Part Five of (the end is nigh) Seven: In which Lee Taeil sits on the kitchen floor and ponders the mysteries of the future.

I could never quite get a handle on Lee Taeil, but I've come to see that there are quiet and ponderous depths to him which are intriguing like the bottom of a murky pool. In a nice way. I really enjoyed writing this, after a couple of false starts which were completely different to what I ended up with. For once that's all I have to say, please enjoy and don't get too bummed out.

The nights are getting chillier and darker. When they walk out of the studio now it's with a chorus of curses and rustling of coats being pulled closer as the icy wind swoops down on them. They all clutch last minute coffees to their chests  - hot chocolate for Jihoon because he's already too hyped up from their perfomance and he won't sleep otherwise - and stumble slightly on the damp pavements. Taeil sort of wishes they'd scheduled their comeback for summer, but if they had they'd still be waiting, and they are all completely sick of waiting. Had there been another six months of break to get through - another six months of practising without knowing what to practise, of waiting around in their dank little dorm rooms for any news at all while they tried to fill up the empty hours with the sort of things people with normal lives and jobs do, only to quickly realise that those things only seem attractive when they aren't your only recourse night after night - he's not sure they would have survived it.

Which seems a crazy thing to think now they're all back together. It's like nothing ever happened, just like their first return after that terrible eight months of silent penitence; they slot back together as easily as buttons on a well worn suit. Everyone else seems to forget so quickly, and Taeil wonders if it's sort of like childbirth: they block out the memories of the bad parts so they can keep coming back. If they remembered how difficult and painful the quiet periods were, maybe it would all become too much to handle. Or maybe it's just a sort of mental focus that he hasn't quite mastered yet, an ability to focus on the high points and disregard the lows. During their first time out Jiho said things about how this tested strength of character, how it would make them more appreciative of what they did have, and a lot of other things to do with reality and living all of your life, even the unpleasant parts: "The dichotomy of life," Kyung said, rolling his eyes in that way he does when he wants to remind everyone that he's smarter than Jiho, "Dichotomy is the word you're looking for." But even those two hadn't quite believed completely that they would come through everything in one piece. Jiho acted like he did because that was what he was supposed to do, but Taeil caught them looking at one another enough times to read the question they were silently asking: "was this worth it?"

They clamber into the car; Jaehyo spills coffee over himself as Taeil shoves his too-long legs to one side to make room for himself, and Kwon follows him in, already practically asleep, head dropping on top of Taeil's. Being used as a pillow is one of the many reasons he hates sitting in the middle seat, but it's too late to switch now, and they all just want to get home to bed.

"One day," he says, too tired to give his voice more than a surface growl, "one day I'll be a ing awesome solo star and I won't have to share cars with you space-hogging bastards."

"Smallest one goes in the middle," Kyung says, muffled from the back where he's squashed between a sprawling Jiho and a wriggling Jihoon. He's another veteran of family journeys with one too many children for it to be comfortable. "Unwritten rule."

"You didn't have to shove," Jaehyo snipes. Taeil feels a bit bad then, and digs in his pockets for some tissues for him. From the front there's a light snore from Minhyuk, the bastard, who the manager always tries to covertly sneak into the front seat since he's the only one who won't fiddle incessantly with the radio.

Jihoon wriggles himself forward and drapes himself over the back of Taeil's seat, ignoring the plaintive whines as his shoes dig into Kyung's shins. "If you went solo, what kind of music would you make?"

"Dunno. Maybe I'd wear a nice suit and sing corny ballads."

"I think you could go for a dark concept. Something really gothic, you know? No one would expect that."

"I've been thinking of something like that for the next album," Jiho breaks in through a yawn. "With all the piercings and tattoos going on in this band it'd be a shame not to try it."

"Didn't we already sort of cover that for Very Good?" Jaehyo asks, which prompts a long discussion about the differences between dark themes and actual goth and whether the latter could be employed in a light hearted enough way to appeal to their fanbase. However it's pitched, Taeil cannot imagine going topless onstage or off.

It's only when the car is finally pulling up outside their block and they're beginning to stretch out cramped limbs and prepare for the next shock of freezing cold air that Jihoon returns to the original point. "You don't really want to go solo though, right hyung?"

Taeil uses the bustle of getting everyone out of the car to cover for the fact that he doesn't have a ready answer. It's something he's thought about - could any of them honestly say they hadn't? - but obviously not something he considers to be in the immediate future. But Jihoon's got his acting on the side, and Jiho still writes songs just for himself, and Minhyuk dances with other groups sometimes, so why shouldn't he consider a path just for himself? No one, especially their youngest, likes to think about it, but this - the seven of them - can't last forever. What happens when they're no longer Block B, when it's just Lee Tae Il and his voice trying to make it somewhere? He keeps a hand on Kwon's lower back and guides him through the building because he's developed the ability to sleepwalk at will, and just throws Jihoon a quick smile, hoping it's too dark for him to notice the strain in it.

"Not for a long time yet."

The thought returns to him later that night though, surrounded by the dischordant strains of three sleeping boys, one of whom likes to lie with his face buried in the pillow and make noises like he's dying. From his bed, he leans over and gives Jaehyo a quick punch in the shoulder to make sure he's definitely alive, then relaxes back against the pillows. It would be something for his dedication if he could say he honestly stayed up late practising his singing every night, but in truth a lot of it is spent in this way. There's not many opportunities for them to gather their thoughts now. Only a few months ago it felt like there was far too much time, and Taeil just wanted his brain to stop ticking over for half an hour, to the point that a couple of times he even took Kyung and Minhyuk up on their offers and got wasted with them. It turned out that it didn't help, just made him sweaty and paranoid, and from then on he locked himself away with his headphones and sang until the only words that made sense were the ones that appeared in songs. In the songs he likes there are no awkward, biting, uncomfortable phrases like 'lawsuit' and 'evidence' and 'the reality of the situation'.

He wouldn't admit it, although knowing each other as they do he's sure everyone figured it out, but every time they're off for so long it leaves him shaken. Part of it is the emptiness of the time, the way the days stretch out ahead of you when you've not got something concrete to work towards, just 'maybe' and 'in a while' and Jiho's exhausted affirmations that the next album would be great but he couldn't show them any of the songs, not just yet. Taeil likes routine, it's one of the small ways in which his age shows itself (they joke about it, but he really does feel like an old man compared to the rest of them). Having nothing to do makes him grouchy, restless - and lonely, because it seemed like everyone else had their own projects to pursue. Even Jihoon wasn't a constant presence at his elbow; turning and failing to see anyone there gave him this feeling like missing the last step of the stairs and putting your foot forward into empty air.

Jaehyo turns over and mumbles something that sounds like 'pancakes' into his pillow; his hand, dangling off the edge of the mattress, is twitching in time to Jihoon's light snores. This is the sort of thing Taeil expected to find unbearable and it turned out to be what he'd probably miss the most, if he left them all. Just thinking of the possibility suddenly makes him feel guilty and ugly. He could do it, right that moment: get up, walk out of the room, go back to his parent's house and never come back, and they'd wake up from their serene and soft sleep to find him gone forever. Although he doesn't want to, knowing that he could is enough to suffocate him slightly. He slips out of bed, not looking at their slumped forms around him, and heads for the kitchen.

The light is on in there; Minhyuk is sitting splay legged on the floor, leaning against a counter with a cup of tea between his knees and wearing the ratty blue dressing gown he 'borrowed' from Kwon some time just after their first debut. He looks up and blinks sheepishly. "Can't sleep either?"

"I freaked mysef out a bit," Taeil anwers with an equally sheepish smile. He pads across to get a glass of water and sits down next to the dancer, watching the lights of cars flickering beyond the windowpane. 

"You think too much." This is Minhyuk's typical blunt judgement whenever something like this happens - it's completely true and utterly unhelpful, but then that's typical Minhyuk. Taeil nods, sips his water, feels his heart rate beginning to even out.

"I was thinking of how much power all of us have. It's scary, if you really think about it." The other boy tips his head back and gives him a narrow look down the length of his nose. "I mean, if one of us decided to leave. Any of us could do it - tomorrow. Or right now, even. It would ruin everything for everyone else and we could just stand up and go right now."

"Why would you though?"

"I wouldn't." Taeil lets his head fall back to rest on the cupboard door. The shadows in the corners of the room wobble and curve, and he can only really hear the traffic humming far below and Minhyuk breathing steadily beside him. Without his contacts the edges of the room are blurred, and everything wears a shady unreal quality. This sort of half-light is the only place he wants these feelings to be heard, so he can wake up tomorrow and pretend nothing was said, he never had doubts. "I guess I just scared myself thinking about it."

"You think someone else might?" Taeil tries hard not to look at him after this, because their minds will have veered in identical directions and neither wants to admit it. That sort of question is reflexive because of course it wouldn't be Taeil who left - or Minhyuk himself, for that matter. If anyone were to do it, it would be someone who has something outside to follow: not Taeil, not Minhyuk, who support the group with their talents but can never really step outside of it. He's never asked Minhyuk if it bothes him - they both know it's the biggest can of worms that no one should ever open - but they've talked before about what would happen if one of them left. Taeil worries that Jiho will one day want to go back to 'proper' music; Minhyuk sees Kwon's impatience with their lack of free time and privacy. The first question would never have been whether Taeil himself was thinking of leaving.

He recycles his answer from earlier: "Not for a long time yet," and turns his face away again.

"I think I worry about it more when things are going well," Minhyuk says after a long pause. He dips his forefinger into his tea, watching the ripples. "No one wants to leave on a low note, right?"

"We'd be crazy to walk away from this though."

"Well yeah. We all know this is the best we've ever had it."

"And it'll get better, right?"

"I'd like to think so. I'd like to think things will only get better from now, but luck is fickle." They know this from experience. Something could happen tomorrow - something could already have happened and the news could be at that instant hurtling towards them, to plunge them back into another round of dizzy, sickening uncertainty, and everything they've worked for and achieved so far would mean nothing once again.

"If something did happen - if another scandal happened, tomorrow, say. What would you do? Would you stick it out again?"

"Yes," Minhyuk says instantly, and Taeil is jealous of his certainty, annoyed that he's now opened himself up to scrutiny - at least it's not Jihoon or Kyung who would certainly be over-dramatic about it. Still, he blanches when Minhyuk casually drops back, "wouldn't you?"

"Of course," he says quickly, then sighs and stretches his legs out along the floor. "I don't know." For a moment they stay like that, silent, while Minhyuk clearly waits for him to finish his train of thought. "Sometimes I worry. I wonder what I'll do after this and - and I can't really see anything. It's a bit like a trapdoor. I wonder how I'll look back on this part of my life." He tries again, while Minhyuk stays quiet and drinks his tea, to imagine this shadowy and peculier future. Himself alone in a flat - a real home, with pictures on the walls and an oven that shuts properly - with a dog, maybe (he'd like to get married but that's another thing he just can't imagine) and a tank full of fish. A proper job with normal hours that puts a set amount into his bank account every month. Maybe he'd have framed memories of that time when he was young, and he'd look back on his twenty-something face surrounded by these six boys he used to know so well, and smile regretfully at that young man's innocence. He'd see Jihoon every couple of weeks, then less as his own career took off, and Jiho would phone once in a blue moon when he wasn't busy with a hundred new projects. Maybe he'd meet up with Minhyuk for coffee every so often and they'd talk about those times when they sat on the kitchen floor and wondered how it would all end; they'd laugh at themselves for never expecting an ending so natural, and never admit to one another how heart breaking it was to watch it simply fade away like someone who's been sick for far too long.

"Something like this seems like it needs a big ending," Minhyuk says eventually. "It's been such a huge part of our lives that it feels like it should end with a big bang. We'll all go down together, still fighting. But that's not how it began and it's probably not how it will end."

Taeil thinks about this, and about whether it would be better to be the one to cause the big or if he could stand to wait around for everything to fizzle out of its own accord. There's something to be said for quitting while you're ahead, but they still have so much potential, so much further to go. And maybe it won't ever end; maybe they could go from a pop band to musicians on their own terms, and it wouldn't matter when they weren't all young and pretty any more. That's something he wouldn't want to miss.

"When I went for the audition my dad told me that I should wait until I'd gone through university. He said it was crazy not to have a fall back plan."

"Maybe. But do you really want to live your life now for the sake of what's going to happen in twenty years?" Minhyuk laughs with a twist of bitterness in his face. "I won't be able to dance forever, and I don't exactly have a back up plan. Maybe I should have forgotten about dancing and gone to engineering school instead." He stands up, puts his cup in the sink and stretches his arms high over his head. From his seat on the floor, Taeil suddenly can't see his face, and it gives him a strange, spooky feeling, like a ghost has appeared to advise him. "Obviously this isn't going to last forever, but nothing does. That's not a good enough reason to be scared. That's all. Good night." 

He yawns widely, a black hole opening in the middle of his shadow-smeared face, and slopes out back to his bed. Taeil sits there a little while longer, the linoleum increasingly freezing on his backside. He was going to protest that he isn't scared, but of course he is. He's scared that one day he'll turn around and find nobody there and this time they won't be back.

He wanders back to the bedroom and stands in the doorway for a moment, listening to the sounds of sleep. Maybe he's just scared of being the one left behind, and it makes him want to leave first. Maybe he needs to do what the others seem to have managed, and forget that there was ever a time when they weren't constantly performing, promoting, meeting people: nothing has ever threatened them, they are as solid and whole as always. Or maybe he really is the only sceptical one, which says more about him than it does about the situation. Because 'while it lasts' is a good enough reason for now, but will he still think so in that dim unknowable future? Will it be a good enough reason tomorrow, or next month, or the next time they're all stagnating with nowhere to go? 'While it lasts' is open ended, ephemeral. The end of 'while it lasts' sneaks up on you without you knowing, so that you find yourself stuck in the empty dead land of 'what next'. 'While it lasts' means watching something decay and die out and being unable to do anything.

The light from the kitchen is filtering into the room, and Kwon, who is nearest the door, whimpers in his sleep and drags the duvet over his head. Suddenly guilty again, Taeil shuts the door and scrambles back into bed. For a moment the darkness presses in on him and then the world widens out again and the room is once more safe, protected by the slow breathing of his friends. One day they won't be here - one day he won't be here, and none of them will be anywhere, and it will be a new set of people living in these rooms who they'll never meet or know. Of course things change, of course life moves on, of course that's no reason to be scared.

Tomorrow, Taeil decides, he will help Jaehyo with the verse that he still can't quite manage and practise their new choreography for a couple of hours, or at least until he can remember not to cross his feet over when he changes places (Kyung is black and blue from being tripped up). There will be someone there when he looks around him and they'll perform onstage together and he won't think, not tomorrow at least, about the future. Tomorrow, at least, he will enjoy it while it lasts.