Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There is blood on his hands when he’s done coughing.

It is both so obvious what it is and also so far removed from what Jeongguk would ever expect to see that he’s having a hard time believing it, but there’s no mistaking it either. It’s blood, and it’s sprayed across both of his hands in little dots like faded freckles of rust.

His hands tremble; coughing up blood. Notoriously, that’s not a good sign, but. Jeongguk is young. He’s healthy. He spends a decent portion of his conscious hours working out in one form or another. He’s never spared a thought for his general health outside of drinking enough water and watching how much sugar he eats. There are no major health issues known in his family other than his great aunt who had breast cancer.

Coughing up blood. All he can think of is the period drama that Jimin once made him watch by virtue of sharing one television between the seven of them for so long. It was about - cholera, Jeongguk thinks? Some sort of infectious disease that wiped out village after village. Maybe it wasn’t cholera. Jeongguk isn’t sure. He thinks about all the places they go, all the countries they visit, but Jeongguk has a feeling he is the only one coughing up red.

A cheerful whistle moving closer to him breaks Jeongguk out of his daze. Taehyung showed up approximately an hour ago because there was so much paparazzi swarming his usual coffee place that he gave up and decided to bide his time at the apartment and try later. As Taehyung enters the bathroom, all Jeongguk can do is look up and watch the other’s movements as he putters around in their larger shared bathroom in the joint apartment they all filter in and out of as wanted or needed. Jeongguk still prefers to live in it full time. Does he own a unit in the most expensive building in Seoul, not far from Hoseok’s own unit? Yeah. Sure. It was something his advisor recommended he invest in. Does it feel like anything to him?

Unclear. But it certainly doesn’t feel like home to him.

Here he can still pilfer Yoongi’s laundry detergent that smells better out of this washing machine than the one in his own apartment. Here he can mix up his hoodie for one left behind by Namjoon, or steal Jimin’s leftovers from the fridge because the dancer prefers to eat here rather than the company building where all sorts of eyes are always watching. Jeongguk likes to bring home a pallet of cup ramen because the others will cheer when they eventually see it, and he gleefully hides the healthier produce in the back of the fridge just to hear Seokjin complain about what they eat when their meals aren’t being provided for them. This feels like a home, even when the others aren’t there.

Right now, he moves his head to track Taehyung as comes in to open a drawer and grab a bottle of cologne or aftershave. Jeongguk still isn’t sure of the difference between the two, nor does he know who the bottle belongs to. Taehyung continues whistling, without glancing over at Jeongguk once, even with his hands awkwardly raised in front of his body like he has no idea what to do with them. Tae just turns and whistles his way on out of the room without breaking pace, never sparing him a single glance.

When the door clicks shut behind him, Jeongguk shivers. He would have imagined - if Taehyung had just looked up -

But he didn’t. And now Jeongguk doesn’t know what to do or think about blood on his hands. He’s left alone in this, one of the most confusing moments he can think of. It’s not a lot of blood, he guesses, and when he looks up at his reflection in the mirror, his face is pale but unblemished. There’s nothing on his lips or face that matches what’s on his hands. He expected to see a scene from a horror movie, but instead he looks very normal and in fact, Jeongguk could have easily overlooked the tiny speckles if he hadn’t been paying attention.

“Jeongguk-ah! I’m leaving now! I’ll see you at vocal performance later!” Taehyung yells from the general proximity of the front door. Jeongguk hears it open and shut, the lock beeping behind him.

So, Jeongguk washes his hands. Once, twice. It isn’t hard to get that amount of blood off, but it is hard to stop thinking about it. He traces his lips with his fingers to see if there is miraculously a cut somewhere to explain it, opens his mouth to peer down his throat, but it all looks healthy. He looks healthy.

When he exits the bathroom, it’s quiet in the apartment. He’s the only one there. He’s the only one who’s slept there this past month.

Life goes on, as they themselves say and sing for their fans.

Let it be known that Jeongguk does make an appointment with a doctor after the scary start to his day. He does his research and picks someone outside of the company, just to have his options. He wants to know for sure that any information that might come out of the appointment is his and his alone until he needs to inform someone else. There’s no use in upsetting anyone unless it’s something serious, but when nothing drastic happens again and no other symptoms seem obvious, Jeongguk cancels the appointment last minute before he needs to leave for it. He doesn’t have the time for it, not really. Besides, he did some reading on the internet. Hemoptysis has a wide range of causes, not all of which are ultimately that serious, and even so - Jeongguk wonders now if it was something else. He thought it was blood. He could have been mistaken. What if it was weird mucus or something? He’s had strep more than once in his career, and it’s the worst as a vocal performer. Maybe he’s about to get super strep.

The day of his would-be appointment sees him shuttled out the door and into a car for a rescheduled engagement - he isn’t even sure what it is.

(A photoshoot. That’s what it is.)

The makeup noona tsks over the dark circles under his eyes like always, but she also mentions that he looks a little more blue than usual. Jeongguk may think it’s a little odd that she’d comment on such a thing, but he assures her he’s feeling alright.

She stifles a chuckle. “I meant literally. See here.” She traces a finger over his neck without actually touching him. “Your skin is cooler today because your veins are closer to the surface of your skin.”

“Oh.” Jeongguk sees what she sees. He thinks. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Happens. Could be a lot of reasons. Sometimes it’s something as minor as hydration levels. Sometimes your blood is thinner during certain parts of the year. Did you have any blood drawn recently?”

Jeongguk shakes his head, thinking about how in an alternate version of the day, he might be doing just that at the doctor’s office right now. As is, he really thinks about how he hasn’t had any water yet this morning, and lest Seokjin somehow hear this conversation and force Jeongguk to start lugging around his American sized gallon water bottle again, he promises her to drink up as soon as they’re done.

“Jeez, JK. Is the concept for this shoot vampires? You’re so washed out. Are you meant to look this pale?” Taehyung’s teasing turns to mild concern, poking him in the cheek as Jeongguk joins him and Jimin. Today’s subunits are maknae and hyung line, making it easy in some ways, but also - Jeongguk yearns to lean into Hoseok’s side until the older laughs and just pulls him down into his lap. Hoseok almost always wants to cuddle.

“Had to use a different foundation today.” Jeongguk tries to lean into Jimin, but Jimin gently half steps out of the embrace. Jeongguk frowns; Jimin isn’t one to deny him usually. He does keep a hand on him until Jeongguk rights himself though.

“Are you sure? You look a little - ah, peaky is the word my mom might use,” Taehyung asks, but before Jeongguk can answer, a loud cackle (definitely Seokjin) and a loud groan (probably Yoongi, but maybe Namjoon) from the other side of the room distracts his team members. Both Taehyung and Jimin smile easily at whatever goes on where their hyungs finish their part of the shoot, but all Jeongguk can think is how nice it would be for Taehyung to still be looking at him. Instead, they’re both walking away from Jeongguk towards the others.

Suddenly, he does feel more than a little tired. Maybe a little sore too, but that’s not unusual for him. He’s tired and needs a cuddle, maybe a nap after this if their schedule allows it. Even a long car ride will do. The idea of curling up in between Hoseok and Yoongi especially comforts him as he takes position with Taehyung and Jimin, but as the photographer reviews the shot list with them, Jeongguk has to watch the hyungs pull on their coats and depart without them, already finished for the day.

He must lean a little too heavily into Taehyung’s side over the course of the hour, because once again he asks if Jeongguk is alright. Jimin sits on Taeyhung’s other side, the three of them meant to be spread out across the decorated set. Jeongguk shivers, cold even under all the lights. He just wants to stick his hands under Taehyung’s jacket, just wants to rest his eyes a little in between lighting tests.

“Yah! Jeon Jeongguk!” Jimin protests, clapping his hands in front of Jeongguk’s face. Not only does it startle him awake, but it makes him feel small. He shrinks behind Taehyung’s back feeling properly chastised. “We’re all tired, but you can’t fall asleep on set like that! C’mon!”

Normally, Jeongguk might roll his eyes and playfully swat at Jimin. Right now, his hyung looks pissed. Jeongguk jumps up from where he was laid out on the set couch; it’s not like they were shooting at that particular moment, he thinks, but as he watches Jimin march off to - the bathroom? - he notices the tension in the air.

He is unsure if it’s because of him or something else.

“Tae-ah.” Jeongguk tugs at his friend’s baggy sleeve. He’s wearing a long sleeved striped shirt under a floral print button down worth probably fifty times what the basic knit under it is worth. It’s the sort of thing that looks effortless on him. “Is Chim okay?”

Taehyung hums, looking up from his phone momentarily. “He’ll be fine. Just feeling a little under the weather, but after this he’s going to get fluids, I think.”

Oh. Of course Jimin isn’t feeling well. It’s so obvious, now that Jeongguk isn’t thinking only of himself. The flush on his cheeks could be written off as heavy handed blush, or the glassy eyed stare when he comes back from break could just be from exhaustion, but Jeongguk knows what exhaustion looks like on Jimin, and he knows what illness looks like on him too. Jimin even sniffles miserably when he comes back to apologize to Jeongguk. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just - tired too, you know? And my voice is a little sore, and I can’t tell if it’s nothing or something.”

They’ve been doing nonstop vocals for the past week, and even on his best days Jimin pushed himself, perfectionist as he is. Jeongguk tries to hug him, but Jimin side steps again. Must be afraid of sharing anything contagious. “Of course, hyung. It’s okay. Do you want me to come with you after the shoot is over? Taehyungie said you might get fluids.”

So Jeongguk goes along with Jimin to their medic office. The company owns doctors, twenty-four seven on-call doctors, that’s how successful it is. It is a bizarre thought that they could have their own hospital at this point with all the money this company has. It’s convenient for all of the little things they need; they never have to wait for treatment if they go in, can get someone to come to them at their homes any time even if that’s easier.

But. Every single thing they do is documented, and the company owns that too. A medical history isn’t history, it’s a blueprint for the future, and they don’t take any chances with any idol’s future.

Jeongguk sits with Jimin as they run the IV. He watches the fluid slide from the bag into the drip. He does not tell anyone about the doctor’s appointment he would have had today. He does not tell anyone about the blood. He stays quiet by Jimin’s side because that’s what his friend needs right now.

Later that month, Hoseok asks Jeongguk to learn a more intense choreo for a remix of their newest hit; it’s fun and upbeat, the kind of thing that Seokjin or Namjoon would need a lot more time to learn, might still have issues with even on their best days, but between him and Hoseok, it’s easy. Jimin joins them, having recovered from his two week long cold that plagued him enough to be miserable but not enough to mandate real rest time off. He powered through the way they expect the group to power through unless it is something “medically emergent.” Basically, if you can stand, you should be able to sing or dance. Jimin bounds into the practice room behind Hoseok, leading them through stretches, and the lightness in their smiles makes Jeongguk wish he could spend the day singing instead.

The dance is fast. It’s really fast. It would stop the breath of any accomplished dancer, but after just two full run-throughs of it, Jeongguk waves off running straight into another. He doesn’t want to - he’s known for having the best stamina among them, besting Hoseok in this one area even if his hyung can best him in most others. There’s a tightness in his chest that he can’t shake no matter how many deep breaths he takes. Stumbling over to his water bottle, he realizes that he’s not just short of breath, but dizzy too.

It’s not so uncommon - they’ve changed up dance routines before because it made members too dizzy. It’s just uncommon in that the kind of dance they’re performing now is forward facing footwork, not spins or turns or dips. It bugs him that he has to stop, Jimin and Hoseok shaking their bodies out with a shared laugh because they’re winded in a way they’re trained to be winded and nothing more.

“Yah, Jeongguk! I thought you wanted to steal the title of main dancer from me!” Hoseok teases. “You’ll have to do better than that!”

Jeongguk laughs, but it forces the last of his breath from him and suddenly he can’t get any more back in. He gasps, mouth open, but he can’t suck anything in, as if all at once his lungs burst like balloons and there is nothing left to inflate anymore. Immediately, his thoughts seize up in panic and it’s only when Hoseok’s knees hit the floor in his field of vision that his ears filter in the awful gagging noise he’s making.

“Jeongguk!” Hands slide around his back. He can’t bring himself to look up at Hobi, doesn’t want anyone to see his face right now. “Breathe, honey. You gotta breathe.”

A smaller hand slips into his; Jeongguk squeezes it and wheezes a shallow bit of air in. It feels like fire, but it’s enough that it trains him for the next breath, and the one after that.

Tears spring to his eyes; why does it burn so much? Jeongguk sucks in one lungful and holds it because that feels better than trying to force it in and out. When he releases, he does it as slowly as possible. Repeats the motion. In. Hold. Out. Hold. Breathing as slow as he can. Once his heart feels like it’s settling back in his chest, he feels how dizzy he still is, even slumped over on the ground.

“Do we need to call someone?” Hoseok asks. Jeongguk shakes his head. The feeling is horrible, makes him nauseous.

“Just need a minute,” he croaks.

“Ah, Jeonggukkie. Did you catch my cold?” Jimin asks, hand brushing through his hair just once, just enough for Jeongguk to close his eyes and savor it before Jimin stands back up. “You should go home and rest while you can if you feel unwell. We can bring you up to speed later.”

It’s the kind of dismissive thing Jeongguk has done before, but it hurts in conjunction with the way Jimin brushed him aside just weeks again, even if he was unwell. Hoseok pinches his cheek playfully, shaking Jeongguk’s water bottle to make sure it’s still full. When Hoseok stands and his back is turned, Jeongguk looks down at his hands.

They’re clean.

Jeongguk doesn’t go home to the shared apartment that night, and if any of the others stayed there regularly, they might see an omen for what it is. He doesn’t need any more space than what they already give him, and yet there is something about being so absolutely alone in his own place that gives his body the signal to completely break down. It’s only when he’s curled up under his comforter on stiff sheets that he really tries to catalog it.

Dizzy and short of breath.

Those things happen to them all from time to time. Just because it got the better of him tonight didn’t have to mean anything. He’s lucky it was for something like this, something extra he doesn’t have to deliver on right now.

Fatigue.

Jeongguk doesn’t need to really think about this one. If he wasn’t as tired as he was, he wouldn’t be working hard enough.

General soreness.

It’s all of his body. It hurts to move in all the ways. Even if he wasn’t a physical performer, Jeongguk took the stairs in their building between practice and winced at the burn in his legs, something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Most of these things feel so exceptionally normal to him. Easy to write off. Easy to think of in an almost sentimental way, almost a badge of honor. It’s just -

Gasping for air on the floor in front of Hoseok and Jimin, panicked because he wondered if that’s a fleck of red on his finger or if it was nothing at all. The blood he cannot write off. Blood is blood - if it’s outside your body, it’s telling you something. Right?

Jeongguk turns on his side. He should probably mention it. To someone. Maybe Namjoon? Not just because he’s the leader, but because he’s Namjoon. Wonderful and competent. If anyone can assure Jeongguk, it’s him, and if anyone needs to convince Jeongguk, it’s also him. Perhaps two different things at this point, but what does he really know? At least there hasn’t been any more blood, it was just that one time. It’s probably fine.

His body feels sore like he went too hard at the gym, but otherwise he's fine the next morning. He can stand upright without swaying, so that’s something. The circles under his eyes are so dark they look halfway to black eyes. He presses into them expecting to feel a sting, but feels nothing instead. In fact, everything feels decidedly hollow under the ache, like his lungs have been scooped out overnight. He doesn’t feel horrible, he just doesn’t feel quite right either. He thinks. Or has he always felt this way?

Jeongguk does wish he slept at the shared apartment last night after all. Then he might at least see someone in the morning before they’re due for their first meeting. It’s a housekeeping meeting - a meeting to make sure they know about all of their other meetings. Jeongguk makes a dash to the seat next to their leader before Seokjin gets it. Namjoon gives only a sleepy smile, hair sticking out all over his head. Jeongguk tries to smooth some of it down for him, but Namjoon must tire of it immediately because he suddenly throws a beanie on over his head while Jeongguk is mid stroke, his hand caught under the hat.

He can take a hint.

Jeongguk sits back in his designated seat. He’s still tired, still sore. Disconnected from his body maybe is a better way to describe it. Like a screw feels loose somewhere. He rubs at his chest during the meeting, and must be doing it enough that it worries Yoongi on his other side, because the rapper puts a gentle hand on top of his knee at one point without looking away from the projected timeline for their newest album on the presentation.

In between one slide and the next, Jeongguk’s heart starts racing. It’s noticeable immediately, like listening to a car engine rev up, except it’s a feeling that radiates out the center of his chest and down along his spine. Jeongguk wonders if Yoongi can feel how fast his pulse is from the touch on his knee - that’s how hard it feels like his heart suddenly beats, like it should be a tangible thing anyone can feel on any part of his body.

It is enough to scare him in his moment - when the meeting adjourns, Jeongguk all but launches himself at Namjoon. “Sorry, Gguk, but I have another meeting I have to get to.” And he does sound apologetic, but it does nothing to slow his facing pulse. Jeongguk feels it, thumb and forefinger pinched around the opposite wrist to count each and every beat.

He watches Namjoon go. All of his other hyungs already gone.

Jeongguk debates telling someone in management; it would be the responsible thing to do. He’d much rather talk to Namjoon first though, or maybe Seokjin. Yeah - he’ll find Seokjin and talk to him. When it comes to anything that could potentially derail the machine, all the members hold things close to their chest. For Yoongi, it was the gender of his prefered partner. For Hoseok, it was some of his family's past. They kept each other’s secrets when needed, and celebrated what they could when they could.

Jeongguk doesn’t find Seokjin right away; he gives up when the older singer doesn’t reply to his texts and decides to lie down in one of the recording studios that is scheduled to be empty for the day. His heartbeat has slowed; his pulse back to normal. He’s so relieved that he’s able to breathe a little easier. He dozes right there on the couch before he realizes it.

Yoongi shakes him awake. Jeongguk rubs the sleep out of his eyes, mistaking his hyung’s neutral expression for more concerned than it is. “Gguk-ah. Come on. You missed lunch and we’re late for our next intro practice.”

He means to be faster, following after Yoongi, but the dizziness that hits him when he stands knocks him back off his feet, staggering back down into the couch. If he thinks that Yoongi might help him back up or ask if he’s alright, well. His hyung is gone already. Disappeared through the door. Jeongguk is sure that if he were still in the room with him, Yoongi would be all over him, the not-so-secret fusser of the group. Seokjin might act the part, especially in front of cameras, and while he does in particular treasure babying Jeongguk, Yoongi is the member most likely to go out of his way for any one at any time.

But Yoongi is gone, waiting on him now. So are the others.

Jeongguk slides up in between him and Namjoon again in the dance studio, all seven members seated on the floor and idly warming up while watching some of the new choreo from their coaches. Or, Yoongi rolls out his shoulder while Namjoon reaches for his toes, head dipped down. Jeongguk tries to worm his way onto Namjoon’s thigh for a pillow. He humors him for a moment, one big hand resting on top of Jeongguk’s forehead, and for as strange as Jeongguk’s been feeling all day, he knows better than to be lucky enough to have a fever for his leader to fuss over.

“Up, Jeongguk-ah,” Namjoon mumbles, all but hoisting Jeongguk to his feet. He sways a little, not expecting to be vertical so suddenly, but he holds onto Joon’s arm until he’s grabbed by a coach to be put into place for the line up, Jeongguk mindlessly trailing behind him until someone breaks him out of the spell.

He makes it through choreo, but only because it’s day one intro for it. During parts of it, moving actually seems to help his head clear and he has moments of normalcy, but every once in a while, the dizziness returns.

He stays upright on his feet though, so.

“Hyung, will you come back to the apartment?” he asks, draped around Seokjin’s shoulders. He could ask Namjoon too, but now that Seokjin is in his sights he’s made his decision.

“Yah, Jeongguk!” Seokjin staggers under his weight, or pretends to. Jeongguk knows he presses his luck when he rolls his sweaty face between his hyung’s shoulder blades. Yoongi gives him a look, coming up to rest the back of his hand on Jeongguk’s cheeks and head.

“Are you sick, Ggukie?” Seokjin asks, neck craning to watch Yoongi check on him. The rapper frowns, silently wandering off, so Jeongguk clings harder to the member he’s got.

Is he sick?

Well, if there was ever an opening.

“I’m fine, hyung,” is what he says instead. Jeongguk’s heart races at the lie of it. At this point, is he really going to deny that he’s unwell in some way, even to himself? It’s just - now isn’t the time, and this certainly isn’t the place. If he could talk to him alone, then maybe.

Seokjin bundles him up in his own jacket, bigger and puffier than even Jeongguk’s. It smells nicer, feels nicer just because it isn’t his. When he sticks his hands into the pockets, he pulls out the little coffee flavored hard candy that Seokjin adores and some soft blue gloves even though it’s too early in the season to need them. Jeongguk puts them on anyway while Seokjin makes the friendly small talk with their security guard escorting them to their front door.

Once the door shuts and they’re alone, the silence feels stifling. “Hyung?” Jeongguk prompts him, because Seokjin always has a smile for him.

“Go lie down on the couch, Gguk-ah. I’ll sort out something to eat, yeah?” He sounds tired too, Jeongguk realizes. Maybe he’ll follow him to the couch, maybe they’ll share the same fleece throw on the back of it and doze off with their feet in each other’s laps the way they did for so long because they had to, because for so long they lacked even the illusion of personal space.

Instead, Jeongguk falls asleep alone and is woken by a knock at the door, Seokjin nowhere in sight. He retrieves a bag of take-out from the guard stationed in their hall, then looks around. The apartment is quiet. Seokjin clearly came back with him, only to order him dinner and disappear. When he glances into the bag, there’s enough food for at least three or four people, so surely that means he’s still here, that he didn’t leave Jeongguk immediately.

Jeongguk pads down the hall, knocking at the closed door to Seokjin’s room. He must be in there. Surely, he’s still here. He wouldn’t order all of this food and leave him alone. Not when Yoongi suggested that he might be ill. Seokjin wouldn’t.

Seokjin flings the door open with an exaggerated gasp-yell, clearly just for Jeongguk to chuckle at, but he can’t laugh, because Seokjin’s eyes are red. Not just red rimmed, but red and swollen from a proper cry. “Hyung?”

“Food! It’s my favorite time of the day!” Seokjin leads Jeongguk by the sleeve into the kitchen, avoiding eye contact.

“Hyung? What is it? What’s wrong?” The apartment is cold, so cold. Jeongguk shivers, even though he still wears Seokjin’s heavy coat. He kept it on because it feels better than any blanket ever could.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold.” Seokjin pushes him into a seat, retching the bag from his fingertips in his haste to not to look Jeongguk in the eye. “Hyung ordered a lot, because I didn’t know what you would want, and you’re not eating cup noodles tonight, okay?”

He busies himself with plates and unpacking the food, even portioning out Jeongguk’s meal for him when he doesn’t answer what he wants. Jeongguk can’t look away from Seokjin’s face. “Hyung, will you tell me?”

“It doesn’t matter. Now let's eat well!”

“It does matter. Jin hyung, it matters to me.” Jeongguk keeps a hand fisted in the man’s sleeve until Seokjin not so gently pries it open.

“Jeongguk.” His tone is short. He drops familiarity. It would chill him if he wasn’t already so cold. “I’m fine. I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

So he does, but his hyung doesn’t refill his plate at the mere hint of an empty place on it, another neon sign shouting in the dark that something is wrong. Jeongguk isn’t actually hungry, although he should be. He hasn’t eaten all day, he realizes. He should eat more, he should be hungry; he doesn’t need someone else to tell him that.

“You know you can tell me anything.”

Seokjin’s face sours over his soft tofu. “It’ll be fine. You - you’ll understand, one day.”

It’s been awhile since anyone threw anything like that in Jeongguk’s face, treating him like a baby, but it does give Jeongguk the general idea. “Is this about enlistment?”

Seokjin leans back in his chair, or does he just lean away from Jeongguk? “I’m almost thirty now. Men my age don’t go into the military, Jeongguk, they come out of it. They’re done. It should be behind me.”

Jeongguk nods. It’s not the first time he’s heard Seokjin talk about it, even if he does so only fleetingly in precise language. He thinks it bothers Seokjin the most not just because he’s the eldest and will be affected first, but Seokjin has always been open about wanting to get married and start a family young, but after they signed their second contract for another five years, Seokjin had to accept that it wouldn’t be possible.

“By the time I start and finish my service, by the time all of this,” he makes a big gesture around the expanse of their open concept apartment, “is over - I’ll be at least mid thirties. I still don’t have time to meet someone now, and even if I did, what would be the point, before enlisting? I have to wait seemingly half of my life to even dream of dating.”

“But, hyung. It’s still - it’s still good, right?” You’re still happy? People dream of this, Jeongguk thinks. They’re living a dream.

Seokjin looks over Jeongguk’s face and softens. “Yeah. Sure. It’s still good, Gguk.” But the way he says it tells Jeongguk otherwise. His pulse now races from something entirely new. They all have their moments of sadness, self doubt, you know name it. Seokjin is just usually the last person to acknowledge it to another person, especially to Jeongguk, and he knows that.

“You okay?” he asks Jeongguk after dinner, the two of them on the couch with nonsense on in the background the way Jeongguk originally imagined their evening might go. He has yet to remove Seokjin’s coat. “You seemed a little out of it today.”

“Yeah. Fine,” he says, to quote his hyung. “Just tired.”

Seokjin snorts. “You’re always tired.”

“If I didn’t feel exhausted, I’m not sure what I would have left to feel.” And that’s the truth, but has it been the truth for such a long time? Jeongguk looks up at Seokjin on the other side of the couch, so quiet and closed off to him already. How could he possibly tell him anything now?

Jeongguk knows that all of the members have dreams outside of Bangtan. It’s a truth that has always existed and will always exist. Those dreams will exist long after Bangtan too, in a way that maybe all of their hard work now will not. Just because they’ve secured a legacy by breaking records and claiming fame, Jeongguk knows it will pale in the future, and Seokjin has maybe always been a step closer to the exit than the rest.

Now, Jeongguk feels it more than ever. He pushes down his feelings of discomfort - just because he’s cold and tired doesn’t mean anything. He probably does just have a weird cold, flu, viral something. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine up until the moment Seokjin leaves for his service.

“Hyung, you’ll always remember me though, right?”

Seokjin snorts, then sobers at his maknae’s serious face. “Yah! Jeongguk-ah! How could hyung ever forget you!” He leans forward to coo and pinch at Jeongguk’s cheek, but the motion feels a little empty, like in the absence of a camera there is only so much rote familiarity. In the end, Jeongguk knows he won’t ever be the most important person in Seokjin’s life, even if he personally might always feel that way about him and the other members.

“Bedtime for old men. And babies.” Seokjin claps his hands and pesters Jeongguk down the hall into his own room, but when it comes for lights out, Jeongguk sneaks across the threshold and into Seokjin’s bed.

“You won’t always be able to do this, Gguk-ah.” Seokjin rolls over onto his back so Jeongguk has to let go of him from where he had spooned in.

“Yeah, but you’ll miss it when it’s gone!” Jeongguk tries to muster up more cheekiness than he feels. Everything about the evening felt somber and melancholic already. Maybe Seokjin should have never felt attainable to him. Maybe that would have been better. Seokjin doesn’t kick him out, but something about the night passes and Jeongguk understands this is the last time he’ll slip into his hyung’s bed.

The next day sees more of the new choreography. It’s a fast paced song with elaborate moves although not even close to their most challenging dance, but large segments seem to fall on Jeongguk to shine. Normally, he might preen under all of the attention, but today the lingering glances when he fails to pick up some of the transitions on his first go sting.

He stays late in the studio to make up for it, and by the end of the evening feels good about it. His body just needed some extra time, is all. Jeongguk feels loose limbed and sore in a decidedly good way today, enough so that he falls into bed with a smile on his lips. His lungs kept up all day too; there wasn’t a time when he felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. It all feels so very normal for him.

And the next day? Jeongguk reminds them all why they named him the golden maknae. Hoseok showers him in praise after they start running through it, and all of the choreographers clap him on the back and ask if he’s up for trying some different tweaks here and there. He feels great. He’s got this, and he clearly just needed some time to rest. He’s so glad he never said a thing to anyone - there was never any reason to worry.

As Jeongguk’s spirits lift, it gives room for other things to fester. Seokjin struggles with the new choreo as the week goes on - day one or two, this is not unusual. Both he and Namjoon can commiserate about being the two who take the longest to pick any routine up, even if they both end up performing at the same caliber as the rest of them eventually. Seokjin’s insecurity about it never really went away though, and it’s a sore spot that a misplaced comment can exploit, intentional or not.

Right now, Taehyung and Seokjin inch closer and closer to each other’s faces, both flushed. Jeongguk doesn’t even know what sent them off, just that their voices have gained in volume and they’ve moved to the side for some perceived privacy from the rest of the group and staff. Namjoon hovers close by, looking at his phone nonchalantly, but he keeps his ear cocked in their direction. No doubt he will pull each of them aside separately later to talk to them about what he heard.

It’s been going on for long enough that even Yoongi appears visibly agitated, tapping his foot with crossed arms, bobbing his head along to the music in the background that it’s been on repeat most of the day. It’s newer choreography, but not so new that tempers should still be this high over it. They’ve been at it for well over a week now. Of course, Jeongguk only assumes that’s what sparked this, but he overhears Taehyung bring up the fact that Seokjin bailed on the last group dinner.

“Aish, come on, Tae-ah. You specifically chose that time because you expected me to bail!” Seokjin says, rolling his eyes. When Seokjin rolls his eyes, he means a fight. Especially if he’s doing it to Taehyung, who catalogs the minutiae of body language from people around him. “If you really wanted me to come, then why did you plan it so late? You know I don’t like being out that late when I can avoid it, and Yoongi doesn’t either. There was no reason for it to be so late, either.”

“I still made it, hyung,” Yoongi grouses from the sidelines. Seokjin whips his head around at him, looking genuinely shocked that he doesn’t take his side.

“We haven’t had a break in weeks. We’ve been here in this precise studio from sunrise to sun down for the past week. We already eat most meals together, Taehyungie. Let hyung have his space at night, okay?” Seokjin pats Taehyung’s shoulder dismissively, trying to walk away from Taehyung, but he follows.

“We’re here every day for so long because of you, hyung. You've been so checked out lately! It affects all of us, and maybe if you spent the time with us not in practice it would help this part go smoother. Team morale isn’t built here, it’s built out there!” Taehyung cries. Jeongguk agrees with him; the times in which they’ve performed their best were the same times in which they emotionally felt their best, and that felt so much easier when they lived on top of each other and had to work everything out in real time between themselves.

Now, there is too much space. Physical space. Emotional space. Seokjin used to thrive on being their eldest hyung, but something has shifted in the past year. Jeongguk knows it heavily has to do with his enlistment hanging over his head; if he were anyone else, it would be over and done with. Instead, he’ll be not only the famous member of whatever squadron he’s in, but also the oldest.

It’s the opposite effect of Jeongguk; when he was young, he hated being the baby of the group, despite the golden maknae title thrust upon him. He resented Taehyung for being barely older but treated much differently at times. Now, he relishes any extra affection that the others throw his way, because it is increasingly less. He clings to the idea of his youthful position because it binds them to him, but Seokjin feels the weight of being the eldest as a force of alienation.

“Just give me a minute, then I’ll be ready to go again,” Seokjin finally says, and this time he doesn’t let Taehyung stop him when he walks away. He does, however, let Yoongi slink after him, which makes Taehyung huff.

Jeongguk comes up behind Taehyung to wrap him in a back hug, but the other is quick to brush him off. “Not now, Gguk.” For someone who is worried about spending time together, Taehyung takes off in the opposite direction and Jeongguk knows that he will be the one to stay away longer, eventually forcing Namjoon to send Jimin after him. When Jeongguk looks for the dancer, he finds both he and Hoseok lying on the floor with a bottle of water in one hand and their phone in the other, seemingly not interested in the going-ons.

Jeongguk crawls up behind Hoseok, sure he will allow a back cuddle right now, because he always does. Hoseok half hums, half grunts as Jeongguk slips his hands up under his arms. They’re sweaty, he’s sweaty. It shouldn’t matter, but he feels Hoseok stiffen. “Hyung?” he asks.

“What is it, Gguk-ah?” Hoseok asks without pausing on his phone scroll. Jeongguk waits, willing Hoseok to put it down and turn towards him like he always does. Maybe he’ll ask Jeongguk how he’s holding up in his center front position at dance break, or maybe he’ll ask Jeongguk about the anime they sometimes watch together even if Hoseok doesn’t love it, just because Hoseok is nice and cares about things other people are interested in.

He does neither.

He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t turn to Jeongguk and laugh boisterously in his face about nothing, prompting Jeongguk to giggle and the rest of the room to thaw. He doesn’t slide one hand around Jeongguk’s arm to at least acknowledge his need for physical contact. He just keeps scrolling.

Jeongguk lets him go. He rolls around to look at Jimin, in a similar position as Hoseok on the floor, but with his back to both of them. Jeongguk could repeat the process, or he could give them their space.

Space, it seems, is what everyone wants.

It already feels like the beginning of the end somehow.

“Hey, are you alright?” Namjoon asks him where Jeongguk sits in a stool at their kitchen island, slumped over after coming out for a snack then deciding the snack was the least appetizing thing he could have made. He’s been sitting there, staring down into his spicy cup ramen for - oh. Like forty-five minutes.

It’s the first time someone has addressed him all day.

“Yeah, fine.” Jeongguk watches Namjoon putz around in their fridge. He pulls out leftovers that Jeongguk is pretty sure belong to Yoongi and pops open the lid before blindly fishing for chopsticks with his other hand. They’re all in the apartment right now, not necessarily by choice.

If Jeongguk thinks Namjoon might sit and eat with him, he is mistaken. His leader shuffles away into the dark hall while stuffing his face, not another glance spared for Jeongguk.

Frowning, he rubs his chest. It hurts - has felt strangely tender off and on. Different from the brief moment of extreme chest pain he’d felt during the meeting a few weeks ago. The pain presents itself here or there, mostly when Jeongguk is physically active. In rehearsals, at the gym, but every once in a while it hits him when he’s lying in his bed, mostly asleep, having been still for the past several hours. The chest pain he can live with, but it’s the sudden shortness of breath or dizziness that bothers him most. Still fleeting. Present and persistent enough that Jeongguk can’t forget it, but not to the point that it stops him from doing what he needs to do.

And honestly - he can’t help but feel like some of this chest pain is just heart ache for his hyungs, scattered into emotional recesses in his very presence where he can’t reach them. So he goes to bed with chest pain, he wakes up with chest pain, because every day lately feels the same. They’ve gone through emotionally closed-off periods before when stress was high, but this feels different. There was no clear catalyst and no clear way out of it now. Besides, it doesn’t seem like anyone other than Jeongguk feels what he’s feeling.

That is unusual, but it melts from his conscious thought when Jimin breaks through his door with a breakfast smoothie for him. “Ggukie, it’s past nine.” He sits on the edge of his bed to hand over the smoothie, one hand smoothing over his forehead. “Are you okay? Joon hyung said you looked out of it last night. He pushed for a late start, but we need to go soon.”

Jeongguk’s heart absolutely sings with the thoughtfulness of the request. He happily sips on the smoothie, hears the rest of the group talking quietly further down the hall. “Are you feeling okay?” Jimin asks, watching as Jeongguk springs out of bed to grab clothing. “I guess so.”

“I’m fine, hyung.” And right now - Jeongguk feels it. Everything he feels is livable. The occasional sore feeling, the racing pulse. It all comes and goes. Well, he is constantly cold now - that does seem to be more consistent, but they are headed into winter after all. He’ll just need to break out his sweaters a little early this year.

He lets the high of this feeling carry him out the door and into the bathroom to quickly brush his teeth, his hair. They’ll be sweaty less than an hour from now, so he’s not worried about much else. Jeongguk all but skips into the kitchen where he knows the group will be gathered, feeling so confident in this moment that yesterday is forgotten and everyone will be gathered around a video on Hoseok’s phone or Seokjin and Taehyung will now be fighting over who gets the last of the breakfast spread.

What he gets instead is six sets of eyes watching and waiting for him to enter the room. The expressions on their faces range from boredom to aspiration, but no one looks excited to see him in the same way he’d felt just moments ago.

“There’s my sleeping beauty!” Seokjin says, and the words could be playful, but they don’t sound it. Jeongguk feels himself shrivel up on the spot. It feels like he’s been thrust into a spotlight of shame and annoyance for reasons that no one will take the time to explain to him. “Hope you’re okay with the smoothie, because we all need to be down to the cars in the next five minutes.”

Namjoon glances at the time on his phone and nods. Jeongguk dutifully sips on whatever Jimin brought him - it doesn’t seem to taste like anything, actually. He makes a face at it until he notices Jimin’s pout.

“Yah, Jeongguk! Give hyung his coat back now, please!” Seokjin protests, yanking on the back of the jacket in question when Jeongguk ambles back into the living room after grabbing his bag and badge.

He sticks his tongue out and says, “It’s mine now!”

“Gguk-ah. Seriously. Hyung didn’t bring another coat, and I know you keep a full closet here.” When Seokjin tugs, this time it’s hard enough to pull him off his feet and topple backwards. Jeongguk gasps and flails a little, and it’s only at his shocked face that Seokjin relents his hold, rolling his eyes a little at him.

Is Seokjin mad at him too?

Hoseok watches all of this with a raised eyebrow. Jeongguk can imagine how silly it looks for literal millionaires to be fighting over a clothing item.

Jeongguk shrugs off the jacket and offers it to Seokjin without looking at him. When he climbs into the car waiting a few minutes later, it’s in his tee, no outerwear despite the cooler temperatures.

It’s not his imagination. Seokjin remains cold and standoffish with him all day long. Well, it’s not just him - it’s with everyone, except his personal manager, with whom Jeongguk notices Seokjin have a short conversation with away from the group. Seokjin leaves with all but lightning crackling in the air, and when he returns his back is nearly folded in half in defeat. Normally, Jeongguk would slither up under his arm and plant a kiss on his cheek. Today, he keeps his distance and shivers in his bare arms.

“Physicals, first thing tomorrow,” Namjoon reminds them at the end of the day. They’re all required to have physicals regularly, but for Jeongguk it’s been at least five months. Managers usually request them every six months, so in some ways it feels right on time, but also.

Paranoia starts to creep in. Maybe Seokjin will be enlisting soon, and that’s why. He’s already gone for the day, but when will it be the day that he shows up for the last time, hair buzzed to the scalp? The vision in his head brings tears to his eyes, but even if he asks outright, he knows Seokjin will lie about it. He’ll have to, up until the very last moment, until it’s too late and Jeongguk will be left to process it alone.

“Hyung.” Jeongguk trails after Namjoon. “You have another meeting?” Jeongguk assumes so, because he’s got his alpha male walk going, as cited by Yoongi.

“Yep. Still trying to work out the details on that collab I’m planning, but hey.” Namjoon glances up to give him the wannest of smiles. “It sounds like you’re good to go on your next collab. Congrats.”

Oh. It sounds like Namjoon is frustrated with him, too. Or, maybe not at him, exactly, but Jeongguk knows that like all of them, offers for individual projects come up, but Namjoon has really curated down what he wants to do, things he wants to chase after rather than be offered. Jeongguk can’t imagine anyone turning down RM, but maybe someone was stupid enough to?

“Anyone would be lucky to work with you, Joon-hyung.” Jeongguk wants to hug him before he goes, but Namjoon walks at approximately the pace of a sprinting cheetah with all of his long legs, so he’s off before Jeongguk catches his breath.

Jeongguk decides on the Genius Lab as his next relocation. If the schedule allows it, that’s where Yoongi lives. He can get away with not answering text messages, because usually he is the most findable person of their group. He knows better than to arrive empty handed and beg for a sympathetic ear, although Jeongguk will settle for just a cool, dark place to nap, so he hits the cafe on the first floor of the building to grab a couple of iced americanos.

He always knocks, because that’s the polite thing to do, but he doesn’t wait more than a few seconds before he punches in the code. The code that only he has, because Yoongi trusts him, and loves him. Yoongi hyung who always makes time for him, even though his solo producing career is taking off.

The door doesn’t unlock. Instead, it keeps flashing red at him at the end of the four digit code - silently, because that’s the way Yoongi programmed it. After three attempts, it locks the person out from trying again, so now Jeongguk stands there with two sweating beverages and knocks again.

He’s not above kicking the door like a petulant child, and he does have the excuse that both of his hands are technically full, but before Jeongguk audibly whines about it, Yoongi opens the door. “Gguk.” He blinks out at him, the interior of his studio predictably dark.

“I brought you coffee!” Jeongguk squeezes past him, setting down Yoongi’s drink on his designated spot for food and drink, a small separate side table away from the rest of the equipment, then helps himself to his favorite couch in the entire building. “Also, your door code isn’t working. It locked me out. Did you change it?”

“Changed it a couple weeks ago,” he grumbles, collapsing back into his wheeling chair. It squeals across the floor. He completely ignores the coffee. “Too many visitors stopping by.”

But - he gave Jeongguk the code once upon a time, so that doesn’t mean him, right?

Jeongguk shrinks up on the couch. He’d already pulled the blanket and extra pillow off the back of it. Maybe he does make himself too at home here. Yoongi is a professional. Yoongi wants to work, and he’s bothering him. “Hyung, I’m really tired.”

The simplicity of the statement makes him teary eyed.

“Can I nap here? I promise to stop, but today - can I still nap here?” Jeongguk hopes he doesn’t sound teary, at least. He must not, because Yoongi doesn’t look away from his monitors.

“Do whatever you want, Gguk,” and Yoongi is often accused of sounding indifferent, but Jeongguk and the others were always the first to defend any perceived connotations on his behalf. Today, Jeongguk feels differently. It sounds indifferent, even to his practiced ears.

If he weren’t so tired, Jeongguk would run out of there with his tail between his legs. As is, it feels like his bones have evaporated from his body. If he turns on his side with his back to Yoongi, maybe he’ll still feel like he has his privacy, and Jeongguk can rest for a little while. His breathing is already so low, so shallow in his chest. It takes barely anything at all, in and out. He can never quite catch his breath, and yet it feels like he doesn’t need much at all.

He doesn’t want much at all. He just wants to fall asleep to the soft sounds of Yoongi working as if he isn’t even there.

The physical does not go the way Jeongguk expected. All this time, he thought maybe there was something really wrong, but according to their doctor, Jeongguk looks okay. He listens to his breathing with a stethoscope, he feels around Jeongguk’s abdomen. Looks in his ears and eyes. When he takes Jeongguk’s pulse, it’s within a normal range, albeit higher than it was at his last physical.

“Your blood pressure is a little low, but what I am really concerned about is your weight,” the doctor says, poking around on his tablet where all of Jeongguk’s numbers are saved. “I know I am under company thumb here, but you’ve lost weight. They want you all at the lower end of what’s healthy, but…”

He rubs at the back of his head, glancing up at Jeongguk. His eyes skim over his chest, exposed in the front from the flimsy hospital cover that even they insist he use, as if Jeongguk’s job doesn’t require him to run around backstage in all levels of undress.

“I wouldn’t want you to lose any more weight, let’s just say. I’ll speak to the dietician, but we might need to make some adjustments. What do you eat on your average day?”

Jeongguk tells him. The doctor kind of hums about it. “Well, that is normal anyway. Maybe lately I haven’t had as much of an appetite,” he amends. Of all the things Jeongguk worries about, his weight isn’t one of them for the simple fact of spending so much time in the gym or in dance rehearsals. For idols, concern over weight is one-sided; if you’re losing, no one cares. If anything, it’s celebrated, so even if he had been aware of weight loss, he would not bother caring.

He knows this is his opportunity to open up about some of his experiences in the past couple of months, but Jeongguk thinks about his original plan to find a physician outside of the company. This man is nice enough. Jeongguk has seen him more than once or twice now, but if he doesn’t immediately spot anything wrong, then for the sake of making his life and everyone else’s easier, he should go with it. He can always make an appointment with someone else, but as soon as he mentions anything to his man, it will be recorded. It will be something that everyone has to deal with, and everyone is already so stressed.

So, he sticks to his original plan. Keep the company out of it. He can still go see another doctor as needed. He already picked one out. It’s fine. Jeongguk is fine. He has the doctor’s note to prove it. He pulls his hood up over his head with his sunglasses on, then darts in between the building to the waiting car. By the time he’s in the main company building, he’s tired enough he almost regrets saying nothing, but mostly Jeongguk mourns the loss of access to Yoongi’s lab. Respectively, he’s kept his distance since the last time he napped in there, embarrassed even about how clingy he’s been.

When Jeongguk glances at the time, he realizes he has forty minutes to spare. Plenty of time to lie down somewhere. He ends up in one of the two small individual sized dance studios, barely big enough for full stretching let alone a routine. They don’t get used all that often and sometimes Jeongguk wonders why they even built them in, but it’s perfect for him to curl up on the floor and close his eyes.

This time, it’s Hoseok shaking him awake. “Jeongguk-ah! Get up! We’ve been looking for you.” His hands are warm on Jeongguk’s skin; he wishes he could put his hand on top of Hoseok’s to keep it there.

He shivers as he stands, swaying a little on his feet. Hoseok notices, frowning. For a brief but wonderful moment, he holds Jeongguk’s face in his warm hands. “Are you alright? You’ve been…We’ve noticed you have been sleeping a lot. Like, more than usual.”

“I’m fine, hyung. You know how it is.” Both of them have bags under their eyes. The two of them weigh less than most men their age. But that’s just how it is. If he can’t stop shaking right now, that’s only because the air conditioner in dance studios is serious business.

“Joon’s already in the group chat talking about enforcing stricter meal times, because apparently your doctor told Sejin that he’s worried about your weight.” Hoseok squeezes his arm through the hoodie, as if checking to make sure the muscle is still there. They’re all muscular, and nothing else under it. Jeongguk knows if he lowered his gym routine by just half for a week, his definition would soften and he would look more skeleton than muscle. But that’s always been true.

“Ah, you worried about me, hyung?” Jeongguk sways forward, ready to tuck into Hoseok’s chest for a hug, but his grip on his arm stops him.

“Jeongguk-ah.” The serious tone in his voice forces Jeongguk to look up at him. “I know it’s a lot, but we’re all the way at the top now. You gotta - you gotta work on it yourself, yeah?”

Why are they standing in the dark right under the air vents? Jeongguk shivers so violently that Hoseok must feel it, but he’s not dragging them off to their next practice, no doubt what he came here to do. He’s not even sure what Hoseok is rambling on about, something about taking better care of himself, which isn’t exactly untrue or unkind. They all talk about that kind of thing all the time.

“Ggukie. Listen to me, okay?” Hoseok shakes his shoulders, just a little bit, but it’s enough that it jars Jeongguk. It’s not the sort of thing that Hoseok does with him. Jimin, maybe, when he needs some tough love. “We all have to work on our own happiness.”

Wait - what? Is Hoseok leaving too? For a blinding second, Jeongguk flashes back to when Hoseok told them all he was out. That he was done. That was years ago now, but the damage done could never be undone, like a traumatic injury that left scar tissue which could split open at any moment.

“I can’t be happy for you. You have to do it on your own.”

Ah - Hoseok thinks this is depression, or some form of it. Which, Jeongguk understands; from the outside, lack of appetite and sleeping more could be exactly that. What he wants to say to Hoseok is, I’m not depressed. I’m just lonely. I’ve never been this lonely before in my life.

Jeongguk can’t put his finger on when it changed, but he knows it must have. It’s not just that they all moved out into their own places. Even sharing a ride in a car feels different than it did, members often wrapped up in communications from their own managers or family. They all stopped sharing their biggest concerns with each other when their biggest concern stopped being about the success of the group, he guesses.

Hoseok would laugh and call him silly if he said any of that though; how can he be lonely when he’s surrounded by them every day, almost all day?

“I would never ask that of you, hyung.” Jeongguk gives him a small smile. “I want you to be happy for you.” He knows the pressure Hoseok feels to portray the sunny one of the group, how careful he is to balance every nuance on his face. It’s not fair for any of them, but at least Jeongguk has always been able to cry when he needed to, camera or not.

Hoseok eyes him, then motions with his head at the door. “Let’s go. Joon wants me to make sure you eat something before practice.”

Nothing tastes right anymore, but Jeongguk forces down some bland porridge. It especially lacks flavor under Hoseok’s hawk eyes. Once Jeongguk finishes it, Hoseok leaves, telling him to meet down in the main studio as soon as he’s ready.

Now, Jeongguk stands in his place in their lineup for their newest single coming out. This number will be the crowning jewel in all of their upcoming performances. It’s supposed to feel lively and fun, uplighting for their fans who like them have gone through a rough year. In their best moments, they move as seven parts who come together as one, but half the time one of them is off, or one of them tricks over someone else. That’s all normal, part of the process. There is no such thing as easy in group performances. Even harmonizing for a slow song requires more prep than Jeongguk could have ever imagined in pre-debut days.

He watches the ripples across the back of Namjoon and how they fade into Seokjin, how Seokjin reaches out for Yoongi to move into Jimin. Jimin leaps across Hoseok for the other to simulate catching him, then Taehyung drops in front of him for Jeongguk to emerge center stage.

At least, that’s how it works when everything goes together. Behind the main action, there’s a lot of running back and forth into position, and Jimin nearly twists his ankle on the first run through of the day. There is a longer dance break in this song which means more space to highlight everyone, but naturally a lot of it will come down on him, Hoseok, and Jimin.

Jeongguk starts the rehearsal feeling good. The nap helped and eating a little perked him back up after. He knows better than to go in too hard at the start of the day lest he have nothing left for the end of it. This isn’t just about the one dance, it’s also about the transition into other pieces, even bigger dance breaks. Jeongguk twists and turns. He jumps when they tell him to jump, jumps higher when they tell him the emotion is lacking.

He feels fine until he doesn’t.

They’re all out of breath. That isn’t strange or new. Namjoon drips sweat on top of Jeongguk as he leans over for his water bottle during break. It’s the kind of thing he’d loudly protest most of the time, but he stays quiet today. Jimin lies prostrate across Taehyung and Jeongguk can’t join even them, because they’ve made it clear that they want to be sequestered by themselves away from the water station.

It’s one thing to stay moving - the inertia of it somehow keeps Jeongguk on his feet all by itself. When he pauses to stand still though, the dizziness sets in immediately. Even after he has rested sitting down for fifteen minutes, he stands, just as dizzy and short of breath as when they paused, but now everyone else is lining up and they’re all breathing normally. Jeongguk knows they must be able to hear him; he’s sucking down air desperately and it sounds deafening even to his own ears. Before the music even starts up, he stumbles into Taehyung who doesn’t glance at him, focused in on his starting position and bopping his head along to his own count waiting for the beat to come in.

He makes it through the runthrough of the single, but they queue it back up with a thumbs up from all of their dance coaches to try it with the next transition. Jeongguk’s legs feel like jelly, wobbly like he hasn’t been doing this for the better part of a decade now. They still bend when he tells them to, they still kick when he needs to, but the longer they practice the less he feels it. Every motion lacks precision, even if he is still making the beats.

At the end of both songs, Jeongguk freezes in place. It feels like he is on dry land for the first time after months of being at sea; everything moves, his entire body swaying no matter how still he tries to be, and not only that, but his vision tunnels in and out a little. It’s less noticeable staring at his far away figure in the mirrors, but when Namjoon’s face slides into his vision, there are little black dots around his face, almost like cigarette burns in an old film reel.

“Jeongguk-ah, you’re seriously lagging in that last part. We need you to nail it so Jimin can come in for that - ”

“I know hyung, I know.” Jeongguk doesn’t mean to sound snappish with their leader in front of everyone, but he needs another break and it’s too soon to ask for one. Behind Namjoon, Hoseok opens and closes his mouth, frowning as he watches the two of them. Jimin crosses his arms and looks bored while Taehyung taps his foot, lost in his own world.

These used to be Jeongguk’s favorite days. Days when he knew it would be all seven of them together for as long as it took to get it right. Lunch would be brought to them, half of it thrown into each other’s mouths until management politely asked them to clean up their mess. Often a different physical outlet was needed to shake themselves out, and playful wrestling matches would break out until Namjoon’s laughter faded from a friend’s smile to a leader’s smile. Hoseok might take videos of them riffing on old songs to post for their fans later, and Jimin would demand to be carried around. Now, everyone breaks apart to scroll on their phone whenever they can.

Jeongguk pants heavily while Namjoon is barely winded. When he feels for his pulse on his wrist, it feels - fluttery? Or is that just him being stupid? He presses down harder, dazed until the lead choreographer asks if they’re ready to go again. Jeongguk steels himself, holding his breath and forcing his heart to slow down.

The song starts and Jeongguk moves.

Determined this time. He won't give anything less than perfection so no one can say a word to him. There truly cannot be such a thing as a weak link between them, and Jeongguk doesn’t ever want to let anyone down. He puts the same level of energy into this as he would for the ending number or an awards show, no holding back, all of his last reserved energy that he should still be rationing off.

At this point, Jeongguk knows he is overperforming, hitting marks with more gusto than is needed for this rehearsal. He will stick out from the group, but he needs them to see that he’s got this. He can do it. He’s the golden maknae, and he used to be the baby of Bangtan they all adored. Even if they all go on to do bigger and better things without him, he is a part of their history, and the affection they all had for each other will always be the great love of his life.

He makes it through the new single, nails the transition into the next, but they’ve barely begun the second song before every one of Jeongguk’s conscious thoughts cut out and everything goes black. He doesn’t see or feel it, but he hears the thud of his body on the floor.

When he comes back to, Jeongguk hears again before he sees again. Something rhythmic, but fast.

His heart.

Or - is it his breathing?

He hears that too. Everything is dark but he hears how hard he breaths and feels the pounding behind his ribcage. It hurts - oh god, his chest hurts. He groans, trying to feel any other than the gaping pain in his chest like someone shot him, reaching for movement in his fingers but his head feels so disconnected from everything in his body that he can’t focus enough to tell if he’s moving his hand at all or not.

“Jeongguk!” someone yells. The next thing he can feel is a set of hands on his face, at first gently tapping his cheek, then more earnestly slapping it.

“Let them through, Yoongi! Jimin, let go of him.”

Some more hands move him; it feels like they’re dragging him across the floor. Something soft gets stuffed under his head, or maybe - maybe it’s more hands? Everything still feels like he’s rocking, nothing quite solid below him. He gasps for air, so sure that if he sits up it will be easier to breath, but there are hands on his chest holding him down. One of the hands presses directly over his heart and he winces.

Someone smooths back the hair on his head and presses a cool rag on his forehead. When he opens his eyes, there is a large cluster of people leaning over him, dominating his space to get at him. Seokjin must be the one at his head, but it’s Namjoon he can see the best, and he thinks it is Namjoon’s hand over his heart.

“Hhugh,” he chokes out. Hurts, he wants to say. It feels like his heart is about to beat right out of his chest like a wild animal set free.

“They’re going to move you to the medic room on this floor, okay, Ggukie?” Namjoon says in his leader voice. Soft and calm, even if his face is pinched and red. The six of them shuffle back to let the medic on duty and one of their physical therapists grab him, and if Jeongguk had any control of voice or limb he would cry out for them. He doesn’t want to be separated from the others right now, or ever. It is a particularly painful gasp of air before someone wretches him up from the floor and out of the room.

The medic room reminds Jeongguk of the nursing station in schools; most floors of the building have one, although not all of them are staffed or stocked. The ones on the performance floors are, and this one is the largest out of all of them because the largest dance spaces are on this floor. The walls are soundproofed the same way vocal studios are though, and the lighting is low even on high.

Jeongguk lies in a bed in the room for the rest of the day so they can monitor him. His vitals level out after he catches his breath. As panicked as Jeongguk was to black out mid dance, everyone around him feels calm. Technically, this is not the first time one of them has passed out, and it won’t be the last. The medic who sits with him feels more like a babysitter than anything else, alternating between offers to get anything he might need and going through questionnaires similar to the ones he just went through at the doctor’s.

It’s partly because he just passed his physical that Jeongguk thinks they go easy on him. They give him fluids and talk a big talk about changing his diet, even if Jeongguk knows they really won’t. He has the rest of the day off, and they decide to push a few things around tomorrow so he’s not moving all day. General consensus is - without really anyone consulting Jeongguk - that it’s general stress and fatigue working its way out. Sejin asks if Jeongguk wants to go to the hospital, and Jeongguk sees this moment for what it is. Another lifeline being thrown his way, an easy out for him to take and talk to someone about the dizziness and dyspnea and more recently, the chest pain.

Can he write off the chest pain the same way he writes off the rest of it?

“Jeongguk?” Sejin prompts him, some worry in his eyes, but Jeongguk can never know if it’s worry for him or worry about the schedule. “Should I have a car ready? We can go now, if you want.”

The door opens and closes; Namjoon comes into view around the privacy curtain. “No,” Jeongguk finally answers. “I’ll be okay.”

Namjoon takes Sejin’s spot by his side, drawing up the chair close to where they’ve propped up Jeongguk’s head. He gives him a little smile, waiting until they’re alone to ask how he’s feeling.

“I’ll be fine,” he says again, although he’s sure Namjoon heard him already. Is Namjoon here as his friend? Or is he here about the schedule too? There’s a long pause between them, as if they have nothing they could say to each other.

“Seokjin says you’re having trouble sleeping.”

“How would he know?”

“Says you crawled into bed with him the last time he was at the apartment, and Hoseok said there wasn’t anything in the fridge hardly. Not enough if you’re staying there most of the time.”

“What makes you think I’ve been staying there?”

“Gguk.”

“Seriously. How would you know? How would any of you know? You’re never there anymore!”

Namjoon flinches back in the seat, blinking. “Sorry, hyung. I’m sorry.” Jeongguk shrinks back up on the bed, feeling all of ten-years-old again. “I’m just - really tired, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, Gguk. You’ve been saying that a lot lately, and I’m just trying to check in with you.”

All Jeongguk thinks of is Namjoon’s retreating back in between meetings, on his phone. This moment, this third chance to say something in almost as many days, feels too little too late. He’s uninterested in talking about his health with his leader when all Jeongguk needs is a friend.

“Why don’t we all have a movie night tonight?” Namjoon’s smile is tempered, less than small. Jeongguk refuses to let himself feel happy about being thrown a bone.

“Last time Taehyung tried to get everyone together, not everyone was happy.” And look - Jeongguk knows their free time is limited and precious, but he’s doubtful that they’ll all be on board to drop their plans for the night to hang out with him, not in the midst of growing tension.

“Everyone already agreed, Gguk-ah. We’re taking the night off to connect. We’ll even let you pick the movie.” Namjoon stands. “I’m going to ask if you’re clear to leave, okay?”

It’s just him and Namjoon in the car. If not for the amount of paparazzi camped twenty-four seven at every possible door and gate at the building, they could easily walk to the apartment. It’s not far and not worth the drive; Namjoon tails him as cameras go off, a hand hovering at his lower back in case he gets dizzy again. Even in the elevator, just the two of them and a security officer, Namjoon stays close to Jeongguk. It melts some of the tension from his body, and his hyung must notice, because this time their shared smile feels genuine.

Inside the apartment, Yoongi greets them in the kitchen. He and Jimin work on lining up snacks and dinner and Jeongguk can’t help but notice that many of his favorites are there. In the living room, Taehyung and Seokjin bicker over a video game that they’re not even playing yet, and Hoseok lies on his floor on his back with his legs up in the air.

It is a physical release. His shoulders go down, his heart lifts up. It’s the lightest Jeongguk has felt in ages.

He scurries over to Yoongi and wraps himself around the rapper’s back, forcing the other to drag him along on socked feet as Yoongi maneuvers the kitchen, the both of them laughing. Jimin giggles, voice so sweet, and Namjoon’s deep voice booms in the shared space for the first time in weeks to goad Seokjin into throwing Taehyung’s character out of the ring now that their game is booted up.

They all take a turn playing the game while eating. Taehyung quietly pulls Jeongguk into his side and asks how he’s feeling while Seokjin takes an empty plate from him only to replace it with a second full plate. By the time they’re ready for a movie, Hoseok pats the spot next to him on the cozy two-person loveseat and Jeongguk thinks maybe he’s been too dramatic all this time. These people are more than his best friends or family, and they’re expected to do so much more together than most do with their friends or family. Of course they get a little sick of each other. It all makes sense.

He feels so good in this moment that he almost tells them, opens his mouth to confess all of the strangeness that’s been going on for months now. He doesn’t feel anything now, as if it really was just a broken heart all along. There’s just a steady thump, thump, thump against Hoseok’s chest where he lies. When he presses two fingertips up against Hoseok’s neck, his hyung lets him and Jeongguk feels for himself that they match. Their heartbeats match.

Jeongguk decides to enjoy this. If he has these moments, he can endure the rest, the other times when Hoseok might push him away or when Namjoon leaves to work with other musicians. Everything feels slow and calm. He can finally breathe.

He dozes. He feels too good not to. When he wakes, his heart is racing like it already knows. Sound filters in slowly, a strange deja vu of earlier in the day. Hoseok’s chest rumbles under his head, but when he opens his eyes it’s Namjoon and Seokjin standing in the center of the living room chest-to-chest that he sees.

“You don’t get to be angry about this, Kim Namjoon! We all know about the contracts you’re lining up!” Seokjin yells, jabbing a finger in Namjoon’s chest.

“They’re all contingency plans, hyung! I wasn’t going to sign anything yet! And why do you think I made them, huh?” Namjoon pushes forward into the other’s space, their noses almost touching. “You’re the one making plans to leave!”

“...leave?” Jeongguk pushes himself up. The world continues tilting even when he sits up straight. He squeezes his eyes shut to make it stop.

“There’s a huge difference in making plans and being told I have to go, Joon-ah. You still have agency - I just have my age!”

“We all have to serve eventually, Jin. There’s nothing special about it.”

“Joonie,” Hoseok warns, standing now that Jeongguk isn't pinning him down.

“At this point, there’s never going to be a good time,” Yoongi says. Out of all of them, his voice is the lowest, but it doesn’t mean it sounds friendly. “Our contract’s almost up anyway, and we all knew there wouldn’t be another.”

“You don’t know that,” Taehyung mumbles.

“What, did you think we’d really all get married and start families while saving ourselves for ARMY?”

Jeongguk wobbles to his feet. “Hyung, stop.”

“This has just about run the course.”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk reaches out, one hand on Seokjin, the other on Namjoon. “We’ve never been more popular. There’s still so much to do!”

“Our fans will support us no matter what we do, Gguk-ah. It doesn’t need to be Bangtan,” Seokjin says.

“That’s an unfair statement,” Jimin pipes up, arms crossed, standing close to Taehyung. Jeongguk’s always known that when the group no longer exists, Taehyung and Jimin will continue. “Not all of us can assume we’ll have our pick of work. I certainly won’t be offered any acting roles like you will.”

Jeongguk’s phone buzzes in his pocket. It cuts through some of the static in his head, but whatever it is isn’t important. Nothing will ever be as important as this.

“You can do whatever you want, Jimin-ah. You’re the sweetheart of BTS.”

“I’m not Worldwide Handsome though, am I?”

Seokjin throws his hands up. Namjoon sighs heavily. “Jin hyung’s right. We’ll all have our choices when the time comes.”

“Easy for you to say. You have all the connections already! You made them and kept them to yourself!” It’s Taehyung who accuses him of this, which surprises Jeongguk.

Jeongguk rubs at his chest, a low throb there. “What does it matter? We still have time left on the contract. No one’s going anywhere yet.”

They all turn to look at him with pity in their eyes.

“Gguk. Honey.” Jimin sighs, but it sounds annoyed, like he resents having to explain to him. “Seokjin wants to buy out the rest of his contract. If he does that, they will force our hand. One way or another, we’ll disband.”

Jeongguk’s stomach drops. The amount of money needed to buy out was - obscene. Enough to all but bankrupt an individual member, and the company purposefully made it that way so it would look like an option in appearance, but in practicality it was nonsense. If Seokjin was really considering it, he was desperate.

There is only a year left on the contract. Seokjin is so unhappy he cannot fathom another year with Jeongguk.

“Hyung, is that true?”

Seokjin shrugs. “Everyone’s time is up sooner rather than later.”

Shock settles over his chest like a blanket.

The buzzing in his pocket continues. Hoseok snaps forward to pull it out of his hoodie pocket for him. “You need to answer when management calls you, or did you forget the most important rule?” he asks.

Hoseok pushes the phone into Jeongguk’s numb hand. “They need to hear you’re still breathing. The golden maknae, after all.”

“Their favorite cash cow,” Jimin says. It’s a joke he’s made before maybe, but only now does Jeongguk hear the bitter note. Taehyung rolls his eyes, and the two of them stand the farthest away from Jeongguk. The farthest away from everyone, already prepared to make it alone just the two of them.

Jeongguk isn’t sure why there isn't room for the three of them. They are the youngest, and they have the most time before enlisting. Why is he getting pushed out?

“But hyung - I don’t get why you can’t wait another year?” he asks, voice croaking. Namjoon winces; he hates it when anyone cries, but in particular when Jeongguk cries. Or, used to, at least. Maybe it’s less about caring and more about dealing with it.

“Gguk- this has been most of our lives. For all of us. You grew up in this business - how fucked up is that?” Seokjin takes a step forward, but it doesn’t feel comforting. In fact, Hoseok takes a step back to turn and now it feels like all six of them are staring him down.

They know he’s the one they need to convince. Maybe they do all feel this way. Too miserable for one more year. But what’s one more year?

“Bangtan isn’t meant to last forever. It already lasted longer than I could have imagined,” Seokjin says slowly. Jeongguk watches this man - a man who once packed him lunches for school and celebrated his good grades by plastering stickers all over his backpack when Jeongguk wasn’t watching - shrug. Shrug as if none of that matters and Jeongguk is just - just a coworker.

“But - you don’t regret it, do you?” Jeongguk asks.

“It’s hard to say I regret it, but.”

If Seokjin leaves early, he will leave virtually empty handed. Not only will they liquefy all of his assets and worth, but his reputation will be tarnished as well. All of theirs will be. Maybe the Western world won’t care as much, but in South Korea it will still matter, and other than maybe Namjoon, none of them will find it easy to work in another country.

“But what? It doesn’t matter any more?” Jeongguk cries out, clutching his chest. It aches again, his pulse picking up. “Our fans don’t matter any more? I don’t matter any more?”

“Ggukie. Don’t be so dramatic,” Hoseok says. Is his tone supposed to be kind? “Of course you matter. Our fans will always love you.”

“No, that’s not what I care about!” Their fans are only part of it. “Don’t I matter to you?”

And for a chilling moment - no one says anything. They just look at him with pity in their eyes. Jeongguk heaves in a heavy breath. Then another. It’s hard to breathe, like someone sitting on his chest after a wrestling match, but none of them have touched him like that in months and months. His hand shakes, then his whole body. Chest heaving, he feels like his legs will give out at any moment again.

His phone buzzes. It cuts through their silence.

“Jeongguk. Answer your phone.”

They all look at their feet, kind of shuffle around. Jeongguk ignores the vibrating phone in his hand.

“Jeongguk!” Hoseok chides.

Namjoon steps forward to grab the phone out of his hand and answer for him. “Yeah, we’re all here. He’s doing okay.”

Jeongguk is not doing okay. He feels like a stuffed toy with unraveling stitches. Everything inside of him will soon be on the floor.

“I’ll have him call you back in a bit.”

Namjoon disconnects the call and tosses the phone on the couch behind him. They’re all quiet. Jeongguk asked if he mattered to them, and they’re all quiet.

“I think I’m going to go,” Seokjin says, already looking at the door.

“Yeah, I think it might be for the best if we call it a night,” Namjoon agrees. Behind him, Jimin and Taehyung fidget, and Yoongi is already gone, stalking into the kitchen to put food away.

Namjoon just told management that they were all together, and now they’re all going to leave.

“Hyung.” Jeongguk could be talking to any one of them, but none of them look back at him. Even Hoseok keeps his eyes on the floor as he gathers up his bag and jacket.

Jeongguk remains frozen where he is as they all silently pick up their things and go. Seokjin is the first one gone. Hoseok the last. When he drops to his knees with a heavy thud, he knows there will be bruises there tomorrow, but his chest feels like it will cave in at any moment so it hardly matters. It hurts so much - the shortness of breath and chest pain have always been separate things until now. Now he can’t breathe directly because of how much his chest hurts. No longer does it feel contained to one spot in his chest - it radiates up and down his back.

Instinctively he curls up into a ball as tight as possible. Jeongguk wills his phone to ring again so he can tell someone, but it stays silent and the automatic lights in the kitchen flick off. It’s dark in the living room still from the movie that’s over, just the dim light of the menu left.

This isn’t normal. Jeongguk knows. Something is wrong. Something is really wrong. If anyone stayed even a few minutes longer, maybe -

Jeongguk coughs, except there’s nothing in his lungs left to expel. It’s a deep gagging from the pit of his stomach. He rolls his face into the hard floor and thumps his forehead against it, hands still clutching at his front. There’s nothing left, and there’s no one left. He lies still long enough that the pain fades - just enough. Just enough that he can relax his body and gulp down enough air.

When he picks up his head, there is blood on the floor directly beneath him. Just a few drops. He swipes at his mouth, licks his lips. He couldn’t taste it until this moment, but now he does. The distinct burst of pennies behind his tongue.

His phone lies on the couch almost within arm’s reach.

He knows he should call someone.

But who’s left to call? Who’s left to call that wants to talk to him? When Yoongi’s appendix burst, it was Namjoon he called to take him to the hospital. It wasn’t one of his parents or management. It was the person he spent the most time with.

Jeongguk slowly gets on his hands and knees to push himself up. There’s always been a bed in this apartment meant just for him, but he rarely used it, even on all of the nights when he was alone. Tonight, he crawls under the covers of this bed and doesn’t think a thing about anything else.

In the morning, there are missed calls, but only from management. There is also a tiny bit of blood on his pillowcase to immediately remind him of the night before. Jeongguk pushes down the lingering pain and discomfort to shower and dress; his entire body is sore, his chest still faintly aching and his breathing labored. Today is more dance rehearsal; not a full day of it, they changed that, but they’re going to run through everything again, more likely than not promising to keep it at half speed, but they’ll kick it up without saying anything and expect Jeongguk to perform. They’ll test him to see where he is physically, even though they’ll ask and he’ll promise he’s fine. He’s done this all before.

He walks through the apartment with dripping hair because his car waits on him. He doesn’t have time to eat or time to clean the Rorschach splatter of blood on the floor that he left there last night. Now it will be harder to clean, but he’ll deal with it later. No one is going to see it ever anyway.

In the company building, Jeongguk gets pulled aside and prodded for information. Jeongguk tells them the truth of the moment - his chest hurts and he’s having a hard time breathing. They nod patiently, concerned looks on their faces, but then they guide him with a hand on his back towards the dance studio where everyone else waits.

The six other members are already there, lined up and stretching languidly in their starting positions, just waiting on him. Their main dance coach tells him he can stop whenever he needs as they push him into the center stage to take his spot.

Jeongguk knows better.

He glances around at his friends; to an outsider, everything might look normal. They’re all quiet, but it’s easily passed for concentration. They’re all avoiding each other’s eyes, but they can do that by looking only at themselves in the mirror in front of them. When the music starts, they’ll move as one and end as one.

It doesn’t matter.

Jeongguk raises an arm and pushes one leg back into position. He feels the tight pinch in his chest but ignores it. The beat drops in, but rather than sweep his foot out and dip into a roll, he collapses right there before he can even think of moving another muscle.