Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nicholas has come to learn a few things over the past couple of months.

One. It is not possible to lie to Fuma. Once Fuma knows something, he knows everything. Since switching psychiatrists (for the third time) and finding one that doesn’t seem to hate him, and then obtaining a therapist not long after, Nicholas has gotten—unfortunately—very used to telling people how he feels. It never gets easy, but it stops feeling like he’s peeling back pieces of skin every time he admits to Fuma that he’s having a bad day.

Two. Their company sucks, but Nicholas thinks they’re at least trying, for whatever it’s worth. He knows it’s mostly because they don’t want word to get out that he’s mentally ill—as if half their idols aren’t, in some way—but they pay for the appointments and the medication and deal with getting him there discreetly. He still hasn’t really forgiven them for their reaction upon first finding out about the scars, but it’s easier now that they’re not checking his skin for new ones every week still.

Three. Euijoo does not know how to apologize. This, Nicholas actually already knew, but he’s being reminded of it every day now. Euijoo hasn’t brought it up since the night he found Nicholas, and Nicholas has wanted to think about it as little as possible, so he doesn’t mention it either, but that doesn’t really work with the way Euijoo is. Nicholas knows he’s sorry, it’s obvious in the way Euijoo acts with him, talks to him, looks at him, so he ends up thinking about that night almost daily. Euijoo carries the guilt like a cross, but he won’t listen when Nicholas tells him it’s okay to lay it down.

Four. Nicholas’ brain is really, really fucked up. It’s hard to notice on the days that are really good, and even harder on the days that are really bad, but the days that are just okay are the ones he spends the most time thinking about just how messed up the inside of his head is. Those are the days that he has the most, which is better than more bad days, he supposes.

And, finally, five. He should have been taken off the trazodone the moment he said he didn’t think it was working the first, second, third times he tried bringing it up. He can’t lie, hearing his new psychiatrist tell him that the medication was just not right for his body was a bit vindicating, and he thinks that the months of feeling that sick might have been worth finding the combination that he’s on now, but his therapist tells him he shouldn’t think of it like dues being paid—There was a chance they found it on the first shot, there was a chance it took them over ten attempts, and Nicholas shouldn’t look at it like it was something he had to go through to make him deserving of medication that worked, or something like that.

He’s just happy that he was able to find a therapist that speaks Mandarin and has worked with celebrities before, mostly ones in China, but she’s familiar with the experience. And since their appointments are all over video, it makes it easier to not have to worry about scheduling between Korea and Japan. 

So, he’s surviving. 

And, honestly? He thinks he’s gotten better at surviving. Accepting that you have a problem really is the hardest part, and now that Nicholas has gotten over that hill—by falling off it—he’s been able to actually work on how not to react to situations in the worst possible way.

There’s a very uncomfortable awareness that comes to being medicated. You can go hours without thinking about it, and then your phone reminds you that it’s time to take another pill and you’re smacked in the face with the reminder that you are relying on a bunch of compressed powder capsules to be functional and not, in his case, a terror to be around. 

It scares him, if he’s being honest. Terrifies him. How out of control it makes him feel. Since starting medication, Nicholas can’t help but feel like he’s existed as four, five, six different people. His thoughts don’t always feel like his thoughts, and he thinks back on his actions some nights and can’t possibly imagine himself doing that.

On bad days, he can hear the words coming out of his mouth but swears he hadn’t been the one to say them. The days that feel a bit like he’s nothing more than a passenger in his own body and everything is behind a screen with controls that he doesn’t know how to use—those are the worst days. He can handle the days where his body feels like lead and his head feels like cotton and he’s just so, so tired. He's still present on those days, but he hates how much time it felt like he was losing on the bad days.

But he’s okay—most days. He’s off the trazodone, which was the main thing that was making him so sick, and it wasn’t until recently that he realized just how much weight he ended up losing while first on the medication. He looks back at photos taken during that time and all he can see is how gaunt his face looked. The bupropion isn’t perfect, Nicholas has noticed that it makes his hands shake quite a bit and tends to make him feel more anxious, on average, but he can handle feeling a bit anxious over constant nausea.

He’s able to focus better, and that might be the strangest part. Nicholas has lived with this brain for nearly 22 years, he’s gotten used to the ways in which it works and doesn’t work—So now, actually being able to sit down and focus has shown him a problem that he hadn’t ever been aware of. It’s forcing him to have to relearn his own brain, except everything has been changing so much and so often that he only just now feels like things are beginning to settle.

Which, of course, means that everything has to go to complete and utter shit, and that’s why Nicholas finds himself being jolted awake from a dead sleep by War Cry blasting in his ears. It takes him a few awful, terribly disorientating seconds to remember that he’s in a hotel room in Kanagawa after their last concert date. It felt like barely more than a few hours ago that Nicholas was struggling to stay awake during their Weverse Live, and now there are people he does not immediately recognize standing in his hotel room and Nicholas is not breathing.  

He sees Yuma and Maki a moment later, thankfully, because Nicholas was genuinely a few seconds away from freaking the fuck out. Neither of them look concerned—Maki is grinning ear to ear and Yuma is almost vibrating.

“What the fu—”

He barely gets the beginning of the word out before Maki lunges forward to slap his hand over Nicholas’ mouth. He grabs at Maki’s wrist, hoping he can’t feel the way his breaths aren’t exactly coming out right, and prays that he tells Nicholas what the fuck is going on.

“Dude,” Maki whispers out in English, “They’re filming. It’s a travel show.”

Nicholas’ eyes whip from looking at Maki to the three unknown men standing in his room with cameras, and then to the one man that he does kind of recognize. 

“Good morning! Time to get up! Time to get up~”

Oh, Nicholas realizes. He’s being Youth-Over-Flowers’d. 

He pulls Maki’s hand away from his mouth with a groan. “Where are we going?” He croaks out, falling back against the pillows. 

It’s a good thing he actually slept in clothing last night. Nicholas turns his head to see Jo sat up and staring at the camera crew too, wide-eyed and confused. 

Nicholas can’t believe this is happening. He closes his eyes and hopes that it’s all just some weird-ass dream, but then Maki is shaking his shoulders and saying “We’re going to Germany!” In a voice that is nothing but excitement and Nicholas feels pure dread settle in his stomach.

“Germany,” he repeats, blinking his eyes up at Maki. The youngest is smiling down at him like he’s just won the lottery—and he kind of has. Nicholas thinks about how excited he would be to go to Taiwan to film a show and tries not to let the annoyance show on his face. 

“Whose room should we go to next?” The director asks, and really, Nicholas should know this man’s name but he can’t quite shake the fog from his brain as he struggles to translate what he’s saying. 

The crew and Yuma go over to bother Jo, Nicholas’ poor roommate, and Nicholas turns over with another groan. He feels Maki’s hand pat over his shoulder a few times before stilling. They all know how Nicholas gets in the morning, and it’s only gotten worse since starting on the medication—He was always nauseous for a solid 15 minutes after first waking up, unless he woke up on his own, and today was no different.

Thankfully, it’s not as bad as it has been some mornings, and Nicholas doesn’t feel like he’s actually at risk of being violently ill over the side of the bed, but he’s not happy. They just finished this tour. It’s been a day. It hasn’t even been a full day.

He doesn’t want to do this. He’s tired. He’s exhausted, but Maki’s smile has turned into a concerned frown and Nicholas hates the thought of being the one to spoil this for him.

“Let’s go bother JuJu,” Nicholas sighs, dragging himself up into a sitting position. He was pointedly ignoring Maki’s watchful stare, Nicholas knew that he was walking a very fine line with his mental health during this tour. His physical health, too, if he was truthful about how poorly he was sleeping.

Still, he manages to drag himself out from under the covers and double check that he hadn’t left anything out last night—Unlikely, considering he was sharing a room with Jo, but it never hurts to be cautious.

Nicholas pulls on the hoodie that he had left on top of his suitcase and tries to fix his expression because he can feel the face he’s making and can only imagine how it looks to anyone that isn’t used to him. He shoves his feet into his crocs and pretends like there isn’t a camera crew filing out of his hotel room.

God. He still doesn’t know what time it is. He doesn’t think he wants to know.

He’s halfway to where he knows Euijoo and Fuma’s room is before Maki catches up to him, slinging his arm around Nicholas’ shoulder as he flashes him a grin and spreads out all of the room keycards in between his fingers. 

It takes everything in him to not groan. They’re going to Germany—Holy fuck, they’re going to Germany—Of course Maki can barely contain his excitement. He had been the one to say it all those months ago, even if it had been a joke, and Nicholas just can’t believe it’s actually happening.

The day after their first tour ended. He doesn’t succeed in holding back the groan this time.

His entire body hurts. His head hurts. His eyes hurt. His hair hurts. Nicholas wants to sleep for at least a week, not do…this.

“Ah, I never expected them to actually go through with it,” Maki’s tone is sheepish as he sorts through the cards to find the one he needs, and Nicholas wants to hit himself because he knows it’s his fault. 

“I’m just being cranky,” he mutters, mindful of the camera crew as this is not something he would typically admit to, otherwise. But he does raise his voice slightly after, once again mindful of the cameras and this time aiming for it to be picked up, “Now open the door so I can make JuJu suffer with me.”

Maki doesn’t need to be told twice and Nicholas doesn’t waste a second once the door is open before making a beeline towards Euijoo’s bed—Or the bed that he assumes is Euijoo’s, considering he can hear Fuma snoring in the other one. 

Nicholas throws himself down on top of the covers with zero regard for the man beneath him, but to Euijoo’s credit, he doesn’t do much other than groan under Nicholas’ weight and smack around the table next to the bed until he can find the light.

“Nichol, what?” He rasps, squinting bleary eyes at him. He looks over to see the camera crew squeezing into this room like they had his, with Maki and Yuma going straight to Fuma’s bed as Jo stands there, still looking confused. 

Nicholas doesn’t have anything to say but an answering groan of his own, muffled into the comforter his face was buried in before he rolls onto his back.

He listens to Maki explain the situation again to Fuma and Euijoo, and Jo makes a face like he only now understood what was happening. Honestly, Nicholas wouldn’t doubt it. 

Eujioo groans again—Between the two of them, Nicholas wonders how much salvageable audio they’ll end up with. “Basically ‘Youth Over Flowers’?” He asks Nicholas, and he can’t help but snort in response. 

“Looks like it.”

Fuma is only wearing his Gengar boxers, so the filming crew and the others head to the next room to give him privacy while he gets pants put on, but Nicholas doesn’t bother getting up from Euijoo’s bed. He watches as Euijoo pulls himself up and crawls into the newly vacated warm spot while the taller man stretches.

“Nichol,” he turns back around to smile down at Nicholas, “You can’t go back to sleep.”

“Watch me,” Nicholas mutters back, closing his eyes and turning his face into Euijoo’s pillow.

He hears Fuma bark out a laugh from his side of the room, “You look as happy as a soaked cat.” His tone softens, voice sounding like it’s closer now, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Tired as fuck.” He probably doesn’t have to tell Fuma that, considering how close Nicholas had been to falling asleep on him the night before during their livestream. “What time is it?”

Euijoo hums. Nicholas blinks his eyes open to see him checking his phone, “It’s around 7. I just can’t believe they’re actually doing it with all of us,” he says, frowning as he glances over to Fuma, “Do you think they’re going to do the part where they don’t let us take any of our luggage?”

Fuma shrugs, “I’ve never seen the original.”

But now Nicholas has a whole separate thing to worry about. There’s no way they’re going to go that far, right? It’s just going to be a surprise trip that they can film content during and make money off of. 

Nicholas lets himself be pulled towards where he knows Harua and Taki had been rooming together. He sticks close to Euijoo and tries not to snap at any of the cameramen that get too close. Thankfully, the others know how he is in the morning, they’re good at taking the attention away from him. They’re good at making it seem like it’s something cute, like he’s just grumpy, and not like he has a chemical imbalance in his brain.

Euijoo ends up standing between him and the cameras quite a bit, Nicholas isn’t sure if he’s doing it subconsciously or on purpose, but he’s thankful nonetheless. 

When they’re finally all packed into Kei’s room, standing around the eldest as he blearily listens to Maki explain what’s going on, Nicholas lets himself lean against Euijoo’s shoulder as he listens to this same spiel for the fourth time.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he mutters, trying to keep his eyes from closing but only partially managing to succeed. 

Euijoo hums, bumping his hip against Nicholas’ lightly before reaching out to pull him back against his side again when he sways a bit. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get through it, and then have a break and relax. We can do whatever you want to do.”

Nicholas huffs out a laugh, “Okay, JuJu. I’ll hold you to that.”

“Alright, here’s what the plan is,” the man that Nicholas knows is the host—what’s his name?—starts, holding out a brochure in one hand and a handful of plane tickets in the other. If Nicholas squints, he can just barely make out the word Munich on the front of the paper, which is all well and good but Nicholas doesn’t know anything about Germany other than what Maki has told him. “Eight days, no belongings. Only what we give you.”

He makes eye contact with Fuma across the room, and he’s sure the panic on his face must be clear as anything because Fuma immediately speaks up. “We can’t bring anything? No toiletries? Nothing?” 

“Nope! We’ll have everything you could need waiting for you. Now, let’s get going!” The man says before waving a hand at the crew to signal that they could lower the cameras. “Off the record, if it fits in your pockets and passes airport security. I don’t care. We’ll take care of everything.”

“Our passports?”

“On hand.”

Fuma opened his mouth again, but the man was already signaling to the crew for them to focus back on him. “We’re leaving for the airport in 20 minutes! Hurry, hurry!”

The only thing Nicholas feels as he and Jo are pushed in the direction of their room by their eager youngest is stressed. He is not looking forward to this. Any other time, maybe, but right after their tour? The day after their tour? He can’t.

Jo seems to be at a total loss of what to do when they get back to their room, Nicholas can’t really blame him. He scrubs his hands down his face, groaning as he tries to think about what he absolutely needs.

He needs his medication. His phone will be going off soon reminding him to take it. Pills. Wallet. Headphones. Charger. He’s fairly sure he has a small cross-body bag packed with him, and a little bit of digging in his suitcase proves him right. It’s small enough that he could probably just hide it under his jacket and be fine.

Nicholas angles his body in a way that will, hopefully, block Jo’s view of him as he continues to dig around in his suitcase, stuffing the two containers with his pills inside before standing up to unplug his charger from the wall and shuffling into the bathroom. He quickly takes one of each pill and throws them back, cupping his hand under the facet and using the water to chase them down.

God. He has to pack up everything, not just what he needs for the trip, he belatedly realizes as he’s brushing his teeth. They were told not to worry about toiletries, but he still needs to collect all of his personal belongings and pack them away for whatever the hell they end up doing with their suitcases. 

His hands are, unfortunately, incredibly sweaty. Nicholas half-heartedly wipes them off on his shorts with a frown. Is he making a bigger deal out of this than he, realistically, should be? Probably. Does the budding anxiety making his stomach twist seem to care about that? Not in the slightest.

“How much longer do we have?” Nicholas calls out to Jo, trying to pile everything in his hands as he pushes past the bathroom door.

“Maybe 15 minutes?” Jo says, looking only slightly less frazzled than Nicholas feels. Jo doesn’t like changes in routine like this, he likes clear plans.

Nicholas has been focusing so much on himself that he’s failed to take into account how the others might be feeling. If Nicholas decides to be a grumpy asshole about it, then he’s just going to ruin the mood for everyone. So he plasters a smile onto his face and pointedly tries not to think about how fake it feels. 

“Well, I guess we better hurry,” he says, aiming for joking and feeling like he missed only by a few centimeters. Not enough for Jo to notice—or at least point out—as he gives Nicholas a small smile and answering nod.

Nicholas uses the time Jo spends in the bathroom to change. It’s March, he doesn’t know how the weather is in Germany in March. He doesn’t know anything about Germany. Looking up the weather for the next week leads to him opting for jeans and a hoodie under his jacket. It’s easy enough to angle the bag against his side under the coat, Nicholas figures he can get away with that much, at least. Anything else he needs, well, he can just buy it while he’s there. He’s not too concerned about following rules.

He’s out of the room before Jo, but just seconds before Euijoo is pulling the door shut to his own room. They make eye contact from down the hall and Nicholas actually feels himself smile when he sees the one on Euijoo’s face. 

His days do feel brighter when he’s with Euijoo. Nicholas knows that he can’t attribute his happiness to one person, knows that it’s not healthy to do that, but the days when he and Euijoo hadn’t been speaking truly felt like the most dull period in his life. It’s not a time he likes remembering, it’s not an Euijoo he likes remembering, but it’s been long enough since then that the younger members are no longer walking on eggshells around him and trying to figure out why Nicholas and Euijoo had been fighting for so long.

He knows that they hate not knowing, and Nicholas hates lying to them but he doesn’t think he can handle watching as their perception of him warps and shifts and changes. Besides, he’s better now. He doesn’t think actively about dying anymore. Hasn’t sliced open his own skin since that night Euijoo found him—He’s thought about it a few times, but it’s gotten easier to seek out Kei and let himself be talked down from his spiral, instead of trying to hurt himself. Letting Kei and Fuma know about these parts is slowly feeling less foreign, but allowing Euijoo to see still feels like he’s taking an ice-pick to the back of his skull—as if he can make a big enough crater for Euijoo to see just how fucked up the inside of his head is.

Euijoo doesn’t push as much now. He lets Nicholas come to him, and that’s almost worse. 

“Are you ready?” Euijoo leans closer to whisper. Nicholas wonders if they’re going to mic them up before or after security, or if they’ll just try to use the footage from cameras. He really hopes they aren’t mic’d during the flight. 

He gives a small, jerky shake of his head, just enough to make the smile on Euijoo’s dim slightly. Nicholas knows he could lie, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t know if he can, right now. He’s going to have to spend the next week living a lie, he doesn’t want to have to lie to Euijoo, too.

Even if it means that Euijoo’s smile goes a bit sad as he presses himself against Nicholas’ side. “It’ll go by fast.”

He hopes so.

The others file out of their rooms soon after, Yuma even teases Nicholas about being one of the first ones out, and Nicholas smiles and pushes at his shoulder and doesn’t say it’s because he has no energy to think about this trip and it hasn’t even started yet.

They end up getting split between two vans, thankfully by age, so Nicholas feels the anxious tension just slightly relax its grip on his muscles as he leans against Euijoo’s shoulder. One of the directors is talking at them and the manager in the car with them, but Nicholas decides that he doesn’t want to understand Japanese anymore and closes his eyes. He knows he can trust the other three to lead whatever conversation is taking place, Nicholas doesn’t need to be here.

Euijoo lets him doze during the car ride and gently shakes him awake when they finally pull into the airport. Even if he doesn’t necessarily want to be doing this, seeing the airport when it’s not packed with fans does quite a bit to lessen the burden Nicholas can feel sitting across his shoulders. Maybe this won’t be that bad. Maybe things will work out okay. 

That thought lasts about 10 more minutes, up until Euijoo fills him in that it’s going to take nearly a full day of flying to get to their destination, and Nicholas is right back to wishing he was still under hotel sheets with the curtains closed.

15 hours of flight time, and that’s not including the 3 hour layover in Belgium or the time they’re about to spend in security and then later in Immigration. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” Nicholas asks, looking at Euijoo in shock as the rest of their members join them. He can see how excited many of them look, so Nicholas tries to school his face into something more neutral and hopes he can at least hit tired. Something they won’t bother questioning and won’t think to prod him about.

As they’re walking in the direction of security, Nicholas feels Fuma press close on his other side. “You took them already this morning?”

Nicholas hums. 

“Okay, the time zones are going to mess it up a bit, but you’ll still want to try to keep it as roughly on schedule as you can,” Fuma explains, making Nicholas groan as he remembers the existence of time zones. He hasn’t had to deal with this yet beyond an hour or two in difference, let alone…he doesn’t actually know what the difference is going to be in Germany. “Set an alarm for 8 hours after you took it this morning, don’t pay attention to the time. We’ll figure the rest of it out when we land.”

Nicholas is stuck between feeling grateful that Fuma is the kind of person to think about things like this, and hating that Fuma is the kind of person to think about things like this because Nicholas does not want to care. He doesn’t want to have to care, hates the fact that he has to think about shit like this, things that most people don’t have to think about—Except Fuma isn’t most people and Nicholas doesn’t let himself spiral too far before taking a deep breath and trying to pull it all back.

“Thank you,” he mutters, because it’s easier than saying everything else. 

“Anytime,” Fuma echoes back, and Nicholas knows he means it.

He feels Euijoo’s hand brush against the back of his a few times before he feels comfortable enough to link their pinkies together. Just that easy, simple contact makes him feel like he can breathe a bit easier. It’s early enough that they’re able to pass through security easily, even if the lack of personal luggage gets them a few questions when combined with the filming equipment, but they’re not questions directed at him so Nicholas doesn’t care.

He’s only been pressed one time about the prescription medication, out of all of the times since that they’ve traveled between Korea and Japan, so he crosses his fingers and prays that this won’t be the day that changes. 

No one says anything. Nicholas hesitantly reshoulders the bag and pulls his jacket back on, waiting to be stopped. He doesn’t know why, he’s done this more times than he can count by now, but he’s struggling to smooth over the feeling of paranoia that’s been biting at his heels since waking up. 

Kei is the first to walk over to him after, pressing just close enough that it won’t seem out of character for either of them. “This is all…interesting, isn’t it?” Kei says, and Nicholas can hear the way his words are half genuine and half facetious, making him huff what could almost be considered a laugh instead of verbally responding.  “At least the kids seem excited.”

Nicholas can hear the words buried beneath. Let the other members shield him. Even if they may not realize that’s what they’re doing. It still feels a bit like lying, and Nicholas knows it had been his wish from the start to keep this piece of himself tucked away, but the idea of using the others as a distraction from his own shortcomings doesn’t feel right.

They’re all gathered together and led to the gate they’ll be flying out of. Once again, Nicholas finds himself between Euijoo and Fuma—he has a feeling that he’s going to find himself in this position quite a bit over the course of this next week. They’re only now being filled in on the flight schedule. While actively waiting for said flight to start boarding. If Nicholas doesn’t end up having an aneurysm by the end of this, Fuma will.

They’re set to start boarding just before 10, which gives them just under an hour before announcements will start calling for preboarding. Nicholas feels his mouth fall open when the director—he really needs to ask someone what his name is—tells them that they’ll be landing in Munich at around 8:30 PM local time. 

“What’s that in Japan time?” Nicholas whispers to Fuma, who seems to have spent his morning actually thinking about this trip, rather than trying not to heave his lungs up like Nicholas had been doing.

Fuma winces, “4 AM.” 

Nicholas almost yells. He manages to keep the reaction to a minimum and just buries his face in his hands with a groan. There’s an elbow in his side barely a second later, and Nicholas looks up to see several of the smaller, handheld cameras focused on him. 

“Just—Can’t contain my excitement,” Nicholas mutters, sheepish and embarrassed at the sudden rush of attention on him. The moment is passed over and left behind in favor of more talks of planning and preparation, but Nicholas isn’t quite able to do the same. He feels hyper-aware of the fact that there are going to be cameras on them for the next week.  

The random bouts of anxiety have become a bit more frequent since switching medications, a side effect he had been warned about, but they were irregular enough that Nicholas would still take it over the suffocating, wet blanket over his brain without the medication. That doesn’t make them easier to deal with while they’re happening, however, and each time he finds himself questioning the decision he made.

If Nicholas is being entirely honest, he doesn’t remember much of the first two hours of the flight. It was almost like blinking back awake after falling asleep on accident, except instead of being on the couch back at the dorm, he’s between Euijoo and the window and his head is pounding.

He sighs, shifting down until he’s able to rest his cheekbone against Euijoo’s shoulder, making him startle slightly when he realizes that Nicholas is—What? Awake? Aware? Back in his body?

“You brought your Switch?” Nicholas mutters, watching Euijoo’s little character run around with a net.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. It fit in my pocket and I…couldn’t think of anything else to grab,” Euijoo sheepishly admits.

Nicholas feels as the taller man shifts slightly, his shoulder dropping just enough for Nicholas to fully rest his head against, something he takes advantage of without a complaint. When he checks his phone, it’s only just before noon, except Nicholas doesn’t know if they’ve crossed time zones already or not. He taps on the screen on the back of the seat in front of him, which gets Fuma’s attention from where he sits on the other side of Euijoo.

“Nicholas?”

“Hm?”

“Your alarm is about to go off.”

True to word, his phone starts vibrating just a few seconds later and Nicholas still jumps, despite the warning. He turns it off and just finds himself sat there, staring down at his phone in his hands. 

Euijoo hands him a bottle of water and then turns as much as he can in the seat, so his back is facing Nicholas and is blocking his view across the aisles.

When Euijoo doesn’t immediately move back, Nicholas realizes that he’s doing that on purpose. He unzips his bag and digs around for the box that’s in there—after the single time being questioned, he’s gone back to keeping them in the original packaging. Unfortunately, this new medication comes in these awful foil and plastic trays, and Nicholas’ nails are too blunt and hands too unsteady to actually puncture it. 

He gives up on the Wellbutrin for a second and grabs for the other pill. The bottle of water has already been opened, which he doesn’t bother getting annoyed about because it would be less embarrassing than having to ask Euijoo to open it. With one down, he goes back to the damn foil tray, tearing off one of the squares and shoving the rest back into his bag. 

“Ah, JuJu…Can you—Can you help?” Nicholas continues to pointedly look down at the little piece of plastic in his hands, and not at Euijoo’s face as he turns around because he really, really doesn’t want to see what expression is on it. “I can’t…get it out.”

“Oh, yeah. Here—Let me…” Euijoo takes the cursed little thing from Nicholas’ hands, neither of them mention how much they’re shaking before he can tuck them between his knees. It takes Euijoo a few tries—which, admittedly, does make Nicholas feel a bit better—before he’s able to peel back the paper and foil. 

“Thank you, JuJu.”

He ignores the now-familiar feeling of shame as he swallows the pill down with Euijoo still looking at him. Euijoo knows about the medication, has for months, but Euijoo knowing Nicholas has to take them and Euijoo watching Nicholas take them feels different.

“We’ve still got quite a way to go,” Euijoo says, finally looking away from Nicholas to turn his attention back to his Switch. It’s a little bit awkward, like he’s trying to not make Nicholas feel uncomfortable by watching him. “You should try to get a bit of sleep.”

Nicholas goes to lean his head back against the window but he sees Euijoo slouch just a little lower again, like he’s offering Nicholas his shoulder, and decides to let himself curl back against Euijoo’s side and try to turn his brain back off.

He half follows along as Euijoo’s character uses the net to try and catch a beetle, but the beetle zips away from the tree just before the net comes down. Euijoo tries another handful of times, his character moving slower and slower each time until he’s finally able to catch the beetle in his net.

Euijoo lets out a quiet sound of excitement as the name of the beetle flashes on the screen, “I’ve been trying to get one of these for ages,” Euijoo explains. “They’re one of the rarest in the game, but Yuma’s caught a bunch of them and keeps holding it over me.”

“What d’you do with ‘em?” Nicholas quietly asks, watching Euijoo’s character put the beetle away and start running. He feels halfway in his body, a little bit like he’s watching everything through a blurred lens, but Nicholas doesn’t worry about it like he used to. He thinks he’s supposed to, but it’s a lot easier to give himself away to these distant, floaty feelings than dealing with the tense anxiety that seems to be the opposite side of the coin.

“So, there’s a museum, right? And there’s different displays there.” His character runs into a building that Nicholas assumes must be the museum, walking directly up to an owl. “There’s a bunch of different exhibits. There’s one for bugs, one for fish, so it’s not just paintings and statues.”

Euijoo’s voice goes in and out of focus as he talks, sometimes Nicholas can hear it perfectly, quiet yet clear as he explains the difference between the landscaping tools. Other times it seems like it’s slightly muffled, almost like Nicholas is trying to listen to him through a wall. He tries to keep his eyes on the little character as he runs around, digging up sections of dirt and designing a little waterfall right next to the museum. 

He thinks there might be some points where he dozes, but as soon as Euijoo realizes he’s awake, he’s back to talking and explaining a different area of his island. It’s not overwhelming, like trying to hold a conversation usually is when he feels like this, if only because Nicholas knows that Euijoo doesn’t expect him to actually retain any of this information. Euijoo’s voice is soft and grounding, and Nicholas feels like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. 

Fuma spends most of the flight watching anime on his phone, only ever really talking when attendants start coming around with snacks and food options. He never pushes Nicholas to eat on flight-days, if only because the whole group knew that the minutes just after take-off and before landing made him nauseous, but today he does snag a bag of graham crackers and tells Nicholas to try and finish them. 

By the time they’re flying over Belgium, Euijoo has managed to show him the fossil section and the paintings and sculptures, accompanied with a long-winded explanation about the authentication process that goes into the exhibits. 

Nicholas unplugs his charger when he sees Euijoo doing the same, figuring they would be landing soon. He hates the times when the planes decide to circle for another 15 minutes before actually starting to descend. It’s common knowledge by this point that Nicholas does not like roller coasters or anything that he attributes the feeling of falling to, so landing tends to be worse than take off and Nicholas doesn’t hesitate before grabbing Euijoo’s hand. 

Once in Belgium, Immigration seems to take longer for him than anyone else, and Nicholas isn’t entirely sure if that’s just in his head or the fact that he has a Taiwan passport but he’s too tired to care. The reason doesn’t matter when he feels dead on his feet despite having been half-conscious for most of the flight. 

It’s never restful, that awful feeling of being just outside your body, but it’s become less and less common since getting medicated, so he tries to remember that when he feels like everything is more work than what seems worth it. 

“We’re in Brussels Airport,” Fuma tells him as soon as Nicholas is able to join the rest of them. “We won’t have the same international flight checks between here and Germany, though, so we won’t have to deal with Immigration again today.”

That’s genuinely a relief to hear, and it’s a small win but it’s enough for Nicholas to manage an almost-genuine smile when Maki flashes him one from across the group. 

He feels the smile drop the moment the cameras are back out. 

Maybe it’s selfish and wrong of him, but Nicholas wishes that the cameras and the equipment had been seized in customs. 

Their layover is about 2 hours, which is enough time for them to go to a pizza place within the airport, Nicholas doesn’t bother contributing or arguing for somewhere else, doubtful he’ll actually manage to eat anything. 

True to expectation, he ends up picking more at the food in front of him than eating it. Fuma gives him a look but doesn’t press any more than that, which Nicholas is grateful for. The filming crew seems occupied with whatever Maki and Taki are doing in front of the staff, so Nicholas excuses himself for a moment and heads for the restroom. 

His hands are starting to do that weird thing where they stop feeling like they’re attached to his body, and it’s usually the first sign that he’s about to walk face first into a wall of panic, and if that happens now—

Well, Nicholas would rather it not happen at all, but certainly not in the middle of a restaurant. 

The restroom is blissfully empty when he walks in, immediately making his way over to the sink with steps that feel far more steady than he thinks they should be right now, but it’s almost like he’s moving with a single-minded focus to get to the sink and finally force himself to take a breath. 

He’s in the middle of blasting his hands with cold water when he hears the door open, but the quick glance shows that it’s just Euijoo walking in and has him letting go of the breath he had been holding.

“I brought you a water,” Euijoo awkwardly holds the bottle out, and Nicholas almost makes a joke about Euijoo turning into his own personal water boy but he doesn’t know if he has the air to waste on speaking. 

He nods at him instead, still keeping his hands beneath the water and letting his head hang down, too exhausted to keep it up. 

There’s a steady warmth against his side a moment later, Euijoo pressing close enough for Nicholas to feel it but not too close that it has him feeling cornered. He lets himself lean back against Euijoo’s chest, dropping his head back onto the taller man’s shoulder. 

“I don’t know why I feel so bad,” Nicholas mutters. His hands fall against the edge of the sink, no longer being held under the freezing water. They’re still numb but now in a different way, one that’s sharp and painful instead of grainy and disconnected. “I shouldn’t feel like this.”

Euijoo hums, loosely wrapping one arm across Nicholas’ waist and reaching the other out to shut the running water off. “Just because you have bad days doesn’t mean you’re not…doing better, right?”

Nicholas snorts. “You’ve been listening to Kei-hyung too much.”

“Listening to Kei-hyung is usually what’s best for all of us,” Euijoo counters, and his tone is still low and soft but it has the teasing familiarity that makes Nicholas feel a little less like his entire world is currently being upended. “And Fuma-hyung, for that matter.”

Euijoo gives him another few minutes to collect himself before pressing the bottle of water, already opened, against his hand. Nicholas rolls his eyes as he takes it, chest feeling warm—half in embarrassment and maybe half in shame, but he thinks he might prefer that over the constricting panic and awful nothingness he’s been oscillating between all day. 

When they both exit the restroom, at the same time and definitely not in an inconspicuous manner, Nicholas immediately feels like everyone is looking at him. Like they know something is wrong. 

He tries to tell himself that it’s all in his head, and Taki isn’t taking him apart piece by piece with his eyes, or Yuma can’t suddenly look through muscle and bone to see the way his hands are shaking, hidden between his crossed arms. 

“The next flight is only going to be an hour, and then we’re in Germany,” is the first thing Fuma greets him with as Nicholas and Euijoo walk over to him. He doesn’t ask Nicholas if he's okay—There’s no point. They both know the answer to that, and they both know that Nicholas does not want to tell the truth about it. 

Everyone else seems like they had been waiting on the two of them to finish up before leaving, so Nicholas assumes they’re getting closer to boarding time and tries to resist the urge to scratch at his skin. 

He digs his nails into his arms and blows out a breath, silently following everyone else to, he assumes, their gate. 

Fuma let him know that it was considerably late in Japan, so him acting tired wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. Nicholas could see how even the youngest members were beginning to lose steam, with Taki draped over Yuma’s shoulder and Yuma not bothering to fight back. 

He ends up next to Kei on the flight to Germany. Kei doesn’t talk to him like Euijoo had, and he’s not as comfortable to lean against but he still lets Nicholas hold his hand as they descend for the second time and doesn’t poke fun at him. 

By the time they make it through baggage claim and are standing in front of the pickup zone, Nicholas feels dead on his feet and he can tell he’s not the only one. 

Euijoo has found his way back to Nicholas’ side, except Nicholas doesn’t dare try to lean against him again in fear of taking Euijoo down with him. He’s sure Harua has yawned at least 3 times in the last minute, and even Yuma looks like he’s walking around with his eyes closed. 

He listens as the producer explains the plot of the show one more time, this time talking into one of the cameras instead of talking at them. Nicholas doesn’t groan when he hears that they’ll have to play games for supplies, but he thinks he makes a face. He’s actually pretty sure he’s still making that face. 

Maki perks up at the mention of sight-seeing and enjoying the city, so Nicholas tries to relax his expression into something that looks less like he wants to hijack a plane and fly himself back to Japan. 

It takes nearly another hour to get to the house they’ve rented from the airport, and Nicholas feels like he’s about to snap. The first half of the ride was spent on trivia, Fuma somehow managing to win over Maki—with a question about beer, at that—and picking Nicholas and Euijoo as his roommates with no hesitation. Nicholas doesn’t complain, even if Maki sulks a little. 

They’re each given a bag with their name on it upon entering the house. Taki starts pulling things out without a second of hesitation so Nicholas doesn’t bother. He figures they’re all the same and the only thing he cares about is being as far away from everyone else as possible before he snaps. 

Something is said to them but it goes over Nicholas’ head completely, the next thing he knows Fuma is dragging him away by the arm to claim the bedroom farthest away from the others. Euijoo follows close behind, shutting the door behind them as he asks, “Do you…Do you think they’ll put cameras in the rooms tomorrow?”

Nicholas feels like a hand just reached into his chest, grabbing at his lungs and squeezing until there’s nothing left. He grabs onto Fuma’s arms to steady himself, letting Fuma lead him to sit down on one of the beds because the ground beneath him feels a little bit like it’s rocking. 

He doesn’t want cameras up in the rooms. 

“I don’t—I don’t know if I can do this,” Nicholas whispers, unable to lie to Fuma but still feeling like the admission had been forced from his lungs. 

Fuma frowns, his eyebrows pull together as he places his hands on Nicholas’ shoulders. “Say the word and we go, okay? We’ll leave.”

“The show—”

“I don’t care about the show, Nico. You’re my main priority right now.”

Nicholas closes his eyes and tries to ignore the burning behind his eyelids. The tightness of his throat. 

Fuma pulls him close, letting Nicholas press his face against his stomach where he stands, and the way he cradles Nicholas’ head in his arms feels like a promise. 

When Nicholas finally pulls away, wiping at his eyes with the heels of his palms, Euijoo is missing from the room but the bathroom door is shut. 

“Time’s’it?”

Fuma hums, pulling out his phone to check. “9:47 locally, so…almost 6 in the morning in Japan.”

“Meds?”

“If you take one at midnight and the second at 8, it won’t mess up your schedule too much.”

But it will mess with his sleep. Fuma doesn’t have to say it, neither does Nicholas, they’re both thinking it. He’s sure they’re both dreading it. 

Euijoo comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, hair wet and looking a little bit sheepish, like he feels out of place. Nicholas tries not to feel bad about it, tries not to feel like it’s his fault, even though he knows it is. 

The shower he takes is short and practiced. There’s nothing relaxing about it, time spent scrubbing away the layers of grime from the airports and nothing more. There’s a pair of pajamas in the bag, Nicholas assumes they each got a different pattern after seeing Euijoo’s orange set and now his strawberry one. 

Fuma pats him on the shoulder as they walk past one another, and Nicholas feels a little bit like a ghost as he shuffles towards one of the beds. 

“Here, let me dry your hair for you.”

He blinks up at Euijoo, feeling like his brain is running a few seconds behind before he nods, letting Euijoo take the towel from around his shoulders to lightly rub it over his head. 

While he had intended to stay awake until midnight, he finds himself being shaken awake what feels like a second later. The lights are out, save for one lamp on the other side of the room, but it’s enough to see the lump that he assumes is Euijoo on one of the other beds, considering Fuma had been the one to shake him awake with two pills in hand and a glass of water waiting for him. 

Nicholas takes them without question and falls back asleep the moment his head hits the pillow. 

Chapter Text

Waking up is disorientating. 

It usually is, and Nicholas has gotten used to it, to some degree, but there’s something different about this morning.

He doesn’t feel like he managed to get a restful night of sleep, which sucks and is probably because he took a dose of his meds right before falling asleep, but he doesn’t feel queasy, so that’s a small victory. And Nicholas will take whatever mercies he is offered on this trip.

“Nicho?”

He stretches his arms above his head with a groan before turning to his side, blinking until his vision clears enough to see Euijoo in much the same position on the other bed.

“Whatever time it is,” he starts, voice raspy, “It’s too early.”

“It’s nearly 8,” Fuma cuts in, which Nicholas can’t help but groan in response to. “You know what that means.”

He doesn’t want to move, not in the slightest, but Nicholas forces himself to sit up and take the pills and water from Fuma in a way reminiscent of the night before. “This is so weird. I kind of fucking hate it.”

“It’s better this way instead of trying to change what your body is used to,” Fuma responds, taking a seat on the bed and sitting close enough that Nicholas barely has to move to lean against his side. “I just hope it doesn’t mess up your sleep schedule too much.”

Nicholas shrugs, swallowing down both pills at once before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think I was asleep all night, but I really don’t feel like it.”

“Tired?” Euijoo shuffles closer to the edge of his own bed, watching Nicholas in a way that makes his skin feel like it’s crawling.

He still doesn’t like Euijoo knowing—Kei and Fuma knowing was bad enough, but Nicholas doesn’t feel the way about Kei and Fuma as he does Euijoo, but that’s not something he’s mentally stable enough to unpack, nor is he mentally unstable enough to actually admit to another living person. So he keeps the thought carefully tucked away, hidden within the cracks of his brain that separates the sane and insane parts. 

“Mhm,” Nicholas hums, downing the rest of the water with a grimace. “My mouth feels like a desert.”

Fuma goes to refill the water with the tap from the bathroom, leaving Nicholas alone with Euijoo for the time being. Nicholas lets his body fall back against the mattress, silently watching Euijoo scroll through his phone and smile at whatever was on the screen until Fuma comes back.

He takes the bottle in silence, giving a nod of gratitude before reaching back to set it on the table. Chugging more than he already has feels a bit like testing God, and Nicholas doesn’t often win those battles.

“I’m surprised they let us wake up on our own,” Nicholas mumbles, mindlessly watching Fuma shuffle around the room to peek in drawers and closets.

“Probably because of the time change,” Fuma responds. “It would be rather cruel to force us up at the ass-crack of dawn after dragging us halfway across the world, wouldn’t it?”

It’s not until he sees Fuma double checking the lampshades that Nicholas realizes he’s checking for electronics. He’s checking for cameras, for recording devices, for anything that could possibly hold proof of Nicholas’ less-than-stellar moments last night. Or any of the nights to come.

Nicholas startles awake at the sound of a few sharp knocks against the bedroom door, taking a few seconds to realize that he must have fallen back asleep at some point. It takes another couple of seconds to register the fingers carding through his hair, and then follows an awareness of the warmth pressing against his side.

At some point, Euijoo must have moved to Nicholas’ bed. He’s settled back against Nicholas’ pillows with his phone in one hand and the other a warm weight overtop Nicholas’ head, comfortable in a way that has Nicholas thinking he must have been there for a while. He can see the Tiktok video paused on Euijoo’s screen and assumes his attention is on the source of the knocking.

He hears the door click open behind him but doesn’t bother to look. Nicholas is comfortable, and he wishes Euijoo would go back to petting through his hair because this is the most okay that Nicholas has felt in his body in days.

It just ends up being Maki, anyway, only staying long enough to tell them that production wants them downstairs to start filming for the day. Euijoo thanks him, clicking his phone off and taking his hand away from Nicholas’ head to stretch his arms out in front of him.

Nicholas sighs when he feels Euijoo’s fingers continue combing through his hair, relaxing further into the mattress and shuffling ever-so-slightly closer to Euijoo’s side.

“Where’s Fuma-hyung?” Nicholas murmurs.

Euijoo’s voice is just as quiet when he responds, “He went to work out right after you fell back asleep.”

“Mm, how long’s it been?”

“Little over an hour?” Euijoo says, “How are you…feeling?”

Nicholas finally rolls away from Euijoo’s warm body, stretching—not entirely unlike a cat—before finally forcing himself upright. “Surprisingly okay.” Better than the first time he woke up, which was saying something considering how fine he felt earlier. He wondered if it had anything to do with the dosage times—Maybe that’s something he can bring up to his doctor.

“Hungry?”

The answer to that is ‘no, not really,’ which is why it’s usually Kei or Fuma’s job to chase him down and force him to eat. It’s not like before, when Nicholas just couldn’t eat without constantly feeling sick—Now, he just doesn’t feel hungry much. He knows it’s because the medication he’s on now tends to be an appetite suppressant, and at least he’s able to eat without getting sick, he just has to force himself to do it.

“I could eat,” Nicholas says instead, holding his arms out as Euijoo rolls his eyes with a fond laugh, standing up from the bed before pulling Nicholas up after him. “Any guesses about what they’re gonna make us do today?”

Euijoo hums, moving to rifle through the bag of toiletries they had been given the night before. “Something ridiculous, probably. Hopefully nothing too bad.”

“Oh, by the way,” Nicholas starts, “What the hell is that guy’s name?”

“Who? The producer?”

By the time they’ve freshened up and are downstairs, the camera crew has already been set up and Nicholas can now fill in the blank in his head when he looks at Hiroshi-san, even if he has a feeling he’ll be forgetting that name soon enough.

He’s only half listening when the plans for the day are explained. A castle with a name he can’t pronounce—as shown by the attempt he makes when they’re each asked to try and read out ‘Neuschwanstein’ from the board held in front of them—and a game of capture the flag. As soon as Nicholas hears that it’s going to be nearly a two hour drive—and, really, aren’t there a million castles in Germany? Nicholas is so sure that there must be a closer one—he settles in beside Jo and puts his headphones on. Sleeping through every single question the other members answer for rewards he does not care about.

Between actually arriving to the—admittedly pretty fucking cool looking—castle, taking photos, and filming the introductory parts for the game they’re going to be playing, Nicholas checks out. 

Which is going to be something that really pisses him off later, when he has the capacity to actually care about being a shell of a human instead of just being able to exist normally, but right now, that’s the only thing keeping him functioning through the competition. 

Nicholas doesn’t remember what the producer asked him to do—he only knows that he did it, smiling too wide and moving too fast and laughing when someone made a joke he didn’t even hear. He thinks he’s supposed to be searching for the other team's flag while Taki causes a diversion. 

Everything is loud.

The lights above him hum like electricity in his bones. The buzz of the camera crew moving and following them sounds like shouting. Taki had been bouncing around like he was plugged in instead of just being filmed, and Nicholas couldn’t keep up with the pace of the conversation, or the way the words twist and overlap and drown each other out when Taki and Yuma started arguing about strategy.

He’s still smiling when he disappears from the rest of the group. Still smiling when he slips down the hallway and into another banquet hall. Still smiling as he realizes his hands won’t stop shaking.

The sounds fade out, and for one fragile moment, he thinks he might get away with it—that he’ll make it into a safer room without anyone noticing, but then Euijoo slips in behind him at the last second, holding a bottle of something that Nicholas is too overwhelmed to identify as they both freeze in the doorway.

There’s a silence between them that Nicholas tries not to fill. He can feel Euijoo watching him.

He doesn’t want to look. If he looks, he might break. If he breaks, he might start to cry, and if he starts to cry, he might not stop—And Euijoo will see him, will really see him, and Nicholas doesn’t know if he can come back from that.

“You okay?” Euijoo asks, quiet, almost like he’s afraid of startling him.

Nicholas nods too fast. “Yeah. Just tired. You’re—You’re supposed to be…” On the other team, he doesn’t manage to finish, but he doesn’t need to.

“Mhm.”

The lights are too bright in the hallway. The room is too big. The hardwood is too squeaky under his shoes.

He wants to scream.

Euijoo’s hands curl around Nicholas’ upper arms and steer him towards one of the benches lining the wall like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean anything. Like it’s not everything. Like Nicholas wasn’t content to just stand in the doorway and let the entire castle collapse down onto him. 

His palms are sweating. His throat is dry. His chest feels like it’s been filled with water.

He sits. Then lies down. Then curls in on himself, one arm tucked beneath his head and the other folded across his ribs like he’s trying to hold himself together.

Euijoo sets the bottle down on the ground. Doesn’t say anything. Just kneels down, slow and careful, like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal.

Nicholas hates how much that metaphor fits.

He closes his eyes. Focuses on his breathing. He tries to count—inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four—but the numbers slip through his fingers like sand. Everything slips. Everything feels like it’s sliding off a cliff, and he’s just waiting to fall with it.

He doesn’t open his eyes.

Fingers brush his wrist. Light, tentative.

“I can go,” Euijoo says softly. “If you want to be alone.”

Nicholas doesn’t say anything. Not because he doesn’t want him there—but because he doesn’t trust himself to answer.

Because part of him wants to shove him away, and another part, the part buried so deep he can’t even admit it most days, wants to reach for him. Wants to crawl into his lap and hide there until the storm inside him passes.

That’s not what they are, and Nicholas would be asking for too much, would be wanting too much, so he bites his tongue and tells himself that he’ll be okay alone.

Except Euijoo doesn’t leave.

He shifts slowly onto the bench, sitting beside Nicholas with his back against the wall. Nicholas hears him sigh, hears the soft sound of him taking out his phone, the click of the volume being lowered before a video plays—something stupid, probably. Something calming.

A few minutes pass. Nicholas feels the edge start to dull.

And then—fingers. Again. Near his head this time. Like that morning.

Euijoo doesn’t ask, he just starts combing his fingers through Nicholas’ hair. Slow, rhythmic, like he’s done it a thousand times in another life.

Nicholas breathes. One breath. Then another. His body begins to settle before his mind does. The overstimulation peels back, layer by layer. The noise drops to a low hum. The pressure in his chest loosens, just enough to inhale without flinching.

He shifts closer.

Euijoo keeps petting his hair. Like it’s natural. Like it doesn’t mean anything. Like it doesn’t mean everything.

“I hate that,” Nicholas murmurs, not opening his eyes.

“Hm?”

“That it helps.”

He feels Euijoo’s smile, not unkind. “Yeah. Me too.”

Silence again, but it’s softer this time. Warmer.

Nicholas doesn't say thank you. He doesn’t need to.

Euijoo’s fingers never stop moving, and Nicholas isn’t sure how long they stay like that. It could be minutes. It could be longer.

Time slips sideways when he’s like this—disoriented but grounded, worn out but not broken. Euijoo’s hand moves through his hair in slow, absent-minded motions. Not like he’s trying to fix anything. Just like he’s there. Not asking for conversation. Not waiting for Nicholas to feel better. Just staying.

Nicholas hates that he doesn’t want him to stop.

He shifts again, curling a little more inward until he can settle his head in Euijoo’s lap. The thought flickers in his mind like static—This is the most okay he’s felt in days. He wants to bury it somewhere he can’t find it again, because it’s not supposed to be Euijoo. He’s not supposed to need him.

“Were you this quiet the whole shoot?” Nicholas finally mutters.

“Not really,” Euijoo says. His voice is light, but there’s something under it. “You just weren’t listening.”

Nicholas huffs. “I wasn’t…not listening.”

“You looked like your brain left your body twenty minutes in, even before we split up. Fuma-hyung kept nudging me like I should say something, but I figured if I opened my mouth, you’d start crying or punch someone.”

“Funny.”

“I’m not wrong.”

Nicholas turns his face into Euijoo’s leg, trying to muffle the sound that escapes him—half groan, half laugh. “I didn’t cry.”

“No. You didn’t.”

The pause after that feels longer than it is.

He knows what Euijoo means. It’s not judgment. Not pity, either. Just an observation. A fact. That today could’ve broken him. That maybe it still might. That Euijoo saw all the little signs and sat beside him anyway.

“You’re annoying,” Nicholas says, because it’s easier than saying thank you.

Euijoo laughs under his breath, and the sound of it does something to Nicholas’ spine—like a hand smoothing down each vertebra. Comfort without trying to be comforting. He doesn’t know how Euijoo does that. Doesn’t know why it’s him, specifically. Why it matters when it’s him.

“I know,” Euijoo says, unfazed. “But you’re letting me touch your hair again, so you must not mind that much.”

Nicholas should pull away. He should sit up, shake it off, reset. Put a wall back where it belongs. Instead, his voice comes out smaller than he means it to. “Don’t stop.”

Euijoo doesn’t say anything. He just keeps going. Gentle. Steady. Like he’d keep doing it for hours if Nicholas needed.

Which, maybe, he does.

Nicholas closes his eyes again. His mind starts drifting—not to sleep exactly, but to that strange space where everything feels a little heavier, a little softer. A space where his body finally isn’t screaming. Where the buzzing under his skin dims enough to think, to breathe. He can feel his muscles start to unclench one at a time, like they’ve finally gotten permission to let go.

“I’m not good at this,” he says suddenly, the words out before he can filter them.

“At what?” Euijoo asks, and he sounds curious, not accusatory.

Nicholas swallows. “Letting people…care.”

There’s a long, quiet pause. Not heavy. Just real. Then, Euijoo says, “You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to let it happen sometimes.”

“That sounds worse.”

Another low laugh. “Yeah. It kind of is.”

Nicholas breathes in deep. Holds it. Breathes out. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, the inside of his chest doesn’t feel like it’s trying to cave in.

He doesn’t say anything else after that, and neither does Euijoo. He just stays. Hand in Nicholas’ hair. Body a quiet, steady presence. Not asking for anything. Not needing to be asked.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep again, not exactly. There’s just a slow drift—like when you're underwater and don’t realize you’ve stopped fighting the current until you’re already being carried. It’s not a restful sleep, not really, but it’s something closer to peace than he’s had in days.

When Nicholas opens his eyes again, Euijoo is gone and his phone is buzzing with a call from Taki.

Euijoo’s team’s flag is wrapped around Nicholas’ arm. He stares at the ceiling for a while as his phone stops, goes quiet, and then starts buzzing again.

The game. Right.

They’d been halfway through when everything started going sideways. He barely remembers slipping away, only that his skin had felt too tight and his throat wouldn’t work properly. He’d made some joke about needing the bathroom. No one had stopped him.

No one had followed him, either.

Except Euijoo. On a completely different team, with no way of knowing that Nicholas was struggling and trying to disappear, unless he had just seen him try to escape through the halls at just the right time.

Nicholas sits up slowly, blinking against the sunlight flooding in through the massive windows. His body doesn’t feel good, exactly, but it doesn’t feel bad. He can breathe. The room isn’t spinning. His mouth isn’t full of cotton or bitterness or heat.

It’s something close to okay.

And that—that—feels monumental.

There’s no grand epiphany. No dramatic internal declaration. Just a simple thought that arrives and settles in his bones like it belongs there. He can do this.

Not forever. Not perfectly. But today. He can do it, even if he needed to take a break. Even if he had needed Euijoo to remind him that his body was still his own.

So he does.

He moves slowly, careful with his body, careful with his thoughts. When he steps into the hallway, he half-expects to see someone waiting for him. Fuma, maybe. Or Kei with his worried eyes. But no one is there.

He walks alone.

Down the stairs. He doesn’t look too long in any of the mirrors that he passes on his way back. Doesn’t try to assess if he looks “normal” or “fine.” He goes past production staff who glance at him but don’t stop him, almost like they had forgotten that he was even there. It’s something.

He hears them before he sees them—his group, his people, half of his safety net wrapped in chaos and noise and laughter. Kei’s voice cuts through it all with patient instruction, trying to herd them like cats. Nicholas takes a breath.

Then he rounds the corner.

There’s a brief pause when they see him. Surprise. Relief. Kei’s eyes flick up, sharp and searching, but he doesn’t say anything. Just nods, like okay, you’re here, before the two younger members of their team see one of the other team’s flags in Nicholas’ tight grip.

Lunch is laid out like a still life painting.

They sit cross-legged on checkered blankets in the garden, plates balanced on knees, the castle stretching behind them like something out of a dream. Someone’s Bluetooth speaker is playing a playlist of their recent albums—just the low thrum of bass and vocals tangled in the breeze.

Nicholas isn’t sure when the tightness in his chest loosened. Maybe when Euijoo let him sit with his silence and didn’t try to fix it. Maybe somewhere between coming back with one flag and then going off with Taki to steal Harua's, more present in his own body than he had been all day. Maybe when someone made space for him in the circle of bodies and didn’t stare.

But the knot has unwound.

He’s aware of it in small ways—how he doesn’t have to steel himself before he takes a bite of food. How he doesn’t feel eyes on him when he chews. How his stomach doesn’t flip in protest. He eats one of the little sandwiches and actually tastes it, the tang of mustard and crunch of lettuce grounding him in the moment.

It’s almost absurd how good it feels, and ridiculously mundane, but that’s the whole point, isn’t it?

He looks up to find Kei grinning at him across the blanket.

“What?” Nicholas asks, mouth still half-full.

Kei just shrugs, eyes warm. “You’re cute when you eat.”

Normally, that kind of comment would get Kei a glare or a half-hearted insult. Not because Nicholas really minds—he just isn’t always sure how to hold compliments without dropping them. They’re slippery things, especially when he doesn’t know if he believes them himself.

But right now? Right now, it’s warm outside, and the food is sitting fine in his stomach, and Maki is laughing so hard at something Taki said that he nearly chokes on his drink. And Nicholas doesn’t want to let his fucked up brain ruin this one easy, good thing.

So instead of snapping back, Nicholas just raises an eyebrow and deadpans, “I know.”

Kei laughs, delighted. “There he is.”

Fuma tosses a grape at Nicholas’s head and says, “Don’t encourage him,” but Nicholas just dramatically ducks away from the fruit.

To his left, Maki is mid-conversation with a castle staff member, speaking German with a passion Nicholas can’t help but admire. The language rolls off his tongue like it belongs there, even if it’s stilted and clearly unpracticed, he gets more courage with each sentence passed between them as he gestures with his hands when he talks, eyes bright, the sunlight catching on his cheekbones.

Nicholas watches him for a moment, half in awe.

It’s strange, how familiar this unfamiliar place has started to feel. Maybe not safe, exactly, but soft. Accepting. He knows it’s because of the people he’s with.

He leans back on his palms, the stone pathway warm beneath the blanket. A breeze shifts the branches above, dappling sunlight across their laps. The air smells like thyme and fresh bread. Someone passes him a fizzy drink and he takes it without thinking, the bubbles tickling the back of his throat.

It hits him, then—not like a wave, but like the way sunlight creeps in through curtains: slow and quiet and inevitable.

He’s okay. Not forever, not perfectly, not without complication.

But right now? He’s okay. His therapist told him that one bad moment doesn’t have to ruin an otherwise-good day, both are allowed to exist in the same space. Nicholas woke up feeling okay, and then he wasn’t, so he took himself out of the situation and allowed his body and brain time to decompress before coming back, and then things were good again. 

He hadn’t understood what she meant by allowing himself to just feel what was happening—he didn’t think he really had much of a choice—but now, Nicholas thinks he might. 

The ride back from the castle is quieter than the one there had been. Everyone is sun-tired, stretched out in their seats, lulled by the motion of the van and the soft hum of the road beneath them.

Nicholas stares out the window, watching the green blur past. His stomach is full in a way that doesn’t hurt. He’s tired in a way that doesn’t ache. He thinks he might actually sleep well tonight.

He doesn’t expect Jo to sit beside him. Doesn’t expect him to lean over, phone screen tilted slightly in Nicholas’ direction.

“Have you heard this yet?” Jo asks, voice soft like the overcast sky outside.

Nicholas blinks down at the screen. The song title is in Hiragana, the artist’s name barely familiar Kanji that he only half knows how to read. He shakes his head no.

Jo doesn’t press play just yet. He just waits, fingers poised. “It’s good. Sad, but not heavy.”

Nicholas tilts his head a little. “You think I’d like it?”

Jo nods. “It reminds me of the way you think, sometimes.”

Nicholas doesn’t know what that means, exactly, but he doesn’t hate the sound of it. He gestures a little—go ahead—and Jo taps play.

The sound trickles in through Jo’s earbuds, which they each take one of, wires tangling gently between them. It’s the kind of song that takes its time. A soft piano line, breathy vocals. The lyrics slip by in a language Nicholas knows but doesn’t live in—except he does, now, doesn’t he? It’s becoming familiar, comforting in a way he never thought it could before when it had started as such a massive inconvenience.

He lets his eyes fall closed. The van hums around him, and beside him, Jo doesn’t move much, just rests his head against the window and listens.

After a while, Jo plays another song. This one’s English. It has a little more rhythm to it, more movement in the drums, but it still settles into Nicholas like warm water. He finds himself tapping one finger gently against his leg.

“You always pick the stuff that feels like…” He pauses, unsure how to finish. Like something inside him loosening. Like grief, but gentle. Like a memory without pain.

“Like thinking music,” Jo says quietly, offering the words without demand.

Nicholas huffs a small laugh. “Yeah. That.”

They fall quiet again. Two shadows folded into the backseat. Somewhere up front, someone is softly snoring. Fuma, maybe. Or Taki.

Jo scrolls for a moment longer, thumb lazy against the glass.

“There’s another one I want to show you sometime,” he murmurs. “Not now. It’s a little…sharper. For when you’re in a different kind of mood.”

Nicholas nods. He doesn’t say thank you, but he thinks it. Thinks it hard enough it might vibrate through the wire between them, through the soft space they’ve carved out just for this.

He leans a little toward Jo, just enough that their shoulders touch. 

Back at the house, the night is settling in. The air feels cool against the window, and the soft buzz of the lights flickering overhead is like a lullaby.

Fuma immediately heads for the bathroom to brush his teeth, leaving Nicholas and Euijoo to get ready for bed.

Nicholas flops down onto his bed as soon as he’s changed into the pajama set—freshly washed—given to them, already feeling the familiar weight of his exhaustion settle in his bones. The day has left him slightly drained, but it’s the good kind of tired. His body craves rest, and he doesn’t fight it as he reaches for his pillow.

Except there’s a problem. His pillow is already occupied.

Euijoo giggles from the other side of the room as he notices the shift in Nicholas’ expression when he grabs for the pillow. The one that’s now on the other bed, neatly tucked beneath Euijoo’s head.

Nicholas glares, then lets out a soft grumble. “Seriously?”

Euijoo only laughs harder, his eyes crinkling as he props himself up on his elbows, smug. “What, you thought there was an extra pillow just for you?” He teases, voice light but full of playful mischief. “Guess you’ll have to get cozy without one.”

Nicholas scowls, pushing himself upright and reaching toward the pillow Euijoo had stolen across the space between their beds. “I was planning on using that, thanks.”

Euijoo raises an eyebrow, continuing to play innocent. “Well, if you really need one, you could always just hug Fuma-hyung to sleep. He’s right there.”

Fuma emerges from the bathroom, looking half-asleep but still sharp enough to overhear. His voice cuts through the air with a dry, unamused edge. “Hell no. It’s too hot and Nicholas squeezes too much.”

Nicholas snorts. “I do not squeeze too much.”

“Oh, you absolutely do,” Fuma retorts, drying his hands on his shorts. “Like a damn vice grip. I’d rather sleep without my own pillow, thanks. You can have it.”

Nicholas rolls his eyes when Euijoo returns it, sinking back into his bed and finally letting himself give in to the exhaustion and let go of the tension. He clutches the pillow Euijoo stole and pulls it into his arms, settling against it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Euijoo stretches out with a satisfied hum. “See, wasn’t that easy?” He grins at Nicholas, full of his usual mischief aimed at Nicholas, but there’s a softness in his gaze too—like he’s content to just be here with them, in this space of quiet comfort.

Fuma flops onto his own bed with a dramatic sigh, pulling the covers over himself. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t come crawling into my bed when you get grabby.”

Nicholas chuckles softly, eyes already half-lidded. “We’ll see how long I last.”

The room falls quiet then, the only sounds the soft rustling of sheets and the distant hum of the house settling for the night. Nicholas lets himself breathe deeply, letting the soft weight of the pillow in his arms soothe away the last of the tension in his body. He’s content—here, in this space, with these people who know exactly how to make him feel at home.

Euijoo shifts in front of him, still grinning as he curls up with his own pillow. Fuma mutters something unintelligible from his farther bed, and a few hours drift by in a quiet, easy silence. The kind of peace that feels almost too delicate to touch, but comforting in its simplicity. The soft glow of the moon outside their window bathes the room in a cool, muted light, and the air is calm—heavy with the stillness of late night.

Nicholas tries not to let his thoughts wander too far. It’s easier when he’s with them, when he’s surrounded by the rhythmic sound of their breathing, the occasional soft rustle of sheets. The small sounds of their presence are like a grounding force—keeping him tethered, even if just a little.

Even still, it’s hard to push the thoughts away entirely. They have a way of creeping into the back corners of his mind, always waiting, always lurking, and he’s learned over time that those corners can be dangerous. They’re like dark alleyways in a city he doesn’t want to explore, filled with things he’s not sure he can handle. So instead of exploring them, he focuses on the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of the pillow beneath his head, the comfort of the others nearby. The simple, physical things that help keep him anchored.

His eyelids felt heavier, his body surrendering to the exhaustion that’s been tugging at him all day. His mind flutters like a half-conscious bird, caught between wakefulness and sleep. He doesn’t fight it. Letting go feels nice, even if it’s only for a little while. Maybe he can pretend that everything is okay, just for tonight.

But then the stillness is broken.

A soft shift, the creak of Fuma’s bed as he sits up, and a quiet voice calling out to him. “Nicholas.”

Nicholas blinks awake, disoriented for a moment. His body protests, resisting the shift in reality, but he forces himself to focus. Fuma’s voice is soft but insistent, the kind of tone that’s too familiar now—an echo from the previous nights. “Hey, it’s time.”

Nicholas groans quietly, squinting at the clock on the wall as his sleep-dazed brain struggles to catch up. Midnight. The same routine. His stomach churns at the thought of having to swallow more pills, but he doesn’t argue. He never does anymore. It’s easier to just get it over with, even if it feels like too much some mornings.

With slow, sluggish movements, he pushes himself up, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. His brain is still too foggy from that feeling of half-sleep, and he’s not sure if he’s fully aware yet, but he knows the routine by heart. It’s the same every time, and that repetition is oddly comforting, like the promise of something certain when the rest of his world feels uncertain, even if the difference in timing has his body and brain confused.

Fuma hands him the bottle of water, already punching out the pills with practiced fingers. Nicholas takes them gratefully, letting the cool liquid slide down his throat as he swallows the pills and then brings the bottle back to his lips.

Once the pills are down, he lets the water linger in his mouth for a moment before swallowing again. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling oddly childish but too tired to care.

“Thanks,” Nicholas mutters, his voice hoarse with sleep. It’s an automatic response, one that’s passed between them so many times that it’s just part of their rhythm now.

Fuma nods, watching him closely, his eyes reflecting a concern that Nicholas doesn’t have the energy to acknowledge fully. Fuma doesn’t say anything, but Nicholas knows he’s looking out for him in that quiet way, the kind of caring that doesn’t need to be loud or dramatic.

With a sigh, Nicholas settles back into his bed, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. Fuma’s still standing near the bed, but Nicholas hears him move to settle back down in his own space after a few breaths. The room goes quiet again, the only sound the steady rhythm of breathing—his own, and Fuma’s, and Euijoo’s, who has barely stirred throughout all of this.

Nicholas’ mind drifts again, but this time, he feels a little less lost. The moment is small, almost insignificant, but the routine, the steady presence of the people around him—it grounds him in a way that’s hard to explain.

He lets himself fall back into the quiet, his body sinking into the softness of the bed. Sleep doesn’t come immediately, but it’s easier this time. The weight of his thoughts feels just a little bit lighter, his chest just a little less tight. Maybe it’s the meds, or maybe it’s the comfort of knowing Fuma and Euijoo are there, watching over him in their own ways.

The morning light filters in through the curtains, soft and hazy, but it doesn’t make Nicholas feel any less tired. He wakes up with the pillow still gripped tight in his arms, the cool fabric pressed against his chest, a small comfort in the silence of the room, but the relief of sleep is fleeting. His neck aches, stiff from the way he must have slept, and he feels the sharpness of the discomfort as he shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Groaning, Nicholas slowly untangles himself from the pillow and stretches, his muscles stiff and reluctant to move. He’s grouchy, more so than usual, and the day’s still early. Earlier than he should be up. His brain is sluggish, and he can already feel the weight of another round of medication looming over him.

When he swings his legs off the bed, his feet touch the cool floor, and he winces at the sharp ache in his neck. With a sigh, he walks over to the little counter in the corner where his pills are waiting for him. He counts them out one by one, paranoid about having enough left to finish off the trip.

The sound of soft conversation pulls him out of his thoughts. Euijoo and Fuma are already awake, the low murmur of their voices filling the space. Nicholas turns slightly to glance at them, his mind too foggy to fully process what they’re saying, but the familiarity of the scene is comforting in its own right. Euijoo’s laugh, quiet and easy, punctuates the conversation.

But then, just as he’s about to sit down to take his meds, he feels a gentle presence behind him. Fuma is there, moving without words, coming up behind Nicholas and placing his hands on his shoulders. His thumbs dig into the tight muscles at the base of his neck, and Nicholas can’t help but let out a quiet groan of relief, his posture relaxing under Fuma’s touch.

“Feeling stiff this morning?” Fuma’s voice is low, teasing in its usual way, but there’s a softness to it. A kind of care that makes Nicholas feel like he doesn’t have to say anything, like he doesn’t have to ask for help. Fuma just knows.

Nicholas grumbles in response, not quite trusting his voice yet, but he lets himself enjoy the massage for a moment, his eyes fluttering closed as he tries to let go of the tightness in his neck. His shoulders relax, and he can feel the weight of the discomfort easing with each slow press of Fuma’s hands.

“I’m fine,” he mutters eventually, not wanting to admit how much he’s appreciating the touch. He’s never been the best at accepting care, but somehow, Fuma has always found a way to offer it without making Nicholas feel weak for needing it.

Fuma doesn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, there’s just the sound of Euijoo’s voice again, this time quieter as he talks about something that’s probably unrelated to Nicholas’ pain, but it fills the space with a sense of normalcy. Fuma’s hands move in slow, deliberate circles, working the tension from his neck, and Nicholas feels his body begin to soften, to lean into the touch in a way he wouldn’t have allowed before.

“Don’t be so grouchy,” Fuma says after a beat, his voice light but carrying a hint of a smile. “You might snap at staff if you keep that up.”

Nicholas snorts, cracking an eye open to glance at Euijoo, who’s oblivious, smiling and watching something on his phone. “I won’t snap,” Nicholas mutters, but the words come out halfhearted, and he knows Fuma can hear it.

“Maybe,” Fuma says with a smirk, his fingers working deeper into the muscles now. “But maybe you’ll just need a little more of this before the day gets started.”

Nicholas lets out a soft sigh, sinking deeper into the comfort, feeling the last remnants of sleep slipping away with every movement. The headache that had been threatening that morning fades as the tension in his neck begins to loosen. He can feel Fuma’s warmth behind him, the steady rhythm of his touch grounding him in the moment.

“Thanks,” Nicholas says quietly, the word feeling strange but right in this space, with the three of them here.

“No problem,” Fuma replies, his voice softening, the teasing edge gone for the moment. “You’re always a bit of a mess when you wake up, you know that?”

Nicholas doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he takes the pills he just counted out, swallowing them with water before leaning back again. He feels the familiar hum of the routine start to settle in, and with it, a small sense of peace.

Euijoo turns to glance over at them, his eyes still warm with that familiar fondness. “If you’re both done with your cuddle session, maybe we can get moving? I think we’ve got some plans today.”

Fuma chuckles, but Nicholas just shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he pulls himself up from the bed, already feeling a little more awake, a little more centered.

“I’m ready,” Nicholas says, not bothering to fight the softness in his voice, not today. He feels less like he’s bracing for the world and more like he can face it—however slowly—because Fuma and Euijoo are right there beside him.

The morning is already stretching into a heavy afternoon when they arrive at Olympiapark. The sprawling expanse of the park stretches endlessly in every direction—green fields, wide walkways, a labyrinth of trees and paths, and towering structures rising in the distance. Nicholas can already feel the weight of it all, the vastness, even though he’s not yet sure exactly what part of the park they’ll be covering.

His body feels stiff from lack of sleep. The medication schedule is still off, the timing all wrong for his body, and he can feel it in his bones. It’s like his limbs are made of lead, like he’s walking through a haze, but not in the way he’s used to. It’s different today—more like he’s still stuck in the fog of an unfinished night. But it’s okay. He’s here. He’ll manage.

He doesn’t say anything about the exhaustion, not at first. He doesn’t want to make anyone worry. Euijoo gives him a brief glance, an unreadable look, but he says nothing either. Nicholas pulls his jacket sleeves over his hands and forces a small smile, walking a little bit faster to catch up with Kei, who’s chatting excitedly with Maki about the scavenger hunt.

The rules are simple, even though the space is vast—find clues hidden throughout the park, complete challenges, and gather the pieces of a puzzle that will eventually lead to their final location. It’s meant to be fun, light-hearted, a way to take their minds off the pressure of constant filming and schedules. Nicholas is determined to enjoy it, even if every step feels heavier than the last. He’s had fun with the scavenger hunts before. They can be silly, but they’re also a good distraction.

It’s easy to get lost in the group dynamic, though. The younger members are enthusiastic, their energy endless, their laughter contagious. Nicholas tries to keep pace with them, letting himself get caught up in the excitement. They dart between the trees, point and laugh, trying to decipher clues as a team. He can’t help but feel a small wave of satisfaction every time they find a clue before the others, or solve a puzzle that seemed too hard at first. It’s draining—his chest tight with fatigue, his thoughts scattered—but there’s something rewarding about the distraction. Something he can hold onto.

It does become a bit too much, at some point, so Nicholas slips away for a little bit to hang out under the shade of a tree, away from the cameras. Not long enough for it to be a big deal, but long enough for his muscles to relax a bit more before he comes back.

He returns to a mess, of course he does. Yuma is shouting something about a riddle, and Taki is arguing that the clue definitely meant the pond, not the garden.  Fuma is standing slightly apart, holding a clipboard and pretending not to roll his eyes.

Yuma throws his arms in the air when he sees Nicholas. “Finally! You’re the only one that can make sense of this.”

Nicholas huffs a laugh before he can stop it. “That’s not true.”

“It literally is,” Taki says, holding up a clue with scribbles that look like chicken scratch. “You’re our best translator.”

Nicholas takes the paper. Reads it. It doesn’t matter what it says. What matters is that it feels possible again. “Nope, I have no idea. Let’s go bug JuJu about it, he’s the smart one.”

Fuma brushes past him lightly, a brief hand to the back, and then he’s gone, rallying the others again.

Nicholas falls into step behind them. Slowly at first. Carefully, but he’s moving.

The hunt has moved toward the garden, the path winding beneath archways of climbing roses and bursts of late-spring color. Someone—Maki—has a laminated map folded in uneven quarters, the crease lines already wearing thin. Nicholas ends up walking in the middle of the group, not out in front where he might be expected to lead, but not trailing behind either.

It’s a quiet decision, unspoken but intentional. Nobody nudges him into the spotlight. Nobody pretends he hasn’t been gone. It’s just…understood. The others may not all know the medical diagnoses or the medication prescriptions under his name, but they know Nicholas.

They fill the space around him with their noise, their lightness, the familiar rhythm of shared time. Kei hums under his breath. Harua points out a weirdly shaped cloud. Yuma tells a story about a cursed vending machine he passed once in Osaka. Nicholas listens—not quite fully engaged, but open enough that the sound of them doesn’t feel like pressure against his temples.

When the next clue is read aloud—something about ‘where water mirrors the sky’—there’s immediate chaos.

“The fountain?” Taki asks.

“No, the koi pond.”

“There’s also the little bird bath thing—”

“Guys,” Fuma interrupts, mild but amused. “Why don’t we split up? We’ve got five clues left.”

The group breaks into pairs naturally. Yuma and Harua veer toward the greenhouse, Taki follows Kei without question, and Nicholas finds himself hesitating. Just briefly.

Euijoo touches his elbow. “Come on,” he says, gentle. “I want to check the koi pond.”

It isn’t phrased as a request. It’s an invitation.

Nicholas nods, and falls into step beside him. They walk mostly in silence, gravel crunching beneath their shoes. The pond is tucked behind a hedgerow, serene and glassy in the morning light. A few koi hover beneath the surface, golden and slow.

“There’s nothing here,” Nicholas murmurs after a moment, eyes scanning the stones, the underside of the bench, the plaque by the water’s edge.

Euijoo shrugs, crouching to check beneath a garden gnome. “Still nice, though.”

And it is. Quiet. Not the kind of quiet that feels like the edge of panic, but the kind that feels like breathing. The kind Nicholas used to chase before he ever knew he needed it.

After a while, Euijoo sits on the edge of the bench and looks out over the pond. “You’re wearing my jacket.”

Nicholas looks down, only just realizing that he was, in fact, wearing the jacket that Euijoo had brought with him, and not his own. “Oh. Didn’t realize.”

“You were half asleep when you grabbed it,” Euijoo says, soft but not teasing. “I didn’t bother to correct you.”

Nicholas doesn't respond right away. He sits too—carefully, knees drawn up. The weight of the hoodie feels good now. Comforting. Like a tether.

“You know,” he starts, voice quieter than before, “I thought it would be easier.”

Euijoo doesn’t push. He just waits.

Nicholas swallows. “Doing all of this. I thought I’d be better at pretending that I was fine, and not all…fucked in the head.”

“I don’t think you are.”

There’s something so simple about the way he says it, like it’s a known fact. Like gravity.

Nicholas tilts his head, watching the ripple of a fish just beneath the surface. “Sometimes I feel like I am. Like if I let myself really fall apart, I won’t be able to put it all back together again.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Euijoo says, and then—softer, like a secret he’s only willing to say here—“You don’t have to disappear every time.”

Nicholas closes his eyes.

Letting that in feels like peeling off a layer of armor. It aches.

“And I…I won’t run away again, either. I won’t push you away like that ever again.”

But it’s also real. And warm. And true.

“Okay,” he breathes.

They sit like that until Fuma finds them, one eyebrow raised in mock exasperation. “You two were supposed to be finding clues, not bonding.”

“Got distracted,” Nicholas says, not remotely guilty.

Fuma tosses Nicholas a wrapped snack bar from his pocket. “You still good?”

Nicholas meets his eyes, and this time, he doesn’t just nod. He smiles. Small. Real.

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I am.” It doesn’t feel like a lie.

The game is more competitive than he expects. Everyone’s trying their best, racing from one location to the next, making their way through the sprawling park. The younger members are good at this, and Nicholas admires their boundless energy even as he feels himself lag behind. Kei keeps glancing back at him, eyes soft with concern, but he doesn’t comment. Euijoo, always the quiet one, stays close to him, ready to catch his eye with a reassuring smile whenever Nicholas needs it.

By the time they reach the final location—the culmination of their scavenger hunt—Nicholas is completely drained. His head throbs, his legs ache, and his stomach growls, though he barely feels hungry. His breath is shallow, his body yearning for rest. The thought of just sitting down and letting the world drift by is tempting, but he can’t. Not now.

He watches the younger members, their faces flushed with excitement as they cheer over their success. Their energy is infectious, and even though he feels exhausted, he finds himself clapping, joining in with the celebration. They did it—He did it, and for a moment, that feels like a victory in itself. They succeeded. They worked together, had fun, and made it through, even when the odds felt stacked against them.

Nicholas breathes deeply, letting the rush of accomplishment wash over him, his eyes lingering on the smiles around him. He’s proud of them, proud of himself too, for holding on. Maybe it was hard—Maybe it was tiring—but it was worth it. It always is, even when he doesn’t feel like it.

Fuma walks over to him, his expression soft but teasing. “See? Told you you could do it.”

Nicholas tries to smile but ends up with something more like a tired grin. “Barely,” he says, his voice a little hoarse from exertion. “I’m not sure how much longer I could’ve kept up.”

Euijoo, who’s standing next to them, gives him a gentle pat on the back, his smile quieter but no less genuine. “You did great,” he says, voice warm, grounding. It doesn’t matter how tired Nicholas feels. In this moment, with the younger members around him, their light-hearted chatter filling the air, it feels like he’s not just enduring but actually present—not just physically, but mentally. He can breathe. He can relax. Just for a second.

As they head back to the van, Nicholas allows himself to lean against Fuma, the hum of the city around them fading as he lets the warmth of the group settle over him. It's a simple moment, but it feels like a lifeline. He’s tired, yes. His head is aching, his body worn down, but for the first time in a while, he doesn’t feel entirely out of place.

The night settles over the house quietly, the last remnants of daylight fading away as the city outside continues to pulse with life. Nicholas is lying in bed, the soft hum of the air conditioning the only sound in the room besides the occasional rustling from Fuma, who’s getting ready for bed too. He’s tired—too tired for this to be anything other than a blur of exhaustion—but he can’t seem to fall asleep.

His mind keeps turning in circles, thoughts slipping through his fingers like water. The fatigue in his body is palpable, but it’s the kind of exhaustion that only gets worse when you’re trapped inside your own head. He knows he should be asleep. He knows he’s been up too long, and his body is desperate for rest, but every time he closes his eyes, his thoughts chase him back into consciousness.

Fuma glances over at him, sensing the stillness in the air, and his voice breaks the silence. “Hey,” Fuma begins, his voice low, rough but gentle, as always. “I know you’re not exactly…getting the best sleep. If you need, you can sleep with me tonight. I won’t mind.”

Nicholas tenses for a split second. He doesn’t want to disturb Fuma. He knows that, no matter how quietly he might slip into bed beside him, it will always feel like an intrusion on Fuma’s space, a little too close when all he really wants is to sink into the safety of a solitary, private moment. He’s grateful for Fuma’s offer—truly, he is—but there’s something about it that doesn’t feel right, something about the idea of lying there next to him that makes his skin crawl just a little. Not in the way it once did, when it was unfamiliar and overwhelming, but in the way that he’s not sure he’s allowed to need it anymore.

“I’m fine,” Nicholas mutters, his voice rough with the weight of his weariness. “Really. You don’t need to worry about me.” He doesn’t want to drag Fuma into his mess, doesn’t want to disrupt the peace Fuma’s earned after a long day.

Fuma doesn’t press further, though Nicholas can tell he’s not convinced. There’s a softness in his gaze, a quiet understanding that speaks volumes without needing to be said aloud. Still, Fuma nods and turns to lie down on his own bed, a silent agreement that he’s respecting Nicholas’ space.

A little while later, when the clock hits midnight, Nicholas takes the medication again, the pills slipping down his throat with the same ritualistic ease as before. He feels the heaviness of the day still tugging at him, but tonight, it’s not the physical tiredness that weighs most on him—it’s the ache in his chest, the sharp, lingering anxiety that refuses to loosen its grip.

He rolls onto his side, wrapping his arms around his pillow, pulling it closer to his chest like it’s the only thing that can anchor him in the quiet dark of the room. He closes his eyes, trying to surrender to the exhaustion, trying to breathe through the sharp edges of his thoughts.

But the quiet of the room amplifies everything. The silence seems to echo too loudly, and he can’t help but notice how every tiny sound—the soft rustle of Fuma turning over, the distant sounds of the city outside—is somehow too much.

Eventually, his breathing evens out, the weariness of the day settling into his bones like an old, familiar ache. His mind wanders, but it’s slow now, foggy, and he lets himself slip into the warmth of the pillow, not fighting it anymore. Fuma’s gentle presence in the room lingers in the background, a soft reassurance, but it’s still distant enough for Nicholas to feel like he’s alone with his thoughts, with his body, with the weight of his own solitude.

The night stretches on, its silence thick and heavy, until Nicholas is half-awake, caught in the delicate space between sleep and consciousness. It’s a familiar feeling, his mind hazy and his body barely tethered to the present. He stirs, just slightly, aware of a shift in the air around him. Something—someone—moves in the dark.

It’s then that he feels the bed dip slightly, the soft rustling of sheets, and the unmistakable warmth of someone else’s presence beside him. Euijoo.

Nicholas doesn’t open his eyes. He’s not sure he wants to, not when he’s so close to falling back into the fog of sleep, not when he’s so desperately trying to preserve the peace that’s settled over him. So, he pretends, just for a moment longer, that he’s still asleep, even as he feels Euijoo’s soft breath against his neck, even as Euijoo gently moves closer, settling his arm around him like a lifeline.

The touch is familiar, warm, comforting. Euijoo’s presence, always so steady, settles into Nicholas’ body like it’s always been there. Euijoo’s arm rests loosely around Nicholas’ waist, and he can feel the steady beat of Euijoo’s heart through the fabric of his shirt. It’s a strange kind of intimacy—simple, unspoken, yet somehow more than enough.

Nicholas feels the weight of Euijoo’s chin resting against his hair, and a soft kiss is pressed to the top of his head, lingering just long enough for him to catch the warmth of it on his skin. He doesn’t know what to make of it, doesn’t know if he’s supposed to do something in response. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. He just stays still, breathing in the scent of Euijoo, allowing himself to be surrounded by the quiet comfort of the moment.

Then, Euijoo’s voice breaks through the stillness, soft and low, as if he’s afraid of waking Nicholas—or maybe afraid of disturbing the fragile calm.

“The world would be too quiet without you in it, Nichol,” Euijoo murmurs, his words barely more than a breath against the back of Nicholas’ neck.

Nicholas feels something tighten in his chest at those words. The weight of them, simple as they are, seems to land heavy on his heart, a truth that hits too close. He wants to say something, anything—to tell Euijoo how much those words mean to him, to thank him for being there, for always being there when Nicholas couldn’t find his way, but the words stick in his throat, buried beneath the weight of everything else he’s feeling, because Euijoo hasn’t always been there. Nicholas didn’t want that to matter anymore, because he was here now, but before he could gather the strength to speak, Euijoo’s breath had evened out, his body relaxing into sleep behind Nicholas.

He is left alone with his thoughts in the dark.

Nicholas can’t help but wonder—What if they hadn’t made up? What if Euijoo hadn’t been the one to find him that night in the bathroom, hadn’t been the one to pull him out of the darkness when he thought he couldn’t crawl out on his own? 

He knows the answer, though. He knows the answer without even having to say it aloud, and the thought makes something cold settle deep in his stomach. He probably wouldn’t be here anymore. He probably would’ve stayed lost, swallowed whole by the emptiness he used to carry around like a second skin. Even if it hadn’t been that night, it would have happened. Nicholas knows that he wouldn’t have been able to survive that cold war for another day before he buckled.

That wasn’t what happened. Euijoo found him. Euijoo reached through that tension between them and pulled him back, and for that, Nicholas feels something like gratitude, something like love, even though he’s not sure he knows how to handle it. He still isn’t sure why they had been fighting in the first place, doesn’t know if Euijoo is ready to tell him.

His mind starts to drift again, the thoughts slipping away like the last vestiges of consciousness, and soon, he falls into sleep once more, Euijoo’s steady presence grounding him in a way nothing else ever has. It’s not perfect, not by any means, but it’s familiar. 

Even in sleep, Euijoo's fingertips lightly brush over Nicholas' stomach, like he's tracing and retracing circles in one of those little sand gardens.

Chapter Text

The morning light filters softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. Nicholas slowly blinks awake, his mind still tangled in the remnants of sleep. For a moment, he isn’t entirely sure where he is—his body feels heavy with the kind of rest that only comes after a night spent without the usual anxieties, without the usual weight of his thoughts pressing down on him.

As he stirs, a small, quiet realization settles over him. There’s warmth at his back, the kind that isn’t just the lingering heat from the blanket. Euijoo. Nicholas can feel him—Euijoo’s chest pressed against his back, their bodies aligned in the soft curve of a shared space. Nicholas’ arms are wrapped loosely around Euijoo’s, holding onto him almost instinctively, like the touch is something he needs more than he even realized.

Euijoo’s breathing is deep and steady, the rise and fall of his chest soothing in its consistency. Nicholas can feel the soft pressure of Euijoo’s arms around him as well, a subtle, comforting weight that lets him know he’s safe, that he’s not alone in the stillness of the morning.

Nicholas blinks again, clearing the fog of sleep from his mind. He feels…well-rested. For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t feel the familiar tension that usually lingers in his muscles, doesn’t feel the tightness in his chest that’s always been there, hovering just beneath the surface. It’s a strange, almost foreign feeling—a quiet sense of ease that he’s not sure how to hold onto, but he does anyway.

For a moment, he lets himself stay there, nestled in the quiet warmth of Euijoo’s embrace. It feels simple, uncomplicated, and yet there’s something profound about the way Euijoo’s presence settles him, the way he’s able to offer comfort without even trying. Nicholas doesn’t feel the urge to fight against it, doesn’t feel the pull of worry or guilt that he often carries with him. For once, he allows himself to just be—just to exist in this moment of peace.

But then, the thought slips into his mind, almost without warning: What happens if he lets himself stay like this? What happens if he lets this moment of calm stretch out, uninterrupted?

He doesn’t have an answer, and maybe that’s the part that unsettles him the most. Because, in this moment, it doesn’t feel wrong. It doesn’t feel like something he has to fix or hide. He could just…stay like this. He could hold onto Euijoo and let himself forget about everything else for just a little longer. Let himself pretend that he isn’t difficult to be around.

A soft sigh escapes his lips and Euijoo shifts slightly behind him, his arm tightening just a fraction around Nicholas. The movement is gentle, tender, like an unspoken reassurance that Euijoo is there—that he always will be, as steady and constant as he’s ever been. Except when he wasn’t, when Nicholas needed him the most, but he tries not to think about that. He’s here now, things are better. Things are better.

Nicholas doesn’t pull away. He lets himself stay there, held in the quiet embrace of the morning, held in the quiet presence of someone who doesn’t need anything from him, someone who just…understands. Maybe. He hopes.

For once, he feels like he doesn’t have to be anyone other than who he is right now. And for once, he’s okay with that.

Euijoo’s soft breathing stirs, and Nicholas feels the shift before he even registers the movement. He barely moves, just enough to adjust his position slightly, but it’s enough to make Euijoo wake up with a gentle start.

There’s a soft exhale from behind him, and then Euijoo’s arms instinctively pull him closer again, a reflex, like a subconscious attempt to keep the warmth between them, as if to reassure himself that this moment isn’t slipping away. Nicholas, still half-asleep, relaxes into the touch, feeling the steady rhythm of Euijoo’s chest against his back—But then, just as quickly, Euijoo freezes.

The air around them shifts, and Nicholas can almost feel the color rising in Euijoo’s cheeks as he realizes their position. He pulls back slightly, his arms releasing their hold just enough to create space, and Nicholas mourns the warmth immediately. 

“I’m—uh—sorry,” Euijoo says, his voice soft, the words tumbling out in a rush, like he’s not quite sure how to navigate the sudden tension. There’s a hint of embarrassment in his tone, but it’s not heavy, just an undercurrent of hesitation. He clears his throat, awkwardly shifting on the bed. “I didn’t mean to…uh, make you uncomfortable.”

Nicholas stirs slightly, his heart beating a little faster, but it’s not from any discomfort. It’s more the sudden realization that this moment, this closeness, is something he’s never really allowed himself to have. With anyone other than Euijoo, before, and then things shifted. Changed. A gap formed between them, seemingly too big for him to cross. But now, with Euijoo, it feels easy again. Natural, even.

“It’s fine,” Nicholas mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t rush to distance himself. He’s…okay. More than okay. It’s something he hasn’t been able to say in a long time, but he says it now, softly, almost like it’s a secret he’s letting Euijoo in on. “I’m feeling good. Really good.”

The words are simple, but there’s a quiet truth to them. For the first time in a while, Nicholas doesn’t feel weighed down. He feels light. The morning doesn’t feel like something he has to fight through. It feels…gentle. Easy. And it’s not a feeling he’s used to, but it’s one he wants to keep.

Euijoo seems to relax at the reassurance, his arm gently finding its way back around Nicholas’ waist, not in a rush, just…comfortable. Like they belong there. Euijoo’s fingers brush lightly against Nicholas’ side as he pulls him close again, this time more deliberately, giving Nicholas the choice to stay or pull away, but Nicholas doesn’t move.

“Good,” Euijoo says, his voice quieter now, more at ease. “I’m glad.”

For a moment, they just stay like that, in the soft warmth of the bed, the quiet of the morning surrounding them. The world feels distant, and for once, it’s not the crushing weight of everything else that lingers in Nicholas’ chest. It’s just…this. Just the comfort of Euijoo’s presence, just the stillness of being held. And Nicholas realizes, in that quiet moment, that this might be the first time he’s actually allowed himself to feel cared for in a way that isn’t tied to expectations or obligations, like with Fuma or Kei.

He wants to stay like this, to keep the quiet peace between them, but eventually, the day will start again, and they’ll have to get up, but for now, he’s content to let the world wait a little longer.

The morning air is crisp and carries the scent of bread, flowers, and something slightly sweet as they step into Viktualienmarkt. Nicholas breathes in deeply. His neck still feels a little stiff, but it’s nothing compared to the tight coil of exhaustion he carried through yesterday. He’s rested. Not perfectly, but enough. Enough to feel like he can take the day in stride.

He’s just tucked away the last bit of a granola bar into his bag when the staff explains the morning’s challenge—another scavenger hunt, but this time with a culinary twist. Each team is tasked with gathering ingredients from the market and eventually cooking a dish together. The teams are randomized, and as names are called, Nicholas ends up with Maki and Kei. The instant their trio is announced, the protests begin.

"Unfair!" Taki groans. “That’s two fluent English speakers and one who speaks German, and Kei-hyung is the only one of us that can cook!”

Even the staff laughs, but Nicholas just shrugs, quietly amused. It’s true they’ve lucked out—Maki’s already bouncing in place, visibly thrilled to show off his German, and Kei’s smirking like he already knows exactly what dish they’re going to make.

To even the playing field, they agree to a new rule: Maki isn’t allowed to speak German for the challenge. He pouts dramatically, clutching his chest like it’s a betrayal of his heritage, but agrees in good spirit.

“It’s okay,” Fuma says, grinning. “We’ve got vibes. Vibes and Google Translate.”

Nicholas huffs a soft laugh, surprised by how light he feels. There’s no crawling anxiety pressing in behind his ribs, no burn in his throat or stomach from holding things down. He just…feels like himself. Capable. Clear.

As they start weaving through the colorful stalls—fruits in rows of jewel-toned glisten, loaves of bread stacked like golden bricks—Nicholas listens to Maki and Kei argue over whether a zucchini counts as a cool vegetable or a boring one.

“I just don’t trust anything that looks like a cucumber but isn’t,” Kei declares, holding one up dramatically.

“You’re projecting,” Maki says quietly, amused.

They laugh together. It’s easy. And he realizes something as they wander: he’s smiling more today. Actually smiling, not just politely going through the motions.

Maki grabs his wrist when they see a stall selling fresh herbs and yanks him over with the excitement of someone discovering buried treasure. Nicholas nearly drops their list but doesn’t complain. There’s something grounding in Maki’s infectious energy and Kei’s ridiculous commentary about eggplants being ‘emotionally manipulative.’

For the first time in days, maybe even weeks, Nicholas doesn’t feel like he’s managing himself. He just is. Moving, talking, laughing—not checking in every few minutes to see if he’s still okay, not waiting for the low tide of sadness to pull him under again.

As they gather the last of their ingredients and walk toward the meeting point, Nicholas glances at the paper in his hand. His handwriting is a little shaky from when he wrote it down this morning, but it doesn’t matter. His hands don’t shake now. He feels steady. Present.

He catches Kei watching him out of the corner of his eye and for a second, thinks he’ll make a comment—but instead, Kei just nudges him lightly with his elbow.

“You’re doing good today,” he says casually. “It’s nice.”

Nicholas nods. It is.

The noise of the market was already dizzying—voices shouting over one another, footsteps on cobblestone, the rustle of canvas stalls—But Nicholas was managing. He was even enjoying it. Holding onto that sense of normalcy like it was a thin thread, but a strong one. Maki had just asked for his wallet to pay for the last item on their list, and Nicholas had slipped his backpack off his shoulder to dig it out.

It happened so fast.

A blur of movement—someone brushing too close, too quickly. By the time Nicholas looked up, his bag was gone.

“What the—?”

He turned, caught just the faintest glimpse of a small figure darting through the crowd. A girl—young-looking, maybe thirteen or fourteen—braided hair swinging behind her, thin arms hugging the straps of his bag.

And then his legs were moving before he could think.

“Nico!” he heard Maki shout, but it was already too late. He shoved past tourists and locals alike, chest heaving, eyes locked on the black stripe of his backpack cutting through the sea of people. She weaved between carts and turned sharply down a narrow street—and vanished.

Nicholas slowed. Stopped. Spun in place.

Gone.

She was gone.

His breath caught like it had snagged on barbed wire. He bent forward slightly, hands on his thighs, vision narrowing. His medication. His medication. Everything was in there. He felt the tight band in his chest begin to close, pulling each breath shorter, sharper, shallower. His hands were tingling. His mouth was dry.

The crowd wasn’t thinning. It was pressing in on him now.

“Nicholas! Hey!”

Maki’s voice, panting, cut through the fog. He grabbed Nicholas’ shoulder, concern etched deep across his face. “Are you okay? What happened? I have your wallet—Why did you run?”

Nicholas shook his head. Couldn’t speak. His lips moved, but all he could do was gesture vaguely in the direction the girl had gone.

“She took it,” he gasped finally. “My bag—My meds—”

“Meds?” Maki echoed, blinking. “Wait, what? What kind of meds? Like, do you need them right now ?”

Nicholas flinched. He hadn’t told Maki. He didn’t want to. His pride fought every word trying to rise up.

But his vision was starting to blur at the edges, and he realized he’d grabbed onto Maki’s arm, clutching it hard without realizing. He couldn’t let go. Couldn’t steady his breathing. The buzzing in his ears was getting louder.

“I—” He choked. “They’re for—I need them. I just—” He shook his head again, jaw tight. English wasn’t coming to him, but neither was Japanese. “I can’t—I can’t—”

Maki’s expression shifted instantly. Whatever panic had briefly flickered in his eyes vanished under something softer—urgency wrapped in instinct.

“Okay, okay. It’s okay.” Maki gently wrapped an arm around Nicholas’ back, lowering his voice as he steadied him. “You’re okay. Look at me, not the crowd. Just me.”

Nicholas couldn’t look at him. He hated how this felt. Hated the heat crawling up his neck, the shame of needing help he hadn’t explained, hadn’t wanted to explain. Maki didn’t know. He shouldn’t have to.

“I’m here, alright?” Maki said again, firmer this time. “We’ll figure it out.”

Nicholas squeezed his eyes shut, letting himself focus only on the points of contact—his hand on Maki’s arm, Maki’s palm between his shoulder blades. The air was starting to move through his lungs again. Shaky, uneven, but it was coming.

He hated that his eyes were wet. He hated that he couldn’t stop thinking what if she throws it away, what if he misses a dose, what if he can’t get a refill abroad.

But Maki didn’t press. He didn’t ask questions. He just stayed there, quiet, grounding, calm in a way Nicholas desperately needed.

“Come on,” Maki said softly after a minute, when Nicholas’ grip began to ease. “Let’s get back to the group. We’ll tell staff what happened. We’ll fix it.”

Nicholas couldn’t help but start shaking his head, almost violently, unable to vocalize just how much he did not want to do that. Telling staff was the last thing he wanted to do. He needed—He needed one of the others, someone that knew, he needed—

Kei sees them first—Nicholas clinging to Maki’s arm, face too pale, chest rising too fast. Maki looks lost, hovering protectively, but clearly unsure what to do.

Kei doesn’t hesitate.

He strides over and, without a word, slides between them and the rest of the market, his body moving like a shield. “Let me,” he says softly to Maki, not unkindly, and he’s already pulling him away. Away, away, away, until they’re out of the crowd and hidden behind one of the small buildings dotting the area.

Nicholas barely registers it. His eyes are darting through the crowd, fingers twitching like he’s ready to bolt again. Kei doesn’t give him the chance.

Gently, he grabs Nicholas’ arms and guides him backward—tugging him into his lap, against his chest, wrapping his whole frame around the younger man like a cocoon. His arms cross over Nicholas’ chest, firm but not rough, his legs folding around Nicholas’ like bars to keep him anchored.

“No,” Nicholas gasps, struggling weakly. “I have to—I need to look—”

“Shh,” Kei says, mouth near his ear. “It’s gone for now, Nico. You’re more important than a bag.”

“But—My meds—” Nicholas chokes out.

“I know,” Kei murmurs. “I know. Just breathe first. Just be here with me for a second. I’ve got you.”

Nicholas presses his palms against Kei’s arms, but it’s a touch more desperate than resistant now. His head tilts forward a little, jaw trembling. He wants to keep moving. Wants to run until his chest stops caving in. But Kei’s warmth is steady, unmovable, like he’s absorbing the panic into himself.

Maki kneels nearby, still catching his breath. “What the hell happened?” He asks, eyes wide. “Why is he—?”

Kei glances up at him. His voice is calm, but there’s weight behind it. “His medication was in that bag. Important stuff. Stuff he can’t just…replace.”

Maki freezes. Then you can see it click—the realization dawns all at once, and his face crumples a little. “Shit,” he says quietly. “I didn’t—he said meds, but I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Kei says gently, rocking Nicholas a little. “You didn’t know. Can you help, though? Go around. Ask if anyone saw what happened.”

Maki nods fast, pushing up to his feet already. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’ll ask. Should I message—?”

“Fuma,” Kei says before he can finish. “Let him know. Tell him to meet us here.”

Maki is off a second later, blending into the crowd with a mission.

Kei sighs softly, lowering his head a little so his cheek rests against the back of Nicholas’. “It’s okay,” he whispers again. “You’re not alone. We’ll get it figured out.”

He’s still shaking. Still too quiet. Still too tense. Kei doesn’t loosen his grip. He just keeps holding him there, breathing slow and steady behind him, his arms a safe place to fall apart.

Nicholas doesn’t know how long it’s been. Time has folded in on itself—his thoughts stretching out like too-thin threads, frayed at the edges. Kei hasn’t let go. His arms are still wrapped around him, firm and grounding, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm Nicholas is trying—really trying—to match.

And then he hears footsteps, quick but still steady, and something in Kei’s body relaxes behind him. Nicholas doesn’t lift his head, but he knows. Fuma.

Kei shifts a little, adjusting Nicholas but not moving away. “He got his bag stolen,” he tells Fuma quietly. “Medication was inside.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then a low, sharp curse.

Nicholas lifts his head slightly, just enough to glance at Fuma. His face is tight—jaw clenched, eyes flicking over Nicholas’ expression like he’s scanning for a wound he can’t see.

“Shit, Nicholas,” Fuma says, voice pitched lower than usual. “Are you okay? Physically?”

Nicholas tries to speak, but it catches in his throat. He swallows and nods once, even though it’s not entirely true. “I didn’t—She just—”

Fuma runs a hand through his hair and exhales hard through his nose. “Okay. Okay. We need to cut the program. You need to rest, and we need to talk to a doctor or find a pharmacy. We can’t risk—”

“No,” Nicholas croaks, suddenly tense again. “No, hyung, we can’t. I can’t—” He pushes against Kei’s arms like he’s trying to sit up. “We can’t—can’t cut the program. Everyone’s watching. Fans. Cameras. I can’t be the reason we stop.”

Fuma crouches down next to him, a hand hovering near Nicholas’ knee but not quite touching. “Nicholas. This isn’t your fault.”

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice breaks on it. “It’s still me. They’ll know.”

“They won’t,” comes a voice from behind, and then a hand—cool and familiar—lands on Nicholas’ neck. Euijoo.

Nicholas turns his head and meets his eyes. Euijoo isn’t smiling, not even pretending to soften it. His gaze is direct and heavy and there.

And then he’s settling on Nicholas’ other side without asking, sliding an arm around his back and pulling him into the space between himself and Kei. Nicholas doesn’t resist. It’s instinct at this point.

“You look like you’re about to fall over,” Euijoo says quietly, rubbing small circles into Nicholas’ shoulder. “We’re fixing it. You’re not alone.”

Kei finally speaks again. “Fuma, I think we have to tell one of the managers. We’re only halfway through the trip—He’s gonna need them.”

Fuma nods reluctantly. “I’ll look into local pharmacies too. Maybe we can get a temporary supply filled fast.”

Nicholas makes a quiet sound of protest. “We can’t tell the producers. We can’t. They’ll pull me.”

“They won’t,” Kei says, trying to sound certain, but Nicholas can hear the edge of worry in his voice.

Euijoo speaks before Nicholas can spiral again. “Then we don’t tell them everything.”

Nicholas blinks at him.

“We tell them it’s heat exhaustion. We say you need to rest. You got overheated chasing them. It’s summer, you’ve been out in the sun, it’s not a lie.” Euijoo tilts his head. “The rest only goes to the people who need to know.”

Fuma nods slowly, already pulling out his phone. “Okay. That could work.”

Nicholas lowers his head again, pressing it into Euijoo’s shoulder. The pounding in his chest hasn’t fully stopped, but something settles. Heat exhaustion. It's something people understand. Something that won’t make headlines or pull the rug out from under him.

“JuJu, I—I’m really anxious,” Nicholas breathes out, all of the air still in his lungs goes with it, the force driving the words out from between clenched teeth. 

Euijoo holds him closer, and Nicholas knows he doesn’t have to say anything but admitting it makes him feel less alone. Less crazy. 

He spends so much time in his own head that it becomes hard to see when the others are trying to reach him. He’s spent years building these walls up without even noticing, and each stone has been placed with such perfection that it’s impossible to find any cracks. 

Euijoo doesn’t come at him with a sledgehammer—He had tried that once, and it only left them both feeling bruised and in pain and upset. The weeks of silence that stretched on between them following that had been the worst weeks of Nicholas’ life. 

No, now Euijoo knows that he has to be careful with his approach. He slides his hands along the walls and feels around until he finds a stone that isn’t quite placed as tight as the others. One with just enough give to allow him to wiggle it out. He’s gotten good at knowing which stones he can take without toppling everything. 

“It’ll be okay, Nichol. We’ll make sure of that.”

Nicholas tightens his fingers in the back of Euijoo’s shirt, pressing his forehead against Euijoo’s collarbone with enough force that he can feel his own heartbeat in his temple. 

He forces himself to take a breath. Focus on the feeling of Euijoo’s arms around him, one reaching across his back and the other cradling his head as he's gently pulled from Kei's hold. 

There’s no space left between them, pressed together in such a seamless fit that he can’t help but wonder if his body was created with Euijoo’s in mind. 

“What if we can’t figure it out?” Nicholas asks. “What if this is it?”

He feels Euijoo shake his head and the arms around him hold tighter, like he’s physically trying to keep Nicholas from falling apart. “Whatever happens,” he starts, voice just as soft as it always is, but this time it’s raw, like it hurts him to say. “Whatever happens, I’ll be here this time.”

Nicholas, finally, feels like he’s able to breathe. 

“I’m not going to leave you to go through this alone,” Euijoo says, “Not again.”

And Nicholas believes him. 

He exhales shakily. “Sorry.”

Kei gives him a little squeeze. “You’re not allowed to say that.”

Euijoo leans forward to bump his forehead against the side of Nicholas’. “We’ve got you. Just rest a bit.”

And Nicholas lets himself close his eyes—sandwiched between two people who refuse to let him slip away. The world still spins, but this? This stays.

Maki comes jogging back into view, slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed from the summer heat and stress. “I couldn’t find anyone who saw her,” he says quickly, crouching beside the group huddled on the shaded bench. “But I talked to security. I told them it was urgent—They’re gonna check the CCTV, see if she shows up anywhere. I gave them a full description.”

Kei nods, still half-wrapped around Nicholas. Euijoo doesn’t even look up—his hand is now pressed over Nicholas’ fluttering pulse, warm and steady against rapid and scared.

Nicholas keeps his eyes closed. His head’s swimming again, guilt coiling like a second skin under his clothes.

Maki, glancing around, sits down cross-legged on the grass, squinting at the sun as he pulls out his phone. “I started looking up emergency refill info—since it’s medication. In Germany, you can go to a pharmacy and explain, and they might give you a small supply, especially if it’s time-sensitive, but it’s easier if you have a copy of the prescription.”

Fuma looks up from his own phone, where he’s probably already halfway drafting a message to one of the managers. “Do you think the company would have a digital copy?”

“They have to,” Maki says. “For insurance stuff, right?”

“I’ll check,” Fuma mutters, already typing.

Nicholas shifts slightly. His eyes are open now, unfocused and glassy as he stares at nothing. “I ruined the shoot.”

“No you didn’t,” Euijoo says immediately, voice like a hand smoothing down his spine.

“I did,” Nicholas insists, voice barely audible. “I stopped the whole thing. Everyone else is still running around. The producers are gonna be pissed. Fans’ll say I can’t handle things—”

“Fuck the show,” Fuma says.

It’s not loud. It’s not shouted, but it’s firm, cutting, low and deliberate. All four of them turn to look at him.

Nicholas blinks. “What?”

Fuma meets his eyes, crouched now so they’re level. “I don’t care about the show. Not right now. I care about you. You’re the priority, Nicholas. The rest of it doesn’t matter if you’re not okay.”

Nicholas looks down again. His shoulders tremble under Euijoo’s hand. He feels every word like it’s scraping something raw open inside him. Something old and scared and used to being the one who powers through.

Even Maki’s quieter now, “No one’s mad, man. We just wanna help.”

Kei nods, arms still braced across Nicholas’ body as he hooks his chin over the younger man’s shoulder. “You matter more than content.”

There’s a long pause. Nicholas leans into Euijoo again and finally whispers, “I didn’t want to make a scene.”

“You didn’t,” Euijoo says gently, voice brushing the crown of his head. “You just need help.”

Nicholas doesn’t answer right away. He just presses a little closer. His hands are shaking, but he lets himself stay between them all. For once, not alone. Not hiding.

Eventually, Kei says softly, “Let’s get you that medicine. Then we’ll figure out the rest.”

Nicholas gives a tired, almost imperceptible nod. They give him a few minutes to sit and settle before trying to move him, and even then, he’s still shaky and unsteady on his feet. 

They start walking back, slipping out of the market’s pulsing center into the quieter outer lanes. Euijoo keeps one arm firmly around Nicholas, who’s barely lifting his feet with each step, his body heavy with the adrenaline crash and the fog of panic still thick around his brain. Fuma is a few paces ahead, shoulders squared, already preparing for the conversation he’s about to have.

Nicholas doesn’t lift his head. Euijoo’s jacket—faded blue and too soft from years of washes—is draped over him like a veil, shielding him from the sun, from the stares, from the world. Nicholas holds it in place with one hand and fists the fabric of Euijoo’s shirt with the other.

Fuma speaks in a clipped tone when they reach the staff. “Nicholas isn’t feeling well. We need to cut filming and go back.”

The words feel like a gavel. There’s a shift in the air.

One of the producers, clearly irritated, gestures vaguely toward the market behind them. “We still have to get the rest of the footage. Can he sit out and wait with someone while we finish? We can’t reschedule.”

“He’s not just tired,” Fuma snaps, but carefully—measured, professional. “It’s a medical issue. We’re leaving.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. Then the words: “Can you at least explain what kind of—?”

Nicholas stumbles.

Hard.

His knee nearly hits the ground before Euijoo reacts, arms tightening instantly around him to keep him upright. The jacket slips slightly and reveals the blotchy tear-tracks on Nicholas’ cheek.

That’s when everyone goes quiet.

The production team looks between each other, then finally gives a stiff nod and starts packing up, muttering amongst themselves.

Fuma turns briefly, meeting Euijoo’s eyes over Nicholas’ head, a silent thank you tucked into his expression before he heads off to deal with the managers and arrange a car. Nicholas sags further against Euijoo. He feels hollow. Embarrassed. He keeps waiting for someone to snap at him for ruining things.

They’re halfway back to the pickup point when Taki jogs up beside them, tilting his head. “Whoa. You’re really down today, huh?”

Nicholas goes still for a moment. He pulls slightly back, trying to put space between him and Euijoo. “Sorry—”

But Euijoo doesn’t let him. He pulls him right back in with a steady arm and a quiet, “No.”

Nicholas freezes.

Taki blinks, something shifting subtly in his face. His smile falters for half a second. He glances from Euijoo to Nicholas again, eyes flickering with something like realization.

He doesn’t say anything else. Just falls back a step.

Nicholas feels it in his chest—the understanding that passed between them, the way Taki’s usual bright demeanor softened. He doesn’t know what Taki saw exactly, but it was enough.

He buries his face into Euijoo’s shoulder again and lets himself be led the rest of the way. No one tries talking to him again. All questions are filtered through Fuma. Nicholas focuses on trying not to throw up all across himself and Euijoo in the backseat. 

He doesn’t really come back until he’s being separated from the others. Fuma tries to argue, but one of the men behind the cameras holds stubbornly on needing as many members still as possible. Nicholas has a pass to rest, but only him. He can tell that Fuma is not happy with the way things have played out, but he doesn’t stick around long enough to find out what happens next. If he’s going to lose his shit again tonight, he needs it to be as far away from everyone as possible.

His room is dark and smells faintly like detergent and wood. He sinks down onto the edge of the bed, breathing shallow. His heart is still tight, even though he knows—logically—there’s nothing left to panic about tonight. The producers didn’t press. The manager got a copy of his prescription from his doctor’s office and promised they’d get the refill first thing in the morning. Kei had made sure he’d eaten something small, even though it barely settled in his stomach.

And yet.

Nicholas curls in on himself on the bed, arm thrown over his eyes, muscles aching from holding it together for so long. 

He doesn’t know how long he lies there before the door creaks open.

“Nico-chan?”

He peeks out from under his arm.

Harua.

Quiet, soft-footed Harua. Still wearing the apron he’d tied over his hoodie, a bit of flour smeared near the hem.

“I didn’t mean to bug you,” Harua says, slipping into the room and gently shutting the door behind him. “I just—” He stops, scratching the back of his neck. “You didn’t seem okay. And I’ve been feeling…weird since the market.”

Nicholas sits up a little, blinking.

Harua steps closer and then just, without waiting for a cue, lays down on the floor in front of the bed. He stretches out like a cat in a sunbeam and lets out a long exhale.

“I thought maybe if I napped in here for a bit it’d help. Just being near you,” he mumbles. “Is that okay?”

It takes Nicholas a second to speak. His throat is dry.

“Yeah,” he finally says, voice scratchy. “You can stay.”

Harua nods and closes his eyes.

It’s quiet again. Not lonely this time—just quiet. 

Nicholas shifts down onto his stomach, letting his head hang over the side of the bed to look at Harua. The younger boy’s face is relaxed, just barely touched by the glow from the hallway light leaking under the door. Nicholas watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, the tension that slowly unwinds from his shoulders. The room stills with the rhythm of it.

Nicholas finds himself breathing easier too.

It shouldn’t be comforting, this strange little arrangement—Harua on the floor, Nicholas still trying to pull himself back together—but it is. Not because anything is solved, or the fear is gone, or because tomorrow won’t still be hard.

But because someone came looking for him anyway.

Because even without knowing everything, Harua still wanted to be close.

He must’ve dozed for a bit, because the next time Nicholas really notices he’s awake, the younger boy is curled up in the bed, back pressed gently against Nicholas’ chest. At some point, without either of them making a decision about it, they ended up sharing the mattress. Harua must’ve crawled up in his sleep—or maybe while Nicholas was staring blankly at the wall, reading the same sentence in his text over and over again.

The message from their manager blinking up at him from the screen, harsh and final even in the gentlest wording.

“I’ve tried five pharmacies. Two of them even called around to their suppliers for me. Unfortunately, the one you take is on backorder pretty much everywhere nearby. The fastest we could get anything would be three to five business days.”

Which was too long. It was just too long.

Nicholas lets his phone fall onto the pillow beside him. His hands tremble. He tucks them under Harua’s hoodie-covered side to hide the way his fingers won’t stop curling.

Harua doesn’t move—his breathing is slow and even—but Nicholas knows he’s not asleep. There’s a tension in the stillness, a quiet listening. The way Nicholas himself lies sometimes, when he wants to ask for something but isn’t ready to speak yet.

He lowers his head slowly, presses his face into the warm space between Harua’s shoulder blades and exhales. It’s shaky. He tries again.

“I might be really, really sick for the next couple of days, Rua,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. “But I’ll be okay. So…don’t worry too much, alright?”

He can feel Harua’s inhale. Hears the catch in it. The subtle stiffening of his spine.

Nicholas knows what he’s doing. It’s a half-truth at best, a deflection at worst. He can’t make himself tell Harua what that bag really meant—what it still means. Not now. Maybe not ever. So he says it like it’s a cold coming on. A vague illness. Something unfortunate but manageable.

It’s not.

Harua doesn’t call him on it. He just slowly turns, shifting until they’re face to face, and he watches Nicholas for a long moment. Then, without saying anything, he reaches forward and slides a hand behind Nicholas’ neck, drawing their foreheads together.

“I’ll stay,” he says quietly. “Even if you don’t feel good. I’ll stay.”

And it’s such a simple promise that it almost breaks Nicholas open.

He nods—tiny, once. His eyes sting, but he keeps them closed.

Harua’s hand stays warm at the back of his neck, not asking anything more.

When Nicholas wakes again, the bed feels too big. He blinks against the grayish light of a cloudy afternoon and reaches instinctively for Harua before realizing the boy is gone. The space beside him is still faintly warm, and Nicholas feels the absence more than he expects to.

He lies there for a while, his body sunk deep into that post-crash heaviness, limbs slow and thoughts slower. Eventually, the noise of voices and pans and laughter filters up from the kitchen. The others must have started cooking.

He drags himself out of bed and down the stairs, fingers brushing the railing like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. When he reaches the kitchen, the air smells like oil and garlic, something faintly sweet underneath it. Everyone’s gathered around the counter, plating food, teasing each other about seasoning and slicing.

Taki sees him first. “Look who finally decided to show up and take credit,” he calls, grinning. “Timing as perfect as always.”

Nicholas tries to smile, tries to match the energy, and pushes out a dry, “What can I say? I like to make an entrance.” But it’s weak. Not his usual bite, and Taki’s face falls, grin slipping away as he really looks at him.

Nicholas doesn’t meet his eyes. He busies himself with grabbing a glass of water. He focuses on breathing evenly through his nose, like he’s been coached to. In, two, three. Hold. Out, two, three.

It doesn’t help as much as it usually does. His chest still feels tight. It’s the bupropion—he knows that. Higher anxiety is a known side effect, and his body is about to be clawing its way through the chemical chaos alone.

He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want the others to worry.

He catches Fuma’s gaze from across the room. His expression is unreadable, lips slightly parted like he’s on the edge of saying something. Nicholas gives the smallest shake of his head—Don’t. Not here. Not now.

Fuma doesn’t say anything. Just nods, almost imperceptibly, and returns to helping Jo stir something in a pot.

Yuma claps his hands together a few minutes later. “Okay! Since we’re staying here another night, let’s play a game to swap roommates.”

There’s a chorus of groans and cheers. Nicholas doesn’t react.

Then he sees it: Fuma leaning toward Yuma, cupping a hand briefly to his ear. Whispering something. Whatever it is, it makes Yuma glance over quickly, eyebrows lifting. His eyes dart to Nicholas, hold there for a beat too long, and Nicholas knows.

They’re trying to protect him without making it obvious.

Nicholas looks away. He’s grateful, and at the same time, he feels like a bomb someone is trying to pass around without letting anyone see the wires.

He decides then: he’ll play things by ear. Get through the next few days. He won’t tell anyone else unless he absolutely has to. He can be tired. He can be slow. He just has to make it back home intact.

No one needs to know how much it’s already costing him.

Nicholas is coaxed into sitting down with the others—half by Euijoo nudging him into a chair and half by Taki practically waving a fork in his face, arguing that now Nicholas has to judge since he wasn’t there to help.

"You have to try this," Taki insists. "It’s better than anything we’ve made ever.”

Nicholas doesn’t have the heart to say he’d rather curl up in a dark room and be forgotten for a few hours. So he takes a bite. Then another. It’s not that the food is bad—in fact, it’s really good—but the effort it takes to chew, to swallow, to smile, feels monumental. The taste barely registers.

His stomach, unsettled and uncertain from the stress of the day, gives him warning signs after just a few bites, but he pushes through. Just enough to taste from each team’s dish. Just enough not to disappoint anyone. 

When it’s time to pick a winner, Nicholas forces brightness into his voice as he names Yuma’s team. Jo beams, Yuma cheers and flings an arm around Fuma, who barely reacts beyond a nod and a distracted half-smile. His eyes are locked on Nicholas.

Taki pouts from his spot next to Harua. “Traitor,” he says under his breath, nudging Nicholas with his knee. Nicholas forces out a soft laugh.

But the cameras are on them again. They’ve been on him since he sat down. The heat of it prickles under his skin like sunburn. His smile is practiced, carefully shaped—not too wide, not too stiff. It’s meant to look effortless. It feels like a lie. He wonders what note they’ll make in the episode about his absence. 

He keeps catching glances from the others—small, flickering checks. Kei’s brow furrowed. Harua twisting his fingers in his lap. Euijoo pretending to talk with Jo but glancing every few seconds. They all know, at least a little. They know he’s not really okay.

And still, he plays his part.

He claps when Yuma bows dramatically. He sips at his water. He lets Taki ruffle his hair in protest and laughs like it doesn’t make his chest feel tight.

He wonders if the cameras will catch the way his hand trembles when he sets his cup back down. Or if, when they edit it later, they’ll smooth over the cracks like they always do.

The producers want one more thing tonight, but Nicholas knows he doesn’t have anything left to give. He doesn’t complain when Kei asks, voice calm and direct, if they can end filming for the night. Nicholas can feel the way the attention settles on him, he knows what they’re all thinking. It’s his fault. It’s because of him, but he can’t even bring himself to care. 

He just wants to disappear. 

Thankfully, the others make it easy. The goodbyes are short and only Maki and Harua linger a second too long when in front of him, Taki watches for a bit longer, but Nicholas has gotten used to the way Taki watches people. He slips away as soon as he can.

Their room is dim and warm, the kind of heavy silence that only comes at the end of a long, emotionally wrecked day. Nicholas doesn’t say anything when they walk in—just goes straight to his mattress, curling in on himself like muscle memory.

Euijoo sits on the edge of his own bed, wordlessly watching. Fuma lingers for a moment at the doorway, exchanging a glance with Euijoo before quietly flipping the light off and crossing the room.

Nicholas’s arms are wrapped tight around the pillow again. He presses his face into it like it’ll absorb the trembling, like maybe he can keep himself from falling apart if he just stays quiet enough. But the second Fuma settles in behind him and rests a steady hand on his back, Nicholas exhales too hard—and then it all slips through the cracks.

The crying starts quietly. Just a few sharp breaths, a few shudders. He tries to stop them before they start, but it hurts too much. Fuma doesn’t say anything at first. He just shifts closer, hand warm on Nicholas’ shoulder, anchoring him.

“You don’t have to hold it in,” Fuma murmurs eventually, voice low and even. “Not here.”

Nicholas nods, barely. The tears come more freely after that—silent but endless, soaking into the pillow. His body curls tighter, aching with exhaustion and fear and shame.

Fuma stays where he is, hand rubbing slow circles between Nicholas’ shoulder blades.

“I think…” Euijoo starts after a long stretch of silence, “We should tell the others.”

Nicholas stiffens immediately. “No.”

“Nic—”

“I don’t even know how bad it’s gonna be,” he rasps. His voice is hoarse, like it hurts to talk. It kind of does. It hurts to breathe. “What if I’m fine tomorrow? What if it’s just today?”

“You’re not going to be fine tomorrow,” Fuma says gently, not unkindly. “And you know that. I looked it up.” He squeezes Nicholas’ shoulder. “You’re gonna crash. Maybe worse than you did today, since this was all panic. It’s going to be different tomorrow, Nicholas.”

Nicholas presses his face harder into the pillow.

“I just—I don’t want to ruin this for them,” he says, voice cracking. “We’ve worked so hard. I don’t want it to be about me.”

“It’s not about you,” Fuma says quietly. “It’s about the group. And we’re a group. If something’s wrong, we deal with it together.”

Nicholas doesn’t respond, but he knows Fuma can feel him shaking again, barely audible breaths catching in his chest.

“I know you hate being the center of attention,” Fuma continues. “But letting them worry in the dark is worse. They already know something’s wrong.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, soft from the other side of the room, Euijoo speaks up.

“We don’t have to say everything. Just enough so they stop being scared without knowing why.”

Nicholas is quiet for a long time. Then, finally, he croaks, “Not tonight.”

“Not tonight,” Fuma agrees. “Just sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Nicholas nods weakly. Fuma doesn’t move away.

Eventually, Euijoo crosses over and quietly tucks a spare blanket over both of them, pressing a hand briefly to Nicholas’ hair before heading back to bed.

In the dark, with Fuma’s steady presence behind him and the gentle hush of Euijoo breathing across the room, Nicholas finally lets the exhaustion pull him under.