Minjun knew what he did was a mistake, and he said so too. “I’m sorry,” was the first thing he blurted to Taecyeon when they were left alone. The other man looked taken aback and Minjun wondered for a second with shame burning in his heart, that did he really think that the oldest would not apologize? Even without all that went down, Minjun knew at one point he would let go of the fury in his heart and sincerely try to fix what he had unleashed. Though he didn’t expect that to come this way. Taecyeon apologized as well, as genuine as Minjun’s own. They both talked it through quite rapidly, wanting to get this moment over with so they could go wallow in their self-guilt. In the end, they decided to talk to the manager about both of their sides and let him make the decision. Wooyoung’s plan. 

Wooyoung. 

Minjun winced at just his name, he and Taecyeon had really teamed up against the younger boy. What they had said to him… Neither of them meant it, but let out their frustration at each other on another person. 

“We should really talk to Woo too, huh?” it seemed like Taecyeon had read his thoughts. Minjun nodded, letting out a deep sigh. It had been around twenty minutes since the other had left and Minjun wasn’t sure if it was too soon to approach Wooyoung. He voiced his concerns and Taecyeon nodded thoughtfully. “We should wait a little while then, maybe we can ask Nichkhun or something?”

“Yeah. Junho also looked shaken up,” Minjun rubbed his hand over his face. He’d really messed up, as the oldest, he should’ve been the one placating the fight not tending to the fire. The fact that he’d lost his composure and mind so easily, it troubled him. He really wasn’t fit to be able to watch over all of them if he was the one causing all their problems. He’d seen Chansung’s betrayed face as he’d said those words to Woo, and Nichkhun’s disapproving glare which pierced through Minjun’s heart. He groaned, how did he ever think he would be enough to help cover the hole which Jaebum had left? Looking around the empty couches in the room and the aftershock still reverberating through his mind, the guilt only sank further. “We really messed up,”

Taecyeon let out a cynical chuckle though the responsibility of the misconduct was evident in his face. Minjun wouldn’t let him deal with it alone, this was both of their faults, and secretly he felt it was more of his for not being able to get it all under control. 

“Let’s find Junho first,” Minjun said when Taecyeon didn’t answer, the other man looked up at him from where he was sitting with glistening eyes. Minjun blanched at the sight, and suddenly he was at a loss to do. He held out his hand out of instinct and mentally berated himself, Taecyeon was in need of comfort not whatever this was. But regardless, Taecyeon grasped Minjun’s hand, a little too tightly but the latter didn’t say anything and hauled the taller man up. The older gave him a squeeze before they left the room still holding hands. They had been in one of the company’s many wings, this one specifically dedicated to 2pm. Not that it meant anything, wings were usually just some meeting rooms, practice rooms, and few other things. Minjun hardly thought anyone would stick around and not go back to the dorms but he decided to check anyway. There was no one in any of the rooms, well one practice room was locked so they couldn’t really check, it must’ve been under maintenance, they concluded and headed home. 

Somehow along the way, their hands had drifted apart and Minjun found himself missing the warmth of someone who was in the same boat as him. He knew more of the responsibility was on him, and he was ready to shoulder that, but it felt nice to know that he wasn’t alone in this experience. They entered the dorm to an empty living room and kitchen with all the doors in the hallway shut. Both of them exchanged a look and parted ways, heading to different doors. It was understood that they did not want to overwhelm anyone.

Minjun didn’t know whose room he had entered, the lines between each of their beds and rooms had long ago blurred and the only thing that reminded them of what was theirs was wardrobes and bathroom supplies. He found Chansung and Nichkhun inside, so that meant Taecyeon was with Junho or Wooyoung, or both. He knew he shouldn’t, but Minjun secretly wished that the other man wasn’t with Wooyoung yet, they should both apologize together as to not cause even more of a rift between them. The oldest knew what had caused the fight to escalate in such a way, and the problem wasn’t Taecyeon, it was him. He had let his… what? Jealousy? Insecurity? Whatever it was, it had bested him and left him crawling to make up. Now he saw Chansung and Nichkhun, who both looked at him with unimpressed looks and left him grimacing, good, he deserved that. He gulped, and with as much genuinity he could muster, “I’m sorry,”

They both didn’t look surprised, but their more negatively charged ‘neutral’ looks fell away to a more empathetic one. Nichkhun was the one to reply, not taking as much time as Minjun had assumed. They’d had worse fights. “We got too into it as well when we should’ve tried to help,”

“Only because of me-” Minjun hesitated, he didn’t want to trouble Taecyeon with his own shortcomings but he didn’t want the others to think the other man wasn’t just as sorry. “Us. We let it get too out of hand, and that’s completely our fault, and we won’t be able to get forgiveness soon. Even if you give it to us, we have to earn it first.” The sternness and determination in the last line had been surprising to even himself, Chansung and Nichkhun nodded and the gentle smile on Nichkhun’s face let Minjun knew that they had accepted his apology, but like he said, they would wait for him to earn his forgiveness from them, because that was different than understanding and accepting. Forgiving was another thing altogether. 

It felt too short, even though Minjun knew they had understood him and weren’t waiting or wanting more. But the oldest couldn’t throw away this nagging feeling. His eyes examined the room and paused on a guitar, his own, he grabbed it and sat down on the edge of one of the beds. He couldn’t do more with his words, so perhaps he should use something else. 

He was a composer, always. So he let his fingers slip between the strings and frets and let his soul guide the notes he played and strummed on the guitar. There were bits and pieces pulled into it from his own songs, from their songs, from other groups as well, and then there were bits which he pulled from his heart, hoping that these sounds could express what the ones that leave his mouth could not. And they did not need to soak in this song, they knew what his words were, but he felt a pull to establish. He doesn’t know how long he sat there, pulling and plucking and swiping and strumming, but in the end they were all washed over with a sense of calm and quietness which was odd, well it had been until this evening.

They’d had worse fights.