Chapter Text
Hyunjin
Hyunjin fractured his ankle, once, in a dancing accident. He remembers going to the hospital for it, being informed of the severity of the injury and that he'd be crutches-bound for a good few weeks, remembers having to quit the dance class he was paying a ridiculous amount of money to be a part of despite the fact that it was below his skill level. He remembers thinking everyone was blowing things out of proportion, remembers being bullied into submission by his friends regardless, remembers the skin-deep well wishes he received from people he never actually spoke to whose contacts he could hardly remember his reasons for saving–the full nine yards.
Hyunjin fractured his ankle, and the world never let him forget about it for a moment.
Three years ago, he would have told you it was the most painful thing he'd ever had to endure, and three years ago it was.
Now–perfectly healed and lacking a flesh wound to prove he'd ever gotten hurt, with the privilege of having the opportunity to host his own dancing lessons on the side because not even an unfortunate incident in the studio could deter him from the second thing he loved most in this world--sitting in the movie theatre with his feet propped up on the row in front of him and crossed at the ankle, he glances over at Felix.
Hyunjin had been the first to sit down after they'd all piled into the empty theatre to watch some movie that he can't remember the name of or even having any prior knowledge about. That wasn't the point of the matter anyway. The important part wasn't that he get to see a movie he'd spent years or months anticipating the arrival of--in fact, that was hardly in the running. What mattered most was that he was here at all with the seven most important, wonderful, ridiculous, insufferable people on the planet, doing nothing but wasting time, and, if they were lucky, sharing the collective experience of falling headfirst into the most god awful movie to ever reach production.
Hyunjin isn't sure what possessed Felix to take the seat next to him.
Maybe it was the fact that everyone else had already started filing into their own seats and Felix felt pressured into sitting wherever was closest, maybe it was the start of a long and tedious streak of bad luck, or maybe it meant nothing at all and Hyunjin was reading too far into things that didn't concern him in the first place.
Hyunjin watches the way the glow from the screen pirouettes a path across Felix's cheeks and over the bridge of his nose, playing through his hair and in the depths of his eyes.
Sitting so close, Hyunjin can detect the faint strawberry scent of Felix's shampoo. It's something he's always loved, how simply existing in Felix's vicinity could bring back so vividly the nostalgia of moments he can't remember experiencing, like deja vu of navigating the whirlwind of summer days as a child. The carefree innocence of being young, existing from one moment to another. And, in a strange way, nothing has really changed. Hyunjin still gets to do what he loves for a living, still gets to spend his days following his every new urge to wherever it may lead him next, surrounded by the people he loves the most. Nothing has really changed, and yet there's a difference.
There was a certain purity unique to being a child, something that you lost for no obvious reason except that you simply grew up.
But being with Felix, having the privilege of existing in the same plane, on the same planet, in the same lifetime, of getting the chance to see his smile, to hear his laugh, to smell the sugary sweet scent of his shampoo--it brings everything back.
Felix brings it all back, without even trying. Without even knowing.
Felix makes Hyunjin feel young, and then he makes the feeling last.
He's stunning in the low light of the theatre, adoration writ plain as day into every line of his features, and Hyunjin feels a warm swell of affection flood his gut.
He's close, and warm, and beautiful, and everything Hyunjin has ever dared to want.
He's staring at Changbin.
Three years ago, Hyunjin would have told you fracturing his ankle was the most painful thing he'd ever had to endure, and three years ago it was.
He'd take a fractured ankle over this any day, in a heartbeat.
Felix, the only thing in the world he loves more than dancing, and Hyunjin is barely even on his radar, leagues below Changbin if he places at all.
Some nights, in the security of his own mind, when the world's asleep and the shadows creep in, Hyunjin lets himself wish he were a little bit ruder, a little more selfish. He wishes that some part of him, some tiny, microscopic little part, could find a way to hate Changbin for it all, wishes that the guy would be a little less oblivious, that he'd love Felix back because at least then this pain would be even slightly worth it. He wishes that Felix would care a little bit less about Changbin, a little bit more about him. Wishes that maybe, if the stars aligned just so, he could find it in himself to hate Felix too, or, at the very least, like him a little less.
Hyunjin wishes–but the stars twinkle on, and the world doesn't end, and in the morning he wakes up the same man he wished he wouldn't have to be. The same man neck deep in unrequited love, one wrong foot away from choking on the unfairness of it all.
He doesn't hate Changbin, doesn't hate Felix. Can't. No matter how much he wishes he could, if only so he didn't have to deal with the pain of caring, so it didn't have to cut quite this deep.
But Hyunjin loves them, will always love them, even if they love each other more.
Suddenly, Hyunjin thinks all that popcorn wasn't a good idea after all. Suddenly the darkness of the theatre is suffocating, the noises deafening.
"I'll be right back," Hyunjin whispers, looking away. "Bathroom." He stands, taking a moment to brush popcorn crumbs from his pants, and pretends he isn't stalling, pretends he isn't waiting for something he isn't even sure he knows to want.
"You're gonna miss all the best bits," Felix jokes, and it takes everything Hyunjin has to crack a smile.
"We'll just have to watch it again." It comes out lackluster even to his ears, but Felix is already looking away at the sound of Changbin laughing along to his joke, face lighting up with accomplishment.
Hyunjin stands there for a moment longer, watching Felix swat at Changbin's arm playfully as he feels the smile slip slowly from his face.
He wonders if this is what drowning feels like--like splitting down the middle, being ripped in half by the desire to scream at the sky, to break down and cry or let the anger boil over, and the guilt of feeling bad about himself when he should be feeling happy for his friends.
Two seats over, Bangchan meets his eyes, concern etched into every fiber of his being.
And suddenly Hyunjin can't take that either.
He looks away, away from Felix and Changbin and the way their laughter echoes the shattering in his chest, away from Bangchan who knows too much and cares too much and would put himself on the chopping block if it meant the rest of them were safe. He looks away from the half-assed attempt at a movie still playing on the screen, still reflecting cruelly off of Felix's features.
Hyunjin turns his back on it all and heads for the bathroom.
**
He's washing his hands, possibly spending too long an a task that is essentially only supposed to take twenty seconds, but being fresh out of fucks to give and having only just emerged from a mental breakdown in the bathroom stall, when Bangchan corners him.
"Hyunjinie," he starts, voice too gentle, eyes too kind, and suddenly there's something very interesting about the bubbles building up in the sink.
"Hyung," Hyunjin responds, trying not to sound as if he's mentally putting himself back together.
He doesn't say anything more, not entirely sure if Bangchan wants him to, not exactly whole enough to care regardless. Cupping his hands, he lets the water from the tap fill up in his palms and then uses it to rinse away the seemingly never-ending dome of bubbles that continues to grow larger the longer the faucet stays on. He pulls his eyebrows together, as if a poorly arranged expression of concentration might convince Chan that he hasn't totally fallen apart.
"Hyunjin," Bangchan repeats.
"Hmm?"
There's a loaded pause, and Hyunjin spares a moment to dart his gaze up to the bathroom mirror. Chan's wearing a look that is equal parts indecisive and determined. He raises his head, and Hyunjin looks swiftly back down.
"You don't have to do this," Bangchan says finally.
It takes all of Hyunjin's effort to maintain a neutral expression. "I don't know what you mean."
Bangchan sighs, not impolitely, and says, "If you looked any more gutted, you'd grow gills. We both know you know what I'm talking about."
By now, most of the bubbles have rinsed down the drain, and Hyunjin is very quickly running out of distractions. "That sounds like an insult," he retorts, and it scares him how very nearly it comes out as a whisper.
"You don't have to pretend like you're okay, Hyunjin. You understand that, right? Never for me, and I can't speak for everybody else, but I know them and I know they love you. They'd agree."
"But I am, hyung, really. I'm okay. I'm fine, I'm–" He swallows back whatever he was about to say, lie sitting heavy and uncomfortable on his tongue, and cringes at the fragile way the words slip past his lips. They come out awkward and stilted and utterly, obviously untrue.
Hyunjin meets his own eyes in the mirror. Red and bleary and heartbroken, shuttering against the stubborn strength of the wet heat just waiting to spill over.
"Whoever told you that you were a good liar was a great one," Bangchan says, and Hyunjin feels the fight drain from his body.
He watches his reflection as his shoulders sag and his head falls forward, neck too suddenly weak from holding up the weight of his unshed tears. He drops his gaze back to the sink, now devoid of any bubbles save the stray one here and there. The water is still running, and Hyunjin can't stop watching it.
One of Bangchan's hands finds his shoulder, grip light and comforting against the fabric of his shirt, and then the other enters his line of sight to twist the sink handle off.
Gently, Hyunjin is being spun around, gaze ripped from watching the last droplets of water sluice down the drain, and then Chan's hugging him.
"I'm sorry," Bangchan whispers, too quiet in the empty bathroom.
And that's enough to send the floodgates sprawling.
Hyunjin doesn't realize he's hugged Chan back until the force of his grip sends tingles sparking to his fingers, and even then he doesn't think he could do anything about it even if he wanted to.
His cheek feels warm, pressed as it is against Bangchan's chest, tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. And still, Chan doesn't show any sign of minding.
"No," Hyunjin says, sniffling around the pooling in his nose and the wetness down his face, because if there's one thing a guy like Bangchan should never, ever be, it's sorry. Bangchan, who's here when he doesn't have to be, catching Hyunjin's tears and coaxing the hurt out from his heart. Bangchan, who chose to miss the movie he'd paid good money to see just so he could stand in the middle of an ill-maintained public restroom and remind Hyunjin that, despite everything, he is loved. " I'm sorry," he counters, trying and failing to guard against this new wave of heartbreak brought on by the sheer selflessness of the guy before him.
Hyunjin makes to lift his head, to glare at the stain of tears spreading beneath his face and prove his point, but Bangchan beats him to it with a hand at the back of his head holding him still, and Hyunjin's too weak to put up a fight.
"None of this is your fault," Bangchan says back, disapproval clear in his tone despite the fingers he has running comforting streaks down Hyunjin's hair.
Hyunjin shakes his head futilely. His skull screams at him in protest for the action, and he wonders vaguely when the headache started. "Don't blame him, it's not–"
"I'm not blaming anyone. There doesn't always have to be somebody that we hold accountable. Sometimes things just are."
And something about that rips through Hyunjin's heart like a tornado.
Sometimes things just are .
Hyunjins thinks of Felix still sitting in the movie theatre, a kaleidoscope of colors playing across his face as he gazes at Changbin like he hung the fucking sun in the sky. He pictures Felix reaching over and grabbing Changbin's hand, pictures Changbin's surprise slowly morphing into wonderment as he squeezes back. He imagines Felix leaning in, Changbin meeting him halfway.
And Hyunjin wishes that some things didn't have to just be.