Chapter Text
"Mom! Why did you leave me alone with them?" Soobin's voice cracked under the starry night sky, its serene calm contrasting sharply with his turmoil. His gaze fixated on the brightest star, tears tracing down his cheeks, staining them a rosy pink after an hour of inconsolable weeping.
"I wish you had taken me with you to meet Dad. It feels like my body is here, but my soul left long ago. It's unbearable," Soobin poured out his heart, his voice trembling with sorrow.
Eleven years had passed since his real father succumbed to cancer when Soobin was just nine. In an effort to provide him with paternal care, his grandparents orchestrated his mother's marriage to a widower, Soobin's stepfather, who had a younger son named Jayhoon. Initially resistant to sharing his mother, Soobin eventually warmed to Jayhoon as they grew closer over time.
However, life wasn't kind to Soobin. His mother was diagnosed with a worsening heart condition, a growing hole threatening her life at any moment. As her health deteriorated, his stepfather and even young Jayhoon distanced themselves from Soobin, leaving him deeply saddened by their detachment.
Months later, as his mother's condition reached a critical stage, Soobin found himself spending more time in hospital corridors than at home. With their savings depleted by medical bills, his pleas for financial help from his stepfather fell on deaf ears. Determined to support his ailing mother, Soobin juggled school with part-time jobs at convenience stores and bakeries.
By fifteen, Soobin had matured beyond his years, balancing school with work to make ends meet. One fateful evening, returning from work with a bag of bread and cupcakes-his mother's favorite-he entered the hospital to chaos. Nurses rushed past him, urgently calling for a doctor. Exhausted, he leaned against the doorframe of his mother's room, watching helplessly as medical efforts failed, and the monitor's incessant beeping silenced into a haunting flatline.
With his mother's passing, Soobin felt adrift, his once vibrant spirit dimmed to a mere existence. Taken in by his grandparents, they showered him with love, attempting to fill the void left by his mother's absence. Gradually, Soobin adjusted to this new life, finding solace in their care and support.
Yet, misfortune seemed to shadow Soobin. Within eighteen months, he lost his last remaining family. Feeling abandoned by fate, he reluctantly moved in with his indifferent stepfather and stepbrother, compelled to plead for even basic necessities like school fees. Prohibited from working, he clung to two possessions: a cherished radio, a gift from his mother that offered fleeting happiness through music, and a cell phone, a lifeline from his grandparents.
Now, Soobin faced the daunting task of funding his college education. However, with his stepfather's restrictions on part-time work, he felt trapped. Desperate, he turned to the one person left in his life-Choi Yeonjun, his step-uncle's son and long-time confidant. Though their interactions had waned since Yeonjun's departure for dance training, Soobin hesitated to burden him with his troubles, often responding with a brief "yes" whenever Yeonjun reached out, asking if he was okay.
Long story short, Soobin found immense joy and comfort in Yeonjun's company.
Soobin hesitated, contemplating whether to reach out to Yeonjun for help. 'Should I ask him for help?' he pondered, clutching his phone tightly. 'No, no, no! He's struggling too,' he muttered to himself, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
Meanwhile, Yeonjun faced his own challenges in Seoul, the bustling capital city. Following his father's passing two years ago, he took on the responsibility of supporting himself and his mother, who had moved in with him. Unaware of Soobin's hardships and his uncle's treatment, Yeonjun juggled his dance training with a job as a dance teacher at a local school.
Lost in his thoughts, Soobin's phone buzzed with a new message.
Soobin pulled out his phone and a bright smile spread across his face as he glanced at the notification. Without hesitation, he tapped to open it.
Jjunie hyung
hey binnie!!
Oh! Hyung!! Hii!!
How are you?
I'm fine
actually, I texted you to tell that
I'm coming to meet you
really??!!
but why so suddenly?
is everything okay, hyung?
yes, yes everything is fine!
actually, our school has a branch
there too and their college needs
a dance teacher, so they are sending
me over there
yaah!! I'll be living with you for
some time
I'm so excited!! It's been so long since
we had a proper talk or spent some
time together :(
you're right, hyung!
So, when are you coming?
after two days!!
tell uncle too. I tried to reach him
but his phone is off since morning
oh!
Okay! I'll tell him later
Have a safe journey, hyung!
And tell me once you get here,
I'll pick you up!
Okay binnie!
see you soon 😘
Yaah! you don't have to do
this🙄
aaa!! Waeee!?!!
you know I loveee you, right?😉
whatever 😑
byee! and take care
you too, sweetheart 😘😘
ugh!!
😁😁
okie okie
byeee!!
hmm. that's better!
"God! He's such a flirt!" Soobin chuckled to himself, sliding his phone back into his pocket. With the night darkening around him, he began his walk home.
"Home." Did Soobin really have one? Home, to him, wasn't a place of safety, happiness, love, or respect. It was merely a house-bricks, cement, and a roof over his head. Ever since losing his parents and then his grandparents, there was nothing left that felt like home. Yet, he had to return to that place, or face the wrath of his stepfather and younger stepbrother.
Tonight, he arrived later than usual to prepare dinner, and they were already yelling at him for being just fifteen minutes behind schedule. It seemed absurd to Soobin. Nonetheless, he hurried to cook as fast as possible, serving them within half an hour. But the harsh words continued. His stepfather threatened punishment, and Soobin knew what that meant.
Yes, he went to bed with an empty stomach again. It had become routine, one that he had grown oddly accustomed to. More than three nights a week, he faced this. Each time, his pillow absorbed his tears and silent screams-a reliable confidant.
Right now, his mind was blank. He simply wished these two days would pass quickly so he could see his hyung.
Every day, Soobin searched for something to look forward to, a reason to keep going. Right now, that reason was Yeonjun.
Next day, Soobin woke with a sigh of relief as the two days finally passed, each second feeling like an eternity.
From the moment he opened his eyes, Soobin kept glancing at his phone, hoping for a text from Yeonjun.
The sun reached its zenith, marking noon. Growing more curious, Soobin decided to text and inquire about Yeonjun's arrival.
He typed out a message:
Jjunie hyung
hyung!!
You got the bus?
Yes!!
I'll let you know when I get there!
Okay!
Be safe!
yes, sir 🫡
''just few hours more!'' Soobin felt a wave of happiness wash over him for the first time in what felt like ages, his lips curving into the brightest smile imaginable.
He hurried to the kitchen, moving with newfound energy, and began preparing lunch at lightning speed. Serving the food quickly, he washed the dishes in record time.
Once chores were done, Soobin retreated to his room and lay down on his bed. Thoughts of reuniting with Yeonjun filled his mind, reminiscing about their shared past-playing together, attending school, and Yeonjun teasing him by riding his bicycle recklessly, knowing it terrified Soobin. Sharp turns and unexpected maneuvers always resulted in playful retaliations from Soobin's large hands.
Lost in these memories, Soobin glanced at the wall clock. "Oh no, it's only been a little while," he sighed. "I should take a nap to make time pass faster." Setting an alarm on his phone for when he estimated Yeonjun's bus would arrive, he pulled the sheet over himself and drifted into sleep.
Soobin woke abruptly to the persistent ringing of his phone. He groggily pressed the volume button to silence it, stretching his arms as he pulled himself upright. After washing his face and changing into a black hoodie, grey joggers, and black sports shoes, he headed to the kitchen to prepare tea for his 'so-called' family members.
As he waited for the water to boil, Soobin's thoughts drifted. Where had it all gone wrong? Everything had been fine when his mother was alive. His stepfather had never treated him this way before. And Jayhoon, his younger stepbrother, used to adore him. Since joining the family, Jayhoon had stuck to Soobin like glue-playing together, sharing meals, going out, even sleeping next to him. But now, everything has changed. Why were they treating him like this? What had he done to deserve this?
The one bright spot in his new life was Yeonjun, his older brother figure. Grateful for Yeonjun's presence, Soobin found solace in their bond.
Lost in thoughts of his guardian angel, Soobin's phone chimed with a text from Yeonjun.
Jjunie hyung
Soobin-ahh!!
I'll be there within half an hour
Okay!
I'll be there on time!
"I've got to go now," Soobin muttered to himself. Quickly turning off the stove, he poured the freshly brewed tea into a teapot and set it on the dining table. With a habitual knock on the doors of his stepfather and Jayhoon's rooms, he dashed out of the house.
Soobin felt a surge of happiness that words couldn't fully express. He was about to see his hyung after what felt like an eternity!
Soobin reached the bus stop well before time, having run all the way there. Minutes ticked by like hours until finally, Yeonjun's bus pulled up. As soon as Yeonjun stepped off, Soobin started waving both hands enthusiastically, calling out, 'Yeonjun hyung!! Over here!!' amidst the crowd of students and other waiting people.
Students rushed to board the bus, and Soobin jumped up and down to make himself more visible among the crowd. Yeonjun smiled at Soobin's antics, understanding how excited he must be to see him.
When they finally met face to face, Soobin threw himself at Yeonjun, confident that his hyung would catch him. Yeonjun staggered slightly but held steady, wrapping his arms around Soobin's shoulders.
"Oh, Soobiniee!! It's been so long!" Yeonjun exclaimed warmly, pulling him into another tight hug.
"H-hyung?!" Soobin managed to say after breaking the hug.
"Huh?"
"It's been sooooo long~~" Soobin grinned broadly.
"I know," Yeonjun chuckled. "Are we waiting for another bus to send me back, or are we going home?"
"Home! Of course, we're going home. Give me your bags."
They walked towards home together, and as they did, Soobin asked, "So, how's everything going?"
"F-fine. What about you? And how's Aunt?"
Smooth, Soobin! But for how long can you avoid this topic?
"I'm okay, not great, but managing. And Mom? She's doing better now. She had a bit of a health scare a few months ago, but she's fine now. And she really misses you a lot."
"I missed you both a lot too."
"But she really misses you. Whenever she reads the newspaper and sees an advertisement for anime, she says, 'Soobin loves these.' And when we go grocery shopping, if we pass the bread section, she says, 'Soobin loves these.' Just last week, our neighbors' bunny wandered into our yard, and she said, 'Look, Jjunie, it's just like Soobin,' and insisted we keep it until the owners came to collect it in the evening. Until then, she played with that bunny so much, and I promised her I'd bring her one when I came back."
"H-hyung?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you making fun of me?"
"No, no, no! Why would I do that? But you know, it's really funny," Yeonjun burst into laughter.
"Hyung!!" Soobin lightly hit Yeonjun's shoulder.
As they walked towards home, they passed their old school building. Yeonjun, a year ahead of Soobin, reminisced, "This reminds me of our good old days as kids. Remember that small room on the rooftop where we used to hide during class skips?"
"Hmm, of course, I remember that. How could I forget the best days of my life?" Soobin replied with a soft smile.
"I think we should visit someday. What do you say?"
"Sure, hyung! But you know what? I've actually come here quite a bit since you left, whenever I felt down or wanted some time alone. This place, especially that small room, has been a comfort to me."
"Oh! Then I definitely want to visit soon! Can we go now?"
"Now?" Soobin hesitated. "No, not now, hyung. There are probably extra classes going on. We can come back at night, when no one will see us."
"Um, okay," Yeonjun agreed reluctantly.
"Don't be sad, hyung! I promise we'll go to the school right after dinner. I promise."
"Okay, baby," Yeonjun teased, winking at Soobin.
Soobin chuckled softly as they continued walking.
"Um... Soobin?"
"Yeah?"
"How's college going? You must be starting your third year now, right? Have you made new friends? Who are they?"
"A-actually, hyung..." Soobin stuttered.
"What happened?" Yeonjun's voice held concern. "Tell me now. Is everything okay? You're worrying me, Soobin."
"Actually, hyung, I... I didn't enroll in college."
"What? Not even for a year? Soobin?!" Yeonjun's worry escalated quickly.
Shit, shit, shit! This shouldn't be happening now!
"Answer me, Soobin!" Yeonjun's tone turned serious.
And if Yeonjun was serious, the matter was grave.
"H-hyung, please, let's talk at home. Please."
"Move faster."
Those words from Yeonjun only increased Soobin's anxiety. Or was it fear?
Yeonjun and Soobin arrived home, with Soobin sneakily glancing at Yeonjun from time to time to gauge his mood. But Yeonjun remained visibly upset-angry, sad, perhaps a mix of emotions. He rang the doorbell, and Jayhoon opened the door cheerfully.
"Oh, Yeonjun hyung! Hello!" Jayhoon greeted him.
"Hi, Hoon! How have you been?" Yeonjun asked, smiling warmly.
"I'm great! What about you, hyung? You came so suddenly!"
"Huh? I asked Soobin to tell uncle that I'm coming," Yeonjun replied, looking at Soobin, who stood silently, staring at the floor, lost in thought. Yeonjun sighed inwardly. "Never mind. Where is uncle?" he asked Jayhoon.
"Oh! Dad went out for a meeting. He'll probably be back by dinner," Jayhoon answered.
"Okay," Yeonjun nodded, then made his way to the living room and settled on the couch. Jayhoon joined him, and Soobin took Yeonjun's bags, placing them nearby.
"So, Hoon! How's your studies going? You're starting college tomorrow, right?" Yeonjun engaged in conversation.
Meanwhile, Soobin went to the kitchen to prepare a cup of coffee for Yeonjun.
"Yes, hyung! I'm really excited," Jayhoon replied eagerly.
"I see-"
"Hyung, water?" Soobin interrupted, holding out a glass of warm water.
Yeonjun looked up gratefully and accepted it. Soobin then disappeared back into the kitchen to bring the coffee he had prepared.
"Which college are you going to, Hoon?" Yeonjun asked Jayhoon.
"To Daegu University."
"Oh! I'll be joining the same college for a few months while I'm here," Yeonjun explained. "Actually, I've been appointed as a dance teacher at a school here in Seoul, and this college is one of their branches. Since their regular dance teacher is away for a judging show, they asked me to fill in. It seemed like a good opportunity to stay with you, your dad, and Soobin for a while."
"Wow! You'll be the dance teacher at my college. I've got something to brag about-your dance moves!" Jayhoon grinned mischievously.
"Stop it, you little rascal," Yeonjun chuckled.
"Hyung, your coffee?" Soobin returned with the coffee and handed it to Yeonjun.
"Thanks, Soobin," Yeonjun said appreciatively.
"I'll go and start preparing dinner. Excuse me," Soobin excused himself and headed back to the kitchen.
"Hyung, let's go to my room," Jayhoon suggested.
"No, no. I'll just rest here for a while. My back is killing me right now," Yeonjun declined.
"Oh, okay. I'll go and talk to my friends about the new college. Call me for dinner, hyung! Bye!" Jayhoon hurried off, seemingly oblivious to Yeonjun's attempt to ask if he would help Soobin.
"This child," Yeonjun muttered to himself, leaning back on the couch. He finished his coffee, then rested his head against the cushion, closing his eyes for a brief rest.
After a refreshing two-hour nap, Yeonjun stirred awake to the tantalizing aroma that teased his senses, reminding him of his rumbling stomach.
Entering the kitchen, he discovered Soobin, a culinary giant, meticulously arranging the freshly cooked dishes into serving bowls.
"Now for the salad, and we're all set!" Soobin announced, dusting his hands and removing his apron.
"You've been cooking all this time by yourself?" Yeonjun asked, rubbing his eyes and pouting slightly in disbelief.
Soobin turned with a smile at the sight of a drowsy Yeonjun. "Indeed," he replied warmly.
"You could have asked for help, from either me or Hoon."
"You seemed so peacefully asleep, hyung, and Hoon..." Soobin chuckled softly. "No matter! Everything's ready now. Would you prefer to freshen up first or dive straight into dinner?"
Yeonjun moved closer, his hunger overriding any sense of weariness.Yeonjun couldn't ignore the urgency of the matter that needed addressing. Despite the pleasant dinner atmosphere, Soobin's avoidance only deepened his concern.
"Hey, I'm starving right now! I'll just wash up and dig in," Yeonjun declared, pulling out a plate and filling it with his favorite dishes.
"Hyung, go sit at the dining table. I'll serve you there," Soobin suggested.
Carrying his plate, Yeonjun settled comfortably at the dining table as Soobin brought over the serving bowls.
"Jayhoon! Dinner's ready," Soobin called out.
"Coming!" Jayhoon's voice echoed from another room.
"He asked me to call him, but I forgot," Yeonjun admitted with a sheepish grin.
"It's okay, let's eat first."
"Mmm, Soobin, this is delicious! Thanks!"
"I'm glad you like it," Soobin replied warmly.
Yeonjun paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. "Soobin, we still need to talk."
"About what, hyung?" Soobin asked, his smile faltering slightly.
"You don't think I'll forget after a nap and a good meal, do you?" Yeonjun said pointedly, taking a spoonful of fried rice.
Soobin hesitated, then sighed. "Let's talk after dinner, I promise."
"You can't keep avoiding this, Soobin," Yeonjun insisted firmly.
Before Soobin could respond, his father entered the room and settled on the couch. "Get me a glass of water, fast"
"S-sure," Soobin replied hurriedly, fetching a glass and filling it from the jug.
"Hello, Uncle," Yeonjun greeted politely.
"Oh, Yeonjun! Hello," Mr. Choi responded, looking around as he removed his blazer. "What brings you here all of a sudden? Is everything okay?"
Yeonjun glanced at Soobin, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm joining a college here for a few months. I'll be staying with you all."
"Ah, I see," Mr. Choi nodded.
As Jayhoon joined them for dinner, Yeonjun sensed a sudden change in the atmosphere. There was an awkward tension in the air, and he caught a whiff of something unpleasant.
Soobin began serving food to his father and brother, but Yeonjun noticed he hadn't served himself.
"Soobin, aren't you going to eat?" Yeonjun asked, concerned.
"I'll have mine after everyone's finished," Soobin replied with a tight smile.
"Why wait? We need to talk, remember? Come, join us," Yeonjun insisted, motioning for Soobin to sit beside him.
Soobin glanced nervously at his father, then reluctantly took a seat next to Yeonjun, picking up his fork but barely touching his food.
What a sight it was-a family gathered for dinner after a long time. For Soobin, though, the scene was far from harmonious. Yet, to an outsider unaware of their reality, it would appear as a simple and warm family dinner.
After finishing dinner, Soobin gathered all the used dishes and brought them to the sink, starting the task of washing them. As he worked, the rhythmic sound of running water filled the kitchen.
Yeonjun, having just called his mother to let her know he'd arrived safely and had dinner, entered the kitchen.
"Do you need help?" Yeonjun offered.
"No, hyung, it's okay. I'll finish in a bit," Soobin replied, his focus on the task at hand.
"All these?" Yeonjun pointed at the stack of dishes.
"Yes, hyung, I'm used to doing this," Soobin said casually.
"So you're telling me you handle all the house chores alone? Because from what I've seen, Jayhoon isn't helping, and when I briefly woke up earlier, I saw you sweeping. What’s going on, Soobin? We really need to talk. Let's go to the school rooftop; I know you'll open up there. Just—oh, for God's sake, leave these dishes!" Yeonjun exclaimed, grabbing Soobin by the arm and dragging him out of the kitchen.
"Hyung! The dishe—"
"Oh, just shut up, Soobin," Yeonjun interrupted, determined to get some answers.
After some time walking, they finally arrived at the school rooftop.
Their first stop was the small room that had become a storeroom over the years. It was filled with old benches, black and green boards, and musical instruments that had long since lost their tune. Yeonjun's eyes landed on a familiar corner where they used to sit and chat with their friends. It felt so nostalgic, as if it was only yesterday they had bunked class to be there. For Soobin, the room held more recent memories; he often came here to find solace. The last time he was here, he had cried his heart out to his mother while looking at the stars.
Soobin walked out of the room and stood near the edge of the rooftop, staring at the cloudy night sky. Not a single star was visible. He sighed and sat on the wall, legs dangling, arms stretched out for support as he leaned back.
Meanwhile, Yeonjun scanned the room with his keen eyes, taking in every corner. He spotted their friends' names carved into a wall with an iron rod, smiling at the memory of their foolishness. Turning around, he realized Soobin was no longer in the room. He closed the door and stepped out.
"Soob—"
Yeonjun saw Soobin sitting on the wall, seemingly lost in thought as he gazed at the sky. He quietly approached and settled beside him.
Soobin sensed Yeonjun’s presence but didn’t look up. He knew it was his hyung.
"Hyung, I'm really very sorry. I didn’t tell you about anything since you left. I didn’t want you to worry about me because I knew you must be struggling too. That's why I just texted you 'I'm okay' whenever you asked. I'm sorry, hyung," Soobin explained, still not meeting Yeonjun’s eyes.
"But that's not a valid reason. You should have told me. We could have done something. Do you really think of me as your hyung? Because I don't think so—"
"No, hyung! Please don’t say that. Right now, in my life, it's only you and Aunt. I know I should have shared things with you, but I didn’t want to worry you. That's all."
"But Soobin, you can’t risk your studies. Do you hear me? You can't ruin your future. This is serious. And why didn’t you ask Uncle for help? I know he earns enough to support both his sons’ education. Huh?"
Now here we go..........
"So... I think I gotta tell you this now, as it can't be hidden anymore." Soobin sat up straight, and for the first time since they arrived, he looked directly into Yeonjun's eyes, which were full of questions.
"Huh?"
"Hyung, I have a lot to tell you, but I just don't know how to start," he murmured, looking down again.
"Soobin, just let it out. I'm here. I'm here to listen, I promise. Don't keep anything inside, just blurt it out. Hyung is here, hmm?" Yeonjun said, shifting closer to Soobin. He placed one hand over Soobin's shoulder and the other on his knees to stop him from nervously shaking his legs.
"Don't stop yourself, just speak."
Soobin took a deep breath. "Hyung, do you know why Mom married him? Just for me, so I could have the love and care of a father. Everything was fine while Mom was here. He played with me and Jayhoon, bought us toys, clothes, video games, and books. He took us to school and back, treating us with ice creams, marshmallows, candies, and jellies every day. But when Mom was admitted to the hospital, everything changed. He was worried at first, consulting all the best doctors. But as days turned into months, he started ignoring me and Mom. He stopped visiting her, where he used to spend all night by her bedside before."
Yeonjun listened patiently as Soobin continued. "And Jayhoon changed too. He spent most of his time in Dad's room, not talking to me, skipping school and homework. Every other day, the teacher would call me to complain about his lack of concentration and misbehavior. He drifted apart from me."
Soobin took another deep breath. "When Mom passed away, I went to live with my grandparents. But soon, I lost them too," he said, bursting into tears, his cheeks wet and red.
Yeonjun gently placed Soobin's head on his shoulder, patting his back and holding his hand tightly. He wanted to hug Soobin, but it wasn't possible as they were sitting on the wall with their legs hanging. He resolved to hug him later.
Soobin wiped away his tears and continued. "After that, I had no choice but to live with them. It felt like I was at a stranger's place. They ignored me. At first, he didn't allow me to live in the house and made me stay in the outhouse in the backyard. He forced me to do all the house chores and refused to pay for my school fees, though I convinced him eventually. He said he wouldn't give me a single coin for college. He made me help Jayhoon with his studies, which ended up with me doing all his homework. He didn't allow me to do part-time jobs, so I borrowed college notes from friends and wrote them down. This is how my life has been."
Soobin finally blurted it all out. Yeonjun was shocked, his vision blurring as tears filled his eyes. He couldn't believe what Soobin had gone through.
"S-Soob—" Yeonjun stuttered, and Soobin looked up to see Yeonjun crying, his cheeks wet and red.
"Hyung! Why are y—" But before he could finish, Yeonjun engulfed him in a tight side hug.
"Hyung, we could fall down."
"I don't care, just stay."
Soobin chuckled at Yeonjun's behavior, wiping away his tears with his shirt sleeves. Yeonjun came to his senses, wiping his own tears, with one hand still hanging over Soobin's shoulder.
"I can't imagine what you went through, but you should have told me. I could have helped."
"Hyung, I knew you would go to any extent to help me, but I didn't want to bother you. Aunt was ill too, and when Uncle passed away, I didn't want to add to your worries."
"So... what's next? You can't just stay home doing chores. You need to get degrees for your studies to matter."
"But for that, I need to earn money first."
"I'll lend you some. If you don't want to take it, consider it a loan. Get enrolled in college, and pay me back later."
"Hyung, if you want to help me, help me find a way to earn money. Dad won't allow me to do a part-time job or go out."
"I'll figure something out to get you out of the house. But first, get enrolled. A new session starts tomorrow, and enrollment will begin. Jayhoon is enrolled in the same college where I'll be joining. I'll get you enrolled too, and don't worry about the money; you can pay me back when we find good part-time jobs for both of us."
"Both?"
"Of course. I need a part-time job to earn money for Mom's medicines."
"Oh, right."
"So, shall we go back? I'm feeling a bit cold," Soobin said, shivering slightly.
"Yeah, sure," Yeonjun replied.
They both jumped back onto the rooftop floor and started walking toward the door. But then, Yeonjun pulled Soobin back and enveloped him in a warm, cozy hug, just like he had wanted to do earlier.
"Don't you dare keep anything inside from now on. I'm warning you. Promise me you won't do that again," Yeonjun said firmly.
"I promise, hyung," Soobin replied, nuzzling his head into Yeonjun's neck.
They both smiled and, after sharing the hug for a good two minutes, headed back home.
For the first time, Soobin was happy to be heading home, holding Yeonjun's hand.
After reaching home, Yeonjun grabbed his bags lying by the edge of the couch and started heading towards Soobin.
"Hyung, the guest room upstairs is free. You can stay there," Soobin suggested.
"Look, I came here to stay with you, so I'll be staying where you are staying, okay?" Yeonjun replied with a smile.
"But you won't be able to adjust there. It's just too small. Just stay in the guest ro—"
Not letting Soobin finish, Yeonjun walked towards the main door, saying, "I'll stay where I want, and I'll be staying with you. That's final."
"Hyung!" Soobin screamed, following Yeonjun, who reached the backyard where Soobin's room was.
Yeonjun stood in front of the door. By then, Soobin had caught up.
"You won't welcome me in?"
"Oh! Sorry! I mean, of course. Give me your bags. And yes! Yeonjun hyung?"
"Hmm?"
"Welcome to my little world," Soobin said with a cute smile.
"Thanks," Yeonjun whispered softly and ruffled Soobin's hair.
Yeonjun entered the room and started looking around. He saw a bed that was bigger than a single bed but smaller than a double bed, somewhere in the middle. Yeonjun knew they both could sleep comfortably there. There was a study table with a chair tucked in, with Soobin's books, a pen stand, and a radio that Yeonjun identified as Soobin's mom's. A wooden rack was divided into various small compartments where Soobin's clothes and stuffed toys were kept. The room also had an attached bathroom. After scanning everything, Yeonjun lay down on the bed and stretched his arms. His hand hit something soft, and he turned around to see a brown teddy bear, which he remembered gifting to Soobin when they first met. He smiled and hugged the teddy.
Meanwhile, Soobin placed Yeonjun's bags in the room.
"Hyung, go and take a shower. Till then, I'll make some space for your belongings in the rack."
"Okay! But make it fast. I'm so tired."
"Of course!"
As Yeonjun came out of the shower, he saw Soobin arranging the bed sheet.
"Hyung! I've created space for you. You can arrange everything over there as you take them out."
"Ah! Okay! Thanks."
Soobin went to the bathroom to change into pajamas. When he came back, he found Yeonjun already asleep, curled up in the blanket while hugging his teddy bear.
Cute, Soobin thought.
"Cute," Soobin whispered aloud with a smile.
He went to the other side of the bed, stretched his arms, set an alarm, and soon drifted off to his dreamland.
***
Chapter Text
With the ringing of the alarm, Soobin woke up. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his palm, let out a big yawn, and then stretched his arms. He looked to his left and saw Yeonjun sleeping peacefully, his pouted lips and messy hair covering his eyes. Deciding to let the older one sleep a bit longer, Soobin got off the bed, went to the bathroom, and did his morning routine. When he came out, he noticed Yeonjun's dress hanging near the rack. He took it down, ironed it, and hung it back where it previously was.
Soobin then went to the kitchen to cook breakfast for everyone. He prepared omelets and poured glasses of milk. Returning to the shared room, he called out to Yeonjun.
"Yeonjun hyung! Wake up! You'll be late for your college! Wake up, hyung!" Soobin said, gently pulling Yeonjun by his shoulder.
"I wanna sleep a little more," Yeonjun mumbled.
"No hyung! You'll get late!" Soobin insisted, taking both of Yeonjun's arms and pulling him to make him sit up. "Go and take a shower. I ironed your clothes," he said, pointing towards the hanging dress. "And I prepared breakfast too! So after getting ready, come to the dining table."
"Hmm... Okay," Yeonjun said, rubbing his eyes as he headed to the bathroom.
Yeonjun got ready and was heading towards the dining table when he heard someone shouting. He quickly entered the main door and ran towards the dining table.
"Can't you cook something edible? Always this shitty omelet and milk," Jayhoon was shouting straight into Soobin's face.
"I-I made p-pasta yesterd-" Soobin stuttered.
"So? You could have made something better. A trash can only cook trash," Jayhoon commented.
It was enough for Yeonjun. He couldn't take it anymore.
"JAYHOON!!" Yeonjun yelled, taking steps towards Jayhoon. This made Soobin's eyes go wide.
Shit shit shit!
"How dare you talk to your hyung in such a way?"
"He, he is not my hyung. Just a burden on dad."
"Jayhoon!!" Yeonjun was about to throw his hands on Jayhoon, but Soobin grabbed him by his shoulder just in time.
"No hyung! Don't! Please!"
"Why not, Soobin? He can't misbehave with you. Not at all."
"I'm, I'm used to it, hyung," Soobin said, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"So what? They both can do whatever they want to do with you? I'm not gonna let this happen. And Jayhoon? What got into you? You are not the Jayhoon I knew. Definitely not. The Jayhoon I knew used to love his hyung a lot. He didn't leave his side not even for a second, he used to fight with me for his hyung, when he spent more time with me than you. How can you change, Hoon? He is Soobin, your Soobin hyung," Yeonjun said, holding Jayhoon by his shoulders.
"Yeonjun hyung! Please leave! You don't have to explain to me how to treat him," Jayhoon said, loosening himself from Yeonjun's grip.
"Jayhoon, Soobin is not appointed as your or uncle's servant here. It's your duty to help him with the house chores too."
"No! Why would I help him? And if he can't do these house chores, he is totally trash."
"Then you need to pay him for what he did for you two for the past years."
"I'm not in the mood to talk. Please don't ruin my morning. I'm heading to college." With that, Jayhoon left. When he passed by Yeonjun, Yeonjun smelled something shitty, the same smell as last night.
Yeonjun looked at Soobin, who was wiping away his tears with the back of his palm. He went near him.
"God, Soobin! You are ridiculous! How could you bear all this? You should have definitely told me about this. This is so miserable. How can they be so cruel to you? I don't know what to do for you. I really can't see you like this. I'll take you with me. To Seoul. Just you, mom, and me. But I need to stay here for a while. God!" Yeonjun frustratedly ran his hand through his hair.
"Hyung, you don't have to. I'm fine."
"Oh really, Soobin! Of course, I can see that. They must be serving you so well here. Right?" Yeonjun said sarcastically.
"Hyun-" Soobin was about to say something but was interrupted by the sound of his father's shoes, which were getting closer.
"I'm getting late, can't have breakfast. Also, I'll come late tonight. So don't wait for me. I'll have my dinner out," Mr. Choi said and was about to leave when Yeonjun spoke.
"Excuse me, uncle."
"Yes?"
"Actually, the college director told me that I need to bring someone as my assistant. And as it would have cost me a huge amount of money to pay someone for being my assistant, umm... I thought it would be a good idea if I took Soobin with me," Yeonjun let it out all at once.
"Huh?" Mr. Choi raised his eyebrows.
"Don't worry. I'll get him back on time to cook dinner."
Mr. Choi thought for a while.
"Okay! You can take him. But I just want the work to be done on time. That's it. Wherever he is staying other than that, doesn't matter to me," he said and went out.
Those words hit Soobin. Hard. His eyes were again getting all teary.
"See, I found a way to make you go to college," Yeonjun said, smiling.
"Yeah, but what if he finds out?"
"God, Soobin! Don't stress your tiny brain. Let's go, we are getting late."
"Hyung, breakfast?"
"Of course I'm gonna have it."
Yeonjun and Soobin arrived at the college via bus, the bustling campus welcoming them with its academic fervor. Navigating swiftly through the corridors, Yeonjun escorted Soobin to the admissions office, where they promptly requested a third-year enrollment form.
"May I see your second-year mark sheet, please?" inquired the admissions officer.
"Well, actually," Yeonjun hesitated momentarily, "he doesn't have one."
"I'm sorry, but without the necessary documents, I can't provide the form," the officer responded regretfully.
"Could we perhaps arrange a meeting with the principal?" Yeonjun inquired, maintaining his composure.
"Certainly. Please schedule an appointment through the reception," the officer instructed.
"Thank you," Yeonjun acknowledged courteously before they proceeded to the reception area.
"We're hoping to arrange a meeting with the principal," Yeonjun informed the receptionist.
"I'm afraid the principal is currently engaged in meetings with the staff due to the new session. Booking an appointment today isn't feasible," she explained apologetically.
"Not a problem. Is it possible for a teacher to speak with him in the meantime?" Yeonjun asked, trying a different approach.
"Why do you need to see him urgently?" she inquired with curiosity.
Yeonjun flashed a charming smile, extending his hand. "Hello, I'm Choi Yeonjun, the new interim dance instructor here, covering for the current judge on leave. Pleasure to meet you."
The receptionist shook his hand warmly. "Nice to meet you too."
"I'd appreciate an appointment to see him," Yeonjun continued, his tone amiable.
She checked the computer. "He's available in about an hour."
"Thank you. And please, call me Yeonjun," he replied with a grin.
"Alright, Yeonjun. Have a wonderful day," she replied warmly.
"And you too, Miss Chelsea," Yeonjun said politely as they departed.
"What now, hyung?" Soobin asked as they explored the college campus, their curiosity leading them through various facilities—from the playground to classrooms, labs, and the myriad clubs dedicated to theater, music, art, and dance.
"So, which two clubs do you think you'll choose?" Yeonjun asked with a playful grin.
"I think I'll go for the Music Club, for obvious reasons, and the Dance Club because you'll be there. So... yeah," Soobin replied.
"Guess what? I already knew," Yeonjun chuckled softly.
Their conversation was interrupted as someone called out Yeonjun's name from behind.
"Yeonjun, it's your turn now. Two of our teachers are absent, so you're up next," Chelsea informed him, pointing the way to the principal's office, a route they were already familiar with after wandering for the past thirty-five minutes.
"We know the way, Chelsea. You can continue with your work," Yeonjun assured her.
"Okay, Yeonjun. Bye," Chelsea bid them farewell.
"Bye," Yeonjun and Soobin echoed in unison as they entered the principal's office. The principal peered over his spectacles as they approached.
"Who are you two?" he asked curiously.
"Hello, Sir. I'm Choi Yeonjun. I've been appointed as the interim dance teacher here at your college, filling in for Mr. Ju—"
"Oh, yes, yes, I remember now. Please, have a seat," the principal interrupted, gesturing to chairs placed across from his desk, separated by a sizable glass table.
"And who might you be?" the principal inquired, directing his attention to Soobin.
"He's Choi Soobin, my cousin. I'm here to discuss a matter concerning him, if I may?" Yeonjun replied respectfully.
"Of course, please proceed," the principal encouraged.
"Sir, Soobin has diligently studied over the past two semesters. Despite not being allowed to attend classes due to his father's strictness, he self-studied using borrowed notes and books. As a result, he wasn't able to take the exams and lacks the mark sheets for the first and second years. I'm here to request your consideration for his admission into the third year."
"But how can I—" the principal began to question.
"Sir, if needed, Soobin is willing to take exams covering the syllabus from those two years. I assure you, he won't disappoint," Yeonjun interjected earnestly.
The principal studied Soobin, observing his nervous demeanor—fidgeting fingers and trembling legs, a portrait of anxiety. Soobin struggled to maintain a composed facade but ultimately couldn't suppress his emotions.
"I'll take some time to consider—" the principal's sentence was cut short as Chelsea rushed into the office, clearly distressed.
"Sir! I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's urgent," Chelsea exclaimed breathlessly.
"What is it now?" the principal inquired, concerned.
"Mr. Joy left his resignation letter on the reception desk and left abruptly, saying 'sorry'. I tried to stop him, but he left too quickly," Chelsea reported sadly.
"That's quite unfortunate. He managed our college accounts for the past seven years. Finding a replacement won't be easy, especially at the start of a new session," the principal lamented, clearly troubled.
"Soobin, Yeonjun, I'm sorry about this interruption, but I need to address this matter with Chelsea," the principal said, shifting his focus.
Soobin seized the moment. "Excuse me, Sir. I don't mean to intrude on your affairs, but I believe I can help. Accounting is my primary subject, and I've studied it extensively. If you permit, I could fill in temporarily."
Yeonjun was taken aback by Soobin's audacity, impressed by his sudden display of confidence.
"You're still a student and haven't even completed two years at this college. How can I appoint you as our accountant?" the principal questioned skeptically.
"Sir, I understand your concern. But considering the urgency and the current circumstances, I'm simply asking for an opportunity to prove myself," Soobin responded calmly, determined.
"Hmm... Alright. I'll give you a week to prove your capabilities. If all goes well, I'll consider allowing you to proceed to the third year," the principal conceded after a moment's thought.
"Thank you, Sir!" Soobin and Yeonjun exclaimed simultaneously, relief evident on their faces.
"You may both take your leave now. Chelsea, please stay. We need to discuss the next steps," the principal instructed.
"Of course, Sir," Chelsea acknowledged, her expression serious.
As Soobin and Yeonjun exited the office, the principal called out to them.
"Wait, Soobin. Your work starts today. Chelsea will brief you on what needs to be done," the principal informed him.
"Understood, Sir. I'll wait for her in the waiting room," Soobin replied with a smile.
Once outside, Yeonjun casually draped his arm around Soobin's shoulder, but Soobin quickly shrugged it off.
"What's wrong?" Yeonjun asked.
"We're in college, hyung," Soobin replied sheepishly.
"So? No one knows why we're here. They'll just think we're senior students who happen to be friends," Yeonjun reassured him.
"I know, but—" Soobin suddenly cut himself off and moved behind Yeonjun, attempting to hide.
Yeonjun couldn't help but chuckle. "Seriously, Soobin? You think you can hide behind me with those broad shoulders? And you're taller than me!"
"What's wrong, Soob—" Yeonjun began to ask, but then he noticed Jayhoon and two other boys approaching.
"It's Jayhoon," Soobin whispered, pointing discreetly in Jayhoon's direction. Yeonjun followed his gaze and saw Jayhoon with his friends, laughing as they headed towards a nearby college building, likely the engineering wing.
"Why are you hiding?" Yeonjun asked quietly.
"He might tell Dad," Soobin replied anxiously.
"Come on, Soobin. We already got Uncle's permission this morning, remember? And as for Jayhoon, just tell him you're here as my assistant," Yeonjun suggested.
"Okay, hyung," Soobin agreed nervously.
"So, where do you want to go now?" Yeonjun asked, trying to lighten the mood.
"Um... What about the library?" Soobin suggested tentatively.
"The library? Seriously, Soobin? You know I get dizzy around books," Yeonjun teased dramatically, placing a hand over his forehead.
"Oh, shut up, hyung. Let's go, please," Soobin replied with a playful shove.
"Alright, alright," Yeonjun relented with a grin.
"Excuse me, could you tell us where the library is?" Yeonjun asked a passing student.
"It's on the third floor," the student replied before continuing on his way.
"Thank you," Yeonjun called after him as they began to ascend the stairs.
As Yeonjun and Soobin ascended the stairs to the second floor, they noticed a trio of boys ahead, engaged in animated laughter.
"Hey! I'm looking to see if the college library has any thriller books. Does anyone know where it's located?" asked the shortest of the three boys.
"It's on the third floor," Yeonjun replied promptly, catching the attention of the trio as they all turned around simultaneously.
°°°
"Beomgyu, wake up! We need to leave. It's our first day of college," Taehyun urged as he gathered books, notebooks, and pens, stuffing them into Beomgyu's backpack.
"Just five more minutes, Taehyun," Beomgyu groaned, still half-asleep.
"No more five minutes! Get up right now!" Taehyun insisted, yanking Beomgyu's cozy blanket off him.
"TAEHYUN!!"
"Your screams won't scare me. So, just get up," Taehyun retorted, unfazed.
"Ugh!!"
Reluctantly, Beomgyu dragged himself out of bed and shuffled straight to the bathroom.
"Take your towel, idiot!" Taehyun tossed the towel at Beomgyu's back, which he deftly caught.
Just then, Taehyun's phone buzzed loudly.
"Hell-"
"Where are you, idiot? I told you to bring Beomgyu with you and not to stay there," Hueningkai's voice blared through the phone, clearly agitated.
"Oh, just shut up, Kai. Beomgyu just got out of bed and is probably in the shower. You go ahead, and I'll bring him," Taehyun replied calmly.
"Fine! Don't be late. You know I can't stand being all alone at a new place," Hueningkai warned.
"Of course, I know. Don't worry, we'll be on time," Taehyun reassured before ending the call.
"Beomgyu, hurry up!!"
After getting ready, Taehyun and Beomgyu stepped out of the apartment and climbed into Beomgyu's car, heading towards their college. Along the way, Taehyun called Hueningkai to assure him they would arrive at the entrance within half an hour.
"I'm not in the mood to go to a new place and act all friendly with new people," Beomgyu grumbled, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"Don't be like this, Beomgyu! We've finished school, and now it's time to embark on a new journey-our college years. Haven't you heard that college days are the best part of one's life?" Taehyun encouraged, trying to lift Beomgyu's spirits.
"Bullshit," Beomgyu retorted bluntly.
"Hey!"
"When your life is a beautiful mess, how can you expect college days to be the best part?" Beomgyu countered.
"Let's just see. What if you meet the most precious person of your life here?!" Taehyun suggested optimistically.
"Again, it's just bullsh-"
"Shut up and drive fast! We're getting late, and think of our poor friend Kai. He's probably hating this half an hour of his life waiting for us-alone!!" Taehyun exclaimed, cutting Beomgyu off, and they both burst out laughing, the tension momentarily lifted.
They both reached the college campus, where Kai was visibly agitated and waiting for them.
As soon as Kai saw them getting out of the car, he rushed over, his frustration boiling over.
"YOU IDIOTS!! CAN'T YOU BOTH GET READY EARLY!! YOU KNOW HOW I SPENT THE LAST HALF HOUR!! AND THAT TOO! ALONE!!! YOU BOTH DON'T CARE FOR ME!! I'M SO HEARTBROKEN!!!" Kai screamed, wiping away imaginary tears of betrayal.
"Guess the dolphin has started screaming again!" Beomgyu quipped, covering his ears, with Taehyun mirroring the gesture.
"YOU BOTH!! I HATE YOU BOTH SO MUCH!!" Kai yelled in exasperation.
"We love you too, Kai," Taehyun said, attempting to defuse the tension as he held both his friends by their arms, guiding them towards the college building.
As they entered the building, the bustling atmosphere of new students embarking on their college journey surrounded Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Hueningkai. Each face held a mixture of excitement and determination, eager to fulfill their dreams and make the most of their college years. For Beomgyu, however, this phase meant something different. He harbored no illusions about making new friends or expanding his social circle beyond Taehyun and Hueningkai. His personal bubble was small and content with just the company of his two closest friends.
While he cared deeply for his parents, who supported him from afar in Seoul, Beomgyu was determined not to burden them further. Their monthly financial support and tuition payments were appreciated, but he had resolved to become financially independent after graduation. This promise was unwavering, a testament to his determination to stand on his own feet.
As they approached the notice board, announcing the opportunity to join various clubs, Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Hueningkai pondered their choices. The music club was an easy decision, given their shared passion and history together in their school band. Music had always been a unifying force among them.
"I'll go to the art club. What about you guys?" Hueningkai asked eagerly, already imagining the creative pursuits ahead.
"I'm torn between the sports club and the cooking club," Taehyun replied, contemplating his options.
"Definitely the cooking club for you, Taehyun. We can't survive on burnt offerings forever," Beomgyu teased gently. "And you Hueningkai, art club sounds perfect for you."
Beomgyu remained uncertain about his own choice. "I'm not sure yet. I'll decide later. We have time."
Deciding to first find their classroom, they approached the receptionist for directions, who greeted them warmly. With their IDs in hand, they were directed to the second floor, where the 'Sputnik Batch 2' awaited them.
"Thank you," Taehyun acknowledged, taking the ID cards.
Navigating towards the stairs, Hueningkai commented on the receptionist's charm. "There's a reason they hire such sweet-talking receptionists," he remarked.
"It's all business," Taehyun replied knowingly. "They're there to lure in students and parents alike, convincing them this is the best place."
"If it weren't for your dad's practical considerations, we might have ended up elsewhere," Beomgyu added, humor lacing his words, prompting laughter from the trio.
"Exactly!" Hueningkai agreed.
Taehyun then inquired about the library, prompting a helpful response from behind them. They turned to see who had spoken, their movements synchronized as they prepared to explore the college further.
***
Chapter Text
As Soobin hurried down the stairs to respond to Miss Chelsea's urgent call, Yeonjun remained with Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Hueningkai, who were curious about their brief encounter.
"Do we know each other, somehow? It feels like I know you, like I saw you somewhere but I can't remember," Beomgyu asked, his curiosity piqued.
Yeonjun chuckled lightly. "Oh, is that so? I don't know, but I think I've seen him before," he added, pointing playfully at Hueningkai.
"Me? How? When?" Hueningkai questioned, genuinely puzzled.
"I wish I could say," Yeonjun replied with a smile. "So, which year are you guys in?" he asked, diverting the conversation.
"We're first years, freshmen," Taehyun answered.
Yeonjun nodded knowingly. "Ah, the newbies," he remarked amiably.
"And you? You must be our senior then?" Taehyun inferred.
"Well, actually, I'm not a stud-" Yeonjun started to respond but was abruptly interrupted by Chelsea's urgent call.
"Yeonjun! Soob-He, he-" Chelsea struggled to articulate, clearly in distress.
Concerned, Yeonjun immediately moved to follow Chelsea as she grasped his wrist and hurried him away. The sudden departure left Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Hueningkai bewildered.
"What was that all about?" Beomgyu asked, perplexed by the sudden turn of events.
"Who is Soob?" Hueningkai inquired, equally confused.
"Must be some emergency," Taehyun speculated. "It's getting late. Let's head to our classroom," he suggested, already on the second floor.
Agreeing, the trio made their way to their designated classroom. As they settled in, waiting for the teacher to arrive, they discussed the earlier encounter.
"Where have you seen him before, Beomgyu? And how could he have seen me somewhere?" Hueningkai asked, trying to make sense of the situation.
"I don't know. When I saw his face, it just struck me that I've seen him before," Beomgyu admitted. Turning to Taehyun, he asked, "Do you remember anything?"
"I'm not sure," Taehyun replied thoughtfully. "It's odd though, considering how close we've been. If he knew Kai, we should've known his name, but he dashed off before we could ask," he reasoned.
"Doesn't matter now. Let's wait and ask him later. For now, let's focus on the class," Beomgyu suggested, steering the conversation back to the present.
With the teacher's arrival, they returned to their seats, joining the other students in animated conversations, eager to begin their college journey despite the lingering mystery surrounding Yeonjun's identity and his sudden departure.
By the time Yeonjun reached the medical room, his breaths were heavy from the exertion of running. Pushing open the door, he was met with the sight of Soobin lying on a bed, eyes shut as if unconscious. Yeonjun hurried over, calling out to his cousin.
"Soobin? Can you hear me? Open your eyes, please," Yeonjun pleaded softly, his concern evident.
"Let him rest for a while," advised the boy nurse attending Soobin.
Looking worriedly at Chelsea, Yeonjun asked for an explanation of what had occurred.
"We were heading to the accounts room when some workers were moving new benches to the classrooms. One of them stumbled and lost control of a bench. The sharp edge struck Soobin's head, causing him to bleed and lose consciousness. I brought him here immediately and ran to find you," Chelsea explained hurriedly.
Assessing Soobin's condition, the nurse turned to Yeonjun and inquired, "Are you his friend?"
"I'm his hyung, his older cousin," Yeonjun replied solemnly.
"You live with him and didn't notice his weakened state? You must take better care of him," the nurse remarked sternly.
"I only arrived yesterday to stay with him. But I'll make sure he gets the care he needs now," Yeonjun responded, feeling a pang of guilt.
"The wound isn't severe, but it has affected his consciousness. He should recover in about a week, but monitor his health closely," the nurse advised.
"I understand. Thank you," Yeonjun said sincerely, settling down beside Soobin's bed.
"Will you stay here?" Chelsea asked softly.
"Yes, I'll stay with him," Yeonjun confirmed.
"Alright then. I'll be at the reception if you need anything," Chelsea offered before leaving the room.
Alone with Soobin, Yeonjun sat quietly, his thoughts consumed with concern for his cousin's well-being, determined now more than ever to look after him and ensure he recovered swiftly.
Two hours passed with Soobin lying there, unconscious. Yeonjun paced anxiously, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, Soobin stirred, prompting Yeonjun to rush to his side and grasp his shoulders.
"Soobin, are you okay? How are you feeling? Does it hurt? You're alright, right?" Yeonjun fired off his questions, his worry palpable.
"Hyung, I'm fine. Don't worry. It's just that I... I passed out," Soobin managed to say, steadying himself by gripping Yeonjun's arms.
"Seriously, Soobin? You passed out! You've got a cut on your forehead! Your immune system is so weak. And here you are telling me you're okay? You need to take care of yourself. Why aren't you eating properly? I get that you were busy with chores, but you've got to prioritize your own well-being, Soobin-ahh! How can you be so careless?" Yeonjun's words were laced with frustration and concern, directed at his friend.
"Hyung, calm down. You're giving me another headache, and I feel like I'm going to pass out again," Soobin interjected, trying to ease the tension.
"Shut up, Soobin! This is serious," Yeonjun responded firmly, his worry evident in his voice as he continued to hover over Soobin, his protective instincts kicking in.
"Hyung?! You're acting like you're my mom!" Soobin chuckled weakly.
"Well, consider it that way. Anyway, now I have to take care of you," Yeonjun replied softly, helping Soobin sit upright on the bed with his legs dangling over the edge.
"Hyung, I want to go home. This place is giving me a headache," Soobin groaned, rubbing his forehead.
"I need to talk to the nurse. Just wait here for a while. I'll be back," Yeonjun reassured him, stepping out of the room.
As Yeonjun left the medical room, he noticed the boy nurse approaching.
"Hey! Can I take him home? He isn't feeling well in the room," Yeonjun asked the nurse urgently.
"Yes, of course," the nurse replied without hesitation.
"Thanks."
Yeonjun hurried to the reception area. "Miss Chelsea, I'm taking Soobin home. He's not feeling well. Please text me if there's anything important. My phone number is on my form."
"Okay, I'll keep you informed. Take care of Soobin," Chelsea responded with concern.
"Thanks, I will."
Returning to the medical room, Yeonjun found the nurse preparing medication for Soobin.
"Don't worry. The wound will heal soon. Just make sure you eat well," the nurse reassured Soobin.
"Okay, thanks!" Soobin replied gratefully, managing a small smile.
"Soobin, we're heading home," Yeonjun announced as he re-entered the room. Soobin stood up slowly. Yeonjun moved to support him, holding onto Soobin's shoulder.
"Hyung, I can walk on my own," Soobin protested weakly.
Yeonjun maintained his grip. "I'll help you. Let's go."
Together, they left the college and made their way to the nearby bus stop.
They boarded a bus, and Yeonjun requested the driver to drop them near a bakery shop. After a 20-minute ride, they arrived at their destination.
"Hyung, why are we here?" Soobin asked curiously as they stood outside the bakery.
"To get you some bread and cupcakes. You like them, right?" Yeonjun replied with a reassuring smile.
"Yes. But you don't have to-"
"Let's go in. It's my treat to you," Yeonjun insisted, leading Soobin inside. They found a quiet corner table and Yeonjun went to the counter to place their order. Returning shortly, they waited together until their food arrived.
"Soobin, I'll drop you home on another bus after this, and then I need to find a good convenience store job," Yeonjun stated as they enjoyed their treats.
"But hyung, I need to work too. Let's go together," Soobin insisted, looking determined despite his recent ordeal.
"No! You're not well. You need rest," Yeonjun countered, concern evident in his voice.
"Hyung, I'm totally fine. Please let me go. Pleaseee," Soobin pleaded, his eyes earnest.
"But-"
"Please, hyung," Soobin persisted.
"Okay, fineee," Yeonjun relented reluctantly.
Their order arrived, served by a kind old lady. They both expressed their gratitude with a bow before beginning to eat.
After their meal at the bakery, Soobin emerged carrying a cup of almond milk while Yeonjun cradled his caramel latte.
"We should choose a sore near the college or closer to home," Yeonjun suggested as they walked side by side.
"I think near the college would be wiser. If we go to one near home, Dad or Jayhoon might spot us," Soobin reasoned, his voice tinged with caution.
"Hmm, you're right," Yeonjun agreed, taking a thoughtful sip of his latte.
Approaching the college area, they encountered three stores. The first rejected them, citing a need for female employees. The second declined, explaining past financial losses from hiring college students. Despite offering Yeonjun a position due to his teaching role, he declined, unwilling to work without Soobin.
The third store remained their final hope. Owned by a retired army major, the elderly proprietor appeared formidable yet capable, with a stern demeanor that discouraged casual inquiries for employment.
Yeonjun and Soobin entered the store together. The old man greeted them warmly, his smile softening his otherwise stern countenance.
"Welcome, young men. What can I do for you?" he asked courteously, his eyes assessing them keenly.
"Hello, uncle!" they both greeted simultaneously, bowing respectfully to the elderly man.
"Actually, we're here to inquire about a part-time job," Yeonjun explained politely.
"Oh, wonderful! I've never had young folks ask for work here before. I'm delighted you came," the old man's smile widened warmly.
"So, will you hire us?" Soobin asked eagerly.
"Of course! You can start tomorrow, as it's nearly evening now," the old man replied cheerfully.
"But we can only work after our college classes end. We're looking for evening shifts," Yeonjun clarified.
"That suits me just fine. I'll rest in the evenings then," the old man nodded approvingly. He walked to the counter and retrieved forms for them to fill out for their part-time employment. The forms outlined the job's responsibilities and included details about their wages. Yeonjun and Soobin completed the paperwork diligently.
Returning from a nearby room, the old man handed them each a packet. "Here's your uniform. You can change in the college or in our restroom here. It's the same outfit I'm wearing," he explained, indicating his purple jumpsuit with grey accents and a cap bearing the store's logo.
They both nodded in understanding.
"We'll see you tomorrow at two-thirty, after your college day ends, right?" the old man confirmed.
"Yes," Soobin replied with a grateful smile. They bowed once more before leaving the store, feeling relieved and excited about their upcoming job.
"Now we have a part-time job too!" Yeonjun exclaimed, stretching his arms as they stood waiting for the bus at the stop. Soobin simply smiled in response.
"We should get a bike or bicycle too! I'll go home and check my savings to see if we can afford one," Soobin suggested.
"Hyung, we can always take the bus. There's no need to dip into your savings for a bike," Soobin reasoned.
"No, Soobin. We need one because we can't afford to always arrive home late. You shouldn't have to cook dinner when you're tired and exhausted from college and work, and waiting so long for a bus. So, it's definitely something we need," Yeonjun insisted.
After a bus arrived a short while later, they boarded and headed back home together.
-
The trio exited the classroom and made their way towards the parking lot where Beomgyu's car was stationed. The day had gone smoothly for them, filled with introductions to new people, learning their names, hobbies, and aspirations. Being the first day, everything proceeded at a leisurely pace.
"Beomgyu, you can drop us off here. No need to go out of your way," Taehyun suggested as they approached a crossroad. To the left led towards Huening and Taehyun's apartment, while to the right led to Beomgyu's place.
"Why? Is there something you're not telling me? Anyone hiding in your apartment, huh?" Beomgyu teased as he turned the car left.
"No, it's just that you'd have to drive further," Taehyun explained.
"Oh, stop it, Taehyun. You guys are my best friends," Beomgyu replied.
"We're not getting an apartment together! Beomgyu's place is too cramped for all his stuff, and ours isn't much bigger-one room for my sister's and my beds, and another for Taehyun's bed and our study tables. We really need to find a better place," Huening remarked.
"We're looking, Kai. Hopefully, we'll find something soon," Taehyun assured.
"Right! Kai, we also need to pick up your sister. Her school isn't far from here, right?" Beomgyu asked.
"Yeah, it's on the way. But she said she'd walk home," Kai replied.
"Well, since we're already here, why not pick her up?" Taehyun suggested.
"Okay, as you wish," Kai agreed.
They arrived near the school's main gate with about ten minutes left before the bell rang. Huening got out of the car and headed towards the gate where other parents were waiting for their children.
Soon, the bell chimed, and like a powerful wave crashing onto the shore, the children surged towards the main entrance. They ran, bumped into each other, fell, then quickly got up and resumed running as if nothing had happened. From a distance, it was nearly impossible to distinguish one student from another-they all wore the same uniform and had similar hairstyles.
Huening scanned the crowd anxiously, trying to spot his sister among them. He widened his eyes in concentration, but still couldn't see her. Then, suddenly, she appeared right in front of him, and he flinched, taking a step back.
She was smiling brightly, clearly surprised and amused that her brother had come to pick her up, especially after he had told her to walk home earlier that morning. Huening's startled reaction made her giggle, and the two boys in the car joined in laughing at him.
"You scared me! Where did you come from? Did you jump over the wall? I couldn't spot you, and then bam, there you are!" Huening exclaimed, taking his sister's backpack and holding her hand as they walked back towards the car.
They climbed into the backseat, and Beomgyu started the engine, driving them towards their apartment.
"How was your first day at the new school, Hiyyih?" Taehyun asked.
Huening Bahiyyih, Hueningkai's younger sister, two years his junior, a high school student. She lives with Hueningkai and Taehyun while their parents reside overseas. Originally in the same school hostel as the trio, she relocated to Daegu to stay with her brother after they completed their studies in Seoul. She's cute, smart, and bubbly, and not to belabor the point, incredibly beautiful.
"It was great! I had a lot of fun and made so many new friends. How was your day, oppa?" Hiyyih asked eagerly.
"It was good," Taehyun replied.
"Oppa, you need to come to my school tomorrow," Hiyyih insisted to Kai.
"Why's that?" Kai inquired.
"They said there's some paperwork pending, and my first installment hasn't been fully paid. They want to meet the person I live with. Sooo..."
"Okay, I'll talk to Dad about it. I can visit your school after my college classes, right?"
"Yes, you can!" Hiyyih confirmed with a nod.
They arrived at the shared apartment where Hiyyih quickly prepared brunch for them. The three of them sat around the table, chatting for a while before Beomgyu eventually left the apartment.
On his way, Beomgyu reflected on how enjoyable it was to spend time with his friends, but now he anticipated feeling incredibly lonely. The solitude was palpable. He resolved that he needed to find a larger apartment soon so he could live with his friends again and stave off his growing sense of boredom.
During their high school days, everything had been so good. They were inseparable, always sticking together. They had even managed to persuade their principal to accommodate them in a room for three. Their close friendship had always been an inspiration to others.
Beomgyu unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside. It was a modest single room with his bed laid out in one corner, along with a study table. An attached bathroom was tucked away in another corner, and a small mini kitchen sat unused, except for occasional meals when not dining out with friends or grabbing something from a nearby convenience store. It had been a week since he moved here from Seoul.
He dropped his backpack to the floor, retrieved his guitar from its stand, and settled onto his bed. The guitar was his closest companion, a gift from his dad on his twelfth birthday that sparked his deep passion for music. Joining the school band led him to meet his two best friends, Taehyun and Hueningkai, who already had a long-standing friendship from childhood. Their bond solidified during their time together in the hostel, and they eventually chose to live together. The rest, as they say, was history.
Beomgyu meticulously tuned his guitar, adjusting each chord precisely. He began to play a gentle melody, closing his eyes and letting the music wash over him, soothing away the day's fatigue. Music held profound magic for him.
The Beomgyu he tried to project outwardly was often seen as tough, aloof, and difficult to connect with outside of his close circle of friends. He sometimes projected an image of being one of the biggest bullies, though he couldn't explain why. Perhaps it stemmed from his parents' frequent arguments during his early childhood, which had deeply affected him at the tender age of seven.
It seems Beomgyu faced a lot of challenges during his high school years. Despite trying to fit in and be someone he thought he needed to be, he found authenticity and comfort when he met Taehyun and Hueningkai, who accepted him for who he truly was. Beomgyu also tried to forge a friendship with another boy from the school band, initially hesitant but eventually opening up and sharing his concerns. However, things took a turn for the worse when rumors about Beomgyu's parents started circulating around the school, damaging his reputation and sense of trust. This experience left him feeling deeply hurt and betrayed, further reinforcing his guarded nature and reluctance to trust others easily.
The boy told everyone that Beomgyu's mother used to sell her body for pleasure and his father spent almost every night out with young girls in clubs. The boy went further to claim that Beomgyu inherited traits of being a playboy, insinuating that he used his closest friends for personal gain or exploitation. This added to Beomgyu's anguish and made it difficult for him to trust others easily thereafter.
The incident left Beomgyu consumed with anger and shame. He was unfairly labeled as a rich, spoiled brat due to the hurtful rumors spread by the boy. Despite the boy being reprimanded and restricted from school, the damage to Beomgyu's trust in others was profound. Since then, he found it extremely difficult to trust anyone except for Taehyun and Hueningkai, who steadfastly stood by him through it all. Beomgyu deeply valued their unwavering loyalty and support, considering them more than friends - they were his true brothers, his pillars of strength in a world where trust was hard to come by.
And also an older brother whom he was currently avoiding for his own reasons, stupid reasons.
After an abundance of contemplation swirling through his mind, he ceased his guitar's melody, gently returning it to its stand. Just then, a message arrived on his phone.
Three for life ♡
Hyun :
Don't force your little brain. Go to sleep.
And yes, keep the dim lights on or you
won't be able to sleep.
Me:
Yes Mom.
Kai :
....
Good night guys <3
Hyun:
night
Me:
Good night ♡
Beomgyu switched on the soft glow of the LED lights, settled into his bed, and a radiant smile graced his face. It seemed to outshine the impending sunrise that would soon bathe him in its warmth.
They never ceased to lift his spirits, offering him solace and joy. Beomgyu felt deeply thankful to have them in his life. With these comforting thoughts, he drifted off to sleep.
°°°
Soobin and Yeonjun arrived home exhausted. Despite their fatigue, Soobin had to cook dinner. After freshening up and changing into comfortable clothes, he swiftly prepared the meal. Luckily, their father hadn't returned yet. Soobin finished cooking, set the table, and called Yeonjun once he was done showering. Yeonjun promptly joined him at the dinner table.
Soobin then went upstairs to summon Jayhoon, but found his brother in their father's room, which struck him as odd. Jayhoon declined dinner, mentioning he had eaten out with friends. Returning downstairs, Soobin found his father settling in at the table. Yeonjun suggested they all eat together, and they did.
After dinner, Soobin and Yeonjun washed the dishes together, finishing around ten o'clock. Exhausted, they wearily retreated to their room. Yeonjun collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow, while Soobin took a warm shower to relax his muscles.
Yeonjun scrolled through his phone until Soobin emerged from the shower. Soobin grabbed a blanket from the rack and settled beside Yeonjun, covering them both.
"Hyung, today was such a long day," Soobin sighed.
"You're right, Soobin-ah," Yeonjun replied, finally looking at him.
"Hyung?"
"Hmm?"
"What are we going to tell Dad when he asks where we've been after college? Jayhoon goes to the same college, and if he comes back on time, he'll definitely suspect something."
"Don't worry, Soobin. I'll tell him I needed to stay longer to prepare for the next classes. It'll be fine. Now, let's sleep."
Soobin smiled comfortingly, which Yeonjun couldn't help but return. He tousled Soobin's hair affectionately before each set their alarms and placed their phones on the bedside table. Yeonjun settled in, knowing full well he wasn't one to wake easily, even to an alarm. They both curled up under the blanket, and as soon as they closed their eyes, they drifted off to dreamland.
°°°
It was a busy morning for Yeonjun and Soobin as they attended their respective tasks at the college. Yeonjun headed to the reception to check his schedule for the day, while Soobin went to gather accounting information. After noting down his schedule, Yeonjun proceeded to the Dance Club room, bidding Soobin farewell with reassurances.
Meanwhile, as Miss Chelsea was occupied, she asked Mr. Joseph, the IT teacher, to assist Soobin in retrieving the necessary files from the accounts office.
"Soobin, while I finish up my tasks, you can begin reviewing those files. They contain last year's details which might be useful. I'll join you once the other receptionist arrives, which shouldn't take more than twenty minutes," Miss Chelsea instructed Soobin.
"Okay," Soobin acknowledged as he accompanied Mr. Joseph to the basement, where the accounts office was located due to its storage of confidential college information.
Entering the office, Mr. Joseph laid out the files on a table for Soobin.
"Here are the files. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I'll be in the IT lab on the first floor," Mr. Joseph informed him before leaving.
"Thank you, sir," Soobin replied gratefully, taking a moment to familiarize himself with the surroundings before settling into a chair to begin reading through the files.
As he immersed himself in the documents, Soobin felt a deep satisfaction in reading every word printed on the pages. Studying had always been a passion of his, a love that had been somewhat sidelined in recent years. Books of all kinds intrigued him-from textbooks to literature, romance to horror, fantasy to biography, and even comic books and mythology. Soobin was the type to lose himself entirely in a book, devouring it without complaint until he reached the last page. Now, with the opportunity to study at this college, he eagerly looked forward to indulging in every book the library had to offer.
As Soobin was reading the files thoroughly, a knock was heard on the office door. After a second, miss Chelsea walked in with a pile of files.
"So? How's it going? It's boring. Isn't it?" she said while sitting on the opposite chair, keeping those files in front of Soobin.
"Not at all. I'm enjoying it. It's been so long since I seriously worked on something, "Soobin said while closing the file he was reading and looking at the receptionist.
"So.. Where should I start?" Soobin asked.
"You can start with this year's admissions, their installments and the older students' due fees. These files contain all the data. You can type them and tally them on this computer kept by the side of your table. And yes! Principal Sir will be visiting you in a while. And I am sure he will love your confidence and hopefully he'll let you get an admission." she said smiling.
"I hope so," Soobin said.
"So, you continue. I'll take my leave"
"Okay"
"Good luck with your new start"
"Thank you, Miss Chelsea"
With that, Miss Chelsea left the room, leaving Soobin to immerse himself in the files and the tasks awaiting him on the computer. He focused intently, determined to make a positive impression on Principal and embark on this new chapter with confidence.
°°°
The trio sat together in the classroom, having completed their first lecture of the day. Around them, students busied themselves preparing for the upcoming lessons. Suddenly, a stir erupted at the front benches as everyone stood up. It became apparent that the principal was entering the classroom, prompting the trio to rise respectfully alongside their peers. A unified bow followed from the entire class.
"Hello students! I trust your second day of college is off to a good start," the principal began warmly. "I encourage you all to study diligently and showcase your capabilities. Our college stands behind each of you. Should you encounter any difficulties, seek assistance from your teachers. If further help is needed, don't hesitate to reach out to me directly. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir!" echoed the chorus from the class.
"As you know, it's time to select the clubs you wish to join. Recognizing your enthusiasm, I'm waiving the usual limit of two clubs per student. You may now choose up to four clubs. We have a talented group this year, so make the most of it and make us proud."
"Yayy!!" cheered the class in response.
"One more thing," the principal continued. "Your second lecture teacher had to leave unexpectedly. Today, you're free to attend the Dance Club room instead."
"Okay, Sir," came the unanimous acknowledgment from the students, including the trio who exchanged curious glances, already intrigued by the day's unfolding opportunities.
They entered the Dance Club room where a young man was energetically moving to the beat, oblivious to their arrival. The music blared loudly behind him as he performed. For a full minute, the students stood mesmerized by his movements. He wore a sleeveless vest, loose pants, and a backward flipped cap.
When the music finally ceased, he looked up to find a group of students staring at him intently.
"Isn't he the same guy we saw on the stairs?" Kai whispered to Taehyun.
Taehyun nodded in agreement.
"Who are you? And where is the dance teacher?" one of the girls demanded, breaking the silence.
"I'm your dan-"
"How dare you barge in here, blast the speakers, and dance so shamelessly?" a boy interrupted angrily.
Yeonjun, growing impatient, interjected, "If you don't mind, may I speak, SIR?" He directed a stern gaze at the boy.
"You idi-" the boy began to retort, but Yeonjun cut him off sharply. "JUST. SHUT. UP."
The sudden force in Yeonjun's voice startled everyone in the room, silencing any further protests.
"I'm sorry, but he really frustrated me. Man! At least listen to the other person before accusing him for no reason," Yeonjun asserted, his tone firm yet composed.
"Okay, let's forget what happened. Hello everyone! I'm Choi Yeonjun, stepping in as your dance teacher while Mr. Jung Hoseok is away for a judging show. I hope we'll get along well, and let's try not to upset me again," Yeonjun announced with a wide smile that instantly warmed the room, captivating everyone present.
"I'm sorry, Sir," the boy apologized, looking contrite.
"Hyung! You should call me Hyung," Yeonjun corrected gently, placing a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's okay."
"Holy smokes! He's the teacher?" Taehyun exclaimed in surprise.
"Choi Yeonjun? I think I know him," Beomgyu remarked.
"Should we go ask him?" Hueningkai suggested eagerly.
"Not now, Kai. We can talk later," Beomgyu replied.
"Hey you three!" Yeonjun called out, approaching them with a bright smile. Gosh, Yeonjun smiles a lot. It's dangerously charming.
"Hi!" the three greeted in unison.
"You were at Seoul High School, on the senior basketball team, right?" Beomgyu asked curiously.
"Yes! But how did you know?" Yeonjun inquired, visibly surprised.
"We were at Seoul High School too. You might have seen him on the junior basketball team," Beomgyu explained, gesturing towards Kai.
"Oh, right. Maybe! What are your names?"
"I'm Choi Beomgyu. These two are my best friends. He's Kang Taehyun, and he's Hueningkai," Beomgyu introduced.
"Nice to meet you guys," Yeonjun said warmly, shaking hands with each of them.
"You were our senior by three years," Beomgyu noted.
"Well, we can get along just fine now," Yeonjun replied with a grin.
"But Sir, you're our dance teacher here," Kai pointed out.
"Hyung! Call me Hyung, Hueningkai."
"Only if you call me Kai."
"Sure."
The four of them shared a laugh, then Yeonjun turned towards the mirrored wall, clapping his hands to capture the noisy students' attention.
"Guys! Over here! Soo... Shall we start with the practice. Lemme pick out better pieces from you all" Yeonjun said while going to the music player and playing a Hip Hop melody.
"So... Who's gonna be the first? huh?" Yeonjun asked and one by one every student came out to show their moves. Some came alone, some in couples and some in groups. Some were really good, some made them laugh so hard that Hueningkai ended up rolling on the floor holding onto his precious tummy.
God! Yeonjun got a major headache watching them all do crazy stuff, some of them didn't even know that dance begins with a 'D'. Ugh! He needed a pain reliever. Which he got, when the trio performed a cute little dance on 'Go Go'. It felt like they read Yeonjun's mind. Genius. Amazing.
Yeonjun had a bright smile on his face when the trio turned towards him after finishing their dancing.
"Great," Yeonjun commented. He glanced over his wrist watch. Thank god. Finally.
"So the class hour is over. See you guys soon" hope I never see some of you again!
He mumbled the last sentence to himself.
The students went out for their class.
"Hey! The trio!" Yeonjun called out and the three turned back as if he was taking their name. The trio? Is this their group name? If it is, then, wow! Yeonjun you are really a born genius, as you say for yourself.
"Thanks guys, you really saved me or I was going to lose the shit out of me" he said while patting Kai's shoulder.
"I figured it out. You were looking so pissed off, "Taehyun said.
"Thanks for the mood change. But honestly, I loved your performance. Your moves were clean, your body control was amazing, every detailed step was clear. Though the actual Choreo didn't have those hard moves, it isn't everyone's cup of tea. You did awesome. Hope I'll get to see better or I should say harder Choreo performances from you. And I'm wishing that you'll definitely choose the Dance Club as one of the options. I need to run.. I gotta go somewhere. See you guys... Byeee~" and he ran out of the room.
Yeonjun didn't give them a chance to speak. He talks a lot. Before, Beomgyu used to think that only he had the chattering motor in his throat when he was a child because as he got older and older he became quieter and quieter. But he was wrong. It felt like since he stopped talking a lot, his chattering motor got transferred to Yeonjun's throat. Thinking, he chuckled.
"I'm definitely going to join the Dance Club. He is so cool, "Kai excitedly said.
"Me too"
"Me three"
And they all headed to their class. Kai and Taehyun went to the reception to fill the dance club in their already submitted form and Beomgyu did the same with his form resting in his book.
"Guys, over here! So... shall we start with practice? Let me see what you've got," Yeonjun announced, moving to the music player and selecting a lively hip-hop melody.
"So... who's going to go first?" Yeonjun queried, prompting each student to showcase their moves. Some danced solo, others in pairs or groups. There were those who impressed with their skill and others who amused, causing Hueningkai to collapse in laughter, clutching his stomach.
Yeonjun couldn't help but develop a major headache watching some students whose grasp of dance seemed nonexistent. He sighed, yearning for pain relief. Then, like a relief, the trio performed an adorable routine to 'Go Go', seemingly reading Yeonjun's mind. Brilliant. Amazing.
Yeonjun beamed brightly as the trio turned towards him upon finishing their dance. "Great job," he complimented, checking his watch discreetly. Finally, it was time.
"Class is over. See you all soon," he said aloud, adding under his breath, "and hopefully never see some of you again."
As the students filtered out, Yeonjun called after the trio. "Hey, you three!" They turned back, as if acknowledging their group name. Trio? Was that their moniker now? If so, Yeonjun thought to himself, he must be a natural-born genius, as he often claimed.
"Thanks, guys. You really saved me there, or I was about to lose my mind," he admitted, patting Kai's shoulder gratefully.
"I could tell. You looked ready to explode," Taehyun remarked.
"Thanks for the mood change. Honestly, I loved your performance. Your moves were clean, your control was fantastic, and every step was clear. Even though the choreography wasn't too demanding, it's not everyone's forte. You did awesome. I hope to see even more challenging routines from you. I've got to run... I have somewhere to be. See you guys... byeee~" With that, he hurried out of the room.
Yeonjun didn't leave room for the trio to respond; he had a tendency to talk a lot. Beomgyu used to think he was the only one with a motor mouth when he was younger, but now it seems Yeonjun had inherited it. Chuckling to himself, Beomgyu mused over the thought.
"I'm definitely joining the Dance Club. He's so cool," Kai declared excitedly.
"Me too."
"Count me in," Beomgyu added.
And with that decision made, they headed off to their next class. Kai and Taehyun went to the reception to add the Dance Club to their already submitted forms, while Beomgyu did the same, retrieving his form from his book.
Soobin was deeply engrossed in the accounts files when a knock interrupted him.
"How's it going?" the principal inquired.
"Good, Sir! I've completed organizing the files for the previous students' fees and now I'm focusing on this year's admissions," Soobin replied, gesturing towards the screen displaying tabulated data.
"That's excellent! You're quite proficient at this," the principal complimented, eyeing the organized data.
"Thank you, Sir."
"I also wanted to mention, whenever you feel the need to rest or take a break from staring at the screen, you're welcome to visit the library and read something. As for your admission, I'm considering it. I'll inform you next week," the principal added.
"Thank you so much, Sir," Soobin said gratefully, bowing respectfully.
During the lunch break, as all the students gathered in the bustling canteen, Yeonjun wrapped up his classes and headed to find Soobin. Spotting him, they joined each other for lunch at a table in the corner.
Across the room, the trio also sat together, chatting animatedly.
°°°
After they finished eating, Soobin informed Yeonjun that he planned to spend some time in the library. They agreed to meet at the college gate once classes were over and parted ways for the afternoon.
As Soobin stepped into the library, a serene calm washed over him, melting away the day's tensions. The rows of books beckoned like a familiar friend, each spine a story waiting to be explored. His fingers traced lightly over the volumes, akin to selecting the perfect attire from a lavish wardrobe. Today, his mind craved escape from textbooks and lectures, drawn instead to the realm of fiction and narratives.
Among the array of storybooks, one cover stood out distinctly. Its golden hues intermingled with hints of silver, casting an ethereal glow. Centered on the cover, a silhouette of a boy sat beneath a barren tree, engrossed in the pages of a book. The title, "My You," adorned the top in simple white lettering. Soobin's lips curved upwards involuntarily as he absorbed the title, intrigued by the promise of what lay within those pages.
Soobin's anticipation turned to dismay as he noticed the book's damaged state. The once-glistening cover now marred by half-torn edges and crumpled surfaces. Flipping through the pages, his fingers traced over torn and defaced sheets, some bearing the scars of careless pen strokes. A surge of anger welled up within him at the sight of such disregard for literature. How could someone treat books with such disrespect? It seemed incomprehensible to Soobin, who held books in reverent esteem.
He became so angry at the act that he went to the library incharge to ask for a piece of paper and with his pen he wrote-
"If you can't value the art of the writers, you are not allowed to disrespect them! These are not just simple pages or simple words. They mean the entire world for someone. I hope whoever handled this book remembers that each page holds a piece of someone's imagination and effort. Please treat books with respect and care, as they are treasures meant to be cherished by all who read them. This is... pathetic."
He left the pieces of paper in the book, his mood thoroughly destroyed. With no desire to seek out another book, Soobin exited the library. Feeling aimless, he returned to the accounts room and patiently waited for the college hours to pass.
°°°
As they roamed the library during their free period, Taehyun led the way with a focused determination to find his desired books. Meanwhile, Beomgyu and Hueningkai, harboring a mutual disdain for libraries, engaged in lighthearted mischief. They playfully grabbed random books off shelves, joking about their titles and content, much to the librarian's disapproval and Taehyun's disapproving glance.
Hueningkai, in a brief moment of curiosity, pulled a book from the shelf and began scanning its title. Beomgyu, mischievous as ever, attempted to snatch it from him playfully. In the scuffle, Hueningkai pushed Beomgyu slightly harder than intended, causing him to collide with the nearby rack. The impact dislodged several books, which cascaded to the floor, and Beomgyu winced as his head made contact with the rack. "Ouch!" he hissed through the pain.
"Sorry I-" Hueningkai began to apologize, but the librarian's stern interruption cut him off.
"Get out of the library. Right now!"
Startled by the librarian's harsh tone, Hueningkai swiftly retreated to Taehyun's side. Meanwhile, Beomgyu conscientiously gathered the fallen books and carefully restored them to their proper places on the shelf. In the midst of this, a piece of paper slipped out from one of the books, and Beomgyu managed to catch it before it reached the ground. Intrigued, he extracted the book from which the paper had fallen and tucked the paper back inside. However, his curiosity got the better of him, prompting him to unfold the paper and read its contents.
After reading it, Beomgyu couldn't help but chuckle quietly to himself. "Stupid," he muttered under his breath. He reflected on the sentiment expressed in the note, realizing that not everyone in the world acted with kindness or good intentions. Beomgyu understood the naivety of believing in the goodness of others without caution, recognizing that this perspective could often lead to heartbreak. Deep in thought, he pondered how this "Stupid" person's perspective needed to confront the harsh realities of human nature.
Beomgyu pulled out a pen from his pocket and wrote in response to the note:
"You really think anyone cares about your words? How naive! Sure, what you said might ring true, but do you really think people will listen? The things we cherish can be meaningless to others. Maybe you haven't faced the real world- it's tough, incredibly tough. Your privileged perspective shows. Authors pour their souls into their work, but once published, it's out of their hands. Readers decide its fate. It's just ink and paper to them. Relax! Don't take it all so seriously."
Beomgyu carefully tucked the note back into the book, feeling a mixture of amusement and frustration. It was unlikely anyone would read his response, but expressing himself felt oddly satisfying. He returned the book to its place on the shelf and signaled to Taehyun and Hueningkai that it was time to leave the library before they caused more trouble with the librarian.
°°°
Soobin was resting on his chair when his phone beeped. Curious, he picked it up and checked the notification. It was a message from Yeonjun
Jjunie Hyung
Binnie, are you done?
Yes! Are we leaving?
Yup! Meet me at the main
gate of the college.
Comin'
When he reached the gate, he saw Yeonjun with Changbin, Yeonjun's childhood friend. Soobin approached them with a smile.
"Hi! Hyung!" Soobin greeted.
"Oh... Hi! Soobin-ahh! How are you?" Changbin asked warmly as he hugged Soobin.
"I'm fine... What about you? When did you return from New York?"
"Ah! Just yesterday! Guys? I gotta go. I need to go to the magistrate's office to collect some documents for my dad. I'll meet you at your convenience store hours." Changbin said, tossing something towards Yeonjun.
Yeonjun deftly caught it-it was his bike's keys. "Take good care of my baby!" Changbin called out as he dashed across the road and into a waiting car, driving off swiftly.
Soobin looked at Yeonjun, slightly puzzled. "Don't bother your little brain! I asked him for the bike. Before you ask, he won't need it as he'll fly back tomorrow morning. So let's go. And yes! Wear it." Yeonjun handed a helmet to Soobin, already wearing his own, and they rode off to their next destination, the convenience store.
The elderly gentleman warmly welcomed them and provided guidance on their tasks.
"Close the store at nine. I live right behind this store. Please lend me the keys when you're done," he instructed.
"Thank you, Sir," Soobin replied courteously.
°°°
When the trio headed home, they first stopped at Hiyyih's school. Hueningkai handled all the formalities and paid the fee. Afterwards, they drove back home. Beomgyu dropped them off and then went to his apartment.
°°°
They were working in the store when Changbin visited them, and they had a great time together catching up. As closing time approached, the three of them left together. Changbin lived just two streets away from them.
Back home, Soobin and Yeonjun cooked dinner together. While they were setting the bowls, Soobin's father came downstairs.
"Where were you, Soobin?" asked Mr. Choi.
"I-" Soobin started to explain but was interrupted by Yeonjun.
"He was with me, uncle. With the new semester starting, there's a lot to handle at college, so he's been helping me out as my assistant. You can count on us to get everything done on time," Yeonjun assured them.
"Hmm... Okay then," Mr. Choi responded, seeming reassured.
Soobin let out a breath of relief, feeling his nerves relax.
***
Chapter Text
As Soobin hurried down the stairs to respond to Miss Chelsea's urgent call, Yeonjun remained with Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Hueningkai, who were curious about their brief encounter.
"Do we know each other, somehow? It feels like I know you, like I saw you somewhere but I can't remember," Beomgyu asked, his curiosity piqued.
Yeonjun chuckled lightly. "Oh, is that so? I don't know, but I think I've seen him before," he added, pointing playfully at Hueningkai.
"Me? How? When?" Hueningkai questioned, genuinely puzzled.
"I wish I could say," Yeonjun replied with a smile. "So, which year are you guys in?" he asked, diverting the conversation.
"We're first years, freshmen," Taehyun answered.
Yeonjun nodded knowingly. "Ah, the newbies," he remarked amiably.
"And you? You must be our senior then?" Taehyun inferred.
"Well, actually, I'm not a stud-" Yeonjun started to respond but was abruptly interrupted by Chelsea's urgent call.
"Yeonjun! Soob-He, he-" Chelsea struggled to articulate, clearly in distress.
Concerned, Yeonjun immediately moved to follow Chelsea as she grasped his wrist and hurried him away. The sudden departure left Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Hueningkai bewildered.
"What was that all about?" Beomgyu asked, perplexed by the sudden turn of events.
"Who is Soob?" Hueningkai inquired, equally confused.
"Must be some emergency," Taehyun speculated. "It's getting late. Let's head to our classroom," he suggested, already on the second floor.
Agreeing, the trio made their way to their designated classroom. As they settled in, waiting for the teacher to arrive, they discussed the earlier encounter.
"Where have you seen him before, Beomgyu? And how could he have seen me somewhere?" Hueningkai asked, trying to make sense of the situation.
"I don't know. When I saw his face, it just struck me that I've seen him before," Beomgyu admitted. Turning to Taehyun, he asked, "Do you remember anything?"
"I'm not sure," Taehyun replied thoughtfully. "It's odd though, considering how close we've been. If he knew Kai, we should've known his name, but he dashed off before we could ask," he reasoned.
"Doesn't matter now. Let's wait and ask him later. For now, let's focus on the class," Beomgyu suggested, steering the conversation back to the present.
With the teacher's arrival, they returned to their seats, joining the other students in animated conversations, eager to begin their college journey despite the lingering mystery surrounding Yeonjun's identity and his sudden departure.
By the time Yeonjun reached the medical room, his breaths were heavy from the exertion of running. Pushing open the door, he was met with the sight of Soobin lying on a bed, eyes shut as if unconscious. Yeonjun hurried over, calling out to his cousin.
"Soobin? Can you hear me? Open your eyes, please," Yeonjun pleaded softly, his concern evident.
"Let him rest for a while," advised the boy nurse attending Soobin.
Looking worriedly at Chelsea, Yeonjun asked for an explanation of what had occurred.
"We were heading to the accounts room when some workers were moving new benches to the classrooms. One of them stumbled and lost control of a bench. The sharp edge struck Soobin's head, causing him to bleed and lose consciousness. I brought him here immediately and ran to find you," Chelsea explained hurriedly.
Assessing Soobin's condition, the nurse turned to Yeonjun and inquired, "Are you his friend?"
"I'm his hyung, his older cousin," Yeonjun replied solemnly.
"You live with him and didn't notice his weakened state? You must take better care of him," the nurse remarked sternly.
"I only arrived yesterday to stay with him. But I'll make sure he gets the care he needs now," Yeonjun responded, feeling a pang of guilt.
"The wound isn't severe, but it has affected his consciousness. He should recover in about a week, but monitor his health closely," the nurse advised.
"I understand. Thank you," Yeonjun said sincerely, settling down beside Soobin's bed.
"Will you stay here?" Chelsea asked softly.
"Yes, I'll stay with him," Yeonjun confirmed.
"Alright then. I'll be at the reception if you need anything," Chelsea offered before leaving the room.
Alone with Soobin, Yeonjun sat quietly, his thoughts consumed with concern for his cousin's well-being, determined now more than ever to look after him and ensure he recovered swiftly.
Two hours passed with Soobin lying there, unconscious. Yeonjun paced anxiously, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, Soobin stirred, prompting Yeonjun to rush to his side and grasp his shoulders.
"Soobin, are you okay? How are you feeling? Does it hurt? You're alright, right?" Yeonjun fired off his questions, his worry palpable.
"Hyung, I'm fine. Don't worry. It's just that I... I passed out," Soobin managed to say, steadying himself by gripping Yeonjun's arms.
"Seriously, Soobin? You passed out! You've got a cut on your forehead! Your immune system is so weak. And here you are telling me you're okay? You need to take care of yourself. Why aren't you eating properly? I get that you were busy with chores, but you've got to prioritize your own well-being, Soobin-ahh! How can you be so careless?" Yeonjun's words were laced with frustration and concern, directed at his friend.
"Hyung, calm down. You're giving me another headache, and I feel like I'm going to pass out again," Soobin interjected, trying to ease the tension.
"Shut up, Soobin! This is serious," Yeonjun responded firmly, his worry evident in his voice as he continued to hover over Soobin, his protective instincts kicking in.
"Hyung?! You're acting like you're my mom!" Soobin chuckled weakly.
"Well, consider it that way. Anyway, now I have to take care of you," Yeonjun replied softly, helping Soobin sit upright on the bed with his legs dangling over the edge.
"Hyung, I want to go home. This place is giving me a headache," Soobin groaned, rubbing his forehead.
"I need to talk to the nurse. Just wait here for a while. I'll be back," Yeonjun reassured him, stepping out of the room.
As Yeonjun left the medical room, he noticed the boy nurse approaching.
"Hey! Can I take him home? He isn't feeling well in the room," Yeonjun asked the nurse urgently.
"Yes, of course," the nurse replied without hesitation.
"Thanks."
Yeonjun hurried to the reception area. "Miss Chelsea, I'm taking Soobin home. He's not feeling well. Please text me if there's anything important. My phone number is on my form."
"Okay, I'll keep you informed. Take care of Soobin," Chelsea responded with concern.
"Thanks, I will."
Returning to the medical room, Yeonjun found the nurse preparing medication for Soobin.
"Don't worry. The wound will heal soon. Just make sure you eat well," the nurse reassured Soobin.
"Okay, thanks!" Soobin replied gratefully, managing a small smile.
"Soobin, we're heading home," Yeonjun announced as he re-entered the room. Soobin stood up slowly. Yeonjun moved to support him, holding onto Soobin's shoulder.
"Hyung, I can walk on my own," Soobin protested weakly.
Yeonjun maintained his grip. "I'll help you. Let's go."
Together, they left the college and made their way to the nearby bus stop.
They boarded a bus, and Yeonjun requested the driver to drop them near a bakery shop. After a 20-minute ride, they arrived at their destination.
"Hyung, why are we here?" Soobin asked curiously as they stood outside the bakery.
"To get you some bread and cupcakes. You like them, right?" Yeonjun replied with a reassuring smile.
"Yes. But you don't have to-"
"Let's go in. It's my treat to you," Yeonjun insisted, leading Soobin inside. They found a quiet corner table and Yeonjun went to the counter to place their order. Returning shortly, they waited together until their food arrived.
"Soobin, I'll drop you home on another bus after this, and then I need to find a good convenience store job," Yeonjun stated as they enjoyed their treats.
"But hyung, I need to work too. Let's go together," Soobin insisted, looking determined despite his recent ordeal.
"No! You're not well. You need rest," Yeonjun countered, concern evident in his voice.
"Hyung, I'm totally fine. Please let me go. Pleaseee," Soobin pleaded, his eyes earnest.
"But-"
"Please, hyung," Soobin persisted.
"Okay, fineee," Yeonjun relented reluctantly.
Their order arrived, served by a kind old lady. They both expressed their gratitude with a bow before beginning to eat.
After their meal at the bakery, Soobin emerged carrying a cup of almond milk while Yeonjun cradled his caramel latte.
"We should choose a store near the college or closer to home," Yeonjun suggested as they walked side by side.
"I think near the college would be wiser. If we go to one near home, Dad or Jayhoon might spot us," Soobin reasoned, his voice tinged with caution.
"Hmm, you're right," Yeonjun agreed, taking a thoughtful sip of his latte.
Approaching the college area, they encountered three stores. The first rejected them, citing a need for female employees. The second declined, explaining past financial losses from hiring college students. Despite offering Yeonjun a position due to his teaching role, he declined, unwilling to work without Soobin.
The third store remained their final hope. Owned by a retired army major, the elderly proprietor appeared formidable yet capable, with a stern demeanor that discouraged casual inquiries for employment.
Yeonjun and Soobin entered the store together. The old man greeted them warmly, his smile softening his otherwise stern countenance.
"Welcome, young men. What can I do for you?" he asked courteously, his eyes assessing them keenly.
"Hello, uncle!" they both greeted simultaneously, bowing respectfully to the elderly man.
"Actually, we're here to inquire about a part-time job," Yeonjun explained politely.
"Oh, wonderful! I've never had young folks ask for work here before. I'm delighted you came," the old man's smile widened warmly.
"So, will you hire us?" Soobin asked eagerly.
"Of course! You can start tomorrow, as it's nearly evening now," the old man replied cheerfully.
"But we can only work after our college classes end. We're looking for evening shifts," Yeonjun clarified.
"That suits me just fine. I'll rest in the evenings then," the old man nodded approvingly. He walked to the counter and retrieved forms for them to fill out for their part-time employment. The forms outlined the job's responsibilities and included details about their wages. Yeonjun and Soobin completed the paperwork diligently.
Returning from a nearby room, the old man handed them each a packet. "Here's your uniform. You can change in the college or in our restroom here. It's the same outfit I'm wearing," he explained, indicating his purple jumpsuit with grey accents and a cap bearing the store's logo.
They both nodded in understanding.
"We'll see you tomorrow at two-thirty, after your college day ends, right?" the old man confirmed.
"Yes," Soobin replied with a grateful smile. They bowed once more before leaving the store, feeling relieved and excited about their upcoming job.
"Now we have a part-time job too!" Yeonjun exclaimed, stretching his arms as they stood waiting for the bus at the stop. Soobin simply smiled in response.
"We should get a bike or bicycle too! I'll go home and check my savings to see if we can afford one," Soobin suggested.
"Hyung, we can always take the bus. There's no need to dip into your savings for a bike," Soobin reasoned.
"No, Soobin. We need one because we can't afford to always arrive home late. You shouldn't have to cook dinner when you're tired and exhausted from college and work, and waiting so long for a bus. So, it's definitely something we need," Yeonjun insisted.
After a bus arrived a short while later, they boarded and headed back home together.
-
The trio exited the classroom and made their way towards the parking lot where Beomgyu's car was stationed. The day had gone smoothly for them, filled with introductions to new people, learning their names, hobbies, and aspirations. Being the first day, everything proceeded at a leisurely pace.
"Beomgyu, you can drop us off here. No need to go out of your way," Taehyun suggested as they approached a crossroad. To the left led towards Huening and Taehyun's apartment, while to the right led to Beomgyu's place.
"Why? Is there something you're not telling me? Anyone hiding in your apartment, huh?" Beomgyu teased as he turned the car left.
"No, it's just that you'd have to drive further," Taehyun explained.
"Oh, stop it, Taehyun. You guys are my best friends," Beomgyu replied.
"We're not getting an apartment together! Beomgyu's place is too cramped for all his stuff, and ours isn't much bigger-one room for my sister's and my beds, and another for Taehyun's bed and our study tables. We really need to find a better place," Huening remarked.
"We're looking, Kai. Hopefully, we'll find something soon," Taehyun assured.
"Right! Kai, we also need to pick up your sister. Her school isn't far from here, right?" Beomgyu asked.
"Yeah, it's on the way. But she said she'd walk home," Kai replied.
"Well, since we're already here, why not pick her up?" Taehyun suggested.
"Okay, as you wish," Kai agreed.
They arrived near the school's main gate with about ten minutes left before the bell rang. Huening got out of the car and headed towards the gate where other parents were waiting for their children.
Soon, the bell chimed, and like a powerful wave crashing onto the shore, the children surged towards the main entrance. They ran, bumped into each other, fell, then quickly got up and resumed running as if nothing had happened. From a distance, it was nearly impossible to distinguish one student from another-they all wore the same uniform and had similar hairstyles.
Huening scanned the crowd anxiously, trying to spot his sister among them. He widened his eyes in concentration, but still couldn't see her. Then, suddenly, she appeared right in front of him, and he flinched, taking a step back.
She was smiling brightly, clearly surprised and amused that her brother had come to pick her up, especially after he had told her to walk home earlier that morning. Hueningkai's startled reaction made her giggle, and the two boys in the car joined in laughing at him.
"You scared me! Where did you come from? Did you jump over the wall? I couldn't spot you, and then bam, there you are!" Huening exclaimed, taking his sister's backpack and holding her hand as they walked back towards the car.
They climbed into the backseat, and Beomgyu started the engine, driving them towards their apartment.
"How was your first day at the new school, Hiyyih?" Taehyun asked.
Huening Bahiyyih, Hueningkai's younger sister, two years his junior, a high school student. She lives with Hueningkai and Taehyun while their parents reside overseas. Originally in the same school hostel as the trio, she relocated to Daegu to stay with her brother after they completed their studies in Seoul. She's cute, smart, and bubbly, and not to belabor the point, incredibly beautiful.
"It was great! I had a lot of fun and made so many new friends. How was your day, oppa?" Hiyyih asked eagerly.
"It was good," Taehyun replied.
"Oppa, you need to come to my school tomorrow," Hiyyih insisted to Kai.
"Why's that?" Kai inquired.
"They said there's some paperwork pending, and my first installment hasn't been fully paid. They want to meet the person I live with. Sooo..."
"Okay, I'll talk to Dad about it. I can visit your school after my college classes, right?"
"Yes, you can!" Hiyyih confirmed with a nod.
They arrived at the shared apartment where Hiyyih quickly prepared brunch for them. The three of them sat around the table, chatting for a while before Beomgyu eventually left the apartment.
On his way, Beomgyu reflected on how enjoyable it was to spend time with his friends, but now he anticipated feeling incredibly lonely. The solitude was palpable. He resolved that he needed to find a larger apartment soon so he could live with his friends again and stave off his growing sense of boredom.
During their high school days, everything had been so good. They were inseparable, always sticking together. They had even managed to persuade their principal to accommodate them in a room for three. Their close friendship had always been an inspiration to others.
Beomgyu unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside. It was a modest single room with his bed laid out in one corner, along with a study table. An attached bathroom was tucked away in another corner, and a small mini kitchen sat unused, except for occasional meals when not dining out with friends or grabbing something from a nearby convenience store. It had been a week since he moved here from Seoul.
He dropped his backpack to the floor, retrieved his guitar from its stand, and settled onto his bed. The guitar was his closest companion, a gift from his dad on his twelfth birthday that sparked his deep passion for music. Joining the school band led him to meet his two best friends, Taehyun and Hueningkai, who already had a long-standing friendship from childhood. Their bond solidified during their time together in the hostel, and they eventually chose to live together. The rest, as they say, was history.
Beomgyu meticulously tuned his guitar, adjusting each chord precisely. He began to play a gentle melody, closing his eyes and letting the music wash over him, soothing away the day's fatigue. Music held profound magic for him.
The Beomgyu he tried to project outwardly was often seen as tough, aloof, and difficult to connect with outside of his close circle of friends. He sometimes projected an image of being one of the biggest bullies, though he couldn't explain why. Perhaps it stemmed from his parents' frequent arguments during his early childhood, which had deeply affected him at the tender age of seven.
It seems Beomgyu faced a lot of challenges during his high school years. Despite trying to fit in and be someone he thought he needed to be, he found authenticity and comfort when he met Taehyun and Hueningkai, who accepted him for who he truly was. Beomgyu also tried to forge a friendship with another boy from the school band, initially hesitant but eventually opening up and sharing his concerns. However, things took a turn for the worse when rumors about Beomgyu's parents started circulating around the school, damaging his reputation and sense of trust. This experience left him feeling deeply hurt and betrayed, further reinforcing his guarded nature and reluctance to trust others easily.
The boy told everyone that Beomgyu's mother used to sell her body for pleasure and his father spent almost every night out with young girls in clubs. The boy went further to claim that Beomgyu inherited traits of being a playboy, insinuating that he used his closest friends for personal gain or exploitation. This added to Beomgyu's anguish and made it difficult for him to trust others easily thereafter.
The incident left Beomgyu consumed with anger and shame. He was unfairly labeled as a rich, spoiled brat due to the hurtful rumors spread by the boy. Despite the boy being reprimanded and restricted from school, the damage to Beomgyu's trust in others was profound. Since then, he found it extremely difficult to trust anyone except for Taehyun and Hueningkai, who steadfastly stood by him through it all. Beomgyu deeply valued their unwavering loyalty and support, considering them more than friends - they were his true brothers, his pillars of strength in a world where trust was hard to come by.
After an abundance of contemplation swirling through his mind, he ceased his guitar's melody, gently returning it to its stand. Just then, a message arrived on his phone.
Three for life ♡
Hyun :
Don't force your little brain. Go to sleep.
And yes, keep the dim lights on or you
won't be able to sleep.
Me:
Yes Mom.
Kai :
....
Good night guys <3
Hyun:
night
Me:
Good night ♡
Beomgyu switched on the soft glow of the LED lights, settled into his bed, and a radiant smile graced his face. It seemed to outshine the impending sunrise that would soon bathe him in its warmth.
They never ceased to lift his spirits, offering him solace and joy. Beomgyu felt deeply thankful to have them in his life. With these comforting thoughts, he drifted off to sleep.
-
Soobin and Yeonjun arrived home exhausted. Despite their fatigue, Soobin had to cook dinner. After freshening up and changing into comfortable clothes, he swiftly prepared the meal. Luckily, their father hadn't returned yet. Soobin finished cooking, set the table, and called Yeonjun once he was done showering. Yeonjun promptly joined him at the dinner table.
Soobin then went upstairs to summon Jayhoon, but found his brother in their father's room, which struck him as odd. Jayhoon declined dinner, mentioning he had eaten out with friends. Returning downstairs, Soobin found his father settling in at the table. Yeonjun suggested they all eat together, and they did.
After dinner, Soobin and Yeonjun washed the dishes together, finishing around ten o'clock. Exhausted, they wearily retreated to their room. Yeonjun collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow, while Soobin took a warm shower to relax his muscles.
Yeonjun scrolled through his phone until Soobin emerged from the shower. Soobin grabbed a blanket from the rack and settled beside Yeonjun, covering them both.
"Hyung, today was such a long day," Soobin sighed.
"You're right, Soobin-ah," Yeonjun replied, finally looking at him.
"Hyung?"
"Hmm?"
"What are we going to tell Dad when he asks where we've been after college? Jayhoon goes to the same college, and if he comes back on time, he'll definitely suspect something."
"Don't worry, Soobin. I'll tell him I needed to stay longer to prepare for the next classes. It'll be fine. Now, let's sleep."
Soobin smiled comfortingly, which Yeonjun couldn't help but return. He tousled Soobin's hair affectionately before each set their alarms and placed their phones on the bedside table. Yeonjun settled in, knowing full well he wasn't one to wake easily, even to an alarm. They both curled up under the blanket, and as soon as they closed their eyes, they drifted off to dreamland.
°°°
It was a busy morning for Yeonjun and Soobin as they attended their respective tasks at the college. Yeonjun headed to the reception to check his schedule for the day, while Soobin went to gather accounting information. After noting down his schedule, Yeonjun proceeded to the Dance Club room, bidding Soobin farewell with reassurances.
Meanwhile, as Miss Chelsea was occupied, she asked Mr. Joseph, the IT teacher, to assist Soobin in retrieving the necessary files from the accounts office.
"Soobin, while I finish up my tasks, you can begin reviewing those files. They contain last year's details which might be useful. I'll join you once the other receptionist arrives, which shouldn't take more than twenty minutes," Miss Chelsea instructed Soobin.
"Okay," Soobin acknowledged as he accompanied Mr. Joseph to the basement, where the accounts office was located due to its storage of confidential college information.
Entering the office, Mr. Joseph laid out the files on a table for Soobin.
"Here are the files. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I'll be in the IT lab on the first floor," Mr. Joseph informed him before leaving.
"Thank you, sir," Soobin replied gratefully, taking a moment to familiarize himself with the surroundings before settling into a chair to begin reading through the files.
As he immersed himself in the documents, Soobin felt a deep satisfaction in reading every word printed on the pages. Studying had always been a passion of his, a love that had been somewhat sidelined in recent years. Books of all kinds intrigued him-from textbooks to literature, romance to horror, fantasy to biography, and even comic books and mythology. Soobin was the type to lose himself entirely in a book, devouring it without complaint until he reached the last page. Now, with the opportunity to study at this college, he eagerly looked forward to indulging in every book the library had to offer.
As Soobin was reading the files thoroughly, a knock was heard on the office door. After a second, miss Chelsea walked in with a pile of files.
"So? How's it going? It's boring. Isn't it?" she said while sitting on the opposite chair, keeping those files in front of Soobin.
"Not at all. I'm enjoying it. It's been so long since I seriously worked on something, "Soobin said while closing the file he was reading and looking at the receptionist.
"So.. Where should I start?" Soobin asked.
"You can start with this year's admissions, their installments and the older students' due fees. These files contain all the data. You can type them and tally them on this computer kept by the side of your table. And yes! Principal Sir will be visiting you in a while. And I am sure he will love your confidence and hopefully he'll let you get an admission." she said smiling.
"I hope so," Soobin said.
"So, you continue. I'll take my leave"
"Okay"
"Good luck with your new start"
"Thank you, Miss Chelsea"
With that, Miss Chelsea left the room, leaving Soobin to immerse himself in the files and the tasks awaiting him on the computer. He focused intently, determined to make a positive impression on Principal and embark on this new chapter with confidence.
°°°
The trio sat together in the classroom, having completed their first lecture of the day. Around them, students busied themselves preparing for the upcoming lessons. Suddenly, a stir erupted at the front benches as everyone stood up. It became apparent that the principal was entering the classroom, prompting the trio to rise respectfully alongside their peers. A unified bow followed from the entire class.
"Hello students! I trust your second day of college is off to a good start," the principal began warmly. "I encourage you all to study diligently and showcase your capabilities. Our college stands behind each of you. Should you encounter any difficulties, seek assistance from your teachers. If further help is needed, don't hesitate to reach out to me directly. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir!" echoed the chorus from the class.
"As you know, it's time to select the clubs you wish to join. Recognizing your enthusiasm, I'm waiving the usual limit of two clubs per student. You may now choose up to four clubs. We have a talented group this year, so make the most of it and make us proud."
"Yayy!!" cheered the class in response.
"One more thing," the principal continued. "Your second lecture teacher had to leave unexpectedly. Today, you're free to attend the Dance Club room instead."
"Okay, Sir," came the unanimous acknowledgment from the students, including the trio who exchanged curious glances, already intrigued by the day's unfolding opportunities.
They entered the Dance Club room where a young man was energetically moving to the beat, oblivious to their arrival. The music blared loudly behind him as he performed. For a full minute, the students stood mesmerized by his movements. He wore a sleeveless vest, loose pants, and a backward flipped cap.
When the music finally ceased, he looked up to find a group of students staring at him intently.
"Isn't he the same guy we saw on the stairs?" Kai whispered to Taehyun.
Taehyun nodded in agreement.
"Who are you? And where is the dance teacher?" one of the girls demanded, breaking the silence.
"I'm your dan-"
"How dare you barge in here, blast the speakers, and dance so shamelessly?" a boy interrupted angrily.
Yeonjun, growing impatient, interjected, "If you don't mind, may I speak, SIR?" He directed a stern gaze at the boy.
"You idi-" the boy began to retort, but Yeonjun cut him off sharply. "JUST. SHUT. UP."
The sudden force in Yeonjun's voice startled everyone in the room, silencing any further protests.
"I'm sorry, but he really frustrated me. Man! At least listen to the other person before accusing him for no reason," Yeonjun asserted, his tone firm yet composed.
"Okay, let's forget what happened. Hello everyone! I'm Choi Yeonjun, stepping in as your dance teacher while Mr. Jung Hoseok is away for a judging show. I hope we'll get along well, and let's try not to upset me again," Yeonjun announced with a wide smile that instantly warmed the room, captivating everyone present.
"I'm sorry, Sir," the boy apologized, looking contrite.
"Hyung! You should call me Hyung," Yeonjun corrected gently, placing a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's okay."
"Holy smokes! He's the teacher?" Taehyun exclaimed in surprise.
"Choi Yeonjun? I think I know him," Beomgyu remarked.
"Should we go ask him?" Hueningkai suggested eagerly.
"Not now, Kai. We can talk later," Beomgyu replied.
"Hey you three!" Yeonjun called out, approaching them with a bright smile. Gosh, Yeonjun smiles a lot. It's dangerously charming.
"Hi!" the three greeted in unison.
"You were at Seoul High School, on the senior basketball team, right?" Beomgyu asked curiously.
"Yes! But how did you know?" Yeonjun inquired, visibly surprised.
"We were at Seoul High School too. You might have seen him on the junior basketball team," Beomgyu explained, gesturing towards Kai.
"Oh, right. Maybe! What are your names?"
"I'm Choi Beomgyu. These two are my best friends. He's Kang Taehyun, and he's Hueningkai," Beomgyu introduced.
"Nice to meet you guys," Yeonjun said warmly, shaking hands with each of them.
"You were our senior by three years," Beomgyu noted.
"Well, we can get along just fine now," Yeonjun replied with a grin.
"But Sir, you're our dance teacher here," Kai pointed out.
"Hyung! Call me Hyung, Hueningkai."
"Only if you call me Kai."
"Sure."
The four of them shared a laugh, then Yeonjun turned towards the mirrored wall, clapping his hands to capture the noisy students' attention.
"Guys! Over here! Soo... Shall we start with the practice. Lemme pick out better pieces from you all" Yeonjun said while going to the music player and playing a Hip Hop melody.
"So... Who's gonna be the first? huh?" Yeonjun asked and one by one every student came out to show their moves. Some came alone, some in couples and some in groups. Some were really good, some made them laugh so hard thatHueningkai ended up rolling on the floor holding onto his precious tummy.
God! Yeonjun got a major headache watching them all do crazy stuff, some of them didn't even know that dance begins with a 'D'. Ugh! He needed a pain reliever. Which he got, when the trio performed a cute little dance on 'Go Go'. It felt like they read Yeonjun's mind. Genius. Amazing.
Yeonjun had a bright smile on his face when the trio turned towards him after finishing their dancing.
"Great," Yeonjun commented. He glanced over his wrist watch. Thank god. Finally.
"So the class hour is over. See you guys soon" hope I never see some of you again!
He mumbled the last sentence to himself.
The students went out for their class.
"Hey! The trio!" Yeonjun called out and the three turned back as if he was taking their name. The trio? Is this their group name? If it is, then, wow! Yeonjun you are really a born genius, as you say for yourself.
"Thanks guys, you really saved me or I was going to lose the shit out of me" he said while patting Kai's shoulder.
"I figured it out. You were looking so pissed off, "Taehyun said.
"Thanks for the mood change. But honestly, I loved your performance. Your moves were clean, your body control was amazing, every detailed step was clear. Though the actual Choreo didn't have those hard moves, it isn't everyone's cup of tea. You did awesome. Hope I'll get to see better or I should say harder Choreo performances from you. And I'm wishing that you'll definitely choose the Dance Club as one of the options. I need to run.. I gotta go somewhere. See you guys... Byeee~" and he ran out of the room.
Yeonjun didn't give them a chance to speak. He talks a lot. Before, Beomgyu used to think that only he had the chattering motor in his throat when he was a child because as he got older and older he became quieter and quieter. But he was wrong. It felt like since he stopped talking a lot, his chattering motor got transferred to Yeonjun's throat. Thinking, he chuckled.
"I'm definitely going to join the Dance Club. He is so cool, "Kai excitedly said.
"Me too"
"Me three"
And they all headed to their class. Kai and Taehyun went to the reception to fill the dance club in their already submitted form and Beomgyu did the same with his form resting in his book.
"Guys, over here! So... shall we start with practice? Let me see what you've got," Yeonjun announced, moving to the music player and selecting a lively hip-hop melody.
"So... who's going to go first?" Yeonjun queried, prompting each student to showcase their moves. Some danced solo, others in pairs or groups. There were those who impressed with their skill and others who amused, causing Hueningkai to collapse in laughter, clutching his stomach.
Yeonjun couldn't help but develop a major headache watching some students whose grasp of dance seemed nonexistent. He sighed, yearning for pain relief. Then, like a relief, the trio performed an adorable routine to 'Go Go', seemingly reading Yeonjun's mind. Brilliant. Amazing.
Yeonjun beamed brightly as the trio turned towards him upon finishing their dance. "Great job," he complimented, checking his watch discreetly. Finally, it was time.
"Class is over. See you all soon," he said aloud, adding under his breath, "and hopefully never see some of you again."
As the students filtered out, Yeonjun called after the trio. "Hey, you three!" They turned back, as if acknowledging their group name. Trio? Was that their moniker now? If so, Yeonjun thought to himself, he must be a natural-born genius, as he often claimed.
"Thanks, guys. You really saved me there, or I was about to lose my mind," he admitted, patting Kai's shoulder gratefully.
"I could tell. You looked ready to explode," Taehyun remarked.
"Thanks for the mood change. Honestly, I loved your performance. Your moves were clean, your control was fantastic, and every step was clear. Even though the choreography wasn't too demanding, it's not everyone's forte. You did awesome. I hope to see even more challenging routines from you. I've got to run... I have somewhere to be. See you guys... byeee~" With that, he hurried out of the room.
Yeonjun didn't leave room for the trio to respond; he had a tendency to talk a lot. Beomgyu used to think he was the only one with a motor mouth when he was younger, but now it seems Yeonjun had inherited it. Chuckling to himself, Beomgyu mused over the thought.
"I'm definitely joining the Dance Club. He's so cool," Kai declared excitedly.
"Me too."
"Count me in," Beomgyu added.
And with that decision made, they headed off to their next class. Kai and Taehyun went to the reception to add the Dance Club to their already submitted forms, while Beomgyu did the same, retrieving his form from his book.
Soobin was deeply engrossed in the accounts files when a knock interrupted him.
"How's it going?" the principal inquired.
"Good, Sir! I've completed organizing the files for the previous students' fees and now I'm focusing on this year's admissions," Soobin replied, gesturing towards the screen displaying tabulated data.
"That's excellent! You're quite proficient at this," the principal complimented, eyeing the organized data.
"Thank you, Sir."
"I also wanted to mention, whenever you feel the need to rest or take a break from staring at the screen, you're welcome to visit the library and read something. As for your admission, I'm considering it. I'll inform you next week," the principal added.
"Thank you so much, Sir," Soobin said gratefully, bowing respectfully.
During the lunch break, as all the students gathered in the bustling canteen, Yeonjun wrapped up his classes and headed to find Soobin. Spotting him, they joined each other for lunch at a table in the corner.
Across the room, the trio also sat together, chatting animatedly.
°°°
After they finished eating, Soobin informed Yeonjun that he planned to spend some time in the library. They agreed to meet at the college gate once classes were over and parted ways for the afternoon.
As Soobin stepped into the library, a serene calm washed over him, melting away the day's tensions. The rows of books beckoned like a familiar friend, each spine a story waiting to be explored. His fingers traced lightly over the volumes, akin to selecting the perfect attire from a lavish wardrobe. Today, his mind craved escape from textbooks and lectures, drawn instead to the realm of fiction and narratives.
Among the array of storybooks, one cover stood out distinctly. Its golden hues intermingled with hints of silver, casting an ethereal glow. Centered on the cover, a silhouette of a boy sat beneath a barren tree, engrossed in the pages of a book. The title, "My You," adorned the top in simple white lettering. Soobin's lips curved upwards involuntarily as he absorbed the title, intrigued by the promise of what lay within those pages.
Soobin's anticipation turned to dismay as he noticed the book's damaged state. The once-glistening cover now marred by half-torn edges and crumpled surfaces. Flipping through the pages, his fingers traced over torn and defaced sheets, some bearing the scars of careless pen strokes. A surge of anger welled up within him at the sight of such disregard for literature. How could someone treat books with such disrespect? It seemed incomprehensible to Soobin, who held books in reverent esteem.
He became so angry at the act that he went to the library incharge to ask for a piece of paper and with his pen he wrote-
"If you can't value the art of the writers, you are not allowed to disrespect them! These are not just simple pages or simple words. They mean the entire world for someone. I hope whoever handled this book remembers that each page holds a piece of someone's imagination and effort. Please treat books with respect and care, as they are treasures meant to be cherished by all who read them. This is... pathetic."
He left the pieces of paper in the book, his mood thoroughly destroyed. With no desire to seek out another book, Soobin exited the library. Feeling aimless, he returned to the accounts room and patiently waited for the college hours to pass.
°°°
As they roamed the library during their free period, Taehyun led the way with a focused determination to find his desired books. Meanwhile, Beomgyu and Hueningkai, harboring a mutual disdain for libraries, engaged in lighthearted mischief. They playfully grabbed random books off shelves, joking about their titles and content, much to the librarian's disapproval and Taehyun's disapproving glance.
Hueningkai, in a brief moment of curiosity, pulled a book from the shelf and began scanning its title. Beomgyu, mischievous as ever, attempted to snatch it from him playfully. In the scuffle, Hueningkai pushed Beomgyu slightly harder than intended, causing him to collide with the nearby rack. The impact dislodged several books, which cascaded to the floor, and Beomgyu winced as his head made contact with the rack. "Ouch!" he hissed through the pain.
"Sorry I-" Hueningkai began to apologize, but the librarian's stern interruption cut him off.
"Get out of the library. Right now!"
Startled by the librarian's harsh tone, Hueningkai swiftly retreated to Taehyun's side. Meanwhile, Beomgyu conscientiously gathered the fallen books and carefully restored them to their proper places on the shelf. In the midst of this, a piece of paper slipped out from one of the books, and Beomgyu managed to catch it before it reached the ground. Intrigued, he extracted the book from which the paper had fallen and tucked the paper back inside. However, his curiosity got the better of him, prompting him to unfold the paper and read its contents.
After reading it, Beomgyu couldn't help but chuckle quietly to himself. "Stupid," he muttered under his breath. He reflected on the sentiment expressed in the note, realizing that not everyone in the world acted with kindness or good intentions. Beomgyu understood the naivety of believing in the goodness of others without caution, recognizing that this perspective could often lead to heartbreak. Deep in thought, he pondered how this "Stupid" person's perspective needed to confront the harsh realities of human nature.
Beomgyu pulled out a pen from his pocket and wrote in response to the note:
"You really think anyone cares about your words? How naive! Sure, what you said might ring true, but do you really think people will listen? The things we cherish can be meaningless to others. Maybe you haven't faced the real world- it's tough, incredibly tough. Your privileged perspective shows. Authors pour their souls into their work, but once published, it's out of their hands. Readers decide its fate. It's just ink and paper to them. Relax! Don't take it all so seriously."
Beomgyu carefully tucked the note back into the book, feeling a mixture of amusement and frustration. It was unlikely anyone would read his response, but expressing himself felt oddly satisfying. He returned the book to its place on the shelf and signaled to Taehyun and Hueningkai that it was time to leave the library before they caused more trouble with the librarian.
°°°
Soobin was resting on his chair when his phone beeped. Curious, he picked it up and checked the notification. It was a message from Yeonjun
Jjunie Hyung
Binnie, are you done?
Yes! Are we leaving?
Yup! Meet me at the main
gate of the college.
Comin'
When he reached the gate, he saw Yeonjun with Changbin, Yeonjun's childhood friend. Soobin approached them with a smile.
"Hi! Hyung!" Soobin greeted.
"Oh... Hi! Soobin-ahh! How are you?" Changbin asked warmly as he hugged Soobin.
"I'm fine... What about you? When did you return from New York?"
"Ah! Just yesterday! Guys? I gotta go. I need to go to the magistrate's office to collect some documents for my dad. I'll meet you at your convenience store hours." Changbin said, tossing something towards Yeonjun.
Yeonjun deftly caught it-it was his bike's keys. "Take good care of my baby!" Changbin called out as he dashed across the road and into a waiting car, driving off swiftly.
Soobin looked at Yeonjun, slightly puzzled. "Don't bother your little brain! I asked him for the bike. Before you ask, he won't need it as he'll fly back tomorrow morning. So let's go. And yes! Wear it." Yeonjun handed a helmet to Soobin, already wearing his own, and they rode off to their next destination, the convenience store.
The elderly gentleman warmly welcomed them and provided guidance on their tasks.
"Close the store at nine. I live right behind this store. Please lend me the keys when you're done," he instructed.
"Thank you, Sir," Soobin replied courteously.
°°°
When the trio headed home, they first stopped at Hiyyih's school. Hueningkai handled all the formalities and paid the fee. Afterwards, they drove back home. Beomgyu dropped them off and then went to his apartment.
°°°
They were working in the store when Changbin visited them, and they had a great time together catching up. As closing time approached, the three of them left together. Changbin lived just two streets away from them.
Back home, Soobin and Yeonjun cooked dinner together. While they were setting the bowls, Soobin's father came downstairs.
"Where were you, Soobin?" asked Mr. Choi.
"I-" Soobin started to explain but was interrupted by Yeonjun.
"He was with me, uncle. With the new semester starting, there's a lot to handle at college, so he's been helping me out as my assistant. You can count on us to get everything done on time," Yeonjun assured them.
"Hmm... Okay then," Mr. Choi responded, seeming reassured.
Soobin let out a breath of relief, feeling his nerves relax.
***
Chapter Text
A few days passed by, uneventfully for the boys. Their lives were consumed by the usual classes and the relentless barrage of assignments. During this time, they also embarked on the quest to find an affordable apartment for themselves. Initially, it seemed manageable for Beomgyu to ferry his friends back and forth each day, but the extra hour of driving soon took its toll, especially with their increasing workload.
Beomgyu often found himself too exhausted to drive home, leading him to spend the night at his friends' small apartment, which was already a tight squeeze. This arrangement didn't sit well with Beomgyu's landlord, who reprimanded him for not spending the night in his own apartment and "partying with his friends" instead. Beomgyu kept these complaints to himself, but the strain showed on his face.
Taehyun frequently urged Beomgyu to drop them off at a nearby crossroad to ease his burden, but Beomgyu steadfastly refused. He didn't want his friends to have to find another way home when he could take them himself.
Speaking of Soobin, he too became deeply immersed in his accounting work. His days were exhausting as he also took on the responsibility of looking after the meals for the two Chois, who had come to rely on him as a caretaker. Despite the fatigue, this busy schedule made Soobin happy, keeping his mind occupied and away from the negative thoughts that used to plague him.
Nights offered a welcome respite. No matter how tired he was, Soobin made it a point to visit the school rooftop every couple of days to talk to his mom. Now, he had two positive reasons for these visits. Firstly, he had Yeonjun by his side, a support he was immensely grateful for. Secondly, he could now share good news and positive experiences with his mom instead of only venting his sorrow and feelings of abandonment.
It was Friday. Soobin finished up his last worksheet and headed to the library to spend some time. Upon entering, he noticed several bundles of books scattered on the floor. The scent of freshly printed pages hit his nose, and his lips curved into a smile. He looked over at the librarian, who was busy counting the bundles.
"...11 and 12. All are there! Now I gotta arrange them. Ugh!" she sighed and walked over to the first bundle.
"Oh! Hello!" Soobin greeted hesitantly. She just nodded and bent down to pick up the books.
"Do you need help? I- I can help you if you want. I'm kinda free now," Soobin offered slowly. The librarian looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. "Yes! Please! It would be great!" she beamed.
Soobin smiled back and began moving the bundles to the table. "You can place the books that are for the 'story, comic, and thrill' sections. I'll handle the subject ones since I need to remember where I placed them in case someone asks for them," she suggested.
"Yeah... sure!" Soobin replied, setting to work.
Soobin was unpacking the bundles and arranging the books when that particular book caught his attention. He noticed a piece of paper sticking out slightly. He wasn't expecting a return note, but something kept urging him to check. He pulled out the book and retrieved the paper. To his surprise, there was indeed a reply. Excited, he began to read the note, but by the time he finished, his smile had faded.
The person who wrote back assumed Soobin was living a perfect life. Really? Soobin chuckled at the thought. His life was far from perfect; he was just trying to find positivity to keep going. "They must be suffering a lot. The frustration is clearly visible in these words," Soobin thought to himself.
He pulled out a pen from his pocket and wrote:
"Hi! I don't think you'll read this again, but I just want to tell you that assumptions aren't always correct. You think I'm living a good life. Wow! I just found that out myself. Thanks! But seriously, I didn't appreciate what you said. You need to reconsider your perspective about other people's lives. Not everyone is foolish or naive, as you seem to think.
I do appreciate that at least you are honest and don't hide your feelings and opinions behind a mask. However, you need to be mindful of your words. They shouldn't hurt others.
Anyway, after reading your note, I feel like you're not at your best. Something must be off; otherwise, you wouldn't sound so frustrated.
Is everything alright? Are you okay?
If you don't feel fine, you can always talk to your friends. You have them, right? So, go talk to them.
And if you want, you can always write to me. Only if you want to. I used to talk to my mom about everything. She was my personal diary. But then one day, she left. She really couldn't live without my dad. But I know she's watching over me. I still talk to her about everything. The only difference is that I can't hear her opinion or her comforting words.
Oh my god! I'm rambling, right? I should stop. But yes, take some time for yourself and talk with your friends and parents about your worries and frustrations. I never did that; I always ignored my brother, and believe me, I regret it a lot. I'm sure they will help you. Also, your words hurt me a bit -_-
Anyway, bye!"
He carefully placed the paper back in the book, hoping that the person would read it and find some comfort or insight from his words.
After placing every bundle, he went to the librarian. "Ma'am! I'm done!" he chirped. She turned around with a bright smile. "Oh my! Thanks a lot, Soobin. It was a great help. I owe you, boy."
"No worries! I'll be leaving now," he said, and with that, he left the library, feeling a sense of accomplishment.
-
During their free hour, Taehyun coerced Beomgyu and Hueningkai into accompanying him to the library, much to their reluctance. Beomgyu, feeling sluggish from a restless night due to a power outage at his apartment, voiced his discontent.
"Taehyunnie, not the library again," Beomgyu groaned.
"No complaints, Beomgyu. Last time, because of you two, I couldn't even get the books I needed. Please, just behave this time until I find it," Taehyun implored, his tone earnest.
Beomgyu exchanged a glance with Hueningkai, silently communicating his reluctance. Taehyun sighed in exasperation.
"What am I going to do with you two?" he muttered.
"Just promise us no haunted houses," Beomgyu suggested.
"That's not happening. Move faster!" Taehyun urged.
Upon arrival at the library, Taehyun hurried off to search for his books, leaving Beomgyu and Hueningkai to find a seat and wait, fully aware of Taehyun's determined mood.
After about 10 minutes, Taehyun returned to Beomgyu and Hueningkai looking visibly angry.
"You know what? I'm gonna kill that idiot!" he spat out.
"What happened?" Kai asked, concerned.
"Someone rearranged the new books and messed up the previous order. Now I have to search every shelf for the Potter Series. Ugh!" Taehyun exclaimed in frustration.
Beomgyu and Hueningkai exchanged glances, sensing Taehyun's irritation.
"Look, it's going to take a while. It would be helpful if both of you could help me find them, but it's best if you stay here. Quietly," Taehyun said firmly.
"I guess the 'best' option is the best one," Beomgyu smirked.
"Just what I expected," Taehyun muttered as he returned to the bookshelves.
Fifteen minutes dragged by without any sign of Taehyun. It felt like hours to Beomgyu and Hueningkai.
"I'll go check on him," Beomgyu decided, standing up.
"I'll come with you," Kai offered.
"He'll kill us both. You go alone, and I'll... look around," Beomgyu suggested, heading off in a different direction as Kai nodded reluctantly.
Beomgyu browsed through various sections and ended up in front of the comic books. He picked out the thinnest comic and started flipping through it to pass the time. Once finished, he glanced back at his friends, still engrossed in their search. Deciding against checking the note this time, he resumed searching for other books.
"Hey! Any luck finding the book?" he asked upon returning to Taehyun and Kai.
"What does it look like, huh?" Taehyun snapped, clearly stressed.
"Take it easy, man. You'll find it," Beomgyu reassured.
"Whoever messed up these sections is a complete idiot. Don't they know where books belong?" Kai exclaimed, frustration evident in his voice.
Now, Beomgyu reluctantly began searching for the book.
"Again! Which book are you looking for?" he asked, trying to be helpful despite Taehyun's frustration.
"Beomgyu! You're not helping. Just find something to entertain yourself," Taehyun snapped, clearly exasperated. But Beomgyu wasn't much into reading and would rather be at home playing his guitar.
"Fine! I'll leave you to it. But don't come back later apologizing. I won't forgive you," Beomgyu retorted before storming off.
"You know it might just end up the other way around," Taehyun muttered under his breath, a remark Beomgyu pretended not to hear.
Left with nothing to do during this free hour, Beomgyu felt like it was torture. The clock seemed to mock him, moving forward when he watched and stopping dead when he turned away.
A nagging feeling urged him to check the book again. After all, it was a public library, not someone's private journal. He searched three racks without success. Passing by the rack where he'd last seen it, he decided to check one last time.
To his surprise, there it was, exactly where he remembered. He pulled it out and noticed a new piece of paper inside; the old one was gone, probably taken by its writer after both sides were filled. Intrigued, he quickly unfolded it and began to read.
As he finished, mixed emotions played across his face. He realized he might have been harsh in his response, but who was this person to tell him what to do? Yet, he couldn't deny the truth that he wasn't sharing everything with his best friends anymore. He used to, but now he felt his problems would burden them. Talking to his parents? That seemed even less likely. He'd sooner confide in a stranger than discuss his feelings with his own family.
To top it all off, his mother had to call him right then. Did she sense that her son wasn't doing well, or was she determined to make things even harder for him? Predictably, Beomgyu ignored her calls. She tried twice more, but Beomgyu was stubborn, just like his parents knew he could be.
Closing the book, he sank into one of the chairs, lost in thought. Memories from his childhood flooded his mind. Then, it hit him hard.
"Is everything alright? Are you okay?"
Everything alright? Was he okay?
Clearly, he wasn't. Slowly, he had lost everything and everyone he had loved the most in his life. His parents had distanced themselves from him abruptly, and he had lost touch with his older brother and younger sister. He wondered what she might be doing now. It was all so painful.
You could call Beomgyu selfish, after all that. But he couldn't bear to lose his two best friends now, not at any cost, not at any point. He couldn't imagine how he would go on without them.
And yet here he was, hiding his worries from them, when they were all he had left. Then it hit him again- the person who had written that note, the 'Stupid' person. From their words, it seemed they didn't have anyone left-maybe their parents were gone. Despite it all, they searched for positivity to keep going. They must be incredibly brave, unlike Beomgyu.
Should Beomgyu write something for them? Words of condolence, perhaps? But the person didn't seem like they needed sympathy. Screw it. He couldn't do anything for anyone anyway.
But then he realized, the person didn't know anything about him, and vice versa. They were strangers to each other. So he could write whatever he wanted without fear of judgment. He was more willing to write to a stranger than confide in his own friends.
Lost in these thoughts, Taehyun and Hueningkai arrived at the table. Taehyun placed the set of seven books down with a relieved sigh.
"Finally!" Taehyun exclaimed, but Beomgyu didn't react.
"Hey! It's okay! You don't have to apologize. I'll forgive you this time, only because I found them," Taehyun said, arranging the books into their respective parts.
There was no response.
"Are you even listening-" Taehyun stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Beomgyu with teary eyes.
"Shit! Beomgyu? What happened? Did someone say anything? Why are you crying?" Taehyun panicked.
"I guess we should talk outside," Kai suggested, noticing the curious gazes of other students.
"Will you say something, Beomgyu? You're making me worry!" Taehyun asked anxiously, holding Beomgyu by the shoulders as they stood in front of their block.
Beomgyu looked into Taehyun's eyes and then at Kai, who was equally puzzled. How did he get so lucky to have them by his side? He smiled faintly at them and said, "I just wanted to check if you both still cared for me."
Taehyun shook his head in disbelief. "If you think this lame excuse will work, Choi Beomgyu, you're mistaken. Just tell us what's bothering you. And as for us caring for you, you don't even need to ask."
"I'm okay. I was just thinking about her," Beomgyu lied, partly.
"No matter how much you try to distance yourself, you still love her a lot. You should check on her. She might need you too, shoot, she definitely needs you. And at least ask about her whereabouts. Go meet her. Everything will be fine, Gyu," Taehyun urged.
"We know things aren't great with your parents, but still, talk to them about her. We're more than happy to support you," Kai added.
"Let it all out, Beomgyu. Keeping it bottled up will only hurt you. And maybe I haven't asked you directly, but I've noticed you pulling away from us over the past few months. Don't do this! You know where this leads," Taehyun emphasized.
"And it's okay if you don't want to talk to us. Talk to someone else. I know you hate the idea of making new friends, but there's no harm in trying. And I promise, I won't get jealous. Can't say the same for Taehyunnie here!" Kai finished with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
"Shut up, Kai! Why would I be jealous?" Taehyun playfully punched Kai on the shoulder.
Beomgyu smiled warmly at them both. He moved closer, gently bumping their heads together.
"Ouch!" they both hissed in pain.
"I guess... I'm really lucky to have you two".
During lunch break, Taehyun and Kai headed to the canteen to grab some food. Beomgyu opted to stay in the classroom, telling them to bring coffee for him on their way back as he wasn't feeling hungry.
Beomgyu's mind was still swirling with numerous thoughts.
"You can always write to me."
That line echoed in his mind, prompting Beomgyu to pull out a page from his notebook and start writing...
"Hey, I didn't think I'd find myself back here writing, especially since books aren't really my thing. But here I am. I've been reflecting a lot on what you wrote. I have to admit, your words stung, but they also made me think.
I wish I could say everything's alright on my end, but it's not. There's a lot going on, and I feel like I'm burdening my friends with my mood swings. They've been there for me through thick and thin, even when I can't understand why. Sometimes I feel like I'm good for nothing to them.
As for family, we're not on good terms. I envy what you had with yours. I know you've been through loss, and yet you're searching for positivity. If I were in your shoes, I don't know if I could do the same.
I'm not sure why I'm sharing all this with you, but I guess I'll be looking forward to your reply. So, yeah!!"
Beomgyu folded the page neatly and made his way to the library. Once there, he retrieved the previous note, carefully placed it in his backpack, and then tucked the freshly written note into the book.
-
It was Monday, the beginning of another week in their new college life. As the previous Saturday had been a hectic day with accounting work and new student club enrollments, Soobin found himself too occupied to visit the library. The note left for him remained undiscovered, though it didn't cross his mind at all.
Beomgyu, on the other hand, had different concerns. He had visited the library multiple times on Saturday, eagerly hoping for a response from the mysterious person, only to be disappointed each time. When Taehyun and Hueningkai asked why he had spent so much time there, he brushed it off, claiming he was killing time and found the library's atmosphere preferable to their dorm. However, amidst his visits, Beomgyu forgot a crucial task - submitting his club enrollment form.
As they headed towards their classroom, the camaraderie between the three friends was evident, even amidst Beomgyu's panic about his forgotten form.
"Holy Spirit!" Beomgyu suddenly exclaimed.
"What's wrong?" Taehyun asked, concerned.
"I forgot to submit my club form. It's still in my book!" Beomgyu confessed nervously.
"How could you be so careless? You knew Saturday was the deadline," Kai chided gently.
"I know, okay? I got caught up with something," Beomgyu admitted sheepishly.
"What 'something'?" Kai pressed for an answer.
Beomgyu thought of mentioning the disappointment of not receiving a reply from the person he referred to as 'stupid', but he held back.
"It's nothing important! I'll go and see if I can still submit it," Beomgyu started, but Taehyun interrupted him.
"Without us? What's gotten into you, Beomgyu? Remember our pact to face everything together?" Taehyun questioned.
"Yeah, but this is different. I don't want you both to get involved in my mistake during our first week here. Let me handle it, and I promise I won't leave you behind next time," Beomgyu reasoned.
"Are you planning to create more chaos?" Taehyun teased lightly.
"It's just the beginning, baby!" Beomgyu winked playfully before heading off to the reception to sort out his overlooked paperwork.
-
When Soobin and Yeonjun arrived at the college, Yeonjun promptly collected his schedule, knowing his day would be packed. Meanwhile, Soobin was making his way towards his office when Miss Chelsea intercepted him.
"Hey Soobin! I have a favor to ask you," she began.
"What is it?" Soobin replied, curious.
"Actually, I need to accompany the principal for some work, and the second receptionist is on his way," she explained.
"So, you need me to cover the reception desk for a while?" Soobin guessed.
"Yes, just until he returns. Can you please help out?" Miss Chelsea requested earnestly.
Soobin considered the request for a moment, weighing his workload and responsibilities. Eventually, he relented with a nod. "Alright, I'll take over for you."
Miss Chelsea thanked him gratefully and hurried off to her assignment, leaving Soobin to manage the reception desk. Little did he anticipate the challenges that awaited him.
As soon as he settled in, Soobin realized that being a receptionist was far from easy. In just twenty minutes, he was bombarded with a multitude of tasks and inquiries. He had to navigate various requests, handle people's moods, and maintain a friendly demeanor throughout.
To Soobin, it quickly became apparent that this role demanded patience, efficiency, and the ability to manage multiple demands simultaneously. Yet, despite the initial overwhelm, he resolved to tackle the job with diligence and professionalism.
As he focused on his tasks, he noticed three boys approaching, each with distinct attitudes. One seemed visibly distressed, nervously biting his nails. Another appeared annoyed with his friend's behavior, trying to discourage it. The third seemed indifferent to the situation unfolding around them. After a brief interaction, the other two left, leaving the distressed boy to approach the reception desk confidently.
Soobin greeted him warmly despite his earlier demeanor, maintaining his professional composure behind his mask.
"How may I help you?" Soobin asked politely as the boy handed him a paper that appeared to be a club enrollment form.
Soobin reviewed the form and noted that the deadline for submissions had passed on Saturday.
"Wasn't the last date to submit the club filling form on Saturday?" Soobin inquired, trying to clarify the situation.
The boy responded coldly, "So? You can submit this now. Thanks."
Soobin was taken aback by the rudeness but remained composed. "I'm sorry, but this can't be accepted now."
"And who are you to reject it?" the boy retorted defiantly.
"I'm responsible for processing these forms and sending confirmation emails," Soobin explained calmly.
"Don't tell me what you do and what you don't! Just take this and I need to leave for my class," the boy snapped impatiently.
Soobin's patience was wearing thin. "Don't you know how to talk? No one is going to accept your form now. You can go and talk to the Principal."
Beomgyu, frustrated with the confrontation, wanted to resolve the situation quickly. He knew he was at fault for missing the deadline but maintained his defensive stance to save face. He glanced around and noticed a stack of submitted forms on the reception desk, sparking an idea.
"Do you even know who I am?" Beomgyu challenged Soobin.
"Why should I know that?" Soobin replied, puzzled by the question.
Beomgyu pressed on, "So you don't know my name, right?"
"Of course not," Soobin affirmed.
Seizing the opportunity, Beomgyu swiftly slipped his form into the middle of the bundled forms, causing a minor disruption.
"Thanks, by the way!" Beomgyu quipped, making a hasty retreat.
Soobin, caught off guard by the maneuver, called after him, "Hey! Wait! What's your name?" but Beomgyu had already disappeared from sight.
"FUCK!!!" Soobin exclaimed in frustration as he surveyed the scattered forms around him, realizing the trick that had been played.
-
It definitely wasn't a good start to the week, nor even a good start to the day itself. The incident with the arrogant boy had left Soobin feeling frustrated and eager for the day to end.
As he meticulously gathered and organized the scattered forms, waiting for the replacement receptionist to arrive, Soobin couldn't help but sigh, "I wanna go home already!"
Meanwhile, Beomgyu wasn't particularly proud of what he had done, but he had acted on impulse. When he confessed to Taehyun and Hueningkai, their reactions were mixed.
"Oh, how much I wish I could've seen that!" Hueningkai chuckled.
"Poor receptionist," Taehyun remarked with a sigh.
"He wasn't 'poor' at all! He should have just accepted my form in the first place," Beomgyu defended his actions, feeling somewhat justified in the moment despite the consequences.
-
Soobin worked diligently on his accounts, managing tasks and handling various responsibilities until he started feeling fatigued. Needing a break, he contemplated heading to the library. As he considered this, thoughts of the note crossed his mind.
Honestly, he wasn't keen on expecting another reply. After all, why would anyone bother responding to such seemingly trivial notes? Yet, despite this skepticism, a part of him felt an undeniable urge to check if there was indeed a reply waiting for him.
Soobin entered the quiet library, grateful for the peaceful atmosphere amidst his hectic day. The librarian acknowledged him with a nod before returning to her book. Soobin reciprocated with a respectful bow and a warm smile before continuing on his quest.
His mind drifted to the note he had left in the book earlier, almost expecting not to find any response. Yet, there was a faint curiosity deep within him—a curiosity that drew him back to the same bookshelf where he had left the note.
Among the rows of books, he found the familiar volume and carefully pulled it out. Sure enough, tucked between its pages was a note, waiting patiently to be read. Soobin felt a mixture of surprise and intrigue as he carried the book to a nearby table, eager to discover what words awaited him this time.
Sitting down, he unfolded the note and began to read, curious to learn more about the person who had taken the time to respond to his initial message.
After reading the note, he quickly started writing a reply:
"Hi! First of all, I apologize for not replying sooner. Work has kept me incredibly busy, and I haven't had a chance to visit the library until now. Anyway, I received your note, which I suppose can be considered a fair trade.
Let's talk about your friends! You're fortunate to have them in your life. They truly care about you. People come and go in our lives, but those who stay have a special significance. Treasure your friends who support you through every phase.
I don't have parents anymore, but I'm lucky to have a cousin who cares deeply for me. No matter how much I try to push him away, he always comes back. That's how I learned he'll be there for me forever. Think about that and stick with your friends. They're all you have.
Consider me a friend too! Feel free to write to me whenever you want. I'll be glad to talk to you. I sense you're dealing with family issues; hang in there. Things will improve with time.
Enjoy your college life with your friends. These days are precious; cherish them. Don't worry about the future now; deal with it later.
I hope you find this note. Have you read it yet? I'll check tomorrow to see.
Goodbye!"
With that, Soobin placed the note back in the book and returned to his work.
-
During lunchtime, Beomgyu excused himself to visit the library. His mind was swirling with thoughts about why the person hadn't replied yet. Did they perceive him as useless or pathetic? Were they mocking him behind those notes? These questions nagged at him as he pulled out the book, nearly startling himself when he found another note waiting inside. A smile involuntarily crept onto his face as he eagerly unfolded and began reading it.
After finishing the note, he paused to reflect. He realized anew how fortunate he was to have friends like Taehyun and Hueningkai in his life. Their unwavering support through his ups and downs meant everything to him. He resolved to cherish their friendship even more deeply, vowing to never let them go. As the note suggested, they were his lifeline, always attuned to his emotions and ready to stand by him. Remembering the countless moments they spent together from middle school through high school, he felt a tear slip down his cheek. Quickly wiping it away, he swallowed his emotions, not wanting others in the library to see him cry. His heart swelled with affection and gratitude towards his friends. He loved them dearly and couldn't imagine a life without their steadfast presence.
-
Days passed swiftly for the boys, who immersed themselves in college studies, extracurricular activities like their music band and the dance club, and the ongoing search for a suitable place to live together.
Soobin continued diligently in his role as the college accountant, managing the responsibilities well as there was no immediate replacement found by the principal. Grateful for the opportunity, Soobin was allowed to be registered in the college's third year, pending a formality test, which enabled him to borrow syllabus books from the library for self-study. Spending most of his time in the accounts office and library, Soobin kept a low profile about his personal circumstances, preferring not to elaborate when recognized as "the accountant." He maintained his anonymity with a mask, relieved that Jayhoon's varied departments kept him away from the music and dance clubs he had little interest in.
Meanwhile, Yeonjun thrived in his role at the convenience store, where work mostly ran smoothly despite occasional fatigue. He maintained a lively social life, staying connected with many friends from middle school. Lee Chan, but everyone called him Dino, one of his closest friends, occasionally covered shifts for Soobin, providing both Yeonjun and Dino with opportunities to catch up on each other's lives. Their bond remained strong amidst their respective busy schedules and commitments.
Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Hueningkai were thoroughly enjoying their college experience. Their classes went smoothly, and they quickly made friends with their classmates, who shared their friendly vibes. Taehyun and Hueningkai, in particular, found kindred spirits and made friends easily, especially bonding with Yeonjun in the dance club where they danced and socialized together with great enthusiasm.
Despite his reserved nature, Beomgyu felt surprisingly comfortable around Yeonjun, finding it easy to open up to him. However, he still maintained his guard up when it came to revealing everything about himself to anyone other than Taehyun or Kai. His walls remained intact.
In the music club, they formed a band with two other classmates, Jay and Heeseung. The bond between them was strong, and their camaraderie helped them achieve the cohesion needed for a successful band. Heeseung, observant of Beomgyu's reserved nature, took the initiative to slowly befriend him, which Beomgyu deeply appreciated. Heeseung proved to be caring and supportive, becoming a valuable friend to Beomgyu.
The five of them spent much of their time in the music club room, practicing and refining their music. Beomgyu would often find excuses to visit the library to read the notes he had received. Though Taehyun and Kai noticed a change in Beomgyu's behavior, they respected his privacy, understanding that if Beomgyu wanted to share something with them, he would do so in his own time. They patiently awaited his readiness to confide in them.
It sounds like Beomgyu and Soobin have formed an unexpected but meaningful connection through their notes. Beomgyu finds solace in sharing his worries with someone who doesn't judge him, while Soobin appreciates having a friend, even if it's a stranger for now, with whom he can share his thoughts and feelings.
Beomgyu enjoys teasing Soobin playfully in his replies, knowing it will elicit a response, perhaps a lengthy one, from Soobin. Despite this banter, their exchange seems to bring comfort to both of them. Soobin finds himself eager to engage in these conversations and wishes he could meet Beomgyu in person to put a face to the words that have brought him solace.
Their correspondence reflects a budding friendship that transcends the usual boundaries of college acquaintanceship, offering mutual support and understanding without the constraints of revealing personal identities or academic details.
-
A month had passed, and Beomgyu reflected on how much his life had changed since returning to Daegu, his hometown. Leaving Seoul had been a deliberate choice, driven solely by his need to distance himself from his parents. His decision echoed that of his grandfather, who had moved to Seoul when Beomgyu's father was just ten years old, selling off everything they owned in Daegu. Beomgyu, having never visited Daegu before this return, now found himself rediscovering his roots and navigating a different phase of life.
But it wasn't the place that changed everything for Beomgyu; it was the anonymous person with whom he shared almost everything, yet divulged nothing about himself. He held back his name, his occupation, and all personal details. Despite this secrecy, he felt a strong desire to meet this person face-to-face. Fear held him back, wary of opening himself up and potentially getting hurt again by trusting someone new. However, against his usual instincts, he found himself leaning towards taking the risk, eager to explore the possibility of a new friendship.
Unable to contain his excitement any longer, Beomgyu finally confided in Taehyun and Hueningkai about the anonymous stranger he had been exchanging notes with. This revelation completely surprised them, as they never expected Beomgyu to entertain the idea of making new friends, knowing his reluctance. Despite their initial shock, they were genuinely pleased to witness this positive change in him. They took every opportunity to tease him whenever he eagerly rushed to what he jokingly referred to as the "haunted place" to read the notes. Hueningkai, in particular, kept encouraging Beomgyu to take the next step and meet the person in real life soon.
Today, Beomgyu made a decision to get to know the anonymous stranger in person. With the note he had painstakingly written the previous night, he placed it carefully in the book and headed to the music club. The five of them had been busy rehearsing for the upcoming freshman party, where their newly formed band was set to perform. They had quickly impressed their music coach Jihoon with their musical talents and were entrusted with both the opening and closing performances for the event.
-
Soobin was running late for college after studying late into the night. Yeonjun had left a note saying he could arrive later and that Yeonjun would handle any issues. As he neared the college building, he heard shouting and saw a scuffle among some boys. Walking closer, he spotted a familiar backpack.
"Oh no, this backpack?" Soobin murmured, turning toward the commotion.
When he approached, the boys dispersed, leaving behind a figure on the ground, bloodied and bruised.
"Jayhoon!" Soobin rushed to his side. Jayhoon whimpered in pain, his face and shirt marked with blood and dirt. Soobin cradled his head, applying pressure to a bleeding wound on Jayhoon's forehead. Jayhoon struggled to breathe.
"Jayhoon-ah, are you alright? You're bleeding. We need to get you to a hospital. Should I call Dad? Or Yeonjun hyung?" Soobin's words came out fast but gentle.
"No, don't tell Dad. I'm... I'm fine. You can go," Jayhoon managed to say weakly.
"You're not fine! Look at you," Soobin protested, but was interrupted by two boys rushing over.
"Oh my god, Jayhoon! Sorry we're late. Let's get you back to the dorm and take care of that," one of them said, helping Jayhoon up while the other supported him.
"I'm okay, really. But please, don't involve Dad," Jayhoon insisted, sounding distant, as they walked away.
Concerned, Soobin watched them leave and made a mental note to figure out what had happened, then headed towards the college.
After finishing his office tasks, Soobin headed towards the library. His steps seemed almost automatic, leading him straight to his destination. Without conscious thought, he would find himself standing before the familiar rack, the myriad of other books blurring into obscurity. He retrieved the note and headed to the secluded corner table where he always sat.
"Hi!! I hope you're doing well. Okay, I had to tell you about this incident. Remember I told you about me and my friends trying to make a special cake with a recipe my friend found on some random cooking website? Well, we were attempting it yesterday. At first, they both messed up the batter, pouring in every other ingredient from the cabinet until it became rock solid. So, I added water, and naturally, my hand slipped, turning it all into liquid. Despite this, we tried baking it. After putting the batter in the oven, we got so engrossed in playing video games that we forgot about the cake! When we smelled something burning, we checked the oven-it was literally on fire. The cake was long gone. Still, we decided to at least taste the masterpiece we were working on. Our Mr. Brain decided to take the first bite only to spit it out. Luckily, the burnt cake revealed a mistake discovered by Mr. Plushie we used salt instead of sugar T_T
But I enjoyed the time I spent with them, the chaos we created, and our impromptu meal of bread and jam. It's always fun to be around them. I hope I can spend time with you too.
Hey! Can we meet?
You know, I never thought I would be asking this because I've had rough experiences making new friends in the past. But when I think about you, I don't know why, but I want to see you, hear you tell me all those things in person, in your voice.
Can we meet, please?
Or at least exchange numbers? I want to hear your voice.
But only if you are comfortable with it.
I'll wait for your note. Bye!"
-
Soobin left the library, the note clutched tightly in his hand. This time, he hadn't left a reply. His mind was consumed by the request his new friend had made. With his work finished, he decided to leave early. He sent Yeonjun a quick text about heading to the convenience store and then made his way out of the college.
The note played on a loop in his mind, making it impossible to concentrate. He stood at the counter, staring into space, lost in thought.
"Hey! You okay?" A hand waved in front of his face, jolting him back to reality.
"I'm so sorry. Wh-" he began, reaching for the barcode scanner. He stopped mid-action when he saw who was standing there.
"Oh! Seokmin hyung! You're back. Hi!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up at the sight of Seokmin, whose smile was brighter than the sun outside.
"Yes! I came back last night. How are you doing? You look distracted," Seokmin said, moving around the counter to envelop Soobin in a warm hug. Soobin melted into the embrace, holding on tightly.
Seokmin was the grandson of the convenience store owner. Though he lived in Japan due to his father's business, Seokmin had always been attached to his grandfather, spending much of his childhood under his care. After graduating, he returned to live with his grandfather and decided to open a café next to the convenience store, driven by his love for brewing and baking.He had met Soobin and Yeonjun three weeks ago, and they had quickly become close friends. Last week, Seokmin traveled to Japan to acquire the best equipment for his café. Now, he was back, much to Soobin's delight.
Soobin pulled away from the hug, doing his best to muster a convincing smile. However, Seokmin was quick to notice the underlying concern.
"What's bothering you, Soobin? You know you can always talk to me, right?" Seokmin said, gently squeezing his shoulders.
Soobin gave a small, reassuring smile and nodded. "I know, hyung. Really, it's nothing. Just something I haven't quite figured out yet. But if I need help, I'll definitely come to you."
"Alright, if you say so. Just remember, I'm always here for you. And by the way, you guys can leave early today. I'm free, so I'll look after the store," Seokmin said with a wink before leaving the store, humming a soft melody.
Soobin always felt at ease with Seokmin around. Conversations with him flowed naturally, and he could talk about anything. He was grateful to have found an elder brother in Seokmin. While he loved Yeonjun deeply, he cherished the genuine love and affection he received from Seokmin. Seokmin was an easygoing person, always caring for others, and could often be seen chatting with every puppy he encountered on the street. Though introverted, he became the most vibrant extrovert around those he trusted. His affection for the people he cared about drew Soobin closer to him, as he had always craved love and affection.
Whenever they had free time, Seokmin would regale Soobin and Yeonjun with stories of his time in Japan-his college life, midnight strolls, skipping classes to visit his favorite puppy shelter, pranking others with his friends, his admiration for a senior American boy, and how he joined the crafting club after college hours at different university just because that American boy was the mentor, despite having a business major.
As Seokmin left the store, Soobin's attention returned to the note. What was he going to do? More importantly, what was he supposed to do? Though he never admitted it, this was his greatest fear. He dreaded his friend discovering the truth about his life, his struggles, and what he had been through. What if his friend abandoned him, unable to accept the reality of who Soobin was and what he had failed to achieve? He couldn't bear the thought of another person walking out of his life, not after how much his new friend's presence had made his survival more bearable.
Soobin knew his new friend was a student, given the frequent complaints about teachers and exhausting projects. But Soobin wasn't a typical student. In fact, no one even considered him one anymore. Everyone thought he was merely an accountant, hastily hired out of desperation for money. People tend to see something slightly unusual and quickly spin rumors around it. Unfortunately, Soobin had become a topic of conversation among the students when they discovered he was the college accountant. They were shocked to see such a young man working at a college where he should have been preparing for his graduation.
Once again, Soobin was lost in his thoughts when Yeonjun entered the store with Dino in tow.
"Yo, Binnie! What's up?" Yeonjun beamed.
No response.
Yeonjun and Dino exchanged confused glances before looking back at Soobin.
"Earth to Soobin," Dino said, shaking him gently by the shoulders.
"Oh! Hyung, you guys are here," Soobin replied hesitantly.
"Alright, Binnie, cut the crap. What's going on?" Yeonjun said, giving him a serious look.
The words caught in Soobin's throat. He knew he couldn't hide anything from Yeonjun, no matter how hard he tried. He had mentioned to Yeonjun that he was communicating with someone through notes, and like any other older brother, Yeonjun was happy for him. Sometimes he would accompany Soobin to the library but never pried into their conversations, respecting Soobin's personal space.
Soobin pulled the note from the pocket of his work suit and handed it to Yeonjun, who gave him a puzzled look before unfolding it. Meanwhile, Dino took over the counter.
After reading the note, Yeonjun looked at Soobin with a soft smile. He handed the note back and moved closer, mindful of the customers in the store.
"So, when are you planning to meet him? You already gave him your number, right?" Yeonjun asked in a teasing tone.
Soobin looked down at the floor. "I'm not sure, hyung. I'm scared to show him my real side. You know how people at college have framed me," he said, fidgeting with his fingers.
Yeonjun took a step closer and wrapped an arm around Soobin's shoulder. "Binnie, you don't need to worry about that. They don't know you. You're not doing anything wrong. Is it bad to work at a young age to secure a safe future for yourself? If you know you're doing the right thing, you don't need to care about what others say or think. Let them entertain themselves," Yeonjun said, his comforting smile never leaving his lips.
"But what if... what if he's one of them? I don't think I could handle that," Soobin said, his worry evident.
"Then you should definitely meet him and find out. And if he is one of them, just tell me. I'll handle it and teach him a good lesson," Yeonjun said, clenching his fist and frowning, trying to look intimidating but only managing to look adorable. Soobin laughed at his attempt.
"Don't worry too much about it, Soobin. From what you've told me about how he talks, he seems like a good guy. It will go well. Trust me," Yeonjun reassured him.
"Okay, hyung. If you say so. I'll think about it," Soobin replied.
By this time, all the customers had left the store and Dino joined them. "What's the tea?" he asked, glancing curiously at the brothers.
"Boys! I got pizza!" They all turned their heads towards the door in unison at the familiar voice.
Seokmin stood there with his signature smile, holding boxes of pizza.
After college ended, students began collecting their belongings and leaving the classroom. The three boys were also preparing to leave, but Beomgyu was curious to know whether his new friend had taken the note yet. Had he left a reply? Were they going to meet soon? His curiosity got the best of him.
Beomgyu turned to his friends. "Hey! You guys go ahead. I need to swing by the library really quickly. I'll see you at the parking lot." Without waiting for their reply, he made his way toward the library. Taehyun and Hueningkai giggled as they watched their best friend eagerly hop on his way.
The closer he got to the library, the more curious and nervous he became. In the blink of an eye, he found himself staring at the one book he was most familiar with. His palms were sweating from anxiety. "Why am I so nervous? It's just a note from my friend," he told himself as he pulled out the book.
To say Beomgyu was heartbroken after not finding a note would be an understatement. He wasn't expecting this. Not even a reply? He knew his friend had read and taken the note since the book was now empty. He still turned the pages three times, hoping he had missed it, but there was no note. Disappointed, he left the book in its place and made his way out of the library. Each step felt heavier, breaking his heart even more. Was the past repeating itself? Did he not deserve to have another friend or someone to share his life with?
"What if he was offended by my request? What if he never wants to talk to me again? What if he never leaves a note again?" All these 'what if' questions swirled in his mind, burdening him as he walked toward the parking lot.
Seeing their best friend walking with his head down and taking heavy steps, Taehyun and Hueningkai immediately knew something was off. They didn't question him. The three friends got in the car and drove away from the college in silence.
"You know you can talk to us. We're all ears," Taehyun said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze."Only if you're paying for the ice cream," Beomgyu replied, turning towards him with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
-
The three friends stopped at a convenience store on their way home to get ice cream. As they devoured their treats, Beomgyu finally opened up about why he was so upset.
"It's just... I didn't get a note back from my friend," Beomgyu confessed, his voice tinged with disappointment.
Taehyun looked at him sympathetically. "Maybe he just didn't have time to write back today. Don't jump to conclusions, Gyu."
Hueningkai nodded in agreement. "Yeah, maybe something came up. Give it some time."
Beomgyu sighed, staring at his half-eaten ice cream. "But he took the note. And he always leaves a reply. I shouldn't have asked him to meet," he said, licking the last drop of ice cream from the stick.
Taehyun placed a reassuring hand on Beomgyu's shoulder. "Sometimes people need time to process things. Give him a chance to respond. You did nothing wrong."
Hueningkai smiled. "And if he doesn't reply, it's his loss. You're a great friend, Gyu."
Beomgyu smiled at his friends, grateful for their efforts to keep him positive and free from guilt.
After dropping his friends off at their respective homes, Beomgyu drove towards his own apartment. His mind remained preoccupied with thoughts about the note and his friend, unable to shake the lingering worry.
After arriving at his apartment, Beomgyu was met with an unexpected sight. All of his belongings had been thrown out, scattered haphazardly in front of his door. He stood there, unable to process what was happening.
He started looking around, and when he reached for the door, he found it was locked.
"Who the fu-" Beomgyu started, his voice tense with anger, but he was cut off by a voice coming from the stairs.
"I've had enough of you, Beomgyu. This is the last straw. Collect your stuff and get out of here," his landlord, Mr. Kim, spoke angrily as he ascended the stairs.
Beomgyu's heart sank as he stared at the mess of his belongings strewn across the hallway.
He looked at his landlord with disbelief. "But what's wrong? Why are you kicking me out? I've never been late with rent!" Beomgyu exclaimed, his voice filled with confusion and frustration.
Mr. Kim paused midway down the stairs, turning to face Beomgyu with a hardened expression. "Beomgyu, you barely stay here. Always coming in late at night, causing disturbances. I've had complaints from neighbours. This is a quiet building, and decent families live here. You could be a bad impression on their children," he accused, gesturing towards the scattered belongings. "I've warned you multiple times. I can't have this anymore."
Beomgyu's mind raced, trying to process the sudden turn of events. "Please, Mr. Kim, there must be some misunderstanding. I can fix whatever issues there are. Just give me a chance," he pleaded desperately, his voice cracking with emotion.
Mr. Kim remained unmoved, shaking his head firmly. "I've made my decision. You have until tomorrow morning to vacate," he reiterated, then turned and continued down the stairs, leaving Beomgyu standing in disbelief outside his own apartment.
This accusation made Beomgyu furious. "You don't have to wait until morning. I'm leaving right now!" he shouted angrily at his landlord, frustration and hurt evident in his voice. Without waiting for a response, he began hastily collecting his scattered belongings.
Beomgyu stuffed all his belongings into the back of his car, carefully placing fragile items in the backseat and his guitar on the passenger seat. He got into the car, gripping the steering wheel tightly, and finally let out a loud, frustrated scream that he had kept bottled up for so long.
"FUCK!!" he shouted, the release of emotion echoing in the car.
As if they had a telepathic connection, Beomgyu's phone rang with a call from Taehyun.He glanced at his screen. "Not now, please!" he groaned inwardly, but he knew ignoring the call might prompt both his friends to come to him. Releasing a long sigh, he answered the phone.
"Yes?" he responded wearily.
"Did you-Beomgyu? What happened? You don't sound good-" Taehyun's voice was filled with concern.
"I'm fine, Taehyun! What were you say-" Beomgyu was cut off by loud banging on his car window. He turned to see his landlord knocking with a stern and frustrated look on his face.
Rolling down the window, Beomgyu heard the landlord shout, "You can't stay in the parking lot. Get out!" and then storm off.
Anger boiled within Beomgyu, but he remembered Taehyun was still on the phone. He clicked his teeth in annoyance.
"Taehyun-ah! I-"
"Get your ass here, Beomgyu, right now!" Taehyun commanded.
"But I'm too tired to drive back."
"So you want me to come get you?"
"Ugh! Fine!! I'm coming." With that, he tossed his phone onto the passenger seat next to his guitar and started driving towards his friends' place.
"Great! Can this day get any worse?"
—
The next morning, the three friends were in their dance club, looking exhausted, especially Beomgyu. His frustration was palpable. Noticing this, Yeonjun decided to approach them. He didn't want to pry, but his bond with them had grown so strong that he felt compelled to ask.
Yeonjun walked over, concern etched on his face. "Hey, guys. You all look like you barely slept," he said, his eyes lingering on Beomgyu. "Is everything okay?"
Taehyun glanced at Beomgyu before replying, "It's been a rough night, hyung."
Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, you could say that."
Yeonjun tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Beomgyu hesitated, then nodded. "I got kicked out of my apartment last night. The landlord threw all my stuff out and accused me of things I didn't do. It's been a nightmare."
Yeonjun's eyes widened in surprise. "What? That's terrible! Where did you stay?"
"I went to Taehyun and Hueningkai's place," Beomgyu replied. "But their apartment is very small, and with all our belongings, it's impossible to adjust. Plus, Hueningkai's sister is also staying with them, and she's in high school."
Yeonjun looked at them, a hint of frustration in his voice. "You guys should have told me this before."
The friends exchanged confused glances.
Yeonjun smiled warmly. "I'm currently living with my cousin at my uncle's place, but my own house, which is more than enough for all of you, is available. It's good that you can stay there. The house will be maintained, and you all can live easily. My cousin used to come by twice every five months to clean up, and most of our belongings are with my mother in Seoul. So, there's plenty of room for your stuff."
Relief washed over Beomgyu's face. "Really, hyung? That's incredibly generous of you."
Taehyun and Hueningkai nodded in agreement. "Thank you, hyung. We didn't want to impose," Taehyun said.
Yeonjun smiled at his friends. "You can shift tomorrow. I'll bring you the keys after college, and if you need any help, I can get some hands from my friends."
The three friends looked at each other, relief and gratitude clear on their faces. Beomgyu was the first to speak. "Thank you so much, hyung. You don't know how much this means to us."
Taehyun nodded in agreement. "Yeah, hyung. We're really grateful."
Hueningkai added, "It's a huge help. We'll make sure to take good care of the place."
Yeonjun waved off their thanks with a smile. "No need to thank me. That's what friends are for. Now, let's get through this practice, and we'll sort everything out afterward."
***
Chapter Text
Soobin was still stuck with that note. He didn't know what to do. Yesterday, during their little pizza party, they told Seokmin about it. Seokmin's words were still fresh in his mind: "You should reply to your friend and talk to them. At least share contacts. There's no harm in this, and if you don't find it comfortable, you can tell your friend and stop everything. But without talking, you won't know what type of person he is, and you might end up losing a great friend."
The words kept echoing in Soobin's head as he sat at his usual spot in the library, staring at the blank note in front of him. He picked up his pen, hesitated, and then began to write.
I hope this note finds you well. I'm sorry for breaking our first rule of friendship by ghosting you. I needed some time to gather my thoughts. I have always found it difficult to approach people and talk to them. So, you asking me to meet up caught me off guard. We can chat, maybe
Here's my number: xxx-xxx-xxxx. You can text me
Soobin read through the note a few times, his heart pounding in his chest. He folded it carefully and slipped it into the book. With a deep breath, he placed the book back on the shelf, hoping his friend would see it soon.
As he walked out of the library, he couldn't help but feel a mix of anxiety and excitement. What if Seokmin was right? What if he ended up making a great friend?
The uncertainty was nerve-wracking, but he knew he had to take that step. Only time would tell how things would unfold.
After finishing his accounts work, Soobin left for the store. Yeonjun told him that he urgently needed to go home but would be back on time at the store.
Yeonjun returned faster than Soobin expected. As they settled back into the store, Soobin couldn't help but ask, "Hyung, why did you have to rush home so urgently earlier?"
Yeonjun smiled warmly. "Oh, it's about three students from my dance class. They're in urgent need of a place to stay, and I suggested my old house. I went to grab the keys because I'll give them to them after college. They're actually from my high school, so I couldn't help but want to help them out."
Soobin nodded understandingly. "That's really kind of you, hyung. Always looking out for others."
Yeonjun chuckled. "Well, I try. Besides, they're good kids, and I felt happy knowing that I could actually help them."
"So, how did you manage to befriend them so quickly?" Soobin asked curiously.
Yeonjun grinned. "Oh, you know me. I guess I have a way with people from my old school. It didn't take long to click with them."
Soobin teased with a playful smirk, "Always the caring hyung, aren't you?"
Yeonjun laughed. "Someone's got to keep things interesting around here, right?"
As they continued chatting, Soobin couldn't shake the nervous excitement about the note he had left earlier. He hoped his friend would respond soon, wondering how their conversation would unfold.
-
A week passed, and it took the three friends and Hueningkai's sister that long to shift all their belongings to Yeonjun's place. Although Yeonjun had offered to help, they had refused, feeling that he had already done more than enough by providing them a place to live without rent. They were determined to repay his kindness in some way.
So, the three friends and Hueningkai's sister took it upon themselves to handle the move. They spent days loading their belongings into Beomgyu's car and transporting them to their new home. It was a tiring process, but they were resolute.
During this time, Yeonjun would occasionally check in on them, offering refreshments and moral support. "Are you sure you don't need any help?" he would ask, to which they would always reply with grateful smiles, "No, hyung, we've got it. Thank you so much."
Finally, after countless trips back and forth, they had moved the last of their things. Beomgyu, Taehyun, Hueningkai, and his sister stood in the living room of their new home, looking around at the boxes and bags that filled the space.
"We did it," Taehyun said, dropping onto the couch with a sigh of relief.
Hueningkai nodded, "Yeah, and now we have a place we can really call home."
Beomgyu smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment. "Thanks to Yeonjun hyung. We'll definitely find a way to repay his kindness."
Hueningkai's sister chimed in, "And we'll make sure this place stays as nice as it is. It's the least we can do."
As they settled in, the friends couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for Yeonjun's generosity. They knew that despite the challenges, they had found a supportive and caring community to be a part of.
It had also been a week since Beomgyu last visited the library. He wasn't expecting anything, especially after not receiving a note from his friend the previous week. Yet, a small flicker of hope still lingered in the corner of his heart, wishing he might get to talk to his friend again.
The exhausting process of moving had drained him completely. Each day was filled with carrying boxes and making countless trips, leaving him utterly spent. Now that they had finally settled into their new place, Beomgyu was still recovering from the fatigue. He was so tired that he often found himself dozing off during lectures, unable to keep his eyes open.
One afternoon, after another long day, Beomgyu slumped into his seat in the classroom, barely able to keep his head up. Taehyun and Hueningkai exchanged worried glances.
"You okay, Gyu?" Taehyun asked, nudging him gently.
Beomgyu rubbed his eyes and sighed, "Just tired, that's all. This moving thing has really taken it out of me."
Hueningkai patted his back. "We've already moved in, so now you can get some rest."
Beomgyu nodded, but he couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that had settled in his chest. He didn't have the energy to visit the library, and the thought of not finding a note from his friend again made him even more reluctant to go.
"I just don't want to be more upset if there's nothing there," Beomgyu admitted softly, staring at the desk in front of him.
Taehyun gave him a reassuring smile. "Maybe you should take a break and go to the library after the classes are over. Who knows? You might find something this time."
"Yeah," Hueningkai agreed. "A little hope never hurts."
Beomgyu managed a small smile. "Maybe. We'll see."
Now that they were finally settled into their new home, Beomgyu tried to keep his spirits up, but the exhaustion weighed heavily on him. Despite the physical and emotional fatigue, the tiny spark of hope kept him going, urging him to check the library one more time.
—
It had also been a week since Soobin started visiting the library daily, checking in every other hour. Each time he entered, his heart raced with the hope that his friend might have taken the note. But each time, he was met with disappointment as the note remained tucked safely in the book, untouched.
He almost convinced himself that he was never going to hear from his friend again. Hell! They hadn't even met once. They didn't know each other's names or anything else about each other. The anonymity that once felt exciting now felt like a barrier, an insurmountable wall keeping them apart.
If it hadn't been for Yeonjun and Seokmin, Soobin would have given up all hope of reconnecting with his friend. They continuously encouraged him not to lose faith and to keep trying, reminding him that he might regret giving up so easily. Their unwavering support was the only reason he still went to the library, day after day, despite the growing disappointment.
Summoning all the courage and hope left, Soobin resolved that this would be his final visit to the library in hopes of hearing from his mysterious friend. It had been a week already, and lingering any longer felt like an exercise in futility. Though they had never met nor exchanged names, Soobin felt a profound connection with this unseen confidant through the stories they shared. The absence of any response was becoming an intolerable weight on his heart.
Though he had already frequented the library five times since morning, he dragged his feet there one last time. The faint ember of hope had long since been extinguished, but still, he found himself standing before the bookshelf where the book lay nestled among others. Its position was unchanged from the last hour, a silent testament to its neglect. With a sinking heart, he pulled out the book and opened it, only to find his disappointment deepening.
The note was still there, untouched. The crumpling showed it had been opened multiple times, but Soobin knew he was the only one who had done that. He took out the note, crumpled it in his hand, and let it fall to the floor like a discarded memory.
With profound disappointment and sadness, he exited the library. "This is it," he thought. "The end of something that never even began." But it was okay, he told himself. After all, he was accustomed to this cycle. People came into his life, made him feel loved and happy, and then vanished. It was as if he were cursed, destined to lose everyone he held dear, one by one. He had lost his family, his loved ones-all one by one. This was just a friend, an anonymous soul he knew nothing about. So it wasn't a big deal. "It's okay," he assured himself, swallowing the lump in his throat and steeling himself against the tears that threatened to fall.
As he exited the library, Soobin bumped into a boy rushing inside. He almost lost his balance, but the boy's firm grip steadied him. Before Soobin could utter a word of thanks, the boy had already dashed off, muttering a string of apologies. He glanced in the direction the boy ran, but the stranger had vanished as quickly as he had appeared, like a fleeting shadow.
With a sigh, Soobin turned back and took slow, measured steps away from the library. The college was nearly empty, its halls echoing with the silence of the day's end.
—
As the college day ended, Beomgyu handed his backpack to his friends and sprinted toward the library, his heart pounding with a glimmer of hope for an update from his friend. He weaved through the throngs of students rushing to leave, his feet barely touching the ground as he ascended the stairs and bolted towards his destination.
In his haste, he collided with a tall boy at the library entrance. Knowing the fault was his, Beomgyu wanted to apologize properly, but the urgency of the moment left him with no time to spare. He muttered a quick string of apologies and sped off, determined not to be locked inside the college grounds.
Beomgyu stood in front of the shelf, breathing heavily. One hand rested on his knee, the other clutching his stomach as his eyes frantically scanned the rows of books, desperately searching for the familiar volume.
Soon, his eyes twinkled when the familiar book came into view. In his excitement, he hastily pulled it out, accidentally dislodging a couple of other books that scattered around his feet. He groaned in frustration but eventually knelt down to pick them up. As he gathered the fallen books, he noticed a crumpled piece of paper beneath one of them. Carefully, he retrieved it, unfolding and pressing it between his palms to smooth out the wrinkles.
He sighed in relief, recognising the familiar writing, and a pleased smile crept across his lips. Quickly, he placed the books back on the shelf and, holding the note firmly in his hand, ran out of the library.
He reached the parking lot and saw his friends waiting for him. As soon as they noticed Beomgyu's presence, they both waved eagerly. Beomgyu ran towards them, the smile never leaving his lips. Holding the note between his fingers, he waved it triumphantly at them. His friends exchanged knowing glances, their expressions clearly saying, "We told you so." With a sense of renewed hope and camaraderie, they loaded themselves into the car and drove away, the weight of uncertainty lifting with each passing mile.
—
As Soobin reached the road leading to the convenience store, he decided to visit Seokmin at his café, knowing that Yeonjun was going to take some time to arrive. Despite telling himself not to think about his friend, his thoughts betrayed him. All the way from college to the café, his mind was consumed with thoughts of the mysterious stranger. How could someone he had never met, someone completely anonymous, occupy his mind so easily? He couldn't figure it out.
As Soobin entered the café, he was greeted by the sight of Seokmin absorbed in his work, sketching one of the walls. Paintbrushes, a color palette, and bottles of paint were strewn across the floor. Despite the apron draped over him, Seokmin was speckled with every hue imaginable, from head to toe. The air was thick with the pungent aroma of fresh paint. Meanwhile, a few workers were busy assembling furniture in the far corner of the café.
Soobin was lost in the vibrant transformation of the café when he sensed someone beside him. Turning, he saw Seokmin wiping his hands with a tissue.
"Soobin! Hi! What brought you here today?" Seokmin chimed, tossing the tissue away.
Seokmin was smiling brightly, a sight that always brought a sense of comfort and warmth to Soobin. No matter the time or place, Seokmin was always so cheerful and happy.
Soobin didn't reply but went to sit on one of the couches placed near the glass door that opened to a small garden created by Seokmin. He remembered bringing and planting some daisies there.
Seokmin frowned at Soobin's behavior but sensed something was off. He removed his now colorful apron, which was once a neat white. Grabbing two packets of juice, he sat beside Soobin and offered him one.
Soobin took the juice packet but began to play with its edges, leaning back on the couch and releasing a long sigh.
"What's bothering you, Soobin? You don't look fine, huh?" Seokmin asked carefully.
Soobin glanced at him, closed his eyes for a moment, then straightened his back and sat upright, still fidgeting with the juice packet.
"Stop this. You'll spill the juice," Seokmin said, lightly hitting his hand.
Soobin let out a small, weary laugh and sighed. "It's just... I went to the library again today."
Seokmin's expression softened with understanding. "And? Any luck?"
"No," Soobin replied, his voice tinged with disappointment. "The note was still there, untouched. I don't think I'll ever hear from my friend again."
Seokmin patted Soobin's shoulder. "Hey, don't lose hope. Maybe they just need more time. You never know what someone might be going through.”
"I have no hope left, hyung. I don't think it even makes any sense anymore," Soobin said, lowering his head. "Maybe... maybe he doesn't want to see me anymore. Or maybe he found out who I am. In that case, he would never want to see me."
Seokmin shook his head. "Don't think like that, Soobin. You don't know what the reason is. Jumping to conclusions will only make you feel worse. Give it some time."
Soobin sighed again. "But how much time? It's been a week. I don't want to keep holding on to something that might never happen."
Seokmin's smile remained gentle. "Sometimes, the best things happen when you least expect them. Just don't give up on yourself, okay?”
"Seokminie hyung? Have you seen Soob—" a curious Yeonjun came running into the café, cutting himself off when he caught sight of the boy he was looking for.
"Soobin, there you are!" Yeonjun exclaimed, walking over quickly. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
Soobin managed a small smile. "Sorry, Yeonjun hyung. I just needed some time to think."
Yeonjun nodded, understanding. "It's okay. I went to the store and you weren't there.So, I just got worried."
Seokmin patted Soobin's shoulder. "He's just having a tough time. But he'll get through this, right, Soobin?"
Soobin nodded slowly, feeling a bit more reassured with his friends by his side.
By looking at Soobin's face, Yeonjun figured out that things with his friend were not going as he had hoped. Soobin must be hurt; Yeonjun could tell from the experience of spending their growing days together.
"Soobin," Yeonjun began gently, "do you want to talk about it?"
Soobin sighed, still fidgeting with the juice packet. "I don't know if there's anything left to say, hyung. I just... I don't think he wants to see me anymore."
Yeonjun exchanged a look with Seokmin, who nodded in silent understanding. "You can't give up, Soobin. Sometimes things take time. Maybe he just needs a little more time."
Seokmin added, "And we're here for you, no matter what. Don't forget that."
Soobin felt a small flicker of hope reignite within him, bolstered by the unwavering support of his friends.
They spent some time with Seokmin in the café, the atmosphere lightening as they chatted and enjoyed each other’s company. Sensing that Soobin needed a distraction, Seokmin suggested a change of pace.
"Hey, how about we mix things up a bit? I could use some help with the sketching work here," Seokmin proposed. "It might be a good way for Soobin to take his mind off things for a while."
Yeonjun looked at Soobin, who was still visibly troubled but seemed to appreciate the shift in focus. "What do you say, Soobin? It could be fun."
Soobin nodded slowly, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, that sounds good. Anything to get my mind off... everything."
Seokmin handed Soobin a clean apron and led them to the section of the café where the sketching was in progress. As they worked together, the conversation flowed more easily, and Soobin found himself momentarily immersed in the task, the weight of his worries easing just a bit.
As Seokmin observed Soobin becoming more engaged and visibly enjoying the sketching work, a thought struck him. Determined to make the day even better for his friends, he quickly texted his grandfather, asking him to give the brothers the day off and to bring some snacks to the café.
In his message, Seokmin expressed his hope that his grandfather could join them for a bit, emphasizing how much it would mean to him. Seokmin's grandfather, deeply devoted to his grandson, was always eager to fulfill his requests. He had always been smitten by Seokmin’s love and dedication. After all, it was Seokmin who had chosen to return to his grandfather’s modest home, leaving behind a life of comfort and luxury, simply to be with the person who mattered most to him.
Seokmin's grandfather, touched by the request, agreed with a warm heart and promised to bring a selection of snacks and join them as soon as he could.
As evening fell, the café was bathed in the warm glow of lamps, creating a cozy atmosphere. The boys continued to work together, their laughter and conversation blending with the gentle hum of the café. Seokmin’s grandfather joined them, bringing an assortment of snacks and a comforting presence.
The old man, a retired army veteran with a stern exterior, had always been perceived as aloof by those who didn’t know him well. His strong, rugged features and commanding demeanor often gave an impression of harshness. Yet, as he spent time with Soobin and Yeonjun, his softer side became apparent. The warmth in his eyes and the gentle tone in his voice revealed a man who cherished the company of these young men.
Soobin and Yeonjun had quickly become like grandsons to him. They treated him with a respect and affection that contrasted sharply with the aloofness others often showed. This genuine connection was deeply appreciated by the old man, who had always longed for meaningful relationships rather than superficial interactions.
He loved that the brothers didn’t view him through the lens of his rough exterior but rather embraced his true self. Their presence brought him joy and a sense of belonging, making the evening a cherished memory for all.
As the evening came to a close, Soobin and Yeonjun said their goodbyes and left for home, their spirits lifted by the warm company and the evening's activities. Seokmin, feeling content after the day’s work, made his way to the couch where his grandfather was seated. He sprawled out on the couch, his head resting gently on his grandfather’s lap, using it as a makeshift pillow.
"Thank you, Grandpa," Seokmin said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "I really enjoyed today. You’re the best."
His grandfather smiled, his eyes softening as he stroked Seokmin's hair affectionately. "I’m glad you had a good time, Minnie. It’s always a pleasure to have you and your friends around. You all bring so much joy into this old man’s life."
The warmth of their bond was palpable as they sat together, enjoying the quiet comfort of each other’s company.
-
It had been another exhausting day for the friends, dedicated to finalizing the setup of their new home. By the evening, they finally finished arranging everything. They decided to have a homemade dinner, with Taehyun and Bahiyyih taking charge of the cooking, while Beomgyu and Hueningkai handled the dishes.
During dinner, they discussed the division of household chores, ensuring everyone had a fair share of responsibilities. After sorting out the details, they bid each other goodnight and went to their respective rooms. The brother-sister duo took the rooms downstairs, while Beomgyu and Taehyun settled into the rooms upstairs.
After dinner, Beomgyu lay on his bed, holding the note close to his chest. He hadn't opened it yet, wanting to savor the moment for himself. A mix of emotions swirled inside him—fear that his friend might want to end their brief but meaningful connection, and curiosity about what was written inside. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, but for now, he just wanted to hold onto the possibility that their friendship still had a future.
Slowly, with his heart pounding in his throat, Beomgyu unfolded the note, his fingers trembling slightly as he began to read. Each word pulled him deeper into a sea of emotions. The note was brief, composed, but it resonated with a depth that stirred something profound within him. As he reached the end, a mix of relief and sorrow washed over him. It was clear that their friendship held a special place in his friend's heart, just as it did in his own.
But alongside that relief, guilt began to take root. His friend had apologized for breaking the first rule of their friendship—ghosting one another—yet it was Beomgyu who had truly done that by leaving the note abandoned for days. The weight of that realization pressed heavily on his chest, making him feel like he had let his friend down.
Even though his friend didn't express any anger or disappointment in the note, Beomgyu couldn't shake the feeling that it might just be a facade. After all, he had abandoned their connection for days—surely, his friend must be hurt or upset with him. But he couldn't just leave things as they were; he needed to find out for sure. Taking a deep breath, Beomgyu picked up his phone, clutching it tightly in his hand. After a moment of hesitation, he opened the dial pad and began entering the number his friend had left for him, his heart racing with a mix of fear and anticipation.
As he stared at the dial pad, Beomgyu realized he was at a loss for words. How could he introduce himself without revealing too much? He couldn't just type "Hi! I'm Beomgyu"—they had never even exchanged names. What should he say? "A friend from the library"? "A friend who used to write notes to you"? Each option felt awkward and insufficient. He bit his lip, struggling to find the right words. The anonymity that had once been a comfort now felt like a barrier. All he wanted was to reconnect, but how could he do that when he didn't even know how to begin?
After wrestling with his thoughts, Beomgyu decided to keep it simple. He typed a single word: "Hi." It felt both too little and too much at the same time, but it was all he could manage. With a deep breath, he sent the message, immediately locking his phone and tossing it onto the mattress as if it burned his hand. He sank his head into one of the pillows, muffling a frustrated scream. "What do I do?" he groaned into the fabric, feeling the weight of the uncertainty pressing down on him. The silence in his room only amplified his anxiety as he waited for a reply, unsure if one would even come.
And it did come. The familiar chime of a notification echoed through the quiet room, jolting Beomgyu from his restless state. It felt like hours had passed, though it was only minutes. He bolted upright, eyes scanning the disarray of his bed. The phone had slipped beneath the tangled sheets and pillows during his tossing and turning.
—
As Soobin lay in bed, his eyes remained open, staring at the ceiling. The warmth of Yeonjun's embrace should have been comforting, but tonight it did little to soothe the turmoil in his mind. The quiet room was filled only with the soft sounds of Yeonjun's steady breathing, but Soobin's thoughts were loud, echoing his worries about the mysterious friendship that had taken hold of his heart.
He kept replaying the note, wondering if he should have written something different, something more. But what more could he have said? They were strangers, after all—two people connected only by their shared words, yet those words had begun to mean so much to him.
A part of him wanted to give up, to let it go, but another part clung stubbornly to the hope that this strange, secret friendship might still have a future. Maybe if he just held on a little longer...
He sighed, careful not to wake Yeonjun, and turned his head slightly to look at his sleeping brother. Yeonjun's peaceful expression reminded Soobin of the countless times his brother had been his rock, his source of strength. Maybe Yeonjun was right—maybe he just needed to be patient, to let things unfold in their own time.
But patience was hard to come by when your heart was on the line.
As if the universe had decided it was time to put an end to his restless thoughts, Soobin’s phone beeped softly. The sudden sound in the quiet room made his heart skip a beat. He carefully turned, trying not to disturb Yeonjun, who was still peacefully asleep beside him.
With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached out for his phone on the side table, his fingers brushing against the cool surface before grasping it. Soobin’s heart pounded in his chest as he brought the phone closer, squinting slightly in the dim light to read the notification.
Was it a message? From him?
His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the screen, unsure whether to feel relief or anxiety.
A message from an unknown number—just a simple "Hi." His mind swirled with questions. Who could it be? He couldn't recall giving his number to anyone except his cloaked friend.
Could it really be him?
Curiosity and a tinge of hope filled his chest. With trembling fingers, he unlocked his phone and opened the message. He stared at the single word, wondering if this was the moment he’d been waiting for. Was it really his friend reaching out to him after all this time?
The simplicity of the message felt like a small, cautious step—a door cracked open just enough to peek through. But was it truly his friend on the other side? Soobin’s heart thudded louder in the quiet room, as if urging him to respond, to find out if his hope wasn’t in vain.
—
Fumbling, Beomgyu quickly grabbed the device, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes focused on the screen, twitching slightly as he tried to steady his gaze on the notification that had just appeared.
Secret Healer
Hi
Hey! It's you, right?
It has to be you!
Tell me, it's you?
Beomgyu's heart clenched as he read the message, the simple words carrying so much weight. The eager, almost desperate tone revealed how long his friend had been waiting, hoping, just like him. The thought of someone out there, a person who had grown just as attached to their mysterious bond, sent a wave of emotion through him. It was bittersweet—knowing that his absence had caused his friend to wait, to wonder, and to hope that it was truly him on the other end of the line.
Secret Healer
I'm sorry.
Yes, that's me.
I'm really very sorry.
It wasn't you, it was me!
It was me who truly broke our
first rule of friendship.
I was the one who abandoned you.
I don't deserve your friendship.
Beomgyu felt the weight of his guilt pressing down on him as he stared at the message he had just sent. His heart pounded in his chest, and he found it hard to breathe, knowing that he had confessed his fault, laid bare his insecurities, and risked pushing his friend away forever.
For a moment, there was silence—an empty void where his thoughts raced and his mind swirled with doubt. Had he said too much? Had he made it worse? The seconds stretched into eternity as he anxiously awaited a response, each passing moment amplifying his fears.
—
Soobin couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across his face as he read the text. It was him. The realization brought an unexpected warmth that made his heart flutter. His smile widened, stretching his cheeks until they ached, but he didn’t mind.
He was glad, so glad, that his friend had finally reached out. Yet, a small part of him ached at the thought of his friend blaming himself for their missed connections. It wasn’t fair—he shouldn’t be carrying all that guilt.
With gentle care, Soobin clicked on the unknown number and saved it, labeling it with a name that felt just right. The simple act of saving the number felt like a step toward solidifying their fragile connection.
Now, all that was left was to respond, to let his friend know that he wasn’t alone in this. That their friendship, however cloaked, still held meaning for both of them.
Hidden Haven
Thank God it's you!
Please don't be sorry, please.
It wasn’t your fault.
I guess the timing wasn’t in our favor.
I’m so glad you contacted.
I lost every hope I had left.
Our friendship isn’t about rules or perfection.
It's about us being there for each other.
Soobin carefully crafted his response, wanting to make sure his words conveyed comfort and reassurance. He couldn’t let their friendship start anew with guilt hanging over it—especially when neither of them was truly at fault.
He re-read the message, ensuring it held the warmth and sincerity he wanted to convey. Satisfied, Soobin hit send, hoping that his words would ease whatever burden his friend was carrying. He wanted to make sure that this time, they would start off on the right foot, with understanding and connection, not regret.
—
Then, Beomgyu's phone buzzed. He hesitated, his hand trembling as he reached for it. When he finally mustered the courage to open the message, he saw a reply that made his heart skip a beat.
Beomgyu felt a rush of emotions—a mix of relief, gratitude, and something even deeper. His friend didn’t hate him, and wasn’t angry with him. Instead, they were forgiving, understanding. It was more than he could have hoped for. His eyes grew moist as he realized just how much this connection meant to him, how much he had feared losing it.
He carefully typed his response, his fingers trembling slightly as he let his emotions guide him.
Secret Healer
Thank you. You have no idea how much
this means to me. I promise I’ll never
leave you hanging like that again.
Can we start over?
Maybe even stronger this time?
As he hit send, Beomgyu let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He felt lighter, as if the burden he had been carrying for days had been lifted. This time, he wouldn’t let fear or doubt come between them. He was determined to nurture this bond, to cherish the friendship that had somehow become one of the most important things in his life.
And deep down, he knew that no matter what, they would be okay.
-
After reading the reply from his friend, a sense of relief washed over Soobin, easing the tension in his heart. It felt strange, almost surreal, but in the best way possible. His friend's words were like a gentle reminder that maybe things weren't as complicated as they seemed. The idea of starting fresh, letting go of the mistakes, and beginning again with loyalty and trust-it was exactly what Soobin wanted.
He stared at the screen for a few moments, allowing the message to sink in fully. "Starting fresh," he whispered to himself. It felt like a lifeline. Of course, he wanted a new beginning. And this time, he'd make sure it was stronger, deeper, and true.
But despite the relief that came with the idea of starting fresh, Soobin wasn't entirely sure if he could do it, not when he was hiding so much from his friend. He hadn't lied outright, but he always skirted around certain topics. Every time his friend asked how his classes were going, how he was juggling projects, clubs, and everything else, Soobin would evade the question or change the subject. His friend would often complain about the typical struggles of a regular college student, and sometimes even asked Soobin what clubs he was in.
But the truth was, Soobin wasn't a student at all. He didn't have classes or projects or any of the things his friend assumed he did. And with each passing message, the weight of that unspoken truth grew heavier.
Could he really start fresh with this secret looming between them? Or would it eventually break the fragile connection they were trying to rebuild?
But despite the guilt tugging at him, Soobin didn't want to lose what he had right now with this friendship. Maybe, just maybe, he was being selfish. But could he be selfish just this once? The connection he shared with his friend had grown into something he was becoming accustomed to, something that brought him a sense of comfort and joy he hadn't felt in a long time. Letting go of it now, or risking it by telling the truth, felt too terrifying.
He had lost so many people before. This friendship, even if built on a few unspoken truths, was something he wasn't ready to give up.
Soobin stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. After a moment of hesitation, he started typing.
Hidden Haven
Of course!
I would like that!
He hit send, watching as the message disappeared into the void of their secret friendship. His heart raced as he put the phone down, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t know what the future held, but at this moment, he was holding onto this connection, fragile yet precious.
—
Beomgyu stared at the screen, a sense of contentment washing over him after receiving that simple reply. His fingers danced across the keyboard, and with a soft breath, he sent the next message.
Secret Healer
So,
May I ask you your name?
Only if you're okay to share.
He knew it was a big step, but something about their connection felt deeper now. A part of him hoped that they were ready to step out of the shadows, to make this bond even more real.
—
Soobin stared at the message, his heart skipping a beat. He knew this moment would come—the moment his friend would want to know his name, something simple yet significant. But still, it left him shocked for a second. After a pause, Soobin exhaled deeply and typed in his reply.
Hidden Haven
Soobin.
My name is Soobin.
As he hit send, he anxiously waited for the response. It didn’t take long. Soon, his phone buzzed again.
Hidden Haven
Soobin?
That's a beautiful name!
I’m Beomgyu.
A small smile tugged at the corners of Soobin's lips. Beomgyu—it felt right. Like another piece of the puzzle was falling into place. However, the next question was one Soobin feared.
Hidden Haven
Hey, Soobin!
What year are you in college?
The dreaded question. Soobin’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as guilt weighed heavy on him. He wasn’t ready to reveal the truth, not yet. With a sigh, he typed:
Hidden Haven
I'm really sorry, Beomgyu,
but I can’t share that
with you right now.
He held his breath, fearing that this might be the end of their friendship—that this would make Beomgyu question everything. But to his relief, Beomgyu responded quickly.
Hidden Haven
Hey, no worries at all!
I understand.
Whenever you're ready.
Soobin’s heart lightened a bit. Beomgyu wasn’t upset, and for now, that was enough. Their bond still held strong, and Soobin silently promised himself that one day, he’d explain everything. But for now, he could remain in this moment of comfort and friendship.
Soobin felt a wave of relief wash over him. With a grateful smile, he quickly typed out a response.
Hidden Haven
Thank you so much
for understanding, Beomgyu.
It means a lot to me.
He hesitated for a moment before sending it, but once it was done, he felt lighter. Soobin knew it was a small victory, but it reassured him that their friendship could grow despite the things he wasn’t ready to share yet.
Beomgyu's reply came back almost instantly.
Hidden Haven
Of course!
What are friends for?
Soobin smiled to himself, feeling warmth spread in his chest. Maybe this friendship had more potential than he ever imagined.
Beomgyu's next message was filled with familiar warmth and playful curiosity, making Soobin’s heart feel lighter despite his internal conflicts.
Hidden Haven
So, how was your day today?
Were classes tiring?
Did you stop by your Minnie
hyung's cafe for your regular
toasted bread and coffee?
Was the convenience store busy today?
I hope your father and brother
weren't too rude today.
And right now, you're all cuddled
up to your Jjunie hyung, right?
Soobin chuckled softly, reading the message. It was as if Beomgyu had painted his entire day through those words. He couldn't help but admire how much his friend remembered about his routine. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he replied.
Hidden Haven
You know me so well already.
Today was... eventful.
And yeah! I stopped by the cafe.
Minnie hyung was as cheerful as ever.
As for Jjunie hyung... yup,
you guessed it right.
He's sleeping soundly next to me.
Soobin smiled as he hit send, a small part of him grateful for these moments where he could share bits of his world without revealing too much.
These small moments, these fragments of their lives shared through fleeting texts, were what made their friendship even more special. They didn’t know each other’s faces, nor their true names for the longest time, and yet, they knew so much about each other. It was the kind of understanding that went beyond the surface, like an invisible thread connecting them in a way that felt uniquely theirs. There was an intimacy in the things they shared—tiny details that no one else knew, but somehow, they knew instinctively. It was a bond built on trust, on the unspoken connection that only they could understand.
—
Beomgyu smiled as he typed his reply.
Secret Healer
Of course, I know!
These are the things you
always talked about in the notes.
How could I forget?
He paused for a moment, remembering all the small details Soobin had shared with him over time. Every story, every emotion was imprinted in his memory. Even though they hadn’t met, Beomgyu felt like he knew Soobin better than anyone else.
Soon, another text from Soobin arrived.
Secret Healer
Hey! How are you doing?
Did you find a place to
stay with your friends?
Beomgyu smiled at the question and quickly typed back.
Secret Healer
I'm okay, I guess.
Yeah, we did!
We found a place, and it's huge!
We all fit perfectly, but that's
why I've been so busy
lately—shifting and settling in.
That's great!
Now I won’t have to hear you
bickering about it anymore!
Beomgyu couldn't help but chuckle.
Secret Healer
Hey! I don't bicker!
Oh really?
You DON’T?
Don’t cap that word!
I do not bicker!
Okay, okay, fine!
There was a pause before Soobin's next message.
Secret Healer
Hey, Beomgyu?
Yeah?
Did you ask your parents
about her? You mentioned
you were going to.
How’s she?
And, did you tried to
contact your hyung?
Or are you still ignoring him?
Beomgyu's heart sank, the weight of the topic returning as he typed.
Secret Healer
I don’t know.
I don't know about her.
And I didn't pick up his
call again.
I don't know what to
do anymore.
What do you mean?
Beomgyu??
I tried. I really did.
I built up the courage, but
when the moment came,
I just couldn’t do it.
Soobin's reply came almost instantly.
Secret Healer
Beomgyu, it’s okay.
You don’t have to force
yourself if you’re not ready.
It’s not that I don’t want
to know. I’m dying to find out
where she is, if she’s okay.
I miss her, Soobin.
I miss her so much.
And about hyung?
He's too precious and I love him
so much to bother him
with my worries.
For three years, I tried my best
not to disturb him with
my problems.
I don't want him to worry.
Beomgyu’s emotions poured into his words, and he felt a weight pressing on his chest as he hit send.
—
Soobin read Beomgyu's message and his heart ached for him. He quickly typed a response, hoping his words would bring some comfort.
Hidden Haven
I know you do, Beomgyu.
And it's okay to miss her.
It’s natural.
You’re not alone in this, alright?
And please, please talk to him.
I made the same mistake of ignoring
Jjunie hyung for years.
And trust me, I regret
it the most.
—
Beomgyu sighed, clutching the phone tighter as he typed.
Secret Healer
I'll try, Soobin.
I'll try again.
But it feels so wrong sometimes...
not knowing anything.
I feel like I failed her.
No, you didn’t.
You can’t blame
yourself for this.
Sometimes things are
beyond our control.
There was a long pause, and Beomgyu let the words sink in. Soobin’s reassurance was exactly what he needed, but the void in his heart was still heavy.
Secret Healer
Thank you, Soobin.
I don’t know what I’d
do without you right now.
You don’t have to thank me.
I’m here for you, always.
Even when things get tough,
remember that.
And as you said,
What are friends for?
Beomgyu felt a warmth in his chest. He couldn’t explain why, but even though they had never met, Soobin felt like the friend he always needed, the kind of person who understood him without judgment.
Secret Healer
You’re a good friend, Soobin.
You’re a good friend too, Beomgyu.
Now stop overthinking and try
to get some rest, okay?
Yeah, okay.
Goodnight, Soobin.
Goodnight, Beomgyu.
Sleep well.
Beomgyu placed the phone on his chest and closed his eyes, feeling a little more at peace. He knew the journey ahead wouldn't be easy, but at least now, he wasn’t walking it alone. He had Soobin along with his friends.
-
Days turned into weeks, and Soobin and Beomgyu grew closer through their constant texting. Their conversations became a haven for both, a place where they could escape the chaos of their lives. Most of the time, it was Beomgyu who dominated the chats, eagerly sharing every little detail about his day.
Beomgyu often bickered about his classes, endless assignments, and the chaotic life of a regular college student. His messages came in rapid bursts, filled with exasperation over professors, group projects, and the struggle to stay awake during lectures.
Soobin, on the other hand, listened patiently, his replies short yet meaningful. He teased Beomgyu just enough to lighten his mood, often poking fun at his dramatic complaints.
Beomgyu
Did you survive today's lecture,
or do I need to send condolences?
Barely! The professor's voice is like
a lullaby from the depths of boredom.
I deserve an award for staying conscious!
Award for what?
Complaining the most?
Hey! I don't just complain.
I enlighten you about the
struggles of being a student!
Despite Soobin's guarded nature, Beomgyu found comfort in these exchanges. Soobin's teasing felt warm, never harsh, and his quiet encouragement helped Beomgyu through tough days. And though Soobin still held parts of himself back, their bond strengthened with every shared moment.
_
The campus was buzzing with excitement and chaos as the much-anticipated fresher's party drew nearer. Students were rushing about, juggling rehearsals, decorations, and endless meetings to make the event a grand success. Among the whirlwind of activity, Beomgyu and his bandmates-Heeseung, Jay, Taehyun, and Hueningkai-were fully immersed in their preparations.
The responsibility of both the opening and closing performances had fallen on their shoulders, and they knew they had one shot to leave a lasting impression. For days, the group poured their energy into writing, composing, and perfecting their songs. Late-night practices became their routine, and with each passing day, the bond between the five boys grew stronger.
Among them, Beomgyu found himself confiding in Heeseung more than he expected. There was something about Heeseung's calm and understanding demeanor that made him feel at ease. Despite their growing closeness, Beomgyu couldn't bring himself to let his guard down completely. His past experiences had taught him the pain of misplaced trust, and he couldn't afford to let history repeat itself.
Even as he shared laughs and creative moments with Heeseung, Beomgyu maintained a cautious distance, keeping their friendship limited to the context of the band. It wasn't easy for him, but it felt safer this way.
Meanwhile, Taehyun and Hueningkai brought a different kind of energy to the group. Their lighthearted jokes and easy-going nature made the exhausting practice sessions bearable. They had a way of breaking tension and making everyone laugh, which naturally drew the group closer. Beomgyu admired how effortlessly they connected with everyone, including himself and Heeseung.
Though the stress of the preparations loomed large, the camaraderie within the group was undeniable. They were determined to give a performance that would not only wow their audience but also solidify their presence as a band. For Beomgyu, this was more than just an event-it was a step toward his dream, and he was ready to give it his all.
-
The evening sun cast a warm glow over the campus as Hueningkai and Jay made their way back from the practice room, chatting casually. Hueningkai, balancing his drumsticks and a few books in his hands, laughed at something Jay had said.
Before either of them could react, a boy came sprinting toward them, colliding straight into Hueningkai. The impact sent his books and drumsticks scattering across the pavement.
"Sorry! Sorry! I didn't notice," the boy mumbled hastily, crouching down to gather Hueningkai's things in a frantic mess.
Hueningkai blinked in surprise before kneeling down to help, his fingers brushing against the boy's as he took his books back. He reached for his drumsticks, which had rolled to the side, but as he looked up, he froze.
The boy looked disheveled-his hair was tousled, his lips slightly busted, and his tie hung loosely over his shoulder. His shirt was untucked, and his breathing was heavy, as if he had been running for a while.
"Hey, are you okay?" Hueningkai asked, concern lacing his voice. "You need some medical help? Should I-"
"No!" The boy cut him off abruptly, his voice uneven. "I-I'm fine. Sorry again." Without waiting for a response, he quickly turned on his heels and sprinted away.
Hueningkai watched him disappear down the hallway, his brows furrowing. "Weirdo," he mumbled under his breath before shrugging it off and continuing on with Jay. However, something about the boy's distressed expression lingered in his mind longer than he expected.
-
After finishing dinner and tidying up, Beomgyu trudged to his room, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. The moment he collapsed onto the bed, he buried his face in the pillow, seeking solace in its softness. The day had drained every ounce of his energy, and all he wanted was a moment of peace.
But peace was fleeting.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand, the shrill ringtone cutting through the quiet. With a groggy sigh, he turned over and reached for it, barely mustering the effort to glance at the caller ID. The sight of the name on the screen made his shoulders tense.
Letting out a weary breath, he finally swiped to answer. "What do you want?" His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
A sharp scoff came from the other end. "Is that any way to speak to your mom?" Her tone was laced with disapproval, irritation simmering beneath the surface.
Beomgyu shut his eyes briefly, already bracing himself for whatever was coming next.
Beomgyu let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he sat up against the headboard. His grip on the phone tightened, frustration bubbling beneath his tired exterior.
"Mom? So you finally remembered you have a son? After what? Three years?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, yet there was an undeniable sting beneath his words.
A sharp inhale came from the other end. "I've been calling you constantly for the past two days, and you say I just remembered?" she shot back, irritation lacing her tone.
Beomgyu scoffed. "Oh, please. This is the first time in three years you've bothered to call me, and I'd bet anything it's for your own benefit. So cut the act and just tell me what you want."
Silence hung in the air for a moment, heavy and suffocating. Beomgyu already knew this call had nothing to do with him. It never did.
"You've lost all your manners, Gyu!" his mother snapped, her voice filled with disapproval. "Anyway, why aren't you answering Han? He-"
"Don't you dare say his name like that!" Beomgyu cut her off, his voice sharp and trembling with restrained anger. "You have no right. And didn't I tell you to stay away from him?" His breath hitched as the weight of his emotions pressed down on him. "Why do you keep stealing away the people I love?" His voice faltered, a quiet plea slipping through his defenses. "Please... just stop. I'm already so tired."
His hands clenched around the phone as he swallowed the lump in his throat. He hated how easily she could still shake him, how even after all this time, she still had the power to hurt him.
"That's very rude of you, Beomgyu," his mother remarked, her tone laced with disappointment.
Beomgyu let out a dry chuckle. "Rude? Fine. Then stop wasting your time calling me."
A heavy sigh crackled through the phone. "Fine. I know you'll only listen to him. At least answer his calls. And if you need more money, you can always ask your father or me. We-"
"I don't need your money," Beomgyu interjected firmly. "Hyung sends me enough. Just stay away from me."
Silence lingered between them, thick and suffocating. Then, almost too softly, she whispered, "Beomgyu, I miss you a lot."
His breath hitched. Without a second thought, he ended the call.
The screen dimmed, but the words echoed in his head, clawing at the walls he had built around himself. A single tear slipped down his cheek, but he wiped it away before it could fall completely.
No. He refused to be that Beomgyu again-the one who was weak, the one who needed them. He is stronger now. And he would keep proving it.
No matter how hard he tried, Beomgyu could never completely ignore the weight of it. And no matter how much he insisted otherwise, a part of him still loved his parents dearly. It wasn’t that he had stopped caring—it was that he couldn’t accept what they had become.
Though his parents rarely reached out, his hyung always did. And for that, Beomgyu was more than grateful. Unlike their parents, his brother never forced his way into Beomgyu’s life, never pushed too hard. He loved his hyung—more than he loved his parents, if he were being honest. But he didn’t want to burden him. His brother was already carrying enough on his shoulders.
Back in middle school, Beomgyu had relied on his hyung for everything. He was his safe place, his constant. But things changed when he realized how much his brother was struggling—how he juggled his studies, responsibilities, and him. Guilt clawed at Beomgyu’s heart, and in his attempt to ease his brother’s burden, he started pulling away. He thought distancing himself was the right thing to do—for both of them.
But it wasn’t. It never was.
Without his hyung, Beomgyu felt miserable.
And so, he turned to his best friends, pouring out the weight he could no longer carry alone.
Hyung
I'm sorry, hyung.
I know I'm the worst sibling
in the world. I don't deserve
you. But I promise, everything
will get better soon. I'm trying
my best. I'll contact you soon,
and we'll talk about everything...
just not now. I hope you’ll
understand. Hell, you always
understand. And please, stop
sending me so much money
—you’re spoiling me.
Bye for now.
I love you.
Beomgyu took a deep breath before pressing send. He barely had time to collect his thoughts when his phone buzzed with a reply.
Hyung
Beomgyu, how are you?
I hope college isn’t stressing
you out. Hey… did you talk to
Mom or Dad? Why are you
saying things like this?
You are so important to me, Gyu.
The only good thing I got from
this family is you both. It’s not you
—it’s me who doesn’t deserve you
guys. You welcomed me so
warmly despite everything being
so messed up. Let’s not talk about
it this way.
I want to tell you something very
important. And honestly?
I’m scared. I don’t want you to
look down on me.
Let’s meet soon, please.
And I do have the right to spoil
you—I’m your hyung. You lost
your childhood and teenage years
worrying about things you never
should have had to deal with.
Now, I want you to enjoy every
second of your life.
I miss you, Beomgyu.
See you soon.
I love you too.
Beomgyu stared at the message, his heart caught between relief and worry. He was grateful—so incredibly grateful—that despite the distance, his hyung had never let go. But something about his words left an uneasy feeling in his chest. What was he so scared to tell him?
***
Chapter Text
Beomgyu hovered his thumb over the call icon on Soobin's contact, his mind a battlefield of doubt. Should I call him? We've never talked before. He's so sensitive-what if he finds it wrong?
But the weight in his chest was unbearable. He needed to let it out before it suffocated him. And the only person who came to mind was Soobin.
After what felt like an eternity of hesitation, he finally tapped the call button. The phone rang once. Twice.
Panic surged through him, and before it could connect, he quickly cut the call.
"Shit! Shit! Shit! Why did I do that?" he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding.
Scrambling to fix his mistake, he opened their chat and hastily typed:
Soobin
I'm sorry.
I shouldn't have called you.
I just... I wanted to talk.
I was too tired to type
everything out.
He hit send and threw his phone onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. Now, all he could do was wait.
-
Soobin stepped out of the shower, rubbing a towel through his damp hair. The dorm was quiet, with only the soft sound of Yeonjun's steady breathing filling the room. Not wanting to disturb him, Soobin kept his phone on silent, placing it on the nightstand before heading to bed.
As he settled under the covers, he instinctively reached for his phone to set the alarm. His brows furrowed when he saw a missed call and a few texts from Beomgyu.
Without a second thought, he didn't even bother opening the chat. Instead, he tapped on the number and dialed back.
The phone rang, and Soobin waited, his heart beating slightly faster than usual. It wasn't like Beomgyu to call, and if he had, it must have been important.
-
To say Beomgyu was shocked to get a call back would be an understatement. His eyes widened as his phone lit up with Soobin's name, and he quickly sat up on his bed, gripping the device tightly. He stared at the screen for a moment before hesitantly swiping to answer.
"He-"
"Hey, Beomgyu? Are you okay?" Soobin's concerned voice cut him off before he could even say hello. "I'm sorry I couldn't answer earlier. I was in the shower. But are you okay?"
Hearing Soobin ramble so anxiously made Beomgyu chuckle softly. His lips curled into a small smile despite the exhaustion weighing on him.
"You sound more panicked than me," Beomgyu teased, leaning back against his pillows. "Relax, I'm fine."
Soobin let out a relieved sigh, but he wasn't convinced just yet. "You sure? You don't usually call... I mean, not that I mind! I just-"
"Yeah, I know," Beomgyu muttered, suddenly feeling small. His fingers toyed with the hem of his blanket. "I just... I guess I needed to talk to someone."
There was silence for a second, then Soobin's voice softened. "Then talk to me."
And just like that, the walls Beomgyu had been holding up all day started to crack.
Beomgyu didn't hold back. The moment he started speaking, everything spilled out-the call with his mother, the way her voice still managed to shake him, the frustration, the lingering ache. Then he moved on to his hyung, the texts they exchanged, the unspoken words hanging between them, the guilt, the love, the longing.
Soobin listened intently, not interrupting, just letting Beomgyu speak. Every now and then, he'd hum softly, a quiet reassurance that he was still there, still listening.
"I don't know, Soobin," Beomgyu exhaled, rubbing his forehead. "I tell myself I don't care, that I don't need them. But then she calls, and suddenly, it's like I'm back to being that kid again-desperate for their love, for anything."
A soft sigh came from the other end of the call. "That makes sense, Beomgyu," Soobin said gently. "It's not easy to just stop caring, even when people hurt you."
Soobin understood Beomgyu more than he let on because, in a way, he was living through the same pain. Despite everything his father and Jayhoon put him through, a part of him still cared. He still held onto the fragile hope that one day, things might return to how they once were-before the distance, before the hurt.
Beomgyu swallowed hard. He wasn't used to this. To being heard like this.
"And your hyung," Soobin continued, "he sounds like he really loves you. Like he wants to be there for you, even if it's from a distance."
Beomgyu's throat tightened. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "He does."
There was a pause, comfortable yet heavy. Then Soobin's voice came through, softer this time.
"You're not alone, you know?"
Beomgyu let out a shaky breath, his heart a little lighter than before.
"Hmm, I know. Thank you for listening, Soobin," Beomgyu murmured, his voice laced with exhaustion.
"Always," Soobin replied softly, his sincerity evident even through the phone.
There was a brief pause before Soobin spoke again. "I like this more."
Beomgyu frowned slightly. "Hmm? What do you mean?"
"Talking like this. Over the phone instead of texting."
A small smile played on Beomgyu's lips. "So... does that mean we can do this more often?"
"Of course," Soobin said without hesitation. Then, with a teasing lilt, he added, "By the way, you sound really nice. Even when you're just rambling about random things."
"Hey! You-" Beomgyu started, but Soobin's quiet laughter cut him off. Somehow, that sound alone made him feel lighter.
"Alright, I'm going to sleep now. Bye," Beomgyu muttered, trying to feign annoyance.
"Good night, Beomgyu," Soobin chuckled.
"Hmm", with a soft hum, Beomgyu ended the call. As he set his phone aside, a rare sense of peace settled over him. He was grateful-grateful to have Soobin, someone who listened, someone who made things feel a little less heavy.
A faint smile lingered on his lips as he finally drifted off to sleep.
On the other hand, Soobin lay in bed staring at the ceiling, a small smile tugging at his lips. He never thought he'd actually enjoy talking on the phone, but with Beomgyu, it felt... effortless. Natural.
Maybe, just maybe, this friendship was becoming something even more special than he had imagined.
-
Since all the admission seats were already filled-given that it had been a month since the new semester began-Soobin found himself buried in work. Managing student records, handling college administrative tasks, and maintaining financial accounts for students, professors, and staff left him with little room to breathe. It was exhausting, but he pushed through, determined to do his best.
To keep up, he often carried some work home, squeezing in time at Seokmin's café or during his break at the convenience store to get through the endless paperwork. It was a tiring routine, but Soobin had grown used to it-used to carrying responsibilities that felt heavier than they should.
It was the people around him who made everything feel a little less exhausting-Yeonjun, Seokmin, Uncle Lee (the convenience store owner), and even Beomgyu.
Talking with Beomgyu after a long day, riding home with Yeonjun on his bike, baking cookies or crafting random things with Seokmin, and spending time with Uncle Lee, updating him on modern gadgets and suggesting new items for the store to attract more customers-these small moments became his solace. In the midst of his overwhelming workload, they felt like a gentle reminder that life wasn't just about responsibilities; it was about finding comfort in the people who made the burden lighter.
If he could, he would hold onto these moments dearly. But every time joy filled his heart, his past loomed over him like dark clouds, casting shadows on his happiness.
The fear was always there-what if they left too? What if, one day, he found himself alone again? No matter how much warmth surrounded him now, the lingering doubt whispered that happiness was fleeting, that people never stayed forever.
Beomgyu
Your playlist was amazing.
Should I play one of your favourite song
on the guitar at the freshers' party?
Just for you?
Trying to steal the spotlight already?
Forget it.
I'd rather hear your own song.
Almost done with it.
The boys wrote some incredible lyrics.
We're all so excited for the performance.
You'll be there, right?
Of course.
Soobin...
Hmm?
I want to meet you.
Before the freshers' party.
...
...
Beomgyu. You know...
I get it, Soobin.
But I can't keep doing
this-just texting and calling.
I barely know anything about
you beyond your name and
daily routine.
I don't know what you look like,
what you study, where you live.
This isn't how real friendships work.
You understand what I mean, right?
Don't you want to meet me?
It's not that...
I do want to meet you.
But-
No buts, Soobin.
Let's meet. Please?
...
...
Fine.
Soobin.
I'm just... scared.
Scared? Of what?
Why would meeting me
make you nervous?
Did I do something wrong?
No. It's not like that.
Okay.
Let's meet.
Really?
Alright! I'll let you know the
time and place soon.
Hmm
Was he truly ready to meet Beomgyu? He wasn't sure. But Beomgyu was right-friendships couldn't thrive in the shadows of hesitation. If he wanted this bond to last, he had to take that step. He had to let himself be seen, to be the real Soobin-not just a name on a screen, but someone Beomgyu could truly know.
He reminded himself that it was inevitable-sooner or later, Beomgyu would find out the truth. And it was better if he heard it from him rather than discovering it on his own. Soobin had to tell him that he wasn't a college student, that he wasn't anything close to what Beomgyu might have imagined. If Beomgyu called him selfish or a bad person, he wouldn't deny it-because that's exactly what he was. He was selfish for holding onto this friendship, for using Beomgyu as a source of comfort and survival.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed the thoughts aside and continued arranging candy packets on the racks, his hands moving mechanically while his mind remained restless.
-
The college campus buzzed with chaos and excitement as the freshers' party loomed just days away. Every corner was alive with preparations—students practicing their performances, perfecting their routines, and making last-minute adjustments. Beomgyu and his band poured their energy into rehearsing, fine-tuning the song they had composed, along with additional performances to leave a lasting impression.
Yeonjun, ever the perfectionist, monitored every dance act, ensuring each performer—whether solo or part of a group—delivered their best. Meanwhile, Soobin was drowning in his workload, balancing accounts while also overseeing preparations for the event.
Whenever he passed by the auditorium, the sound of booming music reached his ears, a testament to the enthusiasm of the performers. The energy was infectious. If circumstances had been different—if he had been a student—perhaps he would have been among them, sharing in the excitement.
He overheard students buzzing about the new band formed by the freshers, praising their talent, stage presence, and undeniable charm. He knew Beomgyu was part of it, yet he never once peeked inside to catch a glimpse. To him, that would be cheating. No—he would wait. He would meet Beomgyu the way he was supposed to. When the time was right.
-
It had become a familiar routine for the boys. After every practice session, Hueningkai and Jay would stay behind to organize the instruments and equipment before locking up the practice room. Once everything was in place, they would head toward the college gate, where the others would usually be waiting to drive back home together.
Jay and Heeseung shared an apartment near the college with a few friends from different departments, making it convenient for them to stay close to campus.
That evening, however, things were slightly different. Taehyun and Beomgyu had left earlier than usual, as Taehyun's parents had come to visit. Heeseung, too, had gone ahead with his friends. Only Hueningkai and Jay remained, eager to squeeze in some extra practice before calling it a night.
After packing up and stepping out of the practice room, they walked side by side, chatting about their performance and the upcoming freshers' party. When they reached a corner, their paths diverged-Jay's apartment was nearby, while Hueningkai needed to take a cab home.
With a small wave, they parted ways. Hueningkai pulled out his phone, checking for the nearest available ride as he stood under the dim glow of a streetlight, waiting.
Hueningkai's steps faltered as a faint whimpering reached his ears. He turned his head toward a narrow alley, barely lit by the flickering streetlamp at its entrance. Hesitating for a moment, he followed the sound, his heart pounding in his chest.
As he stepped closer, his breath hitched. A student from his college lay slumped against the wall, his back barely supported as he struggled to stay upright. His bag was torn apart, its contents scattered carelessly on the ground-pages fluttering in the evening breeze, textbooks left abandoned like forgotten pieces of a story.
But what caught Hueningkai's attention the most was the state of the boy himself. His once-white uniform shirt was a mess of dirt and blood, stained beyond recognition. His face was covered in bruises, a fresh cut trailing crimson down his cheek.
Hueningkai swallowed hard, rushing forward. "Hey-are you okay?" His voice wavered slightly, but he crouched down, reaching out as the boy winced in pain.
Hueningkai's gaze flickered to the scattered belongings before settling on a small, familiar plastic card lying among the mess. He reached for it, turning it over to read the name.
Choi Jayhoon
"Jayhoon?" he called out gently, testing the name as he looked back at the injured boy.
Jayhoon didn't respond. He remained silent, his arms wrapped around his side, his face twisted in pain. His breathing was uneven, shallow.
Hueningkai hesitated, unsure whether to press further or let the boy collect himself. But seeing the state he was in, he couldn't just walk away.
"Can you stand?" Hueningkai asked, lowering his voice, trying not to startle him. "I can help you."
Still, no response.
Hueningkai exhaled, glancing around. The alley was empty, eerily quiet except for the distant hum of traffic. Whoever had done this to Jayhoon was long gone.
Realizing he wouldn't get an answer immediately, he carefully picked up Jayhoon's books and belongings, stuffing them back into what was left of his torn bag. Then, shifting closer, he gently placed a hand on Jayhoon's shoulder.
"Hey, I don't know what happened," he said, softer now. "But you can't stay here like this."
Jayhoon shifted uncomfortably as Hueningkai crouched beside him, concern evident in his eyes. "Come on, let me help you up," Hueningkai insisted, reaching out.
"I'm fine," Jayhoon muttered, trying to push himself up against the wall, but he barely managed to move before a sharp pain shot through his side, making him wince.
Hueningkai sighed. "Yeah, sure. You look super fine, bleeding all over the place."
Jayhoon shot him a glare. "I don't need your help."
"Too bad, because you're getting it." Hueningkai crossed his arms. "You can either let me help you now, or I'll call someone else, and then you'll have even more people knowing about this."
Jayhoon's jaw clenched. He didn't want anyone finding out. Not his family, not anyone from college. After a long silence, he let out a sharp exhale. "Fine."
Hueningkai gave a small triumphant smirk and reached out again, this time more carefully. He slipped one arm under Jayhoon's to support him as he slowly pulled him to his feet. Jayhoon bit back a pained groan but managed to stand, albeit unsteadily.
"I'm calling a cab to take you to the hospital," Hueningkai said, pulling out his phone.
Jayhoon's eyes narrowed. "No hospital."
Hueningkai raised a brow. "Are you serious? You're literally covered in blood!"
"I said no hospital."
Hueningkai sighed in frustration but relented. "Fine. But at least let me get you a cab so you can go home."
Jayhoon hesitated before giving a small nod.
While waiting for the cab, Hueningkai tried to keep the conversation going, hoping to distract Jayhoon from the pain. "So, what department are you in?"
Jayhoon scoffed. "What is this, an interrogation?"
"Just making conversation." Hueningkai grinned. "It's awkward just standing here in silence."
Jayhoon rolled his eyes before mumbling, "Engineering."
Hueningkai's eyes widened. "Oh, smart guy, huh?"
Jayhoon shot him a look. "Shut up."
Hueningkai chuckled. "Alright, alright. Can I at least ask what happened to you?"
Jayhoon's expression darkened immediately. "No."
Hueningkai frowned but didn't push further. "Okay... Can I call someone for you? A friend, maybe?"
Jayhoon let out a dry chuckle. "I don't have friends."
Hueningkai blinked. "No friends? At all?"
Jayhoon didn't respond, just looked away.
Hueningkai sighed, then suddenly grinned. "Well, you have one now."
Jayhoon furrowed his brows. "What?"
"I'm your friend now," Hueningkai declared. "I mean, I do know your little secret. So I guess that makes me special."
Jayhoon groaned. "You're so annoying."
"And yet, here I am, helping you," Hueningkai said smugly.
Jayhoon rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever."
Just then, the cab pulled up. Hueningkai helped Jayhoon into the seat before stepping back. "Before you go, give me your number."
Jayhoon narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"So I can check if you got treated properly and reached home safely," Hueningkai said, unfazed.
Jayhoon exhaled sharply before muttering out his number.
Hueningkai quickly saved it, then stepped back as the cab drove off. Watching it disappear down the road, he let out a sigh.
He had no idea what happened to Jayhoon, but one thing was certain-this wouldn't be the last time they'd cross paths.
-
As soon as Soobin arrived home, his phone buzzed with a message from Beomgyu. He wanted to check and respond, but dinner preparation took priority, so he decided to reply later.
Yeonjun soon returned after changing into his comfortable clothes, ready to help with dinner.
A little while later, the doorbell rang. When Soobin opened the door, the sight before him left him stunned.
Jayhoon stood there, barely managing to stay upright, his body covered in blood and dirt. His bag hung loosely off his shoulder, half-open. As he tried to take a step forward, his legs gave out, but Soobin caught him just in time.
Soobin carefully guided Jayhoon to the couch, his arms steady around him. Yeonjun, hearing the commotion, turned toward them-and his eyes widened in alarm.
"Soobin, what happened?" Yeonjun rushed over, worry evident in his voice.
"I don't know yet," Soobin said, his focus on Jayhoon.
Jayhoon weakly tried to push himself away from Soobin's hold, as if wanting to escape, but his strength failed him. His body gave in, and he leaned against Soobin, breathing heavily.
Soobin grabbed a glass of water from the table, bringing it close to Jayhoon's lips. "Drink this," he instructed, his voice gentle yet firm.
Jayhoon hesitated for a moment before finally taking a few small sips. Then, with great effort, he mumbled, "I want to go to my room."
He tried to stand, but his legs buckled, and he collapsed back onto the couch. Without another word, Soobin wrapped an arm around him and helped him up, supporting his weight as they made their way upstairs.
As they reached Jayhoon's room, Soobin carefully lowered him onto the bed. "Jayhoon," he said softly, sitting beside him, "what happened? Who did this to you?"
Jayhoon turned his face away, avoiding Soobin's concerned gaze. "I don't want to talk about it," he murmured.
Soobin sighed but didn't push him further. Instead, he stood up and left the room, only to return a while later with a tray of food, some medicine, and painkillers.
He set the tray down on the bedside table and looked at Jayhoon. "Eat something, apply the medicine, and take the painkillers. If you need anything, call me."
Jayhoon didn't respond immediately, just stared at the tray before giving a small nod.
Soobin lingered for a moment before stepping back. "Get some rest," he said quietly before leaving the room, hoping Jayhoon would open up when he was ready.
-
After wrapping up his work and freshening up, Soobin headed to bed, where Yeonjun was already leaning against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. The past few days had been exhausting for him as well-being the college's dance instructor meant students constantly sought his advice to perfect their performances. He was also responsible for directing several acts, adding to his workload.
"Hyung, something's off with Jayhoon. I have a bad feeling about it," Soobin murmured, his worry evident.
Yeonjun glanced up from his phone and met Soobin's gaze. "I know, Binnie. We'll figure it out. Don't stress too much," he reassured him gently.
Just as Soobin was about to settle in, his phone buzzed with a notification-it was a message from Beomgyu.
Soobin suddenly realized he had forgotten to reply. Without wasting another second, he quickly grabbed his phone and opened the chat.
Beomgyu
How was your day?
Are you free to talk?
Did you get home yet?
Hey!
Are you ignoring me?
:(
Soobin smiled at the last message before quickly typing his response.
Beomgyu
Sorry! I just got caught
up with some work.
My day was exhausting, but I survived.
What about you?
And no, I'm not ghosting you.
He hit send and waited for Beomgyu's reply, already feeling a little less tired.
Beomgyu's reply came almost in a heartbeat.
Beomgyu
Same here. It was exhausting.
We've been practicing hard-only
three days left now.
You'll do great!
I know
Hey!
I was thinking...
Hmm?
How about we meet tomorrow?
Tomorrow?
Yes.
Soobin?
Okay.
I just don't want to
interrupt your practice.
Oh, shut up.
It's decided then-tomorrow!
And we'll meet where it all started.
Hmm?
The library, idiot.
Oh...right
At the rack where our book
is kept
Our book?
Soobin, seriously? Are you actually
dumb, or are you messing with me?
The book we used to share notes through?
Oh... okay.
Sorry, there's just a lot on my mind.
I can't focus.
It's okay! You need rest.
Just don't forget-last hour of college.
There won't be many people around.
Everyone will be busy with fresher's party prep.
...Okay.
No running away, Soobin.
You promised.
I know.
I'll be there.
Good.
Now get some rest.
Good night.
Hmm.
Good night.
Soobin put his phone down, inhaling deeply. There was no backing out now. Tomorrow, he would finally meet Beomgyu.
-
Morning arrived faster than Soobin had anticipated, bringing with it a wave of restlessness. He woke up earlier than usual, finishing all his tasks in a hurry. Unable to sit still, he turned to Yeonjun.
"Hyung, can we leave early today? I want to visit Seokmin hyung. I miss him," Soobin said, trying to sound casual.
Yeonjun raised an eyebrow at his sudden request, sensing something unusual in his behavior. But instead of questioning him, he simply nodded. "Alright, let's go."
Soobin let out a silent breath of relief. He needed a distraction-anything to keep his nerves from getting the best of him before the long-awaited meeting.
"So? Will you tell me now, or are you planning to spill everything when Seokmin hyung is with us?" Yeonjun asked, glancing at Soobin as they neared the café.
Soobin shot him a startled look, but he wasn't surprised. Of course, Yeonjun had noticed his restless behavior-he always did. In some ways, Yeonjun understood him better than he understood himself.
"Let's just go in, hyung," Soobin muttered, reaching for the door handle, only to fumble slightly.
Yeonjun chuckled, watching him struggle. "Binnie, relax. It's okay," he said, effortlessly pushing the door open and stepping inside, with Soobin following right behind.
The doorbell chimed, signaling a customer's arrival. Seokmin, busy kneading dough for cookies, glanced up.
"I'm sorry, but we're not open ye-" His words trailed off the moment he recognized the visitors.
"Hey! Yeonjun! Soobin!" Seokmin beamed, his smile stretching wide as he quickly approached, pulling both of them into a tight hug.
To an outsider, his enthusiasm might have seemed excessive. But for Soobin, this was exactly the kind of warmth he had always longed for-the kind of affection he wished someone would give him without hesitation. He would never, ever complain about it. And as for Yeonjun, who was naturally affectionate himself, he didn't mind in the slightest.
Seokmin had always been someone who loved spreading joy, and his way of showing love was through physical gestures-hugs, affectionate pats, sharing food. It was just who he was.
"It's been so long since I saw you both. You've grown so well," Seokmin said, dramatically wiping away invisible tears.
Yeonjun and Soobin burst into laughter at his theatrics.
"Hyung! It's only been two days," Soobin chuckled, his smile wide and bright.
"Just two days? What do you mean just two days?" Seokmin gasped, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I've been missing you guys like crazy. It felt like years! I know you've been busy, but couldn't you have spared even a few minutes to visit?"
"A few minutes? With you?" Yeonjun scoffed playfully. "Hyung, you know that whenever we come here, those few minutes turn into hours. And then we end up getting scolded by Grandpa because you won't let us go to the convenience store."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Seokmin huffed, waving them off dramatically. "You still love me anyway."
Soobin shook his head with a fond smile. "Unfortunately, yes."
Yeonjun chuckled. "More like fortunately for you."
Seokmin grinned, pulling them into another hug. "Now, sit down. I'll make you something special."
A few minutes later, Seokmin returned with a tray carrying three glasses of blueberry smoothie. He placed them on the table before taking a seat.
"So? What's on your mind, Soobin?" Seokmin asked, slipping straws into the glasses.
Soobin let out a quiet sigh. He wasn't surprised-Seokmin had already picked up on his uneasiness.
"You know about my friend, right?" Soobin murmured, fidgeting with the straw in his smoothie. "He asked me to meet him... today."
Yeonjun and Seokmin exchanged a knowing glance before Seokmin shrugged.
"So? Go and meet him," he said casually.
Soobin kept his head down, absentmindedly stirring his straw. "I... I don't think I can do it," he murmured.
Seokmin sighed, his voice gentle yet firm. "Soobin, you can't just stay hidden forever and expect to be his friend. What kind of friendship exists without meeting or spending time together?"
"I know, but-"
"You are going to meet him, Soobin," Yeonjun interrupted firmly. "From everything you've told us about your conversations, he seems like a really good guy. And let me tell you, if he wasn't even a little invested in this friendship, he would've walked away a long time ago."
"Exactly," Seokmin agreed with a nod. "Just trust him, Soobin. I'm sure he'll understand you."
"Hmm. Okay," Soobin finally agreed.
The three of them continued sipping their smoothies, letting the conversation drift into lighthearted topics.
As they were about to leave the café, Seokmin suddenly clapped his hands together. "Oh! Before you go-boys, don't forget! We're officially inaugurating the café tomorrow afternoon. So make sure you're here in the morning. And don't be late!"
"Right, the inauguration. Don't worry, we'll be on time, sir," Yeonjun said with a playful salute.
"Good," Seokmin grinned, clearly pleased.
-
The campus was in complete chaos. With the freshers' party just two days away, students were rushing to finalize their performances, get their costumes fitted, arrange props, and handle countless other preparations.
Beomgyu and the boys were assigned the music club to finalize their performances, giving them a better space to assess their progress and make any necessary improvements.
As the last hour of college approached, Beomgyu checked the time and informed his friends that he would be leaving early. They had no objections since he had already used his lunch break to continue practicing. Slinging his guitar over his shoulder, he stepped out of the music club, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he made his way toward the library.
Every step Beomgyu took toward the library sent a surge of excitement and anxiety through him, each beat of his heart growing stronger with anticipation.
As he stepped into the library, an eerie silence greeted him. It was almost unsettling, yet familiar. Without a second thought, his feet carried him toward the shelf-muscle memory guiding him effortlessly. His hands, as if acting on their own, reached for the book. If he had to, he could find it even with his eyes closed.
A place like this was never meant for someone like Beomgyu. He had always sworn that libraries were haunted, a place he'd never willingly step into. But here he was, standing in the middle of one-because of one person.
Soobin.
Nothing could ever compare to his friends-they were his safe haven. But even then, Beomgyu couldn't deny that Soobin had been the one who made everything bearable these past few months. He was grateful to have found him.
Despite his past-despite the betrayal that once shattered his trust in friendship-he had taken a chance again. He had let someone in, someone outside of his circle of best friends. And for the first time, he didn't regret it.
Beomgyu was well aware that making good friends in college was unlikely-after all, he had built a reputation for being distant, unapproachable, and a little too blunt for most people's liking. But that didn't mean he lacked admirers. His talent with music and guitar had earned him plenty of attention, with people constantly trying to strike up conversations or get close to him. Yet, he always brushed them off, uninterested in the fleeting admiration of strangers.
And, of course, where there was attention, there was jealousy. Some couldn't stand that he effortlessly drew people in, so they did what envious people always did-spread rumors. It wasn't long before whispers about Beomgyu started making rounds, tainting his name.
Unfortunately, things only spiraled from there. A senior from the engineering department, someone who had known Beomgyu from middle school, recognized him. Worse, he had been friends with the very boy who started the rumors back then. History repeated itself as the senior rekindled the past gossip, fueling the fire even more.
Beomgyu wasn't oblivious to it. He knew exactly what was being said behind his back. But instead of fighting it, he chose silence. It was easier that way. Or at least, that's what he told himself.
He was tired of explaining himself. No matter what he said, people would believe what they wanted to. Taehyun and Hueningkai had urged him to report everything to the principal, insisting that putting an end to it once and for all was the right thing to do. But Beomgyu didn't budge. He simply chose to stay silent.
He had been through this before-accusations, misunderstandings, false narratives spun by people who barely knew him. It wasn't new, and he had long stopped expecting fairness. By now, he had almost become resistant to it, letting the rumors fade into background noise. If he acted like they didn't bother him, maybe, just maybe, they eventually wouldn't.
What he made himself believe was that, in the end, the ones who truly mattered would always stay. And he wasn't wrong.
Taehyun and Hueningkai stayed.
No matter what was said about him, no matter how many people whispered behind his back or looked at him with judgment in their eyes, they never wavered. They never questioned him, never doubted him. That was enough. That was all he needed.
Talking about Soobin... Beomgyu didn't know what the future held. He had no idea if Soobin would stay.
But for the first time in a long while, he was willing to take that risk.
Ever since things with his parents started going downhill, his heart had been restless, heavy with emotions he could never quite put into words. But then there was Soobin. And for the first time, Beomgyu felt at ease-like someone truly heard him, like someone actually cared. And it wasn't just his hyung or his best friends who had always been there for him. It was someone new. Someone unexpected.
He had tried to resist it, to tell himself it didn't matter. But Soobin made him feel something different-something warm, something safe. And no matter how much he fought it, he eventually gave in.
For Beomgyu, Soobin was just another college student like him, which meant there was a high chance he had heard the rumors too. Yet, despite that, Soobin talked to him like nothing had changed. Like he saw Beomgyu for who he truly was.
That left Beomgyu with two possibilities-either Soobin hadn't heard the rumors, or he simply didn't believe them. And Beomgyu was almost certain it was the latter.
The rumors had spread like wildfire among the students, whispered in hallways and exchanged in hushed tones. But thankfully, they hadn't reached the teachers or authorities yet. If they had, things would've turned into a serious issue-one that Beomgyu wasn't sure he had the energy to deal with.
Lost in his thoughts, Beomgyu leaned against the bookshelf, the familiar book resting in his hands. His fingers traced the edges absentmindedly as his mind wandered through everything that had led him here.
Despite the silence of the library, his heart drummed in his chest-part excitement, part nervousness. He had no idea how this meeting would go, but he knew one thing for sure.
He was waiting for Soobin.
***
Chapter Text
After wrapping up his last task, Soobin glanced at the time—it was nearly the end of the college day. The reminder of his meeting with Beomgyu sent a wave of nervousness through him.
He hurriedly put the files back in place and headed out, but with each step, the weight of uncertainty grew heavier. What would Beomgyu think of him? How would he react? Would he be disappointed? Worse—would he regret their friendship?
His mind swirled with endless possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last. Yet, despite the anxiety pressing down on him, he kept walking, making his way to the library.
The corridors grew quieter as students filtered out, their chatter fading into the distance. Lost in his tangled thoughts, Soobin stepped into the library, his heart pounding with uncertainty.
He turned the corner of the rack, and there he was—a boy leaning casually against the shelves, a book in his hands. Their book. His guitar hung over his shoulder, resting against his back.
Soobin stepped closer, taking in the details. His fingers tapped restlessly against the book cover, his posture laced with impatience. His forehead creased slightly in thought, eyes shifting around the room in quiet anticipation. Every so often, he would bite his lower lip absentmindedly. And yet, despite his restlessness, he looked effortlessly ethereal.
He was tall, probably only a few centimeters shorter than Soobin, with a lean, well-proportioned frame. His black hair, slightly curled, fell onto his forehead in soft waves, framing his face in a way that felt almost intentional.
Suddenly, Soobin’s breath hitched, and without thinking, he took a step back. Panic settled in his chest as he quickly moved to the opposite racks, crouching down behind them. His heart pounded against his ribs, his mind racing.
What was he doing? Why was he hiding?
Yet, despite knowing how ridiculous it was, he couldn't bring himself to stand up just yet.
"It's him," Soobin thought, his mind struggling to process the reality before him. He had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was happening, he found himself unable to move.
He stayed crouched, gripping the edge of the shelf, his heart pounding. He couldn’t believe that the person he had been talking to all this time, the one who had unknowingly become such a big part of his days, was actually him.
The boy leaning against the rack, the boy holding their book, the boy Soobin had unknowingly let into his life—he was the same one who had been the talk of the college.
Rumors surrounded him like an invisible storm, yet here he was, waiting, unaware that Soobin now knew him.
Soobin had been unaware of the rumors circulating about Beomgyu. He had never paid attention to gossip, never cared for idle whispers.
Now, standing there, hidden between the racks, he realized the weight of the situation.
Beomgyu wasn’t just any student—he was the one everyone talked about. And yet, despite all the noise around him, Beomgyu had been nothing but kind.
Soobin had always noticed the way people gravitated toward Beomgyu. Every time he passed through the corridors, there would be a group surrounding him—boys and girls alike, drawn to him like moths to a flame. It made Soobin believe that Beomgyu was someone admired, someone who belonged among the stars, effortlessly shining in the spotlight.
And then, he remembered. The buzz around the new band, the way everyone spoke about their main guitarist and leader with admiration. Beomgyu had been at the center of it all, his name constantly on people’s lips.
That realization only deepened Soobin’s doubts. Why would someone like Beomgyu—someone so well-known, so respected—ever want to be friends with him? Soobin was no one, just another invisible figure in the background. Worse, he wasn’t even a college student. He was already looked down upon by others, and this only made the gap between them feel even wider.
And Soobin did exactly what a coward would do—he turned around and ran.
Taking small, uneasy steps, Soobin walked out of the library. His heart tugged at him, urging him to turn back—to go and meet the boy who was still waiting for him, still believing he would show up. But the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind held him back, pushing him further away.
Eventually, he walked away—from the place that had redefined itself in his life over the past few months. It was no longer just a library to him. It was the place that had given him a friend like Beomgyu, a place that had unknowingly become his solace. Today, it could have meant even more, for both of them. Yet, this time, Soobin chose to turn away from his own happiness.
-
Beomgyu, unaware of what had just unfolded behind that distant book rack, was still waiting. More than half an hour had passed, and restlessness was beginning to take over. His heavy steps echoed softly as he paced around the library, his fingers anxiously fidgeting with the book in his hands. Every few seconds, he checked the time, hoping to see a message, a sign—anything.
The library, a place he once despised, had felt suffocating the first time he stepped inside. Today, it was suffocating him again. But this time, for a completely different reason.
After holding back for as long as he could, Beomgyu finally gave in and pulled out his phone. His fingers moved instinctively, dialing the number that had become so familiar he could recite it even in his sleep.
A ring. Then another.
He waited, hope flickering in his chest. But after a while, the call went silent.
No answer.
But he wasn’t going to give up. Not yet.
How could he, when it had taken everything in him to open up to someone—someone who was a stranger not too long ago, someone he barely knew at first, yet had become an irreplaceable part of his everyday life?
Maybe Soobin was caught up with something. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he would come later.
Beomgyu clung to those possibilities, trying his best to convince himself that Soobin would show up. That he hadn't just been left waiting like a fool. But deep inside, a part of him had already started to give up.
And that feeling—it made him weak. He hated it.
He shouldn’t have trusted him in the first place.
Why did he?
Why did he let himself believe that this time would be any different? Hadn’t he already learned his lesson? Hadn’t he already sworn to never let himself get attached again after what happened with his so-called friend from high school?
Yet, he trusted Soobin. So easily. So completely.
And now, he was paying the price for it.
Beomgyu clenched his fists, frustration boiling inside him—not at Soobin, but at himself. He should have known better. He should have never let his guard down.
-
As Soobin wandered absentmindedly toward the exit, he nearly bumped into Miss Chelsea. They exchanged greetings before she glanced at him curiously.
“What are you still doing here? Your accounts work should be done by now.”
Caught off guard, Soobin quickly lied, forcing a casual tone. “I was just waiting for Yeonjun hyung to finish up.”
Before she could question him further, her phone rang. She answered hurriedly, nodding along to the conversation before turning back to him.
“I need a favor,” she said, already pressing a set of keys into his hand. “Lock up the library and drop the keys at the reception, alright?”
Soobin’s breath hitched.
Before he could protest, she was already rushing off, leaving him standing there, the weight of the keys suddenly feeling heavier than they should.
Soobin stood frozen, staring at the cold metal keys resting in his palm.
Lock the library?
He swallowed hard, his heart pounding against his ribs. He hadn’t planned on going back—not after running away like a coward. Not after abandoning Beomgyu without a word. But now, fate seemed to be pulling him back to the very place he was so desperate to escape from.
His fingers curled around the keys as he took a shaky breath. Maybe Beomgyu had already left. Maybe he wouldn’t have to face him.
Maybe.
But a part of him—the part that still ached with guilt—knew he wasn’t that lucky.
Soobin turned back, his footsteps feeling heavier than before, and made his way to the library once again.
This time, as he slid the door open—perhaps a little louder than necessary, as if subconsciously hoping to announce his presence—he was met with hurried footsteps.
"Soobin?"
Beomgyu’s voice rang out, filled with uncertainty, almost like he needed to confirm that Soobin had actually come.
For a moment, Soobin just stood there, taking him in—his wide, hopeful eyes, the way his lips curled into the smallest of smiles, as if he had been waiting for this. But then, in an instant, the warmth drained from his face.
His smile faltered. His eyes darkened.
And as he let out a quiet, almost resigned, "Oh," Soobin realized exactly why.
Beomgyu hadn’t been waiting for the college accountant.
The accountant—the one everyone in the college barely acknowledged, the one they overlooked, the one they laughed at behind his back.
That’s who had shown up.
Not the friend Beomgyu had been waiting for. Not the person he had hoped to see.
Just the mere joke of the college.
Beomgyu straightened his posture, masking whatever he was feeling behind a tough exterior. "Yes?" His voice came out firm, unwavering—almost challenging.
Soobin blinked, twice. The change in Beomgyu’s expression was too sudden, too forced. It didn’t match the person he had come to know over the past few months. Or… had he only seen what he wanted to? Pushing those thoughts aside, he focused on the reason he was there.
"It’s time for the college to close. I’m here to lock up the library," Soobin explained.
And then, there it was again—that fleeting shift in Beomgyu’s expression. A crack in the carefully built facade. But just as quickly, he covered it up.
"Can I please stay here a little longer? I'm actually waiting for someone," Beomgyu asked, almost pleading.
Soobin hesitated. He could see the desperation in Beomgyu's eyes, the way his hopeful spark had dimmed the moment he mentioned locking the library. But what could he do? He had no choice, did he?
"But it’s already time. I need to lock up," Soobin replied, trying his best to keep his voice steady.
"Just a few more minutes, please? I'm sure he's on his way," Beomgyu pleaded again, his voice softer this time.
Soobin wavered. He was so close to giving in, seeing how earnestly Beomgyu was asking. But he knew the truth—he wasn’t coming. With a heavy heart, he forced himself to respond. "I'm sorry, but if he was going to come, he’d be here by now. Everyone knows college is over. I suggest you head back before you get locked in."
He couldn’t bring himself to look at Beomgyu. Instead, he busied himself by shuffling the papers on the desk, pretending to be distracted.
"Oh."
Just one word. Small. Defeated.
Beomgyu dragged his feet toward the door but suddenly stopped and turned back.
"If by any chance he shows up after I leave, or if you run into him in the hallway… please tell him I was waiting. Just in case he thinks I didn’t show up," he said, forcing a small smile.
Soobin barely nodded, letting out a quiet hum as Beomgyu disappeared behind the door.
Beomgyu was too lost in his thoughts to mention the name of the person he was waiting for—or even his own. It simply didn’t cross his mind.
Neither did Soobin think to ask.
Well, he already knew.
As Beomgyu wandered aimlessly, lost in his thoughts—or perhaps completely thoughtless—his phone vibrated in his pocket.It was a text from Taehyun.
We practiced till now. Let us know when you're done, and we'll head home together.
Beomgyu took a deep breath, collecting himself before making his way to the parking lot.
Hueningkai and Taehyun were leaning against the car’s bonnet, casually chatting about random things. As soon as they spotted Beomgyu approaching, they waved at him with their usual warm smiles.
They both knew about his meeting with Soobin. They had been expecting it to go well. Seeing Beomgyu finally trying to step out of his shell brought them relief and happiness. They wanted this to be a new beginning for him.
But the moment they saw Beomgyu's face, their smiles faltered.
Something was off. His usual spark was missing, replaced by a distant look. His shoulders were slightly slumped, and the way he dragged his feet toward them told a different story than the one they had hoped for.
Taehyun exchanged a quick glance with Hueningkai before stepping forward. "Hey… how did it go?" he asked carefully, already bracing himself for an answer he might not want to hear.
Beomgyu avoided meeting their eyes, afraid that if he did, he would break. And he was right.
The moment he finally looked up after Taehyun's question, tears spilled down his cheeks, his throat tightening as he struggled to form words that refused to come.
Before he could even attempt to speak, Taehyun pulled him into a hug, shielding him from the weight of his emotions. Hueningkai stood beside them, gently patting Beomgyu’s head, offering silent comfort. They stayed like that until his sobs quieted.
Without a word, Taehyun took the driver's seat while Hueningkai sat in the back with Beomgyu. The ride home was unbearably silent, heavy with unspoken thoughts that clouded Beomgyu’s mind.
He kept replaying everything in his mind—Soobin’s absence, the waiting, the way his hope crumbled bit by bit. The way his heart ached at the realization that he had let himself believe, just this once, that someone new would stay.
Hueningkai sat close beside him, his presence warm and steady, as if silently reassuring him that he wasn't alone. Taehyun focused on the road, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened every time he glanced at Beomgyu through the mirror.
No one spoke.
Maybe because they didn’t know what to say. Or maybe because Beomgyu needed the silence to process everything.
As soon as they reached home, Beomgyu tried to slip away, avoiding dinner altogether. But Taehyun and Hueningkai knew him too well to let that happen. They did everything they could—whether it was coaxing, scolding, or simply refusing to leave his side—until he finally gave in, taking small bites of his meal.
What truly surprised Beomgyu, though, was Hueningkai’s reaction. It was rare—almost unheard of—to see him lose his calm. But tonight, his anger was palpable. His usual soft demeanor had vanished, replaced with sheer frustration. If Soobin had been standing in front of him right now, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.
Taehyun, ever the rational one, remained composed as he tried to make sense of the situation. He asked Hueningkai to check on Hiyyih before settling beside Beomgyu on the couch.
"Beomgyu, listen. People have their reasons for what they do. There must be something behind Soobin not showing up today. But assuming you don’t deserve people in your life or happiness isn’t fair to yourself."
Beomgyu stayed silent, absorbing Taehyun’s words. Taking it as a sign to continue, Taehyun spoke again.
"I'm not excusing him or saying he didn't hurt you. What he did was wrong—no doubt about that. But maybe his reason for doing it isn’t. It hurts because you've let him in, because he matters to you. And since he does, you owe it to yourself to talk to him. Be upset, be angry, tell him how you feel. There's nothing wrong with that—just give it a chance."
Beomgyu let out a small breath, feeling the weight of Taehyun’s words settle inside him. He knew Taehyun wasn’t just saying it to make him feel better—he was always the rational one, the one who saw things clearly when emotions clouded everything else.
Maybe Soobin had a reason. Maybe there was more to it than just him being cast aside. But did he have the strength to find out?
He wasn’t sure.
Still, he nodded, acknowledging Taehyun’s words.
Taehyun gave him a satisfied look before standing up. “Now go and rest. You look terrible,” he added, flicking Beomgyu’s forehead playfully.
Beomgyu sighed, rubbing the spot. “Thanks.”
Without another word, he got up, dragging his exhausted body toward his roo
-
Yeonjun picked Soobin up, and they headed to the café to see if Seokmin needed any help for tomorrow's opening. Throughout the ride, Yeonjun couldn't ignore Soobin's distant and unusual behavior.
Something was off.
Soobin was supposed to meet his friend today. Yeonjun didn't want to jump to conclusions, but deep down, he had a feeling it had something to do with that meeting. Did things not go well? Did his friend end their friendship after finding out who Soobin was?
Yeonjun shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. Right now, he needed to focus on the road.
Together, they helped Seokmin move the furniture and set up the crockery, carefully arranging the tables and chairs to make the café feel warm and inviting. Along with that, they carried all the necessary kitchen equipment—placing the brewing machine in its designated spot, setting up the baking station, and ensuring every essential item was where it needed to be.
The space slowly started to come together, turning from an empty shell into a cozy café, ready for its grand opening.
Seokmin, noticing Soobin's unusually quiet demeanor and Yeonjun’s concerned glances, suggested they take a break. "Let’s rest for a bit," he said, wiping his hands on a cloth. "We’ve done a lot already."
He used the moment as an opportunity to check on Soobin. Yeonjun, too, seemed eager to talk but was waiting for the right time. As they settled into their seats, Seokmin casually asked, "Soobin, everything alright? You’ve been a bit off today."
Yeonjun stayed silent but kept his gaze fixed on Soobin, waiting for him to open up.
Soobin hesitated, his breath unsteady.
"Hyung... I messed up," he whispered, his voice trembling.
Yeonjun and Seokmin exchanged a glance, their expressions shifting to concern.
Yeonjun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What do you mean, Soobin? What happened?"
Soobin swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the hem of his sweater. "I ran away," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "He was waiting for me… and I ran away."
Seokmin sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Why, Soobin? I thought things were going well between you two."
Soobin shook his head, frustration and guilt evident in his features. "I—I got scared. When I realized who he was, I just… I couldn’t face him. I thought—what if he regrets being my friend? What if he looks at me the same way everyone else does?" His voice wavered, eyes shining with unshed tears.
Yeonjun exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "So you just left him there?"
Soobin nodded, shame weighing heavily on his shoulders. "And now, I don’t know how to fix it."
Yeonjun glanced at Soobin, his concern deepening. “Soobin, can you tell me who it was? Maybe I can help.”
Soobin hesitated. A part of him feared Yeonjun might recognize the name, that Beomgyu could be one of his students. But how long could he keep hiding it? After today, there would be nothing left to connect him to Beomgyu anyway… right?
With a deep breath, he finally decided to speak.
Soobin's voice was barely above a whisper. "It's Beomgyu."
Yeonjun furrowed his brows, as if searching his memory. "Beomgyu? Beom—oh!" Recognition flickered in his eyes, but he quickly masked it. "Yeah, I know him."
Soobin didn’t seem surprised. "He… he's in the new band," he added hesitantly.
Yeonjun nodded. "Yeah, that's right." He knew exactly who Beomgyu was, but for now, he kept the rest to himself.
Soobin let out a shaky sigh. “I should’ve known he was someone important… someone everyone talks about.”
Yeonjun observed him carefully.
“I was supposed to meet him at the library, but when I saw who he really was, I panicked,” Soobin admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… why would someone like him ever want to be friends with me? I didn’t even give him a chance to prove me wrong.”
Yeonjun exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Soobin, you idiot…” He softened his tone. “Did you even consider that maybe Beomgyu didn’t care about any of that?”
Soobin clenched his fists. “I don’t know. But if he didn’t before… he probably does now.”
"Soobin, listen to me," Yeonjun said firmly. "From what I know about Beomgyu, he’s nothing like what you’re making him out to be. He’s a simple, kind, and innocent kid. Just yesterday, you couldn’t stop appreciating what a great friend he was. So why now? Why did you run when you finally had the chance to meet him?"
Seokmin sat down beside Soobin, carefully wrapping an arm around his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"Soobin, don’t be too hard on yourself," he said gently. "If you think you made a mistake, then talk to him. Apologize. Tell him why you did what you did. Explain yourself. It was an impulsive decision made out of fear—anyone could have felt that way. But if you open up to him, I’m sure he’ll understand. Just don’t let all the effort you put into this friendship go to waste."
Soobin nodded, absorbing every word Seokmin had said.
"Hyung, we should leave. Grandpa is calling—the store must be crowded," Yeonjun announced, glancing at his phone after receiving a message from Mr. Lee.
"Yeah, alright. See you both tomorrow," Seokmin replied before turning to Soobin. "And hey, take it easy. Talk it out when you're ready, okay?"
Soobin managed a faint smile before he and Yeonjun headed out.
–
As Beomgyu immersed himself in creating new melodies on his guitar, a sudden buzz from his phone broke his focus.
His fingers froze just before strumming the chord. Without hesitation, he pushed his chair back, reaching for his phone on the bed. A series of messages from Soobin filled the screen.
His heart stuttered. Hesitation gripped him—part of him dreading what the texts might say, the other part seething with frustration. Instead of reading them, he exhaled sharply and, fueled by his emotions, pressed the call button. The number was already second nature to him.
The phone barely rang twice before the call was answered.
"Soobin," Beomgyu spoke first, his voice sharp, laced with frustration. He didn’t care to hide it.
There was silence on the other end—long enough for Beomgyu to feel his anger rise further. "You had a lot to say over text, but now you have nothing to say?" he scoffed.
"Soobin, if you called to apologize, just don’t. I don’t need it," Beomgyu added, gripping his phone tighter. His other hand clenched into a fist over his guitar strings.
"I—" Soobin finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I messed up."
Beomgyu let out a bitter laugh. "You think?"
"Beomgyu" came the reply, fragile and uncertain. And just like that, the anger that had been burning inside Beomgyu dissipated, leaving only the raw ache of disappointment.
"I—I was waiting," Beomgyu murmured, his voice breaking. The sheer pain in his words made Soobin’s heart clench.
"I waited until I had no choice but to leave," he continued, each word heavier than the last. "I was expecting to see you. I trusted you, Soobin. I trusted you."
Silence hung between them, thick with unspoken emotions. Soobin felt like the words he wanted to say were slipping through his fingers. Beomgyu was hurt—he could hear it in his voice, feel it in the weight of his words.
"Beomgyu, I have no excuse for what I did," Soobin admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I messed up. I’m really, really sorry. I—I just couldn't bring myself to come see you. I was afraid—"
"Afraid of what?" Beomgyu cut in, his tone sharp, laced with frustration.
"Afraid that I wouldn't be the person you were expecting to meet," Soobin confessed. "And honestly... I'm nothing like what you think of me."
Beomgyu sighed, the sound heavy and exhausted. "Soobin, you're my friend. That's all that matters to me. Do you have any idea how miserable I felt when you didn’t show up today? It felt like I was being betrayed all over again. I thought you’d be different. That you wouldn’t break my trust." His voice wavered. "But you did."
Soobin squeezed his eyes shut, his grip tightening on his phone.
"If you can't keep up with this friendship," Beomgyu continued, his voice eerily calm, "then maybe we should just end it here. It won’t take us anywhere."
Panic shot through Soobin like a bolt of lightning. "Beomgyu, please," he pleaded, his voice shaking. "I—I don’t want to lose you. I know I was wrong. I’m sorry. But please, don’t say that. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. We’ll meet. And this time, I won’t run away. I promise."
Beomgyu let out a bitter chuckle, void of any amusement. "You promised last time too, Soobin. And you broke it. How can I trust you again?"
"I know," Soobin whispered, desperation creeping into his voice. "Just—just give me this one chance. Please, Beomgyu. Please."
Beomgyu hesitated for a moment before asking, "Will you show up this time when I ask you?"
"Yes. Yes, I will," Soobin responded without a second thought, his voice firm, almost desperate.
"Can you meet me after the freshers' party? During the last song we play? Can you show up then?"
Soobin hesitated for a brief second, the weight of his earlier mistake pressing down on him. He thought about stepping back, but the memory of Beomgyu’s broken expression in the library wouldn’t let him. He couldn't run away again.
"I’ll be there, Beomgyu," he said, his voice steady with determination.
"This will be your last chance, Soobin. Last chance for our friendship."
"I know. Thank you, Beomgyu," Soobin replied softly, relief and guilt mixing in his chest.
A brief silence settled between them before Beomgyu, not wanting the awkwardness to linger, changed the topic. "How did your day go? Is Minnie hyung all ready for the opening tomorrow?"
Soobin blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "You remember?"
"Of course," Beomgyu said casually, but the sincerity in his tone was unmistakable.
Soobin felt something warm settle in his heart. Beomgyu had been listening—paying attention, even when Soobin had failed him.
"Yes, he's all set and way too excited for tomorrow," Soobin chuckled, picturing Seokmin running around, making sure everything was perfect.
"Hmm. Let’s visit the cafe together someday," Beomgyu suggested casually, as if it were the most natural thing to say.
Soobin paused. Maybe meeting him wouldn't be as bad as he feared. Maybe they could have a normal, simple friendship—just like everyone else.
"Soobin? Are you there?"
"Umm? Yes. Of course. Let’s visit soon," Soobin answered, snapping out of his thoughts.
"So, will you be busy with the cafe tomorrow?"
"Hmm, probably. Seokmin hyung asked us to show up in the morning."
"Nice. You should get some rest. It’ll be a long day for you tomorrow," Beomgyu said, his tone light but genuine.
Soobin found himself smiling, the tension in his chest easing just a little. "Hmm. I will. Beomgyu?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. And... let’s meet soon."
"Soon," Beomgyu echoed softly.
-
The once-empty café was now alive with chatter and laughter as people gathered inside. Seokmin, along with Soobin and Yeonjun, moved swiftly through the space, welcoming customers with warm smiles. Each of them wore aprons embroidered with the café’s name, accompanied by a small sunflower—an unmistakable touch of Seokmin’s personality.
Meraki Brews—the name stood proudly at the entrance, inviting everyone in.
Meraki (Greek) means doing something with love, passion, and soul—just like Seokmin had poured his heart into this café.
As the café grew busier, Dino soon joined them to help manage the crowd. Yeonjun had asked him to come along, knowing an extra pair of hands would be useful. Besides, Dino had already formed a friendship with Seokmin during his frequent visits to the store while the brothers were working.
With their team growing, the atmosphere in Meraki Brews felt even more lively, filled with warm conversations, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and the comforting presence of friends working together.
"Mimi!" A delicate voice called out, filled with excitement.
A little girl, no older than four, dressed in a blue frock with a small sling bag resting at her side, ran toward Seokmin with her arms wide open. Her soft features and radiant smile made her look like a tiny burst of sunshine.
Seokmin instantly recognized the voice. Turning around just in time, he caught her in his arms, lifting her effortlessly. He spun her around a couple of times before pulling her into a warm embrace, still holding her close.
"Eunsoo-ah! You're finally here!" Seokmin beamed, his voice full of warmth. "I missed you so much," he added, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
The little girl giggled, her laughter like the sweetest melody. "I missed you too, Mimi," she said, cupping Seokmin's cheeks with her tiny hands before playfully bumping her forehead against his nose.
"Eunsoo! Stop running, you'll get hurt," a voice called out, drawing both Seokmin and Eunsoo's attention as they tilted their heads in unison.
"There she is!" another, firmer voice followed.
Seokmin's smile widened as he spotted the two men walking into the café, their attempts to appear annoyed betrayed by the fondness in their eyes. Their over-energetic daughter had clearly kept them on their toes, but they wouldn't have it any other way.
Seokmin set Eunsoo down gently before rushing forward to greet them, wrapping both men in a tight embrace.
"Hyung!!! I'm so happy that you guys are here. Thank you for coming!" he beamed, his excitement radiating through his voice.
One of them let out an exaggerated whine, squirming slightly. "Yah, Seokmin, I can't breathe!"
Laughing, Seokmin finally released them, only to playfully ruffle Eunsoo’s hair as she giggled at the scene.
"Jeonghan hyung, you're still as fragile as ever," Seokmin teased with a playful grin.
Jeonghan scoffed, smoothing out his shirt. "It's called elegance, Seokmin. You should take notes."
The other man chuckled beside them, shaking his head. "Some things never change, do they?"
Seokmin laughed. "Not at all!" Then, noticing his amused expression, he added, "And as always, Seungcheol hyung enjoys this way too much."
Before Seungcheol could respond, a small tug on Seokmin’s sleeve caught his attention. He looked down to find Eunsoo gazing up at him with bright eyes.
"And how’s my little princess doing?" he asked, bending down to her level.
"I'm doing good! I'll start school soon!" Eunsoo chimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Seokmin gasped dramatically. "Really? My little princess is growing up so fast!" He gently poked her cheek. "Are you excited?"
Eunsoo nodded eagerly. "Yes! I have a new bag and crayons and everything!"
Jeonghan chuckled, ruffling her hair. "She’s been talking about it nonstop."
Seungcheol smiled fondly. "And insisting that she’ll be the best student in class."
Seokmin grinned, placing a hand over his heart. "Of course, she will! She’s got the best parents and the best uncle." He winked at her, making Eunsoo giggle.
"I've got a sketchbook over there," Seokmin said, pointing to a cozy corner of the café. "You wanna use it?"
Eunsoo’s eyes lit up. "Yes, please!" she chirped, already bouncing on her feet.
Seungcheol chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Fine, I'll take her," he offered, reaching for her hand.
Eunsoo beamed up at him. "Let's go, Dad!"
Jeonghan watched them walk off before turning back to Seokmin. "You really set up this place beautifully," he said, admiration in his voice.
Jeonghan’s eyes wandered across the café, taking in every detail Seokmin had poured his heart into. The main area where customers sat with their drinks, the small garden space across the glass partition, the cozy corner filled with books and pottery—every part of it reflected Seokmin’s warmth and passion.
Seokmin had also set up a special corner near the pottery section, where his cherished guitar stood proudly on its stand—a gift from his grandfather. Music had always been a part of him, something that brought him comfort and joy. His voice, soothing yet captivating, had the power to fill any space with warmth.
It wasn’t just a café; it was a reflection of everything he loved.
His gaze finally landed on Seungcheol and Eunsoo, already lost in a sea of crayons. Seungcheol was helping her color, his expression soft and focused, while Eunsoo giggled, holding up a bright yellow crayon.
Jeonghan smiled. "You really built something special here, Seokmin."
"I just went with what felt right," Seokmin said with a shrug.
"And you did an amazing job," Jeonghan praised.
To most people, Seokmin seemed just as bright and cheerful as ever since the couple arrived. But Jeonghan noticed something different.
There was a subtle restlessness in Seokmin’s actions, his eyes drifting toward the door every so often, as if expecting someone to walk in. Jeonghan had been observing him closely, and now, as he caught Seokmin glancing at the entrance once again, he decided to say something.
Jeonghan sighed, watching Seokmin's hopeful glances toward the door. "He won't come, Seokmin."
Seokmin opened his mouth to protest, but Jeonghan didn’t let him.
"I told him about the opening and asked him to join us, but he said he was busy. I'm sorry."
Seokmin had already braced himself for this, but hearing it out loud still stung.
"Hyung, why are you apologizing?" He forced a small smile. "It's okay. I already knew he wouldn't come, so don't think too much about it."
Jeonghan clenched his jaw, frustration evident in his voice. "If only I could knock some sense into that idiot’s thick skull."
Seokmin chuckled, but before he could say anything, a burst of loud giggles and playful screams grabbed their attention.
Across the café, Eunsoo was running around with a paintbrush in hand, closely followed by Yeonjun, who was just as determined to paint her back. The results of their little war were already visible—Yeonjun sported a pair of cat-like whiskers, while Eunsoo had a tiny mouse mustache drawn on her face.
Meanwhile, Soobin and Seungcheol looked absolutely exhausted, chasing after them in a desperate attempt to put an end to the chaos.
Seokmin and Jeonghan exchanged amused glances before bursting into laughter at the sight.
Eventually, Yeonjun and Eunsoo, both breathless from all the running, flopped onto the couch where Seokmin’s grandfather was resting. The old man chuckled, watching them with fond eyes as they tried to catch their breath, still giggling.
"You two are unbelievable," Soobin sighed, finally giving up.
Seungcheol shook his head. "I feel like I just aged ten years trying to stop them."
Eunsoo, still grinning, looked up at Seokmin’s grandfather. "Grandpa, do you think we look cute?"
The old man smiled warmly, patting her head. "The cutest troublemakers I’ve ever seen."
Everyone laughed, the café filled with warmth and joy—exactly how Seokmin had always envisioned it to be.
As the evening settled in, the once-bustling café grew quieter, with only a few customers lingering. Soobin, Yeonjun, and Dino remained occupied, attending to the last few tables, while Seokmin focused on brewing fresh coffee and finishing up some baked goods.
At a cozy corner, Seungcheol and Jeonghan sat with Seokmin’s grandfather, sharing tea and engaging in lighthearted conversation. Their laughter occasionally echoed through the café, blending with the soothing hum of background music.
Meanwhile, Eunsoo, having exhausted all her energy from running around earlier, now sat perched on a stool near the pottery section. She sipped on her chocolate smoothie, her wide eyes fixed on a young woman shaping clay with careful precision. Her fascination was evident, her tiny legs swinging back and forth as she observed every delicate movement.
The café, though quieter now, still carried a warm, comforting atmosphere—exactly the kind of place Seokmin had always dreamed of creating.
As the day wound down, Seokmin suggested they all have dinner together before calling it a night. When he finally got a moment, he introduced the couple to the boys, explaining that they were his best friends from middle school in Japan and had been together since high school.
Curious, Yeonjun asked about Eunsoo, to which Seokmin smiled and simply said, “They adopted her. It’s a long story—I’ll tell you some other day.”
As dinner arrived, the group settled into a comfortable rhythm, eating and chatting. Eunsoo quickly became the highlight of the evening, bouncing from chair to chair, happily accepting bites from everyone’s plates. She had easily grown attached to Yeonjun, Soobin, and Dino, giggling at their jokes and enjoying their company.
But when it was time to leave, things took a turn. Eunsoo clung to Yeonjun, tears welling up as she refused to let go. “Nooo, I wanna stay with Yeonjunnie!” she wailed, tightening her hold around his neck.
Soobin and Seokmin immediately jumped in, trying every trick they knew to console her. “Eunsoo-ah, we’ll visit soon, okay?” Soobin promised.
“You can come back during your vacation!” Seokmin added, patting her back gently.
After several reassurances, pinky promises, and a few more sniffles, Eunsoo finally agreed to leave, though she still pouted all the way to the door.
Seokmin thanked the brothers and Dino for all their help, and with warm goodbyes, everyone headed home, their hearts full from a day well spent.
-
It was finally the day everyone had been waiting for-the Freshers' Party. The college campus had never been this lively before. Students rushed around, making last-minute arrangements, carrying decorations, adjusting the sound system, and setting up the main hall. Excitement buzzed in the air as upperclassmen guided the new students, ensuring everything was in place.
In the dressing rooms, performers were rehearsing one last time, fixing their outfits, and calming their nerves. The event promised music, dance, and endless fun, making it one of the most anticipated nights of the year.
Beomgyu's band had been given a separate room, as they had multiple performances throughout the event-opening, interludes between speeches, and the closing act.
Despite all the rehearsals, nerves still ran high. Some paced the room, trying to calm themselves, while others double-checked their instruments to make sure everything was perfect.
The atmosphere in the room was tense-filled with a mix of excitement and nervous energy. They had practiced tirelessly for this moment, but the anticipation of performing in front of such a large crowd made it impossible to stay still.
Beomgyu sat quietly in the corner, his fingers resting on the strings of his guitar while his other hand held his phone. His eyes flickered to the screen occasionally, as if waiting for something, but he wasn't sure what. A message? A call? A simple reassurance? He let out a small sigh, shaking his head as if to push away the thoughts.
Across the room, Taehyun and Heeseung were going over vocal warm-ups, their voices blending in perfect harmony. Hueningkai tapped lightly on his drums, lost in his own world, while Jay adjusted the tuning of his electric guitar, running his fingers over the strings.
Heeseung, ever the thoughtful one, had brought drinks and snacks to help them stay energized. "Here," he said, handing a bottle of water to Beomgyu, who took it absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to his phone.
"Waiting for someone?" Heeseung asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a seat next to him.
Beomgyu hesitated for a moment before locking his phone and putting it away. "No, just... checking the time," he mumbled, adjusting the strap of his guitar.
Heeseung didn't push, but he noticed the slight tension in Beomgyu's posture. "It's gonna be fine. We've got this," he reassured him, giving his shoulder a light pat before standing up.
Beomgyu forced a small smile and nodded. "Yeah. We've got this."
Even as he said it, his mind couldn't help but wander-wondering if Soobin would actually come.
Beomgyu was absentmindedly strumming a melody on his guitar when his phone buzzed. He quickly picked it up, his eyes landing on a message from Soobin.
Fighting!! You got this!
It was just a short text, yet it carried so much weight. His shoulders relaxed, the tension melting away, and a small smile tugged at his lips.
A second notification popped up-this time from his brother.
Are you nervous?
Don't worry!
You'll do great!
With that, any lingering nervousness faded. The people who mattered most to him were supporting him-his friends, his brother, and of course, Hiyyih, the little sister he shared with Hueningkai. She had woken up earlier than usual to prepare breakfast and pack sandwiches for them. It was clear she was more nervous than the boys themselves.
Beomgyu and his bandmates had all appreciated her sweet gesture. With their hearts full and their spirits lifted, they knew they were ready to take the stage.
Beomgyu opened his chat with Soobin and quickly typed:
Thank you!
I hope I'll see you soon.
Then, switching to his brother's chat, he sent another message:
Now I ain't nervous at all.
Thank you, hyung.
And also, you can come in the evening.
I wanna meet you soon!
His brother had told him he was in town and had asked if Beomgyu wanted to meet. That was just the kind of person his brother was-always considerate, never pushing him beyond what he was comfortable with. Since the day Beomgyu had distanced himself, his brother had never once pressured him or demanded anything. He always asked first, making sure every decision regarding Beomgyu was his own choice.
And that was why Beomgyu loved him more than anyone else-even more than their parents.
As the function was about to begin, the entire college buzzed with anticipation. Everyone was busy with last-minute checks-ensuring the lights were perfect, the sound system was set, and every detail was in place.
Beomgyu and his band stood on standby, their hearts pounding with excitement and nerves. Soobin, tasked with maintaining the decorum of the auditorium, moved swiftly through the crowd, making sure everything ran smoothly. Meanwhile, Yeonjun, ever the motivator, was hyping up his students, encouraging them to give their best.
The guests had taken their seats, and the air was filled with eager murmurs. This year's event was special-it was the first time the college had organized such a grand fresher's party, designed to help students interact, bond, and create lasting friendships. Everyone was looking forward to the night, and the atmosphere was electric with excitement.
The auditorium buzzed with excitement as the hosts of the night welcomed everyone with great enthusiasm. The energy was high, and anticipation filled the air as they announced the first stage performance-a welcome act by the freshers' band.
The lights dimmed slightly as the boys stepped onto the stage, instruments in hand, ready to leave their mark. Beomgyu, as the leader, took center stage, gripping the mic with confidence.
What set this band apart wasn't just their talent-it was their dedication. They treated their music seriously, pouring their passion into every note. And just like any professional group, they had a name, a signature greeting, and a sense of unity that made them stand out.
"Say it louder!" they called out in unison, their voices echoing through the hall.
Beomgyu took a deep breath before leading the introduction. "Hello everyone! We are-"
"ECHO5!" the group responded together, their voices firm and filled with energy. As they spoke, they made a synchronized motion by snapping their fingers in different directions.
A wave of cheers erupted from the audience, setting the perfect stage for their opening performance.
Their name, ECHO5-pronounced as "Echos"-held deep significance.
"ECHO" symbolized the lingering impact of their music, a sound that didn't just fade but resonated in the hearts of those who listened. It represented their emotions, stories, and voices reaching beyond the stage, creating ripples that would never truly disappear.
"5" stood for the five members, each bringing their own distinct talent and energy. Like individual notes forming a perfect chord, they blended harmoniously, creating something far greater than the sum of their parts. It was a reminder of their unity, strength, and balance-an unbreakable bond that defined their music.
Together, they were ECHO5, a name that wasn't just a title but a promise-to leave a lasting mark with their melodies and passion.
To set a strong and inspiring tone for the evening, ECHO5 kicked off their performance with Shining by Kim Han Gyeom. The song perfectly captured the essence of a new beginning-embracing change, leaving the past behind, and moving forward with confidence. As the melody filled the auditorium, the band poured their hearts into every note. Taehyun and Heeseung's vocals blended harmoniously with Beomgyu's acoustic guitar, while Hueningkai and Jay brought energy with the rhythmic beat of drums and electric guitar. Their passion was evident, drawing the audience into their world of music.
Each member took turns singing, their voices carrying raw emotion, while harmonizing and exchanging adlibs that elevated the performance. The passion in their voices and the strength in their sound made it more than just a cover-it became a declaration of resilience, ambition, and unity.
The audience was captivated, feeling the intensity of every note. ECHO5 had set the tone for the night, proving that music wasn't just about melody-it was about making people feel something real.
As the song progressed, the entire band poured their energy into the performance, building up to the final chorus. And when the last note faded, a deafening cheer erupted from the crowd.
Applause, whistles, and shouts of admiration filled the auditorium. ECHO5 had made their mark.
They exchanged proud smiles before bowing deeply, then left the stage, adrenaline still pumping through their veins. The night had only just begun, but their performance had already set the bar sky-high.
From the side of the stage, Soobin stood, mesmerized. His smile never wavered for a second throughout the performance. He watched as Beomgyu lost himself in the music, radiating joy and freedom as if the stage was the only place where he truly belonged. Despite all the nervous whining earlier, Beomgyu had looked anything but anxious-he was completely at home.
Later, as the program continued with various performances and speeches, it was time for their second song-Fight Song by Rachel Platten. As they performed, a certain verse struck a deep chord within Beomgyu. The moment felt almost ironic as he was the one assigned to sing it.
Gripping his mic tightly, he let the emotions flow through his voice:
"Losing friends and I'm chasing sleep
Everybody's worried about me
In too deep, say I'm in too deep (In too deep)
And it's been two years, I miss my home (I miss my home)
But there's a fire burning in my bones (In my bones)
Still believe, yeah, I still believe"
Soobin knew exactly what those lyrics meant to Beomgyu. He noticed how, for just a moment, his expression shifted-his eyes reflecting something deeper, something almost painful. It was as if, through the song, Beomgyu was baring his heart for everyone to hear, singing out loud what he couldn't say in words.
The raw emotion in his voice resonated with the audience, leaving them captivated. The song ended with a powerful finish, met by an eruption of cheers and applause. The group bowed, hearts racing with adrenaline, before exiting the stage.
The night continued with a series of mesmerizing and heartfelt performances from the students. Some delivered special acts dedicated to welcoming the newcomers, expressing warmth and a promise of support throughout their journey.
Yeonjun's students took the stage with an impressive dance performance, showcasing their hard work and passion. Their flawless execution and energy earned them well-deserved praise, not just for themselves but also for Yeonjun, who beamed with pride at their success.
Only the principal's speech and the band's final performance remained.
Yeonjun spotted Soobin standing at the back, keeping an eye on the auditorium's discipline. Approaching him with a grin, he nudged Soobin playfully.
"Wow, Beomgyu is seriously cool, isn't he?"
Soobin turned to him, a small smile forming. "Yeah, he really is."
Yeonjun's eyes twinkled mischievously. "You're meeting him after the last performance, right?"
Soobin hesitated before nodding. "Yeah... I am."
Yeonjun draped an arm around his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Relax, Binnie. It'll be fine."
Before Soobin could respond, a couple of students rushed over. "Yeonjun hyung! We need your help!"
Yeonjun sighed but nodded. "Alright, let's go." He glanced back at Soobin before leaving, pointing a finger at him. "And don't even think about running away."
Soobin let out a small chuckle at Yeonjun's teasing remark, shaking his head. He exhaled deeply, his fingers slightly fidgeting as he thought about the upcoming moment.
His heart felt lighter knowing Yeonjun was there to support him, but a part of him still felt uneasy. Meeting Beomgyu after the last performance-he wasn't sure how it would go, but he knew he couldn't avoid it forever.
With a final glance toward the stage, where the principal was preparing for the speech, Soobin squared his shoulders. He wasn't going to run away. Not this time.
As if in the blink of an eye, the principal's speech concluded, and the hosts returned to the stage. They expressed gratitude to everyone for making the event a success before making an exciting announcement.
"And now, to wrap up this incredible night, we have one final performance by ECHO5! This song is extra special because the boys worked on it together, pouring their hearts into every note and lyric."
A thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd, the auditorium buzzing with excitement as the band stepped onto the stage.
This time, there was no trace of nerves-just pure excitement and confidence. The overwhelming support from the audience fueled them, and as the cheers grew louder, they knew this was their moment to shine.
Beomgyu stepped forward, ready to introduce their final song.
"As you all know, this is a song we worked on-"
Before he could finish, Jay interjected with a playful grin, "Mostly Beomgyu."
The audience erupted into laughter and cheers, filling the room with warmth. Beomgyu chuckled, shaking his head before continuing.
"The title of the song is Quarter Life." He took a brief pause, his tone turning reflective. "Have you ever felt lost, wondering if you're on the right path? There comes a time when adulthood isn't as glamorous as we once imagined-when responsibilities pile up, dreams feel distant, and doubts start creeping in. This song captures that feeling, the struggles of a quarter-life crisis. We hope you connect with it and enjoy it."
Another round of cheers and applause filled the auditorium as the band launched into their performance.
Soobin stood off to the side, his eyes fixed on the stage. Every lyric resonated deeply, as if the song had been written just for him. The emotions in Beomgyu's voice, the raw sincerity in the music-it all struck a chord within him.
As the song came to an end, the principal and faculty took their leave, followed by most of the guests. Only a handful of students remained, wanting to savor the night a little longer.
That's when Beomgyu stepped forward once again, gripping the mic and clearing his throat, preparing to speak.
***
Chapter Text
Beomgyu stepped forward once more, gripping the mic tightly. The energy in the auditorium had shifted-less formal now, more intimate, like a conversation among friends.
"Before we all go our separate ways for the night," he began, his voice steady but carrying an unspoken weight, "there's something I want to do."
The remaining students hushed, sensing something personal was about to unfold.
Beomgyu scanned the crowd, noticing the curious gazes fixed on him. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself before speaking.
"Tonight, there's friend here who has been a significant part of my university journey. Talking to him made everything feel a little easier, gave me hope that things would be okay. But... the truth is, I've never actually met him in person."
A hushed silence fell over the crowd, anticipation thick in the air.
"It's a shame, really," Beomgyu continued with a small, wistful smile. "So, there's something I want to say to him-Soobin, if you're here, I hope I finally get to see you today."
A murmur rippled through the audience as he adjusted his guitar. His bandmates had already stepped off the stage, leaving him alone under the soft glow of the stage lights. With one last breath, he strummed the first chord, ready to pour his heart into the song.
Soobin's breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest. The noise around him faded into the background-his sole focus was on Beomgyu.
The way Beomgyu stood there, guitar in hand, searching the crowd with hopeful eyes, made Soobin's chest tighten. He hadn't expected this, hadn't imagined Beomgyu would call out to him in front of everyone.
His hands clenched at his sides, torn between stepping forward and staying rooted in place. His mind screamed at him to move, but his feet refused.
Beomgyu strummed his guitar, his voice soft yet unwavering as he began to sing, and for Soobin, the world narrowed down to just him.
The song began with heavy guitar chords, the rhythm steady yet charged with emotion. It was an upbeat melody, but Beomgyu's voice carried a weight that only he understood.
He sang each word with conviction, but his restless eyes scanned the crowd, searching, hoping.
Hoping Soobin would step forward.
Hoping he wouldn't make a fool of himself this time.
With every verse, his heart pounded harder, anticipation tightening in his chest. Would Soobin come? Or was this another moment he'd regret?
Soobin stood frozen, gripping the lyrics tightly. Every word felt as if it was meant for them, as if Beomgyu had woven their unspoken thoughts into the melody.
I'll be there for you
'Cause you're there for me too
No one could ever know me
No one could ever see me
Seems you're the only one who knows
What it's like to be me.
Beomgyu might have worn a different face in front of the world, but never with his friends-never with Soobin. With him, there was no need to pretend. It was as if Soobin truly understood what it meant to be Beomgyu.
When it hasn't been your day, your week, your month
Or even your year, but
I'll be there for you
When the rain starts to pour
I'll be there for you.
Without realizing it, Soobin's feet began to move, drawn forward by something beyond his control. The song was reaching its final notes. Beomgyu's eyes scanned the dimly lit auditorium, and then he saw it-a silhouette stepping closer.
With the last lyric, the lights came on, illuminating the figure in front of him.
Soobin. His friend.
Slowly, the lights began to brighten, casting a warm glow over the stage. The focus beam shifted, zeroing in on a single figure amidst the dimly lit auditorium.
Soobin.
The light illuminated him, making it impossible for Beomgyu to miss. His heart pounded as their eyes met.
And as if the crowd had been anticipating this moment even more than Soobin and Beomgyu themselves, a wave of murmurs rippled through the auditorium.
Whispers spread like wildfire, curious eyes darting between the two. Some exchanged knowing glances, while others leaned in to speculate.
One of the boys chuckled, nudging his friend before high-fiving him. "So this is the friend Beomgyu was so eager to meet?"
Another smirked, crossing his arms. "Guess accountants take on part-time friendship roles now too."
The senior from Beomgyu's high school stood among the crowd, watching the scene unfold with a smirk.
"Beomgyu is just like his parents-using people for his own benefit," he muttered before making his way toward Soobin. Stopping in front of him, he crossed his arms.
"How much is he paying you for this?" he sneered.
"You know, you two fit together perfectly," he scoffed, his gaze flicking between Soobin and Beomgyu. "One will do anything for money, and the other can get anything just by throwing it around."
His eyes darkened as he shot a dead glare at Beomgyu.
"I hope you're useful enough to him," he added with a smirk. "Maybe then he'll pay you a good amount."
Soobin stood frozen, unable to piece together what was happening. The words echoed in his mind, sharp and humiliating. His heart pounded as he shifted his gaze to Beomgyu, searching for some kind of reassurance.
But Beomgyu wasn't looking at him. His head was bowed, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Why isn't he saying anything? Why isn't he doing anything?
A storm of thoughts swirled in Soobin's mind, but no answers came.
"If you're that desperate for money, you can always reach out to me," he said with a smirk, his tone laced with mockery. "I have plenty of work that pays well."
As he took a step closer, Soobin instinctively moved back, his body tensing. The senior leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough for only Soobin to hear.
Soobin felt a chill run down his spine. His breath hitched as he instinctively took a step back, but the senior only smirked, closing the distance again.
"You already know about that kind of business, right?" he whispered, his voice dripping with mockery.
A sickening feeling twisted in Soobin's stomach. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. His mind screamed at him to say something, to push back-but the weight of the humiliation, the eyes watching, the suffocating tension in the air-left him frozen in place.
Tears welled up in Soobin's eyes.
Beomgyu caught the senior's words, his breath hitching. His body stiffened, and anxiety crashed over him like a tidal wave. He couldn't move, couldn't speak-his head dropped, hands clenched tightly at his sides, trying to ground himself.
Taehyun and Hueningkai exchanged a sharp glance. They had seen it all-Soobin, Beomgyu's friend, standing defenseless, being humiliated for something he didn't even understand. Something he shouldn't have to endure. Taehyun's gaze flickered to Beomgyu, silently pleading for him to act. He couldn't just stand there. Not now.
But Beomgyu didn't move.
Taehyun's frustration boiled over. He stepped closer, voice urgent. "Beomgyu, what is this? Why are you just standing there? Do something!"
No response.
Taehyun clenched his fists. He knew Beomgyu struggled with anxiety, but he had always faced it head-on. So why was this different? Why couldn't he fight back now-especially when it wasn't just about him?
His voice dropped. "Beomgyu... Soobin is crying."
That's when Beomgyu finally looked up.
But it was too late.
Tears streamed down Soobin's face, yet the whispers didn't stop. The sneers, the judgment, the mocking fingers pointed right at him.
"Oh boy, you're so fragile," the senior taunted, gripping Soobin's chin and tilting his face upward.
"What the hell is going on here?"
A sharp voice sliced through the tension. The crowd split apart, revealing Yeonjun standing at the entrance, fury blazing in his eyes.
The senior's smirk vanished. His hand dropped from Soobin's chin.
"Time's up. Everyone-out. Now." Yeonjun's voice was razor-sharp, leaving no room for argument.
The students hesitated, still murmuring under their breath, but one by one, they began to leave.
As the senior passed by, Yeonjun grabbed him by the collar, yanking him back. His voice was low, seething. "You're going to pay for this. I swear, you'll regret ever laying a hand on him."
Then, with a forceful shove, Yeonjun sent him stumbling toward the door, making him crash onto the floor.
"Get the fuck out."
Yeonjun rushed over to Soobin, who stood frozen in place, head bowed, shoulders trembling as quiet sobs escaped him. Without hesitation, Yeonjun grasped his shoulders gently but firmly, trying to ground him.
He leaned in, bending slightly to meet Soobin’s lowered gaze, tilting his chin up with careful hands.
“Soobin… hey, look at me,” he said softly, his voice a sharp contrast to the fury from moments before—now filled with concern.
His heart clenched at the sight of Soobin’s tear-streaked face.
Soobin kept his eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to meet Yeonjun’s gaze.
“Binnie… look up,” Yeonjun repeated, his voice even softer now, almost pleading.
But there was still no response.
A shaky sniffle escaped Soobin as he quickly wiped at his eyes with the back of his palm. Then, in a voice so low it nearly disappeared into the silence, he whispered, “I… I need to go.”
And before anyone could stop him, without sparing a glance at anyone around, Soobin turned and ran out of the auditorium.
Yeonjun stood frozen for a moment, his eyes lingering on the door Soobin had just disappeared through. A knot tightened in his chest.
Slowly, he turned his gaze toward the stage.
His eyes landed on Beomgyu—still standing there, still silent. The crowd was gone, the lights dimmed, and the echo of Soobin’s soft sobs still haunted the room.
A wave of emotion washed over Yeonjun—anger at the student who had dared to humiliate Soobin, heartache from seeing Soobin so shattered, and now, disappointment. Deep, sharp disappointment.
He had believed Beomgyu might be different. That he might be someone who’d treat Soobin with warmth and care. But in the moment it mattered most… he did nothing.
Yeonjun shook his head, lips pressed in a tight line. He looked at Beomgyu one last time—a look filled with quiet disapproval—and without saying a word, he turned and walked out of the auditorium.
Beomgyu was frozen in place, his mind a blur, heart thudding painfully in his chest. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on him like a vice, and he couldn’t move—even though he wanted to.
Taehyun stormed over and grabbed his arm, yanking him around to face him.
"Beomgyu? What the fuck is wrong with you?" he snapped, his voice shaking with frustration. "Why are you acting so strange?" He gave Beomgyu a rough shake by the shoulders. "And why the fuck are you still standing here? Go after him. Do something."
Hueningkai appeared behind them, eyes wide with disbelief, and gave him a shove forward. "Seriously, Beomgyu? Just go," he urged, almost pleading now.
Beomgyu blinked, finally meeting their eyes. And in that moment, something shifted. The haze lifted just enough for guilt and panic to rise to the surface. He didn’t say a word—he just turned and ran.
–
As Yeonjun rushed out of the auditorium, Miss Chelsea caught up to him.
"Mr. Choi!" she called, slightly out of breath. "The principal wants to see you in his office. He said it's important."
Yeonjun’s heart dropped. Important rarely ever meant good. And after everything that had just unfolded… he feared it might be about Soobin. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady his thoughts. But he knew he couldn’t avoid it. He had to face it.
Before heading to the office, he quickly stepped aside and dialed Seokmin.
“Hyung…” his voice was low, heavy. “Things didn’t go well. Soobin’s really upset. He might come to the café.”
There was a pause on the other end before Seokmin replied gently, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him if he comes. Just do what you need to do, okay?”
Yeonjun let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Thanks, hyung.”
He ended the call, squared his shoulders, and made his way to the principal’s office, each step heavier than the last.
"May I come in, sir?" Yeonjun asked, knocking gently on the door.
"Yes, Mr. Choi. Come in," the principal responded.
Yeonjun stepped inside, noticing the principal walking toward the couch with an envelope in his hand.
The sight of the envelope made Yeonjun’s stomach twist. Was it a warning? A termination letter? For Soobin? For me? Panic slowly crept in.
“Here,” the principal said, handing him the envelope.
Yeonjun hesitantly took it. “What is this about, sir?”
“I’m sorry, Yeonjun. It’s about Soobin. I should have given this to you sooner.”
For a moment, all the air left Yeonjun’s lungs.
“Sir, it’s not what you—” he began, but the principal raised his hand.
“He’s already worked so hard over the past months. I should’ve submitted his admission paperwork much earlier—”
“Admission paperwork?” Yeonjun asked, startled.
“Yes,” the principal nodded with a small smile. “Soobin can officially continue his education as a third-year student starting tomorrow. Just let him know his first and second-year exams may be scheduled soon, so we can issue his mark sheets and ensure everything is in order legally.”
Yeonjun blinked, completely caught off guard. This was the last thing he’d expected. But it was the best news Soobin could possibly receive.
“Thank you so much, sir,” Yeonjun said, bowing slightly. “He’ll be so happy to hear this. Really, thank you for supporting him.”
“It’s nothing,” the principal said warmly. “The boy has potential. He’s done a remarkable job managing things on his own. I’m genuinely impressed.”
After exchanging a few more words, Yeonjun left the office, clutching the envelope a little tighter, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Soobin needed this. He deserved this.
–
Beomgyu ran as fast as his legs would carry him, his breath shallow, heart pounding like a drum against his ribs. His mind was a complete mess — blank, tangled, overwhelmed. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, or how to fix the damage already done. Everything had hit him like a tidal wave, one thing after another, leaving him frozen in its wake.
He needed time — just a little — to process it all, to breathe, to think. But time wasn’t on his side. The way things spiraled around him didn’t give him a moment to catch up.
Frantically scanning the campus, his eyes finally landed on a familiar figure crossing the basketball court. Soobin. His steps were slow, shoulders hunched, the distance between them filled with tension and unspoken words.
Without wasting another second, Beomgyu sprinted toward him.
“Soobin, wait!” Beomgyu called out, his voice desperate, cutting through the silence of the court.
But the moment Soobin heard him, he didn’t stop. Instead, his footsteps quickened, dragging himself forward faster, as if Beomgyu’s voice was the very thing he wanted to escape.
Beomgyu pushed himself harder, ignoring the burning in his legs until he finally caught up and skidded to a stop in front of Soobin. He bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Soobin… please… just—just listen…” he managed between breaths, eyes searching Soobin’s face for even the tiniest trace of softness.
Soobin’s eyes met his for the briefest moment, and it felt like the world stopped spinning. Those tear-stained lashes, the pink hue painting his nose and cheeks, the way his lips quivered—it shattered something inside Beomgyu. His hair was tousled, probably from the way he’d been running, but it only added to the raw, heartbreaking beauty he held in that moment.
And Beomgyu stood there, breathless not just from the running—but from the ache in his chest. This was the first time he’d seen Soobin so close, so real, so… fragile. And yet, he couldn't help but think—why did it have to be like this? Why now? Why did it take a moment of pain to see him like this?
Soobin, suddenly conscious of how wrecked he must look, instinctively turned away, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He didn’t want Beomgyu to see him like this—not when he’d barely managed to hold himself together.
But before he could slip away again, Beomgyu reached out, gently but firmly grabbing his wrist.
"Soobin, wait—" he said, his voice cracking with urgency, and in one swift motion, he turned him back around to face him.
They both stayed still for a moment, the only sound around them being the quiet rustling of leaves and Soobin’s uneven breaths.
Soobin finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.
“It wasn’t worth it, right?” he asked, eyes searching Beomgyu’s face.
“Huh?” Beomgyu blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
Soobin gave a half-laugh, dry and bitter.
“All those messages… the letters… everything. You wrote like I mattered. But when I needed you to say something—just anything—you didn’t.”
He looked away, blinking back tears.
“I guess I was just a phase. Some online comfort you never thought would actually show up in your real life.”
Beomgyu stepped forward, guilt tightening around his chest like a vise.
“Soobin, no—God, no. You were never just that. You’re the reason I got through most of my days here. But when it all unfolded today, I—I just froze. I didn’t know how to fix it. I panicked.”
Soobin looked back at him, pain painted clearly across his face.
“You didn’t have to fix anything. You just had to stand beside me.”
Beomgyu’s throat closed up. His hands twitched, wanting to reach for Soobin but not sure if he deserved to.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve been better. I wanted to be.”
“But you didn’t,” Soobin whispered, eyes glassy. “I warned you every time you asked to meet me. Told you I wasn’t someone you’d be happy to know. Who would want to be friends with an accountant scraping through life, clinging to whatever money he can get, right?”
Beomgyu opened his mouth, but no words came out. Nothing felt enough.
“I’m sorry if I wasn’t what you expected. I’m sorry if being me was the disappointment.”
“Soobin, no, please—”
“But please… don’t make this any harder than it already is,” Soobin choked, voice trembling. “I still have work to finish, mouths to feed, and a heart that’s barely holding together. I can’t carry this shame on top of everything else. Just let me go. I hope… I hope we never run into each other again.”
With tears streaking down his cheeks, Soobin pulled his wrist free and turned away.
“Soobin, wait—please,” Beomgyu called after him, desperate, but Soobin didn’t look back.
He kept walking.
Soobin had no idea where his feet were taking him. He just ran-away from the noise, the whispers, the pain pressing down on his chest. When a bus pulled up at the stop, he stepped on without thinking, not caring where it was headed.
His mind was a whirlwind. The faces filled with judgment, the stinging humiliation, the loneliness. Most of all, Beomgyu's silence-it echoed louder than anything else. His friend, the one person he thought would stand up for him, had just watched.
Soobin clutched his knees tightly, sinking into a seat near the back. His breath was shallow, each inhale sharp like glass. He stared out the window, but nothing felt real. Everything around him was spinning, closing in-and he just wanted to escape it all.
When Soobin recognized the path outside the bus window, something in him stirred. Without much thought, he pressed the stop button and stepped off, his shoes hitting the pavement like quiet echoes of everything he was trying to outrun.
He walked without direction, just letting his feet follow the trail his heart knew too well. And then, there it was-his escape. His high school.
The once bustling building now stood quiet under the dim glow of evening lights, casting long shadows across the empty courtyard. It looked almost like a dream, a memory frozen in time. Familiar, comforting, untouched by the chaos he carried inside.
He stepped forward, his eyes softening as they traced the outline of the gate, the stairwell, the windows that once held dreams. It wasn't much, but for now, it was enough. It was somewhere to breathe.
He found his way through the old corridor, footsteps echoing in the silence. His fingers brushed along the wall, stopping at the barely noticeable latch tucked behind a rusting notice board. A secret path-one only he, Yeonjun, and Yeonjun's friends had known, discovered during stolen lunch breaks and late-night dares.
Soobin pushed it open, the familiar creak of the hidden staircase greeting him like an old friend. He climbed slowly, heart heavy, lungs tight. The wind greeted him first as he stepped onto the rooftop, the city stretched out beneath a darkening sky.
Up there, everything felt quieter. Freer. As if time paused just for him to fall apart.
He sat down on the edge of the wall, legs dangling freely over the side, the cool wind brushing against his face. The silence wrapped around him like a fragile comfort, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or a distant horn from the city below.
For a moment, he just sat there-no running, no pretending, no fighting back tears. Just him and the quiet. He let his thoughts swirl and crash, one wave at a time. Up here, away from the noise, he could finally spare time to feel everything he'd been pushing down.
And maybe, just maybe, start to breathe again.
Was he cursed?
Weren't people meant to stay, to hold on even when things got hard?
Why did they always leave?
Or worse-why did they change the moment he let them in?
Soobin stared out into the dark horizon, the city lights flickering like quiet reminders of everything he couldn't hold on to.
All these thoughts clouded his head, making it harder to breathe.
He wasn't asking for much-just for someone to stay.
But maybe that was already too much for someone like him.
It wasn't a lie-he always carried that fear deep within him.
The fear that one day, everyone would leave.
That love, kindness, and promises were all temporary visitors in his life.
He didn't know how long Yeonjun would stay-if one day he'd get tired too.
Or when Seokmin would stop checking in.
How long Grandpa would keep being his quiet shelter.
Whether Dino would still laugh with him when the world turned cold.
Soobin lived every second with that fear clawing at his chest,
Like walking on a tightrope over a sea of loneliness-
Knowing one wrong step, one bad moment, and everyone might disappear.
And maybe today was just the start of that fall.
-
Seokmin was worried sick. It had been more than two hours with no sign of Soobin. He kept pacing in and out of the café, his eyes scanning the streets every few minutes. Thankfully, Dino had taken over the counter, keeping things in control while Seokmin tried to hold himself together.
After cleaning off the last table, Dino walked over to him. "Hyung, any update?"
Seokmin shook his head, his voice laced with unease. "No, Dino. He's not answering any of my calls. I'm really worried."
Dino hesitated for a second, then said, "I think... there's a place we can check."
Seokmin looked at him instantly. "Where?"
"I'm not sure if he still goes there. It's been years, but... I remember the rooftop at our old high school. That place meant something to him. He used to go there when things got overwhelming."
Seokmin didn't need another second to decide. "Let's go. At this point, all we can do is follow our guesses."
-
Yeonjun hurried to the parking lot and swiftly mounted his bike. Carefully, he tucked the envelope into the inner pocket of his jacket, handling it like something precious-something worth protecting.
He drove out of the college and sped towards the café, only to find the shutters down and the lights off. Confused and a little anxious, he made his way to the nearby convenience store.
"Grandpa? Where's Minnie hyung and Soobin? Why is the café closed?" he asked, breathless.
"Oh, Yeonjun! I'm not sure about Soobin, but Minnie left with Dino a while ago. Said he had to go somewhere urgent," Grandpa replied.
"Oh..." Yeonjun nodded slowly, his mind racing.
"Is everything alright? You look a little troubled," Grandpa asked, concern etching his face.
"Yes! Everything's fine," Yeonjun quickly assured him, flashing a small smile before hurrying out.
Yeonjun decided to head home, hoping Soobin might have returned by now, especially with dinner time approaching.
As he rode, his hand instinctively went to his inner pocket every few minutes, double-checking the envelope was still safe-tucked close to his heart like something irreplaceable.
Taking a sharp turn at the corner, he picked up speed. His thoughts were cluttered-Soobin's face, the pain in his voice, the envelope, the silence at the café.
In that moment, from the left, a van came speeding through the crossroad, its horn silent. Yeonjun didn't see it coming.
A violent crash echoed through the street.
The impact threw Yeonjun off his bike. His helmet flew off, rolling to the side, while his body hit the pathway hard, skidding a few feet before coming to a stop.
Vehicles around him screeched to a halt, bystanders gasping, running to check on the boy now lying motionless on the cold pavement.
-
Dino exhaled in relief, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "There he is," he said softly, spotting Soobin sitting quietly on the far edge of the rooftop.
"Soobin!" Seokmin called out, walking toward him with urgency in his steps.
Startled, Soobin turned his head slowly. His vision was hazy from all the crying, and he squinted, trying to focus.
"Hy-hyung..." he whispered, his voice raw and barely audible.
Seokmin's heart sank at the sight of him. His face was flushed, eyes swollen, and he looked so small, so broken. "Soobin, what happened?" he asked, extending his hand gently.
Soobin reached out and let Seokmin help him down from the ledge. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he stumbled forward, collapsing into Seokmin's arms. He buried his face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
Seokmin froze for a second, his arms wrapping tightly around the boy who had always tried so hard to stay strong. He gently cradled Soobin's head, his hand moving through his messy hair.
And just like that-Seokmin felt his own chest ache. Because nothing was harder than seeing someone you love break down without knowing how to put them back together.
"What happened, Binnie?" Seokmin asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper.
Soobin didn't respond-he just clung tighter, as if letting go would shatter him completely.
Seokmin didn't press further. Instead, he wrapped his arms tighter around the boy and began tracing slow, calming patterns on his back.
"Let it out, Soobin. I'm right here," he murmured, holding him steady as he sobbed.
"We should probably head back," Dino said softly after a moment. "Yeonjun was really worried about you."
Soobin gave a small nod, still buried in Seokmin's chest.
But just as the moment settled into silence, Seokmin's phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered.
"Hello?"
"Are you related to Mr. Choi Yeonjun?" a serious voice asked from the other end.
A chill ran down Seokmin's spine. "Y-Yes, I'm his hyung. Why? What happened?"
"Sir, Mr. Choi has been admitted to Lifeline Hospital. He was in an accident. We request you to come as soon as possible."
Seokmin's heart stopped for a second. "What? Yeon-Okay. I'm- I'm on my way."
Seokmin's body went rigid, the color draining from his face. Soobin immediately sensed the shift.
"What happened, hyung?" he asked, voice shaky, pulling back just enough to look at Seokmin's face.
Seokmin slowly lowered the phone from his ear, eyes wide with shock. "It's Yeonjun... he-he got into an accident. He's at the Hospital."
Soobin froze.
Dino stepped forward instantly, "What?! Is he okay?"
"They didn't say much. Just that he's admitted... we have to go now." Seokmin's voice cracked as he spoke.
Without another word, Soobin took off running. The tears that had just dried welled up again, but this time, it wasn't about him. It was Yeonjun.
Seokmin and Dino rushed after him, not wasting another second.
Seokmin gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles pale, as he sped through the streets. Dino sat beside Soobin in the backseat, silently watching the city blur past the window.
No one spoke. The weight of unspoken fears filled the air like fog.
Soobin stared at his hands resting on his lap, trying to ground himself, but his mind was anything but still. It was chaos. Pain. Fear.
His head felt like a mess-too many emotions clashing together with no space to breathe.
Was it really a curse? Was he really doomed to lose everyone he loved?
Tears welled up again at the thought. He bit his lip hard.
He couldn't afford to lose Yeonjun.
Yeonjun wasn't just family. He was his safe place, his protector, his everything. A cousin, a friend, a mentor, a father figure-he was all of that wrapped into one.
Soobin couldn't lose him. He wouldn't survive it. Not now. Not ever.
-
Beomgyu trudged out of the court, each step heavier than the last. His head hung low, the chaos of everything weighing on his shoulders. His mind was blank—just a dull ringing, a silence louder than any noise.
When he reached the practice room, it was already empty. The room that was once filled with laughter and music now stood still and cold. The quietness echoed in his chest.
He quietly gathered his things, slinging the strap of his guitar over his shoulder, the instrument feeling heavier than usual. Without a word, he stepped out.
They were all supposed to crash at Jay and Heeseung’s dorm that night, a continuation of the freshers celebration. But Beomgyu couldn’t bring himself to go. The idea of being around people, pretending to be okay, felt impossible.
Taehyun and Hueningkai had already left with Jay and Heeseung. Beomgyu could see it in their expressions before they parted—disappointment. A quiet kind that cut deeper than any scolding would.
They had every reason to be disappointed. He wasn’t acting like himself. Not like the Beomgyu they knew. Not like the Beomgyu he knew.
And honestly? It was fair.
Even so, Taehyun had texted him—a short, simple message just letting him know where they were staying the night for a while. Not to convince him to come, not to ask anything from him, just… to let him know. And Beomgyu knew. He knew it was for his sake.
Because no matter what, they still clung to him.
He remembered how, even during their worst fights, Taehyun would quietly leave a packed meal outside his door. He never said anything, but Beomgyu always knew it was his way of saying, “I still care.”
And Hueningkai, despite teasing him to the edge of frustration, would always appear later with ice cream—sometimes his favorite flavor, sometimes whatever was on sale—but always with that sheepish smile that silently said “Sorry.”
The three of them were chaos. They were comfort. They were constant.
No matter how hard things got, or how far they drifted, the truth remained: they were meant to be stuck together. In joy or in silence, in laughter or heartbreak, they would always find their way back. They were each other’s home.
-
He rang the doorbell, too exhausted to dig through his bag for the spare key or even properly sling his guitar off his shoulder. Almost instantly, the door swung open.
“There you are,” Hiyyih said, as if she'd been standing by the door waiting. She reached out and took the guitar from him without needing to ask—an instinct born of times spent in sync.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on the college blog. It’s all ECHO5 right now,” she said, a spark of excitement in her voice. “I saw a few clips—you guys looked amazing!”
“Thank you,” Beomgyu said with a faint smile.
“I made you some coffee,” Hiyyih told him, setting the cup down gently on the table. “Taehyun oppa mentioned you’d be back before him and Kai oppa. Do you want something to eat with it?”
“No, coffee’s enough. Thanks,” he replied softly.
Beomgyu tried his best to seem composed, to keep things feeling normal—but Hiyyih saw through it. She didn’t push, not yet.
She gave him a small nod and stepped away, leaving him in the quiet.
With a deep sigh, Beomgyu let himself sink into the couch, his head tipping back against the cushion. He was tired. Utterly drained—in body, mind, and everything in between.
After a while, Hiyyih returned, books clutched to her chest. Beomgyu glanced up and noticed her.
“Heading to your friend’s place?”
“Yeah, we’ve got a group assignment. I’ll be back before they do,” she replied.
He nodded silently, understanding.
“Beomgyu oppa?” she called gently after a moment of hesitation, stepping a bit closer.
“Yes?”
“What’s wrong? You’re not okay, are you?”
“I’m… I’m just tired.”
“No, it feels like something else. Did something happen? You guys had a fight? You didn’t even come back together…”
“Hey, it’s nothing like that,” Beomgyu quickly interjected. “I just wasn’t in the mood to hang around, so I left early.”
“But you—”
“Don’t overthink it, alright? Everything’s fine. Go focus on your assignment—you don’t want to be late.”
Hiyyih frowned slightly but gave in with a small nod. “Hmm. I still think you’re lying. But it’s okay if you don’t want to talk. Just know… I’m here for you.”
Beomgyu’s smile softened as he stood and walked toward her, heart warm at her quiet concern.
“I know, partner. Thank you,” he said, gently patting her head. “Now go.”
“Bye,” she replied, casting him one last look before heading out.
Beomgyu lay sprawled on the couch, freshly showered, hair still damp and clinging to his forehead. The remote sat loosely in his hand as he flipped through channels one after another, eyes barely registering what played on the screen. It was just noise—background to the silence in his mind, to the thoughts he was trying not to think. Nothing caught his interest, but he kept flipping, as if searching for something to distract him from everything he didn’t want to feel.
Just then, the doorbell rang. Beomgyu sighed, too drained to cover the short distance to the door. But when it rang again, more insistently this time, he finally pushed himself up with a groan and headed toward it.
With a quiet click, the door opened. Beomgyu glanced up sluggishly—and froze. There he was. His brother. His hyung. The one person who meant the world to him, standing right there at the doorstep, almost like a reflection of himself.
Beomgyu didn’t wait for a single word. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his brother, burying himself in the familiar warmth he had missed so dearly.
“Hannie hyung!” he choked out, his voice trembling. Tears welled up, blurring his vision as he clung on, arms tightening around him like he was scared he’d vanish if he let go even for a second.
Neither of them loosened their grip, holding on as if the embrace could make up for all the time they had lost. It wasn’t just a hug—it was a silent conversation, a reunion wrapped in warmth and aching hearts, both of them savoring the comfort they had missed for far too long.
“Hey there, Beomgyu,” his brother greeted with a warm chuckle. “What, planning to keep me standing out here all evening?” he teased.
Beomgyu blinked, snapping back to reality as he realized they were still standing in the doorway.
Beomgyu quickly pulled back, a sheepish smile creeping onto his face as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Oops… come in, hyung,” he said, stepping aside.
Jeonghan chuckled again, ruffling his little brother’s hair as he walked in. “Still the same emotional mess, huh?”
Beomgyu closed the door behind them. “Only for you,” he mumbled, voice still soft with emotion.
Beomgyu tugged Jeonghan along to the couch, his fingers wrapped tightly around his brother’s hand like a child pulling their parent into their little world. The moment felt surreal—overwhelming in the best way. Despite the guilt and the heavy ache over Soobin still gnawing at his chest, a small piece of him finally felt whole again. His brother was here. Right in front of him. And nothing else could compare.
But even in the warmth of Jeonghan's presence, the pain of losing Soobin kept echoing in the back of his mind. He couldn’t ignore it. He couldn't let it go. Not this time. Soobin mattered too much.
Still, for now, he turned to Jeonghan with a worried glance, trying to push the panic down.
“Should I get you something? Are you okay? You must be tired—are you feeling sick?” Beomgyu asked all at once, knowing full well how much Jeonghan hated traveling. It always made him queasy. He rarely even left the city because of it.
“You didn’t come all this way without eating, right? Please tell me you didn’t skip lunch again.”
“Beomie, relax. Breathe, okay?” Jeonghan chuckled softly, rubbing a soothing hand along his back, trying to ease the whirlwind of worry swirling around his little brother.
Beomgyu let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, shoulders dropping slightly as the tension began to melt.
“I’m fine, and I feel completely fresh. And no, I didn’t skip lunch,” Jeonghan reassured him with a knowing smile. “I had a proper meal—you can confirm it with Seungcheol if you want.”
Beomgyu gave a small smile in return, his voice quieter now. “No need for that. I trust you,” he said, because he did. He knew exactly how well Seungcheol looked after Jeonghan, even when he himself had failed to do the same.
Still, the comfort of seeing his brother safe—here—was a balm he didn’t know he needed so badly.
"Beomgyu, I need to tell you something," Jeonghan said, his voice losing the playful warmth it had just moments ago. A sudden tension settled over him as his fingers began fidgeting nervously in his lap.
Beomgyu's eyes narrowed slightly in concern. He straightened up, giving his full attention, his gaze fixed on his brother. Every twitch, every flicker of hesitation in Jeonghan's expression didn’t go unnoticed.
“What is it, hyung?” he asked softly.
He needed to know. Whatever it was that had been weighing down on Jeonghan for so long—it wasn’t just something recent. Beomgyu had picked up on it every time they talked, every time Jeonghan paused mid-text or abruptly ended a call, always with a half-hearted excuse. He remembered the way Jeonghan once said, “You might not see me the same after this,” and it had haunted him ever since.
But now that Jeonghan was here, sitting right in front of him, Beomgyu wasn’t going to let the moment pass.
He shifted closer, turning to face him completely. Without hesitation, he reached forward and held Jeonghan’s hands gently in his own, grounding him.
"Hyung…?” his voice dropped to a softer tone, laced with quiet urgency. “Please tell me what’s worrying you so much. Whatever it is… I want to know. I need to know. Please?”
Jeonghan sat quietly, lost in thought, his silence stretching with each passing second.
"Hyung, you're scaring me now," Beomgyu said softly, concern lacing his voice. "I know something’s been weighing on you. You always stop yourself before saying it… telling me I might hate you if I knew. Please, just tell me."
Jeonghan hesitated, his voice barely audible when he finally spoke, “It’s… it’s about Eunsoo.”
Beomgyu’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of that name. Eunsoo. The name alone held weight, memories, and now—questions.
He tightened his hold around Jeonghan’s hands instinctively, his brows furrowing.
“Eunsoo?” he echoed softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “What about her, hyung?”
Jeonghan’s eyes darted away, guilt pooling in them. His lips trembled slightly as if even forming the words might break him.
“I—I should’ve told you a long time ago,” he said, voice wavering. “But I was scared, Beomgyu. Scared that it might change everything between us. That you might not look at me the same way again.”
Beomgyu shook his head gently. “Hyung, nothing could change how I see you. Please… just tell me.”
“Eunsoo… she’s been living with me and Seungcheol,” Jeonghan said, carefully watching Beomgyu’s expression. It wasn’t the perfect start, but it was honest.
Beomgyu furrowed his brows slightly, confused but not alarmed. He gave a small nod, encouraging him to continue, his voice barely above a whisper, “Okay…”
"Dad—when you left, she stayed back with him and Mom. But you remember how Mom is, right? She slipped back into drinking and gaming, stopped paying any attention to Eunsoo. Dad did what he could, tried to make her stop, but she kept lashing out—saying you abandoned her, that I wasn't stepping up, and that Eunsoo was nothing more than a burden left for her to carry. She said Dad barely had time for her either."
Beomgyu didn’t react at first. His face fell still, unreadable. He sat there, frozen, simply listening—taking in every word like they were weighing down on him.
“Dad really tried, Beomgyu. But after a year, it just wasn’t working. Eunsoo was only two—she needed constant care, attention... and he couldn’t do it all alone. So he called me and asked if I could take her in. Mom... she resisted. A lot. I stayed there for a week, and every single day they fought. Loud, angry fights. It scared Eunsoo. She’d flinch at every loud sound, started getting startled over the smallest things. It broke my heart to see her like that. I had to call Seungcheol—just to distract her, to keep her company.”
Jeonghan’s hand closed tighter around Beomgyu’s. He didn’t stop, just kept going, voice steady but strained.
“Then one day, it got worse. Mom came home in a horrible mood. Eunsoo had been playing with Seungcheol, and when she saw Mom, she ran up to her, all smiles, and hugged her. But Mom—she just... swatted her away, so hard that Eunsoo slipped. Her head hit the corner of the tea table. There was blood, Beomgyu. Seungcheol snapped. He yelled at Mom, and I—I didn’t know what else to do but rush out and get Eunsoo’s wound treated.”
Jeonghan took a shaky breath.
“Dad met us at the clinic. The cut wasn’t deep, but she was terrified. She wouldn’t let go of me the whole way home. And when we got back, Seungcheol was waiting in the living room. Our bags were packed. He said we were going back to Japan, with Eunsoo. Dad agreed. He said it was the best for both of us. Later, Seungcheol told me it was actually Mom who told him to take us away. She said she didn’t want any trace of ‘trash’ in the house. That’s what she called us. Me... and Eunsoo.”
Beomgyu stiffened. His fingers curled slightly around Jeonghan’s hand, knuckles paling. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, unblinking, but his silence screamed louder than words. His heart ached—not just from the pain of hearing it—but from the guilt clawing inside him.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. But it still hurt—how could their mother say something so vile about a child?
“She’s just a kid, Beomgyu,” Jeonghan said softly. “She didn’t deserve any of that.”
“I couldn’t wrap my head around it,” Jeonghan said quietly. “I mean, me—fine. Maybe I expected that. But Eunsoo? How could she say that about her? She’s just a little girl. Your sister. Your world. I knew how much she meant to you. So I just took her with me. I didn’t look back.”
His grip on Beomgyu’s hand tightened again, this time more firmly, as if anchoring himself.
“A month later, Dad called. He said I should legally adopt her. I didn’t even give him an answer right away, but somehow, he’d already convinced Mom to sign the papers. It all happened so fast. I could barely process it. But what I cared about the most was what you and Seungcheol thought. Seungcheol—he was already in too deep. He was overjoyed when I told him. Said it was the happiest day of his life.”
Jeonghan’s voice wavered then.
“But you... I couldn’t reach you. I swear, Beomgyu, I tried. I called and called before I signed the papers. But you never picked up. And it crushed me. Because your opinion mattered the most. She’s your sister. And I know... I know how hard it was for you to leave her behind. But I couldn’t find you. And I didn’t want to lose her.”
He looked down at their joined hands, unable to meet his brother’s eyes.
“I just... I didn’t know what else to do.”
The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. Neither moved. Jeonghan’s grip remained firm, his fingers clasped tightly around Beomgyu’s hand, as if afraid that letting go would undo everything he’d just said. And Beomgyu—he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away.
He just sat there. Still. Quiet.
Listening. Processing.
The weight of Jeonghan’s words settled in his chest like a stone. So much pain, so much hidden behind a simple, “I need to tell you something.”
And still, in that silence, there was no judgment. No resentment. Just quiet understanding slowly beginning to take shape.
"Hyung, I've said this before, and I’ll say it again—I’m unbelievably lucky to have you as my brother," Beomgyu murmured, leaning in and wrapping Jeonghan in a tight embrace. "It still feels unfair that you're only my stepbrother."
Jeonghan froze at first, but Beomgyu only held on tighter.
"How could I ever hate you?" he continued softly. "You never even breathe against my will, hyung. There's no way you'd ever do something that could make me hate you. That’s just not possible." He gave a light pat on Jeonghan’s back, pulling away slightly, a faint, fond smile lingering on his face.
"And about Eunsoo—she couldn’t have asked for anyone better than you and Seungcheol hyung. I mean it. I’m genuinely happy it’s you both looking after her."
Jeonghan remained quiet, just listening.
"I only ever wanted her to have a life better than ours. When Mom said she’d changed—said she’d take care of Eunsoo, raise her well—I believed her. I shouldn’t have..." Beomgyu's voice cracked as a sob escaped him. "But I’m glad you stepped in. I know you’ll be amazing parents. Thank you, hyung... for everything. For taking care of her. I’m sorry you had to go through it all without me. And please—don’t ever doubt the decision you made. It was the right one. For her. For you. And for me."
Jeonghan sat in stunned silence, heart swelling and breaking all at once.
Beomgyu’s words wrapped around him like the warmest blanket—gentle, reassuring, unconditional. The hug, the soft pat on his back, the trust, the belief. Everything about Beomgyu in that moment felt like home. A home he didn’t know he still had.
As Beomgyu spoke, emotions spilled from both of them—not in loud breakdowns, but in quiet understanding, in words finally spoken after years of silence.
Jeonghan’s eyes welled up, but he blinked fast, letting the tears sit on the brim. He reached forward, gently cradling the back of Beomgyu’s head.
“You don’t know,” he whispered, “how much I needed to hear this. Thank you, Beomie… thank you for not hating me. And for still choosing me as your brother.”
He finally let the tears fall. Not from guilt. But from relief. From love.
Both of them sat in silence, still, as if trying to let everything settle — like they were holding onto the moment, making up for the time that had quietly slipped away.
Then, almost too softly, Jeonghan asked, “Beomgyu… do you—do you want to see her? Do you want to see Eunsoo?”
Beomgyu’s breath hitched. The question echoed in his mind, louder than it had been spoken. Did he want to see her? Absolutely. But did he deserve to?
His thoughts spiraled. Could he really face her after everything? After leaving her when she was only a year old—when she cried and reached out for him even in his mother’s arms, not understanding why the one person she clung to every day was walking away? She had known his scent, his warmth, his touch more than anyone else’s. More than her own mother’s.
And now, three years had passed.
How was he supposed to just show up and say he was her brother? What kind of brother disappears and then comes back like nothing happened? Was it fair to her?
Beomgyu stayed quiet, eyes cast down, emotions swirling behind his lashes. He didn’t answer immediately. Because the answer was yes. But the guilt, the fear—it was louder than that single word.
***
Chapter Text
Jeonghan noticed Beomgyu drifting off, eyes distant, lost somewhere in thoughts he wasn't sharing. Gently, he waved a hand in front of his face.
“What happened? You seem lost.”
Beomgyu blinked, forcing a smile as he shook his head lightly. “Nothing, hyung,” he said, brushing it off with practiced ease.
Jeonghan didn’t push further. “She’s with Seungcheol in the car. Should I call them?”
Beomgyu hesitated just a second before giving a small nod. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll get something for you guys,” he said, already getting up and heading toward the kitchen, the nerves in his stomach twisting quietly beneath the surface.
“Papa! Dad broke my teddy!” Eunsoo came running in, her small feet padding quickly across the floor.
Jeonghan, already noticing her presence, instinctively opened his arms wide with a soft smile on his face.
Without missing a beat—like second nature—Eunsoo dove straight into his embrace, and he wrapped his arms securely around her, holding her as if she was the most precious thing in the world.
“It was a mistake! You should’ve pulled it out quickly when I closed the door!” Seungcheol explained as he walked in right after her, slightly out of breath.
The way he was panting and the urgency in his voice made it obvious—he’d been chasing after Eunsoo ever since she noticed her broken teddy and rushed off to report the crime to her Papa.
“Let me see it,” Jeonghan said, shaking his head in disbelief at Seungcheol before gently taking the teddy from Eunsoo’s hands and inspecting it.
One of the ears had loose stitches, clearly from being tugged when it got caught in the door.
“Hmm… your teddy needs a little treatment,” Jeonghan murmured thoughtfully. “Let’s see what we can do once we get home, okay? Papa will fix it for you—and your Dad will be punished,” he added with a soft smile for Eunsoo and a mock-stern glare aimed at Seungcheol.
“Okay,” she nodded, eyes still fixed on her teddy, completely absorbed.
Beomgyu had already heard her soft voice drifting into the kitchen, tugging at his heart in ways he wasn’t prepared for. He had been going back and forth in his mind, unsure if he deserved to face her. But hearing her… that changed everything. He couldn’t stop himself anymore. He needed to see her.
With a deep breath, he grabbed three cans of soft drinks and a packet of fruit juice before heading out.
As he stepped into the living room, the sight that met his eyes froze him in place.
Seungcheol was dramatically kneeling beside the couch, hands clasped in exaggerated apology, pleading for forgiveness. And there she was—his Eunsoo—curled into Jeonghan’s arms, her laughter echoing like music as she giggled at Seungcheol’s antics, clearly enjoying the teasing, safe and sound between the two people who clearly loved her dearly.
It was perfect.
They were perfect.
This—this was everything Beomgyu had ever wanted for her. And seeing her this happy made him believe, just for a moment, that maybe everything had happened the way it was meant to.
Jeonghan’s gaze flickered toward Beomgyu, a warm smile playing on his lips. He gave him a subtle nod, one that carried reassurance and encouragement. Then, turning his attention to the little girl nestled in his arms, he softly spoke,
“Euna! Today… I’m going to fulfill one of my promises to you.”
Eunsoo looked up at him, her brows scrunching in confusion. “What promise, Papa?”
Jeonghan gently turned her toward the other side of the room and pointed with a little lift of his chin.
“Look over there,” he said with a tender tone.
Her curious eyes followed the direction of his finger—slowly, carefully—and then landed on Beomgyu, standing near the edge of the room, holding the drinks in his hands, his heart pounding in his chest.
For a moment, everything went still.
The little girl slipped out of Jeonghan’s arms without hesitation. The teddy she had clutched moments ago lay forgotten on the couch—discarded like it had never mattered at all. It was clear—she had found something far more important, more precious, and more irreplaceable than the toy whose slightest damage had just moments ago brought her to tears.
Her eyes sparkled with recognition, and her legs carried her faster than ever before.
“Beomiee!!” she squealed with pure joy, laughter bubbling from her lips as she ran toward him with her tiny arms stretched as wide as they could go.
Beomgyu froze in disbelief. The soft drink cans tumbled from his hands, hitting the floor with faint thuds, but he didn’t even flinch. He could only watch as Eunsoo threw herself at his legs, wrapping her little arms around him tightly, like she never wanted to let go.
A wave of emotions crashed over him—relief, guilt, warmth, and an overwhelming sense of love. His trembling hands slowly found their way to her small back, hugging her close, as his eyes filled with tears he didn’t even know he’d been holding back.
He slowly knelt down, his hands trembling as he reached out to cup her tiny cheeks—needing to confirm that this moment, this miracle, was truly happening. But what shook him the most was her unwavering smile, so warm, so familiar—it hit him straight in the heart.
“Eun… Eunsoo? Is this really you?” he whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek.
Eunsoo, without missing a beat, placed her small hands on his face—just like Seungcheol always did—a habit she'd picked up from watching him. “Yes! I’m Eunsoo,” she chirped, her smile shining even brighter.
The tears he’d buried deep inside—not just from this moment, but from all those silent, aching years—came pouring out, uncontrollably, as if the dam holding his grief had finally broken.
Eunsoo’s smile faltered. Her little forehead creased in worry, confusion painting her innocent face as she reached out to touch his tears with her tiny fingers.
On the couch, Jeonghan had already stood halfway, instinctively wanting to rush to them—but Seungcheol gently tugged his hand, pulling him back down beside him. With a slight shake of his head, Seungcheol whispered through his eyes: Let him have this. Let him handle it. He needs this.
“Beomie? Aren’t you happy to see me? Why are you crying?” she asked, her voice soft with confusion, her little fingers still reaching up to gently wipe his tears away—determined, as always, to make everything better in her own tiny way.
Beomgyu let out a soft, shaky laugh through his tears, cupping her hands in his. “I’m happy, Eunsoo. So, so happy,” he whispered. “I just missed you a lot... and now that I’m seeing you, it feels like a dream.”
Her lost smile returned, soft and full of warmth, as the crease on her forehead vanished. She leaned in and pressed a feather-light kiss on Beomgyu’s cheek.
“Wake up, Beomie,” she whispered with a giggle, “you’re not dreaming.”
And in that moment, with her in his arms and her tiny voice grounding him, Beomgyu finally believed it—he wasn’t dreaming. She was here, real, and still his.
And just so she wouldn’t slip away like a dream, he pulled her close—holding her tightly, as if his embrace alone could keep time from stealing her again.
Jeonghan watched the moment unfold, a proud smile tugging at his lips. This—this was all he had ever wanted. In that single, quiet second, every worry he’d carried, every ounce of guilt he’d buried, began to melt away. Beomgyu, Eunsoo, Seungcheol… this was it. The edge of his universe. The heart of his world. And for the first time in a long while, it felt complete.
Seungcheol reached out gently, wiping away the tears trailing down Jeonghan’s cheeks—tears Jeonghan hadn’t even realized were falling.
“I know you're the happiest person in the universe right now,” Seungcheol whispered, “but don’t cry. If Eunsoo sees you, she’ll only worry.”
Jeonghan turned to him, eyes shimmering, and saw the gentle warmth in Seungcheol’s gaze. Without hesitation, he leaned in, resting his head against Seungcheol’s shoulder—his safe place, his constant.
“I just... I can’t help it,” Jeonghan whispered. “Seeing Beomgyu like that with her... it’s everything I ever hoped for. I’ve been carrying this wish for so long, waiting for this day.”
“I know, Hannie,” Seungcheol murmured, fingers weaving gently through Jeonghan’s hair. “I’ve been right here since the beginning.”
Jeonghan tilted his head just enough to meet Seungcheol’s gaze, gratitude shining in his eyes. “And I couldn’t be more grateful. I wouldn't have made it this far without you. Thank you for being there.”
A soft smile tugged at Seungcheol’s lips as he tucked a strand of hair behind Jeonghan’s ear. “Always.” He pressed a tender kiss to Jeonghan’s forehead, sealing the promise he’d never needed to speak aloud.
"Beomie! I can't breathe," the little girl whined with a giggle, playfully smacking Beomgyu’s arm.
“Oh—sorry, sorry!” Beomgyu immediately let go, gently pulling back. His eyes scanned her face, concerned. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you anywhere?”
He tucked her hair behind her ear, his worry etched clear in his voice, but Eunsoo only giggled harder, shaking her head.
“Offo! You’re just like Dad,” she huffed, smacking her palm dramatically against her forehead, clearly exasperated by the overprotective side of Beomgyu—so much like Seungcheol.
“I’m fine,” she added with an eye-roll only a child could make look that cute.
“And you're just like your papa,” Beomgyu teased back.
“Beomie, who won?” Eunsoo asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“Won? What?” Beomgyu blinked, genuinely confused.
“Finding the special person first. Did you already find your special person?”
That only puzzled him more. “What are you talking about, Euna?”
“Papa said everyone has a special person. Dad has Papa, Papa has me, and Papa told me that my special person is you. So… is it me or you, who found their special person first?”
Beomgyu glanced toward Jeonghan, looking for help. Jeonghan opened his mouth, clearly ready to step in—but then closed it again, letting Beomgyu handle it.
“Tell me!” Eunsoo insisted, shaking his hands eagerly.
“Aren’t you my special person?” Beomgyu asked, softly.
Eunsoo paused for a second, then turned to her parents. “Papa! Can I be the special person to more than one?”
Jeonghan smiled warmly. “Of course, baby. And you are—both to me and Beomgyu.”
“And to me too!” Seungcheol added quickly.
“Nooo,” Eunsoo said with playful finality, “your special person is Papa.”
Jeonghan and Beomgyu burst out laughing, while Seungcheol sulked beside them, mumbling something about favoritism.
“Then it’s me. I won. Because I called you out first!” she declared proudly, giggling as she threw her arms around Beomgyu once again, holding him tightly like he was her greatest treasure.
Just then, the front door creaked open. Taehyun stepped in first, Hueningkai right behind him, with Hiyyih trailing closely.
“Choi Beomgyu, come out right—” Taehyun stopped abruptly, his words caught in his throat as his eyes fell on the unexpected gathering before him.
He stopped mid-step, confused but instinctively respectful. Hueningkai blinked in surprise, while Hiyyih peeked from behind them, her expression softening at the sight.
Beomgyu looked over his shoulder, startled, but before he could react, Eunsoo turned toward the new arrivals, still clinging to him, and whispered, "Beomie, who are they?"
Before Beomgyu could even respond, Hueningkai dashed toward them, his excitement barely contained. “Oh my god! Is this Eunsoo? Hi!” he greeted, waving with both hands but trying his best not to overwhelm the little girl on their very first meeting.
To his surprise, Eunsoo lit up instantly, mirroring his enthusiasm. “Hi! Yes, I’m Eunsoo,” she replied brightly, stepping forward and confidently shaking his hand as if they’d been friends forever.
Hiyyih soon joined them, and Eunsoo welcomed her with a warm, cheerful hug that melted the moment into something even softer. Taehyun, meanwhile, took a moment to greet Jeonghan and Seungcheol politely before making his way over to the little gathering, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
Jeonghan gave Seungcheol a subtle glance, a silent conversation passing between them with just a flicker of eyes. That was all Seungcheol needed.
Clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention, he grinned and asked, “So? Who wants to go get some ice cream?”
A chorus of enthusiastic cheers followed, and hands shot up into the air—Eunsoo leading the charge with the loudest “me!” as she grabbed Hueningkai and Hiyyih by the hands, dragging them toward Seungcheol.
Jeonghan chuckled, then turned to Seungcheol, “Me and Beomgyu will stay here. You go and treat the kids.”
Seungcheol gave a mock salute. “Got it, captain.”
Beomgyu and Jeonghan settled back onto the couch, each holding a can of soft drink, letting the quiet laughter of the others fade into the background.
“What’s with this whole ‘special person’ concept you’ve been teaching Eunsoo?” Beomgyu asked, laughing softly, nudging Jeonghan.
Jeonghan rolled his eyes, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Tease me all you want, but that was the best explanation I could come up with.”
Beomgyu tilted his head, curiosity piqued, as Jeonghan continued.
“How else was I supposed to explain your place in her life? I didn’t want to lie to her or keep you a secret. That wouldn’t have been fair—to her, or to you.”
“Hyung—”
Jeonghan held up his hand, stopping him gently.
“If I told her you were her brother, I would’ve had to explain why you weren’t there. Why you weren’t calling. And if I called you her uncle, that would’ve felt like erasing your bond. You’re her brother, Beomgyu. Her real one. You share what I never did—parents. So I came up with this ‘special person’ thing. Told her that she has someone very special waiting to meet her. Someone who belongs to her in a way no one else does.”
He paused, his voice growing quieter but more tender.
“And she’s been waiting for you, Gyu. Eagerly. Didn’t you see the way she ran to you? No hesitation. She doesn’t even let go of me or Seungcheol easily, not with strangers. But with you… she just knew. Because you are her special person.”
Beomgyu's voice faltered as emotion swelled in his throat. “Hyung… you’re making me feel awful right now. I’m so sorry—for not being there, for leaving you to handle everything alone. I can’t begin to imagine how hard it must’ve been for you.”
Jeonghan placed his can down and turned slightly to face Beomgyu, his expression gentle but firm.
"Hey," he said, reaching out to lightly squeeze Beomgyu’s shoulder. "Don’t. Don’t say that. I didn’t do it alone. I had Seungcheol. And more than anything, I had her—Eunsoo. She kept me going."
Beomgyu looked down, guilt still weighing in his eyes, but Jeonghan continued before he could speak again.
"And you weren’t absent because you didn’t care. You were trying to survive in your own way. I know that. I’ve always known that. So don’t think for a second that I ever blamed you for any of this."
Beomgyu’s lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come. His eyes shimmered.
Jeonghan gave him a soft smile, voice steady. “You’re here now. That’s what matters. And she’s already let you in like you never left. You didn’t lose her, Beomgyu. You just needed time to come back to her.”
Beomgyu nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Thank you… for never giving up on me. Or on her."
“Beomgyu… are you really okay with the adoption? I just need to be sure you’re completely alright with this.”
“Hyung, of course I am,” Beomgyu replied without hesitation. “I’m more than okay with Eunsoo being your and Seungcheol hyung’s daughter. You know all I’ve ever wanted for her was a life filled with love and stability. That could never have happened with mom and dad. But with you both… she has the best life possible. This doesn’t change anything for me—it only makes things better.”
He paused, his voice soft but unwavering. “And when the time comes to tell her everything, I know she’ll understand. You don’t have to worry about what I think, hyung. I’ll always be by your side in every decision you make. You mean more to me than I could ever put into words. If it weren’t for you, Beomgyu might not even exist today. You gave me a second chance at life when I had none left to hold on to. I could never, ever doubt you.”
Jeonghan’s eyes welled with emotion. “Thank you, Beomgyu. I’ll do everything I can to never let you down. I’ll raise Eunsoo with all the love and care we never got. For you. For us.”
Beomgyu smiled, his heart full. “I know, hyung. That’s why, for the first time, I’m not even a little worried about her.”
Just then, a cheerful voice echoed through the hallway.
“Beomieeeee! I got you strawberry flavour. Do you like it?” Eunsoo came running in, her tiny feet padding against the floor, waving a strawberry ice cream in her hand like a prize.
Beomgyu opened his arms, and as if it was second nature to her, she slipped right into his embrace without missing a step.
“I love it, actually. Thank you,” he said, his smile warm as she placed the ice cream in his hand.
Moments later, the rest followed in, trailing behind a slightly out-of-breath Seungcheol.
“Eunsoo, I swear you're going to be the reason I have knee pain before I even hit forty,” Seungcheol huffed dramatically, drawing a round of laughter from everyone in the room.
Seungcheol's phone buzzed, and he quickly checked the screen. “Hannie, the tickets are confirmed. I got the mail.”
Jeonghan gave a short nod, already expecting the update.
“Ti–tickets?” Beomgyu asked hesitantly, his voice faltering. He looked between the two, his heart suddenly dropping as an uneasy feeling settled in. He didn’t want what he was thinking to be true.
“We’re leaving tomorrow for Tokyo, Beomgyu,” Seungcheol said gently, his voice carrying the weight of guilt. He wasn’t happy to break the news, especially now, right after Beomgyu had finally reunited with his sister.
“I’m really sorry, Beomgyu. If it wasn’t for work, we would’ve stayed longer… I promise,” he added, hoping it would ease the blow just a little.
Beomgyu tried his best to smile, even though a flicker of sadness lingered in his eyes. “I understand, hyung. You have your home and your work there… you can’t stay here forever. It’s okay,” he said softly, his gaze shifting to Eunsoo who was still holding onto him. “I’m just really glad I got to see you all… even if it was just for a little while.”
Eunsoo’s little mind was working hard to keep up with the grown-up conversation. Still nestled in Beomgyu’s arms, she gently tugged at Jeonghan’s sleeve. “Papa, can we take Beomie with us? I don’t want to be away from my special person. He can stay in the room I’ll use when I get older. Please, papa?”
Jeonghan’s eyes flicked toward Seungcheol and Beomgyu, uncertainty clouding his expression. He knew how delicate Eunsoo’s emotions were—and one wrong word could bring tears he didn’t want to see.
Before Jeonghan could respond, Beomgyu gently cradled her face in his hands. “Euna, sweetheart,” he began softly, “I still have to finish my studies here. But once I’m done, I’ll come live with you, alright? I promise. It won’t take too long. In the meantime, you go and stay with your papa and dad. I’ll be there before you even know it.” He gave her cheeks a light pat, smiling as reassuringly as he could.
Eunsoo pouted, clearly not fully satisfied but trying to be brave. “You promise?” she asked, her eyes wide and glistening, her tiny pinky raised.
Beomgyu smiled gently and hooked his pinky with hers. “I promise, pinky swear. And you know what happens when someone breaks a pinky swear, right?”
“They get tickled forever!” she giggled through the tears threatening to fall.
“Exactly!” he chuckled. “So I won’t dare break it.”
Jeonghan watched them with soft eyes, his heart full yet heavy. He reached out to gently run his fingers through Eunsoo’s hair. “You’ll see him soon, baby. Beomie always keeps his promises.”
Seungcheol stepped closer and gently patted Eunsoo’s head. She turned to look at him, her eyes slightly glossy. Without a word, she lifted her arms—her silent request. Understanding instantly, Seungcheol scooped her up, holding her close against his chest. Her small arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and her legs curled around his waist, as if trying to anchor herself to him.
Soft sobs escaped her lips, muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Seungcheol cradled her head gently, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles on her back. He whispered comforting words only meant for her, his voice low and calm.
From where he stood, Jeonghan watched the two quietly. He knew—always knew—that it was Seungcheol who could navigate Eunsoo’s emotional tides best. While Jeonghan often feared saying the wrong thing, hurting her unintentionally, Seungcheol handled it with a quiet ease, always knowing how to steady her little heart.
Jeonghan knew in his heart that the reason Eunsoo was with them, the reason their little family existed at all, was Seungcheol. It was Seungcheol who had first planted the seed in his mind, who convinced him to take the leap—to adopt Eunsoo. He had promised Jeonghan that he wouldn't have to carry the weight alone, that they would raise her together. And he had kept that promise, every single day.
On paper, Eunsoo might have been Jeonghan’s daughter alone, but in reality, it was Seungcheol who embodied the role of a parent more deeply, more naturally. Since their marriage couldn't be legally registered, Seungcheol had asked Jeonghan to proceed with the adoption under his name. That way, things would be smoother—not just in paperwork, but in life. And because Eunsoo shared Seungcheol’s last name, it had always been easier to explain to others—and to her—that she was his daughter.
But Jeonghan never minded that. If anything, it made his heart swell with warmth and gratitude. Because while the world might see Seungcheol as the primary parent, Jeonghan knew the truth: they had both chosen Eunsoo. And Seungcheol had chosen them both, first.
"I have an idea, Euna. How about we spend the night here with Beomie, hmm?" Seungcheol said softly, still rubbing gentle circles on her back. "That way, you’ll get more time with him—more moments to keep close to your heart."
Jeonghan nudged him gently, his eyes speaking louder than words—You’re only making it harder for her to say goodbye later.
Seungcheol gave a small nod toward Beomgyu, who stepped forward and carefully took Eunsoo into his arms.
“Come on, Eunsoo. Let’s go check if everyone’s changed already—and maybe play some games while we’re at it?” he said, trying to lift her spirits.
Without a single protest, she snuggled into his embrace, her arms wrapped tightly around him. “Yes! Games!” she chirped, her voice still slightly wobbly from crying, letting out a final hiccup as her smile slowly returned.
“Seungcheol, you—”
“Relax, Hannie,” he cut in gently, a small smile playing on his lips. “You know how much she wants to be with Beomgyu right now. Let her have that.”
Jeonghan sighed, concern still clouding his eyes. “But you know it won’t be easy for her to say goodbye after this. Don’t you remember what happened yesterday with Seokmin and his friends? She clung to Yeonjun and cried for all of them... and still—”
“I know,” Seungcheol said softly, his voice calm and steady. “But we were there for her then, right? And we’ll be there for her tomorrow too. We’ll help her through it. You don’t have to worry so much. Let her have these moments, Hannie. They mean everything to her.”
“Hmm,” Jeonghan hummed, still visibly uneasy.
Seungcheol stepped closer, slipping his arms around him in a warm embrace. “You worry too much,” he murmured, pulling him in just a little tighter.
Then, with a gentle touch, he pressed a soft kiss to Jeonghan’s forehead. “Relax, Hannie. We’ve got this.”
Beomgyu lay quietly on his bed, the room wrapped in the soft hum of the night. Beside him, Eunsoo slept peacefully, her tiny form curled into his side like she had always belonged there. Her slow, steady breaths fanned across his arm, offering a strange sort of comfort that he hadn’t realized he needed.
But even in the warmth of this moment, Beomgyu's heart felt heavy.
He couldn’t get Soobin’s face out of his mind—the look of pure hurt in his eyes, the way he crumbled without a word. It haunted him.
It wasn’t just that he remembered Soobin. He had never once forgotten. Even now, memories of the fresher’s party clawed at him—how Soobin stood there, humiliated, how their friends stared in disbelief, the thick silence that followed his own.
He had let Soobin down. He had broken something.
And Beomgyu knew it now, more than ever.
He had to fix it.
He had to talk to Soobin.
-
Morning arrived far quicker than Beomgyu had hoped. He’d barely let his eyes rest the entire night, too scared that if he dared to sleep, everything would vanish—that Eunsoo would disappear, that the warmth beside him was just a figment of a fragile dream.
But the sun rose, spilling soft light into the room, and reality settled in.
She was still there—still curled up beside him, still his. But not for long.
Beomgyu swallowed hard. The ache in his chest grew with each passing second, knowing what the day meant. Knowing he’d have to let her go. Let them go.
He wished he could say he was fine with it. That he understood. That he could watch them leave and simply wave with a smile.
But he couldn’t. Because he wasn’t okay.
Not with her leaving.
Not with his brother leaving.
Not when they were finally a family again.
The breakfast table, despite being full, felt emptier than ever. Conversations died before they could begin, swallowed by the weight of the inevitable. Even Eunsoo—usually a bubbling ball of energy in any room that held the people she loved—sat quietly, picking at the sandwich Beomgyu gently fed her.
The silence wrapped around them, heavy and unmoving, until Hueningkai, sensing the growing ache, clapped his hands to break it.
"How about we take some pictures, huh? Eunsoo, want a photo with Beomgyu?"
Her eyes lit up instantly, the dim light in them flickering back to life. “Yes! I’ll keep it with me till you come back to me. I promise,” she said, turning to Beomgyu, who was already fighting the sting in his eyes.
“I—It won’t take long, Eunsoo,” Beomgyu said, voice barely steady as he pulled her close. “Just wait a little longer. I’ll be there soon.”
“I’ll miss you, Beomie,” she whispered, cupping his cheeks with her small hands.
“I’ll miss you too, Euna,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“Come on!” Hueningkai encouraged, voice bright as he tugged them toward the living room. “Let’s capture this memory—something beautiful before the goodbye.”
After the photos were taken, they lingered in the living room a little longer. Eunsoo was once again herself—running around, giggling as she played tag with Hueningkai, Taehyun, and Hiyyih. The room echoed with her laughter, momentarily pushing away the weight of goodbye. Beomgyu sat with Jeonghan on the couch, engaged in a quiet conversation, while Seungcheol remained glued to his phone, his brows furrowed in concern.
Jeonghan noticed. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently.
Seungcheol didn’t look up. “Seokmin’s not answering my calls… or any of his friends’. He told me to call him before we leave. Said he wanted to see us one more time, but now... nothing.”
Jeonghan placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “Don’t overthink it. He’s probably caught up with something. Let’s just stop by and check on him before heading out.”
“Seokmin? Seokmin hyung is back here?” Beomgyu perked up, surprised.
“Yeah,” Seungcheol nodded. “He’s back for good. He’s running his café here now.”
“That’s awesome,” Beomgyu smiled. “Wait—did he finally get together with Jos—”
“No!” Jeonghan cut him off, exasperated. “He’s such an idiot for still waiting for him.”
“But Seokmin hyung really loves him,” Beomgyu said, softly defending.
“Exactly why it hurts more,” Jeonghan muttered. “He’s holding on to something that isn’t even reaching back. Just… living in false hope.”
“Hannie hyung, did something happen?” Beomgyu asked, catching the flicker of sadness in Jeonghan’s eyes.
“A lot happened,” Jeonghan replied with a small sigh. “I’ll tell you some other time, okay?”
Beomgyu simply nodded, sensing it wasn’t the right moment to push.
“I think we should leave now,” Seungcheol spoke, standing up and brushing his palms against his pants. “Let’s go check on Seokmin too, just to be sure.”
"Hyung! Can I come with you? Maybe see you off at the airport?" Beomgyu asked hopefully.
"Of course!" Seungcheol replied without hesitation, a warm smile tugging at his lips.
-
The moment Seokmin parked the car outside the hospital, Soobin was already throwing the door open, sprinting toward the entrance with Dino and Seokmin close behind. His breath came in short gasps, panic and tears clouding his vision.
He reached the reception desk, nearly crashing into it. "Hyung-Yeonjun hyung... which room?" he managed to say between shaky breaths.
The receptionist blinked, momentarily startled by the urgency.
Before she could respond, Dino gently pulled Soobin back by the shoulders, steadying him, while Seokmin stepped in calmly. "Choi Yeonjun. Which room is he in?"
The receptionist quickly checked the records and looked up. "He's in the emergency room. The doctor is with him now. Please wait, we'll let you know as soon as there's an update."
"Thank you," Seokmin said with a short nod, then turned to guide Soobin toward an empty bench nearby. Soobin sat down, still trembling, his hands clenched tightly in his lap as his eyes stayed fixed on the hallway that led to the emergency wing.
A nurse appeared at the reception desk moments later, glancing around as she asked, "Do we have any update on Mr. Choi's relatives?"
The receptionist pointed subtly in their direction. "They're right over there."
Before the nurse could even turn around, Soobin, Seokmin, and Dino were already on their feet, approaching her quickly.
"Sir, the doctor is asking to speak with Mr. Choi's family," she informed them.
"Alright. Let's go," Seokmin responded firmly, leading the way without hesitation.
Just as they were about to step into the doctor's office, a hospital staff member appeared outside the door, holding a small packet in his hands.
"These are the belongings of Mr. Yeonjun," he said, offering it forward.
Soobin instantly recognized the faded denim jacket peeking through the clear plastic. Without a word, he stepped ahead and gently took the packet, holding it close to his chest like something fragile.
He slowly opened it-his hands trembling-revealing Yeonjun's familiar jacket, his phone, wallet, and a white envelope marred with smudges of blood.
His breath hitched. The sight was enough to make his heart sink further.
"I'll be honest with you," the doctor began, voice firm but laced with concern. "Yeonjun's condition is very critical. I don't want to sugarcoat anything. In my professional opinion, we should refer him to a larger, more equipped hospital."
He continued, "I'm saying this with your best interest in mind. The treatment here will cost a lot if we have to request advanced machinery and external support from other hospitals. We've already operated on him, but he hasn't regained consciousness yet. Please think it through carefully."
The room went silent.
Soobin's eyes were fixed on Yeonjun's phone, his mind spiraling. The wallpaper stared back at him-an old photo of the three of them: him, Yeonjun, and Yeonjun's mom. Soobin looked lost, hollow, barely holding it together.
Seokmin saw it all. He understood that Soobin wasn't in the right state to make a call.
He stepped forward, steadying his voice despite the weight in his chest.
"We'll let you know soon, doctor. Thank you."
With hearts weighed down by fear and helplessness, they stepped out of the room. The air outside felt heavier than the walls they left behind. A decision had to be made - and fast.
Seokmin cast a glance at Soobin, who sat like a shell of himself. He looked lost, detached from everything around him. Seokmin could see it - Soobin wasn't capable of thinking straight, not right now. Whatever could help Yeonjun, he would blindly agree to, even if it crushed him in the process.
Quietly, Seokmin moved to the side, taking out his phone, ready to start calling around for help.
Meanwhile, Soobin's grip around Yeonjun's jacket tightened. He held it like it was the only thing grounding him. His eyes drifted to the white envelope still resting on top of Yeonjun's belongings. He picked it up, flipping it slowly - his name was written on it.
With trembling hands, he opened it.
It was his admission form.
A wave hit him, knocking the air out of his lungs.
Yeonjun was coming to find him.
He wanted to bring him the form.
He must have seen how broken Soobin was, running out of college crying and alone.
Yeonjun had rushed to him.
And now...
The guilt hit like a storm.
Soobin collapsed to his knees, clutching the jacket close to his chest as sobs escaped him - raw, pained, and heart-wrenching.
"I-It's my fault," he choked out, shaking. "I'm the reason he's here. In this state... it's me. If I just hadn't-if I had stayed-"
Dino, startled, rushed to his side, holding him tightly.
"No. Soobin, no. Shhh, calm down," he whispered, pulling him into a steady embrace. "None of this is your fault. Please, listen to me - not at all."
But Soobin couldn't hear.
His world was drowning in the sound of his own heartbreak.
Seokmin approached them slowly, but the sight before him cracked his composure. Soobin was completely undone-his face stained with tears, body trembling, and Dino holding onto him like he might fall apart if he let go.
He couldn't let this continue. Not when Yeonjun needed them the most.
Without a word, Seokmin stepped in and gently pulled Soobin up. He gripped his shoulders, steadying him, forcing him to meet his gaze.
"Soobin, listen to me," he said firmly but with a softness only someone who truly cared could muster. "A friend of Jeonghan hyung is a doctor in one of the best hospitals in Seoul. He's ready to take Yeonjun's case. But we need to leave now. There's no time."
Soobin's eyes blinked up at him, still dazed, but listening.
"But hyung," Dino cut in, worry laced in his voice, "It'll take hours to reach Seoul."
Seokmin shook his head. "Don't worry. He arranged emergency medical flight tickets. Everything is ready. We just have to go."
There was a beat of silence. Then Soobin wiped his face, sniffling, determination slowly replacing the heartbreak in his eyes.
"Y-Yes, let's go, hyung," he said, voice still trembling but steady enough to move forward.
Seokmin gave a small nod, proud of the strength Soobin was trying to summon, even now.
"Good. Let's bring him back safe."
They arrived just in time. Yeonjun was taken into intensive care and placed under strict observation. The hospital corridor outside the unit was cold and dim, and the ticking of the wall clock only made the silence heavier. It was already past midnight.
The sudden vibration of a phone pierced the quiet.
Soobin pulled Yeonjun's phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. His heart dropped.
Mom.
Yeonjun's mom was calling.
Soobin froze, dread crawling up his spine. How could he possibly speak to her right now? What could he say?
It wasn't surprising she called-Yeonjun never missed a day. He always made sure to check in with her, tell her about his day, update her about Soobin, and share little stories about the people in his life. Even if she hadn't met them all in person, she knew each one like family through Yeonjun's words.
Soobin stared at the screen, panic rising. Ignoring the call would only raise suspicion.
He turned to Seokmin, holding out the phone. "Hyung... please. Can you talk to her? If I answer, she'll know something's wrong just by my voice."
Seokmin looked alarmed. "Me? But... I've never spoken to her. What would I even say-"
"She knows you. Really well. Yeonjun talks about you all the time. Please, hyung. Just handle this for now."
There was a pause, the ringtone still buzzing between them, and finally, Seokmin sighed and answered the call.
"Hello-"
"Why didn't you-oh. Hello? Who is this?" Her voice was gentle but alert.
"Hi... this is Seokmin. Yeonjun's-"
"Oh! Seokminie! How lovely to finally hear your voice! Are you covering for Yeonjun again? What excuse does he have this time?" she laughed lightly, her warmth cutting through the tension for a moment.
Seokmin forced a small chuckle. "Yeah, something like that. He left his phone at the café and stayed back at college. There was some post-party stuff to take care of. He asked me to let you know if you called."
"This late?" she sighed. "He's always overdoing things. Tell him to get some proper rest. He never listens to me. Please take care of him for me. He always makes me worry."
Seokmin swallowed the lump in his throat, clenching the phone tighter. "Of course, aunty. Don't worry. I'll take good care of him. I'm really lucky to have him-and Soobin-in my life. They're like little brothers to me."
There was a brief silence on the other end, and then she spoke softly. "That's so comforting to hear. I hope Soobin is doing okay too. He's had a lot on his plate... I just hope he's holding on."
Seokmin glanced at Soobin, who sat slumped on the bench, staring at the floor, Yeonjun's jacket clutched tightly in his hands.
"He's... he's trying. He's strong. He'll get through this. You don't have to worry too much, aunty."
"I'm glad to hear that. Alright, then. I'll get some sleep. Take care of each other, okay?"
"Always. And aunty... don't forget your medicines. Or else Yeonjun will blame me next time."
That drew a genuine laugh from her. "Of course! I'm glad Yeonjun has all of you. Goodnight, dear."
"Goodnight, aunty."
As the call ended, Seokmin stood frozen for a moment, letting the phone fall slowly to his side. The weight of the lie, the burden of fear-it was all crashing down again.
But for now, they had done what they had to do. They just had to keep going. For Yeonjun.
The hospital corridor had dimmed into a pale gray by the time morning crept in, the flickering fluorescent lights above doing little to hide the exhaustion carved into all their faces.
Time had long since lost meaning. Hours blurred into each other, stitched together by anxious glances at the ICU door and the never-ending silence from inside. No one moved unless necessary. No one spoke unless needed. Their hearts were pounding with a single, desperate prayer: Let him wake up.
Dino returned quietly, balancing three paper cups of coffee. His own eyes were red-rimmed, but he masked it with a shaky smile. He handed them out-one to Seokmin, one to Soobin, and kept one for himself.
The bitter steam rose between them, but none of them took a sip right away.
Soobin stared into his cup blankly, hands trembling around the warm paper. The scent brought him back to mornings when Yeonjun would drag him out of bed and hand him coffee, scolding him gently for skipping breakfast. His throat tightened. He blinked back the tears that threatened to spill again.
"I can't..." he whispered.
"You have to," Seokmin said softly, crouching beside him. "Not for you. For him. He needs us strong."
Soobin nodded faintly and forced a sip. The bitterness burned down his throat, but he didn't stop.
They all drank in silence, huddled in the corner of the corridor like warriors before battle. None of them could sleep. Not yet. Not until Yeonjun opened his eyes.
And they would wait-no matter how long it took.
The door creaked open, drawing the immediate attention of all three as their heads turned in unison. A doctor stepped out, followed closely by three nurses, still deep in conversation about Yeonjun's medication and IV schedule.
Seokmin instinctively rose to his feet, his posture tense but composed, and moved forward without hesitation.
"Hyung... how's Yeonjun? Did he wake up? Is he okay?" he asked, his voice shaky as his hand reached out, grasping the doctor's wrist.
The touch wasn't hesitant-it was familiar. As if his body recognized the warmth before his mind could. And when their eyes met, so did the weight of the past. The doctor... was someone Seokmin had known all too well.
The doctor halted mid-step, startled for a moment-not by the question, but by the voice, and more so, the way Seokmin held his wrist. His eyes lifted slowly to meet Seokmin's, and for a split second, the time they had been apart crumbled around them like dried paper.
"Mi- Seokmin, relax," the doctor said gently, his voice softening as his eyes met Seokmin's. There was a moment of hesitation in the way he spoke his name-like he almost slipped into something more familiar, something from the past.
"You haven't answered me yet," Seokmin said again, gripping tighter. "Did he wake up? Is he okay?"
The doctor glanced down at Seokmin's hand, then back up with a softness in his eyes he hadn't shown earlier. "He hasn't woken up yet. But..." he exhaled, "he's responding to medication. His vitals are getting stable. We're still watching for signs of consciousness, but for now-he's holding on."
A wave of silent relief washed through the hallway. Dino let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Soobin dropped to sit on the bench again, the weight of everything making his limbs heavy.
Seokmin's grip loosened as the tension in his body finally eased. "Thank you," he murmured. "I know he's in the best hands now."
The doctor nodded. "And I'll do everything I can. For him. For you."
There was something unspoken in the air then. A thread of the past that hadn't fully unraveled. But there was no time for that now.
Seokmin gave a small nod before turning back to the others. "He's fighting. That's all we need to know."
And all three of them clung to that hope like a lifeline.
After a while, a nurse stepped out of the doctor's office, holding a folded slip in one hand.
"Please get these medicines from the store," she said, handing the prescription to Seokmin. "And here," she added, passing him a small yellow plastic token, "give this to the cashier."
Seokmin glanced at the token, puzzled. "What's this for?"
"Oh, that?" The nurse offered a quick smile. "Dr. Hong is handling the expenses himself." And with that, she walked away, leaving Seokmin staring down at the token, a wave of mixed emotions washing over him.
Seokmin stared at the token in his palm for a moment, his thoughts far away. Then, turning to Dino, he called softly, "Dino-ya, get these medicines," handing him the slip. He pulled his card from his wallet and added, "Pay with this."
Before Dino could say anything, Seokmin glanced at Soobin, still sitting in a daze.
"Take Soobin with you, hmm? He might feel a little better stepping out for a while. It must be suffocating for him in here."
Dino nodded, understanding the unspoken weight behind Seokmin's words, then gently reached out to Soobin. "Come on, binnie. Just for a bit."
Seokmin cracked the door open without waiting for permission, stepping inside with a determined stride. His voice was firm, laced with frustration and something deeper-pain, maybe.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked sharply, eyes locked on the doctor seated behind the table, who was in the middle of explaining a patient's prescription to an assistant.
The doctor looked up, startled, recognizing the familiar voice instantly. His expression faltered for a second, but he quickly composed himself.
"Seokmin..." he exhaled, setting the file aside. "Let's talk. Sit down."
But Seokmin didn't move. He stayed rooted in place, gaze unwavering. "You don't get to play the hero now. Not like this."
"I'm just trying to help," the doctor said softly, almost pleading.
Seokmin scoffed, his jaw tightening. "Did I ask?"
The tension in the room thickened. The unspoken history between them sat heavily in the silence that followed, louder than any words either of them could muster.
Sensing the growing tension in the room, the nurse quietly excused herself.
"Let me do this, Mimi... please."
"Don't call me that," Seokmin snapped, his voice sharp. "Only Eunsoo gets to use that name."
"But she learned it from me," Joshua replied softly.
Seokmin let out a shaky breath, his exhaustion bleeding through. "Joshua hyung... please, just stop. I'm tired. So tired of all this."
Joshua's shoulders slumped slightly. "I know you're tired," he said quietly, "but I never stopped caring-"
"Stop," Seokmin interrupted, voice cracking. "You don't get to say that now. Not when everything's already a mess."
Joshua stood, slowly, as if trying not to make the situation worse. "I'm just... trying to fix what I can."
Seokmin looked away, his throat tightening. "Then start by respecting the distance I've been trying to keep."
"You never wanted the distance," Joshua said quietly, his gaze searching Seokmin's.
"And you never let me close it," Seokmin shot back, his voice trembling with a mix of hurt and anger.
"Seokmin, I-"
"No," Seokmin cut in, his voice sharp and tired. "I don't want to hear any of your excuses. I was stupid. Stupid for expecting anything. Stupid for thinking we could be something. I shouldn't have even met you at Seungcheol hyung's birthday party. I was an idiot for skipping my classes to visit your university just to spend a little more time with you. For moving closer to you without thinking how it'd mess up my own routine. For following you around like some lovesick fool-throwing out random 'I like you's and 'I love you's like they meant nothing."
His breath trembled. "You never told me once if you liked me. Not even once. Jeonghan hyung was right-I've been clinging to false hope, waiting for something that was never going to come. I get it. You weren't ready to be open about us, fine. But you didn't even try, not even in private. You pulled me close when you wanted, and pushed me away the moment it got hard. I can't keep doing this."
He stepped forward, voice breaking. "I'm done. I've given up every last bit of hope. I'm trying to change, to start caring only for those who care about me in return. Who don't leave me hanging."
He placed the token coin in Joshua's hand. "I don't want your help. I can take care of my people on my own. Don't act like you're doing this for me. I brought Yeonjun here because you're the best doctor I could trust with his life. That's all. So please-just do your job. He has people who love him waiting. Just save him. Let's keep this professional."
Seokmin didn't even realize when the tears had started. Joshua reached out to comfort him, but Seokmin stepped back and slapped his hand away. "Stop. Please."
"Seokmin, I-"
Before Joshua could finish, the door creaked open. Soobin stood there, eyes dark with fury. He didn't look at Joshua for more than a second before walking straight to Seokmin.
"Let's go, hyung," he said, taking his wrist.
Unbeknownst to them, Soobin had been standing outside for a while. He had heard it all. He'd been silent at first, noticing how tense Seokmin had been ever since Joshua entered the picture. At first, he thought it wasn't his place-but watching Seokmin break down like that? That wasn't something he could ignore.
As Joshua stepped forward again, Soobin turned sharply.
"And you," he snapped, pointing at Joshua, "don't you dare bother him again. I'm warning you."
Without waiting for a reply, he pulled Seokmin out of the room, leaving Joshua standing there with nothing but the weight of his regrets.
Soobin didn't say a word as he led Seokmin away from the hallway, away from the heavy silence left behind in that room. He found a small, quiet spot just around the corner, near a window where the early morning light was beginning to peek through.
He gently nudged Seokmin to sit beside him on the bench. Seokmin didn't resist-he just dropped down, elbows on his knees, face in his hands.
Soobin sat close, not too close, just enough to let him know he wasn't alone.
"I hate seeing you like this, hyung," he said softly, looking ahead.
Seokmin sniffled, trying to pull himself together. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not." Soobin's voice didn't carry judgment-only understanding. "And it's okay not to be."
Silence again. A few birds chirped outside, the world moving on, unaware of the storm sitting still inside Seokmin.
Soobin reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding. "You don't always have to be the strong one for us. Not right now."
Seokmin let out a shaky breath, but still didn't look at him.
"I know it hurts," Soobin continued. "I saw everything. And I don't know the whole story between you two, but... I saw how you looked when he called you Mimi. And how it broke you to be reminded of everything you've been holding in."
Seokmin flinched just slightly at the name.
Soobin softened further, voice barely above a whisper now. "You gave him so much of yourself, hyung. Maybe more than he even realized. And you kept giving... even when it hurt."
A tear finally slipped from Seokmin's eye. He turned his face slightly, trying to hide it, but Soobin saw.
"I just wanted to be enough," Seokmin whispered, barely holding it together.
Soobin didn't respond right away. He leaned in gently, wrapping an arm around Seokmin's shoulder and resting his head lightly against his.
"You are," Soobin said. "You always were."
Seokmin's chest trembled, the walls crumbling piece by piece. He didn't reply. Didn't need to.
They sat like that for a while, in quiet comfort-no more explanations, no more masks. Just Seokmin letting go, and Soobin holding him through it.
Just when Seokmin thought he had calmed down, his phone buzzed with a call from Jeonghan. He hesitated for a second before answering.
"Hyung..." he barely whispered, and the moment he heard Jeonghan's voice, everything collapsed. The tears he was holding back spilled freely.
"Seokmin? What's wrong? Why are you crying?" Jeonghan's voice turned sharp with worry.
"I... I met Joshua hyung," Seokmin choked out between sobs.
A pause. Then Jeonghan's tone shifted, laced with frustration and concern. "You what? Why would you even go see him? And where the hell are you? I went to the café-it was closed. You didn't even tell Grandpa anything!"
"I'm in Seoul... at the hospital," Seokmin murmured, voice shaky.
"What? Why? What happened?" Jeonghan asked quickly, panic growing in his voice.
But before Seokmin could say another word, the screen went black. His phone had died.
Soobin, who had been quietly sitting beside Seokmin, gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hyung... you can use my phone to call Jeonghan hyung. He must be really worried."
Seokmin nodded slowly, wiping his face with his sleeves. Soobin unlocked his phone and handed it to him.
Just as Seokmin was about to dial, a nurse came rushing toward them, slightly out of breath.
"Excuse me! Are you Mr. Choi's relatives?"
Both of them stood up instantly.
"Yes," Soobin replied quickly.
The nurse smiled with urgency. "He's regained consciousness. The doctor said you can see him now."
Their eyes widened. Soobin looked at Seokmin, whose lips parted in disbelief.
"He's awake?" Seokmin asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes," the nurse nodded. "Please follow me."
And without wasting a second, they did.
-
Jeonghan stood outside the café, anxiety twisting in his chest. Seokmin crying, meeting Joshua, being in Seoul... at a hospital? It was all too much, each piece adding to the storm in his mind.
Seungcheol stepped closer, his voice steady. "Hannie, breathe. We'll figure this out. But for now, let's get to the airport - it's almost time."
Meanwhile, Beomgyu stayed close to Eunsoo, his presence calm and steady. The café, the nearby convenience store-everything felt oddly familiar. As if these places weren't just locations.
"Papa, isn't Mimi coming to the café?" Eunsoo asked softly, her eyes still fixed on the glass door as if expecting him to walk in any second.
Jeonghan didn't respond-too lost in thoughts, too consumed by the whirlwind of emotions and confusion.
Seungcheol stepped in, voice calm but firm, "Minnie went out to get some stuff for the café. We'll see him another time. Let's head to the airport now." He gave Beomgyu a knowing nod.
Beomgyu caught the cue immediately and gently took Eunsoo's hand, guiding her to the backseat. She obediently climbed in, still glancing toward the café door with a pout.
Minnie.
The name echoed in Beomgyu's mind.
As he buckled Eunsoo in, it all started to click. The café-it wasn't just any café. It was Soobin's Minnie hyung's café. The convenience store across the street, that comforting figure he now knew was Soobin's Minnie hyung's grandfather.
When he settled into the seat beside Eunsoo and the car started moving, he quietly pulled out his phone. His gaze fell on the message thread with Soobin. His eyes lingered on the name at the top.
And then he looked up.
The café's sign glowed softly in the morning light: Meraki Brews.
There it was. Soobin's texts, the nickname, the warmth in his voice when he spoke of "Minnie hyung." It all added up.
Beomgyu's eyes widened slightly.
His Seokmin hyung...
Soobin's Minnie hyung...
They were the same person.
And then-like a wave crashing into him-it hit Beomgyu hard.
Seokmin hyung was in the hospital.
Was he hurt?
Or worse... was it Soobin?
The thought alone made his stomach twist into knots. A tight, uneasy feeling settled in his chest, heavier than before. His grip on the phone tightened as panic crept in slowly, quietly, but steadily. He glanced at Eunsoo, unaware, humming softly to herself in the backseat. Beomgyu looked away, swallowing hard.
He needed answers. Fast.
Wait a second. Seungcheol and Jeonghan were here for Seokmin's café opening? They had to be.
That means-did they meet Soobin too?
Beomgyu sat still, thoughts whirling. The possibility made his chest tighten. Had they seen him? Talked to him?
He wanted to ask. The words sat heavy on his tongue. But what could he even say?
How do you bring up someone you broke without breaking all over again?
He decided to keep it to himself-for now. He'd find a way, he told himself.
He remembered seeing Yeonjun with Soobin at the auditorium. There was something there, some familiarity. Maybe they knew each other. Maybe Yeonjun could help him connect the dots.
Yeah... he'd ask Yeonjun tomorrow. That felt safer. For now, he let it rest.
-
Soobin's heart pounded in his chest as he stood outside the room, palms slightly trembling. After everything, he was finally about to see Yeonjun again-awake, conscious.
Joshua stepped out quietly, clipboard in hand. "He's stable. I did the final checks. You can go in now," he said, before walking away without another word.
Soobin took a shaky breath. His fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeves as he looked at Seokmin once, who gave him the faintest nod. Slowly, carefully, Soobin pushed the door open.
The room was quiet except for the soft beeping of the monitor beside the bed. Yeonjun lay there, pale and tired but alive, his eyes fluttering open just as they entered. Soobin's breath hitched.
"Hyung..." he whispered, stepping in, his voice barely audible.
Yeonjun's eyes focused, and the moment he saw Soobin and Seokmin, his lips curled into the faintest smile. "Hey," he croaked, his voice rough.
Seokmin rushed forward first, careful not to disturb anything, and gently rested his hand on Yeonjun's arm. "You scared the hell out of us," he said, voice trembling despite the smile on his lips.
Yeonjun chuckled weakly. "Didn't mean to."
Soobin moved slowly, stopping at the edge of the bed, just looking at him-really looking at him. His eyes were glassy, his hands shaking at his sides. "Hyung... are you okay? Does anything hurt? Do you remember what happened?" The questions tumbled out of him all at once.
Yeonjun looked at him for a long second before nodding slightly. "I'm okay now... just a little sore." He turned his head slightly to face Soobin better. "I remember everything."
Soobin's heart dropped. He couldn't hold it in anymore. "You were coming to see me. You were coming to give me the form. I-I saw the envelope. You were worried about me... and I just left. I shouldn't have left that day. If I hadn't... you wouldn't be here, hyung." His voice broke. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Yeonjun's brows drew together as he slowly, with effort, reached for Soobin's hand. "No," he said firmly, even through the strain. "You are not blaming yourself for this. It's not your fault, Soobin. None of it is."
"But-"
"No," Yeonjun interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. "You were hurting, and I didn't realize how much. That's on me. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to talk to you... not to scare you like this."
Soobin wiped his tears with his free hand. "You didn't scare me. I just... I care about you so much, hyung. I can't see you like this."
"I care about you too," Yeonjun replied softly. "And I'm still here. We'll talk... we'll figure it out, okay? Just don't carry this weight on your shoulders. Promise me."
Soobin nodded through tears, and Seokmin turned away for a second to compose himself, his heart aching for the both of them.
In the quiet hum of the hospital room, a fragile peace settled between them. A breath of hope-uncertain, but real.
"Of course he can't get rid of me this easily," Dino chimed in with a teasing grin as he stepped into the room, hands in his pockets.
Yeonjun groaned playfully, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Persistent little brat."
Dino leaned against the foot of the bed, crossing his arms. "You'd be bored without me, admit it."
"Maybe," Yeonjun said, voice still hoarse but tinged with warmth. "But don't let it go to your head."
The room softened with laughter-light, careful, but real. The kind of laughter that stitched relief into the corners of their eyes and loosened the weight off their chests, even if just a little.
Soobin couldn't bring himself to agree with Yeonjun's relentless insistence on leaving the hospital. His injuries were still raw, his body far from recovery, yet Yeonjun kept pushing to be discharged. If not all the way back to Daegu, then at least to his home in Seoul-he just wanted to be with his mother.
Seokmin and Dino had both tried reasoning with him, gently urging him to wait a little longer, to let his body heal properly. But Yeonjun wasn't budging.
Even Joshua had put his foot down, refusing to sign the discharge papers. He'd asked them to convince Yeonjun to stay for at least a week more. But no matter what they said, nothing seemed to get through to him.
Soobin stood with his arms crossed near the window, jaw clenched as he listened to Yeonjun's endless persuasion. "I'm fine, really. The doctor is just being extra cautious," Yeonjun argued, adjusting the blanket over his lap, frustration bubbling under his calm tone.
Soobin shook his head, refusing to meet his eyes. "You're not fine, hyung. You're still on pain meds, you flinch every time you move-don't act like I don't notice."
Yeonjun sighed. "If I have to lie in this bed for another day, I swear I'll go crazy. At least let me go home to my mom."
Seokmin stepped in gently. "Yeonjun, we get it. But even your mom would want you to be properly healed before you go anywhere."
"I am healing. I'll recover better at home."
"And what if something happens on the way?" Dino added. "What if you collapse again? You really want to put her through that?"
Yeonjun's jaw tightened, but he didn't answer.
Joshua entered quietly, flipping through the chart. "He's not leaving. Not until I say so. Minimum a week here, I've made that clear. This isn't up for debate."
"But hyung-"
"No. Don't 'hyung' me right now," Joshua snapped, calm but firm. "You want to see your mom? We'll figure something out. But you're not walking out of here with wounds that can reopen any minute. And if you don't listen, I'll call her myself and tell her everything."
Silence filled the room. Soobin let out a slow breath. He could see Yeonjun's resolve cracking-not because he was convinced, but because he knew he couldn't argue anymore.
Soobin finally stepped forward, his voice softer. "Hyung... please. Just stay. For us."
-
Beomgyu always knew goodbyes were hard-but he never imagined they could be this painful. The reality hit him the moment he stood outside the airport, Eunsoo wrapped around him like she was part of him, her tiny arms locked tightly around his neck, refusing to let go. And how could he? After three years of longing, of missing her every single day, he had just gotten her back. Letting go now felt like tearing open a wound that had barely started to heal.
For Jeonghan, watching them broke something inside him. He had spent those three years trying to bring them back together, stitching hope into every effort. And now, when it finally happened, being forced to part again wasn't something he ever prepared for. It was cruel.
Seungcheol, though trying to stay composed, was no less heartbroken. He stood by silently, swallowing his own pain, trying to be the pillar for the others. But his heart ached the most for Beomgyu. That boy wasn't just someone he helped raise-he was family. More than that. If anyone ever asked Beomgyu who he'd choose between his own parents and Seungcheol or Jeonghan, he wouldn't even blink. He'd choose them-always, without hesitation.
Seungcheol stepped forward, wrapping Beomgyu in a tight embrace, Eunsoo still clutching onto him like her life depended on it. "I promise you, Beomgyu," Seungcheol murmured, voice steady but low with emotion, "this won't last long. I'll make sure you're back with us soon. But until then, I need you to be strong-and promise me something." He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Beomgyu's eyes. "Don't shut us out again. Jeonghan might not say it, but he falls apart inside when you go quiet. He blames himself for everything. And you know that's not good-not for him, not for Eunsoo, not for any of us."
He placed a hand gently on the back of Beomgyu's head. "If you ever feel like you can't talk to him, talk to me. Anytime. About anything. You matter to me as much as Jeonghan and Eunsoo do. You hear me? Shutting down is not an option for you, Gyu. Not anymore."
Then, easing the tension with a soft smile, he added, "I'll bring Eunsoo to visit you often. And you better come see us whenever you can."
That was it. The dam broke.
Beomgyu crumbled, his composure dissolving as tears spilled over. Jeonghan quickly stepped in and gently took Eunsoo from his arms, letting Seungcheol pull Beomgyu close again-this time tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other resting firmly on his back.
"Aww! You'll always be our crybaby," Seungcheol whispered, voice soft with affection.
Jeonghan joined them, rubbing slow, comforting circles on Beomgyu's back. "Stop crying now, Gyu," he said gently. "Let yourself feel loved. Let us love you. You pushing us away... that was the worst kind of punishment-for you, and for us. We've missed too much. Don't do that again, okay? Especially not to her."
Beomgyu turned, teary-eyed, to face him. "I-I won't, hyung. I swear I won't. I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was pushing away the very people I needed the most. I need you all... I need you by my side, and I'll never take that for granted again."
Eunsoo stood there, quietly watching the scene. She was too young to grasp all the words, but she felt it-the weight, the love, the sadness. To her, Beomgyu was more than just a friend or a playmate. He was her special person. And even at her age, she knew what it meant to say goodbye to someone you didn't want to leave.
It was time.
After the whirlwind of emotions, they finally had to say their goodbyes. Eunsoo cried, of course. It felt like all she had done during this trip was cry-for every person she had to leave behind. From Seokmin and Soobin, to Yeonjun, Dino, Grandpa... and then Taehyun, Hueningkai, Hiyyih. But none hurt like saying goodbye to Beomgyu. Her tears weren't dramatic-they were quiet, soft sobs as she clung to him one last time.
And Beomgyu held her just as tightly, memorizing every second.
After one final round of hugs, promises of visits, and whispered reassurances, Beomgyu stood there, waving gently as he watched them disappear past the gates.
For now, it was a goodbye.
But in his heart, he knew-this wasn't the end.
Beomgyu remembered it all too well-how he met Jeonghan for the first time. Or rather, how he was made to meet him.
He hadn't known he had an older brother. Not until the day Jeonghan appeared on their doorstep, clutching their father's hand. Beomgyu had been eight. Jeonghan, fourteen. He looked terrified, half-hidden behind their father. But what etched itself deepest in Beomgyu's memory was his mother's expression-shocked, pale, completely unprepared. It was as if her past had come knocking at the door, and she had no place to hide.
Jeonghan was her first child. Not with Beomgyu's father, but with a man she had once loved-someone she'd run away with to Japan. They were never married, but they lived together, and eventually, Jeonghan was born. It didn't last. The relationship broke down, and without telling anyone, she returned to Seoul, leaving Jeonghan behind with his father.
Later, she married Beomgyu's father, built a new life in Seoul, and buried the past deep beneath layers of silence. None of her family spoke a word of it-not her former lover, not her son.
But Jeonghan's father tried. He called. Wrote. Tried to get through. She ignored it all. Then came the accident that took his life.
A distant relative who had kept occasional tabs on the situation brought Jeonghan back to Seoul-there was no one else left to care for him. Beomgyu's mother refused to take him in. It was Beomgyu's father who stepped in, who brought him home without hesitation.
Beomgyu had watched, confused, as this pale, unfamiliar boy stood trembling behind his father. His mother looked as though the ground had vanished beneath her feet.
That night was chaos. Beomgyu still remembered the shouting-his father accusing, his mother deflecting, breaking down with a bottle in hand. He'd curled into a corner, hands pressed over his ears, trying to drown out the screams. Tears streaked down his face.
Then he felt it-a pair of arms, tentative but warm, wrapping around him. Jeonghan. He held Beomgyu close, shielding him like a fortress from the noise and rage.
He might've been the reason for their parents' fights, but Jeonghan had become the only reason Beomgyu survived them.
From that day on, Jeonghan was more than a stepbrother. He was protector, parent, friend. He packed Beomgyu's lunch, stayed up with him when he was sick, comforted him when their mother's cold indifference became too much to bear. It wasn't just love-it was responsibility, devotion. Things Beomgyu's actual parents had long forgotten how to give.
That was the Jeonghan he remembered.
And that was why Beomgyu was so sure-his little sister was in the safest hands possible. With Jeonghan and Seungcheol, she'd be loved the way every child deserved. The way he had been, once Jeonghan came home.
-
The next day, Beomgyu showed up at college, trying to mask the unease still lingering in his chest. His eyes scanned the crowd as he entered-hoping to spot that familiar mop of dark hair, the easy smile that never failed to calm him. But there was no sign of Yeonjun.
During break, his restlessness got the better of him. He quietly slipped away from his group and made his way to the accounts room, glancing around as discreetly as he could. But just like Yeonjun, Soobin wasn't there either. Not even a trace.
Every free lecture, every spare second-Beomgyu found himself drifting toward the library. Sitting in the corner where their book was kept, flipping through pages without reading a word, hoping maybe... just maybe, Soobin would walk in. He might avoid Beomgyu, sure. But Soobin would never avoid the library.
But even the silence of the bookshelves offered him nothing.
Two more days passed.
Still no Yeonjun. Still no Soobin.
The worry that had been curling in the pit of his stomach now felt like a knot tightening with every breath. Unable to wait any longer, Beomgyu made his way to the reception desk between lectures. He leaned against the counter, trying to sound casual.
"Miss Chelsea... I was just wondering-Sir Choi Yeonjun... is he on leave or something? I haven't seen him around."
Miss Chelsea, who was usually chirpy and warm, gave him a surprised look before her expression softened.
"Oh... You don't know?" she said gently. "He met with an accident a few days ago. He's currently admitted in a hospital in Seoul."
Beomgyu froze.
Her words didn't just land-they crashed down on him like a tidal wave. The hallway noise faded, the walls closing in as her voice echoed in his ears.
Yeonjun.
An accident.
Hospital.
In Seoul.
Everything inside him went cold.
To sound casual, Beomgyu forced a small nod and added, "Oh! So... is our accountant Soobin with him? He hasn't been around either, and they seemed kinda close."
Miss Chelsea gave a soft smile. "Yes, he's with Yeonjun. Actually, they're cousins."
Beomgyu blinked, her words sinking in slowly.
Cousins?
It took a second, but then it clicked.
Jjunie hyung.
Soobin's soft voice from days ago echoed in his mind-and suddenly, it all made sense. The way Yeonjun had reacted, the anxiety, the protectiveness, the silence... it was never just worry for a teacher. It was family.
All along, Yeonjun was Soobin's Jjunie hyung.
Beomgyu's mind went blank.
He couldn't think. Couldn't focus. The hallway blurred around him as he slowly dragged his feet back toward the classroom, but his head was elsewhere-miles away.
Soobin.
His chest tightened. A thousand thoughts clashed in his head, but the one that screamed loudest was Soobin.
He was worried.
More than anything, he was worried about Soobin.
He knew what Yeonjun meant to him-he had seen it- felt it in the way Soobin spoke about him, in the way his voice softened with affection and admiration every time Yeonjun was mentioned. Jjunie hyung wasn't just family-he was everything to Soobin.
Soobin must be terrified. Alone. Trying to stay strong, but probably falling apart on the inside.
And Beomgyu couldn't do anything. Not when he didn't even know if Soobin would want him there. But that didn't stop his heart from clenching, over and over, as if he could shoulder even a fraction of Soobin's pain.
The only thread left for Beomgyu to hold onto was Seokmin.
Soobin wasn't answering his calls. Not even reading his texts. Every notification that wasn't from him made Beomgyu's chest sink a little deeper, made the silence on Soobin's end feel heavier.
But now, with everything adding up, with memories and words aligning like puzzle pieces-he was sure of it.
Seokmin was Soobin's Minnie hyung.
He had no doubts anymore. The warmth Eunsoo spoke with, the tenderness in the way Jeonghan and Seungcheol mentioned "Minnie"-the dots connected.
And if there was anyone who could tell him how Soobin was really doing, it was Seokmin.
As soon as the college day wrapped up, Beomgyu didn't waste a second. With Taehyun and Hueningkai by his side, the three of them headed straight for Meraki Brews.
The usual buzz of end-of-day chatter didn't register in his ears. His thoughts were racing too fast, all wrapped up in Soobin, in Yeonjun, and in the suffocating silence that had filled the last few days.
Taehyun glanced at him as they walked, noticing the way Beomgyu's fingers kept twitching around the strap of his bag, how his gaze barely stayed focused ahead.
"You sure he'll be there?" Hueningkai asked gently.
Beomgyu didn't respond for a moment, then muttered, "If he's not... maybe Seokmin hyung will be."
Because even if Soobin wouldn't talk to him, even if the door felt closed shut-maybe, just maybe, Seokmin would leave it cracked open enough for him to slip through.
The trio finally reached Meraki Brews, its warm exterior standing like a cozy escape in the middle of the bustling street. Beomgyu paused briefly at the entrance, taking in the sign above the door-Meraki Brews-the name he'd only recently come to recognize, now glowing softly as the sun began to set behind them.
Stepping inside, they were welcomed by the soft hum of conversations and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. It was their first time here, yet something about the space already felt familiar to Beomgyu. They found a table near the window and settled down quietly, each of them scanning the inviting interiors.
A few moments later, a cheerful-looking staff member approached-Dino, based on the name tag clipped to his apron. "Welcome to Meraki Brews! First time here?" he asked with a bright smile.
Taehyun nodded, "Yeah, it's our first visit."
"Great! Take your time with the menu. I'll be back in a minute to take your order," Dino said before heading off to check on another table.
As Beomgyu's gaze wandered across the café, it landed on the figure behind the counter. His breath caught for a second-there he was. Seokmin. Focused and composed, working the coffee machine with ease. He hadn't noticed them yet.
Beomgyu's heart tugged with something he couldn't quite place-maybe it was worry, maybe it was guilt, maybe both. He hadn't been sure until now, but seeing Seokmin there confirmed it. Soobin's 'Minnie hyung'-it really was Seokmin.
What he didn't know was that Seokmin and Dino had just returned the day before. After relentless convincing from Soobin and Yeonjun, both had agreed-reluctantly-to come back to Daegu and keep the café running. Seokmin had hesitated until the last moment, torn between his work and his worry for Yeonjun. But it was Yeonjun himself who had insisted. "You can't shut down the café because of me," he had said. "I'll be okay. Soobin's here. And Dr. Joshua's got my back."
Even now, Seokmin didn't look fully present. Beomgyu could see the way his hands moved, steady but lacking their usual ease-like he was there, but only in body.
Dino came back with his usual bright smile, pen and notepad in hand. The three of them placed their orders-iced americanos for Taehyun and Hueningkai, and a warm latte for Beomgyu. Dino scribbled them down quickly, giving a small nod before walking off again.
Time moved slowly after that.
It had been almost half an hour. The café that was once buzzing with chatter and movement was gradually quieting down. A few customers lingered at their tables, but most had filtered out, leaving behind the soft clinking of mugs and low music humming from the speakers.
Beomgyu's eyes drifted toward the counter again. The crowd had thinned out. Seokmin stood there, wiping down the counter, seemingly lost in his own world-focused but quiet. The frown between his brows hadn't eased once since they walked in.
Now seemed like the right time.
Without saying much, Beomgyu slowly got up from his seat. Taehyun and Hueningkai glanced at him but didn't question it-they knew why he was there.
He made his way to the counter, each step quiet but weighed with anticipation. His heart pounded just a little faster. As he reached the front, Seokmin looked up-surprised to see him, but not startled.
Beomgyu gave a small, hesitant smile.
"Hi... hyung. Got a minute?"
Seokmin squinted slightly, his brows furrowing as he leaned in a little, eyes narrowing in concentration. There was a flicker of recognition-a familiarity he couldn't quite place, not until he pieced it together.
He tilted his head, wiping his hands on a clean towel before resting them on the counter.
"Choi Beomgyu?" he asked slowly, carefully. "That's you, right?"
His tone wasn't questioning anymore. It was certain-just slightly laced with disbelief, like meeting someone from a photograph come to life.
Beomgyu nodded, lips curling into a shy smile.
"Yeah... that's me."
Seokmin's eyes widened as the pieces fell into place.
"It's great to see you here," he said, a smile tugging at his lips. "But what are you doing here-wait a minute! You go to the college nearby, don't you? I remember Jeonghanie hyung telling me... you're studying in Daegu."
Beomgyu nodded, a soft chuckle escaping him.
"Yes, hyung. I go to Daegu University."
Seokmin reached across the counter and pulled Beomgyu into a warm hug. "You should've come sooner."
"Right. I'm a little late," Beomgyu replied with a small smile as he pulled back.
Seokmin's gaze shifted to the table where two boys sat, watching them with curious eyes. "Are they your friends?" he asked, tilting his head toward them.
Beomgyu glanced back and nodded. "Yeah. That's Taehyun and Hueningkai. We're in the same department."
"That's wonderful. Come on, let's sit and catch up," Seokmin said, guiding Beomgyu to an empty table. Dino hovered nearby, wiping down the table next to them, occasionally glancing over.
Beomgyu sat quietly, fingers laced tightly in his lap, his posture tense. The uneasiness didn't go unnoticed.
Seokmin leaned forward slightly, brows pulling together. "Beomgyu, what's wrong? Everything okay? Did you get to meet Jeonghan hyung?"
Beomgyu gave a small nod. "Yeah... I did. I saw Eunsoo too."
Seokmin's face lit up with warmth. "That's really good to hear. I'm glad you opened your heart to them again."
Another quiet nod from Beomgyu. He hesitated, eyes lowered. "Hyung... there's something I want to ask you."
"Yes! Go ahead," Seokmin said, settling more comfortably into the chair, his expression open and curious.
Beomgyu took a deep breath. "It's about Yeonjun hyung... and Soobin."
Seokmin blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Wait-" he leaned forward again, eyes narrowing in surprise, "you know them?"
Beomgyu slowly nodded. "Yes. Yeonjun hyung is the one who gave us a place to stay, and Soobin... well, I'm the friend Soobin met through notes in the library." He hesitated, unable to bring himself to meet Seokmin's eyes.
Seokmin's expression remained unreadable. He had known that Soobin's meeting with Beomgyu hadn't gone well, but he had never known why or what had truly happened.
"So, what happened at the fresher's party?" Seokmin asked, his voice firm. "Soobin was in a state, crying the whole day. What really happened? I couldn't bring it up with him since he wasn't in a condition to talk, and then with Yeonjun's accident, I didn't feel it was the right time. But now... what happened?"
"Is Yeonjun hyung okay?" Beomgyu asked, his voice wavering.
"Beomgyu," Seokmin said bluntly, leaning forward, his tone demanding the truth, "what happened?"
Beomgyu hesitated for a moment, but he knew he couldn't keep it in any longer. So he told Seokmin everything.
Seokmin listened in silence, his expression unreadable as he let Beomgyu finish without interruption. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but heavy with disappointment.
"Beomgyu... how could you let that happen?" he asked, not angrily, but with a quiet intensity that cut deeper. "Didn't you realise-just by talking to him-how fragile he is? How soft-hearted he is? It hit him hard, you know. He was shattered that night."
Beomgyu couldn't lift his gaze, the weight of guilt anchoring him.
"You should've done something. Anything. You left him to face that moment alone. He doesn't have many people to lean on, and you-" Seokmin paused, letting out a sigh. "From everything I've known about you... you're not someone who turns away like that. I saw how you stood up for Jeonghan hyung-against your own mother. So why didn't you do the same for Soobin?"
"I'm sorry, hyung," Beomgyu murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I panicked. I froze. I know I hurt him. I know it's my fault."
Seokmin looked at him, his expression softer now, but still searching. "Do you think you can fix it?"
Beomgyu finally lifted his head, eyes full of determination. "I want to, hyung. More than anything. I'll do whatever it takes to make it right. Soobin... he's the only light I found after everything. After drowning in grief, regrets, and loneliness. I can't lose him."
He leaned forward slightly, voice trembling but sincere. "Please, hyung... just let me talk to him. Just once."
Seokmin reached for his phone, tapped through a few screens, and then slid it across the table toward Beomgyu. "He's at this hospital, taking care of Yeonjun. He'll be staying there for at least a week. Joshua hyung is watching over them, so they're in good hands."
He met Beomgyu's eyes, firm and unwavering. "That's all I can do for now. I'm trusting you with this. Don't mess it up again, Beomgyu. Because if you do... you won't hear from me either."
Beomgyu swallowed hard and nodded. "I won't do anything stupid this time, hyung. I'll make things right. Thank you. I'll head there soon."
Seokmin gave him a short nod and stood, heading back toward the counter.
His steps felt heavier than usual. Seeing Beomgyu after so long should've brought comfort, maybe even joy. They could've spent the afternoon catching up, laughing over food, maybe even dragging Dino into some game he didn't want to play. But the timing was off. Beomgyu had made a mistake, a serious one, and it wasn't something Seokmin could just look past-not when he remembered the way Soobin had broken down.
He couldn't let his soft spot for Beomgyu cloud his judgment. Not yet. If Beomgyu really wanted to fix this, then he had to prove it-not just to Soobin, but to everyone who had quietly picked up the pieces after that night.
-
Jeonghan & Beomgyu —
You know that feeling? When someone genuinely cares for you—wants nothing but your happiness, watches over you more tenderly than you ever do for yourself. And yet… you can’t keep them close. As if you’re not meant to have something that pure. It’s cruel. Unfair. And heartbreakingly pathetic.
***
Chapter Text
By the time Beomgyu reached Seoul the next day, the sky had already started to dim into an early evening haze. Taehyun and Hueningkai had offered-insisted, even-to come along, but he'd refused. This was something he needed to face alone. A choice he had to make right.
The weather wasn't forgiving. Seoul had been drenched in thunderstorms lately-loud thunderclaps, streaks of lightning, and heavy rain that blurred the city's outline into watercolor grays. And Beomgyu hated it. He always had. The dark. The sudden crashes of thunder. They brought back too many memories he'd rather forget. Lonely nights. Screaming voices. A home that never really felt safe.
As a child, he'd always clung to Jeonghan during storms, burying himself in his warmth like a shield. Later, it had been Taehyun or Hueningkai, their familiar voices pulling him back to calm. Taehyun had warned him-told him he shouldn't travel alone in weather like this, especially not with the kind of weight on his heart. But Beomgyu hadn't been able to listen. Not this time.
Still, they didn't stop checking on him. His phone buzzed every now and then with their messages. "You okay?" "Text when you're in." "Don't stay out too long."
Now, he stood outside the Seoul City Hospital, unmoving, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold drizzle. The lights from inside cast a soft glow on the wet pavement, reflections shimmering like ghosts beneath his feet.
He looked up at the building, his chest tight.
Was this the right decision?
Was he being foolish?
What if Soobin didn't want to see him? What if he made things worse?
But he reminded himself-this wasn't about easy answers or guarantees. This was about showing up. About righting the wrongs he'd caused. About standing in the middle of a storm, scared and uncertain, and still choosing to walk forward.
He was here for Soobin. For the friend he hurt. The friend he missed.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Beomgyu took a step forward. Then another. Until the hospital doors slid open in front of him, letting him in from the storm.
"May I know in which room Choi Yeonjun is?" Beomgyu asked politely at the reception, trying to keep his voice steady despite the storm still echoing in his ears.
The receptionist glanced at the monitor before responding, "Mr. Yeonjun is in room 304 on the second floor. Please note, visiting hours will be closing soon, so kindly make it quick."
"Thank you," Beomgyu nodded, offering a small bow before heading toward the elevator. His steps felt heavier with every stride, but he didn't slow down. Room 304. That was where Soobin would be. And this time, he wasn't going to run away.
Just as Beomgyu stepped out of the lift on the second floor, a deafening crack of thunder ripped through the sky, loud enough to make the walls shudder. His body instinctively jolted. He dropped to a crouch, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees, pressing his forehead down between them as if to muffle the sound, to make it all disappear. The flashbacks were instant-dark nights, screaming voices, storms outside and inside.
He stayed like that for a moment, breathing heavily.
You're not that kid anymore, he told himself silently.
Slowly, he uncurled, pushing himself up. His hands were trembling, but he tightened the straps of his backpack as if grounding himself. He forced one foot in front of the other, counting each step like it mattered. And then-there it was. Room 304.
Five steps away.
He paused in front of the door, took a deep, shaky breath, and gently knocked. Not too loud. Just enough to be heard.
Soobin wiped his hands on the towel tucked into his pocket, the rustle of medicine wrappers still echoing faintly behind him. He had just finished helping Yeonjun with dinner and his medication-everything slow, everything careful, because of the thick plaster on Yeonjun's arm.
The soft knock at the door broke his trance.
Dragging himself across the room, he didn't think much of it. Probably Joshua hyung again. Or a nurse. His eyes were half-lidded from exhaustion as he opened the door, gaze still low.
And then he lifted his head.
And froze.
Standing right there, a little wet from the rain, his eyes unsure but searching-was Beomgyu.
Soobin's breath caught in his throat.
Beomgyu's voice trembled as he spoke, "H-hey, Soobin..."
Soobin lifted his head slowly, blinking as if trying to make sense of the face in front of him. His expression was unreadable, eyes frozen on Beomgyu.
From inside the room, Yeonjun's voice floated out gently, "Binnie? Who is it?"
Soobin didn't answer right away, his gaze still fixed on Beomgyu like time had stopped between them.
"Soobin-ah!" Yeonjun called out again, his voice echoing softly in the quiet room.
Without saying a word, Soobin stepped aside, his movements mechanical as he held the door open for Beomgyu to enter.
Yeonjun's eyes widened in surprise when he saw who it was. "Beomgyu?"
"Hi, Yeonjun hyung," Beomgyu offered a small nod, stepping in. "How are you feeling? I heard about the accident... are you doing better now?"
Yeonjun shifted slightly in bed, giving a faint smile. "I'm getting there, slowly."
Meanwhile, Soobin stood by the door, stiff and silent, like a shadow unsure where it belonged.
Then came the rush. The weight of memories, sharp and loud-of that day, that night. The crowd, the laughter, the humiliation. Soobin's chest tightened. He couldn't stay.
"Hyung, I'll go see Joshua hyung-" he mumbled, already taking a step back.
"Soobin, stay," Yeonjun said gently, sensing the unrest in his voice.
But Soobin shook his head, avoiding both their eyes. "I'll be back soon." He didn't wait for a response before slipping out, the door clicking softly behind him.
Yeonjun sighed, looking at the closed door, then back at Beomgyu.
He knew Soobin had lied. Joshua wasn't someone Soobin ever willingly approached-not after knowing the truth about Seokmin. Soobin barely tolerated his presence.
No, he wasn't going to see Joshua. He was running-from Beomgyu, from the pain, from the words he wasn't ready to hear.
And Yeonjun couldn't blame him.
"Why, Beomgyu?" Yeonjun's voice was steady but heavy with emotion as he watched him take a seat beside the bed. "Why didn't you do anything that night? Why did you let it all unfold like that?"
He had already spoken to Soobin-asked him about the party, about what had happened, about who had hurt him. And it hadn't taken long for Yeonjun to piece it together. The boy Soobin used to write notes to, the friend he had held onto so dearly... it was Beomgyu. The same boy Yeonjun had welcomed into his home without hesitation.
Beomgyu opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked lost, weighed down by regret. But staying silent now would only make things worse. If he wanted even the slightest chance of making things right, of holding onto even a shred of trust from Yeonjun or Soobin, he had to speak up-truthfully, and without excuses.
Beomgyu lowered his gaze, his fingers curling into fists on his lap. He could feel the weight of Yeonjun's stare-firm, yet laced with disappointment.
"I... I panicked, hyung," he finally said, voice low and rough. "Everything happened so fast. People started laughing, whispering. I froze. I was scared... not of them, but of what it meant. I didn't know how to react, and instead of standing by him, I just-stood there."
Yeonjun's expression didn't shift. It stayed still, unreadable. That made it worse.
"I know I failed him. And I know I hurt him more by doing nothing than if I had just... told the truth. I was a coward. But not anymore."
He looked up then, eyes glassy but determined.
"I came here because I want to fix things. I need to. I can't loose Soobin. He's not just an anonymous friend... he became my peace, hyung. I want to do everything I can to make it right-even if he never wants to see me again. I had to try."
There was a long pause. Only the soft sound of the rain tapping against the window filled the silence between them.
Yeonjun looked away, breathing out slowly. "You hurt him, Beomgyu. Deeply. He's not someone who trusts easily. And when he does... it's with everything he has."
"I know," Beomgyu whispered. "And I don't deserve that kind of trust. But I'll earn it back. No matter how long it takes."
"It's your call, Beomgyu," Yeonjun said, his voice calm but firm, eyes unwavering. "Try talking to him. But I'm warning you-if you hurt him again, be ready to face the consequences. I won't hold back next time. Nothing matters to me more than him."
Beomgyu nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I understand, hyung. I won't let you down this time."
Soobin sat on a bench in the small hospital park, his gaze fixed on the ground, lost in his own world. Beomgyu spotted him from a distance and slowly made his way over, quietly taking a seat at the opposite end of the bench. Soobin didn't react-too deep in thought to notice he wasn't alone anymore.
Beomgyu sat still for a moment, unsure where to begin. The rain had stopped, leaving behind the scent of damp earth hanging in the air. Under the soft glow of the park lights, Soobin looked pale, his expression distant, eyes fixed ahead but seeing nothing.
"So... this is where you chose to run away this time?" Beomgyu finally spoke, trying to break the silence.
But Soobin didn't move, didn't even blink.
"Soobin, please," Beomgyu's voice trembled slightly, "just talk to me. This silence... it's killing me. I know I messed up-badly. I hurt you, I know that. So yell at me, be angry, hit me if it helps... just don't shut me out like this."
"Beomgyu, please... just stop," Soobin said, his voice low and heavy. "This won't change anything. It's too late."
He exhaled shakily, eyes still fixed ahead.
"You should've done this back then. But you didn't. I waited-waited for you to say something, anything. And all you did was stand there... like it didn't matter. Like I didn't matter."
He let out a bitter laugh.
"And why would I? I wasn't who you were expecting, right? Must've been such a letdown-seeing me, the nobody accountant, standing there instead of some cool, rich kid who fits the mold of someone worthy to be your friend. I'm no one, Beomgyu. I was never enough."
"No, Soobin. It was never about who you are or what your status is. That never mattered to me. It was always about us-just Soobin and Beomgyu being friends. Simple as that."
He took a breath, voice trembling.
"Your background wasn't the reason I didn't speak up that night. I... panicked. Everything came rushing back-the shouting, the humiliation I thought I had buried. That senior from high school brought it all up again. My anxiety took over, and I froze. I didn't think... I didn't realize how much it was hurting you too."
Beomgyu's gaze dropped to his hands.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that because of me. I wasn't expecting things to unfold like that. I should've controlled my panic. I should've seen you. Considered you. But I didn't. And for that... I'm truly sorry, Soobin."
Soobin stayed quiet, absorbing everything Beomgyu had said. He remembered-how Beomgyu had opened up about his past, even if only in fragments. The panic attacks, the constant anxiety, the way high school had carved out wounds he was still trying to heal from. Soobin had listened. He had understood.
"I know," he finally said, voice soft but steady. "I remember. But it still hurts."
His eyes didn't meet Beomgyu's. "I didn't let you in easily, you know. I trusted you."
He let out a breath, laced with something close to pain. "I wasn't even going to show up that night. But I remembered how hurt you looked when I didn't come to the library. So I told myself-this time, I won't run. I'll show up. For you."
His fingers tightened around the edge of the bench.
"But then you called me out. In front of everyone. And I stood there, trying to believe that maybe-just maybe-you'd do the same for me. That you'd step forward too. But you didn't. You were too caught in your own fear. And I get that, I really do. But it doesn't make it hurt any less."
He finally turned to look at Beomgyu, eyes glassy but firm. "I don't think your apology can fix everything."
And as much as the words stung, Soobin didn't take them back. Because the pain he carried was real. He wasn't trying to punish Beomgyu. He was trying to protect himself. Because another heartbreak like this-he wasn't sure he'd survive it.
"Tell me what I need to do to make it right," Beomgyu pleaded, voice cracking. "Please, Soobin. I'll do anything-just say the word."
"Beomgyu, please-"
"No!" he cut in, desperation raw in his voice. "I can't lose you. You can't walk away like this. Just tell me how to fix it. I'll do everything, anything. Please."
Soobin stood up slowly, and Beomgyu's heart dropped. Panic surged through him as he scrambled up, grabbing Soobin's wrist and turning him around.
"No! Don't-please."
"Beomgyu, let go," Soobin said, voice low and tired.
"I won't."
"Leave, please," Soobin said again, swatting away Beomgyu's hand and turning his back on him.
Beomgyu's hand fell to his side, cold and shaking-like he'd just lost something precious and couldn't grab it back in time.
"I-I won't leave until you accept my apology," he said, voice trembling. "Until you come back to me."
Soobin paused, his back still facing Beomgyu. Then he turned halfway, just enough for his voice to carry.
"Don't do this. You know you can't handle the dark. Or the thunder."
He remembered. Of course, he remembered.
"And still, you'll leave me out here?" Beomgyu asked quietly, eyes locked on the fading figure.
"Go back, Beomgyu," Soobin said after a beat. "There's no point in wasting your time here."
But Beomgyu didn't move. He dropped back onto the bench, arms crossed tightly across his chest.
"I'm not going anywhere. You know how stubborn I am."
Soobin didn't look back this time. But his steps faltered for a moment-just enough to show he heard. Just enough to show it still mattered.
-
Everyone makes mistakes — not out of will, but out of being human.
Yet somehow, the world finds one soul to carry all the blame.
This is how it’s always been.
No one pauses to ask why the mistake happened.
No one wonders if the strong one might be breaking, too.
Why must strength be constant, unshaken in every storm?
Yes, Beomgyu was wrong.
He should’ve spoken, should’ve stood tall if he had the courage to confront.
But why is he the only one buried beneath the weight of silence?
Why does no one speak of the hurt Soobin left behind —
the first meeting that never happened,
the hours Beomgyu waited with a heart full of hope?
Soobin hurt him too — not loudly, but quietly, painfully.
Just because Soobin’s pain was public,
doesn’t mean Beomgyu’s was any less real.
His shame had witnesses; his ache, no audience.
But pain is pain, whether seen or not.
And what if now,
Beomgyu decided to unbury his own hurt —
to hold it up in the light, raw and trembling?
Would they still blame him?
Or would they finally see the whole story?
-
Beomgyu regretted it—deeply. Sitting there in the dark, the storm creeping back in with low rumbles and flashes in the sky, he realized just how foolish his decision was. The shadows stretched longer, the cold nipped at his skin, and every roll of thunder made his heart race with fear he thought he had buried long ago.
He hated this—the dark, the storm, the helplessness.
What was he trying to prove? That he could suffer his way into Soobin’s forgiveness? That putting himself through the very thing he feared most would somehow make things right? He should’ve known better. He did know better. There were better ways to reach Soobin, better ways to show how much he truly cared, how deeply sorry he was.
But instead, he chose a stunt. One that left him out here trembling, defeated not by Soobin’s silence—but by his own fear.
And yet, even with all the regret weighing heavy on his chest, he stayed. Because somehow, in his broken way, this was all he knew—this stubborn, reckless way of trying to hold on to someone slipping away.
And just to make things worse—because of course, it had to—rain began to fall. Not heavy, just enough to soak him slowly, steadily. Cold droplets slipped down his neck, clinging to his clothes and seeping into his skin. As if the darkness and thunder weren’t enough, now even the sky decided to turn its back on him.
Great. Just great.
He remembered the forecast—loud thunderstorms, possible lightning. Taehyun’s voice rang in his ears, gentle but firm, “Don’t push it, Gyu. You know how this affects you.” Hueningkai had echoed it, practically begged him to take one of them along. But Beomgyu? He’d been too wrapped up in his guilt, too stubborn, too desperate to fix things with Soobin to listen.
Now here he was. Sitting alone on a cold bench, soaked to the bone, every roll of thunder sending a fresh wave of panic crawling up his spine. But even with his heart hammering and his body trembling, he stayed. Because fixing things with Soobin wasn’t just an option—it was the only thing that mattered.
It hadn’t even been half an hour when the thunder grew fiercer. The storm intensified, the thunders now a constant roar above him. The sky seemed to crack open with each thunderclap, sending shockwaves through his body. The ground trembled, the sound so loud, so overwhelming, Beomgyu felt like it was swallowing him whole. He pressed his hands hard against his ears, trying to block out the noise, but it was futile. The sound was everywhere, inside his head, in the air, a relentless battering force that he couldn’t escape.
He curled into himself, his legs pulled up onto the bench, shaking uncontrollably with every boom of thunder. His body betrayed him, every nerve on edge, every muscle tense as if ready to flee—but there was nowhere to go. The air felt thick, heavy, suffocating. The panic surged, and with it, the tears—tears he couldn't hold back even if he tried.
He wasn’t sure when he had fallen off the bench, but he was on the ground now, knees pulled to his chest, sobbing helplessly. He wanted to be strong, wanted to push through it for Soobin, but the fear... the fear was overwhelming.
Each flash of lightning felt like it was striking through him. Each thunderclap was a blow to his chest. His sobs grew louder, his body trembling as the storm raged on.
It was quieter inside the hospital—the thick walls, the constant hum of machines, and the occasional footsteps muffled the chaos outside. The storm’s wrath felt distant here, as though it belonged to another world.
Yeonjun lay in bed, flipping through a worn-out magazine he found tucked behind the monitor stand. It was something to distract him, though his eyes weren’t really following the words. Across the room, Soobin was focused on sorting Yeonjun’s medications into the labeled pill organizer, carefully reading instructions on the bottles, avoiding everything else—especially his thoughts.
He knew about Beomgyu’s promise. Knew he’d said he wouldn’t leave unless Soobin forgave him. A part of Soobin hoped he hadn’t taken those words seriously, that he’d gone back inside and found shelter from the storm. There was no way he could last through this thunder—it was brutal even from within these walls.
But another part of him… another part of him hesitated. Because he knew Beomgyu. Knew his stubbornness. His tendency to follow through even when it was reckless. And despite everything, a flicker of concern started to grow inside him. What if he really hadn't left?
After countless inner battles playing tug-of-war inside his head, Soobin finally gave in. With a slow breath, he turned toward the window—one that overlooked the hospital’s front entrance. His fingers curled slightly over the edge of the curtain as he pulled it aside, just enough to peek out.
His eyes scanned the dimly lit grounds, rain blurring the glass and dulling the streetlights into a soft haze. To the far left, partially shadowed by the tall hedges and the glow of the flickering lamppost, was the small park bench.
And there—curled up on the soaked ground beside the bench, trembling, arms wrapped around his knees—was Beomgyu.
Soobin's heart sank.
Soobin froze, eyes locked on the hunched figure in the rain. His heart plummeted to his stomach. Beomgyu was really there—drenched, trembling, collapsed beside the bench like a lost child trying to shield himself from a world too loud, too cruel.
He hadn’t left.
Not even when the thunder rolled in like a warning.
Not even when the rain started pouring.
Not even when Soobin had walked away.
Guilt twisted in Soobin’s chest like a blade. He gripped the edge of the curtain tighter, nails digging into the fabric. Beomgyu had meant it. Every word. Every plea. He wasn’t bluffing.
And now he was breaking right in front of him.
His body moved before his mind could catch up. The moment he saw Beomgyu curled up in the storm, Soobin darted out of the room, snatching the umbrella from the stand like muscle memory. The door slammed behind him with a loud thud, startling Yeonjun, who barely had time to lift his gaze, let alone ask what was happening.
Soobin didn’t stop. His legs carried him down the hall, down the stairs, past the reception, and out into the rain.
He didn’t care if he slipped.
He didn’t care if he got soaked.
He just knew he had to get to him—now.
He paused just outside the building, trying to steady his breath. Then, with trembling hands, he opened the umbrella and stepped out into the rain, heading straight toward the park without a second’s hesitation.
There he was—Beomgyu, soaked and trembling, curled up into himself like a frightened child. Soobin’s chest tightened at the sight.
“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, voice barely audible over the rain, as he made his way toward him.
Beomgyu was crying—loud, raw sobs that tore through him, though he was certain no one could hear. Not over the roar of thunder cracking above, not over the downpour that masked every sound.
He cried from fear, from guilt, from the weight of everything crashing down on him all at once. The storm outside only echoed the one inside him.
Suddenly, he noticed something had changed—the rain wasn’t hitting him anymore. But he could still hear the steady rhythm of droplets splashing onto the ground around him.
Confused, he slowly lifted his head, his vision blurred with tears. That’s when he saw it—an umbrella held above him, shielding him from the downpour.
It wasn’t that he was expecting anything—especially not Soobin. He knew how much he had hurt him, knew Soobin had every reason not to show up. But somewhere deep inside, there was a flicker of hope. A quiet belief in the soft-hearted boy who couldn’t walk past pain, not even a stranger’s.
So when Beomgyu slowly turned his head, that small hope took shape—there he was. Soobin, bent down beside him, close enough to shield them both under the umbrella.
Soobin’s expression was stern, eyes locked onto Beomgyu’s. “You’re such an idi—”
But he couldn’t even finish.
Before the word fully left his lips, Beomgyu surged forward, crashing into him with desperate force. Soobin stumbled, barely managing to keep them both from falling flat—one hand gripping the umbrella tightly, the other braced on the ground behind him.
Beomgyu clung to him, face buried in Soobin’s chest, arms wrapped around his waist like a lifeline.
And then it came—the sound that made Soobin’s breath hitch. A broken, raw cry, ripped straight from Beomgyu’s chest. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It was the kind of cry that spoke of everything—fear, regret, pain.
And it shattered Soobin completely.
“Beom—Beomgyu?” Soobin called, voice barely above a whisper. But Beomgyu didn’t move, didn’t even flinch.
Once Soobin steadied them both, he slowly lifted the hand that had been bracing him against the ground and rested it gently on Beomgyu’s back, just beneath his neck. His touch was careful, almost hesitant, like he was scared of breaking him further.
“Hey… Beomgyu? It’s okay. I’m here,” he said softly, rubbing slow, reassuring circles on his back.
The thunder still echoed in the distance, but between them, there was only the sound of Beomgyu’s quiet sobs and Soobin’s steady breathing—anchoring them both.
"I'm sorry Soobin. I'm really very sorry. I know I fucked up—I don’t know how to make it up to you, but I mean it, I'm really sorry," Beomgyu choked out between sobs, clutching onto Soobin as if letting go would shatter him completely.
"Hey… shhh," Soobin whispered, gently patting his back, his own voice trembling a little now. "Calm down, Beomgyu. Just breathe. I'm not going anywhere."
He held him tighter, trying to ease the shaking in Beomgyu’s body, wishing he could do something—anything—to take away that pain.
Soobin's heart sank as he thought about it, guilt clawing at him. He regretted leaving Beomgyu alone, knowing how stubborn he could be. He should have said something more forceful, should have made him go back inside where it was safe. Soobin had always known that Beomgyu would put his own feelings aside just to make things right, no matter the cost to himself.
He could feel Beomgyu’s body tremble against his own, and the weight of the situation crushed him. Soobin could see now that the fear and guilt in Beomgyu had driven him to do something reckless, and he couldn’t help but feel responsible for not preventing it.
"I should've stopped you," Soobin whispered under his breath, his hand gently stroking Beomgyu’s back. "I'm sorry. I should've done something."
"Soobin, I-" A loud thunder cracked through the sky, followed by a flash of lightning and a rush of strong wind.The wind howled, and the rain began to pour once more. Soobin’s grip on the umbrella slipped, and in a flash, it was swept away by the gusts. The sudden loss of protection left them exposed to the storm, but Soobin didn’t care. He tightened his hold around Beomgyu, pulling him even closer as the rain drenched them both.
"I'm here. Calm down," Soobin whispered urgently, his voice barely audible over the thunder.
Beomgyu trembled in his arms, the fear still present in his sobs, but Soobin refused to let go. He was determined to be there for him, at least for now, no matter the storm, no matter the circumstances. The rain fell harder, but Soobin held Beomgyu tightly, shielding him as best as he could with his own body.
After a while, as Beomgyu's sobs began to quiet, Soobin carefully lifted him by his shoulders, guiding him to sit upright in front of him.
"Let’s get inside. You might catch a cold," Soobin said, standing up and offering his hand.
Beomgyu stared at him, hesitant. "Did- did you forgive me?"
Soobin’s response was blunt, without hesitation. "No."
"Then I won’t go," Beomgyu said, his voice soft but firm.
Soobin clicked his tongue, looking at him with frustration. "Seriously, Beomgyu? You're drenched, crying like this. Look at you. Just come inside and change. Don’t be so stubborn."
"I won’t, until you forgive me..." Beomgyu's sentence was cut off by another deafening crack of thunder.
Soobin had enough of Beomgyu’s stubbornness. Without another word, he yanked him up by the arm, dragging him toward the entrance. Beomgyu resisted, pulling back at first, but Soobin was determined.
The Soobin who had softened upon seeing Beomgyu's fragile state was now gone. The distance between them felt even more unbearable as Soobin's earlier tenderness had turned into a sharp, almost cold attitude again. Beomgyu couldn't help but wish that he could stay in this moment forever—the one where Soobin was at least near him, even if it was through harsh words and actions.
Despite Soobin’s rudeness, Beomgyu’s heart longed for more of those comforting moments. The soothing voice, the gentle reassurances—he craved them deeply. But the reality of the situation hit him hard. Soobin wasn’t giving him those comforts anymore. Instead, he had to endure the coldness of Soobin’s words, fearing that those rare moments of softness would slip away forever if he didn’t somehow make things right.
Yeonjun’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked at the two drenched figures walking into the room. His gaze shifted between Beomgyu, whose clothes clung to him in the rain, and Soobin, who seemed equally soaked but with a harder expression.
“What happened to you both?” Yeonjun asked, his voice a mix of concern and confusion.
Soobin, not wanting to explain everything just yet, simply shrugged, still trying to calm the storm of emotions inside him. “We just got caught in the rain,” he replied shortly, his tone leaving no room for further questions.
Beomgyu remained silent, still feeling the weight of the unresolved tension between them. He didn’t dare say anything, not yet. He knew there was more to explain, but the fear of making things worse kept him silent. His heart ached with every word Soobin hadn’t said.
Yeonjun frowned, sensing the unspoken tension. "You two are acting weird. What’s going on?" he pressed, looking between them.
Soobin didn’t respond, his eyes flickering to Beomgyu for just a moment before he turned to the side, unwilling to confront the truth in front of Yeonjun.
Beomgyu looked down, avoiding Yeonjun's gaze, silently cursing himself for dragging Soobin into this mess.
Before Yeonjun could ask anything more, the door swung open and Joshua stepped in for his usual check-in.
"Yeonjun, did you take your pills? And don't forget to switch on the heater — this damp weather could trigger an infection and—" he paused abruptly, words trailing off as his eyes landed on Soobin... and the figure standing beside him.
Joshua's eyes widened in surprise. "Beomgyu? Wow, what a surprise! Hi! What are you doing here?" he asked with his usual cheerful tone, though the curiosity in his eyes was unmistakable.
Then Joshua’s gaze shifted, finally registering their soaked clothes and dripping hair. “Wait—why are you both drenched?” he asked, concern quickly replacing his surprise. He glanced over at Yeonjun and his expression changed. “Oh no! You both, come with me—now.”
Without wasting another second, he motioned for them to follow and called out to a nearby nurse, “Turn on the heater immediately. We can’t risk any moisture near Yeonjun’s healing wound.” He turned back to Yeonjun with a reassuring smile. “You’ll need to stay away from them for a bit, alright? Don’t worry—I’ll stay with you tonight.”
And with that, he guided Beomgyu and Soobin out of the room, urgency in every step.
“Take these and go to my apartment. Change and rest there. You can come back in the morning,” Joshua said, pressing the keys into Soobin’s hand.
“No. I’m not leaving Yeonjun hyung alone,” Soobin refused flatly.
“He’s not alone. I’m here. I’ll stay the night with him. But look at you both—you’re soaked to the bone. You’ll get sick, and that’ll only risk infecting his wound. If you end up unwell, who’s going to take care of him then?” Joshua reasoned gently but firmly.
Soobin glared at him, eyes sharp. “You know I hate you, right?”
Joshua smiled faintly, unfazed. “No, Soobin. You don’t hate me. You’re angry. Upset. And that’s okay.”
“I’m still not going.”
“Don’t be stubborn,” Joshua said, voice soft but steady. “You know I’m right. You can come back in the morning, scream at me if you want—but tonight, you need to rest. You can’t help Yeonjun if you break down.”
Soobin clenched his jaw. He hated how right Joshua was.
He hated him. He really did.
“No, I—” he started again, but before he could continue, Beomgyu gently grabbed his hand, stopping him mid-sentence.
“Soobin… let’s—let’s go,” Beomgyu said, his voice quiet but pleading, tugging softly at his arm.
-
Yes, Beomgyu stumbled.
He faltered, hurt someone he never meant to.
But can’t Soobin see the wreckage he’s become,
just trying to earn a single glance of mercy?
He’s not asking—he’s unraveling.
Every breath, a silent cry.
Every step, a prayer to be seen,
to be forgiven.
Mistakes cut deep, yes—
they tear through trust, leave shadows behind.
But what about the boy breaking beneath the weight of his guilt?
What about the hands reaching out, trembling, still trying?
He’s drowning in remorse,
blaming every part of himself,
yet still clawing toward the light—toward him—
because letting go would be worse than pain.
Isn’t it cruel?
To watch someone burn for redemption
and still turn away?
***
Chapter Text
Soobin was silent. Utterly, immovably silent.
Not a word passed his lips as they exited the hospital, not a glance was spared during the cab ride, and not even the soft sigh of breath escaped him when they stepped into the apartment’s hush. His silence echoed—louder than the thunder that had chased them through the streets, louder than the drumming of the rain against the windows. It wrapped itself around the room like a thick fog, suffocating and cold. And it was killing Beomgyu.
Every second that ticked by felt like another stone laid on his chest.
He tried—clumsily, desperately—to reach him. Asked if Soobin was cold. If he wanted tea. If he should toss their drenched clothes in the washer. But the only reply was the rustling of clothes and the steady hum of the bathroom light. Not even a nod. It was as though Beomgyu had become invisible in his presence, a ghost in the space they shared.
And that—being seen yet unseen—hurt far more than if Soobin had screamed.
After a while, when they had both changed into the spare clothes Joshua had left for them—an unspoken gesture, sent only to Soobin as if Beomgyu wasn’t even part of this grief—Soobin curled into the farthest corner of the couch, his expression unreadable as his thumb scrolled over the screen of his phone without focus. Not a single word.
The silence was no longer just silence. It had taken shape—dense, cold, cruel.
Beomgyu emerged from the shower minutes later, towel in hand, water still clinging to his hair. He glanced at Soobin once, the way someone might glance at a photograph of someone they missed—longing, uncertain, grieving something unspoken. Then, he retreated into the bedroom, swallowed by shadows.
It was a modest space—barely furnished, a single bed at its center, too big for one but too small for two.
Soobin entered a moment later, crossing the threshold like someone walking into sacred ground. He held out a small pill, not meeting Beomgyu’s eyes.
“Dr. Hong said to take this before sleeping,” he said, his tone flat, almost clinical. He placed it gently in Beomgyu’s palm.
“Soobin…” Beomgyu’s voice was a whisper, unsure. “Can we talk?”
Soobin didn’t even hesitate before retreating. “Just take it. And sleep,” he replied, already turning his back.
“I won’t. Not unless you talk to me.”
A sigh. Heavy. Exasperated. “Do what you want.”
But then—something broke.
As Soobin began to walk away, he felt it: a soft weight pressing against his back. Beomgyu, clinging—not with force, but with the desperation of someone who had nothing left to hold on to. His body sagged against Soobin’s, trembling with unspent tears.
Startled, Soobin turned sharply, his arms catching Beomgyu instinctively before the boy collapsed. His hands found trembling shoulders, steadying them without thought, and that’s when he truly saw him.
Beomgyu looked wrecked.
Not tired. Not weary. But broken.
His eyes were swollen, lashes spiked with the remnants of tears that refused to dry. His lips quivered, barely parted as he tried to breathe. And his body—God, his body—it wasn’t standing. It was surviving. Shivering like something lost.
Soobin’s heart twisted.
“Beomgyu? Hey…” he whispered, voice shaking. “Are you okay?”
Beomgyu nodded. But it was a lie. His knees buckled, and Soobin had to hold him tighter to keep him from slipping to the floor. That nod meant nothing.
Slowly, gently, Soobin guided him to the bed, as if handling a porcelain figure already fractured. He propped him up against the headboard, knelt beside him, and took the pill from his hand. His fingers were ice.
“Come on,” he urged, holding the glass of water to Beomgyu’s lips. “Just this. Then sleep.”
Beomgyu obeyed, barely. Movements sluggish, disconnected.
Soobin tucked the blanket over him, smoothing his damp hair with a gentleness he couldn’t voice. As his fingers brushed against Beomgyu’s fevered skin, a realization settled: a fever was blooming—slow and quiet, but sure.
He stood, hesitating by the door, torn by the instinct to stay and the storm of responsibilities pulling him away.
Click. Click. Click.
He tested the light switch a few times before settling on a soft blue glow—dim enough for comfort, bright enough to chase away the dark.
Beomgyu noticed.
It wasn’t much. No apology, no reassurance, no warmth in Soobin’s voice. But the light… it was everything.
It was a memory.
It was Soobin remembering Beomgyu’s quiet fear of pitch-dark rooms. Remembering that harsh light made sleep elusive. Remembering him—even now, even in silence.
Tears slipped from Beomgyu’s eyes again, but they didn’t burn this time. They were warm. Soft.
He smiled, faint and broken, and let sleep claim him like a mercy.
Morning crept in too early.
Beomgyu stirred, limbs heavy with ache, head clouded with fatigue. The soft blue light still glowed in the corner, a quiet sentinel. He sat up with effort, heart thudding as panic crept in—had Soobin left?
He pushed into the living room, eyes scanning.
Empty.
But then—an aroma. Warm. He followed it to the kitchen.
There he was.
Soobin, standing at the stove, quietly stirring something fragrant and steaming. The scent of garlic and broth drifted through the air, and the soft clink of the spoon against the pot made the apartment feel… lived in. Almost like a home.
Beomgyu didn’t speak. He just watched.
Soobin noticed him. “Oh. You’re up,” he said, setting the bowl on the table. “Have this before it gets cold. I’m heading to the hospital.”
He unplugged his phone, grabbed his bag.
“Wait!” Beomgyu blurted, voice breathless.
Soobin turned, startled.
Beomgyu froze, heart in his throat. He had no words, just that raw panic in his chest. The fear of being left behind. Again.
Soobin waited. He said nothing.
Beomgyu’s lips parted, then closed. Nothing came.
Soobin’s gaze softened, barely. Then, as if catching himself, he masked it again. “Eat. And rest.”
He reached for the handle.
“Wait, Soobin!” Beomgyu called again.
Soobin exhaled, tension mounting. “What now, Beomgyu?”
“I… Can I come with you? I don’t want to stay here alone,” Beomgyu pleaded, voice so small it barely rose above the hum of the kitchen.
“You should go back to Daegu,” Soobin said, voice colder now. “Focus on your studies. Or visit your parents.”
“You know I don’t want to see them!” Beomgyu cried, frustration cracking his voice. “And I can catch up. Why can’t you just see—I’m here for you. I’m trying to make things right!”
Tears threatened again.
“I’m begging for your forgiveness. Did I really sin that badly?”
Soobin froze.
He hadn’t expected this. Not again. He had every reason to be angry, to keep distance, to protect what little of himself hadn’t been bruised.
But now… this didn’t feel like justice. It felt like punishment. And Beomgyu didn’t deserve that. Not like this.
“I’m sorry,” Beomgyu whispered. “Soobin, I’m so sorry. But please… don’t shut me out.”
Soobin took a few hesitant steps forward, crouching in front of him.
“Look at me,” he said gently.
Beomgyu didn’t.
Soobin reached out, lifting his chin.
“I know you’re hurting. I shouldn't have pushed you like this. I’m sorry,” he murmured. “But I need time. Just… time to untangle everything.”
He spoke of the chaos—Yeonjun, Seokmin, Joshua, the past, the father and brother he’d have to face again. His voice was weary. Honest.
“I just need you to give me that. Please.”
Beomgyu nodded slowly. “Okay. But… don’t ignore me, yeah? Let me know you’re okay. Just that.”
A faint smile.
“You’ll come back to college too, right?” Beomgyu asked, hope fragile in his voice.
A faint smile tugged at Soobin’s lips. "Of course. I’ll be back. For good this time," he said, thinking of the opportunity he finally had—to return, not as the accountant hidden in the background, but as a student.
Soobin stood, slipping on his shoes.
“Don’t forget the soup,” he said over his shoulder.
“Soobin, wait.”
He turned again, exasperated. “What else, Beomgyu?”
“I’ve got a lot to tell you,” he said, eyes glimmering. “I’ll be waiting, okay?”
“Hm.”
“And… thank you.”
“For what?”
Beomgyu smiled through the ache in his chest. “For nothing. And for everything.”
For a moment, Soobin’s mask cracked—his smile soft and real.
“Bye. Take care. Let me know when you get there.”
Beomgyu nodded.
And then the door closed.
And Beomgyu, left behind, cradled his heart with both hands and whispered into the silence, I’ll wait.
No matter how long it took.
-
Days dissolved into a quiet rhythm—blending one into the next like soft brushstrokes across a fading sky.
Soobin buried himself wholly in caring for Yeonjun. His world, for a time, shrank to the perimeter of hospital corridors and whispered reassurances. With Joshua beside him, they built a fragile haven around Yeonjun—of warmth, of patience, of love. And in the soft cradle of that sanctuary, Yeonjun began to show steady signs of recovery. Each small step—each smile, each moment of awareness—meant everything to Soobin.
And still, between all the moments spent by Yeonjun’s bedside, Soobin would reach out to Beomgyu.
Never anything too loud, too heavy.
Sometimes it was a blurry photo of Yeonjun’s soup-stained lips with the caption “chef Soobin strikes again.” Other times, it was a simple, “Did you eat today?” or “What’s the weather like in Daegu?” sent long past midnight. They slipped back into the rhythm of conversation like they were retracing a familiar melody—no climaxes, no crescendos. Just the quiet hum of connection strung between two beating hearts across distance.
There were no apologies. No desperate declarations.
Just the soft comfort of knowing the other was still there.
But even through those messages, Beomgyu could feel it—the spaces between Soobin’s words were lined with hesitation. His texts, though gentle, never lingered. His warmth never spilled past safety.
Soobin was speaking through a filter—one that dulled the edges, that kept emotions contained in neat, manageable pieces. He smiled, but never deeply. He responded, but never vulnerably. He was guarding himself still—protecting the places that had once bled so freely.
And Beomgyu… he felt every inch of that distance.
Yet he didn’t push.
He read every message with trembling hands. Replied with care. Held onto every photo and midnight check-in like keepsakes. He swallowed his longing, his remorse, and his hope—and folded it into quiet patience.
He understood. This wasn’t rejection.
It was healing, slow and cautious. And Soobin was still learning how to trust again.
So Beomgyu waited. Day after day. Text after text.
No matter how long it would take—for Soobin to let down his guard, for the pain to soften into forgiveness, for the distance to dissolve into presence.
He would wait.
Because for him, Soobin was always worth it.
-
The apartment door stood quietly before him—unassuming, familiar—and yet Yeonjun hesitated.
His hand hovered near the bell, fingertips twitching, breath held hostage in his chest. The weight of the cast around his arm wasn’t from pain today—it was from truth. From shame. From all the words he hadn’t said.
How could he look her in the eye?
What could he even say?
His mother.
He’d kept the illusion alive for as long as he could—daily calls, laughter stitched with small, harmless lies. Tales of students and friends, busy days and simple joys. A perfectly ordinary life.
All crafted to spare her worry. To buy time.
But time had run out.
Soobin stood just behind him, silent but grounding. A steady presence amid Yeonjun’s swirling thoughts.
Finally, with one deep breath, Yeonjun pressed the doorbell.
It rang once.
Moments later, the door opened—and there she was. His mom.
Her face lit up, joy flickering across her features like a candle catching flame. But then her gaze fell. To the cast. To his too-pale face. And the light dimmed.
“Jjunie…?” she whispered, like the sound of his name was too fragile to speak aloud.
He stepped forward, offering a crooked smile. “It’s not serious, Mom. Just a little accident. I’m okay—really. I just need this for a few more days.”
Her eyes darted across his face, worry settling in deep grooves. “Why didn’t you tell me? When did you get back to Seoul?”
“Just a few days ago,” he replied quickly, easing his arm around her in a familiar hug. “I didn’t want to scare you. You know me—I’m fine.”
His hand rose instinctively to her forehead, smoothing the furrowed lines with a thumb. “You’re worrying too much again.”
Then, as if remembering, he grinned. “Oh—almost forgot. I brought you something. Well… someone.”
Her eyebrows knitted in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Yeonjun turned slightly. “Binnie, come in!”
Soobin stepped forward, sheepish. The moment Yeonjun’s mom saw him, her expression changed—like sunlight filtering through clouds. Familiarity, affection, a softness that needed no explanation.
“I promised you a bunny when I came back, remember?” Yeonjun teased. “So here he is.”
“Hyung!” Soobin groaned, cheeks burning as he shot him a glare.
But Yeonjun’s mom didn’t laugh or scold. She stepped forward and wrapped Soobin into a hug—gentle, firm, motherly.
And Soobin froze.
It had been so long since he was held like that.
But as the warmth seeped through his clothes, something inside him eased. His arms came up slowly, and he let himself melt into it. Into the feeling of home.
They stayed the night.
Yeonjun’s mom, overjoyed to have her boys under one roof, cooked their favorite dishes. Laughter bounced off the kitchen tiles. The air smelled of garlic, sesame oil, and something deeply comforting.
And when Soobin took his first bite, everything collapsed.
The flavors—so rich, so familiar, so tender—hit something raw inside him. Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop them. He lowered his spoon, trying to breathe.
He missed his mom.
More today than ever.
Yeonjun’s mom noticed. She said nothing. Just walked over and pulled him into another hug—no questions, no hesitation. Her eyes shimmered too.
She knew. She had watched Soobin grow beside Yeonjun. Knew how much that absence still echoed within him.
Yeonjun, overwhelmed by it all, ended up crying with them.
The world outside was still chaotic, still uncertain.
But in that warm little kitchen, with arms around each other and the scent of soup filling the air, it felt okay. It felt like healing.
To Yeonjun’s mom, Soobin wasn’t just family.
He was her son.
Leaving was the hardest part.
After being wrapped in his mom’s care, after feeling the comfort of warm rice and full hearts, stepping out again felt like peeling back layers of safety.
They didn’t want to go. But they had to.
Yeonjun had already spoken to the principal—his absence explained, Soobin’s temporary stay cleared. But responsibilities didn’t wait forever. His students needed him. His passion—teaching dance—called him back.
And Soobin, too, had a path to walk. His test date was approaching. A fresh beginning awaited, if he was brave enough to reach for it.
It was time.
The bubble they had lived in—soft and sacred—wasn’t made to last. But that didn’t lessen its importance.
They carried it with them. The taste of a home-cooked meal. The warmth of shared tears. The comfort of being someone’s child, if only for a night.
Reality waited. But for the first time in a while—it didn’t feel so scary.
They weren’t alone anymore.
-
Seokmin paced along the glossy airport tiles like a man possessed, each step louder than the last.
The exit doors loomed ahead, still closed. The minutes dragged by, but his thoughts raced ahead-spiraling into worst-case scenarios that refused to quiet down.
The emergency landing.
The headline had shattered his calm like glass.
The plane that was supposed to arrive two hours ago-the one Soobin and Yeonjun were on-had suffered a sudden technical failure midair.
He had called them both. Again and again.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
The silence was unbearable. Every second without an answer carved a deeper hollow in his chest.
Dino stood off to the side, quiet but visibly shaken. His jaw clenched, eyes tracking Seokmin's every panicked turn. Around them, the airport buzzed with chaos-distressed families, sirens somewhere in the distance, staff scrambling for control.
But none of it mattered. None of it was louder than the question screaming inside their heads: Were they okay?
They hadn't been allowed past the security barrier. No list of names. No updates.
Just a vague report.Twenty injured.The rest rescued. That was it.
Seokmin's phone buzzed violently in his hand.
He nearly dropped it in his haste.
Shua hyung.
His breath caught.
His thumb hovered over the green icon-frozen. He didn't want to hear more bad news. He couldn't. Not from Joshua. Not from anyone.
The call ended.
Then began again.
And again.
Seokmin squeezed his eyes shut, throat dry, heart beating so loud it drowned out everything else.
Reality was pressing in, tightening its grip.
And all he could do was pray that someone-anyone-would walk through those doors.
-
Another call. No answer.
Joshua swore under his breath, the sharp curse slipping from his lips like steam from a pressure valve. His fist slammed against the steering wheel - not in rage, but in helplessness, frustration, fear. "Fuck," he exhaled, the word breaking apart in the stillness of the car.
He could already see it-Seokmin, pacing the airport or frozen on the tarmac, breath catching in his throat, heart lodged somewhere between disbelief and dread. Seokmin didn't cope with silence. Not when it came from the people he loved. Any uncertainty, any whisper of danger, would unravel him like thread pulled loose from the hem of a too-worn coat. Joshua knew this. Knew it too well. And now, the news of an emergency landing was enough to unspool the worst imaginings.
"I need to talk to him," Joshua muttered under his breath, voice tight with rising panic as he stabbed the redial button again. Again. Each attempt echoed into nothingness. The silence on the other end only deepened the ache in his chest, the sense of spiraling urgency clawing at his ribs like a second heartbeat.
He tore through the city streets like a man possessed, every red light a personal affront to time. The car's engine growled beneath him, tires skimming corners with a reckless desperation. When he finally reached the airport, it was as though he'd driven straight into the belly of a storm.
Sirens split the air with piercing screams. Lights pulsed red and blue across glistening tile floors. Voices clashed in rising cacophony - parents sobbing, names being shouted, officials shouting instructions that dissolved into chaos. The atmosphere was a collage of disarray, as if grief and relief were being stitched together by trembling hands.
Joshua didn't hesitate. With the help of a friend in airport security, he bypassed the barricades that penned in the rest of the panicked crowd, slipping past like a shadow moving through the fringes of disaster.
He moved fast, weaving through the tight corridors of the airport like he was chasing something barely out of reach - and in a way, he was. Redemption. Peace. Hope.
At last, he emerged into the luggage claim area. His gaze swept the restless sea of faces until it snagged on two he knew like the back of his hand-Yeonjun's lean frame, his shoulders hunched with tension, and Soobin, still and quiet, like he was holding his breath. A rush of relief flooded Joshua's veins, as though he'd been underwater and was only now breaking the surface.
"Hey!" he called out, breathless, voice frayed around the edges.
"Hyung, you're here," Yeonjun exhaled, the tension softening in his features, like a window finally letting in air.
Joshua released a shaky laugh, the sound thin but real. "Never thought I'd be this grateful for a luggage mix-up at the airport."
Yeonjun chuckled, the sound almost surreal amidst the background of chaos. "Seriously. I don't know what would've happened if that random passenger hadn't taken our bag by mistake."
It was a twist of fate - inconvenient, absurd, and strangely miraculous. They were meant to board that ill-fated flight, the one that had set the entire terminal on edge. But their baggage had been mistakenly swapped with that of another traveler already en route. That brief delay, a hassle by all means, had kept them off the plane. A glitch in the matrix that had spared them.
But their small carry-on, the one with their phones and essentials, had vanished with the wrong trolley. They were stranded in their own city, unconnected, unheard, unable to call Seokmin-their anchor. And neither boy remembered his number by heart. It felt ridiculous now, cruel even, how reliant they were on things so easily lost.
Fortunately, the airport's emergency response included hospital contact points. Through sheer effort and circumstance, they reached Joshua. And just as panic began to spill unchecked across terminals and news alerts, Joshua had dropped everything to come.
"He's not answering," Joshua murmured, lowering the phone once more. The weight of it in his hand felt heavier with every failed attempt.
"Of course he's not," Soobin snapped, his voice cutting through the air like glass. "Why would he? You think he'd just pick up and smile through it? You still think a single phone call is enough to mend everything you broke?"
Joshua didn't respond. He didn't flinch, not this time. The sting in Soobin's voice wasn't his-it was Seokmin's, raw and honest, spoken through someone who cared enough to be angry. Joshua stood in the guilt, let it wash over him like waves crashing into a shore he'd eroded one mistake at a time.
Seokmin had always been gentle. Soft-spoken. The kind of person who forgave in silence, who folded his pain like paper cranes and set them afloat instead of letting them burn. Joshua had taken that kindness for granted. And now, every word from Soobin landed like the accusations Seokmin never voiced.
"Soobin, stop," Yeonjun snapped, sharp enough to make them both pause. "This isn't the time. We need to let Minnie hyung know we're safe. That's all that matters right now."
The urgency sat like static in the air, thick and charged. They were here. They were fine. But Seokmin didn't know that. And until he did, it didn't matter.
Then Yeonjun's eyes lit up, sudden hope flickering in his expression. "Hyung! Do you have Beomgyu's number? You know him, right?"
Joshua's face faltered with regret as he looked down at his phone. "I met him again after years, but... he left before I could even ask. The moment passed."
Yeonjun nodded slowly, lips pressed together to hide his disappointment. "That's okay, hyung. Really."
Joshua frowned in thought. "Wait..." he murmured. "There might be someone else."
He stepped away, thumbing through contacts with the urgency of someone searching for a lifeline. Not Jeonghan. Not now. That bridge was smoldering in the aftermath of words too sharp to take back. Jeonghan would not pick up. Not after what had happened with Seokmin. Not after watching his friend unravel because of him.
But Seungcheol. He'd know. He always did.
The call was brief. Seungcheol didn't ask for context. Didn't demand apologies. Joshua asked. Seungcheol gave. One name. One number. One clipped goodbye. "I'll talk to you later."
Joshua returned, his phone extended like an offering. "Here. Got it."
"Does Beomgyu know we're coming back today?" Yeonjun asked.
Soobin shook his head. "No. We haven't talked in the last two days."
But it wasn't we. It was him. Just Soobin.
Two days of silence. Two days of deliberate distance. He'd told himself he needed space. Needed to unlearn the comfort Beomgyu had become. And yet, every message he didn't open felt like a heartbeat missed. Every silence throbbed like a bruise. Beomgyu was the gravity he tried to escape, but still orbited, helplessly.
"Here," Yeonjun said, shoving the phone into his palm. "Call him. Tell him to reach Minnie hyung."
Soobin hesitated only a second before pressing the call button.
It rang once. Twice. A third time.
Then-
"Hello?" Beomgyu's voice came through, warm and hesitant, threaded with static and noise.
Soobin's breath hitched. "Beomgyu..."
The name left his lips like a prayer.
And Beomgyu - he knew. The moment he heard it, he knew.
"Soobin? What-?"
"Listen to me carefully, Beomgyu..." Soobin said, already bracing himself to speak, to explain, to untangle everything before it was too late.
-
When Seokmin's phone buzzed once more, the sharp vibration against his palm was beginning to feel like a cruel echo-each ring a fresh reminder of the silence he feared. His eyes flicked to the screen. Not the name he'd been praying for. Again.
This time, it was Beomgyu.
Seokmin closed his eyes for a moment, his breath caught in the tight cage of his chest. Of course Beomgyu would've heard by now-word of the emergency landing had spread like wildfire, igniting panic in anyone who cared. And Beomgyu, ever attuned to the unspoken threads between people, would be no exception.
He inhaled slowly, collecting the trembling edges of his composure, and answered.
"Hyung! Where are you? You're not at the café," came Beomgyu's voice-breathless, laced with concern, as if he'd been searching for him, physically or otherwise.
"I'm at the airport," Seokmin replied, his voice cracking like splintered glass. "Waiting. Just... waiting for something. Anything."
His words trailed off into static, the kind that lives between grief and fear.
Beomgyu paused, listening to the unspoken ache. "Hyung... you need to breathe. You need to let yourself come up for air."
"How?" Seokmin shot back, barely above a whisper. "How am I supposed to breathe when I haven't heard from them in hours? When every minute feels like it might be the one where I lose them forever?"
"They're safe."
Two words. Simple. Steady. But they landed like a thunderclap in Seokmin's storm-ridden mind.
"What?" he rasped, disbelief wrestling with hope.
"They're fine. Soobin and Yeonjun hyung -they never boarded the plane. A baggage mix-up. They were held back at check-in. They've been at the airport this whole time."
The news didn't register at first. It drifted around Seokmin like fog, clinging to the edges but refusing to settle. "But... how do you know?"
"You would've known too, if you'd picked up Joshua hyung's call."
Silence followed. Not defensive. Not wounded. Just still.
Guilt crept in like frost through cracked glass, sharp and unrelenting. Of course. Joshua had called. Seokmin had ignored it. He thought he was protecting himself. He thought-no, believed-that silence was safety.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, each syllable weighed down with regret. "I thought... I thought keeping my distance was the only way to stay intact. I didn't even stop to consider why he might've reached out."
"Hyung," Beomgyu's voice gentled, wrapping around the ache like a salve, "there's nothing wrong with protecting your heart. With building fences when the world's handed you nothing but broken glass. You don't owe anyone your hurt. And you certainly don't owe guilt for surviving it."
Seokmin didn't reply, but his silence was no longer defensive. It was an open door-a quiet surrender. Beomgyu stepped through it gently.
"Soobin told me what happened," he continued. "The mix-up delayed them. Their phones were in the trolley that got taken. He wanted to call, to explain-but he couldn't. He said as soon as he got his phone back, he would reach out. He didn't want you to panic."
Too late for that.
"You should go home now, hyung," Beomgyu added softly. "They'll come back tomorrow, maybe the day after. But not tonight. Not after everything that's happened. Go home. Relax."
A long exhale slipped past Seokmin's lips-unsteady, but real. "Mhm."
A beat of quiet passed, before he asked, almost absently, "Did you tell Soobin about Jeonghanie hyung?"
Beomgyu hesitated, then said, "Not yet. I asked Joshua hyung to keep it between us, just for now. I want Soobin to hear it from me. He already knows I have a brother and a sister. But not the rest."
A faint smile curled his voice. "He's the one who always believed I'd find her again."
There was something fragile in that hope. Something old and soft and painfully real.
"I'm glad," Seokmin replied, his voice gentling as if he were holding something precious. "That you'll be the one to tell him. When it's time."
And in that pause-between everything said and unsaid-the silence no longer felt hollow. It felt like the first moment of calm after the storm.
-
Joshua had insisted-gently but firmly-that Yeonjun and Soobin spend the night at his apartment. It was a modest distance from the airport, tucked away on a quiet street, far from the chaos that had worn them thin. With the weight of delays and frayed nerves pressing down on the evening, it was the only option that made sense. The earliest flight had already been arranged, their new tickets confirmed, the logistics silently and efficiently handled.
Still, Soobin hesitated. Predictably so.
There was a resistance in him, quiet but unyielding, that rose any time someone tried to shoulder a burden on his behalf. He didn't like owing comfort to anyone-least of all Joshua, not with the shadow of Seokmin hyung's sorrow still lingering between them like a ghost no one dared name. Yet despite that quiet bristle, he followed, the silence between his steps louder than any refusal could have been.
Yeonjun didn't argue. He gave no reasons, voiced no protest. His nod was soft, almost imperceptible, but it carried the weight of an ache too tender to prod. Returning to his mother's home for only a few hours would be senseless-not just logistically, but emotionally. The thought of holding her one more time, only to let go again with another goodbye, felt like cruelty. He'd seen her smile tremble behind unshed tears, had felt the way she clung to his sleeve like it might dissolve into nothing if she let go. And to make her relive that so soon, just to leave again? He couldn't. Not again.
Joshua didn't press them for more. He simply opened the door and let them in, grateful for their silent assent, even if it was borrowed for just one night.
The car ride unfolded in a kind of suspended hush-fragile and subdued, like the world was holding its breath. The dim hum of the engine whispered beneath a melancholy tune on the radio, and the blur of streetlights painted fleeting golden streaks across the windshield.
Joshua drove with both hands resting firmly on the wheel, his knuckles betraying the stillness of his voice. Yeonjun sat beside him, posture languid but distant, his gaze cast to the window, where passing silhouettes of trees flitted by like unfinished thoughts. In the back seat, Soobin sat rigid, folded into himself like a tightly drawn bow. His eyes were locked on the back of Joshua's head, unblinking, burning-not with fury, but something older. Older and heavier.
Joshua could feel the stare as if it had weight. He shifted under it.
"You're still mad?" he asked at last, his voice quiet and tempered, never once looking back.
He didn't need to name him. The tension had already drawn its lines; the room was already divided.
Even the crocheted sunflower keychain that swayed lightly from the rearview mirror-handmade, delicately frayed at the edges-seemed to tilt gently toward Soobin, as though waiting for his reply.
Soobin let out a scoff sharp enough to sting. "Mad? That doesn't even begin to cover it," he muttered, his arms folded tightly across his chest. "I hate you."
The words were aimed like daggers, but behind the barbed delivery was a voice shaking-not from fear, but from effort. From restraint.
Joshua caught the flare of his eyes in the rearview mirror, just a flicker before Soobin rolled them with pointed disdain, as though even that accidental glimpse felt like betrayal.
His hands curled tighter on the steering wheel. He bit the inside of his cheek, grounding himself.
"You don't hate me," he said, softer now, careful.
"I do."
"You don't," Joshua repeated, not out of denial, but because he heard the tremble underneath it. "You think you do-because your Minnie hyung was in pain. And I was the cause of it. So of course you think hate is the only honest reaction left."
Soobin's voice rose, then dropped low again-hushed, almost bitter. "You expect me to like you? You expect me to just... move past it because you've been nice while we were here?"
He looked down, his hands fisting in his lap.
"The first time I saw you with Seokmin hyung, he was crying. Not just sad-broken. And the way he looked at you, Joshua hyung... he looked like someone who had been shattered by the person he trusted the most. That image doesn't leave you. It stays."
Joshua swallowed hard. "I know."
Soobin pressed his lips into a line. "You don't get it. I'm thankful, okay? For the tickets, the shelter, the way you looked after us. I'm not heartless. But I don't forgive you just because of that. I can't."
"I'm not asking for your forgiveness," Joshua said, his voice a notch above a whisper. "I'm not even sure I deserve it. But if I ever want to make things right with Seokmin... I need to make things right with you first. I owe him that. I owe you that."
Soobin's gaze lifted, sharp and unreadable. "And what makes you think you can fix this?"
Joshua met his eyes through the mirror. "Because you don't know everything yet. You only saw him cry. You never saw what came before. The part where I broke too."
The quiet that followed wasn't empty-it was brimming with the weight of unsaid truths and stories waiting at the threshold. The silence wrapped around them again, but this time it didn't isolate. It held them, barely, like a thread pulled taut-thin, fragile, and perhaps, at last, unbreaking.
And the car kept moving-slowly, steadily-through the stillness of the sleeping city, into whatever waited at the end of that thread.
-
Someone might be silently going through a storm, yet people often mistake that silence for weakness. Is it really fair to judge them without knowing every last piece of their story?
Soobin may be angry with Joshua, but is that anger truly justified? He knows Seokmin got hurt because of Joshua—but has Seokmin never hurt him too?
It reveals something deeper: in his own case, Soobin focuses only on how he was hurt by Beomgyu. But doesn't the pain he caused Beomgyu deserve a voice, an explanation too?
And when that truth finally catches up to him, it’s going to be hard—maybe even unbearable—for Soobin to face himself.
Will he even have the right to ask Beomgyu for forgiveness then?
And what about Beomgyu—will he be able to hold himself together when the past he’s tried so hard to forget is dragged back into the light by the very person he buried it for, even if it broke him?
-
Their flight touched down under the gauzy, late-afternoon sky of Daegu, and as the aircraft’s doors opened to release them into the familiar air of home, a quiet tension followed them like a second shadow.
At the arrival gate, Seokmin stood waiting—steadfast and still, his figure like a lighthouse for hearts lost in a storm. He looked composed on the surface, but his eyes gave him away: restless, red-rimmed, and soaked in the remnants of a night spent battling worst-case scenarios. Beside him, Dino stood close, his arms folded with his usual calm energy, while Beomgyu lingered just behind—shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes betraying nothing but carrying far too much.
The automatic doors parted, and Soobin stepped out first, his fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of his bag. His pace was slow, deliberate, as if the weight of the past few days still clung to his limbs. Yeonjun walked beside him, careful with his arm, adjusting the edge of the cast with practiced motions—each step quiet but steady.
“Soobin-ah! Over here!” Dino’s voice rang out, clear and bright like a bell, slicing through the thick quiet of the terminal.
But before Soobin could fully register the call, Seokmin was already in front of him, having closed the distance in a matter of strides. His presence was a paradox—calm, composed, but vibrating with barely restrained urgency. Without a word, he reached out to take the bag from Soobin’s hand, the offer wrapped in silence but brimming with meaning.
Soobin noticed the tremor in his hyung’s fingers—a subtle quake betraying everything his face tried so hard to conceal. “Hyung, we’re okay. You don’t have to wor—”
He never finished the sentence.
Seokmin wrapped his arms around him in a fierce embrace, clutching him like someone who had seen ghosts and was only now convinced the living stood before him. His breath trembled against Soobin’s shoulder.
“I... I was so fucking worried,” he whispered, voice raw, breathless. “You have no idea. Seeing you here, right in front of me—it feels like I can finally breathe.”
He pulled away just slightly, cupping Soobin’s face for a brief second before his eyes shifted to Yeonjun. He offered a gentler smile now, one lined with unspoken gratitude. His hand reached out to rest on Yeonjun’s cast, featherlight.
“How’s the arm, Jun-ah? Are you in pain?”
Yeonjun responded with a practiced, reassuring grin. “It’s manageable. Just a few more days and the cast is off. Don’t worry about it, really.”
As the warmth of reunion settled briefly between them, Soobin kept his gaze low, doing everything in his power to avoid the one person who had yet to speak but whose silence roared louder than any voice in the crowd.
Beomgyu.
He was still there, just a few paces away, unmoving. But Soobin could feel the weight of his stare, piercing and unrelenting, like an unanswered question echoing in an empty room.
Soobin’s eyes betrayed him for a moment and flicked toward him. That was all it took.
Beomgyu stepped forward—deliberately, decisively.
Soobin’s instinct was to sidestep, to veer toward Dino, as if proximity to someone else might shield him from the conversation he wasn’t ready to have. But Beomgyu was faster. He moved directly into his path, cutting off his retreat with a presence that felt heavier than anything he carried in his suitcase.
“This your new strategy?” he asked, voice low, tired. “Pretend I don’t exist?”
“I’m... I’m not ignoring you,” Soobin murmured, his eyes searching for any escape that didn’t involve meeting Beomgyu’s gaze.
Beomgyu let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Could’ve fooled me. Two days, Soobin. Two days of silence. No explanation. No reply. You are barely even looking at me.”
His voice wasn’t angry. It was wounded.
“Soobin, we were... we were doing fine. We were better than fine. And then suddenly you just—pulled away. Did I say something wrong? Did I cross a line without realizing it?”
He stepped closer now, the steel in his voice melting into something softer, almost desperate. “If I did, tell me. Please. Just... don’t shut me out like this. Talk to me.”
Soobin’s shoulders stiffened. His voice came out barely audible. “I’m tired, Beomgyu. I need rest.”
“No,” Beomgyu snapped before he could stop himself. “You’re not tired. You’re hiding. And this—this thing you’re doing, where you pretend I’m not standing right in front of you—it’s cruel, Soobin.”
Soobin didn’t answer. He didn’t flinch either. He simply looked away again, lips drawn thin, as though bracing against something he refused to name.
Just then, Dino stepped between them, his voice light but pointed. “Alright, alright. Tension off the menu, please. Let's go to the café. Warm drinks, something sweet, and less emotional carnage, yeah?”
The words were casual, but the timing deliberate. A rescue, cloaked in nonchalance.
Beomgyu said nothing else.
If this was how Soobin wanted it—distance, silence, avoidance—then so be it.
He could play the quiet game too. Even if every second of it felt like walking barefoot over broken glass.
-
They reached the café just as the noon sun began its slow descent behind the Daegu skyline, casting long shadows that spilled through the café windows like warm silk. The familiar scent of roasted beans and honeyed pastries embraced them upon entry, the soft hum of chatter and the low clinking of porcelain forming a gentle, melodic backdrop. The place hadn't changed—it still held the comfort of old books and stitched cushions, of laughter tucked into corners, and memories brewed in the steam rising from mugs.
Not long after they had settled in, the door chimed softly—and in walked Taehyun and Hueningkai, their presence a burst of light against the soft amber of the room. Their smiles were easy, unburdened, as if they carried with them a breeze strong enough to lift the weight of the past few days. They slipped into the group with the ease of puzzle pieces clicking into place, and the air shifted—brighter, warmer.
Because why not? The more, the merrier. And after the storm they had all weathered, they needed merriment like rain after drought.
The café pulsed gently with life—soft conversations swirled in the air, mingling with the fragrant tendrils of fresh brew and warm bread. Taehyun and Hueningkai were already laughing over some ridiculous story Dino had animatedly brought to life, their laughter threading through the room like music. Meanwhile, Seokmin moved with the elegance of familiarity—refilling mugs, adjusting chairs, slipping in and out of conversations with quiet efficiency that only deepened the warmth of the space.
Lunch arrived—humble, hearty, and perfectly mismatched, like the group itself. They gathered around the table, shoulders brushing, eyes softening, the tension of yesterday finally ebbing into something gentler. Peace, it seemed, had found a place to sit.
That is, until—
“Dino hyung, can you pass me the salt?” Soobin asked, without lifting his gaze, his voice carefully devoid of emotion. The boy he spoke to sat directly across from him, yet he reached across the table like Beomgyu didn’t exist.
Beomgyu didn’t miss a beat. “Kai, can you hand me the curry dish? It’s near Soobin. And I’d rather not risk exposure to toxic energy.”
Taehyun blinked at the both of them, then leaned over to Hueningkai with a snort. “This again?”
“You do realize,” Kai chimed in with mock exasperation, “you’re both literally within arm’s reach of what you’re asking for?”
Beomgyu shrugged. “I’d rather starve.”
“Be my guest,” Soobin replied, finally looking up with a raised brow. “No one’s stopping you.”
Dino groaned theatrically, reaching between them with exaggerated annoyance. “For the love of sanity—here.” He all but dropped the salt and curry dish between them, eyes rolling. “Now eat. And stop acting like you’re in a kindergarten drama club.”
A mumbled “thanks” escaped both their lips—uncoordinated, grudging, still without eye contact.
“Honestly, you two are impossible,” Seokmin muttered, though his exasperation gave way to a fond smile, the kind reserved for people you love despite yourself.
And yet, somehow, in the middle of all the squabbling and sulking, the table felt whole. As if their bickering was its own strange language of belonging. As if, despite everything, this was home.
After the last spoonful was scraped clean and the plates cleared, Dino suggested a little post-lunch mischief—an impromptu pottery corner Seokmin had quietly set up across the café, complete with clay, wheels, and messy aprons. Curiosity piqued, everyone gravitated toward it.
Everyone, that is, except Soobin, who mumbled something about clay staining his cuffs, and Beomgyu, who scoffed about the mental trauma of “misshaped ceramics and unrealistic expectations.”
Ten minutes later, both were standing side by side at the wheel.
“Don’t touch that,” Soobin warned, eyeing the bowl Beomgyu had just slapped into an unfortunate tilt. “You’ll ruin it.”
Beomgyu rolled his eyes. “Relax. I watched two tutorials on YouTube last night. I'm basically a professional.”
Soobin snorted. “Oh? Must be nice to be that confident with absolutely no talent.”
Beomgyu gasped, a hand to his chest. “Wow. Do you talk to all your friends this way? Or am I the chosen one?”
“You’re not my friend,” Soobin said flatly, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him.
Beomgyu froze theatrically. “Dino hyung! Did you hear that? Soobin just shattered my spirit. Here. On sacred clay grounds. I might never recover.”
From across the room, laughter spilled like sunlight through a crack. Taehyun was doubled over, Hueningkai pretending to weep in solidarity. Dino whispered something into Seokmin’s ear, and the older boy simply shook his head with a small, knowing grin—watching the two banter like two puppies too proud to admit they were tangled in the same leash.
Taehyun’s gaze lingered a moment longer on Beomgyu. He hadn’t seen that spark in a while—the glint in his eye, the flippant grin, the restless hands trying to shape something meaningful out of spinning clay. Beomgyu thrived in spaces that felt safe, and Soobin—whether he knew it or not—was part of that safety.
No, not everything was healed. The air still held ghosts. But here, now, surrounded by laughter and bad pottery and stolen glances, something new was beginning to mend.
And that was enough. For now.
-
Soobin picked up the old acoustic guitar resting by the café’s windowsill, its wood worn and familiar, strings slightly out of tune like a voice long forgotten but not unloved. He strummed aimlessly, letting his fingers drift across the fretboard, the notes coming out disjointed—clumsy, like a sentence spoken in a language he once knew by heart.
Beomgyu drifted toward him, quiet but drawn in like a moth to the flicker of something unfinished. Without asking, he sank down beside Soobin, his movements fluid, as if this seat had always been meant for him. He watched for a second—watched Soobin's fingers press in the wrong places, the melody dying a slow, painful death—and then gently, almost absentmindedly, reached forward to reposition Soobin’s hand.
“You’re doing it wrong,” he murmured, his voice low, almost tender, but laced with that familiar teasing edge.
Soobin didn’t look at him. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “Keep playing like that, and you’ll snap the string.”
“Maybe I want to snap it,” Soobin said coolly, eyes fixed on the guitar.
“Maybe I’ll snap your face,” Beomgyu shot back, deadpan.
Soobin scoffed, finally glancing at him. “Wow. Violence? Over guitar strings? Breathe, Beomgyu.”
“Only if you stop murdering those chords in cold blood,” he replied, folding his arms with dramatic flair. “This is a crime scene, and your fingers are the weapon.”
In the background, Taehyun—who had been watching this entire exchange unfold with thinly veiled amusement—leaned back in his seat, a knowing smirk curling at his lips.
“Just say you miss each other and be done with it,” he said, half-laughing.
Almost like a rehearsed duet, both snapped their heads toward him and replied in unison, voices overlapping in exaggerated denial:
“No, we don’t!”
Taehyun only shook his head, the laughter softening into a smile as he turned away, leaving the two in their makeshift silence.
And yet—beneath the banter, beneath the barbs—there was something gentler in the air now. The kind of quiet that follows a storm, where everything still drips with leftover rain, but the sky has already begun to clear.
-
As twilight draped itself gently over the sky, spilling amber and rose across the horizon, the world around the café softened into hush and hue. The warmth of the day faded into a crisp breeze as Soobin and Beomgyu meandered through the quiet little garden tucked at the café’s side, a space that smelled faintly of lavender and old soil. Gravel crunched underfoot with every slow, thoughtful step, and flower beds framed the narrow path—overgrown yet lovingly tended, like a memory someone refused to let go of.
“Watch where you’re walking,” Soobin said without looking, just as Beomgyu stumbled slightly over a crooked stepping stone.
“I was watching,” Beomgyu replied defensively. “The stone moved.”
“Oh yeah? It just stood up and decided to take you down, huh?”
“You’re mocking me again.”
“So? Some traditions are sacred.”
“I swear to God, I’ll push you into that flower bush.”
“I dare you,” Soobin smirked, a daring lilt in his voice.
“…I won’t,” Beomgyu muttered, grinning. “But only because Seokmin hyung will make me replant it—and then give me a five-minute lecture on tulip trauma.”
They walked in silence for a few beats after that, the kind of silence that didn’t strain or ask to be filled. It simply existed, stretching comfortably between two people who had fought and forgiven in a thousand different ways.
Then, Soobin whispered, almost inaudibly, “Still hate you, though.”
Beomgyu didn’t even blink. “Yeah, sure. Keep lying to yourself.”
But both of them wore identical smiles—small, reluctant things tugging at the corners of their mouths, as familiar as the rhythm of each other’s footsteps.
-
Later, when the night had settled and the café glowed with golden lamps and quiet music, Seokmin beckoned the two over to the cluttered bookshelf beside the counter. It was a mismatched trove of forgotten pages: dog-eared recipe journals, poetry anthologies with coffee stains, and paperback novels surrendered mid-chapter by strangers who had once found comfort in this space.
Soobin picked up a stack, immediately slipping into order and structure, sorting them with methodical precision.
Beside him, Beomgyu casually flipped open a worn-out paperback with frayed edges and a faded spine. “This one’s got a coffee stain shaped like a heart… and what looks like a lipstick smudge. Romance. Tragedy. Possibly murder.”
Soobin shot him a look, snatching the book from his hands. “You’re not hosting CSI: Café Edition. Stop dramatizing and start organizing.”
“I am organizing,” Beomgyu protested, holding up another book. “I’m organizing the vibe.”
“You’ve been holding that same book for five minutes.”
“It’s called literary osmosis.”
“It’s called testing my patience.”
Grinning, Beomgyu reached to shelve a book on the top row, stretching with exaggerated flair. “Bet you can’t reach the top without tiptoeing.”
Soobin arched an eyebrow. “I’m taller than you.”
“Barely. It’s not a flex if I can still hear your knees cracking.”
“Height has nothing to do with it. This is about efficiency.”
“Says the guy who alphabetized ‘The Great Gatsby’ under G.”
“That’s how it’s supposed to be!”
“Calm down, librarian. These books aren’t being inducted into the National Archive.”
Soobin groaned and slapped a book onto the shelf with more drama than necessary. “Remind me again why I’m doing this with you?”
Beomgyu leaned closer, offering him the final novel like a peace treaty. “Because deep down, you don’t actually hate me. You’re just… tragically attached to the idea of pretending you do.”
“I’d rather reshelve this entire collection blindfolded.”
Beomgyu grinned. “Is that a challenge?”
“Don’t you dare.”
Their mock-glares dissolved into uncontainable laughter when a book slipped from the pile and landed squarely on Soobin’s foot. Beomgyu winced harder than Soobin did, clutching his own foot out of sheer empathy.
Across the room, Yeonjun leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his eyes quietly tracking Soobin. He didn’t speak, didn’t even smile—but in the gentle curve of his gaze was something almost reverent. For the first time in days, Soobin was laughing—not politely, not because someone expected him to, but because something in him had unclenched.
And Yeonjun, who had watched Soobin curl into silence night after night, felt the weight in his chest lift just a little.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.
But in that quiet, in that laughter, the world righted itself—if only by a fraction.
Soobin would never confess it aloud—not even if someone pried the words from his clenched jaw—but somewhere deep beneath the layers of pride and bruised trust, he already knew: it was impossible to stay away from Beomgyu. Not anymore. Not when their day had quietly begun to entwine like ivy—soft moments creeping in through laughter and routine, stitching themselves into the fabric of his hours with startling intimacy.
How long could he pretend to hate him? How long could he weaponize silence when Beomgyu was right there—persistent, present, and impossible to ignore? From the moment they arrived, Beomgyu had lingered in every doorway Soobin tried to close, haunted every room he stepped into with a kind of quiet insistence. And it wasn’t loud, it wasn’t desperate—it was just... constant.
Yes, the wound still ached. Betrayal, when left to fester, tends to echo longer than it should. But some people—some souls—are worth unraveling the knot of hurt for. Some are worth the risk of being disappointed again.
And Beomgyu—God, Beomgyu—was trying. In his own crooked, chaotic, infuriating way, he was trying. He didn’t offer apologies in neatly folded sentences or beg forgiveness on bent knees. Instead, he gave him something far more vulnerable: persistence. He stayed. He argued. He teased. He held Soobin’s gaze for a beat too long before looking away. Every bickering word, every snide comment laced with warmth, every nudge into a conversation was a whisper beneath the noise.
Please don’t shut me out again.
And Soobin didn’t.
He rolled his eyes. He groaned at the terrible jokes. He bickered back with half a smirk. Once, when Beomgyu reached over to steal the last piece of toast, Soobin kicked him lightly under the table without even lifting his eyes from the page he was pretending to read.
It wasn’t indifference. It wasn’t the hollow silence of someone giving up. It was cautious, quiet forgiveness disguised as banter—an olive branch wrapped in sarcasm.
And for Beomgyu, that was enough. For now, it was more than enough.
Because even if the words hadn’t been spoken yet, something in Soobin had softened. The wall hadn’t crumbled, but there was a crack wide enough to let the light back in.
-
The sky had long begun to dim, hues of lavender and tangerine bleeding into a quiet dusk, yet none of them had noticed the time slipping through their fingers. The day had stretched its arms wide—cradling laughter, harmless squabbles, and the kind of gestures that spoke without words, weaving a fragile thread of healing between them. Around the small café table now cluttered with half-empty glasses and the soft fizz of melting ice, it felt as if the hours had folded into something timeless—as if they’d only just sat down, and not lived an entire chapter together.
Yeonjun tapped the edge of his glass with a spoon, the soft clink pulling the group’s attention. A grin was already curling at the edge of his lips.
“Yeah, right,” he said, straightening in his seat with mock solemnity, “we’re back to college tomorrow. And before anyone says anything—” his eyes flicked knowingly toward Seokmin “—especially Minnie hyung…”
All heads turned instinctively, just in time to see Seokmin inhale and part his lips.
“…I will take care of myself,” Yeonjun finished smoothly, flashing an exaggeratedly innocent smile. “No overexerting, no skipping meals, and definitely no ‘I’m fine’ speeches. Happy?”
Seokmin huffed and threw his hands up in theatrical surrender, though the twitch in his lips betrayed his affection. “Fine, fine. But if I find out you so much as miss lunch—”
“I’ll send you a photo of every meal,” Yeonjun cut in with a wink.
The table chuckled, the easy rhythm of banter restoring its place. But Yeonjun wasn’t done yet.
“And one more thing,” he added, his voice softening as he turned toward Soobin, “Soobin’s not going back as just an accountant anymore.”
He paused. The room stilled.
“He’s going back as a student. He’s finishing his studies.”
A ripple of surprise passed through the table, and all eyes turned to Soobin, who blinked like someone gently shaken from a dream. There was a pink flush blooming on his cheeks, climbing up to the tips of his ears. Embarrassed, maybe. Or just overwhelmed.
Beomgyu, seated close enough to feel the tension in his posture, raised his drink and bumped it lightly against Soobin’s glass. “About time, Mr. Library,” he murmured, the words playful, but laced with something tender—like a pat on the back wrapped in old familiarity.
Soobin didn’t answer. But he didn’t pull away either. And that was enough.
“Wait… you weren’t studying all this time?” Taehyun asked, his brows knitted in curiosity.
There was no judgment in his tone—just genuine concern, like a friend piecing together a story he hadn’t known he was missing.
Soobin’s eyes flickered briefly to Yeonjun, as if searching for permission. What he found instead was encouragement—unspoken, steady. A nod.
“Y–yeah,” Soobin began, his voice quiet but clear. “After high school, I couldn’t afford to go to college. I missed out on two years. But Yeonjun hyung… he helped me. He spoke to the principal. They allowed me to work at the college—to assist with accounts and be hyung’s aide. And in return, I was offered a chance to complete my final year… using my old credits.”
Silence fell. But it wasn’t empty. It was weighted—carrying respect, quiet grief, and something else, too: awe.
“And they all just assumed…” Hueningkai said, his voice tight with a simmering frustration. “They thought you were some dropout handling numbers.”
Soobin’s nod was small. Resigned. “Yeah. It was easier to let them think that than explain myself.”
He didn’t want pity—that much was clear. But in this fragile moment, the silent understanding, the unspoken circle forming around him, felt like the gentlest embrace.
Yeonjun’s voice, when it came again, was lower—firmer. “That ends now.”
His fingers tapped against the table with quiet finality. “No one gets to look down on you. Not while I’m around.”
Beomgyu, still watching Soobin like he was learning him all over again, gave a slow nod. “They never mattered,” he said softly, but there was a razor-sharp edge to his voice that suggested he would fight every whisper if he had to.
Taehyun leaned forward, sincerity brimming in his gaze. “You could’ve told us.”
“I didn’t think anyone would care,” Soobin admitted, lips twitching in a self-deprecating smile. “It didn’t seem worth the explanation.”
“But we care now,” Hueningkai said. “A lot. Probably more than you think.”
Soobin looked up. And in that still second, the world narrowed to the warmth of eyes on him—Yeonjun’s pride, Beomgyu’s loyalty, Taehyun’s quiet empathy, Hueningkai’s fierce gentleness… and Seokmin, watching like an older brother who had just seen his sibling find a piece of himself again.
“I’m proud of you,” Seokmin said, the words steady and certain. “For holding on. And for starting over.”
Soobin laughed softly, blinking back the sudden sting behind his eyes. “You guys are so unfair sometimes.”
“Unfair?” Beomgyu scoffed. “This is us being nice. You sure you’re okay?”
“You’re only nice once a decade,” Soobin shot back, rolling his eyes.
“There it is,” Dino chimed in with a grin, lifting his glass. “Our Soobinie is back.”
“Dramatic as ever,” Beomgyu muttered, but there was a fondness in it, unmistakable and raw.
Taehyun and Hueningkai chuckled, and in the circle of their laughter, the heavy weight of the day lifted. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t a miracle.
But it was healing.
And as the lights inside the café began to glow warmer with the fading sun, and the voices around the table folded into soft joy, it felt—for the first time in a long time—like everything had found its place again.
They were together.
And more importantly—they were home.
-
Home. A word so unassuming, so delicate on the tongue—yet within its folds lies an ocean of meaning. To Soobin and Beomgyu, it was never just a place marked on a map, never merely a structure of walls and windows. It was something far more elusive, far more sacred.
Home, for them, had faces.
Soobin often wondered what it meant to belong, to feel safe not just in silence but in presence. And then there was Seokmin—warm-hearted and selfless, who always made space for Soobin even when Soobin didn’t know how to take it. He never demanded answers, only offered comfort—through jokes, through music, through a presence that made Soobin feel human again. And Dino, unpredictable and wild-hearted, was the kind of friend who reminded him that it was okay to be loud, to take up space, to exist unapologetically. With them, he wasn’t just a shadow of someone else’s burdens—he was Soobin. Heard. Held. Home.
Yeonjun, of course, had always been the storm and the shelter—reckless in love, relentless in loyalty. He fought for Soobin in ways Soobin didn’t know he deserved. And then there was Taehyun, sharp and unwavering, and Hueningkai, who softened every sharp corner life handed them. Each friend had carved a corner in Soobin’s guarded world, teaching him that home was not just a place to retreat—but a place to rise.
And Beomgyu? He had found pieces of that same home in the very same people. Seokmin, with his patience and honest laughter, who treated Beomgyu’s silence not as distance but as depth. Dino, who challenged him, teased him, saw him when he tried to disappear. And Hueningkai and Taehyun—his constants, even when everything else felt temporary.
And Soobin? Beomgyu could never say it, but he felt it—in the quiet glances, the shared silences, the unspoken forgiveness that lived between them. Soobin, whose presence lingered like a memory long after he’d walked away. Maybe he was home too—the kind you only find once, and spend a lifetime aching for.
They both knew, in the marrow of their bones, that home was not a place you could return to.
Sometimes, it was a person you never wanted to leave.
To Soobin and Beomgyu, their friends weren’t just friends.
They were lifelines.
They were the proof that even in a world that demands masks, there are still people who see you bare-faced and stay. People who, simply by being there, become a home you never thought you deserved—but always needed.
-
Time slipped by like silk unraveling from the edge of a sleeve—graceful, unnoticed, until only threads remained. One moment, they were huddled around the café table, laughter spilling like warm tea over clinking glasses of soft drinks; the next, twilight had draped the world in a velvet shade of violet, the sky outside melting into indigo with the hush of approaching night. Hours had passed, yet none of them had felt the weight of it. They had simply been—present, tethered not by time but by each other.
When Seokmin gently insisted they stay for dinner, his tone both hopeful and commanding, the group had hesitated. Not out of reluctance, but respect—they didn’t want to overstay, to lean too heavily on the generous heart that had already given so much.
"Come on, hyung, we've practically eaten half your café already," Beomgyu quipped, flicking his hand in dramatic protest, though his eyes sparkled with affection.
Taehyun chimed in, practical as ever. "We’ll just order something simple and head out. No need to trouble yourself more than you already have.”
But Seokmin’s lower lip jutted out with theatrical flair, his gaze suddenly wide and imploring—like a child denied candy, or more precisely, like someone who knew how to win a room with the tilt of his head.
“You’re really going to say no to me?” he asked, voice feigning heartbreak. “After all that we’ve been through together?”
Dino groaned aloud, already anticipating the inevitable. “Don’t fall for it. This is textbook Seokmin.”
But resistance crumbled like sugar in tea. One by one, shoulders sagged, hands lifted in surrender, and the collective sigh of affection masked under faux-annoyance washed over the table.
“Fine, fine,” Yeonjun huffed, shaking his head with a tired smile. “But we’re ordering food, and you’re not paying for a single bite.”
“We’re splitting the bill,” Soobin added firmly, crossing his arms like an accountant ready for battle. “That’s not up for negotiation.”
Seokmin threw up his hands, grinning despite himself. “You guys ruin all the fun,” he muttered—but his voice was warm, laced with a kind of gratitude he couldn’t quite say out loud.
Dinner, when it arrived, was not a feast for the stomach but for the soul. The food was simple, but it wasn’t what nourished them. It was the comfort of familiar voices, the teasing that softened old bruises, the shared glances that held years’ worth of unspoken stories. It was the laughter that made the walls of the small café glow warmer, as if the very space leaned in to listen and remember. For the first time in a long while, everything felt… complete. Like puzzle pieces finally clicking back into place.
As the plates were cleared and the last crumbs wiped away, Beomgyu rose with a lazy stretch, letting out a satisfied sigh that curled into the quiet hum of contentment.
“Alright,” he announced, fishing his keys from his pocket, “I’ll drop Yeonjun hyung and Soobin off first, then come back around for Taehyun and Kai.”
Soobin immediately frowned. “That’s really not necessary. We can go by ourselves—”
“Exactly,” Yeonjun added, already reaching for his coat. “No need to make two trips, Gyu.”
But before the protest could build momentum, Hueningkai leaned forward, his voice light but decisive. “Actually, it makes sense. We’ll help Seokmin hyung close up here. It’ll be done by the time you're back.”
Taehyun gave a small nod, already gathering empty glasses. “We don’t mind staying a bit longer.”
Beomgyu glanced at Seokmin, who shrugged, the edges of his mouth curving into a small smile. “Would be nice to have a few extra hands tonight.”
And with that, the decision was sealed. No further arguments needed—only the quiet understanding of people who had grown to read each other like well-thumbed pages of a book.
Beomgyu held the door open with a flourish. “Let’s go before they find a reason to start another round of democratic voting on this.”
Soobin rolled his eyes, but he moved toward the exit without resistance. Yeonjun followed with a quiet laugh, murmuring something about how “some people just love being dramatic.”
The door clicked shut behind them, leaving a hush in their wake—not heavy, not lingering, but comforting. Like the soft echo of a lullaby once sung, or the scent of something warm left behind on a favorite sweater. The kind of silence that didn’t ask to be filled.
Within the golden-lit café, the warmth lingered. Not just from the food or the laughter—but from the invisible thread that tied them all together. Fragile, maybe. But strong enough to hold.
And somewhere, just beneath the ordinary noise of clinking dishes and the low hum of conversation, was a quiet truth—unspoken, but felt by all:
This was more than just a meal.
This was home.
-
The drive unfolded beneath a hush that didn’t demand to be filled—a gentle, unspoken symphony shared between three souls at ease. The quiet was not absence but presence; it breathed between them like something sacred. Soft, lulling music trickled from the car’s speakers, its mellow tones folding into the twilight outside, becoming a balm rather than a barrier. It cradled the silence like a familiar friend, warm and undemanding.
Beomgyu’s hands moved with effortless rhythm—one resting lightly at the wheel, the other draped near the window as he navigated the winding streets with quiet focus. The dying sun smeared gold across the windshield, casting a burnished glow on his profile. His eyes were steady, but from time to time, they flicked to the rearview mirror, taking quiet note of his passengers.
Beside him, Yeonjun held his phone up, the map aglow in the dimness. He gave directions in a voice softened by comfort, casual and low. “Turn left at the next signal.”
“Got it,” Beomgyu replied with a faint nod, the wheel turning beneath his fingers like silk slipping through cloth.
In the backseat, Soobin leaned against the window, his forehead grazing the cool glass as the wind drifted through the cracked opening. It tousled his hair gently, like fingers brushing through wheat fields. His eyes fluttered closed, as if catching fragments of a dream. His fingertips tapped a slow, unconscious rhythm on the seat—a quiet percussion aligned with the heartbeat of the car, the music, the moment.
From the front, Beomgyu caught the movement and smiled faintly, his gaze lingering in the mirror for a breath before returning to the road. He said nothing. He didn’t need to.
Yeonjun shifted with ease, legs crossed, scrolling lazily through his phone. Occasionally he hummed along to the music—a low murmur that braided itself into the car’s quiet like a lullaby. There was no urgency, no expectation. Only the serene acceptance of shared stillness.
And then, as the familiar silhouette of houses appeared through the dusk—a neighborhood stitched from the fabric of old routines—the car began its gentle descent into memory. Beomgyu took the final right turn, and the vehicle coasted to a smooth stop in front of the house. The stillness that followed was no longer comforting—it felt like the last page of a tender chapter, closed gently with regret.
Beomgyu stepped out and made his way to the passenger side, where Yeonjun was already gathering himself. He opened the door with quiet care.
“Here we are,” he said softly, his voice barely above the breeze.
Yeonjun looked up, slipped his phone into his pocket, and moved carefully. The cast on his arm made each movement deliberate, but Beomgyu stayed beside him, offering no commentary—only quiet, unwavering presence. A silent promise to catch him if needed.
“Thanks,” Yeonjun murmured, his voice threaded with sincerity. A small smile flickered across his lips.
Beomgyu returned it with a nod, their exchange weighted in understanding. Around them, the music had faded, and in its absence, the ambient hush of the evening pressed in—the rustle of wind through branches, the distant murmur of life behind closed windows.
In the back, Soobin hadn’t moved. His hands lay still on his lap, fingers curled inward, as if holding on to something he couldn’t name. The house before him loomed in the shadows, familiar yet foreign. It didn’t welcome. It never had. It sat like an obligation—quiet, cold, and full of echoes that never turned into voices.
He didn’t want this.
He had tasted something sweeter in the world beyond this doorstep—something rich and rare. The comfort of Seokmin’s laughter echoing through the café. Dino’s clumsy kindness. Taehyun’s quiet looks that said I see you, even when Soobin said nothing. Hueningkai’s lightness that always made room for others. Yeonjun’s mother’s gentle touch. Even Joshua, with his well-meaning silences and concerned glances, had given more than this house ever did.
And Beomgyu...
Despite the teasing, despite the ridiculous bickering over nothing and everything—he had been a steady hand. Present. Attuned. Real in a way Soobin didn’t know how to explain. In a world that felt borrowed, Beomgyu had somehow become the one thing Soobin hadn’t wanted to give back.
Now here he was. Back in a place where the door never opened with joy. Where no one ever asked if he’d eaten, or if he was tired. Where praise was as rare as sunlight in a shuttered room, and affection came only in forgotten fragments. The warmth he’d carried from elsewhere felt like a dream slipping through a net.
He pressed his forehead against the windowpane, eyes closed. Just a second longer. Just a moment to pretend he didn’t have to walk back into that silence.
And then—warmth.
A soft pressure against his forehead. Startled, Soobin opened his eyes.
Beomgyu was there, leaning in through the open door, one hand gently resting on Soobin’s forehead, as if to lift not just his head, but the heaviness within it. His gaze was quiet, searching, threaded with a tenderness Soobin hadn’t expected.
“We’re here,” Beomgyu said, voice barely more than a breath—low, steady, as if afraid to break the fragile stillness between them.
Soobin blinked, swallowed the ache building in his throat, and turned his face away. “Yeah,” he murmured, fingers fumbling for the door lock.
The soft click of the unlocking door sounded louder than it should have.
Beomgyu didn’t move. He lingered for a second longer, studying him—debating, perhaps, whether to speak. But words often failed in moments like this. Some silences weren’t meant to be filled. They needed only patience.
At last, Beomgyu stepped back. But he didn’t walk away—not just yet.
Soobin slid out, his feet touching the ground, but his heart remaining somewhere else entirely. He stood like someone lost in a dream half-remembered, his expression distant, his shoulders low.
Beomgyu turned toward Yeonjun with a soft nod. “Hyung, I’ll head out now. Rest well.”
Yeonjun smiled gently, understanding more than he let on. “Thanks for the ride. Drive safe.”
Beomgyu gave a quiet nod and started to leave—but as he passed Soobin, something made him pause.
Without warning, he flicked Soobin’s forehead—light, sudden, unexpected.
“Hey—!” Soobin flinched, startled, spinning around with wide eyes.
Beomgyu was already walking toward his car, smirking like a mischief-maker who had just won a dare.
He turned once more at the door and grinned. “Go inside. Sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. College won’t miss us both.”
He slipped into the driver’s seat and shut the door, but not before casting one last glance—quiet, warm, and impossibly gentle.
Soobin stood frozen for a moment longer. Then, slowly, something shifted.
His scowl melted. The heaviness didn’t disappear—but it softened. Enough to let the faintest smile curl at the corner of his lips. Unwilling, reluctant—but real.
And for now, that was enough.
-
“Oh, look who’s back.”
Soobin froze mid-step.
The soft glow of the torch cast an uneven halo of light across the floorboards, flickering as his hand trembled ever so slightly. He’d tiptoed in with the silence of a shadow—intent only on fetching a bottle of water, not waking ghosts. He hadn’t expected to summon one anyway.
But there he was.
His father stood in the half-lit hallway like an unwelcome monument to every evening Soobin had tried to forget. He leaned against a dining chair with the lazy carelessness of the perpetually drunk, a half-empty glass hanging from his fingers like an afterthought. The sour stench of alcohol thickened the air, crawling under Soobin’s skin before he could brace himself.
His grip tightened around the doorknob. Cold. Anchoring.
Soobin said nothing. Silence had always been his safest armor.
He moved to retreat, pushing open the door in quiet defiance, but the spell was broken too soon.
“I’m not done talking to you, brat.”
The voice sliced through the hush with drunken precision, slurred but cruelly lucid.
Soobin flinched as if the words themselves had teeth.
And then—without warning—fingers latched onto his arm, yanking him back with unkind force. The torch dropped to the floor with a muted thud, light rolling wild in every direction. The hallway narrowed. The air grew heavier.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” his father snarled, face far too close, eyes bloodshot and wet with fury.
The pungent reek of liquor hit Soobin like a slap, though the real one came moments later.
He didn’t have time to brace for it.
A palm cracked across his cheek with venomous precision, sharp enough to make the world lurch. His breath caught mid-throat. Heat bloomed across his skin like fire igniting beneath glass. His hand flew instinctively to his face, his fingers trembling against the burning welt that spread like betrayal.
"You will listen," his father hissed. "You live under my roof. You eat my food. You owe me your goddamn respect, you ungrateful little—"
“What the hell?”
The voice was not loud—but it thundered through the silence like salvation itself.
Soobin didn't turn. He didn't have to. That voice—firm, grounding, unmistakably his—cut through the chaos like a lifeline.
Beomgyu.
A new kind of fear bloomed inside Soobin. Not for himself now—but because Beomgyu had seen. Had heard. Had witnessed. His shame flared redder than his cheek, the burn of humiliation deeper than the strike.
Tears welled at the rim of his eyes, traitorous and hot. He kept his head bowed, chest hitching under the weight of held breath, hand still frozen where pain had found him.
His father stumbled back half a step, disoriented by the voice. “Who the hell—?”
Beomgyu didn’t wait for him to finish.
He stormed into the hallway, the door groaning open wider behind him like the world itself was making room for him to shield.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Beomgyu’s voice cracked like thunder, sharp, protective, merciless.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t falter. His eyes burned with the kind of fury born from watching someone gentle be bruised by cruelty.
“Step away from him.”
Soobin’s father blinked in confusion, as if still trying to piece together who Beomgyu was—but it didn’t matter. Beomgyu wasn’t afraid. He didn’t offer explanations. Only warning.
“Touch him again,” he said, deadly quiet now, “and I’ll call the cops so fast you won’t have time to finish that drink. They’ll drag you out of here before your bottle hits the floor.”
Silence flooded the room. A silence heavy with something thick and dangerous.
Then Beomgyu moved forward—slow, steady—and placed himself directly between Soobin and the man who had hurt him.
His voice lowered, melting into gentleness, though his anger still simmered beneath the surface. “Soobin. Are you okay?”
Soobin didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His throat was tight, eyes glassy, lips parted in breath he couldn’t catch.
But he nodded—just once. Just enough.
Beomgyu reached out, brushing Soobin’s hand away from his cheek with such care, as though the very act might cause it to bruise more. When he saw the mark—the raw red flush still blossoming—his jaw tightened.
“Let’s go,” Beomgyu said. There was no question in it. Only promise.
And this time, Soobin didn’t hesitate.
He followed.
Not because he was escaping—but because someone had finally come to take him home.
-
"I'm sorry," Beomgyu murmured, his voice barely louder than the wind curling through the quiet street, the two of them leaning against the bonnet of the car beneath a weary halo of streetlight. The light buzzed faintly overhead, casting their shadows long across the cracked pavement.
“I didn’t think—I just reacted. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand there and watch that happen to you.”
Soobin didn’t respond immediately. His gaze was cast downward, fixed on the ground as though the earth itself held the answers he needed. The sting on his cheek pulsed in time with his heartbeat, a brutal memory carved in fire and flesh.
Beomgyu’s eyes, heavy with concern, shifted sideways to study him. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t wait for confirmation. Wordlessly, gently, he took the cool water bottle from Soobin’s loose grasp and pressed it against the reddened skin with careful hands. The cold bit into the swollen cheek, drawing a small flinch from Soobin—but he didn’t retreat. He stayed still, teeth clenched, breath quiet.
“Sorry,” Beomgyu whispered. “I should’ve warned you.”
His fingers lingered a moment too long, hesitant but firm, as though willing the pain away by presence alone.
“I should’ve done more. Knocked that bastard to the floor,” he added, his voice a shade darker, bitterness seeping through. “But I didn’t want to make it worse for you.”
Soobin shook his head slowly, eyes still refusing to rise. “You did enough,” he said, voice low and fragile. “Thank you.”
Silence fell between them again, but it wasn’t the kind that begged to be filled. It was solemn, understanding. The silence of two souls nursing invisible wounds.
Beomgyu glanced down, trying to lighten the moment like sunlight peeking through storm clouds. “You know, if you keep letting me save you like this, I might start charging you.”
That earned the faintest twitch of Soobin’s lips—barely there, but unmistakable. “Yeah? What’s the rate?”
Beomgyu cracked a soft smile, a quiet victory. “One smile per rescue.”
Soobin finally looked up at him, eyes glassy, rimmed with fatigue and something unspoken. He turned away quickly, hiding the ghost of a real smile that dared to creep across his face. “Expensive.”
“Yeah, well...” Beomgyu leaned back, a chuckle slipping from his lips. “You’re worth it.”
And for a moment, time felt suspended. In the echo of that simple statement, something fragile and precious stirred between them.
Soobin’s heart ached with the longing to believe in that warmth—to lean into the idea that someone might stay, might really see him, and choose not to walk away. But hope felt like holding snow in his bare hands: beautiful, fleeting, destined to melt.
“…But why did you come back?” Soobin asked after a long pause, his voice no louder than the wind brushing past the quiet street. “You already left.”
Beomgyu reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a phone, holding it out. “Because a certain someone left his phone in the backseat,” he said, a teasing smile on his lips.
“Oh,” Soobin murmured, fingers brushing Beomgyu’s as he took it. “Didn’t notice.”
“Of course not,” Beomgyu replied, feigning exasperation. “You were too busy spiraling into that tunnel of yours.”
Soobin exhaled a faint breath, pressing the bottle back to his cheek. “Yeah… something like that.”
Beomgyu’s gaze sobered. He turned to face Soobin, the air shifting.
“How long are you going to live like this?” His tone was quieter now, but the weight behind it was immense. “You know this isn’t okay.”
Soobin’s shoulders tensed, the question piercing too close to where he bled. “It’s not what you think. He doesn’t always hit me… Only when he drinks too much. It’s… manageable.”
“Manageable?” Beomgyu echoed, voice darkening. “That’s not living, Soobin. That’s surviving.”
“When Yeonjun hyung came, you should’ve gone with him. You should’ve let him help you. Why didn’t you?”
Soobin hesitated. “I couldn’t. I can’t just leave them.”
“Why not?” Beomgyu’s voice cracked with disbelief. “You can live without them.”
“But they can’t live without me.”
Beomgyu stared. “What?”
Without replying, Soobin stepped forward and took his hand, guiding him with quiet intent. They reached the door, where a large black trash bag sat heavy and forgotten. Soobin untied the knot and peeled it open, stepping back.
“Look.”
Inside was a desperate kind of evidence: torn noodle packets, crusted bread wrappers, empty cans—all of it stale, all of it too much and not enough.
“They haven’t had a single decent meal in ten days,” Soobin said quietly. “Dad’s allergic to half the food out there. Mom always packed his lunch before work. And Jayhoon… he doesn’t eat unless I remind him. Without me, they forget to live.”
Beomgyu looked up, speechless. The weight of those words coiled in his chest.
Soobin continued, voice brittle. “I know what he did tonight was unforgivable. But I also know they’ve probably been sick, lost, struggling. And I just… I can’t walk away knowing they’ll fall apart. I’m not excusing it. I’m just... trying to hold everything together.”
“You’re not their savior, Soobin,” Beomgyu said softly. “You’re his son. Not a martyr. Not a meal ticket.”
“I know,” Soobin whispered. “But if I don’t do it… no one else will. And as much as I hate them sometimes, I don’t want to live with the guilt of leaving them like this.”
Beomgyu took a breath, the ache in his chest growing sharper. “But what are you sacrificing to carry them, Soobin? Your body? Your spirit? Your peace?”
No answer came. Just the silence of someone too tired to even cry.
“You’re making excuses for people who should’ve protected you,” Beomgyu said, voice nearly trembling.
“I’m not making excuses,” Soobin replied. “I’m making it through.”
Beomgyu stepped closer, his voice softer now, breaking at the edges. “Then let me in. Let me help. Let me carry some of this for you.”
“And what exactly are you going to do, Beomgyu?” Soobin asked, not cruelly—but quietly, with that familiar edge of hopelessness. “You can’t fix this.”
“I know,” Beomgyu said. “But you can.”
He stood firm, eyes never leaving Soobin’s. “I’m not here to fix you. I’m here to remind you that you’re not alone. That you’re allowed to choose yourself. That you deserve to want more than this.”
Soobin looked away, throat tight. “I don’t even know what that looks like…”
“Then let’s find out together,” Beomgyu said. “One breath. One hour. One step at a time.”
Soobin let out a shaky laugh, wiping at his eyes. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not,” Beomgyu replied. “But I’ll be here. Even when it’s ugly. Even when it’s hard. Even when you push me away.”
“Why?” Soobin asked, voice barely a whisper.
Beomgyu met his gaze, steady and soft. “Because you're worth staying for. And because I care. Maybe more than I should.”
Something in Soobin crumbled at that—not into pieces, but into something closer to peace. He lifted the bottle back to his cheek and muttered, “You talk too much.”
“And you hide too well,” Beomgyu said, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.
Their eyes held, steady and certain.
And in that silence, Soobin felt something shift—not the world, not the storm—but maybe… just maybe, the beginning of something softer.
Of hope.
Of healing.
Of not being alone.
Anymore.
-
No matter how stubborn the heart, how thick the walls you build around it, there comes a moment when resistance begins to crack. You can try—truly try—to stay angry, to turn your face away, to convince yourself that silence is safer. But when someone stands before you, their voice trembling with hesitation, baring their care without demands… it's impossible not to feel it.
It’s in the way their eyes soften when they speak your name. In the way their words wrap around your wounds like gentle bandages, saying all the things you never dared to admit you longed to hear.
And when the cold begins to bite, not outside, but within—in that aching place where loneliness settles like frost—you’ll start to crave what once felt overwhelming: their words, their presence, their warmth. The sound of your name on their lips will haunt you like a lullaby you didn’t know you missed.
Soobin can ignore it. He can scoff, be sharp, pretend indifference until his voice goes hoarse. But Beomgyu remains—quietly relentless. He’s not forcing his way in, only offering a space where Soobin doesn’t have to carry the weight alone. He says the things Soobin’s heart aches for in the dark, even if Soobin doesn’t have the courage to ask for them in the light.
And soon, it will be impossible.
Impossible for Soobin to keep pretending he doesn’t hear him. Impossible to deny the comfort that comes in the echo of Beomgyu’s voice, the safety in his presence. The truth is, he’s already slipping—inch by inch—into the warmth of Beomgyu’s world, unaware of how naturally he’s beginning to belong there.
And when he finally notices, it won't be with fear.
It’ll be with the quiet, trembling relief of someone who’s just found home in the last place they expected.
***
Chapter Text
No matter how much Soobin huffed, sighed, or dragged his feet like a petulant child being led somewhere he didn’t want to go, there he was again—Beomgyu, waiting outside their house as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if showing up, unannounced and unwavering, was part of his morning ritual now.
He sat lounged in the driver’s seat, one arm resting lazily on the window frame, the other tapping a quiet rhythm against the steering wheel. The car’s engine purred beneath a soft layer of music—some indie ballad that drifted faintly through the half-rolled window. He didn’t honk. Didn’t call or text. He just waited. As if his quiet presence alone would be enough to pull them out the door.
Yeonjun stepped out first, his footsteps light against the pavement, fingers curling around Soobin’s wrist with gentle insistence. “Come on,” he murmured. “Don’t make him wait again.”
Soobin scoffed, tugging his arm back with practiced defiance. “He’s not waiting for me. He’s here for you.”
Yeonjun arched a brow, amused. “And we live in the same house, genius. What, you want him to take a detour for just me?”
Beomgyu spotted them then, and without missing a beat, leaned across the seat to pop open the passenger door. “Morning, hyung!” he called, voice warm with genuine affection. “You look better than yesterday. Slept well?”
Yeonjun offered him a soft smile as he slid into the front seat. “Better. Thanks to the ride and the three check-in calls.”
Beomgyu beamed, a bit too pleased with himself. “Care is my love language.”
Trailing behind, Soobin tossed his bag in the backseat with a little more force than necessary and climbed in after it, the reluctance practically written across his face. “You’re so dramatic,” he muttered, arms crossing the moment he sat down.
Without missing a beat, Beomgyu adjusted the rearview mirror just enough to catch Soobin’s scowl. “Not dramatic,” he said, flashing a grin. “Just a compassionate hoobae who couldn’t bear the thought of poor Yeonjun hyung crammed in a crowded bus while recovering.”
Soobin rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they stayed in his head. “Right. This is all for Yeonjun.”
“Of course.” Beomgyu smirked, pulling into gear. “You just happen to live in the same house. A collateral pickup.”
“Collateral pain,” Soobin grumbled under his breath, turning his gaze to the window, though a faint flicker of something softer betrayed his expression.
Yeonjun chuckled, shaking his head as he buckled in. “You two should really get your own TV show. It writes itself.”
Beomgyu threw on a pair of sunglasses far too dramatically for the overcast morning. “Season one,” he announced, “starring Grumpy Bunny in the Backseat. Critics are raving.”
Soobin didn’t respond, but his lips twitched. Just barely.
And though the car filled quickly with their usual bickering—light jabs and muttered complaints, sharp as flint but never cutting—there was something gentler in the air this morning. The weight from the night before had thinned, like fog peeling back in the wake of a quiet sunrise. The windows were cracked open, letting the breeze slip in and play between their words, carrying with it the unspoken comfort of familiarity, of presence. Of choosing, again and again, to show up.
Even if neither of them admitted it aloud, the silence between them had changed.
And in that slow, winding ride to campus, Soobin found himself not minding the noise at all.
Yeonjun’s smile deepened, a warm, familiar curve of comfort, as his eyes fell upon two silhouettes near the college gates. Taehyun stood with the calm defiance of early morning coolness, hands buried in his pockets, every inch of him composed. Beside him, Hueningkai swayed on his heels, full of animated fervor, his hands carving the air as he launched into what seemed like an impassioned tale that had likely begun miles ago.
“Did they just arrive?” Yeonjun asked, his voice dipped in fondness, like sunlight melting over dew.
Beomgyu’s hand rested lazily on the wheel as he eased the car into a nearby spot, his focus unwavering. “Dropped them off first,” he replied, a quiet ease in his tone. “Then circled back for you.”
Yeonjun blinked, turning toward him in mild disbelief. “You went all the way back?”
Beomgyu shrugged, a soft smirk curling on his lips as he killed the engine. “Had to ensure my precious passengers arrived in style. Reputation’s everything, you know.”
Soobin, from the backseat, rolled his eyes—his signature reply to Beomgyu’s antics—but said nothing. His gaze shifted out the window, drawn to the waiting figures, to the eager light in Hueningkai’s eyes and the steady patience in Taehyun’s posture. Something unspoken stirred within him—a hush of warmth spreading through the hollows of his chest, like the first sunbeam breaking into a long-abandoned room.
The car doors opened with a soft click, and the morning breeze greeted them like an old friend. It carried with it the scent of rain-soaked leaves and new beginnings.
Taehyun and Hueningkai approached with the kind of ease that could only come from time and trust. Before any words could be exchanged, Hueningkai all but launched himself at Soobin, arms wrapping around him with an unabashed tenderness. His head found a home on Soobin’s shoulder, and he clung like ivy, persistent and endearing.
Soobin froze, his limbs half-lifted in confusion, like a marionette unsure of its strings. He stared, wide-eyed, into the horizon, unsure whether to laugh, to return the embrace, or to vanish altogether.
Taehyun arrived with a soft breath of exasperation, folding his arms. “Ignore him. He’s just sulking because we woke him before the birds.”
“I am not sulking,” Hueningkai declared, his protest muffled by the fabric of Soobin’s jacket as he burrowed deeper, refusing to be dislodged.
Soobin sent a silent plea to the others, but Yeonjun only laughed, deeply entertained, while Beomgyu leaned against the car, his expression unreadable save for the fond tug at the edge of his lips.
He didn’t speak. He just watched.
Watched as Soobin stood still beneath Hueningkai’s embrace—saw how his shoulders, tense at first, began to loosen as the realization settled: he wasn’t being struck or scolded. He was being held.
Beomgyu’s arms crossed as the breeze tousled his hair. His gaze lingered, unmoving. He understood—more than Soobin could know.
He knew how starved Soobin was for affection that didn’t come laced with obligation. How many nights he must’ve craved a touch that didn’t leave bruises, words that didn’t tear. Beomgyu knew what it meant to long for softness in a world that had only ever offered barbed wire.
And now, even as Soobin hesitated, even as he tried to mask it beneath sarcasm and huffs, he didn’t pull away.
That quiet yearning—for care, for connection—was there. And Beomgyu saw it. And made a silent vow that he would offer it freely. Not just in fleeting gestures, but in presence, in constancy. Without making Soobin beg for it. Without making him feel undeserving.
“Stop clinging to people before class starts,” Taehyun muttered, tugging Hueningkai off Soobin with a sigh that could’ve belonged to a beleaguered parent. Hueningkai merely latched onto him instead, drawing another defeated groan from Taehyun.
Beomgyu chuckled under his breath while Soobin, despite himself, let a smile bloom—a quiet, reluctant one that curled the corners of his lips.
“You two act like kindergarteners,” Yeonjun teased, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Bickering one second, cuddling the next.”
“I’m emotionally expressive,” Hueningkai mumbled into Taehyun’s jacket.
“And I’m emotionally depleted,” Taehyun deadpanned, though his arms remained wrapped around him.
Soobin turned, eyes briefly meeting Beomgyu’s. There was no teasing in that look—just something quiet, something real. Beomgyu smiled, a small, knowing gesture that spoke volumes.
And Soobin, for once, didn’t look away.
Yeonjun drifted closer, his voice low but purposeful. “You’re finally in your final year,” he said, placing a hand gently behind Soobin’s head. “I don’t need to tell you to work hard. I know you will. Just… don’t let anyone steal this from you again. Not your father. Not your fears. Live for yourself now. Let this be yours.”
The touch was tender—more than a gesture. It was grounding. A rare kind of love, like being given wings without the fear of falling.
And for a moment, Soobin felt like a child being sent off to his first day of school—hopeful, uncertain, but wrapped in warmth. In Yeonjun’s arms, he glimpsed the parents he never had. The safety he’d always craved.
“I will, Jjunie hyung,” he whispered, pressing into the hug. “None of this would’ve happened without you. Thank you.”
Yeonjun held him close. “Always, Binnie. Always.”
And then—
“Wait, what?! Soobin-hyung’s in final year?” Hueningkai’s gasp cut through the moment, his expression a picture of mock betrayal.
Soobin pulled back, laughing. “Yes, Kai. I’m officially your senior now. Better bow respectfully.”
Beomgyu said nothing. He stood still, hands in his pockets, gaze steady on Soobin.
He watched the way Soobin laughed, the way he leaned into Yeonjun’s affection, the way Hueningkai clung to him like he was a safe place. A constant.
And something in Beomgyu’s expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. A quiet flicker of emotion passed through his eyes.
Soobin saw it.
As the others drifted ahead, voices echoing with banter and joy, Soobin quietly slowed his steps, slipping out of the circle and drawing up beside Beomgyu.
The silence between them stretched—soft, uncertain. It wasn’t the easy quiet they usually shared. This one was expectant. Heavy.
Soobin glanced sideways. “What?” he said, voice gentle. “Already tired and you haven’t even had your first lecture?”
Beomgyu didn’t respond right away. His eyes stayed on the path ahead.
Then, quietly “Did you really lose two years?”
Soobin blinked. He hadn’t expected the question. For a moment, he said nothing.
But then his shoulders dipped, a sigh escaping him. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Two whole years.”
Beomgyu’s jaw tensed. “Because of your father?”
Soobin didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Beomgyu scoffed bitterly. “And you still care about them? After everything they did? God, Soobin… you’re impossible.”
That one word—impossible—landed heavier than it should have.
Soobin halted briefly. His voice came quieter, tighter. “Can we not do this right now?”
Beomgyu paused, looked at him—but said nothing. Then turned, walking ahead, pace brisk, anger simmering beneath the surface.
Soobin quickened his stride until he matched him again, elbows nearly brushing. “Don’t be mad,” he said quietly, nudging him. “Please?”
“I’m not,” Beomgyu replied.
“You are.”
A beat passed.
Soobin glanced sideways. “You told me to start living for myself. To stop surviving for everyone else. I’m trying, Beomgyu. I want to try. But I can’t do it without you. So don’t shut me out, okay? That would really suck.”
Beomgyu stopped walking.
Turned slowly.
His gaze met Soobin’s—and in it, a storm calmed. “You’re impossible,” he muttered again. But this time, it wasn’t bitter.
It was fond.
Soobin smiled, a little smug now. “I know.”
Beomgyu shook his head, but the smile he’d been hiding slipped free, soft and real.
A moment later, they rejoined the others, slipping effortlessly back into the rhythm of friendship—their footsteps in sync, laughter rising around them, the college gates yawning open ahead like the promise of something new.
“I’ll stop here,” Soobin said softly as their steps reached the quiet threshold of the Accounts and Finance building. The morning light caught the edges of his figure, casting a gentle glow over the curve of his shoulders. He slowed, offering them a small nod, the kind that carried both farewell and silent gratitude, then adjusted the strap of his bag with a calm resolve that masked the flutter of nerves in his chest.
Hueningkai, ever the sunbeam, beamed with unfiltered cheer. “Good luck, Soobin hyung! For your restart—your real start. We’ll come check on you at lunch!”
Taehyun, standing with his arms folded and gaze sharp as ever, offered a short nod. “Good luck, hyung. And let me know if anyone gives you trouble.” The words were simple, almost tossed in passing—but in Taehyun's voice, they were a quiet vow. The rest couldn’t help but laugh.
Soobin smiled, a tender curve of his lips. “Sure,” he replied, the word soft, yet sure.
Yeonjun was the next to step forward, eyes glinting with fondness. “Bye, baby~ I’ll drop by your class whenever I get a break,” he cooed teasingly, pinching Soobin’s cheek with exaggerated affection.
“Hyung!” Soobin whined, pulling back with a scrunched nose. “I’m not a child.”
“You’ll always be one to me,” Yeonjun grinned, ruffling his hair with a kind of protectiveness only found in the hearts of those who had once shielded someone through storms.
Just then, Beomgyu stepped between them, the lopsided smirk already forming on his face. “Alright, alright. Enough of this daycare moment,” he declared with a theatrical sigh. “Study well, or you’ll end up repeating the year with us, sunbae,” he added, eyes gleaming with challenge.
Soobin narrowed his eyes. “You—”
“Yes, sunbae?” Beomgyu cut in immediately, the mischievous glint in his gaze growing brighter.
Laughter erupted among the group, unrestrained and familiar—the kind that only blooms in bonds forged over time.
“Ya! Choi Beomgyu!” Taehyun called, barely hiding his smile. “Let him go in peace, will you? We’re running late.”
He turned back to Soobin with a wry smile. “Ignore him. He’s just a little brat.”
“Only a little?” Soobin asked, raising a single brow, his tone dry but playful.
"You-" Beomgyu opened his mouth to retort, but Soobin beat him to it.
“Yes, a little bratty hoobae,” he said with a victorious smile, his voice lilting with mirth.
Taehyun groaned, already tugging on Beomgyu’s bag. “Alright, that’s it. Save the bickering for later. Let’s move.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Beomgyu grumbled, reluctantly allowing himself to be dragged away.
“I wanna grab the window seat!” Hueningkai chimed in, skipping ahead with his usual enthusiasm.
As the three of them moved further down the path, caught in their usual rhythm of chatter and tugging and teasing, Beomgyu stole one last glance over his shoulder.
Soobin stood where they had left him, the breeze toying gently with the strands of his hair. He hadn't moved yet—maybe gathering his breath, maybe steadying his heart. And in that still moment, with the crowd shifting around him like waves around an unmoved rock, he looked both fragile and strong—like someone who had weathered too many storms and still chose to walk toward the sun.
Beomgyu’s eyes lingered on him, tracing the lines of his back, the way his shoulders squared quietly as he finally stepped through the doors of the building. He watched until the silhouette faded into the shadows of the hallway—until Soobin was no longer in sight, but still very much present.
And then, without a word, Beomgyu turned back toward the path ahead.
But something in his chest had shifted—like a note still ringing long after the music had stopped.
The cafeteria hummed with the vibrant pulse of midday—a symphony of clattering trays, the murmur of voices blending into a warm, familiar rhythm. The light filtered through the windows, spilling soft gold across the worn tables, casting long shadows that stretched lazily along the floor. Taehyun and Hueningkai had claimed a spot by the window, their laughter mingling with the sunlight, a natural warmth in the air as they settled in with their trays of food. Beomgyu trailed behind, a second tray in hand, the weight of it an unspoken gesture, an offering too familiar to need explanation.
"He'll come, right?" Hueningkai’s voice, light and tinged with impatience, pierced the casual chatter around them. His eyes flicked toward the door, scanning for a familiar figure.
"He said he would," Taehyun replied, his voice even, a calm ripple in the sea of noise. He took a sip of his juice, unfazed, his attention flicking to something only he saw.
And then, as though summoned by the very words, Soobin entered. His shirt was slightly rumpled, a testament to the morning’s rush, and his bag hung casually from his shoulder, as if it had grown accustomed to the weight of his days. His eyes swept the room, finding them almost immediately, a flicker of recognition softening his features.
Beomgyu stood, a reflex, the movement quick, his hand lifted in a careless wave. “Sunbae, over here—before someone else steals your spotlight.”
Soobin rolled his eyes at the playful jibe, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite himself. He made his way over to them, each step measured, deliberate, as if the noise of the world outside their small corner of it didn’t quite touch him. "You guys already started?" he asked, his voice warm but tinged with amusement.
"Did you expect us to starve?" Taehyun’s response was deadpan, but there was a spark in his eyes, a playful challenge behind the words.
Hueningkai, ever the enthusiast, slid Soobin’s tray closer to him. “Beomgyu got you this,” he said, his tone light, his grin barely contained. “He wouldn’t let us eat until he was done picking everything out. Kept saying, 'He’ll probably skip again if I don’t bring it myself.'”
Beomgyu shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting away. "I didn’t say it like that."
Soobin raised a brow, his gaze sharp but softened by an undercurrent of warmth. “But you meant it.”
“I just didn’t want you passing out on the first day. That’s all,” Beomgyu replied quickly, almost defensively.
Soobin met his gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his lips curving into something tender, a quiet gratitude stirring in his chest. “Thanks,” he murmured, the words simple but layered with meaning. As he sat down, his eyes drifted to the food before him, the steam rising gently, but it wasn’t just the scent of the meal that settled in his chest. It was something else—something that felt like home, like belonging, like the kind of care he’d forgotten could exist in moments like these.
The others let the silence linger, but it was a good silence. A comfortable one, woven with understanding, as if the space between their words said more than anything spoken aloud.
“So,” Taehyun broke the quiet, his chopsticks pointing playfully at Soobin, “how was your class?”
Soobin’s gaze lifted, his face brightening slightly, the light in his eyes returning. “Good. Better than I expected. It feels weird being back, but... in a good way.”
Hueningkai’s smile stretched wide. “Glad to hear it.”
Beomgyu, who had been fiddling with his food, paused for a moment longer than usual, his eyes lingering on Soobin’s face. He looked away quickly, trying to mask the sudden flutter in his chest by returning to his meal with a little too much focus.
The group had begun to settle into a rhythm, the conversation ebbing and flowing, when a familiar voice cut through the warmth of their bubble.
“Did you all really start lunch without me?”
Yeonjun’s voice rang out like a bell in the chaos of the cafeteria, carrying a lightness that made everything around him feel brighter. His presence filled the space, effortless, magnetic, as he glided toward the table with a pout playing at his lips. Despite not being a student anymore, his return always felt like a homecoming—an unspoken promise that whenever it mattered, he would always be there.
He pulled out an empty chair, his movements fluid, and dropped into it beside Soobin, who looked up at him with a mixture of affection and mild exasperation.
“We figured you’d be too busy charming your students,” Taehyun quipped, his tone flat but the glint of humor in his eyes betraying his words.
Yeonjun gasped theatrically, his hand rising to clutch at his chest in mock offense. “Excuse you. I was working on actual choreography, thank you very much.”
"Must've been exhausting," Beomgyu muttered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Look at you, all flushed and out of breath.”
Yeonjun dramatically fanned himself, though the act was more for effect than necessity. “Well, not everyone gets the luxury of hiding in a class with their best friends.”
Soobin, ever the peacekeeper, nudged Yeonjun's tray toward him. “I kept your seat warm,” he said, the words gentle, soft as the light spilling through the windows.
Yeonjun’s gaze softened, a quiet tenderness in his expression as he leaned over to drop a kiss to Soobin's temple. “Thanks, baby.”
Soobin frowned, a blush creeping up his neck, though his smile remained. “Hyung…”
“You’re still my baby,” Yeonjun said without hesitation, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from Soobin’s forehead, his touch light and unhurried.
Beomgyu, unable to hide his discomfort, looked away sharply, his chopsticks tapping against the edge of his bowl in a rhythmic, almost irritated beat. “You could just let him eat in peace, you know.”
Yeonjun chuckled, a soft, knowing laugh that carried more than just amusement. “Ah, Gyu is jealous I didn’t call him baby.”
Taehyun snorted, the sound of it cutting through the banter like a breath of fresh air. “Please don’t. He already thinks too highly of himself.”
Soobin couldn’t help but laugh, the sound soft and easy, a quiet ripple that settled over the group like a blanket. “Thank you, Taehyun, for being the voice of reason.”
Hueningkai leaned into Soobin, resting his chin on his shoulder with a feigned pout, his voice light and teasing. “Hyung~ you’re way too loved. It’s unfair.”
Soobin blinked at him, clearly flustered, though his heart swelled with the warmth of it all. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just saying!” Hueningkai continued, a grin dancing on his lips. “It’s hard to compete when Yeonjun hyung and Beomgyu are both ready to carry your books and fight your battles.”
Yeonjun grinned, his teeth flashing like sunlight. “That’s not untrue.”
Beomgyu tried his best to maintain his indifference, but the slightest pink flush betrayed him, coloring the tips of his ears. He quickly returned to his food, pretending not to notice.
“Alright, alright,” Soobin interjected, his voice rising slightly in an attempt to quiet the teasing before it spiraled too far. But his heart, tender and exposed in this unguarded moment, swelled with something new—a warmth that had long felt foreign but was slowly becoming familiar. He wasn’t used to being loved like this, not used to being part of something so easy, so good. But for the first time in a long while, he let the warmth settle into his chest, to fill the hollow places he hadn’t known were there.
Even if it was slow.
Even if it was still scary.
He had them.
And for the first time in a long while, lunch didn’t just taste like food—it tasted like comfort, like belonging, like the simple magic of shared moments that would linger long after the last bite was taken.
The days folded into one another, slipping by with the measured cadence of a life finally beginning to unfurl. Soobin moved through his classes with a focus so intense it felt almost sacred, clutching the opportunity he had carved out for himself with both hands—as though letting go, even for a second, might unravel the fragile courage it had taken to begin at all. There was a quiet desperation to his routine, but also a growing steadiness. In lecture halls bathed in afternoon light and libraries that whispered of promise, he started piecing together a version of himself he hadn’t dared to imagine.
He tried not to think too much about the house he’d left behind—the cold quiet of it, the echo of footsteps that no longer included his. But some patterns are woven deep. On the rare evenings he returned before the sky fully surrendered to night, he would still find himself preparing extra portions of food, the muscle memory of care etched into him too deeply to resist. He set aside warm containers with lids snugly sealed, labeling them with dates no one asked for. He pretended it was habit. He told himself it didn’t mean anything. But it did. It always had. The thread had frayed, but it had not snapped.
It was Jayhoon who told their father. Whether out of concern, guilt, or simply tired loyalty, Soobin didn’t know. What followed was inevitable—a storm that broke not in silence, but in the full fury of a man who felt control slipping through his fingers.
The confrontation crashed into the quiet evening like a thunderclap. His father’s voice, hoarse with rage, filled the narrow walls of their home. Bitter words were hurled like broken glass, cruel and cutting, accusations wrapped in fear and frustration. Jayhoon stood off to the side, expression unreadable, caught somewhere between regret and retreat.
But Soobin—he did not cower.
He didn’t shout back, didn’t meet fire with fire. He simply stood, spine straight, hands unclenched at his sides. His voice, when it came, was soft but immovable, carrying a weight that silence alone could never manage.
“I’m not giving this up,” he said. No tremor in his tone, no apology in his eyes.
And for the first time in years, his father found no room to argue.
There was nothing more to take from him. No obedience left to wring out, no apology left to force. Soobin had handed over so many pieces of himself for so long, but this—this was where the giving ended.
In that moment, something shifted. It wasn’t triumph. It wasn’t closure. But it was a beginning. A quiet claiming of the life he had long been told he wasn’t allowed to want.
And that—more than any apology, more than any forgiveness—was enough.
-
Look—there it is. The crack. Right there, in the fortress you're trying so desperately to build around yourself, brick by trembling brick. You think it makes you strong, unreachable, safe. But what is it, really? A cage made of fear. A quiet confession of how badly you’ve been hurt.
And yet—who are you hiding from?
From the one person who looks at you like you're worth staying for? From someone whose voice softens just for you, whose every word carries the weight of care you pretend not to need?
You must be joking.
This isn’t armor—it’s a prison. And pretending not to feel won’t make the ache go away. Not when they are right there, standing at the gates you’ve drawn with trembling hands. Not when they are gently, patiently removing each barrier—not with force, but with kindness. Not with demand, but with truth.
Soobin tried. He truly tried to keep it all in. To stay cold, distant, untouchable. But how do you keep walls intact when someone knows exactly where they crack? When Beomgyu, with all his quiet stubbornness and infuriating tenderness, keeps slipping through the smallest fractures—like sunlight seeping through a shutter, like warmth through winter air?
He didn’t storm in.
He didn’t ask for permission.
He simply stayed.
And little by little, Soobin’s walls were giving in—not to pressure, but to presence. To the unbearable realization that someone could see through all of it… and still choose to stay. Still choose him.
And now? Now the walls don’t feel like safety anymore.
Now, they feel like distance.
And Soobin—without even noticing—has already begun to lean toward the one person who’s been quietly dismantling his defenses with nothing but sincerity and care.
-
As the days unfolded, Soobin found himself slowly weaving into the quiet tapestry of Beomgyu's world-into the warmth of his circle: Taehyun, Hueningkai, Seokmin, Dino. They never pried too deeply, never demanded explanations for the bruises he carried silently or the heavy silences he wore like armor. Instead, they offered something far rarer-laughter that eased the weight, companionship that breathed life into empty rooms, and the gentle gift of space to simply be.
It was a tenderness unlike any Soobin had known before-softer, more forgiving. After Yeonjun, who had anchored him through his darkest storms, these new faces became the home he had never dared to imagine possible. Shared meals filled with clumsy conversations, chaotic group chats bursting with inside jokes, Beomgyu's quiet nods that said, without words, I see you, and Dino's casual shoulder bumps-all these moments began to fill the hollow spaces he'd carried for so long.
And, for the first time, it felt enough.
Weekends took on a sacred rhythm-slow, comforting, wrapped in quiet joy. The group gathered at Seokmin's cozy café, tucked away on a serene corner where the scent of warm pastries mingled with freshly brewed coffee, soft and inviting.
They all found their place in this gentle chaos-Soobin, behind the counter, learning the dance of taking orders with his soft smile; Beomgyu, wiping tables with a flair that somehow charmed every visitor; Taehyun, orchestrating sound with the ease of a seasoned conductor; Hueningkai, darting between strumming chords and stolen sips of Seokmin's signature vanilla latte.
When the three took the small stage, the café transformed-their music weaving a delicate spell. Taehyun's velvety voice mingled with Hueningkai's sweet melodies and Beomgyu's raw, aching depth, wrapping the room in a warm embrace like a familiar blanket. Strangers lingered longer, smiles blossomed easier.
Soobin often found himself in the quiet corners, dishcloth in hand, watching with a shy, small smile. The soft hum of life around him, the chorus of voices, the clatter of cups-it was a different kind of healing. A life finally allowed to be lived.
-
Soobin sat swallowed beneath a small mountain of open textbooks, their pages spread wide like fragile wings, while highlighters lay strewn across the library table like the remnants of a quiet storm-bright sparks of color fading into exhaustion. His notes, dog-eared and scribbled in frantic loops, were wedged between chapters, an attempt to capture knowledge slipping just beyond reach. His fingers trembled ever so slightly-fifth cup of bitter instant coffee burning away the edges of his fatigue, yet unable to quiet the unrest beneath his skin.
The library's ticking clock whispered louder than usual, each steady tick a pulse in the silence-counting down the days, the hours. One week. Seven days to prove himself, to claw back the time lost in shadow and silence.
His eyes flickered over the same stubborn paragraph, reading without reading, the words floating past like distant stars-present but unreachable. A quiet panic thudded in his chest, slow but insistent. His jaw clenched, teeth pressed together against the tremor of doubt. He had to push through. This was the fragile thread that tethered him to hope, his second chance-a chance he would not let slip.
The library had become a sanctuary, a fortress carved out of stolen moments. Every stolen lecture, every quiet club meeting, every pause at lunch was surrendered to this sacred space in the far corner by the window, where the light fell soft and forgiving.
While laughter and chatter spilled through the common room, and meals were shared in careless ease, Soobin was there-hunched and silent, scribbling furiously in notebooks, headphones pressed to ears but empty of music, a wall against the world.
Time became a blur, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. His universe shrank to the rhythmic ticking, the whispered rustle of turning pages, and the relentless ache pressing behind his eyes. He chased a dream, hungry and fierce-hungry to catch up, to prove, to belong.
They all saw it-the unyielding fire in his gaze, the constant motion of his pen tracing hope onto paper. But no one dared interrupt. They knew his silence was a shield; they knew what this meant. It was more than an exam. It was his redemption, his fight for the future he dared to claim.
So their support came softly, quietly, like a gentle breeze.
When exhaustion crept into his eyes, a cup of coffee appeared, steaming and warm like a silent promise. When hunger gnawed too deep, a snack was left beside his books-an unspoken kindness in the small things. Seokmin, guardian of the café, refused to let him work the floor, instead setting him in the sun-dappled garden corner, a stool and table bathed in golden light-"Your shift is to study," he said firmly, his voice steady as a rock. When the café buzzed with rush, Beomgyu arrived unannounced, slipping into an apron and carrying the load with quiet strength, no words needed.
At home, Yeonjun softened the world's edges-turning down the volume, offering the quietest room, learning to cook simple meals so Soobin wouldn't have to worry about the small but essential things after long days. Words were few, but the warmth in each carefully prepared bowl spoke volumes.
And in that careful, unspoken circle of care, Soobin found something he hadn't known he was missing-he wasn't alone. Not anymore.
-
The late morning sun filtered softly through the tall library windows, casting warm pools of light across Soobin's cluttered table. The clock ticked steadily toward lunch, and with a weary sigh, Soobin resolved to finish the last stubborn paragraph before retreating to the dining hall. Hueningkai's voice echoed faintly in his memory, teasing him about how long it had been since they'd all spent time together. There was truth in that, a gentle reproach that tugged at the edges of his conscience.
He felt a pang of guilt, sharp yet tender-the kind that blooms quietly when you realize how much you've buried yourself in books, leaving little room for the laughter and warmth of friends. The relentless pursuit of his goals had become a solitary path, one he walked with determination but at the cost of shared moments slipping through his fingers.
With a final glance at the page, Soobin closed his textbooks with care, the soft thud of the covers echoing like a small victory. He stacked them neatly, slid them into his backpack, and hoisted the weight over his shoulder. A slow stretch eased the tension from his shoulders and neck, muscles protesting the hours spent hunched over notes and pages. With a steadying breath, he turned and made his way toward the dining hall, the corridor's quiet hum filling the space around him.
But just as he rounded the corner, an arm suddenly slipped over his shoulders, tipping him slightly off balance. His body instinctively stumbled, but quick reflexes brought him upright again. He turned his head, eyes meeting a familiar grin-Beomgyu, mischievous and bright, eyes sparkling with playful intent.
"So? Are we finally blessed with a lunch break graced by our ever-diligent sunbae?" Beomgyu teased, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement.
Soobin's reply was muffled, edged with fatigue. "Beomgyu, please..." he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion.
"Ah, Soobin hyung! Don't look so down!" Beomgyu's voice was light but filled with genuine encouragement, his hand squeezing Soobin's shoulder in a friendly, grounding gesture.
Soobin froze-not from the touch, but from the word Beomgyu had just slipped out. The familiar term echoed in his mind, stirring something unexpected.
"Wh-what did you just say?" he asked, blinking as confusion clouded his eyes.
"Huh?" Beomgyu's innocent look was a perfect mask, lips curling into an almost angelic smile.
"What did you just call me?" Soobin pressed, voice firmer now.
"Ya! Choi Soobin, have you gone deaf?" Beomgyu replied, dramatically feigning offense.
"Beomgyu," Soobin's tone sharpened, "what did you call me just now?"
And then the grin broke wider across Beomgyu's face-an opening too tempting to resist.
"Huh? What did I call you, Soobin hyung?" His voice dropped into a sing-song tease, eyes wide and mocking innocence sparkling in their depths.
"Stop calling me that," Soobin snapped, cheeks flushing a warm pink, betraying his flustered state.
"What? Hyung?" Beomgyu dragged the syllable out, deliberately slow and teasing.
"Ya!"
"But why not? You don't like being called sunbae, and you're older than me," Beomgyu reasoned, stepping closer. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to call you?"
"No. Sunbae is fine," Soobin insisted, struggling to keep his composure under the teasing assault.
"But you're a sunbae I'm very close to," Beomgyu said, closing the space between them until his arms playfully caged Soobin in place.
Heat rose fiercely to Soobin's face, his protest coming out in a flustered, "Ya! Leave me," as he pushed Beomgyu away-not harshly, but enough to convey both resistance and a secret delight.
Beomgyu laughed-rich and unrestrained, clearly reveling in the rare sight of Soobin's bashful smile and quickly hidden embarrassment. And in that moment, the tension melted away, replaced by the easy, warm camaraderie they both so desperately needed.
-
It had become a quiet ritual, a rhythm threaded into the days like breath-unspoken, but steady. Soobin would disappear behind towers of books and curling pages, his pen dragging across margin after margin with a quiet urgency that felt like penance. Each line he underlined, each paragraph he reread, was a silent prayer to reclaim the years that had slipped through his fingers.
And without fail, the others-Taehyun, Hueningkai, Yeonjun-would drift by during their breaks, bearing small offerings. A chocolate bar tucked between notebooks. A thermos of warm coffee placed at his elbow. A teasing smile or a gentle nudge. They didn't stay long. They didn't need to. Their presence was enough-a reminder that while Soobin chased time, he didn't have to do it alone.
But it was Beomgyu who stayed. Beomgyu, who made it his mission to ensure Soobin didn't forget the simple, human act of eating.
He had learned, quickly, that Soobin had a talent for excuses. "Just one more paragraph," "I'll grab something later," "I'm not that hungry." Lies disguised as focus. So Beomgyu stopped asking. He started showing up-with trays balanced in hand and eyes that held no patience for skipped meals.
This afternoon was no different.
Beomgyu found him in his usual spot: just outside the dining hall, where sunlight streamed through high glass panes and silence lay thick between Soobin and the world. Both their trays sat untouched on the table, steam slowly curling off cooling food. It had already been ten minutes since Beomgyu arrived.
"Are you going to close that book," Beomgyu asked, sliding into the seat across from him, "or do I need to feed you myself? The food's getting cold, Soobin."
"Just this last paragraph," Soobin murmured, eyes still locked onto the page, highlighter trailing in fluid strokes. "You can start without me."
Beomgyu let out a long sigh and leaned his cheek into his palm, watching him. The sharp edge of frustration in his chest dulled only by the affection sitting quietly beneath it.
"You know I won't start without you," he said, softer now. "Be quick."
"Two more minutes," Soobin replied, not even looking up.
But five minutes passed. Then seven. The pages kept rustling, and Beomgyu's patience-always thin when it came to Soobin's self-neglect-wore out.
He sat up straighter. "Soobin?"
A distracted hum. "Hmm?"
Beomgyu called again, firmer. "Soobin."
Soobin's voice broke through his haze, irritated. "Beomgyu, wh-?"
He didn't finish.
Because Beomgyu had leaned across the table, spoon in hand, and with disarming gentleness, nudged a mouthful of rice into Soobin's open lips.
The effect was immediate. Soobin's eyes widened, startled, cheeks flushing pink as he instinctively chewed. His gaze shot to Beomgyu, who met it calmly, unwavering.
"I knew you wouldn't listen," Beomgyu said, voice low but laced with something that sounded dangerously close to tenderness. "You were going to skip lunch again, weren't you?"
Soobin blinked, mid-chew. He could have spoken, but the words tangled up somewhere in his throat. It wasn't embarrassment-not entirely. It was the way Beomgyu looked at him. Like he mattered. Like someone worth looking after.
Beomgyu scooped another bite, extended the spoon again. "Eat first," he said, with the gentle finality of someone who wouldn't take no for an answer. "Then you can go back to your books."
Soobin stared at the spoon for a second longer, then nodded-barely-and leaned forward.
He ate.
Quietly, shyly, and with the kind of silence that wasn't resistance, but surrender.
Not to Beomgyu's stubbornness-but to the comfort he brought with him.
And Beomgyu smiled, soft and secret, as though he knew exactly what Soobin had just yielded to.
-
The clock above the arched library window struck ten, its chime echoing faintly through the near-deserted building like a sigh in the silence. Outside, the sky had deepened into a velvet-black sea, scattered with pinpricks of silver stars barely visible behind the glass. Most of the campus had long since folded into quiet slumber, but Soobin remained-a lone figure hunched beneath the golden pool of light cast by his desk lamp, shadows curling around his elbows as he scribbled furiously across a page.
His eyes burned from hours of relentless focus, his wrist aching, his notes frayed at the edges from overuse. A dozen highlighted passages surrounded him like a fortress-his shield against the doubt, the time he'd lost, the pressure that coiled tightly in his chest.
And then, his phone buzzed-soft, almost hesitant against the quiet.
Beomgyu
Still alive?
A tired, crooked smile tugged at Soobin's lips, warmth flickering in the hollow parts of him. He was just reaching for his phone when the heavy library door creaked open, slow and theatrical, breaking the hush like a whisper turned bold.
Footsteps. Familiar ones.
"Okay, this is getting out of hand," came Beomgyu's voice, bright against the silence, a touch exasperated, a touch fond. He stepped into the lamplight, holding a small food container in one hand, his hair tousled from the evening breeze. "You haven't been home all day."
"I had things to-" Soobin began, guilt already curling its fingers around his throat.
"Don't," Beomgyu said, placing the container down with just enough force to silence any protest. "I asked Yeonjun hyung. You skipped dinner again."
Soobin didn't reply. He looked away, jaw tightening, the shame creeping in like frost along the edges of his resolve.
Without another word, Beomgyu dragged a chair beside him and sat down, their shoulders almost touching. He popped open the lid of the container, and the soft aroma of warm noodles rose between them, cutting through the cold library air.
"I bribed Hiyyih for this," Beomgyu muttered, tone dry but the concern in his eyes stark and unhidden. "Eat."
"I'm not hungry," Soobin said quietly, though even he knew it was a hollow defense.
"You don't have to be," Beomgyu answered, gentler this time. "Just eat."
Silence folded around them again-thick, but not uncomfortable. A silence filled with unspoken things: care disguised as irritation, exhaustion masked by stubbornness, worry tucked into every word unspoken.
Soobin reached for the chopsticks slowly, hesitantly, like someone reaching toward warmth after too long in the cold. He took a bite.
The food was still warm, slightly sweet, comforting in a way that had nothing to do with flavor.
"...Thank you," he murmured, eyes not meeting Beomgyu's, but his voice too sincere to be ignored.
Beomgyu leaned back, arms folded across his chest, watching him with that maddening mix of sarcasm and softness.
"You really suck at taking care of yourself, Choi Soobin," he said, but his tone had lost its edge.
"I'm trying," Soobin replied, quieter than before, the truth clinging to every syllable.
"I know." Beomgyu's voice was barely above a whisper now, yet steady, like a promise.
Their gazes met in the soft golden spill of light, held for a moment that stretched thin and quiet. Around them, the library stood still, like it was holding its breath. Books lined the shelves like silent witnesses. The world outside slept on. But here-in this quiet corner of paper, lamplight, and slowly unraveling walls-something unspoken passed between them. Something small, fragile, and real.
The kind of truth that doesn't need to be said aloud to be understood.
Soobin couldn't say when it began-when the quiet fissures started to snake their way through the careful walls he had built, brick by stubborn brick, over years of loneliness and hard lessons. Perhaps it wasn't a single moment, but a series of them-small, unremarkable on the surface, yet impossibly loud in the quiet of his heart.
A hand brushing his when passing a pen. A laugh too loud in the silence. A presence that lingered longer than it needed to. Every gentle word Beomgyu spoke-unguarded, unrehearsed-was a subtle touch against stone. A soft glance held for just a second too long cracked through the armor he'd wrapped so tightly around himself.
He had tried to hold on to his anger. He needed to, he thought. Anger had been easier than vulnerability. Easier than admitting how hurt he'd been, or how much he still longed for something he couldn't quite name. It gave him purpose. Direction. A barrier between what he felt and what he feared.
But how could he stay mad at Beomgyu?
Not when his presence was the balm to every silence Soobin had once mistaken for peace. Not when his voice, teasing and tender in equal measure, felt like the warmth he had craved during every cold, quiet night of pretending he didn't care.
Each small kindness-each spoonful of food offered without asking, each late-night message, each quiet act of noticing-chipped away at his defenses with a grace that was almost cruel. Beomgyu never demanded the truth from him, never asked for what Soobin wasn't ready to give. But he was always there. Waiting. Smiling. Believing.
And Soobin? He was beginning to lose the battle he'd waged with himself. Not all at once, but in slow, breathless moments when his heart beat just a little faster at the sound of Beomgyu's footsteps approaching. When his name spoken by that voice felt more like a promise than a call.
He hadn't planned for this. Hadn't meant for his carefully guarded world to shift under the weight of someone else's tenderness.
But somewhere in the quiet chaos of their days, in the laughter, the silence, the care slipped in between sentences-he had started to soften.
And Beomgyu, without ever asking for permission, had found his way in.
-
The plan had been set in motion hours ago—disguised beneath a veneer of innocent texts and easy banter, like a soft net gently cast around Soobin before he could even see it coming.
Hueningkai had sent the first thread. “Hyung, please help me with this assignment. I really can’t do it without you!”
Taehyun followed, weaving credibility into the charade. “He’s been panicking since morning. I told him you’d come. Don’t make me look bad.”
And Seokmin, in his usual disarming way, dangled the final lure: “I’ll make coffee. The good kind.”
So, with a reluctant sigh and academic guilt tugging at the edge of his resolve, Soobin found himself walking toward Yeonjun’s house—arms burdened with books, his sense of duty trailing behind him like a second shadow. Determined. Focused.
Until he stepped inside.
The apartment greeted him not with the sterile atmosphere of studying, but with softness—dimmed lights, fairy bulbs strung haphazardly across the ceiling like fallen stars, and the faint scent of caramel popcorn curling through the air like a welcome spell. A blanket fort—genuine and unapologetically childish—stood proudly between the couch and the wall, glowing gently from within.
Soobin froze mid-step, brow arching. “No one’s studying, are they?” he deadpanned.
“Surprise!” Hueningkai sang, throwing his arms wide.
“Sit, hyung,” Taehyun said as he launched a pillow at him with surprising accuracy. “Tonight, your neurons are off-duty.”
Soobin opened his mouth to protest, but Seokmin appeared like a magician with a tray of steaming mugs. “Hot chocolate. No refusal allowed. It’s sacred.”
And then Yeonjun emerged from the hallway, casual and smug. “You touch a book tonight, and I’m personally locking your bag in the freezer.”
Soobin sighed, but there was already a quiet twitch tugging at the corner of his lips, as if something inside him knew resistance was futile. “You guys are ridiculous.”
“Only because we love you,” Yeonjun said, clapping a warm hand on his shoulder. “Come on. I saved the best seat for you.”
That seat turned out to be the far end of the couch, already occupied by Beomgyu—sprawled like a content cat with a bowl of popcorn perched on his stomach, hoodie sleeves pushed up and hair artfully disheveled.
“Sunbae-nim,” he said with a grin, patting the cushion beside him. “I’ve warmed your throne.”
“Gross,” Soobin muttered, but he sat anyway, letting the cushions pull him in with traitorous comfort.
One movie turned into two. Laughter filled the air like sunlight seeping through curtains—soft, full-bodied. The explosions onscreen were met with Hueningkai’s exaggerated gasps, Taehyun’s dry commentary, Seokmin’s dramatic reenactments.
Amid the chaos, Beomgyu leaned in, nudging Soobin with a whispered smirk, “That’s you when the professor skips your raised hand.”
Soobin elbowed him lightly, deadpan. “You’re an idiot.”
And yet, their rhythm continued—teasing, hushed laughter, a glance too long. And then quiet.
Somewhere during the second film, Beomgyu’s voice softened. His quips slowed, spacing like fading starlight. Without a word, his head tilted until it landed, gentle and warm, against Soobin’s shoulder.
Soobin froze, startled by the sudden weight—the proximity, the trust in it. He turned slowly, breath held, gaze slipping down to the boy now nestled against him. Beomgyu’s lashes lay like shadows on his cheeks, his breathing soft and even, lips parted slightly as he drifted between sleep and something quieter.
And Soobin... didn’t move. Not right away.
Instead, his hand rose—uncertain at first—before brushing a loose strand of hair off Beomgyu’s forehead. His fingers lingered there, curling gently to cradle the shape of Beomgyu’s head as if it was something fragile. As if it had always belonged there.
The room dimmed further as the night deepened. Hueningkai and Taehyun were asleep now, their outlines faint beneath strewn blankets. Seokmin had disappeared into the spare room. Yeonjun sat cross-legged nearby, silently observing, his smile subdued—almost reverent.
Soobin looked down again, heart caught somewhere between stillness and storm. Beomgyu hadn’t moved. And something in that quiet—the trust, the vulnerability—twisted softly in his chest.
“You’re really annoying,” he whispered, the words barely audible, brushing against the crown of Beomgyu’s hair. “But I’m… glad you’re here.”
Beomgyu murmured something in his sleep, a quiet sigh, and nestled in closer.
Soobin allowed it. No—he embraced it.
Even when the movie ended, even when the fairy lights flickered out one by one and the others retreated into dreams, Soobin stayed exactly where he was. Letting Beomgyu remain against him, breathing, warm, safe.
The faint glow from the kitchen cast silver shadows across the room. Soobin’s gaze drifted toward the window, then back down to the boy leaning against him—equal parts chaos and comfort.
He wasn’t used to this. This closeness. This... belonging.
But tonight, it didn’t scare him. Not with Beomgyu asleep at his side like a secret held gently to the chest. Soobin’s fingers curled slightly tighter around his shoulder, a quiet promise.
Eventually, his eyes closed too, his head tilting until it came to rest lightly against Beomgyu’s.
And in that quiet—shared and sacred—Soobin finally surrendered to rest.
No dreams. No noise.
Just warmth.
Just Beomgyu.
-
The morning crept in like a secret, unfurling in golden strands across the apartment. Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, casting gentle mosaics onto the floorboards, where dust motes floated like stars caught in amber. The couch, once the scene of popcorn battles and sleepy laughter, now held the quiet hum of two hearts breathing in unison.
Soobin stirred first.
His lashes fluttered open, squinting against the warm light that touched his skin like a whisper. For a brief, suspended moment, he forgot where he was — only aware of the stillness, the softness of the blanket draped over his legs, and the comforting weight leaning into his side.
Then he looked down.
Beomgyu was still there — impossibly serene in sleep, hair tousled and sticking to his forehead, cheeks tinged with warmth, his breath fanning softly against Soobin’s collarbone. His lips were slightly parted, his expression so defenseless it tugged at something deep in Soobin’s chest.
It should have felt awkward.
But it didn’t.
It felt… right. Like the final piece in a song that had been playing quietly beneath the noise of life. Soobin didn’t move. He didn’t want to. Instead, he let his gaze linger — drinking in the curve of Beomgyu’s jaw, the way his lashes cast faint shadows, the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
A fond smile crept onto Soobin’s lips before he could stop it.
Beomgyu stirred, a low, sleepy noise escaping him as his brow twitched in protest to the light. His body shifted slightly, the spell of sleep slowly retreating. His eyes blinked open halfway, dazed and glassy with morning softness, and then lifted to meet Soobin’s.
“…what time is it?” he murmured, voice hoarse with sleep.
Soobin’s lips twitched. “Too early.”
Beomgyu blinked at him again, clearly still processing his surroundings. “Did we… sleep like this?”
Soobin gave a small nod, barely more than a tilt of his head.
There was a pause. The space between them holding something fragile and unspoken.
Beomgyu pushed himself up slightly, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, voice still thick. “You didn’t push me off?”
“You’re surprisingly heavy when asleep,” Soobin said, deadpan, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness.
Beomgyu smirked, tilting his head. “Is that a complaint or a compliment?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Soobin replied, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him.
Beomgyu chuckled, the sound warm and low. “You could’ve moved.”
“I didn’t mind.”
The words came out quieter than he intended — laced with a kind of vulnerability Soobin rarely allowed to surface. And when he looked at Beomgyu, he found the boy watching him with something unreadable flickering in his eyes — soft, searching.
Soobin cleared his throat abruptly, standing and stretching his arms over his head. “Come on,” he said, his voice too light. “Before Hueningkai wakes up and starts a pancake protest.”
Beomgyu remained where he was, the blanket pooled around his lap, eyes following Soobin with quiet intensity. “You okay?”
Soobin paused at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder.
“I think… I will be,” he said. And for once, he believed it.
Beomgyu didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The gentle curve of his smile was enough — something steady and whole in its simplicity.
-
The kitchen was bathed in morning hush, the world still caught between sleep and stirring. Soobin stood by the stove, two mugs of tea steeping slowly, the steam curling up like thoughts unspoken. Beomgyu leaned lazily against the counter, his hair still messy, hoodie sleeves half-rolled, eyes clearer now.
Soobin handed him a mug without a word.
They stood in silence for a while, sipping from their cups, letting the warmth bleed into their fingers.
Then Beomgyu spoke.
“Soobin.”
He turned slightly, brows raised in silent response.
“Thanks,” Beomgyu said, his voice gentle, “for not pushing me away last night.”
Soobin looked down into his tea, watching the ripples settle. A faint pink bloomed at the tips of his ears, betraying the calm in his voice when he replied.
“I didn’t want to.”
Beomgyu didn’t tease. He didn’t joke or deflect. He simply watched Soobin for a moment longer, the corners of his mouth lifting into something sincere — a smile that said more than words could reach.
They stood there, side by side, two hearts learning to speak the same quiet language.
The silence between them didn’t press anymore. It didn’t ache.
It had transformed — not into distance, but into a bridge.
Something to cross.
Together.
-
The rain had been falling for over an hour now, not with fury, but with the sort of melancholy patience that seemed to blur time itself. The path through campus glistened like a forgotten painting—muted, smudged at the edges, more dream than reality. Beomgyu walked through it with slow steps, umbrella tilted slightly to the side, his thoughts louder than the drizzle pattering above him.
He didn’t know why he had chosen to come this way—maybe instinct, maybe habit—but some part of him was hoping he'd find what he was looking for.
And then he did.
Soobin.
There, under the stone awning outside the library, sat a figure wrapped in stillness. Book in lap. Shoulders hunched as if trying to fold into himself. Eyes fixed on the pages but clearly not reading. The sight tugged something sharp and deep in Beomgyu’s chest. Even in the muted grey of the world, Soobin looked like the loneliest color.
Beomgyu approached quietly, shook the water off his umbrella with a brisk flick, and clicked it shut. He stood there for a moment, watching him. The way Soobin’s lashes were damp. The way he looked so very far away.
“You’ll catch a cold if you keep sitting like that,” he said, nudging Soobin’s foot gently—half to make him look up, half to remind him that he wasn't alone.
Soobin startled, looking up like someone emerging from underwater. “It’s not raining here,” he mumbled defensively, voice sandpaper-soft.
Beomgyu scoffed, but the edge never came. “I meant the damp air, genius.”
He reached into his backpack and handed him the small paper bag. “Here. Sweet potato bread. Got it from Seokmin hyung’s. Still warm.”
The way Soobin blinked at the bag and then at him—it made Beomgyu’s chest ache in a place he never acknowledged aloud.
“You went all the way there?” Soobin asked, as if kindness came with a receipt he hadn’t asked for.
“I figured you needed something familiar. Something that felt like home.”
Soobin took the bread. He didn’t say thank you. But Beomgyu didn’t need him to. The way he brought the bread to his lips—tentative, reverent—said more than gratitude ever could. Watching him chew slowly, eyes drifting to the rainfall again, Beomgyu felt something loosen in his own chest. Like he’d done at least one thing right today.
He sat down beside him, close enough for warmth but far enough not to startle him away. He wrapped his arms loosely around his knees, listening to the steady rhythm of the rain around them.
The silence between them wasn’t silence at all—it was a conversation waiting to unfold, spoken in breaths, in presence, in things too tender for words.
Then, at last, Soobin spoke.
“I feel like I’m always running behind,” he murmured, voice so small it almost didn’t reach.
Beomgyu turned his head, eyes tracing the shape of Soobin’s profile—rain-softened, half-shadowed, heartbreakingly still.
“You’re not,” he said, and he meant it with everything in him. “You just took a detour. And you’re back now. That’s what matters.”
Soobin didn’t answer, but Beomgyu saw the way his shoulders dipped, ever so slightly. A quiet surrender. A loosening of the armor he always wore.
Beomgyu leaned his head back against the stone pillar and closed his eyes briefly, letting the sound of the rain fold over them like a lullaby.
He didn’t need Soobin to speak, not tonight.
Just sitting beside him, holding space for whatever weight he carried—that was enough.
For now.
Beomgyu watched Soobin out of the corner of his eye, the way his fingers gripped the edge of the paper bag even after the last bite had been swallowed. There was something in that small gesture—something that reminded Beomgyu of how people hold on to warmth when they don’t know when they’ll feel it again.
The rain misted the air around them, soft and steady, as if the sky was whispering secrets into the wind. Beomgyu shifted slightly, just enough for his shoulder to brush against Soobin’s. He didn’t pull away.
He didn’t speak either. Not at first.
But something in the quiet between them cracked open, and Beomgyu found himself whispering, “I worry about you.”
Soobin didn’t turn to look at him. His gaze was still distant, far beyond the falling rain. “You don’t have to,” he replied, barely audible.
Beomgyu breathed in slowly, holding the cool, damp air in his lungs like it might steady the trembling underneath his ribs. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
That made Soobin glance at him, finally. There was a flicker in his eyes—a flicker of something afraid, and something that desperately wanted to believe.
“I’m not... easy,” Soobin said after a beat. “I shut down. I disappear. Sometimes I say things I don’t mean just to push people away.”
“I know,” Beomgyu said softly.
“And you still...” Soobin’s voice broke, just a little. “Still show up?”
Beomgyu didn’t answer right away. He turned his body toward Soobin, pressing one hand lightly to the damp bench between them, anchoring himself there like the truth was in the contact.
“I’m not here because it’s easy, Soobin,” he murmured. “I’m here because I see you—even when you vanish. Even when you pretend you’re fine. Even when you try to make the world think you don’t need anyone.”
Beomgyu’s voice thickened with something he rarely let anyone hear. “You could push me away a hundred times, and I’d still find my way back to you. Because you matter to me. Not the version you show everyone. You.”
Soobin swallowed, blinking fast like the words had touched something too tender.
Beomgyu leaned forward just slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, his voice almost a breath. “Let me carry a piece of your weight. Just a piece. You don’t have to do it all alone.”
Silence stretched again, but it wasn’t hollow this time—it was full. A silence that felt like the moment before a tide breaks, before a wound breathes.
Then Soobin did something Beomgyu hadn’t expected.
He leaned sideways, slowly, until his shoulder rested against Beomgyu’s. Not by accident. Not in passing. But with intent. Deliberately. Quietly.
“I don’t know how to let someone in,” he said. “Not really.”
Beomgyu turned his head slightly, letting the closeness settle between them like a fragile truce.
“Then start here,” he whispered. “With me.”
Soobin didn’t reply. But he didn’t move away either. And that—God, that—was more than Beomgyu had dared hope for.
The rain fell. The world held its breath. And Beomgyu sat there, heart full, holding the soft ache of someone finally beginning to trust.
***
Chapter Text
The sun had long since dipped beneath the jagged silhouette of the college buildings, its golden spill fading into bruised hues of twilight. A warm, melancholic amber bled through the windows of the campus, catching on glass and casting long, quiet shadows across the corridors. Though it wasn’t particularly late, the world had already begun its retreat—doors shut, conversations hushed, footsteps few and far between. Only the library remained aglow, a haven of lamplight and silence, and naturally, that’s where Soobin was.
Tucked into the corner table he had long ago claimed as his own, Soobin sat cocooned by books, pages and scribbled notes forming a quiet fortress around him. His head rested heavily on one palm, a pen cradled absently in the other. His hair fell in tired wisps across his forehead, and though his eyes skimmed the page, it was clear he wasn’t truly seeing it. There was something fragile in the way he sat—like he was holding himself together by threads that had worn thin over time.
Beomgyu spotted him before Soobin ever noticed his presence. He stood there for a moment, silent, watching.
Soobin looked exhausted—not just physically, but in that soul-deep, invisible way that came from carrying too much for too long. Beomgyu recognized it. He’d seen it before. He’d worn it himself once.
He approached quietly and slid into the seat across from him.
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice a gentle disturbance in the stillness.
Soobin blinked, as if surfacing from underwater, and lifted his gaze. “Oh… You’re here.”
Beomgyu offered a small, lopsided smile—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I always am, aren’t I?”
There was a pause before he asked, “Have you eaten anything today?”
Soobin hesitated, his eyes flicking away. “I… had coffee.”
Beomgyu sighed, the kind that came not from frustration, but concern. “That’s not food, Soobin.”
“You sound like Yeonjun hyung.”
“Well,” Beomgyu said, shrugging off his bag, “someone has to take his role when he’s not hovering around like a worried ghost.”
He pulled out a small lunchbox wrapped in a checkered cloth, the lid slightly warm to the touch. “Seokmin hyung gave me extra japchae. I didn’t eat it. Thought maybe you needed it more.”
Soobin stared at the box for a long second, as though it was something precious—too kind, too undeserved. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” Beomgyu replied, nudging the lunchbox toward him with quiet insistence. “But I wanted to.”
For a breath, neither of them moved. Then slowly, with something close to reverence, Soobin unwrapped the chopsticks. His fingers brushed the edge of the container, tentative, like he wasn’t sure how to receive something that came without expectation.
“You’re too nice sometimes,” he mumbled, eyes still down.
Beomgyu tilted his head, his voice low but fond. “And you’re too stubborn. Eat.”
Soobin obeyed, lifting the noodles to his lips. The warmth bloomed across his tongue, the familiar blend of soy and sesame and sweet pepper catching in his throat. He hadn’t realized just how hollow he felt until that first bite settled in his chest, like something unlatching inside him.
They sat in silence for a while. But it wasn’t the brittle kind—it was full, warm, like two hands resting near each other on the same table, not touching but not far.
Eventually, Soobin’s voice cut through the quiet, softer than the wind pressing against the library windows. “You’re not just doing this to be nice… are you?”
Beomgyu looked up. His gaze lingered on Soobin—on the faint crease between his brows, the way his shoulders remained half-tensed even in rest.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“All this.” Soobin hesitated. “Taking care of me. Bringing food. Sitting with me. Making it feel like I’m not… alone all the time.”
Beomgyu didn’t answer right away. He let the question hang between them, let the truth rise slowly in his throat like steam from a kettle.
“I don’t think it’s about being nice,” he said at last. His voice was quiet, a little raw. “I think it’s because I care. Not in some passing, friendly way. I mean—really care. And maybe I don’t know what to do with that either.”
Soobin looked down quickly, eyes stinging at the edges. “It’s new,” he admitted. “Having someone who stays.”
“I’m staying,” Beomgyu said simply, like a promise woven into the dusk.
A moment passed.
Then Beomgyu reached forward, slow, like he didn’t want to startle him. He didn’t take Soobin’s hand—just brushed his pinky against Soobin’s, a subtle touch, feather-light.
It was enough.
Soobin didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.
“Alright, sunbae,” Beomgyu murmured, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Let’s get you through Corporate Finance before you start dreaming about bar graphs.”
Soobin gave a weak chuckle, but it was real. His body relaxed a fraction.
And though neither of them said it aloud, something had shifted—softly, unmistakably. A thread pulled tighter between them. Not fragile. Not fleeting. Just quietly, irreversibly there.
Beomgyu didn’t pull his hand away.
Not even when the silence stretched long again, when the food was half-finished and the air between them had turned almost too still. His fingers remained where they had brushed Soobin’s—barely a touch, but enough to stir something that neither dared name.
Soobin hadn’t moved either. He sat there, as if afraid that any motion might break the moment like thin glass. His hand twitched once beneath Beomgyu’s fingers, but not to retreat. If anything, it leaned in—an inch, a breath. Enough to answer.
The library lights had dimmed slightly, their golden hue settling like a hush around them. Outside, the sky was a soft charcoal, and a breeze rustled faintly through the cracks of the window. It felt like the world had stepped aside just long enough for this moment to exist, suspended in something quieter than time.
Beomgyu finally exhaled. It sounded too loud in the stillness.
“Soobin,” he said softly, like he was saying something dangerous.
Soobin looked up, eyes meeting his. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. There was something else there now—a quiet recognition. A crackling awareness.
Beomgyu’s voice dropped. “You always look like you’re about to disappear. I hate it.”
That startled something in Soobin. “What do you mean?”
“I mean—” Beomgyu hesitated, choosing his words like they were too heavy to be careless with. “You carry things like you're not allowed to put them down. Like you think no one sees it. But I do.”
He reached out properly now, his hand finding Soobin’s on purpose this time. Warm, steady, grounding.
“I notice everything about you, Soobin. I always have.”
Soobin swallowed hard. His gaze flickered down to their hands and then up again, eyes slightly glassy, but he didn’t flinch. “Why?” he asked. The word barely came out.
Beomgyu leaned forward slowly, enough that they were closer than they’d ever allowed themselves to be. His voice was almost a whisper.
“Because you make it impossible not to.”
Their faces were inches apart now. The world had shrunk down to the space between them—a breath, a heartbeat. Beomgyu could see the way Soobin’s lashes trembled, the faint pink of his lips, the wild stutter of his pulse at the base of his throat.
And then—Soobin tilted his head, only slightly, but enough that Beomgyu felt his breath skim his cheek.
The moment was there.
Full. Unspoken. Waiting.
But instead of moving closer, Beomgyu stilled. His thumb brushed gently over Soobin’s knuckles—a promise, not yet a question.
Soobin’s eyes fluttered shut, just for a second. When he opened them again, the fear was still there—but so was something else. Something fragile and wanting.
He didn’t speak. He just squeezed Beomgyu’s hand back, a small, quiet answer to the question that was never asked.
And that was enough.
For now.
-
The honeyed light of early evening spilled through the tall, arching windows of the campus café, painting the floors in molten gold and dusting every surface with the last breath of the sun. The air inside was laced with the faint hum of jazz, the low clink of porcelain, and the quiet murmur of scattered conversations—soft and forgettable, the kind that filled silence without pressing into it.
Tucked into the farthest corner, seated by the window where the light melted against his skin, Soobin sat in quiet defiance of the hour. Pages fluttered beneath his elbows like defeated birds—half-written notes, highlighters uncapped and drying out, the rim of his coffee cup stained with neglect. His spine curved with tension, shoulders taut, and his brow drawn tight in concentration as if he could will the knowledge into permanence through sheer force of will.
He didn’t notice the door open. Didn’t look up when the bell above chimed gently. Didn’t see Beomgyu step inside, hair tousled from rehearsals, the sleeves of his hoodie bunched at his wrists, his gait loose and familiar.
But Beomgyu saw him instantly.
There was no searching—his eyes found Soobin like they always did, as if tethered. As if pulled.
He crossed the café slowly, almost deliberately, his steps quiet on the tiled floor. When he reached the table, he didn’t speak at first—only watched, lingering in the hush, his presence heavy with unspoken care.
Then, with the kind of irreverence only he could manage, he dropped into the chair across from Soobin and murmured, “Do you even remember what sunlight feels like anymore?”
Soobin’s eyes didn’t lift. “I’m busy.”
“You’ve been busy for three days straight.”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“You don’t have time to live?”
Soobin sighed, pencil still moving. “You sound like Yeonjun hyung.”
“Well, he’s usually right. Annoying, but right.” Beomgyu’s voice softened. “You haven’t eaten.”
“Not hungry.”
“Liar,” he replied simply, already tugging a lunchbox out of his backpack. He set it down between them, flipping the lid open to release the fragrant warmth of home-cooked food. “Cut the veggies. Got yelled at for cutting them too slow. Still made this with love, or at least mild affection.”
Soobin’s gaze betrayed him—one fleeting glance at the food, then away again, as if acknowledging it would unravel his focus completely.
Beomgyu noticed.
Of course he did.
He picked up a spoon with the same ease as someone reaching for a hand. “Don’t make me feed you like a toddler. I’ll do it. With airplane noises.”
Soobin finally looked up, eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” Beomgyu challenged, his grin dancing at the edge of mockery and something softer.
A long silence.
Then a resigned sigh. Soobin took the spoon with a reluctant hand and an even more reluctant flicker of gratitude. “You’re impossible.”
“Unbelievably charming, is what you meant,” Beomgyu corrected, reclining slightly, watching him eat with the quiet triumph of someone who had learned that concern, when persistent and gentle, often wore down even the strongest walls.
They sat like that for a while, the space between them no longer filled with tension, but something quieter—gentler. The golden hour dimmed into dusk, and shadows began to paint themselves into corners. Soobin’s chewing slowed. His gaze drifted to the window, then quietly, to Beomgyu.
“You don’t have to keep doing this,” he said, voice low, careful.
Beomgyu blinked. “Doing what?”
“This. Looking after me.”
Beomgyu was quiet for a beat. Then: “I know.”
“Then why?”
His reply came softly, almost too soft for the fading light.
“Because I want to. Because if I don’t, who will?”
The words hung between them, fragile and trembling. Soobin didn’t look away this time. He stared at him—really stared—and there was something raw behind his gaze. Unspoken need. Unasked questions.
“You’re annoying,” he said again, but there was no heat to it. Only weight.
“Your love language is insults. I’ve accepted it,” Beomgyu said, smiling faintly.
Later, as the café emptied further and the twilight deepened outside, Soobin leaned back in his seat, eyes softer now, posture looser. And Beomgyu, without fanfare, reached across the table to flick his forehead—a light, affectionate touch.
“Don’t burn yourself out,” he murmured. “You’re not alone, Soobin. You’re allowed to lean on someone.”
Soobin didn’t flinch. Didn’t roll his eyes. He just watched him—carefully, slowly—as if learning how to trust again.
“…Maybe,” he whispered. “Just for a bit.”
And in that moment, Beomgyu’s smile wasn’t smug. It was tender. It was quiet. It was full of the kind of pride that came not from winning—but from being let in.
The café had thinned to near silence, the warm hum of life fading into a soft lull as evening surrendered to night. Outside, the sky had deepened into a shade of blue so dark it was nearly black, save for the amber halos glowing beneath the streetlamps. Inside, the lights had dimmed to a gentle glow, casting golden reflections across the windowpane, where their shadows sat side by side—two outlines leaned toward one another, not quite touching, but impossibly close.
Soobin was still chewing slowly, his movements almost absentminded now, no longer rushed or defensive. His gaze wandered toward the window, then settled on Beomgyu again—drawn back, always back, as if gravity had quietly redefined itself around him.
“Why do you always know when I need something?” he asked quietly, his voice rough-edged, vulnerable in a way it rarely allowed itself to be.
Beomgyu didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward on his elbows, arms folding over the table between them. His eyes, usually quick with wit or mischief, held something steadier now—something deeper.
“Maybe,” he said slowly, “because I pay attention. Because when you’re tired, you tap your pen harder, and you stop humming under your breath. Because you forget to blink when you read too long. Because…” He paused, the words hovering at the edge of something dangerous.
Soobin tilted his head slightly, his voice lower now. “Because?”
Beomgyu’s throat moved as he swallowed.
“Because it matters to me,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You matter to me.”
The quiet wasn’t awkward—it was charged. Like the world had leaned in to listen. Like the air between them had condensed, holding its breath.
Soobin didn’t speak. His eyes didn’t drop. For once, he didn’t hide behind sarcasm or a dismissive smile.
Instead, he reached out—slowly, uncertainly—and closed his hand over Beomgyu’s, the one still resting on the table. It was tentative, not quite a confession, but not nothing either. His fingers curled around his, warm and trembling slightly.
Beomgyu stilled.
He looked down at their joined hands, then up at Soobin again—his heart louder than the soft music in the background, louder than the clatter of a closing register, louder than any words he could find.
Soobin didn’t say thank you.
He didn’t need to.
His touch said enough. That he noticed. That he saw him—not just as the boy who kept showing up, but as someone he was beginning to trust enough to hold onto.
Beomgyu tightened his fingers just a little, grounding the moment like an anchor.
“I’ll keep showing up,” he said gently. “As long as you’ll let me.”
Soobin’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Then opened again, softer, fuller.
“…Okay,” he whispered. “Then stay.”
And Beomgyu did.
Not as a guest.
But as something closer.
Something like home.
-
It had been raining since the fragile blush of dawn, and the world outside lay cloaked in a soft, unrelenting melancholy - the sky a sodden quilt of ash-grey clouds pressing low upon the earth, weeping gently onto the glistening college lawns. Trees bowed under the weight of the drizzle, and the puddles stretched like mirrors across the cobbled paths. Inside the library, light filtered dimly through the water-streaked windows, fractured and silvered by the trembling rhythm of raindrops tapping gently against the glass panes.
Soobin sat curled into the farthest corner of the reading room - his sanctuary - the desk before him a battlefield of highlighters, ink-smudged pages, and scribbled annotations that bled over margins like restless thoughts. The overhead lamp flickered every now and then, not with urgency, but with a kind of weary resignation, like it too was growing tired of holding the day together.
Then came Beomgyu.
He stepped in through the wide oak doors with the quiet clumsiness of someone who'd forgotten how to move indoors. Rain still clung to the edges of his hoodie, the fabric heavy, dripping faintly onto the polished floor. His hands cradled a cup of coffee, its steam curling up like a small ghost between his fingers. For a moment, he simply stood there - gaze sweeping the room until it landed on Soobin: hunched forward, brow knit in concentration, lower lip caught between his teeth in an unconscious act of focus.
"You're going to sprain your brain one of these days," Beomgyu murmured as he made his way over and settled across from him, the chair creaking softly beneath his weight. He placed the coffee on the desk with deliberate care - not loud, but just enough to announce his presence.
Without lifting his eyes, Soobin replied, dry as parchment, "Isn't that supposed to be a compliment?"
Beomgyu leaned forward, cheek pressed into one palm, his other hand lazily toying with the edge of the desk. "No. That's me telling you to stop torturing your neurons and acknowledge the weather, and me, and life in general."
"I have a target to hit today-"
"You always have a target," Beomgyu groaned, his voice carrying equal parts exasperation and affection, like a sigh worn smooth over time.
Silence settled again, tender and companionable, save for the murmuring rain and the soft rustle of paper. The kind of silence that didn't need to be filled - until Beomgyu's fingers stretched across the table and plucked the pen straight from Soobin's hand.
"Hey-!" Soobin's head snapped up, startled, blinking as if suddenly reintroduced to the world.
Beomgyu, now smug, tucked the pen behind his back with the impish smile of a child hiding treasure. "You can have this back after you take a sip of that coffee and talk to me. Five minutes. That's the price."
Soobin was about to argue, but the words faltered somewhere between protest and surrender. His eyes - sharp from hours of reading - finally took in the damp cling of Beomgyu's hoodie, the way droplets still clung to the strands of his fringe, trailing down his temple like silver threads.
The irritation softened. Something warmer settled in its place.
"You'll catch a cold like this," he murmured, barely conscious of the concern threading through his tone. He rummaged through his bag without looking, then pulled out a neatly folded hand towel - soft, worn, and slightly scented with detergent.
Before Beomgyu could react, Soobin leaned forward, wordless, and began gently patting his damp hair with small, careful motions.
The moment dilated, slow as honey. Beomgyu blinked, his body stilling as if afraid to startle it away.
"What... are you doing?" he asked, voice lower now - a thread of something unfamiliar beneath the words.
Soobin didn't meet his gaze. "Taking care of my irritating friend who insists on turning up like a half-drowned puppy," he muttered, the pink rising on his cheeks betraying the steady tone he was trying to keep.
Beomgyu wanted to laugh - to tease, to lean into the familiar rhythm of their banter - but he couldn't. Not when Soobin's fingers brushed his forehead with such delicate insistence. Not when the air between them had shifted into something softer. Denser.
Their eyes met - unguarded, unhurried - and in that fragile space, something unspoken stirred. It wasn't quite longing, not yet. But it was the prelude to it. The silence before thunder. The breath before a confession.
The world around them faded - the rain, the books, the targets, the time - until there was nothing left but two boys at a wooden table, caught in the quiet hush of something just beginning to bloom.
And neither of them, for that moment, dared to move.
-
The small garden behind Seokmin's café was bathed in the syrupy gold of a late afternoon sun, the kind that made the world feel softer, slower-as if time itself had curled up for a nap. The air was warm and fragrant, steeped in the mingled scents of sun-drenched mint leaves and delicate marigold blooms. Bees moved languidly from petal to petal, their wings catching the light like fragments of glass.
Soobin sat on the weathered bench tucked beneath a flowering trellis, his back resting against the iron scrollwork, head tilted toward the light with his eyes gently closed. An open book lay forgotten across his lap, pages fluttering in the occasional breeze, the inked words untouched-unneeded, perhaps, in that moment of stillness.
From the café's back doorway, Beomgyu stood for a while, quietly watching him. The sunlight kissed the side of Soobin's face, casting soft shadows across his cheekbones, and for a fleeting moment, he looked like something sacred-like peace made flesh. Beomgyu approached with careful steps, balancing two cold glasses of lemonade, condensation already slipping down the sides like melting silver.
"You studying with your eyes closed now?" Beomgyu teased as he lowered himself beside him, voice low and fond.
Soobin didn't open his eyes. "Osmosis," he murmured, his lips curving just slightly. "Figured I'd try absorbing knowledge through sheer will."
Beomgyu laughed quietly, offering him a glass. Their fingers brushed as Soobin took it-just barely-but enough to stir something between them, small and electric.
Silence bloomed between them after that, but it was a gentle kind-the kind that didn't ask to be filled. The sun filtered through the leaves above, casting shifting golden mosaics on their legs. The air moved around them like a breath held by the world itself.
Beomgyu took a slow sip, then lowered his glass. "Are you scared?" he asked, voice almost lost in the hush.
Soobin's lashes fluttered as he turned to look at him. "Of what?"
"The exam," Beomgyu said simply. "Failing. Falling short. Of not being who you think you're supposed to be."
For a moment, Soobin didn't answer. His gaze dropped to the drink in his hands, fingers tightening around the cold glass. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet-like something raw held just beneath the surface.
"I am. All the time," he admitted. "It's like... there's this clock in my head that won't stop ticking. And I keep thinking about everything I didn't do right, all the time I've wasted. It eats at me."
Beomgyu didn't speak. He only looked at him, the kind of look that doesn't try to fix or judge-only witness.
"You don't have to do this alone, you know?" he said after a moment, his voice low, threaded with an honesty too gentle to startle.
Soobin nodded faintly. "I know," he whispered. "But knowing doesn't change the fact that I'm running out of time. And I can't afford to slow down."
Beomgyu leaned back, tilting his head to the side so that their shoulders nearly touched. He didn't try to counter the fear, didn't offer hollow reassurances. Instead, he said the one thing that mattered.
"Then I'll sit with you," he said, eyes fixed on the leaves dancing overhead. "I'll stay. Even if all I can do is hold the silence with you."
Soobin turned, really turned, to look at him. The light caught in Beomgyu's hair, in his lashes, in the curve of his mouth. His chest tightened-an ache, but not of sorrow. It was the kind of ache that comes from finding something unexpectedly gentle in a world that's been too loud for too long.
"Why do you keep doing this?" Soobin asked, voice barely more than a breath. "Why do you stay?"
Beomgyu's eyes met his, quiet and steady. "Because you're worth it," he said simply. "Even when you don't see it. Especially then."
And in the long hush that followed, the garden felt smaller-like the whole world had folded itself around the two of them. Soobin looked down at their hands resting inches apart, then, after a hesitant beat, inched his pinky just close enough to graze Beomgyu's.
Beomgyu stilled. Then smiled.
Neither of them moved to speak. The sun dipped lower, the bees hummed on, and in that soft, golden silence, something unspoken rooted itself between them-fragile, real, and slowly blooming.
Evening slipped into the garden like a sigh-soft, quiet, lingering. The sun had dipped behind the rooftops, casting everything in a dusky twilight. Shadows lengthened, and the warm gold turned to lavender and blue, brushing gently over the edges of the bench where they sat.
Their pinkies still touched. Barely. But neither of them moved.
Beomgyu's breath caught slightly as he glanced sideways. Soobin's eyes were on the horizon, but his focus was elsewhere. Beomgyu could feel it-like the tension between two magnets about to align.
The world around them had gone still. The bees were gone, the wind had softened. Even the air between them felt charged, as if the moment had stretched too far to remain platonic.
"I used to be scared of silence," Soobin murmured, the words like petals falling from his lips-delicate, slow, honest. "When I was younger... silence felt like failure. Like something was wrong with me for not keeping up. For not speaking. For not doing."
Beomgyu didn't respond right away. He didn't interrupt, didn't shift away. He simply let the moment rest between them, as if holding it cupped between his hands-listening the way someone listens when it matters.
Soobin exhaled, almost soundless. "But when I'm with you, it's different. The silence doesn't press down on me anymore. It doesn't echo. It just... exists. Like breathing."
Beomgyu turned to him then, his gaze brushing across Soobin's face with a tenderness he hadn't yet put words to. He took in the faint tremble of Soobin's lashes, the vulnerable quirk of his mouth as he lingered on that final word.
Breathing.
And Beomgyu felt it too-that shared stillness between them, brimming with quiet truths and unspoken wants.
"I'm scared too, Soobin," he said finally, his voice low, raw at the edges. "Not of silence. But of what I might say in it."
Soobin turned to face him fully, the evening light catching in his eyes, softening him into something almost luminous. His fingers curled lightly around the rim of the glass in his lap.
"You've always been there for me," he said quietly. "Even when I didn't ask. Even when I didn't know how to let anyone in." He swallowed, his voice roughening. "I don't think I've ever thanked you properly for that."
Beomgyu's expression faltered, just slightly. A breath caught in his throat, his fingers twitching against his knee.
"You don't need to thank me," he said, shaking his head. "I don't do it for that."
"Then why?" Soobin asked, not accusing-just curious, open.
Beomgyu looked at him, really looked, as if trying to memorize the lines of his face before darkness fell.
"Because I want to be someone you can trust," he said quietly. "Someone who stays. Someone you don't have to push away when everything else feels too much." His voice softened further. "I don't want your gratitude, Soobin. I just want... to matter."
The words settled between them like dusk-gentle, inevitable.
Soobin's hand inched closer on the bench, just enough that their knuckles brushed. He didn't say anything more.
He didn't have to.
Because in that stillness-warm, hushed, fragile-they both understood: some silences were louder than words. Some were the answer themselves.
Soobin's eyes flicked to him, something trembling in the space between them. Their shoulders touched now, and neither of them pulled away.
Beomgyu swallowed, voice low and rough with something unspoken. "If I leaned closer right now, would you let me?"
The pause that followed was the length of a heartbeat-then another.
Soobin didn't look away. "Try it and see."
It wasn't a kiss, not quite. Not yet. But Beomgyu leaned in-close enough to feel the warmth of Soobin's breath, close enough that their foreheads nearly touched. The world narrowed to the space between their lips, the fragile silence that held everything unsaid.
Soobin's hand, hesitant but steady, reached up and curled around Beomgyu's wrist, grounding him. Beomgyu exhaled slowly, his free hand brushing a fallen leaf from Soobin's knee-fingers lingering longer than they should have.
Neither of them moved further. But the closeness itself was electric, sacred. A confession made without sound.
And then Soobin leaned his forehead against Beomgyu's. Their noses touched. They both closed their eyes.
No kiss. Not yet. Just the promise of one.
Just the sacred space of two people finding home in each other's quiet.
-
The library had thinned to a hush, like the fading breath of a dream. Most students had packed up hours ago, their hurried footsteps echoing off the marble tiles as they drifted out into the night. But the farthest table by the window remained occupied, illuminated by a single overhead lamp that cast a circle of soft amber over scattered pages and two silent figures.
Soobin sat hunched forward, the collar of his sweater pulled high as though trying to shield himself from fatigue. His glasses had slipped dangerously low on the bridge of his nose, and he hadn't noticed - too immersed in the gentle war between determination and exhaustion. His lips were pressed in a faint line, brows faintly furrowed, eyes darting from line to line, rereading what he'd already forgotten. The quiet strain in his posture whispered of long days and longer nights.
Beside him sat Beomgyu - not quite reading, not quite waiting - simply there. He hadn't meant to stay this long. Really, he hadn't. But he had shown up after class, warm takeout bag in hand, balancing two drinks and some flimsy excuse to justify it. Soobin had merely murmured a weary "thank you," not lifting his eyes from the page. That was all.
And Beomgyu hadn't left.
Instead, he found himself scrolling absentmindedly through his phone, never reading a single word, because every few minutes, his gaze would drift - uninvited, unresisted - to the boy beside him.
Just watching.
And tonight, unlike usual, he didn't feel the need to fill the silence. There was something sacred in the hush - something fragile in the way Soobin's fatigue seemed to seep into the air around them, heavy and honest.
Beomgyu leaned into his hand, chin resting on his palm, watching time tick on in muffled minutes. The windows had fogged slightly, city lights bleeding into the glass in blurred smudges of gold and blue. Somewhere near the back of the room, a page turned softly. The air conditioner sighed.
Soobin's pen slipped from his hand.
Beomgyu sat up slightly.
Soobin blinked - slowly, like it took too much effort - and sat up again, only to sway faintly sideways.
And then, as if guided by instinct rather than decision, Soobin's head found Beomgyu's shoulder.
A full, quiet exhale ghosted past Beomgyu's collarbone.
Time stopped.
Beomgyu froze -not out of discomfort, but because something unnameable had cracked open inside him. A rush of warmth surged through his chest, pooling low in his stomach like a secret he wasn't ready to say aloud. His breath caught, held hostage by the soft weight of Soobin resting against him - unguarded, trusting.
Soobin's hair brushed his jaw, strands feathering against his skin like a whisper. Beomgyu didn't move. He barely even breathed. His eyes flicked downward, taking in the curve of Soobin's cheek, the lashes resting against skin too pale from too many nights like this. His arm, where it touched Soobin's, pulsed with awareness - a silent ache that spread like ink in water.
Carefully - achingly gently - Beomgyu turned his head, letting his cheek come to rest against the crown of Soobin's head. His own eyes fluttered closed for a moment, just to feel it. The soft rhythm of Soobin's breathing. The warmth bleeding through the space between them. The world, quiet and far away.
In that dim pool of lamplight, nothing existed but this - a fragile, fleeting pocket of stillness.
Beomgyu glanced down again. Soobin's hand lay between the open pages of a textbook, limp, relaxed, utterly vulnerable. And something in Beomgyu reached toward it - slowly, with the reverence of someone touching light - and rested his fingers over Soobin's.
He didn't grip it. Not fully.
He just... held it. Brushed his thumb once across Soobin's knuckles, a barely-there motion, almost afraid to wake him, almost afraid of what it meant.
Soobin didn't stir.
The silence returned - not empty, but full. Saturated with unsaid things and soft permissions.
And there, beneath the hum of old ceiling lights and the fading warmth of forgotten tea, Beomgyu let himself feel it. This quiet tether. This moment he didn't want to end. He wouldn't name it. Not yet. He didn't have to.
Because it was enough to sit here with him.
Enough to feel Soobin choose his shoulder, even in sleep.
Enough to know that, maybe - just maybe - he belonged in this hush too.
And when Beomgyu closed his eyes, the corners of his lips curved, just faintly.
Because even if it would all disappear with the sunrise, even if the world would pull them back into movement and noise and pretending -
Tonight, in a room of worn-out pages and golden dust, he had been chosen.
And that...
That was everything.
-
The sun filtered through the glass roof of the courtyard attached to the library, painting the stone in hues of honey and gold. The morning was slow and reverent - the kind that asked nothing, only offered light. Ivy coiled lazily up the pillars like it, too, was still waking. Dew clung to the leaves, and the air tasted faintly of old paper and something new.
Soobin sat quietly at the edge of a worn stone bench, a warm coffee cup nestled between his hands, its steam curling into the chilled spring air. His books - untouched - lay beside him, their spines unread and silent. For once, they didn't call to him.
He hadn't gone home last night.
Instead, he'd stayed behind, letting the hush of the library hold him longer than he meant to. And at some vague hour past midnight, Beomgyu had leaned down - breath close, voice barely above the hush of sleep - and whispered that it was time to leave.
Soobin remembered the warmth first. The way his cheek had rested against something solid, how he'd inhaled the faint scent of musk and chamomile - subtle, grounding. Beomgyu.
He hadn't wanted to move.
Not from that moment.
Not from him.
And now, as dawn melted into morning, Soobin found himself adrift in the echoes of it. His thoughts looped in quiet spirals - soft, hesitant. Beomgyu had walked beside him in silence last night, steps steady, just close enough that their arms brushed now and then. He hadn't spoken a word. But he hadn't needed to.
There had been something whole in that silence. A wordless assurance. Like a lantern held out in the dark.
Soobin exhaled, the breath catching slightly as it left him.
When had this begun?
When had Beomgyu started slipping through the cracks he'd so carefully sealed shut?
Perhaps it was in the small, unspoken things.
The coffee cup that always arrived just before the exhaustion sank too deep.
The quiet companionship that asked for nothing but presence.
The way Beomgyu lingered - not like someone waiting for permission, but like someone who already belonged.
And maybe... maybe it was in the glances Soobin had pretended not to see - those fleeting looks, too soft to be casual, too careful to be confessed. Like Beomgyu was afraid the truth might spill out if he held Soobin's gaze a second too long.
Last night had shifted something.
Subtly.
Irrevocably.
Soobin's grip on his coffee tightened, grounding himself in the warmth of it.
He had never been good at this - letting people in. His heart had grown used to solitude, used to holding everyone at arm's length. Not because he didn't care, but because caring had always felt like a responsibility too heavy to bear.
But Beomgyu never asked him to carry anything.
He just stood beside him.
And somehow, in the space between their teasing and silences, between lingering glances and sleepy shoulders, something had taken root.
Something that didn't demand, didn't rush.
Something that simply was.
It sat quietly in Soobin's chest now - not a storm, but a flame. Gentle. Sure. Waiting.
He tilted his head up slightly, letting the breeze brush against his skin like a blessing, like a reminder that not everything needed to be explained.
Some things only needed to be felt.
And this - whatever it was - he felt it.
Deeply.
Tenderly.
Unmistakably.
He smiled, just a little, as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment.
Maybe it wasn't love yet.
But it was hope.
And hope, in Beomgyu's quiet presence, felt like the beginning of everything he never thought he deserved.
-
Soobin sat on the cold bench outside the principal’s office, the sterile white walls around him echoing with a silence so heavy it seemed to press against his chest. His fingers, curled tensely in his lap, trembled with a quiet desperation he couldn’t quite suppress. The crisp edge of his exam paper — the culmination of two lost years, countless sleepless nights, and the private war he'd waged with himself — weighed down the folder beside him like a stone.
He hadn’t touched his breakfast. The thought of food had made his stomach twist. His palms were clammy, his breathing shallow and erratic, and for the first time in weeks — after all the late-night revisions, whispered affirmations, and quiet prayers — his mind betrayed him with its emptiness.
“Why is it suddenly so quiet in here?” he whispered, more to the floor than anyone else, his gaze fixed on the grey tiles beneath his shoes. His voice trembled, a thread pulled taut.
Without warning, Hueningkai dropped beside him with his usual dramatic flair, exhaling loudly. “Because you’re so nervous it’s contagious, hyung,” he said, trying to inject a little levity into the tension that bound them all.
Taehyun followed soon after, his calm presence like a balm. He pressed a cool bottle of water into Soobin’s hand, his voice soft but certain. “You’ve studied harder than anyone else I know. You’ve already won, hyung.”
They could’ve been anywhere else. It was early — unreasonably early — and yet they came. Dino and Seokmin had risen before the sun to sit with him, their quiet loyalty speaking volumes. Dino didn’t say much — he only raised a firm thumbs-up, but the gesture was enough to anchor Soobin’s fluttering heart. Seokmin, ever the gentle soul, reached out and carded a hand through Soobin’s hair like an older brother might, a quiet affection in his eyes.
“You didn’t drag yourself through all of this just to break now,” he said quietly. “You’ve already done the impossible. Today is just the last door you have to walk through.”
And then came Yeonjun — steady, luminous Yeonjun — who crouched in front of him, lifting his chin with a thumb, eyes glimmering with that fierce, protective love Soobin had always tried to deserve.
“You’re going to be brilliant,” he murmured, voice hushed but reverent, like a vow. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Soobin’s forehead — an intimate, grounding gesture that made Soobin’s eyes sting.
“No matter what happens in that room, I’m proud of you. We all are.”
Soobin swallowed around the knot in his throat, breath catching as the ache of emotion rose too quickly to contain.
And then he felt it — a presence he could sense before he saw — quiet, constant, grounding.
Beomgyu.
He didn’t speak, not at first. He simply stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Soobin with a quiet intensity that undid something in him.
There was no performance, no dramatics — just an anchor. The way Beomgyu always was. Solid. Steady. There.
Soobin hesitated, his hands hanging in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them — and then slowly, surely, he let them settle around Beomgyu’s waist, fingers tightening like he might fall apart without him.
Beomgyu’s voice was a whisper against his ear. “You’ll do well. And even if you don’t — even if you forget everything the second you walk in — it doesn’t change a thing. I’m still here. We all are.”
Soobin exhaled shakily, the warmth of Beomgyu’s words flooding through him like sunlight after a storm.
“You always show up,” Beomgyu added, voice gentler still. “That’s more than most people ever do. That’s enough.”
Soobin pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes — and what he found there made his breath hitch. A quiet faith. A tenderness he couldn’t name. And beneath it, something vast and wordless, waiting for the right time to bloom.
“I believe in you,” Beomgyu said simply.
And for a second, Soobin forgot how to speak. He only nodded, a quiet breath leaving him, full of everything he couldn’t say — not yet. Maybe not ever.
Just then, the door creaked open. The principal called his name.
Everyone stepped back as if rehearsed. But Beomgyu reached out one last time, squeezing Soobin’s shoulder — steady, grounding, present.
“You’ve got this.”
Soobin nodded once more, firmer this time, the tremble in his limbs replaced by something steadier — not certainty, but belief. A belief borrowed from those who loved him when he didn’t yet know how to love himself.
He stepped inside, the weight of fear still lingering — but lighter now, wrapped in the ghost of Beomgyu’s embrace, and the soft strength of those who never stopped believing in him.
-
The clock ticked on, each second slicing through the silence like a blade.
Beomgyu paced the corridor outside the office with the restless energy of a storm barely contained. His arms were folded tightly across his chest, jaw clenched, shoulders drawn taut like a bowstring. He moved like a pendulum in motion — from one end of the hallway to the other — a quiet tempest, unable to settle, as though his very breath was tethered to the outcome unfolding behind that closed door.
His footsteps echoed faintly off the polished floor, rhythmic but tense, like a ticking metronome to the anxious orchestra of his thoughts.
Hueningkai leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, though his eyes were watchful. “You know you look like you’re the one taking the exam, right?” he asked, raising a brow.
“I’m just—” Beomgyu snapped his gaze toward him, quick and sharp. “—worried, alright?”
Taehyun, ever observant, tilted his head. “Worried,” he echoed, “or emotionally invested to the point of theatrical collapse?”
Beomgyu scoffed. “Shut up.”
Yeonjun, stifling laughter, nudged him with his elbow. “You’ve been checking that door like it owes you money. Should we just get you a spare paper and a seat inside?”
Even Seokmin, sipping his coffee like a seasoned spectator, joined in. “I say we prepare his scorecard now. Maybe throw in a medal for dedication?”
Beomgyu glared at all of them, but the flush rising to his cheeks betrayed him. “It’s not funny,” he muttered. “He didn’t sleep last night. He was pale this morning. What if he blanked out? What if—”
The door creaked open.
As if on cue, the teasing halted. Jokes vanished midair. Every pair of eyes snapped toward the entrance.
Soobin stepped out.
He was still — too still — his posture guarded, his hands white-knuckled around the strap of his bag. His gaze hovered somewhere between the floor and their faces, until, slowly, he lifted his eyes.
His face was unreadable. His expression carved from stillness. Then, he blinked — once — and his lips curved upward into a small, almost trembling smile.
“I think… I did okay,” he said, voice soft, unsure — and yet, undeniably real.
Hueningkai exploded with glee, punching the air. “That’s my hyung!”
Seokmin clapped him heartily on the back. “Of course you did. We knew it.”
Yeonjun opened his arms with all the warmth of a sunrise, and Soobin walked into the embrace like he’d been waiting to exhale. For the first time in what felt like days, his laugh spilled out, quiet but bright. Taehyun, beside them, offered a pleased nod — his version of pride.
But Beomgyu—
Beomgyu didn’t move at first.
He just stood frozen, chest rising and falling, like he was trying to absorb the moment before it slipped through his fingers.
And then, he stepped forward.
His eyes searched Soobin’s face with a gentle urgency, as though looking for signs of damage — or perhaps proof that this was real.
“You sure?” he asked, voice roughened at the edges.
Soobin looked at him — really looked — eyes meeting his like twin compasses finding north. He nodded, steady now. “Yeah. I was nervous, but I remembered everything. You were right. I showed up.”
Beomgyu’s mouth parted, a breath caught between disbelief and pride. And then, a slow, radiant smile broke across his face — the kind of smile that could light every shadow in a room.
“Damn right you did.”
Without hesitation, he stepped closer and wrapped Soobin into a firm, breath-stealing hug — the kind that didn’t ask permission, only gave reassurance.
And this time, Soobin didn’t hesitate.
He melted into the embrace, arms tightening around Beomgyu’s frame like he’d finally found solid ground beneath his feet. His voice came muffled against Beomgyu’s shoulder.
“Thank you.”
Beomgyu swallowed hard, throat tight. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, the weight of the words heavier than they appeared.
Behind them, Hueningkai pretended to dab at invisible tears. “This is better than every K-drama I’ve ever watched.”
“Give them space,” Taehyun added dryly, “Romeo and Juliet need their post-exam catharsis.”
Beomgyu flipped them off behind Soobin’s back, but the moment didn’t break. His arms remained where they were — wrapped around the boy who had just walked through his own fire and returned standing.
Because in that fragile sliver of time, with Soobin still in his arms and the morning light seeping through the windows, something settled.
Not a declaration, not yet.
But something close.
A beginning, blooming in silence.
-
Twilight had begun to cradle the sky, the golden hour slipping away like a whispered secret. Burnt orange bled into dusky violet, smearing across the horizon like brushstrokes on a fading canvas. The café, nestled in its quiet corner of the world, had emptied of its daytime hum. Only the occasional clink of porcelain and the gentle rustle of wind through the garden’s aged trees remained — sounds that spoke in hushes, as if the earth itself had decided to hold its breath.
Most of the customers had gone. Even Seokmin, ever perceptive, had retreated indoors with a knowing smile, granting the two of them the garden as though he were handing over something sacred.
Soobin sat beneath the maple tree — the old one with limbs stretched wide like memory itself — on a wooden bench polished smooth by time and weather. His arms rested loosely on his knees, and though the tension of the exam had passed, its residue lingered on his skin like dust: weightless, yet insistent. A quiet ache clung to his shoulders, not quite fatigue but something like it — a hollowness left in the wake of long-burning resolve.
He closed his eyes briefly, allowing the wind to trace soft fingers through his hair. The world felt muted, like he was floating in the silence after a storm.
And then — footsteps. Light, familiar, sure.
Beomgyu.
“Hey,” he said, his voice a soft balm against the hush. He sat down beside him with careful grace, holding two mugs. The steam curled from them like a gentle offering, rising into the twilight air.
He handed one to Soobin.
Soobin looked at it, a question in his eyes.
“Hot chocolate,” Beomgyu said, smiling slightly. “Extra cream. Seokmin hyung said it’s your favorite.”
Soobin took it, fingers brushing his for the briefest second — warm against warm. He held the cup in both hands, letting the heat seep into his palms, grounding him.
“Thank you.”
The silence that followed was companionable — rich, not empty. A silence that made space rather than filled it. The wind carried with it the scent of cinnamon and damp earth. Fireflies had begun to emerge, their soft flickers like tiny punctuation marks against the gathering dark. From inside the café, golden light spilled through the windows, painting their faces in soft amber.
“So,” Beomgyu murmured, not looking at him, “now that it’s done… how do you feel?”
Soobin stared into the dark swirl of his drink, watching the cream melt into the chocolate. “Lighter,” he said after a moment. “But tired. I didn’t realize how much space the fear had been occupying in my mind until it was gone.”
Beomgyu nodded slowly. “You did it,” he said, his voice low, reverent. “I’m proud of you.”
Soobin turned to him, caught off guard by the conviction in his tone. “You are?”
Beomgyu’s gaze didn’t waver. “Of course. You didn’t let anything stop you. Not the pressure, not the doubt. You showed up, even when everything in you told you to run. That takes a kind of strength people don’t talk about enough.”
Soobin’s throat tightened, the words catching somewhere between his chest and mouth. “I… I wouldn’t have made it without you.”
Beomgyu blinked. “What?”
“You showed up,” Soobin repeated, his voice a little steadier now. “Every day. Even when I didn’t ask. You brought food, dragged me outside when I forgot how to breathe, irritated me just enough to remind me I was alive.” He smiled faintly, his lips trembling around it. “You were… there. Always.”
Beomgyu didn’t speak. He just looked at him — a look that stripped away every mask, every carefully constructed wall. His eyes softened, flickering with something that looked like wonder and heartbreak at once.
“I was scared,” Soobin continued, the confession slipping out like a secret long buried. “Not of failing the exam, exactly. But of disappointing everyone. Of disappointing you.”
Beomgyu set his mug down on the bench, shifting closer until their knees touched.
“Listen to me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper but sharper than any shout.
Soobin lifted his gaze.
“You could fail a hundred tests, mess up a thousand times — and I’d still be here. You get that, right?”
Soobin opened his mouth, but no words came. Only a nod, small but real.
Beomgyu reached out, fingers curling around the edge of Soobin’s sleeve — the lightest touch, but steady, grounding. A silent gesture that said, I’m here. I’m not letting go.
“I don’t care about your grades, Soobin. I care about you.”
Soobin’s eyes dropped, catching the way their fingers were now brushing. Barely touching, but enough to send something fluttering in his chest — delicate, uncertain, alive.
Above them, the garden lights flickered on with a soft hum, draping the moment in gold.
Then, Beomgyu leaned back a little, his voice laced with mock seriousness. “Also — you’re banned from textbooks for the next 48 hours.”
Soobin blinked. “Is that so?”
“Yep. Non-negotiable. Any attempts to study will be met with force.”
“And what exactly does that entail?”
Beomgyu grinned. “I'll drag you back here, toss your notes into the espresso machine, and bribe Seokmin hyung to bar you from re-entry.”
Soobin laughed then — a real laugh, bright and unrestrained. The sound cracked something open in the quiet.
Beomgyu watched him, eyes crinkling, the curve of his lips soft and full of something he couldn’t name yet — or maybe just wasn’t ready to.
And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Soobin leaned his head against Beomgyu’s shoulder. No hesitation. No words. Just warmth seeking warmth.
Beomgyu stilled, only for a moment — then leaned in too, letting his head rest gently against Soobin’s.
Neither of them spoke.
They didn’t need to.
The garden held them quietly — two silhouettes stitched together by twilight, steam rising from forgotten mugs, heartbeats falling into rhythm beneath the soft rustle of leaves.
And somewhere between silence and breath, something began.
The wind had quieted to a tender breath, threading through the maple leaves like a lullaby murmured by the earth itself — as though even nature, in its vast and knowing grace, had chosen to hush its voice in reverence of the moment unfolding beneath the boughs.
Soobin remained nestled against Beomgyu’s shoulder, their half-empty mugs now forgotten beside them on the weather-worn bench. There was no need for warmth from porcelain when the heat between them flickered so quietly, so completely, kindled by something more intimate than fire — presence, trust, the slow unwinding of guarded hearts.
Beomgyu turned ever so slightly, gaze falling upon the soft curve of Soobin’s brow, the way the dying light traced gold across his skin. His lashes lay undisturbed against his cheeks, like the wings of something fragile at rest. The stillness of him — the quiet gravity — made something in Beomgyu’s chest stutter, tremble. Or perhaps it had always been trembling, only now he had found the courage to name it.
And so, with a gentleness that bordered on reverence, Beomgyu leaned forward — a breath’s width, no more — and pressed a kiss to Soobin’s forehead. It was not a declaration nor a question. It was simply an offering. A truth whispered into skin.
Soobin went still, a breath caught between the inhale and the exhale. Not startled. Not afraid. Just suspended — like his body had paused to memorize the weight of that single, tender moment.
Beomgyu remained there, unmoving, as if the world might fracture if he dared to pull away too soon.
When Soobin lifted his head at last, his expression was unreadable at first — not because it was veiled, but because it was bare. Unshielded. Eyes soft with something like wonder.
“What was that for?” he asked, and his voice was quieter than the rustling leaves — the kind of quiet that comes after a long silence, not to fill it, but to keep it sacred.
Beomgyu looked away, flustered. “I… I don’t know,” he murmured, the words almost lost to the dusk. His gaze wandered to the horizon, now painted in hues of fading rose and lavender, as though the sky, too, had begun to exhale.
“Huh?” Soobin tilted his head, brows drawn together, puzzled by the deflection.
Beomgyu’s lips curled, half a smirk, half a shield. “You didn’t ask Yeonjun hyung when he kissed your forehead.”
Soobin blinked, and then — slowly, softly — a smile unfurled on his face. Not amused. Not teasing. Just honest.
“I didn’t ask him,” he said, “because I already knew why he did it.”
And then he paused, eyes not leaving Beomgyu’s. “And I know why you did it, too.”
Beomgyu turned to him fully now, heart in his throat, breath thinning.
Soobin’s hand reached out, fingers brushing his with a hesitant grace, like the beginning of a new language spoken in touch.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began, voice so low it felt like a confession carried on the dusk. “About how it's always your voice I wait for when I’m weary. How your presence turns the air easier to breathe.”
His eyes lifted — and they were shining, not with tears, but with clarity.
“And I think… I want to stay close to you. Not because you’re familiar or kind or comforting — though you are all those things. But because with you… I feel like I finally belong.”
He moved closer, slow and unhurried, each inch an invitation.
Beomgyu didn’t retreat. His stillness wasn’t hesitance — it was awe.
Soobin’s hand rose to cradle his cheek, the touch feather-light but unyielding in its care. Their foreheads met first — skin to skin, breath to breath — the world narrowing into the sacred space between them.
Soobin’s gaze dropped — first to Beomgyu’s lips, then back up. It wasn’t intentional. It was instinct. And Beomgyu’s breath stilled in his chest.
“Soobin…” he whispered, his voice breaking into the space like a prayer.
Soobin lifted a trembling hand and traced Beomgyu’s bottom lip with the pad of his thumb — not to tease, but to learn, to remember. As if he was sculpting the moment into memory.
“Can I?” he asked — not desperate, not afraid, just utterly present.
Beomgyu’s answer came not in words, but in the way his fingers curled into Soobin’s shirt — as if anchoring himself to this very moment, to this truth.
He nodded. Once. Twice. Barely.
And when they leaned in — slowly, gently — it was not the crash of stars, but the bloom of something older, quieter, and infinitely more profound.
Their lips met in a kiss that was nothing like the ones described in hurried books or sung in echoing choruses. It was the hush of two hearts reaching across the silence. It was unspoken longing finding its voice in the press of skin. It was trembling, sacred, real.
Beomgyu made a sound — half a sigh, half a breath — and it made Soobin ache in the most beautiful way. The kiss deepened just slightly, but that was enough. It didn’t ask for more. It only gave. Every second was a promise — I’m here, I see you, I won’t leave.
When they pulled apart, their foreheads remained touching, noses brushing. Their eyes stayed closed, as if to hold the magic a moment longer.
Neither spoke. The world had stilled for them, and words suddenly felt too loud.
Then, at last, Soobin spoke — soft, steady, trembling with truth.
“I’m really glad I found you, Beomgyu.”
The name — his name — in that voice, in that moment, unraveled something in Beomgyu he hadn’t realized he’d kept bound.
His smile — raw, quiet, utterly unguarded — broke across his face like sunrise.
“Me too,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.
And in the hush that followed, with the stars blinking awake above them and the garden wrapped in golden twilight, they remained — not holding on, but letting go. Letting go of fear. Of silence. Of all the days they hadn’t said what they felt.
They simply existed.
Together. Present. Home.
***
Chapter Text
Not much had changed on the surface - and yet, everything had. They still bickered over the smallest things, still passed sarcastic remarks with narrowed eyes and barely-hidden smiles. They still looked out for each other in quiet ways: a nudge of a water bottle, a note slipped across the desk, a coat draped over slumped shoulders during late-night study sessions.
But there was something new threaded between the familiar - a subtle shift in gravity.
They found themselves leaning into each other more often, as if pulled by some invisible thread stitched quietly into shared glances and half-spoken thoughts. Their laughter softened when directed at one another, their touch lingered a beat too long, and their silences stretched - not in discomfort, but in comfort.
Among their friends, they drifted toward each other instinctively, like two halves finding their place without needing to ask. Sitting side by side became less of a coincidence and more of a constant. It was unspoken, unnamed, but undeniable - a gentle closeness that didn't need explanation.
Something had changed, yes - not loudly, not suddenly - but in a way that made it feel like they had always been heading here. Like this quiet, growing bond had been waiting patiently beneath every moment they ever shared.
-
The café was alive with warmth that evening - not just from the soft hum of chatter or the sweet aroma of caramel and roasted beans, but from the laughter echoing off the walls. It was one of those Saturdays where time felt like it stretched and folded in kindness.
Seokmin manned the counter, Dino juggling the tables with practiced ease, and Hueningkai strummed a mellow tune on his guitar while Taehyun softly tapped the table in rhythm. Yeonjun was sprawled across one of the couches, one leg hooked over the armrest, playfully tossing sugar packets at anyone who dared ignore him.
Beomgyu and Soobin sat nestled on the far side of the room, side by side on the old leather bench beneath the large window that spilled golden sunlight onto their skin. Their shoulders touched - neither pulled away.
"You look less like a ghost today," Beomgyu said, glancing sideways, a half-smile tugging on his lips.
"I got more than three hours of sleep last night," Soobin replied dryly. "I know. Miraculous."
Beomgyu nudged him with his knee, grinning. "Proud of you, sunbae."
Soobin tried to scoff, but his smile betrayed him.
A moment later, Seokmin poked his head out from behind the counter. "Hey! The pottery corner's free. Someone left everything set up - bowls, paint, even that ridiculously expensive clay."
"Want to go?" Beomgyu asked, turning to Soobin.
Soobin hesitated, eyes darting to the others. "Just us?"
"Yeah. Let them argue over who gets the last cinnamon roll."
-
The pottery corner was hushed, its silence only broken by the soft crackle of an old record spinning in the corner - a mellow instrumental hum, thick with nostalgia and warmth. The sun had dipped just low enough to cast golden shadows on the tiled floor, brushing against the floating dust like something sacred.
Soobin stood by the wheel, hesitantly dipping his fingers into the cool, malleable clay. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, collar slightly open, neck gleaming with the faintest sheen of afternoon warmth. He looked focused - maybe too focused - brow furrowed, jaw clenched in a way that Beomgyu couldn't help but stare at.
Beomgyu stepped closer, chest brushing against Soobin's back lightly, the space between them narrowing until their breath felt shared.
"Relax," he whispered, voice low and almost teasing. "It's not going to bite."
"I don't want to ruin it," Soobin murmured.
"You won't. You just need to feel it."
Beomgyu reached around him, sliding his hands over Soobin's, guiding his movements on the spinning clay. Their fingers tangled, warm and slick with water and earth.
Soobin stilled - not from uncertainty, but from the sensation of Beomgyu so close. He could feel the rise and fall of Beomgyu's chest against his back, the subtle brush of breath along the side of his neck.
"See?" Beomgyu said softly, "You just have to be gentle with it."
His voice dropped, not intentionally, but because something in him faltered - the moment growing too tender to stay playful. His fingers wrapped around Soobin's more deliberately now, their palms pressing into each other as the shape slowly rose from the wheel - imperfect, but real.
They weren't speaking anymore. There was no need. The air between them buzzed - not from the music, not from the spinning clay - but from every accidental brush of knuckles, every breath shared too closely, every pause that lingered longer than it should.
Soobin glanced sideways, and their eyes met - not sharp, not sudden, just soft. Curious.
Beomgyu swallowed, blinking slowly, a faint flush rising in his cheeks. He didn't move away.
Soobin tilted his head just slightly. "You're enjoying it way too much"
Beomgyu chuckled under his breath, his smile crooked. "More than you could ever think of"
Soobin's breath caught, just for a second - and then he turned his hands within Beomgyu's grip, twining their fingers together, letting the wheel come to a slow, wet stop.
They stood like that for a long moment - clay drying on their skin, hearts beating a little too loudly for comfort, the kind of silence that says everything neither of them had dared to voice yet.
Beomgyu lifted Soobin's hand slowly, brushing a thumb across the smudge of clay on his wrist.
"I think we ruined it," Soobin whispered, eyes still on their failed creation.
Beomgyu smiled. "We made something else instead."
And for a second - just a second - it felt like the place, the music, the world beyond the walls, all slipped away. There was only the lingering warmth of hands still entangled and the weight of something just beginning to bloom between them.
Beomgyu leaned back first, stretching his arms behind his head with a dramatic sigh. "Well," he smirked, looking at their very unprofessional clay piece, "either we're terrible potters, or we're excellent at being distracted."
Soobin raised an eyebrow, washing his hands in the ceramic basin nearby. "I wonder why," he said, voice dry, but there was a flicker of something shy in his eyes.
Beomgyu padded over to the shelf beside him, pretending to reach for a towel - but as he passed, he dipped down and brushed a soft kiss against Soobin's cheek, just near the corner of his mouth.
Soobin jolted slightly, blinking. "What was that for?"
Beomgyu grinned. "You were in the way."
"In the way?"
"I was going for the towel," Beomgyu said, pulling it out and tossing it at Soobin playfully. "Don't flatter yourself."
Soobin stared at him for a second, a half-smile forming, cheeks warm. "Oh? Then I must be in the way again," he said, taking a step deliberately into Beomgyu's space and pressing a feather-light kiss to his cheek, just under his eye.
Beomgyu froze.
"You know," Soobin added with a quiet laugh, "you could've just said you wanted to kiss me."
Beomgyu looked at him, stunned for half a breath, before letting out a soft chuckle. "So now you're the confident one?"
"I'm just returning the favor."
The room was filled with quiet laughter, the kind that lingers between shared glances and unspoken things. As they moved around, cleaning the mess they'd made, it became a quiet game - bumping into each other with muttered "excuse me"s, slipping in a kiss on the cheek or temple, as though each touch was part of the rhythm between them now.
Soobin knelt down to pick up a sponge that had rolled off, and Beomgyu, in passing behind him, leaned in to kiss the top of his head.
"That doesn't even make sense," Soobin muttered, cheeks red and smile shy.
"Shh," Beomgyu whispered, "you're still in the way."
They laughed together, a soft, breathless sort of laughter - the kind born from warmth, from closeness, from not needing to pretend anymore. As the clay dried and the light outside turned amber with evening, they stood shoulder to shoulder, hands a little dirty, hearts a little fuller, knowing that something had changed in ways neither of them could deny anymore.
And neither of them wanted to.
By the time they finished tidying up the mess of clay and laughter, the golden hue outside had faded into a dusky lavender. The light spilling through Seokmin's café windows was warm and familiar, the aroma of garlic and grilled vegetables wafting in the air.
"Come on," Beomgyu said, brushing his fingers lightly over the back of Soobin's hand before walking ahead. "They'll yell if we're late again."
Soobin followed, heart still quietly buzzing with the softness of earlier moments, every stolen kiss still lingering like a secret between them.
Inside the café, the table was already half-filled - Yeonjun waving dramatically when he saw them enter, Hueningkai making space beside him, and Taehyun casually refilling everyone's glasses with water.
"You both took forever," Yeonjun teased, eyes narrowing with a knowing glint. "What did you do? Build a palace from clay?"
"Maybe," Beomgyu smirked, sliding into the seat beside Soobin, their knees brushing under the table. "A small one. Cozy. Enough for two."
Soobin flushed but didn't look away this time. He simply reached for the napkins and handed one to Beomgyu like it was the most natural thing.
"Gross," Hueningkai teased lightly. "You're doing the quiet couple thing now. Matching movements and all."
"We're not-" Soobin began, then glanced at Beomgyu, who was grinning like he knew. He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
Seokmin and Dino brought out the dishes - steaming pasta, roasted mushrooms, grilled tofu, garlic bread - and the table filled with warmth and chatter. Laughter echoed around them. At some point, Beomgyu started placing cherry tomatoes on Soobin's plate without asking, and Soobin didn't even notice until Hueningkai pointed it out with a dramatic gasp.
Taehyun watched all of this with a subtle smile, gently kicking Beomgyu's foot under the table. "You're transparent."
"Good," Beomgyu murmured, not looking away from Soobin, who was quietly chewing with flushed cheeks but the softest smile curling his lips.
There was no grand announcement. No dramatic declarations. Just soft glances exchanged in candlelight. The casual reaching for the same glass and fingers brushing. The way Soobin didn't move when Beomgyu leaned a little too close to show him something on his phone. The way Beomgyu looked at Soobin like nothing else in the room mattered.
And when Soobin laughed - really laughed, head tilted back, eyes crinkling - Beomgyu didn't hide the way he looked at him. He didn't even try.
The others noticed.
But no one said anything.
Because whatever was blooming between them - it was quiet, it was slow, and it was real.
And it was just getting started.
-
It was a quiet evening - the kind that draped itself gently over the campus like a soft blanket. The skies, dyed in the muted shades of lavender and rose, glimmered with the fading remnants of golden hour. A warm breeze rustled the fallen leaves along the café pavement, the air laced with the faint scent of brewed coffee and fresh bread.
Hueningkai meandered around the campus café with his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, eyes half-lidded, head empty for once - and blissfully so. The stress of mid-term exams had just lifted, and for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could breathe without counting seconds or pages.
His friends were scattered in their little corners of productivity. Beomgyu was, unsurprisingly, nestled in the library beside Soobin - they'd practically taken over that spot between the tall windows and the fiction section, often whispering and bickering in hushed tones that somehow always ended in shy smiles or quiet nudges under the table. Taehyun was buried deep in melody lines with Jay and Heeseung, their heads bent together in a flurry of notes and tapped rhythms.
But Hueningkai? He wanted none of that today.
He stepped over a stone path behind the café and paused by a short brick wall where flowerpots sat, half-blooming in late-season resilience. He ran his finger lazily along the rim of a ceramic pot, watching a bee hover uncertainly above a petal before darting away.
With nowhere to be, he strolled along the curve of the garden café, poking his head into the back seating area, where the light buzz of students still lingered. The warmth of the day was fading, replaced by the cooler breath of early nightfall, and yet everything felt beautifully... still.
A smile tugged at his lips as he imagined the scene in the library - Soobin frowning in concentration, Beomgyu whispering something obnoxious to make him roll his eyes, only to end up sitting a little closer than before. The thought made Hueningkai chuckle to himself.
"They're such a married couple," he mumbled with affection, shaking his head.
Just then, Hueningkai's wandering gaze fell upon a figure seated quietly on one of the old stone benches that overlooked the garden. The silhouette was unmistakable - shoulders slightly hunched, head bowed as if in deep thought, surrounded by the tender hush of twilight. A familiar warmth stirred within Hueningkai's chest at the sight.
A soft, knowing smile played on his lips as he approached, the soles of his shoes crunching gently against the gravel path. There was something serene about the moment - the quiet hum of nature, the golden blush of the setting sun brushing the treetops, and that figure, so still, like he belonged in the frame of a painting.
Without a word, Hueningkai lowered himself onto the bench beside him, their shoulders almost touching. The sudden shift made the other boy jolt. Startled, he quickly scrambled to close a small packet and shove it into the depths of his backpack, as if trying to hide it from the world - or perhaps from himself.
Hueningkai blinked, surprised but amused, his brows rising as he tilted his head to the side. "Jayhoon?" he said gently, watching the boy's stiffened posture and the way his hands fumbled with the zipper. "What was that just now?"
There was no accusation in his tone, only a soft curiosity - the kind that could make someone feel safe enough to tell the truth. But Jayhoon's panicked reaction was undeniable, as though he had just been caught with something far more delicate than mere paper or flowers. As though his heart had been found out.
"It's none of your business," Jayhoon snapped, his voice edged with that cold bluntness he always seemed to wear like armor.
Hueningkai stilled. Something flickered in his chest-annoyance, yes, but underneath it, a deep and aching frustration. He was so tired of this dance. The constant push and pull. The deflection. The walls Jayhoon built so high that no one could even knock on the door.
With a sigh that trembled between disappointment and determination, Hueningkai turned to face him completely. His gaze locked onto Jayhoon's, unflinching.
And that's when it hit him-really hit him.
Never once, not since the first time they'd crossed paths, had he seen Jayhoon's face unmarked. It was always bruised or bloodied, always a story told in silence, in dark purples and dull reds. His real face was still a mystery buried beneath the remnants of pain he refused to explain.
"Oh, it is so my business," Hueningkai said, voice low but steady. And with one swift motion, he reached forward and yanked the backpack from Jayhoon's grip.
"Kai, don't-! Give it back!" Jayhoon protested, scrambling after it, eyes wide with panic, desperation clinging to his words.
But it was too late.
Hueningkai had already creaked open the zipper. The moment stretched like the quiet before a storm, the space between them heavy with unspoken fears and truths begging to be let out.
And inside-what Hueningkai saw would say more than anything Jayhoon ever had.
Hueningkai's neck snapped toward Jayhoon, eyes wide as the realization settled like a stone in his stomach.
"You- you're-" the words faltered on his tongue. They wouldn't come out, not because he didn't know what to say, but because too many things crowded his chest at once-shock, confusion, a rush of protectiveness, and somewhere beneath it all, betrayal that Jayhoon hadn't trusted him enough to say anything.
Jayhoon refused to meet his gaze. His hands were trembling as he pulled the backpack back into his lap and zipped it closed with forced composure. "I told you," he muttered, voice low, barely masking the tremor running through it. "It's none of your business."
But it was-God, it was. Hueningkai didn't say anything for a long moment. He just stared, watching the way Jayhoon's knuckles turned white from gripping the fabric too tightly, the way his shoulders curled inward as if bracing for judgment or pity.
Hueningkai stood abruptly, the scraping of the bench legs echoing against the quiet hush of the garden. In one swift, furious motion, he grabbed Jayhoon's backpack and threw it to the ground, the soft thud of its fall sharper than any yell.
"You're doing drugs?" Hueningkai said, his voice shaking with disbelief, rage, and something far deeper. "You're consuming them, maybe even selling them-God knows what else. You show up with bruises every damn time, and when I ask, you brush me off. And now you're telling me it's none of my business?"
His voice cracked. "Did you forget that we're friends, Jayhoon?"
Jayhoon's expression didn't falter. But his eyes-his eyes flickered with something like pain before he quickly masked it under a layer of cold defiance.
"Friends?" he scoffed, laughing without humor. "I never wanted to be your friend, Kai. You forced it on me. You latched on like some bright, naive kid who thought you could fix whatever darkness you saw in me. I never asked for any of it."
The words hit Hueningkai like a punch to the chest.
He blinked, his throat burning, and all that warmth he'd carried for Jayhoon-every worried glance, every quiet moment they'd shared under the pretense of nothing-trembled on the edge of shattering.
Just then, the sharp crunch of hurried footsteps over gravel pulled Hueningkai's attention. A group of boys-three, maybe four-stormed toward them from the far end of the garden, their faces twisted with anger, fists clenched around iron rods and wooden sticks. The hostility in their movements was unmistakable.
Hueningkai's heart lurched. He turned to Jayhoon, whose body had already stiffened, eyes wide with panic, instinctively raising his arms as if to shield himself-an all-too-familiar reaction.
"Get behind the bench," Hueningkai said, low and firm, no hesitation in his voice.
For once, Jayhoon didn't argue. He ducked behind the stone bench, crouching low, arms still trembling.
Hueningkai took a deep breath, quickly raking his fingers through his hair, trying to wipe the nerves off his face. He took a single step forward, placing himself directly in their path, becoming the shield Jayhoon never asked for.
The group halted in front of him, eyes scanning the area.
"Hey," one of them barked. "You seen that guy Jayhoon? Engineering student-ratty jacket, black hair, looks like he's been in a fight with life and lost?"
Hueningkai blinked, feigning confusion, then shook his head. "No, haven't seen anyone like that."
The boys narrowed their eyes, unconvinced.
"But," Hueningkai added quickly, nodding toward the pathway curving behind the greenhouse, "I did see someone sprinting in that direction a few minutes ago. Looked like he was in a hurry."
The group exchanged glances. One of them cursed under his breath.
"Let's go," another muttered, and just like that, they took off in the direction Hueningkai had pointed, their silhouettes disappearing into the trees and winding paths.
Hueningkai stood there a moment longer, waiting, breathing slowly to calm the storm inside his chest. When the silence returned, he turned toward the bench.
"You can come out now," he said.
Jayhoon emerged slowly, eyes darting around, still cautious.
"You didn't have to do that," he said after a long pause, voice tight.
Hueningkai let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah, well... I wasn't about to let them use your face as a punching bag."
Jayhoon looked at him, really looked at him this time. There was something in his eyes-something that cracked through the walls he'd kept up for too long.
And for once, he didn't scoff. He just whispered, "Thanks."
"Jayhoon," Hueningkai began softly, his voice threaded with quiet hurt but never anger, "I simply wanted to be friends with you. That's all."
His eyes searched Jayhoon's face, hoping to be understood, even a little.
"I saw you a few times-how you were always getting beaten up, how no one seemed to notice or care. And then, when you stumbled into me-literally or not-I just thought... maybe it'd be okay to be your friend. Just someone you could talk to. Someone who'd stand with you even if you didn't say a word."
Jayhoon looked away, jaw clenched. But Hueningkai continued, undeterred.
"I never wanted to force myself into your life. But maybe I did press in too much, and I'm sorry if I crossed a line. I won't do that anymore." His voice wavered slightly, then steadied again. "But please... don't do this to yourself."
Jayhoon's gaze dropped, fingers tightening around the strap of his backpack.
"Drugs aren't a solution to anything," Hueningkai said, gentler now, like he was trying not to break something already fragile. "They won't take the pain away. They won't make the bruises fade any faster. All they'll do is drag you further from the people who might actually care. Even if you don't believe it right now... someone does. I do."
A heavy silence followed. The kind that only comes after truth is laid bare.
Jayhoon didn't speak. He couldn't. But for the first time, he didn't run either. And that, Hueningkai thought, was better.
Hueningkai stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat as Jayhoon began to speak, voice barely above a whisper, like the words had been buried for far too long.
"I was forced to parcel drugs," Jayhoon said, eyes not meeting his.
Hueningkai blinked, stunned that he was finally hearing the truth. The truth Jayhoon had buried beneath bruises and silence.
"I thought it was fine at first," Jayhoon continued, "The pay was huge. I didn't ask questions. A big group dealing in the area-they chose me to deliver packets to university students, even high schoolers sometimes."
His voice trembled but didn't falter. Hueningkai didn't speak, just listened, his chest tightening with every word.
"It was okay for a few weeks. I would pick up the packets from one of their members and hand them off. Clean, quiet, and fast. But then... during one of their celebration parties-after we hit a major deadline-someone spiked my drink."
Jayhoon's hands were trembling again now, fists clenched at his sides.
"I didn't know what it was. But after that... nothing tasted good anymore. Everything felt hollow unless I had that drug again. I begged the guy who gave it to me for more, but he laughed. Said it was the most expensive one they had. That I didn't deserve it."
Hueningkai's stomach turned.
"So I-" Jayhoon choked, swallowing hard. "I started stealing from my dad's room. His wallet. His savings. I didn't care. I just... I needed it. Needed it like it was oxygen."
The shame in his voice nearly shattered Hueningkai.
"When that wasn't enough... I started taking the drug from the store. From the parcels meant for others. Just small amounts. Just enough to get through the day."
He paused, exhaling sharply.
"But they found out. And when they did, they didn't just kick me out. They started using me. Hurting me. Every time they felt like it. As punishment. As a warning."
He finally looked at Hueningkai then-raw, exposed, not hiding behind sarcasm or distance anymore.
"I didn't want this life, Kai. I didn't choose it. But I didn't know how to get out either."
Hueningkai's throat tightened, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He stepped closer, reaching out slowly-afraid Jayhoon might flinch-but the boy didn't move.
"You're out now," Hueningkai said, voice low but resolute. "You told me. That's the first step."
Jayhoon looked down, and for the first time in a long while, allowed himself to believe-just a little-that maybe he didn't have to carry all of it alone anymore.
The crisp afternoon air carried the faint aroma of roasted coffee beans as the sound of a familiar voice sliced through the stillness.
"Jayhoon? Hueningkai?"
Both boys turned their heads in unison, startled from their quiet bubble of tension. Striding out of the café with an Americano in hand, Yeonjun approached them, the steam from his cup curling lazily in the air. His brows were slightly furrowed, an inquisitive shadow dancing across his features as his gaze shifted between the two.
"Oh! Yeonjun hyung," Hueningkai greeted, rising to his feet, his voice lighter now, touched by a flicker of relief.
Yeonjun's eyes flicked from Kai to Jayhoon, his confusion gradually giving way to curiosity. "You guys... know each other?"
"Yeah," Hueningkai replied with a small grin, nudging Jayhoon lightly with his shoulder. "We've bumped into each other around campus a few times. Friends now."
Jayhoon didn't say anything, but the lack of resistance in his posture said enough.
Yeonjun nodded slowly, as if piecing together an unexpected puzzle. "Huh. That's good." His voice held something more than polite approval-something subtly protective.
Then Hueningkai tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "Wait, you know Jayhoon?"
Yeonjun gave a soft hum, taking a slow sip of his coffee before replying. "Yeah. He's my cousin. Soobin's younger brother."
Hueningkai's eyes widened a touch, surprise flickering across his face like a light catching glass. "Really?" he said, his voice lifting with a note of genuine interest. "That's... great, actually."
Jayhoon's eyes lowered, shoulders slightly tensing at the mention of his brother. But he didn't interrupt.
Yeonjun offered a small smile, one laced with quiet familiarity, but his eyes lingered on Jayhoon with something more-an older brother's concern masked in gentleness. And as the steam from his cup rose and disappeared into the air between them, the distance that once lingered in the silence slowly began to fade.
It wasn't much. Just a moment. But something in it felt grounding. Real.
No matter how cold or distant Jayhoon had grown, no matter the sharpness in his words or the walls he built around himself, to Soobin and Yeonjun, he was still that small boy with curious eyes and scraped knees - the younger brother they once swore to protect from the cruelties of the world. The boy who used to trail behind them with laughter in his voice and dreams too big for his pockets.
Time had changed things - it had strained their bond, pushed them into silences that echoed louder than arguments. But it had not dulled the love. Beneath every scolding, every disappointed sigh, there lived a quiet ache of concern.
Soobin still watched Jayhoon out of the corner of his eye whenever he passed by the corridors of the university, his heart tightening when he caught glimpses of new bruises. Yeonjun, even behind all his teasing and nonchalance, still made sure Jayhoon had a warm meal waiting on late nights when he knew he wouldn't return home early.
Because family - true family - remembers promises whispered in childhood, under blanket forts and candlelight. And no matter how far Jayhoon wandered, they remembered. They cared. Always.
-
Everyone carries their own collection of wounds—some stitched in silence, others screaming beneath the skin. Hurt, struggle, the ache of wanting too much or being too little, the bitter weight of disappointment—they don't spare anyone. They shape us, bend us, sometimes break us.
And Jayhoon was no exception.
Jayhoon.
A name that once echoed with laughter now rings with quiet ache.
His pain didn’t come with fireworks or fanfare—it grew quietly, like ivy around his ribs. The endless cycle of overthinking, of being overlooked and dismissed, of screaming into emotional voids that never answered back, turned him into someone hardened. Someone sharp-edged and unpredictable. Someone people mistook for cruel.
But cruelty was never the root. It was only a symptom.
He, too, was broken—fractured in places so deep not even the light of day could reach. But no one ever looked close enough to see it. Why?
Because he didn’t perform his sadness the way others did. He didn’t let his sorrows spill out for the world to pity, like Soobin—his elder brother—who wore his fragility like an open wound. Soobin, who let his hurt be seen, be tended to.
Jayhoon? He masked it. Cloaked it in snide remarks and a sharp tongue. He painted himself with arrogance, shaped himself into someone cold, unapproachable—bratty, mean, careless. But beneath it all, he bled just the same.
Maybe... maybe he wanted to be held, too. Maybe he longed for someone who could see through the armor, reach through the thorns, and touch the part of him that still ached like a child left behind. Maybe he kept saying “I don’t need anyone” because he needed someone more than ever. Maybe the pushing away was just a desperate plea for someone to pull closer.
Jayhoon, who once smiled brighter than the sun the day Soobin walked into his life—his brother. Real, step—it never mattered. To Jayhoon, Soobin was home. He clung to him like gravity, refused to be apart from him even for a moment. They walked to school together. Ate side by side. Slept inches apart. He didn’t just love Soobin—he revolved around him.
But even the strongest bonds can crack. And theirs did.
Not because they stopped loving. But because life didn’t wait. Time pulled them apart with brutal hands. And neither of them knew how to reach across the widening distance. So they let the silence grow.
Jayhoon was left with a father who never knew how to love properly—who pushed him away just like he did Soobin. But Jayhoon stayed. Even when it hurt. Even when it bruised his spirit and carved lines into his smile. He stayed, because leaving would mean surrendering the last piece of the family he once clung to like air.
He has had his share of pain. Of rejection. Of longing that burned through his chest like wildfire. He carries it all—not on his sleeve, but buried in the depths of who he is.
And just because he doesn’t show it doesn’t mean he didn’t feel it.
Doesn’t mean he wasn’t shattered.
Doesn’t mean he isn’t still waiting for someone to look at him—not the version he performs, but the boy beneath it all—and say, “I see you. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Because even thorns grow from a need to protect.
Even storms start with a whisper.
And even Jayhoon, beneath the chaos, still aches to be loved.
-
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass windows of the campus café, casting golden streaks over their table cluttered with coffee cups and half-eaten pastries. The café hummed with quiet conversations and soft background music, but at their corner table, laughter and familiar banter created a warmth that felt almost like home.
They were all gathered there — Taehyun scrolling through his tablet with a slight frown, Hueningkai sipping his iced chocolate and nodding along to Yeonjun chatting animatedly, and Beomgyu and Soobin… well, the two of them sat side by side, so close their arms occasionally brushed as they leaned in to speak in hushed tones, lost in their own little orbit.
Taehyun looked up, arching a brow as he addressed Beomgyu directly. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t fill out the instrument grouping activity form the new music instructor mentioned, did you?”
Beomgyu blinked, visibly puzzled. “Wait, what form? And since when do we have a new music instructor?”
Taehyun sighed with the exasperation of someone far too used to Beomgyu’s selective hearing. “You’d know if you hadn’t conveniently decided to skip class — again — just because it overlapped with Soobin hyung’s free period.”
Beomgyu shrugged nonchalantly, giving Soobin a side glance and a crooked grin. “We three already know all the basic instructions. I didn’t need to sit through them teaching C chords.”
Taehyun wasn’t letting it slide. “Just this morning I told you about the form, and you nodded like you were listening. But I bet you were too busy texting Soobin hyung under the table.”
Beomgyu didn’t even bother denying it — the guilty smile creeping up on his lips was enough of a confession.
“And let’s not forget,” Taehyun continued, arms crossed now, “how you forgot to submit the club form on time.”
“I still haven’t recovered from that disaster,” Soobin muttered, narrowing his eyes at Beomgyu. “You know I don’t even curse normally, but that day I was one more excuse away from throwing a stapler at your face.”
Beomgyu blinked, laughing nervously. “Wait… what do you mean?”
Soobin leaned in, voice calm but biting. “I was at the reception that day. I told you the submission deadline had passed. But did you listen? No. You just shoved your form into the pile anyway and said — and I quote — ‘Do you know what my name is?’”
There was a brief pause. Beomgyu’s eyes widened, then a mischievous glint lit them up. “That was you?!”
Soobin gave him a deadpan look.
Beomgyu couldn’t hold it in anymore. He doubled over laughing, clutching his stomach while trying — and failing — to stifle the sound. His laughter echoed across the table as Soobin rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying a smile he didn’t quite manage to hide.
Hueningkai chuckled, shaking his head. “Honestly, watching you two is like witnessing a sitcom in real life.”
Beomgyu wiped a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye and leaned slightly into Soobin’s shoulder, grinning. “I can’t believe I said that to you.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t throw you out right then and there,” Soobin muttered, but his tone was warm, fond even, as if the memory was annoying but oddly endearing.
In that moment, as they all laughed together, the space between Beomgyu and Soobin seemed impossibly small — like they were two pages of the same book, written in a language only the two of them understood.
-
The library was quiet — a sacred, almost hallowed silence that hung in the air like incense. The golden slant of the midday sun poured in through the tall, dust-smeared windows, illuminating rows upon rows of books that stood like silent sentinels. In the farthest corner of the library, tucked away between tall wooden shelves and the lazy stretch of time, sat Soobin.
He was seated cross-legged on the polished wooden floor, back resting against the wall, a book delicately balanced in his hands. His eyes scanned the opening lines with calm concentration, the gentle rustle of a turning page the only sound accompanying his breath. It was a novel he had stumbled upon by chance — something obscure, its reviews praising the melancholy and quiet depth of its prose. The cover was a plain, matte black, with nothing but the title and the author's name etched in modest serif.
He had barely read two pages when, with the casual grace of someone entirely unbothered by rules or schedules, Beomgyu dropped beside him — close, too close — the warmth of his presence instantly nudging Soobin out of his solitude.
Without looking at him, Soobin murmured, “You shouldn’t be skipping your music class. Taehyun will complain again.”
Beomgyu didn’t answer. Instead, he reached forward, plucking the book from Soobin’s hands with all the gentleness of a storm. He flipped through the pages absently, then paused to glance at the cover, his nose scrunching in visible disapproval.
“It looks too boring,” he announced after a beat, squinting at the minimalistic design as though offended by its austerity. “I’ll pick another one.”
He made to stand, already dusting his hands off his jeans, but Soobin's hand shot out, fingers curling around his wrist and tugging him back down with a soft thud.
“I was literally reading it,” Soobin said, voice low but firm.
“But I don’t like it,” Beomgyu quipped, still holding the book just out of reach.
“You’re judging a book by its cover, Beomgyu,” Soobin said with a pointed look, eyes narrowing. “And let me tell you — it’s good. Surprisingly good. The kind that unfolds slowly but leaves you aching by the end. Give it a chance. Let me read it.”
He leaned in, reaching for the book again, but Beomgyu only smirked, raising it higher with a lazy stretch of his arm, keeping it teasingly out of reach.
Soobin exhaled sharply through his nose, not amused — though the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stubborn,” Beomgyu countered, his voice lower now, more playful. “We’d make a great story ourselves, don’t you think?”
Soobin paused, his hand still hovering between them, eyes locked with Beomgyu’s — something unreadable passing in the air, suspended like a held breath.
“Only if I get to write it,” he said softly.
Beomgyu grinned. “Then make me the most annoying but unforgettable character.”
“Already done.” Soobin gave a half-smile, tugging his wrist free from Beomgyu’s grip and settling back into place.
Beomgyu, still holding the book, finally relented. With a small sigh — half dramatic, half fond — he placed it gently back in Soobin’s lap, their fingers brushing in the exchange, and leaned in closer than necessary as he whispered, “Fine. But only if you read it to me.”
And in that quiet corner of the library, between the unspoken lines of books and hearts, Soobin began again from page one — his voice soft, Beomgyu’s head resting against the wall beside him, their closeness a quiet secret no one else needed to know.
Not even ten pages into the novel, Beomgyu’s eyelids began to droop, lulled by the low hum of Soobin’s voice and the comforting weight of silence that blanketed the library’s forgotten corner. His head slipped, almost instinctively, finding its place against Soobin’s shoulder — as though it had always belonged there. Soobin didn’t flinch. His fingers, gentle and absentminded, threaded through Beomgyu’s hair, combing it back softly like a tide retreating from the shore.
Beomgyu stirred, blinking his heavy eyes open. Their gazes met — close, quiet, intimate. A pause stretched between them, too tender to be called silence. It was something more: an exchange of breath, of weightless feelings that floated between lashes and soft exhales.
“You’ll never let me finish the book,” Soobin murmured, his voice a soft sigh laced with fond exasperation.
Beomgyu only blinked up at him, expression muddled with sleep and curiosity. “What?”
Soobin let out a barely-there chuckle, his gaze dipping briefly to Beomgyu’s parted lips before returning to his eyes. “I used to finish a book within three hours,” he said, “but now… now you distract me so much, I forget what the book is even about.”
Beomgyu’s lips jutted into a small, endearing pout, his brow furrowed like he was being accused of a crime he secretly loved committing. He didn’t say a word — just stared, a quiet storm of affection building behind his eyes.
Soobin’s resistance dissolved like sugar in warm tea.
He leaned in, slowly, deliberately, until his breath danced across Beomgyu’s cheek. His lips met Beomgyu’s in a kiss — soft and scorching, delicate and devastating. The kind of kiss that didn’t demand but offered. A promise wrapped in a whisper. Their hearts beat against each other’s chests in time with the muted hush of turning pages, but the story they wrote in that moment didn’t need ink or words.
It was written in the warmth of touch, in the stillness of shared breath, and in the gravity that pulled them together, over and over again, no matter how many times they promised themselves they'd simply read.
Soobin gently pulled back, his lips parting from Beomgyu’s with reluctant grace. But Beomgyu instinctively followed, lips brushing forward in pursuit of the warmth they had just tasted — like a flower leaning toward the last kiss of sunlight before dusk. His eyes fluttered open, wide with the faintest confusion, and a silent plea shimmered behind them.
Soobin huffed a breath that was part laugh, part surrender, and pressed a feather-light peck to Beomgyu’s lips again, like a period at the end of an unruly sentence.
“We should go,” Soobin whispered, brushing his thumb over Beomgyu’s cheek. “Before someone sees us.”
Beomgyu’s response came without hesitation, completely unfazed, his voice dipped in amusement. “But they’re already looking.”
Soobin’s eyes widened in alarm. His head snapped around, scanning the vast stillness of the library. His gaze darted past the half-filled bookshelves, the study desks drowned in light, the corners swallowed in quiet — but there was no one. Only the hush of dust motes dancing in shafts of golden afternoon.
“Who?” he asked, brows knitted in confusion, heart skipping for reasons he couldn’t name.
Beomgyu tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curling into that familiar, mischievous grin that always managed to disarm Soobin completely. He pointed to the screen.
“The author,” he said softly, “and the people who have came along this far.”
Soobin stared at the screen, then back at Beomgyu, and his lips quirked in spite of himself. His heart, fragile and too full, thudded against his ribs like it was trying to memorize this moment — the warmth of Beomgyu’s voice, the touch of his hand, the reverent mischief in his smile. There, nestled between the shelves and silence, was a story not written on any page, but unfolding breath by breath between two souls who found poetry in each other.
-
It was a languid weekend, where time itself seemed to drift, untethered and slow. Seokmin, Yeonjun, Dino, Soobin, Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Hueningkai had all eagerly conspired to steal away from the city’s relentless pulse, finding refuge in the embrace of the sea. Together, they traced the coastline, their footsteps soft impressions in the warm, yielding sand.
Among the chorus of laughter and teasing, Beomgyu and Soobin moved with a quieter rhythm, their exchanges subtle but charged with an unspoken tenderness. Beomgyu’s eyes often lingered just a moment longer on Soobin’s gentle smile, and Soobin, in turn, found comfort in the warmth of Beomgyu’s presence, a quiet anchor amid the day’s playful chaos.
They shared playful jabs and light touches—fingers brushing accidentally, a soft grin exchanged across the sunlit space—each small moment threading a delicate connection. As waves curled and crashed nearby, Soobin’s gaze met Beomgyu’s with a shy vulnerability, a silent conversation more profound than words could capture.
In the shimmering afternoon light, while the others darted through the surf or chased one another’s shadows, these two found solace in the stillness between the chaos. The sun painted a golden halo around them, a fragile sanctuary where laughter softened into whispered confidences, and the gentle hum of the sea seemed to echo the quiet beating of their hearts.
This was more than a day by the shore—it was the beginning of a delicate dance, woven from stolen glances and tender silences, a fleeting but unforgettable moment suspended in time, where Beomgyu and Soobin found each other amidst the vastness of the world.
The sun had begun its descent, casting a molten hue over the restless sea as if the sky itself had been brushed in gold. While waves played tag with bare ankles and distant laughter spilled across the shoreline like a familiar song, Beomgyu and Soobin remained on the quiet edge of it all—anchored in their own small world. They had wordlessly taken on the task of grilling, their movements effortless, their silence companionable. Smoke from the charcoal curled into the salt-kissed air, rising like incense into the amber dusk. The scent of seared spices and sweet marinades swirled around them, filling the air with warmth and memory.
It was peaceful—achingly peaceful—as though time had decided to pause its rhythm just for the two of them. No rush, no noise, only the gentle crackle of the fire and the silent, sacred space between one heartbeat and the next.
Beomgyu stole a glance at Soobin, who was carefully arranging plates and skewers with his usual quiet precision, sleeves rolled up, a faint crease between his brows. His fingers danced over the cutlery like he was composing a melody only he could hear.
The moment felt suspended—fragile and perfect. Beomgyu’s hand tightened slightly around the grill tongs.
He exhaled. Now. Tell him now.
“Soobin,” he murmured, voice barely louder than the breeze, “I wanna tell you something.”
Soobin didn’t look up. He hummed—low, familiar, grounding. It was the kind of response that made Beomgyu’s chest ache with something he couldn’t name. It meant I’m listening. I always am.
Beomgyu smiled to himself, heart warming. “Your rooting... your faith in me—it wasn’t in vain. It actually happened.”
That made Soobin pause. His head turned slowly, brows drawing together in curiosity. “Huh?”
“My hyung and my sister,” Beomgyu said, the words tasting like light on his tongue. “I met them.”
There was a beat—a heartbeat, a breath—and then Soobin’s face lit up like a lantern catching fire. Eyes wide, shimmering. “Wait, really?! When?”
Beomgyu hesitated, just a flicker of doubt crossing his smile. “On the night of the fresher’s party. He came to see me.”
The silence that followed wasn’t loud, but it was heavy. A breath caught between them. Beomgyu saw it clearly—the way Soobin’s joy faltered, like a petal bending under too much weight. The unspoken memory of that night stirred between them, fragile and unfinished.
Damn it. He could’ve chosen any other day. But not lying to Soobin—that mattered more than his own guilt.
So he nudged his shoulder lightly against Soobin’s, offering the smallest laugh. “Hey. Want to guess who my brother and sister are?”
Soobin gave him a skeptical look. “How would I know that? I’ve never seen them.”
Beomgyu chuckled, eyes soft. “You have. You even talked to them.”
Before the confusion could deepen, Beomgyu closed the space between them, sitting down beside Soobin—closer than necessary, as if drawn by something magnetic, inevitable. The distance between their knees disappeared. It felt like second nature.
He unlocked his phone, scrolled through a few photos with a flutter in his chest, then handed it over.
“Here,” he said simply.
Soobin took the phone, brows furrowed. One look—and then another.
He froze.
“Really?” was all he managed to whisper.
Beomgyu nodded, the pride in his voice edged with wonder. “Yes. Jeonghan hyung—he’s my brother. My Hannie hyung. And Eunsoo… she’s my sister.”
Soobin’s lips parted slightly, stunned quiet overtaking him. He looked at the photo again, as if it would change, as if it could somehow become more real. “But... isn’t she Jeonghan and Seungcheol hyung’s adopted daughter?”
“She is,” Beomgyu said gently. “Hannie hyung adopted her when Mom... couldn’t anymore. Dad asked him to. And Seungcheol hyung—he was so happy. They both were. She’s their light, Soobin.”
And there, under the warm hush of evening, Beomgyu began to speak. Not just in facts or timelines, but in truths that had waited too long to be voiced.
He spoke of a childhood woven with silences, of quiet fears tucked into corners of rooms, of wondering where he belonged in a world that seemed too vast and indifferent. He spoke of the day he learned that Jeonghan was his brother. Of how it broke him. How he ran away from everyone. Of the ache of missing someone you never really knew but always felt.
And how, little by little, everything he lost had begun to find its way back.
Though Beomgyu had already shared fragments of his story—tucked between the creases of notes, scribbled in quiet ink and passed like secrets through notes—this moment was different. This wasn’t a whisper between the inked words or during late night calls. This was him, here and now, sitting beside Soobin with the sky bruised in twilight, baring the whole of it. Each word fell like a thread pulled gently from his chest, unraveling the tangled tapestry of memory.
There was something sacred in the way he spoke—not rushed, not rehearsed, but real. And as the details spilled out, one by one, it felt like he wasn’t just telling a story—he was offering Soobin a key to the quietest rooms of his heart. The stories he'd once only dared to write in ink were now being spoken aloud, in the open air, and to the one person who had always read between the lines.
Soobin didn’t interrupt. He sat there, still as the tide that had finally quieted behind them, letting each word wash over him like gentle waves lapping against shore-worn stones. And yet, inside him, something stirred—something fragile and achingly human. The boy beside him wasn’t just telling a story. He was handing over pieces of himself—shattered and mended, soft and stormed—and trusting Soobin to hold them without letting any slip through.
His gaze remained fixed on Beomgyu, watching the way the firelight flickered across his face, casting shadows that moved like ghosts of old pain and golden streaks of hard-won hope. The vulnerability there was palpable, and Soobin felt it all—the weight of the years Beomgyu had carried alone, the longing, the sudden bloom of family rediscovered, and the quiet ache of regret for moments lost.
A lump rose in Soobin’s throat, but he swallowed it down, blinking back the sting in his eyes. When he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
“You should’ve never had to carry all that alone,” he murmured, voice trembling with quiet intensity. “You deserved someone beside you. Someone to hold your hand when things got too dark to see.”
Beomgyu looked at him then—really looked—and for a heartbeat, neither of them said a word. The air between them hummed with something tender and electric, something far too vast for language.
“I had you,” Beomgyu said finally, his voice raw but sure. “Even when I didn’t know it, even when I didn’t say it. You were always there... like a lighthouse I couldn’t look away from.”
Soobin exhaled slowly, his heart doing something it hadn’t done in a while—fluttering, unguarded. He reached out, fingers brushing against Beomgyu’s wrist, not needing to hold, just needing to touch. To remind them both that they were no longer walking through this life alone.
When Beomgyu finally exhaled, lighter than before, the sky had deepened into velvet, and the first stars were beginning to appear like timid confessions overhead.
And Soobin, with all the gentleness of someone cradling something sacred, reached over and quietly whispered, “I’m really happy for you, Beomgyu.”
Beomgyu looked at him—and smiled.
The grill crackled behind them. The scent of charred food mingled with sea salt in the air, and their friends’ laughter echoed from a distance like a fading chorus. But here, in this moment carved quietly from the noise, it was just the two of them.
The sound of waves grew louder for a brief moment before fading again—footsteps approaching and voices carried by the breeze. The others were making their way back from the water, dripping wet and breathless with laughter, the sun having dipped just far enough to leave everything tinged in rose-gold and shadow.
But Soobin didn’t move.
Neither did Beomgyu.
They stayed like that—close, fingers barely touching, hearts louder than the world around them. Soobin’s gaze lingered on their hands for a moment longer before he gently pulled away, not out of discomfort, but as though afraid even this closeness might unravel him. And yet, there was something in his eyes now, a softness deepened, not shaken, by everything he had just heard.
“I’m glad you told me,” Soobin said quietly, eyes holding Beomgyu’s with unflinching warmth. “Really told me.”
Beomgyu gave a soft smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his lips but settled somewhere deep in his chest. “I wanted you to be the first,” he murmured. “You were the first who ever asked and stayed long enough to listen.”
Before Soobin could respond, Taehyun’s voice rang out from the distance. “Oi! You two—are we eating today or just grilling forever?”
Hueningkai followed with a dramatic flop into the sand. “Someone save me a burger before Seokmin hyung hoards them all!”
The spell between them broke, not completely, but just enough for reality to seep back in. Soobin blinked, then stood up slowly, brushing sand off his palms. He looked down at Beomgyu and offered a hand.
Beomgyu took it.
Their fingers locked—just for a second too long—and then released, like a secret exchanged without needing words.
As they returned to the fire, the others gathered around, laughing, teasing, reaching for food with salt-stained fingers and sun-flushed cheeks. The night began to stretch open, stars blinking awake one by one above them.
But somewhere between the burnt edges of the grilled corn and Yeonjun’s bad jokes, Soobin would glance at Beomgyu—and Beomgyu would already be looking back.
There was something between them now. Not quite spoken. Not yet named.
But it was there.
And it was beginning.
The night settled deeper, the fire burning brighter now, its crackles weaving themselves into the threads of their laughter. One by one, they all drifted closer, pulled by the warmth, by each other. Sand clung to their damp ankles, cheeks glowing with sun and salt and something gentler—something like joy.
Dino plopped down dramatically beside Taehyun, nearly sending the marshmallows flying.
“Tell me again why we let him near food,” Taehyun grumbled, catching the stick with reflexes sharp as ever.
Hueningkai was already curled up like a cat, back resting against Yeonjun’s knees, humming along to the quiet guitar strums Seokmin coaxed from the instrument, his fingers moving like he’d played this melody in another lifetime.
Beomgyu and Soobin exchanged a glance, and as if by instinct, Beomgyu shifted forward, picking up a stick and playfully poking at the fire.
“You gonna sing or just stir the flames like a sad poet?” Yeonjun teased, tossing a chip at his head.
Beomgyu caught it with exaggerated grace, popping it in his mouth with a grin. “Both. I’m multi-talented.”
“Oh, please,” Seokmin laughed. “Multi-annoying, maybe.”
That earned a round of groans and laughter, voices overlapping, joy spilling out like it had nowhere else to go.
Soon, someone started a familiar tune. Hueningkai’s voice, soft and just a little off-key, floated through the smoke like a lullaby. Seokmin joined next, then Dino, and suddenly, they were all singing—clumsy harmonies and forgotten lyrics and bursts of laughter in between.
Soobin’s voice was quiet, barely there, but Beomgyu heard it. Heard it like a note threaded through his own.
He looked around and felt something ache—not in pain, but in fullness.
This was it.
This was the moment he didn’t know he’d been waiting for.
No spotlight, no stage.
Just friends.
Just warmth.
Just a fire burning in the middle of the night and people he could finally, finally call his own.
When the song slowed, the embers glowing soft and orange, Yeonjun leaned back, arms stretched behind his head. “You know,” he said, “we should do this every month. A tradition. Beach nights.”
Dino grinned, throwing his head back. “Yes! And next time, I’m bringing fireworks.”
“No, you’re not,” Taehyun said flatly, not even looking up.
Beomgyu chuckled, then turned to Soobin, their knees brushing lightly. He didn’t say anything—just bumped their shoulders gently, like punctuation at the end of a quiet, unspoken sentence.
Soobin smiled, slow and shy.
In the hush that followed, as voices dipped into sleepier tones and the fire sank into a rhythm all its own, Soobin reached out—not obviously, not dramatically—but just enough that his pinky finger curled ever so slightly around Beomgyu’s.
Beomgyu didn’t move.
And neither did the stars.
-
The evening had bled into a velvet night by the time Soobin stepped into Beomgyu’s room. It was dimly lit, shrouded in the golden glow of warm fairy lights strung along the ceiling, casting soft shadows that danced along the walls. The curtains were drawn, cocooning them from the world, and the air felt thick with anticipation — like something unspoken was pressing just beneath the surface.
The scent of vanilla and something distinctly him lingered in the room, laced in the fabric of the oversized blanket that Beomgyu casually tossed over the bed. The movie was already paused on the screen — some indie romance film neither of them had watched before, but both pretended to be interested in.
“You planned this?” Soobin asked, his voice barely above a whisper, half-teasing, half-wary of the butterflies in his chest.
Beomgyu turned from the screen to face him, eyes half-lidded, gaze burning softly like an ember in the dark. “Maybe,” he said, moving closer. “I knew you'd say yes.”
Soobin’s throat dried as he sat down, and Beomgyu followed suit — a little too close, their shoulders brushing, their knees bumping under the blanket. They didn’t look at the screen. Not really. The movie was just a backdrop, a trembling excuse.
Minutes passed. The flickering screen lit up their faces in gradients of soft light and shadows, but neither was really watching. Their focus was skewed — trained on the breaths between them, the stillness growing loud, the tension heavy and heady like rain before the storm.
“You’re not even watching,” Soobin said softly, eyes darting to Beomgyu’s profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the mess of dark hair haloed by the soft lights.
“I am,” Beomgyu whispered, turning slowly toward him. “Just not the movie.”
Their eyes met — a look too intense for something so quiet. Beomgyu reached out, brushing Soobin’s fingers beneath the blanket, his touch slow, deliberate, almost intimidating in its confidence. His thumb traced soft circles over the back of Soobin’s hand, like he was memorizing the moment through skin.
Soobin’s breath hitched. “You’re doing that thing again,” he murmured.
“What thing?” Beomgyu asked, voice low, barely a breath.
“Looking at me like… I’m the whole scene.”
“You are,” Beomgyu said without hesitation. “You’re the only thing I can’t look away from.”
Then he leaned in, not in a rush, not like he was chasing something fleeting — but as if he was giving Soobin time to stop him, to breathe, to realize how deeply he wanted this too.
Soobin didn’t stop him.
Their lips met in a kiss that was neither hesitant nor hurried — just right, like they’d been orbiting this moment for far too long. It was slow, intimate, dizzying. Beomgyu kissed him like he was trying to say a thousand things he’d never had the words for. And Soobin melted into him, responding in kind, his hand reaching up to tangle in Beomgyu’s hair, pulling him closer until there was nothing left between them but the pounding of hearts.
The movie kept playing, long forgotten.
And in that quiet little room, under dim lights and tangled sheets, the story wasn’t on the screen — it was unfolding in whispers, breaths, and every kiss that followed.
Beomgyu rested his forehead against Soobin’s, their breaths still mingling from the kiss. The flicker of the movie still played in the background, casting them in hues of soft blue and warm amber.
“You know,” Soobin murmured, fingers still tangled in Beomgyu’s hair, “this movie’s kind of tragic. I thought we were watching something romantic.”
Beomgyu chuckled, his lips brushing against the corner of Soobin’s mouth as he spoke. “It is romantic. Just… with emotional destruction sprinkled on top.”
“You’re hopeless,” Soobin said, rolling his eyes, but his smile betrayed him.
“I could’ve picked a cliché romcom,” Beomgyu said, shifting slightly to press his lips to Soobin’s jaw, trailing the kiss slowly, deliberately, “but I figured we’d make our own romance… and not pay attention anyway.”
Soobin hummed, head tilting to grant him more access. “You're terrible. Is this what you do with all your movie dates?”
Beomgyu pulled back, mock-offended. “Excuse you — you’re my first and last movie date. I don’t need anyone else if I’ve got you distracting me like this.”
Soobin laughed, the sound soft and breathy as he nudged Beomgyu’s shoulder. “I bet you say that to all the guys who fall asleep on your bed.You got admirers out there.” Soobin teased.
“I don’t let just anyone into my bed,” Beomgyu whispered, lips ghosting along Soobin’s collarbone now, pulling the neckline of his hoodie slightly to kiss bare skin. “Only the ones I deeply l- care about.”
Soobin froze for half a heartbeat before his arms wrapped tighter around Beomgyu’s waist, pulling him closer until their chests pressed flush. “You're going to drive me crazy.”
“Already doing it,” Beomgyu replied with a smirk, his hands now slowly sliding beneath the hem of Soobin’s hoodie, fingertips brushing warm skin — not rushing, just grounding, teasing. “Besides, I’ve seen the kind of movies you watch.”
Soobin raised a brow, heat rising to his cheeks. “What do you think I watch?”
Beomgyu grinned devilishly. “Something quiet, philosophical… or the most ridiculous sappy dramas with melodramatic declarations in the rain.”
“Hey—!” Soobin swatted his arm. “That’s art.”
“That’s pain with background music.”
“And you—” Soobin leaned forward, pressing Beomgyu down against the mattress gently, hands on either side of his head, “—look like the type who watches angsty black and white films and claims they changed your life.”
Beomgyu grinned up at him, eyes dark and full of mischief. “Only if I get to rewatch them with you like this.”
Soobin flushed, but didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned in, kissed him again — slower, deeper, lips brushing then pulling, teasing until Beomgyu’s breath hitched.
“I’ll pick the next movie,” Soobin whispered against his lips.
“Whatever you want,” Beomgyu murmured, hand curling into the back of his hoodie. “Just promise you’ll keep kissing me through it.”
Soobin smirked as he dipped back down. “No promises. I might get really invested in the plot.”
Beomgyu’s laugh got lost in the kiss that followed, as the movie played on — utterly ignored — while their own slow-burning, heart-thudding story continued to unfold in the shadows and warmth of the night.
His fingers slipped beneath the hem of Soobin’s hoodie again, knuckles brushing against warm skin, his touch deliberate yet tender — like reading verses written in braille across a body he already worshipped. The pads of his thumbs drew slow, languid circles on the dip of Soobin’s waist, as if he were trying to commit every inch to memory, not out of curiosity, but reverence. The cotton fabric rustled softly between them, whispering secrets only they understood.
Soobin inhaled shakily, his breath catching as Beomgyu’s hand flattened just slightly, resting over the fluttering rhythm of his heartbeat. The subtle shift of Beomgyu’s weight on the mattress made the bed creak beneath them, a quiet chorus to the electricity threading between each stolen glance and half-curved smile.
Beomgyu leaned in closer, lips brushing against the line of Soobin’s jaw — not quite a kiss, but a promise. A soft laugh, barely more than breath, caught between their mouths as Soobin tilted his head, eyes fluttering shut. His fingers clutched weakly at Beomgyu’s shirt, grounding himself.
“You’re dangerous,” Soobin murmured, voice low, like the confession of a dream too intimate to say aloud.
Beomgyu smiled against his skin, his voice a murmur in return, “Only to you.”
And in that moment, it wasn’t just about touch — it was about the ache between pauses, the space where restraint met yearning. Where every breath tasted like a secret on the verge of spilling.
Beomgyu’s hands moved with quiet reverence, the drag of his fingers against Soobin’s bare skin slow and deliberate — like tracing constellations, like finding poetry in the silence between words. His breath ghosted over Soobin’s throat as he kissed there — not hungrily, but with the weight of something unspoken, something trembling just beneath the surface.
Soobin’s fingers found the back of Beomgyu’s neck, burying into the strands of his hair, anchoring them both. His eyes fluttered shut as Beomgyu’s lips brushed down the column of his throat, slow, warm, maddening. The world narrowed to sensation — the soft exhale between kisses, the tension winding like a slow-burning wick between their bodies.
“I still don’t know what this is,” Soobin whispered, breathless, as Beomgyu pressed their foreheads together. “I don’t know what we are.”
Beomgyu’s thumb swept gently under Soobin’s lip, pausing at the curve of it. “Me neither,” he breathed, voice hoarse with honesty. “But I know I want it. I want you. I want... this.”
They hadn’t defined it. Hadn’t dared to name it. But whatever it was — this magnetic pull, this aching sweetness, this fire wrapped in the quiet of night — it felt real. It felt right. They were still too young to call it love and too deep in it to pretend it was anything less.
Soobin leaned in first this time, catching Beomgyu’s mouth in a kiss that was no longer soft. It was desperate — slow but demanding, pulling. Beomgyu responded with the same intensity, his hands sliding beneath the fabric of Soobin’s hoodie to hold his waist, skin to skin, the heat of it grounding them. Their mouths moved in tandem, all the unsaid things bleeding through the press of lips and the clutch of hands.
Soobin gasped when Beomgyu shifted, pushing him gently back into the pillows. The weight of Beomgyu’s body over his wasn’t heavy — it was comforting, magnetic. His hips slotted between Soobin’s as they kissed again, deeper this time, lips parting and tongues brushing in a slow, open-mouthed kiss that left them both trembling. There was no rush — just exploration, just devotion, just need wrapped in quiet wonder.
“Don’t let this go,” Beomgyu murmured, more like begged, between kisses, fingers curling into the hem of Soobin’s hoodie.
“Never,” Soobin whispered into his skin, like a vow.
And still, neither of them asked what they were. Because it didn’t matter. Not right now. Not when every kiss was a confession and every breath was a plea to stay. This — this was enough. This was everything they didn’t know how to say.
And they held onto it like it was the only thing that could save them.
The world outside had grown quiet — the kind of stillness that settled like a lullaby after the storm. Their breaths had slowed, no longer ragged with urgency but soft and syncing, as if even their lungs had chosen to breathe in harmony.
Soobin lay on his back, the corner of his hoodie still bunched around his ribs, skin flushed in places where Beomgyu’s lips had lingered too long. His hair was a little mussed, mouth a little swollen, but his eyes — his eyes were soft. Unusually open.
Beomgyu had curled beside him, one arm slung lazily across Soobin’s waist, his fingers tracing idle, tender shapes into the space between fabric and skin — a spiral near his hipbone, the gentle tap of a knuckle over a freckle, the slow sweep across a rib like it was a piano key meant to be remembered. He didn’t look up. He didn’t have to.
Soobin’s hand rested in Beomgyu’s hair, absentmindedly carding through the strands with a languid rhythm that made Beomgyu’s eyes flutter closed for a moment too long.
“You’re warm,” Beomgyu murmured, voice thick and quiet, lips brushing against Soobin’s side.
“You’ve been on top of me for an hour,” Soobin said with a lazy chuckle, chest vibrating beneath Beomgyu’s cheek.
“Only because you wouldn’t let go.”
“You didn’t try.”
“I didn’t want to.”
Silence returned — not awkward or uncertain, but full. Filled with unspoken things they didn’t need to rush. Soobin’s thumb brushed Beomgyu’s temple. Beomgyu pressed a kiss to Soobin’s side. Neither moved, not really. Just small touches. Small promises.
“You smell like my pillow now,” Beomgyu whispered, sleepily.
Soobin smiled into his shirt. “Then you’ll dream of me.”
“I already do.”
The words settled between them like stardust. Beomgyu leaned up slowly, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of Soobin’s mouth, then tucked himself closer, burying his face against Soobin’s neck like a boy who’d finally found his favorite place in the world.
And maybe he had.
Because neither of them knew what this was — this aching tenderness, this pull that softened even their silence — but they knew they didn’t want to lose it.
but...
No matter how tightly Beomgyu clenched his eyes shut, no matter how earnestly he tried to will it away, the feeling persisted—unshakable, clinging like shadows at dusk. Even now, enveloped in the warmth of Soobin’s arms, his head resting against the quiet rhythm of a heartbeat that had so often steadied him, he couldn’t feel secure. The embrace was everything he had ever longed for—tender, grounding, familiar—and yet, it wasn’t enough to silence the trembling beneath his skin.
There it was again—that slow, creeping dread that curled itself around his chest like ivy, thorned and possessive. The fear of being left. Of being seen as too much, too delicate, too worn at the edges to be loved fully. What if Soobin one day chose to walk away? What if the gravity between them wasn’t enough?
Would he be able to fall to his knees and beg? Would he shatter every last inch of pride just to whisper, 'please stay?'
How pitiful. How humiliating. And yet, he couldn't stop the thought.
Because loving Soobin—needing him—made Beomgyu feel like a boy again. Small. Breakable. Hopeful in a way that scared him more than loneliness ever had.
Pathetic, wasn’t it?
To be held and still feel hollow. To be loved—maybe—and still wonder when the warmth would disappear.
But that was the thing about love, wasn’t it?
It made you brave enough to hold on…
and terrified enough to never let go.
Beomgyu still didn’t know if this could be called love.
Love—wasn’t it supposed to make you stronger? Braver? All the stories he had ever read, all the whispered confessions and tearful declarations he’d overheard growing up, had painted love as something valiant. As something that turned trembling hearts into warriors. People fought for love—they fought the world, the odds, the distance. But here he was, curled in the ache of it, unsure if he was falling in love or simply falling apart.
Because he was fighting. But not the world. Not anyone outside of him.
He was fighting himself.
Fighting the voices in his head that said he wasn’t enough. That Soobin could, and maybe someday would, walk away. Again.
He already had once, hadn’t he?
And even though they hadn’t truly met—hadn’t really known each other yet—Beomgyu still remembered the sting of it. The silence Soobin left in his wake had cut deeper than it should have, like a door slamming shut just before Beomgyu could step through.
And yet, when Soobin returned, all he had to do was look apologetic—soft, tired, aching in his own way—and Beomgyu folded like paper in his hands. He forgave him so easily. So willingly. As if some part of him had been waiting for it, for him, all along.
Wasn’t that pathetic?
To hand your heart back to the same person who once let it slip?
And now, Soobin meant so much more. Too much. He was no longer just a boy who disappeared once—he was a presence in Beomgyu’s every breath, his every unspoken thought, a part of every tender, terrifying dream he didn’t dare name.
So what if he left again?
Would Beomgyu survive it this time? Would he, once more, wait with that same shattered hope clutched to his chest, praying for an apology that might never come?
Would he still forgive?
And if he did… how many times could a heart break before it stopped remembering how to heal?
Beomgyu was trying—truly trying—to silence the storm inside him. To shove the restless fears back into the shadows where they belonged. To surrender, just for a fleeting while, to the warmth that wrapped around him like a lullaby. He wanted to believe, even if only for now, that he was safe here. Wanted to lose himself in the illusion that love could be enough to keep all the darkness at bay.
Without a word, he buried his face deeper into the curve of Soobin’s neck, as if trying to disappear inside him, to carve out a space where the world and its cruelties couldn’t reach. His hands clutched at Soobin’s hoodie in small, desperate fists—tight enough to wrinkle the fabric, as if by holding on, he could somehow stop himself from unraveling.
And Soobin… as if attuned to the tremors in Beomgyu’s breath, tilted his head down without a second thought. With a tenderness that felt older than time, he pressed feather-light kisses into Beomgyu’s hair. The gentle trail didn’t stop there—it wandered down to his temple, then finally rested on his forehead, where his lips lingered. Long, quiet, grounding kisses. Not asking for anything in return. Just saying: I’m here. I’ve got you.
The tension that had rooted itself in Beomgyu’s spine began to melt, unraveling thread by thread beneath every press of Soobin’s mouth. His throat tightened. Tears, stubborn and stinging, gathered uninvited at the corners of his eyes—but they didn’t fall. Those kisses, impossibly soft, were like balm. They didn’t ask him to be okay. They just let him be.
And somewhere in that quiet—the lull of Soobin’s heartbeat—Beomgyu drifted off. He didn’t know when it happened. Just that he slipped into sleep wrapped in arms that felt more like home than any place he’d ever known.
Soobin, still awake, pulled him closer with unconscious protectiveness, encircling Beomgyu as if shielding him from a storm he couldn’t see. As if he could build a shelter from his own body.
But what Soobin didn’t know—what he couldn’t yet realize—was that he was the very thing Beomgyu feared would hurt him most. The arms that protected him were the same ones he was afraid would someday let him go.
Soobin remained still, rooted by the weight in his arms. Not just the physical weight of Beomgyu’s body curled against him, but the emotional one—the silent ache of someone who had finally allowed himself to break where he thought he had to be unbreakable.
Beomgyu had fallen asleep. Or perhaps he had surrendered—as if the fight within him had finally exhausted every last breath.
And still, Soobin held him.
Tight, unmoving. As if his arms alone could rebuild the boy piece by piece, stitch his trembling into calm, silence the echo of abandonment screaming behind his lashes.
Soobin's gaze dropped to the side of Beomgyu’s face—his features so soft now, so young, yet lined with the shadows of things he never said out loud. His fists were still clenched in Soobin’s hoodie like a lifeline, knuckles pale from the grip. And Soobin felt it—the desperation, the bone-deep fear of being left behind again.
God, it crushed him.
He leaned down, once again, pressing a kiss into Beomgyu’s hair—light, reverent—like a prayer he didn’t know how to speak. Then another. And another. Tracing a slow path to his forehead, once again,where he lingered, lips trembling against warm skin, willing his heartbeat into the kiss. Willing his presence into every touch.
"I’m here," he whispered—not to wake him, but to bury the words somewhere deep in Beomgyu’s dreams. "I’m still here."
The boy in his arms shifted slightly, but didn’t stir. And that stillness… that trust… it broke something in Soobin.
He blinked hard, swallowing the thickness in his throat.
"What are you so afraid of, Gyu?" he whispered.
But he knew. Somewhere deep down, he knew.
Because the truth—the gut-wrenching, unbearable truth—was that he had left once.
Maybe not maliciously. But he had turned his back. He had walked away when they needed each other the most, even if neither of them had known it at the time. And Beomgyu—so painfully, beautifully forgiving—had welcomed him back without hesitation. Without demand. Without a single ounce of resentment.
And now here he was… sleeping in Soobin’s arms like it was safe. Like he was safe.
"You shouldn’t have to beg me to stay," Soobin breathed, barely able to get the words out. "You shouldn’t think I’ll run again. You shouldn’t have to doubt yourself because I was too much of a coward to hold on."
A tear escaped before he could stop it, falling quietly into Beomgyu’s hair. He didn’t wipe it away.
"But I’m not going anywhere," he vowed, voice cracking with the weight of the promise. "Even if you scream. Even if you push. I’ll stay. I’ll stay, Gyu… even when you don’t believe I will."
Soobin didn’t know if Beomgyu heard him in that moment. Maybe he was too deep in sleep. Maybe he was lost in a dream where no one left him behind.
But if there was even the slightest chance that his heart could understand what words failed to say, Soobin would keep whispering until morning came.
Because he wasn’t just holding Beomgyu.
He was holding everything he’d broken.
***
so??
now... who do i even side with?
they can play around trying to ignore that one stingy feelings still clinging to their heart. but how long?
they have to eventually face it.
just spending time together, having sweet moments together can't and won't change the truth.
they need to face it. if not now then maybe later. but definitely someday.
they can't skip it for an another day because they can't let go of each other just yet?
getting hurt to the core of the heart but still managing to keep it together because they are getting too used to each other? because they can't let go of what they're having right now?
they'll choose to cry and feel hurt in the silence rather than face the truth because it will take everything—the comfort, the togetherness, the warmth away?
go for it if you want to have this without any doubt, regret and hurt.
beomgyu needs to speak out loud for his hurt. his doubts about soobin rather than cry and shatter himself every night because the day felt so unreal to spend with soobin that he refused to get hurt by what soobin might reply with and in a snap he'll loose everything - the comfort, the warmth, the hands holding him closer.
soobin needs to say all those promises out loud for beomgyu to know, for him to believe, ask all those questions out loud to know what beomgyu is going through. why after every sweet moment he silently pulls himself away and hides into his cocoon as if protecting himself.
Chapter Text
The days slipped by like water through cupped hands-quiet, quick, and indistinct. Time, once marked by laughter and shared glances, began to blur beneath the weight of final exams and academic pressures. The boys, once inseparable in their distractions, now found themselves buried in textbooks and revision notes, scattered across classrooms, corners of the library, the hum of the dining hall, and the familiar comfort of Seokmin's café.
But even amidst the usual rhythm, Soobin noticed it-the shift. Subtle, almost imperceptible, like the slow retreat of a tide. Beomgyu had changed.
It wasn't anything loud or dramatic. There were no slammed doors, no bitter silences. Just space. Space where there used to be presence. Beomgyu began to favour the studio during free lectures, brushing off Soobin's quiet invitations to study together in the library with vague excuses and distracted smiles. He still spoke to him, still laughed occasionally, still lingered in shared spaces-but something essential had been withdrawn. He was keeping Soobin close enough not to raise suspicion... but far enough to no longer feel within reach.
And Soobin felt it.
How could he not? The boy who once clung to his side with stubborn insistence, who found excuses to bicker just to stay tethered to him, who made a game out of proving himself right in every conversation-they were all small rituals of affection that had gone quiet. And it hurt more than Soobin was willing to admit.
He found himself searching for those little moments again, the ones he used to overlook-the tug of a sleeve, the glint in Beomgyu's eye when he was being playfully difficult. But now, there was only silence where tension used to spark, stillness where familiarity once lived.
Soobin wanted to ask. The question lived on the tip of his tongue in every moment they crossed paths, aching to be set free.
What changed?
Did I do something wrong?
Did that night mean something different to you than it did to me?
But he didn't ask. He couldn't.
Maybe Beomgyu just needed time, he told himself. Maybe it was the stress, the exhaustion, the pressure of everything they were carrying. And yet, Soobin couldn't shake the sinking feeling that they had taken one tentative step forward that night-only to wake up and find Beomgyu walking in the opposite direction.
And he had no idea why.
Beomgyu didn't even know what exactly was scaring him anymore. Maybe it wasn't just one thing-but a hundred little fractures gathering into a single ache. Maybe it was the silence Soobin left behind that morning after their movie night-the absence that screamed louder than presence ever could. A simple note, casually left behind.
Jjunie hyung needed me.
No apology. No sorry I had to leave so early, no I'll call you later, no take care. Just a reason. Just an echo. Just a hollow.
It shouldn't have hurt. It wasn't meant to. But it did.
And Beomgyu hated himself for letting it.
Did he still have the strength to keep breaking like this? Or had he already shattered enough to make even pain feel like a routine?
There was a certain kind of cruelty in how easily he was undone-not by what people did to him, but by what he allowed himself to feel. Soobin hadn't promised forever, hadn't promised anything at all. And yet, Beomgyu had clung to his presence like it was salvation, like warmth he never got to keep. He hated how affection-starved he was, how touch-deprived his soul had grown that even a night in Soobin's arms had felt like something divine. How pathetic was that? To mistake comfort for permanence. To take kindness and let it build a castle in his chest only to find it empty the next morning.
Even now-now, when he told himself he needed to step back, to create distance, to protect himself-he couldn't do it. His own heart rebelled, folding into the ache rather than away from it.
And wasn't that just another form of self-destruction? Quiet. Soft. Slow. But fatal all the same.
His thoughts weighed like stones on his chest, one after another, pressing against ribs not made to carry this kind of ache. Some days he told himself he could handle it, that he was strong enough to carry these fears. Other days-like today-all he wanted was to collapse into Soobin's arms and empty everything he had been holding in.To tell him-
You affect me more than you know.
You leaving-even for a moment-rips through me in ways I can't explain.
Say something. Anything. Say you'll stay. Say you're sorry. Say you care.
But even that felt like too much to ask.
Because deep down, Beomgyu feared the answer.
Feared that silence would come again-
and he would break all over. Alone.
The only escape Beomgyu could find from the storm inside him was to bury himself in books-not the kind that sang with melodies or whispered with poetry, but the dense, dry weight of syllabus pages. Music, once his refuge, betrayed him now. Every chord, every lyric, every rhythm-everything sounded like him. Soobin. And it was too much. Far, far too much.
So he sought silence instead. Structure. Routine. Anything but feeling.
He drowned himself in textbooks, letting the monotony of study become a wall between him and the world. He built it high and quiet-an armor made of ink and deadlines.
He stopped going to Seokmin's café, turned down every invitation with a tired smile or a practiced excuse. He skipped lunches, avoided group tables, occupied corners. The shift was evident-unspoken but undeniable. The others noticed it. Of course they did. But they didn't pry.
They saw the subtle unraveling between Beomgyu and Soobin-something too fragile, too raw to touch with careless hands. And maybe, just maybe, it was Soobin's place to bridge the silence they were both drowning in.
Still, the others didn't stop caring.
Taehyun and Hueningkai, ever gentle in their persistence, would tug him out of his room and coax him to study in the living room-where the air felt less heavy, less lonely. They'd slide their notes across the floor, quiz him between chapters, distract him just enough to keep the hollowness at bay.
Yeonjun, ever the light in cracked spaces, would whisk him away during breaks-pull him out of classrooms and drag him to the empty dance studio. He'd play loud music, show off some newly-discovered choreography, laugh and say, "Dance with me, Gyu." And for a moment, Beomgyu would.
Seokmin and Dino dropped by with armfuls of snacks and fizzy drinks, never asking questions, just sitting near him and filling the space with harmless chatter-like maybe the weight would lift if the silence wasn't left alone.
And Hiyyih-sweet, relentless Hiyyih-started learning new recipes, showing up with warm bowls and soft smiles, nudging him to eat something. Anything. Even if it was just for her sake.
Everyone gave him something. In their own way. Everyone... except Soobin.
Soobin, who once knew how to read Beomgyu's silences better than anyone, now stood quietly at the edge of them. He didn't pull, didn't push, didn't intrude-not the way the others did. His efforts were quieter. Hesitant. Measured.
Because Soobin was afraid.
Afraid that if he stepped too close, Beomgyu would retreat further. That if he reached out too boldly, he'd break whatever thread was still tethering them together. Right now, Beomgyu was still in front of him-even if distant, even if guarded. But what if that changed? What if one more misstep made him vanish entirely from Soobin's world?
So Soobin stayed.
Close enough to watch.
Far enough not to wound.
And in that distance, he suffered quietly-because he had no idea how to fix something he didn't know how he broke.
-
It was the same-unchanged and suffocating. Beomgyu sat hunched over his books, eyes skimming lines he couldn't grasp, thoughts blurring into the margins of every page. The words no longer meant anything. They floated, meaningless, like wisps of smoke in a room already too thick to breathe in. He wasn't studying anymore-he was hiding. Behind ink. Behind silence. Behind everything he couldn't say out loud.
The younger Beomgyu—so fiercely guarded, so resolute in his disillusionment—must be laughing at the man he had become now. That boy who once, with clenched fists and a trembling heart, vowed never to surrender himself to the ruinous tides of love… that boy who decided, in the echo of his parents’ screaming matches and the deafening silence that followed, that love was a cruel illusion best left untouched. He had built walls from every argument he overheard, every slammed door.
He wouldn’t even be surprised if one day they simply gave up and walked away from each other. It would only confirm what he already believed: that love never lasted. That it was a story people told themselves to feel less alone.
And yet here he was now—older, not wiser—sitting in the ruins of his own fragile hope, aching for something he once despised. He, who had once sneered at the idea of vulnerability, now found himself shattered in the wake of it. He had dared to believe love might save him. That it would be different for him. That it would anchor him when the world trembled. Instead, it had unraveled him completely.
What foolish courage had made him think love could be his refuge?
How arrogant, to expect love to stitch his wounds when all it had done was tear them wider.
He remembered the nights he lay awake, heart pulsing with a hope he didn’t know how to kill. He had believed that love would bring peace, bring light. That it would feel like coming home.
Instead, it felt like exile.
Because the only love he had ever seen survive—thrive—was between Seungcheol and Jeonghan. They were the quiet miracle that kept his belief flickering when every other example around him had extinguished it. They didn’t just love each other—they lived it. He had watched them move in sync, hold space for each other’s pain, wield tenderness like armor. They were each other’s undoing and salvation, equally. And he, from the sidelines, had dared to dream: maybe—just maybe—love could be like that for him, too.
Maybe he could be someone’s home.
He should blame them—for being too perfect, too real, too true. For making him believe in something that now only scraped raw against his ribs.
Because what he had—what he thought he had—was nothing like theirs. His love was a quiet devastation, a slow descent. It didn’t make him stronger; it left him hollow. It didn’t heal him; it opened wounds in places he didn’t even know could bleed.
He hated love.
He despised the way it had broken him, the way it lured him in with warmth only to vanish in the coldest hour. He hated how it made him feel small, invisible, unworthy.
And yet, beneath all that anger… he still ached to be loved.
With a desperation he could not admit out loud.
With a softness he no longer knew how to offer.
Because more than anything, more than hatred or bitterness or pride… what he wanted was to be held. To be chosen. To be seen, entirely, and loved despite it.
Even when it hurt.
Especially when it hurt.
His focus slipped again, dissolving like mist into the weight of everything he was holding back.
And then-
A knock.
Soft. Barely there.
But in the stillness of the room, it might as well have been a thunderclap.
One beat. Then another.
Two quiet taps.
Enough to startle him out of the maze inside his head.
The door creaked open.
Beomgyu turned, heart tightening, breath catching-and there he was.
Soobin.
Standing in the doorway, leaning lightly against the frame like he didn't know whether to walk in or walk away. His presence filled the room with a hush that wasn't silence-it was something deeper. Something heavier. Something that ached.
He didn't speak. Not yet. Just looked at Beomgyu with something unreadable in his eyes. And then-quietly, deliberately-he stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind him.
A soft, definitive sound.
A line drawn in the air between before and after.
Beomgyu swallowed hard, fingers curling tighter around the edges of his book-not for comfort, but to stop them from trembling.
Soobin didn't need to say anything. His entrance alone had already unsettled the fortress Beomgyu had built around himself.
And now they were alone.
No words. No noise.
Just the air between them, heavy with everything left unsaid.
Soobin eased himself onto the edge of the bed, quiet and careful, as though afraid any sudden movement might shatter the fragile silence that had long settled between them. He placed a paper bag down on the bedside table-its rustle too loud in the hush of the room. The bag slumped slightly, revealing the corner of a snack wrapper and two cups of instant noodles. The kind Beomgyu liked. The kind Soobin never forgot.
"There's a warning out," Soobin said after a pause, his voice calm but deliberate. "Heavy thunderstorms. Lightning too."
He didn't look at Beomgyu when he said it. As if that excuse, soft and hollow, could explain the reason he was here.
Beomgyu's breath hitched-just briefly, just enough. He hadn't checked the weather. Hadn't even opened his window or stepped out into the evening air. The world outside could be collapsing, and he wouldn't know. Because the storm inside him was already too loud.
"You didn't have to bother," he said, eyes fixed on his book though he hadn't turned a page in minutes. "I had my friends here."
Soobin's reply came quieter, as if each word were chosen for its weight. "They went to Minnie hyung's café. Said they needed a break."
Beomgyu blinked, finally turning toward him. "We just had dinner together."
Soobin gave a slight nod. "Mm. They left right after. Told me to check on you."
Beomgyu's expression shifted-just a little, but enough. His jaw tightened, his eyes faltered. "So... you're here because they asked you to come?" The disappointment bled through his words like ink through paper, unmistakable, unhidden.
Soobin stood, slowly, as if the air had thickened around him. He took a step closer, the wooden floor creaking under his weight. "No," he said, voice firmer now. "I was already at the gate when Taehyun called. I was coming either way."
Outside, the wind began to rise, curling around the building like something alive. The windowpanes trembled faintly, and a sudden gust made the curtains lift like ghosts. Beomgyu flinched, barely perceptible, but Soobin saw it.
Without a word, Soobin reached out, fingers brushing against Beomgyu's wrist-lightly, reverently, as though asking permission. Beomgyu stared at the hand, then up at Soobin. There was something unreadable in his gaze. A thousand questions he didn't know how to ask. A thousand wounds he didn't want to expose.
But he didn't pull away.
Soobin gently guided him up from the chair, steadying him until they were standing face to face-close, impossibly close. The kind of closeness that made it hard to breathe, not from suffocation, but from the overwhelming awareness of being seen-completely. Soobin's fingers reached out again, tenderly wrapping around Beomgyu's other hand, enclosing it between both of his own. His thumbs moved in slow, quiet circles over the back of Beomgyu's palm, like they were trying to memorize the shape of his ache, not fix it, just stay with it.
And that-God, that simple touch-was all it took.
Beomgyu's carefully crafted silence, the distance he had forced between them, the emotional barricades he had tried to build up day after day-it all began to dissolve, collapsing like paper castles in a storm. Because it had never taken much with Soobin. Just a whisper of skin on skin. Just warmth. Just presence. He was always Beomgyu's undoing, and Beomgyu never stood a chance.
He took one step forward, then another, until the small space that had separated them vanished altogether. And with a breath that trembled more than he wanted it to, Beomgyu leaned in, resting his forehead against Soobin's chest, right where his heartbeat pulsed slow and steady-like it was calling him home.
Soobin didn't say a word.
Instead, he gently shifted one of Beomgyu's hands into the other he was still holding, freeing his own, and brought it up to cradle the back of Beomgyu's neck. His touch was tender, reverent-as though Beomgyu might break under pressure. His fingers slid into the soft strands of his hair, combing slowly, soothingly, the way one might comfort a child or steady someone on the edge of falling apart.
Beomgyu's breath caught in his throat, fists curled lightly at Soobin's sides, not to push away-but to hold on.
Because he didn't know what to say.
Because all he wanted was to stay there, in the stillness of Soobin's arms, in the lull of that unspoken forgiveness, until the storm-inside and out-finally passed.
Outside, the clouds churned into a deeper shade of grey, swallowing the last hints of dusk. The sky trembled on the verge of breaking, a quiet echo of everything Beomgyu had been trying so hard to hold in. The storm rolled in exactly as the forecast had warned-but no one had warned them about this, about how heavy hearts could feel heavier in a room too quiet, too still.
Without a word, Soobin gently tugged Beomgyu toward the bed, his touch cautious but coaxing, like one would calm a frightened bird. He didn't ask. He didn't explain. He simply was-the one constant Beomgyu hadn't dared to rely on but kept gravitating toward.
He wrapped the blanket around Beomgyu with careful hands, as though shielding him from more than just the cold. Then he settled beside him, quiet and steady.
Beomgyu followed without protest. It wasn't instinct anymore-it was need. He shifted closer, the soft rustle of the blanket wrapping around them both like a shared secret. No hesitation this time. No wall to climb. No space left between them.
He curled into Soobin's side like he'd always belonged there, like his body remembered a safety his mind still questioned. His head rested against Soobin's chest, ear pressed to the steady rhythm of a heart that hadn't betrayed him. One arm slung across Soobin's waist, the other tucked beneath him. And finally, his face nuzzled into the crook of Soobin's neck, where warmth met scent, and memory blurred into present.
Soobin didn't move, didn't speak. He just tilted his head enough to rest his cheek on Beomgyu's hair, his fingers gently brushing over the small of Beomgyu's back in slow, calming circles.
Outside, the first crack of thunder rolled in low and distant. But inside that blanket, in the quiet shelter of each other's arms, they found something that felt dangerously close to peace.
A fragile kind of peace that neither dared to name-but both were aching to hold onto.
And for the first time in what felt like lifetimes stitched together by silence, Beomgyu wasn't afraid of the storm clawing at the world outside. The thunder cracked like shattered bone across the sky, the wind howled like a warning-but none of it reached him. Not really. Not when he was here, folded into Soobin's arms like they were a haven carved out just for him.
There, in that fragile cocoon of warmth and breath and heartbeat, fear couldn't touch him. It tried-God, it tried. But Soobin's arms were an armor, a soft and trembling fortress that held back every ghost that dared to rise. It was irrational, maybe even foolish, to believe that a pair of human arms could stand against the weight of storms, but Beomgyu believed it anyway. With all that he was.
Even if Soobin were the storm himself, even if his love one day turned into the very thing that tore him apart, Beomgyu knew-he would still run to him. Crawl back into his arms, seeking shelter in the very ruins that might break him. Not out of weakness, but because Soobin had become home, even when that home was fire-walled and unpredictable. Even if it burned him.
And that was the cruel, exquisite truth.
Because Beomgyu didn't know when Soobin had become this for him-this soft ache in his bones, this ache that felt like comfort. He didn't know why the boy with the soft voice and steadier heart had carved himself so deeply into the hollowed-out spaces inside him.
He didn't know how this happened.
But it had.
And now, no thunder, no silence, no distance could unravel it.
God only knows how long they stayed like that-entwined in a silence that spoke louder than any confession, wrapped around each other like the only thing tethering them to this fragile, shivering world. Maybe it was until the weight of sleep began to kiss the corners of Beomgyu's lashes. Maybe it was long after that. Or maybe it was in the way Soobin instinctively pulled him closer each time the sky roared with thunder, not to shield him from the sound-but to remind him he wasn't alone in it.
There was something almost poetic about it-how they hadn't exchanged a single word, yet managed to speak in volumes. Pages and pages of unsaid things poured from the quiet press of their bodies, from the cadence of their shared breath. The storm outside might have been relentless, but here, wrapped together beneath the soft cover of a worn blanket and fraying emotion, it was gentle.
And Beomgyu, the boy who had always fought his sleep like it was a thief trying to rob him of vigilance, finally let go. He surrendered to it-not with hesitation but with a kind of quiet trust. His breathing steadied. The storm inside him quieted. And his fingers, still curled around the fabric of Soobin's shirt, refused to let go-as if even in sleep, he knew what held him together.
Soobin stared at the boy in his arms, fragile and brave and exhausted. He leaned down, his lips brushing Beomgyu's forehead with the softness of a promise he hadn't yet dared to speak aloud.
"I'm here," he whispered into the boy's hair, the words trembling as they left his lips like a prayer.
His arms tightened around him, as though he could press the words deeper, anchor them into bone and memory.
"Sleep tight, love," he murmured. And he meant every syllable of it-with all the gentleness, all the ache, all the unspoken longing that lived inside his heart.
Morning came quietly.
The storm had passed, leaving behind the scent of damp earth and softened air. Light spilled in gently through the curtains—no longer hesitant like yesterday, but warmer, braver, like it dared to touch what had been too fragile just hours ago.
Soobin was the first to stir, his eyes fluttering open to the golden hush of early dawn. For a moment, he didn’t move—afraid that even the slightest shift would disturb the stillness wrapped around them like a second blanket. Beomgyu was still curled into him, his breath warm and steady against Soobin’s neck, lips parted in the kind of sleep one only has when they feel safe.
It struck him all over again—how much he loved this boy. Not in the way movies shouted about, but in the quieter, aching ways. The way Beomgyu twitched in his sleep when thunder rumbled. The way his fingers sought something to hold even unconsciously. The way Soobin would give him every piece of his heart without needing it returned.
He reached out, brushing a few strands of hair away from Beomgyu’s forehead, careful not to wake him. The skin there was warm beneath his touch. He leaned in and kissed it again—like the night before, like a vow he didn’t know how to speak aloud yet.
Beomgyu stirred faintly, brows twitching before his eyes cracked open, sleep-heavy and dazed.
Their eyes met—quiet, a little startled. Neither said anything at first. The silence between them was no longer filled with distance, but with something softer. Something waiting.
“…You stayed,” Beomgyu whispered, voice hoarse from sleep and silence.
Soobin smiled, small and real. “That’s what I was here for.”
A beat passed. Beomgyu’s lips parted as if to say something else, but nothing came. Instead, he pressed his forehead against Soobin’s chest again, letting the comfort of it fill him, as if it could somehow stitch everything broken back into place.
“I didn’t want to wake up,” he murmured after a pause. “Because this felt too much like a dream.”
“It wasn’t,” Soobin said, his arms tightening around him, grounding him. “It’s real. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Outside, the city stirred with the start of a new day. But in that room, wrapped in each other, it still felt like night hadn’t ended—like the storm had passed only to leave them something gentle in its wake.
Maybe, for the first time, morning didn’t mean goodbye. Maybe it meant beginning.
In that small room, wrapped in shared breath and tangled limbs, time had chosen to still. They lay cocooned in the quiet warmth of each other—Soobin’s arm draped protectively around Beomgyu’s waist, and Beomgyu’s fingers resting lightly on Soobin’s chest, rising and falling like waves following a silent rhythm only they understood.
But the moment cracked.
A sudden shrill ring echoed through the stillness—the harsh sound of Beomgyu’s phone cutting into the serenity like a blade. He stirred, body stiffening as he reached toward the nightstand, fingers fumbling for the device. But before he could, Soobin's arm tightened instinctively, pulling him back in with an almost desperate gentleness, as if the world might snatch Beomgyu away the moment he moved.
Beomgyu blinked, startled by the quiet resistance, and turned to look at him. Soobin’s eyes were still closed, but his voice came soft, muffled into Beomgyu’s shoulder—fragile, childlike, almost aching.
“Don’t…”
It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a command. It was something in between—a fragile confession hidden in a single word. His head nudged deeper into the curve of Beomgyu’s shoulder like a cat seeking warmth, like someone clinging to a dream they weren’t ready to wake up from.
A faint, barely-there smile ghosted across Beomgyu’s lips—sad, tender, a little helpless. “It might be something important,” he whispered, though the words tasted foreign now, empty in comparison to what he was holding in his arms.
Still, he moved to push Soobin’s arm gently aside, only for Soobin to let out the softest whine—a sound that was barely a breath, but enough to break something fragile in Beomgyu’s chest.
After a reluctant pause, Soobin released him with a slow, aching reluctance, his arm sliding off like an unwelcome goodbye. But even in that retreat, there was no distance—just longing, just hesitation. As Beomgyu reached for his phone, he could still feel the imprint of Soobin’s touch on his skin, lingering like a promise unspoken.
And when their eyes met again, even briefly, there was something raw there. Something that spoke of storms survived and battles yet to come.
One last lingering glance at Soobin—still half-tucked into the blankets, the curve of sleep-softened hair falling over his forehead, eyes watching in a silence that said more than words ever could—and Beomgyu reluctantly reached for his phone, thumb swiping across the screen as the call connected.
“Morning, hyung!” he greeted, voice steadier than he felt.
But it wasn’t Jeonghan who answered.
“Beomieeeee ~” came a chirping, musical voice, light as bells and bursting with joy. Beomgyu’s lips parted into a smile—genuine and immediate, the kind that bloomed straight from the chest and warmed the edges of his heart.
“Hi, princess,” he murmured, his voice instantly softening into a tone reserved for only one person in the world.
“Beomie! You’re coming, right?” Eunsoo asked, her words hurried with excitement, like she feared even a second of delay would ruin the moment.
Of course, she meant her birthday—just three days away. She had been counting down the hours with uncontainable joy, her little heart swollen with anticipation. Originally, the plan had been to celebrate in Daegu, but Seungcheol’s crushing workload had made it impossible. Her disappointment had been quiet but deep, her small voice trembling when she first heard the news. But Beomgyu—her guardian of joy—had spun gold from that gloom, promising instead to come to Tokyo. The shift of plans turned her sadness into stars, and since then, she hadn’t stopped glowing.
“Of course I’m coming, baby,” Beomgyu replied, matching her tone, layering each syllable with affection. “I wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world.”
“I’ll wait for you, Beomie! I’m leaving for school now. Bye! I love you!”
“Have a magical day, Euna. I love you more,” he whispered, as if his love could follow her through the receiver and wrap her in warmth.
There was a rustling on the other side of the call, the muffled exchange of the phone, and then a more grounded voice settled into his ear—calmer, older, familiar.
“If it’s too much, you don’t have to come, Gyu. Your exams are near,” Seungcheol’s voice held that measured gentleness that only came from years of being protective.
Beomgyu paused, gaze flickering briefly to the window, where the skies still wore the bruised colors of dawn. Then he glanced sideways at Soobin, whose expression was unreadable but soft, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“No, hyung. It’s fine. I’ve already covered most of my syllabus. I’ve been looking forward to her birthday too. If not here, then with you all there. And everyone’s excited—we’ve already been making plans,” Beomgyu said with conviction, his voice light but steady, pouring sincerity into every word.
Soobin’s smile deepened, his eyes crinkling just faintly as he pulled the blanket tighter around his waist, listening without saying a word.
“Alright, if that’s what you want,” Seungcheol replied, the edge of worry still present, but dulled by trust. “I’m heading out now. Just text me your details so I can book the flight.”
“I will, hyung,” Beomgyu promised.
“Bye, Gyu. Take care of yourself.”
Beomgyu lingered for a beat before murmuring, “Hmm… You too, hyung.”
The call ended, but the echoes remained—of Eunsoo’s laughter, Seungcheol’s concern, the faint warmth of belonging that stretched all the way to Tokyo and wrapped itself around Beomgyu’s chest.
And beside him, Soobin reached out, brushing his fingers ever so lightly against Beomgyu’s arm. No words. Just presence. Just quiet understanding.
“Can you please get back here? It’s cold,” Soobin murmured, voice thick with sleep and laced with a tender whine, his fingers blindly reaching for the hem of Beomgyu’s hoodie like a child grasping for comfort in the dark.
Beomgyu let out a soft breath, part disbelieving, part endeared, his eyes falling to the hand tugging at him with such quiet desperation. He shook his head, lips curving into a reluctant smile, even as a sigh escaped him.
“We’ll get late for class,” he said, though even he couldn’t summon the weight of urgency behind his words.
“Classes can wait,” Soobin replied, barely above a whisper—but the certainty in his tone wrapped around Beomgyu like a slow, deliberate pull. With one tug, Soobin drew him in, and Beomgyu tumbled forward, his body finding its place against Soobin’s chest as if it had always belonged there.
Arms closed around his waist without hesitation, firm and familiar, locking him in like an anchor claiming its shore. The warmth that radiated from Soobin was not just of skin and bones, but of something gentler, something sacred—an unspoken plea to stay, to not let the world interrupt what was still fragile and still forming between them.
Beomgyu exhaled against the fabric of Soobin’s shirt, letting the moment soften his resistance. He didn’t fight the embrace. Didn’t argue. He simply let his weight fall into the space Soobin had carved out for him.
Outside the world moved—unapologetically fast, burdened by responsibilities and the ticking of clocks. But here, in the hush between heartbeats, they borrowed time. A quiet rebellion against the chaos. A sanctuary built from silence, held together by touch.
And for those few stolen moments, the world outside could wait. Because in Soobin’s arms, Beomgyu found warmth not just from the cold, but from the ache he never knew he needed healed.
-
Soobin stood before the mirror, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a line as he fumbled with the tie for what felt like the hundredth time. He pulled it apart again with a huff of frustration. “What is wrong with this cursed piece of clothing? And why do I need to wear a suit for a birthday party?” he muttered under his breath, more to the reflection than anyone else.
It had been nearly seven hours since they touched down in Tokyo—welcomed with warmth by Seungcheol at the airport, ushered into the comfort of home, and given a few precious hours of rest. The city outside was now dipped in dusk, glowing gently under the amber sky. The birthday celebration was set to begin at eight. It was already past seven.
Soobin’s suit—sleek black, tailored to his tall frame, paired with a crisp white shirt—should’ve made him look effortlessly composed. But he was currently anything but. All of this because Eunsoo, in her latest adorable obsession with Boss Baby, had declared it a “fancy grown-up party.” And Seungcheol, naturally, would move heaven and earth to keep that sparkle in her eyes alive.
The bedroom door creaked open, and Beomgyu stepped in, his presence an anchor even in the chaos. “You’re taking forever,” he teased, one brow raised, an amused curve playing on his lips.
Soobin turned around dramatically, tie still dangling like a defeated ribbon around his neck. “Oh no, this tie is taking forever. I’m thinking of just skipping it altogether.”
“You sure you wanna upset Eunsoo?” Beomgyu asked, a soft glint in his eyes. “She’s been looking forward to tonight like it’s her wedding.”
Soobin groaned in defeat, fingers still hopelessly tangling in the silk tie.
Beomgyu chuckled—warm, light, and undeniably fond. “Move,” he said, stepping closer with an easy grace that made Soobin forget how to breathe for a second. “You’ll end up strangling yourself before we even get to the party.”
And then, with the gentlest touch, Beomgyu slid his fingers beneath the collar, his movements deft and practiced. His eyes focused, lips pursed in concentration, as he looped and knotted the fabric with an elegance that Soobin couldn’t look away from. He smelled of warm cologne and safety—of something achingly familiar. And damn it, he looked beautiful. The suit fit Beomgyu like it was crafted just for him—coal black that made his eyes darker, deeper. And Soobin couldn’t stop staring.
His gaze trailed from the gentle slope of Beomgyu’s neck to the way his lashes fluttered as he focused on the tie. There was a quiet pride in the way he carried himself tonight, and Soobin was drowning in it.
“You’re staring,” Beomgyu said softly, not looking up, but the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his awareness.
“I’m admiring,” Soobin corrected under his breath, voice thick with something he didn’t name.
And just as Beomgyu finished the final knot, Soobin's hands found his waist. He slid them around, slow and sure, drawing him in until there was no space left to pretend. His breath ghosted against Beomgyu’s cheek.
“Perfect,” he murmured, eyes fixed on him—not the tie.
Beomgyu froze for a heartbeat, and then softened, resting his palms gently on Soobin’s chest. “I assume you mean the tie?”
“No,” Soobin breathed, fingers curling slightly into the fabric at his back. “I meant you.”
And there it was again—the silence that said everything. The pause before the storm. The moment so thick with feeling, it felt like the world might shatter if either of them dared to speak it aloud.
The words hung suspended in the space between them—ripe and trembling, aching to be spoken, yet sealed behind the heavy hush of their hearts. They lingered in Soobin’s parted lips, in Beomgyu’s gaze that darted down instead of holding on, in the tender way their fingers brushed and hesitated. The confession was there, fluttering like a trapped bird behind their ribs, but neither dared to set it free.
Because what if speaking it shattered everything?
What if the beauty of this—of moments stitched in quiet understanding, in warm glances and held breaths—was too fragile to withstand the weight of truth?
And especially for Beomgyu, who had only just begun to believe in warmth again.
He feared it most. The breaking. The distance. The confirmation that maybe this—whatever this was—only existed in the safe ambiguity of silence. So instead, he clung to the illusion like it was salvation. Even if it chipped away at him in places no one could see. Even if pretending cost him his own heart.
If staying meant living with a gentle lie—that Soobin was here for him, that his arms were a promise and not a pause—then he would take it. He would stay. With false hope folded into every glance, with dreams stitched into silence. Even if it felt like self-inflicted ache, he would rather bleed quietly than lose Soobin entirely.
Because sometimes, loving someone meant holding back the very words that could set you free.
They held onto each other far longer than necessary—yet nothing about it felt excessive. It was as if time, merciful for once, chose to slow in their favor. In the hush between heartbeats, they simply stayed. Breathing. Feeling. Memorizing.
Beomgyu’s fingers, delicate and unsure, drifted back to Soobin’s collar—playing with the fabric, not because it needed fixing, but because it gave him a reason to linger. A way to ground himself in the closeness he craved. He tugged lightly at the tie, a silent plea for the moment not to end, a whisper of “stay” spoken through touch.
Soobin, as if reading the tremble beneath those movements, tightened his hold around Beomgyu’s waist. Inch by inch, like a wave folding back into the ocean, he drew Beomgyu impossibly closer, reluctant to part from the warmth he had only just begun to let himself need.
Their breaths mingled—soft, shallow, almost reverent—as their foreheads nearly touched. Like two magnetic poles that no force could keep apart, they leaned in, drawn by something ancient and unspoken. The kind of pull that wasn’t born of impulse but of longing long denied.
Their faces hovered close, a fragile distance of air between them—too close to look away, too far to feel whole. And in that sliver of space, hearts beat louder than words, and silence carried a weight language could never hold.
Their trance shattered abruptly—a cruel intrusion—when a knock rang against the door, far too loud, far too sharp, slicing through the fragile stillness like a blade. The sound reverberated through the room, jarring and unwelcome, dragging them back into a reality they had tried to forget, even if just for a moment.
Beomgyu instinctively began to pull away, the spell dissipating, but Soobin’s hands refused to loosen. His grip was gentle yet stubborn, like a child clinging to the last remnants of a dream before morning takes it away.
Another knock followed—more insistent this time, breaking whatever was left of the silence they had made sacred.
"Ya! Choi Soobin? Aren't you ready yet? Come out. We're getting late," Yeonjun’s voice called from the other side, loud and annoyingly grounded in the world they weren't ready to reenter.
Soobin didn’t even flinch. “I’m coming. You guys go ahead,” he called back, his voice level but laced with a subtle reluctance.
The fading echo of retreating footsteps outside gave them a brief window of solitude again.
“We should leave,” Beomgyu whispered, adjusting his collar—trying to steady the storm inside him, to reassemble the pieces of composure scattered on the floor. He turned toward the door, taking a few hesitant steps forward, already missing the warmth he left behind.
But before he could reach the handle, Soobin caught up with him in a quiet flurry of motion, and without warning, pressed a featherlight kiss to his cheek. It was fleeting—barely there—but the heat of it seared through Beomgyu like lightning under skin.
Then Soobin was gone, slipping past him and out the door like it never happened.
Beomgyu froze in his tracks, breath caught, skin tingling, eyes wide with something unnamed and heavy. His hand hovered mid-air, the echo of that kiss settling like dust in a sunlit room.
“Choi Beomgyu! We’re getting late,” Soobin called from the corridor, voice playfully teasing, a laugh tucked into the end like a ribbon tied over a secret.
And Beomgyu stood there, heart aching sweetly—aching beautifully—before following him into the night.
They arrived at the party hall in two sleek black cars, meticulously arranged by Seungcheol, each mile bringing them closer to the evening Eunsoo had been dreaming about for weeks.
Their mission was simple—yet sacred: to surprise Eunsoo as they entered with the cake. So they gathered quietly in the farthest corner of the hall, carefully choosing a spot concealed enough that her eager eyes wouldn’t catch them before the right moment.
There stood the seven of them—Beomgyu, Soobin, Yeonjun, Taehyun, Hueningkai, Seokmin, and Dino—dressed in coordinated hues, joined by Eunsoo’s glowing parents, and Joshua, who had just arrived, slipping seamlessly into the designated dress code like he belonged to the warmth it carried.
But the second Soobin laid eyes on Joshua, something in him shifted—an instinctive flare of protectiveness that made his gaze veer instantly toward Seokmin, who stood a few feet away. Seokmin wasn’t his usual self—there was a quiet hollowness in the way he stared ahead, like he wasn’t really seeing anything, like he was caught in a memory too sharp to blink away.
Soobin’s first impulse was to close the distance between them, to anchor Seokmin with his presence, to place a hand over his and remind him that he was not alone tonight. But he didn’t need to. Because Yeonjun was already there—steadfast and sure, standing shoulder to shoulder with Seokmin, his arm gently linked through his. And that was enough. Soobin saw it in the way Yeonjun stood—firm as a lighthouse—and knew with quiet certainty: as long as Yeonjun was beside him, Seokmin wouldn’t fall. And even if he did, Yeonjun would catch him before the world could bruise him further.
The gathering wasn’t extravagant—no crowds or grand spectacle. Just a few of Eunsoo’s classmates laughing near the entrance, their parents in polite conversation. Some of Seungcheol’s colleagues, offering warm greetings and soft smiles. And a handful of Jeonghan’s students from his youth counselling club, dressed in oversized cartoon mascot costumes, each one wobbling with charm and innocent delight. The space felt safe, held together by love and intention, lit not by chandeliers, but by the quiet glow of hearts gathered for one little girl’s happiness.
Beomgyu stood still, a soft, aching warmth blooming in his chest as his gaze found her—his little sister, his Eunsoo. There she was, a vision bathed in innocence and moonlight, twirling between laughter and delight, her tiny hands tangled with her friends’. She wore a white and silver gown that shimmered under the fairy lights, delicate as stardust. A small silver crown rested atop her soft curls, catching the light like a halo—anointing her not just as the birthday girl, but as the rightful princess of his world.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Every giggle that escaped her lips, every bounce in her steps, pulled him deeper into a quiet realm of love and longing. She was growing up so fast, yet in this moment she looked impossibly small—beautiful and untouched by the ache that the world sometimes carried. And still, within the joy, Beomgyu felt a sting—gentle but sharp. A tug of regret.
He ached to rush to her, to gather her into his arms and hold her close against his chest, to whisper all the words his heart had carried for so long. To wish her every joy this world could ever offer. To thank her for coming into his life like dawn breaking through a sleepless night. To promise her the softest, safest tomorrows. And most of all—to quietly apologize. For the missed birthdays. For the silences. For the distance. For not being there enough when she deserved everything.
Just then, his gaze landed—unintentionally, fatally—on two figures in the crowd. Familiar. Far too familiar. So much so that recognition struck him not like a memory, but like a wound reopening.
Beomgyu froze, utterly still, as if the world around him had slipped into a slow, silent collapse. His breath hitched—shallow, sharp—caught somewhere between his lungs and his ribs. Every sound dulled, the ambient music melting into a distant echo as panic clawed its way up his throat.
His trembling hands moved instinctively, desperate to anchor himself to something—anything—that could pull him back to the present. His fingers brushed fabric, and then gripped it with a force he didn’t realize he had.
It was warm. Human. Soobin.
Soobin turned immediately, his senses sharpened by the instinct he always seemed to possess when it came to Beomgyu. The moment he felt the faint tug at his jacket, his gaze fell to the boy, and alarm spread across his face like a shadow.
“Beomgyu?” he whispered, voice etched in concern.
Without waiting for an answer, Soobin closed the distance between them. His hands steadied Beomgyu’s shoulders before gently guiding him away from the cluster of voices and celebration. He didn’t ask. He didn’t press. He just moved—protectively, purposefully—as if shielding Beomgyu from the weight of the very air.
As they reached the quieter side of the hall, Soobin reached out with his free hand and swiftly caught a bottle of water from a waiter passing by, never once letting go of Beomgyu with the other. He could feel the boy trembling beneath his grip.
“Hey, breathe…,” Soobin murmured, voice low and grounding, like a lullaby only Beomgyu could hear.
Soobin gently cradled the back of Beomgyu’s trembling hand, his thumb moving in slow, reassuring circles across the soft skin. His other hand moved instinctively to the nape of Beomgyu’s neck, fingers threading tenderly through his hair, grounding him—anchoring him back to the present from whatever storm had just pulled him under.
And strangely, impossibly, it helped. The chaos in Beomgyu’s breath eased just enough for him to speak, though his voice trembled as if dragged through shards of memory.
“Sh-she’s here, Soobin,” he whispered, barely audible, as though saying it aloud would somehow make it more real—more terrifying. “They both are...”
His voice cracked like thin ice, and panic returned in a fresh, crushing wave. “Why are they here? Will they take Eunsoo from me? I—I can’t let that happen. I can’t—” His words dissolved into panic-stricken gasps, pain rushing in faster than he could brace himself.
Soobin didn’t hesitate. He pulled him close, arms tightening around Beomgyu’s fragile frame as if he could shield him from every ghost, every wound the boy carried. “Shhh,” he murmured, lips brushing his temple. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe with me, Beomgyu. No one is taking Eunsoo. Not now. Not ever. Especially not them.”
His voice was low but firm, soaked in certainty. One hand cradled the back of Beomgyu’s head, the other pressing him gently to his chest, feeling every heartbeat shudder against his own. He didn’t try to offer empty comfort—he offered himself as a shelter instead.
And as Beomgyu clung to him like a lifeline, Soobin’s own mind spiraled quietly, catching the unspoken truth in Beomgyu’s voice. He knew who ‘they’ were. The ones who had left scars deeper than silence. The ones who had forfeited the right to ever stand near Eunsoo—or Beomgyu.
But what were they doing here now?
The question burned in Soobin’s chest even as he held Beomgyu tighter, vowing silently that no matter the answer, he would not let them take another piece of the boy trembling in his arms.
Just then, Jeonghan approached them, his voice light and unaware of the quiet storm brewing. “Beomie, let’s go with the cak—” He halted mid-sentence the moment his eyes landed on Beomgyu.
The change in his expression was immediate—worry flickered across his face like lightning before a storm. Soobin, sensing the shift, gently stepped aside, giving Jeonghan space without letting go of Beomgyu entirely, his hand still resting near, just in case.
“Gyu?” Jeonghan rushed forward, the nickname catching in his throat as he cupped Beomgyu’s face with both hands. “What happened? Why are you crying, sweetheart?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, weighted with fear and tenderness, like a brother aching to protect but not knowing from what.
Beomgyu slowly lifted his gaze, his lashes wet and clumped with unshed tears. His voice trembled as he asked, “What are they doing here, hyung?” The question came out like a wound—open, raw, and glistening.
Jeonghan didn’t need clarification. He didn’t have to ask who.
A long sigh escaped him, the kind that carried history—complicated, painful, heavy with things unsaid. “You know how she is. She always finds a way to force herself back into our lives. She said she just wanted to see Eunsoo from afar. She begged me… begged.”
“And you…” Beomgyu’s voice cracked. “You’re too soft-hearted, hyung. You just let her.” The accusation wasn’t cruel. It was heartbreak in disguise. It was the ache of a child who had to grow up too fast and learned too well what mercy cost.
Jeonghan lowered his gaze, shame and sorrow gathering behind his eyes. He couldn’t argue with that. He never could when it came to her.
“You don’t have to worry, Beomie,” he said after a pause, his voice steadier this time, even if his heart wasn't. “She won’t come near Eunsoo. She won’t dare. And you know how fiercely Seungcheol guards her. He won’t even let her shadow fall across your sister. Let her look from a distance, if that’s all she can do.”
He raised a hand, brushing the tears off Beomgyu’s cheeks with a gentleness only Jeonghan could offer. “Come, let’s go get the cake. Your sister is waiting for you. Her big brother. Her special person.”
Beomgyu gave a slow, reluctant nod, still visibly shaken but leaning into Jeonghan’s touch like it might keep him from breaking apart.
Jeonghan placed a soft kiss on his forehead before turning to check the final preparations, his shoulders carrying the quiet burden of guilt.
Soobin stepped forward again, his hand reaching for Beomgyu’s without hesitation. “You’re here for Eunsoo, Beomgyu,” he said, his voice calm but resolute. “Focus on her. Don’t let anything else live in your head right now.”
Beomgyu looked up at him, and for a moment, the world narrowed to that gaze—safe, unwavering, kind. He nodded again.
With that, Soobin gently laced their fingers and guided him back toward the others, back to the part of his world that still felt like home.
Beomgyu stood in the very heart of the hall, his fingers curled tightly around the delicate handle of the cake cart, as though grounding himself in that fragile moment. On the cart sat a breathtaking three-tier cake—an artwork of pastel frosting and gleaming, jewel-toned candies, crowned with a golden candle shaped like the number five, standing tall and proud, as if announcing Eunsoo’s joy to the world.
Encircling him were the people who had stitched themselves into the seams of his chosen family. On either side stood Jeonghan and Seungcheol—silent pillars of strength—while behind them, the others gathered, hands clasped around confetti poppers, hearts swelling in quiet anticipation.
The lights dimmed, casting a warm twilight hue across the space. A gentle, lilting melody of the birthday song began to rise in the background—soft at first, like a lullaby—and Beomgyu, blinking past the sudden wetness in his eyes, reached forward and lit the candle. The flame flickered to life, and with it, so did something inside him.
He began pushing the cart forward, each step careful and slow, as though time itself had begun to sway with the rhythm of the song. The group followed, their voices blending into a harmonious chorus, each note infused with warmth, each face glowing in the candlelight.
Eunsoo turned at the sound, abandoning the small ball she had been playing with. Her wide eyes sparkled as if the stars themselves had descended into the room. For a heartbeat, she stood frozen—then her face broke into the purest smile, and she ran, arms outstretched, her tiny shoes tapping hurriedly against the floor, the birthday song still echoing around her.
Beomgyu hastily slid the cake cart aside, dropping to his knees just in time to catch her. He lifted her into the air with ease, her delighted squeals filling the room as he spun her gently, her laughter like music of its own. When he finally cradled her to his chest, it was as if the world had narrowed to just this—her tiny arms around his neck, her heartbeat fluttering against his.
“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispered, voice trembling against the silk of her hair. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek, as though sealing every wish he had ever made for her into that one touch.
She giggled, bright and breathless. “Thank you, Beomie!” she chirped, cupping his cheeks with her little hands before placing a kiss on his cheek, her joy radiating outward like sunlight.
Turning in his arms, she scanned the crowd of her beloved family and broke into more laughter. “You all look so funny!” she announced, her grin lighting up every heart in the room.
“Jeonghan hyung! We didn’t sign up for this!” Dino whined playfully, dramatically brushing confetti off his shoulders. Laughter erupted around them, as if the room itself had taken a breath and exhaled delight.
“Happy birthday, Eunsoo,” Soobin said, his voice tender as he ruffled her hair gently. She stretched her arms out to him without hesitation, and he caught her effortlessly, her trust in him absolute.
“I’ll take turns with everyone!” she declared, ever the little diplomat of love, making her rounds from arm to arm, gathering wishes, kisses, and laughter like they were the rarest treasures.
When she reached Seokmin, her joy crescendoed. “Mimi!” she shrieked with delight, and before anyone could stop her, she launched herself from Taehyun’s arms, a blur of excitement, into Seokmin’s waiting embrace.
“Happy birthday, princess,” he said, wrapping her in the warmth of a love that felt almost paternal. “I missed you so much.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, eyes crinkling.
“I misses you more, Mimi,” she replied with all the sincerity of her five-year-old heart, cradling his cheeks in her small palms before bumping their noses together—their own cherished ritual, sacred and theirs alone.
Then, surrounded by love, she blew out the candle, her cheeks puffed adorably, her wish sent silently into the universe. As soon as the flame died, the room erupted in a shower of confetti, bursting like fireworks above her head.
In moments, the table was brimming with gifts, each one wrapped with care and affection, a mountain of ribbons, sparkles, and bright colors—all for her. But the greatest gift that day wasn’t wrapped in paper or tied with a bow. It was the way her eyes glowed. The way she was held. The way she was loved.
And somewhere amidst the laughter and light, Beomgyu stood still—heart full, soul aching with gratitude—watching his little sister shine, knowing this was the kind of moment he would carry with him forever.
The party wrapped itself around them like a velvet curtain—soft music unfurling in the background, mingling with the tender laughter of children and the occasional burst of confetti still drifting lazily through the air. Warm lights cast a golden hue across the room, illuminating the joyful chaos like a scene pulled from the pages of a childhood dream.
Eunsoo darted between clusters of her little friends, the trailing end of her ribbon bouncing with each step. The mascots danced beside her, spinning and waving, drawing out her giggles that rang through the hall like wind chimes in spring. Her joy was unfiltered, radiant—something that bloomed freely, untouched by the shadows that lurked behind the walls of adult hearts.
Around her, the guests lost themselves in light-hearted conversation and the warmth of shared food. Glasses clinked. Laughter spilled. Plates passed hands. Yet amid it all, Beomgyu remained grounded, tethered to one soul alone.
He stayed close—watching, waiting, protecting. His gaze followed her like a quiet sentinel, especially during those quieter intervals when the whirlwind of games and laughter slowed. When she crouched beside the pile of presents, gently peeling back wrapping paper with curious fingers, he would sit close, a silent presence watching her as if afraid she might vanish if he blinked.
There was something in the way his shoulders remained tense, the way his fingers never strayed too far from her. His instincts roared beneath his skin, fierce and unwavering—love forged into armor. It was in the way he tilted his head to hear her laughter, but his eyes occasionally flicked toward the other end of the hall.
There—his parents.
Their presence hovered like an unspoken threat, a weight pressing on his chest. He didn’t know what version of chaos they would bring now, seeing him here. Seeing Eunsoo. Seeing what they had no hand in building yet might still try to tear down. So he said nothing. Did nothing. Only prayed silently, desperately, for the evening to end without the storm breaking.
He just wanted to take her home—home, where she would be safe. Where no shadow could reach her, not as long as Seungcheol and Jeonghan stood as her guardians, as the walls of her fortress.
Slowly, the vibrant energy of the celebration began to dissolve into a gentle hush. One by one, the guests approached the birthday girl with their final smiles and parting wishes. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” they would whisper, touching her hair or squeezing her hand. The crowd thinned. The room grew quieter. Emptier.
Beomgyu found her again—this time perched on a chair, her little legs swinging rhythmically beneath her, her energy finally waning. The spark of sugar and play had dimmed into exhaustion, her cheeks flushed pink from laughter, her curls sticking to her temples with a sheen of sweat.
He knelt before her on one knee, his every movement tender and deliberate, as if the entire world had grown fragile in the silence. In his hand, a spoon held a small bite of cake, its frosting already melting slightly.
“Open up, my baby star,” he whispered, voice almost trembling as he brought the spoon to her lips.
She blinked drowsily, then smiled—slow, sleepy, the kind of smile that melted through his every defense—and leaned forward to accept it.
And in that quiet, fleeting moment, with crumbs on her lips and a curl falling across her brow, Beomgyu felt something swell painfully in his chest. Something like love. Something like fear. Something like a promise that no matter who tried, no matter what history haunted them, he would never let her be taken. Not again. Not ever.
From the farthest corner of the dimming hall, Jeonghan stood still—half-shadowed by the velvet drapes, a flute of untouched champagne hanging loosely between his fingers. His gaze never left them- Beomgyu kneeling before the tiny figure of Eunsoo, feeding her cake with the gentleness of someone cradling moonlight in their palms.
The soft murmur of departing guests faded into something distant, hollow, like waves crashing on a shore too far to reach. Jeonghan’s breath caught somewhere between his ribs, stuck like a sob that refused to rise. His eyes—glossy, rimmed with quiet ache—followed the way Beomgyu looked at her, as though he were memorizing her existence in case it was ever taken from him.
A soft smile trembled at the edge of Jeonghan’s lips, but it never quite formed.
He had seen Beomgyu in countless states—grinning with mischief, trembling with rage, withdrawn in grief. But this version of him, this tender, silent protector wrapped around Eunsoo like a second heartbeat—this made Jeonghan’s chest ache with something both sacred and sorrowful.
He blinked, slowly, fighting the stinging warmth gathering in his eyes.
This wasn’t the boy their parents had broken.
This was a man forged from heartbreak and love, from years of being second-guessed and stepped over, now finding a home in the arms of a little girl too pure to understand the weight he carried.
Jeonghan wiped at his eye with the back of his hand, quick and discreet.
He had let her in—them in—because somewhere, beneath the wounds and bitterness, he still wanted to believe people could change. But now watching Beomgyu, silently praying this night would pass without thunder, Jeonghan felt the old guilt press into him like ice- maybe he had failed again, by giving their parents even the slightest foothold.
And still, as he watched Beomgyu scoop another spoon of cake and whisper something into Eunsoo’s ear that made her giggle sleepily—he felt something soften inside.
Seungcheol and Jeonghan weren’t alone in protecting her anymore.
There was no need to say it aloud, but the silent vow passed between them from across the hall.
No matter who shows up... she is ours.
Beomgyu was so lost in the softness of the moment—in the way Eunsoo's tiny fingers reached trustingly for the next bite of cake, in the way her lashes fluttered with exhaustion yet wonder—that he failed to register the approaching footsteps... or the quiet thunder they carried with them.
“Beomie?” The voice rang out, syrupy-sweet—so sweet, it curled in his stomach like spoiled milk.
He didn’t need to look. His body already knew. His skin tensed. His grip on the spoon faltered.
His first instinct wasn’t to answer. It was to protect.
Without thinking, Beomgyu rose slowly to his feet, his expression hardening. In one swift motion, he stepped in front of Eunsoo, shielding her with his entire frame, as if his presence alone could block the shadows from touching her.
Behind him, Eunsoo blinked up, confused by the sudden tension, her small hands clutching the edge of her plate.
Across the room, Seungcheol stood like a soldier summoned to battle. The softness in his gaze—so present moments ago—evaporated like breath against cold glass. His body leaned forward ever so slightly, the muscle in his jaw ticking. He had drawn lines in the sand, lines sealed with silence and scar tissue. And now—now they had crossed them.
His arms twitched at his sides, a breath away from charging. One more step—toward either of them—and Seungcheol would tear through restraint like paper.
Jeonghan felt it too. The air was crackling with the kind of quiet that came before shattering.
He didn’t speak, but his eyes flicked quickly to Joshua.
Joshua, ever perceptive, moved. He stepped forward with practiced calm, kneeling beside the chair where Eunsoo sat frozen in confusion. Gently, he offered his hand and a smile that softened the tension.
“Come on, baby. Let’s go get some fresh air, hm?”
Eunsoo glanced at him, then at the others—puzzled, but trusting. She placed her tiny hand in his, still holding her plate in the other, and let him lead her away with slow, deliberate steps.
But halfway to the door, she stopped. Her little brows furrowed, and her head turned.
“Wait,” she said, suddenly.
Then she broke into a run, handing over the plate to Joshua, the soft pitter of her shoes cutting through the stillness. She stopped only when she reached Seokmin.
“Mimi, come with me,” she said, stretching her small hand toward him.
Seokmin’s heart broke a little more.
His lips parted in protest. “It’s okay, you go and have fun, princess—”
But she pouted, stubborn and sincere. “No. You’re coming.”
There was no room to refuse.
He let out a slow sigh, a sad smile catching the corner of his lips, and rose from his seat. His hand found hers, gentle and warm.
And so they walked out—Eunsoo in the middle, her tiny arms outstretched, fingers wrapped tightly around two hands that had once let go of each other. Two hands that had shattered, burned, and bled—now held together again by a child who never knew the cost of the cracks in them.
And just like that, the storm was left behind them... but the silence it carved still echoed in the room.
***
Chapter Text
Beomgyu's gaze lingered on the door long after it had closed behind them. His little sister flanked by the two souls he trusted with his life. He didn't breathe until her silhouette disappeared entirely, until the echo of her laughter dulled into silence. Only then did he let the weight in his chest settle, knowing Joshua and Seokmin would guard her like sacred flame. No harm would touch her, not with them there.
But that fleeting moment of peace shattered at the sound of that voice.
"Beomie, baby?" His mother's tone dripped with the same artificial sweetness he had grown to detest, the kind that wrapped itself around every wound she'd left behind. Her hand reached toward him, trembling fingers grazing the sleeve of his coat.
Beomgyu recoiled as if burned.
"Don't," he snapped, his voice low and sharp, like a blade unsheathing. He jerked away from her touch, eyes glinting with something between fear and fury. "Don't do that."
"I just want to talk, sweetheart, I-" she began, inching forward again, but he only took another step back, placing more distance, more silence, between them.
Seungcheol moved before he could think.
Like instinct. Like rage carved into the bones of a protector.
He stepped between them, a fortress made of muscle and memories, his back shielding Beomgyu as his eyes flared with warning. The lines on his face were carved in stone. This time, he wouldn't let history repeat itself.
"He said not to touch him," Seungcheol said, voice low but commanding, each word heavy with the weight of every scar Beomgyu had ever swallowed in silence.
Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you to stand between a mother and her son? Move," she hissed, venom curling around her tongue.
But Seungcheol didn't flinch. He didn't need to speak. He'd heard that tone before. Disdain thinly veiled as concern. The same tone that had once tried to erase Jeonghan's voice, to paint his love for Jeonghan as manipulation, to call a home stolen just because it wasn't built by blood.
And Beomgyu. He couldn't bear it.
He saw red at the way she spat those words at Seungcheol. The man who had cradled Eunsoo's cries. The man who had stayed up with him through nights of panic and pain. The man who never once raised his voice but stood taller than anyone he had ever known.
"No," Beomgyu stepped forward, still staying close behind Seungcheol, one hand coming up to clutch his arm like an anchor. His eyes found hers, unwavering.
"You don't get to speak to Seungcheol hyung like that."
His voice was ice. Clear. Unforgiving.
"And why are you even here?" he asked, breath trembling now with suppressed fury. "Why now? After all this time?"
"Because we're Eunsoo's parents... and yours, too," she replied, trying to tether herself to words that had long since lost their meaning.
But Beomgyu didn't let her finish.
"No." His voice cracked-but not from weakness. From the dam finally breaking.
"No, you're not."
He raised a hand, pointing, firm and defiant, toward Seungcheol and Jeonghan, standing nearby like guardians of a truth too sacred to name.
"They are her parents. And mine too."
"You think giving birth makes you a parent?" he scoffed, voice laced with a pain that had lived in his ribs for far too long. "It doesn't. Not when there was no lullaby. No touch that healed. No arms to catch us when we fell."
"It was them who stayed. Who saw us. Who loved us when you only saw burdens. Who held our hands through nightmares you left us in."
"So don't you dare try to reclaim what you abandoned. Blood isn't family. They are."
The room fell into a fragile, shattered silence. His words hovered in the air, raw and final.
And Beomgyu, once the boy who had stood in the corners of his childhood hoping to be loved, stood tall. No longer afraid to name what love really meant.
"Beomie!" Her voice cracked as she stumbled forward, arms trembling with desperation. "I'm sorry-I'm really sorry for everything. But I miss you... I miss Eunsoo. Please, come back to me."
Her eyes shimmered under the golden lights, not with grace, but with a desperation that reeked of absence, of too many years spent looking away. Beomgyu's breath hitched, stumbling beneath the weight of those familiar words.
Another apology.
Always another apology.
And like clockwork, a part of him, fragile, aching and loyal wanted to fall for it. To believe that maybe this time would be different. That maybe, just maybe, the ache would be worth it.
But not today.
"What about Hannie hyung, huh?" His voice turned sharper than winter air. "Did you forget he's your son too? Or did he stop existing the day he stopped serving your story?"
His fists trembled at his sides. His chest rose and fell like it was trying to hold down a storm.
"Your apology... it means nothing anymore. Not after you've shattered me in ways no one ever bothered to look at. That sorry-" he laughed, bitter and broken, "-is just a pretty little word you throw like confetti after a massacre."
"No, Beomie. I still love you the same," she whispered, as if love was a rope she could tie around his throat and pull him back.
But Beomgyu shook his head, a fragile smile curving on his lips, devastating in its honesty.
"Stop," he said, trembling. "You never loved me. You only wanted to keep me. Because your entire life was a lie, and I was your alibi. You knew that if the world ever discovered Jeonghan hyung was your son, they'd leave you. You were afraid Dad would walk away. So you chose to chain me close and push away every person I dared to love. You turned your fear into my prison."
"You would hurt me. No bruises, just words sharp enough to bleed and then you'd apologize. And I? I'd crawl back. Every damn time. Because I was desperate to matter to you."
He clenched his jaw. "You thought I wouldn't notice. That I was too naive to understand. You thought, Oh, it's Beomgyu. He'll forgive me. He always does. Right?"
His voice cracked.
"And I did. Every time. I forgave you, even when your words burned me from the inside out. Because I didn't want to lose you."
Tears slipped down his cheeks, raw and quiet. "But I was the one losing... pieces of myself. Each time you lied. Each time you smiled only to control. Each time you made me feel small and selfish for seeking love elsewhere."
"When Hannie hyung came into my life, when he did what you never did, held me, stayed with me and chose me, you hated it. You did everything you could to rip us apart. Because deep down you knew that when the time came, I'd choose him over you."
"And I did."
His voice rose, not in rage, but in truth. "When Eunsoo was born, you swore you'd be there for her. But the moment you saw me loving her, really loving her, you let her go. You pushed her away because you couldn't stand that someone else had my heart."
"And now you say you miss her? No, you miss control. You're alone now, and that emptiness is clawing at your spine. That's why you want us back. It's not love. It's survival."
He shook his head, breath ragged. "And if we did come back... what then? The same cycle? More apologies? More wounds wrapped in guilt and sugar?"
"I've had enough," he whispered. "So please. Stop."
"My family... my home... is where Jeonghan hyung is. Where Seungcheol hyung is. Where Eunsoo is. They are my family. You are not."
The room shivered in stillness.
"I never wanted Jeonghan," she spat, bitterness slipping from her tongue. "He was a mistake. You're my only child, Beomgyu. I had Eunsoo because I thought... that'd make you stay. I didn't want her either."
And in that moment, something inside him shattered completely. Not with noise, but in silence-the kind that kills dreams quietly.
"I want them," Beomgyu whispered, almost in awe of his own defiance. "I want Jeonghan hyung. He's everything to me. I want Eunsoo. She's my entire world. They've given me a kind of love that didn't come with a price tag. A love you never tried to understand."
"Beomie..." she tried again, "I'm sorry. Please... you trust me, right?"
He looked at her for a long moment, tears still falling, but his voice steady.
"I don't."
"Because all you've ever done is use that word, sorry, as a weapon. A leash. Just like everyone did to me in school. You call it an apology. I call it manipulation."
"The only people I trust are my hyungs... and my two best friends. Because they've never hurt me on purpose. They'd rather stop breathing than cause me pain. When they say sorry, it doesn't make me flinch. It doesn't make me afraid to forgive."
He smiled faintly, voice soft like a prayer.
"I might be stubborn enough to leave them someday. But they'd never leave me."
Jeonghan's heart shattered-not from the venomous declaration that slipped like ice from their mother's mouth, the cruel admission that he had been a mistake. That part? He had always known. Known in the quiet ache of childhood nights when no one came to tuck him in. Known in the way she looked at him like he was a wrong decision she wished she could undo. She had left him long before he was old enough to name the abandonment. That pain was old-familiar, dulled with time.
But this... this was different.
It was the sight of Beomgyu that undid him.
Beomgyu-eyes swollen with tears he hadn't asked for, voice trembling with a storm he didn't deserve. His body looked so fragile, almost on the brink of crumbling, and yet, yet, he stood there like a shield. Broken but unyielding. Holding the weight of Jeonghan's pain on his own shoulders, like he always did. Like he had done his whole life. Quietly, fiercely, faithfully.
And that was what destroyed Jeonghan. Not the words, not the rejection-but the way Beomgyu, shattered and shaking, still chose to protect him.
Seungcheol stepped closer, not saying a word. He wrapped an arm around Jeonghan's waist, grounding him, pulling him back from the edge of despair with nothing but the steadiness of his presence. It was all he could do. Be there, be solid, be the anchor.
Soobin stood a few steps away, frozen.
The silence around him rang like a bell.
And then it hit him.
It hit him so hard that it stole the air from his lungs, struck through his ribs like a wave of ice. He had done the same thing to Beomgyu.
He had hurt him, cut him open with his silence, with his hesitation, with his cowardice. And then he had returned with an apology, expecting it to be enough. He had never paused to ask, What did it feel like for you? He had never stopped to wonder how Beomgyu must have felt, waiting for him in the library, watching the minutes blur into hours, still hoping. Still believing.
And when he did show up, late and guilt-ridden, Beomgyu had smiled. Forgiven him. Like it was nothing.
But it wasn't nothing.
It was everything.
Soobin's chest clenched violently. The guilt crawled up his spine like fire, searing. He never even considered Beomgyu's pain. Never stopped long enough to wonder how deeply his absence must have carved into him. He had been so consumed by the hurt he felt, by the betrayal he believed he suffered that he had overlooked the boy who had loved him enough to wait anyway.
And now, watching Beomgyu unravel beneath the weight of family wounds, yet still rise to protect the very people who had hurt him, Soobin felt the ground slipping beneath his feet. A quiet dread building inside.
What do I do now?
Do I apologise again?
But what good were apologies when they had been weaponized against Beomgyu for so long? Could a word he now distrusted ever hold meaning again?
Would his apology only sound like another manipulation? Just another hollow echo in a long corridor of false promises?
He didn't know.
He didn't know how to undo the ache. Didn't know how to reach for someone who had been hurt too many times by hands that claimed love.
All he knew was that Beomgyu deserved more.
More than just another apology.
More than just regret.
He deserved someone who would stand beside him, not just in light-but here, in the dark too. Unflinching. Steady.
And Soobin, suddenly, desperately, wanted to be that someone.
But where did he even begin?
It all became too much, far too much, for Beomgyu to carry alone.
The weight of years, the scars of love twisted into manipulation, the ache of needing a mother and never truly having one, it all came crashing down in a tidal wave of suffocating pain.
"Beomie, please... forgive me, please," her voice trembled, pleading, reaching for something already too broken to touch.
But to Beomgyu, it sounded like poison. The very syllables scraped against his skin like sandpaper.
"Don't fucking say that!" he screamed, his voice raw with anguish as he pressed both palms tightly to his ears. As if by sheer force he could shut out every lie, every betrayal, every sorry that never meant a thing.
And then his knees gave out.
He collapsed to the floor, sobbing so violently it echoed through the walls-guttural, unfiltered, the cry of someone who had kept too much locked away for too long.
Seungcheol had had enough. More than enough.
He bent to hold Beomgyu in his arms, but watching the boy unravel like this-the boy he had raised like his own, who had always been gentle, kind, a little too forgiving-it cracked something open in him. This was his child. And someone was breaking him right in front of his eyes.
Seungcheol's grip tightened protectively around Beomgyu's trembling frame before he stood, his gaze locked onto the woman responsible. His expression was unreadable, but his silence brimmed with fury.
He strode forward, each step slow, heavy with warning until he stood face to face with her.
"You need to leave. Now," he said, voice low and taut, like a fuse nearing its end. "Because I swear to God, I don't know what I'll do if you say one more word. Even the faintest bruise on Jeonghan is enough to unsettle me. And now he's standing there crying because of you. Because of you. You've done enough damage. You've bled them enough."
He took another step forward, eyes ablaze.
"Your drama ends here. Get out."
"I won't-" she began, but before her sentence could bloom into more destruction, Seungcheol grabbed her arm, not with cruelty, but with firmness-and began walking her out of the room.
Dino and Yeonjun followed behind silently, tense and watchful, knowing full well Seungcheol was walking a thin line between restraint and rage. Someone had to be there, just in case.
And through it all, Beomgyu's father stood silent.
He had watched the storm build from the beginning-helpless. He had tried, in the quiet ways only fathers like him knew, to protect his children from the sharpest edges of their mother's fury. But love had its limits when silence took root. He hadn't been able to stop this from happening.
He regretted ever bringing Jeonghan under that roof. Not because of Jeonghan himself, but because of the chaos it stirred.
But never did he regret how Jeonghan became the heart of Beomgyu's world. That bond had saved his son. It had given him a brother, a guardian, a home in the middle of emotional famine.
He knew now, more than ever, that he could never change his wife. But he could protect the family his children had chosen.
And so, he stepped forward, kneeling beside his broken son.
"I'm sorry, Gyu," he said softly, the words trembling from his lips. "I'm sorry you have to go through this again. And again. But I promise you this-she won't come near you anymore. Not any of you."
Beomgyu looked up through tear-streaked lashes, vision a blur of grief and disbelief.
"Dad..." he whispered, voice childlike, aching.
His father reached out and gently patted his head-something he hadn't done in years. "Take care of yourself, Gyu. And of Eunsoo too. And of your parents..." he said, his gaze lifting toward Jeonghan. "Your real parents."
And Beomgyu understood-he felt it in his chest-that he wasn't talking about himself and his wife. He meant Seungcheol and Jeonghan. He acknowledged it. Accepted it.
Then, the man walked over to Jeonghan.
He placed a hand on his shoulder. Hesitant, then firm. "I'm so proud of you," he murmured, sincerity thick in his voice. "You've raised Eunsoo so well."
His hand moved to pat Jeonghan's head, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
And Jeonghan, already on the verge of collapse, squeezed his eyes shut, allowing the warmth of that long-withheld recognition to seep into every fractured place in his soul.
He let it in.
The room didn't just fall silent. It collapsed into a cavernous, unbearable stillness, the kind that sinks its teeth into your spine and leaves you breathless. It was not the silence of peace. It was the kind that echoes with everything unspoken, everything broken. Like a scream frozen in midair, hanging between seconds, refusing to land.
Beomgyu hadn't noticed the shift when it began, how the warmth drained from the air, how the weight inside him found gravity outside too. But he felt it now. In the stillness at either side of him. Like anchors that refused to let him drift.
Taehyun and Hueningkai. His constants. Not just friends, but parts of him. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. Their presence alone pressed against him like a prayer, like they were bracing themselves against the storm unraveling in his chest, ready to take the hit if it meant he wouldn't have to face it alone.
Beomgyu's body shook with the coldness of everything he could no longer contain. His bones felt hollow, his throat raw from silence. And yet, with effort that scraped at the core of him, he looked up.
And there he was.
Soobin.
Still. Frighteningly still. Like a statue that once breathed. Like the world had forgotten to carry him forward with time. His eyes, once oceans of softness and sun, now barren and unreadable. His body held upright, but not alive. A monument to distance.
Beomgyu stood ruined. His hair clung to his damp forehead, skin pale with heartbreak and breathlessness, every part of him disheveled, fragile, exposed. Yet none of that mattered. Because in his eyes, glowing dim through tears, burned a single, silent plea.
Come to me.
Hold me.
Please.
Break your silence. Say it again-say you'll stay.
Say you won't leave me like this.
But Soobin didn't move.
Not a whisper. Not a breath. Not even the soft tremor of recognition.
It was as if all those promises he once made, each word spoken beneath trembling stars, whispered like sacred vows, had never existed. They hung now like ghosts in the air. Soulless. Forgotten. Hollow.
And in that absence, Beomgyu's heart didn't just ache. It splintered, violently, quietly, like porcelain dropped in an empty hall. The kind of breaking that leaves behind silence sharp enough to bleed.
He kept staring. Desperate. Longing. Hoping against all logic that Soobin would falter, that he'd blink, twitch, move a muscle, anything to show that the love still lived somewhere underneath. But there was nothing.
Soobin stood like a monolith. Cold. Unyielding. Not the kind of stone that shields you from the wind but the kind that watches you collapse at its feet and offers nothing.
And that. That was the cruelest part.
Beomgyu's gaze dropped, his breath faltered. The weight of a hundred unanswered moments pressed into his chest until he thought he might break just from standing. Tears blurred his vision once more. And when he lifted his eyes again, it wasn't to Soobin.
It was to Jeonghan.
Already there. Already reaching. Like the lighthouse he never had to ask for. Eyes full of knowing, full of mercy.
Then came the hands.
Soft beneath his arms. Anchoring him gently, urging him to stand.
Taehyun. Hueningkai.
They didn't ask for strength. They gave it. Wordlessly. Like they had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in their love for him. They whispered things, tender fragments of comfort and hope but Beomgyu couldn't hear them. His ears rang with silence, the echo of Soobin's stillness, the void where love was supposed to answer.
His body felt weightless with grief, with betrayal, with exhaustion. But then.
A familiar warmth.
Jeonghan's arms. Outstretched.
And Beomgyu let go.
He didn't fall so much as he surrendered. To gravity. To despair. To love that didn't flinch.
"Hyung..." he breathed-just that.
And it broke the dam.
Jeonghan caught him, held him like something precious the world had tried to ruin. His arms were firm, sure, wrapping around Beomgyu with fierce, unshakable tenderness. He held him like a shelter, like a fortress against the world's cruelty, as if by holding tight enough, he could glue the fragments of Beomgyu back together.
And Beomgyu clung, buried his face in his brother's shoulder, tears spilling like a flood long dammed. His fingers trembled against the fabric of Jeonghan's shirt, clutching, needing, begging for safety, for forgiveness, for time to rewind.
Jeonghan said nothing. But his silence was kind, not cruel. His hands moved slowly across Beomgyu's back, up and down, again and again. A rhythm steady enough to remind him that love could still be soft. That someone could still stay.
The room blurred around them. Shapes dissolved. Faces faded. Sounds turned to distant echoes. Only the warmth remained.
Only Jeonghan.
Only this. Two souls bound by love and shared ache, holding each other like lifelines in a world that had spun too fast, too cruel.
No one knew how long they stood like that. Crying. Breathing. Holding on.
But neither let go.
Because sometimes, love wasn't about fixing things. Sometimes it was just about staying-and being the arms that catch you when the one you needed most doesn't reach out at all.
-
Soobin didn't move but inside, he was falling apart in slow motion, as if each breath he took was splintering him further from the inside out.
He stood there, frozen in place, while across the room, Beomgyu unraveled before his eyes. It wasn't loud. There was no scream, no crash. Just the quiet devastation of someone shattering-like porcelain cracking under pressure. Soundless, but soul-rending. And Soobin... he did nothing.
His legs felt welded to the ground, his spine locked by the weight of his own guilt. His hands twitched at his sides, useless. He couldn't even remember how to breathe properly-air caught somewhere in his chest, behind his ribs, tangled in the thorns of regret. His entire body trembled with the urge to run, to close the distance, to drop to his knees and beg for a second chance. To gather Beomgyu into his arms and erase every bruise his silence had ever caused. But he didn't. He couldn't.
It was like guilt had seeped into his bones and petrified him from the inside.
Then Beomgyu looked at him.
And that look. That look gutted him.
Those eyes, red-rimmed and glossy, searched his like a prayer slipping from trembling lips. Desperate. Unshielded. Full of all the words neither of them had said but both had felt. Like Beomgyu was reaching across a chasm, pleading silently.
And still... Soobin stood there. Unmoving.
A statue sculpted by remorse. Not out of stone, but of shame.
Because this silence, it wasn't peace. It was punishment. It wasn't emptiness. It was everything. Loud, suffocating, sharp. Every second he didn't move, the hope in Beomgyu's eyes dimmed. Snuffed out like a flame starved of oxygen. And when Beomgyu finally turned away, Soobin felt something inside him tear so violently it was as if his very soul had ripped at the seams.
He wasn't just a bystander to Beomgyu's pain.
He was the cause of it.
He had been the storm that uprooted the calm. The absence that thundered louder than any words ever could. And now, he stood alone, outside of the wreckage, watching someone else step in to hold together the boy he once called home.
It was then that the lie unraveled in full.
The lie he'd whispered to himself a thousand times. Beomgyu's strong. He'll bounce back. He always does. The lie that let him sleep at night while Beomgyu carried the weight of every wound Soobin left behind. Alone.
But strength didn't mean unbreakable.
And Beomgyu... he hadn't healed. He had simply endured.
Silently. Lovingly. Until there was nothing left of him to give.
And Soobin had taken advantage of that love, like it was endless. Like Beomgyu would always be there. Smiling, forgiving, reaching back.
But not anymore.
Now, Beomgyu was the one being held-and it wasn't by him.
Soobin's vision blurred, not from a single tear but from a thousand unshed ones all pushing at once. They burned his throat as he swallowed them down, tasting every apology he'd never said, every moment he should've fought harder, stayed longer.
Would it even matter now?
Would Beomgyu ever want to be held by him again?
He didn't know.
Because forgiveness had a breaking point. And Beomgyu had already crossed oceans for Soobin more than once. He'd stretched himself thin, hoping it would be enough. But maybe this time, even oceans had run dry.
So Soobin stayed where he was.
Not as a comfort.
Not as a redeemer.
Not even as a memory worth holding onto.
Just a shadow. A witness.
To the boy he loved being pieced back together by someone else.
And the cruelest part?
He knew, deep down, he'd earned every second of this ache.
And he had no one left to blame but himself.
-
It was Seungcheol who returned-like a lighthouse rising from the storm to gather the remnants of his two shattered boys. Piece by fragile piece, he scooped them into the shelter of his arms, not just holding them but enveloping them, as if by sheer will, he could undo the world's cruelties. His embrace wasn't just warmth. It was a vow. A wordless, thunderous declaration that from this moment on, no harm would reach them. That anyone who so much as looked at them with ill intent would face the wrath of a man who now had everything to lose.
Seungcheol would watch the heavens fracture and the earth split open if it meant Jeonghan and Beomgyu could sleep through a winter night without shivering. He’d set the sky ablaze, offer the world’s last breath to the fire, and walk barefoot through the ruin unflinching just to ensure they remained untouched by the cruelty he knew too well. Their warmth was his religion, their comfort his reason to bear the burden of storms. If the price of their peace was chaos, then let the world unravel thread by thread. He would not hesitate, not when it came to them. Not when their laughter stitched light into the darkest parts of him.
And for Beomgyu, those words didn't feel like hollow comforts. No-they were salvation. They wrapped around his bruised heart like the first breath after drowning, steadying him in a world that had never made room for his softness. Those promises weren't mere sounds in the air-they were anchors. They were everything he had longed for in silence, everything he never dared to ask for.
Seungcheol didn't stop at words.
He led them gently to the food corner, the way one might guide fledglings back to a nest. And there, with hands that had known the sharp edge of war and the softness of fatherhood alike, he fed them-bite after bite, as if nourishing not just their bodies but the ache inside their chests. Like a mother would after a long day apart, after her children returned home bruised, scraped, tear-streaked from a playground that had shown them no mercy. In that moment, he was more than a protector. He was the mother both Jeonghan and Beomgyu had spent a lifetime yearning for. A guardian who didn't just stand tall against the world, but knelt to their level and whispered, "You're safe now. You're mine to protect."
But not everyone could breathe in that warmth.
Soobin couldn't. The air inside the room felt like it had teeth-biting, burning. It scraped down his throat and gnawed at his ribs until he couldn't take it anymore. Without a word, he slipped out, each step heavier than the last, dragged by the weight of his own unspoken guilt. His feet led him toward the garden, where laughter drifted like the wind-light, high-pitched, unburdened.
It was Eunsoo.
She spun through the sunlight, giggling as she chased delicate bubbles, her joy dancing in the air with each shimmering orb. A child's game. A fleeting kind of happiness Soobin hadn't felt in years.
And nearby, on a bench framed by blooming hibiscus and wilting regrets, sat Joshua and Seokmin. Close. Quiet. Seokmin's head rested on Joshua's shoulder, his eyes half-closed, not in peace but in exhaustion-the kind that comes from forgiving too many times.
Joshua must've offered another apology. And Seokmin, with a kind of sadness that only the deeply hurt can wear gracefully, had accepted it. Like he always did. Like he was just waiting for the next reason to break again.
And suddenly, it struck Soobin like a blade.
They weren't different at all.
Joshua and Seokmin were merely reflections, mirrors of him and Beomgyu, cast into different forms. Same aching love. Same endless pattern of hurt and hope and hurting again. And the realization split him open.
He had done that to Beomgyu.
Not once. Not in passing. But again and again without noticing how deeply each silence, each dismissal, each careless moment had carved into him. Beomgyu had bled in places Soobin never thought to look. And now, the guilt was eating him alive.
He sank onto the edge of the fountain, shoulders quaking, heart caving in beneath the weight of his own failures. Everything around him, every laugh, every held hand, every tearful apology echoed the same truth back to him. He broke the one person who had been there for him unconditionally.
And yet, despite it all, he wanted to try.
He needed to.
Even if Beomgyu hurled venom at him. Even if the pain returned in waves. Even if it took years to rebuild what he'd destroyed, Soobin would take it. All of it. Without flinching. Without asking for understanding. Because this time, he would earn his place beside Beomgyu.
He would fight for it with everything he had left.
Because love, when left untended, becomes a wound. And he refused to let it fester again.
But when it was time to leave, when the laughter dimmed and the hall grew quiet, Beomgyu made his choice with a silent finality that broke Soobin all over again.
He didn't wait for Soobin.
Didn't even glance his way.
Instead, he walked toward Seungcheol's car, where Jeonghan and Eunsoo were already settled inside. He chose warmth. He chose safety. He chose the arms that had held him when he broke over the presence that had stood still while he shattered.
And Soobin...
He watched from the doorway.
Stone cold. Silent.
Realizing what it felt like to be on the outside of someone's healing.
He had once been the heartbeat of Beomgyu's world.
And now, he wasn't even the echo.
And it hurts.
God, it hurts like hell.
The car ride back had been wrapped in a haunting stillness, the kind that clings to your skin long after the moment has passed. When they arrived at Seungcheol's house. Aquiet, two-tier sanctuary tucked far from the city's unrelenting noise. It felt as if even time itself was holding its breath.
No horns. No streetlights flickering. Just silence.
Except for Eunsoo.
Her laughter, bright and bubbling like a stream over stones, echoed through the entryway as she danced around, still teasing everyone, especially Dino, who sulked dramatically in his too-tight Boss Baby costume. His pout only made her giggle harder, adding a fleeting joy to a night weighted with unspoken grief.
But Beomgyu didn't stay to bask in it.
He had slipped away the moment they entered, a ghost fading into the halls. His limbs heavy with exhaustion, emotional, physical and soul-deep. No words left in him. No strength. He disappeared into the upstairs room without a sound.
And Soobin... He followed not long after.
Quietly. Almost shamefully. Like his footsteps didn't deserve to echo on Seungcheol's floor.
He drifted away from the group, unnoticed, his fingers tangled nervously in front of him, fidgeting with the threads of his own regret. Every step toward Beomgyu's room felt like a plea-let him be there, let him listen, let this not be too late.
He reached the door and knocked softly at first, as though he feared even the sound of his presence might cause more damage.
No answer.
Another knock, firmer this time. Still silence.
Then, with a tentative push, the door creaked open on its own. It hadn't even been locked.
That hurt more than if it had been.
He stepped inside.
The air felt still, almost sacred. The room bore Beomgyu's essence in quiet, intimate details-the faint scent of lavender lingering on the sheets, the guitar leaning silently in the corner, the light dim and warm like it was afraid to disturb the boy who once used to visit here.
But the bed was untouched. The covers smooth. Too perfect. Like someone trying to pretend they hadn't needed comfort at all.
And then Soobin saw him.
Not on the bed. Not by the window. But crumpled on the floor behind the couch, as if trying to disappear from the world entirely.
Beomgyu sat with his knees drawn tight to his chest, body curled inwards like a wounded thing. His hands were clamped over his ears, trembling, desperate to shut out a noise that perhaps only he could hear. The weight of memories, the echo of hurt, the roar of everything he couldn't say.
And Soobin's chest fractured.
It didn't ache. It split. Wide and raw, like someone had reached inside him and hollowed out his ribs with bare hands. Because this wasn't anger. This wasn't Beomgyu lashing out or screaming or pushing him away. This was something far worse.
This was Beomgyu hiding.
From the world. From noise. From him.
And all at once, Soobin realized. This wasn't just pain.
It was fear.
Fear born from too many betrayals. Too many silences. Too many times when Beomgyu had needed him... and Soobin hadn't come.
Now, he was here.
But he didn't know if he deserved to be.
His throat tightened. His hand hovered mid-air, unsure whether to reach out or retreat. He wanted to fall to his knees. To apologize without words. To scream and beg and promise he'd never let Beomgyu fold into himself like this again.
But instead, he just stood there.
Heart breaking.
Watching the boy he loved come undone in silence.
And all he could do was whisper the name that still felt like home on his tongue, even when he no longer knew if he had the right to say it.
"Beomgyu..."
The name hung in the dim air like a prayer. Desperate. Unanswered.
Soobin crouched beside him, breath shallow, as though the air itself dared not move too loud around Beomgyu's fragile state. His hands reached forward, trembling and reverent, as he gently placed them over Beomgyu's, still clamped tight over his ears, trying to shut the world out.
"Beomgyu..." he whispered, his voice cracked open with guilt.
Beomgyu flinched at the sound like it burned.
His eyes, glassy and rimmed red, darted up for a fraction of a second before he jolted back violently, as though the very sight of Soobin carved fresh wounds into his skin.
"Don't touch me! Don't. Just- just go away!" he screamed, flinging Soobin's hands off like they were poison. His voice wasn't just a cry; it was thunder. Desperate, defiant, wounded.
The words struck like a whip, slicing through Soobin's chest with raw, merciless precision.
"Beomgyu, please," Soobin begged, voice breaking apart like splinters of glass. He inched closer, dragging himself on his knees through invisible thorns, desperate to reach him. "Please, just listen to me-"
"No! I don't want to hear it. You'll say sorry again and I'll fall for it. I'll crawl right back. I can't do that anymore. Just leave me alone," Beomgyu's voice quivered as his fists balled, nails digging into his palms like he could anchor his pain there.
Each word sliced through Soobin's chest with unforgiving cruelty. It wasn't just rejection. It was the sound of trust dying.
But he couldn't leave. Not this time. Not ever again.
"Please, Beomgyu," he begged, voice trembling, dragging himself closer inch by inch across the cold floor. "Let me talk to you. Please."
He tried to place a firm, steady hand on Beomgyu's shoulder, but Beomgyu pushed him, again and again, like a drowning man fighting the only raft keeping him afloat. Still, Soobin stayed.
"I said go away!" he yelled, his voice on the verge of collapse, eyes already brimming with the storm. "Why are you doing this now? When I've finally accepted that you would never be there for me when I'll need you."
"I won't go," Soobin said, unwavering now, wrapping his arms around Beomgyu even as the boy continued to push against him with what little fight he had left. "No matter what you say-no matter how much it hurts. I won't go away. I can't. Please... please let me stay."
Beomgyu's fists pounded weakly against his chest once, twice. Then stilled, his body betraying him as it began to surrender to the familiar warmth of Soobin's hold.
"What is there left to listen to, Soobin?" Beomgyu wept, voice no louder than a dying flame. "You still weren't there when I needed you today. You didn't come to me. You didn't hold me."
Tears spilled down his cheeks, unrelenting, raw and unfiltered soaking through the fabric of Soobin's shirt, branding it with grief.
"You know what, Soobin?" he whispered brokenly. "Now I finally understand. How it must've felt for you... when I didn't take a stand for you that day at the fresher's party. Maybe that's what you wanted-me to feel the same helplessness. Maybe you wanted me to break."
"No, no- God, no." Soobin's voice cracked like splintering glass. "Beomgyu, it's me who understands now. It's me who saw what it meant to be left standing there alone. You weren't wrong that day. I should've known better. I failed you. I should've seen it. And I'm sorry."
Beomgyu tried again to pull away, but his strength faltered with every second. His body leaned in even as his words fought to create distance.
"You don't get to say sorry. Not like that. Not when you were the one who chose to stay away. You knew I was waiting. And yet you left me there, in the library, like I meant nothing."
His body shook violently in Soobin's arms, breath ragged, pain pouring from his mouth like blood from a wound. "I was waiting like an idiot. Because I trusted you, Soobin. And it shouldn't have but it hurt. It hurt so much I thought my chest would cave in."
And then, quieter. More broken.
"All those past betrayals-they came back. They screamed in my ears. The lies, the abandonment, the emptiness. I let myself believe you were different. And when you didn't come... I blamed myself."
"You don't even know what that day did to me. I started doubting everything. Myself. I thought I wasn't enough for anyone to stay. That you were just like the rest, just playing along. I thought I was unlovable. That I wasn't worth showing up for."
"Beomgyu, I have no excuse for what I did," Soobin admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I messed up. I'm really, really sorry. I-I just couldn't bring myself to come see you. I was afraid-"
"Afraid of what?" Beomgyu cut in, his tone sharp, laced with frustration.
"Afraid that I wouldn't be the person you were expecting to meet," Soobin confessed. "And honestly... I'm nothing like what you think of me."
Beomgyu sighed, the sound heavy and exhausted. "Soobin, you're my friend. That's all that matters to me. Do you have any idea how miserable I felt when you didn't show up today? It felt like I was being betrayed all over again. I thought you'd be different. That you wouldn't break my trust." His voice wavered. "But you did."
Soobin squeezed his eyes shut, his grip tightening on his phone.
"If you can't keep up with this friendship," Beomgyu continued, his voice eerily calm, "then maybe we should just end it here. It won't take us anywhere."
It wasn't easy for Beomgyu to speak those words. Each syllable felt like tearing open a wound that had never really healed. But he said them anyway, because the weight in his chest had become too much to carry in silence. He knew the pain would come, sharp, unrelenting but he chose it willingly. Because what terrified him more than the ache was the slow, suffocating erosion of his spirit, d ay after day, pretending, hoping, aching in silence. If he was destined to hurt, then let it consume him in one violent wave rather than drown him drop by drop. Better to bleed all at once than to die in fragments, unnoticed and unloved.
Panic shot through Soobin like a bolt of lightning. "Beomgyu, please," he pleaded, his voice shaking. "I- I don't want to lose you. I know I was wrong. I'm sorry. But please, don't say that. I'll do anything to make it up to you. We'll meet. And this time, I won't run away. I promise."
People always promised and then they left. That was the rhythm of Beomgyu's life, the bitter pattern etched into his memory like a wound that refused to scar over. Sweet words, soft eyes, gentle hands-all of it felt warm until it vanished, leaving behind an aching cold that gnawed at him from within. So when Soobin said he wouldn't run away, when he swore he wouldn't do what he did again, it felt too familiar. Too easy. Too beautiful to be real. Beomgyu wanted to believe him. God, he did but belief had become dangerous. Trust had become a gamble, one he kept losing. And yet, there he was, heart trembling, walls crumbling, because somewhere deep inside, he still trusted too easily. Still handed over pieces of himself to people who didn't know how to hold them. And Soobin... Soobin was holding one now. Beomgyu didn't know whether to pray that he kept it-or to brace for the sound of it shattering.
Beomgyu let out a bitter chuckle, void of any amusement. "You promised last time too, Soobin. And you broke it. How can I trust you again?"
"I know," Soobin whispered, desperation creeping into his voice. "Just-just give me this one chance. Please, Beomgyu. Please."
Soobin was pleading, his voice a tremor of desperation laced with unspoken guilt, the kind that cracked through even the weak signal of a phone call. He wasn't just asking for forgiveness; he was reaching out like a drowning man gasping for air, clinging to the last thread of hope that Beomgyu might still care. And Beomgyu... he heard it. Felt it. Every broken syllable, every breathless pause, echoed in his chest like a cry he couldn't unhear .
He should have said no. He should've let the silence between them harden into a wall, should've turned the apology into dust by refusing to catch it. But he didn't. Because the truth was, he couldn't. He had grown too accustomed to Soobin in his life. The comfort of his texts and voice, the sting of his unanswered calls, the echo of his name in every quiet moment. Pushing him away would have meant ripping out a part of himself that had long since stopped feeling foreign. So instead, he let the pain in. Again. Not because Soobin deserved it, but because Beomgyu had forgotten how to stop choosing him even when it hurt. Even when it destroyed him a little more each time.
Beomgyu hesitated for a moment before asking, "Will you show up this time when I ask you?"
"Yes. Yes, I will," Soobin responded without a second thought, his voice firm, almost desperate.
"Can you meet me after the freshers' party? During the last song we play? Can you show up then?" Beomgyu's voice wavered, barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile hope he was holding onto.
The line fell into silence. Sense, stretching, almost cruel. A hollow static filled Beomgyu's ears, louder than any answer. His breath caught in his throat as he stared blankly at the wall in front of him, listening to nothing, yet hearing everything in Soobin's silence. It was hesitation. The same kind that had lingered between them like smoke since everything fell apart. And in that pause, Beomgyu felt the familiar ache of disappointment press against his chest like a knife slowly twisting. This was it. He knew it. Soobin wasn't going to come. He would let this go too, just like all the other moments they could've had-should've had.
But then, just as the weight began to collapse around him, Soobin's voice broke through. Clear, unwavering, like a sudden gust of wind in a room gone still.
"I'll be there, Beomgyu."
Four simple words. But they echoed like thunder in Beomgyu's heart, drenched in something that felt dangerously close to hope. There was a steadiness in Soobin's tone that hadn't been there before. A kind of quiet resolve that made Beomgyu's heart clench painfully.
"This will be your last chance, Soobin," Beomgyu whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Last chance... for our friendship."
And still, he didn't know why he was offering it. Why he was peeling open his chest one more time, laying bare a heart that had already been bruised by Soobin's silences, his half-kept promises, his absences that echoed louder than any words. He should've walked away. Should've protected what little of himself was still intact. But he didn't. Because somewhere beneath all the hurt, all the guarded walls he had built to keep Soobin out, there was a quiet desperation-a yearning so fierce it frightened him.
And even if it shattered him all over again, Beomgyu found himself hoping-, foolishly and achingly that maybe, just maybe, this time Soobin would stay.
"I know. Thank you, Beomgyu," Soobin replied, his voice tender and quiet.
A silence followed-brief, but thick with all the unsaid things hanging between them. It wasn't the peaceful kind. It was taut, fragile, and trembling at the edges, as if the wrong word could unravel everything they were barely holding together.
Sensing it, perhaps fearing what might come next, Beomgyu shifted. "How did your day go? Is Minnie hyung all ready for the opening tomorrow?" he asked, his tone light, almost too casual, like a paper-thin mask hastily put on to cover the bruise beneath.
He didn't know why he changed the subject so quickly. Maybe it was instinct-an aching desire to preserve the fragile thread of warmth Soobin had given him. Maybe because, despite everything, he still wanted to believe him. Still wanted to believe that this time, Soobin wouldn't let go. Wouldn't vanish.
But beneath his even tone, a storm brewed. It took everything in him to keep his voice steady, to keep his thoughts from spiraling. Because the fear hadn't left. It had only settled deeper, raw and unresolved. It clawed at his insides, whispering doubts with every beat of his heart. What if Soobin changed his mind again? What if this too was temporary?
Beomgyu forced himself to focus on the mundane, on Minnie hyung, on cafè opening, anything that would keep the ache at bay, even for a moment. But beneath every word, every breath, there was a quiet desperation. He wasn't ready to lose Soobin again. And yet, a part of him already feared he was in the process of it.
Soobin blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "You remember?"
"Of course," Beomgyu said casually, but the sincerity in his tone was unmistakable.
Soobin felt something warm settle in his heart. Beomgyu had been listening-paying attention, even when Soobin had failed him.
"Yes, he's all set and way too excited for tomorrow," Soobin chuckled .
"Hmm. Let's visit the cafe together someday," Beomgyu suggested casually, as if it were the most natural thing to say.
The line went silent for a moment.
"Soobin? Are you there?"
"Umm? Yes. Of course. Let's visit soon," Soobin answered .
"So, will you be busy with the cafe tomorrow?"
"Hmm, probably. Seokmin hyung asked us to show up in the morning."
"Nice. You should get some rest. It'll be a long day for you tomorrow," Beomgyu said, his tone light but genuine.
"Hmm. I will. Beomgyu?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. And... let's meet soon."
"Soon," Beomgyu echoed softly.
The call ended with a promise-simple, almost tender. A vow to meet soon. And yet, as the line went dead, the silence that followed felt deafening in Beomgyu's ears. Final, hollow. A silence that did not soothe, but reminded him of every other time a promise like this had dissolved into absence.
He had done well. At least outwardly. He had masked the tremble in his voice, swallowed the ache rising in his throat, and kept his tone soft, even cheerful, just enough to keep Soobin from suspecting anything. But the moment the call ended, the mask shattered. And what lay beneath was breaking.
He was breaking.
It hurt in ways he couldn't even describe anymore. Physically, like a weight pressing down on his chest until his ribs screamed, and emotionally, like his soul was unraveling thread by thread. His heart ached in that terrible, suffocating way, the kind that made breathing feel like a burden.
Once again, he had accepted an apology. Once again, he had offered his wounded heart like an open palm, praying it wouldn't be crushed. He wanted to believe it, needed to. That this time, the words weren't hollow. That Soobin meant it. That the apology wasn't just tossed into the air like confetti, beautiful for a moment before disappearing, leaving him to clean up what remained.
But Beomgyu knew. Deep down, in the places he didn't like to visit, he knew. He had lived this before, with his family, in school halls that echoed with laughter that never included him, with friends who used "sorry" as a way to escape guilt and still take more than they ever gave. He had learned that for someone as forgiving as him, an apology wasn't a balm. It was a weapon. One he let pierce him again and again because hope was all he had ever clung to.
Still, he hoped. God, he hoped. That Soobin would stay this time. That he would show up. That this wouldn't be another story of almosts and aching goodbyes. But every part of Beomgyu's body, every instinct, every past scar screamed that he was only setting himself up to bleed again.
He didn't know when it began, the pain in his chest. That seizing, breathless kind of pain that made his body curl inward. Nor did he know when the tears started falling-hot and merciless, carving down his cheeks like rain that wouldn't end. But when the sobs came, they were violent, unstoppable. No longer quiet, no longer buried.
He cried until his lungs begged for air. Until his throat was raw from the sound of his own grief. Until his hands were trembling where they clutched his chest, as if trying to hold his heart together through sheer desperation.
And in the echoes of those cries, the doubts returned. The ones that never truly left.
Why do I keep trusting people?
Why do I keep believing I'm someone worth staying for?
He felt worthless. Not because anyone said it, but because he had lived it again and again. Left behind like he was too much and never enough all at once. He began to believe it was his destiny. To be the one people leave. The one they forget. The one they discard when they no longer need a soft place to land.
And he kept crying.
He cried until the world outside his window slipped into silence, until even the stars seemed indifferent to his pain. He couldn't breathe, and yet he kept going, as though his body refused to stop grieving even when he begged it to.
He knew what kind of night it would be.
And he was right.
Sleep never came. Only the cruel company of memories, the weight of doubt, and a heart that had been cracked open one too many times.
Soobin tightened his hold, wrapping him completely, like he could shield him from the world. Like his arms could undo every bruise.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into his hair. "I'm so sorry I did that to you."
Beomgyu shook his head.
"No, you chose to stay away, Soobin. You knew I was waiting and still you didn't come. Then you had the audacity to lie about it, to say you were there to lock up the library? Was that it? You wanted to see how pathetic I looked, waiting for someone who never intended to come?"
"No! No, God, no!" Soobin's voice broke open completely. "I wasn't there to humiliate you. I just- I was scared. I saw you before you saw me, and I panicked. I thought I couldn't face you. I didn't know how to explain myself."
Beomgyu froze.
He looked up, eyes fogged with disbelief. "So you were really there? You saw me? And you chose not to come to me?"
"I was afraid," Soobin choked. "Of everything I was feeling. Of losing you."
Beomgyu let out a sound that could barely be called a cry-it was anguish in its purest form.
"I hate you," he whispered but his fingers curled tighter around Soobin's shirt, refusing to let go.
"I deserve that," Soobin whispered, cradling him. "I deserve every bit of it. But please... let me stay."
"I couldn't breathe that day," Beomgyu sobbed. "I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking that maybe I am worthless. Maybe I deserve to be discarded. Just like before. I sat there wondering what was wrong with me. Why no one ever stays."
Soobin cupped his cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you doubt your worth. You're not worthless, Beomgyu. You are everything. You are everything to me"
He pressed a kiss to his temple, then another to his damp cheeks, as if he could kiss the pain away.
"I won't let you feel like that again. I promise you. Just one more chance, please. I'll never let you go. I'll never leave you behind again."
Their foreheads pressed together, breaths mixing-one shaky, one steady, slowly syncing.
Then, with care, Soobin reached up and peeled away Beomgyu's suit, freeing him from its weight. His fingers moved gently, untying the suffocating knot of his tie, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt with delicate precision.
When he pulled him back into his chest, Beomgyu collapsed into him fully.
"I'm sorry for today too," Soobin murmured, arms secure around him as he effortlessly lifted him off the ground, carrying him like he was holding something fragile and irreplaceable. "I should've been there. I wanted to be. Everything was crashing down inside me... but I should've run to you."
Beomgyu buried his face in Soobin's neck, holding on tighter, legs wrapped around his waist. They moved as one broken thing, trying to find wholeness in each other.
Soobin lowered them onto the bed, cradling him as though the world might break again if he let go. He sat on the bed, letting Beomgyu collapse onto his lap.
"Please... let me make it up to you. Please give me this one last chance. I'm begging you-don't push me away."
"Please..." he said again, softer now, more desperate.
He leaned into the headboard, cradling Beomgyu fully onto himself, letting Beomgyu melt into him, his body finally still, curling protectively around him like a shelter against the world.
"My life can't carry on without you," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss into his hair. "Hell, you are my life, Beomgyu."
A pause. Then.
"I hate you," Beomgyu whispered again. But this time, it was hollow. Empty of anger. Filled only with the tremor of someone who was still hurting but no longer able to fight the person holding him. He nestled deeper into Soobin's chest.
"I deserve that," Soobin whispered, brushing his lips against his hair, holding him like a lifeline. "But I'm not going anywhere. Not anymore. I'll stay even if you keep hating me. I'll stay until you believe that I won't leave."
The night deepened around them, dim and hushed, as if the world itself had pulled back to give them space to break. Slowly, painfully, but together.
Beomgyu sobbed uncontrollably into Soobin's chest, the kind of cry that wracked the whole body, loud and sharp at first then quieter, but no less devastating. He clung to Soobin like a drowning man to driftwood, fists clutching tightly at the lapel of his coat, pulling it taut with every heaving breath.
His cries were jagged, like torn edges of memories spilling out.
Soobin had nothing to offer to calm his storm. Only arms. Only warmth. Only silence soaked in sorrow. He held Beomgyu tighter, his chin pressed to the crown of his head, his own throat aching with unshed tears. His suit was stiff, the collar biting into his neck, and the tie was a noose at this point but he didn't move. Not even to loosen it. Nothing mattered, not the sweat, the constriction, the numbness in his limbs. Nothing but Beomgyu.
Only Beomgyu.
Right there, curled in his lap, shaking like the world had finally broken him open.
Soobin couldn't bear the thought of easing even the slightest pressure in his arms, terrified that if he let go, even for a second, Beomgyu might slip through again.
"You're not alone anymore," Soobin whispered, his voice thick. "I'm here. I'm right here."
Beomgyu only cried harder, the release almost violent in its intensity now. Everything he had shoved deep down, every rejection, every forgotten moment, every instance of being left behind was pouring out. It cracked through his ribs and spilled into Soobin's shirt, his fists, his breath.
"I didn't want to hate you," Beomgyu choked out. "I tried not to. But I hated that I missed you. I hated that I wanted you next to me. Holding me. I hated how much it hurt."
Soobin's grip trembled but didn't loosen. "Then hate me," he whispered. "Scream at me. Break me if you have to. But don't hold it in anymore. Let it all out, Gyu."
Beomgyu flinched at the name. Something shattered again. He pressed himself closer, curling his fingers into the front of Soobin's shirt like he was trying to crawl inside his heartbeat.
And Soobin let him.
Outside, the moon slid higher, pale and distant behind thin clouds. Inside, the room felt timeless-two people crumpled in the dark, one holding the other as he shattered and wept and shattered again.
Eventually, the sobs softened into broken hiccups. Beomgyu was exhausted. Emotionally, physically. His chest heaving against Soobin's as the crying turned into trembling silence.
Still, Soobin didn't move. Not even to loosen the damned tie now glued to his skin with sweat. He only shifted enough to cradle Beomgyu better, tucking him fully into his chest, his hand moving slowly over his back, his fingers brushing the nape of his neck.
"You don't have to be strong with me," Soobin murmured, forehead resting against Beomgyu's temple. "You don't have to hide anymore."
Beomgyu's voice came out hoarse and faint. "I'm tired, Soobin..."
"I know," he whispered back. "Close your eyes. I'm here."
Soobin leaned back against the headboard, holding Beomgyu's limp form on top of him. The weight didn't burden him. It grounded him. Anchored him. Like he had a purpose again.
He reached for the blanket clumsily, not wanting to let go, and pulled it over Beomgyu's trembling body. Then he pressed a kiss, barely there, into his temple. And again.
And again.
As if every kiss could rewrite what had broken inside Beomgyu.
The room fell into stillness eventually. The kind that comes after a storm-heavy, soaked in sorrow, but somehow... peaceful.
And still, Soobin didn't sleep. He stayed awake, watching over the boy in his arms like he was holding something more fragile than time.
Even if it took all night, he'd stay.
Because letting go wasn't an option anymore.
Silence hung between them for a long time, but it wasn't cold anymore. It pulsed with warmth, soaked in the damp salt of tears and quiet promises.
In each other's arms, the storm softened-though the wounds remained, something like healing began.
In that room, dim and sacred, they clung to each other like shipwreck survivors. Battered, breaking, but still afloat.
Still breathing. Together.
***
Chapter Text
The morning light crept in through the thin veil of curtains, shy and unassuming, as if it, too, was afraid to trespass on something so fragile. It spilled in muted streaks across the wooden floor, brushing over the tangle of limbs on the bed like a hush. A reverent whisper in a sacred space. The room held its breath, cloaked in the kind of silence that only follows after something unspoken and immense. Not broken, not whole. Just quietly aching.
Beomgyu lay curled against Soobin's chest, tucked into the shelter of his arms like a secret the world wasn't allowed to touch. Yet even wrapped in the illusion of safety, there was a weight clinging to him like peace that trembles at the edges. Like something too tender to name.
Soobin hadn't moved. Not once. The tie around Soobin's neck had finally loosened in the night, Beomgyu's unconscious fingers having tugged at it in his sleep. His shirt bore the creases of the night. The fabric crumpled and clutched, Beomgyu's fingers still gently knotted in the cloth as if, even in sleep, he feared letting go. Like a boy lost in a dream he didn't want to wake from, or worse, one he feared waking would ruin.
Soobin's chin rested lightly against the crown of Beomgyu's head, their breaths falling into rhythm, close. But never quite in sync. As if the universe couldn't bring itself to align them perfectly, as if there was still a distance neither knew how to cross completely.
Because Soobin hadn't slept. Not even for a heartbeat.
He had stayed like that, motionless and watchful, as though the night itself depended on him to keep it intact. Afraid that if he so much as breathed too loud or moved too far, Beomgyu would slip away. Dissolve. Like a warmth that only lingers in memory. Like a shadow fading with the first touch of dawn.
And perhaps, somewhere deep in his bones, Soobin knew that what he held in his arms wasn't just Beomgyu's body, but the fragile remains of a boy who had learned too early that love could vanish without warning.
Beomgyu's cries from the night before still echoed in Soobin's ears-not faint whispers, not distant memories, but sharp, piercing, alive. They weren't just sobs-they were the kind of broken, helpless cries that unravel a soul. The kind that made time stop, made the air heavy. Cries that cracked open the silence of the night and etched themselves into Soobin's very bones.
He had watched, helpless, as Beomgyu shattered.
Not simply broke, but folded in on himself, like the weight of the world had been too much for one heart to bear. Every tremble, every gasp for air, every fragile sound of pain had sunk into Soobin's chest like glass. And even now, the memory refused to fade. It clung to him, raw and relentless.
That night, in the quiet that followed the storm, Soobin made a vow. Silently, fiercely, with all the solemnity of someone holding something sacred.
He promised himself that he would never again let Beomgyu's tears fall unless they were the kind that came from too much joy, from laughter that left him breathless, from feeling so deeply loved that it overflowed. Never again would Beomgyu cry from that kind of hurt. Not if he could help it.
He would protect him.
With everything he had. With the tenderness in his hands and the fire in his heart. He would build a world around Beomgyu where pain had no place, where loneliness couldn't find him. He would hold him close, so close that no cruelty could reach him again.
Because Beomgyu wasn't just someone to be cared for.
He was someone Soobin needed to protect. Like a prayer whispered into the darkness, like a promise carved into his soul.
He would never let go.
Not now. Not ever.
So he held him, still and fiercely, like a vow he hadn't spoken aloud.
Beomgyu wasn't supposed to feel this safe, this held, just by being in Soobin's orbit. It defied every defense he'd so carefully constructed, every instinct that once told him to keep people at a distance. And yet, here he was, limbs tangled with the very boy he swore he'd keep on the other side of his walls.
He should've pushed him away the moment things began to feel too real. Should've drawn the lines again, hardened the softness that had started to grow between them like spring after a long winter. But he didn't. He couldn't.
Because somehow, Soobin's warmth had become a home he hadn't meant to build. The way his arms fit around him like a fortress. The quiet, unconscious tenderness in how he always knew when Beomgyu needed silence instead of words. The way safety no longer felt like a myth but a heartbeat pressed against his back.
He was getting used to it. That was the worst part. The way he leaned into the comfort without thinking, the way his breath slowed just by Soobin's steady presence. He was letting himself drown in things he wasn't supposed to need.
And even now, as dawn threaded pale gold across the room, brushing softly against the curve of Soobin's arm still caged protectively around him, it felt like a fever dream. Unreal in its gentleness. Dangerous in how much he wanted it to be real.
This wasn't what he planned. This wasn't what broken boys like him were supposed to have.
But for now, for this moment-he allowed himself to exist inside it. To be something more than guarded. To be held. To be... wanted.
Soobin leaned down, as if drawn by gravity not of the earth but of something far more fragile. Love, ache, devotion. He pressed the softest kiss to Beomgyu's forehead, feather-light, barely there. Skin to skin. No words. No sound. Just a quiet vow, sealed in silence. A kiss not for passion, but for protection. A promise without language. A presence that said I'm here. I'm not leaving.
Beomgyu stirred, the touch coaxing him from the edges of sleep. It was so gentle, almost unreal. His brows twitched, lashes fluttering open slowly, revealing eyes swollen and red from the night that had drained him. Pain clung to him still, around his eyelids, in the way his lips parted to breathe, in the dryness scratching his throat. He blinked up, slow and dazed, and found Soobin already watching him. Softly, deeply, like he'd spent the entire night memorizing the shape of his sorrow.
"Good morning," Soobin whispered, his voice barely above a breath, like the moment itself was too delicate to disturb. His fingers moved instinctively, tracing the curve of Beomgyu's cheek with the back of his knuckles, so tenderly it hurt. Like he was touching something breakable. Like Beomgyu's skin might bruise beneath anything more than gentleness.
Beomgyu didn't reply right away. He simply closed his eyes again, leaning into the warmth of Soobin's hand, as if anchoring himself to it. Then, like a leaf folding into the safety of its branch, he nestled his face into Soobin's neck, breath hitching faintly at the contact.
"Morning..." he mumbled, his voice groggy and laced with remnants of exhaustion, but calmer now. Safer.
And for a moment, time stopped. No noise. No pain. Just the quiet rhythm of their breathing, heartbeats steadying in sync. Soobin wrapped his arms around him wordlessly, pulling him closer-not to hold him down, but to hold him up. Because in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not yesterday. Not the ache. Just this. Beomgyu alive, held, and no longer crying.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.
Beomgyu stayed tucked into the crook of Soobin's neck for a long moment, listening to the steady heartbeat beneath his skin. Safe. So achingly safe. But something inside him trembled-like a wound not fully closed, still fearing the sting of abandonment.
Then, in a voice that barely made it past his lips, rough and cracked from the storm of yesterday, he whispered, "I thought you'd leave..."
Soobin pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face, his brows knitting with quiet heartbreak.
"I thought you were only here for my fragile moment," Beomgyu continued, eyes glistening again but holding back, blinking slowly. "I thought I'd wake up alone. That you'd disappear like everything else I've ever trusted."
The confession hung in the air like fog. Dense, aching, vulnerable.
Soobin's heart clenched, and he brought both hands to Beomgyu's face, cupping it with a reverence that made Beomgyu's breath hitch. His thumbs brushed beneath tired eyes, tracing away the ghost of another tear that threatened to fall.
"I won't, Beomgyu," Soobin said softly, firmly, like it was a truth he'd repeat until the stars fell. "I will never leave you. Not in the night. Not in the morning. Not ever. I'm here for all your moments. Not just the broken ones."
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Beomgyu's, eyes closing, breath shared. The world seemed to still around them.
"I just want you to know..." Soobin continued, voice trembling now, "you mean so much to me. More than you probably understand right now. I'm not letting you go-not this time, not any time."
His voice cracked, but he didn't pull back. "Just... let me use this chance, Beomgyu. This one chance to show you what you truly mean to me. Let me stay. Let me prove it. Not with words, but with presence, with everything I am. Just..." he paused, eyes fluttering open to meet Beomgyu's, "just don't push me away, hmm?"
Beomgyu stared at him, silent, breath catching in his throat as if Soobin's words had reached into the deepest, most locked-away part of his soul.
And then slowly, almost fearfully, he nodded. Just once. But it was enough.
Soobin smiled, eyes glistening. He pulled him into his chest again, arms wrapping tight like a lifeline. And in that embrace, something fragile mended. Not completely-but enough to begin again.
The silence between them thickened, not from discomfort, but from everything left unsaid now finding breath in the shared warmth of touch, in the way their limbs fit like they were always meant to come undone together.
Beomgyu's fingers curled gently around Soobin's wrist, grounding himself as if the steady pulse beneath his skin could drown out the echoes of yesterday. His breathing had slowed, but Soobin could still feel the tremble in his chest, like his heart was still catching up to the safety around him.
Soobin studied his face. Those tired eyes, the soft swell of his bottom lip, the hint of vulnerability that lingered like a shadow in dawn light. And then Beomgyu looked up at him again. Fully. Raw. Unmasked. There was no shield left now, nothing held back.
Their foreheads rested together, breath mingling in quiet warmth.
Soobin's hand slid from Beomgyu's cheek to the back of his neck, fingers threading through soft strands of hair. His thumb brushed gently behind Beomgyu's ear, as if memorizing him piece by piece.
"Can I?" Soobin whispered, voice barely more than breath, every word trembling with reverence.
Beomgyu didn't answer. He didn't need to.
His eyes flickered down to Soobin's lips, then back to his eyes-like he was giving him all the answers he'd never had the courage to speak aloud.
And in the next breath, they met halfway.
It was slow at first. Tentative. Just lips brushing, a soft seeking. But it deepened quickly, heavy with all the things they couldn't put into words. Soobin's hand cupped Beomgyu's jaw, holding him close, his other arm wrapped firm around his waist, anchoring him. Like if he let go now, the entire world would come crashing down again.
Beomgyu responded with equal intensity-desperate, aching, his fingers curling into Soobin's shirt, fisting the fabric like he needed to feel him under his skin. He tilted his head, letting the kiss grow messier, wetter, his lips parting on a shaky breath as Soobin kissed him deeper. Slower now, like time didn't exist, like they had only this moment and it was everything.
It wasn't just a kiss.
It was a breakdown. A prayer. A homecoming.
Beomgyu pulled back only slightly, just enough to whisper, lips brushing against Soobin's, "I was really so scared you'd leave."
Soobin's eyes fluttered shut, his breath catching as he kissed that confession right off his lips. "Never again, Beomgyu. Never."
Their mouths found each other once more-this time with more certainty, more want. The kind that trembled in their bones. Soobin tilted Beomgyu further into his lap, deepening the kiss until they were breathing each other in, fingertips brushing skin beneath fabric, holding on like they were each other's last piece of something sacred.
And when they finally paused, foreheads pressed together, breaths heaving quietly, Beomgyu let out a shaky, broken sigh. But it wasn't from pain.
It was release.
Healing. Cracked open, but no longer alone.
Soobin tucked his head beneath Beomgyu's chin, tightening his hold. "Even if everything else falls apart," he murmured into his skin, "I'll stay. I'll always stay."
And Beomgyu didn't reply.
He just kissed the crown of Soobin's head, fingers gently weaving into his hair, and closed his eyes again, finally allowing himself to rest in the arms of someone who didn't let go.
The streets of Tokyo bustled with their usual rhythm. Vibrant, full of color and motion, but to Beomgyu and Soobin, the world moved a little softer that day. Like everything had hushed just enough to let them breathe in it, side by side.
Soobin wore an oversized brown jacket layered over a white shirt and a loosely tied black tie, with blue trousers and a long sling bag slung over his shoulder.
Beomgyu stood beside him in a long black coat over a white shirt and black trousers, his look effortlessly sharp.
But the softness came not from the clothes, but from Soobin's touch. Without a word, he reached out and draped his own grey scarf around Beomgyu's neck. It was worn, warm, and carried Soobin's scent. Faint hints of vanilla, winter wind, the tenderness of love unspoken. He adjusted it carefully, like adorning something precious, the edges brushing against Beomgyu's chin. Beomgyu blinked, slightly startled, but didn't stop him. The scarf was warm, but Soobin's gesture was warmer. Soobin tucked in the final loop with a smile that said mine.
Neither spoke much but their silence was easy. Companionable. Full of glances, secret smiles, knuckles bumping now and then until Soobin quietly laced their fingers together.
They started in a quiet neighborhood. Backstreets lined with old bookstores and tiny cafés spilling jazz music onto the pavement. Beomgyu paused often, eyes catching on window displays or the soft sway of wind chimes above doorframes. Soobin didn't rush him. He watched instead. Watched the way Beomgyu's gaze held wonder again, like his chest had space for it now.
Beneath the kaleidoscope of Tokyo's sleepless glow, where the city pulsed like a living heartbeat, the soft neon blush painted Soobin's features in hues of molten gold and cherry blossom pink. Lights flickered across the planes of his face as he gently tugged Beomgyu's hand, weaving him through a current of midnight wanderers toward a quiet yatai stall that smoked with the scent of memories. The aroma of searing batter and briny octopus clung thick to the air, wrapping around them like silk spun from nostalgia.
Beomgyu's laughter, a fragile sound, barely audible over the city's electric hum, fluttered from his lips as Soobin leaned in, so close the warmth of his breath brushed Beomgyu's ear and stirred the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. "Which one do you want?" Soobin's voice was soft, not quite a whisper, more a confession meant only for Beomgyu to carry. His fingers found the small of Beomgyu's back, ghosting over the fabric like a secret kept too long, lingering just enough to leave a mark that could not be seen but deeply felt.
Beomgyu raised a hand, pointing toward the takoyaki, its golden sheen glimmering under the paper lanterns. Soobin ordered with a quiet kind of certainty, his arm draping protectively around Beomgyu's shoulders, as though anchoring him to the moment.
When the vendor handed over the trays, the heat clung to their fingers. Beomgyu winced, teeth sinking into a scalding bite, lips parting in a soft, breathless "Ah-hot!" that made Soobin laugh-not with mockery, but with the kind of affection that drips slow and tender like honey warmed over fire.
Soobin blew on his own and then offered it, holding it out with fingers slightly trembling. "Here, let me."
Beomgyu hesitated. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, teeth grazing Soobin's fingers in a motion so small, so intimate, it made time collapse inward.
A flush bloomed high across Beomgyu's cheeks, a telltale warmth that spilled down his neck, and Soobin's responding laugh was low, rich, and content-before he leaned in to press a fleeting kiss against Beomgyu's temple, the touch reverent, like he was afraid Beomgyu might disappear if he held on too long.
They moved as one through the marketplace, each step syncing like verses in an unwritten song. Lanterns floated above them like paper dreams, casting soft shadows that danced across their faces.
Beomgyu's hands filled with dango skewers, his lips sticky with syrup, while Soobin held a melting swirl of matcha soft-serve, passing it between them in lazy bites that tasted faintly of sweetness and something unspoken.
Every now and then, Soobin leaned in with some excuse-"You've got sauce- here-" his fingers brushing Beomgyu's lip, then his mouth replacing them in a fleeting touch that lingered in Beomgyu's breath.
"You look so damn cute like this," he murmured, stealing a kiss to Beomgyu's cheek that made the younger boy duck into his scarf, flustered but glowing.
The soundscape shifted as they stumbled into an arcade, a cacophony of retro blips and echoed laughter. Beomgyu's eyes lit up like festival fireworks at the sight of the taiko drum game, and he pulled Soobin forward, challenge dancing in his gaze. They battled in rhythm. Beomgyu fierce, Soobin grinning.
Soobin was clumsy at first, nearly tripping, arms flailing. Beomgyu mocked him mercilessly-until Soobin, determined, nailed a streak that wiped Beomgyu's score clean.
Soobin raised both hands like a champion, grinning ear to ear. "Bow down."
"You cheated," Beomgyu declared. "I demand a rematch."
He crowded Beomgyu against the machine afterward, hands braced on either side like a cage made of breath and heartbeat, his lips ghosting the curve of Beomgyu's jaw as he whispered, "You can demand a kiss instead."
Beomgyu pushed at his chest, laughing, but his fingers hooked in the fabric of Soobin's sleeve like he didn't want to let him go.
He tugged him toward a nearby photo booth, its pink curtains fluttering in the breeze. Inside, the space was suffocatingly small-shoulder pressed to shoulder, thighs touching, knees bumping with every shift. They chose filters. Cat ears, sparkling stars, cheeks painted a cherry-red. The first frame caught Beomgyu sticking out his tongue. But in the second, Soobin caught his chin, gentle, turning his face just enough to kiss him-real, firm, and fleeting-as the flash exploded.
"Yah-!" Beomgyu swatted at him, eyes wide, but laughter burst from his chest before he could stay angry. The third photo caught it-the unguarded smile, wide and helpless, as Soobin curled his arm around his waist and pulled him close.
At a modest jewelry stall tucked in the market's corner, Soobin's fingers found a silver chain with a sun pendant, delicate as first love. "This one," he said, voice quiet but firm, fastening it gently around Beomgyu's neck before the latter could even protest. The metal was cool against warm skin. Beomgyu, heart stuttering, reached for the matching piece, a crescent moon, and looped it around Soobin's neck with trembling fingers, his breath catching on the closeness.
They walked again as sunset spilled gold over the city. They shared strawberry crepes by the river, each bite traded, each laugh softer. A small breeze stirred the air, and Beomgyu leaned into Soobin's side, their joined hands swinging gently between them.
Neither spoke, not for a while.
Because there was no need.
The world didn't have to be loud when they had this. Sweetness laced through neon lights, stolen glances, and the quiet rhythm of two hearts learning to breathe together again.
Later, they wandered through Ueno Park, where cherry blossoms still clung to the trees like faded memories. Soobin reached up to tuck one behind Beomgyu's ear, and Beomgyu blushed-really blushed, the color creeping all the way to his neck.
"You're doing that thing again," Soobin teased softly.
"What thing?"
"Looking at me like I hung the stars."
Beomgyu nudged his shoulder, cheeks warm. "Maybe you did."
They walked until their feet were sore, stopping to eat at a tucked-away soba place where no one recognized them, where they could lean in close over bowls of steaming noodles and talk about nothing and everything.Favorite songs, childhood scars, dreams they'd buried too deep before each other.
And as evening settled in, casting long gold shadows along the Sumida River, Soobin tugged Beomgyu to the railing and wrapped his arms around him from behind.
Beomgyu leaned back into his chest, head resting against Soobin's shoulder as boats drifted past and the city lights began to flicker on.
The city surged around them, but in that moment, Tokyo faded into a distant murmur. The world blurred behind glass and neon, leaving only Soobin and Beomgyu standing in the stillness.
"Thank you," Beomgyu whispered. "... for today."
Soobin pressed a kiss to his temple. "You deserve it. Every second of it."
Beomgyu turned around still caged between Soobin's arms, their breath shared, their lips dangerously close again. Trembling not from uncertainty but from the ache of wanting. Soobin leaned in once more, his voice the barest exhale against Beomgyu's mouth, "Just one more. Please."
And this time, when their lips met, the kiss didn't ask for permission. It simply became.
Soobin was unraveling, thread by thread, breath by breath-beneath the weight of Beomgyu's presence. It was too much, yet never enough. The way Beomgyu's fingertips lingered when they brushed his skin, the way his lips moved when they whispered his name in the hush between moments, the way his eyes, god, those eyes held Soobin like a secret too precious to be spoken aloud. It was overwhelming, all-consuming, and Soobin was helplessly, irrevocably falling deeper.
He didn't just want Beomgyu He needed him, in a way that defied logic and language. If the world would allow, Soobin would lock the doors on time itself, build a life within the four walls of a sunlit room where only Beomgyu existed. Just him and the boy who ruined him so gently. He could spend lifetimes wrapped around him, arms coiled like ivy, lips pressed to the soft curve of Beomgyu's jaw or the hollow beneath his throat, mapping every inch of him until there was nothing left to learn and yet still longing for more.
Beomgyu wasn't just love. He was obsession softened into silk. He was a drug Soobin could never detox from. A sweetness that burned as it healed, a poison he drank willingly, eyes closed and mouth open, desperate for another taste. His presence filled the cracks in Soobin's soul and made them ache all the more when he wasn't near. And Soobin... Soobin was far past the point of addiction. He was wrecked. Ruined in the most beautiful way.
He craved Beomgyu like air in drowning lungs-every stolen kiss, every unspoken look, every brush of fingers against skin was a hit he couldn't live without. There was no recovery, no distance he could put between them that wouldn't feel like suffocation. Because the truth, the terrifying, exalting, soul-shaking truth was this.
Soobin didn't know how to be anything anymore...
if it didn't include Beomgyu.
After an entire day spent wandering the beating heart of Tokyo, where laughter echoed down narrow alleyways and fading sunlight caught in their hair like spun gold, Soobin and Beomgyu finally returned to Seungcheol's place, the quiet hum of exhaustion and contentment trailing behind them like a fading melody. They had chased joy through foreign streets, shared quiet glances over vending machine drinks, and captured the city in their memories, moment by fleeting moment. But beneath it all, something deeper had pulsed between them. Unspoken, urgent, waiting.
Beomgyu barely crossed the doorway of the upstairs room, bag slipping from his shoulder, when Soobin breathless, eyes dark with something far more turbulent than fatigue grabbed his wrist, spun him around, and without warning, pressed their lips together in a kiss that shattered the air between them.
It was not gentle. It was raw. A desperate, aching collision of everything they had swallowed down for too long. Soobin's hands trembled as they cupped Beomgyu's face, pulling him closer like he was terrified of letting him slip away again. His kiss tasted of longing, of silent prayers, of all the words he didn't know how to say.
The taste of him was intoxicating. Sweet from the iced coffee they'd shared earlier, sharp with the lingering tartness of the lemon candy he'd popped into Soobin's mouth in the cab.
Beomgyu froze for a heartbeat, one breathless, burning second where the world cracked open and then he melted into it, fingers tangling in Soobin's jacket as if trying to anchor himself to this sudden, overwhelming storm of affection. The room spun. The air grew thick with emotion. There was nothing soft about this kiss-it was the breaking point, the surrender, the confession.
In that fevered silence, between hurried breaths and trembling hands, they found each other. Not just as friends or companions, but as two hearts too full to keep pretending.
And in that stolen moment, Tokyo faded, the world fell quiet, and only the truth between their lips remained.
Soobin drew back slowly, just enough to breathe, just enough to see. The space between them remained charged, pulsing with everything that had just passed and everything still unsaid. His gaze fell on Beomgyu's face and it nearly unraveled him.
Beomgyu looked wrecked in the most beautiful way.
Cheeks flushed a tender crimson, lips swollen and glistening with the remnants of their kiss, parted in a helpless pout that spoke of longing and frustration all at once. His dark eyes heavy with emotion, glazed with something raw and unfiltered searched Soobin's face like he was afraid this moment might vanish into smoke. And Soobin, in that fragile breath of silence, swore he had never seen anything more achingly perfect.
Beomgyu looked like he belonged to him.
Soobin's hand trembled as he brought it up, fingers reverent, as though touching something sacred. His thumb ghosted over Beomgyu's lower lip, brushing against the warmth he had just tasted. Beomgyu's breath stuttered, and his lips instinctively chased the touch, tilting forward with aching softness. Desperate for more, for anything Soobin would give.
A shaky exhale escaped Soobin's chest, almost a laugh, almost a cry. His voice came out like a broken prayer.
"God... Beomgyu, I swear," he murmured, his voice thick with helpless affection, "you'll be the death of me."
And then he couldn't take it anymore.
Soobin surged forward, crashing their mouths together once more-no hesitation, no restraint. This kiss was chaos. It was hungry, messy, devastating in its intensity. Fingers tangled in hair and fabric, pulling each other closer, like proximity could cure the ache in their bones. Their lips moved feverishly, the room spinning around them, breaths stolen and returned like offerings.
Beomgyu whimpered against his mouth, the sound desperate and low, shattering something inside Soobin. He kissed him harder, deeper, pouring every inch of his emotion into the contact-every passing glance, every lingering touch he had never dared to hold onto.
They were falling-into each other, into something dangerously beautiful-and neither of them wanted to stop.
Because in that kiss, in that breathless closeness, it no longer mattered how long they had waited or how scared they had been.
All that mattered was that, for the first time, they weren't pretending.
They were burning and they were burning together.
Soobin's hands moved without thought, driven by instinct, reverence, and a desperation he could no longer tame. They slid along Beomgyu's sides, feeling the tremble beneath the fabric, the way his body leaned into him like he had waited for this, for them far too long.
Soobin's tongue swept against Beomgyu's, languid and teasing, drawing a soft moan from his throat. The sound seemed to unravel something in Soobin. His hands grew more urgent, one sliding down to grip Beomgyu's thigh, hiking it up around his hip as he backed him against the wall. The pressure of Soobin's body against his was delicious, the heat radiating through their clothes making Beomgyu's skin prickle with anticipation.
Soobin's lips trailed down Beomgyu's throat, savoring the way his pulse leaped beneath his tongue. He pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses along the delicate column of his neck, teeth grazing just enough to make Beomgyu shiver. A soft noise escaped him-half gasp, half sigh-and Soobin felt it vibrate against his lips.
Beomgyu's hands slid beneath Soobin's shirt, palms warm against the bare skin of his lower back. His touch was hesitant at first, then bolder, fingertips tracing the dip of his spine, the firm muscle beneath. Soobin arched into it, his breath hitching as calloused fingers dragged upward, pushing fabric higher.
They broke apart just long enough for Soobin to strip off his jacket and shirt, and Beomgyu's gaze darkened as it roamed over him-the broad shoulders, the faint scars, the way his chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. He reached out, fingers skimming Soobin's collarbone, down to his sternum, drinking in the way his skin burned under his touch.
Soobin pushed forward until Beomgyu's back met the edge of the bed, breath caught in his throat as his knees gave way.
He fell back slowly, pulling Soobin down with him, the mattress dipping under their weight. The world shrank to the quiet sounds between them. The rustle of clothes, the gasp that escaped Beomgyu's lips when Soobin settled above him, the soft creak of the bed frame as they found each other in a tangle of limbs and longing.
Soobin hovered, his hands braced on either side of Beomgyu's head, eyes locked with his, mouths inches apart but not touching. His breath was ragged, heart pounding against his ribs like a warning bell.
"We don't have to rush," he whispered, voice hoarse, reverent.
Beomgyu reached up, cupping the side of Soobin's face. "I know," he said, his voice shaking but sure. "But I want it. Please..."
Soobin leaned in. "Tell me what you want," he murmured against Beomgyu's throat, lips brushing damp skin.
Beomgyu exhaled sharply, fingers twisting in the sheets. "You," he said, voice rough. "All of you."
Soobin didn't hesitate. His hands slid beneath Beomgyu's shirt, pushing it up, his palms gliding over heated skin, tracing the sharp lines of his ribs, the softness of his stomach. Beomgyu arched off the bed when Soobin's thumb brushed a nipple, his breath catching.
Soobin kissed him again, deeper this time, swallowing every soft sound that spilled from his lips. He tugged the shirt off completely, tossing it aside.
His hands explored the newly exposed skin. The dip of Beomgyu's waist, the delicate ridges of his ribs, the smooth plane of his stomach. Each touch leaving trails of fire in their wake.
Beomgyu arched into him, gasping as Soobin's teeth grazed back up, on his lower lip, then his jaw, then the sensitive spot just beneath his ear.
"You're so-" Soobin murmured against his throat, voice rough. His hands worked open the button of Beomgyu's trousers, fingers slipping beneath the waistband, teasing, "-fucking perfect."
The words sent a shudder through Beomgyu. He made a broken noise, hips lifting, seeking friction.
Soobin pressed a kiss to the corner of Beomgyu's mouth, then another along his jaw, trailing reverently down his neck, where his pulse fluttered like a secret. "You feel like home," he whispered, the words muffled against skin. "Like I've been searching for you in every silence."
Beomgyu's fingers dug into Soobin's back, nails grazing lightly at his bare back. "Then don't ever leave," he murmured, eyes fluttering shut as Soobin's lips ghosted down to the hollow of his throat.
His kisses trailed lower. Lips brushing over collarbones, tongue swirling around a nipple until Beomgyu squirmed, fingers twisting in the sheets. The teasing was maddening, each touch stoking the fire in his belly until he was trembling with it.
Soobin followed the curve of Beomgyu's body with his mouth, down his chest, the dip of his waist, the sharp jut of his hip bone.
And then Soobin's mouth was on him, hot and wet, swallowing him down with a groan that vibrated through Beomgyu's entire body. His back arched off the bed, a ragged cry escaping him as Soobin worked him with lips and tongue, fingers digging into his hips to hold him still. The pleasure was unbearable, coiling tight in his gut, threatening to snap-
But Soobin pulled back, pressing a kiss to the inside of Beomgyu's thigh instead, leaving him gasping and wanting.
"Not yet," Soobin whispered, his voice dark with promise. "I want to feel you."
The stretch burned at first, but Soobin took his time, murmuring sweet, filthy things against Beomgyu's skin until his body relaxed, opened, welcomed him in. The moment their hips finally met, Soobin buried deep inside him, they both let out broken moans, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling.
The rhythm was slow at first, deep and deliberate, each thrust dragging against that sweet spot that had Beomgyu clawing at Soobin's back. But as the pleasure built, their movements grew more frantic, desperate. Soobin's hands tangled in Beomgyu's hair, tugging just enough to make him whimper, his lips crashing against Beomgyu's in messy, open-mouthed kisses.
"Look at me," Soobin panted, and Beomgyu obeyed, drowning in the intensity of his gaze. "I want to see you."
The connection was overwhelming. Every thrust, every shared breath, every whispered word binding them tighter together. Beomgyu came with a sob, his body clenching around Soobin, pulling him over the edge moments later, their moans mingling in the thick, honeyed air.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, sweat-slicked and spent, Soobin's fingers tracing idle patterns on Beomgyu's hip. The weight of his arm across Beomgyu's waist was grounding, his heartbeat steady beneath Beomgyu's ear.
No words were needed. The way Soobin pressed a kiss to his temple said everything.
The moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains painted silver stripes across their entangled bodies, catching in the fine sheen of sweat still cooling on their skin. Soobin's fingertips traced slow circles along the dip of Beomgyu's waist, following the topography of his body like a cartographer mapping sacred ground. The air smelled like them-salt and sex and the faint citrus shampoo lingering in Beomgyu's hair.
Beomgyu shifted gently, instinctively drawn to the warmth beside him. He pressed closer, his cheek settling over Soobin's chest, where the strong, rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat pulsed like a sanctuary. Each beat was an anchor, a lifeline, echoing louder than any word ever could. It steadied him, cradled him in a silence more sacred than anything they'd ever shared with their bodies. Outside, the muffled hum of city life rolled on, the occasional burst of laughter-Eunsoo, perhaps, chasing shadows with joy down the hallway-serving as a distant reminder that the world still turned while their own stood still, suspended in this moment between heartbeats.
Soobin's fingers, previously lazy against the small of Beomgyu's back, now moved upward, threading through his hair before coming to rest at the nape of his neck. His thumb brushed with haunting delicacy over the tender skin behind Beomgyu's ear just enough to send an electric shiver rippling through him, down to his toes. Beomgyu closed his eyes, breath hitching. He was still vibrating with the afterglow of closeness, his nerves alive, raw, too bare to be touched but craving it nonetheless.
"You're thinking too loud," Soobin whispered, his voice hoarse and worn, lips grazing the crown of Beomgyu's head like a secret he didn't want the night to overhear.
A quiet, fragile smile broke through Beomgyu's lips, small at first, like dawn teasing the horizon. He tilted his face upward, eyes searching for Soobin's. What he found there was a warm darkness. Eyes blown wide, not just from desire, but from something far deeper, something wordless. It rooted him in place.
"I'm... I'm happy," Beomgyu said, his voice trembling at the edges. "Happy in a way I never thought I'd be. It's not the kind of happiness that comes from loud moments or grand gestures. It's small... it's quiet. But it's everything. For the first time in years, I didn't feel like a placeholder for someone else's need. I didn't feel like I had to bend myself into something more likable, more useful... just so people wouldn't leave."
He paused, breath catching in his throat.
"I felt seen, Soobin. Not just looked at. Seen. Held. Heard. Wanted. Not because I tried, not because I changed-but just as I am. And this feeling... this enough-ness, it's so unfamiliar that it almost hurts. I don't know how to hold it all. It feels like it's going to burst out of my chest."
Soobin didn't speak right away. Instead, he cupped Beomgyu's cheeks with both hands, reverently, like he was afraid the boy in front of him might vanish if he moved too fast. His eyes shimmered with a quiet kind of awe like Beomgyu was the only star in an otherwise empty sky.
Beomgyu let out a shaky breath. "You know, I've always been terrified of emotions this deep. That's why I kept pushing Jeonghan and Seungcheol hyung away. I was scared of needing them too much. Scared that if I leaned, they might one day stop catching me. But they... they never left. They kept knocking, even when I built walls instead of doors. They were just kids themselves, but they raised me like I was their own."
His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed through. "And you know what? They still say I made them stronger. That I am the reason their relationship is so rooted, so resilient. Because raising me together made them see each other in ways they hadn't before. And now, raising Eunsoo... it's second nature. Because they already raised their first child. Me. And that even makes sense as she is my real sister."
At her name, a light flickered in Beomgyu's eyes, tender and gleaming. "And Eunsoo..." he breathed, the syllables like honey on his tongue. "When she was born, it felt like the world gave me something pure. She was this small," he chuckled, holding his hands in a tiny cradle, and Soobin let out a soft laugh, his heart melting.
"She was magic, Soobin. Just her existence dulled every sharp edge inside me. I didn't need answers when she was around. But I walked away... like a fool. I thought I was protecting her from the mess that I was. And I regret every second I lost. But Hannie hyung... he made sure I wasn't forgotten. He told her about me. Told her I was her special person. That I'd come when the time was right."
Beomgyu turned to face Soobin fully now, reaching up to catch the hands cradling his face in his own. His grip was trembling, but firm like he needed Soobin to feel just how much this meant. His voice came soft, but resolute.
"And then... there was you. You came into my life like rain in drought. Uninvited, unexpected, but exactly what I needed. I didn't know how starved I was until you listened to me and didn't flinch. You made me feel again. You brought back the parts of me I'd buried so deep I forgot they had names. You gave me back my own heart, Soobin."
He exhaled shakily, eyes glistening. "It's all too much. My chest... it's too full. I don't know how to carry all this happiness without spilling it everywhere. But it's real. It's mine. And I'm so, so grateful."
Soobin's expression broke open, undone by the force of the confession. He leaned in, brushing his lips against Beomgyu's in a kiss that was impossibly soft-more breath than touch, more vow than desire. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against Beomgyu's, hands threading through his hair like he was trying to memorize every strand.
"You deserve every ounce of this, Gyu," Soobin whispered. "Maybe it came late. Maybe it took too long to reach you. But it's yours. All of it. Being seen, being held, being chosen. You deserve joy. You deserve love that doesn't ask you to shrink. You deserve every good thing the universe has tucked away in its corners."
His lips curled into a playful pout, though his eyes were still burning with sincerity. "But don't be full just yet. Not when I haven't even started. I've got so much more to give you, Beomgyu. Don't you dare be done receiving it."
Beomgyu let out a breathless laugh, teary and light all at once. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, grateful kiss to Soobin's pout. His heart still trembled but now, it trembled with hope.
The words settled deep in Beomgyu's chest, warmer than the blanket wrapped around them. He let his eyes drift shut, breathing in the scent of Soobin's skin, the weight of his arm secure around him, the quiet certainty between them.
It was the weekend. Eunsoo’s weekend. A quiet commandment etched into the hearts of Seungcheol and Jeonghan, unspoken yet unwavering. These two days didn’t merely belong to her. They revolved around her. Time bent for her presence, and priorities shifted without question. Not just on weekends. Any moment she reached out, even in the middle of chaos, they would drop the world for her without hesitation.
But life had grown a little busier lately. With school now part of Eunsoo’s world, mornings turned into gentle rushes and evenings folded into quiet fatigue. Still, one ritual remained untouched- breakfast and dinner, always together. It was Jeonghan’s silent rule, born out of love and cemented by need. A tether that kept their little world from drifting apart. And no one dared break it.
This weekend, however, carried more weight than usual. It came just two days after her birthday, and their home still echoed with soft remnants of laughter. The warmth hadn't left the walls, everyone was still there.
The air felt lighter, cradled by the afterglow of happiness and the comfort of togetherness. It was the kind of morning that shimmered gently with meaning. The kind you wanted to stretch until it touched the sky.
Eunsoo, with her hair still slightly tousled and a spark in her eyes, made a simple declaration that set the tone for the day-
“I want to go to the amusement park.”
And just like that, the day unfolded like a story written in real-time. One where love didn’t need grand gestures to make itself known, only the willing hearts of a family that never stopped choosing each other.
The laughter never dulled. It only swelled, richer and warmer, as if joy had found a place to root itself. With Beomgyu and his friends still lingering like a soft, familiar aftertaste from a sweet dream, the air brimmed with an energy that was both new and achingly nostalgic.
They naturally drifted into two groups, like constellations reconfiguring themselves across the sky. Guided not by distance, but by gravity of the heart.
One cluster moved in gentle orbit around Eunsoo. Her tiny hand wrapped in Seungcheol’s, her smile flaring brightest whenever Jeonghan knelt to fix her ribbon or when Beomgyu lifted her into his arms with a laugh that cracked open the years. Joshua and Seokmin walked close, mirroring memories only they knew, their steps syncing like they had a rhythm built long ago in the quiet spaces of shared summers.
The other group, Soobin, Yeonjun, Taehyun, Hueningkai, and Dino ventured ahead in bursts of energy, arms swinging and voices calling out in echoing challenge. They chased thrills, silly dares, and the dizzy pull of youth like they were claiming the world one arcade ticket at a time.
But for Beomgyu… the world had already slowed down.
His every step beside Eunsoo felt like a page turning in a book he never wanted to end. She was his baby sister, his anchor, his softness in a world that had once tried to harden him. This was their first picnic together. One without the aching distance, without longing folded into absence. She was here. Holding his hand. Laughing at his terrible jokes. Tugging him toward the cotton candy stand like he was the most important person in her universe. And for once, he believed it.
And the presence of Seungcheol and Jeonghan, solid and unwavering, was like falling backward into a memory so tender it almost stung. Joshua’s easy calm, Seokmin’s laughter that could unstick sadness from the corners of your chest… it all pulled him back to the summers of his boyhood, the ones spent in Jeonghan’s house, when the world felt less complicated and love didn’t come with conditions.
This. This felt like that again.
Safe. Whole. Known.
Beomgyu moved through the day like someone rediscovering his roots. Like someone who had finally returned to the place he had always been loved without ever having to ask for it.
And in that moment, surrounded by those who had shaped him long before the rest of the world got to know his name, he wasn’t just happy.
He was home.
The amusement park came alive in bursts of color and sound. Spinning rides, the scent of buttery popcorn, children’s laughter riding the air like kites in the spring wind. It wasn’t just another outing. It felt like a celebration of something unspoken. Of having everyone together, breathing the same air, hearts humming with the same warmth.
They started with the mellow rides first. Carousel spins and bumper cars, games with soft toy prizes that Eunsoo insisted on winning herself, her face scrunched in determined concentration. She declared herself champion of the ring toss after missing nearly every throw, and no one dared correct her.
But the real chaos began when the towering rollercoaster came into view, its metal limbs tangled against the sky like a dare.
“Let’s go!” Taehyun grinned, eyes already shining with thrill. “All of us.”
All was a dangerous word.
Seokmin’s smile froze halfway. “Uh… I think I’ll wait here and hold the bags.”
Joshua blinked at him, amused. “We didn’t bring any bags.”
“Exactly,” Seokmin said weakly. “Somebody has to guard the air.”
Before anyone could coax him further, Hueningkai mumbled, “Nope. Not happening. That thing looks like it eats people for breakfast.”
Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “Scared, Hueningie?” he teased, casually throwing an arm around him.
“I’m not-” Hueningkai started, but a loud screech from the track above made him flinch. “Okay, yes. Terrified.”
Yeonjun laughed, though his own grip on Hueningkai subtly tightened. “You’re lucky I’m braver than you.”
“Your hands are shaking, hyung” Hueningkai pointed out.
“Shut up and get in.”
Meanwhile, Seokmin had resigned to his fate, practically glueing himself to Joshua’s side. “If I die, tell Jeonghan he still owes me ramen.”
Joshua smiled, his voice quiet as he slipped an arm around Seokmin’s waist. “You’re not dying. Just screaming. Possibly weeping. I’ve got you.”
And true to his word, Joshua held him close the entire ride, his hand rubbing calming circles on Seokmin’s back while Seokmin buried his face in his shoulder, half-sobbing, half-laughing.
By the time they stumbled off, disoriented but buzzing with adrenaline, everyone was either hysterical or pretending not to have cried.
“You two looked like a drama couple clinging for life,” Taehyun chuckled, nudging Seokmin.
“At least they clung to each other,” Beomgyu smirked, glancing at Yeonjun and Hueningkai who were still pale.
“Shut it,” Yeonjun muttered. “He nearly broke my fingers.”
“I did not!” Hueningkai defended, then quickly added, “...I might have.”
Lunch came like a lull after the chaos. They found a shaded bench circle beside a cluster of food stalls, and everything slowed. Laughter turned softer. Bites of takoyaki, steamed buns, and yakisoba were passed around. Seungcheol cut meat for Eunsoo before she even asked. Jeonghan held her drink steady as she ate. Soobin wiped her sauce-stained cheek with a tissue, and Beomgyu gave her the last bite of his crepe without hesitation.
Now Eunsoo nestled herself comfortably between Beomgyu and Soobin, swinging her legs off the bench while holding both their hands. Her quiet contentment was contagious. Even the noise of the park felt gentler.
After lunch, they split up again.
Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Joshua, and Seokmin wandered toward the quieter part of the park, past the crowd and music, into tree-lined walkways still warm under the early afternoon sun.
“I still remember when you forced me on the Ferris wheel just to confess you skipped the exam,” Seokmin said, nudging Jeonghan.
Jeonghan laughed. “You should thank me. You got the whole week off pretending to be sick.”
Joshua added, “We used to come here more often than we went to class.”
“I miss that,” Seungcheol admitted quietly. “The simplicity of those days.”
They didn’t need to say much. Their silences were long, but comforting. Thick with memory and friendship that never needed decoration.
Elsewhere, Beomgyu and Soobin walked a little slower than the rest, hands occasionally brushing. The others moved ahead to try out new games, leaving the two behind near the photo booth stalls.
Beomgyu stopped, glancing up at a booth draped in pastel curtains and fairy lights.
“Wanna take some more?” he asked softly.
Soobin smiled, heart clenching a little. “With you? Always.”
Inside the booth, it was dim and close. Their shoulders touched. The countdown blinked on-screen—3…2…1—and Beomgyu leaned in to kiss Soobin’s cheek. The next photo captured Soobin turning his face to return it, lips barely brushing skin. The third click caught Beomgyu laughing. And the last was just the two of them, foreheads pressed, eyes closed.
“I think these are better than yesterday's.” Beomgyu said, holding the photo slip.
“No! They were better” Soobin argued.
“Just because you got to kiss me?”
Outside the booth, Yeonjun caught sight of the two emerging, flushed and awkwardly brushing their hair.
“Oh? Oh- ho?” he grinned, nudging Taehyun.
Taehyun smirked. “How was the photo booth, huh?”
Hueningkai joined in with a sly smile. “Must’ve been quite the... photo session.”
Beomgyu rolled his eyes, though his ears were red. “You guys need hobbies.”
“Yeah,” Soobin added, trying not to grin, “like being less nosy.”
“Impossible,” Dino said cheerfully, catching up. “We live for drama.”
The teasing never stopped, but neither did the warmth.
In a place brimming with strangers, among the noise of spinning rides and carnival calls, this group had carved something quieter, deeper. An afternoon that would live long past the photos and laughter.
And somewhere in that haze of sunlight, stuffed toys, and tangled fingers, it felt like something had stitched itself tighter between them all.
Not just friendship.
But family.
The sun had long begun its descent, smearing strokes of gold and lavender across the Tokyo sky. The world dimmed to a softer hum, and the amusement park flickered alive with fairy lights as they made their way out. Arms full of plushies, half-eaten snacks, and a thousand unspoken memories carried in their hearts.
The van ride home was a quiet contrast to the giddy chaos of the day. Eunsoo curled between Seungcheol and Jeonghan in the backseat, her head resting against Seungcheol’s chest while Jeonghan gently brushed her hair out of her eyes. She had fought sleep with all the stubbornness of a child high on sugar and joy but the moment the engine purred to life, her eyelids fluttered shut like petals folding in for the night.
Up front, Joshua drove with a soft hum under his breath while Seokmin sat beside him, legs tucked up on the seat, stealing glances at Joshua between glows of passing traffic. He didn’t say much, but his hand occasionally reached out to touch Joshua’s arm.Grounding, present, grateful.
The others filled the middle seats. Some dozing, some leaning against each other. Yeonjun had an arm lazily draped around Dino, their heads knocked together, breaths steady. Taehyun sat by the window with headphones in, shared with Hueningkai who leaned on his shoulder, gazing out into the slow-blurring skyline.
And in the very back, tucked quietly away, sat Beomgyu and Soobin.
Their shoulders brushed, but neither moved away.
“You okay?” Soobin whispered, his voice barely louder than the hush of the road.
Beomgyu turned slightly toward him, eyes still bright from the day but quieter now. “Yeah. Just… full.”
Soobin tilted his head. “Full?”
“With everything,” Beomgyu said, a little smile touching his lips. “Memories. Laughter. Family. Her laughter. You. All of it. It’s like my chest can’t stretch enough to hold it.”
Soobin looked at him for a long moment, then reached out and gently linked their pinkies together in the space between their seats. “You don’t have to hold it all alone. And didn't I tell you that you can't be full just yet? You are getting everything you deserve, Beomgyu. Just keep your hands open to receive it,” he whispered.
Beomgyu didn’t respond with words. He just leaned his head against Soobin’s shoulder, and the silence between them thickened with something softer than love. Belonging.
By the time they reached home, the stars had claimed the sky, and the air had cooled to a gentle hush.
Seungcheol carried a sleeping Eunsoo in his arms, careful not to jostle her as they stepped inside. Jeonghan followed with her little backpack and the plushie she’d won. The rest trailed in slowly, movements quiet, laughter now hushed with sleep and warmth.
Shoes were kicked off. Lights stayed dim. The house welcomed them like a familiar song. Rooms filled with soft echoes, mugs being filled with warm drinks, someone whispering for extra blankets.
Soobin disappeared into the kitchen for a while, heating water, brewing calming tea the way Beomgyu liked. When he returned to their shared room, he found Beomgyu already curled on the couch near the window, lights off, eyes closed but not quite asleep.
“I brought tea,” Soobin whispered, setting it down.
Beomgyu blinked open, smiled softly. “Stay?”
Soobin sat beside him, then shifted to lay back, pulling Beomgyu with him until they were tangled in a warm, quiet mess of limbs and shared breath. The tea sat untouched.
“I think I’ll remember today forever,” Beomgyu murmured, his voice thick with fatigue and emotion.
Soobin pressed a kiss into his hair. “Me too.” He shifted. “But still. It wasn't better than yesterday.”
Beomgyu blushed and buried his face into the crook of Soobin's neck.
And in that room, lit only by moonlight and the soft sound of someone playing guitar faintly in the other room, maybe Joshua, maybe Taehyun, they drifted.
Into sleep.
Into silence.
Into each other.
Wrapped in the soft gravity of belonging, of love that didn’t need to be spoken aloud to be felt in every quiet beat between them.
***
Chapter Text
Another goodbye.
But this one. This one hollowed him out in a way no other ever had. A parting that didn't just ache, it ached in the bones, in the marrow, in the places no words could reach. It felt like peeling himself away from a piece of his own heart.
Eunsoo wouldn't let go. Not as they walked the quiet corridor of her school, not even as they stepped into the sunlit classroom, surrounded by the soft chatter of children and the scent of paper and crayons. She clung to Beomgyu like her little hands could somehow stitch time back together, could somehow delay the inevitable.
She sat on her bench only because he gently nudged her down, but even then, her arms remained around his neck, her face buried in the curve of his shoulder. Her silence trembled against him.
"Euna," he whispered, his voice barely holding its shape, "I'll come and see you soon. And your dad, he promised, remember? He'll bring you to Daegu. So you can see me again. Hmm?"
She sniffled, pulling back just enough to look at him, her eyes glassy and red-rimmed. "But I don't want you to go yet. We didn't even play puzzles together." Her voice cracked around the sentence, the broken edges slicing straight into his chest.
"We will," he promised, brushing a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, "when we're together again, I'll play every puzzle with you. I'll even lose on purpose."
She frowned as if that made things harder, not easier. But eventually, she nodded, slow and reluctant, her small chin trembling.
"I have to leave now, okay? Be good today," he murmured and leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. It lingered longer than usual.
Just as he began to pull away, her tiny hands cupped his cheeks, warm and soft, impossibly tender. She tilted up and kissed his forehead like she always had, the way Seungcheol taught her when she was barely tall enough to reach.
"Bye, Beomie. I love you," she whispered solemnly, the weight of those words far too big for someone so little.
Beomgyu smiled with a watery chuckle, trying to swallow the lump forming in his throat. "You're just a tiny version of Seungcheol hyung," he teased, ruffling her hair.
"Of course! He's my dad," she replied proudly, her voice steady despite the tears clinging to her lashes.
He nodded, his heart folding in on itself. "Mm... he is. Now, I should leave. Bye, baby. I love you too."
He turned before his knees could buckle beneath the weight of her love. Each step he took away from her felt like gravity trying to drag him back. He didn't want to leave.God, he didn't want to leave.
It felt like time was mocking him. Like the universe had only given him borrowed seconds with her. Not nearly enough.
By the time he stepped out of the school building, the light outside felt too harsh, too real. Jeonghan was leaning against the car, arms crossed, watching him with quiet understanding.
"Already missing her?" he asked as Beomgyu approached, his voice warm but soft around the edges, like he already knew the answer.
Beomgyu didn't speak. He simply walked into Jeonghan's open arms, burying his face against his shoulder like he was still that lonely boy who used to come stay with him on school holidays, seeking refuge in the love he found in their home.
Jeonghan wrapped his arms around him instantly, no questions, no hesitation. Just warmth, steady and unconditional.
"I just want to stay," Beomgyu breathed, the words crumbling under the pressure of everything he was holding back. "I've missed so much. And now... now I don't want to miss anything anymore."
Jeonghan's hand moved gently up the back of his head, fingers combing through his hair like a lullaby. "I know," he murmured. "Just finish what you started, Gyu. Come back when it's done. We'll be right here. Always."
Beomgyu pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy. "Can't I just transfer here?" he asked, voice low, desperate.
Jeonghan let out a quiet laugh, but it was filled with affection. "You know it's not that simple. It's a whole different country, a whole different system. It'll take a lot. And there's a good chance they won't allow it."
Beomgyu sighed, frustrated, helpless. "I hate this."
"I know," Jeonghan said again, softer this time. He pulled him back into the hug, holding him tighter. "I know."
And in the silence that followed, they stood like that. Two hearts beating against the ache of distance and time. One still growing, the other remembering. But both knowing that no goodbye ever truly meant the end when love remained this strong.
-
The airport stood still around them, loud with departures but strangely quiet in their corner of farewell. The boys had already checked in, and their flight back to Daegu was drawing close, but Beomgyu lingered near the departure gate like he was waiting for time itself to freeze.
Jeonghan stood beside him, trying so hard not to cry, his hands clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms to anchor the flood building inside his chest. His breath trembled. Held, then released like a reluctant sigh and when Beomgyu finally turned to him with those soft, regretful eyes, Jeonghan lost the battle he'd been waging.
The tears came in silence first. Then with a broken whisper, "I hate this part."
Beomgyu stepped into his arms, and Jeonghan folded into him, burying his face against the side of his neck like he could delay the ache. He held him like he was still the little boy with bruised knees and a guarded heart who used to fall asleep in his lap, feeling safe for once. Beomgyu trembled too, the tears falling freely now.
"I'm sorry," he choked, his voice hoarse. "I'm so sorry for shutting you out... For not calling. For being scared."
Jeonghan shook his head, pulling back just enough to cradle Beomgyu's face in his palms. "Don't. You were hurting. You don't have to be sorry for surviving, Gyu."
But he was sorry. For every lost day. For every missed birthday, every late reply, every time he looked at his phone and didn't have the courage to call them. He had wasted years building walls when they had only ever opened their arms.
Then Seungcheol stepped in, always composed, always calm, the unshakable center of their lives. But even he looked undone today. His eyes were red, and his shoulders weighed heavy with goodbye. Beomgyu had never seen him cry. Not even when things were collapsing around them.
But now, even Seungcheol. Strong, steady, always-smiling Seungcheol was crying.
And that broke Beomgyu more than anything else.
"I thought... I thought you'd all be better off without me. I thought I've already lost you," he whispered.
Seungcheol didn't say a word at first. He just pulled Beomgyu into his arms and held him so tightly, it almost hurt. "You didn't lose us," he said against his temple. "You haven't lost anything. We're still here. We've always been here. And we could never be better without you. You are always there in every conversation. We always wondered what you might be doing now? Are you happy? You should always remember that we are always incomplete with you. Do I need to remind you again that you are the reason we are still together?"
Seungcheol's hold tightened around Beomgyu. "We, the four of us together, are family. You're Eunsoo's big brother. Jeonghan's little brother. And my little child. You'll always be our little boy no matter how old you get. So, don't you dare think that we'll be better without you or you've lost us."
Beomgyu gripped the back of Seungcheol's shirt like it would anchor him. His tears soaked through the fabric.
"We'll make up for every second," Seungcheol murmured, kissing the top of his head. A soft, feather-light press of lips, just like Eunsoo had done that morning. A silent benediction of love. "You hear me? We'll make up for it all."
Beomgyu let out a broken laugh through the sobs. "You're making me miss Eunsoo again..."
Seungcheol chuckled quietly, wiping his eyes. "That's because she's just like me. Stubborn. Affectionate. Loyal to the bone."
"She is," Beomgyu whispered. "She really is."
And then Jeonghan joined them again, his arms wrapping around both of them from the side. Seungcheol pulled them closer, all three of them locked together in a cocoon of warmth, grief, and forgiveness. His arms circled them like a shield, like a promise, one he'd never stop keeping.
"You'll always have us," Jeonghan whispered. "No matter where you go."
"Always," Seungcheol echoed. "No matter what happens. We'll be here."
It took everything in Beomgyu not to fall apart again when they finally stepped back. He watched them like it was the last time. Memorizing the curve of Jeonghan's smile through tears, the quiet strength in Seungcheol's eyes, the familiarity of love that refused to fade despite distance and time.
"Go," Seungcheol said, gently pushing him toward the gate. "Go find what you're looking for. We'll be right here when you're ready to come back."
Beomgyu nodded slowly. Then one final time, he hugged them both again. Tight, desperate, and overflowing with every unsaid word. Then he turned, wiping his face as he rejoined the others who were waiting for him by the terminal.
Yeonjun placed a hand on his shoulder. Hueningkai gave him a quiet smile. Taehyun nodded, understanding more than he let on. Seokmin and Joshua lingered nearby too, giving him space but watching him with silent care.
And as they began their quiet walk to the plane, Beomgyu turned back once more.
Seungcheol and Jeonghan stood there still, side by side.
Waiting.
Watching him leave with love in their eyes.
And he knew. He wasn't walking away from family.
He was carrying them with him.
-
The return to Daegu was quieter than any of them expected.
Even the sky outside the plane window felt muted. An endless stretch of grey-blue that mirrored the way Beomgyu's heart ached behind his calm expression. The hum of the aircraft engine filled the silence around him, yet the only thing he truly felt was the warm, steady grasp of Soobin's hand wrapped in his.
Soobin had taken the seat beside him without a word, without a question like he simply knew. Knew that Beomgyu wouldn't ask for comfort, but needed it. Knew that silence, when shared with the right person, could be more powerful than any attempt at solace. Their fingers remained intertwined the entire flight. Not once did Soobin let go. And not once did Beomgyu look away from the window watching clouds drift, watching distance unfold beneath them. His lips never moved. But his heart said everything in the way his fingers held tighter every now and then.
They landed.
They were home, but only partially. A part of Beomgyu was still standing in that airport back in another country, in the arms of Seungcheol and Jeonghan, unable to walk away.
Joshua had already left for Seoul after dropping Seokmin off at the café. They'd spent a few lingering hours together, long enough to drink in each other's presence, say goodbye with soft touches and hesitant laughter, and pretend like parting was easy. Dino, ever dutiful and unshakable in his love for his job, had joined them-rolling up his sleeves the moment they stepped inside, as if the ache of parting could be dusted off with flour and coffee beans.
And now here they were-Beomgyu, Soobin, Taehyun, Hueningkai, and Yeonjun-back at Yeonjun's house. Or rather, the place they now called theirs. Their home.
The car had barely stopped when the front door swung open with a squeal, and Hiyyih rushed down the steps, her braids bouncing as she ran.
"You guys are finally back!" she beamed, though her voice wavered with unshed tears. "Took you long enough." she huffed, trying to hide how long she'd been waiting, how many times she'd checked the street.
Hueningkai grinned wide, stepping forward with dramatic flair. "We had so much fun without you. Oh my god-you should've seen the rides. And the fireworks. And the ramen-"
Her mouth dropped open in betrayal. "You did not!"
"We did everything!" Hueningkai declared. "Roller coasters, night markets, dance battles in the street. Even had churros at 2 AM."
She sulked instantly. "You guys are the worst."
Before she could spiral further, Taehyun, always her quiet defender, came to her rescue, slinging an arm around her shoulder. "She's just saying that. If it wasn't for her exams, she would've been there embarrassing us all."
She grumbled something under her breath, but her cheeks were pink, and the warmth in her eyes betrayed the joy of having them back.
Amid the laughter, Beomgyu drifted into the house like a ghost passing through rooms of the living. He didn't say much, didn't join the teasing. The others let him be. Some aches weren't meant to be poked at.
Eventually, he climbed the stairs to his room. Quiet, slow.
He stood by the window with the curtains drawn halfway, letting the cool air touch his skin, the silence wrap around him like a fragile shell. The city buzzed faintly outside, but all he could hear was the echo of goodbye.
A knock came.
Then the door opened with a soft creak, and Soobin stepped in holding two mugs of coffee, his presence grounding, his movements as gentle as the dusk light filtering in.
"I brought this," he said quietly, offering the mug.
Beomgyu took it wordlessly, nodding in thanks, but his fingers trembled around the warmth.
"I miss them," he whispered, voice barely audible. "It already hurts."
Soobin walked to him, placing his own mug aside. "Then miss them," he said simply. "Miss them as much as you need to. But don't shut us out again. Don't lock yourself away. When it hurts... talk to us. Talk to me."
Beomgyu let out a breath that shuddered halfway. "I'm trying."
"I know," Soobin murmured.
He reached up then, hands cupping Beomgyu's face, thumbs brushing just beneath his eyes. His touch was soft, careful, like he was touching something sacred.
"You're here now," Soobin said, gaze locking with his. "And I'm not going anywhere."
And then, softly and slowly, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Beomgyu's cheek.
Then the other.
Then his forehead.
His temple. The bridge of his nose.
Each kiss like a whisper of comfort, like a balm to the ache Beomgyu had carried too long.
And when Beomgyu closed his eyes, Soobin kissed his lips.
Tender. Unhurried. A kiss that didn't demand, didn't try to fix but simply stayed.
Beomgyu melted against him, letting the warmth seep into the corners of his soul. His hands clutched Soobin's shirt, head resting on his shoulder after they parted, heart still pounding.
"I don't want to lose this," he said, muffled into Soobin's collarbone.
"You won't," Soobin replied, pulling him closer. "I won't let you."
And in that room, away from the noise of the world, beneath the fading sky, Beomgyu felt something shift.
-
Sunlight pooled gently across the wooden floorboards, golden and forgiving. It slid past the half-closed curtains and painted the room in hues of comfort and calm, the kind of light that didn't wake you harshly but kissed your cheek like a promise that the worst was over.
Beomgyu stirred.
He hadn't moved much during the night. At some point, Soobin had helped him under the covers without saying a word, choosing to sleep beside him on top of the blanket, close but careful, as if afraid his presence might be too much.
Now, Beomgyu woke to the subtle sound of soft breathing beside him and the faint scent of coffee already brewing downstairs. He blinked slowly, the ache in his chest still there but dulled now, wrapped in a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time.
Soobin was still asleep, one arm slung lazily over Beomgyu's waist like his body had decided to stay near even when his mind drifted off. His lips were slightly parted, lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks. Beomgyu watched him for a moment, something fond and fragile stirring inside him.
A knock came, light and rhythmless, before a voice followed it.
"Are you two up?" Yeonjun.
Beomgyu smiled softly. "Yeah," he answered.
"Breakfast's ready. Come down before Huening eats all the eggs."
"Hey!" Hueningkai's voice chimed from somewhere behind, indignant. "I'm just tasting for poison!"
Beomgyu laughed, breathier than usual, but real. Soobin stirred at the sound, eyes fluttering open like slow petals unfolding.
"Good morning," Beomgyu whispered.
Soobin stretched with a small hum, his hand tightening slightly around Beomgyu before he realized and pulled back with sleepy hesitation. "Morning... Did you sleep okay?"
"I did," Beomgyu nodded. "Better than I thought I would."
Soobin smiled faintly. "Good."
They lingered for a moment longer before finally dragging themselves out of bed.
Downstairs, the scent of butter and toast danced through the air. Hiyyih was setting the plates while Taehyun chopped fruit, his face half-focused and half amused as Hueningkai argued with Yeonjun over something as petty as whether pineapple belonged on toast.
When Beomgyu and Soobin appeared, the room naturally shifted, settling like a puzzle piece had clicked into place.
"There you are," Yeonjun said, flipping an omelette onto a plate. "We were about to send Taehyun up to drag you two down."
"I would've brought coffee," Taehyun added, smirking, "but only if you begged."
"I would've," Beomgyu said, sliding into a chair.
"Too late," Hueningkai announced, plopping down beside Hiyyih and stealing a piece of melon from her plate. "Now you have to suffer with lukewarm eggs."
"Hey!" Hiyyih glared at him, swatting his hand. "You had a whole pile!"
"You all had fun in Tokyo..." she grumbled.
"We did," Hueningkai said with faux seriousness. "And we're going to keep reminding you forever."
Hiyyih pouted. "So rude."
Taehyun nudged her playfully. "You had exams. Which you aced, by the way. So... maybe next trip, you'll be free."
Beomgyu watched them, quiet and smiling. It still hurt. He still missed them. But now he didn't feel so lost in it.
Soobin placed a glass of juice in front of him before taking the seat beside him again, close enough for their arms to brush. It wasn't much. But it was enough.
As the morning unfolded, voices layered over one another. Jokes, plans, casual complaints, and shared stories. It was chaotic and soft, exactly the kind of morning Beomgyu didn't realize he had longed for so desperately.
And somewhere in between bites and laughter, when no one was looking, Soobin reached under the table and took his hand again just like on the flight.
No words. Just warmth.
Beomgyu turned to look at him, eyes a little softer now, smile a little easier.
Maybe he wasn't fully okay yet.
But he was home.
The days no longer passed. They bled, dissolving into one another like bruised watercolor against the spine of a storm. Time became a hushed torment, a threadbare ache stretching across sunrise and starlight, where sleep was traded for fevered notes and meals for mouthfuls of silence. What was once vivid, laughter, color and song, faded into half-remembered memories, scattered like petals on a wind that no longer returned.
In a world that once shimmered with the mundane magic of shared breath and impromptu plans, Soobin and Beomgyu had, in the eyes of everyone around them, become something sacred. Not bound by vows or diamond rings, but by the gentler kinds of promise. The kind made in unguarded glances across crowded rooms, in fingertips brushing too long, in the quiet gravity with which they pulled toward each other even amidst chaos. It was known. Felt. They were not two people merely close. They were an orbit.
But now, the final exams of their first year loomed. Monolithic, unrelenting. The kind of looming that steals air from lungs and leaves no room for softness. Everyone around them was submerged in oceans of ink and light, drowning beneath the merciless fluorescents of library lamps and the suffocating pressure to excel, endure, survive. The echoes of their once riotous gatherings were now ghosts. They missed them. The noise. The comfort. The proof that they were still more than ambition and exhaustion. But no one could afford risk, not now. Not when the cost of failure threatened everything.
Still, beneath the avalanche of deadlines and diminishing hours, something tender pulsed. Unbreakable and wordless. A thread stretched, perhaps. But never torn. They would wait. For breath. For each other.
Soobin, cautious and self-doubting as he often was, surprised even himself. His mock exams had yielded results he hadn't dared hope for. Solid, strong, enough to make his hands tremble slightly as he read his scores. But the relief that followed was fleeting, swallowed whole by the sudden absence of the one rhythm that steadied him- the club meetings. Without them, without that space carved out for belonging, life became a blur of effort without exhale. A quiet unraveling masked as productivity.
For him and Beomgyu, each day became a holy ache. Not one of anger or despair, but of yearning. A yearning so sharp it softened them. They were living in parallel, breathing the same air, walking the same hallways but love needs time to grow, and time had become a miser.
Still, Beomgyu made time. He fought for it.
Most days, when the sky was beginning its slow descent into violet, he would slip into the library. Two cups of coffee in hand. One his own. One for Soobin. An offering. Not of caffeine but of love disguised in small rituals. He never asked if Soobin needed it. He simply knew.
They rarely spoke in those hours. Words were clumsy, too heavy, an extravagance neither could afford while formulas and theories pressed against the edges of their minds. Instead, they sat. Quietly. Side by side. Their fingers brushing, then curling together beneath the table, a delicate tether beneath all the noise.
Their affection, once animated and bright, had turned reverent. Almost reverential. Kisses weren’t hurried. They were hymns. Pressed to knuckles, brushed across the fragile pulse beneath a wrist, ghosted against a temple or cheek. A touch on the thigh. A lean into the shoulder. Love had become tactile in the softest ways.
Sometimes Beomgyu would rest his head on Soobin’s shoulder, eyes closed, breathing in the scent of ink and skin and quiet belonging. And Soobin would tilt his head, nudging his forehead into Beomgyu’s hair, wordlessly saying I’m here. Even in this chaos. I haven’t left.
They weren’t falling apart.
But they were starving. For time, for touch, for the freedom to feel fully again.
Every one of them was holding on. Quietly. The whole group, stretched thin but still tethered. Yeonjun, ever the glue, had left briefly for Seoul. His mother’s arms calling him home. A few days of warmth, of simplicity. And though no one said it out loud, his absence was felt in the quietest corners of their routines. Like a missing note in a favorite song.
The final day of exams arrived like a storm. Heavy, breathless, desperate to break. The halls throbbed with nerves. Sleep-deprived bodies moved like ghosts. There was hope there, buried deep but mostly there was need. The need for it to be over.
Outside the exam hall, Beomgyu sat with Taehyun and Hueningkai. His pen clicked in a rhythmic staccato against his thigh. The only sound breaking the crackling silence.
“If I mess up this last paper,” Hueningkai muttered, eyes shut and back against the wall, “I swear I’m going to personally rip up my timetable and set it on fire.”
Taehyun didn’t even look up. “You say that before every exam.”
“Yeah, well. Manifesting chaos is part of my process.”
Beomgyu let out a breathy chuckle, but his smile was taut, fragile at the edges. “I just want it to end,” he murmured. “I miss the way things were. I miss Yeonjun hyung yelling at us for showing up ten minutes late like it was a national emergency.”
Taehyun gave a slow nod, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle. “Same.”
And then.
Soobin appeared. A little flushed, his hair damp with sweat, his bag slightly askew over one shoulder. But his eyes, the moment they met Beomgyu’s, softened. Something unspoken passed between them. Relief, affection, maybe even apology for being late.
“Did I miss anything?” he asked, panting slightly.
“You’re just in time,” Beomgyu said, the tension slipping from his voice, if only briefly. “We were about to stage a collective breakdown.”
Soobin smiled, breath catching. “Perfect. I brought extra pens.”
And so, they walked into the hall together. Side by side, hearts pounding but steadied by each other’s presence.
The exam passed in a haze of graphite, flickering thoughts, and muscle memory. And then.
The final bell rang.
Freedom wasn’t loud. It was a gasp.
Laughter spilled into the corridors, breathless and cracked open by the weight of release.
“It’s over,” Hueningkai cried, spinning with both arms wide. “I swear to god, it’s actually over.”
“I need food or I’ll die,” Taehyun declared. “Let’s go before my soul evaporates.”
Beomgyu stretched slowly, glancing sideways at Soobin, who met his gaze with the kind of smile that felt like sunrise.
“Seokmin hyung’s café?” Beomgyu asked, voice barely above the quiet hum of joy.
Soobin’s eyes twinkled. “Obviously.”
And for a moment, a flicker, a breath, they were whole again.
-
They stepped into the soft, amber-lit comfort of Hyung’s Hideout, the café that had long been their sanctuary, a place where laughter once dripped from the walls and every corner held a memory stitched into the upholstery.
Seokmin spotted them first, leaping from behind the counter with a grin so wide it could’ve swallowed the fatigue on their faces. “Finals warriors! Look who crawled back from the dead!” he exclaimed, flinging an apron over a chair like he’d been waiting all week just for this.
Dino popped his head out from the kitchen window, face flushed from the heat. “You all look like paper ghosts. Burnt out and ink-stained. Take your seats before you crumble.”
Beomgyu groaned with exaggerated misery, dragging himself toward their usual booth and letting his head fall against the table with a muffled thud. “Resurrect us with pizza and sugar, hyung. Or bury me with your tiramisu.”
“You’ll live,” Dino muttered with a fond roll of his eyes, disappearing back into the kitchen.
Soon, the table was alive again. Cheesy pizza still sizzling, slices of Seokmin’s famous strawberry shortcake lined like offerings, and mugs of cinnamon-dusted coffee warming their cold, overworked hands. The air, heavy with the aroma of comfort and espresso, slowly peeled away the layers of exhaustion that clung to them like winter coats.
Taehyun bit into his slice, sighing dramatically. “Yeonjun hyung would've made us take a group photo with our answer sheets. Probably would’ve dragged Dino hyung out for it too.”
Soobin chuckled, the sound quiet but warm. “And then gone on some half-serious rant about how proud he is... while flipping through our papers just to see if anyone quoted him.”
They laughed. Real laughter. Not the tired, hollow kind that echoed from library corners and lecture hall stairwells. But the kind that filled chests and loosened knots. The kind that tasted like survival.
“I miss him,” Hueningkai said softly, voice barely above the clink of a fork against a plate. “We should call him later.”
The group fell into a gentle quiet, as though the thought of Yeonjun had dimmed the lights just slightly. But it wasn’t sadness. It was longing, wrapped in love.
As dusk melted into evening, the golden light of the café faded into mellow lamplight. One by one, they began to gather their things, tired limbs heavy but spirits slightly lifted.
“I’m going to sleep until my soul reincarnates,” Taehyun murmured, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“Wake me up next semester,” Hueningkai added, already yawning.
They moved to the door, voices soft and steps slower now, like they didn’t want to leave the warmth behind.
Beomgyu hesitated, lingering beside the coat rack as he watched Soobin zip up his hoodie. The sleeves fell long around his hands, fingers fidgeting with the hem like he wasn’t quite ready to face the cold outside. His face was drawn, but calm. Gentler than it had been in weeks.
“Hey… Soobin,” Beomgyu said, his voice quieter than the café’s background music.
Soobin looked up, eyebrows raised slightly, waiting.
There was a small pause. A flicker of hesitation. Then.
“Will you… stay with me tonight?”
The words hung there for a moment, heavier than they should’ve been. Not a casual invitation. Not tonight. Not after the sleepless nights and the distance, after all the times they sat in silence just to be near each other without enough time to speak.
Soobin blinked, taken aback not by the request itself, but by the vulnerability laced beneath it.
Beomgyu shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but his hands were tucked into his sleeves, and his voice betrayed him. “I just… I don’t really want to be alone tonight. And you’ll probably miss Yeonjun hyung too. I know how quiet the house gets when he’s not around…”
Soobin’s eyes softened, lips parting like he had something to say. But instead, he reached forward and brushed a stray hair from Beomgyu’s forehead.
“I don’t need a reason to stay,” he murmured. “But if you want one… I missed you too.”
Beomgyu’s breath caught. He didn’t answer right away. He just smiled, that tired, aching smile that said thank you more than any words could.
And when they stepped back out into the night, it wasn’t with the dragging heaviness of exhaustion. But with a quiet tether between them, something small and glowing, something that promised warmth beneath the weight.
They walked home in silence, shoulders brushing, fingers almost grazing.
Taehyun and Hueningkai were already far ahead of them.
And somewhere in the stillness of the city, two hearts quietly reached for each other. Not in desperation, but in the soft, steady rhythm of finally being allowed to exhale.
The city whispered around them as they walked, a quiet hush trailing in their footsteps. Neither spoke. The night stretched wide and open, holding its breath for them.
Soobin’s hands were shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, head tilted slightly toward Beomgyu, who walked beside him with his bag hanging loosely off one shoulder. Streetlights glowed pale gold on their skin, outlining the faint rise and fall of their breath. The chill in the air was no match for the heat simmering between their bodies. Quiet, steady, and unspoken.
The door shut softly behind them, the latch catching with a dull click, like the final punctuation to the noise and weight of the day. It was quiet here. Utterly, intimately quiet.
Beomgyu moved first. His shoulders heavy with unshed exhaustion, he sank onto the edge of the bed, his body folding in on itself as though the very air had become too much to carry. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The silence clung to him like second skin, full of all the things he couldn’t put into words. Finals, isolation, the way his chest ached for something he couldn’t name.
Soobin lingered by the door for a moment longer, watching him. Not intrusively. Not pitying. Just… watching, like someone who had memorized every inch of someone else’s ache.
“I missed you,” Beomgyu said, finally. The words trembled out of him, so quiet they barely touched the space between them. “Even when you were right beside me… I missed you. In a way I couldn’t manage. In ways that scared me.”
Soobin crossed the room without a sound. He didn’t respond with a clever line or a soft chuckle. He just knelt down in front of Beomgyu, his palms warm as they found purchase on his thighs. A gentle slide upward. A grounding touch. And then he wrapped his arms around Beomgyu’s waist and pressed his forehead to his chest like that was where he belonged.
“I know,” Soobin murmured. “Me too.”
Beomgyu’s fingers drifted up, threading through Soobin’s hair like he was afraid to let go. Like maybe if he let go, this moment, this safety would vanish.
Soobin pulled back just enough to look up at him. Their eyes met, and something swelled and cracked in the air between them. Soobin leaned in and pressed a kiss, barely a kiss, more like a breath to Beomgyu’s cheek. Then another. And another. His lips brushed over each corner of Beomgyu’s face with a tenderness that defied gravity. His eyelids, his temples, the curve of his brow.
A shuddered breath escaped Beomgyu’s lips.
Soobin’s hands found Beomgyu’s face, cupping it like it was something precious, breakable. His thumbs smoothed the stress and weariness beneath his eyes. And then, wordless, he leaned in and kissed the corner of Beomgyu’s mouth. Not on it. Not yet. Like he was drawing the edge of a map he wasn’t ready to cross.
Beomgyu’s breath hitched again, but this time there was a smile ghosting behind it, trembling and uncertain.
Soobin leaned over him, lips trailing down the side of Beomgyu’s neck, kisses pressing into skin like promises he hadn’t spoken yet. Beomgyu’s fingers slid beneath the hem of Soobin’s shirt, palms splaying across the warm skin of his back, clutching him like he needed to feel every inch just to believe he was real.
There were no loud moans. No urgent tearing of clothes. Just sighs. Shivers. The drag of lips against a collarbone. The shared rhythm of breath that danced between soft touches and lingering grazes.
Beomgyu arched into him when Soobin kissed his chest, shirt tugged halfway off, skin meeting skin like a secret. Soobin’s hands were everywhere and nowhere at once. Light, reverent, trembling with restraint.
And Beomgyu.
Beomgyu looked at him like he was afraid this was a dream.
“I missed you,” he breathed, voice breaking into air, cracking like porcelain. “I missed you so much it hurt.”
Soobin kissed the corner of his mouth. “I know.”
Their foreheads rested together. The world shrank.
Time slowed.
There was nothing outside that room. Nothing beyond the dim light filtering through the curtains, nothing beyond the steady beat of their hearts echoing against each other’s skin.
They didn’t need to say it yet. Not love, not always, not forever.
But in the way they held each other, in the pauses and quiet glances, in the way Soobin buried his face into Beomgyu’s neck and the way Beomgyu traced his fingertips down Soobin’s spine.
They said everything else.
“You’re dangerous like this,” Beomgyu whispered, voice cracked with unsaid things. “You make me want too much.”
Soobin’s voice was barely audible. “Then want.”
That broke something. Beomgyu leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of Soobin’s neck, lips ghosting over the warm skin there. “You don’t get it,” he said, voice muffled. “I’m afraid… if I let myself want, I won’t know how to stop.”
Soobin’s hands held him closer. “Then don’t stop.”
The kiss wasn’t planned. It wasn’t gentle. It was born of silence and breath and the gravity of everything they hadn’t said. Their lips found each other in a touch that was soft but hungry, restrained but filled with aching longing. It was slow, deep, a pull at the edges of control, a place where their pain and comfort folded together.
Beomgyu pulled him in further, gripping Soobin’s shirt like it was the only thing anchoring him to this moment. And Soobin kissed him like a promise. Again and again, along his jaw, his cheekbones, the corners of his mouth.
No words. Only sighs. Only closeness. Only the desperate silence of two people too scared to name what they felt but too far gone to deny it.
They moved without speaking, lying down amidst the shadows, legs tangled, hands clasped over hearts that beat a little too fast. Soobin pressed another kiss, this one to Beomgyu’s forehead, lingering like a vow not yet made aloud.
“Don't ever leave me, Soobin. I... I won't be able to handle that,” Beomgyu whispered, his voice shaking like brittle glass.
Soobin only tightened his hold. He can see the fear in Beomgyu's eyes and voice. “I'm already too addicted to you, Beomgyu. Leaving you isn't even an option now.”
Beomgyu didn’t say anything. Instead, he curled into him, their bodies molded perfectly, like they’d been made for this hush, this softness.
The night wrapped around them, quiet and infinite, their unspoken love shimmering between them like a secret neither of them dared to confess.
Not yet.
But soon.
It wasn’t much, not at first. But somewhere between shared silences and clumsy jokes over lukewarm cappuccinos, Jayhoon had started opening up to Hueningkai. It was subtle, like spring inching through the cracks of winter. He didn’t realize when the walls around him stopped being armor and started becoming glass. Transparent, fragile, and trembling with the weight of everything he had locked inside.
Hueningkai, with his ceaseless warmth and unshakable patience, didn’t demand answers. He simply stayed. They often met at the campus café, tucked into the farthest booth as if the world couldn’t touch them there. Hueningkai would chatter about his day, music, absurd food combinations and Jayhoon would listen, eyes on his coffee, lips twitching into reluctant smiles that disappeared before they could be caught.
Sometimes, Hueningkai would coax him, gently but persistently, to come along and meet the rest of his friends. Jayhoon always refused. Not out of disdain, not out of arrogance, but out of fear. Because he knew that Soobin was one of them. And Jayhoon… Jayhoon didn’t know how to breathe around Soobin anymore.
He never hated him. He couldn’t hate him. Soobin was his brother. Not by blood, but by a bond he once believed in with all the innocence of a child desperate for love.
Back then, when Jayhoon’s father married Soobin’s mother, he had thought the universe had finally stitched his fractured life back together. He was no longer the lonely boy watching shadows stretch across his bedroom walls. He had a mother now, warm and kind, and a big brother who smiled like sunrise. For a brief, shimmering moment, Jayhoon had everything he had ever wished for.
And Soobin… Soobin wasn’t just a brother to him. He was the sun his tiny world revolved around. He adored him with every fiber of his small, hopeful heart. Following him down the hallway, mimicking his handwriting, begging for bedtime stories even when he couldn’t keep his eyes open.
But life, cruel and indifferent, had other plans.
When her health began to fade, everything shifted. The warmth of home turned cold, the soft evenings fell silent, and love began to blur at the edges. His stepmother became a ghost of herself, tethered to medicine and IV lines. His father, once firm and present, began living at the hospital, his eyes hollowed by worry. Soobin, too, disappeared into the weight of responsibility. His days were spent running errands, fetching reports, whispering reassurances Jayhoon never heard.
And Jayhoon. He was still a child. Still learning to make sense of the world, still longing to be held. But the arms that once embraced him were busy holding someone else. The voices that once read him stories now spoke in hushed tones behind closed doors. And so, he formed a cruel understanding that they had forgotten him.
He remembered the nights when his father would finally return home, weary and worn. Jayhoon would run to him, a book clutched in his tiny hands only to be pushed aside, spine bent, pages scattering like the fragile hopes in his chest. Soobin stopped tucking him in. Stopped looking for him. Stopped seeing him. And little by little, Jayhoon vanished into the corners of his own home.
Then came the bullies at school. Brutal, merciless. His bruises matched the ones in his heart. There was no one to notice. No one to care.
And that forgotten boy, bruised and bitter, grew into someone else.
He learned to survive by sharpening his edges, by wearing arrogance like armor. He became the boy who sneered, who rolled his eyes, who spat venom at the brother he once adored. He numbed himself with rebellion. Alcohol, pills, smoke, whatever would hush the noise in his head. He told himself he didn’t care. That he hated Soobin. That it was too late for apologies.
But none of it was true.
Because every time Soobin tried to reach out, Jayhoon felt his soul tremble. And he would push him away harder. Hurt him faster. Before Soobin could hurt him again.
Still, Hueningkai wouldn’t let go. Despite the refusals, despite the snide remarks and icy glares, he kept tugging Jayhoon into the warmth of his circle. And eventually, Jayhoon let himself be pulled in.
It was strange, unfamiliar. How kind they all were. How they laughed without judgment. How they listened without expecting anything in return. They didn’t look at him like he was broken. They didn’t try to fix him.
Heeseung and Jay would joke around, drag him out for late-night food, playfully steal his fries. Taehyun would roll his eyes at his sarcasm, and Hueningkai would always find a way to make him smile, even when he swore he wouldn’t.
And sometimes, Soobin would be there too.
Jayhoon would freeze when he saw him. Heart hammering against the bones of memory. But he never looked directly at him. His gaze stayed down, locked on the steam rising from his cup or the crumbs on the table. He listened quietly, nodding at jokes, humming faintly to the background chatter, but never, never, met Soobin’s eyes.
Because he was afraid that if he did, he would break.
Because no matter how far he ran, Soobin still lived inside the softest parts of him.
Because deep down, despite the walls, despite the silence, despite the hurt.
He still loved his brother.
And that was the most painful part of it all.
-
The rain had started again, slow and steady, brushing against the windows like a soft knock from the past. The café, usually filled with laughter and distant chatter, had fallen into a comforting hush. It smelled of cinnamon, old pages, and something warm baking in the oven.
Jayhoon sat curled in his usual spot, shoulders hunched, arms crossed over his chest like he was holding himself together. He had come to find solitude, but solitude didn’t always arrive alone.
He felt the shift.
A slight dip beside him on the bench seat, quiet and careful. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
Soobin.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence between them was neither awkward nor empty. It was full. Of everything. Years of misunderstanding, of waiting. Of things that were never meant to be this way.
Jayhoon stared forward, eyes fixed on the blurred city lights beyond the rain-streaked glass. His fingers tapped the rim of his mug, a nervous rhythm he didn’t notice.
Soobin’s presence beside him was gentle but certain. He didn't crowd, didn’t speak, didn’t force closeness. But he was there. And for Jayhoon, that was the hardest part. That Soobin still showed up, still sat beside him, despite everything he’d done to push him away.
Jayhoon swallowed. His voice, when it finally came, was raw around the edges.
“I used to wait at the door for you.”
Soobin’s head turned slowly. Jayhoon didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.
“Every evening,” he continued, voice barely more than a breath. “When Mom was sick. I waited... hoping you'd come home early. Even if it was just for five minutes.”
A silence. A stillness.
Soobin’s voice came, low and trembling. “I wanted to. I tried. But- Dad... he needed me there. And she...”
Jayhoon shook his head, but not in disagreement. His shoulders were trembling now, a storm beneath his hoodie. “I know. I know, hyung. But I was just a kid. And it felt like... like I didn’t matter anymore.”
That broke something open between them.
Soobin reached out. Not suddenly, but like someone easing open a door that hadn’t been touched in years. His hand came to rest on Jayhoon’s back, warm and firm, not pulling him in but anchoring him gently.
Jayhoon didn’t move for a long time.
Then, slowly, so slowly, he leaned. Just a little. His shoulder brushed against Soobin’s.
And then more. His head dipped. Until it rested quietly on Soobin’s shoulder. Like it used to when they’d watch cartoons, back when the world still made sense.
“I missed you, hyung,” he whispered, broken.
Soobin shut his eyes. His hand found the back of Jayhoon’s head and stayed there, steady and safe.
“I never stopped being your brother,” Soobin said. “Even when you hated me.”
Jayhoon let out a shuddered breath, like he’d been holding it in for years.
“I never hated you,” he whispered.
They stayed like that, pressed side by side, brothers in silence.
Letting the years fall off them like rain sliding down glass.
“I shouted at you…” he began, the words barely audible over the soft music playing in the background.
“I shouted at you so many times. Pulled away whenever you tried to hold me… pushed you… blamed you for everything.”
His voice broke, the last word escaping like a wound reopening.
Soobin didn’t say anything. He just turned slightly, his full attention on him. Not in judgment. Just waiting, listening, like he always had.
Jayhoon bit his lip, his shoulders tight, trembling. “I acted like I hated you. Like none of this mattered. But it did. It mattered so much, hyung.”
He looked down, his breath stuttering. “I saw everything. I noticed how… even when we were being cruel, me and Dad, you still stayed. You cooked for us. You made sure there were no mushrooms in Dad’s food, even though he never said thank you. You remembered I can’t stand peanuts. You’d still leave extra rice in the pot for me... even on days I ignored you like you didn’t exist.”
A sob cracked from his throat.
“I’m sorry I complained about the food,” he whispered, ashamed. “I wasn’t really mad about it. I just… I was scared I was getting attached to you again. And I didn’t want to. Because I thought you’d leave me too.”
Jayhoon turned his face away, dragging the back of his sleeve across his eyes, but the tears kept falling. His voice was hoarse now, raw and shaking. “I’m sorry I kept hurting you, hyung. Over and over. When all you ever did was love me.”
His shoulders curled inward as a fresh wave of crying overtook him, silent at first, then trembling and heavy. He brought his hands up to cover his face, but Soobin was already moving.
Without a word, Soobin wrapped his arms around him from the side, drawing Jayhoon into his chest like he was pulling pieces of himself back together. Jayhoon didn’t resist. He collapsed into the embrace, clinging, trembling, eyes pressed against Soobin’s hoodie like he was trying to hide from the weight of everything he’d said.
Soobin whispered nothing at first. Just held him, tight and steady, one hand around his shoulders, the other gently patting the back of his head in slow, comforting strokes.
“I’m right here,” he said, softly. “I always was. I never stopped waiting for you to come back to me.”
Jayhoon sobbed harder, his voice cracked open mid-breath. “I don’t deserve this.”
Soobin pulled back just enough to look at him, cupping the side of his brother’s face with one hand. His thumb wiped gently at the tear tracks trailing down.
“You’re my brother,” Soobin whispered. “You don’t have to earn love. You just… have it.”
Jayhoon’s fingers curled weakly around Soobin’s wrist, grounding himself in the warmth.
“I was so angry,” he choked. “But deep down, I just… I missed you. I wanted you to see me again. Like you used to.”
“I never stopped seeing you,” Soobin said, voice thick with his own tears now. “Even when you turned away. I always looked for you, Jayhoon. Always.”
Their foreheads met briefly, a quiet nudge, the kind that said I forgive you without needing to be said. Soobin reached down and took Jayhoon’s hand in his. Firm, warm, not letting go.
Jayhoon exhaled a trembling breath, as if finally releasing something he’d been holding for years. The pain. The shame. The love.
And there, in the dim hush of the café, beneath the golden spill of evening light, two brothers, bruised by time, yet still tethered by something fierce and unspoken, began, at last, to stitch the space between them.
It was silent for a while.
Jayhoon rested his head gently on Soobin’s shoulder, his breath finally beginning to slow, his tears reduced to quiet dampness against the fabric of Soobin’s hoodie. The steady beat of his brother’s heart beneath him, the solid arm around his back. It all grounded him, anchoring him like a lifeline he hadn’t known he still had.
Soobin sat still, protective, letting him rest, letting the weight of years soften between them.
The world outside the café windows turned dusky gold, warm light painting their table in long, tired shadows. And then, softly, Soobin spoke.
“So,” he whispered, brushing a hand lightly down Jayhoon’s arm, “will you tell me now?”
Jayhoon stirred. “Tell you what?”
Soobin tilted his head, just enough for Jayhoon to hear the shift in his tone. Gentle, but firm. “Hoon, you always come home bruised. Hurt. You never let me see them. Never let me treat them. You spend more time outside than inside, and when you do come back… you reek of smoke and streets and things I don’t want to imagine. Do you really think I didn’t notice?”
Jayhoon sat up straight, heart lurching. His muscles tensed under the weight of panic. “It’s nothing, hyung.”
“No,” Soobin said, voice quieter now but still unwavering. “It is something. And it’s too much for one person to carry alone.”
Jayhoon opened his mouth, then closed it again. Shame curled at his chest like a vice. His hands trembled slightly where they rested on his lap.
Soobin reached over and took one, holding it with the same calm tenderness he’d shown all along. “It’s okay if you’re not ready to tell me yet. I’m not asking you to explain everything now. But… don’t hide it from me. Don’t shut me out again. You know I care about you, right? Hmm?”
The guilt swelled like a tide, pressing hot and tight behind Jayhoon’s eyes. He blinked down at their joined hands, swallowing against the burn in his throat.
“Thank you, hyung,” he murmured, his voice cracking on the words.
Soobin just gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and nodded. No pressure. No demands. Just presence.
And then the air shifted. A burst of laughter erupted near the door as the café bell jingled overhead.
Beomgyu came in first, dramatically throwing off his hoodie like a rockstar returning from tour. “We killed it today,” he announced to no one in particular.
Right behind him, Taehyun rolled his eyes. “You nearly knocked the mic stand over.”
“Art is chaos,” Beomgyu replied solemnly, before his eyes landed on the brothers at the table. His expression immediately softened. “Hey, you two…”
Hueningkai followed after, holding the door open for Jay and Heeseung. He was mid-laugh when he spotted Jayhoon and instantly, his smile warmed. “Hey! Look who finally sat with us.”
Jayhoon shifted a little in his seat but didn’t move away. Soobin’s arm remained draped around the back of his chair, an unspoken reassurance and for the first time, he didn’t flinch from it.
“Jayhoon-ah!,” Hueningkai said softly, as if trying not to make it too much, “you okay?”
Jayhoon gave a single, slow nod. “Yeah. Just tired.”
“Same,” Jay groaned, collapsing into the booth across from them. “My fingers are dying. We played that chorus like forty times.”
“It’s because you kept messing up the rhythm,” Heeseung teased, nudging him as he slid into the seat beside him.
Drinks were ordered. Iced Americanos, caramel macchiatos, a hot chocolate for Hueningkai. Beomgyu asked for two slices of cake “for morale,” and the table filled with the soft clatter of mugs and the easy rhythm of conversation.
Jayhoon stayed quiet, but he didn’t pull away. He watched them. These strange, warm people who somehow made space for him even when he didn’t know how to take it.
And Soobin, beside him, didn’t say much either. Just stayed close, protective but not smothering, always there.
In the golden-lit stillness of that shared booth, Jayhoon didn’t feel quite so broken.
Not when his brother held his hand under the table like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Not when Hueningkai smiled at him like they’d been friends forever.
Not when Beomgyu cracked a joke that made him let out a breath of a laugh he hadn’t realized he still had in him.
He still had a long way to go.
But maybe… maybe he wasn’t alone in it anymore.
The second year of college had quietly unfolded for Beomgyu, Taehyun, Hueningkai, and Jayhoon. Hiyyih stepped into her final year of high school with determination, her ambitions blooming. And for Soobin, it marked the beginning of the end. His final year. The last stretch before he would walk across the stage, diploma in hand, heart full of memories.
But graduation didn't spell goodbye for Soobin. Not this time.
The principal, known for his stoic demeanor and rare words of praise, had pulled Soobin aside weeks ago with an offer that felt like sunlight after a long storm. He had seen what many overlooked-the unwavering dedication Soobin poured into every spreadsheet, every ledger, every late night hunched over the college accounts when he was just meant to be a temporary helper. The principal, thoroughly impressed, had made his intentions clear.
"Stay," he said, voice warm for once. "We need people like you. You belong here."
Soobin had accepted without hesitation.
Not because he doubted his capabilities-he could've walked into another job with ease. His academic brilliance, quiet work ethic, and gentle perseverance spoke louder than any résumé could.
But there were two reasons he had clutched the offer with both hands.
The first was simple- he didn't want to enter the rat race. Not just yet. The world outside could wait a little longer.
But the second reason? That one lived in the curve of a smile, in the soft hush of laughter, in the way a certain someone leaned a little too close during lunch or brushed fingertips when passing a drink.
Beomgyu.
Beomgyu, who still had a few years left at the college. Beomgyu, who had unknowingly become the axis Soobin's world tilted around.
Soobin didn't want to leave-not when the person he longed for most was still here, still within reach.
Maybe, after Beomgyu graduated, and if fate was kind enough, if their hearts could finally find the courage to speak, Soobin would consider moving on. Together, perhaps. If the feelings they bottled up didn't explode first.
Everyone around them had grown unbearably exhausted from their silent dance-their unspoken romance performed with poetic precision.
They held hands like gravity demanded it. They stood too close, like air didn't matter. Their eyes lingered longer than any platonic glance should. Their laughter was different with each other-softer, warmer, sacred.
It was infuriating to witness.
"Just make it official and let us breathe, too," Taehyun would deadpan, eyes dragging across Beomgyu like he was done with the whole act.
Beomgyu would sigh, face flushed but defiant. "I haven't even told him I like him. What if he doesn't want this?"
Hueningkai would throw his head back dramatically. "Try telling him for once. He'll probably start wagging like a puppy."
The teasing was relentless-but underneath, they all knew it was born of love. Of wanting these two to stop hiding behind fear.
Soobin wasn't any better off.
Yeonjun, back from Seoul, had teamed up with Seokmin and Dino to deliver a daily dose of torment.
"Did you see the way Beomgyu looked at you during lunch?" Seokmin would say, nudging Soobin's arm. "That boy's practically writing sonnets in his head."
"He's waiting for you to say it first," Dino added, sipping from his milkshake like it was obvious. "You're taller. Be brave."
Yeonjun, ever the dramatic older brother in spirit, would swoop in with flair, wrapping an arm around Soobin and sighing. "Just kiss him under the moonlight already. Spare us all the heartbreak."
And Soobin, poor Soobin, would rub the back of his neck, ears burning. He was holding onto a thousand moments with Beomgyu-his laugh when it cracked in excitement, the way his hair fell over his eyes when he was focused, how he leaned into Soobin when tired, unconsciously seeking comfort. How he would practically melt into the kiss, demanding more.
All those memories, all that closeness, and still-still-he hadn't found the words.
Because love wasn't just in the confession. It was in the silence too. And Soobin had learned to love in silence so well, he feared breaking it might shatter everything.
But it was becoming unbearable now.
Every day felt like a question waiting to be answered. Every touch between them asked, Do you feel this too? Every moment apart felt like a chapter unfinished.
And everyone could see it, everyone could feel it-except, perhaps, the two hearts who had built an entire universe in the space between not saying it.
-
The days had begun to blur together like wet paint smeared across glass-routine folding into routine, laughter echoing in fragmented pockets between lectures and rehearsals, and exhaustion a constant shadow beneath the eyes of every student. Everyone was absorbed in their own orbit-juggling coursework, assignments, part-time jobs, dreams stitched hastily between nights of caffeine and collapsing silence.
But then came the tremor that stirred the entire campus-the announcement that shattered monotony like a clap of thunder against still water.
SoundSpace 2025.
A name that carried weight like a sacred echo, whispered between ambitious hearts and sleepless musicians. The most prestigious musical event in the academic world, a festival held only once every three years, bringing together prodigies and passionate souls from across the nation to share one stage, one spotlight, one breathless crescendo.
And this year, for the first time in decades, Daegu University would not just participate-they would host it.
The news spread like wildfire, crackling through dorm rooms and studio halls, bleeding into every corridor. Students gasped and gossiped in disbelief, jaws slack with awe. Daegu University-the underdog, the institution long overlooked and underestimated-had never even reached the finals in all the previous cycles. They were the quiet ones, the almosts, the ones who played from the shadows while giants from Seoul and Busan stole the limelight.
But not this time.
This time, they were the center of the stage.
And with that came pressure that choked. Dreams were no longer quiet. Rehearsals began before sunrise. Practice rooms were booked round the clock. Instruments never went back to their cases. Voices grew hoarse but refused rest. Even the air seemed to shimmer with urgency-as if the universe itself was holding its breath, waiting to see if Daegu could rise.
For Beomgyu, Taehyun, Hueningkai, Jay, Heeseung-and the countless others who had poured their souls into their music-this wasn't just an event. It was a proving ground. A chance to rewrite how the world saw them. A chance to stand in the golden blaze of recognition, to say with trembling hands and open hearts, We were here. And we mattered.
And for Soobin, watching them from the sidelines-guiding, supporting, loving from a distance-it was a silent prayer. That they find everything they've been aching for. That they see themselves the way he sees them-brilliant, worthy, unforgettable.
Daegu University had been handed a spotlight. Now it was time to see who would rise beneath its heat.
-
With the official announcement of SoundSpace 2025, a storm of anticipation swept through every university like wildfire. The rules were clear- each university was to hold its own intra-college competition to select the most deserving participants-be it solo performances, duets, or full-fledged bands. Stakes were high. Emotions, even higher.
Among the chaos, Beomgyu's band, ECHO5, stood quietly at the heart of it all-an eclectic, passionate mix of Jay with the guitar, Hueningkai commanding the drums, Taehyun and Heeseung weaving harmonies, and Beomgyu at the front, voice raw and guitar strung like an extension of his heartbeat. They were young, burning, and determined to be chosen as Daegu University's representatives in the band category.
Behind the curtain of lights and blaring speakers, though, was Soobin-equal parts exhausted manager and unwillingly smitten boy. Though he had no obligation, he'd somehow volunteered (without protest) to help manage ECHO5. He called it "organization," but everyone around knew better. He was folding himself into their days, just to stay within orbit of a certain lead guitarist.
He spent hours creating schedules that worked around their classes, securing the studio space for late-night practices, making sure extra guitar picks and first-aid kits were never far. He'd appear out of nowhere with water bottles, warm meals, or duct tape. Beomgyu often teased him-called him their "band mom"-but he never missed the way Soobin would smile at the nickname, cheeks blooming with faint color.
Then there was Yeonjun, of course-elegant and wild, leading the charge of choreography prep for the dance categories, and occasionally stepping in to help ECHO5 with their stage presence.
It was one of those dusky evenings, the kind that melted into soft golden light, when Soobin walked into the studio with a tote bag full of snacks and hand-labeled boxes. Beomgyu, shirt sticking slightly to his back from practice, looked up with a grin.
"You bring food, or is it just another boring lecture about not missing vocal warmups?" Beomgyu called, pushing sweaty strands of hair from his forehead.
Soobin gave him a flat look. "I can still walk out with the food, you know."
"No, no-please. You're a blessing." Beomgyu jogged over, crowding Soobin near the door, reaching into the bag as if it were his divine right.
"You're impossible," Soobin muttered, though his voice was too soft to hold any real annoyance.
"You love it," Beomgyu whispered near his ear, smug, brushing past him deliberately, letting his fingers graze the inside of Soobin's wrist.
Soobin turned scarlet, heart racing against his better judgment.
Later that night, when the rest of the band had left and the studio was a quiet echo chamber of half-played notes and footsteps on wooden floors, Soobin stayed back to help pack up.
"You don't have to do this every day," Beomgyu said from the amplifier, coiling cables neatly but watching Soobin closely.
"I know," Soobin replied, not looking up. "But I want to."
A beat of silence passed. The kind that hangs heavily, full of everything they were too scared to say.
Then, a soft laugh from Beomgyu. "You're such a softie, hyung."
Beomgyu knew exactly what he was doing every time the word "hyung" left his lips-slow, deliberate, teasing. He wasn't oblivious to the way Soobin would flinch, to how his composure-usually so steady, so painfully polite-would shatter for a breathless second. He had never seen Soobin react that way when Taehyun or Hueningkai called him hyung; with them, it was natural, expected, part of the fabric of their friendship.
But with Beomgyu? It was something else.
Something fragile.
Something electric.
Beomgyu lived for it.
He would drop the word into conversations like a spark, watching it catch fire in Soobin's cheeks. He loved the way it undid him-how his eyes would widen, how the corners of his lips would twitch helplessly, how the tips of his ears would burn crimson like embers struggling to stay hidden. It made Beomgyu feel powerful, in the softest way possible, like he had found the one secret key to unraveling Soobin's carefully guarded calm.
He'd smirk, voice dipped in boyish mischief, and say, "Hyung..."
And just like that, Soobin would fold.
He'd stammer, look away, try to cover his face with a sleeve, and in the end, always resort to the same breathless, flustered bark-"Shut up!"
But there was never any real anger behind it. Just warmth. Just the kind of exasperation that blooms from familiarity. From care. From something neither of them dared name yet.
To Beomgyu, those moments were golden. They were his favorite kind of chaos-the kind that left both of them a little more breathless, a little more vulnerable. He never missed a chance to call him that. Not because he didn't respect him, but because he did. In his own unspoken way. Because behind the teasing, beneath the grin, Beomgyu saw it-how Soobin let his walls down only with him, how his heart beat a little louder in those silences that followed.
And if calling him hyung meant he could watch Soobin's soul flicker out from under the shadow of perfection, just for a moment, then Beomgyu would keep doing it.
Every single chance he got.
"Don't call me that," Soobin said, narrowing his eyes. "Makes me feel old."
"But you are older. And adorable when you're grumpy."
"Beomgyu."
"Yes, hyung?"
Soobin stood up, glaring, but there was no fire in it. Only something warm and fraying at the edges. "One more word and I swear-"
But he never finished.
Because Beomgyu had stepped in too close, chest nearly brushing Soobin's, eyes teasing but far too earnest. He leaned in, very slowly, lips just barely touching the corner of Soobin's mouth. Not a kiss, not really-more like a question.
Soobin didn't pull away.
Instead, he tilted his head, just enough to answer it. Their lips met like it had been waiting to happen for months, gentle and aching and quiet. No fireworks. Just heartbeats. Breaths shared in a space only they understood.
When they broke apart, Beomgyu's hands still on Soobin's waist, Soobin blinked, dazed. "That wasn't on today's schedule."
Beomgyu smirked, lips swollen, voice low. "Guess you'll need to update it."
Soobin shoved him lightly. "Idiot."
But he was smiling. And Beomgyu, flushed and glowing, looked at him like he was music itself.
And maybe, in that tiny, forgotten moment of laughter and warmth and soundproofed silence, they finally understood what it meant to fall-not all at once, but piece by piece, rehearsal by rehearsal, touch by touch.
-
Another day.
The rehearsal studio reeked of lived-in chaos-of sweat steeped into the padded walls, of frayed guitar strings crying fatigue, and of that unmistakable whiff of instant noodles someone had shamefully snuck in like a midnight secret. The air was thick with the ghosts of unfinished melodies, drumbeats clinging to the corners, and laughter that had long since faded into the fabric of the soundproofing. Amid the low hum of amps and the soft click of cooling wires, Beomgyu knelt near the amplifier like it owed him answers. His brow was creased in quiet frustration, lips moving in hushed mutterings, fingers tangled in a nest of stubborn cords as if trying to coax the heart of the music back to life.
And from the doorway, Soobin watched-clipboard in hand, his ever-growing lifeline. It held the week's rehearsal notes, reminders scrawled in colored ink, sharp warnings about vocal strain and missed cues. But his gaze wasn't on the paper. It was on him. The boy tangled in cables, the one who wore defiance and charm like a second skin, who burned so brightly even in the dimmest rooms.
He sighed, loud and exaggerated, stepping in like gravity pulled him. "You're going to electrocute yourself one of these days. And when you do, who'll drive me insane with off-key renditions of love songs then?"
Beomgyu didn't even lift his head. "Probably my ghost. I'll haunt you with out of tune riffs and terrible harmony until you cry."
Soobin snorted but crouched beside him, knees brushing, heartbeat skipping. "You plugged the left input into the wrong port again."
"I did not," Beomgyu snapped, defensive and adorable.
"You did," Soobin replied, fingers ghosting over his as he reached for the cable. Their skin touched. Barely. Briefly. But it was enough to still the world for a moment.
Beomgyu didn't move. Neither did Soobin.
And then Beomgyu looked up-really looked up-with that crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips, the one that made something in Soobin's chest collapse and rebuild all at once. "For someone who keeps claiming he hates being here, you show up like it's a religion."
"Maybe I like watching you mess up," Soobin murmured, almost too quiet. But the pink creeping up his neck betrayed the truth his voice couldn't.
Beomgyu's smile softened. "Or maybe," he said, voice dropping like dusk, "you just like being around me."
Soobin's mouth opened, then closed. He stood up a little too quickly. "I'm your manager, not your emotional support plushie."
"But you are emotionally supportive," Beomgyu teased, rising beside him. His hand reached out, slow and deliberate, brushing imaginary dust from Soobin's shoulder-but his touch lingered longer than necessary, deliberate in its tenderness. "You bring us snacks, you yell when we push too hard, and patch up our fingers when we blister. Admit it-you care."
Soobin turned to face him fully, eyes sharp but mouth trembling at the edges. "Of course I care. That doesn't mean I don't think about pushing you into the drum kit at least twice a day."
Beomgyu's laugh was warm, ringing against the walls like a chord finally landing right. He stepped forward, close enough to steal breath. "Push me," he said, voice velvet. "But then kiss me better."
Soobin blinked.
And blinked again.
"You... are so-" His words tangled in his throat, fluster turning him inside out. He turned to escape, to retreat into the safety of sarcasm or silence, but Beomgyu caught his wrist, gently, reverently.
"I'm so what?" Beomgyu asked, all humor vanished now-replaced by something earnest. Something raw.
Soobin stared. At his flushed cheeks. The slight sheen of sweat on his brow. The rough calluses on his fingertips. The eyes that always looked at him like he was something more than just necessary. Something precious.
He didn't answer with words.
Instead, Soobin stepped in, heart thundering, and kissed him.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't long. It wasn't rehearsed.
It was instinct-urgent, breathless, trembling like a secret finally spoken aloud.
Beomgyu froze, stunned into stillness, before tilting his head, chasing the kiss with gentleness threaded in every movement. His hand slid to Soobin's waist, fingers curling like he belonged there, like he'd been waiting to.
When they pulled apart, their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the heavy air between them. And then-
"You still have practice," Soobin whispered, voice caught between responsibility and something softer.
Beomgyu smiled, forehead still against his. "Mmm... I know. But I needed that more."
Soobin swatted at his shoulder, weakly. "Get back to work before I cancel your next studio slot."
"You wouldn't dare. I'm the star."
"You're a disaster."
"And yet," Beomgyu smirked, sauntering back toward his guitar with unbearable fondness in his eyes, "you're still here. Managing me. Worrying. Falling."
Soobin opened his mouth to argue but Taehyun's voice broke in from across the room. "Hey, lovebirds! Can we please rehearse now?"
Soobin groaned and buried his burning face in the clipboard.
Beomgyu's laughter rang out, bright and boyish.
And as the music started up again, louder, fuller, charged with something new, it was as if the studio itself had been rewired-chords humming with affection, and every note echoing a truth neither of them could deny anymore.
They were more than just song and schedule now.
They were becoming each other's rhythm.
And the melody of them had only just begun.
Another day.
The studio had long emptied of song, of laughter, of the sweat-soaked pulse of rehearsal. What remained was silence-thick, sacred, and stretching across the walls like a lullaby no one had the heart to hum. The faint, static hum of the amplifier still lingered like a ghost of music, and every now and then, the wooden floor creaked under the memory of movement. It was past midnight. The city outside lay draped in velvet shadows, hushed beneath the soundproofed windows and swallowed by the kind of quiet that made you feel alone even when you weren't.
Beomgyu had only stepped out for a moment, gone to coax a couple of lukewarm drinks from the vending machine down the hall. But when he returned, his fingers chilled and his body sluggish with fatigue, he stopped in his tracks.
And his heart cracked open.
Soobin was asleep.
Head tilted back against the threadbare sofa, glasses slipping low on the bridge of his nose. His arms were folded lazily over his chest, posture slack but not peaceful-like someone who'd tried to rest without permission. The laptop beside him still cast a faint blue glow, ECHO5's color-coded practice schedule displayed with clinical precision, cells neatly filled, tasks aligned to the minute. A clipboard wobbled unsteadily on his lap, barely hanging on. And even in sleep-God-even in sleep, Soobin's brows were gently drawn together, as if the burden of responsibility refused to let go of him. As if his soul had forgotten how to rest.
Beomgyu stood there, unmoving.
He didn't know what gutted him more-the image of Soobin slumped in quiet exhaustion, or the raw tenderness that welled up in his chest at the sight of him. Maybe it was the way Soobin always stayed behind when no one asked him to. Maybe it was the soft defiance in his silence, the way he poured his everything into the group as if it were oxygen, never asking, never needing thanks. Or maybe it was just this: the realization that someone so breathtakingly kind didn't know how to be anything but selfless.
Slowly, reverently, Beomgyu crossed the room-every step soft like prayer. He knelt before him, as if afraid to wake the very thing that had stolen his breath.
He eased the clipboard from Soobin's lap and set it gently on the table. He closed the laptop with a soft click, letting the dark swallow the light. And then, fingers trembling, he reached forward and brushed a few strands of hair from Soobin's forehead. His skin was warm. Too warm.
"You always do this," Beomgyu whispered, his voice cracking like glass. "You burn yourself out just to make sure we're okay. As if you'll collapse only when you know we're safe."
Soobin stirred, just a little. His lips parted, a small sigh slipping free like a secret. He shifted toward the warmth without knowing it, his head tilting closer to Beomgyu's shoulder, as if instinctively searching for comfort.
Something splintered in Beomgyu's chest.
He shrugged off his hoodie and carefully draped it over Soobin's frame, tucking it around him like a promise. Then, with the gentlest of movements, he sank down beside him. Their arms brushed. Skin met skin. Breath met breath. And in that silence, Beomgyu didn't speak.
He just stayed.
Because sometimes, love was not in the confessions.
It was in the choosing.
In the staying.
In the way your body says, "Rest. I'm here."
The minutes ticked by. Rain tapped faintly against the distant windows.
And then-
"...Gyu?"
Soobin's voice broke the stillness like a melody returning to a forgotten song. It was groggy, blurred with sleep, barely audible.
Beomgyu turned, his heart thundering in his chest. "Yeah," he murmured, voice a balm. "I'm here."
Soobin blinked, disoriented, lashes fluttering like moth wings. His eyes were heavy but soft, glassy with exhaustion. "What time is it?"
"Late," Beomgyu replied, the ghost of a smile tracing his lips. "You fell asleep. I didn't want to wake you."
Soobin looked around slowly, his eyes tracing the soft shadows stretching across the quiet studio-their sanctuary after chaos, now lulled into stillness. The city outside murmured faintly through the windows, as if reminding them that the world kept moving even when they paused. He leaned back with a tired sigh, the weight of sleepless nights and self-imposed expectations clinging to his shoulders like a second skin. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. "I was supposed to finish the set list."
Beomgyu didn't answer immediately. Instead, he shifted closer, close enough for the warmth between them to speak louder than words. His fingers found Soobin's-just a light brush, trembling and tender-and he whispered, "You've done enough." A beat. "You always do enough, Soobin."
Soobin blinked, almost as if he didn't believe it. As if hearing those words was foreign to him-too kind, too forgiving.
"But I can't stop. Not tonight," he said, his voice laced with quiet panic, as though still caught in the gears of everything that depended on him. "Your band has the first evaluation tomorrow. The selection for the band category-it starts with that."
Beomgyu could hear the guilt hiding in his voice, the worry fraying its edges. It wasn't just nerves-it was Soobin carrying the weight for everyone, again. Always. Like he didn't know how to breathe unless he was holding his breath for someone else.
And Beomgyu had seen enough.
He moved in closer, gently reaching out to cup Soobin's cheeks-thumbs brushing against the soft under-eye shadows of exhaustion he hated seeing. His touch was steady, grounding. "It's okay," Beomgyu said softly, like he was trying to plant the words into Soobin's bones. "We've rehearsed. You've checked everything-twice, three times. You've given more than anyone asked. It's going to be okay."
"But-"
Soobin's protest trembled on his lips, but Beomgyu didn't let it breathe life.
He silenced him the only way he knew how.
By leaning in and pressing his lips to Soobin's.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was slow-painfully tender. A kiss filled not with fire, but with warmth. With stillness. With everything he'd been trying to say in touches and glances and whispered reassurances.
Soobin's eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling like the last leaves clinging to a winter branch. He melted-utterly, entirely-into Beomgyu's embrace. Into the hush of the studio that now pulsed with heartbeats rather than music. Into the warmth of the boy who had kissed him not like a declaration, but like a lifeline. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Soobin allowed himself to be held without guilt, without apology. To be seen-not as the planner, the protector, the one who holds everything together-but simply as someone who needed holding too.
Their hands tangled between them, fingers curling and grasping, searching for anchorage in the storm outside their bubble. As if the world could crumble beyond those padded walls and yet neither would dare let go. Their pulses synchronized, quiet and constant, and when their lips finally parted, it was only to bring their foreheads together, breathing the same air, sharing the same fragile, infinite moment.
Beomgyu chuckled softly, his thumb ghosting over the corner of Soobin's lips-affection disguised in playful banter. "You fell asleep like an old man. Be honest-were you dreaming about spreadsheets again?"
Soobin let out a rough, broken laugh, the kind that came only when exhaustion had been kissed away. "Maybe," he whispered, voice raw from too many swallowed feelings. "Or maybe... just you."
Beomgyu groaned, but his smile was too fond to hide. He leaned back against the couch with a sigh, dramatic as always, but now tinged with something softer-something that sounded dangerously like love. "You're ridiculous."
"You're the one who kissed me first," Soobin muttered sleepily, nuzzling into the curve of Beomgyu's shoulder like it was built just for him.
"And I'll do it again," Beomgyu whispered, like a promise sewn in stardust, brushing his lips to Soobin's temple as if in blessing. "Again, and again. But for now... sleep. I've got you."
Soobin didn't reply. He didn't need to.
He was already letting go-of the weight, the worry, the walls he'd kept up too long. And as his breathing slowed, his fingers never left Beomgyu's, still entwined like vines reaching for light.
The studio was silent but full-of things unspoken and things already understood. Somewhere between forgotten lyrics and half-written dreams, they stayed.
Curled into each other.
Guarding the quiet.
Together.
And for the first time in a long time, it felt like enough.
-
The sun hadn't yet climbed fully into the sky when the door to the studio creaked open, letting in the gentle hush of morning. Pale gold light filtered through the narrow window slats, slipping across the scuffed floor and casting delicate halos around the two figures still curled on the worn leather couch-fragile, beautiful, as if the night itself hadn't quite let go of them.
Soobin stirred first, his lashes fluttering open against the dawn. For a breath, he didn't move-just lay there, cocooned in the scent of Beomgyu's hoodie and the soft afterglow of the night's fragile truths. His heart was still echoing with things whispered into silence, with warmth that had lingered long after the kisses had stopped.
Beomgyu lay against him, breath steady, head resting in the cradle of Soobin's shoulder like he belonged nowhere else. His fingers were still loosely twined with Soobin's, clinging in sleep to something wordless and sacred. Soobin glanced down at their intertwined hands, and a smile tugged at his lips-gentle, dazed, disbelieving. The kind of smile that only came when reality looked too much like a dream to trust.
He could've stayed like that forever.
But then- A knock. Soft but sharp enough to shatter the stillness.
"Hyung? You guys in there?" Taehyun's voice drifted in from the hallway, muffled by the studio door but unmistakably urgent.
Soobin's eyes widened in alarm. His body jerked upright, the warm haze of the night instantly replaced with panic. "Shit-it's morning."
Beside him, Beomgyu groaned, curling tighter into the couch as if defying time itself. "Five more minutes," he mumbled, still half-lost in dreams.
"Five minutes to live if we're late," Taehyun shot back from the hall, deadpan as ever. "Selection starts in less than an hour. You're the band's lead guitarist, and we're locked out."
Soobin shot to his feet, already reaching for the clipboard discarded on the floor, eyes darting around the room. "Come on, get up. This is your moment, remember?"
Beomgyu blinked awake, the light catching in his eyes like slow-burning fire. He stretched, slow and lazy, still wrapped in that post-sleep softness. "You're my moment," he said with a sleepy smile, voice rough and tender in a way that made Soobin freeze for half a second.
A towel hit Beomgyu's face before the silence could stretch too long.
"Flirt later," Soobin said, flustered, a pink flush creeping up his neck. "Go brush your teeth now."
Beomgyu laughed-low, husky, real-and it filled the room like the start of a song.
He caught Soobin's wrist as he passed, fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. "Thanks for last night," he murmured, quieter now. "For staying."
Soobin met his eyes, and something passed between them-unspoken, but deeply felt. A promise. A beginning. A breath they were holding together.
"Always," Soobin whispered back.
And as they rushed out of the studio, hair messy and hearts louder than footsteps, the day truly began.
Not with chaos. Not with rehearsal.
But with the memory of warmth still alive on their skin.
And the soft certainty that whatever came next-they'd face it side by side.
-
The auditorium thrummed with anticipation, every corner pulsing with the electric buzz of dreams suspended in the air. Murmurs rippled through the crowd like waves-hopeful, breathless, restless. Rows of spectators leaned forward in their seats as the event rolled forward with precise urgency. Professors scribbled notes, alumni sat poised with critical eyes, and the student representatives whispered among themselves, their gazes darting toward the stage with increasing curiosity.
Each band was allotted ten minutes-ten for soundcheck, ten for performance. Twenty minutes that could either ignite a future or leave it in ashes.
The velvet curtains were drawn halfway, shielding the stage in a gentle cocoon of shadow and muffling the chaos outside. But backstage, time felt suspended. The air was thicker there-laden with adrenaline, sweat, and the trembling edge of something that could change everything.
ECHO5 stood in a loose circle, hearts hammering as one. Their palms stacked at the center-some trembling, some steady-skin against skin, hearts tethered by unspoken promises and the rhythm of shared sacrifice.
Jay bounced on his heels like a livewire, nerves and excitement colliding behind his wide grin. "Guys. We've rehearsed this until we bled. Today, we don't just play-we burn."
Heeseung gave a lopsided smirk. "And if we mess up... just smile and pretend it's jazz."
The tension cracked with a soft round of laughter, like a sigh shared between warriors on the edge of battle.
Taehyun's gaze drifted, steady and searching, until it found Beomgyu-who was adjusting his guitar strap for the third time, his fingers twitching against the worn leather. Small movements, but telling.
"You okay?" Taehyun asked quietly, the kind of question that wasn't just about nerves-it was about the weight Beomgyu carried behind his eyes.
Beomgyu didn't answer at first. He lifted his gaze instead, as if drawn by an invisible thread. And there-just beyond the glare of stage lights-stood Soobin.
Still. Focused. Clipboard in hand. But his eyes-God, his eyes-were on Beomgyu and nowhere else.
The moment stretched, silent and still, like the calm before a downpour. In that gaze, Beomgyu found a lighthouse. A heartbeat that beat in tandem with his own. A vow held from the night before still lingering in the air between them, unsaid but undeniable.
His breath came out slow, steady, a grounding force in the chaos.
"I'm good," Beomgyu whispered, voice raw but sure. "I've never been better."
Hueningkai let out a breathy laugh, all bright hope and mischief. "Let's blow the roof off, guys."
Just then, Yeonjun peeked in through the side curtain, wearing a proud grin that almost matched the glint in his eyes. "They're calling you. It's time. Set the stage on fire."
And with that final push, ECHO5 moved.
Five silhouettes. Five dreamers.
One step at a time, they walked toward the blinding glow of the stage, the world behind them fading into the roar of rising applause and the thud of a bassline waiting to be born.
The lights hit like a tidal wave-harsh, hot, holy. The crowd leaned forward.
And for a moment, the whole universe was reduced to this:
A stage.
Five hearts beating in sync.
And a promise echoing through the chords of every note waiting to be played.
They didn't look back.
They didn't need to.
Because sometimes, when the music begins and the spotlight catches just right-
You don't perform.
You become.
The music began like a whispered memory-soft, hesitant, almost shy.
A lone acoustic riff trickled through the hush of the auditorium, delicate as the first light before dawn. It fluttered across the space like a breath held too long, unraveling into the waiting silence. Then came the drums, slow and steady, like the sound of a heart learning to trust its own rhythm. The bass followed-low, grounding, pulsing like footsteps across familiar ground.
And then-
Beomgyu's voice.
It didn't explode; it emerged.
Like something sacred.
Like truth, finally allowed to bloom in the open.
Clear. Raw. Beautifully imperfect.
Every note laced with the ache of all he couldn't say aloud. Every breath steeped in the weight of sleepless nights, of silent longing, of words swallowed and turned into melody.
Behind the curtain, just out of reach of the spotlight, Soobin stood frozen. His hand was clenched over his chest, but not to steady his breath-it was to hold his heart in place, before it could shatter from the sheer force of feeling.
Because this wasn't just a performance.
This was a revelation.
This was every early morning and every late night. Every bruise on their fingers and every shared laugh in cramped practice rooms. This was every doubt they ever dared to face together-and win.
A harmony born not just of voices, but of souls-stitched together by something deeper than music.
And for Beomgyu, this moment was something else, too.
It was a declaration. A confession. A silent love letter wrapped in melody.
And it was for him.
Always, always for him.
Soobin stood rooted, breath caught somewhere between pain and pride. Each note struck him like lightning-sharp and illuminating. He could feel the lyrics thread through him, soft and aching, as if Beomgyu was singing straight to the place no one else had ever touched.
The final chord echoed out, suspended like a prayer in the charged air.
And for a heartbeat, there was nothing.
No clapping. No breathing. Just silence.
As if the whole world had paused to feel what they felt.
And then-
Thunder.
Applause broke like a wave crashing against the shore. Deafening. Unstoppable. The sound of the world finally listening, finally seeing.
Soobin turned his face slightly, wiping the corner of his eye with trembling fingers, willing away the tears before they could fall too loud. He pressed his lips together, a silent smile barely holding in everything he felt.
Beomgyu turned his head, eyes instinctively seeking him out.
Their gazes met through the parting of the curtain-two worlds tethered in a single look. Soobin, half in shadow. Beomgyu, bathed in golden light.
And then Beomgyu smiled.
Not the smile he gave the crowd.
Not the practiced grin he wore in photos.
But the one that belonged to Soobin and Soobin alone- Quiet, knowing, infinite.
And in that fleeting second, Soobin knew-
He wasn't just watching Beomgyu live his dream.
He was a part of it.
The pulse beneath the song.
The reason behind the note.
-
The backstage was thunderous.
Laughter ricocheted off the walls, sweat and joy thick in the air. Cheers rose like fireworks-wild, echoing, untamed. Yeonjun had Taehyun locked in a headlock of pride, both breathless from laughing and yelling. Hueningkai barreled into Heeseung like a small cannonball of affection, nearly knocking them both over in his giddy excitement. Jay was already halfway through his infamous "we didn't die" dance-some strange flail of limbs and wobbly hips that made everyone wheeze.
But Beomgyu. Beomgyu stumbled past it all like a man waking from a dream.
His breaths came sharp and uneven, lungs still drunk on adrenaline. The stage lights still burned behind his eyelids, the echo of the crowd clinging to his skin like dew. And yet, even in the buzz of triumph, doubt curled at the edges of his joy.
Was it enough?
Did they feel what he tried to say with that song?
Did they see him?
And then-
Soobin.
He didn't speak right away. He didn't need to. He just stood there-close, steady, calm in the eye of the storm. His expression was unreadably soft, like moonlight over still water, like the kind of quiet that sinks deeper than any sound. His eyes found Beomgyu's, and in that look, there was no space for doubt. No noise. Just that unwavering truth he always carried when he looked at him-like Beomgyu had unknowingly placed the constellations in his chest, and Soobin had mapped every star.
"You were incredible," Soobin said, and his voice was barely more than a hush, but it pierced straight through the noise.
Beomgyu's lips curved up, uncertain and breathless. "Was I?"
Soobin stepped forward, so close now their shadows merged. "You didn't just sing, Gyu. You lived it. You made us live it, too."
And in that second, time bent around them.
The chaos blurred into the distance, muffled like a dream. The laughter and stomping and cheers faded into a hush that wrapped around them like a secret. No one interrupted. Even the universe seemed to understand: this was a moment meant to be held gently.
Beomgyu reached for him-because how could he not? Their hands found each other like gravity had been waiting for it. Fingers laced effortlessly, like they'd been doing this forever in other lives.
Beomgyu chuckled softly, brushing his thumb along Soobin's pulse. "Are you crying, manager-nim?"
"Shut up," Soobin whispered, his laugh trembling beneath the mist in his eyes. "You're the worst."
From the side, Yeonjun passed with a dramatic eye-roll. "If you two kiss in public again, I'm invoicing you for emotional trauma."
"Hyung!!" Beomgyu groaned, but he didn't let go. If anything, he held tighter.
-
Hours later, after the final chords had faded, after the last microphone had been unplugged and the seats began to empty, the entire auditorium seemed to hold its breath. The giant screen flickered on. One by one, names were revealed.
Each second stretched like an eternity. Beomgyu's hands trembled.
And then-
there it was.
Band Category Finalist: ECHO5 - Daegu University.
Silence cracked open into a tidal wave of screams.
Hueningkai shrieked before tackling Taehyun to the floor. Jay collapsed in dramatic sobs, wailing something about being "immortal now." Heeseung threw himself onto the floor with an Oscar-worthy gasp. Yeonjun? He scooped Soobin up with a yell and spun him in dizzying circles, their laughter tangled in the echoes of celebration.
But Beomgyu-
He didn't laugh. He didn't shout.
He just turned.
His gaze scanned the chaos, wild and wide, until it landed on the only thing that made sense. Soobin was already moving toward him, eyes shining, arms open.
Beomgyu didn't think. He just ran.
He crashed into Soobin's chest, arms wrapping around his waist, face buried into the crook of his neck like he was anchoring himself to something real. And Soobin held him-no hesitation, no words, just arms around him like home.
Beomgyu trembled against him, body overcome with everything-disbelief, joy, relief, love. His breaths hitched in the quiet space between them.
"You guys did it. You did it," Soobin whispered into his hair. His voice cracked, too full, too soft. "I'm so, so proud of you."
Beomgyu gripped the fabric of his shirt, like letting go would undo everything. "No. We did it. You never stopped believing in us. Believing in me. Even when I didn't believe in myself."
Soobin pulled back just enough to see him, one hand lifting to cradle Beomgyu's cheek. Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling, the world blurring behind them.
"I always will," Soobin said, and his voice was nothing short of a vow.
And for that one fragile second-amidst cheers and glittering confetti, echoing footsteps and echoes of a dream come true-there was only them.
Two heartbeats.
One promise.
And a future waiting just beyond the curtain.
***
Chapter Text
Just as they had conquered the intra-college round with raw grit and aching harmonies, ECHO5 soared through the inter-college competition too. But this time, it hadn’t been easy—not even close. The stage was wider, the lights harsher, and the stakes unimaginably higher. They weren’t just competing against familiar faces anymore; they were up against the best—the fiercest, most seasoned college bands from across the region, each group carrying years of practice, polished finesse, and reputations that stretched beyond campus gates.
They were given just a week and a half to prepare.
Ten days of relentless rehearsals, of voices cracking at midnight, of fingertips bruised from the strings, of laughter breaking through exhaustion and frustration threatening to boil over. Ten days of pushing past doubt. Of believing in something louder than fear.
And somehow—it paid off.
They made it.
They—five boys from Daegu University, who once played in dusty practice rooms and half-lit studios—were in the finals.
The announcement had been almost surreal. Their name echoed across the room, and for a heartbeat, the world went quiet. It wasn’t just a win. It was history in the making.
Because no one else from Daegu University had made it this far. Not the soloists with pristine technique, not the duos who had trained under city legends. All had bowed out before the final call. But ECHO5—ECHO5 stood tall.
They were the only ones. The lone flagbearers of their university. And that, in itself, was a victory of immeasurable weight.
For the first time in Daegu University’s history, a band had made it to the finals. And the campus erupted.
The corridors buzzed with pride. Posters bloomed across walls like spring after a long winter. Banners were being painted by trembling hands dipped in university colors. Students skipped classes to rehearse cheers. Faculty sent messages of encouragement. Even those who had never attended a concert now memorized the names of the five boys who had become their pride.
It was more than just a performance now. It was a movement. A heartbeat pulsing through the campus.
And ECHO5 felt every bit of it.
They were nervous—how could they not be? The pressure was immense. Expectations pressed on their shoulders like invisible weights. The thought of letting everyone down hovered constantly, like a shadow behind each note they practiced.
But alongside the nerves—was fire.
They weren’t just singing for a trophy anymore. They were singing for every second of doubt they'd once tasted. For every cramped room they practiced in. For every dream they once whispered into the night, too afraid to say out loud. They were singing for Daegu University—for the students who now looked at them like stars carved from ordinary dust.
And so, they kept going.
With trembling hands and steady hearts.
With sore throats and stubborn hope.
With eyes full of dreams too loud to silence.
Because they had something no one else did—each other. And a reason bigger than themselves.
The finals were calling.
And ECHO5—was ready to answer.
The high of their college victory had barely begun to settle—still warm on their skin, still echoing in the roar of the auditorium—when the next tide arrived, fiercer, deeper, laced with the weight of reality.
An official email. Cold font. Stark header. The kind of message that changed everything.
“Congratulations to the selected college representatives.
The final of SoundSpace 2025 is scheduled in two weeks.
Please prepare for performance and technical rehearsals.
Venue: Daegu Auditorium, Daegu University.”
Just like that, the heartbeat of the entire campus shifted.
Daegu University, once a place of slow mornings and chatter-filled afternoons, now pulsed with urgency. The air thickened with purpose. Practice rooms, once sparsely filled, now echoed day and night with overlapping harmonies, unyielding drum patterns, and exhausted laughter chasing fading dreams. The scent of sweat replaced that of spilled coffee in lecture halls. Fingers bled from overplayed strings, voices cracked over perfect notes that still weren’t enough—and yet no one stopped.
Especially not ECHO5.
If the college round had been a stage—they now stood at the edge of a battlefield.
And in the center of it all was Soobin. No longer just a manager scribbling notes or sending reminders—he had become the calm within the storm. The anchor. The silent breath everyone forgot they were holding.
He kept track of everything—rehearsal hours, meal breaks, sound levels, lighting cues, costume fittings. He skipped meals to fight with the tech crew. He bartered coffee coupons for better time slots. He tucked protein bars into guitar cases, stitched buttons on jackets, wiped sweat from foreheads when no one else noticed.
He carried all of them without ever asking for help.
And Beomgyu saw it all.
He saw him in stolen moments—in the dim corners of rehearsal halls where Soobin stood unnoticed, watching them through tired, glassy eyes; in the quiet interludes when Beomgyu pretended to adjust his strings, just to get a glimpse of that furrowed brow, those trembling fingers still ticking off to-do lists.
And every time he saw Soobin—something inside him ached.
“You need to breathe, Soobin,” Beomgyu said one evening, blocking the hallway as Soobin staggered toward yet another errand.
Soobin blinked like someone waking from a fever dream. “I am breathing.”
Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “Really? Then why did your eye twitch when I handed you another water bottle?”
Soobin let out a groan, dragging a palm over his face. “Because I’ve been surviving on water and guilt for three days.”
That made Beomgyu laugh—really laugh, from somewhere deep in his chest. And then, with a gentleness Soobin hadn’t realized he needed, Beomgyu pried the clipboard from his hands.
“You’re doing more than enough,” he said softly, with a weight in his tone that was almost reverent. “Let someone take care of you for once.”
Soobin stilled.
Because no one ever said that to him. No one ever meant it like Beomgyu did.
And later that night, long after the amps had gone silent and the shoes had been kicked off, when laughter limped alongside exhaustion down the moonlit sidewalk—Soobin drifted a step behind, letting the world blur around him.
Only to feel someone match his pace.
Beomgyu.
He didn’t say much. Just walked quietly beside him, their shoulders brushing, the silence between them oddly louder than all the rehearsals combined.
“You’re quiet,” Beomgyu finally murmured, his voice gentle.
Soobin exhaled. A long, heavy breath. “I’m scared,” he whispered, almost ashamed. “Not for me… for all of you. For you. I want you to have this. I want you to win. I want it so badly, it hurts.”
Beomgyu’s fingers reached down, brushing against his, an offering of warmth in the cold night.
“Don’t be scared,” he whispered. “I feel stronger knowing you’re watching. Knowing you're there. I always do.”
And for a moment, just a fleeting breath in time, the chaos faded. The city slept. The stars blinked gently above them.
And two boys—woven together by music, fear, and something too tender to name—walked on. Closer now. Always forward.
-
The week that followed felt like a lifetime—rushed, blurred, relentless. And then, as if pulled into the heart of something colossal, Daegu University Auditorium swallowed them whole.
The building loomed like a cathedral of sound and history, its ceilings too high, its walls too wide, and its echoes too loud to ignore. Everything about it felt magnified—every step heavier, every breath sharper, every shadow stretched long by ambition and fear.
This wasn’t just a performance space. This was the stage—where names were remembered or forgotten. Where stars burned or flickered out.
Universities had arrived from every corner of the country—adorned in silver sequins and molten pride, bringing their best vocalists, tightest harmonies, and sharpest dance lines. Their teams rehearsed with ruthless precision, voices like polished steel. Their confidence crackled in the air.
And then there was ECHO5.
The boys walked into the rehearsal hall as a unit—guitars slung across their backs, exhaustion tucked behind brave smiles, fear sealed beneath shared jokes. But inside, each of them carried a silent storm.
Jay, usually the heartbeat of chaos, was quiet. His hands trembled slightly as he retuned his guitar for the third time.
Taehyun sat cross-legged near a speaker, frantically scribbling last-minute adjustments into his well-worn notebook—bits of lyrics, rhythm changes, whispered reminders not to crack.
Hueningkai chewed at the skin of his thumb, his eyes scanning the room like he was memorizing exits in case he had to run.
Heeseung was pacing, muttering their intro under his breath like a prayer, or maybe a spell to ward off failure.
And Beomgyu?
He wasn’t watching the room. He was searching for something—someone—the calm to his chaos, the anchor to his storm.
He found him just outside the greenroom, alone.
Soobin stood with his back to the corridor wall, fingers twitching nervously around his phone. His mouth moved as if silently rehearsing lines that weren’t his to speak—reminders, instructions, fears—and his eyes were glassy with a thousand possibilities. He looked like he was carrying all five of them on his shoulders.
Beomgyu didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
He stepped forward and quietly slid his fingers through Soobin’s, grounding them both in that simple touch. Then he rested his forehead gently against Soobin’s chest, letting himself breathe for the first time all morning.
“Hey,” he whispered, voice soft as a lullaby, raw as a wound. “I’m still here.”
Soobin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, shaky and low. His free hand reached up to grasp Beomgyu’s sleeve, anchoring himself. “I know,” he murmured.
And then—just like that—the world sped up again.
“ECHO5 – Daegu University. You’re next.”
The voice crackled from the hallway, loud and clear, slicing through the hush between them.
They pulled apart slowly.
The rest of the band had gathered now, hearts pounding in unison, eyes wide with the weight of what they were about to do.
Jay exhaled, Taehyun closed his notebook, Hueningkai nodded like he was psyching himself up for battle, and Heeseung cracked his knuckles with a sharp breath.
Beomgyu turned to them, nodding once.
No one needed to say a word. They were ready—or as ready as they’d ever be.
As they stepped onto the stage, swallowed by blinding lights and deafening silence, time seemed to slow. The auditorium stretched before them, rows upon rows of expectant faces hidden beneath shadows and spotlights. Somewhere beyond the glow, cameras blinked like watching eyes, and judges sat with poised pens.
But none of that mattered.
Not really.
Because in the very front row, barely visible in the half-light, stood Soobin.
Hands clenched into fists at his sides, chest rising and falling in rhythm with the tension of the moment. His eyes were locked on them—on him.
And Beomgyu saw him.
In the noise and nerves and the blinding heat of the stage, Beomgyu found the only stillness that mattered—in Soobin’s gaze. In that look, there was no fear, only belief. No judgment, only love. No expectations, just unwavering faith.
Beomgyu stepped forward, fingers curled around the mic like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.
He inhaled once. Deep. Shaky. Real.
And he looked at Soobin.
Then he sang.
And it wasn’t just a melody—it was a confession. A revelation. A hand reaching out across the darkness, carrying every sleepless night, every whispered prayer, every shattered part of him stitched together by music and love and the boy who never stopped believing.
And in that moment, they weren’t just performers on a stage.
They were dreamers.
Warriors.
Home.
Together.
The lights dimmed—slowly, like the world was holding its breath.
A hush fell over Daegu Auditorium, heavy and reverent. It wasn’t just silence—it was suspense spun into something sacred, the kind that clung to the walls and curled in the ribs. A thousand eyes blinked wide under the growing dark, all drawn to the stage where five silhouettes emerged, bathed in the first flicker of light.
ECHO5.
Daegu University’s unlikeliest dream—stitched together from late-night practices, anxious auditions, unspoken fears, and the stubborn kind of hope that refuses to die. The miracle no one bet on. And yet here they stood, standing tall under the most unforgiving lights of their lives.
Each of them gripped their instruments like lifelines.
Taehyun ran a hand down his mic, exhaling once. Jay pressed his fingers to the strings like he was apologizing to them before asking them to soar. Heeseung glanced upward briefly, like he was praying to a God he only half-believed in. Hueningkai gave his drumsticks one last tap against his knees, fingers trembling.
And Beomgyu.
He stood center, calm in posture, a quiet storm behind his eyes. When he lifted his guitar and strummed the first note, it didn’t just echo—it rippled. Like the air itself cracked open to listen.
The stage breathed to life.
Delicate notes bloomed—first from Taehyun, then Heeseung, weaving harmonies like silk into the stillness. Hueningkai’s rhythm curled underneath like a pulse. Jay’s strings added warmth. A tapestry of sound, building heartbeat by heartbeat.
And then—Beomgyu stepped to the mic.
A single breath. A pause so fragile it felt like glass balancing on silence.
Then—his voice.
Velvet-soft, aching, spun from midnight and memory.
“We held our silence when the sky fell...
But tonight we rise, even if we break…”
The words hovered—tender and defiant. His voice wasn’t just singing. It was speaking. To someone. To everyone.
His gaze swept the audience—an instinct. A search.
And then he saw.
Soobin.
No longer at the wings, no longer part of the blur backstage. He had moved—quietly, deliberately—into the front row. Under the golden spotlight that bathed the edge of the stage, he was unmistakable. His presence was a tether in the haze of nerves.
But he wasn’t alone.
Soobin knelt briefly. Beomgyu’s eyes narrowed, puzzled. Then he straightened, and in his arms—
Eunsoo.
The little sunbeam in pigtails and a canary-yellow dress. Her small hands clutched a glittery sign, messily cut but glowing with love-
“MY BEOMIE IS THE BEST!”
And her smile—it was too much. Too pure. It shattered him.
Beomgyu’s breath stuttered. His next note wobbled, barely caught in time. His fingers tightened instinctively on the guitar. And without warning, a single tear slipped from the corner of his eye. Not a performance tear. Not rehearsed. But raw. Real.
And he kept going.
His voice wavered just enough to break hearts, and somehow that made it even more beautiful—fractured glass catching the light.
Then—another shift. A shadow moved beside Soobin.
Two figures emerged from the audience's edge, standing just behind.
Jeonghan.
And Seungcheol.
His breath caught again.
Jeonghan saw him first—flashing that signature grin full of mischief and devotion, his teeth visible even in the low light. He threw a dramatic thumbs-up and mimed a swoon, mouthing, "You’re killing it, little star." His presence was a balm, chaotic comfort.
Then Seungcheol.
Still. Grounded. Dressed in dark neutrals, like he didn’t need attention to command it. One hand in his coat pocket, the other loosely resting by his side—but his eyes…
God, his eyes.
Brimming with quiet pride. The kind that doesn’t need clapping hands or shouted praise. The kind that says, I’ve seen you fall, I’ve watched you bleed—and tonight, I get to watch you shine.
Beomgyu swallowed the sob rising in his throat.
His fingers didn’t falter. His voice didn’t stop.
But his heart—it opened.
The chorus surged like a tide-
“If I fall, will you catch me?
If I’m lost, will you find me?
Even if I forget my name—
Will you still say it like it’s made of stars?”
And there—front row, anchored in a sea of strangers—Soobin was mouthing along. Every word. Every syllable. Not just singing. Echoing. Because he had heard it all before—in late night whispers, in tearful confessions, in every unspoken promise they made between shared silences.
And Beomgyu?
He didn’t need the crowd anymore. Didn’t care for the scores or the competition.
Because in that moment, he was singing to the boy who held him through the fear.
To the child holding a sign that declared his worth before the world could.
To the brothers who showed up not to be seen, but to remind him—he was never alone.
His voice rose—not for perfection, but for love.
For home.
And every word bled truth. Every chord held memory. Every breath was filled with something sacred.
As the final note quivered in the air, suspended like the hush of a shooting star, Beomgyu stood beneath the lights, flushed, tearful, radiant—and utterly alive.
And Soobin?
Still there. Still looking at him like he was made of constellations.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what he was.
The final note hung in the air like a prayer whispered into the hollow of heaven.
It soared—delicate, aching, eternal—before dissolving into silence. A silence so pure, so absolute, it felt as though the world itself had gone still just to remember this moment.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
And then—
Applause.
Not just applause—an eruption.
A tidal wave of sound tore through Daegu Auditorium. The stillness shattered under the weight of thunderous cheers, gasps of wonder, feet stomping against the floor in fervent rhythm. Hands clapped raw. Shouts soared from every corner. People stood—some slowly, some as if pulled by strings—rising to their feet like worshippers answering a call.
Cameras flashed. Banners waved. The MC’s voice crackled through the speakers, his practiced composure lost to genuine awe.
Backstage, the panel of judges leaned forward, hushed in shared astonishment. Eyes widened. Notes forgotten. Even the stoic head judge—a renowned composer from Seoul National Conservatory, known for his ruthless critiques—lifted the mic with visible hesitation, as though even words might fall short.
“I’ve attended over two dozen inter-college festivals across the country,” he began, voice calm but threaded with emotion. “And rarely… so rarely, does something leave me speechless. But ECHO5—you didn’t just deliver a performance. You tore open the very heart of music and let it bleed before us. You reminded us why music exists. Not for trophies. Not for perfection. But for truth. And tonight, you gave us that truth. Bravo.”
The auditorium exploded again.
Clapping, screaming, weeping—raw, beautiful chaos.
Backstage, the five boys stood frozen in the quiet aftershock of what they had created.
Beomgyu’s hand trembled around the guitar neck, his knuckles white. Taehyun’s eyes brimmed with disbelief, the notebook still clutched in his fingers like a lifeline. Jay let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob. Hueningkai’s mouth quivered as he whispered, “We did it… oh my God, we did it.” Heeseung gripped the edge of a table, blinking furiously as if afraid the moment would dissolve if he let go.
And in the crowd—just a few rows from the stage—Soobin stood with Eunsoo perched on his shoulders, her tiny fists punching the air with wild glee. Her voice rose above the din. “That’s my Beomie!!”
Beomgyu saw her. Saw him.
And then—
“The winner of SoundSpace 2025 is…
DAEGU UNIVERSITY — ECHO5!!”
The words struck like thunder.
And backstage? It was pandemonium.
Hueningkai screamed, practically leaping into Taehyun’s arms. Jay let out a guttural cheer and punched the air so hard he nearly hit a light. Heeseung sank to his knees, laughing and sobbing, overcome. Taehyun dropped his notebook at last and hugged Hueningkai like he’d never let go.
Beomgyu didn’t shout. Didn’t move.
He just stood—his chest heaving, eyes burning, disbelief crashing like a tide inside him.
Until—
“Beomgyu!!”
That voice. His anchor.
He turned—and there he was.
Soobin, running. Arms open. Breathless joy written across his face. And when he reached him, he didn’t pause—just pulled Beomgyu into his arms like gravity had yanked him home.
“You did it, Beomgyu,” Soobin breathed into his hair, voice cracked and full. “You guys did it.”
Beomgyu clung to him, hands fisting the back of his shirt, his guitar nearly falling to the floor.
“We did it,” he whispered back, voice trembling. “You were here. You were always here.”
Their embrace didn’t break even as the others crashed into them—a tangle of limbs, laughter, sobs. One great, clumsy, overwhelming hug. A family forged not just by music, but by every night they thought they wouldn’t make it.
Somewhere beyond the chaos, Jeonghan and Seungcheol stood silently.
Beomgyu caught sight of them, and everything inside him crumbled.
He stepped away—tears streaking down his cheeks—and made his way to them.
And then Eunsoo ran ahead, arms outstretched.
“My Beomie is the bestest!”
Beomgyu knelt down, scooping her into his arms, pressing kisses to her hair. Her little arms tightened around his neck like she could keep him safe from the world.
Jeonghan didn’t say a word. Just opened his arms wide.
Beomgyu crashed into his chest like a wave breaking on shore.
“Hyung—” his voice shattered.
“I’m so proud of you, Gyu,” Jeonghan whispered, holding him so tight it hurt. “You burned the whole sky tonight.”
Beomgyu pulled back, laughing tearfully. “You were smiling so hard, I thought your face would explode.”
“I cried too,” Jeonghan grinned, eyes shining. “Don’t lie, I saw you nearly choke on your verse.”
Beomgyu turned—hesitating.
“…Hyung?”
Seungcheol stepped forward, quiet and steady. He ruffled Beomgyu’s hair with a tenderness that didn’t need announcement. Then pulled him into an embrace—solid, grounding.
“I don’t say much,” Seungcheol murmured into his ear, voice thick, “but tonight, I wanted to scream. You were beyond incredible.”
Beomgyu buried his face into his shoulder, breaking again.
“Thank you for coming,” he whispered.
And then—
“YAH! SUPERSTARS!”
Two figures darted in through the hallway fog—Seokmin and Dino, breathless and beaming.
“You guys did that!” Seokmin shrieked, flinging himself onto Beomgyu.
“Literally shoved two people aside just to reach this spot,” Dino added. “That final verse? You killed us. I cried. Minnie hyung ugly-cried.”
Seokmin nodded, dead serious. “Eunsoo was pointing and yelling, ‘That’s my Beomie!’ and I was like—same, kid. SAME.”
Beomgyu laughed through his tears, overwhelmed.
He was surrounded—by the people who raised him, by the ones who believed when he couldn’t, by those who never needed a reason to stay.
His family by blood.
His family by music.
His family by soul.
And when the noise softened, when the flash of cameras faded and the crowd thinned—
Beomgyu’s eyes found Soobin again.
Standing still.
Not smiling now. Just watching.
Watching him like he was witnessing constellations shift, like every dream he’d dared to have was stitched into the outline of Beomgyu’s silhouette.
And in that gaze—
Was the quietest confession of them all.
He didn’t need to say it.
Because in that moment, Beomgyu finally knew.
He was loved.
Completely.
Utterly.
Unconditionally
The others came bounding over, the sheer force of their joy impossible to contain—like sunlight breaking through after a storm. Taehyun, Hueningkai, Jay, and Heeseung wore those rare, radiant smiles that hurt after a while—the kind you only get when happiness is too big for the body to hold, when it starts spilling out through your laughter, your tears, your trembling breath. Yeonjun tagging along.
“Soobin hyung!” Hueningkai called, dragging Jay behind him like a kite in full flight, his voice breathless, bursting. “You saw us, right? Tell me you saw us!”
“I didn’t blink,” Soobin replied, eyes sparkling, his grin the kind that softened the whole world. “I would’ve missed the best show I’ve seen in years.”
Taehyun rolled his eyes, trying to hide the way his cheeks had flushed with pride, but his whole face glowed. “Hyung, did you cry?”
“Shut up,” Soobin muttered, sniffling even as he smiled. “Maybe.”
Heeseung leaned over and gently elbowed Beomgyu, laughter dancing in his eyes. “You were bawling like a baby. Admit it.”
Beomgyu let out a shaky laugh, the last of his tears still clinging to his lashes like dew on morning petals. “I’m not the only one. Don’t pretend I didn’t hear your voice crack in the chorus.”
Their laughter rang out, light and full, overlapping like melodies in harmony.
Then came the sound of soft clapping—measured, gentle, reverent. Yeonjun, Jeonghan, Seungcheol, Seokmin, and Dino approached not with the rush of excitement but the quiet grace of people who had just witnessed something sacred. They moved slowly, as though honoring the still-beating heart of the moment, letting it unfurl like a flower untouched by time.
“You all were… beyond amazing,” Jeonghan said, his voice thick, eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion. “That wasn’t just music. That was soul. That was love on a stage.”
Seungcheol stepped forward, his presence steady as ever, placing a firm hand on Beomgyu’s shoulder before sweeping his gaze across the group.
“Beomgyu, you shone tonight—but this win belongs to all of you,” he said, voice low but resonant. “Five people. One pulse. One fire. And you owned that stage.”
He turned to the others, one by one—his words laced with deep pride.
“Heeseung, the way you synced with Taehyun in the second verse? That harmony gave me chills. Taehyun, your control, your restraint—it was mature, like you’d been born for that spotlight. Hueningkai, you breathed joy into every beat. Jay—my God, that solo riff? You had the crowd in your palms, and you didn’t even know it.”
Jay flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We just… gave everything we had.”
“And it showed,” Dino added, stepping beside Seokmin, his eyes wide with sincerity. “It felt like you weren’t just performing—you were feeling for everyone who couldn’t. One soul in five bodies. That’s not something you can choreograph.”
Seokmin exhaled, visibly moved. “You made us proud—so proud—to be your hyungs. I stood there thinking, ‘This isn’t just a performance. This is history unfolding.’ You’re not just a college band anymore. You’re legends in the making.”
“I always knew. My babies were incredible today,” Yeonjun beamed with pride.
Soobin stood behind them, arms crossed, the corners of his lips curved in that fond, quiet smile he wore when words wouldn’t do justice to the emotion inside him. He wasn’t just proud—he was grateful. Grateful to have been a witness. Grateful to have been there.
Beomgyu’s gaze swept across the faces around him—each one a chapter in his journey.
He looked at Taehyun, who had the soul of a storm wrapped in calm.
At Hueningkai, whose smile was enough to light a thousand lost nights.
At Jay, who had found his rhythm in a world that once felt too loud.
At Heeseung, who carried melodies not in his hands but in his heart.
At Yeonjun, whose mere presence was enough to keep him going.
Then he looked at Jeonghan and Seungcheol, who had believed in him when he was just a boy with trembling fingers and a dream too big for his body.
And finally—his eyes landed on Soobin.
Still. Steady. Silent.
But his gaze said everything.
Home.
Beomgyu stepped forward, his throat tight, voice hoarse from both performance and emotion.
“We couldn’t have done this without you all,” he began, heart on display. “Soobin—you managed us like it was your debut. You stayed up editing our tracks, dealt with our tantrums, held us together. Yeonjun hyung—thank you for choreographing even when your calendar was packed to the brim. Hannie hyung, Cheol hyung—thank you for showing up, for staying, for cheering like we were already stars. And Seokmin hyung, Dino hyung—you were there before we even knew who we were becoming.”
He turned to his bandmates, eyes wet again.
“This win isn’t mine. It’s not even just ours. It’s everyone’s. All of us. Together.”
“Together,” they echoed back, voices soft but full—like a promise.
And then—whether it was Hueningkai or Jay or maybe both—someone let out a whoop and threw their arms around the nearest body. Within seconds, it became a glorious tangle of limbs and laughter, a full-blown group hug that looked more like a collapsed Jenga tower than anything coordinated.
Taehyun yelped. “Yah! Choi Beomgyu, my spine, please—!”
Dino pretended to sob. “It’s like the final scene of a K-drama and I wasn’t prepared!”
Seokmin was laughing so hard he stumbled, grabbing Jeonghan for support, who was laughing too hard to help him.
It was messy. Loud. Perfect.
And somewhere in that chaos, as Beomgyu felt every breath of warmth press in around him, he closed his eyes and let the moment settle inside his soul like gold dust.
Because this—this was the real win.
Not the trophy.
Not the applause.
But them.
Their bond. Their belief. Their music. Their magic.
A family born from sound, stitched together by sleepless nights and impossible dreams.
And as the echo of their laughter filled the air, one thing was certain-
The stage may have dimmed, but their story?
It was just beginning.
As the warmth of the group hug melted into soft laughter and breathless chatter—limbs reluctantly untangling, joy echoing off the walls like the last notes of a perfect encore—Soobin quietly stepped back, as if the moment were a delicate dream he was afraid to wake from.
The others didn’t notice—still wrapped in the glow of victory, still teasing and tumbling in celebration. But Soobin’s gaze had already drifted past the brightness. Past the noise.
To the quiet.
To Jeonghan and Seungcheol, standing just beyond the crowd, their smiles gentler now—watching with the kind of pride that doesn’t demand attention. That simply is.
Soobin’s feet moved almost on instinct, but his steps held a certain tremor—as if the weight of everything he had kept silent for too long had settled into his bones. Each footfall felt like walking a tightrope stretched across a chasm of everything he feared and everything he hoped.
He stopped a few paces away, heart caught between beats, fingers twitching helplessly at his sides like they were searching for something to hold onto.
“Hyung…”
His voice was low, almost hesitant, as though spoken too loudly, it would unravel the moment, undo the courage he had so carefully gathered like scattered petals.
Jeonghan and Seungcheol turned, their eyes immediately softening at the sight of him.
“I know Beomgyu must be spending time with you all,” Soobin said, and the vulnerability in his voice laced through the air like a thin, unguarded thread. “But… can I borrow him? Just for a little while?”
The request hung between them—simple in its words, but swollen with unspoken weight.
Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. Seungcheol's brow furrowed—not with suspicion, but with the understanding that something unspoken was unraveling at the seams.
Beomgyu, meanwhile, was still nestled in the laughter of the others, unaware. His eyes crinkled at the corners, mouth split in a smile, Hueningkai gesturing wildly beside him as Heeseung mimicked a dramatic fall. Beomgyu’s head tilted back with laughter—and Soobin’s heart ached with how beautiful he looked in that sliver of golden joy.
Soobin’s voice cracked, the confession barely surfacing. “Hyung… if I don’t do it today, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.”
The silence that followed was not empty. It was reverent. A breath held by the universe.
And then, something shifted.
Like a door gently creaking open inside Jeonghan’s chest. His lips curved into a quiet smile—one that didn’t tease or question. Just understood.
Seungcheol didn’t smile, not quite. But his gaze softened, losing all edges, and he stepped forward—his hand landing on Soobin’s shoulder like a quiet oath.
The warmth in his palm bled into Soobin’s skin, grounding him. Anchoring him.
“Go for it,” Seungcheol said, his voice steady. Then he leaned in, just enough for his words to be wrapped in the weight of warning and love. “And don’t you dare make him cry or hurt him.”
Soobin blinked, his throat tightening, a knot caught between fear and gratitude. “I won’t,” he whispered. “I promise.”
Jeonghan laughed softly and smacked Seungcheol’s arm. “Stop trying to be scary, Cheol. You’re going to give the poor boy a heart attack.”
“I’m not trying,” Seungcheol muttered, but even his grumble had no teeth. “I just mean what I say. I can't afford someone hurting my boy and he knows that.”
“I do,” Soobin nodded quickly, his voice steady now. Earnest. “I know. And I’ll make sure… I’ll never give you a reason to doubt me.”
Jeonghan stepped forward then, opening his arms, and pulled Soobin into a hug—not hurried, not casual. It was brief, yes—but the kind of brief that lingered, that pressed reassurance into his spine and whispered, we believe in you.
“You have our blessing,” Jeonghan murmured, voice barely audible. “Now go make it worth the wait.”
And so Soobin turned.
His hands trembled.
His breath stuttered.
The rhythm in his chest was no longer a heartbeat—it was a drumline. Unrelenting. Loud. Terrified.
But his feet moved.
Toward Beomgyu.
Toward the boy whose voice lingered in his mind even in silence.
The boy whose laughter he had memorized like a favorite song.
The boy who had unknowingly woven himself into every hope Soobin had dared to carry.
Beomgyu still didn’t see him coming. He was mid-laugh, head thrown back, the stage lights catching the edges of his profile like a painting come to life. Soobin wanted to hold that moment forever—but more than that, he wanted to step into it. To stop standing at the edge of his own longing.
Because tonight wasn’t just about the trophy or the victory.
Tonight was about everything they’d survived.
Every shared glance. Every quiet night. Every near confession that ended in a smile instead.
Soobin inhaled deeply, eyes fixed on the boy who had become his entire compass.
And tonight, finally, he was going to speak.
He just hoped the symphony inside his chest wouldn’t drown his words before they reached the only ears that mattered.
-
After the whirlwind of applause, congratulations, and tears of triumph, the celebration momentarily quieted. The evening air outside buzzed with anticipation—Seokmin had insisted on treating everyone at his café, a small gesture that felt like a grand festival to hearts still beating fast from victory.
Inside the quiet of the assigned room, Hueningkai, along with Taehyun, Heeseung, and Jay, moved about gathering their scattered belongings—guitar cases, water bottles, costume pieces still glittering faintly under the overhead lights. Their laughter still echoed faintly in the space, riding the remnants of adrenaline and happiness.
One by one, they trickled out.
Hueningkai lingered, carefully folding the edge of his team jacket before zipping up his bag. A soft smile tugged at his lips—victory always tasted better when shared with those who believed in you. He reached for the door, his fingers brushing against the cold brass knob—
And then it swung open before he could touch it.
The air rushed in, and with it—Jayhoon.
Panting. Disheveled. Chest heaving like he’d just outrun a storm.
His eyes found Hueningkai instantly, and a wave of breathlessness—part exhaustion, part relief—poured from him.
“Oh, thank god… you’re still here,” he gasped, bending forward, hands braced on his knees as if he had wrestled the world just to reach this moment. His voice was shaky, his presence unkempt in a way that made the stillness crackle with something urgent, something too late.
“I—I’m sorry,” Jayhoon stammered, struggling to catch his breath. “Something came up. I… I didn’t mean to—”
Hueningkai just stared at him, eyes dark and unreadable. Then, with a small shake of his head—more disappointed than angry, more tired than anything else—he said, quiet but sharp, “It doesn’t matter. It’s already over.”
Jayhoon flinched, the words cutting clean through whatever excuses he’d been grasping at.
His voice dropped, hesitant, weighted with guilt. “Did you… win?”
Hueningkai’s lips parted, a small scoff escaping like a wound being reopened. His gaze sharpened, incredulous. “You really don’t know?”
Jayhoon’s mouth moved soundlessly for a second, trying to find something—anything—to say.
“Kai, I’m really sorry. I wanted to come. I wanted to see you perform. You and your band—you mean—”
“But you didn’t,” Hueningkai said, and this time the ache in his voice wasn’t masked. It was raw. Tangible. It scraped across the silence like glass on marble.
Jayhoon swallowed hard. “I—”
Hueningkai cut him off, lifting his bag onto his shoulder in one fluid motion. His tone was distant now, carefully measured. “I need to leave. The others are waiting for me… to celebrate our win.”
He didn’t spare him a glance. Didn’t let him see the betrayal swimming just beneath his composed exterior.
“Please excuse me.”
And with that, he brushed past Jayhoon—his shoulder almost grazing him, but never quite touching—like a memory slipping just out of reach. Jayhoon stood frozen, still breathless, but for a different reason now.
The door shut behind Hueningkai with a soft finality that rang louder than any applause.
Soobin’s steps felt heavier with every beat of his heart as he crossed the auditorium floor—his gaze fixed, unblinking, on the boy who stood at the center of his universe without even realizing it. Beomgyu was laughing—carefree, radiant, surrounded by their friends, his eyes scrunching up with the kind of smile that made people stop mid-sentence just to watch him glow.
For a second… Soobin hesitated.
How could he walk up to him… grab him… pull him away from all that brightness… and burden him with the weight of everything he’d been holding back for months?
But then Beomgyu turned slightly—just enough for the soft auditorium lights to catch the curve of his grin, just enough for Soobin’s heart to cave in all over again.
Without thinking further, Soobin walked toward him, threading through the noise and chatter until he was right there, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. He tapped Beomgyu on the shoulder with trembling fingers that he tried to steady.
Beomgyu turned, his smile widening even more when he saw who it was. “Hey,” he greeted with that familiar, unfiltered happiness that always made Soobin’s chest ache in the sweetest way.
“Come with me,” Soobin said—quiet, almost breathless—but there was a certain tugging urgency in the way his fingers latched onto the sleeve of Beomgyu’s shirt and pulled.
And just like always… Beomgyu followed. No questions. No hesitation. As if he trusted Soobin with everything—his time, his attention… maybe even his heart.
They walked past the crowd, through the corridors, until the laughter and voices faded behind the closing doors. The auditorium was left behind like the fading echo of a life Soobin couldn’t afford to stay in right now.
As soon as they stepped into the cooler air outside, Soobin paused.
Something inside him snapped—something soft but desperate—and he turned back, grabbed Beomgyu’s hand with both of his, intertwining their fingers tightly like he was anchoring himself… and then started walking faster. Almost running.
Beomgyu stumbled a little at first but quickly caught up, breaking into another round of laughter, bright and breathless. The sound wrapped around Soobin’s heart like sunlight, like forgiveness.
Hearing that giggle, Soobin whipped around again, confused and flustered, but undeniably amused. “Why are you laughing?” he asked with a small chuckle, trying to hide the storm inside him.
Beomgyu just shook his head, that grin softening into something almost shy. “I don’t know… I just… I’m happy, I guess.” His voice was light, but his eyes—those beautiful, deep brown eyes—held something warmer… something unspoken.
Finally, Soobin stopped. Right in front of the library building.
The place where it all began.
His heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears. For a second, he just stood there, staring at Beomgyu like he wanted to memorize every inch of him in that moment—the glow on his face, the way he tilted his head in question, the slight glitter in his eyes because of the moonlight.
Soobin squeezed Beomgyu’s hand tighter, afraid that if he loosened his grip, the boy in front of him would disappear.
Wordlessly, they walked towards the entrance. Soobin pushed the door open, and a familiar scent of old paper, ink, and forgotten time greeted them like an old friend.
He led Beomgyu—almost instinctively—toward the one rack that meant more than either of them had ever admitted out loud.
That stupid old bookshelf. The one that started it all.
Beomgyu chuckled the second recognition hit him. “Why did you bring me here? Shouldn’t we be inside celebrating the win with everyone else?”
Soobin turned to him, eyebrows lifting with a faint smile. “You followed me without even asking.”
Beomgyu shrugged, that soft, mischievous smile lingering on his lips. “Because it was you. You know I’d follow you anywhere. No questions asked.”
Soobin’s heart twisted at that. God… how easily Beomgyu could undo him.
“You remember this place, right? This exact rack?” Soobin asked, pointing to the shelf, his fingers trailing over the worn wood. “This particular book?”
Beomgyu’s smile widened. “Of course I do. This is what led me to you.”
Soobin laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so glad I found that book that day. So glad its torn pages and worn-out cover annoyed me enough to vent all my frustration into a stupid folded note… and leave it inside like some passive-aggressive librarian.”
He turned to Beomgyu, stepping closer, his voice lowering, thickening with emotion. “And I’m so damn glad… that it was you who found it. That it was you who answered me… that you kept replying… even when you didn’t have to.”
He reached out, taking Beomgyu’s hand again, this time cradling his knuckles between both palms as if holding something fragile… something precious.
“I loved every single day we spent writing notes back and forth… the silly jokes… the rants… the confessions we didn’t realize were confessions… before we even knew each other’s names. Then the texts… the late-night calls…”
But suddenly, Soobin’s smile faltered, replaced by something heavier. His gaze dropped to the floor. “And… I’m sorry. For the day I ruined it all.”
Beomgyu’s breath hitched. His smile faded too.
Soobin swallowed hard. “For not showing up that day… here. When you waited for me… when you stood there holding your heart out in your hands and I just… I couldn’t face you.” His voice cracked. “I was scared. And I hurt you.”
Beomgyu’s eyes turned soft… sad… but he stayed quiet.
“And I’m even more sorry for that day on the stage…” Soobin’s words rushed out now- months of guilt spilling over like an overflowing dam. “For leaving you there. For running away when all you did was stand there in front of everyone and tell me how much I mattered to you. God, Beomgyu… you were so brave. And I… I was just… a coward.”
Tears burned at the corners of his eyes as he reached up with shaking hands and cupped Beomgyu’s face, thumbs trembling against soft skin until, gradually, the tremble settled… like he was steadied just by touching him.
“I can’t erase the hurt I caused. I know that. I can’t make those moments disappear. But I promise you… I swear to you… I’m going to spend every day trying to be better. For you. For us. I’ll make you smile more than you cry. I’ll be the reason you’re happy, not the reason you hurt. And I’ll never… never let you walk away from me again.”
His breath shook. “Because I… I wouldn’t survive that.”
Beomgyu’s hands lifted… instinctive, gentle… closing around Soobin’s wrists where they cradled his face. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles into Soobin’s skin—silent reassurance.
“I’ve spent my whole life losing people,” Soobin whispered, voice breaking all over again. “And I told myself I wouldn’t let anyone new in… not again. Not when I knew how easily things can fall apart.”
He blinked hard against the tears. “But then… you happened. You, with your noise and your laughter and your kindness. And for the first time… I didn’t want to push someone away. I didn’t even think about it. You just… fit.”
His voice cracked to a whisper. “And when you pulled away… when I saw you hurting because of me… I thought I lost you forever. And that… that scared me more than anything in this world.”
The tears came then, warm and relentless, spilling down his cheeks before he could stop them.
Beomgyu didn’t hesitate.
Without waiting for another word, he pulled Soobin into the tightest hug he could manage. One hand cradling the back of Soobin’s head, the other rubbing soft, soothing circles on his back.
“Shh…” Beomgyu breathed into his hair, voice steady and soft like velvet over old wounds. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
He held him like that, letting Soobin fall apart for a moment… letting him cry without shame.
Then Beomgyu chuckled quietly, the sound muffled against Soobin’s shoulder. “You know what’s funny?” he said softly, still rubbing his back. “I used to hate coming to the library. Taehyun had to drag me here that day. I complained the whole way, remember?”
Soobin huffed a laugh against his neck, still sniffling. “Yeah… I remember.”
Beomgyu smiled into his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. “And now? I’m so damn glad he did. Glad I knocked that rack over. Glad your angry little note fell out of that book.” He smiled wider, warmth blooming in his chest. “If it hadn’t… I wouldn’t have found you.”
Soobin pulled back just a little, just enough to look at him… both of them flushed and breathless and staring at each other like the world outside this tiny library corner didn’t exist.
“Beomgyu?” Soobin said, steady now… serious.
Beomgyu hummed, still holding onto him.
Soobin took a breath—one deep, final breath like he was stepping off a cliff with his heart wide open.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you, Beomgyu.”
The words tasted like release. Like freedom.
Beomgyu’s eyes widened, lips parting slightly. Not because he didn’t know—he knew. Of course he knew. But hearing it… hearing it in Soobin’s trembling, sincere voice… made his chest bloom with something too big to name.
A laugh, soft and breathless, tumbled from him. “Took you long enough.”
Soobin opened his mouth to reply, but Beomgyu cut him off—pressing their foreheads together, their noses brushing, their lips hovering close.
“I thought you’d never say it…” Beomgyu teased, voice a mix of affection and disbelief. “But… hearing it… it’s better than I imagined.”
Soobin’s gaze stayed steady, more confident now… voice low and sure. “I love you. I really do.”
And that… that shattered something inside Beomgyu.
Before Soobin could say more, Beomgyu surged forward, silencing him the only way he knew how—the way he’s been wanting to for what felt like forever.
Their lips met… soft… slow… melting and pulling and giving. Soobin gasped, startled for half a second, but then kissed back with everything he had. Everything he’d buried for far too long.
Beomgyu swore right then and there—this was the softest kiss he’d ever had. The most real. The most needed.
When they finally parted—just enough to breathe, just enough to look—Beomgyu didn’t let him go far.
Hovering close, their foreheads still pressed together, he whispered against Soobin’s lips, voice breaking with emotion.
“I love you, Soobin… I… I love you too.”
And when Soobin opened his mouth to speak again, Beomgyu silenced him with another kiss.
Because words could wait.
But this… this couldn’t.
Beomgyu barely had time to catch his breath before Soobin’s hands slid down to his waist—urgent, trembling with something that felt dangerously close to desperation. Without breaking the kiss, Soobin bent slightly, slipping his arms under Beomgyu’s and lifting him off the ground in one smooth, breathless motion.
Beomgyu gasped against his lips, his hands instinctively gripping Soobin’s shoulders for balance, his heart lurching in his chest as he was guided—no, carried—toward the nearest table.
The world tilted for a second. Bookshelves blurred past the corner of his vision. His legs dangled, his breath hitched—but Soobin didn’t stop. Not for a second.
And then… with a soft thud against polished wood, Beomgyu found himself seated on the edge of the library table, lips still tangled with Soobin’s, mind spinning.
Soobin didn’t even pause to breathe.
His hands moved instinctively to Beomgyu’s thighs, parting them with a shaky kind of certainty, slotting himself between them as if this had always been where he was meant to be. His hips pressed forward, closing the distance between them, caging Beomgyu’s legs securely around his waist.
Beomgyu’s breath hitched again—this time not from surprise, but from the overwhelming sensation of Soobin’s closeness. The heat between them. The steady, burning weight of longing that had been building for far too long… now erupting all at once.
Soobin’s hands settled firmly on Beomgyu’s hips, thumbs grazing slow, trembling circles on his skin just beneath the hem of his shirt as if memorizing him in real time.
Their kiss deepened—turning softer and then rougher, then soft again—wavering somewhere between affection and desperation. Between apology and claim. Between two people who had waited too long for this moment.
Beomgyu’s hands tangled into Soobin’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer, fingers curling like he never wanted to let go. His heart was racing so wildly he wondered if Soobin could feel it—right there—through the thin barrier of their clothes, their bodies pressed so tightly now.
Soobin’s breath hitched mid-kiss—breaking away for just a heartbeat, lips red, eyes blown wide and dark with emotion. “Beomgyu…” he whispered—more like a confession, like prayer, like surrender.
Beomgyu’s chest rose and fell, his own breathing uneven. His fingers slid down from Soobin’s hair to the nape of his neck, holding him there. “Hmm?” he hummed, his voice shaking, almost teasing but too breathless to carry it fully.
Soobin rested his forehead against Beomgyu’s, their noses brushing, his eyes fluttering shut as he pulled in a deep, shaky inhale.
“I love you. I really do. It was getting too heavier for me to keep everything inside,” Soobin murmured, his voice low and wrecked, every syllable laced with vulnerability. “I don't know when you became everything I ever wanted and needed. Every time I spent away from you was like a torture. I didn't know how to stay away from you… I didn't want to.”
Beomgyu’s heart stuttered in his chest at the honesty in those words. The quiet, trembling fear underneath them.
“You don’t have to,” he whispered back, his thumb brushing the dampness still lingering on Soobin’s cheek from earlier tears. “You don’t ever have to.”
Their lips met again—slower this time, drawn-out and deep—like they were pouring every missed chance and every swallowed word into this kiss. Like they were rewriting all their regrets with every soft, open-mouthed pull. Every exhale. Every lingering second.
Soobin’s hands roamed up Beomgyu’s back, steady and protective, holding him like he was something irreplaceable.
Beomgyu tilted his head, parting his lips further, letting Soobin in—letting the weight of months of silent wanting crash down between them.
For a few long moments… there was nothing but the sound of their mingled breaths… the creak of the table under their shifting bodies… and the thunder of two restless hearts finally, finally allowed to collide.
When they broke apart—faces flushed, chests heaving, lips swollen and pink—Soobin let out a broken laugh, soft and dazed, like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.
“Is it real? Please, tell me it is. It had to be,” he whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Beomgyu’s ear with infinite gentleness.
Beomgyu smiled—wide, eyes glassy, full of that teasing mischief but soft at the edges now. “It is.” he breathed, his fingers tracing lazy patterns at the back of Soobin’s neck. “I know it's hard to believe because I too didn't expect that you'd ever say it. But it is real.”
Soobin laughed again, forehead dropping to Beomgyu’s shoulder as his arms wound tighter around his waist, holding him there like a promise.
Like he would never let go again.
And this time… Beomgyu believed him.
They stayed like that—utterly lost in each other—wrapped up in the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward or empty, but full. Full of everything they’d said and everything they couldn’t. The air between them thrummed with something raw and electric, like every unspoken word was woven between their breaths.
Soobin’s thumb moved in slow, trembling circles against Beomgyu’s cheek, his touch both grounding and reverent, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch him like this. His other hand stayed firm on Beomgyu’s waist, holding him steady, like Beomgyu was something precious he was terrified to drop… terrified to lose all over again.
Beomgyu’s arms rested lazily but securely around Soobin’s shoulders, his fingers tangled at the nape of his neck, playing with the soft hair there, sending goosebumps along Soobin’s spine with every absentminded stroke. His heartbeat hadn’t slowed… not even a little. If anything, it was getting worse—louder, faster, heavier—with every second Soobin stayed close like this.
There were no words between them now. Just breaths. Just closeness. Just the sound of their hearts trying to crawl out of their chests.
Soobin tilted his head, resting his forehead gently against Beomgyu’s, their noses brushing again, their lips hovering close but not quite touching this time—like they were both savoring the weight of what had just happened.
Beomgyu let his eyes flutter shut, letting the feeling of Soobin’s warmth seep into every corner of him. His skin burned everywhere Soobin touched him. And yet… he didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to break this moment. Not when Soobin was holding him like this, like Beomgyu was something fragile… yet the most important thing in his hands.
Soobin closed his eyes too, drawing in Beomgyu’s scent—something soft, faintly like detergent and something inherently… him. Familiar, but intoxicating in a way Soobin could never describe with words.
The library stood still around them. Forgotten books. Empty chairs. Dust particles floating like golden confetti in the soft beam of moonlight filtering through the windows. Time felt suspended. Like the universe was holding its breath just for them.
Soobin pulled back just enough to open his eyes, but not far enough to break the contact completely. His gaze lingered on Beomgyu’s flushed cheeks, his kiss-bitten lips, the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in slow, uneven intervals.
Beomgyu felt that gaze like a weight, heavy and gentle all at once, making his stomach twist in the most beautiful, unbearable way.
Still… no one spoke.
Because what could they say that their bodies hadn’t already screamed into every touch, every sigh, every trembling pull towards each other?
Soobin’s thumb swept once more across Beomgyu’s cheek, as if memorizing the feel of his skin. His other hand curled tighter around Beomgyu’s waist, fingertips digging in with the barest hint of possession.
Beomgyu, in turn, let his fingers press a little harder into Soobin’s neck… holding him closer… like letting go wasn’t an option anymore.
And for a few more perfect, heart-stopping seconds… they simply stayed there.
Breathing each other in.
Tangled.
Quiet.
Together.
Their quiet, fragile bubble of warmth shattered too suddenly.
The sharp, shrill ring of Soobin’s phone sliced through the air like cold metal, making both of them flinch.
Soobin squeezed his eyes shut in pure frustration, his forehead still resting against Beomgyu’s, his entire body going stiff as the sound echoed too loud in the once-silent library.
Beomgyu let out a dramatic, heavy sigh, the disappointment sinking into his bones like lead. His hands fell from around Soobin’s shoulders, his fingers curling into loose, reluctant fists against his thighs.
Without moving far, Soobin lazily reached into his pocket, fishing out the buzzing device like it was the last thing on earth he wanted to deal with. He didn’t even check the caller ID before answering, already knowing.
“Yeah…” His voice was flat, tired. “Uh-huh… Yeah, I’m here… Mhm…”
Beomgyu sat there on the table, legs still loosely wrapped around Soobin’s waist, but the mood had shifted. The air between them now hummed with reluctant reality—pressing in like an unwelcome guest.
Soobin’s replies stayed brief—just a few low murmurs of “yes,” “understood,” and one final, resigned, “Okay.”
When he hung up, he let the phone drop onto the table with a soft thud. His shoulders slumped, and for a second, he stayed still… eyes closed, trying to pull back whatever sliver of peace he could salvage from the wreckage of that call.
But when he opened his eyes… they softened the second they met Beomgyu’s.
“I need to go out for a while,” Soobin said, voice low and apologetic, thick with reluctance. “Management team needs me.”
There was no hiding the irritation, the quiet sadness dripping beneath each word. It was obvious in the way Soobin’s hand still lingered at Beomgyu’s waist, like part of him physically couldn’t let go.
Beomgyu’s face fell instantly, pouty and heartbroken in the way only he could manage. His voice came out small, sulky. “Why…?”
Soobin smiled bitterly, carding his fingers through Beomgyu’s hair, letting his palm rest heavy against his cheek again. “Your group won the competition, remember?” he said gently, almost like a tease but softer. “And I… unfortunately… was your manager.”
Beomgyu huffed out a pouty breath, the sadness sticking to him like fog. “So?”
“So,” Soobin continued, brushing his thumb along Beomgyu’s cheekbone, “They need me to sort out the post-win chaos. About you all, your courses, your future plan with the band and God knows what else…”
He leaned in a little, pressing their foreheads together one last time. “But… I’ll be back soon. I swear. Just… stay here for a while, alright? Then we’ll go together. Celebrate your win properly. Hmm?”
Beomgyu bit his lower lip, eyes downcast. His legs around Soobin’s waist tightened instinctively, not ready to let him go just yet. “Fine… okay…” he mumbled, his voice thick and disappointed, head bowing low like a sulking child.
Soobin let out a shaky laugh, tilting Beomgyu’s chin up with gentle fingers. “Don’t do this to me, Gyu. Don’t make it harder for me to leave than it already is,” he whispered with a smile full of fond exhaustion.
Then—without warning—he squished Beomgyu’s cheeks together with both hands, making his lips puff out like a pouty goldfish. “I’ll be back here in no time. I promise.”
Beomgyu sniffled a soft laugh despite himself, swatting lazily at Soobin’s wrists but still not looking pleased.
Soobin’s expression turned tender again, melting into something impossibly soft. He leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss right in the center of Beomgyu’s forehead… letting his lips stay there a second longer than necessary… like a promise sealed in touch.
“Wait for me,” Soobin whispered against his skin.
And then—slowly, reluctantly—he pulled away.
Beomgyu watched him go, hugging himself where Soobin had stood seconds ago, still sitting on the table, the absence already making the room feel colder.
He sighed… heavy and longing.
And waited.
The minutes stretched unbearably, each second dragging itself like a heavy chain around Beomgyu’s chest. The library, once their secret haven, now felt too big… too empty… too silent without Soobin.
Beomgyu paced aimlessly between the dusty racks, fingers ghosting over book spines he didn’t even register. He pulled random books off shelves, flipped through pages without seeing the words, putting them back with trembling hands. Every tick of the clock on the wall above the librarian’s desk felt like a personal taunt.
He had waited enough.
His heart wouldn’t sit still, restlessness blooming into something anxious and unbearable.
Without another thought, he pulled out his phone and dialed Soobin’s number. The call barely had time to ring before it was picked up.
“Missing me already?” Soobin’s voice came through—teasing, warm, familiar, instantly softening the edges of Beomgyu’s frustration.
“Yes,” Beomgyu said without hesitation, with the kind of honesty that didn’t care how clingy it sounded anymore. “I am. Where are you? Why are you taking so long?”
There was a pause—just long enough for Beomgyu to hear the faint rustle of movement on Soobin’s end.
“Just around the corner of the library building,” Soobin replied, and Beomgyu could hear the small smile in his voice. “See you in two min—”
And then—
A sudden, deafening sound.
A crack.
Sharp.
Violent.
Unmistakable.
A gunshot.
It tore through the line like a scream of metal and air, too loud, too sudden, too real.
Beomgyu flinched violently, the phone slipping from his trembling fingers and clattering to the floor. The book he was holding fell with a hollow thud beside it.
For a moment, all he could hear was the blood rushing to his ears.
His heart stopped. Completely.
His breath caught in his throat, eyes wide, mouth falling open, frozen in that horrible, hollow second of silence that followed the shot.
“No… no… no…” The word cracked from his lips, breathless and terrified.
His hands scrambled for the phone again with shaking fingers. He pressed it to his ear with trembling hands, voice breaking into panic.
“Soobin?!”
Nothing.
“Soobin! Answer me! Please—Soobin?!” Beomgyu’s voice rose, sharp and cracking at the edges as fear clawed at his throat, tightening like a noose. “Soobin?! Say something! Please… please…”
But there was no answer.
Only static.
And the loud, terrifying echo of that single gunshot… still ringing in his ears…
still sinking into his bones…
still shattering his heart in ways he wasn’t sure could ever be undone.
Soobin's footsteps echoed against the pavement as he made his way back toward the library, the night air cool against his skin, but not nearly enough to quiet the restlessness that burned inside him.
His mind had barely stayed tethered during the entire conversation with the management team. Words had floated around him like static, blurring at the edges while every fiber of him had fought the ridiculous, aching urge to just... leave mid-sentence. To run. To sprint back to Beomgyu. Back to the warmth of that soft pout, those lingering touches, that smile that had made his heart crumble and bloom all at once.
But he had stayed. Forced himself to focus. Finished every single word they needed from him with a politeness that tasted like iron on his tongue.
And now, finally... finally, he was on his way back. Only two buildings stood between him and Beomgyu. Only a few minutes left before he could see him again. Hold him again.
But fate... fate always had a cruel way of twisting his moments of peace.
Out of the corner of his eye, tucked between the narrow, dim alley that ran like a scar between the two adjacent buildings, he caught the unmistakable outline of a figure hunched low to the ground.
A figure too familiar for comfort.
Even in the half-swallowed darkness where the lamplight dared not reach, Soobin's heart recognized him.
"Jayhoon..." he breathed, already moving, already breaking into a run.
Panic clawed at his throat as he stumbled to a stop beside him. "Jayhoon!" His voice cracked, alarm bursting out of him like a dam breaking.
Up close, the sight nearly knocked the breath out of Soobin's lungs.
Jayhoon sat crouched on the filthy pavement, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped tight around them like he was trying to fold himself out of existence. His head was buried low, face pressed into trembling knees, his entire body shaking so violently it seemed like he might shatter apart right there.
And then there were the bruises.
Fresh ones. New and ugly. Splashed across already healing wounds. His lower lip split, blood dried and cracked at the corner of his mouth. His cheekbone already purpled into something grotesque.
Soobin winced instinctively at the sight, a sharp ache blooming in his chest.
Without thinking, with a softness carved from years of loving this broken boy, Soobin knelt beside him. His hands, though trembling, reached out gently, settling on Jayhoon's narrow, shaking shoulders. His touch feather-light but grounding.
"Hoon..." Soobin whispered, voice dropping into that soft, familiar tone he used when Jayhoon was little and terrified of darkness. "It's me. Hyung's here... Look at me."
Jayhoon let out a choked, broken sob-and before Soobin could blink, he lunged toward him. Arms flung tight around Soobin's waist, face burrowing into his chest like a frightened child seeking shelter.
And of course...
Soobin caught him. Held him.
Wrapped both arms tightly around him and cradled the back of his head with shaking fingers, pulling him impossibly close.
"Shh... I've got you," Soobin breathed, rocking him gently. "It's okay now. I'm here. You're safe... Hyung's here..."
But Jayhoon only shook harder, fingers clutching the fabric of Soobin's jacket like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.
"They're coming for me... They're gonna kill me..." Jayhoon gasped out between sobs, voice breaking apart like glass. "Hyung... they're gonna kill me..."
Soobin's heart clenched so tightly it felt like something inside him snapped.
"No one's going to hurt you," he said, forcing his voice to stay steady, even as dread began to curdle deep in his gut. "I've got you. You're fine now... just breathe... Talk to me, Jayhoon... Tell me what's going on... Please..."
And then the words started tumbling out-wild, panicked, unfiltered.
"The drug dealers, hyung... the same ones I've been... I've been running for... They want me to move more stuff... more drugs... more students on campus..." Jayhoon hiccupped, shaking from head to toe. "I said no... I told them I'm done... but they won't listen..."
Soobin froze mid-breath.
The air around him seemed to thicken, pressing heavy and suffocating against his chest.
Drugs?
Moving stuff?
Students?
The bruises, the late nights, the cold stares, the stink of smoke and sweat and bad choices...
It all connected now like puzzle pieces he wished he never had to see.
His arms around Jayhoon instinctively tensed, the protective embrace faltering for half a second under the crushing weight of realization.
As if sensing the shift, Jayhoon gripped him tighter, sobbing harder. "I'm sorry... Hyung, I'm so sorry... I hid it from you... I didn't want you involved... I didn't want to drag you into this... I never wanted to do any of it... It started with just delivering some packets... But then... then someone spiked me with one of the drugs and... and I got stuck... I got addicted... I didn't want this... I never wanted this..."
His voice broke into helpless wails, muffled against Soobin's chest.
Soobin swallowed the rising lump in his throat, his fingers weaving through Jayhoon's hair, pressing him tighter against his chest like he could hold him together by sheer force.
"I know... I know, Hoon... It's okay... It's okay now... You're gonna be fine... But you need to go home for now, alright?" Soobin whispered against his hair, though his mind was already racing through a thousand worst-case scenarios.
"I'll be there soon. I'll clean you up... patch these wounds... and then we're going to talk. Really talk," he added, putting emphasis on the last word, making sure Jayhoon understood that the days of ignoring this... were over.
Jayhoon sniffled, nodding like a broken doll against him.
Just then, Soobin's phone vibrated in his pocket.
Beomgyu.
A part of him broke even at the sight of that name on his screen. For a second, he hesitated-torn between staying locked in this moment and answering the call from the person who... in that moment... probably missed him just as desperately.
Soobin gently peeled Jayhoon's arms from around him, making sure the younger boy stayed seated against the wall.
He stepped a few feet away, took a breath, composed himself as best he could, and pressed the answer button-trying to force lightness into his tone.
"Missing me already?" he teased, the playful lilt in his voice thin... almost brittle... but there nonetheless.
He waited for Beomgyu's usual snarky comeback-the banter they fell into so easily.
But instead... a single word hit him like a sucker punch.
"Yes."
So quiet... so soft... but threaded with something thick and desperate.
"I am... Where are you? Why are you taking so long?"
And just like that... every part of Soobin that was exhausted... afraid... weighed down with Jayhoon's mess... wanted nothing more than to run. Straight back to Beomgyu. To crash into his arms and never leave.
Soobin let out a breathless, crooked smile.
"Just around the corner of the library building..." he answered, the promise curling in his throat like sunlight. "See you in two min-"
But fate never lets him finish.
A deafening gunshot exploded behind him.
Soobin's heart stopped.
His phone slipped from his hand, falling to the ground.
And everything...
Everything unraveled in one breathless second.
Soobin's entire world shifted into slow, brutal motion.
The metallic ring of the gunshot still echoed in his ears, his heart pounding with such ferocity it rattled his ribs. As he whipped around, the first thing he saw was Jayhoon-curled into himself, trembling like a leaf in a storm, body pressed tight against the filthy ground as though trying to disappear. The dumpster beside him lay knocked over, its metal frame dented, the force of the previous shot sending it crashing to the side like an empty tin can.
But Soobin's gaze barely stayed there for a second.
Because from the shadows-emerging like a nightmare carved out of darkness-a man stepped forward.
Dressed head to toe in black, his face hidden behind a cloth mask, his grip steady on the gun that still gleamed wicked under the lamplight.
And he was heading straight for Jayhoon.
Fast.
Without hesitation.
With lethal intent written in every stride.
Soobin's breath hitched in his throat. Time seemed to stutter and crawl.
For a split second, fear rooted him to the spot... cold and heavy like chains wrapped around his ankles.
But instinct-raw, desperate, furious instinct-overrode every ounce of fear.
Before his brain could fully catch up, his body was already moving.
"No... No, not him... not my brother..." The words never left his mouth but screamed somewhere inside his head like a siren.
His legs kicked into action, tearing against the pavement with more force than he thought he had in him. He surged forward, charging like a bullet, the air burning in his lungs with every panicked breath.
Without warning-without pause-he threw himself forward, crashing into the man from behind with the full weight of his body.
The impact sent them both sprawling, the man's balance snapping beneath the sudden blow. They hit the ground hard, dust and grit exploding around them. Soobin didn't stop-not for a breath, not for a blink.
Fists flew. Wild. Uncoordinated. Fueled by nothing but blind, burning fear.
Soobin's knuckles slammed into the man's arm, again and again, targeting the hand gripping the gun.
The first hit made the stranger flinch.
The second made him grunt.
The third... the fourth... each strike more frantic than the last.
Soobin barely registered the pain blooming across his own fists-skin splitting, bone jarring-his only thought pulsing in his head like a war drum-
Drop the gun. Drop the gun. Drop the goddamn gun.
Jayhoon's terrified sobs rang out from behind him, each sound slicing straight through Soobin's heart like shards of glass.
The masked man growled, struggling under Soobin's weight, elbowing him hard in the ribs, but Soobin didn't care-didn't even feel it. He drove his knee into the man's side, pinned his wrist to the ground with both hands, prying at his fingers with trembling, desperate strength.
The cold metal of the gun dug against Soobin's palm as he fought to wrench it away.
For a terrifying second, they both had their hands on the weapon-both pulling, both straining-and the tension felt like the whole universe balanced on the trigger.
Soobin roared-a guttural, primal sound ripped from deep inside him-and with one final, savage jerk, the gun slipped free from the man's grasp.
It clattered to the ground a few feet away, just out of reach.
Soobin shoved the man off him, scrambling to kick the weapon further down the alley, out of both their reach.
His entire body trembled-rage and adrenaline turning his limbs to fire.
But he wasn't done.
Before the attacker could lunge back at him, Soobin surged forward again, grabbing the front of the man's shirt and slamming him back against the wall with a force he didn't know he had. The impact rattled both their bones.
"Stay down!" Soobin shouted, voice hoarse, breathless, shaking.
His chest heaved, the cold night air burning his lungs as he stood there-half-collapsed against the stranger, fists still balled, ready for more.
And for one agonizing second... everything went still again.
The man glared at him through the mask, chest heaving just as hard-but he didn't reach for Soobin again. Not yet.
Soobin's head snapped over his shoulder, eyes finding Jayhoon still curled on the ground, too scared to move.
Soobin's voice cracked, soft but urgent. "Hoon... Run. Now."
Jayhoon blinked through his tears, dazed, but the command finally registered.
He stumbled to his feet, barefoot and bleeding, and bolted-disappearing down the alleyway, the sound of his footsteps fading fast.
And Soobin...
Soobin stayed standing between the danger and the boy he loved like his own life.
Broken. Trembling. But unmoving.
Soobin barely had time to breathe, let alone react.
Fueled by nothing but raw desperation and the need to protect Jayhoon, he lunged forward- ready to throw himself at the masked man again. Every nerve in his body screamed for him to fight. To claw. To bite. To do whatever it took.
But before he could even reach, two pairs of hands-strong, iron-tight-snatched him from both sides, yanking him back with a force that nearly knocked the air out of his lungs.
His eyes widened in disbelief.
The ground shifted beneath his feet as they dragged him back, twisting his arms behind him like he weighed nothing. The sudden restraint sent a bolt of panic shooting straight through his chest.
"No-No, let me go! Let me go!" he thrashed violently, muscles burning as he struggled against their hold, but their grip only tightened.
His heart dropped when he finally managed to twist his head back, catching a glimpse of them-two more men, both dressed in the same dark clothing, faces covered just like the first. Their hands were like steel cuffs around his wrists and biceps, holding him down like a wild animal.
The first man-the one he had tackled moments ago-stepped forward now, shaking out his bruised arm with a hiss of pain, glaring at Soobin with a venomous glare burning behind the slits of his mask.
Soobin's chest heaved as the man reached for him, cold fingers wrapping around his chin, yanking his face forward with a violent jerk.
"So... coming up to protect your little brother, huh?" the man sneered, voice dripping with mockery, tilting Soobin's face side to side like inspecting a broken toy. "I see. The brave hyung act. How sweet."
Soobin winced, jaw tightening as the man's fingers dug painfully into the tender skin of his chin, forcing his face to stay forward, to look him straight in the eye.
The humiliation burned almost as bad as the fear.
"Being all heroic and shit... do you think that's gonna end well for you?" The man's voice dropped lower, almost a growl, the grip tightening until it felt like Soobin's bones might snap.
Soobin's pulse roared in his ears, white-hot and deafening.
His teeth clenched, breath trembling between ragged gasps of air.
And then-gathering every last shred of strength, every ounce of rage still pulsing inside him-he screamed straight into the man's face.
"Leave me! Let me go! I swear to God-" His voice cracked, but the fury stayed, trembling and alive.
He thrashed again, violently twisting his shoulders, muscles straining, but the two men held him tighter-jerking his arms up cruelly behind his back until his body arched forward with a sharp cry of pain.
Tears stung his eyes-not from weakness, but from pure, helpless rage.
His mind burned with only one thought-
Jayhoon... Get away. Keep running. Don't look back.
And somewhere underneath that... quieter... more fragile...
Beomgyu... Please wait for me... just a little longer...
As if the universe itself had conspired to tear him apart, Soobin heard it.
That voice.
That trembling, breathless voice—shaped with panic, laced in pain, calling out through the thick night like a soul wailing into the void.
"Soobin!!"
His world stopped spinning.
Time stuttered. The blood in his veins turned to ice, but his heart burned like fire—a fire that scorched through his ribcage and swallowed him whole.
No. No. No, no, no...
His body convulsed with the impact of the sound, panic slicing through him like jagged glass—cold, swift, and merciless. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
He lifted his head, neck snapping up with a painful jerk, eyes wide with a horror too large for his body to contain.
And there he was.
Beomgyu.
His Beomgyu—stumbling toward him, fear carved across every inch of his beautiful, fragile face. His steps unsteady, his arms trembling at his sides, but still, he came. Eyes filled with tears, chest heaving, like he'd ripped himself out of every ounce of safety just to find him.
"No..." Soobin’s voice broke on a whisper. "Beomgyu, please... no."
He thrashed violently against the iron grips locking his arms down, struggling like a man possessed, his voice rising into pure panic. “Please! Stay back! Run—hide! Leave! Please, Beomgyu—GO!”
The desperation in his voice cracked through the air like lightning splitting the sky, but Beomgyu kept walking. Faster now. Too fast. Too close.
And then—that smirk.
The man in black standing in front of Soobin turned slowly, cocking his head with a sneer that could curdle blood. Amusement danced cruelly in the gleam of his masked eyes. He looked from Beomgyu to Soobin like he had just been handed a gift from the heavens.
“So…” he murmured, voice cold and smooth like poison. “Seems like he’s someone important.”
Soobin’s heart flatlined.
“No…” he gasped, shaking his head, tears now streaming violently down his face. “Please—not him. Anyone but him. Please...”
One of the men holding Soobin shifted on cue, releasing his arm and moving swiftly—already making his way toward Beomgyu.
And that’s when Soobin screamed.
Not a cry. Not a call.
A scream.
A raw, guttural, soul-twisting scream that ripped from the pit of his stomach and shattered the silence of the night.
“NO!!”
Beomgyu faltered at the sight of the stranger rushing toward him. He stepped back instinctively, but his feet tangled beneath him. And still, he tried—he tried to fight—arms flailing, pushing, twisting away from the stranger’s hold.
“LET GO OF ME! SOOBIN!!” he wailed, his voice cracking, shattering into a thousand broken pieces.
Tears streamed down his cheeks, his face twisted in panic, eyes locked on Soobin like he was the only anchor in the chaos.
Soobin struggled with everything in him, his body trembling with effort, his fists clenching so tightly his nails dug into flesh. "TAKE ME!" he howled. "Take me instead, please! Don’t touch him! Please don’t touch him!"
The man beside him only chuckled, low and venomous, leaning in with one final whisper that would haunt Soobin for years to come.
“I hope to see you again.”
Then he turned away, and Soobin’s world fell apart.
Beomgyu was dragged. Kicking. Screaming. Clawing at the air for something—someone—to save him.
And then—
Thud.
The sickening sound of his head slamming into the edge of the van’s frame cracked through Soobin’s soul like a death knell.
“No! BEOMGYU!!” Soobin’s body gave out as the doors of the van slammed shut.
His knees hit the pavement hard. He didn’t feel it.
The engine roared. The tires screeched.
And just like that… he was gone.
Soobin stumbled forward, blind, frantic, reaching with outstretched arms for the van already fading into the night. “Please…” he whispered, collapsing fully onto the ground, his fingers digging into the cold, gravel-bitten asphalt.
He sobbed.
Not cried—sobbed. Full-bodied, gasping, choking sobs that wracked through him like a storm with no mercy.
"Beomgyu…" he whimpered. "Beomgyu… Beomgyu please come back. Please—"
His hand slammed against the ground again.
And then… something cold.
His right pinky grazed something small. Something sharp. Something… familiar.
His breath stilled.
Eyes blurred with tears, he looked down—blinking rapidly as he brushed aside the dirt, the gravel.
And there it was.
The sun pendant.
The silver chain tangled and dulled by dust, the charm still warm from its last home—Beomgyu’s neck.
The symbol of everything they were.
Of Tokyo. Of laughter. Of a stolen kiss beneath a lantern-lit bridge. Of quiet promises made without words.
His hand closed around it slowly, reverently.
He brought it to his chest and screamed.
Screamed.
Bent over on the unforgiving concrete, the pendant clutched to his chest like it was Beomgyu’s heart still beating in his palm, Soobin broke.
He shattered.
“BEOMGYU!!”
Again. And again. And again.
As if the night could hear.
As if the stars could listen.
As if the wind might carry his cries across the distance between them.
And bring Beomgyu back.
Jayhoon ran.
Of course he did. His hyung told him to run. Told him to go home, to be safe. And under normal circumstances, he would have listened. He always did when Soobin used that voice. That trembling, begging, breaking voice.
But not this time.
Not when his brother had just fought three grown men to protect him.
So Jayhoon didn't head towards home.
He ran towards the only people he knew could help.
Even with the bruises stinging his skin, with the dull throb of pain blooming in his ribs and knees and everywhere in between, he ran like the air itself was turning against him. Like every breath might be his last. His legs burned, feet slipping against the pavement, heart pounding wildly against his chest. Half from fear, half from the desperation to reach them in time.
His vision blurred with sweat and leftover tears.
But he didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
When he finally reached the front gate of the campus, chest heaving and lungs screaming for air, he caught sight of them. Thank god, thank god. He spotted them.
Yeonjun, Heeseung, Jay, Taehyun, Hueningkai... all standing by the parked cars at the entrance. Laughing, joking, shoving at each other with that loud, carefree energy that always seemed to follow them like sunlight. Their voices rose over each other, arguing playfully over dinner plans. What to eat, where to go, whose treat it should be, how to celebrate ECHO5's win.
Jayhoon could barely register the warmth of their laughter. Couldn't afford to.
With every ounce of strength he had left, Jayhoon pushed himself forward, stumbling over the curb, nearly falling face-first onto the asphalt but forcing himself upright again.
His voice ripped from his throat before he could even catch his breath.
"Yeonjun hyung!!"
The cry tore through the night air like it didn't belong there, too raw, too broken making every conversation, every laugh, every casual moment grind to a violent halt.
All at once, everyone froze. Every single head turned.
And there he was.
Jayhoon.
But not the Jayhoon they knew.
He stood just beyond the gate, barely upright. His frame trembling like brittle glass ready to shatter. His clothes were torn, dirt-streaked and blood-smeared, clinging to him like they were too heavy for his frail body to bear. His face... god, his face... swollen at the cheekbone, a deep cut split across the corner of his brow, lips cracked and busted like he'd been hit more times than anyone could count. There were angry purple bruises darkening the sides of his neck, trailing down to where the collar of his shirt hung loose and wrinkled.
His knees buckled mid-step, body tilting forward-
But Yeonjun was already moving.
In two strides, Yeonjun reached him.Arms wrapping tight around Jayhoon's fragile body before he could collapse fully onto the pavement.
"Jayhoon- Hoon?! Hey, look at me! What the hell happened?!" Yeonjun's voice cracked, thick with panic as he pulled him closer, holding him like he was terrified the boy would vanish in his arms.
Jayhoon's whole body shook like a leaf in the wind, gasping for air, breath catching on sobs that kept coming, sharp and unrelenting.
By now the others had rushed over. Taehyun, Heeseung, Jay, Hueningkai all stumbling over their own feet to reach them. Their faces shifted from confusion to horror in a matter of seconds as their eyes took in every bruise, every scrape, every trembling inch of Jayhoon's battered form.
From the car parked nearby, Seungcheol had just finished tucking little Eunsoo safely in the backseat with Seokmin and Dino squeezed in beside the sleeping girl. Jeonghan, already settled in the passenger seat, had twisted around at the sound of Jayhoon's scream, his brows furrowing deep with concern.
Seungcheol barely had time to shut the driver's side door before he was sprinting over. Dino and Seokmin carefully climbed out too, Seokmin cradling sleepy little Eunsoo protectively in his arms, shielding her from the sudden panic unraveling just meters away.
The group clustered, pushing in closer to the scene unfolding near the gate.
No one could speak.
The sight of Jayhoon's condition was like a punch to the chest. Silent. Heavy. Paralyzing.
Blood at his lip. Cuts along his arms. Dust coating his skin. Terror etched so deep into his face it made Yeonjun's throat close up.
Yeonjun held him tighter, his hands trembling as they ran along Jayhoon's back, checking for more injuries, more wounds. "What happened to you?" he asked again, softer this time, voice shaking.
Jayhoon squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face against Yeonjun's chest like he couldn't stand to speak the words aloud.
And then on a single breath, broken and gasped he choked out the only thing that mattered.
"Hyung... Soobin hyung..." Jayhoon's voice barely made it past his swollen lips, the words stumbling out like every syllable cost him breath he didn't have.
Yeonjun froze.
At the mention of Soobin's name spoken with that much fear, that much urgency, Yeonjun's stomach twisted painfully.
"What...?" Yeonjun's heart dropped straight to his knees. "Soobin?! What happened to Soobin?! Jayhoon, talk to me, what happened?!" His hands shook as they cradled Jayhoon's face, urging him, begging him for answers.
Jayhoon blinked hard, his breathing ragged, tears spilling without pause. "He... he needs... help... near the library building... please hyung... please go to him..." His voice cracked with the weight of everything he was carrying.
Yeonjun barely had a second to react before Jayhoon was suddenly pulled away from his hold and yanked with surprising force.
Jayhoon let out a soft gasp, startled at the abrupt movement, now staring up at an unfamiliar pair of hands gripping his shoulders, strong and unrelenting.
Seungcheol.
The older man crouched low, eyes sharp and intense wild with something dangerously close to fury but held back just enough by urgency.
Jayhoon froze.
The sheer power radiating from Seungcheol's stance made him shrink, made him tremble like prey cornered in the dark.
"Where is Beomgyu?" Seungcheol's voice was low but thunderous, shaking Jayhoon to the core. "He was with Soobin, right?"
Jayhoon's already trembling form shrank even more under the weight of that stare. He didn't know this man. This tall, broad-shouldered stranger whose gaze cut like steel but the panic in his voice when he said Beomgyu's name was impossible to miss.
"N- no..." Jayhoon stammered, throat tightening. "Beomgyu... wasn't with Soobin hyung..."
Seungcheol's eyes widened. "What? But... he left with Soobin! I saw them leave together! They walked out of the auditorium-"
"I don't know!" Jayhoon burst out, words tumbling over each other in breathless panic. "Maybe... maybe Soobin hyung was going to Beomgyu... I- I don't know! I saw him outside the building... when he came to help me... but..."
"But what?!" Seungcheol snapped, shaking him slightly in frustration and fear. His own heart was racing now, alarms going off in every corner of his mind. Beomgyu... missing? Soobin... in trouble?
"Cheol, stop. Calm down." Jeonghan's voice came steady but urgent as he reached out, squeezing Seungcheol's shoulder hard enough to pull him back to reality. "You're scaring him more."
Seungcheol sucked in a shaky breath but didn't let go, just loosened his grip enough so Jayhoon could speak.
Jayhoon hiccupped through his sobs, blinking hard as more tears rolled down his already battered cheeks. "But then... men... they came out of nowhere. They- they attacked me. Soobin hyung... he fought them for me... he was... he was hitting them back... told me to run... said I had to get out before they hurt me more..."
Yeonjun's heart sank so low it felt like his chest would crack open.
Jayhoon's voice broke completely now, his hands fisting into Seungcheol's jacket like he was trying to cling onto something... anything.
"I didn't want to leave him... I swear... I didn't... but... I... I had to... I thought- thought if I found you all- you could help... Please... hyung... please go to him... before it's too late..."
His sobs collapsed into Yeonjun's ears like a warning bell too late rung.
Soobin was still there, crumpled on the pavement like a discarded paper doll. His knees scraped, his knuckles raw from the struggle, and his face drenched in tears. His trembling fingers clutched the silver chain tightly, the small sun-shaped pendant catching a flicker of moonlight through the trees. The last thing Beomgyu left behind. The last thing he had of him. The last warmth before everything turned to cold.
He kept whispering his name.
"Beomgyu... Beomgyu... please..."
The way his voice cracked on each syllable, like every letter carved itself out of his chest, could've shattered stone.
Yeonjun saw him from a distance, just a collapsed silhouette beneath the streetlamp's dim light and something inside him snapped.
Without exchanging a word, he and Seungcheol both took off. Running.
Their shoes hit the pavement hard, echoing through the quiet horror of the night.
Yeonjun reached first, heart in his throat, lungs barely catching up to his panic. He dropped to his knees beside Soobin and grabbed his arms. "Binnie!" he called out, voice high with fear, hands shaking as they cupped the boy's face. "What happened?! What- what the hell happened?!"
Soobin didn't speak. His lips trembled, trying to form something, anything, but the only thing that came out was a broken, gasping sob. His hair was wild, strands sticking to his wet cheeks, and there was a bruise darkening the corner of his mouth. He looked like he'd been torn open and left to bleed.
Before Yeonjun could ask again, Seungcheol dropped beside them, urgency crashing over him like a wave. He grabbed Soobin's arm, his grip tight but not unkind. "Soobin. Where is he? Where is Beomgyu?!" His voice cracked mid-sentence, the desperation bleeding through. "He was with you, right? Where is he now? Is he inside? Tell me he's hiding somewhere. Tell me. Please. He's safe, right?"
But Soobin couldn't answer.
Not yet.
His mouth opened, then closed. His whole body shook like the words were there but stuck somewhere deep in his throat, tangled in the trauma, suffocating him.
Behind them, Jeonghan approached slowly-quiet, cautious. He had been still up to now, unusually so, watching from a distance. But the absence of Beomgyu's voice... his laugh... his footsteps... It sent an eerie chill down his spine.
And now, seeing Soobin like that. Wrecked, inconsolable and alone, Jeonghan's unease grew into something darker. Something heavier.
Because Beomgyu should've been there.
He always was.
Tugging on Soobin's sleeve. Grinning ear to ear. Hiding behind him in group photos. Pouting when he was tired. Laughing like sunshine when the world had been kind enough.
But now... there was nothing. Not even an echo of his name.
Jeonghan turned to look at Seungcheol, and the sight pierced something inside him.
Seungcheol, who was always calm, always collected and always strong, was shaking. His fingers trembled where they gripped Soobin's arms. His voice had dropped an octave, cracking with each word. It wasn't just panic. It was fear. It was heartbreak. It was helplessness painted over fury and dread.
Jeonghan knew.
He knew what Beomgyu meant to Seungcheol. How much of himself he had poured into that boy. They both had. Beomgyu wasn't just Jeonghan's younger brother. He was their everything. Their child. The boy they picked up from life's ruins and built a home for with their own hands. The one who smiled too much for someone who had seen too little love. The boy who wore pain like second skin but still managed to look at the world with wonder.
And now... he was gone.
Jeonghan stepped closer, his voice the softest thread of control. "Soobin," he said, carefully. "Breathe. Please, breathe. We need you."
Soobin's grip on the pendant tightened, his knuckles white, his lips trembling as more tears spilled from his eyes. And then, finally, he pulled in a breath so deep it shook his shoulders, and his voice came out in pieces, broken and hoarse.
"They took him," he whispered.
A pause. A tremble. A storm gathering behind the softest word.
"They dragged him away... into a van... I couldn't stop them... I tried- I tried- but there were too many- I couldn't-" His voice broke, his hands curling into fists around the chain. "They hit him. He cried out... and I... God... I couldn't do anything. I-"
Yeonjun gasped, his hands dropping slightly in shock.
Seungcheol didn't move. Didn't speak.
But his whole world cracked apart in that moment.
Jeonghan stood still, frozen in place. His body numb, mind racing but unable to form a single coherent thought. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.
Beomgyu... his Beomgyu... was hurt? Taken? Forced into some van like an animal like he didn't matter?
His heart felt like it had cracked open without warning, spilling dread and fear into every inch of his soul. He blinked at Soobin, trying to understand the words but unable to process them fully.
"Who- who took Beomgyu, Binnie?" Yeonjun asked gently, his voice trembling, his hands holding Soobin's wrists as though anchoring him. "Please... just tell us something. Anything."
Soobin looked lost. Utterly, devastatingly lost. His eyes were red and swollen, tears still carving paths down his bruised cheeks. "I... I don't know," he choked out, voice splintered by sobs. "They had masks. There were so many. I tried... I swear I tried but they held me down and he- he was crying and I-"
His words dissolved into a guttural cry, and Seungcheol exploded.
"What the fuck do you mean you don't know, Soobin?!" he roared, eyes blazing, voice sharp enough to split skin. "My boy is gone! He's gone, and you- He was right in front of you! You were supposed to protect him! And you're saying you don't know who took him?!"
Soobin flinched violently at the tone. It wasn't just the volume. It was the grief laced into the rage. The kind that could only come from someone whose world had just been ripped out of his chest.
Seungcheol's fists clenched tight, his jaw grinding in helpless fury. If he let go, he might destroy something. Someone. Himself.
But before he could say another word, Seokmin stepped in from behind, a firm hand on Seungcheol's shoulder, steadying, grounding. The sleeping form of little Eunsoo still cradled in his other arm.
"Hyung," Seokmin said softly, firmly. "Please... calm down. This isn't helping. We need to find Beomgyu. That's what matters right now."
The sharp breath Seungcheol took was almost violent. But he didn't shake Seokmin off. He just dropped his head, eyes burning.
Then, suddenly, Soobin jerked upright. Something lighting behind his glassy eyes. "Jayhoon," he breathed. "Jayhoon might know who they were. They came to hurt him. I need to go. I need to ask him. I'll go home-"
But before he could rise fully to his feet, Yeonjun stopped him, both hands holding him down gently. "No, Binnie," he said. "He didn't go home."
Soobin blinked. "What?"
Yeonjun's eyes softened with sorrow. "He ran to us. To get help. For you." His voice cracked. "He collapsed the moment he got the words out. He's in the hospital now. Hueningkai and Dino took him there."
Soobin's eyes widened, lips trembling anew. "No... no, he- he's supposed to be okay. He can't be..." His voice trailed off into a choked sob.
"He will be okay," Jeonghan finally said, stepping in. His voice was steady, but low, edged with pain he couldn't mask. "He's strong. But right now, you're right. We need him. He might be the only one who knows where they took Beomgyu."
Soobin looked up at them, tears still falling, but the panic had started to solidify into something else-desperation, yes, but also resolve. "Then I need to go. I have to go to the hospital. I need to ask him... I need to know where they took him. Anything. I can't sit here anymore. I can't wait."
Yeonjun nodded. "We'll go with you."
"I'm coming too," Seungcheol said, already rising, his eyes blazing.
Jeonghan didn't say anything.
But he didn't need to.
He was already moving, too.
They burst through the hospital doors like a storm desperate to undo what had already been torn apart.
The sterile white light overhead flickered across their frantic faces.Faces painted in fear, urgency, and something far more suffocating: helplessness.
Seokmin immediately stepped aside, gently transferring the still-sleeping Eunsoo into Hiyyih's arms. She had arrived the moment Jeonghan had called, her expression wide-eyed with worry.
Jeonghan had whispered to Seokmin earlier, "She can't know, not yet. Don't let her see anything. She loves Beomie too much. She won't understand." And he was right. Eunsoo was far too young, too tender, to grasp the weight of this darkness.
Soobin didn't pause. He couldn't. His legs carried him ahead of everyone, fueled by raw panic and the unbearable ache growing louder inside his chest with every passing second.
Beomgyu's face kept replaying in his mind. Wide, terrified eyes brimming with tears as he screamed his name, struggling in that man's grip. The way he hit his head against the roof of the van. The way his voice cracked, shattering Soobin's heart as he cried, "Soobin!!"
He had failed him.
They were supposed to be together tonight. That was the plan. Soobin was supposed to hold him, kiss away every inch of doubt, and celebrate the win that Beomgyu had poured his heart into. They had just found each other. Truly, finally, confessed every emotion they'd hidden for far too long. They had just whispered I love yous with trembling lips and hopeful eyes.
And now. Now the universe had torn them apart like it always did when Soobin dared to hope.
His hands clenched at his sides as he reached the reception desk.
Dino was already waiting, his eyes anxious and his foot tapping uncontrollably against the white tiles.
"Is Jayhoon awake?" Soobin asked, breathless, the words tumbling from his lips like they were the only thread holding him together.
Dino shook his head slowly, cautiously. "Not yet," he said, voice low. "The doctor said... it might take some hours."
He hesitated. Then his voice dipped, softer.
"Or days."
The words hung there, heavy and cruel.
Soobin's world tilted.
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no- he has to wake up. He has to. He's the only one who knows-"
"I know," Dino said, quickly stepping forward and placing a hand on Soobin's shoulder. "I know. But the doctor said his system is in shock. He was too shaken, too hurt, and probably sleep-deprived for days. He needs rest. His body just... shut down."
Soobin took a staggering step back, his chest rising and falling in frantic bursts. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth as his eyes welled again.
"Beomgyu..." he choked out, "He's out there, scared, alone. What if they hurt him again? What if he calls out for me and I'm not there this time? I wasn't there. I wasn't there when-"
Yeonjun reached for him, pulling Soobin against his chest before the boy could collapse.
"You're here now, Binnie. You're doing everything you can," he whispered into Soobin's hair, holding the back of his head. "We're not giving up. None of us are."
Soobin clung to him like a lifeline, the sobs bubbling up again, quieter this time but deeper.
Seungcheol turned to Dino. "Where's Jayhoon's room?"
"Third floor. The first room," Dino replied.
"I'll stay there," Jeonghan said quietly. "If he wakes up, I want to be the first to ask. We'll get answers."
Seungcheol looked at Jeonghan, something unspoken passing between them. Pain, resolve, and the shared ache of losing their child to the shadows.
Beomgyu might be cold, hurt, frightened, or calling out into the darkness for someone who wasn't there.
Soobin looked at the silver chain still wrapped around his fingers.
And he promised silently, I'll find you. I swear on everything, I will.
***
Chapter Text
“Hoon…” Soobin whispered, his voice barely audible as he reached out to gently hold Jayhoon’s hand, the one free from the IV lines that snaked into his pale wrist. His fingers trembled as they wrapped around his brother’s, desperate, cold with worry.
“I know you need to rest. I know you’re hurting, that your body is asking for time to heal… but” his voice broke, a sob threatening to erupt from his chest. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead lightly to the edge of the bed. “But I need you right now. More than ever, Jayhoon.”
His throat constricted as tears spilled freely down his cheeks, soaking into the cotton of his sleeves.
“Please,” he choked, gripping Jayhoon’s hand tighter, like the very act of holding on could summon him back. “Please… wake up and tell me where Beomgyu is. Please tell me where they took him. It’s been” His voice cracked as his shoulders shook with the force of his anguish. “It’s been hours now… and I can’t breathe. I can’t think. He’s out there… he’s hurting, I know it. I feel it in every part of me.”
Another sob tore from his chest, raw and aching. The kind of sound that only comes from someone watching the world they built with someone crumble in real time.
It was nearly midnight. Eleven forty-five exactly. The hour when the silence of the hospital hallways became a living, breathing thing, pressing down on him with a weight he could no longer carry. The walls felt too close. The clock too loud. His guilt deafening.
Soobin sat hunched on the small steel stool beside Jayhoon’s bed. His frame curled in defeat, the hospital light above casting cruel shadows across his tear-stained face. Earlier, Seokmin had dragged Jeonghan and Seungcheol out of the room, pleading with them to get air, to breathe, to think clearly for Beomgyu’s sake. But Soobin had refused to move. He couldn’t leave. Not when Jayhoon could be the only key to finding the boy he loved more than anything else in the world.
Hueningkai had told them what he knew. His voice shaking as he confessed Jayhoon’s entanglement with the drug network. How he was spiked. How it turned into addiction. How he tried to get out. How he said no to them when they asked for more. And how now, they were hunting him, threatening to slit his throat if he didn’t comply.
The words had landed like blows to Soobin’s chest.
He had always known something was wrong with Jayhoon. He had seen the bruises, the hollow eyes, the avoidance. But never in his darkest nightmares had he imagined it had sunk this deep. That his little brother had been walking through hell in silence, alone.
And now, because of it, Beomgyu was gone.
Taken.
In the hands of the same monsters that tormented Jayhoon. And Soobin had no idea where, or in what condition. That thought alone made him want to rip the walls down with his bare hands.
Was he hurt?
Was he crying?
Was he calling Soobin’s name into the dark?
“I should have protected him…” Soobin whispered, voice trembling as he kissed the back of Jayhoon’s hand. “I was right there, Hoon. I saw him being dragged… and I couldn’t stop them. I wasn’t strong enough.” His nails dug into his own palm. “He looked at me with so much trust. And I let him down.”
He let his head fall into Jayhoon’s side, his body curling in like he was trying to fold himself into nonexistence. “I just need you to wake up. Please. Tell me where they go. Tell me anything. Any name, any place. Just something. So I can bring him back. So I can hold him again. So I can tell him I love him again and he can hear it.”
The silver chain wrapped around Soobin’s fingers rattled softly against the metal edge of the bed. Beomgyu’s sun pendant. Still warm from his touch. Still carrying the weight of what they almost had.
“I can’t lose him, Hoon,” he whispered again. “I won’t.”
His tears slipped down onto Jayhoon’s hand as he closed his eyes.
And in that silence, crushing, agonizing and endless, he waited.
For a miracle. For a twitch of fingers. For a whisper. Anything. Anything at all that could lead him back to the boy who owned his heart.
Another thirty minutes passed.
Thirty unbearable minutes.
Each second stretched like a blade across Soobin’s skin, carving open new chambers of panic in his already bleeding heart.
The sterile white of the hospital room felt like a grave. The slow, mechanical beep of the monitor beside Jayhoon’s bed echoed like a ticking clock counting down something Soobin didn’t want to name.
He was still there, unmoved.
Still clutching Jayhoon’s hand like a lifeline.
Like maybe if he held tight enough, warm enough and long enough, Jayhoon’s body would remember how it once knew how to fight. How to wake. How to live.
Soobin’s thumb stroked slowly across his younger brother’s knuckles, his head bowed, lips barely moving as he whispered prayers he didn’t even know how to form anymore.
To God. To fate. To the stars. To anything listening.
Please… wake up.
Please, Hoon, I need you. Just once. Just give me this.
And then-
A twitch.
A slight, trembling twitch of Jayhoon’s finger against his palm.
Soobin froze.
His breath caught like a knife in his throat. He didn’t move. Didn’t dare blink. His eyes snapped to Jayhoon’s hand, to the way the fingers spasmed faintly. Barely there, but real. Alive.
Then came the sound.
The monitor.
Beep.
Beep-beep.
A sudden flurry of rhythm. he pulsing of hope, sharp and fast.
Jayhoon’s chest rose in a sharp, gasping breath, his whole body jolting like a current had ripped through him.
Soobin's voice cracked.
“Jayhoon?” he whispered, standing up too fast, knocking the stool back with a clatter he barely registered. “Hoon! Can you hear me? Please... Please, I'm here.”
Tears flooded his eyes, blurred his vision, but he didn’t look away. Not even for a second.
Through the window slit of the hospital door, Seungcheol stood guard. Arms crossed, face carved in worry, unwilling to leave for even a moment. His eyes had not left the boy lying on that bed once in the past hour.
And then he saw it.
The rise of Jayhoon’s chest. The shudder of his limbs.
The monitor’s rising tempo.
Seungcheol’s eyes widened, breath catching in his lungs.
He didn’t hesitate.
He spun around and called out with all the power of a man watching the edge of a miracle.
“NURSE! DOCTOR! IN HERE! NOW!”
The hallway erupted in motion.
White coats. Rushing footsteps. Alarmed beeping. Voices on intercoms.
But Soobin couldn’t hear any of it. Not truly.
Because all he could hear was the soft, broken gasp that escaped Jayhoon’s lips as his eyelids began to flicker open.
And all he could feel was the way Jayhoon’s fingers curled slightly around his own.
A sign.
A flicker.
A spark of hope in the middle of hell.
Soobin fell forward, forehead resting gently against the back of Jayhoon’s hand, a sob tearing from his throat, one that shook him to his bones.
“You’re okay,” he whispered, voice trembling. “You’re okay… you’re here…”
But beneath the relief, beneath the trembling gratitude, a fire reignited in Soobin’s veins.
Because now he would get the answer he needed.
Now he would find Beomgyu.
No matter what it cost him.
No matter who he had to face.
He would bring him home.
Even if he had to burn the world down to do it.
-
Soobin paced the length of the sterile corridor like a man walking a tightrope over an endless abyss.
Back and forth.
Again and again.
His hands trembled at his sides, fingers curling into fists tight enough to make his knuckles pale. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, a merciless, suffocating rhythm that echoed the storm raging in his head.
Behind the closed door, the doctor and nurses hovered around Jayhoon’s fragile form. Checking vitals, murmuring in clipped tones. Voices he couldn’t hear, faces he couldn’t see.
And that…
That alone was enough to push him closer to the edge.
Because Soobin didn’t know.
Didn’t know if Jayhoon would wake up again.
Didn’t know if Beomgyu was safe.
Didn’t know if he’d ever hear that soft, teasing voice again or see those brown eyes shining at him with warmth meant only for him.
And he hated it.
He hated himself.
His mind was chaos. Memories of Beomgyu’s smile crashing against the gut-wrenching image of him being dragged away. Jayhoon’s bruised face. The echo of his screams. The sound of Beomgyu’s voice crying out for him. The hollow, final slam of the van doors.
God, why?
A soft touch broke through the thunder in his head.
A hand, warm and steady, closed gently around his forearm.
Soobin froze.
His head turned slowly, eyes glazed with unshed tears.
And there stood Jeonghan.
Eyes soft, rimmed with unshed tears, lips pressed into a trembling line. His expression… it wasn’t stern or blaming.
It was heartbreak.
Silent, shared heartbreak.
And just like that… the dam broke.
Soobin’s lips quivered, his chin dipping low.
“I- I’m sorry, hyung…” The words tore from his throat, raw and cracking like fractured glass. “I’m so… so sorry.”
Jeonghan’s brows furrowed, his hold tightening slightly in silent reassurance.
But Soobin couldn’t stop now. The guilt clawed its way up his throat like a living thing, merciless and venomous.
“Because of me… Beomgyu is gone.” His voice shook as a tear slipped free. “Because of me, he’s not here… not with you… not with any of us.”
Jeonghan opened his mouth, a soft shake of his head already forming but Soobin pressed on, voice breaking apart with every word.
“I should’ve protected him. I should’ve been there for him not… not standing useless… screaming like a coward while they dragged him away.” His breath hitched, a strangled sob catching in his chest. “I failed him… I failed you.”
Jeonghan’s lips parted, his own eyes glossing now, but Soobin wasn’t done. His heart poured out in desperate, choked sentences.
“Just loving Beomgyu isn’t enough. It’s not enough to hold him when things are good. It’s not enough to promise him the world when I can’t even keep him safe in mine. I was supposed to be there. To protect him. To never… never let him go. And I failed him right after I got him. Right after we… we finally found each other. What kind of love is that?” His voice cracked into a whisper. “What kind of man does that make me?”
Jeonghan’s eyes shimmered. His throat bobbed with a silent swallow.
Soobin’s shoulders shook as he choked back another sob.
“I’m… I’m not good enough for him. I wasn’t enough. And now he’s gone. He’s out there scared, alone, and hurt because I couldn’t protect him. Because I was too weak. Too slow. Too-”
Jeonghan pulled him forward before the words could finish, wrapping both arms around Soobin’s trembling frame, holding him tightly against his chest.
“Stop…” Jeonghan whispered, voice low but firm.
“Stop, Soobin… Please.”
And in that moment, in the suffocating silence between sobs, Soobin let himself break.
Let himself fall apart in Jeonghan’s arms because maybe, for the first time, someone understood just how shattered he really was.
Jeonghan pulled away gently but didn’t let go. His hands gripped Soobin’s arms, not harsh, not forceful but firm enough to anchor him in place, as if grounding a soul on the brink of collapse. His eyes met Soobin’s, soft but burning with a quiet intensity.
“You’re wrong,” Jeonghan whispered, voice hoarse yet unwavering. “So, so wrong.”
A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips. A fragile thing, weighed down with pain and an aching tenderness. “Because you are enough for him, Soobin. More than enough.”
Soobin blinked, breath catching in his throat. His lips parted slightly, as if the words themselves couldn’t make sense in his shattered world.
But Jeonghan didn’t stop. He pressed on, voice growing stronger, laced with unspoken memories, a brother’s quiet desperation, and something painfully close to hope.
“Do you even realize what your presence in Beomie’s life has done?” Jeonghan’s eyes glistened now, the edges of his lashes wet with the weight of it all. “You mended him back together… piece by fragile, fractured piece. The boy who once lived like a shadow. Fading, slipping further and further away from us. He came back to life because of you.”
His voice cracked, but he smiled through it. “You gave him laughter again. You gave him light. You gave him a reason to believe he was enough… that he deserved to be loved. And for that…” Jeonghan’s voice dropped to a soft, choked whisper, “for that, I am endlessly, hopelessly grateful to you.”
Soobin’s eyes widened, blinking rapidly as if he couldn’t quite grasp what was being said to him.
“Thank you,” Jeonghan whispered, the words trembling in the still air. “Thank you for making him feel safe. For looking after him when he didn’t believe he was worth anyone’s care. For loving him… when he thought he was too much, even for me and Seungcheol.”
A tear slipped down Jeonghan’s cheek then, tracing a silent path of emotion that no words could fill.
Soobin stood frozen, mouth quivering, his heart aching with something unfamiliar. A raw, piercing disbelief that maybe… just maybe… he wasn’t the failure he thought himself to be.
Jeonghan’s thumb brushed over Soobin’s sleeve, a small gesture, gentle and grounding. “You know how Beomie always pushed us away. Always built those walls around his heart. But Kai and Taehyun… they kept us updated. They watched over him for us, and Beomie… he let them. Because deep down, even when he fought us off, he never stopped needing love.”
Jeonghan gave a soft, watery laugh. “And then we found out he was doing better. Smiling more. Living more. And every single time, it led back to you. You were the one keeping him afloat. You were the reason he started believing in people again… in himself again.”
He tightened his hold on Soobin’s arms, voice lowering but thick with earnest conviction. “I’m giving you every ounce of credit for bringing him back to us, Soobin. You fought for him when even he didn’t know how to fight for himself. And I know you kept telling him again and again to talk to us. To not give up on family. You fought for him in ways we couldn’t.”
Jeonghan exhaled shakily, closing his eyes for a brief moment before locking gazes with Soobin again. “So don’t you ever and I mean ever question your worth in Beomgyu’s life.”
Soobin’s chest caved in with a shaky breath, his lips trembling under the force of unshed sobs.
“And about Seungcheol…” Jeonghan whispered, his voice softening with a sad knowing. “Please… don’t take his words to heart. He’s not angry at you. He’s scared. Terrified. You know how he is when it comes to Beomie. He’s overprotective to a fault. He panicked… he lashed out. It’s nothing but that. His heart’s breaking, Soobin. Just like yours. Just like mine. But he knows…” Jeonghan’s voice dropped softer, more certain now, “he knows how deeply, genuinely you love Beomgyu. He knows.”
And with that, Jeonghan pulled Soobin into a tight, trembling embrace. A rare, vulnerable act from a man who carried his world on his shoulders.
They stood there for a moment. Two hearts grieving, holding each other together in a storm neither could control.
Because sometimes…
Love wasn’t about promises or grand gestures.
Sometimes, love was standing in the ruins and choosing not to let the other fall.
“I know this is breaking you apart inside,” Jeonghan whispered, his hand never leaving Soobin’s trembling arm, his voice low but firm like a fragile anchor trying to hold them both steady in a storm. “I know you’re drowning in it. But you have to hold on, Soobin. You have to breathe. You have to think clearly.”
His eyes softened, glistening beneath the harsh corridor lights. “Right now… Jayhoon needs you. We need him to be okay, to calm down enough so we can find out where they took Beomgyu. We have to stay with him until he wakes up… until we know.”
Jeonghan’s thumb brushed gently against Soobin’s sleeve, grounding him in that fleeting moment. “I know your heart is begging you to run into the dark… to tear the world apart until you find him. But sometimes… sometimes the only way to protect the ones we love… is to stay. And wait. And be ready.”
Soobin’s breath hitched, lips parting, words trembling on the edge of his tongue, his heart lodged somewhere between his throat and the hollow space of his chest. “Hyung, I- ”
But the words were never born.
Before he could even finish, a force like a violent storm yanked him backward.
Strong hands fisted into the fabric of his hoodie, wrenching him away from Jeonghan’s arms with such brutal force that Soobin stumbled back, a gasp tearing from his throat. His body slammed lightly against the wall, knocking the air from his lungs.
His eyes flew wide in shock, heart hammering against his ribs like a war drum.
His heart stuttered in his chest as his head snapped sideways from the sheer force of the slap. The brutal sting seared across his cheek, white-hot and blinding, like fire igniting beneath his skin.
He stumbled back two full steps, his back nearly crashing into the sterile, unforgiving wall of the hospital corridor. His hand instinctively flew up to his face, trembling fingers brushing against the sharp bloom of pain still spreading across his skin.
And then he looked up.
At the man standing before him.
At his father.
Eyes wild with rage, face twisted in a snarl of unforgiving anger. A storm Soobin had known his whole life but had never learned to survive. His father’s chest heaved, fists clenched so tightly at his sides his knuckles turned bone-white.
“What the fuck did you do to my son?” His voice, so thunderous, so venomous, echoed off the hospital walls like a gunshot in the night.
Soobin’s lips parted in a silent gasp, his breath stolen from him. Not by the pain of the slap but by the suffocating weight of those words.
My son.
As if the Jayhoon wasn't Soobin's brother, too.
As if Soobin wasn’t his son, too.
But before Soobin could even think to move, before the weight of the world could crush him down.
Seungcheol moved.
Like a wall, like a shield, like a silent storm gathering at the heart of a battlefield, Seungcheol stepped in front of Soobin with a force that shook the air.
His stance was solid. Immovable. His arm stretched out, shielding Soobin behind him as if daring anyone, even this man, to come any closer.
His eyes burned, dark, sharp, lethal, the kind of stare that could slice a man down where he stood.
And when Seungcheol spoke, his voice was low… calm… but deadly enough to silence a raging war.
“Keep your hands off him.”
The warning in his words wasn’t shouted. It didn’t need to be. The quiet was more dangerous than any scream.
Soobin’s father flinched just the slightest flicker but it was enough for Seungcheol’s shoulders to square even further, his protective stance tightening like a vice.
Jeonghan moved too, coming up beside Seungcheol, his eyes flashing with something that wasn’t fear but pure, righteous fury.
“You lay a hand on him again…” Seungcheol leaned in, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper, “and I swear to God… you’ll be the one begging for mercy.”
The air pulsed with a suffocating tension.
Soobin clutched at the edge of Seungcheol’s jacket from behind, his fingers trembling not in fear of his father but in overwhelming disbelief.
Because for the first time… someone stood in front of him.
For him.
Not against him.
For the first time… someone didn’t let the world blame him for things that broke beyond his control.
Tears welled in his eyes. Not from pain, not even from anger but from something far deeper. From the invisible wounds that had never been protected… until now.
And right then, as Seungcheol stood between him and his past, Soobin realized something profound.
This wasn’t just Seungcheol standing up for him.
This was family.
This was love.
And this was the line that no one… not even his father… would ever be allowed to cross again.
Soobin’s father took a menacing step forward, his eyes narrowing, fury boiling in every taut muscle of his body. But before he could get any closer, before his anger could spew into violence, two figures stepped between him and Seungcheol in an instant.
Taehyun.
Hueningkai.
Both moved like twin shields. Silent but unyielding, planting themselves firmly in front of Seungcheol, blocking the man’s path.
Taehyun’s sharp eyes were steel, his voice a soft, lethal whisper.
“Not another step.”
Hueningkai’s jaw clenched, his usual soft features hardening into something unrecognizable. A silent, burning anger simmering behind those gentle eyes.
The man’s face twisted in disbelief as if baffled that they, mere boys in his eyes, dared to stand in his way.
But before another venomous word could spill from his mouth.
Yeonjun moved.
Fast. Sharp. With the swiftness of a man whose patience had been worn thin over years of silent endurance.
He reached out, grasping the man’s arm, and spun him around with enough force to make him stumble. The sheer audacity of the move left the corridor gasping silent but Yeonjun didn’t flinch.
“Uncle, please.” Yeonjun’s voice cracked with frustration, with a pain too long buried under years of watching this family fracture. “Stop. Stop with this… this madness. Just stop.”
The older man’s mouth opened, voice rough,“Yeonjun, you don’t get to-”
But Yeonjun didn’t let him finish.
“No!” Yeonjun cut in sharply, his voice trembling with the rawness of everything he’d never said out loud. “You don’t get to, uncle! Not anymore. Not after all these years.”
His breath hitched, his voice falling into something broken and guttural.
“So now… now you suddenly remember you have a son? Now you acknowledge Jayhoon?” His words spat like knives. “The same Jayhoon who spent years, years, trying to make you see him? The boy who stood right in front of you every goddamn day, begging with his eyes for you to see his existence?”
The corridor fell deathly silent.
Yeonjun’s chest heaved as he pressed on, voice cracking but steady.
“And what about Soobin? Did you forget he’s your son too? The boy you once called your pride… your family… your world.”
His voice dropped to a whisper so venomous it could curdle blood.
“Or did you forget because it was easier to blame him for everything?”
The man faltered, his expression flickering. Something human, something almost regretful flashing for a second before he schooled his features again.
“Yeonjun, don’t-” the man began, voice low, almost pleading.
But Yeonjun wasn’t done.
“Don’t what?” Yeonjun’s laugh was hollow, sharp around the edges. “Don’t remind you of the man you used to be? Or the father you failed to be?” His eyes glistened. “Do you know… do you even know how many times I wished you were my father when we were kids?” His voice broke, softening into a bitter ache. “Because you loved Soobin more than I thought my own father loved me.”
Yeonjun swallowed hard, blinking rapidly.
“You used to love them both… Jayhoon and Soobin. You used to hold them, protect them… You loved them with everything you had. So… what changed?”
A sharp exhale from the man, shoulders trembling. “Yeonjun, don’t start with this-”
“Why not?” Yeonjun snapped. His voice hit the walls like a gunshot. “Why the hell not? You think this is about you being angry? This is about the two boys you let the world tear apart because you couldn’t bear to look at yourself!”
But before Yeonjun could continue.
A soft, shaking voice cut through the storm.
“…Hyung…”
Soobin.
His voice barely a breath… hoarse… trembling.
Eyes shimmering with unshed tears… his hand clutching tightly to Jeonghan’s sleeve like it was the only thing anchoring him to this collapsing world.
And every pair of eyes turned to him.
“Don’t…”
The word tore from Soobin’s lips A fragile, trembling plea that barely scraped past his throat.
It was a soft, desperate sound, but it hit harder than any shout could have.
Yeonjun froze mid-sentence, the weight of Soobin’s voice crashing into him like a tidal wave. His lips parted slightly, words dying in his throat as his furious heart cracked at the sight of Soobin. Eyes glassy, shoulders trembling, every ounce of him stretched thin between guilt, fear, and unspoken grief.
The tension in the corridor hung suffocating, so thick it felt alive when a calm but firm voice cut through it like a blade.
“Excuse me,” came the interruption.
Heads snapped toward the sound.
The doctor stood by the door of Jayhoon’s hospital room, mask slightly lowered, clipboard in hand, his eyes shifting across the crowded hallway.
His tone held no urgency, but the weight of his words felt like the earth shifting beneath their feet.
“Who is Soobin among you?” the doctor asked, gaze softening slightly. “The patient… he’s asking for him.”
The world tilted.
Soobin blinked, the words taking a heartbeat longer to register then another to steal the air from his lungs.
Jayhoon… was awake.
Jayhoon… was asking for him.
Everything inside Soobin stilled.
The buzzing noise in his head, the suffocating guilt clawing at his chest, the churning storm of Seungcheol’s anger and Yeonjun’s pain… all of it faded into a dull hum.
The only thing echoing inside him now, pounding with a force that shook him to his core, was Jayhoon’s voice in his mind.
He’s awake. He’s asking for me.
His knees almost gave out. His heart slammed against his ribs, raw and frantic.
He opened his mouth, tried to speak, tried to say something, anything but nothing came out except a broken gasp.
Jeonghan placed a gentle hand on his back, steadying him with a small nod that screamed louder than words.
“Go,” Yeonjun whispered, his voice barely audible, his earlier rage washed away in the crashing tides of the moment. “Go to him.”
And Soobin did.
With every nerve alight, legs unsteady but determined, Soobin stepped forward, toward the door, toward Jayhoon, toward the only thread that might lead him back to Beomgyu.
He swallowed hard, whispering under his breath like a prayer he wasn’t sure anyone could hear.
“Please… please hold on, Hoon… please… help me find him…”
A sharp crack split the sky. A monstrous roar of thunder tearing through the suffocating silence of the night, rumbling so loud it felt like the heavens themselves were shattering apart.
The storm had been threatening for hours, pressing down on the city with a weight heavy enough to choke the air. Warnings had echoed on radios, blinked across screens, whispered in hushed voices.
But none of them had listened.
They hadn’t cared.
Their world had already been crashing down long before the storm ever broke.
Yet when the thunder exploded overhead, Soobin flinched. His shoulders jerked instinctively, his breath catching in his throat. Not because he feared the storm…
…but because Beomgyu did.
A vivid, haunting memory seared into his mind with the force of a lightning strike. Beomgyu curling into himself on stormy nights, trembling under thick blankets, muffling soft gasps against Soobin’s shoulder, whispering how the thunder made him feel small, made his chest tighten, made old scars in his heart throb and ache.
And every single time, Soobin had held him. Whispered soft reassurances. Promised again and again that storms would come and go. But he would always stay.
Now…
Now Beomgyu was out there.
Alone.
Terrified.
Maybe hurting. Maybe… worse.
And Soobin with his arms empty, heart shredded raw, could only stand there, staring blankly at the darkened sky, trembling for an entirely different reason.
The thunder roared again, longer this time, and a tear slid down Soobin’s cheek, tracing the hollow curve of his jaw.
“Beomgyu…” his whisper cracked in the storm’s wake, lost to the howling wind.
A desperate, silent prayer to whoever might be listening.
Jayhoon’s voice had been barely above a whisper, hoarse and cracking, but every word felt like it carved itself into Soobin’s skin.
The old warehouse… behind the stadium. That’s where they usually operated. That’s where Jayhoon thought they might have taken Beomgyu.
Thought.
Not certain.
Not sure.
A location swallowed by shadows and rot, and yet… it was the only fragile thread they had. The only flicker of a lead in the suffocating dark.
And even as Seungcheol frantically dialed every officer, every contact he knew, desperate attempts at gathering help before it was too late, Soobin sat frozen on the hard bench of the hospital corridor, fists clenched on his knees, heart beating like a war drum against his ribs.
And then… the thunder cracked again.
A brutal, violent tear in the sky, shaking the glass panes of the hospital windows.
Soobin shot to his feet like something inside him had snapped.
Beomgyu.
Alone.
Scared.
Terrified of storms. Terrified of being alone in the dark. Terrified of a world that had never been kind to him.
He needs me.
The words exploded in his mind like a siren, drowning out everything else. The nurses’ footsteps, the murmurs in the hallway, even the frantic tapping of Seungcheol’s phone.
He moved on instinct. Legs carrying him towards the exit, vision blurring with panic, heart clawing against his chest like it would break free.
But a firm grip seized his arm before he could make it past the waiting chairs.
“Soobin!”
Yeonjun’s voice sliced through his storm of thoughts, sharp with worry. His hand tightened around Soobin’s wrist. “Where are you going?”
Soobin whipped around, eyes wide, wild, shining with unshed tears. “I- I need to find him, hyung. Beomgyu… he’s alone… he’s scared… I have to be there… I can’t… I can’t sit here and do nothing.”
His voice broke, cracking open like a raw wound. His breathing came in ragged gasps.
Yeonjun’s heart clenched at the sight. This wasn’t the calm, composed Soobin he’d known. The boy who always carried the weight of the world with silent strength.
This was a boy unraveling. Breaking.
A boy who had given his heart entirely to someone… and now stood on the verge of losing him.
And nothing, nothing, could ever prepare Yeonjun for the agony that came with watching Soobin fall apart like this.
Yeonjun’s grip on Soobin’s wrist faltered slightly at the rawness in his eyes. The desperation, the fear, the suffocating storm of emotions twisting inside him like a hurricane tearing through his soul.
“I know…” Yeonjun whispered, his voice softening, trying, trying, to reach the part of Soobin still listening. “I know you’re scared. We all are. I swear we’ll find him. But you can’t act on impulse. We have to think. We have to move carefully. It’s dangerous. These people are dangerous. If we wait until morning, the police-”
“No, hyung.”
Soobin’s voice sliced through the air, trembling but sharp enough to make Yeonjun freeze.
“You don’t get it.” His eyes shimmered, glossed with pain so heavy it almost crushed the air around them. “He’s alone… and he shouldn’t be. Not tonight. Not in this storm.”
He turned his gaze towards Jeonghan. Pleading, broken. His voice cracked open, barely a whisper.
“You know, right? You know how terrified he is of thunderstorms…” His chest heaved, his words dissolving into a whisper, “I- I have to go to him. I need to. I… can’t leave him alone in this.”
And before anyone could react, before Yeonjun could reach out again or Jeonghan could speak, Soobin tore himself free. Legs moving before reason could catch up and sprinted down the hallway.
The echo of his footsteps clashed against the low rumble of thunder, swallowed by the weight of the storm outside.
Jeonghan’s heart clenched. His eyes darted to Seungcheol, who was already pulling out his phone with trembling fingers.
“Cheol…” Jeonghan whispered, his voice barely holding steady.
Seungcheol met his gaze with quiet determination, masking the storm of dread swirling behind his own eyes. “Don’t worry, Hannie… We’ll follow him.”
He immediately dialed, calling in every contact, every favor.
Yeonjun stood frozen, helplessness crashing down on him like the storm outside. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs, throat tightening with the crushing weight of fear.
He felt useless. Powerless.
Unable to protect Soobin. Unable to protect Beomgyu. Unable to do anything for Jayhoon.
All he could do was stand there, watching as the boy he cared about ran headfirst into the night… chasing after the one piece of his heart that fate seemed determined to rip away.
-
A sharp, metallic clang echoed in the cavernous emptiness of the warehouse. The kind of hollow sound that ricocheted off the concrete walls and stabbed straight into the bone.
Beomgyu stirred.
A searing jolt of pain shot through his skull the moment consciousness clawed its way back to him. He groaned. A strangled, guttural sound muffled by the rough fabric gag tied tightly across his mouth.
His head lolled forward, sticky warmth trickling down from where the sharp blow had split his scalp. A thin rivulet of blood snaked past his temple, disappearing into the shadowed hollow of his cheek. His vision swam in and out of focus, darkness pulsing at the edges, threatening to swallow him whole.
His arms ached, wrists burning raw against the thick ropes biting into his skin, cruel knots anchoring him to the chair like shackles designed for torture. His ankles were bound just as tightly, his legs numb from the unforgiving pressure. Every shallow breath scraped against bruised ribs, the taste of copper thick on his tongue.
Fresh bruises bloomed in angry shades of purple and black around his eyes, his bottom lip split open, crusted with blood that still seeped from the corner. His heart thudded slow and heavy like it was sinking, deeper and deeper into some bottomless abyss.
And then.
BOOM.
The thunder cracked across the sky like the world itself was breaking apart.
Beomgyu jerked violently, a whimper muffled behind the gag as his entire body seized with fear.
Another crack. Closer. Louder.
His eyes snapped open, wild and frantic, darting around the dimly lit warehouse. Shadows stretching like monstrous claws on the walls. The flickering light bulb overhead swayed slightly in the cold draft sneaking through the rusted metal panels of the roof.
He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head weakly, trying to will the tremors out of his body. But his heart… it pounded like a war drum against his chest, out of rhythm, out of control.
“Soobin…” the name was a broken cry in his heart, trapped behind the suffocating gag.
If Soobin was here…
If only Soobin was here…
He wouldn’t be this scared.
He wouldn’t feel this helpless.
He bit back a sob, breath hitching painfully. The storm roared again outside. A flash of lightning illuminating the cracks and scars of the walls around him, followed by a thunderclap so violent it felt like the earth trembled beneath him.
His shoulders shook, head hanging low.
If he had Soobin beside him… his Soobin, his anchor, his safe place, he could get through this.
If he had Jeonghan… if he had Seungcheol… the brothers who tried, who never gave up on him even when he shoved them away.
If he had Taehyun and Hueningkai… the friends who stayed even when he acted like he didn’t need anyone.
But he didn’t have them.
He was alone.
And God… he hated this.
He hated this so much.
He remembered all those nights. The countless thunderstorms where he used to lock himself in his room, clutching his headphones like a lifeline, blasting music loud enough to drown out the sky’s rage. Nights when Jeonghan and Seungcheol would knock on his door, voices soft, pleading for him to let them in and how he’d ignored them, pretended he was asleep. Pretended he was fine.
And somehow… somehow, he managed.
Barely.
Until that second night-
That night when Soobin had shown up, soaked to the skin, breathless, clutching a stupid umbrella he didn’t even use… just to make sure Beomgyu wasn’t alone.
He didn’t knock.
He didn’t ask.
He came in, sat beside him, pulled him into his arms without a word. Just held him through the storm.
And Beomgyu…
That night, he slept.
For the first time during a thunderstorm… he slept.
Safe.
Loved.
Held.
Every single night after that, Soobin was there. Arms around him, soft words whispered into his hair. And Beomgyu had let himself believe… maybe, just maybe… he’d never have to face a thunderstorm alone again.
But here he was.
Bound.
Bleeding.
Alone.
And every shudder of thunder outside felt like another nail driven straight into his heart.
A sob escaped him. A soft, strangled sound against the gag. Tears spilled hot and fast, carving trails through the grime on his cheeks. His body trembled, vision blurring into a swirl of shadows and light.
“Soobin…”
He screamed the name in his heart.
Over and over.
Soobin, come for me.
Please.
I’m scared.
I’m so scared.
I need you.
A low creak echoed against the cracked concrete walls as the warehouse door groaned open. A sound too soft, too calculated against the backdrop of the storm raging outside.
Beomgyu’s head snapped up, a fresh wave of panic slamming into his chest as footsteps approached- slow, deliberate, the kind that made his skin crawl before the man even came into view.
And then he did.
One of them, the same man who’d dragged him from the alley, the one whose nails had dug into Beomgyu’s arms like hooks, sauntered into the dim light. His face partially hidden under a hood, shadowed eyes gleaming with a dark amusement that made Beomgyu’s blood freeze.
In his hand, a cracked plastic bottle of water.
Beomgyu’s heart slammed against his ribs.
No.
No, no, no-
The man crouched before him, smirking as he untied the gag with a sharp tug. The rough fabric scraped painfully against Beomgyu’s cracked lips, stealing a hiss from his throat.
“Drink,” the man ordered, his voice low, gravel-rough. He brought the bottle to Beomgyu’s lips, tilting it aggressively.
Beomgyu recoiled instantly, wrenching his head to the side. “Let me go!” His voice tore from his throat, hoarse and raw. “Please! Leave me alone! Please-”
The world snapped sideways.
A harsh, open-palmed slap cracked against his cheek with such brutal force his head jerked violently to the side. The sting exploded across his skin. Hot, biting, like a line of fire searing through flesh and bone.
Beomgyu gasped. A broken, involuntary sound as fresh tears welled in his eyes. His face throbbed, the taste of iron flooding his mouth. The wound on his lip split open further, oozing blood down his chin.
The man leaned closer, his breath reeking of tobacco and rot.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he sneered, voice dipped in venom.
Beomgyu trembled, his entire body shuddering beneath the crushing weight of fear and fury knotted in his chest. But his lips stayed pressed in a thin, defiant line.
Cowardice clawed at the edges of his heart, begging him to obey, to survive. But his heart… his heart screamed for Soobin.
Soobin would tell him to fight.
Soobin would have fought for him.
Beomgyu’s eyes glared defiantly, even through the film of tears clouding them. He shook his head. Just once. But it was enough.
The man cursed under his breath and shoved the gag back roughly, yanking it tight enough that Beomgyu choked on a ragged breath.
“Fine,” the man spat, standing up and storming out of the room, his footsteps echoing like gunshots against Beomgyu’s racing pulse.
The door slammed shut behind him with a metallic thud.
And Beomgyu…
Beomgyu slumped in the chair, chest heaving, throat burning, fresh sobs clawing at the back of his tongue as silent tears streamed down his bruised face.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Soobin…”
The name was a scream inside his shattered heart.
Come for me.
Please.
Beomgyu’s head lolled against the back of the chair, the rope biting mercilessly into his wrists, his legs numb from where they were bound, but none of it compared to the storm raging in his chest.
His mind drifted and dragged him back like a cruel, mocking echo to the library.
Just hours ago.
Just hours ago, he had been wrapped in Soobin’s arms, safe, whole, complete. The scent of old books mingling with the faint traces of Soobin’s cologne. His head pressed against Soobin’s chest, listening to the soft, steady rhythm of the heart that beat only for him. They had held each other like the world outside didn’t exist, like nothing could ever touch them as long as they stayed wrapped in that fragile, sacred embrace.
Beomgyu squeezed his swollen eyes shut, his heart constricting.
He should’ve stopped Soobin.
He should’ve begged him not to go when he was called away. Should’ve held tighter. Should’ve pleaded. Should’ve kept him there.
They were supposed to be together right now.
Celebrating his win. Their win. Laughing, teasing, wrapped up in each other. They were supposed to be basking in the glow of the words they’d finally dared to speak aloud. The confessions that had burned silently in their hearts for far too long.
“I love you…”
Beomgyu bit down on a sob, the gag cutting into the soft cry escaping his lips.
This… this nightmare wasn’t part of the story they were writing.
They were supposed to be in each other’s arms. Not here. Not like this. Not miles apart with chains around his wrists and bruises marking his skin like cruel signatures of fate.
He shook his head weakly, silent tears sliding down to mix with the blood on his face.
It was killing him.
Every second that passed without Soobin, without the warmth of his voice, his touch, his love, was killing him in ways no bruise or blow ever could.
And he whispered inside his heart, the words looping like a desperate, silent chant.
Please… Soobin… come find me…
Soobin kept running. Feet pounding against the slick pavement, his breath tearing raw from his throat. His heart slammed violently against his ribs, every beat a brutal reminder of what was at stake… of who was waiting for him.
The sky finally split open, unleashing a torrent of rain that drenched him within seconds, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t care.
Let the heavens cry. Let the storm rage. Nothing mattered. Nothing except Beomgyu.
His vision blurred, part rain, part unshed tears clawing at the corners of his eyes, but he forced them back. He couldn’t afford to fall apart now. Not when the only person who ever made him whole was somewhere beyond the choking darkness, tied up, hurt, terrified.
He sprinted harder, shoes slapping against puddles, soaking him to the bone. The bitter night air sliced against his skin like icy blades, but he welcomed the pain. It meant he could still move. Still run. Still fight.
Up ahead, rising like a silent beast from the shadows, stood the looming structure.
The old warehouse.
Its jagged outline carved sharply against the faint stadium lights flickering in the distance, the only source of light in the suffocating black.
Soobin’s heart seized.
He was close.
The storm bellowed, thunder splitting the air in a violent crack that rattled the ground beneath his feet. But Soobin didn’t flinch.
Because all he could hear… all he could see… was Beomgyu’s face. Beomgyu’s voice. Beomgyu’s whispered pleas.
I’m coming… I swear I’m coming…
Soobin pushed harder. Running not just against the rain or the night, but against fate itself.
The door was rusted over, its hinges groaning under the weight of years of disuse. A perfect disguise for the nightmare festering within. Soobin’s eyes flicked over its corroded frame before his gaze darted to the side wall, a patchwork of chipped bricks and crumbling mortar.
Lower. Climbable.
Without a second thought, Soobin lunged for it. His frozen, rain-slicked fingers scraping against the jagged surface as he pulled himself up with every ounce of strength he had left. The rough stone bit into his skin, slicing shallow cuts into his palms, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
The rain, merciless and unrelenting, cascaded over him in icy sheets. But tonight, it was his shield. The pounding downpour masked the sound of his movements, swallowed the rasp of his breath, cloaked him like a shadow in the drowning dark.
His heart raced, every beat a drum of desperation echoing in his ears as he slipped over the edge of the wall, landing with a soft, muffled thud against the soaked ground beneath.
And there it was.
Another door. Slightly ajar.
Faint yellow light leaked through its cracked edge. Sickly, flickering, casting warped shadows against the wet concrete.
Then voices. Low. Guttural. Cruel.
Two men emerged, their silhouettes cutting through the hazy glow as they stepped out, laughing under their breath, sharing a cigarette under the canopy of the storm.
Soobin’s pulse shot up, his instincts flaring.
He flattened himself against a towering pile of rusted metal, discarded automobile parts stacked in haphazard heaps, jagged edges glinting faintly under the weak light. He swallowed hard, his breath caught tight in his throat as the men paused only a few feet away, muttering something in sharp, hushed tones.
Seconds stretched into agonizing eternity.
Then one of them flicked his cigarette onto the wet ground, stomped it out, and with a lazy shrug, both men turned away… disappearing into the rain, drenched shadows beyond the corner.
The door.
Still open.
Soobin didn’t waste another heartbeat.
He darted forward, his movements swift, precise, silent. A fleeting shadow against rusted wreckage. His heart hammered in his chest, a wild rhythm matching the storm’s violent downpour.
He slipped inside.
The air hit him. Thick, damp, suffocating. A rancid mix of oil, mold, and something far worse… the stench of fear and blood.
But Soobin didn’t flinch. Didn’t breathe.
He pressed himself against the wall, eyes scanning the dim interior, ears straining for the only sound that mattered.
Beomgyu…
He moved further in.
Into the lion’s den.
With nothing but love and fury clawing at his heart.
Soobin pressed his back against the damp, cracked wall, the chill of the soaked bricks seeping straight into his bones. His breath came in shallow pulls, every inhale dragging a sting of rust and dampness into his lungs. He crept forward, step after agonizing step, the soles of his shoes making the faintest splash against the puddled floor as he edged deeper into the hollow of the warehouse.
The vast hall yawned open before him. A cavernous, desolate emptiness swallowed in shadows. The only light seeped through the broken slits and jagged holes scattered along the high roof and the crumbling back wall, slivers of silver slicing through the blackness, the faint glow of the distant stadium lights cutting down like the remnants of a dying moon.
It was… silent.
Too silent.
The kind of silence that didn’t just fall over a place but suffocated it.
The kind that screamed something was wrong.
Soobin’s heart clenched, twisting in on itself, squeezing tighter with every heartbeat that echoed louder than it should in his ears. His throat burned as an ugly thought clawed its way up his spine.
What if… what if he wasn’t here?
What if…
His chest heaved, panic threatening to choke the air out of him. He shook his head sharply, blinking the sting out of his eyes.
No.
Beomgyu is here.
He has to be here.
Because if he wasn’t… Soobin didn’t know where else to go. Didn’t know where else to run. Didn’t know how to exist in a world where Beomgyu was gone.
And that terrifying possibility of arriving too late, of losing him, of searching only to find emptiness tightened its fist around his heart until it throbbed, sharp and merciless.
He bit down hard on his trembling lip, willing his legs not to collapse beneath him.
“Beomgyu…” he whispered under his breath so soft, so broken as if the name itself could guide him through the dark.
He moved further in.
Praying. Begging.
Because his heart couldn’t take losing him.
Because Beomgyu couldn’t be gone.
Because this, this maddening, monstrous silence wasn’t how their story was supposed to end.
And then…
A sound.
So faint it could’ve been the wind slipping through the cracks.
But it wasn’t.
A soft, brittle sob cracked the suffocating silence wide open.
Soobin froze.
His entire body went rigid, as if every muscle, every bone had been seized by invisible hands. His heart slammed hard against his ribs, a deafening thunder in his ears. The sound wasn’t loud… but it didn’t need to be.
He knew that sound.
God, he knew it too well.
The sound of a sob muffled by trembling lips… a choked breath that broke at the end… the raw, unguarded voice that used to whisper to him in the quiet of the night, murmur soft little confessions against his skin… the voice that hummed broken melodies when words ran out… the voice that clung to him in the dark when the world outside felt too heavy to bear.
Beomgyu.
Soobin’s eyes stung instantly. His throat clenched so tight it nearly strangled his breath. His knees almost buckled beneath him, the weight of recognition crashing down on him like a tidal wave.
He didn’t need to see him.
Didn’t need proof.
He would’ve known that voice in a crowd of a thousand.
The voice that was his anchor… the voice that had become his heartbeat.
The one voice he couldn’t, wouldn’t ever learn to live without.
A broken, stifled sob, echoing off the empty walls like a cry for help smothered by the cruel hands of fate.
And in that moment…
The fear. The rage. The desperation. The grief.
All of it melted into something fierce and untamed inside Soobin.
He couldn’t lose him.
He wouldn’t lose him.
Soobin swallowed down the lump in his throat, blinked back the blur clouding his eyes, and started moving faster, quieter, heart thundering with a single, burning plea pounding in his chest.
Hold on, Gyu… I’m coming.
Soobin's heart thudded violently in his chest, each beat like a drum of war, pounding so hard that it threatened to burst through his ribs. Every breath he took felt shallow, ragged, desperate, as if the very air was too thick for him to breathe properly. The sound of his pulse roaring in his ears drowned out all other noise. He wanted to run, to rush to Beomgyu, to pull him into his arms and erase the distance, to hold him and never let go. But Soobin knew he couldn’t afford to act on that impulse.
Not yet.
He had come too far. He had fought too hard. He couldn't risk everything now. The thought of losing this moment, losing Beomgyu again, made his stomach twist in knots. He needed to stay calm. Stay silent. Every step, every breath, needed to be deliberate, measured, calculated.
Soobin took a deep breath and willed himself to move slowly, to not rush and risk alerting anyone to his presence. The rain still pounded against the metal roof, the sound muffled but insistent, yet it seemed to offer no comfort. With each cautious step forward, his heart raced faster, like a horse galloping headlong into the unknown. The thought of Beomgyu, the sound of his sobs, the sight of him tied and vulnerable drove him to the edge of madness, but he clung to the razor-thin thread of composure that he had left.
His gaze flicked to the corner where a pile of cardboard boxes lay, stacked haphazardly in a huddle. The sight made him pause. The shadows cast by the dim light from above made the boxes look like walls, dark and looming, and in that moment, they felt like barriers, keeping him from the one person he needed more than anything.
He tilted his head, squinting, willing the tension in his body to loosen just enough to let him move again. His heart, though, was still in his throat, pulsing erratically, as if it knew something his mind hadn't caught up to yet. He didn't dare let himself look too closely, not yet, not until he was sure no one would see him. His feet felt as if they were dragging through molasses, heavy and reluctant to leave the shadow of the wall, but he couldn't stop now. He couldn’t back down.
The closer he got, the louder the sound of his heartbeat seemed to become, deafening in its intensity. It felt as though every beat was echoing around the empty warehouse, reverberating off the metal walls like thunder, and surely the whole building must be able to hear it. Each step forward seemed to echo like a drumbeat, louder, faster, more insistent.
His legs were trembling, his hands slick with sweat despite the chill in the air, but he kept moving with one slow, deliberate step at a time. He was almost there, just inches away from finally reaching Beomgyu, from finally being there for him like he should’ve been all along.
Soobin couldn’t afford to think about how broken his heart felt in this moment, or how the ache of not being able to protect Beomgyu, of not being there when it mattered most, burned in his chest. Not now. Not when they were so close to each other. Not when Beomgyu was waiting.
The air felt too thick now, as if it had been tainted with the weight of everything that had led up to this moment. The fear, the anger, the heartbreak. But Soobin refused to let it stop him. He just had to be careful. Be quiet. He couldn’t let Beomgyu see him until he was absolutely sure no one else would.
One step more and the world tilted off its axis.
In the faint, fractured light slicing through the cracks of the dilapidated roof, Soobin saw him.
Beomgyu.
Slumped over on a rusted metal chair, wrists bound tight against the cold iron arms with thick, coarse rope biting mercilessly into his skin. His ankles strapped harshly to the chair’s legs. His head hung low, chin pressed to his chest as if the weight of the world, of pain, of fear, of abandonment was too heavy to bear.
The dim light caught on the jagged streak of dried blood caked along his temple, a dark trail snaking down the side of his face. A deep gash split across his brow, half-hidden beneath sweat-matted hair. His lips were cracked and swollen, marred by fresh bruises and a smear of dried crimson at the corner of his mouth. His once vibrant eyes, always shimmering with mischief or warmth, were now glassy… distant… rimmed with swollen lids barely holding back trembling tears.
And that’s when Soobin gasped.
A sharp, guttural sound that tore from the pit of his chest before he could stop it, too soft for the men to hear… but loud enough for the ache in his heart to echo back against the hollow walls.
Something inside him twisted. A sickening, violent knot of rage and agony tangling deep within his gut. The sight clawed through him, ripping past his ribs, lodging itself like a blade in the rawest part of his soul.
Beomgyu… his Beomgyu… like this.
Bound. Beaten. Shaking.
And alone.
It took everything in Soobin not to fall to his knees right there. Not to crumble into a sob like the shattered pieces of his heart begged him to.
But no. he couldn't.
He couldn’t let this break him.
Beomgyu needed him to stand. To move. To save him.
He bit down on the inside of his cheek until the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, forcing himself to hold in the storm crashing inside him.
Because this wasn’t over.
Not until Beomgyu was in his arms.
Not until he pulled him out of this nightmare.
Not until the world knew that Soobin would tear it apart, brick by brick, if it meant protecting the boy sitting helpless before him.
He took urgent but painfully careful steps toward him, feet feather-light against the cracked cement, every nerve alight with a singular purpose.
Just a little more… just a little closer…
Beomgyu stirred.
A soft, broken whimper escaped his lips. So faint it was barely a breath. His shoulders tensed, flinched at the faintest sound of movement in the suffocating stillness around him. His head jerked slightly, recoiling as if expecting another blow, another cruel hand reaching out from the dark.
But… there was no shout.
No sharp laugh.
No footsteps echoing with menace.
Just a presence.
A presence that felt… different.
Beomgyu’s lips trembled against the gag, his breath shallow and rapid. His brows knitted, the faintest flicker of confusion and fear painting over the bruised canvas of his face.
And then slowly, painfully, he forced his swollen eyes open.
It felt like lifting the weight of the world.
A soft, strangled gasp tore from Beomgyu’s throat.
There, mere steps away, stood Soobin.
Eyes wide and wild, lips parted as if holding back every scream he wanted to let out, drenched in rain, chest heaving as though he'd run through hell itself. The storm outside reflected in his eyes. A raging tempest of terror, fury, and bone-deep love.
Beomgyu’s glassy eyes locked onto his.
And in that split second… the world stilled.
No ropes.
No wounds.
No monsters lurking in the shadows.
Just Soobin.
Just the boy who always showed up.
Always found him.
Always stayed.
Beomgyu’s vision blurred further. Not from pain this time, but from the sudden, violent rush of relief that cracked open something inside him.
A soft, muffled sound, half sob, half desperate plea, escaped him as his shoulders shook violently.
Soobin shook his head almost imperceptibly, his own eyes shimmering with unshed tears, mouthing silently. I’m here… I’ve got you.
And for the first time since this nightmare began…
Beomgyu dared to believe it.
Dared to believe he wasn’t alone.
Not anymore.
One step.
Just one and Soobin was on his knees before Beomgyu.
The damp, unforgiving concrete bit into his skin, but he felt none of it. His entire world had shrunk down to this... this boy... this broken boy trembling before him.
"Beomgyu..." he whispered, like an oath, like a plea, like a sacred secret slipping through lips cracked from fear and pain.
Soobin's hands shook violently. Fingers trembling as they hovered near Beomgyu's gagged mouth, afraid to hurt him further, terrified of breaking him even more than he already was. His heart thudded against his ribcage, his throat constricting with every shallow breath as he reached forward, swallowing the sob threatening to escape him.
Slowly, carefully, reverently... he untied the knot, his fingertips brushing over Beomgyu's skin-feeling the heat of swelling, the dampness of dried blood against clammy flesh.
And then the gag fell away. Softly, pitifully onto the floor between them.
Beomgyu gasped. A sharp, ragged breath that sounded like it clawed its way out of his chest and then a sound broke from him.
"S- Soobin..."
His voice.
God, his voice.
It wasn't even a whisper. It was a fractured, raw scrape of sound. So delicate, so heartbreakingly soft that it felt like the storm outside should've swallowed it whole.
But to Soobin... it was everything.
A cracked sob burst from Beomgyu's throat as his lips trembled uncontrollably. "Soobin..." His voice cracked, breaking entirely as his face crumbled. "Y- You came..."
Soobin's hands hovered near his face, barely touching. Unsure if he was allowed to, unsure if it would hurt him more. But Beomgyu leaned into them like a drowning man reaching for air.
"I'm here... I'm right here..." Soobin whispered, his voice shaking, laced with raw desperation. "I came... I'm not leaving... I'm never leaving... not without you."
And then... Beomgyu broke.
His body lurched forward as much as the ropes would allow, a guttural sob ripping free as his head dropped against Soobin's chest.
Soobin caught him instantly. Arms wrapping around his bruised frame, holding him tight, holding him like a lifeline, like an anchor against the raging world.
"I've got you... I've got you... I've got you..." Soobin chanted, over and over, rocking slightly, the words nothing but a shaky mantra against the storm crashing around them.
And Beomgyu... for the first time in hours, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime... let himself fall apart in Soobin's arms.
Soobin cupped Beomgyu's battered face with both hands, thumbs trembling as they swept over the damp trails of tears staining his bruised skin. His fingertips moved with reverence, featherlight and tender, tracing beneath swollen eyes that still shimmered with silent pain.
Beomgyu leaned into the touch instantly... as though the warmth alone could stitch him back together, as though the mere presence of Soobin's hands could hold the pieces of him from falling apart. He closed his eyes, breathing in the faint scent of rain and sweat and safety that clung to Soobin like a silent promise.
But then... the warmth slipped away.
Soobin moved, hands lowering, fingers brushing against Beomgyu's wrist as he reached for the cruel ropes biting into fragile skin. Beomgyu's eyes fluttered open, a soft, silent frown tugging at his lips. A fleeting, helpless protest at the sudden loss of contact.
Soobin worked with agonizing care, fingers fumbling slightly in his haste as he loosened the knots. The rope fell away with a muted thud and Beomgyu whimpered, the raw skin beneath wincing at the sudden freedom.
Soobin's heart clenched at the sound. His throat burned, his eyes prickling with tears he forced back. He couldn't break now. Not when Beomgyu needed him to be whole.
He moved lower, carefully reaching for Beomgyu's ankles. The bindings came undone with a soft scrape, falling useless to the floor.
The second they were gone, Beomgyu fell forward. Collapsed without a sound, body lurching toward him.
Because he knew. He knew Soobin would catch him.
And Soobin did.
Because he always had.
He wrapped his arms around Beomgyu with a grip so firm yet impossibly gentle, like he was cradling something sacred... something too precious for this world. Beomgyu buried his face in Soobin's chest, clutching at the fabric of his soaked shirt with trembling fingers, his body shaking violently against Soobin's.
Soobin held him. Held him like he would never let go, pressing his lips to the crown of Beomgyu's head as his eyes squeezed shut.
"I've got you... I'm here... I'm right here..." he whispered, the words breaking on his lips like a prayer chanted into the storm still raging outside.
And in that moment... nothing else mattered.
Not the thunder, not the rain, not the lingering threat that surrounded them.
It was just them.
Soobin and Beomgyu.
A boy broken by a cruel world and another who'd fight every goddamned battle just to hold him together.
Neither of them knew how long they stayed like that. Locked in a fragile cocoon of trembling limbs and silent sobs. Soobin sprawled against the unforgiving concrete floor, his back pressed into the sharp, biting edges of loose gravel, the cold seeping mercilessly through his clothes... and Beomgyu, curled into his chest like a wounded bird clinging to the last warmth left in a frozen world.
It could have been seconds.
It could have been a lifetime.
For Soobin, it felt like both. Like time itself held its breath for them. Two broken boys clinging to each other in a collapsing world, drowning in the silent promise that as long as they held on, they were safe.
But safety... was a fragile illusion.
The brutal snap of reality tore through it like glass shattering underfoot.
A harsh, calloused hand latched onto Beomgyu's already bruised wrist.
Beomgyu jerked, a raw cry slicing through his throat.
And in the next heartbeat-
He was yanked away.
Ripped from Soobin's arms with such violent force that his small frame nearly whiplashed, his other hand clawing helplessly at the air, at nothing. Trying to hold onto the warmth that had just slipped from his grasp.
"Soobin!" His voice broke on the scream, panicked and cracked, laced with terror that shot like ice through Soobin's veins.
"No!" Soobin's own voice was a strangled roar, his arms lunging forward, fingers grazing Beomgyu's sleeve for a split second before the man pulled him out of reach.
The man. Tall, shadowed, a twisted smirk curling beneath his half, lowered mask. He tightened his grip mercilessly around Beomgyu's wrist. The knuckles turned white, bruises blooming darker beneath the force.
"So... thought you could play hero, huh?" the man hissed, his voice a low venom, mocking and cruel. "Touching little scene back there."
Beomgyu whimpered, struggling against the iron grip, his legs too weak, body too broken to put up a fight.
And Soobin...
Soobin surged to his feet, heart exploding in his chest, blood thundering in his ears, hands fisting so tightly they shook.
"Let. Him. Go."
His voice was low. Dangerous.
But the man only chuckled, yanking Beomgyu closer, making him stumble against his chest.
"You want him?" the man sneered. "Come and take."
The storm outside roared, a flash of lightning splitting the sky. Its light reflecting in Soobin's tear-filled eyes as he stared at the scene before him.
And for a moment... all Soobin could hear was Beomgyu's heartbeat. All he could see... was the sheer, raw terror in Beomgyu's eyes.
He wasn't going to lose him. Not like this. Not tonight.
Soobin stepped forward without thinking, without breathing. His entire body fueled by nothing but instinct and love and a fury so deep it could swallow the night whole.
"Touch him again..." Soobin whispered, his voice trembling with rage, "...and I swear I'll destroy you."
"We'll see who destroys whom," a venom-laced voice slithered through the darkness. Cold, guttural, and far too close.
Before Soobin could even flinch, a sharp, brutal blow slammed into the back of his knees.
His body buckled.
The breath punched out of his lungs as he collapsed forward onto the unforgiving concrete, the shock rattling his bones, scraping his palms raw against the damp floor.
"Soobin!"
Beomgyu's scream tore through the warehouse. Cracked and jagged. A sound that didn't belong to a boy, but a soul being ripped apart.
Beomgyu twisted against the man's grip, panic surging in a frantic burst of resistance. His elbow shot back, desperate and trembling, but barely brushed the side of the captor's ribs.
"Let me go! LET HIM GO!" Beomgyu gasped, trying to wrench himself free, but the man's iron hold only tightened, unforgiving and cruel.
"Where do you think you're going, pretty boy?" the captor sneered, yanking Beomgyu back toward him with a harsh jerk.
And then-
A sharp, stomach-sinking sound split the air.
The sound of fabric tearing.
Beomgyu froze. His breath caught painfully in his throat.
The rough pull of his damp shirt gave way, half of it shredding in the man's fist, exposing his bruised shoulder, the lines of his trembling torso.
Everything inside Beomgyu shriveled.
No.
He stumbled back, arms shooting up instinctively to shield himself, clutching desperately at the shredded fabric, trying to cover the pieces of himself that suddenly felt too bare... too exposed... too vulnerable.
The man laughed. A low, sickening sound that echoed against the cold walls like a nightmare wrapping around them both.
"Aw... don't be shy now," the man taunted, his filthy arm slinging possessively around Beomgyu's fragile shoulders, fingers digging into skin that was never meant to be touched with such filth.
Beomgyu flinched hard, his entire frame trembling like a fragile leaf caught in a storm. His heart pounded. Loud and deafening. And his chest tightened with a suffocating wave of helplessness.
But...
That helplessness didn't reach Soobin.
Because Soobin saw red.
A terrifying, all-consuming red.
His world narrowed to that sickening image.
Beomgyu flinching under someone else's touch.
His Beomgyu.
The boy he promised to protect.
Something primal snapped inside him.
With a roar ripped straight from his core, Soobin lunged forward, the pain in his knees igniting a furious blaze instead of slowing him down.
But before he could close the gap-
A brutal kick slammed into his side from behind.
He crumpled again, coughing, a strangled sound tearing from his throat.
"Soobin!!" Beomgyu's cry echoed, laced with terror and devastation as he fought harder, his wrists clawing at the man's arm, nails scraping skin, legs thrashing in vain.
Soobin's vision blurred. But this time, it wasn't from pain.
It was rage.
A rage so blistering it felt like his heart might explode.
And still... through the haze...
All he could hear-
All he could feel-
Was Beomgyu's trembling voice calling his name like a lifeline barely holding them both together in a world intent on tearing them apart.
"Keep your hands off him!" Soobin's voice bellowed- raw, cracked, erupting from a place so deep it sounded almost foreign even to his own ears.
But the man...
The man only laughed.
A low, guttural, venom-laced sound that sliced through the storm's roar. He yanked Beomgyu impossibly closer, pressing his bruised body against his own in a sickening display of control. Fingers digging into soft skin with merciless pressure.
Beomgyu...
Beomgyu didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't scream.
He just... stood there.
Frozen.
Eyes wide, pupils blown with something far more dangerous than fear. Emptiness. His hands hung limp at his sides, fists unclenched, heart seemingly stilled inside his fragile chest.
It was like watching someone's soul being ripped out in front of you.
Like watching a light, his light, snuffed out by the choking darkness wrapping around him.
And Soobin.
God, Soobin.
He couldn't breathe.
His chest heaved, vision trembling as the reality of it all seared itself into his veins.
This isn't happening. This can't happen.
Not to Beomgyu.
Not to his boy.
And then-
A sharp, slicing shrill broke the suffocating air.
Sirens.
Screaming through the heavy storm, echoing off the warehouse walls. Sharp, relentless, gut-wrenching.
The man holding Beomgyu stiffened. Head snapping toward the sound outside.
A second later, the chaos unraveled like a snapped wire.
Shouts erupted beyond the metal walls. Heavy boots pounded against the flooded pavement. Orders barked through megaphones.
The police.
They were here.
But inside-
Inside, Soobin's world had already shifted.
Because even with salvation clawing its way toward them...
His eyes stayed locked on Beomgyu's vacant ones. Void of fight, void of fear, void of him.
And that broke Soobin deeper than any storm, any fist, any kick ever could.
Because Beomgyu...
Beomgyu wasn't fighting anymore.
And Soobin couldn't, wouldn't, let him disappear into that darkness.
Seungcheol kicked the half-broken door open with a force that echoed like a gunshot against the warehouse walls. The metal groaned beneath his boot, swinging wide into the chaos inside. Two officers stormed in beside him. Guns drawn, shouts sharp and commanding.
Jeonghan and Seokmin were right on his heels.
But Seungcheol didn't see them.
He only saw him.
Beomgyu.
Beomgyu, held tight in a stranger's filthy, bruising grip.
A grip that didn't belong.
A touch that should have never, ever dared to touch his boy.
Something inside Seungcheol snapped.
He didn't remember moving.
Didn't remember crossing the distance.
But his fist connected with the man's face so hard, the crack of bone echoed louder than the storm outside.
The man stumbled back with a choked-out cry, his arm loosening around Beomgyu's shoulders.
Seungcheol caught Beomgyu before gravity could His arms locking tight around the boy's frail, trembling body.
"Hannie!" Seungcheol's voice broke, hoarse with something rawer than rage-pure, heart-shattering panic.
Jeonghan, frozen just a heartbeat ago, jolted at the sound. His eyes landed on Beomgyu and his knees nearly buckled.
His baby brother.
All bruised.
All broken.
All but lifeless in Seungcheol's arms.
Jeonghan rushed forward, his hands trembling as they cupped Beomgyu's face. His voice cracking on a broken sob. "Beomie... oh God, Beomie..."
But Seungcheol wasn't done.
No.
The man who dared...
The man who hurt Beomgyu...
Seungcheol turned. Eyes blazing, fists clenched and launched himself at the bastard again.
His knuckles slammed into the man's jaw once... twice... thrice. He didn't count. Couldn't. The blood on his fists didn't slow him down. The man's groans only fueled the fire roaring in his veins.
The other thug made a run for it but the officers pounced, dragging him to the ground, pinning him with brutal efficiency.
"Hyung... he touched Beomgyu... he hurt him," Soobin whispered, voice shaking with unshed rage.
The words sliced through Seungcheol like a serrated blade.
He let out a guttural roar. Fist flying again. He punched the man's face, his gut, his ribs. Relentless and merciless until the man crumpled like a ragdoll beneath him.
But then-
"Enough! Seungcheol. Stop! Please!!"
Jeonghan's voice cut through the frenzy. Sharp, pleading, desperate.
Seungcheol didn't hear.
Didn't want to.
This wasn't enough.
The officer beside him moved in fast. Gripping Seungcheol's arm, firm but not forceful.
"Let us handle this. If you go further, it'll come back on you," the officer warned. Voice low and firm.
Seungcheol's chest heaved, his vision clouded red... but the officer's words clawed their way into his restraint.
He had Beomgyu to protect.
He couldn't afford to lose himself now.
With one last, vicious kick that sent the man sprawling unconscious on the concrete, Seungcheol finally stepped back. His hands trembling, blood smearing across his knuckles.
He turned. Eyes locking on Jeonghan and Beomgyu.
And the sight of Jeonghan clutching Beomgyu's limp body...
That broke him harder than any punch ever could.
Seungcheol took a slow, trembling step toward them. Toward Jeonghan who held onto Beomgyu like he was afraid to let him go.
Without a word, Seungcheol shrugged off his jacket. His heart clenching painfully at the sight of Beomgyu's battered, trembling frame. The boy's clothes hung off him in tatters, soaked and torn, clinging to his bruised skin like a cruel reminder of everything he'd just endured.
Gently. So gently. It felt almost reverent. Seungcheol draped his jacket over Beomgyu's shoulders, wrapping it snugly around him. He swallowed hard when Beomgyu flinched beneath the touch, his small body instinctively curling into itself.
But he didn't react.
Didn't speak.
Didn't even lift his head.
Seungcheol felt his chest collapse in on itself.
Beomgyu... his boy... wasn't reacting.
Jeonghan's hand brushed against Seungcheol's arm, his own face pale and drenched with silent tears, eyes locked on Beomgyu's distant, vacant expression.
Seokmin moved fast. Kneeling beside Soobin, who sat slumped against the cold warehouse floor, shaking and dazed, eyes vacant like he was still stuck in a nightmare he couldn't wake from.
"Soobin..." Seokmin whispered, voice tight, wrapping an arm around Soobin's shoulders and pulling him upright. His grip was firm but careful, anchoring. "We've got you... come on. You're okay. Beomgyu's okay. You've done enough."
But Soobin barely registered the words. His eyes glued on Beomgyu, lips parted in a soundless plea, heart still thrashing in his chest.
Seungcheol scooped Beomgyu into his arms, holding him close like he was made of fragile glass that might shatter with a single wrong move. Beomgyu's head lolled against Seungcheol's shoulder, his hands limp at his sides, cold as ice against Seungcheol's chest.
Jeonghan pressed in beside them, his hands ghosting over Beomgyu's back, as if afraid this was all some terrible hallucination that would dissolve if he touched him too firmly.
Seokmin wrapped his other arm around Soobin's waist, guiding him gently forward, whispering soft reassurances even though his own throat burned with unshed sobs.
And together like some fractured, desperate procession, they made their way out of the hellhole that had swallowed Beomgyu whole.
Seungcheol walked ahead, Jeonghan beside him, Soobin and Seokmin following close behind.
None of them spoke.
There were no words for this.
For the weight of brokenness clinging to their backs.
For the silent screams echoing in their hearts.
The rain lashed harder as they stepped into the storm but none of them flinched.
Because right now... all that mattered was getting Beomgyu home.
And praying they weren't too late.
***
Chapter Text
At Joshua's desperate request, his voice breaking over the call all the way from Seoul, thick with panic and pleading, his trusted friends, a pair of young doctors in Daegu, arrived just before the sky began to lighten. The night hadn't ended; it had simply collapsed into a heavy, breathless dawn, the kind that clung to skin and soul alike.
They came quietly, without sirens, without uniforms. Just concern etched deep into their faces and medkits in their hands, guided by Joshua's trembling words and unwavering urgency.
"Please... take care of him. He's not just anyone."
Seungcheol hadn't taken Beomgyu to the hospital.
He couldn't.
Because he saw it. The wild fear that still lingered behind Beomgyu's glassy eyes, the way his body flinched at the sound of footsteps, at sudden movements, even at silence. A kind of terror too deep, too instinctive to explain.
And Seungcheol knew. He knew that the sterile fluorescence of a hospital room, the harsh scent of antiseptics, the cold press of metal against skin... it would only make it worse.
He remembered the way Beomgyu trembled in his arms, not from cold but from something bone-deep and primal. How his fingers had curled weakly into Seungcheol's shirt like he was holding onto it for air. How he still hadn't spoken.
Not a word, not a sound. Not even a cry.
So Seungcheol made a choice.
He brought him home.
To the one place that might still hold some warmth. Some memory of safety. Beomgyu's room. Dim, familiar, his scent clinging to the sheets, posters still hanging crooked on the walls. The quiet hum of comfort lived there. The ghosts of laughter, of late-night music, of whispered dreams.
If Beomgyu had any sanctuary left, it was here.
And when the doctors arrived, they understood without needing words. They moved gently, like they were tending to something sacred, kneeling beside the bed rather than dragging him into clinical halls. They didn't ask questions. Not yet. Just checked his vitals, cleaned the wounds with steady, careful hands, dressed the bruises, monitored his breath.
All while Seungcheol stood at the door, fists clenched, his entire being on edge. Each second a silent prayer that Beomgyu would blink. Would move. Would come back.
But Beomgyu remained still.
Eyes open, but unseeing.
Alive, but not living.
And in that quiet, tear-thick air of a house that didn't feel like a home anymore, Seungcheol could do nothing but sit at the edge of the bed, watching a boy who once lit up rooms now lie curled in a shell of silence.
He whispered, more to himself than anyone else, "You're safe now, Beomgyu... You're safe."
But the boy didn't even flinch.
Soobin was devastated. No. Devastated wasn't even close. He was wrecked. Shattered beyond recognition. Grief sat heavy on his chest, as if the universe had collapsed inward and left him standing amid the ruins of what once was. Of what should have been.
Beomgyu.
His Beomgyu.
The boy whose laughter once stitched sunlight into Soobin's worst days. The boy whose eyes, God, those eyes used to hold galaxies, wide and curious and unafraid. Now, they were just... hollow. Dim. Eyes that no longer looked through the world, but past it. Like he had stopped believing in anything worth seeing.
And that smile... that gentle, fluttering thing that could calm Soobin in a heartbeat? It was gone. Like it had never existed. Like joy had been scrubbed clean from Beomgyu's face, and in its place was only silence. Only the weight of something too cruel to name.
Soobin couldn't breathe through the guilt that swelled in his lungs.
This is my fault.
It repeated, over and over, a cruel chant beneath his ribs.
He hadn't been there. Not when Beomgyu needed him. Not when everything was falling apart and the boy he loved was being taken. Dragged into a world that bruised him, broke him, silenced him. Soobin hadn't fought hard enough. Hadn't screamed loud enough. Hadn't protected him.
And that truth, whether real or imagined, gutted him.
He saw the tremor in Beomgyu's hands, the way his body flinched even in sleep, the way he didn't speak his name anymore, didn't even look at him the same way. And Soobin's heart split open.
He's gone.
Not physically. But emotionally, spiritually. Beomgyu was somewhere far away. Locked in a place Soobin couldn't reach, no matter how desperately he tried.
And worst of all?
He believed he deserved it.
Soobin stared at the boy curled into himself, pale and silent beneath the blankets, and something inside him broke into a thousand irreversible pieces.
I'm not enough.
He had failed Beomgyu. As a friend. As the boy who had loved him in secret for months. As the one who promised, if only to himself, that he'd never let harm come near him. He couldn't keep that promise. Not even close.
And it hurts.
God, it hurts.
Like hell. Like heartbreak with no name. Like watching the stars die, one by one, and knowing your hands will never be big enough to catch them.
He didn't deserve Beomgyu. Not his smile. Not his love. Not even his pain.
And the cruelest part? Even if Beomgyu looked at him now... Soobin didn't know if he'd recognize the boy who once loved him back.
Beomgyu.
He no longer knew what it meant to feel. He couldn't even tell if he was truly alive, or simply surviving, if the ragged rise and fall of his chest could be called breathing, when every inhale felt like a thousand needles piercing his lungs. Each exhale felt like betrayal. Of himself, of his body, of everything he once believed in.
His heart had gone silent, or maybe it was screaming so loud it drowned itself out.
His mind, once a vibrant storm of dreams, worries, laughter, and love, was now a wasteland. A blank, aching void. A numbness so total it was terrifying. His body didn't ache in places. It was ache. Heavy, hollow, foreign. Detached from anything that once felt safe or real.
And he hated it. He hated not knowing.
Why his hands trembled every time someone reached out. Why he flinched like a wounded animal at the gentlest touch. Why his instinct was to pull away from the very people he once ran to.
Not strangers. Not enemies.
His people. The ones who loved him. The ones he loved.
And yet, he couldn't stop recoiling. He remembered how his breath caught in panic when Seungcheol's arms gently enveloped him. How Jeonghan's soft hands, trembling as they wiped the blood from his face, made his skin crawl. Not because of them, but because of the echo of him.
And Soobin.
God, Soobin.
Beomgyu saw it in his eyes. The hesitance, the pain, the desperate longing to just reach out, to be near him. Soobin hadn't even touched him yet. His fingers had only hovered, trembling in the stillness between them and Beomgyu still flinched. His own body, his own terror, had turned against the one person who once felt like home.
And Soobin. He hadn't forced it. Hadn't said a word. Just let his hand fall, slow and silent, retreating like it had done something wrong. His fingertips twitching in the empty space that once held all their shared warmth.
Now, bandaged and bruised, Beomgyu lay curled tightly beneath the weight of his blanket, like maybe if he squeezed himself small enough, the pain might stop recognizing him.
But even the warmth didn't soothe him. His comfort clothes clung to him like foreign fabric. No matter how soft they were, no matter how safe they once felt, his skin still burned. Still remembered.
That man's touch, filthy, violent, and vile, was etched into him like a curse he couldn't wash off.
He felt tainted. Like something precious that had been thrown in the mud and stepped on. Again and again.
And no matter how many times someone tried to clean him, to bandage his wounds, to say it would be okay. It didn't feel okay.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to cry until his soul bled.
He wanted someone to hold him and make it all stop.
But most of all, he just wanted his own skin back.
He wanted himself back. But he didn't know where that boy had gone. And he wasn't sure he ever would.
The doctor had warned him. Under no circumstances should the bandage around his head get wet.
But Beomgyu... Beomgyu could no longer differentiate between what was safe and what was necessary. He needed to be clean.
Not in the way a person cleans off dust or sweat. He needed to scrub away the invisible fingerprints, the phantom weight, the bruises that didn't show but still screamed underneath his skin.
He lay curled under his blanket, bones aching with a silence too loud. The room was dim, quiet except for the occasional wheeze of the ceiling fan and the slow, hollow beat of his heart.
Then, a knock.
Gentle. Hesitant.
Beomgyu's eyes fluttered open, barely registering the shadow at the door. But then-
"Hyung..."
Jeonghan stood there, bathed in the mellow light spilling from the hallway, wearing a warm smile that couldn't quite reach his eyes, and a kind of hesitation that made Beomgyu's chest seize up painfully.
It felt wrong. Jeonghan, hesitant?
Jeonghan, who had always burst into his room unannounced, pulled him into bone-crushing hugs, ruffled his hair till Beomgyu whined and laughed?
But now he stood at the threshold like a stranger unsure of his welcome.
Beomgyu's voice cracked as he whispered again, "Hyung..."
The older boy stepped inside slowly, carefully, as though afraid the floor might shatter beneath his feet. He pulled out the chair from Beomgyu's study desk and sat on it.
A whole arm's length away.
That distance... That deliberate space felt like a chasm. A cruel reminder of what had changed.
Jeonghan hated it. Every inch between them was a knife in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to close the space, to pull Beomgyu into his arms and shield him like he used to when they were kids, when nightmares were just shadows on walls and not wounds etched into flesh.
But he didn't. Because he knew. He knew that even love, too sudden or too close, might hurt Beomgyu now.
So he sat still, fingers curled into fists on his knees, swallowing back every instinct to reach forward.
Beomgyu looked at him, eyes wide and tired and so heartbreakingly hollow.
This wasn't his Beomgyu.
Not the boy who clung to him during summer storms, who crawled into his bed claiming he couldn't sleep, who pouted until Jeonghan let him use his hoodie for weeks.
Not the Beomgyu who once laughed so freely, who was stubborn about sharing his dessert but never his affection.
Now... Now he lay in bed like a stranger in his own skin, wrapped up like a fragile secret the world had no right to break. And yet had.
And Jeonghan... Jeonghan could only sit and watch, helplessly anchored by the love that made him stay and the fear that he might hurt his brother more by trying.
So he whispered, "I'm here."
And though he didn't reach out...
His voice did.
It wrapped around Beomgyu like a lullaby of old memories and unspoken promises.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Beomgyu didn't flinch. He didn't move, either.
But the smallest tear welled in the corner of his eye.
And for now, that was enough.
"Beomie, are you feeling any better?" Jeonghan's voice came out soft, like the whisper of a breeze brushing against a cracked windowpane. Fragile, tentative, scared to break what was already shattered.
Beomgyu didn't speak. He just shook his head, slow and lifeless, as though even that slight movement weighed heavily on the bones of his neck. His eyes stayed fixed on a corner of the wall, vacant and trembling.
Jeonghan's heart clenched, the way it always did when he saw pain in the eyes of someone he loved. Only this time, it was unbearable. Beomgyu wasn't just someone. He was his baby brother. His shadow. His sunshine. The boy who once followed him everywhere with laughter caught between his teeth. The boy who made the world softer.
Now he looked like a ghost haunted by a body that no longer wanted him.
"What are you feeling, Beomie?" Jeonghan asked, voice cracking mid-sentence despite his best efforts to stay strong. "Is there anything I can do?"
There was a pause. A fragile silence in which Beomgyu blinked slowly, as if blinking through fog. And then he murmured, his voice nearly broken at the seams:
"I... my body doesn't feel like it belongs to me, hyung. It's like it's filled with wet sand. So heavy. So... disgusting. I want to wash it off. I need to wash it off."
Jeonghan's breath caught. The ache in his chest turned unbearable, like someone had driven nails through his ribs and was twisting them mercilessly. His baby was hurting and he didn't know how to fix it.
"I know," Jeonghan whispered. "But you need to be careful with your head, Beomie. The doctor said-"
"I will be careful," Beomgyu interrupted, desperation lacing every syllable like shards of glass. His voice trembled with restrained agony, but his eyes, his eyes were pleading. "Please, hyung... let me shower. I promise. I just... I can't stay like this. I'm crawling in my own skin."
Jeonghan opened his mouth to argue, torn between reason and the hollow cry of his brother's pain. But before he could utter a word, a breathless voice echoed from the doorway.
"Jeonghan hyung!"
It was Soobin.
Jeonghan turned, startled, as Soobin stepped into view, slightly out of breath, worry clouding his features.
"Eunsoo's looking for you. She's really upset," Soobin said quickly. "Seungcheol hyung... he told her something to cover up Beomgyu's condition and... she didn't take it well."
Jeonghan groaned softly, eyes flickering shut for a second as guilt piled onto his already fragile chest.
"I told Cheol not to say anything yet," he muttered, jaw tightening as he turned to look at Beomgyu who was already trying to get out of bed, pulling the blanket off himself with trembling fingers.
Beomgyu met Jeonghan's gaze with a quiet determination, no longer pleading, just silently asking for this one piece of control over his own body.
"It's okay, hyung," he said, voice a little steadier now, though the cracks still showed through. "Go. Handle Eunsoo. You're the only one who can. She listens to you."
"And Seungcheol hyung probably needs saving," Soobin added gently, trying to lighten the weight in the room even as his eyes stayed locked on Beomgyu's fragile frame. "You, better than anyone, know how Eunsoo gets when she's upset. He must be panicking by now."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Jeonghan's lips, more bitter than amused but he nodded, reluctantly rising from the chair.
He lingered, just for a second, hand twitching by his side, aching to touch Beomgyu's shoulder. To give him something warm to hold onto. But he didn't. He knew Beomgyu wasn't ready.
"Just be careful, okay?" he whispered. "Promise me."
Beomgyu didn't speak. He only nodded, a small, solemn movement that made Jeonghan's heart crack all over again.
And then he left, leaving Soobin standing at the door, watching Beomgyu like he wanted nothing more than to follow Jeonghan's footsteps and close the distance. But he didn't either.
Because Beomgyu was still retreating.
Still trying to fight off something invisible that had wrapped itself around him like a second skin.
Still trying to feel like himself again.
And even love, as powerful as it was, didn't always know how to heal that.
Beomgyu turned away so fast it was as if the mere weight of Soobin's gaze had seared his skin.
He couldn't look at him. He dared not.
Because in Soobin's eyes, he feared he'd see something far more devastating than anger. Forgiveness. Patience. Love.
And he wasn't ready for any of it.
Not when his own body had become a stranger to him. Not when his reflexes still recoiled from touch that once felt like home. Not when the very person who had held him with trembling gentleness could now, unknowingly, be the trigger to his unraveling.
He was scared.
Scared of hurting Soobin again. Scared that his body would flinch, automatically and uninvited, and carve another wound into Soobin's already breaking heart. Scared that every instinct of fear would be mistaken for rejection. Scared that his silence might feel like shame. Scared that even love, when mishandled by trauma, could turn cruel.
So without a word, without a glance, he turned toward the bathroom. A coward to his own pain. A boy suffocating in guilt.
His fingers trembled as they brushed the door. He stepped inside. Not for solitude, but to escape the overwhelming ache that hung between them like unspoken thunder.
And yet... He didn't lock the door.
He left it open. Just enough. Just wide enough.
The gap was thin but it carried everything he couldn't say.
A flickering signal of trust. A soft echo of hope. A whisper that said, "I don't want to shut you out. I just don't know how to let you in."
Soobin stood there, still. Motionless.
He didn't speak. Didn't follow. Didn't reach out.
He simply watched Beomgyu's silhouette vanish into the shadows beyond the half-open door, his heart burning with questions he couldn't ask, and love he didn't know where to put.
And in that quiet, where neither of them moved nor spoke, grief settled between them like a living thing, weeping for the tenderness that still wanted to survive.
Soobin sat at the very edge of the bed, his hands resting numbly in his lap, his back curved like he was carrying the weight of every moment he couldn't undo.
He didn't leave. He couldn't.
Because sometimes staying takes more strength than walking away. Because leaving now, when Beomgyu was retreating behind invisible walls, would only confirm the very fear that haunted him.
So he stayed. To bear witness. To breathe through the silence with him. To anchor the space with a quiet promise. "I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."
His eyes lingered on the slightly ajar bathroom door, the soft golden light spilling out like a fragile tether.
Every second stretched with unbearable stillness.
Until- A sharp, crashing sound shattered it.
The thud of falling bottles echoed like panic in Soobin's bones.
He bolted upright, breath caught somewhere between his ribs, skin prickling with the fear of the unknown.
His feet moved before his mind caught up, bringing him closer to the door, closer to whatever pain might be waiting inside.
"Beomgyu?" he called softly, voice shaking as he rested a palm against the doorframe. "Are you okay?"
No answer. Only the sound of hurried, uneven shuffling. Not frantic, but not quite calm either.
Soobin's heart raced, caught in the limbo between trust and worry.
"I'm- I'm coming in," he said, almost pleadingly, voice fragile with hesitation. "Okay?"
Still nothing. No protest. No permission. Only silence cloaked in muffled movement.
He lingered another breath, then slowly pushed the door open.
And there he was.
Beomgyu, crouched low on the tiled floor, arms gathering a scattered mess of bottles with trembling hands, hair falling into his face like a curtain to hide behind.
The body wash had leaked, pooling beneath his knees. His fingers slipped clumsily through it, as though even plastic objects recoiled from his touch.
He looked like he was trying to clean up a war he never started.
Soobin's breath caught again. This time not from fear, but from the ache that clutched his chest at the sight.
This boy, so beautiful in his vulnerability, so stubborn in his silence, was trying to pretend nothing had happened. Trying to fix spilled things as if that could fix everything.
He knelt slowly beside him, not touching, not crowding, just... being.
"Beomgyu," he whispered, softer than the light filtering through the steam, "it's okay. Let me do this."
And even though Beomgyu didn't respond, even though he kept his head bowed and his eyes hidden. His shoulders shook, almost imperceptibly.
And Soobin knew. He knew.
That was the sound of someone breaking.
And trying, desperately, not to be heard.
"It's messed up..." Beomgyu whispered, the words barely louder than a breath, fragile and frayed. "You shouldn't be near it. I need to fix this myself."
His voice cracked under the weight of shame, low and uneven, like it had been stitched together with threads of guilt and self-loathing. He didn't dare meet Soobin's eyes. Didn't dare let himself be seen like this.
Soobin's brows knitted instantly, his chest tightening with a slow-burning ache. He wasn't confused. No, he understood exactly what Beomgyu meant.
He wasn't talking about the mess of shampoo slicked across the cold tiles, or the toppled plastic bottles still rolling quietly in the puddle.
Beomgyu was talking about himself.
The mess was him. The one he believed he'd become. Ruined, unworthy, broken in ways no one should touch.
And for a moment, Soobin just stood there. His heart too full, his voice caught like a storm behind his lips.
Because what do you say to someone who's convinced they're the damage?
Still kneeling, he reached forward. Not to fix, not to save, but simply to stay. His fingertips grazed the floor beside Beomgyu, not quite touching him, but anchoring the space between them.
I'm not scared of your ruins, his silence whispered.
You don't have to fix yourself before letting someone care.
He wanted to say it aloud. But for now, he just stayed. Eyes gentle, presence unwavering. Because sometimes, staying is the loudest form of love.
Soobin knelt silently beside Beomgyu, his movements careful, almost reverent, as he gathered the fallen bottles and placed them back onto the counter with quiet precision. The silence between them was dense, brimming with unspoken things. Words neither of them dared to utter, hanging in the air like unshed tears.
He turned on the shower briefly, letting the stream rinse away the scattered remnants on the tiled floor, watching the water spiral down the drain as if it could carry away the weight pressing down on both their chests.
Then he looked up and there was Beomgyu, still fumbling with the plastic headcover the doctor suggested to use, his fingers trembling slightly as he tried to wrap it around the bandaged crown of his head. His hands were too shaky, too stubborn. His eyes avoided Soobin's like they were fire.
A low sigh escaped Soobin's lips, threaded with ache. He stepped forward, his voice soft as a whisper carried by the wind.
"Let me," he said, gently prying the cloth from Beomgyu's hands.
Beomgyu didn't protest. He didn't nod either. He just stood there, frozen in place, chest rising and falling with silent restraint as Soobin gently secured the headcover around him, careful not to touch any part that still bore pain.
"Do you need help with the shower?" Soobin asked, voice so tender it almost dissolved.
Still, no answer. But for the first time, Beomgyu looked at him, truly looked at him. His eyes were stormy, glassy, like they were holding back oceans. And it shattered something deep inside Soobin.
Soobin's fingers hesitated at the buttons of Beomgyu's night shirt. His gaze remained fixed on Beomgyu's face, reading every twitch, every flicker, ready to stop if even a breath of discomfort surfaced. He would never do anything Beomgyu wasn't ready for. Never again.
One button at a time, he undid the shirt and slipped it off gently, like it was made of something breakable. He hung it up beside the sink before turning back to him with the handheld shower.
And that's when he saw them.
Faint shadows of fingers pressed into Beomgyu's skin. Bruises blooming like grief on his arms and shoulders. Marks left by hands that had no right to touch him. Soobin's heart clenched, rage and sorrow twisting inside him like fire trapped beneath skin.
Beomgyu stood still, silent, almost hollow.
Soobin reached first for Beomgyu's hand gently, like asking permission through touch. Beomgyu flinched. Just slightly. But that was enough to tear Soobin in two. He stilled, waited. And Beomgyu did too. Then he let Soobin hold him.
Carefully, Soobin guided the warm water over Beomgyu's arm. He washed in slow, sweeping circles. Never pressing too hard, as though trying to erase what was never supposed to be there. He moved to his shoulder next, rinsing gently, his fingertips trembling as if trying to communicate a promise. I'm here. I see you. You're safe.
He dipped a soft towel into warm water, wrung it out, and then moved to Beomgyu's face. When he brushed it over his lips and cheek, Beomgyu winced, and Soobin's breath caught painfully in his throat.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, not because he hurt him, but because he couldn't stop someone else from doing so.
He picked up a dry towel, dabbing gently along Beomgyu's chest and shoulders, wrapping warmth into every motion. His touch was a balm, so full of care it made Beomgyu's throat tighten.
And Beomgyu. Oh, Beomgyu. His mind was a flood of feelings he didn't know how to name. This kindness, this patience, this unwavering presence that was Soobin. It was too much and not enough all at once. It cracked open something raw inside him.
He wanted to fall into Soobin's arms. Bury his face in his chest. Wrap himself in the comfort of those arms and stay there until everything stopped hurting. He wanted to whisper thank yous and I'm sorries and I missed yous, all tangled in the same breath. But none of it made it out. His mouth stayed shut. Because if he opened it, he might shatter entirely.
Soobin stepped back a little, even though every part of him was screaming to pull Beomgyu close. He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to remain steady.
"I'll be outside," he said gently, handing a fresh set of clothes. "Take your time. Just... come back to me."
His voice lingered like a promise in the damp air, heavy with longing, with unsaid love, with the hope that one day soon, Beomgyu would believe that he's not too broken to be held.
Beomgyu took the clothes silently, fingers brushing against Soobin's for a fleeting second. A brief contact that burned with everything unspoken.
Soobin hesitated before stepping out, leaving the door ajar just enough, in case Beomgyu needed him again. He didn't go far. Just sat back on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, hands clasped, head bowed low like he was holding together the storm threatening to tear him apart.
Inside, Beomgyu stood frozen, the warmth of Soobin's touch still clinging to his skin like a fragile ghost. The silence pressed on his ears, broken only by the soft sound of water droplets still clinging to the edge of the sink and his shallow breathing.
He dressed slowly.
Every movement hurt, not because of the bruises but because of the war inside him. His fingers trembled as he pulled on the t-shirt, not just from physical pain, but from the ache of guilt, the unbearable weight of care he didn't think he deserved.
When he finally stepped out, Soobin lifted his head, gaze immediately finding Beomgyu. And the look on his face... it wasn't pity. It wasn't worry. It was something gentler, quieter. Like he was looking at something precious, something worth staying for no matter how broken.
Beomgyu stood there for a moment, in his oversized t-shirt and loose sweatpants, arms limp by his side. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Words refused to come.
Soobin stood up slowly. His movements were cautious, careful not to startle Beomgyu, like approaching a frightened bird that might fly away if touched too quickly.
But Beomgyu didn't step back.
And Soobin didn't ask.
He just reached out. Hesitant, tender and gently touched Beomgyu's arm. A simple touch. But to Beomgyu, it felt like a lifeline. Like someone seeing him drowning and still choosing to swim into the wreckage to pull him out.
Soobin gently guided Beomgyu toward the bed, hands feather-light on his arms as though any firmer touch might cause him to shatter. Beomgyu moved like driftwood on the tide, silent, unresisting and lost. His gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the room. Soobin sat him down with the softest care, then lowered himself to his knees before him, the carpet biting into his skin as if punishing him for not doing more, not doing it sooner.
With trembling fingers, Soobin reached for the medication bag, unzipping it slowly, as though the sound alone might fracture the silence between them. He pulled out the ointment, his breath catching as he turned back to the boy he loved.
He took Beomgyu's hands, delicate and trembling things into his own lap, cupping them as one might hold a wounded bird. Soobin's thumb brushed gently across the angry bruises blooming like wilted violets on Beomgyu's wrists, a tenderness so fragile it ached.
But Beomgyu recoiled like he'd been burned.
He ripped his hands away with a sharp gasp, dragging his feet under the bed as if trying to disappear entirely, trying to fold himself into nothingness. His shoulders shook, and in that moment of retreat, Soobin saw. Saw what Beomgyu had desperately wanted to hide.
His ankles.
Bruised. Swollen. Marked with pain that words could never reach.
Soobin's breath hitched in his throat.
Beomgyu flinched beneath his gaze and suddenly snapped, his voice trembling but rising in desperation. "You shouldn't see them! You shouldn't be here, Soobin!"
His voice cracked, trembling on the edge of a breakdown. "I'm disgusting. Look at me. This... all of this," he gestured vaguely at his body, his skin, his soul.
"It's ruined me. I'm not the same. I'm not the Beomgyu you once loved. That boy is dead, Soobin. He's gone. Lost. And you-" his voice cracked again, raw and wet with emotion, "you should go too. Leave me before this version of me ruins you too."
And then he broke.
Tears spilled over like a flood he'd been holding back for far too long. He crawled backward, inch by inch, until he reached the headboard, yanking the blanket over himself like a shield, like armor against love he didn't believe he deserved anymore.
"Go," he cried from beneath the covers, his voice muffled but agonizing. "Just go, Soobin. You don't deserve this. I'm not worth your time. I'm not worth your love. I'm not worth your care. Please... leave."
Soobin sat frozen, the ointment still clutched uselessly in his hand.
His heart ached so deeply it felt like something was physically cracking inside his chest. He didn't know how to move. Didn't know what words could possibly reach Beomgyu now, when the boy had buried himself in self-loathing so deep it had eclipsed the light from his own eyes.
But the worst part wasn't the helplessness.
It was the fact that Beomgyu wanted him to go.
And Soobin... didn't know how to do that.
Because leaving was never even an option. Not for him.
Not when it came to Beomgyu.
Soobin didn't move. He stayed kneeling on the cold floor, hands empty now, the ointment tube slipping from his palm and rolling quietly under the edge of the bed.
The room was dim, heavy with the weight of Beomgyu's words, the kind that cracked through silence like thunder and left silence behind like aftermath. The kind of pain that couldn't be covered up with blankets or hidden behind trembling hands.
Beomgyu was curled into himself beneath the covers. Small, trembling, shadowed by shame. His voice still echoed in the room, raw and jagged, and it pierced Soobin more than any scream ever could.
Soobin's throat burned, but he didn't speak yet. His heart ached. Not because Beomgyu pushed him away, but because he believed those words. Because he really thought he wasn't worth loving anymore.
He slowly sat back on his heels, letting the silence breathe for a moment.
Then he whispered, "You think I came here because I only loved the perfect parts of you?"
The blanket rustled. A pause.
Soobin swallowed hard and continued, voice thick with emotion. "You think I'm here because of your bright smiles and jokes? Because you used to light up rooms and make people laugh?"
Beomgyu stayed silent, the fabric of the blanket shaking slightly with his breath.
"I did love those parts," Soobin said. "But not more than I love this. This moment, right now. When you're breaking and you still haven't pushed everyone away. When you're hurting, but you're still here."
He leaned closer to the bed, eyes never leaving the trembling silhouette under the covers. "You say you're- you're disgusting, but Beomgyu... you don't see what I see. I see someone still fighting to breathe, even when it hurts. I see someone so brave, even when they can't stand to look in the mirror."
Soobin's hand trembled as he reached out, laying it gently on the blanket. Soft enough that Beomgyu could pull away if he wanted, but firm enough to say, I'm not going anywhere.
"I don't care if you're bruised. I don't care if you're broken. You're still the Beomgyu I love. Maybe not the same, maybe scarred, maybe quiet. But still you. Still mine."
The words hung between them like a thread, taut and shimmering.
"I don't want to leave," Soobin whispered. "I don't know how to."
There was a long, agonizing pause. The kind that stretched across the chest and pulled every heartbeat tighter.
Then, from beneath the blanket, a sob escaped. Soft, muffled, but devastating.
And suddenly, the blanket shifted.
Beomgyu peeked out, just his tear-streaked face and swollen eyes visible. He didn't say anything, but his eyes locked with Soobin's, full of a pleading kind of ache. One that said Don't give up on me yet.
Soobin gently crawled forward, sitting on the edge of the bed now.
"Can I... just stay here?" he asked quietly, voice so tender it barely felt real. "No ointment, no questions. Just me. Next to you."
Beomgyu hesitated, lips trembling.
And then he nodded.
Just once.
Soobin let himself sink slowly to the floor again, the strength leaving his limbs like a tide receding from the shore, until he landed on his hips, wordless and still on the cold, unyielding wood.
He sat there, on the floor on the side opposite where Beomgyu lay, swallowed whole by the shadows of the blanket, like he was trying to vanish into the fabric, into the silence, into anything that wasn't this moment.
He didn't speak. There was nothing in him that dared disturb the quiet. So fragile it felt like a single word could break it beyond repair. Instead, he reached into the quiet with one small gesture. He placed the ointment on the bedsheet, and with a gentle nudge of his fingers, rolled it across the space that now stretched between them like a fault line. A line neither of them knew how to cross.
Beomgyu reached for it with hands that trembled like autumn leaves caught in the wind. And when he turned, slowly and quietly, his back faced Soobin with the kind of finality that shattered something inside him.
Soobin's throat burned. His chest ached with the kind of ache that made it hard to breathe. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream, or beg, or do something reckless just to remind Beomgyu that he was still here, still holding on. But he didn't. Because now, more than ever, he knew he had to be the one to stay strong, to stay grounded, to stay silent if that's what Beomgyu needed.
The boy who used to curl into Soobin's side like he belonged there, who would wrap his arms around him in sleep and hold on like Soobin was the only safe thing in the world was now shrinking away. Recoiling like he was ashamed of being seen. Like love would hurt more than solitude.
Soobin stared at the fragile rise and fall of Beomgyu's back under the blanket, his gaze unwavering, as though he could silently will his warmth through the cotton, through the distance, through the pain. Seconds bled into minutes. Minutes into nearly an hour. The silence stretched unbearably thin, punctuated only by the occasional hiccup of breath from beneath the covers.
And then, finally. Beomgyu moved. A small, unconscious shift. He turned in his sleep, curling inward, and his face fell into the half-light. Turned toward Soobin. Vulnerable, raw, still wearing the exhaustion of all the pain he was carrying.
For that one hour, Soobin had memorized every line of Beomgyu's back, watched it with a desperation that no words could contain. And now. Now that Beomgyu was facing him, he didn't dare blink. Didn't dare move. Because maybe this was something. Maybe it was the beginning of Beomgyu not pushing him away.
Soobin clutched his knees to his chest and closed his eyes, finally letting one tear fall, soundless because for the first time on that cruel day, Beomgyu was looking his way.
And even if it was just in sleep... it was enough to make Soobin stay.
It was well past afternoon now, the sun beginning its descent, casting long slanted shadows across the room like weary fingers stretching across the floorboards. But Soobin hadn't moved. Not once. He remained seated on the cold ground, back leaned faintly against the edge of the bedframe, his arms looped tightly around his drawn-up knees like they were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His gaze, steadfast and unrelenting, remained glued to the fragile figure lying in the bed.
Beomgyu.
Every breath the boy took, every subtle twitch beneath the thin sheet, every sigh that escaped his lips, Soobin watched it all like it was the last thing anchoring him to the present moment. His eyes, reddened and dry from hours of resisting even a single blink. Burned but he didn't dare look away.
Beomgyu had slept through most of the day. At least, that's how it appeared from the outside. But Soobin knew better. He had counted it. Five times.
Five flinches.
Five sharp, involuntary spasms that broke through the stillness of Beomgyu's sleep like ghosts rising from beneath the surface of still waters. Each one sent a jolt through Soobin's chest like a lash of guilt, like he could feel the echo of whatever pain Beomgyu was fighting, even in his unconscious state. His fingers clenched around his sleeves each time, helpless and aching.
Of course he noticed.
How could he not?
Soobin hadn't taken his eyes off him for a second. Not out of obligation, but because the thought of missing even a moment, even a single flicker of discomfort or distress, felt unbearable.
He needed to be present. He needed to be here, because it was the only thing he could do for the boy who used to cling to him like he was home, but now curled away like he was trying to disappear into the folds of his own shadow.
Outside, the world continued. Birds flitted past the window, the golden sun brushed gently against the curtains. But inside that quiet room, time hung suspended between two aching souls. And Soobin, still and silent, bore witness to every flicker of pain etched into Beomgyu's restless sleep.
It wasn't just waiting.
It was mourning.
It was loving in silence.
It was holding space for someone who no longer knew how to be held.
And Soobin would stay. For as long as it took.
The door creaked open with a softness so deliberate it seemed to apologize for intruding upon the stillness.
A hush had settled over the room like a fragile blanket, heavy with unsaid words, and Seokmin stepped into it cautiously, each footfall quiet, careful not to break the delicate calm that hung between Soobin and the sleeping boy before him.
Soobin didn't flinch. His body remained curled in that same steadfast posture, eyes locked on Beomgyu like they had been for hours, as if even the faintest shift in his gaze might allow some unseen darkness to slip in and take the boy from him.
Seokmin's hand reached out slowly, gently pressing to Soobin's shoulder, his voice low and tender.
"Hey." The word fell like a whisper, catching on the silence before Soobin turned to look up.
"Hyung..." Soobin murmured, voice gravelly, lips chapped, the fatigue in his eyes not just from a sleepless night but from the kind of aching that nests in the bones. An exhaustion carved by helplessness.
Seokmin knelt beside him, lowering himself until they were shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart. His palm came to rest atop Soobin's head, stroking gently, again and again, like a lullaby made of touch. Meant to soothe, to anchor, to say I'm here in ways words never could.
"You haven't eaten anything since yesterday," Seokmin said softly, his voice carrying the weight of concern and the warmth of quiet pleading. "Come. Just a little something."
But Soobin's gaze had already returned to Beomgyu, unwavering.
His thoughts bled out through his silence.
Beomgyu hadn't eaten either. Not since yesterday. Too caught up in rehearsals, in perfecting every move, too determined to shine without thinking of the toll it took on his own body. He'd given everything he had to the stage... and now he lay there, still and small, like something the world had forgotten how to hold.
Seokmin followed the direction of Soobin's stare and sighed, the sound gentle but trembling.
"Hannie hyung's on his way with porridge and warm milk," he offered, eyes scanning the sleeping boy as his own heart tugged painfully in his chest. "He needs to eat too, Soobin. He'll need the strength."
His voice wavered for a breath, and he blinked away the sting in his eyes. There was something unbearable about seeing someone usually so full of life lying so quietly, like even the air around him was afraid to touch him wrong.
"You have to stay strong for him," Seokmin continued, softer now, voice threading with quiet urgency. "And for that, your body needs something too. Please, Soobin. Eat. For him."
And then, he stood.
His hand, once comfort, now stretched forward like an unspoken promise.
Soobin hesitated but only for a second. He knew. Of course, he knew.
He wasn't of any use to Beomgyu like this. Hollow and collapsing from within. So, he lifted his hand, trembling as it was, and let Seokmin clasp it. With one firm pull, Seokmin helped him to his feet, his strength filling the gaps where Soobin's had fallen through.
But even as his body obeyed, Soobin's heart lingered.
He kept glancing over his shoulder, every step away from Beomgyu like peeling away a piece of himself.
And just as he reached the doorway, it opened once more.
Jeonghan entered, carrying a tray with delicate balance, the warmth of porridge rising in soft spirals from the bowl. His eyes found Soobin's. Tired, heavy and longing. And in that single glance, he poured all the reassurance the younger boy needed.
Jeonghan smiled, a quiet, knowing thing, and brought one hand up to Soobin's cheek, brushing it tenderly with his thumb. His other hand held the tray with a grace born from years of holding others through their storms.
"I'll stay," he whispered, eyes kind. "Go eat, hmm? I've got him."
Soobin didn't trust his voice to respond.
He just nodded, swallowing the ache swelling in his throat, and let Seokmin guide him out. Though not without one final glance.
His eyes lingered on Beomgyu's sleeping face. Soft, pale, still lost in the fog of exhaustion and pain and something in Soobin's chest clenched so tightly it stole the air from his lungs.
Wait for me, he thought. Just a little longer. I'll come back. I promise.
And with that, he turned.
Soobin descended the stairs slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last, as though his body was still carrying the weight of the silence he'd left behind upstairs. Seokmin walked quietly beside him, his presence steady and grounding, like a string tethering Soobin to the present moment.
As they reached the final step, a burst of laughter, light, airy and utterly innocent cut through the stillness that had wrapped itself around Soobin's heart. He turned his head instinctively, his eyes finding the source of the sound. Eunsoo sat on the couch, her little legs kicking in delight as Hiyyih tickled her sides, both of them lost in a fit of giggles that echoed like sunlight against cold stone.
A few hours ago, that same child had been curled in a corner, her face wet, her lips trembling, clutching her stuffed rabbit as if it were her last piece of comfort in a world that had suddenly turned uncertain.
Soobin remembered crouching beside her, his voice helpless, his hands unable to soothe. She had looked up at him with tears heavy in her lashes. Silent questions in her eyes he didn't know how to answer.
But now. Now she glowed again.
Jeonghan's touch lingered in the room, even if he wasn't there in that moment. His presence was everywhere. His love, unspoken, patient and unyielding had pulled Eunsoo back to the surface.
Of course it had. He'd been her anchor, her safe haven, her father in every way that mattered. His love had not just raised her. It had woven warmth into her bones.
A faint smile curved the corner of Soobin's lips, soft and slow, as he pulled out a chair and sank into it. It wasn't joy. Not fully. But it was something close. A flicker of peace amid the ache.
And sometimes, that was enough.
Seokmin gently placed a warm bowl in front of Soobin, the steam rising like a soft sigh into the air. The aroma should've stirred something. Hunger, at the very least.
But Soobin's stomach felt hollow in a way that food could never fill. He didn't want to eat. Every fiber of him resisted. But somewhere deep inside, buried beneath the guilt and grief, he knew. He had to.
He needed to hold himself together, if not for his own sake, then for Beomgyu's. Someone had to be strong. Someone had to believe he could be brought back from the dark, even if Beomgyu no longer did.
Seungcheol pulled out a chair and sat beside him without a word, the wooden legs scraping softly against the floor. Soobin glanced at him through his lashes, watching the elder's hands quietly work the spoon through the rice, every movement measured and unspoken.
There was something unbearably gentle about the way Seungcheol did it. Like he knew any sudden noise might break Soobin's already trembling composure.
Soobin turned toward him slowly, his lips parting before the words could catch up to his heart. His voice came out fragile, barely above a whisper, but heavy with everything he had tried to swallow down until now.
"I'm sorry, hyung..."
Seungcheol looked up.
"I- I told you that I wouldn't give you a reason to doubt me with Beomgyu... that I'd protect him, be the person you could trust him with... but the truth is, I failed you. I failed him."
His voice cracked then, trembling like glass on the edge of shattering. "I couldn't keep him safe. I didn't fight hard enough. I thought just loving him would be enough... but it wasn't. I wasn't."
His eyes, red-rimmed and full of regret, fluttered closed for a heartbeat. "And now he's in this state, hyung. Terrified of himself. Drowning in guilt. Hating every piece of who he is. And I can't even reach him... not the way he needs."
Soobin gripped the edge of the table with white-knuckled fingers, trying to steady the tremble that shook through his bones.
"I think... I think I'm really not good enough for him," he breathed, voice crumbling under the weight of self-loathing. "I'm sorry he's hurting like this. I'm sorry he trusted me and I let him fall. I-" his voice faltered again, "I'm so sorry, hyung... all of this... it's because of me..."
And in that moment, Soobin didn't just look broken. He looked hollow. Like someone who had handed over every last piece of himself just to keep someone else from falling apart, and now didn't know what to do with the ache that was left behind.
Seungcheol exhaled slowly. A breath laced with the weight of everything unspoken. The sound was almost hollow, like the final note of a lament that had no end. Then he shifted, turning fully toward Soobin, his gaze unwavering, his presence grounding like a storm shelter in the middle of a hurricane.
"I don't think I need to echo Jeonghan's words again," he began, voice deep, steady, a quiet thunder wrapped in warmth. "You know what place you hold in Beomgyu's life, in his heart. Don't you dare question that. Not now. Not when he needs you to believe in it the most."
Soobin's throat clenched, the guilt still clawing mercilessly at the walls of his chest, but Seungcheol continued, firmer now, as if trying to speak directly to the fracture lines in Soobin's soul.
"You're drowning in guilt for not being there, for not stopping what happened. But Soobin, this pain... this cruelty, it wasn't born from your silence. It was born from the world's unfairness. And maybe... maybe this was a storm Beomgyu was always going to face. But here's what matters now. He's alive. He's breathing. He's home. With us. And even if that home feels foreign to him at the moment, even if he can't recognize it through the haze of fear and self-loathing, we have to make it known that nothing has changed. That he hasn't changed in our eyes."
Seungcheol's fingers curled into a loose fist on the table, eyes glimmering with an ache of their own. "Yes, it's scarred him. Maybe more than any of us can understand. That wound in his soul. It's bleeding silence, and it'll take time before it scabs over. But Soobin, he is allowed to fall apart. He's allowed to tremble, to scream, to cry himself to sleep if that's what it takes to survive. But you. You don't get to break. Not now. Not while he's watching. You have to be the hand he reaches for when his own fists are too weak to fight. The voice he hears when his own is too lost to speak."
His voice dropped to a tender whisper, the words nearly cradling Soobin's bruised spirit. "You say you failed him. But love isn't a shield, Soobin. It's a promise to stay. Even when it hurts. Even when it bleeds. And you're still here, aren't you? You're still holding space for him, still breathing through the ache. That's not failure. That's love in its rawest, fiercest form."
Seungcheol leaned in just slightly, as if anchoring every word straight into Soobin's chest. "So give time the chance to do its work. Let the silence speak, let the pain exist. But don't ever let Beomgyu believe he's alone in it. We will be strong for him. You will be strong for him. And when he's ready to come back. To feel the sun again. We'll be right here. Not one step behind."
Seungcheol's words didn't just land softly. They carved straight through Soobin's already fractured heart, each syllable echoing with unbearable truth. His breath hitched, jaw clenched ever so slightly as he tried to keep the trembling from spilling into his hands. But his composure cracked when Seungcheol reached out, gently gripping his hand, grounding him.
His voice was low-. Fragile but steady.
"I'm sorry," Seungcheol whispered, his eyes downcast for a moment before meeting Soobin's, unwavering. "I lost my temper. I let fear get the better of me, and I threw it all at you. That wasn't fair. I was terrified when I found out Beomgyu was gone. Completely undone at the thought of something happening to him."
He swallowed thickly, voice trembling under the weight of memories.
"He's always been important to me, even before I met him. Jeonghan... Jeonghan never stops talking about him with this fierce, unwavering love in his voice like Beomgyu was a miracle he could never get enough of. And when I finally met him... I understood. I saw it too. The warmth in his laughter. The honesty in his eyes. The light he brings into a room. He wasn't just Jeonghan's little brother. He became mine too."
Seungcheol's grip on Soobin's hand tightened for a second, as if anchoring himself to the moment.
"That boy carved his place in our lives with so much quiet grace. And the thought of him getting hurt... of him breaking. I panicked. I said things I didn't mean. I blamed you when it wasn't your fault. I'm so, so sorry."
Soobin blinked, and the tears that had been threatening to fall finally escaped, streaming down his cheeks. He tried to smile, though it wavered beneath the ache in his chest. His voice was soft, but sure.
"No, hyung," he murmured, shaking his head slowly. "You don't need to apologise. I understand. You were scared... we all were. You were hurting because he means that much to you."
His lips curved into a tear-drenched smile.
"And honestly, that just makes me feel grateful. That Beomgyu has people like you... who love him so fiercely. Who would burn the world down for him."
They sat there in silence for a moment. Hands clasped tightly, pain shared, hearts quietly breaking for the same boy who once lit up the world with his laughter.
But they would rebuild him. Together.
It was well past evening, the sky outside painted in shades of bruised lavender and fading gold, as if the sun, too, had grown weary of the world. Inside the house, the air was dipped in a kind of hush only exhaustion could summon. Gentle, heavy, almost reverent.
Soobin had finally succumbed to sleep on the couch, his body curled into itself like a child seeking warmth from the ache within. The shadows beneath his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, of too much holding in, of silently enduring while everything around him spun recklessly out of his control. One hand loosely dangled off the edge of the couch, and his chest rose and fell in the softest rhythm like a lullaby the universe had finally sung just for him.
The university halls, once echoing with music and laughter, had finally stilled after the whirlwind of the competition. And with its end came an unexpected mercy. A week's break, an exhale long overdue. But rest wasn't as easy to come by as time. Not when hearts were still recovering.
Seokmin, ever the quiet comfort, had taken Yeonjun and Dino back to his little café down the street. His haven. Together, they baked until flour dusted their clothes like snow, and the scent of sugar and warmth filled the room like a remedy. They laughed, light but subdued, each trying in their own way to knead the heaviness out of the air, as if sweetness could somehow reach the cracks forming deep inside them.
In the living room, Hiyyih's laughter chimed like wind through chimes. Soft, bright and healing as she played with Eunsoo on the floor, a tangle of giggles and dolls and scattered cushions.
Eunsoo, who had clung to silence and grumpiness just hours ago, now leaned into Hiyyih's joy as if borrowing it for herself. Her eyes were still swollen, but her smile had returned, hesitant yet sincere. Childhood had a strange resilience. It bloomed even in sorrow.
Upstairs, Beomgyu lay in the quiet dark of his room, his breaths shallow but steady like the fragile rhythm of someone still drifting between hurt and healing. Taehyun and Hueningkai sat close, slouched on the couch at the foot of his bed. Neither spoke much. They just... stayed. Watching over him like two sentinels with cracked hearts, exchanging quiet glances and memories they weren't ready to revisit yet.
Every once in a while, Taehyun would reach over to adjust Beomgyu's blanket or brush his fringe back, and Hueningkai would sigh, shoulders trembling just slightly, holding everything in.
Downstairs, Seungcheol had somehow managed to convince Jeonghan to close his eyes for a while. Though it took more pleading than he'd ever admit aloud. And now, they rested in one of the rooms, cocooned in a hush too sacred to break. Jeonghan's head was tucked beneath Seungcheol's chin, and for the first time in hours, his fingers weren't clutching something out of fear. Seungcheol watched over him, not sleeping, just breathing. And hoping.
And in all of that, the house stood still.
Not empty, not broken. But quiet in the way that feels like a wound mid-heal. A silence so deep it wrapped around every heartbeat. The lights were low, the air warm, and though grief hadn't fully loosened its grip, it had softened. Just a little.
A momentary peace had settled.
A soft, sacred pause between all that had hurt and all that would begin again.
Soobin had tried.
God, he had tried to let sleep claim him. He’d closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, pretended to surrender. But his body betrayed him. His mind was a storm with no shore in sight, thoughts colliding and breaking apart in an endless loop.
Every time he felt the edge of rest, the noise returned. Shards of memory, guilt, and longing cutting through the fog.
A faint touch broke through his haze. A small, hesitant tap against his arm. His brow knitted, the fragile threads of his fragile almost-sleep snapping. Another tap followed, lighter this time, then a third. Each one pulling him further into the waking world.
His lashes fluttered, the dull ache of exhaustion making it hard to lift his eyes. But when he finally blinked himself awake, the blurred shapes sharpened. And there she was. Eunsoo. Standing so close to the couch, her little face tilted up at him, her tiny palm still resting against his sleeve like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to wake him.
Soobin’s lips curled into the faintest smile, gentle and weary. “Hi,” he murmured, his voice rough from disuse.
She smiled back. Or tried to. It reached her mouth but stopped far short of her eyes. Those stayed heavy, dimmed by something too big for her small body to hold.
Her bottom lip pushed out in a trembling pout. “Soobie…”
The sound of his name in her small, fragile voice unraveled something in him. Without a second’s pause, Soobin pushed himself upright, ignoring the stiffness in his neck and back.
In the next breath, Eunsoo was weightless in the air, then safely perched on his lap, her little legs dangling against his thigh.
He smoothed her hair back, his touch feather-light. “What happened, Eunsoo? Why are you all sad and pouty, hmm?”
Her pout deepened until it was almost a quiver. “I wanna see Beomie,” she said, voice dipping lower, as if afraid saying it too loud would make it impossible. “I miss him.”
Soobin’s smile faltered, a shadow slipping over it. “I know,” he whispered, the words heavy with something he couldn’t yet name. “Me too.”
“But…” Her small brow furrowed as her gaze searched his face. “You see him?”
And there it was. The truth he could never hand her. The truth that sat in his chest like an iron weight.
How was he supposed to explain to her that seeing Beomgyu wasn’t the same as having him? That standing in the same room, hearing his breath, even brushing his skin. It still felt like he was galaxies away. That the boy who now lay in bed, hollow-eyed and drowning under the weight of his own self-hatred, felt like a stranger wearing the shape of someone Soobin loved.
Because the Beomgyu he missed, the real Beomgyu, was the one who used to nudge him just to start a playful argument, the one who could turn a quiet afternoon into an echo of laughter, the one whose eyes lit up like they were sharing a secret no one else in the world could understand.
That Beomgyu wasn’t here.
And Soobin didn’t know how to tell a little girl that he missed him too. Missed him with a hunger so sharp it cut.
He didn’t answer her question. Not because he didn’t hear it, but because he didn’t have the heart to break her more than she already was. Instead, he leaned into the gentlest voice he could manage.
“Jeonghan hyung will be upset if you see him now,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her small knuckles. “Didn’t he tell you? Beomie will see you soon… right?”
Eunsoo huffed in frustration, her little shoulders rising sharply as her arms folded tight across her chest. “But when?” she demanded, her voice cracking somewhere between impatience and hurt. “You all can see him. But not me. Why?”
Soobin swallowed hard, the question hitting him like a stone to the ribs. He could see the heat in her eyes. The kind that wasn’t anger for the sake of it, but the sting of being shut out. She was upset. She was angry. But more than that, she was wounded in the way only children can be. Pure, unguarded, and fierce in her longing.
His mind scrambled for an answer. For something that would make this easier for her. For him. His silent prayer drifted upward, wishing and pleading, for Jeonghan to appear and take over. But Jeonghan was resting, and Soobin couldn’t bring himself to be cruel enough to disturb him.
So he tried.
“Papa told you he’s hurt, right?”
She gave a small nod, her lips tightening.
“Right… so he needs rest,” Soobin continued softly. “He doesn’t want you to see him like that. He doesn’t want you to see him hurt.”
Eunsoo’s small frown deepened. And then like she’d decided something unshakable her tiny frame straightened, her back rod-straight, her chin lifting in defiance. “But I’m a big girl,” she insisted, her voice trembling but determined. “I put bandages on Dad when he’s hurt. I can see him. Please, Soobie… take me to him.”
And then. Oh, then. She gave him that look. The wide, pleading eyes brimming with softness, her lower lip just slightly trembling. A look that was far too familiar, far too dangerous. The exact same look Beomgyu had mastered long before her.
Of course. She was his little sister.
Soobin’s heart stuttered painfully in his chest. He had never been able to resist when Beomgyu aimed that innocent, manipulative gaze at him, wrapping the world around his finger without even trying.
Now, staring at this tiny mirror of him, Soobin felt his resolve crumbling in seconds.
Because how was he supposed to deny Beomgyu’s shadow… when he could barely say no to the original?
“Fine,” he breathed out, the word heavy with reluctant surrender, his voice curling in the quiet like smoke from a dying flame. “But if your papa finds out, I’m throwing everything on you. Every single bit of it. Understood?” His tone carried no real threat, only the weary defeat of someone who had already lost the battle before it began.
Eunsoo’s lips curved into a grin so bright it seemed to catch the light from somewhere unseen, spilling it into the dimness between them. That glow, that small spark in her delicate and almond-shaped eyes, it returned like dawn after a long, stubborn night.
And in that moment, Soobin saw it again. The undeniable resemblance, the quiet thread that tied her to Beomgyu.
Those eyes. Soft, warm, unguarded. The kind of gaze that could undo walls without a sound. Jeonghan had them too. Gentle, liquid eyes that seemed carved from the same shimmering fragment of their mother’s soul. An inheritance not of blood alone, but of something deeper, something that lived in the marrow.
“He won’t find out,” Eunsoo whispered, her certainty brushing against him like a hand on the shoulder. “He’s sleeping.” Her small voice carried a child’s unshakable trust, a trust that assumed the world would bend to her will if she asked sweetly enough.
Then, without hesitation, she opened her arms wide. An unspoken instruction, a gesture so simple yet so certain of its answer.
Her gaze didn’t waver. She didn’t plead. She simply waited, knowing he understood exactly what she wanted. What she needed. Take me to Beomie.
Eunsoo’s voice was a constant, bubbling stream as Soobin ascended the staircase, each step drawing them closer to the door that separated her from the boy she missed.
Again, it struck him. This relentless chatter, this need to fill every silence. It was so achingly familiar. Beomgyu had been the same, spilling words like beads from a string, as though quiet might swallow him whole if he let it linger too long.
“You know,” she began with the conviction of someone revealing an ancient secret, “Dad says I have magical powers. Real ones.” She tilted her head, dark hair brushing her cheeks. “Whenever I blow on his and Papa’s hurt, it goes away. All of it. They feel better, and the pain just-” she blew softly into the air to demonstrate, “-poofs.” Then she leaned closer, lowering her voice as if the stairwell itself might eavesdrop. “And Beomie is my special person. So if I blow on his hurt, he’ll be better much faster. Because special people always get the best magic.”
Soobin only hummed in response, but his chest tightened.
Eunsoo was Beomgyu’s little sister. His real little sister. That truth lived quietly beneath the surface of their lives, tucked into the folds of family history where a child’s eyes could never find it. Everyone knew. Except her.
Since Jeonghan had adopted her when she was barely a year old, the title of “Papa” had replaced the older-brother bond they once shared. The shift had been seamless for her. Natural and even. But it had left a strange space between her and Beomgyu. He was still Jeonghan’s younger brother. And she… she had no neat word for what he was to her.
For years, the answer was nothing more than absence. No shared memories, no sibling bickering, no warm laughter over the breakfast table.
Just a missing piece she didn’t know existed. God, it had been years before Beomgyu saw her again, their reunion coming only a year ago, tentative and delicate as if they were meeting for the first time.
Jeonghan had struggled with the words. He didn’t want to strip away the truth that they were brother and sister in blood, if not in time. But he also feared planting the wrong seed in her heart, the kind that might make her resent Beomgyu for the years he hadn’t been there. So he had simply said, with the kind of gentle certainty only Jeonghan possessed. Beomgyu is your special person.
That was the title. That was enough. And when she finally met him, her world had quietly rearranged itself to fit that truth.
Soobin shook his head with a faint, admiring smile at the delicate web of love and protection those two brothers had spun around her. Theirs was a relationship without labels, without rules. Something rare, something unshakably theirs. Something special.
Beomgyu was exhausted. Yet not in the way sleep could cure. His body might have begged for rest, but his mind had long grown weary of the endless cycle of drifting into unconsciousness only to wake up feeling just as hollow. He’d had enough of lying still, of pretending that shutting his eyes could make the heaviness fade.
Still, the thought of stepping out of bed, of letting the outside world touch him, felt unbearable. Like asking a wounded bird to fly before its wings had even healed. The walls of his room pressed in like an unspoken comfort, and yet a suffocating weight. Every corner held a silence he both clung to and resented.
He rolled over, tangled in the sheets, restless in a way that made every position uncomfortable. The pillow grew warm beneath his cheek, the air heavy with stillness, yet he kept shifting as though chasing a comfort that refused to be found.
Just a few feet away, Taehyun and Hueningkai sat curled up on the worn couch. Hueningkai’s head had fallen gently onto Taehyun’s shoulder, his breath slow and even in sleep, the soft rise and fall of his chest almost lulling in its steadiness. Taehyun, in quiet contrast, sat scrolling absently through his phone, his gaze catching light from the screen that painted faint shadows over his face.
They had spoken earlier, voices threading through the quiet like the faint hum of a half-forgotten song. Though it was mostly Taehyun and Hueningkai who carried the conversation. Beomgyu’s own voice had only come in low, short hums, the kind that weren’t answers so much as acknowledgments, as though his words had forgotten how to step out into the open air.
The door creaked open with a slow, hesitant breath, yet the sound of hurried little footsteps broke through the stillness, scattering it like startled birds.
Before Soobin could steady his hold, Eunsoo wriggled free from his arms, her tiny feet pattering against the floor in a rush of uncontained joy. She darted forward, a small whirlwind of warmth and innocence, until she came to a halt beside the bed.
“Beomie!” she beamed, her voice a pure, crystalline note in the dim-lit room.
Taehyun lifted his head at the sudden burst of energy, his expression soft yet faintly curious. Hueningkai sluggishly rubbed at his eyes, still tangled in the drowsy haze of waking, his fingers dragging away the remnants of sleep.
And then, Beomgyu turned. Slowly. As though the movement itself was drawn by the pull of her voice. His gaze, unfocused for a heartbeat, found her… and everything within him stilled.
There she was, so impossibly close. Her small frame standing right beside his bed, the edges of her hair catching the morning light. Her eyes, wide with affection, held a glow that made the air between them seem fragile, almost sacred.
For a moment, Beomgyu forgot the dull ache in his limbs, forgot the heaviness pressing into his chest. All he saw was Eunsoo, her presence a burst of life against the muted world around him.
Eunsoo’s gaze found Beomgyu, and for a moment, the world stilled around her. He sat there—tired beyond words, the weight of unseen battles pressing his shoulders down. A stark bandage circled his head, its white already tinged faintly with the shadow of dried blood. Dark bruises marred his cheeks, one corner of his lip split and swollen, as though life itself had struck him where it would hurt the most.
“Beomie…” The name slipped from her lips in a tremor, a fragile whisper that barely made the air between them quiver. Her voice carried a heartbreak she could not hide, each syllable heavy with grief. She felt the sting of tears crowd her eyes until her vision blurred, the shimmer of them catching the light like pieces of shattered glass.
Her heart twisted painfully. Maybe Soobin had been right. Maybe even her papa had been right. She shouldn’t have come. She shouldn’t have seen him like this.
Not broken, not wounded, not with his strength dimmed and his fire dulled. But there he was, stripped of the invincible image she had always carried of him and it felt like something deep within her had cracked open, spilling sorrow she didn’t know she could hold.
Beomgyu forced his trembling arms to bear the weight of his own body, pushing himself into a sitting position despite the ache gnawing at his muscles. His breath caught in his throat, but he managed a whisper, soft and fragile, as though even the sound risked shattering him.
“Hi…”
Her eyes glistened, the dam behind them breaking as a tear escaped and trailed down her cheek. “Beomie…” she breathed, her voice quivering under the weight of relief and ache all at once.
“Hey,” Beomgyu replied, his lips curving into the faintest ghost of a smile. An attempt to ease the heaviness in her heart, even if his own felt like it was caving in. He lifted his arms slowly, palms open in an unspoken invitation. “Come here.”
But before she could take a step, Soobin moved, quick and decisive, like a shadow breaking into light. His long strides closed the distance in seconds. Without a word, he crouched down, his arms gently gathering Eunsoo as if she were made of porcelain. The world seemed to hold its breath as he carried her with a tenderness that made her small hands clutch at his shirt.
Soobin settled her carefully onto the bed, right in front of Beomgyu. The older boy sat cross-legged, the blanket pooling around his knees, his gaze fixed on her as though she were the only piece of the world still holding him together. Their eyes met. Hers shimmering with the weight of all the moments they hadn’t shared, his glistening with the quiet desperation of someone who had fought too hard just to be here, in this moment, with her.
“You’re hurt, Beomie… I don’t like it,” she whispered, her voice trembling in rhythm with the sobs she was trying and failing to hold back.
Her words struck him like a blow he couldn’t deflect, the kind that made the heart ache not quietly, but loudly, brutally, deeply. Like a scream echoing in the marrow.
“I’ll be fine, Euna,” he murmured, the corners of his lips twitching into something meant to resemble reassurance. “It’s getting better.” But the way his voice cracked on the last word betrayed him. It was as if he was trying harder to convince himself than to soothe her.
The reaction he’d hoped for never came. She didn’t smile. She didn’t nod. She just stared at him with that stubborn little furrow between her brows. The kind that told him she wasn’t convinced, not one bit.
“Tell me,” he tried, leaning forward slightly, “did you come here behind your papa’s back?”
Her eyes went wide for a second before a tiny spark of mischief lit them up. She nodded quickly, like someone confessing to a daring adventure rather than a wrongdoing. In her mind, she had done something magnificent, brave even. For the first time in her five years of life, she had outsmarted her fathers.
Or so she thought.
Because just a few feet away, Seungcheol stood in the doorway, half-hidden, watching. He didn’t step inside, only leaned enough to peek in, taking in every detail, every unfiltered truth of this moment.
Beomgyu’s lips curled faintly, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. “You idiot… Do you think you can trick Hannie hyung? He can smell trouble even in his sleep.”
Eunsoo’s pout deepened, her tiny nose wrinkling. “But I missed you. They didn’t let me see you.” Her voice dropped, and her small hands balled into fists on her lap.
Then, without another word, she shuffled closer on her knees, rising slightly as her hands lifted in the air toward him.
Beomgyu’s chest tightened. Every nerve screamed at him to be still, to not flinch when she touched him. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her into thinking he was more fragile than he already appeared.
When her palms finally cupped his face, she was careful, so painfully careful, searching for a patch of skin unmarked by bruises. Her touch was light, reverent.
And then she blew. First, softly over the bandaged side of his head. Then, onto his cheek.
The warmth of her breath made him involuntarily recoil the slightest bit when it touched his injured skin, a sharp sting blooming there. He winced before he could stop himself.
She froze. Her little hands fell back, retreating quickly, her face shifting into an expression he couldn’t quite read. Something between confusion and hurt.
“Eunsoo!” Seungcheol’s voice finally filled the room. Not scolding, not sharp, just… calling.
He stepped in then, his broad figure breaking the quiet stillness as he walked toward them.
“Should I go and tell your papa?” he asked softly, his tone still absent of anger. He was far too in love with his daughter to let irritation even graze the surface.
But a single tear slipped from her lashes. Everyone could see it for what it was. Not fear of being told on, but pain from the way Beomgyu had pulled back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her head bowing under a weight too big for her little frame. “I’ll listen to Papa.”
“Hey- no, no,” Seungcheol reacted quickly, gathering her up into his arms as if to shield her from her own sadness. “That’s not what I meant, baby.” He brushed her tears away with his thumb, cradling her cheek as if it were something precious and breakable.
“Let Beomie rest, hmm? We’ll see him again soon.”
She nodded faintly, but then turned her head back toward Beomgyu. “Beomie… will you do puzzles with me?”
“Eun-” Seungcheol started, ready to redirect, but-
“I will,” Beomgyu interrupted, a small, tired smile breaking through.
She returned it instantly, though her cheeks were still damp. Her tiny fingers reached into the little pocket of her lemon-yellow frock, and she pulled something out. A thread, simple but knotted with care.
“Papa said this keeps us safe… and we get better soon. I brought one for you, like the ones he gave us.” She placed it gently into his palm, her voice soft but certain. “Get well soon, Beomie.”
Beomgyu’s throat tightened, his chest aching in a way the bruises never could. This wasn’t just pain. It was the raw, unguarded love of someone who believed in him completely, even when he didn’t believe in himself.
He took the thread in his fingers, closing them slowly around it, and nodded.
As Seungcheol stepped out of the room, the door clicking softly shut behind him, Eunsoo’s small fingers clung tighter to the fabric of his shirt. Her face burrowed into the crook of his shoulder, the tremor of her tiny frame shaking against him. Then, like glass splintering under too much weight, a quiet, broken sob escaped her lips.
Seungcheol halted mid-step, his breath catching.
“You lied to me,” she murmured between uneven gasps, her voice fragile and trembling. “I don’t have magical powers… Beomie didn’t feel better… he- he was more hurt.”
The words cracked in her throat, splintering into the stillness, and then she crumbled entirely. Bursting into a storm of tears that soaked through his shirt, each sob laced with the ache of a child’s helplessness.
Seungcheol’s own heart clenched, the burn behind his eyes breaking loose until a single tear slid down his cheek. He adjusted his hold, one palm gently cradling the back of her head, his thumb rubbing slow, steady circles against her trembling spine as though trying to anchor her.
“You do have magical powers, baby,” he whispered, his voice breaking like paper under water. “Didn’t you see how Beomie smiled when you were with him? That’s your magic. You made him smile, even with all that pain. And… he even agreed to do puzzles with you, didn’t he?”
Eunsoo hiccupped softly, but her sobs didn’t stop.
“That means your magic is working,” Seungcheol continued, his voice low but sure, pressing the warmth of belief into every word. “Beomie will be better soon… your magic just needs a little more time.”
He didn’t know if he was saying it for her sake or for his own, but he held her tighter, as though protecting her from the sharp edges of reality for just a little longer.
Dinner was served, but the absence at the main table was almost tangible. An unspoken weight in the air. Beomgyu, still barricaded in the quiet confines of his room, hadn’t yet found the courage or the strength to face the warm hum of shared meals.
Tonight, it was Seokmin and Dino who carried their plates upstairs, keeping him company in the muted light of his sanctuary. They spoke softly, their voices careful not to intrude too much, filling the silence with little pockets of familiarity, as though their very presence could coax him back into the world inch by inch.
Meanwhile, down the hall, Eunsoo’s spirit had lifted since the tear-stained shadows of the evening. Seungcheol, in his gentle way, had swept her out into the city night. A quiet mission that led them through aisles of toys, shelves of snacks, and eventually to a small corner where puzzles and riddles waited like treasures. She had clutched the box to her chest with the fierce excitement only a child could hold, her eyes already sparkling at the thought of tonight. Of sitting cross-legged beside Beomie, piecing shapes together, filling the air with her chatter.
But when they returned, Jeonghan’s verdict was already waiting. Quiet, unwavering, and final. She would not be spending time with Beomgyu tonight. It was her punishment for sneaking into his room against their word.
Her face fell instantly. First came the groan, a dramatic little sound that filled the living room. Then came the stubborn resistance, her tiny voice throwing pleas into the air. And finally, the silent desperation. The wide, searching glance toward Seungcheol, as though his arms could still rescue her from this verdict.
But even his warm gaze didn’t soften the steel in Jeonghan’s decision. He remained firm, his tone calm but absolute.
It wasn’t born from anger. Jeonghan adored her beyond measure, loved her in a way that saturated every glance, every gesture. But he believed that love, if it was to be worth anything, must stand hand in hand with guidance. Spoiling and cherishing, in his eyes, were not opposites. They were meant to walk the same road.
And this wasn’t about the visit itself; he wasn’t angry that she had gone to see Beomgyu behind their backs. In truth, she had handled the scene far better than he had feared. This was about the future. About shaping her into someone who wouldn’t grow up believing that the rules would bend for her simply because her parents’ hearts always would.
So she accepted it in the end. Grudgingly, dragging her feet toward her room, clutching the puzzle box like it was the thread that would carry her into tomorrow.
Beomgyu lay nestled beneath the soft folds of his blanket, the faint scent of dinner still lingering in the air, a reminder of Seokmin and Dino’s quiet persistence until he had eaten every last bite. The room felt hushed now, the kind of stillness that almost pressed against the ears, carrying with it a strange mixture of comfort and loneliness.
The door creaked open with the gentlest sound, and Soobin stepped inside, his movements unhurried, almost tentative, as though each footfall was weighed down by something unspoken. He crossed the small space between them until he was standing at Beomgyu’s side, the dim light casting a delicate halo over his face. A faint smile curved his lips, not wide or playful, but one that held the quiet warmth of someone trying to reach past the walls of another’s silence.
With careful hands, he reached for the medicine box resting on the table, his long fingers brushing lightly against the cool surface before he lifted the lid. The soft clink of pill bottles filled the air, a sound far too loud in the quiet room. He retrieved the small tablets, his gaze briefly flickering toward Beomgyu before returning to the task.
Beomgyu said nothing. He simply watched, his eyes tracing the familiar lines of Soobin’s face, searching for something he could not name. There was a weight in his chest he could neither swallow nor speak into existence, and yet, in that silence, Soobin’s presence felt like both an anchor and a storm.
Soobin extended his hand slowly, the small white pills resting in his open palm like fragile pieces of something neither of them truly wanted to touch. His fingers trembled ever so slightly, though he tried to steady them, his eyes fixed on Beomgyu’s face as if searching for a flicker of resistance, a sign of how he truly felt.
Beomgyu accepted them without a word, his own touch fleeting and careful, as though even the brush of their skin might stir emotions they were both trying too hard to keep contained.
Soobin then reached for the glass of water, offering it with the same quiet care, his gaze never leaving Beomgyu’s. Again, Beomgyu took it without protest. He tilted his head back, swallowing the pills in one swift motion, the sound of the gulp echoing faintly in the stillness of the room.
And still, silence remained between them. Not the light, comfortable kind that came with understanding, but a heavier silence. Dense with all the words they could not bring themselves to say, clinging to the air like unspoken confessions.
Beomgyu pulled the blanket around himself, the soft fabric rising to his chin, as if it could shield him from everything he did not want to face. He did not look back, did not offer a single word, only the sound of his breathing filling the space between them.
Soobin remained where he was, rooted in place, his eyes lingering on the shape beneath the covers. For a moment, he wondered if standing there long enough might somehow bridge the gap between them.
Eventually, he forced his feet to move, crossing the room to the switchboard. His fingers hesitated on the panel before lowering the brightness to that gentle, muted blue that Beomgyu always preferred. It was a color that was neither day nor night, neither harsh nor absent. A shade that felt like safety.
Without making a sound, Soobin walked to the opposite side of the bed. He lowered himself onto the floor, mirroring the same position he had taken earlier that day, knees drawn up, back resting against the side of the bed. Slowly, he stretched one arm onto the mattress, his hand resting somewhere in the middle, close enough to reach if Beomgyu ever decided to take it.
But Beomgyu’s back remained turned. That stubborn curve of his spine felt like a wall, and Soobin could almost feel the ache radiating from it. This closeness without connection was worse than any distance they had known. Once, their bodies would naturally tilt toward each other without thought, pulled by a quiet gravity they never questioned.
Now, even knowing they were both here, even feeling the warmth of each other’s presence, that pull was gone. Or maybe it was still there, buried under something heavier. Either way, the absence was tearing into Soobin’s chest. He wanted to reach in, to pull Beomgyu back into his orbit, to make him speak, laugh, breathe the same air like they used to. But nothing he thought of felt right.
So instead, he chose the only thing he could do. He stayed. Watching. Waiting. Keeping his arm there like an unspoken promise. Beomgyu could take as long as he needed. Soobin would not move.
Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
Time passed in quiet ripples, each second stretching into something heavier than silence. Soobin sat unmoving, his back aching from the floor, but his eyes fixed on the faint outline beneath the blanket. He could see Beomgyu’s side rise and fall, slow and steady, yet he could not tell if that rhythm belonged to sleep or to someone pretending not to be awake.
The urge to speak tangled in his chest. He wanted to say anything. Anything that might make Beomgyu turn toward him, meet his eyes, let him in again. He wanted to close the space between them, to gather him in his arms, to create a shield where no shadow of insecurity could reach. But the fear of pressing too soon kept him frozen.
He cleared his throat softly, the sound almost swallowed by the dim room. His fingers curled into the bedsheet, searching for courage.
"I… I am still here, Beomgyu. I will always be." His voice was low, carrying the weight of something he could not dress in prettier words. He drew in a slow breath, steadying himself. "You can take your time. I will wait for you, no matter how long it takes." Another breath. A pause long enough for him to wonder if he should stop. But the truth burned too fiercely to remain unsaid.
"Just… know this. I am here, and I-" He faltered for a fraction of a heartbeat, but then he let it fall, raw and unguarded. "I love you, Beomgyu. Still the same as before. Maybe even more now. You are so strong… and I know you will fight through whatever is holding you back."
The tear slipped from his cheek before he could stop it, falling into the shadows between them. "I love you. I really do."
Beomgyu did not move, but the stillness in his body was not the kind of stillness that sleep could claim. Every word Soobin spoke had landed in the center of his chest, each one a quiet strike against the walls he had built.
He had always known Soobin loved him. Soobin had never been careful about hiding it. The way he lingered near, the way his touch found Beomgyu in small moments, the way his presence was a constant hum in the background of his days. Everyone else had noticed too, long before either of them dared to name it.
Beomgyu had been grateful, endlessly so, that Soobin had been the first to confess. Because he had been at the edge himself, teetering on the verge of blurting it out at the most unplanned, ordinary moments. In the middle of a study session in the library, half-asleep over their books. While Soobin was laughing in the studio, music spilling between them. During a movie night when the glow of the screen had painted his face in light. At Seokmin’s café, between the clink of mugs and the smell of warm bread.
He had almost said it so many times. But tonight, Soobin had said it for both of them. Again.
But Beomgyu did not respond. His body did not flinch, his lips did not part, his eyes did not dare to turn.
It was not that he did not want to. He wanted to. God, he wanted to more than anything. Yet the how of it had vanished from him, as if someone had reached inside and stolen the part of him that knew how to reach back.
The silence sat heavy on his chest, each second dragging deeper into him. A slow, sour self-hatred began curling in his gut, tightening with every breath. He could feel it gnawing at him, whispering that he was failing them. Failing the people he loved, failing the people who loved him so fiercely. He was not just hurting himself anymore. He was dragging them into the shadows with him, making them carry a weight they had never asked for.
And he saw it. Every moment of it.
He saw how Jeonghan’s hands twitched faintly when they hovered near him, as if they ached to pull him into a tight, grounding embrace, yet stopped themselves just short. He saw how Seungcheol’s steps slowed the closer he came to Beomgyu’s bed, as if crossing that last stretch of space would be trespassing into something too fragile. He saw how Soobin, who had always been the boldest with touch, seemed to anchor his hands in his lap now, doing everything in his power not to reach out and draw Beomgyu into the safety of his arms.
He saw Eunsoo, his sweet little sister, freeze mid-motion when he instinctively leaned away from her tiny, warm palms. The spark in her eyes had faltered, dimmed for just a moment, but it had been enough to burn him with guilt.
He saw his friends choosing the couch instead of the space beside him. Taehyun’s knees pressed together, Hueningkai’s legs folded in the corner, Yeonjun leaning back with his arms crossed like a wall between them. Even Hiyyih, who was usually the one to break any boundary with ease, kept her voice light but her distance steady. Seokmin and Dino stayed seated, their conversations stretching across the gap like fragile threads that might snap if pulled too close.
And Beomgyu hated it. Hated every careful step, every cautious glance, every unspoken fear that he might shatter at the slightest touch. He hated how he had become something everyone had to tiptoe around.
He hated it so badly it almost hurt more than the bruises.
-
It was morning, and the sunlight spilled in golden sheets through the curtains of Joshua’s apartment in Seoul. The light was warm, steady, and almost intrusive, stretching across the wooden floor as if it meant to remind him that the world outside was still moving, no matter what weight lingered in his chest.
He had just finished a call with Seokmin. The kind of conversation that felt like breathing. Unrushed, familiar, drifting from topic to topic as naturally as waves curling onto shore. They had always checked on each other like this, trading fragments of their days, their worries, their smallest joys. Usually, these talks happened late at night, each tucked into their own beds as if they were lying side by side rather than separated by kilometres of city and sky.
But last night had been different. There had been no soft laughter shared over the phone, no gentle voices trailing into sleep. What had happened with Beomgyu had shifted everything. They had both stayed silent, each turning toward their own duties with the quiet understanding that sometimes love meant giving space.
For Seokmin, it was staying with Beomgyu until he finished his dinner, ensuring every last bite was eaten no matter how slow or reluctant the pace.
For Joshua, it was reaching out to his contacts in Daegu, trusted fellow doctors, to take over Beomgyu’s care. It was collecting every report and test result, pouring over them himself until his eyes burned, not out of doubt in their skill but because he needed to know with his own hands, his own mind, that nothing would be missed.
Now, the morning air was crisp against his skin as he stood in his doorway. His white coat hung perfectly on his shoulders, freshly pressed, carrying with it the weight and pride of his oath. The stethoscope rested cool against the hollow of his neck, a quiet promise of the day’s work ahead.
Just as his fingers reached for the lock, his phone buzzed in his pocket, a sudden pulse that seemed to halt the moment in place.
Joshua’s lips curved into a small, almost reluctant smile as his gaze fell on the glowing caller ID. It was a smile tinged with melancholy, the kind that held both surprise and a quiet ache. He pressed the phone to his ear, his voice steady but softened.
“Hello?”
“Shua hyung!” Soobin’s voice came through, youthful yet charged with urgency.
“Soobin! Hi!” Joshua’s reply carried genuine warmth, unfiltered and immediate.
A faint breath of relief escaped him. For all the unspoken distance between them, it mattered, more than he wanted to admit, that Soobin had chosen to call. Had chosen to reach across that invisible line they rarely crossed.
Because between Joshua and Soobin, there had always been a delicate, lingering bitterness. Soobin still carried a quiet grudge against him, a shadow cast from the past, from the wound Joshua had once inflicted on Seokmin. It had been unintentional, yet it left Seokmin sad, heartbroken, and for that, Soobin could never fully forgive him.
Soobin rarely sought him out. In fact, he almost never did. Their conversations, when they happened, were brief and edged with a certain restraint. Soobin made it clear, sometimes in jest, sometimes with sharp truth, that he only tolerated Joshua for Seokmin’s sake.
Joshua knew this. He had long since accepted it. He understood that Soobin’s feelings were not rooted in hatred, but in loyalty. Soobin was fiercely protective of those he loved, and Seokmin was among the closest to his heart. It was only natural that someone who had once hurt Seokmin, even unintentionally, would be met with guarded eyes and tightened words.
And Joshua could not fault him for that. In fact, he respected it. Because if the roles were reversed, he knew he would be exactly the same.
"Hyung, can you come here? Please."
Soobin’s voice cracked through the receiver, heavy with urgency.
Joshua’s hand froze mid-motion, the key poised in the lock. The cold metal pressed into his palm, but he barely felt it.
"Soobin, what happened? Is everything okay? Is Beomgyu okay?" His words tumbled out in a rush, a tight thread of worry pulling them taut.
On the other end, Soobin released a long, audible sigh. A sound that seemed to carry both exhaustion and helplessness.
"For now? Yes, he’s okay. But…"
Joshua’s pulse quickened. "But what, Soobin?"
"This isn’t just the physical hurt, hyung." The younger’s voice wavered, as though the words themselves were jagged in his throat. "I don’t even know how to explain it. Beomgyu is not himself anymore. He’s… slipping away. From me, from everyone, even from himself. Whatever happened in that warehouse. It’s rooted deep. It’s pulling him under."
Soobin’s breath hitched faintly, and Joshua could almost see him running a hand through his hair, frustration weighing on his shoulders.
"He’s spiraling, hyung. Flinching when someone so much as steps toward him. It’s like his mind wants to trust, wants to let people in, but his body refuses. He can’t help it. And it’s killing me to watch. Everyone is trying, we’re all doing everything we can but he’s trapped in this… invisible cage. And the worst part is, I know he wants to get out. I can see it in his eyes. But something won’t let him."
Joshua’s heart clenched, his silence a vessel for Soobin’s unraveling confession. A low hum escaped him, a sound of understanding, of quiet pain.
"Hyung," Soobin’s tone softened, trembling, "I know your friends and juniors at the hospital are incredible at what they do. But can you please come and see him yourself? Maybe… maybe he’ll feel safe enough to tell you things he can’t say to them. Only if you can, I mean. I know you’re drowning in your own schedule. I know how busy you are with the hospital, but-"
Soobin stopped, as if the weight of asking more than he had the right to ask had finally landed on him. But the plea still lingered in the air, raw and aching.
"I will be there on the next flight," Joshua said, his voice calm, almost casual, as though booking a last-minute ticket was as ordinary as stepping out for coffee.
On the other end of the line, silence hung for a heartbeat before Soobin’s voice broke through, thin with disbelief. "W–what? Hyung?"
"I’m coming, Soobin. Don’t worry," Joshua repeated, his tone steady, resolute, leaving no room for argument.
Before Soobin could form a protest, Joshua’s voice cut in again, gentler now but still laced with unwavering determination. "Don’t trouble yourself about my work here. My juniors will handle my patients. They’re capable, and they know what to do."
A small, almost reluctant hum slipped from Soobin. "Hmm."
"And Soobin?" Joshua’s tone dropped a fraction lower, carrying a quiet request.
"What?"
"Don’t tell Seokmin I’m coming. Please."
There was a short pause before Soobin exhaled a quiet laugh, a sound that carried both amusement and affection. "Idiot."
"Thank you," Joshua murmured, the words soft yet heavy with meaning. "See you soon. He’ll be fine, Soobin. Don’t worry."
But as he ended the call, Joshua’s hand lingered around the phone, his own heart far from convinced. The promise had been for Soobin’s sake, yet the truth was, his chest ached with a fear he couldn’t quite name. He wasn’t coming merely to check on Beomgyu. He was coming because he couldn’t bear to stand still while someone he loved was quietly sinking.
The reason Soobin had called Joshua with such urgency began in the quiet fragility of the early morning. He had gone downstairs to prepare Beomgyu’s breakfast, just a simple plate of omelette and a cup of warm milk, something gentle on the stomach so that he could take his morning pills without discomfort.
When Soobin returned to the room, however, the sight that met him made his breath falter. Beomgyu was curled in on himself, buried deep within his blanket, his shoulders trembling with quiet, broken sobs. His face was hidden, but the sound was enough to tear into Soobin’s chest like glass splintering.
Instinct urged him forward, his hand already half-extended, desperate to pull Beomgyu close, to anchor him, to let him know he wasn’t alone. But before he could bridge the space between them, Beomgyu’s voice came, fragile yet sharp enough to cut through the air. He asked him. No, told him to leave. Not in a shout, but in the kind of voice that made Soobin feel like staying might only hurt him more.
Soobin swallowed hard, forcing down the ache that burned in his throat. Without a word, he set the breakfast on the table, his fingers lingering for a moment as if willing the warmth of the plate to reach Beomgyu. Then he quietly left, closing the door with a softness that felt like surrender.
He knew Beomgyu was waging battles inside his own mind. The memories from that warehouse, the fear and the helplessness, were still alive, gnawing at him from within. Soobin could not blame him for recoiling, for guarding himself. If anything, it made him ache all the more.
Still, he honored his wish, leaving him alone. But only for a short while. As soon as his conversation with Joshua ended, he returned, heart heavy with the thought that Joshua might be the only one Beomgyu would open up to.
When he stepped back into the room, the sobs had stopped, but the silence was no kinder. Beomgyu was still wrapped in the blanket, a still shape against the dim light filtering through the curtains.
Soobin moved quietly to the table, picking up the plate and the cup of milk, then approached the bed. His voice, when it came, was low and steady, though it trembled at the edges. "You need to take your medicine, Beomgyu. Please have something first."
There was a pause before Beomgyu shifted, slowly pulling himself upright and leaning back against the headboard. His movements were heavy, as if every inch cost him. He accepted the plate and cup without meeting Soobin’s eyes, eating in silence, the soft scrape of cutlery the only sound between them.
Soobin turned to the bedside table, reaching for the medicine box, his mind already bracing itself for the quiet weight of the next few minutes.
Beomgyu remained silent, his lips parting ever so slightly as if the words were caught somewhere between his chest and his throat. It felt as though he wanted to speak. Perhaps to apologise for the way he had pushed Soobin away earlier, perhaps to explain that it had not been rejection but fear, raw and unfiltered, that had driven him to do it. But the weight pressing on him was too heavy, the threads of his voice tangled in an invisible snare. So instead, he sat there, eyes fixed on the untouched folds of the blanket, swallowing words that might never find the courage to surface.
Soobin, watching him with quiet understanding, did not press. He simply moved towards the bathroom, each step slow, deliberate, as if afraid any sudden movement might widen the distance already between them. Inside, his heart thudded with an ache he could neither soothe nor set aside. He twisted the tap, letting the water run until it reached the right warmth, the sound echoing softly in the stillness of the room.
From the doorway, his voice came low, steady, carrying a quiet resolve that left no space for doubt. "I am not leaving, Beomgyu. No matter what happens. You can push me away as many times as you feel you must, and I will still be here. I will not walk out. I will not even complain. That is my promise to you."
With that, he stepped fully into the bathroom, the steam beginning to curl in the air, his words lingering in the room like a vow carved into the very walls.
Joshua’s flight touched down in Daegu just as the evening sky began to melt into shades of amber and violet. The air carried that peculiar stillness before nightfall, a quiet that felt almost heavy with unspoken anticipation. Soobin had kept his promise. Seokmin knew nothing of Joshua’s arrival. All he had done was borrow Seokmin’s car under the simple pretense of needing to make a quick trip to the convenience store. It was a believable excuse; Seokmin was still busy at the café and would not be home until later.
For the past two days, their lives had shifted into an unspoken pact. No one slept in their own home. Not Soobin. Not Yeonjun. Not even Seokmin or Dino. They clustered under one roof like a fragile constellation, each unwilling to leave the others’ orbit, afraid that distance might loosen the threads holding them together.
When Joshua stepped through the sliding glass doors of the airport, his white coat neatly folded over one arm and his carry-on trailing behind, Soobin was there waiting. No greetings of grandeur, just a nod, a brief meeting of eyes, and they set off. Their drive was quiet, the hum of the engine the only bridge between the weight of what they both knew and the silence that held it.
Upon arriving at Beomgyu’s place, the house seemed cloaked in that same fragile quiet. They passed through the living room, their steps muted against the wooden floor. It was Jeonghan who spotted them first. He froze, eyes widening as though he had just seen a specter step out from the shadows.
“Shua?” His voice was a question, a disbelief stitched into the single syllable.
Joshua’s lips curved into a soft smile as he stepped forward. “Hi, Hannie.”
Jeonghan’s shoulders only eased when Joshua’s arms folded around him in a warm embrace, grounding the moment into something real.
“What are you doing here?” Jeonghan asked, his tone teetering between confusion and relief.
Joshua drew back slightly, feigning offense. “What do you mean, what am I doing here? Can’t I come see Beomgyu? He’s your younger brother, which means he’s mine too.”
Before Jeonghan could reply, the sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled their attention. Seungcheol, Taehyun, and Hueningkai descended, their expressions shifting from mild curiosity to genuine surprise when they saw the newcomer.
“Shua? What a surprise,” Seungcheol greeted warmly, stepping forward to clasp him in a firm hug.
Joshua grinned over Seungcheol’s shoulder, casting a sidelong glance at Jeonghan. “See, Cheol’s a better friend than you. At least he’s not interrogating me.”
Jeonghan rolled his eyes with a small shake of his head, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself.
“Anyway, where are my niece and nephew?” Joshua asked, his voice adopting that familiar mock-formal tone he used when teasing Jeonghan.
“Idiot,” Jeonghan muttered under his breath, before straightening with a flourish. “Oh, Uncle Joshua, come with me. My children are eagerly waiting to see their beloved uncle.” His voice dripped with theatrical sarcasm, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his relief at having Joshua here.
The room, still carrying the faint heaviness of the past days, seemed just a little lighter.
Jeonghan and Joshua ascended the staircase in a quiet procession, each step sounding heavier than the last. Soobin followed close behind, his presence shadowing theirs as though afraid to let even a single breath’s distance separate them.
“How’s he doing? Any better?” Joshua asked at last, his voice stripped of its earlier playful lilt. The warmth had cooled into something steady, weighted with concern.
Jeonghan exhaled slowly, the sound carrying the weariness of days without rest. “I don’t know, Shua. I don’t think he knows either. One moment he’s trying, really trying to bask in our warmth, to let himself fall into our conversations, into us. And the very next moment, he pushes us away like our presence burns him.”
His voice softened, tinged with frustration not at Beomgyu but at the helplessness they all shared. “Just this morning, he pushed Soobin away three times. But every time Soobin came back with something, a plate of food or a cup of tea, he would hover there, almost leaning into him, as if ready to let himself accept that touch… but then he’d pull back at the very last moment. It’s like he’s standing on the shore, wanting to dive into the water, but terrified of drowning. He wants to come back, but he’s holding himself prisoner.”
Soobin’s hand found Joshua’s arm, his grip almost pleading. “Hyung… please. Please do something.” His voice cracked, the desperation unhidden.
Joshua slowed, turning his head slightly so his voice carried back to them. “Hey,” he began gently, “don’t let fear take over just yet. Beomgyu is strong. Do you know how rare it is, in cases like this, for someone to even want to return? When a person is hurt this deeply, physically torn apart, and chained to those kinds of memories… most lose the hope of finding their way back. But look at him. He’s trying.”
The words were deliberate, but there was a flicker of pain in Joshua’s eyes. “The memories he’s carrying… of being hurt, restrained, of those filthy hands on him… that’s not something that leaves quietly. And then…” Joshua’s voice faltered for the first time, the next words tasting bitter on his tongue. “…then there’s the worst part. The part that’s making him shrink into himself. Jeonghan told me on the phone, but hearing it was one thing, picturing it is another. His shirt, torn by that man. Not as an act of violation in intent, but because of the force, the aggression. And even after that… him holding Beomgyu’s exposed arm so tightly it left him marked. Exposed against his will. Reduced to nothing in that moment. That kind of humiliation doesn’t just fade. It seeps into the bones, it makes the skin itself feel unsafe.”
Joshua’s jaw tightened as he finished, his voice softer now. “It’s not just pain he’s fighting. It’s the shame, the fear, the way those moments keep replaying every time he closes his eyes. He needs time. And we’re going to give it to him. He will come back. Let’s go see him.”
Jeonghan pushed the door open with a careful, almost reverent touch, as though the very air inside might shatter if disturbed too abruptly.
And that was when the sight met them.
Beomgyu and Eunsoo sat huddled together on the bed, wrapped beneath the soft cocoon of a blanket. The dim light fell in muted strokes across them, painting them in a fragile stillness. All around, puzzle pieces and riddle sheets lay scattered in quiet chaos. Some already solved with neat precision, others half-completed, and a few lying untouched, as if waiting patiently for a gentler day to be pieced together.
Beomgyu’s fingers moved with a hesitant grace, picking up each puzzle piece as Eunsoo’s quiet voice guided him, her small hands pointing and nudging with the unhurried patience only she could offer. Every movement between them was deliberate, fragile, like a thread trying to weave its way back into the fabric of normalcy.
The soft creak of the door, however, disturbed the delicate moment. The sound was faint, but it carried enough weight to draw their attention. Slowly, almost reluctantly, their heads turned in perfect unison toward the doorway, eyes wide and caught in that suspended breath between surprise and uncertainty.
It felt as if the room had inhaled and forgotten how to exhale.
"Josh!" Eunsoo’s voice rang out in a bright, uncontained chirp, her joy spilling into the air like the first rays of morning sunlight. She wriggled free from the warm cradle of the blanket, her little feet bouncing against the mattress in a rhythm that spoke of pure, unfiltered excitement. The springs beneath her seemed to join in her happiness, giving a soft creak with every jump.
Joshua’s smile deepened instantly, his expression softening with a warmth that could melt the coldest of hearts. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his arms already opening as if they had been waiting for this moment all along.
"Hi, angel," he greeted, his voice thick with affection, and in one smooth motion, he scooped her into his arms as though she weighed nothing at all, holding her close against his chest. "And it’s Uncle Joshua for you," he teased, his tone light yet brimming with fondness.
Eunsoo’s laughter spilled out, sweet and unrestrained, ringing in his ears like music he wished he could bottle up and keep forever. "You’re not old," she declared with childlike honesty, her small hands clinging to his shoulders. "I like Josh better."
Joshua chuckled, the sound low and rich, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that familiar way. "Whatever suits you," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. The brief touch lingered, not just on her skin but somewhere deep in the invisible place where hearts keep their most fragile treasures.
Joshua’s gaze shifted from the little girl in his arms to the figure sitting quietly beside her. Beomgyu’s eyes were on Eunsoo, as though the rest of the world had blurred into nothing but the curve of her carefree smile and the music of her unrestrained laughter. There was a faint glow in his gaze, the kind that came from warmth, not from light, and it softened the quiet edges of his otherwise reserved expression.
“Hi, Gyu,” Joshua greeted, placing Eunsoo gently back onto the bed before settling beside her.
Beomgyu’s lips pressed together in a thin, almost imperceptible line, and a faint smile ghosted across them, fragile as if it might vanish with the wrong breath.
“So, what do we have here?” Joshua asked, the tone light, almost playful, as if brushing away a mist of awkwardness that had crept in without warning. He could not pinpoint its origin, nor understand how it had found a place between them. There had never been such moments with Beomgyu before. Joshua had known him for years, often meeting him during the holidays when Beomgyu visited Jeonghan and Seungcheol. It had always been easy, natural, as if Joshua had always been part of their circle, part of their family’s unspoken bonds.
“Me and Beomie are doing puzzles!” Eunsoo announced, her voice bright with triumph.
“That’s so cool,” Joshua replied warmly, his smile returning as he looked between them.
He turned to Beomgyu again, a small spark of nostalgia flickering in his eyes. “You know, Gyu, she’s always been this way. An absolute little maniac for puzzles. Since her kindergarten days, she’s made it her life’s mission to trap me for hours, torturing me into solving them with her.” He exaggerated a grimace in Eunsoo’s direction, though the fondness in his voice betrayed the playful complaint.
Eunsoo laughed, leaning into Beomgyu’s arm as if to claim him as her co-conspirator. Joshua watched them both for a moment longer, something unspoken pressing faintly at his chest, an emotion he could not quite name but felt all the same.
Joshua lingered for a moment after tugging Eunsoo back under the blanket, smoothing her hair as she bent over her puzzle pieces again. His gaze flicked toward Beomgyu, who sat cross-legged at the corner of the bed, half-leaning on the headboard. The boy’s attention seemed fixed on the colorful jigsaw pieces, but Joshua knew better; his eyes were drifting, returning again and again to Eunsoo’s laugh, as if trying to store its sound somewhere safe. There was warmth there, but also a shadow Joshua could not quite name.
“Mind if I steal him for a few minutes, angel?” Joshua asked Eunsoo softly.
Eunsoo glanced up, pouted for a moment, then waved them off with a giggle. “But bring him back. He’s my puzzle partner.”
Joshua chuckled and nodded, then motioned for Beomgyu to follow him toward the armchair near the window. The afternoon light spilled in, bathing the space in a muted gold that softened the edges of everything.
“You’ve been busy, huh?” Joshua began, settling into the chair while Beomgyu perched cautiously on the edge of the sofa. “Seokmin sent me half a dozen videos of your band at the music competition. You were amazing, Gyu. Really. That stage belongs to you.”
Beomgyu’s lips tugged upward faintly, though his eyes lowered to his hands. “It… it was the whole band. We just… did our best.”
Joshua leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, letting his voice carry a thread of warmth. “Your best was good enough to win. That’s something to be proud of.” He paused, studying the younger man’s posture, the way his shoulders stayed curled inward as if bracing for something. “Seokmin couldn’t stop talking about you. Said you had the crowd in the palm of your hand.”
Sliding closer, Joshua kept his voice soft, almost casual, as though they were two friends catching up after a long time.
"How have you been feeling lately?" he asked, letting the question rest gently in the air.
Beomgyu hesitated. His fingers, resting on his knees, curled inwards slightly as if holding on to something invisible. For a long moment, he seemed ready to swallow the words back, but then his voice broke the silence, low and trembling at the edges.
"I… hate myself, hyung," he admitted, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the room. "For what happened… in that warehouse. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like it’s still there… inside me. I feel… empty. Touched. Watched. Like the walls haven’t stopped closing in since that day. And no matter how much I try, the memories… they don’t let go. They claw at me when I’m awake… and when I’m asleep."
Joshua kept his expression calm, his gaze steady, but his heart ached at the rawness of the confession. Beomgyu’s voice faltered again, quieter this time.
"I hate how everyone look at me now. I can feel them being careful around me. Like I’m breakable… like if they say the wrong thing, I’ll fall apart. And it makes me… sick. I don’t want them to feel that way because of me."
Joshua leaned forward slightly, his tone warm and grounding, like a hand placed firmly yet gently on a shoulder.
"It’s okay to feel that way," he said, each word deliberate. "And it’s okay to hate the way things have changed. But the people around you… they’re not doing this because they pity you or because they think you’re weak. They’re trying to find a way to be here without making you feel unsafe. They’re trying to walk with you through this without adding to the weight you’re already carrying."
Beomgyu’s jaw tightened, his eyes lowering as if he wanted to believe but didn’t know how. Joshua’s voice softened even more, yet there was a firm undercurrent that made his words feel like something solid to hold on to.
"Try to give them that chance. Try building that trust again, even if it’s just in small steps. Let yourself lean into the warmth they’re offering, even when your mind tells you to pull away. You don’t have to face this alone. And maybe… letting them care for you is part of how you heal."
Beomgyu didn’t answer right away. His throat worked in a silent swallow, his eyes glassy but unwavering. He looked like someone standing on the edge of a cliff, torn between stepping forward and retreating. And Joshua, patient as ever, stayed beside him in that quiet, letting the silence speak for the things Beomgyu wasn’t yet ready to say.
“I know you’ve had a lot on your plate. I’m not here to… pry. I just want to know what you need right now. What would make things easier for you.”
Beomgyu hesitated, his gaze darting to the window where the light was beginning to fade. “I don’t know.”
“That’s alright,” Joshua murmured. “Not knowing is a place too. And we can start from there.” He kept his tone light, professional without feeling clinical, a quiet blend of friend and doctor. “You don’t have to give me answers today. Just… let yourself think about it. What you want. How you want to feel. We’ll figure the rest out together.”
Beomgyu gave the smallest nod, his expression unreadable but his eyes softer than before.
Joshua leaned back, a smile returning to his face as he stood. “Alright, before Eunsoo declares a missing-person alert, let’s get you back to your puzzle partner. She might replace you with me if we take too long.”
That earned him a tiny, reluctant laugh from Beomgyu. Small, but real. And Joshua counted it as a victory.
Joshua rose slowly, his movements carrying a quiet grace, and walked toward the bed where Eunsoo sat nestled among the folds of the blanket. Beomgyu instinctively shifted back into his spot beside her, as though reclaiming his quiet guard over her presence.
Leaning down, Joshua pressed a gentle kiss to Eunsoo’s forehead, his voice warm yet unhurried. “I need to go somewhere, little one. I will see you again soon.”
Eunsoo tilted her head up toward him, her curious eyes glimmering. “Are you going to see Mimi?” she asked, her tone wrapped in innocence.
A faint chuckle left Joshua, his smile stretching with affection. “Yes. I am going to pick him up from his café.”
Her face lit up immediately. “Can I come with you?” she chirped, already lifting her small hands toward him in expectation.
Without hesitation, Joshua nodded, the warmth in his expression deepening as he bent to scoop her into his arms. She fit against him with the ease of familiarity, her little head brushing against his shoulder.
Turning toward Beomgyu, Joshua gave a small, wordless nod. An unspoken promise of return, before stepping toward the doorway. The faint sound of Eunsoo’s sing-song goodbye drifted behind them, fading into the stillness of the room like the last lingering note of a lullaby.
-
The night unfolded with a quiet familiarity, mirroring the one before. The scent of warm food lingered faintly in the air as Jeonghan and Joshua shared the small table set in Beomgyu’s room, their presence a subtle assurance against the silence that often tried to creep in. They stayed close, their voices weaving through the dim glow of the bedside lamp, making sure Beomgyu’s plate never went untouched.
After some time, the door creaked open and Soobin stepped inside, the cool neck of a water bottle clasped loosely in his hand. His gaze flickered briefly across the room before settling on Beomgyu. Without a word, he crossed the space between them, his steps steady yet weighted, as though carrying the invisible burden he refused to show.
He reached for the small packet on the table, pulled out the pills, and placed them gently into Beomgyu’s palm, his fingers brushing ever so lightly against his. Beomgyu accepted them quietly, lowering his eyes before bringing the water to his lips.
Once Beomgyu was settled, cocooned within the folds of his blanket, Soobin drifted away. Not far, but just enough. He moved to his usual spot, the one he had claimed night after night, lowering himself to the floor opposite Beomgyu’s bed. The distance was small in measure yet vast in meaning.
Beomgyu lay with his back turned toward him, a silent wall between them. Still, Soobin remained, his own back resting against the wall, knees drawn slightly toward his chest. The quiet pulsed in the room, heavy with unsaid words. And there, in that muted stillness, the familiar ache bloomed once again in Soobin’s chest. Sharp, persistent, and unyielding. It was the kind of ache that came from wanting to reach out, yet fearing the touch might shatter something fragile.
Something in the air was different tonight, almost imperceptible at first, yet heavy enough to make the quiet feel charged.
Beomgyu, who usually drifted into sleep with his back turned, did not this time. After a long stretch of silence, he slowly turned over, his eyes open, glimmering faintly in the dim light.
Across from him, Soobin lay in his usual posture, one arm stretched halfway across the bed, palm relaxed, fingers slightly curled as if waiting for something that never came. His head rested upon that outstretched arm, his gaze fixed on the emptiness ahead, though his mind was far from still.
Beomgyu’s hand twitched, trembling with a nervous life of its own. He reached forward, then faltered, pulling back as though burned by the very thought of crossing that space. Once, twice, three times he hesitated, the air between them thickening with every aborted attempt.
Then, inch by painstaking inch, his little finger crept toward Soobin’s waiting hand. The motion was barely there, more of a step-drag than a reach, his breaths uneven and shallow. When the tip of his pinky finally brushed against Soobin’s, he paused, almost as if asking permission without words, before curling it gently around the other’s finger.
The contact was feather-light, barely a touch, yet it resonated through Soobin like a thunderclap.
His eyes shifted, lifting his head slightly at the sudden connection. But there was no flinch, no startled retreat. Only the quiet acceptance of a warmth that had long ago become second nature to him.
Because this was not unfamiliar. This was a memory disguised as a present moment. An unspoken habit their bodies remembered well. In every space they had shared, whenever proximity allowed, their hands had always found each other as if drawn by an invisible thread.
And now, even after so much distance in other ways, they had found each other again.
Soobin’s gaze lingered on the fragile link between them, their pinkies gently looped together as though the smallest touch could still carry the weight of entire worlds. He drew in a quiet breath, committing the sight to memory as if engraving it into the deepest vaults of his heart.
A faint curve touched his lips, unbidden but warm, because this, this was a victory. Not the loud, triumphant kind, but a quiet one, tender and rare. It was a first step. Beomgyu’s step. A step towards him. A step towards home.
His eyes did not waver as he lifted them from the joined fingers to the boy beside him, only to find Beomgyu watching him in the same way, as if reflecting his every movement. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, the silence between them heavy yet impossibly gentle.
Soobin’s pinky tightened ever so slightly around Beomgyu’s, offering a small, deliberate tug of reassurance. It was a promise, wordless but steadfast.
Beomgyu’s eyes shifted, almost reluctantly, to meet Soobin’s gaze. What he found there was staggering. A love so vast and unshaken that it could have swallowed the air between them. Soobin’s lips parted, and in a voice that carried all the softness of a secret, he murmured, “I love you.”
Beomgyu didn’t turn away. He didn’t loosen his hold. He just… stayed. His gaze held Soobin’s, searching, questioning, wondering how someone could still choose to anchor themselves to someone so breakable, so uncertain.
But before the doubt could grow, Soobin spoke again, a little firmer this time, as if to drive the words straight into the marrow of his bones.
“I love you so much, Beomgyu.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Beomgyu let the words stay with him instead of pushing them away.
***
Chapter Text
Every night until now, it had been worry that carved into Soobin’s chest, pain that burned behind his ribs, and the sharp ache of helplessness for Beomgyu that refused to let his eyes close in peace. But last night was different.
Last night, it was not sorrow that held him awake but the delicate warmth of their pinkies locked together, a fragile promise bound in silence. He stayed awake not because of restlessness, but because he was terrified to lose even a second of that warmth, as if sleep might steal it away, as if his waking body alone could protect it.
Beomgyu stirred in the faint hush of morning and the first thing his drowsy eyes fell upon was their fingers, still curled together as though even dreams had not dared to pry them apart. And beyond that, he saw the painfully soft expression carved into Soobin’s face, eyes weighed heavy with sleeplessness yet shimmering with a devotion that seemed too large for one fragile heart to hold.
Beomgyu’s breath caught. He could not bear it. The tenderness in those eyes that belonged only to him, the kind of gaze that stripped him raw, that told him he was someone worth holding, worth staying for. His chest tightened, and instead of lifting his gaze, he let it sink back down to their intertwined pinkies, as though that thin thread of contact was the only anchor keeping him from collapsing into the hollow place he so often called home.
Soobin’s thumb shifted, almost hesitantly, and then came the softest tug, as though assuring him he was not dreaming, as though coaxing him closer without words. Slowly, gently, unbearably, Soobin began to uncurl his finger away, hesitant, reluctant, as if afraid of stealing something too soon.
Beomgyu’s finger twitched in protest, a silent cry betraying him. His pinky even dragged after Soobin’s as if desperate to follow, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose the only tether that had ever felt like home.
Before either of them could let the fragile moment linger, the door creaked softly, shattering the stillness that had wrapped itself around them.
A burst of morning sunshine in human form tumbled in, her voice carrying the sweetness of dawn. “Beomie, Josh got us new puzzles and riddles!” Eunsoo’s chirp filled the room like a melody too bright to ignore.
She stormed in with all the energy the morning could hold, her small feet pattering against the floor until she stopped right in front of Soobin, lifting her arms high with a silent demand.
Soobin’s lips curved into a tender smile, one that softened the remnants of the night etched across his face. He bent forward, gathering her into his arms, her laughter spilling against his shoulder as he lifted her effortlessly.
With the gentleness of someone who had always known how to hold fragile things, he set her on the bed. Eunsoo pressed a quick kiss against his cheek, her little act of affection sending warmth across Soobin’s skin before she wiggled her way over to Beomgyu.
Beomgyu, now stirring from the haze of the early morning, shifted upright to rest against the headboard. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he wanted to hold on to the fleeting softness of what had just been shared before it slipped too far from reach.
“Eun! It’s just seven in the morning…” Joshua’s voice drifted in, heavy with a groan that carried both sleep and resignation. He entered the room, hair tousled, clutching the puzzles and riddles in his hands. The look on his face betrayed a regret that made Soobin’s lips twitch as if he was fighting laughter.
Joshua’s sigh deepened as his gaze flicked toward the lively child who had dragged him into this chaos, the items in his hand now feeling like unnecessary weight. He knew he had been outplayed the night before, cornered by Eunsoo’s sparkling eyes and Seokmin’s mischievous grin, the two teaming up with their shared arsenal of puppy-eyed pleas until he had caved.
Now, standing at the threshold of Beomgyu’s room, Joshua looked every bit like a man who wished he had been stronger.
“Mimi is skipping his work to do this with us,” Eunsoo pouted, her tiny voice laced with exaggerated sorrow as she nestled herself carefully against Beomgyu’s side, as if she already knew that was the safest place in the world for her to rest.
Beomgyu’s lips curved into a faint but genuine smile. He lowered his hand gently, almost hesitantly, before placing it around her small shoulders, tugging her closer into his warmth. The movement was tender, cautious, like a man rediscovering what it meant to hold someone without fear of breaking them, or himself.
Soobin’s eyes followed every detail, every subtle flicker in Beomgyu’s face, every breath that seemed to soften under Eunsoo’s innocent presence. His own lips parted with a quiet smile he did not even realize he was wearing, a fragile curl born out of witnessing Beomgyu surrender, slowly and carefully, to a moment that felt so human, so alive. His chest ached with a pain that was strangely soothing, like a wound that hurt because it was finally beginning to heal.
He had seen Beomgyu shut his world off, brick by brick, until only shadows lived with him. And now, here he was, pulling someone close. Not out of obligation, not out of habit, but out of the instinctive warmth buried deep within him, the warmth he thought he had long lost.
Soobin’s heart trembled. Beomgyu was trying. Trying to let people in, letting the smallest crack of light break through the fortress he had built around his heart. And for that, Soobin could not help but feel proud. Achingly proud, almost to the point of tears.
Because this was not just Beomgyu reaching for Eunsoo. This was Beomgyu, silently, unknowingly, reaching for life again.
Soon Seokmin wandered into the room, his laughter announcing his arrival before his footsteps did. Within moments, the four of them were sprawled across Beomgyu’s bed, limbs tangled and overlapping in the kind of careless closeness that only trust could allow. Boxes of puzzles lay scattered all around them like tiny treasures spilled from a chest, edges of pieces glinting under the soft morning light that filtered through the curtains.
Eunsoo, with her boundless energy, instantly claimed Seokmin for her side, her little hands tugging at his sleeve as though fastening him into her team. Together, they were fierce and determined, an unshakable duo that declared a playful war against Beomgyu and Joshua, who reluctantly formed the opposing team. A battle line was drawn not with malice but with laughter, with the competitive sparkle in their eyes and the exaggerated sighs that accompanied every missing puzzle piece.
What followed was pure chaos. The bed shook with their laughter, the air filled with mock protests, triumphant squeals, and exaggerated groans of defeat. Puzzle pieces were stolen, hidden, and misplaced, only to be found again beneath blankets or inside clenched fists. It was loud and messy, a kind of storm that rattled the walls, yet wrapped them all in a warmth that stilled something deeper inside.
And amidst the chaos, there was something else. Something quiet, something tender. It was the way Joshua’s exasperation softened into affection when Eunsoo stole his puzzle piece. It was the way Seokmin’s laughter rang like a melody that could heal. It was the way Beomgyu’s eyes lit up in fleeting glimmers, letting the walls he had so carefully built around himself slip down without realizing.
For Soobin, who sat watching with a smile that carried both ache and wonder, it was more than just a game. It was chaos, yes. It was mess, yes. But it was also warmth. It was home. It was healing. And in that moment, he realized that sometimes, family was not only given. It was found in the noise, in the laughter, in the fragile bonds stitched together piece by piece, like the very puzzles they worked on.
A couple of days bled into one another, soft edges smudged by the quiet persistence of care.
Beomgyu was never left to drown in solitude. They made sure of it. Every time his thoughts threatened to lock him back in that dark corner, a knock on his door, a gentle tug at his sleeve, or a soft voice calling his name pulled him out again. He began stepping outside his room, hesitant at first, but it was enough. Enough to sit at the table, to share meals where laughter spilled louder than silence, where every clink of chopsticks sounded like proof that he belonged.
Taehyun and Hueningkai never came empty-handed. They brought notes scribbled with their own hands, voices bright with the chatter of campus life, telling him about professors, about friends, about how the halls still echoed with his absence. They teased him, nudged him, demanded he get better soon because SoundSpace 2025 had made them legends, and ECHO5 was now the heartbeat of the university. The world wanted them back, wanted him back, not as a shadow, but as the light that had always stood at the center of their stage.
Every word was a reminder, an anchor tied to his worth, that he was never meant to be swallowed by the shadows of a misfortune he did not deserve. They tried to strip away the claws of insecurity that threatened to tear him apart, reminding him that no stumble, no cruel accident, could make him any less to them. They wanted him to rise again, not because the world demanded it, but because they still loved him, wholly and without condition, because his presence was the melody they refused to live without.
Jeonghan and Seungcheol lingered in Daegu despite the weight pressing on their own lives. Seungcheol fought to keep his business afloat through endless calls and blurred video screens, but his hands never once loosened from the rope tying him to Beomgyu. Jeonghan had asked for leave from his youth club, entrusting others to run it, his every moment here a quiet vow that Beomgyu’s healing mattered more than anything else.
Joshua stayed too, his hospital work handed over to juniors who understood that sometimes saving one soul mattered more than many. He would sit with Beomgyu in quiet hours, his words a salve, his presence a steady light, coaxing him gently toward the surface.
And still, Yeonjun, Soobin, Seokmin, and Dino remained under the same roof, their laughter spilling into hallways, their shadows moving alongside his. They ate together, slept tangled under the same roof of worry and warmth, as if by refusing to leave they could remind him that abandonment was not a word he would ever have to carry again.
Leaving was never an option. Even the brief hours they spent away for work stretched like an ache in their bones, a torture they endured only because they had no choice. Their hearts stayed tethered here, in this house where Beomgyu breathed, where they all breathed together.
Because love like theirs was not fragile enough to leave. It was heavy, unyielding, relentless, the kind that held on until broken pieces remembered how to fit again.
But what transformed most deeply were the nights.
No longer did Beomgyu turn his back to Soobin, shutting him out with the silent walls of distance. The nights no longer held that ache of separation, that suffocating void of not knowing if the other would stay until morning. Instead, they carried a fragile promise woven quietly between breaths.
Their pinkies, once tremblingly interlocked like a hesitant vow, now bound themselves with a firmer, almost desperate strength. It was no longer just the brushing of two small fingers seeking comfort in the dark, but a hold that whispered of trust rebuilding, of a fear being undone thread by thread.
Beomgyu slept without flinching, without the haunted tremors that used to ripple through his body. His chest rose and fell in unbroken rhythm, his face softened into the peace of a child finally safe. And Soobin, watching that serenity settle, finally allowed his own eyelids to close. For the first time in what felt like forever, he surrendered to sleep with the quiet certainty that Beomgyu was trying, that Beomgyu was here, and that he would not leave.
The pinkies that once carried the weight of fragile hope became hands fully intertwined, all fingers curled together in a hold that left no space for escape. They clung to each other in entirety, as though anchoring themselves in a world that often tried to scatter them apart.
Soobin would let his thumb wander gently over the back of Beomgyu’s hand, tracing delicate lines along his palm and brushing over the soft curve of his wrist. Each stroke was an unspoken lullaby, a wordless promise, a steady reminder of presence. And under that touch, Beomgyu would sink into sleep more easily, as though his body finally believed in safety.
What once was silence filled with fear had become silence filled with warmth. And in that silence, they healed.
Jayhoon’s body still bore the marks of his battles, the bruises fading yet the wounds within refusing to yield. His recovery was fragile, like glass threatening to shatter at the slightest touch. Soobin, Yeonjun, and Hueningkai took turns by his side, their visits stitched with quiet determination and unspoken prayers. Yet it was Soobin who carried the heaviest burden, not merely as his brother but as his legal guardian in their father’s unreachable absence. When the doctors urged rehabilitation, their voices weighed like verdicts, and Soobin could not escape the truth carved into their words.
The aftermath of the warehouse incident had shaken everything. The men responsible were in custody, their leader stripped of power, yet the scars of their poison lingered within Jayhoon. Though spiked into submission at first, he had eventually succumbed, his body bending to the cruel grip of those drugs until he could no longer resist. Now, deprived of them, he was decaying in silence. His body mended slowly, but his spirit, hollowed out and trembling, was unraveling thread by thread. The doctors warned that without intervention he would not truly return, that his shell would heal while his soul withered.
Soobin, with the weight of both brother and guardian, made the decision he dreaded. He signed the forms with a hand that trembled, each stroke of ink an act of reluctant surrender. He admitted Jayhoon to rehabilitation, knowing it was the only chance to save him. Jayhoon fought against it, his protests sharp and desperate, clinging to the only anchor he had left. He did not want to be away from Soobin. His eyes pleaded for another answer, for a miracle that would allow him to stay. But deep inside, beneath the anger and the fear, he knew he was a storm too wild to remain by Soobin’s side without tearing him apart. He chose to step away, not because he wanted to, but because he could not bear to be another weight dragging Soobin under.
On the day of his departure, Jayhoon forced a smile, thin and unconvincing, a fragile mask stretched over the agony within. His heart was breaking with every step, but he left, carrying the pain in silence as he moved toward Seoul. His farewell was a performance for Soobin’s sake, though his insides screamed with the torment of separation.
And once again, Joshua stood where no one else could, extending his hand when the ground beneath them gave way. He entrusted Jayhoon’s care to a junior at his own hospital’s rehabilitation center, ensuring that no detail of his healing would be neglected. His quiet promise carried weight, not just as a doctor but as someone who understood what it meant to guard Soobin’s fragile world.
It was in that moment, when Joshua spoke with conviction about returning Jayhoon whole, about giving back the brother Soobin had almost lost, that the last shred of Soobin’s pretended resentment toward him dissolved. The wall of coldness he had tried to keep crumbled like ash in his chest. Overwhelmed, Soobin broke, falling into Joshua’s embrace with a sob that tore through years of restraint. His arms clutched Joshua tightly, as if afraid that even gratitude could slip away. He wept into his shoulder, trembling with the fear of losing Jayhoon and the relief of knowing someone else was carrying a part of his unbearable burden.
Joshua held him steady, his voice low and unwavering, assuring him that Jayhoon would not be abandoned, that he would return as the boy he once was. The baby brother Soobin had fought so hard to protect. And Soobin cried harder, not only for Jayhoon but for the love he could no longer deny.
Soobin could not understand how his body still rose with the mornings, how his chest still drew in air despite the unbearable weight pressing down on him. Every step felt like walking barefoot over shattered glass, every breath a struggle between surrender and endurance. The ache was no longer just in his heart, it was in his bones, in the very fibers that held him together. Everything around him seemed to collapse in slow motion, and yet he remained standing in the ruins, too broken to escape, too stubborn to fall.
It hurt in ways words could never contain. It was relentless, unmerciful, pressing him into corners where light could not reach. Some nights he wondered if the universe had singled him out, pouring storms into his chest until he drowned silently in the chaos. And yet, despite it all, here he was. Pushing through the fire, dragging his weary soul forward. Not for himself. He had long forgotten what it meant to fight for his own survival.
No, his strength belonged to others now. To Jayhoon, whose fragile form depended on him, whose future trembled on the edge of a knife. To Beomgyu, who unknowingly anchored him to the earth, reminding him of warmth when everything else turned cold. Soobin bore the storms within his chest so they would not have to. He carried the weight because if he faltered, if he allowed himself to collapse, then the people he loved most would crumble with him.
And so, he endured. Bruised, bleeding, but unyielding. A silent soldier of love, forcing himself to stand even when the ground beneath him threatened to shatter.
It was one of those evenings that weighed heavy on the heart, the kind where silence wrapped around everything and the smallest sound seemed to echo. Beomgyu sat on the balcony with Taehyun, Hueningkai, and Hiyyih. The four of them huddled close against the early chill, warm coffee mugs cradled between their palms, steam curling upward like fragile ribbons of comfort. For a fleeting moment, it felt ordinary, almost peaceful.
The sound of the door opening broke the fragile stillness. Seungcheol stepped into the room, his shoulders drooping with a weariness that clung to him like a second skin.
“Beomgyu?” His voice carried softly, almost uncertain, but enough to pull every pair of eyes toward him.
Beomgyu set down his mug and rose to his feet without a second thought, crossing the threshold until he stood right in front of Seungcheol. His lips parted, his voice quiet, searching. “Hyung...”
Seungcheol hesitated, his expression caught somewhere between dread and tenderness. Then, with a gentleness that spoke of years of unspoken care, he raised a hand and rested it atop Beomgyu’s head, his palm warm, steady, grounding. A faint, fragile smile tugged at his lips, though it never reached his eyes.
“I... I don’t know how to bring this up,” Seungcheol began, his voice trembling. He dragged his fingers through his hair in frustration, his chest rising and falling like he was fighting against the weight of his own words. “I don’t... damn, I don’t want you to think I’m-” He broke off, swallowing hard.
Beomgyu’s brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his features. “What is it, hyung?”
Seungcheol drew a deep breath and clasped Beomgyu’s hands between his own. His grip was firm but trembling. “I need to go back to Tokyo. Just briefly.” He spoke quickly, urgently, like he was desperate to assure him before fear could settle in. “But I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. I swear, don’t worry. Hannie and Euna are still here. Shua too. If you need me even for a second, just call. I’ll drop everything and come.”
Beomgyu stared at him, torn between panic and the small comfort of Seungcheol’s urgency. He knew—he had always known—that his hyung worried too much about him. Even the smallest things turned mountains in his heart. Memories surfaced unbidden, tugging at his lips into a bittersweet smile.
He remembered the night in high school, when he had sneezed once during a call with Seungcheol. Just a sneeze. And yet half an hour later, Joshua was standing in his dorm with a nurse and a full medical kit, courtesy of Seungcheol’s panicked orders. Joshua still laughed about it. Jeonghan too, dragging that memory out whenever they wanted to tease him.
The smile lingered faintly on Beomgyu’s lips. “Hyung, it’s okay. I’m fine. I’m doing good, aren’t I?”
“But you know I’ll still worry,” Seungcheol replied, his voice firm, almost pleading.
That was when realization hit Beomgyu like a sudden storm. His chest tightened, his breath catching. Seungcheol and Jeonghan had been here since his music competition. Days had blurred, and now more than two weeks had passed. They were still in Daegu. Away from Tokyo. Away from their own lives.
“Oh god, hyung.” His voice shook, panic clawing at the edges. “You’re away from your work... because of me. Hannie hyung too. And Eunsoo. She’s missing school. You must be so stressed, so overwhelmed, managing everything through calls. I- I’m so sorry. I’m the reason for all this, I-”
“Hey. No. Stop.” Seungcheol’s voice cut through, steady, commanding. He squeezed Beomgyu’s hands tighter, grounding him. “Nothing right now is more important than you. Do you understand? Work can wait. Everything else can wait. I need to be here, with you, to make sure you’re okay.”
Beomgyu’s throat burned with unshed tears. Words tangled on his tongue, but before he could speak, a piercing cry echoed from downstairs.
Both of them froze, eyes widening.
“Eunsoo...” Seungcheol breathed, his voice breaking with fear.
Without hesitation, they ran out of the room, the echo of that cry dragging them into the unknown.
Eunsoo was crying. Her sobs were loud, unrestrained, each broken sound clawing at the silence of the room. She wriggled and thrashed in Jeonghan’s arms, small fists pressing against his chest as though sheer force could free her from the embrace that was meant to soothe but only caged her anguish. Jeonghan held her tighter, his arms trembling with the effort of both strength and tenderness, whispering words of calm that kept dissolving against the storm of her tears.
But nothing worked.
“No. Dad can’t go. Stop him from going, Papa. Please, stop him,” she screamed into Jeonghan’s shoulder, her voice breaking with the kind of desperation only a child could bear in her fragile frame. Her tears soaked through his shirt, hot and relentless, as though each drop carried her fear of being left behind.
Jeonghan’s heart broke with every syllable. “He’ll be back soon, baby. Dad has to take care of some work, but he’ll be home again before you know it. I promise you, he will.” He tried to sound steady, tried to weave reassurance into the air, but the words trembled like porcelain in his mouth, delicate and threatening to shatter. He stroked her hair, kissed her temple, whispered everything he could think of, yet nothing seemed strong enough to stitch together her unraveling world.
It might have looked dramatic to anyone else, but it wasn’t. To Eunsoo, this wasn’t just a moment. It was devastation. For all of her five and a half years of existence, she had never known life away from both her fathers for longer than a handful of hours. Five hours was the cruelest stretch she had endured, and even then, it had been softened by the warmth of school.
Her fathers had always been her shadow, her constant, her shield. They had been there at every stumble, every laugh, every nightmare in the dark. They had been by her side when the sun rose and when it fell, and in her eyes, leaving even for a fleeting second had always been a crime against the world they had built together.
And now Seungcheol was leaving. Not for an hour, not for the day, but for more than a day. To Eunsoo, it felt like an eternity, an endless night she could not see her way through. The picture frame of her eyes had always held the two of them together, unshakable, inseparable, a pair that anchored her very being. To imagine that frame without one of them was to imagine a world torn in half, unlivable and cruel.
Her small heart could not accept it. More than a day without him? That was not possible. That was not life. That was loss.
Seungcheol exhaled, a sigh heavy with weariness, carrying the weight of surrender. His broad shoulders slumped as though every ounce of strength had finally abandoned him.
“Euna,” he called softly, his voice breaking as he descended the stairs. Beomgyu trailed close behind, silent, his steps reluctant yet steady.
Jeonghan’s eyes met Seungcheol’s halfway, a mirror of the same defeat. They didn’t need words. One small, exhausted nod from Seungcheol was enough. Jeonghan’s arms loosened from around her, fingers trembling as if letting go of Eunsoo cost him more than he could bear.
The little girl wasted no time. She bolted forward, her small frame crashing into Seungcheol’s embrace. “Dad!” she cried out, the sound fractured with desperation.
Seungcheol caught her effortlessly, lifting her as though she weighed nothing, but the tears streaking her face made her feel impossibly heavy in his arms. She buried her face against his chest, clutching fistfuls of his shirt like if she let go, he would disappear. “Don’t go. Please… don’t go.”
Those words tore through the room like a blade. It shattered the silence, splintered the air, and left three hearts bleeding in unison.
Beomgyu swallowed hard, his throat aching, before his steps carried him closer to Jeonghan.
Meanwhile, Seungcheol lowered himself onto the couch, pulling Eunsoo closer, rocking her gently, whispering soothing words she was too broken to hear. His hand rubbed slow circles on her back, though his own chest trembled under the force of her sobs.
“Hannie hyung…” Beomgyu’s voice broke the heavy quiet, soft but carrying the weight of guilt. “I’m feeling so much better now. And honestly… I feel like I’m caging you three here. Like your whole life in Tokyo is being held still because of me. I don’t want that.” His voice cracked, eyes falling to where Eunsoo’s small shoulders shook in Seungcheol’s arms. “Look at her, hyung. She’s crushed by the thought of Cheol hyung leaving. She’s never spent a single day without him. Without either of you. And the last thing I want is to be the reason she’s crying like this… the reason she feels torn away from her family.”
Jeonghan’s heart clenched before Beomgyu had even finished speaking. He knew where this was headed, he could feel it twisting into his bones, and he refused to accept it. His lips parted, voice urgent, raw. “Beomgyu, no. Don’t say it. We’re not leaving. Not without you. Eunsoo will be okay, I promise. It’s just the thought of being away from her dad. It scares her. But she still has us here. She’ll have me, she’ll have you. She’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about her.”
But Beomgyu’s gaze didn’t waver. It lingered on Eunsoo, who clung desperately to her father’s shirt, trembling with each sob. His words came softer now, but sharper, each one digging into Jeonghan’s chest. “Hyung… she’ll have us, yes. But not her dad. And she won’t take that well, you know she won’t. You’ve seen it. I really think… you should go back. I’m fine, really. Please, don’t let me be the reason she feels broken.”
Seungcheol sat quietly, listening to Beomgyu’s trembling words, his arms still wrapped protectively around the small body pressed to his chest. Eunsoo’s tiny fists had loosened against his shirt, her sobs now a quiet whimper as she buried her tear-stained face in his shoulder. He exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment heavy on his chest, and lifted one large, gentle hand to brush the back of his fingers along her cheek, as if memorizing the softness of her skin. His voice was a low murmur, fragile in a way only his family could ever hear.
“I will ask Mingyu to handle the deal. I… I cannot leave,” he whispered, almost to himself, pressing a tender kiss against Eunsoo’s damp temple.
It was strange, how the world outside feared him, how his name was spoken with reverence and caution in boardrooms and offices. He was Choi Seungcheol, a man whose decisions could alter fates, whose power was etched in every glance and gesture. But here, in this small living room that smelled faintly of lavender and warmth, he was not that man. He was stripped bare of armor, a father with shaking hands, a husband whose love made him fragile, a man whose entire world was contained within the three people who sat before him.
Beomgyu had known this would happen. He could see the storm in Seungcheol’s eyes, the silent war between duty and love, and his heart ached because he knew which one Seungcheol would choose without hesitation. He stepped forward, his voice urgent, almost pleading.
“No, hyung. Please. Look at me. I’m fine. I promise you, I’ll keep you updated every single day. I’ll call, I’ll text, I’ll video call if you want. You don’t have to worry. Please, don’t do this.”
Jeonghan’s gaze caught his, sharp and aching at the same time, his eyes carrying an ocean of unspoken words.
“You are pushing us away again, Beomgyu,” he said softly, his voice laced with a quiet hurt.
Beomgyu shook his head, his voice breaking in the air between them.
“No, I’m not. I swear I’m not doing that again. Please, hyung, listen to me. Try to understand. This time, it is different. I’m doing this for myself.” His chest rose and fell unevenly, his words spilling out like fragments of a prayer. “I don’t want Eunsoo to cry herself to sleep because she thinks her father left. I don’t want Seungcheol hyung to split his heart between us and the empire he worked so hard to build. I don’t want his phone to buzz endlessly with texts and calls, dragging him away even while he sits here. And I don’t want you, hyung, to watch me with that look in your eyes, as if I’m shattering us piece by piece. This… this is my choice. This is the only way I know how to protect all of us. Please, just consider it.”
His voice quivered as silence settled heavily around them, the air thick with unspoken fears and love so consuming it hurt to breathe.
It took every ounce of patience, every tender word he could summon, and countless reassurances before Jeonghan and Seungcheol finally agreed to return to their own lives. Beomgyu could not keep them bound here forever, no matter how much their presence wrapped him in a fragile shield of warmth. He knew deep down that love was never meant to be a cage, and as much as his heart ached, he wanted them to breathe freely again.
And truthfully, he was getting better. Slowly, piece by piece, the fractured edges of his spirit were beginning to knit together. He could feel it in the way laughter did not feel stolen anymore, in the way conversations carried him instead of weighing him down, in the way his smile no longer pressed like a hand against his throat. Healing was not a straight road, but it was a road he had begun to walk.
Joshua’s quiet promise to stay a little longer had been the final weight that tipped the balance. Jeonghan could not argue against that. It gave him enough comfort to believe Beomgyu would not be left entirely alone in the silence of these walls.
The goodbye, however, was heavier than words could hold. Eunsoo clung to Beomgyu with the stubbornness only a child’s love could possess, her small hands tangled in his sleeves as if she could anchor him forever. She whispered through trembling lips that she still had puzzles left unfinished, corners and edges waiting for his touch. Beomgyu crouched to her level, pressing his forehead to hers, and promised with a fragile smile that he would complete every single one in her name, and when she came back, they would find new ones together.
Jeonghan and Seungcheol turned back again and again, three times in all, their eyes filled with the same question their voices kept repeating. Was he truly sure? Was he truly ready to let them go? And each time, Beomgyu met their gaze with quiet steadiness, even as the ache in his chest threatened to undo him.
By the night, the weight of the moment broke into finality. The family of three boarded their flight back to Tokyo, their silhouettes fading into the crowd, leaving behind echoes of their love stitched into every corner of the house. Beomgyu stood watching until they disappeared from sight, his heart full and empty all at once, the silence that followed heavy with the memory of their presence.
It was past midnight and the world outside had fallen into a stillness that should have been comforting, yet Beomgyu’s body refused to surrender to peace. He lay on his bed, chest rising and falling unevenly, caught in the cruel grip of dreams that were nothing but jagged memories stitched together with terror.
The warehouse walls loomed around him again, damp and suffocating. The gag pressed against his lips, stealing air and sound. Ropes burned into his skin, biting into his wrists and ankles until it felt like his bones would crack beneath the strain. His face throbbed with phantom bruises that had once bloomed purple and red across his delicate skin. And then came the hands, filthy and unrelenting, pressing down on his shoulders with a weight that made him feel like he would shatter.
It was too much. Too filthy. Too cruel. Too unbearable.
His body writhed against the mattress, slick with sweat, as if he could twist free of the nightmare’s grasp. His breaths came sharp and ragged, every turn of his body pulling him deeper into the memory he longed to forget. The phantom grip grew tighter, bruising him anew in his mind, dragging him back into that dark pit where he had been nothing but prey.
With a strangled gasp, Beomgyu’s eyes flew open, his pupils wide in the shadows. His forehead gleamed with sweat, droplets trickling down his temple, the air in the room suddenly thick and heavy. He was trembling, his hands reaching blindly, instinctively, toward the opposite side of the bed, toward the warmth that always grounded him when nightmares tried to tear him apart. That place where his hand was always caught, gently yet firmly, wrapped in a grasp that reminded him he was not alone, that the darkness could not devour him whole as long as Soobin was there.
But the sheets were empty. Cold. Silent.
Beomgyu’s heart lurched violently against his ribs. He turned his head, his breaths shallow and uneven, panic burning through his chest like fire. The emptiness beside him spread a new kind of fear, one sharper than the memories, one that felt like abandonment in its cruelest form.
His lips trembled as he forced out a whisper, soft and desperate, a plea that cracked like fragile glass.
“Soobin…”
Beomgyu did not waste even a heartbeat. His body moved before his mind could catch up, feet stumbling against the floor as he threw himself out of bed.
The cold air of the hallway bit into his damp skin, but he barely felt it. Panic was clawing through his chest, surging like a violent tide that refused to ebb. His breaths came ragged and shallow, each one a desperate gulp of air that never seemed enough, as though his lungs were collapsing under the weight of his fear.
His steps were hurried, unsteady, yet urgent, driven only by the desperate pull in his heart that screamed for Soobin. Every corner he turned felt like an eternity, every second without seeing him an unbearable ache, a terror that if he did not reach him soon, he might vanish like a dream fading with the dawn.
His trembling hands brushed against the walls, needing something solid to anchor him, but nothing stilled the dread.
All he wanted, all he needed, was to find Soobin. To see him. To touch him. To breathe again in the safety of his presence.
Beomgyu’s steps echoed with a dull urgency, each one heavy yet quick, carrying the weight of desperation in his chest. He turned the corner of the hallway, eyes wild and searching, and that was when he saw him.
Soobin.
Slowly ascending the staircase, his tall frame stretched in the dim light, his hand brushing the railing as though he belonged to another world entirely. He was already at the final step, nearly disappearing into the shadows above, and the sight tore something inside Beomgyu wide open.
He could not wait. He could not breathe. His heart lurched forward before his body even did, and in the next instant, he surged ahead with frantic steps, no longer in control of himself. He collided into Soobin’s chest with a force born not of violence but of desperation, arms wrapping tightly around his torso as if clinging to the last fragment of life he could grasp.
The impact sent Soobin stumbling, his balance nearly swept away by the sudden weight in his arms. One of his hands flew out to the railing, clutching it fiercely to keep himself grounded as the shock rippled through him.
His chest rose sharply against Beomgyu’s face, his breath caught in his throat, as he felt the tremor of another heartbeat crashing against his own. For a suspended moment, the world stilled around them, leaving only the sound of Beomgyu’s ragged breaths and the trembling quiet of a closeness too raw, too fragile, and too necessary to put into words.
"Why did you disappear like that?" Beomgyu’s voice broke through the silence, raw and hoarse, trembling with the weight of unspoken fear. His grip on Soobin’s shirt only tightened as though he feared that even a breath too long would snatch him away again. "You weren’t in the room… you weren’t holding my hand. Why?"
Soobin froze, his heart stumbling over its own rhythm. Confusion flickered in his eyes, yet beneath it lay a dawning understanding. He did not need to untangle the knots of Beomgyu’s words to feel the truth pulsing through them. Beomgyu had been frightened, terrified even, by the hollow space where Soobin’s warmth should have been. His absence had left him alone in a darkness he could not fight by himself.
Soobin’s hands hovered helplessly in the air, caught between hesitation and instinct, aching to close the distance yet afraid of pressing too hard, of touching where he might not be welcomed. He felt the fragility in Beomgyu’s trembling body, the plea hidden in his voice, and it made his chest ache.
"There was no water in the room," Soobin whispered, his voice quiet, almost apologetic, like a child confessing a sin. "I went downstairs to grab the bottle."
The explanation tumbled out, simple yet carrying the unbearable weight of regret. He had not left because he wanted to. He had left because of something so small, so foolish, so unworthy of the fear it had caused. And for the first time in his life, Soobin despised himself for choosing necessity over presence. What was water compared to the storm in Beomgyu’s heart? What was thirst against the sight of Beomgyu’s trembling hands reaching for him in the dark?
His throat tightened painfully as he pressed the words out, heavy with remorse. "I am sorry, Beomgyu. I should not have left you. Even for a moment."
The apology lingered in the air, fragile and trembling, like the last drop of rain clinging to the edge of a stormcloud.
Beomgyu’s lips parted, but no words came. He seemed deaf to Soobin’s apology, blind to his fumbling explanation. All he could do was collapse into the fragile refuge of Soobin’s body, clinging to that warmth as if it were the last sliver of light in a suffocating night.
Yet, as his chest rose and fell against Soobin’s, there was something missing. It was like wrapping himself in a blanket full of holes, the chill of absence seeping through and brushing against his bones.
And then it struck him. Soobin wasn’t holding him back. His arms hovered, trembling, suspended in the air like they were chained by fear. Fear of crossing a line, fear of being unwanted, fear of offering too much. That hesitation carved an emptiness between them, though their bodies were only inches apart.
Beomgyu squeezed his eyes shut, frustration and ache weaving together in his chest. Soobin should not be the one hesitating, not when he was the only anchor Beomgyu had left. Not when every trembling breath Beomgyu took found steadiness only in him.
His throat tightened, words crawling their way up through his chest like fragile glass about to shatter. The plea slipped out, broken and desperate, softer than the air yet weighted enough to split the silence apart.
“Hold me, Soobin. Please.”
It was barely more than a whisper, uncertain if it had even touched Soobin’s ears, but it carried the weight of every storm inside Beomgyu, every fracture in his heart begging to be sealed by the arms he needed most.
The words did not just reach Soobin, they pierced through every hesitation and every wall he had built around himself. They settled inside his chest like a plea he could never deny, echoing in his ribs until he could no longer stay still.
Without a flicker of thought, his arms moved, wrapping around Beomgyu with a force that was both desperate and tender. The forgotten bottle slipped from his grasp, clattering and rolling down the stairs, but he barely noticed. His entire world had collapsed into the fragile body trembling against him.
He held him. Held him as if letting go would mean shattering into pieces too sharp to ever mend again. His embrace grew tighter, arms circling Beomgyu’s frame with a promise unspoken yet deafening.
Beomgyu’s body softened, a sigh spilling from his lips as though his lungs had been aching for this very breath. He buried his face into Soobin’s chest, clutching onto him as though he were the only anchor in a storm. The rhythm of Soobin’s heartbeat filled his ears, steady yet frantic, pulling him deeper into a place that felt like home.
And in that moment, everything else dissolved. The silence of the stairwell, the shadows lingering around them, the wounds of the past, all melted away. What remained was two souls clinging to one another as though the very act of holding could breathe life back into what had been withering.
Beomgyu’s chest rose sharply, his lips parting against the fabric of Soobin’s shirt, and he thought with aching clarity.
This was what it meant to be alive. Not just breathing, but feeling.
Feeling Soobin’s warmth, his strength, his heartbeat, and the unshakable truth that he still mattered to him.
They lingered in that fragile stillness, bodies pressed together, hearts beating in imperfect synchrony, as if trying to rewrite every second of absence with the warmth of an embrace. Their breaths tangled and mingled, creating a rhythm of quiet reconciliation, a silent vow that neither dared to voice but both desperately clung to.
“Let’s get you to bed,” Soobin’s voice finally broke through, low and husky, as though even speaking might shatter the moment.
Beomgyu only shook his head, his face still buried against Soobin’s chest, refusing to let go. His whisper came fragile, trembling, almost dissolving into Soobin’s shirt. “I’m too tired.”
Soobin chuckled softly, the sound brushing like velvet over the weight in the air. “Then… I’ll just carry you there, hmm?”
The sincerity in his gaze never faltered as he slowly bent down, their eyes tethering, unwilling to part. With a small reassuring tap under Beomgyu’s thighs, Soobin murmured, “Hop on.”
Beomgyu obeyed without hesitation, almost as if his body remembered this instinct of trust before his mind could even register it. His arms looped tightly around Soobin’s neck, and with a gentle jump, his legs curled around Soobin’s waist, clinging as though afraid that letting go would dissolve everything into another cruel dream.
Soobin’s arms closed firmly around him, anchoring him, holding him with a tenderness that spoke of promises unbroken. With slow, deliberate steps, he carried him toward the dimly lit room, each footfall steady, unhurried, like he wanted to savor the weight of Beomgyu in his arms.
Beomgyu pressed his face into the crook of Soobin’s neck, inhaling the quiet scent of safety, of belonging, of home. His lashes brushed against Soobin’s skin, and his grip only tightened, as though he wanted this closeness to brand itself into his very bones.
In that walk, time ceased to matter. The world narrowed to nothing but the quiet sound of their breaths, the steady thrum of Soobin’s heartbeat, and the unspoken truth that they had both ached for this, for far too long.
Soobin lowered Beomgyu onto the bed with the gentlest care, tugging the blanket up to his shoulders as though tucking him away from the harshness of the world.
He was about to turn, ready to make his way to the cold emptiness of the floor on the other side of the room, but before he could step away, a sudden warmth caught him. Beomgyu’s fingers curled desperately around his wrist.
Soobin froze, his gaze falling to meet Beomgyu’s. The younger’s lips parted, trembling as if words wanted to escape but feared the weight they might carry.
He shut them again almost instantly, yet in a breath so fragile it nearly dissolved into silence, he whispered, “Stay.” His hand tightened just slightly, tugging at Soobin’s wrist as though it were the last lifeline he could cling to.
Soobin’s chest tightened. He stood still, his eyes lingering on Beomgyu’s face, searching, as if he needed to be certain that the plea was not born of a fleeting moment but of something deeper, something aching. When Beomgyu’s gaze didn’t falter, Soobin gave the smallest nod.
He walked slowly to the other side of the bed, slipping under the blanket with quiet restraint. He settled at the farthest corner, placing a barrier of distance between them even as the air trembled with the weight of closeness. But it lasted only seconds.
The sheets rustled softly, breaking the fragile silence. Beomgyu moved, unhesitating, crossing that space as though it had never existed. He pressed himself closer, his head finding its place against Soobin’s chest, the steady rhythm of his heart becoming an anchor.
Soobin’s breath caught, his body tensing for a moment under the unexpected intimacy, but then Beomgyu’s arm slid over his torso, clutching him, pulling him in with a kind of desperation that begged not to be let go.
“Already tired of holding me?” Beomgyu murmured, his voice light with teasing, but laced with something far more fragile underneath.
Soobin’s arms encircled him immediately, no hesitation, no restraint. He drew Beomgyu in so tightly it felt as though he wanted to fuse their very beings into one.
His lips brushed against Beomgyu’s hair as he whispered with trembling certainty, “Never, Beomgyu. Never. I do not think I will ever get enough of holding you.”
The words struck deep, echoing into the hollow places of Beomgyu’s heart. His chest ached with the sheer sincerity of them, with the unshakable truth they carried.
Who was he even trying to keep at a distance anymore, when Soobin closed every inch of space simply by existing, simply by loving him so unconditionally? In that moment, Beomgyu felt undone, stripped of every wall he had tried to build.
And yet, for the first time in so long, he did not feel afraid. He felt alive.
Silence wrapped around them like a soft blanket, but it was not the heavy, suffocating kind that came with unsaid fears and invisible chains. It was the kind that felt alive, the kind that breathed with them, steady and gentle, allowing hearts to speak in quiet rhythms where words dared not intrude.
Beomgyu shifted, tilting his head with a fragile hesitance before letting it rest against Soobin’s shoulder. His gaze, uncertain yet yearning, lifted to the profile of the boy beside him. Soobin’s face seemed carved in serenity, a rare peace resting there, as though for the first time in a long while, he had found a corner of calm untouched by the storm of the world.
Beomgyu closed his eyes tightly, as if the darkness behind his lids could hold back the flood welling inside him. When they opened again, shimmering with the tremor of tears, his voice escaped in a cracked whisper.
“I’m sorry, Soobin,” he breathed, almost choking on the weight of his own words. “Sorry for keeping you away. Sorry for making you worry, for making everyone worry. Sorry for being so… pathetic, so messy.” A sob pressed against his chest, sharp and unrelenting, and he bit it back until it burned his throat.
Soobin did not hesitate. His arms closed around Beomgyu instantly, as if the very idea of space between them was intolerable. His voice came firm, steady, yet trembling with a tenderness that threatened to shatter Beomgyu’s defenses.
“No. Don’t you dare say sorry for something that was never in your control.” One hand lifted, cupping Beomgyu’s face with a gentleness that made his skin ache.
“You were hurt, Beomgyu. Hurt so deeply it carved scars inside you, and that’s not your fault. We’ll mend them together, slowly, piece by piece. But you don’t owe the world an apology for trying to shield yourself. You don’t have to apologize for needing to survive.”
His thumb brushed across Beomgyu’s cheek in lazy, featherlight strokes, a silent rhythm of reassurance. His eyes held nothing but conviction as his words unfolded like vows.
“And don’t you ever call yourself pathetic or messy. Because you’re not. My Beomgyu is not pathetic. He’s the most endearing, the warmest soul I’ve ever known. Yes, a little clumsy, a little untidy,” his lips tugged into the faintest smile, “but never in the way you condemn yourself. Never in the way you think.”
Beomgyu’s chest trembled as tears threatened to spill. Soobin’s words struck like arrows, painful in their beauty, breaking him apart and piecing him back together at once. They healed in fragments, yet tore him open where self-hatred still festered.
He could not understand how Soobin could speak so fearlessly, how he could hold so much certainty when Beomgyu himself drowned in doubt. He did not deserve this. He did not deserve Soobin.
Yet Soobin’s voice continued, steady as an anchor in the storm.
“I’m proud of you, Beomgyu. Proud of how you didn’t break. Proud that you didn’t lose yourself. Proud that you fought through every breath to find your way back to us. You didn’t let those memories swallow you whole, no matter how cruel they were, no matter how much they tried. You’re here, still breathing, still fighting. And that is nothing less than extraordinary. I’m so, so proud of you.”
The dam broke. Beomgyu buried his face against Soobin’s chest, clutching at him as if he were the only thing holding him upright in a collapsing world. His sobs came muffled, raw and helpless, echoing into the steady rhythm of Soobin’s heartbeat.
And then, in the quiet between those sobs, Soobin’s voice fell low, trembling as if carrying its own scars.
“If anyone should apologize, it’s me. I’m sorry. Sorry for not being there when you needed me most. Sorry for not protecting you. Sorry for not pushing harder to reach you, to save you from the weight you carried alone. I should have been better for you, Beomgyu. I should have been more.”
Beomgyu shook his head fiercely against his chest, refusing, refusing, refusing. His arms only tightened, as if he could press away Soobin’s guilt with the desperate strength of his embrace.
No more words were necessary. Conversation could wait until tomorrow, or the next day, or perhaps until their hearts no longer trembled with the rawness of reunion. They had all the time in the world now, and tonight was not meant for words.
What Beomgyu needed in that fragile moment was not language, but warmth. The kind of warmth that existed only in Soobin’s arms. He pressed himself closer, as though trying to mold into him, to erase the distance of the days that had kept them apart. His chest rose and fell against Soobin’s steady breathing, finding solace in the rhythm that had always been his anchor.
Soobin turned, gathering him fully into his embrace, arms tightening until Beomgyu could feel every beat of his heart reverberating through him. It was not restraint but protection, a shelter made of tenderness.
“Sleep tight, Beomgyu,” Soobin whispered, his voice trembling softly against the quiet of the night. A pause followed, heavy yet gentle, before he added the words that had never failed to fall from his lips when the world grew dark. “I love you.”
He said it as if it were a prayer. Not because Beomgyu doubted, but because he wanted to carve the truth into his very soul. To remind him that love was not fleeting, that it did not vanish when silence stretched long, that it remained fierce and unshakable no matter the distance, no matter the storm.
That he would love Beomgyu for as long as breath lived inside him. That he would always love him.
Beomgyu did not answer. He did not need to. The faintest smile unfurled at the corner of his lips, tender and fragile, yet enough to carry the weight of a thousand unspoken words. His eyelids grew heavy, surrendering to the sleep he had been craving for days, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he knew it would be a peaceful slumber.
He drifted into the quiet night, wrapped in Soobin’s arms, secure in the only place he had ever truly belonged.
The morning unfurled gently, sunlight spilling through the thin curtains and painting the room in a soft golden haze. Soobin stirred awake, his body shifting lazily beneath the sheets, arms reaching out instinctively to the space beside him. His searching fingers met only cool emptiness. His chest tightened with an odd pang as he sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, still caught in the heavy fog of dreams.
And then he saw him.
Beomgyu stepped out of the bathroom, a wisp of steam trailing after him, skin still damp from the shower. A towel clung loosely around his neck, drops of water tracing the curve of his collarbone and sliding lower as though reluctant to leave him. His hair was darkened, wet strands falling in disheveled perfection across his forehead. Without a word, he cast a fleeting smile toward Soobin, quiet yet unshakably tender, before turning to face the full-length mirror.
The sight rooted Soobin in place. His breath caught. His eyes lingered as though he was afraid to blink, terrified the image before him might dissolve into air. There was something achingly intimate in the simplicity of it. Beomgyu standing there in the early light, unguarded and real, as if the universe itself had slowed to offer Soobin this one private moment.
Soobin's heart trembled in his chest. He could not look away. He did not want to. It felt as though the world outside the four walls of that room had ceased to exist, and all that remained was Beomgyu's quiet presence, the radiance of his being, and the fragile serenity of a morning they now shared.
"Stop staring and get ready. We are already late," Beomgyu said lightly, glancing at him through the mirror, his voice calm but carrying a faint undercurrent of firmness, as though he needed to remind himself as much as he reminded Soobin.
Soobin blinked at him, confusion washing over his face. "Late? Where are we going?" His voice was soft, uncertain, as if he already knew the answer yet feared hearing it spoken aloud.
Beomgyu turned fully, his brows lifting with disbelief, his damp hair clinging to his forehead in unruly strands. "College, Soobin. Where else would we go?"
The words felt ordinary, but to Soobin they pressed heavy against his chest, echoing with a meaning far greater than the casual tone Beomgyu tried to give them. His heart lurched, and before he could think, his feet moved on their own. He crossed the distance between them in two hurried strides, as though the ground itself urged him forward.
His arms reached out, hesitant but desperate, circling around Beomgyu's waist. His fingers clutched the soft fabric of Beomgyu's shirt tightly at the front, clutching him as if holding on to the only anchor that could keep him steady. He pressed closer, his chin coming to rest on Beomgyu's damp shoulder, his breath trembling as it mingled with the faint scent of soap and warmth that clung to him.
Through the mirror, their eyes met. Soobin's gaze was fragile, layered with unsaid pleas and quiet fears. "Are you sure?" His voice was nothing more than a whisper, but it trembled with the weight of his heart.
Beomgyu's reflection held his stare, the softness in his dark eyes slowly unfurling. He gave the faintest nod, deliberate and steady, as if sealing a promise.
"You do not have to if you do not want to," Soobin murmured against his shoulder, the words breaking on his lips, vulnerable and trembling like a confession.
"I want to, Soobin," Beomgyu breathed out, his voice low but resolute, the corners of his lips pulling into the smallest of smiles. "Really, I do."
Yet even with those words, Soobin's eyes refused to soften, the worry refusing to leave his chest. His arms only tightened around him, his heart pressing closer as though it could shield him from every shadow waiting outside their door.
Sensing it, Beomgyu shifted gently within his hold, turning in his arms until they stood face to face. His damp skin glistened faintly under the light, and his lips curved into a lazy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes but carried warmth nonetheless.
"I really want to go," Beomgyu whispered, his tone soft yet firm. "I cannot keep myself caged here forever, can I? And I will be okay... as long as you are there to hold me." His voice faltered for a moment, as though the truth of those words made his chest ache, but his smile remained.
He leaned forward then, closing the space entirely, and wrapped his arms around Soobin's torso with a quiet urgency. His embrace was tight, almost trembling, as if he feared Soobin might slip away if he loosened his hold even for a moment.
Soobin's body reacted instinctively, his arms rising to envelop Beomgyu's shoulders, pulling him closer, grounding him as firmly as he could. His eyes fluttered shut as he buried his face into the curve of Beomgyu's neck, holding on as though the embrace itself was a vow neither of them could afford to break.
Taehyun pulled the car into the college parking lot, the soft purr of the engine dying into silence as the four of them sat for a fleeting moment, the weight of the day pressing down in hushed anticipation. Taehyun and Hueningkai stepped out first, the autumn air brushing against their faces, while Soobin and Beomgyu emerged from the back, their footsteps almost in rhythm, as though they carried the same unspoken thread binding them together.
The path to the entrance stretched ahead, sunlight spilling across the pavement in a golden haze, and then Beomgyu's breath caught in his throat. His lips parted soundlessly as his gaze lifted. The campus gates had transformed into a shrine of celebration, and the sight was so overwhelming that his chest ached with both disbelief and wonder.
There, waiting with beaming faces, stood Jay and Heeseung, their presence so familiar it felt like home itself had stepped forward to meet him. Above them fluttered a massive poster, larger than life, capturing the five of them frozen in triumph, holding the SoundSpace 2025 trophy aloft as though they had conquered the world. The memory of that night, their voices echoing against the roar of the crowd, shimmered in Beomgyu's mind, but seeing it displayed for everyone to witness made his knees weak with emotion.
Students began gathering, voices lifting in cheer, their hands holding banners that painted the air with pride and love.
"We're proud of ECHO5!"
"Pride of Daegu University!"
"Guitarist Beomgyu is the rockstar!"
"Welcome back, our main guitarist!"
Each word reached him like a wave, crashing against the fragile walls he had built around his heart. Beomgyu's chest swelled with a warmth so consuming it blurred his vision. For weeks he had been crumbling in silence, convinced that shadows had swallowed his place in the world, and yet here he stood, enveloped by a tide of unrelenting light.
Jay's grin widened as he stepped closer, his voice loud and clear. "Welcome back, rockstar."
Heeseung's eyes glimmered with that unshakable spark of camaraderie. "You know what, we've already made a few beats. Listen to them later and let's get to work."
It was not pity. It was not sympathy. It was recognition. They spoke to him as though no fracture had existed in his spirit, as if he had only stepped away for a brief breath before returning right where he belonged.
On either side, Taehyun and Hueningkai drew closer, silent sentinels of unwavering loyalty. Hueningkai's boyish smile curved as he announced, "Group hug, guys?" and before any of them could resist, he wrapped his arms around them, pulling the circle tight, binding them chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.
In that embrace, laughter and memories intertwined, and for the first time in weeks, Beomgyu felt whole again. He was not just a boy fighting against silence; he was part of something greater, stitched into the melody of five souls who belonged to music and to each other.
Soobin stood just a little apart, his gaze tender and unshakable as he watched the scene unfold. In his eyes lived an ocean of pride, soft as morning light, carrying the weight of everything unspoken. He did not need to be inside the circle to feel it; he was already tied to Beomgyu's world with a bond invisible yet unbreakable.
When the hug broke apart, Beomgyu turned instinctively to him. His smile was radiant, not the shallow curve he had forced in darker days, but a full, unrestrained glow that reached his eyes and lit up his entire face. "I couldn't have missed this for life," he said, his voice trembling with sincerity, his words falling like a vow.
Soobin's chest tightened. He reached out, fingers brushing through Beomgyu's hair with a tenderness that carried the weight of a thousand silent promises. "I know," he whispered, a truth heavier than any declaration.
His voice dropped lower, meant only for Beomgyu. "You should head to your class. Call me if you need me. Taehyun and Kai will take care of you better than I ever could, but even then... if you need me, I'll come running."
Beomgyu's lips curved softly, his gaze never leaving Soobin's. "Hmm," he hummed, but the sound was heavy with meaning, and before words could stretch any further, he leaned into Soobin's arms. His body collapsed against him, not in weakness, but in trust, surrendering to the only embrace that felt safe.
Soobin caught him instantly, his arms steady, his grip protective, as though shielding him from the world itself. For a fleeting moment, time bent around them, the noise of the campus fading until there was nothing but the warmth of Beomgyu in his hold and the silent vow that he would never let him fall again.
When they finally parted, it was only because the world demanded it, and with one last lingering glance, they drifted to their separate classes, carrying each other quietly in the chambers of their hearts.
It was nearing the final hour of the college day, the hallways already thinning with scattered footsteps and murmured conversations.
Soobin's lectures had ended earlier than expected, and with a quiet relief he made his way out of the finance department, the weight of books in his arms replaced by the lighter thought of reuniting with the others.
His stride was unhurried, each step echoing faintly against the polished floor until he descended the last stair that opened into the afternoon light spilling across the campus grounds. His gaze instinctively shifted toward the parking lot where he always waited, a familiar rhythm that grounded his days.
Just as his foot touched the last step, his phone vibrated in his pocket, sharp and abrupt, as though carrying the urgency of something yet unspoken. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen, and without hesitation answered the call.
Taehyun's voice cracked through the line, laced with urgency that made Soobin's chest tighten.
"Soobin hyung, is... is Beomgyu with you?"
Soobin stopped dead in his tracks, the world around him blurring into silence. Confusion shot through his veins. "No... wait, what happened? Where is Beomgyu?"
There was a pause, heavy enough to suffocate, before Taehyun's rushed words spilled out. "We don't know. He left almost fifteen minutes ago from the practice room. We begged him to take one of us with him, but he wouldn't listen. He said he'd be back soon... but he hasn't returned yet. Hyung, we tried so hard to stop him, but he was so stubborn."
Soobin's breath faltered, his chest rising too sharply as if the air had suddenly turned thinner, almost impossible to pull in. The unease in Taehyun's voice lodged itself into his own heartbeat, quickening it into an erratic rhythm. The image of Beomgyu alone, vulnerable and refusing help, flashed through his mind, and the thought of not knowing where he was clawed at his insides.
"I'm... I'm coming there," Soobin said, his voice cracking under the weight of dread, his feet already pivoting back toward the direction he had come from. "Keep searching for him. Don't stop."
He ended the call with trembling fingers, his pulse pounding in his ears, his thoughts a chaos of fear and helpless prayers. Each step he took after felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself was pulling him back, testing his strength against the storm swelling inside him. The world had tilted, and all he could think of was finding Beomgyu before the silence of not knowing consumed him whole.
Soobin finally caught up with them outside the studio, his chest heaving from the rushed steps, his eyes scanning every corner with growing dread. The others were already scattered, voices calling out in frantic desperation, each name echoing against the empty college walls like unanswered prayers.
Regret clawed at Soobin's chest with sharp, merciless fingers. He cursed himself for ever agreeing to Beomgyu's plea to return to college. He had known, deep down, that the boy was not ready, that his wounds, though bandaged, were still bleeding in places no one could see. Allowing him to step back into the world had been an act of blind hope, and now that hope felt like a betrayal.
His gaze darted desperately across the grounds, searching for even the faintest glimpse, until it finally lifted upward. And then his heart froze.
Up there, against the pale stretch of sky, Beomgyu sat perched on the edge of the rooftop. His legs dangled carelessly into the void, swaying with the breeze as though the earth below no longer belonged to him. The sight carved into Soobin's chest, leaving him breathless, his throat tight with terror.
"Beomgyu..." The name left his lips as nothing more than a broken whisper, fragile and trembling, like a secret carried away by the wind.
But in the next instant, his body reacted before his mind could even form thoughts. He spun on his heel and rushed toward the stairwell, his legs moving with a desperate urgency. Each step felt like a plea, each stride a silent bargain with the universe. His pulse thundered in his ears, loud enough to drown the world, his breath uneven as if his lungs had forgotten how to hold air.
All he knew was that he had to reach him. Before the silence on that rooftop swallowed Beomgyu whole.
Soobin's lungs burned as he finally stumbled onto the rooftop, his chest heaving with desperate breaths. His eyes locked immediately on the slender figure sitting at the very edge, back turned, shoulders hunched in a posture that bled with unspoken weight.
"Beomgyu!" Soobin's voice cracked as it tore from his throat, raw with panic and trembling with fear. The word felt like it barely reached the boy before him, carried weakly by the wind that rushed past the rooftop.
But Beomgyu did not move. He did not turn.
It was only then, as Soobin edged closer, heart drumming against his ribs like it wanted to escape, that he noticed the faint glimmer of wires trailing from Beomgyu's ears. Headphones. A barrier. A silence that separated him from the world screaming his name.
The realization struck like a dagger.
Soobin's steps quickened, urgency clawing at his chest. He reached him in an instant, arms wrapping firmly around Beomgyu's torso, yanking him back before the boy had time to realize what was happening. The force of it sent them both toppling to the hard concrete, a dull thud echoing through the empty rooftop.
Soobin's instincts flared. His arm slid beneath Beomgyu's head, shielding him from the blow, the sharp edge of pain landing instead on Soobin's shoulder. But he did not care. His entire being was fixed on the boy trembling in his hold.
Beomgyu's headphones slid from his ears as he blinked up in startled confusion, his lips parting as though to form Soobin's name. "Soob-"
But the sound was swallowed whole.
Soobin crushed him against his chest, arms locking around him with desperate force, as if by holding tighter he could stitch the boy back into the world, as if letting go would mean losing him forever. His lips pressed into Beomgyu's hair, his entire body trembling with the weight of what almost was.
A shuddering sigh tore out of him, breaking, uneven, spilling relief so heavy it nearly brought him to his knees. His eyes clenched shut, his entire soul collapsing into that embrace.
He did not speak. He could not. Every word caught in his throat, drowned by the overwhelming terror that had just coursed through him. All he could do was hold Beomgyu as if he were the only anchor keeping him from shattering completely.
"God, Beomgyu... you scared the life out of me," Soobin whispered, his breath trembling as it spilled out of him. His chest rose and fell rapidly, as though the fear had stolen the very air from his lungs.
Beomgyu blinked at him, still lost in a haze of confusion, as if he couldn't understand why Soobin's eyes were burning with that mixture of fury and fear.
"Why were you even here?" Soobin asked, his voice rough, pulling back just enough to search Beomgyu's face. His fingers lingered, unwilling to let go entirely, as though releasing him meant risking the possibility of losing him.
And that was when it struck Beomgyu. The way this scene must have appeared from afar. The sight of him perched on the edge, his body framed by the vast drop below. To Soobin, to anyone, it could only mean danger. It could only mean despair.
"I... I was just here for some fresh air," Beomgyu stammered softly, his throat tight. "The studio felt too suffocating. I couldn't breathe in there." His words fell like fragile threads, desperate to bridge the storm inside Soobin's chest.
But Soobin's eyes did not waver. They clung to him, searching, dissecting, terrified.
And Beomgyu understood. He understood exactly what Soobin thought he had almost lost.
"I wasn't going to do something reckless, Soobin," Beomgyu murmured, his voice trembling with urgency, with the need to soothe. "I have people I love. People who love me. I have you. I want to spend my life with you. I would never throw that away. Please... trust me."
Soobin exhaled shakily, a sound caught somewhere between relief and torment. His gaze softened but did not release its hold.
"I do trust you, Beomgyu. I trust you with everything inside me. I know you're not fragile enough to give up. I know you're stronger than this. But I don't trust fate." His voice broke, raw and uneven, his words dragging like barbed wire across his own throat.
"Fate has never been kind to me. It has always stolen the people I've loved most. How can I leave you in its hands? I cannot. I will not. I cannot afford to lose you to something as cruel and merciless as fate."
Beomgyu's heart twisted painfully, the weight of Soobin's fear pressing against his ribs until he thought it might crush him.
Slowly, with infinite tenderness, he lifted his hands and cupped Soobin's cheeks, thumbs brushing against skin damp with unshed tears.
"You won't lose me," he whispered, voice steady as a vow carved into eternity. "Never."
He pulled him close then, arms tightening around Soobin as if he could shield him from every cruelty the world could conjure. Soobin collapsed into the embrace, his entire body softening, surrendering, as if Beomgyu's arms were the only place strong enough to hold the storm inside him.
And there, in the quiet chaos of their breathing, Soobin's voice spilled out, raw and unguarded, carrying every ache and every truth that had been caged inside him. "I love you, Beomgyu."
The words trembled in the night air, but in Beomgyu's heart, they rooted deep, unshakable, eternal.
***
Chapter Text
The days began to melt into one another, soft edges blurring as though time itself had chosen mercy.
Beomgyu was breathing easier now, lighter than he had felt in what seemed like an eternity. The shadows that once clung to his every step had begun to dissolve, no longer dragging him back into corners where fear ruled.
He was no longer hiding, no longer curling in on himself at the faintest sound or sudden touch. The tremors in his body had stilled, and in their place lingered a quiet strength, nurtured by the steady warmth of the people around him.
Yeonjun and Soobin had eventually moved into the house he was staying in, though it was truly Yeonjun's home. Still, with them there, with their presence filling the walls and their laughter weaving into the silence, it felt less like borrowed space and more like belonging. The rooms no longer echoed emptiness; they hummed with life, with the grounding certainty of voices he trusted.
Even Joshua, Seokmin, and Dino found themselves drawn there, their visits so frequent that it was as though the house itself had stretched open its arms to welcome them in. It became a gathering place, a refuge stitched together by shared meals, late-night conversations, and a closeness that asked for nothing but gave everything.
Just last evening, Beomgyu had gone with them all to Seokmin's café. The moment he stepped through those doors, the world had seemed gentler. The café was warm, alive with the clinking of cups and the soft hum of music, but what mattered most was the circle of faces around him, the laughter that carried without restraint, the easy comfort of being held in the presence of people who saw him, wholly and without judgment.
For the first time in a long while, Beomgyu felt something shift in his chest. That café, that laughter, those voices wrapping around him. It was better than any house or roof that had tried to shelter him before. It was home. Not the kind of home built with bricks or painted walls, but one built with trust, with arms that would catch him if he fell, with hearts that stayed even when the night grew heavy.
And in that space, with every laugh, every gentle nudge of comfort, every hand that reached out without hesitation, Beomgyu felt the pieces of himself slowly stitching back together. This was not just living. This was healing.
Joshua's departure loomed heavier than the weight of his packed bag. Seoul was calling him back, the hospital pulling him like an unyielding tide that refused to let go. If his heart had a choice, he would have stayed rooted here forever, where the air carried warmth instead of duty, where the nights hummed with laughter instead of sterile silence, where Seokmin existed like the very pulse of his being.
Yet, he forced his steps forward, each one against the desperate cry inside him to remain. He swallowed the ache, hiding it beneath a calm exterior, though his hands trembled faintly when they brushed against the handle of his suitcase.
Soobin, meanwhile, had his own obligations tugging at him. Jayhoon needed him, and no matter how fractured their bond had grown, blood and memory demanded that he go. To soften the weight of parting, Soobin decided to accompany Joshua, their paths converging for this journey.
Beomgyu, however, felt a quiet storm within him. He was not pleased, not even a little. His chest constricted at the thought of Soobin leaving, of his presence slipping away into the hours that would feel emptier without him. But he knew. He understood with aching clarity that Soobin needed to go. That he had to check on his younger brother. Beomgyu bit down on his own protests, carrying the heaviness of silence in his chest, letting his quiet acceptance mask the sting of longing.
Joshua, with quiet concern in his voice, suggested that they stop by his apartment first, if only to let Soobin rest for a while, to gather himself before facing what waited ahead. But Soobin shook his head almost instantly, his refusal gentle yet firm. Rest was not what he needed; he needed answers, he needed to see his brother. The thought of delaying even a moment weighed too heavy on his heart.
So they went directly to the hospital.
The moment they stepped through the glass doors, the sterile air wrapped around them, carrying the faint scent of antiseptic and hushed footsteps echoing against the polished floor. Joshua’s presence seemed to shift the energy of the place. The juniors stationed at the reception immediately rose to greet him, their expressions softening with respect.
“Take him to Choi Jayhoon, and update me with everything,” Joshua instructed, his tone clipped with professionalism that masked the ache stirring within him. He was a doctor again in that instant, detached and composed, though his eyes betrayed something gentler, something far more personal.
Then, with a pause that felt like it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken reassurances, Joshua turned back to Soobin. His smile was faint, almost fragile, as though he feared it might break if held too long. “Call me if you need me. Anytime. Do you understand? Anytime.”
Soobin swallowed the sudden tightness in his throat, nodding slowly, his eyes shimmering with a gratitude he could not bring himself to voice. He knew Joshua was trying to hand him strength, trying to leave behind a part of his unwavering presence even as he walked away.
One of the nurses stepped forward then, her voice soft yet practical, guiding Soobin gently toward the rehabilitation wing of the hospital. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the corridor stretched endlessly ahead of him. His pulse quickened, not from the pace, but from the storm of dread and hope battling inside his chest. He was walking toward Jayhoon, toward truths he both longed for and feared, and every beat of his heart whispered his brother’s name.
What gnawed at Soobin the most, like a stone pressing endlessly against his ribs, was the thought of his father already there, waiting for him. The very thing he had prayed would not happen had unfolded before his eyes, leaving his chest weighted with unease. He had never wanted his father to know about Jayhoon, not yet, not like this. But when the man’s trembling voice had broken through the phone days ago, begging him, pleading that he only wished to meet, only wished to speak, only wished to share something that mattered, Soobin had caved. Against his better judgment, against every wall he had built to protect himself and his younger brother, he had said yes.
He had told no one. Not Yeonjun, because the memory of Yeonjun’s furious eyes clashing with his father’s in the hospital weeks earlier was still sharp as a blade, a memory that reeked of hurt and accusation. If Yeonjun had known of this arrangement, he would have fought it to the bitter end, even if it meant tearing Soobin away with his own hands. Not Seungcheol either, who had been just as merciless, his voice low and lethal that day when fury burned in his throat.
And certainly not Beomgyu. The thought of laying this burden at Beomgyu’s feet felt like cruelty, as though he would be dragging him into a storm he had no reason to weather. Soobin wanted to protect him, to shield him from the sharp edges of a truth that already threatened to split his own skin open.
Not even Joshua had been told. Joshua, who carried kindness in his voice and quiet understanding in his gaze, had been left in the dark. And Soobin could only hope that Seokmin had not said too much, had not let slip pieces of his story that were meant to remain hidden, unspoken.
The weight of secrecy pressed down on him, heavier than the sterile air of the hospital corridors. Each step toward the room where his father waited felt like walking deeper into a silence that might never let him out.
He entered the waiting room, the air heavy with sterile silence. The nurse informed him gently that Jayhoon was still inside, attending his session, and that he could wait with his father until then.
Soobin’s steps faltered, weighted with hesitation. His chest felt tight, each breath shallow as if his ribs had caged in all the years of anger, grief, and silence. His father was already on his feet the moment he walked in, as though the mere sight of him was both relief and punishment.
Soobin lowered himself onto a chair, his movements restrained, cautious, as though even sitting across from him was a battlefield. His hands clasped together tightly, knuckles pale, his gaze fixed on the cold tiles beneath his feet, unwilling to meet the eyes that had once burned him into ash.
His father drew a long breath, the kind of breath that seemed to shake from the very marrow of his bones, and then sat down beside him.
"I know you hate me," he began, his voice cracked and weary. "And you should." His throat worked as though the words themselves were knives. "I have been the worst father to both of you. Especially you, Soobin. I have treated you in the most unforgivable ways." He winced, as though his own admission was unbearable to hear.
"I am sorry. God, I am so sorry," he whispered, and the words trembled in the air. "I know that sorry cannot mend the ruins I left behind. Sorry cannot rebuild what I shattered with my own hands."
Soobin gave no reply. His eyes stayed on the floor, his fingers interlocked, trembling faintly.
"Watching you both walk away," his father continued, his voice breaking, "made me realise that living this life is hollow if I cannot walk it with my sons. You and Jayhoon were everything, even when I buried that truth beneath anger and pride."
Soobin’s throat tightened, but he remained silent.
"Your mother," his father said softly, and the name alone made Soobin’s hands twitch, his heart lurching painfully. "My wife. She came into my life like a sudden light, carrying you along with her. She changed everything. She made even the air feel different. I loved her so deeply. I still do. But fate has a way of stealing what you hold most tightly, and when it struck her, I broke."
He swallowed hard, his eyes glistening. "When we learned her heart was failing, I was crushed. I begged for miracles. I sought every doctor, every surgeon, every cure that might exist. I saved every coin, cut every corner, sacrificed everything. I thought money would buy us more time. And when the bank collapsed, when the savings vanished overnight, it was as though someone tore the ground from beneath me. I was left with nothing but desperation, so I turned to loan sharks. They saw my weakness and sank their teeth in deeper, demanding double the return. I placed the company on loan, drowning myself in work. And all the while, frustration grew like poison. I took it out on you, my own son. You were the one I demanded to care for her, not because you were meant to carry that burden, but because I was drowning in mine. And when the doctors finally said nothing more could be done, when they took away the last shred of hope, I snapped. Everything I had sacrificed, everything I had destroyed, was for nothing. And then came the debts, the demands, the cruelty of survival. I cut the family to scraps. I stole your dreams, barred you from university, kept you from part-time jobs, because I told myself it was my duty to provide. Yet all I gave you was pain, anger, and loneliness."
He exhaled shakily, as if he could barely hold himself together. "I see it now. I was blind. I left you to bleed while I called it sacrifice. I ignored Jayhoon until it was too late, until he was broken enough to end up in this place. And you, Soobin… I crushed you. I turned my love into chains. I have been a monster of a father." His voice cracked. "I do not even deserve the chance to apologise. But I have nothing left except this hope that you will allow me to try again. Not to erase the past, but to be better for you now."
Soobin sat frozen, every word striking him like thunder. He had never known. He had never been told. His father had been a figure of cruelty, not of sorrow, and the truth unsettled him to his very bones. To learn now, after years of silence, that the rage had been born not of hatred but of despair, left his heart aching with a confusion too sharp to bear.
For the first time, Soobin dared to lift his eyes. His father’s were red, swollen with unshed tears, glistening with a sincerity he had long thought impossible. The man before him was not the tyrant who had towered over his childhood, but a broken soul reaching out from the rubble.
Soobin’s lips trembled, his voice breaking into almost a whisper. "Can you hug me?" He swallowed, eyes stinging. "Dad."
And that was when the dam burst. Tears spilled down both their faces as his father stood, stumbling into him, wrapping him in an embrace that trembled with years of absence and regret.
Soobin’s head found its place on his father’s shoulder, the sobs shaking him until he thought he would collapse. "I missed you," he wept. "Everything you did made me hate you, but God, I still wanted you back. I wanted my dad back."
His father’s hands cupped the back of his head, his voice thick with tears. "I promise, I will try to be better. For you. For Jayhoon. I promise, Soobin. Forgive me, even if it takes a lifetime. I am sorry, my son."
And there in the waiting room, amid the sterile walls and the distant sound of footsteps echoing through hospital halls, father and son clung to each other, two broken hearts finally daring to stitch themselves back together.
The silence, heavy and trembling with unspoken emotions, shattered when the door gave a soft click and opened.
Jayhoon stood framed in its light, his small figure caught between hesitation and longing. His gaze lingered on the man beside Soobin for only a fleeting second, eyes hardening as if burned by the sight of their father, before shifting desperately toward the only anchor he had ever trusted.
The boy’s eyes glistened, fragile and overwhelmed, carrying storms far too heavy for his tender years. Without a thought, without hesitation, he stumbled forward until his body collided into Soobin’s chest, arms clutching him as though he might disappear if held any looser. His breath was ragged, trembling, and the word he whispered broke apart like glass against the still air.
“Hyung.”
Soobin’s arms instinctively folded around him, firm yet tender, as if to gather all the scattered fragments of Jayhoon’s world back into place. He pressed a soft kiss into his hair, his voice warm enough to melt the frost that clung to Jayhoon’s heart.
“How’s my Hoonie doing?”
Jayhoon buried his face into Soobin’s shoulder, his fists gripping the fabric of his sleeve as though to anchor himself in that love. His reply came out muffled, soaked with tears he refused to shed.
“I keep missing you.”
Soobin’s lips curved into a quiet chuckle, though it was heavy with aching affection. “I miss you too,” he whispered, rocking him gently as if lulling away the pain.
Their father watched in silence, eyes stinging, vision blurred by tears he did not feel worthy to shed. The sight of his two sons tangled together in love he himself had failed to protect cut into him like a thousand blades. He hated himself, cursed himself for the years he had stolen from them, for choosing silence, for choosing work, for choosing grief instead of healing.
He had lost his wife, yes, but in the wreckage he had abandoned the only living proof of her love. He could have chosen differently, could have fought his way back into the light through the laughter and innocence of his boys. Instead, he had let the years rot, and the regret now pressed on his chest like a crushing weight.
Jayhoon finally drew back, his eyes rimmed red, his small frame trembling with resentment he did not know how to silence. His voice dripped bitterness as he turned toward their father.
“Why is he here?”
Soobin exhaled heavily, weariness painting every corner of his face. “Hoon, you should listen to him. Just this once.”
Jayhoon’s jaw tightened, his words sharp as a blade. “I don’t want to. He can go and drown himself in his work. I don’t care.”
Soobin’s gaze hardened, his eyes holding the kind of authority that carried both love and demand. Just one stern look was enough to silence Jayhoon, the boy biting down on his anger, his trembling lips pressed into a thin line as he swallowed words he wanted to spit out. The quiet that followed was thick, bruised with hurt, but it was also the fragile thread of hope that something, maybe, could still be mended.
Soobin’s father left that evening, his steps slower than before but his heart fuller, carrying the fragile warmth of reconciliation with his sons. He had promised, with a trembling sincerity that felt almost sacred, to return often, to check on Jayhoon, and to spend time with him in ways he had once neglected.
For the first time in years, Jayhoon had allowed himself to soften. His resistance, once built from years of disappointment and bitterness, crumbled under the weight of his own yearning. All through his childhood he had starved for his father’s love, carrying that hunger like a wound that never closed, and now, when those arms finally reached for him, he was too weak to deny it. He gave in, and though it was fragile and hesitant, it was real.
By the time dusk had settled, the air outside heavy with fading warmth, Soobin remained by Jayhoon’s side, quietly watching him. He checked on every little detail, his gaze lingering on the way Jayhoon’s hands steadied when they once trembled, the way his eyes no longer darted to shadows only he could see.
When the doctor arrived, he spoke with a rare softness, telling Soobin that Jayhoon was making genuine progress. Healing was never easy, but it was possible now because Jayhoon himself wanted it. He wanted to return to his life, to peel himself away from the poisonous trail of those addicting substances, to start again with breaths that belonged wholly to him.
Pride swelled quietly in Soobin’s chest, aching almost like a tearful relief. He had prayed for this moment, and though the road ahead was long, tonight gave him a glimpse of a dawn he thought he would never see.
When it was time for Jayhoon to eat, take his medicine, and rest, Soobin stayed until he was settled. Their parting was gentle, marked by Soobin’s promise to return often, to never let Jayhoon face his nights alone again.
Later, Soobin found himself outside Joshua’s hospital cabin. The sterile lights painted the room in tired hues, and there sat Joshua, fresh out of surgery, his white coat discarded on the chair behind him like a weary flag of surrender.
His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, lifted to meet Soobin’s, and in them Soobin saw the weight of hours upon hours spent healing strangers while neglecting his own fragile body.
Joshua had come straight from the airport only to dive into a grueling three-hour surgery, and it showed in the way his shoulders slumped and his fingers trembled slightly at rest.
“Should we go and grab something to eat? You should stay the night at my place. It’s already late, and my bones feel like they’re breaking from how overworked I am,” Joshua muttered, stretching his arms forward with a wince, his voice carrying both humor and fatigue.
“Okay. But book me the first flight in the morning,” Soobin replied quietly, though there was softness in his tone, as if conceding to Joshua’s need for care more than his own convenience.
“Yes, sir,” Joshua answered with a tired smile, pushing himself up on shaky legs. He walked over to Soobin and dropped a hand onto his shoulder, leaning into him as though gravity itself was pulling him down. Almost his entire weight rested against Soobin, and without hesitation, Soobin bore it.
They walked together out of the hospital, Joshua letting himself be held up, and Soobin letting him. He did not mind the weight pressing against him, because beneath it he could feel Joshua’s silent plea for rest, his body speaking louder than words. And for once, Soobin allowed himself to carry not only the heaviness of his own burdens but also the exhaustion of someone who mattered.
As the car sped along the dimly lit highway, the city lights dissolving into a blur outside the window, Soobin’s phone vibrated against his palm. He glanced down almost absentmindedly, but the moment his eyes caught the sender’s name, his entire body froze.
Beomgyu.
The letters seemed to sear into his vision, pulling the air from his lungs. His heart slammed violently against his ribs, as though it were trying to break free. His fingers trembled around the device, the glow of the screen reflecting the raw panic that surged inside him.
Slowly, as though afraid the words would shatter him, Soobin lifted his gaze from the phone and turned toward Joshua in the driver’s seat. His hyung’s face was calm, focused on the road ahead, the faint reflection of the dashboard lights softening his features. His hands rested loosely on the wheel, unaware of the storm unraveling inside the boy beside him.
“Hyung…” Soobin’s voice cracked, fragile as glass. His throat burned, desperate words clawing their way out before he could even form them. “Can… can you book the next flight right now? Please?”
Joshua’s brows furrowed, his eyes darting briefly toward Soobin before fixing back on the endless stretch of asphalt. That one glance was enough to catch the trembling in Soobin’s shoulders, the wildness in his eyes.
“What happened?” Joshua asked, his tone steady though laced with concern. “You can leave in the morning. It’s safer.”
But Soobin shook his head violently, his knuckles tightening around the phone as though it were the last thread holding him together. His chest heaved with uneven breaths, desperation flooding every syllable as he whispered, “No… I should leave now. Right now. Please, hyung… take me to the airport.”
The plea did not come as a request but as a cry, a silent confession that something inside him could no longer wait. His voice quivered with an urgency that bled into the air, thick with longing, regret, and a love that refused to be kept waiting any longer.
It might have seemed insignificant to anyone else, nothing more than a fleeting message glowing on a screen. Just a text. Three words.
I miss you.
But for Soobin, it was not just a message. It was a lifeline. A plea that reached into the hollow spaces of his chest and pulled at every fragile thread holding him together. Those words carried the weight of an ocean, heavier than any ten-page letter, heavier than all the silence that had stretched between them.
His eyes fixed on the screen, the words burning into him like fire etched into glass.
I miss you.
It was as if the world around him had gone still, the hum of the highway fading, the muted glow of the city lights blurring at the edges of his vision. All that existed in that moment was Beomgyu’s voice echoing inside his head, even though it was only written text.
Soobin’s heart stuttered with a desperate ache. He wanted to tear through time and space, to fold the distance into nothing and appear right beside Beomgyu.
To see him. To hold him. To tell him he had been missed every single second too, that he had carried him in the quiet corners of his thoughts, that his absence gnawed at him like an unhealed wound.
He had made plans. A night at Joshua’s, a visit to Yeonjun’s mother before returning to Daegu. He had promised himself he would stay, keep things in order, be patient. But this single message shattered every careful arrangement.
I miss you.
That was all it took to unravel him.
Soobin’s throat tightened as guilt brushed his chest for leaving Yeonjun’s mother waiting. She adored him, and Yeonjun would pout endlessly at the missed visit.
But deep down, Soobin knew the truth. If he told Yeonjun the reason, if he told him about the message that had undone his composure and pulled him like a tide back toward Beomgyu, Yeonjun would not only understand. He would smile softly, even knowingly, because he had seen this connection all along.
And Soobin, with trembling fingers still gripping the phone, already knew there was no choice left. He had to go. He had to see Beomgyu.
It was well past three in the morning when Soobin finally set foot again in Daegyu, the weight of exhaustion hanging heavy on his shoulders. Seokmin had been waiting patiently at the airport, his quiet presence a small comfort in the stillness of the hour.
The city itself seemed to be asleep, its streets hushed and cloaked in shadows, the silence broken only by the occasional hum of distant traffic. It felt as though the whole world had retreated into dreams, leaving only Soobin wandering with his heart too restless to rest.
When he reached the familiar home, his steps instinctively softened. With careful hands, he pushed open the door to Beomgyu’s room, the creak of the hinges barely audible in the thick quiet of the night.
He moved lightly across the floor, each step deliberate, as if he feared that even the sound of his breathing might disturb the fragile peace lingering in the air.
There he was. Beomgyu.
Curled beneath his blankets, he was asleep, but not the kind of sleep that spoke of peace or comfort. His brows were drawn together in a tense frown, his lips pushed into a small pout, as though in his dreams he was chastising Soobin for leaving him alone, even for a few hours.
That sight pierced through Soobin with a tenderness so sharp it almost hurt. His chest tightened, warmth flooding through every vein as his eyes lingered on the boy before him.
A soft smile spread across Soobin’s lips, one touched with both affection and guilt. He wanted to reach out, to smooth away the furrow on Beomgyu’s brow, to whisper an apology against the quiet of the room.
For a fleeting second, the ache of missing him dissolved into something gentler, something sacred. The room seemed to breathe with him, carrying the unspoken truth that no distance, no matter how brief, could ever lessen what Beomgyu meant to him.
Soobin’s body ached from the endless travel, every bone weighed down by fatigue, yet the very instant his eyes fell upon the boy who held his heart, every trace of weariness melted away as though it had never existed.
His steps were quiet, careful, guided only by the magnetic pull that always led him to Beomgyu. Without hesitation, he slipped beneath the blanket, the warmth of the bed enveloping him as though it had been waiting for his return.
The moment his presence touched the space beside him, Beomgyu stirred, not fully awake, yet not lost in dreams either. As if guided by instinct alone, he immediately sought Soobin out, his body curling into him with the fragile desperation of something that had longed for its source of light.
He clung to him the way a moth clings to flame, the way a sunflower turns tirelessly toward the sun. His face pressed into Soobin’s chest, his breath soft and uneven, carrying the unspoken ache of someone who had missed him even in sleep.
Soobin’s heart trembled at the sight and feel of it all. A tender smile spread across his lips, gentle and uncontainable, while his arms found their rightful place around Beomgyu.
He held him close, cradling him as though he were the most fragile thing in the world, as though the simple act of letting go could shatter him into pieces.
His exhaustion faded into a distant blur, replaced by the overwhelming warmth of having the boy he loved nestled against him, filling the hollow spaces in his chest with something far deeper than rest could ever bring.
"If it was the text that brought you back, I regret not sending one the very moment you stepped out of the door this morning," Beomgyu whispered, his words muffled against Soobin’s chest, fragile as though he feared they might shatter in the air.
Soobin let out a soft, breathy chuckle that reverberated warmly against Beomgyu’s skin. "You should have just told me not to go, and I would have stayed without a second thought," he murmured, his voice steady, not as a jest but as a quiet truth he carried in his heart.
Beomgyu shook his head, the faint movement brushing his hair across Soobin’s jaw. "I could never be that selfish," he confessed, his voice threaded with a sorrowful tenderness. "I knew Jayhoon needed you more than I did in that moment."
"Hmm..." Soobin only hummed, a low sound of acknowledgment that seemed heavier than words, as if even speech demanded too much of his weary body.
Beomgyu tilted his face just enough to glance at him, noticing the fatigue weighing down his features, the quiet exhaustion clinging to his voice. "You should sleep," he whispered, his tone gentle yet insistent, like a plea wrapped in concern. "You must be so very tired."
"Hmm..." Again, Soobin hummed, his silence more eloquent than any response, and then he pulled Beomgyu closer, gathering him into his arms as though shielding him from the world. His lips brushed against Beomgyu’s hair, his breath steadying as he whispered into the quiet, "I love you."
The words lingered in the dimness of the room, settling in Beomgyu’s chest like a promise too sacred to fade. Wrapped in each other’s warmth, with hearts beating in unison, they surrendered to sleep, their love carrying them into dreams where distance and exhaustion could never reach.
The morning crept in softly, unhurried and tender, spilling its pale light through the curtains as though reluctant to disturb the peace that had settled in the room. It was not the kind of morning that rushed; it was the kind that lingered, the kind that made the air taste sweeter simply because it carried the warmth of another beside you.
Their bodies remained entangled, a tapestry of limbs and breaths woven together through the night. Fingers still clung to each other as if even in sleep they feared separation.
Beomgyu stirred first, his lashes fluttering like fragile wings before his eyes slowly blinked open. His head rested against Soobin’s shoulder, the steady rhythm of his lover’s heartbeat thudding softly beneath his ear, grounding him, reminding him that this was real.
Soobin’s arm was draped firmly around his waist, protective and claiming all at once, as though in his dreams he had refused to let Beomgyu slip away. The weight of it was not heavy, but comforting, a silent promise that he was safe, cherished, loved.
A tender smile curved across Beomgyu’s lips as he shifted closer, pressing himself into Soobin’s warmth, unwilling to let the world intrude upon this fragile sanctuary. His heart swelled painfully with the simple truth of it all, that nothing had ever felt more like home than this very moment, curled into Soobin’s embrace, where the night had ended and the morning had begun without breaking them apart.
Beomgyu shifted, his cheek brushing against the fabric of Soobin’s shirt, and let out a quiet sigh that almost dissolved into the silence. He could feel the warmth of Soobin’s breath tickling his hair, uneven and heavy with sleep.
“Are you awake?” Beomgyu whispered, his voice so faint it could have been mistaken for a thought.
A low hum escaped Soobin’s chest, the kind that made Beomgyu’s heart ache. “Mhm… barely.” His words slurred, but his hold tightened instinctively, pulling Beomgyu even closer as though the idea of letting go was unbearable.
Beomgyu smiled against his shoulder, his throat tightening with the tenderness of it all. “You don’t have to hold me so tight. I’m not going anywhere.”
Soobin’s eyelids fluttered open, heavy and reluctant, his gaze hazy yet piercing in the dim light. “I know,” he breathed, voice trembling in that fragile space between sleep and confession, “but sometimes I still think you’ll disappear if I loosen my grip.”
The words struck Beomgyu like a soft wound, breaking him open in the gentlest way. He lifted his head slightly, their faces now close enough for breaths to mingle, close enough for silence to mean everything.
“I’m here,” Beomgyu whispered, eyes glistening, “I’m right here, Soobin. You don’t have to be afraid.” His fingers traced the edge of Soobin’s jaw, reverent, as though memorizing him all over again.
Soobin swallowed hard, his lips parting with a tremor. “It’s just… you feel like a dream sometimes. Like if I wake up too fast, you’ll fade. And I don’t think I could bear losing you again.”
Beomgyu’s chest tightened, his breath catching in the weight of Soobin’s raw honesty. He pressed his forehead against Soobin’s, closing the last inch between them. “Then don’t wake up too fast,” he whispered, voice breaking, “because I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”
Their silence lingered, heavy yet beautiful, as if the universe itself had paused to witness the quiet vow between two souls who had finally found their way back to each other.
It was the weekend, a rare stretch of quiet hours that carried no weight of classes or obligations. The morning unfolded gently, with the two of them sharing breakfast in the company of others, laughter mingling faintly with the clinking of cups and the soft shuffle of plates. Yet the moment they returned, Beomgyu tugged at Soobin's sleeve with an eagerness that glowed in his eyes, pulling him back into the sanctuary of his room.
"Let's do puzzles," Beomgyu said, his voice laced with a childlike excitement.
Soobin blinked, confusion clouding his features. "What?"
"Puzzles, Soobin. Eunsoo left a whole stack of them here. We should do one together," Beomgyu explained, already rifling through the corner where the boxes had been neatly stacked.
Soobin frowned, his tall frame leaning lazily toward the couch. "I don't like puzzles. They're boring." He shrugged, as though the idea could not hold his attention.
Beomgyu followed him with the persistence of sunlight slipping through stubborn curtains. "It will be fun," he insisted, determination softening into something playful.
Then came the inevitable, the quiet plea that always dismantled Soobin's defenses. "Please," Beomgyu whispered, his lashes fluttering, his gaze glimmering with that dangerous innocence he knew so well how to wield.
And there it was. The familiar trap, the gentle manipulation threaded behind eyes that looked far too soft to carry such cunning. Yet Soobin could never resist. He never wanted to resist.
Minutes later, the puzzle boxes lay open on the low coffee table, their contents scattered like fragments of a universe waiting to be rebuilt. Soobin and Beomgyu settled on opposite sides, knees brushing the edges, shoulders occasionally colliding when they leaned too far. The silence was comfortable, broken only by the rustle of cardboard pieces and the quiet rhythm of their breathing, two lives folding into each other as naturally as if they had always belonged this way.
"Let's make it fun," Beomgyu said, his tone laced with mischief, eyes glittering like a child hiding some grand secret. "We'll have a time limit for it."
Soobin arched a brow, not entirely sold but unable to ignore the way Beomgyu's enthusiasm always managed to chip away at his resistance. He was never one for puzzles, never patient enough to sit and piece things together, but the spark in Beomgyu's voice made the idea feel strangely... different.
"And?" Soobin asked, curiosity leaking into his voice despite himself.
Beomgyu's lips curled into a grin, the kind that promised trouble. "Let's do this. If we finish this first puzzle in ten minutes, I'll tell you something. Anything. No holding back."
Soobin scoffed, shaking his head. "What kind of ridiculous game is that?"
"Shut up. You don't know anything. Dumb old man," Beomgyu shot back instantly, the insult softened by the way laughter nearly broke through his words.
Soobin opened his mouth to protest, but before he could retreat, Beomgyu was already scattering the puzzle pieces with a flourish, the colorful cardboard clattering against the wooden surface like the opening move of a battle. He placed the glossy poster of the completed picture beside them, a challenge laid bare between them.
His eyes flicked up, meeting Soobin's, daring him. "And the time starts now."
There was something electrifying in that moment, something far beyond the scattered pieces of cardboard. It wasn't just a puzzle spread out between them. It was Beomgyu's laughter, his unspoken promise of secrets ready to spill, and Soobin's reluctant heart already surrendering to the game.
The first few minutes were chaos. Soobin muttered under his breath about the ridiculousness of it all, his long fingers clumsy as he picked through the pile. Beomgyu, on the other hand, was sharp and fast, his mind whirring, his lips parting with little gasps of triumph whenever he found a corner piece. He would nudge Soobin's knee with his own whenever he caught him slowing down, scolding him with playful urgency.
"Focus, old man. Do you want to lose?"
"It's not even a competition," Soobin countered, yet he found himself leaning closer, his sharp eyes scanning the scattered mess as if it suddenly mattered more than he wanted to admit.
The clock ticked silently in the background, and somehow their movements fell into rhythm. Soobin found the edges while Beomgyu filled in the center, and every small victory was shared in glances that lingered too long, in knees brushing, in laughter spilling softly when they grabbed for the same piece.
Minutes slipped away faster than either of them realized.
Beomgyu gasped when the last piece clicked into place. "Done!" His voice rang with triumph, his eyes wide with disbelief as he glanced at the clock. "Eight minutes. Eight minutes, Soobin. We actually did it!"
He leaned back, laughter tumbling out of him, a sound so full and bright that it filled every hollow corner of the room. Soobin just sat there, staring at the completed picture, stunned that he had enjoyed himself at all. His gaze slid slowly to Beomgyu, whose cheeks were flushed with exhilaration, hair falling into his eyes, chest rising and falling quickly as if he had just run a marathon.
"Eight minutes," Beomgyu repeated breathlessly, turning toward Soobin, eyes glimmering with both triumph and something softer, something unspoken. "Which means I owe you."
Soobin's lips parted as if to respond, but nothing came out. His chest tightened as he realized this silly game had turned into something else, something heavier. Beomgyu's voice dropped to a hush, his eyes never leaving Soobin's.
"Do you want to hear it now?"
The room felt suspended, the finished puzzle between them nothing compared to the fragile promise hanging in the air.
Suddenly, the playful glimmer that always danced in Beomgyu's eyes dimmed, as though the mischief had been stripped away by the weight of his own heart. His face stilled, every trace of his teasing grin gone, replaced by a quiet seriousness that made the air feel heavier between them.
"Soobin," he began, his voice trembling ever so slightly, as if the words had been burning in his chest for far too long, "you have said this to me every moment you could. You said it when I was breaking, when the world felt too heavy, when I needed to believe I could still hold on. And I... I never said it back. Not once, except for that very first time."
He faltered, his breath catching, his eyes flickering downward before pulling back up to Soobin's gaze with raw honesty. "I don't want you to think it never mattered to me. Because it does. More than I can ever explain."
His lips pressed into a thin line, as if he were holding back everything at once, and then, with a fragile exhale that cracked like porcelain, he let the words escape. "I love you, Soobin. I love you so much."
The confession trembled in the silence, filling the room with a gravity that made Soobin's chest constrict. Beomgyu's voice quivered, but his heart was steady.
"Every time you whispered it, I wanted to scream it back. I wanted to throw it into the world until it echoed across everything. But I stayed quiet. Not because I didn't feel it, but because I felt it too much. I need you to know that I love you more than anything. You are the reason I breathe. You are the reason I can stand here and keep going. Thank you for loving me when I could not even love myself. Thank you for never leaving."
Beomgyu's eyes gleamed, a fragile glassiness rising until the tears clung stubbornly at the rim, his heart baring itself entirely to the only person it had ever belonged to.
And Soobin... Soobin's heart clenched with a pain so bittersweet it almost brought him to his knees. He had never whispered those words expecting to hear them echoed back. He had spoken them as promises, as anchors, as reminders that no matter what storms raged in Beomgyu's world, he would always be the shelter.
His "I love yous" had never been bargains. They had been vows, given freely, because he needed Beomgyu to know, needed him to believe that he would never stop loving him. That his heart would always be waiting, steady, unshaken, endlessly his.
Soobin's lips curved into a tender smile, soft and unwavering, as if he were absorbing every fragile syllable that had just spilled from Beomgyu's trembling mouth. His chest rose and fell with a gentleness that matched the sincerity in his eyes, the kind that seemed to hold entire galaxies of devotion.
"I love you, Beomgyu," he whispered, his voice steady yet aching with depth. "And I will keep saying it until my voice no longer carries sound, until it fades into silence and even then lingers in the air around you. I will carve it into the fabric of who you are, until it becomes something you cannot unhear, something you cannot let go of. I love you."
His hand stretched across the table, fingers brushing against Beomgyu's before curling around them, a fragile but unyielding grasp that anchored them both. He gave it a slow, deliberate squeeze, eyes glistening as though he wanted to pour all of himself into that touch. "I love you," he repeated, softer now, almost teasing, a small curve tugging at the corner of his lips. "I hope you never grow weary of hearing it."
Beomgyu's throat tightened, words threatening to fracture before they could escape. He could only shake his head in silence, an answer so absolute it needed no sound. His lashes fluttered with the weight of unshed tears, the motion as fragile as a heartbeat.
Soobin chuckled faintly, trying to lighten the moment, though the tremor in his voice betrayed the heaviness in his chest. "Alright, no more drowning in emotions. Let's do another one, if it helps."
Beomgyu nodded quickly, grateful for the lifeline, though his gaze lingered on Soobin a moment longer, as if reluctant to pull away from the warmth that had just engulfed him.
Soobin scattered the next puzzle pieces across the table, the sound of them clicking against the wooden surface sharp yet grounding. He leaned back slightly, his eyes flickering with playful challenge. "How about this," he said, lips quirking, "if we manage to finish this puzzle in seven minutes, you can make me do absolutely anything you want."
Beomgyu blinked hard, pushing away the lingering sting in his eyes, and let out a shaky laugh. He straightened his back, his expression hardening with renewed focus, clutching onto the challenge as though it were his lifeline.
The timer began, and Beomgyu bent over the scattered pieces, his fingers moving quickly, almost feverishly. His mind, which only moments ago had been drowning in confessions, now clung to the rhythm of finding edges and shapes, pouring himself into the task as though completing it was the only way to hold his heart together.
They had barely sunk three minutes into the game when Beomgyu's phone buzzed against the wooden floor. He ignored it without hesitation, his eyes fixed on the scattered puzzle pieces, his entire being invested in the task as if this tiny mission carried the weight of some greater victory-one that would end with Soobin conceding defeat and finally bending to his playful terms.
But Soobin, ever the steady one, leaned closer and picked up the phone, his voice soft yet insistent.
"Beomgyu, it's Jeonghan hyung. We can pause for a while, can't we? Just one minute won't hurt."
Beomgyu blinked, reluctant, before finally pressing pause on the timer that blinked on his wristwatch, halting at three minutes and twenty seconds. He took the phone into his hands and, with a single tap, answered the video call.
A burst of sunshine spilled into the room, not from the window, but from the voice that chirped through the speaker.
"Beomiee!!"
Eunsoo's laughter carried through the screen like bells ringing on a clear morning, and Beomgyu's face softened instantly, his expression lighting up with a joy so pure that even Soobin couldn't help but notice.
"Hi, princess! How's my little angel doing?" His voice held a gentleness he rarely let anyone else hear.
"I'm doing good, Beomie. Papa is baking us a cake!" she exclaimed, her small hands fumbling with the camera before she turned it to reveal Jeonghan by the oven, sleeves rolled up, an apron tied loosely around him. He looked every bit the doting father, concentration stitched across his face as he peeked into the oven.
"Wow, that's amazing!" Beomgyu grinned, his excitement mirroring hers as though the cake itself was a wonder of the world.
Eunsoo quickly flipped the camera back to herself, eyes wide with curiosity.
"What are you doing, Beomie?"
Beomgyu shifted the phone, revealing the puzzle pieces strewn in bright colors across the floor. "I'm finishing the puzzles you left for me. But you'll help me again when you visit, right? I saved the hardest ones for you."
"I'll bring even more difficult ones next time!" she giggled, puffing her cheeks in mock pride before her eyes lit up with another thought. "Is Soobie with you?"
It was something peculiar about Eunsoo-an innocent logic stitched in her tender heart. To her, people came in pairs. She believed that those who always stood side by side belonged together, inseparable, like halves of a whole. She had seen Jeonghan and Seungcheol by each other's side for as long as her memory stretched, the same way Seokmin and Joshua always appeared as a unit whenever they visited. And in her little world, Beomgyu and Soobin were no exception. If one was present, the other must surely be close, because they, too, were a set.
Beomgyu's lips curved into a smile, and he tilted the phone so the lens captured Soobin's face.
"He is," Beomgyu said softly.
"Hi, Soobie!" Eunsoo's voice rang out again, bright as spring.
Soobin, caught off guard, gave a shy wave, his lips quirking upward under the weight of her radiant joy.
The conversation meandered like a gentle stream. Eunsoo's chatter filled the air, punctuated by Jeonghan's calls from the kitchen and Seungcheol's occasional teasing voice in the background. At one point, Seungcheol leaned in to tie a small cloth around Eunsoo's neck to protect her from the flour she kept dusting onto herself, while she giggled and squirmed in his hold. The frame was chaotic, imperfect, and yet so profoundly beautiful.
To Beomgyu, it felt like watching a painting come to life-a home brimming with warmth. The fathers bickered over the oven while the little girl's laughter rippled like music between them. And in that moment, with Soobin sitting quietly by his side, it was everything Beomgyu's heart longed for.
The call ended abruptly when Eunsoo, in all her clumsy haste, managed to drop the phone straight into the bowl of flour. A startled silence fell for a heartbeat before the room erupted with laughter. It spilled out of both Beomgyu and Soobin, loud and unrestrained, the kind of laughter that felt like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. Their shoulders shook, their eyes watered, and for a fleeting moment the heaviness that had shadowed them dissolved into something warm and effortless.
Beomgyu wiped the corners of his eyes, his chest still fluttering with the remnants of mirth, before lowering his gaze to the puzzle laid before them. His voice was soft but steady when he said, "Let's continue." There was something unspoken beneath those words, a plea for the comfort of quiet togetherness, for the distraction of fragile little pieces falling into place.
The timer resumed, its ticking a quiet rhythm against the thrum of their hearts. Beomgyu leaned in, his focus sharpening, fingertips dancing over cardboard edges as though this puzzle held the weight of something greater than itself. His breath quickened with each correct fit, determination etched into the curve of his lips. Soobin watched him with a tenderness that words could never fully capture, his eyes following every movement as though Beomgyu was the only thing in the world worth seeing.
Exactly at six minutes and forty-one seconds, Beomgyu pressed the final piece into its place. A perfect click. A perfect whole. His shoulders rose and fell with a breath of victory, his lips parting in a quiet smile, while Soobin's chuckle broke the silence like a low hum of music, warm and proud.
"So?" Soobin leaned back, his gaze never leaving Beomgyu, his smile laced with both amusement and affection. "What do you want me to do?"
"Kiss me," Beomgyu blurted, the words escaping him with the reckless urgency of a secret he had carried far too long.
Soobin froze, his breath stilled as though the world itself had turned motionless. His gaze locked onto Beomgyu's, blank at first, as if trying to grasp whether the request was real or a fleeting dream he might shatter by responding.
“Kiss me, Soobin,” Beomgyu repeated, his voice trembling with a fragile conviction. “I cannot keep myself caged any longer. Every wall I built around me is breaking, every chain I tightened is tearing apart. I cannot keep myself away from what I want, not anymore. It would not be fair. Not to me, not to you. Not to either of us. I cannot remain buried beneath these insecurities forever.”
The silence between them grew thick, heavy, charged with the weight of confessions that had long gone unsaid. Soobin’s eyes softened, yet he still did not move. He only kept staring at Beomgyu, as if memorizing the boy’s trembling resolve, as if weighing the fragility of this moment against the eternity of what it might mean.
“Beomgyu,” Soobin whispered, his voice tender, a prayer folded into the air. “You know I can wait. Even if it takes years, even if it takes forever. You do not have to rush, you do not have to push yourself into something you are not ready for. I would rather stand still with you than move forward without you.”
Beomgyu’s lips parted, his eyes glistening with something raw and uncontainable. His chest heaved, every word pressing itself out of him like a confession etched in fire. “I am not afraid with you, Soobin. Not anymore. With you, anything feels like home. With you, I am comfortable. With you, I am safe. Please… please don’t let me hesitate this time.”
Soobin did not waste a single heartbeat. His hands slipped beneath Beomgyu’s arms, firm yet tender, and in one seamless movement he lifted him as though the world had no gravity, as though Beomgyu himself was the very air Soobin had been waiting to breathe. He set him down carefully on his lap, their chests brushing, the distance between them collapsing until there was nothing left to separate their heartbeats.
Beomgyu’s lips found his instantly, desperate and trembling, colliding with Soobin’s in a rush that was both surrender and demand. The kiss began soft, almost fragile, as if both were afraid the moment would shatter if pressed too hard. But within that softness lay a current of urgency, a fire that had been caged for far too long. Their mouths moved in unison, molding and reshaping against each other with an aching precision that felt carved from fate.
Beomgyu tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric of Soobin’s shirt as though anchoring himself to the only truth he could believe in. Soobin’s lips responded with equal fervor, coaxing, promising, pouring into Beomgyu all the quiet love he had carried in silence. Their breaths tangled, warm and uneven, slipping into one another as if they had been destined to share the same air.
The taste of Beomgyu lingered sweet and raw on Soobin’s tongue, a mixture of trembling courage and unspoken yearning. Every brush of lips carried a confession, every stolen gasp a vow. The kiss was not just lips meeting lips—it was a breaking of chains, an unraveling of fear, and the tender collision of two souls that had circled each other too long.
It was desperate but patient, wild yet reverent, the kind of kiss that burned itself into memory and refused to fade. When Beomgyu let out a tiny whimper against his mouth, Soobin’s grip tightened instinctively at his waist, pulling him closer, as though he wanted Beomgyu to fuse into him, to never slip away again.
And in that consuming union, there was no room for doubt, no weight of insecurities, no sound but the hurried beating of their hearts, thundering in perfect, fragile harmony.
Soobin’s palm gave a tender pat against Beomgyu’s thigh, a silent signal that carried more care than command. Beomgyu shifted, pulling himself up from Soobin’s lap, his breath trembling as though leaving behind the warmth of that seat was unbearable. But he didn’t have the chance to miss it, because within a single heartbeat Soobin was already on his feet, strong arms sliding beneath him, scooping him up as though he weighed nothing, as though holding him was as natural as breathing. Their mouths never parted, lips clinging to lips, the kiss raw and unyielding as Soobin carried him across the room, their movements clumsy in urgency yet beautiful in their unspoken devotion.
When Soobin reached the bed, he lowered Beomgyu with such exquisite gentleness it was as if he were placing something sacred down upon an altar. But Beomgyu’s arms refused to release him, curling around Soobin’s neck in desperate insistence, pulling him down until their mouths crashed together again, another kiss that stole the air from their lungs. It was fevered and reckless, yet beneath the rush lived a tenderness so pure it could shatter the hardest stone.
Soobin’s hand slid across Beomgyu’s hip, his fingertips drawing slow, delicate circles that made Beomgyu’s skin burn with a longing that melted into every nerve. His other hand twisted tightly into Beomgyu’s shirt, gripping it as if to anchor himself against the tidal wave of desire threatening to drown him. The kiss broke, not by choice but by necessity, and Soobin’s gaze found Beomgyu’s eyes, wide and shining, fragile and defiant all at once.
“Can I?” he whispered, voice hushed and trembling with reverence, his fingers tugging faintly at the hem of Beomgyu’s shirt. The question hung in the air, raw, vulnerable, carrying every ounce of respect he held for the boy beneath him.
Beomgyu’s reply came without hesitation. A frantic nod, eyes pleading, heart screaming for more, and then he pulled Soobin down again, lips sealing together with a desperation that left no room for doubt.
Soobin kissed him with a hunger that was also worship, mouth moving with a thoroughness that left nothing untouched. His tongue explored every curve, every hidden corner, until Beomgyu felt claimed, cherished, undone entirely beneath him.
Then his lips drifted lower, pressing against the sharp line of Beomgyu’s jaw, tasting the softness of his skin before trailing down to the slender column of his neck. Each kiss deepened, each press of his mouth bolder, until his lips closed around Beomgyu’s skin, sucking and biting, branding him with marks that whispered you are mine, you are loved, you are unforgettable.
At the same time, Soobin’s fingers moved with devastating patience over the buttons of Beomgyu’s shirt. One by one, they slipped free, each undone with a care so delicate it felt like he was unveiling something holy. His touch was too gentle, unbearably careful, as though terrified of breaking him, and yet it set Beomgyu aflame.
A sound escaped Beomgyu’s lips, a soft, broken whimper that betrayed his torment. The sensation was everything all at once—too much and not nearly enough. His body arched instinctively toward Soobin’s, silently begging for more, while his heart clenched at the unbearable sweetness of being touched as though he were the most precious thing Soobin had ever held.
Soobin lifted himself above, his body hovering over Beomgyu, casting a shadow that felt more like a shelter than a weight.
A broken whimper escaped Beomgyu’s lips the instant Soobin’s mouth left his neck, the sound trembling with need and quiet desperation. His skin burned where the kisses had been, aching for their return.
Soobin’s fingers moved with reverence, slowly parting the fabric of Beomgyu’s shirt. Each button undone felt like peeling away a layer of fear, until at last his chest and torso lay bare beneath the dim light.
Beomgyu turned his face to the side, his lashes fluttering against damp skin as if the sheer act of being seen stripped him raw. His breath faltered, and his body shivered, not from cold but from the unbearable exposure of vulnerability.
Soobin noticed. He always noticed.
With a gentleness that could have shattered stone, Soobin raised his hand, his thumb grazing along Beomgyu’s sharp jawline, pausing with a sacred stillness before resting under his chin. He coaxed Beomgyu’s face back toward him, his touch both firm and tender, thumb and forefinger tilting his chin until those tear-glazed eyes had no choice but to meet his own.
Soobin’s gaze locked onto his, unwavering, steady, and infinite. “You are beautiful, Beomgyu. The most beautiful boy I have ever seen,” he whispered, each word soaked in devotion, before brushing his lips against the corner of Beomgyu’s trembling mouth.
His hand slid beneath the curve of Beomgyu’s head, lifting him carefully until he sat upright, and in one fluid motion, Soobin shed the shirt from his body. The fabric fell away, leaving Beomgyu bare to the warmth of Soobin’s arms.
Soobin leaned in, pressing his lips against Beomgyu’s shoulder. That spot. The cursed place where those filthy, unwanted hands had once lingered. It was clean now, free of their touch, yet Beomgyu still felt the ghost of it seared into his skin.
Soobin kissed it again and again, his mouth moving as though determined to erase every last remnant of pain, every poisonous fingerprint that memory had left behind. His lips pressed, lingered, worshipped, as if he could overwrite the cruelty with his own presence, branding Beomgyu not with scars but with love.
“Beomgyu…” Soobin breathed into his skin, his voice heavy with a tenderness that shook. His arms drew him closer, anchoring him in a world where no one else could reach.
Beomgyu arched into him, his body surrendering to the warmth, his chest rising and falling like waves caught in the pull of the moon. For the first time in what felt like forever, he did not feel like a shattered boy merely surviving.
Held in Soobin’s embrace, kissed into wholeness, Beomgyu felt alive. Truly alive. Not just breathing. But living.
Soobin shifted, his lips gliding tenderly across the span of Beomgyu’s other shoulder, pressing soft, unhurried kisses as though each touch could rewrite every ache carved into his skin. His warmth seeped into Beomgyu’s trembling body, melting through the cracks that had been left behind by too many nights of silence and pain.
Beomgyu’s fingers clawed desperately at the front of Soobin’s shirt, fisting the fabric until his knuckles ached, pulling him closer as though the distance of even a breath would shatter him. He needed Soobin near, needed him like air, like the only anchor holding him in place.
Soobin’s lips wandered, gentle as rain, down the slope of Beomgyu’s collarbone, trailing reverent touches along the curve of his neck where his pulse beat wild and frantic. His hand cradled the back of Beomgyu’s head, fingers threading into the ends of his hair with a tenderness that made Beomgyu’s chest ache. The other hand swept soothingly over the narrow line of his waist, grounding him, calming the storm that threatened to consume him.
“Soobin… I—” Beomgyu’s voice broke, raw and uneven, caught between a sob and a whisper, his breath trembling against Soobin’s ear.
Soobin lifted his face instantly, eyes wide with concern, fear flickering in their depths. “Beomgyu, are you okay? I am so sorry. Tell me if it is too much. I never meant—” His words rushed out, fragile and frantic, as though he would rather break himself apart than see Beomgyu unravel.
But Beomgyu shook his head with an urgency that left no room for hesitation. His breath came in quick bursts, chest heaving against Soobin’s. “N-no. It is everything I need, Soobin. Everything to make me forget the hurt, the shame, the pathetic memories that cling to me like chains. You are everything I need.” His words trembled, yet they carried the weight of every buried wound and every unspoken longing.
Soobin’s heart clenched, and without another moment’s thought, he silenced Beomgyu’s broken confession with his mouth, kissing him with a devotion that poured from every part of his being. It was not a kiss of urgency, but of healing, of reverence, of a love so deep it seemed to bind their souls together. He breathed Beomgyu in as though his very existence depended on it, as though nothing else in the world could keep him alive.
And Beomgyu surrendered to it, to him. He let himself be consumed, drowning willingly in the warmth of Soobin’s embrace and the safety of his lips, losing himself in a love that finally, finally felt like home.
Soobin broke the kiss with the gentlest hesitation, his lips lingering for a heartbeat before pressing a tender peck to Beomgyu’s already seeking mouth, as though soothing the ache of parting before it could even bloom. The fleeting touch was delicate yet powerful, a silent vow carved in warmth against trembling lips.
With slow, careful movements, Soobin leaned back against the bed, the mattress dipping under the weight of his surrender. His arms opened wide, instinctively gathering Beomgyu close, pulling him into the safety of his chest until there was no space left between them. His embrace was a shield, strong yet tender, a quiet promise that nothing cruel in the world could reach them here.
Beomgyu collapsed into him without resistance, as though his entire being had been waiting for this moment of refuge. He melted into Soobin’s hold, every rigid muscle softening, every trembling breath settling into the steady rise and fall of the body beneath him. The sound of Soobin’s heartbeat thrummed against his ear, grounding him, anchoring him to something unshakable. It felt like being gathered into a home he had searched for all his life.
Their bodies molded into each other with effortless precision, like two pieces that had always belonged together. Soobin’s hand lingered on the back of Beomgyu’s head, fingers brushing through his hair in quiet reassurance, while the other arm tightened protectively around his waist. Beomgyu’s hands clutched the fabric of Soobin’s shirt as though afraid it would dissolve if he let go, his face pressed into the warm plane of Soobin’s chest, inhaling deeply, greedily, as if breathing him in could erase every wound carved by the past.
In that embrace, silence spoke louder than words. Beomgyu was no longer drowning. He was held, tethered, loved. And in Soobin’s arms, he finally allowed himself to fall apart, knowing he would not be left to gather the pieces alone.
The quiet of the afternoon wrapped around them like a secret meant only for two. Their bodies were an intricate knot of warmth, limbs woven together, fingers clasped as though they were afraid to let the world pull them apart. They breathed in unison, hearts beating to the same silent rhythm, so hopelessly in love, so completely lost in the sanctuary of each other.
“Don’t you think we should do puzzles every day?” Soobin’s voice broke the hush, low and tender, like a ripple against still water.
Beomgyu tilted his head just enough to glimpse Soobin’s face, brows arched in playful disbelief. His lips curled into a scoff. “I remember a certain someone claiming puzzles were boring,” he teased, his words brushing softly between them.
Soobin lowered his gaze, his expression softened with an affection too heavy to hide. He pressed a fleeting kiss to the tip of Beomgyu’s nose, smiling against his skin.
“They’re not boring when they end like this,” he whispered, his arms tightening around him, drawing him impossibly closer. “When the reward is holding you like this.”
Beomgyu shook his head, smiling against the tender weight of those words, before burying his face into the curve of Soobin’s neck. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, his voice muffled but laced with fondness.
“And you’re mine,” Soobin breathed, his lips finding the crown of Beomgyu’s hair, leaving a soft kiss there as if to seal the truth in place.
Beomgyu pulled back, his eyes lingering on Soobin’s face as though memorizing every line, every shift of his expression. His voice trembled with honesty, stripped bare of all defenses. “I wasn’t being dramatic, Soobin. I really missed you. It was so empty without you here. I felt like I was unraveling, and it made me realize… I can’t live without you. Not even for a second.”
Soobin’s chest tightened, but his voice was steady, unwavering, a vow etched in his tone. “You won’t have to, Beomgyu. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
A fragile breath of relief left Beomgyu’s lips. “Good,” he whispered, a pout forming even through his soft smile. “And you’re not allowed to go anywhere without me. Either you take me with you, or you don’t leave at all. Promise me.”
Soobin’s heart thudded, full to bursting as he looked at the boy in his arms, smiling helplessly like a fool in love. He leaned forward, kissing away the pout lingering on Beomgyu’s lips. “I promise.”
With that, Beomgyu melted back into the crook of his neck, hiding in the warmth that had become his home.
“You can even be dramatic all you want,” Soobin whispered against his hair, his voice thick with affection. “I won’t complain. Say everything you want, everything you feel, every need your heart holds. I’ll be here. Always.”
Beomgyu’s arms tightened around him, a sigh trembling between them before the words finally slipped out, fragile and fierce. “I love you, Soobin.”
Soobin’s breath caught, his lips brushing against Beomgyu’s temple, his reply immediate and absolute. “And I love you, Beomgyu. More than anything.”
***
Chapter 25: Epilogue
Chapter Text
Two years later
Soobin let out a low, disgruntled groan as the covers were pulled away from him for what felt like the fifth time that morning, the sudden sting of November air brushing against his bare skin like icy needles. He curled in on himself for a second, clutching at the empty space where warmth had been moments ago.
“I swear, Soobin. Get up! We’re already running late,” Beomgyu’s voice broke through, sharper now, yet layered with that familiar exasperation he could never disguise when it came to him. The blanket was dropped unceremoniously onto the couch, far from Soobin’s desperate reach.
Soobin hissed, his chest shuddering as the cold wrapped around his exposed torso. He pressed the heel of his palm to his temple and groaned again, his voice hoarse with sleep and something heavier. “Let me sleep a little more, Gyu. My head’s pounding like hell.”
Beomgyu turned, brows arching, lips curling into that infuriating half-scoff. “Really? You’re blaming me for this now? You were the one downing three glasses of rum like it was water at the bachelor’s party last night. I literally begged you to stop, but no, you wouldn’t listen. And after all that, you still glued your eyes to that ridiculous book, practically drowning in its pages. And now your head hurts? Of course it does.”
Soobin’s eyes cracked open, offense flickering in his gaze even through the ache. “I was at the epilogue. The very end. How could I have stopped there? That’s cruel.” His voice carried the stubborn fragility of a child defending a treasure.
Beomgyu scoffed again, rifling through the drawer, not even sparing him a glance. “You and that piece of trash book. What was its name again? Something like Library?”
“Hey!” Soobin’s voice grew louder, laced with indignation as he pushed himself up, hair disheveled, and staggered toward Beomgyu, who was still rummaging with his usual impatience.
“Honestly, be serious, Soobin. Who even writes that long chapters? And the way you were reacting, crying one second, screaming the next, laughing so hard you nearly woke the neighbors, clutching a pillow like it was your lifeline, even growling with that strange cuteness aggression, you need help.”
Soobin’s lips parted in a half-smile, offended yet softened. “But it was good. Really good. You should read it. It’s… it’s not just a book.” His arms snaked around Beomgyu’s waist from behind, pulling him flush against his chest with a desperate gentleness that made Beomgyu’s search falter.
Beomgyu stilled, his hands frozen mid-drawer, heart tripping in a rhythm he refused to name. “Soobin, you’re done with it. Now let it go. Move on.” His tone came out steadier than the tremor in his chest.
But Soobin only pressed closer, his breath warm against Beomgyu’s neck, his voice falling to a whisper so fragile it nearly vanished into the morning air. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. It’s my emotional support. Just like you.” His grip tightened, face buried in the crook of Beomgyu’s neck as though hiding from the world, as though finding his shelter in him alone.
Beomgyu’s head shook lightly, lips tugging despite himself. “You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, but the softness in his voice betrayed him. “Now go and get ready. We’re seriously late.”
Soobin tilted his head, smiling lazily, refusing to let go just yet. “As you say, my baby bear.” His words dripped with sleepy affection before he pressed a sloppy kiss against Beomgyu’s cheek, leaving warmth in its wake, and finally padded toward the bathroom, still grinning through the fog of his headache.
Soobin and Beomgyu sat side by side in the lounge of the ceremony hall, the muffled chatter of distant guests filling the air like a low hum. The golden drapes fluttered slightly with the draft from the open corridor, yet neither of them seemed in a hurry to move. Soobin was half-immersed in the glow of his phone screen, his face lit with that familiar calm concentration, while Beomgyu, restless in contrast, tapped his fingers rhythmically against his knees, as though each second of waiting grew heavier.
His eyes drifted to Soobin, watching the way his lips curved ever so faintly at something on the screen. Beomgyu leaned closer, curiosity tugging at him before his voice slipped out, gentle yet laced with impatience. "Are you reading again? What is it now this time?"
Soobin looked up, his gaze softened with mischief, and the corners of his mouth pulled into a playful smirk. "Oh. It's a new book. It’s the kind of explicitly angsty story you’d never admit to liking but would secretly devour. Want me to read it to you?"
Beomgyu scoffed and shook his head, though his lips threatened to betray him with a reluctant smile. "For God’s sake, Soobin. Keep your thoughts sane. We’re at a wedding, not your private library of questionable choices."
Soobin chuckled quietly, his eyes twinkling, and for a fleeting moment the grandeur of the ceremony hall dissolved, leaving behind only the intimacy of their laughter, soft and secret, as though they were the only two people in the world.
Just then, the doors of the lounge swung open, and the others began to arrive. Seokmin and Joshua stepped in first, their presence commanding warmth and quiet assurance. Walking alongside and just behind them came Yeonjun, Dino, Taehyun, Hueningkai, Hiyyih, and Jayhoon, the familiar constellation of faces that had shifted and grown with time yet still carried the same essence of belonging.
Every man wore perfectly tailored suits, their silhouettes sharpened by maturity, yet softened by the affection threading invisibly among them. Beside them, Hiyyih shone effortlessly in a delicate olive-green gown, a shade that wrapped her in elegance without stealing her youth. The sight of them together filled the hall with a strange nostalgia. Two years had passed, and so much had altered, yet in the core of things, nothing had changed at all.
Yeonjun had returned to Seoul to be with his mother. His grace had only intensified, both in spirit and body, the language of his movements now perfected with degrees in dance. His reputation spoke volumes; he had risen to become the choreographer of one of the greatest acts of their generation, Tomorrow X Together, shaping art with every practiced step.
Dino, once a quiet figure standing in for Yeonjun at Seokmin’s café and Seokmin’s grandfather’s convenience store, had over time rooted himself deeply into the fabric of their circle. What began as substitution had grown into permanence. His bond with Seokmin matured into partnership, the two of them now sharing ownership of their café. The venture thrived so brightly it urged them to dream bigger, to open branches in new cities, to scatter their success across wider skies.
Seokmin and Joshua, as steady as the tide, carried on unshaken. There was no pulling away, no drifting apart. Joshua still ran his hospital in Seoul, while Seokmin stayed grounded with the café. Their love stretched over distances and schedules, never breaking. On weary weekends Joshua would come to Seokmin, collapsing into his care, and when exhaustion pressed too heavily on him, Seokmin would go instead, crossing the city just to be near him. Love had found its rhythm between them, neither loud nor fragile, but enduring.
Hiyyih was now in her second year at the university, carrying ambition in her eyes that reflected youth and determination. She walked the same campus halls as Beomgyu, Taehyun, Hueningkai, and Jayhoon, weaving her life among theirs.
Jayhoon had returned to Daegu last year, carrying with him the quiet triumph of survival. He had walked out of the shadow of his rehabilitation, no longer shackled by the ghosts of substances. He now lived again under the same roof with Soobin and their father, where laughter and quarrels blended into the ordinary symphony of family life. There was no longer an outhouse that separated hearts. They shared chores, shared meals, shared their small victories, and Soobin saved each month to help pay what remained of his father’s loans. The wounds of distance were healing, stitched together by patience and presence.
Taehyun and Hueningkai, in their final year alongside Beomgyu, had carved their names out of passion. ECHO5 had been their turning point, their echo of identity. No longer confined to university stages, they carried their voices outside, holding shows that lit the eyes of strangers and turned their dreams into living, breathing realities.
And Soobin. After graduation, as promised took the steady post of permanent accountant at the university, anchoring his life to practicality without loosening his devotion. More than anything, it was the perfect tether, the subtle way of staying close to Beomgyu, of ensuring that distance never found its way between them again.
Beomgyu, for his part, had found contentment blooming around him like spring in full flush. He had feared love once, feared letting anyone past his walls only to shatter in betrayal. Yet every day Soobin proved him wrong, piece by piece, gently and relentlessly. The boy who once hesitated to let himself be held now knew the safety of arms that never wavered, the certainty of a heart that never strayed. His fears had dissolved into trust, his doubts replaced by the steady truth of Soobin’s presence.
Beomgyu was happy. Truly, entirely happy. And at the center of it all was Soobin.
Seungcheol and Jeonghan were getting married today. At last, after countless years of walking hand in hand through storms and sunlight, after nurturing Eunsoo as the living proof of a love that had only deepened with time, the day had finally arrived. Their love had endured every test, yet they had both silently agreed that the promise of marriage could not be complete until the missing piece of their family stood beside them.
When they first spoke of adoption, when Eunsoo’s tiny hands wrapped around their fingers and carved permanence into their bond, the thought of marriage lingered quietly in their hearts. But neither of them could surrender to the altar, because a part of their family was not yet whole.
Beomgyu.
The boy they had raised as their own. The boy whose laughter and tears had stitched the very fabric of their home. They had promised each other that vows would only be exchanged when he was ready to witness them, when he was ready to stand with them, not as a guest, but as the very core of their love.
And now, years later, it was Beomgyu himself who urged them forward. It was his voice, steady with love, that assured them he would never again push them away, never again retreat into silence and build walls between them. His words had been the final key that unlocked their waiting hearts.
For the past two years, their lives had remained beautifully entangled. Calls had become their daily ritual, often initiated by Eunsoo. Whenever her little heart ached for her “Beomie,” she would tug at either father’s sleeve until the phone rang, her eager voice dissolving into delighted laughter the moment his voice answered back.
Vacations no longer knew the meaning of separation. Beomgyu, hand in hand with Soobin, would spend his holidays in Tokyo, folded into the warmth of Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and Eunsoo, where time seemed to stretch in tenderness.
Even Beomgyu’s father had learned to soften, reaching out often to check on his son. He would tell Beomgyu of his mother’s slow transformation, of how the bitterness that once poisoned her words was losing its grip. Perhaps it was his father’s persistence, the way he reminded her again and again that she had no right to chain Beomgyu’s life, no right to dictate whom he called family. He told her the truth she had long refused to accept. That Jeonghan and Seungcheol had been the ones to raise both Beomgyu and Eunsoo, while their own parents had failed.
Beomgyu listened, but forgiveness remained a fragile dream. His heart, scarred by years of silence and hurt, did not know if it could ever truly forgive. Yet she was his mother, the one whose blood ran in his veins, and that truth pressed heavily upon him. His father, however, promised with unwavering conviction that he would never allow her to interfere again, that she would never again disturb the delicate peace Beomgyu had finally found.
And today, as the wedding bells prepared to chime, it was not just a union of two souls, but the culmination of years of waiting, of wounds healed, of a family choosing itself again and again until no force in the world could tear them apart.
The silence was broken by a soft, honey-sweet voice that carried through the air like the first drop of rain after a long drought.
“Beomie…”
Little Eunsoo, though not so little anymore, came darting toward them. Seven and a half now, her steps had grown longer, her presence brighter, but in their eyes she would always remain the delicate child they had once cradled in trembling arms. The golden haze of the evening sunlight clung to her like a halo, painting her in hues of warmth and wonder. She held up the folds of her pastel gown with both small hands, careful not to trip, yet too eager to slow her pace. The fabric fluttered with her movement, catching the wind like the wings of a restless butterfly.
Her cheeks were flushed from running, eyes gleaming with uncontainable joy, and her hair bounced wildly against her shoulders, strands catching the light as though the sun itself wanted to rest upon her. Every step she took seemed to echo with laughter, every breath she drew was brimming with innocence and love. To Beomgyu, it was as if the world stilled for a moment, just to watch her, just to hear her call his name with so much affection that it nearly unraveled him.
She came to a sudden stop right in front of Beomgyu, her little chest heaving with hurried breaths, her eyes shimmering like tiny lanterns caught between mischief and urgency.
“Beomie,” she whispered, voice still sweet but touched with the weight of her news. “Dad is panicking. He said he lost the wedding rings.” Each word tumbled out unevenly, chased by the ragged pull of air after her sprint.
Beomgyu’s lips curved into a soft chuckle, his shoulders shaking lightly as he bent down closer to her height. “Cheol hyung is really nervous, huh?” His voice was warm, the kind that immediately smoothed away worries.
He reached out and patted her head gently, fingers brushing through her hair like a soothing lullaby. “Don’t worry, princess. The rings aren’t lost. They’re safe with Hannie hyung.” His smile was full of quiet knowing, as if he could already picture Jeonghan’s mischievous grin.
Eunsoo blinked, her head tilting to the side in that innocent way that always made hearts soften. “How do you know?”
Beomgyu let out a little laugh, eyes crinkling. “Because he’s Hannie hyung. He’d do anything just to make Cheol hyung lose his mind.”
The girl’s lips curled into a bright grin, her laughter spilling like wind chimes caught in a playful breeze. “Ohhh. So that was the reason why Papa told me to get the rings from Dad! Dad was looking so funny.” She giggled, covering her mouth as though replaying the scene in her head.
Seokmin, who had been watching with amused fondness, finally stood up, his eyes sparkling with his trademark mischief. He reached out his hand toward her. “Then let’s go tease him a little more, shall we?” His smirk was already painting trouble.
Eunsoo’s face mirrored his expression, the same mischievous spark lighting her young eyes. She slipped her tiny hand into his with confidence, her evil partner in crime secured. “Yes, Mimi! Let’s go.”
She was about to say more when her lips parted, her voice lifting with a thought so familiar that everyone in the room already anticipated it.
“Is Jo-”
Before she could even finish, Yeonjun, Dino, and Hueningkai burst out in perfect unison, “Is Josh coming with us?” Their voices carried that teasing sing-song tone, filling the air with laughter.
Of course she would say that. For Eunsoo, Joshua and Seokmin came as a set, bound together in her world of absolutes just like her fathers, just like Beomgyu and Soobin, inseparable and whole.
The room rippled with laughter, some loud and unrestrained, some softer like private melodies. Eunsoo’s cheeks puffed into a pout, her eyes narrowing at the way they all teased her.
Before her little sulk could deepen, Joshua rose gracefully from his chair, every step measured with affection. He walked to her side and leaned down, his hand reaching for hers with a smile that seemed carved out of devotion itself.
“Of course I’m coming, baby,” he murmured, voice as gentle as the evening light that framed them. And just like that, her pout disappeared, replaced with a radiant smile that lit up every corner of the moment.
Jeonghan walked down the aisle, his slender fingers gently clasping Eunsoo’s small hand, their steps synchronized in a rhythm that felt almost sacred. The soft rustle of Eunsoo’s pastel gown followed her as she carefully balanced the bouquet of flowers in her arms, her little face radiant with the purest joy. She looked like a sunbeam wrapped in silk, scattering her innocence across the solemn hall.
At the altar, Seungcheol stood waiting, his presence steady and strong, his eyes softened with a tenderness that spoke volumes more than words ever could.
Beside him stood Beomgyu, his gaze flickering between the brother he adored and the man who had raised him like his own.
It had been no simple choice, no passing thought, to decide who would walk with Jeonghan and who would remain by Seungcheol’s side. Long nights of conversation had followed, debates thick with unspoken emotion.
It was Jeonghan who had insisted, his voice firm yet trembling at the edges, that he wanted to walk with Beomgyu. Not because of tradition, not because of appearances, but because his younger brother had been by his side through storms that could have broken them both. He wanted Beomgyu there, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, as proof that they had survived together.
But all arguments collapsed the moment Seungcheol had placed the truth on the table, quiet but unshakable. He had not needed to raise his voice or fight for his place. He had simply reminded Beomgyu of the reality that lay stitched into every memory of their childhood. When the world around them had fallen apart, when grief had torn through their home like an unstoppable storm, it had been Seungcheol who had opened his arms and refused to let them drown.
He was not just a brother-in-law, not just a man marrying Jeonghan. He had been a father, a shield, a steady hand that carried Beomgyu when his knees had been too weak to stand. Beomgyu had been raised in the shadow of his steady strength, and no reasoning could deny that bond.
Jeonghan had argued with all the fierceness of his heart, but he had lost the battle the moment Seungcheol invoked the truth that neither of them could escape.
He had been both anchor and father when everything else had collapsed.
And so Beomgyu stood beside Seungcheol now, not as a choice but as destiny.
Eunsoo’s laughter tinkled like bells in the air as she clutched her bouquet tighter, unaware of the heavy tides of history and love that swelled in the hearts of those around her. In her innocent smile, she carried the brightest joy of them all, unburdened by the past and glowing with the unshaken happiness of the present. She was the little flame lighting the aisle, guiding them forward into a future stitched with love.
Rings were exchanged, vows whispered and sealed with trembling lips, and every fleeting moment was trapped in the still frame of cameras, yet destined to live forever in the hearts of those who bore witness.
Joshua and Seokmin stood close, their shoulders brushing as though gravity itself had chosen this moment to tether them together. Their eyes gleamed, reflecting the joy of watching their friends unite, yet beneath that brightness lingered something heavier, something unspoken.
Then, like a quiet rebellion against fear, Joshua's hand slipped into Seokmin's. The touch was deliberate, warm, and unwavering, his fingers lacing firmly between Seokmin's, as though he had been waiting a lifetime to claim this small fragment of belonging in the open.
Seokmin froze. His breath faltered, his chest tightening. Joshua was never one to display affection outside the safety of familiar eyes. But now, in a room filled with dozens of strangers, he was holding him as if the whole world needed to know.
"Hyung-" Seokmin's voice came out fragile, barely above a breath.
"Yes, Mimi," Joshua murmured, a teasing lilt softening the raw defiance in his tone. He winked, tightening his hold until Seokmin could feel the steady beat of his pulse against his skin.
"We're in public," Seokmin whispered, fear tugging at the edges of his words.
"Do I look like I care?" Joshua's lips curved, but his voice was steady, carrying a weight that cut through the noise around them.
"What if your dad sees us?" Seokmin pressed, his wide eyes searching for hesitation that never came.
"Then let him." Joshua's tone was quiet but sharp with resolve. "I've had enough of being afraid of him."
Shock flickered across Seokmin's face, his heart stumbling at the certainty in Joshua's words. "Did you have a fight with him?" he asked softly, though he already sensed the answer.
Joshua didn't speak. He didn't need to. His silence was louder than any confession.
"Hyung..." Seokmin's voice cracked, a plea threaded in the single word.
"No, Seokmin." Joshua shook his head, his thumb stroking the back of Seokmin's trembling hand. "It really has been enough. I love you, and I'm not going to let you live in shadows because of me. You are someone I want to show the world proudly."
He nudged Seokmin's shoulder gently, a touch that felt like both a promise and a dare. "Look around you. Love is everywhere tonight. Why should ours be hidden?"
Seokmin's gaze drifted across the gathering, the weight of Joshua's words pressing against his chest.
There was Jeonghan and Seungcheol, the newlyweds, clinging to one another as though they had only just discovered eternity. Little Eunsoo stood close, her laughter spilling into the air like bells, her small hands fluttering as she spoke animatedly.
Beomgyu and Soobin were lost in their own orbit, hands brushing, eyes softening, Beomgyu's laughter tumbling free at something Soobin had whispered.
Across the room, Taehyun, Hueningkai, Hiyyih, and Jayhoon were collapsed into each other's shoulders, sharing drinks and joy, their bond unshaken and pure.
And then there was Yeonjun, sulky but unashamed, hovering over Dino with his chin resting stubbornly on his shoulder, his arms wound tight around him like an anchor refusing to let go.
Everywhere Seokmin looked, love was stitched into the air, glowing in forms both quiet and loud, fragile and unbreakable.
And now, Joshua's hand in his told him theirs belonged among them too.
The moment arrived for the traditional tossing of the bouquet, the expectant murmur of the guests rising with playful anticipation. Yet Jeonghan, with his soft defiance and the quiet authority he always carried, did not turn his back or prepare for the crowd's scramble. Instead, he held the bouquet with a steady grip, his eyes already searching for the one person who mattered.
He walked with unhurried grace, the petals trembling slightly in his hands, and stopped before Joshua. With no theatrics, no grand speech, he placed the bouquet directly into Joshua's hands, the gesture firm yet tender.
"Shua," Jeonghan's voice was calm but edged with affectionate exasperation, "stop being an idiot and just marry Seokmin already. Do it before someone else steals him, because trust me, there are plenty watching him right now."
Joshua's brows furrowed, his gaze instinctively following the subtle tilt of Jeonghan's eyes. He caught sight of the small group of friends gathered together, their mischievous smiles betraying silent conspiracies.
"Seriously, hyung," Yeonjun's voice cut through, warm yet playfully firm. "Why do you think Dino is in partnership with Minnie hyung? He volunteered before anyone else could."
At that, Dino's eyes widened in shock, scandalized by the unexpected accusation. He turned to Yeonjun, utterly betrayed, his lips parting in disbelief.
"What- no! Hyung, it's not like that at all," Dino stammered, flustered, rushing to Joshua's defense with a desperation that only made his denial more endearing. "He's like an older brother to me."
Yeonjun only laughed, wrapping an arm around Dino's shoulders, pulling him close with unshakable affection. "Relax, I was just teasing you. I love seeing the way your expressions give everything away."
Dino scoffed, shaking his head, though the corners of his lips betrayed the ghost of a smile. "You're impossible, Yeonjun. The worst, really."
"No," Yeonjun replied simply, with a smile that softened the moment, "I love you."
The room warmed with their banter, but Joshua's attention had already drifted, his heart pounding too loudly in his chest to hear the laughter anymore. He turned, his eyes finding Seokmin's, and in that instant the world seemed to still.
His breath trembled as he held the bouquet close, his voice breaking the silence. "I didn't plan to do it like this," he admitted, a nervous, fragile honesty spilling from him.
Then, with the weight of every unspoken feeling pressing on him, Joshua lowered himself onto one knee, his eyes never leaving Seokmin's face.
"Marry me, Seokmin."
The words shattered the air, pulling gasps and cheers from the crowd, but Seokmin heard none of it. His vision blurred, his heart stumbling over its own rhythm. Overcome, he fell to his knees in front of Joshua, the bouquet caught between them, and threw his arms around him with a desperation that spoke louder than anything words could hold.
"Yes, hyung," Seokmin choked out, his voice thick, broken with joy. "Yes! Always, yes."
The world erupted around them, but in their embrace, they found something untouchable, eternal, and theirs alone.
Seungcheol and Jeonghan stepped onto the stage, their fingers brushing as if to draw strength from one another. The hall, still ringing with laughter and applause from the ceremony, hushed into a reverent silence.
The two of them stood radiant, not only as newlyweds but as two souls whose journeys had entwined into one. With soft smiles and voices that carried both gratitude and sincerity, they thanked their friends, colleagues, and business partners who had flown in to share this sacred moment of their union.
Then, Seungcheol's tone shifted, a quiet gravity settling over his words.
"There is something else I wish to share tonight," he began, his eyes sweeping across the crowd, his voice steady yet tinged with a weight that demanded attention. "It is something that has been quietly waiting for the right moment, for the right day. And today feels like the only day it could belong to."
The audience leaned in, curious, as Jeonghan's hand gave his husband's arm a reassuring squeeze.
"As many of you know, my company here in Japan has been thriving. The response from South Korea has been overwhelming, and even greater from Japan itself. Recently, a group of investors in South Korea proposed a collaboration, a chance to relocate and expand my business to Seoul." He paused, his voice thickening as though the words held more than business behind them.
"But I did not choose Seoul. I recommended Daegu... my hometown. The place where my roots still live, where a fragment of my family continues to breathe life into my heart."
For the briefest of moments, his gaze wandered, searching until it landed on Beomgyu. The young man sat stiff in his seat, brows furrowed in confusion, unaware of the storm about to wash over him.
Seungcheol's voice grew softer, more intimate, as though speaking directly to him despite the hundreds listening. "If it had not been for him. If it had not been for the chance to bring him back into our lives, I would never have agreed to this. But for him... I am moving. We are moving. From this day forward, our family will be shifting to Daegu."
The hall erupted with gasps and whispers, but Jeonghan's eyes never left Beomgyu. He saw it. The way confusion fractured into shock, then trembled into disbelief, and finally melted into something raw and vulnerable. Beomgyu's eyes glistened, shimmering like glass on the verge of breaking, his lips parting as though words were caught in his throat.
Jeonghan stepped closer to the microphone, his voice warm and tender, wrapping the moment with love's embrace. "We waited until today to say this aloud. Because it had to be here, in Tokyo... where everything began. This city is where we met, where our love was nurtured into something unshakable, where we raised our daughter. Every street here holds our laughter, our tears, the highs and lows that shaped us. To leave without sealing those memories into forever would have been impossible. Tonight, with this marriage, we have tied our bond to this place as well. Now, we are ready to say goodbye, carrying it all in our hearts as we step into a new chapter."
Beomgyu's breath finally broke into a sob as he pushed himself from his seat, his legs carrying him toward the stage before his mind could catch up.
In one motion, he flung himself into their embrace, wrapping his arms around both Seungcheol and Jeonghan, holding them as though the years of distance and longing were finally collapsing into nothingness.
His trembling hand reached out instinctively, finding Eunsoo standing close by, her eyes wide with wonder. He pulled her in too, their small family encased in one desperate, tear-streaked embrace beneath the glittering lights.
Beomgyu sat curled in the haven of Soobin's arms, his body fitted perfectly between the taller boy's legs on the carpeted floor, while Soobin leaned back against the sofa with a quiet ease.
It was the kind of closeness that blurred the lines between silence and safety, where even the weight of breathing together felt like a promise. Soobin's arms were looped protectively around him, a fortress of warmth, and Beomgyu's head rested beneath his chin, right where he could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
The world outside might have been shifting, overwhelming, but here, in that cocoon of arms and unspoken vows, Beomgyu felt grounded. Still, the emotions from earlier refused to loosen their grip. The reality that Seungcheol and Jeonghan had decided to move their entire lives, to uproot everything familiar only so their family could finally feel whole with him in it, weighed heavy and beautiful in his chest.
Soobin pressed a lingering kiss to the side of Beomgyu's temple, his voice tender and playful all at once. "You're thinking too loud, Gyu."
Beomgyu exhaled shakily and burrowed further into the broad chest behind him, as if to melt away from the chaos of thought. "I'm just... so happy. Too happy. It's all too much to hold."
"It's not too much," Soobin whispered, his voice like velvet brushing against the rawness of Beomgyu's heart. "And it's nothing compared to what you mean to them. They're your family, Beomgyu. They love you more than anyone in this world could ever hope to. No one can take that place."
Beomgyu's chest swelled painfully, gratitude rising like a tide until it spilled over as tears he tried to hold back.
Soobin, sensing the shift, nudged gently. "Do you want to do a puzzle?"
A startled laugh escaped Beomgyu, fragile and soft. "Did you steal Eunsoo's puzzle again? She warned you last time."
Soobin chuckled low in his throat, brushing his lips against the crown of Beomgyu's head. "No, I didn't. And even if I had, do you really think I'd let myself be threatened by her puppy eyes? Big, just like yours when you're mad at me? Impossible."
Beomgyu nudged his elbow into Soobin's abdomen, making the taller boy groan dramatically. "You're impossible," Beomgyu muttered, though the fond smile curling on his lips betrayed him.
"But this time," Soobin said, shifting, "I've got something special." With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he reached behind the sofa cushion and pulled out a cardboard box, placing it carefully on the low table before them.
Beomgyu's breath stuttered the moment his eyes landed on the cover. His pulse quickened, heart lurching as though memory itself had just been resurrected before him.
It was the university library. That corner. Their corner.
"Soobin... this..." His voice broke, unable to finish.
"Open it," Soobin murmured, his smile achingly soft.
With trembling fingers, Beomgyu lifted the lid, his breath shaky as scattered puzzle pieces clattered softly within. Not too many, just enough to form the picture. But before he could gather himself, Soobin slipped a folded sheet from beneath the pieces and placed it into Beomgyu's hands.
Beomgyu gasped.
The frame was familiar, almost unbearably so. The image was the cover of the book. That book. The one that began it all, the reason they met, the reason their worlds had collided so irreversibly.
If not for that book, they wouldn't be here.
The cover, etched forever in Beomgyu's memory, glowed before him. Golden hues interlaced with streaks of silver, like sunlight dancing with moonlight. At its center, a lonely silhouette of a boy sat beneath the skeletal branches of a barren tree, head bowed, lost in the pages of a book. Above, in simple, white lettering, the title stretched across the sky of the cover. My You.
Beomgyu's vision blurred with tears as he stared, chest aching with something too large for words. He didn't notice when Soobin had shifted, moving to sit opposite him across the low table, until a gentle tap brought his head up.
Soobin's smile met him like dawn breaking after endless night. "Shall we start? There will be a time limit. Deal with it."
Beomgyu sniffled, straightening his back. "How much time are you giving to us?"
Soobin's gaze softened, his voice steady and unshakable. "Forever."
Beomgyu froze, his breath catching. He stared at Soobin, wide-eyed, almost trembling.
"If we finish this puzzle before forever," Soobin continued, his lips curving into something deeper than a smile, "you'll have to promise to stay with me for a lifetime."
The dam inside Beomgyu broke, and a tear slipped free, tracing his cheek. His heart felt as though it might shatter under the sheer tenderness of it all.
Soobin's hand reached across the table, brushing the tear away with a thumb. "Not yet, Beomgyu. First... focus on the puzzle."
So they began. Piece by piece, slowly, deliberately, as though they were afraid of reaching the end too quickly. Neither rushed. They had no need to. For the first time in their lives, they had all the time in the world.
At last, Soobin picked up the final piece, but he didn't place it. Instead, he looked up, eyes shimmering, and whispered, "Let me do this."
Beomgyu nodded, his vision blurred entirely by tears now. The words slipped from his lips unbidden, pure and trembling. "I love you, Soobin."
Soobin's smile deepened, tender and infinite. "I love you, Beomgyu."
But when Beomgyu glanced down, his breath stilled. The last puzzle piece in Soobin's hand had been replaced by their lockets.
The sun and moon pendants they had exchanged when they first arrived in Tokyo together.
Confusion flashed across Beomgyu's face. "I thought I lost mine... in that warehouse."
Soobin shook his head gently, eyes soft with memory. "No. I found it. Right where they took you from me. And I've kept them both safe, waiting for this day."
With careful hands, he clasped the golden sun around Beomgyu's neck. Beomgyu's fingers trembled as he reached for Soobin, tying the silver moon around his.
Together, their hands found the discarded final puzzle piece. They pressed it into its place, sealing the image, completing the story.
And in the same heartbeat, they leaned forward, lips meeting in a kiss that bound them tighter than any puzzle or book could ever have done.
They were sun and moon. They were halves made whole. They were forever.
📸
lee.minnie
liked by soobinny, beomie, yawnzznn and others
lee.minnie my silly kids. stay happy, always!
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jeonghan my babies 🥺
kawaikai i hate people in love
seungcheol 🧿🧿
dr.josh i miss you guys 😔
lee.minnie we(i) miss you more :(
kingtae seokmin hyung, hiyyih is charging me double for the coffee. you need to change your new barista.
hiyyih that was jayhoon's plan.
choihoon stop accusing me. i'm calling kai!!
yawnzznn @ dino.chan this could be us, but you're ignoring me ☹️
dino.chan for god's sake jjunie! i'm literally feeding you right now!
Baby Bear 🧸
seokmin hyung sent me a
file attachment with 1305
photo of us!!
i love you
???
i love you more
now get up and get ready
we need to drop eunsoo to
school. she's getting late!!
lemme hold you for
five more minutes
please
Happily Ever After
***
goodbye and my sincerest thanks to the readers who gave their time to " Library "
thank you for tagging along :)
this had been mapleluvs' Library
•°☆-📚🐰🧸📚-☆°•
Mild1999 on Chapter 15 Sun 31 Aug 2025 05:44PM UTC
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mapleluvs on Chapter 15 Mon 01 Sep 2025 05:25AM UTC
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Mild1999 on Chapter 16 Mon 01 Sep 2025 05:18AM UTC
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mapleluvs on Chapter 16 Mon 01 Sep 2025 05:26AM UTC
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Mild1999 on Chapter 17 Wed 03 Sep 2025 12:50AM UTC
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mapleluvs on Chapter 17 Fri 05 Sep 2025 11:42AM UTC
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