The private dorms at the Nyxx residence were quieter than they'd ever been. Usually, someone was humming. A guitar string would be tuned. Laughter bouncing off the kitchen tiles. Briar would be creating something strangely edible from marshmallows and minced meat.
Now, silence hung like fog. Everyone moved like shadows.
Eldrin had been gone for around 3 hours — still at the hospital, still refusing to leave Kiolle's side. The rest had barely spoken since the news broke. Not to the public, not even to each other.
The world outside might've been spiralling in shock and grief, but inside this house… it was guilt that sat the heaviest.
Briar
Briar hadn't stopped crying. He tried so hard, but every time he thought he was done, another memory would hit him like a punch to the gut.
The way Kiolle had flinched the other day when Briar tried to touch his arm. The way he never finished his meals anymore. The way he his smile almost never reached his lips. How he had begged Briar not to reveal his secret past to the rest. It was all so obvious now. So stupidly, sickeningly clear.
"You always say you're fine," Briar whispered to the empty hallway. "You never were, were you?"
He should have pressed harder. Should have insisted. But he'd been scared. Scared of overstepping. Scared he would lose his trust. Scared that maybe he was imagining things. Now Kiolle was in a hospital bed, and he was left with the blame of not speaking out sooner.
Deon
Deon hadn't gone to practice. He couldn't. He had been offered to go to the ambulance with Eldrin, but didn't. And not because he didn't want to. Because he couldn't face him. The last thing he said to Kiolle had been so stupid and cruel.
"If you want attention, just trip onstage, maybe then I'll pity you." He wasn't supposed to say that, but instead, he uttered those words after failing to make him open up. A snappy cold line that the others had gotten used to.
He didn't mean for Kiolle to be upset when he said it. Didn't mean for him to laugh nervously and murmur, "Right, yeah. My bad." Didn't mean for that to be their last conversation.
Deon was curled up in the stairwell now, hoodie pulled over his head, shaking silently. His throat hurt, but not from crying. He couldn't cry at all. He thought he was protecting himself, keeping his distance so he wouldn't get too attached. But now the distance was a chasm, and he'd never hated himself more.
Loran
When he heard the news, he just punched a hole in the rehearsal room mirror. He didn't think. He just snapped. The sound of the glass cracking echoed in the empty dance room and the pain didn't come right away even as he bled. All he felt was rage.
Corin had watched in silence from the door, arms crossed. "I didn't mean for it to go that far," Loran muttered finally, blood dripping onto the polished floor. "He wasn't supposed to—"
"Then maybe you should've stopped when I told you to," Corin cut in, voice low and calm... too calm. A trace of smugness went unnoticed to Loran who was already troubled enough.
Loran didn't reply. What could he say? That he thought Kiolle was playing? That he lowkey liked it — the way Kiolle trembled, bit his lip, never said no? That he mistook silence for permission? That maybe Corin wanted things to go this far?
He slammed his uninjured fist into the wall this time, head dropping forward, teeth clenched.
"Goddammit…"
Corin
Corin on the other hand felt no guilt whatsoever. He sat silently in the corner of his room, legs crossed, one ankle gently bouncing over his knee. His gaze was focused on his laptop, but his mind was elsewhere.
He had read the headlines like everyone else.
"Nyxx's Kiolle in Critical Condition After Suspected Suicide Attempt"
"Fans in Shock Over Idol's Hospitalisation"
The world was mourning. He wasn't.
Guilt had no place in Corin's chest. What bloomed there was irritation, maybe even disdain. If Kiolle thought this little stunt would make him the centre of attention again, to escape them. If he thought Corin would crumble under the weight of guilt, he'd sorely miscalculated.
Such a waste of good makeup and studio time, Corin thought bitterly.
Briar sobbed quietly next to him once the ambulance left, holding his face while he continued to wail and talk. "Corin…Its all my fault, I should have told you about his feelings we could have helped him,"
Corin turned and hugged him for the sake of it, interest peaked him, which was then propmtly brushed off. He had no interest in that annoying person's past. though he wondered how Briar knew of that information considering how closed of Kiolle had been about his past.
A sympathetic tilt of the brow. The perfect expression. Empty behind the eyes. He played the role well. He always did.
In truth, Kiolle was dramatic. Overly theatrical. Corin had never been able to stand that neediness, the way Kiolle always had to be loved or noticed or admired. It made him reckless. Dangerous, even.
"Classic manipulation," Corin thought.
A suicide attempt, just after the Galaxy Awards? How convenient. The media storm was already buzzing, sympathy was skyrocketing, and Kiolle—wherever he was—was probably planning his next tear-stained comeback. And the others were falling for it. Again.
Deon muttered something under his breath about taking better care of each other. Briar nodded fervently, like a kicked puppy. Eldrin had already left while Loran was at the dance studio.
Pathetic.
Corin leaned back, tongue resting against the inside of his cheek. "Go ahead, Kiolle," he thought. "Play victim. Wrap them all around your broken little finger. But don't think for a second I'll be the one kneeling at your bedside when you wake up." He had no intention of being guilted into softening. Not now. Not ever.
Corin was better at pretending than anyone after all.