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While he doesn’t have the image of someone struggling with many insecurities, Junhyeon can’t always fight off the thoughts gnawing at him, telling him he’s not enough.
He usually distrusts the thoughts, tries not to pay them any mind but lately, with the added stress from not only performing but also the pressure of having to achieve something while being constantly filmed, not an ounce of privacy left, Junhyeon can’t do it like he used to do. He can’t fight the thoughts off when he’s alone in his room—as alone as he can be in a building full of boys still in the prime of their youth.
Gunwook is the only one left in their room this time, which is honestly a miracle. The En Garde team is filled with popular contestants so their room more often than not reaches its maximum capacity of visitors. Junhyeon isn’t left alone as often as he likes to be, despite being a people-person.
Another reason there’s something wrong with you , he tells himself. He’s social and likes to be around people but now he gets tired at the mere mention of having people in his room? There is definitely something dishonest about him.
Gunwook is writing a letter on his bed, and while Junhyeon has grown closer to Gunwook over the past weeks—going from strangers to being the closest friend the boy has left—he is not yet familiar with crying his heart out to him. He won’t bother him.
Like I bother everything else .
The thought slips in so easily, like it belongs in his mind. It stays there for a while, grouping together with some friends, other small but significant bullies. Junhyeon gives up fighting them.
When he feels the tears building up, his chest heaving with every shallow breath he takes, Junhyeon settles on going to the bathroom to calm down.
It’s a mistake. The smell is what is expected of a bathroom used by multiple boys and it isn’t as clean as Junhyeon would like his crying place to be.
Can’t even do this right , he tells himself, his inner voice filled with both hate and pity. He can’t decide what is worse. He knows he shouldn’t think negatively of himself and that those thoughts are only making everything harder to bear, aren’t even close to being true, but it’s difficult getting rid of them. He can’t not listen when they’re so loud.
He can force himself to wipe away the few tears that pushed themselves from his eyes and exit the bathroom, leaving to find the people he rationally should’ve looked for when the sadness had started to kick in, instantly.
Taerae is sitting on the bed with Hanbin when Junhyeon walks in. He discards the book he’s reading as soon as he sees the gloomy expression on Junhyeon’s face, nudging Hanbin’s side while he’s at it. They’re the only people in the room and Junhyeon couldn’t be happier about it.
Hanbin pats the bed where he creates an empty spot for Junhyeon to sink onto. The smile he gives him relieves some tension Junhyeon feels in his stomach, in his chest where his lungs burst against his chest.
“What’s wrong, love?” Hanbin’s eyes sparkle with concern, worry. With care, most of all.
Taerae joins him. “Wanna talk about it?” He reaches forward, taking Junhyeon’s hands and leans forward. He kisses the back of Junhyeon’s hand and Junhyeon breaks.
For a moment, the only sound present is that of Junhyeon trying to catch his breath, the devastating sound of his tears flowing and Hanbin shushing him, rubbing his back. Taerae doesn’t let go of his hand.
Fed up with himself for feeling like he’s overreacting, Junhyeon tries to speak. “I should’ve come here sooner.” He apologizes but Taerae doesn’t let him.
“There’s nothing to apologize for. I know it’s hard.” Junhyeon doesn’t see it, but Taerae looks at Hanbin with a look of pain. Understanding. He’s had his own fair share of painfully hard conversations. “Tell us when you’re ready.”
The position they’re sitting in is straining. Limbs awkwardly tangled together, backs bending uncomfortably, so Junhyeon makes an attempt to shift and change the way his body works. He leans over Taerae’s side, nudges Hanbin to join him at his other side and throws in a suggestion, “cuddle?”
Hanbin, the most affectionate one of the three, responds eagerly. His smile is like the sun as he talks. “If that could help.”
They stay like that for a while. Just bodies pressed together. Junhyeon tries to focus on the places where his skin meets Taerae’s, where Hanbin’s breath falls on his neck. It helps for as long as his thoughts stay right there.
He decides to speak up when he notices the clock next to them telling him it’s late, too late to go back to his own room.
It’s a confession he, rationally, doesn’t believe in, not truly, but he says it anyway. “I feel like I’m losing you.”
The words visibly shock both Taerae and Hanbin. Taerae moves around, shifts and changes his ways to turn and face Junhyeon. Hanbin stiffens, stays still. Does nothing but push out a choked, “what do you mean?” And then a panicked, “did we do something wrong?”
Junhyeon doesn’t get the time to reply because Taerae rushes out his response first, a reaction to Hanbin. “I’m sure he’ll tell us if we did something wrong.” Then he asks if they did, directed to Junhyeon.
“It’s not that.” Junhyeon wishes he could bury his head in the pillow supporting him but he doesn’t want to move. Not an inch. “It’s all me. I feel like I don’t belong here. Nowhere.” He almost laughs. “Okay, that might sound too depressing. I just mean that I feel like I can’t keep up. Not with you, not with the team. It’s like my world is going in slow-motion while everyone else’s is going at a fastened speed.”
Taerae’s mouth falls open slightly as he listens. Junhyeon hasn’t lost his full playfulness and puts his finger in his mouth to test his reaction speed. He doesn’t respond fast. His world must not be going rapidly either.
“It’s normal to feel like that.” It’s Hanbin who says it. Junhyeon turns his head to look him in the eye, to force himself to listen to every syllable that falls off Hanbin’s lips. To make himself believe it all. “You’ll get back on track someday. There’s no need to worry.” It’s supposed to be reassuring but it doesn’t quite work. There’s still something missing.
“Is that all you’re worried about? That you can’t keep up?” While Hanbin’s voice is stern and clean, something Junhyeon repeatedly uses to guide himself, to ground himself in times of distress, Taerae’s voice is sweet and soft, gentle and quiet, like a whisper. When he speaks, Junhyeon feels like his words are meant for him only.
As if right on cue, a painful rush hits Junhyeon’s legs, going straight from his hips to his knees and his toes. He winces at the feeling. Taerae and Hanbin both look up, exchanging anxious looks.
Junhyeon wants to say something about it but he can’t get himself to. Not when they’re staring at each other like that. Like they’re speaking a language he’s not allowed to learn.
“What was that?” Hanbin asks the inevitable. He gets a mutter back, a “nothing” with a shrug but Junhyeon knows that won’t be enough. He knows but he just can’t . He can’t get himself to say it. Admit he has broken himself.
Taerae’s fingers make their way into Junhyeon’s hair easily and he plays with a strand, holding it and twisting it smoothly. He tries to sound nonchalant but he’s never been the type to be viewed as detached. If there is something about Taerae, it is that he feels a lot and that he shows it. “Does it hurt?”
“Does what hurt?” Junhyeon tries, despite knowing what he meant.
He says something Junhyeon didn't anticipate. “Everything.”
Hanbin lightly places a hand on his hip to comfort him and Junhyeon flinches. If he had touched him anywhere else, the three of them know, Junhyeon wouldn’t have reacted excessively at all.
“What happened, baby? Did you hurt yourself while practicing?” Taerae is fishing for answers. Junhyeon knows they both want to know what’s happening with him, what’s bothering him and he knows he should say something but he can’t get the words out. He can’t do anything but stay still and pray this will be over soon. That he can wake up in between them again, that they aren’t a product of his dreams and that the pain is .
He doesn’t know how, but he tells them. “I think I pushed myself too far today. And last time. And maybe the time before that as well.”
“It’s your hip, Jun. Your weak point. You’ve gotten medical care for that. You should take better care of yourself, especially in that area.” Hanbin probably realizes he sounds like he’s scolding Junhyeon too much, probably notices the way Junhyeon’s eyes are shut in fear. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Because I can’t! Junhyeon almost yelled it, almost lost his composure. He almost got the words out. Because there’s something wrong with me .
He settles on something safe, buries his face against Taerae’s throat as he does so. “I don’t know.” It’s warm and cozy here, buried in the silence. Junhyeon wants to stay here for as long as he’s physically capable of. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
He just wants to sleep now. The dried tears on his cheek are irritating his skin and the conversation is irritating Junhyeon himself, his impatience getting the best of him. He wants to keep them, he really does, but he’s not made for this. For talking. For being a good person and friend and boyfriend and whatever else anyone wants him to be.
“That’s okay,” Hanbin whispers, a mimicry of Taerae’s tenderness. It should have felt unnatural but it feels like coming home.
Taerae places a kiss on the top of his head and Junhyeon closes his eyes for the night, hoping to fall asleep quickly.
He doesn’t, but with the weight of both Taerae and Hanbin on him, all around him, it’s a little easier to bear.