Show Me Your Eyes, Don't Hide (Oneshot)
Pairing: JongKey
Rating: PG
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, non-AU
Summary: They all have their way of dealing; Jonghyun has always been introspective, drawing in on himself, reflecting. Kibum sometime wonders if it hurts him more than it helps.
A/N: Set pre-Sherlock. This turned out very different than what I had in mind when I first set out to write it (I might write more? idk). It was inspired by many things, some of which are linked here (x, x, x). As follows, here's a warning for some sensitive topics ahead, but nothing too heavy.
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It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to find him like this, staring into the mirror in front of him with a vacant expression on his face. In fact, it was becoming more and more common.
Kibum was sitting in silence, leaning against the window to the side of their practice room, observing him. The others were talking to the choreographer, pressing towels to their sweaty faces and emptying their water bottles. This choreography was harder than the previous ones; it was exhausting, and it seemed like they were always leaving the practice room aching and breathless lately.
Jonghyun was wearing a large tank top with drooping sides and Kibum mentally berated himself for not suggesting he bring a plain t-shirt instead. Although, lately, no matter what the older boy wore, training sessions always seemed to end like this.
Not for the first time, Kibum found himself wishing he could crawl into Jonghyun’s head and shield his mind from its own thoughts. Instead, he cursed the room for having so many mirrors and began counting down the minutes until they could leave and he could pull Jonghyun away from them.
Kibum welcomed the distraction when the choreographer called them back to order even though he was still short of breath and pain flared up his back as he straightened up. He kept an eye on Jonghyun for the rest of the session, an all too familiar sense of wariness never leaving the back of his mind.
***
When Kibum found him later-much later, when it was too late to do anything but too early to call it a new day-he was staring into a different mirror, naked this time.
Kibum had been in his own room, lying on his mattress and listening to Minho’s snores next door. He was listening for something else, too: the shower had stopped running some time ago, Kibum wasn’t sure how long ago, but he had yet to hear the bathroom door creaking open or soft footsteps padding down the hall. Kibum waited, listening until Minho’s snores died down and when nothing of the sort could be heard, he rolled out of his bed and headed for the bathroom.
Kibum didn’t knock before opening the door; he didn’t have to, Jonghyun must have known he was coming after all. He simply lingered in the doorway, trying to find the right words to say, ones that he hadn’t already used before.
Jonghyun had been working out a lot lately and he had really filled out over the past few months. His body was changing, undeniably so.
Kibum knew him. He had known him for years, both before they got to call themselves idols and after, when they had albums and sold-out concert tours to their name to prove it. Before images and looks and concepts mattered so much and after, when they were just another part of the job.
Jonghyun could be hard to pin down. He could be both staggeringly honest and guarded, both overtly sensitive, even doubtful, and somehow still exude confidence. Kibum may have known him for years, but Jonghyun was the kind of person you spent a lifetime getting to know. There were so many layers to his personality, to his character, and the thought that Kibum was somehow allowed to peel them away, slowly becoming intimate with the innermost ones warmed his heart. He hadn’t knocked because he knew he didn’t have to, because he knew Jonghyun trusted him. Jonghyun didn’t mind being vulnerable in front of him, didn’t mind him bearing witness to such privacy and that already felt like a small victory in itself.
It was easy to sit back and marvel at how far they had come, all of them. And yet they still had a long, gruelling way to go.
“Jjong,” Kibum spoke softly. Jonghyun’s eyes flickered upwards, meeting Kibum’s through the mirror for a brief moment. His discarded towel lay in a mound at his feet, soaking up the water that had dripped from his hair and skin. “It’s late,” Kibum tried, “you should come to bed.”
He held his breath when Jonghyun began to speak, waiting.
“I don’t…” Jonghyun’s voice was low, steady, but had an impersonal quality to it, like he was just mouthing the words out loud. “I don’t know how I feel.”
“It’s okay,” Kibum reassured at once. It seemed like he constantly held those words on the tip of tongue these days. “You don’t need to figure everything out right now.”
Jonghyun was quiet for a moment, eyes trained to the mirror in front of him. He looked exhausted and his wide shoulders were slumped, weighed down despite their newfound strength.
He had been more conscious of his image lately, had been struggling to reconcile his stage persona-who he thought he should be, what others wanted and expected him to be-to the softer, more delicate parts of his person. Bulking up and packing on muscle under his skin had seemed like a solution at the time, but it was clear now that it was becoming overwhelming.
Kibum knew what it was like to see a picture or a reflection of yourself and to pick it apart, piece by piece, without being able to see the whole for what it was. What he didn’t know was how it felt to look in the mirror and not recognize the person on the other side.
“I know I said wanted this and I know the company pushed for it but I don’t-” he cut himself off, biting his lip. Kibum thought he could see the shimmer of tears pooling in his wide, brown eyes. “It’s not… It doesn’t feel like me.”
“It’s still you, Jjong,” Kibum whispered. “It’s just you.”
He hated how helpless it made him feel, seeing Jonghyun like this. He felt weak and tired and frustrated, and yet he knew it couldn’t compare to what Jonghyun was feeling.
“I’m sorry,” Kibum offered pointlessly. And then, because he knew Jonghyun would let him, he advanced into the small room and brushed a hand down Jonghyun’s arm, fingers circling his wrist to pull him away from the mirror.
Jonghyun didn’t resist the motion, following easily until he was facing Kibum, biting down on his lip to keep the tears in his eyes from spilling over.
“It’s okay,” Kibum muttered, just to fill the silence. He wound his arms around Jonghyun’s shoulders, pulling him in for a proper hug. It took a while, but eventually he felt Jonghyun melt into it, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt, clutching it tightly as his head came to rest on his shoulder.
Kibum took a deep breath and fought back the tears threatening to pool in his own eyes. He couldn’t help it, even though now wasn’t the time. Seeing Jonghyun cry always got to him; he doubted there would come a day when it wouldn’t.
Jonghyun felt so vulnerable like this, gathered in his arms in nothing but skin, still damp and clammy from his shower and now his tears. He had always been a little too vulnerable, a little too sensitive, and the world around him loved to take advantage of that it seemed. Only this time, it was coming from himself and Kibum felt locked out.
He smoothed his hands back and forth across Jonghyun’s back, chasing away the shivers that were running though his body.
“Let’s go to bed, okay?” he asked once Jonghyun had stopped shivering.
Jonghyun nodded into his shoulder, slowly pulling away and letting Kibum lead the way. Jonghyun followed him back to his bedroom without another word, navigating the dark corridors of their dorm with ease. It was dark in Kibum’s bedroom as well, with only the soft glow of a few candles to light the way.
Still, the dim lighting was enough for Jonghyun to catch a glimpse of the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. Kibum quickly pulled him the other way, guiding him backwards towards the bed.
“Just look at me,” he whispered, hands reaching up to cradle his face. It filled his chest with pride and warmth when Jonghyun nodded, no matter how small the gesture was.
Kibum gave him the best smile he could manage, bittersweet as it was. Slowly, he maneuvered them onto the bed, resting on his side so that they could face each other. He pulled the blanket up to their waists and tucked it behind Jonghyun’s back. He let precious minutes tick by, simply listening to the sound of Jonghyun breathing-his breaths too shallow, still shaky-and basking in his warmth.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asked.
He felt Jonghyun exhale sharply, eyes downturned to watch as his fingers traced patterns on the mattress.
“I just don’t understand,” he stated, his voice a low murmur.
“Don’t understand what?”
“Why it gets to me so much.”
Kibum brushed a lock of brown hair away from Jonghyun’s eyes, letting his touch linger.
“Professional worrier,” he teased lightly, if only because he knew Jonghyun wouldn’t mind. And because he selfishly wanted to see the way his lips quirked upwards at the playful jab, if only for a second. He returned the small smile before continuing more seriously, “It’s okay if it gets to you. You’re allowed to feel that way, you know.”
Jonghyun’s fingers went still, his palm pressed flat to the bed, but his eyes were still downcast, avoiding Kibum’s. “I’m tired of feeling like… like I have no control.” He sounded exhausted.
“I know you are,” Kibum whispered. He carefully placed his hand on top of Jonghyun’s, interlacing their fingers together in a loose grip.
“I don’t know how just being myself suddenly became so hard.”
Kibum could only hum, letting Jonghyun know that he was listening. He wished he knew what to say, wished he knew the magic words that could make all of these thoughts disappear from Jonghyun’s mind, make him feel whole again. Sadly, there was no such thing and all Kibum could do was tighten his grip on Jonghyun’s hand, reminding him that even if Jonghyun wouldn’t look at him, he was still there.
“Why can’t I be enough? As myself-” Jonghyun’s voice was frail, broken by the sob building up in his throat. It tore Kibum’s heart in half. “Why can’t we ever be enough?”
Jonghyun’s eyebrows were drawn together, his brow wrinkled with what looked like pain or worry. All Kibum wanted was to put that soft, lopsided smile he knew so well back onto Jonghyun’s lips.
He shuffled closer, touching their foreheads together, fingers still entwined between them. This suddenly felt very important; Jonghyun was important to him, always, but this moment in particular resonated with him. He knew his words would be weighted, so he chose them carefully. “Do you know what my favourite memories from our trainee days are?”
Jonghyun shook his head and fleetingly glanced up at Kibum with a look of curiosity, intrigued by the change of topic, before lowering his gaze once more.
“When we would watch movies together,” Kibum went on. “You always knew what to say to make me laugh. Spending time with you like that was easy. Comfortable. I knew I could be myself with you. You made those days bearable.”
Kibum let go of Jonghyun’s hand to instead curl his fingers beneath Jonghyun’s chin, tilting it upwards to finally meet his eyes.
“What I’m trying to say is you were always enough. Before all of this and now, too.” Jonghyun’s gaze lowered to the bed between them once more, but Kibum wouldn’t stand for that; he wanted Jonghyun to understand. “Hey, hey,” he spoke softly, nudging Jonghyun’s chin upwards again, “look at me. I love you, you know. That’s never changed.” It wasn’t a revelation, not exactly, but it was the first time Kibum had spoken those words in this way. Like they might mean something more.
Kibum watched as a smile slowly spread across Jonghyun’s lips, and Kibum felt like he could breathe again.
Jonghyun didn’t answer, not with words. He simply leaned in to brush their lips together in the softest of kisses. It caught Kibum off guard for a moment but he soon returned it, fingers grazing Jonghyun’s cheek before finding their way into his thick hair.
He pressed their lips together and held Jonghyun close, close enough to feel his every shudder, every intake of breath. Huddled together in the darkness of Kibum’s bedroom like this, with nothing but his loose pyjamas between them, it all felt so intimate, so safe. Like this was their little corner of the world, no trespassers allowed.