Chapter Text
Hollow - JJP
***
It wasn’t that Jinyoung didn’t trust Jaebeom. They had long gone past the stage where a relationship was ridden with suspicion and easily-triggered jealousy. But it was a different kind of trust that Jinyoung had never managed to completely build, less to do with his relationship with Jaebeom and more to do with his own, personal, deeply-rooted sense of insecurity. And it wasn’t like he had a reason to question their relationship. There had been no recent major fights or problems that came in between them—something that had frequented the earlier stages of their relationship. Then again, this might just be the start of one.
“Babe, I just moved apartments,” Jaebeom’s voice poured through Jinyoung’s cell phone, soothing and patient, but it only served to irk Jinyoung even more. “I’m not leaving you.”
But you did, JInyoung couldn’t help thinking. You left.
Jinyoung could hear Mark and Yugyeom in their (a loose translation of this plurality as only three people remained in the apartment) living room, loudly saying that Jinyoung was taking a shower in response to fans questioning his whereabouts. He wanted to laugh, hollowly, at how far from the truth that was. To say that he was doing something as mundane as showering, when, in reality, the only running liquid he felt would be pouring through any part of his body would be tears.
“Jinyoung, baby,” Jaebeom’s voice cut through his thoughts, his usual sharp lilt toned down with the evident concern in them. Jinyoung hated the pet name more than ever at that moment. He didn’t feel that Jaebeom deserved such intimacy with him when he was so far away.
“You took everything,” Jinyoung said matter-of-factly, knowing he sounded utterly whiny. “You didn’t leave a single trace that you ever lived here.”
Try as he may, Jaebeom couldn’t hide the sigh that escaped him. “Why would I leave anything behind if I’m not living there anymore?” Jinyoung noted a hint of exasperation and oh God, it hurt.
Jinyoung wanted to scream, wanted to yell, wanted to strangle Jaebeom with that insufferable bucket hat of his. But he was the one that felt like suffocating. He was the one that felt his chest constrict with pain.
Distantly he could hear Mark or Yugyeom (did it matter who?) call him and ask him if he was done with his ‘shower’ and that the fans were waiting. For once in his life, Jinyoung wanted to relieve himself of the burden of idolhood, throw away everything he had worked for in the past almost-decade, say ‘screw it’ to his company and contract and just run away, run to a place where no one could find him, where no one could hurt him, where no one could ever leave him.
Nobody can leave you if they were never with you in the first place.
“You left,” Jinyoung said, as though repeating this fact would somehow change it. “You left without even talking to me about it.”
“When Jackson, Bambam and Youngjae moved out, they didn’t talk about it either,” Jaebeom pointed out. “How is this any different?”
Jinyoung grit his teeth. “Because I’m not in a fucking relationship with Jackson, Bambam or Youngjae. I would think my own boyfriend would have the decency to discuss these things with me.”
If the uncharacteristic use of a curse word had not been telltale enough, the venom in Jinyoung’s voice was clear and very, very real. It was odd but also so apparent because Jinyoung had so much self-control over his emotions and concealing them from everyone that having them on such open display would unnerve anyone. Jaebeom was, of course, the exception to that rule, having been subjected to the most raw, the deepest buried emotions Jinyoung had. Yet maybe it was exactly due to that familiarity that Jaebeom didn’t pick up on the utter poison Jinyoung was spitting out. That or this distance, as Jinyoung had feared, was more than just putting miles between them.
“Jinyoungie, I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this now when I moved out three months ago,” Jaebeom said, the exasperation becoming more pronounced. “This doesn’t change anything. We’ll still see each other all the time for work and outside of work. I can come to your place, you can come to mine.” His tone softened. “I still love you very much.”
Those words should have appeased him, should have put Jinyoung at comfort, but, instead, the tightening in his chest only worsened.
“We’ve lived together since we were teenagers, almost a decade ago, Jaebeom. We’ve never been apart. How do you expect me to deal with you suddenly not being here?” Jinyoung choked at his last words, willing his tears to stay away, stay at bay. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t let Jaebeom hear his tears.
“I know, baby,” Jaebeom said. “And we’ve been together for almost as long. I like to think our relationship is stronger than just me living in a different apartment. It’s not like I live that far away or that we’re in different timezones.”
It made sense. Everything Jaebeom said made sense. But logical sense wasn’t what weighed Jinyoung down.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Jinyoung wanted to laugh at how incredibly thick Jaebeom was being, but he was putting all his efforts into willing his tears down. “You really don’t get it.”
He could hear his name being called out again to join the Vlive lest the fans become too suspicious of his prolonged absence.
“I think you should go join Mark and Gyeom, baby. Ahgahses are–.”
“You’re just like everyone else,” Jinyoung interjected, that feeling of reckless abandon of his idol responsibilities hitting once more in light of the utter torture he felt in his heart. “In the end, nobody ever stays.”
Flashbacks of former trainees, of people he had thought would be his comrades, his friends, people he thought he could rely on to be by his side throughout the hell that was trainee life, all departing one by one. A memory of the day he found out that Hyunwoo had also left, cleared out his locker without a single goodbye nor even an indication of his parting, and of the sheer distress it had bought him. The memory of him crying in the company stairwell that day, alone, so, so alone, hugging himself for comfort and trying to convince himself that it wasn’t his fault Hyunwoo left. It wasn’t his fault people left. He remembered the toxic thought that entered his mind that day, the notion that even if people leaving wasn’t his fault, he didn’t give them enough of a reason to stay. His friendship, his companionship, his presence, wasn’t worth enough for anyone to stay.
Not until Jaebeom had found him in the same stairwell an hour or so later, and sat by him in silence, letting him cry himself out. When he finally did, Jaebeom had spoken, without asking, without even prompting Jinyoung to explain himself, Jaebeom had said, then and there, that they had each other, that he would stay. That he wouldn’t leave Jinyoung. That he would never leave Jinyoung.
In the years to come, he began to believe this. Their eventual entry into a romantic commitment seemingly cemented this. Jinyoung should have realized that he’d been a fool for falling into that illusion.
As though reminiscing the same line of memories, Jaebeom finally seemed to gain some perception into Jinyoung’s inner thoughts. “Babe, this is nothing like Hyunwoo-hyung or the others. I’m not breaking up with you. I’m not leaving you. You have nothing to worry about.”
Jinyoung wanted to believe him. He really did. He loved Jaebeom, he trusted him with all his heart and he knew Jaebeom would never try to hurt him, intentional or otherwise. But Jinyoung had been battling this sense of abandonment for so long that the wave of traumatic nostalgia it was giving him overwhelmed everything else.
And it broke Jinyoung’s heart that Jaebeom still didn’t get that.
“You know what I went through, Jaebeom. You know how hard it was for me. And then you do this. You do the exact same thing.”
“Nyoung, baby, that’s not–.”
Jinyoung pressed on, too hurt to let Jaebeom have his say. “You should’ve known, Jaebeom. You, of all people, should have known.”
He hung up, unable to bear the conversation any longer and because Mark’s calls were beginning to sound slightly aggravated. Quickly silencing his phone, he ignored the message notification that immediately popped up on his screen from the man he had just been talking to. He couldn’t evade Jaebeom for too long, knowing they would have to gather as a team within the next couple of days to come, but, until that moment he absolutely had to face Jaebeom, he wanted no contact with the man. If he wanted to erase his presence from the apartment (Jinyoung tried hard not to think ‘from his heart’ too), then who was Jinyoung to stand in his way.
Taking in deep breaths to recompose himself, Jinyoung readjusted his glasses and his clothes before stepping out of his room. By that time, Mark had gotten around to showing off their trophy collection, creating a mess of the neatly stacked boxes more than anything, as he excitedly pointed each one out to the phone camera.
Yugyeom noticed his emergence first, a silent frown marring his face at the depressing aura surrounding Jinyoung. He watched Jinyoung but said nothing when he stood behind Yugyeom as Mark finally noticed his appearance and panned the camera out to him. Jinyoung could see the way Yugyeom’s shoulders tensed when he felt the tight clutch of Jinyoung’s grip on his t-shirt. He knew Yugyeom recognized it as an act of seeking grounding, something Jinyoung only did when he was much too overwhelmed with emotions that he needed to physically anchor himself to someone—usually Jaebeom—to maintain his hold on reality and, as an extension, sanity. Probably deducing who Jinyoung had just been on the phone with, he hated to think what Yugyeom thought of such a gesture. Thankfully, he said nothing, remaining with his intercepting remarks of hype at Mark’s run through their award trophies. Jinyoung tried to make an offhand remark about the dwindling phone battery, relieved that his voice sounded stable and so normal.
His focus was torn from Mark and his rushed introduction of their awards by the sight to his right, the scene that had triggered the phone call in the first place and brought realization on the gravity of Jaebeom’s move out: the half-empty bookshelf.
His mind brought him back to that moment he and Jaebeom had decided to buy a bookshelf for the apartment, a joint purchase that neither one thought too much of but something the fans seemed to think symbolized their domesticity. Laughable at the time, because it was a bookshelf. It was a practical purchase for storage, not a hidden declaration of his and Jaebeom’s romantic commitment to one another. But maybe the fans had been right, maybe it did signify something of the kind, as though it depicted their stability, their permanence in each other’s lives. But Jinyoung had never put too much thought into it. Not until he saw it half empty earlier that day and felt the bone-crushing grief and fear of abandonment engulfing his being.
His attention was broken with Yugyeom’s offhanded question. “That’s a nice hoodie.”
Another pang to his heart. “Yeah, I got it from someone special.” The implication to who that person was was silent, unsaid, but the grim smile Yugyeom gave him let him know he wasn’t being discreet. Was this what he was left with? These hoodies, gifts, tokens of affection and expressions of devotion? Would they be enough for him to not feel so smothered by desertion? Would they be able to fill in the emptiness that Jaebeom’s physical constant presence by his side had left?
The pile up of missed call and message notifications he saw on his phone didn’t help in the least bit of the reminder of what was occupying his mind.
‘Baby, I’m sorry.’
‘Please pick up the phone.’
‘We need to talk about this.’
‘Nyoung, don’t ignore me, please.’
The bookshelf stood empty on its right half, devoid of its occupant, a representation of what once had been and what was no longer there for Jinyoung. No, nothing could chase that feeling of hollow abandonment away.
It was easier to act normal with a camera to his face, after years of practiced ease at putting up a front when the red recording light was on. It was easier to smile, to laugh, to joke around about their Hard Carry episodes, pretend nothing was wrong, pretend that the hood tied closely around his face was due to his unshaven face when, really, he was trying hard to conceal any lingering signs of his impending tears and internal battle (and maybe because that was the closest thing to Jaebeom he had at that moment).
Jinyoung wanted to stop hurting. He wanted to forgive Jaebeom. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of this. He knew this, by no means, defined their relationship. But Jaebeom should have known. Jaebeom, who was supposed to know him better than anyone else, who had been there with Jinyoung from the very beginning and seen the worst of things together with him, who knew of all his insecurities and struggles, he should have known.
He should have known.
***