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“We might need to consider major surgery,” the doctor says, and Jongho"s stomach drops right out of his body.
This morning when he told his manager that he needed to see a physician because the pain he"d been experiencing in his throat and neck have finally been too much to handle, he was hoping for a simple check-up. He was expecting the doctor to feel his vocal cords, prescribe him some soothing muscle relaxants, and instruct him to maybe take it easy going forward until whatever pain that was happening stopped. He was expecting this to be an easy fix.
But surgery?
“Surgery.” His manager repeats. He crosses his arms over his chest, unwilling to believe it. “I"m sorry, but what do you mean, major surgery? What kind? How long? What"s going on that he needs to have –”
“Please take a breath,” the doctor goes, but it only makes Jongho"s stomach twist up further. They"re all important questions to be answered. How long will it take for him to prepare? How long will it take for him to recover?
Will he ever recover?
“It"s not a rare procedure,” he explains slowly, looking at Jongho. “Millions of singers such as yourself end up needing to have laryngeal surgery, son.”
“How many manage to make a full recovery?” Jongho rasps, swallowing around the hurt that makes it hard to speak.
The doctor"s expression freezes for less than half a second, but it"s more than enough for Jongho to know.
“We will refer you to only the best,” he says. Sidestepping the question entirely. “They will be able to tell you more when you"re–”
“The best that money can buy,” Jongho"s manager says, pulling out his phone and texting away. “I want their contact information. I want their references. I want –”
Jongho, holding his breath, exhales shakily to himself. He tunes out his manager, unable to handle it right now.
His throat first started hurting about a month ago. Jongho was used to small aches and pains from overuse, especially around comeback season. Typically, he could get through all of it with a little ice, a little heat, and a decent night of rest. It was just a slight tickle at the back of his throat then, familiar and more annoying than anything, so after his full day of performing, he drank something warm and waited for it to go away.
It didn"t.
He woke up the next morning, the tickle still there, and seemingly made worse by him talking.
Jongho, Mingi murmured, watching him just a tad too closely that morning. Hey. You"re acting strange. Which is Mingi"s way of saying: I"m worried about you. Really.
It"s nothing, Jongho said. It wasn"t convincing, especially with the rough throat-clearing that he had to say it with, but Mingi backed off, leaving him be.
The next couple of days were hell; with him trying his best to push on and his throat just getting worse and worse. Mingi kept giving him these concerned side-long looks as Jongho"s self-imposed silence stretched on and on, and eventually, he must have had enough of worrying about him, because then Hongjoong was poking his head into Jongho"s room with a furrowed brow.
I"ve been told that you"re not well, he went, leaning against Jongho"s doorway. Is that true?
Jongho pushed past the instinctual urge to not speak that"s developed. I"m fine.
Not what I asked, maknae. Hongjoong straightened, then stepped further into the room. Are you sick?
No, Jongho answered, hoping that Hongjoong"s line of questioning stopped there. He"s found, in these years of being with his hyungs and being loved by his hyungs, that he is really, really bad at lying to them when it counts. I"m not sick.
Are you hurting?
Jongho faltered. Hongjoong"s eyes narrowed.
Where, he said immediately, stepping closer now, circling Jongho like he would be able to see the injury on him if he looked hard enough. I knew there was something off with you – I should have trusted my instincts and – he made a dismissive sound at himself. It"s fine. Lesson for next time. Just tell me where. What happened? Is it your knee again?
Yes, Jongho blurted. His own volume hurt, making him wince, but he covered it quickly. Yeah, he said, softer now, reaching out to stop Hongjoong and make the captain look him in the eyes. It"s just my knee. I think I need to rest more, hyung. That"s all, I promise.
Hongjoong squinted. He gave Jongho one final lookover before sighing. Maknae. You need to tell someone when something is bothering you. We only want to help. You trust us, yeah?
Jongho nodded. Of course he trusted them. It wasn"t a matter of trust. It was a matter of pride. It was a matter of being reliable. It was a matter of working for a company who"s main purpose, above all else, was to make money, not nurse injured idols back to health. Especially not when the thing that was injured was the thing that makes them the most money.
Telling his members would make this into a bigger deal than it is. He loved them, and knew them, and knew that if they knew, they would go through great lengths to make sure he was treated well and cared for. If they"re doing that, then they"re not focused on their jobs. Jongho is willing to lose out, just so long as they are taken care of. That"s all he"ll ever need.
Okay, Hongjoong continued. Then talk to me, maknae. Or Mingi. Or Seonghwa. Or any of us. You have seven other people here that care about you and want you to be okay. Lean on us.
Jongho promised to try. And Hongjoong started making calls to make sure Jongho"s schedule included doctor"s visits and less strenuous activities. Lying was not his best decision, nor his smartest, but it gave him enough time to realize that his voice was not getting better. It was only getting worse. Singing was next to impossible, and looking up his symptoms online gave him heart palpitations.
After a week of tip-toeing around his members, pretending to recover from a knee injury he didn"t have, he decided to face the truth. There was no hope for recovery for him. He spent entirely too long hiding it, and every option online didn"t understand that his whole job meant using his voice. He couldn"t just take half a year off and heal. His company would hate that. He would hate that.
So he went to his manager and he explained. The pain had gotten so bad that he needed to type it out for him, and even then, the man still bombarded Jongho with question after question, checking and double-checking to be sure of Jongho"s symptoms.
We need to make an appointment, he said frantically, dialing a number. Ai, I wish you came to me sooner, Jongho-ssi. Now, this is… Ah, damn.
And now they"re here. A consultation. Major surgery. Life changing things on a normal Thursday afternoon.
Jongho"s brain is far, far away. Split into seven different pieces and worried about all the wrong things.
Tonight, at the dorm, it"s game night. Every couple of months they get this chance: two free nights in a row that spill into the weekend. Precious hours just for them to do whatever it is they want to do.
Yunho, of course, will commandeer the living room, push aside Seonghwa"s carefully curated aesthetically pleasing decor, roll up Hongjoong"s comforter, and plop himself right in the center of all the cushions. He will pull out every controller, every console and every game they have. He will expect to see everyone play at least once. Yeosang will win half the time. Mingi will lose every round. Seonghwa will pick up a controller and accidentally do well, then settle back just to watch.
Yunho will expect Jongho to get riled up and stay until they"re both blinking and the screen is blurring. They"ll be mean and horrible to one another through pixels. Outside of the game: the complete opposite. Jongho will pretend he isn"t shuffling closer into Yunho"s steady warmth, and Yunho will pretend that he isn"t tucking in for the night, yawning halfway through his last game.
“I"ll have to tell them,” Jongho says. The conversation going over his head halts. He"s staring ahead, seeing nothing but the ruined night. “About this.”
“The members,” his manager clarifies, brows furrowing. Jongho must give a nod, because he frowns further. “What, they don"t know?”
Jongho doesn"t dignify that with a response. His throat hurts. He"s tired. He"s afraid. He doesn"t want to talk to someone who doesn"t understand the kind of love that manifests in silent suffering.
“Yes, Jongho.” He says slowly. It"s treading so carefully upon being condescending. Jongho deserves it. “You"ll need to – you should tell them about the surgery. They should know.”
Jongho nods mutely and the man lets out a soft breath, turning back to the doctor. “Yes. Okay. I"ll make note of this. Can we call if we have any–”
“Yes, yes,” the doctor goes, turning quickly, searching for a notepad. “Let me just get you my number, so you can –”
“Great. Thanks. We"ll certainly be in touch.” Jongho watches blankly as a number is scribbled down. A paper is folded and passed. The doctor turns to him, and his expression makes Jongho feel doomed.
“Just – keep good spirits, okay, Jongho?” He goes. “That"s the thing that matters most with these cases. Your own will.” He reaches out and touches Jongho"s shoulder. Jongho doesn"t move. “Stay strong and everything will work out just fine.”
Jongho can"t speak anymore, so he goes back to texting his manager; asking to be taken home the long way, and to stop for coffee before being dropped off at the dorms. Jongho knows he"s facing his final days because the man does it without a single complaint.
He tries not to think about it, but Jongho can"t help but worry about what will happen next. His manager will drop Jongho off, then go to KQ and tell the CEO what"s going on. They will call a meeting that doesn"t involve Jongho about Jongho, and decide to go ahead with the surgery for the possibility of recovery, and then terminate his contract midway through the healing process because they need to move forward with the group, we"re so sorry, Jongho. Then Jongho will move out of the dorms, away from his hyungs, and back home with his parents. He"ll be stuck alone, watching the snowfall on future Christmases wondering how everything could have gone so wrong.
“Don"t catastrophize.” His manager says, putting the car in park. Jongho inhales. Then exhales. “You think too much. I can see it on your face."
He glares at the man.
“It"s true,” he says, giving an unapologetic shrug. “We"ve worked together for five years now, Jongho-ssi. I know you, believe it or not.”
Jongho swallows thickly. His throat contracts painfully. His eyes turn back ahead, at the driveway facing him. His hyungs are inside, as well as his life for the past five years. Longer too, if he counts pre-debut. Longer still if he counts all the youth he threw away to get here. Most of the firsts were celebrated: debut stage, first live, first group chant, first award-show win. But a lot of them – the most important ones – went by without much fanfare. The first time they called Hongjoong captain. The first time they had dinner together. The first time Jongho fell asleep in one of their laps.
What if his lasts are creeping up on him just like those first passed with no warning? What if this is the beginning of the end?
He turns back to his manager, jaw set. “You"re right.” He forces himself to say. The man"s eyes widen. “I"ll talk to them and feel better. I just need to tell them.”
He squints. “You"re just - going to tell them. I don"t have to come in and make sure you will?”
Jongho shakes his head. “It"s major surgery,” he sighs. The pain is making him tired now. “If I say nothing, they"ll be pissed.” He doesn"t want to ruin the moment anymore than already done, so he reaches out and touches his manager"s shoulder. “Thank you for your help.”
His first last of many. His manager smiles, it"s weak, worried. No doubt he"ll be contacting Hongjoong later tonight to make sure Jongho actually told him.
He lingers for half a second before letting himself out of the car and not looking back.
When he gets the door open, he"s greeted with the familiar feeling of home.
There"s spice in the warm air, the smell of onions in a pan. There"s excited chatter from the living room; San, protesting to whoever is teasing him, but also smiling – Jongho knows the sound of it in his voice. Then the sound of Wooyoung and Mingi"s laughter. They"re tilting and leaning into each other, collapsing together in joy the way that they often do. Jongho can see them all without looking at them; that"s how ingrained his members are in his life.
The process of starting to let them go will be hard, but Jongho knows it"s what needs to be done. For them and for him.
He takes off his shoes and his jacket and then pulls on his house slippers. He shuffles through the front walkway and peeks around the corner into the living room. Just as he suspected, there"s Yunho on the couch with a controller and Yeosang sitting next to him, watching with a small smile. Seonghwa is tucked against Yeosang"s side, leaning his head against the younger"s shoulder and watching with overwhelming fondness. Mingi is sitting on the floor next to Yunho"s legs, with Wooyoung basically entangled with him. Their faces are pink with laughter at San"s expense, who sits just a seat away from Yunho"s right side, but close enough that he can lightly kick Wooyoung"s back for making fun of him. Hongjoong, on San"s other side, sprawled against the arm of the couch and notoriously bad at games, is just observing, probably still trying to learn the buttons.
The sight of them makes Jongho feel full. For half a moment, he forgets about his entire morning, or the pain he"s been in for the past couple of weeks now, or what he needs to tell them tonight. For half a moment, the only thing that matters is that they are here and happy.
Then Seonghwa notices him standing there. And everything crashes right back down to reality.
“Jongho,” Seonghwa calls, grin widening and somehow softening. More eyes turn to Jongho. “You"re home. We saved you a seat. And a plate. Wooyoung, do you want to -”
“I can,” San interrupts, standing. He passes his controller to Hongjoong, who startles like he doesn"t want it. When he gets up, he ruffles Wooyoung and Mingi"s hair, making them both groan and try smacking his hand away. “Maknae. Hi.” San goes when he"s standing in front of Jongho. He rocks on his toes a bit and Jongho knows he"s about to –
A peck lands on Jongho"s cheek.
Jongho sighs to himself. He doesn"t protest though. Firsts and lasts, he thinks. He can"t remember the first time San did that. But if the last is coming soon, then he"ll savor it.
“Hi hyung.” Jongho manages. It"s raspy and low, but good enough that it makes San beam. “Food?”
San takes him into the kitchen, chattering enough for the both of them. He insists on warming up Jongho"s bowl for him, and then adding more leftovers to it and then pouring him a drink. Jongho doesn"t protest. He leans back against the kitchen counter and watches San move around their space; watches the brightness of his eyes and listens to the natural meter of his voice, all the peaks and shifts. He wants to commit each of his members to memory if he can. He wants to take as much of them with him as he"s able.
“You"re quiet,” San says as he passes Jongho the glass. He reaches to take it, but San keeps his fingers around it, leaning a bit and squinting to look Jongho in the eyes. “What are you thinking about?”
“I"m normally quiet.” Jongho tries clearing his throat. It doesn"t work. San frowns.
“Not at home.” He corrects. “Not with us.”
Jongho worries that he won"t let it go. That he won"t let the glass go and let Jongho move on, but San eventually, after another pause, sighs, then lets go. Jongho greedily raises the cool drink to his lips. San watches him.
“Maknae,” he says, lingering on the last sound a bit. Not teasingly the way he normally does, but worried. Concerned. “If there"s something wrong, you can tell us.”
“I know.”
San hesitates. “Where were you today?”
Jongho swallows, throat working painfully. “Out.” He says. San"s expression drops.
“Jongho,” he whispers, almost pleading.
“Hyung, just let it go. I"m –”
“No,” San shakes his head. “No. I can"t.” He reaches and curls a gentle hand around Jongho"s wrist. “Jongho, we all know something is up. Something that you"re not telling us. Something you had to talk to manager-nim about. What is it? How can we help you?” Jongho doesn"t respond. San makes a small, hurt noise. “Please. We just want to love you. We just want to help.”
“You can"t,” Jongho whispers. “You can"t. Not this time.” San opens his mouth, about to protest, but Jongho continues. “But you"re right. You guys deserve an explanation. Tonight. Just – can I enjoy this for a little bit first? Please?”
The sound of loud laughter and cheers come from the other room. San"s hand loosens on Jongho"s wrist.
“Of course, maknae.” He says, but his expression is concerned. Jongho takes a step back, turns, and puts on a brave face, leading them out of the kitchen.
Yunho immediately opens an arm when Jongho comes back into the room.
“Come on,” his hyung says, grinning, patting the cushion next to him. “You"ve gone way too long without getting beaten by me, maknae.”
Jongho raises an eyebrow. “You wish.” It"s weaker than what he"s usually got, but Yunho doesn"t seem to notice, too busy grabbing the controller from Hongjoong.
“Ai, you should let him eat while his food is warm,” Seonghwa chides. Yunho hesitates, having not even thought about it.
“It"s okay,” Jongho puts his bowl in his lap and snatches the controller. “Too hot for my throat right now.” A little too honest, but hey – they don"t know anything. It won"t hurt. Maybe in a half an hour, but not right now. For the next thirty minutes, Jongho wants them all to live in the bliss of ignorance. It"s the least he could offer. It"s the least they deserve.
Yunho jostles him a bit, laughing. “I"ve seen you eat food right out the pan. You just wanna play with me, Jongho. Don"t lie.”
Jongho glares.
“Aw, cute maknae.” Wooyoung chimes in as Yunho reaches to pinch his cheeks. “Our lovely maknae. He missed us.”
“Our tsundere,” Seonghwa goes, swept up in their antics. His face is all scrunched in that way he has when he"s teasing his members. He tries reaching grabby hands over Yunho and Jongho hunches away from him, horrified. Mingi and Wooyoung start cackling. “Aw, so cute.”
Jongho looks at Hongjoong, frantic. Pleading. Hongjoong has a small, fond smile on his face.
“They missed you,” he goes, shrugging plainly. “They"re just really annoying about showing it.”
Jongho hesitates, eyes flickering back over his hyungs. They"re laughing, maybe at his expense, but still laughing. Happy. All together.
A lump wells in Jongho"s already aching throat. Firsts and lasts.
“Let"s just play,” Jongho says, smacking San and Yunho"s hands away. His grumble isn"t entirely convincing, but he still tries. “Don"t touch me.”
Even with his protest he doesn"t argue when Hongjoong chuckles then leans over, letting his head lay on Jongho"s shoulder.
Jongho doesn"t win, but Yunho doesn"t gloat.
Jongho was convinced that none of them except San had noticed anything wrong, but Yunho simply grinning and patting Jongho"s leg in sympathy was too out of the ordinary for it to make any sense. Still, he sits back and lets the kindness happen, flushed. It isn’t rare; they always treat him gently, even when he’s trying to be a nuisance, but still it floors Jongho every time.
He watches Mingi lose, and then Seonghwa and then Hongjoong again. San refuses to even try, tucking his head into Wooyoung’s lap to watch Yeosang try to topple Yunho’s reign on first place. It’s nice and warm here, and Jongho hates to ruin this, but he can see Hongjoong’s eyes drooping and San clinging the way he does right before he’s about to pass out.
If he doesn’t say something tonight, then he never will. He knows himself well enough.
Yunho groans as Yeosang’s character knocks him off the platform, and before they can move on, Jongho speaks up. “Can we talk?”
They all quiet. They all look at him. San’s eyes are wide. Nervous.
Hongjoong lifts his head. “What’s wrong, maknae? Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Jongho says. His throat aches. “Actually, no. We should talk.”
“Say it,” Wooyoung says. He sounds tense. He hates suspense. “Just –”
“It’s about my health.” Jongho continues. San straightens. Yunho puts down his controller. Someone switches the TV off. “I – recently, Mingi was worried. And Hongjoong. And - and San. You all thought something was wrong, and I told you it was nothing. Or it was my knee. It wasn’t. You were right. Something is wrong.”
“What is it?” Seonghwa breathes. “What happened?”
Jongho can’t look any of them in the face. He can’t watch the way their expressions change. “I’ve been having this pain recently. In my throat. I’ve tried everything that I know: water and rest and tea and ginger. I took pain meds. I took cough medication. I talked to my vocal coaches. Nothing worked.” He sighs. “Today I went to the doctor and they told me that I needed surgery. That’s the only thing that would possibly work.”
No one speaks. Jongho peeks up at them. Hongjoong’s expression is blank. Mingi looks terrified. Wooyoung is –
“How long?” He asks. His voice is hard.
“What?” Jongho goes.
“How long, Jongho?” He says again. “How long have you been in pain? How long have you been keeping this from us?”
Jongho hesitates.
“Since we thought it was his knee,” Seonghwa speaks. His voice trembles. “He – so at least two weeks ago. He’s been hiding it for two weeks.”
“Longer than that.” Mingi says. “It was longer than that.”
“How long?” Wooyoung demands again. Jongho feels like shrinking. It’s not a new feeling. But it’s a feeling he’s never felt with Wooyoung before. “Jongho.”
“Wooyoung –” Hongjoong tries.
“Almost a month now,” Jongho answers. “It wasn’t that bad in the beginning – it only hurt when we rehearsed. But now –”
“Now?” Mingi prompts, eyebrows furrowed.
“Now it hurts to talk.” He admits. Then tries to clear his throat. It doesn’t work. Yunho flinches at the sound. “I should’ve said something sooner, but I –”
“But what?” Wooyoung snaps. “You –”
“Wooyoung.” Hongjoong says firmly. “That’s enough.” Wooyoung looks away. “Surgery. What do we know about the procedure? How long is the recovery period? What are they looking to fix?”
Jongho inhales, then explains, repeating everything that the doctors told him, everything the manager said. He lifts his chin and presses two fingers to the column of his throat, where they often tap affectionately when they’re proud of him. He draws a line up as he speaks, showing where the pain resides. Then he explains how the pain feels. How it felt when all this started, what it feels like now, what the doctors said about it.
“Okay,” Hongjoong says. He"s cutting Jongho off a bit, but he looks rather ill. “Don"t – if it hurts to talk, I don"t want –”
He doesn"t finish, but Jongho nods, grateful. Him falling silent willingly must have been the last piece of confirmation they needed, because after that, Seonghwa puts a hand over his shining eyes, and San bows his head in what looks to be prayer. They seem to all understand what Jongho knows to be true about this; there is a possibility that there is no coming back to what is normal after this.
“Here,” Yunho says, reaching for and handing him a glass of water. His hand trembles slightly as he does. “Will this help?”
Not really, but Jongho nods anyway, taking the glass and sipping carefully. Their eyes linger on his throat as he drinks. When he"s done, Yunho takes the glass from him. The silence is loud.
“What if –” Jongho pauses. They all look at him, and he can see in their eyes that they know what he"s going to ask. The silent question hanging over all their heads. The one they don"t want to acknowledge. Jongho has to be the one. It"s only fair. "What if after the surgery – what if I can"t sing the way I used to?"
It"s a question for the doctors. For the managers. For his company. If he wants a concrete answer, he should ask them and no one else. But even still, he can"t help needing to know what his members would think about him if he couldn"t perform as he used to. This is more important than any procedure. Any contract.
Seonghwa"s cheeks shine with fallen tears. Yunho looks down at his own trembling hands. Yeosang looks pale in the living room lighting. Jongho, despite the icy cold fear starting to crawl through him, raises his chin. Be strong for your hyungs, he thinks to himself, up until the very end. No matter how close that end may be.
"Then we"ll deal with it," San speaks up. When Jongho locks eyes with him, his gaze is intense. His jaw is set. It looks like a million tired nights in the studio, side by side, with San tugging him close, or whispering words of encouragement, or challenge, or praise. It sounds like San"s cheers and cries when Jongho tries something that he normally shys away from; always honest and genuine and overflowing. It feels like San"s hands cupping at Jongho"s cheeks and holding there and him going, we"re brothers, okay? So we do this together - just like everything else.
To Jongho, it almost sounds like a promise.
"Deal with it," Jongho repeats. To him, no matter what fantasy he wishes he could foster, he can"t help thinking practically. He lives in the real world. And in the real world, dealing with it can mean a lot. His company might not see it the way that his members do. They"ll deal with it by finding a new singer, one less broken, one more fitting, someone cuter, someone better, someone who doesn"t pretend to be all that they are.
"I"m not letting them take you from us," San says darkly. Wooyoung"s head jerks up, and Yunho nods firmly. Oh, Jongho thinks. "If dealing with it means changing how we perform, how we create songs, then we will. If dealing with it means working with you through all of this, then we will. We"re family, Jongho. Always."
"I don"t want another singer," Wooyoung spits. His first words since Hongjoong"s reprimand. Jongho, now not clouded by nerves and fear, can recognize his tone for what it is. Fear. Desperation. Wooyoung softens, looking at Jongho. "I want you."
Jongho"s heart bleeds. "I want you guys too," he gasps, blinking rapidly. Yunho scoots closer, putting a hand to the back of his neck. San shifts, scooting forward as if Jongho is about to fall off the couch. "I want to sing for you guys until I can"t anymore."
"You don"t have to," Yeosang murmurs, leaning forward. Jongho wishes he were closer. After this, Jongho is going to make them pull all the pads from the closet and they"re gonna sleep in the middle of the living room like back during pre-debut, before they had any space. He needs them close. "You don"t have to sing at all for us to love you. For us to want you."
Jongho ducks his head. Yunho"s nails scratch lightly at his nape. Yeosang knows him too well. Of course his company would do whatever they needed to in order to keep the brand of Ateez alive, but if his hyungs didn’t want Jongho anymore, he didn"t know what he would do.
"Maknae," Hongjoong says. Jongho looks over, almost afraid. But Hongjoong"s expression is kind. "Ah, come here."
Slowly, Jongho leans, pulling away from Yunho"s hands and turning so they"re facing each other. Hongjoong reaches out and takes Jongho"s wrists. He tugs slightly, and Jongho moves with it, getting closer.
"Jongho." He says firmly. His tone says listen to me, because this is serious. "You are Ateez. We are never going to do this without you. Just how we wouldn"t do it without Yeosang, or Yunho, or Mingi. You matter just as much."
"Thank you," Jongho whispers, ducking his head slightly. The syllables shake when he says them, and he knows Hongjoong can hear it.
"I mean it, Jongho. Maknae, you"re – you"re ours." Something rolls through Jongho then, heavy and warm and relieving, but he ignores it because Hongjoong is pulling him in, reaching up and curling his arms around Jongho. "Singing, no singing. Speaking, no speaking. All of it. All of you."
Jongho tucks his face into his leader"s shoulder and, for the first time since that first morning full of pain, cries.
They do pull the pads down from the closet.
Yunho pushes the coffee table aside and Mingi unrolls Jongho"s pad right in the middle of the living room, then loudly claims the one right next to it. It becomes an argument between the two of them, until Hongjoong points out that Jongho has two sides, which invites Wooyoung and San into the mix for round two. Jongho blinks at them all fondly as they threaten to beat each other with pillows.
"Jongho-ya."
Jongho turns to see Seonghwa standing there, offering up a warm cup of tea, with a calm, soft smile.
"Hyung," Jongho takes the cup gratefully. "Thank you."
"Of course." Seonghwa nods. They stand together, watching Wooyoung hiss at San and Yunho. And watching Yeosang quietly roll out his mat to claim the spot while they"re all distracted. Jongho sips the warm drink, sighing in pleasure at the feeling of it going down. “I didn"t know if it would help or hurt, but–”
"Mh, this is really good." Jongho praises. It doesn"t help the pain much, but the act of kindness soothes his soul in an unexplainable way. "Thank you, hyung."
Seonghwa nods wordlessly. Then his hand brushes Jongho"s briefly before clasping at it. It feels desperate. Jongho only hesitates for a moment before holding back.
"I love you," Seonghwa confesses. "a lot."
Jongho inhales. Breathes in camomile and honey. Breathes out his clinging shame. He"s only got a few words left; might as well use them here. "I love you too."
Once the fight for the spot next to Jongho is over, the rest of the members set to rolling out their pads diligently. Jongho sits, stomach warm with anticipation of having his family close, and the second he"s settled, he"s practically being attacked by Wooyoung. The man crawls all into Jongho"s space, wiggling in between Jongho"s legs, throwing his arms over Jongho"s shoulders, and tucking his nose into the crook of the man"s neck.
"Wooyoung,” Jongho hesitantly holds him. “What are you -"
"Mh, love you." Jongho"s stomach swoops. It still amazes him how easily they all say it. As if their love for him is just right there, always, waiting. Jongho doesn"t have to kick a ball or sing a line to have it. Just him being there is enough. "So much. So much."
"Wooyoung-hyung," Jongho holds him tighter. "Thank you, but -"
Wooyoung makes a small noise, burrowing in and squeezing. "Mm. Jongho.” He says, as if he can"t say anything other than Jongho"s name. “Jongho, I love you. A lot."
“I love you too,” Jongho says, with effort. Wooyoung breathes out. It sounds wet. “Hyung? Are you –”
“Sorry for earlier,” he says. It"s unnecessary. Jongho has already forgiven him. He would a million times over. “I – you scared me. I didn"t know what you were saying and I was afraid that it was already too late.”
Jongho pulls back slightly. “Too late?”
Wooyoung blinks at him with wet eyes. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Too late. To help you.”
Help? Jongho thinks. What could they help with? Before he can verbalize his confusion, Yeosang kneels down with blankets.
“Wooyoung,” he says, “you"re in my spot.”
They help.
By God, do they help.
When Jongho has his meeting with KQ next week about what they plan to do with him, they all go with him. Jongho only protests twice – when he wakes up and sees Seonghwa folding eggs and rice over in a pan, and then again when Yunho stumbles into the kitchen with bed-head and a puffy face. I can go alone, he insists, looking to Hongjoong, who is dressed impeccably, looking like Jongho’s legal representative.
You don’t need to, he says. Seonghwa puts food on Jongho’s plate. Eat, maknae. Rest your voice.
It must be intimidating for their CEO to call him and then have all eight members show up only an hour later, standing around Jongho protectively, as if the second that they leave, their company would attempt to get rid of him.
Uh – we really only need Jongho here today, the CEO says. Behind him, Jongho"s manager smiles at Jongho approvingly. It was quick, but Jongho is pretty sure he shoots him a thumbs up. Because this – this has to do with his injury, so –
We"ll just wait out here then, Hongjoong smiles thinly. Mingi opens his mouth to protest, but Seonghwa grabs his arm. San and Wooyoung, for what Jongho assumes they think is good measure, glares and keeps glaring. Come on, members.
Jongho, their CEO, and his manager watch as they place themselves in chairs along the hallway, settling in for however long it would take. Settling for however long Jongho needs them to.
Jongho swallows down the touched well in his chest. The CEO seems perplexed, looking at Jongho for answers he doesn"t have. Jongho"s manager chuckles under his breath. After the meeting, in which they tell Jongho that they"re willing to work with him through his recovery, no matter how long the process is, he comes out to see Yeosang standing at the door waiting. He reaches into Jongho’s jacket pocket and says, loud enough for everyone inside the meeting room to hear, thank you for holding my phone, Jongho. Jongho blinks. Yeosang taps around at it for a second, and then – oops. I left the voice recording on. Everything they said is copied here, I guess. He turns, looking to Hongjoong. Could be useful, no?
Jongho stares. Inside, the manager laughs - cackles - in full this time. Jongho can hear their CEO make sounds of confusion and concern. The rest of his members don"t seem fazed; in fact, Hongjoong is nodding in approval.
Jongho realizes that not only are his hyungs insane, but that they love him more than he could ever imagine.
Please go home, the CEO says, sounding tired and overwhelmed. We’ll contact you – you all – he corrects when he sees Yeosang’s pointed look – with next steps.
Okay, Jongho says, and then lets them all pull him back home to rest.
In the days leading up to Jongho"s procedure, they demand time off. Jongho, again, tries to protest against it, but this time, Seonghwa sits him down and calmly explains.
We won"t be able to focus either way, maknae, he says, reaching and taking Jongho"s hand. The touch is soft. It"s best for us to tend to you now, then once we know you are okay, and just need to recover, we can have space in our minds for other things. You are the priority. Then, in a move that should surprise Jongho more, Seonghwa bows his head. Please accept our love.
Jongho hesitates, then agrees.
As a group, Ateez go on a brief hiatus.
Publicly, KQ says that it is for personal breaks so that the members can visit their families and take a breath between tours and promotion. Wooyoung and Yunho send photos to their managers that can be posted on their social media to keep the ruse going, and they all, as a group, do one final live before ‘going home’ so they can talk with the fans.
Jongho sits in the KQ conference room, nestled between San and Mingi. He’s warm and happy. Yunho keeps giving him cups of warm water and lemon, and him and Mingi type to each other back and forth in the chat, teasing ATINY and also Wooyoung, who has decided to do very loud covers of whatever BTS or SEVENTEEN song that pops into his head. Seonghwa has decidedly had enough when he stands and begins doing frantic dance covers of AESPA to make him stop.
Jongho sing !!
Our Makdoonie should sing for us!
:heart: :heart: please sing jongho!
“They’re asking for Jongho,” Mingi says. To them, having known him for more than five years now, it’s obvious that his voice is filled with concern. He’s nervous, for both Jongho and them. To the fans, it"s nothing out of the ordinary. They know nothing.
Hongjoong shifts towards the camera. He opens his mouth. “Ah, our Jongho is a little sick, so –”
“I can sing,” Jongho interrupts. It"s not true, really. He can"t sing. He"s got a week until the procedure. He shouldn"t. But he thinks of ATINY. How they worried when he had to get knee surgery. The videos and the posters at the concerts and the long posts. They can"t know something is up. “What song should it be?”
All the members look at him, concerned. Hongjoong"s mouth keeps opening and closing. He"s too aware of the fans to say what he"s really thinking; Jongho will deal with the lecture later. Next to him, Mingi takes a deep shaky breath. His shoulder nudges into Jongho"s as it rises and falls, and for a moment, Jongho is worried that Mingi won"t let him do this.
“Sing my favorite,” Mingi says. They lock eyes, and Jongho can hear the one last time running through his hyung"s head. “Please.”
Jongho nods once, overwhelmed. Yunho takes the phone from him so he can sit forward and clear his throat. Mingi"s large hand fumbles for his out of view of the camera, and Jongho holds and squeezes.
The first couple of notes are a little shaky. Jongho’s used to perfection, or something close to it, when he opens his mouth, so he’s a harsh critic. But something in his brain reminds him that this isn’t for an audition, or a performance grade, or anything like that. It’s for Mingi, his hyung, and more importantly, it’s for himself.
This is his last song, so he’s going to sing it with no regrets.
.
When the live is over, Mingi tackles him in a hug. Jongho inhales sharply, then squeezes him back, burying his face in Mingi’s neck.
“You’re gonna sing again,” Mingi whispers firmly, teary. “You will. The world needs your voice. We need your voice. You’re gonna sing again.”
Jongho cracks a little, crying. Not just from the words, but from having someone in his life – seven different someones – that understand how important singing is to him. How much it means for him to be able to give his voice like a gift.
“Okay,” he whispers wetly into his hyung’s skin. “Okay.”
Months later, after many long nights and fitful sleeps and bad days, Jongho walks out of his last post-op check-up to see his members lined up anxiously in the hall.
Hongjoong is pacing back and forth in front of Wooyoung, Seonghwa, and San, who are sitting pressed close together, hands intertwined. Yunho is leaning against the wall, head turning at every beep and code that goes over the loudspeakers. Yeosang is standing beside him, eyes fixed to a point on the ground, and they only rise when Jongho stands still in front of them all.
Mingi, hunched in a chair a couple seats down from them, fumbles to his feet, pushing through them to take Jongho"s hand. “Wh- what did they say?”
Jongho squeezes back, the tears in his eyes falling down his cheeks. When he speaks, it"s painless. “I"ve made a perfect recovery.”
They all exhale, almost stumbling back in their relief. Mingi scoops Jongho up into a big hug, and spins him for good measure, causing him to laugh and cry a little more. When he touches back down, Hongjoong is there, at his back, and Seonghwa is grasping for his hand, and Wooyoung is trying to kiss his cheek, and Jongho is just so grateful for his members that he lets him.