Fans babied their idols relentlessly. Jaemin knew this, Jisung especially knew this, Chenle, Renjun, Jeno- god, any idol in existence ever knew this. The fans liked to believe that an average day in the life consisted of taking sweet time waking up, eating a nutritious breakfast, and working for...maybe four hours a day.
The reality couldn’t be any more opposite. Days were long and full of hard work. Meals were delivered and often very late. Hell, just the other day, Jaemin had seen Xiaojun and Lucas eating ramen on chips for a meal. If that didn’t explain their situation, then he didn’t know what would.
Essentially, they were college-aged kids who sang and danced until they dropped and spent the rest of the time eating instant food and making memories. It wasn’t a bad life, really. It was just much less glamorous than fans liked to believe. Overnight individual practices were just a part of that, and even a million comments of “sleep well, Jaemin” weren’t going to change that. It was a nice sentiment, though.
That was probably where his caffeine addiction had started, developing further when he tried to come off of it only to be struck with shaking and killer migraines. It was probably one of the many reasons his hypoglycemia hadn’t been discovered sooner, either.
“Too much coffee.”
“Stop drinking so much.”
“This is just withdrawal.”
Splat. His first fainting episode really showed them. He finished the rest of his water bottle and pushed himself up, joining Taeyong and Shotaro, who were laughing over some small talk and practicing a few of the moves. “Five minutes up, hyung?”
“Are you that eager to go back?” Taeyong asked.
“I’m that eager to get it over with and go home,” he responded, though not coldly. “It’s been a long day, and I’m beat.”
“Alright, alright.” He turned to Shotaro. “You good to start again?”
“Never better,” he beamed. Jaemin had to smile. When he was that fresh, he never would’ve admitted when he was struggling either. Jaemin gave him a friendly slap on the back and a thumbs up. He knew that it was a lot of pressure on him, and even if they were the same age, Jaemin felt his overprotective nature flare up whenever he was near.
He was just too shy to express it, most times. A pat on the shoulder it was.
The song in and of itself was a bit all over the place. When Jaemin had first heard it, he was indifferent at best- the whistling, the trap beats, the slow parts, the high notes- it was a lot in one song. Eventually, through dissecting and listening to the members learn their parts, it felt like a real tangible object, and Jaemin...well, he kind of loved it.
He loved the song and he loved to work with new people, despite his introverted nature. Lucas brightened everything up. Taeyong was a fantastic leader. Shotaro was powerful and fresh. Doyoung had the perfect vocals. Jaehyun had a perfect aura. Xiaojun was an immaculate performer and had a personality more like Jaemin’s than either of them had expected.
The Make A Wish unit was stacked with talent.
It made showing weakness just that much harder.
He hated to blame Shotaro and Xiaojun for a problem that was entirely his own, but having newer members perform at a better level and operate at a higher capacity was downright embarrassing. The members knew that he had issues with blood sugar at times, and Jaehyun had seen him at his worst not too long ago, but it was hard to accept their concern.
“Are you feeling alright, Jaemin?” Taeyong would ask, extending a bottle.
He took it and opened it, handing it off to Doyoung standing next to him. “Doing just fine, hyung.” Sometimes it was true, sometimes it wasn’t. He wouldn’t put himself in danger, though. He wasn’t that stupid.
“Mnet tomorrow,” Taeyong called out, clapping and smiling brightly. “Sleep well, drink well, eat well-” he punctuated it with a look at Jaemin. “And most importantly, perform well. Our fans won’t be there to scream for us, but they’ll see us working hard, and that’s the real reason that we do what we do. Let’s make it count. Lucas?”
Lucas put his hand in and bellowed out a countdown in English, prompting them all to scream their line and burst into laughter despite the exhaustion in their bones. They’d made a music video, a dance video, an entire song, and yet, the night before their stage was always the most terrifying.
Jaemin’s stomach was terribly unsettled.
…
He noticed Shotaro before Shotaro noticed him. The new guy on the block was standing in the corner of the room, practicing moves he’d perfected days ago and wringing his hands when he got something small wrong. If he kept going at that rate, he was going to second guess every single move and mess it up once it came time to actually perform it.
It had to be quite the adjustment- going from performing for teachers and students at a dance academy, the occasional crowd at recital, and fans on a social media platform, to being thrust into the kpop industry, naked and afraid, hoping that you make good enough of a showing that the cold people watching would love and support you.
Jaemin chuckled softly. It was cruel, wasn’t it?
“Shotaro,” Jaemin called out, just loud enough for him to hear. His head peeked up. Jaemin patted the seat next to him and he obediently walked over and sat.
“Yes, Jaemin-ssi?”
“Are you nervous?” he asked, offering him a couple pieces of his snack. He took some, more out of obligation than actual hunger, judging by the way they sat in his hand for at least twenty seconds before he tried one.
“Very,” he admitted. “But it’s okay.”
“That’s a good attitude to have. Just trust your training. That’s what I do. Remember that you know it, and when the music starts, it’s like magic. I can’t say I remember my first performance.”
“Right,” he agreed, crunching the sweet cracker in his mouth. “You’re nervous too?”
“A little,” he lied. He didn’t know why his stomach was bunching up and cramping so much that he could barely hold food, but he had a very good guess as to why his heart was racing so much. The fact that there was nobody there to cheer him on, that he had to go up on that stage and perform to an empty room...that had to be it.
“You’re white,” Shotaro noted, gesturing to his face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he shook him off, sticking his cold fingers under his thighs. He would need a drink before he went on. “We’ll do it together, right?”
“Right,” he smiled.
“Go on and get me one of those blue drinks from the fridge, would you? I need to wash down the cookies.”
“You owe me,” he told him, walking off to complete Jaemin’s request with a small smile. Cute.
…
The powerade was a diet, which did no good for the mystery sickness that Jaemin was quickly identifying as hypoglycemia. There was absolutely no sugar or calories in the sickly blue drink that sat heavy on his tongue and no breath in his lungs as he walked onto the stage. His legs moved on autopilot as he looked at the empty seats before him, the big cameras watching him like a hoard of massive black birds.
He wanted to have a seat, but he plastered a serious look on his face. The rest were smiling and waving before the official song began, putting on a cute show for the fans, but Jaemin couldn’t muster the energy. He only hoped that they’d accept his indifference as seriousness.
He looked to Shotaro, who looked as ready as ever. All the shakiness from earlier was gone without a trace, almost to the point that Jaemin wondered if he had been feigning it. But he wouldn’t have. Pretending to be nervous did him no good. He probably was good at pretending.
Jaemin was nearing death; he was sure.
His last episode had been quite some time ago. The unfortunate part of recurrent hypoglycemia was that the better you treated the illness by staying on top of it and eating well, the harder it was to remember that you were sick in the first place. And when it decided to remind you (always at the worst times, it seemed), it really kicked your ass all the way to Tokyo.
Quite frankly, Jaemin wanted to cry. It was partly because he felt like shit and partly because he’d spent so long- so /damn/ long preparing for this stage for his blood sugar of all things to send him stumbling through a few steps. The fans would surely notice and worry.
It was pathetic.
He hated comparisons, especially when Shotaro had done nothing to him, but it made him angrier than words could explain that the new boy was schooling him on something that he’d been doing professionally for years- /years/- longer than him. He was doing a great job.
And Jaemin was panting.
Ears ringing, blocking out the music. Legs and arms working on autopilot, facial expressions falling into one of confusion and pure, unadulterated exhaustion. Taeyong’s opening part had /just/ finished, leading into Jaehyun’s.
“Come join me,” he sang, panting a bit himself. Jaemin did his best to match Taeyong, who was dancing flawlessly on the other side of Jaehyun while the others waited in the wings. Maybe it was his insecurity convincing him, but Jaemin swore that he could see every member’s eyes on him- no, not see. Feel. He felt it all. His heart sped- no, slowed. Both?
Palpitations.
“We got this 오늘도 여긴. 우리가 차지해 100%”
Shotaro took over, sounding much better than Jaemin had in his own head. Why was it so hard? Two lines out of the small fraction of song that he actually got, and he’d /struggled/ through it. The overhead lights burned his skin and made him sweat.
Shotaro continued, and Jaemin bent at the waist, Jaehyun behind him. Both of them had their arms out. The move was easy. Clock-like movements to the trap beat behind Shotaro’s vocals.
Though, through the ringing and the way the world was becoming more and more muffled, Jaemin was finding it more than a little difficult to stay on beat, and even harder to be clock-like. If anything, he was flailing. He even tripped over Jaehyun’s shoe during the transition.
Rookie mistake. Careless. He’d made Jaehyun look bad- all of them, really.
Doyoung’s singing.
Pause before the drop.
Chorus. Move, like you practiced. Bend, like you practiced, and straighten up but don’t pass out.
“It’s gonna be alright,” Jaemin sang, shooting his arms high to the sky and praying that those lyrics spoke the truth. Shotaro once again moved to the front, and Jaemin cocked his head from side to side, knowing that his feet weren’t in alignment but not finding it in himself to care.
He just needed to push through until Xiaojun’s part, then he could whisk himself away to the wings and take a bit of a breather before plunging back into it.
He made it, planting his hands on his knees and pulling his microphone away from his mouth to gulp mouthfuls of air while he still could. There were fancams on him as he did it; he wasn't stupid. He’d have to deal with the repercussions of it later because he knew for a fact that the amount of people watching the performance stream and the amount watching the fancam in a few hours would be miles apart. Through his heaving, he tuned into the in-ear.
Jaehyun. Taeyong. Jaehyung. Taeyong. Jaehyun. Go.
He adjusted his microphone, smoothed out his jacket, and returned to center stage. “한통 다 부어버려 기름. I'm ready to ride 바로 지금”
Xiaojun. Move. Lucas. Second chorus, already. There were...what? Less than two minutes left of the song, if he remembered correctly. He’d made it over halfway. How in the hell had he done that? He pulled his body up from where he was bent at the waist. Christ, why did he have to do that so often? His head swam, but he commanded his body to keep going despite that.
Stopping now would do nobody any good. He’d get a sugary drink and maybe a snack and be right back at his idol responsibilities, so if he could push through to the end of the performance and get his drink and snack, he’d rather just do that. He needed to keep going.
Xiaojun. That meant there was a slow part. Minimal dancing.
Jaemin would really have to kiss Xiaojun after it was all said and done. Every time the man sang, his job got a whole lot easier. He was an angel after all. Who would’ve known? All this time, Jaemin was in the same group as an angel.
Walking, line up. Shotaro’s in the center, Jaemin is in the very back. It was no excuse to slack, of course, but it was certainly better to flub up out of sight to preserve energy than to faceplant in the center. Jaemin let himself get a little sloppy. Just until his turn in the center again.
Circle around Jaehyun and let loose. The technicality of this choreo wasn’t extensive. Just shifting back and forth between feet and flailing his arms, making it all look like it was done on purpose. Back turned to the camera, he let his desperate eyes find Taeyong’s. Of course Taeyong would be looking right at him.
The leader always knew when somebody was struggling. His eyes seemed to ask the question that had a blatantly obvious answer. “Are you okay?”
Jaemin’s eyes must have been closing slowly, judging by the way black encroached on the side of his vision. He heard Shotaro- far off and underwater. He was certainly going to faint. He was so close- so, /so/ close to the end. He would have a nice seat on the floor and catch his breath before being helped up and he could get a drink. He just had to push that little bit further.
“손을 맞대 손을 맞대, Make a wish”
I wish that I don’t pass out before this damn song finishes. I wish that the camera doesn’t catch it.
Wiggly legs, throw your arms, windmills, hold the basketball. It’s gonne be alriiiiighh- his head floated forward and he stumbled forward to catch himself- to catch his head, bobbing about like a helium balloon.
Windmill, stand still, let Taeyong do the dancing, then the step pull step, forward moving, almost there- so close, so close, so close. Bridge, bridge, Lucas, camera pan, camera focus on Jaehyun, and the final note of the song played distantly...somewhere. Jaemin didn’t really care as to where.
His legs gave out beneath him and his chest heaved as he tried to control his breathing. The powerade threatened to come back up as lights danced around him. They shut off suddenly, but everything was already grey and muffled. It would’ve been serene if Jaemin didn’t know the reason.
It would’ve been nice if Jaehyun’s burning hot hand wasn’t cupping his head, or if a head full of yellow hair wasn’t staring at him like he had a problem.
“Angel,” Jaemin gasped out, finally relinquishing control of his beverage as his world tilted. There was a shout, and the next thing Jaemin knew, he was laying on a couch backstage, a mask on his face and about ten fans blowing his body off. Good. He was burning up.
His shoes and socks had been removed as well as his shirt, his hair swept back.
“I got it!” Lucas boomed. Jaemin’s world tilted, and he would’ve puked again if he had anything left in him. He was propped up against a knee, and something that felt like a finger entered his mouth. He groaned, turning his head, but the finger owner wouldn’t have it.
“It’s glucose gel.” They sounded cross. “It needs to be rubbed into the inside of your cheek, under your tongue, and swallowed with a glass of water.”
“Wha’?” Jaemin asked, peeling open his eyes. “Not hungry.”
“I know; that’s why you’ve got the gel,” Doyoung reminded him, looking into his mouth as if inspecting under the hood of a car. He nodded, pulling the glove off his hand and tossing it onto the table. “Here. Drink.”
As much as he knew the drink would slosh around uncomfortably in his stomach, he had to admit. He /was/ thirsty. The bottle was gone in no less than ten gulps. It almost came back up with a few gags, but Jaemin managed to control it.
“How is he?” Taeyong asked. “Does he need a hospital?”
“Probably not, but we should get a medic just to be sure,” Doyoung told him. “Xiaojun, can you-”
“Got it.”
“Tastes like expired root beer,” Jaemin choked out, swallowing thickly and grabbling to find purchase on the...on whatever he was laying on. He opened his eyes fully, eyes widening at his surroundings. They were all still in their stage uniforms, wearing their mics, with idols of all kinds maintaining their distance to the best of their ability but still watching with poorly concealed interest.
Fuck, that was embarrasing. He covered his chest up to the best of his ability. Lucas quickly took off his jacket and helped him into it, sitting him up against the couch. His head swam and he lost his breath, stomach bubbling with nausea once again. He groaned despite his best efforts not to. “Shit.”
“Deep breaths,” Taeyong coaxed. “The nurse should be right here, and we can figure out what to do next, alright?”
“Where is manager hyung?” Doyoung asked, looking around anxiously. “It’s just us out here, and there’s nobody to help.”
“One of the staff went to find him,” Jaehyun told him, standing near by with folded arms. “But they cleaned up the puke and the next performance is already happening. Tight schedule, I guess.”
“Are we surprised?” Doyoung rolled his eyes.
“Not the time,” Taeyong told him, running his fingers through Jaemin’s white hair.
“I got her!” Xiaojun called, practically dragging the woman behind him. “Here, this is Jaemin, and he’s got...uhm, he fainted.”
“He has hypoglycemia,” Taeyong told her. “We gave him some of this, but he still doesn’t feel well.” He handed her the tube.
“That’s because you only gave him a quarter of it,” she informed them, kneeling in front of Jaemin and coaxing the tip of the emergency glucose container through his lips, pushing the plunger down despite his protests. Once it was gone, she set it on the table. “Swallow that for me, Jaemin.” He did before shuddering in disgust.
“Only you could pass out then act like a food critic,” Lucas poked fun. “What now, doctor ma’am?”
“Now, somebody helps him into the wheelchair so I can get him to the waiting room and insert an IV.”
“An IV?” Jaemin asked, suddenly awake. “But I took the sugar, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and that’s why you aren’t unconscious, but concentrated sugar only lasts so long. You should know this, if you’ve got hypoglycemia.”
“I do,” he responded grumpily. “It doesn’t mean IV’s get any better.”
“It’s just to administer fluids for a half hour. You two-” she pointed to Jaehyun and Lucas. “Could you get him into the chair, and we could-”
“No,” Jaemin objected, pushing himself up and clinging to Lucas for support.
“Jaemin, I think you should-”
“No,” he objected. “I’d rather walk the all of fifty feet than be rolled in a wheelchair by…” he paused, clutching his head. “Uhm...by, the- uh,”
“Standing up was not a good idea, Jaemin-ssi,” the woman sighed, pushing his shoulder gently to get him to take a seat in the chair. She propped his feet up on the rests and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Don’t worry; I’m experienced in the art of wheelchair racing. Close your eyes.”
His lids slid closed and the world around him went into turbo speed. Well, it was more like a quick walk to anybody else, but it felt like he was racing on the interstate as the nurse made haste to get him to the waiting room.
“Why didn’t you tell us you weren’t feeling well?” Taeyong asked as he was set on the couch and his hand was taken into the nurses lap.
“Tae, maybe it’s a bit early to get on him.”
“I didn’t realize it was my sugar until I was on stage,” he responded honestly. “I thought it was nerves.”
“When did you last eat?”
“...this morning, maybe? I don’t know. That was also- ouch!...nerves.”
“The needle’s in. Your hand might feel cold, but don’t take it out, and don’t move suddenly. You should be done in thirty minutes, and I’ll bring you a meal to eat before I clear you, okay?” A device beeped from somewhere. She looked to her waistband and sighed. “A BTS member just cut his foot...I trust that these boys will protect you for a few minutes while I go tend to him for a few moments?”
“Yeah, it should be alright until then,” Doyoung nodded.
“We’ll call for you if something happens,” Taeyong said.
“Right. Ten minutes, I’ll be back with food. Keep laying down with your feet elevated, Jaemin-ssi.”
He turned his head to Taeyong, who looked beyond exhausted as he removed his in-ear and shrugged off his jacket. “I made it to the end of the song, hyung.” He fought a smile as Taeyong glared.
“I’m not entertained.”
“Impressed?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Pissed off?”
“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.” He thrusted a bottle with a straw towards his face. “Drink and I may be persuaded away from it.” He watched as Jaemin swallowed a few mouthfuls before turning away. “That was dangerous and stupid, Jaemin.”
“It’s not like I did it on purpose, you know. Sometimes nerves make things worse. I burn through all my sugar to be nervous.”
“You’re a good performer,” Shotaro spoke up. “You should not be nervous.”
“Everybody is nervous for a stage- any stage, any person,” Jaemin told him softly, closing his eyes as the post-episode lethargy hit. “It shows that we care. I just have hypoglycemia, so if I feel emotions, my body does a manual restart.”
“A manual...restart?”
“He has low sugar,” Taeyong explained. “And he’s oversimplifying. That’s not how it works. I mean, technically, stress can effect the levels, but it’s not- that’s not…” he sighed. “He’s fine, Shotaro. He just needs to make sure that he’s drinking more sugar throughout the day.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “I’m glad you’re okay, Jaemin.”
He hummed. “I’m glad I made it through the stage. Thank you, Xiaojun.”
Xiaojun tilted his head in confusion but nodded and returned his tired handshake nonetheless. “You’re...welcome?”
“We’ve got an interview in a half hour,” Jaemin reminded them. “So you’d better get ready while I lay here and get sugar pumped into my veins.” He didn’t have to open his eyes to feel their hesitation. “Seriously, I’m okay. Just had a slip up. It happens.”
Taeyong nodded. “Tell one of the stylists if you need anything. I’ll see what I can do about postponing it for a few minutes so you can get a little rest.”
“Thanks.”
Taeyong patted his shoulder. “You’re an infuriating person to care about, Jaemin. I’d kill you if I could.”
“That one’s easy. Just take away my candies and you’re golden.” Jaemin snickered as the group walked away, finally sighing and staring at the ceiling in frustration now that he had some semi-alone time. That was supposed to be the best performance he could manage, and he’d messed up big time.
The disappointment he felt was insurmountable.
A phone buzzed on the table next to the couch, and he reached for it, making sure it was his before reading the text. It was Mark. “Saw your performance just now. Your face was all “ooh, I’m Jaemin, and I’m going to kill you with my coolness”. Looked seriously cool and your dance was sick. Good work today on a good show. Fighting!”
He smiled. “Cool”. That was...that was something he could work with.