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Some days are hard.
Jay learned this many years ago, even more so when he stepped foot into the world of perfectly practiced responses and meticulous dance routines. He did not take this path unaware. In fact, he’d like to think he was warned generously along the way — countless hearsays of idols caving under public scrutiny shared at the dining table — but that was all they’ve ever been to him: stories.
Experiencing it firsthand is an entirely different thing, and he had the misfortune of being at the receiving end of it today.
This, Jay discovers, feels like phantom weight pressing on his chest.
With one hand hovering over the door lock to their shared apartment, he feels the way his shoulders shake from the intangible pressure. It’s a subtle shift, but it still spreads to the tips of his fingers. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and releases it in trembles. He waits for the tremors in his hand to cease before pressing the numbers to unlock the door.
The apartment is blanketed in dim lighting when he goes inside, only a few lights left open given how late it already is, and for a moment he feels relieved. He wouldn’t know what to do if any of his members stumbled upon him in this state.
He has always been this way. Growing up an only child, he had no one else to turn to — no one to confide his deepest fears to or celebrate his biggest victories with, and it was okay. For the longest time, it was okay .
But that’s the thing about time and well-kept feelings, isn’t it? It catches up and leaves you with no choice but to watch it crush you underneath; without mercy, without care.
He takes another deep breath as he takes his shoes off, careful not to make any noise. Drops his bag on the floor with a thump and spares a minute to lean against the wall.
Jay presses the palms of his hands on his eyes, a coping mechanism he developed from the many years he spent alone at home, and counts to ten.
One. He takes a deep breath the same way he did outside the door. His chest expands when air fills his lungs and it grants him a momentary relief.
Two. It escapes him just as easily as it entered, lungs caving in at the exit. He convinces himself that the weight leaves along with the air.
Three. He focuses on the darkness, the nothingness that graces you when your lids fall closed, and allows himself to feel like the world has disappeared too.
Jay has always finished counting to ten. It’s the only thing being alone granted him; the luxury of bending time according to your will to sit in your sadness. But sometimes, and only sometimes, he wishes someone would pull him up.
He has spent most of his life this way, though, so there really is no reason for him to hope for change, except when he makes it to four—
Jay hears the sound of a door softly opening and the flick of a switch shortly after.
“Hyung?”
The nothingness behind his lids gets bathed in a soft glow of light. Jay peels his eyes open, and before his sight could even adjust, he is welcomed by the scent of a garden in full bloom.
In front of him are dahlias and marigolds personified. Face bare and small hands rubbing the sleep off his eyes, Kim Sunoo comes to him.
He must have stayed quiet for too long because Sunoo speaks up once more.
“Did you just get home?”
Jay nods, afraid to use his voice in case the shakiness gives him away.
“Have you eaten?”
He nods again.
Sunoo hums in acknowledgement, hands falling to his sides and eyes carefully observing the older boy’s face.
He tilts his head, contemplates, and then, “Do you want tea?”
Sunoo and Jay share tea under the dim glow of the kitchen lights. Sunoo, in his cotton-silk pajamas, Jay, still in his afternoon clothes. They co-exist in comfortable silence, taking small sips of the chamomile tea Sunoo brewed for them.
For a moment, Jay is convinced that he would come out of this unscathed; that Sunoo wouldn’t notice. It’s what the silence leads him to believe, after all. But then the younger boy puts down his mug and parts his lips, and Jay’s hope goes down the drain.
“I learned something new today.”
The older boy’s shoulders visibly relax upon hearing this. He offers the universe a silent thanks for the new topic.
“What is it?” Jay lets the words slip past his mouth, relieved it’s no longer as shaken.
Sunoo turns to face him and looks him in the eye. He rests his arm on the countertop, palm facing upwards, and gives him a gentle smile.
Sunoo curls his fingers inward and stretches it back. He does this motion repeatedly as he continues to talk. “Did you know that when you put two palms together — not touching, just hovering against each other — energies can shift?”
“It’s like you pass the energy onto someone else, not for them to absorb, but for them to share it with you .” Sunoo’s voice is soft (always is) as he explains this to Jay. He looks away to watch his hand’s movements.
“It’s so cool, isn’t it, hyung?” The smile never leaves his face when he explains. He moves his hand once more, leans closer to Jay, and when his eyes shift to look at the other—
“Do you want to give it a try?”
It’s a question, not a demand (it never is with Kim Sunoo). He gives Jay the chance to say no; to turn down his offer of letting him in, but Sunoo is kind, unbelievably so, and Jay is tired.
Holding in his breath, he moves his hand to hang just inches above Sunoo’s own.
Not touching, just hovering.
“That’s it.” Sunoo whispers in delight, tone still soft but undeniably encouraging. His smile grows when the older boy mimics his movements.
They fall into another comfortable silence like this: bodies hunched close and hands even closer, and Jay feels it.
The release of weight crushing against his chest, the force lifting from his shoulders, and the tremors leaving his body with every exhale. He’s been breathing all this time, but now he can actually feel it.
A familiar sting sits in the back of his eyes as time passes, and before he could register what was happening, he feels something trickle down to his cheek.
Kim Sunoo is just as observant as he is kind, so it doesn’t surprise the older boy when he breaks the silence once again.
“When there’s too much,” The younger doesn’t speak in specifics, but he says enough for Jay to understand. “You can come to me, hyung.”
He looks at the older boy with love and adoration in his eyes, like the sun basking flowers in warmth, and for the first time in his life, he can truly believe he’s not alone.
“Share it with me just like this,” He eyes their hands. “So you don’t have to carry it on your own.”
Without another word, Jay sucks in a breath and lets himself crumble. He falls forward, head resting on Sunoo’s shoulder.
With tears in his eyes, he mutters just above a whisper but loud enough for Sunoo to hear.
“Thank you, Sunoo-yah,” His hand no longer hovers. He lets their palms meet and entwines their fingers with the intent of never letting go. Then, he says it once more.
“Thank you.”