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To Heeseung, Jongseong was like one of his hands, a limb attached to his body. Which is to say that he was a crucial part of Heeseung’s life– an inextricable part of Heeseung that was both important, yet one that could easily be taken for granted.
Jongseong was always there, a reliable constant in Heeseung’s life and you wouldn’t have known something was amiss until… Well, until things fell apart.
Heeseung couldn’t quite recall how they got to this point. The flights, the rehearsals, the concerts–it all became a motion blur; like he was experiencing it all as if he was witnessing a film.
They were all gathered in the nondescript room that for the next two days would function as their makeshift practice room for this tour stop. All of the members were gathered around, each tending to their own things. Some were drinking from plastic water bottles, others making sure their shoe laces were secure.
Heeseung sat down on a chair, hunched over himself as he rested his elbows on his knees. His leg was vibrating impatiently, as if trying to contain a nervous energy– Maybe even an angry one from spilling forth.
Heeseung was studying Jongseong from across the room, who was leaning his body weight against the handrail in front of the large mirrors on one side of the room, back facing towards Heeseung.
To Heeseung’s credit, he could easily look past whatever facade Jongseong tried to erect. He and Jongseong were past the point of trying to put up a face in front of each other. But still, Jongseong did it for the sake of the others around them.
To Heeseung though, it was obvious from the way Jongseong was gritting his teeth. The way he kept shifting his weight from one leg to the other. If it weren’t for how much pain Jongseong was in, Heeseung could laugh at how ridiculous it was that Jongseong thought he was doing a good job at hiding it.
It was impossible (and absurd) to say that Jongseong magically woke up one day with a bad knee. Rather, it was more accurate to say that his bad knee was the result of the accumulated stress of their schedules, of having to constantly perform in every sense of the word – to be the perfect idol, to be the perfect employee. It felt like lately, they had no reprieve to be themselves. And perhaps that was the bigger burden than the physical demands of their performances. Incrementally injuring Jongseong’s knee– and, well, his pride too– in a way that seemed harmless at first but was clearly escalating in its severity.
Heeseung knew Jongseong. Even though he was soft to the ones he loved around him, he didn’t have the same leeway for himself.
Even when he was injured, he didn't allow himself the reprieve to be vulnerable, to rest or at least to ask for help from the people around him who would clearly provide it. Rather, it makes him hurt, makes him defensive–as if somehow, being injured was his own mistake and his very own personal sin.
Heeseung saw it all; how their manager had pulled Jongseong aside before the others gathered in the practice room. Heeseung didn’t hear what they discussed, and he would never eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, but he didn’t need to. He could easily tell what the manager had told Jongseong: If he could last through practice tonight, they would let him perform at tomorrow’s concert.
What the fuck kind of logic was that? Heeseung could scoff. If these people actually cared about Jongseong’s well—being, they’d force him to rest instead of taunting him with such a bargain. A bargain that clearly pushed Jongseong to his limit.
Heeseung sucked in a breath. He hated having to be angry.
He strode to the other side of the room, standing next to Jongseong, whose gaze was stubbornly fixed to the mirror, jaw tight with stress.
The air in the room rapidly became charged with tension.
Jongseong didn’t even turn to face Heeseung.
“Jongseong,” Heeseung’s voice was low, but his tone was clearly one filled with warning. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.”
Heeseung’s eyes burned holes on the side of Jongseong’s profile, who was still averting his gaze. Heeseung could feel the other members shooting worried glances at each other.
Heeseung knew that what he was doing, Jongseong perceived it as a humiliation ritual. But it was better for this perceived humiliation to happen behind closed doors rather than in front of the whole world to witness.
From the corner of his eye, Heeseung could see Sunoo beginning to sniffle, no doubt affected by Heeseung’s loud voice and harsh tone. The other members too slowly dispersed, and they exited the room, the door shutting with a noise that was surprisingly soft, giving the two of them some privacy.
Finally, Jongseong spoke. Like a wounded animal putting up a fight.
“I need to do this, hyung,” he gritted out.
Heeseung put one hand on the handrail in front of them, leaning in closer towards Jongseong’s downcast profile.
“You really do think of yourself as some fucking rockstar, huh?” Heeseung didn’t spit out the words. Even though it was just the two of them in that room, he spoke in a low yet pointed tone.
Heeseung knew there was nothing he could say that could weaken Jongseong’s defenses and change his mind. But he also knew no true friend could sleep at night without speaking up for the good of the person they loved.
“You already know this, but rock stars die young, Jongseong. I don’t want to just stand by here and witness your body deteriorating right in front of my fucking eyes and do nothing about it.”
No response.
The time was ticking. Heeseung also knew in the back of his mind he couldn’t delay practice for the good of the other members; so they could all rest .
Still, no response from Jongseong. He just stared straight ahead, and from where Heeseung stood, he could barely perceive the slight tremor in Jongseong’s jaw.
What Heeseung saw in that moment was not the picture of strength–rather, he saw the Jongseong that he knew from 8 years ago– the same Jongseong with his childish stubbornness, barrelling against life as if he could get what he wanted with sheer brute force.
Fine, Heeseung decided. If it's a dramatic exit that Jongseong wanted, then a dramatic exit he would get then.
Slowly, Heeseung retracted himself from beside Jongseong. He opened the door, signaling to the others that they could come in and start practicing.
They were approaching the second chorus of that song–whatever song it was, Heeseung couldn’t even remember in retrospect. All he remembered was the image he saw through the mirror of Jongseong collapsing, his palms covering his knee, his face contorted in pain.
* * *
It wasn’t like Heeseung didn’t know that he was all sorts of fucked up either. He barely gets any sleep (‘ Heeseung hyung needs 3 days to sleep the same amount as we all do in a night’–as Jungwon would put it ), and despite their already inhumanely packed schedule, he insists on cramming in some time for his own project, making use of pockets of time here and there to write his own songs, put in the work for his own mixtape.
He knew that was what Jongseong hated the most about this entire situation: if Heeseung, if the other members could survive the concerts, the grueling schedule, still be able to partake and bask in the momentous occasion, the euphoria despite it all– why couldn’t he ? Does that make Jongseong weaker than the others; does that make him a burden to the group, a disappointment to the fans?
The only choices left were these two: to let Jongseong believe that he was weak and spare his health. Or to let Jongseong be stubborn at the cost of his life.
To Heeseung, the answer was clear; but it doesn’t make it any easier of a pill for Jongseong to swallow. When did rest ever come easy to Jongseong?
So instead, this is how they coped: instead of shaming Jongseong even further for his own stubbornness, to point out how his ego was larger than his head and could easily cost him everything, Heeseung let him live it down, even if only just for tonight.
That’s what they do when they know the other made a mistake– they don’t mention it afterwards. It was the respectful thing to do between them, the right thing.
What he did instead was this: After practice ended, and before he took the ride back to the hotel, he snuck into the practice room and fetched Jongseong’s guitar. And before he retreated to his own room for the night, he turned to the other end of the hotel hallway to knock at Jongseong’s door. He didn’t wait to be let in by the other, barging into Jongseong’s room.
Jongseong was sitting upright against the headboard of his bed, watching the television without much interest. His legs were propped high on a stack of pillows, an ice pack on his bad knee. With his bare face and his bangs fanning against his eyes, he looked like an exhausted twenty year old who got injured from playing a game of football, instead of the idol he was– Which is to say that in that moment he looked achingly human.
When Heeseung crossed the threshold and came into view, Jongseong merely glanced at him.
“I don’t really want to see your face right now, Hyung.”
The slight pout in his lips, the whining tone that Jongseong unconsciously used when he was with Heeseung– It made Heeseung chuckle. Despite the tense evening they had, they could easily find themselves back in this familiar dynamic.
“Well Jongseong, sometimes people need to do things they don’t want to,” Heeseung made himself welcome inside of Jongseong’s hotel room, plopping himself down on an armchair next to the bed.
That’s when he lifted Jongseong’s guitar case into view, setting it down on the floor in front of him and unclasping the cover, revealing the gorgeous, glossy wooden finish and the black scribbles of their signatures. “How about this guy, though? I bet you like seeing him more.”
“Yah, Hyung–” Naturally, a protest escaped Jongseong’s lips the moment he saw his precious guitar in a place where it shouldn’t be. “Who said you could touch that and bring it here?” But his protest held no real heat, both because of his injured state and that he could never be truly angry at Heeseung.
Heeseung just shrugged. He wanted to make a show of taking out the guitar from its case, wanted to tease Jongseong by making it seem like he was dropping his precious guitar, but he had mercy for Jongseong and his bad knee. “I thought signing my name on it meant I got the rights for it.”
Heeseung strummed it to test it out first. He turned the knobs until it was tuned to his liking. Then handed it to Jongsoeng, who had been watching him from the bed with a look that was somehow a mix of both resignation and amusement.
“Go ahead,” Heeseung said, placing the guitar on Jongseong’s lap. “You have a bad knee, not a bad wrist, right?”
Jongseong didn’t immediately acquiesce, his arms still limp by his sides. Heeseung wished Jongseong wasn’t injured so he could push Jongseong more and tease him relentlessly.
“Come on. I know you want to,” Heeseung wiggled his eyebrows, and he knew Jongseong hated it even more when he teased him like a child like that. “Unless it’s your spirit that’s been irreparably damaged.”
Jongseong scoffed. But judging by the way his mouth finally quirked up to form a small yet pleased smirk and how his eyes began to sparkle with tentative excitement, as if trying and failing to hide how endeared he was by Heeseung’s antics– then Heeseung had done the right thing.
And so Heeseung let Jongseong strum whatever melody, whatever song he wanted. He would be there to accompany him, to sing right beside him. Jongseong might miss out on tomorrow’s performance, but here, in their own little world, they were their own little performance and audience.
It was a reminder that music still existed in its spontaneous, creative, joyous form. That music did not always have to equate to grueling work, to injuries, of not having room to breathe both literally and metaphorically.
This was proof that there was still a world beyond the confines of their lives and expectations as idols, if they sought it out.
Sleep didn’t come easily to Heeseung anyway. Even though it was well past midnight already, he’d rather be here beside Jongseong rather than let Jongseong drown in his own thoughts.
They were each other's family. Family meant to be stubborn and to show the ugliest parts of yourself to the other person, to say unkind things to them and never bring it up again.
But to be family also meant to be soft. Soft, however, was not weak. To be soft was to finally let your guard down, even if you could only do so in the presence of the one, sole person that you trusted.
And if Heeseung was not that person to Jay, then he didn’t know who was.
And to be harsh on Jongseong, to yell at him, to humiliate him, to put on a show like he did that evening–sure, Heeseung could say it was the only way for Jongseong to actually listen to him through the fog of his distorted mind.
But in some ways, Heeseung did it out of his own self-interest too. Because there was no way for him to survive all of this without Jongseong there beside him.
What would he do if he had to do this without Jongseong? None of Jongseong’s antics and dry humor to laugh at. No one who nagged at him for touching his expensive collection of guitars. No one to share late night talks with while gazing at the night view of their dorm, no matter how bleak and boring it actually was. No one who knew him like one knew a lifetime friend– whose name you casually mention to your own parents and they wouldn’t bat an eye; that friend that somehow made it to your childhood vacation photos with your family.
The left hand without the right hand. Or the right hand without the left—whichever works, because they were equal. Like trying to steer a bicycle with just one handle.
And that’s how they coped. They had each other, no matter how imperfect they were.