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Sometimes, he just wanted to sit in the corner of the room with his hands over his ears, his eyes shut, and completely disappear.
It didn't happen very often. He was usually good at recognising his triggers. Good at realising when a shutdown was coming. When he needed to isolate. Good at deflecting enough that others would almost forget he existed and move on so that he could manage himself. Could reset himself. Almost like one would reset a lagging video or game when the circle of doom would just go on for that moment too long. Usually, he could feel it building — feel his software glitching and his hardware overheating.
But sometimes, it just happened.
He had no control when it did. Suddenly, the world would tunnel around him and words he once lived and breathed would start to distort into a foreign language that he had no depth in. Korean transmuting into garbled English; syllables and consonants tripped over each other haphazardly in the white noise of his brain. Faces he would seek comfort in would disintegrate into pixelated blurs as eyes once filled with warmth and love would become all-consuming black holes in the deepest, darkest corners of space. When he floated in a void full of static with even his own skin pulling tightly over his bones; suffocating and dense. When the clothes he knew he was wearing weighed him down and grated across his skin like millions of blades being sharpened over whetstone again and again and again and a—
And then sometimes, he might feel the slightest bit of pressure.
Not the bad kind of pressure. Not the kind that squeezed his insides and twisted his organs. Not the kind that pushed all of the air from his undoubtedly shriveled lungs. Not the kind that settled as weight across his diaphragm or against his temples. No. This was the kind of pressure that tried to be sturdy. Grounding. Good. This was a light type of pressure. The type where it held onto him just tightly enough that he might not float away into oblivion to never be found again. The type that pressed softly, yet firmly, on top of his upper thigh; squeezing one, two, three times before pausing.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Pause.
Squeeze. One. Two Three.
Pause.
Squeeze. One. Two. Th—
"—Hyung,"
The squeezing stopped.
A whispered distortion fractured the static, "we've turned—and we're going to—we're not—"
The squeezing stopped.
A loud humming reached his ears; different from the static. Different from the distortion. This was clearer. Louder. Almost grating. The sound fluctuating in pitch. Disjointed. Chaotic. Uncontrolled. A fragmented message that held no clarity, no true intention. A message that failed to translate into any semblance of anything remotely communicable. But somehow, some way, completely understood,
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Pause.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Pause.
Again, and again and again and again.
Slowly, the humming disappeared. Slowly, the band around his diaphragm and his internal organs started to loosen. Slowly, the fabric of his leather jacket felt less like sharpened blades. Less like a vice that ensconced him in a prison of his own flesh. Slowly the dark, wide reaches of space started to narrow into columns of ambient light. Neutral, shadowed shades of browns, beiges, and burnt gold welcoming him as the pixelated and blurred faces of his most trusted people became clearer and clearer.
First, he noticed Jimin. The blond kneeling directly in front of him; dark eyes never deviating from his face. The man's full lips were pursed tightly in what seemed to be concern as his lower lip was tugged inward by worrying teeth. Jimin's hand continued the repetitive squeezing motions on his upper thigh; tethering him in place so that he could not float away from them once more.
Then he noticed Jeongguk, the effervescent golden maknae who always found himself glued to his side. Unlike Jimin, he was not looking at him. Instead he was looking somewhere distantly in front of him. The pillow he was fiddling with during the entire Live squished and balled into his tight fists. He would almost think that Jeongguk wasn't even aware of what was going on himself if it weren't for the additional pressure from the strong lines of Jeongguk's side and back pressing against him arm and breathing in slow, exaggerated breaths. His own breath mimicking the motions he didn't even realise that he had needed.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Breathe.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Breathe.
Next, he noticed Yoongi. The silent guardian. The protector. The small, but mighty wall that stood between what should and shouldn't be witnessed. Yoongi had only slid further down the couch, near enough to be of help if needed, but distant enough not to overcrowd. Of any of them, it would be Yoongi who was most familiar with these moments where things just go too much. Times where Yoongi would get home late from the Studio, overstimulated and overtired, to see him pushed up against the corner of their shared room between his desk and his plushies. Barricading himself on all sides with his headphones on, his game in his hand and completely fallen into a world of his own making. Times where Yoongi would find his own little corner, and turn music on for them to get lost in together.
Moments like now as he recognised the soft tones of Arirang, their hard work, building a bubble around the room. Creating splashes of soft colour in a palette of sepia-toned listlessness.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Breathe.
Somewhere on the fringes of his perception, he noticed Hoseok and Namjoon. The contrasting energies of purposeful chaos who wanted to help, but did not always know how. Never truly knowing what was too much and what was too little. Never truly understanding that they were exactly what he needed from time to time, so would unintentionally keep their distance. He felt the muscles in his neck spasm; his head jerking slightly to the left as words he so desperately wanted to say remained lodged in his throat. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as frustration welled inside his chest; platitudes eternally trapped in a cavernous hole he did not have the means of accessing.
Squeeze. One. Two. Thr—
A whimper slipped passed his lips; raw and uncontrolled.
A noise that would elicit so much embarrassment had it been overheard by anyone else.
A sound that would mean absolutely nothing to an average person, but spoke multitudes to those who knew him.
A soothing whisper brushed against his ears; soft breath glancing off his skin as he noticed Taehyung hovering next to his head on the couch. His forearms resting tentatively on the headrest next to his head as the fingers of his closest hand brushed barely non-existent touches underneath his jaw and chin. The wisps of his dark hair ghosting the top of his cheekbone as he hovered close enough to reassure his presence while also staying far enough away to not infringe on his space.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Breathe.
Seokjin hummed under his breath; controlled and distinct. His head lolled on his neck and pressed against Taehyung's cheek softly. Purposefully. Taehyung gently nudged back comfortingly. After a moment, he pulled his head away, but kept his fingers moving against his jaw and chin soothingly.
"No," Seokjin swallowed thickly; his voice sticking like syrup in his vocal chords, "No kiss'ng Tae-yah."
Taehyung's movements paused for a moment before a chuckle escaped from his throat; deep, and warm and real.
"Don't worry hyung, no kissing. At least not where everyone can see."
Jimin's own soft twitter filtered in through his ears,
"You literally tried kissing him in the filmed documentary for the entire world to see."
Seokjin felt the corner of his lips tilt up at the teasing exchange that started to accumulate between the members of the 95 line. Their voices layering over and around each other melodiously as they bantered back and forth. He turned his head slightly to see that Jeongguk was now looking at him instead of looking straight ahead. His large doe eyes cataloging his every move. Seokjin raised a sluggish hand and pressed against the maknae's closest thigh; dragging his crooked fingers along the seams of his dark wash jeans. Jeongguk's lower lip protruded slightly, his silver lip ring glinting in the lowered lights, as his dark eyes continued to watch Seokjin without making any direct eye contact; his fingers moving restlessly over the pillow in his lap.
"Are you okay hyung?"
Seokjin hums again, his vocals still syrupy thick. Instead he pinched the side of Jeongguk's thigh causing a loud squawk and giggle to tear out of the maknae's throat as he swatted at him lightly. Seokjin smiled softly as he slid down the couch and rested his head on Jeongguk's broad shoulder. His sense of touch so far removed from mere hours before when everything burned. He blew a raspberry into the younger vocalist's ear and continued to poke at his side playfully until he released the pillow on his lap and poked him gently back. Seokjin smiled softly at his partner in crime, but he could still sense an element of worry and apprehension from him. Seokjin swallowed thickly and tried to speak around the clog in his throat.
"I'm 'kay 'guk," He murmured, "tired."
Jeongguk hummed in return; his vocal up-ticking slightly in understanding as his leg started to bounce repeatedly against the floor. The tap, tap, tap, tapping of the heel of his shoe against the hardwood joining the ambiance being created by the soothing sounds of the repeating Arirang album still circulating around the studio. Seokjin nudged the maknae gently and found his eyes meeting the bottom of his chin.
"Don't wait around for hyung, Guk-ah," Seokjin butted his head lightly against the bottom of his jaw, "Energy, energy, energy."
Seokjin felt his pout rather than heard it,
"But hyung—"
"Hyungie will be okay," Yoongi's warm, but monotone voice encouraged softly, "We can see you're getting restless Kook; just go for a bit of a wander with Jimin-ah and Taehyungie. We'll leave for home when you all come back."
"To Jin-hyung's house?"
"To Namjoonie's house," Seokjin promised, "he has the comfiest couch, remember."
Jeongguk snorted in his ear as Namjoon voiced his protest obnoxiously (lamenting the future damage to his furniture and appliances) before pressing the bottom of his chin against the top of Seokjin's head. Seokjin immediately feeling the warmth and love behind the very action as Jeongguk carefully pulled away and hopped to his feet. Seokjin watched softly as Jeongguk latched onto Jimin's forearm and Taehyung's hand before pulling them both to their feet and leading them out of the room. The pair still teased each other loudly with Jeongguk shaking out his hands as he led them out of the studio. A further sense of calm immediately descended on the studio space as the restless energy was carried out with the Maknae line.
Seokjin hummed under his breath once more as he righted himself on the couch once more, no longer able to rely on either Jeongguk or Taehyung as his pillars. Instead his dark eyes landed on both Hoseok and Namjoon who had moved somewhat closer to him whilst still maintaining a distance until they were given the okay to approach. Always so mindful and always so careful they were, despite what their projected personas would often suggest. Seokjin was acutely aware of Yoongi who also lingered nearby and ready to support should another shutdown arise.
Everything was just so exhausting lately.
"Jin-hyung," Namjoon's voice paused; weighted and careful, "Are you—"
Seokjin laughed again and cut him off,
"We've already established I'm alright Joon-ah; just another day, you know?"
Silence reached his response. A heavy silence. Seokjin closed his eyes briefly and breathed in through his nose. His fingers trailed from where they were resting on Jeongguk's side of the couch to press against his own thigh. An echo of the firm squeeze that Jimin had been putting on his leg for who knows how long it actually was. He could only hope that he disappeared after the Live and not during. The last thing he ever wanted to do was worry ARMY.
Breathe.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
"Seokjin-hyung," Hoseok frowned at him worriedly; eyes sharp and serious as he seemed to examine him, "In all the years we've done this, you've not had a shutdown this severe in the middle of filming. We have a reason to be worried."
Breathe.
The last thing he ever wanted to do was worry his brothers.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Seokjin swallowed and closed his eyes; too tired to even attempt to meet their gaze,
"Hoba, it's been a long year. You know how long this year has been for us."
"You're right," Hoseok murmured gently, "It has been a long year for us, and even longer than a year for you."
Seokjin felt his eyes start to burn as a weight settled deeply into the pit of his stomach. Pins and needles started to dance across the surface of his skin and in his veins. He pressed his fingers even deeper into his thighs. Tried harder and harder to replicate the pressure that Jimin had given him in an effort to ground him. But as always, when given by himself, it was just a little lacking. He was suddenly becoming more and more aware of the noises around him again. Aware of the vice that was once again trying to tighten around his diaphragm. Aware of the deep, dark reaches of space and the resurgence of pixelated visages. He squeezed his eyes even tighter. Grasped for even longer. Tried to find the—
He was shoved forward slightly. His back dislodged and a loud squelchy squeak caused him to release his own thighs and press his hands over his ears. His perfectly manicured nails latched onto the soft cartilage and pressed. Ringing and buzzing and a myriad of cacophonous sounds echoing into the chambers of his ears
Suddenly, the pressure.
A different pressure, but still a good pressure. A pressure that was encompassing his entire frame as wide shoulders pressed against his back. As another pair of thighs bracketed his legs. As long, strong arms wrapped just underneath his diaphragm and pulled him back against something solid and foundational. The arms that braced around him seemed to crush the bad and replace it only with the good. Still following the exact same pattern as before, but this time over his entire body.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Breathe.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Breathe.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Breathe.
Then he became aware of the triad of whispered voices. Soothing in nature. Soft as the waterfalls that fell off the mountains into a secluded oasis. Not crashing tumultuously against the rocks into explosive percussion, but just rebounding and gliding and slithering down into controlled depths. Slowly, his hands fell from his ears once more, burning from how hard he was pressing against them. He leaned his head back and found his head meeting a broad shoulder. He slowly opened the eyes he hadn't even realised he had shut and found himself looking into the cat-like eyes of Yoongi as he perched over what he learned was Namjoon's shoulder; the soft fabric of his shirt brushing against his cheek.
Seokjin whimpered in annoyance and pressed the back of his head even further into Namjoon's shoulder. Apologising in his head when he felt the gentle giant's stuttered wince from the unexpected returned pressure. Whatever he had regained of his voice previously now completely silenced. At least the Maknae line wasn't around to see this second partial shutdown or whatever it was. It was bad enough that it happened a second time at all.
"Seokjin-ah," Yoongi's stern voice came from somewhere above him, "What is going on."
Seokjin couldn't answer him. Even if he did have his voice, he wouldn't have wanted to answer him. He didn't want to. Seokjin didn't want to tell them about all the times he was on a Variety Show and things got to be too much. Seokjin didn't want to tell them about the times where he was on Run Seokjin and his insides felt like they were going to come pouring out of his ears. Seokjin didn't want to tell them about how each and every day whilst he was on tour and attached to medication and IV bags, all he wanted to do was sit in the corner of the room with his hands over his ears, his eyes shut, and completely disappear, but just couldn't.
There were always going to be times for him when things got to be too much. Times when the sounds were too loud. Times when his clothes felt like blades. Times when the forced eye contact got too hard. There were always going to be times where he was unable to be the light in the dark room. Times were he would feel the need to sit quietly and escape into a world of gaming. Times where he could just sit in the dark and calm down when things got just that unbearable.
Because this was his job. This was his role. This was his life.
And until three years ago, he had six other people who understood what he needed within touching distance every second of every day. And then suddenly, be it planned or not, they weren't there and it was up to him to keep things going until they came back. It was up to Seokjin to keep on running. It was up to him to keep swimming forward when all the others were forced to swim in completely different waters without him. But now, finally, after two years they were all together and promoting and writing and swimming together.
And Seokjin was too tired, too overwhelmed, to enjoy any of it.
Seokjin swallowed thickly once more, tried to get around the syrup that once again gathered in his vocal chords. Tried to push back the sticky feeling. Tried to form consonants or sounds that could communicate something to Yoongi, Namjoon and Hoseok. But this time, the words were just stuck and they were not going to get out. Seokjin clenched his fists in frustration and hovered them over his own thighs. Hands quivering as every drop of anger and confusion and pure unadulterated emotion coursed chaotically through his veins. Maybe if he just hit hard enough the words would fall out. Maybe anything would fall out.
Impulsively his fists immediately dropped down; direct, forceful impact against his thighs imminent when warm hands wrapped gently around his fists and halted their descent. With teary eyes, and a strung out hum, Seokjin looked up to see Hoseok's warm and understanding gaze cutting through him deeply. Cutting, but not harmful. Hoseok lowered Seokjin's hands to land softly on his knees and massaged his thumbs across his clenched, crooked fingers until slowly but surely the limbs slowly unfurled like flower petals reaching for the sun.
"It's okay if talking is hard right now hyungie," Hoseok hummed softly as he laced his fingers around Seokjin's squeezing his fingers gently, "We can wait until the words come back. There's no need to hurt yourself."
Seokjin felt tears breach his waterline once more and his chest stuttered as Namjoon's arms wrapped tightly around his chest once more. He tightened his grip on Hoseok's hands and closed his eyes once more. He leaned his head back and hummed brokenly as he felt Yoongi's large hands start to brush lightly through his hair and scratch at his scalp.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Breathe.
From the distance he could hear the Maknae line and their exuberant voices; laughing, shouting and singing as they got closer and closer to the studio. He knew that they would have questions and knew that they would be able to sense that something else had happened. He also knew that the Rap line wouldn't tell them unless Seokjin gave them the okay to do so.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Breathe.
Seokjin knew that this was not something he would be able to avoid. He knew that eventually he would need to tell the six of them why he managed to have not one, but two shutdowns in one day.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
Breathe.
They won't like what he tells them. He won't like telling them.
Squeeze. One. Two. Three.
But if anything, he's learned that together, they could overcome anything.
Breathe.