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Chapter Text

To be honest the hate deluge was within expectations. Whenever Yeonjun took on a project, he instinctively ran a mental exercise of what could go wrong, and when the performance was a cover of a song from a veteran artist with a dedicated and loyal fandom, it would be folly to expect only positive outcome.

It still hurt, though. It was his name shredded through thousands of tweets, posts, TikToks, and YouTube shorts. His name, his voice, his face, his abs, his mouth, his eyes, his lips, his fingers, his thighs, his… everything.

He was too bold. Ambitious. Greedy. Shameless. Didn’t know his place.

Nevermind that he took pains to respect the original work as closely as he could. He had watched countless of times the original artist’s performance videos, live or in-studio, just to make sure he conveyed the right atmosphere the song needed. He had known it would be impossible to replicate it completely - and it was never the point - so he had aimed for a reinterpretation that wouldn’t mar the original work.

Perhaps, all that (literal) back-breaking work had not been enough.

At this point, three or four days had passed and the critics turned analytical. They scrutinized his facial expressions and energy level. The way his fingers moved. The high notes and the runs. The power behind his belting.

Not his song, they said. Lacks emotion.

Nevermind that most of it wasn’t valid feedback. Just people lashing out at something they didn’t want to and would never understand. That was part of the job, wasn’t it? To accept it all?

Unfair. It was so, so unfair but an idol was someone who had to swim in the sea of selfish, brutish opinions.

Yeonjun took a deep breath and suppressed an incoming bout of dry coughs.

He was sitting at the waiting room couch and scrolling through X (formerly known as Twitter) on his new Samsung flip. This was part of the job, monitoring public opinion. He was taking it all, the good and the bad – but let’s be honest, it was mostly the bad because he was Choi Yeonjun. The self-discipline had long turned into self-flagellation and a part of him relished it. The more scarred he was, the thicker his skin would be. Or some bullshit like that.

Almost ten years in the industry, almost five years since debut, and frankly it got easier to tune certain things out and move forward. Easier didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. It always felt like he gave birth to monsters, and they bred and bred and bred.

Managing the fallout was simple for him. Take no public action and let the company handle it. He saw the courtesy post from the senior artist, followed by praising reviews from reliable bloggers, and, surprisingly, an article from a mainstream news media taking his side. Then he had attended practice, done rehearsals, recorded some advanced content, swore off Weverse for a bit after some initial replies in the past couple of days keeping to a safe topic (food), planned his outfit for another trip, skipped dinners, and bid his time until he had to make another public appearance.

Managing the monsters in his head was a bloodshed. They kept eating whatever was left of him alive and he kept re-building himself and offering them flesh, like Prometheus and his liver-obsessed vultures.

“Hyung,” Taehyun called him and brought him to the surface. He used his dongsaeng voice that he deployed only with Yeonjun and no one else outside his immediate family. Almost whiny, almost baby- ish, and very cute. Taehyun threw all his love behind it. “Stop looking at your phone.”

Yeonjun sighed and complied, flipping his Samsung shut. He massaged his face with both hands, and immediately regretted it because he just got makeup done. Amateur mistake.

“Don’t mind it, noonim can re-do it.” Taehyun made a gesture to the new make-up artist in their staff, who looked a bit confused but approached them nonetheless.

“You’re too good for me, Taehyun-ah,” Yeonjun said. She had put glittery eye makeup on him and now his fingers bore traces of them. “Look, fairy dust.”

Taehyun giggled.

“Yeonjun-ssi, what happened?” the new makeup noonim asked, but already taking out brushes from the pouches around her belt. “Oh. Let’s get you back in the chair.”

“Have you taken your selcas?” Taehyun asked as she began fixing Yeonjun’s makeup.

Yeonjun shook his head slightly, not wanting to move too much. Taking selcas was another obligation to show his face – his stupid, ugly, plastic face according to some.

Taehyun hummed, and a thousand words went unspoken. Yeonjun understood, though, because if there was another person so chronically online in their wider team, it would be Taehyun, and he would’ve seen the freshest of the gore.

“I’ll get to it after this,” Yeonjun said.

A staff called out that they had five more minutes before they had to get ready backstage.

“No pressure, noonim,” he added with a smile, looking at her panicked eyes. “I normally take about a dozen selcas, so...”

She let him go with a couple of minutes to spare and he wasted no time snapping a few photos before handing his phone back to the staff. Nothing like urgency to keep things moving and the monsters at bay.

As they huddled around backstage, in the dim light waiting for the previous group to finish and the MCs to introduce them, Yeonjun wondered for a lightning whether he had enough courage to take on another stage.

Taehyun sidled closer to him.

“Hyung-ie, from one performer to another, you’re the best. The best.” Taehyun looked at him and willed Yeonjun to believe this in his bones. “No doubt. This,” he pointed several times to the ground, “is our Skipping Stones. Every day we do this, the fact doesn’t change – you’re the best. Ever. For me.”

From an outsider’s perspective, the conversation made little sense and Taehyun probably didn’t come across the most articulate at that moment. But speaking about sinking pain, rivers of scars that the ocean embraced, and a promise to hold shaking hands rarely required much anyway.
Yeonjun held his hand out and Taehyun took it by the fingers, like when they were younger. “I’m all right, Taehyun-ah,” he whispered.

“You better be.”

Yeonjun enjoyed compliments like he enjoyed hot showers. Sought them when he was exhausted, partook regularly but not all the time, and was honest about his want of them. But living communally had bred the need of long, luxurious showers out of him – and perhaps being in a group of five also did the same with his needs for the loudest of worship.

Like any hot showers, there was a spectrum of quality to praises as well. He had gotten his share of lukewarm, mechanical words, and in almost equal measure, had been blessed with effusive, eloquent declaration of admiration. And similar to how certain hotels had good water pressure while others less so, certain people cranked it up well and some didn’t.

Unlike hotel showers, however, which didn’t care who he was, these people knew him and the effect of their words on him.

Yeonjun lived by this philosophy; when in a pinch, even some good words were better than nothing. The bar was low on purpose – if he didn’t hold expectations of others, he wouldn’t be too disappointed. Perhaps it made him pathetic and defeatist. Perhaps it helped with moving on when things didn’t work out. Perhaps it made him recognize the genuine ones better and he could extract as much joy as he could out of them.

If asked who gave him the best compliments among the members, Yeonjun would pick Taehyun who had no filter when he got going and Yeonjun loved him a lot for that. But the best ones from him had always been the ones he had mulled over for a long time before they rolled out in most unexpected times. Taehyun lived with his thoughts and in midst of all that thinking, he carved a space for Yeonjun, shaping the words he wanted to say to him. It was obvious how much of a privilege it was to have Kang Taehyun loved you.

The rest of his members were wildcards. Kai tried to provide constructive feedback and assurance, but most of the time his attempts devolved into jokes, laughter, and tickling matches because Yeonjun wouldn’t spare his youngest the embarrassment only siblings could relate to when they had to compliment each other.

Beomgyu would be sincere, but concise. He liked this, that, these, and those. He wouldn’t fall for Yeonjun’s usual tricks to draw out more praises. A lot of their mock-brawls came out of Yeonjun’s desire to hear more good things from this middle child’s mouth, and said middle child’s desire to not give anything his hyung wanted. Deflect, deny, or death was his motto.

Soobin fell into the “You’re so cool, hyung” rote. Replaced ‘cool’ with ‘reliable’ or ‘good’ and that was his entire repertoire. Sometimes he spiced it up by commenting on the costumes, the set, or the camerawork, as if Yeonjun had any hand in those. For someone who was so good at talking to himself, his vocabulary was meagre when it came to complimenting Yeonjun. Once in a blue moon, however, Soobin redeemed himself by saying really pretty things too, so it all balanced out. Sort of.

Tonight, after their last performance and ending stages along with other artists, Yeonjun needed both a hot shower and compliments. Because he knew he made mistakes on his performance. He knew he missed few beats; spent too much energy on some moves, too little on others; didn’t quite curve his aching back the way he had practiced; lost a bit of momentum toward the end; the cape kept hitting his mic – the list went on. He needed to hear that those missteps didn’t matter and ultimately that he was still good. Good enough for this job.

He had watched his members after they got off the stage and knew he wouldn’t hear it from them. They were bone-tired after two months of non-stop work, and this being the last stage for the season made that ache reverberate. Silence was the only thing they could afford each other at the moment. But silence was a double-edged thing and had a way of turning wrong.

Yeonjun closed his eyes and gathered his breath. Before they could disperse into changing rooms, he went around to give each of them a quick hug and a kiss on their sweaty heads. “Good job, hyung’s proud of you,” he said. Some squeezed back, some only nodded.

They were done. Another chapter completed. The landscape of their pages in the past year had thickened with peeling blisters, band-aids, fatigue, acid tongues, unslept beds, late night sobs, and unmet expectations. But it was also where flowers bloomed – new faces at their fansigns, bigger and bigger venues, sold out shows, record-breaking numbers, and vows renewed. There were the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Euphoria and heartsickness in one breath.

Good job for making it out alive, he didn’t say – but perhaps because he was keeping it for himself.

Yeonjun quickly changed into his personal clothes and gathered his items. He wanted to get home as soon as possible and wiped the makeup off his face. Glitter was pretty, but a bitch to remove.

The Protocol team ushered him and the members through the parking lot and into their respective vans. As usual he rode with the maknaes, the Protocol team members Jisoo and Youngwook, and the new makeup noonim.

As the car pulled out of the carpark, he looked at the maknaes who were closing their eyes at the back, seemingly asleep. Taehyun had his head leaning on Huening’s shoulder, and their arms entangled. Classic pose. Yeonjun turned to Jisoo who was typing on his mobile next to him and softly asked, “When are you picking us up tomorrow morning?”

“Ten. You guys can sleep in. First up is a meeting with Marketing and PR teams on the Paris trip, then there’s fitting with the stylists. You guys also have remedial Japanese before the new choreo session.”

Yeonjun sighed. “Got it.”

When they got to the dorm, he was a step too late to get to the shower and had to wait for his turn. Yeonjun decided to kill some time by taking off his makeup and scrolling through the feeds on his phone, while keeping an eye on the bathroom door from the living room couch.

“Hey.”

Yeonjun looked up and saw Beomgyu hovering with a towel around his neck. His hair was still wet.

“You good, Yeonjunnie?” No honorifics at home.

“Hm, yeah? Just tired. I want to get to sleep soon.”

“Good luck with that, Kai’s inside now and he’s doing wet karaoke.”

“Oh. And you, Beomgyu-ah? How are you feeling?”

“Weird, I guess. Like we’re supposed to be in the new year but I haven’t moved on from the last one. I keep expecting us to go back to dance practice anytime now.”

“I kinda understand that. Last year was… interesting, and we haven’t achieved everything we said we would. Some I guess there’s some lingering feelings?”

Beomgyu leveled him a soft look. “We’ve achieved a lot, though.”

“Yeah, we have.”

The middle child reached out a hand, gently patted Yeonjun’s head, and ran it through his hair. “Earlier tonight you said you were proud of us. I just want you to know that I’m so proud of you too, Yeonjunnie. You did more than anyone could’ve asked for.”

It wasn’t enough, Yeonjun thought, but he didn’t want to upset Beomgyu who was being so lovely. He took the thin fingers and squeezed them. Some good words are better than nothing.

“Thanks, Beomgyu-ah. I’m really lucky I’ve got all of you.”

The next day found Yeonjun in one of the dance studios alone, few hours early before their first meeting.

He had awoken at dawn and couldn’t get back to sleep, full of an unnamed energy despite the late nights he had pulled. Maybe it was the same thing Taehyun and Beomgyu alluded to the night before. Maybe it was something else.

The darkness and silence of his room felt oppressive, and he couldn’t play his LP to soothe the feeling at such early hours. He had to get out.

So he had slipped away from their dorm and walked to the company’s building unsupervised. It was a risky move – there was always the possibility of sasaengs waiting in front of Hybe’s tower recognizing him – but even they needed to rest, didn’t they? Shifts or whatnot.

Yeonjun wasn’t stupid. He knew how to turn incognito when he wanted to. He wore inconspicuous clothes, a mask, and a cap to hide his features. Had taken off his piercings until he got in. Slouched a bit when walking and passed by like any other faceless mob. It was Thursday early morning in a freezing January and people were just trying to get to work or the next warm place. No one had time to look at each other.

He had gotten his usual iced americano from a coffee machine at the lounge at the same floor. That was breakfast. He had no appetite for anything else.

A soft melody played in the background from room speaker connected to his personal phone. The playlist he was using had been curated for days like this, when he just needed to empty his thoughts and drain his feelings.

He left the room purposefully dark with only minimal lighting. Yeonjun didn’t want clarity and had brought the blinds down on the mirrors on the wall.

‘West Coast Love’ by Emotional Oranges started playing. It was a staple in few of his playlists and a good one to begin warm-up.

He closed his eyes and started moving.

Shooting fireworks in the sky
Oh, how the time goes by
Boy how you never left my mind

He rolled his shoulders, liberating tension and letting it flow through stretched arm and fingers. Yeonjun was following an invisible line that only his body knew how to draw as it listened to the music. In contrast to his live dance sessions, he wasn’t aiming to hit every beat – instead he let them run, like staccatos on his skin and he waited for the right turns of phrase to respond. This was a conversation with music, which only he knew how to speak, and it was taking him out of his head.

Time passed – a second, a minute, an hour, two, didn’t care.

Disappointment bled out of him, slowly, slowly. It was a lesson in accepting what he couldn’t control and Yeonjun was attentive in class. He was calming the monsters one song at a time, his sweat-drenched tank top a witness. His limbs started becoming heavy, his breaths harsh, and his sight unfocused. The americano swirled uncomfortably in his stomach.

But the exorcism worked.

His heart was lighter than it had been in days.

When other people cried it out, Yeonjun danced. While some drank to stupor, he danced. As some fucked around and gained reputation, he danced, falling back to his first love.

As the last song in his playlist wound down, so did he.

He stood in the middle of the room, sweat dripping, mouth open, panting with hands on knees. Then he began his cool-down routine. Once done, he wiped the sweat off his face with the hem of his tank-top, feeling the burn on his thighs and sides. When he got all he could, he took the garment off to change with a spare he always carry in his bag. Rule number one, always have complete essentials in the dance bag. He also had a towel, but they were going to have a practice later in the day so he had to save that.

After few last wipes, he swiped deodorant under his arms, put on a fresh T-shirt, and gathered his belongings. He could wash his face later in the restroom.

Then he checked his work phone and noticed the missed calls. Sixteen missed calls. They were from his members and Protocol team, but the majority were from Soobin.

Yeonjun hesitated for a heartbeat, but he pressed the call button in the end.

“Where are you?!” was the first thing he heard after Soobin picked up at the second ring. He sounded angry.

“At the company, I came earlier,” Yeonjun answered.

“Why? You don’t have anything before the meeting with Marketing.”

Yeonjun held back a sigh. “I wanted to dance.”

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. Then Yeonjun heard muffled noises, as if someone was covering the receiver.

After a while he heard Soobin again.

“Well, at least tell Jisoo-nim or Youngwook-nim if you’re going to go separately! We were waiting for you and the kids went to your room, but you weren’t there.”

“Sorry, Soobin. I forgot.”

“We have a group chat for a reason, Hyung.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Yeonjun heard the unspoken frustration at the other end. It wasn’t an unfamiliar thing. “Never mind,” Soobin finally said, “we’ll see you in the office.”

In the background Yeonjun could make out Beomgyu’s soft what did Yeonjun say?

“See you,” he said and hung up.

Jisoo found him first. One look at his face and Yeonjun knew he was displeased.

“What is so urgent you had to sneak out?” Jisoo asked.

“I just wanted to dance, Hyung.”

“Dance? You dance every day. Why couldn’t this wait?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Obviously. You got some serious eyebags. So you thought that since you couldn’t sleep you would just, what, tire yourself out more? Really smart, Yeonjun. Have you eaten anything?”

Jisoo’s mother hen side was coming out and he wasn’t going to like Yeonjun’s next answer.

“I had americano.”

“And?”

Yeonjun shrugged.

“No protein? No carbs? What about juice? Did you at least bring some from home?”

Yeonjun shook his head.

“You have gastritis! How many times do I have to remind you to eat breakfast? Especially no coffee on empty stomach! Come on, you have ten minutes before the meeting. Grab a protein bar from the machine.”

Yeonjun did as ordered and got a bar he munched on the way to the meeting room on another level.

Jisoo accompanied him almost all the way, as if he didn’t trust Yeonjun not to abscond again. “I can drive you, you know? Just tell me when you need to do this again. Don’t go off on your own.”

“Thanks, Hyung.”

When he got there, his members
were already inside, chatting among themselves. There was a pause when they noticed him.

Hueningkai was the first to break it. “Yeonjun-hyung, are you all right?”

“I’m good, Huening-ah,” he replied. “Did I make you worry? Sorry, Hyung didn’t mean to.”

His youngest made a cute noise. “We thought you got kidnapped. Through the window or something.”

Yeonjun ran a quick mental calculation on the possibility. “The culprit must be Spider-Man then,” he concluded.

Hueningkai laughed and seemed happy with his answer. “Can I get his signature next time?”

Yeonjun ruffled the youngest’s hair as he passed to take the empty seat at the corner of the table. “Sure, I will tell him to get you the exclusive.”

“No, seriously,” Beomgyu whined, “we were worried, Hyung. We couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“I’m sorry, Beomgyu-ah, I forgot to let you guys know. But this isn’t the first time I come in early, so it’s no big deal, really.”

“The sasaengs—,”

“There was none, it’s too early even for them.”

“So what time did you actually get here, Hyung?” Taehyun asked.

“Oh.” Yeonjun blanked a bit at that. “Maybe… seven?”

His members exchanged looks with each other.

“You do realize that’s irresponsible, right?” Soobin snapped.

Yeonjun schooled his expression. “What are you trying to say?”

“We’re starting comeback preparation very soon. How are you managing your condition like this?”

“This is how I’m managing my condition.”

“By risking injury? By tiring yourself out?”

“I know what I should or should not do,” Yeonjun argued. “I’m not stupid, Soobin.”

“Really, Hyung? Because from what I’m seeing, you think you’re invincible when you’re not. Not even close. And that’s goddamn stupid coming from a supposedly pro.”

“Soobin-hyung, enough,” Beomgyu said, alarm in his voice. “Yeonjun isn’t—,”

The eldest stood up quickly. “I’m going to the washroom.”

“Hyung!”

Yeonjun almost collided with the Marketing team as he exited the meeting room. He muttered a quick apology before making his way to the nearest restroom. He could be slightly late, never mind. This meeting was just to finalize their Paris trip details and there was always a summary in the e-mail.

He got into the thankfully empty restroom and started washing his hands. He squirted some hand soap and slowly lathered the suds around his fingers, palm, and wrists, as if he was counting prayer beads.

The exchange of words left him a bit rattled if he were to be honest. He hadn’t expected Soobin to call him out so openly and aggressively. Yeonjun groaned when he thought of the babies’ reactions. Taehyun’s big eyes were so stern and Hueningkai was biting his lips. Beomgyu also looked like he was caught by surprise. He knew they hated it when Soobin and he were fighting.

After few deep breaths he managed to compose himself. Compartmentalize, compartmentalize, he chanted. Compartmentalize. Ignore the hurt. His eyes pricked with tears. Nope. Now it’s not the time. I’m a pro, no matter what Soobin says. A pro shows up at the meeting with Marketing and be present.

Be present and deliver.

Yeonjun went back to the meeting room with clean hands and dry eyes, avoided looking at his members, bowed slightly to the other people, and took his original seat as one lady from the Marketing & PR team fired out bullet points.

“Since we expect a heightened interest during your time in Paris, we will be doing five TikToks to engage and inform the audience on how you spend time there. We will do two with the group, two with units, and one solo.”

“That’s a lot. Have we decided on the units and solo?” Soobin asked.

The PR specialist nodded and said, “Yes, based on the latest trends the digital analytics team provided, and following previous schedule, we will go with Soobin-Yeonjun and Beomgyu-Taehyun for the units, while Hueningkai-ssi can do the solo.”

A thick silence permeated the room.

“Sounds good,” Yeonjun broke it, voice neutral. Be present. Deliver. “What’s next?”

They moved on to the next agenda item. Yeonjun dutifully made notes on his notebook when they got to the Instagram posts, clarified a couple of asks, and received a confirmation on his solo schedule immediately after the Paris trip that would see him leaving the city few hours earlier than the other members.

After the meeting was finished, he approached the PR specialist while the man was putting his laptop away. The rest of the members were trickling out of the room and he felt Soobin’s eyes on him.

Yeonjun ignored the gaze to focus on the bespectacled man in front of him.

“Cha-jangnim, may I have five minutes? I need to speak to you on the TikToks.”

The man looked concerned. “Is there something wrong? We normally don’t want to deviate too much from established schedule, Yeonjun-ssi.”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Yeonjun said. “I just want to manage expectations after thinking this over. When we’re in Paris, I don’t think we will have a lot of time to record stuff in between things. So we likely will do one-takes. They won’t be as good as the usual ones.”

“Oh, oh that’s fine. As long as we keep to the schedule. We just need to maintain engagement.”

Yeonjun held on to his patience. “We can do less, like do away with unit TikToks, or combine the solo and a unit.”

“The units get the most likes-to-views ratio, actually. You know what the fans like. It doesn’t matter how short the shorts are. Just do whatever content you can. We just need quantity to boost traffic during the days you guys are there. Got to show those brands something.”

“The algorithm—,”

“It’s fine, within our calculation.”

“I see.” Yeonjun didn’t actually see but he knew he wasn’t going to sway Marketing’s dodged determination to hit the metrics.

There was half an hour gap before the fitting with the stylists for their Dior ensemble. The actual bespoke outfits were in the Dior Atelier, but the stylists wanted to coordinate their airport looks with ready-to-wear items, along with accessories, bags, and shoes for their more casual looks around town. Yeonjun was looking forward to it.

But before that, he made his way to the staff cafeteria to grab some bananas and plums. It wasn’t as if he had never visited the cafeteria, but normally he would be getting deliveries straight to whichever studio he inhabited so his presence there caused a bit of a stir. Whispers of Yeonjun-ssi made their way to his ears.

“He’s so thin! Has he been dieting?”

“My god, those cheekbones.”

“Shush, he’s looking this way.”

“Their last album was just okay, wasn’t it?”

“The sales numbers are good, though.”

“Well, they’re not Bangtan.”

Fucking no one is, Yeonjun thought as he shoved the fruits into a paperbag and paid using his KakaoPay.

He took the elevator to the level where the fitting session would be. For anyone who wasn’t familiar with the maze that was Hybe Building, it would be almost nigh impossible to find the room. The floors were probably designed to confuse corporate ninjas or something. Yeonjun, however, had walked the same path hundreds of times so he let his feet take him while he munched on a plum.

As he almost turned a corner he heard some familiar voices coming from one of the studio booths lining the hallway. He slowed down and couldn’t help tuning in. He recognised the frustrated tone. Funny how that was the first thing he picked up.

Whoever was speaking wasn’t trying to be discreet.

“Three end-year special performances in addition to the new dance breaks plus VCR recordings! Ten stages in total! He said yes to them all! Does he think he can do everything by himself? Didn’t he have to go to the hospital and get an IV because he was throwing up so bad?”

Yeonjun froze.

The voice continued, “I don’t understand what he’s thinking these days. I don’t. Every time I see him he’s in the office doing something, or he’s out on a solo schedule. Or he pulls bullshit stunts like this morning. He doesn’t spend time with any of us anymore, so busy with everything else in his portfolio.

“And he just does whatever the company says. A freaking teachers’ pet, that’s who he is. Always so obedient, always so good, always the first to raise his hand. Does everything and anything they ask him to do and more. Born to be an idol, my ass. He’s just a goddamn idiot!”

“Soobin-hyung, that’s really harsh,” a voice that belonged to Beomgyu chided.

“But you’ve seen it! He toes the company line no matter how absurd it is! Why should he do all the special stages himself? Why are we making five TikToks in Paris? Five! And all he said was, ‘Yessir’, as if we have nothing else to do. He’s the one who’s most excited about Fashion Week, shouldn’t he be trying to get more personal time? Why is he so damned eager to please Marketing of all people?! Does he want that much attention? Is he that eager to go solo?!”

Everything exploded.

There was nothing Yeonjun recognised anymore. The world he knew ceased to exist. The plum on his hand looked alien. The door to the studio an enemy.

There was a moment of stillness before a surge of embarrassment flooded through Yeonjun, when his brain finally caught up. His lungs tried to gain air and there was nothing to inhale.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

He needed to get away. At that moment a black bird was born and perched on his chest, getting heavier by the second. Its claws a firm grip on his emotions.

The plum felt wet. His hand was wet, dripping juice.

Yeonjun turned around and walked as fast as he could away from the studio. Behind him the occupants were still chattering, but he couldn’t hear them anymore.

Is that how he really sees me?

Yeonjun almost cracked in two. He sped up, going back to the elevator. Breathe in, breathe out, he commanded himself.

The elevator door opened with a ding and he got in. There was no one else.

Breathe in, breathe out.

With his other shaking hand he pulled his phone out from the pocket and speed-dialed his mom.

She didn’t pick up. Most probably at work.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He dialed his next lifeline.

“Yeah, what’s up? Do you need something?” Jisoo said over the line.

“You said you would drive me, right, Hyung?”

“Yeah? What, you mean now? You have fitti--,”

A sob broke out of him.

“Yeonjun? Hey, where are you? Yeonjunnie? Yeonjunnie?”

“I want to go home, Hyung,” he said between strangled gasps that sounded like a laughter. “You said you would drive me.”

“Where are you now? I’ll come and get you. What happened?”

And trying to answer that fractured whatever sense he had left.