In the future, Seunghyun hopes he’ll be able to look back on this moment and laugh at himself.

He hopes he’ll be better, healthy enough that his actions as of late could be considered a joke. Because right now, in all honesty, laughter and its affiliated emotions are the furthest things from his mind. Right now he’s busy wiping his sweaty palms on his trembling thighs, flicking his bangs out of his eyes like it’s a nervous tick, reaching up and scratching a spot behind his ear that doesn’t itch.

Stalling.

Ignoring the grease-spotted paper sack on the table in front of him.

A bead of perspiration tracks its way down his back from the short hair at his nape, sliding over and around protrusions of bone that should not be visible.

His eyes are wide and glued to the bag, cataloguing the number of stains, their placement. One particularly large one looks like a fire hydrant. Another looks like Gaho.

His fingers hook into claws as he reaches for the top of the sack, pulling back in and tucking his nails towards his palms. Even his subconscious is revolted, he’s disappointed to note. As he opens the top, the little aluminum staple holding it closed stays fast, causing the brown paper around it to rip in jagged faults. The sound is obscenely loud in the empty dorm, and Seunghyun has to flex the muscles in his shoulders convulsively to keep from flinching.

He refuses to allow himself that much weakness.

The bag now open, he pauses to in a sharp breath between clenched teeth. Then he turns the bag over and watches as the contents tumble out.

A handful of ketchup packets skid over to the edge, one falling onto the floor with an impressively wet sounding slap. A couple napkins flutter onto the tabletop and land sprawled over its surface. A single mint, red and white and green stripes spiraling out from the center, clatters out. The largest object, something firm and soft and wrapped in patterned wax-coated foil, lands with a thud so final Seunghyun almost looses a hysterical burble of laughter.

He sits still for a moment, listening to fan blades whirring softly and car horns distantly honking and his own heart thud in his ears.

Then he reaches forward, grabs a napkin, and folds it neatly on his lap. He takes the others and stuffs them into the holder in the center of the table. He bends at the waist to retrieve that fallen ketchup packet and proceeds to gather the others into a neat pile. He opens the burger wrapper.

Steadfastly ignoring the burger itself, he grabs the first ketchup tube and rips the corner open. Red paste oozes out onto his thumbnail, and he unconsciously brings it to his lips, it clean. It’s acidic, more so than he remembers it to be, and it burns on his tongue. He rubs it against the roof of his mouth to erase the sting, feeling his eyes start to water inexplicably. He ignores it for the sake of preserving his already bruised pride.

He takes the packet in his hand and empties it onto a corner of the burger wrapper. It falls in clumps and splashes, watery in some places and thick like goop in others. Swallowing hard to moisten his startlingly dry throat, he repeats the process until an entire section on the wrapper is dominated by a huge half-pile-half-puddle of artificially red tomato paste. He gathers the empty packets in his hand and throws them back into the bag.

His eyes go to the burger sitting in the center of the paper.

They go to the bright orange cheese slice visible only where it drools down to a congealed mass on the foil. They go to the patty, thick and glistening with fat and oil and looking like compacted sludge. He takes in the pickles peeking out from under the meat, green rind smeared with stains of mustard and ketchup and mayonnaise. The purple skin of the onion slices complete the drab rainbow from where they sit on top of the garish cheddar square.

Tiny sesame seeds dot the top bun, and Seunghyun deems them a safe enough place to start.

He pries one off and pops it into his mouth. He grinds it between his front teeth for a lot longer than necessary before he swallows it.

He heaves a shaky breath out of his shuddering lungs. His stomach rolls and tumbles in anticipation, but the familiar sensation of rising bile never comes. He can’t even feel what he just swallowed weighing heavily in his belly, didn’t feel it scrape down his esophagus like he’d tried to swallow a handful of sand.

Seunghyun feels a wave of relief crash over him like a typhoon.

The bright light of his meager accomplishment dims when he looks back at the wrapper in front of him.

He’s not ready to take a whole bite yet, definitely not. He settles on pulling a pickle slice out from underneath the patty with the very tips of his fingers. The fluorescent lights above him highlight the red and yellow painting it unnaturally bright.

He doesn’t allow himself a moment to hesitate, to dwell on what he’s doing, and he nearly startles himself with how quickly he shoves it into his mouth. His eyes screw shut when he registers the sharp taste of the mustard, never really one of his favorite flavors to begin with. He on the rubbery slice until it’s clean of the condiments, and chews. He chews so hard that his teeth squeak as they grind together. He reduces it to a pulpy mass in no time, but he’s yet to complete the hardest part.

Swallowing it.

With eyes shut tight and hands fisted, he accomplishes the task.

He ignores the feeling of the lump travelling downward, ignores the shiver he feels when it drops into his shriveled stomach. He ignores the sweat beading on his forehead and the ache in his tense shoulders and the way his toes are curled in revulsion to focus on the fact that he just ate something. Something bigger than a few raisins and oat grains from a box of granola. Something with more substance too it that a few mouthfuls of water.

God, he’s a mess.

With a quick shake of his head, Seunghyun unfurls his fingers to pick up the burger. It seems too light in his hands. He feels like it should be so much heavier, like the stone that it’ll feel like when it hits his stomach.

He’s being pedantic, he realizes. Stalling again.

He brings the food to his lips.

He tries to make it quick, painless, but his body has other ideas. The second his teeth sink into the cold bun and cleave through the gummy cheese, his jaw locks. The bread gets soggy and starts to separate on his tongue, saliva breaking it down to its base. The tears return to his eyes as he struggles to break from this frozen state, struggles to just close his teeth and get this over with.

When he succeeds, he nearly wishes he hadn’t tried so hard.

As he chews, he knows he’s doing it too aggressively. He knows he probably looks ridiculous right now, sitting alone in the kitchen, grinding his teeth so harshly his jaw aches with it. But God, this is hard.

The food is nearly tasteless to him, the flavors reduced to the harsh tang of ketchup and the crunchy spice of the onion. He feels like his mouth has been painted with oil and slime, he feels like this one bite has undone all of the work he’d put into his new, thin, unnaturally gaunt self. He feels every single calorie from where it sits on his tongue and clings to the spaces between his teeth.

Perspiration rolls down his temple, a tremor starts in his left leg, and he swallows his mouthful.

He feels every centimeter of its decent, feels the thick trail of grease it leaves behind as it slides down his throat. It settles in his belly like he knew it would, heavy and huge and filling him up like he’d swallowed a brick. Saliva floods his mouth, bile starts its ascent, but Seunghyun shuts that down fast.

He swallows repeatedly, getting rid of the oil staining his teeth as he fights tooth and nail to keep from undoing all of his hard work.

He wins.

He opens his eyes to see that his hands have tightened around the burger, mashing it in places. Swirls of ketchup and mustard drip onto the wrapper, and one of the onion pieces has slipped down until the only thing holding it up is Seunghyun’s thumb.

He drops the burger like it burns him, and it splats into the puddle of ketchup that has slowly been oozing outward until it nearly covers the entirety of the foil. Red splatters onto the napkin that Seunghyun had carefully laid in his lap, and he spares a moment to congratulate himself on his excellent foresight.

His eyes drift to the clock on the oven timer. He has twenty minutes until Daesung and Youngbae get home, and an hour before Seungri should get in. Jiyong won’t be home until tomorrow, busy enough at the studio that he’d broken out the overnight cot.

Seunghyun needs to clean up.

He pushes the rolling of his stomach to the back of his mind as he wipes his shaking hands on a few of the napkins. He gathers the corners of the sodden burger wrapper up and quickly deposits it back in the paper sack. He stands up, feeling much heavier than he should. It’s stupid, and he knows it’s stupid, but he can’t help it. He’s really dug himself deep this time.

He tosses the sack in the trash can under the sink before washing his hands of the cold, slick grease that the logical side of him knows isn’t really there. He puts the mint in Seungri’s ‘secret’ candy jar and makes his way back to his room.

It’s dark and cool and quiet, and Seunghyun can feel his heartbeat slow drastically from its previous fast pace. He trades his jeans out for a pair of Daesung’s sleep pants before he crawls into his own bed. While it is noticeably cooler in his room, it’s humid enough that Seunghyun doesn’t worm underneath the covers. He settles on his side, facing the wall and clutching one of his many body pillows to his chest.

He feels slightly sick, like he’s come down with a cold, but he knows that’s not it. He knows it’s just his body adjusting to the filth he’d just forced on it. Swallowing preemptively, Seunghyun waits for his support system to arrive.

>>> 

Seunghyun is seconds from dosing off when his door finally opens.

Though his heartbeat skyrockets again, this time in excitement, he stays facing the wall and waits for Daesung and Youngbae to join him.

Like always, Daesung settles down behind him, fitting his body around the curve of his hyungs’. Daesung has a bit of an obsession with being the big spoon, and Seunghyun, being the big touch-starved baby that he is, is always happy to indulge him.

Hot breath skitters across the back of his neck as a strong arm comes up to loop around his waist. Daesung’s blunt fingers gather a handful of the material of Seunghyun’s shirt, moving it up so that he can lay his scorching palm on the concave of Seunghyun’s belly. The action used to make Seunghyun incredibly uncomfortable, red-faced and squirmy and so damn insecure it made his skin crawl. But now he was able to recognize it for what it actually was; Daesung’s way of simultaneously proving his unwavering affection for him and calming Seunghyun’s nerves by way of physical contact.

Daesung has always been the most tactile.

Youngbae crawls in to lie on his side facing Seunghyun. His eyes disappear in the happy smile that broadens his lips as he settles himself, his leg going up to hook around both Seunghyun and Daesung’s hips, his left hand coming up to lie flat on the curve of Seunghyun’s throat. He was the first to realize Seunghyun’s little problem wasn’t so little anymore, and was in turn the first to do something about it. Seunghyun remembers the first time he’d walked in on Youngbae praying for him in the darkness of his bedroom, his head bowed and his voice wobbling and thick around the pearlescent tears sliding down his face.

Blinking some of his own away, Seunghyun refocuses on the present when Daesung’s lips press gently against the topmost knob of his spine, the one that shouldn’t be visible in the dim lighting.

“How did it go?” Youngbae whispers.

“Better than last time,” Seunghyun’s voice is just as quiet.

Youngbae’s smile becomes softer, more tender, and Seunghyun can’t help but feel a little proud of himself for putting it on his face. The smile Daesung is sporting is wide enough that Seunghyun can feel the solid press of teeth against his skin.

“Good,” Daesung mutters the word into directly into Seunghyun’s ear, sending a surprised shiver traveling down the length of his spine.

Seunghyun can’t help but agree.

Last time had ended in Seunghyun sitting on the frigid tile of the bathroom floor, emptying his stomach of the two bites he’d manage to choke down of a cheap bean paste bun he’d bought in a moment of courage(read: stupidity) over a month ago. Seungri and Youngbae had found him a little after two in the morning, shivering and tear-sodden and emotionally flat-lining. It had taken a good week to get him back to his normal self, and Jiyong had almost posted a ban on leaving Seunghyun home alone.

In fewer words, it was bad.

Just thinking back on it makes Seunghyun shudder a bit, and just like always, Daesung and Youngbae seem to know exactly what he’s thinking. Daesung tightens his arm around him, his fingers widening to cover more of Seunghyun’s skin. Youngbae inches forward until his lips press softly against Seunghyun’s forehead, an act so intimate it used to make Seunghyun shy away, red-faced. Now he just closes his eyes and revels in his contentment.

>>> 

Seungri arrives as he always does, louder than necessary and without any self-consciousness.

He opens the door without muffling the noise of the old knob turning, and doesn’t try to stop it from hitting the opposite wall. All three men can hear the sound of the maknae removing both his pants and his shirt around their collective sighs of affectionate rebuke, and Seunghyun can’t help but smile.

Seungri clambers onto the bed with all the grace of a drunken teenager in his mission to sprawl over all of them. Daesung grunts in annoyance, probably having been kneed in the back. Seunghyun waits a very short amount of time for Seungri to complete this familiar ritual. A solid weight settles onto Seunghyun’s side, and Seungri’s grinning face finally comes into view. He’s draped himself over both Daesung and Seunghyun, wearing only the boxers he wears to bed on Saturdays, the one’s with the ducklings.

Youngbae shoots him a look that’s half exasperation, half fondness as he reaches out to flick Seungri in the forehead. Seungri doesn’t even react, just grins wider and ‘accidentally’ elbows Youngbae in the stomach as he scrambles closer to Seunghyun.

“How are we today, hyung?” Seungri’s voice is chipper, and he makes no attempt to lower his voice.

“Pretty okay,” Seunghyun replies.

Seungri grins and strains to press a sloppy open-mouth kiss on Seunghyun’s lips. Its Seungri’s way of saying ‘I’m glad’, Seunghyun now knows. It had taken a while for him to figure that particular piece of information out.

Youngbae snorts and slings his arm around Seungri’s shoulders, yanking him back to mutter half-hearted admonitions in his ear. Daesung snickers into Seunghyun’s neck, the tip of his nose brushing cool against his nape.

This is what Seungri is best at. Lightening the mood, keeping the atmosphere from becoming too somber. He doesn’t pull punches, either. He doesn’t whisper or tremble or hesitate when speaking to Seunghyun, doesn’t treat him like glass. Seunghyun appreciates that more than he’ll ever be able to say.

A whisper from Youngbae has Seungri flipping around to tactlessly cram his hand down the back of his hyung’s pants.

“Yah!” Youngbae slaps at Seungri’s ears and yanks at the maknae’s curious hand. “It’s in my pocket, I said!”

Seungri merely smirks and shoots a greasy wink at Seunghyun before doing what he was told. Youngbae’s cellphone was what he was after, and his face is briefly illuminated in a ghostly blue as he types something in. Seunghyun has an idea as to what he was doing, and his suspicions are confirmed when Seungri shows him the small digital screen.

Calling: Jiyong.

Seungri sits the phone down on the side of Seunghyun’s face and leaves it there, resuming his impromptu wrestling match with Youngbae. Seunghyun reaches up to pick up the phone, but Daesung beats him too it. Before Seunghyun can admonish him for treating his hyung like a baby, Jiyong picks up.

“Hello?”

He sounds sleepy, voice thick and congested like he was just woken up. Stealing a glance at the time flashing in the corner of the screen, Seunghyun can’t help but think that that’s not too far of a stretch.

“It’s Seunghyun. Sorry for waking you up, it’s maknae’s fault.”

Seungri yelps in indignation from where he’s been slipped into a headlock by a grinning Youngbae.

“Oh.” Jiyong sounds one hundred percent awake now. “It’s okay. Is anything wrong?”

“No, no, I just-” Seunghyun doesn’t exactly know how to word what he’s trying to say right now. Fortunately Daesung always knows just how to assuage their leader’s worries. He takes the phone and settles it against his own ear.

“Everything’s fine here, hyung. Seunghyun made progress today, that’s why we’re calling.”

Daesung settles the phone against Seunghyun’s cheek in time to hear Jiyong’s reply.

“Really? That’s fantastic!”

Seunghyun feels himself flush at the praise.

“Thank you,” He says simply.

Jiyong just breathes into the phone for a few beats. Seunghyun can imagine him right now, messy-haired and puffy-eyed, sleep rumpled from where he’ll be propped up against the arm of the recording studio’s small leather couch.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.” Jiyong sounds reproachful.

Seunghyun rolls his eyes, hopefully loud enough for Jiyong to hear on the other side of the line.

“This is enough, Jiyong.” Seunghyun knows Jiyong, better than the leader thinks. He knows Jiyong tries his hardest to be there for every one of them, no matter how it affects him. Seunghyun has stumbled home at all hours in the morning to find Jiyong and another member sitting on the couch, working something out. More often than not, it’s Seunghyun sitting on the cushy love seat, his head in Jiyong’s lap and his heart bared for Jiyong to pick apart.

“You always say that.” There’s a hint of laughter in Jiyong’s voice, and Seunghyun knows that this is just his way of keeping the conversation from getting too heavy. Jiyong is good at that, and Seunghyun gladly acquiesces.

“I’ll let you get back to sleep. Good night, Jiyong.”

There’s something grateful in Jiyong’s voice when he replies, no matter how hard he tries to cover it up.

“All right. I’m proud of you Seunghyun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jiyong hangs up.

The blush darkens on Seunghyun’s cheeks as he goes to hand to phone back to Youngbae. Daesung replaces his hand on Seunghyun’s stomach. Seunghyun freezes when Daesung’s wrist bumps up against the sickly protrusion of one of his hip bones, but Daesung doesn’t react, so Seunghyun relaxes again.

“We should get to sleep now.” Youngbae murmurs over the top of Seungri’s hand, ever the responsible one. Seungri starts to whine something about not being tired yet, but a hard pinch from Daesung shuts him up.

 Pitiful frown stuck firmly on his face, Seungri flips over until he’s centimeters away from Seunghyun’s nose.

“Do you see how these hyungs treat me? Isn’t it sad, hyung?”

Seunghyun grins at Seungri’s weak attempt at gaining favor and hooks an arm around his neck, pulling him in until his head is nestled up against Seunghyun’s chest.

“Sleep now, maknae. Roughhousing can wait until morning.”

Without complaint, Seungri curls into Seunghyun’s front. Daesung reaches behind him to grab one of the spare throw blankets from the basket against the wall and throws it over the four of them. It’s patterned with little grinning Doraemon figures, and it smells like Daesung’s mother’s perfume and the flowers she grows in the hanging garden on their back porch.

Youngbae grabs his corner and scoots in until he’s wrapped around Seungri, pulling until the blanket covers his back. He leans in and places another peck on Seunghyun’s forehead, and then two more on each of his eyelids.

That night Seunghyun falls asleep with a smile on his face, and a feeling in his heart he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

Hope.

A/N: My first BIGBANG fanfic! Exciting stuff. Sorry for Jiyong not actually being present, but I just couldn't figure out where to squish him into the doggy pile:/ Please comment with concerns, complaints or questions!