Most people hated meetings, but Jaemin could honestly say that he didn’t mind them. They made him feel important and included, sitting there with his team and management. It was the reason that he’d chosen to do what he did in life. He wanted to make his own future and be the greatest he could be on his own terms.
For the most part, the company agreed to that. There were...certain aspects that they wouldn’t relinquish their white-knucked grip of control on. One of those aspects was the image of their idols, both physically and otherwise.
NCT Dream was a relatively picture-perfect view, behavior-wise, with little to no scandals. This, presumably, was why management focused so much on the way that they looked. They made Jeno get muscular (not that he minded much anyways), Chenle malnourished, and fried Haechan’s scalp. They’d all experienced hair dye, but Haechan...Haechan was another story.
“We’ve outlined meal plans for the next two weeks,” their manager said, sliding the papers down the table for the members to find their own. “You can eat whatever you’d like as long as you stay away from the written foods and under your specific caloric limit. We’ve done this time and time again, so you all know how this works, correct? Too easy...Mov-”
“Wait a minute,” Jaemin halted him, holding his own paper and not believing his eyes. He double checked the name at the top and the information below. No fried meat, fewer carbs, less calories, and more importantly, absolutely no processed sugar. “You can’t be serious.”
“About what?” he asked, checking his own copy of the paper. “Is there a problem, Jaemin?”
“Well...yeah, I have hypoglycemia,” he chuckled, angling the paper towards Jeno when he grew suspicious. The other laughed too. It had to be a joke. “I’ve had it for my whole career, and I’ve never had to diet. It’s an underlying health condition, and as stated by my doctor-”
“As stated by your doctor, you can treat your condition as it flares up,” the manager’s manager spoke up, outranking their hyung and shutting down Jaemin’s complaints. “Your skin is bad, your endurance is bad, your muscle composition is lacking, and your blood sugar is way off where it needs to be.”
“Yes sir, that’s what...that’s what hypoglycemia is.”
“That’s what you’re making it,” he corrected Jaemin. “I’ve decided that if you train your body to adapt to healthier foods in larger capacity, you will be better off. Eat as much salad, vegetables, grilled chicken, and brown rice as you need to Jaemin. Just stay under twenty-five hundred every day.”
“I currently eat close to thirty-five hundred, sir,” Jaemin breathed out, no longer laughing. Was this guy actually serious? “Between the way my body burns calories and sugars, and the practice that we’re doing, I need to consume that to stay alive.”
“Like I said before, it’s about persevering when you don’t feel well. It will make you a better idol. We’ll have one of the aunties come in daily to prepare each of your specialized meals and clean the house of all junk foods and snacks. It’s only for two weeks. Please, continue with the meeting.”
Jaemin was going to slam his head through the table. He was surrounded by idiots. They were all- each and every one of them- idiots, and Chenle wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was staring at his hyung. Jaemin quietly slid his paper over. Chenle shared it with Jisung and Mark. Before long, everybody knew what Jaemin was allowed to eat, and more importantly, what he wasn’t.
For two weeks, he wasn’t allowed to eat enough to keep him standing.
…
“We can complain to higher management,” Mark proposed, holding Jaemin’s sheet. “You can’t not eat enough, Jaemin-ah. You’ve only just perfected the amount of calories for your level of daily activity.”
“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled. It was a hard balance to find, but he hadn’t had an episode in so, so long. He was doing really well.
“I don’t have any restrictions,” Jisung said gently. “You could have my food, hyung. I’ll take yours.”
“I’m not making you diet because of our manager who thinks he knows about nutrition,” Jaemin rolled his eyes.
“That’s the thing, hyung. It wouldn’t be bad for me because that’s how much I eat on a normal day anyways. Your body just needs more, but I can take it. I can take what’s on your sheet, and I’d be fine.”
“Let’s just see how it goes,” Jaemin sighed. “I have glucose tablets that I can use, too.”
“Those won’t work as well as food does,” Renjun complained, though he knew that Jaemin was already well-aware. He sighed. There seemed to be a lot of that going around. “But for now, all we can do is make sure we look after you, okay? If you’re feeling low, you need to tell one of us, because- diet or not- we’ll make sure you get food.”
“I hate feeling low,” Jaemin complained. It was always the most uncomfortable feeling. Nausea, dizziness, vertigo, and eventual fainting could all be done away with so long as he managed his intake and output- key word being /he/. Jaemin knew how to cope; what do the managers know anyways? “I hate it so much.”
“I’m sorry. I hate it too. I wish we could do more.”
“No, it’s not your fault. I’ll just faint in the middle of practice to show them that their restrictions are stupid as fuck,” Jaemin grumbled. “I’ll do it, and they’ll feel so bad that they’ll let me eat whatever I want.”
“You can’t just...faint to prove a point.”
“I can and I will. Somebody better catch me.”
Haechan rolled his eyes at the other’s joke. “Go away, Na Jaemin. You’re annoying.”
“Wow, I could keel over right now, and you’ve just called me annoying?”
“Technically any of us could keel over right now,” Jisung supplied.
“Well, yes, but I’m at the highest risk of it. So there. I’m going to bed, but first, I think I’ll indulge on a low-sodium rice cake.” He put on his fake cheerful face and plucked one from the packaging, crunching it in his mouth. This would have to last him through the night. In the morning, he’d have a warm meal waiting for him, courtesy of their home aide, and he’d be ready to go.
Too easy.
…
By lunch on the first day, Jaemin’s head was already beginning to spin as he tried to catch his breath that seemed to evade him like a rabbit to a hound. He was low. His breakfast had been an egg white omelette- delicious, filling, but still low in calories. “I’m low,” he told Renjun as the Chinese member settled beside him.
“Dangerously low?” Renjun asked.
Jaemin shook his head, his mind swimming and hair falling into his eyes. “I need juice, lunch, water, and a little bit of a break. I should be okay in a half hour.”
“Okay, let me know if that changes,” Renjun told him, setting the box with his name on it in front of him, even going as far to break his chopsticks and hold them out. Jaemin peeled open the box. Baked chicken, a thin soup, a big salad, and a generous portion of fruit. His drink was...water. That wouldn’t do.
“Here,” Chenle said, holding out his gatorade. “This came with my meal.”
“It’s yours, then,” Jaemin said, swallowing thickly.
“You had a low-calorie breakfast, and you need the sugar to keep you up and running,” Chenle denied his denial, opening it and setting it down in front of him. “Drink at least half of that before you pass out into your plate.”
“Thank you, Chenle,” Jaemin smiled, doing as he was told before returning the Gatorade, already feeling a bit better. He had a decent portion of food before him, which was more surprising than anything else. It was a good surprise, though. Closer to debut, Haechan’s diet had once gotten so bad that he ate two meals a day, each consisting of cauliflower and chicken stock.
The meal was enough to hold him over until dinner, especially considering the fact that they were done with their hard practice for the day. Easy work. The first day was going just fine.
…
“How is your meal plan going, Jaemin?” Gyeongmyun- their manager’s boss- asked, smiling and folding his arms over his chest. Jaemin fought back a snort at his choice of words…”meal plan” sounded a lot friendlier than “mandatory diet”.
Jaemin wasn’t sure how to answer. He’d been feeling consistently hypoglycemic for the past few days but never bad enough to actually faint. It was always /just/ barely enough food to hold him over. “It’s difficult.”
“Most diets are. Have you fainted?”
“No.”
“I knew you’d be alright with it, kid. Your skin looks better- paler, less acne, less bloated. Have you lost much weight?”
“There wasn’t much to lose in the first place,” Jaemin responded honestly. “And besides, that wasn’t the point of the ‘meal plan’ anyways, right?”
“Right,” Gyeongmyun agreed, nodding. “I’m glad to hear that you’re doing well. You’ll go back to your normal non-restricted plan in about a week and a half. Keep up the good work until then.”
“Thank you,” he bowed, nearly losing his balance as he came up. It was a struggle.
…
It was only the ninth day of the diet when he realized that it was taking its toll. For breakfast that day, he’d had two fruit bars instead of a big bowl of oats and maple syrup, and he was sincerely feeling the effects. His body was used to a serving of long-lasting carbs and sugars to start the morning, not dehydrated produce.
He was laying down on the couch in the studio, and he felt that he would pass out if he stood up. “Chenle,” he called out, one hand over his eyes and the other hanging over the edge of the couch. The younger one didn't respond. “Chenle,” he called out again.
“Why are you whining at me, hyung?” Chenle asked, teasing him from where he was reading through lyrics at the desk. “Aren’t you going to do something other than just lay there?”
“Chenle,” Jaemin repeated. “I need...can you get my bag? I can’t stand up.”
Chenle realized his mistake. “Oh, oh god, wait- actually? Sorry, shit, hold on.”
“I’m okay, I just don’t want to stand,” Jaemin promised him, swallowing dryly. It was coming on quickly that time. “Please, Chenle.”
“Here, here,” Chenle said, popping open a juice box and getting a hand behind Jaemin’s head to leverage him up into a sitting position. “Let’s not choke on this, okay? Do you need a tablet, or is it not that bad yet?”
“It’s not bad,” Jaemin promised him, continuing to drink. “Can you get the monitor? I need to do a check.”
“Yeah, here, stick out a finger.” He let Chenle do the test that he’d grown accustomed to over time, ever since his doctor had suggested that he get one for times like these. The prick wasn’t as bad as he always thought, and the process was over rather quickly. “Yeah, you’re kind of low. Do you still feel faint?”
“Hmm-mm,” he shook his head, eyeing the thin mints in his bag. “A little bit. The juice helped, though. I’ll still eat those cookies.”
“What did you eat this morning? Just the fruit bars?” Jaemin nodded, and Chenle rolled his eyes as he dug through the bag. “You’re never going to make it for five more days. We can tell the manager that you need to go back to the way you were before.”
“Or I could just eat more whenever he’s not looking so I won’t get yelled at,” Jaemin suggested, popping a cookie and groaning at the flavor. “I’m not trying to get scolded for something that I can easily hide anyways.”
“It just doesn’t sound smart,” Chenle shook his head.
“Five days. I already feel better; five days will be fine. I’ll eat when he’s not around, and I’ll be great. See? Wonderful.” He tried to get up from the couch, but Chenle pushed him down. “Hey!”
“You eat the rest of those and wait five minutes, then you can move,” Chenle scolded him lightly. “If I went through all of that for you to faint anyways, I’m going to be pissed...and I’m telling everybody that you almost passed out just now.”
Jaemin didn’t fight him on it.
…
“You look like you’re getting along well with the diet.” Jaemin nodded at the manager, dabbing his face with a rag and guzzling his water. He was feeling low, and normally, he’d be picking up a pack of pretzels or something, but this man was in his way. He had two days left, and this man was bothering him. He couldn’t have picked a worse time.
“I’m doing alright.”
“Great. There’s been an unexpected schedule change, so we’re shuffling everybody around,” he said. “We’ve got a shitty intern who forgot to tell us that the variety show had been pushed up a week, so Haechan and Mark can’t do their 127 schedules, and Mark’s out of SuperM practice...you don’t care about the managerial side of things, do you?”
No. No, he really didn’t.
“Anyways, what’s important is that we’ve freed everybody up, so you’re going to have to get in the van so we can take you, okay? We’re already running late.”
Great. Fantastic. Abso-fucking-lutely perfect. He didn’t respond. Walking to the van was made easier when he wasn’t trying to fight one of the higher-ups of his company. It wasn’t worth the effort.
He walked to the parking garage, Gyeongmyun leading him. They eventually made it to a small car, Jisung already sleeping in the back. Their manager was sitting in the passenger seat, focusing on his phone. Gyeongmyun settled into the driver’s seat, and Jaemin scooted in besides Jisung, who opened an eye to peer at him before allowing himself to relax once more.
Jaemin couldn’t, though. The rest of the members were already there, and they had a higher management staff member accompanying them. This meant that they would be under near-constant supervision, and a variety show...of all things, a variety show...Jaemin was already feeling bad.
He slinked out of the car, following Jisung into the building and tapping on his thigh as they rose in the elevator. Jisung turned to him, removing an earbud to listen to whatever the elder had to say. Jaemin just gave him a desperate look, asking for food silently as Gyeongmyun stood in front of the two.
Jisung’s eyebrows rose in worry, but he shook his head, slotting a hand around Jaemin’s waist as they continued to climb, releasing him when they arrived on the correct floor to walk to their waiting room.
“Sit down,” Jisung told him as Gyeongmyun attended to matters outside of the room, leaving just the boys and the makeup ladies. “Do you have your glucose tablets? Your sugar monitor?”
“Everything’s back at the company in my bag,” Jaemin responded, rubbing his forehead and letting his eyes close. “They just told me to get into the car; I didn’t grab anything.”
“What’s up?” Renjun asked, approaching with his hands folded over his chest. “Are you alright, Jaemin?”
“He’s low,” Jisung spoke for him.
“Not dangerously low,” Jaemin added on before Renjun could ask. “...but yeah, I’m low.”
“Will you make it through the show?” Renjun asked. Jaemin shook his head, not even trying to hide it. “Let me ask if any of the staff have candy. Just sit tight.”
Haechan approached, dropping his cheeky smile when he saw the state of his brother. “Elevate your feet, Jaemin,” he said, laying him down and setting his feet on his shoulder, supporting them when Jaemin lacked the strength to. “Do you feel any better?”
Jaemin hummed. “Can I have...a rag or something? I’m just hot.”
Jisung ran off to wet a paper towel with their water, setting it on Jaemin’s forehead and over his eyes, fanning him gently. Haechan continued to hold his legs up, and Renjun finally came around, holding two caramels and a piece of saltwater taffy. “Oh my god, did he pass out?”
“No, he’s just not far from it,” Haechan grumbled, patting his calf solidly to keep him awake. He honestly couldn’t tell how Jaemin was feeling, and without the sugar reader, it was difficult to get the numbers as well. “Renjun brought you some candy, and you can drink some water when you’re done.”
Jaemin sat up straight and accepted the caramels, sucking on them and breathing deeply. “This should help.”
“Enough to get you through the show?” Renjun asked, worrying. If Gyeongmyun returned to see the state of their brother, he would be livid, even if it was the manager’s own fault. If he learned that Jaemin couldn’t even do the show...they’d all be in hot water.
“Maybe,” Jaemin agreed. “I think so...It should.”
He finished the caramels and began working on the taffy as he got into his show outfit and sat down, letting the noonas manage his hair, gelling and pulling it into a somewhat-presentable do. A feeling deep down knew that there was no way he would make it through the whole show. He was low, and it was already close to dinner time.
Gyeongmyun entered the room, face set in a stoic look of disgruntled anger. The meeting hadn’t gone well, apparently. Jaemin cautiously approached, building his confidence. “Hyung, my blood sugar is low. Is there any food that I can eat right now before the show?”
“What’s your calorie allowance for snacks?” he asked, pulling distractedly at his sleeves. “Wait- take that minus the three pieces of candy that my makeup ladies gave you. Those were...what, at least seventy calories each?”
“My blood sugar is low, and I’ll faint if I don’t eat,” he pleaded, too tired to even properly argue. “I understand that the diet is supposed to make my food cleaner and more healthy; I understand that. The problem is that you’re not allowing me more of the lower-calorie food. In fact, you’re giving me less food than I had before, made worse with the amount of calories in that. I will faint.”
“I calculated it perfectly, so if you faint, that’s on you. I know when you work out, when you eat, when you sleep...I control your life, Jaemin, and whenever you want to break the schedules and guidelines set for you, that’s when everything falls apart. Do you understand?”
He’d taken an extra practice that day to perfect a choreography he’d struggled with. That singular hour of dancing had sent him over the edge, and Gyeongmyun was...punishing him for it? He was starving him to teach a lesson, and Jaemin couldn’t do a thing about it. “I understand.” He would just have to make it through.
…
They’d stood at the very beginning of the show, hands behind their backs respectfully as the hosts introduced them and made the little jokes that were never really that funny. Jaemin liked these hosts, though. They seemed to understand that he wasn’t in the right state for answering questions and teasing, so they kept it to the others.
After a few minutes, the staff brought in seats for everybody for a more relaxed environment. Jaemin sat heavily in his, nearly losing his balance at the sudden change in heights and center of gravity. Even the smallest thing could set him off at that moment. The only reason he wasn’t unconscious was the bits of sugar that left a sickly taste on his tongue.
At some point, Chenle’s cold hand had wormed its way into Jaemin’s clammy ones, scratching at the skin of his palm whenever Jaemin’s head would droop or his eyes would close just a little bit too long. Neither of them had any idea of how much longer they’d need to be out there, but Jaemin was on the brink of unconsciousness, and the PD’s either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care.
That was, of course, until they all stood up to play some sort of limbo game. Jaemin rocked back and forth, using whichever member was behind him for a pillar of support (Renjun? Jeno?) to keep from falling.
“I’m gonna pass out,” he murmured, grabbing a fistful of the pillar’s jacket. “I’m gonna go.”
“Just a little while longer; I swear.” It was Jeno. Hands were wrapped around his waist. “Stay standing. The staff has food for us when we’re done.”
Jaemin felt his knee buckle under the amount of weight it was carrying, but Jeno’s arms held true, righting him and keeping him steady. “I ca- J...Jae...Jeno, I’m go-” His eyesight exploded into pinpricks of light, and his head dropped pitifully, chin touching his chest. Somewhere in the distance, the PD finally, /finally/ called cut, and Jeno wasted no time scooping him up.
He was already gone.
…
“Get him up; you all have a show to finish,” Gyeongmyeon demanded, flapping his clipboard around angrily. Jaemin was sprawled on the floor as the members laid rags on his skin, elevated his legs, and rubbed glucose gel into his cheeks as an emergency relief. “I said fix him!”
“He’s passed out, hyung. What in the hell do you want us to do other than what we’re doing right now?” Haechan demanded, continuing to fan. Chenle and Jisung were working in tandem to line his arms and neck with wet cloths, Renjun was administering his gel, and Jisung was elevating his legs. Already he was beginning to become more responsive, flinching and grunting every so often, but it wasn’t enough.
“If he followed his diet plan more strictly, this wouldn’t be happening. I know he’s been sneaking snacks. He needed to be less reliant, not more!”
“He can’t change the way his body metabolizes food,” Renjun snapped, brushing sweat away from his hairline as his eyes finally peered up at the ceiling. “Hey, Jaeminnie, go ahead and give me a swallow so you can feel better, okay?”
Jaemin grunted, eyes looking to him and head flopping. “Mm?”
“Swallow.” Renjun ran his finger down the column of his throat, adding light pressure to stimulate his swallow response. Thankfully, when Jaemin’s mind wasn’t comprehending instructions, his body knew what to do. A woman from the wardrobe department gently set a bag of mini marshmallows beside him.
“I thought they’d be soft so he won’t choke, and...well, sugary.”
“Thank you,” Renjun told her sincerely before turning to Gyeongmyeon, who still hadn’t moved. “Hyung, can you get us dinner while we help Jaemin? Standing there isn’t going to get him ready to film any sooner.”
Jaemin blinked heavily, clearing his throat and chewing whatever Renjun placed into his mouth. He’d had an episode; that much was clear. He trusted Renjun to give him the right things, and if the sickly sweet taste in his mouth was anything to go by, it had been bad enough to require gel. “Gel...where…”
“Our manager had an extra tube,” Jisung said. “He didn’t know you were so low, or he would’ve given it to you.”
“Mm,” Jaemin hummed. “I feel bad.”
“I know,” Haechan told him sympathetically, massaging his arms and legs to help them regain feeling. “We’ll have real food soon, and as soon as you’re feeling better, we’re going to the CEO himself over this. They can’t make you do this.”
Jaemin coughed wetly, sitting up to clear his chest properly. He hadn’t thrown up that time; that was good. “Don’t feel good,” he slurred again at the sudden change in direction, slumping into Renjun’s chest, who encircled him as he continued to place marshmallows on his tongue. “I don’t feel good.”
“Do you need a hospital or just a big meal and a long rest?” Renjun asked. “We’ll take you if you need one, but you need to be upfront about your health right now.”
“I just hate it,” Jaemin responded. “I never get used to it.” He closed his eyes, continuing to chew slowly. “It’s hard.”
“I’m sorry.”
He helped Jaemin wash down the bad taste in his mouth with some big mouthfuls of water. “Is there anything else we can give him?” he asked. “Sugar works to keep him awake, but it doesn’t work long-term. Until our manager brings us food, he needs to eat carbs and proteins or something.”
“Would a pastry work?” A man in the corner of the room held up a bagel with a bit of cream cheese spread in the middle. Jisung was up and grabbing the food with a bow quickly, peeling it apart and handing bits of it to Jaemin, who lifted it to his mouth himself. That was a good start.
“This is fucked,” Jeno grumbled. “I’m so mad.”
“We’ll fix it,” Haechan promised, tying away on his phone. “It’ll be fine. We’ll fix it.”
…
Haechan walked into the dorm with a smug look on his face, dropping a small stack of papers onto the coffee table and standing in front of the TV. “Guess who just indefinitely cancelled Jaemin’s dietary restrictions and got him a contractual statement saying that he has sole authority over his dietary intake? That’s right; it’s Lee Haechan.”
Jaemin smiled at him, standing to pull him into a hug. “That was easy.”
“It was only easy because I’m scary,” Haechan denied him, pushing him softly back down to the couch. “And besides, the company is so scared of retaliation from the artists that they’re cancelling diets for all of NCT until they can hire a qualified nutritionist to handle it for us.”
“Wait, really?” Renjun asked, eyes blown wide. “But the contract...there was a clause in it saying that the company staff could determine our health status, regardless of the issue...Are we really getting company doctors?”
“This is a step closer,” Haechan beamed. “The nutritionist is going to re-evaluate every member one-by-one to establish a plan that will benefit us in more ways than just aesthetics...God, this is what we’ve been waiting for!”
“Finally, some good fucking healthcare,” Renjun sighed. “You’re our savior, Lee Haechan.”
“It wasn’t just me, though. Taeyong-hyung, Doyoung-hyung, and Kun-hyung were all there with us, and the rest of the elder members were waiting as backup if the company tried to pull one over on us. Regardless, we’re there.”
Jaemin grinned giddily. “Thank god.”
“The next time you have an episode, I can nearly guarantee it won’t be because of the company’s incompetence. You’re going to feel so much better now, Jaemin,” Haechan promised.
“Thank you...I don’t know what I’d do without your help...Really, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. This is good for everybody. I’m just happy I could pull it off.”
“I say we celebrate with a big dinner,” Chenle suggested, already pulling out his phone to order. “Jaemin, you can order first. Whatever you want, I’ll pay for you.”
Yeah, he’d be alright.