Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sea was quiet, but not peaceful.
It was the kind of quiet that hummed in your ears, like the world was holding its breath.

A wind, sharp with salt and cold, brushed past Bang Chan’s coat collar as he stepped out of the van. The others followed behind him, boots crunching against gravel. No one said anything. There was no point. They had already said too much—back when it mattered, and then again when it was too late.

The house stood at the edge of the coast like it didn’t belong there, all weather-worn wood and shuttered windows, its pale paint peeling under years of salt air. Three stories. Too big. Too quiet.

Chan exhaled and looked up at the gray sky.

“Let’s go in,” he said.

No one answered. They just moved.

Inside, the air was stale and smelled faintly of old books and seaweed. The manager had stocked the fridge and left extra blankets. There was a fireplace, untouched. A piano in the corner. Four shared bedrooms. Eight names, each carrying weight heavier than their bags.

I.N brushed past Chan wordlessly, his headphones already on. Hyunjin didn’t even glance at the others as he disappeared up the stairs. Seungmin threw his duffel down with a sigh. Felix lingered behind, standing in the doorway like he wasn’t sure whether to go in or back out.

Chan watched all of it happen.

He didn’t try to stop it.

Flashback

They were laughing—sweaty and exhausted and stupidly happy. Someone had just tripped over a cord backstage. I.N was howling. Hyunjin had tears in his eyes from laughing too hard. Felix kept singing the wrong lyric on purpose and Chan told him to knock it off, but he was smiling

Too. The lights outside the dressing room glowed gold. They had no idea how temporary that moment was.

The house was settling. Wood creaked. Somewhere, a door closed.

Chan unpacked methodically—socks in the drawer, shirts folded, everything neat. He needed the control. Across the room, I.N sat on the windowsill with his knees drawn up, staring at the sea. Headphones on. Distant.

He looked older now. Not in the way time made you older—but in the way pain aged someone. It hit Chan in the chest.

He wanted to speak. But didn’t.

Down the hall, muffled voices rose—Seungmin and Changbin.

“Take the damn left bed. It’s closer to the plug.”

“Then you take it.”

“I offered it first.”

“Exactly, and I said no.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re so difficult.”

A soft laugh. One of the only genuine sounds so far.

In the next room, Hyunjin had already curled into bed, his back to the door. Felix stood in the doorway, biting his thumbnail.

“Hyune…”

No answer.

Felix waited.

“I brought your sketchbook,” he said quietly. “In case you wanted it.”

Still nothing.

Eventually, Felix set it on the desk and left the door cracked.

Han stood awkwardly near the foot of the bed, fingers tangled in his hoodie strings. Lee Know was across the room, unpacking with stiff precision.

“You want the window side?” Han offered.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Silence.

Han gave a small, strained smile. “We could push the beds together. Like that one hotel in—”

“Don’t.”

Lee Know’s voice was sharp. Final.

Han’s throat bobbed. He nodded once, like he understood. But he didn’t. Not really.

Night fell fast by the sea.

Clouds rolled in, heavy with unshed rain. The wind had picked up, howling softly against the eaves.

I.N slipped out the back door sometime after midnight. His coat was thin, but he didn’t seem to care. The cold stung his cheeks and made his eyes water. He walked down the short path to the beach, sat on the sand, and let the wind pull at his sleeves.

He didn’t expect anyone to follow.

But footsteps crunched behind him. He didn’t turn.

Chan sat beside him, not too close. Just close enough.

They sat there like that for a long time. Watching waves roll in. The tide crawling up the sand, only to pull away again.

“I thought this would help,” Chan said finally, his voice barely louder than the wind.

I.N didn’t look at him. “It’s too late for help, isn’t it?”

Chan said nothing.

But the silence between them didn’t feel empty anymore.

Inside the house, the storm finally broke.
Rain tapped against the windows like fingers too gentle to knock.
Hyunjin stared at the ceiling in the dark.
Felix’s eyes were still open.
Seungmin’s hand curled under his pillow, restless.
Changbin lay on his back, listening.
Lee Know blinked slowly at the shadows on the ceiling.
Han’s breath hitched once—but didn’t break.

And Chan sat beside I.N, watching the waves crash and return.

Just like them.

Chapter Text

The morning crept in slowly, like it wasn’t sure if it was welcome.

The kitchen filled with the faint hum of the old refrigerator and the occasional clink of spoons against bowls. No one said good morning. No one asked how anyone slept. They moved around each other like strangers in a borrowed home, brushing shoulders without touching.

Felix stood by the sink, watching steam rise from his mug. He glanced over his shoulder.

Hyunjin was there—but barely. He sat at the end of the long dining table, hood up, eyes down, a slice of toast untouched on his plate. The shadows under his eyes looked permanent now.

I.N sat on the counter, headphones around his neck, cereal in his lap. He didn’t eat. Just stared at nothing. His foot bounced a little—just enough to reveal the restlessness under the stillness.

Chan walked in last. His face was unreadable. But his hands were trembling when he reached for a cup.

“Anyone want tea?” he asked.

Silence.

A spoon fell to the floor—Han’s. He muttered “sorry,” but no one responded.

The only sound was the rain starting up again outside. Gentle at first. Then louder. Like it had something to say.

They hadn’t checked their phones in two days.

No updates. No fans. No agency pressure. Just static.

When the first notification buzzed across the table—someone’s group chat lighting up—their heads all turned. Hearts raced. But no one picked it up.

Felix was the first to leave the table.

He passed Hyunjin on the way to the stairs. Their eyes met for half a second. Hyunjin looked away.

Upstairs, Felix sat on Hyunjin’s bed. He reached for the sketchbook he’d left the day before, praying it had been touched. But it lay exactly where he’d placed it, the pen tucked in still unused.

He flipped through the pages.

Most were half-finished drawings—faces blurred, hands trembling, shadows creeping at the corners. And then he found it.

A page scratched out violently in dark pencil strokes. Torn at the edges. Whatever it had been was now gone—ripped away in silence.

Felix’s throat tightened.

He closed the sketchbook and grabbed a sticky note from his backpack. In small, careful letters, he wrote:

I miss you. Not the performer. You.
—Yongbok

He placed it back on the desk and walked out without another word.

The old house had a sunroom turned studio, filled with dusty wires and an upright piano missing three keys. Changbin plugged in his laptop and opened a new track. Nothing fancy—just a few chords, raw and sad and unresolved.

It was the only language he trusted anymore.

“Still think that’s gonna fix anything?” came a voice from the doorway.

Seungmin.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes flat.

Changbin didn’t turn around. “Didn’t ask you to come.”

“That’s new,” Seungmin said, stepping inside. “Usually, you like having an audience.”

Changbin’s jaw tensed. “At least I’m trying.”

“Trying what? To distract yourself? Bury it in reverb and synth layers?”

Changbin turned in his chair, eyes sharp. “You think you’re so above it all, huh?”

Seungmin’s face didn’t change. “I think you’re scared to sit with it. Really sit. No beats. No lyrics. Just silence.”

“Don’t tell me how to process,” Changbin snapped. “If you had just said something back then—maybe none of this would’ve happened!”

Seungmin blinked.

Something cracked.

“You’re not the only one who regrets being silent,” he said softly.

And then he left.

Lee Know and Han used to cook together. Not anything fancy—just eggs, rice, ramyeon at 2AM when the world was asleep. It was their routine. Han thought maybe... maybe doing it again would help.

Lee Know agreed. Quietly. No protest, no eye contact.

They moved in tandem, like muscle memory. Lee Know chopped scallions. Han set out bowls. But there was no rhythm anymore. No hums. No jokes. No "taste this" moments. Just silence.

When Han dropped a plate, it shattered across the floor.

Lee Know flinched .

A sharp inhale. A hand clenched.

Han saw it—saw the moment he wasn't there , wherever he went in his head.

But Han didn’t mention it.

He cleaned the pieces. Swept the floor.

Later that night, Han unpacked a folded photo from his bag. It was worn around the edges—faded. A snapshot from two years ago. Lee Know was smiling. Han had drawn bunny ears on his head with a marker.

He set it on the nightstand and turned off the lamp.

Chan sat at the piano with the lid closed, fingers hovering but never touching. His notebook was open beside him, blank. Every time he tried to write lyrics, the words fell apart before they could land.

I.N appeared in the doorway.

He didn’t speak at first.

“You haven’t written anything, have you?” he finally asked.

Chan gave a small, tired laugh. “Didn’t realize you were keeping track.”

“I wasn’t. But I knew you wouldn’t be able to.”

Chan turned toward him, expression hard to read. “I don’t know what to say anymore.”

“Then don’t say anything,” I.N said, stepping closer. “Maybe it’s not your job to hold us together anymore.”

Those words hit something deep. Something fragile.

Chan swallowed.

He looked at the piano again.

I.N sat beside him and slowly reached out—his hand resting lightly over the keys. He didn’t press down. Just touched them.

Like the music might come back. Eventually.

That night, it rained harder.

The ocean roared outside like it was screaming for them.

But inside, something small had shifted.

Not healed. Not fixed.

But acknowledged.

And maybe that was enough.

Chapter Text

The storm rolled in just after breakfast.

The rain came heavy, turning the sky a dull, bruised gray. Wind scraped against the windows like it was trying to get in, and the sea—usually quiet and brooding—raged against the shoreline in a violent chorus. The house shuddered every time thunder cracked.

Inside, it was warmer, but not by much.

Felix sat curled in the corner of the couch, wrapped in a blanket two sizes too big. He watched the sea through the glass doors. His tea had gone cold, but he didn’t move to reheat it.

He winced slightly, pressing a hand against his ribs under the fabric. The pain wasn’t sharp anymore, but it lingered—dull, permanent, like a scar beneath the skin.

Across the room, Hyunjin sat cross-legged on the floor, sketchbook open in his lap. His pencil moved fast. Too fast. The marks weren’t forming anything. Just lines. Crosshatches. Frantic scratches meant to look like focus.

They hadn’t spoken since the beach house.

And even that had been... nothing.

The others moved around them like ghosts. A storm outside, a storm inside. Neither one letting up.

The group sat around the coffee table in the living room, pretending to play a board game none of them liked. Jenga.. The tower leaned sideways, one wrong move from collapse. Fitting.

Seungmin tapped his foot. I.N chewed his sleeve. Han kept trying to make someone laugh, but the silence devoured his efforts before they could land.

“So,” Han said, stacking cards. “Kind of peaceful, right? No cameras, no expectations. Just us.”

His voice wobbled on the last word.

Seungmin dropped his card hard on the table.

“Yeah,” he said, voice clipped. “Peaceful. Except for the part where we all almost lost someone.”

The room froze.

Felix blinked. Slowly. His hand went still on the blanket.

Hyunjin didn’t react at all.

Chan looked down. The lines in his forehead deepened. No one else moved.

Thunder cracked above them like a gunshot. The lights flickered. No one breathed.

Then the moment passed.

But the silence didn’t.

FLASHBACK

Hallway. Harsh lighting. Rehearsal room door behind them, closing with a hiss.

Felix stood with his arms crossed. Rain speckled his hoodie—he’d stepped out for air, and now he was trembling. His voice was quiet, but sharp.

“I don’t know what you want from me anymore.”

Hyunjin’s eyes were dark and distant, like he wasn’t really there. Like he’d left days ago and just hadn’t told anyone.

“Maybe I don’t want anything from you.”

Felix’s face cracked.

Then he turned. Walked. Fast. Away.

Hyunjin didn’t follow.

The door slammed. The sound echoed like something breaking.

Felix stood at the bathroom sink that night, brushing his teeth with slow, careful motions. His reflection looked pale. Tired. Older.

Hyunjin stepped in without a word, holding his own toothbrush. It was a small room. Too small for this.

They stood side by side, their reflections too close in the mirror, too far in real life.

Felix rinsed his mouth and stared at the tap.

“It still hurts sometimes,” he said softly.

Hyunjin didn’t look at him.

“I know,” he replied.

A pause.

“I don’t mean my ribs.”

Felix left the bathroom without closing the door behind him.

Hyunjin stared at the spot where he’d stood.

His hand trembled as he gripped the sink.

In the back of the house, Seungmin found Changbin in the small studio room again, headphones half-on, same beat looping over and over. The piano line had no melody. It was empty. Hollow.

“You’ve been working on the same loop for three days,” Seungmin said.

Changbin didn’t look at him. “So?”

“You haven’t written a new verse.”

“You haven’t apologized.”

Seungmin’s jaw tightened.

“I didn’t know how to help,” he said. “I didn’t know what to say. I thought... if I gave it time—”

“You disappeared,” Changbin snapped, spinning in his chair. “You walked out, and I was the one left standing there when everything fell apart.”

“I was scared!”

The words burst out, louder than intended.

“I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Changbin stared at him.

“You didn’t have to fix it,” he said. “You just had to stay.”

Seungmin’s eyes dropped to the floor. And this time, he didn’t leave.

Han made tea in the kitchen, hands shaking only slightly.

He knew Lee Know was behind him before he spoke.

He poured a second cup anyway.

No words passed between them, but he placed it on the table with practiced hands. Lee Know sat. Sipped.

“You used to put honey in it,” he said after a long while.

Han smiled, small and sad. “You used to smile when I did.”

Lee Know said nothing. But he drank the whole cup.

Chan sat alone on the porch as rain poured from the heavens. His hoodie was soaked, but he didn’t seem to care. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the wood—like they were searching for a melody he couldn’t find.

I.N stepped outside, holding an umbrella.

He stood beside Chan and said nothing for a long time.

“You were different when he was gone,” he said eventually.

Chan didn’t look up.

“Everyone was,” he said.

“But you...” I.N hesitated. “You didn’t let yourself grieve.”

Chan closed his eyes.

“If I stopped moving,” he whispered, “I was afraid I’d fall apart.”

I.N handed him the umbrella and walked back inside.

Chan didn’t open it.

That night, Felix opened the drawer beside his bed and pulled out the shirt he’d worn the night of the accident.

It was clean now, but the blood hadn’t fully come out. A faint stain near the hem, just dark enough to see if you knew where to look.

He sat on the floor, gripping the fabric.

In his mind, Hyunjin’s voice played on repeat.

“Maybe I don’t.”

He clutched the shirt tighter.

“I waited for you,” he whispered. “Even then... I waited.”

The storm raged outside.

Inside, Hyunjin lay on his back in the dark, eyes wide open, staring at a ceiling that didn’t answer back.

His hand pressed to his chest.

But the ache wasn’t something he could touch.

Chapter Text

The storm had passed, but the sky still looked unsure.

Gray clouds hung low above the sea, and the world felt soggy and muted—like it was catching its breath. Salt still clung to the air, thick and restless.

Inside the house, no one spoke much. They moved through the morning like sleepwalkers, their bodies in one place, their thoughts somewhere far behind.

Felix had vanished early.

No one asked where he went.

But Hyunjin noticed.
Of course he did.

Felix walked the shoreline with slow, careful steps.

The sand was still damp beneath his shoes, the tide close enough to threaten but not brave enough to touch him. He kept his hoodie pulled tight around his frame. The breeze cut through it anyway.

He didn’t know why the tears started.

They came quietly—just a few at first. His chest didn’t shake. His mouth didn’t twist. But the tears slid down his face like they’d been waiting for permission.

He sat down where the dunes met the sea.

It was stupid to cry, he told himself. He was okay now. He was healing. But something about the quietness of the morning—about finally being alone—unlocked the part of him he’d kept bolted shut.

And once the tears started, they didn’t stop.

Hyunjin found him like that.

He hadn’t planned to. He hadn’t even realized he was walking toward the water until the house was far behind him. Until the sand was under his feet. Until he saw Felix—small, folded in on himself, knees to his chest.

And crying.

Hyunjin froze.

He hadn’t seen Felix cry.

Not really.

He wanted to turn around. Leave him his space.

But his legs didn’t listen.

He walked slowly. Each step felt like an apology.

When he stopped a few feet away, he didn’t say anything. He just waited.

Felix didn’t look up.

“Is this your punishment?” he asked quietly. His voice was hoarse, eyes still on the horizon. “Watching me fall apart like this?”

Hyunjin’s heart cracked in two.

“No,” he whispered. “It’s my regret.”

Felix let out a soft laugh. Bitter.

“You know what I remember most about that night?” he asked. “Not the lights, not the pain—not even the ambulance.”

Hyunjin sat down beside him, far enough not to intrude, close enough to be heard.

“What?” he asked.

Felix wiped his sleeve across his face.

“You. Saying you didn’t love me.”

Hyunjin flinched.

“I—I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Felix said. “But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”

The waves crashed softly nearby, like they were listening.

“I kept thinking,” Felix went on, “what if that was the last thing you ever said to me? What if I died hearing that? Would you have meant it then?”

Hyunjin turned fully toward him now.

“No,” he said, voice shaking. “God, no.”

Felix looked at him finally.

“Then why didn’t you come?”

“I wanted to,” Hyunjin said. “I swear I did. But I was—”
His throat closed up.
“I was afraid. That if I saw you, I’d see what I did. That I’d see everything I lost.”

Felix’s eyes softened just slightly.

“You didn’t lose me.”

“I thought I had.”

Hyunjin reached out carefully—slow, cautious.

He didn’t take Felix’s hand. He just let his fingers rest nearby, a silent offer.

Felix hesitated.

Then he took it.

And the world didn’t end.
The sea didn’t swallow them whole.
The pain didn’t vanish—but it quieted.

“I still love you,” Hyunjin said. “I never stopped. I just... forgot how to say it when things got hard.”

Felix didn’t answer right away.

But his fingers curled tighter around Hyunjin’s.

“You hurt me,” he said.

“I know.”

“I wanted to hate you.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“But I didn’t,” Felix said. “And that hurt more.”

Hyunjin let out a breath he’d been holding since the accident.

“I’m sorry.”

The wind picked up, brushing their hair back. The waves lapped closer.
Neither of them moved.

Felix rested his head lightly on Hyunjin’s shoulder.

And this time, Hyunjin didn’t pull away.

That evening, they returned to the house side by side.

Felix's hoodie sleeve was damp with tears. Hyunjin’s eyes were red. But neither of them looked broken.

Just... open.

The others didn’t say anything. But they noticed. The way Hyunjin hovered near Felix. The way Felix didn’t flinch when Hyunjin reached for the same cup on the shelf.

It wasn’t fixed.

But something had shifted.

That night, they sat on the couch together under the same blanket.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t need to.

Chapter Text

"It wasn’t supposed to be the end. We were just tired. We were just hurting. I didn’t mean it—God, I didn’t mean it."
— Hyunjin

The house slept heavy. Fog clung to the windows, and the sea outside was quiet for once—too quiet.

Felix stared at the ceiling, blanket pulled to his chin, chest rising and falling in a rhythm he didn’t trust. He couldn’t sleep anymore, not after remembering that night.

The last night before everything changed.

FLASHBACK

The practice room lights buzzed overhead. Sweat hung in the air, thick as fog, clinging to their skin and suffocating the last of their energy.

They were three weeks into promotions.

Four comebacks back-to-back. Five live stages in eight days. Interviews, rehearsals, shoot after shoot. Sleep was a luxury. Emotions were threadbare.

The tension was everywhere—unspoken but undeniable.

Hyunjin had barely looked at Felix all day or at all recently. Not during vocal warm-ups. Not during dance practice. Not even when Felix had passed him his water bottle, hand brushing his.

Felix had noticed. He always noticed.

They made it home close to midnight.

The dorm was dim and quiet, a few lights left on, a mug abandoned on the kitchen counter. No one spoke. Everyone was burned out. Everyone was close to cracking.

And Hyunjin was nowhere to be seen.

Felix found him standing alone in the hallway, one hand braced against the wall, head down.

He looked like a shadow—familiar, but unreachable.

Felix stepped forward, slow and quiet. “Hyun?”

Hyunjin didn’t look at him.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Hyunjin’s shoulders tightened, but he didn’t move. “I’m tired, Lix.”

“We’re all tired.” Felix’s voice was firmer than usual. “But you’re not even trying anymore. Not with me.”

“I said I’m tired.”

Felix’s chest burned. “So that’s it? You shut me out because you’re tired? Do you know what it’s like to stand next to someone who looks at you like a stranger?”

“I don’t want to do this right now.”

Felix stepped closer. “Then when? You haven’t said more than five words to me in days. I try to help, I try to be patient—but you won’t even look at me!”

Finally, Hyunjin turned. His eyes were dark with something unreadable—tension, exhaustion, maybe fear.

“You want to talk?” he said. “Fine. Let’s talk about how we’re being pushed into the ground every day, how I haven’t slept in three nights, how everyone keeps expecting me to be perfect and pretty and poised, and how maybe—just maybe—I don’t have energy left to smile for you, too.”

Felix flinched.

“That’s not fair,” he whispered.

Hyunjin’s voice rose, bitter now. “What do you want from me, Felix? You want sweet words? Comfort? I don’t have anything left to give.”

Felix’s eyes brimmed with heat. “Then say it.”

“What?”

“If you don’t love me anymore... just say it.”

The hallway was silent. Only the low hum of the refrigerator down the hall and the soft pat of rain against the window.

Hyunjin looked at him, breathing heavy, the weight of weeks pressing down on every inch of his body.

And then—he broke.

“Maybe I don’t.”

The words landed like glass shattering on tile.

Felix stood still, heart cracking down the middle, tears finally falling from his eyes.

Hyunjin regretted it the second it left his mouth—but he didn’t take it back.

He turned and started to walk away.

Felix did the same—but faster. A flash of golden hair, the sound of footsteps on hardwood.

Felix’s footsteps splashed through puddles as he hurried, chest tight with confusion and pain he couldn’t name. His mind was spinning, a storm of words and silence, sharp edges cutting deeper than the rain.

He didn’t see the car.

The screech of tires was sudden and sharp — brakes slammed hard, horns blaring through the rain.

“Watch out!” someone shouted. 

But it was too late.

The car hit Felix with the force of a hammer. He crashed against the hood, breath knocked from his lungs, the world spinning cold and chaotic before he hit the pavement hard.

Pain exploded through his ribs and head; darkness edged his vision.

He lay on the wet concrete, soaked through, blood seeping from a deep cut on his temple, the rain washing it away in rivulets.

Hyunjin heard it from the dorm.

The horn. The brakes. A scream—he wasn’t sure if it was someone else’s or his own.

He ran.

He didn’t remember getting outside. He didn’t remember pushing through traffic.

He only remembered what he saw.

Felix.

Face pale, eyes shut, Unmoving.

Hyunjin dropped to his knees, heart screaming louder than his voice.

“Felix—Felix—no, no, no—please, wake up—!”

He cupped his face. Blood was everywhere.

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it—”

He rocked back and forth, whispering apologies like prayers.

Hyunjin’s tears mixed with the rain as his fingers trembled over Felix’s face.

“Please, Felix… don’t leave me.”

Chapter Text

The rain pounded relentlessly, a cold, unyielding force that washed over the streets and soaked through clothes and skin alike. The night held its breath—waiting.

Inside the dorm, the tension was thick enough to suffocate.

I.N lingered just out of sight, pressed against the corner wall of the hallway. He’d watched the argument—the harsh words Hyunjin had thrown at Felix, the slammed door, the silent heartbreak in Felix’s retreating figure.

“I should’ve stopped it,” I.N thought, heart clenching painfully.

The sharp screech of tires tore through the rain-slicked street, followed by a sickening, gut-wrenching thud.

Without hesitation, the group spilled outside, feet pounding the pavement in frantic, uneven steps.

Felix lay crumpled on the wet concrete, his body limp, drenched in rain and blood that seeped through the fabric of his soaked hoodie.

Hyunjin dropped beside him, trembling hands wrapping around Felix’s fragile frame.

“Felix... stay with me, please,” his voice cracked, raw and desperate.

Chan was immediately at their side, calm and focused. His fingers found Felix’s neck, then his wrist, searching for signs of life.

“He’s breathing,” Chan said quietly, voice steady despite the chaos. “But it’s shallow. We need help, now.”

Nearby, Han crouched, voice breaking as he whispered, “I’m here, Felix. You’re not alone.”

Lee Know’s heart thundered painfully in his chest as he watched helplessly, feeling frozen but aching to do more.

I.N stood a few steps back, still haunted by the fight he had witnessed moments before—the harsh words, the slammed door. Now, the consequences lay raw and brutal between them.

Seungmin’s breath caught in his throat. Panic flickered across his face as he stared at the broken figure on the sidewalk.

“How... how did this happen?” His voice was strained, disbelief and guilt swirling in his eyes.

Changbin’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, rage boiling beneath the surface. His voice was low, harsh.

“We should’ve been watching him. We should’ve stopped this.”

Seungmin shot him a sharp look.

“We all were tired, Binnie. You think anyone wanted this? You think anyone’s perfect? Stop acting like you could’ve saved him alone.”

Changbin’s jaw tightened. “I’m not saying I could’ve saved him alone. But don’t pretend like you weren’t checking out either.”

Seungmin’s eyes narrowed. “Better than pretending nothing’s wrong.”

A tense silence hung, heavy with unspoken accusations between the two of them.

Meanwhile, Felix’s body lay still beneath the rain, the world slipping away.

His mind spiraled into darkness.

He was falling through blackness, weightless and empty.

Sounds distorted—voices like distant echoes, lights flickering like stars fading in and out.

He saw Hyunjin’s face, distorted with fear and regret, calling his name through the fog.

Then silence.

The distant wail of sirens grew louder, closing in like a beacon of hope amid the storm.

As the ambulance lights painted the wet street red and blue, the group gathered tightly together—broken, scared, but not alone.

The emergency room lights were harsh and sterile, blinding after the dark rain-soaked street.

Felix was rushed through the double doors on a stretcher, limp and pale, blood soaking his clothes.

Hyunjin followed close behind, but was stopped by a nurse and told to wait in the waiting area with everyone else. 

The doctors and nurses could be heard and seen from the waiting room.

“Clear!” a voice commanded.

Doctors and nurses surrounded Felix, their movements swift and urgent. Monitors beeped wildly as machines hissed and hummed.

Chan squeezed Hyunjin’s shoulder. “He’s alive. They’re doing everything.”

Then a nurse shouted, “No pulse! Starting CPR!”

Hyunjin’s breath caught. He gripped a nearby wall, knuckles white.

Chan’s face was tight, focused, as the medical team’s hands pressed hard and fast on Felix’s chest—compressions relentless.

“Stay with us, Felix. Please,” Hyunjin whispered, tears blurring his vision.

The room became chaotic—urgent voices overlapping with pounding machines.

A defibrillator charged. “Clear!”

The electric shock sent a violent jolt through the room.

Monitors flatlined. Silence.

Then—a faint beep. A fluttering pulse.

“Got him back,” a doctor breathed.

Hyunjin collapsed into a chair, shaking. “Don’t leave me.”

Chan crouched beside him. “He fought. He’s strong.”

Minutes dragged, heavy and slow, until a surgeon approached.

“He’s stable for now. Emergency surgery is needed to repair internal injuries. He’s critical but alive.”

Hyunjin nodded numbly, tears spilling freely.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

The doctor’s eyes softened. “We’ll do everything we can.”

The nurses wheeled a lifeless-looking Felix through the operating room doors. 

Outside the OR, the group stood broken and breathless.

Seungmin and Changbin’s simmering tension hung in the air—words unspoken but sharp as knives.

Han wiped tears away, Lee Know’s hands shook as he held his chest, and I.N stayed close to Hyunjin, silently sharing the weight of what they’d lost—and what they still had to fight for.

Hyunjin paced the waiting area, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. The weight of what he’d said, what he hadn’t, pressed down on him. 

Felix was fighting. And somehow, so were they because sometimes, healing begins in the darkest moments.

Chapter Text

“The worst part wasn’t the accident. It was what came after—the silence, the space between us, the things we didn’t say.”
— Lee Know

Hours later, a doctor appeared in the hallway.

“He made it through surgery. He’s stable for now,” she said. “We’ll keep him sedated through tomorrow. But he’s critical, and still at risk.”

They all stood, as if tethered to the same hope.

“Can we see him?” Chan asked.

“One at a time,” the doctor replied. “Only for a few minutes.”

Hyunjin stood, breath caught in his chest—then slowly sat back down.

Chan looked at him, silently asking.

Hyunjin just shook his head.

“I don’t deserve to be in there.”

“I can’t face him,” he muttered. “Not yet.”

No one pushed him.

The hospital room was too quiet.

The beeping of Felix’s heart monitor filled the silence like a clock counting down. Everything else—footsteps, rain, breathing—seemed muffled in comparison.

The bed looked too big for him. Felix lay pale and still beneath crisp white sheets, bruises blooming across his temple and collarbone. Wires and tubes tethered him to machines that kept him breathing, kept him here.

But barely.

Chan sat first, alone.

He gripped Felix’s hand gently and rested his forehead on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice tight. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve seen you falling.”

The guilt had been gnawing at him since the night of the accident, wrapping around his ribs like a vice. He was the leader. He was supposed to hold them together.

“I told myself you were okay because you smiled through it. But I knew better.”

His voice broke.

“Don’t give up now. Don’t let this be the end.”

Lee Know entered quietly next, 

He didn’t say much at first. He just stared.

Felix’s lips were cracked and pale. His fingers twitched involuntarily every so often, but his body was still. Too still.

Lee Know finally leaned forward, brushing damp hair from Felix’s forehead.

“You’re not allowed to go yet, you know,” he whispered. “You still haven’t finished your song. And I still haven’t forgiven you for eating my yogurt last week.”

His voice was shaky—but there was a thread of defiance in it, too.

“You're not leaving us like this.”

Han came in next. He sat at the end of the bed, curled into himself, chin resting on his knees.

“I don’t know what to say to you right now,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I keep thinking—what if it had been me? What if I had been the one to walk into that street instead?”

His fingers dug into the sleeves of his hoodie.

“You’ve always been this glowing, loud, fearless spark, and now you’re so quiet it scares me.”

Han closed his eyes.

“Just come back. Even if you're mad at all of us. Just come back.”

Seungmin didn’t say anything for a long time when it was his turn.

He just sat. Silent.

Watching Felix breathe. Watching the lines on the monitor spike and fall like a slow heartbeat.

Eventually, he spoke.

“I miss your noise,” he said. “You used to hum when you made ramen. You talked too much during movies. You snored when you slept sitting up.”

He reached out, brushing Felix’s hand lightly.

“I’d give anything to hear that again.”

Changbin sat stiffly in the corner of the r oom. He didn’t move closer to the bed. Not like the others.

His arms were folded across his chest, jaw clenched, staring hard at the monitor instead of Felix.

The beeping annoyed him. It was too slow. Too fragile. Too real.

“You always said you were fine,” he muttered. “Even when you weren’t.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, but still kept his distance.

“You had us all fooled, didn’t you?”

He laughed under his breath, bitter and hollow. “Maybe not Hyunjin. Maybe that’s why you two kept fighting.”

The silence answered him, cold and heavy.

He looked at Felix then. Really looked. And the anger in his eyes cracked—just slightly.

“Damn it, Felix,” Changbin whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His voice shook now.

“I would’ve listened. Even if I didn’t know what to say... I would’ve sat there and let you talk. Or scream. Or cry. Whatever you needed.”

His hands curled into fists.

“I was supposed to protect you. All of us were. I keep thinking—if I’d said something that night, if I hadn’t been so focused on keeping the schedule or my stupid pride…”

He stood abruptly, pacing once before forcing himself still again.

“I don’t care if you wake up pissed at me. I just need you to wake up.”

For the first time, he stepped closer to the bed and let his fingertips barely graze Felix’s wrist—bruised, but warm.

“You’re the toughest one out of all of us,” he said softly. “So prove it. Fight your way back.”

I.N was the last one to visit that night.

He sat next to Felix, not crying, just... tired.

“I saw the fight,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to. But I heard it all.”

He looked down, ashamed.

“I froze. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t chase you or stop you from walking out that door. I let you go.”

His voice cracked.

“You’re like a big brother to me. You’re... you’re the warmth in our group. And the way you smiled before you left—I knew you were hurting, and I still didn’t move.”

He placed a hand on Felix’s shoulder, voice barely a breath.

“I promise I’ll never let you walk away alone again.”

In the hallway of Felix’s room,  the rest of the group sat in silence. No one knew what to say anymore.

Changbin was pacing again, like movement might hold him together.

“He’s going to be okay,” Seungmin said softly, eyes focused on the floor.

Changbin stopped. “You don’t know that.”

“I have to believe it.”

“You didn’t even see it happen.”

“You think I don’t feel this, too?”

“I think you're pretending we’re okay just so you don’t have to fall apart,” Changbin said, voice sharp.

Seungmin stood. “And you’d rather scream at us than admit you’re scared.”

Tension sparked in the air.

The silence that followed said everything they couldn’t.

Then: “Enough.”

Lee Know’s voice cut through the hallway like a scalpel. Quiet, but commanding.

“You’re not mad at each other,” he said. “You’re mad because we couldn’t protect him. Because it could’ve been any of us.” He says as he walks with Chan. 

I.N hugged his knees to his chest, headphones in but silent. The fight played over and over in his mind. He’d watched it unfold from around the hallway corner—heard the exact moment Hyunjin said something he couldn’t take back.

He should’ve said something.

He should’ve stopped Felix. 

Now he couldn’t stop seeing him lying in the street.

Hyunjin sat in the hallway outside, curled on a bench in the corner with his hoodie pulled up, trying to disappear.

“I don’t deserve to see him,” he whispered once, when I.N tried to coax him in.

He’d barely eaten, barely slept. His eyes were sunken, skin pale, lips cracked from dehydration. He looked like a ghost of himself.

“I told him I didn’t love him anymore,” he muttered to himself, again and again. “I said that. And then he—he left—and I let him—”

His voice cracked at the end.

The silence that followed said everything they couldn’t.

His hands shook violently. I.N sat nearby but didn’t say anything. He didn’t know how.

Nothing anyone could say would fix what Hyunjin was feeling. He wasn’t just guilty.

He was grieving.

Hyunjin stared at the closed hospital door.

He didn’t know if Felix would ever open his eyes again.

He didn’t know if Felix would forgive him.

But he knew, without question, that until he did—

He couldn’t step through that door.

Chapter Text

Morning After

The hospital was bathed in sterile light, the rain outside a whisper against the windows. The waiting room was quiet. Too quiet. Chairs creaked occasionally under the weight of restless bodies, but no one spoke.

Chan sat forward in his seat, elbows on knees, hands clasped in front of his face. I.N sat beside him, knees tucked to his chest, hoodie drawn over his head like a shield.

“Did you sleep?” Chan asked, voice hoarse.

I.N shook his head. “No. You?”

Chan gave a tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Didn’t even try.”

There was a long pause before I.N whispered, “Hyung… he’s gonna be okay, right?”

Chan didn’t answer at first. His throat felt tight.

“I don’t know,” he said.

I.N reached over, brushing his pinky against Chan’s hand. It was subtle, but Chan felt it. A small tether keeping him grounded.

Changbin stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring into the gray morning. He had been pacing for the past hour, every so often stopping to mutter frustrations to himself.

“This is insane,” he grumbled. “He’s been in there forever. Why haven’t they told us anything?”

No one responded.

“They said he was stable. But what does that even mean? Stable could mean anything. What if they’re just not saying something?”

“Changbin,” Seungmin said flatly from his seat. “You’re spiraling again.”

Changbin turned sharply, eyes narrowed. “And you’re just sitting there like none of this matters. He’s in critical condition, and you haven’t said a word all night.”

The entire room tensed. I.N looked up, startled. Han shifted in his seat, gaze flicking between them. Lee Know leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp.

Seungmin stood. “What do you want me to say?” he asked. “That I’m scared? That I keep hearing the sound of the ambulance in my head? That I watched him get wheeled past us and thought he might be dead?”

His voice didn’t waver. It was quiet. Controlled. But there was something raw just beneath the surface.

“You think because I’m not falling apart in front of you, that I don’t care?”

“I don’t know what you feel,” Changbin snapped. “You haven’t even looked at anyone since this happened.”

The chair legs screeched as Seungmin stepped fully into the center of the room.

“Maybe I don’t scream like you do. Maybe I’m not loud. But don’t you dare stand there and act like you’re the only one who’s hurting.”

Seungmin took a step closer.

“You don’t get to say I don’t care. You don’t get to throw that at me just because you’re scared.”

Changbin looked away, jaw tight, then back again—defensive. Angry. Hurt.

“If you’d rather believe I’m cold than admit you're cracking, go ahead,” Seungmin said, voice low. “But don’t expect me to carry both our grief.”

He looked around at the rest of the members—quiet, still, eyes wide—and then back to Changbin.

His voice didn’t rise—but it sliced clean.

“You want to scream? Fine. Scream,” Seungmin said. “But don’t use me as your punching bag because you don’t know what to do with your own fear.”

He looked at Changbin straight in the face. 

“I’ve been holding it together for you this whole time. But if you’d rather believe I don’t care... maybe you’re not worth explaining it to.

The tension in the room was suffocating.

“I’ve had enough.”

And then he turned, walking out.

The door shut gently behind him. No slam. Just silence.

Changbin stood there frozen, blinking as if realizing what had just happened. He took a step toward the door. Then another.

“Seungmin—”

Lee Know stood and grabbed his wrist.

“Let him go.”

It wasn’t harsh. Just final.

Changbin swallowed hard as he watched Seungmin walk away. His chest caved inward as he dropped back into the seat beside Han. He buried his face in his hands.

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered. “I just… I’m scared too.”

No one spoke. But they were all thinking the same thing.

Later, in the cafeteria, Han sat at a table alone, a half-eaten cup of ramen in front of him. His fingers were trembling around the chopsticks, and his shoulders were hunched like he was trying to disappear.

Lee Know slid into the seat across from him, not saying anything at first. He just watched as Han picked at his noodles.

“I thought if I ate something, I wouldn’t feel sick,” Han muttered.

Lee Know nodded.

“I keep thinking about his laugh,” Han said after a while. “The way he used to laugh when he was trying to cheer us up even though he was clearly hurting. How long do you think he was pretending?”

Lee Know’s expression softened. “A while.”

“I should’ve said something,” Han whispered.

“We all should’ve,” Lee Know said. “I saw him pulling away. I thought I was giving him space. I didn’t know it felt like abandonment to him.”

Han finally looked up. “Do you think he knew?”

“That we loved him?” Lee Know asked. “Yeah. I think he did. I just don’t know if he thought it mattered.”

I.N stood outside Felix’s room. The blinds were drawn, the soft beep of machines just barely audible through the closed door.

He didn’t go in. He couldn’t.

A nurse passed by, offering him a small smile before pulling the curtain shut from the inside.

He turned away, his throat tightening.

At the end of the hallway, he saw Hyunjin—sitting slouched against the wall, legs drawn up, hood over his head.

He almost walked over. Almost.

But he sat down instead, back against the cold wall, a few doors down from Felix’s room.

He rested his head against his knees and whispered so no one would hear:

“We’re falling apart without you, hyung.”

Back in the hospital room, Felix’s monitor beeped—just once—slightly different than before.

No one noticed.

No one knew.

But maybe—just maybe—it meant something.

“No one said it out loud, but they were all thinking it: If Felix didn’t come back, they weren’t sure the rest of them could.”

Chapter Text

The soft beeping of machines broke through the stillness, and Felix’s eyes fluttered open. The fluorescent lights overhead blurred into focus, and the sterile hospital scent hit him in waves. Everything ached. Every breath burned. His limbs felt heavy — foreign — like they had been borrowed from someone else.

Panic stirred low in his chest. Where was he? What happened?

Then he saw him.

Bang Chan.

The leader was already at his side, eyes wide, relief crashing through him as he gripped Felix’s hand tightly.

“Felix,” he whispered, voice catching. “You’re awake.”

Felix blinked slowly, mouth dry. “Chan... what happened?”

Chan exhaled shakily, brushing Felix’s bangs back. “You were in an accident. But you're here. You're safe. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Felix nodded faintly, though the words didn’t fully register. His throat stung. His head pounded.

From the doorway, I.N stood frozen. His hands trembled at his sides, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He took one shaky step forward.

“Felix…” His voice cracked. “We were so worried about you.”

Felix’s eyes found him, soft and sad. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

I.N shook his head violently, wiping at his eyes. “Don’t say that. Just… don’t.”

Changbin entered next and tried to maintain his composure, but a smile broke through as he saw Felix awake. "You gave us quite a scare, Felix," he said, his voice filled with a mix of relief and reprimand.

Seungmin quietly sat by Felix's bed, offering a comforting presence without saying much. He reached out and gently squeezed Felix's shoulder, his eyes conveying the words he couldn't bring himself to say.

Han, always the one to lighten the mood, cracked a joke. "You know, Felix, you really know how to make an entrance," he said with a grin. But his voice betrayed his deep relief and happiness.

Felix gave him the smallest smile in return.

But something was missing. His gaze moved slowly around the room.

“Where’s… Hyunjin?”

Silence fell like a curtain.

The others looked at each other.

Chan hesitated. “He’s… not here right now. But don’t worry, Felix. We’ll make sure he knows you’re awake.”

Felix’s expression dimmed. He looked away, jaw tightening just slightly. Felix didn’t ask again. He just nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth pulling downward.

He left. Of course he did. I would’ve left me too.

The pit in his stomach returned, heavier than any wound the accident had left behind.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin was walking back to the spot of the accident right outside their dorm. The memories of that night played in his mind like a haunting melody.

Hyunjin stood at the spot. The spot. The one where everything changed.

He crouched down slowly, fingers brushing against the cracked sidewalk. He remembered the sound — the thud — the scream. And his own voice, raised in anger just moments before.

Hyunjin's thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered, voice broken. “Why didn’t I stop you?”

He knelt there, alone, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. The guilt felt like fire in his chest.

The guilt gnawed at him, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

If Felix had died,

  This would’ve been the last place they ever stood together.

And the last thing Hyunjin said wouldn’t have been love.

It would’ve been anger.

Back at the hospital, the company quietly intervened. The emotional state of the group had frayed beyond repair. They needed a break. A reset.

“We’re sending you to the beach,” the manager had said gently. “Just a few weeks. Rest. Heal.”

Felix, still fragile, would be discharged in three days. The news brought a strange sense of hope — like they’d all been waiting for something to shift.

But no one was smiling.

In the dorm, the energy was subdued. Quiet, like the air before a storm.

Chan moved methodically, organizing the logistics with practiced ease. “Everyone pack light,” he called out. “We’ll be near the coast. Just bring what you need.”

Changbin and Seungmin worked together to pack the essentials, their movements synchronized but silent. The room was filled with an unspoken tension, each of them lost in their thoughts. Seungmin's hands trembled slightly as he folded clothes and placed them in the bag. Changbin glanced at him, his eyes reflecting the same turmoil. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the weight of their emotions.

In the smaller bedroom, I.N sat on the edge of his bed, clothes strewn across the floor.

Chan entered quietly.

“I.N, we need to talk.”

I.N didn’t look up. “What is it?”

Chan sat across from him, voice calm. “I know you’re hurting. But we have to stay together. This trip is our chance to start fixing what’s been broken.”

I.N scoffed. “Fix it? How are we supposed to fix anything when none of us even know how to talk to each other anymore?”

Chan was quiet.

I.N continued, voice rising. “I saw the fight. I saw it happen. I was right there. I could’ve stopped them, but I froze. I let it happen.”

His breath hitched. “I let it happen.”

Chan moved forward, placing a steady hand on I.N’s shoulder. “You didn’t cause this.”

I.N finally looked up, eyes red. “Didn’t I?”

“No,” Chan said. “None of us did this alone. But we can start fixing it — together.”

Hyunjin finally returned to the dorm, his steps heavy with the weight of his emotions. As he entered, he ran into Lee Know, who was busy packing his bag. Lee Know looked up, surprised to see Hyunjin. "Hyunjin, you're back," he said, his voice a mix of relief and concern.

Hyunjin nodded, his eyes avoiding Lee Know's gaze. "Yeah, I'm back."

Lee Know set his bag down and approached Hyunjin, his expression turning stern. "The company decided to send us to the beach for a reset. We need it after everything that's happened."

Hyunjin's expression remained distant. "I heard Felix woke up."

Lee Know's eyes narrowed. "Yes, he did. But he's been asking about you. He wants to know where you are."

Hyunjin's heart ached at the thought of Felix. "I... I don't know if I can face him."

Lee Know's expression hardened. "You don't have a choice, Hyunjin. You need to confront what happened between you and Felix. Running away won't solve anything."

Hyunjin's eyes filled with guilt. "I know. I just... I don't know how to make things right."

Lee Know stepped closer, his voice firm and unyielding. "Start by being honest with him. Tell him how you feel. It's the only way to heal. You can't keep avoiding this."

Hyunjin nodded, his resolve strengthening. "Okay. I'll try."

Three days later, they left.

Felix sat in the backseat, staring out the window, the coastal highway blurring by. His body still ached, but it was the distance that hurt more — the emotional one. Hyunjin sat near the window, eyes fixed on the horizon, never once glancing back at Felix. The silence between them wasn’t just distance — it was avoidance.

The car was silent.

Tension lingered like fog—thick, invisible, but impossible to ignore.

Everyone was trying. But nothing felt right yet.

They were heading to the sea to heal.
But healing wasn’t a destination.
It was a choice, and none of them were ready to make it yet.

Chapter Text

Present Day:

The morning light slips through the cracked curtain like it’s afraid to wake them.

Felix stirs first, blinking slowly against the pale gold spilling across the sheets. Hyunjin is still beside him, curled toward the wall, one arm tucked close to his chest. His breathing is soft and even — not quite peaceful, but the closest he’s been in a long time.

Felix doesn’t move.

He watches the curve of Hyunjin’s shoulder rise and fall, the way his hair fans across the pillow. Last night feels like a dream and a bruise at the same time. He tightens his fingers around the edge of the blanket they still share.

“I know you’re awake,” he whispers.

Hyunjin shifts, but doesn’t turn. “Barely.”

There’s a long pause. Not tense — just full.

“I didn’t sleep much,” Felix admits. “Kept thinking I’d wake up and none of it happened.”

Hyunjin finally rolls onto his back. His eyes are red-rimmed but clear.

“It happened,” he says softly. “I’m still here.”

Felix lets that sit between them for a while. Then he nods. “Yeah. You are.”

Hyunjin offers a fragile smile. “Do you want to stay here a little longer?”

Felix thinks about it. The room. The quiet. The safety.

“No,” he says, pulling the blanket off. “But I don’t want to go alone.”

Hyunjin sits up and reaches for his hoodie. “Then I’m coming with you.”

They don’t hold hands. They don’t say anything more. But they leave the room side by side.

Hyunjin and Felix walk down the hall together, their footsteps quiet but steady, as the house slowly begins to stir around them. The kitchen smells like coffee and burnt toast. Somewhere down the hall, Changbin is yelling about someone using his shampoo again.

Felix pulls his hoodie tighter against the morning chill and slips out the back door, needing a moment away from the buzz of the others. 

The air is cooler than expected. He wraps his arms around himself and sinks onto the porch steps. The wood is warm beneath him, sun-drenched and soft from years of wear. He closes his eyes.

A few moments later, the door creaks behind him.

I.N hovers awkwardly in the doorway, holding two mugs. “It’s not tea,” he says. “But it’s hot. And not awful.”

Felix shifts, making room beside him. I.N takes the invitation.

He hands over one of the mugs, fingers brushing Felix’s for just a second too long. Neither of them says anything about it.

They sip in silence.

“You okay?” I.N asks eventually.

Felix shrugs. “I think so.”

“That’s... not very convincing.”

Felix glances at him sideways. “Do you want a better lie or a worse truth?”

I.N snorts. “I want the version where you stop trying to carry everything alone.”

A smile tugs at Felix’s mouth — small, unwilling. “I’m not used to sharing the weight.”

“You don’t have to be used to it,” I.N says, nudging his shoulder. “You just have to let me help.”

They fall quiet again, but it’s softer this time. Easier.

“I thought you hated me,” Felix says suddenly.

I.N blinks. “What?”

“After everything... I thought maybe you didn’t want me around.”

“I was mad,” I.N admits. “But not at you, not really.”

Felix looks at him, waiting.

“I was mad at myself,” I.N says quietly. “That night in the hallway... I just stood there. I saw you fall apart and I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know how.”

Felix’s expression shifts — something deeper than sadness passing over his face. “I didn’t need you to fix it. I just... I think I needed to know someone saw me.”

“I saw you,” I.N says. “I just didn’t think I had the right to reach out. But I do now.”

Felix looks down at his mug. “I think I hated myself enough for both of us.”

“Yeah, well,” I.N says gently, “stop doing that.”

Felix laughs — really laughs this time, a breathy, broken sound that sounds almost like relief. He leans his head briefly against I.N’s shoulder.

“I missed this,” he says.

I.N doesn’t move.

“I missed you.”

“Same,” I.N murmurs. “So don’t go disappearing again, yeah?”

Felix closes his eyes. “I’ll try.”

They sit together until the coffee goes cold.

Later, the afternoon sun begins its slow descent, painting the sky in warm hues, down by the water, another uneasy reunion quietly unfolds. The beach is empty except for two figures searching for words among the ebbing tide.

The sky is streaked in pinks and golds, the last edge of sunlight skimming the waves.

Changbin waits at the edge of the sand, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. His heart beats loud enough that he swears the ocean can hear it.

He almost doesn’t expect Seungmin to show.

But he does.

His footsteps are soft against the dunes, but his presence hits like a wave — steady, cold, impossible to ignore.

Changbin doesn’t look at him right away. “You always liked the ocean,” he says, voice low.

Seungmin stops a short distance away, arms crossed tightly. “It doesn’t say things it can’t take back.”

Changbin flinches.

He deserves that.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to apologize,” he says. “But nothing I say sounds like enough.”

Seungmin’s eyes stay on the water. “Probably because it’s not.”

“I know I hurt you,” Changbin says, finally turning to face him. “But I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t.” Seungmin’s voice cuts like wind through glass. “Don’t pretend you didn’t mean it. You did. That’s what made it real.”

Changbin’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. There’s nothing to defend.

“I replay that day,” Seungmin says, voice quieter now. “Over and over. You looked me in the face and made me feel like I didn’t matter. Like I was in your way.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You said you didn’t think I cared about you.”

Those words land like stones between them.

Changbin’s throat tightens. “I was angry. I was... scared, and cornered, and I lashed out because I didn’t want to admit how much I needed you.”

Seungmin looks at him for the first time, eyes full of something heavy and trembling — not tears. Not rage. Just exhaustion.

“You broke something,” he says. “You didn’t just hurt me. You made me feel disposable.”

Changbin’s shoulders sink. “I’m not trying to. I just—” He swallows hard. “I need you to know I regret it more than anything.”

“I don’t know what to do with that,” Seungmin says.

“I know,” Changbin says, voice cracking. “God, I know. And if I could take it back—if I could rip those words out of the air—I would. But I can’t. All I can do now is stand here and tell you I’m sorry, and that I mean it.”

There’s a long stretch of silence. Then Seungmin glances over at Changbin, arms folded across his chest, his jaw tight like he’s holding something back.

“I wanted you to chase me,” he says finally. “Even if I pushed you away. I wanted to matter enough for you to fight for me.”

“You do,” Changbin whispers. “You always did.”

Seungmin doesn’t respond right away. His eyes stay fixed on the horizon.

Seungmin shifts, but doesn’t step closer. “I waited for you to fix it. For days. But you didn’t. You let me leave the hospital thinking I meant nothing to you.”

Changbin swallows hard. “Because I believed you wouldn’t want to see me again.”

“I didn’t,” Seungmin says quietly. “But I wanted you to want to fix it.”

Changbin nods slowly, pain etched across his face. “I do. I do want to fix it. Even if I don’t deserve the chance.”

Seungmin watches the tide crawl up the beach. He doesn't say anything for a long time.

Finally, he speaks. “I don’t know if I can forgive you yet.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Changbin says. “I just... want you to know I’m still here. And I’m not going to let you walk away this time.”

Seungmin’s eyes flicker. “Then don’t say anything else you’ll regret.”

“I won’t.”

Another wave rolls in. Another pause.

Seungmin takes a slow breath. “Alright.”

They don’t move closer. But they stay.

Together, in the quiet that follows damage — not healed, not whole — but present.

And that’s something.

As the light fades, and the day slips toward night, the weight of unspoken things lingers in the salty air. While some wounds remain raw and open, others retreat into memory — fragile, aching, and quietly unfolding in the dark.

That night, when the house finally sleeps, Felix lies awake in the dark.

The room is still. Hyunjin’s breathing is slow beside him, just steady enough to suggest he’s asleep. But Felix knows him too well — the way he holds his breath between dreams, the way his fingers curl slightly when something’s bothering him.

They don’t talk. Not out loud.

But the memory rises anyway — soft and intrusive.

It was after a show — months before everything cracked. Felix had been buzzing with adrenaline, sweat still drying on his skin. He’d ducked into the dressing room late, half-expecting to find it empty.

But Hyunjin was there.

He was sitting on the couch, head tilted back, eyes closed. A single earbud still dangled from his shirt. The room smelled faintly of stage makeup and cologne.

Felix had paused in the doorway, unsure if he should speak. Something about the quiet — about the way Hyunjin looked in it — made his chest ache.

He took a step forward.

Hyunjin opened his eyes. Just a little.

“You okay?” Felix had asked.

Hyunjin nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Felix sat beside him, not too close. Not yet.

For a while, they didn’t speak. Just breathed in the same space, shoulders nearly brushing.

Then Hyunjin said it — so softly Felix almost missed it.

“Sometimes I think about what we’d be if we weren’t always surrounded by noise.”

Felix had turned, heart climbing higher in his throat. “And what do you think?”

Hyunjin looked at him then — really looked.

“I think I’d still find a way to make it complicated.”

Felix smiled, but it hurt. “You already have.”

Hyunjin’s hand had twitched between them, like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

“I wish I could be braver,” he’d said. “With you.”

Felix wanted to answer. Wanted to say you don’t have to be anything but here . But the words caught in his chest.

So he just leaned his head against Hyunjin’s shoulder — gently, like a question.

Hyunjin didn’t pull away.

But he didn’t move closer either.

Now, in the dark, Felix lies awake beside him again — the weight of that night pressing into his ribs.

He turns his head slightly, watching the curve of Hyunjin’s back, the way his hair spills across the pillow.

He doesn’t say anything.

He just reaches out, not to touch, just to hover — his fingers inches from Hyunjin’s, the same silent offer they’d once shared.

Maybe that’s all they are right now.

Two people learning how to reach out again.

Even if they haven’t quite remembered how to hold.

Chapter Text

The dim moonlight of their shared room softened the edges of the world, muffling the weight of everything outside. Lee Know lay on his side, eyes tracing the shadows on Han’s side, still awake despite the late hour of 2 am. Han curled up against Lee Know’s chest, shoulders heavy, hands restless.

“I’m sorry,” Han’s voice was barely above a whisper, breaking the silence. “I didn’t mean to keep you up. I just... I don’t know how to hold it together sometimes.” Han sniffled

Lee Know moved his head slowly to look at him, seeing the rawness in Han’s eyes—the kind of pain that doesn’t disappear with a simple apology. “Hey,” he said softly, giving Han a small squeeze hug. “You don’t have to apologize. If you’re breaking down, I want to be here.”

Han’s breath hitched. “I just hate that it’s happening like this—so late, when everything’s quiet and there’s no one to distract me. You should be sleeping.”

Lee Know shook his head gently. “I’m not upset. I know how hard it’s been for you. You don’t have to carry it alone. Let me be the one who stays up with you.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Han’s mouth, fragile but real. “Thank you, hyung.”

Lee Know gave him one more reassuring squeeze. “Always.”

Before Han could say anything else, Lee Know leaned in quietly and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. It was a small gesture, but it carried everything unspoken — comfort, care, and a promise that Han wasn’t alone.

Bang Chan stirred from restless sleep, the sharp sound of I.N’s muffled cries cutting through the quiet darkness. He sat up instantly, eyes scanning at I.N, trembling under the blanket, face pale, body shaking.

Bang Chan’s voice was calm but urgent as he gently shook his shoulder. “I.N? Hey, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

I.N.’s eyes snapped open, wild and glassy, and without hesitation, he threw his arms around Bang Chan, clutching him tightly like an anchor in a storm. “Hyung...” His voice was raw, cracking under the weight of panic and fear.

Bang Chan held him close immediately, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “I’m here. You’re safe. It was just a dream.”

I.N shivered, burying his face in Bang Chan’s chest, voice trembling as the nightmare spilled out in a torrent. “I saw them fighting... I heard the shouting, the crashing... I saw Felix—blood everywhere—and I just froze. I didn’t move, didn’t stop it. I should’ve done something... anything.”

He pulled back slightly, eyes glistening with tears. “And then... then I saw you, and Lee Know, and Han... everyone broken in their own way. And me? I just stood there like I was invisible. Like, I didn’t matter. I’ve been holding it all in, pretending I’m okay, but I’m not. I’m so tired, hyung. I don’t know how to fix this, or even how to keep going.”

Bang Chan tightened his arms around him, voice steady and warm. “You don’t have to carry this burden alone. None of it is your fault. You’re not invisible—you’re one of the strongest people I know.”

He tilted I.N.’s chin up gently, searching his eyes. “You’re allowed to fall apart sometimes. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

I.N sniffled, voice small. “But what if I keep failing everyone? What if I’m the one who breaks first?”

Bang Chan pressed his forehead softly against I.N.’s, holding him close. “Then I’ll be right here to catch you. Always.”

They stayed like that, the silence filled with quiet breaths and steady heartbeats, a fragile but unbreakable promise held between them.

The soft clatter of dishes and quiet hum of morning chatter filled the kitchen. Sunlight spilled through the window, casting a warm glow over the table where the group gathered for breakfast. The air carried a mix of comfort and something unspoken—an undercurrent of tension threading through the laughter and casual conversation.

Lee Know and Han sat side by side, sharing a small plate of scrambled eggs. Han passed Lee Know a piece of toast with a teasing grin, and Lee Know smiled back, the warmth between them a quiet refuge from everything else.

Across from them, I.N and Bang Chan exchanged soft smiles, their hands brushing occasionally over the table. Despite the shadows from the night before, Bang Chan’s steady presence seemed to ease I.N’s restless energy just a little.

Hyunjin and Felix leaned in close, whispering jokes that brought shy laughter to Felix’s lips. Their eyes held a shared understanding—a fragile peace after recent storms.

Meanwhile, Seungmin sat at the far end of the table, picking at his food, while Changbin stood near the stove, absently stirring a pot. The distance between them was palpable, a silent barrier none dared cross just yet.

Without a word, Changbin poured a cup of coffee—black, just how Seungmin liked it—and carried it over. He set it gently in front of Seungmin, their eyes briefly locking for a heartbeat. There was a flicker of something unspoken in Changbin’s gaze, a quiet apology or a hope for peace.

Seungmin’s eyes lingered on the cup, then on Changbin, but his expression remained guarded. He gave a small nod, barely perceptible, and took a slow sip without meeting Changbin’s eyes.

“You’re not eating much,” Lee Know said softly, glancing at Seungmin.

Seungmin shrugged, voice low. “Just not that hungry.”

Han reached over, resting a hand gently on Seungmin’s arm. “It’s okay. We’re all here.”

Seungmin’s eyes flickered toward Han’s hand, but he didn’t respond.

Bang Chan cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Who wants more pancakes? I made extra.”

“I do!” Felix said eagerly, his smile brightening the room.

“I’m good,” Changbin muttered from the stove, not looking up.

I.N glanced at Changbin, a flicker of concern passing through his eyes before he looked away.

Lee Know caught Han’s gaze across the table, and they exchanged a silent understanding: there was still healing to do, but here, in this small moment together, they could try.

The living room was filled with soft chatter and the shuffle of bodies settling after breakfast. The group lounged on sofas and floor cushions, some scrolling on their phones, others talking quietly. Hyunjin was leaning back, watching Felix with a quiet attentiveness.

Suddenly, Felix flinched sharply, a quick wince breaking through his otherwise calm expression. His hand instinctively moved to his ribs.

Hyunjin noticed immediately. “Felix?”

Felix gave a small, strained smile but didn’t say anything. Slowly, he pushed himself up and started toward his room, each step measured and careful.

Hyunjin rose without hesitation, following close behind.

Inside the quiet room, Felix eased himself down onto the bed, lying flat on his back with a soft sigh. The tension in his body was palpable.

Hyunjin came in with a bottle of pain meds and a glass of water. “Here. Take these.”

Felix reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he took the pills and the water. “Thanks, hyung.”

Hyunjin settled onto the edge of the bed, his voice gentle. “You should’ve told me it hurt this bad.”

Felix shook his head faintly. “It’s more than my ribs and sides... my mind, my heart—they all hurt too. I feel like I deserve all this pain.”

Hyunjin’s eyes softened, a deep ache in his chest. “No. You don’t deserve this—not even close.”

He reached out, taking Felix’s hand in his. “I love you. I always will. And I’m so sorry... for everything. For what happened, for not protecting you better. It’s on me.”

Felix’s breath hitched, tears welling as the weight of those words settled between them. “I’m scared, hyung. Scared it won’t ever get better.”

Hyunjin brushed a gentle hand over Felix’s cheek, voice steady and warm. “We’ll take it step by step. Together. I’m not going anywhere.”

Felix let out a shaky breath, a small flicker of hope breaking through the pain. “Thank you... hyung.”

Later that evening, there was the gentle crackle of the bonfire outside mixed with the soft sounds of chopping and sizzling inside the kitchen. Lee Know and Han stood side by side, bustling around the small stove and counter, working together to prepare a meal for the group.

Lee Know carefully stirred a pot of stew, the rich aroma filling the room. “Do you think everyone will like this? I tried adding a little extra spice.”

Han peeked over, nodding approvingly. “They’ll love it. And if it’s too spicy, well, they can blame you.”

Lee Know rolled his eyes but smiled. “Always the safe option, huh?”

Han grinned as he carefully skewered marshmallows on sticks. “Alright, while the stew simmers, I’m taking charge of the s’mores.”

Lee Know grabbed a plate and began arranging graham crackers and chocolate squares. “You handle the marshmallows, I’ll get the crackers and chocolate ready. Teamwork.”

They exchanged a quick glance, their playful banter easing the weight of the day.

Han held a marshmallow over the stove flame, his eyes twinkling. “Remember, golden, not charcoal.”

Lee Know laughed. “Says the guy who once set off the smoke alarm roasting one.”

Han feigned offense but chuckled. “Hey, I’m a work in progress.”

With the stew nearly ready, Lee Know carefully ladled it into bowls, while Han expertly toasted marshmallows to a perfect golden brown.

“Ready to bring it out?” Lee Know asked, carrying the stew.

Han balanced the plate of s’mores. “Let’s give them something to smile about.”

Together, they stepped outside into the cool night, the warmth of the fire and their food a comforting contrast to the lingering shadows.

Outside, the cool night air was alive with the sounds of crackling wood and soft footsteps on dry grass. Bang Chan and I.N worked side by side, carefully stacking logs to build the bonfire. Bang Chan’s hands were steady and sure, guiding I.N through the steps.

“Make sure the bigger logs go at the bottom,” Bang Chan instructed, his voice calm. “We want a fire that lasts all night.”

I.N nodded, trying to focus despite the lingering heaviness in his chest. “Got it. I just don’t want to mess this up.”

Bang Chan glanced at him with a gentle smile. “You’re doing fine. We’ll make this a night to remember.”

Once the fire was set, they moved on to arranging chairs in a loose circle around the flames. I.N paused, glancing toward the kitchen window where Lee Know and Han were busy inside.

“They’re making food,” Bang Chan said, following his gaze. “And s’mores.”

I.N smiled faintly, the simple thought lifting some weight from his shoulders. “Sounds perfect.”

A few moments later, the inviting glow of the fire began to flicker to life, the warmth reaching out across the yard. The group’s voices grew softer as everyone began to gather, ready to leave the heaviness of the day behind, even if just for a little while.

Lee Know and Han set the food down on the small table they’d set up beside the circle of chairs.

“We come bearing sustenance!” Han announced, holding up a tray of s’mores like it was a sacred offering.

I.N stood, a smile pulling at his lips. “You even did the marshmallows right this time.”

“I’m a changed man,” Han said with mock solemnity.

The screen door creaked, and Hyunjin appeared with his arm gently around Felix’s back, helping him down the porch steps.

“Easy,” Hyunjin murmured as Felix winced slightly. “We’ll sit close to the fire.”

Felix leaned into him, nodding. “Thanks, Hyunee.”

They settled into two of the chairs, close and quiet, Hyunjin still watching him like he might break again if he looked away.

Moments later, the door creaked again and Changbin stepped out, hands in his pockets, head down as he walked toward the fire. He didn’t say anything, just quietly took a seat toward the far end of the circle.

The air shifted subtly.

It was a few more minutes before Seungmin came out, slowly, quietly. His eyes flicked to Changbin, then to the empty chair directly across from him. He hesitated—but only for a moment—before taking the seat.

No words were exchanged between them.

Still, everyone was there.

The fire crackled softly in the center, casting their shadows long across the grass. In that shared circle of warmth, tension and healing sat side by side, and for once, no one tried to force anything else. The food was passed around. The s’mores were clumsily made and even more clumsily eaten. Together, they watched the flames dance, holding onto the small, bright moment in the dark.

The night settled in gently, stars blinking awake overhead as the bonfire crackled at the heart of their circle. Its fli ckering light danced across their faces, catching in quiet smiles and softened eyes.

Felix leaned carefully against Hyunjin’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed for a few seconds at a time. Hyunjin didn’t move, just adjusted his arm around Felix’s back like it belonged there, rubbing slow circles into his side every now and then. The pain was still there, but so was the safety.

Lee Know sat with his legs crossed, watching the flames with a relaxed expression, occasionally nudging Han beside him with his knee every time Han tried to sneak a second s’more. Han gave an exaggerated innocent look each time, even as melted chocolate smeared his cheek.

Bang Chan leaned forward in his chair, poking the fire with a stick, carefully adjusting the logs to keep it going. He didn’t speak, but he smiled quietly as he watched the group around him—his members, slowly mending.

I.N sat cross-legged on a blanket near the fire, the orange glow warming his face. He tilted his head back to look at the stars, letting the voices and soft laughter wrap around him like a blanket. Every now and then, he glanced toward Bang Chan with something like quiet gratitude.

Across the fire, Changbin rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze flicking across the group. His eyes paused on Seungmin, who sat across from him, slightly turned away, legs pulled up into the chair, arms wrapped around them. Seungmin didn’t look back, but he wasn’t avoiding the moment either. He laughed under his breath at something Han did—something small, something real.

Someone threw a marshmallow too hard and missed the fire entirely, causing a soft explosion of laughter. Felix snorted and winced at the same time. Hyunjin shook his head, gently holding Felix’s hand in his lap. I.N looked over and started laughing too, his face brightening like he hadn’t in days.

No one tried to fix anything. They just let themselves be there—messy, bruised, a little broken, but still here. Together.

As the flames popped and cracked, as the night folded itself softly around them, it wasn’t about forgetting what happened. It was about remembering that this—the warmth, the closeness, the quiet joy—still belonged to them too.

As the fire began to die down, glowing coals pulsing gently in the pit, Lee Know stood and stretched with a satisfied sigh. “Alright, that was nice. Now… Seungmin and Changbin are on clean-up duty.”

Han grinned, immediately chiming in, “Yep. We all agreed earlier—no take-backs.”

A few light chuckles followed, and though Seungmin rolled his eyes and Changbin let out a low groan, neither protested. It was a quiet truce—unspoken, but there.

One by one, the others stood, brushing off their blankets and jackets. Felix leaned into Hyunjin for support, I.N walked alongside Bang Chan, and Han looped his arm lazily around Lee Know’s shoulder as they made their way back toward the house, the cool night following behind them.

In the fading firelight, Seungmin and Changbin were left behind—together again, if only in responsibility. But it was a start.

Changbin and Seungmin moved in near silence, clearing empty bowls and crumpled napkins from around the firepit. The quiet between them wasn’t comfortable—it pulsed with everything unsaid, everything still lingering beneath the surface.

After a moment, Changbin set a tray down a little too hard on the table and turned.

“You’re really not gonna talk to me?”
His voice was low, but worn thin—frustration laced with exhaustion.

Seungmin didn’t turn. Didn’t even flinch.
“I’ve said everything I needed to last night,” he said, flat. Final.

Changbin exhaled sharply. “Then say it again. Say something. Anything.”

A pause. A heartbeat suspended.

“I’m not a mind reader, Min.”

Seungmin turned.

The movement was small, but the weight of it was monumental. His face was wrecked — eyes glassy, jaw trembling, like something inside him had been threatening to rupture for days, and now it finally had.

“You want me to say something?” His voice was low, breathless. “Fine.”

He stood slowly, fists clenched at his sides, arms taut with years of restraint finally unraveling.

“I’m not ready to forgive you yet! You thought I didn’t care? That I was cold? Detached? That I didn’t give a damn about you or Felix?”

His voice shook, rising despite the tightness in his throat. “I was trying to hold it together—for both of us—while you shut me out and made me feel like I was just in your way.”

Tears began to slip down his cheeks, hot and fast, and he didn’t even try to wipe them. He kept going, as if he stopped now, he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

“Do you know what it felt like when you said those things to me? Like, I didn’t matter. Like I was just noise you wanted to tune out.”

His voice cracked, but he pushed through it.
“And that night… when Felix…”

He choked on the memory, a hand briefly lifting to his mouth before falling uselessly back to his side.

“I saw it happen. I was right there , and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop it. And I hated myself for that.”
His shoulders trembled as a sob broke loose. “And then you turned around and made me feel like I wasn’t enough for you either.”

He took a shuddering breath, barely able to keep standing.

“I walked away so many times, Changbin. And every single time… I hoped— begged —that you’d come after me.”

He looked at him, eyes brimming with a pain too heavy to carry alone.
“You never did.”

Changbin’s breath caught. He was frozen in place, chest rising and falling as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He had never— never —seen Seungmin like this.

“I didn’t know…” he said, hoarse, almost inaudible.

“No,” Seungmin rasped, “You didn’t. Because you never asked. You just assumed I didn’t feel anything.”

Silence stretched between them. The fire cracked softly behind them, casting long shadows across the grass.

Then, slowly, Changbin stepped forward.

Not too fast. Not all at once. Like one wrong move might make Seungmin vanish into the night.

“I was scared,” he said. “Of you. Of how much I relied on you. You became the one constant when everything else was falling apart.”

He stopped in front of him, close enough to reach out—so he did. Gently, hesitantly, he took Seungmin’s shaking hands in his own.

“And when things got bad, I panicked. I pushed you away first. Before you could do it to me.”

Seungmin didn’t answer, but his hands didn’t pull away. His breath came in shallow, uneven bursts.

Changbin’s thumb gently brushed along his knuckles, then lifted to Seungmin’s face. Slowly—giving him time to retreat if he needed to—he wiped the tears from his cheek with soft fingers.

“I see it now,” Changbin whispered. “I see you . And I’m sorry. For every word that made you feel less than loved.”

Seungmin was still crying, though silently now. Face flushed, eyes red, lower lip trembling like a child who had spent too long holding in too much.

“You didn’t deserve any of that,” Changbin said. “You deserve better.”

He paused, voice dropping even softer.
“I want to be better.”

Seungmin didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then, finally, broken but steady, he murmured,
“…If you ever talk to me like that again, I’ll hit you.”

Changbin let out a small, watery laugh. “Fair.”, but then his smile softened, eyes never leaving Seungmin’s.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice thick with guilt. “For the way I talked to you. For letting you walk away so many times and never going after you. I thought giving you space was what you wanted. I didn’t realize it was breaking you.”

He gripped Seungmin’s hands tighter, grounding both of them.

“I should’ve run after you. Every single time. And I swear… I won’t let you walk away like that again. Not without me right behind you.”

Seungmin didn’t answer—not with words—but his silence was no longer distant. It was full of everything unspoken, every emotion shared in the trembling of his fingers wrapped around Changbin’s.

Then Changbin dipped his head, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the tops of Seungmin’s hands. And with the same care, he reached up once more to brush away the last of Seungmin’s tears—like maybe, just maybe, he could help carry the pieces this time.

They stayed like that in the flickering firelight—hands tangled, breathing slow—for the first time in too long, finally not running.

Chapter Text

The house was silent, the kind of deep, muffled quiet that only existed after 1 a.m. when even the walls seemed to sleep. Faint shadows spilled across the hallway as Bang Chan padded softly down the corridor, barefoot and tense. He had rehearsed this conversation more times than he could count, fists clenched around his own guilt, frustration bubbling just under the surface.

He was tired — but not the kind of tired that came from work. The kind that came from knowing something was broken and not being sure how to fix it.

When he reached their bedroom door, slightly ajar, he paused. Took a breath. Just say it , he told himself. Get it out. Talk to him. Fight if you have to. You can’t keep walking around each other like strangers.

He pushed the door open quietly, half-expecting I.N to be asleep already.

But he wasn’t.

He was curled up on the bed, knees drawn tightly to his chest, back facing the door. A soft tremble ran through his frame. At first Chan thought it might be shivers, but then he heard it — the smallest, stifled sniff. And then another.

I.N was crying.

Quietly. Silently. Like he didn’t want anyone to know.

The speech Chan had prepared died in his throat. His entire chest ached at the sight. He’d never seen I.N cry like that — not in front of him, not anymore. It was too familiar. Too old. It reminded him of the boy who used to bottle everything up just to keep the peace.

“I.N…” Chan said gently, his voice barely more than a whisper.

I.N didn’t turn. He just kept staring at the wall, his voice soft and fragile.

“I waited for you again tonight.”

Chan stepped carefully towards the bed, like he was walking across glass.

“And the night before that,” I.N said. “And the week before that.”

He took a shaky breath.

“You used to be the first one to come home. You used to ask me how my day was. I used to get good morning texts, Chan. Even when you were five rooms away.”

He swallowed hard, voice cracking as the memories poured out.

“I remember the canceled movie nights, the missed dates... sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for the door that never opened.”

Chan’s mouth opened, then closed. He didn’t know what to say.

I.N finally turned his head, just slightly, enough for Chan to see his red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Then the texts stopped. You started coming home late. Too tired to talk. Too busy to stay. Too busy to even notice.”

His eyes brimmed with tears again, catching the dim light like broken glass.

“I didn’t stop needing you, you know,” he said, voice barely holding together. “But you made me feel like I was asking too much just by wanting you to be there.”

Chan sat down slowly, his shoulders heavy. “I thought… if I worked hard enough, if I stayed busy, I could protect you. Keep everything together.”

He looked down at his hands, clasped tightly between his knees.

“But I wasn’t protecting anything. I was disappearing.”

He looked up at him again, guilt thick in his voice.
“You didn’t deserve to feel alone in something we were supposed to do together. I’m sorry, Jeongin.”

I.N stared at him, face contorted, blinking through fresh tears.

“You didn’t just disappear,” he said. “You made me feel like I wasn’t worth staying for.”

And with those words, something cracked open. I.N's breath hitched, and he let out a sob that came from somewhere deep in his chest — a sound Chan hadn’t heard in too long. The kind of sob you couldn’t fake. The kind that broke you.

“Do you know how it feels,” I.N cried, voice rising through the cracks, “to shrink your needs just so someone might stay? To ask for less and less until there’s nothing left?”

Chan’s throat burned.

“Can I hold you?” he asked quietly.

I.N didn’t speak, just nodded once.

Chan moved closer, wrapping his arms around him with a gentleness that made I.N cry harder. His fingers clutched at Chan’s shirt, holding on like he was afraid of being let go again.

“I should’ve come home,” Chan whispered into his hair. “I should’ve picked you every time. I didn’t. But if you’ll let me… I want to now.”

I.N hiccupped, pulling back just enough to look at him, face damp and eyes searching.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Chan cupped his cheek, thumb brushing away a fresh tear. “Then I won’t promise,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

For a long moment, they just breathed.

I.N rested his forehead against Chan’s, and the world got quiet again — not empty this time, but full of something unspoken. Something new. Or maybe something very old that had just finally been seen again.

Chan pulled the blankets around them and eased both of them down into the bed. They shifted in sync, like they’d done a thousand times before — only now, there was no cold space between them. No resentment. Just warmth. Just silence.

I.N curled into him without a word. Chan wrapped his arms around him, his chin tucked against I.N’s temple.

There were still things to fix. Still scars to name. But for the first time in a long time, neither of them felt alone.

They fell asleep like that — tangled in each other, the soft sound of breathing the only proof that something inside them had finally settled.

Outside, the wind sighed through the trees.

Inside, Chan stayed.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the quiet room. Bang Chan moved silently, careful not to wake I.N. He stopped by the bedside and placed a small, folded note on the pillow. The note was simple but heartfelt—a sincere apology and a promise to do better, folded into a tiny origami heart. Beside it, he left a small wildflower, delicate and bright.

Later, I.N stirred awake, his mind still heavy with the emotional weight from the night before. His eyes caught the note immediately. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out, fingers trembling as he unfolded the paper. As he read Chan’s words, a bittersweet smile curved his lips, and silent tears welled in his eyes. The note was a quiet light in the lingering darkness.

The note read:
Jeongin,
I’m sorry for making you feel alone. I promise to do better — to be here for you, Always.
Please don’t give up on us.
—Chan

When I.N came down to the kitchen, he found the group already gathered around the table, laughter and chatter filling the air.

“Morning,” I.N said softly.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Han teased with a grin. “You look like you just wrestled with a pillow all night.”

“Maybe a fight with his dreams,” Felix added with a small laugh.

I.N smiled faintly and made his way to Bang Chan, who was sitting quietly sipping tea.

Quietly, I.N wrapped his arms around Chan from behind and whispered, “Thank you for the note.”

Chan looked surprised but relieved. “You read it?”

“Yes, It helped.”

“I meant every word,” Chan replied softly.

The group settled into breakfast, the conversation shifting to plans for the evening.

“Hey,” Seungmin said brightly, “what if we did fireworks tonight? Something big — like a real celebration?”

Changbin smirked. “You planning to blow up the whole neighborhood?”

“No, no,” Seungmin laughed. “Just some colorful rockets. It could be fun — a way to forget all the heaviness for a while.”

“I like that,” Hyunjin said. “Could use some light after all this darkness.”

“I’m in,” Lee Know added.

“Me too,” Felix said with a smile. “Let’s make it a night to remember.”

Chan nodded. “Alright, fireworks it is.”

Han shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing toward the window. The thought of the loud explosions made his chest tighten, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he forced a small nod, willing himself to be part of the moment.

Later, Changbin and Seungmin headed to the store to gather supplies. As they walked the aisles, Changbin picked up a box of smaller fireworks.

“These are the small ones, right?” he asked. “No way those will make a big boom.”

Seungmin smirked. “Quality over quantity. We want a good mix — some loud ones, some pretty ones.”

“So your plan is a controlled explosion party?” Changbin teased.

“Exactly,” Seungmin said with a grin. “You handle the ‘boom,’ I handle the ‘pretty.’”

“Deal. Just don’t let me carry all the heavy stuff.”

“You wish,” Seungmin laughed.

With their bags full and spirits high, they headed back, eager to join the others.

As they returned, the group gathered outside under the twilight sky. Changbin and Seungmin began unloading the fireworks, setting them carefully in place. The air buzzed with excitement and nervous anticipation.

The night air was alive with laughter and the scent of summer—soft grass underfoot, sparklers twinkling like tiny stars in everyone’s hands. The group had gathered outside, their faces lit by the warm glow of small fireworks, passing around fountains and poppers with wide smiles and teasing jokes.

One by one, the first small rockets shot into the sky, bursting into cascades of vibrant colors. Laughter and cheers echoed as the group watched, the weight of the day lifting bit by bit.

Han held a sparkler cautiously, his lips twitching into a small smile as Felix twirled his with effortless grace. The light crackled gently, a pleasant sound that blended with the evening’s happy chatter. Nearby, Seungmin grinned, pulling a small box from his pocket.

“I’ve got the big stuff,” he announced, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Everyone took a few steps back as Seungmin set up a pack of firecrackers and a few rockets. The first rocket shot up with a bright trail, bursting in a cascade of colors that painted the night sky. Applause and cheers followed.

But when the firecrackers exploded with loud, sharp booms, Han froze. The noise shredded through the air like jagged lightning, pulling him back to a place he desperately tried to forget. His breath hitched. A sudden flash of Felix’s accident—bright lights, a crashing sound, the terror and chaos—seared through his mind.

The world tilted. His vision blurred. The happy voices around him dulled into a distant hum.

Without a word, Han turned sharply and fled, the cold night air hitting his face as he rushed inside, heart pounding like a drum.

Lee Know’s smile faded as he glanced around. “Han?” His voice was low, threaded with concern.

When there was no answer, Lee Know moved inside, following the faint sound of hurried footsteps. He found Han tucked away in their closet, knees pulled to his chest, hands shaking violently as he tried to cover his ears. The distant crackle of firecrackers from outside seeped through the walls, fueling Han’s rising panic.

Lee Know knelt beside him, gently placing his hands over Han’s trembling ones, guiding them to shield his ears more completely. The desperation in Han’s breath and the shake in his body cut through Lee Know’s heart.

Without hesitation, Lee Know began searching the small space, fingers brushing over clothes and boxes until he found Han’s headphones. He pressed play on the calming playlist Han often used, then carefully placed the headphones over Han’s ears.

The music’s soft hum wrapped around them like a balm.

Taking Han’s hands firmly into his own, Lee Know’s voice was a steady whisper, a lifeline: “In… slow… breath in through your nose. Hold it… now out through your mouth.”

He repeated the rhythm patiently, squeezing Han’s hands with gentle reassurance, grounding him in the present.

Han’s ragged breaths began to ease, his eyes closing briefly as the panic slowly loosened its grip. Lee Know stayed close, fingers brushing Han’s hair back-. 

After a moment, Han looked up, his eyes raw but grateful. He leaned his head against Lee Know’s shoulder, the silent weight of trust settling between them.

Finally, Han’s voice came—tentative, raw.

“It’s… it’s been hard,” he confessed quietly. “The memories… they come back when I least expect them. When it’s loud, or sudden. I try to push them away, but sometimes they just… hit me all at once. ”

Lee Know listened without interruption, his gaze full of empathy and quiet strength.

“I don’t always know how to handle it,” Han admitted. “But… being here with you, like this… it helps.”

Lee Know tightened his hold gently, offering no words at first—only presence. Sometimes, that was enough. Then, in a whisper barely louder than a breath, he said,

“I’m here. You’re safe. Always.”

Outside, the last sparks of the fireworks faded into the night, but inside, a quiet strength had been kindled — a promise of steadfast presence through the shadows.

Chapter Text

The room was quiet after the fireworks—too quiet.

Outside, laughter still lingered faintly in the night air, but here, inside four familiar walls, it felt like time had stopped. Their room hadn’t changed, but it felt different now. Like something had been waiting for them here. A silence that refused to be ignored anymore.

Hyunjin sat on his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Felix stood by the window, arms crossed tightly over his chest, the shadows cutting across his face.

He didn’t turn around when he spoke. “Did you mean it?”

Hyunjin looked up, confused.

Felix’s voice was quiet, but steady. “When you said you didn’t love me anymore.”

Hyunjin froze.

“I think about it all the time,” Felix continued. “I try not to, but it plays in my head on a loop. Your face. Your voice. The way you didn’t even flinch when you said it.”

He finally turned, and Hyunjin felt it in his stomach—how hollow Felix looked. Not fragile. Just… done .

“Tell me the truth,” Felix said. “Even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts.”

Hyunjin’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Because yes , he had said it. And no , he didn’t mean it. But that didn’t undo the fact that Felix had believed him . That Felix had taken those words into his chest like shattered glass and bled silently for weeks.

“I did say it,” Hyunjin whispered, his voice hoarse. “And I hate myself for it.”

Felix’s eyes didn’t waver. “Why?”

“Because I meant it in the moment,” Hyunjin said. “Not because I stopped loving you—but because I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I was so tired. Of everything. Of being expected to be okay. Of pretending. And I thought if I pushed you away hard enough, I could finally fall apart in peace.”

He stood slowly, each word a weight he could barely carry.

“You were the one thing I still had,” Hyunjin said. “And I turned you into my enemy. I looked at the person who stayed, who waited, who loved me , and I blamed you. I blamed you for seeing me when I couldn’t stand the sight of myself.”

Felix’s hands were clenched now, trembling. “Do you know what it felt like, Hyunjin? To love someone so much that you’d do anything to keep them close—and have them look at you like you were nothing?”

“I do now,” Hyunjin whispered, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. “Because the moment you ran out that night—I knew. I knew I broke you.”

Felix’s voice cracked. “I thought maybe if I disappeared, you’d be okay. That I was the problem. That if I wasn’t there, you’d breathe easier.”

“No,” Hyunjin said, his voice raw. “When I found out what happened… when I saw you lying in the street lifeless—I wanted to tear the world apart just to put you back together. But I couldn’t. I didn’t deserve to even touch you.”

He stepped closer, but not too close.

“I should’ve been there,” he said. “After the crash. At the hospital. Every single day. But I was too ashamed. Too scared you’d look at me the way I’d looked at you. Like I didn’t matter.”

Felix blinked, tears brimming in his eyes now.

“I wasn’t just sad,” he said, voice cracking. “I was gone . I kept waiting for you to come back—for some version of you to open that door and say, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.’ But you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t face what I’d done,” Hyunjin choked. “I wanted to—but every time I pictured you looking at me, I saw what I’d broken. I saw me . And I hated that person.”

Silence.

Then Felix stepped forward. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching something fragile.

“I needed you to say it,” he said. “Not just that you were sorry. I needed you to feel it.”

“I do,” Hyunjin whispered. “Every day. It lives in my chest. I hear it in the quiet. I feel it when I see you laughing with someone else and realize it’s a laugh I almost silenced forever.”

Felix was crying now. Not from rage. From the relief of being heard—finally, finally .

“I just…” Felix wiped his eyes. “I wanted you to say it wasn't my fault.”

“It wasn’t,” Hyunjin said. “None of it was your fault. You were the only thing holding me up. And I repaid you by pulling the ground out from under your feet.”

Felix reached out then—not for a hug, not for comfort. Just to press a hand against Hyunjin’s chest, over his heart.

“You were wrong,” Felix said quietly. “But you’re here now. And I’m tired of carrying this alone.”

Hyunjin’s hand came up, covered Felix’s.

“I’m here,” he said. “I’m not perfect. I’ll never be able to undo what I did. But if you’ll let me—I’ll stay. I’ll carry it with you. For as long as you need.”

Felix nodded, breathing shakily. “Okay. I believe you.”

And that was it. Not forgiveness. Not a clean slate.
Just—understanding. A quiet, earned kind of peace.

They didn’t say anything else. Just moved toward the bed—slowly, cautiously—and laid down together beneath the same blanket. This time, Hyunjin opened his arms, unsure if it was too much.

But Felix didn’t hesitate. He moved into him, gently, carefully, like he’d been waiting for this—not for comfort, but for truth . For presence . For the feel of being held by someone who finally understood what it meant to stay.

Hyunjin wrapped his arms around him, soft and steady. Felix’s head tucked beneath his chin, one hand resting over Hyunjin’s heart, and Hyunjin held him like he’d never let go again.

And maybe he wouldn’t.

The pain was still there, but it wasn’t between them anymore. It was something they could face— together .

Outside, the world was quiet again. But inside, something had shifted.

They weren’t broken anymore.
Just healing—side by side, heart to heart.

The smell of eggs and toast drifted through the beach house, curling into hallways and under doorframes like an unspoken invitation to come back to life.

In the kitchen, Seungmin was at the stove, hair still messy from sleep, flipping pancakes with the kind of focus that meant he was trying not to think too hard. Changbin leaned against the counter, yawning into his sleeve while setting out mismatched plates. Sunlight pooled in through the window, golden and forgiving.

Bang Chan sat at the table already, quiet with a mug of coffee cupped in both hands, the steam soft against his face. He didn’t say much, didn’t move much—just watched as the morning slowly settled around them.

One by one, the others trickled in—Lee Know first, barefoot and quiet; then Jeongin, blinking against the morning light with bed hair pointing in five directions. Han followed, rubbing his neck and already reaching for a mug.

And then—

Felix walked in with Hyunjin.

Together.

Chan noticed it instantly. It was in their posture—relaxed, but not rehearsed. It was in the way Felix smiled at something Hyunjin said under his breath, and the way Hyunjin looked back at him like he finally saw him again .

They sat down side by side at the table, murmuring something to each other that made Felix laugh—quiet, real. Not a performance. Just joy.

Seungmin glanced over from the stove. “Huh.”

“What?” Changbin asked, handing him a fork.

“Nothing,” Seungmin said, watching the two of them settle in. “Just… they look better.”

“Yeah,” Jeongin added, noticing the same thing. “Like something’s finally different.”

Chan didn’t say anything. He just took another sip of coffee, gaze still on the two of them.

They looked lighter. And for the first time in a long time, Felix wasn’t carrying all his weight in his shoulders. Hyunjin wasn’t keeping himself at a distance anymore—he was here . Present. With Felix.

They made it through , Chan thought. And his chest ached a little, in the way it does when something long and painful finally lets go.

The others kept talking—casual, easy—but Chan stayed quiet, soaking in the scene. It wasn’t fixed. Nothing ever really was. But it was healing. And that was enough for now.

He smiled to himself, quiet and full.

The kitchen had emptied out slowly, laughter and footsteps trailing down the hallway toward the living room or out to the porch. Only Han and Lee Know stayed behind.

There wasn’t a conversation about it—just a quiet rhythm that fell into place. Han rinsed dishes at the sink. Lee Know dried them with a towel, stacking them in uneven towers on the counter.

For a while, they didn’t say anything. Just the soft sound of running water, the occasional clink of a spoon, the low hum of a fan somewhere in the distance.

But underneath the quiet, something was pressing against Han’s ribs. Tight. Persistent.

He glanced sideways, at Lee Know’s profile—calm as always, unreadable. There , like always. But Han still didn’t know what that meant.

“Hey,” Han said, softly. “Can I ask you something?”

Lee Know didn’t look up, but he paused mid-dry. “Sure.”

Han hesitated. His voice lowered.

“Are we okay?”

Lee Know’s hands stilled. He set the plate down slowly, carefully. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Han swallowed. “You’ve been there. I know that. I see you. But… I don’t know where we stand. Sometimes I feel like you’re only here because I’m breaking.”

Lee Know turned then, really looked at him. Han kept his eyes on the sink.

“I’ve been scared to say anything,” Han said, the words tumbling now, messy and too fast. “Because you were one of the only ones who didn’t leave. And if I asked you why you stayed, I thought maybe you’d realize you didn’t want to.”

The silence that followed made Han’s heart sink.

But then—

“I stayed,” Lee Know said, quietly, “because I wanted to.”

Han blinked, finally meeting his eyes.

“I’m not good with… words,” Lee Know continued, voice flat but steady. “You know that. I shut down when things get heavy. I go quiet. But I’ve been watching you fall apart, and I didn’t know how to say that it was breaking me too.”

He looked down at the towel in his hands.

“I thought if I just stayed close, maybe it’d be enough. That you’d feel what I couldn’t say.”

Han gave a quiet laugh, not cruel—just tired. “I did feel it. But I started making up stories in my head anyway. Like maybe I was just some obligation you picked up along the way.”

Lee Know’s jaw tensed. “Don’t say that.”

“Well, that’s what it felt like,” Han said, softer now. “You were always… steady. But you never let me in. Not really.”

Lee Know looked at him again— really looked . And something cracked.

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted. “Not because I didn’t trust you. But because I didn’t trust myself not to fall apart if I did.”

Han’s breath caught. “You could’ve fallen apart. I wouldn’t have gone anywhere.”

“I know that now.”

A silence stretched between them—but this one wasn’t sharp. It was fragile. Gentle. A space they both finally let themselves exist in.

“I missed you,” Han said quietly. “Even when you were right next to me.”

Lee Know stepped closer, not touching, but near enough to be felt. “I missed you too. I just… didn’t know how to say it without it sounding weak.”

Han huffed a small, wet laugh. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Lee Know nodded, eyes softening. “Neither do you.”

They stood there in the quiet kitchen for a moment, hands still damp, the sunlight warming the floor around their feet.

Then Han reached for the towel in Lee Know’s hand and gently brushed his fingers. “We’re okay now?”

Lee Know gave the smallest smile. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

And for the first time in a long time, that actually felt true.

The house had quieted again, but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It felt like something had settled—something honest. And for the first time in a long time, peace didn’t feel so far away.

Chapter Text

The tide kissed the shoreline in soft, patient waves, brushing over I.N’s feet where he sat alone in the sand. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared ahead at the horizon, letting the wind skim through his hair and sting the corner of his eyes.

It wasn’t the ocean that felt heavy. It was everything else.

He hugged his knees loosely to his chest and let the voices come back—not the ones from today, but the ones he’d overheard, half a house away.

Flashback:

He hadn’t meant to listen. But when you live in close quarters with people you love, hurt with, it’s impossible not to hear the cracks turning into confessions.

“We’re okay now. We’re healing.”
Hyunjin’s voice, softer than he’d heard it in weeks. Felix’s laughter right after, like the sea breeze had finally returned to his lungs.

 “…If you ever talk to me like that again, I’ll hit you.”
Seungmin, broken but steady.

“I won’t ever let you go again.”
Changbin, steady and warm.

“I missed you, even when you were right next to me.”
Han, small and trembling.

“I didn’t know how to say I needed you too.”
Lee Know, quiet but sure.

I.N had stood in a hallway, on the beach, in the living room, frozen. Listening. Heart sinking further with each relationship finally healing except his own.

Back on the beach, a cold wave rolled over his ankles. He pulled his knees tighter in.

He said it out loud, barely audible even to the ocean in front of him.

“I don’t belong here.”

His voice broke.
“I know they love me. I know they care. But they’re healing, and I’m just… stuck. I’m the reason everything fell apart. I’m the one they had to pause everything for. I’m tired of pretending like I’m fine when I can’t even look any of them in the eye.”

He pressed his forehead to his knees, biting back tears.
“I wish I could disappear and make it easier for them.”

A long silence.

Then—footsteps in the sand.

“Jeongin…”

The voice was low. Steady. Gentle.

Bang Chan.

I.N didn’t move. His whole body locked up in shame.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” Chan said, voice closer now. He sat down beside him in the sand. “But I’m glad you said it.”

I.N finally lifted his head, his eyes wet. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

Chan shrugged, though his eyes shone with something deep and sad. “Maybe I needed to.”

He looked out at the sea. “You think you're the only one who feels like they ruined things? Every day I wake up wondering if I’m the reason we all broke in the first place. If I had just led better. Watched closer. Spoken louder.”

He turned to I.N, his voice quieter now. “You’re not alone in that. Not even a little.”

I.N let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to move on.”

Chan nodded. “Neither did I. Until I realized… I don’t have to do it by myself.”

He reached out, placing a hand on I.N’s shoulder, grounding him.

“I see you. All of you. Not just the pain. Not just the guilt. You’re not a burden—we’d carry this a thousand times if it meant keeping you with us.”

I.N’s throat tightened. “You mean that?”

Chan didn’t hesitate. “I mean every word.”

The younger boy finally let the tears fall, silent and slow. He didn’t sob. He just breathed—deeply, for the first time in what felt like forever.

And Chan stayed beside him, unmoving, anchoring him there.

They sat in the sand until the tide crept higher, brushing at their ankles like it, too, didn’t want to leave them behind.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of them pulled away from the world—or each other.

They weren’t broken anymore—not in the way that left them alone. They were healing now, too. Together.

The bedroom light was soft and low, one lamp glowing in the corner while the rest of the house quieted around them. Outside, the ocean hummed in the distance—a soothing, steady rhythm.

Seungmin stood at the dresser, tugging a hoodie over his head, hair still damp from his shower. He yawned, rubbing at one eye with the back of his hand. Changbin was already curled on his side of the bed, scrolling lazily through his phone with the brightness turned down.

“You brushed your teeth?” Seungmin asked, voice low and routine.

“Twice,” Changbin mumbled without looking up. “The mint kind. Extra effort just for you.”

Seungmin hummed and crossed the room, slipping under the covers beside him. For a while, neither of them spoke—just the soft sounds of breathing and waves beyond the walls.

Then Changbin turned, resting on one elbow to face him.

“I’m glad we talked,” he said.

Seungmin turned to meet his gaze. “Me too.”

A beat passed.

“We’re okay now, right?” Seungmin asked, softer this time.

Changbin nodded. His voice was steady, certain.

“Yeah. We’re okay.”

Seungmin smiled faintly and let his eyes drift toward the ceiling.

And then, quietly—gently—Changbin leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Not rushed. Not teasing.

Just soft. Grateful.

When Seungmin turned toward him, startled, Changbin immediately flopped back onto his pillow and yanked the blanket up like a shield.

“Don’t hit me,” he whispered, his grin unmistakable even under the covers. “I couldn’t help it.”

Seungmin stared at him for a second, lips parted in disbelief—then shook his head with the faintest laugh. He didn’t hit him.

Instead, he shifted a little closer beneath the covers, their arms brushing.

No more words were needed.

Just the quiet of the room, the warmth between them, and the comfort of knowing that this —whatever it was, wherever it was going—was finally okay.

Chapter Text

The soft morning light poured in through the wide windows of the beach house, painting the wooden floors in golden stripes. The ocean murmured gently in the distance, its rhythm calming but alive. Inside, the energy was shifting — lighter than it had been in days.

In the kitchen, the smell of toast and strawberries mixed with quiet laughter. I.N was perched on the counter, swinging his legs and nibbling on a piece of fruit, while Seungmin flipped through a wrinkled pack of cards someone had left out the night before. Hyunjin leaned against the fridge, lazily sipping iced coffee, his hair still messed from sleep.

Then, from somewhere down the hall, came a loud and very Han-like declaration:

“GUYS. I HAVE MADE THE DISCOVERY OF THE CENTURY.”

A clatter followed — something plastic crashing onto tile.

Hyunjin blinked. “Should we be concerned?”

I.N hopped down from the counter. “With Han? Always.”

Han appeared dramatically in the doorway a moment later, arms full of chaotic, colorful objects. “BEHOLD!” he announced, dropping everything onto the floor in a spectacular mess. “I found the sacred treasure chest of summer fun!”

There were sandcastle buckets in neon colors, plastic shovels, two faded-but-functional inflatable floaties (one shaped like a duck, the other a disoriented flamingo), and — to everyone’s horror and delight — at least four water guns.

Changbin leaned in, eyes widening. “Oh my god. Is that a mini beach volleyball net?”

Han grinned. “Yes. And goggles. And these —” He held up a pair of glittery sunglasses shaped like stars. “For dramatic flair.”

“I call the flamingo,” I.N said immediately, grabbing it.

Seungmin picked up one of the water guns and studied it with the seriousness of a man examining a weapon. “Do these still work?”

“Only one way to find out,” Han said ominously.

From the hallway, Chan’s voice drifted in as he wandered toward them, toothbrush in his mouth. “What... what is happening in here?”

Hyunjin gestured to the mess. “Han broke into the summer toy vault.”

“I regret nothing,” Han said, already blowing air into a deflated beach ball.

Lee Know appeared next, blinking sleepily, towel around his neck. “Why are you yelling before 10 a.m.?”

“Beach day,” Seungmin said simply.

Felix shuffled in last, dressed in soft cotton pants and an oversized t-shirt, still towel-drying his hair. His lips curled up when he saw the pile of toys. “That looks dangerous.”

“It is,” Hyunjin said, nudging him gently. “And you’re banned from doing anything that involves running, diving, or getting body slammed.”

Felix raised a hand solemnly. “I swear to only be morally supportive.”

“You can help with sandcastles,” I.N said. “Low risk. High reward.”

“Perfect,” Felix beamed.

“Alright!” Chan clapped his hands together, toothbrush now gone and replaced with purpose. “Let’s pack up. Bring towels, snacks, and water , for the love of god.”

Han was already halfway down the hallway, yelling about finding the mini cooler. “THIS IS OUR LEGACY!”

Within minutes, the house was alive with motion — sunscreen being tossed across rooms, bathing suits exchanged, snacks stuffed into tote bags and cooler pouches. Seungmin tried to confiscate the water guns to prevent a premature soaking but lost that battle immediately. Changbin emerged wearing goggles on his head like a crown. Hyunjin braided Felix’s damp hair so it stayed off his face, fingers gentle and quiet.

Lee Know, ever practical, packed a first-aid kit. “Just in case,” he said when Chan gave him a look.

The chaos was loud. The laughter was louder.

By the time they all spilled out onto the sand, arms full of toys and hearts full of anticipation, it wasn’t just a beach day.

It was the first day in a long time where joy didn’t feel fragile.

It felt real. Earned.

And just getting started.

The beach was alive with the crackle of energy and salt-kissed breeze. Towels were spread unevenly on the sand, a cooler hummed softly beside a tilted umbrella, and the remnants of Han’s toy haul were scattered in a colorful mess. Seagulls cried overhead, but no one cared — today, the world was theirs.

Lee Know stood near the edge of their little camp, hands on hips, surveying the setup like a general. “No trash left behind, no sand in the food, and someone please put sunscreen on the back of my neck.” His voice was mild, but his eyes warned of swift consequences.

Seungmin was slathering on sunscreen like armor, grinning as he doused his arms and neck. “Ready to defend the castle,” he said dramatically, flicking a bit toward Changbin, who dodged with a laugh.

“Speaking of castles,” I.N announced, holding up a neon-orange bucket, “Official sandcastle contest, starting now! Teams form!” His smile was bright, full of the purest kind of joy.

Felix and I.N quickly paired up, their delicate fingers digging and shaping the damp sand with surprising skill. Felix’s brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully carved tiny windows while I.N arranged shells in a perfect line.

Nearby, Hyunjin and Lee Know were having a quieter battle of wills, attempting to build what Hyunjin claimed was “a majestic sand sculpture,” though Lee Know was pretty sure it looked like a mound with a stick in it.

“Is that supposed to be a castle or a molehill?” Lee Know asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s abstract art,” Hyunjin replied with a grin, sticking a seashell on top like a crown.

On the other side of the beach, Han, Seungmin, and Changbin were less concerned with art and more with chaos. Their “castle” quickly devolved into a giant pit, complete with an elaborate moat they were trying to fill by throwing buckets of seawater over the walls.

“Flood the competition!” Seungmin shouted, flinging water with all his might.

Felix, sitting a few feet away, watched the chaos with an amused smile. His ribs protested lightly every time the waves rolled in, so he stayed near the shoreline, occasionally helping I.N decorate their castle with small pieces of driftwood.

Just then, Han suddenly aimed a water gun at Changbin and squeezed the trigger. A burst of cold water shot out, hitting Changbin square in the chest.

“War declared!” Changbin roared, grabbing a bucket of water and dousing Han in return.

The water fight erupted with laughter and shrieks, everyone running, dodging, and firing their plastic weapons with gleeful abandon. Felix stayed mostly seated on a towel, but when Hyunjin wandered by, he sneaked a shot with a small water gun, causing Hyunjin to stumble back, startled.

“Traitor!” Hyunjin shouted, Felix quickly gets up and runs away as Hyunjin is chasing him with a bucket of water.

Lee Know, who’d been trying to maintain some semblance of order, got caught in the crossfire and emerged soaked from head to toe.

“That’s it,” Lee Know declared, water dripping from his hair. “Revenge will be mine.”

As the water war slowed and the group began to settle, the sun climbed higher, and a warm lull fell over the group. Towels were spread out, bodies stretched and sighed, and the distant sound of waves provided a peaceful backdrop.

Hyunjin leaned over to Seungmin, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hey, want to try carrying Lee Know into the waves?”

Seungmin smirked. “You mean drag him in?”

“Same difference.”

They crept over to Lee Know, who was sitting on a towel, calmly sipping water and watching the others. Without warning, Hyunjin grabbed Lee Know by the shoulders while Seungmin took hold of his feet, both doing their best to lift him up. 

Lee Know’s eyes flicked open, surprised, but he said nothing, letting himself be lifted — or rather, dragged. The uneven grip made it less a carry and more a slow, awkward haul across the sand.

“Hey, you’re supposed to lift me!” Lee Know grumbled, his arms flailing slightly.

“Try not to fall,” Hyunjin whispered, barely holding back laughter.

As they neared the surf, Lee Know’s feet touched the cold, rolling waves. Then, in an instant, he twisted sharply, kicking out and yanking both Hyunjin and Seungmin off balance.

With a loud splash, all three crashed into the water, sputtering and laughing.

From the shore, Han cheered, “That’s what you get!” while I.N doubled over, laughing so hard he nearly toppled into the sand.

After drying off and regrouping, Felix quietly slipped toward the shore, drawn by the gentle pull of the waves.

He waded carefully into the water, feeling the cool foam brush his ankles. Sitting down where the water barely reached his knees, he scooped handfuls of frothy white seafoam, watching it slip through his fingers.

He bent down and traced little patterns in the wet sand, watching the tide gently erase his drawings, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Hyunjin noticed but stayed back, giving Felix space — a quiet moment for him to claim.

Meanwhile, the group regrouped for one last burst of energy: a chaotic attempt to keep a beach ball afloat.

Screams and laughter filled the air as they dove, bumped, and flailed, shouting “Don’t let it drop!” Felix joined in from the sidelines, bumping the ball with his foot and hands, careful but delighted.

Finally, exhausted and dripping, they collapsed onto their towels.

I.N triumphantly held up a slice of watermelon. “Mine.”

“Share!” Han groaned.

Seungmin grumbled about never trusting Hyunjin again after the earlier stunt, while Lee Know threatened to bury them in sand.

Felix, wrapped in a towel, sat quietly at the edge of the group, glowing softly with a peace that was new and hard-earned.

The sun warmed their skin, the ocean whispered nearby, and laughter tangled effortlessly in the salty air.

The sun dipped low, splashing the sky with pink and orange as Chan pulled out his phone. “Group photo time!” he declared, grinning. “Pairs! Everyone, grab your partner.”

I.N instantly plopped the glittery star sunglasses on, beaming up at Chan. Chan wrapped an arm around him like a proud big brother, pretending to be serious but failing.

Hyunjin brandished a water gun like a pirate’s sword, striking a dramatic pose. Felix leaned against him, holding a small bucket like a trophy, his smile soft and warm.

Changbin stood protectively behind Seungmin, wielding the giant rubber duck floatie like a shield. Seungmin tried to keep a serious face but ended up cracking a smile.

Han plopped down on the flamingo floatie with a flourish, striking a ridiculous throne pose. Lee Know stood beside him, struggling not to laugh at the absurdity.

“Okay, serious faces!” Chan said, phone raised.

Seconds later, everyone was grinning, blinking, or bursting into laughter.

“Again!” Chan said, lowering the phone. “Now, jump on three!”

“Three!”

Chaos. Arms flailed, feet tangled, and pairs stumbled into each other. Hyunjin and Felix toppled over with laughter, dragging Seungmin and Changbin down nearby. Han nearly fell off the floatie, saved only by Lee Know’s quick reflexes.

Chan laughed so hard his phone shook, but he managed to snap a semi-blurry photo, capturing perfect, messy joy.

They collapsed into the sand, breathless and happy.

Chan lowered his phone and said softly, “This. This is what I wanted.”

No one answered, but no one had to.

They all knew.

Chapter Text

The walk back to the house was slow and sleepy, like the ocean had wrung every last drop of energy from them.

Barefoot and sun-warmed, they wandered along the sand-dusted path, floaties slung over shoulders, damp towels trailing behind them like flags of victory. The sky had shifted into a deep, sleepy blue, the last traces of gold fading behind them. Stars blinked awake above the treetops. No one was in a hurry.

Felix leaned gently into Hyunjin’s side, the edge of a shared towel draped over both their shoulders. Hyunjin’s hand rested on the small of Felix’s back, guiding, steady — a soft touch that said, I’m here.

A little ahead, I.N walked close beside Chan, their arms brushing with every step. I.N’s hair was still wet and messy from the ocean, and Chan reached over to fix a stubborn piece that stuck up. I.N looked up at him and grinned without saying a word — he didn’t have to.

Behind them, Changbin and Seungmin ambled side by side, their pace lazy. Changbin kept bumping Seungmin with his shoulder on purpose until Seungmin finally shoved back — but it ended with Changbin looping an arm around him, pulling him close in a loose side-hug that never broke stride.

Han, dragging the flamingo floatie like a trophy, matched steps with Lee Know, who had his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. Without warning, Han slung the floatie around Lee Know’s shoulders, grinning smugly. Lee Know rolled his eyes, but let it stay. And when Han’s fingers brushed his, he didn’t pull away — just nudged them closer.

“I think I’ve forgotten how to feel my legs,” Han muttered to no one in particular.

“Good,” Seungmin called from behind. “Maybe you’ll stop moving.”

Chan let out a quiet chuckle. “We earned that exhaustion.”

Changbin groaned. “If I don’t eat in the next twenty minutes, I’m going to disappear.”

“We’re literally steps away from a kitchen,” Lee Know deadpanned, though his voice was gentler than usual.

“Hotpot?” I.N offered hopefully, looking back at Chan.

“Ooh,” Hyunjin added. “And barbecue!”

That got a universal hum of approval.

“Let’s do both,” Chan said, already unlocking the door. “Why not end the day right?”

The beach house quickly filled with the soft chaos of everyone peeling off damp clothes, rinsing sand from legs, and shuffling into oversized t-shirts and sweats. Felix changed slowly, with Hyunjin hovering just enough to offer help if needed, but not so much that it drew attention.

By the time they regrouped in the living room, the space had transformed.

A low table was pulled into the center of the floor, surrounded by cushions and towels. A hotpot bubbled quietly on one side, and a small tabletop grill sizzled to life on the other. Bowls of thinly sliced meat, tofu, mushrooms, greens, and noodles lined the edges of the table. There were dipping sauces, rice, dumplings, and someone had even brought out kimchi and sparkling water.

Lee Know had taken over without question, tongs in one hand, ladle in the other.

“Don’t touch the raw meat,” he warned as Han reached too close. “I’m serious.”

Han slowly retracted his hand. “Chef Lee Know has spoken.”

“I bow to your sizzling authority,” Seungmin said, mock bowing before scooting closer to the hotpot with a grin.

Felix settled between Hyunjin and I.N, wrapped in a blanket. He didn’t say much, just watched — the steam rising, the meat sizzling, the way everyone moved around each other like clockwork, like comfort.

“Is this your famous secret sauce?” Changbin asked, eyeing a small bowl I.N had placed dramatically in the center of the table.

“I call it: Flaming Regret.”

“Why does it smell like wasabi and danger?” Seungmin asked, poking it suspiciously with a chopstick.

“Because,” I.N replied with flair, “it’s the taste of chaos.”

“Perfect,” said Han, spooning some directly into Changbin’s bowl.

Changbin blinked slowly. “I regret everything.”

Laughter bubbled up around the table. I.N beamed like he’d just won a prize.

Hyunjin used the back of his chopsticks to steal a slice of grilled pork when Lee Know wasn’t looking. Felix caught it and snorted softly.

“You’re so bad at sneaking,” he whispered.

“Am not,” Hyunjin whispered back, immediately stealing a dumpling too.

Lee Know turned just in time to see him chewing suspiciously and narrowed his eyes. “You’re not slick, Hwang.”

Hyunjin grinned with his mouth full. “Love you!”

Lee Know rolled his eyes but handed him another piece anyway.

Seungmin leaned his back against Changbin’s shoulder casually, chopsticks moving expertly through the broth as he fished out noodles. “I’ll trade you a fishcake for a shrimp,” he offered.

Changbin handed it over without hesitation. “Only ‘cause I like you.”

“Liar,” Seungmin mumbled, but his smile didn’t fade.

On the other side, I.N was feeding Chan a perfectly wrapped lettuce wrap, complete with meat, rice, and a dab of sauce.

“Open,” he said sweetly, and Chan, half-laughing, obeyed.

“Should I be concerned by how much you’re enjoying this?” Chan asked mid-chew.

“Yes,” I.N said, grinning. “Deeply.”

Felix didn’t eat much, but every time a new dish was finished, someone gently nudged a piece toward him. He picked at what he could, letting the flavors settle gently, and eventually rested his head against Hyunjin’s shoulder with a quiet exhale. Hyunjin rested his cheek against the top of Felix’s head in return.

The laughter didn’t stop — but it softened, folding inward like a warm blanket. The kind of laughter that didn’t need to prove anything.

Steam fogged up the windows. The scent of sesame and grilled meat clung to the air. It wasn’t loud or wild or remarkable from the outside, but from within the circle of warmth, it felt like something sacred.

Chan watched them all from his spot on the edge — the way they filled each other’s gaps without thinking. His chest ached in the best way.

“This,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else, “this feels right.”

No one answered.

But all around the table, there were soft smiles, nudged knees, and the kind of peace that didn’t need words.

After dinner, the table was a battlefield — used chopsticks, empty bowls, sauce stains, crumpled napkins, and someone’s abandoned lettuce wrap. No one moved at first. They just sat there, full and warm, basking in the hum of comfort.

Then Lee Know stood, clapping his hands once. “Alright. No one’s allowed to lie down until this room is clean.”

A chorus of groans followed.

“Even me?” Han whined, flopping onto a cushion dramatically.

“Especially you,” Lee Know replied, already gathering dishes with practiced speed.

Everyone moved — reluctantly at first, but then with growing energy. Chan and I.N took dish duty in the kitchen, laughing every time they splashed water on each other. Felix wiped down the table with Hyunjin, who kept making little hearts out of the crumbs just to watch Felix roll his eyes but smile anyway.

Changbin and Seungmin bickered the entire time over who folded towels better, while Han made it his mission to stack all the cushions into one absurdly tall, wobbly tower.

Once the space was clean and everyone had changed into even comfier clothes, Chan dug into a drawer near the couch and triumphantly held up a dusty UNO deck. “You know what time it is.”

“Oh. It’s on ,” Felix said immediately, sitting up straighter with a glint in his eye. “I’m about to destroy you.”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Felix was already crossing his legs on the floor, slapping the table once. “Deal me in, old man.”

“Calling me old isn’t going to stop this revenge arc,” Chan said, grinning as he shuffled the cards.

They all gathered in a loose circle around the table — cushions, blankets, and folded legs everywhere. Han flopped dramatically across two bean bags, while Lee Know sat with his back straight like he was preparing for a business negotiation. Changbin cracked his knuckles. I.N warmed up his shuffling fingers like a pianist. Hyunjin stretched like he was going into battle.

Seungmin leaned in and whispered, “We play ruthless in this house.”

The game started light — teasing, a few skipped turns, and the occasional reverse that sent I.N into spirals of betrayal. But then came the real weapons.

Chan placed a +4 down without warning.

“Felix,” he said calmly, “I’m sorry.”

Felix blinked. “No… no, you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I would,” Chan replied, grinning.

Hyunjin didn’t miss a beat, slapping his +4 on top. “Sorry, baby,” he added far too sweetly.

Felix’s mouth dropped open. “You traitor. ”

Then Seungmin placed his +4 with surgical, villain-level precision.

“You people have no honor,” Felix whispered.

The stack sat there, looming — +12 in glowing, vengeful glory.

“Pick up twelve,” Chan said like it was a gentle suggestion.

Felix stared at the pile like it had committed a personal crime. “I will never emotionally recover from this.”

He began grabbing cards, narrating dramatically with each pull. “One. Two. This is slander. Three. Hyunjin, I hope your mic cuts out next time you perform. Four. I hope you all step in a puddle with socks on— five, six, seven —I’m not even halfway done— eight, nine, ten —Christopher Bang, you’ll pay for this— eleven, twelve. ”

As Felix fanned out his now unmanageable hand with dramatic flair, Han quietly put down a +0 card just to keep the turn order spinning, completely unfazed.

“You good?” I.N asked.

Felix didn’t look up. “I will rise. But not tonight.”

The game kept going, even as Felix remained slumped against Hyunjin’s side, pouting into his ridiculous wall of cards. Hyunjin kept one arm around him, comforting in the way only someone who was also laughing could be.

And then — like the quiet drop of a bomb — Seungmin placed his final card.

“I’m out.”

Everyone paused.

“What?” Changbin said.

“Impossible,” I.N muttered.

“Did you even have green?” Lee Know asked suspiciously.

“Did you even draw that last round?” Han added.

“I’m not cheating,” Seungmin replied smoothly, already gathering his winning pile. “You’re just bad.”

“You skipped me three times in a row,” I.N protested.

“That’s called strategy.”

“Strategy,” Felix muttered from the floor, “or villain origin story?”

“I count twenty-two,” Han announced dramatically, fanning out Felix’s abandoned pile. “No wait—twenty-four. This is impressive. Honestly, I think you broke a record.”

Felix didn’t move. He was sprawled out on his back against the couch, one arm flung dramatically over his face, his remaining cards scattered like fallen soldiers. “This is what betrayal looks like,” he mumbled.

Hyunjin scooted closer, rubbing soft circles into Felix’s back through the blanket. “It’s okay, baby. You're still emotionally winning.”

“I was doing so well ,” Felix whispered. “I had two cards .”

As the laughter finally started to settle and the last few cards were shuffled back into the box, the room was heavy with warmth — the kind that didn’t come from heat, but from each other . No one rushed to move. They stayed where they were — tangled in cushions and blankets, leaning on each other, smiling without trying.

Felix let out one last groan from the floor, earning soft giggles. Hyunjin ruffled his hair.

And for a while, everything was still.

Then Chan’s phone buzzed on the nearby table. He reached for it lazily, glancing at the screen with no urgency — but as he read, his smile slowly faded.

The room noticed. Of course they did.

Every pair of eyes turned to him as the air shifted slightly, the lightness hanging just a little tighter.

Chan stayed quiet for a moment, still holding the phone to his ear.

Then he looked up, gaze sweeping over the group — Felix still sprawled on the floor, Hyunjin curled beside him, I.N resting against the couch, Seungmin and Changbin half-sitting on each other, Lee Know and Han nudging shoulders.

His voice was calm, but quieter than before.

“The company wants to know if we’re ready to come back to work.”

Chapter Text

The morning came quietly.

No crashing waves or shouting voices. No pots clattering in the kitchen or someone blasting music from a phone speaker. Just the gentle rustle of wind through the open window, the ocean humming in the distance — and a house still heavy with sleep.

Felix was the first one awake.

He sat curled on the wide windowsill of the upstairs hallway, blanket wrapped loosely around his shoulders, knees pulled to his chest. The sky outside was painted with soft grays and warm peach — not quite sunny, but not sad either. Just in-between. The kind of light that made everything feel quieter.

His eyes followed the waves as they rolled in, one after another, slow and steady. Leaving. Returning. Leaving again.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t smile either. He just breathed.

Footsteps creaked behind him.

Felix didn’t turn, but he already knew.

Hyunjin padded over in his too-big hoodie and bare feet, rubbing sleep from one eye. He didn’t say anything — just sank down beside Felix and leaned into him, resting his chin on Felix’s shoulder.

Felix leaned back without thinking.

For a while, they sat there like that. The house slowly began to stir — a door clicking open somewhere, the soft hum of someone brushing their teeth, the faint clatter of a pan being pulled from a cabinet.

Still, the window stayed quiet.

“I don’t want to go back yet,” Felix murmured finally, voice barely louder than the breeze.

“I know,” Hyunjin said, just as soft. “Me neither.”

They didn’t speak after that.

They didn’t need to.

By mid-morning, the house was gently buzzing — the low hum of movement as people wandered into the kitchen, messy-haired and still half-asleep, rummaging for cereal or stretching their backs with groans. The windows were open, letting in salt air and the sound of waves. It felt normal. Comfortable.

Chan sat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee cradled between both hands, elbows on the wood, eyes distant.

His phone sat face-up next to the mug. The screen still open.

He hadn’t said anything yet.

Across the room, I.N poured water into the kettle, glancing over his shoulder now and then.

Lee Know and Han shuffled in together, still wearing oversized T-shirts and mismatched socks, bickering lightly over who finished the last of the milk the night before. Seungmin had already stolen the couch with a bowl of cereal and a blanket wrapped around his entire head like a grumpy ghost. Changbin joined him a moment later, flopping down and stealing a spoonful without asking.

Hyunjin and Felix entered last, quiet and soft around the edges. They hadn’t said much since the window.

Chan didn’t look up until everyone was finally gathered — not all sitting, not all alert, but present . And that was enough.

He cleared his throat.

“I got a message last night,” he said, gently tapping the phone. “From the company.”

The room quieted immediately. Even Han stopped chewing.

“They asked if we’re ready to come back.”

No one spoke.

Chan’s gaze moved slowly around the room, waiting, open. “It’s not a demand. Not yet. Just… checking in. Seeing when we’ll be back in Seoul. They want to start working out comeback schedules. Filming. Practice. All of it.”

For a beat, no one moved.

Then Lee Know spoke first. “So it’s time.”

Felix’s fingers curled slightly around the hem of his sleeve. “Already?”

“It’s been almost a month,” I.N said quietly, almost like he was reminding himself. “It… makes sense.”

“It doesn’t feel like a month,” Seungmin mumbled.

“It doesn’t feel like enough,” Changbin added.

“No,” Chan agreed, voice soft. “It doesn’t.”

He let the words settle in the center of the table, somewhere between the empty cereal bowls and crumpled napkins.

“I’m not rushing us,” he added. “But I think… we should start packing today. Just a little. No pressure.”

There was a long pause.

Then Han nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Let’s make it a group effort,” Lee Know said, already standing. “We’ll sort stuff, clean up the house, prep for the drive. And… enjoy what’s left.”

“We can take one last group photo later,” I.N added. “For the fridge back home.”

Hyunjin smiled faintly. “Only if I get to style it.”

Felix didn’t say anything — just leaned into his side and squeezed his hand under the table.

And bit by bit, the quiet settled into something less heavy. A little more sure.

The house buzzed with slow movement, the kind that came not from urgency, but inevitability. Closets opened. Suitcases unzipped. Familiar drawers were emptied for the last time.

Rooms that had become nests of blankets, clutter, and comfort were gradually returning to their bare beginnings — a sweatshirt folded and tucked away here, a pair of sandals found under a couch there.

It wasn’t rushed. But it was real.

In their shared room, Changbin sat cross-legged on the bed, attempting to wrestle a hoodie into a roll small enough to fit his bag. Seungmin stood beside the closet, folding clothes methodically with quick, practiced motions.

“You really brought five black hoodies,” Seungmin said, holding one up with a raised brow.

Changbin shrugged. “I like options.”

Seungmin smirked and tossed it into the bag for him. “You wore the same one every day.”

“I was going for consistency.”

There was a pause — quiet, not awkward.

Seungmin pressed the final folded T-shirt down, then reached into his own open bag. After a moment, he pulled something out — a small envelope, scribbled with messy handwriting — and slid it quietly into the front pocket of Changbin’s suitcase.

Changbin blinked. “What was that?”

“Insurance,” Seungmin said, walking away with a smug little smile.

Changbin didn’t press. He didn’t need to. But his fingers brushed over the zipper slowly, like the promise of something he’d save for later.

In the upstairs hallway, Lee Know crouched beside a suitcase, carefully tucking away the last of his beach clothes. Han leaned on the wall nearby, arms crossed, watching him with something between curiosity and affection.

“You’re not bringing the seashells?” Han asked, eyeing the collection still lined on the window ledge.

Lee Know looked up. “They’re just rocks.”

“You spent forty minutes arranging those rocks.”

“They weren’t dry yet.”

Han grinned. “So you are sentimental.”

Lee Know rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched. “Maybe.”

Without another word, Han crossed the room and picked out one of the shells — pale pink and perfectly imperfect — and tucked it carefully into Lee Know’s bag, between two rolled shirts.

“For the dorm windowsill,” he said.

Lee Know didn’t argue.

In their room, Felix sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the half-zipped suitcase in front of him. Clothes were stacked neatly beside him, but he hadn’t touched them in ten minutes.

Hyunjin stood behind him, hands gently squeezing his shoulders, slow and grounding.

“I know,” Felix murmured. “I just… don’t want to lose this.”

“You’re not,” Hyunjin said softly. “This happened. We carry it with us.”

Felix let his head tip back against Hyunjin’s stomach. “Even the UNO betrayal?”

“Especially that.”

They both smiled.

Hyunjin leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Felix’s head, then sat beside him and started folding a sweatshirt.

Together, they packed — piece by piece, gently, like it meant something. Because it did.

Downstairs, Chan was organizing snacks from the pantry — a strange habit, but comforting. I.N joined him, passing boxes and zip bags like they were playing a quiet game of inventory.

“You don’t have to organize everything,” I.N said. “It’s okay to leave a little mess.”

Chan gave a soft laugh. “I know. It just… helps me think.”

I.N passed him a bag of ramen. “So. You scared?”

Chan paused. “A little.”

“Good,” I.N said plainly. “Means you care.”

Chan looked over at him, surprised.

“I’m scared too,” I.N added. “But I think that’s okay. We’re not starting over. We’re just starting again. ”

Chan smiled, and this time it reached his eyes.

As golden light stretched long across the porch and the last of the bags were zipped and stacked by the door, no one said it — but everyone moved toward the shore.

Bare feet padded through warm sand. Wind tugged gently at shirts and loose strands of hair. The sky was painted in peach and lavender, clouds like brushstrokes on a fading canvas. The ocean shimmered, endless and calm.

They stood together in a loose circle, quiet for once. Not heavy. Just full.

“I forgot how empty this place felt when we first got here,” Changbin said, hands tucked in his pockets.

“It’s not empty anymore,” Seungmin replied, gaze on the waves.

“It kind of feels like the house was waiting for us,” Han added, smiling faintly. “Like it knew we needed it.”

Lee Know rolled his eyes lightly, but didn’t disagree.

Felix crouched down and began drawing something in the sand with a stick — a heart, a smiley face, and then their initials. Hyunjin quietly added a tiny star next to Felix’s.

They all stood there for a while, letting the waves come close and pull back again, as if saying goodbye on behalf of the ocean.

Chan pulled out his phone and raised it slowly. “Okay. Last group photo.”

No one fixed their hair. No one posed.

They just huddled in close — limbs over shoulders, heads leaning, laughter already bubbling up as I.N tripped trying to fit in frame.

The camera clicked.

Blurry. Slightly crooked.

Perfect.

Later that night, after the dishes were done and most of the group had gone quiet, Chan sat alone in the living room with the lights dimmed low.

The photo was still open on his phone.

He looked at it for a long time.

There were lines of tiredness in their faces, sure. But there was something else, too—something softer. Stronger.

He exhaled slowly, thumb brushing the edge of the screen.

The sea was behind them now.

But they weren’t going back to who they were.

They were going forward — together.

Chapter Text

The van hummed steadily along the highway, sunlight filtering through the windows like warm syrup. Music played from the speakers—an upbeat mix of old group tracks and personal favorites—and for once, no one seemed to mind who had control of the playlist.

Laughter erupted from the backseat as Hyunjin dramatically attempted one of Changbin’s old rap verses, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and intense eye contact through the rearview mirror.

Hyunjin puffed up his chest and tried to channel Changbin’s fierce energy.

“ God’s menu, chef’s table, I’m cooking, sizzling,
Flavor explosive, my style is so illin’— ”
He stumbled on the last word, tongue-twisting.
“Wait… ‘illin’ or ‘illin’?”

Seungmin chuckled, shaking his head.
“Hyung, that’s not how it goes.”

“I’m performing, Seungmin ! Support the arts!” Hyunjin whined, crumpling dramatically against Felix’s shoulder.

Before anyone could say more, Changbin leaned forward from the middle row, smirking.

“Let me show you how it’s done.”

His voice dropped low and rapid-fire, perfectly hitting each syllable:
“ God’s menu, chef’s table, I’m cooking, sizzling,
Flavor explosive, my style is so illin’. ”

He shot Hyunjin a triumphant glance.

Hyunjin threw up his hands dramatically, laughing.
“Okay, okay, you win! I’m officially defeated.”

Felix grinned. “Microwave meals versus chef’s table.”

“Hey! Microwave meals are quick and satisfying,” Hyunjin shot back, still laughing.

Changbin smirked from the middle row. “Stick to painting, Hyunjin.”

“Wow,” Hyunjin muttered, “Betrayed by my own muse.”

From the back, Jisung and I.N began harmonizing loudly over the chorus that followed, turning it into an impromptu and mildly off-key duet.
“ Oohhh, you left your ramen on the stove again~ ”
“ Now my heart’s as burnt as your pan~ ”

“I hate that that’s kind of good,” Minho mumbled from the passenger seat, trying not to smile.

Chan shook his head fondly, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “If we release that as a sub-unit, I want no part of it.”

“Too late,” Jisung called. “We’re already viral.”

It was ridiculous. Loud. Offbeat. Full of cracked voices and uncontrollable giggles.

And it was perfect.

Not once during the drive did the silence feel heavy. Not once did anyone flinch when someone spoke. That, in itself, felt like a victory.

But as the van curved off the highway and the Seoul skyline unfolded in the distance, a quieter kind of awareness began to settle in.

Their dorm came into view like an old bookmark in a story they’d paused. And as Chan parked along the curb, the boys stared up at the building they’d called home for so long.

No one moved at first.

Back to real life.

Back to practice schedules and vocal warm-ups and cameras.

Back to expectations.

Felix’s voice was the first to break the stillness, soft and a little wistful.
“We’re really home, huh?”

Hyunjin nodded slowly. “Yeah… but it doesn’t feel the same anymore.”

Jisung let out a sigh, one that deflated the leftover giddiness like a balloon. “Is it bad that I don’t want to go inside yet?”

Minho finally turned around in his seat, his tone dry but not unkind. “Then don’t. Let’s sit here a while.”

So they did.

Even when the van’s engine clicked off and the air grew still, they stayed—together, quiet, not quite ready to re-enter the world they’d temporarily escaped.

Eventually, one by one, they climbed out of the van, the warmth of the ride still clinging to them like sunlight. But as they stepped into the building’s cool, polished lobby and headed for the elevators, the laughter faded, replaced by the quiet weight of what waited on the next floor.

The room was bright, modern, and cold in the way all company meeting rooms were—sterile white walls, quiet hum of the AC, chairs arranged in a perfect rectangle. The moment the boys walked in, everything felt too familiar.

The table was already half full—managers, coordinators, and a few project leads with laptops open, papers spread out. Conversation hushed the moment the boys entered.

“Hey,” one manager said, standing to greet them with a polite smile. “Glad to have you back. Take a seat.”

The eight of them filed in, quieter now than they’d been in the van just hours before. They exchanged brief glances as they sat—Chan at the head like always, I.N next to him, Hyunjin and Felix beside each other, Seungmin and Changbin across, Jisung leaning subtly into Lee Know’s side.

No one said it, but they all felt it.

This was the project that nearly broke them.

The comeback that had been 60% finished—songs tracked, choreo half done, photo shoot concepts selected—then shelved, indefinitely, when they hit their collective breaking point.

Now here it was again. In paper stacks and Gantt charts.

“We know it’s been a heavy few weeks,” the lead manager began gently. “First off, welcome back. We’re glad you all took that time. It was needed.”

A quiet nod from Chan. “Thank you.”

The manager tapped a folder. “So—we’re here to talk about what happens next. The comeback’s still viable. We’ve rescheduled most things, and other things are on standby. If you’re ready, we can pick up right where we left off.”

Minho’s fingers tapped the table once. Jisung shifted. Felix’s shoulders seemed to tense slightly.

Jisung cleared his throat. “Can I ask something?”

The room turned to him.

“If we do pick this back up,” he said slowly, “do we have to do it the same way?”

“You mean the concept?” a younger staff member asked, flipping a page.

“I mean everything,” Chan said. His voice wasn’t sharp, but it was clear. “The schedule. The content. The pace.”

There was a pause.

Then the older manager leaned forward, his tone notably different—measured, but tinged with irritation.

“We’ve already delayed this comeback once. There’s money on the line—production, promotions, contracts. If we change the rollout now, we lose both time and investment. We can’t keep bending backwards every time someone needs a break.”

That word— someone —landed heavily.

He went on. “And it’s not just the group. The staff? We’ve already restructured this entire schedule once. If you’re asking us to do it again, you’re talking about hours of extra work—after everything’s already been settled. Plus, the fans are expecting this comeback to drop when we said it would.”

His eyes flicked toward Chan. “At some point, you have to push through. Every artist does.”

Silence fell like glass breaking.

Felix’s fingers twisted together in his lap. Jisung’s jaw clenched. Minho leaned back in his chair with slow precision, unreadable.

Chan stood—slow, deliberate—not to yell, but to be seen .

“I understand what’s at stake,” he said, steady and strong. “But we’re not going to lose ourselves again to meet a deadline. Not for a comeback. Not for anyone . If the only way to make this comeback happen is to run ourselves into the ground again—then we’ll walk away from it. We’ve done it once. We’ll do it again.”

The older manager scoffed under his breath. “With all due respect, this isn’t just about your feelings. There are systems in place, expectations. If we start letting the artists dictate how things are done—”

He didn’t finish.

Because the door opened.

And in walked Park Jinyoung .

Silence froze the room.

He hadn’t been expected at this meeting—but clearly, he’d heard enough from just outside.

Mr. JYP looked around the table once, his gaze sharp, unreadable. Then he stepped beside Chan.

“If the leader of this group is saying the comeback needs to be restructured,” he said, calm but cold, “then you listen to him .”

The older manager blinked. “Sir—”

“No,” JYP cut in, not raising his voice, but final. “This is Stray Kids. Bang Chan is their leader. He has my full support. If he says the schedule is unsustainable, you make it sustainable. Rearrange it. Rebuild it. I don’t care how much work it is.”

His eyes narrowed.

“We don’t break our artists to save a timeline.”

A long silence followed.

Then Mr. JYP placed a steady hand on Chan’s shoulder.

“Do it your way, Chris. You are the leader.”

Chan didn’t speak, but his shoulders lowered slightly, like he could finally breathe.

JYP turned and left just as smoothly as he came, the door clicking shut behind him.

No one dared argue after that.

And for the first time since stepping into the room, the members of Stray Kids felt the ground settle beneath them.

They weren’t just back .

They were in control now.

The dorm was warm and quiet, almost too quiet after days of ocean wind and shared rooms.

Bags thudded onto beds. Zippers unzipped. Cabinets opened and closed as clothes were put away with slow, automatic motions. The air smelled like detergent and leftover takeout—home, but not quite the one they’d just left behind.

The silence wasn’t tense. It was thoughtful. Worn in.

In the bedroom they shared, I.N crouched by his suitcase, neatly folding shirts before placing them in his drawer. Across the room, Chan unpacked slowly, distracted—he kept checking his phone even though nothing urgent was happening.

I.N glanced up, hesitated, then spoke softly.

“Hyung… when everything starts again—are you gonna start coming home late again?”

Chan paused.

He looked up, caught I.N’s eyes, and set the phone down.

“No,” he said. “Not if I can help it. If I’m not coming home with you, I’ll be home on time. That’s a promise.”

I.N nodded slowly, lips twitching into the faintest smile.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Chan walked over and gently knocked his knuckles against I.N’s knee.

“You should.”

In their room, Felix sat cross-legged on the floor, half-unpacked. A small seashell rested beside his pillow—something he’d picked up on the last morning and tucked into his hoodie pocket.

Hyunjin stood by the closet, carefully rehanging a shirt when he turned suddenly and dropped to the floor beside him.

“I missed this room,” Hyunjin said quietly. “But it’s quieter without the waves.”

Felix nodded, playing with the edge of a blanket. “I liked how we had time there. Like real time.”

Hyunjin looked down at the shell, then at Felix.

“You know I love you, right?”

Felix looked up, surprised by the sudden weight of his voice.

Hyunjin reached out, brushing his fingers against Felix’s. “Even when we get busy again—even if I’m tired or overwhelmed—I’ll make time for you. I won’t let that slip again.”

Felix leaned in and rested his forehead against Hyunjin’s shoulder.

“I know,” he murmured. “But thanks for saying it anyway.”

Their room was a quiet bubble of low music and unspoken comfort.

Changbin sat on the edge of his bed, legs bouncing absently while Seungmin knelt by his open bag, organizing toiletries and rolled-up socks. The air between them felt softer now—not delicate, but calmer.

“Seungmin-ah.”

“Hmm?”

Changbin’s voice was low. “We’re okay again, right?”

Seungmin looked over his shoulder.

“We’re okay,” he confirmed. “You don’t have to keep asking.”

“I know,” Changbin said, a breath of a laugh. “I just... I need to say it.”

“I won’t walk away again. No matter how bad things get. I know that's what you're thinking.” Seungmin added as he turned to look at Changbin

He stood, dusted off his knees, and crossed the room. He nudged Changbin’s shoulder lightly with his fist.

“Good. ‘Cause I’ll drag you back this time.” Changbin smiled

“I know you would.” Seungmin is shaking his head with a smile on his face. 

Han and Minho unpacked in a steady rhythm, the room unusually quiet except for the rustle of clothing and the occasional drawer sliding shut.

Han pulled out his lyric book and hesitated—his fingers curled around it for a beat too long.

Minho noticed.

Without a word, he walked over to the desk, grabbed a pen Han had left behind earlier, and offered it to him.

Han took it, slowly.

Then, almost in a whisper: “Are you still choosing this? Me?”

Minho blinked, confused for half a second. “Of course I am.”

“Even the dark parts?”

Minho stepped closer and pressed the pen gently into Han’s hand.

“Especially the dark parts,” he said. “That’s when you need someone most.”

Han nodded, blinking quickly as he turned to finish unpacking.

Minho didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t need to.

The dorm settled as the sun lowered outside, casting gold light over everything they carried—physically and emotionally. It wasn’t the beach house, and it wasn’t perfect.

But it was theirs.

And this time, they weren’t facing it alone.

Chapter Text

The alarm buzzed at 6:30 a.m., but no one groaned.

Lights flicked on one by one around the dorm. Doors creaked open. Someone yawned down the hall. It was early, too early—but somehow it didn’t feel heavy.

In the kitchen, Seungmin poured water into the kettle. I.N shuffled in, still wrapped in a blanket like a cape, and leaned against the counter while Felix appeared with two mugs and a quiet smile. Chan was already awake, scribbling in a notebook, the remnants of a to-do list half-crossed out beside him.

“Coffee?” Minho asked, voice hoarse from sleep.

“Please,” said three voices at once.

It was fast, familiar—everyone moving around each other in a quiet, lived-in rhythm. There was no shouting, no missed alarms, no silence filled with unspoken tension. Just the sound of water boiling and the scrape of chairs as they sat down at the table, one by one.

Jisung, hair a mess, plopped down next to I.N and nudged him with his shoulder. “You sleep okay?”

I.N nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. Weird dreams though.”

“Was I in them?” Hyunjin asked from the doorway, dramatically flipping his hair.

“You were wearing Crocs and singing trot.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Minho muttered into his coffee.

Chan chuckled softly, looking around the table. “Everyone good for today?”

There were nods. Sleepy, slow, but genuine.

This was the comeback grind—but it wasn’t like before. It was busy, yes. But there was space now. Room to breathe. Room to speak.

Later That Morning — Dance Studio

The familiar thud of bass echoed through the floor as they warmed up, stretching in a line across the mirror. The choreographer greeted them with a clipboard and a tired smile.

“Let’s start light. We’ll review the first chorus and see how it feels.”

They moved through it slowly at first, each member settling into their own rhythm. Felix’s movements were sharp but careful. I.N pushed a little too hard, trying to keep up—until he stumbled on a step and stood there, hands on his knees, catching his breath.

“I.N?” Hyunjin asked, stepping toward him.

“I’m okay,” I.N said quickly, waving it off—but his voice was a little thin.

Chan raised his hand before anyone else could.

“Can we take a water break?”

The choreographer blinked. “Already?”

Chan didn’t waver. “Yeah. We’re pacing ourselves this time. That cool?”

The choreographer gave a small nod. “Yeah. That’s cool.”

As they scattered toward their bottles, Hyunjin slung an arm gently across I.N’s back and guided him to sit.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said softly.

“I know,” I.N murmured. “Still getting used to that.”

Practice resumed—but differently. Not slower, just smarter. They didn’t push past the point of exhaustion. They pulled each other back when needed. A hand on a shoulder, a glance through the mirror. One long breath in sync.

Midday – Vocal Booth

Jisung stood at the mic, fidgeting with his in-ears. The track cued up again, and he tried the same vocal line for the fifth time. It kept catching on his breath—he wasn’t off pitch, but it didn’t feel right.

He pulled the headphones off with a frustrated sigh.

Outside the booth, Chan and Seungmin watched quietly from the couch. Chan tapped a pen against his knee. Seungmin was already standing.

“Jisung,” Seungmin said gently through the intercom. “Take a second.”

Jisung exhaled hard and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Chan said, getting up to join Seungmin at the booth window. “You’re trying to force the emotion instead of letting it come through.”

Seungmin nodded. “You already lived this song. You don’t have to act it. Just sing it how you felt it. That’s enough.”

Jisung stared at them for a long moment—then slowly nodded and put the headphones back on.

When he opened his mouth this time, the note came out clean. Warm. Honest.

They smiled.

Evening – Meeting Room

The group sat around the conference table again, this time less tense, but no less focused. A manager clicked through slides on a laptop.

“So—here’s the proposed filming schedule for comeback week.”

The chart was packed. Content shoots, lives, interviews, dance practices—stacked edge to edge like dominoes.

Minho squinted. “Are there any... breaks?”

The room paused.

Jisung leaned forward. “Can we talk about this?”

Bang Chan straightened in his chair, voice steady. “We’ve talked before about needing balance. I think this needs another look.”

The manager sighed. “We tried to condense to stay on the timeline. Fans are waiting.”

Chan didn’t flinch. “We’re not asking to delay. We’re asking not to burn out again. ”

It wasn’t confrontational. It was clear.

And this time, they were heard.

The meeting ended with red pens and rescheduling.

No tension. No resistance.

Just understanding.

Shoes were kicked off. Bags were dropped. Someone passed around takeout menus without even asking.

They curled into couches and corners of the floor, exhausted but lighter.

Felix leaned against Hyunjin’s leg, scrolling through photos from the dance practice.

“Look at this one,” he murmured, showing a blurry mid-spin shot of Seungmin midair, eyes wide like a deer.

Everyone burst into laughter.

Seungmin groaned. “I hate you all.”

“You’re beautiful,” Changbin said, half-asleep on the armrest.

Jisung grabbed a throw pillow and flung it across the room—meant for Minho.

It smacked I.N square in the face.

There was a stunned silence—then I.N let out a squawk, eyes wide.

Jisung’s face drained. “I’M SORRY—!”

He scrambled over, still laughing, and immediately pulled I.N into a hug.

“Please don’t fight me, I’m fragile,” he gasped through wheezes of laughter.

I.N tried to stay serious, but he was already laughing too hard.

Chan sat in the kitchen with a half-empty coffee mug, watching them from across the room.

It was chaos.

It was perfect.

And for the first time in months, he wasn’t afraid of what came next.

They were tired, sore, overwhelmed. But this time, none of them were alone in it.

Chapter Text

Two months later

The stage lights hit like heat lightning—white and gold, streaking through the dark as the crowd roared in unison. Lightsticks shimmered in waves across the venue like stars rolling with the tide.

Stray Kids stood center stage, formation tight, hearts pounding in sync.

They were breathless—but not broken.

Felix hit his line, deep voice shaking the floor. Hyunjin spun sharp and steady, every movement etched in light. I.N caught his final beat, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving—but smiling. Minho’s focus didn’t falter for a second. Jisung let the verse fly from his chest like it belonged there. Seungmin’s voice soared, pure and clean. Changbin held the rhythm like gravity.

And Bang Chan stood with his team, not just performing—but present .

When the final chorus hit, the entire arena was singing with them. Not just fans—but people who had waited, worried, hoped. People who had seen them disappear and return. People who knew what it meant to stand there and shine again.

As the music ended, the lights dropped.

But the crowd didn’t stop cheering.

Chan leaned forward, hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his jaw. He looked left—at I.N, who gave him a crooked grin. He looked right—at Hyunjin and Felix, side by side, glowing.

And then he laughed.

Loud. Breathless. Real.

They bowed together.

And the lights rose again.

Backstage – 30 Minutes Later

The dressing room buzzed with movement. Staff floated in and out, fixing hair, delivering water bottles, adjusting earpieces for post-performance content.

But the boys were relaxed. Running on adrenaline, but steady.

“Oh My God, my legs,” Jisung muttered, collapsing onto the couch, arms spread like a starfish.

“I thought your mic was gonna fly off,” Seungmin said, tossing him a towel.

“Was that you who almost tripped on the monitor?” Felix asked, leaning into Hyunjin’s shoulder.

“Definitely Changbin,” Hyunjin replied. “But he styled it out like a pro.”

“Stumbled with confidence ,” Changbin said proudly, kicking off his shoes.

Chan was standing by the mirror, wiping his face with a towel as one of the stylists tried to tame his sweat-drenched hair.

“We have the final interview next,” she said gently. “Do you want a minute?”

He caught her eyes in the mirror and smiled.

“Yeah. Just one.”

The room was warm and softly lit, a far cry from the chaos of the stage. A single camera stood on a tripod, focused on the long couch where all eight of them sat shoulder-to-shoulder in their stage outfits, hair still damp, adrenaline slowly fading.

Behind the lens, the producer adjusted levels and gave them the cue.

“Final question,” she said gently. “What has this comeback taught you?”

They glanced at each other—then, slowly, one by one, they spoke.

Lee Know was first. “I learned that silence doesn’t always mean strength. Talking about what’s hard doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human.”

Han gave a crooked smile. “I learned that it’s okay to not be okay. And that I don’t have to hide the worst parts of myself to be loved.”

Seungmin shifted slightly forward, voice quiet but firm. “I learned not to run. When things get hard, you face them. With the people who matter.”

Felix nodded, his tone soft. “I learned to let people see me—even the broken parts. And to trust that they’ll stay.”

Hyunjin looked down at his hands, then back up with a steady gaze. “I learned to show up. Even when I don’t feel like it. Especially then.”

Changbin chuckled faintly. “I learned that being strong isn’t about carrying everything yourself. It’s about knowing when to let someone carry you.”

I.N looked around the room, eyes shining. “I learned that asking for help doesn’t mean you’re a burden. It means you’re brave enough to keep going.”

All eyes turned to Bang Chan.

He sat with his hands clasped in his lap, thoughtful.

“I learned that I don’t have to earn rest,” he said. “That I don’t have to break to be heard. I can lead with softness, too. And that this—” he glanced at the members beside him, “—this only works if we take care of each other.”

Silence settled over the room, deep but peaceful.

The producer whispered, “Thank you,” and stopped the recording.

The van hummed gently along the Seoul streets, the city a blur of neon signs and sleepy storefronts outside the windows. The night was late, but the van wasn’t quiet.

Not anymore.

Laughter bubbled from the backseat—Jisung holding his phone out with the flash on, recording a shaky, too-close selfie video of everyone packed in around him.

“Day sixty-two of being emotionally wrecked by my members,” he narrated in a dramatic low voice. “This one—” he flipped the camera to Changbin “—makes dad jokes and cries in vocal meetings. What do we do with that?”

Changbin slapped at the phone, laughing. “Delete that.”

“Nope. Archiving it.”

In the middle row, Felix was curled up against Hyunjin’s side, eyes half-closed, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Hyunjin absently played with the ends of his hair, still humming under his breath—a melody from earlier, maybe, or maybe something new.

I.N sat squished between Chan and Seungmin, legs pulled up onto the seat, his head resting briefly against Chan’s shoulder before drifting the other way toward Seungmin.

Seungmin didn’t even blink. Just shifted so I.N could rest easier.

Up front, Lee Know stared out the window, one earbud in. The other dangled loose, and Jisung reached over to steal it. No protest. Just a look—and a quiet smirk when Jisung realized he was listening to the demo they recorded last week.

The van rolled on. No rush. No tension.

Just tired peace.

Just presence.

Bang Chan leaned his head back against the seat, eyes drifting shut for a moment. Not because he was escaping—but because he could finally rest.

The dorm was quiet.

No alarms. No blaring schedules. Just the soft hum of morning—sunlight spilling over the floorboards, the occasional creak of the building settling, the distant murmur of traffic outside the windows.

Felix was the first to stir, blinking up at the ceiling from his place on the living room floor. He didn’t remember falling asleep there. Just remembered warmth. Laughter. The press of someone’s shoulder. He reached for the blanket draped across his legs and smiled faintly when he realized it must’ve been Hyunjin.

In the kitchen, someone had already started the kettle. The smell of coffee—warm, grounding—filtered through the air like a promise.

Seungmin shuffled out next, hair a mess, hoodie zipped to his chin. He passed I.N in the hallway without a word, just a light tap of fingers against his arm. I.N bumped back, small smile in place, and padded barefoot to the fridge.

Hyunjin was curled up in the corner of the couch, one eye open, watching the room come alive. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Jisung mumbled something unintelligible from under a pile of pillows and was promptly ignored.

Lee Know stood at the window, sipping from a mug, watching the city stretch into morning. Jisung wandered over eventually, quiet, pressing his shoulder lightly into Minho’s. No words passed between them—just that single point of contact.

The sound of the balcony door sliding open broke the stillness.

Bang Chan stepped outside, hoodie sleeves pushed up, coffee in hand. His bones ached, but not in the way they used to. It wasn’t exhaustion anymore. It was effort. Chosen. Balanced. Worth it.

A few moments later, Felix joined him, mug in both hands, hoodie sleeves dangling over his palms.

They stood side by side, looking out over the city—the same city that had chewed them up and spat them out, the same one they still called home.

Chan exhaled slowly.

And for the first time in a long, long time—it didn’t hurt.

They had fallen apart.
Cracked. Bruised. Burned out.
But they found their way back.
Not by forcing it. Not by pretending.
But by choosing each other.
Again. And again. And again.

Some things break.
And some things…
Some things hold.

Chapter Text

POV: I.N

The dorm was finally quiet. No choreography drills. No cameras in their faces. No alarms dragging them out of sleep before the sun even touched the sky.

Just silence, except for the faint sound of Chan’s keyboard clicking from the corner of the living room.

I stood behind the couch, arms folded, watching him work. Again.

“Didn’t we just finish a comeback?” I asked, letting my voice drop into that syrupy-sweet sarcasm he loved to pretend he hated.

Chan didn’t turn around. “And yet here I am… carrying this group on my back. Tragic, isn’t it?”

I rolled my eyes. “You could be carrying me instead.”

That made him pause.

He turned his chair slowly, and when our eyes met, that faint, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. “Bold of you to flirt when you’ve been pestering me for attention all day.”

I leaned forward, resting my hands on the top of the couch. “Pestering? That’s how you see me now?”

Chan stood up. All at once, the air shifted. His eyes never left mine, and he moved with that calm, dangerous confidence that made my stomach flip.

“I see you,” he murmured, voice low. “I always see you.”

POV: Bang Chan

He doesn’t back away.

Of course he doesn’t. That’s Jeongin—sharp tongue, big eyes, and a wild streak I’ve learned to tame with just the right look.

I take a step closer, and he straightens, like it’s a game he’s prepared to win. The challenge is clear in his gaze. He wants me to snap. To crack. To give in and show him who’s in control.

He wants to be overpowered, but only after he’s pushed every single one of my buttons.

I hum, letting my fingers trail along the edge of his jaw. “You always this needy, or is it just when I’m busy?”

He tilts his head, grin devilish. “Only when I’m horny and ignored.”

God, he’s lucky I’m patient.

I wrap a hand around his waist, pulling him into me slowly, deliberately. I feel the breath hitch in his chest even as he tries to keep that smug smirk on his face.

“You think being a brat’s gonna get you what you want?”

He shrugs, lips brushing mine. “Works most of the time.”

“Not tonight.”

I spin him and push him gently but firmly onto the couch, trapping him beneath me.

POV: I.N

The second my back hit the couch, I felt it—that shift from playful to serious, from teasing to dangerous .

Chan hovered over me, eyes dark, jaw tight. His body caged me in like I was prey he’d just caught mid-run.

God, I loved it.

“So now I have your attention?” I smirked, raising my knee just enough to brush it between his legs. The way his breath caught made something low and reckless tighten in my gut.

“You’ve had my attention,” he growled, leaning in until his lips grazed my ear. “But now you’ve got my patience running out.”

My fingers slid under his shirt, warm skin meeting mine. I traced the ridges of his abs just to feel the way he tensed. “Then maybe you should do something about it.”

He yanked his shirt over his head without a word. I barely had time to react before his hands were under mine, dragging it up, over—off. His mouth was on me before I could speak again. Tongue hot. Intent clear.

It wasn’t gentle.

And I didn’t want gentle.

His knee pressed between mine, pushing them apart with agonizing slowness. His mouth found my collarbone, then lower, biting hard enough to sting, then soothing the mark with his tongue. My back arched, chasing more.

“Thought you said you were tired,” I managed, though it came out breathless.

Chan chuckled darkly against my skin. “Guess you recharged me, baby.”

POV: Bang Chan

The way he moaned under me—needy, breathless, challenging —set every nerve on fire. I.N knew exactly what he was doing. How to provoke me. How to pull every ounce of control until I had to wrestle it back.

My hand slipped down the line of his stomach. His hips jerked before I even touched him properly.

“Impatient,” I muttered, watching his lips part with a quiet whimper. “Didn’t even try to behave tonight.”

I.N bit his lip, eyes daring. “Maybe I wanted to be punished.”

I groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

My hand wrapped around him—tight, slow—and the smirk vanished from his face. Replaced by something raw and honest. I kissed him then. Deep, possessive, silencing every sharp retort he had brewing.

He kissed me back like he was starving.

“Turn over,” I said, voice rough, leaving no room for argument.

He hesitated—but only for a second. Then, slowly, deliberately, he rolled onto his stomach and arched his hips up just enough to drive me wild .

I knelt behind him, hands trailing down the smooth plane of his back. He looked over his shoulder, hair messy, cheeks flushed, and whispered, “Don’t hold back.”

I didn’t.

POV: I.N

He filled me in one smooth, overwhelming thrust—deep, possessive, perfect . I cried out, hand scrambling for something to hold onto as his body pressed flush against mine.

“Chan—!”

“Shhh,” he whispered against my neck, rocking into me slowly. “I’ve got you. You can take it.”

And I could. I wanted to.

Every roll of his hips stole my breath. Every word in my ear—filthy, soft, commanding—left me unraveling.

“You’re mine,” he said, gripping my waist tighter. “This body, this mouth—all of it. Mine.”

“Yes,” I gasped, fingers curling into the couch. “All yours.”

The pressure built fast. Hot. Unforgiving. He knew exactly how to drag me right to the edge and keep me there.

“Beg,” he murmured. “Let me hear that bratty little mouth beg .”

I sobbed out a laugh between moans. “Please, Chan. Please —I’m so close, don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He pounded into me harder, deeper, and I shattered.

White-hot pleasure ripped through me. My vision blurred, every muscle shaking as I cried out his name.

He followed with a groan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside me, panting against my skin.

We stayed there for a moment, skin to skin, hearts pounding in sync.

POV: Bang Chan

I cradled him as we came down, brushing sweaty hair from his eyes, whispering soft praises against his temple.

“You okay?” I asked quietly.

He nodded against my chest. “Better than okay.”

“Still think I work too much?”

He looked up at me, a lazy smirk on his face, satisfied. “Mm… I think you should come home more often.”

I laughed, pulling the blanket over us as we collapsed onto the couch.

“Deal,” I said, kissing his forehead. “But only if you promise to keep being a mouthy little brat.”

He snorted. “You love it.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Chapter Text

The evening air pressed heavy against the windows of the dorm, a thick silence hanging between Lee Know and Han. It wasn’t the kind of silence born from distance or anger—it was the fragile quiet that comes after storms weathered together, when words had run dry but the heart still ached to be heard.

Lee Know watched Han slump onto the edge of the couch, fingers trembling as he pulled his sleeves down to hide them. The weight in his eyes wasn’t easy to carry—it wasn’t something he could fix with a few words or a quick embrace. But he would try. Again and again.

You don’t have to be strong all the time, Lee Know thought, heart tightening. Let me be your shield.

Slowly, he crossed the room, hands reaching out to brush the errant strands of hair away from Han’s face. Han’s breath hitched, lips trembling, eyes darting away, but Lee Know held his gaze steady.

“You’re safe here,” he said quietly. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

Han’s fingers clenched the fabric of his shirt as if holding himself together. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything.”

Lee Know shook his head, voice firm but gentle. “Don’t apologize for surviving.”

The tension between them began to shift, subtle but electric. Lee Know’s hands traced tentative paths down Han’s arms, grounding him, reminding him he wasn’t alone. Han leaned into the touch, letting the vulnerability slip through the cracks of his defenses.

Their eyes locked again, unspoken promises passing between them—a pact of trust, a beginning.

When Lee Know’s lips finally brushed against Han’s, it was slow, deliberate—a question and an answer all at once.

Han melted into the kiss, the fragile shell breaking just enough to let Lee Know in.

Lee Know’s hands moved with reverence, tracing the delicate curve of Han’s jaw, memorizing the way his skin trembled beneath his fingertips. Every quiet breath Han took was a fragile thread, pulling Lee Know’s heart tighter, making him ache with the need to protect, to soothe, to claim.

He’s so much stronger than he thinks, Lee Know thought. But he deserves to be held without having to fight all the time.

Han’s eyes fluttered closed, his lips parting slightly, a silent invitation. His body leaned into Lee Know’s touch, tentative at first, then with growing trust.

Inside, Han’s mind was a storm — fear, hope, shame, and relief crashing together in waves. Can I let him see this? Can I finally stop pretending? The walls he’d built around himself cracked just enough to let warmth spill in, and it scared him. But here, with Lee Know, it felt safe.

Lee Know dipped lower, lips trailing down the curve of Han’s neck, nipping softly before pressing kisses to the sensitive skin. His hands slipped under the hem of Han’s shirt, warm fingers spreading over bare skin, gentle yet sure.

Han shivered, the vulnerability deepening as his hands found Lee Know’s waist, gripping like an anchor. “Please,” he whispered, voice raw. “Don’t stop.”

Lee Know smiled against his skin, voice low and steady. “Never.”

Every touch was slow, deliberate — building a bridge from fragility to fierce desire. Lee Know’s hands moved with care, undressing Han piece by piece, savoring every inch revealed. The room seemed to contract around them, filled with the sound of their breaths and soft sighs.

When their bodies finally pressed together, skin on skin, it was electric — a grounding warmth that swept away every lingering shadow. Lee Know took his time, reading Han’s reactions, attuned to every tremble and sigh, every whispered plea.

Han surrendered completely, the safety in Lee Know’s hold allowing him to let go of the burdens he carried alone for so long. The slow, intense pace built with rising waves of pleasure and tenderness until they both tumbled over the edge, raw and honest in the aftermath.

Lee Know held Han close, brushing damp hair from his forehead, whispering words of comfort and love, promising silently to be the shelter he needed — always.

Lee Know’s hands moved slowly, reverently, sliding beneath Han’s shirt and tracing the smooth, warm skin of his back. His fingertips splayed wide, memorizing every curve, every shiver under his touch. Han’s breath hitched, soft and uneven, as Lee Know’s lips followed the path of his hands, kissing the sensitive skin between his shoulder blades.

Inside Han’s chest, a storm raged — part nerves, part desperate hope. He clung to Lee Know’s steady presence like a lifeline, willing himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could let go.

Lee Know lowered his mouth to the shell of Han’s ear, his breath hot and steady. “I’m here,” he murmured. “You don’t have to hold anything back.”

Han’s fingers tangled in Lee Know’s hair, pulling him closer, needing the assurance that this was real. His voice broke as he whispered, “Please… don’t stop.”

The slow, deliberate pace of Lee Know’s touch was a balm. He peeled the fabric of Han’s shirt over his head, skin meeting skin with a shiver that radiated straight to Lee Know’s heart.

His hands continued their worship, sliding down Han’s chest, lingering over the swell of muscle and the rapid beat beneath his skin. Lee Know’s thumbs brushed over sensitive spots, coaxing quiet gasps from Han’s lips.

With careful, tender movements, Lee Know shed his own shirt, revealing the lean strength beneath. The heat between them grew, electric and consuming.

Lee Know lowered himself, mouth finding Han’s collarbone, planting soft kisses before biting gently, drawing a sharp breath from Han’s parted lips. His hands moved south, cupping Han’s hips, steady and sure.

Han’s body arched toward him, every nerve alight with desire and vulnerability. “I trust you,” he breathed, voice thick.

Lee Know’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband of Han’s pants, slowly easing them down, inch by inch, revealing smooth skin that flushed under his gaze. He paused, searching Han’s eyes for any hesitation.

Only trust.

Lee Know’s hand closed around Han’s length, warm and firm, stroking slowly, deliberately. Han’s hips rocked in response, desperate for more.

When Lee Know finally entered him, it was with slow, controlled pressure, letting Han adjust to the delicious fullness. Han gasped, fingers clutching at the sheets as Lee Know pressed deeper.

“Just like that,” Lee Know whispered, “You’re safe with me.”

They moved together, a rhythm that was both gentle and insistent, Lee Know attuned to every shiver and sigh, every flicker of pain and pleasure. Han’s moans grew louder, raw and honest, filling the quiet room.

Lee Know’s hands roamed his back, hips, shoulders, grounding Han as waves of sensation washed over them. Every thrust was a promise — of protection, of acceptance, of love.

Han trembled, skin flushed and slick with sweat, voice breaking with need. “Don’t stop… please.”

Lee Know’s pace quickened just enough to send them both spiraling toward release. Han’s back arched, nails digging into Lee Know’s shoulders as he cried out, body shuddering with climax.

Lee Know followed, holding Han close as he spilled inside him, breath ragged but steady.

After, they stayed tangled, skin pressed to skin, hearts beating in sync. Lee Know brushed damp hair from Han’s forehead, voice soft and sure.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Han smiled weakly, fingers tracing lazy circles on Lee Know’s chest.

“I know,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

The world outside the dorm felt distant and cold, but inside, wrapped in the quiet warmth of their shared space, Lee Know held Han close like he was the most precious thing in the universe.

Han’s breathing was slow and even now, the tension easing from his body as Lee Know’s fingers traced soothing circles along his spine. His head rested against Lee Know’s chest, ears picking up the steady rhythm of a heart beating just for him.

No words were needed here—only the gentle exchange of comfort and presence.

Lee Know pressed a soft kiss to Han’s temple, voice a whisper just for him. “You’re safe. You’re loved.”

Han’s lips curved into a small, tired smile. “I don’t deserve you sometimes.”

Lee Know chuckled softly, fingers threading through Han’s hair. “Don’t say that. You deserve every bit of love and care I have—and more.”

They stayed like that, wrapped up in blankets and each other, the silence around them full of unspoken promises: of healing, of trust, and of a future built together.

As sleep finally claimed them both, Lee Know’s last thought was simple and fierce: I’ll always protect him. Always.

Chapter Text

The door to their shared apartment clicked shut with a thud, followed by a half-laugh, half-hiccup from Seungmin as he kicked off his shoes in a mess of limbs and drunken energy.

“You didn’t have to drag me, Binnie,” he slurred with a grin, voice low and playful. “I was having fun.”

Changbin’s jaw tensed as he followed him inside, carefully locking the door behind them. His eyes hadn’t left Seungmin since they left the party—his flushed cheeks, loose shirt falling off one shoulder, and the lingering scent of someone else’s cologne that wasn’t his.

Fun. Right.

"You were all over everyone but me."

He didn’t say it out loud yet. Just watched.

Seungmin stumbled forward, dropping his jacket on the floor like he didn’t care, humming some pop song off-key as he moved toward the kitchen. “You want water? I’m fiiine. Tipsy, not wasted.”

Changbin didn’t move. His voice was low, nearly a growl. “You were flirting with every guy that breathed near you tonight.”

Seungmin paused mid-step, glancing over his shoulder with a raised brow and a mischievous curl to his lips. “Oh? Someone’s jealous.”

Fuck, don’t smile at me like that.

Changbin’s fists curled at his sides. “You think this is funny?”

Seungmin turned fully, swaying slightly, eyes heavy-lidded and taunting. “Maybe. You looked kinda hot watching me. Bet you liked seeing people want me.”

He was testing him.

On purpose.

Changbin’s thoughts weren’t exactly rational anymore—clouded with possessiveness, with the sharp image of Seungmin laughing too loud, brushing his fingers across some stranger’s arm, leaning in too close. Every second of it had burned like acid in his chest.

He’s mine.

“I didn’t like it,” Changbin said flatly, taking a step forward. “You think I’d stand there and watch you act like that and not do something about it?”

Seungmin rolled his eyes, dramatic and unbothered. “What, gonna lecture me now? That’s not sexy, Binnie.”

That was it.

Changbin crossed the room in two strides, grabbing Seungmin by the wrist and pulling him flush against his chest. “You want sexy?” he hissed against his ear. “I’ll give you something to remember.”

Seungmin sucked in a breath, lips parted in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he smirked.

“Then show me.”

Cocky little shit.
God, he drives me insane.

Changbin didn’t give him another second to talk. Their lips crashed together—hot, desperate, possessive. Seungmin gasped as his back hit the wall, hard enough to rattle the frame beside them. Changbin’s hands were already at his waist, gripping tight, letting him feel the burn of jealousy that had been simmering all night.

Seungmin moaned into the kiss, hips grinding forward instinctively. “Mm, this what you were holding in all night, Binnie?” he teased breathlessly.

“I should fuck that attitude out of you,” Changbin growled.

“Try me.”

Changbin’s hand fisted the fabric of Seungmin’s shirt and yanked it over his head without care. The soft thud of it hitting the floor was drowned by the sound of his voice, dark and breathless.

“Keep mouthing off,” Changbin muttered, lips ghosting down Seungmin’s jaw. “I dare you.”

Seungmin smirked, ever the instigator. “Maybe I like when you get like this.”

His eyes were glazed with alcohol and heat, but his grin was wicked—defiant even now, as Changbin pressed him harder into the wall, lips trailing down his neck to leave fresh bruises where others had looked too long.

You’re mine. Mine. Mine.

Each kiss burned with the unspoken words Changbin didn’t say but forced into Seungmin’s skin with every mark he made.

Seungmin whimpered when teeth met collarbone, and Changbin smirked against him.

“Still think it’s funny?” he whispered, trailing one hand down to Seungmin’s belt, fingers working it open with too much ease.

Seungmin shuddered. “Depends… You planning to make me beg?”

Changbin’s eyes darkened.

“No,” he said simply. “You don’t get off that easy.”

Seungmin’s pants hit the floor next. Then Changbin shoved his own down, all patience gone. His hands were everywhere—gripping, squeezing, owning—and Seungmin let himself be handled, body pliant but voice still taunting.

“God, Binnie… You’re acting like you’re trying to prove something.”

Changbin growled low, pressing their hips together, letting Seungmin feel exactly what he’d provoked. “Damn right I am.”

He lifted Seungmin easily—too easily—and carried him across the apartment to the bedroom, tossing him onto the mattress like he weighed nothing. Seungmin bounced, laughing as he landed.

But the laugh died quickly when Changbin crawled over him, caging him in with eyes that burned like fire.

“I watched you flirt all night,” Changbin muttered, reaching into the drawer for the lube. “Watched you let their eyes roam all over what’s mine. ”

Seungmin bit his lip as Changbin prepped him with practiced fingers—rough, efficient, but never cruel. “So this is… a punishment?”

Changbin pressed a kiss to his inner thigh, right before he lined up against him. “No.”

Then he thrust in deep, stealing the breath right out of Seungmin’s chest.

“This is a reminder.”

Seungmin choked on a moan, arms clinging to Changbin’s shoulders as the stretch lit every nerve in his body. He wasn’t used to him being this rough—not like this. Not with so much need.

But he wanted it.

God, he needed it.

“Fuck, Binnie—”

“Say you’re mine.”

Seungmin whimpered again, voice cracking. “I’m yours, I’m—ah— fuck, I’m yours—”

Each word was rewarded with a sharp, punishing thrust. The bed creaked beneath them, headboard smacking rhythmically into the wall. Changbin’s hand wrapped around Seungmin’s throat—not tight, just enough to remind him who was in control—as he leaned in close.

“Don’t forget it.”

Seungmin’s eyes rolled back, body trembling under the onslaught. “Won’t. Won’t. Please don’t stop—”

Changbin gritted his teeth, thrusts deep and relentless now, his name a broken chant from Seungmin’s lips. Sweat beaded at his brow, muscles taut as he pushed them both toward the edge, fueled by everything he couldn’t say.

How terrified he’d been when Seungmin pulled away during the chaos.
How broken he’d felt thinking he could lose him.
How much he loved this infuriating, beautiful boy under him.

“Binnie,” Seungmin gasped, voice cracking. “I’m close— please —”

“I got you,” Changbin panted, hand slipping between them. “Come for me, baby.”

And Seungmin did—with a shudder and a cry, back arching off the bed as pleasure crashed over him. The sight of him unraveling so completely beneath him sent Changbin over the edge too, hips jerking as he buried himself one final time with a groan that echoed through the room.

The silence that followed was heavy—thick with labored breaths, the scent of sweat and sex, and something far deeper.

Changbin collapsed beside him, arm slung protectively over Seungmin’s chest.

Mine.

The silence lingered, broken only by the sound of their breathing—slowing, softening, syncing.

Changbin was the first to move.

He shifted onto his side and gently brushed the damp hair off Seungmin’s forehead, his thumb grazing over the flushed skin there. His chest was still rising fast, muscles twitching from the exertion, but his eyes were different now—no longer clouded by jealousy or lust, only filled with something warm and quietly aching.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Seungmin didn’t answer right away. He blinked slowly, dazed, like he was still catching up to everything that had happened. Then, finally, he gave a tiny nod.

“That was intense,” he mumbled, voice scratchy and raw.

Changbin gave a breathy chuckle and pressed a kiss to his temple. “You think?”

“I mean, not complaining,” Seungmin smirked tiredly. “Just... you really put your whole Bin-nussy into that one.”

Changbin groaned and rolled his eyes, but even that was affectionate. “You’re disgusting.”

“You love me,” Seungmin said, the sass softened now, replaced with something tender.

“Yeah,” Changbin admitted without hesitation, eyes meeting his. “I do.”

They fell quiet again. This time, it wasn’t awkward. Just peaceful. Healing.

Changbin slipped out of bed briefly, grabbing a warm towel and wiping Seungmin down carefully, like he was fragile even when they both knew he wasn’t. Seungmin let him, watching with soft, heavy-lidded eyes.

He only spoke when Changbin crawled back under the covers and pulled him close.

“Were you really that jealous?” he murmured against Changbin’s chest, fingers drawing circles along his side.

Changbin hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah.”

“You know I didn’t mean anything by it, right? I was drunk, and just being... stupid.”

“I know,” Changbin sighed. “I trust you. I do. I just—seeing other people look at you like that—it messed with my head.”

Seungmin tilted his face up and kissed his jaw. “You’re the only one I ever look at, Binnie.”

Changbin tightened his grip around him, pulling him fully onto his chest. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

Seungmin smiled against his skin, the last edges of intoxication fading. “I won’t.”

They laid like that for a while, tangled limbs and soft breaths, the room quiet save for the gentle hum of the night outside their window.

And then, just before sleep took him, Seungmin whispered one last thing.

“You’re mine too, you know.”

Changbin didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

He just held him closer, heart thudding steady beneath Seungmin’s ear.

Chapter Text

The dorm was quiet, save for the hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the building settling into its bones. Most of the others had already gone to bed, worn out from the long day of interviews and rehearsals. But Felix lay wide awake on the living room couch, knees hugged to his chest, a soft blanket draped over his lap. The light from the kitchen cast a faint golden glow across the room—warm, like him. Or at least, that’s what Hyunjin thought.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

He looks small like this… like he’s still carrying some of that weight even though he’s smiling more these days.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Hyunjin asked, voice low and gentle.

Felix looked up, startled but not surprised. “Just… thinking,” he murmured, voice dipped in that soft Australian lilt that always made Hyunjin’s chest ache a little.

Hyunjin walked in slowly, socked feet brushing against the wood floor. He didn’t ask permission—he never had to, not with Felix—and sat down beside him, letting their shoulders bump.

“You’ve been quiet all night,” Hyunjin said, turning just enough to look at him.

Felix hesitated. Then: “Do you ever wonder if… it’ll all fall apart again?”

There it was. The heart of him—laid out so bare and trembling that Hyunjin felt his throat tighten. Not from fear, but from love. Raw, real love that hurt in the most beautiful way.

He reached over and took Felix’s hand in his, fingers threading slowly. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But I also know we’re not the same people we were before.”

Felix leaned into him like a flower to sunlight, the tension in his shoulders slowly bleeding away. Hyunjin lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of Felix’s. His touch lingered, warm and reverent.

He needs this, Hyunjin thought. Not the performance, not the stage version of love—but this. Quiet, steady, unshakable.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lix,” Hyunjin whispered. “Even when I’m tired. Even when the world feels too heavy. I’ll still choose you.”

Felix closed his eyes, and Hyunjin could feel the shiver in his breath. “Promise?”

Hyunjin nodded and leaned in, lips brushing against Felix’s cheek before whispering at the edge of his lips. “I swear.”

Felix turned into the kiss, slow and tentative, his fingers curling in Hyunjin’s shirt like he was afraid he’d disappear. But Hyunjin didn’t pull away. He deepened it just enough to tell him he was real—here, now, always.

The blanket slipped as Hyunjin gently guided Felix to lie back against the couch. Their bodies stayed close, breaths mixing, hands exploring in careful, unhurried movements. There was no rush—just soft gasps, murmured reassurances, and the warmth of skin against skin beneath layers of cotton and affection.

Felix’s heart thudded loudly in his chest as Hyunjin hovered above him, eyes searching, asking. And Felix nodded, breathless and pink-cheeked, overwhelmed but safe. So safe.

“I want to make you feel loved,” Hyunjin murmured. “Not just touched… loved.”

And he did. Every kiss, every sigh, every whispered name pressed into Felix’s neck like a vow.

It was more than desire—it was devotion wrapped in skin and breath and the spaces between their heartbeats.

Absolutely — here’s a continuation of the Hyunjin × Felix scene with a gentle layer of intimacy. It keeps the emotional, sensory depth intact while introducing a touch of explicitness, keeping the tone tender, romantic, and soft.

Felix’s shirt was the first to go.

Hyunjin peeled it away slowly, like unwrapping something sacred, fingertips ghosting over the pale skin beneath. Felix shivered—not from cold, but from the weight of being seen. All of him. No mask, no performance. Just Lee Felix, wide-eyed and bare, heart thudding like wings trapped in a glass jar.

He’s so delicate, Hyunjin thought, swallowing the ache rising in his chest. And yet he’s survived everything. Every breakdown. Every silence. Every time I wasn’t enough.

Felix tugged gently at the hem of Hyunjin’s shirt in return, fingers trembling just a little. “You too,” he whispered.

Hyunjin let him, kneeling between Felix’s parted thighs as the fabric slid up and over his head. They both exhaled softly, like a release. Like letting go.

The light cast shadows along the length of their bodies, golden warmth catching on Felix’s collarbone, the dip of his stomach, the curve of his waist. Hyunjin leaned in and pressed soft kisses along his ribs—tender, reverent.

“You’re beautiful,” Hyunjin murmured against his skin.

Felix’s breath hitched. “You make me feel that way.”

When Hyunjin finally slipped a hand beneath Felix’s waistband, it wasn’t rushed. It was slow, teasing, fingers brushing where Felix was already hard and aching. Felix gasped, hips twitching, eyes fluttering closed as heat bloomed low in his stomach.

“You’re so responsive,” Hyunjin breathed, palm warm and steady as he began to stroke him with care. “So perfect for me.”

Felix whimpered, biting his bottom lip, his body arching into the touch.

He knows exactly what I need, he thought, dizzy and trembling. He always does.

Hyunjin kissed his neck, his shoulder, his cheek—worshipful, like every inch of Felix was worthy of being cherished. “Just feel me, Lix,” he whispered. “Don’t think. Just stay here with me.”

Felix could only nod, breathless, as Hyunjin moved with precision and patience—drawing him higher and higher, grounding him with every kiss, every squeeze, every soft sound whispered into the shell of his ear.

When Felix finally spilled over Hyunjin’s hand with a broken moan, he gripped Hyunjin’s shoulders like they were his anchor. Chest heaving, eyes damp with the overwhelm of release and love.

Hyunjin smiled, kissed his lips—soft and unhurried. “I’ve got you,” he whispered.

Felix’s breathing was soft against Hyunjin’s neck, warm and slow, his fingers still clutching at his shoulders like they couldn’t bear to let go.

Hyunjin held him for a moment, grounding them both in the stillness.

Then Felix shifted slightly, eyes fluttering open as he gently reached between them. His hand, still a little shaky, cupped Hyunjin through his sweats. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it made Hyunjin suck in a breath.

“I want to make you feel good too,” Felix whispered, voice low and sincere.

Hyunjin's heart stuttered. He always thinks of me, even when he's falling apart himself.

“You already do,” Hyunjin murmured. “Just… you being here.”

But Felix shook his head with a sweet determination and pressed a kiss just beneath Hyunjin’s jaw. “Let me take care of you.”

That gentle confidence from Felix—still soft, still shy, but undeniably present—made something inside Hyunjin unravel.

He nodded, letting Felix guide him back onto the bed, lying down this time. Felix followed, straddling his hips slowly, never rushing. His hands brushed over Hyunjin’s chest, fingers splaying out across his skin like he was trying to memorize every inch.

Hyunjin’s breath trembled at the reverence in Felix’s touch. “You’re trembling,” Felix whispered.

“I always do when it’s you.”

Felix leaned down, kissed him tenderly, then reached down and slipped his hand beneath the waistband of Hyunjin’s sweats.

Hyunjin hissed in pleasure, the pressure perfect, the rhythm slow—just enough to tease, just enough to drive him insane. His hips lifted instinctively, but Felix held him down gently with his free hand, a rare flicker of control flashing in his soft gaze.

“Stay still,” Felix murmured against his lips, smiling slightly. “Let me.”

That was new. That was unexpected. And Hyunjin loved it.

His chest rose and fell as Felix stroked him with purpose now, fingers working him with the same kind of care Hyunjin had just shown him—like Hyunjin was just as sacred, just as fragile in the right light.

Hyunjin moaned, letting the pleasure wash over him, trusting Felix with all of it—with his vulnerability, with his body, with the trembling edge he was balancing on.

When he finally came, it wasn’t with a shout or a growl—it was with a gasp, a broken whisper of Felix’s name as his back arched and his hands curled tightly into the sheets.

Felix didn’t stop holding him.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. He just rested their foreheads together, breathing him in, like this was exactly where he belonged.

“I’ve got you, too,” Felix whispered, repeating the words Hyunjin had said earlier.

And Hyunjin believed him.

Hyunjin’s body was still humming, nerves buzzing in the quiet aftermath, but his chest felt full in a way that had nothing to do with what they’d just done.

Felix curled up beside him, one leg hooked gently over Hyunjin’s, head tucked beneath his chin like a sleepy cat. His hair was damp at the temples, his cheeks pink with warmth, and Hyunjin couldn't stop brushing his fingers through those golden strands, like grounding himself in the proof of this.

They were still here.

Still choosing each other.

Felix’s voice was barely a breath. “Was I okay?”

Hyunjin blinked, then laughed softly — not because it was funny, but because he couldn’t believe Felix still needed to ask.

“You were perfect.” He turned to kiss the top of Felix’s head. “You always are.”

Felix didn’t reply right away. His arms wrapped tighter around Hyunjin’s middle, and for a long second, the only sound in the room was their breathing — matched and even.

“I was scared,” Felix said eventually. “Back then. That I loved you more than you loved me. That you’d disappear when things got hard.”

Hyunjin’s heart clenched. He wrapped both arms around Felix now, protective, present.

“I did disappear,” he admitted quietly. “Even when I was right in front of you. I was… selfish. Scared too. I kept thinking I had to carry everything myself.”

Felix looked up at him, eyes glassy but steady. “You don’t.”

Hyunjin kissed him again, slower this time, more like a promise than a plea.

“I know that now.”

They lay like that for a while, tangled and safe. The sweat on their skin was drying, and Hyunjin reached for a blanket to pull over them both. Then, carefully, he reached for a nearby water bottle and offered it to Felix first. Felix took it with a grateful smile, drank, then passed it back.

Hyunjin wiped gently at Felix’s flushed face with the edge of his shirt, earning a sleepy giggle and a half-hearted “Stop babying me.”

“Never,” Hyunjin whispered, kissing his cheek. “You’re mine to take care of.”

Felix closed his eyes at that. His breathing evened out again.

“You know I love you, right?” he murmured, voice drifting with exhaustion.

“I do,” Hyunjin whispered back. “And I love you so much more than I know how to say.”

Felix didn’t answer. His body was already going limp with sleep, soft and warm in Hyunjin’s arms. And for once, Hyunjin let the silence settle around them without fear. He knew now that love didn’t need to be loud to be real.

It could be quiet. Gentle. Lasting.

And it could start all over again tomorrow, with sunlight and kisses and the promise of something new.