it will all be okay, it will all be okay.

jongin paces along the corridor. he is the only one still pacing back and forth, the only one who still doesn't have control of his nerves. his hair is already done, silver strands stuck up this way and that, make-up plastered on by some person or another. it's just this performance, then the next, then it's kai's turn. 

he picks at his fingernails; they've gotten shorter, stubbier from the last time he's seen them. (it was a while ago.) the skin's peeling off around the edges, pink flesh from underneath peeking out. he fidgets, frowns, leans against the wall for a second only to start pacing back and forth again.

he catches sight of himself in the mirror; there is a strange look in his eyes, he thinks, one that is almost feral. his cheekbones are more prominent than ever, courtesy of the heavy make-up and unforgiving lighting; and there is a strange smile on his face, one that he does not feel himself wearing.

it's been eight days since he dyed his hair.

he sees kyungsoo almost every day now. fridays are no longer the only days they spend together. on tuesdays, wednesdays and even thursdays, the boy doesn't merely pop in for a quick chat; he extends an invitation to dinner, one which jongin accepts because he can't find it in himself to refuse. the receptionist (jongin can't remember her name, doesn't want to) gives them a strange look he can't decipher, a mix between a smile and a smirk, every time they walk past. 

he knows that over dinner, they talk, but all he can remember is kyungsoo's laugh. just his laugh, his smile, and the fleeting touches whenever their legs meet under the table or when the elder leans in ever so slightly into his side. 

but time spent with kyungsoo is time not spent dancing.

and when he doesn't dance, it makes kai angry. 

"that was great!" kyungsoo cheers.

they're backstage now, the show finally over. the performers are being showered with roses and daisies and flowers of all kinds; jongin sees sehun locked in a kiss with luhan, sees baekhyun and jongdae milling about with the other vocal kids. it's a huge commotion of noise and celebration and euphoria, and jongin tries to stand straighter, tries to immerse himself in it. 

"thank you," jongin says.

he blinks, and for a moment, he swears kyungsoo's hair is red.

then the smaller boy is stumbling onto him, arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hug. jongin feels his entire body stiffen up, feels his muscles lock into place. a few seconds pass before he returns the hug, and he hopes kyungsoo doesn't notice his hesitation.

he takes a quick look around; no one seems to be noticing them, and that is a good thing. jongin doesn't like prying eyes. 

he catches the sight of himself in a nearby mirror, one studded along the perimeter with tiny light bulbs, and there is nothing out of the ordinary. that is a good thing.

that is what he thinks it will be. when it is over, everything will be okay. 

the day before the performance, he heads to the bakery. (he still can't, for the life of him, remember its name.) he straightens up as he enters, eyes forward and shoulders back, anticipating the sight of a familiar wide-eyed boy and a comforting grin, one that sends his chest into a swell of emotions and quells the butterflies in his stomach.

but he looks around, and for a moment he thinks he has gotten everything mixed up again; but no, kyungsoo is not there.

the whispers taunt him. they come from all directions. they start slow and soft, but the build-up is quick and sudden and swift, and the cacophony of faceless voices becomes one that he cannot get out of his head. it is impossible to decipher what the voices say, not when each overlaps with the next and forms a mass of noise that emanates nothing but hostility and condescension; and if there is one thing he can hear clearly, it is the sneers that underline the whispers.

he can hear the sound of footsteps. someone is rushing toward him, even though he is lying face-down on the ground and the music is still playing and he has to get up and finish this. but he cannot move, and try as he may, he cannot will his limbs to move.

mind over matter, people say. what bull.

the faces are blurry, and he thinks there are more than two, but he cannot be sure. these days, he cannot be sure of anything. he feels someone hoist him up bridal-style, feels the sudden sinking of his stomach as his body rises above the ground, his neck resting in one hand and his legs hanging off the other; this person is tall, he thinks. they must dance elegantly and gracefully.

it is only then that he finally registers the pain coming from his waist. it starts out small, minute, but spreads quickly across his entire lower back. even though he is moving nary a muscle, every second there is a sharp spike of pain that leaves him cringing. and he thinks he is crying, but he can't tell. (because tears are for the weak, you see. and while jongin is weak, kai is not.)

and the music, it fades away just as the voices started - gradually, with a dying whimper.

"kyungsoo?"

"jongin," kyungsoo greets. his smile is a small one. "how're you doing?"

the light coming from behind him casts a halo around his head, illuminating him in a soft, warm glow. how fitting, jongin thinks, that kyungsoo is an angel. he certainly looks and sounds like one.

"okay," jongin croaks. he is surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice. "where am I?"

kyungsoo hesitates. his features freeze into place, and he slowly takes one, two steps back. 

"am i okay?"

no answer. another step back.

"kyungsoo?"

please, please.

"hyung?"

don't go, please, don't go, where are you, where am I?

"d.o.?"

"you idiot," sehun says. he flicks jongin on the forehead and it ing hurts.

he tries to reach over and punch the younger, but it only serves to exacerbate the pain in his waist. he knows better than to let it show, though.

"what the hell, sehun."

"what the hell, indeed. you're such an idiot," sehun replies, frowning. "if you were injured you should've said something."

"huh, injured? i'm not injured."

jongin feels the pain in his waist, knows there is pain, but he knows that it is not an injury. injuries are for the weak. 

(but, wait. he is weak.)

"you're delusional, i swear," sehun sighs. he sits down at the foot of jongin's bed, and it is only then jongin realises he has been lying down all this while. "how long has it been hurting?"

"no, no," jongin laughs. "i'm not hurt. i'm fine."

sehun gives him a quizzical look and reaches over to flick jongin's forehead again. this time, it doesn't hurt as much.

kyungsoo comes to visit him a little later in the day. the elder is wearing his bakery uniform - albeit without the apron, which jongin is mildly disappointed by - and he comes bearing gifts.

"i come bearing gifts!" kyungsoo announces. 

"thank you," jongin says.

he doesn't know if he should pretend everything is okay, or pretend everything is not. collapsing on stage isn't exactly the best way to make a good impression. he usually doesn't care about making good impressions, but for kyungsoo, everything is an exception.

kyungsoo lays his gifts out on the table by jongin's bedside. there's a small bouquet of flowers - chrysanthemums and daisies - and a small box of something or another.

"i've got your sourdough bread and chocolate bomb," kyungsoo smiles. there is a sort of melancholy to today's smile, unlike the unadulterated happiness that jongin usually detects. "you were good."

"thank you," jongin says. "i messed up, though."

"you shouldn't have performed if you were injured," kyungsoo says. he's frowning, and this frown is similar to sehun's, this frown doesn't make jongin feel good at all. "you should have rested."

"i wasn't injured," jongin insists. "i'm not injured."

"tell that to the boy who collapsed on stage, then."

kyungsoo's voice is louder now, his brows furrowed and the upset on his face even more pronounced.

now, it is jongin's turn to frown. he tilts his head to the side and throws kyungsoo what he hopes is a puzzled look.

"that wasn't me. that was kai."

A/N: look who updated!!! first draft of this was written half-dead at 2.30am and I didn't edit a lot of it so here it is to rot and mould. (I will overhaul this thing and re-edit it once it's complete.) I'm also undergoing a bit of writing style crisis so, eh, if the language sounds inconsistent, that's because it probably is. or you can just treat the degeneration of writing as a parallel to the degeneration of jongin/kai. next one should be the last one.