Chapter Text
영이
(05:37) do NOT open twitter
just don’t
Except Yeongi is the boy who cries wolf. She does it too often, freaking out and making a fuss, and Sieun already usually believes people the first time. Not necessarily because he’s gullible, but because he doesn’t play with people’s feelings and thoughts, like others, so he just. Believes people. The first time. Always.
She’s done this before, texting or calling and stressing to Sieun to not go online, and it’s always something stupid. Something he doesn’t even care about, like an off guard picture Baku had posted from the stage of him, or a picture from Hyeontak's camera roll, Sieun with icing on his nose or pouting at the camera because he didn't want his picture taken. A silly edit the fanbase was sharing around, shit like that.
Stuff Sieun would always roll his eyes about.
So, when he's sitting on the balcony of his hotel room, and the early morning air is biting at his ears and his nose and his fingers, and his phone lights up with a text from Yeongi, saying do not open twitter, he just pulls his brightness down and opens twitter.
And damn. He should have listened to Yeongi for once in his life.
Sieun’s stomach falls to depths he wasn't aware even existed when he taps the stupid bird app and the first thing he sees is a photo of himself.
His fourteen year old self, his school picture from Byuksan.
Next to it, a fourteen year old Jeon Youngbin, with a bloody face and broken nose. Underneath Sieun’s school picture is a photo of the bloody curtains he used to tie up Youngbin and beat him nearly unconscious with a textbook. Next to that one, a photo of Hwang Sun-Bin, the one he stabbed in the hand with a pen.
WEAK HERO BASSIST YEON SIEUN VIOLENT PAST
NEARLY KILLS CLASSMATE IN 9TH GRADE AT BYUKSAN HIGH SCHOOL, SEOUL
Sieun feels something twist inside of him, like wringing out a towel. Except it’s his insides, all of his vital organs, and his blood is just getting drained out of him, spilling over the sides of this very nice, expensive balcony and staining the balconies below. Raining on innocent bystanders from above.
The whole day comes back, the moment.
How he felt moving through that aisle of desks, how that book felt in his hand when he smacked it upside Youngbin’s head. How he so nicely gave Taehoon his favorite pen when he stabbed it through his hand.
And the softness of the curtains in his hands, how they cooperated so well with him to wrap around Youngbin’s head and neck, blinding him, damn near hanging him in the fabric.
And then how that heavy set textbook felt when he sent the spine of it - so precisely - into that kid’s face. Over and over and fucking over. And then one last smack to send his ass to the floor, with the whites of his eyes showing, blood like rain on his face, his nose all fucked up and crooked.
It’s true.
Yeon Sieun has a violent past.
He nearly killed a student in ninth grade, at Byuksan High school. And he absolutely meant to do that shit. In fact, he’d do it again if he were awarded the opportunity to go back in time. Might even do it a little better.
He lied about that, to the police, when they asked if he regretted it. He said yes, but his brain, his heart? They said I wish I could find him right now and finish the job in unison.
His mom paid a hell of a lot of money to bury it, another amount to keep people’s mouths shut, moved him to Eunjang High School in an entirely different part of the city, and demanded he put his head so far up his book’s ass that he couldn’t even read the words on the pages.
Yeon Sieun has a violent past, but he is not a violent person.
He did one thing his first year in high school, to defend himself. That’s it. He swore he’d never do something like that again; it was horrible, awful.
He wouldn’t say he’s proud of it, but he damn sure doesn’t regret it.
He could have killed that kid, and the only reason he didn’t is because of this guy named Ahn Suho.
The thing is, this, his past being blasted on the internet on a random day in September, while he’s on the tail end of a world tour with his band, it’s the rock thrown at the pebble house. Much, much stronger than a simple gust of wind.
Sieun’s toes are already cold while he sits on the balcony, his socks are kind of thin.
But he’s already been feeling something like cold feet for three days now. Maybe more like ice feet. Blue and blistering. Painful to walk on.
There’s a constant chill on his neck, and a fog like tsunami clouds slowly thickening in his mind.
Both feelings settled in his body right in the middle of their show in Melbourne, just two days before the one they had in Berlin last night. He was staring out into the crowd, in the middle of a song, while his three bandmates, best friends, were goofing off as usual.
The screaming, the sound of his friends voices in the mics, they muted. The lights of the stage, the flashing lights from cameras and phones, they blurred.
And he knew something was about to fucking ache in him. To escape. To flee. Something more than exhaustion, more than just being a tired idol. And he mashed it down, as soon as Baku's hands mashed down on his shoulders from behind, shaking him back into the moment.
Sieun’s hands are trembling now as he swipes away from the app, and ignores Yeongi’s next incoming text, successfully predicting that he, indeed, opened twitter.
He presses a couple buttons on the screen, gets to the one he wants, lifts the phone to his ear. He feels his eyes stinging from more than the wind, and the pain of the boulder in his throat that he has to swallow while the line rings.
Just once.
“Sieun!”
Sieun feels the smile that his face wants to make, but it doesn’t happen, and instead his tears finally fall, silently, onto his cold, rosy cheeks.
“Baby, hey, you okay? I miss you. I love you. It’s so early there, hm? Why’re you up? You okay?”
It’s literally almost one in the morning where Suho is. New York Fashion Week. Sieun doesn’t know if he woke him or not, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The phone never rings more than three times when he calls him.
Sieun’s exhale is shaky and short, right before a stuttering inhale, through his nose, and he doesn’t even bother clearing his throat, it’ll continue closing anyway. It’s always against him when he cries.
However, while his throat closes, and his stomach continues dropping, his heart opens. Like always, when it’s Suho’s voice hugging his eardrums, vibrating through his whole body.
Sieun’s voice is rough and chopped when he says back, “I love you, too. I miss you.”
The line is quiet for a moment, and then, “Yeon Sieun, what happened.”
Sieun closes his eyes, so he doesn’t see the stars when his head drops back, a useless attempt to keep the tears in. But also because the stars give away such a false sense of freedom.
“I wanna run away.”
“Sieun-ah.”
“Suho,” Sieun whispers this time, water bubbling out both corners of his eyes. “It’s out. They found it, what I did.”
“Sieun, what the hell are you talking about? You’re crying. Sieun, what happened?”
Sieun shakes his head, like Suho can see him, like he’s in front of him. And God, Sieun wishes he was. More than anything. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel like he’s falling off this very nice, expensive hotel balcony. Heading straight for that cement ground.
“Byuksan, Suho, everything, they found it, it’s all over twitter.”
It’s probably all over the entire internet at this point. All of the socials, all of the tabloids.
The line goes quiet again, for longer.
“Suho-yah.”
“When is your flight?”
“What?”
“Your flight, Sieun, to Incheon tonight, when is it?”
“I dunno, I forgot, Suho, why?”
“Baby, find out? Please? Now?”
Sieun pulls the phone away from his ear and taps away, getting to his chat with the guys.
“It’s a red eye. Last one out. Eleven o’five. Suho, did you not hear me?”
“Okay, and of course I heard you, Sieun. Where are you?”
“I want to run away,” Sieun repeats, voice still cracking and hoarse.
“Sieun, where are you, baby.”
“My room.”
“Inside?”
“Outside.”
“Go to Jun-ah.”
“Suho-,”
“Please. Now. Go. Stay on the phone.”
Sieun sniffs some more, wiping his face with his sleeves, and he stands up finally, on a bit of aching knees, and reopens the balcony door, stepping inside of his warm hotel room again. The door closes kind of loudly.
Sieun grabs his wallet from the kitchenette counter in the suite, slides his feet into some lounging sandals, and leaves his room quietly.
Suho’s breathing on the phone helps him walk down the hallway. He passes a few rooms, and then stands in front of Room 1409. He knocks lightly.
“He might not wake up, Suho.”
“Knock harder. If not, you go to Tak or Baku. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He knocks again, a little harder, waits a few moments, and then the lock snaps open and the door pulls, Juntae standing there with his sleep mask on his forehead and a very cute puffy face, not wearing his glasses.
“Sieun-ah?”
“Put him on the phone, Sieun.”
Sieun passes the phone, wordlessly. Juntae grabs it without really asking about it, he’s obviously exhausted and confused, but grabs the phone.
Juntae greets politely, “Hello?”
Sieun just stands there. He can’t hear Suho’s voice, he has no idea what he’s telling him, but Juntae’s suddenly looking a lot less confused, and a little more awake. Realizes that Sieun is standing there with tears streaming down his face. He nods and hums, listening.
“Understood, Suho-yah, thank you. Here he is again.” Juntae holds out the phone, Sieun accepts. Juntae opens his door more and Sieun shuffles in.
He hums to Suho that he’s back listening.
“Sieun, hold it together. For me at least.”
“Suho,” Sieun whispers, still standing by the door, and Juntae’s just waiting, a little bit aways, sitting at one of the barstools by the counter.
“Yes?”
“I’m scared.”
“I know. Stay with Jun-ah. Stay inside, until your flight, understand?”
“Yes.”
“Sieun.”
“Hm?”
“You have absolutely nothing to worry about, you know that, right? I know you are scared, but don’t be scared that it won’t get fixed. I will fix this, understand?”
Sieun is scared, but that doesn’t stop him from not doubting Ahn Suho. It never has.
He always thought fear was the biggest feeling he could ever feel. That it would trump any other emotion.
The way you get when you’re scared, when you’re fending for your life. The fight or flight mode. The adrenaline, how it shields your mind and blocks out pain, only to resolve after it’s all over and leave trauma in its wake.
None of those feelings are bigger than the trust he has in Ahn Suho.
“I understand.”
“Sieun, I’m going to take care of it. Try to sleep. I will call you when it’s later your time.”
“Okay.”
“Sleep, Sieun. Or rest, something. Stop crying. I’m not there to hold you.”
Sieun doesn’t say anything, but he does sniff in the place of words, telling Suho that it’ll be damn hard not to do that.
He’s been crying this entire time, so calmly. Even with the tears escaping, the earthquake in his ribs rumbles. And if his ribs were the plates of the Earth, then they’d be separating. Diverging, revealing a gaping void.
“Say one more thing. Please.”
“I love you.”
“Hm. I love you impossibly more. You hang up.”
Sieun feels a little worse when he does, the line ending, reminding him he’s back alone. Not really, one of his best friends is sitting in front of him, a worried look on his face. And as much as Sieun loves Juntae, and trusts him… he’s still not Suho.
“Sieun-nah, you should try to sleep.” Juntae rises and walks over to him, and then pulls his phone out of his hand. “I was told to hold onto this as well… for some reason…”
Sieun doesn’t care, and he’s glad for it. Juntae puts his phone on the counter, looks back at him with more awake eyes, still worried.
“Suho didn’t tell me much and I’m not going to ask questions.”
Sieun doesn’t even tell him about what’s circling around on the internet right now, he’ll figure it out in due time. So, he just walks past Juntae and sits on the couch in the living room portion of his suite, with his eyes on the door to the balcony.
“Mmm…” Juntae hums in thought, clearly debating about what to say, a little frown on his face.
Sieun wipes under his nose, his dark gray long sleeve pulled taunt around his hand.
He asks, “Why?”
“Suho said you shouldn’t be by the door.”
Sieun puffs out one of those laughs of disbelief, short and through his nose. Of course. And even if Suho doesn’t tell him directly, Sieun listens. He stands and sits on the chair on the other side of the room, now with his back to the wall that holds the balcony.
“Do you need anything?”
Besides Suho? Some supervision? Besides his violent past, the one fucking thing that was never supposed to see the light of day, vanishing from the digital abyss at which they exist in overwhelmingly now?
Sieun's eyelids fold over his eyes so slowly. “No. Thank you, Jun-ah.”
“It’s okay. Okay, I’m gonna get back in the bed, then. I might fall asleep, but you know I’m a light sleeper. So…”
So, don’t go over to that fucking balcony door, Sieun. Or the front door either. Don’t try to sneak or jump out of here, Yeon Sieun.
And Sieun’s not going to, he’s not. He’s just thinking about it.
Sieun relaxes as much as he can into the fluffy white chair, while Juntae passes in front of him, and climbs back into his bed, snuggling in. He’ll definitely fall asleep soon, and Sieun will be left with his running mind and still trembling hands. His ice feet.
Yeon Sieun is not a violent person. Not naturally.
Naturally, the most violent thing about him is his emotions, his sensitivity underneath his collected demeanor. His dire need to just… be, it erodes everything else if he’s pushed past his limit.
And it was Ahn Suho who kept him from killing that kid. Who brought him back when that limit didn’t have a wall to cage Sieun in anymore.
Ahn Suho, who used to laugh fondly at his new friend in middle school because of how much he hated physical activity. Who always spoke for Sieun’s quietness, uncaring that Sieun just didn’t talk much. He knew he’d open up to him eventually, he really didn’t have to try that hard.
Ahn Suho, who shoved Sieun away from Youngbin and kept him from driving the heel of his shoe into his head.
That’s enough. Don’t cross the line.
Suho had been in love with Sieun since he met him in seventh, in gym class, watching him despise participating in anything that involved moving faster than walking, or the coordination for a flying ball- regardless of its size, but right then … seeing Sieun go fucking crazy like that (rightfully so), it changed something drastically in how he felt about his friend.
It made him want to make sure Sieun never got to that place again. That he would never let the world get too heavy for him, or let anyone make him feel the way those boys did back in school. Never again.
He swore on his life, he’d do anything to make sure of it.
So, in addition to becoming so much more than Sieun’s friend, Ahn Suho really became his guardian angel.
His first call, first text, the person he waited on and enjoyed being waited for, the only person he wanted to see after the long days, the first person he wanted to see in the morning before the day got hard.
Even after Sieun’s mom moved him to Eunjang, they remained. Even after Sieun’s parents realized who Sieun was spending so much time with, and they very gently disapproved, they remained.
Suho’s always had his eye on Sieun, since they met. After seeing him lose himself in that classroom, there was no way his life was going to encompass anything different than looking for and after Yeon Sieun.
He took care of the bullies, and he took care of Sieun after that. And he hasn’t stopped since then.
That’s why he knew what to do this morning, immediately. Tell Sieun to get the fuck off that balcony and go sit with someone he trusts, a smidgen less than him, but someone he trusts nonetheless.
Seo Juntae first, just because of their relationship. Sieun is usually glued to his side especially during the tours. Juntae can be as rowdy as Hyeontak and Humin, but he can also be quiet and a lot easier to be around than them. They understand each other in that way.
Suho trusted him with his Sieun this morning, so Sieun will trust in that decision and sit in the chair of his hotel room, staring at the wall, still unable to sleep.
While his feet feel like two icebergs, while his ribs continue to diverge, while the fog is starting to blind his view.
Sieun pulls his lips in between his teeth, tries not to sniff so much, but the tears continue, so quietly.
Juntae falls asleep after a little while, and Sieun brings his knees to his chest, trying for the smallest ball he can possibly make with his body.
He turns his head on his cheek, on top of his knees, eyes looking back at that balcony door.
He’s not going to do anything stupid, but he can’t help the curiosity that always settles in his mind right along with that familiar fog.
Curiosity about real freedom, real release. From his own mind and what it does to him sometimes.
He knows he’s not just tired from the tour. It’s not just body exhaustion, mental fatigue, or anything like that. He knows what that feels like, they’ve been in the spotlight for four years now. And granted, Sieun does fall into burn out more often than any of them, but again, this isn’t that normal burn out.
This tiredness is… hollowing.
This is defeat before the war even begins. He was feeling it before this morning. The sky didn’t have to open up for the hail to punch at his head.
Sieun’s brain always seems to skip the build up, it always sneaks up on him, kind of like his love for Suho did.
The hollowing always stands in the corner for a little while, and then he blinks and suddenly it’s engulfing him. It’s all he can feel.
He wants to run away, because that’s the only thing that’ll keep him alive.
And he has to stay alive, not for himself, not his friends and bandmates, definitely not for the fucking fans.
For Suho.