Chapter Text
Jeno is pulling his arm back, winding up for a devastating blow. A kind of power that crumbles walls with ease and shatters bones like glass.
They’re too close. Jeno’s best chance against Donghyuck in a fight is by closing the distance, and he’s pushed and pushed this fight until they’re almost a breath apart. Donghyuck can’t overpower him in a close fight like this, not when he’s up against Jeno’s brute strength.
Donghyuck can see how this will go.
Jeno’s aiming for Donghyuck’s chest, intent on exploiting some earlier injuries that have slowed him down and left him open. But Donghyuck should have just enough time to dodge to the left, where there is just enough space that Jeno has yet to learn to close up.
Donghyuck will have to fire in retaliation, though it won’t do much more than just stun Jeno for a second — enough to get some distance again, enough to turn the tide in the fight back into Donghyuck’s favour.
He can see how this should go. How it always goes when they fight. Jeno gets too close and gets in hits that leave Donghyuck battered and bruised but never completely broken. Donghyuck gains some distance, and is usually able to subdue Jeno — though he’s never managed to keep him down, never managed to capture and bring him in despite all of his efforts.
Jeno just refuses to come back in. No matter what Donghyuck has tried, no matter how much he’s fought and bled and begged, Jeno manages to slip away.
It will be like this. Again, and again, and again. How it always is. All Donghyuck has to do is dodge to the left.
Move, he tells his body, simply out of habit. It doesn't.
Jeno’s hand is reaching the final arc of his wind-up, starting to lose momentum as he’s about to thrust all that power forward, right into Donghyuck’s chest, and he should move. He needs to move.
Except he sees a boy, standing before him, four years ago. Raising his hand up with a beaming smile, eyes crinkling with kindness, as he goes to high-five Donghyuck. He sees a boy, years ago, who used to reach out his hand just to hold Donghyuck’s own. He sees a boy, months ago — too many, now, but not far enough to ever forget — who used to kiss his hair, who used to carry Donghyuck from the couch to the bed.
A boy who used to love him, once upon a time. A boy that Donghyuck can’t ever stop loving, as he remembers the way Jeno cried, once, when he accidentally struck Jaemin and Donghyuck with his powers while they were messing around.
Then, it had barely been a glimpse of his true power. It had only made Donghyuck’s arm tingle, barely even sore, but still— still, Jeno had cried. Now, though, Jeno strikes at Donghyuck with all of his might. And there has never been a glimpse of him — of tearful eyes, of remorse, or the boy who used to love him — whenever he lands a strike.
Jeno’s not crying. He’s not smiling. No trace of guilt or love or kindness. No trace of the boy that Donghyuck used to hug and hold and play games with until it was too early in the morning. No trace of the boy — no trace of the relationship they had once, when they were so close to being something. So close to being everything. To each other, to Renjun, to Jaemin.
The four of them. It was always the four of them. It should have been them forever.
But Jeno had left, leaving not a single trace of the boy he used to be behind. Not leaving a single trace of what they used to be to each other.
When they first encountered each other on the field, when Jeno reappeared and fought against him, Donghyuck was angry. Not at Jeno, not at first. He thought someone had taken him, had replaced him, and hidden the real Jeno away.
But he’d come to learn, over too many hits, that it was Jeno. The boy in front of him was the one he used to love — the same body and mind, somehow, but so terribly different. Donghyuck has gone through every emotion when it comes to Jeno, but he’d been so hurt and betrayed, and tried to strike at Jeno like one good hit would make him come back to his senses. As time has passed though, and they continued to trade blows back and forth, and there’s still no sign of his Jeno ever returning, he’s…
He’s tired.
He’s so very, very tired.
When Jeno’s hand comes towards him, Donghyuck does not listen to his body. He does not move.
Jeno is about to hit Donghyuck with the kind of power that crumbles walls, shatters bones.
This is how it will go:
Donghyuck won’t dodge, and the small window Jeno always forgets to close up will be lost. He won’t be able to counter-attack or throw up any kind of defence or gain any distance. Jeno’s strike will hit him, and it will make a mess of his chest.
Maybe, if Donghyuck’s lucky enough, his heart will stop immediately from the force. Jeno’s strike should shatter enough bones and muscle to make it instantaneous, and he won’t even be able to feel it.
It might be gruesome, captured by the news helicopters circling above, but they should have enough time to cut the live footage before it airs. But the beloved hero Haechan will die here, in this last fight with Jeno, and he won’t be here to see the aftermath.
Jeno will be hunted for the rest of his life, wanted for his death, wanted for killing one more piece of the original promising squad they once were together.
Maybe, as all this is happening, Donghyuck will be in his next life. Where he hopes to meet Jeno, Renjun, and Jaemin again. He’ll make sure they stay together, this time. He won’t fail again.
He should close his eyes, he thinks. It’ll give him the chance to see the four of them all together again, pictured so clearly behind his eyelids, happy one last time. It should be his last memory, his last thought, the one thing he wanted more than anything else in this life.
But Donghyuck keeps his eyes open, because even now — even now, Donghyuck can’t look away from Jeno.
He doesn’t move. He sees the moment that Jeno realises that Donghyuck is not doing what should be done, but what simply will be.
This is it, he thinks. He is so sorry to Renjun. So sorry to Jaemin.
So sorry to Jeno, too.
He’s so sorry that it’s come to this. He’s sorry that this is all he can do, now. He can’t fix this, he can’t change anything. He’s failed, over and over again, and he’s so tired. He can’t do this anymore, he knows. Not without all of them together.
He doesn’t want to do this anymore. It’s almost a relief to realise he doesn’t have to.
And then—
Jeno’s eyes widen. Wild panic crosses his features when he realises that Donghyuck is not going to move. For just the briefest, quickest flash of a second, Jeno is terrified.
He pulls the hit. As much as he can, at least. There’s so much momentum going in, powers already activated and firing, that he can’t control it now.
This is not what Donghyuck expects to happen. He does not expect that despite all of their fights, all of their blows back and forth, Jeno will hesitate on the killing blow once Donghyuck gives it to him.
It’s like his heart stops. Not from Jeno’s powers, but from the realisation that Jeno is not going to kill him. He doesn’t want to.
Jeno has just enough control over the tail-end of his blast to change the directory, ever so slightly. It hits Donghyuck’s shoulder rather than crumbling in his chest.
He’s pulled enough of the hit that it doesn’t shatter Donghyuck’s bone like glass, but it’s enough to break them.
The pain tears through Donghyuck quickly, a scream escaping as it rips through his body like fire. He moves instinctively, body fighting for survival now that it’s in pain.
Now that Jeno has pulled the hit.
He’s only moving because of adrenaline and terror. He raises his working arm — his bad one, but it’s all he has now — and fires a shot at the ground. The ensuing effect causes an explosion of debris and smoke, a hazy screen to help him stumble back over his feet and gain some distance between them.
Despite pulling back on the killing blow, Jeno pursues him without letting up now. Donghyuck’s struggling to think between the adrenaline, confusion, and the pain that’s tearing through him with every single breath.
The glimpse of terror on Jeno’s face is gone now, like a hopeful dream Donghyuck conjured up right near the end, like his mind trying one last time to trick him into surviving. Jeno is relentless as he follows, eyes narrowed now, no sign of that panic.
Did he really pull the hit? Donghyuck manages to think, somehow between all the pain and the desperation. Did Jeno truly not want to kill me?
He’s never been this unsteady in a fight, and it’s quickly getting away from him again. He can’t get his thoughts in order, can’t come up with a plan, can’t get any more distance than he’s already gotten. His ears are ringing, his vision flaring out at the edges, though pain is keeping him all too awake and aware. But every sense, every nerve, feels like it’s being grated slowly across hot iron coals. He can’t think.
Jeno chases, closing the distance again, his figure taking up more of Donghyuck’s horizon.
He must have made it up. He must have. Jeno is still after him, and Donghyuck’s shoulder is screaming with a kind of pain he’s never experienced before, and he must have imagined that terror on Jeno’s face.
I should have let it kill me, he thinks, hopelessly. What’s the point of fighting now, when he was ready to give up? Why? Why?
Suddenly, there is another figure taking up Donghyuck’s vision.
His vision is still whiting out, making shapes hard to discern, but he’s able to recognise it quickly enough.
Renjun.
He almost gasps out his name, but pain stops him and makes him cry out hoarsely instead. His mind whirls, though, trying to find the reasoning behind his appearance.
Renjun prefers to be in support or defence positions, not wanting to be up close and in the fray of the fight. Usually, it’s Donghyuck’s on the offensive and attacking directly.
Now, though, he’s standing in front of Donghyuck, who’s barely thinking — much less fighting or attacking back. Renjun’s gotten here too suddenly, his appearance unannounced, which means that Jaemin is likely the reason behind it. But Jaemin won’t get involved in a fight this public between Jeno and Donghyuck — he won’t even get involved in a fight privately with them.
It means that Jaemin and Renjun have forsaken their usual positions just to get between them.
And it means that Renjun is now raising his hand to Jeno, something Donghyuck has never seen before. Renjun is in the middle of the fight, protecting Donghyuck, with offensive powers that are better at short distances.
Here, outnumbered and outpowered, Jeno has lost his advantage.
It’s all a blur after Donghyuck realises this. Donghyuck goes to shift, to stand in front of Renjun again and take control — instinct, perhaps, that takes over. Wanting to protect Renjun, too.
But Renjun turns and glares so viciously at him that Donghyuck’s heart collapses, shattering under the sudden weight of guilt.
The fight is being broadcast. Even with a delay, Renjun knows that Donghyuck should have moved. That he could have.
Jaemin will know it, too. He doesn’t get involved in their fights, no inclination as to which of them he’d prefer to win. But it seems that he has an interest in making sure neither of them loses — not the way Donghyuck intended to, at least, not in that moment he would have lost it all.
Donghyuck’s ears are still ringing. He does not hear the fight go silent, but it must.
Renjun pushes Jeno back, far enough that the attacks are no longer forthcoming. Jeno has retreated, or he’s been subdued, but Jeno always manages to slip away no matter how much they try and restrain him.
Now that the fight is over — it must be, at least — Renjun throws up a shield so that cameras cannot catch these moments. Renjun whirls on him, and Donghyuck has never seen Renjun as angry as this before.
He hunches over protectively, already knowing this will tear whatever is left of his heart apart, and it is nothing less than he deserves.
“What the fuck was that?” Renjun yells, voice high-pitched and panicked and with that same terror Donghyuck thought Jeno felt. But here, it stays, open and raw and awful. “Donghyuck, what the fuck was that!”
Renjun’s voice cracks as he falls to his knees, his fingers clutching at the suit near Donghyuck’s collarbones. The world is alight again with pain, suddenly, and Donghyuck lets out a raw, jagged noise of pain as his vision whites out again and his ears ring.
He doesn’t lose consciousness completely, though it’s a near thing. He’s able to focus just enough to see the way that Renjun’s expression is still filled with anger and terror, but his shoulders hunch and his fingers loosen quickly from Donghyuck’s suit, hands now pressed against his chest to keep him upright.
Renjun’s eyes go to Donghyuck’s arm, and he takes a deep steadying breath, clearly pushing down some of the upset so that he can speak.
“Let’s…” Renjun trails off, looking very, very overwhelmed for a sudden moment. He claws himself back together as best as he can, fighting for control. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Renjunnie,” Donghyuck manages to say, though it’s cracked and webbed with pain.
“Don’t,” Renjun cuts him off, taking in a sharp breath to stop his anger. “Just don’t. Not now. Let’s go.”
Renjun’s eyes flicker to the side, where Donghyuck knows Jaemin has just reappeared. Donghyuck turns his head slightly, taking in his blurred frame, but even he can tell Jaemin refuses to look back at him.
There’s not much of his heart left to break, but it seems to splinter apart anyway. Into the small crystal pieces of glass that Jeno’s blow should have left him with.
It’s starting to crash down on him, now. What he’s just done, what he’d almost left them with.
There’s no room for doubt here. Neither of them will give him the benefit of it when they know better. They know that Donghyuck should and could have dodged that blow.
He goes to say Jaemin’s name, but it fades from his throat before he can even try and rasp it. He won’t find any sympathy from Jaemin — he never has. Jaemin is angry, a sight visible even to him, and he knows — he knows he’s messed it all up irreparably. He’s failed again, and they’re falling apart.
It’s all his fault.
A shadow rises from the ground and swallows them whole, and Donghyuck’s breath catches as he waits for Jaemin to take them to the other side.
Donghyuck lies on the medical cot, staring up at the too-perfect plain ceiling.
Jaemin had quickly dropped both of them off in the heart of the agency’s medical centre, and disappeared just as fast the moment Renjun pulled Donghyuck free from the shadows. Jaemin hasn’t come so close to any sort of agency building in months now, but he’s bypassed his usual concerns just to get Donghyuck medical attention faster.
He’s not sure if he appreciates it or not — it means Donghyuck has messed himself up to extreme levels if Jaemin is doing all this, and it means Jaemin knows it. It means Donghyuck has messed this up, too, and it’s going to have to be something he’s going to have to fix.
Though he’s not sure how he’s meant to fix anything. He hasn’t been any good at it so far, and now he’s just gotten more problems than he started with.
The injuries are too severe for the agency’s medical team and equipment to heal properly. Even with all their advanced technology and people with healing powers, there isn’t enough in the world to properly stitch him back together again. They do the best they can, but Donghyuck still ends up with a cast on his arm that he’s not allowed to take off for a minimum of six weeks.
There are too many ligaments damaged. It’s not just like his bones had been shattered into pieces — muscles and nerves had been struck too, and it’s a miracle he’s able to twitch his fingers at all. It’ll be an even bigger miracle if the arm heals entirely, but it’s yet to be seen if there’s even a chance after all the physiotherapy and healing sessions he’s going to have to go through.
Jeno should have just finished the job, he thinks despondently. The blast had been close to his chest, but it somehow managed to avoid hitting anything fatal, and the only concern now is recovering the use of his arm.
The thought, though, quickly fills him with guilt and shame. What would Renjun and Jaemin have come to, on the field, if Jeno managed to strike him? There wouldn’t have been much point for Jaemin to transport him to the medical facility, but he probably would have tried anyway, and the thought of that makes Donghyuck ache.
In the room, all too white and clinical, there is only the sound of his breathing and the rhythm of his heartbeat being broadcast. It’s slowly scraping away at his sanity, and he needs something to distract him from his thoughts, but there is only white upon white upon white.
He’s been in the medical facilities a few times now, a few close calls with Jeno. None quite like this, though, and he’s never quite been alone like this in the aftermath either. His visits are short because he hates this building more than any other, but there’s usually always someone with him before, during, and after the examinations — or as much as the agency allows, at least.
Now, though, there’s nothing and no one to distract him. No Renjun by his bedside, like he usually is, sighing at Donghyuck’s impatience. No Mark, when Renjun can’t be, telling him to take it easy.
No Jaemin, like there used to be, a long time ago now. No Jeno, an even longer time ago.
Jeno is occupying most of Donghyuck’s thoughts, though, as Donghyuck replays their fight in his mind. That split-second of terror on Jeno’s face had been quick enough, and the ensuing fight relentless enough, that Donghyuck could almost trick himself into thinking he just imagined it. One last attempt by his subconscious to try and survive.
But Donghyuck stopped hoping for those kinds of emotions many fights ago now. He doesn’t think he imagined it — he doesn’t think he imagined that for just that split second, Jeno did not want to strike him.
His fists clench at the bedsheets beneath him as the mess in his mind starts to feel overwhelming. He’s confused, lost, and angry.
He’s always so angry these days. Though he’s hardly able to grasp even a handful of his usual anger — it feels distant, now. Everything does.
“Stop that,” Renjun’s voice tells him, which is the first sound that Donghyuck has heard in an hour that hasn’t been his own breathing or heartbeat.
He lifts his head, finally looking away from the ceiling and to the doorframe, where Renjun stands with his arms folded and his eyes stormy. Donghyuck soaks in the sight of him, desperate for something that isn’t just white, desperate for something that feels a little more real.
After Renjun handed him over to the medical team on duty, Donghyuck wasn’t sure that he’d come to visit. Renjun is probably angry enough to entertain the idea and make it clear to Donghyuck that he’s truly messed things up this time, and probably needs at least a day to cool off. He doesn’t like arguing with any of them, and prefers space and silence to recuperate his emotions before he goes in to fix a problem, so Donghyuck assumed he’d be alone for a while yet — perhaps discharged on his own, left to lick his own wounds in the fallout.
When Renjun’s words finally register, moments after Donghyuck recognises his presence, he listens to the order and unclenches his fingers from the bedsheets.
Renjun is still angry. Donghyuck can hear it, and he can see it, the bright lights of the room highlighting all the upset on Renjun’s features.
Donghyuck isn’t going to be able to make a joke out of this. He’s not going to be able to just brush it all under the rug while he distracts Renjun to look elsewhere. He’s going to have to deal with this.
Maybe this is the consequence. Instead of being left alone, Donghyuck is reminded that he’s going to have to atone for his decisions. He’s going to have to face that it affects more than just himself, and he’s done the unforgivable and hurt the others, too.
Renjun steps closer to the bed, eyes casting over Donghyuck’s figure, though he doesn’t take to sitting down in the chair or on the end of Donghyuck’s bed like he usually does. Instead, he heads for the bedframe and picks up the medical chart, reading over all the damage that Donghyuck has done to himself.
There’s no sympathetic, sharp sucked-in breath through Renjun’s teeth. There are no furrowed brows, or concerned glances, or fretting over the recovery.
No hands are reaching for him, petting down his hair, telling him to stop being a baby because he’s injured. There are no cups of water being passed to him, or juiceboxes being snuck in. No fingers lacing through his own, no lips pressing against his cheek and his forehead, no body pressed against his as they try and share the medical cot with him to make it seem more comfortable.
He’s not sure if he’s thinking about Renjun anymore.
The painkillers he’s on must be a heavy dose. Making more of a mess of his emotions than usual, not letting him shut the usual gates over them. His eyes are starting to water over, jaw tingling with the sensation of his upset, and he looks back up to the ceiling and blinks methodically until his vision clears. The white, boring ceiling is better than letting Renjun catch a glimpse of his expression — he’s not doing it for sympathy, and he doesn’t want Renjun to feel bad for him either.
Donghyuck deserves worse. Renjun is here, even if to remind him he has to atone, but he can say anything — and still, still, it is better than the alternative of being abandoned by the one person he still has in his reach.
The clipboard hits the bedframe with a grating clang. Despite the fact he is likely obviously avoiding Renjun’s gaze, Renjun takes no heed of it. He steps right into Donghyuck’s field of view, leaning over the frame just to get into his sight.
Thankfully, Donghyuck’s eyes have dried up, though the feeling of lingering presences that used to be by his side press down on him so heavily.
“You’re so stupid,” Renjun tells him, voice quiet.
“I know,” Donghyuck whispers.
Perhaps Renjun is angrier than even he expected to be. He scoffs like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, and his posture snaps back upright as he turns and walks away from Donghyuck’s sight. There’s an apology on the tip of Donghyuck’s tongue, but he knows it’s not going to be enough.
Renjun deserves better than a lie, an empty platitude, and he will not accept any attempts of it.
“I really don’t think you do,” Renjun says, voice sharp and harsh. He’s never quite heard Renjun sound like this before — not to him, at least. Not even when Jeno first left.
Renjun wasn’t angry, though. Not like Donghyuck was.
There’s nothing Donghyuck can say that is going to help soften him now, though.
Donghyuck was angry because Jeno left. Jaemin did, too — or may as well have, really. And he knows — he knows that he just tried to do the same to Renjun. He knows how stupid he is, and he knows how angry Renjun is, and he knows there’s going to be no fixing this.
They’re locked in a stalemate. Renjun can’t say anything else without losing it further, and Donghyuck can’t say anything that’ll make it better, so it falls silent between them. Donghyuck still refuses to look over at him.
The door opens with a soft whoosh, and Donghyuck holds his breath.
If Renjun’s decided to leave, it’s understandable. Nothing less than Donghyuck deserves.
But the soft footsteps across the floor are not Renjun’s, and Donghyuck finally turns his head to look at the new presence as he realises someone has entered. It’s a medical staff member, who ignores Renjun standing in the corner of the room with his arms folded.
He’s still here. Donghyuck lets his gaze linger over Renjun while his own remains on the staff’s.
She checks his chart, takes note of his heart rate and blood pressure, and double-checks the bandages around his chest and shoulder and the cast around his arm. When she’s done, without asking, her fingers reach out to touch his temple.
He’s used to it. The feeling of being a soldier and nothing more than. Just a codename assigned a mission and an enemy, all just means to an end. He’s handled no more delicately than a wind-up toy, placed in whatever direction they want him to go, and expected to perform whatever actions they’ve programmed into him.
And when he is broken, they simply poke and prod at his body and mind like he is nothing more than gears and wires. He’s used to it, so he does not flinch away as she touches him and places a pad and small little device on his forehead.
Whatever she finds with her internal exam, using the device that feeds information to her, she does not share it aloud. She reaches for the chart and scribbles down some more notes when she takes off the pad and device, then walks out of the room without any sort of acknowledgement.
He goes to sit up with the intent of reaching for his chart, but Renjun pushes off the wall and gives Donghyuck a withering stare. Donghyuck lies back down on the bed with small breaths, looking back up at the ceiling as Renjun takes hold of the chart and reads it over again.
“Nothing’s gotten worse,” Renjun finally tells him.
Donghyuck nods to show he’s heard the words. That’s good, maybe, he should say. But that sounds like a lie, and he’s already figured that lying is perhaps the worst thing he could do right now.
Renjun still does not sit at the end of his bed or take a seat in the chair. He keeps Donghyuck’s chart in his hands, and does not meet Donghyuck’s eyes when he finally gets brave enough to look at him.
He knows that Renjun isn’t reading anything else on the chart. Knows that he’s simply ignoring Donghyuck, still too angry to properly speak to him.
But he’s here, and Donghyuck just needs to take whatever he is given.
Twenty minutes later, a different staff member walks into the room.
“You’re discharged,” he says simply, making Donghyuck sit up so he can unhook him from all the different machines. Donghyuck stares at the wall as he does so — still that too-pure shade of white — and waits until he’s done before he attempts to get up.
The cast makes things awkward, and while the drugs are more than what they usually give, he knows it’s going to ache something fierce if he jostles his arm or shoulder. He does his best to push himself up with his good arm, and locks his knees when they threaten to buckle as he stands.
Renjun comes back into his line of sight. He’s been standing close enough that he’d be able to reach for Donghyuck if his knees did give out, but his arms have remained by his side while Donghyuck gets to his feet.
They’ve done this routine enough times now that they know where to go next. Renjun heads for the door first, keeping it open for Donghyuck as they head out into the hallway.
There isn’t a lot going on in the hallways. There’s always a strange sort of robotic feeling to the medical facility, like there’s never a sense of urgency, like everything is all under complete control. It’s always unsettled him, but he swallows it down as they head down the corridor.
Get the files, get the required medications, get the next orders, he recites to himself, though he stumbles over his thoughts when he goes to cycle over the words again. Pausing as he thinks about medications.
He knows, immediately, that Renjun would not have left him to be discharged alone. Not when Donghyuck can get his hands on a dosage of medication, likely strong enough to—
He shakes his head to himself. He wouldn’t do that. He won’t do that.
Something vicious suddenly flares to life in Donghyuck’s chest. Renjun has every right to be wary with him and he knows that. He does. He doesn’t have the right to be frustrated about being monitored, even though he won’t, he won’t, he won’t.
The fight with Jeno had just-
No, he tells himself. He doesn’t want to think about it right now.
Renjun leads him to the desk, though steps aside for now to let Donghyuck deal with his own clearances. His tongue feels heavy and strange in his mouth, though he pushes it aside as a side-effect of the medication he’s undoubtedly burning through.
Donghyuck is given a folder of papers, the front of it printed with big bold letters.
HAECHAN.
NUMBER: 621.
He flips open the first page, finding the most important part of the papers for now.
STATUS: MEDICAL HIATUS. AWAITING FURTHER EXAMINATIONS.
Underneath, it goes into further detail about his injury. He tries to skim it over, but the words are quickly starting to swim, so he shuts the folder as soon as he’s assured that there is no mention of his mental state.
It’s all physical, describing the extent of Jeno’s attack and the subsequent injury — which is a lot. Jeno has done a fucking number on him, bad enough that it’s the first time he’s ever not seen a return date on his file after an injury.
It might be permanent, he considers. Usually, the agency is tedious about these things, planning out every single day of recovery. If not even they know, or have an expected timeline, it’s not a good sign about his future as a hero.
He’s never been out of the field this long, either. The conflicting swirl of emotions that thought brings up is almost enough to make him sway on the spot, though he determinedly keeps his feet rooted to the floor. He will not sway here, not in front of Renjun.
He grips the pen tight as he signs his name across the paperwork, and passes it back without a word. The staff member nods and stands up with it, heading into a room behind the reception to get what she needs. She comes back a minute later, passing him over a bag and the discharge paperwork he needs, though Renjun takes it before he can even reach for it.
Donghyuck swallows down a refusal. Renjun’s already expecting one though, sending a pre-emptive pointed stare to Donghyuck’s cast, which immediately smothers and remaining flames he might have.
They walk back through the facility, and while Donghyuck is surprised that they don’t have an escort with them, he figures the agency isn’t going to waste assets on a resource that can’t even fight for them right now. Renjun’s been given more freedom too, lately — which they certainly don’t like, but he’s bargained his way into getting it regardless.
"Get in," Renjun tells him when they reach his car, like Donghyuck is thinking about doing something else. He gets into the front seat without a word, trying not to jostle his arm too much.
Renjun starts the car and turns down the radio, leaving them in silence. Even if Donghyuck had his phone on him — he doesn’t, left back at the agency dorms the moment he was called in for the fight — he wouldn’t dare to even sync up his music like he usually does.
There’s nothing to distract either of them from the silence in the car other than their own thoughts. Renjun is still seething, fingers tight around the wheel, and Donghyuck only regards him for a few seconds before he decides to look out the window instead.
Even with a different view, though, his thoughts end up circling back to Jeno. If Donghyuck truly saw that fear, if Jeno truly stopped himself from landing a killing blow, then he has no idea where to start with that information. Jeno hasn’t held back on injuring him before, not since they started on the opposite side of a fight — and for all intents and purposes, Jeno fights like he wants to kill Donghyuck. Like he’s never known him, like he’s never cared, like he’s never even liked or—
Donghyuck’s fingers clench.
But Jeno must. He must care. He must, or he wouldn’t have pulled that hit.
His thoughts aren’t far enough away to be distracted from the fact that Renjun has missed the turn into the agency’s dormitories. He sits up straighter, head turning to look back at Renjun. “Um-”
“We’re going to mine,” Renjun cuts in to answer before he can even ask. Donghyuck sinks into his seat feeling like he’s just been wickedly scolded.
Right. Of course. Renjun’s the one in control here, who has the final say, and he’d obviously pick his own place over Donghyuck’s dorm.
He bites down on the inside of his cheek and looks back out the window. Renjun’s never been this short with him before, even when it was just down to the two of them, hurt from Jeno’s departure and aching from Jaemin’s imminent one. Even when the only other person in the line of their emotions was each other, even amongst all that hurt and betrayal.
He knows how stupid he was in that fight, despite Renjun’s thoughts otherwise. He knows. He’d be just as angry and hurt if Renjun had done this, if he’d tried to leave him too.
They’re the last two left in the agency, and Donghyuck knows Renjun only has his foot still in the doorway of it because of him. Renjun’s always been here with him, has chosen to stay with Donghyuck, and Donghyuck had tried to leave him anyway.
It almost slips out, then. The apology on the tip of his tongue. I’m sorry.
He holds it back, swallowing it down. He knows that right now, it will not help either of them to say or hear the words.
Renjun pulls up to his complex, just as stonily silent in the car as it had been when they first got in. Donghyuck knows the way to Renjun’s apartment, has been a surprise visitor more than enough times after a mission and when the agency lets him go, but he lets Renjun lead as they head into the building.
With his arms still full of Donghyuck’s items from the medical facility, Renjun opens up the door and steps aside to let Donghyuck through. It’s the most unwelcome he’s ever felt in Renjun’s doorway, and the silence is grating enough that Donghyuck would almost rather hear his heartbeat echo around the room again.
He’s not sure what to do with himself after he slides off his shoes. He’s always acted like Renjun’s place is his own, and Renjun is usually more than pleased for Donghyuck to pretend it’s his, too. But now Donghyuck feels like any movement is an overstep, and he lingers awkwardly.
Renjun moves into the apartment first, putting down the discharge papers and the painkillers on the dining table. He doesn’t say anything as he does it, but he levels Donghyuck with an expression that clearly means he’s not the one in control of his own discharge now.
He doesn’t have many things in Renjun’s apartment. A toothbrush, a couple of spare shirts and pants, and maybe a charger or two. He doesn’t have much in his dorm either — nothing more than what Haechan needs to operate, really. He stands with none of his usual items, hands empty and unsure.
At least he doesn’t seem to be the only one who isn’t quite sure what to do with this atmosphere. Now that Renjun’s own hands are free, he’s also left with nothing to hold, and they glance at each other and try and figure out what the hell happens now.
Renjun exhales a long breath and runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his eyes. Donghyuck waits for him to say something, but Renjun just drops his hand and sighs, hair flopping back in front of his eyes again, and leaves without a word into his bedroom.
Donghyuck watches him go, distantly wondering where he’s going to sleep tonight. Renjun’s bed is big enough to fit three of them if they squash together. It would've been a different bed for four, perhaps, once upon a time — but they’ve never had the chance to try and test it. Jeno had been gone months before Jaemin left the agency, and Renjun got his place a few months after that.
Jaemin’s visits are rare when Donghyuck is also around at Renjun’s. But he remembers those nights so clearly, a handful of incidents when all three of them crashed in Renjun’s bed. They pressed right up against each other, and it was easy enough to imagine where a fourth person could fit among them. Where he should have fit.
They don’t come to Donghyuck’s dormitory. He hasn’t moved out yet, still stuck in the same room he once shared with Jeno. Two single beds that used to be pushed together at night, then pushed apart in the morning before routine inspections. Or if they didn’t have the energy, Jeno would just climb straight in, and they’re press up against each other in the single.
Renjun could have moved in, but that’d been too much to ask, and Donghyuck isn’t willing to move out either. Or, rather, he’s not interested in getting into the shitshow that would be the attempt to try with the agency. And he’s not interested in being haunted by the feeling of where a third and fourth body should fit amongst them every single night of his life.
So far though, it’s worked out for them. Donghyuck crashes some nights at Renjun’s when the agency doesn’t care to look, Jaemin sometimes does too, and sometimes they run into each other. It’s hard, though, with three of them. Things have changed so much between them, and there are so many messy emotions when it comes to Jaemin and Donghyuck, and three is also all too close to four.
It’s not so bad at the dormitories, anyway. He still has Mark, Chenle, and Jisung at the agency. They’re close enough that he can crash in their rooms when he can’t get out of the building but suddenly can’t stand the sight of Jeno’s old side of the room.
He’s not sure if he’ll be welcome in Renjun’s bed tonight, though. His eyes drift over to the couch, and his shoulders sag forward as he heads over to it. It’s not the most uncomfortable thing in the world — he’s crashed out here before when he’s too tired after a mission to even make it to the bed — and his pain medication should be good enough that he won’t feel the aches of it come morning.
Renjun walks back out of the room just as Donghyuck is tracing his one usable hand over the back of the couch. He’s changed his clothes, and he’s got another set folded in his arms that he walks over with and passes to Donghyuck.
“Thanks,” Donghyuck says, reaching out to take them. The air is unbearably awkward and stiff between them. This isn’t them — this isn’t how things go. They’re the last two left, still clinging onto each other, and Renjun is the only one that Donghyuck is privy to still know so well.
Have I ruined this, too? He wonders.
“Yeah,” Renjun replies, his expression clouded over, and he takes a heavy seat on the couch like all the awkward tension has pushed him there.
Donghyuck looks down at the clothes and regards them. Loose and big, meant for ease with his injuries. He should change into them, because he truly hates the feeling of the medical clothes he’s got on from the facility, but he hesitates.
It's not like he's embarrassed to change in front of Renjun. Such feelings are easily rid of between missions, or otherwise when they're in a rush to change their identity, but now this is a whole new atmosphere. They're not changing to reach a new mission, Donghyuck isn't stumbling around trying to pull his pants up after he's stayed the night, and there's none of the usual ease that he’d be able to do this with.
Renjun isn’t looking at him like he’s waiting for him to change, at least, so he decides to head to the bathroom to change. He can wash up in there, too, so it’s a decent excuse to use the room.
He doesn’t shut the door the entire way, because he has a feeling the motion will make Renjun uneasy, but he pushes it far enough that Renjun isn’t quite able to see into the bathroom as he changes either.
He’s caught a few glimpses of himself, but this is the first time he’s been able to discern his features since the fight. Jeno’s never quite been successful at striking his face, but there are small scratches on his cheeks from some of the debris — likely his own, in that last shot he’d been able to take when his instincts finally kicked in. The bandages peek out through the clothes he’s wearing, and he tilts his head and leans forward to inspect the edges of them.
As unbearably white as the medical room, and his fingers twitch unhappily as he traces the edge of them. Pain rises quickly to the surface, the skin tender and getting worse as the medication starts to wear off.
He leans back and huffs, shaking his head. His hair is a mess, and he runs his hand under the tap and attempts to use the water to help push some of it back. Styling it is hardly successful, and splashing water on his face only does so much, too. It doesn’t help clear up the darkened circles under his eyes, doesn’t smooth out his cracked lips, and doesn’t bring back the usual flush of colour in his cheeks that he carries.
He winces when he gets another look at himself, but no amount of patting at his skin helps to bring back any sort of colour to his ghastly complexion.
A warm shower might help bring some colour back, but he regards it for only a moment before quickly dismissing the idea. The bandages and cast are a whole issue he doesn’t need to deal with just yet, but even if he didn’t have them, he thinks he’d avoid the shower anyway. Running water can cover plenty of sounds, and it’ll unsettle Renjun more than anything — it would do the same to him if the positions were reversed. So he doesn’t think about the shower, or the fact that his skin is so pale he’s not so sure how alive he truly is.
He can wait until things don’t feel so raw and angry and hurt. Right now, everything’s too fresh — the bandages, the cast, their emotions. He’s not going to push at Renjun.
Turning away from both the shower and the mirror, he faces the wall as he changes into his clothes. They're probably Jaemin's, he realises, as the larger fit settles around his figure. Thankfully they’re easy enough to pull on even with his arm, though that’s likely the medication keeping the pain at bay for now.
The clothes are definitely not Donghyuck's own, because he barely has enough clothes for himself outside of mandated uniforms and agency clothing. Renjun and Jaemin have tried to get him into casual clothing more often, but they haven’t been all too successful.
Maybe now, he muses to himself, fingers tracing the sewn hem of the shirt. He used to not have the time to put much effort into anything that isn’t Haechan, but he can’t exactly use his usual gear while on hiatus as Donghyuck.
He doesn’t bother looking at himself again after he changes clothes. They’re a relief to get into, softer and more worn-in than the facilities’ or his own gear, but he also doesn’t think he can cope much further thinking about the fact that they’re likely Jaemin’s.
Would Jaemin even want him in them, now? Would Jaemin even want to see him again? He’d dropped Donghyuck at the heart of the medical facility, but it’s not like they’re cruel to each other. They’re just— Jaemin’s just indifferent, it seems. Their meetings don’t include much other than sex, because Jaemin’s always shut down the conversation about Jeno leaving, and he refused to ever answer for the fact that he left, too. Donghyuck almost hadn’t forgiven him for that, and their cold stalemate had lasted for months.
They’ve managed to get back to a level of tolerance with each other, mostly because Donghyuck missed him too much and Renjun was sick of the fighting, but it’s been a long time since they’ve ever actually spoken. Donghyuck has settled to take what he can, and give Jaemin as much as he seems to tolerate, and hold onto whatever pieces he can have.
Now, though, it feels like everything has shattered into so many more pieces. Broken by Donghyuck’s own hands.
His fingers close around the handle of the bathroom door, but he loses the courage to open the door and face Renjun again. He needs to, and he will, but now the reflection in the mirror haunts him, and he knows exactly all too much of what Renjun can see when he looks at him.
Someone broken. Someone tearing apart whatever they have left. Someone who was going to leave, too.
The guilt almost makes him crumble. He takes a breath and tries to push down the feeling, but it’s shaky at best. His chest clenches, and panic overwhelms him for a second.
No, he thinks. No. Renjun does not deserve this. Renjun deserves better than this — he deserves someone who will own up to his mistake, who will beg and grovel and still know it won't be enough to repair the damage done.
He blinks and looks up to the ceiling, refusing to let his eyes water as his emotions start to try and push through the haze that he's been so heavily blanketing them. If he cries now, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop. If he lets those emotions break free, if he lets them drown him like they want to, then he fears he won’t be able to stand.
He fears he won’t be able to stay.
He has to take a few deep breaths before he feels calm enough to properly take hold of the handle again. He opens the door slowly, like he's afraid of disturbing the sound of silence that's settled eerily over Renjun's apartment, and carefully looks out.
Renjun’s sitting on the couch with his phone in his hand, the television on in front of him but the volume so low that Donghyuck can’t hear it. He looks up when Donghyuck walks out, eyes scanning over him but his expression clouded over and not letting Donghyuck figure it out.
Donghyuck manages to catch the slightest slump of Renjun’s shoulders — whether it’s in relief or otherwise, he doesn’t know — before he takes in a deep breath and squares them back, ready for whatever comes next.
“Do you want to get some sleep?” Renjun asks him, likely taking note of Donghyuck’s gaze lingering on the couch as he wonders if that’s his place for the night.
“I want to try,” Donghyuck replies, unable to do much for the way his voice comes out hoarse.
“Okay,” Renjun breathes out. “I’m going to wash up, then I’ll join you in the bedroom.”
An answer, there. An offering. Donghyuck nods, not willing to bring forth the questions he wants to ask. Are you sure? Am I welcome there still, after everything?
Renjun probably wants to keep a closer eye on him though, so he supposes the bed is the more logical choice as to where Donghyuck will spend the night. Donghyuck turns on his heels to put the clothes from the facility in the hamper — they’re not expected to return them, but Renjun always pulls a face whenever Donghyuck stuffs these kinds of things in his bin, so he’ll just discard them back at the dormitory.
They pass each other in the hallway, and the distance between them feels too far. Donghyuck’s fingers twitch at his sides, wanting to reach out, but he flattens his palms to his thighs and stops himself.
Things are going to be different, now. And he has no one to blame but himself for any of the distance created.
He’s not going to be able to close that kind of gap in one night. He’s not sure if there’s ever going to be enough time to patch things up and close the distance now between them.
Renjun heads for the bathroom while Donghyuck heads to the bedroom alone. It’s strange, not able to settle with the same easy comfort he usually always finds in Renjun’s apartment. He shuffles hesitantly towards the side of the bed that he usually takes, but he doesn’t have the courage to sit down on it just yet.
He looks around, fingers twitching again. He has no phone to distract himself with, and there’s going to be even fewer distractions when he climbs under the bedsheets and stares up at the ceiling.
It’s not the same perfect white as the medical facility ceiling, but finding something to distract himself with is still going to be futile up there. The only distractions he has are his own thoughts, but that’s exactly what he wants distracting from.
He ends up walking out of the bedroom, listening out for the sound of the water running, and heads to the kitchen instead. He intends to just splash his face, but his lips are dry and his throat still feels hoarse, so he reaches for a cup and fills it up.
Renjun’s got filtered water in the fridge, but Donghyuck can’t be bothered making it that far. He thinks tugging open the fridge might start bringing more pain to the forefront of his mind, so he turns his back to it and slowly sips at his tap water.
He counts the seconds between each sip, filling up his brain with numbers rather than any other thoughts, and lets time pass like that until the water stops running from the bathroom. It’s a lot quicker than Renjun usually takes with his showers, Donghyuck notes, but he guesses he expected as much.
Renjun dries quickly too, the door opening up in moments, and his footsteps head down the hallway and back to the bedroom. One, two, eight steps, and then comes to a stop.
Donghyuck opens his mouth, about to call out his position, but the words die in his throat. It doesn’t take many moments longer for Renjun to find him, anyway, as he hurries back down the hallway — slowing where there are doors, peering inside and making sure Donghyuck isn’t there — before he finally comes to the kitchen.
He sees the relief that suddenly washes over Renjun when they meet eyes. It’s a visible, heart-wrenching thing, and Donghyuck’s guilt is almost enough to drown him.
Donghyuck swallows down the apology that sits on the back of his throat — sorry for worrying you, I just didn't want to be alone in that bed, and I don't know what to do, I don't know what happened today—
But he knows it would taste and sound like a lie, so he stops himself. Renjun doesn’t say anything either, but it’s clear he’s not going to leave the room until Donghyuck does. So Donghyuck fills up his glass and carries it with him back to the bedroom, Renjun walking a step behind him.
Still, though, he hesitates before the bed. Renjun takes a seat on the bed first, keeping his gaze on Donghyuck until he’s distracted by the vibration of his phone between his fingers. It takes him a couple of moments too long to look at the notification, and whatever he sees makes him twist his mouth and rapidly type back a long reply.
With Renjun’s eyes no longer on him, Donghyuck manages to walk the remaining steps to the bed, putting the glass down on the bedside table carefully and slowly lowering himself to the other side of the bed.
“Mark will come by tomorrow with some of your stuff,” Renjun says, breaking the quiet between them.
Donghyuck presses his lips together, resolutely staring at his glass of water instead of whipping his head around in surprise to look at Renjun.
The statement is simple enough, and it should be a relief, but instead something twists inside of Donghyuck’s chest. Renjun has no intention of letting him out of his sight, then, or out of the apartment.
He knows himself well, and he knows that the twist in his stomach is going to turn sour if he lingers on it, so he pushes it down. He reminds himself that Renjun has every right to act like this, and to keep him under watch. It’s shameful, though, to realise he’s going to be in this position and he has no way to fix it. He has no way to make Renjun feel better, no way to try and assure him that he’d be fine if he went back to his dormitory, even if all he wants to do is lick his wounds in peace.
His thoughts turn to Mark, instead. He looks down at his cast and frowns, thoughts whirling, wondering if Mark had been able to figure out what truly happened in that fight. Donghyuck’s phones — his agency and his secret one — are both back in his dormitory, and he has no way of knowing if Mark’s tried to reach out to him, if he’s had more than just assurances and worry, if he’s got questions and demands.
Would it have been easier to have misstepped, rather than avoid dodging? Would that have been easier for everyone, thinking Donghyuck tried his hardest, but just made a mistake when he did not mean to?
He thinks of Jeno's face. Renjun’s fear as he yelled at him. Jaemin’s anger, stone cold and silent. The memory of them all makes him nauseous with guilt.
Still — still, he thinks maybe a misstep would at least mean different emotions. Hard to deal with, maybe, but perhaps better than the way they all feel right now.
He shakes his head to himself. He can’t linger on these things, especially not with Renjun right beside him.
“Donghyuck?” Renjun asks, which makes him realise that he’s been silently turning over his thoughts with acknowledgment. He gives a small mhm, though the rumble makes him reach for the water again to soothe the prickles in his throat.
Renjun huffs, but seems to know that Donghyuck knows about Mark, as he doesn’t repeat himself. Donghyuck listens to him place the phone on the table bedside, keeping still as Renjun shifts in the bed until he’s lying down.
Donghyuck waits until he's sure that Renjun is lying down completely, stalling for time by drinking more water, before he lies down as well.
Usually, when they're in the same bed, there's not a single bit of space between them. Donghyuck usually pulls Renjun in close, wanting to cuddle as he falls asleep, and despite Renjun's verbal complaints, he always holds onto Donghyuck's hands and pulls him back in whenever Donghyuck accidentally moves a little too far.
But Donghyuck does not reach for Renjun tonight, and Renjun does not take his hands. Donghyuck lies on his back — it feels too awkward to turn his back to Renjun, though he almost wants to, if to avoid the concerned looks he knows he'll be receiving. Still, he does not turn to Renjun either, just staring up at the ceiling until Renjun sighs and switches off his lamp.
It feels like things are left unsaid between them, but Donghyuck has no idea what he could possibly try to say.
He thinks he's done enough damage tonight.
Renjun's breaths never quite even out, but Donghyuck still decides to turn on his side, his back to Renjun. Something shifts in the mattress behind him, but Renjun still does not touch him, and Donghyuck figures they've made their stances for the night.
There's not a lot of physical space between them — the bed isn't large enough for that — but for many hours, all he can think is that he's never quite felt the distance between them like this before.
He falls asleep sometime in the early morning. When he wakes, the sun is low in the sky.
He thinks he’s only managed a couple of hours, but he starts to realise it’s not the morning sun that’s filtering through the room — it’s sunset.
There are only a few moments of bleary confusion before his thoughts get taken up with other matters. Pain is ricocheting through his side, a fire in place of his arm, and he bites down on a gasp as it licks through him. It whites out the rest of his senses, and he clutches at the bed and waits for it to pass so that he can move again.
It’s a slow, awful process. The pain doesn’t lessen, but he gets used to it enough that he’s able to push through it until he’s sitting upright, his good hand hovering over his shoulder. He wants to press down on it like it’ll help settle some of the nerves, but even the shirt on his skin feels like it’s too heavy on the wound.
He turns, instinctively looking for Renjun despite the fact they’d gone to bed on such uncertain terms, but he’s only faced with the sight of what he already suspected.
Renjun isn’t in the bed with him. He stares at the space like it might just change, but even when he reaches out a hand to feel through the bedsheets, there’s no warmth lingering in them.
He lets out a breath. It’s late in the afternoon, and he supposes it makes more sense that Renjun is out of bed than in it. He looks around the room, lingering on the shadows in the corner of the room, but Renjun definitely isn’t here with him.
He’s going to have to get up, then. It takes him a few minutes to try, though, feeling unbalanced as he gets to his feet.
He feels groggy, the long sleep he had still lingering over him, and it takes a lot more conscious thought than usual to get his feet moving. There’s a light on somewhere in the apartment, spilling into the bedroom through the cracked doorframe, so Donghyuck heads for it.
It’s just as he’s pulling the door open that Renjun is turning the corner, their eyes meeting.
“Ah,” Renjun says, stunned for a moment. “You’re up.”
“Mhm,” Donghyuck tries to agree, though it’s a muffled and weak sound. The light spilling behind Renjun is sensitive to his eyes, and it takes him a moment to adjust to it.
“You didn’t make a sound,” Renjun huffs at him.
Donghyuck licks at his dry lips. “Was I asleep all day?”
Renjun nods, pulling out his phone to check the time. “I woke you up in the morning to take your medication. You don’t remember?”
Donghyuck slowly shakes his head, careful of the pull he feels near his shoulder.
It’s been a long time since he’s been able to sleep for so long, and even longer since he’s been unable to be disturbed from it properly. He’s able to wake up these days at Jaemin’s motions in the shadows, a kind of edge to his senses that only seems to have gotten worse lately.
“Here,” Renjun says, getting Donghyuck’s attention. Donghyuck realises he’s been looking back at the bedroom, and he looks back at Renjun, though Renjun’s gaze is focused on his shoulder. After a moment, he turns and beckons for Donghyuck to follow. “It’s time to take them again anyway.”
Donghyuck grunts an agreement, placidly following along and sitting down at the table when Renjun waves a hand over to it. Now that he's more awake and moving, the pain is starting to rise up again, making him grit his teeth and dig his fingers into his skin.
Renjun places down a glass of water and then puts three different tablets in his palm. Donghyuck knocks them back quickly, and then finishes the rest of the water in an attempt to wash out the feeling in his mouth from sleeping for so long.
Renjun reaches a hand out for the glass, and Donghyuck is about to say he's perfectly capable of getting it himself, but one look from Renjun silences him and passes it over without a word. Renjun comes back with a full glass, as well as a bag that he puts down on the table.
It’s not a bag familiar to him, and he tilts his head slightly as he studies it, unsure of what Renjun’s trying to give him.
“Mark came by,” Renjun says. Donghyuck frowns at that, remembering the conversation last night, unsettled by the fact he’d apparently managed to sleep through that, too.
And it’s even more unsettling to think that he still hasn’t gotten a chance to gauge Mark’s reaction to all of this.
“You should’ve woken me,” Donghyuck says as he reaches for the bag, pulling it closer to him.
Renjun sucks in a breath, and that’s what makes Donghyuck think properly about what he’s just said and why Renjun’s reacted in such a way. He pauses, keeping his stare locked on the edges of the bag.
Of course Renjun would prefer him to be asleep. Donghyuck really has no right to make demands right now.
“You were tired,” Renjun says, voice softer than Donghyuck expects it to be.
Donghyuck bites down inside of his cheek, feeling guilty, but unable to say anything that’s going to make it better. He opens the bag, checking what Mark’s packed him.
There are the two shirts Donghyuck owns that aren’t the agency’s, some socks and underwear, toiletries, and his two phones stuffed in the pocket of a pair of shorts. He pulls them out, regarding the agency phone for a moment before putting it on the table.
He does not unlock his other phone, however, even as he turns it over between his fingers. For a while, he flips it over in his palm, considering it. Considering the messages he might have received, the answers to the questions he wants to ask Mark. Do you know? Do you know what I truly meant to do, in that fight?
He places that phone down, too.
It’s not like he’d have a message from Jaemin, who definitely knows what happened during the fight. If Jaemin wanted to speak to him, he’d come by Renjun’s apartment to say it to his face. The fact that he hasn’t yet means he simply does not want to see or speak to Donghyuck.
And it’s not like there will be a message from Jeno, either.
Donghyuck wonders if, perhaps, the two of them are together right now. Wonders if the divide between him and them is simply too big now, and Jaemin has finally chosen his side completely.
He sighs, pushing it to the back of his mind. It’s not worth the level of torment it’s currently putting him through.
The painkillers are thankfully working fast, and he lets the haze of them cloud over his thoughts as much as they can.
Renjun walks away from the table and to the kitchen, then comes back with a container that he puts down in front of him. Donghyuck’s not sure if he’s even hungry — he’s been asleep for so long that it feels like he’s passed all his stages of hunger.
“You need to eat with the medication,” Renjun says pointedly, passing over the chopsticks.
Donghyuck’s pretty sure the medication is also what’s curbing his appetite, but he takes the chopsticks anyway without complaint. Eating with his cast is awkward, but he’s determined not to have Renjun hand-feed him, which he might just try if Donghyuck gives up too soon. He eats slowly, hoping to wake up more of his appetite, but it remains small and shrivelled. He takes small bites, attempting to show Renjun that he’s trying to eat, truly, because his watchful gaze won’t stop lingering over his skin.
It's a little awkward to be eating alone at the table, but Renjun seems to have no intention to get any food of his own or otherwise move away. It’s going to be a long, long night, he thinks.
He can only eat so much, though, and he eventually pushes away the half-eaten meal. Renjun frowns but thankfully doesn’t try and persuade him to eat more, and instead just takes the dishes up to the kitchen.
Donghyuck remains at the table, eyes lingering on his private phone. Renjun’s left his on the table as well, and it vibrates with a message, though Renjun doesn’t seem in a hurry to reply.
Is it Jaemin? Donghyuck finds the question sitting on the tip of his tongue, waiting to spill forth. Is he talking to you, at least?
He looks away when Renjun finishes up. Renjun stands in the kitchen, hands wringing a couple of times too many through the dishtowel.
“If you want to wash up tonight, it might be a good time to check your bandages,” Renjun says finally. His voice is stiff, like he’s trying to control any emotions wavering inside of it, and Donghyuck decides not to try and pick it all apart.
Donghyuck looks at his arm, considering the cast. He probably won’t try for a shower tonight, but he’s definitely starting to push the amount of time he’s willing to go without one. He can wash himself down with a cloth for now, and that might just have to be enough for today.
Renjun’s also trying to make it seem like it’s an option, but they both know that Donghyuck should be checking up on his bandages today. And it’s going to be much easier to have Renjun help with that.
“Yeah, okay,” Donghyuck says, remaining in his seat for only a few moments before he figures this will probably be easier while he’s in the midst of numbness from his medication. He gets up with a lot more ease than it had been from the bed, and makes his way to the bathroom. “Just a cloth, tonight.”
Renjun makes a noise of agreement, following him in. “The agency provided a waterproof covering, at least. That’ll make it easier.”
That’s a benefit, at least, to having some of the best medical care available. The cast isn’t as bulky as most standard ones, but it still does its job of keeping Donghyuck’s arm stiff and immobile so that the bones can heal. He thinks it’s more for his collarbone, which twinges more painfully than most parts of him, but he’s not too sure what the mess looks like behind the bandages. He’s not sure he wants to know.
Renjun’s got a combined bath and shower in his bathroom, and Donghyuck sits on the high edge of it. He peels his shirt off carefully, and Renjun takes it from his hands and puts it aside. Donghyuck looks down at his shorts, but decides to keep them on — it’s too much of a hassle trying to get them off, now.
From where he sits, he doesn’t get a glimpse in the mirror of his bandages. But he can look down well enough and see them, though they’ve remained white and clean. It’s the skin peeking out underneath it that’s full of colour, all sorts of angry hues.
He thinks he sees the edges of a burn, right near the top of the cast. He hadn’t been able to feel much beyond just pain when Jeno had struck him, but he’d certainly been close and powerful enough that the effect would’ve been like an explosion — sparks and all.
It’s a surprise to see, because he usually ends up looking spotless after treatments at the facility, but this is as far as they’d been able to heal him. He’s going to be scarred from this.
Renjun crouches down in front of him, distracting him as his fingers carefully trace along the bandages and examines Donghyuck with a better eye.
“How does it feel?” Renjun asks. Donghyuck’s breath catches as Renjun looks up through his lashes.
Renjun brings him back down to earth when there’s a twist to his mouth, though, and that sour feeling starts to twist in his stomach again. He lets out a breath and shrugs with his one not-totally-fucked shoulder.
“Medication is certainly the best in the business,” Donghyuck replies. “I can’t feel it.”
“When you woke up? How about then?” Renjun asks.
Donghyuck pauses a moment. “If I was running late to that dose, let’s not do it again.”
“You weren’t,” Renjun says, frown easily discernible even in his words.
“Ah,” Donghyuck says, shifting slightly on the edge of the tub. “Okay.”
That’s not great. But it’s the first day after it all, so everything is still fresh and the most tender it’s going to be.
“Donghyuck…” Renjun says, and Donghyuck is reminded that it’s not just his body that’s fresh with wounds.
“Do you have the cloth?” Donghyuck asks, because he’s not sure he can deal with Renjun asking any questions. No matter what it’s about — whether it’s about the fight, or what happens next, or even about the injury as it is, Donghyuck thinks it’s going to tumble quickly away from them.
“Donghyuck,” Renjun tries again, exasperated now. Donghyuck goes to lean over and reach for the cloth himself now that he’s caught sight of it on the edge of the sink, but Renjun glares at him and rocks to his feet to get it himself.
They've done this before. Just because the facility usually heals most of their injuries doesn't mean they've never had close calls, or nights where they're tender or just tired. Donghyuck has urged Renjun into his own bath more than enough times, and has taken the lead in making sure that Renjun gets washed to a level he's going to be comfortable with before properly getting some rest.
They've done it with Jaemin, too. Have pulled him from the shadows just to look after him, for the short time that he lets them. Jaemin has done it for both of them, too, though the last memory Donghyuck has of it is hazy, lost by the time passing.
(A long time ago, it had been Jeno and Donghyuck prodding each other into the showers. Taking the cloth from each other when one of them was too tired. Jeno, putting medication and heat packs by his bedside table even when he'd tried to hide that something was wrong.)
He looks up at the ceiling and traces along the cracks he can see.
This isn't quite like all those other times, though. There's never been a close call of their own making, of wounds and hurt so raw, and it makes for a strange and tense atmosphere.
The tap at the sink runs, and Renjun gets the cloth wet and soaped up. He turns back to Donghyuck and holds it up silently. Donghyuck thinks about reaching out for it himself, but Renjun's holding the cloth tightly and there's a glint in his eyes that dares Donghyuck to try, so he relents. He moves his arms out as best as he can, giving Renjun the quiet permission to go ahead.
Renjun is quiet as he runs the cloth over his skin, and Donghyuck sits as still as he can, fingers digging into the edge of the tub to keep himself steady. Renjun's careful to avoid the bandages, though he's gentle with the rest of Donghyuck like he's just as battered and bruised elsewhere.
He kind of feels like he is. His body feels heavy, neck starting to ache like it's becoming a greater effort than usual to keep his head up. Renjun runs the cloth around the back of his neck, and when Donghyuck drops his head forward, he doesn't bother straightening up. Renjun rinses and warms up the cloth before running it over his legs, though is careful not to get the hem of his shorts wet. Donghyuck doesn't even realise it when his breath starts to even out, but when he tilts forward as Renjun dries him with a soft towel, Renjun's hand catches him like he's waiting.
"Tired?" Renjun asks, voice pitched low. It's gentle and kind, missing all the pieces of anger that he's been showing as he cycles through emotions.
Donghyuck gets it — his own emotions are a mess, too. It's hard to settle on a feeling. He feels more grounded here in the bathroom than at any other point today, but his nerves are starting to flare up again as he stirs himself back awake properly.
In the fight, when he chose not to dodge, he definitely wasn’t thinking about how everything would go after he failed. He wasn’t thinking about the day after, or any day after. At that point in the fight, every single one of them seemed too painful and tiring to keep living with.
He kind of hates that Jeno still means so much to him. Still means everything to him.
But now it’s the day after it all, and he has to try and deal with that, somehow.
Donghyuck exhales, fingers loosening from their grip on the tub. "I've slept so much already today."
"You're healing," Renjun says, voice even more soft now. "Don't worry about anything else, Donghyuck. Let's go back to bed if you're tired, okay?"
Donghyuck hesitates, because it's an embarrassingly short time that he's been out of it today, but he can't get any sort of protest past his lips. Renjun helps him stand, and while he offers a new shirt for Donghyuck to wear, he shakes his head. They head back into the bedroom, the sun down entirely now. Donghyuck's too tired to bother overthinking getting into his usual side of the bed.
He manages to stay awake just enough as Renjun showers and gets ready for bed, though he's barely hanging onto consciousness when Renjun slides under the blanket. His eyes close to the sound of Renjun's fingers tapping on his phone, wondering if Renjun's speaking to Jaemin about all of this. They've always been the two that are better at talking to each other, the bridge between them so much more solid than Jaemin and Donghyuck's own these days. Some days it feels like Donghyuck can only still reach Jaemin just because he's still connected to Renjun.
When Renjun wakes him in the morning for his medication, the bleariness thankfully keeps him under enough that he doesn’t feel how sharp the pain is until moments before the painkillers kick in.
He stays awake this time, though remains in the bed for a while and watches the sun creep higher in the sky. He doesn’t have the energy to do much, and Renjun doesn’t prod at him to move either, so he stays under the blankets and lets his mind drift.
Renjun stays in the apartment, and the only noise between them is the sound of his movement in the kitchen. Donghyuck’s appetite still isn’t back with him, but he knows he isn’t going to be turning down a meal.
Renjun comes back into the room sometime later, a tray in his hands that he carries over. Donghyuck can’t quite feel half his body, feeling distant from it like he’s not quite tethered to it, but he manages to sit upright and rest against the headboard.
“How’s your arm feeling?” Renjun asks, standing on the side of the bed with the tray still in his hands, not lowering it just yet.
“It’s okay,” Donghyuck replies, raising his hand with the bad-shoulder side so that he can wriggle his fingers. “Not as much pain today.”
That might be because he still feels a little like he’s floating, but he’ll take what he’s given.
Renjun passes the tray down to him, and Donghyuck settles it on his lap, even if he’s surprised. Renjun typically doesn’t like people eating in his bed, though he’s never been as strict about it as Jaemin can be.
There’s some soup, rice, kimchi, and pieces of cut-up fruit. He stares down at it, stomach twisting.
“You don’t have to eat it all right now,” Renjun says, voice a little more edged now, likely having caught Donghyuck’s expression. “You can just pick at it over the day.”
“Okay,” Donghyuck replies, though he’s hardly used to snacking. The agency gives them set meals at set times, and Donghyuck doesn’t tend to stray from it. “Thanks.”
Renjun turns and heads back into the kitchen, though it’s only to get his own bowl of food that he sits down with on the other side of the bed.
It’s Renjun’s expectant gaze that makes him pick up his spoon and start sipping at the soup. It’s light enough that it doesn’t upset his stomach as it goes down, but he has to stop only a few mouthfuls in before switching to the rice.
Renjun’s satisfied enough that his gaze slides off Donghyuck and switches to his tablet, which he starts tapping at as he slowly eats his own meal.
“Do you want to watch something?” Renjun asks, tilting the tablet in his direction in offering.
The sight of the screen makes his thoughts spiral quickly: the fight would have been broadcast. Not many would be able to put together Donghyuck's intentions, but those who truly do know him likely would have.
Mark and Doyoung with more of a certainty. Possibly Jisung and Chenle, too, which makes Donghyuck bite down on his inner cheek as nausea rises.
“No thanks,” Donghyuck says, trying to keep his voice as level as possible.
Renjun hums but takes the tablet back, scrolling through other things that Donghyuck doesn’t bother to focus on. But there isn’t much else to distract himself with, and he doesn’t dare think about his phone and all of the messages waiting for him to try.
He tries to eat some more, but the food is turning dry in his mouth before he can even swallow it, and he eventually places his spoon down and decides to give up for now. Renjun looks over at him, and Donghyuck finds himself looking at the tablet.
He needs to know, he thinks. He needs to know how much damage he’s caused, how many people have caught onto this. What he can expect to return to when he finally has the bravery to turn his phone on again.
“Have you heard anything from Chenle and Jisung?” Donghyuck asks, tearing his eyes away from the screen and to Renjun.
"Yes," Renjun replies shortly, and Donghyuck's heart sinks. Renjun sighs after a moment, shaking his head, letting go of the tension that’s suddenly risen in his frame. "But they don't... They haven't figured out what you were trying to do. They’re just asking about your injuries."
It’s the most direct Renjun has been about all of this, the most obvious acknowledgment so far of what Donghyuck chose to do, in that fight. He ignores it for now, though, focusing on the way his stomach feels a little less violent. At least two of them don’t have to deal with the knowledge of what Donghyuck has done. They don’t have to deal with all these feelings about the days after it all.
Just a fight gone bad. That’s all. A misstep, like Donghyuck wanted it to be.
"Ah," he says, because he needs to say something better than 'I'm glad to hear that'. Except nothing comes to mind, so he leaves it at that.
“Donghyuck,” Renjun says.
He knows that Renjun is going to push. Knows that he’s going to press this line of discussion.
“Renjun,” he replies, and while he pitches his voice up, he knows the warning comes across. He doesn’t want to speak about this.
“I think we have to talk about this, Dong-”
If he does, then that numb feeling that’s pushing all that pain away might just start to wither away. If they talk about this, then Renjun is going to have questions, and Donghyuck won’t have the answers. He doesn’t want to have the answers.
“No,” Donghyuck cuts in firmly. “No, Renjun. Let’s not, okay?” He can tell his tone takes Renjun aback. He feels guilty for it immediately. “Sorry, Renjunnie. Sorry. I just… not right now. I don’t think I’d have anything to say.”
“You… you don’t think you’d have anything to say?” Renjun asks, his voice sharp now, too.
Donghyuck thinks he’d usually have his own temper rise, a natural bounce off each other’s emotions — they feel a lot and they feel it openly, just because they truly would fall apart if they didn’t at least have each other.
But now, there’s no heat in his chest. It’s just a deep kind of sadness that he doesn’t want to feel the edges of.
“No,” Donghyuck replies, shaking his head. “I don’t.”
Renjun trembles with his anger. He gets off the bed, and Donghyuck wants to reach out for him, he wants to thread their fingers together, he wants to apologise — again and again and again. He wants things to be right, between them. He doesn’t want this to happen.
But he can only look on silently as Renjun runs a hand through his hair, then eventually turns away from the bed. He walks out without another word, leaving Donghyuck to his tray of food and silence.
He puts the tray on the side, too queasy now to try and stomach anything else. They haven't been at odds like this with each other in a long time, but Donghyuck doesn't know how to fix it. He doesn't think he can — what Renjun wants is something he cannot give, and he knows they're only going to get more tense with each other as this stalemate continues.
Renjun doesn't leave the apartment, though. He lingers out near the kitchen, pacing back and forth, likely texting someone animatedly and aggressively. Donghyuck doesn't ask, and he's sure Renjun doesn't want to tell — it's very likely about him, but there are only a few people who know the true situation that Donghyuck has put himself in. Jaemin or Mark, most likely, and Donghyuck isn't sure he's willing to think about either of them right now.
The tablet has been left on the bed, and Donghyuck considers it for a moment before he reaches over and puts it on charge, then puts it on Renjun's bedside table. He's feeling drowsy, tired after the meal, and he decides not to fight it. He lies back down, and he's asleep in moments.
Showering is an ordeal they only take on when Donghyuck's hitting the peak of the medication, the pain as numb as it's going to get.
He's been feeling numb no matter the time, no matter how far between doses he is, but he doesn't think that's something he's going to tell Renjun. He doesn't remember much of the shower in its entirety — he remembers Renjun putting the waterproof coverings on, remembers the first hit of water on his skin that was a little too warm and made his burns unbearable for a split second, worse than either of them expects. He barely catches the scream behind his teeth, and Renjun's apologies just make something twist inside of him until he decides it'd be easier to be distant again.
He doesn't remember getting out of the shower, or drying off, or anything in between. He comes back to himself sometime later — or it must be, as the sun is lower in the sky again, though it feels like he just blinked and missed it. He's sitting on the couch, the television on in front of him, playing some kind of documentary that he has no hope of knowing the topic of.
A glance around the room tells him that Renjun is sitting at the dining table, typing out something on his phone. Texting Jaemin, maybe, judging by the complicated expression that crosses his face as he sets off on a new tirade.
Donghyuck looks back at the television with a frown. Usually Renjun would come sit with him, but he's not sure how long he's been alone on the couch watching whatever the hell is playing. They'd usually pick a show that allows them to bicker pointlessly about — characters and actions that put them at odds. Typically, though, Donghyuck just picks the side he knows Renjun won't, just so they can fill the air with light-hearted debates.
Now, even if they tried to put on a show and recreate their usual atmosphere, Donghyuck knows their arguments won't be light-hearted at all. They'll undoubtedly fall into an argument, positioning themselves behind characters to shield their own sides.
Donghyuck lies himself down on the couch, careful to adjust himself without jostling his shoulder too much. It's tender, getting more sore the more aware he becomes, so he tries to let himself float again. The documentary is easy enough to let pass by, colours and scenes all start to blur together, and he lets that easy hollowness start to fill him again.
He's not unaware enough to miss Renjun standing up from the table. His knees crack with the movement, meaning he's been there for a while. Donghyuck can't see him much from his view on the couch, but he can tell Renjun doesn't glance over at him either.
Did they talk in the shower? He's not sure. He doesn't think so, but he's not sure how much of his own mind he can trust right now either.
Renjun stands in front of him sometime later, a bowl in one of his hands and a glass of water in the other. Donghyuck looks at him, not quite quick enough to process what's going on, mind still hazy and distant.
"Sit up," Renjun says, pointedly lowering the bowl.
Donghyuck slowly does so, and Renjun passes him over the bowl first before passing over the water. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the medication, shaking it into Donghyuck's palm. Donghyuck knocks it back — not with the same desperation as he has previously, as the ache still seems so distant to the rest of him. Everything feels distant, but it's slowly coming back to him as he eats.
Renjun has decided to sit back down at the table and eat there instead. It's a distance that feels even worse than the first night in the bed, but Donghyuck knows they're just going to rebuff each other if they try and close it right now.
He eats as much as he can, which is a little more than this morning's meal, and then places it down. Renjun finishes his meal before him, but still remains at the table, typing away to someone.
Donghyuck's curiosity about if he's talking to Jaemin is starting to turn into something angrier. He knows his nerves are starting to fray again, his emotions coming back in shattered pieces, and it's hard trying to smooth everything out when it starts coming back in.
He feels like his skin has been flayed open as more feelings start to rush in, his insides on display for all to stare into if they wish. He feels exposed, even if there's the back of the couch putting itself between him and Renjun. But with Renjun remaining close but not with him, it's starting to grate on him. It feels like Renjun's just hovering, just waiting for something to happen.
He's tired. He knows he is. He's aching, exhausted, and over-exposed. He knows this is making it all worse, feelings of guilt and shame twisting inside of him until he can't hope to try and contain them anymore. He's lashing out, trying to find faults, trying to find excuses, trying to crowd all the broken shards of himself into the corner and hope that no one watches.
But Renjun stays, still sitting over at the table.
If Donghyuck goes to bed first, he knows Renjun will follow. And that distance on the mattress feels all too far and all too close, and Donghyuck decides to lie down on the couch instead.
He hopes that Renjun might just give him a bit of space and go to wash up, but when Renjun moves, it's only to turn the kettle on. He plans on being up for a while longer, then. Donghyuck sighs but keeps the sound under his breath to make sure Renjun doesn't catch it.
Donghyuck remembers something, then. The look in Renjun's eyes when he dressed Donghyuck's arm in the waterproof coverings. Anger, alight and sharp in his eyes. Renjun is so angry, so hurt, that he doesn't know how to deal with it either.
This is the consequence of his decision. It doesn't matter that it was thoughtless. A slip of judgement. An instinctive reaction. He still did it, no matter why, and so the fallout is something he has to deal with. Renjun's hurt is something he has to fix.
But he doesn't know how to deal with it, much less fix it. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't think there's anything he can do, and he hates the feeling of that more than any other.
Guilt is a familiar feeling, but it threatens to drown him again. He feels awful for wishing Renjun would give him a little space, but he knows it's mixed in with the feeling of wishing Renjun would just come and sit close to him. He knows it's just an awful mixture of mess with his emotions, and nothing is going to feel like it's right.
Renjun doesn't want to speak about it tonight. Donghyuck... well, Donghyuck doesn't want to speak about it ever. He doesn't know how they're meant to move on from this, but today certainly seems like the worst kind of day to even try.
"Do you want a tea?" Renjun asks, surprising him from his thoughts.
Donghyuck almost sits up, but there's a throb from his shoulder that warns him to stay still. He considers it for a moment, then clears his throat. "Um, no. That's okay, thanks."
Renjun hums, and Donghyuck's sure he can pick out the slight disappointment in his tone, but he tries to ignore it. He's doing his best with his meals and getting better, but a tea might just feel too heavy no matter the kind.
He listens out for Renjun pouring out his own, eyes blinking slowly at the television screen. It's on a new program now, but he has even less of an idea about this one than the last. Renjun sits down in the chair again, and Donghyuck notices his eyes feel dry.
The sound of Renjun's mug hitting the table almost makes Donghyuck twitch every time it happens, something about the sound too sharp in his ears, but he doesn't have the energy now to move into the bedroom.
He's not sure when he drifts off, but he wakes again on the couch some hours later.
It's still dark out, though Donghyuck lies there long enough to start to see the sun rising through the curtains. At some point, he notices that a blanket has been placed over him, and the television has been turned off.
He’s about to close his eyes and drift back asleep — somehow still tired despite the amount that he has in the past couple of days — but he hears Renjun start to shuffle around in the bedroom.
It’s too early for Renjun to be awake. Donghyuck and Jaemin are the two latest risers of them all (although Jeno might be, these days, he isn’t privy to that kind of knowledge anymore), but Renjun is by no means a morning person either.
He remains still on the couch, listening as Renjun’s footsteps head out of the bedroom and down the hall. Donghyuck’s heartbeat is starting to pick up, getting nervous about trying to figure out where they stand with each other today.
Renjun is keeping him close to keep an eye on him, and doing things with consideration like covering Donghyuck in a blanket, but the atmosphere is so tense and strange between them. When Renjun walks into his own home, it's like he's trying to avoid stepping on glass, and Donghyuck feels that way too — it's why he hasn't bothered moving from the couch yet.
Renjun walks into the kitchen as quietly as he can. Neither of them can see each other's faces from their angles, and Donghyuck debates closing his eyes and feigning sleep just in case Renjun looks, but he decides he's probably not going to be able to get away with that. Renjun has always had the uncanny ability to read him well.
Renjun pours himself some water, and then a second glass. He walks quietly over to the couch and startles a little as he realises Donghyuck's staring right at him.
"Did I wake you?" Renjun asks, voice quiet, but not croaky with sleep — Donghyuck wonders how long both of them have been up because he suspects Renjun hardly slept.
"No," Donghyuck replies honestly.
Renjun’s expression flitters, like he isn’t sure if he’s relieved or worried about that reply. He wipes it away as he sets down the second glass of water on the table in front of Donghyuck. He walks away, coming back a moment later with the painkillers in his hand.
It's good timing — Donghyuck's arm is aching, though in his strange daze upon waking he's been able to ignore it. It's coming into sharper focus now, and he sits up and takes the painkillers quickly.
"How's it feeling?" Renjun asks carefully.
Everything's just so, so delicate between them. Both of them are scared to break the glass under their feet.
"Not as bad," he replies. He's admittedly trying to keep it that way, forcing his mind into a half-hazy state so that he doesn't start acknowledging just how painful his arm is.
Because if he does, he knows it's a slippery slope into thinking about why it hurts so much, and he knows that spiralling like that isn't going to do him any favours right now. The longer he can keep away that breakdown, the better. He'd rather do it alone and not when Renjun is watching his every move so closely.
Renjun inspects the bandages, muttering that they’ll have to change them out in a couple of days. Donghyuck isn’t looking forward to that, but he doesn’t say anything about it. When Renjun stands up again, they fall into a strange silence.
Renjun makes a meal quietly, passing Donghyuck over more fruit than anything else when he hands it over. Donghyuck picks at it, some of them tasting too sweet on his tongue, but he manages to get most of it down. The silent atmosphere remains, though, fraying at Donghyuck’s nerves the longer they sit in it.
Donghyuck sips at his water just to fill up the quiet. Renjun hovers — not directly in his line of sight, but he keeps moving around and glancing over at Donghyuck as he does.
When he empties his glass, he decides to just lie down properly on the couch again. He doesn’t have a reason to stand up, so he doesn’t bother thinking about it.
“Are you tired?” Renjun asks, having been watching him deflate over the past few minutes.
“Mhm,” Donghyuck replies, pulling the blanket back over himself with his one good arm. He jostles his other arm on accident and sucks in a sharp breath, eyes watering immediately, but he swallows it down and rides it out until the pain is nothing more than an ebbing throb. The painkillers are wonderous, at least, and keep the pain down quickly.
He manages to smother his reaction enough that Renjun doesn’t even notice, thankfully. He’s a little proud of himself for it, because Renjun is moving closer again, and it feels hard trying to hide anything from him under his gaze.
Renjun moves until he’s standing in front of Donghyuck again, and he leans over to push Donghyuck’s hair away from his head.
It’s the first time Donghyuck hasn’t been expecting the touch. Renjun has projected every movement, making it clear that he’s checking the bandages or helping him wash, but this time he reaches out silently. Donghyuck tilts his head up into the touch, but Renjun frowns and pulls his hand away before Donghyuck can lean into the warmth of his fingers.
Donghyuck frowns as well, but Renjun is already turning around and walking away from him. He can’t tell if he has a fever or not from Renjun’s reaction. Renjun comes back and fills up his glass of water again, but leaves before Donghyuck can even think about asking.
The hour is still early, and the exhaustion that’s been clinging to Donghyuck rises again. He decides to latch onto that wave and lets his eyes fall closed.
He spends the day dozing on the couch. At one point, he wakes up to the sun high in the sky, and some more food in front of him. It takes him another hour of dozing to reach out for it. He gets through about half of it before lying back down.
A few hours later, he stirs again. The sun is low now, and he blinks sleepily at the floor before he starts to realise what's stirred him awake.
The pain in his arm is starting to flare up, his shoulder starting to flicker with the sparks of a flame that's about to explode, and he sucks in a breath. He manages to sit up, looking around the room and seeing Renjun sitting down at the table, head down as he types on his phone.
Donghyuck lets out a grunt, the best noise he can make considering he's quickly feeling less and less human. Renjun's head snaps up, and he's quick to move, keeping the phone on the table as he heads over. Renjun stops a short distance from him — Donghyuck could reach out for him if he tried, if his arm wasn't on fire.
Renjun's keeping a distance from him though, even as his fingers twitch. He aches and aches and wonders if this is how it's going to feel forever, now. Just aching and regretful and so, so sorry.
"You're awake?" Renjun asks, though Donghyuck can hardly understand it through the roar of blood rushing in his ears. Fuck, fuck, it hurts.
Donghyuck squints at Renjun's hands, hoping to see some painkillers in his hold, but it doesn't look like Renjun is holding anything.
"Arm," Donghyuck rasps out, because the pain is making him all too aware now, climbing and climbing higher with every second.
Renjun's eyes widen, and he moves even faster than before. "Okay, okay, hang on, yeah. I'm getting them, shit—"
Renjun comes back with them in hand, though he takes a second too long to pass over the glass of water, so Donghyuck swallows them dry. Renjun gives him a disapproving look for it, passing over the water with a scolding obviously sitting on his tongue.
"It hurts too much," Donghyuck defends himself quickly, trying to get in before the lecture can get out. Renjun narrows his eyes but ultimately lets it go, leaving Donghyuck to sip at the water in their newly-familiar quiet.
The medication works fast, and soon enough Donghyuck can think beyond the pain again. He notices that Renjun’s changed out his clothes from the morning, and his hair is slightly damp. Donghyuck is well aware that he needs to wash up himself, especially after lying on the couch for so many hours, but he doesn’t have the energy to even try and think about it.
He kicks down the blankets, getting some cooler air on his skin, though he doesn’t sit up just yet. He studies Renjun a little longer, watching as he goes back over to the table to pick up his phone.
“Did you go somewhere?” He asks, because he’s been out of it the entire day as he dozed, and he has no idea if Renjun had been around the whole time.
“No.” It’s a short and snippy reply. Donghyuck pulls a face at the wall, because he thinks Renjun might just be lying to him. He hates being at odds with Renjun like this, hates that both of them are dealing with so many emotions that are clearly making a mess, hates that Renjun might just be keeping something from him, but if he tries and pushes he knows he’s going to make it all worse.
“I’ll make dinner,” Renjun says, walking back to the kitchen, giving Donghyuck a bit more space than when he’s at the table.
Despite sleeping so much, and only eating a small amount, his appetite feels more elusive now. The thought of food doesn’t sit well, but neither will the argument with Renjun if he tries to refuse, so he remains quiet.
The remote for the television is on the table in front of him, though it takes him a few minutes to bother reaching for it. He turns the television on, keeping the volume low and he scrolls through the channels. All of them play mindlessly in front of him, and he eventually gets bored of scrolling and settles on a channel. It’s a news broadcast, the evening round beginning — it’ll serve as a distraction, at least, as he’s been so cut off from current events.
Renjun, who’d been moving around in the kitchen, suddenly walks over and takes the remote from the table, switching it to another channel.
A protest sits on Donghyuck’s lips, but it fizzles out when he looks at Renjun and is met by his back, his shoulders tense and tight.
He has a fleeting thought of snatching the remote back, though, when Renjun heads back to the kitchen with it in his hands. But his pitiful state rules over his pettiness — it’s going to take him a while to be able to move, and having Renjun witness his pathetic attempt at trying is just going to be embarrassing. He settles down and notes the rom-com drama that Renjun has put on instead, but he’s not in the mood for it, so he tunes it out and lets his thoughts drift.
He keeps his thoughts around his personal phone, weighing up if it's worth turning it back on and going through all his notifications. The longer he leaves it, the more they're going to pile up, but he still doesn't have it in him to reach out for either of his phones. It’s the first time he’s gone so long without checking his agency phone since getting it, and it’s an unsettling feeling leaving it alone.
But he knows there won’t be anything on it for him. He thinks that will be harder than anything else to acknowledge — the fact that he truly is defunct, now. Useless to the agency, and a useless hero.
He breathes out unsteadily. Pushes all of his emotions down until they’re contained tightly in his chest.
Renjun finishes cooking and comes back over with two bowls of food, passing one other.
“Thanks,” Donghyuck says, putting a pillow on his lap to help balance the bowl easier. The sting of their distance pulls at him until he forces himself to speak, trying to say something to bridge the differences between them now. “It looks good.”
Renjun hums, quietly digging into his meal as he goes and sits back down at the table. It makes Donghyuck want to sigh, because he can at least get some kind of conversation going, but it seems like Renjun isn’t willing to entertain it right now.
He probably wants to talk about all sorts of sensitive, delicate things that will tear apart whatever control Donghyuck has left of his feelings. But Donghyuck doesn’t want to, and so they remain at an impasse.
It takes Donghyuck a while to get through his meal, as his stomach is rolling uncomfortably and making it hard to get down every mouthful. It takes him so long that the lethargy following a full meal starts to sink in before he's even finished.
He should wash up, perhaps even have a shower, but when Renjun takes the bowl from him once he's done, he finds himself sinking back down onto the couch again.
Despite the amount he's already slept, he's asleep again by the time Renjun comes back from the kitchen, and it’s a dreamless sleep.
The next time he stirs, he’s the only one awake.
Renjun’s soft snoring floats to his ears from the other room, and Donghyuck lets out a quiet breath. The sun isn’t up yet, but Donghyuck knows it’s early sometime in the early hours. The television has been turned off again at some point in the night, and his glass of water has been refilled.
What starts to demand his attention is his arm, though. It’s starting to ache unbearably, and he slowly starts the process of getting up. He swallows down any grunts of pain that threaten to rise, as he doesn’t want to disturb Renjun — he knows Renjun hasn’t been getting much sleep at all, and he doesn’t want to cause him to lose anymore.
He picks up the water when he finally gets to his feet, holding it in a tight grip as he shuffles silently through the room. Renjun’s keeping the medication on the kitchen table, and Donghyuck heads straight for it, swallowing down the tablets quickly.
The amount of movement has exhausted him, and he’s jostled his arm a little too much, and it feels like the bones inside of his shoulder are grinding up against each other. It takes a while for the pain to start to fade again to levels where Donghyuck doesn’t need to make sure every breath isn’t going to be a grunt.
He’s never had an injury this bad before. He’s never had an injury that’s going to keep haunting him for weeks to come.
He wonders how likely he’s going to regain the full mobility of his arm and shoulder. It certainly feels like the blast had been bad enough to damage his nerves beyond repair.
But what happens then, after the bandages come off? Does he stay on hiatus? Will he still be able to fight? Will the agency even want him to? Will they even care to provide for a fighter who isn’t even able to do his job for them?
No. He knows they won’t. He knows he’s going to become a soldier with no orders, tossed aside and told to stand down.
But fighting — fighting for the agency — is all he’s ever known. What does he become, then?
Fuck, he thinks, running a hand down his face. Fuck.
He’d be useless. If his arm doesn’t heal, if he can’t regain mobility and therefore becomes weaker, the agency is going to cut him off. Donghyuck’s going to lose it all.
No, he argues with himself, trying to pull himself back from a spiral. His powers don't rely on the ability to use both his arms, so he can still fight. Even if he loses the ability of one arm, he'll learn to be just as strong without it.
Usually, Donghyuck thinks he'd be able to rally himself with that. He has enough determination and stubbornness to do it, he thinks. He could.
But now, the thought of all of that just seems so exhausting. Pointless. He goes back on the field — and what, then? He keeps fighting, keeps fighting against Jeno with Renjun and Jaemin watching him so closely, just waiting for him to slip up again? He fights and gets up again until he suddenly decides he doesn't want to?
He doesn’t know what else he can do, though. Fighting as a hero is all he’s good for. He’s already lost Jeno, feels like he’s lost Jaemin, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before Renjun cuts his losses, too. Donghyuck wants him to pick Jaemin and Jeno — at least they’d be together, no longer split right down the middle. It’d be easier that way. Better.
You still have Renjun. You can still fight, he tries to tell himself.
But he feels like it’s all out of his reach now. He has nothing left. What now? What do I do now?
He heads back over to the couch as his knees start to feel weaker. He hates how much strength he’s lost and how unsteady he feels, but it’s easier to sit down than try and fight it.
Six weeks, he thinks to himself. Six weeks and the cast comes off. The agency will make their decision then, after they all find out if Donghyuck’s in working condition and worth continuing investing in.
And if they decide he’s disposable — then, then, he can figure out what the hell he’s meant to do.
He looks down the hallway towards Renjun’s bedroom door. It’s been left open, but Donghyuck doesn’t think it’s in invitation as much as it is for surveillance. He looks away from it, listening to Renjun’s snoring continue.
He pulls at the edge of the blanket, fingers searching for loose threads to wind between his fingers, but when one stretches a little too far and threatens to tear a hole into the blanket, he dutifully smooths it down and tries to find something else to focus on.
Turning the television on is risky as Donghyuck doesn't know what volume it's set to, so he lets his gaze float right past it. Both of his phones are just a couple of steps away, and while he immediately pushes them from his mind at first, he finds himself lingering on them as time passes slowly, stuck with his thoughts and no distraction.
His fingers twitch. He stands up from the couch and picks up the two phones, retreating to the couch with them between his fingers. He tests the weight in his hands, flipping them back and forth, trying to decide if either of them is worth turning on.
All of the people that Donghyuck would usually contact are close enough to Renjun to message him instead. They probably know Donghyuck isn't using his phone by now, so he’s sure no one is waiting on a response from him.
He turns back around to look down the hallway like he expects Renjun to be standing there and watching him, but the hallway is empty. Renjun is still asleep.
This is probably the best time to check over his phones, really. Away from Renjun's gaze, not having to worry so much about his expressions and reactions. He holds down the button on the side of the agency phone, and the screen turns on. It's sitting at about half-charged, which means he won't have to worry about finding a charger by the time he's gotten through most of the messages and other things he wants to sort out.
On the agency phone, there are well-wishes from Mark, Jisung, Chenle, Taeyong, Jaehyun, and a few other people he isn't too concerned about actually replying to.
Most of them have sleep schedules as terrible as his own due to the rostering of their jobs anyway, and those that don't should have learned to put their phone on silent. He types out a general reply to one of them, all too aware of the fact the agency is probably going to be monitoring his communication on this phone, and then copies and pastes it to the rest of them. Chenle replies to him rather quickly, and then when Donghyuck doesn't reply he starts to call, but Donghyuck declines it.
'Renjun is sleeping,' he types out. Chenle sends back a sad emoji face, and then spams him with demands to make sure he calls as soon as he can. It’s not urgent, but Chenle’s insistent until Donghyuck promises that he will.
His other phone is on the table. If anyone has messaged him through that one, it’s probably Doyoung — he’s part of the agency, it's just that he has always encouraged private communication while they act like they don't get along when it comes to agency missions.
It started as something more like a joke, but Doyoung decided to roll with it and push for them to act like that when it comes to agency matters a couple of years ago. He knows it's because Doyoung is trying to create some distance to make sure nothing blows back on Donghyuck if he's caught in some of the more sly things he participates in from under the agency's nose — not quite cutting the ties with the agency like Jaemin just yet, because he's hoping to start changing things from the inside.
At least, that's what Donghyuck assumes. Doyoung doesn't tell him much about it. Although Doyoung might have reached out straight to Renjun, so maybe there isn't a message waiting at all.
Donghyuck's not too concerned about that, as he knows one way or another, Doyoung has reached out. The other person that might have reached out to that phone, if he has, is Jaemin.
But Donghyuck doesn't know if Jaemin has attempted to contact him. He doesn't know if he's attempted to contact Renjun either. He doesn't know where they all stand with each other, and the thought of that makes him uneasy.
He lets the phone sit there on that table, and he makes no move to try and reach for it. He stares and continues to do so as the sun starts to lighten the room.
He must go into some kind of half-asleep state, as he startles back into awareness as he hears Renjun get up and start moving around. He blinks, taking in a bit more of the room that's been slowly changing around him. The sun is up now, though it's still a little bit earlier than either of them tends to wake up. Definitely early for someone who’s sleep-deprived like Renjun.
Donghyuck lies down on the couch, not wanting Renjun to come out and get nervous about the way Donghyuck's just sitting and staring at nothing. Renjun goes to the bathroom and showers, and Donghyuck is almost asleep by the time he comes back out.
When Renjun comes back out, he heads straight over to the table, and Donghyuck places the nervous inhale of breath he takes when he realises Donghyuck has taken the painkillers himself.
Renjun has been keeping a close eye on them, taking it upon himself to give Donghyuck the medication when needed. But he’s also been trying to act like he isn’t overbearing about it, like he’s nervous about taking them away and having Donghyuck sneak behind his back and overdose on them out of spite or something.
It’s not like that, he knows, but Renjun is definitely keeping the medication under a tight watch. He listens to Renjun count them out under his breath, then finally finishes with a long exhale which might be relief, mixed in with a whole lot of other emotions.
As he expects, Renjun quietly heads over to the couch, peering down to check if Donghyuck is asleep. Donghyuck meets his gaze, though Renjun isn’t startled by it.
“When did you take them?” Renjun asks, hand gesturing over to the table where the medication sits.
Donghyuck gives a one-shouldered shrug. “An hour ago, maybe?”
“You don’t know?” Renjun asks, mostly in exasperation.
“I’m not entirely sure when I woke up,” Donghyuck replies. “The sun wasn’t up. It wasn’t long, I don’t think.”
“You don’t think, right,” Renjun echoes, sounding tired. His gaze shifts around the room, lingering on the two phones on the table. His lips press together, displeasure seeping through before he can stop it, but he doesn’t say anything.
Donghyuck has the chance, here, to ask if Jaemin has contacted him at all. But the question dies in his throat, because he's not quite sure what he's going to do with whatever the answer is.
“I’m going to wash up,” Donghyuck says, suddenly desperate to just leave the room and get some space.
He wants Renjun to be close to him — closer than he has been, at least, but his presence has also been scratching away at his nerves. It’s a strange paradox, wanting but not wanting, and Donghyuck hates it. Renjun’s worry is only making his guilt and shame worse, and he doesn’t have the energy to try and sort out his emotions.
If Renjun is going to keep his distance, then Donghyuck doesn’t want to feel his eyes lingering on him and trying to strip down all his defences.
“Are you going to take a shower?” Renjun asks.
Donghyuck decides to shake his head. “I don’t know. Probably not.”
He gets up from the couch before he can discern Renjun’s reaction to that. He can tell Renjun takes a step towards him when he turns his back, but when Donghyuck keeps walking, Renjun doesn’t follow.
Donghyuck shuts the door to the bathroom and lets his head hang forward, forehead resting against the door. He takes a few deep breaths, then turns around to look over the bathroom.
Renjun’s left the waterproof covering on the sink, and his eyes lock onto it. He said he probably wouldn’t, but…
If he doesn’t do it now, then Renjun’s going to usher him in for one within the next day. Which means stripping down in front of Renjun again, a whole lot more aware than he had been last time, and dealing with that.
He strips down, careful and slow with his arm, and then picks up the waterproof covering. It’s a hard process pulling it on alone, and he’s sweating and holding back cries of pain by the time he’s done, but he manages to do it.
Renjun might be getting worried, but the fact that he hadn’t taken more pills than required might give him some grace with being left alone right now.
He turns on the tap, turning back to the door as he half-expects Renjun to come in and ask about what he’s doing, but he’s able to step inside the shower without the door opening. He lets the warm water run over him for a while, before he ends up sinking to the floor as his knees start to feel weak again.
The warmth of the water is prickling at his injury, and the skin around it feels itchy and tender as he sits in the heat. He lightly touches it with his hand, but he isn’t able to get rid of the itchiness — he knows he won’t be able to for a while.
He’s just lucky that Jeno struck his non-dominant arm. He’d be having twice the amount of difficulties as he is right now, which is already significant enough — reaching up for the loofah is a stretch that aches, and it’s hard to get back to his feet to try and wash himself.
Exhausted by the end of it, he’s breathing heavily as he stands, until he ends up sinking back down. He manages to reach up and turn off the tap, though he sits for a while and lets the chill start to hit his skin before he gets out.
It’s a little embarrassing to be crawling out of the shower, but he decides that no one is watching him — and, well, if he wants to crawl, then he can. His lowest point is the fight, so it’s not like it can get a whole lot worse in terms of his dignity and shame.
He manages to get back to his feet to dry himself, though all the effort of standing up and sitting back down has drained him more than he’d ever like to admit. He keeps the towel tucked around his shoulders, trying to bring back some warmth to his skin.
A knock at the door startles him. His head snaps to it, but he lets out a breath as he remembers where he is.
“Yeah?” He calls out.
“There’s clothes on the bed for you,” Renjun says through the door.
“Thanks,” Donghyuck calls out, though he takes another minute to move after he hears Renjun walk away.
He doesn’t see Renjun on his way to the bedroom, though he’s focused on just making it to the bed and getting changed. It’s a whole lot of effort trying to get the shirt over his head, but he manages to do it, and walks back to the bathroom to hang the towel to dry.
He heads to the main room to see Renjun watching something on the television. He looks over the couch, eyes scanning up and down Donghyuck’s body to assess him, but he doesn’t let anything slip through his expression. He stands up and heads to the kitchen, making a meal for them, but Donghyuck’s stomach turns so badly that he’s not sure he’s going to be able to swallow down his unease to relieve Renjun’s worry.
His phones are still on the table in front of the couch, so he heads over and picks up the agency one. There’s a small influx of notifications now that everyone is replying back to him and realising he’s on his phone again.
Mark asks if he needs him to drop off anything else, like they both don’t know that Mark’s already picked up most of his items. Donghyuck pauses as he thinks it over, turning the question around in his mind.
If he asks Mark to get him anything else, then he’s inviting the idea that he’s going to be staying with Renjun longer than he already is.
Confliction tears at his heart. Being at Renjun’s is like being in a bubble, where he’s able to just use the six weeks to recover and not think about any of the choices that follow. But — the six weeks will end, and Donghyuck will have to come to terms with what’s at the end of it.
He’s also not sure how much longer he can be under Renjun’s scrutiny. The constant tension in the house, the worry that he’s going to do something the moment Renjun’s back is turned for too long. He thinks he just wants to be back in the dormitory, like he’ll have somewhere he will still be after the six weeks are up, and he can lick his wounds in peace. He can pretend like he’s still part of the agency, like he’ll still be sent out on a mission any day and have a purpose.
(And what is that purpose? To be wound up, placed in Jeno’s direction, and told to fight? Fight someone who isn’t Jeno, until he’s had enough? Until someone won’t hesitate on the killing blow? Until he won’t hesitate to give it to them?)
He tells Mark he doesn’t need anything else right now. Mark is quickly in the conversation, typing out a reply immediately, but Donghyuck doesn’t get to see it before his screen changes. Chenle’s calling him, and he watches the screen dully for a moment before he swipes up to answer.
“Hey,” he says, putting the phone to his ear. He can tell Renjun is paying attention, too.
Chenle snorts on the other end. “‘Hey’. ‘Hey’. That’s all you’re giving me?”
“How else am I meant to answer the phone?” Donghyuck retorts, though he realises something inside of him is starting to loosen. Chenle’s familiar, warm voice is soothing over some of his cracks.
Donghyuck has only been around Renjun, who knows about Donghyuck’s choice during the fight. He’s only been thinking of Jeno and Jaemin and Mark, who know too.
Chenle doesn't know. The relief of that is surprising.
"Maybe, oh I don't know, hey my favourite person in the world, sorry for turning off my phone and ignoring everyone for two days! What have you even been doing, huh? I went by your dorm, but you're not there. Mark says you were Renjun. Are you still there? Renjun tells me he won't let me in if I come over. Are you that bad?" Chenle's voice is fast, words more like teasing than any actual annoyance, but he's also clearly worried.
Donghyuck pauses, turning to look at Renjun, though his next words are directed to Chenle. “He won’t let you come?”
Renjun can tell it’s a pointed statement, but he looks away and doesn’t answer. Donghyuck scowls to himself before he can stop it.
“Well, I haven’t actually tried to come over. I thought… If he’s saying that, then you must be bad,” Chenle replies.
Donghyuck sighs, about to run a hand down his face before he realises his only good hand is holding his phone. He rolls his head back, looking up at the ceiling.
"I've just been sleeping a lot," Donghyuck replies. "The painkillers are the drowsy kind. So if you came by, I probably wouldn’t be able to stay awake long.”
“Really?” Chenle asks, surprised. He also knows the level of medication that the agency gives out, and they tend to avoid the heavier stuff if they can. “Okay, well, are you just going to stay at Renjun’s the whole time?”
“I don’t know,” Donghyuck mutters, closing his eyes.
Chenle huffs. “How long do they have you on the painkillers?”
“A while,” Donghyuck replies.
“And off the job?” Chenle’s voice is more cautious, now.
“Well, yeah,” Donghyuck answers.
“‘Well yeah,’” Chenle copies, mimicking him with a high-pitched voice. “Obviously. How long is my question.”
“Six until the cast comes off. After that… I don’t know. Waiting on medical advice,” Donghyuck replies.
Chenle makes a confused noise. “What?”
"Well, it's not like the agency likes a defective soldier," Donghyuck replies, also now confused himself because of Chenle's reaction.
"That's not what I..." Chenle trails off with a frustrated huff. "Jeno injured you like that? I thought..."
Chenle, like Donghyuck at the beginning of it all, could never quite accept that Jeno had changed sides. He still hadn’t, even when Donghyuck started to.
But now the roles have flipped — all because Donghyuck knows where the blow should have landed, and what it should have done.
But Jeno didn't let that happen. Donghyuck knows this much now, but Chenle doesn't.
He should tell Chenle, the person who has held out the hope longest out of all of them. But Donghyuck isn't quite ready to talk about all of that yet, and isn't ready to reveal just what had meant to happen between them and the fact that Donghyuck had been hoping that blow would strike his chest, so he mentally apologises to Chenle and remains silent.
Renjun starts to move again, and Donghyuck opens his eyes and sees him in the corner of his vision.
"Hey, sorry, Renjun's just put down some food. I'll talk to you later, alright?" Donghyuck says, taking the excuse as he sees it.
"You better," Chenle warns and hangs up before Donghyuck can even reply. He sighs, putting his phone back down, ignoring the rest of the messages that have come through from other people.
Donghyuck still doesn't feel like eating, but he's no less thankful for the meal in front of him. He takes it with thanks, holding it between his hands.
Renjun seems to be waiting until Donghyuck takes his first bite, so Donghyuck eats it if just to give Renjun the excuse to start as well.
But Renjun doesn't. He stirs his food around for a moment before he speaks.
"The painkillers aren't the drowsy kind," Renjun says.
Donghyuck tilts his head, not quite sure where Renjun is coming from, before he remembers the conversation with Chenle.
"I thought so," Donghyuck replies quietly. "I just needed a reason to stop Chenle from worrying."
"There's nothing wrong with actually resting when you're meant to be," Renjun retorts. “Your body is healing.”
"And yet you’re also worried about how much I’m sleeping," Donghyuck challenges — it's more of a guess, piecing together an answer from Renjun's worried glances, but it seems like he's hit the mark.
Renjun lets out a deep breath, sitting back slightly. "I'm worried in general, Donghyuck."
Donghyuck shakes his head, stomach souring even further, not wanting to get into it like he knows Renjun is trying to. "Let's just eat."
"Donghyuck-"
"Eat," Donghyuck insists, shoving so much food into his mouth that he struggles to fit it all. It takes him a while to get through it, swallowing it in carefully small pieces, making sure he doesn't upset his stomach any further than he already has.
"We need to talk about this," Renjun says, frustrated, having waited for Donghyuck to get through his mouthful to speak.
"What do you want me to say?" Donghyuck argues, tense as he mixes the food around in his bowl. He feels irritation flare up, igniting quickly through him.
"I just don't want you to try and ignore all this and act like it wasn't anything serious. I want you to admit there's something wrong," Renjun says sharply, hands gesturing around him as he expresses his irritation.
"Of course there's something wrong," Donghyuck grits out, placing his cutlery down. He can’t stomach anything else. "In case you haven't noticed, everything's been all wrong for a really, really long time now."
Renjun looks shell-shocked. "Donghyuck..."
"I'm tired," Donghyuck says stiffly, getting up with his bowl in his hands. He is, really. He's exhausted. That weird half-limbo state he'd been in for hours hasn't done him any favours. Renjun opens his mouth, a protest on his lips, but Donghyuck turns and walks into the kitchen. Renjun sighs.
"Are you really about to go to sleep?" Renjun decides to press.
"Weren't you the one just telling me I should be resting?" Donghyuck fires back, sharply edged, not letting Renjun try and get a way back into the conversation about a topic Donghyuck does not want to approach right now or ever.
Renjun's expression pulls into a scowl for a quick second, letting himself rise up to Donghyuck's petulance before he smooths out his features and settles back into the couch.
"Can you at least put that away and promise me you'll eat it after you wake up?" Renjun's voice is caught in a storm — not quite sure if he's tentative and cautious or demanding.
Donghyuck grunts out a confirmation, covering up the bowl and placing it in the fridge. He'll try and remember it's there if his appetite decides to return.
He looks over at the couch, intending to take it again for his nap, but Renjun looks like he isn't going to move. Donghyuck rolls out his neck, irritated. He can’t go back on his word, can’t sit in this awful tension between them any longer, but Renjun’s claiming the main room. With a huff, he heads down the hallway and to Renjun’s bedroom.
"Sleep well, Donghyuck," Renjun's voice says quietly.
Donghyuck presses his lips together and walks into Renjun's bedroom without a reply. He splays himself out on Renjun's bed, taking over as much space as he can, but it's not too long after that he finds himself curling up, pressing himself into the smallest space he can between the bed and wall.
Everything in Donghyuck feels like it's swinging in such extremes, his emotions out of control, and he doesn't feel like he's going to be able to find a handle on them. Lingering frustration from the conversation with Renjun remains, but guilt is also battling to consume him.
He wants Renjun beside him, but he also wants to be in his own bed, away from Renjun's piercing gaze following his every movement. He wants the distance between them to disappear until it's nothing, but he wants enough distance to feel like he can actually breathe alone again. He doesn't know what he wants. He wants both, everything, nothing.
He curls further into himself, and falls asleep like that — still no closer to figuring out what he truly wants.
The pain in his arm wakes him some time later.
He’s knocked it against the wall in his sleep, and the pain startles him awake violently. He’s not sure how long it’s been, but his arm certainly hurts.
"Fucking ow," he hisses, trying to stretch out his arm to shake some of the pain. It only makes it worse, and he sucks in a sharp breath and decidedly just curls down, keeping his arm in his lap as he tries to breathe through the pain.
The shadows in the corner of his vision move, and he turns his head, heart picking up in pace as he almost expects to see Jaemin standing in the corner of the room, finally coming to visit him after everything.
He stares until his vision swims, but the shadows don’t move. No one is there. He huffs, curling in further on himself, and tells himself it’s just his vision going blurry from his watery eyes.
Attempting to roll his shoulder back only ignites the pain, and on instinct he goes to clutch at his shoulder, only for the tips of his fingers to feel like fuel to a fire. It explodes with pain, and though he tries his best, he must make a noise.
"Donghyuck?" Renjun calls out.
He doesn't have enough strength to try and reply. He just remains curled in on himself, trying to breathe through the pain. The bed dips and Donghyuck looks up through his blurred vision to see Renjun sitting near him, hand stretched out but hesitating.
"What's going on?" Renjun asks, voice soft and careful.
"Knocked it," Donghyuck grits out. The pain is starting to ease up now, but it's still close to unbearable. The worst it's felt since coming back from the medical facility. Perhaps even worse than it hurt in the fight, when he'd been running on adrenaline and fear. "I need— the meds."
"It's still a bit early," Renjun hurriedly says in worry.
"Renjun," Donghyuck rasps out, desperate.
Renjun quickly hurries, the bed bouncing as he goes. Donghyuck tries not to cry out from being jostled, but his jaw is starting to ache with how hard he's gritting his teeth together. He comes back fast, putting two tablets in Donghyuck's hand with the water a moment later. Donghyuck swallows them down quickly, and Renjun hovers in front of him.
Hands still rising like he wants to touch, like he wants to reach out, but he won't. Donghyuck's clenches the bedsheets tightly with his good hand, taking out his pain on the cotton instead.
He remains hovering as the wave of pain slowly fades until it's just a throb in his shoulder. Donghyuck lets go of the bedsheets and starts to straighten up.
"Can I check it?" Renjun asks cautiously.
Donghyuck's still a little breathless from the whole ordeal, so he just nods. He doesn't move, hardly dares to breathe, as Renjun crouches in front of him and carefully pulls at his shirt to get a better look at the bandages. His fingers skim closely, but he's careful not to irritate the wounds.
"It looks okay," Renjun breathes out in relief. "What'd you knock it on?"
"The wall, I think," Donghyuck replies.
Renjun looks at the wall like he's giving it a chance to explain itself, which makes Donghyuck huff with laughter. It's a weak sound, though, brittle and awful, and he quickly clears his throat to clear it.
"Do you want anything else?" Renjun asks.
Donghyuck amuses himself with his thoughts. You. You to go away, maybe. For us to just go back to what we were before I ruined it all. Before Jeno left us. That's what I want.
Saying it isn't going to make it happen, though. So he just shakes his head.
Renjun looks like he might press it, and Donghyuck braces himself for it.
“Okay. If you do, let me know?” Renjun says — more of a question. A plea.
“Yeah,” Donghyuck replies, not sure if he’s being truthful. Not sure if there’s anything more that Renjun could possibly give him.
“Okay,” Renjun says softly. “Okay. I’ll get you some food.”
Donghyuck nods, remaining alone in the bedroom for the next few minutes. He thinks about their conversation yesterday, and the call with Chenle, until words sit on his tongue ready for when Renjun comes back in.
Renjun walks back in with a bowl of food, putting it in Donghyuck’s hands. Still letting him get away with eating in the bed for the moment, then.
“Has Mark—” he hesitates, perhaps not as ready for this as he thought. “How is Mark?” Then quickly covers that question, because he’s not sure if he’s ready to approach the fact that Mark likely knows what truly happened in that fight. “Is he busy with the agency? Because of me?”
“It’s not because of you,” Renjun says quickly. Too quickly, and he knows it. But he remains firm in his reply as he continues. “It’s not you. The missions were already a lot this week, but he hasn’t been put on many more. It’s manageable for him.”
For him. Probably not for anyone else that isn’t Mark or had been Donghyuck, both of their schedules and missions always loaded up to the brink. But he still makes a mental note to try and talk to Mark if he gets the chance. Mark has a high tolerance and strong mentality, but they’re similar in the regard that they sometimes don’t know their own limits.
“Alright,” Donghyuck says. “And you? How have they been with you?”
Renjun shrugs. “I’ve made myself difficult to get ahold of. I’m helping you recover as far as they care, so they haven’t bothered me much.”
Donghyuck blinks at him in surprise. Between Renjun and Jaemin, he thinks he should be more used to these acts of defiance than he is. But he just can’t imagine ignoring the agency, making himself hard to communicate with, and for them to leave it.
He thinks about his agency phone, though. About the way it’s been turned off longer than it ever has before, and while it gives him a bit of anxiety to think about for so long, he also doesn’t want to turn it back on either. He doesn’t think they’d be trying to get ahold of him anyway.
And something about that, something inside of him, unfurls in relief.
He lets out a deep breath.
“They’re calling in the new ones a lot,” Renjun offers the information, though hesitantly. Donghyuck’s current spiral is probably on his expression, but Renjun’s deciding to push ahead with telling him this. “Trying to get them in the public eye.”
“Yeah?” Donghyuck swallows down something bitter. He’s been one of the faces of the agency, and it’s hard to stomach that they’ve already turned their back on him and are now more interested in their new shiny toys.
Probably not great to compare himself to a toy, he thinks in the back of his mind, but it’s all he feels like. A broken, useless toy, ready to be tossed aside.
What now, what now, what now?
“Doyoung’s being careful to keep Chenle and Jisung out of their attention,” Renjun says.
Donghyuck’s head snaps back towards him. Renjun is usually so tight-lipped and shuts the conversation down whenever Donghyuck even hints about Doyoung doing something behind the agency’s back. Donghyuck knows they talk, but Renjun’s always kept it close to his chest — not even letting Donghyuck in.
“Why?” Donghyuck presses. He knows why. Doyoung doesn’t trust the agency. Renjun doesn’t either. But they’ve never told him anything directly about what they’re actually doing.
Renjun’s lips press together, hitting the limit on things he’s willing to divulge. Donghyuck leans closer to him. “Renjun. Why? The exposure will be good for them. Having support from the public will help them.”
“Yes,” Renjun agrees. “But support from the agency? No.”
“Why not?”
He knows why — because Renjun fears they, too, will fall apart, just like all four of them did.
But Renjun doesn’t say it. He diverts the focus instead. “Doyoung wants them out by the end of the year.”
That’s surprising enough that Donghyuck allows the change in direction. “Out? Like, totally?”
“From the agency,” Renjun confirms.
Donghyuck stares at him. “The agency won’t go for it.”
Renjun tilts his head slightly, something about Donghyuck’s words turning over in his mind. Donghyuck shifts, uneasy about the fact he’s apparently giving Renjun something to analyse but he doesn’t know what.
“Doyoung thinks he can do it,” Renjun insists.
“Doyoung probably wasn’t accounting for my hiatus,” Donghyuck says.
Renjun frowns at him. “He currently is accounting for it. I told you, he’s keeping them out of the agency’s attention.”
“The agency isn’t stupid,” Donghyuck argues, shaking his head. “Chenle and Jisung are going to be too much to lose. They’ve already lost Jeno, Jaemin, you.”
“You, too,” Renjun adds, like it’s an obvious sentence.
Donghyuck rears back.
He’d been thinking it. But it’s different hearing it aloud, hearing that he’s going to lose the agency.
“Donghyuck-”
“They won’t go for it,” Donghyuck cuts in to say, shaking his head as he stands up off the bed, needing to get some distance. “They— no. They won’t.”
“Donghyuck,” Renjun tries again.
Donghyuck turns his back and starts towards the door.
“Donghyuck,” Renjun says, and though it’s more insistent now, it’s softer, too. A different tone, leading into something else. “I’ll stay in here. But can you at least take the food with you, if you’re going to sit out there?”
Donghyuck thinks he’s petty enough to take another step and walk out without turning around. But Renjun’s tone makes him falter, the exhaustion and the plea making him stop and turn.
Renjun is already reaching it forward, and Donghyuck takes it from his hands.
“Thank you,” Renjun says quietly.
Donghyuck thinks he should say the same, but his throat is tight and dry, and he just cradles the bowl to his chest and walks out of the room. He looks towards the front door for a moment, but makes his way over to the couch and sits down on it. He turns the television on just to have some background noise, though he's mindful of Renjun's presence and lets it stay on something lighter in tone, even if he wants to see if he can get a glimpse of Mark on any news reports.
It takes him a while to start eating, the bowl kept to his chest as he gets lost in thought. True to his word, Renjun stays in the bedroom and only walks out of it to go to the bathroom. Donghyuck hears his footsteps linger just outside his bedroom door, like he’s debating whether to head back in, but he eventually does. Donghyuck’s not sure if he’s relieved.
Donghyuck attempts to wash the dishes with one arm, and while it’s stupidly difficult, he manages to do it. He keeps one eye on the doorway at all times, just waiting for Renjun to come out and complain that he’s pushing it too much, but the door stays barely ajar.
When he’s done, he sinks back on the couch and ends up going on his phone for a short while, messaging Chenle and Jisung, and he suspects both of them are together. It’s confirmed when Jisung asks to video-call, with Chenle by his side, and Donghyuck considers it for a moment before he declines.
Sorry, hyung’s too tired, he texts. It doesn’t feel right chatting away with them when there’s silence between himself and Renjun in the apartment.
He doesn’t realise how much time has passed, though, until the bedroom door creaks open slowly.
“Hey,” Renjun calls out softly. “I ordered some food, and it’ll be at the door in about ten minutes.”
Donghyuck looks out the window, surprised by the fact the sun has pretty much set.
“Oh,” he says, surprised. “Thanks.”
Renjun nods. “I’ll come back out to get it.”
“Okay.”
Renjun slinks back into the bedroom, and Donghyuck lets out a breath. He feels himself practically counting down the seconds, waiting until the ten minutes are up, before Renjun steps out into the hallway. He goes to the front door and picks up the food that’s waiting on the ground, putting it back on the kitchen table and sorting it through.
Donghyuck knows Renjuin is about to head back into the bedroom, and that they’ll eat alone.
“You can eat out here if you want,” he offers.
Renjun’s hands pause over the containers, and he looks up at Donghyuck. “You’re sure?”
“It’s your apartment,” Donghyuck replies, slightly uncomfortable. Renjun bites down his tongue on a remark, likely protesting that, before he nods.
“Okay. I’ll eat at the table,” Renjun says. He walks over to give Donghyuck his meal, though, and Donghyuck immediately recognises it. It’s his favourite take-out from the restaurants around, a rare treat he gets to indulge in when he knows the agency isn’t looking.
Renjun puts the medication on the table too, but he doesn’t pass Donghyuck the specific amount for the night. He goes to sit down at the table, looking like he’s quietly absorbed in his phone even if Donghyuck knows he’s not paying that much attention to it.
Donghyuck’s appetite is still small, not helped by the meal he’s been picking at throughout the day, but he manages to get through most of it. He downs the medication, and the combination of the hazy pain relief and his full stomach makes him lethargic in no time.
He settles down on the couch and finds himself half-asleep within minutes. A little while later, Renjun crouches down in front of him and puts the back of his hand against Donghyuck’s forehead for a fleeting second before he cups Donghyuck’s cheek. “Hey. Come on, come sleep in the bed.”
Donghyuck grumbles at him in reply, irritated from being pulled away from the edge of sleep that he’s been comfortably tethering on.
“Come on,” Renjun coaxes softly again, hand patting his cheek, not willing to let Donghyuck close his eyes again despite his best efforts.
Eventually he huffs, narrowing his eyes at Renjun before holding out his hand without thought. Renjun takes it and pulls him to his feet in an easy movement. Donghyuck’s knees almost buckle as he stands, but Renjun crowds his side and refuses to let him go down.
Donghyuck’s too tired to question any of it, or to appreciate the fact this is the most they’ve touched each other since coming back to the apartment. Renjun guides him back to the bedroom and gently helps him lay down on the bed.
He’s out before Renjun can even slide into the other side of the bed, and it’s the easiest sleep he’s gotten yet.
When Donghyuck wakes next, he’s alone. The hour is closer to the afternoon — he blearily remembers waking up in the morning and taking the medication, but he’d pulled the blanket over his head and gone right back to sleep the second it was down.
As he sits up, he sees the shadows in the corner of the room flicker. His head snaps towards the movement, but there’s nothing there. Again.
He narrows his eyes, studying the shadows, a little more certain of what he sensed this time. As quickly as he can — which isn’t very fast — he gets out of bed and heads straight for where he can hear noise in the apartment.
Renjun’s flicking through television channels absentmindedly, half his attention on his phone, though he loses focus of both when he hears Donghyuck coming.
“Has Jaemin been coming around?” Donghyuck asks before Renjun can say anything.
Renjun startles. Donghyuck supposes it’s a fair reaction, because he hasn’t bothered to soften his words or lead into this conversation delicately. But he needs an answer, his suspicion taking up all of his mind.
Hesitating on his answer, Renjun looks down at his phone as he thinks.
“Renjun,” Donghyuck demands. “Has Jaemin been here?”
“Yes,” Renjun is close to snapping back, but he lets out a breath and calms down — his annoyance isn’t at Donghyuck with this. “Yes, he’s been around a couple of times. But he doesn’t stay around long enough to actually talk.”
So he’s been around. Very likely in the room, checking on Donghyuck when he’s asleep and leaving before he can properly wake. He’s being elusive with Renjun, too, which is a surprise to hear.
Perhaps this is it, Donghyuck thinks. This is Jaemin picking his side, and it isn’t mine. It isn’t Renjun’s, either.
“Is he talking to Jeno?” Donghyuck asks, shifting his weight on his feet, feeling unbalanced where he stands.
It's a very, very delicate topic to bring up. It's the first time Donghyuck has properly mentioned Jeno's name lately, or the closest he's come to even acknowledging their entire situation right now.
They don’t ask Jaemin about Jeno — he made it clear many, many months ago that he wouldn’t answer anything to do with him. But they’ve both suspected that Jaemin has been in regular contact with him, even if they know nothing about it.
It’s not like Donghyuck and Jaemin speak anymore to begin with. Not about important things, and certainly nothing about Jeno. But Renjun and Jaemin have always talked more, and maybe Jaemin’s lines aren’t so firm.
Renjun’s careful with his words, slow to drag them out like he’s not sure if he wants them there. “I think so.”
Donghyuck lets out a long breath. It’s as good as a confirmation — Renjun wouldn’t say it unless he was sure of it, even if he tries to soften the surety.
Jaemin talks to Jeno. He does not talk to Donghyuck, and he is now not talking to Renjun.
“Donghyuck,” Renjun tries.
He shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Jaemin’s chosen his side, just like Donghyuck thought. There isn’t anything else to say.
Renjun frowns in disapproval, but his voice is soft and considerate as he tries a new approach. “You’re thinking about a lot, aren’t you? We should… You’re right. Everything’s a mess, and everything’s wrong, and we should talk, Donghyuckie. You and me.”
“Oh, I’m right, am I?” Donghyuck huffs, trying to tease, but it falls flat. He sighs. “I don’t want to right now, Renjun.”
Because talking about Jaemin will lead to Jeno, and it’ll lead right back to the fight. It’ll lead right back to Donghyuck not dodging Jeno’s attack, and all sorts of other questions that Donghyuck isn’t willing to answer.
He’d ask about Jeno, maybe, if the fight wasn’t so deeply intertwined with both of them now. If Donghyuck could pull on the thread of Jeno without unravelling the fight, he’d perhaps be more willing to, but they’re wound tightly to each other.
“Donghyuck,” Renjun says, exasperated now.
Donghyuck can’t talk about this. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Renjun’s waiting for him to, trying to find some kind of opening, and Donghyuck knows he’ll keep prying. His worry has grown too much, and he’ll start pushing more now, especially as Donghyuck has approached the topic of Jaemin first.
The room feels too small. The apartment feels too small.
He looks to the front door.
“I’m going for a walk,” he decides.
Renjun scrambles up. “Wait-”
“Am I a prisoner here, Renjun?” Donghyuck asks, snappish, and it makes Renjun recoil. He hugs his arms to his chest.
“No. No, of course not. If you want to go, I’ll come with you, that’s all,” Renjun answers, sounding guilty for it.
Donghyuck feels guilty, too, and that’s why he just nods. At least Renjun will let him out, and the fresh and open air might do them so good. It’ll make it easier to deflect conversation, at least. He turns, heading for the door, but Renjun makes a noise similar to a cough in surprise.
“Are you… going out like that?” Renjun asks.
Donghyuck knows he’s in a rumpled shirt and shorts, just two items he slept in. He has slides he can use at the front door.
“Yes,” he replies, because if he gives himself the chance to go back to the bathroom or the bedroom, he knows he’s going to stop bothering with this idea at all. He’s already battling against lethargy, knowing it’s going to press in at any moment, and he’s on a clock to beat it.
“Okay,” Renjun says, shaking his head like he’s clearing his thoughts. “Okay, let’s go then.”
“No talking,” Donghyuck declares quickly, turning back to the door. It’ll be easier to avoid the conversation if it never comes up. “If you’re coming, then it’s just a walk.”
“Fine,” Renjun huffs. “No talking. Just walking. Got it.”
Donghyuck puts on the slides and heads out of the apartment, leading the way. Renjun is giving him side glances, miffed about the fact he’s determined to go out with his current appearance, but Donghyuyck is too stubborn to turn back now. The good thing about working as Haechan is that he’s usually suited up, and not many — if any — will recognise him as a civilian. Especially not one in such creased clothing.
Renjun also lives in a private neighbourhood, everyone keeping their eyes down and their thoughts to themselves, so it’s better than most to wander around in. He shouldn’t make headlines, at least, avoiding any first appearance! articles since the fight.
“Wait up,” Renjun complains, shutting the door behind him and making sure it’s locked before they set off. It’s an unnecessary statement — Donghyuck isn’t going to get very far anytime fast, though the fresh air almost livens him again, making him a little more eager to get properly outside the building now.
Renjun steps up beside him when they finally make their way out of the building, and Donghyuck spares him a glance of acknowledgment but otherwise focuses on the surroundings.
It’s strange, being outside the bubble of Renjun’s apartment. He doesn’t know how many days it’s actually been, he realises, and finds it doesn’t bother him as much as it probably should.
In the corner of his eye, he sees Renjun open his mouth.
“Only walking,” Donghyuck reminds him, choosing a direction and heading for it.
He catches a glimpse of Renjun rolling his eyes, and the sight is, admittedly, endearing. “I was just going to say, if you’re up for it, we can go get something from the mart. Maybe sit at the park?”
Donghyuck is so surprised by the offer he almost trips on his next step. He’d been thinking that Renjun would only entertain this venture for a few minutes before ushering Donghyuck back inside at the earliest possible convenience.
“Really?” He asks, just to be sure.
“What, aren’t you up for it?” Renjun’s challenge is surprising. “Fine, if you just want to talk, then…”
“Nope!” Donghyuck cuts in, shaking his head fervently. He knows this is exactly what Renjun hopes for, but he doesn’t care about stepping into the trap. “No take-backs. We’re going to the mart.”
“Thought so,” Renjun mutters to himself, following dutifully by Donghyuck’s side as he veers their path to where he knows the local mart is. He’s not quite hungry enough to gouge himself on food, but his appetite feels a little more definite — perhaps something to do with the open air, but he’s not going to take it for granted.
When they reach the mart, they split silently and reach for their own snacks, but Renjun pays for everything. Donghyuck doesn’t have any means to pay — both his phones have been left back at the apartment, too. If anyone’s desperate enough to reach him, then they can reach Renjun.
“Thanks,” Donghyuck says, taking the bag from Renjun’s hands when he goes to take it off the counter. Renjun lets him do it without argument, and they walk silently over to the park.
“Don’t throw up,” Renjun tells him, only half-joking when they sit down at a bench that thankfully is under the shade of trees.
“Ha-ha,” Donghyuck sounds out, unamused if only for the show of it. It is honestly a concern, considering the state of his appetite and the fact he’s only eaten lightly for the past few days, but he’s not going to lose the chance to indulge while Renjun’s agreeing to it.
He spreads the snacks between them, the tickle of the breeze rustling through his hair. The sun isn’t too bright, the wind not too harsh, and it’s a nice day to be outside. Donghyuck revels in it, stretching his legs out as he unwraps one of the colder snacks.
Renjun looks like he wants to say something but he's actively trying to suppress the urge. Donghyuck tries to ignore it, but he finds his thoughts starting to circulate about the kind of topics they'll probably have to discuss at some point soon. He doubts Renjun will let him get away with avoiding it for much longer.
He wonders if Jaemin is following them, if he knows they're out of the apartment. He didn't bring his phone, so it's not like he can check, but he's pretty certain Jaemin still hasn't messaged him. Probably hasn’t messaged Renjun, either.
He taps his fingers down on the bench, annoyed that his thoughts are starting to become more insistent. He can't exactly lie down and ignore them like his plan has been for the past few days, and it's like they've come back with a vengeance after all of his attempts to push them down.
A small group of children playing across the park catches his attention. Four kids, kicking a ball between each other, playing some kind of game with made-up rules. He can faintly hear them, their bickering getting louder as an argument forms. One of them seems to unwilling to share the ball with another, though they quickly both burst into tears when the other two confront them.
He notices Renjun watching them too, chin propped on his fist. They both watch as the children split up — two together, one of them consoling the other, and watch long enough to see the two children calm down from their crying. The two friends that had been consoling them gently coax the other two into talking kindly to each other, and within minutes, they've made up, and they're passing the ball between each other again, all earlier grievances forgotten.
If only it was so simple, Donghyuck thinks. If only things could be forgotten and things forgiven.
He looks away from the group, and looks at the accidental mess he's made in front of him — he's been tugging at the plastic wrapping of his food without realising it, and he's torn it to shreds. He sighs, scooping it all up and placing it into the bag so that none of it blows away and litters.
Renjun watches him do it, and Donghyuck has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from speaking.
Do you know why Jeno pulled the hit? Donghyuck finds the question at the back of his throat, wanting to be asked. Do you think Jaemin knows why?
If only things could be so easily asked and answered.
They sit at the bench long enough for Donghyuck's appetite to ease, and for him to reach out and take a smaller snack from the table. Renjun's pulled out a notebook — Donghyuck has no idea when he grabbed that, but he always seems to have one on hand — and has started writing and sketching things out.
Donghyuck watches him and knows that Renjun can tell he’s watching too. His ears are starting to go a little red, flushed under the attention, but he doesn’t bring it up. He just grips the pen a little tighter and lets Donghyuck watch.
Here, on the bench, it doesn’t feel like things are so ruined. It doesn’t feel like Donghyuck has broken them all apart.
Lethargy is starting to creep in, the sun on his skin and the food in his stomach making him feel drowsy, and he stretches his arms up and yawns. Renjun looks up then, pen pausing in his strokes.
Donghyuck only suggests his idea when he’s sure that Renjun doesn’t mind being interrupted. “Let’s walk around the park.”
Renjun looks around like he’s scanning the area for any danger before he nods. He tucks his notebook and pen away into the bag, and takes hold of it as they stand up. Donghyuck leads the way, but Renjun falls into step beside him, and it’s quiet but not tense. It’s peaceful. It’s good.
“We should do this tomorrow, too,” Donghyuck says, breaking the silence between them as they’ve made it halfway around the park.
Renjun hums. “If you want to.”
Donghyuck looks over and sees Renjun giving him a small smile, and he finds the corners of his lips rising too.
The rest of the walk settles into that pleasant quiet between them again, and Donghyuck can very much almost forget about all the past few days that have led him to this very moment. He can tell Renjun is starting to get a little bit antsy though, worried about Donghyuck's condition, and he can only hold out for a few more minutes before he relents. He appreciates that Renjun holds himself back from saying it first.
"Let's go back," Donghyuck says, and while Renjun looks conflicted about it, ultimately his reaction is one of relief.
"Okay," Renjun agrees easily, and they walk back to the apartment together. It's difficult giving up the fresh air again, but Donghyuck is also tired from all the energy he's used up on the walk — which is kind of pathetic, he thinks, considering it was just a small walk, but he's too exhausted to try and pretend like he isn't wiped from it.
He flops back down on the couch once he's back inside Renjun's apartment, and Renjun comes to sit down on the other end of it — making Donghyuck lift his feet so he can put them into his lap. Renjun's thumbs massage small circles into his ankles, and the instantaneous relief and the comfort of Renjun being beside him, just relaxing with him like this, makes it too easy for him to fall asleep.
They get into a fight.
Only a day later, before Donghyuck can even get the motivation to go outside on a walk again. He’s tired, more exhausted than he expected to be, and the quiet between them during the day starts to charge with tension.
He knows Renjun is going to say something. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, Renjun’s looks lingering with intention, and Donghyuck braces himself for it to come up. When it does in the early afternoon, he still tries his best to push it aside, tries to stop Renjun from going any further with it.
But Renjun is insistent, now. He pushes, not letting Donghyuck drop it so easily.
“Donghyuck, seriously,” he’s saying, pacing the room as he runs a hand through his hair.
Donghyuck would love to roll over on the couch and turn his back to Renjun, but his shoulder definitely can’t take that weight. So he reaches out for his phone instead, even though it’s almost flat because he hasn’t bothered to charge it, and it sets Renjun off.
“Don’t ignore me, Donghyuck,” he snaps, stopping in his pacing. “This isn’t just going to go away. I’m not going to go away.”
It stings so badly that Donghyuck can't tamper down his emotions before they burst free, cutting Renjun off. “Why won’t you go away? Why are you saying that? To try and guilt me?”
Renjun recoils, then his anger rushes forth, expression twisting. “What? No, don’t you dare try and twist my words.”
“Then what? Why?”
“It’s just you and me right now, and you need to talk about this, you need to talk to me-”
“Why?” Donghyuck repeats sharply. “What do you want me to say? What do you want to hear? That— what? That I went into that fight and knew I didn’t want to come out of it? That I wanted that plan to fail, and then fuck my arm, fuck this all up, and— fuck, Renjun, I know I fucked it up! I know! You know! So what do you want me to actually say?”
The words spill out, and Donghyuck's breathing is ragged, fast and tense from the way his chest feels so tight, burning with annoyance that rises so quickly. He holds onto it, because he fears that when that feeling goes away, he's going to be left with a guilt so bad he's going to crumble. And he doesn't want to do that, not right now.
Renjun lets out a breath that wavers shakily. He looks at Donghyuck for a second, but then it's like he can't hold that intensity, because he looks away. Donghyuck tries not to pay attention to the way that Renjun blinks, too fast and too much, trying to hold back tears.
"I just... I want you to talk to me," Renjun breathes out. His hands are trembling, and Donghyuck focuses on that because he can’t keep looking at Renjun’s expression. "It's... Donghyuck, it's only us. And... and you don't talk to me, and you didn't— you didn't—"
Renjun has to stop himself because his words are starting to get choked up. It's hard to hold onto his anger.
"You didn't let me know how bad things were, and then you're in that fight, and you’re letting Jeno overpower you for once, and… you gave up, all at once, and you weren't going to tell me. And you were going to leave me. Jeno left us. Jaemin went with him. You can't leave me too. You can't give up on me. Please."
Renjun's voice breaks. Donghyuck's anger disappears. The guilt is worse than he ever imagined when it rushes forward. Donghyuck sags, shoulders falling forward. He wants, so badly, to reach out to Renjun — but ever since coming home from the fight, it's not really something they've done, like Donghyuck is too guilty to reach out, and Renjun is too scared he'll break if he does. So he does not reach out, and he curls his fingers into his palms and he tries not to fall apart from the ache.
“It’s not you,” Donghyuck whispers, unable to give any more strength to his voice. “Renjun, I swear. I didn’t— I didn’t want to hurt you. I wasn’t giving up on you. I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking.”
“I know,” Renjun says, voice brittle and close to shattering. “I know, Donghyuck. But it doesn’t change that you did it.”
Donghyuck swallows down a tight knot in his throat that keeps threatening to rise up. He can't think of anything to say that will make this better, and they remain in silence for so long that Renjun's sadness starts to turn into anger.
"If Jaemin hadn't been fast enough, you would be dead, Donghyuck. You wanted to be. And I'd be all alone because you didn't think," Renjun says, voice sharper now. "If Jeno's hit was any closer, you'd—"
This time, his voice breaks off, and he lets out something like a strangled yell, his throat clogged but his emotions clearly bursting up and out of him. Donghyuck, in the back of his mind — distantly, far, far away — wonders if Renjun has been thinking about Jeno's hit, if he's been thinking about the way Jeno pulled back on it too.
"I'm sorry," Donghyuck says, not quite sure what else to say. He knows there’s no fixing this. There’s no use trying to deny Renjun’s words, either.
You wanted to be. The words ring in his ears. The first aloud admission that Donghyuck had tried to die. He swallows something thick.
Renjun takes in a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself down. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. But I'm not accepting this. Not right now. Because you're... you're not, and if you had the choice to be in that fight again, I know you wouldn't pick differently."
"I would," Donghyuck argues weakly, but he can tell that deep down, he's not so sure he would.
Renjun can tell too. He just shakes his head and presses his fingers to his eyelids, trying to stop any tears from escaping. Donghyuck aches, but there is no fixing this, and there is no helping Renjun.
“I wish you told me,” Renjun says softly, still keeping his eyes closed. “I wish… I wish you’d tell me, now, how much you’re hurting. But you don’t. And I… I don’t know what to do, Donghyuck.”
Their argument falls to pieces, and neither of them knows how to pick all of the shards up now. They stand in silence, letting everything settle down around them. Neither of them knows what to do, now.
"I'm..." he's about to say going for a walk, but he sees the way that Renjun jerks, still panicked about Donghyuck being left alone, so he corrects himself. "I'm going to take a shower."
He just can’t be in this room any longer, lingering in the fallout of their argument. Lingering in all the ache. The bathroom is the most privacy he’s going to get now. Renjun’s lips press together, clearly disappointed with how everything has happened, but he doesn’t try and push. He nods, leaving Donghyuyck to sort himself out.
Donghyuck basically flees the room and shuts the bathroom door behind him. He turns the water on so hot it almost burns his skin, but it’s a welcoming feeling to try and shake the chill that feels like it’s settled right into his bones. It helps him feel like he’s clean, properly, in a way that scrubs clean all the terrible things he’s done, all the things ingrained inside of him.
Dully, he thinks it’s a good time to cry. But when he blinks, his eyes are dry, and the storm that had been inside of him now feels so distant. His body doesn’t quite feel like his own, his mind elsewhere, and he quickly loses the sensation of feeling anything at all.
He gets like this sometimes, usually after a mission that’s turned on its head for the worst. Whenever he loses a civilian on the field, whenever he can’t get to them fast enough. He hasn't failed like that in a long time, but he's never quite forgotten this feeling.
He thinks he washes at some point, though by the time he’s starting to get some sensation back in his hands, he realises the water has lost all heat. He turns off the tap and dries himself down, still not quite present with his body.
When he heads out of the bathroom, Renjun spares him a quick glance, but quickly diverts his attention back to his phone. They fall into silence, neither of them willing to speak first.
It continues like this for a couple of days.
Donghyuck has taken place in Renjun's bed and hardly moves from it. He gets up to do the bare minimum if just to get Renjun off his back, but most of the time, he decides he's too exhausted to bother moving. Days continue to pass like that: Sleep, eat, shower, avoid talking, maybe avoid talking while going on a walk to get out of the apartment — but even then, Renjun stays by his side, and it’s silent the entire time, and Donghyuck just crashes out in the bed again and sleeps as long as he can to avoid it all.
He feels lousy, taking up Renjun's bed and hardly moving from it, but he can hardly convince his body and mind to do much else. It's hard enough getting up to go for a shower or to get up for a meal. Renjun's doing his best not to crowd Donghyuck — because they're both now avoiding any conversations after Donghyuck's outburst — but he still is, and it's starting to feel overbearing.
Donghyuck’s used to the agency watching his every move, but it’s different in Renjun’s apartment. At the agency, he’s expected to be Haechan, and he knows how to be. He knows how to act when he’s being monitored, and he knows what’s expected of him.
But now, Haechan is out of reach, Donghyuck’s arm is a mess, and he doesn’t know how to act in a way that’s expected of him. He hates the feeling of Renjun’s eyes lingering on his back, like he’s watching and waiting for something to happen.
He can’t do this. He needs — he needs to go back to the agency, to be somewhere he knows how to be. He can’t keep lying in the apartment with Renjun’s worry pressing in all around him. He just needs to get out, if only for a short while. More than just their occasional walk, when Donghyuck’s desperation to leave is more overwhelming than his exhaustion.
“I think I should go back to my dorm,” Donghyuck says over a meal. He’s been pushing his food around more than usual, appetite not quite with him today. It remains elusive as he knows exactly what kind of conversation he’s steering them towards, straying from their usual two-sentence interactions lately.
Renjun’s head snaps up at that, chopsticks lowering. His eyes study Donghyuck for a moment, and Donghyuck turns his head away.
“What do you need?” Renjun asks carefully.
Donghyuck lets out a breath. “To go back to my dorm.”
“But for what?” Renjun presses, not letting Donghyuck get away with this so easily. “Mark can get something if you need it.”
“I need my own bed, Renjun,” he says, voice strangely flat even to his ears. He thinks he should be more emotive than this, but nothing inflicts his tone. “I need space.”
“You—” Renjun sucks in a sharp breath. “I know this isn’t easy, Donghyuck. I know these last couple of days have been a lot. But the last thing, the absolute last thing, you need right now is to go back to that goddamn agency building and be back in that room all alone.”
“I can look after myself,” Donghyuck replies, voice a little more snippy now.
“I don’t think you can!” Renjun’s voice rises, somewhat hysterical. His next breath makes his whole body shudder. “You’re not… Donghyuck, you’re not even getting out of bed most days. If you go back there, it’s just going to get worse.”
How could it be worse? He wonders for a moment, and then his stomach curls.
“I’m not going to try and kill myself,” Donghyuck says, fingers curling into frustrated fists even as his voice remains level.
Renjun's chopsticks clatter down on the table, and he looks at Donghyuck in shock, paler than he's ever been before.
It slaps into Donghyuck, suddenly, what he's just said.
"Renjun..." he says hesitantly, wanting to take it all back but knowing he can't quite do that.
"No," Renjun says, voice watery. "No, you— you tell me that, but you don't look after yourself. It's like you're still trying to, even if you don't realise it. How am I meant to let you go back to that apartment in the state you're in? Donghyuck, it feels like it'll be your grave. I can't— I won't let you go back there. Even if you hate me, I'm not letting you die like that. I’m just— no. Okay? No.”
“I won’t die there,” Donghyuck whispers, shaking his head, the guilt making his voice harder to bring forth now as it chokes him. But Renjun’s words ring in his ears, his panic and desperation thick enough to taste, and he concedes. “Fine. I’ll send a list of things to Mark.”
“Okay,” Renjun breathes out, shoulders dropping. “Thank you.”
Donghyuck nods, and stands up from the table, putting his meal in the fridge to eat later. Right now, he's got too many emotions stirring inside of him, and he's spiralling. It's just easier to lie down on the bed, roll over, and ignore all of it as he falls asleep.
Even if he has nightmares, the gamble of having them or not is better than dealing with everything right now, so he takes another roll of the dice.