“Johnny?” Taeyong forces the name from his mouth, “What happened?”

“Mark told me.” Taeyong remembers that, the terror in Mark’s eyes, the fear coursing through his own veins, “You punched him?”

“Punched who?” Yuta squeaks, breaking away, eyes flitting worriedly between the two, “Correction: you punched someone?”

 “I’d like to add to that.” Jaehyun eyes Taeyong, mouth pressed into a thin line, “You punched someone? Taeyong, what’s happening?”

“I…” Taeyong glances at Johnny, helpless; his voice is stuck in his throat, and he doesn’t know what to say, because how’s he supposed to deflect it?

“I want to tell you.” Johnny says honestly, coming to his rescue, rocking on his heels and shutting the door, “But that would probably compromise Mark’s integrity or something, so I can’t.”

Jaehyun gives a derisive snort, as Taeil sighs.

“This is turning out to be a huge mess.” Yuta comments honestly, all traces of a smile gone, “What’s going on, how’re we supposed to deal with it? There are, like, zero answers and so many questions.”

“Tell me about it.” Jaehyun says sourly, and Taeyong wants to curl up into a ball and never reemerge because he’s sorry, but he doesn’t want to be another weight on Jaehyun’s shoulders, “We know next to nothing.”

“Can’t we just ask Mark?” Sicheng asks timidly into the stifling silence, and Taeyong tries to smile warmly at him in encouragement. It’s a little difficult with his head being stuffy, but he gives it his best shot, “We ask if Tae hyung or… or Johnny hyung can tell.”

“I…guess?” Taeil shrugs, eyes meeting Johnny’s, “Will you go ask?”

“Yeah, sure.” Johnny acquiesces, unnaturally grim, “But after a couple of minutes. I think the kids are still working things out.”

Working things out. Well, Taeyong’s glad something seems to be going right. Mark honestly deserves all the love he can get, especially after Taeyong screwed him up so much. Perhaps he’s being overdramatic, but it’s a cold, hard fact, that Taeyong not paying enough attention to s led to this huge mess.

“What’re you thinking about?” Yuta snaps him out of his reverie, eyes soft and understanding, letting Taeyong’s hair tickle his fingers, “Remember: you can tell us things now.”

“Yeah, he’s right.” Taeil admits, features lax, “You look like something’s bothering you.”

“Agreed, but,” Johnny interrupts, breaking the solemn mood by pouting, “Why aren’t I in the doggy-pile huh?”

Taeyong can’t help the tiny laugh that leaves his throat, even as bile threatens to climb its way out, and just shakes his head. The nausea’s getting worse, for some reason.

“You can join, if you want.” Jaehyun offers amusedly, and Sicheng smiles innocently, lifting an arm in an obvious gesture.

“No thanks.” Johnny wrinkles his nose in distaste which, for some reason, makes a strange ache form in Taeyong which, coupled with the nausea, isn’t too good of a feeling, “But eh, what the heck!”

And before Taeyong can process it, Johnny has decided to join the cuddle pile, thereby squishing Taeyong as well. And that would be fine, but right now, his stomach hurts, his mind hurts, and his body trembles with phantom pangs of pain.

He holds a shaking hand up to his mouth.

“Taeyong?” Jaehyun notices immediately, and Taeyong doesn’t know what he’s done to meet this amazing, wonderful human being, “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

“Jae, I…” He gasps out, prompting everyone to immediately back away. His stomach lurches, both with the nausea and hurt, “Feel sick.”

He hates that he can’t even get out a coherent sentence, but it’s hard to breathe when he knows it’s coming and by god, Taeyong can hardly quell it, push it back to where it belongs and he hates it. Hates his total loss of control, hates his dependency and, above all, hates his failure.

“Feel like throwing up?” Yuta clarifies and at Taeyong’s shaky nod, breathes out a simple, “.”

“Language.” Taeil reprimands faintly on behalf of the rapper, which Taeyong can’t bring himself to appreciate, “Do you think it’d be alright if we move you?”

Belatedly, Taeyong realizes that Taeil was addressing him, like his opinion’s worth something, but quickly nods, hand pressing hard against his mouth. He can feel it, it’s coming, it’s coming and he can’t stop it.

“Okay hyung.” Sicheng comes closer daringly, hooking an arm around Taeyong’s free shoulder and arm draping naturally across his waist and Taeyong hates feeling this weak, “I’ll move you.”

“Maybe I should help.” Johnny interrupts, arm joining Sicheng’s to support Taeyong by the waist, “You alright, buddy?”

Taeyong can’t speak, but just shakes his head, tears beginning to sting at his eyes. He’s not sure how much longer he can hold on for and he looks up, locking his helpless eyes onto Jaehyun’s and—

The world spins under his feet as his body snaps forward, a roar sounding in his ears and. Oh.

There’s a puddle of sick on the floor that’s just barely avoided Sicheng’s feet and Taeyong feels so sorry for that, but he can’t hold back the next wave of nausea either, the sight on the floor making it so much worse, and it happens again. And again.

He’s not sure when, but he’s dropped to his knees, and someone’s rubbing his back but he can’t stop and he’s so scared because what’s happening to him?

“Oh god,” He hears someone murmur, and an alarmed voice, “Hyung, stop! Stop it, look up, look at me.”

And Taeyong tries, he really does, searching and finally finding Jaehyun’s warm, understanding eyes. And even though they’re not the same, even though they’re still fractured by distrust, Taeyong finds that even this is enough, and he gasps for air, head tilted upwards to try and stop the stink from making his stomach lurch once again.

“You’re fine.” Yuta whispers consolingly, though he looks so, so pale and so very terrified, “C’mon, let’s get you to the bathroom so you can wash up.”

“I’m coming with you guys.” Taeil says, voice unnaturally stern, “Can the rest of you help clean this up?”

And Taeyong remembers what he’s done, the puddle forming near him, and regrets it so, so much he’s sorry for bothering everyone all the time.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out, unable to hold back his tears as he stumbles to the bathroom in the hall with their help, head spinning and mind whirling, “I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” Taeil shushes him gently, as Yuta adds, “It’s alright hyung, you’re sick, it’s to be expected.”

Something about his tone doesn’t sit right with Taeyong and his stomach feels heavy again…though not with nausea, this time.

Yuta pushes open the door, as Taeil sits Taeyong down on the closed lid of the toilet.

“D’you want to wash your mouth?” Taeil asks concernedly as Taeyong struggles for breath—and why would he be? Taeyong’s just messed everything up.

“No.” Taeyong says, shaking his head, before his eyes widen, “I-I mean, yes.”

The taste grows more noticeable, and he swallows, trying to wash it out of his mouth. It doesn’t work, and Taeyong should obviously have known that, but he’s dumb and he doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time. It’s no big deal. He’s okay.

“Did you eat anything?” Yuta inquires, as Taeyong bends over the sink to wash out his mouth.

He can’t answer, since his mouth is full of water, so he just shakes his head.

“I just slept.” He says hastily, seeing the dark look beginning to dawn on the Japanese man’s face, “I was t-tired?”

“Oh.” Yuta says, and he doesn’t wait a second longer, making for the door and slamming it shut on his way out.

Taeyong flinches back instinctively, because he’s gone and done it, he’s pissed Yuta off. It’s just another mistake he’s made, and why hasn’t he stopped? People are supposed to learn from their mistakes. And here, Taeyong is, making the same ones. On repeat.

Not for the first time since he’s gotten back, Taeyong thinks to himself that he shouldn’t have been so impulsive, should’ve waited like Jaehyun said, so they wouldn’t be in this mess. After all, if Taeyong hadn’t pushed so much, Mark never would’ve had such a terrible reaction to things, wouldn’t have thrown himself further into his mess. Taeyong stirred all that up because he needed to know.

But, now that he knows, he can do nothing. And that hurts.

“Yuta’s so hot-headed sometimes.” Taeil sighs tiredly—Taeyong wishes he could stop bothering him—before looking over at the rapper, small smile curving on his lips, “Are you alright?”

“I’m a bit better now.” Taeyong pushes his damp, sweaty bangs from his eyes, taking Taeil’s proffered hand after a moment of respite, “Did I…did I make him angry?”

It slips out, before he can catch it, but it’s out in the open now and there’s nothing he can do to take it back.

Taeil’s grip tightens for a mere moment, and that basically alerts Taeyong to how true his statement probably is. It’s…not a great feeling, but he’ll make it up to Yuta somehow.

“He’s not mad at you.” How come Taeil sounds so sincere, though? Taeil is always so sincere, “He ran to the kitchen to make you something to eat.”

“Really?” Taeyong is reasonably dubious, because Yuta shouldn’t have to put in so much effort for him, “He doesn’t have to, I can make something for myself.”

“Are you insane?” Johnny blurts, as they reach the door, and Taeyong is momentarily thrown off; he had no idea Johnny could hear them, “You can hardly stand dude, how’re you going to cook?”

“Johnny’s right.” Taeil agrees with the older man, unsurprisingly, “You look dead on your feet, maybe you should rest some more.”

Instinctively, hot, simmering anger flares up, and Taeyong clenches his free hand into a fist.

“I’m not baby!” He spits out, and even he doesn’t know where this sudden energy has come from, “I’m not defenseless, and I’m not weak!”

The last part is a lie, but he bites his cheek anyway.

“Whoa.” Johnny and Taeil wear twin looks of shock, eyes wide and mouths agape, “We didn’t mean that Tae, we just—”

“What?” He snaps, before he realizes how obtuse he sounds, how bothersome, and sags slightly, “I’m sorry, I’m just…going a little crazy.”

“It’s alright.” Taeil exchanges this look with Johnny that Taeyong’s always been privy to. It’s never been used on him, and it’s never been so frustrating either, “Look, why don’t you go crash in the living room? It looks like the kids are done.”

“They are.” Johnny confirms, “I was going to ask Mark about whether we could talk about it without him, but he’s asleep now.”

“It must have really tired him out.” Taeil agrees gently.

It occurs to Taeyong then, that there was probably no reason at all for them to have asked in the first place. Should he make his point known?

He glances stealthily at Taeil and Johnny’s pensive faces, uncertainty surging through him at the thought of speaking up. He’s supposed to do this, he’s the leader but… recently, he’s been doubting it. Maybe he shouldn’t be leader at all. Maybe someone else would be better suited for it. Someone who isn’t Taeyong.

“What’s up?” Johnny seems to notice the somber look painting his features, “What is it?”

“Just…” Taeyong his lips hesitantly, “Do you…do you know what happened with Mark fully? Because even I don’t know and…I guess it just s-seems unfair? Y’know, to try and tell the story without his point of view? B-Because it’s the m-most important?”

By the end of it, his hands are rubbing against each other; he’s sure he’s messed up somehow. The two of them are entirely silent, and it’s starting to minorly freak Taeyong out. Are they… are they going to yell at him?

“That’s actually a pretty valid point.” A familiar voice enters the conversation, and Taeyong looks up to see Doyoung’s warm eyes sparkling brilliantly at him, “I bet these two didn’t think of that.”

“Hey!” Johnny protests, as Taeil sighs and shakes his head, “’These two’ are actually your hyungs y’know—?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Doyoung waves it away cheekily, before stepping forward to press his hand against Taeyong’s forehead. Taeyong nearly flinches back at the sudden coolness pushed against his face, but bites his cheek again to stay put. He doesn’t need to make things any harder for anyone, “Yep, you’ve still got a pretty bad fever.”

“When did you get home?” Taeyong finally gets out. He can sense the tiredness underlying Doyoung’s cheery words, can feel the bone-sagging exhaustion, “Maybe you should go eat something?”

“I could say the same for you.” Doyoung waves off Taeil and Johnny, the latter protesting about his rights as he’s dragged away, before taking Taeyong’s arm to help him to the living room. True to Johnny’s word, Mark’s dozing off in his armchair, tucked in comfortably with a blanket, and distressed features at peace, for once.

“I don’t want to bother you.” Taeyong says in a muffled whisper, head beginning to grow stuffy again, “I can walk on my own.”

“Sure you can.” Doyoung says, entirely unperturbed, “But I want to help you, so I will.”

“Thanks.”

As they approach, Taeyong can see the rest of Dream sitting around, feet kicked up in the pinnacle of comfort. Donghyuck is practically glued to Mark’s armchair; unfortunately, Taeyong suppresses a wry grin, the two are separated by two armrests of distance, so it must be physically painful for the younger brunette.

The curve of his lips quickly dissolves though, as he realizes how much he’s piled up for everyone else. The discord and the pain and the hurt.

“Oh, hyung.” Jeno says in surprise, immediately scooting over and forcing Jaemin and Jisung to as well, “What’re you doing here?”

“These are their dorms, hyung.” Jisung mutters absently, reading the comics section of the newspaper, “I think hyung can do what he wants.”

“R-Right!” Jeno looks so adorably flustered that Taeyong can’t help but pinch one of his reddened cheeks.

“It’s alright.” Affection bleeds into his voice, as he smiles a little more honestly, “I’m just tired of being cooped up in that room.”

“I’m gonna go help Yuta out.” Doyoung cuts in abruptly, reminding them of his presence and Taeyong feels guilty, briefly, “You need some food in you. All of you do.”

“Take care of yourself too, Doyoungie.” Taeyong murmurs back, cracking a yawn, “You’ve had a long day.”

“That’s what I should be telling you.” The man scoffs, before waving and bounding over to the kitchen.

“Do hyung is pretty cool.” Jaemin observes with wide eyes, and Taeyong gives him a nod. Looking closer, he sees the three kids have similar expressions; pale and shaken, like the world’s been snatched from under their feet. Taeyong is understandably worried. But first, he needs to know something—

“Where are Renjun and Chenle?”

“Ah.” Jaemin looks uncomfortable, as Jisung tenses up beside him, “Well, they needed some time alone to absorb things.”

“Chenle was pretty shaken.” Jeno confides quietly, so that he doesn’t wake up Mark and Donghyuck, most likely—he’s always been a considerate boy, “So was Renjun.”

Taeyong frowns. It would’ve been foolish to expect that the kids would take the news very well, but it still gnaws at his mind, the fact that everyone’s suffering due to his lack of foresight.

“Did you guys hear everything he had to say?” It comes out sounding more accusatory than Taeyong intends, so he flushes, stuttering, “S-Sorry, I just wanted to know whether he told you guys everything.”

“He did, hyung.” Jisung says lowly, dropping the newspaper and, with it, any semblance of aloofness, “He told us everything.”

“After a major cuddle pile, of course.” Jeno adds with a sad smile, “And Donghyuck fell asleep from the stress, I think.”

“I’m worried.” Jaemin admits in a small voice, and Taeyong’s heart hurts, “I don’t know if everything’s going to be okay.”

“That’s alright.” Doyoung hands over a bowl of hot soup, and Taeyong nearly burns his hands on it, before placing it carefully in his lap, “These things are gonna take time.”

“When did you get so wise?” Yuta teases, giving similar bowls to the kids, “I’m shocked.”

“And I’m hurt.” Doyoung cries in mock affront, making Jeno give a half-hearted chuckle.

“Mom, Dad, please stop fighting.” Jisung adds dryly, and the next part makes Doyoung choke, “Save it for the bedroom.”

“First of all, you’re too young for this.” He points out, “Second of all… good one.”

“You’re one to talk.” Yuta rolls his eyes, “Weren’t you the one who asked Mark whether it was Jaehyun or Taeyong who—”

Whether Taeyong or Jaehyun did what is something Taeyong never gets to find out, because the words are muffled by a hand slap over Yuta’s mouth, courtesy of a frantic Doyoung who all but pulls him away.

“Enjoy your food!” He cries out half-heartedly, before tugging a struggling Yuta along, and the slam of the bedroom door is a sign that they’re gone. Taeyong just shakes his head: some things, it seems, will never get old.

He tries to resist, but the soup is calling to him, by this point, and his stomach grumbles its agreement. It’s not loud enough to alert the kids, thankfully, but Taeyong can still feel it, and it’s uncomfortable. The first sip is heaven, and he can’t stop himself from finishing the entire bowl and craving more still. He doesn’t ask, though, because that would be inconveniencing, and everyone’s busy.

The three on the couch are still taking slow, measured sips of their soups, so Taeyong tries to stand up, succeeding after a tiny wobble. Jaemin looks wary though, biting his lip.

“D’you need help, hyung?” He asks, and Taeyong is quick to shake his head no, even though it nearly sends him spinning off his feet.

“It’s fine.”

He manages to get to the kitchen, even though it really feels like he’s walking on clouds; Taeyong supposes it’s probably because he hasn’t stretched in a while. He should probably do something about that, he decides as he returns, hands devoid of a bowl. It would do him some good to get fresh air in him anyway.

“I’m going for a walk.” Taeyong calls out, and Jeno and Jisung look on edge now too; it’s a sweet gesture, but Taeyong’s tired of being treated like glass, even by the younger ones, and smiles as reassuringly as he can instead, “Don’t worry, I’ll be gone for hardly ten minutes. And I’m even taking my phone with me!”

“Okay.” Jeno says, eyes flitting around, but Mark and Donghyuck aren’t of much use to him, asleep, “Just… be safe hyung? You’re sick and stuff.”

“I realized.” Taeyong says warmly, a little flutter in his chest bouncing about at the concern, “I’ll be back soon.”

And he steps out, door shutting behind him, to embrace the chilly night air.

It occurs to him, as he drags his feet along the corridors, that he probably should’ve brought his jacket along. It’s really cold outside, and he’s shivering, though he isn’t sure if it’s because his fever’s come back, or because he’s just weak. His forehead is all sweaty though, so he supposes it might be because of the former. He still wants to keep going though, not wanting to see those tired, upset faces, so he trudges his way to the dance room, the place that holds so many memories for him, and so much pain.

He still remembers the last time he’s been there, the image of Mark gasping and sobbing on the floor, head thrown back, permanently ingrained to the back of his eyelids. He can’t ever go in there without seeing that, it seems, and Taeyong can’t help but think that he deserves it, maybe. For not being good enough to help, like he’s supposed to.

He stops outside the dance room, noting in his exhaustion, that someone’s left the light on inside. Technically, no one’s allowed to be there past 8, yet here Taeyong is at 8:30, wondering if he should just go inside. Normally, no one should be using this room, but he supposes it must be a rookie or someone.

Tired, he leans his head heavily against the cool wood of the doors. It gives him a little focus, lets him put his weight on something, and it feels nice. His eyelids droop automatically, and he quickly pinches himself to keep them open; he can’t fall asleep against the door, no matter what he thinks about himself.

He doesn’t expect, of course, that the doors fly open, making him topple inwards, arms nowhere near ready to brace himself for the fall. There’s a familiar feeling of weightlessness, as his body gives in to gravity, but his eyes just drift shut in acceptance. Hopefully, he won’t hit his head too hard.

Instead of feeling his cheek impacting against the cold, hard ground, his breath whooshes out of him instead, as he feels strong, warm arms wrapping around him, breaking his fall. His feet twist, as he attempts to maintain his balance, but he still doesn’t fall over, because those arms are still there, along with a firm chest that cradles his cheek.

“Taeyong.” He stiffens at the familiar, unwelcome voice, “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“Nothing that matters to you.” Taeyong hisses, pushing himself away, and regretting it for one dizzy moment, before the world refocuses again, “I’m leaving anyway.”

“Did you get a chance to reflect on what I told you?” Kim Yeongsu smirks at him, arms crossed, “I hope you did.”

“I don’t care about what you told me.” Taeyong corrects, even as the lie lays heavy on his tongue. Looking closer, he sees a purpling mass on the side of the man’s face, and he knows that he didn’t do that; but, he also knows who did, “Nice bruise, though.”

Yeongsu’s eyes flash in distaste and, yes, Taeyong should probably leave now, so he steps back with a curt nod, trying to signal that their conversation is over, but he can’t because something’s grabbed onto his wrist.

“Leaving so soon?” The tone is mocking, but the voice softens to something akin to… concern? No, Taeyong must be hearing wrong, “You’ve got a fever.”

“So what if I do?” He snaps, trying to tug his hand free, to no avail; he’s just too exhausted to deal with this, especially right now, “I don’t need you around to tell me that.”

“Why’re you here, then?” The man asks, still not letting go; an uncomfortable burn spreads along the inside of Taeyong’s wrist, and he doesn’t know how to stop it, “Shouldn’t you be back at home, having your bandmates around you?”

Taeyong tenses up involuntarily, trying harder to free his hand, but Yeongsu has got a strong grip on it, and ouch, it hurts.

“Unless they rejected you.” The man deduces, and Taeyong hotly refutes, before he even realizes, “They haven’t, shut up!”

“They haven’t?” Taeyong knows he made a mistake when the smirk spreads wider still, “So you’re waiting for it, I suppose? The inevitable end?”

“I don’t want you or your advice.” He shakes, fury bursting through him, “You need to take a hint a-and—”

“It’s okay.” Deft fingers brush back Taeyong’s bangs—but that feels so, so wrong—as Yeongsu hums and steps closer, wiping away the sweat, “I understand you must be feeling tired, but there are some things you need to know.”

Some things you need to know.

“Like how Mark needed to know he was worthless?” Taeyong shakes his head, “Look, I don’t know how you managed to delude y-yourself into thinking you’re helping any…anyone, but.”

“But?” The warmth of his hand is now pressed against Taeyong’s forehead, and it’s getting really hard not to droop over, let his knees buckle and just give in. But Taeyong needs to hold strong, for once in his life.

He steps back, away from the warmth, glaring at the man with as much venom as he can muster up. His skin still tingles, but he decides to worry about that later.

“I’m leaving.” He hisses out, hand wobblily finding the doorknob and pushing it open.

Yeongsu does nothing to stop him, only giving him a knowing smile.

“There’s only so long you can run away from the truth.” He says, “Don’t ever forget that.”

Then he’s gone, enclosed back in the room after Taeyong shut’s the door. The brunette doesn’t stick around any longer, hands rubbing at his arms as he rushes back to the dorms, uncaring of whether the chances that he’ll trip rise or not. He just wants to get home, bury himself in blankets, preferably make sure Mark is okay and…

And what?

Running away from the truth?

Taeyong can’t help but think, as he stumbles into the warmth of the house, Jaehyun immediately fussing about him, that running away is the one thing he can’t ever stop doing.

Yes, I remembered to update! I'm low-key proud of myself^^ Expect weekly updates (if I manage to write as per schedule) but if a long period of time passes by: don't worry! I definitely won't be abandoning this fic :)