Work Text:
There’s something different about Jaehwan.
His laugh is the same, same smile. His jokes, his humor, his everything seems to be the same as it’s always been, but there’s something Taekwoon just can’t figure out. It’s a minute difference, really. Something’s missing, and it’s frustrating to no end that he can’t figure it out.
He stares at his bandmate’s profile while he plays video games on the couch, laughing with Sanghyuk about winning and losing, and Taekwoon continues to stress over the details. What could it be….
“Hyung, are you okay?” He’s laughing, voice bubbling over, and Taekwoon can’t drag his eyes away. Jaehwan shines like a flower stretched toward the sun, warming its petals to the rays. Bright and alive. Taekwoon imprints this image to his brain, so he won’t ever lose it.
He’s not sure why he feels that he might.
“Jaehwan’s fine,” Hakyeon answers when Taekwoon comes to him. The eldest kneels on the floor, folding his clothes, as Taekwoon sits at the edge of the bed. They’re on tour at the moment, and Jaehwan’s escaped with the younger ones to explore the hotel. “Why are you worried?”
Hakyeon tries to not show concern, keeping the steady head in all situations, but at the mention that something could be wrong, he’s on alert. Taekwoon can tell. “He’s…. There’s something different.”
“Different, how?”
Taekwoon bites his lip. “I don’t know.” But he soon finds out.
It’s not Jaehwan that’s changed, but what he eats. Or, rather, what he doesn’t. With their mishmash of overlapping schedules, they don’t often get regulated meals, sometimes each member on their own for finding food. The first clue is when Taekwoon buys Jaehwan coffee and he turns it down.
“It’s sweet,” Taekwoon mumbles. He made sure of it, putting in way too much sugar and cream, just how Jaehwan likes it.
Jaehwan smiles, same smile, and takes the coffee but doesn’t sip on it. Taekwoon doesn’t think of it immediately; it’s only later when he compiles the thought with Jaehwan’s smaller portions at dinner, overhearing Hongbin talking to him about an anti’s post (“Don’t read it, hyung,” he chuckles nervously –– always nervous. “It’s really harsh….”) that they come to form a picture before Taekwoon, an image that doesn’t look right.
And from then on, he watches.
“It’s fine,” Taekwoon soothes. They’re alone in the practice room, walls reverberating the strong acoustics of their voices, blending them together in a beautiful harmony, but it’s gone now. Jaehwan’s sunk to the floor, head buried in his arms. “You did well….”
Jaehwan doesn’t say a word, staying crumpled. Taekwoon’s flower bends under the weight placed upon it, and Taekwoon’s hands start to shake, unable to do anything. He crouches low to the ground next to Jaehwan and wraps an arm around his shoulders.
“You’re doing well,” he repeats, but he’s afraid Jaehwan isn’t listening.
Taekwoon begins to leave Jaehwan things. He sends him quick messages throughout the day about meaningless stuff, nothing important, in hopes they’ll distract Jaehwan from whatever he’s feeling, and he hopes it works. He really does. Jaehwan replies with smiley faces, but those are easy to type.
It’s been awhile since Jaehwan’s truly smiled.
Taekwoon also leaves him snacks. They’re not sweet like the old ones Jaehwan did prefer, but they’re tasty all the same. Taekwoon slips them into his bag when Jaehwan’s not looking.
“You know you can talk to me,” Taekwoon whispers in the middle of the night. They’re in a foreign country, on the balcony with a sweeping view of the city. “If you ever need to. I’m here.”
“Thanks, hyung,” Jaehwan smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes, and it’s not Jaehwan’s. There’s an irritation, a fury that ignites inside Taekwoon, that this Jaehwan doesn’t resemble the one he used to know, that the two are so different, that something’s changed him.
“I’m serious, Jaehwan.” Taekwoon shifts his gaze to him, hoping the younger can catch the flames that he feels, the weight of the situation. Because Taekwoon is so serious; there’s a strong worry he has, and it makes him feel desperate and ache and hurt at even the thought.
Jaehwan’s big eyes stare back into his own, muted. “I– I know.”
But he doesn’t. Taekwoon knows because he’s gone through the same process. Bottle it up, insist it’s okay, push it down. Maybe the causes were different, but Taekwoon sees a version of his own self, from years ago, transposed onto the Jaehwan of today.
Jaehwan gives him the smile, a playful bat on the arm, and sidesteps around him to get back inside. Taekwoon stands alone on the balcony for a long while, the wind whipping through his hair and thoughts, tangling both and chapping his lips.
Taekwoon’s flower is wilting.
There’s too much room in Jaehwan’s pants, and his shirts don’t hang the same way anymore. Not enough Jaehwan. Taekwoon knows that management thinks he looks better like this; in fitting’s, there’s been more than one person to comment positively on the negative spaces that Jaehwan inhabits, and Taekwoon can feel his shoulders hunch and his eyebrows grow heavy, watching as they tailor around his body.
The scariest part is always when they pull Jaehwan’s shirt tight against him, and Taekwoon has to wonder just where Jaehwan’s going.
Hakyeon’s known all along, and he’s just as quiet as Taekwoon with his arms folded. Terse. Wonsik must know –– his eyes growing in size as he realizes just how tiny Jaehwan has become. Hongbin and Sanghyuk are oblivious and provide a ceaseless stream of bickering as background noise, but it’s a matter of time before they’re let in on the secret.
Then everyone will know.
Taekwoon wants to understand, but he’s not sure he ever will. He watches Jaehwan chase noodles around his bowl, picking at his rice; no, he wouldn’t understand. But he wants to be there, so when Jaehwan falters in the practice room, the once proud voice choking on his note, Taekwoon provides the encouragement.
“That’s it. Yeah, that’s it.” Taekwoon motions upward for Jaehwan to put more power into it. It’s never been something he’s had to ask for before. “There you go.”
Jaehwan looks shy under the overhead lighting, shoulders shrunken and altogether crushed, and Taekwoon walks toward him, eliminating distance. They’re so close, and Taekwoon takes his hand to reach around and cradle the back of Jaehwan’s neck. They both continue to sing their lines, Taekwoon’s eyes boring straight into the younger’s, and that’s where he communicates how he feels, silently. His fingers rub just under the overgrown strands of Jaehwan’s hair, tips of his fingers brushing against stray waves –– the vertebrae of his spine also.
The song ends, but Taekwoon doesn’t move. If he could instill some sort of–– some sort of energy, life, into Jaehwan he would. He would help beat whatever’s getting him down.
“I’m right here,” Taekwoon says.
Jaehwan’s lower lip trembles, and Taekwoon tucks him into himself before the first tear falls. Arms fully wrap around the shadow of Taekwoon’s counterpart, and he’s so frail. Taekwoon doesn’t know how to tell Jaehwan that he’s scared. That when Jaehwan smiles, there’s nothing familiar in it; that Sanghyuk’s been missing his jokes –– that everyone has.
That they’ve been missing him.
Taekwoon holds Jaehwan, petting the back of his head, as he cries into Taekwoon’s shirt. He’s not sure how to say any of that, maybe he’ll write it down, but for now this is fine. “I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m here.”
“Taekwoon-ah….”
Heartbreaking. The sound of Jaehwan’s voice splintering to pieces is heartbreaking.
They don’t leave for a long while.
Taekwoon sits in the van, first to arrive. The others are being slow this morning, and Taekwoon rushed out, still half-asleep. His goal was to get in and go back to sleep without Hakyeon pestering him about this or that, but before he can, the door slides open and someone else enters.
Jaehwan takes his spot beside Taekwoon, not saying a word as he settles in. The sun is barely up, a cold filter cast across Jaehwan’s face.
“Morning,” Taekwoon murmurs, sleep still sticky in his voice and eyes heavy.
“Morning.” Jaehwan buckles his seatbelt, putting his bag between his knees, rummaging around in it for awhile. Taekwoon almost drifts back into dreams when he hears the crinkle of a wrapper, a faint chewing sound.
He cracks open his eyes to see Jaehwan nibbling on one of the granola bars he’s been leaving him, small bites, small chews, but the excitement in Taekwoon is overwhelming. This isn’t the solution; this isn’t the end; but this is a start.
Taekwoon smiles just as the sun crests over the buildings, scattering Jaehwan in light.