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"I'm tired."
Well, trivia of the day: they all are. And the word is a terrible understatement. "Tired" just could not describe the entirety of feeling that comes with having two concerts finished so far, and that they have one more before the year ends. Not to mention, the other shows they had, and will be performing, scattered across their already jampacked schedules. "Tired" does not even begin to comprehend the fact that none of their sleeping routines are even existent by now, and whatever rest they got from Siargao felt like a lifetime ago, exhausted to the last dredges.
"Tired" does not, cannot fully emphasize how much all of them wanted to take a pause, another one, please— but couldn't. Because they already gave too much, planned for the next year, even, and they know they could not afford one more hiatus right now. They calculated; they bargained. There was no way around. So many things to prepare, and only so few hands they even trust to do the job well to spare.
And Paulo saying the words should not ring any warning bells to Josh. Being exposed to the guy's incessant complains about every damned thing has everyone immune to his woes by now. He could be saying he's tired from having to fetch water from the dispenser a few feet away from him, or he could be saying he's tired from another all-nighter binge he could not just resist to, and both of them would have held the same weight. It's John Paulo; the man who could not, for the life of him, do anything in halves or three-fourths, or anything less than a whole number. Who wants a hand in everything that he can, because they know he's a perfectionist and likes to know he's right at every aspect. And also because Josh knows that this is how Paulo says that he loves them, the secret tree sap that he is.
Of course, he's going to be tired a lot. Of course, he's going to tell the world of it. He's noisy like that.
And of course, that is nothing out of ordinary for the man's personality.
So why was Josh choking on his own spit, blood running cold and teeth gritting at the simple words?
The others had gone and said their goodbyes now, half-hearted. Ken is silent, though. It just speaks to how much aggravating and draining the day was, and nobody is going to hold each other for their less than stellar attitude now. They understand. And really, they are too tired to start another argument about proper manners to friends.
Paulo is rubbing his palm over his face, the skin easily reddening. Josh supposes it's a sight to see, cute even, if only the man didn't look like the disgraced walking dead- with a shrub of a beard that's remotely attractive. The younger is also already on his way out, broad shoulders bowed more than ever and not another word of complaint.
Josh should not be bothered. Didn't he try to rationalize with himself over the last paragraphs?
Yes, well.
[To: John Paulo
i'll hitch a ride]
He could just imagine the grimace on Paulo's face, having to fish his phone out of the pocket only to find a chat from a person literally a few steps away from him.
It's always nice to remind everybody of his amazing humor.
And it's better when somebody else readily jumps into it.
[From: John Paulo
your place is far from mine?? Why don't you just go with Jah like usual??]
[To: John Paulo
Don't be mean. Food's on me.]
Josh puts his phone inside his backpack. Years of exposure also kind of makes him certain that Paulo is going to be standing outside, scowling indignantly but also ready to throw Josh a spare helmet. The man loves free food, and loves it even more when one of the most stingy member offers it.
Joke's on Paulo. He's not going to be spending a single dime especially when what he's offering is already on his fridge. And Josh will drag their leader through seventeen floors if need be to get to said fridge.
He smiles knowingly as he steps out of the building, which triggers Paulo's annoyance even more for the deliberate snail pace of it all. He has half a theory that if Paulo could just be more patient, then he wouldn't be so aggravated all the time. Alas, Paulo has directed most of his patience to other things. Josh couldn't fault the guy on that when he himself basks on that accumulated patience often with their one on one voice practices.
Josh takes the helmet and pats his companion's motorcycle gently on the leather seat. Paulo has taken some occasions to talking at Dusty, his vehicle, and while Josh could not understand the point of tending to inanimate objects as if they were sentient, none could understand just as much Josh's devotion to keeping his PC in tiptop conditions. He can't afford to be a hypocrite now. Paulo will only lunge at it and hold it over him forever, because that's how their friendship is built upon: the constant need to annoy and push and pull at each other's last fucking nerve.
He likes to think the gentle pat will make Dusty less attuned to throwing him off her seat. Afer all, in his head, Dusty is no less like his owner: tempestuous and vengeful when irritated.
Josh wisely does not attempt to further the ire of the man steering the wheel, even if it makes Josh literally almost hear Paulo's thoughts that are no doubt infesting his mind in the stewing silence. Instead, he holds on to the shoulders, and tries not to be metaphoric on how those same broad shoulders hunched and demured itself out of habit for a tall person and also out of the sheer weight it carries.
Tricking Paulo to get to his condo is a bit.. tricky.
"I did tell you dinner's on me."
"Yes, but did it have to be now? I'm tired, Josh, and I need to drive home." Paulo glares, making Josh almost feel guilty for forcing the guy to drive all the way here when they are already exhausted for the day.
"I know." Josh responds, words casual. He knows Paulo fidgets at the shifting tone anyway. For all of their tendencies to butt heads, exchange blows, and more often barb-wired banters, there also exists the kind of connection that only the two could understand. And it doesn't rely on words. Only a shared look and their propensity for reading between the lines— a necessary skill for having tempestuous, minefield of emotions friends as Stell and Ken.
Josh could tell Paulo that this way, he wouldn't have to bother heating whatever cup of noodles he has on his shelf for dinner. After this, he could just go home and sleep or whatever it is that he does at night. That this way, Josh could also finally finish the leftovers on his fridge and then allow him to buy groceries in bulk. He could tell Paulo to just shut up, and that Josh wants to keep his word now because he'll be lazy next time.
Instead, he just tilts his head a little, leaning his weight back for a show of casual talk. "I have beer, too."
Paulo valiantly tries not to show it, but Josh catches the minute hesitance anyway. And Josh claws at it with a force of Kuro's clingy obsession. "We have practice tomorrow-"
"In the afternoon." Josh interrupts. Because somebody, or maybe five idiots thought it was necessary to work until 12 midnight. Josh cannot say much of his sanity at the moment if he's taken to calling himself one of said five idiots.
"Exactly," Paulo retaliates, because when had he ever not disagreed with Josh on principle, with the emphasis on each syllable too, ".. to rest. Which is not going to happen with a hangover in the morning."
Josh tries not to point out loud how Paulo is more concerned with a hangover than the fact that technically, they aren't allowed to get batshit drunk while not on a hiatus. Instead, he rolls his eyes, "Please, I've seen you drunk. And my fridge does not have the capacity to stock unholy amounts of alcohol to get you that drunk."
Whichever AU that was that thought, oh, hey what if Sejun was not a lightweight at all, they would be right. Not that he would admit that openly, because that would mean admitting that he also reads their fans' AUs. Hello, he might be less than sane most days but he's not that far gone yet.
Paulo just snorts, and Josh gives him decent time to look conflicted to save his precious, responsible image. When the younger just grumbles and follows him to the elevator, Josh secretly revels in the victory.
The trip to his unit is uneventful, with more silence for his companion to stew and for Josh to try fight off his traitorous eyelids from falling shut. When they do end up finally inside, Josh makes sure to turn his ancient of a TV first, leaving Paulo to make himself at home on his tiny living room.
It might wake the guy up, or actually put him to sleep what with the background noise overwhelming his loud thoughts. Josh will take either way.
He buries the thought of how he's slowly bordering on motherhenning the one person who usually does it. He buries it next to the thought that Josh is trying to keep his friend intact when Josh is a walking disaster himself. He puts that particular shovel down and doesn't look back, hmph.
He puts out the frozen caldereta and barbecue out of his fridge and into the microwave, and then rouses his well-used rice cooker for a serving for four grown people. Josh hasn't had anything throughout the day, which meant Paulo is on the same boat. And currently, they are both grown men with voracious appetites to rival Stell's pet stomach dragon on a good day.
He distracts Paulo, who got successfully hooked to a TV show instead of dropping dead on his feet. It's not a hard task when the man is naturally curious about anything, when Josh turns his PC on and checks for his online stocks. They talk about cryptocurrency, and how stocks work, and how much Josh has and if it isn't risky enough for Paulo to follow suit. They also talk about other things, when Paulo smacks him on the back of his head affectionately, saying it's been a while since they played together again, and that the fans are waiting, and did you know? There's an entire fanbase of fans of our duo, who associate themselves to ducks, and are always asking for silka (selca?) if not our next stream together?
Paulo says it with a healthy humor, resignation, and amusement. The guy is not into k-pop stan culture, but has friends and even sisters who are very much into fandoms. He knows how deep this particular culture goes, and most times he doesn't give two shits about it so long as the fans are happy and creative and peaceful while at it. Paulo is usually the last to care about those things, and he's the first to scoff and get annoyed on the rare times these so called ships instigate petty division among their normally familial and cheerful fanbase.
Josh on the other hand laughs, because he knows. He lurks around in Twitter that it's cute how the fans think they could hide things from him. And even if he didn't know about it, his friends do and he is so (un)lucky to have ones that don't pass up the opportunity to tease him for it. And he doesn't mind, not when he's also fanning the flames half the time, if only to see their fans take over an entire social media platform for fun. One time, they trended worldwide for it, and there were a few times even the news personas caught on. Oh, those little shits.
(He loves those little shits with all his soul, with a protective streak that of a dragon to his hoard of treasure. All of them— the loud, silly and utterly brilliant, vicious, opinionated, emotional and passionate chaos that they all are.)
"We should do it." Paulo says with glee.
"Provided that we actually decide on one game for once." Josh replies. They hardly even have their gaming interests aligned.
"And also if we have time." Paulo added, his face between a grimace and annoyance.
The rice cooker makes a clicking noise. It was good as any cue to start dinner.
"Did you tell the others?" The younger belatedly asks, when Josh is leaned over his coffee table to put down the cold cans amidst a few finger snacks. Paulo took care of the dishes after the hefty meal, which is why his voice sounded from a far, slowly approaching his spot.
"I could, but it wouldn't make a difference." Josh shrugs. Paulo finally sits on the ground, opposite to where Josh takes his seat on a beanie bag. The younger man looks over to him and hums in agreement. Josh doesn't mean to preen at it, but still, it's nice to know Paulo trusts him especially in the matters their circle of friends.
"We gave Stell a hard time today," Paulo muses. Josh raises an eyebrow, quipping back with, "We, meaning you."
The younger chuckles, dragging the first can to his side and then opening it without preamble. He takes a sip out of it, scrunching his face as if he's such a virgin to the whole thing. "Yes," Paulo croaked through the slight fizz settling in his throat, "Me. I ought to apologize to him for being too distracted and not memorizing the simplest steps but.."
"But?"
"It's not like I have a solution for it right now. And you know how he is with half-hearted apologies."
It's Josh's turn to make a face, not hiding the flinch. See, being the oldest in your bunch of grown up friends means you also get to see and hear whatever is happening in between. Many times he got roped into listening to any of them ranting about another person, and had to play the wise friend, the blunt friend, and the friend with a good punch to smack some reality and sense into them. That friend.
Josh can live without knowing all of them, really. (Lies; he is as terrible as Paulo in their equal want for control. He likes knowing everything, including the petty squabbles of the very few people he keeps to his heart).
He knows that Stell reached his limit with Paulo's apologies some time ago, before this day's strenous practices, and he knows Paulo doesn't know what else to do about it. He knows a series of beginner's mistakes done by professional dancer is hardly one that Stell wants an apology out of. This simple mistake is also not one that Paulo will apologize for so many times it's pitiful.
At the root of it, this was not about Paulo's misbehavior at practice, and it's not about Stell's drive to make every choreograph execution clean. Josh knows Stell wants Paulo to do better and Paulo knows he should but is… overwhelmed.
Josh wants to beat that feeling out of Paulo, and then berate Stell for expecting people to be like himself and no less. But that means beating up these two idiots that he loves like brothers. And Josh is in no mood for it right now.
So. He settles for Paulo's rare admission to his faults. Settles for acknowledging that Stell might be too tired to deal with two idiots he's already been forced to see for almost 24 hours and would rather be in bed to recharge. Settles for moving on.
"Ken likes to have his space after a long day," Josh follows with a wistful smile. The kid is a home cat, through and through. Like Kuro somehow found the perfect human version in his owner. Ken would very much like to be in his room than spend a day even against the presence of the people he treasures.
"And Jah is probably one step away from snapping at all of us, the more he sees our faces every waking moment." Josh ends the statement. The boy is easily the most patient out of all of them, the kindest too. But Justin also is learning anger at the age of twenty four, learning to say no and mean it, learning to build himself without being somebody's convenient something. Josh himself took pains so that Jah could even realize his people pleasing tendencies to change it, so Josh isn't going to be counterproductive about it now.
And honestly, it's only because Josh is an asshole to himself that he lets himself drag Paulo to his home, even when he really, really would like to not deal with people (who he's seen far more often than even himself in a mirror) at ass o'clock in the morning.
"So," Paulo drawls, an easy smile that's really not the effect of a meager two gulps of beer, "That leaves me, to deal with you. You even got the proper bribe for it." He waves the can in his grip languidly.
Josh laughs now, "Yes. That's unfortunate of you." He means it sacrastically, because this social interaction hadn't been for Josh at all- although Paulo has done it for Josh's sake in the past, rain-soaked shoes and mighty scowl and all that. But that's a story for another time.
"So. What is it? What do you need? Is someone dead, or dying, is it you? Are you ready to confess a crime?" Paulo makes a theatrical gasp, "Are you ready to confess to me?"
Josh is heavily reminded how animated and awfully noisy Paulo is when the younger wants to be purposefully abrasive. Or when he is with Josh, who could take all barbs and jokes and punches as much as he gives them. It's a bonding ritual. It's a way to let Josh know that Paulo is grateful for this, even if he thinks this was all for Josh's benefit.
One peanut sails right to Paulo's direction, the younger merely grinning and picking it from where it bounced from his chin to the table.
"No, I am not dying. As far as I know, no one is. I don't want or need anything. I am confessing my undying love for you, John Paulo Nase. I have the papers and the priest on call, just say yes."
Paulo mightily tries to burst a lung for a few seconds there before being reminded that Josh has neighbors, and that absolutely no neighbor has done any grave sin to be subjected to Paulo's mad witch cackling past midnight.
Whatever it is that reduced Paulo's standard of humor to this sorry state, Josh opts not to antagonize. Instead, Josh pats himself on the back for the result. Paulo's shoulders have loosened their tension, his face slack from the tight gritting all day, his eyes a little less duller in the light.
"Alright?" Josh asks.
Paulo stops, but not quite freezes much to Josh's delight.
"Yeah.. Yeah, I needed that." The man sighs, like he's fifty years older than he actually is. Josh wisely keeps his mouth shut, hoping that Paulo will take the hint to explain. To say something. To spill himself. Because Josh honestly wouldn't care if Paulo would bleed his heart, his guts out into his floor, if it meant a sense of relief for a tired man ready to burst at the seams. This is the point of this whole thing, after all.
"It's been a long day, is all." Paulo says, soft without his usual decibel. The horror creeps back to Josh's spine anyway, and he tries to swallow past his own unneeded words. Josh had experience and he can say that Paulo only ever had that softness in him when he's thoroughly squashed, muted, and downed by the very weight he insists to carry and Josh wants to say something—
Not yet. Not when he doesn't know what's wrong, how can he help.
Paulo finishes his first can, tracing the rim of it with a serious expression. "But it's fine. There's so much to do, after all."
He can needle Paulo for more. For one, he can breach the topic about him and Stell since it came up anyway. He can ask Paulo what keeps him up at night that he would be so out of it by daylight. But the matter between Stell and Paulo is not something that is causing the younger to be like this, at least to Josh's eyes. The two have had their spats over the years, and they can usually work over it on their own.
The second is also rhetorical. Whatever Paulo does at night is as vital as their practices. And for a moment, he regrets not being able to help for it. (He's taken classes, and Paulo told him brusquely to take them because Josh wants to, not because Paulo needs help. Josh wants to hate the man for being half-right.)
He settles instead for lighter conversations, settles for getting tipsy until their talks devolve into the belief of aliens and the conspiracy of the pandemic, and how it affects the coming elections. Until they make no sense at all. Until the high sun glares them down, and Josh only remembers waking up and not falling asleep.
He slaps Paulo's butt from where the man was sleeping on the ground to get him going. They both curse at Josh's bad decisions and Paulo's stupidity to follow. They both get to practice late.
At least, Pau is not messing on his own two feet. Stell has one less problem to be aggravated at, and more time to be happy. And when Stell is happy, everybody is happy. That's the happy pill slash time bomb for you.
Of course, Josh is a responsible adult to know that drinking is not going to be a good solution everytime he sees Paulo beginning to crumble.
He is also responsible enough to think that a couple of hangovers actually leads to more cramming in the future, moreso Paulo who has far too many things going on at once.
So he waits. He tries not to be obvious, but it does give him Paulo's side eyes. He can't help it. If Paulo thinks Josh can just ignore a friend teetering over the edge out of exhaustion, then Josh is going to deck the little shit for thinking him less than he deserved.
Josh tries not to think why, out of all people, he's the one trying to keep a look out for signs. Tries not to think how depression of this kind easily is one of the things he and Pau bond over, even if they don't talk about it. Another thought to bury next to his cemetery of dangerous musings. He probably needs to expand that lot.
He tries to give more space when Paulo is clenching his jaw too much from a pestering migraine. A literal distance too, because Josh itches in his own skin when he has to play nurse over someone who will absolutely tease him over the act after. Josh just throws his medicine on his lap, glaring while giving his tumbler of water to beat whatever tease comes out of the idiot's mouth.
He tries to learn as much as he can to help the preparations run smooth during practices and dry runs. He tries to keep in touch with what Paulo needs— company to distract his thoughts or just plainly to talk and snark at, or someone who can bounce ideas with. They've been reluctant and necessary punching bags before, when Pau was largely struggling on his leadership and Josh needs someone not fragile to take the brunt of his full personality on his worst days. Oh, that's another story for another time. Point is, whatever stress Paulo is in, Josh already knows to redirect it, if not distract it.
If Josh couldn't be there, he ropes someone else more suited for the job. He tries to give Paulo all excuses to explode and be done with it, pushing and prodding with heated banters and bad jokes, than bottle it up dangerously.
It take a three days before Paulo reaches his limit.
"Sit down. It's a break, Paulo, use it." Josh gripes, rolling his eyes even as he uses a lowered voice to talk to their leader. He knows how uncomfortable it gets for other people when he and Paulo get into arguments. They are both prone to be loud and intimidating and Mean when they clash, but the group already is stretched thin at the moment. An argument between two of the supposed eldest, is not a spectacle anyone wants ro deal with right now.
Paulo clenches his teeth, wanting to retaliate at the manhandling. He is already at wits end with Josh's sudden hovering and pestering. He's done. He could make a scene more than Josh already has, but Josh, the manipulative shit, knows he won't. He can't. They're both hardwired now to take their younger members and literally everyone else around them a priority over their own.
"I am fine. And stop being obvious. I get hives when you get soft on me."
Josh gives him the driest look he could muster, shoving to his palm his cup of ice cold coffee that he's apparently forgot some hour ago. Paulo grimaces, glares at him and no doubt plans his vengeance.
"Would that be enough to get you to slow the fuck down. You have a death wish or something?"
The younger blinks at the language. And then, he grabs Josh's wrist and makes eye contact. Prolonged eye contact.
"I don't. Stop worrying."
This time Josh barely manages not to yell and fling something at Paulo's stubborn mug. "Then take a goddamn rest, as you should."
"It's really just a sleepless night, Josh."
"Talk shit again and I'll punch you."
They both freeze at the sudden realization of how silent it is around them. Josh grabs the hand wrapped around his wrist, squeezing it. Others would mistake it for comfort and affection, an end to what could have been an explosive exchange between the two. Paulo knows it's a warning.
"Fine."
The stupid thing about Paulo, well, there is a list. But one of the most pressing ones is grating on Josh's nerves right now.
The man's audacity for terrible, horrible jokes.
Because this must be. A joke. On Josh's expense, who only ever wanted to exercise his friend duties over someone who is quite close to the edge. This ungrateful babboon.
How many iterations of "take care of yourself" should Josh tell this idiot before he gets it in his empty head?
Josh tries to reel his anger in, because pushing said friend off the ledge he is on with a well-placed smack in the head would be a crime. It would only be one grisly, ugly splat in the aftermath that is only marginally worse of an image compared to how Paulo looks with eyebags the size of Ken's Louis Vuitton, and skin as white as Justin's dentist-sponsored teeth. Josh would rather not see that in this lifetime, thank you.
Instead, he approaches Paulo sitting casually on the edge of the concrete railing, looking down at absolutely nothing.
There has to be nothing compelling to look down there. Paulo's vision is shit in the long distance, and it's past 9 PM. Nothing but a smudge of darkness would greet anyone overlooking from six storeys up, so the pensive contemplation currently in the younger's face shouldn't be plausible.
(Oh but it is— something dark and twisted in Josh's soul reminds himself. Because he's stalked and leaned down on that same awaiting darkness far too many times in the past to be suddenly innocent now).
In conclusion, Paulo is not only doing this to fray on Josh's nerves as a backhanded joke, but he's also loving it.
"Do you have a valid reason to be here before I lock you in this building." Josh asks with the driest tone he could muster.
Paulo grins at him, childish and amused. And then, as if Josh ever needed another sign of apocalypse, Paulo smiles at him. "Thanks, Josh."
"Well I'm glad somebody is beginning to appreciate my existence, you're welcome. What for?"
The younger laughs this time, legs swinging in from where they were hanging off the edge of the building. Paulo trots towards him, a picture of ease as if he isn't the subject of Josh's elevated blood pressure at the moment. It's really a good thing Josh only has very few people he cares about this much, because he's pretty sure he's going to suffer aneurysm if he's given more.
"Go home. Get some rest. If you wanna talk,"
"Yeah, yeah. I'll call. Don't wor-"
"If you say 'don't worry' one more time, I will shave you bald."
"That's a terrible proposition, and you should take me to dinner first."
"For fuck's sake-!"
something is sitting on his chest, crushing the breath from his lungs. static fills his ears, and there's a cradling chill on top of his head as the rest of the world is numb to him.
he thinks this is swimming in the middle of an open sea, and this is the feeling of drowning. he thinks this is nice; the warm current embracing his limbs may not be helpful for his body's quest for air, but it is alluring in its comfort and reassurance. it will be over soon. gravity might be harsh and unrelenting, but every matter must land and hit the bottom. the ocean floor may be dark, but it's not like most ends aren't as final as that.
if this is drowning, then he might as well look at what awaits him below— that endless pitch black, and the cold wrapping his ankles. if this is drowning, then there is no need to resist and call out. his lungs are working their very best, and his throat itches. it might be the salt in the water that's why it feels so raw and useless.
if this is it, then it's alright. this is better. he is tired. the surface is farther than the welcoming arms of death, and that means it wont be long.
he doesn't see it, but the currents suddenly are awakened, as if pierced, plunged into. the surface breaks, ribbons of golden rays dive past him and his tiny body in the vast ocean. they chase the shadows, the arms of black and the chilling hands around his legs.
his ears suddenly find sound, and it is an ugly cacophony of voices banging loudly in his head as if physically wrangling silence itself.
he thinks he hears a name, was it his? well, it would be a bummer if there's someone else with him in this—
"-sh, Josh! Do you hear me? Come back, Josh. Back to me, come on. Come on, you asshole! WAKE UP WAKE UPWAKEUP"
Josh breaks out in sweat, clinging to whatever in tight grip as he jerks upright from his disturbed sleep. His memory still chases remnants of his nightmare, but Josh is old enough to not focus on them and instead muster all disdain for being awoken with such grating noise—
"What time is it? Ugh."
He finally finds his phone somewhere in the mess of his bed, and the screen glares at him with urgency. Instead of his normal wallpaper, or even his alarm greeting him, Paulo's number meets him. Josh tries not to curse too much at his caller ID. It's hard to maintain that anger when faced with the picture he got from Twitter: a dark-furred shitzu staring at a distance like life personally disappointed him. Much like someone's resting face.
"Hello? Pau?"
Josh has to squint at his phone to make sure Paulo is still there with the answering silence.
" 'd I wake you?" The younger says on his side of the line in lieu of greeting. Josh resists the urge to run a hand over his face. It's only 3 AM, of course, why would any sane human be awoken at this hour when called by their phone, right?
"Yes. And don't you dare hang up on me now that I'm awake." Josh growls, the intimidation only slightly lessened by an inevitable yawn escaping his lips. He somehow hears a breathless, if very thick with sleep, laugh in return.
"Wassn't going to.. Well, not intenns-shoo-n'ly.."
Lord help him, is this guy actually drunk?
"Paulo, are you drunk? Do you have someone with you?"
"Nono. Nope. 'M jus peachy as a peach…" He hears the consonant pop more than usual, and Josh rolls his eyes. He straightens his spine and modulates his voice, fully intending to power through the alcoholic muddle in Pau's system with spite alone.
"Lis-"
He gets cut off right at the first syllable.
"Josh.. 'think I fuck'd up."
Oh. Are they going to have this conversation right now? Not that Josh is complaining; he's been waiting for this dam to burst for a week it's a miracle he didn't just force Paulo to talk during the first three days.
"Why do you say that?" Josh lets the question down easily. He gets a faint rustling on the other line, and he extends his patience a little longer.
"Didn't mean to.. but I guess that doesn't matter now.. I'mss.. sorry, I'm sorry Josh.. I think I fucked up real, real bad-"
"Paulo, hey. Hey, calm down. It's just me, alright? Come on, tell me what's wrong. Hey," Josh's lips automatically spill the words, a cold wash over his body at the strangely light tone of Paulo's voice. Heavily slurred, as if sleepy and trying not to slip. It's an ugly combination to the anxiety carried by those words, one that Josh easily picks up on and begins overthinking immediately.
"I didn't mean to.. s'hould have listened.. the doctor.. called.. mbulan.."
Josh begins to run.
"Stay with me, Paulo. I swear to God, stay awake, you hear me?!"
This is bullshit. Utter, absolute horseshit. It's like history is unrepentant in making comebacks as stupid as this one.
"-sh, Josh! Do you hear me? Come back, Josh. Back to me, come on. Come on, you asshole! WAKE UP WAKE UPWAKEUP"
He remembers that stupid, annoying, grating voice that normally is high-pitched and overbearing, arrogant, all-knowing shit. He remembers that voice, even and devoid of its usual hoarse static, lowered to a whisper so much that it shakes.
"Come on, buddy. It's just me.. I'm here. I'm here, okay?"
"Breathe with me, Josh."
"I'm not sorry for the slap, by the way. You can totally punch me in return. Later, okay? Yeah, you can have all the time later."
"I can't believe you. I thought I was being haunted. I almost had a heart attack, man. I'm too young for that. You're supposed to, like, go first, you old man."
"Don't complain to me later why we both smell like old piss and albatross."
He remembers feeling the awful cold, not of the vast ocean's embrace but of hard tiles and smooth toilet bowl and damp wood. He remembers faintly coming to with the scent of musky sweat, perfume, and aftershave. He remembers strong, unashamed arms cradling his body close like his mother once did.
"I got you, okay? You're okay. You're doing great."
He remembers breaking the surface, blindly following that voice like a lost ship to a lighthouse's single, unfailing light.
That was roughly four years ago. When Josh remembers nothing but the sudden snap of his back where he carried everything diligently until they spilled anyway. When Josh remembers taking deep breaths for a poor measure of preventing a breakdown not in the safety of his own apartment. When Josh remembers sitting inside one of their bathroom stalls, biting lips and clenching fists and biting clenched fists to hide pathetic sounds.
Remembers coming to Paulo- no, Sejun's- solid body keeping him from just disintegrating to the stormy currents of his soul. Remembers how it changed the way he stood up a little straigher after that terrible fall, but mostly how it changed the way he saw the arrogant, know-it-all, ungrateful sad boy Sejun into.. Just Sejun. Sejun who suddenly knew what it means to have too much on his shoulders, and mean it. Sejun who was just as scared, just as terrified of falling apart at the immense weight of it all and the looming uncertainty and inevitable failure. Sejun who cried salty tears into his scalp while soothing Josh with words, and a strong and gentle rocking embrace in the middle of a cramped cubicle. Not because it was expected of him as a leader, but because he was a desperate friend.
Four years had gone. Haven't they learned? Haven't they gotten stronger since that day? What about the part where what doesn't kill you makes you stronger? Four years is all it takes, and it's devastating to think that even after all that they've come so far.. Even when they are in better places now than before, their demons still find ways to drag them to the fiery pits and end it once and for all.
"Remember what you said to me back then?" Josh says, voice cracking. He hadn't screamed for hours. In fact, he was only too breathless to even muster a yell when he finally broke into Paulo's condo unit. He only managed to dial 911 and delivered what he could say like he ran for miles. Josh had only stayed with Paulo's unmoving form on the bed, the phone on the younger's hand cradled closely to the chest like a lifeline. What he tried to say on the line, Josh continued whispering over the younger's ears, on his forehead, on his temples. His voice is overtired now, and it's not from screaming at all, even though he sorely wished he could.
"I'm not.. I don't belong here, can't you see? Do you really hate me that much that you force me to be here even though- even though I could never, I couldn't ever stand with you!! I'm talentless, Paulo! I'm useless! I'll only slow you down! There! I'll stop mincing your words for you, you pretentious bastard!"
"Shut up. Shut the fuck up. I can't even dance like you do, and so what if you can't hit Stell's notes or mine?? So what if your voice isn't deep like Ken?? So what if you aren't a walking perfection like Jah?? So what if you aren't the best of us?! No one is! Why do you think we all break our backs in training?! We've come this far because we have you! Half of this group won't even be here if not for you! I can't keep this group afloat without you!"
and oh, he remembers being pressed so awkwardly on the wooden walls that made the cubicle stand, too. remembers the way Sejun dug his fists into the front of his shirt, pressing hard, face a fury of a thousand storms before it softens and breaks and pleads.
"We are not going anywhere without you. We need you, I need you here. Josh. Do you hear me? Stay. Stay, please."
On any other ocassion, Josh would forever hold that speech over Paulo. Admitting he needs someone else, and actually begging is such an out of character trait from their newbie leader, and Josh knows it. Josh knows because they are cut from the same mold in that aspect.
Only that Josh remembers how desperate those words had been said four years ago, trying to keep Josh from quitting and leaving everyone. And he can't help but think, hah, now I can say the words right back at ya, you prick.
"Josh.."
The name is uttered weakly, behind raw throat and nasals in assisted cannula breathing. The person mumbling it is small and wan against clinically white sheets and dress. Josh tries to stop the observation there, and not to the musing of how to tie a nice and pretty bow around Pau's neck with the dextrose on his wrist. Because first of all, how dare he. Second of all, how dare he even look at Josh like he's sorry and means it. Like it's all that it takes for Josh's nightmares of losing someone who has a part of his heart go away magically.
"It's not what you think it is." Paulo concedes from the very steely, and not at all watery glare from the older man. Paulo is lucky that attempting to hold Josh's trembling hand does not result in Josh throwing him over to the pristine hospital floor and be done with it.
"Then what," Josh swallows, because it's too much. Paulo has always been a pain in the ass so this should not be any different except that it is. Fuck, it is. "Pray tell, does overdosing to the point of death mean, John Paulo? I must have missed some important detail somewhere along with the ambulance sirens blaring in my fucking ears."
He must have a very good explanation. A very detailed, reasonable reason to convince Josh.
It's Paulo's turn to swallow. Words are apparently hard when you just came back from the literal dead.
"Whatever it is, Paulo. It must be very good of a reason, because your family is going to be here in a minute and good luck with that." Josh is only the slightest remorseful that he has to resort to threat, but honestly, with his wrath bubbling like this Paulo is actually lucky.
The younger's face twist into something like betrayal and fear, one that Josh knows all too well too. But he softens, because Josh at least understands this deep-set fear and shame. "I'm sorry. They had to call your emergency contact. It's not like I don't agree either. We almost.. We lost you there, Pau."
He feels a weak squeeze in his clenched fist. Josh concedes and tries to relax, but it's like telling a thickly-wound spring to uncoil. Still, he tries.
"I'm not.. I admit I have been feeling tired these days. Everyone else is feeling it too, right? It's just.. been really hard to keep a quiet mind and sleep things off lately. I had to ask my doctor to switch the meds since they're not working and—"
Paulo stops explaining, but only because Josh still has the heart to put a plastic cup filled with ice chips to his chapped lips. It's a good thing Paulo understands the necessity, or Josh will really have to funnel his anxiety into friendly violence this time.
".. They were definitely effective but.. I can't think.. I'm too groggy, I end up not doing important things at all when I take them.."
"You know, maybe the whole point is to actually not do anything when trying to sleep." Josh helpfully reminds, aware that his own anger is abating with Paulo's earnest words even if he really doesn't like to let go of it soon.
"But I can't."
Josh is mortified to see that Pau's lower lip is actually wobbling by the sheer admission like that's the whole problem. He physically can't. Paulo knows it. Josh knows it.
When asked why all of them had been close to giving up, and none of them actually surrendered, Josh once told an interviewer a crisp, "No choice". And it resonates so much in times like these. They have a choice, but it's too much to even think of. To even comprehend giving up, stopping midway, is like a death sentence waiting to be signed. They already have the chance now, they can't just lean back and let it go.
They try to cope with all these things, and they try their best, but at the end of the day they can't help but be themselves. Paulo can't help but think, and think, and create, and plan, and see, and worry for every little thing because there's some things only he can do for the group that nobody can't. It's just luck that those things are high-stacked on his plate, and come consequences.
Doesn't everyone have their own plates, anyway?
"I can't.. But I know I have to slow down, and I have to accept that I am tired and burning out and.. I need a rest. So I thought about taking the pills, and I didn't mean to.. You know.. Actually overdose.."
Josh blinks at him. Blinks again, this time slowly. "You mean to tell me.."
"I told you, I didn't mean it!" Paulo protests under the heavy, judging stare from the older man. It's cute, if only it didn't make Josh's blood pressure act up. He has had enough for the entire millenia. He swears the next worrying stint he will willingly sign to will be on the far end of year 3000. "You know, I would have told you if.. if I thought of it. There's no one else I would..."
"You absolute imbecile, you-"
"I'm sorry! I'm really, really sorry! I didn't mean to worry you like that!"
"Stop fucking apologizing, you'll give me allergies!"
"Fine! I'm sorry!-"
Josh has to look away, cross his arms and hug himself before those same arms hug a certain person's neck affectionately. The breaking off actually pays nicely, and it also gives room for Paulo to calm down and let things to actually sink in.
An eternity must have passed until, once again, Josh deigns to graciously break the silence. "When this comeback is over, I better not see any hide nor hair of yours, Paulo."
A quiet sniffle answers him, a watery chuckle next. "And here I thought I already got a spot when you takeover the company, future CEO."
"Go take a vacation. I don't care if you're alone or not. Just.. Just go, Paulo. Do what you want."
"I am doing what I want." The statement is so sure, so firm that Josh makes a mistake of meeting the younger's eyes- determined, stubborn, and so fierce in this declaration. He is effectively entranced when Paulo continues, "I want to see us up there, someday. I want to write songs for us, I want to continue dancing and singing and being with you guys on the stage. I know sometimes I make it feel like all of what I do is a burden, but it's not. I love you, guys."
"Jesus, Paulo, you're killing me over here." Josh has to grit his teeth so hard lest he actually breaks in Paulo's honesty.
The tired man only smiles cheekily, bringing color to his pale, sickly face. But Josh is determined not to get side tracked by cheesy confessions just yet. He ploughs on, steeling his voice. "Believe me. We all know. But maybe it is also time for you to make time for yourself. You're one of the most selfless people I've come to know, Paulo. Sometimes, it's scary."
"Hm? Rawr, hehe."
"Suppress your need to say something every damn time for once and let me finish." Josh scolds, flicking Paulo's forehead. "Do something just for yourself, Pau. Like.. Like, I know you've been wanting to solo debut for a long while now, and have been putting it among other things off for the sake of the group.."
Josh suddenly finds himself mulling over his next words. ".. You know, for the longest time we've thought that being in this group meant being that steady pillar everyone can lean on." Arguments and differences aside, this will always be one of the points where he and Paulo met equally. For Josh, it's his nature to be so independent that even his family can rely on him. For Paulo, it's his nature to always give way to his siblings and always look out for them. That's just how they operated.
For the longest time, it worked just fine. Paulo grew into the leader everyone expected him to be, and Josh became the older brother that everyone can depend on at all times. Together, they supported the group the best way they knew they can. And they did it because they wanted to; because it filled them with purpose to be needed.
"But I realized, in this we've also became selfish. We're too old for this now, Pau.. I think we need to accept that more than they need us, we also need them. And it's okay."
"… Is it?" Paulo's voice is suddenly small, frail and young. Josh leans down, caresses the once rosy, round cheek with all the affection that he is capable of. In this private moment, Paulo leans into the hand unabashedly, almost desperately.
"Yeah. They've grown up too, you know. So much better than we could ever hope to be, I dare say." Josh says, words no less than brimming with pride. This makes the intended reaction fo Paulo snickering. No doubt there's another old man joke in there just being held back for the sole reason of Josh's hand still somewhere near Paulo's pulse point.
"Mm.. That's true, though. I.. I admit I forget that they're not just someone I look after. Jah is so talented, as is Ken. And Stell has always been better than both of us, but now he has matured so much, too." Paulo muses with a broader smile, one that Josh also shamelessly returns with a smug grin, no matter how they both know their visions are getting clouded with salt tears.
"Right? Soon enough, they'll be the ones scolding us for things."
There is no doubt in there, too. But for now, they can stop pretending the tears aren't flowing and they aren't shaking to their knees.
For now, they settle into the silence comfortably like sturdy rocks at peace in the middle of a flowing stream. Anchored. Firm. Steady. Frayed and weathered, but such is the nature of things. But unlike rocks, humans are much, much luckier. Like Josh and like Paulo, who had been trying to be the best version of themselves to earn the title of kuya to three of their siblings.
"I got you, okay? You're okay. You're doing great. I got you."
"It's okay, Pau. We got them."
Unlike rocks, they are beings of delicate, unreasonable, human emotions— but they are not alone.
Not two seconds later, three sets of hurried footsteps bowl the door over. And yeah, the nurse might have scolded them. Josh also might have had to cover for Paulo who's already strained his usual voice that could have easily herded the most unruly bunch of kids, calming them down from their hysterics. Josh also might have had to strong-arm them to keep them from crowding the literal bed, and then try the same calming explanation to Paulo's family later too, among other things.
But he doesn't really mind. What he has with Paulo is this unshakable trust, built over years of trials and breakdowns together, and for this Josh will always have his back. Just like how Paulo has his back once in the aftermath of that bathroom stall, and many times more in their continued shared years, always.