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Two hours and twenty-eight minutes.
That's the exact amount of sleep Jisung got last night, which he knows because the last Tik Tok he’d sent to Felix before finally passing out was at 2:37 am. Either way, it’s still his responsibility to get up and get ready. It’s his responsibility just to make it through the day. He can do that–he’s done it so many times before. All he has to do is trudge through today, and then he can get back in bed. He looks over at it, warm and enticing, and he swears he can hear it calling for him. “Jisuuuuung,” it says.
Even if he did have more time to lay in bed, he doubted it would do him any good. The majority of his night was spent tossing and turning, body and eyes beyond exhausted but mind alight and heart racing from anxiety. Anxiety from what exactly, he couldn't tell you. A million things. Not a single thing. Who knows. He pouts and looks away.
Today’s schedule is the usual: dance practice, English lessons, and working on songs. Schedules usually last 8-10 hours, though with the deadline for the next title track coming up, he figures they’ll be at the studio much, much later than that. He’s not sure if he can handle it, but he can’t keep dipping out of writing sessions. He can’t keep letting his Hyungs down. He can’t keep being lazy. He can’t keep being the disappointment of 3RACHA.
“Ouch. That one kinda stung, ” he thinks to himself with a sad, dismissive chuckle. Tears threaten to make an appearance at the thought. He sniffles just a bit and shakes his head. That’s not important right now. What’s important is getting out of his room before one of his roommates checks to see if he’s actually out of bed yet, and he doesn’t want eyes on him right now. He can’t let anyone see him in his anxious state. He needs to calm down before things get worse.
He walks over to his mirror and looks himself in the eyes.
“Chill out, Jisung. You can do this.”
He fixes himself with a determined glare and repeats the phrase over and over…but his hands don’t feel any less jittery, and his chest doesn’t feel any less tight. He frustratedly runs his hand through his hair.
“ Calm. Down,” he tries again. It’s not working. He’s not calming down. Felix said positive affirmations were meant to help, but he still feels just as much dread and just as on edge. Why? What is wrong with him? Dumb. Worthless. Stupi–
Knock, knock, knock.
“Sung-ah, you in there? We leave in five. Let’s get rocking and rolling,” Chan yells from outside the door, effectively spooking Jisung out of his daze. They leave in five? But he had at least twenty minutes to get ready, though. He made sure of it so that he wouldn’t be scrambling out of the door at the last second. He looks at this phone, and sure enough, they do leave in five. He has no clue how he let time get away from him like that, but he just files it away in the very long list of reasons he has to be less-than-happy with himself. He sighs as he throws on some baseball cap to hide his messy bedhead. He looks in the mirror again. Thankfully, what he wore to bed last night looks enough like dance clothes. Now he’s just gotta brush his teeth, put on some deodorant, and he’ll be ready. He heads towards his door but pauses.
“…did Chan just say ‘rocking and rolling’?”
-
He was sure the car’s current atmosphere could be traced back to him in some way.
The car ride over felt too silent. It’s silent most mornings, sure, but today just didn’t feel right to Jisung. They were all staring at their phones a little too somberly. He sensed some kind of weird tension in the air; someone must have been mad. Or was he just making that up? Either way, he couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault. Maybe it was because he was almost late. Yes. That’s it. They were upset with him. Chan was upset for having to check up on him for probably the thousandth time this month. The silence that hung in the air was because of him. His leg bounces, and he shifts in his seat uncomfortably. Yeah. It’s definitely his fault. Damn it.
He feels a hand make contact with his restless leg and immediately stills.
“Sorry,” he replied automatically. Chan smiles a soft and fond smile.
“Everything alright?”
Jisung doesn’t dare take a peek up at him. His eyes stay on the floorboards. He gives a nervous “mhm” and takes out his phone to scroll through.
Chan hums in acknowledgement. His eyes linger on Jisung for a moment, thinking. He’ll let it drop for now.
-
Crack. Pop. Craaack.
“ Ugh…” Chan groans out as a cascade of crunchy noises leave his joints.
“You really are getting old, Hyung,” Seungmin smugly deadpans from his place on the floor before casually going back to his stretches. Chan’s face drops, and he makes a playful grab at the younger, only for him to duck and bear his teeth to growl.
“Don’t growl at me!”
Hyunjin bursts out in laughter. “But you are getting old, Hyung. This morning he told me to ‘bust a move’.”
The boys chuckle, and Chan rolls his eyes.
“This morning he told me to get ‘rocking and rolling’,” Jisung joins in from the floor, prompting even more uproar from the boys.
“Yah! Someone has to be responsible around here,” Chan shouts, fondly exasperated. Hyunjin and Seungmin break out into another giggle fit. Jisung looks down, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips that nobody seems to notice. Someone has to be responsible around here? Did Chan mean anything by that? Was Jisung being too lazy? He certainly didn’t mean to; he just–
“Yah,” Minho starts, making some members jump a little. “Let's actually get started dancing, yeah?” He shuts down everyone’s happy moment, and Jisung instantly feels guilty over starting the outburst to begin with. Minho seems to be in a bit of a mood, and by the unmistakable looks on everyone else’s face, there’s no way it’s just in his head this time. Jisung drags himself up and falls into position.
“Everyone ready?” Minho asks, finger on the speaker’s play button. After a collective groan that sounded something similar enough to “yes,” he hits play, and the track starts.
Jisung’s body moves on instinct, muscle memory taking over his consciousness. For a brief moment, he’s able to shake off all the icky feelings and anxiety. This is something he can do. Something he’s good at—shutting off his mind and letting his body carry out everything he’s trained for...until the end of the first chorus when he slides into the wrong position and collides directly into Jeongin, causing a full-on crash that jolts him back to reality.
The ka-bump that sounds from their skulls knocking is visceral, and they both go sprawling on the ground. Collective “man, that’s gotta hurt” noises fill the room, and Jisung massages his head where it hurts the most. Yeah. That’s gonna leave a bruise.
“Yo, that was a nasty fall. You good?” Hyunjin asks as he helps Jisung up. Jisung sways a little bit from getting up too fast, but that could also just be from the lack of sleep. Poor Jeongin looks in slightly worse shape right now, seemingly refusing to get up from the ground when Felix offers him a hand up.
“Yeah, I’m good,” he says absent-mindedly, currently more concerned with making sure his maknae is fine. Felix, Chan, and Minho are all surrounding him now, and he can’t read whether or not this is an actual emergency or if Jeongin is just playing. His breaths become shallow.
“I.N-ah?” Jisung asks, moving Chan out of the way to get a better view.
“Ouch, Hyung,” Jeongin mutters. Phew, okay, he’s fine, Jisung determines. That still doesn’t stop the pang of guilt that lingers from causing his maknae pain. What if he had actually hurt him? What if he had sprained his wrist or ankle because of him? What if that had kept him from practicing? Or, even worse, not be able to perform in the comeback?
Jisung almost can’t even help it when his fingers find themselves against his teeth, picking and chewing at his nails or skin or anything else he can peel away. His leg bounces, and he feels the weird and iron-y taste of blood on his tongue. Oops. Chan is definitely going to scold him for that. Not even because he has to have pretty and non-bloody fingers as an idol, but because only a couple of days ago did Jisung promise to him to quit this nervous habit. Shit. He can’t even keep a simple promise, can he?
Useless.
The thought echoes in his head. It’s true. This entire morning, all he’s been is useless. Utterly useless.
His breath starts to quicken.
Stupid.
He feels so far away.
Worthless.
Something isn’t right.
Pathetic.
He’s not right.
Failure.
He–he doesn’t even know–can’t think. Uselessuselessuseless. Nogoodnogoodnogood. He can’t stand up anymore. He needs something to hold on to, please. Ouch. He fell. Something hurts. His knees hurt. There are hands on him. There shouldn’t be hands on him. It feels bad and wrong–can’t think. Get these hands away. He flails. Shit–he might’ve just hit someone. His throat is tight, and his head feels woozy. Throat hurts. He needs oxygen. Someone is speaking to him.
“---sung. Please, brea—”
He can’t hear them over his own thoughts—or is it his own breathing? He can’t even tell.
Breathing….yeah. He needs to breathe.
“You’re okay, you’re okay, just listen to me. Listen to me, okay? Breathe, baby. Please, just breathe. In and out, in and out,” a voice says.
Right. Okay. He can do that. He breathes like the voice says to. In, then out. In, then out. Maybe it’s still incredibly labored, and maybe his head still feels woozy, but he’s trying and he’s doing good . Or, at least, that’s what the voice is telling him.
“Good job, baby. Good job. Just like that, keep going. Perfect,” the voice encourages.
Except it’s not perfect. He’s not perfect. Nothing he ever does will be perfect. His breathing starts to quicken again, backsliding.
“Hey, hey, baby, it’s okay, you were doing just fine, now focus on my voice again, okay? Deep breaths, deep breaths.”
Don’t think–don’t think. Just listen. Listen and breathe. In, then out.
Slowly, the room begins to regain its color and warmth. He’s able to make out two figures surrounding him and registers strong arms wrapped around his shaking frame, trying to hold him steady. The other is kneeled nearby. Where are the rest of the members?
And who’s here with him, exactly?
“Min…?” his scratchy throat croaks out, dry and brittle from the aggressive hyperventilating. He’s still not entirely able to make out faces, but something in him knows he’s near.
“I’m here, Hannie,” a strong, soothing voice replies slightly off to the side. Jisung clings to whoever is holding him, even if it’s not Minho. The arms cling back. Jisung clings even tighter. The arms do, too.
Thoughts in his mind start to wind down, and the world begins to fully even out. He blinks a bit to clear the leftover tears. He looks up to a face smiling with tender, non-judgemental eyes that speak gentle promises to protect Jisung and keep him safe from anything in this world that may dare to hurt him. The eyes of a true leader.
“Hyung–” Jisung starts, but quickly cuts himself off, not even sure how to verbalize his thoughts–not even sure if he has any thoughts right now. Chan brushes the mussed-up hair from his face and patiently waits for him to continue. In the end, he decides he doesn’t have anything to share and just shakes his head. Minho takes this as a sign to move closer to gently thread his fingers into Jisung’s while his other hand makes its way into his hair to gently scratch at his scalp. His eyes close again, but this time in relaxation.
“Jisung,” Minho begins, “what’s going on?”
“Mm…nothing right now except a bomb-ass head massage,” he states, very much enjoying Minho’s ministrations and very much not wanting to talk about what happened.
“Sung,” Chan says with the slightest bit of warning in his voice.
“Fine,” Jisung clears his throat and sits himself up in Chan’s arms. Minho drops his hand from Jisung’s head so he can readjust, and he frowns at the loss of contact. The three of them sit there for a beat while he collects his thoughts. He takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the apology speech he’s about to give.
“I’m sorry, hyungs. I’m sorry for ruining practice and for…causing a scene. I should’ve known earlier in the day that this was going to happen, I just–”
“Hannie, baby, it’s okay,” Minho cuts him off, “you didn’t do anything wrong. End of story. Got it?”
“Mm...I think what Min means to say is that there’s no reason to apologize, Sung,” Chan clarifies, ever the good cop to Minho’s bad cop.
Jisung nods and takes a deep breath in, trying his best to accept his hyungs’ words the best he can. And while Minho may not seem to be the most comforting person in these types of situations with his bluntness and all, it’s his straightforward nature that Jisunng needs and craves in these moments. He needs someone to bluntly tell him what’s true and what’s not - goodness knows his brain is too foggy right now to be able to distinguish reality from the lies his anxiety tells himself.
“Nothing…wrong?” he asks, just to make doubly sure.
“That’s right,” Chan says sweetly, “nothing wrong.”
Jisung nods his head, though he still has his doubts.
“Now, that does still leave the question unanswered. What’s wrong, baby?” Chan asks.
“Mm…” Jisung fiddles with his fingers, “I–I don’t really know. I just didn’t get much sleep last night, and I didn’t mean to, but I’ve been annoying people all day. I keep messing up, and, uh… yeah. All of that at once, I guess.”
Chan and Minho both exchange a glance, their eyes soft with compassion. They look at Jisung with a tenderness that speaks volumes–in no way would their Hannie ever be annoying to them.
“Han Jisung,” Minho starts, ”the last thing you are to us is any kind of annoyance or burden.”
“I just thought that ‘cuz you were kind of upset this morning that it was because of me.”
Minho’s eyes widen in surprise. “Ah–uh, no, Hannie. I’m sorry, I was just…being too harsh. Just wanted us to give it our all, I guess. Nothing to do with you. Promise.” Minho stumbles around his apology.
“You’re allowed to have bad days,” Chan says, glancing meaningfully at Min, “We all have them. But we care about you so, so much, and we want to know when you’re not feeling good so we can help you, yeah?”
Jisung nods, his voice now soft. “Yeah, I can do that.” He nestles into Chan’s arms, feeling his warmth and comfort melt his anxious thoughts away.
Chan smiles and gives him one last huge bear-hug squeeze that almost knocks the breath right out of him all over again.
“YAH! Lemme go, Chris,” Jisung exclaims in English, and he wriggles around, stuck in Chan’s hug-trap. Minho bursts out laughing and clapping. Chan rolls his eyes, just happy to see his kids happy and smiling again.
“Never,” Chan quips, rocking them both back and forth dramatically. So dramatically, in fact, that he rocks close enough to Minho to grab him by surprise, pulling him into the hug. Minho immediately stops laughing, going limp in Chan’s arms. If it had been any other day, Bang Chan would be dead, but Minho lets himself be pulled into the hug. (Jisung always makes him soft.)
Jisung smiles, feeling loved and relaxed from his hyungs’ closeness—even though one of them is clearly an unwilling participant.
“I love you, Hyungs.”
“I love you, too.”
“Love you, too.”