stigma (n.) // Hyunlix

Seven

P A R T_T H R E EH Y U N J I N

Hyunjin wakes with more flower petals on his bed. It's three of them, crumbled and sad-looking. He doesn't remember being woken up by his coughing and he's glad he wasn't. He stares at them for a long time, marvels at their innocence, at how small of a thing can be the cause of so much destruction, and there's this curious itch to paint them in his fingertips.

He does, in the end. He gets the travel kit he brings everywhere and is quick to sketch the lines, the petals on the white sheet, and then he opens the watercolors, his brush stroking the paper with a violent gentleness. Like it's something more himself than his own body, and therefore deserving of the utmost care.

It's his love, he realizes. Something more precious to him than any other thing.

He stares at it when he's done. It's still wet, fresh and alive, and a little less real than what is still sitting on his bed. He wonders if confiding them into a picture is going to trap reality somehow. Thinks about putting all of it into a song, lyrics the fence around the prison picture he just created.

Noise in the hallway reminds him that he's not alone and that there's a schedule to get to. He gets rid of the evidence quickly, the painting and the petals, and then joins the others after his quick morning routine.

He ends up between Chan and Felix in the car to the venue. They're both subdued, not unhappy, just the calm before the storm, and they've all grown accustomed to keeping their energy in for as long as possible before a shoot or a show. It's one of Hyunjin's favorite moments. How they're all locked in their own bubbles, but connected through a shared rhythm, in sync, and close enough that they form one body.

He lets his head fall against Chan's shoulder, smiling about the inevitable hand patting his hair. He thinks about giving in to the sleep tugging at him, it's twenty minutes till they reach their destination, but through half-closed eyes, he allows himself to watch Felix instead.

The previous night dances through his mind still, the intimacy of it, the shared discovery of a secret that seemed secret only to Minho and Jisung. The hope in Felix's words. And how much it had crushed his own.

Too late too late too late too late.

The Felix of now is deeply concentrated on the game in his hand, his fingers the only thing moving. It's a calming sight, and Hyunjin falls into his habit of studying Felix's face as the artist he is. The light hair makes his skin seem darker, a deep, warm honey, which softens his face, calming the edges of his features. Hyunjin thinks about how he hasn't painted him in a long time.

On location, the day turns into routine, the push and pull between adrenaline and waiting, back and forth, rinse and repeat. They spend most of their time in the green room, snacking on little ramen cups and chips. They're in a venue, which means the set is built in the event hall and everything is close by.

They're still exploring venues like they did in the very beginning. Slipping away from staff and managers and snooping out the place where they can. It's become a poor substitute for exploring the cities they're in, which they can't always do, and Hyunjin still takes pictures of the things that stick out to him in places that usually look all the same.

They went out in a group of five this time until Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin were called back, but Hyunjin continues his exploration, Jisung trailing behind.

Hyunjin doesn't pay him much attention as he takes photo after photo of a sculpture by the entrance, an intricate built of wires and what looks like cement. He can tell something is on Jisung's mind.

"Why did hyung sleep in your room the other night?" Jisung asks eventually, and Hyunjin knows that expression on his face when he's trying to be all casual about something that's been bothering him for days.