It's when the cameras are off that Jackson lets the smile slip off of his face. He pushes past Jaebum, declaring that he has to go to the bathroom because that's what's expected of him.

He's not Jackson Wang if he doesn't constantly talk. 

Jaebum shoots him a suspicious glance. Jackson meets his eye with an arched eyebrow. He waits for the other man to speak up, to ask him if he's alright or if he needs to take a break.

He waits for someone to notice that maybe, maybe he doesn't want to be the one talking for once.  

Jaebum replies with a shrug before focusing his attention on Mark. Jackson doesn't bother waiting for more; he knows Jaebum has enough on his overflowing plate. There are more pressing matters to take care of as opposed to Jackson's own trivial problems.

There's Bambam who has begun to miss home more often than before. There's Youngjae who spends more time in the recording studio and the practice rooms than any of them. There's Yugyeom who needs constant reassurance that he is an important asset to the group dynamics. There's Jinyoung whose mind fights with the idea of quitting, of starting something new.

There's Mark, hardworking, determined, dissatisfied Mark who can't stop for a second to become better and better before he drops to the floor from overexerting himself. 

Jaebum can't pause, can't take a break, he has to be there for them. Even if that means dismissing his own problems until he finds a secluded place to release all his anger in the form of tears and curses.

Jackson knows the struggles surrounding all of s. He knows them more than he knows his own. He's not stupid, as much as he wants people to believe he is. He sees, he listens, he observes, while bottling the personal worries residing in his head. 

He bottles all of those thoughts. He continues to joke, to act like the fool people view him as. Because if those small smiles, whether out of annoyance or genuine happiness, flashing across s lips can alleviate their pain somewhat then he'll stay a senseless, talkative, moron. 

While the rest of his group stays up awake with the pressing matters of importance, of homesickness, of becoming better, of self-acceptance, of regret, of the burden of responsibility, Jackson is the only one who manages to gain some sleep. 

He feels guilty, feels shameful for even thinking that his problem can match up to theirs. 

He can’t even call the worries bothering him as problems.

After all, all Jackson wants is to not have to talk at every waking moment. 

The door slams behind his back, shocking him out of his reverie. He spots Youngjae standing in front of one of the large mirrors covering the walls. He’s washing his hands in a daze. Jackson can see the swivel of thoughts racing through his head.

Schooling his expression, Jackson plasters on a broad grin as he sidles up to him.

"What's up?" He asks, slinging an arm over Youngjae's shoulders. 

Youngjae blinks, as if connecting with reality. He turns off the faucet, shaking his hands a couple times while Jackson hands him a pair of tissues. 

"I got you covered," he assures as Youngjae arches an eyebrow at him. 

He takes the tissues, wiping his hands with them while keeping a steady eye on Jackson. Jackson returns the look with an exaggerated version of his own, eyes widened as if they're about to pop. 

"Who's got you covered?" Youngjae inquires, throwing the tissues in a nearby bin. 

The question throws Jackson off guard. He opens his mouth, multiple dimwitted jokes at the tip of his tongue, yet nothing comes out. 

Youngjae removes his arm, taking a step back with arms crossed over his chest. Jackson closes his mouth, gritting his teeth together as an uneasy sensation floods his system. 

He dispels the feeling with a smile, albeit tightlipped.

"My clothes?" He shoots back, feigning confusion. 

Jackson anticipates Youngjae to laugh, to chuckle, to leave, to do anything that would involve dropping the tense atmosphere. 

He doesn't anticipate to be pulled into a hug. 

Youngjae's grip on him is tight, his body warm against Jackson's frozen frame. He feels small, as if he's holding his mother's hand while she walks him in to the fencing arena for the first time. Youngjae sighs before pushing Jackson away from him, keeping his hands on the other's shoulders. 

"Today," he announces in a loud voice, facial expression serious. "Today, I woke up from Jaebum pushing me against the cold wall with his feet. It was quite unpleasant."

Jackson stares at him with both eyebrows raised. Youngjae doesn't let him interrupt, doesn't even let him move as his hands lay heavy on his shoulders.

"After that," he continues, managing to stay composed. "Bambam pushed past me and got to the bathroom before me, even though it was my turn. I did not like that."

Youngjae's voice echoes against the white walls of the bathroom, attacking Jackson from all directions. He's too confused to act as Youngjae's rambling stays as intact as his poker face. 

"And, you won't believe me, and then Jinyoung had the nerve to push me out of the kitchen. I hadn't taken more than one step beyond the threshold but he still pushed me back."

By now Youngjae's shaking Jackson, as if emphasizing his point. 

His voice is loud, louder than Jackson's used to. Jackson's familiar with the unstoppable laughs leaving Youngjae's lips, how they rack his body as he leans on him for support. He's familiar with the singing, the powerful vocals wrapped in a rich voice that escapes Youngjae's mouth with a passion Jackson can only dream of achieving. 

He isn't familiar with Youngjae talking in such an animated way, isn't used to the shaking either. 

Jackson isn't used to staying in one spot and listening for this long.

"I thought my day couldn't get any worse, yet somehow it did," Youngjae whines, voice contrasting with his flat expression. "On the way to this set, I tried to sit next to Mark only to be pushed aside because he wanted to sit next to Jaebum."

He draws out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. "He chose Jaebum, Im Jaebum, instead of me. Has the world gone mad?"

Jackson can't stop himself from snickering, nodding with Youngjae's aggravated behavior.  

"But the horrible day doesn't end there, of course it doesn't. Because a certain Kim Yugyeom decided that my hands weren't clean enough, and pushed me all the way to this bathroom."

Youngjae huffs while burying his head in the crook of Jackson's neck. There's a wave of tiredness that seems to overtake his body as he slumps against him. Jackson gulps, all too aware of the heat radiating off of Youngjae. 

He tries to shift, to allow Youngjae a better position, while ignoring the rush of blood to his head. He freezes as Youngjae wraps his arms around his neck.

"So I'm standing here, washing my hands until they're stinging red," he murmurs, his breath hot against Jackson’s ear. "And you come in."

Jackson waits for another outburst, yet he's met with silence. Jackson peers at him, trying to read his expression amidst the black strands of hair. Youngjae keeps his hold on him, eyes hidden behind his bangs.

"And you come in," he repeats, whispers, into Jackson's ear. "And you come in, and you don't push me away."

Youngjae doesn't mention, doesn't even hint at any underlying message yet Jackson knows. 

Jackson knows, has known for quite some time. 

"You don't push me away," Youngjae states, leaning back to gaze at him. "You don't push anyone away."

His throat feels constricted, feels dry as he struggles to find the right words to blurt out. The air is strange, tense even though there's nothing for him to be afraid or anxious about. 

Youngjae's eyes don’t leave him. There's a glint present in those pupils, one Jackson hasn't seen for a long time since he decided to fully embody his jokester side. 

Understanding.

Empathy.

Awareness.

Jackson feels tears pricking his eyes. 

“So why,” Youngjae sighs, facial features soft as he observes Jackson. “Why do you constantly push yourself away?”

The words shock him like lightning. The pain is present, has always been there, gnawing at his skin as it tries to etch itself deeper into his heart. His heart, something he’d stored away a long time ago to make space for others.

He’d almost forgotten that there was barely any space for him left in his own body.

“I don’t know,” Jackson chokes out, aware of the lump in his throat.

Youngjae shakes his head. He pulls him closer, draws him into yet another warm embrace. Jackson hides his face against his shoulder, swallowing the sobs threatening to break free.

“I don’t know,” he repeats, shoulders slumping.

It’s as if he has been defeated.

By whom he doesn’t know, but he has an incline that it’s time.

Time, and too many bottled up emotions.

Youngjae hugs him tighter, rubbing soothing circles on his back. There’s a sense of safety, the feeling reminding him of Hong Kong. Before music captured his interest, before he decided to pursue his dream in a different country, before he began a different life.

“Jackson,” Youngjae whispers, pulling back from the hug.

His gaze is unwavering, forcing Jackson to look at him.

“You don’t have to talk all the time,” he states in a firm tone. “You don’t have to utter a single word when you don’t feel like it.”

Jackson stares at him, lips parted slightly. He feels the tears sliding down his cheeks, sees how Youngjae’s face becomes blurred.

He doesn’t stop himself.

Youngjae leans forwards, pressing his lips to his forehead.

“If you don’t want to talk,” he murmurs, intertwining their fingers. “I’ll always do the talking for you.”

This time, Jackson doesn’t stop himself.

This time, he chooses to prioritize his own problems, no matter how trivial and small they may be.