Jongup had never been as worried about dying as he was now.

It was three in the morning, and nobody was sleeping. Nobody but Zelo. The penthouse was stricken with silence. Five young men sat together, forming a disfigured circle on the living room floor.

Three hours ago, Himchan had staggered out of his bedroom after shifting restlessly on his bed. He found a shadow lurking on the sofa. He went over to it and found Jongup slouched there, stiff still with his knees to his chest, and staring off to nowhere in particular. The keyboardist decided to leave him there to get himself some water.

Eyes scrunched shut and yawning, he walked into a dining chair. It grunted back. Himchan snapped open his eyes to find Youngjae sitting there, holding a steaming mug of what looked like black coffee. He was turning the warm container in his hands, his eyes were dark as he mulled over his thoughts.

“Got more of that stuff?” he asked, keeping his voice low for no reason.

Youngjae nodded towards the kitchen, and Himchan strode on as directed. Ten minutes later, Himchan found himself slouched on the dining chair across from Youngjae. They had not said anything so far. He almost jumped when Youngjae lurched up from his seat and walked off to the living room with the half-empty coffee mug in his hand.

Inside the dimly lit living room, the shadow on the sofa was gone, along with the low table. It was replaced by three hooded figures sitting cross-legged in a grotesque circle. Without being told, Youngjae joined the silence, so Himchan followed.

Even Daehyun was awake, across from him, staring at a spot on the rug, head bowed and eyes blinking occasionally. Yongguk had his back to the couch, hands clasped on his lap, staring at the same spot. Jongup, who was on the leader’s left, sat hunched in the same manner as earlier. He was twiddling his thumbs, arms locked around his knees, just blinking at his hands. Youngjae was the first to retreat from the reverie.

“I’ve got it,” chuckled the singer-guitarist, starting to grin. “Oh, it makes sense now.”

“No,” grunted the drummer. “Don’t smile. I’ll smile first, and then you’ll know it’s okay for you to smile.”

Youngjae’s grin dropped, and they all went back to brooding.

“Is this what it’s like to be Zelo?” mumbled Daehyun with a knit between his brows. “No wonder he’s upset all the time. His hobby’s boring.”

“Depends on which hobby you’re talking about, though,” added Youngjae like he couldn’t help himself, “he does have a few thrilling… activities.”

Jongup scowled at the rug. “Shut up, Youngjae.”

“Actually glad I was sober,” Yongguk spoke for the first time.

Himchan sighed through his nose, grumbling, “I wish I’d been pissed drunk. Then I’d be sleeping right now.”

Yongguk shook his head. “You’d be dealing with a hangover.”

“I might be having one right now,” offered Youngjae.

“I still don’t understand,” Daehyun confessed.

“I do.”

“Shut up, Youngjae.”

2009

Junhee nudged him insistently and whined, “What is it. Tell me.”

Junhong made an annoyed sound like a dying cat, but didn’t pull away from the contact. He only shifted in his seat. Junhee continued to annoy him, poking him on the side, scratching his neck and pinching his arm.

“Ugh. Stop it,” complained Junhong, whipping around, grasping his friend’s arm into tight grips.

Junhee made a face, let out her own version of the dying kitten noise and slumped onto Junhong’s shoulder. The boy sighed, loosening his contraption-like grip to hold her in his arms instead. For a long while, they didn’t say a word—just sat there huddled together under the warmth of the sun and the brushing of the wind.

“It’s one of those things, isn’t it?” Junhee’s voice interrupted the peaceful silence. Her tone was sullen and more of a statement than a question. She pressed her lips into Junhong’s shirt, so the words came out muffled.

“What?”

Breaking away to look at Junhong, she pursed her lips and eyed him with no hint of playfulness. Junhong tensed up at the complicated look on Junhee’s face.

“It’s one of those things again. The things you want to keep from me; you have lots of them. The little things you collect over the years,” she murmured sadly. “I wonder how many there are now.”

Junhong frowned, not quite sure what she meant but, a part of him knew exactly what she meant.

“What are you talking about?” he chose to say, immediately feeling the loss when she broke further away from him.

Their bodies no longer touched, apart from their knees, which seemed to be against each other than with each other. The emptiness made Junhong’s stomach turn, and it was that and so much more that he couldn’t explain to her. Not that he didn’t want to; he had no words.

“It’s like, you don’t trust me, or something,” said Junhee quietly. “Or, you think I won’t understand, so you won’t talk to me about it.” She looked at her feet glumly, shifting her toes away from his and moving them back absently. “I always had to find them out myself. And they were so simple, that- that I don’t understand why you couldn’t just tell me,” she frowned, looking up at him through her fringe and eyelashes. Junhong’s stomach did a funny flip. “It can save us so much time, Junhong.”

He stared at her as memories of their earlier years reeled through his mind’s eyes like a film.

“It’s not like we’re running out of time,” he said absently, raising his hand to touch her hair.

“That’s another thing, isn’t it.” Junhee grabbed his hand that was carding through her hair. “Choi Junhong no longer believes.”

Junhong kept quiet. Deep down, he knew she was right, somehow. It’s not like time is running out. Even as he thought them over and over, he could not feel his own faith in them. They were—

“Empty words.” Junhee said, her voice becoming so small as if she was pleading him, “Don’t do that to me.”

In a single bedroom, Zelo shot up from the mattress like an arrow. His eyes were dilated and animal-like, his hair was tousled and silvery-grey, and the door to his bedroom bursted open with a bang.

Zelo’s gaze flitted to the man standing in the doorway. He looked unfazed as he took in the bassist’s wrecked state, leaning his broad shoulder onto the doorframe.

“You called?” Yongguk asked, quirking his eyebrows

“