𝑆𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑁 𝐴.𝑀. // 𝙣𝙘𝙩 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢

18

today was going to be a rough day. chenle knew that the minute he woke up with him on his mind. with xukun on his mind.

the thoughts about why he stopped talking, making his vocal chords useless. he didn't even want to get out of bed, nonetheless talk.

"lele~ come on , we have to get up." renjun gently shook the boy.

chenle just gently shook his head, he was not getting out of that bed.

"lele. at least come eat, and then you can sleep more." renjun pleaded, running his hand through the youngers orange hair.

chenle slowly got out of bed, throwing a shirt over his bare chest and loose sweat pants.

"let's get you fed, baobei." renjun smiled, helping the sleepy boy walk.

"take some deep breaths, jeno. i know it's uncomfy." jisung said shyly, giving the boy his food and medicine.

jaemin and renjun had been so busy with jeno, jisung felt bad and insisted he fed jeno that morning.

"you did great, hyung. there is a bucket next to your bed in case you get sick, do you need anything?"

"yeah sung, i do actually." jeno said, it wasn't for him but jisung didn't need to know that.

"can you get me a blanket?" he said, trying to lure the boy into his innocent trap.

jisung calmly layer the blanket over jeno's skinny body, the remote to the tv on his right side.

"anything else?"

"you can tell me why you've been crying yourself to sleep the past two days?"

"wh-what are you talking about, hyung?" jisung stuttered, hands shaking.

"nana and lele may be your roommates and you may have hid it from them, but your eyes are red and puffy when you come in here every night to check my machine because you think i'm asleep, and at breakfast their practically blood shot." jeno started, patting for the boy to sit at the end of his bed. "even right now your eye bags are puffy and red, you can tell me what's wrong."

"you're sick, hyung. you shouldn't have to deal with my problems or feelings." jisung sighed, shaking his head at the elder.

"but i want to sung. i want to help you, that's the entire reason we're all here, to help each other. if this was every man for himself so you really think that jaemin and renjun would be getting up at 6 every morning to wake us? that hyuck would be standing there making us breakfast when you walk in, that mark-hyung would care so much about how alike you two are? that chenle would say your name as his first word in four years?" jeno asked, "this isn't everyman for himself, park jisung. we are here to help. so tell me."

"when i ruffled chenle's hair, it-it felt so good. but it scared me, it scares me so bad jeno. if i touch people i will hurt them, and they will hurt me. nothing nothing ever makes you forget the feeling of rough hands. not even cocaine. what-what if i hurt him like wenyan and sanghwa did me?" jisung asked, eyes closed.

"jisung, you aren't wenyan or sanghwa. you're gentle and kind, sassy and kind of rude but the kindest kid i have ever met, you aren't going to hurt anyone." jeno said, reaching for jisung's hand before stopping himself.

"and i can promise you, no one here, will ever hurt you." right?

renjun tucked chenle back into bed before going back to the living room. he might not of had as many things happen to him like jisung, he might not be addicted to drugs like mark, he might not have tried to commit arson like donghyuck and jaemin, he might not be selectively mute like chenle, he might not have an eating disorder like jeno.

but he had some rough times. some rough days, weeks, months.

and today was a rough day.

he wasn't sure, why but he just didn't feel like himself. none of the boys did, but for renjun it felt so much different.

it felt like his heart was caving in on itself and his lungs were getting tighter by the second, and worst of all he could feel the steely blade piercing his skin, he could hear wenyan's laugh of joy echoing throughout his ears.

jaemin had also gone back to bed, donghyuck and mark were doing god knows what, jeno and jisung were having a hard conversation. and here renjun was, sitting on the couch, tears streaming down his face as he tried to get rid of it.

of him.

of wenyan. to get his laugh to stop haunting his brain. to get his smile to stop showing up everytime he closed his eyes. to get that slightly off smell of cigars and mint to leave his nostrils. to stop feel that knife digging through his chest as wenyan continued to laugh.

to get that one phrase to stop repeating.

"my little-"

"painter."