Even though he was hiding out in the bedroom (despite there being no one around to hide from), as soon as he heard the front door unlock, he choked on his sobs, trying to swallow them into his tight chest and his coughs nearly strangled him in the process. As fast as he could, he dodged into the en suite bathroom and desperately wiped at his face, yanking up an absurd amount of tissue to blow his burning nose. It was a pathetic attempt at a coverup, but Taekwoon just might buy it if he was tired enough.

"Sik, I'm home." And to his relief, Taekwoon did sound tired.

"A-Ah," he stuttered, but then bit back his cracking voice. He hoped it wasn't noticed and cleared his throat. "I'm in the bathroom right now!"

Just when he thought he was safe, the bathroom door gently pushed open. Dread shredded right through him, and then in a last-ditch attempt to safe face, he ran the sink faucet high and loud to splash bitingly cold water on his puffy face.

"You're home early," Taekwoon commented. The sounds of him getting undressed to shower were muffled by the running water. "Did it go well at the studio?"

Wonsik stiffened, nearly jerking his head into the faucet metal.

The moment he took too long to answer, Taekwoon already knew.

"Are you okay?"

If he turned around, Wonsik knew he wouldn't be able to keep himself together. It wasn't like he hadn't been scolded before, but lately everything had been feeling like such . His brain was cluttered with worthlessness and he felt out of steam; useless. Nothing he wrote or made was enough to satisfy the producers, or himself. His melting point had to come eventually, he just wished it hadn't happened around Taekwoon.

Sobs broke through the damaged dam of Wonsik's will as he dropped his head forward. Clenching his eyes closed, remorse and self-loathing flooded him for being so weak.

The outburst startled Taekwoon, but only because of how sudden and loud it was. As his heart cracked at the sound, he recalled that he knew this was coming for weeks now; Wonsik had been more quiet—far too quiet—and in his own head lately, staying at the studio for even longer nights and hardly sleeping more than a few hours at a time. He barely ate or rested, and all these clues showed Taekwoon his stress.

A nail of regret drove deeper into his cracked heart because he'd seen this coming; he saw the signs and yet had done nothing. Why did he just assume Wonsik would be fine? Because both of them were busy? Hardly had time to see each other? Needed personal space every now and then? He hated himself.

Slow and careful, Taekwoon approached Wonsik, whose fiery red hair curtained his face as he shook and clutched onto the edges of the sink for dear life, skin stretched deathly across his knuckles.

Wonsik tensed when a hand slid onto his arm, but if he let go of the sink, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep it together even less than what he was now.

But Taekwoon was patient, long fingers wrapping gently around his forearm while his other hand worked at peeling his grip off of the sink. He did the same to the other arm, and then all to easily pulled Wonsik, who felt kilograms too light, into his chest.

Without anymore strength to hold himself together, Wonsik collapsed into Taekwoon, wails ripping from his throat, feeling like he'd been dropped into the tallest empty bottle in the world with no way out. His arms wrapped around Taekwoon's waist with a vice-like grip while his hands curled into the fabric of his shirt; he held on tight, desperately, like he would tumble into chaos if he loosened up even a little.

Taekwoon's own arms slid securely around Wonsik and he ran his hands soothingly up and down his back. Millions of words flooded his brain, millions of things to say to comfort him, the love of his life, drowning in sorrow in his arms; about how talented he was, how kind he was, how intelligent and inspiring and what a gift he was to the lives of everyone he knew—

None of that was what Wonsik needed though. None of those words would help.

So Taekwoon held Wonsik as they sank to the tiled bathroom floor, wrapped around him like a thick shell from the world, and he murmured, "It's alright. It's okay. I'm here. You're okay."

Somewhere along the way, Wonsik had faded into those words, grabbing hold of the rope that dropped into the dismal bottle he was trapped in and letting himself be pulled to safety.

originally, i was going to write taekwoon having an emotional breakdown and wonsik comforting him, but i feel like supportive, strong taekwoon isn't given enough credit in vixx fics. by the way, the R.EAL1ZE album? some hot 10/10 i recommend please support Ravi's solo debut!