Taeyong knows he promised Donghyuck he wouldn’t do anything stupid. And that conviction lasted for precisely 24 hours before he couldn’t take any more of that itchiness in his bones and shot up straight. He remembers, vaguely, startling Jaehyun, who was trying to read a book.

“Where are you going?” Jaehyun called, and Taeyong hadn’t even bothered to answer him, mind entirely set on one thing only.

Even now, as he hurriedly storms into the SM office, his mind is set to entirely one thing, and that’s finding answers. He just needs to…actually figure out where to go.

Taeyong’s only ever been here a couple of times, and that’s only to see the Big Bad himself: Lee Sooman. Unfortunately, that’s just a straight trip to the topmost floor, in the elevator, so Taeyong doesn’t actually know his way around that well. But, well, that’s what receptionists are for.

“Uh, hi?” He tries, leaning over the counter so that the person tapping away at the keyboard—a younger woman, around his age—can hear him, “I need your help finding someone?”

“Yes, of course!” Her pleasant smile is entirely wiped off her lips when she sees Taeyong, though, and they curl into an angry sneer, “What are you doing here?”

“E-Excuse me?” Taeyong actually starts back, staring at her with wide eyes; he doesn’t understand.

“Yeah, I know you’re an idol.” She says angrily, eyes furious, “But what you did is a terrible thing, and you shouldn’t even be on stage.”

He draws into himself and, with a startling bit of clarity, understands. But he wishes he doesn’t. He knows his past isn’t the best (it’s the worst, just like him) and there isn’t a day that goes by when he doesn’t regret it, but he shoves it to the back of his mind.

“I know I did a terrible thing.” He tries to placate her, even as his heart begins to bleed, “I’m truly sorry for it, and—”

“You don’t need to pretend: there are no cameras here.” She looks away haughtily, back to typing, “And you won’t be getting any assistance from me, so you can leave.”

Taeyong stands there for a moment, entirely at loss, before he grimaces and steps back.

“Okay.” His answer is quiet, small, and he quickly walks away. She doesn’t answer him anyway, and a part of him thinks that maybe he deserves it.

It takes a while, but he eventually manages to find a directory, with the name of certain staff members and their locations. His eyes flit down the large list, scanning it for the dance team and, when he finds it, he races away to the elevator. Even as his mind tries to stay fixed on the task at hand, glimpses of his mistakes shine through the cracks.

“What you did is a terrible thing.”

Taeyong knows, and he rues it.

When he finally reaches the fourth floor, he sighs in relief. There are signs designating which way to go, and Taeyong feels incredibly awkward as he walks through the carpeted halls. It’s eerily quiet, much like an office, or a private hospital—both places that Taeyong doesn’t prefer. He hates hospitals—especially the dentist’s.

He knows he’s just diverting his attention at this point, because he knows he doesn’t actually have anything to say. What’s he going to do: waltz up to the man and ask him about it? He can’t do that, he’s not entirely stupid.

All too fast, he’s outside the wooden door that’ll take him to the scumbag man. Dance Instructor Kim Yeongsu. Taeyong remembers.

He breathes out, and pushes the door open, stepping inside.

The second he does, though, he wishes he didn’t. There are quite a few people inside, of course there are, and Taeyong knows why—they’re the instructors for every SM group. He can see 127’s dance teacher staring at him curiously, so he ignores the other stares and inches his way towards the man.

“I’m here to see Kim Yeongsu-ssi?” Taeyong says hesitantly, as the man’s gaze pierces through him, “Is he, uh, here, Lee-ssi?”

“Yeongsu?” The man says in surprise, “What do you have to do with him, Taeyong?”

His gaze is softer than before, but Taeyong doesn’t want to divulge more than necessary.

“I just need to speak to him.”

“Is this about Dream?” Instructor Lee asks, puzzled, and at his nod, adds, “Why isn’t Mark here, then?”

“Please.” Taeyong breathes out, and the man must recognize the absolute need in his eyes, because he answers him relatively quickly after that.

“He’s not in, yet.” He explains hurriedly, “He said he had a practice with the Dream kids today, so he should be getting back right about now—”

The timing is laughable, but the door swings open, and a tall, dark haired man comes striding in.

“Oh, that’s him.” Instructor Lee says in astonishment, before grinning, only to falter when Taeyong takes purposeful steps towards the man who ruined his dongsaeng’s life, “Wait, Taeyong—!”

Taeyong blocks him out, as he approaches the man. He wants to punch him, more than anything in the world, but he holds himself back because he’s in public, and his wrists are too frail for something like that.

“Kim Yeongsu.” The man looks up in obvious surprise from his seat, no doubt at the lack of honorifics, “I need to speak to you.”

“Lee Taeyong.” He answers in the same fashion, leaning back with a lazy grin playing at his lips, “What a surprise. What can I do for you?”

“Not here.” Taeyong mutters, jerking his chin back in an obvious gesture, “Outside.”

The man obliges him, hands stuck firmly in his pockets as Taeyong leads him out. Taeyong’s mind, meanwhile, is racing, trying to figure out what so say. His pulse thumps heavily in his ears, because he cannot believe he’s actually doing this, and should he do this?

But then his mind drifts back to Mark. To the utter heartbreak in his eyes, and his sorrowful cries for him. For Taeyong. And his heart jumpstarts with determination once more.

“So?” The man asks, arms crossed, “What does the great Lee Taeyong need to come see me for, hm?”

And Taeyong already despises him, from that very one sentence, but he can’t let his guard down.

“I’m sure you have an idea.” He says stonily, and the man shrugs.

“Why don’t you enlighten me?” He suggests, lips curling into a smirk, and Taeyong can’t help but agree with his gut feeling: this guy is bad news.

“Well,” He spits out, arms crossed defensively, “It’s come to my attention that you’re mistreating certain NCT members, completely unnecessarily. They’re just kids—you’re being unreasonably harsh.”

“Me? Harsh?” Any calm façade is now gone, replaced with a terrible sneer, “I’m being realistic, Taeyong. Kids or not, they need to survive. And if they want to survive, they need to be the absolute best.”

“Look, I understand you’re…I don’t know, concerned or whatever.” Taeyong clenches his fists, breathing calmly in order to control his flaring temper, “You’re making them lose confidence in themselves and, as an instructor, that’s the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to be doing.”

He looks hard at the man, crossing his arms in what he hopes it’s defiance.

Too late, he realizes it’s defensive.

“Oh, Taeyong.” The man sighs, stopping him short; Taeyong’s eyes widen when Yeongsu takes a step forward, way too close, “Even the older kids don’t understand do they?”

“Understand what?” Taeyong doesn’t back down. He can’t, not with Mark at stake, and the anger burning through his veins.

“That nothing matters.” Taeyong shivers when those eyes meet his, “It doesn’t matter how much potential you have, how much determination, how…pretty you look…”

He flinches back when a thumb brushes across his cheek bone, before cupping his jaw tightly.

“What matters is that you stay on top.”

“Let go of me.” Taeyong’s voice doesn’t tremble, even as his hands do, “I’m asking politely.”

The man raises an amused eyebrow, before taking a step back, hand leaving Taeyong’s face. He feels relieved, at that, because it makes him uncomfortable when people stare at him like that, with a strange adoration—or obsession—in their eyes. His skin prickles uncomfortably, heating up.

“Don’t worry, I’m not interested in that.” Yeongsu smirks with absolute confidence, and Taeyong really, really wants to punch him—who does he think he is—but stiffens anyway, “You know, Mark really looks up to you.”

“…What has that got to do with anything?” Taeyong eyes him suspiciously, fully on guard; he knows Mark views him like a role model, but he doesn’t see why that’d be pointed out, of all things. Especially now.

“Everything he does now, is for you.” The words hit him like a brick to the face, “He tackles each day by the horns because he…what was it? Aspires to be you. Laughable, really, that he’s so weak and—”

“What did you say?!” Taeyong’s fists curl, and he can’t hold it back anymore, fist swinging faster than he can even think, catching the man off guard. It doesn’t feel as satisfying as it sounds, because he’s winded after that—Taeyong’s never been very strong. His knuckles throb, even as the man catches his next punch, holding him back ashamedly easily.

“Why are you asking me about this, Taeyong?” He’s interrupted by a very pertinent question, but Taeyong doesn’t want to answer. Without thinking, his eyes drop to the carpeted floor, even as they smolder in anger, and the man chuckles with delight.

“Don’t tell me that Mark isn’t telling you?” He laughs mockingly, and Taeyong feels infinitely smaller, “I thought you were good, but apparently you’re not a very good leader, are you? People don’t even trust you enough to tell you things, these days.”

“That’s…that’s not true.” Taeyong feels so very powerless all of a sudden, the man bearing down on him, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The facts don’t line up, sweetie.” He coos—disgusting—and Taeyong reflexively rears back, “No one trusts you to do the right thing. No wonder too: your punch, by the way, was just a tickle.”

“Shut up.” Taeyong mutters, even though he knows it’s true in his heart; that doesn’t mean he wants to hear it, much less from a stranger, “Shut the hell up.”

“Gladly.” Yeongsu takes it in stride, before assessing him critically, “I’m sure if you look for Mark right now, he’ll spill the beans, though. It’s something you both could learn from.”

He pauses, then adds, flippantly, “He’s a crier, did you know that?”

And before Taeyong even has the time to comprehend what he just said, Kim Yeongsu is gone, leaving the brunette slant against the wall, breathing heavily in his rage. When the words sink in, though, Taeyong’s eyes widen, and all anger is erased. Instead, there is only mind-numbing fear.

What did he mean by…?

He’s…a…what...?

“Mark.” Taeyong breathes out, breaking free from the murky depths, “Mark!”

He spins around, not even sparing so much as a glance at the people he needs to push out of his way. There’s nothing on his mind, save for the steady chant of Mark, where’s Mark, what happened to him? And the dimmer, more muted string of they don’t trust you enough.

Sweat drips down his brow as he sprints towards the Dream dorms as fast as he can, breath whooshing out of his lungs and struggling to get back in. Taeyong can’t think right, as he pounds desperately on the door, and when Renjun opens it, Taeyong sees his eyes widen.

“Hyung—?” The boy starts to say, but Taeyong’s too frantic to hear him out, and cuts in.

“Mark,” He pants out, shivering, “Where’s Mark?”

“Mark?” Renjun balks, “He should still be with Instructor Kim, but—”

“.” Taeyong swears, not even caring that he’s doing so in the presence of a child, and he doesn’t say anything else as he takes huge steps back unsteadily and runs for the dance studio.

A crier, a crier, crycrycry—

Taeyong near breaks down the doors, when he slams them open, eyes searching around wildly for the blonde, only for his heart to jump into his throat, and his lungs to freeze.

“Mark.” He says, but it comes out like a strangled sob, and he tears towards the fallen boy, turning him onto his back, “Mark! , wake up!”

Sweat dots his dongsaeng’s brow, and his breath comes out in troubled puffs. Taeyong doesn’t know what to do, because Mark’s not waking up, why isn’t he waking up?

His chest is slowly rising and falling, though, and that’s enough to temporarily soothe Taeyong, but he needs to make Mark wake up. Red hot anger burns in him at the thought of that scumbag, the one who did this. His hands are shaking but he doesn’t understand why.

Mark’s just a boy, why’s he being subjected to this?

“Wake up?” He tries again, patting Mark’s cheek softly, only to start in surprise when his hand comes back damp (with tears, no), “Oh my god, Mark!”

“Hyung.” Mark’s voice sounds weakly, and it’s laced with pain, but why, what happened?

“Can you open your eyes?” Taeyong inquires, and he doesn’t have a water bottle, what’s he going to do? His own throat’s parched, but he holds back his own tears.

“Hyung, I—” Mark rasps, coughing violently, voice thick, “I need your help, hyung, please.”

His eyes still don’t drift open, and Taeyong can’t help the spike of fear that rushes through him at his broken voice.

“And you’ll always get it.” He promises, “But open your eyes, please? For hyung?”

Mark groans in protest, but slowly flutters his eyelids open and Taeyong sees his red-rimmed, watery and bloodshot. Mark has been crying and Taeyong can’t, he just can’t, wait no, focus.

“Did he do this to you?” Taeyong asks seriously, as he helps Mark sit comfortably against the wall, “Just give me a yes or no, Mark.”

“…” Mark looks down, tears glossing over his eyes, and whispers, “Yes.”

Taeyong’s fists clench.

“I’m going to kill him.” He decides, eyes hard, but they soften when Mark squeezes his hand, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” Mark sniffles, raking his free hand through his hair, “I should’ve told you from the beginning, I was…I was so stupid—”

“Did he…” Taeyong pauses, the words feeling odd in his mouth, “What did he do to you?”

“He just…” Mark shrugs, laughing brokenly, and Taeyong never wants to hear that sound again, never wants to hear it again, never, “Pointed out the truth. Poked at my insecurities. Hyung, I—”

And he’s starting to cry again, face burying into Taeyong’s neck, “Hyung, I don’t want to be an idol anymore.”

“Mark.” Taeyong breathes out in shock, “Tell me what he said to you, and I’ll tell you if I think that’s real or not.”

“It’s real, its—” Mark groans then, curling up, and Taeyong can only watch with growing horror, “It hurts.”

“Where does it hurt?” Taeyong struggles to keep his voice gentle, everything is out of control, “Hyung needs to know, Mark.”

“Everywhere.” The answer comes out in a cracked whisper, before Mark’s shaking his head, glazed brown eyes meeting Taeyong’s, “My side, hyung.”

“Alright, well,” Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, “Can you stand?”

Mark shrugs pitifully.

“I don’t know.” His voice breaks, and a sob tears through his throat, “I h-haven’t tried y-yet.”

“Okay, well…” Taeyong exhales heavily, “Put your arms around me, let’s see if I can lift you up.”

He can’t. Mark’s remarkably light, but Taeyong’s not even close to being strong, hence why it’s not surprising when he nearly tumbles to the floor with Mark pressing into his back.

“You know what,” Taeyong gasps out, managing to support Mark’s weight by pulling him into his side, “I’m…I can’t do this alone, so I’ll have to call someone to help.”

I can’t do anything on my own, is really what he wants to say, I’m weak, just like everyone says.

“Okay.” Mark whispers, tilting his head so that it’s pressed to Taeyong’s chest, “Hyung, I’m…I’m really tired.”

“Go to sleep, then.” Taeyong encourages, pulling out his phone as he cards his hands through Mark’s wavy hair, “I’ll be right there when you wake up.”

It takes a bit of effort, but he finally manages to unlock his phone, even with Mark pinning down one of his arms. The younger rapper’s slack in his arms: a sign that he’s definitely asleep. Taeyong doesn’t know if it’s okay for Mark to sleep, now, but it’s better than having to sit and watch him go through so much pain.

Not that Taeyong’s helped.

The phone rings, tantalizingly, in his ears, and his head pounds from anxiety, breath escaping shakily. Taeyong doesn’t know what he’s going to do if Jaehyun doesn’t pick up now, because he knows he needs to get Mark out of here, and Jaehyun’s leagues stronger than he is.

“Hello? Taeyong?”

Taeyong nearly cries with relief when he hears Jaehyun’s voice filtering through the line.

“J-Jaehyun,” He says shakily and—well, he is actually crying now—bites his lip, “Y-You need to come to the dance studio now, please. I…I…”

He’s reminded of how helpless he is, right now; how worthless he is as a leader. Unable to care for any of s on his own, and entirely weakweakweak.

“Stay there.” Jaehyun’s voice takes on a steely edge, “I’ll be there yesterday.”

The dial tone beeps, and Taeyong drops his phone onto the ground rather carelessly. His hands shake as he gently Mark’s hair, eyes watering as he tries to imagine what the younger kid must be going through. Mark doesn’t deserve any of this, he doesn’t.

You’re terrible, no one trusts you, a terrible leader why don’t you ever learn, idiot—

“Taeyong!” Jaehyun’s standing at the door, shoulders heaving up and down; he’s breathing hard, “, what happened?”

“Mark, he…” Taeyong can hardly get the words out, so he gives up, “Can you pick him up? I... I can’t.”

“Right, yes.” Jaehyun’s at his side, gingerly sliding his hand around Mark’s waist, hand supporting his back, before carefully picking him up bridal style, “Did he faint again?”

“No.” Taeyong doesn’t meet his worried gaze—he doesn’t deserve it—as he picks himself up, and hurries to open the door for him. “Can we talk later?”

“Yeah, but…” Jaehyun looks at him in obvious worry, “Tae, you’re looking incredibly pale.”

“Later, Jaehyun.” Taeyong closes his eyes, the pounding in his head never ceasing.

He’s tired of running away.

They go to the 127 dorms, of course, since it’s closer. Taeyong’s not sure how he’s even walked the tiny distance; mind numb, and steps being forced forward by his body. His thoughts are scrambled, but he comes to a startling conclusion: he’s not good enough to do this on his own.

“Hey, Tae, where’d you go—” Johnny’s the one who opens the door for them, but his eyes fly wide just as quick, “Holy !”

“Move aside.” Taeyong mutters, and he does, wasting no time to lead them to Mark’s room, and open the door.

It’s just as Mark left it, a few weeks ago. Taeyong feels much better when Jaehyun puts the boy down, resting his head carefully on his pillow.

“What happened?” Johnny asks, gaze serious, as he stands over the bed, “Did he faint again?”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Jaehyun mutters, before his line of sight drifts toward Taeyong, “Tae, are you okay?”

Cold hands clasp his shoulders, and they’re a little tight, but Taeyong doesn’t have the strength to push them off. His gaze is fixed on Mark’s visage; he sees the stark contrast of his dark lashes against his pale, bony cheekbones, and the blots of purple layered under his eyes. He also sees the way Mark curls protectively into himself, looking so, so small, and Taeyong just wants to die.

He let this happen. He let this happen. He let this happen.

“Taeyong.” He slowly finds Jaehyun’s eyes, makes his eyes water as he sees the concern, the softness—he doesn’t deserve it—and, above all, the love, “Do you need to sit down?”

“I…I think so.” Taeyong doesn’t protest as he’s pushed down onto the mattress adjacent—that’s Donghyuck’s, usually—and his eyes don’t drift from Mark, “Jaehyun, I ed up so bad.”

He pretends not to see the glance that Jaehyun and Johnny exchange, nor the silent muttering in English that gets Johnny to leave the room.

The bed dips under Jaehyun’s weight, and Taeyong reflexively curls into the body at his side, burrowing himself into Jaehyun’s warmth as he all but straddles his lap.

A sharp intake of breath, “Taeyong, you’re really hot.”

“Now’s not the time.” Taeyong turns his head, brushing his sweaty hair against the jut of Jaehyun’s collarbone, “Please.”

“No, I mean—” Jaehyun cuts himself off, before trying again, softer, “You’re burning up.”

“Oh.”

That would explain a lot. The headache, the tiredness, the shaking, and the coolness of Jaehyun’s normally warm fingers against his temple. But Taeyong can’t afford to think about it.

“It doesn’t matter right now.” He insists, “I…I need to watch out for Mark, I need to…need to take care of him.”

I haven’t done so already, I’m a terrible hyung I shouldn’t have become leader and it’s all my fault Mark’s like this, allmyfault—

Jaehyun’s chin comes to rest on the crown of Taeyong’s head, and he hums something unintelligible.

He starts whispering something into Taeyong’s ears, but his mind can’t grasp what exactly; instead, he focuses on the slow drag of Jaehyun’s cold fingers down his overheated back, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. He’s such a up, Taeyong’s such a mess—

It’s then, that he hears what Jaehyun’s been saying.

“You’re okay.” The whisper comforts Taeyong more than it should, “You’re fine, babe, no more tears from you.”

Tears?

Taeyong doesn’t even realize it, but when he does, the sobs come out harder, even as his head explodes with pain.

He should’ve tried harder.

I'm so, so sorry for not being to update sooner. I am actually ashamed to say I forgot, and I honestly feel really bad about it. Please forgive me T_T

As an apology, please take a double update! I know it probably isn't a good apology, but I'm seriously sorry.