“Ok, hyung, you have to hear us out and I know it’s a lot—” Tag stammered, already rejecting what he was going to say next.

            “What did you do now?” Daeyeol sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had been discharged from the military for less than 24 hours and he knew something was the matter as soon as the group had stepped foot into the BBQ restaurant and Tag was sweating bullets. Now, the car ride home was no different. Yet, this was the burden a single father of 9.5 had to endure. He was starting to wonder if the military would accept him back.

            “Well, we didn’t do anything. It’s just that a lot has happened since you left. We had a great tour and—”

            “I know,” he interjected bluntly, not so much disappointed at where this conversation could potentially go, but more upset that his enlistment could not have come at a more inconvenient time. How he yearned to be back with Goldenness, to explore America and South America with s that he cherished more than life itself. How he wanted to show how he and the group had grown and flourished, all because of the undying love of their Goldenness. How he wanted to give back, to love back. Yet, duty called and now, it was calling once more. “So, what really happened?” he pried, unsure whether to be concerned or relieved, this was likely a trivial matter the usually dramatic Tag and youngsters conjured up in their free time. He glanced over at Y, who was sitting next to him in the van. The elder knew that, while his head was drooped and his eyes were soundly shut, he wasn’t sleeping. He was doing what he had been trained to do—listening. Daeyeol knew there would be multiple sides to the story and he would get the most accurate one from Y, so he took a deep breath before returning his attention back to the earnest Tag who was vying for his attention though he had no idea where to go once he had it. Yet, no amount of military training or psychological numbness could prepare him for the various stories that would unfold. ‘Twas the life of a leader and he wondered, for a moment, how Y had managed to get through any of it at all. Training was over. It was Daeyeol’s turn now.

            “So, let me get this straight. You met some of our fans, went over to their home or Airbnb or whatever, became friends with them and now we’re filming a K-drama?!” Daeyeol boomed as soon as he, Y, Tag, and Joochan returned to the dorm and bid their “good nights” to the other members. His usually silvery and inviting voice was now nearly shrill and frantic as he desperately tried to piece together this ever expanding puzzle of emotions, moves, and very real people.

            “When you put it that way, that takes away from some of the nuance. I wouldn’t say it’s really that bad,” Joochan ventured, his usually gravelly old man’s voice now soft and timid. For what it was worth, in his opinion, they handled the situation well, but he knew he had no place to say since he had skin in the game and a near fiancé thousands of miles away. “Sure, it got a little dramatic, but the girls are trustworthy. They’ve been talking this whole time, basically since you left,” he continued, wincing at the last part, and inhaling deeply before averting his gaze from the bewildered and somewhat betrayed leader. He tried to gaze at Y for support, but the older member merely sat on the edge of his bed, leaning back on his arms, almost too casually considering the absolute havoc that had been unleashed partially under his watch. He was not concerned. Instead, he had a hauntingly calm, almost bored look on his face as he watched Daeyeol try to piece it together. He knew he had no right to play the saint for he had allowed this to happen, he had taken a chance that was not completely his, so he would accept the burden of his—and the other two’s—mistakes when it was his turn for judgement and reconciliation. He had fortunately learned stoicism in the time Daeyeol was away. Otherwise, the dumpster fire that was would have undoubtedly expanded to a full-fledged wildfire.

            “No, no, you’ve been talking and playing along right back with them and none of you had the nerve to tell me this?” Daeyeol corrected, though his voice was now quivering as tears seemingly pricked at the sides of his eyes. He glanced back at Y, who averted his gaze and immediately dropped his head. Y could feel the shrapnel of Daeyeol’s breaking heart slicing through his own. He knew that Daeyeol, while disappointed, was not upset. If anything, he was upset with himself for not being able to guide the boys during this difficult time, through their first U.S./international tour. He was devastated that he had become a memory to them as they seemingly flourished, though he knew it was in his honor to show the name of Golcha to the world. He was envious that the boys had done so well for themselves in the same way a father is slightly envious of how well his own son turns out in life. He was proud, confounded, ecstatic, betrayed, everything all at once for he had returned to a family that had seemingly moved on without him. He hadn’t gotten to see the fruits of his labor for this first tour. He had not gotten to see the smiles and joyful tears of his fellow members as they greeted and bid farewell to their international fans. He had not been there to provide undying comfort and confidence as the anxiety over each performance swelled and then dissipated with the roar of the crowds. He had not been there. He was here now, but it was not the same. That was time, those were feelings, that he would never get back, never get to live. He was here, trying to piece together something so he could salvage it in the aftermath. He had been the last person to arrive to a party, wild nights, blackouts, and memories after that he would not be able to experience.

            “We didn’t want to worry you!” Tag blurted truthfully. Y couldn’t help but to nod behind him. Daeyeol heaved. He knew neither Tag nor any of the other members would want to do any harm to him. They never wanted to worry him. Not when Tag had been suffering from his liver condition. Not when Joochan had taken all of the blame for their failed performances on Road to Kingdom. Not when Jangjun would roam the streets for Jangstar, putting his image and safety on the line for laughs and giggles. Not when Y became the leader without a word of dissent or even concern. Not when Bomin had suffered his facial fracture. Not when Donghyun would spend hours after dark in the studio dancing until he was dehydrated and on the brink of collapse. Not when Jibeom would not come home after long nights of musical performances. Not when Seungmin hurt himself at the Idol Star Championship only to win the wrestling match. Not when Jaehyun couldn’t sleep at night because he worried he was not doing enough. None of them had—could ever have—dreamt of worrying their beloved member, their brother. “We thought we could handle it!”

            “And you handled it,” Daeyeol uttered, shaking his head slowly as the tears began to pour. He didn’t even want to wipe his face as he looked at the other three members in the room and imagined the others. Joochan and Tag cocked their heads to the side, unsure whether what would follow would be fiery fury or warm wishes. They had never seen Daeyeol be angry, but even as the atmosphere weighed on them heavier than their consciences, they still couldn’t imagine him being more than cross with them. They knew they had broken the cardinal rules of the industry, of the company, of his trust, yet, they couldn’t bring themselves to feel completely guilty just as he could not bring himself to feel completely opposed to the idea. They had done what they did and now, he would have to do what he would. First, he needed the truth. “Excuse us, guys, I’m going to chat with Y. Give us some time,” Daeyeol stammered, trying to pull himself together for a truth he didn’t know if he wanted to know.

            “Are you mad at us?” Tag ventured, his voice trembling atypically. His eyes were pleading as Joochan nudged him and tried to shoo him out of the room. For once, the younger male had not the courage to chime in and instead, only wanted to evacuate with what little was left of his own heart intact. He knew that was the wrong question to ask and rather, what he could not say—ask—was how much was he hurting. Joochan knew better than anyone that Daeyeol was not the one to cry so easily, not the one to let his emotions consume him so much that it was someone else’s problem. Daeyeol often cried alone, grappling with the demons both inside him and outside in the industry on his own. He would never lash out at the other members for he had been trained to always handle it himself. He knew he had family he could be strong in front of and for, but this didn’t mean that he didn’t hurt, that he couldn’t. He decided he couldn’t show it.

            “Hyung—” Y , rising to his feet, as soon as he knew that the others were long down the hallway.  He took a step towards the eldest member, who was shaking so subtly, Y had to blink twice. Daeyeol’s balls were fists and his thumbs fidgeted back and forth aimlessly. Before he could utter another word, Daeyeol had embraced the younger member, still shaking, trying to calm himself, cloak himself in the other’s warmth and forgiveness.

            “Thank you. I am so, so sorry,” Dayeol nearly sobbed, the tears still streaming down his face and plopping onto the back of Y’s light blue cotton shirt. “I know it must have been hard to handle all this and you really did the best you could. Thank you for keeping Golden Child together and so happy, so, so good,” he whimpered, finding the strength to pull himself away and look Y in the eye though his vision was undoubtedly blurry. Y’s soft, knowing smile made his heart quiver in his chest all the more. He knew that Y would not be the one to discuss the difficult nights he had, wracked with anxiety for the next show with the break-neck schedule they had been given. He knew Y would not complain about being the last to eat so he could ensure that the members were well. He knew Y would not emphasize how hurt he was that he had not been there to support him, to guide him along the way while he served his country. Instead, Y’s smile was a silent confession of everything he couldn’t say and everything that he would divulge once he could calm himself.

            “We couldn’t have done it without you,” Y began, inhaling deeply so as to steady his nerves. He couldn’t start crying. He needed his vision to be precise enough to gauge the other’s reactions as he told the dire details to what had transpired and suggested what to do next. “Goldenness were so happy to see us, but so many letters came in for you, too. I almost wanted to read them myself, so I could get just an ounce of an idea of what it was like to be such a good leader, but I knew that I should save them for you. They’re still here waiting for you to read them whenever you’re up to it,” he confessed. “I wanted so badly to be like you, but the pressure was immeasurable. It’s been so long since we were international and to see everyone there for us, it made me think of you. There was room for you on every stage and you are still there in every venue, smiling for us, being for us,” he whimpered, his voice starting to break. He breathed in sharply between gritted teeth, hopelessly trying to steel his nerves as his own emotions fought to be released.

            “And you-you did so well keeping the Golden Child name alive and well. I can’t begin to say how proud of you I am, especially since it was all so sudden,” Daeyeol gushed, still falling apart at the seams. “You did what you had to do and you did it so well. And more than that, you did something I would have never had the courage to do,” he confessed, shocking the younger member who only stared at him—through him.

            “B-but, it’s a mess,” Y stammered in rebuttal. Daeyeol cracked a mild smile for the first time since he had heard the news.

            “And it’s going to be. We’re all human. You, me, all of Golden Child and all of the Goldenness. We’re going to be messy. But, that’s the thing about courage, it’s got to be messy. Nothing we’ve ever done to get right here, to this point, has been clean,” he affirmed. “Not one of our auditions was clean, not one of our paths to each other was clean. We’ve had nights where we cried ourselves to sleep because we had spent all day beating ourselves up. We’ve had nights where we drank a little too much because we were all riding high on our victories. All of that is messy and all of that is necessary.”

            “But what about the group? We were being selfish. We still are,” Y countered, almost pleading for a reason for Daeyeol to be upset, desperate for a reason to walk away from this and force his own feelings to fade away.