Chapter Text
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
"Junmyeon, you have to take care of your body, alright? When you get hurt, your soulmate gets the same scar as you. You wouldn't want that, do you honey?"
Junmyeon never really understood what his mother meant. He was only six, what does he know about soulmates and scars? For a child, why would it matter? Getting little cuts and bruises was normal for kids his age. Scars were simply proof that you'd played too hard or tripped too often. He shouldn't be thinking too hard about them.
But one random summer afternoon, when a long scar appeared on his body out of nowhere, Junmyeon finally understood what his mother meant.
The scar started from the hairline behind his ear and curved down to his neck. It was huge and ugly. It felt wrong. He touched it over and over, hoping it would fade under his fingers, but it didn't. It stayed there, and it wasn't even his in the first place.
"Your soulmate is a little careless," Junmyeon's mother murmured as she traced the raised, reddish scar on his skin with a worried touch. Careless, she said, but Junmyeon thought reckless was more fitting. What kind of six-year-old could get hurt this badly?
Months passed and he had hoped the scar would fade. But it remained a part of him, though it became paler compared to when it first appeared. He almost forgot about it, but whenever he looked at himself in the mirror, it screamed at him.
He learned to live with it. And when more marks began to appear—on his arms, his elbows, his thighs, his legs, even the soles of his feet—Junmyeon learned to hide them. His mother's face always tightened in disapproval when she saw a new one, and somehow, that expression made him feel guilty. As if he had done something wrong, as if these scars were his fault, not his soulmate's.
It took years and several therapy sessions before Junmyeon began to see things differently. He learned that scars don't define who you are, and that the pain you carry, even if it isn't yours, doesn't make you broken.
When he finally learned to accept that, a small spark bloomed inside him. Hope. And that was when Junmyeon knew what he wanted to be when he grew up: Someone who helped others heal, the way he had learned to heal himself.
"Thank you for calling the suicide prevention hotline. This is Suho, how may I help you?"
The words come easily to Junmyeon now. He doesn't need to think twice before speaking those words. For the past five years, this has been his world: the line rings, he introduces himself calmly, and then he listens.
Most nights, that's all he does. Listen. Sometimes, he speaks, he asks a few questions, offers a soft suggestion, hums a quiet affirmation, but more often, he lets the silence flow between them. Because in that silence, people often find what they need most. To be heard.
He has heard it all. Stories of heartbreak from teenagers who believed their first love would last forever. Stories of heartache from adults who gave too much of themselves to people who didn't stay. He has listened to grief wrapped in laughter, to fear disguised as anger, to the trembling pauses between sobs when words refuse to come.
And he does what he must. He listens, he validates, he understands.
All in a day's work. But for Suho—for Junmyeon, it's more than just work. This is his passion, the thing the keeps him going. Sometimes, it feels as though he was born for this, to guide someone gently back from the edge, to shine even the faintest light on a path they thought was gone. Knowing he can help steer a life in the right direction gives him a sense of purpose most people spend years searching for.
Still, even with all the knowledge he shares, with every self-care routine he recommends, with every comforting word he offers, Junmyeon can't escape the exhaustion that clings to him at the end of the day. His empathy, his greatest strength, drains him little by little, no matter how much he tries to deny it.
He tries to take care of himself the best he can. He goes to the movies alone and laughs with strangers in the dark. He eats at his favorite restaurants, savoring the familiar taste of comfort. He even travels solo to other countries, letting the new scenery cleanse the noise inside his head. These things help briefly, but not enough.
Because once the credits roll, once the plate is empty, once the plane touches down and the novelty fades, the noise in his head always returns. And with it comes the ache humming beneath his ribs. It is loneliness, the kind that had taken root in his heart from years of being the one who listens, who understands, who cares. He carries everyone else's burdens with his gentle hands, but he has never had the chance to put his own down.
He has always been that kind of person. He is someone people would rely on, his shoulder offers comfort to those who need it, he appears as the calm in someone else's storm. It was second nature to him. But sometimes, when his apartment is too silent and the days and nights alone seem too long, he finds himself wondering. He is the one who takes care of others, but who takes care of him?
"Junmyeon." A soft tap on his shoulder brings him back to where he is, to what he is doing. Junmyeon turns and sees Kyungsoo looking at him with narrowed eyes and furrowed thick brows framed by heavy-rimmed glasses. "We're ordering coffee. Do you want one?"
He glances at the time on his desktop PC. It's already past 12 midnight. He turns back to Kyungsoo and smiles. "Iced latte with oat milk," he recites his usual order from the coffee shop down the block. "Who's buying?"
Chanyeol pops up from behind Kyungsoo like an enthusiastic shadow, hand shooting up. "Me!" he announces a little too loudly for the hour. "But this isn't free, just so you know."
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and swats weakly at him. "Calm down, no one asked you to. I'll text you our orders. Go."
Chanyeol salutes dramatically and trots off, humming under his breath. Kyungsoo slips into the chair of the cubicle beside Junmyeon and puts on his headphones.
Junmyeon adjusts his own headphones and shifts his attention back to his screen. He pulls up the data he needs to encode from earlier calls. He pushes up the sleeves of his hoodie and wriggles his fingers over the keyboard. He may as well make the most of the night while the line isn't ringing.
He's halfway through his third entry when a voice spoke behind him.
"Junmyeon, are you okay?"
He turns, startled. Minseok stands behind him, shoulders slightly hunched with a worried crease between his brows. Junmyeon raises an eyebrow, confused. "Yeah. Why?"
Minseok doesn't answer immediately. His gaze drops past Junmyeon's face down to his exposed wrists. "Did you… do that to yourself?"
Junmyeon follows Minseok's line of sight then freezes. The thin, pinkish lines on his skin stand starkly against the glow of the monitor. His breath catches and his mouth goes dry.
"What? No. No, of course not," he whispers quickly and tugs his sleeves down so fast it nearly snags on his watch.
Kyungsoo leans back from his seat and glances at Minseok then to Junmyeon. His expression shifts into concern.
"You can tell us if you're struggling," Minseok says earnestly. "We talk to people who have the darkest thoughts. It gets heavy."
"I know," Junmyeon swallows. He feels something twist in his gut. "But I wouldn't be functional here if I were doing that." He hesitates, then adds, barely audible, "It must have been my soulmate."
"Still haven't met your soulmate?" Kyungsoo asks, pushing his glasses up his nose. Before Junmyeon can answer, he scoffs softly. "Right. You're too busy working to even look."
Junmyeon traces the scars underneath his sleeves with his fingers. A heavy feeling suddenly washes over him. He does not have a hard time naming it.
Guilt.
His soulmate, whoever they are, is having a difficult time, too difficult that they ended up harming themselves. He should have been there. He should have started looking for his soulmate years ago. He could have prevented this. If only he—
"Hey," A hand lands on his shoulder, Minseok's, and squeezes reassuringly. "I know what you're thinking." His voice is as gentle as the squeeze on Junmyeon's shoulder. "It's not your fault your soulmate did that. You can't be everywhere. You can't save everyone."
Junmyeon forces a small nod yet his gaze lowers to the desk.
'But I'm supposed to try,' he thinks. 'That's who I am. That's what I'm supposed to do.'
The night drags on slowly. The whole office falls into a hush as the clock strikes 3 in the morning. Junmyeon yawns. finishing the last sip of his coffee, now diluted by the melted ice. Beside him, Kyungsoo absentmindedly taps on the keyboard, his eyelids drooping from fatigue.
From his other side, Chanyeol stands up and turns to Junmyeon. "I'm gonna turn off the lights," he murmurs. "You guys can rest on your break."
Junmyeon nods and smiles at Chanyeol. Darkness envelops the room, only the faint lights from the computer monitors illuminate their tired faces. Junmyeon's monitor bathes his skin in a pale glow. and when he moves his arms, the scars on his wrist catch the light again.
He clenches his hand and pulls his sleeve, hiding the scars out of his sight. The guilt coils in his stomach, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. much bitter than the watered-down coffee he had earlier.
He hears his mother's voice in his head. They're hurting because you weren't there.
"No," he whispers to himself, trying to remember the things he learned in therapy. "It's not my fault…"
Then sudden realization dawns on him. It has been years since he last saw a scar from his soulmate. And here Junmyeon thought his soulmate had been doing well away from any pain. Now, he isn't sure.
Maybe he should start looking for them. But how? Where does he start? How will he even find them in a world with billions of people? What if that person is on the other side of the world? Will he be able to reach them in time? To save them?
The system suddenly rings, pulling Junmyeon away from his thoughts. He breathes in and composes himself before putting on his headphones and clicking the answer button.
"Good morning, thank you for calling the suicide prevention hotline. This is Suho. How may I help you?"
Silence met him for a few seconds, then Junmyeon hears some shuffling in the background."
"H-Hi…" a low, shaky voice answers the line finally. "I… I don't know what to say…"
Junmyeon smiles softly, even if the person on the line cannot see him. "That's alright," he says in a soothing voice. "You don't have to know what to say right away. You can take your time. I'm here." He ponders for a bit then asks again. "May I know your name?"
"Um… Lay. You can call me Lay," the man answers. His voice is thick, like he had been crying before he called.
"Alright Lay, whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here to listen, okay?" Junmyeon assures Lay.
He hears a shaky exhale from the line before Lay speaks again. "Thank you. It's just—" another sigh. "I… I cut myself days ago."
Junmyeon gives him space. Five seconds. Six. Seven. "I see. Would you like to talk about what led up to it? Only if you feel comfortable."
"No, it's okay." Lay swallows audibly. "I just… I feel so alone."
"You're not alone right now," Junmyeon says softly.
Lay stays quiet for a moment and Junmyeon lets the silence sit. The last thing he wants is to pressure Lay into talking.
"I think it started when I was a kid," Lay finally says, his voice trembling just a little. "My… my father used to hit me. A lot. And when he didn't, he'd yell until it felt like the whole house was shaking." He lets out a small, humorless laugh. "It was scary, but I guess I got used to it. The beatings, I mean. He said I deserved it, and I learned to believe that I did."
Junmyeon's chest tightens. He often receives calls like these, but the feeling never gets better. "I'm sorry, Lay. That wasn't your fault. None of that what happened to you as a child was your fault."
Over the phone, Lay's breath hitches, like he was hit hard by Junmyeon's words.
"I know… It's fine now," Lay murmurs weakly. "He's gone. Nobody's gonna hurt me. Well, except me." Lay snorts at his own joke but Junmyeon doesn't react.
Some people mask their pain through humor. It seems like Lay is one of them.
"I thought things would get better after he died," Lay continues. "But I've just been feeling… empty. Tired all the time. I can't enjoy anything, not even the things I really like. Everyone around me is moving forward and I'm just stuck."
There it is, the signs, clear as day. Junmyeon recognizes them, but he's not the right person to tell Lay. "Have you tried talking to a professional before? About what you're feeling?" he asks gently.
"No." Lay's voice is small now. "This is the first time I actually talked to someone. I didn't want to be a burden to anyone."
Junmyeon nods slowly, even though Lay can't see him. "Thank you for trusting me enough to share this. I know it takes a lot of strength to talk about something so painful." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "But I hope you can also understand this: you're not a burden. Not to the people who care about you. Not to me. And not to the people who love you, even if you can't feel that love right now."
"Thank you, Suho," Lay answers and Junmyeon swears he could hear his smile over the line. "I guess I needed to hear that. It made me feel a little better."
"I'm glad to have helped you even just a bit."
There's a small pause and the sound of fabric rustling from the other line. "I feel guilty…"
"May I ask why?" Junmyeon gently coaxes. "You can tell me, it's alright."
"Ah," Lay's breath trembles. "For… for hurting myself. Maybe I was so used to the pain inflicted by my father that I craved for it. I feel so empty most of the time and the pain reminds me that I am alive. It's not that I want to actually… die. I just want to remind myself that I am not numb."
Junmyeon lets the words sink in before he speaks again. "What you're describing… it makes sense. When someone grows up with pain, the body confuses it with comfort or familiarity. It doesn't make you weak. It means that you survived a traumatic part of your life, and your mind adapted in the only way it knew how.
Lay says nothing, just his soft breathing can be heard. Junmyeon takes that as a cue.
"But," Junmyeon says gently, "the part of you that picked up the blade, that wasn't you wanting to hurt yourself. That was you wanting relief. Wanting to feel alive. And there are ways to reach that feeling without harming your body." He pauses. "Would it be alright if I share some alternatives with you? Things that can help you remind you you're here, without actually hurting yourself?"
"…Yeah," Lay whispers. "Okay."
"Thank you," Junmyeon says, grateful that Lay allows him to help. "Some people find that holding something cold, like an ice cube in your palm, can create a strong sensation without causing injury. Others press their hand against a textured surface, like a rough fabric or grass. Even snapping a rubber band on your wrist gently can ground you without doing real harm."
"I… I could try that."
"And if what you're seeking is emotional connection," Junmyeon adds softly, "you can also reach out to your friends, or here, if feel much more comfortable talking to someone you don't know. You don't have to go through that emptiness or sadness alone. Calling, talking, letting someone hear you… that's also a way of reminding yourself that you're alive."
"It's weird, but… hearing you say that helps." There's relief in Lay's voice now. "More than I expected."
Junmyeon smiles again. feeling a gentle warmth tug at his chest. "I'm really glad. And I want you to remember this: the part of you that called tonight, the part that reached out, that's also alive. And it's fighting for you."
"Thank you. Thank you so much," Lay whispers. "I think I'll end this call now. Thank you again, Suho, for talking to me. You helped me a lot."
"No worries, Lay. If you ever need to talk to someone again, you can always call us. Even if you don't want to talk about anything sad." Junmyeon assures him. "If you just want to tell stories, that's fine too."
"Will you be the one answering my call again?" Lay asks tentatively.
"Of course," he answers without hesitation. "I'll be here."
Junmyeon's knees nearly buckle the moment he steps into his apartment. He grips the doorknob a second longer than necessary, steadying himself before he manages to kick off his shoes.
Six consecutive night shifts. Six. His body feels heavy and sluggish. If he could, he would have just crawled his way on the stairs. And the last few calls of his shift had tested every ounce of patience he had left by grumpy callers, irritated voices, and people demanding help but spitting their frustrations at him. He understands, but it doesn't mean he's okay with it.
His one saving grace is knowing he has four days off ahead of him. Four days of silence, rest, and staying home. Because honestly, his bank account is clinging to life support and self-care on a budget means sleeping, eating instant noodles (with egg and kimchi!), and pretending the outside world doesn't exist.
First plan of the day: Shower, then bed.
He strips off his clothes and trudges to the bathroom. He turns the knob and waits for the water to warm, dipping his hand under the stream until it becomes pleasantly hot. When he steps in and lets the water run over him, he feels tension melt from his shoulders, down his spine, pooling at his feet before circling the drain. He exhales a huge sigh, the kind that feels like it pulled all the tiredness from his bones.
After a few minutes, he shuts the water off.
Reaching blindly for his towel, he realizes he left it hanging by the sink. With a small groan, he pushes the shower curtain aside and carefully places his feet on the cold tiles. Goosebumps prickle his skin as he crosses the short distance and grabs the towel.
He's drying his hair when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He winces a little. His scars are there. Of course they still are.
His gaze drops to his wrist. The newer scars sit there plainly, still defined to catch his attention. A resigned sigh slips past his lips. There's nothing he can do about them. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Junmyeon spends the rest of his days off at home. He busies himself with house chores, assigning two or three each day so he won't feel overwhelmed. He also finds time to tick off every movie on his to-watch list, enjoying the rare luxury of watching without interruptions, without pressure.
When he isn't working, he tries to fix his sleep schedule, but his body betrays him at every turn. Some nights, he wakes in the middle of the dark and can't fall back asleep. Other days, drowsiness creeps in during the afternoon, heavy and insistent. Naps stretch longer than they should, robbing him of rest later that night. No matter how much sleep he gets, or he doesn't, he still feels exhausted.
By the fourth day, he finds himself in the grocery store, picking up supplies for the workweek ahead. He's halfway down the aisle when his phone buzzes in his pocket. The sudden vibration makes his heart lurch. He stops, one hand loosening its grip on the handle of the cart as he pulls his phone out and brings it closer to his face.
An email from HR.
For a brief, irrational moment, his thoughts spiral. Did I mess up? Did someone complain about me? Am I in trouble? He exhales slowly before opening the message.
A small "Oh" slips past his lips.
The attached file is a memorandum announcing an opening for a higher position in their department. Junmyeon blinks and rereads the subject line, just to be sure. The email isn't addressed to him specifically. It's a general announcement, likely sent to everyone who meets the qualifications.
He shakes his head lightly and slips his phone back into his pocket. It's still his day off. He'll deal with that memorandum later.
Back home, he sets about preparing meals for the coming days. He's tried, more than once, to eat healthier and even follow nutritional plans. But there's only so much he can do within his budget. In the end, he settles for meals that are easy to cook and store, even if they aren't ideal. His uncle doesn't need to know.
That night, his last night of rest, Junmyeon stands in front of the bathroom mirror, his skincare essentials neatly arranged on the sink. He pats his face gently after finishing his usual five-step routine and smiles at his reflection seeing the glow on his cheeks. If nothing else, taking care of his skin means stress and exhaustion don't show easily. Even after twelve-hour shifts, his face still looks deceptively well-rested.
He steps away from the sink just as his phone lights up on the bed. He sits on the edge and picks it up. Another email from HR.
This time, he opens the memorandum again and reads through it more carefully. He takes note of the qualifications, the responsibilities, the expectations. Junmyeon chews on his lower lips as he scrolls.
He's been in this job for five years. Promoted once from junior to senior staff, the raise helped, but the work itself stayed the same. Maybe, he thinks, it's time to take another step forward.
But the thought exhausts him more than it excites him. He still has a shift to prepare for tomorrow night, and he's far too tired to boot up his laptop and update his resumé. This can wait. He'll think about it during his next days off. Work will always be there.