Chapter Text
A lot has been going on lately. Their schedules are jam-packed, leaving none of them with enough time to rest. They stumble home in the early hours of the morning and wake up as the sun rises. Some of them are fortunate enough to sneak in a nap or two during the day.
3RACHA is undoubtedly taking it the hardest. They often stay overnight in the studio, and the others trust that they get at least a little sleep on the couch or floor rather than work constantly.
Seungmin is a people-pleaser. He likes making people happy, impacting their lives, helping them. When they are busy like this, he likes to check in on everyone to ensure that they are eating, drinking water, and not getting lost in their heads.
Although he falls asleep around midnight tonight, he wakes up at four. He usually gets five or less hours of sleep these days, so he just rubs his eyes and gets out of bed. He peeks into his dormmates’ bedrooms and sees them all fast asleep. They don’t have to leave for three more hours, so he lets them be and goes to the kitchen to make himself some coffee.
As he waits in front of the coffee machine, he lets his mind wander. Because 3RACHA live in the other dorm, he doesn’t know if they came home last night. One way to find out would be to venture to their dorm and into their bedrooms, or he could just go to the company. He doesn’t want to go right now, seeing as he is the only one awake, but he knows that his hyungs would lie about their health just to reassure him. The only way for him to find out is to catch them in the act.
When his coffee is ready, he grabs it, slides on his shoes, and slips out of the dorm, his phone stuffed in his pocket. He takes his time, just trying to keep his eyes open while he waits for the caffeine kick in.
He enters the other dorm quietly, meeting silence. If anyone is awake, they’re still in their bedroom. He creeps into the hallway and checks on Hyunjin first, who is fast asleep in bed. Then he checks Jisung’s room. It’s empty, and so are Chan’s and Changbin’s.
Sighing, Seungmin plops down on the couch and pulls out his phone, calling Chan. The eldest answers after five rings.
“What do you want?” he asks, his voice flat, as if he were talking to an annoying telemarketer. Seungmin feels uneasy.
“Are you at the studio?”
“Yes.”
Seungmin tenses. This isn’t good. Chan is always kind to them, he never, ever treats them with disrespect, but Seungmin feels a little disrespected right now.
“Have you rested?” he asks anyway, needing to know.
Chan sighs. “We’re fine, Seungmin. Just go back to sleep.”
“Hyung, I–I’m just trying to help—”
“We don’t need help. It’s our job to take care of ourselves, not yours. We have work to do. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Chan hangs up. Seungmin knows that he’s just stressed, but it still hurts to be on the receiving end of the leader’s sour attitude. Chan knows that Seungmin likes to check in on them, and he has never told him not to. Seungmin wants to help, and he didn’t think Chan minded. Maybe he does.
Based on Chan’s tone, however, Seungmin knows that he hasn’t slept in at least ten hours, and because Chan was speaking at a normal volume, he doubts that Changbin or Jisung slept either. There is a very high chance that they haven’t eaten in twenty hours.
They need food, and there is a lot of time left before Seungmin will be at the company. That just means that he needs to make a quick morning-errand run.
He goes back to his dorm and opens the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs. It won’t take long to make scrambled eggs for the three of them, and they have a microwave in the studio, so he doesn’t have to worry about them going cold. He knows that Jisung will eat it no matter what, but Chan and Changbin prefer their eggs to be warm. Seungmin thinks that Jisung is a little crazy.
He cracks six eggs into the pan, figuring that if they aren’t starving, they can have leftovers for later, which would be a good thing.
Seungmin’s stomach is grumbling by the time he dumps them into a tupperware, but he can focus on himself later. He’ll still have time when he gets back, assuming that 3RACHA won’t want him to stay.
Just in case, he leaves a note on the kitchen table to inform the others that he is bringing 3RACHA breakfast and he’ll be back soon. He puts the closed tupperware in a hot-cold bag and pulls his hood up, quietly exiting the dorm.
The walk is refreshing. The air in the dorms has been stale recently - possibly due to someone leaving food in their room for too long, the dorms not being cleaned in a while, or just the overall mood. Seungmin takes deep breaths now that the air is clear, and his muscles relax slightly.
Twenty minutes later, he walks into the JYPE building, taking long strides down to the studios. He finds 3RACHA’s in the dead-silent hallway and knocks. If he hesitates, he’ll overthink, and that wouldn’t be good.
No one answers. He knocks again, a little louder, and the door opens within seconds.
Chan’s glare is so sharp that it makes Seungmin shiver. He hopes that Chan will calm down because it’s Seungmin, not some random staff member, but, if anything, the eldest only looks more disturbed.
“I told you to go to sleep,” Chan grumbles. His dark eye bags and sunken eyes tell Seungmin enough.
“I know you haven’t eaten, so I thought I’d—”
“Seungmin-ah, we have a lot of work to do. We can’t afford to be distracted right now. We didn’t ask for food because we don’t want food, okay?”
He sounds so condescending.
“But—”
“Kim Seungmin, go,” Chan says sternly, pointing down the hallway. “You’re distracting us.”
Seungmin doesn’t think that Chan even notices the food in his hands before slamming the door shut. The sound reverberates throughout the hallway, inside Seungmin’s mind.
It’s hard to process that Chan just used his full name and slammed the door in his face. Seungmin didn’t see Changbin or Jisung, and clearly they didn’t want to see him - because he is just a distraction to them. He shouldn’t bother them. He’s ruining their progress and interrupting their trains of thought.
He’s so stupid for coming down here. He knew that they didn’t want anything from him, yet he came anyway, because he cares and worries about them. Chan sees the opposite in his actions.
Seungmin wants to leave the food outside of their door, but he doesn’t want to risk someone walking by and stealing it or them getting angry when they trip over it in a sleepy daze. They will have to leave eventually for the bathroom or water or something. Falling would only mess everything up more.
So, Seungmin turns and leaves, tightening his grip on the bag. He made enough food for three or four people, so the others can eat it, as long as it isn’t too chilly and doesn't taste bad when reheated. It should be fine.
He walks a little quicker on his way back home. He doesn’t want someone to wake up while he isn’t there, because then they might make their own breakfast, and they shouldn’t have to do that, especially when Seungmin already made eggs.
He’s almost sweating by the time he gets upstairs to his dorm. He walks in, and the silence is relieving enough for him to forget about the weird, stale smell. He’ll have to figure out what that is.
The others’ alarms should go off in approximately sixteen minutes, so Seungmin prepares four more coffees, just the way the others like them. He starts with Hyunjin’s and brings it to the other dorm, setting it down on the counter in front of their coffee maker with a small sticky note that says For Hyunjin. Come over for breakfast.
He makes Minho’s, Felix’s, and Jeongin’s, leaving them on their counter. Seungmin’s own coffee was abandoned an hour ago, so it’s cold and barely drunk from. He hates when hot coffee turns into cold coffee; it doesn’t taste good.
He pours it down the drain and puts the mug in the sink. He only has a few minutes left, so he checks the eggs, which are still nice and warm, much thanks to the hot-cold bag. He dishes them up into four bowls, and they turn out to be the perfect amount of food.
He hears a bedroom door open as he’s putting the tupperware in the sink. He turns around, and Felix walks into the kitchen, looking tired yet alive.
“Ooh, smells good,” he says drowsily. Seungmin quickly grabs Felix’s coffee and an accompanying bowl, showing them to the older boy with a smile. Felix smiles back. “Aw, thank you, Seungminnie.”
At least someone appreciates him.
Jeongin is next, but he stays silent, only sending Seungmin a smile. Seungmin counts it as a win, because Jeongin is always quiet in the mornings.
When Minho joins them, he raises an eyebrow.
“Um?” he hums, confused.
“I–I made breakfast, hyung,” Seungmin informs, like it’s obvious - which it is.
“Oh.”
Seungmin almost laughs. He gives Minho his things and begins cleaning up the small mess he made. Minho doesn’t thank him, but Seungmin isn’t expecting him to.
“Sit down and eat,” Felix says to Seungmin, gesturing to the other bowl.
“Oh, no, that’s Hyunjin’s. I told him to come over.”
Felix opens his mouth, but Minho speaks first.
“What about the others?”
Seungmin sucks in a breath. “I asked them if they wanted some, but they’re at the company and said they don’t.”
Minho sighs and stands, abandoning his food in favor of walking toward the stove.
“You know that they don’t listen unless you just give them the food. You should’ve made enough for them too, we could’ve brought it with us.”
Seungmin doesn’t tell Minho that he has already tried that. When Minho grabs the pan, however, Seungmin scrambles to stop him.
“Hyung, go eat. I’ll make more for them. I’m sorry.”
Minho just woke up and has been working so hard as their dance leader that he doesn’t deserve to have to provide for them more than he already does.
Luckily, Minho plops back down in his seat. Felix doesn’t say whatever he was going to say; maybe he was going to say the same thing.
The front door opens, and in walks Hyunjin, mug in hand.
“Here,” Seungmin quickly says, giving Hyunjin the last bowl and ushering him to sit down. “We have to leave in thirty minutes.”
He returns to the stove to make a new batch of five eggs, throwing the empty carton in the trash. He hears the other four chatting quietly behind him, and part of him wishes they would include him. Only part.
Minho tells Hyunjin that Seungmin didn’t make food for 3RACHA, and Hyunjin responds with, “Really? That’s stupid. They deserve food more than we do.”
“I know,” Felix agrees. “He didn’t make them coffee either.”
Seungmin didn’t even think about that. He doesn’t think they should have coffee, therefore they will sleep when their body requires it, but they would probably want some if offered.
Seungmin stops listening to them and finishes up the eggs. He puts them in new containers, sighing at the thought of having to do dishes tonight. No one else is going to.
To hopefully please the others, he makes three more coffees and puts them in a box, adding them to the hot-cold bag. By the time he does that, brushes his teeth, grabs his bag, and changes clothes, it’s time to leave. Minho, Felix, and Jeongin are putting their shoes on by the door.
“Hurry up,” Minho scolds, as if Seungmin isn’t already wearing his shoes, completely ready to go. “Did you—“ He sighs. “Nevermind.”
Minho goes to the kitchen, returning with the hot-cold bag. Seungmin can’t believe that he almost forgot it. He figures that he’s just tired this morning, and his mind is a bit raddled. Minho’s glare doesn’t help with that.
They climb into the car, Minho and Jeongin claiming the middle row while Hyunjin, Felix, and Seungmin are squished in the back. It isn’t always this cramped, because Hyunjin usually rides with 3RACHA or alone. The company probably doesn’t want to waste staff and gas to pick one person up separately today.
Seungmin sits between Felix and the wall of the car. It isn’t terrible, but he still doesn’t like it. At least he isn’t the one at risk of being elbowed on both sides.
When they arrive, the fresh air is nice again. Seungmin doesn’t have time to appreciate it before they’re being forced into the building and toward the practice rooms.
“I’m gonna drop this off,” Minho says. “Get warmed up, I’ll meet you up there.”
Seungmin should probably tell him that they aren’t interested and he’s only going to get yelled at, but he doesn’t have enough time before Minho breaks off from the group. Minho is strong, he should be fine.
After five minutes of warming up, Minho returns empty-handed.
“How’d it go?” Felix asked.
“Fine. Changbin’s sleeping, but Jisung said they were really hungry, so they’ve probably scarfed it all down already.”
A weird feeling emerges in Seungmin’s chest. Why was Minho allowed in? Why did they take the food from him? Why didn’t they just take it from Seungmin an hour and a half ago?
“How’s Chan hyung?” Jeongin asks.
“He’s alright. He needs sleep, but he wasn’t moping or anything. He was grateful for the food too.”
Seungmin’s heart drops to the floor.
Felix gets the music ready while Minho warms up. Hyunjin and Jeongin stand by the couch and chat. Seungmin’s butt stays rooted to the floor.
He must have really pissed Chan off, because this is weird. When Chan is mad, it isn’t at one single person - it’s in general, at everything and everyone. But right now, he’s only mad at Seungmin.
He’ll have to be more careful from now on. He’ll fix it.
“Yah!” Minho shouts, and Seungmin flinches. His head whips up, and he sees the others all standing. “Get your ass up. We don’t have all day.”
Seungmin wordlessly gets up and joins them.
The music is too loud. The music is never too loud, but today, it is, and it almost makes Seungmin feel nauseous. He’s a little too shaky, causing him to misstep and fumble a few times, adding on to Minho’s frustration.
“Seriously, Seungmin-ah, we’ve gone over this so many times! You’ve done it before! What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Hyung, calm down,” Felix murmurs. “He’s probably just having a rough day.”
“We’re all having a rough day. Every day is a rough day. He doesn’t get an excuse.” He turns to Seungmin. “Get your shit together. If you’re not at our level in two hours, you’re staying late tonight.”
“Hyung—“
“No, Yongbok! This is serious. Our choreographer is coming in tomorrow, we all need to dance perfectly. One mistake is a big mistake. You know how strict he is. If Seungmin fucks up, we all fuck up.”
Emotion squeezes Seungmin’s chest. Their choreographer is a scary man - not because he’s big or tall, but because he’s loud and unforgiving. The members always work extra hard for him, and they have never made a major mistake in front of him at practice, but his threats always terrify Seungmin. No one else likes them either.
There’s a first time for everything, but this is not going to be the first time. Seungmin will make sure of that.
Felix doesn’t argue, and the other two stay silent.
“From the top.”
---
At ten p.m., Seungmin returns to the dance practice room. He sets his things down and connects his phone to the speaker, playing background music while warming up.
It wasn’t that bad, he tells himself. Minho reprimanded him multiple times, and his voice rose every passing second. Seungmin only got shakier and shakier, so much so that he couldn’t speak more than a few words at a time without his voice giving out. The others didn’t seem to notice - that, or they just didn’t care.
Seungmin spent the day in a haze. He was jumpy and tense. He didn’t eat lunch because he was too anxious to stomach anything. Whenever he saw Minho, the older boy glared at him, as if trying to remind him of his poor performance. Seungmin never forgot.
The only good thing was that he didn’t see any of 3RACHA. He knows that it wasn’t really a good thing, because it means they were still holed up in the studio working, but he doesn’t want to know how upset they are with him - not yet, at least.
Minho doesn’t come to check if Seungmin is actually staying late or not. Seungmin wonders if Minho forgot about him. Maybe Minho is busy. Maybe Minho trusts him. Maybe Minho is too angry. Maybe Minho changed his mind.
Seungmin will never know.
He dances for an hour. Or three, he isn’t sure. All he knows is that he’s exhausted and at risk of passing out. He probably should have eaten something today. He’s too tired now for dinner.
After lying on the floor for a while to cool off, he gets up and drags himself to the shower. Once he enters the dorm, he won’t want to wash up, so he has to do it now. He makes it as quick and cold as possible, then he puts on his second change of clothes and finds his way out of the company building.
The walk to the dorm seems to go on forever and ever, and when he arrives at the dorm building, he trips over air. He has been awake for almost twenty-four hours, and he has to wake up at seven; he hopes that he will sleep until his alarm this time.
The dorm is silent when he walks in, which is good. The others need sleep too. He takes his shoes off and trudges toward the hallway, but he stops next to the kitchen.
The dishes from this morning stare at him from their place in the sink, and there are three more mugs and plates added to the pile. If the dishes sit dirtily for too long, it’ll be more difficult to clean them, and their dishwasher has been broken for months. They all take turns doing dishes every other day, but with the recent chaos, Seungmin thinks that he’s the only one doing it. He could leave these ones until tomorrow, but he might forget about them by then or put them off for another day. It’s best to just get them done now.
A few minutes into washing, he realizes that he forgot to put on rubber gloves. His hands were already dry, so the cracks sting from the soapy water, but he doesn’t care enough to fix that.
The other dorm crosses his mind. He knows for a fact that 3RACHA hasn’t done the dishes recently, and he highly doubts that Hyunjin has. There shouldn’t be too many considering 3RACHA is always in the studio and Hyunjin often eats breakfast in Seungmin’s dorm.
Nonetheless, he should make sure. He doesn’t know how long it takes him to wash, dry, and put away the dishes, but when he’s done, he rinses the sink and his hands, then leaves the dorm and goes to the other one. He walks into the kitchen expecting one or two cups, but he’s met with a few plates and bowls as well and silverware at the bottom of the sink.
He sighs heavily and grabs the washrag.
It is much too late to be doing dishes, and Seungmin is exhausted. As he begins to dry the last plate, the wet ceramic slips out of his weak, shaky fingers and drops to the floor.
Time stops. When it finally shatters, the noise is so loud that Seungmin almost screams. He hasn’t heard anything other than running water in the past hour, so the sudden crash is deafening. His soul leaves his body. He can’t breathe.
He jumps and lands on a shard. He staggers, falling onto his ass with a deep gasp. He feels dizzy.
“What the fuck?”
The shout is even more jarring than the broken plate. His head whips up, and he sees Hyunjin standing at the entrance of the kitchen, his eyes flitting over the mess. They brush over Seungmin as if he isn’t even there.
“What are you doing?” Hyunjin asks, his hard glare finally landing on the boy on the floor. “It’s fucking three in the morning, Seungmin. I’m trying to sleep.”
Three in the morning? Seungmin’s alarm is supposed to go off in four hours.
“This isn’t even your dorm!” Hyunjin exclaims, flinging his arm out. He looks and sounds so angry that Seungmin feels tears building in his eyes. “And you’re breaking our things! What is wrong with you?”
“S–Sorry,” Seungmin mumbles. “I’ll—”
“You better clean this up. I’m not doing it for you.”
A tear falls, but he doesn’t think Hyunjin notices.
“Fuck, Seungmin. You know I won’t be able to fall back asleep. Thanks a lot.”
With that, Hyunjin turns and goes back to his bedroom, slamming the door shut.
Seungmin still can’t breathe. The ball of his right foot is burning, his chest is tight, his senses are in overdrive.
Hyunjin is complaining about not going back to sleep, but Seungmin just wants to go to sleep for a first time. Now that he has made a mess, he’s going to be stuck in this kitchen for another hour - due to his fatigue, maybe even two. Due to his panic, maybe three.
He needs to calm down first, but the pain is making it difficult. He looks at his foot through blurry vision and sees red.
Seungmin isn’t a queasy person. He can rub someone’s back if they are sick, put a bandaid on a cut, see a broken bone - but when it’s himself practically gushing blood, he feels nauseous. He usually feels nauseous during panic attacks, so even if he wasn’t bleeding, he would puke anyway.
He spills his guts on top of the shards. He feels like he’s choking and breaking and dying. Everything hurts.
Why is life so difficult these days?
By the time he can breathe again, he feels like he’s moving through syrup. Everything is foggy and dull. The one thing on his mind is cleaning up so that Hyunjin won’t be mad at him anymore.
He is disgusted by the sight in front of him. He has to clean up vomit and glass shards, which is not only revolting, but embarrassing. He wishes Hyunjin hadn’t found him, but it was inevitable considering the situation and location.
Seungmin takes a deep, stabilizing breath. Then he stands, and when he puts pressure on his foot, he almost collapses. He uses the counter to hold himself up on one leg.
Looking down, he can see more clearly now. There’s a smear of blood underneath his foot, but it isn’t dripping, which is strange.
When he looks at the bottom of his foot, he understands why.
He didn’t notice it before, but now he notices a thin ceramic shard sticking out of his foot. It isn’t huge - an inch wide - but it still hurts. It’s a centimeter into his skin - a centimeter inside of him - and he almost pukes again.
Seungmin isn’t quite sure what to do in this situation. If he pulls it out, it’ll start bleeding more and increase the risk of an infection; if he leaves it in, he won’t be able to walk, and he doesn’t have anyone else to do it for him or help him.
He makes the executive decision to just pull it out with his fingers. It won’t be that bad, right?
Wrong. He nearly yelps in pain, suppressing it to a gasp instead. Blood immediately starts dripping onto the floor, and he drops the shard, in shock.
How is he supposed to clean the floor and his foot without trailing blood all over the dorm? The first aid kit is in the bathroom - he hopes - and that’s down the hall.
He figures that he can clean the blood up after he wraps his foot, then he can deal with everything else.
With that, he ignores the mess in the kitchen and hobbles down the hallway, leaning against the wall. When he gets there, he sits on the toilet and reaches into the vanity, searching for some type of gauze. Cleaning the wound crosses his mind, but that can wait.
He finds a new roll of gauze and tightly wraps it around his foot, applying as many layers as he can without it being too bulky. Once he’s done, half of the roll is gone, but the pain has decreased, and breathing is becoming easier. That should work for now.
He limps back to the kitchen and finds sanitizing wipes and paper towels. He starts with the blood on the floor, because he can’t let that stain; at least it isn’t on carpet. By the time he cleans all of it up, he feels lightheaded, but he isn’t sure why - from not eating all day, panicking, crying, bleeding, puking, all of the above.
His movements are automatic as he cleans everything else up. He gets gloves, paper towels, and three grocery bags inside of one another to dispose of the vomit, then the dustpan and sweeper for the ceramic shards. He isn’t sure if he gets all of it, but he hopes he does.
He just throws everything into the trash can at the end. He doesn’t think he can take the trash out without falling over and getting more injured, so he leaves it and makes a mental note to come back tonight - and not let Hyunjin know that he’s there.
So he leaves and goes back to his own dorm, taking the gauze with him. He has to brush his teeth before sleeping or he will hate himself even more in the morning, so he stops in the bathroom. He almost falls asleep with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.
By the time he collapses in bed, he can’t think or see clearly. His head hits the pillow, and he’s out.
---
Minho wakes him up sometime later. Apparently Seungmin slept through his alarm - which isn’t surprising - and although he isn’t late, Minho is still frustrated with him. When Seungmin sits up, the room tilts and his head aches.
Minho has left the room and closed the door, leaving Seungmin in deafening silence. He really doesn’t want to get up, but their choreographer will be watching them dance in two hours, so he has to get ready.
Before he can stand, his foot starts pulsing with pain, and he winces. He peeks down at the poor bandaging and gasps.
Over the last few hours, he bled through the gauze, and there is a little bit of red on the bed sheet. He feels dizzy at the thought of losing so much blood.
He decides to rebandage it right here, right now, because he doesn’t want to walk more than he has to. The roll of gauze is buried in his blankets, so he grabs it before unraveling the dirtied gauze from his foot.
He can’t even see the injury because of how much blood is surrounding it - both dried and fresh. He almost gags again. Pulling himself together, he wipes it off with the clean parts of the gauze before applying the new one, making it tight but not too tight. He can’t put on too many layers because of his shoes, but it will have to be enough. He puts his socks on before he stands.
It’s not as bad as he expected. As long as he puts most of his weight on his heel and the outside of his foot, the pain is bearable.
He wonders how dancing will be. He’ll have to be careful.
---
Everything is fine until they get to the practice room. The more steps he takes, the more his foot throbs. He just hopes that the bandage holds.
The group has twenty minutes to warm up before the choreographer arrives. Seungmin utilizes the time to gauge the pain and figure out how to do this. He knows that he doesn’t have a choice; not only will the choreographer not allow him to take the day off, but his members won’t either. With how stressed they have been recently, Seungmin has no right to add his mess onto theirs.
Every step, every movement of his leg, causes pain to shoot through his foot and up his ankle. He barely holds in his winces. He warms up with his members and pushes through it. He hopes that the choreographer doesn’t stay very long, but he’s usually there for an hour.
Seungmin wonders if he can last an hour. His eye bags are heavy, his legs are unstable, his foot is throbbing, his throat is dry; but he can’t afford to give into the temptation of sleep. Not today.
When the door opens, the temperature in the room drops. The choreographer walks in with a calculating gaze, his footsteps heavy as he moves to the front of the room. He claps his hands twice, and just like that, everyone rushes to their starting positions.
It starts out okay. Seungmin can keep up, just barely, the pain dulled by his fatigue. After the first runthrough, they receive some criticism on the power behind their moves, but nothing is targeted toward one member. After the second runthrough, there’s more group criticism. Same with the third, then they work on specific parts of the choreography.
After thirty minutes, Seungmin can’t feel his toes or fingers. A headache has built behind his eyes, and it throws him off balance. Before he can stop himself, he stumbles slightly, and Jisung trips over his outstretched foot. Time slows as Jisung falls forward, barely catching himself before he faceplants.
The silence in the room is deafening.
“Han Jisung,” the choreographer bellows. Everyone’s backs straighten, their heads bowed. “That’s thirty minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” Jisung says shakily. As they get back into position, he sends a sharp glare to Seungmin, whose breath hitches.
Jisung shouldn’t have to stay late because of Seungmin’s mistake. It wasn’t Jisung’s fault, and he is tired enough as it is. Seungmin feels sick.
The guilt is what pushes him to be better, to be stronger. He makes it through another twenty minutes, but during the last chorus, he fumbles once again, this time his hand flinging out too far, hitting someone’s chest as they try to walk forward, causing them to step to the side. Seungmin’s chest constricts.
Please scold me, not them, please…
“That’s an hour!” the choreographer shouts. “The rest of you are done for today.”
Slowly, Seungmin lifts his head. Jisung is standing in front of him, his eyes filled with anger, his hands clenching at his sides. The moment the choreographer turns his back, Jisung steps toward him.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” he snarls, “but you do not have the right to throw me off just because you don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t have another hour to dance. I have work to do, Seungmin. I can’t believe you’re this selfish.”
Jisung shoulder-checks him on his way to his water bottle, and Seungmin’s eyes burn. His throat is too tight to speak, to apologize, to do anything but stand there pathetically. The others send him dirty looks as they walk by, but Seungmin can’t look back at them. The guilt is a suffocating weight, pressing down on his lungs until he can’t breathe.
Suddenly, he rushes forward, nearly tripping as his leg threatens to give out underneath him. He walks up to the choreographer without lifting his head, speaking before he can overthink.
“Sir, I’m sorry,” he croaks. “It was my fault, not Jisung’s. I’ll stay late instead of him.”
The choreographer sighs in disappointment. “He has to own up to his mistakes, Seungmin. You can’t just fill his place.”
Seungmin shakes his head desperately. “No, really, it—it was me. I wasn’t in the right place at the right time, and I bumped into him both times. He was off because of me. I deserve to stay, not him.”
It’s quiet for a few seconds.
“Okay, if you’re so sure.” He turns toward the others. “You all can go. Seungmin is staying late instead.”
Seungmin doesn’t look up, so he doesn’t see the flicker of confusion that passes over his members’ faces. No one ever willingly stays late after a session with the choreographer. Even if two people mess up and only one is caught, the other won’t offer to stay. It is an unspoken rule in the group. If they’re caught, they’re caught; if they aren’t, they aren't. Seungmin is breaking the rule, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t deserve to care about that.
“Let’s get started now,” the choreographer continues, “because I want to go home. You’re going to rehearse the song over and over again until you’re confident that you can perform up to par with the others without making mistakes. If you feel the need to stay even later, stay later. You’ll prove to me next week that you’ve got this down.”
Seungmin nods. “Yes, sir.”
With that, Seungmin goes back to his water bottle, trying to hide his limp. His members are silent around him, but he barely even notices. He wants nothing more than to sit down and elevate his leg, to rest his eyes, to just give up, but he can’t. He has to do well. He has to improve for his group, for his fans, for everyone.
He can only take a few sips before his arm starts shaking too much for him to hold up the bottle. He sets it back down, and his members stand, gathering their things to leave. They don’t look at him as they walk out, and it stings.
Then he’s alone with the choreographer. It’s quiet - almost too quiet - and now that his members are gone, he feels like he can pause. He can take a moment to breathe without their disappointment weighing down on him.
But the choreographer is still here. The pressure and expectations aren’t gone.
He looks down at his feet through blurry vision. He isn’t stupid. He knows that dancing too much can make his injury exponentially worse, and that can’t happen. But his brain is foggy, and he’s scared of finding out that it’s more complicated than he thinks it is. So he doesn’t mention it.
The choreographer starts the music, and Seungmin dances. He puts all of his energy into the moves, trying his best to be perfect. When his foot hurts, he digs his nails into his palms. When his head hurts, he punches his thigh. He does whatever he can to stay upright and improve.
He receives a countless amount of critiques. He needs to be more fluid, more on beat, more controlled. He needs to be less jerky, less tired, less hesitant. He needs to be better.
He almost doesn’t hear the choreographer announcing that the hour is up over the blood rushing in his ears. He barely notices when the music stops. He just nods and bows slightly, enough to be respectful but not enough to make him trip.
But the moment the choreographer leaves, he falls to his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. He feels so disoriented and dizzy.
And sick.
He scrambles up and to the trash can in the corner of the room, losing bile and water. He hasn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours, but he has thrown up. He almost forgot about last night, the dishes, the vomit, the anger.
Everything hits him like a freight train. He collapses against the wall, his breaths coming in short pants, his vision dark and murky. The walls are closing in on him, trapping him in his own misery.
He doesn’t know how it got this bad. He doesn’t know how long he hasn’t been sleeping, how long he’s barely been eating during meals, how long he’s felt too much pressure, how long his members have been too distant, how long he’s been trying to take care of everyone but himself. He probably spends more time in Hyunjin’s dorm than 3RACHA does, just because he knows that they aren’t taking care of their living space.
His eyes burn again, but he swallows down the lump in his throat. He can’t cry. He doesn’t deserve to cry. He needs to keep working.
His phone rings across the room, and he flinches. Why is it so loud? It shouldn’t be that loud. He clamps his hands over his ears and stumbles up to his feet, only to fall right back down with a mewl. A dry sob escapes his chest. It’s pathetic, but he crawls across the room and fumbles for his phone, silencing it just before it slips between his fingers and clatters on the floor. He flinches again.
Just because he’s sensitive right now doesn’t mean he will be forever. He just needs to get past this - whatever this is.
Now that he’s on the floor, unmoving, his muscles are exhausted and his foot is screaming. He can’t help it but yank his shoe and sock off, and the chilly air makes him feel the slightest bit better; but the lack of compression also makes it hurt even more. He risks a glance down.
He almost pukes again.
The sole of his shoe is red. His sock is red. The bandage is red. All he can see is red.
He whines as he peels the bandage off. Underneath it is just more red, and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t have medical training for this. If he goes to the nurse, his members will find out, and if his members find out, they’ll be angry - angrier.
So, he grabs clean bandages from his bag and wraps it again. That will have to do until he finds a better solution.
Or until his body gives in. Whichever comes first.