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It was a gradual thing. Hongjoong couldn’t pinpoint when it had started, how things had devolved. All he could point to was a heaviness.
It had always been with him, in some sense. Dormant, perhaps, when he was a young child. Rearing its ugly head, come adolescence. Hitting him at night when he was in high school, cheating him out of sleep.
He’d ignored it, then. The feeling in his throat and pressure behind his eyes when his alarm went off were just allergies. Worse in the spring, at the same time as finals. It had to be allergies, because he was happy. He was.
He laughed with his friends and smiled with his family. His room was a mess, but that was normal, wasn’t it? He liked long showers. Sitting on the floor until his brother banged on the door, saying he needed to pee, hurry up, he’d been in there an hour.
Maybe his grades in high school hadn’t been as good as they were when he was younger, as good they should’ve been. But he was working hard, so it must’ve just been that the material had gotten more difficult. His concentration had waned a bit, but so had everyone else’s. Probably just burnout. Nothing that some rest couldn’t fix.
The problem was, he didn’t rest. He jumped right into music, into dance, into composing. He was going to be an idol, a producer, and all of his dreams were going to come true.
And they did. And he was happy.
So when did he stop living in favor of drifting, going through the motions?
It was a chilly winter evening when he first noticed it. He’d gone to the studio to work on a track that he was hoping might make it on the next album, but when he got there, sitting behind the monitor, he couldn’t bring himself to lift his hand to the mouse.
He stared at his fingers. They wouldn’t move. In the moment, it didn’t feel like much time had passed at all, but when he finally shifted his gaze to the digital clock in the corner of the monitor, nearly an hour had passed.
He shook himself and got to work. It was weird, but once was chance—a fluke, a glitch.
—
Twice was a coincidence.
It happened again a few days later—he was sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of food in front of him, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to pick up his chopsticks, let alone take a bite. The food looked delicious. He knew he wanted it, at least he should’ve. But it seemed so far away, or at least he felt so far removed from it, that he just couldn’t do it. He sat there for a long while—at least he noticed the minutes passing, this time.
It wasn’t until Wooyoung got back from seeing friends that the spell was broken. His dongsaeng flounced over and smacked a messy kiss to his cheek, cackling for a few moments until he realized that Hongjoong wasn’t responding. Hongjoong forced himself to frown, wiping at his cheek in a sad imitation of his usual disgusted response.
It was weak—he knew it and so did Wooyoung, who sat down beside him with a look of gentle concern painted across his face.
“Hyung? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking about a track I need to fix.”
“It must really be bothering you. Do you need a second opinion?”
“No. But thank you.”
“... Okay. Well, eat up, hyung. Your food’s gonna get cold if you keep sitting there, staring at it!”
Hongjoong managed a small smile. Wooyoung patted his shoulder and headed to his room. With great effort, Hongjoong picked up his chopsticks and took a bite. It was cold—it had been for a while.
—
Three times was a pattern.
The very next day, Hongjoong found himself on his back, sprawled across the top of his bedsheets with a full face of makeup on and not an ounce of energy to get up to remove it. Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut.
“Joong-ah, take that off before you sleep,” Seonghwa said.
“Tired.”
He felt Seonghwa press something cool and wet into his hand. A makeup wipe. He tried to will himself to lift his hand to his face, but the best he could do was make his fingers twitch.
“Your makeup isn’t going to remove itself,” Seonghwa chided.
Something like guilt twisted in Hongjoong’s chest. He wanted to please Seonghwa, but he could feel sleep tugging at his heavy, weary body. Seonghwa said something else, but it didn’t register with him.
As he began to drift off, he felt his face being wiped gently. He prayed Seonghwa wouldn’t notice the helpless tears in the corners of his eyes. Judging by the hand that came to stroke his hair, he wasn’t so lucky.
—
The pattern continued.
They were practicing a new dance, late at night—they’d been working on it for a couple hours already. Everyone else’s moves were tight, neat, and synchronized. Hongjoong was proud of them, of course, but the sentiment was completely eclipsed by his own shame.
He kept messing up, never making the same specific mistake twice, but consistently moving too slow and ending up one beat off, or mixing up the moves. Yunho was being remarkably patient and kind, pointing out where he went wrong and encouraging him that he’d get it the next try, but he could tell that the others were getting sick of it.
When they took five, he sat down exactly where he was, too exhausted to get his water bottle from the front of the room.
“What’s wrong with him?” he heard Wooyoung say. “Hyung has two left feet today!”
Mingi laughed. “Yeah, two left feet ‘cause he’s never right!”
Wooyoung broke into hysterics, slapping his leg. Mingi grinned, looking proud of himself. Hongjoong had never felt so empty.
After a few minutes, Yunho called everyone back over. Hongjoong got to his feet after having nothing to drink. He made it through the first half of the song with minimal errors, but struggled to keep up as it went on. He felt distant from the body stumbling through the movements. It was sloppy—worse than he’d danced in years.
The music stopped. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, his jaw clenched. Seonghwa said something about being done for the night. He ducked away before anyone could stop him, mumbling something about going to the studio. He got there on autopilot and locked the door behind him. He collapsed into his chair and fell asleep.
—
A few days later, they were filming a variety show—it was a long shoot, and he was dozing off within seconds of each break they were given. He was vaguely aware of some sort of commotion arising once or twice, but he ignored it. They’d wake him if they needed him. Sure enough, one of the managers or the other boys shook him awake at the end of each break, sometimes with a smile, sometimes with a laugh at his sleepy eyes. He figured he could get away without reciprocating either way—he was still half-asleep, after all.
At the end of the day, they showed him a compilation, edited for TikTok, of him dead asleep with the other members dancing and laughing around him. In a couple clips, they made jokes about how lazy their leader was. After the video had ended, he forced himself to laugh. It sounded horribly hollow, even to his own ears.
As they made their way to the cars at the end of the day, Yeosang fell into step beside him.
“Hyung?”
“Hm.”
“Are you… Are you good?”
Hongjoong dodged the question by climbing into one of the cars. Yeosang followed, sitting beside him. Yeosang opened his mouth as if to speak again, but Hongjoong yawned mightily and leaned over to rest his head against the window. The last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered shut was a little frown on Yeosang’s face.
—
The next day, Hongjoong found himself in a similar position, in the back of a van sandwiched between a window and Jongho, this time. On the maknae’s other side, Seonghwa was firmly focused on his phone, earbuds in. In the row in front of them, three of the 99z were squabbling playfully.
Hongjoong was staring out the window, his gaze blank, when he felt a little nudge. He turned to face Jongho.
“Hm?”
“Hyung,” Jongho said. “Uh… One of my friends was… having a hard time last year.”
Hongjoong blinked. “Oh. Um. I’m sorry to hear that?”
“He’s okay now,” Jongho continued. “But at the time, it was hard for him to ask for help…”
Hongjoong tilted his head. Jongho studied his face carefully. He didn’t seem to find what he was looking for, because he kept talking.
“Well, he finally did ask for help by texting me and our other friend. And he said he was really glad he did, because we helped him figure out who to talk to so he could get better.”
Hongjoong hummed. “That’s good. Your friend is lucky to have you, Jongho-yah.”
“Oh… I mean… Thank you. But that wasn’t really the point. Um, what I meant, is-”
The van came to a stop and the others began to pile out. Jongho opened his mouth to continue, but Hongjoong nudged his arm, shooing him towards the open door. Jongho hesitated, but Hongjoong gave him a weak little smile and he conceded.
—
Later, after they finished filming, one of the managers pulled him aside.
“Hongjoong-ah, is something wrong?”
Hongjoong shook his head. “I’m good.”
“You just… You don’t seem as lively these days. I’m a bit worried.”
“I’m fine, hyung, just tired,” Hongjoong said, managing a smile. “I’m sorry to worry you.”
“Try to get a bit more sleep then, okay? I know you like to work hard, but we can’t have you too exhausted.”
“Yes, hyung.”
The manager patted his shoulder, satisfied.
“You’ll have a couple days off coming up soon. Hang in there, okay?”
Hongjoong nodded.
He felt a little guilty for lying to his hyung, but technically, it wasn’t a lie. He was tired. It’s just that he was tired in a bone-deep kind of way, the kind of way that lingers, not the kind of way that can be satisfied by a bit more sleep.
He just had to make it until their days off—he could do that, he told himself. He stood up a little straighter, determined to put on a more convincing act.
—
On their first day off, Hongjoong awoke to the sound of Seonghwa getting out of bed. It was still early, based on the angle of the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the blinds. He closed his eyes when Seonghwa turned towards him, feigning sleep. It must’ve worked, because Seonghwa got ready and left quietly, without saying good morning.
After what felt like an hour had passed, Hongjoong tried to reach for his phone, but his arm was too heavy. He exhaled, going boneless against his mattress. He’d try again later. For the time being, all he could do was drift in and out, his body exhausted to what felt like a molecular level. There was no moving. The passage of time seemed to fluctuate between a begrudging ooze, like that of molasses, and the all-consuming rush of floodwater after heavy rain. And so he laid there, simultaneously stuck and swept along without mercy.
“Joong-ah?”
Hongjoong hadn’t noticed Seonghwa return—his eyes were still closed—but Seonghwa must be beside him, maybe even hovering over him, judging by how close his voice sounded.
“Hyung?” That was another voice, muffled by the door this time. It sounded like San. “Do you know when Hongjoong-hyung will be home? Should we order for him, too?”
“He’s in here, sleeping,” Seonghwa replied. “Just order him something he likes.”
“He’s here?” The door creaked open, and San’s voice became much more clear. “We haven’t seen him all day!”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve been in the living room since this morning and we haven’t seen him once! We thought he was in the studio!”
Seonghwa made a little sound of concern.
“Is he okay?” San asked.
“I’ll check on him. Why don’t you go order the food?”
“Okay.”
The door creaked shut. Hongjoong felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Joong-ah, wake up.”
Hongjoong opened his eyes.
“Hey,” Seonghwa said, giving him a worried smile. “What have you been up to today?”
Hongjoong just blinked at him.
“Are you feeling sick?” Seonghwa asked, feeling his forehead. “What hurts, Joongie?”
“Nothing,” Hongjoong murmured.
Seonghwa seemed to doubt him, and for good reason—his chest was tight, and his body ached like he’d been practicing all day instead of lying in bed, drifting in and out of consciousness. His head hurt, too. Probably from dehydration.
“Joongie…”
“Headache,” he conceded.
“Have you drank anything today? Eaten at all?”
Hongjoong shook his head weakly. “Tired.”
Seonghwa took a few deep breaths. “Okay. Okay, I’ll be right back.”
He reappeared a minute later with a bottle of water, a pill, and a bowl of rice.
“Sit up,” he said, dragging their desk chair over to the side of the bed.
Hongjoong lifted his head for a few seconds, then let it fall back against his pillow. He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t gather the energy.
Much to his own horror, he burst into tears, quickly screwing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t see Seonghwa’s reaction.
“Oh, Joong-ah,” Seonghwa said, sucking in a breath.
Hongjoong kept his eyes firmly shut, hiccuping as Seonghwa felt his forehead again.
“Hyung,” said Seonghwa.
Hongjoong cracked his eyes open, confused. Seonghwa had his phone pressed to his ear.
“Hyung, something’s wrong with Hongjoongie. Please come as soon as you can.”
There was a pause, then, “He said he’s tired and he has a headache… He doesn’t have a fever, but now he’s crying, and Sannie said he hasn’t gotten out of bed all day. I think something’s really wrong.”
He felt Seonghwa take his hand and began to cry harder.
“Shh, Joongie, it’s okay,” Seonghwa said desperately. “Can you talk to me? What’s wrong?”
Hongjoong tilted his head away in an attempt to hide his scrunched-up, teary face.
“He won’t stop crying, hyung, please hurry.”
Seonghwa stroked his thumb across the back of Hongjoong’s hand. Hongjoong let out a pathetic sob, and Seonghwa let go as if he’d been burned. Hongjoong heard the chair move, then footsteps up and down the length of the room. Seonghwa was pacing, stressed, and it was his fault. He needed to get it together.
There was a knock on the door.
“Food’s here!” San called.
“Not now,” Seonghwa replied.
“Hyung, it’ll get cold if you wait! You hate cold food.”
“I said not now, San-ah!”
There was a moment of silence; the only thing that could be heard was Hongjoong’s sniffles.
“Are you crying?” San asked. “Are you okay? Is Hongjoong-hyung okay?”
Seonghwa exhaled. Out of the corner of his eye, Hongjoong saw him scrub at his face with his hands. The pit of guilt in his chest deepened.
“Go eat, San-ah,” Seonghwa replied, his voice low. “Put our food in the fridge, please.”
“But-”
“Choi San.”
“Yes, hyung.”
Footsteps retreated down the hall, and Seonghwa let out a long sigh. Gradually, Hongjoong’s sniffles began to peter out. Seonghwa took a seat in the chair by the bed, but didn’t try to touch him again. Hongjoong couldn’t meet his eyes. He felt helpless like he hadn’t in quite some time. His eyelids fluttered shut.
“Stay awake, Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa said softly. “Our hyung will be here soon.”
Hongjoong’s lip trembled as the guilt hit all over again. Seonghwa was worried, the manager-hyung was probably worried, San was definitely worried, and surely the rest of the members would be worried by now, too. All because of him.
Tears began to fall again in earnest, and Seonghwa made a pained little sound at the sight. He still didn’t reach out for Hongjoong’s hand. Hongjoong fixed his eyes on the bunk above him and tried desperately to stop crying. He didn’t have much success.
There was a knock on the door a few minutes later and their hyung hurried in, leaving the door open in his wake. Seonghwa sprung up, letting him have the chair by the bed. Hongjoong could see the members crowding the doorway, peering in at him. He turned his head toward the wall. He heard Seonghwa shepherding the others away, pulling the door shut behind himself.
Like that, it was just him and the manager, who laid a gentle hand on his forehead and rested it there for a moment before manually turning Hongjoong’s head to face him.
“Hey, Hongjoong-ah,” he said gently, and Hongjoong’s throat knitted shut. “Can you tell me what hurts?”
“I don’t know,” Hongjoong choked out. “Don’t feel good. I don’t know.”
“Okay. Seonghwa-yah said your head hurts. Is that true?”
Hongjoong nodded slightly.
“Alright. What else? You’re feeling tired?”
“Mm. But not… Not normal tired. I feel tired…” Hongjoong wiggled his hand that was resting on his chest. “Here. And everywhere. And heavy.”
Something lit up in the manager’s brain, Hongjoong could see it in his eyes. The man nodded, offering Hongjoong a gentle smile.
“I’m sorry, Hongjoong-ah. I should’ve realized sooner. I thought you were just stressed from promotions. I’m going to call a doctor here to double-check that you’re otherwise healthy, but you’ll be just fine, okay? Everything will be alright.”
Hongjoong nodded slowly, not entirely sure what the manager had realized, but he was too exhausted to ask.
“Can you sit up?”
The manager saw his eyes fill with tears and changed tactics.
“I’ll help you sit. Here.”
He shuffled his hands beneath Hongjoong’s shoulders and pulled him forward, propping him upright with a few pillows.
“I’m going to step out to make some calls. I’ll send Seonghwa-yah back in to get some food and water into you. Be good and eat for him, okay?”
Hongjoong nodded. He didn’t want to argue when he was being such an inconvenience.
The manager left and was replaced quickly by Seonghwa, who sat down in the chair with the bowl of rice in hand. Hongjoong let Seonghwa feed him bite by bite until the rice was gone. He gulped down the water greedily, even chasing the bottle a bit when Seonghwa pulled it away from his lips.
“Not all at once.”
Hongjoong let his head fall back. It smacked the bed frame with an audible thunk. Seonghwa sucked in a sympathetic breath, but Hongjoong didn’t react. It didn’t hurt any more than the gripping tightness in his chest. He felt Seonghwa’s fingers comb through his hair, searching for a bump. When he found nothing, he nudged a pill into Hongjoong’s mouth and brought the bottle back to his lips.
“For the headache,” he said as Hongjoong swallowed.
A moment of silence passed.
“Do you want to lie back down?”
Hongjoong shrugged. Seonghwa grabbed another pillow and wedged it behind Hongjoong’s head, protecting him from the bed frame.
“Do you want music? A show to watch?”
Hongjoong shrugged again and closed his eyes.
“Anything at all?”
Hongjoong didn’t answer. Seonghwa deserved better than how cold he was being, but he was so tired that he simply didn’t have it in him to reply. The last thing he remembered before drifting off was Seonghwa pulling the blankets up and smoothing down his hair. Seonghwa whispered something, but he didn’t catch it before sleep took him.
He felt like he’d only been asleep a minute by the time the manager was nudging his shoulder, saying his name. His eyes fluttered open. The manager’s gentle smile was the first thing he saw, then Seonghwa’s worried face, followed by an unfamiliar one.
Well, not completely unfamiliar. The woman was an on-call doctor hired by the company; Hongjoong had seen her a few times before. Never for good reasons. His heart sped up a bit, and he took a few quick breaths as she sat down beside him. He heard the door close, leaving them in private.
“Hongjoong-ssi, I’m Dr. Yang,” she greeted. “I’m sorry to hear you’re feeling unwell. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about what’s been going on?”
Hongjoong shook his head minutely. She smiled at him.
“Okay. Your hyung said you’re feeling tired. Have you been feeling fatigued a lot recently?”
“Yes,” Hongjoong murmured.
“Almost every day?”
Hongjoong nodded.
“Approximately how long has this been going on?”
“A few weeks.”
“How have you been sleeping?”
Hongjoong blinked slowly. “Um. Sometimes I can’t. But sometimes I sleep a lot.”
“More than usual?”
“Yes.”
“How has your appetite been?”
There was a long pause while Hongjoong considered this. “It’s been… Ok. I just… don’t have the motivation to eat sometimes.”
“Can you tell me more about this lack of motivation?”
“I… I just can’t bring myself to do things sometimes. Like eating. Or working. Or getting up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It scares me, a bit.”
“That can be really scary,” Dr. Yang agreed. “Can I ask you some more questions? I think I have an idea of what’s going on, but I’d like to get more information before moving forward.”
Hongjoong nodded.
“Have you noticed any changes in how much you enjoy activities?”
Hongjoong bit his lip. “I’ve been enjoying things less.”
“And how about your mood?”
“I’ve been… less lively.”
“Is that something that other people have told you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Can you tell me more about how you’ve been feeling?”
“I guess… I haven’t been feeling much at all. Just kind of… empty. A lot.” Hongjoong looked away, his eyes watering. “And when I don’t feel empty… Mostly sad.”
“Okay, Hongjoong-ssi. Those are all the questions I have for you today. I’d like to do bloodwork within the next few days to confirm that you’re physically healthy, but in the meantime, I’d like to start you on an antidepressant.”
Hongjoong’s brow wrinkled. “But… I’m not depressed.”
“I know that it may come as a surprise, especially if you have preconceived notions of what depression looks like, but your symptoms do align with Major Depressive Disorder, Hongjoong-ssi.”
“... Oh.”
“As I said, we’ll do bloodwork to ensure that nothing else is occurring, but I think that taking an antidepressant will be helpful in alleviating your symptoms. Does that sound okay?”
“If… if that’s what you think is best,” Hongjoong said weakly.
Dr. Yang nodded, a sympathetic look on her face. “Is there anything else you’d like to talk with me about?”
Hongjoong shook his head.
“I’ll leave you be, then. Don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions. I’ll send in your prescription shortly, and it should be ready tomorrow. In the meantime, I’d recommend getting out of bed, eating something tasty, and taking a walk, even if it’s just up and down the hallway.”
“Okay.”
“Good. And once you get your prescription, be sure to take it daily. Set an alarm if that helps.”
Hongjoong nodded.
“I’ll be going, then. Have a good evening, Hongjoong-ssi.”
“Thank you, seonsaengnim.”
She smiled at him before heading for the door. He heard her exchange a few words with the manager, then her footsteps faded down the hall.
“Shall we get you up, Hongjoong-ah?” the manager said, coming back into the bedroom. “There’s more food in the kitchen for you.”
“Okay.”
The manager untangled his legs from the sheets, politely refraining from commenting on the stale smell of the bed as he dragged Hongjoong to his feet. Hongjoong wobbled, his legs weak. The manager wrapped an arm around his torso, supporting most of his weight as they made their way down the hall. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him as they walked past the living room, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at them.
In the kitchen, the manager sat him down on a stool, placed a container of takeout on the counter in front of him, and handed him a pair of chopsticks. He began to feed himself, slow and shaky, as the manager responded to emails on his phone.
When he was about halfway through his meal, someone wrapped their arms around him from behind, leaning forward to rest their chin atop his head. He set down his chopsticks and closed his eyes. He heard the manager shoo whoever it was away with a warning noise. The chopsticks were pressed back into his hand.
“Eat more, please, Hongjoong-ah.”
Hongjoong obediently took another bite of his dinner.
“Hyung,” he murmured once he’d swallowed. “Did you… Do they know?”
“I haven’t told them anything, but they suspect it’s something to do with your mental health. Do you want to tell them tonight, or later?”
Hongjoong paled. “I have to tell them?”
“You don’t have to, but I think you should. I know it’s hard for you to be vulnerable with them, but you can’t deny that you spend more time with them than anyone else. You can let yourself rely on them sometimes, Hongjoong-ah. God only knows they rely on you.”
Hongjoong nodded reluctantly.
“You’ll tell them?”
“Tomorrow. I just can’t now. I’m so tired.”
“Of course. Let’s get you back to bed.”
Hongjoong nodded. The manager looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t move. He felt stuck in place, like he was a helpless mouse on a glue trap. His eyes began to glisten.
Without saying anything, the manager scooped him up and carried him down the hall. He buried his face in the manager’s shirt as they passed the members in the living room. He heard one of them inhale sharply, probably shocked to see him so weak. Maybe he hadn’t done too badly after all, hiding everything from the others. But then again, this was unexpected from him. He was the leader, the second-oldest hyung, the strong one. Of course his dongsaengs wouldn’t expect to see him like this.
Lying in bed again, though, he felt even worse than before. His tears spilled over, and the manager knelt by his side, a somber expression on his face.
“What can I do, Hongjoong-ah?”
“I just feel really bad,” Hongjoong sniffled. “Being here… makes me feel so useless.”
The manager pressed his lips together sympathetically.
“I know you won’t like this suggestion, but how about going to sit with the others?”
Hongjoong was shaking his head before the manager even finished.
“Hear me out,” the manager said, raising his hands placatingly. “I’ll go tell the others not to ask questions or make comments, and you boys can watch something together. It’ll get you out of bed, and hopefully out of your head a bit, too.”
“Alright,” Hongjoong conceded, too exhausted to argue.
The manager handed him a tissue before heading out into the hall. Hongjoong wiped his tears and blew his nose. The tissue fell from his hand to the floor. He watched it disappear and wondered how things had gotten so bad without him noticing.
“Ready?” the manager said, reappearing in the doorway.
“Mhm.”
“Should I carry you?”
Hongjoong scrunched his nose in disdain.
“C’mon then.”
Hongjoong took a deep breath, then another. It took every ounce of will in his body, but he sat himself up and staggered to his feet. The manager caught him, rubbing his back as he wobbled. They made their way towards the living room slowly, the manager’s arm around his waist.
It was silent when they entered. There was something on the TV, but it was paused. Everyone stared at him, seemingly holding their breath. The manager guided him to the couch, and he sat down between Seonghwa and San. The manager made a scolding sound, and everyone hurriedly looked away. It was possibly more awkward than when he’d first walked in.
“Yah, I told you to act normal!” the manager said, exasperated. “What’s this?”
Everyone muttered their apologies, falling into something closer to how they’d usually act. Wooyoung pulled out his phone to show something to Yeosang, Yunho hit the play button on the remote and turned up the volume at Jongho’s request, San flopped against Hongjoong like a warm blanket, and Mingi hooked his chin over Seonghwa’s shoulder to watch the mobile game he was playing. The manager settled down in a chair, alternating between typing up messages on his phone and watching the show on the TV. A big bag of chips was passed around; Hongjoong didn’t take any, just gave the bag to San, who took an extra handful to feed him. The manager gave San an approving look.
They sat around like that, munching on chips until the episode of whatever was on the TV ended. Then, the manager got up, dusting the crumbs off his shirt.
“I have to head out now. Call me if you need anything. Hongjoong-ah, I’ll take you to get your bloodwork and pick up your prescription in the morning, okay?”
Hongjoong nodded. “Thank you, hyung.”
The manager said his goodbyes to the others and took his leave. As soon as he was gone, everyone’s eyes were on Hongjoong again, a mix of worried and curious.
“Apparently I have depression,” he blurted out before he could change his mind, looking down at his clasped hands. “I don’t know when it started, but I’ve been feeling… bad, or sometimes nothing at all, and it’s been getting worse and worse and today I couldn’t get out of bed. I’m… I’m sorry I haven’t been a reliable hyung. I hope you can forgive me for doing my job poorly, because I know it reflects on the whole team, especially since I’m the leader. I’ll try to do better in the future.”
Any warmth he’d gained from sitting with San was gone by the time he finished talking. He wasn’t feeling much of anything, which he hated, but at least he wasn’t crying. He looked up to see the others wearing expressions that ranged from regretful to stricken.
“It’s not your fault, Joong-ah,” Seonghwa said, his eyes wide. “I don’t… There’s nothing to forgive. Nothing at all.”
“I’m the one who should apologize, hyung,” Wooyoung said, his voice trembling. “I was such an asshole. I made fun of you for making mistakes during practice and napping during breaks and I didn’t even think to ask if you were okay, I’m so sorry.”
“Me too, hyung,” Mingi whispered, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m really sorry.”
Hongjoong shrugged a little. He knew they hadn’t meant it, but he couldn’t deny that it had hurt. Apparently his silence spoke volumes, because the two of them exchanged a look and Wooyoung began to cry in earnest. Yunho, sitting next to him, patted his back, looking mildly panicked. In a different situation, Hongjoong might’ve laughed privately at the expression on Yunho’s face. Instead, he just looked down at his lap, feeling distant and chilled.
“I’m sorry too, hyung,” Jongho said quietly. “I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t try hard enough to talk to you about it. If I had, maybe we would’ve caught it sooner.”
“I feel guilty too,” said Yeosang, matter-of-fact. “But us feeling guilty isn’t going to help hyung get better. We should focus on what he needs, not how we feel about it. We can talk about that later.”
“What do you need, hyung?” San asked gently, giving Hongjoong a little squeeze around the shoulders.
Hongjoong was silent for a moment. The others waited patiently.
“I think I just don’t want to be alone,” he finally said. “It’s worse when I’m alone.”
“Of course we’ll hang out with you, hyung. Do you want to watch something? I heard about a new documentary about streetwear that I thought you might like, does that sound good?”
Hongjoong nodded.
San smiled. “Let’s do it!”
Yunho passed the remote to San, who leaned forward in his seat to get a better look at the TV menu. As he searched for the documentary, Wooyoung crawled over from the end of the couch and wedged himself behind San, resting his head on Hongjoong’s shoulder.
“Hey!” San protested.
“You were hogging him, it’s my turn!”
“But I-”
“Don’t fight over him,” Seonghwa said, shaking his head with exasperation.
San selected the documentary, set down the remote, and took his revenge by sprawling out on their laps, his legs on Wooyoung’s thighs, his torso in Hongjoong’s lap, and the back of his head resting against Seonghwa’s stomach. Hongjoong let his fingers rove over the soft material of San’s sweater. It felt grounding, somehow.
San was right—he did find the documentary interesting. After it was over, he still didn’t feel good, but at least he felt present. He hated admitting it, but listening to the manager-hyung and coming out to sit with the members had been a good idea.
Everyone began to disperse, eating their last snacks and heading to the bathrooms to get ready for bed. San started to get up, but Hongjoong was still clutching his sweater.
“Sorry,” Hongjoong mumbled, letting go reluctantly.
San smiled and stripped off the sweater, pulling it over Hongjoong’s head. It was big on him—the sleeves hung over his hands and the fabric spread down his thighs—and he loved it.
San must have seen the gratitude in his eyes, because he ruffled Hongjoong’s hair and said, “Keep it for a while, hyung. It looks good on you.”
Hongjoong leaned against San, not quite hugging him, but showing his appreciation nonetheless.
“Ready to go brush our teeth?” Seonghwa asked him.
Hongjoong let out a long exhale. The bathroom was so far away. Seonghwa stepped forward, offering his hand tentatively, as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch Hongjoong for fear of breaking him. Hongjoong took his hand and stood up slowly. The bathroom was far, but he could do it with Seonghwa beside him.
Seonghwa placed a hand on his back, guiding him down the hall. In the bathroom, Seonghwa pressed his toothbrush into his hand, already loaded with toothpaste. He brushed his teeth with a fraction of Seonghwa’s vigor, but he got the job done. He spit and let Seonghwa rinse his toothbrush for him.
Seonghwa nudged him over to the toilet, and he relieved himself while Seonghwa stepped out to change into pajamas. He washed his hands, then his face. He was staring at his skincare products when Seonghwa returned.
“Shall I…?”
“Please,” Hongjoong murmured, relieved.
Seonghwa ran through his skincare routine for him, taking care not to miss anything, then sent him to the bedroom to change. He managed to pull down his pants, then sat down on his bed, exhausted. The sheets were fresh—Seonghwa must have changed them while he’d been in the bathroom. His eyes welled with tears, feeling equal parts grateful and useless, but he forced them down. He’d cried enough today. He hadn’t moved by the time Seonghwa came back a few minutes later. Seonghwa looked him up and down with a frown, but his face softened when their eyes met.
“Let’s get you changed, Joong-ah,” he said, making his way across the room.
He removed Hongjoong’s pants from around his ankles, then tugged off his socks. When he reached for the hem of Hongjoong’s—or rather, San’s—sweater, though, Hongjoong shoved his hands away with surprising energy. Seonghwa’s eyes went wide, and Hongjoong’s ears turned crimson.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Hongjoong whispered, mortified. “I’d… just like to keep it on.”
“Okay, no problem,” Seonghwa said, mercifully nonjudgmental. “Why don’t we take off the shirt underneath, though? I don’t want you to get too warm.”
“Alright,” Hongjoong conceded, his eyes still downcast. “Sorry. I didn’t… I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It’s no problem, Joong-ah,” Seonghwa said. “Arms up.”
Hongjoong complied, allowing Seonghwa to remove the sweater and the shirt underneath before sliding the sweater back over his narrow frame. Hongjoong lifted the droopy sleeves to his face, pressing the soft fabric to his cheeks. It smelled like San’s aftershave.
“Where are your pajamas and underwear?” Seonghwa asked, and Hongjoong looked up to find him searching the closet.
Hongjoong’s gaze dropped back to his sweater paws.
“In the laundry,” he mumbled.
“Hm?”
“They’re dirty.”
“All of them?”
Hongjoong clenched his jaw. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa said immediately. “I didn’t mean… That was insensitive of me. You can borrow some of mine.”
“S’fine. Thanks.”
Seonghwa passed him a fresh pair of underwear and pajama pants, turning around to fiddle with something on the desk while he changed.
“Done,” he finally said, collapsing back into his bed.
He watched out of the corner of his eye as Seonghwa picked up his dirty clothes and tossed them into the hamper.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” Seonghwa said, making his way back over to the bed.
Hongjoong laid still as Seonghwa fussed with the blankets, pulling them up to his chin and tucking him in neatly. He hesitated, but leaned forward to stroke Hongjoong’s hair. Hongjoong could feel the tears return to his eyes, blinking quickly. Seonghwa pulled back, but Hongjoong made a choked sound of protest. Seonghwa looked at him questioningly.
“Stay. Please.”
Seonghwa nodded with an expression that Hongjoong couldn’t name, something tender and pained and loving all at once.
“I’m just going to turn off the lights, Joong-ah.”
Hongjoong released Seonghwa’s arm, watching as he crossed the room and flipped the switch. Everything went dark. Footsteps crossed back, then the mattress shifted, squeaking as Seonghwa crawled into bed. Hongjoong lifted the covers for him, scooting over to make room before rolling atop his chest. Seonghwa wrapped an arm around him to keep him secure and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. Hongjoong closed his eyes. He didn’t feel good by any means, but he felt less empty than he had in a long time.