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Seungmin inhales. Exhales.
This is what it feels like to live, he thinks as the lights blind him and sweat stains his shirt, as thousands of voices echo in the arena around him and embrace him in support and something close to reverence. He wishes he could freeze time to stay in this very moment for the rest of forever, surrounded by Chan and Jeongin and Felix and Jisung and Hyunjin and Changbin and Minho—this family forged from steel.
He remembers when being a part of them had felt like slowly going mad, like being sucked into the eye of an ever-darkening storm, like the ground had been slowly crumbling beneath him and he was helpless to do anything but watch. He remembered when the stress of debuting had shattered them like glass and melted them together into something beautiful, something more. He remembers what it felt like to have the burnt remnants cling to his skin, a dusted, brittle chalk of what he thought they would always be.
He remembers every step he took to get here under these big, bright lights. He can almost still feel the ache in his back and the cold metal of the chair where it once dug into the blades of his shoulders. There was something lodged in his throat back then, something like disappointment, and he tried to sing around it but he suspects everybody knew it was there. He's always been too transparent.
He wonders if it had been written on his face back then. He wonders if it could be read in the tightness of his jaw, the smoke and mirrors in his eyes, how desperate he was to slot back into place with them. He knows what it's like to simply sit by someone and hold their hand as they cry. He knows what it's like to tuck his proverbial tail between his legs and apologize because he knows arguing will not solve what he needs fixing. He knows what it's like to spend hours with someone in a vocal room and revise and practice until both of their voices are hoarse. He knows these things and more because these are memories he cradles close to his chest like a child, trying to raise that child to be something better than himself.
As he stands beside Changbin on stage in front of thousands and watches Jeongin brush soft touches against the nape of Jisung's neck, he thinks he would not give this family up for anything. They say their goodbyes and Seungmin tries to breathe past the gratefulness in his lungs. He thinks this is what dreams are made of. This is something that is shimmering and shining and dipped in gold.
Slowly, so slowly, they file back below the stage and change into their own clothing. They bid their staff farewell and they load into the two cars—Seungmin with Jisung, Minho, and Felix—but Seungmin struggles to hear it as his heart steadily thumps in his chest, a beat to a drum and the crash of waves against rocks.
Jisung leans onto his shoulder on the ride back. Seungmin remembers watching him walk back on stage, almost perfectly composed were it not for the smallest tremor in his eyes, pupils darting around like leaves on the wind. He had been worried, yes, but also relieved. He was not the only one affected by this night, shaken to the core by the electric downpour of support.
Seungmin cards a gentle hand through Jisung's hair, smiling as Jisung leans further into him. Felix meets Seungmin's eyes as Jisung presses a gentle kiss to the skin the collar of his shirt does not cover, and he feels something like contentment bubble under the stone wall guarding his chest, the vulnerable spot behind his sternum glowing and tranquil. Jisung's lips are petal soft against his skin, his breaths light and airy, and Felix's eyes shine like the stars Chan had mentioned in his ending ment. Felix, bright like the sun, is a warm blanket over Seungmin's lunar chill.
I love you, Seungmin wants to say. I love you so much I would carve down the earth to fit it in your palms. I love you so much I would build a home for you with my bare hands and give you everything you could ever dream of, even though I am afraid I will never reach you, even though I am afraid I will never have enough of myself to give.
"Seungminnie," Jisung whispers drowsily into Seungmin's neck. Felix is still watching them, his hair gold and eyes warm, an eternal sunset.
Seungmin brushes the pad of his thumb over the soft skin of Jisung's cheek. "Yeah?"
Jisung presses his temple to Seungmin’s collarbone. "I love you."
Seungmin inhales. Exhales.
He thinks of Minho, of his gentleness and his prodding, of his care encased in glass. He thinks of Chan and his constellation of a soul, of the offer to become something greater. He thinks of Hyunjin and his perfumed flow of a mind, of his milk chocolate heart. He thinks of Changbin and his smooth granite pillar of guidance, of his patience grown in abundance in a well-tended garden. He thinks of Jeongin and the warmth that crackles around him like a flame, of the misty shroud around his wind-free spirit.
"I love you too," so much more than you will ever be able to grasp, he wants to say, because for all you write of love, I think this is something that transcends the scope of what you believe I'm capable of.
But he doesn’t believe that—not really. He knows Jisung in his all-encompassing amethyst and knows Jisung in his stubbornly cut emerald. Jisung is someone who will always understand this, one of the only people who might ever be able to. Jisung understands him and Seungmin feels raw and naked under Jisung’s weight. It’s as though Jisung and Minho and Felix and Changbin and Jeongin and Hyunjin are the only people that exist right now in this muddled replica of Elysium.
Minho does not turn around where he sits in the front seat, but Seungmin watches as Felix watches Minho, and knows that Minho knows he is included in his statement. You is not just Jisung, nor just Jisung and Felix, but something Seungmin feels wholly, completely, and irrevocably for the seven of them.
For now, he loves and he lets the love fill him up until he's overflowing and he thinks—ah, yes. This is what it means to be home.