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San had a problem, or so his fellow revolutionaries would say.
He never thought of it as a problem, to be honest. It just came so naturally to him. It was… it was his role in the group. Hongjoong is their fearless leader, Seonghwa, his badass right hand man, Yunho is their brilliant comms manager, and Yeosang, their handy technician. Mingi, the crafty instigator, Wooyoung is their irreplaceable strategist, and Jongho is the ace. San… he’s… he’s just there. Sure, he contributes to the meetings, helps Mingi create chaos, and lends a hand to Yeosang when needed, but other than that, it doesn’t really feel like he does anything.
Well, other than creating distractions. God, was he good at that. If Yunho and Yeosang needed to hack into a broadcast without being discovered, San would set off a firecracker to draw the Peace Corp’s attention. If Wooyoung and Seonghwa had to scout an area for attack plans, San would dive off a building to cause a scene. If Mingi and Jongho needed to pull off a stunt at a busy park, San would start throwing bricks.
If Hongjoong asked him to jump, he’d ask how high. He’d follow Hongjoong to the ends of the Earth, no questions asked. He’d take a bullet for him again and again. Anything to protect the leader of the revolution.
And it didn’t matter if he got hurt. No burn, break, or bullet would stop him in his pursuit of freedom. He could deal with a broken leg or a cut in his side. Injury came with the job, they all knew that. But it didn’t stop the looks that his group gave him.
Yeosang and Jongho were hard to read. They guarded their expressions and suppressed every tell, which made them perfect for infiltration and information gathering. But once in a while, a few things would slip. The corners of their lips would twitch downward for a second, eyes would flash with emotions before disappearing, and footsteps would hesitate outside of San’s door on the particularly bad days.
But they didn’t not care. They would raise a single eyebrow if he winced, drop off food if he were on bed rest, drop off a book in the middle of the night when they thought he was asleep. It felt… bad. Whatever the feeling was, it left a bitter taste in his throat and a lump in his stomach. It made him feel pathetic, like they didn’t want or need to waste energy fretting over San and trying to make him feel better. He supposed they didn’t, anyways.
Yunho, Mingi, and Seonghwa would always… assault San with attention. Scolding, taking care of his injuries, feeding him food if he couldn’t move. But Yunho and Mingi whispered too loud and were never aware that they kept glancing at San. Seonghwa was worse than them, slipping into what was dubbed ‘Mother Hen’ mode. He would chew San out for hours and hours, fretting and scolding, praising and berating, telling him to be better, to not be so stupid, to continue being brave, to stop getting himself injured, all while dressing San’s wounds.
The three of them watched San’s recovery with such an intensity that it was a surprise they got anything else done. And while he appreciated the concern, it made him feel pitied. Looked down upon. He hated it, he knew that they were just looking out for him, but it was overwhelming.
The worst of all were Wooyoung and Hongjoong. Wooyoung… he’s known Wooyoung for so long. They’ve loved and lost and felt every emotion possible for each other. But the look in Woo’s eyes whenever San hissed in pain at the rubbing alcohol or groaned when his arm had to be popped back into its socket stung. He would always cling to San, play with his hair and tell jokes, but every time he felt… disgusting. Beyond words. Who was he to waste Wooyoung’s attention?
He hated how sad he made Wooyoung, who had already gone through so much to be here. Every bruise, a wince, and every break, a frown. It was different from how the others showed how upset they were. They kept it contained, managing their expressions and watching their words, but Wooyoung let all his feelings out.
There was a small crease on the bridge of Wooyoung’s nose from the nose-scrunching and the brow-furrowing. In any other circumstance, San would want to kiss it, call it cute.
And Hongjoong, Hongjoong would always give San haunting faces of thinly veiled disappointment. It weighed heavily on him, keeping him up at night and tormenting him in the day. No words, just a slightly deeper frown and eyes that said ‘do better’.
And San tried! He would map out his escape route, practice every dive and roll he’d need, and wore extra gear on the days. But sometimes, that wasn’t enough, and San was fine with that.
He’d rather him get hurt than any of the others.
And that was why he was standing on the edge of an old office building, staring at the barren streets below. There was a cold breeze, ruffling his hair and biting through his thin clothing.
It was 1600 hours, and he could see a few people milling around, just tiny specks in a sea of grey. He felt… odd. Logically, he knew he’d never survive a fall from this height. If the impact didn’t kill him instantly, the internal bleeding would. Or maybe the Peace Corps.
He wondered what everyone would do if they found him dead. Would they weep or would they accept his death and move on? Would he be remembered, his belongings cherished, or would they be thrown away, forgotten alongside him? Would the shiba inu plush he’s had since forever be left to rot? Would the stray cat he lovingly cares for be left to starve? Would they even…
No, they would. They would notice if he were gone for days on end, right?
Nevertheless, him standing at the ledge was illogical and didn’t serve any purpose to the revolution. But something about it was just so…
“San?”
He flinched at the sound of his name, turning and hopping off the ledge and back onto the roof. He was greeted with the sight of his group, looking at him with concern. Wooyoung was at the forefront, brows furrowed and hands fidgeting at his side. He was concerned and… scared.
Scared…
Of San?
No, that couldn’t be. Wooyoung was everything to San. They’d gone through so much, and after they ran away, the two of them spent so many days and nights huddled together. Even after they both joined the revolution, they always managed to stick together. It was always them against the world, so why was Wooyoung looking at him like that?
“San, where’ve you been?” Wooyoung took a step closer. “We’ve been looking for you since 0800 after you missed the meeting and you weren’t in your usual spots, so we…” He sighed, worrying his lip for a second. “We were worried for you.”
Worried? San frowned. “About what?”
Wooyoung went from concerned to worried to distraught now, curling his fist and pressing them against his sides. He was shaking, on the verge of tears, and San felt dread curl in his stomach. What did he do?
Seonghwa put a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder, and Wooyoung immediately melted into the touch. Seonghwa smiled at Wooyoung for a second before looking at San. “We were worried that you came into trouble with a Peace Corp unit. You also left your communicator and gun at Base, so we assumed the worst.”
The worst?
Yunho nodded in agreement to Seonghwa, “You’ve been worrying us, San. You’ve been distant these last few days. Quiet.”
Quiet?
“You haven’t been answering your communicator.”
He hasn’t?
“Yeah, and you’ve been getting hurt more often.”
He has?
“Are you okay, San?”
Was he?
He took a hesitant step back, feeling trapped by everyone fanning around him, staring. This was the tactic they used if they wanted to intimidate, interrogate.
Intimidate. Interrogate.
He took another step back, only for his ankles to bump against the ledge. Induce the feeling of being trapped.
Intimidate. Interrogate.
There was something else that came after that.
Intimidate. Interrogate.
Apprehend.
“San!”
Wooyoung grabbed his arm and his touch burned. Memories of cauterized wounds and stun batons made San hiss, twisting his arm out of Wooyoung’s grip and blindly swung it a desperate attempt to get away, get away, get away-
From his perch, Hongjoong cleared his throat.
San felt ice course through his veins. Hongjoong was always so above it all, his silent and serious air curling around the rooftop like a mist. He jumped down from underneath the satellite dish, landing deftly on his feet. San was in deep trouble now. Hongjoong preferred to stay hidden, directing from the shadows. For him to interfere directly like this?
And oh god, Hongjoong was getting closer, eyes locked in on San. The other six shuffled out of his way and San distantly thought of old legends of seas parting.
“San.”
“Hongjoong.”
Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed. It was only for show, of course, to properly convey and emphasize his disappointment. None of Hongjoong’s expressions were without reason. “You missed the meeting at 1200.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then what’s your excuse for moping out here?”
San remained silent. He didn’t- he didn’t even have an excuse. Nothing he could make up to worm his way out like Wooyoung or Yeosang could, no pre-planned story Seonghwa or Jongho would have prepared, not even an ounce of charisma he could squeeze out like Mingi or Yunho.
“San.”
He averted his eyes.
“Answer me.”
Tears started forming.
“I- I needed to be alone.”
His voice was weak, breaking and quivering. He tried blinking away his tears, but the dam broke as they started to stream down his face. Pathetic.
“What you need is to calm down,” Hongjoong hissed, coming a step closer, “What you need is to come back to Base. What you need is what we need, San, and right now, we need you.”
“But you guys don’t! You guys don’t need me!” San spat. Hongjoong stilled. The others stiffened.
There was silence.
“You guys don’t need me,” San repeated, “You all are just… better. More skilled. You lead, you fight, you make the revolution happen. And I’m… I get hurt. I run and I get hurt. I dodge and I get hurt. Whatever I do, I get hurt.” The tears were flowing, running down the slope of his nose. A single tear dripped and splattered onto the concrete roof, and he distantly wished it was him.
“I don’t want to get hurt, but I do no matter what. And all of you do so much to help me, but you guys are wasting your time because I’ll get hurt again anyway. I’m a burden. I don’t deserve to be here.” He barely thought about his words before he uttered them in a single, terrifying whisper.
“Maybe I deserve to be hurt.”
From behind Yeosang, Wooyoung opened his mouth, but Hongjoong just held up a hand. San was shaking, the weight of his words settling in. Why, why, why would he say that out loud? Mingi and Yunho looked horrified, as did Seonghwa. Jongho had his fists balled up still, as if he were going to punch someone. Yeosang held Wooyoung, and Hongjoong…
He looked absolutely lost, as if he’d personally failed San.
The emotions were the most expressive San had seen on Hongjoong’s face, bar his usual anger or disinterest, and it scared San to the bone.
San was exhausted. He wanted to sleep, lie down, rest. He wanted to wake from a dream to Wooyoung and Mingi gossiping about something while Yeosang and Jongho were squished together in a chair, reading. Seonghwa would be sat elegantly on the floor, sipping stolen wine straight from the bottle, and Hongjoong would watch, the ghost of a smile on his face.
He was startled by a hand on his shoulder. Hongjoong looked him dead in the eyes, gripping San. There was clear emotion in his eyes, and San’s heart fell as he recognized it as regret. Did he regret letting San into his inner circle? Did he regret giving San an important role in the revolution? Did he regret even looking for San?
Hongjoong closed the distance between them, pulling San in for a hug.
“I’m sorry, San,” Hongjoong whispered, patting his back, “I should’ve made sure you felt wanted, should’ve made sure you felt safe.”
San struggled in his embrace, “I- no, you- it’s not your fault-”
Hongjoong just hugged him tighter, “No, it is. You put your faith in me as your leader, but I’ve done nothing to help you. I should have noticed that you were thinking like that. I should have seen you struggling. I should have known. It is my fault, San, so much more than it is yours.”
At San’s lack of a reply, Hongjoong kept going, “You said that we waste our time on you? No, we get a moment of rest while we watch you. You say you’re a burden? You’ve taken the edge off of the bad days, helped us out in our individual missions, kept our network running. You say you don’t deserve to be here? I have hand-picked each and every last one of you to be here based on your skills and talents, and none of you had made me regret those choices. You say you deserve to get hurt?” Hongjoong pulled back from the hug, hands on his shoulders and staring into San’s eyes, reaching and grasping his soul.
“Choi San, I will say this once and only once. Nothing, nothing you do will make you deserving of pain. You are admired. You are cared for. You are loved. Not just by me, but by all of us. If you are hurt, we are hurt. We feel the same feelings as you, we bleed the same blood. If you think you deserve to hurt, we’ll hurt alongside you, no matter what.”
San was gasping for air, overwhelmed by emotion, “But- but the revolution-”
“To hell with it,” Hongjoong’s hand slid from San’s shoulders to arms, tracing over muscle and scars, and from his arms to his hands, holding them. “I hope I speak for all of us when I say this, but I’d gladly choose you and your health over the revolution. You deserve so much more than this life can give, and I will die before I finish expressing my gratitude.” He turned to the other six, still holding onto San’s hand like a lifeline. “That goes for all of you. I don’t know how lucky I am, being able to know and serve you all.” Hongjoong held out his free hand towards Wooyoung, “To love, and to be loved.”
Wooyoung’s eyes went wide and he wriggled out of Yeosang’s hug. Taking a tentative step forward, he glanced at Jongho, then Mingi, then settled on San. He took another step, emboldened, and then another.
San was almost knocked over by the force of Wooyoung’s hug, and Hongjoong’s hand steadied him. “W- Woo-”
“I was so scared,” Wooyoung whispered, and San fell silent. “Scared and worried that you were dead, that you got hurt, that the Peace Corps got you.” There were hands on his back, in his hair, stroking his arms, as if San were going to disappear. “I was scared, San, and I’m still scared. I- I don’t like seeing you hurt, and I…” He trailed off, hugging San tighter, “I thought you were going to jump.”
Jump… off the building. San’s mouth was dry, and he was conscious of how close Wooyoung was to him as he swallowed, “Wooyoung, I would never leave you like that.” Hands curled into the back of San’s jacket and he was reminded of cold nights in abandoned buildings. “And I wasn’t,” San added as an afterthought. “Jumping. I wouldn’t. I don’t think I ever could.”
“Good,” Wooyoung pulled back from the hug, his hands sliding from San’s back, over his shoulders, down his arms, and grasping his hands in a motion so familiar it hurt. They bumped foreheads.
There was silence. It was heavy, comforting, curling around and resting on San like a blanket. Slowly, as if he didn’t want to scare San, Hongjoong put a hand on his shoulder. He offered a small smile, and San returned it with a hug. Wooyoung joined in, and a whoop from Mingi was the only warning as the others swarmed around and surrounded San with hugs, smiles, and words of affirmation.
“-fuck, bro, we were worried! I can cover your supply run if you need off, it’s-”
“-San, you know we love you, so much more than you could imagine-”
“-Seonghwa! You’re going to crush him-”
San just let himself be smothered. Seonghwa was squeezing the life out of him, as was Yunho. Mingi was talking a mile a minute, going off on how much he loved and appreciated San. Yeosang somehow patted San’s arm through the chaos and Jongho stood there stoically as usual, but San noticed the minuscule smile and invisible tears that were making themselves known.
This was… nice. A silent part of San whispered that this moment, however nice it was, was fleeting. They’d go back to being better than him, being silently worried yet so distant and aloof. He’d go back to being useless, unloved.
San grabbed that part of himself and gave it a punch in the throat.
Right now, at this very moment, he was loved. And that was all that mattered.