2008

To say that he hadn’t been sure if he would do okay would do a disservice to the drawn-out mental breakdown he’s been having the last couple of days. Every spare moment, he’s been silently mouthing the “Kiss Goodbye” lyrics to himself, when he wasn’t practicing up to the knife’s edge of risking his voice. He’s had so much tea that he’s not sure he ever wants to see the stuff again.

But he did it. And it went well. He hopes.

He can’t remember much of it, not really, only the nauseating worry. Urgh. He puts his hand over his mouth; he still feels nauseous.

Somehow, it’s easiest to confide in Henry, though he doesn’t quite know why. Could be because they were already sitting together before. He tugs on Henry's sleeve. "I felt like I was going to faint!" He whispered loudly.

Henry beams at him and reassures him, “You did good! You did really good!” accompanied by a thumbs up. “Voice… beautiful!” The fatigue is clearly wearing on him too, but he ignores it as they all do, throws a casual arm over Ryeowook’s shoulders and adds in Chinese, “Impressive!” (At least, that’s the meaning of that word as best as he can tell.)

“Thank you,” Ryeowook replies clunkily, with a momentary smile; the earnest string of compliments has bolstered his spirits. He can’t help but think, Ah, what a sweet kid, and leans into Henry as they sit waiting.

He’s surprised to realize he’s still shaking a little. Henry must notice it too, because his other hand slips into Ryeowook’s, only long enough to give a quick, furtive squeeze, same as he himself did in the van right before they got out. The shaking eases. Ryeowook is even more surprised that the gesture he’s made so many times was returned at all, fueling something mysterious that burns warm and bright inside him.

*

The first time Henry cries at night in their shared hotel room, it breaks Ryeowook’s heart. He knows what the boy is going through. They all know. It’s impossible not to know. And though he’d made his position clear in subtle but unmistakable ways, having the full aftermath right in front of him is… harder. There’s a difference between seeing a hint of red around Henry’s eyes in the practice room mirror in passing or his slumped shoulders backstage and this, seeing and hearing it a few steps away, the pain echoing in Ryeowook’s chest in agonizing pulses.

He can’t ignore it any longer.

There was a pause when his feet touched the floor. This is the last moment to back out, to pretend that he’d heard nothing. He couldn’t do it.

Having decided that, he goes all out.

This is no perfectly-appropriate arm around the shoulders backstage and insufficient platitudes, either. Nor is what he’s facing one or two stray tears. No, the sound makes it clearer up close: what lies before him is face-drenching waves that feel endless and can’t be stopped for anything, and Ryeowook gives the flood the silence and space it deserves, his chest pressed to Henry’s back and their legs folded together almost unconsciously and his right hand Henry’s hair. He kept doing it until his arm started getting tired, then still kept on, Henry’s trembling subsiding so, so slowly.

It’s one thing to have dozed together for a bit on the floor while shooting the video for Me after they’d been up working almost nonstop since four AM, Henry curled around him, enveloping him. One of the staff prodded them awake, and Henry pulled him upright, at which point they realized that Donghae was talking into a camera and they had to quickly look like they were doing something that wasn’t napping on the floor cuddled together.

What’s happening right now is something different entirely.

They can hardly communicate well enough for him to ask, but Ryeowook nonetheless suspects that this isn’t only due to today’s specific cruelities. He knows full well that things build up and build up and you keep smiling and pushing it down until it won’t stay down anymore.

Being young and scared and alone like this is hard enough, but to be hated, too? Anyone would crack at least once, is what he figures. So when all that’s left is shaky breathing and sharp sniffs, Ryeowook silently hands Henry a couple of tissues, then reaches for a water bottle next to his own bed, never entirely breaking physical contact. After handing that over as well, he puts his arm over Henry’s waist, his nose ending up in Henry’s hair. He can hear the soft puff of the water bottle being dropped onto the bed after Henry closed it but doesn’t bother doing anything about it. It rolls off the edge.

Ryeowook pulls the blanket up around them both before returning his arm to its previous position wrapped around Henry’s middle. This close, he can feel the boy’s breathing even out, then deepen and grow quieter. As if their schedule wasn’t grueling enough, the poor thing must be exhausted after a crying fit like that, he thinks.

There was no thought of moving away because he had already fallen asleep.

The manager who wakes them for the next day’s filming narrows his eyes when he comes in and sees their positions, staring suspiciously at Ryeowook without saying a word for a long moment. A frisson of fear shoots directly from his expression down the length of Ryeowook’s spine.

At last, the man barks at him to get up. Ostensibly, the harsh tone was directed at them both. Ryeowook knows better. His naivete was long since gone, but he doesn’t want any trouble either, so he gets up and wakes Henry and gets them both ready to go, like he’s expected to do.

That particular manager continued with the usual routine after that, but every day thereafter, his eyes would only land on Ryeowook with steely-eyed contempt when they did at all, as though he was something terrible and untrustworthy. Not like someone wayward or delinquent; no, it was a look like he was scum.

While Ryeowook had encountered people being distant or cold - it was inevitable that some people wouldn’t like you - this was something he hadn’t experienced since his school years. He’d had fellow students who despised him for no reason he could see, but here and now, from someone who knew him in person and worked with him? Weren’t they all adults now?

Hadn’t he gotten enough of that in his life?

No matter how many times he looks back on it, he doesn’t think he did anything wrong. He doesn’t feel like he did anything wrong. Only he must’ve, except there was no lecture or yelling, just an ice-cold stare. It shakes him to the core. The fear doesn’t leave, even once that particular manager did.

His legacy was set in stone, opening Ryeowook’s eyes to the world around him. If there’d been signs of that man’s suspicion before, he hadn’t noticed. Now, he sees shadows in whispering among staff and danger in a look quickly darting away. He’d been tried and found guilty of a crime that had never been named.

And it all started in that brief moment. Though it was the first time he had offered comfort in such a way, he can never forget how it had taken him less than a second to know, with bone-deep certainty, that it would be the last.

*

Covered in sweat. That’s the only thing he can think about, stumbling into his room after so many hours of rehearsal - that he’s covered in sweat and he needs to get it off his face right now. He beelines for the sink, starting with rinsing with water to feel less disgusting, followed by a quick cleanser and some moisturizer. His reflection looks tired, haunted by the ghost of sleep he hasn’t gotten, but there’s something more important right now.

He spends a little too long toweling his face, and a little too long racing to change into some dry casual clothing, and takes a little too long before he knocks on Henry’s door.

Before long, Henry opens the door, waving him in while he’s on the phone. Since he’s speaking English, Ryeowook assumes he’s talking to someone back home. Good. He needs that, he thinks.

He sits on the bed, up against the headboard, letting the words wash over him without trying to understand them. He likes how relaxed Henry sounds, how content, and the way the words flow easily.

Ryeowook feels a blush steal across his face for an embarrassing few seconds. He doesn't want to like that, not that way, but he does, apparently. What a great discovery to make, he thinks, scowling at his knees. You and your stupid crush.

As soon as his fatigue-addled mind notices that Henry’s done talking and has hung up, though, he quickly wipes the expression off his face. It’s not about his own weird problems. Except for performances like these, his family is at most a couple of hours away, after all, and has even visited the dorms before. A totally different situation.

“Were you talking to your family?” Ryeowook asks, his brows lifting with inquiring sympathy, his mouth in a wobbly almost-smile to try to show that he understands that it’s difficult. Henry nods twice. He looks back at his phone for a while before pocketing it, hopping onto the bed to sit cross-legged on the corner. He looks like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.

Ryeowook’s heart aches for him. The pain is a palpable, physical thing, made all the worse because of the gap in understanding that he’s not sure can really be bridged. “You miss them, right?”

Across the bed, Henry bends one knee up, drumming his fingers on his kneecap. “Yeah… It’s hard during the holidays.” He turns around and propels himself backwards so that he’s up against the headboard too, next to Ryeowook but not touching. He slumps down. The deep breaths he takes make it more noticeable each time he deflates.

Ryeowook goes to his hair, but sees that he’s still sweaty and lightly rubs his back instead. Henry gives him a weak sideways smile that drops as soon as he’s made it. They sit together for a little while as the slumping gradually reverses itself, or turns to regular tiredness.

It never fails to disturb Ryeowook how he likes Henry's scent even when the other man is sweaty and gross. (It’s too strong, yes, but not bad, and he doesn’t understand why or how that could be possible.) Yet another intrusion into his sanity that he shakes off. “I’ll treat you to a nice meal when we’re done tomorrow.”

Henry’s gaze is steadier and his smile is wider this time, if not by much. Though his eyes are no less sad, it’s an improvement. It’s what he can do. “That sounds great. Thanks, hyung.” He looks around the small room, takes a long breath. “I need to practice violin for a little while.” Whatever Ryeowook had expected him to say, it wasn’t that. “Do you want to go to bed?”

It’s what he should want. “Do you want me to go?” He asks instead. After a second of hesitation, written in Henry’s shoulders drawing in and his brow furrowing, he shakes his head, eyes pointed to the ground.

“Then I’ll stay a little longer.”

Henry nods at him, seemingly unable to do more. He’s hardly put his feet on the floor when Ryeowook stops him.

“Hey! Go wash your face first, you’re all sweaty.”

“Fine, fine.” Henry grumbles, but Ryeowook’s watching him like a hawk to make sure he does it, so he doesn’t miss the other man’s face softening into a touched look, tinged with fondness. (In the back of his mind, Ryeowook begins to worry at the sheer time and energy he’s apparently invested into observing Henry. It doesn’t escape his notice that he’s doing it literally right this second.)

The tap squeaks when the water’s shut off. The man looks much better now, some of his endless supply of energy returning. He shoots Ryeowook another smile, one of those quick looks to acknowledge the other’s presence, then carefully gets his violin and bow out and… what looks like some kind of rubber piece that he puts on the strings with utmost care.

As soon as he starts playing, it’s glaringly obvious that the piece works to lower the volume of the instrument. Ryeowook feels silly for not recognizing it right away. That aside, he relaxes against the headboard, watching with a soft smile while Henry runs through scales and warm-ups. He loves that look of concentration, at once fierce and somewhat tender.

When Henry starts playing in earnest, the difference from the rubber device is clearer still. The sound comes out darker somehow, fitting for the slow, sad melody, making tears well up in Ryeowook’s eyes all the more easily. He loses control of his emotions the sleepier he gets. He’s still here. Because he knows that Henry hates admitting that he’s lonely, Ryeowook is going to stay as long as he possibly can.

He opens his eyes when the music stops.

Sitting up straighter against the headboard doesn’t help any; he feels his eyelids drooping. A spike of fear shoots through him. It’s too dangerous to stay any longer, so he half-fakes a yawn. In a better world, he would let himself fall asleep here, or ask to stay, or do anything except force himself to throw his legs over the side of the bed and lever himself up to standing. Every step he takes that’s closer to leaving is harder than the last.

 “I’ll see you in the morning,” he makes himself say, to which Henry makes an acknowledging sound, meeting his eyes with another sad smile. The man seems to shrink in on himself without moving a centimeter.

“I mean it! I’m coming back in the morning to check that you’ve showered.” Ryeowook points menacingly as he says that, or tries to.

That gets Henry to laugh weakly. “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” he says cheekily, closer to his usual self. With everything put away, leaving him at loose ends, he’s visibly restraining himself from pulling Ryeowook into some roughhousing. Which is good, because there’s the “we're all already kind of gross anyway so you're fair game” kind of grossout and then there's the “I've already cleaned myself up and if you get me dirty again you will not live to see morning” kind of grossout, and Henry is wise to differentiate between the two.

Ryeowook’s torn, because he wants to let him anyway. To have any excuse not to leave yet.

Instead, using the best English pronunciation he can muster, concentrating to make the R’s the way Henry taught him, he says, “Merry Christmas,” then wishes Henry good night as he’s closing the door behind him.

Looking back would hurt too much. He feels it in the tension from his jaw to his lungs to his stomach, his clenched fists at his sides, the weakness hitting in his legs, his weaker heart pleading with him to turn around. No matter how much he wants to, he won’t make that mistake twice.