The Borrowed Face

by Teqmix

Summary:

“I am Hyunjin.”
He repeated those words again and again—like a lifeline he was desperate to hold onto.
But deep down… did he still believe himself?

Or

The company is determined to erase Hyunjin's identity and replace him with someone else.
Will Stray Kids uncover the truth before it’s too late, recognizing the trap and pulling Hyunjin out of it?
Or will they remain blind, while Hyunjin is slowly consumed by a web of lies and relentless psychological torment?

+ UPDATE EVERY 3 DAYS!

Notes:

This story scared me a little — in the best way.
It challenged me, stretched my writing muscles, and made me feel like I was diving into something much deeper than usual.
I don’t know if I’ll sink or swim… but I’m willing to try.

I’m nervous, but also excited.
I truly hope I can do it justice… and that you’ll be with me along the way, just like always.

Let’s step into this new journey together. ♡

Chapter 1

The bass line thudded against the mirrored walls, each beat sending a vibration up through the floor. Sweat dripped down their necks as eight bodies moved in perfect sync—well, almost perfect.

“Felix, your turn’s late again!” Minho barked, still dancing but glaring through the mirror.

Felix puffed out his cheeks, twisting into the move anyway. “I’m exactly on time. You’re just early, hyung.”

“Both of you shut up and count!” Bang Chan called from the front, voice strained but focused. “Five, six, seven, eight!”

The chorus hit again, and they pushed through—Hyunjin’s hair flying with every spin, Han’s grin splitting his face despite the sweat stinging his eyes, Jeongin mouthing the words even though he was already out of breath.

When the music cut, they collapsed like dominoes.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Seungmin groaned, flopping onto the floor.

“That’s because you never stretch properly,” Changbin smirked, tossing him a towel.

“Shut up, Binnie. You were dying two minutes in,” Jisung teased, sitting cross-legged beside him.

“I was pacing myself,” Changbin shot back.

“Yeah, pacing yourself into the afterlife,” Jeongin snorted.

Hyunjin dropped down next to Felix, both of them panting, and grabbed a water bottle. “I think we’re getting better,” he said between gulps.

Felix nodded. “Yeah, if by better you mean slightly less like we’re being chased by wild animals.”

Bang Chan chuckled, leaning back against the mirror. “One more run and I think we can call it a night.”

Jisung groaned loudly. “Hyung, no. My back is screaming.”

“It’s your fault for going full drama mode in every move,” Seungmin said without looking up from his phone.

They were still laughing when the door opened.

Manager Park stepped in. No knock, no smile—just that blank, professional expression. His eyes swept the room, and the laughter thinned instantly.

Changbin tilted his head, still catching his breath. “Manager-nim? You don’t usually drop by… did something happen?”

Park’s gaze flicked to him, unreadable. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just routine.” His voice was steady, clipped.

The room stayed quiet, uneasy.

Then his eyes landed squarely on Hyunjin.

“Hyunjin,” he said, voice low but firm. “Come with me.”

Hyunjin blinked. “Uh… right now?”

“Yes. Now.”

Bang Chan straightened immediately. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Manager Park replied, his tone clipped. “Hyunjin, let’s go.”

Hyunjin slowly got to his feet, confusion written all over his face. “Okay… I’ll be back in a bit, guys.”

But as he started toward the door, Minho frowned. “Wait. Where are you taking him?”

“Just something we need to discuss,” the manager said. His voice was steady, but his eyes didn’t match—they flicked to the others for just a second, as if calculating.

“Is it about the comeback?” Seungmin asked, half-joking.

“No,” Manager Park replied sharply. “Let’s go.”

Hyunjin hesitated, glancing back at Felix. Felix gave him a small, questioning shrug.

“Should I—” Hyunjin started, but the manager cut him off. “Leave your stuff.”

“What?” Hyunjin frowned.

“Leave it,” Park repeated, holding out his hand.

Bang Chan stood up fully now, a hint of challenge in his voice. “That’s a little unusual, isn’t it?”

“Company rules,” Manager Park said smoothly, but there was no warmth in his tone.

The room had gone still. Hyunjin handed his phone over slowly, still looking puzzled.

Seungmin leaned toward Jisung and whispered, “What the hell is this?” Jisung just shook his head, eyes locked on the door.

“Alright,” the manager said once he had the phone. “Let’s go.”

Hyunjin followed him out, still glancing back at the others. The door shut behind them with a soft click.

For a moment, no one moved.

“That was weird,” Jeongin said finally.

“That was really weird,” Jisung agreed.

Bang Chan crossed his arms. “I don’t like it.”

“Should we… follow?” Felix asked quietly, eyes darting to the door.

Minho shook his head firmly. “No. If the company says it’s nothing, we stay out of it. For now.”

And they waited.

 

++++

 

The rehearsal room felt strangely unbalanced without Hyunjin.

They’d run through the choreography three times already, the speakers pounding bass into the floor, sweat clinging to their skin. Usually, Hyunjin’s sharp movements and overdramatic facial expressions gave the routine a certain energy—like a spark bouncing between all of them.

Now, with him gone, it was… off.

“Again,” Bang Chan called, but his voice didn’t have the usual spark either. He moved to the corner to restart the track on the laptop.

“I swear my legs are gonna fall off,” Jisung groaned, bending over and clutching his knees.

“Your legs wouldn’t hurt if you actually warmed up properly,” Minho shot back, brushing hair out of his face.

“I did warm up!” Jisung protested.

“You jogged in place for, like, ten seconds.”

“Still counts,” Jisung muttered.

Felix let out a little laugh but it didn’t carry far. His eyes kept flicking to the door. “It’s been almost two hours. Don’t you think that’s… a little long?”

“It’s weird,” Jeongin admitted. “Manager-nim didn’t even say where he was taking him.”

Changbin stopped mid-stretch. “What if something happened? Like—”

“Don’t start,” Minho interrupted sharply. “It’s probably just some meeting or solo schedule. Not our business.”

“Not our business?” Changbin’s eyebrows shot up. “We’re literally a group. Everything’s our business.”

Bang Chan came back from the laptop, rubbing his neck. “Let’s just… focus. He’ll be back.” But even he didn’t sound convinced.

They ran through the choreography again, but it was sloppy. Jisung came in a beat late during the chorus, Felix nearly bumped into Changbin, and Seungmin missed his vocal cue.

“Stop,” Chan said finally, dragging his hand down his face. “We’re falling apart. Everyone take five.”

Jisung collapsed onto the floor, sprawling out like he’d been shot. “I can’t feel my soul.”

“Did you ever have one?” Seungmin muttered.

“Wow. Rude.”

Jeongin tossed Jisung a water bottle without looking. “Maybe if you actually practiced instead of whining—”

“I am practicing!” Jisung shot back.

“That’s what you call this?” Seungmin smirked.

Felix sat cross-legged against the wall, gulping water and staring toward the door again. “Seriously though… two hours? It doesn’t feel right.”

“No kidding,” Changbin agreed. “What could take that long?”

“Maybe he’s filming something?” Jeongin suggested, though his tone was unsure.

“Without telling us?” Felix frowned. “Hyunjin’s the type to brag about it days in advance.”

Silence settled for a moment, the air thick with unspoken worry. The only sounds were the soft hum of the AC and the faint bass thump from some other practice room down the hall.

Bang Chan paced slowly, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake something off. “We can’t start making up scenarios. That’s how panic spreads.”

“Too late,” Jisung mumbled from the floor.

They were all mid-thought, mid-breath, mid-worry when the door handle clicked.

The metal creaked, the sound cutting through the room like a blade.

And then—

The door swung open.

Manager Park stepped inside.

Instantly, every movement in the room stopped. Felix froze with his water halfway to his mouth. Minho's hand, mid-adjusting his hair, went still. Jisung, still on the floor, propped himself up on his elbows. Changbin was still catching his breath from the last run-through. Even Bang Chan, always the composed leader, halted mid-pace and turned sharply toward the entrance.

Manager Park closed the door slowly, the click echoing in the silent practice room.

Everyone was watching him.

“Where’s Hyunjin?” Seungmin finally broke the silence, his voice careful but tense.

Park’s eyes swept across the room before he answered. “That’s why I’m here.”

The members exchanged quick glances.

“We’ve… decided to put Hyunjin on hiatus.”

The words dropped like a stone.

For a second, nobody spoke. Then the room erupted.

"What?!" Changbin's voice was raw.

“What do you mean hiatus?” — Bang Chan stepped forward, frowning.

“For what?” — Jeongin voice cracked.

“Is this a joke?” — Jisung's voice was sharper than usual.

“It’s not a joke,” Park said firmly. “And… we don’t know how long.”

“That’s insane,” Minho’s voice was flat but dripping with disbelief. “You can’t just—”

Park lifted a hand, cutting him off. “This wasn’t just my decision. It was Hyunjin’s suggestion.”

That made everyone stop for half a beat.

“What?” Felix asked, blinking. “No. No way.”

“He’s been struggling,” Park continued, tone steady but carrying an undercurrent of practiced concern. “Mentally. Burnout, emotional fatigue… call it what you want. He spoke to his father about it, and they both agreed it’s time for a break. I think now is the right moment.”

“That’s not possible,” Jisung shot back immediately. “He was fine two hours ago. Laughing. Messing around. If something was wrong, he’d tell us.”

“Would he?” Park’s gaze moved from face to face. “Think about it. Would Hyunjin really want to burden you guys with that? You’re all preparing for the comeback. He wouldn’t want to slow you down.”

Silence. Not because they believed him — but because doubt had started to creep in.

Park stepped closer, lowering his voice like he was letting them in on a secret. “Haven’t you noticed? Lately… he’s been skipping his usual coffee runs. He’s quieter during breaks. He leaves practice early whenever he can. And he hasn’t been sketching in the lounge like he used to.”

“That’s not—” Seungmin began, but Park didn’t let him finish.

“These are small things, sure. But they add up. People hide their struggles in plain sight. And I think Hyunjin’s been doing that for a while.”

Joengin shifted uncomfortably, remembering the last week — the way Hyunjin had seemed lost in thought, staring at his phone for minutes at a time.

Changbin rubbed the back of his neck. “Still… he should’ve said something.”

“Like I said,” Park replied smoothly, “he didn’t want to be a burden. He told me exactly that.”

Bang Chan still looked unconvinced, arms crossed. “I just… it doesn’t feel right.”

“Chan,” Park’s voice softened, almost sympathetic. “I know it’s hard to hear. But sometimes people hide pain even from the ones closest to them. He asked for this time. The best thing you can do for him right now is respect that.”

The room went quiet again. Eyes darted between each other, uncertainty settling in.

Finally, Minho broke the silence. “So… what do we do now?”

Park exhaled slowly, as if bracing himself. “For now… nothing. I want Hyunjin to have complete mental rest. No schedules, no pressure. And… no contact.”

That made everyone react at once.

“What?!” — Felix’s voice cracked.

“That’s ridiculous!” — Changbin's tone was sharp.

“We can’t just not talk to him!” — Seungmin frowned.

“This was Hyunjin’s request,” Park said firmly, raising his voice just enough to cut through theirs. “He said he wants space. He wants to get away from the music scene and the industry completely for a while, so he can focus on recovery. If you keep messaging him, you’re pulling him back into the stress he’s trying to escape.”

“That doesn’t sound like him,” Jeongin muttered, shaking his head.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Park said, his expression carefully composed, “but if you care about him, you’ll give him what he asked for. Time. Space. Peace.”

There was a long pause. Slowly, the fight in the room started to fade, replaced by uneasy silence.

Bang Chan sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine. But the moment he’s ready—”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Park promised with a thin smile.

The room stayed heavy even after he left, each member lost in their own thoughts, replaying every recent interaction with Hyunjin — now tinted by Park’s words.

 

++++

 

The door clicked shut behind Manager Park, and for a few seconds, no one said a word.

The faint hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the room.

Jisung finally let out a sharp exhale. “That was… crap. Right? Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks that was crap.”

“You’re not,” Minho replied immediately, leaning against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. “None of that makes sense. Hyunjin wouldn’t just disappear without saying anything.”

“But he didn’t say anything,” Seungmin pointed out quietly, still staring at the floor.

“BECAUSE THERE’S NOTHING TO SAY,” Changbin snapped, frustration in his voice. “He’s fine. He was literally fine.”

Felix sat down on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. “I don’t know… some of the stuff Manager Park said… it… kinda makes me think.”

Bang Chan’s head whipped toward him. “Think what?”

Felix hesitated, chewing on his lip. “Just… the coffee thing. He has been skipping lately. And he used to always drag me along.”

“That’s not depression,” Minho said flatly. “That’s… maybe he’s just not in the mood for coffee.”

“But,” Seungmin added slowly, “he’s been quieter. Like… during breaks, he just sits there. Doesn’t joke around as much.”

Jisung groaned. “That’s called being tired, Seungmin.”

“I’m just saying,” Seungmin replied, defensive. “When you start lining things up like Park did, it… I don’t know. It makes you look at stuff differently.”

“I hate that,” Changbin muttered. “Makes you doubt your own memory.”

Bang Chan rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “Remember last week? He left practice early. Said he had a headache.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “Wow, a headache. Guess we better put all of us on hiatus.”

“No, but…” Chan trailed off. “It’s not just that. Two days before that, he skipped dinner with us. Said he wanted to go home early.”

Felix’s voice was soft. “And remember how he didn’t post anything on Bubble for like… two weeks? That’s not like him.”

“Yeah, but when he did post, he was cheerful,” Jisung argued. “You saw the selfies. He was smiling.”

“That could’ve been a mask,” Seungmin said, almost reluctantly. “People do that.”

The room went quiet again. They were all thinking the same thing: if you wanted to believe Park, you could string together enough little details to make it sound plausible.

Minho finally broke the silence. “You guys are really buying this?”

“I’m not saying I believe him,” Felix said, frowning. “I just… don’t want to ignore it if it’s true.”

Bang Chan sighed. “I hate it, but… what if Park’s right? What if he really does need this break, and we keep bothering him? Wouldn’t that make things worse?”

Jisung shook his head. “It still feels wrong. But… I get what you’re saying.”

Changbin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So what, we just… don’t talk to him? At all?”

“That’s what Park said,” Seungmin reminded them. “And if it really is what Hyunjin wants…”

Minho still looked skeptical, but his voice had softened. “If it is what he wants… then fine. I’ll back off. But I’m not convinced.”

Jeongin nodded slowly. “Maybe giving him space is… the best way to help. Even if it sucks.”

Bang Chan’s shoulders slumped. “Alright. We give him space. No messages. No calls. Just… wait until he’s ready.”

Jisung look

ed away, muttering under his breath. “Feels like we’re abandoning him.”

“No,” Chan said firmly. “We’re giving him what he asked for. That’s different.”

The decision hung in the air — heavy, reluctant, and uncomfortable.

None of them noticed how the logic in their heads had quietly shifted.

Notes:

Let's dive in new DISASTER!
HA HA!

Chapter 2

Summary:

Longing pressed like weight against their chests.
Hands tied, voices hushed,
they learned that waiting is its own kind of grief.

The practice room was quiet now—too quiet. The faint hum of the air conditioner filled the empty space where earlier there had been music, shouts, and laughter.

Bangs Chan sat alone on the floor, his back against the wall, knees bent, his phone resting loosely in his hand.

He’d told the others to go home early.

He’d said he needed “just a few minutes to clear his head.”

Truth was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted the silence… or if it was slowly crushing him.

He unlocked his phone and scrolled through his playlists until his thumb stopped over a file:

“Demo – Hyun vocals (v3)”

A soft inhale escaped him. He pressed play.

Hyunjin’s voice filled the room—raw, unpolished, still carrying that slight rasp from a long recording session. It wasn’t perfect, but it had something.

Something that made the whole track breathe.

“Ah… this one…” Chan muttered under his breath, closing his eyes as the first verse played.

Halfway through, he paused the track.

The abrupt silence made his chest feel hollow.

His nner voice rang:

Don’t call him.

Don’t text him.

Park said he needs space. That it’s for his own good.

Chan rubbed his temples. “Since when do I need someone else to tell me what’s good for my own members…?”

He glanced at the group chat. The last message from Hyunjin was three days ago.

Just a stupid meme of a cat wearing sunglasses. No context.

He could still hear the laugh Hyunjin made when he sent it—low, almost shy, like he knew it wasn’t that funny.

The words echoed in his head again:

Signs… remember what Park said.

Withdrawing. Acting out of character. That could’ve been one.

Chan’s jaw tightened.

“That’s not… that’s not what it was,” he whispered. “It was just… Hyunjin being Hyunjin.”

His thumb hovered over Hyunjin’s name in his contacts.

He whispered to himself, “Just one call. Just to check in. I’ll keep it short. I won’t even mention work…”

But then Park’s words came back, sharp and clipped:

He needs mental recovery, Chan. If you break that, you’re not helping him—you’re hurting him.

Chan let out a humorless laugh. “Hurting him… right.”

He tossed his phone onto the floor beside him, running both hands over his face.

The door opened a crack. Felix peeked in.

“Hyung… you’re still here?”

Chan nodded without looking up. “Yeah. Just… listening to something.”

Felix stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“What are you listening to?”

Chan hesitated. “…Hyunjin’s demo. From last month.”

Felix’s expression softened. He sat down beside him, legs crossed.

“Does it… make you miss him more or less?”

Chan huffed out a breath. “Both. Which is worse.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of unsaid thoughts pressing down.

Felix finally spoke. “Do you… believe what Manager Park said? About the burnout?”

Chan stared at the paused waveform on his phone screen.

“I don’t know. Part of me wants to call BS. But then… you start thinking about all the little things. The nights he stayed late, the times he seemed… distant.”

Felix nodded slowly. “I’ve been thinking the same. Like… maybe I didn’t notice because I didn’t want to.”

Chan’s voice dropped, quieter now. “Or maybe we’re just making things fit the story Park told us.”

That sentence hung in the air between them, heavy and dangerous.

Felix’s eyes flicked toward Chan’s phone. “You gonna delete the demo?”

Chan gave a small, almost bitter smile. “No. Not yet. I just… want to hear his voice a little longer.”

Felix leaned his head against the wall, eyes closing. “Me too.”

And so they sat there, in the dim light of the empty room, letting Hyunjin’s voice fill the silence again.

 

++++

 

The apartment was dim except for the warm yellow glow from the kitchen.

Minho stood at the counter, staring down at his phone while a pot of ramen boiled in front of him.

Steam curled upward, fogging his glasses, but he didn’t notice.

The group chat was still open—seven members now, instead of eight.

Hyunjin’s name wasn’t gone, but his profile picture had gone gray, replaced with the default icon.

Minho took a deep breath, muttering to himself.

“Not suspicious at all, right?”

He typed:

Yo, you alive? Or are you buried under blankets somewhere?

His thumb hovered over “Send.”

Then Park’s voice flashed in his head:

He needs to stay away from everything for now, including you guys.

It’s what he asked for.

Minho groaned and locked the phone, tossing it onto the couch.

“Yeah, sure. Because Hyunjin’s suddenly the type to cut people off completely.”

The ramen bubbled violently, threatening to spill over. Minho rushed to turn off the stove, pouring the noodles into a bowl.

He carried it to the coffee table, grabbed his phone again, and sat down.

This time he opened Hyunjin’s private chat.

Remember when you made ramen at 3 a.m. and dropped the egg on the floor?

I found the photo.

He stared at the blinking cursor.

Deleted the message.

A knock came from his bedroom door.

It wasn’t locked—Jisung’s voice called out from inside.

“Hyung? You okay? You’ve been quiet since practice.”

Minho sighed. “When am I not quiet?”

Jisung stepped out, holding a half-finished bag of chips.

“Yeah, but… this is different. You’ve got your thinking face on. The one you get when something’s eating at you.”

Minho shot him a glare. “You make it sound like I’m a drama character.”

“Am I wrong?” Jisung tilted his head.

Minho didn’t answer. Instead, he stirred his ramen absently. “You believe Park?”

Jisung hesitated, crunching on another chip. “…I want to. I don’t want to think he’s lying to us.”

Minho looked up sharply. “That’s not what I asked. I asked if you believe him.”

Jisung’s gaze dropped. “I… don’t know.”

Minho set his bowl down, leaning back.

“Exactly. None of us know. And that’s the problem. We’re sitting here, letting someone else tell us what’s going on with our member.”

Jisung swallowed hard. “But… some of what he said makes sense. Like Hyunjin zoning out lately. Or leaving early that one night.”

Minho rubbed his temples. “Zoning out? Everyone zones out. Leaving early? Maybe he was tired. That doesn’t scream burnout to me.”

“Yeah, but… what if we’re wrong? What if he is burned out, and we’re the idiots who didn’t see it?”

Minho hated that argument. It wasn’t wrong—it just made his chest feel heavier.

He picked up his phone again, opening the photo album.

There was a picture from last week: Hyunjin sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating ice cream straight from the tub. He’d been laughing at something Felix said.

There was no sign of sadness. No hidden despair. Just Hyunjin being… Hyunjin.

Minho whispered, almost to himself, “If he needed space, he could’ve just told us. Told me.”

Jisung caught the tone. “Maybe he didn’t want to worry you. Maybe that’s what Park meant.”

Minho let out a sharp breath. “Or maybe he didn’t say anything because it’s not true.”

Silence settled between them.

The only sound was the faint ticking of the wall clock.

Finally, Minho put his phone down—face down, as if that would make the temptation disappear.

“Fine. No contact. Let’s see how long that lasts before I crack.”

Jisung gave a half-smile. “I give you two days.”

Minho snorted. “Generous.”

They both knew the truth—Minho wasn’t the type to let go easily.

And no matter what Park said, his fingers itched to send that one simple message: You okay?

 

++++

 

It had been four days since Manager Park’s announcement.

Four days since the words “It’s what Hyunjin asked for” had been looping in Felix’s mind like a broken record.

The dorm felt different. Even when it was loud, there was a hollow spot in the air—like the space Hyunjin’s voice used to fill had been muted.

Felix sat cross-legged on his bed, laptop open, scrolling through the group chat history with Hyunjin.

Every ping, every stupid meme, every late-night “you awake?” carried a different weight now.

He muttered to himself in a low voice, “Okay… maybe Park was right. Maybe the signs were there.”

He clicked on a message from two weeks ago:

Hyunjin: “Don’t wait for me, I’m gonna head home early.”

Felix stared at it. “See…? That’s not like him. He never leaves early.”

A part of his brain reminded him that Hyunjin had a dentist appointment that day—but Felix pushed that thought aside.

He kept scrolling.

Hyunjin: “I’m not really hungry, you guys go ahead.”

Felix frowned. “Right… he skipped dinner that night. Park said loss of appetite can be a sign, right?”

A knock on the open door made him jump.

It was Bang Chan, leaning on the frame.

“What are you doing? You’ve been holed up here for hours.”

Felix hesitated. “…Going through old chats with Hyunjin.”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “That’s… healthy.” His tone was dry, but there was no real judgment behind it.

“No, listen—” Felix spun the laptop around, pointing to a message. “Look. This was the night before the fan meeting. He texted me at 1 a.m. saying he couldn’t sleep. What if that was insomnia? Park said—”

Chan interrupted gently, “Felix… Hyunjin’s always been a night owl. Remember when he stayed up till 5 a.m. to bake cookies?”

Felix frowned. “…Yeah, but—this time it could’ve been different.”

Chan sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

Felix looked back at the screen. “Both, I think.”

Chan leaned closer, scanning another part of the chat.

“You’re digging for patterns, mate. You’ll always find something if you look hard enough. Doesn’t mean it’s real.”

Felix chewed on his lip. “But what if it is real? What if he was feeling bad for months and we just—ignored it?”

Chan was quiet for a moment, then said, “And what if you’re twisting things because you miss him? You don’t have proof, just fragments. Don’t punish yourself over guesses.”

Felix closed the laptop halfway, but didn’t shut it completely. “I’m just trying to understand. If I believe Park… it hurts less than thinking he’s gone for some other reason.”

Chan gave him a small, sad smile. “Sometimes we cling to the explanation that feels safest.” He stood up. “But don’t lose yourself in it, yeah?”

Felix nodded slowly, but as soon as Chan left the room, he opened the laptop again.

He scrolled up further, landing on a message from a month ago:

Hyunjin: “Thanks for today, it meant a lot.”

Felix stared at it for a long time. It was such a simple message—he remembered it had been after they played games together in the dorm.

But now… it felt heavy. Like Hyunjin had been holding onto something unspoken.

“Yeah,” Felix whispered to himself. “The signs were there. We just didn’t see them.”

He didn’t notice that his hands were trembling slightly.

 

++++

 

It had been a week since Manager Park’s talk.

Seven days since those words—burnout, break, don’t contact him—were hammered into their heads.

The practice room smelled faintly of floor cleaner and the faint echo of yesterday’s bass track still lingered in the air.

Changbin stood in front of the mirror, cap pulled low, adjusting the strap of his baggy hoodie before pressing play on the speaker.

Jisung was already stretching, bobbing his head to the intro beat.

They started running through a routine they’d done a hundred times before. The mirrored walls reflected the two of them—and one glaring empty spot.

It was during the second run-through that it happened again.

Changbin’s eyes flicked—unbidden—to the left side of the formation, where Hyunjin should have been.

The place looked wrong. Off-balance.

Jisung caught his glance in the mirror.

“You keep looking over there,” he said, breathless between moves.

Changbin didn’t answer right away. They finished the eight-count, and when the music paused, he muttered, “You’re doing it too.”

Jisung’s lips curved into a wry smile. “Maybe. It’s just… habit.”

Changbin grabbed his water bottle, taking a long drink before saying, “Habit, yeah. Or maybe because it’s not supposed to be empty.”

Jisung dropped down onto the floor, leaning back on his palms. “You still don’t buy Park’s story, huh?”

“Not entirely.” Changbin sat down too, the cap shadowing his eyes. “It’s not that I’m saying Hyunjin can’t get tired, or need a break. I just…” He hesitated. “If he felt that bad, he would’ve said something. To me. To you. To anyone here.”

Jisung looked down at the polished wood floor. “Maybe he didn’t want to dump it on us. You heard Park—he said Hyunjin didn’t wanna be a burden.”

Changbin let out a sharp laugh, no humor in it. “A burden? Since when has he ever thought like that? He’s loud as hell, always in the middle of everything, making us take breaks when he’s the one tired. That’s not someone who bottles it up.”

Jisung fiddled with the hem of his sweatpants. “…People can change.”

“Or,” Changbin leaned forward, voice low, “people can be taken out for reasons we’re not being told.”

Jisung’s eyes darted up. “That’s a big accusation, Bin.”

“I’m not accusing. I’m just saying—something doesn’t add up. Park shows up, says Hyunjin asked for this, lists some vague ‘signs’… and we all nod like sheep? C’mon.”

Jisung hesitated. “…But… those signs. I started thinking about them. He has been quieter lately. Remember two weeks ago, when we went for coffee and he didn’t even bring his sketchbook? He always does.”

Changbin’s jaw tightened. “That’s your evidence? He didn’t bring his sketchbook?”

“I’m saying… maybe Park’s right. Maybe we just didn’t notice.”

Changbin exhaled slowly, frustrated. “Or maybe we’re making his absence make sense because it’s easier than wondering if something’s wrong that we can’t fix.”

The room went quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner.

After a while, Jisung said softly, “You know what’s weird? Even when we’re practicing fine… it feels like the song’s missing a note. Like, your brain fills it in, but your ears know it’s not there.”

Changbin glanced at him, then back at the mirror. “…Yeah. That’s exactly what it feels like.”

They stood up to run the choreography again. The beat dropped, they moved in sync, their shadows shifting across the mirrored floor.

And still—every few counts—both of them, without meaning to, glanced toward that empty space.

Neither of them said it out loud, but both knew they were counting the days.

 

++++

 

The dorm was quiet in that late-afternoon way—warm light spilling through half-closed blinds, the faint ticking of the wall clock, the muffled sound of traffic below.

Jeongin was sprawled across the couch, a blanket over his legs, phone in hand. He was scrolling aimlessly—half the time not even reading, just flicking his thumb to make the screen move.

Across the room, Seungmin sat at the dining table with his laptop open, earphones dangling around his neck, a mug of coffee slowly cooling beside him.

For a long while, they didn’t speak.

Then, without looking up from his phone, Jeongin said, “The plant in Hyunjin’s room is probably dead by now.”

Seungmin blinked, glancing over. “He’s the one who bought it?”

“Yeah. Said it ‘needed the morning sun.’” Jeongin smirked faintly. “Pretty sure it just liked the attention.”

Seungmin leaned back in his chair. “You could water it.”

Jeongin’s thumb froze on the screen. “…Feels weird, going in there.”

Seungmin nodded slowly. “Yeah. Like you’re… trespassing.”

Another pause. Jeongin looked down at his phone again. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Seungmin didn’t answer right away. He took a sip of his coffee, wincing when it had already gone lukewarm. “If he wasn’t, Park wouldn’t say he was.”

“That’s… exactly what worries me.” Jeongin’s voice was quiet. “Park says a lot of things.”

Seungmin’s gaze drifted to the window. “…You want to text him.”

It wasn’t a question.

Jeongin didn’t deny it. He sat up, tossing the blanket aside. “I’ve thought about it every day. Just a simple ‘Hey, you doing alright?’”

“And then what?” Seungmin asked, folding his arms. “He doesn’t reply? Or he tells you he’s fine, even if he’s not? Or Park finds out, gets pissed, and says we broke trust?”

Jeongin leaned back, frustrated. “So we just… wait? Pretend like we’re not worried?”

“Yeah.” Seungmin’s voice was steady, but his eyes weren’t. “Because that’s what he asked for. Whether it was his idea or Park’s… it’s the rule now.”

The room settled back into silence.

Jeongin opened his mouth, closed it again, then muttered, “I miss him.”

Seungmin didn’t look up from the laptop screen, but his hand tightened slightly around his coffee mug. “…Me too.”

They didn’t say anything else for the next half hour.

Jeongin kept scrolling through old chat threads with Hyunjin, hovering over the keyboard more than once before locking his phone again.

Seungmin typed a few lines on his laptop, deleted them, then sat staring at the blank document.

When night had fallen and the dorm was dim except for the kitchen light, Jeongin’s phone buzzed on the couch.

The screen lit up with a message from Manager Park:

“Hyunjin’s recovery is going well. Don’t reach out. He’ll be back when he’s ready.”

From somewhere in the dorm, other members received the same text.

And this time—

even with the weight of two weeks of silence,

even with all the things they wanted to say—

no one replied.

Chapter 3

Summary:

He thought the worst thing was being locked away. He was wrong.
The worst thing was the slow unraveling of certainty—when even his own name could be turned against him.

Hyunjin’s eyes snapped open to a cold, unfamiliar ceiling.

A dull, bluish light hummed above him — not sunlight, not even the warm yellow of a normal bulb. Just sterile, almost sickly. For a moment, he didn’t move. His mind felt foggy, like it was wrapped in layers of cotton. He blinked slowly, trying to remember—

 

The practice room.

The sound of Felix laughing at something Minho had said.

The faint smell of sweat and cologne.

And then… Park. Manager Park, stepping in with that usual business-like expression, gesturing for him to follow. Hyunjin had barely asked “What’s up?” before they were walking down the hall. He remembered entering Park’s office—

and then a sudden sharp sting at the side of his neck.

The memory slammed into him so hard that his hand flew up to his neck now. There was a faint soreness there, almost like a bruise. His stomach lurched. He had no memory after that. Just… darkness.

His eyes darted around the room.

White walls. No windows. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant, the kind that burns your nose if you breathe too deeply. He was lying on a thin bed — metal frame, stiff mattress, a single flat pillow. The sheets were tucked too tightly around him, almost like they’d wanted to keep him in place. He shifted, and the sound of the sheet crackled against his skin.

He lifted his arms instinctively, trying to shake off the stiffness in his shoulders—

and froze.

A sharp rattle cut through the silence. Metal against metal.

Hyunjin’s head whipped to the side. His wrists were bound in thick cuffs, a long length of chain dangling from each. When he moved again, the chains scraped harshly, clinking as they pulled taut and slammed against the wall behind the bed.

For a heartbeat, he couldn’t even breathe. His pulse roared in his ears as the reality sank in. He wasn’t just lying in some sterile room. He was restrained. Caged.

The cuffs bit into his skin as he tugged harder, testing them, but the chains held firm, anchored into the wall with bolts that looked too solid to ever break. The sound echoed in the small room, a cruel reminder of how little space he had left to move.

That’s when he noticed.

He wasn’t wearing his own clothes.

A pale blue hospital gown hung loosely on his shoulders, the ties at the back barely holding it closed. His sneakers were gone. No jewelry. No phone. Nothing.

Hyunjin’s heartbeat quickened. His hands trembled slightly as he sat up, the bed creaking under his weight. His legs felt weak, unsteady, like he’d been lying there for hours—days, maybe. He didn’t even know what time it was; there was no clock.

He swung his feet to the floor, flinching at the shock of the cold tile against his bare skin. The walls felt too close, the ceiling too low. He looked for a door—found it. Plain, gray metal. No handle on his side. Just a small slot at the bottom, barely big enough for a tray.

Hyunjin swallowed hard. His throat was dry.

“Hello?” His voice cracked, rasping like he hadn’t used it in a while.

No answer.

The silence pressed in around him, broken only by the faint hum of the light above and… was that water? A slow, distant drip, drip, drip, echoing somewhere beyond the walls.

He hugged his arms around himself, the thin fabric of the gown doing nothing against the chill. His mind kept racing—

Where am I? Why am I here? Whay am I chained like this? Why didn’t Park say anything? What was in that needle?

Every possibility made his stomach twist tighter.

Then, faintly, footsteps.

He froze, staring at the door.

The sound grew closer, steady and deliberate. Whoever it was didn’t rush. The steps stopped right outside his room.

Hyunjin held his breath.

A shadow shifted beneath the crack at the bottom of the door.

Then—nothing. No knock. No voice. No movement. Just the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

And then the footsteps moved away again, fading into silence.

Hyunjin exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to his chest. He sat back on the bed, curling his knees up, trying to think. The last thing he knew, he’d been with his members. Now… this. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready for something—anything—to happen.

But nothing did.

Only the drip of water, the hum of the light, the cold weight of fear sitting in his chest—

and the silent camera in the corner, recording every second.

 

++++

 

Hyunjin had no idea how long he’d been in that room.

Minutes? Hours? Time felt broken here. The ceiling light hummed without changing, giving him nothing to mark the passing moments.

At first, he’d tried calling out.

“Hello?!” His voice echoed sharply against the bare walls. “Is anyone there?!”

No answer.

He tried again, louder this time, his throat already scratchy from dryness. “Hey! I know you can hear me! Where am I?!”

Still nothing.

Frustration surged in his chest. He slammed the flat of his hand against the cold metal door. The sound rang out, metallic and hollow. He kept pounding, harder and harder, until his palm stung.

Nothing. Not even footsteps this time.

Hyunjin stepped back, scanning the room again. That’s when he noticed it — a small, dark dome high in the corner near the ceiling. A security camera.

His pulse jumped. Someone was watching.

He walked toward it quickly, standing directly underneath. “You can hear me, right?!” he demanded, staring into the glossy black eye of the lens. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you can’t just—”

The words tripped over each other in his mouth, tumbling out in a mess of panic and rage. “You can’t just take me! My members are looking for me! Let me out of here RIGHT NOW!”

The camera didn’t move. No red light blinked. No voice came back.

Hyunjin’s fists clenched at his sides. “SAY SOMETHING!” he shouted up at it. His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. “DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

Still nothing.

The silence started to feel heavier, pressing against his ribs. His breathing quickened. He turned in circles, scanning the featureless walls like there might be some hidden way out he’d missed.

He tried kicking the door — once, twice, three times — but it didn’t even rattle. He threw himself against it, shoulder first, wincing at the jolt of pain that shot through his arm. The door didn’t budge.

Finally, he slumped back onto the bed, chest heaving. His throat burned from yelling, and his legs trembled with adrenaline. 

What do they want from me?

The thought festered in his mind until it was interrupted by a faint sound — footsteps. Slow, steady, unmistakable.

Hyunjin shot to his feet. The steps grew louder, closer, until they stopped right outside the door.

A metallic clunk echoed through the room, and the door swung open.

A man in pale blue scrubs — clearly some kind of nurse — stepped inside, holding a tray. The scent of warm rice and broth drifted into the room, along with the sterile tang of pills. Two large men followed him in, both dressed in black. Their expressions were blank, their eyes locked on Hyunjin. Neither of them spoke.

Hyunjin’s heart pounded. He took a step forward, his voice sharp and trembling. “What is this? What am I doing here?”

The nurse set the tray down on a small metal cart, smiling softly. “It’s just your meal. And some medicine. You should eat.” His tone was calm, almost gentle, as if Hyunjin wasn’t a prisoner in a locked, windowless room.

“I DON’T WANT YOUR FOOD,” Hyunjin snapped. He tried to move toward the door, but one of the guards stepped into his path, blocking it completely.

Hyunjin glared up at him. “Get this cuff outta my hand and move.”

The guard didn’t react. He might as well have been a statue.

Hyunjin turned his attention back to the nurse. “Where am I? Why did you bring me here? What the fuck is this chain? Where are my members?” His voice rose with every question, until it was almost a shout. “ANSWER ME!”

The nurse’s expression didn’t change. “You’ve been under a lot of stress. This place is for your own good. Please — eat, take your medicine.”

Hyunjin took another step forward, fury bubbling in his chest. “For my own good? Are you kidding me?!” He shoved past the guard’s arm, reaching for the nurse.

The other guard moved instantly. His hand clamped around Hyunjin’s wrist, twisting just enough to keep him from breaking free. The first guard stepped in too, gripping Hyunjin’s other arm. Their movements were precise, controlled — not rough, but firm enough to remind him how strong they were.

“LET GO OF ME!” Hyunjin struggled against them, his feet scraping against the cold tile. “TELL ME WHERE I AM!”

The nurse didn’t flinch. “Calm down,” he said softly, as if speaking to a frightened child. “If you eat and take your medicine, you’ll start feeling better. I promise.”

Hyunjin’s voice cracked with frustration. “I don’t need your medicine! I NEED TO LEAVE!”

Still, the nurse only gave a small, patient smile. “That’s not an option right now.”

The guards held him there for a moment longer, until his resistance slowed — not because he wanted to stop, but because he knew he couldn’t win against them.

Finally, the nurse picked up the tray again and placed it on the small table in the corner. “Better to eat while it’s still warm,” he said kindly.

With a subtle nod, he stepped toward the door. The guards released Hyunjin at the same moment, following the nurse out. The heavy door swung shut behind them with a deep, final thunk.

Hyunjin ran to it instantly, shoving at the handle — except there wasn’t one. Just smooth, cold metal. He pounded his fists against it, but it didn’t move.

The room was silent again.

Hyunjin turned back toward the table. The tray sat there, the steam from the soup curling into the air, the pills glinting in a little paper cup.

Something in him snapped.

With a furious shout, he kicked the table. It toppled sideways, the tray crashing to the floor. Soup splattered across the tiles, rice scattering, the cup of pills rolling away.

“I SAID I’M NOT EATING!” he roared at the ceiling, at the camera, at whoever was listening. His voice echoed through the room, raw with rage.

The light above kept humming.

The camera stayed silent.

 

++++

 

Hyunjin didn’t know how much time had passed.

It could’ve been three days. It could’ve been a week. Or maybe it had only been two — time had stopped making sense. There were no windows, no slant of sunlight to mark morning or evening. Just the constant, artificial glow of the ceiling light, humming faintly above him like it had been mocking him from the start.

The only way he could measure time at all was them.

Twice a day — always at the exact same times, he thought — the nurse and those two silent guards would come.

It always happened the same way.

First, the sound.

The heavy thunk of a lock disengaging. The quiet hiss of the door opening. Footsteps — three sets, always three — spilling into the room.

Then, the nurse’s voice. Calm. Soft. Too soft.

“Eat.”

Or sometimes, “You should take your medicine.”

The tray would be placed on the little table. Warm steam curling up from a bowl of rice or soup, the faint clink of the pill cup against the metal surface.

At first, Hyunjin had fought it. Every single time.

He’d shout, demanding answers. He’d lunge for the door, trying to shove past the guards, his arms straining until the muscles burned. He’d call them every name he could think of, his voice cracking under the strain. But the guards never said a word. They’d just restrain him — not violently, but with a kind of controlled, deliberate strength that told him they could break him if they wanted to.

The nurse never lost his composure.

Even when Hyunjin was snarling in his face, even when the soup spilled on the floor and shattered into porcelain shards, the man’s voice stayed gentle.

“You’ll feel better if you eat.”

“It’s for your own good.”

But nothing changed.

Somewhere along the line, Hyunjin stopped reacting.

It wasn’t a decision, not really. More like something inside him had burned out.

Now, when they came, he didn’t shout. He didn’t even stand up.

He’d just sit on the bed, his back against the cold wall, his knees drawn up. Watching.

The nurse would place the tray down. The guards would hover. The nurse would say, “Eat.” And Hyunjin would just… stare at them until they left.

It happened again, and again, and again.

The same words. The same tray. The same silence after the door closed.

The food was untouched. Always.

At first, he’d told himself he was doing it to resist — to prove they couldn’t control him. But now, after however many days, it didn’t feel like resistance anymore. It just felt… empty.

He had drunk water, but barely. A few sips from the metal cup by the sink, enough to keep the fire in his throat from consuming him. But food? Not a bite. His stomach had been growling for what felt like forever, the ache curling deep and sharp inside him.

He felt weaker. His hands shook when he tried to grip the edge of the bed. His head felt heavy, thoughts swimming slow and disjointed. Even his voice — the one thing he’d used to fight — was hoarse and quiet now.

Sometimes, lying on the thin mattress, he thought about food so vividly it hurt. He’d imagine the taste of tteokbokki, the spice hitting his tongue, or the simple comfort of a warm sandwich after practice. He’d see it so clearly that for a split second he’d forget where he was… until he opened his eyes and saw the bare walls again.

The air was stale. The room smelled faintly of disinfectant, like a hospital — a smell that now seemed to crawl into his skin.

The hunger twisted in him, making him nauseous. Sometimes he wondered if they were waiting for him to break, to crawl to that table and devour whatever they gave him. Sometimes he wondered if the medicine in the little paper cup was the real point of all this, and the food was just a way to make him take it.

But most of the time… he just lay there, counting the faint hum of the light above him, trying not to think about how long he could last like this.

And every time the lock clicked open, twice a day without fail, he’d lift his head and watch them come in — the same faces, the same tray — and say nothing.

The nurse would smile that soft, infuriating smile.

“It’s better if you eat.”

Hyunjin would say nothing.

And the cycle would start again.

 

++++

 

Hyunjin didn’t hear the door at first.

He was hunched forward on the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the same corner of the wall he’d been staring at for hours. The hum of the overhead light blurred with the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. He was so lightheaded he could feel the sway of his body even when sitting still.

Then—click. The lock turned.

Hyunjin didn’t move at first. He kept his eyes on the floor, convinced it was just the nurse again, coming in with the same tray, the same words.

But then the footsteps entered—slower, heavier, not the careful rhythm he’d grown used to.

His head lifted, unease prickling down his spine.

Park stepped in.

He wasn’t in a rush — no aggressive posture. Just that easy stride, his hands in his pockets, as if he were walking into a friend’s living room. Behind him came a man in a white coat, holding a clipboard against his side.

“Hey,” Park said softly, the corners of his mouth lifting. “You’re awake.”

Hyunjin pushed himself upright, ignoring the ache in his ribs. His eyes burned with fury as the words ripped out of him. “WELL, HEY THE FUCK TO YOU TOO! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!” His voice was raw, breaking from his dry throat but sharp with rage. “Why the hell are you keeping me in this place? What is this—some kind of sick joke?!”

Park didn’t answer right away. He studied Hyunjin for a moment, his eyes calm, almost warm.

Hyunjin’s breath came faster. “Do you have any idea how much you’re messing things up?!” His voice rose. “I HAVE WORK, PARK. WORK. The members are waiting for me. The comeback is in a few weeks—”

A flicker of something — maybe amusement — passed through Park’s expression. He glanced toward the man in the lab coat and said, almost conversationally, “You see? His condition’s getting worse.”

Hyunjin’s chest tightened. “What?” His voice dropped to a disbelieving whisper. “What did you just say?”

Park turned back to him, his tone maddeningly calm. “Tell me something… who do you think you are?”

Hyunjin blinked, thrown off. “What the hell kind of question is that? You know who I am.”

Park tilted his head slightly, like he hadn’t heard right. “No, really. Who do you think you are?”

Hyunjin let out a harsh laugh, more anger than amusement. “Are you serious? What the fuck are you talking about?”

A pause. Park’s eyes stayed steady on him. Then, softer: “Alright then… what do you think your name is?”

Hyunjin’s mouth went dry. “My name?” He barked a bitter laugh. “You’ve lost your damn mind. You know my name. Don’t play games with me.”

“I’m not playing any game.” Park’s tone stayed maddeningly gentle. “Just… tell me. What’s your name?”

Hyunjin laughed once — a hollow, humorless sound. “This is ridiculous. Stop it. I’m not doing this with you. Let me out of here. I said, let me OUT. The members are waiting—”

Park tilted his head. “Who’s waiting for you?” His voice was low, almost sympathetic. “If you don’t even know who you are… why would anyone be waiting?”

Hyunjin froze for half a beat, his eyes darting between Park and the silent figure with the clipboard. “What are you even talking about? You’re acting like—like you don’t know me at all.”

Park’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’ll ask again,” he said quietly. “What’s your name?”

Hyunjin’s hands curled into fists. “Fine. You want to hear it?” His voice cracked with anger. “I’m Hwang Hyunjin. Hwang. Hyun. Jin. And you know that. So cut the crap, Park.”

For a moment, there was only the hum of the ceiling light.

Then Park smiled. A slow, patient, pitying smile. “I thought we were making progress,” he said gently. “I really did. But it seems we’re right back at the beginning.”

Hyunjin’s pulse pounded in his ears.

Park’s smile didn’t fade. He leaned forward slightly, voice low, almost gentle.

“Kid… you really believe that, don’t you? That you’re him.”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course I’m him!”

Park tilted his head, studying him like a doctor with a patient. “But think about it. Do you remember the first time you became him? Do you remember the moment it started? Or… does it all feel like a story you’ve been telling yourself for so long it started to feel real?”

Hyunjin’s chest tightened. “Shut up. I am him. I’ve always been him.”

Park’s voice softened even more, a cruel kind of sympathy lacing his tone.

“That’s what makes it so hard. You’ve been living in someone else’s skin, convincing yourself it fits. But it doesn’t. It never did.”

He let the silence stretch, then delivered it like a final knife twist:

“You’re not Hyunjin. You never were.”

Hyunjin stared, his lips parting. “You’re insane.” But the words felt small, powerless.

Park’s smile didn’t fade. “You should take your medication,” he said, almost like a friend giving advice. “If you don’t… your condition will get much, much worse.”

The man in the lab coat scribbled something without looking up.

Park turned toward the door. “Think about what I said,” he added, his voice still wrapped in that unnatural kindness. He moved with the same calm ease as if nothing had happened. His footsteps were unhurried, almost casual.

Hyunjin shot up, rage tearing through his dry throat. “HEY! DON’T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME! YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST SAY THAT CRAP AND LEAVE?!” His voice cracked as he stumbled after him. “YOU DON’T KNOW A DAMN THING ABOUT ME! DO YOU HEAR ME?! NOTHING!”

Park didn’t even glance back. He stepped through the doorway as if Hyunjin’s shouts were nothing more than background noise.

Hyunjin lunged to follow, but the chains snapped taut, jerking him back just short of the door. Metal bit into his wrists, stopping him cold.

“WAIT—! GET BACK HERE!” he roared, straining against the cuffs.

But the door swung shut in his face with a heavy, final thunk. The echo rattled through the room, leaving him staring at the smooth metal, breathless and furious, with nowhere to go.

Hyunjin slammed his fists against the metal, chains rattling so hard they scraped the wall. “OPEN THE DAMN DOOR! YOU HEAR ME? LET ME OUT! YOU CAN’T KEEP ME HERE!” His voice broke into a raw scream. He kicked at the steel, yanked at the cuffs until the skin on his wrists burned.

But nothing. No answer. No footsteps. Just silence swallowing his rage whole.

“Please… just—just open it!” The words tore out of him, desperate now, but still the same heavy quiet pressed back.

His strength bled away. He sagged against the door, forehead pressed to the cold surface, then slowly slid down until his back hit the wall and his legs buckled under him.

The chains clinked softly as he slumped on the floor, chest heaving. Park’s words echoed in the hollow space he’d fallen into.

You’re not Hyunjin. You never were.

Notes:

I know this might be a little random, but is there anyone here who’s read the Captive Prince trilogy? 🥺
I’m honestly dying to talk to someone about it, to squeal over the brilliance of Laurent and the sheer charm of Damen, and just share all the feels this story gave me.

Notes:

Thanks a lot for reading this chapter! Every little reaction—whether it’s a thought in the comments, a tiny tap on the kudos, a bookmark for later, or just coming back for the next chapter—means more than I can say. It keeps this story alive and growing.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 10 of Hyunjin angst stories
• Part 5 of Hyunjin angst stories (multiple chapters)