2009

Ryeowook adjusts the photo frame sitting on his desk. It’s a picture from before that concert last year, with the santa suits and all. Zhou Mi had insisted with a smile that they should all take one together before the year was over, herding all their regular staff into it as well. All the more impressive was that his hasty placement of the camera before the timer went off still got everyone in there. Except for one ear and arm. Really not bad at all.

That gets Ryeowook thinking about the confidances that Zhou Mi seems to entrust him with so casually, his vocabulary surprisingly… expansive when it came to certain sensitive topics (and he had some idea of who was to blame for that), and then the vocabulary lessons he got in return, far different from the ones with the whole group.

Smiling, he taps his pencil on his desk, feeling warm and happy at the memories even though he was so embarrassed at the time. There were a couple where Zhou Mi had had to resort to mixing a few words with hand gestures; the whole thing had left Ryeowook shrieking, Why are you teaching me this! Why do I need to learn this! and laughing all the while, which made Zhou Mi laugh, which in turn made Ryeowook laugh harder. The whole thing ended with them howling with laughter in a pile of limbs on Zhou Mi’s floor.

Ryeowook starts flipping the pencil between his fingers. He’d forgotten until now that it was Henry who opened the door to check on them, his face half smiling and half puzzled when he saw them on the floor and asked if everything was okay.

And neither of them could answer the man for laughing too hard.

That brings Ryeowook’s thoughts to that manager who’d hated him. Only through the lens of experience could he look back and see that said manager must've realized he was gay, long before he himself could think the word. It wouldn't be the last time he'd encounter some sort of wariness or suspicion or distance, though it’s rarely so blatant.

It’s not hard to notice that he’s different, and from there, it’s a short trip to hatred for those inclined, as a not-small number were.

He stares at the blank paper, willing words to sprout up on it. Doesn’t work.

He retreats to his thoughts once more. He himself should’ve been tipped off by the chasm of difference between the years-long crush he had on a boy in a different class in high school and the solitary girlfriend he’s had, whose company he enjoyed but was otherwise so unenthusiastic about that it not only took him an entire three weeks to even bother with the ordinary milestone of holding hands, but also that they dated for a year before he tried kissing her. And when he did, it was nothing like on TV or in songs because he felt… nothing.

Though breaking up was a mess - a year was a long time, after all - he didn’t feel right continuing once it’d finally hit home that his feelings for her were strictly friendly. Very much unlike the kinds of feelings for boys that he had discussed with Hanbit in whispers in the night.

Still, before, he’d assumed that at some point he would get romantic feelings for a woman. That didn’t happen. What did happen was at least a half-dozen more crushes on guys. (Including one that he remains deeply unhappy about.)

He leans back in his chair, staring at his blank, flat ceiling with a wisp of a sigh. Outside his door, he can hear indistinct yelling, and the sound of what used to be a plate. He thinks about going out there, maybe helping, but he’s morose and frustrated by the lyrics he still hasn’t written and wants to stay in his little bubble and think some more, get it all out of his system at once in hopes of being able to move on to other topics.

And to stop running away from himself. Right now, it’s time to face the facts.

Like the fact that he doesn’t just happen to be unusually tolerant. Or the fact that at least some - many - of which members he’s close to is no coincidence. That it’s possible some things… won’t ever happen for him.

Considering spring isn’t quite over, he’s learned a lot this year already. He’s learned to hold his head high, or at least that it was possible, and how to better cover his tracks.

Both of those, he learned from Heechul, who described himself as- what was it, he used a longer word. Right, biual. Heechul continually skirts the edges of plausible deniability, and seems to want the whole world to know, though he can't actually make that happen. Even if Ryeowook was of the same mindset, which he is not, he couldn't get away with a quarter of what Heechul does. (He doesn’t have the looks for it. It’s not self-hatred, just simple facts.)

He also learned that someone would spot you and suspect who you were if you went within a city block of a gay club, no matter how thorough you thought your disguise was, and hurrying past while pretending to be engrossed in your phone was the only option when that happened. And that Heechul would laugh at him for that story but sympathize with having one-sided feelings for a bandmate (Zhou Mi unhelpfully - and cheerfully - chimed in that ing helps, to which Ryeowook smacked his arm and sharply reminded him that they weren't all tall, handsome hookup kings, but it went without saying that his words held no real anger; he’s smiling at the memory even now). More surprising was learning that Zhou Mi was somehow the next best source for who was safe (or at least knew the right people to ask about that), and that tea with both of them with a side of gossip was amazingly healing.

Not more than ten centimeters tall, the smallest giraffe he's gotten sits floppy at the corner of his desk, right up against his lamp. It's been a steady confidant. Good listener. "I can't write a song about this," he says slowly, in the tone of one instructing a small child, petting its head all the while. Beneath his fingers, its tuft of hair is soft; it soothes him. "This won't do."

Once he adjusts his little companion, making sure it won’t fall over, he rests his chin in his hand, turning his head in his palm and staring in the direction of a poster on his wall without really seeing it. Trying to reel in his wandering mind. Accepting that he's failing yet again no matter how upset he should be about that.

Thinking about it more, Zhou Mi had an interesting sort of middle approach - discreet enough, but not taking pains to hide the occasional man he brought up to his room. Apparently, if you do it right, you can laugh it off if anyone gets suspicious. He knows how to do it right.

The three of them don't argue about their differences in this matter; each is aware of the trials and limitations of the other. Ryeowook’s learned those up close.

And then most importantly, after they’d blown up, he’d made damn sure that the company learned a thing or two as well.

See, a career in this industry is built on lies. As long as he kept his lies in order, and the company theirs, they would both profit from it.

The tap-tap of rain starts up behind him. He sighs and rolls his chair away from his desk. Obviously, nothing’s getting written today when this is all he can think about. Though he may still be able to make use of- some other feelings, he first needs space from them.

He rubs at a spot on his chest that almost feels like it hurts.

That settles it. Right now, he’d see if he could get some cleaning done. Anything to take his mind off of what kept intruding into it, day after week after month.

Or maybe he’ll go see if Kyuhyun’s around to help him use up some unproductive energy. The scabs on his knees from last time have healed up. Maybe he’ll get some on his back this time, he muses with a nonchalance that he knows would have shocked him only a year ago. Or, Kyuhyun mentioned a mystery something else he wanted to try…

*

Today is a good day. Nine hours of sleep. Nine glorious hours that left him feeling more human than he has in… weeks? Or months. Then he did well during recording, and well enough in Chinese class, and now, dinner.

Henry came with him even though he’s full, sipping a glass of cranberry juice between each excited train of thought. Normally, Ryeowook doesn’t like anyone being so chatty, but he justifies the exception to himself as language practice. If that’s not his only reason, well, so be it. There’re more important things to worry about.

Either way, he can’t begrudge the other man the joy of talking about visiting his family earlier in the year. He’s happy to listen to Henry raving about how great it was and how relaxing, how much he liked seeing everyone and eating familiar food - Ryeowook chuckles at this and accidentally chokes a little, but recovers quickly, not wanting to interrupt - and then turning wistful as he talks about how he’ll probably miss christmas with them again, but hey, maybe he can fly home around the same time next year as he did this year?

He looks like he’s trying not to get his hopes up too high. Poor Henry. Ryeowook knows how much the man sitting on the other side of the table misses his mom especially. He’s not sure Henry realizes just how often he talks about her. They must be really close, he thinks. How nice.

Ryeowook pats his hand and tells him that he hopes that happens. What else can he do? It’s not up to him.

Largely confining himself to listening, he eats lots, uncaring of what it would take to balance it out later. Henry has a strange, yet somewhat endearing, quirk of praising him when he eats more than usual. To be honest, Ryeowook has no idea where the younger man could've picked up such an odd habit; it makes the anticipation of that praise no less compelling for it.

You and your stupid crush, he berates himself again, but he can't sink his own good mood. Not today. He's got good food, good company, he did a great job today, so he's going to enjoy all of it. Bask in it, even.

"My mom tried to teach me to make soup while I was there,” Henry says, a baffled crease between his eyebrows. “There's this one she makes- ah, I don't remember the name right now, she wrote it down for me. Anyway, it was hard because, because she doesn't, like, um, measure anything, you know? She just," he mimes throwing in a pinch and shaking a canister, "she just does it and I tried to look at the recipe... Yeah, I don't think it's going to work."

Ryeowook’s not sure he’s not being led into something. His mouth an amused curl, he asks despite his better judgment, "Want me to try it?"

"Please, hyung?" Henry makes an exaggerated pleading face at him. His bottom lip juts out and everything. Ryeowook puts his elbow onto the table, rests his chin on his palm, and grins indulgently at him.

"Okay, I'll do it."

"Thank you~!" Henry beams at him. It’s huge and so happy that it brings on one of those traitorous flutters. "She really wants me to learn it. Said that I'll use it to win someone's heart one day. Kind of a weird thing to say, don't you think?"

The mere thought is enough to twist Ryeowook’s stomach into knots, but he forces out a laugh. "Yeah, it is. But she just wants the best for you."

"I suppose so. Since hyung is learning it first, though, maybe you'll win someone's heart with it," Henry says with a laugh of his own.

"Maybe," Ryeowook replies noncommittally. He takes a bite of whatever's closest to him without paying attention.

"But you have to let me try it first," Henry insists. "I need to make sure you get it right," he continues, smirking. "It won't work otherwise."

"What if I win your heart doing that, hmm? What will you do then?" Ryeowook smirks right back.

"It's too late for that. You already have it," Henry says with an exaggerated wink. He laughs, hearty and wide-cheeked, and it makes Ryeowook feel all sorts of things that're bound to keep him up at night. But he's not going to worry about that just yet.

Then Henry winks again, but somehow more over the top, including something that fell short of the rakish open-mouthed grin he was probably going for. It’s so cheesy and weird that Ryeowook’s braying laughter is a natural response, if anything. It takes him too long to get himself under control; a snorting laugh comes out every couple of seconds the first few times he thinks he’s gotten it.

Across the table, Henry beams like he’s just won first prize.

A few deep breaths fiiiiinally get the job done. “Who taught you to be so weird?” Ryeowook asks with a raised eyebrow, refusing to let him rest on his laurels. Henry scoffs.

“All of you.” Before Ryeowook can fire back, he pivots to, "Oh! That’s right. Can you, um-”

“What?” Ryeowook says, more indulgently than he’d like, at the same time as Henry continues.

“-come in for a few minutes when you drop me off? I have a song I've been working on that- that I want to show you." He tilts his head and smiles hopefully, continuing before Ryeowook has a chance to respond. "Pleeeeease? It'll be really quick this time. It's only one. I promise!" The words rush out, tripping over one another.

"Okay, I'll do it. But, you didn't come with me only to ask that, right?" Ryeowook says with a wry tilt to his mouth. Can’t let him off that easy. (As if the brat didn’t know he would agree.)

"Of course not!" Henry leans forward on the table. He quickly looks side to side, then holds his index finger up in front of his face, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Don't tell the others, but, actually,” he raises his eyebrows once, “you’re my favorite."

God help him, Henry's cuteness is reeling him in yet again.

And he can't bring himself to be upset about it.

"Is that so?" Ryeowook doesn't know how much of it is a joke. He'll take the warm, pleasant feeling anyway. "If that's the case, I'll come over."

“Thank you! I know it's too late to submit it for this album,” Henry pauses here to finish off his juice, and his mouth looks so red when he’s done that for a moment, Ryeowook risks missing what he’s saying, “but I'd like to have it ready before the next one. I really think this one could make it,” he finishes, smiling excited and toothy, so cute it hurts.

Outside, as they’re about to reach the car, Henry clasps his shoulder and leans in, down to his level and too close, to murmur in his ear, “You ate a lot today. Good job.” And there it is. Unwilling to give the appearance of enjoying this, Ryeowook shoves him and calls him a weirdo. They’re both all smiles, so it’s okay.

Not even the lingering muggy August heat could bring him down. He walks on clouds for days after that, feeling special and wanted and needed.

Like all his good days, the effect faded within a week, no matter the effort he put into calling up the calm, content feeling. No, he’s already off balance again. Not a single practice or recording session passed without the worst of his impulses rearing up to try to break through the surface.

This was getting out of control. The mere act of Henry turning away from him to talk to someone else sends his mood plummetting. The higher you go, the harder you crash, he thinks bitterly. He couldn't keep living like this.

*

Turns out, he didn't have to. ‘Temporary disbandment.’ They’re all a mess. Heechul’s a mess, too. Feels like the whole world’s a mess. And whatever it is that he should be doing about that, he doesn’t have the strength for it.

He’s staring at the ceiling again, wide awake, hands behind his head on the pillow. The reason’s much different this time, though. The news still rattled him. Even alone, in the dark, away from murmurs and stony faces and the occasional tears, he could not escape it.

Nothing pulled him away from sleep worse than the uncertainty. Bad enough losing one more. But he's most worried about those still here.

About two in particular.

His hundredth sad sigh pierces the fragile sheet of quiet. The only thing he knows for sure is that no one knows what's going to happen to SJM. Which means, what are Henry and Zhou Mi going to do?

Tonight's the first time in a long time that being back in his own bed brings him no peace. He turns over to stare out his window. The few muted stars he glimpses offer him no answers.

His eyes suddenly feel damp.

Their usual year-end dinner's canceled. No one feels up to pretending any extra cheer.

There's so much else to worry about, he knows that, but he can't help it. They've already been put through so much; it's not fair to heap on more. It's not fair at all. There was a road that he could see into the future, one that made some sense, but now, it's been shrouded in fog.

He doesn't dare venture out for another glass of water. Someone'll be awake, that's just how it is now. Someone will be awake and look at him and he'll have to deal with their feelings too when his own are already too much.

The knowledge that his thoughts are going in circles does nothing to change it.

He sorely regretted wishing for something to change. He didn’t actually cause this, of course. But he'd give anything to be able to take it back, to not be left without two people he cared about deeply by his side the way he'd grown accustomed to having them, especially with their fates in turmoil. Hadn't they suffered enough?

Really, haven’t they all?

The smooth glide of the minute hand on his clock moves heedless of what it must see. And so, alone in his cold room, with only the stars and his worries and pain for company, he ends the third year of the crush that wouldn't go away in heartbreak.