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The best thing he learned from his hiatus was how to stop for a minute.
Yongguk had always known how to keep going, and he did so incessantly. Minutes turned into hours, which became days and weeks and months where he focused on producing songs and writing lyrics. He refused to sleep; he forgot to eat. Everything came down to his sheer willpower and ability to force exhaustion back and continue moving forward.
His ability had always made him feel strongrr, like he was finally working hard enough to deserve the love he obtained from his work.
Often, his only breaks occurred when Himchan dragged him away from the studio and forced him into his apartment, bringing food and threatening to hold Yongguk down on his bed unless he agreed to sleep for a while.
He’d known those periods were unsustainable, that every day where he ate little and slept for minutes rather than hours tore him down both physically and mentally. But he couldn’t stop, because stopping meant giving up and giving in and being worthless again.
His hiatus became necessary very suddenly, but if he was honest with himself, the signs that he’d need some sort of break started a very long time ago. Caught in the stress of idol life, of rapper life, of the life of someone who wanted to reach people and communicate and educate and learn, he’d run and run until everything crashed down around him.
Those last few days before he took the hiatus felt the same as standing in the middle of a bridge and watching both sides burst into flames.
Yongguk had always been good at going on and on and on. His hiatus taught him how to stop, how to accept that breaks weren’t a failure or a weakness. He knew he’d learned a lot from it, and he felt better after and dealt with less anxiety every day from schedules and pressure and everything coming to drown him, which is what it felt like before.
But he hated feeling less than adequate – no hiatus in the world could ever change that, and this one only caused more of it. Stopping when everything flowed well and he felt the need to do more and more to continue that positive rhythm was one thing. Slowing down or stopping when he wasn’t getting something was entirely different and much harder.
That’s why tonight he kept going.
He’d begun learning the choreography for “Wake Me Up” three days ago, and he still wasn’t on time. They’d expected him to struggle with learning it quickly, so Junhong and Jongup arranged it so he only danced for half the song, but he still couldn’t get it right.
He turned the music on, beginning the dance for the chorus, only to immediately lose his timing and end up two beats late. Yongguk stopped in the middle, knowing he’d only struggle to catch up for the rest and it would only exhaust him further. Saving his strength counted as resting a little, right? He knew it didn’t.
Yongguk sighed, feeling the tired burn in his eyes. Switching off the music, he rested a hand on the mirror and looking at himself in it. Bags under his eyes. A hint of a tremble in his body.
Yongguk needed to stop. He’d spent months learning how to stop, and he needed to right now. Had he been in his apartment, on hiatus, he would have stopped a long time ago. But being back and being on a schedule was different. For as much as he knew it was wrong, he had to push himself a little further.
And so, something kept him frozen there, staring into his own eyes. The studio door opening broke his concentration – or perhaps rather stopped him from completely zoning out. Yongguk wasn’t even sure what he had been thinking about.
Another sign he needed to stop. Not long after the zoning out, the anxiety began.
“Hyung?” a voice said – Jongup, his mind realized instantly. Jongup’s voice prompted him to finally turn away from the mirror and break his own eye contact, and he did so with a small smile on his face, hiding his exhaustion, hiding just how much he needed to stop.
He wasn’t supposed to hide that either, but Yongguk found he couldn’t drop all his walls around the kids. Himchan was different; they were close, and they understood each other. But everyone else… Yongguk was still the leader, and even though he knew they didn’t think he was weak for needing the hiatus – he knew they supported it even – he couldn’t totally drop his mask around them.
“I didn’t realize you were still here,” Yongguk said as Jongup stepped further into the studio, letting the door close behind him.
“Same for you,” Jongup said, sending a small smile back at Yongguk, who could see the exhaustion he felt mirrored in Jongup’s face. The years of working with him rubbed off on the maknaes; sometimes Junhong and Jongup could rival his own work ethic.
He’d used that fact to tell himself learning how to stop was necessary. Yongguk didn’t want either of them to feel the same anxiety and stress and the need to keep going and going and going that ruled his life sometimes. Himchan tried to balance him out, but Himchan’s perceived laziness was an act anyway; no lazy person could maintain their schedule while also finding the time to practice classical instruments like he did. Both Jongup and Junhong knew that.
Not to mention, Himchan added on caring for all the members to his list of duties, stepping up in that way the same way Yongguk stepped up when fulfilling his leader duties. Yongguk mentally thanked Himchan every day for all he did to hold them together.
“You should head back,” Yongguk said, frowning as Jongup leaned against the mirror next to him.
“What are you working on?” Jongup asked, as though Yongguk hadn’t even spoken. Yongguk frowned, knowing if he told Jongup then he’d insist on staying to help. If Yongguk had his way, Jongup would already be asleep, certainly not helping him even later into the night (or earlier in the morning, to be technical).
“The dance – I just can’t get it on time,” Yongguk said, looking away from Jongup because he knew he should be better than this. The dance wasn’t particularly hard; Yongguk just couldn’t get it down.
He didn’t want Jongup to feel the need to help him.
“If you took a break, you’d do better,” Jongup said, watching Yongguk even when Yongguk didn’t meet his eyes. Jongup’s spoke in a mild manner, not chiding like Himchan or insisting like Daehyun. Despite the soft tone, they both knew Jongup was right.
Yongguk shook his head. Words piled up in his brain, insisted he couldn’t stop because they didn’t have much time to learn everything and Yongguk had spent three days on this one part and still couldn’t get it. Despite the pile-up, he remained silent.
One of his more enviable abilities was his ability to appear calm even when everything inside of him pounded with anxiety that affected his heart and his breathing and tried to make his entire being tremble.
Perhaps that false calm was what made Himchan so terrified when he went to pick up Yongguk from the studio only to find him panicking in the corner of the room, hand against his heart as it attempted to beat out of his chest and breaths coming in pained gasps. Yongguk didn’t like to think about that day.
“Then I’ll help.” His heart dropped at Jongup’s sweet offer.
“I don’t need –”
“You need something, hyung,” Jongup said. “Even if it’s just not being alone right now.” Yongguk nodded, accepting that. Of all the members, Yongguk felt Jongup could surprise him the most. He knew Jongup, knew him in a way the cameras pointed at them all the time could never seem to capture for either of them.
Yongguk learned Jongup was almost as skilled as he was at hiding emotions, that he talked little and often didn’t speak the thoughts that popped in his head. A lot of times the unspoken thoughts lingered on the border between profound and crazy.
When it came to observations, Yongguk learned Jongup had an eye for body language, which no doubt came from the same place as his eye for choreography. Still, even with that knowledge, when Jongup occasionally stated a comment about something Yongguk – or anyone else, for that matter – thought was hidden well from sight, he couldn’t help but feel surprised.
“I’ll play the music for you, if you want.” Jongup slid downwards, using the wall as support, until he sat with his legs against his chest, his head leaning back and resting against the mirror. Yongguk felt grateful he didn’t jump in to dance with him. He could barely do the dance on his own, let alone keep up with Jongup.
Comparing Jongup’s dance to his own would only make things worse right now. Both Jongup and Junhong could dance circles around him in their sleep, and with him nearing dead-on-his-feet, he didn’t need to remember just how much better Jongup looked than him.
“Ready, hyung?” Jongup’s eyes focused on him, as he reached for the stereo. Yongguk nodded, waiting for Jongup to start the music.
Off-beat. Again. He stopped, running a hand through his hair and feeling his chest heave from the dance. Out of shape. Yongguk shouldn’t be this tired.
“You’re thinking too much,” Jongup said. “You know the moves, hyung. Give it time to sink in.”
“I can’t waste another day on this part,” Yongguk said, frowning at his appearance in the mirror. He hated the wall-to-wall mirrors in the studio. They were necessary; it was a dance studio after all, but they gave him too many opportunities to notice every single imperfection in his movements and form.
Normally, he liked that. Yongguk wanted the dance to look perfect, but tonight, it felt like every mistake was screaming at him. His heart sped up in his chest, even though it should have been slowing down, and Yongguk closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Calm.
Sometimes he needed to stop for a second. Even when he only had a second to stop.
“You’re not holding us back,” Jongup said. His voice was calm and soothing and bordered on flat yet not emotionless in the way that only Jongup’s voice ever seemed to. “I know you think you are, but you’re not.”
Yongguk nodded. “Play the music again?” Jongup agreed, even though he so clearly thought Yongguk should stop. He felt grateful that Jongup, of everyone, discovered him still working.
Himchan would have dragged him out of the studio. Daehyun and Youngjae were both too high-strung for him when his mind wanted to focus on every little detail and fixate on every problem. Junhong… though now an adult, Yongguk couldn’t help but want to protect him from the worst of everything. Yongguk’s anxiety had a field day when he messed up so badly even Junhong worried for him.
Jongup knew he should stop, and he knew anyone else would have dragged Yongguk out of there no matter what he said. But Jongup wasn’t everyone else. He only waited, offered support, played Yongguk’s music.
“Your movements are smoother than they were this morning.”
Yongguk had noticed the same thing from his position to observe himself through the mirror. He was glad Jongup chose a real improvement to comment on, rather than just pulling something out that Yongguk knew was just an attempt to make him stop. Yongguk nodded, accepting the compliment.
“Play it again,” he told Jongup. He ignored the worried look Jongup sent him, instead preparing for the music. Jongup played it.
Yongguk fell even more behind that time, giving up in the middle and standing still until Jongup switched the music off.
“You’re tired, hyung. Take a break. Even if you don’t go back yet, at least come sit for a little.” Yongguk took a deep breath, mentally checking himself over.
His hands trembled – exhaustion, not caffeine. Yongguk was attempting to not drink anything caffeinated late at night. Anxious thoughts popped through his head, random, little thoughts that hinted at small problems.
Did you leave everyone’s schedule at the dorms? He did. Do you think everyone saw them? Do you think Himchan fell asleep too early to see his? God, is Junhong even asleep or is he still up?
For now, he could ignore them, but he’d learned they grew a lot bigger if he did. He should stop working tonight.
Yongguk nodded his head, stepping over to Jongup on legs that wanted him to stop moving. His head swam, and he wished he could drink coffee, but he knew the caffeine would only speed his heart up even more.
Yongguk needed to slow down. He couldn’t afford to drink coffee right now. Jongup seemed to understand what he needed, leaning his shoulder against Yongguk once he’d sank to the ground. The soft pressure helped. Jongup’s touch didn’t ask anything of him; it only comforted him.
One of very few things that Yongguk didn’t need to deal with, could just accept at face value. He rested his head against Jongup’s shoulder and felt Jongup’s arm wrap around him. Neither spoke, and Yongguk took the time to just breath. In and out. Calm.
Jongup’s warmth helped slow everything down for him, and Yongguk knew more time had passed than he should allow. He wanted to get the dance before tomorrow’s practice. They had to perform in only a couple weeks, and Yongguk knew he wasn’t ready and –
“Calm down, hyung,” Jongup’s voice whispered. Yongguk felt Jongup’s fingers run through his messy hair and sighed at the touch. The long breath released some of the pressure building in his chest, and Yongguk took a few more deep breaths. He didn’t know how much time passed, but it seemed both very long and very short after that Jongup suggested they go back and sleep.
Yongguk agreed. After he slowed down for a little, he could always see situations more clearly. He’d learned that over the hiatus too, but he struggled to remember it amid daily schedules and constant deadlines. Those things mattered a little less when Jongup wrapped his arms around him and gave him time to breathe.
His hiatus taught him how to slow down and why it helped, but it didn’t teach him how to integrate those practices into his idol life. Yongguk knew he’d struggle for a while, perhaps never stop struggling to balance his mental health with the demands of fans, producers, the company and, most importantly, himself. But for right now, he learned that Jongup’s embrace worked well if he needed to slow down and couldn’t, and that was enough for tonight.
Over the next couple weeks, Yongguk found Jongup joining him late at night more and more. His dance got better and better, and Jongup would grin from beside the stereo after each run through, until Yongguk burned himself out enough to sit down and lean his head against Jongup’s shoulder.
He took to looking for Jongup even during their group practices, his eyes focusing on him as Jongup and Himchan stood to either side to let him walk through with a solemn, determined “Viva la Revolucion.”
Jongup offered him a smile or a nod of encouragement or even just met his eyes calmly. Yongguk somehow found a second to take a deep breath.
He didn’t realize until the day of their first live stage that his brief second of eye contact with Jongup had become just as much part of the choreography as any of the other moves he’d learned. Jongup looked different on stage, his makeup sharp and his hair styled to perfection.
Yongguk had a brief second before walking past Jongup to see his smile looked just as calm and inviting under a mask of makeup and with a crowd of thousands watching from behind his back as it did in the early hours of the morning, when it was just him and Jongup and the bags under their eyes.