Work Text:
Choreographed.
Jeongguk breaks sometimes, under the pressure of the idol life, under the pressure of being golden, being perfect. There is a tiny lump on the bed, Jeongguk curling as much of his muscular self into a tight ball as possible, shaking apart in the quiet confines of their bedroom, head buried into a pillow with the blankets drawn tight around his ears.
Routine.
His panic attack hits and sometimes he chokes and gasps and shudders apart on his bed, twisting in the sheets. The air is hostile, ripping into his lungs, choking him, taking away his breath, pushing him back and forth in a game of tug too violent to be pleasant. His heart feels like a barely leashed beast these times, snarling and clawing at his rib cage, howling for freedom.
Established.
Other times Jeongguk feels himself zoning out, overwhelmed by his thoughts, staring out of the little box window of their dorm room, body slack and relaxed, but not in a good way. His mind is running a mile a minute, going crazy. Their dorm feels like a cage on these days, a silver collar around his neck, suffocating and drowning out Jeongguk’s thoughts.
The insides of his thighs are reserved for the worst of the worst days, days where he feels completely hopeless. The blade he holds allows him to retain some semblance of his sanity, and he carves into his skin, some deep some shallow, red angry lines that scab over a few days later. He always tears the wound open anyway, plucking off the skin in the privacy of the bathroom, shower open, water pouring over his head.
The sound of falling water always hides his muffled whimpers well.
Too fat, too thin, too short, too big to be the youngest, too quiet, he looks ugly with his hair up, what is that ugly scar doing on your face? Cover it up, cover it all up, you must maintain a flawless front, a veneer, no matter how fragile it is.
He smiles sometimes. But only sometimes.
And Jeongguk thinks that he doesn’t have it as bad as Jimin, who pinches at his skinny belly with a quiet resignation whenever he thinks nobody is looking, who scurries into the bathroom at night to shove his digits down his throat, retching whatever little food he manages to stuff into his mouth under Seokjin’s watchful eye back up his throat and into the ceramic bowl.
He notices. He notices Jimin’s diminishing presence, the elder boy shuffling quietly towards the back whenever they're on camera, white plain t-shirt swallowing his thin frame up. And Jeongguk quietly pads his way into Yoongi’s room one night when he hears the bathroom light being switched on, nudging quietly at the elder’s shoulder, pointing towards the bathroom when Yoongi curses at being woken up.
The eldest doesn’t seem to register the choking sounds at first, but when he does he flings the covers off of his body so fast they land in a pile at Jeongguk’s feet, running in his haste to get to the bathroom.
The blankets lay at Jeongguk’s feet, abandoned. Neglected. Forgotten.
There are tears, there are sobs, but Jimin is alright. They got him in time. Jimin will be alright, with the rest of Bangtan wary and ready for any signs of relapse. Jeongguk keeps to himself, but still stares and looks, whenever Jimin puts his fork down quietly after taking only two bites, nudging the fork back into Jimin’s hand quietly, gently, with a quiet word of praise for the half plate he manages to finish, and what about just a little bit more?
And the cycle continues.
Nobody seems to notice, and everything is fine. For a while, everything is fine. The monsters in Jeongguk’s head quietens, settling down into gentle slumber, tail pulled over its nose, horns glinting in the quiet dark of Jeongguk’s mind.
Everything goes to hell when it wakes, renewed energy and vigour to ruin Jeongguk.
The plate he’s carrying to the sink shatters, cracking into the linoleum surface of the kitchen floor, and so does his control. The members all shout in surprise, startled at the sound of the broken plate, and Jeongguk vaguely hears Namjoon beginning to berate him-
He screams, and then it cuts off into a weak gurgle. Jeongguk flops to the floor, and it would look kind of funny, the way he falls, except there’s nothing funny about his panic attack, and he shakes, hands caught under his body, digging into the porcelain shards, trying to ground himself. Blood rushes to his head, his breath catching, and he breaks apart.
The members are stunned at first, and Jeongguk vaguely hears someone cursing, and then they move in a flurry; Namjoon lifting the younger into his arms, trying as much as possible to avoid his flailing arms “Get him off the pieces-“
He’s gently put on the couch, Taehyung’s hand shooting out to grasp at his sweaty hand, pulling it to his chest. “Breath with me, Jeongguk-ah-“
He can feel Taehyung’s heartbeat, steady but fast under the back of his hand- Jeongguk remembers- what was it-? Something about seven in, hold for four, breath out eight but he can’t, his breath is hissing out from between his clenched teeth-
Eventually. Eventually, he manages to get his breathing under control, the sound of blood rushing by his ears, heartbeat slowing and stilling, eyes hazy and unfocused. The front of his shirt is stained with curry, and he’s bleeding from the various scratches lining his front.
The rest of Bangtan peer down at him uncertainly, and he throws an arm across his eyes, forearm hiding his eyes from sight. There’s a moment of quiet, then the breath he’s been working to swallow bursts forth from his chest, transforming into an ugly sob.
He cries and cries and cries and it feels really bad, but really good at the same time and there are careful hands on his body, patting at the uninjured parts of his body, shushing him gently and quietly.
Later, after he’s cleaned up and put to bed wearing boxers, the fresh scars lining his thighs out in the open for everyone to see, Hoseok insists on putting ointment on them, blowing carefully whenever Jeongguk hisses. No matter the awkward position of the elder between Jeongguk’s spread legs, Hoseok puts a careful hand on his knee after he’s done, rubbing gently. Seokjin fluffs his pillows – something he used to do whenever Jeongguk was a trainee and crying for home and draws the blankets up over his chest, reaching for one of Jeongguk's hand. The blankets don’t feel like cages now – they just feel warm and protective and safe.
Namjoon is leaning against the doorway of their shared room, eyes glazed, as if thinking about something, and Jeongguk feels guilty – he made his leader feel bad. Yoongi gently knocks him on his head, as if able to hear his thoughts, chiding him to rest and Jimin holds his other free hand, and Taehyung curls up carefully, head snuggled into Jeongguk’s armpit, hand resting gently on his stomach.
It is enough, for now.
The monster in his mind is soothed for now, retreating into his cave, red eyes flaming. The next time he dares to come out to play, Jeongguk will be safe.
The rest of Bangtan have steel swords ready to slay the demon.