His pants are very pink and plaid, and dare he say fluffy. The only salvaging factor to him is that he doesn’t put on an equally pink shirt, but a plain white one. 

He stops to wash his face, finally, disgusted by the feeling of makeup caked onto his skin. Bruises always looked worse on him because he was too pale for the vibrant colours, but if he fusses with his hair most of the discoloration isn’t so visible. A shower would have been preferable, but there is time for that later when his space is less crowded. 

Only three people make it into his living space with any sort of regularity, it’s been the same for the three years he had owned the place and even then, number three, Changmin, is still a newer addition. He doesn’t show up without a reason, usually an important one. 

For the most part it is just Junsu, and Solar when he doesn’t push her away. 

Home is his safe space, and people, especially those in the life of Kim Jaejoong, are hardly safe. As a child he was a social thing, loud and outgoing and bright. 

That had rather epically been beat out of him for being inappropriate, but the training hadn’t really taken until after he had moved out of the mansion, funnily enough. 

Once there was nothing to fill the space save for himself, he realized how unpleasant the sound of his loud, over excited ranting was. How awkward. So, a more subdued version of himself had settled in, to his peers in high school he was apparently trying to be edgy, too suddenly emo or trying too hard to be normal. High school kids were awful and stupid and he had decided he didn’t need them. 

That had proved to be true, but the problem with the realization had been when Jaejoong realized, technically, he doesn’t need anybody. Sure, he got lonely sometimes, and there was one period in his life where he literally hadn’t said a word for almost four months, but his choice to be mute hadn’t stuck. Eventually he made friends with Junsu, and that has remedied his loneliness. 

Sure, sometimes he has what his parents would no doubt call an episode, but they always pass. 

He just needs some quiet time to pull himself back together and ensure the pieces will stay in place for a while.  

His whole process is being slowed and shunted by Solar, though. There were still more things to break, maybe some tears to fall and then a thorough cleaning of his apartment that needed to happen. Once everything was clean and shiny he would be fine again. 

Grabbing hold of a throw blanket resting on his bed he tugged it along as he wandered back out to the living space. He could practically smell the heat as it battled with the chill he had invited inside, and Solar had lit a candle that scented the air with caramel and pumpkin notes. 

“Thought you got lost, babe,” Solar commented, peering at him from where she was perched on the sofa, it was invitation to talk he knew. 

But he says nothing as he approaches, grabbing one of the pillows from the free end of the sofa and throwing it roughly at his sister's lap as he flops, carefully, onto his side. He passed the blanket to her silently, lifting his head as she covers her legs and props her feet up on the coffee table. 

“How’s your family?” the blonde asks, and his eyes flutter shut when fingers card through his hair and then open again when the sound of netflix starting up reaches his ears. 

“Hubby’s fine, your niece is a menace,” the smile in her voice is audible, “She’s been asking after you, again.” 

At that he does wince. He hasn’t seen Chaerin since August just before his semester had started up again.  He doesn’t avoid the little girl the way he does everyone else, but it doesn’t make the timing less difficult, Solar lives on the other side of Seoul and between his schedule and her schedules it all gets a bit challenging. Typically, once he has a break that isn’t full of meeting project deadlines he has the little girl over for a few days. 

Mentally he thinks the little girl would do wonders for his fraying edges. He likes children, he has always liked children because they are pure and happy and can’t really tell he is a up, so as long as he doesn’t kick a puppy. He is free to be as open as he wants without the harsh words that would otherwise follow.  

Medically? Well. He’s been a bit ed, lately. If he cannot trust himself to stand up without losing against the sensation of being dizzy or stop his vision from being spotty how is he supposed to look after a toddler? For that reason he has resisted the urge to request his niece even when he probably does have the time needed for her.  

“I’ve been busy,” he tries not to sound bitter, but it doesn’t quite work and when fingertips press at his temple he winces, jerking away from the touch. 

“You take care of your face, what happened?” 

Tell her everything, it can’t get worse. 

For a moment, he almost agrees. But he can’t actually tell her everything. He’s useless at lying to her though. 

“Fell down and hit my head on the nightstand, my friend Junsu and his boyfriend Changmin were here,” he explains, and then sighs, “it was a seizure. Just a one off, thing. Doctor said not to freak out if it didn’t happen again.” 

Luckily, it had been a one and done so far and he had more pressing things to focus on. The freak out of ‘holy--I-had-a-seizure' hadn’t stuck with him for longer than a moment. He had since moved on to trying to figure out how long of a life he wanted, and whether a long life was even worth being an omega. 

His knee-jerk reaction is no, no it isn’t worth it. Jaejoong doesn’t have only himself to think after, though. Nobody really needed him, the small sample of people whose lives he was a part of would be fine, they would recover, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone.  He didn’t want them to hurt him either though, and someone was bound to hurt, even if it was only little Chaerin until she forgot about his entirely. 

“A seizure doesn’t sound like nothing, Jaejoong.” 

Carefully he bites back most of his words. What does she care? She doesn’t, obviously, but he also knows that isn’t true, not yet. How does he even explain what is wrong though? 

He can say he’s a drug addict, but she’ll drag him to a rehab center and how will he explain the result of those drug tests? The truth is an option, except it isn’t and never will be. 

“I’m um, sick a little bit?” Jaejoong whispers softly, the hand is back in his hair, attempting to soothe, to coax. 

Will it work? Well, he doesn’t know, entirely. He wants to tell her, wants his sister to promise not to leave him but they were raised in the same household, and cannot convince himself it won’t all blow up.  

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