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There was something about being the youngest, someone naturally more immature, that seemed to make people think Jooyeon didn’t care.
In truth, he did care. He cared a lot.
He cared about the people around him, both those he was close with and those he barely knew. He cared about the people he had yet to meet, the ones who sat off to the side and the ones who stepped easily into the spotlight.
He cared about right and wrong. He lived by morals, rules so deep and personal that he couldn’t imagine breaking any of them. He believed in respecting others, acknowledging every person’s value and treating them as human.
In the end, everyone is human, he had realised a long time ago.
Straight or gay; cis or trans; kind or cruel. No matter what your gender, your skin colour, your personality, you were human beneath it all.
That’s why he was confused when he saw others treating people as different. No one’s experience on this planet should be undervalued or dismissed, especially not those of minorities.
At the same time, he supposed there was a line where people who committed acts such a murder or rape should, maybe not be fully dismissed, but disregarded. They should be pushed away and complete a proper punishment for what they had done.
Morality ran both ways, dictating the way Jooyeon acted in both goodness and evilness. It would be silly to say he could not be evil. Everything is duel, and so while he does his best to be good, he could never eradicate the evil even if he tried.
Jooyeon was never religious, nor did he believe in any sort of higher power or god, but he did find comfort in certain religious teachings. Tucked away in the drawer of his bed side table sat a translated copy of the Tao Te Ching, a significant book that helped form the foundation of Taoism.
The book was beautifully written, the words each catching on something deep within Jooyeon’s soul, calming him in a way he couldn’t quite describe in words.
If a higher power did exist, he didn’t believe it would be an all-powerful god like most of his bandmates and friends did. Jooyeon decided he could believe it if you told him that the Earth itself was alive. The ache and swirl of the nature around him as he stood amongst it; the way it emanated power and made him let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.
Reality was a broken mirror, one that had shattered a millennia ago and someone had attempted to fix, placing all of the pieces back in the wrong places. Now the reflection looked all wonky, thick lines tracing each mismatched shard.
The blood had stopped circulating in Jooyeon’s left arm where it was settled beneath his head. He stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom, the smooth white shadowed and distant. Even if he reached up as far as he could, he wouldn’t be able to touch it from here.
He remembered the bunk beds the band had used to share, the way he would trace the springs above him, his fingers brushing against the metal and fabric. He remembered the way the whole bed creaked whenever his roommate moved or repositioned. It was a strange comfort, the weight of someone else’s presence, one that he never imagined missing.
Now he was here alone. And while that wasn’t his least favourite thing in the world, Jooyeon didn’t particularly love the silence pressing in on him from every direction. Usually he had music playing, something to fill the space, but he had turned it off a little while ago before going to sleep.
The arm behind his head twitched, the sudden tingle of pain almost startling him. He raised his head carefully, wincing as he shifted his arm off the pillow. The skin felt raw, the inside hollow as it stung, filling slowly back up with blood.
Jooyeon raised his arm in the air, careful not to move any of his fingers, even the smallest twitch burning uncomfortably. He let the height of his limb work to pump the blood back into it.
Sometimes he wondered what fans thought he did in his spare time. Did they imagine he spent all of his time playing video games? Or did they picture him practicing the bass? Or perhaps humming to himself as he jotted down a new lyric?
Jooyeon supposed none of those thoughts were exactly wrong, but he also wasn’t sure if any of them were what he would say he did. The members would agree with the fans, claiming those three were all Jooyeon seemed to do.
In truth, he spent the most time thinking. Between levels of games; as he plucked absent-mindedly at the strings of his bass; after every new lyric he came up with.
Jooyeon was the type of person who could get lost in his own mind if he wandered too far. He never really told anyone about that, letting himself appear much more two dimensional than that. He decided it was easier to look like someone silly and easygoing than someone who liked to consider the meaning of life at 3 pm on a Tuesday.
He wrote lyrics considering situations that appeared only theoretical, ones others often raised eyebrows at. He let his mind stray to topics others veered away from. What happens after death? What is the point of existence? Why do we care so deeply about our friends and family? Who was the first to think about these same questions?
He stared up at his arm, watching the way it just stood out against the roof, like some kind of obelisk, dark through the night’s shadows. His fingers twitched, the tingling beginning to fade and the ease of mobility returning to him.
The path of reality is so shrouded in mystery that no one can predict it. He is lying comfortably in bed right now, but tomorrow he could be in hospital. Everything is so fragile and unknown.
‘Each day is its own day’, he had heard someone say once. ‘Focus on each one individually. If yesterday was bad, tomorrow is a clean slate. If you had something yesterday, you don’t know what might happen to it tomorrow.’
That single thought was one he contemplated a lot, one that stuck with him throughout his days. Jooyeon lived a single day at a time, doing his best in the moment and living without worry or regret. It was difficult, but it was something he always made sure to work hard on.
‘A good traveller has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.’ That was a quote that Jooyeon read in the Tao Te Ching a while ago.
His eyes fell closed, the darkness properly closing in now. He flexed his arm a few times before he properly lowered it. The blur of exhaustion had begun to plaster itself across his chest, bleeding through into his thoughts.
There was something about being the youngest, someone naturally more immature, that seemed to make people think Jooyeon didn’t care.
In truth, he did care. He cared a lot.