Work Text:
Seventeen always claim they are like a family. Growing up during their trainee days together, they know each other inside out- even if sometimes they would have preferred not to. They know when to push each other's tempers and when to withdraw from the teasing. When someone needs a hug, even if they can’t or won’t ask for it. When a member needs to be left alone, and when they shouldn’t be.
All to say, what makes Seventeen a family is their understanding of each other. That way, they can open up about the issues they're facing, the things that upset and anger them. And when they do? Well, there’s twelve people ready to guide them, to help or calm them down. But they know to step in when someone’s struggling in silence. The stoney face that can’t hide desperate eyes. Even with the insistence- ‘no I don’t need your help!’, ‘I’m fine, really’, ‘I just need to be left alone, I’m dealing with it, I promise’.
They know all this about each other. They will do anything for each other. Go to the moon and back to help without being asked.
Why then, are they still letting Jeonghan do this?
When Seventeen were trainees, competition was a plague tormenting the group. From dance practices, to singing lessons, to meetings, evaluations, even in their dorms- everything was a competition and you had to be the best.
Jeonghan knew he wasn’t the best dancer- in fact he could admit he was probably one of the worst. It’s what their dance teacher kept telling him over and over again,
“Jeonghan! You’ve done it wrong again! How many times until you can do it right? I’m losing my patience here!”
It was a familiar sound to pound around the walls, suffocating the members panting as they stood around and stared at him. He watched them too. Keeping his eyes carefully averted from their teacher, he saw the members taunting him- ‘you got it wrong, I didn’t’- their looks celebrated. He watched them quickly masking a smile as they gloated their new victory.
It was the same during their vocal lessons. He had never thought about being a singer but now that he was on the cusp of debuting, it was all he could think about. It was a shame then, he wasn’t the best at that either.
His lessons were always twice as long and, he was told, far less advanced than the other vocalists.
“Don’t worry about it too much though Jeonghan. There’s twelve other members anyway, chances are you may only have to do a word or two. And when you’re performing, no one will notice if your microphone is a bit quieter!”
Even after all the years, he still isn’t sure if this was supposed to be comforting.
But it never stopped at that. Nothing ever stopped when they were trainees.
They had meetings where he was berated in front of the others, for not being good enough, not trying hard enough, not staying up all night practising, although he didn’t even know the others were doing that. And with every complaint thrown against him, the others swelled, feeding on his disappointment and failures like wild animals. After all, the only thing it meant was that they were better than him.
Better at most things, except one.
There was one thing that Jeonghan feasted on every day, Devouring the members' jealousy and bitterness. Savouring the power he felt. Because even if wasn’t the best dancer, or singer, or trainee- at least he was the thinnest.
They always ate together when they were trainees, not being able to afford separate meals and having the same schedules. It was during one of these meals it was brought up for the first time.
“Do you want any more, Jeonghan?” Seungkwan asked, pointing towards the bowls of food.
He shook his head, taking another drink of water instead. There was a momentary pause in the flow and he could feel eyes piercing into him.
“Woah, you should never say no to food you know!” Hoshi laughed. And it was true, they rarely had the money to buy enough food, never enough for the amount of work they did.
The room was still. He watched some of the younger members analysing their own plates,
“It’s okay, someone else can have it. I’ve had my share already I think.”
He hadn’t had his share. Jeonghan never does, he knew this and so did everyone else. They never mention it though…
“You haven’t.” Woozi’s eyes blazed into him, “You always say that but you never do.”
Well, usually they never say that.
“It’s okay, really I promise. I’m never that hungry so I don’t need as much food, you know?”
The conversation never usually went that far, he could feel his heart rate picking up as they trailed further off script. If he had to keep making up excuses on the spot, eventually he knew he would fail.
“I think we should talk about something else now,” someone said.
And so, they did.
Once they debuted, the competitive force dwindled between them. They were one now, it was their responsibility to help each other, to make each other better to compete against all the others groups.
So, the performance team always stayed later with Jeonghan, as he worked through their choreography. Woozi coached him through lines of songs and uplifted him in the recording booth. He might still not be the best but it didn’t seem to matter so much now. They grew as a band, surpassing everyone’s expectations of them. Topping charts, winning awards, selling out albums and stadiums. They went on tours now. Trading door rooms for hotel suites and the practice room for stages.
That’s when the problems really started.
Because, before Jeonghan had never really starved himself. Despite what you might think. He always ate, every day. He had too, there was never a moment alone, if he had stopped completely it would draw too much attention. He knew what happened then. Interventions, doctors appointments, supplements and meal plans and constant weigh ins. He did not want that.
On tour, though, he felt himself slip. They performed late, woke late, filled in the gaps between concerts with vlogs and practice. They were too busy or too tired to notice each other and so Jeonghan let the rope slide from his hands a little bit more.
If they noticed him shutting himself in hotel rooms as quickly as he could, ignoring invitations to eat out or get takeaways, the members never stopped him. If they saw him pretending to sleep backstage, conveniently during lunch, they never said.
“Jeonghan,” Joshua was shaking him lightly where he was resting on the sofa, “You need to wake up.”
“Is it the concert now?”
“No but we’re having lunch. We won’t have another chance to eat so you need to get some now.”
“I ate at the hotel earlier-”
“No you didn’t,” he was interrupted, “ You didn’t come down for breakfast, we know you didn’t.”
“I have snacks in my suitcase.”
Joshua huffed, “well you still need something proper. Just come and get something, anything, okay?”
“I’m really not hungry Shua, I’d rather just sleep okay, leave me alone now.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling Joshua move away from the sofa.
“He said he won’t come,” he mumbled to someone by the door.
If Jeonghan noticed the frustrated sigh they gave in reply, then he ignored it.
They were messing about in a hotel room. Members filtering in and out as they celebrated the final concert of the tour with drinks. He was sure that at least Mingyu and Chan were already drunk when he entered the room, if their rap battle was anything to go by.
“Jeonghan!” Someone yelled as he entered into the chaos.
The chattering and laughter continued as he settled in beside Wonwoo and Vernon, always the calmer members in moments like this.
“Are you ok?” Wonwoo asked.
“Of course, why wouldn’t I be? I’m happy it’s the last one. Not because it’s the last one, just that we’ve done good.”
“You look pale.”
“I’m always pale,” he laughed dismissively. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted right now.
Minghao made his way over to the small group and Jeonghan privately thanked him for the distraction.
“Hi, Jeonghan! Do you want a drink?”
“I don’t want alcohol,” he glanced over to the rap battle that had expanded to Dokyeom and Seungkwan now, “do we have anything else?”
“I think there’s some diet coke, I’ll get you one,” Vernon moved to get up, “You will drink that right?”
“Of course I will!”
“Sorry, I just wasn’t sure.”
Minghao slid into the spare seat and Jeonghan couldn’t help but notice his wrists when he placed his own drink on the table in front of them. His look perhaps lingering too long.
“Stop doing that.”
He was surprised at Wonwoo’s tone. Recently he felt the members had been cushioning their words around him, moulding their intent into passive comments and reassuring gestures.
It might have been a joke but Wonwoo was angry.
“Sorry,” was all he managed, averting his gaze to the floor.
“I’m sick of you doing that-”
“Wonwoo don’t,” Minghao sighed.
“No, he really needs to stop doing that. You know, Jeonghan, we all see you doing it. The way you look at our bodies, it makes us uncomfortable. So stop alright.”
Now, it was his turn to feel uncomfortable. The quiet harshness of Wonwoo’s voice stabbing at him harder than screaming and yelling could ever.
Their corner of the room waited in silence, listening to the cheering and yelling from only a few metres away, until Vernon returned.
“Here’s the drink.”
“Thanks.”
But he didn’t reach to take it, letting it sit on the table.
He was full now anyway.