Chapter Text
"What do you think would happen if one of us dies?"
MInho always used to say never to talk about such hypotheticals after the sun goes down, insisting that it was just a plain stupid idea.
Hyunjin never listened to Minho very well, even after thirteen years working together.
Chan tipped his head back against the arm of the sofa and let out a loud, obnoxious groan. The others, lounged in various positions across the living room, chimed in with a chorus of noises and sounds of disapproval, to which the singer laughed and held up his hands in defence.
"Yes, yes, I know! But, but, like, for real ..."
There was a harmless sparkle in his eyes. "I think ... I think Jeongin-ah would be the first to put out a golden heartbreaking record and go global."
Seungmin lept up, indignant.
"I'm the only one who's signed! What do you mean?"
Minho burst out laughing, nearly spitting out his drink. "You'd be the first to pass away from grief."
Felix clung to Chan's arm, a wrinkle between his eyebrows despite his childlike grin.
"Guys, this really isn't all that funny ..."
Jisung stood up, nodding in agreement, even as he shook off some giggles.
"Yah, Lixie's right, we should clean up and kiss goodnight."
"Gross, go away with that." Hyunjin scowled, pressed up to Changbin's chest, a habit he never quite grew out of, even at twenty-five.
As his hyungs all clamoured around the apartment, putting plates in the dishwasher and leftovers in the fridge, Yang Jeongin remained on the couch. He was still nursing a fractured knee from a skiing accident a few months prior, which was half the reason why his apartment was cluttered with seven additional people. They never really stopped acting like his family, but he wasn't about to complain.
He scrolled his phone for a long minute before he realized he wasn't the only one left in the living room, out of the chaos that was the kitchen. The maknae slowly picked his head up, wary in case the other man was waiting to pounce on him, which some of them were apt to do, since he was much more ticklish than he ever let on. Through his lashes, he glanced up and down his hyung's form, and a slow, careful worry flooded unwelcome in his belly.
Changbin was staring into the distance, his face entirely too pale for a mere dinner party at his dongsaeng's home. He was fidgeting nervously with the edge of his sweater, his knee bouncing to a frantic yet detached tempo, and something was bubbling under his chest, causing his breaths to slide to a stop like pulled with a handbrake before skidding back up again. He didn't seem to even hear the ruckus that was the rest of the members, crowded in the kitchen, singing and goofing off as if the last fifteen years hadn't gone by in the blink of their eyes. As if they were kids once more.
"Hyung?" Jeognin whispered, his throat dry with something he couldn't think about yet.
The older boy nodded, seemingly shaking himself gently from his daydream, despite how much it looked like a terror-trace.
"Mm?"
Jeongin didn't know what to do with his hands. He turned off his phone silently.
"What's up?"
This time, Changbin managed to look up, his gaze sticking through the youngest like a spike, and he smiled gently. As if nothing had been wrong, he shook his head, moving stiffly to climb up off the sofa that had seemed to swallow him whole briefly.
"Nothing. Just thinking." He slapped his thighs good-naturedly, and the pallor of his face had almost returned to normal.
Jeongin couldn't breathe, feeling like he'd witnessed a key plot twist in a film that he was always too slow to pick up on, always faking it later when his hyungs spoke about it. He swallowed hard and nodded, but before he could respond, the older boy was standing, moving to the kitchen, saying happily over his shoulder,
"Let's get you some dessert and another drink, yah?"
Hours later, after half of the members had returned to their own respective apartments, Chan crawled into Jeongin's guest room, which he was currently sharing with Changbin during their small stay with the youngest. The eldest had spent a while tucking Jeongin in, helping him with his medication and feeding the fish. Seungmin had then insisted on bunking with Jeongin in his bedroom, and Chan went off in search of his fellow producer. He'd found the other boy sitting in the dark, staring blankly in front of him, still in his day clothes.
"Bin, jeans. No outside clothes on the bed. I raised you better." Chan chuckled, reaching over and taking the boy's pants down for him, knowing he had to have been struggling with the alcohol swimming in his tummy by then.
"Felixie would struggle. But, eventually, he would find his way back to you; he always could."
Chan looked up from where he had placed the crumpled pile of clothes, and had to squint in the dark to be able to see the strange light in Changbin's drunken gaze. He finished getting ready for sleep, gently murmuring,
"What are you talking about, Binnie?"
The younger man tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Chan would never see the tears falling from his lashes in the darkness of the room.
"Jin-ah was right, Jeonginnie might be the first to go back to music. He'll do really well, too."
There was a roughness to Changbin's voice that made Chan nauseous, but he choked it up to the soju. He needed to get this boy to sleep and sober as soon as possible.
"Shhh, go to sleep, don't ... don't think about that stuff."
"Seungmin-ah will be just fine. He'll stick close to Innie, to keep him safe. Keep him safe, hyung. You and Minho-hyung both, you stay with h-him. Minho needs someone to take care of, too, s'not just you."
Chan climbed in between the blankets and sighed, his eyelids heavy and damp now.
"Bin, I love you. But shut up, I don't wanna hear this."
The boy kept talking as if his hyung wasn't even there, his lips trembling in the pitch darkness. His tears went unnoticed, and Chan prayed for patience.
"Hyunjinnie shouldn't leave, he should ... he should stay c-close to one of you, maybe ... maybe he'll paint for a few years before d-dancing again."
In one last attempt, Chan rolled over and wrapped the younger boy in his arms, curling into his neck and taking big breaths.
"Shhh ... you're okay ... Hyungie's here, you're okay ..."
Changbin choked on a small breath and wriggled out of Chan's arms, sitting up and panting slightly.
"Hyung, Jisung-ah ..."
Chan's stomach plummeted, and he yanked Changbin back down into his arms, clarity racing in his arms. Whatever his dongsaeng was struggling with, whether it was thoughts or alcohol, he would hold him through them if it killed him. The boy fought him for a second, but eventually clung to him, and it was then that Chan could feel the tears soaking his skin. Oh, Binnie-ah ... He hadn't been this emotional while drunk since Hyunjin's accident.
"Jisung-ah," Changbin hiccupped, "... he's, he's gotta go home, he's not gonna make it unless he goes home. Please, pr-promise me you'll make him go home ..."
He clung to Chan with trembling fingers and gasped softly into the night, "Promise, hyung, even if you have to take him there yourself, please Chan-ah -"
Chan started to rock, from his awkward position lying down, tangled in strange blankets, and hushed the younger, pressing his lips firmly to the side of Changbin's head.
"Shhhhh ... you're safe, listen, hush, now, little one ... sleep, now, I've got you ... shhh .... shhh ..."
The younger boy shuddered, but gave up without a fight, curling into Chan's chest in a way he hadn't in years, not since they were much smaller and much younger, and drifted closer and closer to sleep.
As Chan also began to drowse off, he heard Changbin whisper, feeling the words tattoo themselves across his collarbones like runes of a terrible fate foretold,
"... he's gotta go home, hyung ..."
... eight years later ...
Jeongin was awoken from his deep sleep by the sound of the car chirping locked softly in the driveway, signaling the safe return of his husband. He groaned and rolled over, wishing to go back to sleep as soon as physically possible. However, it was summer, and the bedroom windows were wide open, letting in the smooth, crisp Australian air, and snippets of voices reached his sleepy ears, keeping him in the land of the conscious. Rolling his eyes under his lids, the younger man sighed and sat up, intending to slam the windows shut, a passive-aggressive attempt at telling Seungmin to shut the fuck up. It was nearly three in the morning, and he was having a full-blown conversation?
Shuffling to the windows that overlooked the driveway, Jeongin sniffled before freezing when he heard his husband's voice change, a note of intensity creeping into the smooth baritone that Jeongin hadn't heard in nearly ten years.
"You can't keep asking me to do this, I can't keep lying to them ..."
Jeongin had never flown down the stairs faster in his life, silently padding to the porch door, a stupid screen thing, and now stood staring at his husband's back, frozen in place, ears burning. He didn't have the first idea what he was listening to, but that voice was the one Seungmin used only when he was talking to someone from the company, and never at three in the God-forsaken morning. Something was wrong, and if Seungmin was talking about lying? Jeongin knew his husband would forgive him for eavesdropping.
Breath lodged like a splinter in his throat, the younger man blinked, listening hard.
In front of him, Seungmin was standing awkwardly in the middle of the driveway, still in his pressed suit from work, suitcase leaning against one leg, and looking up at the stars. His hair had been recently cut short once more, like when they were kids, for a role in a small series he'd shot in the city, and Jeongin often found himself mourning the long, dark curls that once adorned his husband's head. The older man held his phone up to his ear with an attitude that Jeongin knew meant he was thinking seriously of hanging up on whoever had called him. Such expressions you only memorize after ten years of being together, even longer of knowing one another.
And only after having gone through unimaginable tragedy together, glued together by the worst events they could have ever fathomed.
Chan and Felix were also subject to such glue, having also retreated deep into the continent, closer to Sydney than the younger boys. It took three years after the funeral for them to initiate a get-together with the others, but they took their time to heal well. Jeongin was always proud of them for that, even if it hurt.
Minho and Jisung took off to the States. Honestly, Jeongin was just happy Minho didn't let Jisung run away by himself, even if it meant moving so far away. They started their own studio, and frequently flown back across the ocean for holidays and for the anniversary of the worst day of their lives.
The six of them even did group therapy together, over the computer, for a year or so. It didn't not help ...
"No one has heard from Hyunjin-ah in seven years, you hear me? Seven years, you selfish piece of shit!" Seungmin whisper-shrieked into the phone suddenly, tears and spit flying from his face.
... and Hyunjin left for the military early. He burned his paintings the night before he left.
"You selfish piece of shit, that is your fault, I don't, I d-don't give a f-fuck what you read online, that shis is your fault, hy-hyung ..."
Jeongin blinked, wide-eyed. Hyung?
"... Hyung, I just ..." He watched his husband sink to his knees onto the pavement, shoulders crumpling in a pain that Jeongin had thought had left them years ago. Not knowing what possessed him, Jeongin pushed the screen door open and stepped barefoot out onto the porch, eyes burning with something he wasn't ready to talk about. Seungmin's broken voice pierced the night and wrapped around Jeongin's heart, squeezing relentlessly.
"... I miss you, I can't do this without you anymore ..."
The screen door creaked quietly as it shut behind Jeongin, and Seungmin turned around to stare at his husband. Tears were falling from his nose, and he watched the younger man with a careful gaze before whispering without hesitating, his voice solid and determined,
"Let me tell Innie."
Jeongin swallowed hard, unable to breathe. This could not be happening; he was still dreaming.
"No, you don't ... let me tell Innnie, or I tell them all." Seungmin bit angrily, his chest heaving once with a terrible sob. He slid from his knees to his bottom, now a complete and utter puddle of thirty-two-year-old man on the pavement of his driveway in the middle of the night in August.
"Okay. Okay, I heard you. Thank you. Bye."
The silence of the night suffocated them, the two of them merely blinking across the meter of space that separated them, feeling like miles. Seungmin nodded at his empty lap, his shoulders rolling in exhaustion, and when he looked up at his husband, there was a terrible note of guilt in his eyes, and a wrinkle between his brows that Jeongin had memorized the taste of every night when they made love. It was his favorite spot. Something was wrong, though, because Seungmin had been talking about lying, and he'd called the other person on the phone hyung, but he'd never spoken to any of the other members with that tone of voice, not since ... not since ...
This cannot be happening.
Seungmin stood up, leaving his suitcase on the pavement, and came to stand at the bottom of the porch steps, looking up at Jeongin with that awful guilt pulling his bottom lip into a pout, the worst kind. Jeongin wanted to throw up.
"Innie ... my love," Seungmn whispered, sinking to his knees on the steps. "Changbin-hyung is alive. He's been alive this whole time. And he needs us now."
It happened miserably fast, like a steady clock no one paid close attention to.
Hyunjin missed his gate, splitting up the members from their original departure plan. Changbin volunteered to stay with him overnight until the next flight arrived to take them back to Korea. It had been a long and frankly awful photoshoot for their last album, and they were all exhausted, Seungmin even falling asleep while standing in line several times, and Felix struggling with motion sickness to the point where Chan had to carry him when there were no cameras flashing.
... tick ...
Six members returned safely that night, and two curled up together in a hotel bedroom for a few hours of sleep before it all went wrong.
... tick ...
Hyunjin woke up alone, but there was a stack of reassuring text messages on his phone, telling him that the older boy had merely gone out for a quick run to get his nervous energy out before the long flight. He would make it in time, Hyunjin should just meet him at the airport. Hyunjin listened.
... tick ...
It was five minutes until boarding, and Changbin didn't show up. He didn't race through security like he normally did, with a handsome grin and a thumbs-up to the security officer. He didn't sidle up next to Hyunjin to tease him about his outfit before laying his head on the younger boy's shoulder when no one was looking.
... tick ...
Two minutes to boarding. Hyunjin bit his fingernails nervously. He sent a twelfth frantic text message to his hyung, asking him where he was and to at least tell him he was safe.
... tick ... tick ...
Hyunjin would always blame himself for this, it was a turn of events he could never change. He boarded by himself, trusting blindly that the man he had grown to love as his own would find his way to him.
The flight took off.
Hyunjin didn't receive any of the emails, texts, or phone calls telling him what had happened, for he was in the air. As a rule, he didn't pick up his phone during flights, just a weird little tic of his.
Chan left seventeen voicemails, sobbing and retching and begging over the receiver. He would later plead with the younger boy to erase them before listening, telling him that he hadn't been in his right mind and was far too ashamed of his behavior. Hyunjin didn't listen to him, keeping the voicemails locked in secret, in a tomb he never let anyone inside.
... tick ...
Jisung tried calling once, leaving a silent voicemail, in which Hyunjin would swear he could hear the younger praying for forgiveness, but he hung up after a breath. Jisung would not speak again for a little over two years.
... tick ...
The group chat exploded. His email inbox flooded with thousands of messages. He wasn't even sure his phone could handle that much information and intake.
... tick ...
Maybe it was better this way, but for some horrible and sick reason, Hyunjin found out through the company's post on social media notifying the fans of what had happened.
When he slid his phone unlocked, his thumb accidentally pressed on that notification first, since it was the latest one.
He hadn't even gotten unbuckled from his seat yet when the words flashed before him.
The funeral was small. Chan was firm about that, even going toe-to-toe with JYP himself. Only family, the leader had insisted, tears streaming down his face, threatening to leave the company if his wishes were not seen and obeyed.
The seven of them moved back in together for that week, not being able to let each other out of their sights during the press, the preparations, the legalities of it all.
... five years later ...
And the first time Changbin's notification flashed across Seungmin's phone screen after the accident, Seungmin rolled his eyes, deflecting the searing pain that whipped through his small body. He ignored the call, knowing in his bones that of course, by now, five years later, the older boy's phone number had to have been reassigned. Seungmin was foolish to even keep it at this point.
The second call happened not a day later, and the younger boy was beginning to feel old bruises and scars split open each time he saw the contact light up on the screen. Once more, he ignored the call.
On the third day, Seungmin was woken from a deep sleep, nestled in the crook of Jeongin's neck, by a small, whisper-quiet buzz from his nightstand. Rubbing his eyes, he blindly reached for his phone, noticing with a grumble that it wasn't even midnight yet.
11:49 pm
Changbinnie-hyung <3
Pick up the damn phone, puppy
Blinking in sleep-addled shock, Seungmin read the text a thousand times in ten seconds, one word punching him in the stomach every time.
Puppy.
Puppy.
Puppy.
Nearly falling on his face, the younger boy stumbled out of bed, rushing to the bathroom, and nearly missing the garbage can when bile rose in his throat. He gagged, sobbing, and was sure he was about to die. His phone screen cracked in the corner by the camera lens from how hard he was squeezing it. Stifling his cries with the other hand, Seungmin fell to his knees, trying desperately hard not to wake Jeognin in the next room.
It took him three hours to open the message, seeing the small little checkmark appear on the bottom of the screen, telling whoever was on the other end that he'd read the text.
He knew what he needed to do, but the thorn wedged between his collarbones was unrelenting, and at the end of the day, he was still just a scared little kid who needed his hyung back.
2:51 am
Me
Who is this?
His hands shook, and he spat up another round of burning stomach acid mixed with grief and a selfish wave of hatred. Why did it have to be him; why couldn't it have been Chan to get messages from Changbin's old number? Why, why, why ...
Seungmin's text was read within three seconds, and the boy choked on a breath when the bubble indicating the other person was typing popped up within five. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he couldn't drag his eyes away from the screen for a moment. The bathroom tiles were cold underneath him, and he swayed with dizziness.
2:53 am
Changbinnie-hyung <3
Hyung missed you so much
Seungmin threw his phone across the bathroom and sank his teeth into the towel that hung near the sink, stifling his scream of pain. How unfair, this horrible trick ... whoever was pulling on his heart like this, they were skilled. Hundreds of thousands of thoughts whirred through his head, and he knew he needed to get his shit together, fast. Blinking hard through his stinging tears, he made a quiet, resolute plan.
He would screenshot the timestamps, send them to the company, and let them handle it. He would crawl back into bed after shutting his phone and laptop down to be safe, and try his best to go back to sleep. Jeongin shouldn't know. They would go back to normal life in the morning, and it would all be horrendously fine.
Several minutes later, he crawled across the bathroom floor on numb legs to retrieve his phone. Swallowing around the lump in his throat that had made its home there for the last five years, he tried to act quickly, trying hard to keep his unfocused eyes away from the words that pierced through his heart so.
But, at the end of the day ... he was still just a scared little kid. Sue him.
His red and weeping eyes read the messages before he could even think to stop himself.
3:11 am
Changbinnie-hyung <3
I know you don't believe me
Give me a chance, I can explain it all
Hyung promises
It wasn't fair, was it?
Please, puppy ... pick up the phone, let me say sorry
Seungmin gasped, tears running into his mouth and his nose running obnoxiously, like a toddler. This was, by far, the worst thing to ever happen to him. The accident was bad, but this, this was plain mean. His chest hammering, he sobbed quietly into his wrist as he took screenshots and prepared to send an email to his manager and agents. They would deal with this by the time he woke up for work again at 8. They would.
Before he could manage to press send, however ... an incoming call blocked his screen.
Changbin's contact photo smiled up at him, and he wanted to sell his soul to be rid of the pain.
Instead, he answered.
Shakily held the phone up to his ear.
Lips unmoving.
His chest frozen, unable to breathe any longer.
He shut his eyes, waiting for his fate.
The giggle of a teen, telling him he'd been pranked. The click of the receiver, telling him he was a lost cause, even then. The sound of a robot, telling him he needed to pay a fee for a collect call from God knows where.
Anything.
Anything but the whisper of a familiar breath.
Anything but the sound of wind whistling in the background, a gentle breeze much like what was outside Seungmin's window.
Anything but the soft whisper, Changbin's unmistakable timbre sinking into Seungmin's ear like a flood of cold water washing over him,
"... Hi, puppy."
The fear and agony searing in Seungmin's chest immediately turned to red-hot anger. He narrowed his eyes, staring blankly at the bathroom wall, and rasped,
"... If you're not dead, I will be the one to kill you."
There was a chuckle on the other end, and the younger boy was going to rip open his veins in order to wake himself up from his nightmare.
"I know. I know, Minnie, and ... and I am so sorry."
Seungmin whispered, his chest caving in.
"What the fuck is happening right now?"
Spit fell from his lips, joining the quickly drying tears and sweat that splattered and soaked into his pajama shirt, but he couldn't care less. A fucking ghost was speaking to him, and he was falling for it like a fool.
"I'm so sorry, please believe me, I ... I didn't mean for it to happen this way."
Mind spinning, Seungmin clamped his mouth closed, his body heaving with terrible sobs, whimpering muffled sounds into the bathroom. After a long minute, he was only able to whisper two words, his brain short-circuiting at the sound of his hyung's voice so clear and real over the phone.
"... five years ..."
"I know, puppy -"
"Five years, hy-hy- ..." he couldn't finish the incriminating word, choking into his sleeve.
"I know, I'm so sorry, breathe, honey, I know ... it's me, I swear ... I'm right here ... you're okay, just breathe ..."
Seungmin passed out, twitching and shivering with fever on the bathroom tiles.