Chapter Text
Congratulations, we're delighted to offer you admission to Yonsei University.
Seungmin's eyes follow the words carefully. He reaches out, tracing the letters, feeling the smooth paper beneath his fingertips as if they might vanish when he blinks.
We are pleased to inform you... full tuition, housing, meals covered in full…
His hands won't stop trembling, he wants to cry, laugh, run into the street and scream into the sky. But the muffled buzz of the tv downstairs reminds him not to make a sound.
If he finds out Seungmin is planning on leaving, he'll find a way to ruin it. He always does.
So he folds the letter back into its envelope, tucking it between worn-out socks in the bottom drawer. For now, it has to stay a secret.
His sleeve slips up as he pushes the letter deeper, exposing bruised skin—faint purple blooming at his wrist, tender when it brushes the drawer's edge. He yanks the sleeve down quickly, shoving the drawer closed too hard.
"Seungmin-ah!" The voice booms from below. He freezes, feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise. "Stop making so much noise!"
"I'm sorry!" The apology tumbles out instinctively, voice tight with the edge of fear.
He waits for a moment and listens. No footsteps on the stairs. There’s no door rattling open. Just the TV again, volume up way too loud. His chest unclenches slowly, careful, like a turtle peaking out of its shell.
Turning back to the room, his eyes skim the scattered remnants of his life. The suitcase that's too small, the secondhand textbooks, the small baseball glove he never really got to use. Most of it won't come with him. Too much weight, too much risk. If he slips, if he makes any noise—
No, he can't let that happen.
So he kneels, sorting his things into piles with deliberate care.
What he can carry and what he'll have to leave behind.
*
The day he leaves is the morning he has to move into the dorms.
His backpack is frayed at the seams, its straps thinning in places where the threads are close to giving out. He has it crammed full anyway, the zipper fighting to stay closed. The suitcase at his side is worse—lopsided from overstuffed clothes, the wheels squeaking when he drags it too hard. But it's all the clothes he owns, so he shoulders the weight without complaint.
For a moment, he lingers by the hallway that leads to the front door. He knows the routine, if his father is passed out, then maybe he could slip past unnoticed. But the sound of even one wheel catching against the wooden floor, one thud of his suitcase against the doorframe, could ruin everything.
A faint, stale smell lingers in the air even from here—cheap whiskey soaked into the carpet, clinging to the wallpaper, etched into the very bones of the house. His throat tightens, stomach turning. The scent alone is enough to create bruises, enough to remind him of footsteps staggering down that hall, of a shadow looming.
No. He can't risk it.
So he cracks open the bathroom window, it's the only one wide enough to crawl through, the one that leads out onto the foyer's slanted roof. He's practiced this before—sneaking out when the yelling was too loud, or when the silence became too dangerous.
He edges closer to the edge of the roof, the floor is only a couple of meters below. He grabs his backpack and gently tries to lower it down, hearing it hit the ground with a small thump. He winces at the sound, pausing, straining his ears for movement from the other end of the house. Nothing.
He does the same for the suitcase, It clunks against the ground louder than he wanted. His whole body goes rigid, a tremor running through him as if the noise itself had drawn blood.
Seconds drag. The house doesn't stir.
He exhales shakily and hauls himself out, sliding onto the shingles, palms skimming the grit of the roof. His shoes scuff as he edges closer to the gutter, hands gripping cold metal before he lets his weight drop. Gravity drags him down. His feet hit the grass unevenly, knees jolting, but he doesn't stop.
He wastes no time strapping his backpack on and grabbing the suitcase, running for the nearest bus stop.
Only when the bus doors hiss open and he steps inside, swiping his card, does the knot in his chest begin to loosen. He takes a seat by the window, tucking his belongings into the space between his legs and on his lap. He settles in, hugging his backpack as fatigue starts to loom over him.
He did it. He finally got out of that house.
*
By the time he steps off at the front gate, it's nearly noon. The air is heavy with late-summer humidity, cicadas rattling in the trees overhead. His stomach growls, reminding him he hasn't eaten since yesterday, but he brushes it off.
Campus sprawls before him—buildings with sleek glass walls, banners stretched across pillars welcoming new students. The sight is dizzying. He lingers at the campus map, memorizing his route to the dorms. The walk isn't long, but by the time he drags his suitcase uphill, sweat clings to the back of his neck. When the strap of his backpack finally gives way, snapping loose, he nearly swears out loud.
It doesn't matter. He'll fix it later.
Hopefully, once he's settled in, he'll be able to apply for a job on campus. He might have enough in his savings to buy a new bag and a used phone too, but he won’t buy them until he receives confirmation from the school that they received his tuition payment.
Once he does buy them, he knows he'll have to work his ass off to make up for the loss in his savings.
His part time job over the summer covered his laptop, which he's grateful for-- he can only imagine all the weird looks he's gonna get when he says he doesn't have a phone but at least he has something. It was a little less weird in high school but in college? Especially at Yonsei? He's gonna need to start working asap.
He reaches the dorms, taking a moment to figure out what he has to do next. He pushes past the front doors into the lobby to find it crowded. Exchange students speaking various different languages fills his ears. Seungmin weaves through with his broken suitcase in tow, head ducked, letting the noise wash over him without pausing. At the office, the staff hand him his keycard, room 325. No mention of who he'll be sharing with.
He grabs his things and heads for the elevators, using his keycard to get through the security gate. Something about it feels so surreal, he's processing all the things happening around him but it's like he's in a dream. He has his own place now, he's farther from his childhood home than he's ever been, with only himself to worry about. It's such a strange feeling.
The elevator doors open, carrying him to the third floor, and the air feels sharper here—cooler, fresher, as if the weight of the past is one level further down.
He expects his roommate to be there, but it looks like all of his belongings are there and not the guy himself. He brings his suitcase in from the hallway, taking off his shoes and carefully carrying the suitcase in before setting it on the floor. It also seems like his roommate already chose a side, so he turns to his own side and starts settling in.
He hears shuffling noises from the bathroom and figures that his roommate must be in there, so he tries to organize his things as quietly as he can as to not disturb him.
That plan ends up biting him in the ass as the poor guy walks out of the bathroom and shrieks with surprise. Seungmin flinches at the noise, crouched over his open suitcase feeling like an idiot. He probably looks weird too, like he's about to crawl inside the tiny suitcase and hide.
"Jesus, mate, you scared me." The blonde says, speaking English in an accent that makes it difficult for Seungmin to fully understand at first.
He bites his lip, worried his roommate is gonna hate him after this. Hopefully he can recover and make a better impression.
He quickly stands up, keeping his eyes pointed at the floor as he bows low. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again." He states, keeping his position for a few moments before standing. He keeps his shoulders slightly curved in as he goes to bow again, "I'm Kim Seungmin." He says, arms reaching out uncertainly in front of himself as he waits for the other to extend his own hand. "Nice to meet you."
Within seconds, the guy also shoots his hand out, bowing awkwardly as he greets him. "Lee Felix. Nice to meet you too."
His features look Asian, his last name is Korean too but his Korean pronunciation is not the best. Seungmin wonders if he was born overseas, curious, but not enough to make his roommate uncomfortable with that question. He seems to have made him uncomfortable enough as it is.
"I really am sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that." He bows again, still holding Felix's hand in a light hold.
Felix pulls it back quickly, hands shaking back and forth like he's doing jazz hands. "No, no, really." He frowns, looking like he wants to bow back. His brows are furrowed as he licks his lips and switches to English again. "Don't worry about it. It happens." He rubs the back of his neck, the fair skin on his freckled cheeks turning pink as Seungmin waits for what he's going to say next.
"I'm sorry, my Korean is not that good. I'm from Australia." He says in English, which explains the unfamiliar accent. Seungmin himself worked hard to study English in high school, hoping it would help him in the future with job opportunities. Another way to leave everything behind.
"That's okay," He replies in English, which has Felix's shoulders relaxing almost instantly. "Are you an exchange student?"
Felix's blush grows as he becomes flustered. "No, I'm an international student here. I'm majoring in liberal arts."
Seungmin feels his brows raise with surprise. "Really? Me too. Maybe we have some classes together."
His roommate seems to melt at that, if he was embarrassed before, he seems incredibly relieved now. "That's so great. I'm glad I know someone here to go through everything together with. I was so nervous."
Seungmin can't help smiling at that, even if he too has no clue what he's doing. And hopefully Felix won't get sick of him as they figure it out together.
Felix makes his way to his side of the room, reaching for the hangers on his bed. "Are you planning on joining any clubs? I heard the club recruitment fair starts the first week of class."
Seungmin continues putting his own clothes away, organizing them into the little cubbies under the bed. "Maybe. Though I'm not sure what I could join. I'm not very athletic or anything." That's a partial lie, he'd really love to join baseball but he's worried he's not good enough to actually make it on the team. Maybe he could do something less physical though. "Maybe I'll join the journalism club."
Felix hums, hanging his jackets in the small closet by his bed. "I think I'll check out the dance team. Do you like to dance?"
Honestly, Seungmin can't remember the last time he danced. Probably when his mom was still around, she loved music.
"Um, I don't think I'm any good at dancing." He says simply, folding his thicker sweaters away for when the weather starts to get colder.
"You could learn," Felix turns around, putting another jacket on a hanger. "I'm sure there's beginners on the team. We should check it out together."
Thinking back to his schedule, Seungmin feels like he has enough physical exercise penciled in. One of the only one-credit classes left during registration was taekwondo and he's not looking forward to it at all. "Sure." He shrugs halfheartedly, because it's not likely he'd make it onto the dance team anyway.
"Anyway, I was planning on checking the cafeteria out in a little bit. Wanna come with?"
Thank god, his stomach has gone silent at this point but hunger claws at him. "Yeah, wanna go now?"
"Yeah, I'm starving. I just landed this morning so I haven't eaten since the plane." He laughs, and Seungmin feels a little bad. Was he too nervous to excuse himself earlier?
He throws the clothes in his hand onto the bed. He'll finish unpacking later. “Okay, let's go."
*
Felix, as it turns out, is a social butterfly. They're sitting with a small group of other freshmen in the cafeteria and making jokes, as if they've known each other their whole lives. Despite the language barrier, Felix has no trouble making friends.
Hyunjin and Jeongin don't speak any English, but with Seungmin there to help translate, it's not much of a problem. The other guy in the group, Jisung, speaks very basic English but manages to keep up with Felix pretty well.
Seungmin doesn't say much, but he translates for Felix when words fail him, and that seems to be enough.
Turns out they have a lot of classes together, as freshmen, many of their required courses were automatically registered. So they exchange social medias, which Seungmin doesn't really have, but he decides that night he'll create his Instagram account.
Instead, he gives them his KakaoTalk which he has access to from his laptop.
Over the next few days, they get meals together and explore campus. By Sunday night, Seungmin knows where all of his classes are, so his first few days are breeze.
Wednesday he receives an email from the school saying that his tuition was paid and after doing the calculations he decides to purchase a phone with the money he has saved from his summer job.
On Thursday he meets up with Jisung and Felix for lunch. He plans to meet them after his morning classes but first he has to go buy a textbook from the bookstore that he'll need for his afternoon class. He sends them a message on Kakao before he leaves his class to let them know he's running a little bit late.
When he finally does make it to the student plaza, he finds his friends at a table with three other guys that he doesn't recognize. He walks over to them, but it seems they're all wrapped in conversation so he just sits down quietly and unwraps the kimbap he bought from the convenience store.
He watches as the others have conversation waiting patiently for a moment to introduce himself.
One of the guys speaks fluent English, and he's going back-and-forth with Felix so rapidly that Seungmin doesn't bother keeping up.
The one next to him is really buff, his shoulders are probably the width of two people. He’d almost seem intimidating if it wasn't for his innocent, almost adorable little smile.
The guy who sits directly across from Seungmin, however, is intimidating. He’s got sharp eyes, feline like, that follow Seungmin's every move. He tries to suppresses the shiver that trickles down his spine as the guy scowls at him.
When Felix has stopped talking, his attention directs entirely towards him. "Seungmin!"
He nods in acknowledgment, bowing slightly as he meets the others eyes. "Hello." He says softly.
Jisung speaks up next to him. "These are my sunbae." He explains. "They're in my same major." Ah that makes sense, Jisung is the only one out of their freshman group that isn't in liberal arts. He's a music production major.
"This is Bang Chan-ssi," he introduces, gesturing to the one who Felix was talking to. The guy bows a bit and greets him. "That's Seo Changbin-ssi," The buff one repeats what Chan did before Jisung continues, "And then that's Lee Minho-ssi."
"Yah, I told you to call me hyung. You don't need to be so formal." The scary one throws a french fry towards Jisung's direction. "And I'm not in your major, just these two. I'm a bio major."
Jisung laughs, "Right, sorry, hyung."
Bowing again, he officially introduces himself, "Hello, I'm Kim Seungmin, I'm a liberal arts major."
He takes his phone out of his pocket to sit a little more comfortably, and Felix wastes no time launching himself across Seungmin, "You got a new phone!"
Seungmin snorts, watching as Felix grabs the device and huddles over it with Jisung. "It still has the plastic screen covering!" Jisung says excitedly. "Which one did you get?"
Seungmin furrows his brows, trying to remember. "The newest one, it's the iPhone 17. That's the latest one, right?"
He wasn’t planning on buying a brand new one, a used one would have been fine but he got it on sale for a really good deal. There was an event where they would give him money, how could he pass that up?
It's weird carrying it around, it feels foreign in his hands, too sleek, too new, but Felix and Jisung ask to peel the plastic off the screen protector, doing so like it's a sacred ritual when he lets them.
He remembers when he got his laptop. He was pretty excited but it was probably because it was his first big purchase. The MacBook was used and didn't look well taken care of but Seungmin polished it up, replaced the screen, and put a shiny new cover on it so it looked brand new. He was pretty proud of that.
The phone, however, didn't need any fixing and looks just like everyone else's phone. He wonders if this phone really does have anything interesting or anything new to be excited about.
While the other two continue to mess with his phone, Chan ask for his Instagram. He finally created one a few days ago, but he hasn't posted anything. All he has for his profile picture is a black and white photo of his shadow. He's not quite used to taking selfies.
He's acquired quite a few followers now that he's started uni but he hasn't bothered to follow anyone back yet. Maybe he should start doing that before people get the wrong idea.
He tucks his new textbooks into his bag—also a new purchase (a necessary one after the other one gave out on him on moving day)—as his phone circulates around the table collecting Instagram accounts.
He feels a little weird having all these new things, he's not used to it but he has to remind himself that from here on out, he doesn't have to live the old life he used to.
This is his new life.
He gets his phone back from the other two and has to say goodbye to the group soon after, realizing his next class is about to start.
"See you later!" Felix calls out as he's leaving, Seungmin can only nod as he walks off, smiling when he turns around. He's so happy he's made friends and started his new life here. It was definitely worth all of his hard work.
*
Friday there are no classes. The school planned the day off so students could have time to check out the club tents and sign up.
Felix drags him out of the dorm so they can check out the dance team, reminding him that he "promised".
He definitely did not promise anything but he decides to humor the boy.
Besides, it's not like he'll make the cut for the team anyway.
Felix insists on dragging him to the dance team booth, buzzing with excitement. Chan greets Felix like an old friend. Changbin grins warmly. And Minho—Minho doesn't look at Felix at all. His gaze is locked on Seungmin, flat and unwelcoming.
"Oi Felix, are you joining the dance team?" Chan calls out, both hands holding him up as he leans over the table.
"Hope so, mate." Felix laughs, " where do we sign up?"
Changbin wraps an arm around Chan's shoulders as he looks at them. "You too, Seungmin-ssi?"
He glances to the side where Minho sits at the other table, almost glaring at him. He laughs nervously. "I'm not sure? Do we try out or something?"
Chan smiles at him when he turns away from Minho. "Yeah, we do tryouts first and then we sign on those who passed. But it's nothing complicated. You don't have to worry, most people make it in."
Minho scoffs, kicking his feet up onto the table. "That was last semester. This semester we're the team captains. We get to make the calls."
And Seungmin knows he's definitely not making it in. He wasn't planning on it, but now he knows for sure.
"Where do we audition?" Felix asks, "Today is the last day for club sign ups, right? Are tryouts today?"
"Yup." Changbin says, grabbing the clipboard from the table. "You're actually just in time we're holding tryouts in an hour at the gym and then we'll call everyone back by three pm to announce who made it in."
"Perfect!"
Seungmin almost laughs at the irony. He has no business trying out for a dance team. But Felix signs his name anyway, his sunshine grin daring Seungmin to argue.
Minho keeps glaring at him—he's not really sure why the guy dislikes him, it's not like he's done him wrong. So he ignores it, saying goodbye to the rest of the guys before dragging Felix to a different tent.
They kill time for about 45 minutes, hopping from tent to tent collecting free candy from some of them and free stickers from others. He signs up for the cats club where they take care of the cats on campus throughout the semester. He's always wanted a pet and he loves cats so he figures this is a simple enough club that he can definitely get into.
Felix signs up for the taekwondo club. Seungmin's not really sure why considering they have taekwondo class together. He supposes Felix really enjoys taekwondo and didn't just sign up for the class because it was the last one available.
By the time noon rolls around, they have made their way back to the gym for tryouts. When they enter, Changbin gives them each a numbered sticker to put on their shirts, explaining that they call out each number when it's their turn.
They spot Jeongin, Hyunjin and Jisung on the bleachers, stickers on their shirts as well, waiting for their numbers to be called. They end up sitting together as the team captains go down the list of names.
Felix has something choreographed that he presents once it his turn. He's definitely going to make it onto the team, his muscle control and coordination is insane. Seungmin has never seen anything like it. He's almost surprised that Felix isn't doing something dance related for his major.
When it's his turn, all that comes to mind is a choreography he learned a long time ago for a talent show. It's an old girl group song, and thanks to muscle memory he manages to remember almost the entire choreo.
It was nothing impressive. Nothing clean. He doesn’t expect more than sympathetic smiles and a “better luck next semester” And yet—his number is called among those accepted.
When he catches Minho's expression across the gym, it's not approval. It's something else. Something he can’t decipher.
Hyunjin, Jisung and Jeongin had also passed tryouts, which has Felix buzzing with excitement.
"Let's go out tonight to celebrate!" He says, throwing his arms over Hyunjin and Jeongin's shoulders, almost hanging off them.
"Out where?" Seungmin asks, following them as they approach the dance team captains.
"For drinks, duh." Hyunjin says, poking him in the side. "Hongdae is right around the corner."
He's heard of Hongdae—one of the craziest clubbing places in the city. People drink and party until the sun rises, there's supposedly even a crash-out Instagram page where people who have blacked out are posted in various unflattering poses.
The idea terrifies him—he's never drank before but he's seen what it can do to people. And if there's one thing Seungmin knows, it's that alcohol never leads to anything good.
Plus the idea of a dark, loud night club sounds like the last place he'd want to be.
"Come on, it'll be fun!" Jeongin says, noticing his uncertain mood. "We'll drink a bit, dance, and hey, you may even meet someone." He winks.
"You guys wanna come?" Felix asks, facing Chan.
"Sure, sounds like fun. Plus I know a place where we'll get free drinks." Chan says, packing away his laptop.
"I'm down." Changbin says, as Felix turns his sunshine towards him. "What about you Minho? Hongdae tonight?"
Minho finds his eyes, his usual frown gone. Instead he's got an unreadable expression, or it would be unreadable if Seungmin didn't catch the small upturn of his lips. No now it almost seems challenging.
"Yeah, why not?"
Felix cheers, thinking everyone has agreed, and maybe something about Seungmin's expression made it seem like he did.
He'll talk to him in their dorms, tell him maybe he's not in the mood or something. Surely they won’t push him to go out if he doesn’t want to?
*
The club hums with noise, a constant thrum in the floorboards that rattles up through Seungmin's shoes. He follows the others in single file—Felix bouncing ahead, Jisung calling over his shoulder, Chan waiting for each of them to receive their stamps before following them in with an easy grin.
Seungmin sticks close to the middle, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the blast of humid air that smells like cologne, sweat, and something sharper.
Inside, lights chase one another across the ceiling, strobing too fast. The crowd shifts like one body—drinks sloshing, laughter spilling, voices raised just to be heard.
Seungmin swallows. He tells himself it's fine. Just a couple of hours. Smile when they look at you. Keep your breathing steady.
"Over there," Chan says, gesturing toward the bar. "My friend's working tonight—I'll get us a round." He waves at someone behind the counter and disappears into the crowd of people.
The others scatter a little—Felix and Changbin securing an open table, Jeongin pointing toward the dance floor. Seungmin drifts to the edge of their group, pressing himself against the table. He watches Felix talk, watches Jisung laugh, tries to anchor himself with their movements.
He stays like that, standing almost rod straight as the music changes and Chan comes and goes back to the bar where Minho has decided to linger.
Jisung and Changbin have made their way up to the platform in the middle of the dance space, dancing freely, basking in the attention of girls and guys alike. Felix got ahold of some sparklers, happily waving it when Jeongin starts recording.
Someone brushes past him, carrying a glass—amber liquid swirling, ice clinking. Whiskey.
The smell hits him.
It's faint, almost nothing compared to the rest of the club, but it's there—smoky, bitter, clinging to the air. His chest tightens instantly. His throat burns. For a second he swears he can feel it spill down his arm the way it used to, soaking through his shirt before the shouting started.
His pulse spikes. He grabs the edge of his jacket with one hand, knuckles whitening, the other hand pressed flat against his thigh to keep it from trembling. The music is too loud now, every bass drop rattling inside his ribs. His knees feel weak. His breaths come shorter.
"Seungmin, you okay?" Felix's voice cuts in briefly, but he doesn't notice right away—Felix is already being pulled into a group besides them, laughter spilling over him like static.
Seungmin shakes his head once, sharply, to clear it. He leans toward Felix's shoulder and forces his voice steady. "I'm—uh. I'm gonna head out."
Felix frowns. "What? Already?"
"Yeah. I've got an early day tomorrow," Seungmin lies smoothly, even though they both know tomorrow is Saturday. He musters half a smile, enough to make it believable. "Don't wait up."
Felix hesitates, but someone calls his name and the moment slips. "Alright, but text when you're home, yeah?"
"Yeah."
Seungmin doesn't wait longer than that. He threads his way through the bodies, pushing toward the exit. Every step feels like he's moving through water, breath caught in his throat until the cold night air hits him. He finally exhales, lungs aching.
He crosses his arms over his chest as he walks quickly down the street, pressing against the ache beneath his shirt—old bruises blooming whenever he holds himself too tight. His hands won't stop shaking.
-
From across the club, Minho sees everything.
He'd been leaning at the bar waiting for Chan to finish talking to his friend, drink in hand, when he caught the sight of Seungmin slipping out. No stumble, no laugh, not even a goodbye to the whole group—just that perfectly blank face, the same one he wore when everyone had been fussing over his shiny new phone earlier in the week.
To Minho, it looks like dismissal. Like Seungmin thought he was too good for the noise, too good for the crowd, too good for them.
Minho's lip curls slightly. He tips back his drink without comment, bitterness clinging to the taste.
Beside him, Chan comes back with a tray, a bottle and some shot glasses balanced on top."Who left?"
"Seungmin," Minho mutters.
Chan raises a brow. "Already?"
Minho doesn't answer. His gaze lingers on the empty doorway, glare sharp as if the boy might still be standing there.
The dance studio smells of sweat and floor polish, a sharp tang that makes Seungmin's stomach twist. Music thumps from the speakers, bass shaking through the floor as students filter in.
He tugs at the sleeves of his hoodie, wishing he'd worn something less conspicuous—something that didn't make him look like he was trying to hide.
Felix bounds ahead, already chatting with Chan, Changbin, and Minho like they're old friends. Seungmin follows quietly, keeping his eyes on the floor and the way the fluorescent lights reflect off the polished wood.
"Alright, everyone, circle up!" Chan calls out, clapping his hands. "First thing—we'll start with some warm-ups, split into teams and figure out positions, then we'll see who's interested in performing at the school festival. No pressure, but it's coming up in two weeks. You'll get a chance to perform for the crowd before the artists come on stage."
They do a couple stretches together, music bumping in the background. Seungmin follows what Felix does, bending and twisting and pulling—already he knows he'll feel it tomorrow.
After a while, Chan gestures for the teams to split, and the group naturally divide themselves around the three captains. Seungmin finds himself being shepherded toward Minho's group, Felix at his side.
Minho doesn't say much at first, just giving the group a sharp look, his eyes scanning every member like he's measuring their worth.
Seungmin feels a flicker of nerves crawl down his spine, a familiar tightness coiling around his chest. He pulls at his sleeves again, fiddling with the hem, trying to channel his attention into something physical rather than the sudden rush of anxiety.
"Okay," Minho begins, voice calm but low, "we'll start with a quick formation. Keep up, pay attention, and don't fall behind. This is short and simple, but it's meant to look sharp."
The groups line up to watch the captains perform the dance first. The energy already bouncing off the walls as the music starts.
Then they review it slower with instructions and beats.
Seungmin follows Minho's instructions, doing his best to mirror the movements, but his body feels stiff despite the earlier stretches.
He misses a step when they run through the first bit, a small beat behind everyone else.
"Seungmin!" Minho's voice sharp and demanding, enough to cut through the music. The group pauses to look at Seungmin, hushed whispers starting to pick up before Minho glares at the rest of the team. "Again. Focus!"
Seungmin flinches. The tightness in his throat coming back full force, his stomach twisting into anxious knots. He blinks rapidly, trying not to show how rattled he is. His fingers twist the fabric of his hoodie sleeves, wrapping and unwrapping the edge until his knuckles are white.
He doesn't understand why Minho is so harsh but it's clear he has a special extra hatred for Seungmin.
All he knows is that Minho clearly doesn't like him. That alone is enough to make his chest pound and his hands tremble. Maybe it's his face, maybe it's the way he moves, maybe Minho was just plain mean. There's no pattern he can figure out, no way to reason it, and that makes the tightness in his throat and the buzzing in his chest worse.
Minho barks again, sharper this time, eyes focused in on Seungmin like lasers. "Faster!"
His heart races. He tries to focus on the music, on Felix's movements beside him, on anything besides Minho's sharp stare. The beat thumps through his chest like a countdown timer. He falls in line, matching the rhythm as best he can, letting muscle memory begin to take over as it ingrains itself into his mind.
Felix glances at him once, concern flickering in his eyes, but says nothing. That quiet acknowledgement is enough to steady him slightly. He exhales slowly, though it comes out as a shaky puff, and forces himself to keep moving, one step at a time.
The short dance is over in a blur of spins and footwork. By the end of practice, Minho's team performs with precision, Seungmin managing to keep up. Not perfectly, but enough. Enough to keep Minho from losing his patience further, though the scowl lingers.
As the music dies down, Seungmin's shoulders sag, muscles trembling from the effort and the stress. He tugs his sleeves over his hands again, fiddling with the cuffs to ground himself, blinking rapidly to clear the leftover tightness in his throat. The fuzzy, familiar wave of anxiety lingers like a shadow, but he survived it.
Minho's voice cuts through his thoughts, his posture sharp but his voice not as harsh as before. "Not bad. Keep practicing."
Seungmin nods, but says nothing. Inside, he's already replaying the steps, going over every misstep, every beat he might have missed.
The uncertainty of why Minho dislikes him gnaws at him, making every heartbeat feel heavier, but underneath the self-criticism was a quiet spark—a small thrill. He had made it through the first practice. He had stood next to Minho, next to Felix, and he hadn't broken down.
And maybe—just maybe—he could do this.
*
The weeks after the first dance practice passed in a blur. The campus had settled into its rhythm, students bustling between classrooms, libraries filling with the low hum of studying, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in every corner of the student plaza.
Seungmin feels the pace intensely, every minute accounted for, every task pressing down on him.
Mornings are spent in lecture halls, scribbling notes as fast as his hand can move, trying to keep pace with professors whose words seemed to fly past him if he blinks too long. Afternoons find him buried in textbooks, walking through the campus with his backpack loaded heavier than it should be, stopping occasionally to glance at his phone and make a note of job postings he intends to apply for. Nights are for the library. He has carved out a quiet corner for himself, surrounded by tall shelves that created a cocoon of focus. Here, he can study without interruption, without distraction, without the familiar pang of worry that comes from thinking about anything else.
The more he focuses on exams, assignments, and job searches, the less time he has for anything else. Dance practice becomes a rare and welcome interruption—a slice of the social world he starts to feel too far from.
When he arrives at the studio for practice, he feels the familiar mix of relief and anxiety. The music is already playing when he steps in, the thumping bass greeting him like an old friend. The room smells of sweat and floor polish again, but the tang is less intimidating than his first time here, less like a test and more like a ritual.
Felix waves at him immediately, a bright grin on his face that lifts something heavy from Seungmin's chest. "Hey! You made it!"
Seungmin smiles softly, letting the hoodie sleeves cover his hands as he waves back. "Yeah... I wouldn't miss it," he murmurs.
"Good," Felix said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "We missed you last week!"
Ah, right. He had skipped the fall festival in favor of searching for jobs, something the group was disappointed about.
He was honestly surprised the group had noticed he hadn't been around. He doesn't particularly stand out in the group, choosing to listen to conversations more than actually participating.
And yet, Thursday Jisung had sent a text jokingly asking if Seungmin had been abducted by aliens. Hyunjin had given him a pointed look the next day, eyebrows raised like he had expected Seungmin to show up to the artist performances that night no matter what. Even Chan, who usually carried himself with calm, measured energy, supposedly had saved a seat for him, glancing at the clock more than once—Felix told him that night when he'd arrived home.
Guilt begins to eat away at him at the thought of last week. He wants to be more present. He wants to spend time with them, but exams and bills don't wait for friendship. His chest tightens at the thought of disappointing them again.
Today's practice is lighter than before. The festival now passed, and the pressure to perform had lifted noticeably. Minho, Changbin, and Chan still divide the team into small groups, but there's less tension in their eyes, more laughter between spins and steps. Seungmin feels a little more at ease, letting himself follow the movements without fear of a harsh criticism. He still watches Minho cautiously, aware that the sharp, feline gaze might still be there, but for now it seems softer, less accusatory, and more like quiet observation.
Felix bounces beside him, offering quick thumbs-ups after a tricky step, whispering encouragement when the music speeds up. Seungmin smiles to himself, grateful for the company, grateful for the sense of belonging—even if he hadn't joined the festival performance.
He stays for the full practice, pushing through his fatigue from early morning classes and late-night library sessions. Afterwards, he lingers by the water cooler, listening to the others chatter about their weekends, their classes, and the snacks someone had smuggled in. They include him easily, laughing when he makes small, shy comments.
Seungmin feels the fuzzy warmth of connection, the quiet tug of friendship he hadn't allowed himself to prioritize. He still has responsibilities, still has deadlines looming, but here, in this studio filled with music, laughter, and movement, he can breathe. He can exist as someone more than just a student buried in work, someone who matters to others.
As the group finally begins to disperse, Hyunjin turning to him, grinning. "See you next week, yeah? Don't go hermit on us again."
Seungmin nods quickly, backpack strap twisting in his hands. "I'll try not to."
Chan calls out over his shoulder, waving, "Good work today, everyone!"
And as Seungmin walks back toward the dorms, shoulders heavier from his backpack and textbooks than with anything else, he realizes that despite the chaos of exams and jobs and responsibilities, these moments—these fleeting hours of shared music, movement, and laughter—are what kept him steady. They remind him that even in the middle of a storm, there's a place where he belongs.
And for now, that's enough.
*
The group has fallen into a rhythm—study, classes, practice, meals together. Evenings are where the laughter happens, where the pressure of classes eases off and everyone gets to breathe. Tonight is no different.
They've crowded into Chan's living room for movie night, snacks spread across the coffee table, lights dimmed just enough to make the projector glow brighter. Minho sits cross-legged on the floor, right in front of the couch, leaning back against it while Hyunjin sprawls dramatically across the cushions like he owns the place.
"Move your giraffe legs," Minho mutters, reaching up to shove Hyunjin's shin.
Hyunjin gasps like he's been mortally wounded. "Excuse me? These legs are a blessing."
"Yeah, to who exactly?" Minho snorts, and when Hyunjin tries to kick him, Minho grabs his ankle and yanks, sending the tall boy sliding off the couch with a yelp. The room erupts in laughter.
Changbin jumps in, tackling Minho half-heartedly as he shouts something about defending his dongsaeng from the evil man, the two of them wrestling like brothers until Felix throws popcorn at them to make them stop. "You're yanking the blanket!" Felix whines, but he's grinning so wide that his cheeks must ache.
Seungmin watches from the armchair tucked in the corner. He lets himself smile at the chaos, though he keeps his arms close to his body, sleeves tugged down. He looks comfortable enough on the surface, but every so often his eyes dart to Minho—watching the way Minho teases the others so effortlessly, the warmth that lingers beneath his sarcasm. It's different from the sharpness he aims at Seungmin, and though Seungmin doesn't let himself dwell on it too long, the thought sits heavy in the back of his mind.
He lets himself sit and take in everything else, the happy laughter that bounces off the walls, playful yells across the living room. All of it is beginning to feel familiar to him, he's content to simply bask in the warmth of it all.
A week later, the group decides to go out for dinner. Korean barbecue, of course. The table is crowded with sizzling meat and small dishes, everyone reaching over one another with chopsticks, stealing bites, feeding each other across the grill.
"Seungmin, you should grill some," Jeongin says, nudging the tongs toward him.
Seungmin hesitates, not entirely confident in his capabilities, but takes them, leaning forward over the grill.
"Hey, what's that scar from?" Jeongin blurts suddenly, pointing at the mark.
The scar along Seungmin’s jaw is small, only noticeable if the light catches it at the right angle. No one’s ever pointed it out before, he figured no one ever noticed him that closely before.
The table quiets for a moment. All eyes flicking to Seungmin.
He forces a shrug, focusing on turning the meat. "Old fight," he says casually, voice flat. And it's not entirely a lie. "Nothing big."
Felix blinks. "You got into fights?"
"Not anymore," Seungmin mutters, the words clipped short. He passes the cooked slices onto Felix's plate to change the subject. "Eat before it gets cold."
The conversation picks up again, but the curiosity lingers in the air like smoke—subtle not forgotten.
Seungmin keeps his expression neutral, but his throat feels tight. He can still feel the sting of the ring against his skin, the memory sharp as if it just happened. He pushes it down, pushes it all the way into the pit of his stomach, and eats quietly while the others laugh around him.
"Should we order more meat? Anyone still hungry?" Chan asks and the others groan around him.
Felix leans into the older Aussie, resting on his shoulder. "I'm tapping out." He pouts, watching Changbin take the last piece off the grill.
"But not too full for a sweet treat right?" Jisung asks, eyes glittering in the way they do when he uses that look on them. "Baskin Robbin's is still open until eleven."
The others happily regain their energy at the idea and Seungmin can only shake his head, suppressing his smile at their playful vibes knowing he probably doesn't have the room for dessert with how much Chan has fed them.
*
Another week passes, and the group finds themselves at Chan's again for dinner. Not take-out, this time because Chan and Minho mentioned something about wanting to cook for them.
The smell of garlic and soy sauce fills the apartment as Chan flips something in a pan, calling over his shoulder for someone to set the table.
Talk drifts as they eat—about professors, about practice, about midterms that just passed and finals looming just a few weeks away.
"Hey," Jisung says suddenly, grinning. "Halloween's coming up. Yeonjun's throwing a party, you guys are coming, right?"
Felix cheers immediately. "Costumes?"
"Obviously," Hyunjin says, already planning something elaborate, judging by the spark in his eyes.
Seungmin freezes with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. The thought of loud music, the crush of bodies, the smell of alcohol—it makes his stomach twist. His pulse quickens, though he keeps his face as steady as possible.
"I can't," he says after a pause, lowering his chopsticks. "I've got too much studying to do."
The words come out sharper than he intends, and for a moment, silence falls.
"Come on," Jisung presses, "it's one night. You can't study forever."
"I really can't, sorry," Seungmin says, his tone flat.
Across the table, Minho leans back in his chair, watching him. His expression is unreadable, but the weight of his stare makes Seungmin's skin prickle.
Hyunjin snorts. "What, are you too good for parties?"
The joke is harmless enough, but it lands wrong. The table chuckles softly, brushing it off, but Seungmin feels his chest tighten. He lowers his gaze to his bowl, the faint burn of shame crawling up his neck.
He knows how it looks. He knows what they must think—that he's stuck up, that he doesn't care about bonding with them, that he's distancing himself. He wants to explain, to say it isn't about studying, or being above them, or not wanting to be included. But the words stick in his throat, heavy and dark with a feeling he doesn't want seeping into the room.
Instead, he just purses his lips and lets the conversation move on without him. His appetite fades. He forces himself to eat anyway, pretending not to notice the way the group's laughter feels just a little harder to reach from where he's sitting.
He still smiles when they tease one another. He still adds a word or two when someone addresses him directly. But inside, his thoughts churn—worry that maybe they don't want him around, that maybe he's more of a burden than a friend. The table feels warmer than it should, the walls pressing closer, and Seungmin breathes through the tightness in his chest, silently promising himself he won't let it show.
Not here. Not now.
*
Halloween slips by without much fanfare for Seungmin.
He nearly forgets about the holiday altogether until he scrolls through Instagram late at night, lying in bed with his textbooks piled up at his feet. Every swipe shows his friends dressed up in costumes. Felix with his hair slicked back, fangs sticking out from his smile, Hyunjin looking effortlessly glamorous, Changbin flexing in some superhero get-up, Jeongin grinning with his face painted. Even Chan posts a group picture with friends from another class, red Solo cups in hand, arms thrown around each other.
Seungmin's chest twists as he stares at the photos. He wasn't there—not even as an afterthought. He told himself it's because he hates parties, because the noise and the chaos make him feel trapped, because alcohol has never been a safe thing in his life. But when he sees his friends laughing without him, he can't shake the creeping thought that maybe they're happier when he isn't around.
That night, for the first time in weeks, he closes his laptop before studying is done. He sits on the edge of his bed and breathes through the heaviness in his chest. Something has to change. He can't keep being the one who always says no, the one who withdraws, the one who drags the mood down. His friends care about him—he knows that—but he's starting to believe that caring only goes so far if he keeps shutting them out. And so, quietly, almost like a promise to himself, he decides—he's going to try harder. He's going to push through. He'll find a way to work on his trauma, even if it terrifies him.
He can do this.
He wants to be a better friend.
*
By the time November turns into December, the semester is winding down. The air grows sharper, breath puffing white in the evenings as they walk together after classes. The dance team practices less now, their festival performance behind them, and more of their time is spent studying or sharing meals to break up the long nights of memorization.
One evening, before finals begin in earnest, they gather for dinner at a Korean barbecue place. The table is warm with chatter and the smoke of grilling meat. Hyunjin teases Jeongin about how stressed he looks, Minho flicks a bottle cap at Changbin across the grill, and Chan keeps trying to make everyone eat more than they can handle.
It feels almost normal—like the kind of friendship Seungmin has been aching to feel part of. He even lets himself enjoy the moment, reaching for the tongs to flip some meat. But then Minho, never one to let a conversation stay gentle for too long, asks the group if they're going home for the holidays. One by one, they all answer—Jeongin excited to see his mom, Changbin groaning about how much food his family will force on him, Hyunjin already planning to show off his uni jacket to his siblings.
When it's Seungmin's turn, he says, almost too casually, "I don't think I'm going home this semester."
The table pauses. For a beat, there's nothing but the sizzle of the meat. Then Minho laughs, sharp and cutting. "What, why not? Don't you miss home-cooked meals? Or your family? Or are you too good for all that too?"
It's a joke, maybe—it sounds like a joke, the way Minho grins when he says it. But it lands hard in Seungmin's chest. The others chuckle nervously, probably waiting for Seungmin to react and move on, but he doesn't.
He feels the words like a stone dropped in water, rippling through his mind over and over. Too good for all that.
He doesn't correct it. He doesn't explain. He doesn't say that home is complicated, that going back feels like opening a wound that never healed, that the idea of walking through that front door still makes his stomach churn. He just lowers his eyes, pokes at the grill, and lets the moment pass.
The rest of the night continues without a hitch for everyone else, but Seungmin feels like he's shrinking. Every laugh from his friends sounds a little too loud, every conversation just a bit further away. He smiles when he's supposed to, but deep down, he can't shake the gnawing thought that his friends think he's cold. That he's stuck-up. Above them. Maybe Hyunjin and Minho are right.
He certainly hasn't given the a reason to think otherwise,
Maybe he can't change what they think of him—maybe it's too late to try.
He does his best to shake it off, forgetting about his previous determination to be a better friend in favor of self-preservation. He throws himself into his routines with even more determination. The library becomes his second home. He sits at a corner desk for hours, stacks of notes around him, highlighter ink smudging his fingers. When his friends ask him to hang out, he declines—telling them it's because of finals, because of his job, because he has responsibilities. But part of it is because he begins to believe they're truly better off without him.
At least if he keeps his distance, he won't feel like he's wasting their time.
Besides that, his job keeps him busy too. Late nights on the café closing shift, eating dinner at the convenience store means less socializing, but the extra money helps, and keeping busy makes it easier not to think.
And yet, as Christmas creeps closer, the guilt grows heavier. He remembers Minho's words, the way the table had gone quiet. If Minho thinks that, the others must imagine he has a better life than he actually does and it has him thinking that maybe he does, maybe he's always made himself out to be a victim.
He wonders if his dad misses him. He wonders if maybe—just maybe—things are any different now. Maybe time has softened the sharp edges. Maybe his father feels regrets— after all, he never bothered to tell him he was leaving, much less say goodbye.
The thought eats at him. It twists around all the old fear and anger, but also the yearning. He doesn't want to be the only one who stays behind, the only one who doesn't have a family to go back to. And beneath it all, there's still the part of him—a small, desperate part—that wants to believe his dad could love him again. Could forgive him.
So he decides. He'll go home. For Christmas, for New Year's. Even if it's hard. Even if it's scary. He'll try.
He tells himself it's about not standing out, about not being the odd one out in his group of friends. But in the quiet moments, when he lets himself admit it, he knows the truth. It’s about hope. A fragile, dangerous kind of hope.
*
Over the next few weeks, Seungmin works himself into the ground. Exams loom over the horizon like a finish line he needs to reach before he can rest.
Between his shifts at the cafe, the last of the dance practices, and his endless study sessions, he has little time for anything else. He barely has time to eat or sleep, let alone see his friends.
Felix keeps him up to date on the group when he misses hangouts, sending check-ins and updates from the group chat, even asking if he wants to join their secret Santa exchange before break.
Seungmin says yes—because he really does want to—but then he misses the next hang out, and the next one, because he simply doesn't have the time. His schedule is packed from early morning to late at night, the only interaction he gets with the group is at dance and even then, he doesn't linger after practice for small talk.
So when they finally gather after exams for the gift exchange, he shouldn't be surprised that he isn't part of it. He forces a smile anyway, sitting quietly while the boys trade presents, laughter bouncing off the walls like warmth he can't quite step into.
Felix gets a new bag from Chan and practically tackles him to the ground from pure joy. Jeongin shrieks over a pair of sneakers, teasing Changbin until his ears burn. Chan glows with a smile as warm as a fireplace, Hyunjin laughs so much he nearly spills his drinks four times. Seungmin sits in the middle of it all, hands empty, trying not to let the sting show.
Minho watches him carefully, eyes carrying the same judgement as when they first met, which has Seungmin looking away with shame.
He hates that he missed the hangout where they picked names, hates that he feels like an outsider even when he's surrounded by friends who insisted he join them for their Christmas celebration.
He's got nothing to bring to the table. Nothing.
He especially feels like shit when Felix hands him a gift bag with an honest smile. "For you, Minnie. Merry Christmas."
His chest tightens, looking at the rest of the boys as he waits for the other shoe to drop. He can't remember the last time he received something for Christmas. He can't remember the last time someone gifted him something at all.
His eyes prickle with tears, "Felix?" He asks uncertainly, blinking furiously.
The blonde simply shoves the bag into his hands, waiting patiently for him to open it.
He looks at Felix again, practically launching himself at him, nearly knocking him over with the force of his hug. "Thank you." He whispers into his shoulder.
Felix giggles, shoving him off, "Come on, open it! I wanna see your reaction!"
He pulls back a bit more to grab the gift from where it fell in his lap. He takes the tissue paper out carefully, pulling something dark out of the bag.
His heart stops when he holds it up to see, a black duffle bag with his name embroidered on the front, two paw prints stitched carefully along the side.
"I figured you could use it for dance practice next semester?" Felix says, and his voices gets higher at the end as if uncertain whether or not Seungmin plans on joining dance again.
If he's being honest, he didn't think they'd want him back next semester.
But he looks around the room, finding soft smiles and hopeful faces like Felix’s.
"It's perfect," he says finally, voice emotional as he turns to face Felix once more. "Thank you so much."
He throws his arms around the blonde again, squeezing tight as he mumbles, "I'll need to pass auditions again, but I'll use it well." Which has Felix giggling into his shoulder, but when he glances up, Minho's eyes are already on him. Cold. Unreadable. Arms folded like he's waiting for Seungmin to slip.
The warmth in his chest falters.
"I'm sure that won't be a problem," Felix pulls back, looking towards their dance captains. "I think you already have an advantage."
But despite Chan's warm smile and Felix's certainty, his eyes find themselves trailing back to Minho, who stares back at him disapprovingly.
He doesn't say anything, but Felix has already moved on to the next conversation. Voices start filling the room as the topics shift around him.
He'd love to rejoin the dance team again, but as Minho's gaze becomes sharper and uninviting, it seems like he won't have as easy of a time getting back in like Felix believes.
*
Most of the boys leave for winter break early the next day, so they agree to walk back to the dorms together before midnight.
It's a little past one when they manage to wrap up their conversations. When most of the boys head out, Seungmin lingers to help Chan clean up after them.
"I'm really glad you could make it, Min." Chan beams, his smile almost as bright as Felix's. "I was worried we wouldn't be able to see each other before I leave to see my grandparents."
Seungmin feels the warmth in his chest bloom, grabbing the remaining trash on the coffee table to throw away. "Yeah, I'm really sorry we didn't get to hang out much this semester but hopefully my schedule won't be as packed in the spring."
"Don't stress about it, we totally understand." Chan reassures, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. He does his best not to flinch away from the gesture, hoping the anxiety that spikes doesn't show on his face.
Chan leaves to put the used dishes in the sink, leaving Seungmin to collect his things from the living room as the others head to the doorway to put their shoes on.
"You showed up tonight."
Seungmin freezes as he grabs his gift bag off the floor, Minho's voice running down his spine like ice.
He swallows, gift bag clutched tightly in his hand. "...Yeah."
Before he can say anything else, Minho continues, approaching him with crossed arms. "Did you show up because—even though you're never here—you expected a gift anyway?"
Seungmin lifts his head to look at Minho, confusion knitting his brows. "What?"
Minho steps closer, jaw tight. "In case you didn't know, showing up empty handed is rude. Especially for the holidays." His tone is low, controlled, but each word lands like a blow.
"And, honestly, I don't think you deserve to be here." Minho continues, his voice even and harsh as ever. "You definitely don't deserve Felix's generosity. I just don't really get why everyone likes you."
Seungmin feels his mouth open to reply but he isn't sure what to say. He doesn't have an answer to that, he doesn't really understand why everyone is so nice to him either.
"You only show up when it's convenient for you." Minho pushes further, crowding him, gaze as sharp as glass. "You think you're too good to hang out with us. You think you're above us. Well you're not." He spits, anger now evident on his face. "You're just a stuck up, spoiled little rich kid. It's amazing you've been able to make friends at all."
He was right. Minho doesn't like him. He wasn't entirely sure at first but it's clear now—but he has a hard time figuring out how Minho came to that conclusion.
"Why do you think that?" He asks, voice coming out much lower and uncertain than he intends.
Minho's laugh is as sharp and cutting as his eyes. "What? That you think you're too good for us?" He asks and Seungmin can only watch as Minho's jaw clenches. "I think you've made it pretty obvious. Poor Felix always looks sad when you pull away from him, like it physically pains you to touch people. And you're not very good at controlling your facial expressions. If you don't like how loud Jisung and Changbin get, you're more than welcome to leave, you know?"
Seungmin throat tightens. He wants to defend himself, tell Minho he's wrong, that he doesn't understand. Non of them do. But the words choke and die in his chest. He can't explain, not here, not now.
He's getting better at it, that much he knows. He's getting better at receiving affection, at hearing yells that don't automatically mean danger, at trusting other people who don't mean any harm. He's working on it, he knows he's getting better no matter what Minho says.
But it still stings that they don't see that.
Maybe one day they will, maybe they'll come to understand when he tells them about his past and his difficulties assimilating to this new life.
He thinks of his father and how maybe things will get easier after they talk, after they mend things.
One thing he's not gonna do, however, is apologize for something when Minho doesn't see the full picture. He finds those cold eyes once again, keeping his own eyes hard and his voice flat when he finally manages to speak. "You have no idea what kind of person I am."
He doesn't let Minho reply, he simply shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets and heads for the door, where the others are saying their goodbyes.
The brand new duffle bag on his shoulder is basically empty but something else weighs on his shoulders as he walks out, hoping the others don't feel the weight of it too.
*
He doesn't plan on staying too long.
All he's got with him is his lumpy suitcase, filled with a couple sweaters, jeans and underwear he'll need for his short visit. The hoodie he has on isn't very thick, but he doesn't have a winter jacket yet despite it being the end of December.
Maybe he can grab an old one he's left behind while he's here.
Taking a deep breath, he pushes open the front door of his childhood home. He expects the darkness of the room and the woody, spicy scent of whiskey to hit him as he walks inside, but he's surprised to find the air stale.
The room is cold, the heating is off and the curtains are pulled back allowing natural sunlight to brighten the room.
He feels weird, like no one's been here for a while. Empty bottles of beer and whiskey take up the coffee table and the kitchen counter but there doesn't seem to be much sign of life besides that.
He takes his belongings and heads upstairs, thinking of what he can do to kill some time before his father gets back from work.
He decides he'll clean the place up a bit and then run to the grocery store so he can prepare dinner tonight. It's still pretty early, so he has plenty of time before his father returns home.
So he starts with the living room and makes his way around the place, throwing trash away, rearranging things, sweeping, washing dishes and emptying the cupboards to make space for groceries.
Once he's satisfied, he grabs his wallet and makes his way to the closest mart to pick up a few items. Though he might need to stock for the week considering how empty their pantry looked when he left.
Hours slip past, he finds himself spending Christmas alone at the kitchen table, two bowls of soup cooling untouched until he finally forces himself to eat. His father doesn't come home.
The days stretch into silence. Seungmin cleans compulsively, fills cupboards, cooks meals that go to waste. Each night he waits, each morning he wakes to the same emptiness. He convinces himself it will be different for New Year's. His dad will come home. Maybe sober, maybe even glad to see him.
But when the door finally slams open on New Year's Eve, it isn't relief that walks in. It's the sour stench of whiskey. His father staggers into the kitchen, tie hanging loose, eyes bloodshot.
His heavy work boots bring dirt onto the floor Seungmin mopped earlier.
"Dad," he says, setting his chopsticks down carefully, his pulse kicking. "Are you okay? Where have you been?"
His father stares at him, eyes glassed over, pupils blown wide. His mouth twists into a scowl. "What the hell are you doing here, you piece of shit?"
Seungmin feels his throat start to close up at the familiar sounds of his slurred speech. His heart is racing in his chest, alarms ringing in his head.
Stuck up
Too good for us
He closes his eyes, thinking of how wrong Minho was when really it's the exact opposite.
Undeserving
Outcast
Worthless
But he tries. "It's New Years Eve, dad, I figured we could—"
The slap cuts him off. A flash of rings against skin, sharp enough to split.
His cheek stings, warmth blooming beneath the skin and dripping down to his chin. His heart feels like it'll fly out of his chest, he looks back at the drunk man to see another fist flying at him but it's too late to react, it lands right where his new cut bleeds on his cheekbone.
Another blow shoves him into the counter, bottles rattling. One crashes to the floor, shards scattering.
"You little bitch, you left me here to rot and die." His father yells in his face, a large hand reaching out to grab his neck, forcing him to meet his dark eyes. "Maybe I should do the same."
Seungmin has seen his father angry more time than he can count—probably more times than he can remember, considering the concussions he's suffered from. But he's never seen him look like this—his teeth are bared, veins in his neck strained with anger— he looks murderous.
His legs go numb, all instincts screaming at him to fight but he's frozen cold. His father squeezes his neck in his hold and throws him to the ground, his temple catching on the corner of the counter before he hits the floor.
He groans, glass digging into his palms as he pushes himself up. He hold his head with one hand, his stomach twisting when he sees the work boots approaching at a quick pace towards him.
He glances up and has just enough time to duck down as a bottle swings above his head and shatters against the counter above him. His hands shake as he takes the chance to crawl under the legs in front of him and make his way out of the kitchen.
He isn't sure if it's because his head is throbbing and his vision is starting to blur that he feels time move slow. His father seems to be moving at a fast pace and Seungmin can't make it far enough to avoid the kick to his ribs and the crushing of his hand beneath the heavy shoes that follows.
He can feel his throat burn from the yell that escapes, his vision is fuzzy, tears brimming at the edges making it harder now to locate his escape route.
Another bottle is thrown his way, shattering centimeters away from his head from where he lays on the ground. He raises his arms to block any shards of glass from falling into his eyes, only to see the silhouette of his father approach once more, a broken bottle already in hand.
He blinks the tears away just enough to watch his father raise the bottle above his head, sharp ends pointed down towards his open torso.
In a moment of panic and pure adrenaline, he rolls over and runs.
His bare feet hit the ground so hard that later they'll have bruises too, but he pays it no mind as he throws the door open and runs faster than he's ever run before.
It's all he can think of. All he can feel.
Run, run, run.
He hears cars in the distance, Christmas light flashing in his peripheral vision as he runs through the near empty streets. Icy cold air rakes at the insides of his lungs, he feels like blood will eventually come up with every breath he takes, but he doesn’t slow down.
He keeps running, ignoring the car horns and the noise of brakes screeching, the sounds of dogs barking and people yelling profanities at him as he pushes past them.
When he finally does start to register the pain in his feet, he can't figure out where he is. A convenience store glows across the street, but besides that, everything else is closed.
He hears the sounds of giggling and loud voices, a couple down the street stumbles in his direction and his heart pounds harder. They seem intoxicated.
He runs into the alley next to him, pulling his hood over his head as he curls into a ball and tries to contain his heavy, uneven breathing.
The voices get closer, his grip on his folded legs getting tighter as they do. He focuses on his breathing, realizing he's moments away from hyperventilating.
He swallows hard, taking deep breaths. The couple walks past the alley and then there's silence.
His lungs burn, the cold air embracing him, slipping through the thin threads of his sweater. He exhales shakily, finally taking a look at his bloodied, shaking hands in front of him.
A sound comes from his right, startling him so bad he scrambles towards his left, towards the entrance of the alley way.
Another meow breaks the silence and he finds the source— a small orange cat sitting in front of a bowl and a tiny cat house, an orange light emitting from it tells him it's heated for the winter.
But the cat is not alone, Seungmin feels his blood run cold as his gaze find a familiar set of brown eyes staring back at him.
Kneeling in front of the orange tabby, staring back at his beaten form, is none other than Lee Minho.