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It isn’t that hard to get Woohyun to go to the practice room. Which is a good thing, because he’d used a lot of energy last night making sure Sungjong’s dreams didn’t turn too dark. He can’t keep all the nightmares away, of course, not when there’s six of them and they’re all still carrying around so much pain (even if that burden grows just a little bit lighter each day). But Sungjong hasn’t been sleeping well lately anyway, and he really needed the rest, so Dongwoo had stayed by him all night long, pushing away the dark, smoky tendrils that kept trying to wrap themselves around the maknae. It’s weird, seeing things like that now, but being able to guard his friends and maybe even help them almost makes up for not being able to touch or talk to them (almost. It’s the no-touching that’s hardest for him; he was always tactile in life, and that desire to reach out isn’t something he’s lost in death, and there are times when he thinks he could make everything better for them if he could just touch them for a moment. But there are rules, and these are the kind that can’t be broken). It had taken a lot out of him, though, keeping the darkness away, and by the time morning comes, things are hazier and more distant.
The morning gives him some time to recover, though: it’s a pretty good day, with an appearance on a morning talk show where his name isn’t mentioned once (Hoya feels a little guilty about that, a bit of muted grey clouding around him, but Sunggyu notices afterwards—the guilt, not the grey—and gives him one of his half-lecture, half-pep talks, and then Sungjong distracts him with a story about the good dream he had the night before, and some of the guilt eases after that, so Dongwoo doesn’t have to exert himself more to soothe him), a photoshoot with a competent photographer who creates a good atmosphere and speeds along the process instead of dragging it out (the members are all spring green-tinted hopeful at the thought of some free time later), and lunch at actual lunch time instead of squeezed in wherever it will fit between schedules (simple happiness is lemon yellow, and they’re all wearing it as they eat together, no matter how much Sungyeol complains about the food).
So by the time he has to give Woohyun a little push in the direction of the practice room, the living world is a little more solid again and Dongwoo can actually do what he needs to do. He’d noticed Sungyeol slipping away earlier and had known immediately what needed to happen, but Dongwoo takes his time, waiting until Woohyun’s had a shower and hung out for a while with Myungsoo in front of the TV and is feeling relaxed, a nice mellow purple hovering around him. It’s easier when they’re relaxed, when their minds are a little more open and uncluttered, to reach out and push the idea at them. They can still reject it, of course, no matter how much force Dongwoo puts behind it, because they’re human and free will is the point. But the suggestion is usually enough, especially with Woohyun (yet another reason why Dongwoo thinks Woohyun can subconsciously tell it’s Dongwoo reaching out to him, even if he doesn’t actually know. Or maybe Dongwoo’s just a romantic. That’s what Woohyun would say if someone asked him), and today it just takes a gentle nudge and Woohyun is rising from the floor and telling Myungsoo that he’s going to run down to the practice room for a while. For a moment, Dongwoo thinks that Myungsoo might offer to go with him, and he feels a hint of panic because he doesn’t know if he can spare any energy to convince him not to, but Myungsoo just smiles a lazy smile and rolls over onto his back to take a nap. If Dongwoo was still in his living body, he’d breathe a sigh of relief.
Woohyun takes his time making his way to the building that houses the old familiar practice rooms (whenever Dongwoo enters them now—for certain values of ‘enters’ since solid walls and barriers like that don’t actually keep him out—they seem different, though. It took him a visit or two to realize it’s because he can’t smell them anymore, that scent of mildew and sweat that suffused the whole place. Just another way death is different), but Dongwoo doesn’t mind. It gives him time to watch him, to note with satisfaction that the dark circles that hung under his eyes for so long (the ones that drove the makeup noonas to despair) have almost entirely disappeared (and the red puffiness only appears now and then, but it’s okay when it does because Dongwoo knows that crying is healthy, even if it hurts so much to watch Woohyun break down and not be able to put his arms around him), to admire how mature and healthy he looks lately (he’s been a man for a while now, but sometimes when Dongwoo looks at him he still sees the boy with the round face and the dedication to his dream that was almost scary in its intensity, the boy Dongwoo couldn’t keep his gaze or hands off of), just to bask in how beautiful he is (he never gets tired of that). Dongwoo thought he was attractive from the first moment they met, but it was in getting to know him that he started to see just how beautiful Woohyun really is, and by the time Woohyun kissed him for the first time, he was sure there’s no one more gorgeous on the planet (he still thinks so—there are some things death can’t change). Woohyun walks more freely now, not trudging as he has for so long, and it heartens Dongwoo to see it. Yes. He’s healing.
Sungyeol is sitting with his back against one of the mirrored walls, knees drawn up and elbows resting on them, his head hanging down (his aura is a weary shade of brown tinged with an ugly shade of orangeish discouragement. It’s a combination Dongwoo sees on Sungeyol more than he’d like, and every time it makes Dongwoo’s heart hurt). Woohyun pauses in the door when he sees his friend, concerned blue rising, and then walks over quietly to sit down beside Sungyeol.
Sungyeol knows he’s there—Dongwoo can tell by the little red tint of embarrassment—but he keeps his head down for a while, not acknowledging the others’ presence. Woohyun doesn’t push him, just sitting beside him without speaking (Woohyun has always been surprisingly patient; it’s not something most people would associate with him, but it’s true), but the silence between them is clear and comfortable, no awkwardness or pressured expectation staining the air. Good. Dongwoo’s always measured how close he is with someone by how comfortable the silence between them is (though being able to physically see it is something new), and this is almost as comfortable as Woohyun’s used to be with Dongwoo himself (they didn’t always fill up their silences with kisses and heated caresses, though of course there was plenty of those. But there were lots of times when they just sat together, maybe with Dongwoo cuddled up under Woohyun’s arm, maybe sprawled out on opposite sides of the room, but always the silence was comfortable and familiar, and that was one of the ways Dongwoo knew it was love).
When Sungyeol finally speaks, his voice is throaty. “I’m pretty shit at this rapping thing,” he says, and Dongwoo is proud of him for opening up even as his self-effacement makes Dongwoo’s heart ache.
White understanding dawns around Woohyun, and he shifts a bit closer. “You’re really not. You’ve gotten so much better, even Hoya says so. And last time we saw the Teen Top guys, Byunghun told me he was really impressed by how much you’ve improved—and you know he doesn’t say stuff like that unless he means it.”
The words don’t completely dissolve the discouraged colors from around Sungyeol, but a bit of comforted sky blue appears. He makes a half-dismissive noise, though, because he’s Sungyeol. “Everyone says I should be excited about having more lines now, but I hate taking his place. I’m not ever going to be as good as hyung was.”
Woohyun lets his head thump back against the mirror behind him, red-hot pain and pale-pink wistfulness and light-colored love shooting through his aura. Dongwoo has to look away from the pain, but after a moment it fades (so much faster than it used to in those early days when the pain and despair hung so thick around him that Dongwoo could barely see him, and yesyesyes he’s healing), leaving only the wistfulness and love behind (those hues feed something in Dongwoo’s soul). “No, probably not,” Woohyun agrees.
Sungyeol snorts. “Gee, thanks, hyung.” But he hasn’t taken on a sickly green offended color, so Dongwoo knows he isn’t really stung by the words.
Woohyun apparently knows that, too, even without being able to see the colors. A good sign. “Whatever, you know what I mean. He was amazing at rapping—I’ve never seen anybody that talented.”
If Dongwoo were still in his living body, he’d probably blush even as he beamed; praise from Woohyun always meant the most, and Woohyun loved to praise him, grinning as a flush spread across Dongwoo’s cheeks, pushing him up against a wall to kiss him and whisper more compliments hot and overwhelming against his ear. Dongwoo will never understand why Woohyun loved to see him blush so much, but he did (and with the way Woohyun smiled and touched him whenever Dongwoo’s cheeks heated up, Dongwoo can’t say he ever minded).
“He was amazing at a lot of things,” Sungyeol says, and Dongwoo really wishes he could hug his dongsaeng. You’re amazing at more than you know, Lee Sungyeol. You just have to learn to see it.
“He was amazing at everything,” Woohyun corrects, and Dongwoo isn’t sure whether he’d want to roll his eyes or bury his face in his hands if he were still human. Maybe it’s good that he isn’t, so he doesn’t have to decide.
“I wish he was here to teach me,” Sungyeol says, running a hand through his hair and sighing. It’s long again, for this concept, and Dongwoo can’t help but wonder what the stylists would have picked out for him if he was still with them. Maybe green? He never got around to that, though he’d asked for it a couple of times. But he doesn’t feel any bitterness thinking of the things he never got to do. There isn’t any bitterness here; he’s left that far behind (all that’s left is concern for the people he loves, and soon enough that will ease, too, and all that will be left is peace). “Hoya tries, and he’s been great, but he’s not as good of a teacher as Dongwoo-hyung was.”
“Yeah, another thing he was amazing at,” Woohyun says, and Dongwoo really wishes he were corporeal so he could shove Woohyun really hard. Greasy pabo.
Sungyeol nods. “He had a way of making you feel like there wasn’t anything you couldn’t do, just because he believed in you so much.”
I believe in all of you, pabo. How could I not? We’re Infinite for a reason.
“Yeah.”
Silence again, still crystal-clear, and as they sit side by side, Sungyeol’s weariness and discouragement fade some more. Dongwoo takes the moment to look at Sungyeol’s face, to take in all the things he can see stamped on it if he concentrates: the humor, the insecurity, the honesty, the optimism, the flippant attitude towards authority, the feelings he carries for the people he loves, even if he doesn’t like to show them. Sungyeol is wonderful, just like all the members; Dongwoo’s always thought so. It would be good, if it happened. They could make each other happy, and they both deserve that.
“Oh! Hey!”
Dongwoo is as startled as Sungyeol is by Woohyun’s sudden outburst, especially when he sees the yellow of a new idea quivering around Woohyun. Woohyun grabs his bag off the floor and starts ruffling through it and suddenly Dongwoo could dance with happiness, because he knows what Woohyun’s looking for (he can’t dance here, not quite, because he doesn’t have a body anymore. But there are things that feel the same way dancing did, even if he wouldn’t have been able to understand them when he was alive. No: they’re like dancing, only more). I didn’t even have to give him the idea. He thought of it all on his own! Even in death, Dongwoo is always finding new reasons to fall in love with Woohyun.
Woohyun finally finds what he was searching for and holds it out to Sungyeol. “Here, you should have this.”
Sungyeol stares at the little notebook blankly for a moment, and then a shade of pink humbleness mixes with tentative green hope. “Hyung, I can’t. Not that. You should keep that.”
Woohyun shakes his head in crimson frustration. “No, he’d want you to have it, I know he would. I’m sure you could learn a lot, if you can decipher his handwriting,” he adds with a grin. It’s a beautiful grin, Dongwoo’s favorite in the world, and it’s nothing like the smile he gives the fans (what he gives the fans is real—nothing makes Dongwoo angrier than hearing Woohyun’s affection for the fans labeled as ‘fake’—it just isn’t all of Woohyun. He holds a lot back because he can’t afford to give it away, and that’s okay. That’s the right way to do things, Dongwoo knows that. It just makes it mean more when Woohyun offers all he has to give, like he sometimes does with the other members, with his family, with his friends. Like he always did with Dongwoo).
Sungyeol is stubborn, but Dongwoo can tell by that burgeoning green hope that he wants to be convinced. “But you—“
“I have plenty of other things,” Woohyun says dismissively, and Dongwoo knows it’s true.
“Well, then, Hoya—“ Sungyeol protests, but again Woohyun cuts him off.
“No, it will help you the most, and that’s what he’d want.”
Dongwoo is giddy with glee. I guess you do know me best of all, Nam-goon. You do.
Sungyeol finally reaches out and takes the notebook, opening it carefully and flipping through the scrawl-covered pages, pausing here and there to scan the words of a rhyme. At some point, Dongwoo hadn’t noticed quite when, the discouragement and weariness had faded entirely. Oh, Namu. Thank you.
“You weren’t kidding about the handwriting,” Sungyeol says with a laugh, his eyes still on the pages.
“It’s terrible, isn’t it? The first time I saw it I thought he had to be kidding because there’s no way an adult human could write that badly.”
Sungyeol smiles absently in response, but his purple concentration is focused on the words. “There’s some really good stuff in here.”
“It’ll help you, right?”
Sungyeol finally looks up at Woohyun, smiling, not his big grin that Dongwoo is so familiar with, but a softer kind of smile, creamy silver fondness hovering around him. Yes, Dongwoo thinks. It could be good, these two. “It’ll help a lot. Thank you, hyung.”
Woohyun smiles back, not his charming smile for the cameras, but the one he gives only to the people who really know him. “No problem.” His affection is less vivid than Sungyeol’s, but it’s still there, and strong. It might take a little longer for Woohyun. But he can get there.
Woohyun pops to his feet, reaching out a hand to Sungyeol. “Ready to head back? It’s almost time for dinner.”
Sungyeol lets Woohyun drag him to his feet, and while Dongwoo doesn’t see the sparks he used to feel whenever Woohyun touched him, their auras blend for just a moment in a way that gives Dongwoo even more hope. “What’re you making me for dinner, slave?” Sungyeol demands. “I’m starved.”
“Who said I was making you anything at all?” Woohyun shoots back, and as the two of them head out the door, the happy yellow shade they always take on when they’re teasing each other throbs around them, shot through with gold. Dongwoo is pretty sure he’s that exact hue himself as he follows, and it grows even brighter around Woohyun and Sungyeol as they make dinner together, bickering (happily) the whole time, and brighter still when all the members gather around to eat together. Sungyeol keeps the notebook by his side through the meal, and he and Woohyun are sitting next to each other, and everyone laughs and eats well, and when they think of Dongwoo, it’s with a pretty pink wistfulness swirling through their white affection and only the tiniest touches of grief and pain here and there (Dongwoo’s learning to appreciate the elements of art more in death than he ever did while he was living).
They won’t need me much longer. They’re getting there.
(If Dongwoo could see himself as he watches, he’d see he’s shining gold.)