[idiopatheia]
ORIGIN from Greek idios ‘own, private’ + -patheia ‘suffering.’

(x)

If there is ever an award for Best Self-Control, Yongguk is sure to snag that trophy. It’s been months, and the closest he’s been to you is probably that first night at the park. He’s trying to be patient, and he thinks it’s a lot to ask from him, considering the endless length of ed up things he’d done in the past.

However, Yongguk’s been succeeding with his self-restraint so far and it’s almost good with you, except for that pestering jerk.

“That’s it. We’re changing your number,” he decides one evening, when your phone vibrates for the third time in an hour.

“Sorry.” You reply, fishing it out and checking it once, and then smiles cheekily at him, “This one is my mum, though.”

Yongguk rolls his eyes, and leans against the fence to an unknown meadow out on the northern edge of the city. You two have been doing this a lot; driving away from Seoul without any destination in mind. It gives you a sense peace and Yongguk his freedom. He feels less trapped like this. So far, nobody outside his very limited circle of bandmates and one manager knows about his proud unavailable status. And both of you plan on keeping it as is.

But not for long, Yongguk secretly thinks. He doesn’t want to wait. He just wants to love and live. But nobody seems to be ready for that except himself.

You walk up to him, leaving your phone in the car and Yongguk reels you in by the waist, thumb tracing up your spine.

“How much do I need to feed you for you to gain weight?” Yongguk clucks his tongue, and smiles at the scowl on your face.

He doesn’t want to admit it, but he probably has an unhealthy fascination for every bone that lives under your skin. It reassures him in a peculiar sense, that you are real and solid and isn’t going to break or shatter anytime soon. It gives him a breathing space, knowing that at least one thing is stable in his life. Yongguk is just content that he is allowed this much.

“Can’t I at least get a kiss?” he blurts out anyway, trapping you between his knees. When you eye him weirdly, Yongguk urges, “Come on. I’ve been keeping my hands to myself, don’t you know how hard that is for a man?”

Yongguk raises two hands up, as if to prove that he, in fact, can keep them away from you.

You laugh. For some reason, these things tend to amuse you. You’re not shy when he occasionally brings it up, but you don’t do much about it either. You pretty much just– laugh.

“You think this is funny?” Yongguk grunts, wounding you into an innocent hug. But the way he presses your front hard against his isn’t exactly innocent. And he is never sure whether you are aware of the agenda behind some of his actions. You never comment on them.

You’re still chuckling into his ears, and the soft tremors runs through his body and throbs at the base of his spine.

“It is funny.” You say, slowly pulling away just so you can look at him. With both small cool hands tracing his jaw, your smile is delightful at Yongguk’s brooding face. “You always make it sound like you’re less of a guy than—” Yongguk leans in and steals a peck from your lips, “Hey– what happened to—”

He steals another, lingering a little longer. His left hand makes its way up to the nape of your neck, discreetly tracing the knob that makes up your spine.

When Yongguk pulls away, his hand is still there, and all you do is blink at him.

“Yongguk,” you mumble, a conflicted frown between your eyebrows. “I—”

“Come on,” Yongguk whispers before moving in to kiss you again. His breath featherlight on your lips, “Just for a bit.”

His hand his firm at the back of your neck, and when you don’t answer, Yongguk closes the distance anyway. It isn’t a peck this time, and the connection is pure bliss and it makes him feel sappy and pathetic and , because although it’s his first kiss with you, the emotions are so new that Yongguk doesn’t remember any other ones with anyone else before this one.

“Okay,” you say against his mouth, a couple of seconds later, and it makes Yongguk press a chuckle to your parted lips because, yeah, your permission is kind of a bit too late for that.

In retrospect, he should probably be more appreciative that you’re not the clingy whiny type who feeds on attention and is looking to exploit your relationship to the public or something. If Yongguk is to stop and think about it sometimes, he gets a little guilty because the one who secretly want such things is actually him.

So, Yongguk works harder than ever. He is more generous than ever.

And he thinks it is morbid, but everybody else seems to think otherwise.

You don’t pry with his working life. And maybe Yongguk is stupid, but he kind of wish that you would.

‘You sap,’ he can hear his sister’s voice inside his skull. And Yongguk still doesn’t want to believe this is love. Because it’s gotta be something more than that. Because this, this is life changing and this feeling obliterates anything and everything that is Yongguk’s past and– he is happy.

And Yongguk feels that acting like a good person isn’t a cover up anymore. Maybe he is really a good person.

Is it really love that changes men, he wonders.

-

(xi)

It’s about two weeks later that Youngjae and Jongup tag along again. Or in another word, it’s taken Youngjae fourteen days to make sure Yongguk’s gotten over his petty jealousy. But he brings Jongup along anyway, just in case.

Youngjae may have thought it’s a good idea, but the moment he meets you, it’s turned into some halved quadrilateral conversations where Youngjae happily tattles along your side while Jongup awkwardly pairs up with a disgruntled Yongguk.

Yongguk can see it in Jongup’s eyes. He knows what the leader is thinking, so when the four of them enter the ice cream parlour, Jongup says in a solemn tone as Yongguk’s eyes glaze over your back and Youngjae’s hand as he ruffles your hair affectionately.

“He’s not the one you should worry about, you know.”

It takes Yongguk two seconds late to register the dancer’s words and by the time he turns to stare at Jongup, he is already fishing out his wallet to pay for the four of them.

This is the first.

Yongguk should probably be happy, but it keeps him on edge. Maybe he’s overanalysing, maybe it’s his instincts, but the dread is there.

Youngjae rests his arm on your shoulders, over your grey jacket, in a way that is clear he is fond of you in a brotherly sort of way. A way he would have done to any of his guy friends, but Yongguk’s thoughts don’t really see that and it gets him a little moody.

But because he doesn’t want to seem childish, Yongguk doesn’t comment on it.

-

Yongguk is wrong. He realises later.

Maybe men don’t really change. Love or not, they don’t change.

It turns them into an idiot.

And he knows this on the same night after he sends you home. It’s around ten when Yongguk reaches the dorm, because your apartment is in the city on the other side of the Han river. It takes him about twenty minutes and something to reach his own dorm, and when Yongguk is about to punch in the passcode, the door bursts open and there is a shout from inside as Youngjae runs out with his nightshade hair damp, like he’d just washed.

The vocalist doesn’t as much as see the leader, much less greet him, when he opts for the emergency door rather than wait for the elevator. His shoe laces are untied, and Youngjae is still half chugging his aviator jacket on. He is holding a phone in one hand as if just finishing a call.

Youngjae is bony, his frame is gaunt and pale, but his arm muscles are taut as he pushes the metal door open without much effort, disappearing down the stairwell in receding echos of footsteps.

All of this happens in the minuscule span of three seconds and by the time Yongguk finds his voice again, manager Kang is already poking his head outside to meet Yongguk with frantic eyes and worry creasing his forehead. Jongup, in his pajama pants, is right behind him.

“What happened?”

“I have no idea. Youngjae, he just–” Manager Kang frowns, ushering Yongguk inside. “He was complaining about something and then his phone rang. He answers it and then got all panicky,” the manager pops his head out to check the hallway again, before reluctantly closing it. “The kid rushed into his room and the next minute he came out all changed and–”

They are already in the living room when they meet a disgruntled Daehyun, who adds in helpfully, “And he keeps muttering, no no no–”

“No, he didn’t,” Jongup quips, kicking at the vocalist’s calf with his bare foot. The dancer has a towel around his neck and his hair is still wet as if just out of the shower.

“Yes, he was. You were in the shower, damn it.” Daehyun grumbles, defensive arms folding over his chest.

Nobody says anything, not even their manager, as if they are waiting for Yongguk to shed some light on this matter.

He doesn’t really get the logic in this, because how the hell would he know anything.

“Uh,” Yongguk starts. “It’s probably an emergency,” he scratches his head, because that much is obvious. “Why don’t we ask him when he gets back? Maybe it has to do with his family?”

Daehyun snorts. “Maybe it’s his girlfriend.”

“Hyung,” Jongup scowls, elbowing the busan boy. “He doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

Daehyun rubs his side and trudges a safe distance away, in the direction of the kitchen, before grumbling, “Yes, he does. He’s always keeping me up with his stupid phone calls,” and when he disappears into the kitchen, his voice is still loud enough for them to hear. “And I’m sure as hell, it was not his mum he was talking to every damn night!”

And Yongguk might have not think anything if Jongup isn’t side-eyeing him fearfully, and maybe even guiltily. Because the moment Yongguk sees it, his jaw is set tense and his hand instinctively shoots for his phone, and at the dancer’s pleading tone of ‘Hyung, wait–’ Yongguk knows something is up.

-

(xii)

Yongguk doesn’t call.

He isn’t ready for any illusion of his life to shatter.

He also doesn’t wait for your nightly message. And in the morning, Yongguk doesn’t check, in case there is none.

Youngjae doesn’t come back that night. And the whole of the next day—while manager Kang goes on a frenzy asking just about anyone if they had seen the kid—Youngjae doesn’t return.

There is no glimpse of him and Yongguk leaves his phone in his bedside drawer. He doesn’t listen to whatever Jongup has to say, because they might as well just be mustard gas.

At three in the afternoon, manager Kang shoos Yongguk out to do an area search for any likely and unlikely places that may hide Youngjae. The older does as ordered and when Jongup says he is coming along, Yongguk ends up taking Junhong instead.

Junhong doesn’t say much, or anything at all really, as if he can sense his hyung’s sour mood and knows better than to interrupt. Even when they stop at the Han river at quarter to four, the maknae doesn’t say anything and gets out, dutifully following Yongguk to the banks in companionable silence.

“Um hyung?” Junhong says quietly fifteen minutes later from Yongguk’s right side.

They are both sitting on the summer green grass. Yongguk hums, the wind ruffling his clothes and hair.

“Aren’t we going to look for Jae hyung?”

Yongguk takes a bit to reply, not trusting his voice, “Let’s just, not talk about him. For a sec. Please.”

It’s four thirty by the time Junhong quips up again, his voice a nervous pitch higher than his default, “Hyung. Have you tried calling him?”

Yongguk sighs, eyes not leaving the horizon. “No.”

“Uh… Yongguk hyung.” Junhong mumbles uncertainly. Yongguk isn’t in the mood to be angry, he isn’t also in the mood for meandering talks. So, he turns his head to look at the boy, who has his legs crossed and his fingers fidgeting with his phone.

“Yes, Junhong?” he asks quietly.

The calmness in his tone seems to fuel a little courage in the kid as he gives the leader a little smile and offers, looking relieved that he may be able to help, “Uh, I’ll try calling then?”

Yongguk doesn’t really want to ruin that, so he just nod and goes, “Yeah. Go on.”

Then when Junhong’s attention goes to his phone, Yongguk’s eyes glazes over the people there. Especially the couples. It twists a knot in him. His eyes lands on a cute pair over Junhong’s shoulders. The boy is in an odd outfit of black skinny jeans, a lavender coloured tee and a black jacket is in his hand, as he slings it over his shoulder. The odd thing is that, he isn’t wearing any shoes. His left arm is around his girlfriend, her hair tied into a messy bun.

Their backs are turned towards him so that it’s easy for Yongguk to see that the guy is in fact hurt. He staggers, leaning most of his weight on the girl. The two of them stop suddenly, as the injured boy wraps both arms around his girl’s shoulders before reeling her into a hug, nuzzling his face against her neck.

It sets Yongguk’s stomach tumbling.

The girl doesn’t as much as touch her boyfriend, when she fumbles with the phone in the manner that hits Yongguk right in the ing gut.

“Hello? Youngjae hyung?” Junhong shouts into the phone, almost excited.

It pulls Yongguk back from his observation, and he can’t help the anger annihilating his insides.

“Hello– uh… can I please talk to Youngjae hyung?” Junhong says, a little less confident. There is a frown of confusion on his face, when he glances at Yongguk, and Yongguk’s eyes flashes between the maknae and the couple behind him.

The girl is on her phone. The shoeless guy still has his arms around her. Yongguk tenses when he sees the boy skillfully wrenches the phone from the girl’s grasp.

“Put it on speaker,” Yongguk orders in a harsh tone, and Junhong frantically fumbles with the buttons.

“Gimme the damn phone, idiot,” there is Youngjae’s muffled voice through the speaker.

“Hello? Youngjae hyung?” Junhong pipes up.

“Yes, Junhong?” Youngjae’s voice is naturally guiltless and unconcerned. It sets Yongguk’s teeth on edge.

The lavender tee boy has successfully taken the call, his body is pressed against the girl’s as both of them stagger slightly.

“Hang on, kid.” Youngjae grunts, and the pale boy behind Junhong lifts his phone away from his ear as he conveys something to the girl. “Stay still would you?” Yongguk can hear Youngjae’s distant voice from the speaker whining, “If my ankle is really broken, I will break all your bones for not handling me well last night.”

That sends a jolt to Yongguk’s body and a growl escapes his throat. He clenches his fists, because, no matter how muffled, it is definitely your apologetic voice, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry–”

Junhong’s expression is a grey landmine between dread and embarrassment.

“Be prepared for a ing lawsuit,” Youngjae’s sarcasm drips through the phone, and the skinny, black haired and shoeless boy behind the maknae ruffles the girl’s hair affectionately. “Don't think you can get away–”

“Uh, hello? Hyung–”

“Hey, Junhong. Sorry, actually this isn’t a good t–”

Yongguk snatches the phone out of Junhong’s grasp and growls into it. “Youngjae, what the are you doing?”

The line is silent, as the injured guy a little ways away jerks his phone away from his ear. The guy's head tilts down to mouth something to the girl before putting the phone back to his ear.

“Oh, hey, Guk hyung,” Youngjae greets cheerfully, and , there is no hint of remorse. “Look, something came up and I, the prince charming, had to go save the day. Yet again,” the phone threatens to break in Yongguk’s grip. What a ing liar. “Please tell manager I’m sorry, and tell everyone the prince will do all their chores for–”

And Yongguk isn’t listening anymore.

[idiopatheia]
ORIGIN from Greek idios ‘own, private’ + -patheia ‘suffering.’