Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You’re alright, Jisungie. You're okay…”

A hand trembles over his, delicately holding. Cold. In broken syllables: “I'm sorry. I'm so…fuckin’ sorry.”

What a bad decision.

The monitors continue to beep. There's the buzz of machinery that fills the room. It's cold. It's so fucking cold.

“Please, you're going to be okay…”

He wonders, why Jisung? Why not him? Why now?

What a bad choice.

There is no rain this time.

“Everything’s all good to go.” A thumbs up from one of the technicians. It gets a shaky smile from half of them and a sulky glare from the other.

Jisung decides to take it as a good sign. May they at least get through this opening without unleashing the wrath of the dragons. There is already a mounting pressure on their shoulders—pressure absolutely none of them are prepared for in the slightest.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Hyunjin squeaks. The sentiment is greatly shared. What the fuck.

See, they weren’t even aware they were performing until approximately eighteen hours ago.

“One more thing, Minho-ssi,” the staff asks, pausing Minho in his steps towards the door. It’s just him, Jisung and Jeongin right now. The others are out on the fake grass, entertaining Seungmin’s baseball fantasies just this once (read: the third time this week, because Kim Seungmin is a sweet talker even without talking).

Jisung is tempted to say: ‘Dude, you just dumped ten stacks of paper in hyung’s arms, give him a break.’ But ultimately, Jisung does not know this staff member very well, and he’s been finely pruned by the managers’ shears to not speak out of hand.

Oh, how he wishes he did.

“Of course, what is it?” Minho nods, because he is polite and suave and currently in charge. Jisung exchanges a dubious glance with Innie. In Chan’s words, ‘This outta be good. ’ Said in sarcasm. Said with a blank expression. Somebody play Hyunjin’s solo right now.

It was not so good.

“You’re scheduled for a performance tomorrow,” they say. To Jisung, it’s almost delivered in slow motion. Like a sudden twist in a plot before the episode ends and it viciously leaves you on a cliffhanger. Casually: “The Summer Festival. You’re the opening act. They’ve almost finished building the stages.”

Cue the record scratch. Close the damn curtains, actually. Turn off all the fucking lights. Hello? When was this a thing? Does Chan know about this? Do any of them know about this?

Jeongin mutters under his breath, “No, we are not.” They both sit up from their slouched postures. This must be how Changbin feels every time Seungmin knowingly withholds vital information from him (e.g. where he misplaced his keys, or where his last protein shake went) until the very last second. A mix of shock and incredulous rage. Did Jisung even hear that correctly?

“Excuse me?” Minho blinks, voice strained and eyes bulbous in the way it is when he is genuinely caught off guard. “This was not in our schedule.”

“It is now,” the staff says, with such an asshole-ish obnoxity, Jisung wants to pick up the entire couch with his bare arms and hurl it at them. “Here’s your setlist!” What. What!?

And then the staff leaves. Minho stands, stunned, with one more piece of paper in his arms. Jisung glances to the right of him. Jeongin looks like he’s about to cry.

“Is this how you feel?” Are Seungmin’s first words to Changbin after receiving the news.

Changbin isn’t even looking at him, just staring at the setlist with doom painted across his face. Jisung lets out a laugh-cry that dissolves into timid, drawn-out sobs. At the very least, they are all sharing a mutual feeling of despair. Camaraderie at its peak, he’s sure.

“But…But—!” Hyunjin makes a series of poses with his hands and face that ends with him collapsed over the couch. “Where’s the rehearsal! Where’s the week’s notice!? Where are the sound and safety checks! Are we really just ‘rawdigging’ this?!” He sounds almost so comically hopeless that the hopelessness loses its effect, but Jisung knows Hyunjin is dramatising everything so they freak out less because of how stupid everything sounds. Except it doesn’t help. Jisung appreciates the effort anyway, since Hyunjin is considerate like that.

“Rawdogging,” Felix corrects, looking pained. Unusually, there are no tears streaking down his cheeks, but Jisung suspects he is simply in a state of shock.

Innie lets out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat. He’s glaring at his phone. “They’ve already advertised all over social media, too. What the fuck. We can’t just cancel—”

“Well, we could.” Seungmin says, flatly. And he’s right. They could. In fact, it would be so easy for Chan to take this up with whoever and whatever, spiel some of his flowery customer-service jargon and at the very best they’d get off with only having to send out a few apologetic letters…but….

“But STAY will know by now,” Hyunjin murmurs, almost sounding guilty.

Jisung fiddles with the hem of his shirt. A glance toward Chan is all he needs to know that they’re going through with this.

See, Chan’s a good man. Too good, sometimes. His altruism, his self-sacrificial tendencies. It can overflow. When it does, they’re the ones holding the buckets beneath him, trying to catch what they can before the entire place floods. Chan’s alright with having the worst. Sometimes, Chan’s alright with them having the worst, too.

It doesn’t happen often. It’s happening now. Jisung can see the other already thinking about what would happen if they opted out—if they put themselves first. STAY, of course, would be disappointed. The festival staff, the managers, they’d all be upset, wouldn’t they? The festival would have no opener. Jisung knows it’d be impossible to find a replacement in time (no other artist would be stupid enough to do this). And if they did…

Jisung is sure, Chan would rather they take the short end, the fall, rather than someone else.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Minho finally says. He seems upset, like he knows his opinion doesn’t matter. It doesn’t really, Jisung supposes, since they’ve all got the same subconscious direction they want to head in. They’re just waiting for Chan to say the word. They’re all waiting. It's gotta come from his mouth to become official. That, and they're just cowards. That, and Chan isn't allowed to be.

Chan shifts and begins to move his mouth. Jisung knows.

They're so fucked.

“We're so fucked,” Felix says.

They have had a collective sleep duration of roughly…sixteen hours between the eight of them. That's gotta be a record.

They had finished their schedules at two in the morning last night (Day? Today? Fuck it.), and they knew it’d be stupid—more stupid than this entire situation—to go straight to the performance area for a rehearsal. It was statistically, intellectually, a more logical option to go home, theoretically rest well enough or at the very least close their eyes, and then bullshit a performance on stage.

After their infamous week-long Bootcamp of Doom and Despair five years ago, with those substitute managers that were probably a reincarnation of whatever bad karma they'd collected in their past life, they knew better than to test their strength.

In saying that, he is unfortunately confident that they all got very inconsistent levels of sleep last night—this morning—some not sleeping at all. Jisung didn’t sleep. He couldn't. He’s pretty sure Minho woke up at three and was on the phone with one of the other members until dawn. He’s very sure Felix came in at one point to raid their fridge and cry. Seungmin’s a restless sleeper; he was probably awake too. And. Chan doesn’t fucking sleep on a good day, so. There. There.

“We're fucking fucked,” Felix repeats.

No matter, though. There are times when they’ve worked thirty-hour schedules with minimal breaks. This has gotta be similar, right? Fuck, they went through that bootcamp. This should be child's play. Surely. Sure.

“I wanna go home,” Jeongin whimpers. Same, Innie. Jisung, too, desperately wants to utilise the tried and true method of Running Away. Alas.

“We honestly should’ve just done that.” Minho subtly glares, particularly at Chan, though Jisung is sure he knows Chan isn't to blame. “We're going to make a fool of ourselves.”

Seungmin shifts from side to side. He's not even wandering away from them, or feeling up Changbin’s chest. This is serious. “...We can still cancel.”

The two of them share a glance. Jisung looks at the others, the tension of Felix’s eyebrows, Innie gnawing on his bottom lip, and knows: Yeah, no one actually wants to do that. Today we are all just bark and no throat. Bite and no teeth.

“Both of you, enough.” Chan huffs out a heavy sigh. The stylists did a miraculous job of completely covering his dark circles. “There is no backing out now. I don't want to hear this negative attitude half an hour before the performance. That's not how we do this, yeah?” It's said pseudo-casually, a spark of annoyance under it that Jisung is sure Seungmin and Minho saw, because they immediately deflate. Chan sighs again and looks away, rubbing his temples.

“I'm sorry,” he apologises, for no reason. Another sigh, then a clap. “Alright. We've got a bit before we have to get up there. Let's make the most of it.”

No one seems to move, as if the slightest movement will make this all real.

There are a lot of unknowns, and Jisung does not like it. They haven't done soundcheck, they haven't had a feel of the stage, they are barely used to the performance outfits, and there is something in Jisung’s gut that tells him they made the wrong decision. There is too much they haven't done. Is it bad that they rely so much on intense preparation? Should they be more flexible?

Is it just Jisung? Maybe the others feel fine. Maybe he's the one being dramatic.

No. If he takes even a quick glance at them, he can tell, they're all uneasy.

“Come on.” Changbin breaks the stone, walking past them to a more open area. “Come on, guys.” He grabs Seungmin and Chan by the arms, leaving them with little choice. Anyway, it's not like he's wrong. Standing around and wallowing in regret will do nothing.

The way they follow is less reluctant and more damming if anything. Minho lingers behind, just like Jisung does.

“Unmarked territory, huh, hyung?” he says, in some sort of attempt at humour. It isn't like he needs to mask anything, especially not around Minho, but Jisung's always been a fake it ‘till you make it kinda guy. If he can manifest positivity enough, maybe this won't be so bad.

Minho gives him a wry smile.

“Don't worry, Hannie.” He flips his imaginary braid in Minho-like fashion. “I'll protect you.”

Jisung laughs. It feels a little final.

“Everybody, are you ready?!” Felix screams, completely unscripted because, there is no script. The venue managers apparently looked at their endless track record of successful concerts, performances and whatnot, and decided they were ‘skilled enough to efficiently immerse themselves in the passion of the crowd and effectively provide entertainment’. Whatever that means.

So, yes, Hyunjin from last night. They really are rawdogging this. Jisung just hopes the pay is worth it. Considering his luck, it won’t be.

If Jisung were to be real about this, he'd admit this is a situation they could've easily gotten out of. But have they ever taken the easy route?

“Hannie,” Seungmin whisper-snaps, jolting him out of his wallowing. He gestures to the center of the stage with his head. “We're starting, come on.”

Jisung sends a quick prayer to the sky. The crowd is loud today.

alea iacta est — the die has been cast — point of no return

Minho wasn't sure how his body was going to react to such an unexpected situation like this, but he figured it wouldn't be too bad. He's good at improvising.

It is kind of fucking too bad.

Hyunjin does a mini twirl at the end of his part that looks seemingly elegant, but to Minho, screams barely-restrained panic. As he jogs off the stage, they exchange chilled glances. There is a sinking feeling in Minho's stomach.

It's almost as if he's forgotten every dance move they've ever learned. When did his legs become so much heavier?

“Hyung, we can't do this.” Minho has to lower Seungmin’s volume when bitterness starts to seep through. “We aren't miracle workers.”

“Exactly,” he nods, from where he's sprawled out on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. See, he and Kim Seungmin can agree when it matters. “What kind of bullshit deadline is this? They're playing with us, Channie.” Using their generosity against them, how rancid. Minho weakly hits the mattress with the back of his hand. “Augh. What are we waiting for? We should just cancel.”

“Can we even back out on it, though?” Changbin's drowsy voice filters through. “I think the staff already made the decision for us.”

Minho scoffs quietly. They're far from a rookie group; they don't need the staff to make decisions for them all the time.

“I'd feel horrible if we called them at three in the morning just to cancel, too,” Chan mutters, “I'd doubt they'd be able to find a replacement in time.”

He immediately feels guilt at the rush of anger that fills him with Chan’s words. It’s not Chan’s fault. If anything, Minho should've spoken up the moment that staff member approached him.

He's gotten too used to their hyung doing the hard shit for them. Where have his confrontation skills all gone? Surely not to Kim Seungmin.

“But hyung,” Seungmin near whines, “We might already be the replacement. They

“Listen,” Chan says, though even he doesn't sound too sure of himself, “It's…a complicated situation, and…is this really such a bad idea? Sure, it's unfair, but is it bad? Can we really miss opportunities like this?”

The line is completely silent for a moment. Seungmin and Changbin must be either similarly appalled or actually pondering Chan's mismatched logic.

“Hyung,” Seungmin suddenly says, “Minho- hyung.” Oh. “Lix is coming by, I think. He isn't doing too hot.”

Minho exhales. He lets his emotions wash off him.

“Okay, I'll be going then. Fix Yongbokie some soup. You three keep talking and inform me of the decision as soon as possible,” he sighs. As if there is any other option than the one they were originally heading towards.

Sure, so maybe this is some grand opportunity to test their skills. Maybe some of them have things they want to prove. Minho's nervous, they all are, but this isn't the end of the world. Still…

Minho doesn't feel right.

Minho doesn’t feel right.

There's something off about this entire thing that is driving him internally mad.

And why can't he feel it?

Chan, what is going on in your head?

He's becoming more and more hyperaware of his surroundings, and his members especially. His stomach churns evilly. He can hear the rush of the crowd through his in-ear. Something red and hot rushes behind his eyes.

Hyunjin's walking off formation, Lix is off too. They're slowly walking back. They're tired.

On the other side of the stage, Seungmin and Chan. They seem…fine. They always seem fine. Minho cannot see them properly, but he knows they’re there. He can feel them. He can feel everything, at this point, but especially them.

“We need to discuss this more,” Seungmin hisses, cutting off Chan.

Near him is Jeongin. They share a quick glance. Minho smiles at him. Jeongin does not seem to have the energy to smile back.

In the middle, Changbin. In front, Jisung. They’re giving their all, Minho can tell.

Minho lingers at Jisung’s door for a while longer than necessary. He presses his ear to the wood and listens to Jisung's restless shuffling. There's a rush of white noise. A sharp ringing. Minho pinches his eyes shut and counts to ten.

He wants to say something. There is nothing to say.

Jump in three.

Minho tries to focus on Jisung’s voice. It rings clear, but it rings. It turns high and sharp. That noise is back. Minho doesn’t understand. He doesn't understand—

Something cracks. Multiple things.

Time slows.

Minho’s fingers hover over the door handle before he shakes his head and sighs. The hand drops.

There are two seconds to realise that there is no more ground to land on. The scream that hasn't formed in Minho's throat comes out as Hyunjin's, loud and ringing through the speakers.

“Hyung—” Jeongin shrieks. Minho tries desperately to reach for him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt until his nails are touching through the fabric.

He sees Changbin fall back. He sees Jisung flail forward and then rubble obscures his vision and the only thing Minho can see is the dirt that becomes blurrier and blurrier.

He hears Seungmin cry out. He hears a sharp thunk and then an agonising crack. Innie’s sob is cut off.

Time starts again.

Whatever he wants to say to Jisung can be said after the performance.

His body meets the dirt. The crowd gets louder and louder until the only thing he can hear is a piercing ring that envelops his entire body.

It is too late for Lee Minho to register that he was uneasy because, through all his years of experience, he has never once danced on a surface so unstable.

“Can we really push this far?” Minho asks himself. The tile is cold under his socks. A dog is barking on the street below them. “What exactly is our limit?”

cui bono? — good for whom? — of who is benefited?

“Jeongin. Jeonginnie, fuck, are you okay?” Are Minho's first immediate words after whatever the hell just happened.

He should’ve known the stage would collapse. Of course it would. It is such a stupid yet obvious consequence they would find themselves in. It's so outlandish that he didn't think of it before, but knowing their luck, he should’ve.

Tears of frustration burn in his eyes. He blinks them away.

“Ye—Yeah, hyung, I’m fine,” Jeongin says, not sounding fine at all. “Are…you okay?”

He takes a deep breath.

Alright, Lee Minho, focus.

Minho decides to actually turn around and look at the other, because he damn sure isn't believing his words. Jeongin is sitting up, and seems roughened but unharmed for the most part. Of course, there are scratches and forming bruises. A couple cuts here and there, dirt in his hair and smeared across his shirt. Minho is sure he looks the same. Maybe, hopefully, Innie really is fine.

And then he looks down.

“Hyung, I'm okay, seriously,” Jeongin lies, like a liar. Minho can't tell if he's simply stupid or simply stupid.

“Yen.” Minho expertly, in his opinion, controls the tremor out of his voice. His heart takes a deep breath. “Your leg is twisted the wrong way.” It’s not much of an exaggeration.

Jeongin winces. “It's not really.” Except it kind of is. “And you're bleeding.”

Minho blinks at him. He sure hopes he is exuding an ultimate air of wholehearted disappointment. He sure hopes Jeongin can feel the wafting aura of dismay from his body. Because what. What the fuck.

He sighs heavily. He isn't awake enough for this.

Sure, Yang Jeongin, he's bleeding. What horrifying horrors. Tit for tat, why don't we instead talk about your leg that has bone sticking out of flesh. What about that, Jeongin.

Though now that he says it, Minho's wrist does slightly hurt.

“...Your wrist is purple, hyung,” Innie whispers.

It actually does hurt quite a bit. But if his wrist hurts, he can't imagine how much pain Jeongin is swallowing down right now.

“Just…” He sighs, again. “Don't move, Innie. You're going to be okay.” And he will be. This isn’t the end of the world. This isn't…the end. Innie just has to lay off dancing for a bit. It'll be fine.

Jeongin nods and smiles shakily at him. Minho blinks again. He feels a little sad.

“Well, the floor definitely wasn't checked properly.” Innie fiddles with the hem of his shorts. “It really just…broke.”

Minho shakes his head. This is honestly unbelievable. “This has to be some elaborate joke.” Because, why would anyone be allowed to perform on a platform so weak?

“Hey, hey!” Minho can hear someone shouting. It sounds like Chan. It is Chan, he’s sure. He and Jeongin exchange a look of relief. “Is everyone okay?!”

“Yes, hyung!” Minho screams, and from somewhere else, he hears Changbin yell incoherently. The tightness in his chest drops a slight bit. “Jeongin’s with me!”

“Good!” Chan screams back. “Binnie, stay put. Minho, we'll try get to you two! Are either of you injured?” Minho almost forgets Chan's question altogether. We. Chan and Seungmin. His body relaxes more. Seungmin’s okay. Of course he is, he's Seungmin. Now he just has to worry about Jisung, Hyunjin and Felix.

The members who he, arguably, consistently worries for the most.

But he’ll hope that for now, they aren’t in trouble.

Minho glances down at Jeongin’s pitiful sprawl on the dirt. “Ayennie definitely has a broken leg,” he shouts, attempting to sound as casual as possible.

There's a little bit of silence. He guesses Chan is alarmed by this, but surely cannot be too surprised. They did just fall through the floor, after all. Maybe he and Seungmin are exchanging horrified looks as he speaks (in his head. Yang Jeongin is not privy to all his thoughts. Only the mildly disturbing ones.)

“Okay!” There's the yell. Minho turns to Jeongin and nods. He thinks about attempting a smirk but decides against it. This situation is stupid enough as is.

“And Minho-hyung probably broke his wrist!” Jeongin suddenly screams.

What.

“Innie.” Minho can't keep the despondency out of his voice. This dongsaeng has become too fearless and it is costing Minho his reputation as the almighty unkillable hyung whose bones are made of iron. “Ayennie. C'mon.”

“Hyung,” Innie deadpans back, “Don't be stupid.”

Why don't you not be stupid. Minho huffs wordlessly. Whatever.

Minho then, because of Jeongin’s very unnecessary input, expects another distant, maybe slightly indignant, yell from Chan. Instead he hears rustling and hushes and shifting debris far closer than he was prepared for.

“Chan-hyung,” Jeongin gasps, tugging at Minho's pants, “Seungmin-hyung.”

Minho sees Chan first. He sees the streaks of blood over Chan, first. The scrape on his arm is raw. There’s a cut on the side of his head. Bruises are forming on his elbows. Chan sees them and smiles in relief, dimples crinkling. Minho has three seconds to rationalise that his hyung is fine. He's fine. He's only bleeding a little.

“Seungmin-hyung,” Innie repeats, but he sounds more horrified than before. He sounds scared and it sends another pierce of ringing through Minho's ears. He has to look. He has to. “Minnie—”

Fuck.

“Seungmin.” Minho breathes, almost afraid to. “Seungmin, what happened?”

Seungmin makes a choked sound. Seungmin makes a choked sound because he cannot speak. He cannot speak because—

“...I think he hit his jaw as he fell,” Chan whispers. His hand is clasped tightly around one of Seungmin's. Seungmin’s other hand is partly covering his mouth, hovering and twitching over it.

As if he doesn't want them to see.

They do anyway. They can't not notice. Blood and saliva drip and soak into the dirt. His jaw is visibly misaligned. It's hanging open.

A cold shiver runs up Minho's spine. He wants to run up and cradle his face. He wants to hug him and tell him everything's going to be alright.

“I just have a bad feeling, hyung,” Seungmin tells him. “And I know you feel it too.”

There is no time to do any of that. Seungmin needs help. So does Jeongin, so does Chan, so does he. They still need to get to Changbin. The other three haven't even responded.

They need to get out of here.

“Hyung, please sit down,” Jeongin pleads. Minho curses the fact that he can tell how Innie hides even more of his pain for Seungmin’s sake. “Can you breathe properly?”

There's no answer. Chan guides Seungmin down next to Innie and the youngest wastes no time wrapping his hands around Seungmin's arm. Minho faintly wonders if he should do the same. He wants to. He wants to do many things, like take Jeongin’s broken leg and Chan's bleeding cuts and Seungmin's dislocated jaw. There are many things he wants and cannot have.

He can make out the shine of the tears tracks on Seungmin’s cheeks. Minho’s lips thin momentarily before he exhales. There's no point cursing the higher powers for leaving his members in agonising pain. He's never been one to ponder what ifs, this is happening. Face it.

Face it, Lee Minho.

“Okay,” Chan sighs, then sighs again. He runs a muddy hand through his hair. “Okay.” Minho wonders if he's simply too exhausted to mask his internal monologue. Or maybe there are too many things already inside his head, that he cannot rationalise inside of it. “Seungminnie and Yen should stay here—not like Innie could move much anyway—since this spot is closer to backstage. That's not saying much, since we were pretty far forward on the stage during the performance, but—”

Goodness, it's like watching a computer run its own code to troubleshoot.

“Ah!” Jeongin claps in supposed epiphany. Chan jolts out of his mumbling. “Hyunjin-hyung and Lix-hyung were off the formation when the floor broke, right?”

There's a pause. Then, Seungmin makes a short noise of agreement.

Minho can't help that his eyebrows rise into his hair. He cannot believe he forgot. Yes. Yes they were. As far as Minho can see, the entire stage didn't completely collapse. They probably didn't fall in because they weren't in the area where the floor caved. Which means—

“—They’re probably okay.” Chan finishes. Minho realises he's also been thinking this entire time, just aloud. “God. Thank God. Innie, good work remembering.” Minho watches Chan deflate in real time. He thinks, he probably looks like that too.

“Good.” Chan begins again. “Good, good, good.” Minho's never really seen Chan mutter so much. He wonders what's truly running through his mind, that allows him to be so visibly unprepared in front of them.

“Okay. We should find Bin, then. He's…probably with Jisung? They were near each other when they fell. They're surely fine. I'm sure they're fine—”

Chan proceeds to repeat the same few sentences over again with different arrangements. More so for himself than any of them. Minho wants to feel angry. Maybe at Chan, maybe just at this situation. He can’t. He could never.

They need to move.

“Hyung.”

Minho flinches. Did he hallucinate that?

“Chan-hyung.”

Chan blinks dazedly. “Changbin? Oh, you're here.” Then blinks again. And again. “Wait—Changbin?”

Seungmin whines.

Changbin stumbles further forward, away from where he was emerging. He's covered in dirt. His hands are bleeding. His fingers. Fuck. What the fuck.

Did Changbin bathe himself in the dirt? Did he roll around and then try break a cinder block in half? Why is he so dirty. Why is he bleeding so much. Why is he sweating?

“I…also feel a bit uneasy,” Changbin sighs, “but what can we do? Minho-hyung, almost everyone else wants to go ahead with this. Fuck, we want to go ahead with this.”

Chan seems to want to say something, maybe about the fact that Changbin disobeyed his order to stay put. Minho watches his eyes sag even more than before.

He hasn't seen him this stressed in a very, very long time.

“Hyungs.” Changbin seems out of breath. And also alarmed at the state of Seungmin and Jeongin, but bounces back way too quickly for someone like him. It tells Minho that there is something even more urgent. Something even worse that Changbin has to address above all else. “I need help.”

Something bad.

The ringing returns. His fingers buzz in anticipation. In dread.

Please, not him.

“Hyungs.”

“What, Binnie,” Chan half-snaps, half-begs, “What is it? What's wrong? Where is Jisung?”

Minho hears Seungmin quietly warble and Jeongin hush him.

Changbin swallows thickly. Minho watches his lips move with tunnel vision.

“Jisung’s stuck. There's...rubble pinning his leg. He's not waking up.”

It rings.

They're about to be called. Jisung smiles at him with his teeth, barely as shaky as they feel. “Fighting, hyung.”

surdo oppedere — to belch before the deaf — a useless action

A rush of static floods the inside of Minho's face.

“What?” He can hear Jeongin’s horrified voice above the ringing. He clings to it. “What?”

What, he repeats, in his head. What, what, what.

Move, Lee Minho, fucking damn.

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Focus. Focus, panic later. Focus, think later.

Minho blinks.

Changbin’s lips thin. He eyes Jeongin and Seungmin, then, in a whisper to Minho and Chan: “He’s not waking up. I—”

“Where is he?” Chan moves forward, towards Changbin. Minho barely catches the crazed glint in his eye. “Where?”

“Hyung—” Changbin starts.

Chan shakes his head. “Bin, where is Jisung.”

Changbin sputters for a moment before his face fades into something more resigned and tired. He gestures into the darkness, further away from the back of the stage.

Chan rushes into it. Minho nearly follows, for multiple, different reasons, but his feet stay planted. He wants to ask his body, why?

Seungmin seems to start shifting, as if he wants to stand.

Right, that's why.

“No, Seungmin, don't.” He moves forward, until he’s in front of Seungmin's struggling form and Jeongin’s wide eyes. “Down.”

Seungmin glares at him, eyebrows drawn down and crinkled. Innie puts his hands on his shoulders and forces him back to a sitting position.

“Hyung.” Changbin is suddenly next to him and Minho yelps in surprise he will not admit later. His wrist throbs. “Hyung, I'm gonna go ahead. Jisung really needs help. I'm sorry.”

Seungmin makes a strangled noise again. Changbin's face softens. So does Minho's. “I'm sorry too, Minnie. And you, Yen. But you're both hurt, so you should stay here, okay?”

“But,” Jeongin says, small, “What about Jisung-hyung?”

“He's okay,” Changbin replies gently. Like a parent comforting a child. Minho’s gut twists. “Let hyungs handle it, alright?”

For a split second, Minho catches Jeongin’s face go completely blank.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Changbin glances at Minho uneasily. Minho doesn’t know what he wants him to do. Jeongin isn't seventeen anymore. There is little they can hide from him.

Fuck, Minho doesn't even know what they're hiding. He hasn't seen Jisung.

Changbin gives Jeongin and Seungmin a final pat on the head before he turns and leaves. Minho breathes deeply.

Everything feels final.

“Hyung?” Jeongin stares up at him.

Minho feels a million outcomes run through his head. There are many ways the next hour could go. There are many things he could decide. There are many things he could've decided.

They wouldn't be here if he had just said no.

“Hyung.” Jeongin snaps at him.

They should stay here. They're closer to the back of the stage—as close as they can be—so whenever the medics come, they'll get help sooner. They need that help.

“Innie.” Minho snaps back. He knows what Jeongin wants. “You are staying here.” He is not going to give it to him.

Jeongin frowns. “Hyung—”

“You have a broken leg, Yen. Seungmin shouldn’t move if he can help it. Neither of you are going anywhere.”

Jeongin deflates. Minho sighs. He doesn't want to be harsh with them, but they need to understand—

“Shit—”

Seungmin kicks him in the shin. Hard.

Fuck. What the fuck.

“Seungmin, shit.” Minho finds himself crouching on the ground and covering his foot. What the hell does this guy think he's doing.

Minho stares at him. Seungmin stares back. His hands are still pseudo-clutching his mouth, trembling violently. His eyes burn into Minho’s own.

Fuck you. They tell him. If you won't let us go, then just leave already.

It's Minho's turn to deflate.

“Minnie—”

Seungmin kicks him again, even harder, and bends his head forward. Minho sucks in a sharp breath, because it hurts. He can see the other's tears drip to the ground. That hurts more.

Jeongin wraps his arms around Seungmin's shoulders and gives Minho a watery grimace. “Go, hyung. Just go. We'll be fine.”

They're scared.

Seungmin and Jeongin are fucking terrified.

Minho doesn't move. Seungmin has begun shaking. His gasps are choked with saliva. It hurts. More than just the injury.

“Jisung-hyung needs you,” Innie tries again. His voice is starting to crack. His eyes are red.

Minho thinks, you two need me, too.

“Please, hyung,” Innie whispers.

“Okay,” he whispers back, “Okay.”

He leans over and presses his lips to Jeongin’s hair. There's a pause. He thinks, they both need it right now, and does the same to Seungmin.

“Jisungie’s going to be alright,” he says as he leans back. Jeongin’s teeth are chattering. “Stay here and wait for help, okay?

“Yes hyung.” Jeongin nods shakily, and hugs Seungmin tighter. Despite everything, he smiles at Minho. “Stay safe.”

Minho stands and stares at their trembling forms for a moment longer than necessary, until Seungmin weakly kicks his foot out with a small warble. He misses this time, but Minho gets it.

He turns around and walks.

The further Minho steps away from them, the louder their sobs get.

He forces himself to take deeper breaths as he gets closer and closer. He can hear Chan and Changbin murmuring.

There are a lot of possibilities. There are a lot of outcomes.

This could be final.

He hopes it is not. He hopes they're far from it.

The sky is, quite obviously, visible from where he walks. The entirety of this part of the stage had collapsed. Minho finds crumbled foundation blocks similar to the one he made Jeongin lean on.

He wonders when the crowd left. He never noticed, but he can’t hear them anymore.

He sees broken pieces of metal and stage material pushed to the side. It almost creates a walkway. He sees the dips in the dirt where the debris must've originally been. He remembers Changbin’s dirt-coated arms.

Holy shit, did Changbin do this? Did he single-handedly shove all this away?

So this is how he got to Jisung.

Minho takes another deep breath.

“Hyung,” he hears Changbin call him. “Hyung, over here.”

Minho turns.

First, he sees a broken microphone, rolled and destroyed in the dirt. The head of it is completely crushed to the point where the inside mechanics have spilled out over the ground. It's almost hard to look at.

“Hyung.”

He sees Changbin and Chan next. Changbin, with his hands still caked in dirt, and Chan, with his head bowed and hands frantically checking over—

“Hyung,” Changbin repeats, quietly, over the rushing in his ears. “Hyung, help.”

Jisung.

—

Changbin watches mutely as Minho stares at Jisung for five agonising seconds. He wonders what his hyung is thinking. He wonders if he's thinking at all, or if there is simply nothing to think about.

Minho stumbles forward. He drops to his knees beside Jisung's head. Chan moves slightly to make room, but otherwise doesn't react.

“Maybe you can wake him,” Changbin finally says. Maybe Minho can. He is Jisung’s soulmate, after all.

Minho just stares at Jisung’s face. Changbin sighs.

He is glad neither Seungmin nor Jeongin were able to come. Well, they would've found a way even with a broken leg and jaw, but he’s glad Minho had talked them down. They would have not done well with this sight.

Distantly, Changbin tells himself he should similarly be catatonic and helpless like Chan and Minho. He also tells himself, he already did that whole crisis before he went and found them.

“Jisung.” He roughly shakes his shoulder. Nothing. Fuck, fuck. “Jisungie, please.”

“Hyungs, please.” He doesn't know who he's talking to, at this point. His chest burns. The scrapes and cuts on his body burn.

They don't have time for this. He's a fuckin’ hypocrite but they don't have time.

“Fuck—Fuck, damnit hyungs!” He suddenly shouts. They startle. “Sitting here isn't doing anything! Jisung needs help.” Ours. No one else can, or is. “He needs to wake up. We need to…”

He sinks. There's nothing to say. What do they do? Jisung’s not conscious, there's a whole chunk of stage stuck in his leg. Changbin had debated pulling it out but…no, he isn’t that rash.

“We need to…something...”

He just wishes he could do more. Here, Jisungie lies in the dirt, twisted in a scrambled position. His forehead is bleeding heavily. He had probably hit his head on the way down and couldn't protect himself because he was…already unconscious. It looks a bit final.

“You’re…right,” Minho breathes. His hands are trembling. He leans over and tries gently tapping Jisung’s cheek. In the softest whisper Changbin’s ever heard, “Sungie? You can wake up now. Open your eyes for hyung, please.”

He wonders what would've happened if they had said no.

“Turn his head, Minho,” Chan says. His voice is grave.

Did they do this?

“C'mon, Jisung,” Minho pleads. His tap becomes less soft. “C'mon.”

Changbin shakes his head. There isn't time for what ifs. There isn't time for regret. He lives in now, and now keeps moving forward.

They will keep moving forward. This is not final.

Jisung makes a small, high groan. All three of them immediately lean in. Under other circumstances, Changbin would label it cute.

“Jisung?” Chan breathes.

There's a flutter of the eyelids. Changbin feels his chest surge. Good. Good. Fuck.

Jisung opens his eyes. “Shit,” Changbin exhales. They're glassy and unfocused, but they're open.

“Hi, Hannie,” Minho whispers, fingers still on Jisung’s cheeks. “Hi. Do you know who I am?”

“Uh?” Jisung grunts. He blinks sluggishly. Changbin shares a look with Chan. He is definitely concussed, if the amount of blood wasn't obvious enough.

“H…Hyung.” Jisung blinks sluggishly. There's dirt on his face and in his mouth. “Wha’ are you doin'?”

“Checking on you, Jisungie,” Minho smiles softly at him, “Can you stay awake for me?”

Jisung’s eyes are tracking…very poorly. He seems to register Minho, but only because he's right in front of him. Changbin isn't sure he notices that he and Chan are here, too.

“‘M head hurts,” he mumbles. His vowels are dragging.

“Binnie.” Chan turns to him. “I think we should try turning him on his side.”

Seems logical. Changbin nods, “Okay, hyung.” Chan seems less overwhelmed than before. Changbin hopes it stays that way. He wonders what his hyung did to talk himself out of it.

Jisung’s left leg is the one being pinned, which means they need to manoeuvre him on his left side. There's no lifting that thing, and Changbin doesn't think he nor Chan want to try.

There is little room for error.

“Min, keep distracting him,” Chan orders, before putting his hands on Jisung’s shoulder and waist. Changbin does the same with his legs.

“I fe—feel sick, hy'ng….” Jisung warbles as Minho hushes sweet nothings into his ear. “Feel…”

“Shh…you're okay, Jisungie…you're okay.”

Changbin thinks, oh no.

“One, two, three!” Chan whisper shouts, before Changbin can tell him, wait, hyung—

They push him sideways.

Jisung gurgles, then gags.

“Oh fuck—”

Changbin winces as he watches puke climb up and out of Jisung’s throat. Minho's pants get soaked. The dirt in front of him gets covered.

“Jisungie,” Minho gasps as Jisung retches again. God. At least they got him sideways. Changbin does not want to think about what would've happened if Jisung’s vomit had no place to go.

“Let it out, Sung.” Chan is pulling his hair out of his face. “You’re okay. You're fine.”

Changbin shuffles closer to rub Jisung’s back. He ignores the thought that tells him, this is serious. He's thrown up twice in a row, the second time barely anything other than stomach acid.

It's a bad concussion, he knows that. Jisung was unconscious for fuck's sake. Add on the fact that he could bleed out from his leg—the fact that he may not even make it to the next day with that leg—and it creates on Han Jisung in dire need of medical help.

“Guh,” Jisung coughs out the rest of the acid and dirt that got in. Chan wipes his mouth with the bottom of his shirt. “Mm, hy'ngs?”

“Yes, Jisungie,” Chan answers softly. He rests a trembling hand in his hair. “We're right here, baby.”

Jisung makes a sound equivalent to a keen and it breaks Changbin’s heart. His chest aches, deeper than before. He prays Jisung won't remember this later.

He must be in so much pain.

Minho's next sigh is shaky. Changbin looks at him. He knows what he's thinking. What if Jisung doesn't recover from this? This is a serious injury. Even if his head heals, what if his leg doesn't? Even if his leg heals, what if his head doesn't?

“‘M tired,” Jisung moans. “R'lly…tired…”

“No, Jisung,” Minho shakes him gently, “No sleeping. You can't close your eyes, okay? Han Jisung?”

Changbin tries to blink his panic away, but fuck, what do they even do?! Jisung obviously can't stay conscious forever, even if he was aware enough to try. They don't know when the hell the medics will find them—fuck, Seungmin and Innie might still be there waiting—they are wholly sitting ducks.

Where the hell is help?

—

Minho can feel his teeth start to buzz. He can feel his heart start to race.

He swallows it down. He swallows it down, again, when it doesn’t obey. It has to.

No, no. Don’t panic. You can't panic, Lee Minho. You can't. Jisung needs you.

He stares at Jisung’s face. His half-lidded eyes and the smears of saliva and dirt on his cheeks. This is why Seungmin and Jeongin were sobbing. This is why they wanted to come.

This is what they were terrified of.

Minho's head starts to pound.

“Mm.” Jisung’s blinks become slower and slower. “T—Tired…”

No.

“Jisung,” Minho whispers. It's weak. He cannot get it louder.

His eyes burn.

“Jisung,” Chan stresses, much louder, equally desperate. “Please, don't do this.”

Minho watches, almost in slow motion, as Jisung’s eyes slip shut.

“No—NO—” Minho shakes him. Gently, then harder. Then again and—

“Hyung!” Changbin grabs him. Jisung doesn't move. His hair falls over his face. His fingers are limp, he is limp— Changbin squeezes his arms but the pain barely registers. “Hyung. Breathe. It's okay.”

It isn't, though, Minho bemoans. He feels the first set of tears slide down his cheeks. It isn't okay at all.

His body begins to buzz, whine, ring. He clenches his teeth. Don't panic, don't panic—

“Wh—Where…is help?” Minho forces out. His hands start to buzz. His vision tunnels.

“The…The floor's unstable, remember?” Changbin mumbles, a little bitter. “They probably don't want to risk walking on the stage when it could collapse.”

Jisungie.

Minho hopes Felix and Hyunjin are okay. He doesn't think he could handle them being injured, too. He hopes they aren’t panicking right now. He hopes they, at the very least, are being taken care of.

What if they aren't? What if they aren't?

“...Can't they come under the stage?” Chan asks weakly. His eyes are red and he looks exhausted, almost impossibly small. Minho immediately decides he hates this look on Chan.

Minho attempts to swallow. Nausea rises.

If only he'd said no.

“Shit, I don't know, hyung.” Changbin bows his head. “The management of this place is fucked as hell. I wouldn't even be surprised if they made the stage collapse on purpose.”

Don't say that. Fuck.

His teeth chatter. He shivers, then starts shivering.

Minho watches Chan brush his fingers through Jisung’s hair. He looks sad. It looks final, and Minho hates it. He hates it. He wants his hyung to fix this, but he can’t. Chan can’t do anything this time. He can’t fix things like he always does. He's helpless.

They all are.

And Minho hates it.

“Hyung—”

He hates it, he hates it, he hates it.

Is this the end?

If Jisung’s done, then so is he. Then so are they.

“Minho, breathe—”

It's final. It's final. It's final.

It's over.

carpe diem.

Hyunjin paces worriedly at the edge of the barrier that the police had set up. He tries to level his breathing. In for four, out for four. Just like Jisungie had taught him.

God, please. Let them be okay. Help them. Help them.

He sighs. There's no sign of any of them. He hopes it’s just because they’re playing it safe, and they don't want to try climbing on unstable surfaces, but his gut churns doubtfully. He hates not knowing what's wrong. He hates that the medics are taking their sweet fucking time. He hates this.

So he's a little upset, what of it? This entire situation is none of his members’ faults and yet they're the ones paying the price.

“Hyunnie,” Lix calls him. He's sitting on a speaker because Hyunjin couldn't drag him away from the collapsing floor in time, and he had scraped the back of his calves.

“I'm sure they're okay,” Felix says. Hyunjin frowns, because Felix looks queasy and Hyunjin knows that when Felix is sick, something is wrong.

Then he sees them. Felix sees them too, from the way his hand latches onto Hyunjin’s arm.

“Seungminnie,” Felix gasps, “Yen.”

Hyunjin stares in shock as Jeongin and Seungmin are frantically wheeled away by shouting paramedics. He wants to run up to them. He wants to ask Innie, what happened? Where are you hurt? He wants to tell Seungmin, Don't cry, please. You're going to be okay.

They're wheeled into ambulances and rushed away faster than Hyunjin can react. Something churns in his stomach.

This is too fast. How did they even find themselves in this situation?

He sees Chan trudging towards them, carrying Minho on his back. Hyunjin hears Felix sob next to him. He thinks, he wants to cry, too. But there is only a simmering anger.

Who is responsible for this?

No.

He sees Changbin, and next to him, a stretcher. A stretcher carrying someone Hyunjin recognises instantly. After all, there is no one else.

How? How?

No.

He stands still, feet planted to the ground. Jisung’s being surrounded by more medics than he can count. Jisung’s fucking bleeding a fountain from his leg.

There's so much shouting. There is so much.

It's a delicate situation. Hyunjin doesn't believe it. How can he?

“Ji—Jisungie,” Felix sobs, “No…Jisung…”

How is he supposed to believe this?

seize the day.

“I'm sorry.” Chan bows his head. “Everyone, I'm—”

“Stop, hyung.” Felix’s voice is shaky. But he has to make sure Chan understands. “This isn't your fault. Not at all. There's…literally no way you could've predicted this. You're not the one who made the stage cave in. So please, don't blame yourself.”

Chan stares at him with eyes that tell Felix he doesn't believe him, but Felix won't let that stand. He's had enough of everyone, Chan himself especially, thinking Chan is some omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent being who is somehow the cause of everything that happens to them.

Fuck that.

“Get ready, hyung,” he says ominously. Chan blinks at him.

—

“They wired your jaw shut?” Hyunjin's chest aches.

Seungmin nods wearily. It seems he wants to cry but has no energy to.

Hyunjin's voice gets quieter, “You broke it?” Another nod. “Oh, Minnie…”

He hopes the hug is as comforting for Seungmin as it is for himself. “I'll wait forever to hear your voice again,” he whispers, and cradles Seungmin’s trembling fingers in his hands. He means it. He will.

—

“Give me a hug, Innie-baby,” Minho whines, and Jeongin has quite literally no choice but to accept it. This cunning hyung, catching him when he can't even run away.

He thinks of shoving him off, but decides, they've both been through enough. Maybe a hug isn't that bad.

Jeongin remembers the look on his hyung's face when he saw him, when he asked where Jisung was. He remembers how pale Jisung looked when he visited him—how fucking dead he must've looked right after the fall. Yeah, fine. He can let Minho have this.

Minho materialises a permanent marker from absolutely nowhere.

“Please don't sign something stupid, hyung,” Jeongin tries. To no avail.

—

“Okay, everyone, repeat after me.” Felix takes a deep breathe. “We're going to be okay.”

“We're going to be okay.”

“Not good enough!” He snaps. Innie puffs his cheeks out at him. “We're going to be okay!”

“We're going to be okay!”

“Jisung is okay!” He yells.

“Jisung is okay!”

“Stray Kids, FIGHTING!”

“STRAY KIDS, FIGHTING!”

—

Changbin doesn't think this is the end. It isn't. He's sure.

Even though Felix cannot stop crying and Hyunjin has anger with no place to put it. Even when Chan and Minho break down in panic and lash out in anger. Even if Jeongin never walks again. Even if Seungmin never sings again. Even if Jisung does not wake up the same.

He will keep believing.

Seo Changbin has never doubted his members.

—

Jisung blinks sluggishly. A white ceiling greets him. This is not his room.

He attempts to shuffle. Ow. His body aches. What the fuck happened? All he remembers is that god-forsaken festival performance, and the floor suddenly—

Ah.

“Sungie?” A voice hovers near. Jisung blinks.

“Chan-hyung?” he croaks. His throat feels dry and itchy.

Chan smiles at him. There are tears filling his eyes and Jisung has the feeling he has missed something. A lot of things actually. As he sweeps his gaze around the room, he realises he has missed many things.

“Innie, did you break your leg? And Minho-hyung, what happened to your wrist? Why hasn't Seungmin called me a fucking idiot yet? Why do you guys have so many scrapes? Did I die and did you all avenge me by getting into a fight?”

Felix starts crying, but before Jisung can panic, Changbin leans over and lightly flicks his arm

“Ow, hyung, that hurt,” he whines.

“You deserve it,” Hyunjin sniffs. This fucker.

Seungmin takes out a small whiteboard from literally his arse probably.

“Is someone going to tell me what happened?” Jisung groans. If he could punch the bed with his fist, he would. Why are they just standing there smiling like losers! He's in a damn hospital bed! They should be either coddling him or crying at his feet in relief!

(They did do that, Han Jisung.)

YOU ARE A FUCKING IDIOT. Seungmin writes, in capitalisation, in complete English, with pure seriousness on his face.

“Wow, thanks,” he deadpans, a little concerned because, why couldn't Seungmin just say that to him like he always does, but Jeongin starts to giggle, and then Hyunjin, and then everyone.

Even Minho, who had been staring at him blankly for the past ten minutes, smiles slightly. And Jisung thinks, okay, whatever happened, couldn't have been so bad. Everyone's here, anyway.

(Yes, Han Jisung is a fucking idiot.)

errare humanum est — to err is human — failure is constant

“It just seems a bit…cheap, doesn't it?” Seungmin sighs. His voice slightly crackles over the phone. “I don't like how they're using us.”

Chan frowns.

“But…” he looks down at his mattress. His phone is hot in his palm. “It’s an opportunity.”

Chan had been taught to never lose opportunities. It worked when he moved to Korea. It worked when he stayed in JYPE. It worked with Stray Kids. It worked. It worked. It worked.

There's no reason it wouldn't work now.

There's no reason to lose this.

“The others do seem to want to do this,” Changbin adds. “And it could…be a good opportunity for us?”

Seungmin grunts unhappily. Chan gets it, Changbin is clearly taking his side. If not all, then most. Chan feels guilty, but if Changbin understands him, then surely Seungmin will, and so will the others?

He wants to prove himself. What?

There's an itchy feeling under his skin.

By the time they've exhausted all possibilities and outcome, Chan’s final alarm has gone off.

He hopes the kids don't worry too much. Whatever consequence they face, Chan will simply take the fall.

Changbin sighs. “I hope we've made the right choice, then.”

“I hope so too, hyungs,” Seungmin mutters.

Chan just feels dread.