Alone, I had Only to Wish for lunathunderhead 2/3

[feixing]

A day passes, and then another. When Jongin wakes up, there's a doctor in his room. He opens his eyes and sees an unfamiliar white paneled ceiling. It blurs a little, and he closes his eyes again. Unfamiliar rooms aren't uncommon in his life. Suddenly, to his right, he hears someone speaking to him in Mandarin. He doesn't know what they're saying to him. He turns his head towards the voice and opens his eyes to see the doctor, gently repeating his question.

Jongin blinks and tries to bolt up in his bed. He struggles to sit up and begins processing his surroundings. IV drips, a cast on his arm, a man in scrubs with a stethoscope in his room, and suddenly Jongin is screaming. Nothing comes out, his throat is dry and his silent screaming hurts. It sets off a sharp pain in his head and he has to close his eyes again. That's when the memories hit him, the image of sitting inside a destroyed car, the noises, the sirens, being in an ambulance, but he can't remember any details of what happened.

“Sehun?” He manages to croak out, “Sehun-ah? Where's Sehun, is he alright?”

He turns towards the doctor, who gets up to find a manager who can communicate with Jongin, or a translator, since he can't understand Korean. Jongin grabs the doctor by the wrist, winces in pain as his shoulder feels like it's being torn off just from a small stretch, and shakes him.

“Do you know where Oh Sehun is?” Jongin asks desperately, and the doctor shakes his head, not a 'no' but to try to tell Jongin he can't understand him. Jongin takes it to mean that the doctor doesn’t know where Sehun is, and it makes him more agitated.

Jongin drops his hand and closes his eyes. He counts to five in his head and takes a deep breath. After he exhales, he slumps back against his bed, head hitting the pillow rather painfully. When he opens his eyes again, one of their managers is following the doctor back into his room. He begins calling out to her but she speaks first.

“Can you tell us your name?”

“Of course I can,” Jongin says irately, and pulls himself up to a sitting position again. “Kim Jongin, I-.”

He's cut off a second time by her gentle but firm voice. “Do you remember what happened, Jongin-ah?”

“What happened? We were in the van, and someone crashed into us,” He says and remembers his original plight, the question he was trying to ask before he was interrupted. “Sehun, Sehun was beside me in the van, that's where the other car crashed into us. Where's Sehun, Sehun, where is he? Is he alright?”

“Calm down, Jongin, I have to ask these questions because the doctors need to make sure you're alright.”

“I'm perfectly fine, as you can see! But just tell me, Sehun, he's okay isn't he? And the others, everyone else in the car, they're okay too?” Jongin's words begin to slur together, and his head starts to throb with pain.

“Sehun's in traction right now, he's been there overnight. The others in the car sustained minor injuries, but will all be released from hospital today or tomorrow. The doctors want to run some tests before they let you go. There will be one of us around, or one of the other members. They've all been sleeping at the hospital. It's a mess outside, the fans, the company...” She looks at him and rethinks her speech. “Never mind. You just focus on getting better, and things will work out from here.”

“I'm fine,” Jongin says again, “There's nothing wrong with me, let me leave so I can go see him!” He can’t stop himself when his head hits the pillow again because he can't fight the pain that's building.

“Jongin-ah!” She says sharply, and the doctor's hands are against his neck, feeling his head.

“It..hurts...” Jongin supplies weakly, and his world blacks out again.

The next time Jongin opens his eyes again, he can't feel his hand. At first, he's terrified that it's been injured so badly that they had to amputate it, but when he looks down, he realizes that it's just numb because Chanyeol's gripping it too hard, and has fallen asleep with his head squashing Jongin's arm into the mattress. It makes him titter a little at being so jumpy and quick to judge things for the worst. He takes a deep breath, feeling lucky that he’s alive. Jongin then uses his elbow to nudge Chanyeol and shakes his arm so as to wake up him from his slumber.

“Fuck, what time is it? Oh, you're awake?” Chanyeol says groggily, one eye open and focused on Jongin's face, the other still closed.

Jongin looks at him and sees the eye bags, swollen, dark, and the paleness and discolouration that mar Chanyeol's cheeks. He can't have been getting much sleep recently. It makes Jongin wonder what he himself looks like, always passed out but never eating actual food.

“I'm awake,” Jongin whispers, afraid to raise his voice any higher.

Chanyeol releases Jongin's hand from his grip and rubs his face. He wipes his eyes and blinks a few times before yawning.

“Chanyeol,” Jongin starts, and Chanyeol’s face gathers sharply, as if he expects Jongin to tell him that he thinks he's dying and needs a doctor right this instant. “Look at me,” he says. Chanyeol does. He looks Jongin in the eye with the most worried expression that Jongin's ever seen.

“Please,” Jongin says, “Tell me what the fuck happened.”

They maintain eye contact and Chanyeol opens and closes his mouth once before sighing and nodding his head. He looks down at Jongin's arm, the one in a cast, and frowns a little before beginning to speak.

The first part of the story is nothing new to Jongin. He had worked out the series of events that had unfolded days earlier fairly quickly, being able to remember the moments leading up to the crash rather clearly in his mind. The taxi in front of them had braked unexpectedly as a result of noticing a nearby passenger. The driver of EXO's van had swerved quickly in an attempt to avoid crashing into them. He had clipped the car in front of them anyway, but no one had been hurt at that point in time. The problem had happened afterward, when the driver of the SUV behind them, in the middle of a business call on his cell phone, couldn't brake in time and smashed into the middle of the passenger side of EXO's van.

Chanyeol looks up after he's finished this part of the story, voice surprisingly tender and quiet. Jongin's staring at him intently.

“Some pedestrian called an ambulance, but we were ahead of you guys so we didn't even know that anything had happened until we were several traffic lights ahead and the manager in your van called the manager in ours. We weren't told what happened, only the driver had pulled us over and we were told to stay put and then all the staff seemed to disappear. The six of us inside kept wondering what was going on, and Joonmyeon called Wu Fan, who didn't pick up, and then we were really worried. Joonmyeon-hyung looked like he was going to leap out of the van and strangle one of the staff for information, and I've never seen Baekhyun bite his fingernails, but I'm pretty sure that's what he was doing and, sorry, I'm rambling,” Chanyeol says and then sighs.

“Well, it turned out that the van had basically ploughed into you guys, and then when we finally found out what was going on, we headed to the hospital, this hospital, since the ambulance was already taking you guys here. And, yeah...” Chanyeol finishes.

Jongin doesn’t say anything for a while, and simply looks at him. When Chanyeol doesn’t look like he’s going to continue, Jongin frowns a little. “No, I mean, what happened to everyone inside the car.”

There's a sharp inhale, followed by, “Well, other than being really shaken, the manager and the driver were both unscathed, since they were in the front seats. Lu Han-hyung got away with only a couple of bruises. It turns out he was trying to make sure you weren't thrown out of your seat. For some reason, Minseok-hyung flew into Zitao, and they were both kind of beaten up, but Wu Fan hyung got out of it pretty much fine. Minseok had a lot of lacerations in his arms from glass and metal digging into him, so he's really bandaged up and taking it easy.”

It doesn’t escape Jongin’s notice that Sehun’s not mentioned again. “Chanyeol, just tell me what happened to Sehun, please,” Jongin is begging now. He's starting to fear the worst, because no one will tell him what happened to his best friend, and he wants to vomit, he thinks about how much he loves Sehun and, “Sehun. What happened to Sehun?”

“I...Jongin-ah, Sehun was in traction for an entire night,” Chanyeol says.

“I know that!” Jongin explodes, “What does that even mean, I, will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“The doctors thought that he might lose function in most, if not all of his muscles.”

Jongin stills. “What?”

“He should be fine now, I mean I think, I think he's okay now. They're going to perform surgery on him here, in Beijing hospital. They're scared to move him back to Korea for surgery, so his parents are flying over. And then they're going to send us back in small groups so that we don't attract attention. No one's made a statement about this, and we think that none of the fans saw. Or if they did, they're keeping it quiet. Baekhyun, Jongdae and Kyungsoo were sent back yesterday. Yixing, Zitao, Wu Fan, and Lu Han are going to get some time to visit their families. I'm going back with Minseok and Joonmyeon tomorrow. There’ll be managers to stay with you and Sehun. But Jongin, his femur was shattered. The reason why your arm is so badly done is because you had yanked him towards you to protect his head, but Sehun's entire right leg is hurt pretty bad.” Chanyeol pauses and tries to catch his breath. “Really, really bad,” he says again, for emphasis or to find where he was again, Jongin doesn’t know. He lowers his voice to a whisper and Jongin thinks he hears his heart break, “I don't think he'll be dancing anytime soon. Not for a year, at least.” He turns his head away. “I think, we're being sent back and given vacations because EXO is going on an unofficial indefinite hiatus.”

Jongin's world collapses.

They run tests and scans on him. Eventually, the headache is chalked up to a mild head injury, combined with trauma and malnutrition. The pain dissipates quickly and Jongin finds himself functioning with a clear head sooner rather than later. Chanyeol leaves the day after he has his conversation with Jongin, and Jongin spends nights pretending to sleep rather than talking to staff. It's like this that he misses his only chance to visit Sehun. Every time he gathers enough courage to speak to the nurses, he realizes that he doesn't have enough courage to actually look Sehun's parents in the eye, much less talk to them about their son and his injuries. And even after that, if he convinces himself that speaking to them wouldn't be too bad, Jongin realizes that seeing Sehun lying immobile on a hospital bed would be too much for him to handle.

Jongin is discharged within a week of his time of entry to the hospital, and is driven to the airport in a black town car. Their manager carries everything for him, and he keeps his face hidden under a hat and a hoodie, and for the first time since Jongin had become Kai, there's no fan screaming his name at him when he gets out of the vehicle to step into the line for the airport's check-in, no slew of cameras or posters. He would have been so grateful for the break, but not like this, not at the expense of someone's well being.

The entire plane ride is quiet. Jongin brutally remembers how much he hates sitting on an airplane for lengthy amounts of time, up in the air, uncomfortable, unable to stretch out. He doesn't listen to music or watch an episode of an anime on his phone. He spends the entire time staring out the window and thinking, thinking to himself, thinking about himself, but mostly thinking about Sehun. He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until his manager, who’s carrying Jongin’s bag, is shaking him awake.

“I’'ll take it,” Jongin says roughly, and lifts the bag onto his own shoulders.

His arm's broken, not his entire body, not like Sehun who can't get up and move, not like Sehun who's stuck lying in a hospital bed for the next few weeks. He follows his manager obediently through the gates, silent and sullen the entire way.

“There's a car waiting to take you back to the dorms,” his manager says, when they near the exit.

Jongin nods.

“And the group is going to have an extended vacation of sorts for the next little while. Try not to be seen out too much, don't get into any trouble.”

“Aren't you coming with me to the dorms?” Jongin asks.

“There's so much stuff to do and figure out...No, I'm going back to the company.”

Jongin swallows. He doesn't say goodbye. He sits in the car and looks on, completely unaware of the waving figure who closes the door behind him. Even as they drive into the underground parking of the dorms, he's oblivious to his surroundings. He only jumps to awareness when he hears the doors of the car unlock, and thanks the driver, rushing out with his luggage before he can be asked if he needs help.

He drags all of his stuff with him up to their rooms and pauses outside the door. He looks at it, and wants to laugh at himself because of how cowardly he feels. He can't laugh. He forces down a sob and leans back against the wall in the corridor. He slides down and sits, feeling pathetically small. Jongin pulls his phone out from his pocket and dials his manager.

“Hello?”

“Hyung, I know this is late, but do you think there's somewhere else I can stay tonight? I don’t know, the dorms, I just don’t know if I’ll be alright here.”

There's a pause.

“I'll see what I can do.”

Four hours later, they meet up in the underground of the dorms and Jongin is taken away, driven out to an older apartment building some twenty minutes from the dorms. They take the stairs up and Jongin notices that his manager looks absolutely exhausted. He tries not to think about how tired he must look too.

“What is this place?” Jongin asks.

They pause on the landing and their manager turns to him.

“The company owns a few small properties meant mostly to act as safe houses in case of a scandal or something like that. This one's a repurposed studio apartment, so there's not much in it other than a bed. I hope you have toiletries and things with you.”

Jongin looks at him. They continue up the stairs.

“Someone will be by with basic food necessities tomorrow. They can bring you what you need. Don't expect meals or anything, it'll probably be ramyun and kimchi for a while.”

He opens the door to reveal a tiny room with a single wire frame bed in the corner. The floorboards look old and dusty and the walls are an ugly beige colour.

“Strictly speaking, I only managed to get this room because I cited privacy issues. If you're wondering, you're here because you're terrified that a fangirl is going to come find you and corner you or a group of them will surround you and you'll be injured again or your injury will get worse. That's all I can really say.”

Jongin opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it.

“Don't worry. I'll be in touch,” his manager says and indicates a landline phone on the kitchen counter that Jongin hadn't noticed before. He doesn't think he's seen a landline in ages.

With that, his manager leaves. The door closes and Jongin is alone.

Jongin drops his stuff to the floor and sits on the mattress. He's finally alone, and he thinks he should be able to breathe again, but there's no sense of relief. Each breath he breathes is laboured, like it's the last one he'll ever have. He can't get rid of the sting behind his eyes no matter how much he rubs them, and the choked feeling his throat refuses to go away. He thinks now, surely he can finally cry the tears he's been saving up since that morning in the van, but no matter how much he wants to, he can't cry. He thinks now, it must have sunk in, so that he can remember and see the images in his mind, and focus on the pain in his arm, the hurt in his chest, but nothing happens and he can't cry.

If there is something worse than sadness, it is being completely numb to all emotion.

If it hadn't been for him, it wouldn't be like this. Sehun would have fallen asleep on Lu Han's shoulder and it wouldn't have mattered that he was asleep and didn't realize he was halfway to being killed until his leg was destroyed. He thinks about what Chanyeol said, about the doctors being scared that he would lose all his muscle function and Jongin feels like puking even though he hasn't had anything to eat for over half a day. All of his limbs feel undeserved, like he was given safety even though it should have been him in the surgery room, not Sehun, never Sehun.

They could be fine now, because Jongin would have been awake, could have shielded himself as best as possible, and even if he would have been injured too, it surely wouldn't have been as bad as Sehun, lying, without the ability to dance.

This is what breaks Jongin's heart the most, the fact that Sehun can't dance. To Jongin, who knows nothing but dance, who doesn't love and want to dance, but needs it, needs dancing in his blood, in his heart, in his mind, he can't begin to fathom what it's like to lose movement. It's different from his waist hurting or his back cramping, it's different because even if it's painful, at least Jongin can still move when he's injured. But Sehun, with his bones broken, couldn't get up even if he tried.

For Jongin, the staff members trying to help him carry anything were a reminder that Jongin got by with little more than a broken arm and traumatic shock. He was still able to function normally, could go out and get a late dinner if he wanted, or cook himself a meal. He could feed himself, and then could take a shower and change out of his clothes and if he wanted to, he could sleep. As he lies down on the bed, spreading his limbs across the mattress, he thinks about choice, being able to make choices, and wills himself to cry without any success.

When Drogba first confirmed that he was leaving Chelsea, Jongin had complained to Lu Han that, “He's such a fucking life ruiner, who the fuck does he think he is, ditching his team with all that personal success, like what about defending the Champions League title or something, that fucker.” and Lu Han had giggled quietly to himself at Jongin's rant.

Didier Drogba had not ruined any lives. Didier Drogba leaving was not the sole reason that Chelsea hadn't made it past the group stage the next year, nor was he the only cause for Chelsea's third place finish in the premier league. In fact, even if it were Drogba's fault, he didn't actually ruin Jongin's life. Jongin was now an expert on life ruining, having destroyed Sehun's into a crushed femur with eleven screws, bone grafting, and titanium rods.

If anyone is a life ruiner, it's Kim Jongin, and he knows it.

He falls asleep staring at the ceiling sometime around four in the morning, fully dressed, without brushing his teeth. It's nearly noon when he finally wakes up to his phone vibrating against his thigh in the pocket of his pants. He lets it ring, unable to bring himself to care about picking up, and too sleepy to fish it out anyway. He turns over after it stops vibrating and considers getting up to make himself breakfast. It's been an entire day since he's eaten anything and his stomach is protesting.

The refrigerator is completely devoid of food. He rummages through all of the cabinets to find a box of bottled water and opens a bottle to drink. There's so much and absolutely nothing to do, but he decides to see what the bathroom is like before doing anything else. He's interrupted by his phone vibrating again. Jongin sighs and puts down his water, fumbling for his phone to check who's trying to contact him.

He has one missed call and an unread text message, both, it turns out, from Chanyeol. The text reads, 'What are you doing, man?'

Jongin frowns and texts back, 'Rebuilding my world. Don't come near.'

He turns off his phone and throws it onto the bed along with his clothes. He hasn't had a proper shower since he was first admitted into hospital, and luckily there's soap in the drawers. Without bothering about his hair, he washes himself until he feels clean for the first time in weeks. It's a lapse in foresight on his part when he comes out of the stall and realizes that he has no towel. He swears and air-dries himself, standing awkwardly in the middle of the apartment, stark naked.

When only his hair is still dripping wet, he unlocks his phone again and sees that Chanyeol’s sent him a reply already. He waits until he’s pulled on boxers, jeans, and a shirt out of his suitcase, and is fully dressed before reading what it has to say.

'Without us? Without EXO? Without Sehun?'

His hands start to tremble first, and then it's his entire body, and Jongin feels sad, hurt, angry, all at the same time, and he can't stop shaking as he presses delete, clearing the entire history of their text conversations. He repeats the action with all his contacts, everyone he's talked to in the past two years, over and over again, delete, clear all, yes, clear all, yes, clear all, yes. He only hesitates when he gets to Sehun's name, but then his thumb lowers and that's deleted too.

He wishes he had started crying then too, but he doesn't, he sits with his head against the wall, and tries to breathe. Dancing is completely out of the question, he can't bring himself to get up and stand, much less move. He doesn't eat that day, or the day after that, even though someone comes in with groceries and to tidy up the place a bit. Jongin could be doing something useful with himself, but he ends up sitting on the bed watching as someone sweeps the floors for him, lays out shampoo, conditioner, towels, toothpaste, a toothbrush, stocks his cabinets with plates and cutlery.

He should be embarrassed, but he's far from it. Instead, he's numb, incredibly numb to everything that happens around him, and he spends each day doing little more than sleeping. He's not in a jail cell, but he feels like a prisoner. Sleep, wake up, pretend you have an existence and that your life isn't meaningless, repeat. It should be a wake up call, but instead, Jongin sits and he doesn't dance, he can't dance, not when it means almost as much to him as Sehun does.

When Jongin had first been told that there was something to love other than dance, he thought it was absurd that people would devote more time to each other than the dance floor. He voiced this opinion frequently, most often after a good practice session. But now, he sees and realizes that there are people in his life much more precious than his own ability to do triple pirouettes.

Mostly, he stares at his phone and wonders whether or not he should do what he would normally be doing, searching their names online, looking at posts by fans, checking to make sure that there were good pictures of him posted. But he can't look, not when SM still hasn't released any information about why EXO so suddenly halted all of their activities, can't even begin to fathom what kind of stories they've posted, or crazy theories they've thought up.

What scares him the most isn't that the fans are speculating. It makes sense that they're trying to reason out a logical explanation for their sudden departure. The problem is that he can't decide if it would be worse that what they postulated was right, or if their ideas were completely wrong. He's terrified that if they found out the truth, they would blame him just as he blamed himself, and that they'd seek him out, attack him, make him pay. He's petrified at the idea that they have no idea what's real and what isn't, and doesn't want to think about what they would do to him if they found out, months after the fact.

Only one thing scares him more, and that's the reaction of the other members. If they're just as fuzzy on what happened as Chanyeol was, they're probably not angry with Jongin, but if they knew, they would probably hate him. He shudders every time he thinks about what Zitao would say to him, thinks about the look he would be given, thinks he'd probably be killed. Zitao seeks justice; he has no patience for people who hurt others, especially for people who hurt his friends. Jongin had been allowed to stay by himself at this apartment for his own safety against whatever the fans might do, for security; but secretly, Jongin thinks he's most protected from the rest of EXO.

Jongin, who thinks that he's trapped because he's staying in a room by himself, has a clear cut idea of what happened. Jongin does not delude himself into thinking that the other members aren't stuck in limbo, feeling more helpless and useless than he does. There were schedules they were supposed to attend, rehearsals and performances in the works, there were so many plans that were all suddenly written off. At the very least, they could be preparing for their next album, but with a date up in the air, and the very existence of EXO in question, he doesn't think that anyone's in the studios.

Probably the only people doing anything useful at this point are the members like Yixing, who are composing as usual, who are in the business for the music, for the stage. In the industry of entertainment, if you're never in front of an audience, you can never do your job. All of the members have worked hard to get to where they are, and all of them love what they do, and now, none of them can do it. They can't get up on stage and sing or dance, they can't be on radio shows or in side projects, they're stuck without any idea of when or how they'll get out.

There's no way he can forget this fact. He doesn't deserve to, so he doesn't let himself. Jongin plays videos of EXO standing a line with their hands out, and thumbs up. “We are one, we are EXO,” Joonmyeon says, before Jongin pauses the video, rewinds, and replays. He watches it over, and over again, memorizing the way all of their faces look, each one pleased in their own way, everyone satisfied and content, if not happy. He looks at all of them without really seeing them, too scared to focus on any one face, too nervous about what he'll have to realize he has destroyed.

Fuck up, he thinks to himself, I'm such a fucking fuck up, I've fucked everything up for everyone, and he realizes how sorry he is, how genuinely sorry he is to everyone. To EXO, to their company, who acts like they have no idea what to do because this isn't the kind of thing that's written into their contracts, to their managers and staff, to Sehun, to Sehun's parents, and to some extent he even feels sorry for himself.

He’d met Sehun's parents a few times at big school events, and his mother had smiled at Jongin and thanked him for being a great friend, and Sehun hadn't changed his expression at all but he blushed and Jongin noticed. He thinks of their happy faces and can't imagine what it must be like to see your son lying in a hospital bed in so much agony.

He feels sorry, but he's not sure he feels sorry enough.

This is probably what despair tastes like, bitter and sour and dry in his mouth, nowhere to go and nowhere to hide, not really.

It's the thought of Sehun's parents at school that makes Jongin start dancing again. He stands, in the middle of the room, and slides into a straddle, and realizes he's lost his splits, and thinks that he can't do anything right, letting himself slip up even now. He thinks, at least for Sehun's sake, he should still be moving because his body can, because his body will let him, because he won't shatter if he stretches a little or rotates a joint. Eventually, it's the dancing that he occupies his time with. He spends twelve hours a day, or maybe even thirteen, doing nothing but practice. His phone plays videos of choreography, and he learns it, internalizes it, goes over every move beat by beat, repeats it until it's in his muscle memory, replays the video over and over, watches until his eyes are sore, and he dances. Everything he learns becomes his own, and even though he's supposed to be copying someone, imitating other dances, everything ends up with a touch of Jongin, and he remembers dance for what it was. The only thing he knows how to throw himself into, mind, body, and soul, when no one else is around him, when he can't even trust himself.

It's always been dance.

He doesn't expect anyone to communicate with him, but it still hurts when he thinks about it. He has no right to be disappointed, but he had assumed that someone would wonder where he was. Supposedly, the other members would have left the dorms too, if Jongin was gone, maybe to their parents homes. The dorms probably aren't completely abandoned, but he doesn't think he has a right to visit, not after that first day. On some days, when he convinces himself that he should be there, with the other members instead of alone in his self-imposed exile, he remembers that he doesn't know what he would say to them. At first, it's because he can’t imagine bringing himself to recount or explain what happened. And then, a few days after that, it becomes something about him not being with the rest of them, not supporting or being part of the group at its time of greatest need.

Strangely, it's this turn of events that makes him believe in God. He's never really needed to have faith in anything. Not until now, when he needs God three times a week, when he's in bed and realizes how lonely he is. Jongin, apart from being alone, has never felt so much loneliness, so alone that it's in his bones, so lonely, and so so empty.

Other than the occasional check-up call from a manager on the landline, Jongin hasn't spoken to anyone in weeks. And as much as he seeks solitude and comes off as cold, trying to project an image of handsome ruggedness without the weakness of dependence, he does need other people in his life. He craves human touch with a regularity that thrums in him now, thinks that he would feel better even if he were sitting beside someone silently for a few minutes. It could be easily done if he just went outside to a cafe or a park, and sat down with one of the other residents of the city, or even walked around the street outside and greeted some of the elderly who did exercises in the morning; human interaction wasn't so far away from him. But Jongin is a coward and he can't find the courage in him to go out and see people. He's scared that he'll look up into the face of a fan and that they'll start screaming at him angrily. He's scared that someone will find him and catch him, and the police aren’t really hunting him, he's not a runaway, he's not in real trouble, but it feels like he should be.

It isn't for a few weeks afterward that someone calls his cell phone. He shouldn't be surprised that it's Lu Han, because Lu Han has always been the socialite of them all, and Lu Han is, Jongin can admit now, one of the best friends he has. Lu Han takes care of people in his own way, because he cares about them so genuinely and so deeply. Lu Han calls, and Jongin doesn't think he can face him, not if Lu Han is calling to get angry with him, or blame him. He doesn't think he can deal with confrontation in any way, and he's too scared to lose what might be his only friend left.

He stares at the phone. Stares and stares as it rings and rings, but he refuses to pick up.

Lu Han, unlike Chanyeol, leaves him voicemail.

It takes Jongin three tries to gather enough courage to listen to that message.

“Jongin-ah, it's Lu Han hyung. I'm calling now because I just got back in Seoul. Sehun's surgery went well, and SM flew him back on a private flight with his family, and the other EXO members. So we're all here now, and Sehun-ah's going to be in rehab for a while. Jonginnie, why don’t you see him? Jongin, you’re in love with him aren’t you?”

Whatever Jongin thought was coming, it wasn't that. It wasn't to be so shocked about the fact that Lu Han knew, he knew what Jongin didn't want to admit to himself. He didn't expect a gentle voice, or kindness, or a sense that absolutely nothing was wrong, that everything was going to be okay. He didn't expect Lu Han to be so at ease about everything, to have not a hint of accusation in his voice, and it makes Jongin reflect about what's holding him back. It's precisely because he's in love with Sehun that he can't see Sehun hurt in anyway.

Love is strong, Jongin thinks, but not stronger than pain, and he remembers blood, he can see it, the broken windows, the sound of screeching tires, he remembers pain again and he's panicking, breaking down, the memory of that crash serving only to haunt him, terrify him, and he screams, lets out a bloodcurdling shriek, screams, and screams, and screams until he's hoarse, collapsed into a heap on the ground, and all he can smell is that of burnt rubber, the tang of iron in his mouth, smoke, gasoline, feels broken glass all over him again, can hear it, can see it, can taste it, and it's awful, it's absolutely awful. The feeling of dread builds in the pit of his belly and sits there, refusing to go away. It makes him sick to his stomach, but he wretches without anything coming up, and his head starts to pound and throb with pain, and everything feels like it's gone to shit, like he's found his way to a living hell.

He doesn't spend any of that day dancing. After hearing the voice message, he curls up on the bed and lies there, completely exhausted, drained emotionally and mentally, and when he closes his eyes he can't sleep because he can see the crash happening again and again. He doesn't want to sleep, knows that if he does, he'll dream, and it'll be the crash again and again.

He can't relive that experience because it's like he's hurting Sehun again and again.

There are a lot of things he wants to say to Lu Han. He wants to ask him for advice, for support, even just talk to him and hear his voice and know that life goes on. Then, he hears Lu Han's voice asking him, “Jongin, you’re in love with him aren’t you?” and he knows that it's impossible, not with Sehun in a rehabilitation centre trying to relearn how to stand, being treated like a baby, being taught how to walk again because of Jongin. It doesn't stop him from thinking up questions, however.

In his head, he has conversations with Lu Han. “Is everything going to be okay?” Jongin asks, and Lu Han tells him, “Yes, certainly, in fact, everything is already okay.” “What is wrong with me?” he asks, and Lu Han replies, “Absolutely nothing.” And that, just that, gives Jongin a little bit of comfort. Even though there are so many moments when he could, and so many reasons for him to, Jongin doesn't cry. He doesn't know why, and this is the question that's always on the tip of his tongue, the question that brings him closest to calling Lu Han each time. Every time, the thing that stops him again is Sehun's face, crystal clear in his mind, and Jongin's courage breaks, and he can't do it.

There's a part of him that also wishes that Sehun would call him. He knows that he's made no effort to contact Sehun, didn't even get a chance to see him when they were being treated in the same hospital. He knows that, but internally, he still wishes that Sehun would text him some obscene message about how stupid the other people around him were, or about how bored he was. It would probably make Jongin smile for the first time in ages. But no message comes from Sehun and Jongin can't exactly blame him.

It’s knowing that Jongin has no right to want Sehun to call him that makes him do it. He’s just holding it in his hand when out of nowhere, he throws his phone across the room in frustration, only momentarily satisfied by the loud smacking noise when it hits the other wall, and even from here he can see that it’s cracked. He feels oddly victorious.

As a friend, he should be responsible at least for finding out where Sehun is staying, what rehabilitation centre he's being treated in, what their visitor hours are. It's definitely somewhere in the best friends contract that Jongin is obligated to at least see Sehun. He wonders if the rest of the EXO members are with him, if they see him and if they talk about how horrible Jongin is without him there, horrible for not fulfilling his duties as a member of the band, as a coworker, but more importantly, as a friend. They're all friends, really, even if they fight, bicker, or annoy each other. They've bonded over so many trivial and momentous things over the past years that it's impossible not to be friends. And friends, friends are supposed to support each other. Not hole themselves up in isolation. Jongin hasn't seen the light of day except to visit the hospital to remove his cast and attend subsequent mandatory check up. Friends, lovers, whatever it is, Jongin should be there.

But he isn’t there. Jongin is a quick twenty-minute car ride away from the dorms, but he’s a million miles away. The only thing that’s right with him is that he’s alive. When he presses his fingers to his face and his palms to his throat, he’s throbbing with life. Being alive is what makes things hurt. If only the pain wasn’t so intense and constant. But he’s always wondering if Sehun’s all right, always wants to apologize to someone, to tell someone that he’s okay. He thinks that if he can say he’s fine to someone else, that he can convince himself that he’s fine too.

In the end, being alive, without eating, and constantly moving, is what drives Jongin over the brink, and his body caves to exhaustion. He falls asleep and stays that way for an entire day.

Jongin wakes up with sweaty palms and an uncomfortable stickiness covers his body. He can barely breathe. He curls and uncurls his fists slowly. He wiggles his toes. He furls his eyebrows. He cracks his neck. He’s in bed. There’s the blanket. There’s the pillow beneath his head. Yes, he was sleeping. He turns his head and hopes that when he opens his eyes, it’s Sehun that he sees. It’s Sehun that he dreams of. In that brief moment right before he falls asleep, he thinks yes, I love him.

“How's Jongin holding up?” Zitao asks quietly.

At quarter to midnight, there's only two people other than the receptionist in the lobby of the Seoul Rehabilitation Hospital. They sit quietly on the chintz armchairs, elbows resting against each other on the armrests, and looking out of the floor-length windows to the darkened streets outside. Zitao sips instant coffee made from a vending machine out of a styrofoam cup and looks at Lu Han expectantly.

Lu Han lowers his head to stare into his cup of tea, waiting for it to cool and trying to think of a way to answer Zitao's question.

“Well, he stepped out of the apartment for the first time yesterday,” Lu Han decides finally, keeping his voice lowered.

“That's good news, isn't it?”

“He walked out into the sunlight and looked like he was terrified of it. And then he just wandered around a bit lost, watched people randomly, and ended up finding a payphone.”

“Doesn't he have his own phone? How's management keeping in touch with him?”

“I have no idea. But anyway, he definitely made a call. It was short, and I didn't hear him say anything,” Lu Han says and pauses to take a breath.

Zitao interrupts him, “Didn't? Or Couldn't?”

“I don't think his lips were moving at all.”

“That's fucking weird.”

“I know. Anyway, I followed him for a while, and all he did was walk around and around and around, he wasn’t even looking at anyone or anything. It was like he was suddenly in awe and wonder about trees, the clouds, the sun, the grass, pretty much everything.”

“Hang on, you followed him? Have you been following him daily or something?”

“Um, well, actually, I've just been visiting once a week. So I guess I can't say for sure whether it was his first time out or not. I guess I was just lucky. I was about to leave when he came down the steps.”

“And he didn't see you?”

“I think even if he did, he wouldn't have really seen me, if you know what I mean,” he says, and hesitates. “I think, I knew he was out of it, since he left and all. But I don't know why he left, and I didn't think it would be this bad. I've never seen Jongin look so terrible. His skin's a mess, his eyes are dead, his cheeks sunken, and even the way he carried himself was kind of sad. Like he was hiding his face from fans even though no one was there. He must have lost fifteen or twenty pounds since the time we last saw him. And keep in mind, I saw him in the hospital when he was just on IV drips.”

Zitao swears loudly and the receptionist shushes him.

“Sorry,” he says, before turning back to Lu Han. “That would fit with the theory that he hasn't left the house. But you said last time that there was someone bringing him food.”

“Just because there's food in the house doesn't mean he's eating it,” Lu Han reminds him, and blows on his tea to cool it some more, before finally taking a sip. He grimaces at how awful it is, but takes another mouthful and swallows anyway.

Zitao laughs at him. “Want to trade drinks?”

“Fuck no, that shit is vile and shouldn't be called coffee.”

“Oh, like the tea is any better.”

“Point. But all my parents gave me when I visited was crappy teabag tea in a paper cup. Drinking this is almost like being back in their condo, sitting on their sofa and feeling uncomfortably unfamiliar with the people who raised me.”

Zitao snorts. "You were probably just making it more awkward, smiling at them as if they weren't the ones who practically threw you out of the house."

“People are worth more than their views, Huang Zitao. Just because my mother doesn't come shopping with me like yours does doesn't make me like her any less.”

Lu Han looks at Zitao who stares back at him and they fall silent. The darkness sits on them like a blanket, encouraging sleepiness. It's so quiet that they can hear their own breathing, and the ticking of the clock above the reception desk. The coffee has done nothing for Zitao except to make his insides feel warm. His eyes close and he’s on the verge of dozing off when Lu Han speaks again.

“What if,” Lu Han proposes, and Zitao's eyes fly open and wide awake, “What if we, I dunno, gave them a push?”

Zitao, who is suddenly very conscious and aware, frowns. “I don't know if I like what you're thinking of.”

“With Jongin, no one knows what the hell he's thinking. I have an inkling that he's blaming himself, because god knows why, but he's an idiot like that. But if we could, maybe, like, remind him that Sehun's alive and kicking and alright even if not terribly happy...”

“If he's blaming himself for being an asshole by not being beside his best friend at this point in time, he probably deserves to wallow in misery.”

“Zitao,” Lu Han says sharply.

“Think about it. We were all worried. We all still are. But we came together right, held each other's hands, all that cheesy stuff and got through it. Sehun woke up in the morning and he saw at least one of us there, and he smiled.”

“He smiled, but his smile got more and more strained as the days went on. You noticed it too, that he's missing Jongin, wants to know where he is, why he's not here, but he's too afraid to ask any of us.”

“I would tell him that he was alive, if he had asked,” Zitao sniffs.

“Wow, what an enormous help you are. But the thing is, none of us know why he isn't here either.”

“Who are you kidding, of course we know. We all know that Jongin's madly in love with Sehun, can't keep his eyes off him, but he's scared of his feelings because he's lived his entire life only attracted to dance. He has no idea how to deal with people, and he's terrified of the fact that he needs a person more than he needs dancing. I say if he can't even handle that revelation, he doesn't deserve to be in Sehun-ah's space. He'll probably just end up hurting him in the process of trying to figure himself out.”

Lu Han frowns. “I think he deserves a chance, at the very least.”

“Okay, say we gave him that chance. It doesn't matter if he handles himself maturely or not because Sehun's hurt and he's a lost puppy right now and he would probably do something stupid in front of Jongin, like try to run towards him, and then we'd be stuck with years more of EXO hiatus because he was too careless.”

“I think it's also pretty reckless just to let this sit and... fester. Jongin's wasting himself away. He's going back to that aloof human being who would rather melt in the arms of a dance studio barre than another human being. We can't not do anything,” Lu Han says and turns to look at Zitao, who sniffles. He squints at him, under the dim lighting, and realizes that Zitao is trying not to cry.

“He hurt Sehun-ah. Sehun's been miserable since day one because everyone and their mom is here to help him through physical therapy except for the person who mattered to him the most. Fuck Jongin for that. Fuck him and being selfish and keeping to himself when all of us were in pain. If he comes back to visit Sehun, he better be groveling.”

Lu Han puts out a hand to try to calm him down, but Zitao ignores him and continues.

“Oh Sehun is horrible with his feelings. He pretends not to give a fuck about anything because it's his defence mechanism. It's easier to have a carefree attitude than it is being emotionally invested in everything and then getting hurt half the time in the process. But it doesn't matter because Sehun does give a fuck, gives probably a couple dozen fucks in fact, when it comes to Kim Jongin, who used to give all the fucks in the world but is now acting like Sehun doesn't mean a fucking thing!”

Suddenly, he stops and backs down when Lu Han steels him with a glare.

“Zitao, you weren't the one with him and trying to keep him entertained for the eight weeks when he was non-weight bearing. You know, and I know, and Sehun knows, and everyone in the world except Jongin knows that Sehun loves him. And before we pass judgment on either of them, Sehun also wants him to be here. And Jongin needs to see that, now more than ever. And what Sehun needs isn't us mollycoddling him, or teasing him, or making him laugh, or watching movies with him, or helping him as he tries to regain his sense of balance, or supporting him when he relearns how to walk. What Sehun needs is to be loved. Not just by us, but by Jongin. Loved so much that he realizes how strong he is, that he doesn't need anyone or any form of assistance,” he says calmly. “Only Jongin can show him that now.”

“Hello? ...Hello? Is anybody there? Can whoever this is stop calling us? I’m...going to hang up...Hello? Hello?” Hearing his mother’s voice out of the receiver affects him more than he thinks it will, every time Jongin calls.

He stands in the phone booth on the corner of the street where the apartment is, the third time in a month and a half. The phone in his hand stays pressed to his ear, but he doesn't speak up. He doesn't know if he can explain to his mother why he doesn't want her to know where he is, or why he doesn't want anyone to find him. But at the same time, he wants to know that she's okay and hearing her voice makes him glad that she sounds the same as ever. It makes him a little sad that his mom has no idea that her son was in a car accident, and he feels guilty for not telling her. Yet, the people around him have moved on, even if he isn't there, and he's grateful for that.

When the line clicks and the beeping that signals a finished call ensues, he grips the ledge under the payphone tightly with one hand, and hangs up. He squeezes his eyes closed before bringing his other hand down to rest on the ledge too, and feels something under his fingertips that's not cool metal.

Opening his eyes, he squats down to look at the small white envelope and pulls it out to take a closer look. He stands up and reads it, his eyes widening when he reads 'Jongin' on the front. He frowns slightly because the handwriting looks familiar, and he wonders to himself if it's a fan. He hadn't noticed any of them. He thinks that they would probably use the name 'Kai' if anything, and the envelope makes him curious. Taking the risk, he slides a finger under the flap and pulls out the contents, one small polaroid photograph.

The shot is of the inside of a cafe that he used to go to with some of the other members. It's a pretty run down place, but the coffee is good, it's open at all hours of night, and no one knows them there as members of a boy band. The baristas also don't have any patience for fans and help them stay there without being found. He doesn't think any fans should have a picture of the place, or at least, not from within, and it makes him wonder who it is who knew where he was, knew that this place was somewhere he used to frequent and would leave him a message like this. He turns it over but there’s no message on the back, and nothing written on the bottom of the front side either.

He slides the photo back into its envelope and places it in his back pocket. It stays there, forgotten, as he walks up the street to the park where he sits for a long time, face hidden by his winter jacket as he listens to the city around him, feeling the cold fresh air in his lungs and the sun shining down to warm him. He thinks that by returning to the outside world, he's starting to regain the idea of what it means to feel alive.

The picture remains in the pocket of Jongin's jeans, untouched, until he returns home and readies himself for bed. He takes the envelope out and places it under his pillow before going to sleep and dreams about having coffee with Lu Han, who's dressed up like the Queen of England, complete with a tiara, gloves, and red lipstick.

“Tea time should be for tea,” Queen Lu Han tells him, before daintily picking up the cup and saucer in front of him and taking an equally dainty sip. He sets it back down without a clack and looks unimpressed at the chip in the butterfly print teacup.

“Uh, sorry?” Jongin says, before quickly picking up his cup of Americano and taking a gulp, scalding his tongue in the process. He chokes a little and coughs twice.

“Your Highness,” Queen Lu Han corrects him, politely offering him a tissue, which Jongin accepts gladly. “You should be addressing me as 'Your Highness.'”

“Oh, um, I'm sorry. Your Highness,” Jongin says and looks over to make sure he hadn't accidentally coughed up on the queen’s coral dress.

“That's quite alright,” he says mildly and takes to calmly observing Jongin. “Sandwich?”

“Er, alright, yes, please, Your Highness,” Jongin says, struggling to be polite. He takes a bite-sized cucumber sandwich from the plate in front of him and tries to eat it with as little fanfare as possible.

Queen Lu Han stops looking at him, and peers around at their surroundings. He wrinkles his nose periodically, but other than that, there’s no hint of disdain on his face. Either that, or it's just very well controlled. It's only then that Jongin realizes that they're in the cafe, the one that EXO frequents, the one in the photo he had received.

“The decor here is quite awful, isn't it?” Queen Lu Han asks with no real note of disgust.

Jongin rolls his eyes, and immediately regrets it. Are you supposed to roll your eyes when you're in front of royalty? Probably not. “Yeah,” he mutters after swallowing the last of his sandwich quickly, “Tell me about it.”

“Quite.”

“But I mean, at least it's clean right? Anyway, I like this cafe,” he says defensively.

Queen Lu Han looks at him carefully and purses his lips. “My apologies then, I didn't mean to be...rude.” He peers at Jongin and Jongin feels distinctly like he's being judged, and that the queen is being sarcastic with him. “After all, this is your tea party," he says, before picking up a sandwich for himself and nibbling on it in a way that Jongin can only describe as daintily.

When he wakes up he has an inexplicable craving for coffee.

part three