Chapter Text
May 12th, 2017. ??? KST.
content warning(s): eating disorders/ starvation (orthorexia and bulimia nervosa), implied/references to sexual assault, implied/referenced stalking
He doesn’t remember anything after the surgery. Granted, being on five different painkillers would make it difficult for anyone to recall much. Faintly, he hears Na Yujin consulting with the doctor, questioning his recovery time and when he’ll be able to debut with the rest of his group. His mother, either silent on the matter or not having shown up at all, is no surprise to him—figures. He can’t remember if he calls out for her, mutters to himself, or simply moves his head, but upon realizing he’s awake, her conversation quickly quiets. The sound of her heels approaching his bed is deafening, causing his hand to shakily cover his ear. His palm rests on his cheek, and the lack of baby fat causes him to whine and toss his arm back onto the bed. “Yul-ah!” she smiles, her voice grating as Yul covers his ears again before jerking his arm back down. She raises a brow at his reaction, grimacing as she studies his face. Leaning closer to the bed, she reaches to cup his face. Yul winces as her nails seem to sink into his swollen cheeks, squeezing harder as he tries to break contact. “You’re going to hurt yourself, Yul,” she teases, lifting his head as she runs a finger over his sharper, more refined nose. “Your nose doesn’t complement your face as much as I thought.” Mumbling, she pulls him by the jaw to examine the sides of his face, particularly his jawline. Yul squints, sputtering as he pushes her hands away.
“I think you’re hurting me,” he says. It doesn’t feel like earlier, when she was pinching his face or tugging his hair while pointing out the smallest flaws. From how his eyebrows appeared just slightly uneven to suggesting he undergo skin-bleaching treatments, which she had thankfully noted as unnecessary. Groaning, he pushes her hands away again. Yujin complains about his constant resistance. “You shouldn’t be able to feel this,” her tone hardens as she turns back to the doctor, who seems uninterested in their exchange, his fingers rhythmically tapping the back of his clipboard. “I should tell the doctor to raise your dose… and fix that swelling,” she points to his cheek before sauntering away in the same fashion of which she entered.
ノ
He doesn’t know what time it is, whether he’s been awake for ten hours or ten minutes. All he remembers is his mother constantly playing with her hair, running her fingers through each lock as if to untangle her perfectly straightened strands. He can’t make out what she was mumbling, probably asking about post-surgery or how much debt this will put her and his father in. For once, he’s glad Minsuk isn’t here. His studies seem much more interesting than watching his fifteen-year-old brother go under anesthesia while his manager speaks for him. He knows he won’t feel any better now than when he returns to his fellow trainees. He knows how much younger he is than his peers, and he’s sure they know too—seventeen, pushing eighteen, or even nineteen in some cases. Yujin, his mother, and his few direct interactions with his father all assure him of his youth, but he’s convinced he was placed with older idols because he’s one of the few boys his age focused more on dancing than singing or visuals.
ノ
At this point, he’s convinced his mother and Yujin have a history that goes beyond Yul’s management. For all his gripes with his mother, at least he had some respect for her unyielding nature—keyword: had. Not that he had a healthy or positive view of Yujin before; he always saw her as a recurring gag character, only appearing for publicity meetings or the occasional home visit to check how he was cooperating with the other trainees. After being signed, though, he noticed how she became more open toward him, while his mother simultaneously grew more passive. Touching his arms after practice, complimenting how handsome he had gotten—small things. But he thinks about her mannerisms so often now that he can’t tell if he’s overthinking or if her actions are more calculated.
ノ
He told his mother about thinking of Yujin before falling asleep and after waking up. As usual, she dismissed him, accusing him of having a crush on her. If anything, he assumed it was the other way around. He could barely stand the woman, let alone develop a crush on her. Every word from Yujin was now a compliment laced with criticism or another jab about how he was maturing like the other boys in his group. He fought the urge to glare at her, biting the inside of his cheek to repress any comments when she insisted on him calling her pet names like “unnie” or other cutesy terms of endearment. He wouldn’t even call her “noona”; he had no respect for her, only the obligation to appear respectful. His frustration wore thin whenever he was around her. She acted like a spoiled child, refusing to respond to anything outside of “Banjjak, Banjjak,” or “Unnie.” He found her almost suffocating, feeling like he needed to cling to her for even the simplest things. Some nights, he couldn’t sleep, paranoid that James or, God forbid, Aiden had heard him crying for thirty minutes, going quiet for ten, then crying again.
Part of him is ashamed—ashamed that she has known him for so long, and yet, the brief moment he expressed discomfort toward her childlike behavior, she refused to speak with him for a week until he apologized. Whether in Korea or abroad, he feels like he can’t function without her management, and he hates it. He can speak English well, or at least better than his peers, but when a fan asks him to, he finds himself unable to until Yujin coaxes a few words out of him. Sometimes, he blames himself for not talking to even Minsuk. He hopes his brother would understand, or at least fake sympathy, but he never bothers to ask. It’s no surprise that now he’s staying in an apartment thousands of miles from Incheon, in a beautiful place with someone who pities him and a boyfriend who can’t stand him.
ノ
In James’ apartment, his days follow the same cycle: wake up, lie in bed staring at the ceiling for a good ten minutes, scroll on his phone for who knows how long, get water, and have a passive-aggressive interaction with Aiden before lying on the sofa and scrolling some more. Sometimes, he likes the uninterrupted routine. It’s similar to what life was like after filming the second season, when he had to return home. Now, he’s coping with the loss of one of his only positive qualities—his looks—and his dwindling sponsors after losing his second management. It’s stressful, worrying about what and how to eat or whether he’ll run into a crazed fan, instead of lounging around with Korea’s finest, performing at sold-out shows, and avoiding his parents’ phone calls. Well, scratch that last one—he’s always worried the unknown number is a scammer or his mother calling again. He usually ignores them. He can’t remember the last time he spoke to any family members, except for the occasional “Merry Christmas” or “Happy birthday” voicemails, which remain one-sided and unanswered. When James enters the room, he doesn’t feel forced to have a conversation. He feels like he can be a smaller version of himself. His facade remains, though, and James can see through it, making their conversations more genuine. They talk about anything, though he avoids family or Yujin. But James notices how he tenses when his first manager comes up—the woman who was all he had left, besides Grett. They talk about pop culture, K-pop drama, and influencers. Sometimes he thinks about Grett—usually, how much of a bitch she was for ruining his face. But sometimes, he wonders why they started dating in the first place. He never had affection for her, just tolerance. If asked if he loved her, he could have said yes, even if it was choreographed. But she doesn’t matter anymore. James isn’t his girlfriend, but he feels a closer bond with him than he ever did with Grett, even if their relationship was supposedly loving.
He doesn’t hope to reconnect with her. Unless he’s dying and writing a will, he doubts they’ll ever speak again. It’s more in character for her to send a thinly veiled plea or threat through a letter or an associate. He’s read one letter, the last one before his email asking him to return for All-Stars. He couldn’t finish it before throwing up. It had her, his mother, and even his father asking to speak, claiming remorse for their unhealthy relationships and the ways they hurt each other. Mutually? What was mutual about being sexually harassed and groped by someone twice his age while his mother turned a blind eye? He should throw the letter away, but he can’t. He brought it with him when he boarded the plane for All-Stars and when he arrived at the apartment. He hates that he still has it, but he can’t part with it. He snaps out of his thoughts when there’s a faint knock at the guest room door—it’s James. He looks up, feeling a mix of disappointment, fear, and anger. Questioning why there’s mail direction to him. Fuck.