lawyer.

"Jisung," he says, too loudly. Jisung jumps, his eyes going round and startled like a cartoon.

"Yes, hyung-nim?"

"I assume I know the answer, given your previous statements, but you were asked here in case you have any objection to Jeongin continuing to live at your dorm, considering it is your medication that was taken -"

"I know he -"

"Do not interrupt," Iseul says. He looks like he's done with all of them. His tone makes Jeongin's heart clench but he's so grateful to have the attention off him, even just for a minute, that he's afraid to move. 

"I'm sorry, hyung-nim," Jisung says, bowing a little.

"Do you have any objection to your current living arrangement?"

"No, hyung-nim." Jisung squeezes Jeongin's limp fingers. 

Jeongin stops listening as Iseul wraps the meeting up and dismisses them. He bows automatically when the others do, and then lets them lead him out into the hallway. His legs feel weak again, threatening to buckle under him, and he sways a little until Jisung wraps an arm around his waist. Somehow he's still crying, steadily, like a dripping tap. Like he might never stop. 

"The others are in the practice room," Chan says gently. "Do you want to go down there, or do you want me to find someone to take you home?"

"I can't go home," Jeongin says thickly, "if I don't practice - they'll say I'm - and they'll -"

He can barely get the words out, but they understand anyway. Jisung rubs his back as they head towards the lifts. 

They pass several people on their way. Jeongin keeps his head down and tries to walk quickly, although the way he's shaking makes that almost impossible. Less than 24 hours have passed since he was so humiliated at the idea of someone carrying him through this building, and now here he is being led through its corridors crying like a child.

It's between hours, so Jeongin hopes that downstairs where the practice rooms are will be reasonably empty, but predictably they walk straight into half of GOT7 and a handful of staff as soon as they exit the lifts. Jeongin stares at the floor. He can barely keep hold of his breathing any more.

Chan and Jisung greet the older group politely but distractedly. Jeongin doesn't say anything.

"You ok, kids?" Mark sounds concerned, kind, and Jeongin can't take it. His next inhale turns into a breathy sob, and then another, and he ducks his head down even further to hide in Jisung's shoulder.

"Take him to the others, yeah, Han-ah?" he hears Chan murmur, and then finds himself being nudged into moving again.

Jisung keeps him close and talks to him all the way down the corridor, about how they're almost there and things will be ok and Chan will probably speak to JYP himself about it, because JYP loves Chan, so Jeongin shouldn't worry, and anyway everyone knows he wouldn't take drugs, and the members would never allow him to leave, and they love him. Jeongin hardly takes any of it in but he's grateful for the distraction.

He’s starting to feel sick again, and he doesn’t know if it’s anxiety or lack of sleep or - something else. Those pills are still in Jisung’s pocket and even their presence feels threatening, like he might somehow absorb them into his body through the air. 

Faint strains of God's Menu are audible as they approach the practice room. Jisung sings along under his breath, pushing open the door. 

The first thing Jeongin sees is his own reflection. He looks small, even under Jisung’s arm, and just as thin and fragile as this morning, only now his face is shiny with tears. The apples of his cheeks are flushed red, the rest of his face pale as milk. He looks terrible. His skin crawls with shame. 

The second thing he sees is Felix's shirt, pressing over his face as his hyung sweeps him into a hug. 

“Hey,” Felix murmurs, “oh, Innie, what happened?”

Jeongin hunches down a little to burrow against his shoulder. He doesn't trust himself to try and speak.

“Where’s Chan-hyung?” he hears Minho ask. 

Jisung hasn’t moved away. He pats Jeongin’s hip. “We ran into GOT7-hyungs in the hall, I think he’s just -“

He cuts off as the door opens and Jeongin finds himself being shuffled along as Chan enters the room. 

“Hey, guys,” he says tiredly.

“What happened?” Felix repeats. He hasn’t let go, one hand curled over the back of Jeongin’s head, the other tight around his waist. 

“I’ll explain,” says Chan. “Come sit down. Can someone get Jeonginnie some water?”

Jeongin goes where he's led, curling up into Felix's side on the couch. His hand trembles violently when he takes the little cup of water Seungmin hands him. 

"It's ok," Felix murmurs, wrapping his hand over Jeongin's fingers to steady him.

A warm weight settles at his back - Minho - and Hyunjin sits on the floor, laying his arm over Jeongin's knees. The others gather in close, too, and Chan sits on the arm of the couch to sum up the meeting.

The room erupts with noise.

"That is ridiculous."

"There's no evidence."

"That can't be legal."

"How could they do this?" Hyunjin sounds like he might be about to cry, and Jeongin can't look at him. "Why aren't they listening to us? Hyung -"

"I know," Chan says. "I'm angry too, ok? I'm going to speak to JYP as soon as I can."

"But he signed the amendment," Changbin starts, "so -"

"He didn't have a choice," says Jisung, "it was - Iseul basically coerced him into it. But that legal guy was there too."

"Aren't we supposed to have two days for contract stuff?" Seungmin says.

Chan explains what the lawyer said, and the conversation starts going round in circles. Jeongin closes his eyes.

"Innie, how are you feeling?" Minho says quietly, under the racket. His voice is soft, much calmer than everyone else. "I don't like you being here when you've barely been out of the hospital for five minutes."

"I can't go home," Jeongin says for the second time. "They'll say I'm on drugs again and they'll kick me out -"

"Sh," Minho soothes, "don't; don't think about that. We aren't letting anyone kick you out. Just tell me how you're feeling."

Jeongin lets his head fall more heavily on Felix's chest. "Sick. Tired." Same as always, he wants to add, sulkily, but he reins it in.

Felix hums sympathetically, and Jeongin feels him kiss the top of his head. He shuts his eyes and tries to take a deep breath. His body shudders with the effort.

"Alright," Chan says eventually, quieting everyone down. "We aren't getting anywhere with this and we've still got schedules to get through. If we fall behind, we're just giving them a reason to punish us, yeah?"

He scrubs his hand over his hair, looking exhausted, and Jeongin bites guiltily at his lip.

"Everyone just get through your stuff today, and we'll talk later. I'm gonna look at the calendar and check that one of us is around to be with Innie."

The calendar is a logistical beast, with colour-coded individual, group and sub-unit scheduling, and Jeongin watches detachedly as Chan scrolls through it, finding him babysitters.

"You don't have to do that," he mumbles, "I don't need -"

"IN-ah," Minho chides, "you're ill."

"You were literally in the hospital yesterday," Changbin says.

"And we still don't know how those drugs got into your blood." Seungmin's tone is carefully light, but he's frowning.

Felix hums again, low in his throat and worried-sounding, and squeezes Jeongin tighter. "My Innie."

"No, he is mine," Hyunjin says in English. He wraps his arms around Jeongin's legs, leaning his head on his lap like a loyal dog, and pretends to bite his knee. Jeongin laughs, but it's a jagged, ugly sound.

Jeongin is everyone's, it turns out. One of his members stays by him at all times for the rest of the day, and he hates and is grateful for it in equal measure. Practice and lessons pass in a nauseating haze, until he finds himself curled up on the couch in Changbin's studio, where he can finally, finally nap. 

"I'll say you've been doing guides for me, if anyone comes in," his hyung says. "You feeling ok?"

"Sick," Jeongin says, for what must be the twentieth time today. He's trying not to sulk, but sometimes it feels like it's that or cry, and he's done enough of that to last a lifetime. 

Changbin pouts at him and makes him drink some water, and then tucks him under a hoodie. For someone whose resting face is so serious, Changbin almost never frowns. Jeongin hates to be the cause of it. 

"Stop looking at me like that," he mumbles. "'M'fine."

"No you aren't," Changbin says lightly. "But you will be. Go to sleep now, like a good baby."

He pets Jeongin's hair and then pinches his cheek, making a cute noise, and Jeongin rolls his eyes before closing them.

He wakes to the sound of his own voice, a weak little groaning noise he doesn't even recognise at first. He presses his lips together hard, swallowing against the nausea, but his stomach rolls and he gives up, sliding off the couch to his knees and only barely making it to the bin before he's throwing up. His throat burns.

Changbin has his big studio headphones on, so it's a few seconds before he notices. Jeongin hears him swear and clatter down off his chair, and a gentle hand lands on his back.

"Hey, you ok? Hyung's sorry; I couldn't hear you," he murmurs. 

Jeongin leans against him a little, retching, but there's barely anything to bring up, and eventually he just slumps over, breathing heavily. 

Changbin rubs his side. "It's past five. I'm gonna call hyung and see if we can take you home, yeah? You need some proper rest and we still have to talk about... all of this."

He helps Jeongin back up onto the couch and scoops his phone off the desk, taking the bin with him out of the room. Jeongin finds his water bottle, rammed down between the couch cushions, and rinses his mouth, breathing slowly. He's been doing an ok job of not thinking about all of this so far today, but now he feels cold, like the shadow of it has fallen over him again. He shivers.

"Hey," Changbin says, coming back in.

Jeongin jumps so hard his stomach turns again. He folds over his knees, trying not to be sick again.

"Ah, sorry, sorry." Changbin sits next to him and strokes his back. "Didn't mean to scare you. Chan-hyung's calling a car; Seungmin, Hyunjin and Minho are gonna come with us, and then the others in half an hour."

Jeongin nods tiredly. He staggers a little when he stands, head swimming, and Changbin curses, grabs him around the waist.

"You're ok," he says, much more confidently than Jeongin feels. "We'll be home soon."

He shoulders both of their bags and leads Jeongin to the door.

"And if you don't tell Chan-hyung that I swore, I'll get you those watermelon sweets you like."

 Everyone’s quiet on the way home. Hyunjin lets Jeongin rest his head in his lap, rubs gently at the base of his skull, and Jeongin tries to fall asleep. He thinks it’s ironic that his blood is full of sedatives and yet he can't manage more than a nap at once.

He can’t stay alert, either, the world pulsing and sliding around when he tries to focus. Hyunjin’s jeans have a loose thread and Jeongin reaches for it with clumsy fingers. He only manages to paw loosely at his hyung’s knee. 

Above him, Hyunjin makes a soft, endeared noise, and wraps his fingers around Jeongin’s. His hand is impossibly warm. Jeongin holds on, and closes his eyes. 

Back at the dorm, he makes it almost all the way inside without incident. Hyunjin and Seungmin are practically dragging him, and Jeongin tries hard to keep his eyes open and his feet under him. They're halfway to the couch when his hands start going numb.

It's a familiar sign. Nausea swoops in his stomach. Jeongin starts to say something, but loses track as the edge of his vision melt white, then brown, then black.

"Innie," he hears. "Jeongin. Can you hear me?"

Someone's touching his face. He's lying down now, something soft under his head, but at an awkward angle, a lump digging into his neck. His ears are ringing. 

"Innie."

His legs feel heavy and he realises someone's holding them up, hands at his ankles. The hands on his face move, stroking along his forehead, and Jeongin blinks open his eyes. 

Hyunjin smiles down at him, stroking his face again. "Hey. It's ok; you're alright. You just passed out."

It's the first time since all of this started that someone's been with him when he comes to. Jeongin's breath hitches at the thought. 

"Sh, it's ok." Hyunjin picks up his hand and squeezes it. "Just stay here for a second until you feel better. Hyung's getting you some juice."

"You need the sugar," Minho says. 

Jeongin cranes his neck a little, looking away from Hyunjin, and finds Minho sitting on the floor at his side, and Seungmin in one of the chairs from the kitchen, holding Jeongin's feet in his lap. They both smile gently at him.

"You're awake!" Changbin appears with a glass, beaming like Jeongin's just won an award or something. Jeongin appreciates the sentiment, but he can't help but wish that regaining consciousness didn't merit that much of a reaction.

"How long was I..?" His voice is thready and weak. 

"Nearly a minute," Seungmin says, rubbing Jeongin's shin. He holds up his phone, the stopwatch paused on the screen. "If it went over, we were gonna call an ambulance."

"You can't." Jeongin tries to sit up, but Hyunjin won't let him. "You can't - if it happens again, you can't call an ambulance. If they find more of - of that stuff in my blood, they'll terminate my contract. You heard Chan-hyung. Please. Please don't."

His voice cracks and Hyunjin squeezes his shoulders. 

"We can't promise that, aegi," Minho says, very, very gently. "Not when you could be really sick. What if something happened because we waited? We'd never forgive ourselves."

Jeongin presses his lips together, looking away. He doesn't care if something happens to him, as long as he gets to stay in Stray Kids, but he knows better than to say that out loud. 

"Have some juice," Changbin says, placating. "Rest now and we'll talk when the others are home."

They help Jeongin sit up, leaning against Hyunjin's chest. Changbin pokes his lips with a straw until he drinks. It's Felix's favourite juice, apple raspberry, the taste of it bright and almost too sweet on Jeongin's tongue. 

Seungmin's let his legs down, but tucks his feet either side of Jeongin's ankles, trapping them together. He's smiling and frowning at the same time, like he maybe wants to both coddle Jeongin and punch him. Jeongin gets it. 

"Sorry," he says, and Seungmin kicks him in the ankle. 

"Don't say sorry."

"Don't kick him; he's barely out of the hospital," Minho says. 

His voice goes high-pitched at the end of the sentence, and Changbin imitates it at once. Hyunjin laughs, his chest moving with it under Jeongin's shoulders, and Jeongin finds himself smiling, too. 

Minho pinches his cheek. "That's better."

They make him finish the juice, and then Jeongin pleads to be allowed to move to the couch. The others will be back soon, and he can't bear to be found lying on the floor like this. 

"Chan-hyung already knows you passed out," Changbin says unapologetically. 

"Why?" Jeongin whines.

Changbin raises his eyebrows. "Are you serious? You were literally unconscious."

"It was scary, Innie," Hyunjin says softly. He's got his knees up either side of Jeongin's hips, caging him in with his body, and he nudges their temples together. It's warm, and helps a little with the pang his words spark in Jeongin's chest.

"'M'sorry," Jeongin mumbles. Seungmin goes to kick him again, but Minho catches his foot.

"If you feel ok to stand, you can come sit on the couch," Hyunjin says. "But we'll go slowly, ok?"

Jeongin obeys, letting Changbin and Minho lift him carefully to his feet. They keep hold of his arms to walk him over to the couch, and he leans on them, even as it feels a little like he's being arrested. Jeongin sinks back onto one of the big cushions. He's so, so tired. 

"Do you need anything?" Minho says, petting his arm.

"Um," Jeongin says. He doesn't want to say anything. He knows how they'll react, and he hates being needy, but the couch leather is cold through his jumper, and he feels odd, vulnerable, so in the end he gives in.

"Hyunjinnie-hyung," he says, very quietly. "Can you, um."

Hyunjin gets it at once, because it's Hyunjin, and beams delightedly. "Do you want a cuddle, aegi?"

He wedges himself in the gap between Jeongin and the arm of the couch, and Jeongin lets himself be rearranged until he's curled up against the older boy's chest. Changbin clasps his hands under his chin, making a baby face, but nobody else reacts, and Jeongin relaxes a little. 

"How are you feeling?" Minho says, hovering. "You haven't eaten very much today."

Jeongin looks at his lap, tugging his sleeves down over his bony wrists. "'M'nauseous," he says. "Got a headache. I'll eat later; I promise."

Hyunjin makes a worried little noise, moving his hand from Jeongin's hair to rub lightly at his temple. It's soothing. Someone puts the TV on, and the others talk quietly amongst themselves. Jeongin shuts his eyes.

He half-dozes for a little while, until the sound of the others coming home jars him into alertness. He doesn't move - Hyunjin is warm and comfortable - but smiles tiredly as they file into the living room. Felix tucks himself up against Jeongin's other side at once, scooping his ankles into his lap.

"Hi, hyung," Jeongin says. "Stole some of your juice."

"Heard it was for a good cause," Felix says kindly. 

Chan stands in the middle of the room, looking around at everyone. Jisung and Minho are on the other end of the couch, and Seungmin and Changbin in the armchairs. Chan shoves the coffee table back a little and sits on it.

"You ok? Minho texted me."

Jeongin squirms under the scrutiny. "Yeah. It was just for a second."

"Nearly a minute," Seungmin corrects at once, and Jeongin sticks his tongue out at him. 

Chan frowns at him, chewing at his lip, but leaves it. 

"Ok, so," he says heavily. "We all know where we stand with JYP right now. He wasn't in the office today, but I'm going to try and meet with him this week and get Jeongin out of this contract thing."

"So now we just need to work out how Innie's blood got filled with tranquilisers," Jisung says. Jeongin winces a little, and Felix slaps Jisung on the leg. 

Chan rolls his eyes at them, but nods. "Well. Yeah."

"It - I mean," Seungmin says, a little carefully. "Isn't it obvious?"

Jeongin glances around the room. Chan, Changbin and Minho look like they know what's coming, but Jisung is still frowning, confused. Felix and Hyunjin are too close for Jeongin to see their expressions, but Hyunjin's arm around him has gone very tense, and Felix is holding his breath.

Jeongin doesn't want any part of this conversation. It's not going to help, hearing what they all think. He just wants to go to sleep.

"It can't be something in the water, or whatever," Jisung says. "We all basically eat and drink the same stuff. And we all take the same painkillers."

"Well, yeah, and it's been going on too long," Seungmin says quietly. "Maybe once he could have had it by accident, but not all this time. I think it's on purpose."

Jeongin thinks he feels his heart physically stop. That isn't what he was expecting. He sucks in a breath, swallows it before it can turn into tears. "Hyung," he whispers instead.

"No." Seungmin leans out of his chair to grab at him, squeezing his hand in a way that's half comforting, half painful. "No, not you; I know you wouldn't. I didn't mean it like that."

Jeongin goes a little limp with relief, his head dropping back into Hyunjin's neck.

"What did you mean, then?" Felix says. He sounds resigned.

Seungmin looks at him, holding Jeongin's hand a little tighter. Jeongin is pressed up against Hyunjin's shoulder and can't see all of Seungmin's face, but he can tell he's hesitating.

"It's - I think someone's doing it on purpose. Someone's - someone's drugging him." 

Chapter Text

There’s a long, tense silence, and then Chan gives a heavy sigh. 

“Yeah, I think so too."

Jeongin stares at his lap. No one seems very surprised, and honestly, neither is he, but hearing it said out loud hits him like a punch to the chest.

"I don't know how," Chan continues, a bit gentler. "Like Hannie said, we all mostly eat and drink the same things - or if not all of us, then at least a couple."

"But who could be doing something like that?" Jisung says. "Who's even around us enough..?"

"Don't we need to know how it's happening before we can work that out?"

"Why would someone drug him?"

Jeongin pushes Hyunjin's arm off and gets unsteadily to his feet. "I - sorry - I need to go."

They all call after him, and Felix and Minho try to catch his hands, too, but Jeongin staggers past them as fast as he can and into the bathroom, locking the door with shaking fingers. 

He can't breathe. He drops to his knees on the ground, the cold tile biting at his skin, and fists his hands at his temples. He couldn't stay in that room a second longer, couldn't listen to the others dissect his life, his movements, trying to work out how someone is trying to - hurt him? Kill him? Get him thrown out? Jeongin doesn't know ; he doesn't know any of it; he doesn't understand . 

His lungs burn and his head swims. His chest hurts. Someone is knocking on the door, and Jeongin knows he isn't supposed to lock it any more, maybe for a reason, because he's dying, because the drug's got into his lungs, or his heart, and now it's going to kill him.

The knocking gets harder, forceful enough that he can see the door rattle through blurry eyes. 

"Innie," the voice calls, "I need you to open the door."

Jeongin sobs. 

"Please, honey." It's Chan, the only one of them who ever calls him that. "It's just me. I've sent everyone to their rooms. Let me in."

He can't breathe, his lungs won't expand, he's just swallowing air. He folds forward, curling over his knees. His face is wet with tears. He doesn't know when he started crying. Chan's still talking but Jeongin can't parse the words.

His heart hurts, his throat stings, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe. Chan is yelling and Jeongin is dying and he can’t do this; he doesn’t want to be alone any more. He slumps over, his shoulder hitting the door, and fumbles a sweaty hand up to turn the lock.

Chan pushes at the door at once and Jeongin lets it move him, curling up even smaller.

"Ok, ok, it's ok," Chan says in a rush. He kneels at Jeongin's side, grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him upright. "You're alright, Innie; you just need to breathe."

"'M'dying," Jeongin gasps. 

"No, honey, you're not. I wouldn't let that happen, would I? It's a panic attack. You know what those are." 

His hand moves over Jeongin's back in slow, heavy circles. 

"Hyung - someone's - poisoning - me," Jeongin sobs jerkily, "I can't - breathe -"

"You can," Chan says firmly. "I'm going to have you hold your breath, ok? Don't think about it; just do it. Hyung's got you."

Jeongin fights to comply. It takes a long minute to get his chest to stop heaving. 

"Good. Keep holding it a second, and then I want you to breathe out as hard as you can. Push all the air out of your lungs. Ok? Breathe out now."

He repeats this a few times, until Jeongin stops hyperventilating and manages to inhale in shaky but regular breaths. It takes several minutes, but Chan's hands are steady on his back and his wrist, his gaze careful. Jeongin breathes.

"There you are. It's ok. You're ok," Chan chants. “I’m not surprised, you know. I think you’ve been bottling a lot of stuff up lately.” He rubs his thumb over Jeongin’s hand. “You can talk to us. To me.”

Jeongin doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He feels like all he’s done is cry all over everyone for days and days. Shame crawls over him, cold as an approaching fog.

Someone appears in the doorway, says something in a low voice. 

"It's alright; he's fine," Chan says over his shoulder. "Can you get some water? A bottle, if we have any?"

The door shuts. Jeongin lets his hyung manoeuvre him until he's leaning up against his chest, and drops his head to Chan's collarbone. He feels so, so sick.

"It's going to be ok," Chan says again. 

"It's not."

Chan hugs him in closer. "I'll protect you, alright?" he says, almost awkwardly. “We all will.”

"You can't," Jeongin says. His voice is wet with tears, his breath sniffling humiliatingly like a child's. He doesn't know if he means you're not able to or you shouldn't or I don't want you to . It might be all of them at once.

"Yah," Chan rumbles. "Don't tell your hyung what he can't do."

Jeongin huffs a laugh, lets it turn back into crying, and presses his face into Chan's shirt. The door opens again but he keeps his head down. Minho murmurs to Chan for a minute, lays a soft hand briefly on the nape of Jeongin's neck, and then leaves them. 

They sit there long enough that one of Jeongin's legs has started to go numb, and he's shivering where the cold from the floor has bled through his clothes. Chan's arms are still round him, keeping him tucked in close, hands rubbing at his leg and his shoulder. Jeongin feels raw and wrung through with crying, weak with sickness and exhaustion. He wants to go to sleep until all of this has gone away. 

Chan makes him drink some water, and doesn't comment when he catches Jeongin's gaze lingering on the unbroken seal. 

"You need to eat something, ok?" he says. His tone brooks no argument. 

Jeongin's stomach rolls and he makes a face, but Chan just smiles cheerlessly at him, ruffling his hair back from his forehead. "No arguments. Minho ordered stuff you like."

"Do we - are the others," Jeongin fumbles. "I can't talk about -"

Chan keeps fussing with his hair, almost petting him now. "I know. We can talk about it a bit later. The guys know not to ask for now. It's ok."

He thumbs the tears from Jeongin's face. "Are you feeling ok?"

Jeongin shrugs, ducking away. He feels caught out, embarrassed, like Chan's seen him naked. He wants to hide. 

"Sick," he mumbles. "Not dizzy right now, but, um, sort of weak? I don't know how to describe it."

"Ok," Chan says, sitting back a little to let Jeongin wriggle out of his embrace. "You can lie down until the food comes, if you want?"

Jeongin escapes gratefully to his room, fumbling into a fleecy jumper and his softest sweats and burrowing under his covers. Jisung isn't there - presumably he's hidden away with the others - and Jeongin doesn't even bother turning the light on, just presses his face into the cool of the pillow until he falls asleep.

Felix wakes him, his hand small in the curve of Jeongin's back, a slight weight on the edge of the mattress. Jeongin rolls over, pressing his lips together against the answering churn of his stomach.

"Hi, Innie," Felix says. He's smiling, backlit by the light creeping round the open door, and he sort of looks like an angel. "You've gotta come eat now, ok?"

He tucks his arm around Jeongin's waist to lead him into the kitchen. Jeongin leans into him. He feels woozy, weak-limbed, as though he's just getting over a long illness. Except, he thinks, it's probably just starting. 

"Hey, you ok?"

Jeongin realises he's stopped walking. He swallows the threat of tears or panic ,or both, and turns slightly into Felix's warm shoulder. Felix hugs him, sudden and hard. 

"I love you, ok?" he says. He sounds like his teeth are gritted. He sounds like he might cry. Jeongin ducks his head into Felix’s neck and breathes, slow.

He sits between Felix and Hyunjin at the table. They both move their chairs claustrophobically close, and he sinks low in his. He eats plain rice, his hands shaking as he fumbles with his chopsticks. Eventually Minho passes over a spoon without saying anything, and Jeongin holds it loosely in his fist, the metal cool to the touch. 

It's the most he's eaten in days, and it sits heavy in his stomach. The others are talking around him - a little subdued, but almost normal - but Jeongin doesn't speak, just picks at his rice and stares at the table. Eventually, everyone falls silent, and when Jeongin looks up, they’re all glancing between him and Chan.

“Ok,” their leader says gently. “I know this is hard, but the company… So far they’re not behind us on this, so it’s just us, and if we’re right, we’ve got to work out how we can stop it happening again.”

He mustn’t take food from anyone, they say. Or drinks. Only stuff they buy themselves, or they bring from home. Only things that come sealed, like bottles. He won’t go anywhere alone if they can help it. He mustn’t eat from the dressing room tables, or continue eating anything that he’s put down or left in a bag unsupervised. 

Jeongin nods at each instruction, smaller and smaller every time. It makes sense, he knows that, but it still feels like only half a solution, because there’s still someone out there trying to hurt him. A shadow. A ghost. 

He shivers.

“The rest of us should do it too, as much as we can without it drawing attention,” Minho says. “If someone would hurt one of us, they’d hurt all of us.”

Jeongin shakes his shoulder out to hide his wince, stares down at his hands. One is still purple with bruising from the IV.

Hyunjin trails him to bed that night. He wanders around the room, touching all of Jeongin’s and Jisung’s things to try and look like he has a purpose, talking idly about nothing. Jeongin ignores him as he gets ready, shoving clothes in his bag for tomorrow, until the older boy sits down next to him and gently touches his arm to stop him.

“Innie, do you want me to stay with you tonight?”

Jeongin blinks. “I - in my bed?”

He always sleeps by himself. He naps on people, sure, but that’s it. That's the rule he set for himself when they moved in, and (barring the very worst nights, the ones he never, ever thinks about) he never breaks it.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says, looking at him with soft, unreadable eyes. “You’ve had a hard day. You’re sad.”

Jeongin blinks again, harder this time, because he’s absolutely reached his quota of crying in front of people for the next ten years. “I’m fine.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “Don’t lie to hyung.”

“I’m ok, hyung, I swear,” Jeongin says, as earnestly as he can manage, but it comes out small. “I just - I just need to process.”

“Ok.” Hyunjin sighs, and looks at him probingly for a long time. “You’ll come and get me if you need me.”

It’s not a question. He takes the bag out of Jeongin’s hands and quietly refolds the clothes in it, winds up the wire of Jeongin’s headphones to tuck those in too. Then he gets up, walking over to rifle in Jeongin’s wardrobe. “I’m putting another sweater in here. It’s cold tomorrow.”

Jeongin watches him tiredly. Hyunjin packs everything in neatly and then zips the bag up, dropping it at the end of the bed. “There. Ready now.”

He pokes Jeongin in the cheek and goes to leave, but Jeongin catches his wrist. He pulls Hyunjin back and wraps his arms around the older boy’s waist, just as quickly and tightly as Felix hugged him in the hallway. “Thanks.”

Hyunjin strokes his hair. “That’s ok, Innie.”

Jeongin has to force himself to let go. He curls up as small as he can under his covers, and counts his breaths to keep from crying until he falls asleep.

Despite Hyunjin packing for him, Jeongin finds himself frantically trying to get ready in the minutes before they leave the next morning. He’s feeling a little better - like maybe the day will go by without him throwing up or passing out, much less both. Fingers crossed, he thinks to himself, a little hysterically. 

“IN-ah, we need to go,” Seungmin says from the hall. “Everyone else is already heading down.”

“Sorry, hyung,” Jeongin calls back. “I can’t find my water bottle.”

He’s sure it was on his bedside table at some point last night, but between everything that happened - not to mention Hyunjin moving every single thing he owns, trying to look subtle - it could be anywhere by now. Jeongin does a last lap of the living room and eventually finds it shoved down beneath the couch cushions, not even on the side he was sitting on. 

He sighs, shoves it in his bag and jogs out the door. Seungmin slings an arm around him as they head to the elevators. Jeongin wants to throw him off, but running around the dorm has left him a little lightheaded, so he lets it be.

He has vocal training first thing. Felix has a free hour and has obviously been assigned babysitting duty, so he lurks in the corner. They’re lucky, Jeongin supposes, that they’re codependent enough that nobody questions it. They don’t question his terrible singing, either, even though his throat is clearly shot from all the crying and throwing up, plus the sleep he lost last night talking himself out of giving in and going to Hyunjin’s bed.

Iseul looks in on them, thankfully near the end, when Jeongin’s strained voice is finally starting to warm up. He nods without saying anything, and stands in the corner for an entire run-through. Jeongin somehow manages not to forget the words, but there's nothing he can do about his trembling fingers.

Felix links arms with him as they head down to the practice room afterwards. He has a look on his face that they’ve all started wearing recently, and Jeongin hates that he can recognise it. 

“I’m ok,” he says, before Felix can ask. “You don’t have to stare.”

“Yesterday,” Felix starts mildly, “you threw up, passed out, and had a panic attack. The day before -”

Jeongin looks away from him. “Shut up.”

“Yah. Rude.” Felix raises the least threatening hand in the world and Jeongin puts his hands up, cowers back against the wall. Iseul's gone now, and he's feeling ok, and it's like a small amount of weight has lifted from his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I meant… shut up, hyung .”

Felix grabs at his waist and Jeongin shrieks. He isn’t actually sure when he last laughed. Felix looks delighted, too; he keeps his arm around Jeongin’s shoulders as they start walking again, and hauls him in closer to bite at his hair. Jeongin shoves at him and leans into his shoulder in the same movement.

Their bubble is broken not even a minute later. They walk past some of GOT7 in the hall, unaccompanied by staff this time. Jackson, BamBam and JB are walking quickly, like they’re on their way somewhere, but they all slow down when they see Jeongin and Felix. Jeongin bows a little, automatically - he’s not as familiar with them as some of his hyungs are - as Felix greets them cheerfully.

Jackson’s looking at him, a concerned look on his face. Jeongin feels his ears go red - of course, he looks pale and sick and terrible all the time now, and the last time Jackson saw him he was being led through the corridor crying like a baby. BamBam’s darting glances at him, too, and Jeongin cringes inwardly, hunching miserably down into his jumper. 

Felix must realise something is wrong, because he squeezes him in close. The older boys notice, too, and Jackson smiles kindly at him.

“Are you ok, Jeongin-ah?”

Jeongin nods, mustering up his best smile. 

“Innie’s not been well,” Felix says tactfully. “He should be resting, but -”

“I’m fine, Jackson-hyung,” Jeongin says at once. He’s nervous, and his voice sounds much quieter than he meant it to. “We have so much to do.”

JB frowns in a way that reminds Jeongin instantly of Chan. Where do all the leaders learn this? 

“Well, don’t work too hard, yeah?”

Blushing harder, Jeongin promises he won’t, and BamBam coos at him, pinches his cheek. Felix gets the other cheek as they head down the corridor. 

“See, even GOT7-hyungs can’t resist you, because you are the cutest thing in the whole world.”

For a few days, Jeongin still feels ill, but the more dramatic symptoms seem to be subsiding. Everyone seems so pleased, relieved. Jeongin can’t shake the fear, though. Someone is watching. Someone wants to hurt him. If the pills stop working, who knows what else they’ll try? Who else they’ll target?

He eats what the others give him, or what he can buy himself, sealed, but he can’t stop himself staring at everything before he eats it, wondering Is this..? He still feels sick - so sick, a nausea that sticks in his stomach and throat like tar. His hands shake constantly. He’s so tired that little shadows sometimes flick at the edges of his vision, like low-flying birds.

Jeongin can’t even think. That’s the worst thing. The world comes at him through a grey haze, like fine rain, and slips through his fingers when he tries to take hold of it. He can’t keep track of conversations any more, so he barely talks. He can’t concentrate on schoolwork, or tv, or music. It’s not like he’s ever been good at keeping track of his belongings, but lately nothing’s ever where he thinks he’s left it, and he can never get his things ready in time. He can’t do anything. He can’t feel anything. 

But he hasn’t passed out in days, and he clings to that, desperate to be better. Their schedules are just starting to ramp up now, and it won’t be long until they start doing photoshoots, videos, TV interviews. This thing - the pills, the sickness, the collapsing - whatever is going on with him, it can’t distract from all their hard work. The thought makes him feel even sicker. 

The members hover. Seungmin makes him describe how he’s feeling a lot, and writes down everything he eats, looking for a pattern. There’s always someone within reach, usually Hyunjin or Chan, and they’re still following him to his schedules. It makes Jeongin’s skin itch with anxiety.  Everything around him is crumbling, his whole life, and he can’t keep it together on his own. He wants so badly to let them comfort him, for someone to hold him and tell him he’ll be alright, and they’re so willing, but the weight of the burden he’s putting on them is heavy round Jeongin’s neck, dragging him down, keeping him still. He pushes their arms away more and more. He waits to cry until everyone’s asleep.

It’s been four days of the plan, and it’s like none of Jeongin’s muscles will listen to him any more. His head swims - the haze again, swollen into a thick, unwavering fog. They’ve been practising for two hours and are scheduled for two more, but Jeongin keeps stumbling, totally unable to control his body. His ears ring. He has to ask Felix to repeat an instruction three times. 

Fear is making him tense, and he almost snaps at Chan when he tries to suggest Jeongin takes a break. Frustrated tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He scrubs them roughly away. 

Just before lunch, and just when Jeongin thinks he’s going to have to give in and ask to sit down for a while, Iseul appears again. Donghyun is with him, this time, following more casually as Iseul strides into the room, waves off their bowing and greeting, and moves over to the corner with the couches. All their bags are piled over there, and Seungmin and Chan hurry over to move them off the seats. 

“We weren’t expecting you, hyung-nim,” Chan says cautiously to Iseul.

The older man raises an eyebrow. “You can’t be surprised that you’re under closer supervision these days, Chan-ah. One of your members is on probation.”

“Of course,” Chan says. “Did you want to speak with us..?”

Iseul tells them to continue practising, sitting down on the couch without taking his eyes off Jeongin. Jeongin shrinks a little closer to Minho.

Donghyun sits down too, but smiles around at them first. He looks a little awkward, embarrassed, like maybe Iseul’s behaviour is making him uncomfortable. Like he thinks his boss is overreacting. Jeongin’s shoulders relax, just a little, at the thought that at least someone in management might be on his side. 

Minho puts a hand on the back of Jeongin’s neck, guiding him gently back to his place. Jeongin breathes slowly to clear his head, and dances as best he can. 

It’s clear it isn’t good enough. 

Iseul calls Jeongin and Chan into the corridor as soon as the song ends. Jeongin trails after his leader with his head down, refusing to look at the others in the room. He’s let them down, again , and he can’t bear to see it on their faces.

He glances around anxiously when they get outside. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone around, but the studio door is round a corner, so anyone could be nearby. Rumours spread like fire at JYP; all it would take is for one trainee to hear the wrong thing and the entire building will think Jeongin is on drugs. He twists his fingers into the hem of his hoodie.

“You know that was sloppy, Jeongin,” Iseul says without preamble. 

“Iseul-ssi, he’s been ill,” Donghyun starts, but the other man silences him with a look, and then turns back, an expression on his face that cuts right through Jeongin’s chest.

“Yes, hyung-nim,” he says. It comes out almost as a whisper.

Chan’s hand comes up to Jeongin’s neck, his palm hot, and Jeongin’s too nervous to shake it off. 

“Bring the standard up. If your performance isn’t good enough, you aren’t doing your job, and you’re already on probation. You both know what the consequences are here.”

“Yes, hyung-nim.”

Iseul frowns at them again and then leaves. Donghyun lingers behind. 

“I’m sorry, boys,” he says gently. “He’s under a lot of stress.”

He gives Jeongin an avuncular smile and squeezes his shoulder. “Try not to worry, ok? Things aren’t as dire as Iseul-ssi would have you believe. Just be good and work hard.”

There’s a painful lump in Jeongin’s throat. He swallows so he can answer. “I will, hyung-nim. I promise.”

“Good boy. I’ll see you later, ok?”

They bow, and Chan rubs Jeongin’s back a little as they return to the practice room. 

“See, IN-ah. Donghyun-hyung is rooting for you. It’s ok.”

Jeongin nods, although he can’t get the cold look in Iseul’s eyes out of his head. 

They practice late - although Jeongin spends part of the evening lying on the couch after Jisung catches him nearly collapsing in the bathroom - and it’s past eleven by the time they get back to the dorm. Jeongin’s so tired his vision is blurry, and he argues with Chan when the leader insists he showers with the door open. 

He knows it’s the sensible thing. His head’s starting to throb, too, and lately he’s taken to sitting down in the shower anyway, because the hot water makes the dizziness worse. It’s just that he’s almost never alone any more, and he feels like a stupid, useless child. A couple of stubborn tears fall while he’s showering - door open - and he shoves his face under the spray to wash them away. 

There’s a little hum of quiet movement in the dorm when he emerges, members moving back and forth from the kitchen and the bathroom to their bedrooms. Felix kisses Jeongin’s temple as he passes, and Changbin ruffles his wet hair. Jisung is already in bed when Jeongin gets back to their room - or mostly; he’s on top of the covers, lying the wrong way up with his feet on the pillow. He blows a kiss, and Jeongin rolls his eyes. 

There’s a glass of water on his bedside table - probably Chan, trying to apologise, although it could be any of the others if they’re feeling maternal. Jeongin smiles a little as he reaches for it. He doesn’t deserve them, really.

Jisung’s fairy lights refract prettily through the water when Jeongin picks the glass up, and it’s only because he stops to look that he notices it at all.

At the bottom of the glass, moving slightly with the movement of the water, there are several clumps of fine, white powder. 

Chapter Text

The air is freezing. 

It burns in Jeongin’s lungs, still sore from running. It stings his wet cheeks. He isn’t sure how long he’s been walking now, or how long he was running before that. His phone is buzzing incessantly in his pocket but he hasn’t looked at it once. It’s pure luck that he has it with him at all - with the door open while he showered, the bathroom was cold, and he put on the same hoodie he’d been wearing at practice. The fabric is wet, chilling his skin in the wind. Jeongin can still hear the sharp crack of the glass hitting the table as he dropped it, feel the shock of water spilling all over him. He imagines the white powder soaking into the material, melting through his skin. Whoever put it there getting to him even now, even after he saw. 

He wants to rip the hoodie off, but he’s not wearing anything underneath. It’s spring, but the air is crisp this late at night, damp with the threat of rain. Jeongin’s hair is wet as well as the hoodie, and the thin sweats and sliders he’s wearing are doing nothing to combat the chill. He’s not even wearing socks. 

Jeongin shivers, more tears spilling from his sore eyes. His thoughts are moving too quickly to catch one. He can’t slow his breathing, although whether that’s from the running or the panic, he can’t tell. 

Every time he shuts his eyes he sees powder, moving gently in the water. 

It can’t be one of them. It can’t. Jeongin’s whole body recoils from the thought. 

If it’s one of them, he doesn’t have anyone any more. It’s back to those first lonely weeks, dropping dizzily to the floor every time he was alone, except this time it’s worse. This time he knows someone’s out to hurt him, someone close to him, someone who’s doctored his food and been in his room and touched his things. Sat on his bed. One of his hyungs, who’ve taken care of him since before debut. Who hug him when he’s sad and hold his hand when he’s not feeling well. I'll protect you, Chan said. 

Jeongin’s going to be sick. 

He’s in a residential area somewhere - he’s barely walked around Seoul; he lost track of time quickly after crossing the river. He stumbles over to a little patch of grass and hunches over into a bush to throw up. His throat burns, his eyes sting, his hands throb in the cold. When he stops retching, he slumps down onto the ground. He can’t stop crying. 

When Jeongin was six, a man tried to take him from the playground. He doesn't remember a lot about the incident - a big hand closing roughly over his upper arm, his older brother screaming at the top of his lungs - but he remembers his dad, bigger and louder than he'd ever seen before, and the feeling of being scooped up, held, protected. He wants that feeling back.

He’s always told himself that he both hates and loves to be coddled by the members. Before, when he was able to relax into it - if he was tired enough or sad enough or it caught him off guard - it felt so nice to be taken care of. But afterwards, or when he wasn’t able to get out of his head enough, the guilt would overtake that, and he wouldn’t be able to relax under its weight.

We’re your hyungs, they’ve always told him, it’s our job to take care of you. 

There’s nothing but guilt, now. It’s going to crush him.

Jeongin chokes on a sob, leaning over again as his stomach rolls threateningly. How can he have got it so wrong? He works hard to be good at his job, at his role. They tell him - the hyungs tell him he’s a good maknae. They tell him they love him. What can he have done to make one of them stop?

He curls in on himself. He wishes he’d never seen what was in the glass. He’d take being sick again if it meant he could feel safe in his bed, stop wondering which of them might be trying to make him leave. He wants Hyunjin to hold him, Felix to smooth back his hair, Minho to stroke the back of his neck. He wants Chan’s fierce hugs and Jisung’s loud cheek kisses and Seungmin’s arm around his waist and Changbin pinching his cheeks. He trusts all of them. He can’t trust anyone. 

The wind picks up, and Jeongin shivers harder. His teeth are chattering hard enough to rattle his whole head. His phone buzzes again, and he digs it out of his pocket, wiping his face on his sleeve. 

Missed calls and messages fill the notification screen. It’s half past two - Jeongin’s been walking for over two hours. His hands are too cold for the phone to recognise his fingerprint and he gets his passcode wrong twice before finally unlocking it. When he finally finds the contact he wants, it rings for a long while before he gets an answer.

“Hyung?” he says hesitantly. “I’m so sorry - please can you come pick me up?”

It takes twenty minutes for a car to turn onto the quiet street. Jeongin hides his face with his sleeves and ducks down to cry into his knees as he waits, breathing shallowly against the cold. 

“Jeongin-ah.”

He starts at the voice, even though he heard the car approaching. Somewhere between the panic and the cold and how tired he is, Jeongin feels sluggish, confused. He almost falls as he gets himself to his feet.

Donghyun clucks his tongue worriedly as Jeongin climbs into the passenger seat. “Kid, what are you doing out here? Your members are worried sick.”

“I’m sorry, hyung,” Jeongin mumbles. It’s hard to talk around the chattering of his teeth. “I got lost.”

Donghyun is quiet for a while, although he keeps sneaking concerned glances at Jeongin as he drives. Jeongin folds himself up in the seat, trying to keep warm. The car’s heating isn’t on, but he feels too shy to ask. This is the first time he and Donghyun have ever been alone together. 

At a red light, the manager turns a little in his seat. “Jeongin-ah. I know you’re having a really hard time right now.”

His voice is gentle, almost paternal, and new tears sting at Jeongin’s sore eyes. Donghyun must see, because he clucks his tongue again and reaches over to squeeze Jeongin’s shoulder. 

“It’s going to be alright, kid,” he says. “Here, look. I brought you this.”

He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a carton of chocolate milk, like the ones that go in little kids’ lunchboxes. Donghyun has kids, Jeongin remembers. Two little girls.

The gesture makes the lump in his throat throb painfully. He’s not supposed to take drinks from anyone, but it’s a sealed carton, and anyway those instructions came from his members, and then there was a glass filled with something in Jeongin’s room. By his bed. 

Jeongin pushes the thought away and takes the carton, murmuring his thanks, but he still double checks the seal before he drinks it. The sweetness helps with how drowsy he’s feeling, but it’s cold, settling heavily over the chill in his chest and making it worse. He considers again asking Donghyun to put the heater on, but can’t get up the courage. Anyway, they’re almost there.

“I know things are difficult,” Donghyun reiterates as he parks in front of the dorm building. “With Iseul, and everything. I’m sure he’s just coming down hard on you because he believes in Stray Kids and he wants you guys to succeed, you know?”

He pats Jeongin’s shoulder again, a little awkwardly. “I’m glad you called me tonight, kid. I know I’m not your main manager, but I always want to help if I can. Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No, it’s ok. Thanks, hyung,” Jeongin says, very, very quietly. “For coming to get me, and - thanks.”

“It’s alright, kid. Go on inside. It’s late, and I know you’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

Jeongin scuttles to the door, shivering again as the cold air hits his still-damp clothes. Donghyun’s car doesn’t move until the door is closing behind Jeongin, and he waves a little, although he can’t see if the manager is waving back.

Dread settles over Jeongin as he exits the lift onto their floor. The door at the end of the corridor looms at him as he raises a hand - still trembling violently - to key in the code. It opens before he can get all the numbers in. 

“Oh, shit, thank god.” Someone’s grabbing him by the shoulders, yanking him towards them hard enough to hurt. Jeongin slumps into it, too weak and cold and tired to resist, gasping a little at the impact. It’s warm, and his fingers and toes immediately start to throb.

“Jeonginnie, you’re frozen. Hyung, his clothes are wet.” It’s Changbin who’s holding him, patting him all over as though checking for injuries. All the others are behind him, squashed into the hallway. The light is very bright. 

“Ok, ok,” Chan says loudly. “Everyone get out of the hallway, ok? Someone make tea. Innie, come with me.”

Jeongin finds himself scooped out of Changbin’s arms and tucked into Chan’s side, led into his own bedroom. Someone’s mopped the water up, but he still recoils from the table. 

“It’s not wet any more,” Chan says, misunderstanding.

“Hyung,” Jeongin says. His voice shudders with the force of his shivering. “Did you - the water -”

“Felix cleaned it up, I think,” Chan says distractedly. “Get this off; it’s damp.”

He tugs at the hoodie, but Jeongin holds still. “N-no,” he stammers, “did you put the glass there? When we got home?”

“What? No.” Chan frowns, and he so, so clearly has no idea what Jeongin is talking about. Not Chan. It can’t be Chan. Chan wouldn’t hurt him. 

Jeongin makes an embarrassing whimpering noise and folds himself forward, pressing into his leader’s lap. Chan’s arms come around him at once. 

“Innie, honey, it’s ok,” he murmurs. “Nobody’s mad at you. Let me get you warmed up, ok, and you can tell me what’s going on.”

Jeongin can barely control his limbs, he’s so cold , and so he lets Chan dress him and wrap him in a fleece blanket without protest. 

“Why did you run away, aegi?” Chan takes one of Jeongin’s hands in both of his, rubbing it to warm him up. He speaks so softly that Jeongin almost misses it. 

“The water,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t put it there.”

“Ok?” Chan says gently.

“And you didn’t?”

“No.”

Jeongin shivers miserably. His head’s starting to hurt again. “There was powder in it. In the glass. I saw it and I just - I’m so sorry - it’s so late and I’ve kept everyone up and I - but it was by my bed and I saw it and I just, I ran, I’m so - I’m so sorry.”

He has to pause, swallowing tears. “Hyung. It was by my bed, I - I was - I’m scared.”

“Sh, hey, it’s ok.” Chan’s frowning hard, serious, and Jeongin feels anxiety buzz under his skin. He can’t tell if Chan is angry with him or not, even as his leader reaches forward to wrap him in another hug. 

“Come with me.”

Chan readjusts the blanket around Jeongin’s shoulders and leads him out into the hall. As they move through the living room they bypass most of the others, who look confused, but Chan doesn’t stop moving until they’re by the sink. Seungmin is in the kitchen, fussing at several cups of tea, and he looks up curiously. 

“Hyung?” he says. 

Chan holds up a hand to quiet him, and turns Jeongin by the shoulders until he’s looking at their (large, mostly ignored) stack of unwashed dishes. “Do you know which glass?”

Jeongin’s muscles feel like bags of sand. His head and neck ache when he looks up. He can feel his legs shaking, and he knows he isn’t going to be able to keep standing much longer.

There are two of the right kind of glass by the sink, but one of them’s clearly had something dark and sticky in it, so Jeongin points hesitantly at the other one. “I - it was one of those; I don’t - um -”

He falters, losing track of his sentence, and then jumps violently as a hand wraps around his elbow.

“Sit down, IN-ah,” Seungmin says. “You’ve gone white.”

Chan looks up sharply, the glass Jeongin pointed out in his hand. “Are you ok?”

Seungmin nudges Jeongin into a chair he’s dragged over and then hovers at his side, holding onto his shoulders. Tears well in Jeongin’s eyes again. Every time one of them touches him - Changbin hugging him at the door, Seungmin’s gentle hands on him now - he can’t even think. Someone here wants to hurt him. It must be one of them. It can’t be any of them. 

“Hey. Breathe, ok?”

Chan. His hyung is crouching on the floor, one hand on Jeongin’s knee. He’s still holding the glass. 

“Seungminnie,” he says suddenly. “Did you leave water by Jeongin’s bed when we got home?”

“What?” Seungmin sounds totally nonplussed, and Jeongin aches to believe him. “No, hyung - what?”

“Ok. No, I know you - god.” Chan reaches out to squeeze Seungmin’s wrist. He looks troubled. Jeongin hates himself for putting that expression on his face. 

“Innie, this is the glass, yeah? I think you’re right - there’s something in it.”

He holds it up and Jeongin squints through blurry eyes. There’s some kind of residue in the bottom, white and filmy. It’s hard to tell what it is. It could be that someone used the glass for cooking, or forgot that their tap water is gross, or that the glass wasn’t used at all and it’s actually just dusty. It could be nothing. 

It doesn’t look like nothing, though. 

Chan turns the glass over in his hands. He looks exhausted. 

“Hey,” someone says from the doorway, and Jeongin jerks his head up. Minho’s standing there, looking kind of confused. “Are you guys ok?”

Jeongin thinks about the weird picture this must make, him in a chair in the middle of the room,  Seungmin’s hands on his shoulders, Chan in front of him on his knees. He’s still shivering, too, he realises, or maybe just shaking. He’s so tired he feels faintly hysterical. 

“Yeah,” Chan says. “Just - wait for us in the living room, Minho-ah, yeah?”

Minho hesitates. Jeongin can’t quite meet his eyes, stares somewhere in the direction of his stomach instead.

“Hyung,” he says. His voice comes out cracked and hoarse, and even as he’s opening his mouth to ask the question, he finds he can’t do it. He closes his eyes instead, leaning his head against Seungmin’s stomach.

Chan sends them all through to the living room eventually. Seungmin keeps his hand on Jeongin’s elbow and steers him into a seat next to Hyunjin, who immediately wraps around him like a vine. Both he and Felix look like they’ve been crying. Jeongin stares at his lap. 

“Oh, you’re so cold,” Hyunjin murmurs. His voice sounds wrecked, too. 

Jeongin tries to curl further into himself, but Hyunjin won’t let him.

“Where have you been?” Jisung says. “What happened?”

“Leave it,” Minho almost snaps. “Wait for hyung.”

Are they angry? It’s hard to tell. Everyone’s tense and upset and tired, and it’s Jeongin’s fault. Hyunjin’s clinging to him tighter than usual, rubbing his hands up and down Jeongin’s sides to warm him up, and he’s pressed his cheek to Jeongin’s hair like he always does. Seungmin’s on his other side, sitting close so that their sides are pressed together, but that could be because there’s no space. 

Jeongin can’t bring himself to look up. He doesn’t want to see anyone’s expression. He doesn’t want to have to look at anyone’s face and wonder Did you…?

Chan comes in with his hands full. He’s wrapped the glass in a plastic bag, and it clunks ominously when he sets it on the table, but he ignores everyone’s questioning looks, leaning over to hand Jeongin a cup of tea.

“Drink that,” he says. “You’ll get ill.”

Jeongin takes the mug. The warmth bleeds into his hands immediately, the shock of it almost painful. He stares at the surface of the liquid, gold as honey and smelling enticingly of ginger, and feels his throat close up. He can’t do it. He can’t drink it. 

He looks up at Chan with his mouth open, although he doesn’t know what to say. 

Chan looks devastated. “Yeah. Ok. Well, hold it. It’ll keep you warm.”

Jeongin presses his lips together and returns his gaze to his hands. He’s shaking again and Hyunjin makes a concerned noise, squeezing him closer. 

“Ok, hyung is here,” Jisung says. “What happened?” He’s sitting across from them - Jeongin’s too scared to look at his face but he can see him bouncing his knee agitatedly up and down. 

“Did one of you leave a glass of water by Innie’s bed when we got home earlier?” Chan says. 

Nobody speaks, confused. Jeongin darts a glance up at Chan. Their leader scans everyone’s faces, sighing - a much older sound than Jeongin is used to - and explains in a terse voice. The silence that follows rings in Jeongin’s ears. Hyunjin’s fingers dig into his arm.

“That’s why you won’t drink that?” Jisung says loudly, and Jeongin is startled into looking up at him. He’s sitting in the armchair, wedged in next to Minho, and gesturing at the mug in Jeongin’s hands. “You think it’s one of us?”

Jeongin can’t speak. His mouth is dry, like maybe it’s shrivelling up, like it won’t let him speak or drink or eat ever again. 

“You don’t trust us?” says Jisung. He’s almost shouting, definitely, definitely angry now, his eyes sharp and demanding. Jeongin flinches back, dropping his gaze. 

“Don’t yell at him.”

“Don’t speak to him like that.”

Hyunjin and Chan speak at the same time. Jisung ignores Chan, leaning further forward in the chair.

“He’s not going to deny it though!” he says. “He ran away from us - we’ve been up all night and he won’t drink tea Seungmin made because he thinks we’re poisoning him.”

Jeongin’s eyes blur with tears and he puts the mug on the table, twisting his fingers together hard to keep from crying. There’s hurt and fury in Jisung’s voice, and nothing Jeongin can say in response. 

Hyunjin sits up higher on the couch and scoops Jeongin into the space he leaves, holding him to his side. “Stop it. You’re making him upset.”

“I don’t care,” Jisung says, “I’m upset. How could you think this of us? We’ve looked after you since before debut - this whole time you’ve been sick, it’s us who’ve -”

Hyunjin cuts him off angrily, and Jeongin pulls his knees up to his chest and ducks his head down. He’s cold all the way through, like it’s settled into his veins. He lets himself turn just a little into Hyunjin’s shoulder, and thinks again of that time someone tried to take him, the comfort of his dad holding him. This doesn’t feel like that. Hyunjin’s arms around him are protective and he’s so angry on Jeongin’s behalf, just like his dad was, but it’s different this time. This time, Jeongin doesn’t deserve it. 

“Enough,” Chan says, cutting through. “It’s late. Everyone’s exhausted, and Innie’s been out in the cold for hours -”

“By choice,” Jisung mutters. 

Jeongin presses his face into his knees as Hyunjin tenses, but Chan doesn’t stop talking.

“-and right now I think everyone just needs to go to bed.”

Jisung immediately starts arguing, and Jeongin hears Minho say Hyung in a low, serious voice. The others are murmuring, too. Felix makes a wet noise, as though he’s crying again. 

Jeongin hauls himself up from the couch. He sways dizzily at the movement, but brushes off Seungmin and Hyunjin’s supportive hands, steadying himself on the doorframe instead as he escapes to the bathroom. 

He washes his face and spends a long time drinking straight from the tap. The water is cold, but a little earthy and metallic. It tastes like money, like blood. His stomach turns, and he folds over to retch into the sink.

Someone knocks quietly on the door. “Innie? Are you ok?”

Jeongin coughs in lieu of a response, turning the tap back on. Bile burns in his throat and tears burn in his eyes and he grips hard onto the sink to stay upright. He can’t do this alone. He’s going to have to give up. He’s going to slide down onto the floor and never get up again.

Seungmin is hovering in the hallway when he leaves. Jeongin palms the wall to stop himself falling and ducks into his room, startling a little when he finds Chan and Jisung already in there. Chan’s on the end of Jeongin’s bed, and he’s turned the covers back like he’s waiting to tuck him in. Jeongin’s heart hurts. He bites at his lip and stumbles over.

Chan strokes his hand gently down Jeongin’s spine as he crawls into bed, but doesn’t speak. He keeps touching him, though, rubbing at his still-cold hands, smoothing down his hair. He looks sad. 

“I love you, Jeongin-ah, ok?” 

Jeongin feels his mouth pull down at the corners, his chest convulsing as he holds in a sob. He nods.

“Me too,” Seungmin says from the door. Jeongin lolls his head to one side to look at him, but before he can answer, Jisung makes a tight scoffing noise from the other side of the room. Jeongin flinches. When he looks up, Jisung is winding his phone charger around his hand. His pillow is shoved under one arm.

“Where are you going?” Jeongin says hesitantly. 

Jisung doesn’t even look at him. “Felix’s room.” 

He brushes past Seungmin and Chan on his way out of the room. Jeongin swallows. He’s not going to cry with the others right here. He’s hurt them enough.

“Innie,” Seungmin starts, “do you want -”

“No,” Jeongin says at once. “No, hyung; I’m fine. Go to bed.”

“He’s just -”

“I know. I’m fine.”

He’s lying.

Chapter Text

“We’ll have to pin this, Jeongin-ah. How did you lose so much weight, hm?”

“I’m sorry, noona,” Jeongin says, “I, um, I’ve been ill, so.”

The stylist clucks at him and pulls the belt tighter. “Stay still.”

Jeongin obeys, and watches himself in the mirror as she adjusts all the clothes that no longer fit him. His hands shake as he holds them out so she can pin the arms of his sweater, but she doesn’t comment. 

This is the first photoshoot they’ve had in a while. Jeongin probably should have thought to tell someone how much smaller he is now, but lately all his thoughts arrive at him hours or days late, floating up sodden and unrecognisable through the thick soup of anxiety in his head. There’s an interview later, as well, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to cope.

It’s been several days of drifting awkwardly around at practice and at the dorm. Barely anyone says anything to Jeongin - not on purpose, except Jisung; it’s just that no one knows what to say. They’re hardly speaking to each other, either. It reminds him of the beginning of all this, weeks ago now, when no one knew and he was desperately trying to keep it from them. When he was alone.

Everyone’s especially quiet today, with more eyes on them, except for occasional bursts of manic energy when they think people are noticing something’s wrong. The air is charged, like the moments before a lightning strike.

Jeongin sinks gratefully into the couch when the stylist is done pinning him. She urges him not to move around too much. That won’t be a problem - he’s dizzy every time he stands for too long. It’s been a while since he passed out or threw up, but the nausea and lightheadedness never leave him, and occasionally bring him to his knees, his vision edged with grey. He drops his head onto the back of the couch, sighing.

Someone’s eyes are on him. Jeongin looks up, not sure how long he’s been half asleep, and finds Hyunjin sitting at his side, his eyes worried.

“They’re calling us for the group shots in a minute, Innie,” he says gently. “Are you ok?”

Jeongin bites the side of his lip. No , he wants to say, everything’s falling apart; everyone’s unhappy and it’s all my fault and I don’t know what to do. 

“Fine, hyung,” he mumbles instead, and stretches his mouth into something like a smile. 

Hyunjin frowns, watching the others, who’ve started filing out of the dressing room. “Innie -”

“Guys, we have to go,” Chan calls. 

Jisung makes an impatient noise behind him, and Jeongin flinches. 

Hyunjin glances between them, looking upset, and Jeongin tries to smile for him again. He uses the arm of the couch to pull himself upright. 

The morning passes painfully slowly. One of the art directors compliments Jeongin on his delicate angles and, a beat later, asks Chan to relax his face and stop looking so annoyed. Jeongin’s dizzy under the lights, nearly passes out more than once. The stylists spend fifteen minutes pinning every outfit tighter around him. He breathes deeply, and wishes for it to be over.

There’s an awkward moment at lunchtime when everyone looks up at him automatically, waiting for him to be the first to eat, before they all realise he isn’t going to - not here - and Seungmin reaches out to take a sushi roll instead. Jeongin has food on his plate, for appearances, and he pokes at it with chopsticks for a while, not looking up as the others talk around him. 

“Did you bring something?” Felix murmurs next to him, when everyone else has nearly finished. 

Jeongin shakes his head, shrugs. He’s mostly been living off snacks and fruit from the vending machines at the company building, and he remembered too late that he wasn’t going to be there today. 

Felix makes a small, disapproving noise. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’ll be fine, hyung.”

Felix starts to say something else, but he’s interrupted by a little flurry of movement in the managerial staff near the door, and then Iseul enters. 

Everyone stands to bow - Jeongin blinks away lightheadedness at the movement - and Chan steps away from the table.

“We weren’t expecting to see you today, hyung-nim,” he says politely. “I thought Sodam-noona was managing the shoot.”

“Just dropping in, Chan-ah,” Iseul says. He looks tired, Jeongin thinks, not quite as stern as he has been lately. 

“I need to speak with you and Jeongin.”

Just like every time, the use of Jeongin’s formal name feels like a little slap. He stumbles off the bench, and the two of them follow the manager out of the room.

“This is your most public appearance since you’ve been on probation,” Iseul says. “I wanted to see how things are going.”

Jeongin nods. He thinks Iseul is expecting him to say something, but he doesn’t know what. 

“Promotions are picking up,” Iseul continues. “You have a live performance later this week, correct? If you can’t be up to standard…”

“We are, hyung-nim,” Chan says at once. “Jeonginnie is working hard.”

“Yes, hyung-nim,” Jeongin says, hardly above a whisper. 

“I don’t think I agree,” Iseul says mildly. “We’ve been taking measures to monitor how things are going, and while nothing has explicitly broken the probationary agreement, the situation is clearly still serious.”

Chan frowns. “What measures, hyung-nim?” 

“That’s not important,” Iseul says archly. He looks down at Jeongin, a pinched expression on his face. He’s a big man, tall and broad, and although he’s usually in suits for work, Jeongin knows he favours loose, cosy jumpers in his off hours. They make him look soft. Jeongin can’t reconcile that image with the man in front of him, who looks like he’s been carved from stone. Iseul used to like him so much, he thinks with a little pang. 

“It has to improve, Jeongin. The group cannot afford any more damage to its image, and JYPE can’t be seen to tolerate drug use. How many times do we have to have this conversation?”

Jeongin feels so, so sick. Chan sets a supportive hand on his back, but it’s barely enough. 

“I’ll work harder, hyung-nim,” he says, almost in a whisper. 

Iseul keeps talking but Jeongin lets himself lean into Chan’s hand and zone out. He can feel himself trembling, hopes it’s not visible. 

He’s trying . He’s trying so hard, and it’s still not good enough, and he doesn’t know what else he can possibly do. He can’t even ask the others, because he’s hurt them so badly, and they probably don’t deserve it, but he can’t stop his mind screaming What if what if what if , he can’t stop thinking about the glittering glass on the table, inches from his bed.

Iseul nods at them and leaves, and Jeongin bows automatically. His chest feels tight. 

“Innie,” Chan says softly, “it’s ok. Breathe.”

“I, um,” Jeongin says, and then shrugs off Chan’s hand and slips out of the room.

He walks as fast as he can to the nearest bathroom - thankfully, blissfully empty - and drops to his knees in the corner stall, retching. He hardly even manages to bring anything up, and the movement hurts his chest and throat, every muscle weak and straining. His whole body is taut with stress and anxiety. 

His heavy breaths echo in the small space. Jeongin tips his head back against the wall so that the tears run down from the corners of his eyes, hopefully not disturbing too much of his makeup. He tries to keep his throat relaxed so he won’t sob. He can’t get that upset here. He can’t. He can’t.

Jeongin was wrong - this isn’t like before any of the members knew. It’s worse. He’s never felt so small and sad and alone in his life. 

It’s a long time before he moves. No one’s come looking, and he knows their call time isn’t for a little while yet, so Jeongin sits still, fighting against the tightness in his throat and the churning of his stomach, until he can force himself to be calm. 

When he exits the stall and faces the mirror, he almost flinches. Most of his makeup is intact, which is good, but under it his face looks grey, worn. He looks away, disgusted, and leans over carefully to rinse his mouth.

On the way out, Jeongin pauses and fishes in his pocket for the box of mints he’s started carrying around - they serve a dual purpose, for moments like this one, and for little hits of sugar when he can’t find food that he trusts. He’s leaning on the wall, sucking a mint and blinking away leftover tears, when he hears a low voice. 

“- not fair to the rest of us. After everything we’ve done for him, hyung -”

Jisung, spitting with rage. Jeongin shrinks further back. 

“Stop it,” someone says firmly. Minho. “Han-ah, he’s sick and scared out of his mind.”

“That doesn’t -”

“It does matter,” Minho says. “It’s not his fault. He’s frightened, and even if he turned around tomorrow and said he, I don’t know, he hates all of us and wishes we caught fire, we’d still have to look after him. It’s our job.”

Jisung mutters something Jeongin doesn’t catch. 

Minho scoffs. “You love him; I know you do. I get how you’re feeling, I do, but you just have to put that aside and take care of him. You’re the hyung here. Act like one.”

Jeongin doesn’t hear any more. He waits a little, assuming they’ve left, but when he leaves the bathroom Minho is still there, leaning his head back against the wall. They’ve done his makeup soft and glowy, rich blue shadow around his eyes, and even though he’s clearly exhausted, he looks like the magazine editorial they’ll eventually end up in. He startles slightly when he sees Jeongin. 

“Oh,” he says, “Innie, did you hear..?”

Jeongin swallows around the mint in his mouth, nodding shortly. Minho’s scrutinising his face, frowning a little, and Jeongin remembers his bloodshot eyes, the smeared makeup around his mouth. He ducks his head and tries to slip past, but he’s moved too quickly and stumbles unsteadily into his hyung’s chest. 

“Hey.” Minho catches him by the elbows. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” Jeongin mumbles, “sorry, hyung. Just dizzy.”

Minho doesn’t let go of him. He looks suddenly very sad. “Of course you’re dizzy,” he says crossly. “You’ve barely eaten in days.”

He marches Jeongin over to some chairs and pushes him down. His grip slides down until they’re almost holding hands. Jeongin keeps his eyes on his lap, willing himself to stop shaking. 

“I’m so worried about you,” Minho says. “I’ve been worried about you for a long time, actually.”

“I’m ok, hyung.”

“No, you’re not.”

Minho sounds like he might be about to cry, and Jeongin’s own voice cracks when he answers. “Please don’t worry about me.”

His hyung whacks him on the shoulder. “Yah, you don’t get a choice. You’re my dongsaeng. What would hyung do if something happened to you? And the kids would miss their favourite uncle.”

“Stop calling the cats your kids, hyung.”

“Don’t be insolent.” 

He puts a hand on the back of Jeongin’s neck and drags him in. Jeongin drops his forehead to the older boy’s shoulder and breathes shakily, unsure what to do. He wants to shrug Minho off and run away. He wants to crawl into his lap and cry. He doesn’t deserve this gentleness.

“Don’t listen to Jisungie, ok? He’s worried about you too, and it’s making him angry, but he doesn’t mean it. He loves you so much.”

Minho’s hand pets softly through his hair and Jeongin has to pull back before he bursts into tears. He sucks hard on the mint for a second, willing the sugar to kick in, and wobbles to his feet. 

“Please don’t worry about me,” he says again. He leaves before Minho can reply. 

Everyone else is gathered in the main dressing room. There’s quite a lot of staff around, their own and the publication’s, and it’s too many people - Jeongin feels instantly nervous, but he can’t disappear again so quickly. He edges along the wall like a fox, trying to find somewhere inconspicuous to sit down until the dizziness goes away. 

Chan and Seungmin are on one of the couches, Felix and Hyunjin curled up together on the other. Jisung is here, too. He doesn’t look up and Jeongin averts his eyes quickly. This isn’t the place to get into another argument. What would he even say? 

Sudden movement draws his attention away from Jisung, and when he looks up, Changbin’s crossing the room towards him. He’s walking quickly, like he’s in a hurry to get somewhere. Jeongin jumps as his hyung reaches out and grabs a fistful of his shirt, drags him in until he can put an arm around him. Changbin is squaring his shoulders, his lower jaw set the way it gets when he's angry. Jeongin doesn't understand.

“Hyung, what..?”

Changbin doesn’t say anything, his hand curved possessively over Jeongin’s bicep. Jeongin follows his gaze to the other side of the room. One of the assistants from the management team is looking at them - no, not at them. At Jeongin. His expression is neutral but he’s staring hard, unmoving even as Changbin puts himself between them.

Jeongin’s heart thumps almost painfully in his chest. He leans in, just a little, scolding himself for nearly crying just because his hyung’s put an arm around him. It wasn’t even just because he wanted to. It was because someone’s looking at Jeongin, and it might be the person who’s trying to kill him.

“Innie.”

Flinching, Jeongin glances up, and realises his breath is hitching. He fights to calm down. Changbin sighs, nudging him over to a corner.

“It’s fine,” he says, low. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you. It’s ok.”

Jeongin can’t cry again. He’ll ruin more of his makeup and delay the shoot and the interview and everyone will be even angrier with him. 

“Hyung, I - I -”

Changbin squeezes his shoulder, nodding. Jeongin stares at the floor.

“Sit down,” Changbin says. “You look ill.”

I always look ill , Jeongin wants to say. He doesn’t remember the last time he looked in a mirror and didn’t feel ashamed.

Changbin pushes him in the direction of the couches and Jeongin shrinks into the corner of one, pulling his legs up. Everyone’s quiet again, tired, and Jeongin dares to lean a little closer to Felix and Hyunjin, although he’s not brave enough to ask for a hug. He doesn’t deserve it, anyway. 

He half-dozes for a little while. The others are moving around, having their outfits changed and being called for individual and smaller group shots, but nobody bothers Jeongin. The conversation around him is a soft buzz, until he hears Iseul’s name.

A few of the managerial assistants are gathered nearby, laughing. It’s one of the women talking - Eunhye, who’s been with them for two years now. She always shows Jeongin pictures of her dogs.

“He’s been so weird lately,” she says conspiratorially. 

One of the other assistants hums in agreement. “Right? Always creeping off into corners with Donghyun. Since when was he the favourite? I thought they didn’t get on.”

“Who has time for all this extra work?” Eunhye says. “Redoing schedules, searching the dorms; it’s ridiculous.”

Jeongin frowns. What?

“What did you say, noona?” Chan says at once. He’s listening too, then. “Did Iseul - was our dorm searched?”

Jeongin peers over his own shoulder. The assistants look kind of uncomfortable. Eunhye shifts in her seat, looking apologetic.

“Yeah, Chan-ah,” she says, lowering her voice. “Look, I’m sorry. I know it’s a violation of your privacy and we did try and ask why, sort of, but Iseul-ssi’s been in such a mood lately, and he’s the boss…”

Chan meets Jeongin’s eyes. He looks troubled. “No, noona, I get it. We just - we didn’t know, is all. Was it - were you looking for something in particular?”

Eunhye shrugs a shoulder, glancing around at her colleagues. “He didn’t say. He was pretty intense about it though.”

Any number of people in their dorm, in Jeongin’s space, in his room. He fists his hands into his trousers to try and stop them shaking. At his side, Felix lays a gentle hand on his elbow. 

“When, um,” Chan says, “if you don’t mind me asking, noona - when did you search? Was it just you?”

“Um, Monday, I think,” Eunhye says. One of the other assistants nods. “We didn’t move anything, Chan-ah, I promise. We were only there an hour or so. Iseul was there, and us two -” she gestures “- and two of the interns.”

She points over at the other table, and Jeongin follows her gaze. The intern from before is still looking at him. His eyes are blank.

Chan immediately tries to gather everyone in to pass on what they’ve just heard, but they’re barely halfway out of their seats before they’re called back into makeup before the interview. It’s not live, thank goodness; it’ll be a print interview to go along with the editorial, but segments are being filmed for the magazine’s website. 

The makeup artist chides Jeongin gently for smudging all his makeup, but she’s kind about it and fixes it up, adding a little more gold around the edges. 

“Nice and sparkly,” she says cheerfully. 

Jeongin gives her his best smile, although he can see in the mirror that it barely counts. 

It’s the worst interview Jeongin thinks he’s ever done, even since the very beginning, when he could barely raise his voice above a whisper. He can’t keep track of the conversation at all, and so he says almost nothing. The others are swinging wildly between being loud and unruly to compensate and being similarly quiet, letting Chan do most of the talking, but they don’t seem to be able to stick to one trick. Seungmin nudges Jeongin every time he’s expected to speak, and he laughs when they laugh, but he still catches the shadowed look on Iseul’s face from the corner of the room when it’s over. It makes his blood turn cold. 

Nobody speaks much while they gather their things and pile into the van. Changbin starts to ask what Chan was trying to tell them, but the leader quiets him with a meaningful glance at the assistant in the front seat - not Eunhye, but the man she’d pointed out as one of the searchers - and they fall silent again. Jeongin wishes he could sleep.

They’ve been in the house for ten seconds when Changbin asks again. Chan ushers them all through to the living room so he can explain. 

“The interns are the ones we don’t really know,” he says tiredly, sinking onto the couch. “I don’t think Eunhye would have told us anything otherwise, and that guy just seems clueless.”

“One of the interns was staring at Innie all day,” Changbin says. He’s got that angry, guarded expression back on his face.

“Can we change the passcodes?” Minho says. 

Chan nods. “Yeah, I’ll do it tonight. But we still have to inform management, so I don’t know if that’s a permanent solution.”

“Padlocks?” Minho says, only half joking. “Bolts? I will go and find a hardware shop right now; I don’t even care.”

Seungmin snorts at him. “A bit drastic?”

Minho shrugs a shoulder. “As if any of us wouldn’t literally build a moat around this building if it meant Innie could feel safe.”

 Nobody refutes it. Jeongin hugs his knees to his chest and drops his head down against a burst of guilt. He doesn’t deserve this. A tentative hand comes to rest on his ankle, rubbing gently - Felix, sitting on the floor by Chan’s knees.

“You can eat with us, now,” he says hopefully. “Not the stuff that’s here now, I guess, but when we can get more.”

Jeongin chews his lip. Maybe , he thinks, but then, traitorously, What if what if what if.

Felix looks sad again. “I just meant - now that we know someone else has been here - not that that’s good, obviously, but maybe..?”

Jeongin stares at his knees and thinks, I am the worst person I’ve ever met.

“It’s still not enough,” Jisung says suddenly from the other couch. His voice is quiet but so, so angry. “You know other people were here, and you still think -”

“Han-ah,” Minho says warningly. 

“ No , hyung,” Jisung snaps. “I can’t - I’ve had enough . I don’t even want to look at him.”

He shoves himself up from the couch and disappears into Felix and Changbin’s room. 

Jeongin presses his hands over his face, sobbing. He can’t calm down. His breaths shiver in and out of him, ragged and uneven, and tears stream down his face. It isn’t just crying and it isn’t just a panic attack; it’s both or something in between, and Jeongin feels sick with it. 

It’s been hours since they left the living room, the rest of the dorm long since gone quiet, once Jeongin had managed to convince Chan to leave him alone. He lies flat on his back but he feels like someone is behind him, reaching for him. People got in here once. It only takes a few passcodes. They can do it again. There’s nothing he can do, he thinks hysterically, there’s nothing nothing nothing he can do to stop them getting to him. He’s not safe. He’s not safe.

Maybe this is bad enough - maybe right now he feels bad enough to go to someone. Jisung is just across the room, maybe Jeongin can - but he isn’t. Jeongin gasps as the thought catches, like a snagging thorn. Of course Jisung isn’t in the room; he hasn't been for days; he’s been chased out of his own bed and Jeongin is all alone because he doesn’t trust them, because he’s the worst, lowest, most pathetic creature in the world. 

Jeongin sobs wretchedly. His head throbs and his heart flutters in his chest and he really, really can’t take this any more. The shivering gets worse as he stumbles out of bed and creeps across the room, and by the time he gets to the door he’s almost vibrating. He isn’t sure how much of it is from the cold. 

It’s dark in the hall, and he holds his breath to keep from making noise as he pads across the floor. The cool air stings his wet cheeks. It feels like every movement he makes is thunderous, but there’s no sign of anyone still awake as he slips into his hyungs’ room. 

Jeongin’s eyes have adjusted to the dark a little but there’s nothing he can do about the tears, which get worse and worse the closer he gets to his goal. He moves slowly as he finds the edge of the bed with his hands, pats carefully over the covers.

Hyunjin’s facing away from him, towards the wall. Jeongin sinks to his knees beside the bed before he can second-guess himself, holding in a sob and burrowing his face in his hyung’s back. It’s warm, and Hyunjin sighs, half-turning over.

“Hm?”

Jeongin cries harder and doesn’t say anything. 

“Who’s’it?”

Hyunjin turns all the way around and reaches out, blindly patting at Jeogin’s face and hair. “Innie? Are you ok?” he whispers.

Jeongin shakes his head, and he does sob this time, a quiet, breathy little noise. Hyunjin wriggles his arm out from under the covers to hug him.

“Come here. Are you sick?”

For once, Jeongin can say no. He doesn’t feel well , exactly, but that’s hardly unusual any more, and it’s not why he’s here. 

“You’re shaking.” Hyunjin sounds stricken. He tries to tug Jeongin up onto the bed. “Come here, ‘s’ok. It’s warm here. You’re fine.”

Jeongin can’t stop crying, and he knows he’s being too loud. He turns his face into the soft part of Hyunjin’s arm, trying to swallow it down.

“Hyunjin-ah?”

Seungmin, calling down in a whisper from the bunk above. 

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says. “Not me. Innie.”

“He ok?”

Hyunjin hums instead of answering. He swings his legs out of the bed without taking his hands off Jeongin, and lifts him up to his feet. Jeongin follows, stumbling weakly against the older boy’s chest under the weight of the dizziness and the crying. Hyunjin puts an arm around his waist and turns them towards the door.

“Are you ok?” Seungmin hisses.

“Innie’s hurting,” Hyunjin says, very softly. “He needs a cuddle. He’ll be ok.”

He tucks his arm tighter around Jeongin and leads him out of the room. Jeongin chokes on his breath, shivering, the tears cold as they roll down his neck. Hyunjin takes him to the kitchen and guides him gently onto the bench at the table. He lets go of him to put the kettle on, and Jeongin can’t hold back a pathetic, frightened whimper. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Hyunjin chants. “Hyung is here, aegi. You’re ok.”

He stands by the bench and cradles Jeongin’s head to his stomach. Jeongin clings.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs, “I didn’t mean to - make everyone angry - I’m sorry -”

He can hardly get the words out. He can hardly breathe. His chest hurts. 

“Sh, sh,” Hyunjin croons. “You haven’t done anything wrong, aegi, ok? Watch now.”

Jeongin clenches his hands around the wood of the bench to stop himself doing anything stupid like reaching out for Hyunjin as the older boy moves away. He watches through blurry eyes. Hyunjin opens a box of ginger tea and shows him the sealed teabag before adding it to a cup. 

“I’ll drink it too, ok?” Hyunjin’s saying. “We’ll share. You don’t have to worry.”

Jeongin swallows down a rush of emotion. “You don’t - have to -”

“I didn’t say I had to, I said I’m going to,” Hyunjin says quietly. “I’m putting honey in it as well. Lixie said you didn’t eat all day.”

He brings the tea over to the table and swings one leg over the bench, sitting behind Jeongin and making him lean against his chest. He’s warm and steady and Jeongin sinks into it, trying to calm down. Hyunjin’s hand comes up to rub soothingly at his sternum. 

“Breathe, aegi,” he says softly. “Hyung has you. Everything’s going to be ok.”

Jeongin turns his face into Hyunjin’s neck. “I’m so - scared,” he says, his voice jerky with sobs. “It’s never - going to stop.”

“It will,” Hyunjin soothes, rocking him. “I promise, ok? Just slow down for hyung. I’m worried you’ll make yourself sick.”

He breathes slowly and exaggeratedly for Jeongin to follow, and when finally some of the panic recedes, kisses his temple sweetly. “That’s better. You’re ok.”

Jeongin shudders and shudders in his arms. Hyunjin picks up the cup of tea and leans to one side so that Jeongin can see him drink from it, and then presses it into his hands. 

“Please Innie,” he says. “It’ll help you. I would never, ever hurt you.”

Jeongin squeezes his eyes shut, because he knows that. He knows. More tears spill down his cheeks, and he takes the mug in his hands. The warmth of it is almost painful. He brings it close to his mouth, feels the steam soothe his sore eyes, his blocked nose, and drinks.

Chapter Text

Jeongin’s not sure how long they sit there. Hyunjin pets and murmurs at him until finally the tears stop, and drags over a hoodie he finds abandoned on a chair to tuck around Jeongin’s chest when he can’t stop shivering. They’ve been quiet for a long time when there’s a noise in the doorway, and both of them jump. 

“Sorry,” Chan says, sleepy and concerned. “Woke up and you were gone. You ok?”

“Innie’s hurting,” Hyunjin says again, a sad little sigh. 

Chan frowns and comes over to straddle the bench in front of Jeongin, cupping his shins. Jeongin can’t imagine what he looks like, but he knows it can’t be good. He turns his face further into Hyunjin’s neck. 

“Are you feeling ok? You need to sleep,” Chan says gently. He keeps rubbing Jeongin’s legs. “Both of you. Rehearsals in the morning.”

Rehearsals for the live performance. The thought settles in Jeongin’s stomach like lead. He’s never been so afraid to perform before.

“Do you feel better, Innie?” Hyunjin says into the side of his face. 

Jeongin hums vaguely. He doesn’t want to leave the bubble Hyunjin has made for them. It almost feels safe here, between him and Chan, in the middle of the night when no one expects them to do anything and there’s nobody else around. He wants to savour the moment, keep it forever. He doesn’t want Hyunjin to let him go. 

He doesn’t even recognise himself. Hyunjin is so free with his affection that it sometimes leaves Jeongin feeling overwhelmed, and now the thought of his hyung moving away has Jeongin’s heart clenching in his chest. It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. 

He doesn’t realise his chest is hitching again until Hyunjin hums soothingly at him. “It’s ok,” the older boy murmurs. “You’re ok. Come and let me wash your face, and we can go to sleep.”

“Hyung,” Jeongin mumbles, closing his fingers around Hyunjin’s wrist. “Will you, um.”

“I’ll come sleep with you, aegi,” Hyunjin says. It’s very, very soft, absent of the usual delighted, teasing tone the members usually use when they think Jeongin’s being cute. “It’s ok.”

Chan kisses them both on the head like a dad, and Jeongin lets Hyunjin shepherd him off to the bathroom. His hyung dabs the tears away gently with a warm washcloth, his other hand resting lightly on Jeongin’s jaw, and then smooths on someone’s moisturiser - Minho’s, Jeongin thinks. It smells like watermelon. 

They brush their teeth side by side. Hyunjin makes faces in the mirror, and Jeongin tries to laugh for him. He leans against the counter when they’re done. He’s so tired it feels like he’s never slept before in his life. 

He starts a little as Hyunjin wraps his arms around him from behind, hooking his chin on Jeongin’s shoulder, and they look at each other in the mirror again. Hyujin’s lower lip is jutting out, not quite a pout, and his gaze is very soft. Jeongin can’t look at him for too long.

“Hyung,” he mumbles.

“Mm?” Hyunjin noses into the side of Jeongin's face, swaying them gently back and forth. 

“I, um.” 

There’s too much to say. It’s all clogging his throat. He’s sorry he’s causing all these problems with Jisung. He doesn’t know if he can perform on Friday. He doesn’t mean to keep making Hyunjin take care of him. He doesn’t know what to do. 

“I’m scared,” he says instead, in a whisper. “I’m really scared.”

Hyunjin's eyes close as though he's in pain, and he pulls Jeongin round into a hug.

“I know,” he says. “I know, aegi. I'm so sorry. Hyung won't let you be scared like this any more, ok? I'll protect you.”

I don't think you can, Jeongin wants to say, but he doesn't, just sinks into Hyunjin's arms and shuts his eyes again. 

The three days of rehearsals are hell. The choreography is muscle memory at this point, but Jeongin feels like he can hardly execute a move without stumbling, getting dizzy, losing his mark. His singing is weak and awful. Every time he hears himself, or they watch a practice video back, he thinks I shouldn’t be here. 

Everyone’s so tense, so stressed. Jeongin’s doing the exact opposite of what he prides himself on being good at - helping them keep their energy up, helping the group stay motivated and happy. He’s just there at the root of every issue, spreading through them all like rot. 

Jisung won’t speak to him. Nobody else is actively ignoring him, but they don’t seem to know what to say to him either, for the most part. Hyunjin stays close, but Jeongin refuses to allow himself to cling the way he wants to. Hyunjin has to work, too - they all do - it’s not fair of him to drag them down with how he’s feeling as well as how badly he’s performing. It’s the least he can do. 

Management are around more than usual, too. It’s not too out of the ordinary for their practices to be checked up on, especially when it’s their first live TV performance in a couple of months, but catching sight of Iseul, Donghyun or one of the assistants lurking in the corners of the practice room makes Jeongin’s anxiety worse, which makes his performance worse. He can’t win.

During a break on the last day, Jeongin feels eyes on him, and he expects it to be Iseul, or perhaps that intern. It makes his skin crawl for a second, frightened, until he looks up. It’s Minho and Changbin, hunched over Changbin’s phone. Their glances hit him like cold drops of rain.

Jeongin shifts guiltily. He’s been ok, today, hasn’t he? He’s dancing ok. He hasn’t made anybody take care of him. He took himself off to the bathroom when he got dizzy, pressed his face into his knees until it passed. He’s trying so, so hard. 

A couple of months ago, he’d have been apprehensive, but gone over to see what was wrong. Now, he feels bolted to the floor. He watches, motionless, as Minho calls Chan over in a low voice. 

He’s expecting it when their leader gestures him out into the hall a little while later, but that doesn’t stop the anxiety throbbing in his stomach, his throat. 

His three oldest hyungs are leaning on the wall, almost casual, except for the heavy expressions they’re all wearing. 

“Um,” Jeongin says. “Did something happen?”

Chan sighs. He sounds exhausted. “An article’s been published suggesting that you have an eating disorder.”

“We just wanted to - management probably already know, so we didn’t want you to be blindsided,” Minho says.

Jeongin lets himself tip sideways against the wall. All three of them twitch a little, hands making tiny aborted movements forward as though they thought he was about to collapse. Jeongin isn’t sure yet if they’re wrong.

“I, um.” He doesn’t know what to say. There’s no getting away from any of this. Just one bad thing after another after another. “I’m sorry.”

“Innie.” Someone’s hand is warm on the side of his face. “It’s not your fault. Breathe slower, ok?”

Jeongin tries. It stutters in his chest, and he presses his hand harder against the wall, gasping. Changbin’s hand moves from his face to his neck to hold him steady. 

“It’s ok, maknae-ah,” he says, low.

It isn’t. If Jeongin keeps getting this kind of negative attention he’s going to damage them, damage their reputation, and he’ll be asked to leave. He’s still on contract probation. 

Chan and Minho step closer too. Jeongin’s half hunched over against the wall, and they cage him in as a few people walk past. 

“What, um.” Jeongin twists his fingers together, staring at the floor. “What’s going to - what are they going to do? Can I see the article?”

They hesitate. 

“Are you sure you want to?” Minho says gently. “It’s not nice, Innie…”

Jeongin puts his hand out, but instead of giving him the phone, Changbin takes his hand and links their fingers together. “It’ll upset you.”

“I’m already upset, hyung.” It’s almost a snap, except that it comes out shaky. Jeongin hunches further against the wall. He won’t cry. He won’t. 

“Management will either want to ignore it or put out a statement saying that you’ve been ill,” Chan says. “Probably ignore it, but - Innie, you know you’ve lost a lot of weight. It’s not your fault, and we know why, and we get it, ok?”

Chan touches Jeongin’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. The expression in his eyes is almost painfully sincere. “None of this is on you.”

Jeongin swallows, blinks away the threat of tears, and lets them lead him back towards the practice room. Changbin doesn’t let go of his hand, pulls him back just before they walk through the door. He sighs, looking suddenly awkward. 

“We haven’t been fair to you,” he says. “It just - it hurts that you feel like you can’t trust us. But not as much as it must hurt to be made to feel that way, so, just. Hyung’s sorry.”

Jeongin stares at Changbin’s shoulder. He doesn’t deserve the apology, or the understanding. He doesn’t deserve how careful they’ve been. He’s making trouble for the group at every turn, and now it’s in the media, and for some reason his hyungs are still trying to protect him from it, even though he’s failed to protect them in return.

He finds the article by himself, later. 

He’s crouched in a bathroom stall, trying not to be sick, trying not to think about everything he’s eaten and drunk recently, which of them might have been drugged. He’s being so careful - how can it still be happening? Is it even still happening? Was it a freak occurrence, an accident, and now Jeongin’s just sick from stress and not sleeping or eating, and causing all these problems for nothing? 

How long has it been since the first time? He has to open his calendar to check. It was March, the first time he got dizzy, and now it’s almost May. It feels like much, much longer. It feels like his whole life.

His hands throb. He looks down and finds them clenched in his trousers, the tips of his fingers purpling, the knuckles bloodless and white, like bones. He fumbles for his phone to check no one is asking where he is, and then he remembers the article. 

It only takes one search. Fans concerned about SKZ’s IN, the headline says. When he clicks on it, he finds two pictures of himself, side by side. 

One is from some promotions last year - he’s smiling; he looks tired, but happy. Although, he remembers wryly, that was October, right before all the shit hit the fan, and none of them were happy. Jeongin feels a pang in his chest - this isn’t fair on any of them. They got so little time for  things to be good again before all of this started. Not even six months.

The second picture is from the interview three days ago - the promotional photo. Jeongin’s been avoiding looking properly in mirrors for weeks, and for a second, doesn’t recognise his own face. He’s smiling, of course, but it’s thin and haggard-looking. The bones in his face are sharp, and there are deep shadows around his neck and collarbone. His hands are like pale spiders on Chan and Felix’s shoulders. His clothes hang awkwardly from his frame. He looks like a ghost. I am a ghost, he thinks automatically, and then What?

The article details how long it’s been since Stray Kids last appeared, and delves further into comparing Jeongin’s body then and now, as if the pictures weren’t enough. Before and after. Now, his near-skeletal proportions have created a storm among fans on Twitter and other social media sites. 

Near the bottom, it features quotes and tweets from STAY. There’s a hashtag - #makejeongineat - that makes him feel sick. He clicks on it, against his better judgement.

Ok wtf is going on with Jeongin?

Are JYP seeing this? This kid looks sick

Bangchan, your maknae looks like he’s about to die

Jeongin looks so sick I want to cry

This is what happens when idols are overworked like this

Jeongin fumbles with his phone, breathing hard, and closes out of the article.

“Innie?”

He jumps, smashing his elbow hard into the stall door. 

“Are you ok?”

It’s Seungmin. Jeongin hauls himself up off the floor, fighting the rush of lightheadedness, and steps out of the stall. Seungmin’s expression is mild, but he hovers close. “Did you throw up?”

“No,” Jeongin mumbles. He just about manages not to add For once .

Seungmin watches him in the mirror as he washes his hands. “Innie…”

Jeongin doesn’t look up from his hands. They’re shaking again.

“Hyungs told us about the article,” Seungmin says after a beat of silence. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, hyung,” Jeongin says, even quieter. 

Seungmin rolls his eyes and jabs Jeongin in the arm. “Yah, we’ve lived together for three years. Do you think I don’t know when you’re lying?”

Jeongin chews fiercely on his lip instead of answering. His eyes are stinging. He knows Seungmin can tell how close he is to crying. 

“The managers are here,” Seungmin says hesitantly. “About the article. They want to talk to all of us.”

Jeongin’s head snaps up, and the movement makes a couple of stray tears spill down his face. Seungmin frowns and sets one hand on the back of Jeongin’s neck so that he can dab them away with his sleeve. 

“Don’t,” he murmurs. “Nobody’s mad at you.”

That’s so blatantly not true that Jeongin wants to scoff, but he thinks if he does he’ll start sobbing. He gives Seungmin his best smile instead, and brushes past him to the door.

“I know you’re all aware of the article that was published today,” Iseul says, almost without preamble. 

Jeongin presses his hands between his knees in his chair. They’re all squashed in close together around a conference table, facing Donghyun and Iseul like schoolkids in trouble. Chan wrapped his arm around Jeongin’s shoulders as soon as he sat down - he’s warm, and Jeongin fights not to huddle up against him.

“It’s not the only one, and it’s nothing at all compared to social media,” Iseul continues. He sounds annoyed, exhausted. Jeongin’s afraid to meet his eyes. 

“We’re discussing this as a group because it’s affecting the group. This is obviously part of an ongoing issue, and I want to remind all of you that Jeongin is still on contract probation.”

His voice is hard. Jeongin feels sick, sick, sick. 

“The team are considering pulling you from the performance tomorrow, Jeongin-ah,” Donghyun says, much more gently.

Jeongin flinches like he’s been hit. 

“Hyung-nim,” Chan says at once. “I don’t think that’s - Jeonginnie has no control over what’s written about him. He’s attended all the practices and kept up his other work -”

“You know as well as I do, Chan-ah, that maintaining your physical appearance is part of your responsibilities,” Iseul says. 

“He’s been ill, hyung-nim,” Chan says. “He’s been eating more recently. It’ll improve.”

He’s lying, Jeongin thinks distractedly. Chan is lying for him. He isn’t sure he’s ever heard their leader do that before.

“If we withdraw him, we’ll have to put out a statement,” Donghyun says. “Isn’t that what we were trying to avoid? Jeongin-ah, are you well enough to perform?”

No . “Yes, hyung-nim. I can do it. I promise.”

Jeongin’s voice is shaking. He feels caught, trapped. 

“If he’s well enough to perform,” Iseul says tersely, “then he’s well enough that he shouldn’t be provoking this kind of media attention.”

They talk round in circles. Eventually they decide they won’t be putting out a statement, that Jeongin can perform, but that he’ll remain on contract probation until he, as Iseul puts it, has a better image. 

You can stay, Jeongin hears, if you stop being so ugly and useless.

Iseul nods and leaves the room. Donghyun lingers in the doorway, frowning. The eight of them are still and silent around the table - not exactly the energy anyone wants from an idol group hours away from a live performance.

“Get it together, kids, yeah?” he says, not unkindly. “Get some rest before tomorrow. Fighting!”

He gives them an avuncular smile, patting Seungmin and Jisung on the shoulders as he passes them on the way out. Jeongin can feel his manager’s eyes on him, worried, and he keeps his head down to avoid making eye contact. 

They head back to the dance studio to gather their things. It’s getting late and everyone’s exhausted from practising on top of everything else, so no one speaks except the occasional murmur. Has anyone seen my phone? What food are we getting? Is it too late for that bulgogi place I like? 

Jeongin focuses on staying upright as they head down to the cars. He’s dizzier than ever and desperate for a drink, but his water bottle was in here unattended the whole time they were in the meeting, so he doesn’t trust it. He fumbles in his pocket instead and shoves another two mints into his mouth, ignoring the thirst and the accompanying ache of hunger.

The mints are cool and powdery on his tongue, like painkillers. They hardly taste like anything any more. He’s basically been surviving off them for days - with practice how it is, there’s hardly any time to find food other than what’s sent in.

Jeongin tries not to think about the members blindly eating the things that are ordered for them. He avoids looking at them at mealtimes. Minho’s words echo through his head every time: If they’d hurt one of us…

Chan’s hand lands on the small of Jeongin’s back to help him into the car, warm and supportive. Jeongin’s grateful - he’s honestly not sure if he could have done it on his own. The leader follows him in as well, sitting close next to him even though they’re split across two cars today so there’s more room to spread out. 

Chan takes Jeongin’s bag out of his hands and sets it on the seat on his other side. “Come here.”

He lifts his arm. Jeongin tenses. He’s trying not to cling, he is, but Chan’s so warm and looks so inviting in his huge hoodie. Jeongin looks at him, wavering.

“Cuddle, Innie,” Hyunjin prompts from the seat in front. “Hyung needs it. Look at him. He’ll cry otherwise.”

“Aw, you can’t make Channie-hyung cry,” Changbin says at once. “Give him a hug.”

Chan scrunches his face up and whimpers, flexing his hands in Jeongin’s direction. Jeongin laughs - it sounds breathy and rusty, like he’s forgotten how - and as the car starts forward, tips over onto Chan’s chest. His hyung wraps his arms around him at once, humming happily into his hair.

“My Innie,” he sings.

“Look, Hyunjin-ah, he’s so cute. Our baby dongsaeng,” Changbin coos. He’s using his baby voice, and it’s so annoying, and so stupid, and the best thing Jeongin’s heard in days and days. 

Jeongin almost falls asleep curled up in Chan’s lap, the older boy’s hands petting softly at his back, his hair. He could stay here all night, he thinks, but all too soon they’re pulling up outside the dorm building and he has to peel himself away from Chan’s warmth. 

Jeongin’s so cold all the time now. The night air makes him shiver at once, and Chan clicks his tongue just like Jeongin’s mother does, wrapping an arm around him to lead him into the building. If he can just cling to that warm feeling, that hint of contentment, Jeongin thinks, then he can get some proper sleep and be ready to perform tomorrow. Then it will be ok.

It doesn’t last. The second they enter the dorm, it’s obvious something’s happened. The other car has beaten them home, and all four of them are in the living room. The atmosphere is very, very tense.

Chan tightens his arm around Jeongin and hesitates in the doorway, making the others bunch up behind him. “Everything ok?”

Felix is sitting on the couch, his shoulders hunched up by his ears. He looks like he’s about to cry. Seungmin’s on one side of him, not touching but leaning in close. Minho and Jisung are standing - Jisung near the kitchen and Minho in the middle of the room, angry expressions on both their faces.

“Fine,” Jisung almost snaps, scowling.

Jeongin feels more than sees Chan raise his eyebrows. 

“Fine, hyung,” Jisung amends, softer. 

“Ok,” Chan says, slowly. 

Minho makes a gesture at him that Jeongin interprets as I’ll tell you later, and Hyunjin slips into the room to go to Felix. Jeongin escapes to his bedroom as soon as Chan loosens his grip. He’s pretty sure they were fighting about him, or because of him, and if he thinks about it he’ll cry. 

It’s even worse at dinner. Hyunjin, Seungmin and Changbin are clearly trying hard to keep the conversation going, but Felix is subdued and Jisung sulky. Minho stays by Felix’s side, wearing that arch look of disapproval he gets whenever one of them’s upset another - he’s always so much angrier on behalf of other people than he ever is for himself.

Jeongin picks at his food. His stomach’s cramping viciously, and he can’t tell if it’s stress or hunger or the drugs or all three. 

Hyunjin’s spent the past few days sharing as much food as Jeongin will take when they eat at home, quietly letting Jeongin see him eat from the dishes, or bite something in half, before depositing the rest on his plate. It’s gone unnoticed until now, but with everyone so quiet, it’s no wonder they start to catch on. 

Jeongin’s nibbling at half a triangle kimbap when Felix pokes him with a chopstick. Jeongin flinches, startled. When he looks up, Felix bites off a piece of sausage and offers him the rest. 

Jeongin almost refuses automatically. It’s taken a while to get used to this from Hyunjin, and just accepting food from one person means he doesn’t have to touch the dark, mistrustful places in his mind - the very worst parts of himself, the parts he hates to look at. But Felix is upset tonight, probably because he’s been defending Jeongin to Jisung, and he’s got a sweet, hopeful look in his eyes, and Jeongin just can’t bring himself to turn him down. 

He reaches out with his chopsticks and - fumbling a little, with how his hands are shaking - takes the sausage. Felix beams. At Jeongin’s side, Hyunjin nudges their shoulders together, smiling too. Jeongin feels like he’s done something right for the first time in weeks.

For the remainder of the meal, both of them lean over every so often to catch his eye and drop something they’ve bitten onto his plate. It’s so gross. It’s so touching. Jeongin wants to cry.

There’s a lot of movement in the dorm the next morning. Felix wouldn’t sleep in the same room as Jisung, so he slept in Hyunjin’s bed, Changbin Felix’s and Jisung in Changbin’s. The disorder has crept into their behaviour this morning - no one’s stuff is where they left it, no one can find chargers or shoes or clothes. Jeongin loses his water bottle for ten minutes before finding it already in his bag, although he could have sworn he left it on his bedside table after filling it up. 

On the way to the set, Chan leans up over the back of his chair to look at them.

“Guys, I know things aren’t great for us right now,” he says seriously, “but we’ve all worked so hard to make this song, and to record it, and to learn this dance and put this performance together, and we’re not going to let hard times bring us down. STAY are waiting for us, and we owe them our best.” 

Jeongin presses his hands over his eyes. He has nothing to give STAY any more. They think he’s dying. They might be right.

“It’s not the first time we’ve gone through hard times,” Chan continues. “We’ve always managed to pull it together, and I know we can do that again. Remember that Stray Kids is a family - you’re my brothers, and each other’s, and we love each other, ok? We’ll do well.”

The group seems uplifted by their leader’s words, and Jeongin is grateful to him. Today’s performance is live for TV, but without a studio audience. That’s both good and bad - sometimes audiences make them more nervous, but it also means they have no one’s energy to work off except each other’s, and they’ve hardly got surplus of that lately, so Chan’s speech is doing more work than it usually has to.

Just before their call time, Jeongin stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. He's pale as milk, even under the makeup, and his clothes are hanging awkwardly again, still not the right size. His head throbs. He meets his own eyes and knows without a shadow of a doubt that he can’t pull this off. There’s no way that the performance he’s about to produce is going to be up to standard. Not even close. He shouldn’t be here.

“We have to go.”

Jeongin flinches. It’s Jisung standing in the doorway, not meeting his eyes. He’s frowning, but it’s more soft-edged than the scowls he’s been wearing recently, something in it that Jeongin might dare to call concern. Worry.  

Jeongin takes a deep, shuddering breath, and follows him out of the dressing room.

It’s worse than he thought. The bass hits him like a slap, the music vibrating through his whole body in a way that makes Jeongin instantly nauseous. He dances automatically, his muscles uncooperative. He’s late to his first line, coming in weak and thready under the backing track, and finishing it takes so much breath that his vision swims afterwards. Every time he turns he catches anxious glances from the others - Chan, Minho, Hyunjin, their faces flickering past him like a carousel.

They’re just past the second verse when Jeongin’s ears start to ring. He keeps moving - feels himself jerked quickly to the side when he doesn’t reach his mark fast enough and almost blocks Changbin. His hands go cold. 

Jeongin’s going to be sick. He can’t hear the music any more. He has no idea if he’s still dancing, or singing. The lights are too bright and moving too fast, blending into white and grey spots, twinkling over his vision. The ground slides away underneath him.

He doesn’t feel it when his face collides with the stage.

Chapter Text

Jeongin's head is throbbing.

That's the first thing he notices, all in a rush, and it draws a sharp little cry from his throat, almost a whimper. Someone squeezes his hand, next, and he knows people are talking but the words won't stick. Someone's hands are tight on the sides of his head, over his ears, and they won't let him move when he tries to turn towards the voices.

"Innie-yah," someone's saying, "it's ok."

Jeongin doesn't know if it is. His body won't cooperate, only managing to twitch weakly against the restraining hands gently holding him still, and he can't open his eyes. The pain is thick and distracting, preventing him from focusing and accompanied by a swooping rush of dizziness every time he moves his eyes under the lids. He hears himself make the noise again and the hands on his head stroke gently at his neck. 

"Innie," says the voice again. "Can you hear me, aegi? Can you open your eyes?"

Hyunjin, Jeongin thinks. Hyunjin speaking to him, voice impossibly warm and soft, the way it gets when Jeongin is crying, but he doesn't think he is. There are too many hands on him for just one person. He wants them off. He can feel his breath hitching, tears rising in his throat, and he's not sure how Hyunjin knew before it happened. Hyunjin asks him to open his eyes again, and this time Jeongin manages to listen.

It's blurry, but the first face he sees is Minho's, not Hyunjin's, and it's disorienting because Jeongin knows Hyunjin's voice, he knows it was him and now he can't tell where he's gone. He can't remember what he was just doing, how he got here - on the floor? He doesn't know what building. He doesn't know what day it is.

"Ah, Innie, Innie, it's ok," Minho says. He strokes Jeongin's cheek with his free hand, brushing away tears, and Jeongin leans into the touch as best he can. 

"Try not to move, ok?" Minho’s voice is very soothing. Jeongin wants to curl into it. 

"Hyung," he gets out in a wobbly, embarrassing voice, and Minho’s face goes soft. 

"Yeah, I'm here with you, you’re alright," he murmurs. He's the one holding Jeongin's hand, and he squeezes it. 

"It - hurts," Jeongin manages against more tears. He can't control his breathing any more, it's coming out in uneven, too-quick little gasps. He clings to his hyung’s hand, but his grip is weak; he can't make his fingers obey.

"You have to stay still, aegi," and it's Hyunjin's voice again, somewhere above, but the hands on his face won't let Jeongin turn to look. 

"Where..?"

"He's there; he's helping you keep your head still," says Minho gently. "You collapsed, Innie. You hit your head really hard on the stage and you’re injured, so we’re just making sure your neck is ok. Don’t move.”

There are too many people around. Everything's loud and Jeongin feels small, frightened. He can't remember where they are or what day it is or what’s happening.

"Loud," he says, "it hurts," and the hands on his face settle more firmly over his ears. 

A wave of dizziness rolls through him, the ground swinging beneath him, and Jeongin closes his eyes. 

"Yah, look at me," Minho says sharply, "you can't go to sleep, ok?"

"Hyung," Jeongin says, and it's a sob now, because he's scared and it hurts and Hyunjin's hands are making him feel claustrophobic and he wants to get up, he wants it to stop. It's getting harder and harder to breathe. 

"Sh, aegi, aegi," Minho murmurs, gentle again. He bends a little closer. "Just look at me. You're going to be ok."

Other people are talking to him, moving around. Somebody is yelling - Chan, maybe. The pain rolls through Jeongin over and over, and apart from his head he can't localise it; he can only tell that his whole body is weak and shaking and he can't move any of it. Or he isn't supposed to. He can't remember. 

Jeongin tries to look around, but moving his eyes makes him dizzier and he feels himself slump sideways a little, some of the weight of his head falling against Hyunjin's hands. The crying is making him feel sick, the movement of the floor, too, and he sobs again, pulling on Minho’s hand to get him closer.

Minho lays a restraining hand on his arm. "Stay still, Innie-yah, ok?" 

He starts to say something else but there's movement close by and Jeongin flinches, crying out as pain throbs again in his head. 

"Move back," Hyujin snaps above him. “Give him some space.”

Minho strokes Jeongin's face and Jeongin stares at him. His lovely features are blurred with tears but his eyes are kind and familiar and he’s smiling reassuringly, keeping up a low murmur of words that Jeongin doesn’t try to follow.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed. He keeps switching between dizziness that threatens to knock him out and overwhelming, painful panic. Minho keeps talking, and Hyunjin's thumbs rub gently over Jeongin’s cheekbones, smearing away the tears.

The activity around them picks up and Jeongin hears his throat catch on a high, frightened noise. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Minho soothes. “The paramedics are here, ok? They might make us move.”

“No - no,” Jeongin says, his chest aching, "please - hyung - don’t -“

Minho hushes him and squeezes his hand again, and then slowly starts to move back. Jeongin tries not to let him. Hyunjin's hands move, too, and someone else is touching him, asking a question that Jeongin doesn't understand. He tries to turn to Minho for help but the stranger's hands are rough on his face, holding him still with a firm grip on his jaw. 

Chan says something in the background and he sounds angry. Jeongin doesn't know what he's done wrong. The pain ebbs and flares, a quick, sickening pulse, and Jeongin thinks he cries out, and then there's nothing.

It’s warm when he opens his eyes. His head hurts, still - the worst headache he’s ever had, like his whole brain is moving inside his skull. It pushes at his eyes and edges down the back of his throat, making him feel sick and and heavy and strange. 

The room is blessedly dim and quiet. A hospital. Almost the same layout as the last hospital room he was in, but a little cosier. An IV in the back of his hand again. A hospital gown, somewhere between scratchy and soft. 

“Innie?”

He jumps, screwing his eyes shut at the resulting pulse of pain. Someone touches him, threading their fingers together, brushing at his hair. 

“Ah, I’m sorry I scared you. It’s just me. You’re ok.” 

Minho. He rubs at Jeongin’s arm and it’s nice, a distraction from how much his head hurts. There’s nothing holding Jeongin still any more, so he lolls his head to one side, squints to look at his hyung. Minho’s wearing stage clothes, makeup smudged around his eyes. An earring glints in the low light. 

“What…” Jeongin means to say happened, but what comes out instead is, “are you wearing?”

Minho’s eyes fly up and he laughs, surprised. “Yah, this kid’s disrespect? I look amazing.”

Jeongin frowns, confused. He can’t pin down what was happening immediately before this. Were they at home? Is he sick again?

“Hyung,” he says urgently, remembering the last time he was in hospital, “you can’t let them take my blood - they’ll find - they’ll kick me out -”

“Sh, Innie, don’t work yourself up,” Minho says. “We’ve had this conversation a couple of times, ok?”

“No...”

Minho strokes his hair. “It’s ok. You’ve got a concussion, alright? It’s made your memory a bit of a mess.”

Tears are welling in Jeongin’s eyes. “Why? What did I do?”

“Sh,” Minho says again. “You haven’t done anything wrong, aegi. You’re sick, remember? You collapsed at the show and hit your head on the raised part of the stage. You got eight stitches.”

Jeongin blinks and the tears start down his cheeks. Minho hums, brushes them away. 

“They’ll kick me out,” Jeongin says, because it’s true - he can’t pin down what day it is, or what happened, or remember what they were doing, but he knows he’s on probation. He knows someone’s trying to hurt him. He knows he was on thin ice, and that he’s been dragging the group down for weeks, and that whatever this is will be the last straw. 

“Nobody’s going to let them do that,” Minho says. “Don’t worry about it now, ok?”

Jeongin can’t stop crying. His head aches and aches. “What day is it?”

“Friday.”

“Why can’t I remember?”

Minho hums again, leaning his arm on the bed and resting his chin on it so that their faces are close together. He keeps stroking Jeongin’s hair. “Don’t worry, ok? It’s just the concussion. It’s going to make you confused for a bit, and make things hard to remember. They said you might be a bit emotional, as well. Maybe that was an understatement, hm?”

He wipes away more of Jeongin’s tears, smiling gently. “It’s about six o’clock. We’ve been here for a few hours. I came in the ambulance with you. Hyunjinnie wanted to, but he wouldn’t stop crying, so we gave him to Felix.”

Jeongin looks at him, trying to breathe through tears and pain and increasing nausea. He’s so tired of feeling like this. It’s everything he’s been feeling for weeks now, dialled up. He can’t do it. He can’t take it.

“Chan-hyung is here too,” Minho says. “He’s on the phone. Everything’s going to be ok, aegi, I promise.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeongin whispers. “Hyung. I’m so sorry for - for -”

“Sh,” Minho soothes. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Someone’s hurting you. I know.”

There’s a noise behind Jeongin and he startles again, moaning at the pain. Minho cups his cheek, comforting. 

“It’s alright; it’s just hyung come to see you,” he says, and then, over Jeongin’s head, “He’s a little upset.”

“My Innie.” Chan appears at Minho’s shoulder, drags a chair close to sit down and lays a large, warm hand on Jeongin’s knee over the blankets. “There you are.”

They both look exhausted. Chan’s in stage clothing, too, although he’s made a valiant effort to take his makeup off. There’s a long streak of glitter by one eyebrow. 

His thumb rubs Jeongin’s leg. “They’re going to let us take you home soon. You’ve got to rest for 48 hours, and then we’ll see how you feel, ok?”

“Hyung,” Jeongin says tearfully, “will they - they’ll find drugs in my blood and they’ll -”

Chan looks so, so sad. “They’ve already tested your blood, honey. They had to. It - you weren’t quite overdosed, this time, but they still found traces of dosing over the last couple of weeks.”

He sighs heavily, almost angry. “I’ve been speaking to management. I’m trying to get Jinyoung-hyung on the phone but they keep intercepting. It’s - I’m going to make them believe us, ok? Someone’s hurting you and what we tried hasn’t worked and they aren’t doing anything to protect you and, just - I’ve had enough.”

Jeongin looks away. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s desperate for this not to damage Stray Kids any more than it already has - surely fracturing their relationship with JYPE will do more harm than good? He’s hurting them. He’s hurt Jisung so much he won’t sleep in their room. He’s made Hyunjin cry. He’s made Chan and Minho wear these awful, drained expressions. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but abruptly rolls away to his other side, retching. 

“Oh, shit, ok,” Chan says in English, and then one of them is holding a cardboard bowl in front of Jeongin’s face and the other one is holding him up by the shoulders. The headache gets worse and worse and by the time Jeongin’s done throwing up he’s lost track of the conversation. He just barely manages to rinse his mouth before he sinks back onto the bed, spent. 

“It’s alright,” Minho murmurs. “Go to sleep. We’ll be here.”

It’s getting late by the time Jeongin’s finally allowed to go home. He slumps over their laps in the car, and then grudgingly allows Chan to carry him inside. For most of the way up to their dorm he keeps his face pressed into his leader’s shoulder - the lights and the movement are making him nauseous and he really, really doesn’t want to be sick any more - but once they get inside he can’t resist peeking out with one eye. 

Everyone’s in the living room, clearly pretending not to be waiting up. Minho intercepts them, saying something in a low voice that Jeongin doesn’t catch, because Chan’s already turned down the hall.

The bedroom is dark. Chan helps him get changed and Jeongin’s too tired and hurting too much to do anything but lean into his hands like a child.

“Do you need anything?” Chan says quietly, helping him lie down. “We’re going to bring you some water and the bucket in case you feel sick again.”

Jeongin shakes his head and then whimpers as it hurts. Chan palms the side of his face, kisses his teeth at him. 

“Come on, Innie-yah. That was dumb.”

Jeongin almost laughs, but it comes out a strained wheeze instead. His head aches. 

“Someone’s got to sleep in here with you, to make sure you’re ok,” Chan says gently. “We’ll probably take turns, but is there anyone you want now?”

Jeongin wants Chan to stay. Jeongin wants his head to stop hurting. Jeongin wants to be left to curl up and deal with this on his own, so that the weight of guilt that’s been crushing his chest for weeks will go away.

“Innie?”

Chan asked him a question. Jeongin knows that and he knows that’s why he feels sort of confused and upset, but he has no idea what the question was. 

“I - hyung,” he says nervously, “I don’t - I don’t remember -”

“Sh, that’s ok,” Chan says at once. “That’s just the concussion. You’re fine. I just asked if you want anyone in particular to come lay with you while you go to sleep?”

Jeongin wants Chan to stay. But Chan’s been at the hospital with him for hours; he hasn’t even changed his clothes. He must be so tired. “It’s ok,” he mumbles.

Chan makes a skeptical noise, brushing through Jeongin’s hair. “I don’t believe you. What if I send Hyunjinnie in, ok? He’s so worried about you.”

“He was on the floor,” Jeongin says. The thought comes from nowhere and he doesn’t really know what it means. He blinks up at Chan, who’s smiling at him. 

“Yeah, honey. I’ll get him for you. You get some rest.” 

Chan kisses him on the forehead and leaves, and a few minutes later Hyunjin comes in, dropping the bucket and two bottles of water on the table. Jeongin’s almost asleep, but he puts out his hand, and Hyunjin makes a quiet, endeared noise. He crawls onto the bed and holds up his arm, making space for Jeongin to curl closer, and Jeongin moves slowly in, resting the uninjured side of his face on his hyung’s chest.

“Hi,” Hyunjin whispers.

“Hi.”

“Are you ok?”

“I don’t know.” Jeongin closes his eyes as they sting with more stupid tears. “What’s going to happen?”

Hyunjin strokes his hand down Jeongin’s back. “You’re going to get some rest,” he murmurs, “‘cause you’re hurt, and you’re sick. And I’m going to stay with you, and the others will too. And Chan-hyung’s going to talk to the company. And everything’s going to be ok.”

Jeongin screws his eyes shut, his head pounding, and muffles his crying in Hyunjin’s shirt. 

When he wakes up, for a few, terrifying minutes, he can’t remember what’s happened at all. The last thing he has in his head is rehearsal, days and days ago, and he makes an embarrassing whimpering noise, clutching at his aching head. He brushes up against a wound he doesn’t know the origin of, and sobs aloud, eyes screwed shut. 

“Innie,” someone’s murmuring, “sh, aegi, it’s ok.”

Felix. Jeongin becomes aware of a warm presence at his side, gentle fingers pulling his hands away. The light dims. 

“I shut the curtains,” Felix says, almost a whisper, “can you look at me? It’s ok.”

“What - what’s happening?” Jeongin can hear the distress in his own voice. Everything hurts. Nausea rolls up his throat and he folds over, choking.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Felix chants. He guides Jeongin’s shoulders until he’s leaning over a bucket, but nothing comes up and the retching just makes his headache worse.

Felix guides him to lie back, shifting closer so that Jeongin can slump into his side. “You’re concussed,” he says. “You’re ok. You collapsed at the TV thing and hit your head. That was yesterday. It’s Saturday today.”

Jeongin remembers, sort of. He remembers they were supposed to be doing a show. He maybe remembers arriving, getting ready, but he can’t hold onto any of that. Hyunjin holding his face. Somebody yelling. A hospital.

They rehearsed for days, Jeongin thinks. He found that awful article. It all feels like it happened a very long time ago, or in a film he saw, a story he heard. Iseul wanted him to back out of the performance. He was right, Jeongin thinks miserably. Look at all the trouble he’s caused now. 

One fact hits him out of the blurred jumble of remembrances, hard and sharp like a needle. “Hyung,” he says breathlessly, “it was - the stage. We were live?”

Felix sighs heavily. He shuffles further up the bed and wraps Jeongin carefully into his arms. It’s warm and Jeongin feels weak and tired and sick. He knows someone held him like this recently, but can’t pin the memory down - Hyunjin, he thinks, but he’s not sure when or why. Felix smells like honey, this nice lotion he likes, and the laundry detergent they all use. He smells like home. It’s almost enough to distract from the awful pit of anxiety that’s opened in Jeongin’s chest. 

“Yeah, it was live,” Felix says, low. “They got the cameras off you as soon as you fell, alright? It - it was visible, because it happened during a transition, but you can’t see anything in that clip.”

He hesitates, and Jeongin tenses.

“But they were filming a straight wide shot,” Felix continues slowly. “It wasn’t being broadcast live, but it was going to be on their website after. It - that footage has leaked.”

Jeongin’s breath stutters in his throat. His chest hurts. Felix rushes to hug him closer. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” he says. “It’s - we’ve already put out a statement. Chan-hyung approved it. It just says you’re sick and pushed yourself to perform and we’re taking care of you. Everything’s ok, Innie, I promise.”

“It’s not.” Tears are already spilling down Jeongin’s cheeks and he bats them away. “Our - our first performance in so long and I - you couldn’t even keep going, could you, because I -”

“No, aegi,” Felix murmurs. “You were hurt. Nobody wanted to carry on; we wanted to see you were ok. It’s not your fault.”

Jeongin sobs, flinching at the spike of agony it causes in his head, caught in an awful feedback loop of pain and crying. He can’t stop. He can’t breathe. He can’t calm down. He can’t do anything.

“Sh, sh,” Felix hums, “ah, Jeonginnie, please slow down, ok? Hyung’s here with you. You haven’t done anything wrong. Hyung loves you, Innie-yah, I love you so much, ok?”

He keeps going, sweet, low murmuring into Jeongin’s hair, soft hands stroking his neck and his side. Jeongin gasps hotly into Felix’s neck, clinging, until the tears finally slow down.

“I want to see,” he says, after a while. 

Felix pauses in his petting. “Innie,” he says dubiously. “Are you sure?”

“I’m going to see it eventually,” Jeongin mumbles. Felix’s jumper is damp with tears against his face. 

His hyung sighs, squeezing Jeongin closer for a second, and then reaches over him to the table. He makes Jeongin take painkillers and drink water, first - the water bottle is sealed, and Felix shows him so casually, like it’s just a habit, that it almost makes Jeongin start crying again.

The clip starts from the beginning of the song. Jeongin watches himself - clumsy and pale, just barely on beat, stumbling over footwork, barely completing arm movements. He looks like a mess. When he sings it’s obvious they’ve turned his mic down, and they were right to. He can’t hold in a sad, ashamed little noise. Felix touches their temples together.

Jeongin watches himself knock into Changbin, his hyung moving him firmly out of the way to keep going. The others keep looking at him, and then he just - goes down. It’s quick. An awkward ripple effect goes through the others as they notice, not sure whether or not to keep going at first. Minho, behind him, reaches out to break his fall but can’t get there in time, skidding to his knees instead. 

Chan starts shouting almost immediately, gesturing at the cameras. Over the tinny audio, Jeongin hears him yell We need an ambulance; he’s hurt. Video Felix has his hands over his mouth, Seungmin’s hand tight on his shoulder. Real life Felix has gone very tense and quiet. 

The clip cuts out as one of the on-site medics is directing Hyunjin to kneel at his head, thighs either side of Jeongin’s ears. 

“Why is he doing that?” Jeongin says. His voice comes out very high and nervous. He’s pretty sure he’s shaking. 

“You landed on that raised section at the side,” Felix says, pointing. “Your neck was bent funny. They thought - they said they were worried it could be broken.”

He sounds like he’s crying. Jeongin can’t bear to check, but he wriggles his arm around Felix’s waist anyway. Felix puts the phone down and hugs him hard, sniffling into Jeongin’s hair. 

“You’re alright,” he says. Jeongin isn’t sure who he’s reassuring.

He lies against Felix for a little while, until both of them are a little calmer. His head aches, still, but not as sharply as before. His bones feel heavy. He tries hard not to think about that clip, about what it will mean for them, about Iseul saying He shouldn’t be provoking this kind of media attention. About how upset the members looked in the clip. About Felix’s tears in his hair.

 “Hyung,” he says, very quietly. 

“Mm?” 

“Why are you and Jisung-hyung fighting?”

Felix sighs and sits up a little, resuming his stroking of Jeongin’s nape. 

“I don’t agree with him,” he says simply. “What’s happening to you is… It’s really hard. On all of us. Just like it is when anything bad happens to one of us, you know? But this is another level. It’s hard on all of us but it’s the hardest on you, obviously, and you’re being hurt, and I just think he’s - dealing with it wrong. And I tried to say that to him, and we - argued.”

Jeongin hunches down a little. The guilt feels like a physical thing that’s taken up residence in his chest, pressing on his lungs, squeezing his brain to cause this awful, throbbing ache. 

“It’s not your fault,” Felix says again, and Jeongin closes his eyes, presses his face into his hyung’s chest.

“He loves you,” Felix whispers. “He’s worried about you. He’ll come around.”

Jeongin’s throat hurts with trying not to sob. “What if he doesn’t?”

“He will, aegi.” Felix speaks directly into Jeongin’s hair, the warmth of his breath soothing the headache. “He’s just confused. He was so upset when you got hurt.”

Jeongin’s hit with a sudden, torturous desire to watch the clip again, to see first-hand how Jisung reacted - but he thinks of Felix silently crying above him, and doesn’t ask. 

Chapter Text

“That tickles.”

“No it doesn’t,” Seungmin says, “you aren’t smiling.”

Jeongin’s curled up on his bed, his legs drawn up and his feet in his hyung’s lap. Seungmin’s been absently tracing his fingers around the bone of Jeongin’s ankle for several minutes while he reads stuff off the internet out loud from his phone. 

It’s near the end of Jeongin’s 48 hours’ forced rest, but he’s not supposed to look at screens too much - Minho confiscated his phone after he was caught watching the clip of his collapse again anyway - and the boredom is almost - almost - worse than the guilt. One of the members has been with him almost all the time, but he doesn’t always let them in the room. Seungmin never takes no for an answer, though, even when Jeongin wants to be alone, so Jeongin finds himself listening to Seungmin read out every question and answer to a quiz about what type of dog he would be. 

His head’s throbbing and he feels sick and restless and guilty because Seungmin has work to do; they all do. Every second someone spends with him is a second they have to stay later in the studio or at practice, and it’s his own stupid fault. He should have known he couldn’t perform. They’ve performed with seven before, and no one would have batted an eyelid, but he was stubborn and pathetic and idiotic and now there are videos of him collapsing all over the internet and their social media is even more flooded with questions about their treatment, about the company, about the group. 

“You’re not listening,” Seungmin complains. “Would you describe me as ‘larger than life’, ‘loyal’ or ‘funny’?”

“You’re definitely not funny,” Jeongin says into his pillow. He feels like he’s going to cry or throw up, or maybe both, and he desperately wants Seungmin to leave him alone to do it in peace. He pushes at him with his toes. “Go away.”

Seungmin sighs and wraps his hand gently around Jeongin’s ankle, pulling at the hem of his sock. He’s not all over Jeongin like some of the others, not quite as cuddly, but he does like to play with him the way Jeongin’s seen small children play with dolls - tug on his clothes, move his fingers, pet at his hair. It’s soothing. 

“Are you ok?” Seungmin says after a moment. “Does it hurt?”

Jeongin makes a noncommittal noise and Seungmin squeezes his ankle again. 

“Yah, tell me,” he chides. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“You don’t have to sit here,” Jeongin says instead of answering. “I know you’ve got stuff to do.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Seungmin says, and Jeongin can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “I could go in the other room. I’m way behind on that one drama. I could go and play a game. But I don’t want to.”

Jeongin doesn’t say anything, squeezing his eyes shut against the pillow. He needs to change his sheets, he thinks, they’re probably gross with how much time he’s spent just lying here. But that can probably wait until he can stand up for more than a minute without getting dizzy.

“I miss teasing you,” Seungmin says plainly. “I feel like I haven’t heard you laugh in months.”

Jeongin sucks in a breath, startled. “Hyung,” he mumbles. 

“It’s not your fault.” Seungmin sounds upset, suddenly - Jeongin can’t see his face, but he knows he’s tucked his chin into his chest the way he does when he’s sad. “I just - miss you.”

“I’m sorry.” Jeongin swallows. “I, um. I miss you too.”

Seungmin doesn’t say anything else, but pushes Jeongin’s feet off his lap and crawls over to lie next to him, his arm pressing warmly into the curled line of Jeongin’s spine. He sighs, heavy and sad, and Jeongin rolls back a little, fumbling until he can link their fingers.

“I guess you can put funny,” he says. 

“I’m a corgi,” Seungmin says a moment later. He doesn’t let go of Jeongin’s hand.

It’s another two days before Chan lets Jeongin anywhere near the company building. Jeongin literally begs him, by the end, because sitting around being completely useless after causing so much trouble - after letting them down so badly - is driving him insane. He can’t quite dance, yet, but he can practise singing a bit and learn lyrics and choreography, and he’s pretty sure management is waiting to talk to him. It hangs over his head like a sword.

“That’s why he’s been making you stay home,” Minho says quietly, while they get ready to leave on Jeongin’s first day back. “Because you’re sick, and he wants them to leave you alone.”

Jeongin takes a deep breath around the still-present nausea, hands stilling on his shoelaces.

“Don’t be scared,” Minho adds quickly, “you know Chan-hyung will protect you. I just want you to be prepared, if they call you in today.”

He strokes down the back of Jeongin’s neck and keeps his hand there as they head to the car, steadying. It’s only the two of them, Felix and Hyunjin - everyone else headed in early, but Jeongin wasn’t allowed and he suspects the others only stayed back to make him feel better. 

Jeongin twists his fingers anxiously in his lap in the car. He doesn’t want to face management, or any of the rest of the staff either. Everyone he knows will have seen that clip, and it makes him wilt with shame. He’s not sure he’s strong enough to endure it. 

He’s got past other mistakes. He remembers every bad performance he’s ever given, and they’re usually what he’s thinking about when he practises, for motivation. He wants to give the best, as much as his body can manage - for Stay, for his members. They deserve it. 

But he can’t do that with this. Every time he thinks about it lands in his stomach like a stone, weighing him down, shortening his breath. Practising extra hard is never going to undo the damage he’s done, and it’s not like he can even manage that at the moment. Even once the concussion symptoms go away, there’s all the rest of it still happening. Jeongin can’t see an end to it.

Minho puts a hand on his neck again as they enter the building. Jeongin has his hood up and his head down, so he lets his hyung guide him to the lifts, Felix and Hyunjin hovering close by as well. Jeongin’s wearing all black. He just wants no one to notice him.

By the time they reach his favourite practice room, he’s already a little lightheaded, and sinks gratefully into a chair. The others have crowded in too and Minho frowns, pushing back his hood to look him in the eye.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, hyung,” Jeongin says, “just a long walk. I’m not gonna get up any more; you can go dance.”

“I don’t like you being here by yourself,” Hyunjin says slowly. His eyes are huge in his face and he glances at Felix and Minho, clearly looking for backup. 

“I’ll lock the door,” Jeongin says. He means it, too - Chan pulled him aside yesterday to remind him not to take food from anyone or leave his things unattended, and being back in the building makes him feel exposed, small, like a mouse waiting for the owl to swoop. 

But it’s been days of not even being alone in his room, and there’s so much work to do. He just wants a couple of hours. He can look at the lyric folders and listen to the guides Changbin made him - his hyung even did a special cut of the new tracks with less bass, so it would be easier on Jeongin’s head, and Jeongin’s not going to let that go to waste.

“I’m just going to try and learn these,” he pleads, clutching the folder. “I - there’s so much I need to catch up. Please.”

Minho sighs and touches his hair again. “Two hours, ok? And text every half.”

They make him promise that he’s feeling alright, and then that he’ll call someone if that changes, and then that he knows that he’s the cutest baby. (The last one is mostly Hyunjin.)

Jeongin pulls himself across the room on the swivel chair and turns the lock behind them, breathing out. This is the first time he hasn’t felt like there were eyes on him in such a long time, and it makes something in his tense shoulders come loose - even here, at the company, where he isn’t sure he’ll ever really feel safe again. He’s locked in this little room by himself, and he has water he filled himself from the tap, a snack he bought sealed from the store. He can do work. He can be useful. 

Jeongin tries to read along the lyrics while listening to the guides, but doing both at once makes his head ache, so he has to start swapping between them. One of the pages has Jisung’s handwriting on it, and he can’t look at that one. At least it’s Chan singing on these guides - he’s not sure he could have handled it otherwise. Still, he makes decent progress, highlighting the lines that Changbin has marked as his and listening to them again and again, singing quietly to get the intonation. It’s calm, nice. It almost feels like he’s doing his job.

Surprisingly, he even remembers to text the group chat after half an hour, and receives several sarcastic, blurry selfies in response - Chan doing a big thumbs up like a children’s tv presenter, Hyunjin pretending to faint with shock, Seungmin crying with pride. Jeongin sends back an eye roll, even though it makes his head hurt a bit. It’s worth it for things to feel so nearly normal again.

Just before the hour mark, the headache starts getting worse, and Jeongin pushes the lyrics aside so that he can press the heels of his hands into his eyes. Too much reading, probably. They warned him about it at the hospital. He’s loath to tell anyone - they’re working and Jeongin has got in the way of that quite enough already - so instead he gets hesitantly to his feet, breathing deeply to quell the dizziness, and looks at the closed door.

It’s stupid, he thinks, to be so afraid to go up the corridor to the bathroom in his own workplace. He’s come a long way since he used to ask someone to go with him. He’s nineteen years old. 

Still, his hands shake as he leaves the room, fumbles to lock it behind him, jiggles the handle to make sure. There’s no one in the corridor, and he scuttles to the bathroom, staying close to the wall like an animal.

Jeongin’s pulse flutters nervously in his throat the whole time he’s in the (thankfully empty) bathroom. He only forces himself to face the corridor again when he glances at his watch and realises he’s almost late to text the others.  

He returns to the room at a stumbling half-run, almost dropping the keys as he goes to unlock it. He’s dizzy and nauseous with moving too fast, his hands sweaty as he grabs his water bottle and downs half of it at once. Breathing deeply, he reaches for his phone, only to look down when his hand meets empty air.

His bag has moved.

It was tucked under the desk, before, he’s sure it was, and now it’s almost in the middle of the room, just hidden behind the chair he left pulled out from the table. It’s open, too, one sleeve of his hoodie trailing out. He can see the edge of his phone just below the zip, down inside the bag instead of resting on top where he left it.

Jeongin takes an involuntary step back, glancing behind him at the door.

It was locked. It was. Jeongin puts his hand in his pocket, feels the key’s jagged teeth. He locked it. He’s sure he did. Unless he turned it too far and unlocked it again? Did he really unlock it just now, or did he just turn the key when it was open anyway? Doubt churns in his stomach.

Someone's been in here. Someone was in here where all his things are. Jeongin’s bag. His phone. Their new songs. His water bottle.

Jeongin makes a tiny noise, one trembling hand coming up to touch his lip. His heart thuds in his chest. His back hits the door, the lock jamming painfully against his spine, and he realises he’s kept backing up, away from the bag and the desk and the bottle. His fingers are closing around the door handle before he realises and he runs, disoriented, back up the silent corridor to the bathroom. 

There’s no one in there, and Jeongin drops to his knees at once, breathing so hard he almost retches. He’s been drugged again. He’s sure of it. This is the first time he’s been able to narrow it down so exactly, and yet it tells him absolutely nothing. 

Someone was watching him. He was barely out of the room for five minutes, before - how else could they have known when to go in? Who knew he was up here? His members did, Jeongin thinks traitorously, and digs his nails hard into his arm, because how can he keep suspecting them like this? How can he be so cruel and awful to the people he loves? 

His vision blurs and his chest aches and he can’t breathe. The pain in his head is so intense now that he can almost hear it. There’s no separating the symptoms of the concussion and the panic and whatever was in that water - it crashes over him like a wave, and Jeongin drowns.

“Oh my god, there you are.”

Jeongin jumps so hard he slams his elbow back into the wall. Jisung is standing over him, tapping his fingers irritably on the doorframe.

“Everyone is going mad looking for you, you know? Do you have to -”

He cuts off as Jeongin takes a shuddering, wheezing breath. 

“Stop it,” Jisung says. He sounds annoyed, his words followed by a long exhalation.

“Hyung,” Jeongin pleads, high and desperate, “please - don’t leave -”

He can hardly see. His eyes burn and his head throbs dizzily and he slumps down towards the floor. It feels like he’s really going to die, this time. His lungs or his heart or his brain will just burst under the pressure and his whole body will cave in. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

“Stop it,” Jisung says, with less conviction, “don’t make me -”

He cuts himself off, swears and crouches down. A cool hand cups the side of Jeongin’s face. This is the closest Jisung’s been to him in days and days.

“Hyung,” Jeongin sobs. 

He hears Jisung sigh. The hand on his cheek moves to his neck, rubbing lightly, and another squeezes his hand. 

“Breathe, kid,” Jisung says. “It’s ok. I’m - I’m with you, alright?”

“The door was,” Jeongin says. His breaths shudder in and out of him, shaking his whole body. His chest hurts. “The door - it wa-as - someone was -”

“Don’t try and talk now,” Jisung says. His voice is a little softer. “It’s ok. You’re ok. Breathe slowly for me.”

He strokes at Jeongin’s neck, shuffling closer. Jeongin sways towards him and grabs frantically at his sleeve. He wants to feel safe. He wants Jisung to hug him. He wants Jisung to love him again. He wants everything to go back to how it was before.

“Hyung, I - it was - I’m -” He’s whimpering now, and Jisung hums at him.

“Breathe slowly,” he says again, “follow me, ok?” and he takes Jeongin’s shaking hand and holds it to his chest, his eyes warm and sincere and gentle, and Jeongin tries to copy his breathing and tries to calm down and clings to the very small hope that this means Jisung has forgiven him. 

“Han-ah?” someone calls in the hallway, and Jisung calls back without taking his eyes off Jeongin.

“In here, hyung.”

Changbin hurries into the room. Jeongin drops his gaze to the floor, tears falling into his lap. 

“Ah, aegi, aegi,” Changbin says gently. He drops down by Jeongin’s side and wraps an arm around him at once, warm and steady. “What happened? Are you feeling ok?”

No. Jeongin’s head aches and he feels dizzy and sick and he knows it’s happened again, someone has got to him, that stuff is back in his blood and he wants to claw it out with his hands. But he can’t find the words for any of it, so he leans his head on Changbin’s shoulder and tries to stop crying. 

Jisung sighs, a little too loudly in the small room, and Jeongin flinches. Jisung lets go of his hand, drops it back onto Jeongin’s own knee. 

“You’re ok,” he says. “I’m - I’ve got to go.”

Jeongin reaches out for him pathetically as his chest tightens again. He can’t bear Jisung to leave him, he needs him to breathe, he thought - he thought it was going to be better now, between them. Jisung wanted to help him.

“No,” he says, “hyung, please - please stay, I -”

Jisung gets up, steps back out of Jeongin’s reach. He won’t look at him. “See you later, hyung.”

“Han-ah,” Changbin starts admonishingly, but Jisung’s already left. 

Jeongin sobs aloud, pressing a curled fist to his forehead, and Changbin hums sadly. He scoops Jeongin closer into his arms, rocks them a little. 

“Sh, oh, my Innie, don’t cry,” he murmurs. “He’ll get over himself eventually. Hyung promises he will. He loves you. It’s going to be ok.”

It takes a long time for Jeongin to calm down. Every time he almost manages he remembers the drugs, or Jisung deliberately moving out of his reach, and he starts to cry again. Changbin holds him - he always hugs so tightly, his strong arms squeezing Jeongin into his chest - and eventually starts talking about their new tracks, how they’re going to approach recording. 

“Did you like hyung’s guides, Jeonginnie?” he coos. “Of course you did. Innie always likes Changbinnie’s guides. Innie thinks Changbinnie makes the best guides in the whole music industry and also that he is very cute and handsome and his coolest hyung ever.”

Jeongin laughs wetly and Changbin kisses his temple. 

“Does your head hurt, aegi?” he asks after a moment, and this time Jeongin nods against his hyung’s shoulder. 

Changbin helps him up, holding him steady when he sways, and wipes away the worst of the tears with his sleeve. 

“Are your things back in your practice room?” he asks. “I think you can have more painkillers now, right?”

Jeongin stops moving. “I - I don’t want to go back there.”

Changbin frowns at him. “Why? Did something happen?”

Jeongin pictures the bottle again and feels fear swell in his chest. 

“You’ve gone pale, Innie,” Changbin says, gently pushing him to lean on the wall. “What is it?”

Jeongin fumbles through an explanation. It sounds stupid even as he’s saying it, but Changbin looks serious, rubbing his hand soothingly over Jeongin’s waist.

“Alright. Alright. We’ll go and get your stuff, and we’ll keep the bottle to see if we can, I don’t know, get it tested or something. You can come and sit in the studio with me and Channie-hyung, and if you’re sick we’ll take care of you, yeah? It’s going to be ok.”

It’s late in the evening. Jeongin has been in bed since mid-afternoon, where Changbin and Chan deposited him after he almost collapsed on the way to the studio. No one - not even Jeongin - can decide if he’s actually been drugged this time, or if it’s the lasting effects of the combined concussion and panic making him sick. 

Jeongin begged not to go to the hospital. If it is the drugs, he’ll lose his job - there’s no way the managers would support him, not after what happened at the show. He’d almost pleaded his way into another panic attack when they eventually said he was allowed to stay at home provided he doesn’t throw up or lose consciousness. They’ve been checking on him constantly. Jeongin’s been pretending to be asleep for nearly four hours.

Jeongin doesn’t roll over when Chan comes in, keeps his face buried in his elbow, even as his hyung lays a tentative hand on his calf. 

“Innie.”

Jeongin doesn’t move.

“We’re delaying the promotions,” Chan says. 

He stops breathing. It had to happen eventually. It’s what Jeongin’s been worrying about almost since the very beginning, and now it’s finally caught up to him.

“Just for a week or two,” Chan continues, gentler. “You can’t go on like this, honey. You’re not well. Donghyun-hyung was wondering if maybe you want to go home for a little bit, get some rest.”

Jeongin feels something in his chest physically crack. They’re sending him away.

“You don’t have to decide now. We’ll talk later, with everyone, ok? It’s going to be fine.”

He lies very still, even though he knows Chan knows he’s awake, and focuses on stopping each individual breath from turning into the big, impossible, miserable wail he can feel building in his throat.

Nobody talks much at dinner. Jeongin can’t bring himself to eat, and it’s not only because he’s afraid, this time - his head’s swimming, and he’s pretty sure if he eats anything he’s going to throw up. He spots Jisung glancing at his bowl with an irritated look on his face, and curls in on himself in his seat. 

“Alright, so,” Chan says eventually. He sounds exhausted. “You all know that they’re pushing our promotions back. It’s just for ten days to start, and then management are going to revisit after that to see if it needs to be longer.”

“Fantastic,” Jisung says tightly. “Great. So we’ve all been working overtime and messing about with the schedules to make up for -”

“Han-ah,” Changbin snaps. “Don’t, ok?”

Jisung starts to reply, but Hyunjin cuts him off angrily, and then Chan claps his hands together to shut them all up. “Enough. We’re not doing this now.”

Jeongin stares at his lap. He feels too guilty to look at any of them.

“Management have also suggested that Jeongin might want to go home for a while,” Chan continues.

“No,” Jeongin says, “I don’t. Please, hyung.”

“You’re sick,” Seungmin says hesitantly. “You got hurt - you’re being drugged, Innie -”

“My parents don’t even - they only know about the concussion. I can’t tell them. Hyung, I can’t.”

Jeongin’s mum cried on the phone after he collapsed. He can’t turn up at her door like this, sick and pathetic and half-insane. And what if whoever it is - what if they follow him? There will be no arguing with JYP after that, not if he’s found with drugs in his blood all the way in Busan. What if his parents don’t believe him about the drugging? They can’t stand drugs; they’ll throw him out and he’ll lose his home and his job and both his families and he’ll be all alone. Jeongin’s breath hitches.

“Breathe, aegi,” Felix says at his side. 

“Jeongin-ah,” Chan says, very quietly. “You’re not safe. Someone’s hurting you, and I can’t - I’m doing my best to protect you, but you’re still getting hurt. What if it’s worse next time?”

“I don’t care ,” Jeongin says. He swallows, stares up at the ceiling to stop the tears falling. 

“ Innie,” Hyunjin says thickly, “I had your blood on my hands. You could have died.”

Minho reaches across the table. “This isn’t your fault, IN-ah, you know that.”

“But it’s - it was different when it was just - if I was just sick sometimes but now they’re stopping us from working, and there’s all this media stuff, it’s affecting your - our careers, and I’m just - I’m just slowing you down, and - making you cry , and -”

He flaps a shaking hand in Hyunjin’s direction.

“I cry all the time,” Hyunjin sniffles, “you aren’t special.”

“Lie,” Felix says, rubbing gently at Jeongin’s arm.

“It’s just I - um.” Jeongin pauses, trying to get his breathing under control so he can get the words out. “It’s just I used to think I could just work hard and I would be - good for the team. I would be useful. But now - now I - there’s nothing I can do. I’ve tried so hard, hyung, but I - I’m still like this, this is still happening, and I was less and less useful and then not at all and now I’m hurting you and you want to send me away and I - I can’t - I can’t -”

Jeongin says it all as fast as he can, racing the tears rising his throat, the panic in his chest.

“Innie...” Chan reaches out but Jeongin flinches back, ignoring the pulse of pain in his head at the movement. He puts his hands into his hair and pulls, hard.

“ No. I can’t do it any more. I don’t care who it is. I don’t care if they get me. I don’t care if they kill me. I just want it to stop. I just want to die.”

Chapter Text

Jeongin folds over his knees as the panic crests and breaks over him, crying so hard it hurts his throat and his stomach and his chest. His head and his heart are both pounding. He might be sick. He might pass out. He can’t breathe - he can never breathe any more. Somebody grabs at him and manhandles him into their arms, and Jeongin fights but he’s not strong enough to get away.

“I just - want to - die,” he sobs again, “I want - stop, leave me alone - I just want to -”

“Don’t say that,” someone says shrilly. They’re crying. The others are talking too, but Jeongin doesn’t catch any of it, thrashing against the arms that hold him - two people now, almost pinning him to the bench. He tries to throw himself off it to the floor but they won’t let him. His head spins.

“Go to your rooms,” Chan says, somewhere close by. “We’ve got him. It’ll be ok. Go, guys, please.”

Everything hurts. Jeongin can’t catch his breath between sobs. The ache in his head has sharpened to a point, like a drilling behind his eyes, standing out against all the other pain like it’s on fire. He shoves again, digs his nails into his arms, and then one of his hyungs’ when they pry his fingers loose. He’s been trying. He’s been trying so hard, all this time, and this is it now. There’s nothing more left in him. 

Jeongin’s stomach lurches and he rolls over to throw up on the floor. The acid burns his throat. His muscles are giving up, going slack, but the heaving in his chest and the pounding of his heart won’t stop. He’s dizzy with lack of air, or just because he always is, he can’t remember the last time he didn’t feel sick or weak or awful, it’s been so long and it hurts so much and he can’t do it any more. 

“I can’t,” he sobs, and distantly registers that he’s been talking for a while, choking words out alongside the crying, “I can’t do it - please - please let me go - please leave me alone I just want - I just want -”

“Jeongin-ah,” Chan says, right in his ear, “we’re not going to leave you, ok? Hyungs are right here. Me and Minho. We’ve got you. We’re not going anywhere.”

Jeongin keens like a child, almost a scream, chokes on it as he tries to hyperventilate at the same time. Chan has his whole arm around Jeongin’s torso, pinning him to his chest and across his lap, and Minho is leaning over his legs. Jeongin can hardly see them. He can hardly see anything, his vision blurry and spotted as he pushes weakly at their hold on him. 

“Let me go. Hyung. Please - please.”

“No, aegi,” Chan says. “No. You’re staying right here with us.”

“I want to - I want to -”

Die, he’s trying to say again. It’s too much and it’s not going to end otherwise and Jeongin just wants to be left to lie down until he can go to sleep and not wake up. It’s all he can think about. It’s been months. Whoever is hurting him - this must be what they want, and they can have it, he’ll give it to them, if only Chan and Minho would let him go.

There’s a shock of cold on his face, water pouring over him and Jeongin splutters around another sob. Minho is still holding Jeongin’s knees in one arm and has a glass of water in the other. 

“You’re not breathing,” he says firmly. “You can do it, Innie. Follow hyung.”

“No,” Jeongin sobs, “I can’t - stop it - stop -”

Chan strokes the wet hair away from Jeongin’s face. They’re both drenched, now, and Jeongin can feel himself sweating with exertion, but the sobbing won’t stop. He can’t breathe. He can’t do this. He can’t do any of it. 

“...no, not even thirty seconds yet, it’s ok.”

Jeongin blinks himself awake. His cheek is damp and hot, resting on Chan’s wet shoulder. His hyung is holding him just as tightly as before - they both are - and tapping at Jeongin’s face with a flat hand. 

“IN-ah. IN-ah, can you hear me? You with us?”

Jeongin sucks in a shuddering breath, half-crying, disoriented. 

“Hyung?” he mumbles. His voice is hoarse.

“You passed out, aegi,” Minho says gently. “Just for a few seconds. Sh, no, don’t get upset. Just breathe.”

Tears start sliding down Jeongin’s cheeks again, or maybe they never stopped; he’s not sure. 

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Chan says, so, so gently. He sounds like he might be crying, too. He rocks a little, pressing his mouth to Jeongin’s wet hair. “I promise, ok? Hyung promises.” 

Jeongin closes his eyes and goes limp in Chan’s hold. He feels Minho hesitantly release his legs and get up from the bench, and he curls up even further. 

Minho reappears with a water bottle and they make Jeongin drink, holding the bottle for him like he’s a baby when his hands shake too much. Somewhere else in the dorm, Jeongin can hear yelling. He can’t tell what they’re saying or who it is, but he knows they’re fighting about him and he flinches at the noise, swallowing another sob.

“Don’t worry about that,” Minho says. “Changbinnie will shut them up.”

Chan’s warm, but Jeongin’s shivering a little - from being wet or sad, he’s not sure. Minho rubs at his shins and they remind him to breathe again. They’re both talking in slightly hushed voices, warm and soothing, like Jeongin’s ill. Not far off, he supposes. He’s so, so tired.

“This is what we’re going to do,” Chan says after a little while. “We’re going to go and get you cleaned up, and into some dry clothes, because you’re freezing.”

Minho strokes Jeongin’s side. “We’ll find your painkillers, too, hm?” 

“Yeah, we will,” Chan agrees, nodding into Jeongin’s hair. “And you’ll have some more water, because you must be really dehydrated. I’m gonna send someone out for glucose tablets, too, ok? You have to have some of those if you won’t eat.”

Jeongin doesn’t answer. He’s still crying, or whimpering, or something like it - each exhale half a sob, every muscle quivering. He’s never felt distress like this before. He can’t control his body. The inside of his head feels like one long, cracking scream.

“And then you and me and Minho are gonna get some sleep,” Chan murmurs. “Tomorrow, you’ll have some real food, and we’ll talk. Tonight, we’re just resting.”

Jeongin sniffles again and hesitantly uncurls one of his arms to wrap around Chan’s shoulder, as much of a hug as he can manage. 

He lets himself drift a little, still sobbing. Chan carries him to the bathroom and helps him wash his face and brush his teeth. Jeongin’s pretty sure he smells terrible - there’s vomit on his clothes and he’s sweated through two panic attacks today already - but he’s too tired to care. He stays limp as Chan bundles him into the shower and washes his hair for him, mindful of the stitches.

Minho brings clean clothes. Jeongin wobbles his way into them, his legs weak as a new foal’s, and Chan nudges him down onto  the closed toilet lid to dry his hair.

“Kitchen’s cleaned up,” Minho says from the doorway. “Seungminnie and Hyunjin have gone to get the glucose tablets.”

Hyunjin was crying, Jeongin remembers. 

“Is, um. Is everyone - are they -” His voice trembles and breaks around another sob.

Minho comes further into the room and crouches, rubbing Jeongin’s knees. “Everyone’s fine, aegi. Don’t worry.”

He holds out painkillers and a water bottle - another new one, Jeongin notes, a sealed one. Something in his chest gives a hot, guilty throb. He wants to apologise but he can’t bring himself to say anything more. They’re so upset, and it’s his fault, just like it’s been all this time, but - they’ll want to hear that he didn’t mean it, and that’s not true. Jeongin won’t lie. 

Dizzy and exhausted, Jeongin leans heavily on his hyungs as they lead him to his room. Someone’s changed the sheets for him, and it smells clean, like home. He used to like this room so much, he thinks. He doesn’t look at Jisung’s bed. 

He lets Chan all but lift him into bed, still unable to stop crying, his chest shuddering with it, the embarrassing, involuntary whimpering noise loud in the quiet room. Chan settles against the headboard beside him, guides Jeongin’s head to his chest. Jeongin feels Minho crawl up behind him, too. One of them rubs soothingly at his hip. Chan’s stroking his face, wiping the tears away almost rhythmically. 

“Sh,” Chan murmurs, “try to breathe, honey. It’s ok. It’s all ok.”

“Just rest,” Minho says.

They keep talking in soft voices about nothing in particular - Jeongin doesn’t register any of it. All he can really hear is the noise he’s making, a little distant-sounding, as though it’s coming from another room. Another person. He feels like he’s not even here at all. Like he’s not real. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when someone knocks gently on the door. He flinches a little, shrinking closer into Chan’s chest. 

Minho squeezes his side. “It’s just Hyunjinnie,” he says soothingly. “Can he come in?”

Jeongin nods mutely and Minho calls out to Hyunjin to come in. Jeongin can’t see the door, his face half-hidden in Chan’s shirt, but a moment later Hyunjin is there, crouching down by the bed. 

His eyes are red but his beautiful face is composed, a little smile on it as he reaches out to rub Jeongin’s shoulder. “Hi.”

Jeongin can’t manage an answer but he uncurls his hand from Chan’s sleeve to brush Hyunjin’s arm, and his hyung’s smile gets bigger. 

“Seungminnie and I got you some sugar tablets,” Hyunjin says gently. “Even though you’re already so sweet.”

They make him take two - they’re chalky and unpleasant and Jeongin almost chokes when he can’t regulate his breathing enough to chew - and drink more water. Hyunjin strokes his face, and Jeongin’s cheek judders against his fingers as his chest hitches.

His heart is fluttering like a bird and his body won’t stop trembling against his will. He feels shaky, anxious and confused, sick and dizzy and in pain, and it’s too many things at once. He hears himself cry again.

“It’s alright, honey,” Chan says, his voice low. “You’re alright. Try to relax and go to sleep.”

Hyunjin kisses the top of Jeongin’s head, tells him he loves him in a painfully sincere voice, and leaves. Jeongin wants to say it back, hug him, look at him, but he can’t bring himself to move. Instead, he huddles between his oldest hyungs - Chan’s arms around him firm and protective, Minho’s soft hand rubbing up and down his back - and cries until he’s asleep.

Jeongin spends most of the next day lying on the couch. Hyunjin stays close, and Jeongin hears some of the others look in occasionally too, speaking in hushed voices, keeping the dorm quiet for him like he’s a very sick child. He’s pretty sure that’s how some of them think of him, now. He isn’t Jeongin any more. He doesn’t have a personality. He’s just their maknae, who is always sick or crying or weak.

“We’ve told them you had a relapse of concussion symptoms,” Chan says in the evening. He’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, so Jeongin can look at him without moving from his position lying across Hyunjin’s lap. “We’ve made the announcement about the promotion delay as well. It just says we’re waiting for you to be fully recovered so you can join us.”

Jeongin blinks at him. He opens his mouth to reply and realises he can’t remember the last time he spoke.

“Hyung,” he says, hoarse. “I’m - I’m sorry.”

Chan looks at him, the expression on his face so caring that Jeongin can’t quite meet his eyes. 

“No, Innie,” he says firmly. “You don’t need to say that.”

They’re being called in for a meeting tomorrow, Chan tells him, all eight of them. “Just get some rest until then, ok?” he says, squeezing Jeongin’s arm. “Our Hyunjinnie will look after you.”

Hyunjin squeezes him too, humming a little as their hyung leaves the room. Jeongin can’t see him from this angle, his head pillowed in the crook of Hyunjin’s elbow, but he can feel a gentle hand stroking his back like he’s a cat. The TV has been on all day, but Jeongin can’t name a single thing he’s watched. His brain feels wrung out, stretched thin and transparent.

“Hyunjin-hyung,” he says eventually. It’s too quiet, but Hyunjin hears anyway.

“Hm?”

“I - yesterday - I had a panic attack?” 

Jeongin’s not sure if he expects an answer. Hyunjin wasn’t even there for most of it. But he can’t get rid of the distress, can barely remember anything except Chan and Minho pouring him into bed, and it scares him. 

Hyunjin stops his petting for a moment. “Chan-hyung called it a mental health crisis,” he says eventually. “Minho-hyung said, um, ‘panic attack times a million’.”

Jeongin wants to laugh, but the impulse rises and dissipates without his body reacting. He grips the fabric of Hyunjin’s sweats in his hand. 

“It was scary,” he says slowly. It comes out almost like a question.

Hyunjin hugs him a little closer. “Yeah, aegi, it was.” He pauses. “Innie, I… look at me.”

He pulls until Jeongin rolls onto his back in his lap, cupping his cheek with one hand. Jeongin averts his eyes, gaze resting on the middle distance somewhere near his hyung’s ear. He won’t be able to bear it if Hyunjin cries again.

When Hyunjin speaks, though, his voice is steady. “I don’t want you to ever feel that way again,” he says seriously. “Hyung will do anything in the world, ok? Please talk to me. Please.” 

Jeongin swallows and bites at his lips. “It feels like there’s too much to say,” he gets out eventually. “I can’t - it’s like I can’t think, I don’t -”

“Sh, ok,” Hyunjin soothes. “Don’t stress yourself out. There’s no time limit. Hyung just wants you to feel better. That’s all I want in the whole world.”

Jeongin nods, hedging, and curls up against him, dropping his head back against the older boy’s thigh. Hyunjin threads a big hand into his hair.

“Well, actually,” he says, his tone lighter. “I do also want this amazing shirt I found - it’s sheer at the back and it’s got sleeves with these little thread things on…”

Jeongin twists his fingers into knots in his lap as they wait for the meeting. Chan briefed them on the way: management want to discuss the schedule changes and updated PR strategy ( how we’re going to clean up IN’s mess, Jeongin hears). Chan wants to discuss what he calls “the total lack of support they’re receiving for what the group is going through” and “their failure to protect one of their artists”. 

“Donghyun-hyung said PD-nim is coming,” Chan says quietly. “He’ll sort this out for us.”

Jeongin’s never sure how he feels about JYP. The man is, objectively, terrifying. Jeongin’s never going to forget the comments he made during the survival show, either. And he’s put a lot of trust - and money - in Chan, and in Stray Kids, and Jeongin doesn’t know how he’ll react to Jeongin screwing it all up like this. He can’t imagine it’ll be positive. He can’t take hearing someone else say out loud how he’s let everyone down.

But Chan keeps talking as though just JYP’s presence at the meeting will make management believe them, and they’ll find out who’s doing this, and Jeongin doesn’t want to disabuse him of that. He’s put Chan through enough already. 

His fingers shake, and Minho reaches over to press them still. 

They’re led into one of the bigger meeting rooms, a long oval table with a projector screen at one end. Iseul and Donghyun are there, and a few of the management assistants, and two interns - Jeongin hears Changbin scoff under his breath as he catches sight of the one who stared at Jeongin at the photoshoot. 

Jeongin tries to keep his head down as they walk in, focus on staying upright, but walking makes him feel weak and he can’t stop himself from swaying. Someone’s fingers curl carefully over his shoulders and he feels himself tugged back, squeezed briefly against Seungmin’s chest before they sit down.

“Is Jinyoung-hyung not here yet?” Chan says, after they’ve greeted everyone. His voice is light but there’s an edge of steel to it. 

“PD-nim didn’t have an available space in his schedule,” Iseul says smoothly. 

Chan sits up a little, the way he’s angling his shoulders mostly blocking Jeongin from view. Jeongin slumps down to let it hide him even more.

“His last email to me said he was keen to attend and waiting for you to contact him with the details, hyungnim.”

“He didn’t have an available space,” Iseul almost snaps. “As you are all well aware, we have all had to make a lot of last-minute adjustments. We don’t have time to delay at this stage.”

“Jeonginnie,” Donghyun says gently. “How are you feeling?”

Jeongin flinches at being directly addressed, fighting not to sink lower in his chair. Chan’s hand settles on his knee, squeezing.

“I’m - not quite recovered from the concussion, hyung,” Jeongin mumbles. “We thought I was ok to come back but…”

“I think we all know, Jeongin, that the concussion was a result of the problems that have been going on here, and not the cause,” Iseul says. His tone isn’t harsh, but the words cut through Jeongin like a knife. 

Iseul gestures at the creepy intern and they bring the revised comeback schedule up on the screen. Jeongin stares at the table while they go over the dates - “Again,” Iseul keeps saying, “these are preliminary, providing nothing more goes wrong at this stage,” and Jeongin can feel his manager’s eyes on him.

“Iseul-hyung,” Chan says after a while. “I also wanted to raise my concerns about how JYPE is handling this situation. One of your artists is being harmed and as his group leader I’m disappointed with the lack of support he’s receiving.”

Iseul sighs, sounding frustrated, but when Jeongin glances quickly at him he sees a flicker of worry there, too.

“I understand that, Chan-ah, but it’s not within our remit to provide drug counselling.”

“With respect, hyung, Jeongin doesn’t need drug counselling. He isn’t taking drugs. I showed you that glass, and the bottle from the other day -”

“All that suggests is that he was consuming the drugs in your dorms and carrying them with him. I want to help you, but we have to work with the evidence presented to us. It’s actually worse that we have evidence suggesting he was consuming drugs on JYPE premises.”

Jeongin swallows. Panic is thrumming in his chest again. He didn’t know Chan had shown them the glass and the bottle - that’s all the evidence they have, and management still don’t believe them. He doesn’t dare look at the other members. He couldn’t bear seeing disbelief on their faces too. 

“I want to help you,” Iseul says again. “I hate to lose Jeongin as a JYPE artist. But he’s in direct violation of his contract, and his probationary contract. What message does it send if he remains with the group after those violations? If it reaches the press…”

He keeps talking, but Jeongin can’t understand any more. His lungs stutter. I hate to lose Jeongin. If he remains with the group. 

“The decision whether or not to remove him doesn’t rest entirely with this team,” Iseul says, sounding tired. “And nothing is yet official, but you should know that we are viewing the comeback delay as a chance to rearrange choreography for seven members, and release the statements. I’m sorry, Jeongin.”

Chan, Changbin and several of the others all start talking at once. Jeongin sucks in a breath and staggers to his feet, trying to ignore the rush of lightheadedness. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, “I have to - I have to -”

He stumbles near the door. Jisung is closest and Jeongin almost falls into his lap, but flinches away. He can’t look at anyone. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and runs.

“Han-ah, go after him,” he hears Chan snap.

“What?” Jisung says sharply. “Hyung, I’m not going to -”

Chan sounds furious. “Han-ah, seriously, will you -”

“It’s alright; I’ll go,” someone else says, but it’s too faint for Jeongin to register now, the ringing in his ears too loud. It sounds very far away, but it’s only seconds before a strong arm is grabbing him around the waist, holding him up. 

“Ah, it’s ok, don’t cry. I’ll take you home, ok?”

Jeongin’s vision swims with tears. The hallway stretches out before them like a river, the edges blurry. He leans heavily on the familiar figure at his side, their hand on his wrist. His head aches. 

“Jeongin-ah, have some water, ok?”

It takes a minute for the words to get through. The hand on his waist is rubbing gently at his side. Jeongin blinks, sending more tears down his cheeks, and realises they’ve stopped in front of a water fountain. His hands shake when he reaches for the button.

Bending down makes Jeongin so lightheaded that he has to cling to the water fountain for a second, leaning against the person holding him. He squeezes his eyes shut, humiliated, and fumbles blindly for the tap. He’s focused so hard on staying upright that it takes him a second to realise. 

Instead of the slightly metallic-tasting, not-quite-cool-enough water he’s used to from the fountains, the tap has sent a burst of powder onto his tongue. 

It’s damp and gritty on the outside, dry on the inside, and Jeongin splutters, but the mouthful of water that followed it forces him to swallow before he can get it out of his mouth. 

“Hyung,” he says, “the fountain -”

Fear seizes him in the chest. His lips and tongue are going numb already, the dry, medicinal taste thick in his mouth. He can’t think. He can’t see. How can someone have done that, so quickly? How is someone watching him all the time? He feels whatever it was that splintered within him at the dinner table break apart again, the fragile healing threads snapping under the weight of how afraid he is.

“The fountain,” he says again, but he can hardly speak. 

“It’s ok,” his hyung says. “Come with me.”

Jeongin doesn’t understand. He wants to go back - he wants Chan and Hyunjin, he doesn’t want to be in this corridor any more, out and exposed where whoever is trying to hurt him can clearly see him.

He’s powerless against the steady arm around him, the grip on him forcing him to stay upright, to keep moving. They’re in a lift, then another corridor. Jeongin hears a couple of people ask questions, their voices concerned, and his hyung says He’s not well, hyungnim; we’re headed to the hospital. Jeongin tries to pull back, wants to resist - they said he was going home; he can’t go to the hospital with the drug still sandy in his mouth; no one will ever believe him about the water fountain - but his muscles are useless, flopping forward under momentum alone. 

His stomach cramps, swoops with nausea. He’s going to throw up. He’s going to pass out. He’s dragged through another door, into the stairwell that goes down to the car park. Someone behind him is calling out - a familiar voice - but they’re not slowing down.

“Hyung,” Jeongin slurs, “where..?”

“It’s alright, Jeonginnie. We’ll be there soon.”

“Innie,” the other voice calls. “Hyung, what are you doing?” 

It’s Felix, closer, echoing down the stairwell. Jeongin can hardly walk, now. The grip on his waist is like iron, squeezing the breath from his lungs, crushing his ribs.

“Come on,” his hyung says at his side. His tone isn’t gentle any more. 

A third voice cuts through the air, shrieking. “Let go of him.”

Jisung. Jeongin tries to obey, but he can’t connect to his own body. Jisung isn’t even speaking to him; he doesn’t understand what he wants. There’s clattering above, more faraway yelling he can’t parse.

Jeongin’s ankle knocks hard against a stair edge. He flinches, his knees finally buckling. The hands tighten painfully around his bicep and wrist, and he lets his head loll back, looking up into the blurry edges of Donghyun’s face.

Chapter Text

“Get up.”

“It - it hurts,” Jeongin moans. “Hyung - please -”

“Be quiet,” Donghyun snaps, and shakes him, hard. Jeongin’s teeth clack together and his head cracks painfully against the wall, making his vision flash white.

“Get off him,” someone yells from above.

Donghyun shakes him again and hauls him up, dragging him forcefully down the stairs. Jeongin can’t stand up. Everything looks smudged and liquid, lines moving in front of his eyes. Felix is here, he remembers, and Jisung, maybe they’ll make Donghyun let him go. Maybe not. Jisung is angry with him, or not angry. He was shouting. Jeongin’s head throbs, nausea churning his stomach as he’s pulled forward. 

“Hyung, down here,” Jisung’s yelling, “Chan-hyung,” and Donghyun’s arm tightens around Jeongin’s chest. 

They’ve stopped on one of the floor levels. Jeongin can hear fumbling - a door, maybe, the sound hard to distinguish under the chaos from above. His head lolls to Donghyun’s chest and then all he can hear is the older man panting hotly in his ear. 

“You’re coming with me,” he says. “Those fucking kids aren’t going to - you’re coming with me.”

He hauls Jeongin through the door. The ringing in Jeongin’s ears resolves itself into an alarm, sounding somewhere else in the building. The sounds from the stairwell cut off as the door slams and Donghyun pins Jeongin up against it, forearm across his throat. 

“You’re mine,” he hisses lowly. “You want it. I’ve seen how you look at me. They can't take care of you. I can. I will.”

Jeongin sobs. His body feels like wet sand, like he can’t feel the edges of it. He can’t move, can’t breathe past the squeezing pressure on his neck. He doesn’t know where the others are. Donghyun’s breath is hot on his face, smelling like mint and coffee. His bloodshot eyes swing in and out of focus.

“Shut up,” he spits. “Quiet.”

Without warning, his hand presses between Jeongin’s legs, groping, hard enough to hurt. Jeongin tries to fight but he’s barely staying upright, managing only slow, useless twitches in the bigger man’s hold. He slams his head back on the door instead, as hard as he can. Knocking, he thinks dazedly.

“Stop that.” Donghyun takes his arm off Jeongin’s throat to grab him by the hair. 

Jeongin sags forwards, spits at him, and screams. 

It’s thready and weak and cuts off as soon as Donghyun shoves his forearm back over his mouth, so forcefully that Jeongin tastes blood, but someone must have heard. The others are close by, Jeongin thinks. Felix was shouting. Nothing makes sense any more. He just wants Donghyun’s hands off him. He wants it to stop hurting. He wants to go home.

The door shakes behind them and Jeongin pitches to one side, Donghyun half on top of him, the pressure still on his throat, and then all the noise he can hear is multiplied by a hundred. The weight on him disappears, but something strikes him heavily in the side, stealing his breath and making him choke with pain. Around him, over him, people are shouting, running. 

More movement, more voices - Hyunjin, screaming, Chan’s voice, angrier than Jeongin’s ever heard it, ever, Donghyun, cursing. Blood seeps past Jeongin’s lips. Strong, safe arms wrap around Jeongin’s chest, scooping him up off the floor.

“I’ve got you, aegi, I’ve got you.” Felix. “Hyung’s here. It’s ok.”

Jeongin wants to put his arms around Felix’s neck, but he can’t move. 

“Hyung,” he slurs, “the fountain -”

“Did he hurt you?” Felix is crying, Jeongin thinks. He can’t keep his eyes open long enough to focus. 

“IN-ah,” Felix says, sharper. “Can you look at me?”

“The fountain,” Jeongin says.

Felix is holding him like a baby, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other around his knees, bundling him in close. Jeongin feels so sick, like everything inside him is moving, wobbling inside his skin. The pain in his ribs is overwhelming. There’s still so much noise . He has no idea how many people are around them. He can’t focus on anyone’s voice in particular, can’t follow any of the numerous conversations. 

“Is he alright? Is he hurt?” Changbin. A hand, frantically sweeping back Jeongin’s hair to look at his face. 

“He can’t move.”

“Hyung’s calling an ambulance.”

“Where are -”

“Security are taking him -”

“Hyunjin-ah, come here.”

“I - god, he almost fucking -”

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Felix says, almost right into Jeongin’s ear. It’s what Jeongin calls his ASMR voice, the low, sweet tone he uses when someone can’t sleep. “We’ve got you. You’re ok.”

Jeongin closes his eyes.

This time, Jeongin knows he’s in a hospital even before he’s opened his eyes. There’s a familiar pinching pain in the back of his hand - an IV - and something up his nose - oxygen tubes - and a sheet tucked over him too tightly. The air is cool and smells of disinfectant and coffee. He can hear a mechanical sort of beeping, and close by, someone is crying.

Jeongin feels nauseous, weak, sore, a fine tremor of anxiety running over him even if he can’t remember why right away. His throat aches. Distantly, he hears the machine beep a little faster, and he clenches his fingers in the sheets.

“Is he waking up?” someone whispers. 

Jeongin opens his eyes. The room is dim, lit only by one strip of light on the far side and the gentle glow of street lamps from outside. The sky is dark through the window. He drags his gaze down to three blurry figures, close together by his bed. 

“IN-ah,” one of them says, stepping closer. Chan, eyes red with exhaustion, the neck of his t-shirt pulled out of shape as though he’s been tugging on it. His hand is shockingly warm when it closes over Jeongin’s.

“Hyung,” Jeongin says. He feels disconnected from his body, the word reaching his mouth several seconds after he tries to say it, and his hands lifting from the blanket to reach for Chan before he thinks about the movement.

A sharp pain twinges in his right side and Jeongin makes a short, punched noise, dropping his arms. 

“Careful, careful,” Chan says, “you’ve got a broken rib. Do you want to sit up?”

Jeongin nods and Chan touches something on the side of the bed. The whole thing tilts slowly up, making Jeongin’s stomach lurch a little. He holds his breath, willing himself not to be sick, but it’s a losing battle and he folds over, pressing a hand to his mouth.

“Oh, ok, it’s alright.” Chan produces one of the awful little cardboard bowls Jeongin remembers from last time he was here - was that not even a week ago? His head swims with it - and he’s sick twice, vision flashing white with how much it hurts his throbbing chest, his raw throat.

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” Chan says when Jeongin’s done and lying back on the pillow, panting. He takes the bowl away. “I should have known you’d be feeling sick. Are you ok?”

Jeongin reaches for Chan again, using his left arm more this time. His leader’s face softens and he sits up on the side of the bed, carefully gathering him in. 

Chan smells like the dorms, like home, and there are tears in Jeongin’s eyes before he realises they’re coming. He clings as hard as he can. 

“It’s alright, honey,” Chan murmurs. “You’re safe now, ok?”

Jeongin’s breath catches in a sob, and he hears it echoed almost at once by one of the others in the room. He wants to know who they are but he’s not willing to let go of Chan just yet, so he scrunches his eyes closed. Chan seems to take the hint, and holds him back just as firmly.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Jeongin nods mutely. The stairwell. The screaming. Donghyun’s face close to his, his hot breath, his rough hands. He shivers, tries to haul Chan closer.

“It’s alright,” Chan says again. “The police took him away, alright? He drugged you again, and you hit your head, and your rib is broken, but you’ll be ok. It’s over now, aegi.”

Jeongin’s chest shudders, and throbs with it. He can’t think about it. It’s too much. 

Chan helps him lie back against the bed, and strokes his hair gently back from his face. Whoever’s at the end of the bed sobs again and Jeongin blinks blearily at them, reaching out a hand. 

“Who’s there?”

“Everyone’s here - we’re not allowed in all at once, so the others are in the waiting room. Minho and Hannie are in here now.” Chan looks over his shoulder. “Come closer so he can see you.”

Jeongin holds his breath. Jisung.

There’s shuffling, a scraping sound of a chair being dragged along, and then Minho is bending over him, kissing him on the forehead. 

“I’m so glad you’re ok, Innie,” he says. “Hyung loves you.”

His voice is a little rough with emotion, but he’s not the one crying. Jeongin doesn’t know what that means. He’s too scared to look past Minho at the figure slumped over in the chair. He doesn’t know what he’ll see.

“How are you feeling, honey?” Chan says. His oldest hyungs leaning over him like this, taking care of him again, makes Jeongin feel like no time at all has passed since he was sobbing about wishing he was dead. Everything’s moving too fast, and it’s making him nervous. 

“I, um,” Jeongin says. “Sick. Everything hurts. My throat.”

“They pumped your stomach,” Minho says gently. “To get rid of the rest of the drug, but some of it was already in your bloodstream. The same stuff as before. It will pass.”

Chan fumbles at something out of Jeongin’s eyeline and holds up a cup of water with a straw in it. It’s cool, a little stale to the taste, but it soothes Jeongin’s sore throat, his dry mouth, and he drinks almost half the cup before it starts making the nausea worse again and he has to turn his head away.

Minho steps back and hauls the chair closer still, while Jisung is still sitting in it.

“Hyung and I will go and tell the doctor you’re awake,” he says, “and you two can talk.”

He’s crossed to the other side of the bed before Jeongin can blink, linking arms forcefully with Chan and dragging their leader out of the room. Chan looks a little blindsided, but lets it happen, shooting Jeongin a reassuring smile and saluting as they leave.

“We’ll see you soon, Innie. It’s ok.”

Jeongin stares at his lap as the door shuts behind them. Jisung is still crying, he can hear it, and he doesn’t understand. Did something more happen that he can’t remember? Has he done something else wrong?

Eventually he gets up the courage to turn his head, keeping his gaze low. Jisung’s fingers are twisted into the bedsheet, so tight his knuckles are white, the back of one hand shiny with smeared tears.

“Hyung,” Jeongin mumbles, and looks up.

Jisung looks awful. His face is flushed and wet, his eyes swollen, his lips raw from biting. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Their eyes meet and he sobs again, like a child, his mouth open and his eyes squeezed shut. 

Tears fill Jeongin’s eyes in response. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“Hyung,” he repeats tremulously. “Are - are you ok?”

Jisung splutters out a wet, incredulous laugh. “Am I ok? Innie…”

He scrubs his hands over his face, drying his eyes with a sleeve, and takes a deep breath. “Innie, you - you almost died, you know? Anything could have happened to you. And I didn’t - I’ve been so - if I’d gone with you when hyung asked me to, Dong- he wouldn’t have - you wouldn’t be in the hospital right now.”

He’s talking very quickly, half the words slurred as he tries to keep himself from crying again. Jeongin reaches up to brush at his own tears. 

“But then - we still wouldn’t know,” he says. It comes out very small and scared. “It wouldn’t be…”

He can’t say over . He can’t think about it without his chest tightening. 

“It was enough to overdose, what he gave you,” Jisung says quietly. “And he - Felix and I, we saw over the railings when he shook you and you - you hit your head. Innie, it’s - getting another concussion while you’re healing from one can kill you, you know that? It - your brain swells up too fast and it can kill you, you could have died -”

Jeongin takes a shuddering breath. He’s shaking, he realises, and Jisung must catch it too, because he reaches out at once and grabs both of Jeongin’s hands. 

“Oh, hey, it’s - I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s ok. You heard Minho-hyung, they got enough of the drug out, and you didn’t get concussed again. You’re ok. You’re gonna be fine.”

Jisung’s voice is soft and kind, a tone Jeongin hasn’t heard directed at him for weeks, and they’re holding hands again, and too much has happened and Jeongin feels overwhelmed. He sobs, his chest aching, and tears spill down his cheeks, dropping onto the hospital gown. 

Jisung makes a noise, standing up to sit on the edge of the bed. He keeps both of Jeongin’s hands in one of his and uses the other to wipe his cheeks, stroke his hair. 

“Look at me, aegi.”

Jisung doesn’t often call him that. The older guys do, and Hyunjin and Felix, but Jisung and Seungmin only rarely. Now, Jisung says it softly, hesitantly, and Jeongin can’t help but obey, peering up at him through a film of tears. 

Jisung’s eyes are wet again as well, but his voice is steady when he speaks. 

“Hyung is so, so sorry, Innie,” he says, almost a whisper. “I was - stupid, and angry, and worried. You didn’t deserve how I treated you.”

“I did,” Jeongin sobs, “I - I didn’t trust you, and I hurt you and I lied and caused all these - these problems, and I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I’m sorry -”

“No, baby,” Jisung says, half in English. “You were sick and you were being hurt. Hyung should have looked after you better. But I will now, ok? I’ll make it up to you. I’m not going to let you get hurt ever again. Hyung’s so sorry.”

He’s crying again, stroking gently at Jeongin’s cheek. Jeongin pulls feebly at his hands to bring him closer.

“I’m never going to forgive myself for what I did to you,” Jisung says, his voice cracking. “Never, ok? I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life. Innie, hyung’s so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Jeongin tugs harder, ignoring the pain in his ribs, until he can get one arm around Jisung’s neck, burying his face in his hyung’s shoulder. 

“I’m not mad at you,” he mumbles back, tearfully. “I - I forgive you, hyung. I just want - I just want you not to be mad at me any more. I want you to love me again.”

Jisung holds him close, rocking them both gently from side to side. 

“I never stopped loving you, idiot,” he says. He sounds devastated. “Never, ever, ok? My Innie. I love you so much. I’m so sorry. Please don’t cry. Hyungs have you now, everyone’s here, I love you, everything’s going to be ok.”

Jeongin clutches at Jisung and cries until the strength in his arm gives out. Jisung helps him lie back and reaches over to the table for tissues, batting Jeongin’s hand away and wiping his face for him before dabbing self-consciously at his own cheeks. 

There’s a mark near his eye, Jeongin notices, what he thought was just redness from crying. 

“Hyung, what’s that?” he says, pointing. “Is it a bruise? Did you get hurt? Did - Did -”

He can’t say Donghyun’s name. It sticks in his throat and he finds himself gasping.

“Innie,” Jisung says gently, “breathe, ok? It wasn’t him. It wasn’t. Breathe.”

He rubs his thumbs over the protruding bones in Jeongin’s wrists until Jeongin’s calm again, and then smiles.

“It is a bruise,” he says, touching it lightly with one finger. “It, ah - Hyunjinnie did it.”

The horror Jeongin feels must show on his face, because Jisung rushes to continue. “No, no, it’s ok, don’t be upset. We’re fine now, ok? It was, um.”

He looks down at their joined hands. “Chan-hyung went with you in the ambulance, but the rest of us had to stay and wait for the police. Everyone was confused, Hyunjinnie was crying and he yelled at me, he said some stuff, and he wasn’t wrong about any of it, but I - I yelled at him right back, and he hit me. A slap, he didn’t punch me or anything. And then Minho-hyung pushed us apart, and Hyunjin just started crying again, and so did I, and then he hugged me.” 

Jisung breathes out a laugh. “We were all still on the floor in the hallway, we must have looked - I don’t know. Crazy.”

He  swallows, reaching up again to smooth some leftover tears from Jeongin’s cheeks. 

“I’ve never been so scared, Innie,” he says. “We - Felix and I - we kept just seeing glimpses of you when he was dragging you away and you were all limp and you couldn’t stand up, and by the time we got to the stairs you were so far below us and we couldn’t even see you the whole time, but we saw him shake you and then you just disappeared and we didn’t know where, what floor or anything.”

His eyes are shiny again. Jeongin’s heart hammers in his chest. He’s not sure he’s ready to hear about this. He doesn’t know how to stop. The nausea is getting worse and worse.

“How did you find me?” he says, swallowing.

“You screamed,” says Jisung. “We heard - banging, or something, and then we heard you, and Felix was right by the door you’d gone through, and the others had caught up too, and Channie-hyung, like, shoulder-barged the door, and I don’t know, it was chaos - by the time I got through Channie-hyung and Hyunjinnie had - they were fighting with him, and you were on the floor.”

“Thank you,” Jeongin mumbles, “for saving me.”

Jisung smiles at him, warm and golden like the sun coming out from the clouds. “You’re our baby, Innie.”

Jeongin starts crying again - he’s so tired that it feels like he has no control over his emotions, fear and anxiety and distress rising and ebbing in him like tides. Jisung holds his hand and strokes his hair, humming.

Chan peeks his head around the door a few minutes later. “You ok, kids? No broken bones, no blood, no fights to the death?”

“Cuddles to the death is closer,” Jisung says.

Chan beams at them and comes the rest of the way in, bending to kiss both their heads like a father. 

“Innie, the doctor’s going to come and see you in a minute.”

Jeongin nods, but the idea of someone else in the room - a stranger - who might touch him, look at him, makes his skin crawl. “You can stay, right?”

“Yeah, honey,” Chan says. He looks a little sad. “Don’t worry. The company arranged stuff with the hospital, so at least one of us will always be with you. There’s police in the hall, too, protecting you. You’re safe here.”

Jeongin clings to Chan’s sleeve and Jisung’s hand, and feels pretty sure that he’ll never feel safe ever again. He can’t bring himself to hurt them by saying that, though, so he just nods. 

He shakes the entire time the doctor is in the room, so hard he’s practically vibrating. He feels sicker and sicker every time the man touches him. The doctor repeats what Jeongin’s already been told - the overdose, the broken rib - and adds some new information as well: cuts on the inside of his lips, a minor sprain to his ankle. Bruises everywhere - his wrists, his face, his neck. Places he remembers being hurt, places he doesn’t. 

The doctor makes Jeongin try and sit up unaided. Chan catches him when he falls dizzily back to the bed and Jeongin sobs with pain as his stomach turns and he’s sick again into yet another cardboard bowl. He never wants to see another one of those again. 

“We’re going to keep you overnight,” the doctor says eventually. He seems kind, but Jeongin can’t stop himself flinching away every time he comes too close. The doctor seems to understand, though, and steps back a little to allow Chan and Jisung to get closer. 

“We’ve got you on IV fluids and some nutrients as well, as you’re quite severely malnourished, Jeongin-ssi,” he says. “So we’ll keep you in to give you a chance to finish those and so we can monitor any lingering effects of the benzodiazepines. In the morning we’ll test your blood to be sure they’re passing out of your system, and then we’ll send you home.”

Jeongin nods mutely. He knows it’s rude but he can’t bring himself to speak, thank the doctor, ask questions. Chan does it for him, and Jisung’s hand moves gently back into his hair, and Jeongin tries to breathe. 

Minho reappears after the doctor has left. He gives a satisfied smirk when he sees Jeongin and Jisung holding hands, nodding like he was expecting it, and kisses Jeongin on the forehead again. 

“Everyone’s so happy you’re awake, Innie,” he says. “They’ve all got their energy back. It’s awful.”

Jeongin smiles for him. “Hyung, what time is it?”

“Nearly nine pm,” Chan says. “You’ve been here about ten hours.”

And so have they. Jeongin bites his lip, wincing when he finds one of the cuts. “I - will you have to leave?”

“I’ll stay with you, Innie,” Chan says, rubbing Jeongin’s knee through the blanket. “They said one of us could stay overnight.”

Jeongin relaxes minutely. He’s still shaking, and everything’s blurring in and out of focus. He feels weak, sick, and he can’t shake the thought that if someone came through the door trying to hurt him, he wouldn’t be strong enough to get away. 

“You look tired,” Jisung murmurs. 

“The others want to see you, Innie,” Minho says. “Is that ok? And then you can get some rest.”

Jeongin nods, as fervently as he can without getting dizzy. He sleeps best when they’re all home at the dorms, or in the car together on their way somewhere, or in corners of dressing rooms when he can catch everyone’s voices if he tries hard enough. He wishes they could all stay.

Jisung gets up, smiling fondly down at Jeongin when his hand tightens reflexively. 

“This mean hyung is making me go, baby,” he says. “But I’ll wait for you at home, ok? I love you.”

Jeongin’s too shy to say it back with Chan and Minho in the room, but he squeezes Jisung’s hand again and hopes his hyung understands.

“Come on,” Minho says, pinching Jisung’s arm and dragging him to the door. “The others need to see the baby too, and you need to drink some water because you look like you’ve cried yourself into a husk.”

“A sexy husk,” Jisung says. “A manly, handsome, incredibly charming husk.”

“A husk I will crush into dust if he doesn’t shut up.”

Jeongin’s almost asleep by the time the others come in. He hears them before he sees them, having a hushed conversation outside the door about who should go in first.

Changbin and Seungmin win, and Jeongin tries to smile at them as they slip through the door. Changbin crosses the room in two strides and then pauses by the bed, arms out as though he isn’t sure where to touch. He settles for cupping Jeongin’s face in his hands and kissing him soundly on the cheek. 

“Aegi,” he says sweetly. “Hyung’s so, so happy to see you. I love you.”

He kisses him again. Jeongin pretends to squirm - half because he actually likes it, and half because if he really tried to squirm it would jar his ribs - but catches Changbin’s hand before he can pull back, keeping him close for another second. 

Seungmin’s come round the other side of the bed, and immediately starts fussing with the blankets, tugging them higher over Jeongin’s chest, straightening the hem. He pets Jeongin’s hair back, too, looking Jeongin over with a slightly alarming intensity. 

“You’re ok,” he says, both question and answer. He strokes Jeongin’s hair again and then leans in to hug him around the shoulders, squeezing very lightly. 

“Love you,” he says, directly into Jeongin’s ear. 

Jeongin turns his face into Seungmin’s neck.

When they part, Seungmin goes back to playing with the blankets, loosening the folds so he can bundle Jeongin up a little more. Changbin and Chan are having a hushed conversation that Jeongin doesn’t catch. His eyes are closing of their own accord. 

He blinks, and Changbin and Seungmin have been replaced by Hyunjin and Felix. They’re so pretty, glowing in the orange light from outside, standing either side of the bed like guarding angels. 

“Hi,” Hyunjin says tearfully. He’s smiling, stroking Jeongin’s hair like Seungmin did. He doesn’t say anything more, but raises Jeongin’s hand up to his lips and holds it there.

Jeongin hums at him, not quite a word.

“You don’t have to speak, aegi.” Felix rubs Jeongin’s shoulder and kisses him on the cheek. “You look so tired. Get some sleep and we’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”

They both kiss him again, tell him they love him, tell him they’ll be back soon. Jeongin whimpers involuntarily when they let go of his hands and Hyunjin makes a devastated noise in response. Chan’s there a second later, though, squeezing Jeongin’s fingers, and Hyunjin lets himself be led out of the room under Felix’s arm.

Jeongin feels shaky and nervous, distress fizzing in his veins and forcing his eyes open every time they fall shut. Chan strokes his arm with a warm hand.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, voice low. “You can sleep, honey. Hyung will be here.”

Jeongin stares at him through half-lidded eyes, his breathing is still stuttered and uneven. His hands tremble. Chan sighs sadly and shuffles closer, carefully lying down on Jeongin’s uninjured side. He rubs soothingly at Jeongin’s chest, over his heart. 

“Sleep,” he urges again. “Nothing’s going to happen. You’re safe now.”

Jeongin leans into his touch, and lets his eyes close.

Chapter Text

“By myself?” Jeongin says.

He cringes as soon as the words are out. His tone is weak and nervous, like a child scared to go into school, and his hands - which have barely stopped shaking in the entire almost-24 hours he’s been in the hospital - shudder in his lap. He fists them in the blanket. 

“None of us are allowed to be in with you because we’re witnesses in the same case,” Chan explains again. “The police interviewed us all separately.”

“I, um.”

Jeongin doesn’t know what to say. Of course he should be able to speak to the police on his own. He’s an adult. He wasn’t even that badly hurt. If he really thinks about it, nothing even happened - only almost happened, and that doesn’t count. Jeongin is fine. 

But he hasn’t been alone since he woke up here. He hasn’t been alone at all since he stumbled out of that meeting room. Even the doctors make his chest and stomach burn with anxiety when they come in. He can’t be alone in the room with strangers. He can’t do it. 

“Innie. Innie, look at me.” 

Chan’s been talking to him. Jeongin looks up, guiltily taking in the stressed look on his hyung’s face, his red eyes, the shadows under them. He’s pretty sure Chan stayed up all night to take care of him. It’s mid-morning - the others aren’t allowed to come back for another hour - and Chan’s barely been able to go to the bathroom, because Jeongin is weak and scared and can’t handle it.

“Have you thought about letting us call your parents?”

Jeongin flinches. He’s nineteen, and Chan is his emergency contact, so nobody overrode him when he refused to tell his family what happened. He can’t bear to hurt them like that. He thinks, for a long, painful minute, of his mother - of how it feels when she holds him, the smell of her perfume - but then remembers the way she cried when he told her about the concussion, and he just can’t bring himself to do that to her, to hurt someone else he loves.

“They wouldn’t get here in time anyway,” he says, by way of an answer. 

Chan sighs. “Can we call someone else for you?” he tries gently. “Another friend?”

He gets an awkward look on his face, and Jeongin almost laughs. They both know Jeongin doesn’t really have other friends - not close ones, not ones that would make him feel safe enough to talk about all of this with a stranger. The members are the only people he’s opened up to since he was fourteen years old. He can’t do this without them. He can't.

“I can do it,” he mumbles. “It’s - it’s fine. ‘M’sorry.”

He’s caused enough trouble, Jeongin thinks. He’s just going to have to be stronger. 

Chan gets a conflicted look on his face - something between proud and sad. He reaches out to squeeze Jeongin’s shoulder. 

“You can take breaks whenever you want,” he says. “Hyung will be right outside, ok? If you need me.”

Jeongin swallows and keeps his eyes fixed on his lap. He can’t watch Chan leave. He can’t watch the strangers come in. He can’t have this conversation. 

The police are nice - a man and a woman in plain clothes. They ask Jeongin to tell them about what happened, from the moment they arrived at JYPE for the meeting. Jeongin’s pretty sure he sounds like a mess. He can’t work out what order everything happened in, and every time he corrects himself the shaking gets worse. If he gets this wrong, they’ll think he’s lying. Donghyun might not be arrested - or convicted, or whatever the word is. He might keep his job. He might start again. 

“Jeongin-ssi,” the female police officer says gently when he fumbles another answer. “I appreciate this is hard. You’ve told us that Park Donghyun took you out of the stairwell into the corridor. What floor were you on?”

“I - I don’t know,” Jeongin says. “We - before, we were in a lift, and I don’t know - I couldn’t see properly.”

“Your vision was blurred?”

“Yes,” Jeongin says, almost a whisper. “And I was - I think I was crying.”

He tells them what he can remember of what Donghyun said to him, the way he touched him, curling his legs up involuntarily at the memory of the man’s hands. He thinks he should feel differently about that, more upset, but it’s - Donghyun drugged him, and followed him, and went into their dorm, and tried to choke him. It doesn’t feel separate. What’s one more awful thing? Jeongin thinks. What’s one more violation? 

His skin crawls with shame. His voice gets quieter and quieter with each word.

The woman asks another question but it doesn’t register past the sudden thrumming of blood in his ears. Jeongin gasps in a breath and inhales tears he didn’t know he was shedding. One of the officers moves and he flinches, choking. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Oh, Innie,” someone says. “Come here. Come to hyung. It’s ok.”

Changbin, gently uncurling Jeongin from where he’s folded over his knees in the bed and gathering him into a hug. Jeongin makes a noise halfway between a sob and a cough, clutching at his hyung’s forearms. Changbin’s hand strokes the back of his neck.

“It’s ok,” he says again. “Channie-hyung is talking to the police. You’re done for today, alright? You stay with Changbinnie. It’s ok.”

He climbs up onto the bed and hugs Jeongin to him. Changbin’s shorter than Jeongin but broader and stronger, and Jeongin feels small. He doesn’t know where this came from. He thought he was doing ok. He thought he was managing.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. His chest throbs with pain. “I’m sorry -”

Changbin hushes him. “Sh, Innie, no. You’re ok. Hyung has you.”

Jeongin loses track of time a little, leaning against his hyung’s side, as curled up as his ribs will allow. He keeps his ear pressed to Changbin’s shoulder, listening to the out-of-time thumping of both their hearts, the soft rustle of Changbin’s fingers in his hair. 

He starts when someone else sits down on the bed, a big hand landing on his knee.

“They need you to read and sign your statement, Innie,” Chan says. “And they’ll need other interviews, for background stuff, but not for a while, ok? And not about yesterday. More about the stuff before.”

Jeongin forces himself to sit up out of Changbin’s arms when the police officers come back in. He can’t bear the thought of more strangers seeing him vulnerable like this. Changbin lets him, placidly, but makes no move to get off the bed or remove his hand from Jeongin’s back.

Jeongin barely reads the statement, scanning it with blurry eyes. They’ve summarised what he said, and it was recorded anyway. He bites hard at his lip when he reads the note at the end: Interview concluded due to witness distress. 

His hand’s visibly trembling when he scribbles his signature.  This is the first thing he’s had to sign since his contract amendment. It takes him a second to remember his real one as opposed to his autograph.

“Channie-hyung,” he mumbles, when the police are finally gone and he’s sunk gratefully back into Changbin’s cuddle. “What’s - what happens at work? What do I..?”

Chan perches at the end of the bed and closes his hand lightly around Jeongin’s uninjured ankle. 

“It’s sort of in chaos at the moment,” he says slowly. “Donghyun has officially been fired, and barred from the building. There’s no doubt about what happened yesterday, but the police haven’t established what happened before - when he was drugging you - so JYPE can’t really start their internal investigation.” 

He pushes the hair back from his face. “They’ve basically closed our management team to just Iseul-hyung and Sodam-noona, so none of the assistants or interns or anything, until they work out what happened and how he was doing it.”

Jeongin swallows, trying to take it in, but a headache has started pinching harshly at his temples and it’s all too complicated to untangle. “Are we - am I in trouble?”

It’s the only thing he can concentrate on. All he wants is not to have caused more problems for his group. They don’t deserve it. 

Chan’s eyes go wide and soft and he shuffles closer, reaching to squeeze Jeongin’s hand. “No, honey, of course not. You’ve done nothing wrong. They’ve stricken the probation record from your contract.”

He pauses. “Iseul-hyung wants to see you. I think to apologise. But I’ve asked him to wait until we’re back at the dorm.”

Jeongin’s chest seizes a little with anxiety. They were going to kick him out, before. He’s almost sure of it. Just because they know what was happening now doesn’t mean that decision has been reversed.

“Breathe, maknae-yah,” Changbin murmurs. “Iseul-hyung owes you that apology. They didn’t listen to you and they didn’t listen to Chan-hyung and they didn’t protect you properly.”

He presses his cheek fiercely to Jeongin’s hair, and Jeongin feels him and Chan exchange glances over his head. 

“We get to take you home soon,” Chan says. “Soon as your blood results come back.”

Changbin leans back to look at Jeongin’s face. “How are you feeling?” 

Jeongin considers. He’s felt sick for so long that it’s sort of background noise now, the haze of nausea and dizziness overshadowed by everything else. He feels like an exposed nerve, flayed open by anxiety and fear and shame and panic and sadness. He’s so tired. 

“Like before,” he settles with, his voice small. “Sick. Dizzy. ‘N’my head hurts.”

Changbin hums sympathetically but they both keep looking at him, waiting for more. Jeongin hedges.

“My stomach keeps hurting,” he mumbles eventually. “Like, cramping.”

Chan frowns, reaching over to stroke Jeongin’s hair back from his face. “Ok. We’ll talk to the doctor about it.”

The others are waiting for him at home, Chan explains as they wait for the blood results. Nothing is public yet, he says at once, but they were lucky none of them were seen going into the hospital yesterday, and didn’t want to risk it with all of them again.

“I won Rock, Paper, Scissors again,” Changbin says smugly. 

They keep talking lightly and Jeongin’s grateful for the distraction. Any time he thinks about any part of it he feels like he’s lit on fire with fear and stress and he just can’t take it. He’s so, so tired. He knows it’s over but he can’t make himself believe it. The long, stretching unknown is almost worse. What if Donghyun doesn’t go to prison? What if he never recovers and can no longer perform? What if they still kick him out of the group?

The cramping in Jeongin’s stomach gets steadily worse, until he’s almost crying with it, and then eventually until it makes him sick again. Chan disappears to find the doctor and Changbin rubs his back, humming worriedly. 

“Breathe,” he instructs. “Slowly, Innie, you’re ok. Just let it happen.”

Jeongin’s throat burns, bile stinging the leftover scrapes from when they pumped his stomach. Tears are rolling down his cheeks again but he can’t even remember them starting. 

Chan comes back, glancing impatiently behind him like he thinks the doctor isn’t walking quickly  enough, and steps back around to the side of the bed, scooping up Jeongin’s hand. Changbin moves too, reluctantly, and Jeongin tries to seem unaffected. He’s not sure he does a great job. 

The doctor examines Jeongin’s throat and eyes and listens to his heart. It’s a different person again, a woman this time, and Jeongin does a little better at keeping himself from flinching away. She tells them the cramping is likely the drug working its way out of his system, that his blood results show some of it is still there but nowhere near overdose levels. 

“We recommend regular checkups over the next few weeks, to keep an eye on any longer-term symptoms,” she says smoothly. “And to monitor that concussion, as well. But there’s nothing to indicate we can’t send you home now, as long as you take it easy and have people to look after you.”

Chan squeezes Jeongin’s fingers.

Prescribing him pain medication is a little complicated, the doctor says, because they don’t want anything to interact badly with the drug he was given, so he’s being given a lower dose than they usually would for his injuries. 

“If you really can’t take it, tell us at your next checkup and we’ll reevaluate,” she tells him. “By then, if everything’s passed out of your system ok, we should be able to give you more. In the meantime, try not to move around too much, and no lifting anything. We can’t give you a crutch for that ankle because the rib injury is on the same side, but try and avoid putting weight on it for a few days.”

The thought of taking more drugs makes Jeongin’s stomach lurch again. His head and his ribs and his stomach and his ankle all ache fiercely, but he can take it, he’ll be fine. He’s not taking anything else now. Not when his blood might finally be clean.

Jeongin feels like he’s been awake for days, even though it’s barely one o’clock. He nods tiredly, assuming Chan is taking in all the information, and doesn't listen when she starts talking about trauma response and psychological evaluation. He just wants to sleep. He just wants to go home.

An hour later, Jeongin gets his wish. He’s so tired that he barely registers Chan and Changbin helping him get dressed, collecting his prescriptions, the wheelchair ride downstairs. He falls asleep in the car and wakes up again at the twinge of pain in his chest as Chan picks him up. He hears himself make an embarrassing whimpering noise. Chan murmurs something soft in response.

Chan sets him down in his bed, so, so carefully, and Jeongin’s asleep again before his hyung’s arms have moved away. 

It’s starting to get dark outside when he wakes, and everything hurts. Jeongin holds his breath, trying to breathe through it so his hyungs won’t make him take the painkillers, but it’s difficult when even moving makes him wince, when the pain and the nausea mean he can hardly think or speak. He blinks his eyes open.

No one’s there. 

Jeongin gasps, once, the pain of it lighting his chest on fire, and clutches at his mattress. The fear is immediate and illogical. He knows he’s fine, he’s at home, the others are a room away but he can’t see anyone, it’s not safe, Jeongin isn’t safe.

“Innie, Innie, hey, it’s ok.”

The voice and the hand on his hip come out of nowhere, too close and too sudden, and Jeongin flinches again, crying out when it hurts. His head swims when he tries to sit up. 

“Sh, don’t, look at me.”

Jeongin rolls onto his back to obey, wheezing. It’s Seungmin, sitting at the end of the bed, where he’d been out of Jeongin’s eyeline. He leans up onto his knees to hover over Jeongin, rubbing his side and smoothing back his hair. 

“Breathe slowly; you’ll hurt yourself,” he says soothingly. “Are you ok? Does it hurt?”

“N-no,” Jeongin says. He’s not sure which question he’s answering. “Seungmin-hyung.”

“Mm?”

Jeongin doesn’t know. He maybe just wanted to say Seungmin’s name. 

“I thought,” he says haltingly, “no one was here.”

Seungmin’s eyes go soft and sad. “Don’t worry, Innie, ok? We won't leave you alone.”

Jeongin leans into the hand on his cheek. He feels so, so awful. 

“Everyone else is in the living room, I think,” Seungmin says. “Do you want to come sit out there? I think, um, Iseul-hyung is coming by soon.”

Jeongin refuses to be carried, this time, and it takes some manoeuvring to get him upright. It hurts enough to turn his stomach and he finds himself leaning into Seungmin’s shoulder, panting, before he’s even got his feet on the ground. 

“Careful,” Seungmin says lightly in English. “Remember not to put weight on your ankle, yeah? Lean on me.”

Everyone looks up at once when they shuffle in, and Jeongin stares at the floor, awkward under the attention. Hyunjin opens his arms and Seungmin helps Jeongin sink into the space at his side, dropping down next to him as well.

“You want some painkillers, honey?” Chan from the other couch.

Jeongin shakes his head. Half his face is buried in Hyunjin’s shoulder but he can still see Chan frown. He looks tired. They all look so, so tired, and it’s all Jeongin's fault.

“Everything’s been cancelled for a couple of days,” Minho says gently. “While they sort out the management stuff, and we work out how to move things around so you can get better.”

“We talked about it,” Chan says, gesturing around the room. “And we need to see what JYPE say, but we’re all happy to wait for you before we begin the full round of promotions. We can just do online stuff and work on new music in the meantime, so that you’ve got space to recover without the extra pressure.”

Jeongin squirms in his seat, halting the movement jerkily when it hurts his ribs. “You don’t all have to - you can - you don’t have to do that,” he says.

“You’re important to us,” Hyunjin murmurs. “We love you.”

“He nearly took you from us, Innie,” Chan says roughly. “Just let us - let us worry a bit, yeah?”

Jeongin’s chest tightens guiltily, and he looks down at his hands. 

“It’s not your fault,” Jisung says immediately. “None of this is your fault.”

Jeongin looks up at him through his lashes. He’s been crying again. Jeongin hates it.

“Did he,” he asks carefully, “do they know why?”

Chan sighs. “He won’t admit to anything, as far as I know,” he says heavily. “He says he was trying to take you to the hospital.”

“That -” Felix swears viciously, and there’s a startled silence. Changbin splutters out a laugh.

“Hyung,” Jeongin mumbles, “I didn’t even know you knew that word.”

“We’ve been saying it a lot the past couple of days,” Jisung says, “for some reason.”

“Let’s not make a habit of it,” Chan says.

Minho raises his eyebrows. “Hyung, don’t be a hypocrite,” he says. “You said it first.”

“Ok, well, shut up.”

Jeongin laughs, and it hurts enough to bring tears to his eyes, but everyone looks so delighted that he doesn’t care.

Iseul shows up in the late evening. Jeongin’s drowsy, having finally accepted medicine only when the throbbing of his injuries threatened to make him throw up again, and he’s barely moved from the couch, lying with his head in Minho’s lap and his legs over Hyunjin’s.

He flinches hard when the doorbell goes, making a little punched noise of pain as he jars his ribs. 

“It’s Iseul-hyung, honey,” Chan says, sending Seungmin to answer it. “You don’t have to get up. Are you ok to see him?”

“You can say no,” Minho says. “It’s ok.”

Jeongin grabs at Hyunjin’s arm to pull himself upright, even though it leaves him breathless. He can’t face their manager lying down like that. His heart pounds with anxiety. 

Everyone seems to think that there’s no question of him being in trouble or getting kicked out any more, but Jeongin knows that’s not true. However he looks at it, even though they know now that Donghyun was doing it, all he’s done for months is cause trouble and drag everyone down. He’s hurt now, too, and it’ll take him ages to catch up. The negative publicity might never go away. 

“It’s ok,” he says in a small voice. “I - it’s fine. I’ll see him.”

“Do you want us to stay, aegi?” Hyunjin says, and Jeongin nods quickly. He doesn’t trust himself to speak without blurting out Please let me stay , or something equally humiliating.

Their living room isn’t big enough for the eight of them - more than one person is usually on the floor, when they’re all in there together, but this time they’ve squashed in. Jeongin leans against Hyunjin’s side, with Minho holding his hand. Chan, Changbin and Felix are wedged in on the other couch, and Seungmin perches on the arm of Jisung’s chair after he leads their manager into the room.

Like Jeongin’s hyungs, Iseul looks like he hasn’t slept. He’s in a huge fisherman’s jumper - one of his favourites, Jeongin remembers - with the sleeves shoved back, and a shadow of stubble crosses his jaw. He’s a tall man, especially since Hyunjin and Minho have stopped Jeongin from rising to greet him, but he’s shrunk in on himself.

The others bow, a little awkwardly. No one says anything. Jeongin looks mostly in the direction of Iseul’s shoes, afraid to raise his head. 

“Jeongin-ah,” Iseul says. “Please look at me.”

Jeongin glances up, but immediately has to look away again as Iseul sinks into a deep bow. He’s never had an older adult bow to him like this. He feels his cheeks flush fiercely.

“Hyung,” he says nervously, “um, please don’t - it’s, um, it’s ok.”

“It’s not,” Iseul says, although thankfully he straightens to do so. “Jeongin-ah, I let you down. As your manager, and your hyung.”

Chan stands and offers Iseul his seat, and the manager takes it. Jeongin clenches his hands into fists to stop them shaking.

“I didn’t believe you,” Iseul says. “Or your members. I didn’t trust you, and you’ve been badly hurt as a result. Jeongin-ah, hyung is so sorry. I hope you can forgive me, and we can continue to work together.”

Jeongin blinks. The medication has left him a little off-balance, and it takes him a few moments to sort through Iseul’s words. “I - hyung, you mean I can - I can stay?”

“We should never even have considered otherwise,” Iseul says at once, “and we certainly won’t be now that all of this has come to light. Of course you can stay, Jeongin-ah. You’re an integral member of this team.”

He sighs heavily. “I can’t apologise enough for making you doubt your place in this group. I’ve seen other artists in your position turn to drug use, and I allowed it to cloud my judgement. The management team and I… Donghyun-ssi’s actions should never have been able to go unnoticed for so long. We failed to protect you.”

Jeongin’s going to cry again. He can feel it building in his throat. Too much has happened in the last few days and it’s making him dizzy, giving him whiplash. His head aches.

“The senior team and the executives and I are meeting tomorrow to discuss the failure of the company to address what was going on here, although our internal investigation has to work in response to the police activity,” Iseul continues. “In the meantime, please let us know what we can do to help you, Jeongin-ah. Hyung is so sorry.”

Jeongin doesn’t know what to say. He can feel his lip wobbling, and bites hard on it to make it stop. 

“Thank you, hyung,” he whispers eventually. 

Iseul closes his eyes as though the words have hurt him, and bows again before he leaves. Chan walks him out, and the room relaxes a little. Jeongin swallows. He hates this. He can’t straighten out a single thought. Everything hurts and he feels so sick and tired and he wants to stop having to think about it, he wants to go home, except no one there will understand either, so there’s nowhere he can go to get away from it. Nowhere at all. Confused tears spill down his cheeks, and he gasps, trying not to sob.

“Oh, Innie,” Minho says softly. He squeezes Jeongin’s hand.

Jeongin peels his eyes open. The light in his bedroom is weak, creeping from around the blinds like maybe it’s early in the morning, but Jisung isn’t in his bed. There’s no one in here, even though Seungmin promised someone would stay with him. They haven’t. Jeongin’s alone.

He tries to speak, to call for someone, but he can’t move. His body won’t obey. His head aches.

The door opens a little, slowly, unnaturally bright light creeping around the frame, and Jeongin tries to reach out a hand, because one of his hyungs is coming and they’ll help him move and he can’t bear being on his own, he can’t do it, he hates this, he needs them, but he can’t even do that - he can’t move at all, something thick and heavy pressing down on him like water. 

The figure that appears in the doorway is tall, a little wide-set. Baleful dark eyes stare down at Jeongin on the bed, one thick hand reaching out towards him. It’s Donghyun.

Jeongin struggles to move, to cry out. He doesn’t understand. Donghyun was arrested, he knows he was. How did he get out? Where are the other members?

The pressure gets worse, like Donghyun’s forearm over his throat, just pushing and squeezing so that Jeongin can take in less and less air and eventually none at all. This time no one’s going to find him. This time he can’t even scream.

He chokes, pain flaring in his chest and his head, unable to take his eyes off Donghyun. The older man isn’t moving, just standing and staring. His gaze burns at Jeongin’s skin. 

There’s a noise somewhere else in the dorm. Something moves, the pressure disappearing, the light changing all at once, and Jeongin screams. 

It’s a raw, wheezing noise, not enough air behind it to be anything but a long sob that quickly turns into another, and another. Jeongin tries to get up but can’t get the strength, his head swimming, and ends up halfway off the bed.

“Innie - Innie, stop.” There are hands on his shoulders, catching him before he can fall all the way to the floor. “What is it, aegi, what’s wrong?”

Jeongin keeps crying, struggling against the hands that hold him. There’s another voice, then a third, lower one, and Jeongin knows them, he knows it’s his members but he can’t calm down,  he can’t breathe around the image of Donghyun in his doorway. 

“He was here,” he gasps out, “he was - I saw him, he was here, it’s not - it’s not safe -”

He clutches at the arms of the person in front of him, blinks enough tears away to look at him. It’s Hyunjin, kneeling by the bed. He cups the back of Jeongin’s neck, stroking gently. 

“Sh, sh, aegi, it’s ok,” he soothes, his voice soft and warm. “You were dreaming, ok? He’s not here. That man is not here. He’s never coming near you again. It’s just hyungs here with you, ok? We’ll keep you safe. It’s alright.”

Jeongin reaches out for him, wincing when he jars his ribs even more. 

“Careful,” Seungmin says from the doorway. “Lie back, Innie, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Hyunjin stands, slowly, helping Jeongin lower himself back down and then sitting on the edge of the mattress, stroking back his hair like a parent. Jisung is there, too, cross-legged at the end of the bed. There’s a sweet, worried smile on his face. 

“You ok, baby?” he says. “It’s late; you must be so tired.”

Pain and guilt both throb in Jeongin’s chest. They look tired, all three of them. 

“Were you - sleeping here?” he says hesitantly. 

“Yes,” Jisung says. “Me and Hyunjinnie.”

“I came because I heard you crying,” Seungmin says quietly.

“We haven’t left you alone.” Hyunjin brushes at some of Jeongin’s tears. “Seungminnie said you didn’t want us to.”

Jeongin shakes his head, ashamed. It’s over now, Chan said. And yet he’s still causing so much trouble.

He tries to shift position but flinches when it hurts, meekly letting Jisung help him.

“Hyung,” Jeongin says hoarsely. “Um. How did I break my rib? Did I fall?”

A muscle twitches in Jisung’s jaw, but he doesn’t speak, tucking the blanket in around Jeongin’s legs instead. 

It’s Hyunjin who answers. His face is blank with anger, too. 

“He kicked you,” he says. “He was on top of you and when Chan-hyung pulled him away, he kicked you in the chest.”

Jeongin puts a hand to the side that hurts. “Oh.”

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t yet told any of them about what Donghyun did. The way he was touched. He can’t get the words out, the same way he can’t say the man’s name. When he closes his eyes, he can still see him looming over the bed. 

 Seungmin says something to someone out in the hall. 

“Everyone wants to know if you’re ok,” he reports. “Channie-hyung is getting you some water.”

“I’m fine,” Jeongin says. Hyunjin’s hands smooth over his cheeks again, wiping away tears.

Seungmin waves and blows Jeongin a kiss, stepping back out of view so that their leader can come into the room. Hyunjin moves to sit at the head of the bed and Jeongin huddles under his arm, leaning his cheek against his hyung’s solid chest. Chan takes Hyunjin’s place, holding a glass of water. There’s a fond, gentle look on his face.

“Hi, Innie,” he says. “You ok? Nightmare?”

Jeongin nods mutely. 

“Drink this and try to get some more sleep,” says Chan. “You need the rest. Everyone says to tell you they love you.”

He rubs Jeongin’s knee over the blanket. “We didn’t have any more bottles,” he adds carefully. “If you aren’t comfortable with it, tell hyung and I’ll go to the shop right now, ok? No one will be mad at you.”

Jisung snorts wryly, leaning over to squeeze Jeongin’s hand. “Especially not me.”

“You’re home with us now, Innie,” Hyunjin murmurs. “Everything’s going to be ok.”

 Jeongin leans into his side, and reaches for the glass.

Chapter Text

Jisung chokes his way awake, his heart throbbing so hard in his chest he feels like it might explode. He scrubs his hands over his face, sticky with sweat, and blinks open his eyes. 

It’s dark, clearly still late, and the room is quiet. Jisung holds his breath so he can listen for the slow, soft breathing coming from the other side of the room. Jeongin’s only been back at the dorm for three days after his time at home with his family, but Jisung’s had the dream every night, and he can’t take it any more. 

It’s the same every time. The stairwell. Jeongin’s screaming, but they can’t find him, and the stairs go on forever. His subconscious isn’t very subtle.

JYPE are finding Jeongin a therapist. Chan’s been suggesting they all go - partly to persuade Jeongin, who hates the idea, and partly because he says they’re all traumatised by what happened. 

Jisung is on Jeongin’s side, sort of. Sure, therapy helped when his anxiety was really bad, but he just never wants anyone to make Jeongin do something against his will ever again. Personally, he thinks he doesn’t need someone with a psychiatry qualification to tell him how he’s feeling about all of this. 

Guilt. It churns in Jisung’s stomach, every second of every day. When he thinks back on how he acted, the things he said, to Jeongin and about him, to the others, and all the times he ignored his dongsaeng when he needed help - it makes him sick. It’s like he’s thinking about a different person. A stranger.

Honestly, he’s surprised one of the members didn’t punch him. He’d go back in time and punch himself, if he could. 

Chan says nobody goes through life without hurting anybody, and that the important thing is to try to make up for those hurts and not to repeat them. That’s all well and good, Jisung thinks, but he’s not sure it applies if you ignore your younger friend while he's suffering for weeks and then nearly get him killed. 

Chan also says Jisung isn’t allowed to exaggerate what actually happened, but Jisung has never been that obedient a dongsaeng. 

Tears burn in his eyes and he rubs at them again, blinking hard until his eyes adjust to the dim light and he can look over at the other side of the room. Felix is asleep on a pile of cushions on the floor - they were put there the first night Jeongin was home from the hospital, and nobody moved them the entire time he was at his parents’. Jisung isn’t sure if that was because of sentiment or just laziness, though. 

He watches as Felix rolls onto his back, one hand curled around the metal frame of Jeongin’s bed. Someone’s been sleeping in here with them every night, and Jisung sort of hates it - he understands why they might not trust him with Jeongin, he does, but it still hurts. How is he going to make up for everything he’s done if no one will let him? 

Jeongin moves too, then, a little shift of one shoulder. He makes a hurt noise in his sleep, and then another. Jisung sits up, hovering, but Jeongin quiets after a moment. His face is just visible in the orange light from outside, and he looks very small, and very young. Jisung wants to scoop him up and cry and apologise again. He wants to hug him until they can both forget any of this ever happened. 

Jisung squirrels himself away in his studio the next day. He stares at his files - one unfinished track after another. Before, he couldn’t work thinking about Jeongin, far away at his parents’ and sick and injured and traumatised. Now, it’s Jeongin’s first half-day back at the company, and Jisung can’t work thinking of him somewhere in the building, maybe hurting, maybe frightened. 

He drops his head down on the keyboard, screwing his eyes shut against the fatigue headache it feels like he’s had for at least a week.

How much longer before Chan has to sit him down and tell him he’s lost his skills as a producer and they don’t want him working on the album any more? That he can’t write any more? Han-ah , he’ll say, it’s nothing personal, it’s just that everything you write is total crap now.

He sneaks glances at Jeongin all the way back from the company that evening. They’re all doing it - Jisung knows because he keeps looking up at their maknae and meeting the eyes of one of the others on his other side. It’s the sort of thing that would normally drive Jeongin insane, but he’s trying too hard to pretend he doesn’t exist and hasn’t noticed. 

Jeongin’s not allowed to dance yet - his physical recovery is a way off, still, although only Chan really knows the medical details - but he still looks exhausted, even after only a few hours, slumped over with his head on Hyunjin’s shoulder. 

Jisung doesn’t know how to behave. Jeongin’s always wilted a little under too many people trying to look after him at once, and he’s clearly struggling with having been forced into such vulnerability. It’s like he thinks he has to push everyone’s kindness away until he can’t hold out any more. Jisung’s torn between his desperation to take care of Jeongin, to atone for his sins, and his unwillingness to take part in pushing him to the end of his tether. Hasn’t he done enough damage?

"'M'going to my room," Jeongin mumbles as soon as they're home, and disappears before anyone can catch him.

Jisung throws himself down on the couch, suddenly exhausted too. Hyunjin trails in after a moment and slumps over Changbin's lap, pouting. 

"Innie's hurting," he says quietly. "I think his stomach's bothering him."

Changbin makes a face, half frown and half pout. "They said stress makes it worse, right?"

"Yeah," Minho says from the other couch. "But he won't let himself relax and let us take care of him."

Jisung pulls his legs up. The pit of guilt in his chest widens a little, pressing on his lungs. 

"It's not your fault, Hannie," Felix murmurs. 

Jisung makes a face. It is, is the thing.

"He needs time," Chan says. "It's only been a few weeks, and he's only just back to work. He taught himself not to tell us he was feeling bad when it was all happening, and now he's got to, like... unlearn that."

Sure, Jisung thinks. That makes a lot of sense, but -

"But he's hurting," Hyunjin says. It comes out small and sad. Nobody answers. 

A couple of days later, Jisung walks into the kitchen and stops dead in his tracks. Chan is there, sitting on the bench, his arm wrapped around the hunched, shaking figure of their maknae. Jeongin’s head is down, his hands twisted around each other in his lap. He’s crying. 

Chan reaches up to wipe Jeongin’s cheeks, guiding the younger boy’s head to his shoulder. He murmurs something, too low for Jisung to hear, but it’s a familiar tone, gentle and soothing. Jisung’s frozen in the doorway. He knows he should leave, let them talk in private, but he can’t tear himself away. 

Jeongin just looks so sad . 

It’s the most upset Jisung’s seen him since he got back from his parents’. He always tries to swallow his sobs when he cries, and then he can’t breathe properly, so he makes these noises - little choking gasps, half whimpers, that go straight to Jisung’s heart and lodge there like a splinter. He hates that noise. 

A tear drops onto the sleeve of Jeongin’s hoodie. Chan wipes his face again and tucks him closer, shifting to lay his cheek on Jeongin’s hair, and catches sight of Jisung on the threshold. 

His eyebrows fly up and then soften, and he gestures with his free hand at the space on Jeongin’s other side, motions for Jisung to come in. Jeongin doesn’t notice - his eyes are scrunched closed, and he curls further into Chan’s arms. 

Jisung shakes his head, takes a half step back. He’s not going to barge in on this, if Jeongin sought Chan out for comfort. There’s nothing he can say here that will make Jeongin feel better. 

Chan frowns at him, but then Jeongin sobs out loud and he looks down, attention caught. Jisung moves all the way back into the hall before the leader can look at him again. He hears Jeongin mumble something tearful and Chan murmur Oh, honey , in response. 

As Jisung redirects to the living room, he walks straight into Felix and they both jump back in surprise. Felix gives him a little frown, head tipped to one side. 

“You ok?” he says.

“Ah.” Jisung shrugs. “I just - Innie’s crying. In the kitchen. Channie-hyung is with him, but…”

Felix’s shoulders drop and he glances anxiously down the hall. “Oh.”

They look at each other. 

“Um,” Felix says after a second. “Do you - Minho-hyung and I are watching that thing, that drama that Seungminnie said about. Come watch?”

Jisung is just so, so tired. He nods, and grabs a handful of Felix’s hoodie in his sleeve, letting himself be towed into the other room. 

“That isn’t a snack,” Minho says, gesturing at Jisung with a remote.

“Many STAYs would say otherwise, hyung,” Jisung says, but it comes out sounding tired.

Minho gives them both a considering look. “Something wrong, kids?”

Felix explains quickly and Minho sighs heavily. Jisung throws himself down onto the couch, shoving his feet into his hyung’s lap. Felix sits down too, but leaves a little gap where normally he’d have cuddled straight up to Jisung’s side. 

Things are better, with Hyunjin and Felix, but there’s a lingering sort of awkwardness that makes Jisung panic if he thinks too hard about it. It’s just - what if it’s like that forever? What if the scars he’s left on those relationships never heal? They should talk about it. He knows that. He’s just too much of a coward to start the conversations.

“Are you ok?” Felix says again after a little while.

Jisung blinks. He hasn’t been looking at the screen at all, just staring blankly at his lap. 

He feels fuzzy with anxiety. Jeongin’s back with them now, and his injuries are healing, and they’re sorting out the revised comeback, and on paper everything is going to be fine. But Jeongin keeps crying, and Jisung can’t write any more, and Hyunjin and Felix are weird with him, and he can’t shake the feeling that they’ve lost something they’re never going to get back. 

“Hannie,” Felix says in a gentle voice. He’s moved closer. He pets Jisung’s cheek, and Jisung realises his eyes have welled up.

“Sorry. Sorry,” he says roughly. “I just - this is all so - “

Minho reaches over to squeeze Jisung’s hip, and Felix strokes his hair. 

“It’s going to be ok,” he hums. “It really is. We’ve got our Innie back with us. He’s not going to be hurt any more.”

Jisung leans against him, sighing shakily.

“It’s like hyung said,” Minho says, “Innie’s got to unravel all the ways he taught himself to cope with what was going on. It’s still a lot for him to deal with.”

“I just - I can’t bear hearing him cry any more,” Jisung says wetly. 

“I know,” Minho says, “but it’s so much better that he’s crying here at home with Channie-hyung to give him a cuddle, instead of crying on his own because none of us knew what was happening.”

Jisung nods, but doesn’t move his face from Felix’s arm. 

When Jisung steps through the door the next day, the first thing he hears is crying, and his heart sinks. Not again. 

As he steps hesitantly into the lounge, he finds a familiar sight: Chan on the couch, a shaking, huddled figure in his arms - but then Jisung pulls up short. It’s not Jeongin. 

It’s Hyunjin, red-eyed and clutching at his hair and Chan’s hoodie both. Jisung hovers. He doesn’t feel any surer about walking in on this than he did about Jeongin.

“Jinnie, sh, it’s ok,” Chan murmurs soothingly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s alright.”

“I scared him,” Hyunjin sobs, distraught, “he was - he looked so -”

Chan rubs his back. “You startled him, aegi. It’s not your fault. It could have been any one of us.”

He looks up then - the second time in two days that he’s met Jisung’s eyes over a crying member’s head - and jerks his head towards Jisung’s room. Jisung isn’t surprised - Chan’s right, he’s not helpful here. He should give them space.

He nods, makes to retreat, but then Chan mouths Innie and a fragile little bubble of hope swells in his chest. Chan wants him to find Innie and take care of him after whatever’s happened. He’s leaving Jeongin to Jisung while he takes care of Hyunjin. He’s trusting him.

Jisung salutes him, suddenly buzzing with nervous energy, and darts out of the room. He takes a deep breath outside the door to his own bedroom, trying to calm down. 

“IN-ah?” he calls. He opens the door as slowly as he can. 

There’s no answer, but Jisung doesn’t need one. As he slips inside he can see Jeongin, curled up into a tiny ball in the corner of his bed, the plush toy Hyunjin gave him for his birthday fisted in his hands. He glances up at Jisung and immediately averts his gaze, gasping. Tears stream down his cheeks. 

“Hi, baby,” Jisung says in English. He sits down carefully on the edge of the bed, reaches out a hand. “Can I come closer?”

Jeongin’s breathing too fast, choking a little with each sob. He shakes his head frantically. “I - up-set - hyung,” he says jerkily. “I - I made - him - cry -”

“Breathe slowly for me, Innie,” Jisung says gently. “I’m here with you, ok? I’ve got you.”

“I - I -”

“He’s only upset because he thinks he scared you,” Jisung murmurs.

“ Everything scares me,” Jeongin grits out furiously. His chest heaves. “Everything - everything - nothing’s - the same - any more -”

Jisung edges a little closer, but stops when Jeongin shrinks even further back to the wall. 

“I just,” he sobs, “I just want -”

“Innie,” Jisung interrupts hurriedly. He remembers the last time Jeongin was so upset. He’ll never get those words out of his head. 

“Calm down for hyung. This must be hurting your chest.” He lays his hand over Jeongin’s, rubs a thumb slowly over the back of it. It’s clenched so tightly that he’s shaking.

 “Let hyung hold your hand, yeah? You’re squashing your friend. He’ll cry.”

Jeongin makes a gaspy little noise, not quite a laugh, but he lets go of the plushie with one hand and lets Jisung crawl up the bed next to him.

Jisung takes his hand carefully. "Is it hurting?"

"I'm fine." It's muffled, but Jisung can hear a tremor in his voice. His own chest throbs in response. He shifts closer, until their arms are touching.

"You're ok," he says, right into Jeongin's hair. "Everything's ok."

Jeongin's narrow shoulders shake. For a second, Jisung thinks he's going to be shrugged away, but then cold fingers curl over his own and cling, tightly.

“Hyung, don’t - don’t go -”

“I won’t,” Jisung says. “What happened?”

Jeongin swallows, clearly trying to get himself together. “I - I don’t know. I - I was - I didn’t mean to - I don’t know -”

Jisung’s always hated it when Jeongin cries, but it’s different now. It undoes something in his chest, rising up in the well of anxiety that lives there all the time until it spills over. Of course Jeongin won’t talk to him. How can Jeongin even want him to stay, after everything he’s done?

“I’m s-sorry,” Jeongin stammers miserably, and Jisung realises he’s gone tense.

He lifts his free arm to fold it around Jeongin’s shoulders. “Don’t,” he chides, “you don’t have to know.”

“Can you just - can you -”

“Sh,” Jisung murmurs. “It’s ok. Do you, um - do you want me to get one of the others for you? Yongbokkie and Seungmin are home.”

Jeongin stiffens. “Don’t go,” he says again, a little more urgent this time, a little frightened. 

Jeongin being scared turns Jisung’s stomach. His eyes sting, and he squeezes his dongsaeng’s hand. 

“Ok, baby. I’ll stay. It’s alright.”

He strokes a thumb over his dongsaeng’s shoulder. “You need to breathe slower, though, yeah? You’re hurting yourself.”

“I can’t,” Jeongin almost wails, “I - I hurt him - I upset him -”

“He scared you.” Jisung corrects himself, remembering the word Chan used. “Startled you, I mean. That’s not anyone’s fault. He’s not mad at you.”

Jeongin slumps into his side, sobbing, and Jisung lets go of his hand to cradle him closer. 

“Breathe, Innie, it’s ok. Calm down for hyung. I’m right here.”

It takes a long time for Jeongin to calm. He tips in and out of a panic attack until he’s exhausted, too drained to do anything except slump across Jisung’s lap. Slow tears leak onto Jisung’s sweats. It’s awful, heartbreaking, but Jisung can’t shake the relief he feels at holding Jeongin in his arms. Jeongin’s hurting, again, and Jisung hates that, but he’s just so glad that this is something he can help with. Jeongin asked him to stay. 

“-something with a slower beat but lots of bass, you know? Like, like - not r’n’b, but sort of r’n’b,” Jisung says. He’s not sure what he’s talking about any more. He’s been rambling so long his mouth is dry, his voice creaking a little on the longer vowels. Jeongin is still shaking.

Jisung pauses in whatever he’s saying when there’s a timid knock on the door. “Who’s there?”

“Me and Hyunjinnie,” Chan says. He nudges the door open with his shoulder, peering round it. “Can we come in? It’s ok if not, Innie.”

“Hyung,” Jeongin sniffles. It’s too quiet for Chan to hear, and not really clear who he’s talking to, but he starts trying to sit up, so Jisung takes it as a yes. 

“Come in,” he calls. 

Chan edges the rest of the way in with Hyunjin tucked under his arm. The dancer looks terrible, red-eyed and sniffling, but no longer crying. Chan nudges him towards the bed and Hyunjin flops himself down with all his weight, jostling them. 

“Yah,” Jisung says, “you wanna catapult this kid off the bed?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer, laying his head down on Jisung’s other leg to bring his face near to Jeongin’s. It’s the closest Jisung’s been to him in days, and he can’t help laying his hand on Hyunjin’s hair. 

“Are you ok, Innie?” Chan says gently from the foot of the bed. 

Jeongin doesn’t answer, instead reaching out for Hyunjin’s sleeve. 

“I’m sorry, hyung,” he says, “I’m so sorry; I didn’t - I didn’t mean to upset you -”

Jisung strokes Jeongin’s back as he starts working himself up again. He’s about to tell his dongsaeng to calm down, but Hyunjin beats him to it. 

“Sh, sh,” he murmurs. “No, don’t be silly. You don’t need to apologise. Hyung’s sorry I scared you, ok? I didn’t mean to, but it’s not your fault how you reacted.”

The words have a familiar flavour - something reassuring said by Chan that another member is repeating. Chan is smiling his big dad smile, too, Jisung notices. Dead giveaway.

Hyunjin’s got a hand on the back of Jeongin’s neck and he plays gently with their maknae’s hair. 

“It’s ok, Innie,” he says. “Just breathe a little. Hyung and Hannie and I have got you.”

Something about the way he says it - about Jisung’s name soft in Hyunjin’s mouth again, the way Hyunjin grouped him in with himself and Chan, all there taking care of Jeongin - makes Jisung’s throat close. He strokes Hyunjin’s hair and squeezes Jeongin’s shoulder at the same time, blinking the tears away. 

“That’s right,” Chan says, sounding satisfied. 

Jisung glances at him, and Chan’s not looking down at Jeongin like he expects, but straight at him, so their eyes meet. Chan’s got a soft, knowing look on his face. 

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he says. 

Jisung swallows. If he had a hand free, he would punch Chan in the thigh, he thinks. 

Jeongin lolls his head a little, blinking owlishly up from Jisung’s lap. “Thanks, Hannie-hyung.”

“That’s ok, baby,” Jisung says quietly. 

“Come and wash your face and drink some water, Innie, ok?” Chan says. “You need to take your pills, too. And hyung wants a hug.”

Jeongin makes a token halfhearted protest, but peels himself upright anyway, his hand on Jisung’s shoulder for support. He tries to stifle his wince at the movement but Jisung catches it and so does Chan, if the protective arm he wraps around Jeongin’s waist is anything to go by. 

When their oldest and youngest members have shuffled out of the room, Hyunjin rolls onto his back. “I am going to take a shower,” he announces. 

“You should,” Jisung says, “you smell awful.”

Hyunjin’s unfairly pretty face crinkles up as he grins, sticking his tongue out. “I smell like a meadow. An angel.”

“Angels don’t have a smell.”

“They do, and it’s - it’s a heavenly smell.”

Hyujin beams, pleased with himself. Automatically - before he has time to second-guess the movement - Jisung reaches out and wipes at some of the half-dried tear tracks on his cheek. 

Hyunjin catches his hand when he goes to take it back, and squeezes hard.

“Thanks, Hannie,” he murmurs. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Jisung says. “You totally smell heavenly. But you should still shower.”

He waits until Hyunjin’s gone before letting hot, relieved tears spill down his cheeks.

Jisung lets himself cry just for a couple of minutes, before scrubbing his hands over his face and springing out of Jeongin’s bed to find his charger. It’s late, actually - he spent the evening wasting more fruitless hours in the studio - and he’s exhausted, and anyway Jeongin should go to bed soon, so Jisung has to get ready.

Buried in his wardrobe, Jisung hears more than sees Jeongin come back in - Hyunjin and Felix are shrieking with laughter somewhere in the hall, and below that Changbin is whining about where his hoodie has gone, but underneath the chaos Jisung catches light footsteps and soft shuffling. Like a little animal, he thinks fondly.

“Hyung?” Jeongin says in a tiny voice.

“Mm?”

“Would you, um.” 

Jisung pauses in his rummaging, turning around to look at Jeongin. The younger boy is leaning on their doorframe with his arms wrapped around himself. He isn’t looking Jisung in the eye, instead staring at the floor. Belatedly, Jisung notices the couch cushions have gone.

“Would you sleep with me tonight?” Jeongin says in a rush. 

God, Jisung is going to cry again if he keeps being so sweet. He swallows, covering it up with the biggest smile he can fit on his face. 

“Innie,” he croons, “our cute maknae, of course hyung will come sleep with you.”

He crosses the room to take Jeongin’s face in his hands, kissing him loudly on the forehead. “Our Innie, this cute baby.”

Jeongin pouts and shoves him away. 

Jisung’s tired, but finds himself full of nervous energy suddenly, rushing through getting changed and babbling so much at Minho while they brush their teeth that he gets toothpaste all over the mirror. When he gets back into the room, though, he finds all the lights off except his fairy lights, and Jeongin a small curled figure in his bed, timid eyes glinting at him from the pillow.

Jisung crawls in beside him and tucks a careful arm over his dongsaeng’s waist. Jeongin smells like mint, and a little like Chan’s cologne, and the hair stuff they all use. Like the dorm. Like home.

Jisung cuddles a little closer, and kisses the back of his head.

I’m going to write a song about you , he thinks.