Work Text:
The hallway is quiet this time of night.
Yellow lights hum just beyond the door, painting streaks of light across the floor from under the door.
He sits with his back against the corner of the laundry room. The door shut, lights off, his fingers curled loosely around his phone. He hasn’t moved in fifteen minutes, save to refresh the group chat.
It pings, bright against the darkness. The screen glows like a cigarette hovering too close to skin.
B:
Can’t find Jin-u. Where’s he at?
He types a response quickly. Doesn’t look too closely at how much his hands shake.
R:
Hospital. Again. Saw the van pull out the driveway twenty minutes ago.
M:
what for? I thought he was done with the swabs?
A:
It’s an STI screening. That’s what Bobby said.
Almost positive he doesn’t have anything, but they have to be through. I’m waiting outside. Didn’t want me to be in there. I get it.
R:
Fuck.
Well, at least you’re with him.
A:
Bobby is too. Honest to God that man’s not human. The freak’s actually running to grab Jinu and myself water and snacks once we’re done here.
M:
that man’s not a manager, he’s a fucking saint
B:
Agreed.
R:
Jin-u didn’t say anything when he left?
A:
No. Just handed me his hoodie and got in the van.
Didn’t even put his shoes on properly.
M:
jesus.
B:
tell him we’re here, okay? even if we’re not… there.
A:
will do.
M:
i hate that this had to happen for people to finally look at us
this is bullshit
B:
It’s all fucked.
But we’re out now.
And I don’t have to see another fucking bloody towel in the bathroom again.
So yeah.
It’s bad.
But it could be worse.
And
now I’m crying again
fuck
His phone is too hot between his fingers. His vision blurs.
M:
my door’s open.
B:
thanks see you in a sec
His fingers hesitate, then he rushes out the words and slams his thumb down on send.
R:
Is that door open for me as well?
M:
yes. please.
R:
OMW
He wipes his eyes and scrambles out the door, back into the light and the hum.
He’s still not used to these hallways, still not used to the idea of individual rooms, or doors with locks on the inside.
He knocks anyway, when he arrives. A tap of his knuckle against the doorknob.
The distinct sound of a fist against a door makes him ill. This is the best he can do without causing any issues. He’s positive he’s not the only one.
They get doors now. That they can use. He’s not going to start barging in unannounced.
His phone buzzes, he pulls it out.
M:
youre good.
He opens it slowly. the doorknob creaks under his shaking grip.
Mystery’s lying on the bed, phone in one hand, his other braced behind his neck. Baby’s sitting on the floor at the base of the bed, an arm over his eyes, knees drawn up to his chin.
No, not Mystery. Not Baby.
Han Ji-hwan. Choi Hae-min.
Their real names sound unfamiliar in his head, like the first time he stepped in front of a stylist. Before they became famous.
He keeps forgetting they have names.
They all do.
Ji-hwan lifts his phone in a small wave. Says nothing.
“Bad night?” He whispers.
“No fucking kidding,” Hae-min chuckles back, voice strained. “I did the fucking headcount and lost my shit when we came up short.”
Ji-hwan’s eyes shift down to Hae-min, and then his fingers glide over his phone. Hae-min’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he fishes it out. Squints at the text.
“Yeah I know. Bobby hasn’t tried shit yet, and Ab—Min-woo, sorry— is with him, so it’s fine. But I can’t sleep if I don’t do it.”
He sits on the floor. “Well, you don’t sleep if there’s someone missing, anyways.”
Hae-min does laugh this time. A short burst of raw air, dragging up his throat.
“Yeah. I wonder why.”
Another buzz. Hae-min glances at his phone screen just before it goes dark. Smirks. A real smile now, not the angry, forced one he wears on stage. Or when he’s spiraling.
A text war begins, and he finally allows himself a moment to close his eyes, flopping back-first onto the floor.
He hears the pillow sail towards him a second before he blocks it from hitting his face with his arms.
Eyes still closed, he hugs the pillow, still lying on the floor, not quite surrounded, not quite cramped.
But, being cramped in the dorm feels a bit worse in his mind than this, even without all of them here. This moment feels… lighter.
Because Jinu’s coming back, and he won’t be limping this time.
That’s the biggest difference.
✦ ✦ ✦
He jolts awake to the sound of a knock.
Not a fist against the door. Not the wood itself rattling in the frame from the impact. Just a tap, the pad of a finger against the wood.
And a few minutes later, the chime of a phone. A custom ringtone: The chorus of Golden.
Confirmation of who it is, and permission.
The doorknob creaks as it turns, and Bobby stands in the frame.
Not taking up the full space, just the side, lifting up two plastic bags filled with drinks and individually wrapped snacks.
“They’re almost here,” he says softly.
Relief swells in his chest, but it doesn’t ease the tremors in his hands. Not until he sees him walking for himself.
Tentatively, Hae-min stands and crosses the room, he freezes for a moment when Bobby holds out one of the bags towards him, but regains his footing and starts digging through the bag.
“You can take the whole thing, if you want.” Bobby adds over the sound of crinkling plastic.
Hae-min just pulls back with a bottle of water and a packet of crackers, tossing the packet over to Ji-hwan.
He stands up next, pushing the pillow aside and reaching for the bags.
“Thank you, Seong-hyeok.” Bobby smiles, passing the bags over.
His brain practically sputters at the sound of his own name. The bags are heavy, the straps digging slightly into his palms. He doesn’t mind.
“Sorry it took so long. The paperwork was a mess.” Bobby’s voice is calm, but he’s rubbing the bridge of his nose. “He’s okay. Not in pain. Just... wiped.”
The door creaks open a bit wider.
Bobby doesn’t turn. He just steps aside, instinctively giving space.
Min-woo enters first, shoulders tense, face unreadable except for the edges. Jaw tight, eyes flicking over each of them like he’s doing his own private headcount. He doesn’t say anything, but the expression he wears is loud. Be gentle.
Jinu follows.
He’s slower, but walking on his own. No limp. No flinch in his step. He’s practically buried in the hoodie he’s wearing.
Bobby glances between them, and waves.
“Have a good one, boys. I’ve got some schedules for the girls to make. Do not hesitate to call me for anything, rain or shine.”
The chime sounds in Bobby’s pocket. He pulls out his phone, glances, and smiles.
“You’re welcome.”
And he’s gone.
They all pause, listening to his footsteps as Bobby speed walks down the hall.
They don’t move until they fade away. No abrupt pause. No double back.
Only then does Jinu collapse on the bed.
The rest of them take places on the floor, pulling together their blankets and pillows from their individual rooms.
Eventually, the floor is covered, and they fall into the habit with ease.
Just lying on the floor, like they used to, in that cramped dorm. The bunks, full of their costumes and clothing and almost never slept on. Arms and legs sprawled on top of each other, their hearts beating under their fingers. The bags of snacks and drinks, hidden in the middle of the sheets.
They all used to sleep like this. On bad nights. Not because it was comfortable, but because it was safer. Arms entangled, someone always awake enough to whisper-shout “He’s here” before the door slammed open.