Chapter Text
I can't express the way I feel inside.
Can't get close, I only tremble and hide.
Soulmates.
In this world, they are everything.
A piece of your soul, a thread woven into your dreams, a mark etched into your very identity.
To find your soulmate is to find the best part of yourself, or so the world says .
But Sunghoon knows better.
He knows that soulmates can also be the worst thing to ever happen to someone.
He knows what it means to lose them.
The memory claws at him, sharp and unrelenting.
His father should have been home that night. Instead, there was a collision, a brutal, unforgiving crash that stole him away. Sunghoon remembers the sound of his mother’s cries, the way her body convulsed as pain ripped through her chest.
Soulmates feel each other’s pain, and his mother’s mark, a delicate branch that had once been vibrant and alive, dimmed with every passing second.
Sunghoon had screamed for her, begging her to hold on as he fumbled to dial the emergency number.
But no call could reach the one who mattered.
His father was already gone.
And then, the mark faded.
The branch turned bone-white, a chilling emptiness spreading across her skin. Sunghoon had stared at it, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might shatter.
The mark was more than just a symbol. It was a piece of his mother’s soul, now hollow and lifeless.
She had lost her soulmate, and with him, she had lost a part of herself.
The aftermath was worse.
His mother, once vibrant and full of life, became a shadow of who she had been. Sunghoon would find her sitting in the living room, staring at nothing, her eyes distant and unfocused. She barely spoke, her voice a whisper that carried no warmth.
The house felt colder, emptier, as if his father’s absence had drained the very air they breathed.
Sunghoon carries that memory with him every day.
It’s why he keeps his own mark hidden, tucked beneath his sleeve where no one can see it.
Left shoulder. White. Untouched .
He grips the fabric tightly, as if holding it will keep the mark from ever changing.
He knows how marks work.
They start white, blank slates waiting for the soulmate bond to spark them to life. And when soulmates touch, even for a fleeting moment, color blooms across the skin, a vibrant, undeniable sign of connection.
But color fades, too.
He has felt the pain of watching it disappear, of seeing love turn into loss. He refuses to let it happen to him.
He refuses to let anyone get close enough to touch his mark, to bring it to life.
Because once it blooms, it can die.
And Sunghoon knows he wouldn’t survive that.
He was doing well, or at least he liked to think so.
Sunghoon had learned early on how to live without the promise of someone destined to complete him.
Relationships were fine, fleeting connections that offered companionship and sometimes even comfort. He had had a few, enough to feel the warmth of someone close without tethering his soul to theirs.
But when it came to soulmates, he was cautious.
No, he was wary .
Life had taught him to be.
The first heartbreak came when he was only eleven. It was the kind of love that felt overwhelming and raw, clumsy yet so pure. She had been his skating partner during a camp, someone who matched his movements effortlessly on the ice.
He had thought the connection between them was mutual, special even, until she casually mentioned her soulmate. Her real soulmate.
It wasn’t him.
“But we’re still a great team, right?” she’d said, smiling at him like she hadn’t just sliced through his chest.
Sunghoon had nodded, pretending it didn’t hurt, but that day, the ice had felt colder beneath his skates.
The second heartbreak followed shortly after, quieter but deeper.
It was a boy this time, one he’d met at school, someone who’d shared late-night texts and easy laughter.
They had connected over shared dreams. Music, skating, ambitions bigger than their small world. But when the boy’s mark filled unexpectedly during a chance encounter, Sunghoon had seen the change instantly.
His smile had been softer after that, less for Sunghoon and more for the one who had appeared in his life. Sunghoon had let it slip away quietly, refusing to linger where he didn’t belong.
But the worst pain came from skating itself.
The fall was brutal, the kind that seemed to knock the breath out of the room.
He remembered the sharp crack as his ankle twisted beneath him, remembered the gasps from onlookers as he collapsed to the ice. The cold seeped into his bones, but it was nothing compared to the searing pain radiating up his leg.
He’d bitten down hard, refusing to cry out, but the tears had come later, in the sterile chill of the hospital room. The months of recovery that followed were grueling, each step forward feeling like two steps back.
And though he’d returned to the ice eventually, something about the fall stayed with him.
A quiet fear, a lingering doubt that made him second-guess every landing.
These moments had shaped Sunghoon, carving sharp edges where softness once resided.
"You can’t even do a single thing right!"
The words hit Sunghoon the moment he walked through the door, sharp and unforgiving, cutting through the quiet.
His mother stood in the center of the room, her hands trembling, her tired eyes red from sleepless nights. The air felt suffocating, charged with the weight of her frustration.
“All you do is skate,” she snapped, her voice rising, breaking under its own weight. “Skate, skate, skate. You can’t even bother to come home most nights! Do you even care about this family?”
Sunghoon froze where he stood, gripping the strap of his bag tightly, the edge of the fabric digging into his palm. He tried to respond, his lips parting, but no sound came out. He wasn’t sure what he could say that would make any of it better.
The sharp crash of shattering glass tore through the room. Sunghoon flinched as his mother hurled a plate toward the wall.
The shards scattered across the floor like jagged reminders of how fragile the moment was, how easily everything had broken apart.
“Stop it, Mom !” his sister shouted, her voice high-pitched and trembling as she stepped between them. She was small, but her defiance felt like a shield. “Leave him alone! It’s not his fault!”
Sunghoon’s chest tightened further as he stared at her, guilt twisting with gratitude. Her voice echoed in the room, desperate but brave.
He wanted to say something, to defend her, to defend himself, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Not his fault?” Their mother’s voice cracked, harsh and bitter.
“Then whose fault is it? Mine? Yours? Do you think raising a son who’s never here is easy? Do you think I enjoy this? Do you think I want to feel like this?”
Her words landed like blows, each one heavier than the last. Sunghoon’s grip on his bag tightened, the strap digging into his palm until his knuckles burned.
He glanced downward, his chest tightening at the sight of the broken plate.
Jagged shards littered the floor, catching the light like tiny accusations.
His hip throbbed faintly where the plate had hit, a dull ache that made him shift slightly.
It takes all of him to not break down and cry.
It hadn’t been easy for any of them, and he knew that.
His mother’s depression weighed heavily on the family, her struggles spilling into moments like these, where the frustration boiled over.
This wasn’t the first fight. It wouldn’t be the last. The cycle felt endless, inescapable.
For a moment, all he could do was stand there, staring at the broken pieces, unsure how to put any of it back together.
The weight of the years had been slowly suffocating. Sunghoon didn’t need to recount every moment to feel the pain.
The nights he overheard his mother crying about money, the silence of her disappointment when he didn’t place first, or the exhaustion that radiated from her during their rare dinners together.
The guilt of it all had built, piece by piece, into something he carried without realizing how heavy it had grown.
And yet, the world outside didn’t slow down.
He moved through it mechanically, skating practices, schoolwork, and fragmented family moments filling his days.
It was in one of those classes, on a mundane afternoon, that he found himself watching a classmate. A boy who always seemed so put together, like life didn’t weigh on him the way it did on Sunghoon.
“Why do you look so happy all the time?” Sunghoon blurted out before he could stop himself.
His voice wasn’t accusatory, but there was something in it. Something brittle, born of exhaustion.
The boy looked at him for a moment, his cheery demeanor faltering just slightly. There was a flicker of something in his expression, almost sad, as though Sunghoon had tapped into a truth that wasn’t meant to be shared.
“Happy?” he repeated, a small, ironic smile forming on his lips.
“ That’s funny. I’m not sure I’d call it that.”
Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, confusion flickering across his face.
“Then why...” he started, hesitating. “Why do you look like that? Like... like life isn’t hard. ”
His classmate let out a soft chuckle, the kind that carried more weight than humor.
“I guess it’s because I learned how to tune it out,” he said, shrugging.
“Life’s hard for everyone, you know? You just have to... put the bad stuff in a box. Lock it up in the back of your mind. Compartmentalize .”
He made a small gesture with his hands, as if physically tucking something away. “It doesn’t fix anything, but it makes things bearable.”
Sunghoon stared at him, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the edge of his desk. “ Compartmentalize ,” he echoed, the word unfamiliar on his tongue.
The boy nodded, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting Sunghoon’s again. “Yeah. I mean, what’s the point of carrying all that pain around? Especially if you’ve got a soulmate waiting for you out there.”
“What use would I be to my other half if I was stuck in my own head all the time? Isn’t it annoying? Being that person who’s always the downer?”
Something about the words hit Sunghoon hard, like a weight settling in his chest.
He looked away, his thoughts tangling together.
A burden. Is that what I’d be?
Is that what I already am?
The boy shrugged lightly, the faint smile returning to his face. “You just learn to deal with it, I guess. Life doesn’t stop, so neither can you.”
That conversation stayed with Sunghoon long after it ended.
Slowly, almost unconsciously, he began to do the same. Tucking things away, locking them into neat, invisible compartments. The guilt, the sadness, the fear. It all went into boxes that he pushed to the farthest corners of his mind.
Over time, the sharp edges of his pain dulled into something quieter, something easier to carry.
He learned how to smile when people expected it, how to laugh at the right moments.
And though he told himself it wasn’t pretending, he couldn’t shake the small ache that remained, faint but constant.
It didn’t matter, though.
Life didn’t stop. Sunghoon had learned long ago that neither could he.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to keep going.
For now, that had to be enough.
The question came up casually one afternoon, as Sunghoon sat with his friends in the corner of the campus café.
The smell of roasted coffee mingled with the low hum of conversations around them, creating the kind of environment where heavy topics always seemed easier to touch. Sunghoon’s mug of coffee had long gone lukewarm, but he held it idly, his gaze distant as laughter bubbled from the table next to theirs.
One of his friends turned to him, curiosity sparking across their face.
“Why are you so... dismissive about soulmates?” they asked, their tone light but genuine.
“I mean, most people dream about finding theirs. You act like you couldn’t care less.”
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at the sudden question but didn’t respond immediately. He took a slow sip from his mug, letting the words settle before shrugging lightly.
“Why?” he echoed, his tone casual but measured. “Because it’s irrational to let fate decide who you’ll end up with. It’s just...” He hesitated, glancing down at the swirl of coffee in his mug.
“It’s not practical. ”
“Not practical?” His friend frowned slightly, leaning closer. “What do you mean?”
Sunghoon set the mug down with deliberate ease, his fingers brushing the rim briefly before pulling away. He avoided their gaze, keeping his focus on the dark liquid swirling inside the cup.
“It’s cruel,” he said quietly, his voice steady but carrying an edge. “Don’t you think?”
“Cruel?” his friend repeated, their curiosity deepening.
Sunghoon’s lips pressed into a faint line before he spoke again.
“Because once they’re gone, it’s permanent,” he said simply, his tone flat, almost detached. But there was a sharpness to his words, a quiet weight that his friend didn’t miss.
“You lose them forever. And you lose a piece of yourself along with them. There’s no getting it back.”
The silence stretched between them, heavier now. His friend didn’t say much, only nodding faintly, their eyes glimmering with understanding they chose not to voice.
Sunghoon didn’t expect the conversation to linger in his mind, but it did. As they finished their coffee, the topic shifted to lighter things—an upcoming campus event, shared anecdotes—but the weight of what had been said hung in the back of his mind, quiet but insistent.
Later, as he stepped outside into the fading afternoon light, the air cool against his skin, Sunghoon felt the familiar pull of sadness—small but steady. His thoughts lingered on his friend’s words, on the quiet truth of what they’d shared. He could feel the ache trying to creep in, seeping through the cracks that hadn’t yet sealed.
But he stopped it before it reached him.
Like closing the lid on a box, Sunghoon locked the sadness away, pressing it firmly out of reach before it could settle in his chest. He told himself it wasn’t burying—it was surviving. And though the conversation had stirred something deeper, something raw, Sunghoon turned his focus forward, letting the cool breeze ground him.
Because that’s how it always is.
Life didn’t stop. And neither could he.
Even if it feels so tiring.
Ice skating had given Sunghoon purpose.
The rink, with its pristine surface and the rhythmic echo of blades cutting through ice, felt like a second home.
Fame followed naturally, his name whispered with admiration in stadiums and etched into the memories of those who watched him glide like he belonged to a different world. He wasn’t just an athlete; he was a celebrity.
And in the world of skating, that meant one thing.
Your soulmate mark became part of your allure, a piece of your fame.
Skaters were known for flaunting their marks, letting them peek through the fabric of sleek costumes or appear boldly on the skin during post-event interviews. Marks were to die for, the ultimate bragging right , the ultimate hope.
After all, soulmates meant connection, and in the glittering world of skating, connection meant everything.
Some skaters left their marks uncovered, using the visibility to spark the search for the other half of their soul. Others wore their marks as badges of pride, proof that their soulmate had already been found.
Sunghoon, however, chose privacy. He never flaunted his mark, always keeping it tucked away beneath the fabric of his sleeve.
Left shoulder. White. Untouched.
He’d told himself that he preferred it this way, that it wasn’t anyone’s business to ask.
Though a few did anyway.
“Have you found your soulmate yet?” they’d ask, their curiosity innocent but piercing. Sunghoon would meet their questions with the same bland expression he’d perfected over the years.
Still, he couldn’t deny the faint pang he felt whenever the topic came up, the way it lingered long after the questions faded away.
Even with the applause, the accolades, and the fleeting comfort of camaraderie, there were moments when the emptiness seeped in. It wasn’t something he could define, not a tangible void, but more an ache that lingered beneath the surface, subtle yet persistent.
He would stand on the podium, the national anthem playing in his honor, and catch himself wondering why the triumph felt so hollow.
He would glide across the ice, executing flawless moves that drew roaring applause, yet deep down, it still felt hollow.
The cheers were distant, muffled against the incessant question that loomed over him.
What was he skating toward? Was this all there was for him?
Walking home after practice, his thoughts unraveled like loose threads he couldn’t quite weave back together.
His hands hung loosely at his sides, catching his attention with their small imperfections.
The faint calluses, the occasional nick or bruise. He flexed his fingers, watching the way they moved. These were the hands of an athlete, sure, but were they the hands of someone who had achieved anything that truly mattered?
The weight of his family life wasn’t far from his mind, either.
Moving out to live in the athlete dorms had been a necessity, but it hadn’t come without its cost.
The last fight with his mother played on repeat in his head more often than he liked to admit. He remembered the sharpness in her voice, the way the words had cut deeper than any physical wound. His sister’s protests and attempts to defend him had only made it harder to leave, the guilt settling in his chest like a permanent fixture.
He still called them, still visited on rare occasions, but the distance between them felt wider than the miles that separated them.
As Sunghoon crossed a busy street, lost in thought, the sudden jolt of pain snapped him out of his daze. His knee collided hard with a pole he hadn’t noticed, and he let out a sharp hiss, stumbling back slightly.
“Ow,” he muttered under his breath, bending down to rub the spot instinctively. The pain wasn’t unbearable, more of a dull throb, but it caught him off guard enough to make him glance around, embarrassed.
A couple of passersby had turned toward him at the sound, their sympathetic winces making his face heat up instantly. One woman raised her eyebrows slightly, as if debating whether to ask if he was okay.
Sunghoon straightened quickly, shaking his head and giving them a dismissive wave as if to say I’m fine, it’s nothing.
“Great,” he muttered to himself, pulling his jacket tighter around him as he hurried down the street. He could still feel the dull ache in his knee, but the ache of embarrassment stung worse.
At least the pole, unlike his thoughts, had stopped him from spiraling too far down.
But even as he walked faster, trying to shake it off, the questions lingered.
What was he trying to prove? And to whom?
He shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling the slight sting of the cold air brushing against his flushed cheeks.
The applause, the routines, the dorms—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle he couldn’t quite put together.
The gnawing thought stayed with him one crisp evening as he left the dorms, months later.
His skates were slung over one shoulder, the weight familiar yet distant. The city buzzed faintly around him, the streets lit by the warm glow of streetlights. His path took him past the corner store, past the quiet park where he used to clear his head, and then toward the billboard that towered just across the way.
Its illuminated letters caught his eye, pulling his gaze upward.
“LiftStudio is looking for talented male adults,” it declared boldly. Beneath it, the words gleamed:
“Your dream, your stage. Become an idol.”
Sunghoon stopped in his tracks, his breath visible in the cool evening air. For a moment, he just stared at the billboard, its illuminated letters glowing faintly against the dark sky. He tilted his head slightly, one brow raising as the corners of his lips tugged into a faint, almost bemused expression.
“Huh,” he muttered under his breath, the single syllable carrying a weight of curiosity he couldn’t quite make sense of.
His gaze lingered on the words: “Your dream, your stage. Become an idol.”
An idol? Him?
He scoffed, the sound breaking the quiet hum of the evening. “Me? An idol? That’s got to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head.
The mere thought was absurd. He was an athlete, sharp, disciplined, controlled.
Sunghoon an idol? That was... chaotic, flashy, and loud . Everything he wasn’t. Yet the idea didn’t leave. It tugged at the edges of his mind, persistent and unrelenting.
What if?
What if he could step onto a stage and command an audience, not with the sharp precision of skating moves, but with his voice, his presence?
What if he could leave the ice behind and find something new, something unexpected?
Sunghoon shook his head again, harder this time, as if to dispel the thought entirely.
“Ridiculous,” he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he continued down the street. “I already have a career. A good one. A successful one. What kind of lunatic throws that away?”
But his pace slowed, and the billboard loomed larger in his mind with every step. He could see it in his head, the bold lettering calling out to him like a dare. The curiosity gnawed at him, twisting his frustration into something restless, something he couldn’t quite ignore.
By the time he reached the next block, his chest felt tight, his thoughts spiraling.
With an exasperated sigh, Sunghoon stopped abruptly.
“Fine,” he muttered under his breath, turning on his heel. His strides were quick and determined as he headed back toward the sign.
Standing beneath it, he reached for the small flyer attached to the bottom of the billboard—the kind meant for anyone interested in auditions. He tugged it loose, folding it neatly as he stuffed it into his pocket.
“What am I even doing?” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he turned away and walked back to his apartment.
Sunghoon didn’t know what came over him.
Honestly, he tried not to think about it too much. It was easier that way.
It was a rest day, one of the few where he didn’t have to lace up his skates or plan his next routine. He could’ve spent it anywhere. His apartment, a café, even the rink.
But instead, here he was, standing outside the LiftStudio building, its sleek glass façade reflecting the midday sun back at him like a challenge.
He glanced down at his shirt, one of the best branded pieces he owned. It felt ridiculous wearing it now, considering the beads of sweat rolling down the back of his neck and the slight shake in his hands.
He adjusted the collar awkwardly, taking a deep breath as the guard motioned for him to follow.
“This way,” the guard said, his voice clipped and professional.
Sunghoon nodded mutely, trailing behind him as they made their way to the audition lab.
His sneakers scuffed softly against the pristine floor tiles, each step echoing louder in his mind than it probably should’ve. By the time they reached the room, his nerves had frayed just enough for him to consider turning around and walking straight back out the door.
But the door opened, and Sunghoon didn’t move.
His legs felt stiff, like they were rooted to the polished floor. The air in the room was cool, almost clinical, brushing against the back of his neck and sending a faint shiver down his spine.
For a moment, he considered turning around.
But then the faint sound of a chair scraping against the floor broke his trance.
Inside, a small panel of judges sat behind a long table, their eyes flicking to him as he stepped through the doorway. The table was immaculate, a row of neatly stacked papers, a jug of water, and small nameplates arranged with meticulous precision.
They looked polite enough, their expressions framed by professional smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes.
One of them, a man with neatly combed hair, gestured for him to sit in the lone chair positioned awkwardly in the middle of the room.
Sunghoon approached hesitantly. His branded sneakers squeaked faintly on the polished tiles, the sound far louder in his ears than it needed to be.
As he settled into the chair, the hard plastic dug into his back, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat. His hands rested stiffly on his lap, gripping his thighs as though trying to anchor himself.
He felt small, almost childlike, sitting in front of these strangers who seemed larger than life.
The man with neatly combed hair adjusted his glasses, his gaze flickering down to the application form in front of him. Beside him, a woman with a sharp bob leaned back slightly, her eyes trained on Sunghoon like she was trying to see through him. On the other end of the table, a younger judge tapped their pen against their clipboard absentmindedly, their movements steady and rhythmic.
“Park Sunghoon, correct?” the man asked, glancing up briefly.
“Yes,” Sunghoon replied quickly, his voice cracking just faintly before he steadied it. He sat up straighter, forcing himself to appear composed even as his nervous energy buzzed under his skin.
The initial questions came easily enough.
Basic details about his background, hobbies, and past experience. Sunghoon answered them smoothly, his years of media training as a skater giving him a polished edge that surprised even himself. He caught glimpses of nods and polite smiles as he spoke, which helped ease the tightness in his chest, if only a little.
“You’re the ice skater, right?” the woman with the sharp bob asked, leaning forward slightly. There was a curious gleam in her eye, sharp and probing.
“Why did you decide to join us? What made you want to audition?”
Sunghoon hesitated, the weight of the question pressing harder than he expected. He could feel the air change, heavier somehow, like the room had leaned in to hear his answer. The judges’ eyes were locked on him, waiting for something that made sense.
His chest tightened. What could he say? The truth was messy, tangled in restless thoughts he hadn’t quite untangled himself.
“I guess...” he began slowly, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words.
“I just thought... why not?” He glanced down at his hands, feeling their grip tighten on his lap.
“Skating’s been my whole life, and I guess I just wanted to see if there was... something else.”
“Something different.”
The words felt weak to him, half-hearted and incomplete. But they were true, at least, partly.
The man with the glasses exchanged a glance with the younger judge, their expressions unreadable. The woman with the bob tapped her pen against the table once, a quick, rhythmic sound that made Sunghoon squirm in his seat again.
But then, they nodded collectively and continued with the rest of the interview.
When Sunghoon went home that evening after the audition, his nerves were a tangled mess.
The moment he stepped into his apartment, he felt the weight of everything settle on him.
The questions, the dancing around half-truths during the interview, the stray comments about him being a skater—it all replayed in his mind like a tape on a loop.
He dropped his bag by the door, glancing instinctively at the mailbox before stepping inside.
Empty.
Of course, it was too soon. He knew that. Rationally, he knew that.
But still, his heart clenched with a flicker of irrational disappointment.
He kicked off his shoes, flopped onto the couch, and tried to convince himself he didn’t care. If it came, it came. If it didn’t... well, maybe that would be for the best.
The next few days stretched longer than they should have.
Each evening after practice, he would return home, his eyes flicking immediately to the mailbox as if it might miraculously contain the answer he was waiting for. It became a ritual—open the box, see nothing, shut it again with a sigh that he tried to pass off as indifference.
But no matter how much he told himself it didn’t matter, the faint spark of hope persisted, stubborn and unshakable.
And then, one evening, it was there.
The bright yellow envelope stood out starkly against the stack of dull bills and advertisements.
Sunghoon froze, his breath catching as he reached for it with trembling hands.
The LiftStudio logo gleamed in the corner, crisp and undeniable.
For a moment, he just stared at it, the weight of possibility heavier than he’d expected.
Inside, the letter was concise but clear.
“Congratulations! You have passed the screening process and are invited to join our survival show.”
The words blurred as his chest swelled with an overwhelming mix of disbelief and exhilaration. Sunghoon read them again, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. And then again, and again.
Finally, the joy burst out of him in a sharp laugh, and before he knew it, he was spinning around his apartment, his arms wide as he shouted into the empty room.
“I made it!” he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. “I actually made it!”
He jumped and danced like a fool, every ounce of composure thrown out the window. No one else would ever know about this moment— this wild, unfiltered celebration —but that only made it sweeter. It was his alone.
Then, mid-spin, a thought sliced through his joy, stopping him dead in his tracks.
His heart sank as the realization hit him like a cold splash of water.
Oh no. How am I going to explain this to Coach?
The elation drained from his face as he flopped onto the couch, clutching the letter as if it might somehow offer a solution.
Sunghoon could practically hear the lecture already.
Ice skating wasn’t just his career; it was his identity. Or at least, it had been.
Explaining it, though, was a different story.
When Sunghoon finally stood in front of his coach and the rest of the management team, the words tumbled out awkwardly. He tried to sound confident, like he had it all figured out, but the reality was far less polished.
As expected, he got an earful.
His coach looked at him like he’d grown an extra head, pacing back and forth while launching into a tirade about wasted potential, dedication, and loyalty.
“You’re leaving this for... for singing? Dancing? Park Sunghoon , do you realize what you’re throwing away?” his coach had said, his voice booming across the room.
Sunghoon stood there silently, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he let the words wash over him.
He couldn’t blame them—he owed his career, his skill, his success to these people. And yet, there was no hesitation in his heart. Even as they spoke, even as the weight of their disappointment pressed against him, he knew this was what he needed to do.
But then, something unexpected happened.
The anger subsided, the words slowed, and one by one, the sharp edges softened.
His coach stopped pacing and, with a heavy sigh, stepped forward.
“You’re a great loss to the ice skating community,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But I have no doubt that you’ll succeed in whatever you do. You’ll always be remembered, Sunghoon .”
And then they hugged him. It was brief, firm, and full of unspoken emotions. Sunghoon had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his tears at bay as the rest of the team wished him luck, their voices filled with both pride and sorrow.
From there, everything changed.
The survival show began, and Sunghoon stepped into a world completely unlike anything he had ever known.
It was chaos. Constant rehearsals, relentless pressure, and the ever-present threat of elimination. Some days, the tension was unbearable. He made new friends, people who laughed with him during late-night practices and shared whispered confessions in the dark corners of the dorms. He made enemies too, rivalries born from the fierce competition, sharp words exchanged in moments of frustration.
But Sunghoon endured. Somehow, through every grueling challenge and every emotionally charged moment, he survived.
He survived hell.
And now, here he was, standing with six other boys, all of them wearing the same expression of disbelief and triumph. The name ENHYPEN echoed around the room, the cheers of the crowd ringing in his ears as confetti rained down from above.
They had made it. They were a team, a boy band, a dream realized.
As the lights glimmered on the stage, Sunghoon felt his chest tighten. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to cry. Not from frustration or exhaustion, but from the overwhelming weight of everything he’d been through.
The losses, the doubts, the moments he’d nearly given up, all of it had led to this moment.
He blinked quickly, his vision blurring.
And then, as the stage lights dimmed just slightly, he allowed a single tear to slip down his cheek, unnoticed by everyone but himself.
Chapter 2
Summary:
Yes, he did pass.
Sunghoon let the words roll through his mind, the memory of the survival show playing like a distant echo.
“I mean,” Sunghoon said, adjusting the cuff of his jacket, “we technically signed up for this. But yeah... a breathing room wouldn’t hurt. ”
Jay looked up from his phone, smirking faintly. “You think we should start a petition? Get management to add one ‘nap hour’ to the schedule?”
Sunghoon chuckled, shaking his head.
“Yeah, good luck convincing them of that.”
Notes:
When silence feels heavier than presence, whispers brush past, unnoticed.
In their wake, a quiet unease lingers, restless and unseen.
Chapter Text
Restless, lost in silent stares
Whispers drift to you, unawares
The dressing room hummed with quiet activity, the air heavy with the faint scent of hairspray and foundation. Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, his eyes lazily tracking the makeup artist as they worked on Jake’s eyeliner across the room.
Jay was perched on the edge of the couch, scrolling through his phone while Jungwon flipped through the day’s schedule on a clipboard, his brow furrowed.
“Another back-to-back setlist,” Jungwon muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.
“Who plans these schedules? Seriously, it’s like they forgot we’re human.”
“I mean,” Sunghoon said, adjusting the cuff of his jacket, “we technically signed up for this. But yeah... a breathing room wouldn’t hurt. ”
Jay looked up from his phone, smirking faintly. “You think we should start a petition? Get management to add one ‘nap hour’ to the schedule?”
Sunghoon chuckled, shaking his head.
“Yeah, good luck convincing them of that.”
“Hey, it’s better than collapsing on stage,” Jake chimed in as the makeup artist stepped back to examine her work. “I swear, yesterday felt like we were running a marathon. My legs still hurt. ”
“Tell me about it,” Sunoo said from the corner, his voice muffled slightly as he adjusted his mic pack. “I actually dreamed about sleeping last night. That’s how bad it is.”
The room filled with laughter, light and fleeting, before the door swung open and a staff member peeked in.
“Five minutes to stage call,” they announced.
“Got it,” Jungwon replied, his leader’s tone firm despite the tired sigh he let out.
The group moved seamlessly into final touches, checking hair, costumes, and mic packs as Sunghoon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
Yes, he did pass.
Sunghoon let the words roll through his mind, the memory of the survival show playing like a distant echo.
He had made it through—the grueling rehearsals, the sleepless nights, the pressure that felt like it could crush him at any moment. It had been a slow grind, a relentless climb marked by ups and downs that tested every ounce of his strength.
With Enhypen, the journey had been just as chaotic.
Mishaps happened. Forgotten lyrics, missed cues, wardrobe malfunctions. But there had also been victories, moments that made all the struggle worth it.
The overwhelming roar of a crowd during their first concert.
The quiet satisfaction of perfecting a choreography that had once seemed impossible.
The camaraderie they shared, the way they lifted each other up even when things felt like they were falling apart.
For Sunghoon, it wasn’t just about surviving anymore. It was about being part of something bigger, something that pushed him to be better even when it scared him. He glanced around the dressing room, watching as his members pulled together effortlessly, each of them bringing their own spark to the team.
Somehow, through everything, they had become a family.
Sunghoon faintly smiles to himself as he makes way to the stage.
Staff darted back and forth, adjusting lights and sound equipment, while scattered voices called out instructions to one another. Amidst the hum of preparation, he spotted Niki standing near the center of the stage, already in position.
Of course, Sunghoon thought with a small smirk. Never late, not even once.
Niki waved when he noticed Sunghoon approaching, his youthful energy as infectious as ever.
“Hyung, you’re cutting it close today!” he teased, his grin wide and mischievous.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, brushing past him to his spot. Niki’s boundless enthusiasm always managed to lighten the mood, no matter how tense things got.
After a faint buzz from one of the stage speakers, Jake bounded onto the stage with his usual golden retriever energy, practically buzzing with excitement.
“Guys, did you see the stage setup? It’s insane!” he exclaimed, his voice louder than necessary as he gestured wildly to the lighting rig above them.
“Tone it down, Jake,” Jay said, appearing beside him with a raised brow and an exasperated expression. “You’re going to scare the staff. ”
Jake blinked at him, momentarily confused, before breaking into a sheepish laugh.
“ Sorry, I’m just pumped, you know?”
Before Jay could respond, Jungwon, clipboard still in hand, walked over and gave Jake a light slap on the shoulder.
The sound was soft, almost playful, but the reaction was immediate.
Jay winced, rubbing his own shoulder instinctively, while Jungwon’s free hand shot up to his own arm, his face twisting in brief discomfort.
The three of them froze for a moment, glancing at each other with wide eyes before breaking into quiet giggles.
It was a strange, shared moment of pain and amusement, one that only they could truly understand.
“Sorry,” Jungwon said, his grin sheepish as he rubbed his arm. “I forget sometimes.”
Sunghoon watched them with a faint smile, taking in the dynamic that had developed over time.
And yeah, the three of them eventually found out they were soulmates—years into working together, years of gradual realization that the mark each carried belonged to someone right there by their side.
There hadn’t been any dramatic moment of discovery, no fireworks or grand declarations. It had been quiet, subtle, like a truth they’d always known but hadn’t yet put into words.
Now, it just was. A simple fact, woven into their everyday chaos, as unshakable as their bond.
Sunghoon adjusted his mic pack, glancing back at Niki, Jake, Jay, and Jungwon as they laughed and bantered. The warmth of their camaraderie filled the space, a chaotic, unspoken rhythm that they had grown into over the years.
It was easy to let himself feel secure in moments like this, to let their dynamic wrap around him like armor.
But there were still cracks.
Despite everything, the achievements, the bond he shared with his members, there were moments when the voices in his head crept back in, whispers of inadequacy that never fully went away.
He glanced at the three of them again and his thoughts wandered to the marks they carried. The marks that bound them as soulmates, that went beyond just friendship or teamwork.
Jungwon’s mark, the mountain and sun, rested prominently on his upper back, just below the nape of his neck.
It suited him in ways that felt almost poetic.
The mountain reflected Jay’s calm resilience, the unyielding stability that he gives as a partner. And the sun? That was Jake, warm and vibrant, a beacon of energy that brightened even the darkest moments. Together, they completed each other, like a constant cycle of strength and vitality.
Jay’s mark, the moon and sun, wrapped around his left wrist like a bracelet.
The moon symbolized Jungwon’s quiet depth and steady guidance, while the sun— again, Jake —brought a fiery balance to Jay’s intensity. It made sense in a way that seemed almost unfair. They had found that balance in each other without even trying, like gravity pulling celestial bodies into perfect harmony.
Jake, ever the center of their trio, carried the moon and mountain on his chest, just over his heart.
It was fitting, Sunghoon thought, that Jake’s mark anchored so close to the source of his warmth. The moon connected him to Jungwon’s subtle mystery and introspection, while the mountain tied him to Jay’s solid presence. Jake embodied both marks effortlessly, a blend of steady affection and boundless enthusiasm that kept their little constellation intact.
Sunghoon couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy, a small ache that lingered in the corners of his mind.
Their bond was undeniable, and it left him questioning his own place in the group sometimes.
What did he bring to the table? Was he doing enough?
These thoughts hovered at the edge of his awareness, quiet but persistent, a shadow he couldn’t quite shake.
And yet, when he watched the three of them now, Jungwon apologizing for the slap while Jay rolled his eyes with a grin, Jake laughing as if he hadn’t just been chastised , Sunghoon felt a flicker of comfort.
They made it work, through pain and laughter alike. Perhaps his doubts didn’t matter as much as he thought.
The door swung open, and Sunoo stepped in, his presence immediately brightening the room.
“Hey, guys,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of preparation.
Niki’s head shot up, his grin widening as he bounded over to Sunoo. “Hyung!” he exclaimed, his energy spilling over like it always did.
“You’re late! I thought you were going to miss the final checks.”
Sunoo chuckled, shaking his head as he adjusted the mic pack clipped to his belt. “Relax, I’m here, aren’t I?” His tone was light, teasing, but there was an undeniable steadiness in his demeanor.
Sunghoon’s gaze flicked to the marks they carried, the ones that tied them together in ways deeper than words.
Sunoo’s tree mark, a symbol of quiet strength and nurturing care, rested on the inside of his left forearm, its intricate design curling upward like branches reaching for the sky. It was Niki’s mark, a reflection of the bond they shared.
A connection rooted in growth and mutual support.
Niki’s flower mark, vibrant and delicate, bloomed across the back of his right hand. It was Sunoo’s mark, a symbol of beauty and quiet resilience, a reminder of the way their bond nurtured each other’s strengths.
Sunghoon had always thought it suited them perfectly. Their dynamic was effortless, a balance of youthful energy and steady grounding.
As Sunoo settled into his spot, Niki leaned closer, his grin still plastered across his face.
“You know, hyung, you should’ve been here earlier. Jake was being loud again, and Jay almost lost it.”
Sunoo laughed, glancing over at Jake, who was now fiddling with his mic pack while Jay muttered something under his breath.
“Sounds about right,” he said, his tone amused.
Sunghoon watched them all, his thoughts drifting as the staff called for final checks again.
The marks they carried were more than just symbols, they were pieces of their souls, connections that shaped the way they moved through the world.
And yet, even with those bonds, Sunghoon couldn’t help but feel the weight of his own insecurities, the quiet doubts that lingered in the back of his mind.
The door opened for the final time.
There he was.
Heeseung stepped into the room, carrying an air of quiet confidence that seemed to fill the space effortlessly.
His movements were unhurried, the kind that spoke of someone who had long since found his balance in the chaos of their world. The way his gaze swept over the room, steady yet calm, grounded everything around him.
His eyes found it almost immediately.
The snowflake etched onto Heeseung’s right wrist. The intricate, frosted patterns glimmered faintly under the soft stage lights, delicate and beautiful. It stood as a constant reminder of the bond they shared, of that fleeting, extraordinary moment.
A reminder of Sunghoon himself.
The snowflake was his mark.
It had bloomed so long ago, yet the memory remained vivid in his mind.
The accidental bump of their shoulders in a bustling café, the hurried apology he had barely said as he was running back to practice. Before he knew it, he had already bumped with his other half.
But then, moments later, the burning warmth had spread across his shoulder, the smoldering fire of the shooting star on his left shoulder wasn't white and untouched anymore. And when Heeseung pulled back his sleeve after the said meeting, his mark was already filled out.
A snowflake curling his right wrist like an anchor, never failing to glitter under any stage light.
It felt weird to see the mirror of his soul etched onto someone else’s skin.
And yet, for all the beauty of what Heeseung carried, Sunghoon had chosen to hide his own.
The shooting star that represented Heeseung lay hidden on Sunghoon’s left shoulder, glowing softly beneath layers of fabric. It had bloomed that same day, just as vibrant as the snowflake.
Its silvery streaks stretched like a quiet promise, faint yet undeniable.
But Sunghoon had never shown it to anyone. Not his fans, not his members, not even Heeseung.
It was a secret he would bury in the grave.
It wasn’t shame that made him hide it. Nor was it rejection. It was something deeper, harder to untangle. A mix of hesitation and fear, of questions he wasn’t ready to confront.
What would it mean for them? What would it change if Heeseung knew?
If he realized that it had always been Sunghoon?
Some things were better left unseen. Sunghoon told himself that every time he saw the snowflake glimmer faintly on Heeseung’s wrist, every time he felt the quiet pull in his chest that reminded him of what he carried.
What they carried.
Heeseung glanced at him briefly as he moved further into the room, offering a small, easy smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. It was such a simple gesture, yet it sent a quiet ache rippling through Sunghoon.
The longing stirred, as it always did, persistent and unyielding.
Sunghoon returned the smile, faint but steady.
He let it linger just long enough before looking away, his hand brushing his shoulder briefly, as if to reassure himself the mark was still concealed.
And yes, of course. How could he have forgotten?
Even though he had pushed himself, retaliated with fate, cursed at the Gods for the said fate, he was still a man.
And said man, though doesn’t want to, before he knew it had already fallen in love with his soulmate.
For years on end.
For now though, it was enough to watch.
Enough to hold onto the reminder without letting it show.
Enough to carry the unspoken truth quietly, even as it burned faintly in the depths of his heart.
Hidden love was like that. Silent, buried, but alive all the same.
He couldn’t bring himself to be selfish.
The staff called for final checks, their voices breaking through the stillness. Sunghoon adjusted his mic, his expression steady as the room shifted into routine.
For now, the memories could rest. Whatever truth lingered beneath his skin, whatever weight he carried, none of it mattered here.
This was their moment. And for Heeseung, for the others, Sunghoon would give it his all.
Even as the shooting star hidden on his shoulder burned softly,
Quietly,
Undeniably.
The backstage air was thick, heavy with the lingering heat of the performance.
Sunghoon moved toward a quieter corner, away from the laughter and chatter of the others that ricocheted through the space. His chest rose and fell, each breath uneven as he tried to shake off the adrenaline still surging through him.
The van waited outside, its engine humming faintly in the distance, but for now, there was this brief moment of stillness.
His fingers moved to his shirt, unfastening the buttons slowly, one by one. The cool air kissed his skin, a welcome reprieve from the suffocating warmth that clung to him like a second layer.
Each button gave way under his touch, the motions grounding him as he let his thoughts drift.
That went well, better than he expected.
He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he reached for the next button.
The faint metallic feel of the safety pin brushed against his fingers, and Sunghoon’s stomach twisted briefly before relief washed over him.
Phew, he thought, his lips pressing into a thin line. Thank god I had the backup in my pocket. It had been a stroke of luck, really, having a second pin tucked away.
The adrenaline hadn’t faded enough for him to forget how close it had been—the pin saving him from a potential wardrobe disaster minutes before the show.
He winced at the memory of Jake’s mishap during a previous performance. Jake’s button had untied mid-routine, and instead of panicking, he had powered through with an almost comical confidence.
Sunghoon could still hear the teasing laughter from the others backstage afterward, Jake brushing it off with a grin. But the thought of it happening to him? His face heated up instantly.
Oh god, if that were me, I wouldn’t survive.
It was ironic, really. Sunghoon was the one who dressed the most revealing, according to them, yet the idea of a wardrobe malfunction made his stomach twist. The smallest detail—a safety pin tucked away—had felt monumental in that moment, as if fate had nudged him toward smoother waters.
And for now, that was enough to keep the embarrassment at bay.
He exhaled again, a softer breath this time, as he leaned slightly against the wall, his fingers moving toward the next button-
“Hey.”
Sunghoon froze, his head snapping up as his hand faltered. Heeseung stood by the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, his gaze locked onto Sunghoon with an intensity that made his breath hitch.
“H-Hyung!” Sunghoon stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he straightened, his hands fumbling to grip the edges of his shirt.
Heeseung pushed off the frame, stepping closer, his movements unhurried.
Sunghoon’s pulse quickened, his chest tightening as the space between them dissolved too quickly.
Too close. He’s too close.
“You’re always so tense, ” Heeseung murmured, his voice low and teasing, like velvet brushing against Sunghoon’s frayed nerves. His lips curved into a smirk, the kind that always seemed to disarm everyone around him.
Sunghoon wasn’t immune, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise.
“I-I’m not tense,” Sunghoon muttered, his voice quieter than he intended. His grip on his shirt tightened, his knuckles white as he tried to steady himself.
Don’t read into it. This is just Heeseung being Heeseung.
But Heeseung’s eyes were boring into him, peeling back his layers, stripping him bare in a way that felt almost claustrophobic. Sunghoon’s breaths grew shallow, his chest rising and falling as if the very air had turned against him.
Heeseung’s gaze flickered briefly to his collar, and Sunghoon’s stomach twisted. His hand lifted slightly, his fingers reaching toward him with a slowness that made Sunghoon’s throat tighten.
His lashes fluttered shut instinctively, his body bracing itself for… what?
He didn’t know.
He couldn’t think past the white-hot rush of heat crawling up his neck.
Why is he—
“There,” Heeseung said softly, his tone almost amused.
Sunghoon’s eyes snapped open just as Heeseung pulled back.
Between his fingers was a small piece of confetti, glimmering faintly under the backstage lights.
“You had this in your hair.”
Sunghoon exhaled shakily, the air rushing out of his lungs all at once as his knees threatened to give way.
“Oh. Uh. Thanks ,” he managed, though his voice came out uneven, almost funny in its attempt to recover.
Heeseung’s smirk deepened, his gaze lingering on Sunghoon for a moment longer than necessary.
“You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” he said, his tone light but carrying something underneath that made the words stick to Sunghoon’s ribs.
“I’m not flustered, ” he muttered, but the heat crawling up his neck betrayed him entirely.
Heeseung finally stepped back, breaking the suffocating tension, though his presence lingered like an imprint in the air.
“Come on,” he said, throwing a glance over his shoulder as he walked toward the others.
His voice still carried that teasing edge, but there was something possessive buried in it too.
“Don’t keep us waiting.”
Sunghoon stayed frozen for a moment, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed over his hair, making sure there wasn’t more confetti.
His chest felt tight, his thoughts a mess.
It’s just Heeseung being Heeseung, he told himself, the words ringing hollow.
It doesn’t mean anything.
The words rang hollow.
But as he straightened his shirt, his heart still racing, he found it harder than ever to convince himself of that.
The way Heeseung’s eyes lingered, the heat in his voice.
No matter how much Sunghoon told himself otherwise, it had left a mark.
One he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried.
The members were gathered in the living room, their usual chaotic energy filling the space as they prepared for their Vlive.
Jake crouched by the makeshift camera stand, adjusting the angle and muttering instructions under his breath.
“Niki, stop moving! You’re messing up the frame.”
Niki leaned forward, his face inches from the screen. “Hyung, move it up a little! My forehead looks huge,” he complained, scrunching his nose dramatically.
Sunoo, perched on the armrest of the couch, threw a pillow in Niki’s direction with pinpoint accuracy. “Your forehead’s fine. Stop overthinking it!” he teased, earning a whine from Niki, who ducked just in time.
Heeseung sat cross-legged near Sunghoon, his phone balanced on his knee as he scrolled through the growing wave of fan comments. He chuckled softly, leaning toward the camera.
“Wow, so many people joined already! Hey everyone!” His voice was warm, inviting, immediately settling the energy in the room just slightly.
Once the Vlive began, the chaos softened into a playful rhythm. The members took turns interacting with fans—answering questions, teasing each other, and tossing out random tidbits from their day.
Sunghoon raised a brow when a fan asked him to do aegyo.
“Me? ” he asked, his tone half-amused, half-reluctant. “Why me?” Despite his protest, he gave it a shot, scrunching his face and sending the chat into an absolute frenzy.
Jake was quick to steal the spotlight, pretending to mimic Sunghoon’s aegyo but exaggerating it to ridiculous proportions. “Look, guys, I’m Sunghoon!” he declared, puffing his cheeks out like a squirrel, prompting Niki to nearly fall off the couch laughing.
Sunoo jumped in next, showing off his freshly painted nails as he answered a comment about his favorite snacks.
Meanwhile, Niki stood up, flexing his dance skills without warning. He broke into an impromptu freestyle, showing off parts of their choreography, and Sunoo clapped dramatically, hollering, “Encore!”
Midway through, Sunoo and Jay found themselves tangled in a debate about cooking.
“Hyung, your ramen last week was bland,” Sunoo declared, crossing his arms like an unimpressed food critic.
“Mine was innovative,” Jay retorted, leaning back with a grin. “You wouldn’t understand true culinary mastery.”
“Mastery? You didn’t even boil the egg properly!” Sunoo fired back, earning a round of laughter from the group.
“Alright, alright,” Jungwon cut in, holding up his hands. “Let’s settle this. Rate each other’s ramen attempts— fair and square .”
“Wait, hold up a second!” Jake exclaimed, leaning forward, his expression dramatic as he pointed at Sunghoon. “That’s not fair. Why Heeseung? What’s he got that I don’t?”
Sunghoon smirked, leaning back with an air of playful confidence. “What can I say?” he replied casually, his tone teasing. “Heeseung gives the biggest servings. Can’t turn that down, Jake.”
Heeseung raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. “That’s what this is about? My serving sizes? Not my cooking skills?”
Jake crossed his arms, feigning betrayal.
“I see how it is. It’s not about quality, it’s about quantity. Sunghoon, I’m hurt. ”
Laughter rippled across the group, light and unrestrained. Heeseung’s amusement lingered for a moment before his attention shifted naturally.
Still smiling, he leaned forward slightly, his eyes scanning the table as he picked up one of the fan questions.
With a quick glance at the others, he read it aloud.
“‘How do you guys work it out? Being the only two members in Enhypen who haven’t found their soulmate yet?’”
The question hung in the air, quieting the playful buzz in the room.
Laughter softened into a faint hum, and even Sunghoon felt the shift. His smile faded slightly, his body stilling as if the words had pressed an invisible pause button.
His lips pressed into a thin, tight line, his gaze dropping briefly as he tried not to let the change in atmosphere show too much.
Heeseung, sitting beside him, didn’t miss a beat.
He paused briefly, thoughtful, before responding.
“I guess it’s not something you really ‘work out,’” he said, his voice steady but introspective.
“It’s just a part of life, you know? You keep moving forward, you focus on what’s in front of you, and… you wait. If they come into your life, then it’ll happen when it’s meant to happen.”
The chat filled with supportive comments, encouraging words, empathetic thoughts.
But Heeseung didn’t linger on it, giving a small nod before letting the Vlive shift back to lighter topics.
Sunghoon’s eyes caught on another question, this one directed at him.
“‘Hyung, what about your soulmate? Do you think you’ll ever talk about them?’”
He adjusted his mic briefly, his hand brushing over his shoulder almost instinctively. His tone was calm but firm as he replied,
“For me, as usual, I keep it private.” He didn’t elaborate, his words definitive enough to stop further probing.
A few disappointed comments scrolled by in the chat—pleas for hints, questions left unanswered—but others defended him just as quickly, affirming his right to hold his ground.
Sunghoon let the interaction fade into the background, his attention shifting entirely to the camera settings for the broadcast’s final moments. He adjusted the angles with practiced ease, focusing on the technical details as the noise from the others filled the room once again.
And then the chaos resumed.
“Are you serious, Jungwon?” Jay’s voice rang out, exaggerated disbelief coloring his tone. “That cat meme is objectively terrible. I’m telling you, the one with the grumpy cat is leagues better.”
Jungwon crossed his arms, an incredulous look on his face. “Grumpy cat? Really? That’s so outdated, Jay. The one with the little cat stuck in the blinds is peak comedy. You just don’t understand modern humor.”
“Modern humor?” Jay scoffed, leaning forward as if preparing for battle. “No, I understand humor just fine. You just have terrible taste.”
“Guys, guys—dogs,” Jake interjected, his voice cutting through their argument with an almost pleading tone. “Why are we even fighting about cats? Dogs are objectively better.”
Jay and Jungwon paused mid-bicker, exchanging looks that slowly shifted from annoyance to agreement. Jay grinned and gestured toward Jake.
“Well, you know what? Jake is definitely the best dog around here.”
Jungwon’s face lit up with a mischievous grin as he picked something off the table—a sticker showing Jake the Dog , the cartoon character, holding a sandwich.
“You’re right, Jay. Jake is the best dog,” he said, holding up the sticker for everyone to see.
The room erupted into laughter as Jake stared at the sticker in mock offense.
“That’s not me!” he exclaimed, pointing at the sticker as Sunghoon glanced over with a faint smirk. “That’s literally a cartoon dog. Come on , guys.”
“Close enough!” Jungwon teased, waving the sticker playfully in the air. “You both have the name Jake, and that’s what counts.”
As the laughter echoed through the space, Sunghoon shook his head lightly, the chaos serving as a fittingly absurd end to the broadcast. He let himself smile faintly, his focus returning to the camera, letting the hilarity unfold just beyond his frame.
As the camera light blinked off, signaling the conclusion of the Vlive, Jungwon stretched with a satisfied hum.
“Good job, everyone,” he said, rising from his spot.
The group started to disperse, heading toward the hallway and their next task. Jay ruffled Niki’s hair as they left, teasing him about his stretching form while Sunoo linked an arm around Niki, grinning.
Heeseung lingered where he was, his gaze flicking briefly to Sunghoon.
The look wasn’t direct, but there was something quietly curious about it—something thoughtful, like he was replaying Sunghoon’s earlier words in his mind.
Sunghoon caught the glance but didn’t react, busying himself by gathering cables from the table.
The faint knot in his chest stayed with him as he stood, slipping his hands into his hoodie pockets before settling on the couch, turning it off.
He didn’t look back, but the weight of Heeseung’s glance felt like it hadn’t left, hanging in the air like an unspoken question.
Heeseung stood in the doorway, his gaze locked on the figure curled up on the couch.
Sunghoon was asleep again, his head resting awkwardly on the armrest. One arm draped across his stomach while the other hung limply over the edge. The soft rise and fall of his chest filled the silence, the only movement in the room.
There was something about seeing Sunghoon like this, unguarded, vulnerable, that sent a familiar ache through his chest.
It stirred emotions he didn’t want to name, a swirl of admiration and something heavier, something that stayed no matter how much he tried to push it aside.
Sunghoon had offered his room to Sunoo again, insisting the younger member needed better rest. It was so typical of him, the selflessness that Heeseung both admired and found frustrating. Sunghoon gave and gave without hesitation, often at his own expense.
Heeseung let out a quiet sigh, stepping closer.
The faint glow of the lamp highlighted the crease between Sunghoon’s brows, a tension that even sleep couldn’t erase. His posture was terrible, his neck bent at an angle that made Heeseung wince just looking at it.
Shaking his head softly, Heeseung crouched down beside the couch.
Heeseung reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before carefully lifting Sunghoon’s limp hand. His touch was light as he moved it to rest in a more comfortable position.
It should have been a simple gesture. But the warmth of Sunghoon’s skin beneath his fingers lingered, staying with him longer than it should have.
Longer than he wanted to admit.
As he pulled his hand away, his gaze drifted instinctively to his own wrist.
The snowflake glimmered faintly in the dim light, the intricate lines of the mark. Heeseung’s breath caught for a moment, the weight of it settling over him like it always did.
The ache in his chest flared, deep and familiar, a reminder he could never quite escape.
Ah, yes.
His soulmate. The other half of his soul. The person he was supposed to find, supposed to meet.
The one who carried the same bond etched into their skin. It was meant to be comforting, this idea of fated connection.
But all Heeseung felt was torn.
Torn between the promise of someone out there—someone waiting for him—and the person right in front of him.
His fingers twitched slightly at the thought, the ghost of Sunghoon’s warmth still lingering against his skin. Heeseung’s gaze flickered back to the couch. Sunghoon’s sleeping form was peaceful, yet something about it tugged at him, something he couldn’t quite name.
Sunghoon wasn’t his soulmate—he knew that. The snowflake on Heeseung’s wrist had nothing to do with him.
And yet, the growing feelings Heeseung carried told a different story, a conflicting one.
And also, maybe, in the deepest corners of his heart, he wishes to see Sunghoon with his mark.
“What am I supposed to do? ”
Was it wrong to let these feelings grow? To let Sunghoon take up more and more space in his heart when his soulmate was still out there somewhere?
Or was it worse to cling to the idea of someone he hadn’t even met, someone he might not find for years?
He glanced at the snowflake again, its gleam a cruel reminder of everything unresolved.
Heeseung pressed his lips into a thin line, frustration and longing warring inside him. He wanted clarity, but the answers seemed impossibly far away, just out of reach.
For a moment, all he could do was sit there, the quiet sound of Sunghoon’s breathing filling the room.
The ache in his chest deepened, but Heeseung locked it away, shoving it into the corners of his mind where it couldn’t distract him.
Adjusting Sunghoon’s position with quiet care, Heeseung slipped a cushion under his head, easing the strain on his neck. He stayed there for a moment, crouched by the couch, watching the even rhythm of Sunghoon’s breathing.
The storm in Heeseung’s chest raged louder.
But even with that fear gnawing at the edges of his resolve, Heeseung couldn’t bring himself to pull away. His fingers rested lightly on Sunghoon’s temple for a moment longer, the warmth of him settling against his skin.
Instead, he leaned forward slowly, almost hesitantly, his breath catching just before his forehead brushed against Sunghoon’s.
The contact was fleeting—a whisper of closeness—but it settled deep, grounding Heeseung in that single moment.
Heeseung’s eyes fluttered shut, the ache in his chest blooming fully, painfully.
“Goodnight, Sunghoonie ,” he whispered softly, the words steady but laced with quiet emotion.
He pulled back with deliberate slowness, standing carefully as though the act itself might shatter something fragile. The ache in his chest still burned, but he buried it, locking the feeling away with practiced restraint.
Whatever this was—whatever it meant—he would keep it safe, keep it theirs.
Even if it meant pushing his heart into the quiet corners of himself, where it could ache without consequence.
As Heeseung walked away, the soft sound of Sunghoon’s breathing followed him like an echo, a quiet reminder of the closeness he cherished and the distance he had to keep.
Chapter 3
Summary:
Sunghoon jolted, his phone slipping from his grasp.
Heeseung caught it effortlessly, the movement smooth and practiced.
“Jumpier than usual,” Heeseung teased, handing it back. “Something on there making you blush, or is that just me?”
Heat crept up Sunghoon’s neck as he grabbed his phone, his fingers brushing against Heeseung for a moment too long.
“It’s nothing,” Sunghoon mumbled, avoiding Heeseung’s gaze.
“Uh-huh,” Heeseung said, plopping down beside him.
Chapter Text
These hands, they ache to hold you near
Your gaze — it stops my world, so clear
The morning at the Enhypen dorm erupted into its usual cacophony of voices, footsteps, and clattering dishes.
Jake was the first to appear, stumbling out of his room with hair that defied gravity, sticking up wildly in tufts that made him look like he’d survived a tornado.
He yawned loudly, scratching the back of his head as he shuffled toward the kitchen.
“Jake-hyung, what’s with your hair?” Niki’s voice rang out as he entered the living room, bundled in his favorite fleece blanket. He flopped onto the couch like a ghostly lump, only his face peeking out as he reached for the remote.
“You look like a scarecrow.”
Jake rolled his eyes, pulling open the fridge. “At least I’m awake. What’s your excuse?”
Niki ignored him, his attention already on the TV as he lazily flicked through channels. Sunoo walked in next, impeccably styled even this early, his matching pajamas wrinkle-free and his face glowing with last night’s skincare routine.
He stopped mid-stride, narrowing his eyes at Jake’s rumpled t-shirt and mismatched socks.
“Jake, please,” Sunoo sighed dramatically, placing his hands on his hips. “You can’t keep walking around looking like… that. What if we get a surprise Vlive or something?”
Jake shrugged, pouring himself a cup of orange juice. “Then I’ll be the relatable one. Fans love that.”
“They don’t love socks with holes in them,” Sunoo retorted, grabbing a throw pillow from the couch and launching it at Jake, who barely dodged it.
“Yah!” Jake shouted, raising his glass defensively. “This is why we can’t have nice mornings.”
Jungwon appeared next, toothbrush dangling from his mouth as he surveyed the scene with half-lidded eyes. His hoodie was two sizes too big, swallowing his frame, and he leaned against the doorframe like a tired dad watching his chaotic kids.
He mumbled something incoherent around the toothbrush.
“What?” Jay asked, walking in behind him. Unlike the others, Jay looked composed—hair neatly tousled, his outfit coordinated as though he’d stepped out of a casual magazine shoot.
He glanced at Jungwon with an arched brow.
Jungwon gestured vaguely with his toothbrush, finally pulling it out of his mouth. “I said , why are you already dressed like you’re going to the airport? It’s breakfast, not Paris Fashion Week.”
Jay smirked, grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee. “Always be prepared, leader-nim. You never know when an opportunity will strike.”
“And by ‘opportunity,’ you mean taking Instagram photos, right?” Niki quipped from the couch, not even looking up from the TV.
Jay raised his mug in mock acknowledgment. “ Touché.”
Meanwhile, Sunghoon trailed behind the commotion, stepping into the living room quietly. His legs folded under him as he sank into the corner of the couch, his half-lidded gaze sweeping lazily over the room. His hair was still a bit mussed, and he held his phone loosely, scrolling without focus.
“Where’s the milk?” Sunoo called out from the kitchen, inspecting the empty fridge. “Seriously, does no one tell me when we’re out of things?”
“Don’t look at me!” Jake immediately pointed toward Jay, who raised his free hand in mock innocence.
“Why do I always get blamed for this?” Jay muttered, sipping his coffee.
“Because it’s you,” Jungwon deadpanned, earning a laugh from Niki, who now had one arm hanging off the couch dramatically.
As the playful bickering swirled around him, Sunghoon leaned back slightly, observing it all with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was chaos, sure, but it was their chaos, and mornings like this always carried a certain charm beneath the noise.
The sound of a door clicking open made him glance up just as Heeseung stepped into the room.
His gaze landed squarely on Sunghoon, and for a fleeting moment, Sunghoon froze, his thumb pausing mid-swipe on his phone screen.
Heeseung, still in his gray sweats and a hoodie slightly off his shoulder, looked entirely at ease, his smirk almost lazy as his eyes locked onto Sunghoon.
“What are you looking at?” Heeseung asked, his voice cutting through the room’s din as if it were directed solely at Sunghoon.
Sunghoon jolted, his phone slipping from his grasp. Heeseung caught it effortlessly, the movement smooth and practiced.
“Jumpier than usual,” Heeseung teased, handing it back. “Something on there making you blush, or is that just me?”
Heat crept up Sunghoon’s neck as he grabbed his phone, his fingers brushing against Heeseung for a moment too long.
“It’s nothing,” Sunghoon mumbled, avoiding Heeseung’s gaze.
“Uh-huh,” Heeseung said, plopping down beside him.
The couch dipped slightly under his weight, and Sunghoon stiffened as their shoulders touched. Heeseung leaned back casually, his tone laced with amusement.
“You should relax more in the mornings. Maybe take notes from Jake. He’s got the whole carefree thing down.”
Sunghoon let his eyes flick to Jake, who was currently fending off Sunoo’s complaints about the state of the fridge. He couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped him.
“I’m fine,” he murmured, though the blush stubbornly refused to fade.
“ Sure you are,” Heeseung murmured, his smirk deepening.
Sunghoon’s chest tightened, his hand clutching his phone a little too tightly as the noise of the dorm carried on around them.
It was just another morning, he told himself.
But the weight of Heeseung’s presence beside him made it feel like anything but.
Sunghoon stood by the sink, unmoving. His shirt was still clinging loosely to his shoulders, half-damp from earlier humidity, and a towel hung precariously low on his hips, knotted with one hand.
He hadn’t even turned on the shower yet. He was stalling. Maybe savoring the brief pause in a hectic day.
Maybe just thinking too much.
His eyes traced his own reflection—water clinging to his collarbone, the faint rise and fall of his chest. He looked tired. Or maybe nervous. There were moments like this when his thoughts drifted, quiet but relentless.
The doorknob turned with a soft click.
He stiffened, instinctively tightening his grip on the towel.
For half a second, his brain scrambled to catch up.
Maybe it’s Jake. Or someone looking for a charger. It’s fine. It’s not—
The door opened.
Casual. Unhurried. Like the person on the other side belonged there.
And then—
Sunghoon’s heart leapt into his throat.
“Heeseung?!” His voice cracked embarrassingly high, more shock than anger.
He jerked back, nearly slipping on the slick tile.
“The hell?!”
There he stood in the doorway, one arm propped against the frame like this was the set of some indie rom-com, not a steaming bathroom with Sunghoon half-naked and about two seconds away from panicking.
Heeseung’s expression was maddeningly calm.
Borderline smug.
Sunghoon could feel his soulmark burning beneath his shirt, hidden just under the curve of his shoulder.
And not for the first time, he had to fight the ridiculous urge to check if it was still covered.
Plenty of the members had tried to sneak a peek over the years — curious eyes, innocent or not so innocent — but none had succeeded so far.
Didn’t mean they’d stopped trying.
And Heeseung, of them all, was the most aggressive with the advances.
Always “accidentally” walking in, always leaning too close, always brushing fingers where he didn’t need to.
It was like he’d made it his personal mission to find out exactly what mark Sunghoon carried — and exactly where it was hidden.
Sunghoon scowled, yanking his shirt lower like it would magically offer more coverage. His hand gripped the towel tighter, knuckles white.
“Whoa,” he yelped again, voice sharp with fluster. “You can’t just walk in on people like that! The other bathroom’s literally two steps away!”
“Yeah,” Heeseung replied, a grin tugging at his lips, “Two steps next to Niki’s room. You really think that’s safer?”
Sunghoon blinked, heat crawling up his neck that had nothing to do with the steam.
“Honestly, at this point? Yes. ”
The door clicked shut behind Heeseung, enclosing them both in the damp warmth. The soft snick of it latching made something tighten in Sunghoon’s chest.
“What are you doing?” he asked, breath hitching as Heeseung took a few slow, aimless steps further in.
“I didn’t even start the shower yet!”
“I noticed,” Heeseung said, eyes darting down in a brief, amused flick—not lingering, not inappropriate, but absolutely aware of how pink Sunghoon’s ears were turning.
“I was gonna ask if you forgot your shampoo or something. Or maybe…” His voice dropped slightly, the edge of a smirk playing at his mouth. “You were waiting for me?”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Sunghoon’s brain short-circuited.
He made a noise that landed somewhere between a laugh and a strangled protest.
“ Why on earth would I wait for you?!”
Heeseung leaned casually against the sink, one hip cocked, like he had all the time in the world.
“Well, wouldn’t it be more efficient if we just… you know.” He nodded toward the fogged-up shower stall. “Showered together?”
Sunghoon choked.
His face turned crimson so fast he felt lightheaded. “ W-what?!” he spluttered, stumbling back like Heeseung had physically shoved him.
“You’re insane . I’d rather shower in the freezing river behind the dorm than—than that! ”
His heart was pounding . It was the kind of beat he got on stage, during adrenaline-heavy performances—but this felt different.
It was warmer.
Closer.
Heeseung’s laugh was low, lazy. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Alright, alright.” He backed off a step, raising his hands like Sunghoon had pulled a weapon instead of a towel. “You’re really so cute when you’re flustered .”
Sunghoon pressed his lips into a flat line.
Ok. He is definitely toying with him.
“Get out,” he said with the kind of stern finality that would’ve worked better if he wasn’t dripping, shirt clinging to him, cheeks glowing like embers.
Heeseung didn’t argue.
He pushed off the sink and walked back toward the door with unhurried ease, still grinning.
“Don’t use all the hot water, Hoonie. ”
The nickname landed with a soft, smug little bowtie on top of the chaos.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And then Sunghoon was alone again—except he wasn’t. Not really. Not with his heart still racing like that. Not with his thoughts spinning in a hundred directions.
He let out a slow, shaky breath, leaning against the sink with both hands, eyes closed.
“God,” he muttered to no one, voice barely above a whisper, “he’s so lucky I didn’t throw the shampoo bottle at his head.”
But his reflection in the mirror told another story.
One that lingered. Like the steam, like the heat, like Heeseung’s voice echoing in the walls of his chest.
There were days like this, Sunghoon thought, when the world seemed to slow just enough to let them breathe.
The mall was cool, the faint hum of chatter and footsteps blending into an oddly soothing backdrop. It wasn’t quiet, but it wasn’t overwhelming either.
It felt manageable—lighter.
They were in another country, which meant security lingered close, their presence a constant reminder to be cautious.
But even with that, there was freedom here, more space to exist.
The thought of what came next, though, was what kept the buzz alive in his chest.
Their long-awaited break was just around the corner.
No more brutal schedules, no more frantic dashes to make deadlines on three hours of sleep.
Just days to rest, to breathe, to feel like normal people again.
It was close enough now to taste, and that promise carried Sunghoon forward.
For now, their job was simple.
Escort Sunoo for his brand ambassador appearance.
Sunoo led the way, radiant as always. His posture was perfect, his jacket adjusted with that effortless ease he always carried. Even in a sea of strangers, Sunoo stood out.
He belonged here, in the spotlight, and Sunghoon couldn’t help but admire how naturally it came to him.
In contrast, Jake, Jay, and Jungwon had already strayed. The trio hovered outside an ice cream shop next to Sunoo’s destination, deep in animated debate. Jake gestured wildly at the menu, the picture of boundless energy, while Jungwon half-heartedly tried to bring order. Jay stood beside them, his usual cool demeanor cracking just enough for a laugh to escape.
Sunghoon smirked to himself.
“One-track minds,” he thought, watching Jake nudge Jungwon toward a decision while Jay shook his head in mock exasperation.
It was easy to see this part of them—their quirks and rhythms laid bare when the pressure eased.
And then there was Heeseung.
Heeseung had stayed back at the dorm, citing work that couldn’t wait.
Insights, feedback, all the quiet responsibilities that tied him down even when the rest of them slipped free for a moment. Sunghoon suspected it was why Heeseung had been clingier lately, his usual teasing softened into something more personal.
The weight pressed on all of them in different ways, but with Heeseung, it showed in the subtle shifts—the long stares, the fleeting touches, the words unsaid.
Sunghoon lingered by the side of the store, close enough to keep an eye on the team yet far enough to carve out a moment for himself.
And of course, Sunoo carried it all effortlessly. His bright smile and perfect angles lit up the room, earning murmurs of admiration from the staff and crew.
Sunghoon didn’t mind. He wasn’t bitter about being in Sunoo’s orbit—it wasn’t something new.
Sunoo had the kind of charm that turned heads, and Sunghoon respected that.
But respect didn’t mean he wanted to stand there all day watching it unfold.
He shifted, glancing around the room. Some of the staff were kind enough to wave or smile as they moved past, quick and efficient in their jobs. Others barely spared him a glance, preoccupied with adjusting the next shot or discussing set logistics. Sunghoon preferred it that way. He didn’t need the attention.
Then came the voice, loud and pointed, from the other side of the room.
“You know,” the man said—a supervisor, judging by his suit and commanding presence. He was big, broad-shouldered, with the kind of booming voice that made conversations pause.
He gestured vaguely toward Sunoo, then back toward Sunghoon.
“You could learn a thing or two from him. Look at the way he carries himself. You’d do well to keep up.”
Sunghoon blinked, the words cutting through the background noise like a shard of glass.
For a split second, he was stunned, frozen in place as the supervisor’s voice carried on, loud and authoritative.
Then, the quiet heat began to stir in his chest, sharp indignation bubbling up faster than he could contain it.
Excuse me? he thought, the sheer audacity making his skin prickle.
The supervisor, oblivious to the weight of his words, continued casually, as if this were just another task to tick off his list. He gestured toward Sunoo, who was mid-pose, adjusting the strap of the designer bag with the kind of elegance that only Sunoo could pull off.
“Look at him,” the man said, his tone teetering between condescending and critical. “Effortless. Professional . That’s what we need more of.”
Sunghoon stiffened, his gaze snapping back to the man, his jaw tightening. He felt the implied comparison looming in the air like a shadow.
It wasn’t outright malicious, but the undertone was clear—Sunghoon wasn’t living up to the standard.
“And you,” the supervisor said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he shifted his focus. “You could use a bit of fine-tuning. Your V-line needs to be sharper. Have you considered cutting back on your food intake? Maybe a stricter diet to get your face structure more defined.”
Sunghoon stared at him, his thoughts slamming into one another like a train wreck.
Is he serious? Is this his way of telling me I look ugly?
He couldn’t believe the audacity, the bluntness of it all.
The heat in his chest grew hotter, tighter, as his fingers curled into fists at his sides. He wanted to retort, to throw the words right back at him, but before he could, the man pressed on.
“And your makeup,” the supervisor added, his tone clipped as he gestured vaguely toward Sunghoon’s face. “It has to be flawless. No room for error. If you want to stand out, you need to bring your A-game—every time. We can’t have mediocrity.”
Sunghoon opened his mouth, the words ready to spill out like a dam breaking, but the man cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Shush, take this,” he said, thrusting a clipboard into Sunghoon’s grasp.
The header at the top read Nutritionist Recommendations in bold, sterile print.
The sight of it made the ache in Sunghoon’s chest deepen, sharp and unplaceable.
He glanced down at the clipboard, his vision blurring slightly as he read over the suggested meal plans, the calorie limits, the notes about “enhancing aesthetic appeal.” The ache grew heavier, sinking deeper into him.
It wasn’t just the words or the clipboard—it was the way it made him feel.
Small. Insufficient.
Like he was a project to be fixed instead of a person to be valued.
His grip on the clipboard tightened as he glanced around the room. A few staff members stood nearby, close enough to have heard the exchange, but their eyes stayed averted.
Conversations continued quietly, instructions were murmured, and no one— no one —spared him a second glance.
Sunghoon felt his stomach sink.
The conflict simmered beneath his skin—part of him wanted to believe it didn’t matter, that their indifference protected him from pity or judgment.
But the larger part, the one he couldn’t push away, felt dejected.
Because none of them cared. Not enough to step in. Not enough to acknowledge the words that had been thrown at him like weapons, each one cutting a little deeper.
His eyes blurred again, the clipboard feeling heavier in his hands. Sunghoon let out a quiet breath, his lips pressing into a thin line.
He didn’t look up, didn’t let the frustration or sadness show. I
Instead, he held onto the ache silently, carrying it alone as he always did.
Carefully, slowly, pulling it in the box to be thrown in the sea.
The supervisor turned away, already moving on to the next task without a second thought.
Sunghoon stood there, gripping the clipboard tightly, his knuckles whitening.
He inhaled deeply, willing himself to let it roll off his back, but no matter how hard he tried, the sharpness remained.
This isn’t the first time, he thought bitterly, but the truth didn’t make it easier. He’d dealt with comments like this before—subtle, cutting, designed to strip away your confidence one word at a time. And yet, somehow, today’s felt heavier.
Maybe it was the timing, or maybe it was just him.
Either way, the sting was impossible to ignore.
Sunghoon clenched his jaw, his gaze flickering back to Sunoo, who was still shining effortlessly under the spotlight.
The faint pride and amusement he’d felt earlier had dimmed now, replaced by something quieter, heavier.
He took another deep breath, willing himself to move, to focus on what came next.
But the ache in his chest stayed with him, pressing down like a weight he couldn’t quite place.
The van hummed softly as it cruised through the streets, the energy inside far brighter than the setting sun outside. Sunoo, seated at the very back, was practically glowing, his hands full with an array of bags. Each one bore the name of a designer brand, and he held them up one by one as if presenting treasures to Niki, who was huddled close beside him.
“This one’s my favorite,” Sunoo said, pulling out a sleek leather bag with golden accents. He turned it over in his hands before nudging Niki with a grin. “You think it suits me?”
Niki scoffed lightly, reaching out to adjust the strap as though it were vital work. “Please, hyung, everything suits you. But if you don’t want it, I can take it off your hands.” His tone was teasing, but the glimmer in his eyes betrayed how serious he’d be if Sunoo called his bluff.
“You wish!” Sunoo laughed, lightly tapping Niki’s shoulder with the bag. The two of them dissolved into giggles, the sound warm and sweet as Niki continued inspecting each bag Sunoo presented. Their playful back-and-forth filled the back of the van with an effortless ease, drawing the occasional glance and smile from the others.
Meanwhile, Jake, Jay, and Jungwon were caught in their own lively conversation, their voices overlapping in bursts of laughter. Jay leaned back with his arms crossed, the self-satisfied smirk on his face making it clear he was recounting one of his triumphs. “And then, right at the end, I lined it up perfectly . That strike absolutely crushed him.”
“The kid had to be what, like ten years old?” Jake interjected, grinning. “You didn’t even hold back!”
Jay shrugged unapologetically. “Winning is winning.”
“Hyung, you even stared him down after the strike,” Jungwon added, trying to stifle a laugh. “I thought his parents were going to intervene.”
“That’s called intimidation,” Jay said confidently, earning another round of laughter from Jake and Jungwon. They were practically breathless, the memory of Jay’s overly-competitive energy at the arcade fueling their hilarity.
Sunghoon, seated near the middle, let out a soft chuckle, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He shifted in his seat, adjusting the clipboard in his lap as he listened to the conversation around him.
The laughter was infectious, but his mind felt somewhere else, the ache from earlier still faintly present in his chest.
Jake caught the sound of Sunghoon’s half-hearted laugh and turned his attention toward him.
“What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the clipboard Sunghoon was holding. “You bringing work with you now?”
Sunghoon blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden attention.
“Oh, uh…” He hesitated for a split second, then lifted the clipboard slightly.
“It’s… my diet,” he said, his voice steady but quieter than usual.
He quickly tucked it away into his bag, the motion deliberate but casual, as though to signal it wasn’t a big deal.
Jungwon, sitting nearby, glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t a probing look, but it carried a quiet wariness, the kind only a leader would have after years of reading subtle shifts in their members.
Sunghoon caught it briefly but didn’t acknowledge it, keeping his gaze down as he busied himself adjusting the strap of his bag.
Jungwon didn’t press further, though his attention lingered for a moment longer before returning to the conversation.
The laughter resumed, the warmth of the van filling once more as Sunoo and Niki’s playful banter intertwined with Jake, Jay, and Jungwon’s animated recounting of their arcade adventures.
Sunghoon let himself lean back against the seat, letting the noise wash over him. He tried to let the lightness settle into him, to soak in the comfort of their shared chaos.
But the clipboard was still there, its presence quiet but persistent, like the ache in his chest that refused to fade entirely.
He exhaled softly, turning his gaze toward the window, watching the blur of city lights as the van carried them home.
The studio lights glared down on the set, casting sharp shadows across the glossy floor. Enhypen was midway through their photoshoot, the crew moving quickly around them, barking instructions and making adjustments.
Sunghoon stood front and center for this segment, the weight of everyone’s attention pressing heavily on his shoulders. He tried to steady himself, to appear composed under the intensity of the lights and the watchful eyes of the staff.
But inside, his body screamed.
His stomach felt hollow, the kind of emptiness that gnawed at him with a sharp edge. He hadn’t eaten much— not enough to quiet the ache . T
he clipboard, the diet plans, the calorie limits—they all lingered in the back of his mind like a constant hum, reminding him why he couldn’t give in.
Stay lean but strong. The words were etched there, unrelenting.
The half-empty bottle of water sat nearby, untouched since his last sip. His throat was dry, but finishing it felt impossible, like even that small relief was too much to ask for.
His hand twitched slightly, as though tempted to reach for it, but he forced the thought away.
And the heat.
God, the heat .
The studio lights burned against his skin, their intensity magnified by the still air of the room. Every bead of sweat felt like a betrayal, a reminder that his body was faltering under the pressure. The urge to wipe his brow was overwhelming, but he didn’t move.
He couldn’t.
Not with all the eyes on him.
His legs felt weak, trembling faintly beneath his weight, but he locked his knees, forcing himself to stay steady. The ache in his chest grew heavier, sinking deeper with every passing second. I can’t falter. Not now. Just hold on. Just hold on a little longer.
The staff’s voices blurred into the background, their sharp instructions mixing with the pounding in his head. The heat, the hunger, the weight—it all pressed down on him, relentless and unyielding.
But he stayed rooted in place, locked into the role they needed him to play, even as his body begged for relief.
“Chin up, Sunghoon!” one of the stylists called out as she adjusted his jacket.
“You need to look confident—model energy, okay? Shoulders back, posture perfect. Let the camera love you.”
“Don’t forget the angles!” another staff member added, gesturing toward the photographer.
“Keep your jawline sharp—don’t let it flatten. It’s about creating that striking silhouette.”
Sunghoon nodded silently, the instructions piling on, one after the other. He tried to follow them all, adjusting his stance, his expression, his focus.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Jake watching him from the side, his arms crossed and an unreadable look on his face.
Sunghoon quickly flicked his gaze forward, centering himself in the moment.
“And Sunghoon,” the nutritionist chimed in, stepping into the flurry of activity. Her clipboard was tucked tightly under one arm, and her tone was brisk but direct.
“Remember the adjustments to your meal plan. We need you to stay lean but strong—no deviations. Stick to the calorie limit we discussed, and keep the proportions consistent. It’s crucial for maintaining the right aesthetic.”
Sunghoon tried not to flinch, nodding instead, his lips pressing into a thin line. The reminder of his diet always hit harder than he wanted it to—especially knowing that, out of all the members, his restrictions were the strictest. They all had meal plans to follow, but the way the management honed in on him made his chest tighten.
He didn’t know whether to feel honored or overwhelmed, the weight of their focus pressing down in ways the applause never did.
“Good, good,” the supervisor interjected, motioning for the crew to reset the shot.
“Sunghoon, you’re doing great—just keep pushing. We’ll run through a few more poses, and then the group dynamic shots will come up.”
Sunghoon’s body moved automatically, shifting into the next pose.
He could feel the eyes of the staff on him, the murmurs of approval when he executed a move correctly or adjusted his expression perfectly.
But he also felt the subtle shift in the atmosphere—Heeseung and the others standing in their designated spots, quieter than usual, subdued.
The energy that usually thrived during their shoots was missing, replaced by something heavier, harder to name.
“Look at Mr. Model over here,” Jake teased suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet. His grin was wide, but there was a tinge of something behind it—playfulness mixed with something heavier.
“Next thing we know, he’ll be walking runways .”
Sunghoon forced a laugh, the sound feeling strange even to himself.
“Right,” he replied faintly, adjusting his stance again as the camera clicked.
Jake’s laughter faltered, his gaze flickering briefly toward Sunoo.
Sunoo offered a slight smile and leaned in to whisper something to Jake that Sunghoon couldn’t catch. The lightness that usually followed Jake’s jokes didn’t spark, and Sunghoon bit back the uneasy feeling settling in his chest.
Between shots, laughter bubbled from Jake and Sunoo as they scrolled through something on their phones, their voices rising faintly with amusement.
“You’ve got to see this,” Jake said between giggles, showing the screen to Sunoo. Sunghoon didn’t turn toward them, keeping his focus on the clipboard still tucked under the nutritionist’s arm.
The laughter felt distant, not entirely meant for him.
Toward the end of the shoot, as the group posed together for the final shots, Jungwon stepped closer to Sunghoon. His voice was soft, careful.
“You’ve been working hard,” Jungwon said, his tone kind but hesitant. There was a flicker of concern in his eyes as he glanced at Sunghoon, the clipboard, then back again.
“Yeah, thanks,” Sunghoon replied, his voice barely above a whisper. The faint smile he offered didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Jungwon didn’t push further.
As the camera clicked, freezing the moment into permanence, Sunghoon felt the ache settle deeper. The clipboard, the attention, the relentless pressure—it all felt like it was molding him into someone else. But for now, he held onto the pose, locked himself into the role they wanted him to play, and told himself it was enough. Even if part of him wasn’t sure it ever could be.
Amid the flurry of resetting for the next shot, Heeseung stumbled slightly, his foot catching on the edge of a cable. He braced himself quickly, regaining balance, but the slight falter didn’t go unnoticed.
“Are you alright, Heeseung?” one of the staff members called out, their tone sharp with concern.
Heeseung straightened immediately, waving it off with a quick shake of his head. “I’m fine, really,” he replied, his voice steady despite the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Just got a little distracted.”
The staff seemed satisfied with his response and returned to their tasks, but not before someone handed him a small portable fan.
“Here, cool off a bit,” they said with a polite smile.
“Thanks for sticking through—it’s a long day.”
Heeseung accepted the fan with a quiet nod, offering a faint, appreciative smile in return. He flicked it on, the cool breeze brushing against his face.
But even with the fan, the burning ache in his chest and the heat clinging to his skin didn’t fade.
Heeseung’s gaze drifted toward Sunghoon, who stood silently at the center of the set, his posture perfect, his expression unreadable.
The clipboard was still clutched tightly in Sunghoon’s hands, a stark reminder of the weight he carried.
Heeseung’s chest tightened as he watched.
The fan hummed softly in his hand, but the relief it offered felt distant, almost meaningless.
Heeseung swallowed hard, his thoughts swirling.
Was it really the heat making him feel this way? Or was it something else entirely?
The question lingered, heavy and unanswered, as he turned his attention back to the set, the ache refusing to leave.
The faint hum of Heeseung’s laptop filled the living room, the keys clicking as he finished up his notes. The day had been long, but the quiet moments before dinner offered a sliver of calm that he desperately needed.
He rubbed his eyes, stretching his arms briefly before powering down the device.
The smell of food drifted from the kitchen, drawing his attention just as Ni-ki swung open the fridge door.
“Who’s in the mood for leftovers?” Ni-ki called out, pulling out containers and inspecting them with mock seriousness. “I’ve got chicken, soup, and… what’s this? Oh, mystery sauce!”
Jungwon snorted from the counter, his hands busy chopping vegetables. “You mean that’s the stuff Jake said we should never touch again?”
Jake leaned against the sink, grinning. “Hey, it wasn’t that bad. You just have terrible taste.”
Ni-ki wrinkled his nose dramatically, holding up the sauce like it was toxic waste. “You’re lucky I survived it the first time. Not risking it tonight.”
Heeseung chuckled as he walked into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. The familiar rhythm of their banter was oddly grounding. “What’s the menu tonight then? Trash-tier Jake sauce or actual food?”
“Actual food, thank you very much,” Jungwon replied, rolling his eyes as he placed the chopped vegetables in a pan. “I’m saving us from culinary disaster.”
“Good man,” Heeseung said with a nod. Ni-ki mock saluted Jungwon, setting the containers on the table and picking out cutlery.
They continued to chatter—Jake teasing Ni-ki about his fridge scavenging, Jungwon debating soup versus curry, Sunoo suggesting dessert. It was all so normal, so easy. Heeseung found himself sinking into the comfort of it, even as exhaustion tugged at the edges of his thoughts.
Just as the laughter bubbled through the room, the door creaked open, and Sunghoon stepped in. His presence quieted the conversation for a moment as everyone turned to look.
Sunghoon’s bag hung loosely on his shoulder, and his posture had that familiar tension—the kind that told Heeseung immediately where he’d been.
“Hey, you’re back,” Jungwon said with an easy smile. “Dinner’s almost ready. Come sit.”
Sunghoon adjusted the strap of his bag, his gaze flickering briefly to the table before landing on Jungwon.
“Oh, it’s fine,” he said quickly, his voice steady but distant. “You guys go ahead.”
Jake frowned. “You’re not gonna eat?”
“I’ve got stuff to do,” Sunghoon replied, shrugging lightly as he moved toward his room. “Really, don’t worry about it.”
As he walked past, Heeseung noticed the small bottle peeking out of Sunghoon’s bag—a label that looked eerily like vitamins. Heeseung’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything, watching as Sunghoon disappeared into his room without another word.
The room was quiet for a beat. Jungwon glanced at Heeseung, his expression slightly uncertain. Heeseung glanced back before his gaze fell to the table and the empty plate set neatly at the end.
It stayed there, untouched, like a placeholder waiting for someone who didn’t intend to return.
Heeseung sighed softly, the ache in his chest creeping in quietly, unrelenting.
The banter resumed in low tones as Ni-ki attempted another joke, but Heeseung didn’t quite catch it.
His thoughts lingered on the closed door and the weight Sunghoon carried so silently.
Even in the comfort of their group, the distance felt impossible to ignore.
Chapter 4
Summary:
Heeseung couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t bring himself to care about the whispers that surrounded them.
The realization had hit Heeseung like a tidal wave, sudden and overwhelming. It wasn’t just the surface-level attraction—it was everything Sunghoon represented.
None of it mattered—not the awe of the others, nor the weight of their questions.
Because from the moment Sunghoon entered the room, Heeseung was already starstruck.
Park Sunghoon wasn’t just beautiful.
He was breathtaking.
Chapter Text
No beauty could ever quite compare
To the picture of you etched everywhere
Heeseung had always been someone who could admire beauty in all its forms.
It wasn’t about being straight or otherwise—labels felt unnecessary to him.
He had a natural appreciation for the individuality that people carried, the distinct marks of their personality shining through.
Sunoo, with his fox-like eyes and radiant presence, had a kind of charm that captivated anyone within seconds. He belonged in the spotlight, his energy lighting up rooms effortlessly. Then there was Niki, sharp-featured and magnetic, his raspiness adding a unique edge to his youthful boldness.
Each member had their own kind of allure, and Heeseung had always observed them with admiration.
But then Park Sunghoon entered the room, and everything changed.
Heeseung remembered the moment like it had been branded into his memory.
Sunghoon’s presence wasn’t loud—it didn’t demand attention with exaggerated gestures or bold statements.
No, Sunghoon didn’t need to try.
Even before he stepped into the room, whispers floated through the air, soft yet electric with curiosity. “Who’s the last one?” someone murmured, leaning toward another. “Do we know him?” The question hung for a moment, unanswered, until the door creaked open, silencing them.
Sunghoon walked in.
The room shifted instantly, as though drawn toward him by an invisible force. The whispers snapped into recognition as awe spread across the group. “Wait! Is that…?” one trainee exclaimed softly, the question unfinished but laced with disbelief.
“Park Sunghoon?!” someone hissed, the name carrying more weight than an introduction ever could. Another trainee nodded, their expression wide-eyed. “The figure skater? No way…”
Like all of them, Sunghoon was dressed in the same standard trainee clothes—the neutral tones, the neatly pressed fabric, all perfectly ordinary. But the moment he ducked his head shyly, mumbling a soft “hello” in his nasal tone, the ordinary dissolved into something extraordinary.
Heeseung felt it hit him then—the subtle, almost timid greeting somehow sharper than anything else that had happened that day. His breath caught, his chest tightening as he gulped quietly, trying to mask his reaction.
Sunghoon didn’t carry himself with loudness or bravado; he didn’t need to. There was a quiet confidence in the way he stepped forward, deliberate and poised, as though the room was his without him even asking for it. His features were striking—sharp yet graceful—but it was his eyes that held Heeseung captive. They carried an intensity, a depth that felt like it could unravel the secrets of the world, yet remained unreadable.
Heeseung couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t bring himself to care about the whispers that surrounded them. None of it mattered—not the awe of the others, nor the weight of their questions—because from the moment Sunghoon entered the room, Heeseung was already starstruck.
Park Sunghoon wasn’t just beautiful.
He was breathtaking.
The realization had hit Heeseung like a tidal wave, sudden and overwhelming. It wasn’t just the surface-level attraction—it was everything Sunghoon represented.
An ex-ice skater with a glittering career left behind something uncertain, something risky. That kind of bravery, the ability to chase a far-fetched dream despite the odds, made Sunghoon’s beauty feel even more profound.
Heeseung couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, the pull of his presence like a gravitational force he couldn’t resist.
It hadn’t been immediate, though.
Heeseung had taken time to notice the layers that made Sunghoon who he was—the way he carried himself with a subtle coolness, the quiet determination in his actions.
One moment, however, stood out as the definitive turning point.
Heeseung had been rehearsing a high note, focusing on hitting it with perfect control when Sunghoon had joined him.
The sharp contrast of Sunghoon’s nasal tone had been jarring at first, but there was something inexplicably endearing about it. Heeseung had felt his chest tighten, and if there hadn’t been cameras around, he might have swooned on the spot.
Instead, he kept his composure, though the memory replayed itself in his mind far too often for his own peace.
Indeed, it was hell.
Yet amidst the chaos of their lives—training, cameras, the relentless pursuit of perfection—Sunghoon had a coolness about him that felt like a comfort. It wasn’t just in his actions but in the quiet steadiness he brought to the group. Heeseung often found himself gravitating toward Sunghoon during the tougher days, the moments when everything felt like it might unravel.
Sunghoon’s presence alone seemed to ground him, remind him that they weren’t alone in this.
Heeseung admitted to himself, though silently, that he wouldn’t have made it through the survival show without Sunghoon.
There had been nights when the weight of the competition felt unbearable, the pressure threatening to crush him. And yet, in those moments, Sunghoon was there—whether through a quiet glance, a quick comment, or a shared laugh over something mundane.
It was enough to keep Heeseung going, enough to remind him why he was there in the first place.
Their friendship grew steadily, marked by small, meaningful moments that Heeseung cherished.
Sunghoon wasn’t overly expressive, but he had a way of showing he cared in the simplest ways.
Offering an energy drink when Heeseung looked drained, throwing a subtle compliment during rehearsal, or even sitting beside him in silence when words weren’t needed.
They shared a quiet understanding, a bond that felt natural yet deeper than Heeseung dared to acknowledge.
But then there was the other side of it—the part Heeseung kept locked away. Because he flirted with everyone, didn’t he? Teasing came naturally to him, his effortless charm disarming fans and members alike.
It was a part of his personality, the easy humor a way to connect with people without exposing too much. The teasing, the playful remarks—they were shields, ways to keep people close without letting them see too far inside.
But with Sunghoon, it wasn’t quite the same.
The teasing felt sharper, heavier, like it carried something underneath that Heeseung refused to let rise to the surface. It was different, and Heeseung knew it. He felt it every time Sunghoon’s gaze flickered toward him, every time his words stumbled under the weight of Heeseung’s attention.
During the dinner challenge, Heeseung found himself leaning into that difference, unable to resist. Sunghoon stood at the counter, focused on slicing carrots with careful precision. Sunoo was laughing over a missed ingredient, Jake was arguing about presentation, and Sunghoon—well, Sunghoon was trying his best to stay composed amidst the chaos.
Heeseung stepped closer, his movements deliberate but casual enough not to draw attention. He positioned himself just behind Sunghoon, his presence subtle but unmistakable.
“You know,” Heeseung said, his voice low enough that only Sunghoon could hear, “you’re holding the knife wrong.”
Sunghoon glanced over his shoulder, startled by the proximity. “I—I thought I was doing it right,” he stammered, his nasal tone carrying the faintest hint of embarrassment.
Heeseung smiled faintly, his hand brushing lightly against Sunghoon’s as he adjusted his grip on the knife. “Like this,” he murmured, guiding Sunghoon’s hand with a touch so brief it felt almost fleeting.
Sunghoon’s cheeks flushed instantly, his gaze dropping to the cutting board as his movements faltered slightly. Heeseung didn’t miss the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his lips pressed together as though trying to suppress a reaction.
Jake groaned loudly from across the counter, throwing a hand up. “Damn, Heeseung, you’re such a show-off.”
Sunoo wagged a finger at him, his grin mischievous. “Seriously, you’re gonna make him blush on camera. Keep it together!”
Heeseung shrugged, feigning innocence, but his thoughts betrayed him. I don’t care about the cameras, he thought, his gaze lingering on Sunghoon’s flustered expression. This is worth it.
The moment passed quickly, the banter shifting back to the challenge, but Heeseung couldn’t shake the satisfaction that settled in his chest. Sunghoon’s reaction stayed with him, vivid and undeniable—a fleeting moment that felt far too important for what it was.
It was dangerous, Heeseung knew, to let himself linger on these feelings. Sunghoon was the most beautiful person he had ever seen, and yet, Heeseung couldn’t let it mean more than what it already did. So he locked it away, kept it hidden beneath the layers of their friendship and the chaos of their lives.
But every time he looked at Sunghoon, the storm in his chest stirred, reminding him of what he couldn’t have—and what he couldn’t bear to lose.
Before Heeseung could fully grasp it, they debuted.
The whirlwind of sleepless nights, relentless practices, and constant adjustments had finally led to this moment—their names called out one by one, solidifying them as Enhypen.
Standing under the bright stage lights as their debut was announced, Heeseung felt an inexplicable rush of emotions overwhelm him.
Pride, excitement, relief—it was all wrapped up in the biggest smile he couldn’t keep off his face. And as he glanced around at the group, his heart swelled a little more when he caught sight of Sunghoon.
It was better this way, Heeseung thought. Sunghoon being in the same group as him made everything feel complete, like the puzzle pieces had finally clicked together.
Watching Sunghoon stand tall and composed, the weight of the journey etched lightly across his face, Heeseung couldn’t help but feel grateful. The quiet satisfaction in Sunghoon’s eyes spoke volumes, even if he didn’t say much aloud.
Jungwon, Jay, and Jake were just beginning to build their chemistry at the time. Their soulmarks remained covered—hidden mysteries that hadn’t yet revealed themselves. Heeseung remembered watching the trio cautiously navigate their dynamic, figuring out each other's quirks and rhythms like pieces of a scattered puzzle.
Now, sitting on the sidelines, Heeseung observed them with a faint smile. Jay laughed at something Jungwon said, their gestures more comfortable and easy than they had been weeks ago. Jake chimed in occasionally, adding his own playful comments and earning shared laughter from the group. They were getting closer, their bond strengthening in ways Heeseung hadn’t expected so soon.
Heeseung’s gaze drifted slightly, catching Ni-ki standing awkwardly off to the side. The youngest member shuffled his feet, clearly unsure of whether to join the trio or find something else to occupy his attention. Heeseung chuckled faintly under his breath, the sight almost endearing in its simplicity.
Sunoo, meanwhile, was engrossed in conversation with an interviewee nearby. His expressive tone and bright energy filled the space around him, making the person he spoke with laugh occasionally. Even amidst the formal setting, Sunoo carried his usual warmth effortlessly.
As Heeseung’s thoughts wandered, a quiet presence settled beside him, breaking through his focus. Sunghoon popped up, his movement light but deliberate, as he offered Heeseung a seat.
“You watching them?” Sunghoon asked, his voice soft but tinged with curiosity.
Heeseung nodded, his smile lingering. “Yeah. They’re getting each other more now,” he replied, his eyes flickering back to the trio for a moment.
Sunghoon glanced over at them, the faintest hint of amusement crossing his face. “That’s good,” he said simply, his tone steady but thoughtful.
The two of them sat together in silence for a while, their gaze shifting occasionally between their groupmates and the noise around them. There was a calmness in Sunghoon’s presence that made Heeseung’s chest feel lighter, the unspoken understanding between them settling comfortably.
Even as the world around them buzzed with activity,
Heeseung felt himself grounded in the moment—grateful for the group, for Sunghoon, and for the bonds they were all beginning to build.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs, and for now, that was enough.
“Hyung, have you ever thought of finding your soulmate?”
Niki’s question hung in the air as the van door slid shut, muffling the street noise outside.
The three of them had just picked up Starbucks coffee, the cardboard drink holders balanced precariously on Niki’s lap. Heeseung adjusted his seatbelt, sighing softly as he glanced out the tinted window. He knew Niki didn’t mean any harm, the younger one was always curious, often blurting out whatever came to mind.
But the question stirred something heavy in his chest.
Jake, sitting in the middle seat beside Niki, immediately leaned forward, his tone half warning, half teasing.
“Hey, Niki. That might be kind of a sensitive topic for Heeseung-hyung, you know ...”
“What?” Niki blinked, his wide-eyed innocence making Jake sigh and shake his head.
“I didn’t mean anything bad! I was just asking.”
Heeseung tilted his head slightly, offering them a faint smile.
“It’s fine, Jake. Really.”
His voice was soft, the tone steady, but the corners of his lips didn’t quite reach his eyes. He could feel Niki looking at him, probably trying to gauge whether he’d actually upset him, but Heeseung didn’t give anything away.
He shifted in his seat, taking a sip of his iced Americano, the bitterness grounding him for a moment.
Jake and Niki eased into quieter chatter, their voices blending with the hum of the engine. Heeseung let their conversation fade into the background as he leaned against the headrest, his thoughts pulling him inward.
Yeah, it was sensitive. His soulmark— the snowflake —had been filled out for seven long years.
Seven years since that fleeting moment during his trainee days, when he’d rushed into a café between practice sessions.
Heeseung pushed the café door open with his shoulder, the faint chime of the bell above barely registering as he glanced down at his phone. His manager had texted twice already, each message more urgent than the last.
He was late.
Of course, he was late.
The line was mercifully short, just one person ahead of him, so he shoved his phone back into his hoodie pocket and let out a quiet sigh.
The café was warm, the scent of fresh coffee mingling with sugary pastries in the air. Heeseung’s eyes flickered briefly to the back of the person in front of him. They were hunched slightly, as if trying to make themselves smaller, their shoulders drawn up against the world.
A black hoodie concealed most of their figure, but the way they shifted from foot to foot gave them away—nervous, skittish . Heeseung tilted his head slightly, more out of absent curiosity than anything else.
The barista called the person forward, their voice breaking through the muffled hum of the café. Heeseung noticed the faint tremor in the other person’s reply, their voice higher than he expected, hurried as if they wanted to get through the interaction as quickly as possible.
“Just an iced latte,” they said, their words barely loud enough to carry over the counter.
The transaction was over in moments, and Heeseung’s focus drifted back to his phone.
When his name was called— muffled and a bit impatient —he stepped forward to grab his cup from the counter.
“Americano for Heeseung!”
“Thanks,” he murmured automatically, reaching for the cup.
And then it happened.
As he turned to leave, his shoulder collided with someone else’s—a sharp, brief impact that sent a jolt through him.
It wasn’t the type of bump that happened often; it was something deeper, almost electric, like a ripple surging through his chest and down his arm.
Heeseung blinked, startled, his hand tightening instinctively around his coffee cup as he steadied himself.
The burn hit him an instant later— not from the coffee , but from somewhere else entirely, an unfamiliar, pulsing warmth on his wrist.
“Ah! I’m so sorry—” the other person stammered, their voice quick, almost shaky.
Heeseung glanced up, his eyes locking on theirs for a split second. Dark, wide, filled with something unreadable—guilt? Panic?
The details slipped through his fingers too quickly.
Their hood was pulled low, casting a shadow over their features, but he caught the sharp line of their jaw, the way their lips pressed together like they were holding their breath.
And then—
As they reached out briefly to steady him, their hand brushed against his arm. Heeseung’s eyes dropped for a moment. A bandage wrapped around their thumb and part of their palm, not fresh, but still clean—like it had been replaced carefully, recently.
It wasn’t the injury that struck him, but the way they flinched when he looked at it.
Subtle. Defensive.
Like they’d forgotten it was there, like it meant more than it seemed.
“It’s fine,” Heeseung said, the words automatic, his voice softer than usual. He wanted to say something else, maybe reassure them, but before he could even process the sensation spreading through him, the other person was already stepping back.
Their head dipped again in a quick bow, and then they were gone—practically running out the café door.
The bell above the entrance chimed faintly as they disappeared, and Heeseung stood frozen in place, his mind struggling to catch up.
The warmth on his wrist hadn’t faded; if anything, it was growing stronger.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, he set his cup down on the counter and rolled back the sleeve of his hoodie.
His breath hitched.
The snowflake— his mark —was no longer pale and empty. Its intricate patterns shimmered faintly, coming alive with delicate, frosted hues that spread across his skin like the first frost on a winter morning.
Heeseung stared at it, his pulse quickening.
That brief moment in the café, so ordinary and fleeting, had changed everything.
And before he could ask who, they were already gone.
Heeseung didn’t know anything about them. Not their name, not their story. Just a black hood, the faintest glimpse of a jawline, and the fact that they were Korean and around his age.
He’d replayed that moment in his mind more times than he cared to admit, trying to piece together something, anything that might lead him to them.
But all he’d been left with were unanswered questions and the quiet ache of waiting.
His gaze drifted down to his wrist, where the snowflake still sat, filled in and glimmering faintly under the passing streetlights. The delicate patterns felt heavier today, pressing against his skin with the weight of seven long years.
A small, bitter part of him wondered if they even remembered him, if they even knew.
Seven years was a long time, and some days, it felt like an eternity.
Heeseung tightened his grip on his coffee cup, his thumb brushing absently over the ridged cardboard sleeve. Across the van, Niki animatedly waved his hand, his flower mark catching the light—a vibrant reminder of the bond he shared with Sunoo. Their connection was effortless, warm, something neither of them had to question. Sunoo’s tree mark mirrored the sentiment, worn openly on his forearm without hesitation.
Heeseung’s gaze flickered to Jake next. The moon and mountain marks etched onto Jake’s chest and wrist suited him perfectly—steady, grounded, endlessly supportive. Jake wore those marks like they were second nature, badges of his unwavering optimism and loyalty.
Heeseung envied that ease, that openness, that certainty.
His snowflake wasn’t hidden, not exactly.
But it wasn’t something he talked about either.
It was complicated.
The bond always was.
Heeseung shifted slightly in his seat, his mind drifting back to the pain—the first time he’d felt it.
He was 13, sitting stiffly in a doctor’s office, his chest aching in a way that felt wrong. His parents had looked worried, their voices hushed as they explained his symptoms to the doctor.
Sharp pains, erratic, nothing they could trace.
Heeseung didn’t understand. He wasn’t sick. Nothing had happened to him. Yet the ache persisted, deep and gnawing, like something inside him was pulling taut.
Finally, the doctor sat him down, his expression careful as he spoke.
“It’s the bond,” the doctor had said gently. “Your soulmate… they’re hurting. Emotionally, physically —it’s connected to you in ways we can’t fully explain. But you feel it, don’t you? Their sadness, their pain.”
Heeseung had stared at him, the words settling heavily in his chest.
The bond.
It wasn’t an abstract idea anymore, not some distant, poetic notion. It was real, tangible, and it could hurt. Heeseung hadn’t known what to say, hadn’t known how to process the reality that someone, somewhere, was sad because of something he couldn’t fix.
“Mama,” Heeseung started, his voice trembling slightly,
“if soulmates feel pain… then… my soulmate must always be hurting.”
His eyes dropped, his fingers twitching. “It hardly fades, Mama. I—I can’t stop feeling it. It never goes away.”
His mom froze, the kitchen light casting a soft glow over her face.
She set the jar down with a quiet thud and walked toward him.
Gently cupping his face, she tilted his chin so their eyes met. The comfort of her touch was enough to ground him, if only for a moment.
“You can feel them, can’t you?” she asked, her voice steady but filled with something Heeseung couldn’t quite place.
He nodded, biting his lip to stop the tears that were threatening to fall.
“I can. And I want to hold them. I want to make it stop... but I don’t even know who they are. It’s like... I’m the only one who knows how much it hurts.”
She sighed softly, her thumb brushing his cheek.
“It’s not just about the good things, Heeseung. Soulmates don’t only share joy. They share the pain, too.”
“I don’t want to feel it anymore,” he whispered, looking away. “It feels like… like I’m the only one who knows. Who cares.”
“You’re not alone,” his mom murmured, her voice filled with quiet strength.
“When you find them, you’ll understand. The pain… it’s just one part of it. The bond is bigger than that. Sometimes it’s about being there even in the hurt.”
Heeseung blinked back tears, but he didn’t speak. His mom’s words sank into him slowly, like a weight lifting just a little.
“I just want to hug them,” he finally said, his voice barely audible. “Make it stop.”
“You will,” she whispered back, her hands lingering on his face a moment longer.
“But sometimes, you have to feel it to be strong enough to heal together.”
Heeseung stayed silent, the quiet weight of her reassurance settling in his chest.
He didn’t have all the answers. He didn’t even know if he’d ever have them.
But that flicker of hope—small as it was—was enough to keep him from losing himself in the storm of it all.
That day, he made a silent vow.
If he ever found them, his soulmate, he wouldn’t let them hurt like that again.
He would take their pain away. He would make them happy.
Whatever it took.
Years passed, but the resolve stayed with him.
Then came college, and the pain struck again—this time, searing and immediate.
Heeseung had been in his living room, lounging on the couch with friends. The TV hummed softly, the laughter of his friends echoing around him as they debated what movie to watch next.
It had taken hours for the pain to ease, for the phantom fire to die down, but Heeseung’s mind had stayed stuck on the truth. His soulmate was out there, feeling every weight, every hurt—and he was powerless to reach them.
The trips to the nurse’s office became routine after that. The pain came in waves, striking different parts of his body with no warning. His ribs ached one day, his wrist throbbed the next, and his shoulder burned as though it had been wrenched too far. Each time, Heeseung would sit in the sterile room, his hands gripping the edges of the cot as he tried to breathe through the phantom agony.
The nurses began to whisper after a while, their voices hushed but not quiet enough to escape Heeseung’s ears.
“D-do you think his soulmate is a victim of… domestic abuse?” one of them murmured, her tone hesitant but laced with concern.
“This isn’t normal,” another replied, her voice softer. “No one should be in this much pain so often. It’s… it’s heartbreaking.”
Heeseung stared out the window as they spoke, his hands easing over the phantom pains in his ribs. He didn’t respond, didn’t acknowledge their words.
What could he say? That he didn’t know?
That he was just as helpless as they were?
The ache in his chest grew heavier with every visit, the weight of his soulmate’s suffering pressing down on him like a storm he couldn’t escape.
But then, one day, something changed.
It wasn’t the sharp, searing pain he had grown used to. It wasn’t the fire or the ache or the relentless throb.
It was numbness.
A certain hollowness began to take root in his chest, spreading slowly but surely. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal.
Heeseung’s breath hitched as he pressed a hand to his chest, his fingers curling slightly as though trying to grasp the feeling and pull it back.
But it was slipping away, leaving behind an emptiness that made his stomach churn.
“Oh no,” he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. His gaze remained fixed on the window, but his reflection stared back at him, pale and wide-eyed.
That numbness—it didn’t feel right.
It didn’t feel right at all.
Days passed, and the emptiness began to spread. It wasn’t sudden—it crept in gradually, like an unwelcome shadow seeping into the quiet corners of Heeseung’s mind and body.
At first, he thought it might be a relief, a break from the torment of constant pain that had plagued him for so long.
But the absence was worse. It settled in a quiet, suffocating way, filling him with unease he couldn’t shake.
One evening, Heeseung sat alone in his room, the faint glow of his desk lamp casting soft shadows across the walls. His notebook lay open in front of him, half-filled with scribbled thoughts and fragmented lyrics.
He was mid-sentence when a sharp twinge shot through his ribs, making him wince. His pen slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the desk as he pressed a hand to his side, his breath catching.
The brief sting faded, but it left behind a profound heaviness. Heeseung sighed, his shoulders slumping as he leaned back in his chair.
The empty sensation clawed deeper, inch by inch, carving out a space within him that felt impossibly hollow.
He turned his gaze to the window, the night sky stretching endlessly above. The moon hung low, its pale light spilling into the room like a quiet presence.
Heeseung’s lips parted, his voice trembling in the silence as he spoke to the void.
“I know you don’t hear me,” he murmured, his tone unsteady. “But please… I hope you’re alright.”
As the words left his lips, the oppressive discomfort flared suddenly, like a wave crashing over him.
It wasn’t sharp like the phantom injuries had been, but it gripped him all the same, twisting through him as his breathing grew uneven.
Tears welled in his eyes, escaping without restraint as he surrendered to the weight of it all.
Heeseung sobbed deeply, his chest rising and falling with the force of his cries. He cried for the person he couldn’t reach, for the agony he couldn’t absorb, for the connection that felt so painfully distant.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered through his tears, his voice cracking. “I’m so, so sorry.”
The numbness crawled further, and it felt as though it was mocking his grief—filling him with nothingness when what he wanted was to feel something, anything .
It crushed him, leaving him to cry harder, his trembling hands trying and failing to grasp at the sensations slipping away.
He didn’t know if he would trade the hollowness for the pain.
The pain had been awful, but at least it was tangible—a grounding force, however cruel.
The void, however, felt endless, suffocating.
Eventually, his sobs quieted, softening into uneven breaths as tears continued to streak down his face. He kept his gaze fixed on the moon, its light unwavering against the backdrop of the night.
Heeseung didn’t know if his soulmate could sense his anguish, didn’t know if they even knew he existed.
But he hoped—desperately—that they were okay.
That somewhere, despite the distance, they were safe.
And as the emptiness lingered, sinking deeper into him, Heeseung closed his eyes, his tears still falling silently. The discomfort refused to leave, but he clung to a fragile hope that one day the hollowness would fade—not into more pain, but into something he could hold onto.
Something whole.
Something that would make this all worth it.
His grip on the coffee cup tightened as the van hit a small bump, jostling him back to the present. Jake turned to glance at him, his eyebrows raised in mild concern.
“Hyung, you good?”
Heeseung forced a smile, nodding lightly. “Yeah, just tired.”
Jake seemed satisfied with the answer, turning back to Niki, who was still talking.
Heeseung exhaled slowly, letting his gaze drift back to the window. The world outside blurred past them, and he found himself wondering— not for the first time —if the person tied to his snowflake was somewhere out there, wondering about him too.
Seven years was a long time to wait, but Heeseung told himself that when they finally found each other, he would make it right.
He would make them happy.
No matter what.
Chapter 5
Summary:
“So, what about you, Sunghoon?”
“Any plans for the break?”
Sunghoon paused, setting his fork down lightly on the edge of his plate.
“I think I’ll visit my sister,” he said simply, his voice steady. His gaze flickered briefly to the group, his shoulders rising and falling in a small shrug.
“That sounds nice,” Sunoo said softly, offering a small smile. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”
Chapter Text
If only you had seen the sadness in your smile,
That morning you didn’t return.
The living room was alive with chatter, a rare moment of unfiltered energy as the members gathered together, sprawled across couches and cushions. The atmosphere carried a buoyancy that hadn’t been felt in weeks—freedom was near. Their schedules were finally loosening their grip, and with it came the promise of a well-deserved break.
“I’m serious!”
Jay said, leaning forward with an easy grin, his elbows resting on his knees.
“We should hit the road early. Jungwon, you’ve seen how Jungwon drives. If we leave late, it’ll double the trip.”
Jungwon looked up from where he was balancing a half-eaten mandarin in his hand, mock-offended.
“Excuse me? I’m an excellent driver! I’m not the one who gets stuck trying to parallel park.”
“Parallel parking is about precision,” Jay shot back, smirking. “Not everyone barrels through life like you.”
Jake lowered his phone for a moment, the corner of his lips quirking up as he glanced between them. “To be fair, Jungwon’s the one who actually gets us places on time. You remember Jeju?”
“That was one time!” Jay protested, throwing his hands up dramatically, drawing laughter from Jake and Jungwon as they continued their playful bickering.
On the opposite couch, Sunoo and Niki were in their own world, Niki perched on the edge with a lopsided grin.
“I’m just saying, hyung,” Niki began, nudging Sunoo lightly with his elbow, “Heeseung hyung’s gotta come with us. No excuses this time.”
Sunoo hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin with exaggerated flair.
“Hmm, I don’t know, Niki. Heeseung hyung’s got that tragic habit of ditching fun for work. Do you think we could actually get him to have a good time?”
“Hey,” Heeseung interjected from his spot on the armrest, raising a brow at the two. “I’m literally sitting right here. Tragic? Really?”
Niki turned to him, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“We’re just saying, hyung. You can’t stay behind while we’re out there, like, bowling or going to an arcade. What are you even going to do here, stare at your computer all day?”
Sunoo leaned in with a grin. “Exactly. Imagine—Niki and I are out living our best lives, and you’re here. Boring. ”
“I wouldn’t be boring,” Heeseung retorted, but there was an edge of amusement in his tone, his lips twitching like he wanted to smile despite himself.
“Exactly,” Sunoo declared dramatically, throwing an arm around Niki’s shoulders.
“That’s why you’re coming with us. We can’t have a repeat of last time.”
“What happened last time?”Jungwon asked absently, his eyes on his phone. Looking at the schedule, perhaps.
Sunoo turned toward him with a theatrical sigh. “Heeseung hyung said he’d come, but what did he do? Spent the entire day in his room working on lyrics. Honestly, we have to physically drag him out this time.”
“That’s the plan,” Niki said, deadpan, earning a laugh from Sunoo.
Heeseung shook his head, his grin breaking through as he ruffled Niki’s hair.
“Alright, alright. I’ll think about it. But you two better not embarrass me in public.”
“Us?” Sunoo gasped, feigning offense. “ We’d never. ”
The banter ebbed and flowed around the room, laughter weaving easily between their conversations.
The group’s dynamic was as natural as ever, warmth filling the spaces between their teasing.
In the midst of it, Sunghoon sat slightly apart, his plate balanced on his lap. The portion of food in front of him was small—painfully small—and Heeseung’s eyes flickered toward it instinctively, the faint crease in his brow deepening.
It wasn’t noticeable to anyone else, but Heeseung had been watching. Every bite Sunghoon took seemed careful, measured, as though he were rationing out each piece.
Heeseung’s chest ached faintly at the sight.
He wanted to say something, to reach out, but Sunghoon’s expression gave nothing away.
The cool detachment in his demeanor made it hard to tell what he was feeling, though Heeseung guessed at the weight behind it.
“So, what about you, Sunghoon?”
Jungwon asked suddenly, glancing up from his phone. His tone was casual, but there was a genuine curiosity in his gaze.
“Any plans for the break?”
Sunghoon paused, setting his fork down lightly on the edge of his plate.
“I think I’ll visit my sister,” he said simply, his voice steady. His gaze flickered briefly to the group, his shoulders rising and falling in a small shrug.
“It’s been a while.”
“That sounds nice,” Sunoo said softly, offering a small smile. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”
Jake nodded, grinning. “Bring her back something cool. You know, like souvenirs or—what was it? That pastry place you mentioned last time?”
“I’ll figure something out,” Sunghoon replied, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips before it disappeared.
The conversation shifted again, Niki and Sunoo’s antics drawing the room back into its lively rhythm. Jay and Jake started bickering once more, Jungwon’s input occasionally spurring them on, while Sunoo dramatically recounted how he’d “saved” Niki in their last bowling match.
And through it all, Heeseung kept an eye on Sunghoon, the ache in his chest refusing to fade as the smallest portion of food on the table sat quietly in front of him, almost untouched.
The van pulled up to the curb, the hum of the engine cutting out as Sunghoon shifted awkwardly in his seat. The driver offered a polite nod, but Sunghoon barely registered it, his attention fixed on the pile of bags next to him.
He sighed quietly before stepping out, the weight of the luggage already pressing against his arms.
He stood there for a moment, adjusting his grip on the bags as they dug into his palms. The neighborhood stretched quietly around him, familiar yet distant, its usual buzz softened by the late afternoon glow.
A neighbor passing by hesitated briefly before waving at him—tentative, unsure.
Sunghoon mustered a smile, strained but polite, his head dipping slightly in acknowledgment.
The door was just steps away, but it felt farther somehow, as though the distance carried more than just physical space.
Sunghoon swallowed hard, his hands shifting nervously around the straps of the bags, and approached.
Each step felt heavier, the weight of the bags mirrored by the nervous energy building in his chest.
When Sunghoon reached the door, he hesitated. His fingers hovered over the doorbell, the faint chill of the button brushing against his skin.
It’s been so long… The thought clung to him, unwelcome and persistent.
He glanced to the side, noticing an array of potted plants lining the porch—new and vibrant, their bright blooms stark against the quiet of the evening.
His gaze shifted to the doorframe. The wooden frame where he and Yeji once marked their heights was freshly painted, the scribbled lines and dates buried beneath the smooth coat.
The memory of Yeji standing on her toes to cheat her way past his height flickered briefly, her laughter echoing in his mind.
Sunghoon adjusted his grip on his bags, their weight biting into his palms as he pressed the doorbell. The chime echoed faintly, stirring a familiar tightness in his chest.
He stepped back slightly, shifting his weight as his gaze flicked between the door and the ground. The strap of his bag dug into his palm, grounding him in the moment even as his thoughts raced.
Would she be mad I stayed away for so long? He winced internally at the idea. His eyes darted briefly to the small pastry box he carried.
Maybe this’ll make up for it. If not—well, Jake’s the one who said this place had the best pastries. I swear, I’ll strangle him if she doesn’t like it.
The sound of the door creaking open cut through his thoughts sharply, pulling him back into the present. Yeji stood in the doorway, her face lighting up with a warmth so bright it made the tension in his chest loosen slightly.
“Sunghoon!” she exclaimed, her excitement spilling out as she threw her arms around him in a tight hug.
“Whoa—hey, Yeji,” he stammered, startled by her energy.
He blinked, his lips curving into a faint smile as he hesitantly returned the hug. The gesture was awkward and stiff, but her enthusiasm softened the edges of his nervousness, even if just for a moment.
“You finally made it!” she teased, stepping aside and holding the door open. “Come on, get in!”
Sunghoon ducked under the doorframe as he walked in, only to feel a sharp thud as his forehead hit the top.
“Ow!” he yelped, rubbing the spot instinctively as he stumbled.
Yeji burst into laughter, clutching her stomach.
“Oh my gosh! Did you seriously just hit your head? You’re not even that tall!”
Sunghoon winced, his cheeks flushing. “Maybe the door’s just short,” he muttered, his voice tinged with embarrassment.
“Sure, sure,” Yeji said, grinning as she trailed behind him. Her laughter lingered in the air, warm and familiar, easing some of the tension that had built inside him.
The house felt both familiar and distant, like a place he knew well but hadn’t belonged to in a while.
His gaze swept over the living room, landing on their mom seated on the couch.
Her eyes were fixed firmly on the screen, the colorful scenes of a drama casting flickering shadows across her face.
Sunghoon’s footsteps slowed as he approached.
“Hi, Mom,” he said, his voice steady but cautious.
The words hung in the air, unanswered.
She didn’t look up, her posture unchanged as though his presence hadn’t registered.
The faint murmur of the television filled the silence between them, and Sunghoon’s lips pressed into a thin line.
He exhaled quietly, pushing down the sharp sting her indifference left behind.
Turning back to Yeji, Sunghoon found her waiting by the doorway to the kitchen, her smile softening slightly as she glanced between him and their mom.
“Hey,” she said brightly, eyeing the bags he carried. “Let me get those for you.”
“Oh, uh—thanks,” Sunghoon replied, a bit awkwardly as he handed them over. His fingers hesitated over one of the handles. “Careful with that one, though. It’s from Paris—custard cake and some chocolates.”
Yeji’s eyes lit up as she rifled through the bag, pulling out the pastry box with a soft gasp. “You brought sweets?!” she said enthusiastically, practically bouncing on her toes. “This looks amazing!” Her excitement softened into a sweet smile, her voice sincere. “Thank you, Sunghoon. Really.”
She placed the chocolates neatly in the fridge, humming to herself as she closed the door. “You know,” she added teasingly, glancing over her shoulder, “you should come home more often. Although, I have to say… I’m kind of scared for my sugar if you keep spoiling us like this!”
Sunghoon chuckled, his earlier tension easing as the corners of his lips lifted in amusement. “Maybe I should’ve brought something healthy instead, huh?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Yeji quipped, grinning. “We need the sweets more than we need salad.”
They laughed together, the playful teasing tugging the edges of Sunghoon’s lingering nerves into something lighter.
Yeji grabbed an apron from the hook and turned back toward him. “Want to help me prep dinner?”
Sunghoon smiled, the gesture more genuine this time. “Sure,” he said, following her into the kitchen without hesitation.
The tension from the living room faded into the background as they entered the cozier space. Yeji handed him a cutting board and a knife, her movements quick and efficient as she laid out the vegetables.
“You know,” she started, her tone teasing as she began slicing an onion, “you could come home a little more often. You’re not that busy, right?”
Sunghoon chuckled softly, the weight of earlier moments lifting slightly as he settled into their easy rhythm. “I’ll work on that,” he replied, his voice tinged with quiet amusement.
For now, the dysfunction of the living room was left behind.
Sunghoon let himself focus on the steady rhythm of chopping vegetables beside his sister—something simple, something grounding in the midst of everything else.
As the knife moved, his mind wandered briefly back to the door, the hesitations, the strained greetings—and the ever-present question of where he belonged.
Yeji glanced at Sunghoon as they worked side by side in the kitchen, her hands busy peeling carrots while Sunghoon sliced through a zucchini with precise movements.
She paused for a moment, setting the peeler down as her gaze softened.
“It’s been years, hasn’t it?” she said quietly, her voice tinged with both nostalgia and something heavier that Sunghoon couldn’t quite place.
Sunghoon looked up from the cutting board, his knife hovering mid-air. He nodded slowly, the edges of his lips quirking into a faint smile.
“Yeah, it has,” he replied, his tone steady but reflective.
Yeji’s expression warmed as she leaned back slightly against the counter. “I was thinking about it the other day,” she continued, her voice gaining a soft rhythm as she spoke.
“You were the one sending me money for college back then. Even when you were just a trainee. I don’t think I ever said it properly, but… thank you, oppa. You were working so hard, and you still made sure I could study.”
Sunghoon’s hand stilled, the knife resting against the zucchini as he glanced at her. A faint blush crept up his neck, though his lips curled into a small, sheepish smile.
“It was nothing,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “You needed it. I’m just glad you got through it.”
Yeji tilted her head, her smile widening as she studied him. “You say it’s nothing, but it wasn’t. You’re so hardworking, you know that? Always pushing yourself, always looking out for others. It’s… inspiring, really.”
Sunghoon chuckled softly, the sound almost shy as he turned his attention back to his cutting. “I don’t know about inspiring,” he muttered, his cheeks warming further.
Yeji picked up the peeler again, her movements slower now as she spoke.
“But, oppa… why won’t you eat? You barely touched your plate earlier. Are you okay?”
Sunghoon hesitated, his grip tightening slightly around the knife before he set it down on the counter. His gaze shifted to the chopping board for a moment before he answered, his voice quieter.
“It’s… my dietary restriction,” he admitted, a faint shadow of sadness coloring his tone. “Part of the job.”
Yeji frowned immediately, her brows knitting together as she turned to face him fully.
“Dietary restriction? What kind of restriction makes you eat so little? That’s not healthy .”
Sunghoon shrugged lightly, his lips twitching into a faint, resigned smile.
“It’s just how it is,” he said, his voice careful but tinged with resignation.
Yeji let out a dramatic sigh, dropping the peeler onto the counter with a clatter.
Her lips pursed in an exaggerated frown as she turned to rummage through one of the kitchen drawers.
Sunghoon watched her curiously, tilting his head slightly as he set the knife down.
Finally, she pulled out a small energy bar, holding it up triumphantly like she’d uncovered a treasure. “Here,” she said, thrusting it toward him. “This won’t hurt. One tiny bar. What management doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”
Sunghoon blinked, glancing between the energy bar and her determined expression.
A small chuckle slipped past his lips, surprising even himself.
“Yeji…” he started, his tone somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
“Nope,” she interrupted, holding the bar closer to his face. “You’re eating it. Right now. No arguments.”
“I can’t believe you’re smuggling snacks for me,” Sunghoon muttered, though his lips curled into a reluctant smile as he took the bar from her hand.
“Somebody has to,” Yeji replied with a huff, crossing her arms in mock defiance. “Now eat.”
Sunghoon unwrapped the energy bar, shaking his head as he bit into it.
“Satisfied?” he asked through a mouthful, his voice carrying a note of playful sarcasm.
Yeji grinned, leaning back against the counter with her arms still crossed.
“Very.”
They both laughed, the sound light and easy, breaking through the weight that had lingered between them.
For a moment, it felt like they’d stepped back in time—just two siblings, teasing and looking out for each other in their own way.
And for that moment, Sunghoon felt a little less weighed down.
The air was heavy as Sunghoon stepped out of the small café with Yeji by his side, the bag of pastries in her hand rustling softly with each movement.
They had spent the afternoon catching up, walking through familiar streets.
For the most part, the day had been easy—lighthearted even.
Yet, beneath Sunghoon’s composed exterior, an irritation simmered, a quiet storm lingering from the weight of his diet, exhaustion, and the constant pressure he carried.
He had been trying to keep it buried, to stay in the moment with Yeji, but the tension clung stubbornly, refusing to dissipate.
They turned onto a quieter street, and Yeji began enthusiastically recounting a recent project.
“So, we had this dance project in class,” she started, her tone animated as she glanced at Sunghoon.
“And guess what? The moment I mentioned I knew how to dance, my classmates bombarded me with questions .”
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, curious despite himself.
“Questions like what?”
“Like, ‘Can Sunghoon teach us?’ ” Yeji replied, barely suppressing a laugh.
“Some of them were definitely fans—they kept gushing about your videos. But the funny part was the boys. They got all protective, like, ‘No way. Yeji’s brother is too cool to teach us.’ It was hilarious!”
Sunghoon chuckled softly, shaking his head.
“Protective, huh? Sounds like you’ve got the best classmates. Guess I should thank them for having your back.”
Yeji grinned. “They’re the best, really. It’s like having a whole team of older brothers. They even said they’d ‘interrogate’ anyone who tried to mess with me. Makes me wonder if I even need you around sometimes.”
Sunghoon’s smile widened, his voice warm.
“Oh, come on. Big brothers bring more to the table than just scaring people off. Who else is going to bring you pastries from Paris?”
Yeji laughed, the sound genuine and bright. “Fair point. I guess you’ve earned your spot.”
The street stretched on ahead, the air quieter here, though not entirely calm. Sunghoon adjusted the bag in his hand, his thoughts relaxing slightly with the flow of their conversation.
“Anyway,” Yeji began again, her voice softening, “there’s someone else I wanted to tell you about—”
Her words hung in the air just as the sound of footsteps behind them made Sunghoon glance sharply over his shoulder.
A man trailed a little too close, his slouched posture and piercing gaze immediately setting Sunghoon on edge.
He tensed instinctively, his jaw tightening. Yeji noticed too; her cheerful energy dimmed slightly as she shifted closer to him.
“It’s fine,” Sunghoon said quietly, his voice steady yet soft as he looked at her. “Don’t worry. I’m here.”
Yeji hesitated before nodding, her hand tightening around the pastry bag.
“Don’t pay him any attention,” she muttered, her tone firm, though there was a flicker of unease beneath her words.
Sunghoon’s steps slowed slightly, his focus shifting entirely to the figure behind them.
He shot Yeji a small, reassuring smile, leaning in just enough that his voice remained private.
“You know I wouldn’t let anything happen, right?”
His tone was calm, his warmth wrapping around the words like a protective shield.
Yeji’s shoulders relaxed slightly, her expression softening as her trust in her brother steadied her.
They continued walking, Sunghoon subtly positioning himself between her and the man.
Whatever tension he carried from earlier was now replaced by a sharper, more determined focus.
Sunghoon would ensure they made it through this street, together.
The man quickened his pace, closing the distance as he called out.
“Yeji, hey! It’s been a while, huh?” His tone was casual, almost too casual, like he was trying to feign familiarity that didn’t sit right.
Yeji stiffened, her lips pressing into a thin line as she turned slightly away.
Sunghoon’s brow furrowed, his irritation morphing into something sharper as his gaze darkened.
“Do you know him?” he asked, his voice low but tense.
Yeji hesitated, her hand tightening around the bag of pastries.
“It’s… my ex, ” she admitted, her tone barely above a whisper. “He’s… just ignore him.”
Sunghoon’s jaw clenched at her words, the revelation hitting him like a punch to the gut.
His mind whirled, connecting the dots—the subtle fear in Yeji’s posture, the strained way she avoided looking at the man.
The man stepped closer, his voice turning sharp, a mocking edge creeping into his words.
“Come on, Yeji. Don’t be like that. What, you suddenly got someone new now?”
Sunghoon’s entire body stiffened, the storm inside him breaking loose as he stepped in front of Yeji, his gaze locking onto the man with unflinching intensity.
“Back off,” Sunghoon said firmly, his tone low but carrying enough weight to stop the man in his tracks.
The man scoffed, his smirk widening as he tilted his head mockingly. “Oh, is that how it is now? You gonna fight me, pretty boy?”
Sunghoon didn’t flinch, his stance unwavering. He could feel Yeji’s presence just behind him, her hand gripping the bag of pastries tightly, her knuckles pale against the paper.
He stayed rooted, unwilling to back down as the man’s smirk grew sharper.
“And you are?” Sunghoon asked evenly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
“What’s it to you?” the man replied, his tone dripping with disdain.
“But aren’t you one of those, uh… dancers or something?” He squinted slightly, giving Sunghoon a once-over, his words laced with mockery.
“Wait, hold on—who even are you? And what are you doing with Yeji?”
Sunghoon’s jaw tightened as the man’s words hung in the air.
“Yeji is my sister,” he said, his voice steady but firm, his eyes locked onto the man’s with quiet intensity.
The man blinked, his smirk twitching slightly before settling into something sharper, nastier.
“Oh, isn’t that lovely?” he said, his tone heavy with mock politeness, the aura of arrogance practically radiating from him.
He tilted his head, a mocking smile curling at the corners of his lips.
“Big brother swooping in to save the day. How sweet. ”
Sunghoon’s fingers curled slightly at his sides, the tension in his body like a coil ready to snap.
But he didn’t move, didn’t give the man the satisfaction of a response. Instead, he stood firm, his gaze unwavering as he made it clear—without words—that he wasn’t going anywhere.
Yeji stood slightly behind him, her grip on the bag of pastries tight enough to turn her knuckles white. The man smirked, his posture loose and mocking, as he tilted his head toward Sunghoon, clearly sizing him up.
“Move,” the man said, his voice sharp and dismissive.
He turned his attention to Yeji, his gaze lingering in a way that only further ignited Sunghoon’s irritation.
“Yeji, let’s talk .”
Sunghoon didn’t budge. His stance remained firm as he positioned himself squarely between Yeji and the man, blocking any attempt to approach her.
His expression was calm but unyielding, the weight of his presence enough to hold the man’s frustration at bay.
The man scoffed, his smirk faltering slightly before twisting into something sharper.
“Seriously? You’re just going to stand there? Look, this doesn’t concern you. Yeji and I need to talk.”
“No, you don’t,” Sunghoon said evenly, his voice steady and clear. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
The tension in the air thickened as the man’s expression darkened, frustration leaking into his posture.
He eyed Sunghoon for a moment longer before his lips curled into a sneer.
“Wait a second,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. “You’re the brother, right? The one who’s always not around?”
Sunghoon’s jaw tightened, but his gaze didn’t waver.
He could feel Yeji’s presence behind him, her unease palpable, but he didn’t let it show.
“That’s me,” he replied simply, his tone steady but carrying a quiet weight.
The man laughed, the sound hollow and biting. “ Figures. Always off doing… whatever it is you do. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re so protective now. Guilt , maybe?”
Sunghoon didn’t react to the jab, his stance unwavering as he continued to block the man’s view of Yeji.
The sneer grew sharper as the man tilted his head, clearly testing the limits of Sunghoon’s patience.
“Look,” Sunghoon said, his tone firm but calm, “you need to leave. Yeji doesn’t want anything to do with you, and I’m not going to let you bother her.”
The man’s frustration flared visibly, his posture stiffening for a moment.
But as Sunghoon’s unyielding resolve became increasingly apparent, his smirk faltered again, the arrogance in his demeanor slipping slightly.
For the first time, he seemed to sense that he wasn’t going to win this.
“You’re not even around, are you?” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Always off singing and dancing, pretending you’re some big shot. What do you know about anything? You’re not here. You’re never here.”
Sunghoon’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his composure. “I know enough to see you don’t belong anywhere near her,” he said coldly, his voice steady but sharp.
The man’s smirk widened, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer.
Before Sunghoon could react, he grabbed him by the collar, pulling him roughly against the wall of the nearby building.
The man’s sneer deepened, his grip tightening on Sunghoon’s collar as he leaned in closer, his voice dripping with venom.
“You think you’re so tough, huh? But you’re nothing. Just a pretty face on a stage, dancing around like a puppet. You don’t even have a soulmate . What makes you think you understand anything about me and Yeji? You don’t belong here. ”
Sunghoon’s chest burned with fury, his breathing sharp as he stared the man down.
“I don’t need a soulmate to know you’re a coward,” he said, his voice steady and cold.
“You don’t deserve to be anywhere near her!”
The man’s smirk twisted into something darker, his eyes narrowing as he pulled Sunghoon closer.
“Big words for someone who can’t even fight back,” he muttered, his tone mocking.
Without warning, he drove his fist into Sunghoon’s gut, the impact sharp and jarring.
Sunghoon staggered slightly, his breath hitching as pain radiated through his abdomen.
But he didn’t back down. His gaze hardened, his pride refusing to let him stay silent. With a sharp movement, he swung his fist, landing a solid punch against the man’s jaw.
The force sent the man stumbling back, his smirk faltering as he clutched his face.
“ You don’t get to talk about her like that,” Sunghoon said, his voice low and fierce. “You don’t get to act like you have any claim on her. You’re done.”
The man straightened, his expression twisted with anger as he lunged forward again.
But before he could reach Sunghoon, Yeji stepped between them, her voice trembling but firm.
“ Oppa, stop! People are coming! ” she said urgently, her hands grabbing at Sunghoon’s arm.
Sunghoon hesitated, his chest still heaving as he glanced around.
A few passersby had started to notice the commotion, their curious gazes lingering.
He clenched his fists tightly, his anger still burning, but Yeji’s grip on his arm grounded him just enough to pull him back.
“Let’s go,” Yeji said, her voice softer now but still insistent. She pulled her scarf from around her neck, pressing it into Sunghoon’s hands.
“Cover up. We need to leave. ”
Sunghoon nodded reluctantly, wrapping the scarf around his neck as Yeji tugged him away from the scene.
But before they turned the corner, Sunghoon glanced back at the man, his voice sharp and unwavering.
“If you ever come near her again, you’ll regret it. ”
The man didn’t respond immediately, his hand still pressed to his jaw as he glared weakly.
But the weight of Sunghoon’s words hung heavy in the air, and after a moment, he nodded stiffly, his pride clearly bruised.
Sunghoon turned away, his steps quick as he followed Yeji down the street.
The tension in his chest hadn’t fully eased, but as Yeji’s hand stayed firmly on his arm, he focused on her presence, letting it anchor him as they left the chaos behind.
“ Ow, ow, ow! ”
Sunghoon winced dramatically as Yeji dabbed at the corner of his cheek, her touch light but firm.
He pulled back slightly, pouting. “
Do you have to press so hard? I’m already in pain!”
Yeji shot him a glare, her free hand planted on her hip.
“You deserve it. What were you thinking, oppa? Why did you go there in the first place?”
Her tone was sharp, though the worry in her eyes softened the edge of her words.
Sunghoon huffed, slumping in his chair like a scolded child.
“I wasn’t thinking, okay? I just—”
He sighed, his gaze dropping to the table.
“Sorry , Yeji.”
She exhaled, shaking her head but softening as she leaned in again. Gently, she brushed her fingers over the faint mark on his face, inspecting it closely.
“Well,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly, “it looks like it’ll fade in time. Maybe some concealer if you’re on camera soon.”
Sunghoon let out another sigh, this one heavier, as he reached for the roll of gauze on the table and set it aside. “Great,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “A bruised face is just what I need.”
Yeji didn’t laugh, her expression turning more serious as she adjusted the first-aid supplies. “You know,” she started, her voice quiet but steady, “I feel sorry for your soulmate.”
Sunghoon looked up at her, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Huh?”
Yeji gestured vaguely toward Sunghoon, her lips quirking into a faint, rueful smile. “Imagine if they were just sitting there, minding their own business, and bam! They get slapped or punched out of nowhere because of you. Did you even think about that?”
A flicker of guilt passed through Sunghoon’s face, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
“I mean… I didn’t exactly plan to get into a fight,” he muttered, his voice trailing off. But Yeji’s words stayed with him, sinking deeply as they always seemed to.
It wasn’t the first time.
The bruises weren’t unfamiliar; they were reminders of how far he would go to protect her.
The weight of their lives—their family—had always followed them like a shadow.
Their mom, wrapped in her own struggles with depression, was often the subject of gossip in their neighborhood.
Yeji, burdened by whispers and judgments she couldn’t control, bore the brunt of it among her classmates.
And then there was her lack of a soulmark—a fact that became ammunition for those cruel enough to use it against her.
The bullying Yeji faced didn’t end with just words.
Sometimes it was jokes made at her expense, sometimes subtle exclusion that cut deeper than it should have.
Sunghoon could never stand it.
He remembered vividly how the boys from her school jeered about her missing mark, how they poked fun at the “flaw” she couldn’t hide.
He remembered the sting of his knuckles meeting a jaw, the sharp hiss of pain when another boy swung back at him.
It had always been like this—Sunghoon stepping into fights for her, bearing the physical and emotional consequences that came with them.
He had done it without hesitation, but the burden of his decisions lingered in moments like these.
Yeji was quiet, her touch gentle as she finished adjusting the gauze on his hand.
“You should’ve thought about it more, oppa,” she said, her tone steady. “It’s not just you, you know. Whatever happens to you… it happens to him, too.”
Sunghoon nodded faintly, her words settling like a heavy stone in his chest.
“ Yeah . I guess I didn’t really think it through.”
Yeji raised a brow, crossing her arms as she leveled him with a pointed look.
“I’m holding you to that.”
A sheepish smile tugged at the corner of Sunghoon’s lips. He reached for the glass of water on the table, his gaze lingering on its faint reflection.
“Thanks for patching me up,” he said quietly.
Yeji softened, her smile returning as she ruffled his hair playfully. “Just don’t make this a habit, okay?”
Sunghoon nodded, the hint of guilt still lingering in his posture.
As Yeji turned away, he remained seated, his thoughts wandering far from the kitchen table.
For now, the mystery remained quiet, waiting patiently as the weight of his actions settled in.
Chapter 6
Summary:
Heeseung laughed, shaking his head as he remembered the chaos Jake had caused with his last impromptu pet attempt.
“Well, not a snake,” he said with a smirk. “But remember the cat? That was a whole thing.”
“Oh, the cat!” Sunoo exclaimed, his voice rising in mock exasperation.
“I still can’t believe Jungwon let him keep it— what was he even thinking?”
“Jungwon’s weakness,” Heeseung replied knowingly. “No one can resist a cat.”
“Except when it starts clawing at everyone’s hands and—what was it? Oh yeah, Jay’s expensive clothes,” Niki added, laughing as he waved his skewer around.
“That was an absolute nightmare. Poor Jay almost had a meltdown.”
Chapter Text
If only you felt the sorrow in your laugh,
Lost in the echoes where shadows cross paths.
Their conversation bubbled with light-hearted banter.
“I’m telling you,” Niki began, waving a skewer of chicken teriyaki in the air, “this is the best thing I’ve had all week. Sunoo, you’re missing out.”
Sunoo rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his bubble tea.
“You said the same thing about that waffle yesterday. Do you ever stop eating?”
“Eating’s important,” Niki retorted with a smirk. “Unlike you, I actually enjoy food. You’re too picky.”
“Oh, please,” Sunoo shot back, his tone playful. “I’m just refined. You wouldn’t understand.”
Heeseung chuckled, balancing his iced coffee in one hand while holding his own skewer in the other.
“You two are like an old married couple.”
“Not at all!” Niki exclaimed, feigning offense.
“We’re just... passionate about food.”
The pigeons fluttering about the fountain seemed to spark a new train of thought as Sunoo gestured toward them with his bubble tea.
“You know,” he started, grinning, “Jake would probably feed these pigeons and try to keep one in the dorms.”
Niki tilted his head thoughtfully, a mischievous spark in his eyes.
“He would—and he’d totally succeed, at least for a couple of days. But let’s be real, he’d forget to buy proper food, and we’d find out when the poor thing starts eating bread crumbs off the counter.”
Sunoo snickered. “It wouldn’t even surprise me at this point. Honestly, at least it wouldn’t be a snake.”
Heeseung laughed, shaking his head as he remembered the chaos Jake had caused with his last impromptu pet attempt.
“Well, not a snake,” he said with a smirk. “But remember the cat? That was a whole thing.”
“Oh, the cat!” Sunoo exclaimed, his voice rising in mock exasperation.
“I still can’t believe Jungwon let him keep it— what was he even thinking?”
“Jungwon’s weakness,” Heeseung replied knowingly. “No one can resist a cat.”
“Except when it starts clawing at everyone’s hands and—what was it? Oh yeah, Jay’s expensive clothes,” Niki added, laughing as he waved his skewer around.
“That was an absolute nightmare. Poor Jay almost had a meltdown.”
“And that’s when it went to the adoption center,” Heeseung said, the memory still vivid.
“Jake pouted for days, though. He was convinced the cat would ‘settle down’ eventually.”
“But it’s Jake,” Sunoo said, rolling his eyes with a grin. “Jake always thinks everything will magically work out until it doesn’t.”
Their laughter rang across the square, each joke and shared memory weaving an invisible thread of connection among them.
The chaos of their bond—unpredictable yet endlessly comforting—wrapped around Heeseung like a warm blanket.
He balanced his skewer in one hand, the iced coffee in the other, a faint smile tugging at his lips as Sunoo prepared to fire back with his next playful jab.
But then, something shifted.
Heeseung’s grip tightened around the coffee cup instinctively as a strange bristle coursed through him, subtle yet enough to make him pause mid-step.
It wasn’t discomfort, not exactly. It was more like an inexplicable tug in his chest, distant and fleeting but impossible to ignore.
He blinked, his brow furrowing as he tried to shake the sensation off.
What was that?
His eyes darted briefly to the pigeons, then to his bandmates, but everything seemed normal.
Still, the odd feeling lingered, leaving him unsettled.
His grip on the skewer tightened slightly as he adjusted his footing, his thoughts swirling.
Why do I feel so weird all of a sudden?
It was an intrusive question, unwelcome and unanswered, but the answer came quickly and far too sharply.
Pain.
The searing intensity hit him like a shockwave, tearing through his ribs with brutal force.
Heeseung gasped, stumbling as his body jerked backward as though pushed by an invisible hand.
His iced coffee slipped from his grip, the plastic cup tumbling to the ground and splashing onto the pavement below.
His free hand shot to his chest instinctively, his expression contorting in bewilderment as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Heeseung!”
Sunoo called out, his voice cutting through the noise of the square.
Niki and Sunoo’s faces twisted in concern, their teasing forgotten as they rushed toward him, but the pain continued its relentless grip.
His mind raced, the bristle from earlier now magnified into something far more visceral.
His hands trembled, his breaths uneven as he struggled to steady himself.
What’s going on? Why does it feel like—
“Hyung!” Niki gasped, reaching out to steady him.
Heeseung doubled over, clutching his stomach as the pain intensified.
“I—I don’t know—fuck, what the heck—”
His words broke off abruptly as his head snapped to the side, a sharp, stinging sensation spreading across his cheek like he’d been slapped.
Sunoo froze, his eyes wide as he dropped his drink.
“Oh my god. It’s your soulmate!” he blurted out, his voice shrill with alarm.
The bond surged through him, raw and unforgiving, tearing through the relative calm he had carried moments before.
His breaths came short and uneven, his hand instinctively covering his cheek.
“Shit,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “It’s been a while since it hurt this much.”
“What do we do?” Niki’s voice wavered, his free hand flailing as if that alone might summon some miracle solution to Heeseung’s predicament.
His expression twisted with panic, his words tumbling out in rapid-fire.
“Hyung, do we—do we call someone? Get an ambulance? Or—I don’t know, can I carry you?”
Sunoo crouched, his bubble tea discarded to the side as he hovered close to Heeseung.
“Hyung, seriously, are you okay? That looked bad. Like… really, really bad.”
Heeseung remained hunched slightly, his hand still pressed against his cheek as he processed the searing pain that was slowly ebbing into a dull throb.
His mind reeled, flipping from confusion to frustration, and then suddenly—a realization.
His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through as the shift in his thoughts hit like lightning.
The sting burned, but it wasn’t a crushing weight. If anything, it was something else entirely.
He straightened just slightly, his voice carrying a breathless edge of disbelief.
“My soulmate,” he muttered, half to himself, his eyes wide.
“My soulmate’s alive. ”
“Holy shit, they’re… they’re- Ow!”
Sunoo’s brows shot up, the excitement in his features immediately replacing the concern.
“I knew it! I knew it was the bond!”
His hands clapped together, the sound sharp and victorious.
Meanwhile, Niki, still hovering nervously, frowned as his fingers stretched out hesitantly toward Heeseung’s side.
“Hyung…” His voice trailed off for a moment before he gave a cautious poke to Heeseung’s ribs.
“It still hurts, right? Does it feel like—”
“ Ow! ” Heeseung yelped, his body jolting as he swatted Niki’s hand away. “What is wrong with you? Don’t poke me , it stings like hell!”
Sunoo burst into laughter, his hand on Niki’s shoulder as he doubled over in amusement.
“Niki! You don’t poke someone when their bond is literally hurting them!”
“I was trying to help!” Niki protested, his tone defensive but tinged with guilt.
“What if his ribs were—I don’t know—broken or something?”
“They’re fine!” Heeseung snapped, though the sharp ache in his cheek made him grimace once again.
“Just leave the poking out of it. Ow. God, that—okay, I wasn’t ready for that.”
Niki winced apologetically, his hands raised in surrender.
“Sorry, hyung. No more poking. You’re good. I promise.”
Sunoo chuckled, shaking his head fondly at their dynamic.
“Still,” he said, his tone carrying an edge of wonder, “your soulmate’s alive, Heeseung. That’s huge. The bond—it’s still there. You feel it, right?”
“Oh, I feel it,” Heeseung muttered, his voice dry. “A little too much , honestly.”
The square continued to bustle around them, the vibrancy of the world seeming oddly juxtaposed with the quiet storm of realization that had hit Heeseung.
Despite the lingering sting, he couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
The snowflake soulmark etched into his skin shimmered faintly under the evening light, its glow soft yet undeniable. Heeseung’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with the sudden realization.
My soulmate is alive.
The words echoed in his mind, raw and overwhelming. The bond hasn’t broken. They’re still here.
He felt the sting of tears prick at his eyes, the flood of emotions almost too much to contain. Heeseung blinked rapidly, forcing himself to stay composed as he ran his thumb over the delicate mark.
Even amidst the chaos of spilled drinks and sensitive ribs, the knowledge settled somewhere deeper, grounding him in the midst of it all.
And while the pain still lingered, so did the spark of something more.
If this is a sign... I hope it leads me to the right answers.
Heeseung was practically glowing, his smile so bright it seemed contagious as he walked with Sunoo and Niki, their arms loaded with baggage from the break.
The trio strolled toward the dorms, their conversations lighthearted and interspersed with laughter.
Heeseung’s happiness radiated so strongly that even the staff members passing by took notice.
“Heeseung looks really happy today,” one whispered curiously to another as he held open the door for a passing member, his grin almost absurdly wide.
“I wonder what’s got him smiling like that?” the other replied, watching him with amused intrigue.
Sunoo squinted at Heeseung, his face a mix of confusion and amusement. Niki smirked slightly, his tone half-joking but incredulous.
“Hyung, you’re really something,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“For someone who felt a punch to the gut and the face recently, I don’t think I’ll ever figure out why you’re so happy.”
Heeseung merely chuckled, brushing off the question entirely as the trio made their way to the dorms. His smile lingered, wide and unwavering, but beneath it, his thoughts ran loud.
When the pain hit, it had been sharp—blinding even—but it wasn’t just agony.
He’d felt it, and in that, he’d felt alive.
After seven years, the void that once consumed him wasn’t infinite.
Somewhere out there, his soulmate existed , tethered to him like a faint but enduring thread.
As they entered the dorm, the scene before them was complete chaos.
Bags and pillows were scattered all over the floor, and the unmistakable sounds of a heated exchange filled the room.
Jay, Jake, and Jungwon were in the middle of what could only be described as a half-hearted pillow fight, though it was clear their actual objective lay elsewhere.
“Where is it?” Jungwon groaned, frustration coating his words as he rifled through Jake’s bag.
“I’ve checked everywhere! Jake, Jay— did either of you take it?”
Jay leaned against the couch, one hand lazily holding a pillow as his other gestured toward Jungwon with his usual calm judgment.
“Okay, let’s think about this rationally,” he said, his tone laced with subtle annoyance. “Where did you last put it? Because I know it’s not in my bag.”
Jake raised his hands defensively, glancing between the two of them. “It’s not in mine either! I swear, I didn’t even see anything like that when I was packing.”
Sunoo and Niki exchanged amused glances before bursting into laughter, their mirth breaking through the tension in the room.
Heeseung raised an eyebrow, stepping forward with his signature grin as he leaned casually against the doorframe.
“Jay?” he said, his voice light but carrying just enough weight to catch their attention.
Jay turned toward him, puzzled by Heeseung’s tone. “What?”
Without missing a beat, Heeseung raised his hand and pointed at the Hawaii hat perched snugly on Jay’s head.
“Check there.”
Jay blinked, his confusion shifting into cautious curiosity as he removed the hat. Sure enough, the missing key tumbled out, landing on the floor with a soft clink.
Jungwon’s groan filled the room almost immediately, the relief visible on his face despite his frustration.
“Oh my god, you’re a life saver , hyung!” he exclaimed dramatically before spinning toward Jay, shaking his head in exaggerated disbelief.
“Jay, you—how could you not notice it was literally on your head ?”
The dorm erupted in laughter as Jay stood dumbfounded, clutching the hat with a sheepish look. Sunoo grabbed his drink, sipping contentedly as Niki grinned wide, clearly reveling in the chaos.
“Leave it to Jay to make the impossible happen,” Niki quipped, nudging Sunoo with playful amusement.
Heeseung grinned wider, his earlier radiance still intact as the room’s energy shifted back to playful banter. The laughter echoed warmly, and the group settled into their usual rhythm of teasing and amusement.
The door creaked open, catching their attention as Sunghoon stepped inside.
His bags clattered softly onto the floor, his movements slower and more deliberate than usual. His usual charm was present, though there was a faint edge to his expression that Heeseung picked up on immediately.
The subtle strain in the way Sunghoon shifted his weight, his hand briefly brushing against his side as though testing something, didn’t escape Heeseung’s notice.
There was an air of carefulness to Sunghoon’s movements, almost guarded, though his voice still carried its usual composure.
“You missed all the chaos,” Sunoo quipped, grinning as he gestured to the mess of pillows on the floor. “We already found the key. Turns out Jay had it on his head the whole time.”
Sunghoon chuckled, the sound light but faintly strained, like something behind the smile hadn’t quite settled. His smirk was easy, but there was a wavering edge to it as he replied,
“Sounds about right. Jay being Jay.”
Adjusting his stance slightly, he curled a hand at his side, as if shielding something, but the gesture was fleeting—so quick that only Heeseung’s sharp eyes caught it.
Niki nudged Sunghoon playfully, oblivious to the subtle tension. “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss much!” he teased, grinning.
Sunghoon grinned faintly, his demeanor slipping into something lighter.
“Good to know,” he said, his tone even but carrying an underlying depth that tugged at Heeseung’s attention.
As Sunghoon passed him, Heeseung paused mid-step, his brow furrowing.
A faint smell lingered in the air as Sunghoon walked by—cool and sharp, unmistakably menthol.
It wasn’t overpowering, but it was distinct enough to stick in Heeseung’s mind.
Without thinking, Heeseung turned slightly and asked, “Hey, Sunghoon… is that menthol?”
Sunghoon stiffened just briefly before turning back with a sheepish laugh, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Oh! Uh, yeah—it’s from my sister! ” he stammered, his words tumbling out a bit too quickly.
“She, um , wanted to try all these oils and stuff with me. You know, can’t predict the trends nowadays.” His grin was shaky, his tone a little too casual to feel convincing.
Heeseung tilted his head slightly, his eyebrow raising.
Menthol wasn’t something Sunghoon usually went for. At least not unless there was a reason.
The thought flickered briefly in Heeseung’s mind.
But you don’t use menthol unless…
The trail of reasoning cut off as he caught Sunghoon’s darting eyes and hurried tone.
Heeseung’s skepticism didn’t fully fade, but he nodded slowly, deciding not to press further.
“Oh… okay. Makes sense, I guess,” he replied, his voice light but his eyes still quietly observing.
As Sunghoon turned away, the faint smell lingered for just a moment longer.
Heeseung filed it away in the back of his mind, the concern now a small, unsettled ripple beneath the surface of his thoughts.
Sunghoon, on the other hand, puts his face in his hands with a shaky sigh.
Sunghoon hurried down the street, his bag slung over his shoulder and his thoughts spiraling into chaos.
Yeji’s words echoed in his mind, her teasing voice practically haunting him.
“Make sure you reapply the bandages properly, oppa. And don’t forget the concealer—you don’t want to look like you’ve been in a fight.”
He groaned internally, his pace quickening as he clutched the strap of his bag tighter. The small pouch containing the wraps and concealer was buried somewhere in his luggage, and he prayed it hadn’t shifted too much during the trip.
What if the concealer’s smudged? What if the bandages look weird?
Sunghoon’s mind raced as he imagined Yeji’s smug face if she saw him fumbling with the wraps.
She’d never let me live it down.
He shook his head, trying to focus on the dorm ahead. The sooner he got there, the sooner he could fix and re-apply everything.
As he stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the dorm greeted him, along with the sound of laughter.
Sunoo and Niki were the first to notice him, their grins wide as they called out, “Sunghoon! You’re late!”
“Missed all the chaos,” Sunoo added, gesturing to the scattered pillows on the floor. “Jay had the key on his head the whole time.”
Sunghoon chuckled lightly, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Heeseung.
He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as his gaze fixed on Heeseung. Of all the things Sunghoon expected to find upon stepping into the dorm, this wasn’t one of them.
Heeseung was smiling—no, beaming —his grin stretching so wide it bordered on ridiculous.
Sunghoon blinked, his thoughts grinding to an abrupt halt.
What happened here?
The scene was a whirlwind of noise and laughter, but his attention stayed rooted on Heeseung’s unusually radiant expression.
Before he could process further, Heeseung’s voice cut through.
“Hey… Sunghoon,” Heeseung said, tilting his head slightly. “Is that menthol I’m smelling?”
Of all things, it was the smell that threw him off. Sunghoon froze for half a second, his mind scrambling as he silently cursed himself.
Stupid, stupid! How could I forget about the smell?
He plastered on a quick smile, his hand instinctively brushing against his bag as he turned to face Heeseung.
“Oh! Uh, yeah. It’s from my sister!” The words tumbled out faster than he could control, and he felt the edges of his composure start to wobble.
“She, um , wanted to try some trendy oils or something with me. You know how it is. Can’t predict what’s popular these days.” It sounded flimsy, even to him.
Heeseung raised an eyebrow, his skeptical expression hard to miss, but after a brief pause, he simply nodded.
“Oh… okay. Makes sense, I guess,” Heeseung replied lightly, though Sunghoon could tell the older boy wasn’t entirely convinced.
The conversation drifted, and soon enough, Sunghoon made his way to his room.
Closing the door with care, he turned the lock, ensuring no room for error.
Letting out a quiet sigh, he set his bag down and carefully removed his shirt.
His reflection stared back at him in the mirror—bandages still intact but in need of reapplication.
The menthol scent clung faintly to the air, a reminder of his earlier misstep. With a steady hand, he began reapplying his concealer, the small motions grounding him as a weight of solemnity hung in the room.
By the time he rejoined the group, any trace of the moment had been tucked neatly away.
Sunghoon settled into the rhythm of their dynamic just as dinner began, the transition seamless.
“You’re in a good mood,” Sunghoon said finally, unable to stop himself. His tone was casual, but the curiosity seeped through.
He raised a brow, watching Heeseung closely.
Before Heeseung could answer, Niki all but launched himself into the conversation, his excitement bubbling over.
“It’s his soulmate!” he exclaimed, his hands flying dramatically in the air. “Hyung’s soulmate came through !”
“What?” Sunghoon blurted, his brow furrowing as he stared between them.
Sunoo, leaning against the practice room mirror, let out a theatrical sigh.
“Oh, Sunghoon, you missed the whole thing. Heeseung hyung was done. Like, we’re talking brink-of-giving-up levels of drained. I’ve never seen him look so close to tapping out. But then… bam !”
Sunoo clapped his hands together for emphasis, his grin equal parts teasing and amazed.
“One punch to the gut— literally —and hyung here turns into Mr. Sunshine.”
“A… punch ?” Sunghoon echoed, his voice quieter now as the realization settled like a stone in his chest. His stomach twisted uncomfortably.
A punch. The fight he had. That was because of him.
And now Heeseung… what?
Looked like someone handed him the key to all the happiness in the world?
How was that even possible?
“Yup!” Niki chirped, pointing to Heeseung. “And now look at him—he’s been like this ever since. It’s kind of creepy, honestly. I mean, hyung, you look… happy.”
Heeseung laughed, a sound so carefree it almost hurt to hear.
“What can I say?” he replied, his tone light. “It feels good to know someone’s there.”
Jay, who had been casually leaning against the back of a chair, smirked and pushed himself upright before plopping down next to Heeseung. “
Well, with that though,” Jay began, his tone teasing, “your soulmate must be a riot. What’s the deal? Having a fight? Geez, think he’s a bit shady?”
Sunoo, catching on quickly, jumped in, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh! What if the reason Heeseung’s soulmate can’t be found is because they’re hiding? You know… like a criminal?”
Niki blinked at him, his curiosity piqued. “Wait, seriously? Like—what kind of criminal? Do you think they’re some high-level mastermind or something?”
Heeseung snorted, shaking his head but playing along. “Well… if you put it like that…”
“Nooo, I refuse to believe!” Jake interrupted dramatically, throwing his hands up as though warding off the idea entirely. “Hyung’s soulmate is definitely not some sketchy criminal! Absolutely not!”
Heeseung smiled, glancing at Jake with amusement before leaning back slightly. “Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s best if we don’t overthink it,” he said lightly.
Niki, ever the instigator, shrugged with a sly grin. “Well… we never know, right?”
Jay cackled loudly, clearly entertained by the absurdity of the conversation, while Sunghoon, sitting quietly in the background, felt his face flush as the words hit him.
No—no, I’m not a mafia boss! Seriously, a criminal? What’s with their minds? Sunghoon’s thoughts raced, his blush deepening as he shrank slightly into his seat, pretending to focus on his drink.
Why is this where their imaginations go? I’m just a normal person!
The laughter continued, filling the room with their playful energy, while Sunghoon remained in the background, battling his own thoughts and the warmth spreading across his cheeks.
They really have no idea, he thought, desperately willing himself to stay composed.
The chaotic chatter swirled around him, muffled and distant, as his gaze stayed locked on Heeseung.
Heeseung, who was smiling so brightly it almost didn’t make sense.
How could someone be this happy after—after that?
Sunghoon’s mind raced, a thousand thoughts crashing into each other as he tried to make sense of it.
Heeseung didn’t look like someone who had been hurt. He didn’t look like someone who had felt pain— his pain. If anything, he looked alive, vibrant in a way that made Sunghoon feel something twist uncomfortably inside him.
And then there was the guilt.
It crept up quietly, threading itself through his thoughts as the weight of everything settled on his chest.
Heeseung didn’t know it was him.
Heeseung didn’t know that the person who had “reignited” him, as Sunoo so dramatically put it, was standing right there, barely holding himself together.
Sunghoon wanted to sink into the floor and stay there, to crawl under the nearest sofa and pretend he hadn’t just heard what he’d heard.
Sunoo, oblivious to the storm brewing in Sunghoon’s mind, playfully jabbed Heeseung in the side, his grin wide and teasing.
“Hey, lighten up,” Sunoo said with a laugh.
Heeseung hissed sharply, his hand flying to his ribs as he winced. The reaction was quick, almost instinctive, and Sunghoon, sitting far from them, felt the same sting ripple through his own side.
The pain hit him hard, unexpected and sharp, and he flinched visibly, his body stiffening as he fought to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape. His breath caught, his mind racing as realization dawned.
Oh. Oh, shit.
Before he could process further, the door swung open, and the staff entered, their presence cutting through the tension like a sudden gust of wind.
The moment shifted, the focus scattering as Sunghoon tried to steady himself, his thoughts still tangled in the weight of what had just happened.
“Meeting in three hours,” they announced, cutting through the noise like a bell. “Make sure you’re all ready.”
The mood shifted instantly, the laughter and chatter giving way to a more focused energy as the group dispersed.
Sunghoon stayed where he was, frozen in place as he watched Heeseung. His bandmate was clutching his side now, his smile still present but faintly twitching, betraying the lingering sting beneath his casual facade.
Heeseung tried to play it off, chuckling softly as though the pain was a distant thing, unworthy of attention. Meanwhile, Sunoo stood nearby, his grin gleaming with mischief, clearly satisfied with his teasing jab.
Sunoo, that brat, Sunghoon thought wryly, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from lifting slightly despite his own unease.
Next time he pulls something like this, I’m calling dibs on hiding his favorite snacks.
He snorted quietly at the idea, already imagining Sunoo scrambling around the dorm, whining dramatically about his lost treasures.
The fleeting amusement fizzled as Sunghoon’s gaze drifted back to Heeseung. His focus sharpened, drawn to how Heeseung calmly wiped a spilled drink off the table, his movements slow. His other hand pressed lightly against his side, as though grounding himself against the pain that was still so evident despite his best efforts to mask it.
How does he do it? Sunghoon wondered, a pang tugging at his chest as the thought settled heavily in his mind.
How can someone feel like this—look like this—after being hurt the way he had?
Heeseung’s quiet strength was unfathomable to Sunghoon, an absurdity he couldn’t fully grasp.
The sight of him smiling through the ache, brushing it aside as though it didn’t matter, sent Sunghoon’s thoughts spiraling.
And then Heeseung looked at him.
It was brief, just a passing glance, but it was enough to knock the air out of Sunghoon’s lungs.
Heeseung’s smile softened as their eyes met. His expression wasn’t static—there was a flicker, a fleeting moment of something buried within, as if emotions were curling beneath the surface but never fully breaking through.
Sunghoon’s gaze held his longer than he intended, caught in the quiet shift of Heeseung’s features.
The seconds stretched unnaturally, the bustling activity around them fading into an indistinct hum. Sunghoon’s chest tightened, the moment pressing down heavily, lingering far longer than it had any right to. His thoughts scattered, colliding messily as he tried and failed to grasp the meaning in Heeseung’s gaze.
Then, effortlessly, Heeseung turned away, his focus shifting back to Niki with practiced ease. He moved fluidly, a casual motion that seemed to dissolve the tension, leaving Sunghoon frozen in place.
The ghost of the moment remained, its weight refusing to fade even as the world around them snapped back into focus.
Sunghoon shook his head slightly, willing himself to pull free from the hold it had on him.
Focus, he told himself, his fingers twitching as he clung to the rhythm of their work.
The meeting loomed ahead, its gravity sharp enough to demand his attention. But no matter how he tried to push forward, his mind kept drifting back—to that fleeting softness in Heeseung’s smile, bright yet untouchable, carrying a weight Sunghoon couldn’t fully comprehend.
As the minutes ticked by, the quiet storm in Sunghoon’s chest churned incessantly. And as he glanced briefly at Heeseung, now immersed in the rhythm of their tasks, Sunghoon couldn’t shake the thought rising within him—not for the first time.
What does it truly mean to be bound by the bond?
Chapter 7
Summary:
“Sunghoon, Jake, what’s going on? You’re both completely off today. Focus! And Jake, stop slacking—it’s embarrassing.”
The choreographer’s sharp words sliced through the room, leaving a thick tension hanging in the air. For a moment, no one spoke, the weight of the critique pressing down heavily.
Sunoo bristled inwardly, his fingers curling into loose fists at his sides as he stared hard at the floor.
Can’t they give them a little breathing room? he thought angrily, frustration boiling up inside him.
They just got back from the break, damn it!
Sunoo’s shoulders tensed, his chest tightening as he held back the urge to snap.
Across the room, Jungwon’s expression darkened, his own irritation bubbling to the surface.
Chapter Text
How much longer must I wait in shadows,
Fighting a silence that never fades?
The living room was comfortably warm, the faint sound of the television playing in the background as the group lounged around, chatting in bursts between scrolling through their phones or nibbling on snacks.
“Don’t you guys think Sunghoon’s been acting a little... off lately?” Jungwon asked, his tone casual but tinged with concern.
He tilted his head, glancing at the others.
“Well,” Jake began, shrugging lightly, “he’s been calmer ever since he visited Yeji. I guess that’s something.”
“Calmer,” Jay interjected, leaning forward with a frown as his elbows rested on his knees. “But he’s also been carrying around that piece of paper. Always keeps it close—like, seriously close.”
“Huh? What paper?” Jake asked, his curiosity piqued as he sat up straighter.
“I don’t know,” Jay replied, shrugging with feigned indifference, though his eyebrows raise at intrigue. “He’s been discreet about it, but I’ve seen it a few times. Looks important to him.”
Niki glanced up from his phone, startled by the sudden attention as Jungwon’s gaze shifted toward him.
“You know anything about this, Niki?”
“Uh…” Niki began, fumbling slightly before scratching the back of his head nervously. “Well… I didn’t think much of it at first, but…” He hesitated, his expression shifting to something more thoughtful.
“But what?” Sunoo pressed, leaning forward impatiently.
“Well,” Niki continued, his voice uncertain, “yesterday, I woke up late and went to grab a snack. Sunghoon-hyung was already awake and he was just sitting in the kitchen. I didn’t notice at first, but he wasn’t doing anything. Just… staring. He looked like he was in deep thought.”
“Deep thought about what?” Jake asked, frowning.
“I don’t know!” Niki exclaimed quickly, his hands flying up in defense. “But when I called his name, he snapped out of it. Like, super fast. Didn’t say much, just grabbed his stuff and went to his room.”
“Huh,” Jungwon murmured, his brows knitting together. “That’s weird.”
“Sunghoon’s always been a little private,” Sunoo said, his tone matter-of-fact.
“But this—this feels different.”
Like there’s something he’s not saying.
For a moment, the room fell into a lull, the quiet hum of the television filling the space.
Heeseung, who had been lounging on the couch the entire time, finally spoke up.
“Do you think—”
Heeseung started, his tone soft and tentative, hanging in the air like a question left unfinished.
His gaze lingered on the floor, his brows drawn together as his thoughts collided, one after the other.
But if he was…
The idea churned uneasily in his mind. It seemed absurd, an impossible thread to follow.
That doesn’t make sense.
He’s always been careful—always calm.
If it’s true, then why now?
Why would it show?
The possibilities stretched further, brushing against faint memories, half-realized connections.
Heeseung felt the weight of it press down, uncertainty gripping at his thoughts.
It couldn’t be. Could it?
Heeseung shook his head faintly, dismissing the idea with an exhale as though to quiet the noise in his mind.
“Never mind,” he murmured, his voice barely audible before settling back down on the couch.
The unfinished thought hung at the edges of his mind, elusive and unwilling to fade completely, though he pushed it aside for now.
Jay broke the silence, leaning forward with his usual composure.
“Well, whatever it is, let’s keep a close eye,” he said, his half-smile giving way to a steadier tone.
The group nodded in agreement, murmuring their assent, but Heeseung remained quiet. His gaze stayed distant, his focus drifting further into the thoughts he’d dismissed only moments ago.
Whatever realization had begun to form wouldn’t let go entirely, waiting patiently in the background of his mind.
For now, though, Heeseung chose to observe. To wait.
Until something more concrete revealed itself.
“One, two, three,” the choreographer called out, clapping her hands to the tempo. The mirrors lining the walls reflected the group’s synchronized steps as they moved into the new blocking for the routine.
The floor squeaked faintly under their sneakers as they adjusted to the new choreography.
Heeseung, as the center, had already rehearsed his part a bit before the practice. So as he glides, his parts come in, there was not much to change but minor polishing.
Sunoo needed a few more rounds to polish his form, but of course with the heavy lifting and fast blockings, he adapted quickly as ever.
Niki on the other hand, the dancing prodigy he is, moves more perfectly than ever. His steps so clean even to his eyes no error.
Jay, on the other hand, is doing well. Aside from jungwon raising an eyebrow whenever jay and jake cross paths during the choreo, jay also looking at jake in shared concern.
Sunghoon’s movements were sharp, but his shoulders were noticeably tense, his usual fluidity replaced by a stiffness that didn’t belong.
Jake, on the other hand, kept missing the mark on the footwork, his timing slightly off as he struggled to keep up with the change.
“Again!” the choreographer called out, her voice sharp but encouraging as she gestured for them to reset.
Just as they moved back into position, a manager on the sidelines broke the rhythm with a stern, cutting tone.
“Sunghoon, Jake, what’s going on? You’re both completely off today. Focus! And Jake, stop slacking—it’s embarrassing.”
The choreographer’s sharp words sliced through the room, leaving a thick tension hanging in the air. For a moment, no one spoke, the weight of the critique pressing down heavily.
Sunoo bristled inwardly, his fingers curling into loose fists at his sides as he stared hard at the floor.
Can’t they give them a little breathing room? he thought angrily, frustration boiling up inside him.
They just got back from the break, damn it!
Sunoo’s shoulders tensed, his chest tightening as he held back the urge to snap.
Across the room, Jungwon’s expression darkened, his own irritation bubbling to the surface.
Could they not see the floor in his part was poorly mopped? The thought burned in his mind as his gaze flickered to the scuffed spots where Sunghoon and Jake had been slipping slightly during their movements.
We asked them to clean it multiple times—multiple! But no, it’s somehow their fault entirely.
Jungwon leaned back slightly, his teeth clenching as anger simmered just beneath his calm exterior.
Before Sunoo could let his frustration spill over, the choreographer opened his mouth again, ready to deliver another critique. Sunoo shifted sharply, his head snapping up as he prepared to fire back.
But Sunghoon’s calm voice broke through the moment.
“It’s okay, Sunoo,” Sunghoon said softly, his eyes briefly meeting Sunoo’s with a quiet reassurance, as if reading his mind.
Then, Sunghoon turned to the choreographer, his posture straight and composed as he dipped his head respectfully.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice firm but polite. “I’ll do better.”
The words carried a weight that shifted the focus entirely, drawing attention away from the rising frustration in the room.
Sunoo’s fists loosened as he glanced at Sunghoon, a flicker of gratitude passing through his gaze before he exhaled quietly. Jungwon’s jaw relaxed slightly, though his brows remained furrowed as he silently processed the moment.
Sunghoon’s intervention had softened the tension, but the lingering irritation over the choreographer’s pointed critique, and the mopped floor issue remained like a faint hum in the background.
Sunghoon’s focus shifted inward as he moved into position for the choreography.
The rigid steps made him wince, his hand twitching slightly as he hit the sharper movements.
The bandages beneath his shirt pressed uncomfortably against his ribs, a constant reminder of the bruises still healing—yellowing, but not gone.
Every twist, every step pulled faintly at the edges of his discomfort, and though he kept his expression neutral, the ache followed him like a shadow.
Through the mirror, Sunghoon’s gaze briefly flicked to his right, landing on Heeseung.
Just for a moment, he saw Heeseung’s movements falter. A pause so slight that no one else seemed to notice.
But Sunghoon did.
His chest tightened as guilt churned in the pit of his stomach.
He’s feeling it too, Sunghoon thought, the realization sharp and unbearable.
The pain Heeseung carried wasn’t his own—it was Sunghoon’s. The connection between them meant every bruise, every ache Sunghoon endured was mirrored through the bond.
The thought stung deeper than the actual injuries.
Heeseung, so bright and unassuming, was shouldering pain he didn’t deserve, pain Sunghoon had brought into his life.
For a fleeting second, Sunghoon’s resolve faltered.
I’m sorry, he thought silently, though he knew it wasn’t enough.
He hated this, hated the way Heeseung unknowingly bore the weight of something that should’ve stayed Sunghoon’s alone.
Swallowing hard, Sunghoon forced his gaze forward, his posture stiffening as he buried the emotions deep within.
Whatever discomfort he felt would stay with him. It had to.
For Heeseung’s sake, Sunghoon refused to let the connection reveal itself, even if it meant carrying the burden alone.
The guilt lingered, a weight he couldn’t shake, even as the choreographer’s call to reset broke the moment.
“From the top,” she instructed, clapping her hands. “And this time, focus on those transitions.”
Sunghoon moved back into position automatically, his body aligning with the group as they prepared to run through the routine again.
His ribs protested faintly with every shift, but his thoughts remained elsewhere—on the connection he could never let slip and the person he needed to protect, even if it meant hurting alone.
As the music started and the movements began, Sunghoon pushed the guilt aside and let the familiar rhythm take over.
The supervisor chuckled faintly, a sound that made Heeseung’s spine straighten instantly.
His gaze snapped toward the man, unease creeping into his chest.
The supervisor had a tall, broad figure that could easily intimidate anyone under his watch. His sharp, pressed blazer gave off an air of formality, though the faint smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth undercut the professional demeanor.
His eyes were piercing, almost calculating, scanning Sunghoon as though he were appraising him.
The chuckle carried something Heeseung couldn’t quite place—something that didn’t fit the moment.
“Good work, Sunghoon,” the supervisor said, his tone oddly casual as he nodded and walked off, leaving the room in a strange hush.
Heeseung frowned, his chest tightening further as he watched the man disappear toward the door. The sharp creases of the supervisor’s jacket caught Heeseung’s eye momentarily, and his rigid posture as he exited only made the tension inside Heeseung worse.
His thoughts swirled, unsettled and insistent.
Why would the supervisor react like that to him?
Heeseung’s gaze flickered back to Sunghoon.
Something felt off—off in a way Heeseung couldn’t shake.
“Alright, let’s reset,” the choreographer called out again, clapping her hands to draw their focus back.
The group moved into position, the atmosphere still charged as they prepared to run through the routine once more. Heeseung followed along, hitting every beat on time, but his mind lingered elsewhere.
The oddity of the supervisor’s demeanor and the subtle signs Sunghoon carried—the stiffness, the faint bruise—gnawed at the edges of Heeseung’s focus.
As the choreography reached a segment involving the hands, Heeseung's attention sharpened involuntarily, his gaze catching Sunghoon through the mirror.
His knuckles—slightly red and raw-looking—stood out against the fluidity of the movements.
For a split second, Heeseung’s eyes widened, the realization jolting him out of rhythm.
He quickly masked his reaction, smoothing his expression before they pivoted for the next part.
Red knuckles? The thought clung stubbornly in his mind, refusing to settle.
Heeseung pressed his lips together, his focus faltering briefly as unease twisted in his chest.
Sunghoon’s struggles were apparent, yet layered, like pieces of a puzzle Heeseung wasn’t sure how to fit together.
And as the group powered through the routine, the weight of his thoughts stayed with him, insistent.
Something wasn’t right, and Heeseung couldn’t ignore it.
The practice room was quiet now, the faint hum of the air conditioning filling the space as Sunghoon slung his bag over his shoulder.
He was ready to leave, his mind already drifting to the solace of his room, when the sound of footsteps made him pause.
Turning slightly, he saw the supervisor approaching again, his polished shoes clicking softly against the floor.
Sunghoon’s grip tightened around the strap of his bag, the faint creak of the material grounding him as he tried to steady his racing heart.
His chest tightened further as the supervisor stopped just a little too close, the suffocating air between them pressing down like an invisible weight.
“How’s the diet going?” the man asked, his tone light yet unnervingly controlled, carrying an edge that made Sunghoon instinctively flinch. “You’ve been keeping to the plan, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Sunghoon replied, his voice steady but clipped. Every syllable felt calculated to mask the unease brewing in his chest. “Everything’s fine.”
The supervisor’s presence seemed to grow heavier, looming as he adjusted his cuff with deliberate precision. The light caught on his wrist, drawing Sunghoon’s eyes to the lightning-white mark that stood out sharply against the man’s skin.
The sight made his stomach churn, the stark reminder of loss twisting the already suffocating tension into something colder, heavier.
And just like that, he felt like a child again.
In a dark room, shadows swallowing the walls, the air thick with the fury of someone who didn’t need words to be terrifying.
His chest tightened as the memory flooded back unbidden. The waiting, the horrible silence before the storm.
He knew what came next, every second dragging out the tension until it snapped like a rubber band.
His gaze locked on the mark, his breath caught in his throat, waiting for the pin to drop, for something—anything—to break.
“Good,” the supervisor interrupted, his lips curling into a faint, unreadable smile that only deepened the discomfort in the air.
“We can’t have you slipping up, after all. Got to keep you in top form.”
Sunghoon’s throat tightened, the words pressing against his chest like a vice. He barely registered the mirrored walls surrounding them, the faint reflection of the supervisor’s looming figure catching his peripheral vision.
His shoulders felt caged, boxed in by the suffocating closeness.
Though there was no physical barrier between them, the mirrors felt like a warning—a reminder that there was nowhere to escape, no reprieve from the man’s invasive presence.
The supervisor leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something quieter, almost conspiratorial.
“But you’ve been looking a bit tired lately,” he continued, his tone carrying a false concern that made Sunghoon’s skin crawl.
“Is there something you’re not telling us, Sunghoon?”
The proximity made every nerve in Sunghoon’s body scream for distance. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, the cold wave of disgust spreading across his skin like frostbite.
Why is he pressing this hard? Is it really about the diet—or something else?
Sunghoon took an instinctive step back, the motion small but deliberate as he sought to create space between them.
His breath hitched, sharp and uneven, the weight of it pressing against the panic he fought to suppress. It clung to him, heavy and unrelenting, clawing at the edges of his composure.
The supervisor’s piercing gaze didn’t falter. He stepped forward again, his presence looming as though he could swallow the room.
As his hand reached out toward Sunghoon, aiming for his wrist, instinct overtook rationale.
Sunghoon jerked back, the sudden movement sharp and defensive, as though the contact would burn him.
The sting wasn’t physical, but it might as well have been.
Why can’t he move?
The memory of the supervisor’s lightning-white mark flashed through his mind, sending a shiver down his spine.
It was a cruel reminder—a tether to something he could never fully escape.
I can’t let him touch me. I can’t let him—
Sunghoon forced his voice out before the tremor could betray him, each word a struggle against the knot tightening in his throat.
“I’ll tell management about this,” he said sharply, his tone cutting through the suffocating silence.
The supervisor’s expression didn’t falter—if anything, his smirk deepened slightly, an unsettling mix of amusement and calculation. He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he stepped forward.
“And what can management do, hm?” he said, his tone low and dangerous, laced with condescension.
Before Sunghoon could take another step back, the supervisor’s hand shot out, his fingers clamping around Sunghoon’s arm.
The grip wasn’t harsh, but the intent behind it burned like acid.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” the supervisor murmured, his voice sharp enough to cut. His eyes bore into Sunghoon’s, dissecting, prying, as though peeling back every layer he fought to keep hidden.
“And surely you’ve seen mine as well?”
Sunghoon’s breath hitched, the suffocating weight of the moment tightening around his chest.
His instincts screamed at him to pull away, but he was frozen, the man’s words slicing through his composure like shards of glass.
“For you… an idol… not wearing any mark,” the supervisor continued, his smirk twisting into something darker, crueler.
“Tell me, Sunghoon. Are you searching for self-gratification? Or are you just trying to fit into a role you’ll never shine in?”
The words hit like a punch to the gut, cold and cutting, every syllable weighted with disdain.
Sunghoon felt the knot in his throat tighten impossibly further, his breathing shallow as his heart pounded in his ears.
“What do you know about me?” Sunghoon replied shakily, his voice trembling but firm enough to push through the suffocating tension.
He have a soulmate, but yes—he hides it.
He's always hidden it. It’s his, and no one else’s.
But why does it feel like he’s clawing at the truth?
Why does it feel like he’s trying to rip it away from me?
The supervisor’s smirk deepened, his fingers raking upward, trailing along Sunghoon’s arm with deliberate slowness. The motion sent a shiver down Sunghoon’s spine, his breath hitching sharply as he instinctively pulled back
But the grip tightened as though the man was determined to keep him tethered.
Sunghoon’s chest tightened further, panic clawing at the edges of his mind. The weight of the supervisor’s grip seared into his arm, a reminder of his inability to escape, his voice trembling as he forced the words out.
“Let me go.”
The supervisor’s smirk twisted into something darker, his looming presence suffocating the small space between them.
Leaning in slightly, his tone dropped to a sinister whisper that froze Sunghoon in place.
“Don’t think you can hide forever. You’re not as untouchable as you think.”
Sunghoon’s breath hitched, the grip on his arm tightening as the supervisor’s words burrowed under his skin, sharp and invasive. His panic was overwhelming now, consuming every rational thought as he felt the pressure mounting.
Why won’t he stop?
Before the man could continue, another voice sliced through the air like a blade—sharp, commanding, deliberate.
“Is there a problem here?”
Sunghoon’s head snapped toward the sound, his heart pounding in his ears as Heeseung appeared without hesitation.
He stepped between them, his presence imposing as he positioned himself in front of Sunghoon like a shield, effectively cutting the supervisor off.
The supervisor’s grip faltered, the hard clamp around Sunghoon’s arm leaving suddenly as Heeseung’s presence overtook the moment.
Sunghoon stumbled back slightly, the phantom weight of the grip still burning against his skin, his breath shallow and erratic.
Heeseung’s is tone sharp as he locked eyes with the supervisor, shielding Sunghoon completely from view. The shift in power was immediate, palpable, and Sunghoon felt his knees weaken as the oppressive tension began to unravel—but Heeseung’s fury lingered, unwavering in its force.
Heeseung didn’t move, his silent strength holding the line, his actions speaking louder than any words ever could.
Sunghoon blinked, startled by the sudden shift, but what caught him off guard even more was the aura radiating from Heeseung.
It wasn’t just protective—it was heated, almost electric, like a simmering anger that sizzled in the air around him. Sunghoon couldn’t see Heeseung’s face from where he stood behind him, but he could feel it through the bond.
The supervisor straightened slightly, his expression unreadable as he chuckled faintly.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said smoothly, his tone casual but calculated. “Sunghoon slipped earlier. I was just… helping him up.”
“Isn’t that right…. Sunghoon?”
Sunghoon didn’t respond, his gaze flickering to Heeseung’s back as the tension in the room thickened.
The air between them felt charged, like a storm waiting to break.
Sunghoon reached out instinctively, his hand finding Heeseung’s and gripping it firmly. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice steady but grounding.
The touch seemed to pull Heeseung back slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for him to take a step back.
Heeseung glanced at Sunghoon briefly, his expression unreadable, before turning back to the supervisor.
“Right,” he said flatly, his tone laced with skepticism. “If that’s all, we’ll be going.”
The supervisor adjusted his cuffs again, his smirk faint but lingering as he nodded.
“Well, then.” he said over his shoulder, his tone carrying a casual air that felt anything but reassuring.Pausing for a moment, he turned slightly, his piercing gaze settling on Sunghoon once more.
“I’ll be calling you soon for an update on the diet,” he added, his voice smooth yet laced with an insinuation that sent an uneasy ripple through the room.
Heeseung froze briefly, his chest tightening as the words registered. His jaw clenched, a wave of anger boiling beneath his calm exterior.
Why does he have to say it like that?
Heeseung thought, the supervisor’s tone twisting in his mind like a knot that wouldn’t loosen.
The insinuation grated against him, each word burrowing deeper into his already raw nerves. His fists flexed subtly, his hands curling and uncurling as if trying to release the mounting frustration that now thudded heavily in his chest.
As the sound of the supervisor’s footsteps faded, Heeseung let out a slow, uneven breath. His gaze lingered on the doorway longer than it should have, unwilling to pull himself from the unsettling mix of anger and unease weighing him down.
“Heeseung?” Sunghoon’s voice was soft, cutting through the haze of his thoughts like a distant echo.
It didn’t register immediately.
“Heeseung,” Sunghoon repeated, stepping closer and waving a hand in front of his face.
The motion startled Heeseung, and he instinctively stumbled back, his shoulder brushing the wall behind him.
The abrupt movement made Sunghoon flinch, his hand recoiling as if he’d been burned.
His expression flickered—something quick and uncertain that Heeseung caught only briefly before it was gone.
Heeseung blinked, forcing himself to shake off the weight of his thoughts.
“C’mon,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual. His gaze softened for a moment as it met Sunghoon’s, though it didn’t fully erase the tension lingering in his posture.
“Let’s just go home.”
Sunghoon hesitated but nodded, his usual composure slipping back into place.
Neither of them said anything as they left, the silence filling the space between them like a quiet storm.
Heeseung’s steps were measured, his mind still replaying the words, the looks, the tension. The silence felt heavy, but he didn’t break it—not yet.
Not when the weight of the truth, whatever it was, still felt just out of reach.
Sunghoon walked silently beside him, his thoughts distant and tangled, both of them carrying the weight of unspoken words too heavy to share.
Heeseung buried the thought deep, forcing it down as though he hadn’t felt the phantom ache in his arm—the echo of the grip that had been meant for Sunghoon.
Chapter 8
Summary:
Heeseung could still see him, that version of Sunghoon who had this uncanny way of bridging the divide between quiet reserve and unexpected exuberance.
The Sunghoon who would step into a room and fill it—not with noise, but with presence.
He remembered the way Sunghoon used to lift their spirits, his peculiar mix of awkwardness and charm weaving a safety net around them during the most chaotic days.
His cheesy jokes, delivered with such earnestness that they couldn’t help but laugh despite themselves.
The way his broken English would make even the simplest phrases absurdly funny, leaving them in stitches.
Heeseung’s chest tightened at the thought.
Chapter Text
I held your weight until it turned to light,
And watched your demons fade into the night.
After the incident with the supervisor, Heeseung kept his mouth shut outwardly, but his silence didn’t mean he was going to let things slide.
Of course, Heeseung’s quiet resolve hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Dorm life—and perhaps some instinctive band member senses—meant that five pairs of eyes had already clocked the shift in his demeanor.
Which was why he now found himself standing in the living room, the group gathered for yet another late-night meeting.
Heeseung bit his bottom lip, feeling the weight of their collective attention.
Despite the late hour, the air buzzed with unspoken tension and the kind of camaraderie that only dorm life could forge.
“So…” Jake began, drawing out the word as he leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze heavy with expectation.
Jay didn’t give him a chance to continue.
The sound of his water bottle slamming onto the counter made Sunoo and Niki both jump a little, startled.
“Isn’t there something Hyung should tell us?” Jay asked, voice sharp, cutting through the low hum of the air conditioner.
All eyes turned toward Heeseung, who shifted uncomfortably under the weight of their stares.
“Uhm, w-what? No?”
He tried, his voice raising an octave as he plastered on an innocent smile that fooled absolutely no one.
Jungwon sighed.
“You’re such a bad liar, Hyung. It’s almost embarrassing.”
“You always blink too much when you lie,” Sunoo chimed in, tilting his head with a knowing smirk. “Like, way too much .”
“And your voice cracks,” Niki added, his tone deadpan but his lips twitching as he fought back a grin. “It’s like a dead giveaway.”
Heeseung groaned, dragging a hand over his face before finally letting out a heavy sigh.
“Fine, okay. Look… It’s not so different from the rest of us.” His voice softened, carrying a weight that made the teasing subside.
“But yes, management is… turning sour.”
The air grew heavier as Jungwon straightened up, his expression turning serious.
“I’ve been noticing it, too,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with unease. “The way they’ve been handling things lately. It reminds us an awful lot of before, right?”
At his words, they all flinched, a shared grimace passing through the room as they were forced to remember.
The headlines. The news.
The body-shaming scandal that had rippled through their lives like an earthquake, leaving cracks that still hadn’t fully healed.
Of course, the company had gotten away with it, but the scars it left behind were theirs to carry.
“It’s the same pattern,” Jay muttered, his jaw tight as he leaned against the counter.
“And it’s not just that,” Sunoo added, his voice quieter than usual. “That supervisor… doesn’t he seem like he’s deliberately trying to provoke us?”
Niki nodded, his brows furrowed. “Yeah, it’s like he’s waiting for someone to slip up.”
As their voices blended into a low murmur of frustration and speculation, Heeseung’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching as he stared down at the floor.
“Then like… Sunghoon … asleep?” Sunoo asked, his tone lilting with a mix of concern and incredulity as he glanced toward the empty hallway.
Jay nodded, leaning one elbow on the counter.
“Yeah, he just went to bed. I was about to ask him to talk, but he looked dead on his feet.”
“Poor Hyung…” Niki muttered, his brows knitting together. “He looks even more tired than last time.
“It’s okay, Niki,” Sunoo said softly, placing a reassuring hand on the younger member’s shoulder. His voice, though gentle, carried an undercurrent of determination.
“We won’t let him stay that way, right?”
The group murmured in agreement, but Heeseung’s mind had already drifted elsewhere.
He leaned against the wall, arms folded loosely, his gaze unfocused as memories stirred within him.
Memories of Sunghoon in brighter times.
Heeseung could still see him, that version of Sunghoon who had this uncanny way of bridging the divide between quiet reserve and unexpected exuberance.
The Sunghoon who would step into a room and fill it—not with noise, but with presence.
He remembered the way Sunghoon used to lift their spirits, his peculiar mix of awkwardness and charm weaving a safety net around them during the most chaotic days.
His cheesy jokes, delivered with such earnestness that they couldn’t help but laugh despite themselves.
The way his broken English would make even the simplest phrases absurdly funny, leaving them in stitches.
Heeseung’s chest tightened at the thought.
It wasn’t just what Sunghoon did—it was who he was in those moments.
Loud, but in the way that mattered.
Someone who always found a way to remind them that life could still be ridiculous and joyful, even in the midst of pressure that sometimes felt unbearable.
But now… Heeseung felt the absence more deeply than ever, and it carved an ache in his chest.
He missed him.
Not just his jokes or his antics, but the light he brought to their group when they needed it most.
A light that, lately, seemed to have dimmed.
And the truth he couldn’t ignore was that Sunghoon’s exhaustion wasn’t just physical.
They were all wearing down, piece by piece, and Heeseung could see it happening.
Could feel it in every weighted silence, every strained smile.
His jaw tightened as he snapped back to the present, grounding himself in the voices of the others still murmuring in agreement around him.
The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of their conversation settling heavily over each of them.
Jungwon glanced around at the group, his expression firm but thoughtful, the gears in his mind clearly turning.
“We’re all tired,” Jungwon finally said, his voice calm but carrying a quiet intensity. He looked at each of them in turn, holding their gazes as if to make sure they understood the gravity of his words. “But we need to stay sharp. For each other.”
Niki nodded, his shoulders set with resolve, and Sunoo shifted closer to him, offering silent support. Jay leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, his expression guarded but his eyes showing agreement.
Jake gave a small smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes but carried solidarity nonetheless.
Jungwon’s gaze lingered on Heeseung for just a moment longer, the unspoken question clear.
Heeseung nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. He knew what Jungwon was doing, even if the younger didn’t say it outright.
And he knew why.
“Let’s call it a night,” Jungwon said, stepping back from the conversation. “We need rest.”
They murmured their agreement, voices low and tired but carrying an undertone of shared resolve.
One by one, they began to disperse—Jay heading to his room with a faint nod toward Heeseung, Sunoo offering a soft “good night” as he trailed after Niki retreating down the hall.
Heeseung stood in the living room a moment longer, staring at the space they had all occupied together.
Though the meeting had ended, he knew it wasn’t over.
They all carried the same quiet determination now, a mutual understanding that didn’t need to be said aloud.
With a heavy exhale, Heeseung turned off the lights and headed to bed, the faint beginnings of a plan settling in the back of his mind as he closed his door.
The aftermath of the previous night’s late meeting was written all over the members as they stumbled through the morning routine in their practice room.
Niki was on a determined quest for toast, holding it triumphantly in one hand while wielding a fork in the other. Sunoo, mid-face mask ritual, squawked dramatically and ducked when Niki’s fork came precariously close to his cheek.
Jay, watching the scene from the corner with a coffee in hand, let out a long-suffering sigh that could only be described as “dad-tired.” His deadpan expression said it all: he was officially done with these shenanigans, though he still sipped his coffee like a champ.
Jake, barely awake himself, flopped onto the couch next to Jay, letting out a yawn so wide it was contagious. Without much ceremony, he leaned his head on Jay’s shoulder, all sleepy-eyed contentment.
Jay froze momentarily, the coffee cup hovering inches from his lips.
The subtle blush creeping across his cheeks didn’t escape Jungwon’s squinting eyes as he passed on his way to the bathroom, letting out a crooked smile at the scene before disappearing from view.
A few feet away, Sunghoon strolled into the room, his skincare routine clearly paying off with how radiant he looked.
“Morning,” he greeted, waving at the group with a soft smile.
“Morning,” Heeseung replied from the balcony, already absorbed in organizing the stack of papers he held—freshly printed lyrics for their next song.
He hummed softly to himself as he flipped through the sheets, each line sparking anticipation for the performance they had been perfecting.
It wasn’t long before the quiet hum of their morning chaos was disrupted.
Midway through rehearsal, the door creaked open. The supervisor stepped in, clipboard in hand, his sharp gaze scanning the room before landing on Sunghoon.
Sunoo, perched cross-legged on the floor, whipped his head to the supervisor, then to Jungwon, his wide eyes betraying his unease.
Jungwon instinctively stepped forward from his spot near the mirrors, his lips parted as if to speak—but Jay, quick to catch on, grabbed his arm, holding him back with a firm shake of the head.
Jake and Niki exchanged a glance from where they stood, both watching the scene unfold with quiet tension.
Niki’s gaze flicked to Sunghoon, who had frozen mid-motion, his fingers suspended over the shoelaces he was tying.
The air shifted, tension rippling through the members like the first drop of rain on dry soil. Heeseung, however, was quicker.
“Ah, Supervisor-nim!” Heeseung called out brightly, his voice cutting through the room as he strode forward with the perfect balance of charm and command.
“The plan’s alright—why don’t we talk about it? You need anything clarified?”
Caught off guard, the supervisor hesitated before nodding.
“Yes, actually —”
“Perfect,” Heeseung said smoothly, steering the man toward the hallway as he glanced over his shoulder at Jungwon, who immediately sprang into action.
Jungwon nodded subtly, signaling the other members.
Without a word, Sunoo and Jake flanked Sunghoon, ushering him out of the room under the pretense of checking out their water bottles.
“Come on, Sunghoon,” Jake said casually, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Let’s grab some air.”
Sunghoon, caught in the current, allowed himself to be whisked away.
He glanced back briefly, catching Heeseung’s triumphant smirk as he turned his full attention to the supervisor.
As soon as the others were out of sight, Heeseung gestured toward a nearby bench, leading the supervisor to sit.
“So, what’s on your mind?” Heeseung asked, his tone light but deliberate.
The supervisor’s frustration was faint but visible as he leaned forward, his grip tightening on the clipboard.
“I was hoping to check in directly with Sunghoon—”
“Oh, I’m sure you were,” Heeseung interjected, his grin widening slightly.
“But, you know, I’m also familiar with all the plans. Sunghoon’s been working hard— so hard . I can handle any updates or questions for him.”
“Efficiency, right?”
The supervisor’s lips pressed into a thin line, but Heeseung didn’t give him the chance to argue.
He shifted the conversation toward rehearsal details, deflecting and rerouting until the supervisor had no choice but to relent.
This wasn’t the first time.
On another occasion, as practice wrapped up, the supervisor called out to Sunghoon directly.
“ Sunghoon, come by my office after this. I need to discuss something-”
Before Sunghoon could even turn to respond, Heeseung’s voice cut in, cheerful yet firm.
“Supervisor-nim, hold on a second!”
He strolled over, arms crossed loosely, his expression casual but unmistakably in control.
“Actually, Sunghoon’s schedule is packed today. How about you let me know what’s urgent? I can relay it— saves time, doesn’t it?”
The supervisor frowned, clearly annoyed, but Heeseung’s unwavering demeanor left little room for protest.
Sunghoon, meanwhile, was discreetly nudged toward the exit by Sunoo, who whispered something about finding snacks.
By the time Heeseung finished with the supervisor, his grin turned faintly victorious as he walked out of the building.
These small wins fueled him. Each time he intercepted, each time he took control of the conversation, he felt the tension ease, knowing Sunghoon wouldn’t have to endure those moments.
The supervisor’s attempts to corner Sunghoon became more frequent, and so did Heeseung’s interventions.
Whether it was through strategic diversions or outright conversations, Heeseung made sure the supervisor’s focus never lingered too long on the one person he was determined to shield.
Meanwhile, Jungwon’s quiet investigation into management’s policies is getting closer and closer to the cracks in their system, further fueling Heeseung’s resolve to push back wherever he could.
Together, they created a barrier—silent but strong—around Sunghoon, ensuring he wouldn’t have to carry the burden alone.
If only the guy would actually realize it.
Sunghoon had noticed it for a while now—his bandmates had been acting… odd.
Not in an overtly strange way, but in little things that added up, moments that didn’t quite make sense.
Ever since the incident with the supervisor, it felt like the dynamics had shifted slightly, though no one had openly said anything about it.
Heeseung, for one, had become unusually lively.
Sure, Heeseung had always been spirited and energetic—especially after feeling the connection with his soulmate—but this was different. He was on a whole new level, as if he were channeling every ounce of energy he possessed into their comeback preparations.
He threw himself into discussions, choreo tweaks, styling ideas, even vocal harmonies.
His enthusiasm was almost overwhelming, though no one seemed to question it.
Then there were the “surprise inspections,” which had now taken on a bizarrely predictable pattern.
The supervisor would walk in, clipboard in hand, scanning the room—and before Sunghoon could brace himself for whatever awkward interaction would follow, Heeseung would appear with a blinding smile, stepping in like clockwork.
“Oh, Supervisor-nim, perfect timing!” Heeseung would say, cutting the man off before he could address Sunghoon.
Every single time.
It would go from Heeseung’s distraction tactics to chaos almost immediately.
Like today, for instance.
As Sunghoon was readying himself for the inevitable scrutiny, Jay had suddenly swooped in, wrapping him in a loose headlock and dragging him toward the door.
“Let’s go, rookie,” Jay teased, his grin crooked but oddly determined. “Time for snacks.”
“Wait, what—” Sunghoon started, bewildered, but Jake grabbed his arm.
And before he fully registered what was happening, he found himself walking outside, flanked by his members, while Heeseung kept the supervisor conveniently occupied inside.
Now he was sitting near a park, his hand clutching a small packet of chips while Jake sprawled beside him on the bench.
The evening was cool, the faint sounds of laughter and chatter from passing couples and families creating a strange sort of calm.
Jake leaned back, popping a piece of candy into his mouth and sighing contentedly.
“Ah, this is the life,” he mused, gesturing lazily at the scene around them. “You can’t beat park snacks, can you?”
Sunghoon took a slow bite of his chips, his gaze sweeping across the park.
“I didn’t know we were having an impromptu snack run today,” he said, his tone deliberately casual.
Jake smirked, not missing the hint of sarcasm in Sunghoon’s voice.
“Well, you looked like you needed fresh air. Plus, can’t let the supervisor keep you cooped up all day, can we?”
Sunghoon blinked, his thoughts momentarily halting. “What does that even mean?”
Jake shrugged, grinning as if he hadn’t just said something odd. “Nothing. Just saying, you’ve gotta balance things out. You can’t burn out before the comeback.”
Sunghoon frowned slightly, watching as a couple strolled by with their dog.
His bandmates’ odd behaviors played back in his mind.
Heeseung’s extra enthusiasm, Jay’s playful yet insistent interventions, Sunoo’s cheerful distractions.
It was like they were all… scheming.
Well, maybe they decided to create a new routine, Sunghoon thought, brushing it off as he crumpled the empty snack packet in his hand.
Maybe they were just trying to help in their own way, but for now, he decided not to overthink it.
Jake was right about one thing though. They couldn’t afford to burn out before the comeback.
Sunoo stepped out of the store, his bag of snacks rustling noisily against his side. He barely made it two steps before his eyes darted to Jake, who was idly munching away.
“Jake!” Sunoo’s voice rang out, loud enough to turn a few heads on the street. “Are those my chips?!”
Jake froze mid-bite, his face morphing into a mask of guilt and panic.
“Oh no…” he muttered under his breath, looking down at the incriminating evidence in his hand.
Before Sunoo could launch into a tirade, Jake bolted down the street, his laughter trailing behind him.
Sunoo wasted no time chasing after him, his outrage peppered with a half-suppressed grin as he sprinted to reclaim his stolen snack.
Watching the chaos unfold, Sunghoon let out a laugh, the kind that came from the gut and left his cheeks slightly sore.
Beside him, Jay chuckled quietly, his amusement understated but genuine.
Jay shook his head and nudged Sunghoon’s shoulder lightly. “Let’s go back,” he said, his tone resigned but warm.
Sunghoon chuckled softly, the image oddly amusing as they made their way back to the dorms. His bandmates might be acting weird, but at least it seemed like they were all on the same team—even if he didn’t fully understand what game they were playing yet.
Back at the dorms, the group scattered, each retreating to their own rhythm of unwinding.
Sunoo and Niki were the first to claim the couch, pulling up a cheesy movie on their tablet and laughing at the ridiculous plot twists.
Jay leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling on his phone while the remains of his coffee sat forgotten beside him.
Jake wandered in and out of rooms, humming softly as he searched for snacks before finally settling in with a bowl of cereal.
Heeseung practically melted into the couch, his head tipping back against the cushions as a long exhale escaped him. Jungwon paused by the doorway, glancing at the older member with a faint crease in his brow.
The look in his eyes carried more than pity—it was a quiet sort of empathy, one that didn’t need words.
Sunghoon stepped into his room, the faint hum of chatter and laughter from the others blending into the background.
He sank onto his bed, his skin cool and refreshed from his evening routine.
Tossing his phone onto the bedside table, he grabbed a jacket to fold.
But before he could fully finish, the vibration of his phone caught his attention.
Sunghoon turned, slightly wary, as the screen lit up with an unknown number.
Hesitating, he picked it up.
“Hello?”
The pause on the other end was heavy, almost suffocating.
Then came the voice.
“ You think you can just keep walking away, Sunghoon? ”
The calmness shattered.
Chapter 9
Summary:
“Look at Sunoo,” he continued, the name rolling off his tongue like a weapon. “Effortlessly charming, lights up every room he walks into. He’s got that spark, that energy people are drawn to.”
“And Jungwon? A natural leader. Poised, dependable, someone the others look up to. He carries them all with grace.”
The comparisons hit like a series of hammer blows, each one striking Sunghoon in places already bruised and raw.
“And you?” The supervisor let the silence hang for a moment, twisting the knife deeper.
“What do you bring? You’re neither here nor there. No spark, no magnetism, no strength to ground the group. Just… there. Trying, maybe, but never quite making it.”
Sunghoon felt his stomach churn, his hands clammy against the smooth surface of the phone.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Your name held silence where sound should be.
I answered, but the room was already empty.
“You think you can just keep walking away, Sunghoon?”
Sunghoon swallowed hard, the weight of the statement settling in his chest like a stone.
He opened his mouth, trying to gather his thoughts, but the words that followed left no room for him.
“ I’ve been trying to reach you for days, ” the supervisor continued, the frustration creeping into his voice.
“ And it takes you this long to respond?”
Sunghoon clenched his jaw, the familiar burn of shame crawling up his spine.
“It’s not like that,” he managed, his voice shaky but determined to hold steady.
“I—I already apologized for missing the check-in. I said I was sorry, so I don’t see why you’re—”
“Sorry?” The supervisor’s laugh crackled harshly through the phone, a sound so cold it made Sunghoon’s grip falter. “Oh, you think sorry cuts it?”
The pause that followed was long enough for Sunghoon’s nerves to coil tighter, his chest tightening with every shallow breath.
“You barely show up, and when you do, it’s like you’re holding everyone else back.”
“That’s not true!” Sunghoon shot back, his voice louder, almost desperate, as he straightened slightly. His chest felt constricted, the words catching in his throat even as he pushed them out.
“I’ve done everything I can. I’m working hard, I—”
“Hard?”
The supervisor’s voice dripped with disdain, the word spat out like it was laughable.
“ Please . You? Working hard? Don’t make me laugh.”
Sunghoon’s grip tightened on the phone, his knuckles white as the words hit him like a slap.
I did work hard, he thought, the bitterness rising in his chest.
I worked harder than anyone knows.
Even now, under his clothes, his body bore the evidence—the bruises from relentless rehearsals, the aches from pushing himself past his limits.
He remembered the countless adverts, the long hours spent perfecting poses and expressions under blinding lights while his muscles screamed for rest.
And then there was that surprise shoot—the one that had stolen an entire night’s sleep, leaving him drained and barely functional the next day.
He had given everything, poured himself into every task, every performance, every expectation.
And yet, here he was, being told it wasn’t enough.
“Let’s be honest here—you’re coasting. On what, I don’t even know. Thick brows, stiff expressions… remind me again, what exactly is it that you bring to the table?”
The words sliced through Sunghoon, his defenses crumbling as the supervisor pressed on, his tone dripping with smug derision.
“Look at Sunoo,” he continued, the name rolling off his tongue like a weapon. “Effortlessly charming, lights up every room he walks into. He’s got that spark, that energy people are drawn to.”
“And Jungwon? A natural leader. Poised, dependable, someone the others look up to. He carries them all with grace.”
The comparisons hit like a series of hammer blows, each one striking Sunghoon in places already bruised and raw.
“And you?” The supervisor let the silence hang for a moment, twisting the knife deeper.
“What do you bring? You’re neither here nor there. No spark, no magnetism, no strength to ground the group. Just… there. Trying, maybe, but never quite making it.”
Sunghoon felt his stomach churn, his hands clammy against the smooth surface of the phone.
The comparison wasn’t just unfair—it felt cruel, a deliberate attempt to dismantle every ounce of self-worth he’d tried to hold onto.
His mind raced back to the countless hours he’d poured into his work, the sacrifices, the sleepless nights.
Was it all for nothing?
The voice continued, relentless.
“Face it, Sunghoon. You’re like a shadow in the background. Everyone else shines brighter. What do you even think you’re achieving here?”
The words sank in, slow and cutting, stripping away his defenses layer by fragile layer.
“And you can’t even go to a meeting?” the supervisor added, his tone sharp, cutting deeper with every word.
“That’s the bare minimum, Sunghoon, and even that’s too much for you?”
“I’m telling you this because you need a reality check,” the supervisor pressed on, his voice dropping lower, more deliberate.
“You’re a liability, Sunghoon. No talent, no spark. Just a face—and not even a memorable one at that. If you weren’t part of the group, I doubt anyone would even notice.”
Sunghoon’s breath hitched, his head spinning as the words echoed mercilessly in his mind.
Mediocre. No talent. Liability.
His chest tightened, each insult sinking deeper as the suffocating weight of the conversation bore down on him.
“I mean, really,” the supervisor continued, his tone turning mocking.
“Try as you might, but a person like you? Without a soulmate? What does that say about you, huh? Unblessed by the gods—no wonder you’re falling behind.”
“You’re already marked as lesser. Everyone knows it, Sunghoon.”
“And yeah, sure,” the supervisor added, his voice dripping with false concession.
“You’re getting thinner—great, I guess. But everything else?”
He let out a derisive snort.
Still needs a lot of work. Face, posture, energy—do I need to list them all out for you? Because it’s not a short list.”
He was frozen, unable to escape the voice on the other end that had rooted itself in his head.
The words began to blur, their sharp edges dulling into a droning buzz that wrapped around Sunghoon like barbed wire.
His chest felt heavy, his breathing erratic—a shallow, uneven rhythm that left him lightheaded and trapped.
The voice pressed on, relentless, slicing through his thoughts with every insult.
His vision blurred, a sheen of panic overtaking his focus as his pulse thundered in his ears.
“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Sunghoon finally managed, his voice cracking as he clutched the phone tighter, desperate to push back against the onslaught.
“I already said I was sorry —why are you even talking about this? It’s— it’s not even related —”
The supervisor’s chuckle was low and condescending, a sound that sent a fresh wave of heat crawling up Sunghoon’s neck.
Sunghoon’s grip faltered, the phone trembling in his hands as he struggled to keep his composure.
The words dug deeper, tearing at his already fragile defenses.
Maybe they’re right.
Maybe I’m not good enough.
The supervisor’s voice faded into the background as a memory bubbled to the surface, unbidden and sharp.
It was during the photoshoot—a crowded studio with harsh lights and muffled voices blending into a suffocating hum.
He had felt all those eyes on him, scrutinizing every move, every angle, every expression.
The looks they gave him were subtle yet piercing, judgment written in every barely concealed whisper and sideways glance.
“He’s off again.”
“Not quite there, huh?”
“Does he even understand what they’re asking for?”
The words hadn’t been loud, but they might as well have been shouted.
Sunghoon remembered standing there, frozen, his body stiff and awkward under the weight of their silent expectations.
The flash of the camera was blinding, but not nearly as oppressive as the sinking feeling in his gut—the feeling that no matter how hard he tried, he just wasn’t enough.
The memory swirled in his mind, merging with the supervisor’s insults until the distinction between past and present blurred.
His breathing grew uneven, shallow and rapid as the spiral pulled him further down.
What if it’s all true?
What if they’ve been thinking this all along?
What if I’ve been fooling myself
What if I really don’t belong here?
The oppressive weight of it all was closing in, tightening around his chest when—
The phone was ripped from his hands.
Sunghoon startled, the sudden absence jolting him back to the present like a snap of cold air.
His gaze shot upward, landing on Heeseung, who stood towering over him, the older member’s expression sour and darkened with fury.
“Why the hell—” Heeseung’s voice was sharp, the anger rolling off him palpable.
“Even through the phone?”
Sunghoon blinked, his breath hitching as Heeseung’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles white with the force of his rage.
Heeseung raised the phone to his ear, his words cold and deliberate as he addressed the supervisor.
“I’m sorry, but this is the last time I’ll let any of your attempts slide.” His voice held no room for negotiation, the finality in his tone cutting like steel.
“Management may have a say, but this is my team. My family. Stop reaching Sunghoon. Get your things ready out of your office— you’re fired. ”
The venom in Heeseung’s words hung in the air, the weight of his declaration silencing even the supervisor’s attempts to respond.
Heeseung lowered the phone, his expression unyielding as he pressed the button to end the call.
His gaze shifted to Sunghoon, softening just slightly as he took in the younger’s trembling form.
Sunghoon’s breaths came quick and shallow, his chest heaving as he tried to ground himself.
Heeseung crouched beside him even as Sunghoon held up a trembling hand, his voice uneven but forceful.
“Go away… I’m fine ,” Sunghoon managed between gasps, his words brittle but holding a desperate edge.
“You didn’t have to step in. You shouldn’t have.”
Heeseung’s expression darkened, his brows knitting together in frustration.
“Fine?” he repeated, the disbelief evident in his voice.
“Have you forgotten what happened last time?”
The words hung heavy in the air, and Sunghoon flinched visibly, the memory cutting through his defenses like a sharp wind.
The movement made Heeseung falter, his own shoulders stiffening as he realized the impact of what he’d said. He took a step back, the anger in his eyes softening into something closer to concern.
“Sunghoon…” Heeseung began, his voice low but steady.
“This is not normal. You can’t keep pretending it is.”
“Talk to me, please. I want to understand you. That supervisor? He’s gone . You don’t have to let people talk to you like that, not ever.”
Sunghoon’s gaze hardened, the vulnerability in his expression retreating behind a familiar wall. He straightened slightly, his breath still shaky but quieter now.
“What do you know about me?” he countered, his tone sharp, defensive. “You don’t know anything.”
Heeseung’s jaw tightened as he leaned forward, his voice low but strained with urgency.
“Sunghoon, that guy is bad news. You know that. He even touched you—if I weren’t there—”
“What’s the big deal?” Sunghoon cut him off sharply, the words spilling out before he could stop them.
His voice trembled with the weight of his frustration, each syllable laced with a defensive edge.
“That’s past already, okay? Why do you have to bring it up like it matters anymore?”
Heeseung’s brows furrowed, his gaze softening for a moment before hardening again, his anger tempered by the concern he couldn’t suppress.
But Sunghoon didn’t give him the chance to respond.
He stood abruptly, his movements jerky as if the tension coiling in his chest was demanding release.
His fists clenched at his sides, his nails biting into the skin of his palms.
Sunghoon felt it—the overwhelming pressure, the suffocating sensation of years’ worth of feelings spilling out of the box he had carefully tucked them into.
The past, the shame, the anger—it was all surging forward, breaking free from the constraints he’d built to protect himself.
And it hurt.
It hurt so much he couldn’t breathe.
And yet, Heeseung being there, pushing, prying— it only made it worse.
“You don’t understand,” Sunghoon snapped, his voice breaking as he refused to meet Heeseung’s eyes.
“You think you’re helping, but you’re not. Just— stop. ”
Heeseung stepped closer, his movements cautious but firm, a clear determination in the way he held his shoulders and set his jaw.
Sunghoon instinctively retreated, his back brushing against the cold wall behind him as he put more space between them.
Heeseung’s hand twitched at his side as if he wanted to reach out, but he stopped short, respecting the invisible boundary Sunghoon had created between them.
Sunghoon’s gaze flickered to Heeseung’s wrist, to the snowflake mark shimmering faintly under the room’s dim light.
It caught his eye like a cruel trick—its beauty stark against the tension in the air, almost mocking him with how pristine it remained even now.
“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Sunghoon muttered, his voice tight as his fists clenched at his sides.
He let out a bitter laugh under his breath, his eyes fixed on the mark for just a second longer before forcing himself to look away.
The box in his chest threatened to burst completely, the emotions flooding him too much to contain.
“You don’t have to push me, okay?” he continued, his words trembling with frustration but layered with something unspoken.
“I’m fine. I’ll figure it out. You don’t need to keep—”
“Sunghoon, you’re not fine!” Heeseung interrupted, his voice cracking with the strain of emotions he could no longer suppress.
He stepped forward again, the anger and desperation in his movements clear as he gestured toward him.
“Look at yourself! Just talk to me! Please !”
Sunghoon shook his head, his arms crossing over his chest like a shield. Heeseung’s presence was suffocating, the warmth and concern he carried feeling more like a weight than a comfort.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” he snapped, his voice trembling but louder now, his hands pressing hard against the wall behind him as if he could disappear into it.
“Because I care, Sunghoon!” Heeseung fired back, his voice rising in frustration.
His brows furrowed deeply, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his entire posture taut with the effort to keep himself steady.
“Why is it so hard for you to see that? To accept it? I’m not here to hurt you—I’m here to help!”
His chest heaved as he breathed in shallow gasps, his eyes darting away from Heeseung’s gaze to the floor, then the walls, then back to that glistening mark.
His throat tightened, the cruel irony of it all biting at him again.
It hurt—it hurt so much he wanted to scream.
But the words caught in his throat, stuck behind the wall he’d built to keep everything else out.
Heeseung’s shoulders slumped slightly, the crack in his voice now reflecting something more than just anger.
“You used to be so open,” he murmured, his tone softer but heavy with weariness.
“I don’t even know you anymore. What happened to the Sunghoon who’d tell me everything, who wasn’t afraid to let someone in?” Heeseung’s voice cracked slightly, the vulnerability slipping through despite his frustration.
Sunghoon stiffened at the words, the knot in his chest twisting tighter.
“Don’t do that,” he muttered, his voice low but biting. “Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”
“It is something,” Heeseung shot back, his frustration bubbling to the surface again. His voice rose, but there was a tremor beneath it, a sign of the emotions he was struggling to keep in check.
“I’m trying, Sunghoon. I’m trying so damn hard, but you—”
He stopped himself, his breath hitching as he exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
Heeseung’s shoulders sagged slightly, his posture faltering as the weight of rejection settled over him.
His hand clenched into a fist at his side, the tension radiating through his entire frame.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost a whisper, but the hurt was unmistakable.
“Forget it. You’ve made it clear where you stand.”
“I’m sorry for caring about you, I guess,” he continued, his tone bitter but laced with pain.
“I’m sorry for trying to protect you when you clearly don’t want it. See or not see, want or not want—whatever.”
Sunghoon’s eyes flickered down, catching the faint shimmer of the snowflake mark on Heeseung’s wrist.
It was almost luminous, standing out starkly against the tension in the room—a bittersweet reminder of something Sunghoon felt incapable of holding onto.
The sight made his chest tighten, the bitter irony of its beauty cutting deeper than the words.
Heeseung noticed the shift, his gaze following Sunghoon’s.
His lips pressed into a thin line, the pain in his voice seeping through as he murmured, “I get it. I know where I stand. I guess I should’ve known all along.”
“You’ve made it clear where you stand. So that’s it, then. I’m done.”
Sunghoon felt the sting of guilt pull at him like a taut string.
“Wait—” he tried to call after him, his voice unsteady, but Heeseung had already turned, his movements sharp and resolute.
Heeseung stormed toward the door, his hand reaching for the knob with a force that made the metal rattle faintly.
As the door swung open, the others, who had been lingering just outside, flinched visibly.
Sunoo instinctively took a step back, his brows shooting up in alarm as Heeseung brushed past him without a glance. Niki shifted awkwardly to the side, his fingers gripping the edge of the wall tightly as he avoided meeting Heeseung’s eyes.
Jungwon stood rooted in place, his shoulders stiff and tense, his unreadable expression carrying a heaviness that seemed to weigh down the entire scene.
Sunghoon stood frozen in place, his fists still clenched, his breathing uneven.
He shifted slightly, and his gaze landed on the doorway.
The others remained there, watching, their faces marked with varying shades of worry.
Sunoo’s brows were drawn together in concern, his lips pressed into a thin line. Niki held onto the edge of the wall, torn between stepping forward and staying back, his unease written plainly on his face.
Jungwon was at the center, silent, his shoulders taut and his stance unwavering, though the tension in his gaze betrayed the emotions he wasn’t voicing.
Sunghoon shook his head, his movements stiff, rejecting their silent offers of comfort as he turned away.
Without a word, he retreated to his room, shutting the door behind him with deliberate finality.
That night, as the weight of his emotions crashed down on him, Sunghoon cried.
He cried until the tears blurred his vision, until the ache in his chest felt unbearable, until the exhaustion finally overtook him.
And when sleep did come, it was long after the sun had already risen.
Notes:
i wanted to punch myself when i wrote supervisor lines. im sorry for the delicious angst MUAHAHHA
Chapter 10
Summary:
A faint ping interrupted his thoughts, his phone vibrating softly in his hand.
He glanced at the screen and found a message from Yeji.
The text was simple: a picture of a cat curled up in a blanket, followed by an emoji and a cheeky caption.
Look, oppa. Looks like you.
Sunghoon couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips, his shoulders relaxing as the stress melted away, just a little.
He typed a quick reply, teasing her back lightly, but the exchange brought a sense of comfort he hadn’t realized he needed.
Chapter Text
The ceiling sighed but never broke.
Your shadow spoke louder than your mouth ever could.
The atmosphere in the recording studio was heavy, the air weighed down by an unspoken tension that seemed to stick to every surface.
The hum of equipment filled the silence between takes, but it did little to ease the palpable discomfort in the room.
Heeseung stood in the center of the recording booth, rigid with tension. The sheet music he held seemed forgotten as his gaze fixed on the microphone, his grip tightening on the stand.
He inhaled sharply, nodding toward the tech team as the familiar signal was given.
“Again,” the voice crackled through the booth’s intercom.
It wasn’t harsh, but there was an edge of expectation—a silent plea for Heeseung to get it right this time.
Heeseung nodded again, raising the mic slightly closer to his mouth.
The track restarted, the faint instrumental weaving through the room, but when he opened his mouth, the notes came out hollow, strained. His voice lacked the usual richness, cracking faintly as the melody slipped out of his control.
From the other side of the glass, Sunghoon barely lifted his head.
The low, wavering tone of Heeseung’s voice made his stomach churn, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up.
He stared at the floor instead, his fingers interlocked tightly as though grounding himself against the discomfort that weighed on them all.
“Stop,” the tech finally said, their tone softening as pity crept into their expression.
They hesitated, their eyes flitting toward Heeseung before looking away.
The moment stretched painfully before they spoke again.
“You’re done for today.”
The words hung in the air, quiet but cutting.
Heeseung flinched—barely noticeable, but enough that Sunghoon caught it in his peripheral vision.
A muted silence followed as Heeseung handed off the sheet music to an assistant and stepped out of the booth.
The weight of the exchange didn’t go unnoticed.
Sunoo shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward Heeseung and then back at the others. Niki crossed his arms tightly over his chest, while Jungwon’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze unreadable but tense.
Sunghoon remained where he was, his posture unmoving, his head still angled downward as if the sheer weight of the moment had anchored him there.
He could feel the tightness in the air, a collective unease that no one seemed willing to address.
As Heeseung walked past, his steps slow but measured, he glanced toward Sunghoon out of the corner of his eye.
It wasn’t much—just a fleeting look, too brief to read fully.
But to Sunghoon, it felt like the air had thickened even more, his chest tightening as he stayed frozen in place.
The practice room was suffocating, the echo of the music pounding against the mirrored walls.
If the recording session had been strained, this was chaos.
Niki stumbled during a transition, his footing faltering as he turned. The misstep sent the choreography off-kilter, rippling through the formation like a wave.
“Stop!” the choreographer barked, his voice sharp and cutting. He slammed his paper onto the edge of the sound system, the smack reverberating through the room.
“How many times do we need to go through this before you get it ? Is this a joke to you, Niki?!”
Niki flinched, his body snapping straight as though the words had physically hit him.
He mumbled something incoherent, his head dropping slightly, but his silence only seemed to fuel the choreographer’s frustration.
“And Sunoo,” the choreographer continued, his gaze snapping toward him like a whip. “What happened to you ? Your energy’s flat—it’s like you’re not even trying!”
Sunoo froze, his eyes wide and glassy as he took the verbal sting head-on.
He glanced downward, blinking rapidly as his shoulders tensed, trying to suppress the tears threatening to spill.
Jay stepped forward, his hand raised slightly in a placating gesture.
“We’re sorry,” he interjected, his tone steady but edged with urgency. “Can we rewind from the top? Give us a chance to smooth this out?”
The choreographer let out a sharp laugh, one devoid of humor.
“A chance? How many chances do you think you’ve already used up, Jay? This is supposed to be a performance, not whatever… this is.”
His words cut through the room like shards of glass, leaving everyone in silent, uncomfortable dread.
Jake shifted uneasily where he stood, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if trying to steady himself against the tension suffocating the room.
His usually bright demeanor was dimmed, his face taut as he glanced toward Jungwon.
Jungwon, meanwhile, stood with his hands clasped tightly in front of him, his expression unreadable but his body language betraying the weight of the moment.
His shoulders were stiff, his jaw clenched, and though his gaze remained focused on the choreographer, the heavy air of resignation hung around him.
There was a flicker of something unspoken between him and Jake—a look exchanged that carried all the frustrations and exhaustion they didn’t say aloud.
Heeseung stayed motionless, his gaze fixed on the floor.
The dejection in the room was almost tangible, mirroring the weariness etched into his face.
His eyes shifted briefly, catching the others in varying states of distress—Niki still trembling faintly, Sunoo blinking away tears, Jay stiff as he stood his ground.
And then Sunghoon moved.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward and tapped the choreographer on the shoulder.
The motion was soft, almost careful, but the choreographer whipped around in an instant, irritation flaring in his expression.
Heeseung flinched.
The sudden, sharp crackle of pain shot through his wrist, startling him.
His fingers curled instinctively, his breath catching as he looked down at his own hand, confusion flickering across his face.
The pain was faint now, already fading, but its source was undeniable.
He looked back up, his gaze snapping toward Sunghoon, and watched as the scene unfolded with wide-eyed disbelief.
The implications clawed at the edges of his thoughts, threatening to unravel something he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.
What just happened?
His chest tightened as he grappled with the realization.
A crackle on his wrist, not his own, yet felt so deeply.
It couldn’t mean—
His eyes stayed on Sunghoon, who was already reaching into his bag with a calm, deliberate motion, his focus entirely on the choreographer.
Sunghoon handed the choreographer a bottle of water, his expression unflinching as he spoke.
“I understand you’re frustrated,” he said, his tone low and steady, carrying a quiet authority that seemed to diffuse the heat in the room. “And I’m sorry, on behalf of the team. We’ll do better. But maybe it’d be best for all of us to cool off a bit before continuing.”
The choreographer stared at him for a moment, his annoyance lingering in the air like static. But as his gaze dropped to the bottle in his hand and the controlled calm in Sunghoon’s face, his shoulders began to loosen.
He sighed, loud and exasperated, before muttering, “Fine. I need a few minutes.”
With that, he turned and walked toward the exit, leaving the bottle unopened on the table as the door clicked shut behind him.
Sunghoon stepped back, his head lowering slightly as the silence stretched in the room once more.
Jungwon broke the silence, his voice soft but steady. “Sunghoon, are you okay?”
Sunghoon straightened slightly, his fingers tightening around the bottle as he tucked his wrist closer to his side.
“I’m fine,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I can handle it.”
The others exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes flickering to the way Sunghoon subtly hid his wrist.
Heeseung’s breath hitched audibly, and before anyone could react, he burst out, his voice sharp with disbelief.
“Fine? That’s what you’re calling this?”
The room froze, the charged silence crackling as Heeseung’s words hung heavy in the air.
His steps echoed sharply against the polished floor, each one loud, cutting through the heavy silence of the practice room.
The sound made the others instinctively back away, their movements hesitant, their gazes flickering nervously between Heeseung and Sunghoon.
Sunoo shifted closer to Niki, his shoulders hunched as though bracing for the storm. Jungwon’s lips pressed into a thin line, his posture stiff, his unease palpable.
Heeseung stopped abruptly, his presence looming as he stood directly in front of Sunghoon.
The air felt charged, thick with tension that seemed to ripple outward from him.
His voice came out low, trembling with the force of everything he had been holding back.
“That was nothing ?”
The single word was a challenge, bitter and biting, laced with disbelief that cut through the air like a blade.
Heeseung’s gaze burned into Sunghoon, searching, demanding, refusing to let the flimsy shield stand.
His chest tightened further, the anger boiling over, tangled with an unsettling realization that he couldn’t quite name.
Why won’t he look at me? Why won’t he just—
“You call this nothing? You think ignoring it will make it go away? What’s it going to take, Sunghoon? Until you can’t stand anymore? Until it gets worse?”
Even as his voice rose, his thoughts raced ahead of him, overlapping in a chaotic swirl he couldn’t suppress.
He won’t even look at me.
The realization struck like a lightning bolt, breaking through his anger just long enough for something deeper to take hold.
Sunghoon’s gaze was fixed downward, locked onto the floor like it was his only tether to control.
Heeseung’s voice faltered slightly, his anger hiccuping under the weight of his thoughts.
The bond echoes pain.
That thought slammed into Heeseung’s chest, sudden and uninvited, louder than his heartbeat.
His gaze locked on Sunghoon’s clenched fists, the way his grip warped the water bottle.
The plastic groaned in his hands.
Every muscle in Sunghoon’s body looked like it was bracing for impact.
And in Heeseung’s own chest— tightness .
A dull ache blooming behind his ribs, unfamiliar but sharp.
His breath caught again, but not from rage this time—from the whisper of confirmation he hadn’t dared hope for.
Please—look at me.
Please. At least, give me a sign.
But Sunghoon didn’t.
Sunghoon’s shoulders stiffened, his grip tightening around the water bottle, the plastic creaking faintly under his hold.
And Heeseung didn’t see his eyes, but the same throbbing pain in his hand.
Questions flooded his mind, overlapping and unrelenting, but no answer presented itself.
The connection was undeniable, yet impossible.
Heeseung’s thoughts spiraled, circling the same word over and over.
Why?
“It’s none of your business!”
Sunghoon’s voice lashed out, sharp and biting, cutting through the air like a whip.
Heeseung’s head snapped up at the sound, but the force of the words made him flinch inwardly.
Sunghoon’s head jerked up, his gaze flashing with anger, but the sharp vulnerability hiding in the corners of his expression was impossible to miss.
“You don’t get it!” Sunghoon’s voice cracked faintly, the strain leaking through despite his effort to keep steady.
His gaze fell again, his chest tightening as he gripped the bottle harder.
“It’s my problem. Not yours . Not anyone’s . I don’t need your concern. I don’t need— ”
He stopped abruptly, his thoughts spiraling, colliding with bitter echoes that weren’t entirely his own.
You’re weak.
You can’t keep it together.
No one should care if you can’t fix yourself.
The supervisor’s voice slithered into Sunghoon’s mind like poison, twisting his thoughts and resolve into something colder, sharper.
Every word felt like a blow, gnawing at the fragile composure he fought so hard to maintain.
He forced the weight of his emotions into a mask, a façade of unyielding strength he clung to desperately.
He didn’t need their pity, their care.
He didn’t need anyone pulling him apart when all he wanted was to keep himself together.
No matter the cost.
“Stop!”
Sunoo’s voice rang out, loud and panicked, cutting through the storm brewing in the room like a lifeline.
Sunghoon barely registered the sound as the younger boy rushed toward him, stepping forward quickly with a nervous energy that crackled in the air.
Sunoo’s hand landed softly on Sunghoon’s arm, an attempt to ground him, to pull him back from the edge.
“Please, both of you—this isn’t helping!”
The touch jolted Sunghoon more than it should have.
He flinched, his jaw tightening painfully as he pulled his arm away, rejecting the gesture without hesitation.
“I’m fine,” he said finally, his voice quieter but hollow, the words carrying nothing—no conviction, no warmth, only emptiness.
But he didn’t linger long.
Without waiting for a response or another attempt to pull him back, he turned abruptly, leaving the room without another glance.
“Sunghoon, wait—”
Jungwon’s voice called out after him, heavy with concern and edged with hesitation.
But the door clicked shut before he could finish, silencing any attempt to stop him.
Sunoo turned toward Heeseung cautiously, his expression unsure, his hand hovering as though he wanted to comfort him but wasn’t sure how—or if it would even help.
“Hyung…” he murmured tentatively.
But Heeseung shook his head, his chest still tight as he stepped back.
“I need time,” he said shortly, his voice taut and unsteady as he turned and left, his footsteps echoing faintly down the hallway.
The silence lingered like smoke, heavy and unbearable, as the rest of the group exchanged uneasy glances.
Sunoo let out a shaky breath, his hands curling into loose fists as he glanced toward the closed door.
“What just happened?” he murmured, his voice barely audible.
The others exchanged uncertain glances, the unresolved tension pressing heavily against them.
Sunoo sighed deeply, his hands balling into loose fists at his sides as he glanced toward the closed door.
And as the night stretched on, the echoes of their confrontation refused to fade, the weight of anger and hurt sitting heavily in the quiet room.
For both Heeseung and Sunghoon, the unspoken words and unresolved emotions lingered like shadows, unrelenting and impossible to ignore.
Sunghoon didn’t stop as he stepped out of the practice room, his shoulders taut, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him echoing loudly in the heavy silence.
The air outside the room was just as stifling, but it did little to cool the storm raging within him.
As he walked down the hall, the choreographer approached from the opposite direction, clipboard tucked under his arm. Their eyes met briefly as they passed, Sunghoon’s gaze hard and guarded, the choreographer’s sharp and assessing.
The tension practically radiated off Sunghoon, and the choreographer’s brows furrowed as he paused in the middle of the hallway, watching the boy retreat further down the corridor.
He sighed deeply, shaking his head as he muttered under his breath.
“This is a disaster.”
The atmosphere in the practice room was subdued, the hum of the air conditioning barely noticeable over the quiet murmur of voices.
Everyone was seated on the floor, scattered around the mirrored walls, their postures relaxed but their expressions carrying remnants of lingering tension.
It had been a few days since the incident, and while things had eased slightly, the silence often stretched uncomfortably between them.
The door clicked open, and the group straightened instinctively as several members of management entered the room.
The energy shifted, a quiet ripple of anticipation settling over them.
“Pay attention, everyone!” One of the managers clapped his hands lightly to gather their focus, his tone firm but not unkind.
“We’ve been discussing things, and there’s something we need to address regarding your schedule.”
The group exchanged glances but remained silent, their gazes fixed on the manager as he continued.
“After reviewing the recent events,” he said, his tone careful, “we’ve decided to give you all a week-long break before the comeback preparations resume. Use this time wisely—to rest, to reset, and to recover.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. The weight of the announcement settled in, bringing with it a mixture of relief and uncertainty.
“You’ve all been working incredibly hard,” the manager added, softening his tone slightly.
“We know how much you’ve poured into this. But it’s clear that some time away will be good for everyone.”
The group nodded slowly, absorbing the news. The announcement settled into the room, a quiet ripple of relief spreading as the members took in the news.
Sunghoon had already left after speaking briefly with the manager, his figure disappearing down the hallway without a word to the others.
Jake was the first to break the silence, his voice light but uncertain.
“A break, huh?” He leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees.
“Honestly, I’m not complaining. Sounds pretty nice.”
Niki nodded faintly, his head tilted back against the mirror.
“Finally get to sleep in,” he muttered. His voice carried exhaustion, the kind that had been building for weeks.
“I don’t even remember what it feels like to wake up without an alarm.”
Sunoo hesitated before speaking, his hands twisting nervously in his lap.
“And eat breakfast without rushing,” he said softly.
The idea brought a faint smile to his face, but his tone lacked true energy.
“I haven’t even tasted my food properly in weeks .”
Jake chuckled lightly, trying to lift the mood.
“Well, if we’re doing this right, maybe we should make plans. Movies, a beach trip, eating out—something fun.”
Jungwon hummed quietly, his tone neutral.
“Sounds good,” he replied simply, but his words didn’t carry much enthusiasm. H
is eyes flicked toward Heeseung, his concern barely masked as he studied their leader’s expression.
The group fell silent again as their gazes shifted toward Heeseung.
The tension built instantly, thick and unrelenting as his presence remained distant.
Heeseung’s posture was rigid, his focus fixed on the mirror across the room, his thoughts seemingly far away.
The quiet was suffocating, charged with an unspoken weight that no one dared to address.
Sunoo glanced nervously at Jake, while Jungwon’s lips pressed tightly together as if holding back his thoughts. Even Niki stayed silent, shifting uneasily against the mirror but refusing to break the charged atmosphere.
Jake cleared his throat after a beat, his tone softer as he leaned forward slightly.
“Hyung? What about you? Anything you want to do during the break?”
Heeseung didn’t respond immediately. The silence hung awkwardly for a moment before Sunoo shifted nervously, his eyes darting toward Niki.
“Maybe we could all just relax a bit first,” he said softly, trying to ease the tension.
Jake shrugged, leaning back.
“Fair enough. I mean, we’ve got a week. Plenty of time to figure it out.”
Sunghoon closed the door behind him, the soft click reverberating faintly in the quiet hallway.
He leaned against the wall for a moment, exhaling slowly as the tension in his chest loosened bit by bit.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and glancing down at the screen.
The bright glare cut through his thoughts, grounding him just enough to type out a quick message.
His fingers hovered for a moment before sending it—something simple, to let the manager know he appreciated their decision.
As he tucked his phone away, his gaze drifted back to the building, its polished windows reflecting the hazy afternoon light.
He stopped in his tracks, studying the practice room floor above where his group was still seated.
The weight of guilt clawed at his chest, sharp and persistent.
He knew he had snapped—lost his composure in front of them when he should have held firm—but the truth was, he couldn’t deal with it right now.
They needed this break. He thought it once, then twice, as if convincing himself.
A faint ping interrupted his thoughts, his phone vibrating softly in his hand.
He glanced at the screen and found a message from Yeji.
The text was simple: a picture of a cat curled up in a blanket, followed by an emoji and a cheeky caption.
Look, oppa. Looks like you.
Sunghoon couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips, his shoulders relaxing as the stress melted away, just a little.
He typed a quick reply, teasing her back lightly, but the exchange brought a sense of comfort he hadn’t realized he needed.
He stared at the phone for another moment, then pocketed it again.
As he walked further down the street, the faint smile lingered. For the first time in days, Sunghoon felt himself looking forward—to the week, to the break, to a moment to breathe.
Sunoo glanced toward the window, catching Sunghoon’s figure retreating in the distance. He nudged Jungwon lightly, motioning toward the scene outside.
“Do you think he’s okay?” Sunoo asked quietly, his voice tinged with concern.
Jungwon didn’t reply immediately, his gaze flickering between Sunoo and Jake.
“He needs time,” he said finally, his tone measured but firm.
From the far side of the room, Heeseung’s gaze followed Sunghoon too, though he remained silent. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his posture betrayed his thoughts.
Jay crossed his arms over his knees, his gaze lingering on Sunghoon’s retreating figure before speaking thoughtfully.
“We’ve got a week,” he said. “Plenty of time to think it through, right?”
The group exchanged glances again, their collective silence holding an unspoken agreement.
A break wasn’t just about rest—it was a chance to reset, to find the missing piece that might bring Sunghoon back into the fold.
Jake shifted slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked back toward the window.
“A break,” he echoed softly, his voice lighter than before.
“I think it might just work.”
The tension in the room eased a fraction, the faint hope in Jake’s tone settling over the group like the first breath of fresh air after a storm.
Chapter 11
Summary:
“I swear,” Yeji said suddenly, her tone sharp, “I want to strangle that supervisor.”
Sunghoon choked, spitting out the water he was drinking as he coughed. “Huh? Wait—calm down—”
Yeji whipped around, eyes blazing.
“Calm down? Seriously? That guy is a dick! ” She crossed her arms, her voice rising with righteous indignation.
“And it’s good Heeseung fired him. Oppa, you did the right thing—why are you even hesitating about that?”
Sunghoon blinked, caught off guard by the fire in her voice. His lips parted, a breath escaping before he found his words.
“Well… it could’ve been worse,” he said cautiously, like he was testing the temperature of the room.
Yeji stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
“ Seriously? ” she repeated, slow and flat with disbelief.
Chapter Text
The fog blinked once, unsure of vanishing.
You moved like smoke remembering the wind.
Since the break began, Sunghoon kept to himself, quietly packing his things in the dorms.
He avoided unnecessary conversations, moving through the space with purposeful silence.
Even during breakfast, he stayed distant—Niki and Sunoo sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, plates balanced on their laps as they laughed softly at the show they watched.
Sunghoon remained at the dining table, finishing his meal quickly, his gaze flickering toward the pair only briefly before retreating again.
When it was time to leave, Sunghoon stood near the door, adjusting the strap of his bag.
“I’ll get going now,” he said, his tone flat but polite.
As he opened the door, Niki and Sunoo exchanged a glance—subtle but not unnoticed.
Their heads leaned slightly closer, and their voices dropped, the faint murmur of low whispers trailing behind him.
Sunghoon paused for a fraction of a second, his grip tightening on the strap of his bag.
He glanced back briefly, catching the edge of their hushed conversation.
Whatever they were discussing, they seemed deliberate—planning something.
The thought lingered only momentarily before he brushed it aside and stepped out into the hallway, letting the door click shut behind him.
The air felt cooler outside, and as he descended the stairs, Sunghoon exhaled slowly, adjusting his bag as if it could shake the guilt tugging at his chest.
Maybe this break was what they needed—time to breathe, to reset.
He tried focusing on the break ahead, but the memory of Heeseung’s trembling hands and piercing, searching gaze cut through his thoughts.
The raw intensity left him feeling exposed, his skin crawling as he shook off the unease and stepped into the street.
Even as he blinked against the cool air, the glistening snowflake lingered—sharp and haunting, etched into the darkness behind his eyelids.
It shimmered faintly.
A weight he couldn’t escape.
Sunghoon stood in front of the house, his bag slung over his shoulder as he shifted his weight slightly.
The familiar facade stared back at him, warm and inviting in the afternoon light.
He raised his hand to ring the doorbell, but before he could press it, the door swung open with sudden energy.
“Oppa!”
Yeji pounced before he could react, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
Sunghoon staggered back a step, wheezing as he steadied himself.
“I can’t believe you’re here for a full week!” Yeji practically squealed, her excitement brimming over as she clung to him.
Sunghoon let out a soft laugh, his arms coming up to return the hug.
“Well, surprise,” he said lightly, patting her back. “You sure know how to make an entrance.”
Yeji pulled back just enough to beam at him, her grin wide and unfiltered.
“You have no idea how bored I’ve been waiting for you! Come on, come inside already—I’ve got everything ready.”
Sunghoon followed her inside, slipping his shoes off at the door as Yeji darted ahead, her enthusiasm lighting up the space.
The house was quiet, the faint hum of the air conditioning filling the silence.
“Our mom’s asleep,” Yeji said over her shoulder as she led him to the living room.
“She was up early, so I told her to rest for a bit. But I set the table for tea—figured you’d want something warm after traveling.”
Sunghoon nodded as they reached the table, his gaze drifting toward the neatly arranged cups and teapot Yeji had prepared.
“Tea sounds great,” he said simply, his tone soft but genuine.
Yeji flopped onto the couch nearby, tucking her feet underneath her as she looked at him expectantly.
“So, what’s the plan for your break? You’re not just gonna hole up in your room the whole time, right?”
Sunghoon smirked faintly, lowering himself onto the opposite couch.
“I think I’ll figure it out as I go,” he replied. “Not much of a plan yet—just glad to have some time to breathe.”
Yeji tilted her head, her expression curious.
“Well, as long as you don’t ditch me. I’ve got a whole list of things we can do—you’re not escaping me!”
Sunghoon laughed softly at her playful determination, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease slightly.
The warmth of the house, the quiet energy of the moment was a start.
Yeji hummed softly as she worked, the cleaning cloth moving in quick, purposeful strokes across the shelf.
She scrunched her nose when a stubborn speck refused to budge, leaning in closer to wipe it off.
The faint scent of lemon cleaner lingered in the air, mixing with the warmth of the sunlight streaming through the windows.
Sunghoon sat on the couch nearby, his gaze occasionally flicking toward her as she continued talking, her voice animated as she recounted her latest triumph.
“And guess what, oppa?” she said brightly, turning slightly to glance at him.
“We won first place in the dance competition!”
Sunghoon’s brow lifted, his interest piqued.
“Really? That’s amazing. What song?”
Yeji rolled her eyes dramatically, planting a hand on her hip.
“Is that even a question? Yours, of course! It was ‘Paradox Invasion.’”
She pulled her phone from her pocket, scrolling quickly to a video.
She held the screen out, and Sunghoon watched intently as the clip played.
Yeji and her friends executed the choreography with sharp precision and infectious energy.
And oh. She was dancing his part of the choreography.
As it ended, she smirked, her tone playful.
“Aren’t I better than you? Admit it.”
Sunghoon laughed, the sound warm and genuine.
“Of course you are. At this rate, you might even replace us.”
Yeji grinned smugly.
“Well, we’re the Sync Queens. Catchy, right? You better keep an eye on us, oppa. We’re coming for your throne.”
Sunghoon shook his head fondly, leaning back into the couch with an amused smile.
“Sync Queens, huh? I think we’re doomed. ”
Yeji grinned smugly, still basking in the glory of her Sync Queens triumph. “We’re coming for your throne, oppa. Better start practicing, or we might just take over your spot.”
Sunghoon laughed, shaking his head as he rose from the couch.
“Guess I’ll have to watch my back,” he said lightly, heading to the kitchen.
He grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water and taking a slow sip before glancing back at her.
She was still perched on the sofa, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
As he returned to the living room, Yeji tilted her head thoughtfully, shifting gears.
“So, how are you doing? You know… with the others?”
Sunghoon froze for a fraction of a second before sitting down, his expression carefully neutral.
“Uh… well…”
He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to find the right words.
“It’s complicated.”
Yeji’s brows furrowed slightly, the playful energy in her posture softening.
“Really? But I saw you at the fanmeet last time. You didn’t seem off at all.”
Sunghoon’s lips tightened briefly, his thoughts swirling as Yeji’s words sank in.
And that’s even scarier, he thought.
He exhaled quietly, bracing himself as Yeji waited patiently beside him.
“Well…” he began, his voice steady but hesitant.
“I swear,” Yeji said suddenly, her tone sharp, “I want to strangle that supervisor.”
Sunghoon choked, spitting out the water he was drinking as he coughed. “Huh? Wait—calm down—”
Yeji whipped around, eyes blazing.
“Calm down? Seriously? That guy is a dick! ” She crossed her arms, her voice rising with righteous indignation.
“And it’s good Heeseung fired him. Oppa, you did the right thing—why are you even hesitating about that?”
Sunghoon blinked, caught off guard by the fire in her voice. His lips parted, a breath escaping before he found his words.
“Well… it could’ve been worse,” he said cautiously, like he was testing the temperature of the room.
“Maybe he was just… having a bad day. People say things they don’t mean sometimes.”
Yeji stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
“ Seriously? ” she repeated, slow and flat with disbelief.
She took a step forward, throwing her hands in the air.
“He told you to diet, Sunghoon. DIET. What the hell is that? You barely ate for two weeks! That’s why you weren’t eating, isn’t it?”
Her voice cracked slightly, like the realization hurt more now that it was spoken out loud.
Sunghoon looked away, his expression guarded, shoulders tensing just a little.
“And that’s not even it!” Yeji went on, incredulous.
“He got mad because you didn’t show up to one meeting? One! Like, the audacity. You had a stomachache, you texted in advance—and he still went off on you like you’d set the building on fire or something.”
Sunghoon gave a small, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not that deep, Yeji…”
“No. Nope. Don’t do that.”
Yeji stepped closer, voice low but firm. Less fire, more gravity.
“You always do this. You brush it off. Like it’s just something you have to deal with. Like it’s your fault for showing up wrong, or being too quiet, or having—God, I don’t know— great eyebrows or something.”
She paused, her voice catching.
“Yeah. He commented on your eyebrows. Like you were some kind of joke. You. My brother. And not even in a teasing way—he said it with that smug little tone. You know the one. Like you weren’t even a person.”
Sunghoon didn’t respond, his jaw flexing, his gaze fixed on the floor.
“I don’t care if it sounds stupid,” Yeji said quietly. “He made you feel small. That’s never okay.”
She let the silence sit for a beat, then added more gently, “Oppa, you don’t have to explain away every time someone makes you feel like crap. Just because you can take it doesn’t mean you should .”
Sunghoon finally looked up. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, there was something raw there—regret, maybe. Shame. Something quieter than guilt, deeper than anger.
Yeji gave a soft laugh, a little bitter, a little affectionate. “Besides… you’re my brother. You’re perfect, okay? Even your stupid eyebrows.”
She leaned in, bumping her shoulder against his with a smirk. “Like, they’re annoying perfect. It’s honestly unfair.”
That cracked him. Sunghoon snorted despite himself, the edge in his chest loosening slightly.
“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low and a little hoarse. “I think.”
Yeji rolled her eyes but smiled, soft and smug all at once.
“You’re welcome. Now stop defending jerks. It’s a bad look.”
She moved to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down with a quiet determination.
There was something deliberate in the way she sat, like she was grounding herself—and him too, by proxy.
The energy in the room shifted, the tension thinning at the edges as she leaned back, her gaze flickering briefly to Sunghoon before settling on the teapot.
She murmured under her breath, almost to herself, “No wonder Heeseung got mad.”
The comment was soft, but it carried a weight that settled into Sunghoon’s chest like a stone.
She reached forward then, fingers brushing the porcelain as she picked up one of the cups from the neatly arranged table.
“Oppa,” she said, her voice calm now, but threaded with something firm and resolute.
“Let me ask you a question.”
She held the empty cup up slightly, tilting it side to side in her fingers.
“This cup… it’s empty, right?”
Sunghoon blinked at her, one brow quirking in confusion.
“Yeah. Obviously.”
Yeji didn’t say anything right away.
She simply reached for the teapot and began to pour.
Water streamed in a steady line, curling into the cup. Then it neared the top.
Then it hit the brim.
“Yeji—” Sunghoon started, his voice catching with a flicker of alarm. “Stop, it’s going to spill—”
But she didn’t stop.
She kept pouring.
The water spilled over the edge, thin and gleaming, dripping onto the wooden surface, pooling slowly around the base of the cup.
She finally set the teapot down with a soft clink. The only sound in the room for a moment was the gentle drip of water sliding off the edge of the table runner.
Sunghoon stared at the mess, then at her, unsettled—not by the spill, but by the clarity in her eyes.
“Think of it like this,” Yeji said, her voice low, patient, almost teacher-like.
“When people keep doing too much—giving, holding, pretending they’re okay—they overflow. Usually, yeah, they learn to stop before that. They pause. They breathe. They rest.”
She looked down at the spreading water. Her tone softened, almost tender.
“But sometimes… they don’t. Not because they’re weak. But because they’ve forgotten how to notice when they’re full.”
She looked back at him, and this time she didn’t look like his little sister. Not exactly.
Her eyes were steady, clear in a way that made him feel oddly small. Like a child getting quietly scolded—but not out of anger.
Out of love.
“That’s you , oppa.”
Sunghoon swallowed, the words landing heavier than he expected.
He felt a heat crawl up his neck—not embarrassment, not exactly.
Something closer to exposure.
He hadn’t realized how much he was holding until she said it. How his chest always felt slightly tight, how he’d long since gotten used to the ache in his shoulders, like it was just the cost of waking up.
“You carry everything like it’s part of who you’re supposed to be. Like if you stop, the world tips.
But have you ever stopped to ask if you even should hold all of it?”
She leaned her elbows on the table, folding her hands loosely.
“People like you… you don’t spill loud. You spill quietly. You don’t yell. You don’t break things. You just disappear. You smile at the wrong time. You skip meals. You avoid people. And no one notices until something cracks.”
There was no judgment in her voice—just truth, raw and patient.
“And that’s why you need people who notice,” she continued. “People who say, ‘Hey. You’re full. You need to set it down now.’ Even if you don’t think you deserve to.”
Sunghoon looked down at the cup again, watching a droplet slide slowly down its side.
He felt something stir beneath his ribs—something old and too familiar.
The guilt of being seen. The quiet relief of it too.
Yeji’s voice gentled further.
“Let people do that for you, oppa. Even if it’s just for a second.”
She picked up a napkin and began blotting the spill with small, practiced motions.
“You don’t have to earn rest,” she said. “Or love. Or care. You just get it. That’s how this works.”
Sunghoon exhaled, the breath shaky and low, like it had been waiting hours to come out.
His shoulders dropped an inch, then another.
The tightness in his chest didn’t vanish, but it loosened. Bit by bit. Thread by thread.
“…Okay,” he murmured at last, the word almost a confession.
Not a surrender, but a beginning.
Yeji glanced up at him, something gentle sparking in her expression.
She slid the now half-full cup toward him.
“Then drink your tea,” she said softly. “It’s getting cold.”
And for once, Sunghoon didn’t try to argue.
Yeji leaned against the kitchen counter, glancing over her shoulder at Sunghoon, who was scrolling through his phone.
“Oppa,” she said casually, “can you buy groceries for me? We’re out of butter.”
Sunghoon slid his phone into his pocket. “Sure,” he said, heading toward the door. “Be back in a bit.”
As he bent to put on his shoes, a sound outside made him pause—quick, hushed voices and the shuffle of feet. Not the usual street noise.
It was... too close.
“Just ring it already!”
“Why do I have to?! You’re closer!”
“Is this the right place? I swear if we’re wrong—”
His brow furrowed as he gripped the doorknob, some part of him already recognizing those voices.
He opened the door.
There they were.
Jake and Niki bickering, Sunoo squinting at his phone, Jay standing with his arms crossed and an exhausted look, Jungwon leaning casually by the gate.
And right in the middle—Heeseung, frozen mid-knock.
Their eyes locked. Neither moved.
A beat of silence stretched, heavy and strange.
Then Heeseung lowered his hand slightly.
“Uh… surprise?” he said, with the smallest, crooked smile.
Sunghoon blinked, stiff as a statue.
Before he could speak, Yeji’s voice floated in from the kitchen.
“What’s wrong, oppa?”
She rounded the corner—and stopped cold at the sight of them.
The plate slipped from her hands and hit the floor with a sharp crack .
“Oh my god! It’s really you guys!”
Her squeal broke the tension like a spark to dry wood.
She rushed forward, barely containing her excitement.
“Are you serious right now? This is real?! You’re actually here?!”
The boys started laughing and talking over one another as she pulled them inside, practically glowing with joy.
“This is the best day ever!”
Sunghoon, still standing by the door, finally exhaled. He glanced at Heeseung again—still awkward, still watching him.
Sunghoon muttered under his breath, mostly to himself.
“…Oh god.”
Chapter 12
Summary:
He sighed, offering a half-hearted glare.
“When we got here, Jake got excited, and we just kind of... went with it.”
Jake, crouched awkwardly as he tried to line up his sneakers in a vaguely functional row, shrugged dramatically.
“It’s not my fault your house looked so inviting!” he said, voice bright.
“To be fair, you should’ve seen us on the way here. Niki was practically sprinting, and Jungwon kept checking the address like we were breaking into someone’s place.”
“Hey!” Jungwon protested, frowning as his ears turned a little pink.
“I was making sure we didn’t get lost. That’s responsible.”
Jake waved him off, grinning wider.
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I figured we were doing you a favor by showing up.”
Sunghoon arched a brow, unimpressed.
“A favor? That’s a stretch, don’t you think?”
Chapter Text
The stars blinked, caught between laughter and silence.
You danced like thunder, waiting for the storm.
Sunghoon pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly as he closed the door behind the group.
The bag dropped with a loud thud, echoing through the quiet house.
Jay shot him an apologetic look, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
A sharp yelp cut through the awkwardness.
“Ow— dang it! ”
Jake hissed, hopping on one foot, wincing.
Jay shook his head with a mix of amusement and disbelief.
“How do you even manage that?” he said dryly.
Sunghoon leaned his back against the door, arms crossed, taking them in.
All of them were crowded in his small entryway, hunched over as they tugged off their shoes and shifted bags around — a mess of limbs and half-whispered curses.
The sight would’ve been funny if he weren’t still trying to process the fact that they were actually here, cramming themselves into his house without warning like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He pressed his lips into a thin line.
“Did you all come here straight from a group chat I wasn’t invited to?”
Jungwon, still fiddling with his bag strap, glanced up guiltily.
“I did tell them to think about it more,” he said, shooting a pointed look at Jake.
“But... well…”
He sighed, offering a half-hearted glare.
“When we got here, Jake got excited, and we just kind of... went with it.”
Jake, crouched awkwardly as he tried to line up his sneakers in a vaguely functional row, shrugged dramatically.
“It’s not my fault your house looked so inviting!” he said, voice bright.
“To be fair, you should’ve seen us on the way here. Niki was practically sprinting, and Jungwon kept checking the address like we were breaking into someone’s place.”
“Hey!” Jungwon protested, frowning as his ears turned a little pink.
“I was making sure we didn’t get lost. That’s responsible.”
Jake waved him off, grinning wider.
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I figured we were doing you a favor by showing up.”
Sunghoon arched a brow, unimpressed.
“A favor? That’s a stretch, don’t you think?”
While Jake kept teasing, Niki had wandered further into the living room, his head swiveling curiously.
His gaze roamed over the space, pausing on the wooden dividers, trailing along the polished grain of the panels, before catching on the small bookshelf tucked neatly into a corner.
He hovered there, eyeing the carefully arranged volumes and scattered decorations — until his gaze landed on the shelf where Sunghoon’s medals were lined up with almost obsessive precision.
“Wow,” Niki said finally, pointing. His voice was tinged with awe.
“Your house is so neat! And do you just, like, casually keep trophies on display? Who even does that?”
Sunghoon turned to him with a deadpan look, folding his arms.
“No, Niki. It just magically stays this way.”
Sunoo snickered from his spot by the armrest of the couch, clearly enjoying the exchange as Sunghoon shot a pointed glance toward Jake.
Jungwon, now toeing closer to the shelf, tilted his head to examine the framed photos next to the medals.
“Well, this makes sense for a former skater,” he said, almost impressed.
Jay’s curiosity got the better of him as he reached for the photo album resting neatly on the shelf.
Before Sunghoon could react, Jay had it open, flipping through the pages, his eyebrows steadily rising.
“Whoa,” Jake said, peering over Jay’s shoulder. “You were practically flying in this one.”
Sunghoon’s heart dropped into his stomach.
His eyes went wide.
Then he squawked , actually squawked, like someone had just stepped on his dignity.
“ D-don’t look at that!” he blurted, lurching forward in a panic.
Jay barely had time to register the warning before Sunghoon lunged, diving like he was reaching for a live grenade.
He made a wild grab for the album, but Jay spun, laughing as he held it just out of reach.
From the couch, Yeji leaned over the armrest, clearly amused.
“ Oppa! ” she called with a teasing grin. “Is this your debut photobook or something?”
Sunghoon’s face burned bright red.
“ Yeji! Don’t—!”
Jay squinted at one of the pictures, trying to hold it steady as Sunghoon clawed for the book.
“Wait… what even is this one? Are you in a—why are you wearing feathers ?!”
Yeji gasped dramatically, practically glowing with mischief.
“ Aww , is this little baby Sunghoon? Look at the pose! You’re so serious ! Like a swan on a mission.”
Sunghoon froze mid-lunge for a heartbeat, his eyes going round with horror.
“ Don’t say swan on a mission!! ”
Jay burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, man, but this is gold . Look at this dramatic arm—”
“ Give it back! ”
Sunghoon shouted, launching himself again. Jay dodged, laughing harder, and the two of them spun in a chaotic circle around the coffee table as Sunghoon tried to yank the album free.
Yeji giggled behind her hand.
“ Oh my god, you’re literally fighting for your life right now.”
“If I see a single phone come out, I swear —” Sunghoon growled, finally wrestling the album out of Jay’s grip with a triumphant, winded huff.
He cradled it against his chest like it might try to escape again, eyes flicking around at the still-amused faces surrounding him.
He straightened his back, trying to salvage the last shreds of his pride.
“None of you saw anything,” he declared, voice firm despite his flaming cheeks.
Yeji just gave him a sweet smile.
“Sure, oppa. Totally didn’t just see your middle school Swan Lake era.”
Sunghoon visibly withered.
“I hate it here.”
Heeseung stood quietly next to Sunoo, his gaze darting between the walls and the group.
His eyes lingered on the dividers, the pictures, and the medals, but his nervous energy was clear—biting his lip and stiffening his shoulders.
Yeji squealed as she bounced into the room, her energy radiating off her.
“This is so perfect!” she exclaimed, practically glowing before she turned her wide eyes toward Sunghoon.
“Oppa, I can’t believe this! Having an idol for a brother is already insane, but the whole Enhypen is in our house? Oh my god!”
She clutched her face dramatically, a mix of disbelief and exhilaration lighting up her expression.
“And you didn’t even tell me beforehand so I could prepare! ”
She gestured at herself, as if to emphasize the lack of notice.
“I would’ve cleaned more! I would’ve… I don’t know… rolled out a red carpet or something!”
Her excitement was contagious, spilling over the room and momentarily silencing the lingering chaos.
Even the group, busy with their bags and shoes, paused for a beat, amused smiles spreading as Yeji continued her whirlwind of astonishment.
Sunghoon, on the other hand, groaned softly, burying his face in his hand.
“Yeji, please, ” he muttered, his tone carrying a mix of embarrassment and reluctant affection.
Jay let out a laugh, leaning slightly against his oversized duffel as he watched her.
“I already like her,” he said, amused. “She reminds me of Jake.”
Jake perked up at the mention, raising his eyebrows as he gestured toward himself.
“What? Me? That’s a compliment, right?”
Jay smirked, clearly teasing as he replied,
“Oh, absolutely. The chaos is uncanny.”
Jungwon chuckled, glancing between Yeji and Sunghoon with an amused tilt of his head.
“Haha, she totally fits right in. But seriously, Sunghoon, how did you end up with a sister like this?”
Sunghoon shot him a half-hearted glare, cheeks tinting red.
He knew they meant no harm. It was lighthearted, just jokes. But even now, the attention made something in him bristle.
Yeji, unfazed as ever, turned back toward the group with a mischievous grin, clearly thriving.
Then came a sound.
A soft creak.
A door slowly opened from down the hall.
All movement stilled.
Yeji’s expression shifted first.
The stillness washed over her smile.
Sunghoon’s stomach sank before the voice even came.
“Who’s there?”
Everyone turned as a pale figure stepped into view, her hand weakly clutching the doorframe.
Their mother.
Sunghoon’s chest tightened.
She looked even smaller than he remembered.
Yeji stepped forward first.
“Mom?”
Their mother blinked slowly, as if processing the scene took more effort than she had to give.
Her eyes didn’t land on any of them with recognition.
Then, softly, she murmured,
“Jae…?”
Her gaze drifted over their heads, searching.
Sunghoon swallowed hard.
Heeseung, standing just behind Sunghoon, caught the way he tensed.
The others—Jungwon, Jay, Sunoo—offered hesitant greetings. Polite smiles.
But their mother didn’t acknowledge them. Her expression barely changed.
She stood as if somewhere else entirely, still murmuring to someone who wasn’t there.
Then Heeseung’s eyes caught on something—just under her collarbone.
A mark. Barely visible in the dim light.
The soulmate mark, but unlike any he’d seen before.
It was stark white, delicate in design—an outline of a bare branch etched into her skin like frost.
Colorless. Lifeless.
He didn’t need to ask what it meant.
The bond was broken.
The silence lingered like fog.
Their mother remained in the doorway, eyes glazed over, lips barely parted as though still speaking to someone only she could see.
Yeji stepped forward quickly and gently took her by the shoulders, murmuring something too soft to catch.
With careful steps, she led her mother back into the hallway.
The door creaked quietly as Yeji closed it behind them.
She stayed there for a moment, her hand resting on the wood.
Then she turned back to the room with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Jungwon stepped forward, clearing his throat.
“Uh, so,” he started awkwardly,
“if it’s okay… we were thinking of spending the break with you guys. But, if there’s not enough space, we totally understand—”
Yeji cut him off with a dramatic wave of her hand.
“The guest rooms! You can stay in the guest rooms! It’s fine!”
Before anyone could respond, she clapped her hands together.
“Okay! Groceries! Oppa, can you—”
She paused, glancing at the group.
“Actually, can someone help with the kitchen, too?”
Jungwon raised his hand right away, with Sunoo following close behind.
Jay and Jake exchanged glances before stepping forward with twin nods.
Niki remained still until Sunoo elbowed him, sharp and pointed.
The younger shot him a glare but relented, trudging toward the kitchen.
Sunghoon caught the motion. Subtle. Barely a nudge. But clear.
Leave him alone with Heeseung. He knew the pattern by now.
He sighed inwardly. There it was again—that quiet orchestration.
That unspoken push.
And maybe he didn’t blame them. Not really. But it still made his chest tight.
Heeseung had been calm all day. Gentle, even.
But that calm was a mirror Sunghoon wasn’t ready to look into.
He wasn’t sure what version of himself would be reflected back if he let the silence stretch too long.
He didn’t know what to say around Heeseung anymore.
Or maybe… he was afraid of what he’d say if he let the dam crack.
The silence between them wasn’t just silence.
It was a minefield.
“Well,” Sunghoon said finally, forcing his voice into something neutral, even light.
He glanced at the eldest.
“Guess it’s you and me, hyung.”
Heeseung nodded stiffly, visibly gulping.
The sound felt loud in the hush of the room.
As they stepped toward the front door, Heeseung’s eyes flicked over to Sunghoon—how his black-and-white fit clung just right, clean lines sharp against the warm tones of the house.
He looked good. Stupidly good.
And nervous.
The way his fingers tugged at the hem of his sleeve, the quick, restless shift of weight between his feet, Heeseung caught it all.
Noticed how he moved like he was bracing for something to go wrong.
It made Heeseung’s chest tighten. But still, he followed.
He would always follow.
Their shoes dragged slightly on the wooden floorboards.
Like the house itself was reluctant to let them leave.
Heeseung pushed the cart slowly, the wheels squeaking faintly against the tiled floor.
Sunghoon walked a step ahead, his head bowed slightly over his phone as he jotted down items, his steps purposeful yet unhurried.
Heeseung’s gaze darted toward him, nerves coiling tighter in his chest.
He felt like a shadow trailing behind, out of place and unsure of how to bridge the silence.
They turned into the dairy aisle, and Heeseung’s heart gave an anxious thud.
His thoughts buzzed with unspoken words, each attempt at starting a conversation getting swallowed by hesitation.
As they both reached for a carton of milk, the quiet fractured.
“Oh—”
“I uh—”
Their hands brushed briefly, a fleeting, accidental contact that made Heeseung’s fingers twitch as he instinctively pulled back.
Sunghoon stepped back as well, the movement awkward and slightly rushed, his gaze briefly darting to the cart as though grounding himself.
“You first,” Sunghoon said quickly, stepping back slightly as his hand lingered near the cart.
Heeseung swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it harder to speak.
“No, it’s okay. You go first.”
Sunghoon hesitated, his eyes flickering toward Heeseung before returning to the milk carton in his hand.
“I, uh… I just wanted to… uhm… thank you. For, you know… helping out earlier,” he mumbled, his words rushed and barely meeting Heeseung’s gaze as he said them.
Heeseung nodded, his fingers tightening on the handle of the cart.
“No problem...” he replied, his voice quiet but steady.
They continued down the aisle in silence, but the knot in Heeseung’s chest only grew tighter.
I have to say it, he thought, glancing toward Sunghoon again.
As they stopped to grab another item, Heeseung exhaled shakily and straightened his shoulders.
“I—I’m very sorry.”
Sunghoon paused mid-motion, his gaze snapping toward Heeseung.
“For… for getting mad the other day,” Heeseung continued, his voice low and unsteady.
He dropped his eyes to the floor, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the cart.
“I didn’t mean to—I just… I wasn’t thinking.”
Sunghoon blinked, clearly caught off guard by the apology.
Heeseung watched him shift his weight, the younger boy hesitating before his hand gripped the edge of the cart lightly.
“Oh, I uh… I’m sorry too,” Sunghoon said, his voice quiet and uneven.
“For… for not… listening enough.”
Heeseung nodded slightly, trying to keep his expression neutral, but the subtle tension in Sunghoon’s posture didn’t escape him.
He watched as Sunghoon continued walking, his pace slowing as they reached the snack section.
Sunghoon brushed his fingers over a cracker box, turning it over in his hands
There was something about the way Sunghoon carried himself—his movements deliberate, almost guarded—that made Heeseung feel a pang of guilt all over again.
The silence between them stretched on, heavy with unspoken words, until Sunghoon finally spoke again.
“I—I know I can be… stubborn sometimes,” Sunghoon admitted, his voice soft and tinged with hesitance.
“I mean… e-even Yeji got my ass handed to me the other day ’cause… well, of course .”
The laugh that followed was bitter, barely audible, but it lingered in the air as Sunghoon placed the cracker box into the cart.
“So, yeah,” Sunghoon said finally, exhaling deeply.
“I should also be sorry.”
Heeseung watched him with a mix of emotions—relief, guilt, and an odd sense of hope.
Sunghoon’s attempt to meet him halfway felt genuine, and Heeseung’s grip on the cart loosened slightly as he processed the moment.
There were so many questions brimming at the surface, clawing for release, yet he couldn’t bring himself to voice them.
His gaze flickered toward Sunghoon as he grabbed a box of cereal.
If so, why?
He wanted to ask so badly.
His chest tightened with each passing moment, the words trapped behind his teeth.
Why did you hide?
Sunghoon barely glanced his way, moving with quiet efficiency as they loaded the groceries into the cart.
The question lingered, unanswered, all the way to the register.
The walk home was quiet, neither of them saying much beyond the occasional comment about the bags they carried.
The streets were bathed in the soft glow of early evening, the air crisp and cool as they made their way back.
When they reached the house, the door swung open to a chorus of voices.
“Finally!” Jake called out, his head peeking around the corner as he grinned.
“Took you guys long enough!”
The others followed suit, offering casual greetings while bustling around with their own tasks.
Heeseung offered a faint smile, doing his best to match the energy as they stepped inside and set the bags on the kitchen counter.
Across the room, Yeji was already watching.
His hand brushed against the counter as he shifted uncomfortably under Yeji’s gaze, forcing himself to refocus on unpacking the groceries.
Even as the noise of the house surrounded them, her look stayed with him.
A shadow of something unspoken, hovering just out of reach.
Chapter 13
Summary:
Leaning against the arm of the couch, Sunoo watched absentmindedly as Sunghoon grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. His mind wasn’t even really on the goodbye — just the lingering thought of what they'd talked about.
The door clicked shut behind Sunghoon, a soft finality to his exit.
Hearing the door close, Sunoo looked back at Niki, who was already flashing him a mischievous grin.
“Okay, he’s gone,” Niki said, his tone low but conspiratorial.
Sunoo rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk curling at the corner of his lips.
“Well, that was a whole production,” he muttered, striding to the couch as he pulled out his phone.“Now, the real fun begins.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Threads unraveled softly, caught in the dawn,
We moved with the moment, as if it had just begun.
Lately, Sunoo had been thinking more than usual, about what Jake said the other night, about all the half-joking, half-serious conversations they’d been having since. It wasn’t just idle talk anymore. They'd all considered it, each of them in their own quiet way. Even Sunoo, who prided himself on being decisive, found the idea weaving into the back of his mind during the most random moments.
Today was no different.
Leaning against the arm of the couch, Sunoo watched absentmindedly as Sunghoon grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. His mind wasn’t even really on the goodbye — just the lingering thought of what they'd talked about.
The door clicked shut behind Sunghoon, a soft finality to his exit.
Hearing the door close, Sunoo looked back at Niki, who was already flashing him a mischievous grin.
“Okay, he’s gone,” Niki said, his tone low but conspiratorial.
Sunoo rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk curling at the corner of his lips.
“Well, that was a whole production,” he muttered, striding to the couch as he pulled out his phone.
“Now, the real fun begins.”
His fingers flew across the screen as he opened their group chat.
The username titles popped up instantly
🌸 sunoysideup: operation sneak-up is a go
🦮 jakeywakey: wait for real???
🦮 jakeywakey: this is happening???
🐾 wonnieyourhoney: well.. if so.. anyone know the address?
🦮 jakeywakey: you guys just saw sunghoon walk out and not one of you thought of following him??
☀️ sunburnedniki: i don't want to be a stalker??
🐾 wonnieyourhoney: your thought process scares me sometimes, jakey
🔥 j4ywalker: lucky you then
🔥 j4ywalker: [📍Pinned Location]
🌸 sunnysideup: WAIT. how'd you get that?
🔥 j4ywalker: i have my ways
🧃 heezzzzzu: i don't think this is a good idea... what if we intrude on his break ...
☀️ sunburnedniki: hyung don't overthink it. if he doesn't want us there, we'll just leave
🐾 wonnieonthemove: true. worst case we get food nearby
🦮 jakeywakey): best case he misses us and cries
🌸 sunnysideup: either way it's a win. let's go
The van was packed tighter than it should’ve been, and Sunoo grumbled quietly as he squeezed into the backseat, Niki immediately leaning against him like he owned the space.
"Move over," Sunoo muttered, half-heartedly pushing at his shoulder. "You love it," Niki said, grinning without even opening his eyes, head bumping against Sunoo’s.
Sunoo just rolled his eyes and left him there.
The front door slid open, and Jay climbed in, dragging a full-sized luggage bag behind him like he was checking into a hotel instead of getting into a cramped van.
Sunoo blinked.
"Is that... a suitcase?"
Jay didn't even flinch as he clicked the buckle on his seatbelt. "I packed suits," he said casually.
Jungwon twisted around from the driver's seat, eyebrows lifting.
"For what? It's like… a week break ."
"You never know," Jay replied simply. "What if there’s a nice dinner?"
Jake laughed, tipping his head back against the seat. "You’re unbelievable ."
"You’ll thank me later when you’re stuck in jeans and I look like a million bucks," Jay said, adjusting the luggage so it fit neatly under his legs.
Niki leaned closer to Sunoo, whispering, " He definitely packed cufflinks too. "
Sunoo tried, really tried, not to laugh, but a snort escaped anyway.
Jungwon muttered something under his breath about "literal toddlers" and started the van, glancing once more in the rearview mirror before pulling out of the lot.
"Niki, quit kicking the seat," he said without looking.
"I'm literally not moving," Niki protested, even as his knee brushed Sunoo’s again under the seat.
"You’re vibrating," Sunoo said under his breath, but he shifted just a little to make more space — not that he minded.
Sunoo's gaze slid to the middle row where Heeseung sat pressed to the window, hoodie bunched around his shoulders, hands restless in his lap. He didn't look mad exactly — just... closed off. Distant in a way that made Sunoo's chest pinch a little.
He leaned forward between the seats, resting his chin lightly on the edge.
"Hyung," Sunoo said quietly, careful not to draw too much attention. "We all kinda need this, yeah? It's been... a lot."
Jake turned slightly too, his voice easy but sincere. "We earned a break."
Sunoo smiled a little, hoping Heeseung could hear it even if he wasn’t looking. "And whatever’s going on with you and Sunghoon... maybe being away will help. Fresh start."
There was a long enough pause that Sunoo started worrying he’d overstepped, but then Heeseung gave a small, tired nod — barely more than a dip of his chin — and Sunoo let out a slow breath.
From the front, Jungwon added, low and steady, "No pressure. Just... come with us."
Jay adjusted his seatbelt and threw a look over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "And if it all blows up, we’ll say Jake planned it."
Jake groaned dramatically, leaning sideways into Jay like it was an automatic habit. "Unfair. I'm literally the heart of this operation," he said, bumping his head against Jay’s shoulder until Jay sighed and let him stay there.
Sunoo smiled, feeling Niki press their knees together a little more deliberately, not looking at him — but not pulling away either.
The van filled again with soft conversation, half-jokes and easy quiet, the kind that made Sunoo's chest feel warm even in the cramped space.
Outside, the city blurred into open road, and for the first time in a while, everything felt a little lighter.
Sunoo watched the navigation pin bounce on his phone screen, trying not to look as tense as he felt.
Jungwon was driving, his hands steady on the wheel but his jaw tight with focus. The car slowed as they turned onto a quiet street lined with trees and neat houses.
Everything here looked peaceful — almost too peaceful for what they were expecting.
"Is it here?" Jake asked from the passenger seat, leaning forward a little to squint out the windshield.
"That's what it says," Jungwon replied, but he didn’t sound completely sure.
They rolled to a slow stop in front of a house that looked... honestly, pretty nice.
Sunoo lifted his eyes from his phone and took it in fully — a two-story home with light wooden panels, big windows, and a neat, navy-painted garage to the side.
Flower pots were set carefully along the walkway, bright bursts of color that gave the place a lived-in, cared-for feeling.
It wasn't flashy, but it was... good.
Welcoming , even.
"I don't know," Heeseung muttered from the back seat. "This feels kind of too perfect."
"Maybe that's the point," Jay said under his breath, tugging at the brim of his cap as if it could shield him from how awkward he felt.
Sunoo stayed quiet, feeling the same nerves ripple through the group.The car idled for a second longer before Jungwon shifted it into park and shut off the engine.
The silence stretched until Ni-ki unbuckled his seatbelt with a click. "We should just go," he said simply, voice low but firm.
One by one, they climbed out, the soft slam of car doors breaking the stillness.
Sunoo shoved his hands into his pockets, breathing in the warm, slightly floral air. Up close, the house looked even nicer — the wooden siding gleamed in the sunlight, and the flowers gave it a soft, comforting kind of beauty.
Still, nerves prickled under his skin.
"Looks normal enough," Jake said, stepping up onto the curb, sneakers scuffing slightly against the pavement.
"Doesn’t mean it is," Heeseung replied quietly, eyeing the front door like it might swing open on its own.
The group drifted toward the porch, instinctively clumping together without even meaning to. No one really wanted to be the first one to ring the bell.
"You sure this is the right house?" Jay asked, voice low.
Jungwon pulled out his phone again, double-checking the pinned address. "It matches."
Sunoo shifted his weight, feeling the air buzz with the kind of hesitation that made even a simple step forward seem harder.
"So... who's gonna ring it?" Ni-ki said finally, glancing around.
Jake huffed a quiet breath. "Not me. I did it last time."
"Just ring it already," Sunoo said, trying to keep his voice even, but the tension made it come out a little sharper than he intended.
"Why me? You’re closer," Jake shot back immediately, but there was no real bite behind it.
Sunoo opened his mouth to argue, but Jungwon's voice cut in, steady and practical.
"Is this really it?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else. His fingers tightened slightly around his phone. "I swear if we’re wrong —"
Heeseung stepped forward first, almost by default, with the others trailing close behind.They bunched together at the front steps, a loose, restless group, as if standing too far apart would make the nerves worse.
Sunoo stayed back slightly, watching as Heeseung paused right in front of the door, his hand half-lifted, fingers curled like he was about to knock.
But he didn’t.
Instead, Heeseung hesitated, shifting his weight, looking over his shoulder, and Sunoo caught the exact moment doubt crept in.
"I don’t know if this is a good idea anymore," Heeseung said, voice low and rushed, almost like he was hoping they wouldn’t hear him.
Sunoo did, though. And he understood.
It was one thing to talk about showing up. It was another thing to actually stand there, heart pounding, one step away from whatever was waiting on the other side.
Still, Sunoo couldn’t help but smile a little.
"Don’t chicken out now," he said lightly, giving Heeseung a small nudge. "It’s just a doorbell. What’s the worst that could happen?"
But before Heeseung could answer the door swung open.
Startled, Heeseung froze mid-knock, his fist hovering awkwardly in the air.
And standing right there equally frozen was Sunghoon.
Sunghoon’s eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t expected anyone to actually be there when he opened it. His hand was still on the doorknob, his mouth parting just a little in surprise, as if whatever greeting he had planned completely evaporated.
The sunlight caught both of them, Heeseung with his hand still raised, Sunghoon blinking at him, and Sunoo swore he saw the faintest hint of color climb up Sunghoon’s ears too, not just Heeseung’s cheeks.
The awkwardness hung thick for a second too long.
Ni-ki, beside Sunoo, bumped his elbow into his side, stifling a grin. " Hyung's flustered ," he whispered, barely containing his amusement.
Sunoo gave a small, knowing smile, murmuring back, "As if you aren't used to it already. "
Finally, Sunghoon seemed to snap out of it first.
He let out a short nervous hitch and stepped aside, voice a little higher than usual as he said,
"Uh, come in."
Heeseung muttered something like "thanks" under his breath, brushing past him a little too quickly, his shoulders slightly hunched.
Sunoo followed after, the warm air of the house wrapping around him as he crossed the threshold — and he couldn’t help thinking, with a strange flutter of excitement — that maybe the real adventure was only just starting.
The kitchen was alive with movement and chatter, though it didn’t quite have the cohesive rhythm Sunoo was used to. He found it oddly charming—endearing, even—that Yeji, clipboard clutched tightly in hand, was trying her best to corral them.
"Alright, team," Yeji called out, her voice bright but with a hint of uncertainty. "We need to get this together. Sunoo, you’re peeling— great, you’ve got that down." She glanced at him, offering a small, approving nod.
Sunoo flashed her a wink, his hands working deftly over the potatoes.
"I’ve been peeling potatoes since I could walk," he quipped with a grin, but his eyes kept darting around the kitchen, mentally cataloging everyone’s progress—or lack thereof.
Jake was stationed nearby, slicing carrots with an ease that was almost too good to be true. His knife moved fluidly, the pieces uniformly neat as they piled up. Sunoo tilted his head, impressed.
"Not bad, Jake," he called, giving him an exaggerated thumbs up. "You might actually be a pro at this."
Jake glanced up, a small smirk pulling at his lips.
"My mom made me help out a lot. But honestly? This isn’t so bad. Kinda fun, even."
Meanwhile, Niki was at his station, visibly determined as he tried to replicate Jake’s technique. The way he gripped the knife and stared at the carrots with fierce concentration made Sunoo bite back a laugh. But the uneven cuts were a dead giveaway.
Strolling over, Sunoo leaned in, his voice light but teasing. "Nice try, Niki. But you’re chopping like you’re solving a jigsaw puzzle." He picked up the knife and demonstrated with a smooth flick of his wrist. "Straight lines, like this. See?"
He glanced at Niki, waiting for the reaction, and wasn’t disappointed.
There was a spark of determination in Niki’s eyes as he nodded, watching closely. "Oh, I see! Thanks, Sunoo-hyung!" His hands moved a little more steadily now, confidence beginning to show in his cuts.
Sunoo let himself smile as he stepped back.
He really does try his best, doesn’t he? And it’s kind of nice to have someone who actually listens to me once in a while.
Further along the kitchen battlefield, Jay hovered by the stove like he wasn’t sure if it was an ally or an enemy. Sunoo bit back a laugh as he peeled his next potato. Jay, the great stove whisperer. Maybe he’s waiting for it to tell him the secrets of the universe—or at least how to make pasta.
"Jay looks like he’s waiting for the pasta to give him permission to cook it," Sunoo whispered to Yeji, keeping his voice just loud enough for her to hear.
Yeji glanced at Jay and quickly covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh. "It’s okay," she murmured. "He’s... figuring it out. Kind of looks like he’s on a cooking show and forgot the recipe, though."
That earned another quiet laugh from Sunoo, who shook his head fondly.
His gaze shifted to Jungwon, who was intently studying the multi-cooker manual. Sunoo tilted his head, lips twitching at the sight.
If anyone’s going to find a way to hack that thing and turn it into a time machine, it’s definitely Jungwon.
"Do we really need fifteen settings for this thing?" Jungwon asked aloud, his brow furrowed in frustration.
Sunoo leaned over with a grin. "Just set it on ‘food,’ genius. We’re making food, right?"
Jungwon shot him a deadpan look, but there was a flicker of amusement behind it. "Right," he muttered, finally setting the manual aside.
As Sunoo returned to peeling, his focus drifted naturally to Niki’s station.
His movements had improved, though the occasional uneven chop still slipped through. Sunoo noted the small furrow in Niki’s brow, the way he pressed his lips together in concentration.
He felt a pang of something—pride? Affection?—settle in his chest.
"You’re getting the hang of it," Sunoo said, his tone softer this time. It wasn’t just about the carrots anymore. There was something about seeing Niki try so hard, so earnestly, that made him want to nudge things along just a little more.
When Niki glanced up with a grin that was equal parts shy and triumphant, Sunoo couldn’t help but grin back.
Maybe this whole mismatched team thing isn’t so bad after all.
The sound of footsteps pulled Sunoo’s focus as Heeseung and Sunghoon returned from their grocery run, arms full of bags. They paused in the doorway, taking in the organized chaos before them.
"Is this a team effort or a competition?" Heeseung asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sunghoon snorted softly. "Definitely looks like a competition. One we’re losing."
"It’s fine!" Yeji chirped, clearly flustered but trying to keep things light. "We’re... figuring it out as we go."
As Sunghoon stepped closer to Heeseung, their shoulders brushed lightly, and Sunoo couldn’t stop himself from noticing the way they fell into step so naturally. There was an ease about them, almost like they weren’t even aware of it themselves.
For a moment, Sunoo just watched them, his peeling forgotten. His thoughts wandered unbidden.
If you’d asked me last week, I’d have said Heeseung would stay holed up in his room the whole break, headphones on, only coming out for snacks. And Sunghoon? I figured he’d be off somewhere doing his own thing—too cool and detached to hang out with us for long.
But look at them now, walking in like this.
It wasn’t just surprising—it was reassuring in a way that settled something deep in Sunoo’s chest. He could see it in the little glance they exchanged, the quiet understanding that passed between them.
Good. They’re okay now. The thought brought an unexpected wave of relief, and Sunoo found himself smiling before he even realized it.
Guess coming here really was the right choice after all.
Breaking from his thoughts, he sidled over to Sunghoon, lowering his voice with a mischievous grin. "I give it ten minutes before the kitchen burns down."
Sunghoon glanced around, taking in the barely-controlled chaos with a bemused expression. "That bad?"
"No," Sunoo admitted, the teasing lilt never leaving his voice, "but I’m pretty sure Jay’s gonna burn something." He stifled a laugh, glancing toward Jay with a fond shake of his head.
At Yeji’s clap, everyone snapped back to attention. "Okay, focus! Heeseung, Sunghoon—help unpack the groceries, please."
Sunoo turned back to his peeling, his movements automatic as his thoughts lingered on the scene. Despite the mess, despite all of us still figuring it out, there’s something... nice about this. Everyone here. Together.
It was a small moment, but it felt like something Sunoo could hold onto.
As everyone fell back into their roles, Sunoo couldn’t help but feel the tension easing, little by little. Yeji looked more relaxed, her eyes flicking from one task to another as she started to find her rhythm. The mismatched energy was slowly syncing into something that resembled teamwork.
Sunoo’s hands kept moving over the potatoes, but he found himself smiling.
Despite the scattered chaos and the quirks of each person, there was something comforting about the way they were piecing it all together.
And maybe that quiet glance between Heeseung and Sunghoon was just another reminder.
Notes:
surprise sunoo pov!
and lol hello sorry for the late upload i got so drunk the day before and crammed reviewing for quizzes HHAHAHA
Chapter 14
Summary:
“Move, move—move—no, don’t hit the—”
Yeji groaned, head falling back dramatically. “Ugh. I was right there.”
“You brake too much,” Niki murmured, not looking up. His voice was flat, but smug lived in the corners of it.
“That’s called strategy,” she shot back, sitting upright again. “You wouldn’t know.”
Niki blinked once. “It’s called losing.”
Yeji scoffed, jaw dropping slightly. “Excuse you—”
“It’s literally… two-forty-seven,” he said after a beat, voice dry with sleep. “Some of us are trying to survive tomorrow.”
Yeji flinched, shrinking into her hoodie a little.
“Oops. Sorry, Jungwon-ah.”
Chapter Text
Still waters whispered of skies yet seen,
Each breath an opening, quiet and clean.
The faucet ran steadily, warm water pooling in the sink as Sunghoon guided the glass beneath the sponge with practiced ease. Above the sink, small potted cacti sat neatly on the window sill, their muted greens softened by the light filtering through the smudged pane.
Jake nudged Sunghoon’s shoulder, leaning closer to watch. The dish rack beside them overflowed with utensils and bowls, stacked high yet improbably balanced.
“Is this how you tilt it? Like this?” Jake asked, curious in his tone.
Sunghoon nodded as he passed the rinsed glass to the dish rack.
“Yeah.”
The weight of a plate slid into his hands, handed over by Niki without a word. Niki’s quiet hum filled the space, a sound somewhere between absent thought and unspoken contentment.
Sunghoon smiled faintly.
They moved together without thinking, brushing elbows as they worked. Their movements weren’t synchronized exactly—Jake reached for a plate just as Sunghoon reached for the sponge—but the rhythm felt strangely seamless, like they’d been doing this for years.
It was domestic in a way Sunghoon hadn’t realized he’d missed.
They’re really here, he thought, stealing a glance at Jake and Niki.
Jake, who usually spent his time cracking jokes, was now quietly focused as he rinsed another glass, the steady stream of water catching the faint kitchen light. Beside him, Niki hummed at a casual pace, his movements fluid as he handed off plates with practiced ease.
The soft clatter of dishes echoed in the sink, blending with their quiet rhythm.
Sunghoon couldn’t pinpoint when the scene had shifted from unfamiliar to something so natural it almost surprised him.
Laughter spilled into the kitchen, soft but distinct enough to pull Sunghoon’s attention. He dried his hands on the kitchen towel with deliberate movements, hanging it back before stepping toward the living room.
Yeji sat cross-legged on the mat beside Sunoo, her posture relaxed, yet poised in the way she always carried herself.
Her newly changed pajamas, soft yellow, simple, added to the air of comfort she seemed to radiate tonight. Her laughter came easily, brightening the room with its subtle energy. Her hair, loosely tied back, swayed slightly as she leaned in closer to Sunoo, the glow of her phone screen reflecting on her face.
Her smile struck him most. Genuine and unguarded, it transformed her entire presence.
Sunghoon almost envied how effortlessly she could light up a space—how much Sunoo seemed drawn to it, leaning forward animatedly, matching her energy with every word he spoke.
“Wait, what’s that called again?” Yeji asked, scrolling through her phone, her curiosity breaking into the air.
“This mist spray—absolute game-changer,” Sunoo replied, his hands moving as though the product’s merits depended on his gestures. “And trust me, my sisters have all the real secrets. You’d love them.”
“You have sisters?!” Yeji’s surprised voice rose slightly, her attention sharp, yet playful.
Sunghoon found himself lingering against the doorway, arms folded loosely. The way Yeji engaged, her excitement evident in the sparkle of her eyes, felt like something rare. The kind of rare that made him pause—not just to watch, but to understand.
She’s like sunlight.
The moment shifted as Jungwon’s laughter rang out from the couch, breaking the air just enough to cut through the scene.
“Looks like Sunghoon still hasn’t let go of that time he said he’d never introduce Yeji to any of us.”
Yeji turned her head toward him sharply, mock offense painting across her features.
“Was that true?” Yeji asked suddenly, turning toward him, mock outrage in her voice. “You gatekeeper!”
Sunghoon straightened slightly, arms folding loosely across his chest.
“Gatekeeper? Me? Please. I’m more like... quality control .”
Sunoo snorted, his grin all teeth. “Yeah, more like overprotective older brother , but sure, stick with that.”
“That’s called care,” Sunghoon shot back smoothly, raising an eyebrow. “Not my fault you don’t know what that looks like.”
The room broke into laughter again, Sunoo’s the loudest, victorious as ever. Sunghoon shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching up.
His gaze found Yeji again, and for a moment, the scene slowed.
She was still on the mat, leaning into the moment with ease, her smile wide and full of light.
It wasn’t just happy. It was unburdened, the kind of free he didn’t see in her often enough.
The weight she carried, the quiet she kept when she was left alone for weeks, was nowhere to be found tonight.
She’s okay tonight, he thought, the tension in his chest softening.
That’s enough.
The moment stretched as Jay stood, arms overhead in a lazy, unhurried stretch. His shirt pulled slightly at the hem, and he exhaled like someone proud of finishing exactly nothing.
“I’ll wash up first,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder as he padded toward the hallway.
Jake didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, I’ll follow you in a sec,” he called after him—too casual to be innocent.
Sunghoon didn’t move, but his eyes slid toward the sink just in time to catch Yeji’s expression. One brow lifted—dry, precise, and loaded with all the things she didn’t bother saying out loud. The corner of Sunghoon’s mouth ticked up.
Yeah. She heard it too.
Sunoo let out a low, amused breath. The kind of grin you could hear.
From the hallway, Jay’s voice echoed back, edged with panic. “Don’t be weird!”
Jake’s reply came in a sing-song tone, “Too late!”
Sunghoon huffed quietly. Not quite a laugh. Just the sound you make when you’ve seen this play out too many times to be surprised.
Same old Jay. Same old Jake.
The familiar rhythm of their banter was comforting in its predictability, the kind of cadence that spoke of years spent navigating each other’s quirks.
The warmth didn’t last.
Yeji moved without pause.
“You going to sleep now, Ma?” she asked, voice low, careful.
No reply.
Her mom sat still at the table, eyes fixed somewhere past Yeji, saying nothing.
Yeji didn’t press. She just straightened, a small shift in her posture like pulling back from something she already knew wouldn’t reach her. She picked up the plate, grip a little tighter than before, and turned to the sink.
Sunghoon watched her in silence.
The water came on soft, steady. He let the sound fill the room, fill him.
Maybe next time, he could just be closer.
Footsteps stirred the quiet.
Heeseung padded in, casual as ever.
“Hello…” he murmured, waving with that half-lidded ease only he could pull off.
Footsteps padded in.
Sunghoon looked up—and blinked.
For a second, Heeseung looked like he’d wandered off the page of some glossy magazine. Face clean, jawline sharp in the kitchen light. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the edges, like he hadn’t bothered with a towel. Even the way he moved.Shoulders loose, gaze steady, had that casual ease people chased without ever quite catching.
Then the pajamas came into view.
Bright pink. Unapologetically loud. Covered in stickers and stars and chaotic cartoon bunnies. A glittering unicorn blinked smugly near the hem, like it knew exactly what it was doing.
The room stilled.
Sunghoon stared.
Heeseung froze halfway into the kitchen, catching their expressions. His eyes narrowed—not really annoyed, but bracing.
“Don’t,” he said, already hearing the laughter coming.
Sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek, but it didn’t work.
A grin cracked through anyway.
“Hyung… ”
Yeji broke first. Her laugh spilled out of her like someone had turned the valve. She bent forward, breathless.
“Oh my God. Where did you even get those?”
Heeseung sighed, tugging at the hem of the shirt like it owed him something.
“Laundry roulette,” he muttered. “I swear they’re not mine.”
Right on cue, Sunoo poked his head in from the hallway.
“Wait, are those mine?!”
Heeseung groaned, already turning back like he could reverse time and disappear into it.
Yeji was still laughing, but quieter now. The kind of laugh you didn’t perform—just released, without thinking. Her eyes crinkled, her smile soft and unguarded.
He watched her a beat longer. That glow she got when she let go. He’d always noticed it. Still did. But tonight it landed differently. Not heavier—just… settled.
Like he didn’t need to hold it so tightly anymore.
Heeseung crossed to the sink.
Water on. Glass clinked softly against the counter.
But then, from the corner of his eye, Sunghoon saw his mother shift.
Slowly.
One hand reaching out, fragile.
Her fingers brushed Heeseung’s sleeve.
He stopped instantly, as if the contact froze something in him.
The glass stayed under the tap, water running, forgotten.
Heeseung glanced down, startled. Her hand was resting on his sleeve—small, unsteady, but firm enough to still him.
She looked up at him.
Her eyes weren’t fully clear, as if caught between now and somewhere long before. But something flickered there. Like recognition. Or the shadow of it.
Sunghoon sat frozen, his breath thinning.
His mom’s hand— on Heeseung?
His pulse knocked against the base of his throat.
He couldn’t read her expression. Couldn’t tell if she saw Heeseung as himself, or as a memory in the wrong shape. No greeting, no name. Just a slight shift in her shoulders. A quiet exhale.
Then, a word.
“Up,” she said.
Sunghoon blinked.
“What?”
Heeseung turned his head, eyes searching.
“Did she just… say ‘up’? ”
The word hung in the air like a broken thread.
Up? Stand up? Pick her up? Take her somewhere?
Sunghoon’s thoughts scattered. He had no answer. Only the sensation of something fragile brushing against the edges of something important.
Yeji stepped in quietly beside Heeseung, her presence calm and steady. She didn’t say anything. Just smiled softly, like she knew not to break the moment.
Sunghoon’s gaze met Heeseung’s. A silent handoff. A subtle plea.
Heeseung swallowed. Nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he said, gently.
He didn’t move her hand from his sleeve. Just shifted close, one hand supporting her elbow, the other hovering. Ready, but not assuming.
She stood.
Her legs trembled slightly, but she rose like she'd done it a hundred times. As if the strength was still there, buried under years of forgetting how to ask for help.
And Heeseung began walking.
He walked slow, careful, matching her pace. The ridiculous stickered bunnies on his pajama pants bounced slightly with each step. But the moment wasn’t funny. It was quiet. Deeply human.
Sunghoon and Yeji watched from the kitchen. He could feel her beside him, arms crossed loosely, her focus steady. Sunghoon didn’t move. He didn’t want to miss it.
Heeseung glanced back once, unsure.
He didn’t know why she’d reached for him. Maybe she’d mistaken him for someone. Maybe it didn’t matter.
Because right now, her hand was in his. Trust, given without warning.
And somehow, guiding her down the dim hallway in bright pink pajamas, it felt like the only thing he was supposed to do.
The house had settled into a low hum.
Not silent—just that kind of quiet that only arrived late, when most of the lights had dimmed and the floorboards creaked like they were stretching in their sleep.
From the living room, two phones tapped in sync.
Not loudly. But just enough to break the hush.
Yeji and Niki sat cross-legged on the couch, shoulders nudging together as they leaned toward their screens. Their faces were lit up in a cold blue glow, concentration deep, thumbs flying.
“Move, move—move—no, don’t hit the—”
Yeji groaned, head falling back dramatically. “Ugh. I was right there.”
“You brake too much,” Niki murmured, not looking up. His voice was flat, but smug lived in the corners of it.
“That’s called strategy ,” she shot back, sitting upright again. “You wouldn’t know.”
Niki blinked once. “It’s called losing .”
Yeji scoffed, jaw dropping slightly. “Excuse you—”
Footsteps padded in from the hallway.
Jungwon appeared at the threshold, arms folded, blanket still half-draped around one shoulder. He didn’t say anything at first. Just blinked at them.
“It’s literally… two-forty-seven,” he said after a beat, voice dry with sleep. “Some of us are trying to survive tomorrow.”
Yeji flinched, shrinking into her hoodie a little. “Oops. Sorry, Jungwon-ah.”
Niki lowered his phone with more reluctance. “…Sorry, hyung.”
Jungwon stood there another second. Then sighed through his nose. “You two are the worst.”
“Love you too,” Yeji said, without missing a beat.
Niki grinned faintly. “Goodnight.”
Jungwon muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Gremlins,” before disappearing back down the hall.
The living room quieted again.
Yeji leaned her head against the back of the couch, letting her phone drop into her lap. “Okay… maybe I do brake too much.”
Niki glanced up, eyes still locked on the screen. “You get nervous before turns.”
Yeji huffed, a quiet chuckle slipping out. “Maybe I don’t like crashing.”
Her voice softened, the buzz of the game dying down. She rose to her feet, brushing her pants off absently. “Guest rooms are down the hall. The left one’s the biggest—but...”
Her eyes scanned the group, realizing. “Guess it’s a little cramped.”
The left room door creaked open, and Jay’s head appeared, eyes half-lidded, grin sharp. “I got dibs,” he said before shutting the door again with a quiet thud.
Sunoo and Niki exchanged looks. Their eyes flickered to Heeseung, then to Sunghoon. The unspoken idea hung in the air.
Niki cleared his throat, voice just a bit too high. “Me and Sunoo will take the other room.”
Sunoo nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah. Definitely.”
Yeji blinked, biting her lip to hide a grin.
Sunoo’s hands went up in mock surrender. “We’ll be saints. Promise.”
Heeseung's gaze shifted to the rooms, his mind already picturing the cramped space and cold drafts. His shoulders stiffened.
Why did it have to be like this?
Then Sunghoon’s voice sliced through the tension.
“You can sleep with me if you want.”
Time screeched to a halt.
Yeji’s breath hitched, and she choked on a laugh.
“Oppa!” Her voice was a startled gasp, like she’d just been shocked into reality.
What now?
Heeseung blinked. His brain fumbled. Somewhere deep in his chest, something fluttered—completely uninvited.
Sleep with—?
Like… in the same bed?
Like… same blanket? Proximity?
Shared breathing space?
Sunghoon blinked, his face a mix of confusion and embarrassment.
“I didn’t mean it like that!”
Laughter burst out, sharp and contagious. Sunoo nearly collapsed into Niki, Niki was hiding his face in his hands, visibly mortified. Jungwon almost choked behind a pillow. Jake’s laugh could be heard even from the hallway, loud and wheezing.
And there was Heeseung, standing still, his pulse thudding in his ears.
Sleep with me if you want. A weight. A question. An invitation.
He was pretty sure his face was a shade of red he’d never experienced before.
Jay opened the door again, his timing almost too perfect. He slapped Heeseung on the back with a loud thud, too casual.
“Guess you’re walking to your destiny now.”
Heeseung didn’t respond. He couldn't. His hands found his face, pressing in as if that would hide the growing panic.
He looked at Sunghoon—still rubbing his temples, clearly regretting the phrasing—and tried to breathe normally.
But it was no use. His stomach had flipped. His face was definitely heating up.
He was being offered a bed. It wasn’t weird. They were close. They’d shared worse. This was normal. It was—
Not normal.
This night was going to kill him and it hadn’t even started yet.
Chapter 15
Summary:
He turned toward Sunghoon again, his voice quieter this time. “This is awfully… unexpected.”
Sunghoon tilted his head. “Unexpected?”
“I kind of thought you’d pick another picture,” Heeseung said, gesturing vaguely at the shelf. “Something… cooler. Maybe that Japan performance. Or that one fansign where you had the sunglasses and looked like an assassin.”
Sunghoon scoffed, barely holding back a laugh, but Heeseung caught it—the subtle twitch of his mouth, the quick shift in his weight like he wasn’t sure how much of himself to show.
And then, there it was. A smile—bright and unguarded, tugging fully at Sunghoon’s lips. The kind Heeseung hadn’t seen in a while.
Not since the fight. Not since the silences started lasting too long and the easy rhythm between them got thrown off.
Chapter Text
I lay in the hush where his warmth remained,
Wanting nothing, yet wanting it named.
Heeseung stepped into the room slowly, as if entering meant something more than just crossing a threshold.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the hush that followed felt different from the quiet in the living room. Thicker. Not tense, exactly—but focused.
Sunghoon’s room was clean in that effortless, borderline intimidating way. Everything was in black, white, or the muted tones of unfinished wood. A soft glow from a desk lamp cast long shadows across a tidy workspace—lined notebooks stacked neatly, pens arranged with a precision Heeseung could never fake.
The bed was already turned down on one side. Of course it was.
Heeseung’s eyes wandered.
Minimalist. Practical. Not cold, but… reserved. There were barely any personal decorations, except—
His gaze paused.
In the corner, on a narrow wooden shelf, something small gleamed under the light.
He walked toward it without really thinking.
A trophy—nothing dramatic. Maybe six inches tall. The kind they handed out with a quick handshake and a polite “congrats.” But beside it sat a photo, old and familiar.
A snapshot from I-LAND. Pre-debut.
All of them, younger, sleep-deprived, soft around the edges.
Heeseung stared. His arm was raised in the shot—he remembered that moment vaguely. The challenge had just ended. Some of them had cried. Some had smiled so hard it looked painful. His soulmark had been exposed on his forearm, vivid in the harsh overhead lights.
He never liked that photo. It felt too raw. Too vulnerable.
But Sunghoon had kept it.
Next to a trophy.
Heeseung blinked, something tugging at the back of his throat.
“E-ehem,” came a voice behind him.
Heeseung turned, caught off guard by the sound. Sunghoon stood a little awkwardly in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck with the heel of his hand. His eyes darted somewhere near Heeseung’s shoulder but never quite met his.
“Sorry,” Sunghoon mumbled. “I haven’t, uh… cleaned in a while. A bit dusty.”
Heeseung glanced back at the small shelf. The trophy still stood proudly, catching the soft light, and beside it, that photo—the grainy, slightly off-centered shot from their I-LAND days. All of them younger. Brighter-eyed. Sunghoon with his sharp, still-growing features. Heeseung caught himself staring at his own figure in the frame—arm raised, soulmark bare and unguarded. They looked… untouched. Back then, everything had still felt possible.
He turned toward Sunghoon again, his voice quieter this time. “This is awfully… unexpected.”
Sunghoon tilted his head. “Unexpected?”
“I kind of thought you’d pick another picture,” Heeseung said, gesturing vaguely at the shelf. “Something… cooler. Maybe that Japan performance. Or that one fansign where you had the sunglasses and looked like an assassin.”
Sunghoon scoffed, barely holding back a laugh, but Heeseung caught it—the subtle twitch of his mouth, the quick shift in his weight like he wasn’t sure how much of himself to show.
And then, there it was. A smile—bright and unguarded, tugging fully at Sunghoon’s lips. The kind Heeseung hadn’t seen in a while.
Not since the fight. Not since the silences started lasting too long and the easy rhythm between them got thrown off.
His chest gave a sudden, quiet lurch.
God. That smile.
It was stupid how much it made something flutter in his ribs. How seeing Sunghoon like this—laughing, open, just a little bit ridiculous again—felt like sunlight after too many overcast days. He didn’t even realize how much he missed it until it was right in front of him.
And more than that, he felt… relieved.
Like maybe they were finding their way back to something.
“It’s nostalgic,” Sunghoon said, almost too casually. “That photo. I dunno. It just… stuck.”
There was something in the way he looked at it—not directly, but in passing. Like he’d seen it too many times to keep reacting, but not enough to stop feeling something about it.
Then, as if the moment was getting too thick, Sunghoon crossed the room and flicked off the light. “Shh,” he said lightly, over his shoulder. “You want to sleep or not?”
Heeseung let out a quiet chuckle, the kind you only gave when you didn’t know what else to do with your feelings. The photo still hovered in his thoughts like a word left unspoken. Like a secret shared on accident.
But he didn’t press. Not yet.
The room, dim and quiet, started to ease into his limbs. The warmth seeped in slow, like it had been waiting.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough for tonight.
Heeseung barely sat on the edge before Sunghoon dropped onto the mattress with a quiet whuff , arms stretching out over his head like he was clocking out from life itself.
Heeseung squinted at him. “Wow. Confident.”
Sunghoon reached over, fluffing a pillow with way too much focus. “I’m just setting the atmosphere. You’re the guest.”
Heeseung raised a brow. “Setting the atmosphere? What is this, a spa?”
“I mean, if you want a face mask and cucumbers—”
Heeseung grabbed the closest pair of balled-up socks and threw them. “You’re impossible.”
Sunghoon caught one with a laugh and let the other bounce off his shoulder like it was a minor inconvenience. His grin flickered, easy and boyish, before he patted the mattress beside him. “There. All done.”
Heeseung stepped closer, paused—then blinked. And blinked again.
“…Wait.”
The bed was queen-sized.
He stared at it, then at Sunghoon already sprawled out like he owned it. The blanket rumpled. The pillows uneven. The indentation on the right already forming from Sunghoon’s weight.
Why does he have a queen bed?
Heeseung didn’t voice it, but the question stayed—lodged somewhere between curiosity and panic. The kind of question that had way too many possible answers.
None of which he was ready for.
And why did it suddenly feel like the largest and smallest surface on the planet at the same time?
Heeseung stood for an extra second—too long, probably—then quietly put his hoodie and phone on one of the built-in shelf dividers. When he turned back, Sunghoon had already settled, head tilted toward the far wall, blanket pulled up just under his arms.
Heeseung climbed in like the mattress was booby-trapped. Slow. Careful.
He laid down stiffly, then sank.
Oh.
Oh no.
The bed was soft . Ridiculously so. The kind of soft that made you forget about tension in your back or worries in your chest.
Except—
Heeseung swallowed.
It smelled good.
Not laundry-detergent good. Not air-freshener good.
Sunghoon good.
Warm and clean and stupidly comforting in a way that made his throat tighten.
God damn it , he thought, with the slow, dawning horror of someone trapped in the exact situation they’d spent weeks avoiding.
There was no escaping this. Not when even the air in this room had him spiraling.
His brain offered a cruel little whisper: As if you don’t like it.
Heeseung curled his fists under the blanket. Shut up.
He tried to breathe like a normal human being. Not a flustered, emotionally compromised wreck.
Then—
“Hyung?” Sunghoon’s voice, quiet.
Heeseung flinched like he'd been caught doing something illegal. “Yeah?”
“I asked if you, uh…” Sunghoon scratched his head, sheepish in the dim. “Could turn the night light on for me?”
Heeseung’s heart tripped over itself as he turned slightly.
Sunghoon was looking at him. Not full-on. Just… side-eyed, casual. But he was close. Inches . The glow from the hallway hit his cheekbones just right, and Heeseung’s brain completely forgot how to operate.
Sunghoon blinked slowly, waiting.
Heeseung nodded, voice catching. “Sure.”
He reached over, flipped the small switch. The faint amber glow filled the space, casting soft shadows across the wall.
But even in the dark— especially in the dark—he couldn’t unsee the outline of Sunghoon’s face.
It was still there. Framed in light. Right next to him.
And Heeseung, like a complete idiot, couldn’t look away.
Heeseung closed his eyes.
Tried to let the softness of the bed swallow him. Tried to focus on the steady in-out of his breathing, the warmth of the blanket, the faint hum of the nightlight.
It almost worked.
Until he heard the rustling.
A shift beside him—fabric brushing fabric.
He opened one eye, cautious.
Sunghoon had moved. Leaned slightly toward him.
Heeseung flinched. Fuck.
Heart rate: instantly tripled.
He inched back just a little— just a bit —because no one needed to be this close. Not when his nervous system was already malfunctioning.
Bad for the heart, he thought, so bad for the heart—
But Sunghoon didn’t say anything. His head simply tilted, hair falling over his forehead as he… sighed?
Then, like gravity had made the choice for him, his head lolled gently to the side.
Resting.
Not on Heeseung, but dangerously near. Inches from his shoulder.
Heeseung swallowed and let out a shaky breath. Okay. That was fine. Sort of. He could handle that.
Except it wasn’t over.
Sunghoon shifted again—this time fully, decisively—and in one smooth, sleepy motion, his arm draped across Heeseung’s middle.
Heeseung froze.
Because Sunghoon had just… hugged him. Like a pillow. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. His arm curled, his face pressed against Heeseung’s shoulder, and he exhaled with the contentment of someone who had absolutely no idea what chaos they’d just caused.
Heeseung lay there, stiff as a board, staring up at the ceiling.
This was happening.
This was real.
His brain was screaming, throwing error codes left and right.
What the hell am I supposed to do with this?!
Sunghoon mumbled something incomprehensible, breath warm against his hoodie.
Heeseung squeezed his eyes shut, willing the gods of restraint to lend him strength. But even as his mind scrambled, Sunghoon didn’t pull away. His arm stayed loosely around Heeseung’s middle, his breath slow and steady against Heeseung’s hoodie.
The minutes stretched, and Heeseung could feel the warmth of Sunghoon's presence sinking deeper into his skin, making it harder to breathe normally, harder to think clearly.
After a few moments, Heeseung shifted ever so slightly, his eyes flicking toward the desk in the corner of the room. The photo on the shelf caught his attention again, the soft light casting its familiar shadows over the frame.
He wondered how long it had been sitting there. If it had ever been moved. If it meant something more than just a relic of the past—a simple token of nostalgia. Or if, maybe, it was something Sunghoon still carried with him.
The thought lingered in Heeseung’s mind, but it was quickly swallowed up by something else.
His eyelids fluttered closed again, and as he lay there, trying to steady his breathing, his thoughts drifted back to the days when he had dreamed of being held in someone’s arms like this—without the weight of old misunderstandings, without the tension of unsaid things.
He hadn’t realized how badly he’d longed for it until now, and the quiet comfort of Sunghoon’s presence left him feeling unmoored.
It wasn’t quite sleep yet, but it was the closest thing to peace he’d felt in a long while.
The morning started like most did in a house full of restless twenty-somethings and bad sleeping habits: with chaos, noise, and the scent of badly-timed coffee.
Yeji was the first one up, wrapped in a faded hoodie with a mug cradled between her hands like it was the only thing keeping her alive. She stood by the kitchen island, half-leaning on one elbow, talking to Jungwon, who looked far too awake for someone who’d barely slept three hours.
“I swear the neighbors were vacuuming at like, three a.m.,” Yeji muttered, sipping slowly. “What kind of crime scene cleanup requires that much noise?”
Jungwon shrugged, spooning cereal into his mouth. “Maybe they committed the crime. Just cleaning up the evidence.”
She gave him a deadpan stare. “You scare me sometimes.”
Before he could respond, a voice cracked through the hallway like a firecracker.
“GUYS. I HAVE THE BEST IDEA.”
Niki skidded into the kitchen, socks nearly betraying him on the floor. He slapped his hands down on the counter like he was delivering world-shattering news.
“Rides!” he announced. “Amusement park. Scream-your-lungs-out rides.”
“No,” Sunoo said from the stairs without missing a beat. He hadn’t even made it fully into the room yet, face still puffy with sleep and wrapped in a throw blanket like a burrito. “Absolutely not. Last time, I lost my voice and nearly threw up cotton candy. Never again .”
“You screamed before the ride even started,” Niki countered, wounded.
“I have the right to self-preservation!”
Jay strolled in then, perfectly timed, running a hand through his hair like a man with a plan. “How about a fancy dinner night, hmm? Something classic. Dim lighting. Dress codes. Sophistication—”
“Nope,” Jungwon said before Jay could even finish. He didn’t even look up from his cereal. “Don’t let him start. We all know where he wants to go.”
The room fell quiet for a beat. Then everyone turned to Jay.
He blinked. Opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
Sunoo raised an eyebrow. “You were gonna say that one overpriced rooftop again, weren’t you?”
Jay held up his hands in silent defeat.
“... Well, I tried .”
Jake finally wandered in, rubbing sleep from his eyes and looking every bit like someone who'd only recently remembered how to function as a person. “Ooh, what about that new steakhouse downtown? The one with the rotating menu?”
Jungwon nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, we can add that option. Gotta start a list.”
“Ugh, someone make a group chat again,” Sunoo groaned. “The last one died when Jay kept renaming it.”
“‘The Dinner of Kings’ was a great name,” Jay muttered.
“That was the third name that week,” Jake reminded.
Then came the sound of a door opening down the hall, footsteps light, steady. A familiar shuffle and a yawn.
Sunghoon stepped into the kitchen, hair still tousled, hoodie too big, looking like he hadn’t quite rejoined reality yet. “Morning,” he mumbled, voice low and rough with sleep.
Yeji raised her mug in greeting. “Hey, morning. You missed the war.”
Sunghoon blinked. “...Over what?”
“Plans,” Jungwon said. “Also Jay’s taste in restaurants.”
Jay looked personally offended.
Sunghoon only hummed, heading straight for the coffee pot. “Sounds about right.”
The chatter hadn’t even died down before another door creaked open from the hall.
Heeseung stepped out, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, towel slung around his neck, still wearing his sleep shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants that—unfortunately—looked unfairly good for something so casual.
He paused, blinking at the kitchen full of people.
Everyone paused too.
“Oh?” Yeji’s voice pitched upward, grin slow and unmistakably amused. “Well, well. Look who decided to bless us with a thirst trap first thing in the morning.”
Heeseung spluttered, caught mid-step. “Wh—? I just showered!”
Jungwon groaned loudly, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Hyung, we are not at the dorms anymore! For goodness’ sake!”
“But like—” Yeji peeked between her fingers dramatically, her grin turning wicked. “I can admire beauty when I see it, okay?”
“Damn right,” Niki chimed in through a mouthful of cereal. “Justice for abs and cheekbones.”
Heeseung turned red. The kind of red that reached up to his ears. “I’m not even—! This isn’t—!”
He looked up—and locked eyes with Sunghoon.
Sunghoon, leaning lazily against the kitchen counter, coffee in one hand, spoon in the other. He wasn’t smiling. Not exactly. But there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a brief flick of his eyes as they dipped—just once—before coming back up to meet Heeseung’s.
And he blinked. Once. Slow. Almost like he was waiting for Heeseung to react.
Heeseung did.
With a sound that absolutely did not belong to a fully grown adult. Somewhere between a yelp and a choked squeak.
Then he bolted.
Towel flapping behind him like a cape, he shot down the hallway and slammed straight into the bedroom door. Gone.
The silence that followed was almost reverent.
Yeji finally exhaled, smug. “Ten out of ten. No notes.”
Jake laughed so hard he hit the counter. “Did he actually run ?”
Sunoo nodded solemnly. “Like the floor was lava.”
Jungwon groaned again, face in his hands. “I don’t even know him anymore.”
Sunghoon sipped from his mug, the steam brushing his cheekbones. “He forgot his phone,” he said idly.
But there was something quiet under the words. A softness, maybe. The lingering echo of a half-smile that didn’t quite make it to his mouth, but lived in his eyes.
Yeji caught it. She raised a brow, tilting her head.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything else. Just took another sip.
And maybe—if anyone had been paying very, very close attention—his eyes drifted once more down the hallway. Just for a second.
Then he turned back to the counter.
As if nothing had happened at all.
Except for the fact that his coffee suddenly tasted way too hot, and he definitely wasn’t thinking about damp hair, gray sweatpants, or the way Heeseung squeaked like a startled hamster.
Chapter 16
Summary:
It wasn’t until they reached the restaurant that Niki slowed, eyes darting to the elegant sign hanging above the door. He tilted his head, unsure whether to be impressed or nervous.
“This is… fancy,” he muttered.
Jay, already at the front, handed over his black card to the cashier like he was closing a business deal. The woman behind the counter blinked, stared at the name on the card, then blinked again, her eyes widening with realization. Her mouth parted slightly.
Jungwon, standing behind him, elbowed Jake.
“She’s about to have a whole meltdown.”
Jake snorted, shaking his head. “The reactions are worth it every time.”
Jay pretended not to notice, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Behind him, Niki was practically vibrating, scanning the room like he might spot a celebrity—even though they were the celebrities.
Chapter Text
Shadows danced soft in the hush between words,
A closeness unspoken, sharp as it stirred.
Niki was face-down on the living room rug, one arm flung beneath the coffee table, hoodie tangled around his shoulders like he’d been caught mid-escape. His hair stuck up in the back, stubbornly flattened in one spot—the telltale sign of a kid who'd woken up ten minutes too late.
“I can’t find my cap,” he groaned, voice muffled by carpet fibers. “The black one. I swear it was right here.”
“Are we talking black with the tiny red stitching?” Yeji asked, halfway to the kitchen, hands wrapped around a warm mug. She paused mid-step, the steam curling up into her face.
Niki popped his head up, eyes wide. “Yes! That one!”
“That narrows it down to, like… five?” she deadpanned, one brow lifting.
From the kitchen doorway, Heeseung leaned lazily against the frame, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the quiet calm of someone who’d done his part and knew better than to get involved. “Seven,” he said without looking up from his phone. “He rotates them like emotional support animals.”
Yeji shot him a sideways glance. “So this is normal?”
“Unfortunately,” Heeseung replied. Then added, as if on cue, “But he always finds it.”
Right on time, Niki let out a victorious yelp, arm buried between the couch cushions. He yanked the cap free and shoved it on backwards like he’d just won a trophy. “Got it!”
Down the hallway, a compact clicked shut.
“Almost done!” came Sunoo’s voice, bright and sing-song despite the urgency.
By the front door, Jungwon stood ready—olive bomber zipped halfway over a white knit, black jeans pressed crisp enough to suggest he’d been dressed for a while. Keys dangled from his fingers. He didn’t look up.
“You said that five minutes ago.”
The bathroom door flung open. Sunoo stepped out in a cropped sweater and soft, wide-legged slacks that flowed with every movement. His earrings caught the hallway light. Skin dewy. Radiant. Somehow effortless.
“And yet,” he said breezily, sweeping past Jungwon, “still faster than Jay.”
Yeji turned slightly, catching the exchange. Her tone was dry, but laced with amusement.
“Is this… always the vibe?”
Jungwon met her eyes, exhaling like it was muscle memory. “More or less.”
Yeji smiled. There was a rhythm here, even in the mess—a kind of jazz everyone played by instinct. Spontaneous, imperfect, but in sync.
In the kitchen, Heeseung stacked slices of buttered toast onto a mismatched plate with monk-like calm. He moved like he had all the time in the world, sleeves pushed up, hair still slightly damp from a quick rinse.
“Food’s on the table,” he said. “Yeji, you good?”
“All set,” she replied, lifting her mug. “I ate. Told my mom, left everything covered..”
Behind her, a door creaked open. Jay stepped out like he was walking onto a runway—slow, deliberate. He wore a slate-gray overcoat draped over a black mock-neck, rings catching the kitchen light with every step. His boots, absurdly polished, made soft, ominous clicks.
Jake turned from the fridge, did a double take, and nearly dropped his yogurt. “Wait. You’re actually wearing that ?”
Jay’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “And?”
“I thought you were joking !”
Yeji stared.
“That wasn’t a bit?!”
Heeseung, biting into a corner of toast, didn’t even flinch. “Jay’s like a boss fight. You think he’s done, and then—boom. Final form.”
Jay adjusted his coat collar like he’d just accepted the compliment.
Sunoo burst back into the room like a confetti cannon, tote bag slung over one shoulder, eyes lit up.
“Alright! Operation Spoil Yeji begins now. Shopping. Lunch. Cute snacks. World domination if we have time.”
Yeji blinked.
“That escalated.”
“I’m so excited,” Sunoo gasped, grabbing Yeji’s arm and yanking her playfully toward the door.
“You have no idea. If you weren’t Sunghoon’s sister, I would’ve kidnapped you by now.”
Yeji snorted. “Oh my god—what?”
“I mean it,” he said, eyes wide and gleaming. “Like, tied you up with silk ribbons and taken you on a shopping rampage. Willingly, of course.”
From somewhere down the hall, Sunghoon’s voice drifted back—dry and faint.
“Hey! I heard that!”
Sunoo cackled, completely unbothered.
“Tell your brother I regret nothing,” he said, spinning his tote bag like it was part of a magic trick.
“Today, you’re mine.”
Yeji laughed, stumbling a little in her socks as he swept her forward. “You’re a menace.”
“An adorable menace,” Sunoo sang, already halfway to the door.
“Let the chaos begin!”
From the hallway, Sunghoon reappeared, adjusting the strap on his black sling bag like it had personally offended him.
Well, Sunoo had, apparently.
He wore a taupe sweater under a brown coat, collar popped in anticipation of weather that might or might not happen. His hair was carefully tousled, but his eyes still had sleep clinging to the corners.
“You guys ready?”
He didn’t speak loud—but somehow, they all heard him.
Jungwon, by the door, stood straighter, keys jingling in hand. Jake slipped his phone into his pocket. Niki, still a little disheveled from the earlier cap fiasco, tugged his hoodie straight and made a dramatic show of cracking his knuckles.
Even Jay gave a single, sharp tug to the hem of his coat.
Heeseung tossed the dish towel aside with finality. “Let’s move.”
The front door beeped open. Cold morning air rushed in—bright and biting. Shoes scraped the tile. Voices rose and overlapped.
“I’ve got the bag—”
“Jay, you seriously want to bring that suitcase?! Absolutely not—!!”
As they stepped into the crisp air, Yeji found herself caught in the middle of it all. Her coat was a little lighter in color than the others', catching sunlight like it wanted to be noticed.
Sunoo’s hand remained at the small of her back—not holding, just reminding her she belonged. Jungwon gave a small glance over his shoulder, a quiet check-in. Heeseung held the door an extra beat, his toast still in hand.
Behind them, the house clicked shut.
The sound was swallowed by the shuffle of sneakers, the buzz of plans, and the burst of laughter that followed them down the front steps—bright and warm, like the day was theirs already.
The boutique shimmered—glass, light, and curated air. Soft music pulsed in the background, almost shy beneath the occasional swish of fabric and laughter. Mirrors caught every gesture, multiplying them like memories on repeat.
Yeji spun in a pale gold dress, satin sweeping the floor like spilled sunlight.
Sunoo clutched his chest, mock-swooning. “No, stop. You’re not real.”
Yeji halted mid-turn, laughing. “Is it too much?”
“Yeji,” Sunoo said solemnly, “if the dress didn’t exist, the universe would’ve had to invent it for you. You’re a walking plot twist.”
Her smile lingered, and she smoothed the fabric at her hips. “It does move nice.”
“You don’t move nice. You move devastating ,” he said, already waving down the sales associate. “We’ll take it. She’s taking lives tonight.”
A few steps away, Jay stood before a mirror, fingers adjusting the cuff of a navy blazer with velvet lapels. The tag still dangled from one sleeve like a question mark.
Sunghoon watched from a nearby seat, arms loosely crossed. He didn’t say anything at first—just tracked Jay’s reflection flickering across the glass, the quiet satisfaction in the way Jay tilted his head to the side, like admiring a painting of himself.
Finally: “You’re dressing like you’re walking into a film premiere.”
Jay didn’t look away. “It’s dinner.”
“At my house.”
“And?”
Sunghoon raised a brow. “You’re impossible.”
Jay turned slightly, admiring his profile. “You say that like it’s not half the charm.”
A reluctant breath of amusement escaped Sunghoon. He leaned back, gaze drifting—not just annoyed, but studying. Jay always moved like he was curating a version of himself for the room. Not false, exactly. Just intentional.
Sometimes Sunghoon wondered what it was like to wear confidence like a tailored jacket.
He glanced toward Yeji and Sunoo again. They’d become a magnetic pair lately—Yeji so luminous it was hard to tell if she knew it, and Sunoo orbiting her like a proud stylist-slash-bodyguard hybrid.
There was ease between them, gestures folding into each other without hesitation. Sunghoon watched the way Yeji’s fingers grazed Sunoo’s sleeve as she whispered something, and how he laughed before she even finished.
He didn’t feel outside of it exactly.
Just... adjacent.
Further down, Jake and Jungwon huddled over a glass case displaying luxury watches. Their voices dipped just low enough to sound conspiratorial.
Jake pointed, reverent.
“That one? It looks like it could predict market crashes and read me bedtime stories.”
Jungwon squinted, impressed.
“Do you think if I buy it, my mom will finally believe I’ve matured?”
“Unlikely,” Jake said, “but at least you’ll look like an investment.”
They both snorted.
He looked back at the others—at light skipping off gold fabric, at Jay smoothing imaginary creases, at Jake and Jungwon grinning like the future was on layaway—and felt that old, quiet tug. Not quite longing. Not quite envy.
Just a question he didn’t know how to phrase.
Sunoo glanced over, exasperated affection in his sigh. Then he turned, eyes landing on Sunghoon.
“You,” he said, finger raised.
Sunghoon blinked. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Come here. Yeji picked something.”
She held up a powder-blue shirt with fine embroidery near the collar. The kind of understated detail that only revealed itself under light. Her smile was playful, but her eyes sparkled.
“Couple code,” she declared.
Sunghoon stared at the shirt. “You want me to wear that?”
“Do you want me to explain again,” Sunoo said sweetly, “or are we skipping to the part where I shove you into a changing room?”
Sunghoon gave one long-suffering sigh. Two seconds later, the curtain whispered shut behind him.
Inside the changing room, the light warmed to a soft gold, the kind that made everything feel slightly more polished. Sunghoon pulled the shirt over his head, the fabric cool against his skin. It slid on effortlessly, as if the shirt itself had been waiting for this moment. He was halfway through buttoning it when—
The curtain shifted, the sound soft but unmistakable.
“Is someone—”
Sunghoon jerked back, hands shooting up instinctively. “Don’t look!”
Heeseung’s voice slid through the space with a low chuckle. “Well well. Isn’t this a coincidence?”
The curtain flared open a few inches, and Heeseung stepped in without hesitation, his presence filling the room like it was made for him. His black crewneck, sleeves slightly rolled, hung loose on him—familiar. Comfortable. Dangerous.
Sunghoon’s stomach did an odd flip as he blinked. “What the hell are you doing?”
Heeseung, calm as ever, leaned casually against the opposite wall, as though he belonged there. “We’re both guys,” he said, voice a lazy drawl. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem,” Sunghoon said, fingers hovering near the next button, “is that you barged in.”
Heeseung’s grin was slow, deliberate. “Not barged. Slipped.” His gaze swept over Sunghoon, lingering just long enough to feel deliberate. “You always panic this much when someone sees you half-dressed?”
“Only when that someone makes it weird.”
Heeseung chuckled, eyes tracing the curve of the shirt over Sunghoon’s shoulders—just for a second, but it lingered, charged. “This feels familiar.”
Sunghoon blinked. “What?”
Heeseung’s gaze didn’t waver, and there was something a little too knowing in it when he finally met Sunghoon’s eyes. “Back in the dorms. You behind that flimsy divider. Thought I didn’t notice? Please. You always fumbled with buttons when you were nervous.”
The memory hit Sunghoon like a sharp, forgotten breath—mundane, almost insignificant. But now, seen through Heeseung’s eyes, it shimmered with new weight. Sunghoon’s throat tightened.
“That was years ago.”
Heeseung’s smile didn’t falter. “Doesn’t mean I forgot.”
He stepped closer. Just a shift. A breath’s distance. And the air between them thickened, as if the space had shrunk without permission.
Sunghoon’s thoughts spiraled, heat spreading in his chest. This is dangerous.
Heeseung’s voice dropped, softer now, laced with something deeper. “Didn’t think I’d catch you again,” he murmured, voice low and oddly tender, like an old secret surfacing. “In a store, of all places.”
Sunghoon tried to laugh, but it sounded thin, fragile in the small room. “Not like I planned this.”
But as he spoke, his mind was already turning in circles. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. Heeseung’s closeness, his gaze—it was like the world had narrowed to just the two of them.
Outside, voices drifted by, Jake’s distinct laughter rising above the others.
“Is someone in there? We’re checking out!” Jake’s voice was light and familiar, a stark contrast to the tension coiling inside the room.
Heeseung called back easily, never breaking his focus. “I’m here,” he said, eyes still holding Sunghoon.
Sunghoon backed up too quickly, his shoulder clipping the edge of the mirror. A sharp sting spread across his temple, and he winced, his hand flying to his head.
“Ah—!”
Heeseung flinched, instantly reacting as though he’d been struck himself. His breath escaped him in a short gasp, and in the next moment, he was kneeling, reaching out without thinking.
“Hey,” his voice softened, like silk brushing against skin. “You okay?”
Sunghoon didn’t respond immediately. His breath came shallow, and for a moment, the sounds of the outside world were muffled, as though they were in their own tiny bubble. The air between them held weight, thick with something unspoken.
Heeseung’s fingers grazed over his scalp, his touch gentle as he checked the bump. Sunghoon could feel the warmth of his palm through the tangle of his thoughts. Heeseung’s brow furrowed, and for the briefest moment, he winced, almost imperceptibly.
“Seriously… that looked like it hurt. You need—?”
“I’m fine,” Sunghoon said quickly, batting his hand away.
Heeseung didn’t flinch. His palm lingered, hovering like a question.
“I felt that, you know.”
The words landed like soft weights in the space between them.
Sunghoon froze, and then, the silence stretched—long enough that he could almost feel it pulsing in his chest. His heart was hammering, unsteady, and he had no idea what to say to that.
Heeseung’s gaze didn’t waver. He looked up at Sunghoon, steady, warm, his eyes full of something unspoken.
Not yet, Sunghoon thought. But his pulse was so loud, it drowned out the rest.
“Don’t say things like that,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.
Heeseung smiled, soft and wistful. His hand brushed through Sunghoon’s hair one more time, before he stood, slow and deliberate.
“I won’t,” Heeseung said quietly, but there was something else there, something that hovered just beneath the surface of the words.
The sounds from outside filtered in again—Yeji’s laugh, Sunoo’s voice rising with warmth.
Inside, it was just them. The space between them still heavy.
Heeseung stood, brushing off his jeans with a casual ease that almost seemed out of place. His gaze lingered on Sunghoon, but now there was a softness to it, less teasing and more gentle—like he was offering an exit without asking for anything in return.
“I’ll wait outside,” Heeseung said, his voice quieter, but still carrying that familiar drawl. “Try not to concuss yourself again, yeah?”
Sunghoon flushed, eyes darting to the corner of the mirror where he’d hit his head.
“That was your fault.”
Heeseung chuckled under his breath, already turning to the curtain. “Mmm. If it helps your pride.”
His hand brushed against the fabric, but he paused before stepping out. His voice dropped just enough to make Sunghoon’s chest tighten.
“You look good, by the way,” Heeseung said, his tone low and unhurried. “The shirt suits you.”
Then, just like that, he was gone, the curtain falling behind him with a soft hiss.
Sunghoon stood there, staring at the empty space Heeseung had left behind. The room suddenly felt colder, emptier, despite the fact that he was alone.
He turned back to the mirror, catching his reflection—his hair slightly out of place, the shirt a little wrinkled where Heeseung’s fingers had brushed against it.
It was stupid. All of it. Heeseung’s smugness, his easy charm, the way he moved like he knew everything about everyone, including Sunghoon.
But then, beneath the irritation, there was something else. Something buried deeper.
Relief.
And it lingered—warmth in his palms—as he buttoned the last button and stepped out to rejoin the others.
Yeji strolled ahead, Niki and Sunoo flanking her, their pace easy, conversation flowing between bursts of laughter.
Niki shot Sunoo a line that had him slapping his arm dramatically, gasping, while Yeji doubled over, her laughter contagious. A few heads turned their way—recognition flickering in some eyes—but no one reached for their phones. Just quick glances and hushed whispers. Respectful. Curious, but distant.
It wasn’t until they reached the restaurant that Niki slowed, eyes darting to the elegant sign hanging above the door. He tilted his head, unsure whether to be impressed or nervous.
“This is… fancy,” he muttered.
Jay, already at the front, handed over his black card to the cashier like he was closing a business deal. The woman behind the counter blinked, stared at the name on the card, then blinked again, her eyes widening with realization. Her mouth parted slightly.
Jungwon, standing behind him, elbowed Jake.
“She’s about to have a whole meltdown.”
Jake snorted, shaking his head. “The reactions are worth it every time.”
Jay pretended not to notice, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Behind him, Niki was practically vibrating, scanning the room like he might spot a celebrity—even though they were the celebrities.
They slid into their booth by the window, sunlight spilling over half the table. The interior was sleek, minimalist, but with warm wooden accents that softened the sharp lines. Jackets were shrugged off, drinks were passed around, and the buzz of excitement shifted to a comfortable hum.
“I still can’t believe we’re going to a theme park after this,” Jungwon said, resting his chin on his hand, eyes twinkling.
“Believe it,” Niki grinned. “I’m going on every single ride.”
“Even the drop tower?” Jake raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear in his voice.
Niki nodded with enthusiasm, as if nothing could be more thrilling.
Sunoo, mid-sip of his lemonade, lowered the glass with a skeptical stare. “Ugh. Okay. Fine. Just because you’re cute.”
Niki blinked innocently, a playful glint in his eyes. “So you’re going with me?”
“No,” Sunoo shot back immediately. “I’ll be holding your bag and praying you survive. You can do the extreme ones alone.”
Yeji laughed, scrolling through the menu. “That sounds fair.”
Then the food arrived—steak for some, pasta for others, and a flurry of shared side dishes passed around the table with easy familiarity.
Sunghoon barely heard the conversation anymore. One bite of his steak, and the world around him blurred. For a moment, the ambient chatter faded, replaced by a kind of mental slow-motion. The meat practically melted on his tongue.
He blinked, stunned.
“Oh my god,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Heeseung, seated beside him, nudged a second slice of steak onto his plate without looking. “Told you. Life-changing.”
Sunghoon didn’t respond, just nodded like he was trying to recover from some kind of divine experience.
Across the table, Yeji narrowed her eyes, watching them.
“Bleh,” she declared, scrunching her nose. “They’re too sweet.”
Jake leaned back in his chair, grinning, arms crossed behind his head. “I know, right? You should’ve seen them pre-debut. Inseparable.”
“Seriously?” Yeji shot them a look of mock suspicion.
“Oh yeah,” Jake continued. “Heeseung would follow Sunghoon around like a shadow. They had their own weird telepathy.”
Sunoo, not looking up from his plate, added casually, “Still do. They just pretend it’s normal now.”
Heeseung didn’t argue. He just passed Sunghoon the water with a faint smile, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Sunghoon, though he rolled his eyes in response, didn’t hesitate to take the water.
Their plates clinked as the conversation flowed on, but beneath it all, between stolen glances and quiet bites of food, something quieter hummed. Something unspoken, lingering in the space between them.
Chapter 17
Summary:
Sunghoon lets out a soft laugh, the kind that feels unfamiliar in his own throat—like something borrowed, not quite worn in. It startles him how natural it sounds, how it slips past his lips when
Jake bumps into him, laughing and pulling him toward the cotton candy stand.
He doesn’t flinch at the contact, doesn’t overthink the nearness. Not like before.
They’re here. With him. Still.
And that… should be enough.
But when Jake jogs ahead, already calling dibs on the biggest swirl, and Jungwon starts arguing with Jay over which ride has the best drop, Sunghoon doesn’t follow.
Not right away.
He lingers—just a half step behind—his hand coming to rest on the railing next to him, grounding himself.
The sun has warmed the metal, but there’s a faint edge of coolness clinging to it still, like it hasn’t fully caught up to the day.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The space between them softly burned
A glance unnoticed as time turned
The amusement park hums with life—bright lights blinking in shifting colors, the scent of buttered popcorn and caramel weaving through the crowd, laughter carried by the wind.
Jay, Jake, Jungwon, and Sunghoon take it in with open amazement, pointing at attractions with wide grins, their voices overlapping in enthusiasm.
Heeseung trails behind, watching them.
Watching him.
The weight between them has settled, no longer heavy, just... there.
An unspoken understanding, a quiet truce.
Since the store incident, neither of them have spoken about it, yet the suffocating tension of the past weeks has eased.
Sunghoon laughs now—really laughs—steps into conversations without hesitation, lets himself be pulled into small, effortless moments with the others.
And Heeseung is glad for it, truly.
But he wonders.
Why, after so many years?
It isn’t his place to pry.
Sunghoon must have his own reasons, his own wounds to sort through. Heeseung knows this, tells himself this.
But standing here, watching the four of them—watching Sunghoon among them—there’s a fleeting thought he can’t quite hold back.
Was it something he did?
The thread of thought unravels when Yeji nudges him.
“Heeseung-oppa, you want to grab some tickets?”
His gaze lingers on the others for a beat longer before he follows her.
“Yeah, sure.”
At the counter, the attendant greets them with a bright, practiced smile, her voice warm as she slides the tickets forward. She has a bird-shaped mark just beneath her right eye, a detail Heeseung wouldn’t normally notice, but right now, his mind is restless—grasping at small things to anchor himself.
He nods, murmurs a quiet thanks, but doesn’t quite manage a smile in return.
Sunghoon had hidden the truth.
That they were soulmates.
And the longer Heeseung tries to understand why, the more the uncertainty creeps in.
Meanwhile at the other side of the park, Jay throws an arm around Jungwon’s shoulder, animatedly pointing out a drop tower in the distance.
Jake grins, nudging Sunghoon toward the cotton candy stand, and for a moment, it feels simple.
Easy.
Like nothing ever fractured.
Sunghoon lets out a soft laugh, the kind that feels unfamiliar in his own throat—like something borrowed, not quite worn in. It startles him how natural it sounds, how it slips past his lips when
Jake bumps into him, laughing and pulling him toward the cotton candy stand.
He doesn’t flinch at the contact, doesn’t overthink the nearness. Not like before.
They’re here. With him. Still.
And that… should be enough.
But when Jake jogs ahead, already calling dibs on the biggest swirl, and Jungwon starts arguing with Jay over which ride has the best drop, Sunghoon doesn’t follow.
Not right away.
He lingers—just a half step behind—his hand coming to rest on the railing next to him, grounding himself.
The sun has warmed the metal, but there’s a faint edge of coolness clinging to it still, like it hasn’t fully caught up to the day.
His fingers curl around it, and for a second, he remembers.
The snowflake on Heeseung’s wrist. Sharp-lined, silver-toned, small and quiet but impossible to ignore.
He remembers brushing against it once by accident—how cold Heeseung’s skin had felt then, how fast he’d pulled away. How his own heart had clenched in panic, like he’d touched something forbidden.
And how later— much later—in that cramped changing room at the back of the store, Heeseung had reached out and held his head like he was something fragile, something worth gentleness. His fingers had threaded through Sunghoon’s hair like it was instinct, like he knew how to hold him without needing to be told.
And in that suspended breath between them, Sunghoon had almost said it.
I’m your soulmate. I always was.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s been years.
But—
But he hadn’t.
The words had dissolved, heavy and unsaid, swallowed by the fragile hush between them.
He almost laughs now, but it’s not a happy sound. It’s small, bitter. The kind that gets stuck in your throat before it ever makes it out.
Heeseung had worn that mark like it meant something.
And Sunghoon had... vanished.
Like a coward.
His gaze lifts toward the others, squinting against the sunlight as it filters through the bright awnings and painted signs. The air smells of sweet syrup and frying batter, thick and dizzying. Around him, people move with lightness, joy. The buzz of summer beginnings.
And still, there’s this weight behind his ribs.
He watches Jake, Jay, Jungwon—his friends, his constants—and something inside him aches, a deep tenderness tinged with guilt.
He wishes he could explain it.
Wishes the silence of the past years came with subtitles.
But how do you say I didn’t think I deserved to stay without it sounding like you’re still halfway gone?
He turns slightly, drawn by something he doesn't name, and spots Heeseung at the ticket counter with Yeji. His face is in profile, mouth moving with whatever polite thing he’s saying.
But his eyes are somewhere else.
Like they’re looking through things instead of at them.
Sunghoon swallows.
A beat passes.
Then another.
He wonders if Heeseung feels it too—this strange, invisible thread still tying them to something unfinished.
Something neither of them have dared to name aloud.
Sunghoon exhales, lets go of the railing, shaking the phantom cold from his fingers.
Even now, the ghost of that snowflake still lingers—cool against his palm, sharp in his memory.
He’s drawn to a booth ahead, the soft glow of stars twinkling inside, scattered across a velvet backdrop like the sky has been pulled down to earth.
The constellations gleam, twirling in the artificial light.
A shooting star, small, fleeting, like it was never meant to last.
It burns like a memory—too sharp, too close, like it’s still waiting to fade or break or be forgotten.
He turns away, blinking too fast. His fingers twitch, the cold still clinging to them.
The laughter of the others reaches him, warm and alive.
He steps forward.
The smile slips back into place—easy, practiced. Too easy.
Some truths can wait a little longer.
But as the sunlight catches the edge of a reflection in a nearby window—two silhouettes almost, almost looking toward each other—he wonders how much longer it really can.
Sunoo stood at the front of the drop ride, looking up at the towering structure with a mix of dread and disbelief.
The wind howled through his hair, but it did nothing to ease the anxiety gnawing at his gut.
He glanced sideways at Niki, who was practically bouncing on his feet, excitement radiating from him like a human energy drink.
“Niki... you really want to ride this first?” Sunoo said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, though there was a clear tremor beneath it.
"This is your idea of fun ?"
Niki, grinning like a maniac, didn’t even flinch.
"Yep! Best ride here. You’re gonna love it."
Sunoo looked at the ride again, then back at Niki. "You’re seriously trying to get me on this thing? Have you seen how high it goes? What if the harness just, like, snaps or something? Are we just supposed to trust these—" He waved his hand at the ride. "— death machines ?"
Niki was already pulling out his phone, tapping away. "I’ve got the tickets already, Sunoo. We’re in."
"What?!" Sunoo’s eyes widened, disbelief crashing over him. "You—how—when? You didn’t even ask me!"
"While you were busy stressing out, I took care of it," Niki said, looking completely unfazed. "Now let’s go! It’ll be fun."
Sunoo stared at him, arms crossed, a pout forming. "You know I don’t do heights, right? The last time I tried a ride like this, I cried for a week. And I’m not even exaggerating. Do you see the size of that drop?" He pointed dramatically at the ride as if it was an actual monster. "That’s a one-way ticket to trauma. "
"Come on, Sunoo," Niki said, still grinning like this was the best idea ever. "I'll make it worth your while! I’ll treat you to makeup for a whole month! You love the new products, right?"
Sunoo rolled his eyes, his arms still folded stubbornly.
"Don’t I always pay for that stuff? You think I’m just going to get on this ride for some overpriced lip gloss?"
"Okay, okay," Niki said, leaning in closer with that mischievous glint in his eye.
"How about... I buy you the new limited-edition designer bag? The one that's sold out everywhere? You know, the one you’ve been stalking online for weeks?"
Sunoo’s eyes flickered to the bag, then back to Niki. His lips parted, but he quickly shut them, trying to stay strong.
"Tempting... but no. I’m not about to risk my life for a purse, no matter how cute it is."
Niki smirked, clearly prepared for this.
"Fine. Fine. How about... the latest phone? The brand-new model that just dropped. It has everything —better camera, more storage, faster than lightning! It’s got your name written all over it, Sunoo."
Sunoo froze, his thoughts grinding to a halt as his brain processed the words.
Phone. New model. The phone. The one everyone had been talking about.
His finger twitched.
"Wait… You’re serious?"
"Dead serious," Niki said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "You know I wouldn’t lie about that."
Sunoo let out an exaggerated sigh, glaring at the ride again. He could practically hear the cha-ching of his bank account mourning the loss of that much money.
And yet... that phone.
That bag .
"Fine," he muttered, throwing his hands up in defeat.
"But if I die on this thing, I’m haunting you forever. Got it?"
Niki laughed, grabbing Sunoo’s wrist and pulling him toward the line.
"Deal. Now stop complaining and scream with me when we drop!"
"Don’t even think about getting out of buying that phone," Sunoo shot back, half-joking, half-serious, as they walked to their doom.
"Oh, I’m not thinking about it, Hyung. I’m planning it."
The rest of the boys were gathered near the base of the drop ride, watching Sunoo and Niki as they geared up.
Sunoo, looking like he’d seen a ghost, was fumbling with his harness, his face contorting in pure terror.
Niki, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes gleaming with that "let's do this" energy.
"Look at Sunoo’s face!" Sunghoon laughed, pointing at him with a grin so wide it was almost a challenge to Sunoo’s misery.
"He looks like he just realized he's on the wrong ride! Someone tell him it’s not the haunted house!"
Heeseung, who had been quietly watching, raised an eyebrow.
"Honestly, Sunoo’s acting like the youngest. How is he born in 2002 but look like he's about to be put on a baby’s first coaster?"
Jungwon, leaning back a little as he watched the spectacle, tried his best to maintain some semblance of calm.
He turned to Jay and Jake, clearly enjoying the scene.
"Yeah, Sunoo looks more like a lost puppy than Niki does right now," he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Niki's practically shaking with joy, and Sunoo's about to pass out."
Jay and Jake, always ready to cheer on their friends (no matter how much they deserved it), waved enthusiastically as Sunoo and Niki got strapped in.
"You got this, Sunoo! It’s just a ride!" Jay shouted, his voice booming across the crowded area.
Niki, already brimming with excitement, shot them a thumbs up, grinning from ear to ear.
But Sunoo, still looking like he might pass out at any second, snapped back,
"I HATE YOU ALL! I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU GUYS!!"
"Stay calm! It'll be fun, Sunoo! Just breathe!" they called, almost in harmony, as if they had rehearsed it.
Sunghoon, shaking his head with a laugh that could only be described as pure mischief, nudged Heeseung.
"Seriously, look at him," he said, eyes practically dancing with humor. "He looks like he’s gonna cry, but he’s an ‘02 liner! Shouldn’t he be the mature one? It’s like he’s secretly the youngest of us all."
Heeseung, who had been quietly observing, smirked. "Definitely acting like the maknae today. It’s adorable, though."
Yeji, who had been quiet up until that point, finally spoke, her voice smooth and teasing.
"Yeah, go Sunoo-oppa!" she cheered, the nickname dropping from her lips with effortless amusement.
Sunoo’s head snapped around, his eyes wide.
"Eh? Op-pa?"
His voice was a mixture of confusion and surprise, his brain trying to catch up with what had just happened.
But before he could process it further, the ride shot them up into the air, and Sunoo let out a high-pitched squeak, the sound barely audible over the roar of the crowd.
His hands gripped the harness with a strength that defied his shaking body, and his face morphed into a blend of dread and disbelief.
As the ride dropped, Sunoo’s scream was high-pitched and unmistakably one of pure terror.
"AHHHHHHH!!" he shrieked, as if someone had just pulled the rug out from under him.
Niki, on the other hand, was screaming too—but his was a sound of pure exhilaration, the kind of joy you can only experience on a rollercoaster.
It was a beautiful contrast.
When they stumbled off the ride, Sunoo was walking like a newborn fawn—legs shaky, his face ghostly pale, and his hands gripping the nearest thing for dear life. Heeseung could barely keep it together, clutching his stomach in laughter.
"Sunoo, that walk! " he choked out, wiping tears from his eyes.
"Are you sure you’re not the maknae? That was the most dramatic thing I’ve ever seen. You’re definitely the youngest."
Sunoo glared at him, still wobbly as if he could barely hold himself up.
"You’re all menaces!" he groaned, turning his focus—somehow—towards Yeji.
"I swear, I can see exactly where Sunghoon gets it from. You two are a disaster!"
Yeji shot him an innocent, dazzling smile.
"Aww, thanks, Sunoo-oppa!" she said sweetly, playing the role to perfection, her grin echoing Sunghoon’s playful charm.
Sunghoon leaned in, unable to resist the urge to tease him further.
"You're doing great," he said, his voice dripping with affection. "Maybe we should get you some training before the next ride. You know, for your mental state. "
Sunoo, still clutching the railing for support, muttered under his breath, but there was no real malice in his words.
"I hate you all," he said, his voice a low grumble—but it was followed by a small, exhausted laugh.
It was clear as day—no matter how chaotic, no matter how embarrassing the moment, there was a deep, unspoken love between them all.
As the laughter fades into soft chuckles and new distractions—Jay already pointing out the next ride, Jake fussing over a water bottle cap—Sunghoon steps back, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.
When he glances to the side, Heeseung is already looking at him.
Not in a dramatic, cinematic way. Not lingering like some unspoken confession is burning on his tongue.
Just... watching. Quiet. Soft around the edges. Like he's memorizing something and doesn't even know it.
Their eyes meet.
And the moment stretches, still and slow.
It isn’t charged. It isn’t heavy. It’s not the weight of their history pressing down—but the hush after it. Like exhaling after holding your breath too long.
Sunghoon’s mouth twitches—something like a smile, something like an apology that doesn’t need words. He shifts his weight, blinks once, lets his hand brush the railing beside him as if to ground himself.
And Heeseung, without moving, calms something in himself. Just for a second. Just long enough to think. For now, it’s enough.
He can wait. He doesn’t mind watching from here, if that’s what Sunghoon needs.
Sunghoon’s gaze lingers a heartbeat longer before the noise of the others tugs at him again. He looks away, the smile still ghosting on his face.
Maybe… things are okay.
Notes:
tbh if sunghoon isnt as emotionally constipated & afraid this fic wouldnt be as long but here we are
i aint complaining tho :P
Chapter 18
Summary:
He glanced up at the brightly lit buildings as they passed, neon signs and advertisements flashing in his peripheral vision.
"Hey, look at that," Jungwon said, pointing up at a building with a bright, flashing sign.
Heeseung followed his gaze and immediately squinted at the sign.
"3D Interactive Cinema?" he read aloud. "Sounds cool. What's that about?"
Jay, never one to pass up an adventure, jumped in.
"Ooh, 3D movies! That could be fun!"
But Jake, ever the enthusiast, leaned forward with excitement.
"Interactive? Like a game? I’m in! The more real, the better!"
"Yeah, and look at the tagline!" Jungwon added with a mischievous grin.
"Zombies. Horror. Survival."
Heeseung's face paled.
Chapter Text
Sticky hands and ticket stubs,
Your laughter spins the world above
Sunoo slumped into the booth, still trying to regain some semblance of composure after the drop ride.
His stomach churned, and he gripped the edge of the table with one hand, trying to keep himself steady. Niki slid in beside him with that impossibly wide grin, his energy never seeming to dip, even after the wild ride.
"Don't think I'll forget about what you promised," Sunoo muttered, voice laced with frustration but still soft, as he tried to steady his breathing. His gaze flicked to Niki, but there was no real anger behind the words, only an underlying fondness that was hard to hide.
Niki, however, wasn't phased at all. In fact, he seemed even more pleased now that he had Sunoo where he wanted him, the smugness in his smile only growing. "Yes, yes," he said quickly, giving Sunoo a playful nudge before grabbing a box of popcorn from the table.
"But for now, how about some snacks, huh?"
He held out the popcorn with a dramatic flourish, as if it were some grand peace offering. Sunoo blinked at the box, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Before Niki could say another word, Sunoo reached forward with a swift motion and, without warning, pounced on him, grabbing the popcorn from his hands. "You think this will make up for it?" Sunoo quipped, his tone teasing but light, as he buried his face in the popcorn.
Niki let out a startled laugh, almost spilling his own drink in the process. "Hey! Not fair!" he protested, trying to regain control of the situation, but the mischievous glint in Sunoo's eyes told him that the battle was lost.
The two of them laughed, the tension from the ride quickly melting away in the easy camaraderie they shared. Sunoo leaned back against the booth, popcorn in hand, while Niki sat beside him, still smiling that same grin.
Meanwhile, Heeseung trailed behind Jungwon, Jake, and Jay, his pace slower than usual.
The noise and chaos of the amusement park were like background noise to him, his thoughts drifting aimlessly.
He glanced up at the brightly lit buildings as they passed, neon signs and advertisements flashing in his peripheral vision.
"Hey, look at that," Jungwon said, pointing up at a building with a bright, flashing sign.
Heeseung followed his gaze and immediately squinted at the sign.
"3D Interactive Cinema?" he read aloud. "Sounds cool. What's that about?"
Jay, never one to pass up an adventure, jumped in.
"Ooh, 3D movies! That could be fun!"
But Jake, ever the enthusiast, leaned forward with excitement.
"Interactive? Like a game? I’m in! The more real, the better!"
"Yeah, and look at the tagline!" Jungwon added with a mischievous grin.
"Zombies. Horror. Survival. "
Heeseung blinked, confused for a moment.
“Wait… what? Zombies?”
He leaned in, trying to make sense of the flickering poster ahead. Neon lights cast a strange glow over the grotesque image of a snarling, half-rotted zombie clawing its way out of the darkness.
“Survive if you can.”
Heeseung's face paled.
“Oh, no. Nope. That’s not good.”
Just as the dread started to settle, a familiar voice called out—gentle but with a teasing lilt.
“Heeseung-hyung,” Sunghoon said, approaching with Yeji beside him.
“You wanna try this one with us?”
He wasn’t smirking outright, but there was a playful glint in his eyes, a subtle curve to his lips that said he already knew what Heeseung’s answer would be, and wasn’t planning to let him off the hook.
Yeji stepped forward, hands clasped behind her back like she was trying not to bounce on her heels. “Come on , oppa. It’s supposed to be one of the scariest horror rides in the park! Full 3D—actors, motion floors, real fog—everything.”
Heeseung’s eyes shot to the poster again. The zombie’s jagged teeth were practically glowing now.
“Wait, hold on,” he said, panic creeping in. “So this is, like… not a movie? It’s... a walk-through? With live zombies?”
Yeji nodded enthusiastically. “Obviously! That’s the fun part.”
Sunghoon laughed under his breath, trying to sound casual. “If it’s too much, hyung, we can find something else. But you always seemed the type who wouldn’t get scared that easily…”
Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what I said.”
But it was too late. The others had caught up, and of course, they’d heard just enough.
Jake slung an arm around Jungwon’s shoulders.
“Heeseung-hyung? Scared of a couple zombies?”
Jay smirked. “Guess we’ll find out. Hope you’re not the type to scream and run.”
“I don’t scream,” Heeseung snapped, a little too quickly.
Sunghoon held up his hands in mock defense.
“Sorry, hyung. Didn’t mean anything by it. Just thought... it'd be fun if we all went in together. But if you’re not up for it—”
Heeseung looked at Yeji. Her eyes were wide, hopeful.
He looked back at the poster. The zombie’s hand seemed to stretch toward him now, like it knew.
Then he looked at Sunghoon again—respectful, but nudging him just enough. The kind of younger brother vibe that said you’ve got this, while also kind of daring him to prove it.
He groaned inwardly.
“.. .Fine. Yeah. Let’s go.”
Yeji cheered. “Yes! This is going to be so good.”
Heeseung nodded stiffly, his pulse already pounding. “Right. Great. Fun.”
Sunghoon grinned, quick to fall beside him. “Thanks, hyung. It’s probably not that scary. I mean… you’ve seen horror movies, right?”
“That’s different,” Heeseung muttered under his breath. “Movies can’t grab you.”
Behind them, Jake called out, “Make sure someone holds Heeseung-hyung’s hand in there!”
Jungwon chimed in with a laugh, “Or he might faint and wake up as one of the zombies!”
Sunghoon looked over his shoulder at them, a small shake of his head. “Don’t tease him too much. You guys’ll be the ones screaming first.”
Yeji just hummed. “Let’s just see who makes it out without embarrassing themselves.”
Heeseung sighed, already regretting everything. “Why am I the oldest? ”
Sunghoon smiled, nudging him lightly. “Because we look up to you, hyung. Even when you’re scared.”
“… I hate you all. ”
And somewhere deep inside, Heeseung felt the faint chill of doom settle over his bones.
So this is what Sunoo felt, huh?
He swallowed hard.
Although he should’ve given the thought to himself, he supposes.
As they headed toward the entrance, Heeseung couldn’t help but wonder— why had he agreed to this?
He told himself it would be fine. Harmless, even. Just some dumb 3D effects, fake moaning sounds, a few cheap jump scares, right?
Right?
Inside, the attraction was already dim, lit only by the flickering glow of monitors and the faint green LED outlines guiding them to their seats. Jake, Jungwon, and Jay had practically sprinted to the front, already strapped in with clunky VR glasses and neon-orange toy rifles in hand.
“Won, I call MVP this time,” Jake said, aiming dramatically at the screen.
“As if you even made it past level two last time,” Jungwon snorted, nudging Jay. “Heeseung’s not scared or anything, right?”
Jay grinned wickedly. “Of course not. He’s brave. Real apocalypse-ready. ”
Their snickers floated back toward him like ghosts, only tightening the nervous coil in Heeseung’s stomach.
Yeji and Sunghoon had settled into the far left booth. Heeseung trudged after them, eyes darting around, half-hoping for a fire alarm or blackout to cancel the whole thing.
No luck.
He slid into the seat beside Sunghoon, automatically taking the corner. Which meant he had one exit blocked by Sunghoon and the other by a wall.
Great.
He stared at the empty screen ahead, the fake gun clattering slightly in his trembling hands.
Sunghoon and Yeji, on the other hand, were far too relaxed.
“Oh my god—do you remember the last time we did one of these?” Yeji asked, slipping on her glasses and nudging Sunghoon with a grin. “You screamed louder than me.”
Sunghoon chuckled, adjusting his seatbelt. “No way. That was you. You were what, in middle school? ”
Yeji rolled her eyes. “Still. You jumped so hard, your gun flew into the next booth.”
“Yeah,” Sunghoon laughed, “because you were shrieking like a banshee and somehow spamming the reload button like you were possessed. I didn’t even notice you’d been gambling for arcade coins until you ran out of tickets.”
“Resourceful,” Yeji said proudly.
Heeseung blinked at them, feeling sweat bead at his temple.
He looked at Sunghoon, who was now casually adjusting the strap on his headset. Yeji was smiling, relaxed, like this was a field trip.
Meanwhile, Heeseung’s pulse was drumming so hard it might as well have had its own soundtrack.
He gulped.
It’s fine. He could do this. It’s just a game. Just lights and sounds. Some slightly too-real 3D effects. Nothing he couldn’t handle.
Then the lights dimmed.
His knee twitched.
The screen flickered to life, casting an eerie glow across the room. Their characters—cartoonish, slightly pixelated avatars with hilariously oversized rifles—were walking toward what looked like an abandoned village.
Empty, dark, a little mist curling around the edges.
Okay.
Still fine.
Heeseung nodded to himself.
It was quiet. A few creaky floorboards here and there, maybe the wind rustling through a fake bush.
He could handle this.
The gun vibrated lightly in his hand as the on-screen footsteps echoed. Even that didn’t bother him too much. He sat up a little straighter.
This was dandy.
And then—
A shriek tore through the surround sound as a zombie hurled itself from a second-story window like it had been shot from a cannon.
Heeseung let out a full-body scream that seemed to come from the depths of his soul—loud, panicked, and utterly undignified. He flinched so hard he nearly took the seat in front of him with him, the flimsy plastic rattling under his knee.
The gun?
Forgotten. Useless. Limp in his hands.
He ducked, twisted, pulled his legs up into the seat as if that would somehow protect him from the digital undead sprinting toward him.
Beside him, Sunghoon was cracking up, one arm lazily raised as he picked off zombies with alarming calm.
“Hyung,” he wheezed between laughs, “you’re dodging like they’re actually gonna crawl out of the screen.”
Yeji, sitting on Sunghoon’s other side, had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard. “You okay there, oppa? You’re shaking like a leaf!”
Heeseung shot them both a frantic look, eyes wide with disbelief.
“They come out of nowhere! That one flew! Who gave the zombies wings?!”
Another lurch from the screen, another screech, and Heeseung ducked again—smacking his headset slightly askew in the process.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! No, don’t come near me!” he shouted, scooting backward so far he nearly fell off the edge of the bench.
Meanwhile, in the front, Jake, Jungwon, and Jay were already howling, clearly watching his chaos unfold via their own screens.
“Hyung’s having a spiritual experience!” Jake laughed.
“Bro, he’s playing VR dodgeball,” Jungwon cackled.
Jay added, “Let’s hope he doesn’t kick someone in the face.”
Sunghoon nudged him lightly, still grinning. “C’mon, hyung, use the gun. You’ve had that trigger finger since level one.”
Heeseung, half-hunched and clinging to the edge of his seat, looked down at the controller in his trembling hands.
“What gun?”
He hears Jake somewhere, voice distant. “ You are so dramatic.”
Heeseung barely heard him. Another zombie crawled out from under a car.
His soul momentarily left his body.
Yeji, completely unfazed by the chaos, was in her own world—slaying zombies left and right like she was born for this. Her aim was perfect, her reflexes razor-sharp. She’d saved Heeseung from at least three on-screen deaths already, but he was too busy flinching to fully appreciate it.
“Thanks, Yeji!” he called out weakly, voice cracking mid-sentence.
She didn’t respond. She was in the zone, head slightly tilted, tongue poking out in concentration as she mowed down another wave.
Meanwhile, Sunghoon was cackling. He leaned over with an elbow on his knee, watching Heeseung squirm like it was better than the game itself.
“You’re fine, hyung,” he said with a devilish grin, eyes dancing with mischief. “You’ve almost made it ten minutes without passing out. That’s something.”
At the front row, chaos reigned in a very different flavor.
Jake had gone full golden retriever mode—enthusiastic, wide-eyed, and yelling “BOOM! GOTCHA!” every time he missed a shot by a mile. His gun wobbled as he flailed, shooting at nothing in particular.
“Jake, you’re not even aiming!” Jungwon complained, squinting at his screen. “I can’t even see what’s happening!”
“Strategic chaos!” Jake shouted. “Keep the zombies guessing!”
Jay, on the other hand, was a different brand of unbothered. He held the gun like it was a prop in an action movie, twirling it between shots like he was auditioning for an underground John Wick reboot.
“Jay,” Jungwon deadpanned. “This isn’t a performance.”
“It’s called style,” Jay replied, flipping the gun again. “The zombies respect it.”
Jungwon sighed, shifting left and right in frustration. “Okay, but can you stop posing in front of the screen? I’m trying to not die.”
Back in the second row, Heeseung was a wreck.
And then, the boss zombie arrived.
The screen went black. A low rumble began. Then a horrifying flash—the undead boss, easily twice the size of the others, with shredded skin and bloodied claws, lunged straight at the camera.
Heeseung screamed like his soul had finally given up.
Without thinking, he launched himself sideways—landing with a loud thump against Sunghoon’s shoulder, arms flailing as he practically dove for cover.
The force nearly knocked Sunghoon off balance.
For a split second, the laughter stopped. Sunghoon blinked, surprised by the sudden body slam.
Heeseung was clinging to his arm like his life depended on it, face pale, breathing shallow, eyes locked on the screen like it was going to physically swallow him.
“Hoon—” Heeseung whimpered, voice several pitches too high, “Don’t let it get me! I’m not ready for this!”
Sunghoon froze. The usual smirk faded from his face as he looked down at Heeseung.
“…Hyung,” he said, voice much softer now. The teasing edge had melted into something gentler.
“It’s almost over,” he said quietly. “Just a little longer, okay?”
Heeseung blinked, startled by the change in tone. His grip loosened just a little, but he didn’t let go. His mind was racing, but even through the panic, he registered the calm in Sunghoon’s voice.
Sunghoon… was letting him cling to him?
His eyes darted up to meet Sunghoon’s, and for a second, the game disappeared. All he saw was that quiet gaze, softer than he expected, steady and warm in the flashing dark.
Sunghoon smiled—not the teasing kind, but something easier, reassuring. He didn’t move away.
Yeji, still in full zombie-slaying glory, saved the team with a final clean headshot and let out a victorious shout.
“WE WON!” she announced triumphantly, spinning to face them. “Told you I’d carry!”
Heeseung was still pressed to Sunghoon, frozen in a moment that had already passed.
Sunghoon glanced down again, the soft expression shifting into a wide grin. “What do you wanna try next?” he asked casually, already turning to Yeji like nothing happened.
And just like that, the warmth vanished under his usual ease.
Heeseung blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of how tightly he was still holding on. He pulled away with a nervous chuckle, straightening up and brushing imaginary dust from his shirt.
Yeji was already on her feet, practically bouncing in place like the zombie massacre had been nothing more than a warm-up lap. She shook out her arms and twirled the toy gun like it was a medal of honor, her ponytail swaying with each triumphant step.
Heeseung, meanwhile, sat down slowly on the nearby bench outside the ride, like an old man recovering from war.
He cleared his throat.
He was fine. Totally fine.
Except for the part where his hands were still trembling, his ears were ringing, and he was pretty sure he’d aged five years in the last fifteen minutes.
But even as his breathing settled, the chaos faded into a single, lingering thought.
Sunghoon… was full of surprises.
That gentle voice, that steady presence. The teasing, sure, but… there had been warmth, too. A quiet kind of care. It threw Heeseung off more than the zombies did, if he was being honest.
And when they made their way back to the booth where Sunoo and Niki were still sitting—Sunoo immediately spotted him from a distance.
“Oh my god ,” Sunoo cackled, doubling over like he'd just heard the funniest joke of his life.
People nearby turned to look, heads swiveling at the sound of the unfiltered chaos.
Sunoo pointed at Heeseung’s face, completely losing it. “Your face ! You look like you just came back from the trenches!”
He was clutching his stomach, wheezing with laughter, while Niki shook his head beside him, biting back a grin.
Then Sunoo, barely catching his breath, shouted gleefully, “Ha! Your karma! Taste your own medicine!”
Heeseung, mortified, stared at the floor as he dropped onto the bench with a thud. He sank a little lower in his seat, face flushed and ears burning.
“Glad I could provide the comedy,” he muttered.
Sunoo wheezed again.
“I haven’t even played the game and I’m having the best time.”
Heeseung didn’t respond. He just kept staring at the concrete, willing it to swallow him whole.
Somewhere beside him, Jake was still talking about how he “almost headshotted the boss zombie,” while Jay recounted his “cinematic twirl kill,” and Jungwon was grumbling about obstructed screens and flailing limbs.
Heeseung sat among them, dazed and still processing everything—including the moment he'd clung to Sunghoon like his life depended on it.
Honestly though?
He still wasn’t sure what had shaken him more.
Chapter 19
Summary:
Across from them, Niki was curled up, head in Sunoo’s lap, completely knocked out, cheeks smushed against Sunoo’s thigh. Sunoo, gently combing fingers through Niki’s hair, shot a warning glance at the group.
“Shhh. You guys are too loud. You’ll wake him.”
“You literally put him in your lap like a Disney princess,” Jake whispered back dramatically. “What did you expect?”
“I expected peace,” Sunoo muttered. “Which clearly I’ll never get when you three are breathing in the same room.”
Heeseung watched it from the side—how Sunoo’s fingers never stopped stroking through Niki’s hair, how Niki’s whole body seemed to melt into the touch like it was the safest place in the world. There was something about it—casual and domestic and warm—that made something tug deep in his chest.
He didn’t know if it was jealousy or longing, but it stung all the same.
Chapter Text
Laughter fades, but something’s left behind,
A spark in the air, too quick to find.
The trend started innocently enough—someone always getting pushed onto a ride they swore they hated. It was tradition now, apparently.
Jake stood stiffly in line, visibly battling his nerves. The mere sight of the Viking ride had him reeling— trauma with the Vikings, a running joke at this point, but painfully real in the way his eyes twitched at every creak of the metal structure. He eyed the swinging boat like it was a predator and he was the unfortunate prey.
“Uhm,” Jake began, already taking the tiniest step backward, “you guys go on ahead. I’ll just hold your bags or something—moral support, right?”
He didn’t even get a full step in before Sunghoon and Heeseung turned in perfect sync, wearing matching devilish grins like they'd rehearsed it. Jake’s eyes widened in betrayal.
“No, no, no don’t you da—”
Too late.
They each grabbed one of his hands, firm and unrelenting.
“Sunghoon. Heeseung. I’m begging you,” Jake hissed, dragging his heels like a cartoon character mid-abduction.
“Think of my trauma . My ancestors did not survive colonization for me to get swung off a giant boat in 2025!”
Heeseung let out a weak laugh, though he looked just as pale as Jake now. His smile was faltering fast. “Shit, I don’t think I can handle this,” he muttered under his breath, his grip on Jake more for his stability now than Jake’s restraint.
Beside him, Jungwon was a study in contrast—practically bouncing with glee, childlike laughter spilling out of him as if the ride was a playground. At the bottom of the stairs, Jay angled his phone just right, snapping pictures with the ease of someone completely unbothered by the chaos unfolding above.
“Aww, my Jungwon looks cute,” he said with a fond smile, clicking away like Jake wasn’t currently fighting for his life.
Jake whipped his head down toward him, outraged. “Really? Really ? How about some concern for me ?”
Jay didn’t even pause. Still clicking photos. Still deadpan.
“I’m all for the pictures,” he said, emotionless, like a man stating the weather.
And then Jake noticed her. Right beside Jay, leaning just slightly forward with a camera of her own—Yeji. Wide, excited eyes. An evil smile. The lens already zooming in.
Oh no.
“Oh my god,” Jake muttered. “She’s here. Yeji’s here. This is bad. This is very bad.”
Yeji’s presence never ended with her. She was like a human domino effect. Once she got going, chaos followed. And right on cue—
“GO HYUNG!!” Jake flinched.
There they were. Niki and Sunoo, the chaos twins themselves, freshly arrived and already hyped beyond reason. Niki was punching the air with both fists like this was the finals of some Olympic suffering event. Sunoo had sparkles in his eyes.
“Oh great,” Jake muttered. “They’re here. Fantastic. That’s it. I’m doomed. It’s over. They’re gonna livestream my funeral.”
Yeji lowered her camera for a second, glancing toward the Viking line with a raised brow. “I’m not used to seeing Jake not the liveliest,” she remarked, genuinely curious but with the kind of glint that meant the footage was already gold in her mind.
Jay let out a quiet laugh, eyes still on Jake, who was now being gently bullied up the stairs like a sad parade float.
“Yeah,” Jay said, his voice soft with familiarity. “Jake’s usually bouncing off the walls. But even the loudest ones have things they’re afraid of.”
He said it like it was obvious, like something he’d known forever. His tone was warm, edged with just a bit of amusement but mostly filled with affection. His eyes never left Jake—awkward, floppy, nervous Jake—and there was a small, fond smile tugging at his lips, completely unbothered by the chaos.
Sunoo, who’d just unwrapped a lollipop like this was a spectator sport, raised a perfectly plucked brow.
“Sap.”
Niki didn’t even hesitate.
He nudged Sunoo with his elbow, eyes crinkled.
“You.”
Sunoo went pink. “That’s different,” he said quickly, shoving the lollipop in his mouth.
“I’m cute. It’s endearing.”
Yeji chuckled, lifting her camera again, this time getting a candid of Jay’s smile. “Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Niki was already pulling his phone out, probably to start recording as the Viking ride began to fill. “I give Jake three seconds before he screams like a kid at a haunted house.”
Jay kept smiling. “Two.”
Jake was strapped in now. No turning back.
He was seated at the very end of the boat—the worst possible spot, where the swing hit its highest arc. Of course. Because life was cruel and his friends were worse.
Sunghoon was on one side of him, already settling in like this was a massage chair. Heeseung was on the other, visibly trying not to throw up before the ride even moved. Jungwon had taken the far seat on the opposite end, alone, legs swinging like this was recess.
Jake’s fingers were locked white-knuckled around the bar. The restraints clicked into place with a menacing finality. He could already feel the nausea rising—and they hadn’t even moved yet.
And then… they did.
The first swing was small, just a warm-up. Still, Jake felt his stomach lurch like it was trying to leap out of his body and run for safety. His eyes darted wildly.
“I don’t like this—I don’t like this!"
"I think I’m gonna hurl—”
From the ground, Jay cupped his hands and shouted, voice clear over the early creaks of the ride.
“YOU GOT THIS, BABY! LOOK ALIVE, PIRATE KING!”
Jake shouted back without looking. “OKAY OKAY OKAY!! NO MORE CUTE NICKNAMES IN PUBLIC!”
Second swing. Higher. The wind picked up. Jake was fully regretting every life decision that led to this moment.
And then the third swing hit—and with it, a full-blown moment of existential clarity.
“F–FFU—!”
Next swing.
“AHHHH!”
Sunghoon had both arms in the air, grinning wide, living his best amusement park life. He looked like someone in a theme park commercial.
Heeseung, meanwhile, was gripping the bar just as tightly as Jake, yelping every time the boat dropped.
“WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE WE’RE DYING IN SLOW MOTION?!”
Across from them, Jungwon mirrored Sunghoon perfectly—arms up, wind in his hair, pure joy on his face. He turned mid-swing and pointed dramatically across the boat.
“LOOK AT JAKE!” he shouted, laughing like this was the funniest movie he’d ever seen.
Jake, for his part, looked like someone who’d just seen the gates of heaven and been told to turn back.
The Viking ride finally began to slow, the terrifying arcs becoming gentler sways, until the boat creaked to a full stop—mid-air.
For a second, everyone froze.
And then the entire boat jolted once more as it locked into place, the ride ending for real this time.
Sunghoon was the first to react—he jumped up the second the bar released, face bright and flushed with adrenaline. “That was fun ! ” he said, giddy as he climbed out. He turned to the other side and high-fived Jungwon, who was still laughing, cheeks pink from the wind.
Jake, meanwhile, shuffled off the ride like he was walking on a rocking ship—sideways, uneven, like gravity forgot how to work just for him.
“I wanna throw up,” he mumbled, holding his stomach. “I think I saw my soul leave.”
Heeseung followed behind, stumbling slightly, blinking hard like he’d just escaped a blackout. “Okay… okay… yeah, no, I’m good. I'm fine. I love my legs.”
Yeji was already rushing up, slipping a water bottle into Jake’s hand like a nurse on duty. “Hydrate, drama queen.”
Jay appeared right after, gently taking Jake’s free hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze, his usual calm smile still in place. “You survived. Barely. But I’m proud.”
Jake blinked at him, still looking halfway dead. “Tell my story.”
“Already took the photos,” Jay said with a wink.
A few steps away, Sunghoon looped back to Heeseung, who was leaning against the railing, still catching his breath. Without hesitation, Sunghoon reached out and rubbed Heeseung’s back in smooth circles.
“That was fun, hyung!” he said brightly.
Heeseung turned to look at him, just for a second. That big smile on Sunghoon’s face—completely genuine, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes crinkling—it made something inside Heeseung warm up in a way he wasn’t used to.
Yeah. It was fun.
He didn’t say it aloud, just let the thought settle quietly in his chest.
He’d been doing things lately that didn’t feel like him—going on scary rides, saying yes to chaotic plans, getting dragged into moments he usually avoided. And yet… this new version of himself, stumbling off a ride and nearly passing out, felt worth it .
Because Sunghoon smiling like that?
Totally worth it.
The canteen buzzed with post-ride chatter and the clinking of trays. Jay, Jungwon, and Jake were sprawled across one end of the table, each nursing some kind of comfort in a cup—Jake with a melting swirl of ice cream, Jungwon sipping iced coffee with visible relief, and Jay casually stealing sips from Jungwon’s cup like it belonged to him.
Jay leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “That was so nice. But honestly, you guys should’ve seen Jungwon’s face when he was getting shoved into the corner in the bumper cars—by an eight-year-old, no less!”
Jake nearly choked on his ice cream, eyes already sparkling.
“He had that super pinched expression like he was about to write a formal complaint,” Jay continued with glee.
“I swear, I thought you were going to step out mid-ride and shove the poor kid.”
From the other end of the table, Sunghoon barked out a laugh.
“Jungwon? Losing his cool? I’d pay to see that.”
“Ten bucks!” Jake declared with a wide grin, raising his spoon. “I call ten bucks that he gets mad on the next ride!”
Sunghoon slapped the table. “ Deal. ”
Jungwon, nursing what was left of his coffee, raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You guys do realize I’m sitting right here, right?”
“Barely,” Jay said with a smirk, lifting Jungwon’s cup again. “You’re so quiet, you blend in with the background.”
“I hope that coffee poisons you,” Jungwon said flatly, but didn’t stop him.
Across from them, Niki was curled up, head in Sunoo’s lap, completely knocked out, cheeks smushed against Sunoo’s thigh. Sunoo, gently combing fingers through Niki’s hair, shot a warning glance at the group.
“Shhh. You guys are too loud. You’ll wake him.”
“You literally put him in your lap like a Disney princess,” Jake whispered back dramatically. “What did you expect?”
“I expected peace,” Sunoo muttered. “Which clearly I’ll never get when you three are breathing in the same room.”
Heeseung watched it from the side—how Sunoo’s fingers never stopped stroking through Niki’s hair, how Niki’s whole body seemed to melt into the touch like it was the safest place in the world. There was something about it—casual and domestic and warm—that made something tug deep in his chest.
He didn’t know if it was jealousy or longing, but it stung all the same.
His eyes drifted, unbidden, to where Sunghoon sat beside Yeji, laughing at something she was showing him on her phone. Her shoulder bumped into his as she snorted at a meme, and Sunghoon was grinning, eyes crinkled.
That smile. The one that made Heeseung feel like the ground wasn’t as solid as it used to be.
He should’ve looked away.
He didn’t.
But he masked it well, slipping back into the conversation like muscle memory.
“I still say the most chaotic moment was Jake screaming on the Viking like he was in a horror movie,” Heeseung said casually, stirring his straw through the remains of his drink.
“Don’t remind me,” Jake groaned. “I think I left my dignity on that boat.”
“You had dignity?” Sunghoon quipped.
Jay raised his cup. “Gone but not forgotten.”
Everyone laughed again—even Jungwon, even Jake—while Heeseung smiled along, feeling like the only one who wasn’t entirely in on the joke.
The sky had begun to bleed into navy, the last streaks of sunset giving way to scattered carnival lights. Neon signs buzzed softly above game booths, casting colorful shadows over tired faces and half-finished snacks.
The group wandered together down the main stretch, laughter trailing like smoke behind them.
“We have exactly fifteen minutes,” Yeji declared, holding her phone up like a countdown clock. “So if anyone wants to get beat at ring toss again, now’s the time.”
“Not again,” Jake groaned, clinging to Jay’s arm. “My pride’s in enough pain.”
Jungwon was already eyeing a claw machine. “Last round. Winner gets bragging rights.”
“Winner always gets bragging rights,” Sunoo muttered, gently adjusting Niki’s hoodie over his still-drowsy head. “You just want another plushie.”
As they broke off in pairs and threes, scattering like marbles into the closing chaos, Heeseung found himself beside Sunghoon, who tilted his head toward the glowing warmth of a small café nestled just off the main path.
“Coffee?” Sunghoon asked casually, voice light but eyes watchful.
Heeseung nodded without thinking.
They slipped away from the group, unnoticed or maybe just unquestioned. The noise faded behind them, replaced by the quiet clink of mugs and the low hum of a jazz playlist from inside the coffee shop.
The place was cozy—too cozy. Small tables. Dim lighting. The smell of roasted beans and cinnamon. A little too perfect for how loud Heeseung’s thoughts were getting.
They didn’t order right away. Just hovered near the entrance, reading the chalkboard menu like they weren’t stalling.
Sunghoon nudged him with his elbow. “You want the usual?”
Heeseung hummed, distracted. “Yeah… that’s fine.”
But he wasn’t looking at the board anymore.
He was watching the wooden door ahead of them—how it creaked softly when it opened, how it glowed warmly from within, how it promised something simple and dangerous all at once.
Sunghoon stepped forward, hand brushing the edge of the handle. He turned to Heeseung with a familiar, lopsided grin.
“Let’s go?”
Heeseung’s throat tightened. His feet moved.
And he followed. As he always had.
Foolishly. Selflessly.
Chapter 20
Summary:
“You know, with the mini basketball game? I don’t know how you managed to keep up with her. She’s got energy for days, and you were amazing at it.”
Heeseung chuckled, shaking his head, but it sounded distant, muffled to Sunghoon’s ears.
“You’re exaggerating. It was fun, though. She’s got a good shot, I’ll give her that.”
Sunghoon nodded, but it felt mechanical. The weight of the words he was about to speak pressed against him, like a vice squeezing the breath from his chest. “She’s been smiling a lot more these days,” he murmured, the words trembling on his lips, barely audible over the buzz of the café. “Laughing, even. Like… really laughing.”
His fingers traced the rim of his cup, the motion slow, absent, a desperate search for something to cling to. Something solid. Something real.
“It’s different,” he continued, each word coming out harder than the last, a knot forming in his throat. “She’s lighter, like she’s not carrying everything on her own anymore. Like she doesn’t have to.”
The silence swelled, dense enough to drown in. Heeseung didn’t immediately respond, just watched him with that steady, unwavering gaze.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
My voice cracked the silence, but the echo swallowed it whole.
Words bled, and I forgot their start.
Sunghoon stepped into the café, the soft jingle of the doorbell slicing through the quiet hum of his thoughts, a sound so deceptively light, so ordinary, yet it hit him like a punch to the chest.
The warmth inside curled around him, a stark contrast to the coldness gnawing at his insides. The honeyed lights and warm aromas should’ve soothed him, but instead, they sharpened every reminder of what he'd left unsaid.
Heeseung was at the counter, leaning against the polished wood, laughter slipping effortlessly from his lips as he joked with the cashier.
Like always. Like nothing had changed. But everything had.
Sunghoon swallowed hard, his throat tightening painfully. He could taste the bitterness rising in his mouth.
How had so much time passed, and yet nothing between them had moved?
Heeseung had been the first to slow the chaos. The first to make him feel grounded, like the ground beneath his feet wasn’t always about to collapse beneath him. But now, standing there, only a few steps away, the silence between them felt like an ocean. An ocean of words he’d never spoken, of truths he’d never acknowledged.
He clenched a fist in his sleeve, the fabric scratchy and stiff against his skin.
That truth—unspoken, unbearable—pressed against him, suffocating in its weight. It sank into his chest, growing heavier, denser with every passing second. Heeseung waved again, carefree, that same easy smile lighting up his face—unaware, untouched by the storm inside Sunghoon.
Sunghoon should have said it by now. He should have. But instead, he sat at the table, wrapping his fingers around the ceramic warmth of his coffee cup, as though it could steady him, tether him to the ground, keep him from shattering into a thousand pieces.
He forced his voice into something light, something that felt familiar, a mask he wore so well. “I’ve been thinking about Yeji,” he said, letting the words roll off his tongue, testing the waters like they were nothing. Like this was just another casual conversation.
“You know, with the mini basketball game? I don’t know how you managed to keep up with her. She’s got energy for days, and you were amazing at it.”
Heeseung chuckled, shaking his head, but it sounded distant, muffled to Sunghoon’s ears.
“You’re exaggerating. It was fun, though. She’s got a good shot, I’ll give her that.”
Sunghoon nodded, but it felt mechanical. The weight of the words he was about to speak pressed against him, like a vice squeezing the breath from his chest. “She’s been smiling a lot more these days,” he murmured, the words trembling on his lips, barely audible over the buzz of the café. “Laughing, even. Like… really laughing.”
His fingers traced the rim of his cup, the motion slow, absent, a desperate search for something to cling to. Something solid. Something real.
“It’s different,” he continued, each word coming out harder than the last, a knot forming in his throat. “She’s lighter, like she’s not carrying everything on her own anymore. Like she doesn’t have to.”
The silence swelled, dense enough to drown in. Heeseung didn’t immediately respond, just watched him with that steady, unwavering gaze.
And in that silence, everything Sunghoon had buried—everything he hadn’t wanted to face—began to surface.
Because it made him realize just how much she had been carrying. For so long. For them both .
She’s been smiling. Really laughing. Lighter. Free
So why did it feel like a truth he'd ignored for too long? Why did it make his chest tighten?
His mind spiraled faster than he could stop, a flurry of thoughts crashing into one another, too overwhelming to hold onto.
It wasn’t new, this feeling.
It had always been there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for a crack in the foundation to rip through.
The thought had crept in before, hadn’t it?
The part-time job he never took, settling before he even tried.
The brutal practice session when he fell three times, giving up before he could get back up.
The silver medal, the second place that tasted like failure.
Was giving up the only thing he’d ever been good at?
And now—now, as he sat there with Heeseung, the words choking him, his chest tight with everything he hadn’t said, everything he still couldn’t say-
His pulse roared, louder than the world, louder than breath.
Heeseung shifted, barely moving, but Sunghoon felt it.
The air thickened, charged with something unseen, like a current pulling him back before he fell too deep.
Sunghoon let the silence stretch, feeling every inch of it, the weight of his unsaid words pressing down on him.
“I should have done more,” he whispered, the words barely breaking through the thick fog in his chest. “I should have been there more for her. I should’ve seen it. Really seen it.”
Heeseung leaned forward, the movement small but purposeful.
His voice was firm, quiet, a grounding presence.
“Hey,” Heeseung said, his tone steady, calm, but the weight behind it pulled Sunghoon back, just slightly.
“Don’t do that.”
Sunghoon didn’t look up, the pulse in his throat too strong, too fast, to let him focus on anything other than the crushing weight of Heeseung’s steady gaze.
“We’re family now,” Heeseung said, like it was simple, obvious—like the words were enough to cut through all the noise.
He reached across the table, his hand coming to rest on Sunghoon’s, warm, real. It was enough to steady him, enough to make the ache in his chest twist deeper.
“No need to say those things.”
Sunghoon didn’t say anything at first. His chest felt a little lighter, but it wasn’t enough. The weight of the truth—of what Heeseung had just spoken so easily—gnawed at him, hollowing out the fragile comfort before it could settle.
Family .
The word echoed through him, foreign and sharp. It didn’t land soft—it hit the hollow part of his ribs, the space he’d long kept empty.
“You know,” Sunghoon started, barely above a whisper,
“I’ve never really been good at... dealing with things. Feelings, I mean.”
Heeseung hummed lightly, nodding, not interrupting.
Sunghoon swallowed, his fingers curling slightly under Heeseung’s palm.
“Growing up, I... didn’t have much to rely on.”
Heeseung blinked, slow. Processing.
“My parents were busy, always distant. I learned early on how to mute things out. If I didn’t name it, didn’t feel it, then it wasn’t real.”
“I used to sort things into boxes in my head,” Sunghoon continued. “Pain. Fear. Want. I labeled them, shoved them away, told myself they were just noise. Background static. Nothing that could touch me if I didn’t reach for it.”
“You didn’t have to deal with it,” Heeseung murmured, piecing it together. “So you didn’t.”
Sunghoon exhaled.
“I got good at it. Too good. After a while, I didn’t know if something mattered—or if I’d just buried it too deep to feel.”
Silence stretched.
Heeseung inhaled, the slightest shift in his expression.
“I guess... that’s why I never really knew how to handle this.”
“Soulmates.”
The word tasted bittersweet, unfamiliar. It landed wrong.
Heeseung stiffened.
And Sunghoon—he saw it. The flicker. The brief, fragile instant before Heeseung understood .
How could I have been so blind?
The realization pressed into his ribs like a fist, stealing the air from his lungs. It had always been there, hadn’t it? This quiet, lingering truth. He had simply refused to look at it.
Heeseung had stayed. Always.
Sunghoon forced his breath steady.
“I’m…” The words slipped out, barely a breath.
“I’m sorry.”
His throat tightened. He blinked once, twice.
“I should’ve—I should’ve…”
Should’ve let you in .
Should’ve told you sooner .
Should’ve been brave enough.
He looked down. Then back up.
His pulse hammered, his grip tightening around his cup.
“I should’ve—” he tried again, voice raw, uneven.
But this wasn’t a moment to run.
This was the moment to choose him .
“I should’ve told you sooner.” His voice cracked, but he pushed forward.
“I should’ve just—just said it instead of—”
Heeseung wasn’t blinking.
He was watching, eyes locked onto Sunghoon’s face like he could see the words choking him, like he could feel them suffocating him.
Not impatience.
Expectation.
Hope.
Sunghoon inhaled sharply, his fingers trembling around the ceramic cup, warmth useless against the cold inside his chest.
He was one breath away.
Heeseung’s gaze never wavered.
Sunghoon’s breath hitched, his chest tight, every inhale a battle.
Just say it.
Just let it out.
“I should’ve—” he tried again, voice brittle.
His lips parted, the words finally ready, like they had been sitting on the edge of his tongue all his life—
“You’re Heeseung, right?”
The words slammed into him, cutting clean through the fragile hope he'd dared to hold onto.
His breath stuttered, caught somewhere between a gasp and silence.
The warmth of the cup against his fingers was meaningless now.
Gone.
Just gone.
And just like that, the moment—the chance, the words—slipped between his fingers, never to be taken back.
Notes:
.....surprise ♡
Chapter 21
Summary:
“…Who are you?”
His voice was calm, but Sunghoon could hear the edge beneath it—something restrained, something stiff.
The guy’s eyes widened slightly, mouth parting as he scrambled to speak.
“Sorry to interrupt but, uhm—Heeseung-ssi, it’s been so hard to contact you. I’ve been trying for so long, I didn’t think I’d see you—!”
Sunghoon blinked.
A fan? Seriously?
After everything. After that moment, that unraveling, that near-confession—a fan had interrupted?
The disbelief tightened in his throat, nearly unbearable.
And then, for the first time, Heeseung looked annoyed.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
You moved like memory, half-faded and half-alive.
And I burned through every way to forget you
Sunghoon inhaled slowly, steadying himself. His pulse was still erratic, his grip weak, his chest tight with everything he’d nearly said—everything that had been stolen away in an instant.
And then Heeseung loosened his grip.
It wasn’t abrupt, wasn’t careless, but Sunghoon felt it. The loss of warmth, the absence of weight where Heeseung’s hand had been just seconds ago. And maybe it shouldn’t have mattered, maybe it was stupid to even think about, but the cold that seeped into his palm felt too much like an ending.
Heeseung straightened, exhaling, gaze shifting to the stranger standing beside their table.
“…Who are you?”
His voice was calm, but Sunghoon could hear the edge beneath it—something restrained, something stiff.
The guy’s eyes widened slightly, mouth parting as he scrambled to speak.
“Sorry to interrupt but, uhm— Heeseung-ssi, it’s been so hard to contact you. I’ve been trying for so long, I didn’t think I’d see you—!”
Sunghoon blinked.
A fan? Seriously?
After everything. After that moment, that unraveling, that near-confession— a fan had interrupted?
The disbelief tightened in his throat, nearly unbearable.
And then, for the first time, Heeseung looked annoyed.
Not polite. Not indifferent.
Annoyed.
“What’s the point?” Heeseung cut in, his tone sharper now, words clipped.
“ Please, can you just get on with it?”
Sunghoon stiffened slightly—caught off guard by the irritation in Heeseung’s voice. He wasn’t used to it. Heeseung was always calm, always careful, always lighthearted when dealing with strangers.
But now?
There was something else beneath his words.
The stranger flinched at the sudden bluntness, his expression briefly flickering with hesitation before he exhaled, gathering himself.
“I… I’m sorry,” the guy said, steadier now. “I just— well. I wanted to introduce myself.”
And then Sunghoon saw him properly.
He was gorgeous.
Not just good-looking— Sunoo kind of gorgeous.
Sharp features, striking eyes, a confidence in the way he held himself that was effortless, practiced, something that could easily turn heads in a crowded room.
Sunghoon hated that he even noticed.
The stranger took a slow breath, gaze flickering between them, before speaking again.
“…Do you remember seven years ago? At a café?”
Sunghoon’s brows furrowed.
Confusion crept in, thick and slow.
Seven years ago?
What?
But before he could say anything, before he could even fully process the words—
The stranger rolled up his sleeve.
And beneath the folds of fabric, resting against his skin—
A near-identical snowflake.
Sunghoon’s world stopped.
His breath caught, trapped somewhere in his chest, refusing to move.
His fingers stiffened, his pulse roaring in his ears, and suddenly, the cold wasn’t just in his palm—it was everywhere, seeping into his ribs, his spine, his throat, his lungs.
It was the kind of cold that killed.
Sunghoon stared. And stared.
And stared.
Heeseung, on the other hand—
What?
Heeseung’s mind flared white, like lightning, as his gaze snapped between Sunghoon and the stranger. His stomach coiled, tight and cold, like something venomous had taken root inside him.
Just moments ago, Sunghoon had been on the verge of saying it. He’d seen it in his eyes, felt it in the pause between words—that aching, trembling breath right before a confession.
They were about to say it.
That they were—
But now.
Now there was this stranger , appearing like some cruel punchline to a joke the universe thought was funny.
How in the—?
His thoughts flailed, searching for something solid to cling to, but everything slipped through his fingers like water.
The stranger looked breathless, lit up from the inside like someone who’d found God.
“Oh my God,” the guy whispered, voice trembling with something so raw it felt offensive. “So we do match. I—I can’t believe it.”
Heeseung stiffened.
He’s lying.
He had to be.
There was no way this was real. A mark like that? A match that close?
It couldn’t be.
Because Heeseung had already felt it. That pull . That quiet gravity in the room when Sunghoon walked in. That way his chest had burned—not from pain, but from knowing.
He didn’t believe in fate.
But he believed in Sunghoon .
And this—this was an earthquake trying to tear up the ground he’d just started to build on.
Sunghoon hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. His eyes—wide, glassy—were locked on the mark. Frozen.
The stranger exhaled again, rolling his sleeve higher like he was peeling back skin to show them the truth buried underneath.
Heeseung’s breath snagged.
The shape. The patterns. The intricate lines that mirrored Sunghoon’s own.
It was almost identical.
Almost.
And that word screamed inside him.
Because in soulmates, almost didn’t exist. There was no “close enough.” There was only yes or no. Destiny didn’t do maybes.
Still, something sharp and cold jabbed at his chest. A splinter of panic, twisting deeper.
The stranger spoke again, more desperate now, more certain . Like if he said it enough, it would become real.
“I—I was at that café seven years ago. I remember everything. It was this moment, this exact moment, when I first felt it. The pull. The connection. ”
The connection.
Heeseung’s jaw clenched, every muscle in his face pulling tight to hold back what was threatening to break.
He inhaled slowly, too slowly—like if he didn’t measure it, the panic would come rushing in and drown him.
This wasn't happening.
It couldn't be happening.
Next to him, Sunghoon was still frozen—his hand white-knuckled around his coffee cup, unmoving, his pulse a tremor in his throat.
He looked like someone who’d fallen through ice. Staring up at the world from beneath the surface, too stunned to even struggle.
And the stranger kept talking, kept reaching for them with that unbearable hope.
“Seven years ago, I felt it. I knew, even then. I knew that one day, I’d find you.”
The words settled in Heeseung’s stomach like a swallowed shard of glass.
Seven years ago.
The café.
The exact moment he had felt—
No.
His chest tightened.
No.
He wouldn't let himself go there. Wouldn’t rewrite history just because some stranger had walked in with matching skin and a good memory.
That moment, seven years ago, had been his.
“Sorry,” Heeseung said, his voice coming out too thin, too cracked around the edges. “I’m... I’m confused . A-and who are you, exactly?”
The guy blinked, as if he’d only just remembered Heeseung existed.
“Right. Sorry. I—my name’s Jiwon.”
He smiled, crooked and trembling. “Jiwon Kim. I’ve been trying to find you for years.”
Heeseung couldn’t look at Sunghoon. Not yet.
Because part of him was still screaming.
Still holding on.
Still refusing .
Because if this was real—
If that mark meant something—
Then what the hell was he ?
Jiwon stepped forward, his eyes soft now, voice careful, like he was trying not to spook a wounded animal.
“I—I know this is probably a shock,” he said gently, his gaze flicking between the two of them. “I didn’t expect to find you like this. Or for it to be... this intense. But I swear I’ve been looking. For years. Ever since that day. The café. I never forgot.”
Sunghoon gulped, barely audible, his throat bobbing with the motion.
His eyes stayed locked on the two marks—Heeseung's and Jiwon’s—as if staring long enough might undo whatever reality had just sunk its claws into them.
Heeseung couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’m sorry, I just—” he began, the words scraping out of his mouth like they didn’t want to be said. “This doesn’t make sense. We were—Sunghoon and I were... we were just talking about it. About being...”
His voice cracked, and he didn’t finish.
He couldn’t.
Because how could he explain the way Sunghoon’s presence fit into him like a puzzle piece he'd been born missing?
How could he describe the way it felt, to see someone and know, instinctively, without proof, without a mark, without a damn miracle—that they were his?
But Jiwon wasn’t listening to him anymore. His eyes were still on Heeseung.
“Do you want to talk?” he asked softly. “Just us, I mean.”
Heeseung froze. The words didn’t hit all at once.
They landed slowly, like snow on skin.
Light at first.
Then cold.
Then numbing.
Sunghoon didn’t answer.
Didn’t even glance at Heeseung.
Heeseung parted his lips. About to ask again.
But then—
What if…
His fingers curled into his lap, nails digging so deep they left crescents in his skin.
Sunghoon was still silent. Still frozen. Still staring at the two marks like they were matching headstones.
What if I play along?
The thought slid into him like a blade—not fast, not clean. Jagged. Cruel.
Would Sunghoon react? Would he snap out of whatever fog had swallowed him whole?
Would he fight?
Would he choose?
Heeseung’s breath trembled on the way out, chest tight, lungs shallow, like the room had forgotten how to hold oxygen.
Jiwon was still watching. Still waiting. Still clinging to the moment like it was his birthright—like the universe had stamped something on his skin and said this is yours.
And Heeseung.He wasn’t sure what would hurt more.
Playing along, just to see… or realizing that Sunghoon wouldn’t stop him.
Wouldn’t say anything.
Would let the silence answer for him.
Let Jiwon take the seat, the space, the future Heeseung had barely begun to hope for—
Without a single damn word.
Heeseung glanced at him again.
Say something. Please.
Sunghoon blinked.
His fingers twitched, jaw tight, like something inside him was unraveling thread by thread.
He looked between them—Heeseung and Jiwon—and his lips parted, brittle at the edges.
“Oh… I—I’ll wait outside,” he murmured. Voice so fragile it nearly cracked in half. Heeseung flinched.
Sunghoon stood slowly, like he was intruding on his own heartbreak. His chair scraped the floor, a sound that felt like it was splitting Heeseung in two.
Jiwon turned slightly, brows furrowing.
“Is he okay?” he asked, glancing back at Sunghoon’s retreating form.
He walked like someone carrying a wound no one could see—spine straight but eyes lost, shoulders squared like armor that didn’t fit anymore.
He saw the way Sunghoon’s hand lingered on the back of the chair before he left.
Like he was touching something for the last time.
The bell above the café door rang when it opened.
Then again when it closed.
And that was the sound of Sunghoon leaving.
Heeseung’s heart lurched.
Too late.
It felt like he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.
Jiwon sat across from him, smiling—that kind of hopeful smile that should’ve meant something. The kind of smile that carried the weight of promises, all bright teeth and hopeful eyes, as if the universe had just handed him something precious and Heeseung should be happy for him.
But Heeseung couldn’t even bring himself to look at it.
Because the smile, that goddamn smile, was a distant thing in a world that was slowly closing in around him.
It felt like watching a ship sail further and further out to sea, a beacon of warmth and light just beyond his reach, while Heeseung stood on the shore, knees locked in place, drowning in the tidal wave of his own thoughts.
Not just his own ache.
Not just the grief or guilt that gnawed at him like a constant hum in his veins.
Sharp, jagged, and raw—like a knife had been twisted into his chest, and the handle was being pulled with every breath.
Like something was breaking apart inside him, a fracture too deep for his skin to hold. It was like trying to breathe underwater, lungs burning with the weight of it, the pressure squeezing everything out until he could barely feel his own pulse.
Something sunken and breaking.
A scream trying to claw its way out, muffled beneath layers of skin and bone.
A hunger, a yearning, so intense it hollowed him out from the inside.
And he had a feeling it wasn’t his alone.
Jiwon’s smile didn’t even compare to the force of the pull.
It was nothing but an echo, a faint ripple on the surface of the storm that was raging inside him.
Heeseung sat across from Jiwon, tension thick between them.
His mind scrambled to make sense of Jiwon’s words—the pull, the mark, the connection—but none of it added up.
Jiwon, meanwhile, was certain.
"I saw you that day," he said, eyes wide. "At the café near the building. I was auditioning too. I saw your jacket, your expression—it felt like something pulled me toward you."
Heeseung frowned, the memory faint but real. The café. The audition. The jacket.
But Jiwon?
Barely a blur in the background.
“I was so sure,” Jiwon went on. “Then at home, I saw it—my mark. It had changed. It felt like fate.”
Heeseung shifted in his seat.
“What do you mean by that?”
Jiwon leaned in, eager. “The mark, Heeseung. Don’t you feel it? The connection?”
Heeseung’s patience frayed.
He’d heard this part already. The mark. The pull. Over and over.
It was starting to sound like a script Jiwon refused to stop reading from.
Jiwon tugged up his sleeve. The snowflake mark was complete.
Heeseung stared at it, unease prickling at his skin.
This wasn’t what he’d felt with Sunghoon.
Something in him pulled back, instinctively wary.
He didn’t feel the pull Jiwon spoke of. He didn’t feel any connection—just an all-consuming, suffocating pain in his ribs and throat, a crushing ache that felt like it was eating him alive from the inside.
He didn’t care about marks or fate.
All that mattered was the gnawing agony ripping through him.
Jiwon’s voice cut through the haze.
“I know this is sudden, Heeseung, but—please, just give me a chance. I swear, I can prove it. You’ll see that we’re connected.”
Heeseung shook his head slowly, barely hearing Jiwon’s words over the pounding in his skull. His voice came out hoarse, almost too soft, but cold.
“I’m sure you’re wrong. We may have identical marks, but that doesn’t mean we’re... whatever you think we are.”
Jiwon’s eyes widened, a flicker of something—determination, hope—crossing his face. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on Heeseung’s with unwavering intensity.
“ Please. I know this sounds crazy, but I’ve felt this my whole life. I know what I felt back then, I know what this is.”
There was desperation in his voice now. The rawness of his words stirred something inside Heeseung, but it wasn’t enough to break through the crushing weight of his own pain.
Jiwon continued, almost pleading now, “I know it’s sudden. But—please. Just one chance. Let me show you.”
Heeseung barely registered the words. His head was too clouded, too full of this overwhelming, visceral ache. But then Jiwon said something that pierced through the fog, just enough to make Heeseung hesitate.
“You’ve felt that pain for years, haven’t you? Haven’t you wondered why you feel like you’re missing something when you’re not with me?”
Heeseung’s throat tightened, and his chest felt like it might crack open.
Something inside him stirred, something deep and dangerous, a flicker of recognition. His gaze snapped up to meet Jiwon’s, and for the first time in the conversation, there was something sharp and calculating in his eyes.
A dangerous calm settled over him.
“Pain, you say?” Heeseung’s voice was colder now, the words slipping out like a warning. His aura shifted, darkened, as if a storm was about to break.
Jiwon didn’t seem to understand the weight of Heeseung’s shift, but Heeseung wasn’t about to let him off that easily.
He leaned forward, grabbing Jiwon’s arm in a tight grip. He pulled it close, aligning Jiwon’s mark next to his own—examining the two of them with an almost predatory focus.
“Do you feel this?” Heeseung’s voice was a whisper, but it carried an unmistakable edge. A challenge. A threat. A test.
Jiwon blinked, confused, trying to pull his arm back.
“What—what do you mean?”
Heeseung didn’t give him the chance to answer. Without breaking eye contact, he grabbed his coffee cup, the hot liquid still swirling inside. Without hesitation, he dipped his hand into the coffee. The burn stung, but it was nothing compared to the fire in his chest. He never broke eye contact with Jiwon.
The red liquid seeped from his hand, staining his skin. Heeseung could see the shock in Jiwon’s eyes.
“ Are you crazy!? ” Jiwon exclaimed, his voice rising.
Heeseung’s lips curled into a small, dark smile, his eyes flickering with something dangerous.
Maybe I am.
The words didn't need to be spoken aloud. They hung between them, unspoken, just beneath the surface of his smirk.
Heeseung finally pulled his hand back, eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer.
“Didn't think so,” Heeseung said, his voice quiet, but the tension in the air was almost palpable. The words hit harder than any physical strike, and Heeseung’s gaze felt like it was burning through Jiwon’s skin.
The pain that had been gnawing at him in his chest, the ache that had kept him on the edge for so long—it wasn’t Jiwon’s pain to own.
It wasn’t for Jiwon to claim.
The ache was more than just a mark, more than some predestined connection.
It was real, and it was his.
Jiwon’s jaw clenched, frustration flashing across his face as Heeseung’s words sank in. He opened his mouth to speak but snapped it shut, as if grappling with the reality of what had just been said. His hands trembled slightly, the heat of the moment overwhelming him.
“You’re crazy,” Jiwon finally spat, his voice sharp with disbelief, the words cutting through the air like a whip.
The tension in the room felt like it might break, but Jiwon didn’t wait for a response. He stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with a force that made it scrape loudly against the floor. His eyes never met Heeseung’s as he turned away, a storm of emotions flickering across his face.
“I’ll... I’ll figure this out on my own,” Jiwon muttered under his breath, his voice laced with frustration as he stormed out of the room.
The door slammed shut, and the silence left in its wake felt heavier than the noise.
But it still wasn’t the sound he wanted to hear.
Heeseung stood abruptly, the scrape of his chair against the floor barely registering in his ears.
The urgency hit first—an instinctual pull toward the door, toward the mess he had just made. His stomach twisted, nausea curling at the edges, the weight of reality crashing down.
He fucked up.
Big time.
Notes:
putting the ache in the title to use, i'd say
Chapter 22
Summary:
The door slammed open. The frame shuddered.
Jiwon stormed out, jaw tight, eyes sharp and ice-cold.
“Go get him,” he muttered, not slowing. “He’s losing it.”
The door creaked open a second time, more hesitant than violent.
Heeseung stood in the doorway, like the sound had cracked him open.
His chest heaved. His hand hung stiff at his side, blistered and red. Sweat clung to his temple, and his eyes found Sunghoon. Just for a moment.
Heeseung looked like someone caught between apology and collapse. Like guilt had rooted him to the ground.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
I cradled your silence like a vow carved from glass,
Now it grows roots in my lungs every time I try to breathe.
The chime rang, sharp and final.
Sunghoon barely heard it.
Ba-thump. Ba-thump.
His pulse tripped, uneven, before slowing—like his body was bracing for impact, but the hit never came.
He barely felt his own feet carry him outside, barely registered the door pressing shut behind him. All he knew was the crushing emptiness settling in his chest, sinking deeper, consuming everything.
Ba-thump.
A hollow beat, dragging slow and heavy.
He staggered toward the nearest chair, gripping the edges, lowering himself down like his body couldn’t quite hold itself up anymore. His breath was shallow. His mind was loud.
Jiwon. The mark. The snowflake.
A piece of Heeseung, whole and perfect—something radiant. Something complete.
And Sunghoon? He felt it . The inevitability. The distance forming.
His pulse slowed again. Ba-thump.
It was like looking at something complete—something perfect, unbroken, fitting seamlessly into place. Heeseung had always carried warmth, had always been the kind of person who lit up a room, but with Jiwon?
He looked like he belonged.
Jiwon was radiant. Confident, effortlessly bright, wearing fate like it had chosen him without hesitation. And that mark—his mark—matched Heeseung's as if the universe had pressed them together at birth.
And Sunghoon. Sunghoon was just there. Watching. A second too late.
A moment too slow.
His fingers curled into his lap, nails pressing deep. He had been right there . He had been inches away from saying it, from finally giving Heeseung the words he had waited years to hear.
And then—then the universe had stepped in, pulled the moment straight out of his grasp, handed it to someone else.
And now, Heeseung was inside, sitting across from a stranger with his soulmate’s mark.
And Sunghoon was outside.
Alone.
He sucked in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut against the sting. Against the ugly, suffocating thought creeping into his ribs.
Maybe this was his fault.
Maybe he had waited too long.
Maybe he never had a chance to begin with.
The edges of Sunghoon’s vision blurred—soft at first, like ink bleeding through paper.
Then darker.
Then sharper.
He sucked in a breath, pressing his palms flat against the table, trying to ground himself, trying to stop the way his pulse clawed at his throat like it was trying to escape his body. It wasn’t just the shock, wasn’t just the unbearable knot of regret—no, this was worse.
This was knowing that if it were to happen, things would change.
Even if he ignored it, even if he pretended none of this had happened—Heeseung had just met someone with his mark. Someone who had spent years looking for him. Someone who didn’t hesitate, who didn’t falter, who could stand in front of Heeseung and claim him with absolute certainty.
And Sunghoon?
Sunghoon had spent those same years waiting in silence.
What if Heeseung resented him for it? What if he thought—deep down, beneath all the quiet patience—that Sunghoon deserved this?
And what if—
His breath shuddered.
What if Heeseung had already convinced himself it was easier this way?
Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually.
Eventually, wouldn’t Heeseung stop waiting?
His fingers twitched. Panic curled tight in his chest, like wires wrapping around his ribs, squeezing and squeezing—
Then—pain.
A sting tore through his hand, sudden, electric. White-hot, blinding.
“Shit!”
He jerked back, knee slamming into the table. The burn seared through his palm. It wasn’t his.
Not entirely.
His head snapped toward the café, instinct overriding thought. That familiar, phantom heat—sharp and tethered.
Heeseung.
Inside, something crashed. A voice rose.
“What the heck is happening inside—!?”
The door slammed open. The frame shuddered.
Jiwon stormed out, jaw tight, eyes sharp and ice-cold.
“Go get him,” he muttered, not slowing. “He’s losing it.”
The door creaked open a second time, more hesitant than violent.
Heeseung stood in the doorway, like the sound had cracked him open.
His chest heaved. His hand hung stiff at his side, blistered and red. Sweat clung to his temple, and his eyes found Sunghoon. Just for a moment.
Heeseung looked like someone caught between apology and collapse. Like guilt had rooted him to the ground.
Sunghoon’s gaze dropped.
“Your hand—!”
It was already blistering, heat blooming across skin. The sight twisted something sharp in Sunghoon’s gut.
Heeseung opened his mouth but Sunghoon was already moving.
He dropped to his knees beside the bag, fingers diving in like something inside him had broken loose.
The zipper snagged. He yanked harder. It gave way with a harsh sound, metal teeth scraping skin.
His hands plunged into the mess—cold plastic, tangled wires, useless wrappers.
Too slow.
Everything was too slow.
Zippers caught. Contents spilled. The bag tipped, scattering their belongings across the floor.
His fingers shook, frantic and clumsy.
“First aid kit,” he muttered, breath hitching, barely audible.
“You said it was in here—where is it— where —”
The world narrowed to the mess in front of him. Not the ghost-pain flaring in his own palm. Not the press of footsteps nearby. Not the eyes watching.
Only the blister on Heeseung’s hand, still raw in his mind’s eye. Only the rising heat of panic crashing into his ribs.
Fix this.
His hands kept moving, pulling, scattering.
Fix this.
His throat tightened. He didn’t even realize he was breathing too fast.
Fix this. Fix this. Fix this.
He didn’t look up.
Couldn’t.
Because if he did—if he saw Heeseung just standing there , silent, still—he might fall apart.
Heeseung on the other hand didn’t kneel. Didn’t move. Just stood frozen in the doorway, breath caught somewhere between a sob and silence. Like a statue carved out of regret.
His good hand curled into a fist, thumb digging into his palm as if the pain might anchor him.
His mouth opened. Closed again. Too many words and none that would make this right.
Sunghoon was on the floor. Hands shaking. Voice thin with panic.
And he still cared.
Even now. Even after everything.
Heeseung’s throat burned. He took a step forward, guilt heavy in every movement.
“Sunghoon—listen, I—”
“Just wait ,” Sunghoon muttered, not looking up, voice raw and ragged. His fingers trembled over zippers and bandages, the sharp edge of desperation in his tone.
“I’m trying. Just wait, okay?”
Heeseung’s mouth shut again. The words backed up in his chest like floodwater.
So he waited.
And hated himself for giving Sunghoon another thing to carry.
Sunghoon’s fingers pushed past makeup pouches, tangled wires, an extra mic piece—until finally, the cold snap of plastic met his hand.
The first aid kit.
He pulled it out, standing quickly, turning to Heeseung.
Heeseung’s eyes were red, wide, and too open. His lips parted again, unsure, like he was balancing too many truths on the tip of his tongue.
His hand reached out—slow, hesitant, trembling.
Sunghoon stepped back.
A beat of silence.
Then Sunghoon shoved the kit into his chest.
“Sit.”
“They’ll see—there’s people —”
“I don’t care.” Sunghoon’s voice was flat. Not cold—but resolute, like stone pressed under fire.
“Get it treated. Now .”
Something passed between them then. Thick. Heavy. The weight of a thousand unsaid things that neither had the strength to name yet.
Heeseung sat. Slowly. Like each movement hurt more than the burn itself.
He fumbled with the ointment, the tube slipping slightly in his grip as he unscrewed the cap with one hand.
His fingers trembled, the burn on his skin bloomed raw and red.
He tried to wrap the bandage himself—awkward, uneven, the gauze slipping loose.
“Give it,” Sunghoon said quietly, reaching for the roll.
Heeseung hesitated, eyes flicking up. But he handed it over.
Sunghoon’s fingers were sure, efficient. A gentle tug. A careful fold.
He pressed the gauze against the ointment and wound the fabric around Heeseung’s hand like he was memorizing the shape of it, even if he pretended he wasn’t. Each touch was tender, clinical—but beneath it, a slow, aching kind of care seeped through.
“I’d want an explanation after this,” Sunghoon murmured, not looking up.
Heeseung gave a small smile. Uneven. Frayed at the edges.
“Yeah,” he said, almost too soft. “Of course.”
Sunghoon tied off the bandage, his fingers brushing Heeseung’s wrist before he let go.
Then on instinct, or maybe impulse, he rubbed Heeseung’s hand once. A slow drag of his thumb over bandaged skin. Heeseung stared at him like he was the only thing tethering him to earth.
Then Sunghoon reached to put the first aid kit back into the bag.
But he paused.
Something was tucked beside the gauze. A slip of paper.
He felt the edge of it with his fingertips before he pulled it out, frowning.
A beat of silence.
“So, uh—about what happened…”
But Sunghoon wasn’t listening.
His eyes were locked on the page.
His schedule.
Columns once filled with his name now lay scrubbed clean—reassigned or empty.
But it wasn’t just that.
There were signs.
The meeting they’d told him was rescheduled—only it wasn’t.
The way his assignments vanished from the board without explanation.
The way everyone had gone quiet when he entered a room, like they were bracing for impact.
The columns had been scrubbed of his name.
Events once marked under his code were now blank or reassigned. But it wasn’t just that.
Red lines slashed across the paper like someone had tried to erase him entirely.
At the bottom, in bold, blocky type:
REQUIRES IMPROVEMENT. FLAGGED FOR ADDITIONAL ASSESSMENT.
Sunghoon stared.
It was like reading his own erasure. Everything he’d held onto, clawed for, endured.
It had already been fading fast.
Heeseung stepped forward, voice cracking.
“I didn’t know that was in there, I swear—Sunghoon, I wasn’t supposed to—”
Footsteps echoed faintly near them.
Jay and Jungwon stepped in from the open field, blinking against the dark lighting outside the cafe.
Jay rubbed at the back of his neck, looking tired, concerned.
“Hey, we were coming to tell you—it’s really late, you should—”
But he stopped.
Because Sunghoon wasn’t looking at them.
He was already holding the paper. Already staring at it like it had just ripped something out of him.
“What the fuck is this?!”
The words tore through the room like lightning, sharp and sudden.
Jay froze in place. His mouth hung open mid-sentence.
And that was all he needed.
The breath caught in Sunghoon’s chest.
He looked at Jungwon, pleading with his eyes for an answer. Surely, as their leader he could explain?
But Jungwon couldn’t look at him.
And that said everything.
No one moved.
Jay glanced at Jungwon, unsure, but it was Sunghoon who spoke again—his voice hoarse, low, trembling with something closer to betrayal than anger.
“So you knew too.”
Jungwon’s head snapped up.
“Sunghoon, wait, just—”
“You knew .” The words weren’t shouted. That made them worse.
They landed like weight. Like disappointment soaked in disbelief.
Jungwon took a step forward, hands half-raised, pleading.
“I was going to tell you—”
Sunghoon laughed. Dry. Ugly.
“So... so you went to my house because you felt guilty ?”
His voice pitched up, brittle at the edges.
“Was—was that all? Just to relay this? This could’ve been an email , Jungwon! A fucking email!”
Jungwon looked stricken.
“No! It’s not—”
“You—you all chose to delude me,” Sunghoon snapped. “To act like things were fine. Like I still had a place here.”
“Because you do ,” Jungwon said, voice cracking.
“You do , Sunghoon! It’s just—it’s been complicated! The supervisor had control for a few weeks, but he’s gone now, he’s out—”
“Then why didn’t you tell me then ?” Sunghoon’s eyes were glassy now, too bright.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Jungwon pressed his lips together. Tried again.
“It’s just—look, we’re still trying to persuade the upper level to let it go, to reinstate—”
“I don’t want to hear it right now!” Sunghoon shouted, voice breaking clean in half.
His chest was rising too fast. His fists clenched around the paper like it might bleed.
“Since when did you all get to decide my place in the band?” The hurt came out unfiltered now. Bitter and bare. “I didn’t even get a say .”
“I only even knew because I accidentally…” Sunghoon’s voice faltered, his mind racing for the words. He couldn’t finish the sentence, the weight of it choking him.
“ What , you were going to tell me when I’m already kicked out ? After it was too late ?”
His stomach twisted. He almost couldn’t breathe.
And then, in the quiet, he realized—this had always been his fear. It wasn’t just a thought, or some distant possibility. No, it had materialized. It was real.
It had always been there, waiting like a shadow, a whisper behind every meeting, every silent pause. His fear of being pushed out. Erased. Forgotten. All of it, coming true in one awful stroke of paper.
And they’d concealed this? They’d let him keep pretending everything was fine?
His eyes were wild now, his breath coming fast. He was shaking.
Heeseung opened his mouth like he was going to speak, but no sound came out.
Jay, who had been silently watching, stepped forward, his hands outstretched, almost like he was trying to draw Sunghoon back into something solid.
“Sunghoon, hey, just—” His voice was quieter now, more careful. “Just breathe, okay? We can talk about this. It’s not as bad as it seems. We’ll fix it, alright? We’ll fix it. ”
But Sunghoon barely heard him.
They all stood there, watching him. The pity, the shame, the regret in their eyes, all too much, all too late.
Sunghoon’s mind was spiraling. He could feel himself growing paler by the second, his breath shallow and rapid. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought the room might tilt.
The truth was there, right in front of him, suffocating him.
He couldn’t make sense of it.
Was this really it?
This was how it ended. This was what they’d chosen for him.
“Stop,” he whispered, his voice breaking, barely audible. “Just stop. Please.”
Jay stepped forward again, his hand outstretched.
“Sunghoon, I—”
But Sunghoon swatted it away, his face contorting in frustration and pain.
“I can’t. This is too much ,” he gasped, feeling his heart in his throat.
He thought they were here because they actually wanted him. That they cared. That they needed him.
But now, it was like the whole thing had been a lie, something they’d built to placate him, while all the while, this was the truth.
The others were standing behind him now.
Jake. Sunoo. Yeji.
Yeji.
She was standing in the doorway, watching him with wide eyes, her voice soft.
“Oppa?”
Sunghoon couldn’t look at her. His chest ached, too tight. Too suffocating. His body felt too heavy.
“I can’t right now. Please ,” he whispered, almost pleading.
His vision went black at the edges.
He felt himself swaying.
And then he felt it. That crushing pressure. That dark, heavy fog rolling in on him like an avalanche.
He tried to fight it, but the world tilted sideways.
“Sunghoon,” he heard Jay call out.
But it was distant, far away.
And then he heard Yeji’s voice, sharp and panicked.
“Sunghoon?!”
His heart skipped.
The last thing he remembered was the unbearable heat rising in his chest, the burning flames licking at his ribs.
And then, as if from a dream, someone caught him.
He didn’t even feel the floor beneath him as his body gave in.
The flames in his chest were real, burning through him— and then nothing .
Sunghoon’s world went completely dark.
“Sunghoon!”
Yeji’s voice reached him, the last thing he heard before everything went silent.
Notes:
..dw i also cried writing this
Chapter 23
Summary:
Niki blinked, pulled back into the present by the bright hum of the amusement park.
Jay and Yeji high-fived at the target booth, the bell ringing sharp in the air like a warning dressed as celebration.
“Did you see that?” Sunoo grinned, nudging Jungwon’s arm.
“Lucky shot,” Jungwon said, but his voice was distant. Detached. He wasn’t looking at Jay or Yeji.
He was watching Niki.
“You good?”
Niki hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to answer that.
Sunoo shifted beside him, catching the silence, his gaze flickering between them.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
I reach for you through glass, fingers brushing the quiet.
But your face slips away, lost in the echo of water.
One second, everything was flames.
Sunghoon’s voice wavered, raw and uneven, teetering on the edge of something breaking. The sound sent a pang through Niki’s chest. Too sharp. Too thin.
Then, it all gave out.
Sunghoon swayed, breath snagging, eyes wide like he knew, like he felt it coming, but he couldn’t stop it.
His knees buckled.
Heeseung lunged, hands grasping, catching the fabric at Sunghoon’s shoulder. His grip held, but his balance didn’t.
Niki moved before he could think.
He dove in, arms locking tight, holding, steadying as Jake reached in, anchoring them all before the weight could take them down.
He caught Sunghoon’s weight hard against his chest, stumbling slightly under the sudden collapse, his knees buckling for a second before grounding.
The impact knocked the wind out of him, but his arms locked tight around Sunghoon, instinct before thought.
“Shit, Sunghoon —!”
Heeseung followed through with a stagger, reaching as if to help but collapsing to his knees instead, a hollow look flooding his face like he wasn’t even fully present.
Niki’s arm shot out to stop Heeseung from pitching forward too, gripping his bicep as both of them dropped to the ground.
In the background, there was the faint buzz of a phone being snatched—Jay, quick and quiet, yanking it from Jiwon’s hands with a scowl and no words.
It barely registered to Niki.
Because Sunghoon was still trembling in his arms. Not convulsing, not violent, but twitching .
Like his body was still stuck in a memory it couldn’t let go of.
Jake crouched low, breath sharp.
“Is he— how is he?”
Niki’s jaw clenched. “Still breathing.”
“Let me feel.” Jungwon was already beside him, hands trembling slightly as his fingers pressed gently at Sunghoon’s neck, just beneath his jaw. His brows were drawn tight, lips pressed into a line.
Yeji stood frozen behind them, hands clenched near her chest, wide eyes darting between them.
“His pulse is fast, but steady. He’s... exhausted. Burnt out.” The word overwhelmed hovered unspoken in the air.
In the background, Jay’s voice cut through in sharp bursts. He was clearly arguing with Jiwon about the phone, hissing something about privacy and what the hell he thought he was doing.
Niki heard it distantly, like underwater noise, but it didn’t land.
He couldn’t process anything beyond the cold weight in his arms.
The way Sunghoon’s fingers spasmed every so often sent a chill crawling down Niki’s spine. His face was slack. His chest rose, shallow and uneven, like his lungs were still trying to catch up to everything that had just broken.
“We should call someone,” Jake said, his voice rising with panic. “A medic. Someone —”
“No,” Sunoo’s voice cut in, unexpectedly sharp. “He doesn’t want to see management right now. Trust me. That’ll make it worse.”
“But—”
“Jake.” Sunoo’s eyes locked with his, unyielding. “Do you want him waking up in a hospital with corporate breathing down his neck? You think that’s the first thing he wants to see after— this ?”
Jake’s mouth opened. Then shut. Slowly, he nodded.
Yeji stepped forward now, quiet but with purpose, her face pale under the dimmed lights. Her hands were clenched slightly at her sides, but she didn’t hesitate as she moved closer.
“We’re very sorry,” she said softly, her voice trembling but steady enough to reach them. Her eyes darted from Sunghoon’s face to the others.
Then she looked up.
“Can someone give me a phone? I need a flashlight.”
Sunoo blinked at her, brows pinching together. “ Why? What for?”
“I’m a nursing student,” she said, her voice steadier now. “Second year. I need to check his vitals—his pupils, his pulse. The light helps.”
Jake handed her his phone wordlessly.
She flicked the light on, crouched beside Sunghoon, and took a slow breath. Her hands were still shaking, but her movements were careful, practiced.
Heeseung stood nearby, quiet, eyes tracking her every motion.
Yeji leaned in, lifting one of Sunghoon’s eyelids gently, checking the pupil's response. Then she pressed two fingers to his wrist, counting quietly under her breath.
“His pulse is fast but steady. He’s breathing— light, but he’s breathing,” she confirmed.
“Skin’s cold and clammy. His body’s reacting to too much stress at once.”
Jungwon looked up, guilt furrowing his brow. “So it’s not something worse?”
Yeji shook her head gently. “No. I don’t think so. This looks like a stress collapse—physical and emotional burnout. His body’s just shutting down to protect itself.”
She looked up, steadier now.
“If we move now, keep him warm, keep him hydrated, he’ll recover faster.”
Then she looked at Sunghoon again—his lashes fluttering slightly, his breath still shallow but even.
“I’ll ride with him,” Yeji added, quieter now. “He shouldn’t wake up alone.”
Heeseung blinked.
It was slow, like dragging himself up from deep water—like the weight behind his eyes wasn’t just exhaustion, but something heavier, guiltier. His face was bloodless, jaw tight, and for a long moment, he didn’t move at all.
Just stared down at Sunghoon like he was trying to make sense of what his own hands had let slip.
Niki leaned back just enough to adjust his hold.
“Heeseung, hey . Come on.”
Another blink. This time, his gaze lifted—unfocused, but not empty.
“He’s okay?”
“He’s breathing,” Niki said gently. “Help me get him up.”
They moved together without needing more words. Heeseung reached for Sunghoon’s arm, cradling it across his shoulder like something fragile. Niki took the weight from behind, steadying both of them as they rose inch by inch.
Sunghoon’s head lolled slightly, still caught in whatever dark his mind had retreated to.
Heeseung swayed again but Niki caught the shift and braced him with a hand at his back.
“You good?”
“ Yeah. I got him.” But Niki could feel the tremor in his frame, the way his grip clung too tightly to Sunghoon’s sleeve—like letting go might make this all real.
Behind them, the others watched in heavy silence.
Their faces drawn, mostly shadowed beneath caps and masks.
Jay stood off to the side, muttering angrily at someone Niki couldn’t focus on, knuckles still white around the phone he’d snatched from Jiwon.
Jungwon walked ahead, head low, his shoulders tense. Guilt lived on his face too, etched into the furrow of his brows, the way his hands curled slightly at his sides.
Yeji followed behind them all, still holding Jake’s phone with the flashlight dimmed now.
She looked tired too, drawn thin from fear and adrenaline. But when she spoke again, her voice was level.
“We’re all exhausted,” she said, more to the group than anyone in particular. “Let’s just go home.”
Then she glanced at Heeseung. And even in the dark, Niki saw it.
The sadness in her eyes.
A quiet understanding that maybe this collapse hadn’t just been Sunghoon’s.
They reached the car. Niki helped lower Sunghoon into the back seat, Yeji slipping in beside him, already checking his breathing again with one hand on his chest.
Heeseung slid in last, slowly like his body didn’t belong to him, like his mind had stayed somewhere behind.
Sunoo stood by, watching the others move, his eyes flicking to Jungwon.
“Hey,” Sunoo said softly, his voice steady but with a weight of its own. “I’ll drive for now. Let me. Please. ”
Jungwon hesitated, his brows furrowing just a little, as if weighing the offer.
But after a long moment, he finally nodded. “Alright.”
Sunoo gave a brief, almost imperceptible nod in return, turning toward the driver’s seat with the same quiet assurance.
Niki stood there a moment longer, breathing in the stillness of the night. The others were already moving, some speaking in hushed tones, others just standing with their arms crossed, unsure what to do next.
But as the car door shut and Heeseung settled beside Sunghoon, his face pale and unseeing,
Niki felt it.
A weight that hadn’t left yet.
A nagging feeling in his chest, sharp and quiet.
Like he’d missed something important.
Something small, but heavy enough to matter.
How did it start?
The question sat heavy in Niki’s chest, curling into the spaces between each breath.
It wasn’t the first time he asked himself that, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Niki blinked, pulled back into the present by the bright hum of the amusement park.
Jay and Yeji high-fived at the target booth, the bell ringing sharp in the air like a warning dressed as celebration.
“Did you see that?” Sunoo grinned, nudging Jungwon’s arm.
“Lucky shot,” Jungwon said, but his voice was distant. Detached. He wasn’t looking at Jay or Yeji.
He was watching Niki.
“You good?”
Niki hesitated.
He wasn’t sure how to answer that.
Sunoo shifted beside him, catching the silence, his gaze flickering between them before he spoke.
“Things have been kinda weird, huh?”
Jungwon let out a breath that sounded more like a surrender.
“It was bound to happen,” he said, though he was still looking at Niki when he said it. Not smiling. Not exactly sad, either. Like he wasn’t talking about the high-five or the game, or even the last few weeks. The way everything had unraveled and how they’d kept pretending it hadn’t.
And Niki’s stomach twisted.
Because suddenly, he was back there.
Back in that room.
The voices were measured but sharp.
The word termination hanging in the air like a blade barely held back.
Management had seen the cracks forming before any of them had time to patch them up. The tension wasn’t just stress anymore—it was a problem.
And Sunghoon, already under scrutiny, was their easiest target.
Then Jungwon spoke, low enough that only Niki and Sunoo caught it.
“There’s been an update,” he said, his eyes still scanning the park like he was expecting something to go wrong.
“They’re backing off. For now. Said they’re waiting till after the break to review anything.”
“But all eyes are still on us,” he added after a beat. “Especially him.”
His meaning was clear. Sunghoon wasn’t out of the woods.
None of them were.
“With that supervisor finally out, though…” Jungwon’s voice dropped further, like even here, someone might be listening. “Maybe some of the toxicity will go with them.”
But even as he said it, no one looked convinced.
Because poison didn’t leave that easily.
Niki exhaled slowly, gaze pinned to the distant flicker of carousel lights, but his chest stayed tight.
“Still,” he muttered, jaw clenched. “Management’s been sour for months but…” His voice dipped, like the words weighed too much.
“I just can’t believe they’d take that guy’s word over—”
They always believe the version that costs them the least. The easiest answer. The cleanest way to restore order, not truth.
If someone breaks, if someone spirals—it’s more convenient to point at the one already struggling and say, there . That’s the problem. That’s who’s at fault. Never the system. Never the pressure.
Just the one who couldn't take it silently enough.
Niki’s hand curled into a loose fist in his jacket pocket.
“They never really looked at what he was dealing with,” he said finally, quieter.
They just wanted a reason to move on.
“We need to be realistic,” one of the HR representatives said, fingers folded neatly atop the table. “The situation has escalated beyond just internal concerns. The board is considering his termination.”
A silence stretched across the room. Heavy. Suffocating.
Jake was the first to speak, his voice taut.
“That’s ridiculous!” He shook his head, disbelief thick in every syllable. “You can’t—this isn’t even proven yet!”
The rep didn’t blink.
“The allegations alone—”
“They’re just allegations, ” Jake cut in, leaning forward, the air around him sharp with restrained anger.
Niki barely heard them. His thoughts were rushing, spiraling.
There was no Enhypen if they weren’t seven.
Sunghoon was their best visual, yes. But more than that, he was their best friend. His laugh, his dry humor, the quiet understanding he carried between them—it was ingrained in their group like the chords in a song. It wasn’t just about performance or image.
It was them.
Heeseung exhaled sharply, the sound carrying a bite.
“So you’re telling us we’re supposed to sit here and just let this happen? ” His jaw was tight. His fingers curled against the edge of the table like he was holding himself back from flipping it over.
Jungwon was steady. His voice carried none of the sharp edges, but the weight in his tone was undeniable.
“What are his chances?”
The rep paused. “The board is divided. The case needs resolution before any final decisions.”
“And what about the supervisor?” Sunoo snapped, arms crossed, irritation flickering across his features. “Are we just ignoring the fact that he’s the one pulling strings?”
A murmur passed between the reps. One of them shifted in their seat.
“We are looking into that separately.”
Sunoo scoffed, pushing back in his chair. “ Right. Because that’s ever worked.”
Niki stayed silent.
He wanted to say something. Wanted to reach for the words that would make this all feel less like freefall.
But they didn’t exist.
And the reality was closing in.
It had happened before. And now, sitting here, hearing it laid out in front of them, knowing how easily everything could unravel—
It felt like history trying to repeat itself.
Niki blinked slowly, but the weight didn’t lift. His fingers curled around the edge of the chair as his mind drifted—unwillingly, inevitably—back to that night.
Back to the argument. Back to the way Heeseung’s voice had broken against the walls like a storm finally cracking through.
“He was too close to Sunghoon. Everyone saw it,” Heeseung had snapped, jaw clenched tight, shoulders bristling like he was barely holding himself back.
But that wasn’t the beginning. Not really.
Heeseung had just come from a different storm—one that had erupted behind a closed door with Sunghoon on the other side. Niki hadn’t heard the words, but he’d heard enough . The muffled thud of something knocking against a wall. Sunghoon’s voice, fragile and deflecting.
And Heeseung’s, sharp and low like he didn’t trust himself to raise it.
Then the silence.
When the door finally opened, Heeseung stepped out like he was dragging rage behind him—barely leashed. His knuckles were white at his sides, breath uneven, eyes flickering with something that looked too close to panic. Niki saw it. Heeseung wasn’t just angry. He was terrified .
That was when Jungwon had approached.
“Heeseung-hyung,” he said, trying to be steady, calm, the way leaders are supposed to sound. “We need to talk about this before you do something—”
“ Talk ?” Heeseung cut him off, turning on him so fast Jungwon flinched. “That bastard’s been circling Sunghoon for months, and now Sunghoon’s the one breaking? You think talking is going to fix this?”
Niki held his breath from where he stood just around the corner. Not hiding, exactly. Just… not moving. Sunoo was beside him, frozen. None of them dared interrupt.
“We don’t have proof,” Jungwon said, low but firm. “Terminating him without it—it’ll backfire . We need the reports, the testimony, something solid. Please, hyung. Just wait a little longer.”
But Heeseung’s voice cracked again.
“You expect me to be calm ,” he said, almost laughing, “when Sunghoon might be—”
The words choked. He couldn’t say it.
Not out loud.
Not yet.
And that was the moment Niki understood.
Niki’s chest tightened as he watched the silent war play out in his hyung’s eyes. The fear. The fury. The helplessness they were all drowning in.
“I don’t care about termination or what not,” Heeseung muttered, voice low and cold now, all the edges sharpened. “He crossed the line.”
Then his gaze cut across the hall—eyes dark, glassy with something between rage and guilt—and for a second, it landed on Niki. Just for a breath.
And then Heeseung turned.
“I’m dealing with it myself.”
Then he was gone.
Down the hall, into the dark, shoulders set like armor.
It had been almost midnight when they realized he wasn’t bluffing.
He’d gone straight to management.
Safe to say, not one attempt to bring up that topic was made for the next few weeks after that.
His hyungs, his constants, were unraveling right in front of him. Heeseung, the quiet protector who never raised his voice unless it really mattered, was ready to throw everything away just to protect Sunghoon. And Jungwon—their leader—was clinging so tightly to logic, to order, to rules that maybe never protected them in the first place.
They were both right. And they were both helpless.
Niki hated it.
He hated that no one could agree on what to do, that even now, no one could say out loud what they were all thinking:
What if Sunghoon doesn’t come back from this?
What if they lost him, not physically, but in a way that was just as final?
Niki squeezed his eyes shut.
Because the worst part wasn’t just watching Sunghoon fall.
It was watching the people he loved tear themselves apart trying to catch him.
Later that night, after practice, they stopped by the convenience store near the dorm. The others had gone in to grab snacks, but Niki noticed Sunghoon lingering outside, sitting on the curb like the world was too loud.
He walked over without saying much, just plopped down next to him with a bottle of banana milk in hand.
The silence between them wasn’t heavy. It was more like a quiet pocket carved out of everything else. Niki liked moments like this. They didn’t need to talk to understand something was off.
"You ever notice how all the sandwiches in there look the same, but they never taste the same?" Niki asked suddenly, eyes on the store’s bright windows. “Like, you think you’re grabbing egg salad, but it turns out to be tuna. Or worse… that weird corn-mayo thing.”
Sunghoon blinked, caught off guard. Then, softly, he laughed.
Niki smiled.
“It’s dumb, but… sometimes I think people are kinda like that. You think you know what they are. Safe. Familiar. But then you bite into something unexpected and— bam. You’re stuck chewing through stuff you didn’t sign up for.”
Sunghoon glanced down at his hands. “Is this… supposed to be about me?”
“Dunno,” Niki shrugged. “Maybe.”
There was a pause.
Then, softer now, like he was speaking more to himself than to Niki, Sunghoon asked,
“What would you do… if there was something you wanted, but it felt like… maybe you waited too long? Like it’s easier to just let it go, but you still think about it anyway.”
He didn’t look up. Just stared at the drink in his hands—one of those strawberry milks he always grabbed without thinking.
“It’s kind of like when you buy something and forget about it,” he said. “Then later, you find it at the back of the fridge. You check the date and it’s right on the edge. Not bad yet, but not fresh either. You stand there wondering if it’s worth the risk, or if you’ll regret it later.”
Niki blinked, caught between the odd metaphor and the way Sunghoon’s voice had gone unusually quiet.
“Well… if you think it’s worth it,” he said slowly, “why not? I mean, I’m up for new things.”
He paused, tipping his head, tone light but uncertain.
“Unless… this isn’t about me, is it?”
Sunghoon let out a laugh—low, a little too quick.
“Yeah,” he said, smiling just enough to hide whatever that had been. “I don’t think it’s about you at all.”
Niki leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky that was more light-polluted than starry.
He didn’t say what he was thinking—that all of this scared him more than he let on. That watching Sunghoon drift felt like waiting for a tide to pull someone too far out. That he wished things were simple, like in the stories where heroes always made it in time.
He looked at his hyung, quiet beside him.
And that squeeze in his chest returned—tight and stubborn.
So, when Niki heard of the break, he looked at his hyungs knowingly.
Yeah. They weren’t going to let him go without a fight.
Not Heeseung, who’d already stormed off to management like he was ready to rip the whole system apart with his bare hands.
Not Jungwon, standing at the eye of the storm, shoulders stiff from the weight of keeping everything from shattering.
Not Sunoo, whose silence lately had turned sharp, watchful—like he was trying to spot every crack before it split.
And not Jake and Jay.
Jake, who didn’t always speak first, but when he did, his words landed hard and honest.
Who’d looked management in the eye and said, “You think we don’t see what’s happening?”
And Jay, always composed, always poised—but Niki had seen the tremble in his fingers when they first heard what had happened.
He wasn’t composed now. He was furious. Like he'd drawn a line, and whoever crossed it would have to answer to all of them.
No one was backing down.
No one was pretending anymore.
Sunghoon wasn’t just someone on their team. He was family.
And the idea of losing him—to this, to silence, to some quiet kind of unraveling—
It didn’t sit right with any of them.
Maybe that’s what love looked like sometimes. Not perfect words or grand gestures—just the quiet refusal to let someone fall alone.
Niki’s eyes followed Yeji and Sunghoon as they moved slowly down the hall, her arm steady around his waist, his steps uneven but trying.
He looked too pale under the harsh hallway lights—like the color had been drained from him, piece by piece. And still, he didn’t complain. Still, he held himself like someone who didn’t want to be a burden.
Niki’s heart twisted.
They wouldn't give up. Not on him. Not on each other. No matter how long it took.
No matter how many times they had to drag each other back from the edge.
Because maybe this was the promise they never said out loud.
That even if the world turned cold, even if everything else fell apart, they’d stay.
Notes:
lol hello! this chap been sitting a while so hehe post for now. finals hell week is done! exam is next. JHAHSH wish me luck T_T
Chapter 24
Summary:
“Oppa?”
He turned slightly, blinking through the lingering haze of sleep.
“You’re awake.” Relief softened her features. “I’ll get you some water.”
She was up before he could say anything, her movements small but quick, as if she’d been waiting for this—waiting for him to wake up, to not look so pale, to not feel so far away.
She returned quickly, pressing the glass into his hands. He felt the cool weight settle between his fingers, grounding him.
“Thank you, Yeji.”
She nodded, but her gaze stayed on him, searching, worried.
“I’m sorry for worrying you.”
He barely finished speaking before she moved. Her arms slipped around him, careful but firm, holding on like she was trying to convince herself he was really here.
“I was scared,” she murmured, voice small, pressing just a little closer. “You didn’t wake up for so long.” He hesitated, hands hovering, unsure whether to pull back or hold on.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The tide pulls at my ankles, whispering of places I cannot reach.
But the horizon stays silent, swallowing every call.
It’s been a while since he last dreamed so vividly.
In it, absence is not just a feeling. It is suffocating. It grips him, cold and boundless, folding around his ribs like something alive. There is no ground beneath him, only an emptiness that stretches into infinity.
He looks down.
Ripples. Black water, shifting, silent, endless. It distorts his reflection, twisting it into something unfamiliar—something unsteady, barely holding together. Then, suddenly, it pulls.
He flails.
The weight of it drags him, cold seeping into his bones, tightening around his limbs. His breath punches out of his chest, sharp and panicked, but there is no air. No sound.
Just sinking.
He fights it. His fingers cut through the surface, reaching—grasping for anything .
Then he looks up.
Stars.
Shimmering, distant, winking at him like secrets untold. They flicker, their glow faint but growing, moving closer. For a moment, he thinks they are coming to him, answering his silent call for help.
But then one streaks across the sky, brilliant and burning. A shooting star. His soulmark.
His fingers twitch, yearning. His chest tightens, desperate.
Then the star falters.
It trembles, light sputtering, bending. Until suddenly, violently, it crashes down.
He watches the fire swallow it whole. Watches it burn out before it ever truly touches the earth.
And something inside him breaks .
It is his dream, but it feels so real. Like a warning. Like his chances, crushed.
Like himself, crashing down.
Sunghoon stirred, the heaviness of sleep pulling at him, but something warm pressed against his side. There’s fabric, warmth near his shoulder. The lights are dimmed, the ceiling familiar.
Then there, at his side, was Yeji.
She clung to him the way she had when they were kids—when exhaustion had caught up to them after hours of playing, tumbling onto the same bed without a second thought. Back then, her grip had been light, easy. Now, there was hesitation.
It had been years .
The thought settled deep in his chest.
His breath wavered.
“Oppa?”
Her voice was quiet, tentative, like she wasn’t sure if he was fully awake.
He turned slightly, blinking through the lingering haze of sleep.
“You’re awake.” Relief softened her features. “I’ll get you some water.”
She was up before he could say anything, her movements small but quick, as if she’d been waiting for this—waiting for him to wake up, to not look so pale, to not feel so far away.
She returned quickly, pressing the glass into his hands. He felt the cool weight settle between his fingers, grounding him.
“Thank you, Yeji.”
She nodded, but her gaze stayed on him, searching, worried.
“I’m sorry for worrying you.”
He barely finished speaking before she moved. Her arms slipped around him, careful but firm, holding on like she was trying to convince herself he was really here.
“I was scared,” she murmured, voice small, pressing just a little closer. “You didn’t wake up for so long.” He hesitated, hands hovering, unsure whether to pull back or hold on.
Sunghoon’s fingers twitched slightly as he looked down at his arms. There was a strange hum beneath his skin, something electric and distant, like static clinging to his nerves.
He flexed his hands once, slowly, watching the way his muscles responded—a sluggish ripple before settling.
Yeji moved beside him, the mattress shifting under her deliberate ease. The faint clink of glass against her fingers cut through the quiet, grounding, familiar.
He flicked his gaze up just in time to catch the way she was watching him—half amused, half assessing, as if she was taking notes on the way his body stirred back to life.
“You know,” Yeji starts, shifting beside him, eyes glinting with something too close to amusement, “this reminds me of that tournament.”
Yeji hums, reaching for the pitcher on the nightstand. The water streams into the glass, steady and clear, but there’s a mischievous tilt to her tone as she continues.
“Remember? When you were convinced you weren’t sick? Absolutely insisted you were fine even though you were practically melting into the ice?”
Sunghoon exhales through his nose, gaze fixed on the water filling the glass.
“That was—”
“A disaster. ” She cuts in cheerfully, setting the pitcher down with a light clink. “You barely made it through your routine before stumbling off like you had no idea what a straight line was.”
He presses a hand over his face. “I don’t remember it being that bad.”
Yeji snorts, picking up the glass and handing it to him. “Oh, please. You looked two seconds away from passing out, but you kept brushing everyone off like, No, I’m good. Totally fine. ” She mimics his past voice, exaggerated and smug. “Meanwhile, your coach was trying to figure out if you needed medical attention or an exorcism.”
Sunghoon swallows the medicine, the bitter taste lingering even after he chases it down with another sip of water. He doesn’t react much—just exhales slowly, rolling the glass between his palms.
Yeji watches him for a moment before shifting, settling beside him, her presence quiet but firm.
“My stubborn brother,” she murmurs, nudging his arm lightly. There’s fondness in her voice, but also something deeper—something laced with worry.
She hesitates.
Then, softer.
“Talk to me?”
Sunghoon presses his lips together, gaze flickering downward.
Yeji fidgets slightly, fingers twisting in the hem of her sleeve.
“I-I don’t think this…”
She exhales, searching for the right words.
“It’s not just being tired, is it?” Her voice dips, tentative.
“What’s bothering you?”
The question is simple. But it feels heavier than it should.
Sunghoon blinks, his fingers tightening just slightly around the glass.
He could wave it off. Could say it’s nothing.
But Yeji knows him.
And somehow, that makes it harder to lie.
Sunghoon exhales, fingers pressing against the cool glass in his hands.
“I hope you don’t hold it against them,” he mutters, voice rougher than he intends. “But… yeah.” His shoulders stiffen. “I’m upset they kept it from me. That they—” He swallows hard, gaze flickering downward. “That they hid the possibility of me losing my place in the group.”
The words taste bitter. Saying them out loud makes it more real.
He lets out another breath, shaking his head.
“Honestly? I want to strangle them all. ”
Yeji laughs, but it’s a pained sound. Not because she disagrees, but because she understands.
“You and your dramatic threats,” she teases, but the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Her fingers toy with the hem of her sleeve, eyes lowering slightly.
But wasn’t it hypocritical of him anyway?
To feel betrayed when he had seen this unfold before.
Because this feeling—the slow erosion, the suffocating doubt—heeseung knew it too well. Had carried it just before he went down. Just before Jiwon.
Sunghoon had watched it happen, had seen the way it gnawed at Heeseung from the inside out. And yet, despite everything—
He still hadn’t seen it coming for himself.
Yeji shifts beside him, fingers curling slightly against her sleeve, voice softer now, like she’s carefully unwrapping each word before giving it to him.
“But it doesn’t mean you deserve that any more than anyone else…”
Sunghoon looks up.
Yeji shifts, her gaze flickering downward, her brows knitting slightly as she looks at his side.
Sunghoon stills.
Then, slowly, she lifts her hand.
He flinches before she even touches him, instinct firing first, muscles tightening as if he could somehow will her not to see.
But Yeji doesn’t hesitate. Her fingers hover just above his shoulder, her voice quiet but firm.
“I was right,” she murmurs. “Your mark is always and indeed so beautiful when it’s filled out.”
His stomach twists.
Panic spikes fast, sharp, rattling through his chest before he can smother it.
Yeji exhales, leaning back slightly. “I already treated Heeseung’s hand,” she says, tone softer now. “So you can rest a bit better.”
Sunghoon stares at her, blinking slowly.
“How did you—”
Yeji tilts her head, eyes sharp despite the warmth in them. “When I saw Heeseung going down with you, I had a hunch.”
Something tight coils in Sunghoon’s chest.
He opens his mouth, but before he can even attempt to form a defense, Yeji hums knowingly.
“And you just proved it.”
Sunghoon groans, pressing a hand over his face.
Of course she figured it out
Sunghoon slowly lowers his hand, eyes flickering toward Yeji.
There’s something unspoken in the way he looks at her—an apology sitting heavy in his gaze, though the words don’t leave his lips.
Yeji doesn’t need to hear them to understand.
She sighs softly, pressing her lips together before speaking. “Does Heeseung know?”
Sunghoon’s throat tightens. His fingers twitch slightly against his knee.
He doesn’t meet her eyes when he whispers, “N-no one does.”
It’s barely audible. Like admitting it makes the weight of everything real—makes the unraveling feel less like a slow pull and more like an inevitable collapse.
And suddenly, it’s too much .
All the cracks that had been stretching inside him, the quiet aches he had ignored, the suffocating dread of what was coming—it all crashes down, full force, relentless.
He shakes his head, his breath coming uneven now.
“But what now?” His voice wavers, barely holding together. “I can’t— I can’t go, I—”
The words stick. His fingers curl against his knee, breath hitching.
I’m scared.
He doesn’t say it, but it’s there. In the way his voice falters, in the way his shoulders tense, in the way his chest tightens painfully, unbearably.
I don’t want to leave them.
I don’t want to get replaced.
Yeji doesn’t wait for him to force out the rest.
She moves—gently but firmly, her arms slipping around him, grounding him before he can spiral further.
Her hold is careful, warm.
“Shh,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead lightly against his shoulder. “You don’t have to think about that right now, okay?”
Sunghoon barely realizes he’s shaking. His breath comes shallow, sharp.
Yeji tuts quietly, rubbing slow circles against his back.
“You’re here,” she whispers. “You’re not going anywhere. I won’t let you.”
Sunghoon lets out a choked breath, his fingers clutching weakly at the fabric of his sleeves.
When Sunghoon wakes again, the house feels different. Still, settled. The kind of silence that stretches long, untouched, like the aftermath of something unspoken.
He pushes himself up, rubbing a hand over his face before padding toward the kitchen.
A note sits on the counter, the paper neatly folded, Jungwon’s handwriting unmistakable.
We went back to the dorms to give you space for now.
Sunghoon exhales slowly, his thumb brushing over the edge of the note.
Soft footsteps pull his attention, and when he looks up, Yeji is standing at the doorway, hair slightly tousled from sleep, voice warm but quiet.
“Jungwon oppa specifically requested you rest more today,” she murmurs, stretching her arms above her head. “Oh, and Sunoo left some snacks on the table in case you were craving anything.”
Sunghoon nods absently, reaching for one of them, turning it over in his hand.
The silence lingers.
He admits, quietly, to himself. He misses them.
Sunghoon leans back against the couch, phone in hand, the dim glow of the screen casting faint shadows across his face.
He scrolls.
Jungwon had messaged him—probably checking in—but Sunghoon ignores it, feeling just a little rebellious. He wasn’t in the mood to be reassured, to be told to rest, to pretend everything was fine.
Instead, he skims through their status updates. Enhypen’s promotions, the usual buzz.
And, of course, the bashers.
Nothing new. Just the same tired criticisms—his flaws, appearance-wise, the nitpicking that never really stopped.
Nuh-uh.
Before he even registers the movement, his phone is plucked right out of his hands.
“Hey!” Sunghoon protests, eyes snapping up as Yeji clutches the device to her chest like she’s protecting a national treasure.
She pouts. “I did tell you to rest, not to scroll, oppa.”
Sunghoon exhales through his nose, irritation barely surfacing before something else catches his eye. A notification.
Jungwon.
His stomach drops.
Yeji sees the realization hit him and grins—far too smug for his liking.
“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, groaning as he slumps back against the couch. Getting called out by his sister? Embarrassing.
But Yeji is already moving, grabbing the sheets and tossing them over him with practiced ease.
“C’mon, c’mon, here’s the blankets.” She tugs them up to his chest before heading toward the AC remote. “I’ll turn up the air so you can rest easy. And don’t forget your medicine if your head still hurts!”
Sunghoon sighs dramatically. “Yes, Mom .”
Yeji giggles, satisfied.
The next day, after Sunghoon was done helping out in the garage, after waving to Yeji as she walks to school, he sits down on the couch, exhausted. He checks the notification on his screen to see a stream of messages.
He clicks on it absentmindedly.
It was his bandmates. It was the gc that they talked about before. He’s been added and apparently, the messages were filled with ridiculous cat memes from the internet since early morning.
From Niki, nonetheless.
🦮 jakeywakey: NIKI. IT IS 3AM.
🔥 j4ywalker: Can you PLEASE stop waking up the entire block?
🦮 jakeywakey: We can hear the video before you even click it.
☀️ sunburnedniki: Okay but this chat is so DRY rn. Like??? Drought levels???
🌸 sunoysideup: It is literally nighttime, Riki.
🔥 j4ywalker: Yeah. It’s called sleeping. Maybe look into it.
☀️ sunburnedniki: Okay but I need to say something and I swear it’s important—
🐾 wonnieyourhoney: Is it?
☀️ sunburnedniki: Ok so like. Why does this lamp look kinda judgmental? It’s just standing there all tilted and weird, like it knows my secrets. I can’t look at it without thinking it’s silently judging me for my choices—
🔥 j4ywalker: One more word and I am banning you from talking ever again.
☀️ sunburnedniki: 🙁
Sunghoon laughs, scrolling through it again.
🌸 sunoysideup: But speaking of quiet… what you think Sunghoon is doing rn?
🐾 wonnieyourhoney: Hopefully resting?? Like he SHOULD BE.
🔥 j4ywalker: Yeah sure, like I didn’t see Won messaging his sister NON-STOP asking if he was asleep or aggressively scrolling.
🐾 wonnieyourhoney: I WAS CHECKING IN.
🦮 jakeywakey: Okay but. What if we just add him?? I mean… after everything… secrets aren’t rlly… you know. A thing anymore.
🔥 j4ywalker: Won, yes or no?
🐾 wonnieyourhoney: …Yeah. Add him.
Now to the present, he does feel some peace knowing they did care about him.
☀️ sunburnedniki: SO. How much did you scroll back?
🔥 j4ywalker: Please ignore everything you just saw.
☀️ sunburnedniki: OR don’t. Did you laugh at the cat memes at least?
🐾 wonnieyourhoney: Do we need to kick Niki out?
🦮 jakeywakey: No, bc he refuses to leave. We’ve tried.
☀️ sunburnedniki: My soul is bound to this chat.
🔥 j4ywalker: Anyway. You good?
🧃 heezzzzzu: [Seen]
He bites his lip, Heeseung’s silence not going unnoticed.
Sunghoon changed his nickname to 🐧 hoonli
🐧 hoonli: I’m fine. But anyhow, Niki, you got to listen to them.
☀️ sunburnedniki: Yes, hyung 😔
🌸 sunoysideup: Oh, and NOW you listen?
☀️ sunburnedniki: …Because you don’t have that authority vibe.
🌸 sunoysideup: I AM OLDER THAN YOU??
🔥 j4ywalker: I fear for the day Sunoo gets serious revenge for this.
🌸 sunoysideup: Whatever. Glad you’re okay, Sunghoon.
🦮 jakeywakey: Yeah, for real. We didn’t wanna crowd you, but—just wanted to check in.
🔥 j4ywalker: Okay, but like. Maybe don’t all swarm him at once? You might overwhelm him.
🐾 wonnieyourhoney: Jay says, after literally adding him here.
🔥 j4ywalker: Okay but that was situational.
☀️ sunburnedniki: Anyway, now that you’re here, rate my cat memes.
🐧 hoonli: …No
Closing the gc, Sunghoon then proceeds to a lone message.
It’s from Heeseung.
👤 Heeseung: hey… just checking in. I hope you’re doing well.
The message sat there, uncomplicated, but the weight of it was palpable.
A second message came in, following too quickly for it to be just an afterthought.
👤 Heeseung: I didn’t want to pile on earlier. Figured everyone would want to talk first.
Then another.
👤 Heeseung: I was going to message before this, but. Yeah. I don’t know.
The hesitation was clear.
👤 Heeseung: If you need space, I get it.
👤 Heeseung: But also, if you don’t—if you want to talk. I’m here.
A pause, the typing indicator flickering on, then disappearing. Like he was second-guessing himself.
👤 Heeseung: I mean. Not just for that. For everything.
Sunghoon exhaled, thumb tapping lightly against the side of his phone. Heeseung’s texts sat on the screen, careful but weighted, like he was balancing on the edge of saying something more. Sunghoon could practically feel the hesitation—like Heeseung was fighting the urge to just drop a well anyway, hope you’re good and disappear.
Instead, he let his fingers type.
🐧 hoonli: You think too much.
👤 Heeseung: …Is this how you comfort people?
🐧 hoonli: Yes. You should feel honored.
👤 Heeseung: Wow. Thanks.
🐧 hoonli: But yeah. I get it.
Another pause. Sunghoon stared at the screen a little longer than necessary.
🐧 hoonli: And for what it’s worth… I’m sorry too.
The typing bubble flickered on, then off. Then again. Then gone.
Sunghoon huffed a small laugh to himself.
🐧 hoonli: Wow. You really hate when I say things seriously, huh?
👤 Heeseung: I don’t hate it. I’m just…
👤 Heeseung: You doing this makes it feel real.
Sunghoon blinked, processing that one.
🐧 hoonli: Deja vu, isn’t it?
👤 Heeseung: Yeah. You bet.
Sunghoon stared, then narrowed his eyes slightly.
🐧 hoonli: Don’t do that psychic thing. Creepy.
👤 Heeseung: You were thinking too loud.
🐧 hoonli: Not a thing.
👤 Heeseung: A little bit a thing.
🐧 hoonli: Right. Next you’re gonna tell me you can sense my aura or whatever.
👤 Heeseung: Your aura is mildly threatening .
🐧 hoonli: Good.
A pause, then another message.
👤 Heeseung: But really. Are you okay?
Sunghoon flexed his fingers slightly, rolling his shoulders like he could shake off the weight of the past few days with the motion alone.
🐧 hoonli: That’s a loaded question.
👤 Heeseung: I know.
🐧 hoonli: But if it makes you stop staring at your screen like you’re waiting for me to say something more… yeah. I’m okay.
Sunghoon thought for a moment, then added—
🐧 hoonli: I mean, relative to what okay means.
👤 Heeseung: Ah. So, still a liar.
🐧 hoonli: Still an overthinker.
👤 Heeseung: Guess some things don’t change.
Yeji stepped inside, shaking off the evening chill, the soft rustle of her jacket breaking the quiet. Her hair was wind-tossed, cheeks pink from the cold, and the white of her uniform—pristine but slightly creased—spoke of the long day behind her.
She was tired. Not just the kind sleep could fix, but the kind that settled deep, in the spaces between responsibility and exhaustion.
Sunghoon was waiting, standing like he'd been listening for her steps. And for the first time in a long while—he smiled. Not the polite, practiced one he gave the world, but something softer. Real.
Yeji paused, something flickering in her gaze. The weight in her shoulders lifted, just a little.
"Things went well, I hope?"
He hummed in response—quiet, steady. And when he reached for her bag, she let him, feeling just the slightest ease in her breath as his smile lingered.
Notes:
this is it folks. break ends and dun dun dunn yall prolly pieced together whats gonna happen next hehe.
(lol im still figuring out how to add pics in ao3 but eh anyway ill try it another day).
Chapter 25
Summary:
Heeseung’s gaze lingered before flickering toward the door as it clicked open.
Jinwoo stepped inside, eyes scanning the room in a slow sweep.
Jay glanced up first.
“Hey,” he greeted, casual, but Jinwoo didn’t return the sentiment.
“Is everyone here?” Jinwoo asked instead.
“Jungwon’s still in his room,” Jake answered.
“I’ll get him,” Sunoo offered, already moving down the hall.
Jinwoo exhaled, adjusting the sleeve of his jacket.
“This won’t take long.”
Jungwon arrived moments later, his arms folded, his stance firm. He looks at his soulmates, glancing back at him, acknowledging his presence. Though the redness in his eyes is not going unnoticed.
Jinwoo adjusted his collar, the fabric stiff beneath his fingers. The suit was familiar, expected. But sitting at this table, surrounded by members dressed in sweatpants and oversized hoodies, made him feel starkly out of place.
The air around him wasn’t loud, but it was cold. Restrained. Like something ready to snap. It was the aura he’d send off his way the moment he walked in the dorm.
Jinwoo doesn’t know if he wants to sink into the floor or throw himself out the window.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They paint my mind in black and white each time,
While all I wanted was to live in kind.
Sunghoon stood by the window, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze drifting across the house from where he sat. The worn walls, the faded corners, the places he’d leaned against for years without a second thought. Now, he was tracing them with his eyes, like he was collecting them one last time. His suitcase waited by the door, packed and ready.
Outside, the van had already pulled up, its engine a quiet hum under the stillness of the house. He watches as the driver puts the window down, signalling him, and he glances back.
Across the room, their mother sat at the kitchen table. She rarely said much anymore. Although there were moments where she would give a questioning gaze. Probably because of the change. But her gaze was steady, following his every move with the quiet kind of observance that had always been there, even when words weren’t.
Sunghoon met Yeji’s gaze, steady but weighted.
“Just take care of yourself, okay?” she said, her voice gentle but firm.
She glanced toward their mom, then back at him, “She’ll be okay. I’ll take care of her. So don’t worry.”
Sunghoon nodded. He trusted her.
But a knot sat heavy in his stomach, pulled tight like a fraying thread.
Yeji caught it.
She reached into her pocket, her mouth curving into a grin.
“Here,” she said, holding up a small penguin keychain. “When you miss me, you’ve got him. His name’s Pogo.”
Sunghoon let out a laugh under his breath.
“ Pogo ?”
“Yes, Pogo,” she said firmly, pressing it into his palm. “Don’t lose him.”
His fingers closed around it. The knot eased, just a little.
Then, without thinking, he pulled her into a hug.
“Thank you, ” he said quietly.
She squeezed back, “You’ve got this.”
As he stepped outside, the cool air met his face.
He paused, casting one last glance at the doorway.
Yeji stood there, hands on her hips, watching him.
“Hey,” she called. “Don’t do that worried-face thing. I told you, I’ve got this. You just go do your thing now, okay?”
Sunghoon blinked, caught off guard, then gave a crooked smile. He gave the keychain a little squeeze.
And then he turned, heading toward the van.
The dorm was alive with its usual rhythm. The TV chatter mixing with the clinking of mugs, the steady buzz of a phone vibrating on the coffee table. Jay and Jake were sprawled on the couch, phones in hand, scrolling aimlessly through memes to keep things light.
Jake suddenly paused, squinting at the screen before snorting. "Oh this one. What hafen vella? "
Jay nearly choked on his drink, snickering.
"You didn’t even need to try. That’s literally just your voice. "
Jake groaned, pushing him away with a laugh.
"Shut up ."
Across the room, Heeseung sat back, one arm draped over the chair’s edge, fingers absently tapping against his phone case. The table beside him held stray wrappers and a half-empty glass. Near the edge, untouched despite the mess, sat a small potted plant was Sunghoon’s. Its leaves stood vibrant against the clutter.
Heeseung’s gaze lingered before flickering toward the door as it clicked open.
A sharp gust of air slipped through before vanishing. Jinwoo stepped inside, eyes scanning the room in a slow sweep.
Jay glanced up first.
“Hey,” he greeted, casual, but Jinwoo didn’t return the sentiment.
“Is everyone here?” Jinwoo asked instead.
“Jungwon’s still in his room,” Jake answered.
“I’ll get him,” Sunoo offered, already moving down the hall.
Jinwoo exhaled, adjusting the sleeve of his jacket.
“This won’t take long.”
Jungwon arrived moments later, his movements composed but tense. His arms folded, his stance firm. Not outwardly defensive, but still has an edge to it. He looks at his soulmates, glancing back at him, acknowledging his presence. Though the redness in his eyes is not going unnoticed.
Jinwoo adjusted his collar, the fabric stiff beneath his fingers. The suit was familiar, expected. But sitting at this table, surrounded by members dressed in sweatpants and oversized hoodies, made him feel starkly out of place.
Niki was next to Sunoo, arms crossed, fidgeting slightly, but Sunoo remained deadly still, eyes locked onto Jinwoo’s nametag like he was willing it to crumble under sheer force.
Jay and Jake weren’t speaking, weren’t reacting but their silence held a new level of suffocation. No amused quips, no tension-breaking remarks. Jake leaned a bit to Jay, saying something inaudible, and he looked away.
Though, of course, not to forget.
Heeseung sat back, deceptively relaxed, fingers loosely curled around his phone. The air around him wasn’t loud, but it was cold. Restrained. Like something ready to snap. It was the aura he’d send off his way the moment he walked in the dorm.
Jinwoo doesn’t know if he wants to sink into the floor or throw himself out the window.
“Comeback’s near,” he started, voice steady.
“No significant issues, everything’s been smooth.”
A pause.
“But the amusement park incident. There are… a lot of questions. ”
He would’ve flinched if not for the amount of professionalism injected to him for years at the shift of their gaze. The silence tightened even further, the sinking feeling growing, turning numb. He sees Niki bite his lip, a problematic expression.
Heeseung didn’t react outwardly, but Jinwoo’s eyes flickered toward him. Toward his hand on the table, the one healing. Sensing his gaze, Heeseung raised a brow, just slightly. A quiet, pointed warning before tucking it at his side.
Jinwoo swallowed, adjusted his stance.
“Well not that answering it is the top priority, of course.”
Sunoo let out a slow breath, arms crossed, gaze sharp.
“Then why does it feel like you need a script for it?”
Jinwoo sighed.
“They want confirmation. Facts. Details. The kind of data that tells them what people expect to hear—not necessarily what happened.”
Jay scoffed, pushing off the couch, frustration simmering beneath his stance.
“Expectations aren’t reality.”
“No,” Jinwoo admitted. “But they shape it. And right now, the industry isn’t just looking at the incident. They’re looking at the group. What sells, what doesn’t, what needs adjustment.”
Niki frowned, shaking his head slightly, brows furrowed. “Then if we’re okay, then… why?”
Jinwoo inhaled, hesitated, like he was weighing his words.
“They don’t want to break the group, just reshape it. Make it... safer to sell.”
The air in the room grew heavy, suffocating in a way that silence made worse.
Sunoo exhaled, voice cutting through like ice. “That’s a sanitized way of saying they want to dilute us.”
Jinwoo tensed slightly, gaze flickering between them. “That’s all I’m allowed to say.”
Jake sighed deeply, shifting in his seat, fingers tapping against his knee. “Can’t they just let it go? Seriously, it’s our personal lives. Man, give him a break .”
Jay leaned against the counter, shaking his head, exasperated.
“It’s not like the company hasn’t turned a blind eye before. When the three of us couldn’t perform because of an ankle injury, they adjusted the choreo, kept things running. So why can’t Sunghoon be let off for once?”
Jay ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, frustration threading through his voice.
“This isn’t just about adjustments or optics. Sunghoon is one of us. What we are. ”
He shook his head slightly, gaze flickering toward Jinwoo.
“And ever since we debuted, it hasn’t been smooth sailing for any of us. We’ve pushed through injuries, exhaustion, insane schedules and not once has the company treated it like a crisis. Not when we had to adjust performances last minute, not when three of us could barely stand on stage because of ankle injuries.”
Niki nodded slightly, arms crossed, absorbing the words in quiet agreement.
Sunoo sat still beside him, fingers curled against his knee.
“So why now? Why is this where they draw the line?”
Jinwoo inhaled, adjusting his stance, his fingers pressing briefly to the table’s edge before pulling away.
Jake drifted toward the window, drawn by a sound from outside. He pushed the curtain aside just enough to peek through. Below, a black van rolled to a quiet stop at the curb, headlights briefly illuminating the edge of the drive before dimming.
“He’s here,” Jake said softly, almost to himself. His fingers lingered on the windowsill, tense. For a moment, he just stood there, watching in silence as a figure emerged from the vehicle.
The door creaked open.
Sunghoon stepped inside, the cool air of the evening slipping in behind him before the door settled back into place.
His gaze swept across the room, taking in the familiar faces. Jinwoo’s eyes met his first. Then Jungwon, who had been half-turned toward the window, startled slightly at the sound of the door. He straightened up too quickly, like he hadn’t expected Sunghoon to arrive so soon. His fingers fidgeted at his sides before he forced them still.
“Uh—” his voice came out thinner than intended. “Jinwoo here has been briefing us on the updates regarding the comeback.”
“And… uhm .”
He faltered, just slightly, eyes flicking toward the others for some kind of silent reassurance. Sunghoon caught the way the air in the room felt just a little too taut, everyone just a little too aware of what had already been said before he walked in.
Jinwoo stepped in smoothly, filling the gap.
“Hello, Sunghoon,” he said, polite but measured. “Hope you recharged well. I… apologize for poorly updating you and for all the mismanagement happening.”
Sunghoon didn’t respond, llet the words settle, glancing at all of them impassively before finally offering a small nod in acknowledgement.
“Okay,” Sunghoon said. His voice was quiet, even, holding no trace of anger but still enough presence to make the tension shift slightly.
“I appreciate it. But can I enter the doorway first?”
Niki startled, jumping up to hurriedly push the door shut the rest of the way. Jake let out a breath at that as his lips twitched, awkward.
Heeseung didn’t move though. He was simply watching, gaze settled fully on Sunghoon.
As Sunghoon stepped further into the room, Jay and Jake scrambled up from the couch, clearing the space like the shift in atmosphere had jolted them into motion.
Jay gestured toward the seat, voice a bit hesitant. “ Y-you can sit here.”
Sunghoon barely glanced at him in acknowledgment before lowering himself into the seat, movements unreadable. No one really knew what was going through his mind about all of this.
Like a weight finally dropped, Sunoo cleared his throat, voice softer than usual.
“Do you want tea? Or… anything?”
Sunghoon exhaled, barely a shift in his expression as his gaze moved to him.
“Tea sounds nice.”
Sunoo stood quickly, almost too quickly, and disappeared into the kitchen. The silence that followed stretched thin. Jinwoo coughed, as if trying to clear more than his throat.
“Well, since you’re here…”
The teacup landed on the table with a soft clink, steam curling up into the stale tension of the room. Sunghoon took it without a word.
For a moment, no one spoke.
He sipped slowly, eyes lowered, posture loose but unreadable. There was stillness to him. Not calm exactly, but self-contained, like a closed book no one dared to touch. The warmth of the tea seemed to be the only thing he acknowledged.
The others watched him in silence, the way one might watch the sky before a storm.
Then, after what felt like too long, the cup met the table again. The dull thud cut through the air, louder than it should have been.
Niki flinched. Jungwon’s shoulders stiffened.
The cup didn’t break.
Sunghoon’s fingers slid away.
He looked up, gaze landing nowhere in particular and yet, somehow, on everyone.
“And?”
The edge in his voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough. He didn’t look away, scanning Jinwoo up and down, then flicking his eyes toward the rest of them. Calm. Expectant. Waiting.
“Go on.”
His voice was quieter now, drawn out, carrying a weight far beyond the simple request.
Jay’s eyes were on him, sharp behind his usual calm. He’d always thought of Sunghoon’s silence as a kind of stillness—never passive, just composed. But now it was different. This quiet didn’t feel like poise. It felt like numbness. Like the space around him had turned too still. Too cold.
Heeseung shifted then, stepping forward slightly, a glance exchanged. A subtle signal.
Jinwoo inhaled, adjusting his stance.
“I apologize again. I know omitting things wasn’t ideal.”
Sunoo, standing behind the others, gripped the back of a chair as if grounding himself. He studied Sunghoon’s face—searching for some flicker of understanding, a twitch of the jaw, a softening around the eyes. But there was nothing. Just the steady rhythm of someone waiting for answers, as if nothing anyone could say would surprise him anymore.
Jungwon, still stiff in his seat, opened his mouth—but nothing came out at first. His throat worked, like the words had to claw their way up.
“As a leader…” he started, quiet. “I’m sorry for not telling you.”
He drew in a breath, hands clenched at his sides. The silence pressed against his ribs.
“I thought—thought we could patch things up before it got worse.” His voice cracked faintly on the last word, then steadied. “But… well.”
Jake, who had been watching quietly from the corner, squinted slightly. Sunghoon’s eyes hadn’t moved. Not toward Jungwon. Not toward anyone in particular. And that somehow made it worse. Jake couldn’t tell if it was disappointment—or nothing at all.
Then suddenly, Jungwon stood. The scrape of the chair legs against the floor startled the others, and before anyone could speak, he bowed. Full, deep, and still.
Sunghoon tensed slightly, blinking.
“Jungwon, no need…”
But Jungwon didn’t lift his head. Not right away. His back was rigid, his form trembling only barely—but the tremble was there. A quiet defiance against collapsing under the weight he clearly carried.
A beat passed. Then another.
Sunghoon sighed, rubbing his temples, his voice breaking through the stillness again.
“Look, I get it. It’s been a shock to me, too.”
Then, his lips curled—not in malice, but something more tired. A slant of exasperation, thinly veiling the heat behind his words.
“It was very, very idiotic of you all to ever think I wouldn’t be interested in fixing my own problems.”
Before Jungwon could react, Sunghoon’s hand snapped forward, fingers catching the younger’s ear in a swift, merciless pinch.
“Ow—ow, ow!” Jungwon yelped, jerking back, but Sunghoon didn’t let go right away.
Two more screams followed—Jay and Jake dropping like dominos, practically crumpling from their standing positions straight onto the floor.
“Fu—” Jake barely got the word out, squeezing his eyes shut as a sharp jolt of pain shot through him.
Jay clutched his own ear instinctively, gritting his teeth.
“Oh my god—you could’ve warned us!”
Niki and Sunoo both visibly flinched, eyes darting between the chaos and Sunghoon’s face like it held the answer to when it would stop.
Heeseung, the only one who hadn’t moved, let out a slow, long-suffering breath, one hand rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Sunghoon finally released Jungwon’s ear, his hand falling back to his lap.
And then, just slightly, his lips curled into a small entertained smile.
Sunghoon exhaled sharply, the sound sharp in the stillness. He shook his head, leaning back slightly, gaze sweeping over the room.
Jay was still on the floor, grimacing, hand half-raised like he couldn’t decide whether to get up or keep clutching his ear. Jake was rubbing his own, muttering something incoherent under his breath as though friction could erase the sting. Jungwon had straightened up but was hunched slightly, glowering down at his feet, face flushed—not from embarrassment, but something closer to bruised pride.
And Niki. Niki stood apart from the rest, arms crossed, brows slightly furrowed. His eyes were fixed on Sunghoon—not in challenge, not in fear, just… lost. Like he was trying to figure out where the older boy stood now. Like he wasn’t sure if Sunghoon was still the same person who used to make fun of him for sneaking snacks late at night.
Only after a long pause did Sunghoon speak.
“Well, that’s what you get,” he said finally, tone dry, but laced with something harder to place—exasperation, maybe, or fatigue buried under bravado.
“Sending me into a heart attack in the middle of public property, no less. Seriously. No wonder things got rushed and cancelled last minute.”
The tension that had once gripped the room had loosened slightly but it hadn't left. The laughter that might’ve followed on another day didn’t come. No one refuted him. Because they knew.
Then, slowly, Sunghoon turned his gaze toward Jinwoo.
It wasn’t sharp, but it hit just the same.
Like cold water poured down his back it was sudden, sobering. Jinwoo didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, but the impression he left on Sunghoon was a quiet one: not hostile, no. But it lingered. Like a damp imprint on clean fabric that wouldn’t quite dry.
Sunghoon’s voice steadied.
“I know you’ve been itching to get a word in to management,” he said, words precise.
“And I appreciate it. I do. You’re the only one who’s tried to speak up for us when things got ugly.”
A pause. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee—once, twice—then stilled.
“But still,” he said. “Please. Do better.”
His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. The disappointment in it was quieter than anger but heavier.
“I know this isn’t easy for you, either. You’re juggling higher-ups, schedules, the PR hell of it all. I see that. We all do.”
He exhaled again, this one quieter. His gaze dropped—not in shame, but in restraint. Like he was being careful not to look too long at anyone in particular.
His fingers twitched, curling slightly in his lap, pressing into the soft fabric of his sweatpants. Not tightly. Just enough to ground himself.
“I—”
He swallowed, his throat working hard against the sudden dryness.
Another breath. His fingers curled tighter.
“I don’t think I can handle another scare like this.”
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The confession sat there, bare and raw, echoing in the silence that followed.
Jake blinked, shoulders stiffening like the words had landed somewhere deep in his gut. His mouth opened slightly, then shut again, unsure of what to say.
Jay’s brows knit together. He looked away, like the weight of Sunghoon’s honesty was something he wasn’t ready to face head-on. Not yet. But he felt it. God, he felt it.
The silence that followed didn’t suffocate this time. It sat —like a heavy coat draped over all of them. Not ignored. Not dismissed. Just… fully felt.
Then, Heeseung moved.
At first, it was small—just the shift of his weight, the twitch of his fingers brushing against the hem of his hoodie. He hesitated, glancing toward Sunghoon as if asking without speaking.
Sunghoon didn’t look up. But he didn’t push him away either.
That was enough.
Heeseung crossed the room quietly and sank onto the couch beside him. It was like settling into something fragile—like he knew even the wrong breath might tip the balance. He sat with care, not hesitation, but reverence.
His eyes flicked to Sunghoon’s profile. His jaw was tight. His clean grey shirt hung smooth over his frame, unwrinkled, pristine as always—irritatingly so, really. Like everything had stayed perfectly in place except the person wearing it.
Heeseung’s hand moved slowly, then rested on Sunghoon’s shoulder. Warm. Solid. His fingers curled, just slightly.
Not forceful. Not desperate. Just there. A touch that asked nothing, offered everything.
“I’m sorry,” Heeseung said quietly.
There was no waver in his voice, but it was full—like the words had gathered weight on their way out. Not just guilt, but care.
Sunghoon exhaled slowly. He still didn’t look at him.
“No more hiding?” he murmured.
Heeseung huffed a soft, breathy laugh. No amusement in it. Just exhaustion.
“No more,” he promised. His throat ached. “Absolutely.”
In that moment, Heeseung didn’t let go. He stayed there, close— where he’d wanted to be all along.
Jinwoo, sensing the shift—how something had settled, even if just slightly—looked between Jungwon and Sunghoon, reading the lingering emotion in their postures. His eyes paused on Jungwon’s lowered head, then flicked back to Sunghoon, who finally looked up to meet him.
Their eyes locked. No fury. No warmth either.
Just a quiet, unreadable calm that felt like standing at the edge of something deep—where even still water hides its depth.
“Thank you for the update,” Sunghoon said, his voice steadier than before. “You can come by another time. I’d like to rest more, if that’s okay.”
Jinwoo nodded once. He rose slowly, adjusting his sleeves with a subtle stiffness—like the motion helped him hold together what remained of his composure.
“Sure,” he said, voice polite.
Then, at the door—fingers curled around the handle, halfway to stepping out—he paused.
The silence wrapped around him, unsure whether to let him leave yet.
And then, softer—something almost unguarded:
“Thank you for giving me another chance.”
His voice dipped, the formality cracking at the edges.
“I—I will try to do better.”
Sunghoon didn’t speak right away.
He simply looked at him, gaze unreadable but unwavering. If Jinwoo had been waiting for forgiveness, he didn’t receive it with words.
But Sunghoon didn’t look away either. And that, maybe, said enough.
The weight of trust—once clean, then shattered, now carefully pieced back together—pressed like a stone against Jinwoo’s ribs.
He nodded again, almost a bow, then stepped out. The door clicked softly behind him.
He exhaled on the other side, a tremble in his breath that he didn’t bother to hide this time.
Inside, Sunghoon leaned back slightly, eyes lingering on the faint blur of Jinwoo’s figure behind the frosted glass. Gone now, but not entirely.
The room was quieter, but it didn’t feel empty.
Jay and Jake still hovered awkwardly near the couch, unsure of their roles—half in retreat, half waiting for permission to breathe.
Sunghoon glanced at them, his voice light but no longer as sharp:
“Come closer.”
The tone was casual, but it wavered slightly at the edges. Not confident. Not cocky. Just… tired.
Jake hesitated, rubbing the side of his face with a wince.
“My ear still burns, Hoon.”
Jay scoffed under his breath, elbowing him.
“Shut up. Just go already.”
And with a sigh, he trudged toward the couch beside Jake, like reluctant kids ready to face the principal—but the warmth in the room had shifted.
Sunghoon looked at them then. Really looked at them. At Jay’s furrowed brows, the still-damp corners of Jake’s eyes, the small guilty tremble in Sunoo’s lips.
And then, without looking, he felt Heeseung’s hand still resting on his shoulder. Still there. Still warm.
He closed his eyes briefly.
“So…” Sunghoon murmured, eyes opening again. “I’m still here.”
The words weren’t dramatic. Weren’t meant to be.
But something about them pulled Niki’s gaze up. Quietly, instinctively.
“I’ll need a few more details,” Sunghoon continued, softer now. “But with the gist of it… a story for another time.”
He didn’t press for explanations. Not yet.
Jungwon didn’t respond. His head remained bowed, hands clenched tightly in his lap, knuckles pale, guilt etched into every rigid line of his body.
Niki, shifting near the armrest, glanced between them, then asked, hesitant:
“But, Sunghoon-hyung… are you really okay now?”
Sunghoon inhaled through his nose, the motion slow, his chest rising and falling with deliberate effort.
A pause. Then, a faint smile tugged at his lips. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I will be,” he murmured.
He needed to be.
His eyes dropped briefly—to the hand still resting gently on his shoulder. Heeseung’s fingers hadn’t pulled away.
Sunghoon turned slightly, and when his eyes met Heeseung’s, his breath caught.
Heeseung’s were glassy. Tears clung stubbornly to the corners of his lashes, held back by will alone.
Around them, the others shifted—Jake rubbing at his jaw again, Jay avoiding eye contact, Sunoo breathing in carefully, like he didn’t trust the weight of his own chest.
They were all trying to hold it together.
And then, Heeseung broke.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice fraying like paper soaked in water. “It wasn’t mature of me. To—” He paused, swallowing hard.
“To think pushing through alone was the better answer. To hold back when I should’ve—”
His voice faltered again, cracking open mid-sentence.
But before the spiral could take him, Sunghoon leaned in, pressing his forehead gently to Heeseung’s shoulder, grounding him.
“It’s okay, hyung,” he said softly, voice firm but kind. “It’s okay…”
Heeseung nodded faintly, his grip tightening around Sunghoon’s arm like he was anchoring himself there.
Sunghoon looked up, eyeing the others.
“What are you waiting for?”
Niki didn’t need to be told twice. He dropped onto the couch with all the subtlety of someone starved for touch, wrapping his arms around Sunghoon like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Sunoo slid in next, quieter but just as sure, wiping Heeseung’s tears away with the sleeve of his hoodie, no hesitation.
Hadn’t it been so long since they last gave each other comfort?
Niki nestled closer, clinging to Sunghoon’s side with a stubborn grip. His mind raced, but his body remembered this. This unspoken closeness, the way their warmth always felt like enough.
Heeseung sniffled, trembling slightly, lips pressed tightly together as if to hold himself in.
Jay didn’t say anything, but his tears glinted in the low light, hands clenched tightly on his knees as if that alone could keep him still.
Then Jungwon.
He hovered, stuck in place, gaze still locked downward. His fingers opened and closed, fidgeting with invisible guilt.
“I—I don’t think it’s appropriate,” he whispered. Voice small. Cracked.
Like he wasn’t just afraid of being forgiven.
He was afraid he didn’t deserve it.
But Jake had already stepped toward him, hand reaching gently.
“Come on,” Jake said softly, tugging him forward.
“You do.”
Jungwon didn’t move at first—not even when Jake tugged gently at his sleeve, coaxing him forward. His limbs felt too heavy, like guilt had settled deep into the joints. The others were already gathered close, warmth bleeding from one shoulder to the next like something they’d almost forgotten how to share.
He stood there, frozen in that space just outside of belonging.
Then, slowly, he allowed himself to be pulled in.
Sunghoon looked up the moment he approached. Their eyes met briefly, unreadable—but not cold. Without a word, Sunghoon’s arm opened just enough to make room.
And when Jungwon leaned in, Sunghoon held him.
The contact was gentle. Unassuming.
But it landed like a blow.
His breath hitched—tight in his throat. He didn’t sob, didn’t speak, but the way his shoulders tensed and then sagged betrayed something raw, something unbearably human.
Mere months ago, this would’ve been a dream—a comfort just out of reach, the kind of warmth that lived in rehearsal breaks and quiet hotel rooms, fleeting and imagined, never quite his to hold.
Now, it felt heavier. Like returning to a home he feared he no longer deserved.
A dull ache stirred in his chest, slow and unrelenting.
Then—beside him—Jay’s hand found his. No words, no dramatic gesture. Just a squeeze, firm and trembling, shared between fingers laced together tightly.
A silent reminder: He wasn’t alone in this.
Jungwon didn’t lift his head. Couldn’t.
Sunghoon’s arm never left his shoulders.
Over again, Jungwon couldn’t imagine how he could have failed so miserably.
Notes:
sorry for the wait! life made me catch up to it and yayy i survived exams like sunghoon!
summer is here so more updates MUAHHAHAHA missed yall guys (abstaining from ao3 was a bitch)
and i oop- BAD DESIRE IS GOING TO BE OUT IN A FEW HOURS GUYYSSS I CAN'T WAIT I LOVE IT (Helium too, been on repeat since teaser)
Chapter 26
Summary:
Someone cleared their throat. Mr. Baek, most likely. The one with the glasses and the steel-lined voice.
“We’re here to talk about the pause. The process. And what comes next.”
The silence after that line sat like fog across the table.
Sunghoon nodded once. “We’re listening.”
Mr. Ko leaned forward, folding his hands.
“We’ve given this situation considerable thought.”
Jungwon could already feel the knot in his stomach begin to turn.
“Sunghoon,” Mr. Ko continued, “your personal dynamic complicates the narrative we've cultivated. The lack of a visible soulmate bond—especially in this climate—is becoming a problem.”
Oh.
So this was the angle they were going for.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
If silence stings, then I’ve worn it proud,
A quiet boy in too much sound.
Jungwon had cried in the middle of the room.
So had the others, though that didn’t make it any less humiliating.
He hadn’t planned to. Hadn’t felt it coming. But the weight of everything, the pressure, shame, exhaustion split him open before he could put a hand up to stop it.
And it stayed with him. That sting of being the leader who broke first.
He was supposed to be the steady one.
Sunghoon had only said, “We’ll talk about it eventually. But for now, focus on the comeback.”
It wasn’t cold. Just clean. Practical . A line meant to keep them moving forward.
And it worked. At least, it kept Jungwon’s body moving—though his mind stayed stuck somewhere else entirely.
He dreaded facing management. The idea of sitting across from them, explaining what happened, what didn’t, what still hurt—it made his hands clench without him realizing.
They all went to their rooms.
Jake and Jay didn’t leave him alone for long.
They slipped in quietly, like they already knew sleep wouldn’t come.
They didn’t say much. Told him to rest. That it was okay. That he wasn’t alone.
But the quiet in the room felt too loud.
It wasn’t choking anymore.
Just… buzzing.
A kind of tension he couldn’t shake, no matter how tightly he pulled the blanket around himself.
And still, his thoughts circled back to Sunghoon.
That hug.
It had come without warning—sudden, bracing. Like stepping out into cold air.
At first, it felt like it would make things worse.
Like it was just another layer of pretending. Another wall built in the shape of closeness.
But it hadn’t been that.
Simple in a way that disarmed him. Like something had been decided—without discussion, without explanation.
And he didn’t know if that made things better or worse.
Shouldn’t the guilt still be sharper?
Shouldn’t it still catch in his chest, the way it had yesterday, and the day before that?
But now it was just heavy.
A quiet kind of pain, pressed deep into his ribs. No edges. No warnings.
Just… there.
Jake stirred beside him. His voice was thick with sleep.
“You still awake?”
Jungwon didn’t answer.
Jay moved too, shifting slightly on the other side. His voice was calm. Unshaken.
“It’s okay. We’re right here.”
The words lodged somewhere in Jungwon’s throat.
He swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to keep you out.”
There was a pause. Then Jake’s hand reached out and found his arm in the dark.
A light touch. Nothing dramatic. Just there.
“We know.”
Something inside Jungwon let go.
His breathing slowed.
And when he finally closed his eyes, the darkness didn’t feel so sharp anymore.
Morning came gently.
The guilt was still there—settled deep, like something that would take time to dissolve.
But so were they.
Their presence lingered like warmth from sunlight slipping through a window.
Not overwhelming.
Just… steady.
When he sat up, Jake was still curled beneath the blanket, one arm flung out like he’d been holding on to something even in his sleep.
“Just a minute,” Jake mumbled, voice buried in the pillow.
Jungwon smiled, faintly.
He got up slowly, careful not to disturb the calm that had wrapped itself around the morning.
Jay followed behind him, quiet as ever.
Then Jungwon stepped into the kitchen—
And stopped.
Sunghoon was standing by the stove.
For a moment, Jungwon genuinely thought he was hallucinating. That exhaustion had finally tipped into delusion.
But no.
Sleeves rolled to the elbow, hair slightly messy, stirring something over the stove.
And whatever it was—
It actually smelled good.
“You’re cooking?”
The words left before Jungwon had a chance to soften them.
Sunghoon looked up, briefly. Barely a glance. Then back to what he was doing.
“Yeah.”
Jungwon blinked, brow furrowing as he glanced toward the crooked calendar by the fridge.
“But… isn’t it my turn?”
Jay, already seated with a mug in hand, didn’t even look up. He just reached out and tugged Jungwon by the wrist.
“Just sit,” he said.
Like the decision had been made hours ago.
Still half-asleep and unsure how they got here, Jungwon let himself be guided. His legs moved slower than his thoughts, his body lagging behind the sudden change in atmosphere.
He blinked once. Then again.
Sunghoon was at the stove.
And beside him—naturally, effortlessly—was Heeseung.
They didn’t speak, but moved like they’d rehearsed this a hundred times. Heeseung grabbed trays, passed bowls, wiped a drip from the counter before Sunghoon even turned to see it.
Jungwon watched them, something folding and unfolding in his chest.
The rhythm between them was wordless. Synchronized.
Like two parts of something that had once been whole.
It was comforting.
And a little strange.
Across the table, Niki squinted at the steam curling from the pot.
“I’m surprised you didn’t serve your ramyeon,” he said, eyes sliding from Heeseung to Sunghoon like he was trying to catch something.
Sunghoon set the pot down with a soft clatter, expression unreadable.
“As if I’d let you all suffer through that again.”
He nodded toward the trash bin—already filled with empty containers and sad leftovers cleared out earlier that morning.
Niki scratched his neck, grinning. “Yeah. That’s fair.”
The tension eased a little. Still there, but lighter now.
Sunghoon nudged Heeseung with his elbow. “Spoons.”
Heeseung handed them over—too fast.
One slipped, clinked hard against the table before he caught it mid-fall.
Sunghoon smirked. “Still got that butterfingers thing, huh?”
Heeseung rolled his eyes. “I do not .”
“You do,” Sunghoon said, spinning a spoon between his fingers like it meant nothing. “It’s always worse when you’re distracted.”
The heat climbed Heeseung’s neck before he could stop it.
“I’m not distracted .”
Sunghoon hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t press. Just gave him a knowing glance, casual, fleeting—
And turned back to the ice cream like he hadn’t just poked a bruise.
Heeseung pivoted so fast you’d think the fridge had personally called his name.
Jay squinted. Leaned toward Jake.
“Did he just panic?”
Jake blinked, hair a mess, eyes still adjusting. “ Think so.”
Sunoo, mid-crunch on something delightfully artificial, chimed in with a casual sigh.
“He definitely did.”
No one said more.
Sunghoon didn’t ask. Just kept plating.
Then, in the lull, as he placed the last dish on the table, he said—
“So. What did you all do while I was gone?”
Jay hesitated, glancing around the table.
“We cleaned?”
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow.
Jay’s tone stayed level. “Not all at once. Just… little by little. Someone would start something—wipe a counter, take out the trash. Then someone else would follow. It wasn’t really a plan.”
Jake nodded.
“I alphabetized the spice rack.”
Jay turned to him.
“Still don’t know why you did that.”
Jake shrugged. “Felt like something I could control.”
“There are literally five spices,” Niki muttered, unimpressed.
Jake pointed at him. “ Exactly.”
Jay leaned back, gaze softening as he looked at the spread. “We didn’t talk about it. But yeah. Everyone just… kept moving.”
No one filled the quiet that followed.
The stove clicked off. Steam curled upward. Sunlight streamed in through the window in gold streaks, catching on the bowls, the glass, the curve of Sunghoon’s wrist.
Jungwon sat with his hands in his lap. Fingers curled in.
Sunghoon finally sat down.
Jay glanced over, half a smirk playing at his lips.
“No pressure, but I am officially retiring from cooking duty now.”
Jake frowned. “You cooked once.”
“And we lived,” Jay replied. “ Gracefully.”
Niki leaned forward, skeptical. “You put frozen mandu in the air fryer. ”
“And it was golden-brown,” Jay said, gesturing broadly. “History will remember me kindly.”
Heeseung reappeared, a glass of water in hand and his dignity half-repaired.
No one brought up the fridge.
Jake yawned loudly and slumped into his seat, hair going in three directions, a distinct patch of pillow creasing his cheek.
Niki stared. Then pointed.
“Jake.”
Jake blinked. “What.”
“You’ve got drool. ”
Jake wiped at his mouth. Missed.
“Other side.”
“Left.”
“No— my left .”
Jake groaned. “ Why are you like this?”
“Because you make it too easy,” Niki said, smug as ever.
Jay sipped his coffee with all the calm of a man resigned to chaos. “Go shower before you offend the food.”
Sunoo pushed a plate toward Jake. “Take this with you. Maybe the steam will help.”
Jungwon finally laughed.
Jake stood, grumbling all the way to the bathroom. “I hate all of you.”
Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, watching the door close behind Jake.
Jake had barely been gone a minute when the unmistakable sound of something colliding with tile echoed from the bathroom.
“ OW — holy —okay, I’m fine!”
Jay and Jungwon flinched at the same time.
Jay set his mug down like he’d just aged three years.
“ Every time.”
“He does this every time, ” Jungwon echoed, but the corner of his mouth lifted.
From the table, Niki didn’t even look up. “Ten bucks says he slipped on his own shampoo again.”
“I heard that!” came Jake’s voice, slightly muffled through the door. “It was the corner of the sink!”
Sunoo giggled into his hand, a curl of steam rising between him and the food.
Sunghoon, still cool as ever, leaned back in his seat, one brow raised. “You really all fall apart without me, huh?”
Niki pointed a spoon at him. “You’re like a dad. Gone two weeks and the kids start stealing from vending machines and naming dust bunnies.”
“I’m not denying that,” Jay said under his breath.
Heeseung snorted. Quiet. But the warmth in his expression hadn’t faded since Sunghoon walked in.
Jungwon caught it again—how Heeseung kept looking over. Subtle glances that weren’t quite stealthy, always a second too long to be casual.
Like he was trying to memorize something that wasn’t supposed to be gone in the first place.
Heeseung didn’t speak much now, but his hands did—refilling Sunghoon’s cup before he even noticed it was empty. Adjusting the table runner so it didn’t touch the hot pot. His foot bumped against Sunghoon’s under the table once, and he froze—then recovered so awkwardly that Niki squinted at him.
Sunghoon only nudged him back like nothing happened.
And that— somehow —was worse.
It was too easy. Too practiced.
Jungwon didn’t know what happened between them during those weeks apart. But it left a hollow shape, and now that Sunghoon was back, Heeseung was trying to fit him into it again without making it obvious.
He tried not to look too hard.
But then again, he always noticed too much.
Especially now.
Jay glanced at him. Said nothing. But his presence shifted closer by a margin. A silent tether—one Jungwon didn’t realize he’d leaned into until it was already there.
Across the table, Sunoo sat up straighter, eyes brightening as he turned toward Sunghoon.
“Oh! Wait—how’s Yeji?”
Sunghoon’s posture softened immediately. “She’s good. Misses you, obviously. She wouldn’t shut up about the blush palette you gave her.”
Sunoo’s face lit up. “Really?”
“She said, and I quote, ‘Tell Sunoo he’s better than half the beauty influencers I follow.’”
Sunoo giggled, all cheeks and sparkles. “She said that?”
Sunghoon nodded. “And then made me test the shades on the plane.”
“I love her.”
“I know. She loves you too. Which is why she sent this.”
Sunghoon reached for the small bag he’d set aside earlier, dug through the tissue paper with an absent hum, and pulled out a plush—round, soft, and shaped like a sleepy cat in a peach-colored hoodie.
“For you,” he said.
Sunoo gasped, hands flying to his mouth before reaching out like the plush might disappear. He cradled it to his chest immediately.
“Oh my god, she remembered I liked this one—!”
Sunghoon smiled, more with his eyes than his mouth. “She saw it in a shop in Busan and said it looked like you.”
“It does!” Niki said, grinning now. “Like, exactly. That’s your final form.”
Sunoo held it closer, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy but playful. “I love her so much it hurts.”
“I’ll let her know,” Sunghoon said, already digging through the bag again.
“There’s more?” Niki asked, craning his neck.
Sunghoon pulled out a couple of gift-wrapped snacks and tossed one toward him. “This is from me, not Yeji. She thinks you’re still too chaotic.”
“I am,” Niki said proudly.
Sunghoon didn’t even deny it. Just handed a second item to Jay—a sleek black notebook.
Jay blinked. “...Thanks?”
“I saw it and thought it looked expensive enough to match your judgmental aura.”
Jay smirked faintly. “So, thoughtful.”
Heeseung received a mug with tiny whales on it. His smile when he saw it was small, but real.
Jungwon stayed quiet. Watching.
Sunghoon hadn’t forgotten anyone.
And maybe that’s what hit the hardest.
Because for all his teasing, his quiet sarcasm, and rolled-up sleeves, there was this thread of care woven into everything he touched.
He filled rooms the way gravity did. Without asking permission. Just by existing.
And Jungwon—
Jungwon hadn’t realized how much he missed it.
How much he missed him.
And even now, surrounded by laughter and familiar voices, part of him sat at the edge of it all.
Still wondering if it was okay to lean back in.
They made it through the lobby.
Miraculously.
Some staff looked up. Others didn’t even try to be subtle about it.
One woman’s gaze dragged across the group, landed on Sunghoon—and stayed there. Wide eyes. Half-recognition, half-whiplash.
Sunghoon didn’t blink.
Just walked like this was any other Tuesday.
Jungwon wished he had even one-tenth of that composure. His spine was stiff, shoulders pulled so tight they practically trembled. His ears buzzed. He didn’t know if it was the hallway lights or his heartbeat.
Jay walked beside him—shoulders square, jaw set, like he’d rehearsed this in the mirror.
Jake tried for neutral, but his fingers kept twitching against his thigh. His eyes flicked to Jungwon once, and when their gazes met, he gave the tiniest nod.
Behind them, Niki had his hood up and his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He looked unbothered. Or bored. Hard to tell.
Sunoo waved at the receptionist.
She blinked. Nodded back, confused.
Heeseung led.
Always the front. Always unreadable. From this angle, Jungwon couldn’t see his face—only the way his hands stayed clenched at his sides, the slight drag in his step when the elevator opened too slowly.
The doors dinged.
Nobody said a word.
Room 6C.
The door opened with a soft click.
Fluorescent lights. Pale walls. Framed album covers lined one side of the room—proof of past eras, hung like trophies. The air had that particular building chill to it—sterile, faintly lemon-scented, like someone had tried to scrub away any trace of tension.
Inside was management.
Four people at the table. Tablets open, pens in hand. The room wasn’t large, but it felt like it was stretching, pulling their nerves taut with every silent second.
“Take a seat,” someone said.
Chairs scraped softly across the floor.
Jungwon’s legs moved without him. His hands were ice. The chair gave a faint creak when he sat.
He looked up.
Oh thank fuck.
Standing just off to the side, not at the table with the others, was Jinwoo. Clipboard in hand, dark shirt rolled up to the elbows, sleeves slightly wrinkled like he’d been here too long already.
Brows furrowed. Not in judgment. In focus.
He was watching them, yes—but not with the cold appraisal the others had.
Their eyes met.
And Jinwoo gave the smallest, barely-there nod.
Jake whispered under his breath, “Well, this is cozy.”
Jay elbowed him. Light, but warning.
Niki slumped into the seat like this was just another team meeting. Sunoo sat upright, legs crossed, lips pressed together like he was auditioning for poise itself.
Heeseung folded his arms.
Sunghoon sat last.
Still unreadable. Still calm.
He placed his phone face-down on the table with a soft, deliberate click.
And waited.
Someone cleared their throat. Mr. Baek, most likely. The one with the glasses and the steel-lined voice.
“We’re here to talk about the pause. The process. And what comes next.”
The silence after that line sat like fog across the table.
Sunghoon nodded once. “We’re listening.”
Jay crossed his legs, deliberate.
Jake leaned back just enough to seem relaxed.
Heeseung’s fingers tapped once against his thigh. Then stopped.
Jungwon tried to steady his breathing.
They were here.
They were together.
And for the first time since everything cracked—
They were ready to face it.
Mr. Ko leaned forward, folding his hands.
“We’ve given this situation considerable thought.”
Jungwon could already feel the knot in his stomach begin to turn.
He hated that voice—the calculated calm of someone who’d rehearsed what he was about to say, who’d decided on a verdict before anyone else had even entered the room.
“Sunghoon,” Mr. Ko continued, “your personal dynamic complicates the narrative we've cultivated. The lack of a visible soulmate bond—especially in this climate—is becoming a problem.”
Oh.
So this was the angle they were going for.
Not performance. Not teamwork. Not effort.
Just that.
It made Jungwon’s skin boil. Not the loud kind, not the explosive kind—just a slow, suffocating burn under his collar.
He clenched his jaw before he could speak. He didn’t trust what would come out if he opened his mouth.
Mr. Ko pressed on, unaware—or uncaring.
“It’s not just perception. It’s brand stability. Trust. Emotional alignment. Soulmates are the foundation of what fans connect to. They want resonance.”
Jungwon’s mind flickered back.
To the first years of training—back when they all wore secondhand shoes and shared ramen between four. Back when the soulmark talk wasn’t constant. When it wasn’t the defining factor.
You were just a kid, chasing music. You were allowed to want it for yourself first.
Back then, no one cared who had a mark yet. No one asked.
But the industry had changed.
Somewhere along the way, people like Sunghoon stopped being simply “unmarked.”
They became… other.
Not criminals, not exactly. But something to question. To side-eye. To explain away.
And now, sitting here, Jungwon couldn’t help but look at him.
Sunghoon hadn’t moved. His expression was unreadable. Blank—but not from apathy.
From control.
He was used to this.
And that—more than anything—made Jungwon furious.
Because Sunghoon shouldn’t be used to this.
He shouldn’t have to sit through it with that calm face.
He shouldn’t have to hear these things and act like they didn’t sting.
He deserved so much better.
And the fact that he wouldn’t ask for it just made Jungwon want to fight harder.
Now Jinwoo cleared his throat and stepped forward, authoritative.
“We have performance data. Ratings, engagement—none have dipped since Sunghoon returned. If anything, resilience improved.”
He paused, giving just enough room for the words to land before turning to Mr. Ko.
“Quantitative metrics don’t lie. If emotional alignment is your concern, watch the live performances. Watch their interactions. This is value.”
He shifted his gaze, carefully—almost too casually—toward the corner where the supervisor sat, legs crossed, arms folded.
“If there are rumors of misconduct, we need transparency—not termination.”
The air seemed to stall.
Jungwon’s eyes flicked toward Sunghoon, just briefly.
Still unreadable. Still blank-faced.
But that wasn’t new. That was armor.
And across the room, Mr. Ko was shifting. Only slightly—but there was a soft pinch in his brow now. The first crack in the veneer.
He leaned forward.
When he spoke, his voice was even, but drier now.
“Mr. Park’s return has been... noted . But while performance numbers may have held, that doesn’t address the larger concern.”
He looked at each of them as he continued, slow and deliberate.
“We market connectivity. Certainty. Hope. Our image is built on shared fate—and soulmarks are the clearest vessel for that.”
His eyes slid back to Jinwoo.
“An artist with no visible bond disrupts that narrative. And if there is withholding happening— intentional omission —then it speaks to trust.”
There it was.
The new angle.
Jungwon felt it like a sting in his ribs. He sat up straighter.
So this was the route they were taking.
Not ability. Not performance. Trust.
And it made his skin boil.
Because it wasn’t about the team. It wasn’t about metrics. It was about optics and excuses and peeling apart something whole just because it didn’t fit in a clean brochure.
He gritted his teeth, jaw tight.
But Jinwoo didn’t flinch.
Instead, he gave the smallest nod—almost like he’d been expecting this.
“I see,” he said, folding his hands behind his back. “So it’s not just emotional integrity in the group, but perceived transparency with the public.”
“Perceived,” he repeated, almost under his breath.
Then louder: “If that’s the case, allow me to ask—”
He turned now. Not to Mr. Ko.
But to the supervisor.
“—Was the inquiry regarding Mr. Park’s status filed through formal HR channels?”
The man didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Jinwoo waited one long beat, then tilted his head.
“I’ll answer for you. No .”
He paced one step to the left, his words like clock hands clicking into place.
“And the concern you’re voicing now wasn’t present during his absence. Nor was it present during his first evaluation post-return.”
Jinwoo’s tone sharpened, just slightly.
“What’s changed recently?”
Mr. Ko didn’t answer. But the tension in his jaw gave him away.
The team didn’t move. Even Sunoo, always the most reactive, remained still—watching.
Jungwon, heart knocking against his ribs, realized he could hear every breath in the room.
Then Jinwoo’s voice came again. Cool. Even.
“I’ll say this respectfully: if the issue at hand is truly performance or emotional misalignment, you’ve had ample opportunity to address it with transparency.”
He stepped closer to the table now, facing Mr. Ko directly.
“But if this—” he gestured vaguely, cleanly, toward the room “— is about something else entirely…”
A pause. The words lingered like smoke.
“…then that should be named, and held accountable, in its correct form.”
His gaze flicked—intentionally—to the man in the corner.
The supervisor had stiffened.
And it wasn’t lost on Jungwon that Mr. Ko didn’t look at him.
He looked at the table. Then the window. Then the floor.
Not at Sunghoon. Not at them.
Coward.
Jungwon wanted to say it aloud.
Instead, he swallowed it. Kept his hands flat.
He thought of the early days—back in the dorms, when no one had even debuted. When soulmarks were more of a novelty than a checklist. When Sunghoon being “unbonded” didn’t mean anything because they were all just kids trying to dance without falling over.
But things changed.
Now it wasn’t just about who you were.
It was how you were perceived.
And somehow, that made it worse.
He looked again at Sunghoon.
The older boy hadn’t moved a millimeter. Still composed. Still silent.
But Jungwon hated that he had to hear this. Hated that the room was dissecting him like he was an equation that needed solving.
He shouldn’t have to sit through this.
But he did.
Because he always did.
Because that’s who Sunghoon was.
Still, there was a shift in the room now.
Mr. Ko adjusted his glasses. The first time he'd done so without speaking.
The silence that followed was no longer cold.
It was calculated.
And Jinwoo, standing calmly before it all, simply waited.
The room was no longer waiting for someone to break.
Now, it was deciding whether to listen.
Jungwon sat still, palms pressed lightly to his thighs. His breath barely moved past his throat.
Sunghoon was just a seat away, his posture composed, his expression unreadable.
But Jungwon could still feel it. That tight, subtle energy radiating from him—too still to be calm.
Jinwoo had said his piece.
Sharp. Controlled. A mentor’s shield drawn in full. He’d taken the brunt of it first, thrown the weight of his logic against Mr. Ko’s veneer of reason.
But now the air had shifted.
Because management wasn’t budging.
Not yet.
So someone else had to speak.
Jay moved first.
He didn’t lean forward. Didn’t raise his voice. Just adjusted his blazer sleeve, looked up—measured and firm.
“You’re looking at stats and headlines. We’re looking at who shows up at 4AM for rehearsals.”
He glanced at Sunghoon, then at Jungwon—like checking if he could keep going.
“He’s the one keeping half of us sane. The most stable person in this room is the one you're trying to cut.”
Mr. Ko’s expression didn’t shift. But Jungwon saw a twitch in his jaw.
Jay’s gaze didn’t falter.
“Not having a soulmate isn’t instability. It’s circumstance. And it never once made him unreliable.”
Jake nodded sharply.
But it wasn’t enough.
Jake sat forward before he even registered he was doing it. His voice came out tighter than usual.
“You think fans want perfection ? They don’t. They want people who keep trying.”
His tone cracked—just barely.
“That’s Sunghoon.”
“He didn’t give up. Not when it got ugly. Not when we didn’t know what to say. He was still looking out for us.”
Jake exhaled. A beat passed before he added, quieter:
“You don’t throw away the one person who stayed steady when everything else shook.”
Sunoo shifted beside him.
When he spoke, his voice was soft. But edged.
“You keep saying he doesn’t align.”
He tilted his head. Calm. Focused.
“But we’re not a brand. We’re people.”
A small pause.
“Sunghoon is part of that alignment. He makes it.”
No frill. Just clarity.
Jungwon noticed the faint tightening of Mr. Ko’s brow.
Ni-ki scoffed under his breath.
Then, bluntly:
“You’re wrong if you think we’re better off without him.”
Heads turned.
“No one here works harder than hyung. You want to cut that because it doesn’t look shiny enough?”
He leaned back like he was done. Because he was.
No further argument needed.
And beside Jungwon, Heeseung…
…Heeseung hadn’t spoken.
His fingers were tangled together beneath the table, knuckles pale. His eyes locked on a spot in the center of the room like he couldn’t quite lift them.
He looked like he had a thousand things to say but didn’t trust the air in his lungs.
When he did speak, it was one sentence.
But it landed like a brick.
“You’re making the wrong call.”
His voice was tight. Quiet.
His nails had dug half-moons into his palm.
Then silence again.
A long one.
Jungwon felt every second of it stretch, throb. He knew they weren’t supposed to be this honest in rooms like these. That this was the kind of vulnerability the system didn’t always reward.
But they were here. All of them.
And it still didn’t feel like enough.
Then Jungwon’s eyes met Jinwoo’s. Just for a second. A silent pass.
He understood.
He was the leader.
He spoke.
“You said earlier,” Jungwon began, “that we sell hope. That our image is built on connection.”
He lifted his chin slightly. No tremble in his voice.
“I agree.”
He let the silence hang before continuing.
“But hope isn’t always loud. It’s not a stage dive or a perfect debut clip.”
His voice steadied further, grew fuller.
“Sometimes, it’s someone showing up. Quietly. Even when no one asks him to. Even when he’s hurting.”
He glanced toward Sunghoon.
The older boy still hadn’t moved. But his eyes had finally shifted.
Watching.
“That’s Sunghoon.”
Jungwon looked back at management.
“If you want this team to feel whole, to act like it means what it says—”
He didn’t blink.
“—then don’t take away the person who held it together when everything else was falling apart.”
His chest rose, slow and deliberate.
“If we’re supposed to represent connection…”
His voice dropped to a near-whisper.
“Then let us keep ours.”
No one said a word.
But something in the air changed.
Like the room exhaled.
And Sunghoon, still quiet—still composed—let his shoulders drop just the smallest degree.
It was so slight that anyone else might’ve missed it. But not them.
Not the ones who knew how Sunghoon carried things.
One of the other executives shifted, eyes flicking across the boys’ faces—seeing not just the words they’d said, but the weight they held.
Then came the voice—measured, low, but not unfriendly.
Mrs. Nam, one of the board’s quieter senior advisors. She leaned forward, smoothing her jacket sleeve, and folded her hands in front of her.
“Well,” she said, her tone not unkind, but direct. “If the situation is like this…”
She glanced once at Mr. Ko—then deliberately past him, to Jinwoo.
“Then I suppose we would be making a misstep in removing a member who clearly remains aligned. Not just with the group, but with what the group stands for.”
The pause was brief, but deliberate.
“Sunghoon—Park Sunghoon—your contract remains intact. You’ll be re-evaluated in six months, but you may resume all activities with full clearance.”
The words hit the room like a slow ripple.
Sunoo blinked. Jake leaned back. Jay’s expression didn’t change much—but his posture loosened.
Sunghoon’s face didn’t move.
Not a smile. Not a flinch.
But something behind his eyes softened. Just a little.
Then Jinwoo, still composed, stepped in one last time. Voice calm. Precise.
“I appreciate the decision,” he said. “But allow me one final note—for record.”
He looked directly at the seated executives.
“If this company values connection, it must also value accountability. If bias or misconduct affected any part of this discussion—particularly in relation to the terminated supervisor—it must not be repeated under new pretenses.”
He paused, allowing the weight of it to land.
“For transparency’s sake.”
No one argued.
Jungwon’s breath escaped before he realized he’d been holding it.
A long, quiet exhale that left his shoulders sagging in a way they hadn’t all morning.
He heard a soft pat on his back.
Jay. Subtle. A nod of approval.
Then Jake, who leaned in with a whispered, “Won. You literal life saver.”
Jungwon huffed a breath of disbelief, close to a laugh, then shook his head—but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his lips.
They didn’t say much more as the board began to gather their things. Murmurs rose again, but they were softer now. Less pointed. The sharp edges of tension dulled into something that felt survivable.
One by one, the management team filed out.
Jinwoo gave them a small bow before following, but not before sending a look—a silent good job —in Jungwon’s direction.
And just like that, the door clicked shut behind them.
Silence.
Then—
A sudden movement.
Sunghoon stood.
Everyone turned.
Then, without a word, he crossed the room, steps measured but direct, and pulled Jungwon into a hug.
And Jungwon didn’t hesitate.
He let himself be held.
Let himself feel the slight tremble in Sunghoon’s frame, like he’d been holding something tight for far too long.
Jungwon closed his eyes for a beat, grounding himself in it.
And for the first time in weeks, his chest didn’t feel like it was folding in on itself.
The guilt that had lived quietly in his bones wasn’t there.
Because today—he’d done what he was supposed to do.
He’d protected what mattered.
Sunghoon pulled back a little, just enough to breathe.
Jungwon didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
But in his head, the words formed clear and solid.
I’ll protect you.
And this time, it wasn’t just a promise.
Notes:
phew the technicalities made it a lot harder to write but hopefully it delivers!!
lol just to share a frog stared at me through the window while i was proofreading this. i wonder why it felt like chilling outside my window AHAHHAHAHthanks for all the love! <3
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