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Renjun is broken.
He is broken—yet people around him think he’s the strongest of them all.
Renjun isn’t sure whether it’s a genuine compliment or if it’s a sarcasm or if it’s meant as an encouragement for him.
But he is broken – thousands of pieces shattered – and he doesn’t know if they know. He doesn’t know if the strong person is broken.
They act normal around him. Nothing changes.
Jisung still follows him like a puppy whenever they have a schedule. Haechan and Chenle pull jokes and pranks on him backstage, as usual. Mark, Jeno, and Jaemin are there for him to lean on.
Everything is the same, yet everything changes.
Instead of being followed, Renjun wants to follow them. It’d be a plus point if they can cover his petite figure from other people.
Instead of joking around and talking to each other, he prefers silence more nowadays. He appreciates it if the members are talking to each other and not include him in their conversation—except that it rarely happens. So, he wanders into his own mind as a replacement, to his cozy bedroom in Jilin, where it’s quiet, warm, and safe.
Renjun wants to lean on his group members, he wants to, but he can’t. They offer to listen to him privately, away from cameras and staffs. They approach him and make sure he knows they’re always for him, but for some reasons, Renjun doesn’t want to be a burden.
Because this time, it’s different.
He can’t explain the breathlessness or the trembles he experiences when it happens. He can’t make sense of the choking sensation or the cold sweats or the feeling of wanting to disappear from the world when it happens.
He can’t explain any of it.
He doesn’t know where to start.
In fact, he isn’t sure when it started nor any specific events that started it all.
If Renjun were to pinpoint and assume, maybe it’s the pieces of this and that.
Perhaps it’s a bit of everything – the hate comments, the appearance bullies, the invasion of his privacy – on top of the work stress and the underappreciation of his efforts from the company.
It’s the pieces of the negative things combining and piling up into a mountain of self-doubt, before its peak reaches the limit and it bursts into self-blame.
Honestly, blaming himself is the easiest thing to do.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all my fault.”
“I apologize.”
Taking the blame is the most reasonable act, because no one gets sued. No entering and leaving the court, trying to put blames on other people. No energy and resources lost during the process.
“It’s my fault, I’m sorry.”
At most, he will have to face the consequences alone.
No one gets hurt.
No one will be at loss.
No one, but him.
It’s okay, because Renjun is already broken from the very beginning, from the moment the innocent boy in him realizes how underappreciated he is.
It’s okay, because he is Renjun, the strongest of them all or so they say. He’ll make it through this difficult phase, as always.
It’s okay—except it’s not.
It’s not okay.
Renjun is not okay.
He is broken, and his members can see it through him even if his mouth is sealed shut. It takes two manages to convince him that he should seek professional advice, but his heart softens when Mark plays his leader card and says, “Do it for the team. Do it for us. Do it for czennies.”
Renjun can’t explain the symptoms, no, but the doctors can.
It takes a visit to the hospital to diagnose him, to make sense of the weird feeling that creeps into his mind like a rat creeping into a hole, looking for food.
When the doctors advise him to take some time off, he refuses. They have to call Mark to enter the clinic and explain the situation to him, with hopes that he can convince Renjun again.
For the team.
For them.
For the fans.
“No, I can’t be in hiatus,” he speaks his mind loudly for once since the past hour in the clinic, “there are still concerts…” the picture of Tokyo Dome comes into his mind, “and czennies all over the world are waiting for me.”
Mark nods, hand reaching for Renjun’s slowly. “I know,” he whispers, “but this is for you.”
Renjun’s hand trembles. “I—I can’t let people down again.”
He already disappoints people with his weight this comeback. He can’t disappoint them anymore.
“But you never let people down, Renjun,” Mark reassures him. He turns Renjun’s chair around, looking at him straight into the eyes. “You never let us down.”
It sounds too good to be true, almost like a lie.
“N- No, please…” Renjun shakes his head, “you should understand where I’m coming from, hyung.”
“I do understand, Renjun, but this is your health we’re talking about.” Mark puts a hand on Renjun’s shoulder, “take some time off and get better. Recover fast. Recover as fast as possible, in a superhuman level. Or recover slow—it’s okay. As long as you recover and feel better about yourself.”
Renjun looks down.
“We’ll wait for you…” Mark’s voice breaks, “forever and always.”
A tear rolls down Renjun’s cheek, followed by another, and another, until streams of tears wet his lap.
“For once, prioritize yourself.”
Renjun shuts his eyes with hopes that the tears will stop.
“For once, allow yourself to heal.”
Renjun nods.
“You’re a human. You have endless recovery ability. You’re not a butterfly with broken wings.”
Renjun nods again, lips sealed tight.
“You’re Huang Renjun, the brightest star among us. And you’ll get through this.”
Shivers run along Renjun’s spine.
“You’re strong, Renjun. I know you’ll be fine.” Mark runs a hand through Renjun’s soft locks. “Just put yourself first for once and heal.”
Renjun nods again.
“We love you.”
Renjun is broken.
But the pieces are there, and with time, the pieces will come together and form the strongest diamond.