Chapter Text
They had nothing scheduled today-not really. Just a group live later in the evening, and the rest of the day to settle in, recover from the flight, and prepare for the chaos that would follow once promotions began.
They'd just landed in Japan hours ago. Seungmin had taken a quick shower and changed into something comfortable, hoping the hot water would wash away the buzzing under his skin, the weight pressing against his ribs. But it didn't.
If anything, everything felt worse.
The lights overhead in the hotel suite felt too bright, too sharp. The laughter from across the room too loud. His pulse wouldn't slow down. His fingertips were trembling-not enough to be noticeable, but enough to drive him mad. It felt like the world was moving a little too fast, and he was half a beat behind.
He pushed the door open and stepped in.
The room was already warm with chatter and soft laughter. Staff moved around swiftly, adjusting camera angles, checking lighting, and organizing mics. Most of the members were already in their places, sprawled out comfortably like it was their own living room.
Hyunjin sat on the couch with his legs flung over Changbin's lap, both of them nestled beside Felix, who was playfully braiding Hyunjin's hair. On the other end, Chan had his arms wrapped loosely around Jeongin's shoulders, teasing him about something only they could hear.
Seungmin's eyes found Minho.
He was sitting alone, leaning slightly back against the cushions, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. There was an empty space beside him-just enough for one more person.
Seungmin's heart lurched painfully at the sight.
His fists clenched tightly at his sides. He didn't want to ask himself why that spot beside Minho mattered. He just needed something-anything-to anchor him. His skin felt too thin today, like the world could rip it open with a single glance. Everything felt overwhelming, too real, too sharp.
He needed touch. Warmth. Contact. Something real to convince his brain he existed.
Minho's warmth will be enough, he told himself. Just sitting beside him. Just letting their shoulders brush. Maybe their thighs would touch. Maybe Seungmin would finally be able to breathe.
It wasn't ideal. But Minho wasn't cruel. Not outright.
So, Seungmin took a shaky breath. Braced himself. And walked toward the couch.
Minho hadn't noticed him. Or maybe he had and just hadn't reacted. Either way, he didn't shift, didn't move, didn't block the space. Maybe Seungmin had a chance.
He reached the couch.
And just as he moved to sit-
"That's Han's seat," Minho said flatly.
Not even looking at him. "You can sit somewhere else."
The words were quiet. Not sharp. Just... blunt. Emotionless.
But Seungmin's entire body recoiled like he'd been slapped. His breath caught in his throat.
He stood there for a second too long, frozen mid-motion, half-bent like a glitch in time. Then slowly, stiffly, he straightened, stepping back with a nod so small it was almost invisible.
The burn came next-hot and deep. Humiliation swept over him in a crushing wave. His ears rang. His skin prickled.
But no one noticed.
No one said anything.
Seungmin stood quietly, pretending to fiddle with the hem of his sweatshirt, though what he really wanted was to disappear into it. Maybe, if he stood there long enough, someone would shift. Maybe someone would call him over, pat the seat next to them, open a little space just for him and seungmin would blend in them.
But no one moved.
No one looked his way.
Felix laughed into Hyunjin's shoulder, his voice soft and full of affection. Changbin bumped his knee against Felix's in a playful nudge. Jeongin was pressed close to Chan, both of them grinning at something on Chan's phone screen.
And Seungmin...
He just stood. Still invisible. Still the unnecessary eighth piece of the puzzle.
He didn't want to ask.
Not again. Not out loud. He didn't want to humiliate himself one more time-didn't want to force his way into a space that clearly wasn't meant for him.
He should be used to this by now.
The isolation. The quiet. The subtle rejection that felt worse than any outright cruelty.
But somehow, it still hurts.
Every time.
The ache didn't dull. It just buried itself deeper, quieter.
Maybe if the staff had assigned the seats, it would've hurt less. If they'd been told where to sit, if it was all decided by someone else, at least he could pretend it wasn't personal.
But it was.
The members chose their spots.
And none of them chose him.
That hurt more than anything.
He lowered himself to the floor slowly, like every movement took effort. His body folded in on itself, and he hugged his knees close as he found a spot beside Han. The floor was cool through his sweats, grounding. But when his back lightly brushed against Han's leg, he felt a flicker of warmth. It bled through the fabric-brief, real.
It calmed something inside him, just for a second.
Like a soft reminder that he still existed.
But then Han shifted.
Barely. Casually.
Leaning away-toward Minho.
As if the brief contact with Seungmin burned.
As if even that much was too much.
For them, for Han, it wasn't something huge, but Seungmin felt it like a knife in his ribs.
A familiar sting hit the back of his eyes, and he blinked it away with quick, sharp flutters. His teeth found the inside of his cheek, biting down hard until metallic bitterness filled his mouth.
He didn't want to cry. Not here. Not with cameras being set up and eyes all around.
The staff's voice rang out. "We're going live in thirty seconds!"
The room came alive with energy. Members shifted, straightened, brightened. The tension in the air flipped into something giddy and performative.
"Hello~!"
"Hi STAY!!"
"We missed you!!"
Voices laced with cheer echoed around the space. Some waved wildly, others leaned into the camera, full of affection and charm.
Seungmin dragged a smile onto his face. It felt thin and unsteady.
He waved lightly too.
Tried to match their energy. Tried not to look like he was crumbling inside.
Because if he broke now, it'd be too obvious.
And worse-no one would notice anyway.
Soon, the room filled with voices.
Laughter. Jokes. Compliments.
The members leaned into each other, teased, nudged, smiled wide and bright for STAY. Their chemistry was effortless-practiced, genuine, magnetic. They fit together like puzzle pieces made just for each other.
And Seungmin sat there, quietly watching it all unfold.
The comments flooded the screen-fast, overwhelming, a blur of emojis and squeals.
"Hyunlix are so cute omg!!"
"Chan and Jeongin's energy is everything today!!"
"Minho's smile!! I'm melting!!"
"Where's Han been hiding?? He looks extra handsome today!!"
Lines and lines of adoration.
Excitement.
Love.
But none of it was for him.
No "Seungmin looks good today."
No "Seungmin, how are you?"
No mention of him. Not even as an afterthought.
He watched the screen, trying to smile.
He nodded along to a joke that flew past him before he even processed the punchline.
He chuckled softly when the others laughed, like he belonged in the rhythm, even though he didn't feel the beat.
Little by little, he faded.
Not physically-he was still there, in frame, smiling politely, laughing softly.
But it felt like he was dissolving. Like the camera didn't even see him anymore.
He was invisible again.
And Seungmin hated being invisible.
He hated the silence, the cold space that wrapped around him no matter how many bodies were nearby.
Loneliness wasn't something he grew out of.
It grew into him.
Spreading like ivy through his ribs, curling into the spaces where love was supposed to live.
He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing the lump in his throat as he clapped gently when Chan made a playful pun. The sound of his palms barely made a sound in the echo of the room.
But Seungmin couldn't run from this.
Not anymore.
This was sealed into his fate the moment he was born.
Because Seungmin wasn't an alpha, or a beta, or even an omega.
He was a null.
A human.
In a world that moved on pheromones and instincts, on hierarchy and scents, Seungmin was nothing.
An anomaly.
A crack in a perfect system.
Being human was so rare it was considered a curse-a genetic defect so unwanted, so feared, it was spoken about only in hushed tones and pitiful sighs.
He still remembered the day he found out.
He was six.
The sky was clear that afternoon, painted with soft pastels of early spring. Seungmin's tiny hand was warm in his mother's as they strolled down the lively sidewalk. His steps were small, but excited, almost bouncing with every giggle he let out.
A bag rustled in his other hand-inside were snacks his mother had bought him: sweet bread, banana milk, and a chocolate stick he couldn't wait to open. Every now and then, he looked up at her, beaming with a wide, toothy grin.
Passersby smiled as they passed. One old woman waved at him.
Seungmin waved back enthusiastically, cheeks puffed from happiness. The world felt big, but not scary-because his mom was right beside him.
When they reached the park, his mother gently pulled him toward a wooden bench under the shade of a blossoming tree.
"Seungmin-ah," she knelt to his level, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Sit here, okay? I'll be right back. I'm just going to get us ice cream. Don't move, alright? Be a good boy."
"I will!" he chirped, his legs swinging as he settled on the bench, "Strawberry for me!"
His mom chuckled, kissed his forehead, and walked off.
Seungmin watched her go, eyes sparkling.
He sat patiently. Kicking his little feet.
Counting the pigeons.
Sipping his banana milk.
Singing a song under his breath.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Then the sun began to dip.
The shadows grew longer. The air cooler.
He hugged the snack bag close, his fingers tightening as his smile began to fade. His eyes scanned the path over and over again.
"She'll be back... she's just... maybe the line is long," he mumbled to himself, the voice trembling just a little.
Children with their parents passed him. A boy ran by holding his father's hand. A mother laughed as she brushed crumbs from her daughter's cheek. The warmth in those scenes only made the cold sink deeper into Seungmin's chest.
By the time the sun disappeared completely, the light in the park dimmed. The benches emptied. The laughter vanished.
Seungmin's small body began to shiver. He hugged his knees now, clutching the snack bag like it was the only familiar thing in the world.
"Mom...?" he whispered into the darkness.
No answer. Just the whisper of leaves in the night wind.
He blinked rapidly as his eyes began to sting. Tears welled up and overflowed in slow, heavy drops. He tried to wipe them away with the sleeves of his little jacket.
He remembered what his mom always told him. That he was brave. That big boys didn't cry.
But he wasn't feeling brave now. He felt scared. He was cold. His tummy hurts.
And worst of all-he was alone.
"M-Mom..." he whispered again, voice cracking.
Louder this time.
"Mom...?"
Still no answer.
The streetlights flickered to life above him, casting pale yellow light across the bench. His snack bag slipped from his fingers. His lower lip trembled as he began to cry harder, soft hiccupping sobs that he tried to muffle with his tiny hands.
"I'm a big boy... I'm brave..." he repeated in a shaky whisper. "She said she'd come back..."
But the night stretched on.
And Seungmin's small voice faded into it.
Just a little boy on a cold bench, waiting for a promise that would never return.
Seungmin's sobs had quieted into soft hiccups. His small frame shook now and then, exhausted from crying, his cheeks raw from wiping away tears with his sleeves. His eyes, red and swollen, stayed fixed on the path ahead-hoping. Hoping she'd come back.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps.
Soft, careful ones. And voices.
Two women, older by the sound of it, were approaching. Their heels clicked lightly against the stone path, and the soft murmur of their conversation grew closer until one of them said, "I heard something-like a child crying... this way, I think."
As they turned the corner and stepped into view under the streetlight, one of them gasped quietly.
"Oh, I said it," she whispered, eyes landing on Seungmin's tiny, curled figure on the bench.
He looked up at them slowly, blinking through wet lashes, too exhausted to react, but a part of him immediately felt... less scared.
The woman knelt down in front of him, her joints cracking softly as she crouched. She was dressed warmly, with a knitted scarf and soft eyes hidden behind thick glasses. Her coat smelled faintly of lavender and old books.
"Oh, sweetheart," she said gently, her voice like warm soup on a winter night. "Where are your parents?"
Seungmin's lower lip quivered again. He rubbed at his cheek and sniffled. "She... she went to get ice cream..." he said, hiccuping.
The woman's expression faltered for a split second. Something in her eyes flickered, like she knew or had figured out something Seungmin didn't know about.
But she quickly masked it with a soft smile as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief. With practiced care, she wiped his tear-streaked cheeks, brushing his soft hair away from his forehead.
"Oh, I see..." she said quietly, dabbing under his chin. "And when was that, sweetheart?"
Seungmin looked at the sky. It was dark now. He didn't know how long it had been.
"I... I don't know," Seungmin whispered, voice barely there, like it could break apart with the wind.
The second lady-taller, with deep crow's feet from years of smiling-crouched beside him. Her knees creaked as she bent, but her eyes were gentle and full of warmth.
"Hey, sweetie," she said softly, brushing the corner of his teary eye with a gloved thumb. "Aren't you cold? Or tired? Maybe a little hungry?"
Seungmin looked up at her. His eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks wet and blotchy. He didn't say anything, but the loud growl of his stomach answered for him. Embarrassed, he dropped his head, clutching the snack bag tighter.
The woman gave a soft chuckle, "see? Even your tummy agrees, Let's get you something warm, hmm? I'll cook you whatever you want. Rice, soup, pancakes... even all three if you'd like."
He hesitated. The streetlights buzzed faintly overhead, casting the empty bench in a lonely yellow glow. The wind bit at his ears and tugged at his sleeves.
They were strangers.
His mom always told him not to go with strangers.
But these ladies weren't like the ones in his nightmares. They didn't have sharp teeth or angry hands. They smelled like cinnamon and wool, not cigarettes and sweat. They looked sweet. Kind. Safe.
Safe sounded nice.
But still-Seungmin clutched his snack bag tighter.
"...What if my mother comes back?" he whispered, eyes glistening again. "She said she was just getting ice cream."
The two women paused, glancing at each other. Their smiles faltered-just for a second. Something passed between them, quiet and knowing.
Then the second lady reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief embroidered with little pink flowers. She tied it carefully around the armrest of the bench-gentle, like she was wrapping a gift.
"There," she said softly, offering Seungmin a warm smile. "If your mother comes back, she'll see this and know we found you. Then she can come find you."
It sounded reasonable. Comforting. The knot looked firm. The fabric fluttered gently in the wind like a flag of hope.
Seungmin nodded slowly.
The first lady reached out her hand again. "Ready?"
He hesitated just a second longer, then placed his tiny hand in hers. It was cold, but the grip was firm. Secure. He took one last look at the bench-at the handkerchief tied there-then let the woman guide him forward.
The two women flanked him as they walked into the night, leaving the bench behind.
They didn't look back.
The wind picked up after they left, a cold gust that rustled the trees and sent a paper cup tumbling down the sidewalk.
Then-
A hush fell over the empty street.
The handkerchief, still fluttering just moments ago, suddenly stiffened. The soft fabric darkened from the edges inward as if soaked in ink. But there was no fire. No flames. Just a deep blackness crawling across the cotton threads.
A shadow unfurled near the bench-formless, void, like smoke without heat. It wrapped itself around the white fabric and, in a blink, the handkerchief crumbled into fine ash, vanishing into the wind like it had never been there.
From the ground, that same darkness slithered forward.
It coiled, slow and silent, like a serpent through the leaves-gliding toward the retreating trio. Toward the smallest one.
Toward Seungmin.
It reached his shoes, caressed his ankle, and then-
It rose.
No one noticed.
The smoke curled upward, sliding up the back of Seungmin's coat, curling once around his throat-not choking, not yet-just a gentle, possessive loop. Then it slipped beneath his collar, across his nape, and finally, down his spine.
It sank into his shadow.
There, it coiled again, deeper this time-like ink spilled into his soul. A silent claim.
And no one noticed.
Not even Seungmin.
That night, Seungmin sat at a modest kitchen table, legs dangling off the chair, a fuzzy blanket wrapped around his small body. He ate quietly but fast, mouth full of soft rice and miso soup, cheeks puffed like a squirrel's. Every few bites, he glanced up to check if they were still there.
They were.
One woman folded laundry while the other brewed tea. The soft crackle of a heater filled the silence. It smelled like clean linen and soy sauce and safety.
Later, Seungmin curled into a warm bed, his limbs finally relaxing. He was clean, his cheeks scrubbed, his tiny feet in borrowed socks. The blanket was thick and smelled faintly of lavender fabric softener. The pillow beneath his cheek was cool and soft.
His eyes fluttered closed.
The room was quiet-until he heard them. Soft voices from the hallway, just beyond the cracked door.
"He's null," one whispered, sorrow heavy in her tone. "I checked twice."
A pause. Then the other murmured, "Oh... poor thing. No wonder her mother left her."
A silence followed. A heavy one. As if both women had no better words to offer.
Seungmin's tiny fingers curled into the sheets. His brows twitched.
Null.
He didn't know what that meant. But it must've been something bad. Something that made his mother leave him.
Something that made him less.
He felt his chest tighten, but his limbs were too heavy to move. The warmth of the blankets pulled him deeper, like the ocean swallowing a sinking boat.
That was the last thing he heard-
before sleep finally took him.
He realized one thing, whoever found out he was null always left him.
As the next morning, Seungmin woke up alone in a small room that didn't smell like the kind women or warmth or peppermint. It smelled sterile. Stale. Like dusty curtains and loneliness. Something cold brushed against his cheek as he sat up, the blanket heavier than his tiny frame.
The women were gone.
Instead, a young woman in a grey uniform with tired eyes met him at the door, murmuring words he didn't understand, her voice distant and automatic. She took his hand-not with affection, but like she was handling paperwork-and led him through unfamiliar hallways that smelled like bleach and boiled cabbage.
The building was ugly. Old. Its paint peeled at the edges, and the floor tiles cracked underfoot. The buzzing of fluorescent lights overhead was constant and harsh, like a sound that scraped against his skull.
They walked past faces.
So many faces.
Children, older than him, some younger, and a few around his age. But none of them smiled. No one waved. Most looked away. Others stared too hard-like Seungmin didn't belong there. Like he was something less.
He clutched the hem of his oversized shirt, his tiny fingers trembling and turning pale from the force of his grip. A single, desperate thought echoed in his heart, 'Mama... please come back.'
But she never did.
Days turned into months. Seasons passed like ghosts outside the orphanage windows.
Seungmin learned quickly that he was invisible there too.
During meals, no one sat next to him. The seat beside him always remained empty, like an invisible barrier warned others away. When playtime came, the groups formed like magnets-but he was the piece that never fit. Even the toys seemed to turn their backs.
Some kids whispered about him being null. A curse. A mistake. Something that didn't belong in a world run by alphas, betas, and omegas.
Even the older caregivers treated him with a subtle coldness-giving him less food, less attention, less kindness. Not because he was loud or difficult. But because he was nothing. And nothing doesn't deserve warmth.
Still, Seungmin waited.
At night, when the moonlight leaked through the dusty glass, he stared at the door-imagining it creaking open. Imagining a warm voice calling, 'Seungmin-ah, I'm sorry I took so long.'
But the door never opened for him.
He stopped crying eventually. The tears never brought her back.
That's when the dream started.
He saw idols on television-singing, smiling, seen. People screaming their names. People loving them. No one ignored them. No one called them a curse.
Seungmin decided he would become one.
He practiced quietly at first-in hallways, in storage rooms, behind doors when no one was looking. He sang lullabies he remembered from his mother's hums, and copied dances from TV using the reflection on a windowpane. He held onto that dream like a life raft.
And then one day-he auditioned.
He got in.
JYPE.
It felt like the first time someone saw him and didn't look away.
He left that building behind-the ugly grey walls, the whispers, the empty seats-and stepped into a world where he thought everything would change.
He'd have members now.
He'd have fans.
He'd be loved.
But now-
Here he sat.
On a live broadcast.
His fellow members laughed and talked around him, busy engaging with fans. Their voices bright and familiar, filling the room. Seungmin smiled too, nodded when needed, but he mostly watched.
Watched as the comments flew by.
Praising everyone.
Talking about chemistry, cuteness, inside jokes and duos. Fans shipped others together, laughed at private memes. Seungmin's name rarely appeared. When it did, it was polite. Surface-level. Like a passing gust of wind.
No one noticed he hadn't spoken in minutes.
Or that he hadn't been addressed directly.
Once again, he was invisible.
Like that little boy on the bench.
Like the ghost in the orphanage dining hall.
Like the curse the world decided he was from the moment he was born null, a human.
He thought debuting would erase it. That standing under stage lights would burn away the darkness.
But fate doesn't forget.
Maybe the universe carved it into his soul before he was even born, 'you will always be alone.'
Seungmin swallowed hard, fingers curling in his lap.
His voice ached to speak-but his heart stayed quiet. He didn't want to ruin the mood. He didn't want to come as desperate.
He loved them.
He loved singing.
He loved the stage.
And maybe-maybe that was why it hurt more now. Because he couldn't walk away. He was stuck. Trapped by his love.
Just like his members were stuck with him... until contract renewal.
And then?
Then maybe they'd finally get the chance to leave like everyone else did.
Like they were always meant to.
Suddenly, everything went still. The soft buzz of the camera, the gentle laughter of the members, the shifting hum of the studio lights-gone. The air turned thick, heavy with silence. Seungmin blinked, but the world had vanished. The room dissolved like smoke, melting into black nothingness.
Only he remained.
And then, it appeared.
From the corner of his vision, a shadow moved-fluid, alive, too dark to be real. It slithered forward like smoke with purpose, thick tendrils curling through the still air. Two eyes opened in the dark-feline, sharp, glinting gold with no whites, no pupils. Just glowing orbs of knowing. They watched him, drank him in, as if Seungmin was nothing but a trembling animal.
He couldn't move. His limbs were frozen, breath caught in his throat. The shadow crept closer until it stood in front of him-a silhouette made of smoke and dread. Its voice, when it came, wasn't loud, but it slithered into his ears like poison.
"I told you before... this place isn't for you."
The smoky hand reached out, curling like vapor around Seungmin's jaw, not solid, but chilling all the same. The touch felt like frost and fire at once, stealing his breath. It leaned closer, breath like ash against his skin, and whispered again.
"You don't belong here. They'll never accept you."
Then the shadow stepped aside, and suddenly Seungmin was staring at a screen-his own screen, the live chat still scrolling as if time hadn't stopped. The comments passed in a blur.
Comment after comment burned into the silence.
Seungmin's chest tightened.
The shadow circled behind him like smoke wrapping a candle's flame. Its hand trailed over his shoulder-light, weightless, cruel.
"See? No one noticed you. No one cares, and those who did see you, they didn't have kind words to say to you."
The shadow raised a hand and the feed halted.
"Seungmin is destroying their harmony."
"Why is he even here?"
"He doesn't belong."
"He looks like an outsider."
Seungmin wanted to scream, to tell it to stop, to leave him alone-but his voice was swallowed by the darkness. He just sat there, heart racing, as the smoke crept deeper into him like a sickness, like a truth he could no longer run from.
"Seungmin! SEUNGMIN!"
The voice hit like a whip.
His lungs filled with air so fast it hurt. The fog in his mind evaporated all at once, and the world returned in full force-the blinding lights overhead, the quiet gasps around him, the weight of eyes watching.
His vision cleared.
He was back in the room. The staff stood frozen. The members weren't laughing anymore. All attention was on him. But none of it felt kind.
Minho's face stood out among the crowd-his brows drawn low, eyes gleaming with something dangerous.
"You're hurting him," Minho snapped, his voice sharp enough to wound.
Seungmin blinked, confused-until he looked down.
His fingers were wrapped tightly around Han's leg, nails digging through the fabric, clinging so hard his knuckles had turned white. Han's face was twisted, pain flashing through his features as he gritted his teeth, trying not to cry out.
Seungmin recoiled like he'd been burned.
"I... I'm sorry," he whispered, voice hoarse, barely escaping his throat.
He crawled back on shaky hands, the sting of shame crawling up his neck like fire ants. The stares. The silence. The weight of being seen-not as a person, but as something broken.
He stood up clumsily, feet tangling beneath him, and stumbled back out of the room.
No one followed.
He ran. Down the hallway. Past blurred faces. Past familiar walls. Until he slammed into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.
It was quiet here. Safe. Kind of.
He gripped the sink and twisted the faucet. Cold water spilled out in a steady stream. He splashed it onto his face once. Twice. Again and again, until his skin stung and his breath came in sharp bursts.
But when he looked up-
-it was there.
In the mirror.
That thing. That shadow.
It stood behind him, tall and formless, a blur of curling smoke. Its golden-brown eyes glowed in the reflection, wide and pupil-less, animal and ancient. There was no white. No mercy.
Its form moved with a slow, deliberate grace, tendrils of smoke wrapping around Seungmin's shoulders like arms.
"I told you," it whispered, voice like a breeze that carried knives. "The industry is cruel."
Its head tilted, smoke brushing against his neck like breath.
"They eat alive people of your kind."
Seungmin's chest rose and fell, faster, harder. He clutched the edge of the sink, knuckles whitening again.
"And what did you say?" the shadow chuckled, a cold, brittle sound. "'Stray Kids are different?'"
'They'll protect you?'"
Its laugh this time was louder. Mocking. Ugly.
"You're human," it hissed. "A curse."
Seungmin squeezed his eyes shut, shaking.
"You are bound to be discarded... lonely... invisible."
"Please..." Seungmin whispered, his voice cracking like glass under pressure. He clamped his hands over his ears. "Please stop this. Please... leave me alone."
But the shadow didn't fade. It only leaned closer, curling tighter around him, whispering still...
And Seungmin, trembling by the sink, didn't know how much longer he could keep holding himself together.
"Seungmin."
The voice was distant, barely cutting through the fog that clouded his mind. Someone was calling him-soft, hesitant.
Seungmin blinked, dazed. His hands were still gripping the sink, fingertips cold from the running water. He couldn't tell how long he'd been standing there. He couldn't tell if whoever stood outside the door was angry... maybe here to scold him. Was it because he hurt Jisung?
His stomach twisted. He hadn't even apologized to Jisung yet. He needed to. Separately. Properly.
Still shaky, he grabbed a paper towel, drying his damp face hastily, smearing drops of water across his cheeks. His breath trembled in his throat as he reached for the door handle and turned it slowly.
The light outside was softer than he expected.
And standing right in front of him-
Was Chan.
Seungmin froze.
The leader's face wasn't stern. It wasn't cold or distant like he feared. It was open. Worried. His brows were knit with quiet concern, his gaze searching Seungmin's face as if trying to read all the things he wasn't saying.
"Hey..." Chan said gently, voice warm like sunlight filtering through heavy clouds. "Are you alright?"
His hand came up slowly, giving Seungmin time to flinch if he needed to-but Seungmin didn't. Chan's fingers brushed softly against his cheek, the calloused warmth grounding him.
And Seungmin... melted.
Just a little.
"I... I'm just tired," he mumbled, barely able to meet Chan's eyes.
Chan nodded, not pressing further. "You don't have to come back to the live, okay?" he said softly. "Go rest. We'll handle it."
Those words-you don't have to-pierced Seungmin somewhere tender. No demand. No disappointment. Just care.
But the thought of being alone again tonight... of lying in that bed with the lights off and silence so loud it screamed... The shadows would return. He knew it. He didn't want to be alone. Not tonight. Not when he still felt like pieces barely glued together.
As Chan began to turn, Seungmin's fingers reached out before he could think-grasping at the edge of Chan's shirt, trembling slightly.
His eyes fell shut. He braced for rejection. For awkwardness. For something that would remind him to stay quiet.
"Can I... sleep with you tonight?" he asked, voice small, barely a breath. His throat tightened. "Just for tonight..."
There was silence. One beat. Two.
Then-
"Of course," Chan said.
So gently. So easily.
Seungmin's eyes opened, wide and disbelieving.
Chan's expression was warm-unshaken by the request, not even slightly put off. He reached up and ruffled Seungmin's hair softly, as if sealing the promise with something safe.
"I'll come to your room after I'm free, okay?"
Seungmin felt something ease in his chest. The weight didn't vanish, but it shifted-made room for a smile. Small, genuine, maybe even the first of the day.
He nodded.
"Okay."
And as Chan walked away down the hallway, Seungmin watched his back, the quiet comfort of not being alone lingering in the air like a blanket around his shoulders.
For the first time in hours... maybe even days...
He thought, 'maybe I'll be okay.'
It was 10 p.m., and the room was silent except for the sound of Seungmin shifting under his blankets. He lay on his side, curled into himself, the soft glow of his bedside lamp casting long shadows on the wall. He had been waiting-hoping-for a knock on his door. A soft voice. A promise kept.
But Chan still hasn't come.
He must be busy, Seungmin reasoned again, the thought looping in his mind like a prayer. Chan was always working, always burdened with schedules and responsibility. He took care of everyone-he always did.
Still, as minutes stretched into hours and the clock blinked at 12:00 a.m., something cold settled into Seungmin's chest.
He pushed off the covers with trembling hands and sat up. The floor felt colder than usual as his feet touched down. Quietly, carefully, he slipped on a cardigan and stepped into the dark hallway, his footsteps muffled against the wood. The dorm was still, thick with the hush of night.
His hands trembled as he reached Chan's door. He didn't want to knock too loudly-what if the others heard? What if Chan was asleep? What if-
He raised a hand and knocked, once. Twice. His knuckles barely made a sound.
No reply.
He waited.
Nothing.
Slowly, hesitantly, he turned the knob and pushed the door open just enough to peek in.
The warm glow of a bedside lamp flooded the room in soft gold, and for a second, Seungmin's breath caught.
There, on the bed, lay Chan-his leader. His comfort. His home.
But he wasn't alone.
Jeongin was curled in Chan's arms, nestled against his chest like he belonged there. The younger omega's delicate features were relaxed in sleep, his cheek pressed against Chan's collarbone. Chan's arm was wrapped around him protectively, his hand resting in Jeongin's soft hair as if by instinct.
They looked peaceful. Intimate
Their breathing was in sync.
Seungmin froze.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
The door remained open only a sliver, but the image seared itself into his memory with merciless clarity. He didn't see two people sleeping-he saw something sacred he had been locked out of. A space he had believed-hoped-might be his.
It shattered him like a blade through glass and something inside him twisted painfully, like a cord being pulled too tight. A rush of cold washed over him from head to toe, his fingers numb at his sides.
His hands clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as something inside him cracked-something fragile he had held together for too long.
'He said he'd come for me.'
'He looked at me like I was worth something.'
But now-
Now Chan held Jeongin like that.
Seungmin closed the door gently, barely making a sound, even as his heart was screaming.
He stumbled back to his room. His knees gave out as he slid down against the door, breathing ragged, vision blurred. The weight in his chest felt unbearable-like grief, like betrayal, like rejection, humiliation dressed in silence.
Why him? he thought bitterly. Why not me?
He touched his own arms, suddenly aware of the contrast-his cold skin, his trembling hands, his human blood. No alluring omega scent. No delicate grace. Just him. Just Seungmin. Always on the outside. Always almost enough.
A dry, bitter laugh escaped him.
"Why would he ever choose me over someone like Jeongin?" he whispered.
Of course Chan would choose Jeongin. Beautiful, affectionate, omega Jeongin. Young and soft-spoken, with doe eyes and a smile that could melt anyone.
Not him. Not the quiet, awkward, distant human.
His eyes burned as tears spilled freely down his cheeks, wetting his collar.
"I should've known," he choked, curling into himself, fingers digging into his sleeves. "I should've known better. I'm not one of them. I never was."
And then the words came back-words Chan had said months ago, when he was insecure and wondered why Chan had chosen him to join their group, which was full of omegas, alphas, and a beta who seemed perfect without him.
"Subgenders don't matter to me. What matters is what's inside. You're beautiful where it counts, Seungmin-ah... and talented, and you're sweet and kind. I've seen many packs work despite differences, and if we ever make one-"
Chan had smiled back then, eyes gentle, hand warm on his shoulder.
"I know you'd fit like a perfect puzzle piece with us. You're easy to love, Seungmin."
The words echoed inside him like cruel laughter now.
Seungmin's chest heaved. He clamped a shaking hand over his mouth as a sob tore its way up his throat, muffled behind trembling fingers. Tears poured silently, wetting his cheeks, his chin, dripping down onto the sleeves of his shirt.
"Liar," he whispered, the word trembling, breaking apart like glass beneath his tongue.
"Liar..."
He stared blankly at the floor, eyes glassy and unfocused.
"I don't belong with you. I never did." he breathed
The truth-or what felt like it-sank in, cold and sharp.
"I'll never blend in. I'll always remain an outsider."
A harsh gasp broke from his throat as another sob wracked his frame. He curled tighter, as if he could fold himself small enough to disappear. His shoulders shook violently. He didn't even bother wiping his tears now. Let them fall. Let the pain spill.
Because no matter how kind Chan had been... no matter what he had said-
In the end, it was Jeongin in his arms. Not him.
Never him.
He is a Just a human in a world that never stopped reminding him he didn't belong.