Page 116

We didn’t run, there were too many people, but he moved and I followed, and together we hurried back through the warren of tunnels beneath the stadium. We came upon the crowded green room where people milled about, no one looking particularly alarmed. Minjae was there, and his face was hard, jaw set as he stood in front of a door in an aloof way that could almost be called casual, were it not for his face. His eyes met mine, and he did not soften, but his shoulders seemed to rise in a deep inhale. He tilted his head to the door in a nearly-imperceptible expression. I walked over, flanked by Lee, who was loudly waylaid by Minjae in a casual conversation about the choreo for their encore song.

I didn’t turn as I slipped past. I found myself in a short, dark corridor with boxes stacked against one wall, doors blocked off except for one at the end. It was slightly ajar, and silent beyond. I approached cautiously, placing my hand flat against the wood, pushing it open slowly. It opened into a dimly-lit storage cupboard.

Woojin knelt on the floor. He looked up as I entered, rising quickly to walk over to me, and as he did, I saw who he’d been kneeling in front of.

Jihoon.

He was sat on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees, his face pressed against his legs. Even from here I could see he was trembling.

My hand fluttered in front of my mouth and I felt my face crumple, before I regained control of myself.

“He will not hear me,” Woojin said tightly, staring down at me with some mix of apprehension and frustration, and I realised he probably didn’t know that I knew Jihoon had had a panic attack on tour already. One I had been there for.

“He has been… bad, since we came to Paris.” He switched to Korean seamlessly, despite articulating perfectly in English. “Like a tiger in a cage. He asked if you were here.”

“I’m here now,” I said uselessly, unable to tear my eyes away from where Joon was curled around himself.

Woojin blew out a breath. “We got here, we did soundcheck, and afterwards he just stopped. We came inside and he would not do anything. Would not get dressed, would not let the stylists near him. Minjae-hyung dragged him in here so they would not see.”

Woojin made a noise low in his throat, dragging a hand through his hair, and I watched his eyes dart to Joon, pinching for a moment before refocusing on me.

“We have time. But not forever,” he said in a low voice, and a look of frustration crossed his face as the constraints of their life pressed down in a way more acute than could be easily dismissed.

“He doesn’t like to be touched when he’s like this,” he murmured, leaning in closer like he was imparting a secret, and my head canted to the side as I frowned. “Give him space,” Woojin said with a sigh before he moved away to the door I’d just come from, stepping through without a backwards glance.

I waited a few moments, listening to his footsteps receding down the corridor, the sound of a door and the ambient chatter of people growing momentarily louder before the click of a door closing, leaving us in silence.

“Joon?” I spoke quietly, every word in this small space amplified.

He didn’t react. I crossed the room, kneeling beside him and hovering my hand over him uncertainly, hearing Woojin’s warning about not touching him. But hadn’t he been fine before? On the bus back in Seoul? Biting my lip, I cautiously lowered my hand, softly trailing my fingers through his hair.

He didn’t react, and not knowing what else to do, I continued gently combing my fingers through his hair. It had gotten longer as the tour moved.

“Joon?” I tried again. “It’s Kaiya. I’m–I’m here. If you want.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to offer to leave, but leaving him felt like the wrong thing to do. Nor did I want to.

His shoulders shook, and my hand paused. I pulled back, afraid of overwhelming him, but as my hand moved, his hand shot out, finger encircling my wrist, holding me in place. My breath caught in my chest even as my heart hammered, and I watched as Jihoon raised his head. His eyes were red-rimmed as they grasped for mine.

I exhaled slowly.

“Are you okay?” I asked quietly, afraid that if I spoke too loud, I might spook him like a frightened animal.

He shook his head, chin trembling.

“Joon…” My voice broke, and I tried to school my features, even as I felt my expression weakening into something less than neutral, and all the while his fingers gently rubbed over the pulse point on my wrist.

I shuffled closer until my knees were pressed against his legs, and sat back on my heels.

He inhaled raggedly and then he was leaning towards me. I opened my arms and wrapped them around his shaking body, holding him tight as though I might somehow fight off all the bad things.

I didn’t know how long we stayed like that. My knees began to ache, but I ignored them. Eventually, the tremors in his body lessened, and his breathing came easier.

When it seemed like he was through the worst of it, he sat up. I felt cold without the press of his body against mine, but I pushed the feeling down. Then, Jihoon did something I didn’t expect. He leaned against the wall and wordlessly tugged me close. With a slight grimace, I unfolded my legs and sat beside him, leaning back against the wall as he wound his arm around me and pulled me against his chest. I resisted for only a moment before I exhaled and relaxed, allowing myself this, if only for the time we had in this dark room.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I offered.

His fingers flexed on my waist, and for a moment I didn’t think he’d answer.