Chapter Text
Three years ago...
The figure walked in the middle of the road. It was too late for any cars to transit, leaving the street empty except for the cab that left him there. The cab driver looked at him as he counted the cash that was thrown on his lap.
“Such a young man wasted like this,” he murmured as he watched the tall figure go away, wondering why such a beautiful man would go to a weird warehouse at that time of the night. The smell of beer had impregnated the cab, but thankfully he had not thrown up. That would be a mess much harder to clean. The cab driver even thought that he saw him crying, but assumed that he was just another part of that lost youth, probably looking for drugs or even worse entertainment out there. He shrugged it off and went away, erasing any trace of the white-haired man as he sprayed scented perfume on the back of the car.
The man’s unbalanced steps resonated in the silent, empty street. The darkness made it all seem blurry, dizzy, and lonely. With some difficulty, he walked up the steps, tripping at the last one and stumbling by the door.
“Seven!” Zen shouted, banging on the locked door with his closed fists. “Seven, I need to… I need to talk to you!”
He pressed his forehead against the steel, feeling the cold metal freezing his skin. It was a cold night, but after everything that had happened, he had forgotten to take his coat with him. It was probably still hanging on the back of the stool from the first bar that he went in, or was it on the second one? His blue shirt was not warm enough for that time of the year, but it did not matter. On that night, nothing really mattered.
He could smell the alcohol stench that flooded his shirt. He hated it with all his heart, yet, he loved it as an addict who loves the drug that got him hooked in the first place. It was not about the taste, it was about how it made him feel, no worries, no him, nothing. Just the cold air of the night and the senseless words that he threw at it, so easy to blame them on the substance when morning arrived and his mask fell back over his immaculate face.
“Insert password,” a robotic voice said.
“The fuck?” Zen backed off some steps, falling at the edge of the small staircase to the porch.
“Insert password,” the robotic voice repeated, cold and static. Cold. He was always cold, too. At that moment, the voice in his memory did not feel much different than the robotic voice that came from the hacker’s front door. Emotionless, unmoved, demanding something that he did not have, only to keep him out.
“What password?” Zen moved forward, banging at the door once more. He hated that voice, he hated how it mocked him. It was mocking him, he knew. Seven had done that to mock him as they all did, as he did by dumping him like trash on the street. “Seven, you jerk, come here right now! I want to go in, and I don’t have a password to give you! Seven!”
Why was he there? Why did he give the taxi driver that address and not the one of his own home? He felt in his heart that he needed Seven’s advice… but why? Why did he need the weird hacker genius-kid? They were not exactly close, even if the ginger guy, more often than not, was always joking around him. There was nothing that Zen knew about him except for his role within the RFA and his weird obsession with some honey-flavored chips. What had been on his mind when he decided that he should pay him a visit at 2 am? But those thoughts were reserved for a dormant part of Zen’s consciousness, one that had been drowned in beer and soju many hours before.
“Incorrect password. Insert correct password,” the metallic voice repeated, ignoring the drunken man slamming his fists against steel. Ignoring him, he always ignored him too. It was never serious enough, never important enough for him to listen. Zen’s feelings had always been cast aside, too unimportant to spare a few minutes of the CEO’s attention.
“Seven, you fucker, get over here now!” he yelled, slamming his fist so hard against the steel that he felt his whole arm tremble with pain. His legs gave in, and he fell, the pain in his heart suddenly spreading through his body. “Open the stupid door, I’m not joking. Open the-,” he screamed as the realization of the pain in his hand hit him like a rock. That was when the sobbing began. Everything was spinning, and he was sure that he would have to take something out of his stomach pretty soon.
“Insert correct password”
“Just open the door,” he sobbed, bent against the sidewall. “Seven, please. Don’t leave me out too… He… Please don’t be like him.”
He could still hear his words. “Don’t be so pathetic,” he had said. “It was nothing. Nothing ever happened. Behaving like this won’t do good to any of us.”
Why was he always so pathetic? Drinking, crying, losing it for so little. Perhaps he was truly the wrong one, perhaps that was why he was so undeserving of love. Questions came to Zen’s mind, some that had never flourished since he left his parents’ home, but they were suddenly there, raising the insecurities that he had attempted so hard to leave behind.
The door opened slowly, and he fell, with his head approaching the floor, but before he could get hurt, he was held by a pair of hands that grabbed him by the shoulders.
“What the hell, Zen. You were able to activate every single alarm in my house, and that’s a lot,” Seven said, helping him to stand. “Just come in, I’ll put you on the couch. You’re freezing.”
Seven was woken up by red lights, green lights, and sound alarms, all of them going off at once. He jumped out of bed, rushing to the security camera monitor just to look and see Zen lying against his door. “What the-” he murmured under his breath, rushing to the front door, worrying that Zen might have gotten into an accident. However, as he opened the door, he immediately recognized that smell. He hated it. For one fraction of a second, memories flashed in front of his eyes, memories of a much darker past with people that he had sworn to forget. That was not the time to think about that.
Seven helped Zen to reach the couch. It was not his first time dealing with someone who was more than wasted, but definitely the first time with Zen. The ginger man assumed that he had drunk way too much, analyzing his red face and bloodshot eyes. Seven had no idea how he had been able to get there without passing out on the street. Plus, he had never seen Zen like that. All the failed auditions, all the bad moments, Zen had never been so low, at least not in front of him, and that was exactly what made Seven worry: he knew all too well what it was to avoid showing your lowest point in front of people.
“Seven,” Zen mumbled, laying on the couch. “I need to… I talk to you about… about…,” he couldn’t think, why was he there? “You are being pathetic,” he thought. “Bothering Seven like this.”
“Just stay here, all right?” Seven said. “I’ll get you something to eat… and perhaps a bucket.”
Seven could feel his heart accelerate, he was getting sick because of the smell. It brought back too many memories, and none of them were accompanied by a feeling of joy. They hurt, in one way or another.
He went into the kitchen as fast as he could, grabbing one bag of Honey Buddha and a can of Phd. Pepper, that was all he had anyway. He also grabbed a bucket, just in case.
“Zen,” he called, going back to the sofa, and opening the bag of chips. “Here. Sit up, ok? You’ll feel better if you eat something.”
“No, no,” Zen mumbled, sitting and grabbing the chips. “No, I won’t, because I am all useless and pathetic and…,” as he started to munch on a handful of Honey Buddha Chips, he was no longer comprehensible. “No matter what I do, I always care too much and in the end, I am just a pretty face and nothing more.”
Seven could only manage to look at his friend. His shirt was wet, probably because of some drink that he had spilled on himself. He only had one shoe at that point, and Seven was sure that the other one was not at his home. Zen was always so confident, and so put together. Seven knew that he had a drinking habit, but not like this. He could have never imagined his hyung behaving like that. Zen was hurt, he could tell he was. But what could have hurt him like that?
Zen continued to eat, sobbing and saying unintelligible things, until he had finished the whole package, which he decided to just throw across the room.
“That jerk!” he yelled, startling Seven once more. Aggressive drunkenness was not something easy for him to cope with. “That trust fund jerk! He has no right, he can’t…,” he began sobbing once more, but this time his crying was interrupted by something worse than snacks. He barely had time to reach for the bucket before the puke came out.
“Oh, shit,” Seven jumped to the couch, sitting by his side. “There you go… Just… Put it all out,” he rubbed his back. It all felt weird. Zen was older than he. Two years, but still. Older. It was almost funny in a sad way. In theory, it was supposed to be the opposite, but there he was, rubbing his hyung’s back, still looking around for that missing shoe.
For a while, there was only silence. Seven was looking down, trying to find what to say. Zen looked tired, staring at the wall. His swollen eyes still shed tears, but the quiet ones, the type that screams in the silence and sting as if a thousand knives are slowly piercing through flesh.
“Hyung,” Seven called out, looking at Zen. “What the hell happened?”
Slowly, Zen turned his face to him. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Now, you see… When people come to my home at two in the morning, activate my security system, puke in my bucket, and eat my chips, I assume that it is something for me to worry about,” Seven smiled, but his eyes were still worrying.
“It’s something I did,” Zen said. “Something wrong. And I can’t understand why… Why am I…,” he sobbed again, lowering his head. “I… At the last party, some months ago… Remember at the end? You and Jaehee were outside, Yoosung was talking to Rika… And I was still in there with V and Jumin, discussing some details about the donations and everything. V left after a while. He was going to call you all to get back in so that we could close everything and go home. When we were left alone, Jumin and I… We…”
“Hyung,” Seven called. “Did you two get together?”
Zen felt his whole face burn. He could not speak, he could not face Seven. Pathetic. He was so pathetic. He just nodded. There was silence. It seemed like an abyss, as if time itself was in shock and had to take a minute to understand what was going on.
“I-I’m bisexual,” he stuttered, feeling his body tremble with terror.
“That’s cool,” Seven said, smiling at him. “I mean, not you and him because I guess that it did not end well, but… I’m like you, you know. No labels, I just… like people.”
Zen stared at him. That was new. He would never imagine that the weird hacker kid would be the one to understand him.
“I… Umh.. Like people too…” Zen said quietly “I mean, I guess I like people, I don’t know, it’s just-”
“Complicated?” Seven asked
“Complicated,” Zen repeated. He was tired, and complicated was the perfect word. It was all complicated.
Seven pushed his glasses up his nose, turning sideways at the couch, facing Zen.
“What happened, then? Did you two break up or something?”
Zen took a deep breath. It was not worth holding it back now.
“After that first, we got together other times too. Not many, but we had… something. But Jumin won’t admit it. He does not want to tell. Or acknowledge. He says that we are nothing, that there is nothing going on with us, and we have had horrible fights over this. But there are some days when he will text me, call me, and we will be together once more, and it’s so good when it happens. I…,” his crying began once more, hiding his face in his hands. “I just don’t know what to do.”
“He… doesn’t want to acknowledge it?”
“He says that I’m being pathetic. That this will ruin my career, that he will lose his position and that his company will be destroyed because I am behaving like this. And I know that it's complicated, but I-I just wanted to tell the RFA, not the whole world. And he keeps saying that we never had anything, that he is straight and would never… Have a relationship with someone like me.”
Seven let out a long breath. He rubbed his eyes, feeling a sting of annoyance within his chest.
“That’s fucked up, Zen. That is not right,” Seven said. “Hey, look at me,” he stared into Zen’s eyes. “There is nothing wrong with you, all right? It’s who you are and if he does not want to assume who he is, that’s his problem, not yours. You are not pathetic. What he is doing to you, man, that’s abusive! That’s not right. You need to realize that whatever he is doing is not safe for you, Zen. You deserve better than this.”
“But when he calls me…”
“Hyung, is it worth it?”
Zen had never seen Seven that serious. Usually, he would just smile and joke around, but that time… it seemed personal. Seven felt like someone he could trust.
“No, it’s not worth it.” Zen answered. “I think he is right. I am just a pathetic loser that just cared way too much.”
“That’s not it. You cared because it meant something to you, and there is nothing wrong with that. You are not a pathetic loser. C’mon, look. You did not seem a pathetic loser in that play that we watched, Yoosung bawled his eyes out in the end. Or the day that you taught him how to tie his tie, he thought you were cool,” Seven smiled and, at that point, Zen was smiling too. “You are not just a pretty face. You’re the hyung. A very handsome hyung, but, nevertheless, you’re cool, Zen,” he punched Zen’s arm softly. “Cheer up.”
“Yeah, I guess I am cool,” Zen laughed. “Thanks.”
“No problem my man, my dude,” Seven jumped up from the couch, it was as if the serious version had just vanished, and he came back to his normal self. “I’ll grab a blanket and a pillow for you, it’s too late, and you are way too wasted to go back home. Also, some aspirins for tomorrow, God knows when you’ll wake up.”
Zen lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, while Seven kept rambling about hangovers and clean shirts. He took his phone out and opened Jumin’s messages. He deleted the entire chat with no regret.