Chapter Text
Horns blared. “Time!” Polo called. “Congratulations to the winners of this round: Berion and Spark!”
A perfunctory cheer rose, only to droop into groans as Berion’s members and our opponents practically collapsed.
They really gave it their all. Even I was out of breath. I would’ve clapped for them if I wasn’t currently ensuring Cheonghyeon didn’t fall off my shoulders as he tried to follow the crowd to the floor.
“Log and Sticky, better luck in the next round. Next up, we have PoiSon and NØVA on the pyramid scheme challenge!”
We made our way back to the waiting area to watch the next contest as Mr. Polo ushered the two new idol groups onto the floor and began explaining the rules.
Lee Cheonghyeon collapsed dramatically onto the audience bench. “Haaah, my heart. My abs! Why do our hyungs have to be so tall!?”
Said the one who regularly boasted about growing taller than me. “What is this complaining? Watch your face. The gold-plating means nothing on a frown like that.” In front of the cameras, even. Have they learnt nothing?
“Ah, Iwol-hyung! I thought my face was solid gold! Was all of it a lie?!”
“It’s diamond underneath, illuminated by the enlightenment of Nirvana. The gold-layer is purely for our protection against such an otherworldly sight.”
Kang Kiyeon shook his head as he joined Lee Cheonghyeon. “This hyung… How are you and Jeho-hyung sweating less than us?”
“Haha, our hyung-nims’ legendary stamina made another appearance,” Seongbin added.
He and Joowoo seemed mostly recovered from their last event while they watched the rest of us. At this point, only those two looked relatively put together, but that would probably change soon. They needed four members again for the next round, so the maknaes would be getting a rest.
“The Spark hyungs are so reliable,” Heerang lauded tiredly, flopping on the bench next to ours with the other members of Berion.
“And terrifying,” Moon Yeongyu added with a laugh. “I’m so thankful I didn’t have to face them. I would have been the chicken.”
“Put two Spark members in a trenchcoat, and you get Pretty Visual Slender Man. That armspan is no joke.”
“Ha! Then they run at you like a battering ram! I totally understood the look on PoiSon's faces! The only possible outcome was getting crushed!”
Oh god, what a horrible new moniker. This was supposed to make Spark look more lighthearted, not like the ideal antagonists of an idol survival horror show.
I joined in on the laugh regardless, but I needed to fix that before it could latch on. “I’m sorry if I scared anyone. That wasn’t my intention.”
Realizing the implication of his members’ words, Heerang waved his arms. “No, no! Iwol-hyung wasn’t scary. He was more like a knight! A grand, handsome knight charging forth! It was inspiring!”
“That’s our Iwol-hyung.” Cheonghyeon laughed loudly. “The coldest Duke of the North at first glance, but the embodiment of chivalry!”
The two groups began chattering animatedly about the traits each member embodied. I debated chiding them to actually watch the next game that was about to start, but the producers might like this kind of silly personality-matching game, so I let it slide. Our groups were definitely the most lively of the audience, meaning most of the cameras that weren't dedicated to the main event were likely on us.
The idol variety broadcast wasn’t even halfway done and most of the contestants were already laying about between games, professionalism forgotten in the face of sheer exhaustion. Not that I would let Spark’s members display the same looseness. A bit of playful and humorous lounging was fine though. The whole point of this was to bring back a bit of youth to their image and levity to their fans.
They’d just finished a round of chicken basketball. The rules could be simplified to this: those who could touch the ball could not touch the floor. In other words, the active player had to be carried. Most teams had to resort to having two to three people carry the active player. While that was probably the safer option, I wasn’t about to let the kids’ safety depend on someone else not dropping them.
At least the production team had the foresight to make everyone wear helmets and pads, but still, it was a miracle no one got hurt. Choi Jeho had no trouble acting as a human horse for Kiyeon, and despite Cheonghyeon’s extra height, it wasn’t too difficult to hoist the kid around on my shoulders.
My back might regret it later along with our maknae's abs since it required Cheonghyeon and Kiyeon to do quite a lot of crunches to bend backwards and retrieve bouncing balls (something the fans would appreciate, based on how many times they had to pull their shirts back down), but it was a much more effective strategy than having to coordinate with someone else for every movement. Plus, our two towers really just had to walk to the basket to score.
Maybe it wasn’t fair for average human pyramids to try to block a stack of two 180 cm tall men built like fridges, but such was the draw of life. Our team won in the end without any injuries.
Regardless, for all that basketball was an enjoyable pastime, I’d rather not do it again.
“They were admirable carriages.” Joowoo smiled beatifically. “I would like to ride one one day too.”
Well, nevermind then. Looks like the Kim Iwol-express was destined for a return in the future.
“... Whose water bottle belonged to who?” Choi Jeho asked, staring blandly at the identical broadcast sports bottles clumped up along the wall.
It was a valid question. The crew really should have labeled them, but with how often everyone switched in and out of the various games going on, desperately gulping water in between, it seemed order was lost entirely.
“Ours were generally around here?” Joowoo gestured, face creased in discomfort at the mess.
“It’s just water." Cheonghyeon shrugged. "If we wipe off the rim, it should be fine, right? Everyone else seems to be doing that.”
Not preferrable, but not something worth complaining about with mics on and cameras lingering for in-between shots.
We grabbed bottles generally where we thought ours were, and made do. The water was too precious to care. All four bottles were empty before the next word was spoken.
We probably had about fifteen minutes to rest before our next game started. Depending on who won, our opponents were going to be either PoiSon or NØVA, who were relatively new boy groups. I still thought PoiSon was a questionable name. Were they trying to be toxic bad boys, or cute purple root-vegetable children? I knew they were attempting the former, but they were a bit too cute and liked purple too much to not feed into the odd root-vegetable angle. Given I’d never heard of them in the future, I figured it probably didn’t end up working out. But their branding wasn’t my problem.
Five minutes passed as I watched the two idol groups use their members as literal stairs to see who could hang the most fan signs across the metal structure that had been created. Each round was divided by a pause for deliberation in strategy. Apparently, there was a territorial element with blocking and securing triangular sections for more points, so it wasn’t all up to speed.
But a lurch in my stomach was suddenly a much more pressing issue, so sudden and intense that I curled in a flinch. I covered it as if I had been naturally shifting my sitting position, then tried to take a few subtle breaths, willing the nausea away. We still had half a broadcast left, hours of filming.
I thought I had hid it well enough.
“... Hyung?”
I looked over to see Jeong Seongbin watching me, brow dipping in concern but not voicing it in front of the cameras or with the mic still pinned to his collar.
I opened my mouth to reassure him, only to close it as my stomach lurched again. I waited a moment for it to pass before answering.
“Mm, do you think Cheonghyeon or Kiyeon would like to try the next game?”
I tried to say it lightly, forcing a smile on my face before leaning forward at another contracting lurch to cover my mouth. Hopefully it was in a manner that looked more thoughtful than nauseous.
Jeong Seongbin’s brow dipped lower, though he kept his mouth vaguely pleasant in an attempt to not draw attention. Kiyeon’s eyes drifted over to us as well, along with Joowoo beside me. They understood. It was as close to an admittance that I was not feeling well without openly saying it.
Because if this didn’t improve drastically within the same amount of time that it appeared, there was no way I could be trusted to get through the next contest without causing a scene. I did not want to vomit on camera.
But where was this coming from?
A tingle started in my hands.
I don’t just get nauseous.
My stomach lurched again.
It felt familiar.
My pulse quickened. Because of the thought. It was just because of the thought.
“I’ll do it.” Kang Kiyeon answered firmly. “Yeah, I didn’t get to play with Joowoo-hyung or Seongbin-hyung before, so it’ll be fun.”
“Ah, the King of Cuteness stepping in for the eldest Duke?” Cheonghyeon teased, only now checking into the conversation and drawing in Berion. “Is Kiyeon-ah competing for the embodiment of chivalry now?”
But Cheonghyeon was a quick mood-reader, and his brilliant smile dimmed immediately.
But Cheonghyeon was also a mood-setter, and so Berion immediately realized something was off.
“Ah, is Kim Iwol-hyung feeling alright?” Heerang asked with concern, not nearly as well trained as Spark in being tactful in front of the cameras.
“I’m fine,” I forced out with a smile, breaking out in a cold sweat (it was just the nausea). Luckily, I was already sweaty enough for it not to be noticeable. “I might have pushed a bit too hard in the last game.”
They fortunately took my word for it, but I couldn’t. The wishful excuse only made me more nauseous. Because this felt too familiar. Horribly familiar. Please, let it just be paranoia. My chest was only feeling tight because of panic. I just needed to stay calm.
But within three minutes, my hands were clammy. I hadn’t stopped sweating. I was without a doubt panicking, but I had no way of knowing whether that was why my heart was still beating too fast. I could just be dizzy because I wasn't breathing right. I could still calm down from the memory the nausea was triggering, because there was no reason for me to have an attack right now.
The System ensured I could perform physically without disturbing my heart. I had been taking care of myself. I’d been careful. Once the nausea passed, my heart would calm down. Until then I just needed to remain calm and not make a scene. I couldn’t cause another incident. This was supposed to be a carefree, lighthearted broadcast to uplift our fans. I couldn’t ruin it again.
My watch beeped once, making my breath hitch, and the head of every Spark member whipped in my direction.
Choi Jeho stood up. “Kim Iwol.”
It was a blunt demand for my attention, but at this point I couldn’t meet his eyes. Physically, I doubted I could meet his eyes. I was simply too dizzy. Everything was getting worse far too quickly. I finally gave up on keeping my eyes open at all. It was not helping in my efforts to not sway as the world tilted.
“... Hyung?”
Jeong Seongbin gripped my arm, pulling the wrist with the smartwatch towards him, but a new voice made me open my eyes again.
“... ah, oh dear.”
One of the PoiSon members murmured as he knelt and picked up various water bottles off the ground, weighing them in hand. His name was… Won Jihan? Their group had finished their game and headed back to the benches for a rest.
Bashfully, the young man stood and covered the mic on his collar with two hands before bowing towards us with a little whisper—uselessly, given the mic would definitely still pick up enough to figure out what he was saying if the crew wanted to. Given the openly embarrassed attempt to hide, I knew at least two more cameras were now trained on our position.
“It seems I misplaced my water bottle. Uh–”
“Just take one,” Choi Jeho interrupted harshly, attention still on me.
Jeong Seongbin tried to cover the blunt tone with a chuckle that was too forced. “Yeah, it seems we’re all sharing at this point.”
But the young man only seemed more fidgety. “Ah, well, I just– I just filled it up before the competition, so it was really full.”
Choi Jeho snapped. “What does that matter? Just fill it up again.”
If I wasn’t currently worried that opening my mouth too wide would make the nausea worse, I would be chewing Choi Jeho out for his tone. What happened to the progress on entry-level sociability?! Instead I just glared vaguely in his direction, with at least a semblance of a smile (hopefully) because of the camera. Based on how Choi Jeho looked away, he understood the message to shut up.
Won Jihan stammered, flushed with a hint of irritation. “That’s not–, it doesn’t even matter, I guess, but if anyone starts feeling a bit jittery, sorry. I got less than an hour of sleep last night—really late recording, you know how it is—and I didn’t have time for a coffee, so I added a caffeine pill so that I c–”
The simmering burn in my stomach burned hotter as my heart thudded.
My hands trembled. Maybe, I really had a reason to panic.
* — * — * — * — * — *
The members of PoiSon laughed as they teased the embarrassed Won Jihan, but the laughter only lasted a moment.
“What did you say?”
The tone was faint, almost unsteady, but it was too full at the same time. A ripple of silence spread across the benches lined along the wall, drawing the attention of the entire crowd of contestants and thus every member of the production team.
Won Jihan’s shoulders rose at the intensity of Spark’s expressions. They were pale, some as white as a sheet, with not even a hint of humor. “A- a caffeine pill. I swear, it’s from a regular pharmacy, no more than a normal cup of coffee, completely saf–”
Kim Iwol lurched to his feet with a choked inhale. Spark leapt up as a whole, catching him as he nearly collapsed. Shouts of concern erupted from Berion while Polo abandoned the role of MC, trying to get the broadcast team to shut off the cameras.
Jeong Seongbin and Park Joowoo positioned themselves under each arm as Kim Iwol tried to stagger towards the door.
“Iwol-hyung! You need to sit down!” Cheonghyeon pleaded.
“N, not here,” Kim Iwol gasped, fear coloring his pale face. “Please. Pl–plea–ugh—”
Kim Iwol slammed his mouth shut as he curled over, body lurching on a suppressed gag.
Jeong Seongbin held him up. “Jeho, there was a trash bin right ou—”
“I know, I’ll get it.”
Choi Jeho broke into a run, Kang Kiyeon hot on his heels.
“I– I’ll get Chanyoung-hyung!” The door burst open, and the two members were gone.
Park Joowoo turned sharply to the nearest broadcast worker, pale but firm. “Where is the first aid kit?”
“Who has a phone?!” Lee Cheonghyeon shouted, wild eyes looking around at their frozen audience. “I know we’re not supposed to have phones on set, but someone has to have one! Who has one?!” Finally, someone raised their hand. “Call an ambulance!”
Those words silenced the last murmurings of the facility, until suddenly the producing crew erupted into motion.
* — * — * — * — * — *
Panic burst in my chest. I could hardly think, my body acting on its own.
A caffeine pill. A whole caffeine pill. That was so much more than a spiked barley latte. My chest thudded. How much of it had already seeped into my system?
The next suppressed gag sounded more like a choked sob.
Just the thought made me want to cry. Based on how my doubling vision blurred, maybe I already was. I tried to blink it away, but everything just kept blurring. This was already going to look horrible. Now I was adding tears on top of it. And soon, I–
I didn’t want to vomit in front of everyone either, but I needed to get it out.
A bin landed in front of me, one of those small waste baskets, and immediately I was on my knees, one hand in my mouth to force myself to vomit as much as I could. I choked on a pathetic sob in the middle, the feeling too horribly familiar. I never wanted to experience this again. I had been careful. Why again? Why did it have to be me that picked up that bottle?
But maybe I got enough of it out in time. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since I drank it. Then again, last time it was only a hint of caffeine, and it sent me into a full-blown heart attack within twenty minutes.
With that fear-inducing thought, I forced myself to vomit again even though nothing came up. Still my stomach churned as an aching pressure built in my chest.
“–wol-hyung. Iwol-hyung, how are you feeling?” Joowoo asked anxiously.
Not good. I shook my head. “A- ambulance?”
The moment of silence after my question just made my heart beat faster, pulse echoing in my head like a countdown.
“It’s on its way,” Seongbin answered. “Less than twenty minutes. Maybe fifteen?”
Right, the facility was further out. For all the– all the outdoor, nature competitions they sometimes did. I needed to survive without help for– for twenty minutes like this? My breath hitched, and I drove my focus into evening it out.
I had to calm down. I had to survive. My sister– I needed to survive. She needed me to survive, I hadn’t stopped the accident yet. I had to– I needed– needed to– Damn it, calm down! Don’t you dare fail her again!
No matter how much I repeated it, I couldn’t ignore how the vice on my lungs tightened and the pressure built. I couldn’t control how the panic ran rampant and my mind anticipated what was coming. That horrible, crippling, crushing pain in my chest. Each throb of my heart made me want to flinch. I gripped my shirt. I didn’t want to feel it again.
I don’t want to die.
Trembling hands grabbed my face.
“You’ll be okay, hyung. Just breathe. We’ve got you.”
My ragged breaths hitched and vision blurred worse at Cheonghyeon’s words. Quiet but firm. I tried again to take a steadier breath, managing a little, and a little more. They were probably just as scared. I wanted to reassure them. But they– they didn’t listen to “I’m fine’s” anymore, and I was not fine. How am I supposed to— I can’t even assure myself.
What if they watched me die? They’re too soft-hearted. How could I do that to them?
“Huff…huff... haaa… sorry…”
“Hyung! Why are you apologizing for this?!” Jeong Seongbin scowled miserably.
For scaring them. For causing so many problems, and ruining the broadcast, and upsetting the Sparklers. For inserting myself into their lives, and making a mess. For possibly dying in the near future.
“Don’t apologize,” Kiyeon chided balefully, though his anger was dampened by the redness in his eyes and wringing hands. “Just relax, hyung. You’re going to be fine.” It was said with such determination, I wanted to believe him. But I…
Arms wrapped around me. My hands latched on to tug them off but it– it didn’t feel constricting. The arms were loose. And solid. Grounding. They coaxed me back into a firm chest, my head falling to rest on a shoulder as I was held upright to keep my chest open. It took me a moment to realize it was Choi Jeho, as strange as that was, but it turned out his broad frame was good for something.
Jeho didn’t say anything, steady and unbothered, but the others did—talking quietly and calmly over my head. About getting blankets and cushions. Wondering about massages. Looking up instructions for what to do or not do (even though they’d already studied it thoroughly). Queuing up a playlist of relaxing music.
It was… forcefully peaceful.
The whole thing was so starkly counter to the situation that the fear stalled in confusion.
“His heart rate went down a bit,” Seongbin murmured in relief. Huh. He was right. The thudding was still uncomfortably fast and jumpy, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable in my neck, and it was quieter in my head. Maybe I could last long enough like this. I… I wasn’t alone. I just needed to do my part.
So I focused on just breathing and shoving down the urge to panic that came with how tight my chest felt. It wasn’t as bad as it had gotten last time yet. I wasn’t alone in an office waiting to die. Help was on the way. I just had to endure it. I could endure it.
Things kept moving around me as various conversations littered the background, but I tried to ignore them. I didn’t have the capacity to deal with Won Jihan’s sobbing apology or Berion’s concern or the morbid curiosity of a bunch of strangers.
Park Joowoo gave me some aspirin from the facility’s first aid kit when they determined I could keep it down. My shirt was gone, pads already on my chest—which I also tried to ignore. I didn’t want to think about it, but at least they did have an AED. My members had already studied first aid for this situation along with Manager Chanyoung, and the broadcast station had a staff member with extensive first aid training. I had as much help as I could possibly hope for in a situation where all we could do was wait.
At some point cushions and blankets were brought in and I was settled more comfortably on the hardwood floor, still half-sitting against Choi Jeho. All the while, my members murmured reassurances, and I breathed. Well, Jeho just sat like a cushioned guardian statue over my head, but that was close enough to being an assurance for him.
And I was still breathing, even if it was getting tiring. Everyone must’ve been able to hear it. But it was a waiting game. That was all I could do. Breathe and wait.
“Should, haa, should some of you g- go back to the, haaa, the broadcast?”
The members looked at me like I was crazy, sound stuttering in the background amongst the audience that pretended they weren’t an audience.
What was with the faces? It wasn’t like all of them needed to be here. Eventually Manager Chanyoung and Mr. Polo had been able to ward off the cameras and microphones (or at least the obvious ones), but I still didn’t want to cause the failure of the entire filming day and make them reschedule everything. There were a lot of people here. Rescheduling for that many people was a nightmare. The cancellation fee would be horrible.
“Ridiculous.”
“This hyung is clearly not thinking straight.”
Maybe not, but at least if there was recording going on, there would be something to distract everyone.
Because I didn’t want everyone to watch when this got worse. It was getting worse, and it was going to get worse. No matter what I did, it would.
But all I could do was breathe while I still could.
* — * — * — * — * — *
They all needed to schedule counseling appointments after this.
Jeong Seongbin tried not to let himself get carried away with scattered thoughts, but he felt so useless in the moment that he couldn’t help but think about anything he could do. Because this– this waiting was horrible.
He kept his arm firm around Kiyeon’s shoulders as they all sat around Iwol-hyung, trying not to crowd him but also serving as a barrier from everything else.
“You’re doing really good, hyung.” Joowoo murmured. “Just like that. Keep following Jeho-hyung’s breathing as best you can. You’re doing really well.”
Seongbin needed to make sure to check on Joowoo the moment Iwol was safe. And Jeho-hyung. They were being so strong, staying calm and keeping Iwol-hyung calm. Kiyeon and Cheonghyeon too— they had been so strong when they'd helped calm Iwol-hyung down from his panic attack, and thank god they'd managed it because their hyung’s heart could not handle a panic attack on top of an ongoing heart attack. But after minutes of waiting and listening to their eldest member struggle, the maknae were fighting their own panic attacks now.
They’d tried to move Kiyeon away, but his tears only worsened whenever they so much as suggested it. Cheonghyeon was at least being cared for by Chanyoung-hyung a few feet away, face buried against their manager’s shoulder. Their maknae were both so quiet about it, not wanting to stress Kim Iwol out by letting him know how scared they were.
The fact that Kim Iwol hadn’t noticed Kiyeon crying next to him only made Seongbin’s heart clench harder. Iwol’s eyes were unfocused and exhausted. They kept needing to remind him to keep his eyes open, which he always did, but that was about the only response they were getting from him now.
“how much longer?” Kiyeon whispered through hitching breaths.
Mr. Polo, standing nearby and still manning the phone they used to call 119, whispered back. “About five minutes. Any changes?”
“Heart rate reached 160 a moment ago, still irregular.” Seongbin whispered back, eyes locked on his phone’s monitoring program linked to Kim Iwol’s watch. While his heart rate had dropped after they calmed the panic attack, it just bought them time.
Mr. Polo’s mouth thinned at the news, pale like the rest of them. “Okay, I’ll let them kn–”
It all changed in a moment.
Kim Iwol gripped his chest on a convulsive breath that was silent.
“.....—A- ah… ha–... ha–... —agh!”
He began to writhe against Choi Jeho, groaning as his breathing grew loud and ragged.
Just like it was back then. Jeong Seongbin forgot how to breathe.
“Lay him down,” the broadcast’s medical staff member ordered, removing the blanket they’d draped over Kim Iwol as Choi Jeho did as he was told. “No one touch him.”
They were getting ready. Jeong Seongbin knew it, and he felt sick. He grabbed Kiyeon to turn him away, burying his maknae’s face into his chest even as he couldn’t look away himself.
Kim Iwol laid bare, pads strapped to his chest, pale skin covered in sweat and face clenched from the pain that trembled through his body.
But Seongbin couldn’t do anything to help. Except– except grabbing Joowoo and pulling him away as well. And watching his hyung’s heartrate on his phone.
[ – 178 – ] Please hold on. Another minute passed. The pulse jumped and skipped, but his hyung’s trembling weakened.
“–wol we’re right here! It’s gonna be okay! We’re still here—”
[ – 181 – ] Please. Iwol's ragged breaths were thinning. He was crying.
“–got you, Mr. Iwol, you’re going to be alright—“
[ – 163 – ] Please, they're almost here
“Iwol! IWOL!”
[ – – ]
Kim Iwol stilled.
The AED’s voice recording rang in his ears.
< Do not touch the patient. Analyzing heart rhythm. Please wait. >
No.
< Shock advised. Please move away from the patient. >
No one moved. It was wrong. Iwol-hyung was alone.
< Shocking in 3. 2. 1. >
Kim Iwol’s chest jolted from the floor, veins clenching in his neck and jaw before he relaxed. But he didn’t breathe.
< Analyzing heart rhythm. >
The room held its breath.
< CPR is advised. Begin chest compressions. >
No. No, shock him again. It should say shock him again if there was a chance for a shock to work. He’d read about it. If there was an electrical signal to shock back into rhythm, it would shock.
But if it was CPR, there was— there was nothing—-
Choi Jeho was already there, hands positioned as the staff member prepared the mask for rescue breaths. The first thrust, and something broke, someone was praying, someone was crying, but it was all muted. Drowned by Seongbin’s own breaths. And the ringing in his ears.
He couldn’t watch him die.
But he couldn’t look away.
Seongbin felt like he was dying with him.
The staff member gave Iwol-hyung two rescue breaths, but it wouldn’t actually help him breathe. It wouldn’t restart anything. They were just buying time. Kim Iwol-hyung– Iwol-hyung—
Hyung was dead.
Dull pain ached from his knees.
“–ngbin! Mr. Seongbin! Jeong Seongbin!”
A face obstructed his vision. Mr. Polo. Whose eyes were red, kneeling down in front of him. When did–
“It’ll be okay.” How could he say that? How could it ever– “The ambulance is almost here. Just breathe.”
Jeong Seongbin sobbed instead. And he sobbed when he realized he didn’t know where Kiyeon or Joowoo went, when he let go of them too. And he sobbed when he heard the AED say < Shock advised > again.
And when Kim Iwol gasped, on his own, he sobbed the hardest he’s ever sobbed in his life. In relief.
His hyung was alive.